#this parallel is destroying me slowly

[just-a-little-kreature]

Okay i know we’ve all noticed the many, many parallels between Jean and Neil but do u ever think about how Jean and Andrew, after being having their boundaries violently crossed so many times, both found someone who will respect their boundaries at any cost?? do u???

[inquisitor-apologist]

Honestly I think the Kenobi show should’ve just. Been about Reva. She was the strongest part of the show, and I think that the narrative would’ve been a lot better if we got her full back story and perspective. Obi-Wan could’ve still been there, but Reva really should’ve been the main character

[vinnyvamppp]

To Be Desired PT 2

⭐:ViltrumMark, OmniMark, Hooded Invincible, Masked Mark, HeadCap Invincible (Requested!), Mentions of Invincible. (PART 1 HERE)

Commenter: Can u write some viltrumark n Omni mark. Pleasee. (Special at the end!)

Synopsis: Variants of your childhood best friend spawn across the globe, and you find yourself in the crossfire of their previous lovers. What happens when you experience the parallel pleasure they can offer?

Warnings: Power Struggles, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Morally Grey, Nipple Play, Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Ejaculating Inside, Rough Sex, 69, Car Sex, Switch!Reader, Switch!Invincible Variants, Plot changes for convenience, Matching Freaks, Position Changes, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Invincible Variants x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6,079

Previously on 'To Be Desired' ... Helping where you could, you began assisting in fighting off the weaklings who figured now was the best time to attack Earth. Micro tears riddled your uniform as you tore through them mercilessly, all through a look of pity. There were days you'd resent this “job” you'd granted yourself, the little recognition and appreciation you'd receive from the public. How selfish of them and you. You wanted an excuse to have this world fair alone, without a need to rebel when no one would notice. As luck would have it, a voice suddenly dawned behind you, his body floating midair and adorned with the appearance of your dearest friend.

ViltruMark

Gazing upon the malignant figure, his jaw ticked ever so slightly at the sight of you. A mangy mutt of a man was within his grasp—its maw bludgeoned with the imprint of his knuckles. The sound of a body hitting the ground beside you was like a heavy, wet slap, followed by a faint whoosh of air being forced from its lungs. It was a sickening thud—like a ripe melon dropped from a great height, and you froze with a sense of unease.

The impact was startling and violent, and for a moment, you forgot about the raging havoc being reaped around you. The suddenness of it all made your heart race—you were almost certain he could hear it—as every instinct shrieked within. Your body language became defensive, his gaze hardening in response.

"I've killed you once, and I'll kill you again," he proclaimed, yet it held little intent. His uniform was a staple of the Viltrumite Empire—its clad symbol emboldened in the sky’s smoke like a false beacon of hope. "Then get it over with. You won't be the first variant who dies tonight." The snarky remark was met with a confident scoff. His padded feet landed in front of you, his eyes absorbing your features as if to reminisce. "I won’t. That was my first mistake," he replied, his fingers finding themselves tangled in your hair.

It was sudden; you couldn't help but grimace at his words. A Viltrumite admitting their mistakes? Unbelievable. That was until his grip suddenly tightened, cocking your head to the side as he whispered in your ear. "I've come to right my wrongs and take you with me." The man's grip was a hold of domination, a vice-like clamp that strangled the last vestiges of hope. It was merciless—like that of a warlord who wielded power with an iron fist. Yet the soothing hand around your waist and the calloused fingertips that scratched against your costume told the story of a starved man.

It wasn’t a debate—nor did you intend to argue, as your annoyance with your reality simmered. "Right your wrongs…?" you questioned, a wicked grin slowly spreading across his face as you two suddenly took flight. Tears bubbled at your waterline from the speed, your fingers clinging to him as you could’ve sworn he nearly melted. You always did talk too much, so he figured he'd show you. The underground vibrations beat against your eardrums as he cradled you. Your gaze was fixed upon a newly formed crater within the valley, only destroyed rubble offering privacy. "We’ll do it here. You’ll be my new beloved and will give me children."

His fingers traced down your abdomen as they tore through the fabric, gooseflesh rising from the exposure. It was a depressing past, really—having to murder you in cold blood so soon due to his agenda—but not this time. You would stay ignorant of his past, and he would provide it, given your indulgence.

His hands grasped the spandex material of your suit, prying it open as his lips began their pleasurable assault on your neck. The wet warmth of his tongue tickled your skin as he harshly nipped the welcoming flesh. Your faint pulse beneath it enticed him to experience what he had yet to. So alive and welcoming.

Head resting against the soft soil, his hardened cock imprinted beneath the loincloth. His body did little to hide his excitement—though his expression remained cold. Once the clothing was peeled from your body, his lips continued their journey south—pausing to lavish attention on your breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth—swirling his tongue erratically around the hardened peak while his hand kneaded and caressed the other.

You moaned at the sensations, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair as his hips ground against your clothed cunt. He didn’t stop. He worshiped your breasts until you were writhing beneath him, the skin tender and reddened from his teeth. As he traveled lower, you could feel his warm breath on your most intimate area, his pre-cum now staining the cloth of both his and your costume. Just before his lips could reach your sex, he pulled away in satisfaction. All mild waves of pleasure were ripped from you, and a feeling of annoyance bubbled within.

Pressing back against him, your eyes pleaded seductively, a hand resting against his chest. "It’s not fun when it's just me; let me please you," you muttered—watching as the faintest smirk graced his lips. He sat on his knees as you shuffled yourself forward—hands eagerly tugging at his clothing. His costume splintered as it fell from his form, your mouth practically watering at the sight of his swollen cock eagerly awaiting your touch. You leaned in—inhaling deeply and savoring his musky scent. You ran your tongue along the underside of his veins, from the base to the tip—feeling it twitch against your lips. He shivered.

You circled the head with your tongue, dipping into the slit to taste his essence before taking him into your mouth. Instantly, he sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth. The man was more sensitive than expected. As your throat relaxed and another inch slid inside, the soft lining of your esophagus welcomed him so fruitfully that his eyelids began to twitch. His pride had failed to forewarn him, and his temperament began to crumble.

As his hips bucked forward, you gagged—only to see a placid grin etched onto his face as his nose crinkled with restraint. He groaned loudly with every bob of your throat, his dick twitching with each contact. Suddenly, his hand gripped your hair, pulling you back. "Enough," he muttered, his voice carrying enough command to make you pause.

Before you could process it, you were flipped onto your hands and knees, panties being lowered as his eyes devoured the sight of your pussy. "You’re soaked… I would’ve fucked you sooner if I knew you’d be so willing." The mumble seemed more to himself than to you. His tip glided down the skin of your folds, the squelching sound causing his grip to tighten as he pushed your head into the ground. Just as he pressed himself inside, the quietest whimper slipped.

Your eyes met his with a smug expression; he returned it as a warning before your velvety walls swallowed him whole. He sighed—like a man being gifted after a long day of work. He didn’t give you time to adjust—immediately pulling out and setting a brutal pace, pounding into you with a force that rocked your entire body. Each thrust pushed you forward, your hands scrabbling for purchase in the burrow of grass. His balls slapped against your clit with every stroke—sending sparks of pleasure through you.

One of his hands left your hip, wrapping around your hair and pulling your head back, forcing you to arch your spine. He fucked almost with a hatred. With every stroke, your body bounced forward, and you could swear you heard your vertebrae popping. Does he not know what gentle is?! No! He’s a Viltrumite, born and raised!

Unbeknownst to you, the dual stimulation of his balls slapping against your skin and the soft twitching of your pussy had him hunched over. He began to chase his own release—loud growls echoing in your ears as you could barely formulate sound. His free hand rested against your ass—enjoying its recoil as a pathetic whine scratched his throat. He was hellbent on burying himself within you, each thrust deepening with the swivel of his hips. His muscles tightened as his jaw clenched, heavy pants echoing between groans. It was beginning to sound needy—a rough greed that consumed him.

Your moans were muffled, his hearing sharp enough to catch every one, his tactics shifting subtly to bring you the utmost pleasure. God, why did he kill you? He could barely remember as his brain began to fizzle out from the pleasure. “Mphm… Mark… can’t breathe,” you muttered, his eyes finally snapping into focus. In a last-ditch effort, he tugged you back, ripping a hiss from you as your spine curved. Your back rested against his chest, and although the sex was rough, this was a moment of gentleness. “Aah—ugh, mm, fuck, I’m going to fill you,” he whispered, sheathing himself one final time as he came.

You two remained still as his stamina recovered; he pressed a chaste kiss against your lips, both of your suits ruined. No matter—he couldn't care less about flying into space naked. It was short-lived as he abruptly readied himself from a voice buzzing within his ear; you remained seated in absolute awe. “How long can you hold your breath?” he asked, a plan to return home brewing.

OmniMark

His gaze remained fixed on you, expression unimpressed as he observed. You had just defeated another swarm of enemies, their blood coating the streets. As you stumbled toward him, your breath came out in labored gasps, and your vision blurred, making it hard to focus on his figure. Mark—or rather, this mysterious figure in similar fashion—seemed to be studying you intently, his eyes piercing through your facade.

The sound of his cape billowing finally caught your attention. Roving over his figure, you observed his costume. A dried patch of blood littered his hand, pink lint from the fabric clinging to it. It resembled Omni-Man's and only struck you with confusion as your mind rang from your probable concussion. "Hey, are these giving you any trouble?" he asked, his body idly bobbing midair as he awaited an answer.

"Who are you, really? If you're Mark, why are you dressed like... well, like him?" You gestured to his costume, a near-perfect replica of Omni-Man's, complete with the red and white color scheme, only missing the distinctive 'O' emblem. He sighed—almost regretfully, as a realization seemed to dawn upon you. Omni-Man in his world was dead; just why did I have to run into this one?! He glided toward you with a strangely disturbing grace.

"I've come to defend you. There are many of us gathering over Chicago." Your question was swatted away like a fly as he continued. His response made you drop your guard—albeit naively—since there was no reason to trust him. He landed in front of you, dark goggles showing your reflection as he contemplated. "Why? What happened to me in your dimension?" you inquired.

He replied with the slightest look of pity and weariness. "She… was like a pet. Served her purpose and got in the way after I killed my father." His words made your heart drop. "I've been looking for you… for a new pet. So, understand me this time, and we can conquer together." The tone of his words was low— almost careful, like it somehow softened the demeaning blow. Every word was woven in silk, but underneath lay a quiet demand. His fingers gently wrapped around yours—his gloved thumbs ghosting over your knuckles.

Truthfully, he hated his dimension's version of you. Such a nuisance, but you were already proving to be more favorable. A glimpse into what you could've been.

"But you have more to offer than she did. She had no powers, no abilities… but she was cute while it lasted." A sense of sadness lingered in his voice as his eyes focused behind you—on the destruction your battle had caused.

"Fine, I'll let you protect me," you said, releasing his fingers.

"It’d be best if we stayed together at all times," he replied.

"I don’t think I could stomach being around you." It was a petty jab, spit with unintentional venom.

"I could change that," he quipped with the cockiness of his father, his palm outstretched to you.

