#because the end was shit for the most part

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

a Jedi Shadow!Obi-Wan AU

Introspection fucking sucks, according to Commander Fox.

The thing about him is, he’s been made out to be a bastard and ever since their batch found their calling or whatever he’s embraced that role.

Every batch needed someone who didn’t secretly want to be cuddled, who pushed others away so he could keep track of the big picture.

Cody had competed for the role for a while. As did Wolffe.

For Cody, his heart, big and fragile once you got to know him, got in the way in the end. He sees the whole picture, craves it so he won’t go crazy from the losses. But he believes in people and their goodness.

Fox doesn’t.

Wolffe made the mistake of getting the galaxy’s best General. General Koon shits rainbows and glitter, from what Fox has been forced to listen to.

Fox has… the Chancellor.

He takes a swig of water and wishes it were something stronger. But Quin is on the other side of Fox’s desk, reading glasses ever so slowly slipping down his nose while he’s crunching and tracking the numbers to prove the Chancellor is, indeed, siphoning credits off the Republic to giftwrap them for the Seppies.

He takes another swig.

Wouldn’t surprise him if Palpatine turned out to be the villain of the whole story.

Brought Fox to drink with the kind attitude, the cruelty so expertly hidden from first glance, cushioned in false promises and support.

Hadn’t been pretty. But it had been easy. You go to the right places, people are only too willing to shell out for some drinks. Entertainment and morbid curiosity what brings a clone to their knees.

Some found the lisp he has because of the scar that ransacks through his lips and tongue endearing but most hadn’t bothered with wanting him talking.

Some wanted to inspect the changes in the Corrie armor up close and cozy.

If shit hadn’t already multiplied, Organa came flouncing into the Guard offices every two weeks with a new design like they were his little dress-up dolls.

The last design, the one that stayed, had a dummy connector installed in the backplate.

Fox hadn’t mentioned it. Had stewed over how the Guard, already isolated from the rest of the GAR, wasn’t even considered for the neural network that would make them more efficient, more deadly if activated. Treated like scum on a pedestal, overlooked and taken for granted.

Fox takes every advantage he can squeeze from that.

Every batch needs a willing loner who’s got the big picture in his head at all times and doesn’t care for the minutiae.

Fox had been comfortable in that role, really. He saw Thorn and Stone and Thire and the rest of them making friends and lovers and heartbreak, and that was the last fucking thing Fox wanted.

And then came Vos. Appearing from the shadows like a designer nightmare.

For such a short time they’ve sure gone through a lot together.

To the point Vos became Quinlan became Quin became Vos again became someone Fox clung to while fighting fucking addiction and the realization that he is stupid enough to become addicted.

No matter what Quin had said, Fox was supposed to be the pinnacle of cloning and artificially creating the perfect soldier. Addiction is a weakness and fault.

Fox almost did something extremely stupid over that one.

Turns out it’s all part of the sentient experience.

Fucking sucks.

Quin had laughed at that, ugly and bruised laughter, continuing to comb his fingers over Fox’s head. “Tell me about it.”

An eloquent way to say Quin was going through withdrawal himself.

They got outside help after that.

“Hey, Depa,” Quin murmurs absently after answering his comm, pushes his glasses up.

“Quinlan, is your line still secure?”

“‘Course. Especially after Fox got his grubby little hands all over it.”

Fox shows him the middle finger of one of his grubby little hands.

“Good,” General Billaba clips out. Quin straightens up, and maybe Fox’s attention isn’t misplaced here. “Good. Commander Cody was activated by the Sith Lord and he’s bringing Obi-Wan to Coruscant.”

Activated.

Quin is silent. Blinks up at the ceiling. “Can you run that by me again?”

“Quinlan, we have reason to be believe the Chancellor is the Sith Lord.”

Hah. Fox got that one right on his bingo card, at least.

Cody got activated.

As they’ve learned, the neural network - battlefield mediation, in fancy Kamino speak - is activated by a designated Force using GAR personnel. Surprisingly, the status is even an optional display on the screens of every trooper’s vambrace. Or not so surprisingly.

Cody got activated by the Chancellor. Who is the Sith Lord the Order has been hunting.

Fox will deal with that later or never, whatever comes first.

He’s comming the Guard all across the planet, checking the weapons on his person, while General Billaba explains the situation. He appreciates her succinct manner, he’s gotta say.

“I’m on the way to detain Anakin. Mace is following the ship Commander Cody captured but we need someone to intercept them on Coruscant before he reaches Palpatine.” She halts for a brief moment. “Obi-Wan seems to believe the Commander has betrayed him when he knows about the neural link inside the clones. We are fearing the Darkness is deliberately attacking and clouding his senses.”

“I’m on my way,” Quin nods, adds with a calculating glance at Fox, “I’m not sure I have back-up.”

“Funny thing about the Alderaan design of the guard armor,” Fox comments, checking the plasma charge on his DC, and vows to give Senator fucking Organa a sliced fruit platter, “the Guard doesn’t have the connector to the neural link.”

He comms their resident medic next and orders every gundark-level tranquilizer delivered to him.

Cody got activated and is following the orders of a Sith Lord.

Stars help them.

#loud au #commander fox #quinlan vos #foxquin #tw addiction #my wips

[ramp-it-up]

Two Most Wanted Pt. 4...Anytime you Like

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup"

Summary: You have your way with Sy. Or is it him having his way with you? 🧐

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, talk of birth control, Graphic sex. Fingering, manual sex (f receiving) oral, Dom Sy is coming out to play, degredation AND praise kink, dirty talk kink, begging, raw p in v, size kink, pleasurable pain, rough sex, copious amounts of bodily fluids, some fluff and just a lil' angst at the end. This is 2.5k of porn with a teeny tiny bit of plot.

