#shes got all kinds of cool threads

[snugcubunny]

Final Fantasy'd ya boi

[asajjventress]

I really feel like so many people who hate Vivienne for being power hungry do not fully grasp and appreciate the desperation that Vivienne feels because she conceals it so well… as little content as she got, she honestly is expertly written and presented and it’s why it disappoints me so much when people hate her for surface level reasons… her writer deserves so much more appreciation.

I think it is subtle because she hides it and you really have to care about the character to seek out these threads and understand her motivations… she is in danger of total irrelevance, being cast aside by society (and history), and she is forced to ride the coattails of some upstart organization because all of the institutions she is invested in have either totally failed her or cast her aside.

She is clearly a prideful person who does not readily admit this… but her true talent is how clearly she can evaluate this and understand her own position. She suffers no delusions. She knows the Circle’s standing in society is diminished to nothing if it doesn’t house and account for the majority of mages, and she is left with just meek Chantry loyalists and sycophants who are lost without her guiding hand, as even otherwise pro-Circle mages with any sense have abandoned ship and left both rebels and loyalists at this point to see where the chips fall (Ellandra) - and the Chantry itself has been all but decimated in terms of military and political power. The one lifeline she has is the Imperial Court, and the fickle nobility have moved on from her - the mages are now a threat that she cannot control or offer any meaningful opposition to, and Celene’s favor has turned to Morrigan, and Vivienne does not know if she will ever have it again. She knows Bastien is dying, and that all that she has left at court will be those who hold kind feelings towards her such as his family, and that is a position she can never accept - being at the mercy of others.

We meet Vivienne, this impressive, powerful mage, who has made a life for herself by maneuvering brilliantly, all to improve her own standing, at a point where she is in danger of losing everything she has. And she doesn’t let on, at least not explicitly, but she joins the Inquisition out of desperation - it’s obvious she sees it as an opportunity, but the gravity of the situation for her isn’t clear from the start. She refuses to lay down and fade away. Vivienne would never had joined this fledgling upstart organization if she was in a better position at Court or there wasn’t a vacuum of power. She is very close to having nothing left, and starting over - and so she does. Before the rug can be pulled from under her, she gets out and sets off for herself again.

Vivienne, often accused of pride, privilege, and self importance, comes to the Inquisitor out of pure humility. She knows she is reduced. And her gamble ultimately pays off, and the Inquisition becomes the political juggernaut that it does, and she becomes more powerful and important than ever just by association. And I like to think, especially with an Inquisitor who respects and befriends her, that she plays no small part in shaping the organization.

I think this is also why, potentially, she plays it so cool at the Winter Palace. She doesn’t get involved… she doesn’t need to. Simply being present is a statement to the court, and she truly doesn’t care about who wins; it’s not just the Game, it’s personal, despite what she claims. That they cast her aside, and now they are interested again… not necessarily in her, but still, she sees the paradigm shifting again. She is now a part of the organization who gets to change Orlais, and favor with the Inquisition is quickly becoming just as important as favor with Celene.

The whole arc is a subtle one as she really doesn’t get much attention, but if you pay close attention, it shows how expertly Vivienne plays politics. We already know she came from nothing and maneuvered into a powerful position. But I think not everyone realizes she is nearly back to nothing when we first meet her… and through the course of the game’s events, by allying with the right people, she plays the game well enough to become an advisor to the most influential person in southern Thedas… and potentially even Divine. But her initial plea to the Inquisitor, for all the great lengths she goes to keep up the appearance of strength and invulnerability, comes from a place of utter desperation.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Vice.

Synopsis - Everyone on the team has their vices. It just so happens that yours is sat across the table looking at you.

Pairing - Luke Alvez x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. luke has a gorgeous filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 1.6k

Author's Note - my baby my baby my BAAAAAABY!! I have been in love with this man for years and years and I can't believe I haven't written more for him. if you ever have a luke request, please send it to me. love him with my whole heart <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

Vice - a weakness of character or behaviour; a bad habit. "Cigars happen to be my father's vice."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Italian food."

The entire team laughs, faces illuminated by the warm yellow lights in Rossi's backyard.

"Yeah, no shit," Tara retorts, looking pointedly at Dave. "Doesn't take a behavioural analyst to figure that one out."

"Look, you asked the question, I answered."

He reclines back in his chair and takes a sip of his wine, looking around the table.

"Okay Tara, you go. What's your vice?"

She chuckles to herself before confessing.

"Super steamy period romances."

Everyone bursts into more laughter.

"Wait, what?"

"What kind?"

She's clutching at her sides as she answers.

"All kinds! Movies, books, TV shows. If it has corsets and sex, I'm in."

Your cheeks are aching from smiling so hard. You're not sure who first raised the initial question, but it's really allowed you to get to know each other a little bit deeper.

"Okay, enough about me. Simmons, what's your vice?"

"I have six kids. I don't have time for a vice."

He sounds serious, but he's grinning as he says it.

"I think the six kids are a result of an old vice."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, several glasses of wine almost obliterating your verbal filter. Your team howl with laughter.

"No comment," Matt wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. "Golfing is a safer option now. No risk of unplanned surprises."

"I had to change mine after kids, too," JJ chimes in. "I used to smoke cigarettes after bad cases, but I can't anymore. What kinda mom would I be if I lectured the boys about the dangers of nicotine, and then got caught chain smoking in the backyard?"

"A cool one," you shrug, yelping when she jokingly punches you in the arm.

"What about you, hotshot?" she asks, the whole team turning their attention to you. "What's your vice?"

You desperately avoid any eye contact, trying to play it cool. You just know Luke has that glint in his eye as he looks at you pointedly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Oh, fuck," you groan, fingers threading into the dark curls of his hair.

"Shhh, honey," he murmurs, lifting his head from between your legs to look up at you. "You and I both know how much trouble we'll be in if we get caught."

He dives back in, tongue gliding and flicking all the spots that make you keen. You slap one hand over your mouth, the other grappling to hold onto the leather beneath you.

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he taunts, condescension dripping from his tone. "The thrill turns you on, doesn't it, baby? The risk of getting caught only makes you hotter."

You whine against your palm, bucking your hips to urge him to keep going.

"What do you want, princesa? Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."

He loves this. Loves hearing you beg. Loves having you relinquish complete control and let him take care of you. Loves that he can turn you, the most independent, headstrong woman he knows, into a whining, needy mess.

"Fingers," you croak out. "Make me come, Luke, please."

He grins up at you like the cat who got the cream, self satisfied smirk never leaving his lips.

"Okay, baby," he soothes. "Since you asked so pretty."

He slides two fingers into you with embarrassing ease, crooking them in the way he knows you like.

"Oh, sweet girl, what would the team think? Huh? What do you think they'd say if they saw you like this, letting me finger fuck you in the backseat of my car in the parking garage?"

He's muttering lowly, under his breath, but you hear him clear as day. He loves to patronise you, tease you, get under your skin. In everyday life, he treats you with the utmost respect. In bed, not so much. You love it.

"Couldn't even wait until we got home. Poor baby, just had to take the edge off."

His eyes meet yours, like a magnetic force. His gaze is so dark, it has you squirming in place.

"It was the shirt," you choke out. "Fucking shirt."

"Hmm?" he hums against you, the vibrations pulling you closer to the edge.

"Your shirt," you moan as his thumb finds your clit. "Makes your arms look so, fuck, so big."

Oh, you shouldn't have said that. You can practically see his ego inflating.

"I'll let you wear it tomorrow morning, if you want. If you can still walk by then, that is."

You're right on the precipice, orgasm almost within reach. If he keeps talking to you like this, you'll be at the finish line in no time.

"Oh, I've got a better idea. Why don't I fuck you in it?"

The idea makes your head spin, sending you straight into your climax. Sharp white heat licks up your spine, curling your toes and arching your back. Your grip tightens in his hair and he groans, low and honeyed.

"That's it, baby," he's murmuring. "Ride it out. Good girl."

You finally relax, melting into the leather seats. Luke crawls from his position to lean over you, resting his body onto yours. He kisses you gently at first, then dirtier as you come back to yourself.

"My place or yours?" he whispers against your lips.

"Yours is closer."

"Mine it is."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hello? Earth to Hotshot?"

JJ nudges you playfully, grinning at you from ear to ear.

"What you thinking about?"

"Nothing," you stutter, clearing your throat. "Nothing at all."

You make the mistake of lifting your gaze from your lap. There, staring at you from across the table, is Luke Alvez. You almost wish you could slap that smug smirk off of his face.

"Come on, girl!" Tara hollers.

"Everyone has a vice," Spencer begins. "You have to. Especially in our line of work. We have to have some kind of outlet. Some sort of release."

Release. You almost choke on your wine, patting yourself on the chest.

"Yeah, no. I, uh, I like British reality TV. I guess that's mine."

The team laugh, everyone teasing you relentlessly. You risk a glance at Luke, and regret it immediately. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and chuckles, knowing look in his eye. You're petrified for a moment that he can read your mind.

"Okay then Spence. Your turn," you prompt, desperate to take the attention off yourself.

Spencer starts rambling about quantum physics, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Relief.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Yeah, this is what you needed, isn't it baby?"

You try to respond, but Luke's huge hands wrapped around your throat are making it a little difficult.

"My poor sweet girl, just needed some relief huh? You sick of being in charge all the time? You want me to take care of you?"

His tone is low and melted, the timbre of it settling into your bones. All you can do is whine and nod your head in response.

His hips repeatedly snap into yours, his body melded to you. He's completely smothering you with his weight, but you don't mind. You like the closeness.

You lean up to kiss him, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. He's swallowing your moans, leaning his head forward to rest against yours.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty," he groans. "You gonna come for me, mama? Give me what I want?"

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes. Please, baby. Please."

"Who am I to deny you when you beg so fucking sweet?"

The hand that's not around your throat snakes between your sweat slicked bodies to rub circles on your clit, throwing you over the edge.

Your back arches, hips writhing on Luke's soft cotton sheets. You're squeezing him so tight he's seeing stars.

"Oh fuck baby, oh fuck."

Luke goes boneless, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. He releases his grip on your throat and wraps both arms around you, pressing you together impossibly closer.

"We get better at this every time," he chuckles.

You smack him jokingly, before bursting into laughter. Soon, the two of you are crying happy tears, revelling in the afterglow.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"I'm gonna get a refill. Anyone need anything from the kitchen?"

You stand from your seat and make your way inside, taking note of the replies.

"I'll help you," Luke says, rising to join you. Neither of you see the way everyone at the table looks at each other knowingly.

You're barely through the door when you feel him against you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He presses a kiss onto your shoulder, murmuring in your ear.

"I'm your vice, aren't I?"

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh.

"In your dreams, Alvez."

He nips at your neck before continuing.

"Admit it. I'm your dirty little bad habit that you just can't kick."

You turn in his arms to face him, running your fingers through his hair.

"Talk the talk all you want, Luke. You and I both know this works both ways."

Your quirk your brow at him, and he leans in and kisses you chastely.

"Old habits die hard, huh?" he grins.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," you smirk back.

Outside, the team decide they'll continue to let you both lie to them for a little while longer. It's more fun for everyone that way.

[fiber-optic-alligator]

I would LOVE to see a TFA!Megatron x human reader of some kind. I love him so much, such an intimidating and scary but fun version of him 🤭 I want it to be in the First Contact AU still, but why not sorta spice things up and make it have soulmates in it? Wouldn't it be cool to have a giant alien warlord from space destroying cities to find their soulmate? 😳🫣 lol if this idea sucks de bout it, but I'm excited to see your works that's transformers g/t related!

- ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST CHAMELANON! PLEASE ENJOY!!! God I love TFA Megs so much. He's so hot AUGH!