Just how did you allow yourself to be swept away like this? Yes, the Mark you knew was the son of Omni-Man with morals; this one went against every principle you had when becoming a hero. Like father, like son. His words were sensitive—meticulously put together to string you along—not that you cared now, not with his fingers buried deep inside your cunt.

Somewhere along the way, he had flown you to Paris like some fancy vacation. The leveled city burned brightly, the embers painting your skin in a dewy orange that made you look so divine. The Eiffel Tower stood tall, almost as a harbinger of justice—and here you were, on the structure, being fingered by him. You let out a sharp cry as he started to stroke, his digits gliding through your wetness with ease. The very sight of your cunt had him in a hedonistic trance, his thumb slotting over your clit. He teased and circled—applying just the right amount of pressure to have your hips bucking beneath him. His pace quickened ever so slightly—reveling in the ridges of your pussy that he anticipated to hug him so snugly.

"You like that, don't you? You like it when I touch you like this?" he purred, watching as your face scrunched in pleasure. It wasn't like he needed a response; seeing your reaction was enough. Your abs began to tighten as your orgasm built, and just as your body lurched forward, his hands pulled away, leaving you clenching around air.

"You said that would be it," you whispered, watching as he smiled faintly, almost pleading. "I know, but it would be better this way… I can't monitor with just my fingers." He excused himself, and your eyes rolled sarcastically. "Last thing." It was a harsh spat that crawled from your throat and into his ear. "Last thing," he agreed—when you both knew he was the type to say that while fucking you senseless for the tenth time.

Against the cold metal, he spread your legs wide, his free hand freeing his weeping cock from its confinement. It's been punished enough for now. Clothes were shed quickly, eagerly, until you were both naked and pressed together, skin against skin. He hovered over you, his eyes roaming your exposed body hungrily. Circling his tip around your entrance, he finally pushed in—jaw clenching with a shaky exhale.

His hips began to build into a relentless pace, your bouncing legs wrapping firmly around him to pull him in deeper. He was becoming lost within you—quite literally—as your pussy swallowed him balls deep. No wonder his father remained active with Debbie; this was fucking godsent to him. Perhaps his words from earlier were no longer manipulation but the truth. He would vow to know you on a personal level later.

Moans of pleasure from you both echoed. He was shameless about his noise, enjoying the sound of skin slapping in the air. You could have sworn his particularly deep thrusts sent the tower shaking. Sweat formed on his brow as he concentrated, ab muscles flexing as he withheld his orgasm. Mark loved it here. He would do anything not to pull out. His body began to tremble with restraint, nearly convulsing with the overarching effort. Your bodies shifted with each powerful thrust. Lost in your own pleasure, you barely noticed your head now dangling from the structure.

His attempt at being romantic after destroying a city was dreadful. "Mark…!! Ah! I'm gonna fall, fuck—!" you wearily shouted, and he grimaced slightly, his fingers shoving themselves into your mouth to simulate sucking his cock as he watched you gag on them. "You know better… swearing doesn’t make you cool." He stated it so casually, as if he weren’t balls-deep inside you.

Flying you both into the air, his hands gripped your ass, fucking himself into you. His thrusts grew erratic, his whimpers barely contained. It was obvious—his toes curled in his shoes, his feet flexed, his eyes rolled back into his skull, the veins in his neck prominent. Clasping his chin, you focused his attention on you as your insides nearly squeezed him dry. It was your minute revenge. "T-Take what you… what you want." His lips were caught between his teeth. "I wo… won't stop you."

The words were weak, both of you heaving, breath fanning against each other's faces. Wrapping your legs tighter around him, and with bated breaths, he buried himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he came with a shout. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he hissed, unable to stop himself. After realizing what he had done, he ironically cursed under his breath.

"S… shit, I should’ve come in your mouth; it would’ve been better," he muttered, disappointed in himself. Wrapping your bare body within his cape, he gingerly kissed you with praise. His lips parted—as if to utter something sentimental, his gaze hardening. Suddenly—he observed heroes gathering within France to save the people. A grimace enveloped his face. He had enough decency to place you securely at your apartment before taking off. HeadCap Mark

“Oh…? And who do we have here?” he asked rhetorically, one hand resting at his side. His overzealous grin gleamed beneath the obscurity of his features. Not to mention was—was he bald? His appearance was a far cry from his better counterpart. You kept raking over every detail, unsure what unsettled you more.

“I… I don’t want to fight you. You look like my friend… I couldn’t,” you replied timidly, tension stunning your body. He landed without a sound, the silence eerie—like a grinning cat toying with its prey.

There was dried blood riddled through his costume, his demeanor confident as he strutted toward you with his head held high. You were awfully perturbed, not noticing him already in front of you. “Well, this is gonna be fun,” he chirped as he gazed expectantly at you—his amusement only growing. “You know how hard it was to find you? Your friend's bug brother straightened me out on my way here.” A series of sharp, satisfying cracks from his spine echoed through your ears, each pop releasing tension like bubble wrap as they twisted. His octave dropped a notch as he leaned in.

“Now it's time to straighten you out.” The words were of insincere politeness, their meaning striking you upside the head. His fingers curled around your neck as he guided you backward. The cold metal of a now disheveled and crumpled car met your back. “Ah ah ah, don’t even think about it,” he whispered—your ear tingling from its warmth, your fingers relaxed at your side.

The smile on his face was almost sweet as you complied, only begrudgingly allowing his touch. “Then move before I change my mind.” You snorted in response. It was scandalous; you’d never admit that the hand around your neck nearly made you weak. Just how could you reject a man so desperate to have you? He wasn’t going to deny you either; in fact, he felt almost obligated to show you he deserved this.

He shoved you roughly against the hood of the car, his fingers tracing the length of your curves. The loud creak of the vehicle settling, the sputtering electricity of nearby landline wires, and the open air of dust filling your lungs made you feel truly exposed. Even without the removal of clothing. His tongue flicked over his lips, a brief, deliberate motion—like a cat after cream. The elastic fabric of his costume fell down his muscled legs, his hands eager as they jutted forward. It was rushed—he stripped the latex from your body with the urgency of a man digging for gold.

Only then, when he saw the pretty lace covering such delicate areas, did an audible groan of delight scratch his throat. “Pretty,” he teased, his hands reaching into his boxers as they clung to his thighs. His dick was flushed a pale pink—longer than it was girthy—as bulging veins pathed their way to his tip. “Pretty,” you mimicked, legs spreading as he closed in like a moth to a flame. He left your bra and panties on, enjoying the sight too much to tear them off. Instead—he pulled the fabric aside to watch your tits bounce, your pussy lips already weeping.

His tip parted you like a river, his head hanging back as he bottomed out. Your walls fluttered to accommodate his length; if he wanted to, he could kiss your cervix. Your legs crossed over his shoulder, and his hips reared back before driving into you. Each thrust pushed you further up the car's hood, your breasts bouncing with the force of his movements.

Your hands reached to clasp at anything behind you—only to find a shattered windshield to dig your fingertips into. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he watched you bounce on his cock; it was something deserving of a painting. His head turned, tongue slithering across the soles of your feet in a gesture of worship. As much as he didn't care about this world—in this moment—he was determined to make you feel like a goddess. His pace quickened, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

The movements were entirely guided by lust; broken chuckles bubbled from his throat as moan after moan was ripped from him. Your eyes nearly lost focus—every stroke caused a slight bulge to imprint in your lower abdomen. Your moans encouraged him—urged him to go deeper, to claim you completely. “So… so much is d-different about this world, but this… t-this was made for me.” His lips grimaced as his hips purged through the trembles riddling his body. The car creaked as it rocked violently, his fluid motion throwing you against him in time with his thrusts.

The street fills with the unfiltered sounds of your moans and the slap of skin against skin. You could feel your throat becoming raw; he was practically silenced, communicating with the tightening of your cunt and its impending orgasm.

Propping yourself onto your hands, you leaned back slightly, one leg gingerly switching to his other shoulder, giving him a full view of how you drank him in. His thumb rolled tight circles around your clit, watching as your hole puckered so vigorously around him.

A ring of your juices—mixed with what he couldn’t tell was pre-cum or cum—sputtered against his pelvis. The sight was enough to tip him over the edge. “Come… all over my cock—mmm—like the good l-little ssslut you are!” he groaned, eyes darting between your folds and your eyes as he inhaled your intoxicating scent.

As he thrust into you with increasing fervor, you felt your body begin to tense, your walls clenching around him as your orgasm approached. He seemed to sense it, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release.

You cried out, fingernails scraping against the car's metal; his jaw clenched wearily as his knees grew weak. A weakened grin etched across his face once more—eyebrows knitting upward as he sighed shakily. With frantic pacing, he waited until his eyes nearly crossed before pulling out and ejaculating on your stomach.

You were winded, arms giving out as you rested against the car; he stared at you, unnaturally tired himself. But as he watched your juices bubble around your entrance, a new energy suddenly surged to his cock. “W-What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, stroking himself with a strangled whimper. “Mmm, I plan on using every inch of this car while I’m here.” Hooded Invincible

The momentary silence was deafening; the veiled mask drifted ever so slightly to show the grin lurking beneath. His costume had blood leaking down the front; the amount would suggest he’d been bested—yet he stood defiant and cocky before you. Just how powerful was he to remain standing? As you readied yourself for another battle, a sigh leaving your lips, his hands suddenly bound together over his head before slamming his full weight onto the concrete road. The rubble cracked beneath your feet, and a strong gust of wind slid you back. It wasn’t nearly as strong as anticipated. He was holding back.

“You won't be enough. You’re not even a fraction of my power!” He enunciated every other word—making the insult feel a little more scathing. “No wonder you get jumped so often, you fucking asshole,” you chided with annoyance. The dull ache in his head was the last thing he registered; the blow landed with a sickening thud—its crack making him stumble back slightly. “Oh, fuck off.” His return strike was swift, a flash of movement followed by a grunt of pain.

You nearly crumpled—the floor rushing to meet you before you regained stability. He was quick to compliment, almost too eager. “Okay… I’ll admit, you’re stronger than I thought.” The feeling of his hands cupping around your wrist—dried blood flaking from his palm. “That’s not why I’m here though,” he finished, his yellow-tinted goggles reflecting off the sunlight, a faint glimpse of his eyes meeting yours.

Just why did they have to have the warmth of your friend's? This was making it difficult to hate him. “Not interested,” you deadpanned, arms tugging within his grasp. He sucked his teeth with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t remember you being this fucking mouthy.” His head cocked slightly to view your expression change like his personal performance. “Wrong dimension; I’m not her.” Your words made him pause as that grin made its Broadway appearance. “Nah, you’re better; I love it when my girls are a bitch.” He taunted, your eyes searching for an escape route as you mentally dismissed him. “C’mon, give me a chance.” The words dripped from his lips, less of a plea and more of a certainty.

You couldn’t deny he had certainly piqued your interest in more ways than one. Suddenly, a pair of calloused fingertips ran a strip down the center of your costume—the fabric outlining a faint camel toe. His fingers pressed against the indent of your pussy lips—a desired dampness nearly causing him to groan. “Oh, you’re fucked,” he said with mocking restraint. In almost an instant—you were dragged into an alleyway and—with the weight of a feather—flipped upside down. “Put me down! What are you doing?!” you grit out, but the words lacked conviction, lost in the echo of his ragged breath.