Read at your own risk.  Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N:  This is the fourth installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part here

------

Sy gladly let you pull him into your rental.

Then, he took control.

He pushed you against the wall and placed his hands on your waist, bending down because of the height difference, even though you were wearing four inch-heels. You’d missed how tiny he made you feel.

Sy’s mouth was so close to yours as he queried you. His eyes were so intense.

“You’re not done with me yet, eh?”

You pouted and his lips tenderly touched yours, deepening the kiss as you parted your lips. His tongue insisted that you belonged to him and yours agreed, the two dancing passionately.

“Good girl. Opening up for me like that.”

Your head was spinning and you whined in your throat. 

“Hm.” 

Sy grunted and then smiled before he kissed you again. You were glad for the wall as you were weak for him again. 

“Whatcha wanna do with me, Buttercup?”

Sy’s fingers were on your ribcage now, his large hands spanning your torso. Then, his hands were everywhere as he explored your body, from your breasts over your dress, to your back, down to your ass, which he squeezed as his mouth possessed yours again.

“I want to be your cum slut, Sy. Want you inside me.”

Sy stopped moving, resting his forehead on yours and his hands on your hips. He huffed into your face.

“Holy shit, Buttercup. I thought I was calm after what that mouth of yours did in the Bronco. But what that mouth of yours says…”

Sy’s hand was on your jaw and you turned your head to capture his thumb and suck it. 

“Wan’ you to fill me up, Sy.”

You looked him straight in the eye as he pressed the rock hard length in his pants against you. His pupils were blown and you felt enormous power.

“Hm. The thoughts you think, Buttercup.”

Sy examined your face as he questioned you, his blue eyes making you shiver.

“You want me to fuck you raw…?”

You smiled at his lewd suggestion and the gravel in his voice, and lifted your arms, placing them on his shoulders, standing on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. 

“I’m on the pill. And tested regularly. But only if you want to.”

The expression on his face was priceless.

“If I want to? Hell, Buttercup. I’ve wanted this for 20 years. Jesus, it's really happening.”

He looked as if he would devour you.

An unexpected joy at his want caused a giggle to bubble up in your throat as Sy rolled you around the corner, further into the room, and started trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck right below your ear. His hand was on your ass as you started to grind on air. He remembered your spot.

“Fuck, Sy!”

His other hand came up around your neck and tightened to let you know who was in charge, and you whimpered as he looked down at you and grinned.

You pouted at him, frustrated because you wanted to feel all of the things at once.

Sy’s hands roamed, finding your waist again and lifting your feet off the ground as he kissed you, making you heated at the show of his power. He set you down again, squeezing your breasts and sucking the tops of them in your dress as you writhed in his grip. 

“Let me see you in the light, Buttercup.”

He reached around and wasted no time in pushing his shirt off your shoulders and unzipping your dress to let it fall to the floor.

Sy stepped back and took all of you in. You felt like a piece of art as he studied you. You concentrated on not covering up. 

This was a long time in coming.

“Damn, Buttercup. You’re so beautiful. All of you. Better’n my dreams.”

Sy looked into your eyes after taking in your curves. Hungry.

“Kiss me, Sy.”

He did as you asked, hands on your breasts now, kneading them and weighing them in his hands, his thumbs thrumming you like an instrument. He kissed you fiercely, then looked into your eyes again as he slid down to inhale you, mouth sliding over your flesh, between, underneath, on top, and finally, sucking your nipples into his mouth with abandon.

You moaned as your pussy pulsed with need.

“Sy…please…”

“Don’t rush me now, baby. I’m gonna savor this.”

He kissed you again, and then slid his hand down your torso to your pussy, finding you still so wet for him.

“Hm. Such a good girl, with such a good pussy. Here. See.”

He held your gaze as he brought his fingers up and put them into your mouth, making you taste yourself.

It was so dirty that you practically came from the taste of your desire for Jacob Syverson. 

“Thaaaat’s a girl. Get ‘em even wetter.”

He removed his hand and brought it back down to your cunt.

“I want you to cum for me. Right now.”

“S-Yyyyyyy!”

Most of his fingers went inside you while his thumb stroked your clit. He practically lifted you off the ground as he fucked you with his hand, watching your face as he alternated marking you up and sucking your nipples hard.

“So fuckin’ hot, Buttercup. Good girl.”

His voice was doing things to you. Sy grinned and his eyebrow arched as he felt you clench on his fingers. He brought his mouth close to your ear.

“Which is it, Buttercup? Are you a cum slut, or a good girl?”

Your head went back into the wall as you moaned, baring your throat to him again.

“Or is it both? Are you my good little cum slut?”

“Oh my fucking godddddd!!!!”

You came in his arms and Sy watched you, his mouth open in awe. He couldn’t wait anymore.

He picked you up and carried you into the bedroom, dropping you on the bed as he took off his shoes and clothes. You sat up to look at him.

He was massive. Sy had matured from a lithe youth to a grown man and he was thick all over. The curls on his head continued on his face and on his chest, a dark rush of it pointing down to his cock, which you knew was big, because you’d tried to swallow it earlier. But seeing it like this, hard and throbbing, curved against his hairy stomach, large mushroom tip leaking, thick shaft throbbing, made you lean back with your legs open. 

‘I want that,’ you thought.