Be Careful What You Wish For

Pairing: TFA Megatron x Human Reader (Soulmate Au)

Word Count: 2961

Summary: Soulmates exist, and you have one. Proof exists in the form of soulmarks: a red thread-like tattoo imprinted on a person's arm. Only when one meets their soulmate and touches them will the soulmark disappear. Unfortunately, you have yet meet yours. After many lonely days wishing you would be reunited with your Other Half, a chaotic encounter with the leader of the Decepticons has you realizing one thing. And it is that soulmates persevere across time...and space.

Soulmates are real.

  Since you were a young child, this is what you have been told. Soulmates are real, and every person has one. The special red thread that connects two people twines between the left hand’s fingers, up the arm, snaking under the clavicle and ending directly over the heart. Bright like the blood running through your veins, it is your life force, your compass leading you to your Other Half, with your hand outstretched to touch theirs…and only then will the red thread disappear.

  You’ve spent hours staring at that red line, tracing the pattern it makes on your flesh. It’s been a constant presence throughout your life…and it has never gone away. No matter who you’ve met, who you have fallen in love with, who you have fallen out of love with, it is all the same. The thread remains, and you continue to carry a lonely heart within you.

  “Give it time,” your loved ones tell you. “You’ll find them. It won’t happen in a heartbeat. You need to be patient.”

  Yes, you know. Patience, after all, is a virtue. Plenty go about their lives and never even see their thread go away. An existence without your soulmate can be a perfectly happy one. But you want to know who your Other Half is. You want to be one of the lucky few who can be counted as soulfully complete.

  Sitting in a coffee shop with a hot chocolate cupped between your hands, you find yourself once again observing your thread. The morning is cold; you can feel the wind trying to bite you through the shop’s large glass window. People bundled in their coats, scarves, and gloves hurry by, heads down and minds focused on whatever tasks they have at hand. Looking out, you observe them with a blank stare, not really observing them at all.

  “Anything I can get you right now?” The older woman who owns the shop comes up to you, offering a plate of freshly baked cookies. “Chocolate chip? They’re right out of the oven!”

  You offer her a thin smile and shake your head no. She understands; she’s seen you forlornly watching couples pass by. Sighing, she sets down the plate. “You know,” she says. “I didn’t meet my soulmate until I was in my early 40’s.”

  You raise an eyebrow. She sees your surprise and chuckles. “I know, right? A little late to be meeting my Other Half. But hey, it happened. And now look at me! I’m living a good life, running a successful business, and I got to see my thread go away. Those are all things I never thought I’d get to experience. All I had to do was wait a little!”

  You cringe. Yes, waiting. It seems all you’ve been doing is waiting, waiting, waiting, all for a soulmate who might never come. You and your damn waiting.

  She notices your mood go sour and sighs again. “Listen, all I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t lose hope. You’ll meet your soulmate. I know you’ve probably heard this before, but…you need to give the world time to sort things into order. That’s all you really can do when you're dealing with the threads of fate.”

  You mumble a quiet “Thank you” and try to look appreciative, when you feel anything such. She says no more, but leaves you a cookie before heading off to tend to the other customers. You watch her go, then lift up your left hand. Your thread is vibrantly bright, showing no signs of fading any time soon.

  Yeah, you think sadly while you bite into the cookie. No hope lost whatsoever.

  You are walking out of the shop when it happens. The door’s little chimes clink together as you swing it open and bid the owner farewell. And then, a pain unlike any other hits you with the force of a freight train. It tackles you and makes you stagger, knees buckling and bringing you to the ground in a matter of seconds. Your heart starts slamming against your ribcage so hard you think a bone might crack. Pushing your hand against your chest, you pant and watch your vision swim as you attempt to get to your feet, yet fail and fall down once more.

  Multiple people help you up, each one asking if you are alright. You hold out a shaking hand as if to assure them, but no sound comes out of your mouth when you try to speak.

  Someone says, “Call an ambulance!” You want to tell them you are fine; unfortunately, you can’t seem to form any coherent words. All that rises up from your throat is a thin, wispy whimper.

  The chaos continues when out of nowhere, an explosion erupts further down the street. People scream and scramble back. The people holding you let go, and you nearly topple right over again. Shouts of panic and confusion fill the air, confirming that no one has a clue as to what is going on.

  Two dark shapes scream through the sky. You look up just in time to see a fighter jet fly past with a bomber plane following behind. For a moment, you think this is some sort of military aerial show-why such a thing would be happening in the middle of winter, you don’t know-but it’s the only conclusive argument you can decide on what you are seeing.

  But then the two planes start descending. They roar over the crowded street, then begin morphing and shaping themselves into creatures completely different from the disguises they previously sported. You recognize them: they are Cybertronians. Robots from outer space who have become borderline celebrities in Detroit since arriving here months earlier. These two, however, aren’t members of the heroic Autobots who help protect the city. They are Decepticons. The villains, the destroyers. The bad ones.

  The smaller of the two stretches his arms over his head. He laughs maniacally as he watches people run. “Look at them, Lugnut! They’re scurrying away like little ants!”

  The other Deception growls and pays no mind to his partner. “Silence, Blitzwing. Lord Megatron has a mission for us to complete. We must distract the humans while he finds the one he is looking for.”

  Blitzwing’s face swivels and changes into an icy blue expression. He surveys the humans around him with an air of disgust. “I don’t understand why Lord Megatron cares to capture one of these creatures. They are far too weak to be kept as pets.”

  “It is not my place to question him, nor is it yours. We are here to do as we are told and give our lord the time he needs to complete his mission.” Lugnut grabs a car and throws it into the air. It crashes down with a heavy slam, windows shattering, metal crumpling, alarm screeching out the vehicle’s pain. You watch in horror, unable to fathom that you have a front row seat to this show of destruction Detroit is about to face.

  Yeah, no, you think. I’m not sticking around. These Decepticons obviously have no regard for human lives. If you remain here, there is a high chance you will end up dead. You need to run, now.

  “You're not going anywhere, little one.”

  The voice is deep, and it pulses through your mind like a gong. You clutch your head and bite back a shout of pain. A strange feeling builds up in your chest. It makes your heart beat faster, and your thread begins to burn with an uncomfortable warmth you have never felt before.

  A third vehicle appears from the sky: a strange helicopter with two blades and a massive cannon mounted beneath its cockpit. Your hair whips back when it lands. The Cybertronian’s body condenses and rises, metal folding over metal, creating a gigantic figure with narrowed red eyes that immediately land on you the moment they open. Your jaw drops; this is easily the biggest mech you have ever seen. And you recognize him. Megatron, the feared leader of the Decepticon forces, and the worst bot you could run into right now.

    Lugnut drops to his knees and bows. “I serve you, Lord Megatron!”

  Megatron does not acknowledge him. He remains focused on you. You are finding it hard to breathe.

  Blitzwing walks over to the taller mech. “My lord, the Autobots will be arriving soon. What should we do?”

  “Continue destroying what you can.” Megatron’s voice is a deep rumble of thunder. You feel the wind get knocked out of you when you hear it. His voice. His voice. Why are you so focused on his voice?

  Your thread is beginning to burn. You slap your hand over your left arm and squeeze, hissing through your teeth. Megatron notices; he looks intrigued.

  “Have you found what you are looking for, master?” Lugnut asks.

  “Indeed I have,” Megatron replies. “And I don’t intend to let it escape me. Resume your orders. Keep the Autobots back for as long as you can. Once I have what we came here for, I will sound the retreat.”

  Blitzwing and Lugnut do not question him any further. You, on the other hand, are questioning everything. Why is this robot having such an effect on you? Why can you hear his voice in your head? And why, why is your soulmark on fire?!

  He’s here for me. There’s no solid confirmation that has been given to you about this, but you know deep down it is true.

  He’s looking right at me.

  Shit. Fuck.

  Your legs want to move. But your brain forbids it and forces you to remain put, even as other people go running by you, their screams mingling as one high-pitched wail while Blitzwing and Lugnut destroy anything they can get their hands on.

  Megatron remains still. He tilts his head with the air of a curious predator who is searching out the weak spots of his prey. You cannot drop eye contact with him. Something about his piercing gaze has you rooted to the spot in which you stand.

  Only when he begins lumbering towards you do you snap out of it and run with the rest.

  Everything is a blur for you. You nearly get shoved to the ground multiple times by the panicked masses who are fleeing. It feels like Detroit is crashing down. Police drones are flying in to fight back against the Decepticons, but you don’t think for a second they’ll do any damage against them. After all, they hardly ever do.

  “Don’t run from me, little one.”

  There is pain. So much pain. It is too much for you to handle. It causes you to collapse, clutching your head and writhing in agony.

  “You are so much more fascinating than the rest of your pathetic kind.”

  The ground trembles. Each step signals the robot drawing closer and closer.

  “Why can I feel what you feel? Why does my spark tremble with your fear? I don’t understand it. I need to understand it. So stop running, and come here.”

  You need to keep going. Grunting, you struggle to your feet and stumble forward in a haphazard fashion. You don’t even bother looking back to see if the robot is close. You just need to run. You need to hide.

  Your miracle appears in the form of a parking garage. Squirming under the partially closed grated gate, you find that it is abandoned; no one is in here with you, and the cars are all empty, abandoned by their owners. You retreat into a corner dark and covered with shadows. It should provide you with the necessary cover you need in order to hide.

  You remain in there for what feels like hours.  It goes awfully quiet outside. Any remaining civilians are long gone. Somewhere close, you think you hear the sound of mechs duking it out. Your breathing echoes off of the parking garage’s walls, giving you a further sensation of complete unease. Perhaps hiding in here wasn’t the best choice. Maybe you should have continued running with other people to a safer spot. Allowing others to be in your presence would endanger them…but now you are alone, completely defenseless to those who wish you harm. The robot who is currently stalking you can kill you without even thinking about it. By hoping to protect the city, you may have ensured your own doom.

  You hear stomping outside. Too loud to be human, too heavy to be an Autobot. Your heart tugs eagerly on its strings in an attempt to break free. It’s a mutual sensation of utter fear and strange wanting.

  “Where are you?”

  You see the massive head of the mech appear right underneath the gate. A shriek nearly escapes you, and you have to slap your hands over your mouth to quell it. A single roving red eye searches the garage, unblinking.

  “I am not known for my patience, human. If you do not show yourself, I cannot guarantee things will end up well for you.”

  The eye settles on you. It narrows and a low growl emits from the robot’s intake. “There you are.”

  You have no chance to react before Megatron’s hand smashes through the gate. You scream when his fingers curl around you. Tightly pressed against his palm, you struggle and kick your feet while Megatron slowly draws you out into the open.

  “Let me go!” you shriek. “Stop! Please!”

  Megatron growls again and gives you a warning squeeze. “Fighting me will get you nowhere. Cease this at once, or suffer the consequences.”

  Well, that’s threatening. You immediately go limp and snap your mouth shut. Megatron snorts, satisfied. He brings you closer to his face, studying you. You shrink back, flush with panic and terror.

  “What is your name, human?” he rumbles.

  You stutter out a barely coherent reply. “Y-Y-Y/N.”

  “Y/N.” He repeats it to himself. “Y/N…a fitting name. Tell me, have we ever met before?”

  “I…I d-don’t believe so?” you say.

  “Hm.” He regards you, turning his hand left and right so he can examine you from all angles. “How very interesting.”

  “W-What’s interesting?”

  “Your mark.” He pushes his thumb under your left forearm. “It’s gone.”

  You follow his gaze. Indeed, where your thread should have been-the thread that has been with you for your entire life, a presence in which you believed would never leave you-there is only bare skin. There isn’t a speck of red to be seen. The burning that accompanied it before is gone too, and now there is a sort of settlement weighing on your chest. It is an instinctive rush of fulfillment, like this was meant to happen.

  You feel faint. Nothing makes sense anymore when you look back at the robot. “You…You're my soulmate?” you squeak.