He ignored your plea, fingers now deftly parting your swollen lips, teasing the clit that throbbed insistently through your costume. Your question was more of a criticism of his crassness. “Relax, you’ll like this.” He brushed off every critique, his focus narrowing to the only thing that mattered—his next dessert.

A firm finger dug into the fabric above your cunt before the screeching sound of fabric tearing. It was better than he imagined; his tongue already sought a taste as he admired the view. “That's it. I know you want this.” His tongue flicked out, tracing a wet path from your clit to your swollen opening. A jolt of electricity shot through you, silencing you momentarily as your hands dug into his hip. He chuckled again, pleased with your reaction. “See? Already loving it.” His response made your pleasure-filled veins run cold.

Returning the favor through shaky moans of your own, your fingers tore through the fabric of his clothing—leaving little time for him to react as your teeth sorted through the pocket of his boxers before his cock sprang out. Its tip was greeted with fervent kisses as a guttural growl rumbled from behind his veil. His tongue, hot and demanding, flicked out, tracing the sensitive flesh. A gasp escaped your lips, a mix of grit and nascent pleasure. He lapped at you with deliberate strokes, teasing and testing your limits. The fluttering of his tongue grew desperate to draw more sounds from you as you writhed.

That was until his toes curled upon a pair of nails dragging down the length of his swollen, veiny cock. He grumbled a string of curses, his tongue pursuing to ravage you in the wake of this being a competition. With practiced ease, your lips parted, bubbles of spit gathering around his tip as you toyed with him. “Fuuuuck me,” he sighed.

You took him in, the softness of your mouth enveloping him as you began to move, your head bobbing rhythmically. The swirl of your tongue was like pleasant lashings against his cock. Your throat relaxed as your nose met the tightening sack of his balls; he was losing his ability to resist. Every so often, you would flatten your tongue, ruining what might’ve been the build-up of his orgasm.

Your combined groans echoed mindlessly in the alleyway. With a clenched jaw, he flipped you right-side up, your hands dragging across the pavement momentarily. The sight of him frazzled you—his hair disheveled from the clenching of your thighs, and the front of his veiled mask drenched in your taste.

“How do you even have the energy to still hold me?” you asked, bewildered as he chuckled. “You underestimate my power.” His response made your eyes roll, and you both were winded nonetheless. He shifted again, his hands now gripping your thighs, spreading them wider. He positioned himself between your legs, his hard cock pressing against your clit, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. As he penetrated the twitching valley of your warmth, you both responded to one another with a moan—a sound of pure, unadulterated need.

Holy fuck, was he glad you couldn’t see his face. He was holding on by a thread, eyebrows furrowed with a quivering lip. “You probably… would’ve made me cum a-already if you didn’t keep playing,” he rasped, somewhat annoyed. “Shut the fuck up and keep going.” He couldn’t argue; his grip tightened against your upper thigh. With every drawback, you tightened around him, threatening to suck him in. Through labored breaths, his jaw went slack as his body nearly locked up on him. “Haa… ha… haa! You r-ready?” he drawled—dick pumping into you with his last shrivels of energy before his dick milked him dry inside you.

You both remained in somewhat of a daze. That’s when the familiar clang of Cecil's reAnimen echoed in the distance. Setting you down with a strange gentleness, he promised his return—leaving you with a hole in your pants. “Fuck.”

Masked Invincible

“Finally…” he whispered; you could’ve sworn his eyebrows creased beneath his mask—the full obscurity of his features made him difficult to identify. “Mark…?” you questioned, his shoulders drooping slightly as a relieved sigh left him. His costume was barely recognizable if it weren't for the signature black and blue; his frosted lenses left little to be discovered.

The instinct for danger—and to fight—was suddenly drained from you as he spoke. “We didn’t all make the same deal.” He approached, desperation weighing down his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter, Mark. You all murdered thousands… I don’t know you. I don’t care to hear you plead your case.”

Your response stunted his movements as the sound of padded feet quickened their pace.

“I—I know, but it was for a good reason, I swear,” he continued with a slight stutter, his hands gesturing to his chest. This somehow felt manipulative. “I liked it here… I came back to bring you and my mom back with me. We can start over.” His hands clung to your shoulders as he spoke, fingernails digging into the flesh. “And why would I do that?” you inquired, your gaze hardening as you anticipated a response. “Because… because I need you.” The delivery was purely pathetic, a voice cracked, edging his words as he nearly pleaded.

Considering the whole ordeal, it didn’t sound like an awful offer. However, it would be unsafe to assume the woman you once loved in the past was the same in every dimension. His submission might’ve unlocked a new kink you were unaware of, the sentiment tugging at your heartstrings. He was similar to the Mark you knew—emotional—but this one felt far more dangerous, a dog off its leash. You began to lie through your teeth. If it meant having a variant as an ally rather than an enemy, then so be it.

“Okay. I’ll come with you if—” Your words were abruptly sawed off as his hands hastily lifted half his mask and his lips found yours with fever. He brushed his lips against yours, featherlight, as if testing the moment—savoring it. He sighed into the kiss, his hands cradling your face, drawing you closer, deepening the space between breath and bliss. His fingertips dug into your skull as he was encased in your warmth.

Just how could he have ever let this go? Not this time. No, he would do better. He’d imagined this countless times.

Hands quickly shifting to your hips, he decided your apartment was best. Being on his best behavior would convince you more, right? Landing on the balcony, he slid open the door as you shuffled backward into the kitchen. You both pulled away, erratic breaths dampening one another's faces. Interestingly, as his costume loosened and pooled around his ankles, the mask remained. He seemed truly hellbent on keeping it on—not that you paid any mind.

Slowly tugging each article of clothing from your body, he watched as if hypnotized. It was nearly comical watching him progressively become aroused as seconds ticked by. His mind and body were one. His ragged gasps produced a small cloud of condensation through his mask. His dick a red, irritated mess with smeared pre-cum. Messy. Desperate. Guiding him into a chair, he manspread to allow you plenty of room once you straddled him, feet hooking against his inner thigh.

His tip pierced through you, giving you little time to adjust as gravity pulled you downwards. Your puffy lips cushioned him between hungry blows, combined arousal leaving a stringy mess in his lap.

Gripping your hips, his jaw clenched as he assisted you in riding him, the pace solely reliant on his stamina. "Wait, wait, slow down," you gasp, trying to regain control. But he's too far gone, his lust clouding his judgment. He grips your hips tighter, slamming you down on his cock with bruising force.

The pleasure is intense—bordering on pain—but you can't deny how much you're enjoying it. He leans forward, his masked face inches from yours. "I—I can't slow down," he pants, his breath hot against your skin. "I've wa… wanted this for so long. Needed this."

You can feel him throbbing inside you, his desire for you evident. But you need to take back control, to show him who's in charge here. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as your ass meets the meat of his thighs from your efforts to ride him.

He groans, his head falling back as you take what you want from him. "F-fuck, yeesss," he hisses, his hands moving to your ass, squeezing and spreading it. "Take it all; take everything I have to give."

It was his most coherent sentence—just barely—as his voice cracked with a whimper.

Your moans began to mingle until it was a harmony unable to be differentiated. The sound bouncing off the walls sounded ten times louder than it was. His nose scrunched from beneath his mask, jaw flexing with an effort to remain sane.

"I am. And I'm going to use you until I'm satisfied." He shudders beneath you, his cock twitching inside you at your words. You can tell he likes this—likes being used and controlled by you. After all he’s done, he’d gladly let you go for today.

Your hips slammed against his with every downward thrust. The sounds of skin meeting rang in your ears, a whine of pleasure filling your lungs as unrestrained sounds began to filter. His pubic hair caused delicious friction against your clit as he began to grow sloppy.

He reaches up, his hands cupping the back of your shoulders to hold you in place as he rams into you. The added stimulation sends you closer to the edge, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches.

"C-...Cum for me," he growls, his eyes watching you intently with the goal of watching your face contort in lust. "Fuck… fuck… fuck, yes! G-Give it to me! Please…!"

His voice nearly gave out as he came with a shout, finally being able to make you his.

You soon followed after, collapsing on his chest as remnants of a moan leave your lips. It takes a while for you two to finally gather your bearings. He pulls his mask down, a smile etched into the fabric, before that damned voice calls out within his ear. “I’m sorry… I—I have to go. I'll come back for you,” he stutters, reluctantly leaving and flying into the murky horizon.

This was actually fun to type up. (If interested in Mark's subplot (same scenario), it's linked: here.)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[sweemmy]

⋆｡ﾟIn their love, they bloom like a dark rose, its thorns only striking those who try to escape. ﾟ｡⋆

— Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, and Jinx.

VI.

Vi would do anything to protect you, but her obsession consumes her, driving her to see threats in every corner, even where none exist. In her mind, danger lurks in the shadows, always watching, and you are the only one who can escape this threat... even if it isn’t real.

Her irritable nature compels her to act impulsively, before her mind has the chance to halt the torrent of emotions. She doesn’t hesitate to confront anyone, even if they are just a stranger who has approached you out of curiosity, convincing herself that anyone who crosses your path is a danger, no matter how harmless they seem.

Vi clings to her justification, arguing that her control is merely an expression of love, that everything she does is for your own good. But beneath those words lies a dark echo, as if she cannot fathom a world where you don’t need her, where her influence is not vital to your survival.

Her gestures of affection, far from being tender, are invasive and violent. Her hugs, excessive and tight, feel as if she could crush you. The words she whispers in your ear, filled with intensity, steal the air between you, with a fervor bordering on obsession, as if she’s marking you, immortalizing you in her world, only for herself.

Though her exterior is one of hardness, beneath that mask beats a deep fear: the fear of losing you. She knows that without you, her world would crumble, empty, incomplete. “If you don’t want me near, just tell me… but don’t expect me to stand idly by while someone tries to take away the only thing that gives my life meaning.”

CAITLYN.

Caitlyn becomes ensnared in her own whirlwind of thoughts, convinced that her obsessive love is the only thing capable of offering you the care you deserve. She sees herself as the only one who can truly understand and protect you, regardless of the boundaries she must cross to keep you by her side.

With a sharp, calculating mind, Caitlyn weaves invisible threads around your life, orchestrating every detail so subtly that you're barely aware of her control. From the people you allow into your circle to the places you step foot in, everything is meticulously designed to keep you under her sway.

Using her charm, Caitlyn spins a web of carefully chosen words, manipulating your perception with a smile that conceals the darkness lurking inside her. She has no qualms about distorting the truth, lying, and creating parallel realities, all to ensure you remain bound to her, oblivious to the trap you've fallen into.

Her control over you goes beyond the physical; Caitlyn becomes an emotional necessity, feeding your dependency with gestures that seem loving but are, in reality, invisible chains. She makes you feel as though you cannot breathe without her presence, turning herself into an irreplaceable part of your life, a constant shadow you cannot escape.