Sy took it in his hand and started stroking, causing precum to drip out and you to lick your lips.

“You’re about to get it, Buttercup. Anything you want. Look so fucking beautiful all laid out for me.”

You smiled as you realized you’d said that out loud and you opened your legs wider as he climbed between them. He handled you like a rag doll as he grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer to his legs as he knelt on the bed. He grabbed your knees and spread your legs up and apart as his long thick cock slid in between your legs, smearing your wetness all along the underside of his shaft.

“Mmmmmmmm, Sy, want more.”

He was skating in your slick, driving you wild with the tease of the cap of his cock catching on your clit as he moved back and forth.

“Patience, Buttercup. Need to lube myself up with your cream.”

Sy was enjoying how wet you were and the fact that he was actually between your legs after all this time. He watched, almost mesmerized, at his cock moving through your folds, and his dick jumped, slapping you on the clit and making you moan.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease… OH shitttt. It’s too much!”

You’d gone from begging for his dick to pleading for mercy as his thick head breached you. You stared at Sy wide eyed as he grabbed his shaft and stopped moving. His heart clenched at the thought of hurting you.

“You good? Want me to…”

He made to pull out and then you implored him.

“No! I mean, it’s so big, Sy… but I want it. Need. It.”

You grabbed your breasts as you felt him cock jump within you.

“More, please.”

“Mmmmmmoooooahhhh,” Sy groaned deeply as he slowly eased into you and at the vision of you pulling your own nipples as he stretched out your soul. 

He bottomed out and licked your exposed neck, causing you to shudder in his hands, which were gripping your ribcage. You looked like sin and felt like heaven around him. 

“You good, Buttercup? Please say you’re good. I need you to be good, baby. ‘Cause I need to fuck you so bad….”

Sy was panting and his heartbeat was erratic.

As always, his words made you gush wetness and you arched as you kissed him, laying down fully and bringing your hands to his short curls.

“I’m good Sy,” you looked him in the eyes. “So fucking good, all full of you. Fuck me. Please… ah!”

As soon as you said ‘fuck me,’ Sy started moving slowly, dragging sparks with with each millimeter of movement inside you.

“More…”

You whispered it as all of your senses came alive and were overwhelming you. 

Sy sped up and looked from your eyes to his cock destroying your pussy. He couldn’t focus on one thing for too long, your face, your hair splayed out beneath you, hour breasts with nipples erect and bouncing, the way he was moving you like a doll as he helped himself deliver the dick to your pussy.

“Good god Buttercup. This cunt is so tight and wet and hot for me. Shit, you stretched around me is so much better than my imagination….”

“Ooooh. Sy. Feels so…Your cock goes so deep.”

It had never been like this before. With anyone.

Sy gave you a mischievous grin as he leaned back and grabbed your knees, bringing them up and bending you in half so that he could plunge even deeper inside you.

Your head shot up to witness him ravaging you as he slowly fucked you with long and deep strokes. You dug your nails into his forearms, holding on for dear life. He fucked you so good that you gouged scratches down his arm and the pain sparked a new pleasure in him that he didn’t know he needed at the moment.

He was inspired to fuck you better, faster, harder.

Sy reached up behind your head and pulled it down by the thick curls at your nape as he leaned over you, caging you in with his massive body as he thoroughly and soundly tried to put you under the bed.

Your belly tightened, your insides in a vice grip of pleasure as you tried to run. There was nowhere to go, however, as Sy was all around you. He felt you tense up, heard your whimper and kept a steady pace, his balls tight against him, the notion of making you cum with just his cock a long held ideal.

“What’s wrong Buttercup?”  

He looked you in the eyes before he kissed your lips.

“Afraid to let go? Don’t want to let me have the cum I’ve been waiting for?”

“Unh! Sy…”

You felt him in your belly, thick in your channel like he was made of you. You knew what was about to happen. And you wanted to get away from it.

Sy read the look on your face.

“Unh unh. You’re going to stay and take my cock like a woman. Not gonna run. You’re gonna take this orgasm, gimme your cum like I deserve it.”

Sy didn’t let up on the intensity, but he looked down and surveyed what he was doing to you.

“Look at all that beautiful cream. Looks so fucking good. Making me drool.”

You had an out of body experience as you watched the saliva leave Sy’s mouth and drip onto your clit and as soon as it made contact, you came, gushing more fluid in between you two.

Sy pounded you through it for a few thrusts, then he pulled out and rushed to collect some of you on his tongue.

“Goddamn. So fucking good, Buttercup. Taste yourself.”

He was up again and before you could protest, was back inside you, hand on your throat as he kissed you hard and deep, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as his resolute pounding and the taste of your cum combined. He trailed his hand down your neck to your breast, rolling your nipple for a second before finding your hand and holding it above your head as he looked into your eyes. 

Suddenly, he became tender, looking as if he was about to say something that you didn’t want to hear, so your other hand found his ass as you encouraged him to find his own end.

“Gimme your cum, Sy. You owe me. Some. Cum.”

He licked his lips at the filth you were uttering and responded in kind.

“Anything you want, Buttercup. I’ve got so much, you’ll be leaking for days.”

You arched your back and bit your lip at his words and as the music of skin slapping on skin intensified. You felt yourself tighten impossibly around him again. And so did Sy.

“Oh…. no….” 

You felt as if you couldn’t take another, but Sy wasn’t done with you yet.

“Oh, yes, baby. Just give me one… more….”

Sy’s thumb found your clit and as you came around him, he emptied all he had inside you.

“You feel like…like heaven, Buttercup.”