  “Soulmate.” Megatron stretches the word out into a slow drawl. “So that’s what your species calls it. Yes, you can say that. My kind has a similar phenomenon that affects us.” He opens his mouth and breathes in deeply. “You smell of fear. I can see in your eyes that you know me. So this city is aware of who I am, hm?”

  You don’t dare answer. You're way too terrified of how close his massive teeth are to you. You don’t want to think about what might happen if you find yourself between them.

  “There is no need to be afraid of me. Our sparks are linked. I would be killing a piece of myself if I were to eliminate you.” He sighs. “As disappointed as I am to discover that my sparkmate is a human, I can learn to work with it. I wish to know more about you, Y/N. I will know why fate tied us.”

  “I need to know more.”

  “What makes you so different?”

  “Foolish little thing, you cannot get away from me.”

  “I will get to the bottom of this.”

  His thoughts are loud and overwhelming. You shake your head and feel tears gather in your eyes. “Please…It’s too much. Your thoughts-”

  “Ah. Is that primitive brain of your overloading? I can hear it. Don’t think your thoughts aren’t in my head as well.” He rises to his full height. “I am sure we will both learn to get used to it. If not, I will have Shockwave create something that will bar my thoughts from entering your mind.”

  “Wait! Wait!” You look down. The ground is far away from you. Everything sways queasily when Megatron begins to walk. “No! Put me down!”

  “If you vomit on me, I will not hesitate to drop you,” the Decepticon says gratingly.

  “Y-You can’t take me with you!” you yell at him. “I can’t be your soulmate! There has to be a mistake!”

  “The spark doesn’t lie. Your mark is gone, and I can feel the completion you bring me. There is no question that you are my Other Half. What I want to know is why.” He shakes his head angrily. “It is a burden to have such a weak creature by my side. But I will learn to understand. Perhaps you can show me the few strengths humans possess. Do you think you can convince me to spare your race, little one?”

  He’s taking you. He’s not letting you go. You feel faint with horror at the realization that you aren’t getting out of this. Whether you believe it or not, this alien robot is your soulmate.

  You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted. But this isn’t how you thought meeting your Other Half would go.

  You hear one last thought from Megatron echo ominously in your mind. It sends shivers down your spine. “You are mine now.”

  After that, you pass out.

[strangled-slytherin]

First Glance

Summary: Theo Nott catches sight of you for the first time. Pairing: Theo Nott x Reader Word Count: 582 Trigger Warnings: None

The first time I saw her, it felt like the world had shifted. I’d been leaning against the wall in the courtyard, a casual observer, half-listening to Draco drone on about some Quidditch match, when she appeared. It wasn’t as though she burst into the scene dramatically or did something to command attention. No, it was subtler than that. She just walked into my line of sight, and suddenly, nothing else existed.

Her hair caught the sunlight just right, casting a soft glow around her face as she laughed at something her friend had said. That sound, her laughter—it cut through the usual noise of Hogwarts like a blade. My chest tightened as I watched her, unaware if it was her laughter or the way her eyes sparkled that caught me first. There was something different about her, something magnetic. She wasn’t loud or attention-seeking, yet she had this way of existing that made everything else seem less important.

I knew who she was, of course. Everyone did. But this was the first time I really saw her. The curve of her lips, the way her hand tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear absentmindedly, the way she held herself—confident but not showy. I couldn’t explain why, but something in me shifted.

"Are you listening, Theo?" Draco’s voice snapped me back, but my eyes were still on her, following her movements as she walked past. She hadn’t even noticed me, not really. But I noticed her. And that was the beginning.

Suddenly, I found myself wanting to be in the places she was, wanting to know what made her laugh like that, wanting her to notice me in return. It was an odd sensation for someone who’d always prided himself on being indifferent to most things. But not to her. Not anymore.

As she moved farther away, I felt this strange pull, like an invisible thread connecting us even though she hadn't even glanced my way. I told myself it was nothing. Just curiosity, something fleeting, but the way my chest tightened said otherwise.

For the rest of the day, I caught myself looking for her—between classes, in the Great Hall, even when I was supposed to be paying attention during Potions. It was maddening. I didn’t know why she had this effect on me, and it irritated me to no end. I wasn’t the kind of person who got swept up in this kind of thing. But with her… it felt different.

Later, I saw her again, sitting alone in the library, surrounded by books. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she scribbled something in the margins of her notes. For a moment, I just watched her, unnoticed. The way she chewed on the end of her quill when she was thinking, the way she’d pause to push a loose curl out of her face—it was all so painfully ordinary, yet completely captivating.

I moved toward her, my steps slow, uncertain, my usual confidence betraying me for the first time in years. What was I even doing? She hadn’t noticed me yet, and I could have just walked away. Pretended I wasn’t suddenly consumed by thoughts of her.

But then she looked up. Her eyes met mine, and for a split second, the world stopped. There was a flicker of recognition in her gaze, but nothing more. She didn’t know me, not really. Just another Slytherin, just another boy in a sea of faces. Yet, as her gaze lingered on mine for a moment longer than necessary, I felt something stir deep within me.

I nodded, casual, cool—at least, I hoped it looked that way—and walked past her, every muscle in my body screaming at me to stay, to say something. But I didn’t. I just kept walking, heart pounding in my chest like I’d just flown a hundred miles on a broomstick.

As I turned the corner, I glanced back, just for a moment. She was back to her books, oblivious to the fact that she had just completely and utterly upended my world.

[samkerrworshipper]

initiation pt.3 | barca femeni x reader

warnings: smut 18+ minors dni.

pt.1 -> pt.2

it’s not valentines here anymore but for yall who are/are not celebrating i hope this makes ur day a little bit cheekier ;)

I promise u the freaky stuff is coming but this is the buffer for that lol

Instead of waking up to a warm embrace of Keira and Lucy, you wake up to an empty bed. It takes you a few seconds to take in your surroundings, your body is tangled up in sheets and a duvet. The room is mostly dark besides some light coming in from under the door. You allow yourself to take a deep breath, breathing in the cool air around you and slowly waking yourself up. The ache between your legs is the first thing you feel, it wraps your thighs up like a warm hug and it reignites the previous desire in you as the memories of what you’d experienced only a few hours ago flash through your mind.

If it wasn’t for the bed you were in and the faint sound of moans through the walls of the house you’d probably be a little bit more concerned about your surroundings, but instead the environment you are in only brightens your mood.

It’s definitely not an unpleasant way to wake up, you absorb your surroundings and listen with a light head and fuzzy thoughts as you stretch out across the extremely comfortable mattress, bathing in the absolute serenity that you can feel across your whole body and soul. You’ve been thinking about this night since Lucy had told you about it days ago, stressing about all the different possibilities and things that could happen.

You never, not even in your craziest and wildest dream could have ever concocted some kind of idea that would come anything close to what you’d experienced in the last few hours. From the sounds of it, something was still happening and you’d be damned if you missed out on any of it, so even though it pained you to leave the bed that probably had a thread count higher than the amount of money in your bank account, it was with the hopes that you would get to experience something that was far better than any bed.

You are still as naked as ever, your whole body completely bare as you pushed yourself off the mattress and with unsteady legs onto the floor boards. The combination of the post-orgasm bliss and few hours of rest maKe you feel better than ever and without any struggle you made it to the closed door of the bedroom.

Your skin pricked up, little dots forming against your skin as your exposed body began to feel the effects of being in a room with a fan and aircon on.

You could have taken a sheet or blanket with you as coverage, but you figured that by the noises being produced your companions would be in a similar state of undress and even if they weren’t it wasn’t like they would see anything they already hadn’t.

The hallway you stepped into was empty. Although there were little thready moans coming out from some of the rooms beside your one. Because Lucy had practically carried you into the room you struggled to remember what way to go but you managed to trail your way back to the main room by following the noise that was being emitted.

The sight this time was completely different from beforehand and it took your eyes a little bit to adjust.

There were some people missing, although your brain was still too fogged up to really take account of people, just what was happening around you.

The first sight that catches your eyes is Keira, who has so many hands on her that it’s hard to tell who is who.

Ingrid is the first person you spot, mainly because she’s the least entwined in Keira’s body. She’s got the same strap on that she wore earlier when she was pounding into you, except this time it's being brutally thrusted into Keira’s throat. It’s a pretty sight, Keira’s drool and slobber all over her chin as she repeatedly gags on the strap. Frido is the second person you spot, mainly because her and Ingrid are pretty much next to eachother, the two bestfriends connected by their lips, although it’s not what captures your attention, instead you’re eyes are glued to the suctioned dildo that Frido is riding, her knees bent against the floor, pushing up and down. Your eyes don’t focus on her long, instead searching around Keira. It’s harder to figure out who is behind her, but it’s a process of elimination and spotting different heads of hair and hands. Keira is on all fours with Aitana’s mouth slurping at her from below and Marta’s fingers soundly fucking her from behind. Keira looks so blissed out, like she’s floating on a cloud of dopamine so strong that it could rival drugs.

On the couch is Alexia and Mapi, the two best friends lazily making out whilst their bodies grind down against each other in perfect synchronisation.

Before this, you were fairly sure that scissoring was a social construct, but watching Mapi and Alexia’s hips jolt out again and again is making you reconsider your beliefs.

Lucy, Ona, Jenni and Caro are on the bed, and it’s a sight that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

Ona is laid down on her back on the bed, Jenni grinding down on top of her face whilst Lucy and Caro are down the other end of Ona. At first, you think the two older players are taking both of Ona’s holes, but after a few seconds, and an angle change when Ona’s hips buck, your jaw drops in realisation that the Norwegian and English player are both fucking in and out of the same hole.

Your eyes almost bulge out of your head, you can feel the arousal re building inside you as you watch Caro and Lucy brutally fuck into Ona, pretty much using her to get themselves off. Ona’s body is boneless and unmoving beside her hips which every few thrusts cant up to buck upwards.

You can’t take your eyes off of the sight, it might be rude to stare but in your opinion it would be rude not to admire the complete erotic beauty that is unfolding before your eyes.

“Hola chica.”

The words are directed at you, forcing your eyes away from Ona and to Mapi, whose head has craned backwards to look at you from her spot on top of Alexia’s lap.

There is a thin sheen of sweat across her forrid, her eyes are full of lust and she looks positively feral.

You smile at her, too terrified that if you open up your mouth you’ll say something wrong or let out one of the moans that have built up in your gut from watching Ona.

Your eyes drifted back to Keira on the floor, all three of her holes being used, quite literally having her brains fucked out.

It’s not something that you’ve ever directly desired, but right now it’s all that’s in your mind, you aren’t quite sure if you could handle it, you’ve never taken more then two fingers in your asshole and too be fucked in both fo your other holes at the same time seems like over kill, but watching Keira suddenly makes you so intrigued and suddenly attracted to what she’s enduring.

You don’t know where to go or look, but Mapi ushers you over with her hand and your brain can’t ignore her, so you put one foot in front of the other until you are standing directly in front of the two women.

Alexia smiles at you, her hands are resting on Mapi’s hips, gently helping her to grind against Ale, there isn’t much fervour or energy to it, from what you can tell, it can’t possibly be stimulating enough to put either of them anywhere near the edge, your either wrong or they just don’t mind. There are red splotches up and down Alexia’s chest, little dots and tiny teeth marks that are splattered out across Alexia’s chest and neck.

Mapi has some darker, purple marks across her neck, less than Alexia but far more noticeable.

“How’d you sleep bebita? You feeling rested and up for some more fun?”

It’s bewildering to you how level headed Mapi is considering the situation she’s in. You think about how you would behave if you were in her situation and you are fairly certain it wouldn’t be anywhere near as composed.

“Hoping I didn’t miss out on much.”

Mapi smirks, her lips parting and letting out a breathy moan as Alexia pulls her hips down harder, trying to get her own friction against her clit.