Anyone who dares to get close is seen as an immediate threat, and Caitlyn doesn’t need to resort to open violence. Her deadliest weapon is her influence, capable of destroying slowly, without anyone suspecting a thing. "Why waste time with them, darling? I’ll handle everything. It’s much better if you follow my suggestions; I promise everything will be fine."

SEVIKA.

Sevika sees you as hers—like a treasure no one else deserves to touch. Her obsession is a dangerous blend of control and overbearing protection. Should anyone dare to put you in harm's way, she will become the shadow that eliminates any threat, without remorse and with brutal precision.

Any intruder who gets too close will be stopped by her mere presence. The intensity of her gaze and the unyielding strength of her stance instill terror in even the bravest hearts. She needs no words: her silence is a warning, and her actions, the verdict.

Believing the world is a deadly trap for you, she begins to build a cage of isolation. Every argument she makes is wrapped in false sweetness: "It’s for your own good, trust me," while the chains of her obsession tighten a little more with each passing day.

Flowers and sweet words are not her style, but her actions speak louder than anything. The moment she senses you’re in danger, she will unleash an inhuman fury, showing just how far she’s willing to go to protect you.

Her emotions are a storm hidden beneath a mask of cold serenity. Every action is calculated, every decision made with precision. "I don’t need to shout to show you how much I love you. You see it in what I do, don't you?" she murmurs, her voice calm yet carrying a weight that leaves no doubt about the intensity of her devotion.

JINX.

Jinx would always watch you with eyes filled with obsession, as if you were her precious toy, meant only for her. Her love is no simple feeling: it’s a wild, unpredictable whirlwind, packed with emotional explosions and flashes of madness. She cannot stand anyone else getting your attention, and her “jokes” toward those who dare to come close often end in a macabre, lethal spectacle of destruction.

Within her chaos lies a desperate search for stability, and you are her anchor, but always on her terms. Trying to pull away or challenge her twisted world only triggers a collapse in her mind and a violent need to reaffirm her control over you.

Her love manifests in disturbingly creative forms: bombs adorned with hearts, explosive devices bearing your name, or "trophies" taken from those she deems rivals. Each one is a sickening declaration of how deep and dangerous her affection runs.

Her greatest fear is abandonment, trapped in the loneliness that haunts her. If she senses even the slightest hint that you might leave, she’ll do the unthinkable to make sure you stay by her side. It doesn’t matter if she has to chain you—literally or figuratively; in her mind, the end always justifies the means.

Jinx won’t hesitate to destroy—even herself—to keep you close. Her desperation drives her to dark extremes, hurting others or putting her own body at risk. “Do you see this? I did it for you. Now you can’t deny how much I care. You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

[mrsimpurity]

thinking about letting logan use his claws on you...

cw: nsfw (no smut but suggestive content), mentions of blood, reader’s crazy if you ask me

“logan, i’m sure about this. don’t worry.” you say, looking into logan’s eyes. you’re in your underwear, sitting in a chair in the middle of the living room with your legs spread. 

the space is dimly lit and there’s tangible tension in the air, fear and anticipation emitting from logan’s body. the trust you have when it comes to him is immense, and he can’t quite understand which one of your screws has to be loose for you to let him do this.

logan hovers over you, hands resting on the back of your chair. he lets out a sigh of surrender and leans down to kiss you. you kiss him back hungrily as his tongue enters your mouth. a whimper escapes your throat as he breaks the kiss, getting to work. 

you sit back and watch logan with a smirk as the sound of metal clashing slices the quiet tension in the air. he gives you one last look of reassurance as his hand gets closer and closer to your thigh. his claw pierces your skin in the gentlest way possible. 

logan’s focused, so focused on not hurting you that it has you biting back laughter. the beast of a man you’ve seen slaughter with no remorse now has sweat trickling down his forehead out of fear of pushing his claw in too deep. 

he proceeds to drag the claw down, the red mark on your skin starting to slowly bleed as a tiny trail of blood trickles down. he stops right before the inside of your knee. 

the pain is blunt, but the burn is delicious. despite you being the one to initiate this whole thing, the fact that you’re at this man’s mercy, bare and ready for him to damage you, has your core throbbing. 

logan’s heart feels like it’s breaking, but his cock doesn’t agree. he can feel the heat radiating off you, smell your fear and your arousal. and it takes everything in him not to rip your underwear off and finally claim you as his. 

but he doesn’t. because he’s too patient and loving to ruin your fun. so he’ll clench his teeth and humor you, just this once.

the next mark he leaves on you is a line parallel to his first one. the pain increases slowly, it becomes too much in one place. but the way the first cut stings, the way the blood seeps from the even deeper wound - it has you wanting more.

logan stops at the same place again, the tip of his claw stained by your crimson blood. suddenly overcome by something inexplicable, he drops to his haunches, resting his hands on the outside of your thighs as his face hovers over your fresh wound. he sticks his tongue out and before you know it, he’s licking up your new scars, cleaning up the blood.

the sound of your small gasps, the feeling of your suppressed whimpers as he laps up your blood, soothing the wounds, has his cock twitching in his pants. logan’s tongue runs over the two cuts again, but this time stops right before your underwear as he presses a kiss to your clothed cunt.

you’ve never felt like this before, your eyes filled with lust and desire. logan slowly rises, his gaze focused on yours, need fogging his vision. his lips find yours and you combust as a metal taste fills your mouth, the feeling of logan’s bloody tongue against yours destroying every single ounce of conformity and self-respect you have left. 

you moan into his mouth, hungry for more as the burning sensation of your bloody wounds makes a reappearance. 

logan’s mouth breaks away from yours, a bloody trail of spit connecting your lips as you smile with delight. 

with a burning desire almost as fucked up as yours, logan murmurs. 

“let me take care of you, baby.”

[team7-headquarter]

Genin to Shippuden era Team 7 is so important to me. That part of their lives when they were alone after each other, when they were changed by their friendship and making a place of their own in the world... I wish we saw more of it.

A parallel of Sasuke pretending he can't hear the screams of the kids Orochimaru is experimenting on, Naruto traveling through a town destroyed by the last war and Sakura collapsing after 48 hours of not sleeping and a patient dying in front of her.

Accidentally saying something they've heard from someone else from Team 7 and taking a moment to process there have been months since they last saw them.

The first time Sakura had to remove senbons from a body and could only think about Sasuke and Naruto back on the Land of Waves.

The first time Sasuke almost instinctively chased a cat and the nostalgia was so strong the nausea threatened to knock him out.

Naruto alone in his room while Jiraiya goes to find some women in the village, wishing to death he could crack a joke but there would be no scowls or punches flying his way, no sparkling green eyes or instigating half smiles.

Naruto traveling the world and thinking "Sasuke would have liked this", "I wish I could have a date with Sakura here". He's sore from training, he's tired of walking, he's hungry, he keeps seeing the shadows of another two kids walking beside him but there's no one there. He keeps walking to the next town, anyway. He cracks the jokes, anyway. He promises himself he'll see them again, anyway.

Sasuke slowly forgetting how they sounded and getting used to the screams, the humidity, the darkness, the coldness. There's only the pain and the endless cruelty of Orochimaru, the cuts that sting when he moves in his sleep, the loneliness that reminds him of those first nights after the Uchiha clan was massacred. Two more ghosts to his collection.

Sakura kneeling on her own sweat, trying not to scream as she heals a broken bone from one of Tsunade's kicks. There's no time to wait until she hears Naruto's shouts floating through the forest. They won't come. She won't find Sasuke's hand in front of her, an offer to help her back to her feet. She needs to stop crying. She needs to stand up. She needs to cover her turn on the hospital later.

[the-overanalyst]

ok i gotta talk about how well the empty sekai vocaloids are written to enhance n25's story

empty miku takes a more active role in the main story than any of her alter egos. empty sekai was originally created with both the desire to disappear and the desire to be saved. miku embodies the latter, so she's the one who called kanade and the others to talk mafuyu down. her existence started out monotonous and lonely, but slowly filled up with good things, which mirrors mafuyu's journey.

rin's arrival signals that empty sekai no longer belongs to mafuyu alone. the members of n25 all share the same feelings to an extent. their connection causes the sekai to become less empty bit by bit. but isn't it interesting how that process began thanks to ena, mafuyu's polar opposite who gets along with her the least? ena uses the sekai for its original purpose--to escape from reality when she wants to disappear--so part of it becomes hers.

meiko, obviously, is a direct parallel for mizuki, always keeping her distance. so her time to shine was right along with mizuki's in this most recent arc. as mizuki gets to the point where she's willing to share her secret, meiko gets to the point where she's willing to get involved in the girls' problems. mizuki's first 4* in an ena event came with meiko's first feature in a non-mizuki event. and her character development is actually crazy, from "sometimes talking makes things worse" to being the one who gets mizuki to talk to ena. live laugh love empty meiko.

luka's self-proclaimed role is as the one who will shakes things up and bring change. she's not afraid to break something if it means learning how to put it back together better than before. in fact, she's pretty effective at this, being featured in events that correspond to mafuyu's biggest milestones: smiling for the first time and running away from home. to me, she's most interesting as a foil to meiko: action vs. inaction, reckless vs. careful.

len represents mafuyu's inner child. he was lost in sekai for an unknown amount of time, but when she finds him, she starts to remember what her childhood was really like. she remembers the way her mother guilt-tripped her for getting lost at pxl, that even then there was no warmth in their relationship. now, as her mother becomes set on stopping her from making music, mafuyu feels just as lost and afraid as len does.

and last but not least, kaito. a problematic fave perhaps, but also the true mvp of mafuyu's arc. he is an embodiment of rising stakes, of walls closing in and time running out. his first appearance is in the event where we see mafumom as the villain she is, and where she starts actively interfering with n25. he tells mafuyu the hard truth that she needed to hear: if she stays as she is, her true self will be destroyed. so of course, he terrifies her, but he's the one who gives her the push to save herself

[lvrclerc]

𝒮VY'S POETRY DEPARTMENT! ✷ a 500 & 1K followers celebration

thank you so much for the milestone! i'm so happy that you all like my writing enough to stick around.

✉ here are some prompts taken from different poems/books/song lyrics/etc: just send a number + a driver + other specifics if you feel like it, and i'll write a small drabble/fic inspired by it! careful because once the line has been requested, you can't request it a second time no matter the driver. i'll take requests from 27/04/25 to 11/05/25.

DRIVERS I WRITE FOR ... charles leclerc, max verstappen, lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, oliver bearman, pierre gasly, alex albon, isack hadjar, carlos sainz.