Your hands were on his face as you watched his ecstasy and as he pumped more and more of his seed inside you. You smiled and kissed his forehead as his head bent in exhaustion. You wanted to say that he was beautiful, but that would be more than you wanted to convey. You just kissed his lips when he looked back up at you again, and you collapsed on your sides, your bodily fluids between you and his slowly softening cock still inside you.

Sy pushed your hair back from around your sweaty face.

“Look, Buttercup, I know that you are holding back. But you can’t stop me from saying it again.”

“Sy-”

“Shhhh, Buttercup.”

Sy smiled. Handsome wasn’t the word.

“I love you. ‘Til the day I die.”

He brought your hand up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles.

“I know you’re still trying to process everything, and I can only imagine all of the things that are going on in that beautiful brain of yours, but you’re mine. I’m claiming you. Whether it's for the rest of our lives, or just for this weekend.”

You just looked at him and nodded, emotional and unable to speak.

“Just want you to know where I stand. This wasn’t just notalgia sex.”

He slipped out of you and rolled over on his back before he got up and headed toward the bathroom.

“And for whatever time period I have you, I’m yours. Anytime you like, Buttercup.”

He looked back at you with a saucy grin as he caught you ogling his ass.

You stared at the ceiling as you listened to him turn on the water. There was a lot going on in your head, but Sy had just told you that he wanted you and simultaneously taken the pressure off this weekend.

You thought about what you wanted. And what you wanted was currently taking a shower. You walked into the bathroom to have some more of him. You opened the shower door and Sy reached out and pulled you in.

“Get in here Buttercup, the water’s fine.”

That grin would do you in.

——

Hit Reblog if you like it!

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson #captain sy x reader #captain syverson fanfiction #syverson fanfiction #syverson x reader #syverson smut #captain syverson smut #syverson fluff #cpt syverson #Syverson #Syverson angst #Syverson x black!reader #Syverson au #Sy x Buttercup #Henry cavill x reader #Henry cavill smut #ii most wanted #ii most wanted au #ii most wanted fic #writeblr #amwriting #am writing

[s1m0nth3swag]

Leon S. Kennedy Scenarios

Some sweet and short Leon Scenarios, all inspired by the wonderful @leonw4nter who sent me some of her ideas (gen love you for that)

Three scenarios in this one, all fluffy and cute because Leon deserves happiness, and I will be the one giving it to him !!!

Info about the scenario at the start of each one

[Leon says he isn't hungry, then proceeds to steal your food | Was intended for Death Island Leon, but honestly, I think it'd fit better for Vendetta]

You glare at your boyfriend of a year as you shovel food onto your plate. There was a usual way of going about this. Leon would say he wasn't hungry, that he'd eaten at work, and that you shouldn't make a serving for him as well. Each time, you'd stupidly trust his words, which would inevitably end in him casually helping himself to steal parts of your food, all under the disguise of suddenly being just a little bit hungry. This time, you were prepared. You had prepared a second serving and were ready to defend your food with your life.

You trotted to the couch of your shared apartment, flopped down on it, and swiftly put the TV on. Leon followed after you wordlessly, and you just instinctively knew he was up to something. He always was. He sat beside you, rested his head on your shoulder sweetly - you immediately held your food up as his hand shot out. “You said you aren't hungry!” You huffed, rolling your eyes as you scooted away from the other defensively. “Oh come on, that was so long ago. I just want a little taste!” Leon almost pouts, though the mischievous sparkle in his eyes instantly betrays him. “Fuck off! Get some yourself. There's still more in the kitchen!” You respond, kicking him playfully as he tries to get closer. He puts on his best expression of betrayal, trying to make you feel sorry for him. “That's all the way back there! I've already sat down. It ain't fair!” He exclaims. “Come on, just a little bit, please.” He pleads, resting his head on your knee as he stares up at you. He almost looks like a dog begging for food now. “No, get your lazy ass up and get it yourself.” You simply say, rolling your eyes as you casually continue eating.

Leon stares you down the entire time, waiting for the moment that his usual food manipulation tactic works - you stubbornly stand your ground, though. Each time he opens his mouth to complain once again, you simply shush him and tell him the exact placement of the rest of the food in the kitchen. After you finally set your plate down on the small table beside the couch, Leon huffs as he moves to sprawl himself on top of you. “You're awful.” He pouts, snuggling his face against the side of your neck. “Just get your own food, love. Ain't that hard.” You chuckle and run your fingers through his hair, feeling his following sigh as the air hits your neck. His arms wrap around you tightly as he snuggles further against you. “Isn't fair.” He mumbles. “You're supposed to share with me and shit.” You giggle. “I made you a second serving. You could've taken that, just saying.” Leon doesn't answer, too stubborn to do so as he rests on top of you.

“Next time.” He mutters after a while as you feel him smirk against your neck. “Sure.” You laugh softly. “Next time.”

[Matching Pyjamas with Death Island Leon]

Even though Leon grumbles about being too old for childish things like this, you know that deep down he is more than thrilled as you present him the clothes you had ordered. A set of matching hello kitty pyjamas that you had bought on a whim - you definitely needed to learn how to not spend your money on the most random things (the fact that you had used Leons credit card was a minor issue for that plan though). He looked at you, sighing as he watched how excited you were. “Please Lee, you only gotta wear them this once I swear!” You begged, and you swore it was visible that his facade crumbled down. “Fine, fine. This once.” He gives in, grabbing his set from your hands swiftly. “No pictures, no laughing or I swear you'll regret.” Leon then adds, slightly glaring at you because he knew for a fact that you had taken pictures of him sleeping before - in your defense, the way he cuddled up to you during the night was just too adorable. You quickly nodded, though, even if you planned on breaking that unspoken promise. You were pretty sure Leon knew that already.