“I’m sure we can find some ways for you to make up for lost time. Come sit down next to Ale, I’m sure she’ll be able to wake you up.”

You drop your body down beside Alexia on the couch, unsure what to do but much happier with the closer proximity.

“Look at Kei, look at how good she’s being, would you like to be used like that?”

Alexia leans down to whisper the words into your ear, her voice low and drawn out.

You bite your lip, happy to let your eyes stray back to Keira, Ingrid is no longer in her mouth and Marta is no longer in her ass, instead Keira is now bouncing up and down on Ingrid’s strap, Ingrid jack-hammering into her with absolutely no mercy.

Keira looks pretty fucked out, you’ve got a better view of her face and body now that it’s not so occupied with so many hands and people.

Her mouth is permanently open, deep moans leaving her mouth every time Ingrid thrusts up into her, the other thing that catches your eye is the way that Keira’s tits bounce up and down with every single movement, her nipples are risen and hard and her right breast has a big red mark on the side of it.

Keira’s eyes are glazed over, but there’s still some form of cheekiness behind them, just from the sight of her you can tell that she’s having the most fun that you’ve seen her have in months, that she’s so incredibly at peace with Ingrid all over her.

One of Alexia’s hands fall from Mapi’s hip, down to you knee first, gently coaxing your legs apart before trailing her hand up.

You look down for a few seconds, before Alexia’s mouth is back pressed against your ears.

“Look at Oni, she’s been such a brat tonight, look how’s she’s getting fucked, look at all those bruises on her, you don’t want that do you? Don’t want to be filled up but on the edge all night, right? Little Oni thought it would be smart co cum without permission so now she has to deal with Lucia and Caro stretching her out with no relief. You don’t want that do you? You’ll be our good girl, sí?”

Your eyes lift up to Ona, her body being brutally used by Lucy, Jenni and Caro. Her pussy is still being stretched by the two women, and to think that she’s going through it without any finish is eye opening to you and also terrifying.

“Yes, Ale.”

Alexia smirks against your earlobe, her lips opening to suck down on the skin whilst her hand trailed up and down the bottom of your stomach.

“Such a good girl, so perfect, so well behaved.”

Alexia’s hand creeps down further, her lips tugging on your earlobe whilst she cups your mound, her ring and middle finger dipping between your folds for half a second to collect some of the wetness.

Alexia pulls it up to your face and after a particularly harsh nip to your ear that has your lips falling open, and Alexia’s fingers in your mouth.

Without any prompting, you suck your taste off of her, the salty and slightly sweet flavour welcome on your tongue.

“Suck.”

Alexia’s fingers are too big for your mouth, something you begin to realise as she slowly attempts to push her fingers in deeper.

By the time they’re at the back of your mouth you’re struggling to breathe, having to switch to your nasal passage to take in oxygen. By the time they’ve hit the back of your throat you are trying your hardest not to gag and to suck on them. Alexia’s lips are a distraction, her mouth has worked its way down from your earlobe and to the sensitive spot on your neck. Your moans are muffled by Alexia’s fingers, two thirds of her fingers as deep in your mouth as they can get.

It’s when your jaw relaxes for the two first knuckles that she decides it's the perfect time to force the final third in.

You gag almost immediately, your throat tightening and struggling to accommodate the extra length that your throat didn’t have the room for.

You tried to slacken your jaw, tried to relax your throat, it was obvious though that Alexia’s fingers were too long.

You are so desperate to please her, to prove that you are her good girl, that you will do anything that she wants or asks you to do, so you don’t end up with a fate similar to Ona’s, so even though you are gagging and struggling to breathe properly you push through, sucking on Alexia’s fingers just as she’d ordered.

Your own drool is dripping down your jaw, you’re certain of it, it’s something that you can’t afford to care or think about though, your focus is solely on Alexia’s fingers and mouth.

Just as you’ve begun to feel slightly lightheaded from the shallow bits of oxygen that you are managing to intake Alexia’s fingers are pulled from your mouth, and whilst you are occupied with gasping for air and Alexia’s fingers shoot right down to inbetween your legs.

Your body lurches at the sudden contact, hips chasing Alexia’s hand desperately.

Alexia allows the movement, her fingers trace the outside of your lips, never even coming close to touching you where you need her most.

“Look at Mapi, look at how desperate she is, using me for her own pleasure. All because of you bebita, all because of how worked up you got her earlier, she’s such a filthy whore for you, isn’t that right Maria?”

Mapi’s head rocks forward to look at you, a big smirk on her face, telling you that what Alexia is saying is true, that some part of whatever she’s experiencing is due to you.

“Are you going to make her come before you hand her off or are you going to make her wait.”

Mapi’s eyes stay locked to your own, even though it’s clear the question isn’t meant for you.

Alexia removes her mouth from your neck, just to stare at you in deliberation out of her peripherals.

“What do you think? Should we reward our good girl, or make her wait? You’d look so pretty coming all over my fingers bebita, but maybe I should make you wait for Lucia? Just so I can watch you get fucked out by her.”

You aren’t sure what you want, with Alexia putting both offers out on the table and making them both sound good, you’re too focused on Alexia’s hand dipping in and out of your pussy to truly comprehend what’s being said.

When Alexia’s fingertips finally make contact with your clit everything you’d begun to process is completely erased from your brain, every single one of your brain cells is completely captured by the sensation of Alexia’s slicked fingers finally touching you where you’ve been so desperately needing her.

“How does she feel bebita, she touching you where you need it?”

You nod your head at Mapi, more than happy to deal with a little bit of teasing if it means that you continue getting what you want.

When Alexia’s fingers migrate further down, her roughened palm moving down with her fingers to grind down against your clit as her fingers tease your hole you moan, louder than you think you ever have.

Alexia’s palm is wonderful, but her fingers slowly slipping into your hole, inch by inch similar to how they did your mouth, is indescribable.

You’re still tight and oversensitive from your previous orgasms, so every single move, every twitch of Alexia’s hand sends shocks through you.

Her pace is similar to the pace that Mapi has set on top of her, fast but thorough, Mapi’s hips gyrating against down against Alexia haphazardly, but with obvious amounts of detail, she’s searching for the friction against her clit, and she knows where she has to angle herself to find it.

Alexia pushes her palm down against your clit, forcing your legs as wide as she can from her spot beside you, her head cocked to the side so she has a good angle of both Mapi and you.

“Watch Oni bebita, that’ll be you soon enough, once she’s had the brat fucked out of her it’ll be your turn. That’s what happens to little sluts who think they know better, who think that they will get away with being disobedient. You’re a good girl though, and if you keep acting like one I’m sure Jenni and Lucia will be happy to reward you, in fact, if you keep being good for me I’m sure that we can sort out any kind of reward you’d like, how does that sound?”

Your eyes lift up to Ona, it’s a struggle to keep them open with Alexia’s constant pace in and out of you but for the sake of obeying Alexia, you do as she’s asked and watch Ona.

Jenni’s no longer balanced on top of her face, now she’s lying to the side of Ona, her hands pinching down on her nipples so hard that there are tears in Ona’s eyes over the torture she’s being subjected to.

Lucy and Caro are no longer pounding into Ona, instead they’ve both pulled out and Lucy’s strap has been thrown to the side, she’s currently being fucked by Caro, right in front of Ona’s eyes, just another form of teasing thrown her way you assume.

“Tell me what you want as a reward, bebita, anything you want you can have.”

It feels like Alexia is offering you the whole world, and yet you can’t even begin to formulate what it is that you want, because there are infinite possibilities and different scenarios that you want to try, but there is one thing that springs to the forefront of your mind, something that’s been buried deep in your mind ever since Keira’s lips had touched yours for the first time just a couple of hours ago.

“Wanna sit on Kei’s face.”

Alexia’s eyebrows raise in intrigue.

“Do you now? Well you prove to me that you can be good and I certainly think that can be arranged, now how about you focus a little bit harder on my fingers so I can focus a little bit more on Maria here, aprobado?”

You nod your head furiously, grinding your hips down onto Alexia’s fingers with motivation.

“No cumming without permission bebita, let me know when you’re close.”

You nod at Alexia, honestly too consumed with the feeling of Alexia’s finger tips repetitively hitting the walls of your insides. When she angles them just right, the pads of her two fingers brushing against your sweet spot, your spine shudders, all the wonderful sensations spreading out across your body.

Alexia’s fingers, whilst they may have struggled to fit in your mouth, they have absolutely zero problems fucking in and out of your pussy, your hole is practically sucking them in with every thrust, trying it’s very hardest to cling onto the feeling of Alexia.

With her palm pushing down against your clit, and your eyes on Keira, it doesn’t take you long to get close to the edge. Keira’s body is limp, her back pressed to Ingrid’s front whilst Ingrid fucks her brutally in reverse cowgirl.

When Keira screams, her own orgasm taking over, you are completely enthralled by the sight, everyone in the rooms seems to be. The noises leaving Keira’s mouth are so loud and so erotic, if you tried you could probably orgasm purely off of them.

Ingrid’s pace slows, but doesn’t come to a full stop, the Norwegian bouncing Keira up and down slowly, holding onto her hips and helping her to ride out her high.

Mapi apparently, isn’t far behind her, the Zaragozan’s moans suddenly becoming a lot quicker and louder, before you miss anything you pull your eyes from Keira, receiving immediate gratification in the form of Mapi, whose hips are stalled, her clit pressed down against Alexia’s as her body and coil in her stomach shatter.

It’s a rare moment where you see Alexia’s confident and composed facade fall. Alexia is beaming, pressing soft kisses to Mapi’s collar bone well before her orgasm hits, murmuring soft spanish words into her skin, very subtly thrusting her own hips up into Mapi, giving her a longer orgasm and something more to rut down against.

“Alexia-I’m close.”

With all the noises and people around you, it’s hard for you not to be on the edge. Alexia’s hand stops immediately, her palm lifting from your clit and fingers slowly withdrawing. It’s sad, being in a room full of people experiencing pleasure and having yours revoked, although you thank the lords that you aren’t Ona, that you aren’t being subjected to the pure pain and hell that she’s being put through.

You also suppose that if Ona wasn’t somewhat okay with it then it wouldn’t be happening, and if she was truly in pain she would safe word. That thought only seems to make you more aroused, the realisation that Ona, to some extent, is getting off on what she’s experiencing.

“Such a good job, bebita, letting me know when you're close. Once Keira has come down I’m sure she’ll have no problems fulfilling that little reward of yours.”

———————————————————————

lol i’m not one to normally leave things at a cliff hanger buttttttt yk gotta keep yall coming back somehow lol xoxo

[thewadapan]

Spent today checking out The Amazing Digital Circus and Murder Drones, and god, the kids today have it so good when it comes to this sort of content. When I was a teen, I was obsessed with Red vs. Blue and RWBY, which I think it's fair to say are the equivalents of the time, and the sheer gulf in terms of writing quality and production value is stunning. I hear there were some rumblings of unprofessional conduct from the production company, which would hardly be surprising considering this is yet another guys-working-from-their-basement success story, but much bigger companies with much shittier business practises consistently put out much worse content than this.

The Amazing Digital Circus is definitely the better show of the two, thanks to its slam-dunk premise and some great writing from Gooseworx. The producers have talked about aiming to fill a perceived gap in the market between kids' cartoons (The Boss Baby) and adult animation (Bojack Horseman), and I think they have successfully threaded the needle to create a very unique tone. There's a sense of these works existing totally outside the mainstream media machine; they're not getting BBFC rated, but you just know millions of kids are watching them. It's on YouTube and the fact that it looks like some Frozen Spider-Man kids' slop just means da parents won't question what their kids are watching.