1. « will you love me in december as you do in may? » - they might be giants ( OLIVER BEARMAN, FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL )

2. « although i may not be yours, i could never be another's. » - mary shelley ( CARLOS SAINZ, EVERY SUMMER'S END )

3. « who wouldn't want you? whose most demonic apetite would you fail to satisfy? » - louise glück ( LANDO NORRIS, SOON )

4. « in a dream i don't tell anyone, you put your head on my lap. » - richard siken ( CHARLES LECLERC, SOON )

5. « i have built a you around me, or you have. i wonder what of me there is in you. » - amal el-mohtar ( ALEX ALBON, SOON )

6. « seventeen is an inconvenient time to be in love. » - gayle forman ( ISACK HADJAR, SOON )

7. « charm me. furiously. torment me. in detail. » - hermann hesse ( CARLOS SAINZ, SOON )

8. « angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, i turned away. » - scott f. fitzgerald ( LANDO NORRIS, SOON )

9. « a kiss can destroy a philosophy. » - anaïs nin

10. « i have not broken your heart─ you have broken it. and in breaking it, you have broken mine. » - emily brontë ( MAX VERSTAPPEN, SOON )

11. « i am too young and i've loved you too much. » - fyodor dostoyevsky ( ISACK HADJAR, THE DELICATE ART OF FITTING IN - SOON )

12. « in his arms, i slowly unfolded like a love note read in secrets. » - jill s. alexander ( MAX VERSTAPPEN, SOON )

13. « i have never loved before as i love you─ with tenderness, to the point of tears. » - vladimir nabokov ( OSCAR PIASTRI, MEANT TO BE YOURS )

14. « perhaps we may meet each other in a dream. » - marina tsvetaeva ( CHARLES LECLERC, DREAM SEQUENCE - SOON )

15. « you have no idea what a charming memory you are to me. » - friedrich nietzche

16. « there’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned. » - shakespeare

17. « if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more. but you know what i am. » - jane austen ( LANDO NORRIS, SOON )

18. « i find a parallel to us in every romance. » - agnes von kurowsky ( OSCAR PIASTRI, EVERY VERSION OF LOVE )

19. « come live with me and be my love. » - christopher marlowe

20. « battered and wrecked, i come to you first─ » - homer ( ALEX ALBON, SOON )

[thewertsearch]

TG: the barnoness wants us to […] TG: i dont know why TG: everything i know about it says it should be a good game and real important and itll let us all get togehter and do somethin great and be besf friends for maybe eternity? TG: but she took all that and twisted it somehow TG: all i know is shes banking on us doing this and if she needs us to do this than its got to be to make somethin fucking hoorible happen

Well, she's working for English, who presumably wants to turn this universe into his latest dinner. So far, that's his only stated motivation, although I have reason to suspect that there's more to it than that.

If the Condesce has her own agenda, then it's probably something akin to the oft-discussed Second Alternian Empire. The woman clearly thinks very highly of herself - her name is literally the condescension - and somehow, I doubt she's content to fade into obscurity as the one-time ruler of a fallen civilization.

No, this is a woman who wants to rule. We've seen the influence she's already exerting over the Earth, and I don't think she'll be satisfied until her control is absolute.

Come to think of it, founding a new empire on Earth wouldn't even have to conflict with English's world-eating. After all, Alternia's universe was marked for destruction at his hands, and she still ruled it for millennia before the other shoe dropped. From the Earth's perspective, it could be thousands or even millions of years until the universe is destroyed - and even that doesn't need to be the end for her. English made her immortal, so there's literally nothing stopping her from starting over again, in the next universe he targets.

She could do this forever, until there are no more worlds left to subjugate. It'll just be Alternian Empires, all the way down.

TG: maybay im just like this nutty ass bitsh twirling yarn from a shitwizards nappy brown beard but i cant bring myself to trust a cake sellin genocidal alien overlard sea queen

Huh. Funnily enough, I think this is the first time it's been all-but officially stated that Betty Crocker is the Empress. I'd ask how Roxy is aware of this, but she's the daughter of a Seer, and a l33t haxxor to boot. She's probably more clued-in than even Jade was.

TG: so what is the itinerary again GT: Intinerwhosit? TG: regarding the game TG: whosplaying in what order etc

Well, if we follow where the narrative parallels lead us, the chain should be Jane -> Roxy -> Bro -> Jake. The expectation, then, is that Jane will Enter in relative safety, and the kids' meteors will slowly grow larger, culminating in a moon-sized meteor for poor Jake.

TG: i start with jane and bring her in the session TG: then ds brings me in and you bring him in and them jane does you and closes the loop

This does indeed seem to be the order they're planning. Only time will tell if it actually holds, though, as things have gone fruity-rumpus-shaped before. The trolls thought they were two different chains.

GT: Where are you getting this intel? Did you guys make a plan or something? TG: nah dont wory about it

Like I said, Roxy's got plenty of potential sources of intel. Aside from her mother, her hacking abilities, and potential Dream Self shenanigans, the 'darkness' Umbra's seeing over her location implies she might also be in contact with the Horrorterrors.

This girl's got a lot of irons in a lot of fires. Hopefully she knows what she's doing.

[stormsthatrage]

Have a Bleach snippet from a world where Urahara has empathy but it doesn't stop him from doing what's necessary, Aizen is an apocalyptic threat, Ichigo is a girl because reasons, and Ururu is a rescue from a Central 46 lab.

Also this snippet is kind of predicated on the assumption that Urahara is responsible for Ichigo turning out as an utter science experiment of a person. (If you know me IRL, you have all my disclaimers.) ______________

Kisuke's throat tightens and his eyes start to burn.

He looks away from the baby, up at the blank wall of the clinic. He forces his expression to go neutral.

It takes longer than it should, for someone raised in the Shihouin household.

In and out, even and quiet, he breathes. The little girl in his arms breathes, too. He can feel her little rib cage expand and contract in his arms, can hear her soft exhales.

He tunes it out, and grows ice in his heart.

When he has regained himself, he looks back down.

This little girl, he decides — she does not need to be lied to just yet. He will make it clear, in this moment, hidden in the shadows of a clinic no human may enter, that he is her enemy, and she is not safe with him.

“I am going to make you hurt yourself very badly, one day,” he confesses softly, cradling her. “I am going to twist you up so horribly that you will volunteer to destroy your own soul. And then you will experience agony beyond what any being was meant to endure, and then you will die.”

In his arms, she stays sleeping.

More words push at the back of his mouth, the specifics of it all, the worst of the crimes he will commit against her. He has never had the urge to tell a target his plans, before, but he finds it difficult to not do so, now.

He bites it all back, swallows it all down.

He lowers her, slowly, back down into her crib. Before he pulls his hands back, he finds himself rubbing his thumb across her forehead, and then brushing her tiny little cheek with the back of a finger.

He crouches so that he is on her level, looking at her through the bars of the crib. “If you ever see me, little one,” he breathes out, “run, and do not look back.”

And then he stands up and leaves.

He does not make it back to the Shoten before he breaks. The warmth of her against his chest, the slight pressure of her in his arms as he held her, it all stays with him — a phantom that his brain cannot let go of.

It reminds him of the first time he held Ururu, carrying her away from the monsters who had abused her. Rescuing her from the facility where she was seen only as a weapon, not as the child she was, not as a scared and hurting little girl who needed help.

The parallels are impossible to not see.

Without consciously deciding to do so, he finds himself in a liquor store. He takes three bottles of soju and leaves without paying. He does not permit the humans to notice him.

Human alcohol cannot kill shinigami, and he does not want to be awake to the world any longer. So he stops, right in the middle of the street, invisible to all who would see his shame, and he slices off the tops of the bottles.

A quick flash of power from Benihime, severing glass from glass, and then he is drinking - drinking like a dying man drinking water in the desert: quickly and without regard for the damage too much can do.

Six minutes find every drop gone.

Before it hits, he shunpos back to the shop, seals himself in his room, and lies down to suffer. _____

He wakes up to cat fangs in his ear.

He hisses, and the noise hurts.

A second later, he starts registering input from his nose, and is promptly assaulted by the stench of sweat and vomit. He can dimly feel both fluids seeped into his shirt, sticking to his skin.

He cracks his eyes open. The light coming through the window feels like daggers stabbed into the meat of his brain. He closes them again instantly.

The cat fangs retreat, now that he has proven he is awake and not dead. Yoruichi says, “The name.” She is angry, and before she continues, Kisuke assumes she is angry at him.

“It’s Kurosaki Ichigo,” she continues.

It takes a moment for it to register.

Ichigo. First protector.

First to protect, and thus never to be protected by others.

First to risk herself. First to the thick of the fighting. First to die.

In essence, Shiba Isshin and Kurosaki Masaki have named their infant child self-sacrifice.

His response comes like sap, slow and sticking in his throat. “There was a time, not too long ago,” he croaks out, “that we would have killed someone for that.”

His mind flashes back to what it felt like to hold Ichigo — Ichigo, gods, they are all going to hell — and then back to what it felt like to meet Ururu, and what they did to protect Ururu, and what they needed to protect Ururu from, and what they are planning on doing to Ichigo — and he starts to laugh.

It hurts. The sound, the movement, the air in his throat. The being awake. But he can’t stop.

Yoruichi’s head butts under his chin. Her tiny skull is a source of gentle pressure, of muted warmth.

The small comfort cracks him straight through, and he rolls over to hide his face in her fur, crying. _________________ … And then a decade and some years later Ichigo sits Kisuke down to lecture him on the Trolley Problem. She goes on a long rant about how pulling the lever doesn’t make him guilty for the trolley existing in the first place, and also how she would have been pissed if he hadn't pulled the lever considering that a good chunk of existence and her sisters were on the opposite track, and also can he stop acting guilty for figuring out how to save the world, please.

The lecture doesn't exactly stick, but that's okay, she can repeat it whenever necessary, on account of the fact that the world didn't end because the plan worked.

[momo-minomo]

I’m so tempted to write a Tim and Damian bonding fic right now. I’ve been re-reading through some Tim Drake and Batfamily comics and they’ve been making me feel things. Especially the Tim and Damian hug in Batman (2016) #138 and Tim getting shot in the throat in Batman (2016) #125. So much of Tim’s time in the Batfamily has been spent as the emotional pillar for the entire family. He was there to act as a bridge between Dick and Bruce when the two couldn’t be in the same room for more than 5 minutes without yelling. He was there to give Bruce a reason to hold back and try and come home safe for. He came running anytime any of them called even when it screwed him over. He became a bridge back to the family for Jason and Cass at different points. Hell, he’s so used to being an emotional crutch for Bruce that even shot through the throat and bleeding to death he was gently comforting Bruce and guiding him on what to do next because Bruce was losing his shit again over the Jason parallels.

So the habit of supporting them is probably burned into Tim at this point, right? It’s so automatic that he can’t help but fall into it even when half dead. So what if something happened to Dick? Let’s say he and Tim were on a mission together when everything went tits up with an enemy ambush. They’re fighting as smoothly together as they always do but they’re being overwhelmed with sheer numbers and are just trying to retreat at this point, the enemy in hot pursuit. Tim takes a major hit and goes down, maybe a goon gets a lucky shot right in the middle of a grapple swing, causing him to lose his grip on the line. He hits a rooftop hard before Dick can catch him and gets a bad head injury. Bad guys are closing in so Dick ignores Tim’s woozy protests and stashes him somewhere mostly hidden while he leads their pursuers away. By the time rescue arrives, following their emergency beacons, Tim’s barely conscious and losing blood from the gunshot wound and Dick’s beacon isn’t working but at it’s last known location they find a puddle of blood and a broken escrima stick and no sign of where Nightwing is.

Tim is recovering but can’t actively help in the field with his injuries. He’s forced to act as a secondary Oracle while the rest of the family are on the verge of destroying themselves or half the city as the search goes on day after day after day. But while everyone is busy Tim can’t help but notice that Damian is slowly unraveling the longer Dick is gone without news.