He insisted on changing in the bathroom, something about it being a surprise - he probably just wanted to stare at himself in the mirror and rethink all his life choices. You hummed excitedly, patiently waiting as you sat on the side of your shared bed. The second he stepped out you grinned widely, giggling as he came to stand in front of you. “Happy?” He asked, answered by you snaking your arms around him while nodding. “Extremely so.” You sigh, resting your head against the soft fabric of the sleep shirt. “Good. Can we sleep now?” He grumbles, his cheeks ever so slightly flushed. You knew he enjoyed this more than he wanted to let show. “Nuh uh! Gotta take pictures first!” You smile, and Leon groans as he realises that he'd be in for a longer night than he had planned.

[Re2 Leon being head over heels for you (and getting made fun of for it) No Outbreak!]

Leon can't help but grin widely at the text you've sent him, almost like he has to read it over and over again to have it imprinted on his brain or he'll die. He's taking his lunch break right now, nestled into one of the break rooms chairs. You've agreed to come see him and get him something to eat, because he totally forgot his food at home - he definitely didn't not take it on purpose so you'd have to come save him.

The two of you had only been dating for a month or so, but Leon already dreamed of a wedding and waking up next to you every morning - which had happened only once up until now. It had been a stormy day, and during the evening it only got worse, which led to you simply staying over. Leon still got that tingly feeling in his stomach when he remembered how cute you had looked with your bed hair. If he wasn't such a gentleman, or if he wasn't so shy about it, he wouldn't have let you go the whole day. He giggles as he looks back through old messages - he especially likes the outfit checks you sometimes send him, he can't help but grin at the pictures and videos, his cheeks flushing as he thinks about how wonderful you look, no matter what you wear. He comes across the one where you stayed home for a day, and he swears his heart bursts with how adorable you look in your pajamas.

Leon knows he's getting weird looks from his workmates, but he really doesn't care. He's in love, he's allowed to be a little giggly and blushy, even if the others don't agree. Chris looks over his shoulder briefly, sighing a soft “simp”, and Leon shoots him a glare before lighting up at the sight of you walking into the break room. He immediately jumps from his seat, moving to give you a hug. “Missed you, Baby.” He mumbles, face snuggled against your hair, taking in the soft scent of your shampoo. “Can't have missed them much when you're on your phone the entire time looking at their pictures.” Chris speaks, and Leon would be mad at that, if you weren't giggling as hugging him back. “Brought you some snacks.” You hum, and Leon's heart practically stops in his chest with how cute you are - as if he hadn't been the one to tell you to get him food.

Moments later, he sits at the table again, you on his lap, because he insisted that the chairs would be too uncomfortable for you. He munches on one of the sweet treats you had brought him while you spoke about your day so far, Leon was definitely the happiest guy alive right now. He places soft kisses on your neck and jaw every now and then, smiling at you. He'd definitely die happy if it was by your side.

#leon vendetta #re2 leon #leon x reader #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon death island #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader

[icallhimjoey]

Reinvent Love

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: You and Joe are treading new waters. You’re no longer flatmates, but still close. More than friends, but nothing defined. Nothing labeled. Determined to not lose what you have, though. But, can you?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, jealousy, accusations, soft fluff, lil smutty, reader has hair long enough to tie up, season 3 of my flatmate!joe

Author’s note: oohhh big changes! we are TALKING! with our MOUTHS! what a time. This is the last part of flatmate!Joe - for real this time. I truly hope you've enjoyed what is still my most plotless (imo) bit of writing, lmk your thoughts <3

Wordcount: 4.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

There was something living inside of your chest.

It was only small, but definitely there. Soft. Vulnerable. Silently shrinking. It had gotten hurt and was wearing its bruises on the outside. When it got poked, you could feel the shooting pains as it curled in on itself more. It would find the safest spots to squeeze its eyes shut and you’d mentally tell it, it’s okay. You’re okay.

It wasn’t okay.

Maybe therapy wasn’t an insane suggestion, anymore, at this point. You felt like you were protecting a child to the point where you couldn’t let it see the light of day. Couldn’t let it go outside and play. Couldn’t let it have friends – let it meet Joe. Couldn’t let it experience anything joyful, because if you did, it’d probably experience more hurt too.

But it was hurting anyway.

And now it was only pain it got to feel. Never joy. Just bruises and cuts. Scrapes that slowly formed thick drops of blood that hardened into scabs which pulled at your skin and eventually turned into scars.

You wished you’d known that before you locked it up inside.

There was something living inside of your chest, and it carefully wished it could speak up and be heard.

When you’d walked out of your bedroom and into the living room, a surprised Josh raised his eyebrows at you. He was leaning back into the sofa and had an acoustic guitar in his lap that he was absentmindedly playing whilst he was watching TV on a low volume. The guitar playing stopped when he saw you and didn’t pick back up as he watched you walk over, pillow in hand, facial expression drained.

“Hey, what’s up?” the guitar got moved onto the floor.

You didn’t answer when you put your pillow down on the opposite end of the sofa and took the blanket you’d slept under before. You curled up, ignored Josh who tried to ask if you were okay a couple of times as you stared at the TV. He asked if you wanted to talk about it. Said you probably should talk about it if you didn’t want Josh to think about this all night.

“It’s going to keep me up if I don’t know if you’re okay.”