But truth be told, there's nothing objectionable about the content of The Amazing Digital Circus whatsoever. It's unusually metatextual and loosely apes the aesthetics of much darker media, touching on slightly more existential themes than your typical kids' cartoon, but it still has a lot in common with those same cartoons. The zany characters are all fairly one-note, and the emotional arcs of the episodes are honestly quite straightforward. The second episode in particular has an absolutely textbook plot structure to it. It's a far more self-assured and traditional style of writing than you ever see in this kind of independent work—certainly far more so than Murder Drones, which is written by an insane person.

More than anything, I'm reminded of how I felt watching Puella Magi Madoka Magica: that it's a very solid work of fiction, but that the people who'd get the most out of the work are isolated teens struggling to make the transition into adulthood. Certainly if nothing else, the fandoms of these shows must be bringing a lot of kids together around the world. I adore this soundbite from Goose: "Above anything else, I just wanted it to feel kind of lonely." You see Pomni's worldview shatter, she suddenly finds herself in a body that feels completely wrong, and she has to construct a new kind of belonging for herself.

As for Murder Drones, that show's absolutely fucking nuts, yo. The writing is at once painfully basic and utterly incomprehensible. If someone just sat down and explained the plot straightforwardly, it would be fantastically boring. But man, the presentation, the sheer delight the animators seem to approach every scene with...! I'd say it's clearly trying to use "the characters are robots" as an excuse to expose da kids to some absolutely shocking levels of gore, much like the Transformers movies, but midway through the series it starts straightup swapping the oil and wires for blood and bones and you've got to respect that.

The writing itself is so excruciatingly irony-poisoned that it goes beyond cringe and somehow wraps back around again to being sincerely funny. The show kind of wants to have its cake and eat it in terms of constantly lampshading how flat and cliché the emotional plotting is, but also clearly aiming to genuinely tug at the heartstrings and whip fans into a frenzy. And it kind of succeeds, I think! The way it veers between bizarrely high-effort implementations of memes, seriously cool fight scenes and horror visuals, and big emotional moments is very disarming. If The Amazing Digital Circus is an attempt to faithfully rework the American-cartoon formula for a slightly older audience, Murder Drones aims to crib the aesthetics of high-school cartoons while actively rejecting every traditional narrative technique used in those stories. Which means it's kind of bad, which means it's also kind of great.

If it's not already, then within a couple of years it will be deeply cringe to have ever been into Murder Drones in particular or (to a slightly lesser extent) The Amazing Digital Circus, in much the same way that everyone seems embarrassed to admit they were ever a Homestuck fan. But like with Homestuck, I feel like these series are genuinely pushing at the frontiers of storytelling in a way that's commendable and might inspire new kinds of writing once the fans grow up.

ENA is also pretty good, for the record.

[coffe-book-club]

˚ʚ vintage doll ♡ a much needed thread ɞ˚

♡ ˚₊  tom kaulitz, 2009 (twenty years)

guitarist and part-time womanizer (that's what his friends say) in his free time he loves going to strip clubs with his friends and smoking.

tom is hot, cool and he know that... oh he knows that. he always had dealings with a lot of girls, but never took them seriously. because as he says “i just want love for one night”

if he could he would marry his black audi A8, it's his little girl. when he drives he also talks to his beloved car.

nice fuckboy.

♡ ˚₊  y/n s/n, 2009 (twenty years)

she attends the university of educational sciences, to become a future kindergarten teacher. intern in a summer center for pre-adolescent children and teenagers.

eternal romantic. she loves everything vintage, under those cute clothes and that big heart she also has big tits and she love classical dance. she only listens to old french songs, it's her obsession.

she's so sweet and kind that unfortunately sometimes people make fun of her, but she's not stupid or naive at all.

♡ ˚₊ but they fuck? yes! yes! just fuck yes!

she got the chubbiest and cutest pussy ever and it's tom's most favorite thing. he'll have her on all fours with her chest on the bed and ass high in the air and her hands will come back to grip her ass cheeks and hold it apart to show off her pretty holes and tom is extremely addicted to it.

tom always has one hand on her breast, always.

♡ ˚₊ are they dating? yes - no. yes?

they act like it. nothing is official, no one is more confused than georg. like what the fuck... they don't date?! but they hitting it?! it does not make sense!

it's more complicated than it seems they beat around that topic but are extremely loyal, one with the other. like tom still messes around with other girls but doesn't fuck them? and she doesn't even notice other men, her eyes are only for tom and especially for his cock.

their mantra? mine and only mine.

hii 🍜 how are you? unfortunately, as i already imagined, this week was very stressful and i had a lot of anxiety and because of my worries and agitation, yesterday i had failed an exam (it was a very bad feeling, because i had never failed before yesterday 😥) let's hope for april. xoxo flo.

[dootznbootz]

Guys... Warm body, Cold hands Penny and Cold body, Warm hands Ody

Kind of! :D

Though mine is actually Pen-Cold af all the way and Odysseus-Hot af all way :3

Penelope is of naiad descent, 75% in mine. And like fish, she's cold to the touch. Her internal temperature is a bit different than most mortals. AND she actually is pretty fine in most temperatures (moving to Ithaca wasn't too crazy as she was fine with the cold :)) She only really has to worry about DRYING UP and has to soak her scales every once in a while. She's not FREEZING but she is naturally cooler than most. (all Water Nymphs are)

Odysseus, however, is built like a lil furnace. which is convenient on a colder island but he gets sweaty/hot easily.

It's very convenient that he has a cold Penelope to cool him down🥹 They usually snuggle while they sleep because they can balance each other out. (Also Penelope drools and Odysseus snores, both kind of sleeptalk, don't move as much when cuddling but sometimes one will randomly start "running" in their sleep. lol) In a way, my OdyPen are physically different in many ways but personality-wise, practically the exact same.

While separated, Penelope will wrap herself in a lot of blankets, not necessarily because she's cold but because it FEELS right :')

Odysseus does the same with her weavings, out of comfort as she has a specific weaving style that has a certain texture that is just "HER" (he sometimes puts a blanket over a cushion to pretend it's her lap) but it's a bit sad for him because he ends up waking up to the blankets being thrown off and about because he needs his lil ice block ;~; He is often jealous of threads of her weavings, as he too wishes to be wrapped around her fingers 🥺

It's another way the Goddesses are "wrong". :') Circe is a literal "Mini-sun" so she's very very hot. She also doesn't like sweat. That's an icky mortal thing. :/ She wanted to study Odysseus, she got results and he got tricked and then scared. (it's complicated. :') Odysseus is not okay )

And Calypso while being an Oceanid, she's still immortal. Ichor (to me) is like liquid gold in a way, and to keep it flowing, your body warms up a lot. So she's very hot as well. She, however, didn't mind Odysseus' sweat...

Penelope's cold is what is RIGHT. It's comforting and all he's ever wanted. And for Penelope, it's so so good to have his WARMTH back in her life

[mangoshorthand]

ugh, ok listen. its stupid and cheesy and overplayed but i love the caught under the mistletoe trope. its stupidly corny and as annoying as christmas is, my dumb ass falls for it everytime. you’re my favourite writer for five, and if you could write something for this (or hit me with a bat to improve my taste) that’d be rlly cool. if not, dw and happy holidays.

Stupid, cheesy and overplayed? You just described my entire body of work! I've struggled writing for a while so I hope people enjoy this. Merry Christmas, weirdos x

Twelve Feet Away From the Mistletoe | Five Hargreeves / F Reader 2.8k words

Viktor was a friend of a friend who gradually became your own. 

He was supportive when you lost your job in September, and was even more practical help when you lost your apartment around Halloween. 

“There are like forty spare bedrooms. Technically I can do what I like with six of those since I own a seventh of the house. Plus you wouldn’t get in anyone’s way. There’s like…so much room. 

“Viktor, that’s kind but I’ll be fine. My parents say -”

“Don’t your parents live outside the city?” he interrupted, “I think it would be easier to find work if you’re here.”

“Yeah, it would, but I can’t pay any rent.”

“I don’t want rent. Stay a few months. Be my guest. I could use someone to help me deal with my crazy family anyway. It’s weird being back in that house.”

And so, you’d accepted. It was hard to refuse Viktor anything. 

‘Crazy’ was one word to describe his family. ‘Volatile’, ‘noisy’ and ‘infuriating’ were some others. 

And none were more infuriating than Number Five. 

You met him the first night you stayed, while Viktor was thrashing you at pool as the pair of you got gradually drunker on Moscow Mules. You weren’t really enjoying the game, but you were enjoying hanging out with him, and you’d just mis-cued spectacularly as Five entered the room.

The first thing you noticed was his scowl. The second, third, fourth and fifth thing you noticed was his looks. 

Dark. Pale. Jaw a razor lined angle, nose long and imperious. He moved with quick, confident grace as he crossed the room. It was as if every thread of carpet his shoes touched had been waiting until that moment, just to pave his way, and now all other treads to come would be incidental to the floor’s true purpose. Hands thrust self-assuredly in his pockets, he seemed to look down on you as if from a great height, although he was barely an inch taller. 

Cold green eyes looked you up and down.  

He cut a fine figure, but an arrogant one. Despite his looks, your overriding impression was only of rudeness, so you met the challenge of his gaze unflinchingly. 

After a moment surveying you, he turned to Viktor.

“Luther’s looking for you.”

“Why?” Viktor asked.

“No idea. I’m not your secretary.”

As Five’s gaze shifted back to you, Viktor took the hint and introduced you.

“She’s a friend of mine,” he said, by way of explanation, “she’s lost her apartment so she’ll be staying for a while.”

Five sighed at this, shaking his head at you with a dark chuckle.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, politely. 

“No. No problem,” he said, though his tone making it clear that there was, “It’s only that I’ve seen this play out a dozen times: my brother has a habit of picking up waifs and strays.”

“Don’t be dickhead,” Viktor murmured.

Five shrugged, smirking.

“Letting me stay for a few weeks because we’re friends is hardly ‘picking me up’, you said, bristling, “I’m sure Viktor will ask for your opinion when he wants it.”

Five smiled that infuriating, sarcastic smile of his. Even then, when you were angry with him, looking into his eyes was an experience you noticed for the way it made your heart beat.

“I guess I’m just a little protective,” Five said, delicately, “I know how susceptible he is to a sob story."

He looked at you insolently for a beat longer before addressing his next words to Viktor.

"Don’t let her take advantage of you.”

“Come on, Five,” said Viktor, almost wearily, “I can decide who’s taking advantage for myself.”

Five scoffed, at this, expressing doubt as clearly as if he'd spoken it.

Stinging with the injustice of Five’s snap judgment and his infantilization of his brother, you ground your teeth. You knew Viktor had a tough time as ‘Number Seven’ (always being told he wasn’t good enough), and for a moment you thought you could see that in Five’s treatment of him.

“Your brother’s a grown man. So why don’t you fuck off and go back to torturing small mammals, planning your next school shooting or whatever your We Need to Talk About Kevin - looking ass likes to do?”

Five looked back at you, in slight surprise, studying your angry face. After a short moment, he gave a tiny shrug and made a small noise of assent.

Then, looking back at Viktor:

“Do you want Thai food later?”

When he was gone, Viktor assured you that you’d just made as good an impression as it was possible to make. 

You doubted this, however. Five rarely spoke to you beyond a good morning and a good night. He was polite, but nevertheless guarded. 

It was strange, on the few occasions he had deigned to strike up a conversation with you, he took two routes: he'd either draw you out for no reason other than to challenge you on your opinions, or else ask odd combinations of questions. There was nothing odd in themselves, but in aggregate they felt...strategic. He asked what you liked to do, whether you lived with a roommate or partner in your last place, how you and Viktor met, how well you knew each other…the list went on. 

Perhaps he was still scrutinizing you, ensuring that you weren’t trying to use his brother in any way. 

It stung to feel that he still suspected you when you’d done nothing but accept a friend’s offer of help, but you were soon able to put it from your mind in the wake of the enjoyment you got from staying there and hanging out with the rest of Viktor’s family. Over the few weeks you were there, you indulged Luther, chatted animatedly with Diego, and laughed with Klaus and Lila. 