So Tim starts doing little things to ease the kid’s mind or make him happy for even a moment. He starts subtle because doesn’t need Damian to blow up at him right now, but the two gradually grow closer and Damian notices all the support Tim is giving to EVERYONE but no one is noticing that Tim needs it just as much. So he starts returning the favor and Tim is so unnerved cause, like, it’s sweet and all but this is NOT how his world works.

Maybe I could end it with the two of them realizing the bad guys were trying to get Tim and Dick specifically for a reason (Maybe they want to break into Titan’s tower or something? Maybe League of Assassins?🤔). Tim and Damian are sick of not having their big brother, the girls are all still traveling back from investigating another dead end, and Jason and Bruce are too busy arguing to listen so they hatch a hair-brained scheme together to have the still injured Red Robin act as bait to draw out the bad guys and lead them to Nightwing.

[lilpomelito]

“What's wrong with Pop music?”

Eddie stops mid rant and spins around. Steve is sitting upside down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, his silky hair touching the floor.

“I mean,” Steve continues, his voice a little strained by his position, “if so many people like it, there has to be something good about it, right?”

Eddie shares a look with Jonathan, hoping to find an ally, but the man looks zonked out of his mind. Argyle really brought the good shit with him.

“That's not the point, Stevie,” Eddie explains as he sits down on the floor next to the guy's head. “It's popular because it's the only shit the big corpos are pushing on the radio. It's what everyone listens to, so everyone thinks they have to like it to be liked. To be accepted. And it's not even good music! Where's the artistic merit in cheap studio synthesizers mixed with braindead lyrics like wake me up before you go go?"”

Steve frowns. “Not all popular music is like that. Also what's wrong with wanting to be liked?”

“Do you not like Freddie Mercury?” Robin gasps, lifting her head from Steve's stomach, and she sounds heavily offended.

Eddie blinks for second, confused as to where the conversation has suddenly turned. But Steve nods, apparently following her line of reasoning.

“Yeah, man. Queen is like, the most popular band in history. Do they not have artistic merit?”

“No, of course not, that's not what I–”

“And the government is not conspiring to push pop music, Eddie, we've seen they're too busy experimenting on children and opening portals to a parallel dimension,” Robin says.

“What about Bowie?” Steve says. “You loved Labyrinth. Didn't shut up about it for like a week. He's pop!”

“The point,” Eddie insists, flustered, avoiding to watch directly Steve's upside down smirk, “is forced conformity. Queen are all nerds! Bowie is a huge nerd. Where would they be now if they had played high school football?”

Jonathan nods slowly, but doesn't comment.

“What about astronauts?” Nancy asks, from where she's sitting at Johnathan's feet. “They're nerds, yes, but they also have to be in great physical shape. I bet most of them were athletes in school.”

“Yeah, totally!” Steve nods. “Remember Casey Johnson? He was captain of the basketball team when I was a freshman. He was valedictorian, and I think he went to Standford on a sports scholarship!”

“Yeah, I remember him,” Robin says, rolling her eyes. “One of my friends had a huuuuge crush on him.”

Steve's cheeks go red. He incorporates himself, despite Robin's protests, and sits on the couch like a normal person.

“Whatever. He was a nerd and an athlete. What's conformist about that?”

Eddie stares at him, narrowing his eyes. “Nothing, I guess. Or everything. He succeeded at academia, which was designed to shape kids into exploitable workers under capitalism—”

Jonathan groans behind him.

“—and made captain in a sport that's basically throwing balls into laundry baskets and calling it strategy. Praising people for that to the point where schools are giving scholarships is a little too much.”

“You try it, then, man,” Argyle calls from where he's laying on the rug, star shape style. “I bet you ten bucks you can't win at throwing laundry into baskets against Steve. Or my boy Lucas.”

Robin laughs maniacally. “Oh, I want to see that! Steve please destroy him, his ego needs a little humbling.”

The conversation moves on after that, since everybody looks like they're already over Eddie's rant. He doesn't mind, really. It's fun to ramp up the dramatic indignation against The Man, or whatever. It always causes a reaction, and even people who agree with him somewhat eventually hit a limit. Eddie likes to stick his finger and find that limit.

But not Steve. He's looking at Eddie like he's fascinating.

“You're a hypocrite.”

Eddie falters, biting down a smirk. “How come?”

Steve scoots a little closer. “You want to be a rockstar. You don't just want to live off making music. You want to be famous. You want people to like you.”

Eddie stares at him for a second, frozen in place.

“That's not—”

But Steve smiles, gentle. “That's alright. We all do. And you want to know a secret about being popular?”

Eddie can't resist. For all he protests about popularity and conformity and being so normal everybody likes you, he does wonder what it feels like to be on the other side. So he nods.

Steve smiles sadly. “It doesn't actually change anything. You think it means more people like you, but it just means more people are aware of you. What you do, what you say. Who are your friends, who you date. Where you go, when you go there. And at some point you feel like you can't escape it. And yeah, you do start to conform to the norm. Not because you think it's what's best but because you're so aware of people's opinions of you that you always choose the path of least resistance.”

Eddie... has never considered that. He moves a little closer to Steve as his voice goes quiet.

“You think it was fun to run into a random suburban mom in the grocery store and have her be furious at me because I was dating Susan Davis? Who apparently was her daughter's cousin, and she had a crush on me, and was planning on asking me to prom? How on earth was I supposed to know that? And she was double mad that I didn't even know who her daughter was. Like there's two hundred kids in Hawkins High. I can't know everyone!”

Eddie tries not to laugh, because Steve seems upset by this, but the situation is kind of ridiculous.

“And I think they got into their heads that because they knew of me I was supposed to also know them. But they didn't actually know me. I made prom King, people were mad. I was captain of the basketball team, people were mad. I then turned down being captain of the swim team and was just co-captain, people were still mad. I took a job, and people made fun of me. I lost that job because the mall caught on fire, people also made fun of me. I took another job, and people say I'm "wasting my potential", whatever that means. I don't know man. I think you can never win with people.”

Eddie grabs Steve's hand, touching softly his palm. It seems to work, and Steve relaxes a tiny bit under his touch.

What Steve said sounded exactly like what Eddie was talking about: the pressure to be what society wants, not what you want. He can tell it's a touchy subject for Steve, who has been under the crushing spotlight of being a relatively small town's golden boy.

So Eddie doesn't push any further.

“You got me there, though,” he says.

Steve smiles again. “Yeah?”

“Yeap,” Eddie nods. “I do want to be a famous rockstar. I do want to be known and liked and admired. I've never had that. But I guess you're right. We can't have it both ways.”

Robin, who up to that point had been discussing with Argyle the difference between an oboe and a clarinet, jumps in. “It's the horrifying ordeal of being known.”

Steve laughs. Eddie can't help it, his laugh is too contagious. He can't understand how people in this hellscape of a town ever looked at this boy and thought "he's not enough." With him? He gets it. Eddie's list of failures is a mile long. But Stevie? Sunshine incarnate, puppy-eyed, bitchy beautiful and smart Steve Harrington? There's nothing to complain about.

[makeyoumine69]

Till Death Do Us Part | Lore Deep Dive 1.0

𝐀/𝐍: Hello everyone! I wanted to make a short intro about this post and why I came up with the idea to drop something like this. If you remember the poll I did regarding this series, people voted to keep this story in a reader-insert format, which means that technically I can't make the MC a full-fledged OC. Also, I know that a lot of people don't like the whole idea of reader-insert fanfiction, where the reader has an established name and personality, including background and some other pieces of lore. And I highly respect that position, so this material is mostly a fun service for those who don't mind learning some lore about Patrick and Becca's dynamics. I plan to do more posts like this, so I hope you'll enjoy them! Thank you very much for being patient with me, I really appreciate your support! Unfortunately, I don't really know which tags are more appropriate to use in this situation, x reader or x OC, so I would use both for this time and see how it works.

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [SERIES M-LIST]; [SONG REC]. 💕

Rebecca & Patrick: The Past that Won’t Die Patrick and Becca have never been friends. Not really. But they were something. Linked by family alliances, summer homes, private schools, and social events, their lives ran parallel—and occasionally clashed in ways that still sting years later. Rebecca used to call him "Patty," a nickname he pretended to despise. He'd sneer and correct her in front of others, but deep down he adored the way she said it, as if she saw something in him that no one else did.  Speaking of Patrick—he used to call her "Dove." There were layers to the nickname. It began the year they were thirteen, after he gave Becca one of those tiny, delicate FAO Schwarz glass doves—the kind later seen in Home Alone 2. It was a rare moment of tenderness. Patrick gave her the dove without ceremony, muttering that it "looked like her—boring and fragile." But he saw her smile, and he noticed when she started keeping it on her nightstand. She still has it, in 1987. Patrick does not. The day he left for Harvard, he broke his dove under the heel of his Gucci-designed leather shoe. Deliberately. Slowly. In front of no one. It was a quiet execution of whatever feelings he might have had. In his mind, it was a ritual—a purification. By destroying it, Patrick convinced himself he could sever the emotional thread that bound him to her. But it didn't work. Not really.

That Kiss, That Slap – Newport, Summer of 1976 Rebecca was sixteen and had always been afraid of thunderstorms. Patrick knew this. Though he never said it out loud—never offered a kind word or gesture—he just watched her. More than he admitted, he noticed how she flinched at the first crack of thunder, how she hunkered down when the sky darkened and the rain began to fall. That day in Newport, the storm rolled in fast, wind howling, trees bending, the sky cracking like glass. They were alone, caught outside in a sudden downpour. Patrick grabbed her hand without asking and pulled her under the raised porch of one of the old houses that lined the beach. The rain drummed against the wood above them. Becca shivered—not with cold, but with fear. And he could see it. Something changed in his normally stoic face.  Without a word, he reached up, gently tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, and kissed her. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. It was hesitant—too human. And for a moment the world stopped. But only for a moment, because the second their lips parted, she slapped him. Rebecca's delicate hand slapped him abnormally hard, catching him off guard. Tears were in her eyes before she turned and ran out into the storm, her thin summer dress clinging to her skin, her feet stomping through puddles as she sobbed and disappeared into the rain. They never spoke of it again, but the memories of that day were as sharp and stinging as an open, fresh wound. A wound that would one day begin to rot—they both knew it, but chose to move on.

The Rabbit Incident – Mushroom

Rebecca's rabbit, Mushroom, was everything Patrick was not—soft, calm, comforting. A gift from a neighbor, Mushroom became her refuge. In a world where she was ignored, underestimated, or taken advantage of, this little creature offered her something rare—unconditional love. Patrick hated him. Not just because he was a "stupid ball of fur," but because Mushroom meant something to Rebecca. Patrick was selfish, jealous, and arrogant—too proud to admit that he loathed anything that made her smile without him being the cause. In his mind, Mushroom was stealing her attention. And Patrick didn't share it. One afternoon, Mushroom was found dead under an open window. "He jumped," her mother explained, feigning concern. "Tragic accident."  Everyone believed it—except Rebecca, because on some basic level she could sense the cruel deception she refused to acknowledge. And Patrick never confessed—never had to. The smug glint in his eye, the way he comforted her with a hand on her back and a hollow, "I'm so sorry, Dove," said it all. To everyone else it was an act—a mask. But to her it was war.  Even now she still has Mushroom's collar, hidden in the back of her drawer. Just like the dove, just like the pain, just like a pile of pictures of them torn apart and glued back together. One day, Rebecca's stitched heart would be among all those things, too—she knew it, but felt helpless in forcing herself to get rid of everything that reminded her of him.