You ignored it all, didn’t give a shit if Josh was going to get a good night’s sleep, and eventually turned over and faced the back of the sofa. It sent the message it needed to. It took just another moment before Josh turned off the TV, and then the lights as he left you alone.

This was stupid.

But you were stubborn.

You were stubborn and were going to go to sleep on your sofa, even though you were the one that lived here, and maybe Joe should be the one to sleep on the sofa.

Or actually, he could go home. To his own flat. Where all things were his, and the only things that felt like they were yours were the plants you’d brought in and the toothbrush you’d left by his sink.

Yea.

Joe could just leave.

You didn’t care that he was still paying rent.

 But you didn’t actually get up to go and tell him that. Of course not. You just wallowed in thought. In all the would-dos and would-says. Shivered because this new stupid blanket Josh got wasn’t thick enough to keep you warm throughout the night.

You made yourself cry inside of that soup of goopy misery. Felt what lived inside of your chest as it drowned and mentally apologised to it when, after three hours of not being able to actually go to sleep, after three hours of anger that turned into fragile neediness, you decided to get up and make your way back.

Find Joe.

Because, and fuck him for this, Joe always knew how to fucking fix it.

And there was something so silly about walking down the hallway of your flat with tears staining your cheeks to sneak into Joe’s old bedroom. To find Joe inside of the bed there, the lay-out of the room still the same. Joe’s side of the bed still the same.

The click of the door closing made Joe lift his head up in an attempt to see into the dark.

He hadn’t expected you at all, so for a second, he thought that maybe you’d just walked in to get something. Your phone. Or your charger. But then you walked around to your side of the bed and got under the covers. It was too dark to see your face, but you found Joe’s warm body and snuggled up. Pressed your forehead to his jaw and hummed through a sigh and Joe didn’t need to see your face to hug you closer. Didn’t need to see if you’d been crying to wrap arms around, and to tangle legs, and to press a small kiss into your hair.

You wiggled as you settled and sighed as you sunk deeper into the mattress. You could deal with the disappointment within yourself in the morning.

“I’m sorry.” Joe whispered into the dark, and you decided you could also deal with your disappointment in Joe in the morning, so you softly whined and said, “Pause.”

“Pause?”

“Mhm.”

Everything could just be paused. Postponed. Just for a few hours. You just needed to get some sleep.

Joe wasn’t in a position to not accept that. His heart felt full with the nostalgia he unexpectedly found with you sneaking into this room in order to get some sleep. It used to be like this. He was in the same location. In the exact same spot. Just, everything was yours now.

Me too, Joe thought.

Everything was yours now, including Joe. Whether you wanted him or not.

He squeezed you tighter and saw that you got to sleep. Traced finger tips across skin that warmed under the covers, and tickled into your hair by the nape of your neck, and he could feel how you were drifting off and, fuck off, he was yours.

He’d tell you in the morning.

Joe was going to tell you in the morning.

He would.

When Joe woke up, you were gone.

Fucking figures, Joe thought.

The private moment of waking up together that would’ve granted him the security and comfortability to say whatever needed saying was gone now.

Joe rubbed both hands over his face and scolded himself for not waking up as you had gotten out.

But it was fine.

There’d be another moment for it, he’d make sure.

Venturing out of your bedroom, you weren’t in the bathroom. Nor in the living area. He did, however, find Josh in the kitchen.

After awkward but polite good mornings shared, there was some uncomfortable shuffling around. Joe had made breakfast thousands of times in this kitchen, and he was already reaching to open the fridge when he realised that, actually, that was a weird thing to do. He no longer lived there. He couldn’t just go into cupboards and find the food that he knew was there – he knew exactly where the oatmeal went. He knew exactly where to find the cinnamon to sprinkle on top. How the coffee machine worked. Which cupboard to open to find the mugs.

Joe opted to busy himself making a coffee first. The machine was right there on the counter – less weird to reach for it and prepare himself a morning brew.

And Josh was cool about it. Opened a cupboard for him to fetch him a mug. It was a bit of an awkward dance, but a friendly one, tight smiles shared as Josh prepared his own breakfast.

It wasn’t until the loud noise of coffee beans being ground up that Joe decided to just… ask.

Might as well act like last night actually happened.

“Sorry about last night, mate,”

“Oh yea, no worries, I didn’t…” Josh frowned and shook his head as he scraped some butter onto his toast. He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t need to. Took a bite before buttering the second piece.

“Have you seen her?” Joe tried sounding as casual as he could, but failed miserably.

It was as honest and vulnerable of a question he was ever going to ask Josh. It revealed he had no idea where the fuck you’d gone, which in and of itself revealed that there was probably a reason you hadn’t told him.

But Josh was relaxed about it.

“Yea. Morning run. You just missed her, I think.”

And it took all within Joe to pretend that didn’t surprise him as much as it did. He just nodded. Pretended like that was a normal thing to hear about. Morning run. Sure. Miss be-useful-first-thing, what the fuck? When had you picked up that habit?

The coffee machine stopped whirring, and Joe took his coffee. Went for a sip immediately and instantly burnt his tongue. Rookie move.

“Is um… is everything okay? I don’t want to pry, but,” Josh asked as Joe moved around the island to sit down.

“Ah, well… you know,”

No, actually, Josh didn’t know.

Which was good.

Joe didn’t really want him to know.

Joe didn’t really want to explain.

Couldn’t really explain.

Where the fuck would he even begin?

“Hmm, yea,” Josh accepted the non-answer easily. “She seemed upset, but wouldn’t really say anything.”