But still, and despite his polite superciliousness, only the oldest brother drew your eye as soon as he entered any room.

He unnerved as well as attracted you. Sometimes, you thought you caught him watching you, peering over whatever book he was reading with a steady look of contemplation. As soon as you noticed it, however, you concluded it was probably just absent-mindedness: you found him staring into space or at one of siblings just as often. 

You found a new job by mid-November, but Viktor persuaded you to wait for your first month’s paycheck to come in before you put down a deposit on a new place, so when it came to your last night staying with them there were half-assed string lights and tinsel hung haphazardly around Hargreeves manor. 

Those on the tree and the fire crackling in the grate were the living room’s only light. In the flickering, warm glow, even Luther’s piss-poor attempt at decoration looked passable.

With Christmas music playing softly in the background, the booze had been flowing. Ill-advised mulled wine followed ill-advised eggnog followed ill-advised mimosas, leading Luther and Sloane to already stagger off to bed.

Sprawled on one of the couches, Viktor leaned towards you, lowering his voice so as not to be heard over the noise of Klaus and Diego arguing over who had most right to the final gingerbread man. 

“I'll miss you, but at least when you're gone Five's crush might calm down."

“What?” you asked, too quickly to pass off as true ignorance.

“Come on, he’s been staring at you for the past three weeks.” Viktor smiled, teasing in his tipsiness, I’ve never seen him like this,” he added, fondly.

“Yeah, whatever.” you said, brushing this off with a roll of your eyes, “If he’s been staring at me, it’s probably only because I piss him off more than anyone else in the room.”

“We all piss him off.” Viktor said, reasonably, “Everyone he likes pisses him off.”

You looked at him doubtfully.

“Pretty weird way to be.”

Viktor shrugged.

“Well, he's definitely interested. The other day he asked if there was anything between you and me. Why else would he ask me that?"

You looked at Five covertly from the corner of your eye.

“Probably just checking I’m not some gold-digger moving in on that sweet sweet Hargreeves dough.”

“I don’t think he cares about the Hargreeves dough,” Viktor replied. 

“Yeah, well,” you murmured, hoping that this would be the end of the conversation. 

But Viktor didn’t oblige you in this. The drink was making him uncharacteristically tenacious.

“He’s into you. I’m sure of it. So you don’t like him?”

You sighed deeply, your own mild intoxication making it harder to bullshit him.

“I’m not saying he isn’t hot,” (Viktor visibly cringed at this remark), “but why would I be into someone who looks at me like I’m a problem?”

“I think that’s just his face,” Viktor said, more uncertain now, “but I hear you.”

The conversation moved on, and you chatted with the family lazily as, one by one they all filtered off to bed. Soon, it was just you, Five and Viktor who, when you turned to look at him after Klaus’s departure, had fallen asleep on the couch. 

Five caught sight of this and let out a small laughing breath. At the sound, you caught his eye and smiled, sharing the moment of humor.

At this reception, he got slowly up from his armchair and moved over to your couch. His usually confident movements were smaller than usual. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he was uncertain in this approach. 

“Too much eggnog,” you said, as he sat down, nodding at his snoring brother.

“Mhm.” Five agreed, “There’s not much of him and he’s no drinker.”

You fell back into silence. He was only a few inches from you now, and it was awkward; strangely awkward. you were just thinking how best to excuse yourself and whether you should wake Viktor, when Five spoke again. 

“So, you’re moving into your new place tomorrow?”

You cleared your throat. There should be nothing uncomfortable about this. This was just small-talk with your friend’s brother.

...Your friend's brother who apparently hated your guts yet had also appeared in your dreams virtually every night since you met him in varying states of undress.

Pulling yourself together, you turned to face him with a passable impression of ease. 

“Yeah. I’m all packed. The moving van will be here around 11.”

“Hm,” Five said.

It was a single syllable, yet its ambiguity in tone made you look at him more closely.

He noticed.

“Will you decorate the new place for christmas?” he asked, quickly.

“Probably not,” you said, trying to keep your tone conversational, “my parents are away this year so I’ll be doing Christmas alone. There’s no point in unpacking it all just to put it away again in a few days.”

Giving himself thinking time, Five shifted, letting out a little sigh as he repositioned himself. Holding his glass of whisky on his knee, he leaned back, resting his head against the couch cushions and watching you from beneath the dark hair now falling over his eyes. 

“That seems a shame,” he said, finally.

You shrugged, mirroring him unconsciously, leaning back against the cushions so that your faces were just over a foot apart

“There’s always next year.”

“You’d be welcome here.” he said, seriously, “It was nice having you for Thanksgiving.”

“I’d never assume Viktor would invite me.”

“But I’m inviting you.”

You looked at him with a confused expression, which he interpreted correctly:

“What? Is it too much to imagine I want you to be there?”

'Yes', you wanted to say.

“You called me a deluded hippy at Thanksgiving.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. You’re a progressive…an idealistic progressive.” 

He smiled, and your eyes flicked uncontrollably down to his lips. 

“And I only said that because you called me a fascist,” he continued, unaware of your unruly gaze flicking guiltily away from his mouth, “I know you weren’t being serious, but I don’t take that sort of accusation lightly.”

He responded to the question posed by your expression:

“I spent a lot of time in 1930s Munich. Not nice.”

You stole another glance at him and caught his grim face; handsome features clouded by too many dark memories.  

“I’m sorry,” you said, more softly than you’d ever spoken to him before. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, “I guess I’ve not given you the best impression.”

“No,” you said, disclaiming the idea unconvincingly, “it’s not exactly that…”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, and you chuckled slightly.

“Well, I got the impression you wouldn’t like me to come to another family celebration, anyway.”

“And now I want to correct that impression.” he said, seriously, “I’d like to spend christmas with you. With all of us, I mean.”

You’d been looking into his eyes for too long now, fine lashes framing them, his pupils blown in the low light. Somehow, those eyes always gave you the impression you were being assessed.

…And for the first time, it occurred to you that perhaps you were being assessed: just not in the way you’d assumed.

You blinked and looked down, though you didn’t move your head from beside his.

“Thanks Five,” you replied, after a silence of seconds that felt like minutes. “I’d like that.” 

He smiled again, the corners of his mouth just twitching. It was as if he was trying to conceal just how much you accepting his invitation meant, but the lines around his eyes betrayed him. As you smiled in return, he couldn’t contain it further, and those gorgeous lips broke into a genuine, unrestrained smile.

And somehow, over the course of the conversation, your heads had shifted to a distance of no more than six inches apart.

You could feel his exhales on your cheeks. 

“I heard you and Viktor talking tonight.” he said, voice low, “He’s right about me.”

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks as he continued.

“I don’t think you’re a problem. Far from it, actually.”

“Oh,” you said. It was all you could say as he inched ever closer to you. 

You could have counted each of his eyelashes.

“And I also know that you think I’m hot,” he said, emphasizing the word with the ghost of his usual shit-eating grin back in his eyes, “so why not take the opportunity of being under the mistletoe and kiss me?”

You looked up to where he’d indicated. Across the room, above the fireplace, there was indeed a bunch of felt mistletoe, tied with a red, velvet bow: exactly the sort of decoration Luther would buy. 

“But we’re not under the mistletoe,” you said, hoping to give your racing mind and beating heart some time to take stock of this, “it’s twelve feet away.”

Five’s eyebrows twitched, and he looked quickly from you to the mistletoe and back again.

“Let me fix that,” he said, and suddenly your upper arms were caught in his grip.

Air crushed in on you as you both disappeared in a flash of blue, and then rushed away as you rematerialized beside the fireplace, mistletoe hanging overheard. You swayed from the surprise of unexpected teleportation, holding onto Five’s lapels for dear life as you tried to stay upright.

But his arms were around you, strong and solid. And his mouth was on yours, soft and yielding. You breathed his breath; tasted the sweet burn of scotch on his lips and felt yourself kissing him back, responding to a careful passion that you could sense might go further but for his self-restraint. 

His hands left your arms and came to cup your jaw, rising gooseflesh following the path of his fingers at the nape of your neck. You shivered at the sensation and deepened the kiss, your fingers automatically starting to gently tug into his soft, eucalyptus-smelling hair.

He made a low, appreciative sound against your lips but then, perhaps conscious of his brother sleeping on the couch, broke the kiss and stepped away.

You could do nothing but stand there: surprised, dazed, yet anxious to recapture his lips. The kiss had felt like one, shining, crystalline moment as it happened, but now it had already retreated too far over the horizon for you to stay satisfied.

You opened your mouth to say…you didn’t know what, but, grinning his infuriating grin, he held up a single finger to silence you.

“I'll see you on Christmas Eve. Stay a couple of nights.”

You nodded, mutely.

“It’s forecast to be cold though, so if you get cold in one of the spare bedrooms you could always-”

Now it was your turn to hold up a finger and silence him:

“Don’t ruin this with a crappy pickup line.”

He nodded sagely.

“Noted.” 

And with a small wink, he vanished in another of those blue flashes. 

Read part 2 >>

Request masterlist >> HERE

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed): @thebearmage, @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee

NOTE: I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See masterlist for request status and more.

[illumins]

𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞—𝑙. 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑘 (#⁰³)

✦trope: fluff, spidey-mark, spiderman

✧first pov

▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭

It’s the kind of morning where the sunlight seems to perform, glittering through the leaves of the trees lining our school’s front walk like something alive. The bus, dented and smelling faintly of rubber and stale lunches, sits idling at the curb, and I am hyper-aware of my own heartbeat, the tap-tap-tapping against my ribcage as I shuffle in line to board.

I find a seat by the window, sticking my backpack onto the empty space beside me. I tell myself it’s to save the spot for Jenna, but she’s decided to sit up front, leaving me an island in a sea of noise. The other students buzz with the sort of aimless energy only a field trip can inspire. I watch them, trying to imagine how it would feel to be as light-hearted, their thoughts not tangled in a net of impossible hopes.

Mark climbs onto the bus last, his hair a tousled mess from the wind, a grin playing on his lips as he jokes with his friends. They’re talking about the new exhibit at the science museum, something about rare minerals, but all I can see is the way his shoulders ease back in laughter, the effortless orbit of his friends around him. He’s got this gravity, and I feel caught in it, helpless.

He doesn’t notice me, not yet. He’s recounting some anecdote that has them all leaning in, their expressions lit with shared amusement. I watch his hands as he speaks, animated and sure, the way I imagine Spider-Man’s might be when he’s scaling a skyscraper or swinging between the canyons of New York’s avenues. I try to picture telling him, confessing everything right there in the vibrating hull of the school bus. But the words knot in my throat, unspoken.

We arrive under a sky scrubbed clean by the wind, the museum rising before us like a monument to all things curious and unknown. Our teachers herd us toward the entrance, their voices raised over the clamor. I stay a few steps behind Mark, watching as he squints up at the banners flapping above the entrance, his profile sharp against the pale morning light.

Inside, the museum is a cavern of shadows and echoes, the air cool and tinged with the scent of metal and glass. We wander through the exhibits, the teachers giving us time to explore while they discuss logistics at the front desk. My friends cluster around a display of meteorites, their surfaces pocked and scarred like moons. I drift away, my sneakers silent on the polished floor.

I find him by the Foucault pendulum, standing so close to the barrier that his breath must be fogging the brass plaque explaining the physics of it all. His concentration is a tangible thing, and I watch the way his eyes track the slow, hypnotic swing of the pendulum.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” I say, my voice softer than I intend, barely threading through the hum of distant conversations and the distant echo of footsteps.

He turns, his smile quick and surprised, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to break his private communion with the exhibit. “Hey,” he says. “Yeah, it really is. Did you know—”

But I’m barely listening, too caught up in the way his hair curls just behind his ears, the earnestness of his gaze. I shuffle my feet, feeling suddenly clumsy, the words I’ve rehearsed slipping away like water through fingers.