P.S. I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community or my side-blog to know when I update!

[northlt03]

Rick is known to mirror myths a lot (Silena-Clarisse and Patroclus-Achilles, Polyphemus' cave, Hercules' labors, etc) He could and SHOULD have mirrored the Trojan war in HOO.

Let me set the scene. Gaea doesn't pop up until the last couple books. It's easy to be scared of something that is mentioned but not seen, which in my opinion, is why Gaea in the HOO books just wasn't scary enough.

So the antagonists in the first few books are the Giants working under Gaea's orders. Percy is kidnapped by them and given to the Romans in the hope that the Greeks and the Romans will go batshit crazy in a fight and forget all about the prophecy of the seven and destroying Gaea or whatever.

Camp Halfblood is fully ready for war. As soon as they find out (through an oracle or smth idk) that the Romans exist and they have Percy, not even Chiron can stop them. Percy is the hero of the Battle of Manhattan, of course, and the hero mentioned in the last great prophecy. He's like their modern Aristos Achaion.

Meanwhile, the Romans have no clue what's going on. There's this guy he's funny, he has no memories, he just shows up at their wolf goddess and trains and gets sent to them. Cool.

Juno can't stand to see New Rome be attacked. Whether or not they would win is a whole different story. So she plucks Jason from CJ and brings them to the Greeks just for some sort of a balance.

This mirrors the Trojan war in the sense that Troy was a fortified city, so is New Rome with tons of forts and walls. Aeneas' lineage went on to be Remus and Romulus, the founders of Rome. And Helen of Troy was stolen from the Greeks.

Anyway so there's that conflict, but at the same time Camp Halfblood is getting ready to attack, Jason, Piper and Leo get sent on a quest to rescue Hera who has been captured by Porphyrion and Enceladus.

On the way, Jason starts to regain his memory a little bit, though he doesn't know everything yet. He's still super conflicted with everything. A pretty girl thinks they were dating, Leo says they were best friends, Annabeth says the Romans are enemies. But whom should he really believe?

Piper's whole arc through the first book could be about how she's the daughter of the goddess of beauty, she wrongly assumes her fake crush on Jason was her mom's fault. And she's learned so much bad stuff about her mom from myths, she outright rejects feminity and anything remotely girly at first but then slowly she gets to know Aphrodite isn't as bad as some myths make her out to be. Bonding and shit bc why should Poseidon be the only present godly parent?

Leo, meanwhile, has no idea he can essentially fire bend in the first book. His arc could be about discovering his mother's death was his fault, slightly and coming to terms with it with the help of his friends.

Reyna on the Roman's side is freaking out bc Octavian wants to go to war with the Greeks who are close to attacking them, there's a strange dude who keeps trying to pick fights with gods, a horse girl and not to mention monsters won't fucking DIE.

SON trio go on their quest to Alaska to kill Alcyoneus/ release Thanatos and things are getting clearer to them as well. Just when the Greeks are about to attack on CJ, Polybotes and the monsters attack as well. Somehow, both sides end up fighting the monsters together.

They're not friends, but they're not enemies either, bc Percy is reunited with his gf and Jason is returned to his home.

The Roman senate and the Greeks somehow come to the same conclusions- that a quest needs to go to their ancient lands. Over the next few months the work of the Argo II commences.

Things seem smooth for a while. But Gaea grows restless. She poisons Octavian and manipulates him through dreams and stuff like Kronos did to Luke. As is the nature of most Roman emperors, Octavian overthrows Reyna and declares himself the leader of New Rome like his namesake Octavius Caesar. (HAHA! HISTORY PARALLEL BITCHES)

This puts the actual quest on hold bc the seven now need to find the Athena Parthenos to bring together the Greeks and the Romans and to stop Octavian's plan of trying to fuck as much shit up as possible.

Reyna, Nico and say idk, Grover, are the ones to deviate from the quest and bring the statue to USA again. But the Seven are still very much in Europe after rescuing Nico.

Percy and Annabeth fall into Tartarus which helps close the Doors of Death, except this time since Nico isn't there, Hazel has to take on control over ghosts and the dead in the House of Hades and leading up to it. The powers of mist, in my opinion, should have gone to Piper since charmspeaking is a lot like bending the mist verbally.

Piper's arc through the third and fourth book is starting to discover herself and with the help of her mother, figuring out she doesn't like Jason romantically like she thought she did.

Hazel's arc is gaining control over what she once was (dead). She's jealous her dad was there more for Nico than her, but she pushes past it and never lets her anger and grudges get the better of her which is like breaking boundaries for children of Hades/Pluto.

Frank's arc in HOH was really cool, I like that. So no change to that.

Jason, poor guy is still very much confused about everything really. He's used to being the leader, he feels lost in the large group. He has his moments to shine ofc (please take away his excess amounts of head injuries), but he starts to feel inferior, which is where Leo helps him bc the guy knows what that's like.

Anyway, in the absence of Percy and Annabeth, Jason has to take charge. He discovers he doesn't really like it. That's not what he was meant for even though he had greatness thrust upon him at a very young age.

His BOO arc is earlier this time and takes place throughout HOH and BOO. He's content with himself, even if he isn't with anyone. HE'S THE ONE THAT GETS SENT TO OGYGIA!!!

And Calypso eventually does fall for him bc he's smart, nice, and just an overall swell guy. But he helps her to realize that she can be content in herself as well. And he promises her that he'll help her.

Show me Leo, Jason and Percy trying to think of ways of helping the goddess.

In any case. BOO could have been like Iliad pt 2 also known as the Odyssey. It takes them the whole book just to get to Athens. Meanwhile, they've understood that Gaea is the main main villain. She's even raised some of the other primordials against them.

Percy and Annabeth already saw Tartarus, and then there's Oceanus who makes their travel much harder than necessary. Something something about how they get tossed all over the place and somehow manage to gather all the correct ingredients for the potion (i forgot the name lol) on their small adventures in the different places. In the end they finally make it to Athens. Except this time, there's only a few giants there bc they killed the rest before.

Annabeth and Percy are taken hostage, like it happens in the books, but PERCY WILLINGLY GIVES UP HIS BLOOD TO RAISE GAEA RATHER THAN LETTING ANNABETH GET HURT BC OF HIS FATAL FLAW LIKE ATHENA TOLD HIM WOULD HAPPEN EVENTUALLY!!

The Gods DON'T SHOW UP PLEASE!! That was so lameee. Why even do the whole quest if their mommies and daddies were going to show up to help them????

So while Percy and Annabeth are battling the remaining few Giants, Leo, Piper, Hazel and Frank go up against Gaia herself. In the old myths four titans held Ouranos down while Kronos chopped his essence up. In the same way, they battle Gaia away from her turf in the air, keeping her distracted enough. All these demigods are needed because she's a primordial dammit!

Jason, my guy, comes in a clutch, chops her to pieces and sends her essence to Tartarus!!

The world is saved, the end!

[closetsof-backlogged-dreams]

okay so I’ve seen and loved a bunch of these posts already but everything u say is immediately correct and amazing and sending u asks is the best

opinions on why zukka works and makes sense as a ship and if you think it could work in canon (outside of fanon)?

I CANT BELIEVE YOU JUST MADE MY ENTIRE LIFE COMPLETE AND FULL BY ASKING ME THIS QUESTIONNNN (strap in folks hold on to your hats keep a good hold on your bladders bc this is 10+ years worth of BUSINESS)

Why "Zukka" works and makes sense as a ship

something i've discussed THROUGHLY with my notes app and a school slides presentation is that Zuko and Sokka are both direct parallels AND contrasts to one another, at the same time. i'll list them out here:

Their fathers' roles in their lives

Both Hakoda and Ozai were the leaders of their respective nations, with Sokka and Zuko as the heirs. Then, they both become absent in their sons' lives and leave them to fend for themselves.

This is a parallel, but this is also where they contrast. Sokka's father left to go fight in the war, a noble and honest pursuit, and left Sokka to protect his sister and the village.

Ozai, on the other hand, cast Zuko out of the nation and forced him to protect and defend himself, while effectively turning all their people and his own sister against him.

Their sisters' roles in their lives

Despite both of them being the oldest sibling and brother, they both have severe inferiority complexes due to their younger, powerful bending sisters.

With Katara, she was the only waterbender in the entire tribe, a marvel. She could learn to protect the tribe in a way that Sokka had been trying all his life, and she eventually does. Despite all this, Katara is still a grounding and valued person in his life, and he would be completely lost without her (something he openly admits to in canon!!)

With Azula, she was a prodigy firebender, while also being a special kind of keen and cunning. She was adored by their father and grandfather and Zuko could never quite measure up. Because of this, Azula is the main villain in Zuko's childhood. She does everything she can to break him down, and that continues when she returns as a character in his life in season two. All throughout the show, instead of being a source of comfort and familial love, she is his main obstacle he must overcome.

The loss of their mothers

Both Sokka and Zuko lost their mothers at very young ages to the Fire Nation, but they had vastly different impacts on their families (and further developed their sisters' roles in their lives!!)

When Sokka's mother died, she was killed by a Fire Nation general. Katara quickly took over the motherly role in his life, cementing her place as a grounding and comforting force. Her death also did not break their family. It deeply hurt all of them, but Katara, Sokka, and Hakoda still loved one another just as much as before.

When Zuko's mother died (obviously not really, but this is what he believes for many years), she was "killed" in order for his father to ascend to the throne and become Fire Lord. This left Zuko without anyone to protect him from Azula's tormenting and cemented her place as a destructive, villainous person in his life. Ursa's death also did destroy their family. Whatever way she had managed to keep them all together was eradicated, and Zuko was left with a sister and father that resented him and a sister fighting for his place in the line of succession.

Their obessesions

Both Sokka and Zuko had two bone-deep obsessions that were very defining parts of their characters in the first season, that slowly wavered and faded away as the story progressed and they developed as people. They were both given these obsessions by their fathers immediately before they became absent in their lives (whether leaving themself or sending their son away) and proceeded to dedicate their entire life to these goals in the name of honor.

With Sokka, his father asked him to protect his sister and his village. Sokka then dedicates all his time and energy to becoming a brave soldier and training the children of the village in order to protect his people. This is seen further in season one even after they leave, when he is overly protective of Katara and constantly worried for her safety (something this fandom doesn't talk about enough!!)

With Zuko, his father sent him on a wild goose-chase to find the hundred-years-lost Avatar, and when he actually does, all he can do is chase after Aang so he can go back home. As we see in season three, letting go of capturing the Avatar was essentially letting go of his former self.

Unlearning their flawed cultures (the big one!!!!)