Joe had to suppress a smile.

Of course you hadn’t fucking said anything.

“I asked like fifty times if she was okay, but she… I don’t know, she fully ignored me I guess. Kind of went catatonic on me a little.”

Joe drank his coffee and nodded.

“To be fair though,” Josh made big eyes at himself, “I was being really fucking annoying. I would’ve rolled over and ignored me too, I think.”

Both men let huffs of air escape them in silent laughter.

Then a moment of silence followed where Joe drank his coffee and Josh ate his toast. Joe realised he didn’t like how Josh knew things about you that he didn’t, but the upside was that it was incredibly useful, actually.

Josh talked where you... well, you did not.

“Did she cry?”

He wanted to know.

“No, she just… watched TV for a bit. I don’t know, she seemed tired so I went to bed shortly after to make sure she could get some sleep.”

That meant that, if you’d cried, you had waited for Josh to leave the room. Joe didn’t know if that was a comforting thought or not.

It didn’t take much longer for Josh to finish his toast and to casually suggest for Joe to make his own breakfast. Mentioned that everything on the bottom shelves of the fridge was yours before he walked out, and this morning was just full of surprises.

You split the fridge?!

What kind of sensible flatmate behaviour was this?!

When it was you and Joe, your stuff would just be thrown in wherever. None of it sorted. Joe would end up having your oatmilk in his coffee and you’d end up using his cheese in your omelettes.

Actually, he remembered how this had been the source of bickering for more than once. More than a couple of times. You would fall out over Joe having your food all the time, if he really thought about it. But it was always playful. Always something fun about it. A reason to swear at him until you made yourself laugh, and a reason for him to shut you up with poking fingers in your sides. The back and forth had never prompted you to split the fridge.

Had you and Joe ever been normal flatmates?

Probably not, he guessed.

Joe decided against breakfast in the end and just finished his coffee. Waited until you got back from your morning run, which he still had a hard time wrapping his head around, and when he eventually heard the front door open, he got up to make you a drink.

You knew Joe was still there by his coat that was hung up by the front door.

Fine.

Fine.

It was fine.

You were sweaty and sticky and hot and you could feel your heartbeat in your face, but it was fine.

Walking into the kitchen, you were welcomed by Joe in jeans and a T-shirt, bare feet, hair stupid, already holding out a glass of juice for you.

You took it and refrained from talking as you had a sip. Looked at him over the glass though, and you hoped that what Joe would see was determination. Strength. That he saw someone who wasn’t going to take bullshit, because you weren’t.

You’d just gone for your very first morning run for fuck’s sake.

For a moment Joe just looked right back at you. Watched you have the drink he poured for you. You had bits of hair stuck to your flushed neck and had to breathe through flared nostrils. It was wildly attractive, if you asked him.

“Morning run?”

You caught a small smirk from Joe that you turned away from. Couldn’t look at him be cute when you were supposed to be mad at him still.

Then, in a rogue move, Joe opened the freezer and took a single look inside to find a frozen pizza he took out and tossed onto the counter.

That was meant to mean something.

You gave it a blank stare as Joe looked at you and you sighed.

“Hey,” Joe tried getting your attention back on him, but instead, you put the glass down and turned around. Walked out. Went to your bedroom.

Joe followed.

“Hey,” Joe tried again, stood in your doorway, watching you collect an outfit. “Talk to me.”

It went ignored.

This was the worst part of not having an ensuite; having to take just enough clothes into the bathroom to change in there. You and Josh weren’t exactly on a just-a-towel level yet. Bathrobe felt scandalous too, somehow, even for the five steps it took to get from your bedroom into the bathroom.

Josh could see you in clothes or not see you at all.

Joe easily moved aside when you walked past him, out of your room, and you looked at him as you did.

“Come on. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Joe tried again.

It didn’t feel like you were fully ignoring him, but you weren’t answering him either.

You were thinking Joe was being an idiot.

You were trying, had been trying really hard to meet him where he wanted to be met, and then he just went and let you know he didn’t trust… you? Your flatmate? The situation he’d created with his own two hands?

Felt unfair.

You didn’t say any of that though. Just walked into the bathroom, and then left the door open.

Joe would get the hint, you thought.

He did, but only when you started peeling off your sweat-soaked top with the door wide open, still.

Joe moved quick. Sort of scrambled to get into the bathroom, to lock the door behind him, and then to help you get your top over your head as you struggled with the damp fabric around your shoulders.

You undressed, and Joe helped, and you made eye-contact the whole time.

You could see how he was searching. Trying to find whatever you weren’t saying in your eyes, his chin tucked in, his eyes pleading, all soft and rounded.

Joe tried.

He really tried.

You were getting naked right in front of him, body flushed and glistening with sweat and he got a good look as you stretched your body over the bath to turn the shower on and then you kept staring right at him as you removed more clothes and you were doing something with your eyes and Jesus fucking Christ, Joe was trying.

Trying to not grab you by the shoulders and give you a good shake.

Trying not to let his eyes skirt downward because you’d just removed your sports bra and, oof, man, that was a lot of skin on show.

Joe was trying not to hold you by the face and trying not to get real close and trying not to whisper words into your mouth in hopes of coaxing out some of your own. Which… he failed. Because he did get your face into both his hands just after you’d reached up to untie your hair. He did get real close. And he did ask you once more to just talk to him, please.

You handled the close eye-contact fine.

Handled the cupping of your face fine.

And Joe couldn’t stop searching your face.

Was there truly no budging?

Was this… was this it?