“So, I was thinking,” I start, but my voice trembles and I have to start again. “I was wondering if—”

An explosion shatters the moment, the sound so loud it seems to consume the air. Screams slice through the museum as people start running, a stampede of fear. Mark’s hand shoots out, grabbing my arm, pulling me close. His body shields mine as the sound reverberates, the ground beneath us shivering with the violence of the blast.

“Are you okay?” he shouts over the noise, his eyes scanning the chaos, always looking for how he can help. I nod, words lost in the tumult.

We move together, his hand firm on my elbow, guiding me towards what I assume is safety. My heart is a wild thing inside my chest, not just from the blast, but from him, from the heat of his hand through the fabric of my shirt.

As we reach a quieter corner, his friends gathering around us, his face is inches from mine, his brow furrowed with concern. The chaos around us blurs into a backdrop as I’m suddenly, acutely aware of his closeness, the faint smell of his cologne mixed with the metallic tang of fear.

“Seriously, are you all right?” His voice is steady, a contrast to the trembling of my own limbs.

I manage a nod, my throat tight. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks to you.” The words tumble out awkwardly, carried more by relief than by courage. The truth is, I want to say so much more, to rewind to the moment before the explosion, to the question I had been about to ask.

He smiles, a quick, reflexive thing that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he scans the area, still in protector mode. His gaze is everywhere, taking in exits, assessing threats, so unlike the carefree high school student he plays in the daylight of ordinary afternoons.

Mark turns back to me, his hand still gripping my arm lightly. “We should keep moving. It’s not safe here.”

As we walk, I can hear the sirens in the distance, the sound growing steadily louder. The museum staff are directing visitors toward emergency exits, their voices calm but urgent over handheld radios.

We reach a side exit, the cool air outside a slap after the stifling fear inside. Police cars and fire trucks are converging on the scene, their lights painting the world in harsh strokes of red and blue. Mark's friends cluster together, everyone speaking at once, trying to make sense of the chaos.

I stand slightly apart, the weight of my unasked question heavier than ever. Just as I gather the remnants of my scattered courage, ready to reach out and touch his arm, to pull him aside and finally speak my truth, he looks over, his expression shifting as he sees something beyond my shoulder.

“Stay here,” he says abruptly, and then he’s gone, melting into the crowd with a swiftness that speaks of more than just urgency—it speaks of necessity, of duty.

The others don’t notice his departure, not at first, caught up in their own relief and recounting of the event. I watch where he disappeared, the cold knot of disappointment settling in my stomach. Not because of the missed chance to confess, but because I know, with a sinking certainty, where he’s gone.

To change, to swing into action as someone else entirely. As Spider-Man.

I wrap my arms around myself, watching as the first responders begin to corral us further away from the building. The sound of distant thuds and muffled shouts suggests that the danger isn’t over, that whatever caused the explosion might still be unfolding inside.

And there, under the relentless sweep of emergency lights, I realize the truth isn’t just in the words I’d failed to say. It’s in this moment, in the pulse of fear and the clarity it brings. It’s in the understanding that my confession wouldn’t just be about a crush; it would be an acknowledgment of his double life, a step into his world of constant peril and masked identities.

As I watch, poised on the edge of something vast and terrifying, a new resolve forms. When this is over, when he comes back, I’ll be waiting. Not just to confess, but to stand by him. Maybe then, he’ll see me not just as a classmate, but as someone who knows the weight of his secrets and chooses to stay.

But for now, I wait, the sirens wailing a lament, the flashing lights casting shadows where I stand—alone but undeterred, ready for whatever comes next.

[the-kr8tor]

Hi! I love your TTN series so much.

I was wondering if you could write a bit more about them, like, reader meets Gwen or Miles (because Hobie already knows them) and maybe reader helps them with their suits or helps them by making something for them. It's okay if you decline this, I didn't know if this counted as a normal request or fluffy friday request, sorry. I really admire your writing, you're really talented.

Take care, you're amazing 🤍

Thank you, lovely! You're too kind 💛 hope u like this one!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mention. TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader. FLUFF

Thread the Needle Masterlist

TTN oneshots Masterlist

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Oh those are so based, dude!” Gwen exclaims from the floor, her sentence a bit muffled by the chips she's currently munching.

You look up from Miles’ suit that you're currently mending, the spandex slippery to touch. Sitting on the settee with Hobie sitting in-between your legs, you lock eyes with him who's equally confused as you. His head on your lap, eyebrow cocked up in question.

The four of them are sitting in a circle, snacks and sugary sweet drinks in hand. Miles lounges on the foot of the sofa, wearing an outfit you've designed once upon a time in college. You wouldn't let him wear Hobie's clothes, because, well, he looked like he was being eaten by just his shirt, his pants pooling on the floor. After almost tripping and landing smack on his face, you insisted on giving him a Y/N exclusive outfit. A one of one design.

You mentally take note to design clothes for the three of them that perfectly encapsulates their tastes.

Pavitr— who definitely didn't express how jealous he was of Miles’ new outfit, is sitting beside Hobie who is currently taping an ice pack to Pav's head with duct tape (that will definitely have consequences). He got annoyed that the ice pack kept slipping from his friend’s head, landing on his crisps, smooshing its contents.

“Ah, Gwen? What does ‘based’ even mean?” you ask, closing up the last seam.

All three teenagers look at you, then the other two stares at Gwen, waiting and snickering. Hobie leans against you, hand absentmindedly curled around your ankle.

“I keep forgetting you're from the 90s” Gwen cleans her hands with a napkin. “It means, uh, to carry yourself with swagger, yeah! I think…”

Miles and Pavitr guffaw loudly, Miles' soda spilling over the can. The houseboat shakes a bit on the water. You murmur out a ‘swagger?’ still scratching your head for an answer to your previous question.

“Oi! You're spilling everywhere!” Hobie throws a chip at Miles. It hits him on the forehead, leaving sour cream dust on his skin.

“Ack!” Miles mumbles while wiping his forehead. “You used to be cool, man”

“It's our house. I'd like to see you be cool when somebody spills sticky crap on your hardwood floors”

Our house. Even after all these years, Hobie still finds a way to make your heart sing.

You lean forward, placing a chaste kiss on his temple. Fingers kneading the muscles on his shoulder. “It's alright, Hobs. Miles didn't mean it, right Miles?” Hobie visibly relaxes, body melding close to yours.

The spider kids share a knowing look, triple smirks on their lips. Hobie doesn't notice, too busy getting lost in your eyes. You look at him like he's the stars in the sky.

Pavitr sighs, hand on his chin, mumbling about missing someone.

“Yeah, Hobs, I didn't mean it” Miles chuckles throughout the sentence, almost unintelligible with his laughter. Gwen scrunches her nose at her friend.

Meanwhile, you and Hobie are inside your own little bubble. The bubble bursts when the door to the houseboat bursts open with Ned heaving, clutching a stack of papers.

“Hobie! I figured it out—” he stops in his tracks, everyone looks at him, you stop with your barrage of massages. Pavitr pauses mid bite. Ned stares at the room, eyes swimming with questions.

“Who are these children?”

[angelisgonnastartchangingurls]

marie

marie's brother had visited for thanksgiving and had forced himself on her. she told annie about it with a wry little grin, proud of the way that her texting and other advances had caused the soldier to loose his cool and bend her over the washing machine in the laundry room and fuck her raw. after cumming, he'd suddenly gotten very apologetic and panicky, and so marie had comforted him by kneeling and sucking his mostly-flaccid cock for a while. then, that evening, after fucking her husband to sleep, marie had gone back to his room and let him take her again.

marie told annie that as long as he'd been in control - on top, missionary this time - marie didn't think of it as cheating, really. she hadn't done anything other than passively get fucked, as opposed to sex with her husband in which she played a more active role. annie couldn't argue with her logic.

"i think more and more of the pussy as a holy instrument," marie said. "we can take men inside of ourselves and bring them comfort and pleasure," she said. "it's a beautiful thing." it wasn't hard for annie to draw more thoughts out of marie, who then said she'd thought of her father when she'd been assaulted in the laundry room. "had my mother ever ignited that kind of passion in him? and if not, why hadn't i tried?"

"your dad is still alive, right?"

"well, sure," she said. "but there were all those years in the prime of his life when i was capable of being there for him, before i was married. my responsibility is primarily to my husband now."

"you're very good at being married. what is your secret?" annie asked.

"desire his desires," marie said. "without my husband i'm an empty vessel. if he died, well, i would wait until my children were out of high school and then i'd kill myself. he fills me up in every way."

annie talked about it a lot with casey, who was now showing a bit. she dressed to emphasize her baby bump, lots of shirts that were too short. she loved the attention, and loved referring to robbie as her fiance, and told annie she was already dreaming of her next pregnancy.

she also showed annie a thread on her phone that she'd started with her every male relative. father, uncles, cousins, both grandfathers. she was sending them baby bump photos. in most of them, she was only wearing a bra, and showed more than enough of her bald pussy to settle any questions they might have had about her grooming. they all replied with how beautiful she looked, and some of them jumped to private threads to ask her questions like, did she find herself much wetter now than she used to be? her uncle told her that her aunt had been like that when she was pregnant. "well, i have always had a super soaker pussy" she'd replied. "it's hard to tell."

after thanksgiving, casey had received multiple complaints from female relatives about how she'd dressed -- short jean shorts she'd left unbuttoned and cut off t-shirt to show her belly. she'd worn black panties under the jeans, nothing too scandalous. in response to the complaints, she sent full frontal nude photos to the female relatives' spouses, including her maternal grandfather. "your wife thinks i dress too skimpy but i think there's no such thing, don't you agree?" she'd asked.

"in your case i agree," her grandfather had replied. "there's no such thing as too skimpy."

a female cousin's husband had straight up sent her a dick pic, which casey did not much care for but appreciated as a gesture anyway. annie suggested pivoting to getting nudes of her cousin, who casey described as "too hot to sucking such a weird dick." she asked for pictures of them fucking, and received them promptly. annie and casey looked at her hot cousin in action -- fake tits, waxed pussy.

casey was eating annie out on her bed when robbie got home from work that day, and so the three of them had a long, relaxed threesome. it was the first time annie had fucked robbie in weeks, and she came almost instantly on his cock.

[junktastic]

I had a drawing months back that went kinda viral I guess, and it getting out of my normal sphere of followers meant that I got to observe how folks far outside of my twitter sphere interact with twitter and others. For reference, I am talking about this image:

The context, besides getting to draw my friend Jenny, was that I saw a picture that was of an anime girl that said "lets be in our early 30s together" and I was like "haha, I will make my own version of this." Part of it was also that I think aging is fine, and we need to stop stressing so much over staying young. "Lets be in our mid-thirties together" is not a joke, I sincerely wanted this image to be warm and inviting, to maybe give people hope that there will be friends and people who love you once you get to that age. I never thought I was going to make it to 30, and I just turned 35 this year, and I'm the happiest I've ever been.

Some responses were obviously teens/early 20s people saying they don't want to get that old, which is whatever. When you're that young the dirty thirty sounds so ugly. No one cool is in their 30s! Well, if you ignore the people who make all the things they like. These responses I waved these off.

I saw the typical twitter experience replies of "this doesn't apply to me?" Ok bitch! Go make your own like I did! And show me when you do, I'd love to see it!

There was a handful of people who were saying "retweet to scare a twink" which I felt was kind of rude. Not to me, but to the twinks out there. Aging doesn't make you less of a twink.

Lots of people were sending it to their significant others or saying they hope to find someone to be in their mid-thirties with, which I love. :3 It makes me happy!