Both of their cultures had many flaws that became ingrained in their belief systems and characters; their whole development is dedicated to unlearning these flawed teachings and reorienting their perception of the world.

It is very obvious throughout the shows that the Water Tribe had strict gender roles that were both implicitly and explicitly taught from birth. The men go off to fight in the war, the women take care of the children, Sokka has to protect his "defenseless" little sister, etc. Suki helped start him on the journey of unlearning his deeply-rooted misogyny, and by the end of the series he's really drinking the Respect Women Juice™️ (unlearning the flaws of his culture also brought him much closer to his sister and strengthened their bond and respect for one another)

The Fire Nation is a lot more complicated with a lot more cultural nuances and implicit and explicit teachings, but we'll focus on one central cultural theme: the constant prioritization of ambition over absolutely everything else, including (if not especially) love. (I actually talk about this extensively in another analysis post about Azula, if you want to check that out<3) We see Zuko battle with this teaching all throughout the series, and it is the main conflict he faces, at its heart.

We watch him commit his entire life to capturing the Avatar in season one. We watch him betray his uncle in season two. We watch him, time and time again, put his own health and safety on the line trying to capture Aang, especially in season one. Constantly, over and over again, he puts his ambition first because that was what he was taught.

And though this is a trait him and Azula share, it is also what pits them against each other. Azula's entire character is built on putting ambition first, and that leads her to chasing the throne that is Zuko's birthright. Zuko just wants to go home, but that would reestablish him as the heir to the throne. Time and time again, we watch them fight and betray each other, constantly battling for this crown for a broken nation. In the end, it is Azula's undoing, but that's another post.

All in all, unlearning the flaws of their culture is central to their development as characters and a place where they parallel... but it is also a place where they directly (and perfectly) contrast.

Despite the cruelty of the Fire Nation, they are the only military that includes women. They seem to not really struggle with the same gender roles the rest of the world does. They may be colonizers, but they're not misogynists. Zuko never looked down on his sister because she was a woman, nor did her father. It was always her propensity for cruelty that undid her. (They even send a team of highly skilled women to capture the Avatar!!)

This is a direct contrast to the teachings of the Water Tribe, which are entrenched in misogyny and gender roles. The men go off to war, the women stay behind. The men are strong, the women are weak. Can you imagine how much Zuko could have assisted Sokka in his development here? (blah blah directly paralleling Suki's role in Sokka's life blah blah blah)

In the Water Tribe, love and family comes before everything. We see that time and time again. Sokka's main priority, every time, is his sister and his tribe. They stick together. They love one another. They are united, with one person leading them as a group but not standing over them like a tyrant. "Ambition" seems like a mostly unheard of concept in their nation. The only ambition we ever really see from Sokka is when he's trying to protect his tribe (season one finale)!!

Can you imagine how much Sokka could have helped Zuko unlearn his constant prioritization of ambition?? Like, come on. All the things Zuko was left to stew with and angst over all on his own Sokka could have gently taken into his own hands and shown him the way. Like, it actually makes me go feral just thinking about it. Sokka could have helped Zuko so much!! (pushing the Ba Sing Se Zukka AU rn)

Consensus

Okay, let's recap. It looks like Zuko and Sokka are both direct parallels and contrasts, paralleling in the ways that allow them to understand each other but contrasting in the ways that help them heal one another. Like, it's actually insane. I really don't know if it was intentional or not but it's really just so perfect. They slot together perfectly as characters. I hope this all made sense😭😭

Could "Zukka" work in canon?

Now, this is tricky. Believe it or not I'm actually really glad they didn't make Zukka canon. ATLA had a huge problem with writing good romance, and in the canon we saw in the show, neither Sokka or Zuko were in a place to get together.

I've enjoyed my fair share of Zukka AUs where they get together before the end of the war, but you and I both know that would have been a hot mess. (Both of them just weren't ready, they were both in relationships, and sorry but they were kinda busy—Katara was right about the whole "there are other things to worry about.") If they were ever to get together in canon, it would have to be years after the war ended.

Let's address a few things that needed to happen before they could ever have gotten together:

Finally admitting that Maiko was just an extreme example of comphet

Zuko did not give a single shit about that girl. Like. He didn't even personally go get her out of prison WHEN SHE WAS LITERALLY ARRESTED FOR PROTECTING HIM😭😭 And then they try to play off their story as some big epic romance?? uhhhh no

(really, Mai was in long-time unrequited love with Ty Lee that was finally requited after Boiling Rock but idk if society is ready for that yet)

Not to mention, Azula literally forced both of them into that relationship, but if I get started with that I'll never stop so. Moving on.

Figuring out Sokka and Suki

Okay, so while there is a good chance that Sokka and Suki could have made it work in canon, there is also a good chance they would have broken up. They both had very different priorities: while they both did care about overall world peace, it was obvious from Suki's first introduction that her Kyoshi Warriors were her top priority every time, and Sokka's was his tribe, his found family (Aang, Katara, Toph, Zuko, yk yk), and world peace at large. You're telling me those don't conflict? Especially because they really seem like a Piper/Jason situation, where they found comfort and love in each other during wartime but wouldn't have known how to keep up the relationship without the constant threat of death.

Overall, in order for Zukka to work, Sokka and Suki would have had to break up, which would not have been difficult to arrange.

Sokka needed to go home and begin rebuilding the Water Tribe

No matter how much I adore fics where Sokka stays behind in the Fire Nation and helps Zuko rebuild, it just wouldn't work. Sokka's obvious priority had always been his tribe. The second the war was over (ignoring the comics bc that's a can of complicated worms i don't want to get into), he would've gone back with Katara to work on rebuilding their destroyed tribe. Only once the Southern Tribe could stand steadily on its own two legs could he have even considered leaving.

Anyways, that's really it. In order for Zukka to work, three plot points would have to be resolved: Maiko, Sukka, and the reparation of the Southern Water Tribe. Extremely doable, imo.

Personality-wise and just as characters, would it have worked?

I really think it would have! Like I said before, Sokka and Zuko are two characters that perfectly parallel and contrast at all the exactly right points to make them slot together flawlessly as a pair. (Whether that's romantic or not—doesn't matter.) Really, I genuinely think they are a real missed opportunity. I have genuinely never seen two characters that seem so different that actually work that well together, or even just characters that work that well together at all.

Like, I really mean it, they are perfect matches. It's genuinely scary. Like it or not, no one will ever be able to replicate the perfection of what Zukka could have been.

Anyone that says that it's "random" or "doesn't work" obviously hasn't been watching the same show or simply just hasn't been paying attention. People might ship it just because it's opposites attract or red and blue or even just the most accessible MLM ship in the fandom, but they really are perfect for each other.

alright, I think that's it! sorry for this monster of a post😭😭 genuinely did NOT expect that to happen. PLS SEND ME ANY ASKS YOU CAN THINK OF ABOUT THESE TWO!! i have spent a concerning amount of time thinking about them and these show has analysis potential for days, so. (and who knows, maybe i'll finally post the like three unfinished fics i have for them💀💀 god knows i should)

thanks for the ask, and have a great day <3

[beansprean]

Oh, y'all thought the fight had started already?

My Familiar’s Ghost part 51

Masterpost

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(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Close up of bat Nandor from Guillermo’s POV, crushed into a wall and held there by Guillermo’s hand. One of Guillermo’s claws has pierced the membrane of his wing and Nandor is clutching at his fingers in terror, staring up with wide, panicked eyes. 1b. Reverse shot of vampire Guillermo from Nandor’s POV, holding him down with his left hand as his right rears back, claws bared in preparation to strike. He is grinning maliciously, relishing in a new kill. 1c. Wide shot from the side as there is a sudden screech of tires and crash of metal. Guillermo and Nandor freeze in place and whip their heads toward the viewer and the front windows of the Panera.

2a. Wide shot from outside, on a roadway running up a hill and parallel to the Panera. A blue hatchback car with a license plate that says ‘whoops’ and a bumper sticker that says ‘how’s my driving? 1-800-KISS-IT’ has crashed into a pole with a yellow traffic light and is smoking, front end crumpled and passenger window shattered. The pole is slowly falling sideways, towards the Panera parking lot below. 2b. Close up as the traffic light, yellow light still lit, smashes into the asphalt, cracking the green lens and ripping the blinders off the red lens. 2c. Repeat. The traffic light settles on its side, mostly intact, and flips to red. Unfocused without the blinders, red light pours freely across the ground. Nearly invisible red text behind reads “stop stop stop stop”. 2d. Repeat of 2c, Guillermo and Nandor still frozen in place but now bathed in red light. Guillermo is narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the scene outside and Nandor nervously flicks his eyes over to him, assessing.

3a. The entire Panera is now flooded in red. Shot from behind the pillar Nandor is pinned to as his leg, now human shaped again, kicks forcefully upward, sending Guillermo flying backward into the opposite wall, demolishing the sheetrock and destroying a wooden chair in the process. Debris flies everywhere. 3b. Waist up of Nandor, back in human form, as he stands himself up, his inner arm bleeding. He snarls angrily and points an accusing finger at Guillermo, saying ‘You want to fight? Fine! The truth is, I have been upset with you, too!’ 3c. Reverse shot of Guillermo struggling out of the ass-sized hole he made in the wall, fangs bared and deadly gaze focused on Nandor. Nandor continues from offscreen: ‘You get so angry when I don’t know things about you but then you don’t tell me anything!’ 3d. Close up on Guillermo’s hand closing around a broken wooden chair leg. 3e. Close up on Nandor’s hand closing around a wooden chair leg as he accuses, ‘You keep secrets!’

4a. Full body of Guillermo lifting himself from a crouch in the debris left by the wall, a long stake with a shattered pointy end clutched in his left hand. His eyes, like a predator, never leave Nandor. Nandor keeps talking: ‘You assume to know what I am thinking and how I will react to things and what I will say - well you don’t.’ 4b. Knees up of Nandor as he steps away from the crushed pillar to a more strategic place against the light, holding his own long stake point-up like a readied sword in front of him. He stares seriously at Guillermo and says, ‘You hear, but you never listen, Guillermo.’ 4c. Extreme close up on Nandor’s glaring eyes trailing a slash of red light as he makes a quick turn, shouting, ‘Well you will listen to me now!’ 4d. Full body wide shot on an orange and yellow starburst background as Guillermo, both hands on his makeshift sword, takes a backswing at Nandor. Nandor’s sword meets him in the middle as he swings it down single-handed in perfect form. Their eyes never leave the other’s; they’re both in the fight now. /end ID

[caption]

Bonus ID: shot through the shattered front windshield of the crashed car to show Laszlo in the passenger seat and Colin behind the wheel, both covered in broken glass and peeking out from behind inflated airbags. Colin asks, glasses askew on his face and grinning in his usual unflappable way, ‘How was that, Lazzo?’ Laszlo smiles patiently over at Colin and asks, ‘Marvelous work, my boy! Now, what possessed you to aim for this particular traffic signal?’ Colin replies, ‘I dunno, just had a feeling. Can we go for that Escalade next? I really want to see how sensitive that pedestrian detection feature is.’ The engine continues to smoke, and there are a few wisps of familiar blue light trailing away. /end ID