The one kind of response which is what I made this post for and I'm so sorry that I've been rambling, that I found weird was the people who will reply to just you. The OP. As if they are replying to everyone in the thread. I'm not talking about in QRTs, just straight in the replies. "Don't forget how tired she looks in this." Brother I drew the picture. I know. And ever since then I feel like, as someone who loves to read the replies on other people's tweets, I notice this a lot more often. Who are they talking to? Is this what people are referring to when they say "Main Character Syndrome?" Or should I be lumping these together with the "why isn't this about my exact personal life situation" people?

My fiancé says I'm thinking about this too hard (I got engaged last month btw), and he's probably right. I can't help but be curious about how other people choose to interact with the internet and images and people on it. And, I guess, am I supposed to reply? How should I feel about these. I guess I have to decide that on my own.

For the record, you are all very normal/understandable when it comes to what you guys tag my stuff with. That you love the girls (same!), that they're very gender (love this), or wow is this [insert fetish](not my intention but that's the internet). I feel like the slime girls get the "gender" comment the most and you are all so right for that. Every time I see people reblog my ocs I think "Thank you for loving [name]."

That's all! This was a pointless post but I'm unemployed right now so I have too much time to overthink things for no reason. How do YOU feel about how people interact with your posts? Are they weird? Or are they normal about it.

[hollowtones]

what'd you think about jade shadows?

I put it under a read-more because I don't know how to talk about this without talking about spoiler stuff. The tl;dr is "I liked it but I wish there was a little bit more."

One of the things I didn't like isn't even really part of the quest itself, but I saw a mutual bring it up a few days ago & it's been on my mind since: it feels a little odd to have a content warning before your sidequest, and then not give you any way to skip the quest if it's content you don't think you'd be able to handle. Especially given there's a whole event & rewards that only unlock afterwards!!

OK on to the contents of the quest itself. There's a lot of themes of love and connection and empathy in the face of systemic cruelty or indifference, in this game in general, and a lot of how that manifests is stories about characters fighting for self-determination and agency (the Ostrons trying to stay free of the Grineer, the Solaris trying to destroy the systems that keep them in debt & deny them bodily autonomy, Umbra, the Tenno, the Lotus, etc etc).

I think it's interesting to try and explore a tragedy where we aren't able to help someone in time, where the powers that be have brutalized someone and we as individuals aren't able to get there in the nick of time & help them claw their agency back. I think it's an interesting thematic & emotional through-line (with very strong parallels to Ordis... very smart choice to make him the event vendor / narrator, I'm feasting good on all the new dialogue LOL), and I think there have been enough well-written woman characters in the game that don't get written out or killed for the sake of some man's tragedy or growth that I don't immediately roll my eyes about them trying a So Sad The Woman Dies story.

I do also think this would have hit harder if we got more information about Jade herself!! I realize "this woman broke a law and was completely dehumanized / made into a Thing by the empire, stripping her of herself to suit their ends" is Kind Of The Point, and they make enough of a fuss about "wow there's a lot that's redacted about her history, huh!" that I assume this is a plot thread they're leaving hanging for later. But I feel like the big moment would have resonated better if they gave us a little more info to establish this character, other than "she was heterosexual" and "the Orokin were fucked up, don't forget" haha.

(I do find it funny that the storyline about Ballas, who got Divorced So Badly that he Caused Nearly All Of Today's Problems, is all wrapped up, but the story keeps going "no no, don't worry, there's still plenty of opportunity to remind you how fucked the Orokin were." Here's these two people that broke some insipid law about conceiving a child & so their bosses and leaders broke their brains and turned them into bio-weapon lapdogs as punishment. Every time they go "BTW Something Was Deeply Wrong With The Orokin & We Still Feel The Aftershock Of That Today" I clap my hands like a seal.)

Warframe Babies Are Born!!!!! This little tyke is fuckin weird. What's their problem. I think it's weird and cool. I don't really feel much about "this character is a parent now!" type of storylines. (I did pop off when Stalker got to do his shithead honourable samurai defending a child with one arm thing. I'm a sucker for that & they made it coooooool. It feels like they're setting up some kind of "Lone Wolf and Cub" situation. The scythe being juiced up with BabysPower was also funny.) The baby thing is neat to me from the perspective of, like... This is something weird and new that's never happened before in this universe. That's exciting and kind of scary! I'm interested to see where they go with that. (Presumably in a year or two. Very funny to drop this on us when a completely different major story arc is right around the corner with 1999.)

Gianni's delivery was fuckin killer. I'm excited for whatever next arc they do with Stalker if it means they're gonna pay my boy to grunt and yell and scream more. It feels very strange to be acquainted with two people who've done voice acting in "Warframe" now. Me next? ^_^

I like our new Corpus weirdo. I hope she comes back. Fun to get more stuff with the Sisters of Parvos & with Mr. Granum himself. But I liked her a lot. It got a fuckin laugh out of me to have her through all the quest excited about her big promotion that she's going to get & resolving that with "Is that a fuckin baby??? Fuuuuuck! They don't pay me enough to shoot a baby with a gatling gun!" I wish her ending scene was a little more than just stoically standing aside but literally anything else I can think of feels way too cheesy or on-the-nose.

The facial animations on the Operator were really fuckin weird. I just remembered that. I thought that was just a thing on my end but I watched someone else play & the faces looked weird for them too.

Hunhow's a good inclusion. I like him seeing the Stalker stewing in his own misery because he hates the only people that could offer him help & going "aw man, c'mon buster, don't be like me now." I like his signature that he puts in his emails. I like that he's still an emotionally constipated weirdo that hates us but is still endeared to us in some way. (They make nods to The New Strange in his ending email, which makes sense given that this also feels like a quest setting up More Weird Shit In The Future, but I do get a laugh that it also reads as "JADE WAS PREGNANT? OKAY... WELL. DON'T FORGET THAT I HAVE A WOMB TOO, KID." Thanks Grandpa. Love you too Grandpa. Thanks for the sweeties Grandpa.)

The event quest feels like a nice bow on top. I like the parallels between Jade and Ordis. Wanting to afford her the dignity in death he could never be given. Acknowledgement of Ordan Karris is fun!!! (The line about him being conflicted with the thought of Granum un-cephalon'ing him has me rubbing my hands together.) I'm excited that we're getting so much of Parvos Granum lately. What a shit head. It's funny to see him so hyped up about Ordan. "Duuuude! Your history's famous killer!! That's awesome? Do you wanna work for me? C'monnnnn we both hate the legacy of the Orokin. Wouldn't it be awesome if MY rule was the one dehumanizing you and wielding you as a weapon instead?" This is something they've been establishing as early as "Parvos and Ballas in bed with one another doing shady back-room deals over a Warframe bodyguard and specter particle research" but it's fun whenever they sow the seeds of Parvos being so much like the Orokin he hated.

I wrote more than I thought I was going to!!! I like the thematic through-line idea of this quest but I wish they executed on it better. I like the stuff this is presumably establishing for the future. I really like the event quest as... not quite an epilogue, I guess, but as an addition. Other than that I thought it was okay! I wasn't expecting anywhere near the level of Whispers in the Walls, but that quest being such a high bar makes a "pretty okay" quest stick out to me a little, haha.

[kairiscorner]

I saw your dialogue prompts and I can’t help but get serious Atsumu Miya vibes from #10. Like Atsumu seriously pinning for reader and reader just ignoring because Atsumu is a known smug playboy and they don’t trust him. And it’s just him not giving up and at one point he realizes he just needs to open up and be vulnerable instead of putting on this “cool hot guy” facade he has been doing to get attention.

My pronouns are she/her and I’m AFAB, so if it is a choice I’d personally prefer a fem reader, but I’m perfectly fine with a gender neutral reader, which ever you choose is perfect :3

❝maybe i wanna be more than just cool.❞ — atsumu miya x fem!reader

🗨️ dialogue prompt #10: "if you can't believe me, then i'll have to show you that i'm serious about you."

📸 photo creds: bakuxxplosion on pinterest !

✒️ word count: 929

🏐 genre: fluff.

🐈 taglist

"hey... you're really pretty." he whispers in your ear, his voice dripping with smugness and confidence. he backs away from you a little to see your reaction, smiling to himself, instead of smirking; but you couldn't tell the difference, you were ignoring him completely. if he wanted a reaction, he got one, just not the one he wanted–you were backing away now, not even shifting your gaze up to meet his big, brown eyes, even for a second.

you were aware about the kind of reputation atsumu had, and dare you say he was definitely someone you wouldn't wanna give the time of day, let alone the satisfaction in getting your attention. it might have seemed rude on your part, but you didn't wanna take your chances and see if he was... actually serious in what he was saying. he sighed at your lack of a response, save for you backing away.

"what do i have to do... to get you to realize that i want you?" he asks you in a soft mumble his nose against your hair, his lips against your ear. you might have blushed a little at the feeling of him being in such close proximity to you, but you disregarded that fluttering in your chest; could just be the shock that coursed through your body when he approached you so abruptly. you remained quiet, much to his amusement. atsumu was not one to take no for an answer, but your silence was fueling him to take things up a notch. after all, unless you say anything close to a 'no' to his face, he'll keep pushing his luck, get you to warm up to him, just a little bit.

he chuckled and threaded the ends of your hair with his thumb and index finger, twirling it around his fingers with a lazy grin on his face. "you're hot when you're ignoring me." he muttered all softly. "ignore me more and i might just do something drastic." "...like what?" you finally squeak out in a soft voice. atsumu lives to hear you speak to him, though you seldom do to him outside of school, and whenever it's necessary. he smiled a little wider when you asked that, running his hand through your hair. "maybe like... finally ask you out on a date? and i don't mean asking you out all lamely and desperately like i'm sure other guys have done to you before... i mean like... i'll tell you everything you need to know, and then you'll decide if i'm not good enough for you." he utters in such a cryptic, yet straightforward, manner.

it confused you when he mentioned that last part, just what did you need to know? you crinkled your eyebrows up at him, and that made his heart skip a beat. "cute." he mumbled as he gently pressed on your nose, booping your nose by surprise. he chuckled at you scoffing at his little gesture, making him lean forward, even closer to you, and smirk all smugly. "y'know... if you were any other girl, i think i'd've won you over by now, just saying." oh he was hurting his chances already. "but..." he trailed off as he placed his hand on the top of your head, tousling it up a little. "...you're not just any girl. and you're so much of a new experience to me... i think i'm actually falling for you. what a shock, right?"

"i don't want you to know me as a cocky asshole who gets everything he wants... maybe i wanna be more than just cool–" he says as he scoots closer to you, his leg against yours, and his arm behind your back, nearly wrapping around your waist. "–i want to be yours. if you can't believe me, then i'll have to show you that i'm serious about you–and i'll do... whatever it takes, to show you that i love you."

you thought your ears and eyes were deceiving you when you finally turned around to see atsumu, his cheeks flushed and his nose a little red–his ears all pink as he looks down at your hands, thoughts of intertwining his hand with yours filled his mind, but he didn't find himself worthy of doing so until you decided that... you loved him, too. atsumu doesn't want you to like him back out of reluctance or pity, he swears he'll do everything he can to win you over.

you're the only warmth that melts his coolness away, and he wants to be worthy of being in your presence, he wants to every time you see him to be a moment ingrained in your memory as a good day, as a day you felt happiest–a day when you feel loved by this smug, snarky seeming–yet secretly lovesick–boy that was head over heels in love with you.

"...i really, really love you... and i wanna make you love me. so... give me a hard time if you want, i'm not giving up, because i love you, so, so much." he mumbles, his lips curving into a real, genuine smile that harbored no false impressions or masked up feelings or intentions; atsumu miya was smitten with you–and he'd do everything he can to prove it, even let his pride down and let you see the true him, the him that was so deeply taken in by all of you that he's acting out his wildest dreams right now with you: telling you how much he loves you while he's riding on the high of euphoria of loving you.