Had he just gone and fucked it all up for himself? Had the big plan behind his move imploded because he couldn’t deal with the fact that you were now… no longer in his flat with him? Joe’s mind tried to make sense of it, but all he could really come up with, was that you probably didn’t even consider the two of you to be together.

You’d never talked about that.

Had never mentioned it.

Hadn’t labeled it.

You were just close flatmates that weren’t actually flatmates anymore, and… and now what?

He just wanted you to talk.

You were just in your underwear now, stood in a small bathroom and Joe ticked off all boxes in his mind: you were alone, check. You were close, check. You were in your safe space, check.

The shower was hot now, slowly filling the room with warm steam and, fuck, if you would just fucking talk.

Joe was about to repeat himself. Was about to say it again. But then he saw it.

Something changed.

Your eyes softened and your mouth tightened as you tried to keep your lips wobbling. As you tried to not let what was living inside of your chest get out. When you started blinking more rapidly as your eyes stung with tears, you also began avoiding eye-contact and, good. This was good. Joe let you go then, and watched as you got out of your last piece of clothing before you stepped into the shower.

You left the shower curtain open, and Joe thought he’d never undressed quite so fast.

You’d never shared a shower before.

Something about it felt really momentous, but you didn’t have the opportunity to think about it for too long. The thought vanished just as quickly as it had crossed your mind, because when Joe stepped into the bath behind you and held you by the shoulders before curling his arms around to hold you close, you decided that, actually, you were going to talk.

“You left,” you started, voice far thinner than you wanted it to be.

“I know.”

“You left and you’re making me feel bad about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not fair. It’s not my fault you moved out,” you reached up to hold onto Joe’s arm across your front and you felt how your eyebrows knitted together when you softly followed with, “Is it?”

And, fuck.

Something snapped into Joe’s chest.

Something swelled and popped.

He didn’t know what that was, all he knew was that it hurt.

“No!” Joe tightened his arms before he let you go enough to turn around. “No, baby, of course not, is that– do you think I left because of you?”  

You looked at each other, and for a moment, Joe didn’t know if he was looking at shower water or tears that were running down your face.

You gave a small shrug before Joe lifted his hands to your face to wipe at your cheeks. If they were tears, they had no business being there, so he needed them gone.

“I didn’t leave this place because of you. Hey,” you avoided eye-contact, so he grabbed hold of you by the face again where both your of your hands found his wrists. “Look at me. Look– I did not move out because of you, all right?”

Well, he did… but, it was nuanced. He moved out for the both of you. He had to be careful. He couldn’t say the wrong thing and ruin what already felt ruined enough.

You gave a tiny nod that he could feel more than he could see, and you looked so fucking sad, Joe couldn’t help but move in to try and kiss some of it from your face.

He hoped you believed him.

You were naked in a shower together, of which Joe was getting none of the stream, and you were trembling because of things Joe had said and done and all he could think to do was hold you.

So he did.

It was a terrible waste of water, but it felt so incredibly necessary for him to not pull back until you did. Let you take the lead. Curl an arm around your head, the other around your waist, and follow your pace.

Joe felt how you were trying to control your breathing, and, you were right. He wasn’t allowed to be the cause.

He was the reason why you were feeling the way you were feeling and he realised he had been, for a while, probably.

Joe pushed you.

Joe had been pushing you.

He shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have left and he shouldn’t have tried with all his might to keep you as close to him as you had been before and he shouldn’t have taken his jealousy out on you and he shouldn’t have repeatedly asked you to talk to him because look! Look what all of it had lead to?

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

No more making you meet him halfway.

Joe was going to wait for you.

He would.

It didn’t fucking matter how long it was going to take you, or if you’d even get there at all. He was going to wait. If that meant actually befriending Josh like a normal person, then he was just going to have to befriend Josh like a normal person.

Joe held you close until your finger tips stopped digging into his skin so much, and then he softly said, “I’ll wait.”

That made you look up at him.

“I’ll wait for you. I can be patient.”

And, you frowned. Because what the fuck was Joe talking about.

“But…” you started, and you felt it then. You could feel whatever was inside of your chest collect every little speck of bravery it could find within your body. It pulled it from the muscles in your legs and from the bones in your arms. Found some hidden inside the beating of your heart and then some more in the humid shower air inside your lungs. And then, it said it.

“I’m right here.”

Joe blinked at you. Didn’t get it.

“I’m right– Joe, what do you mean, you’ll wait. Have we not been– is this not what we’ve been…” you furrowed your brow at how words seemed to escape you. All bravery gone.

Joe saw.

Heard what you were saying and, before you even fucking knew what was happening, Joe had both his arms around your waist and lifted you up, effectively pressing his face right into your tits as he scared the living daylights out of you because you were in the bath.

“Joe–” you shrieked, but were quickly shut up by his mouth that pressed to yours before your feet had even properly touched down again.

“I love you.” Joe squeezed it from his own mouth right into yours. Barely got the words out normal as he didn’t want to stop kissing. Didn’t want to break contact, lips and hands doing the most.

“Joe,” you laughed, giving his shoulders a light push before you felt something against your hip, and– oh.

“No, I’m sorry. Ignore that. I love you. Did you hear me? I love you. I said I love–”

“I love you too.”

Joe froze before he groaned with both eyes squeezed shut, and you looked down to see how hard that had made him.

“I love you too,” you repeated yourself and saw it jump, leaking already, and Jesus, that was quick. This was a fun game actually. Talking suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

“Hey, I love you. Did you hear me? I said I lovemmpf–” Joe got a hand over your mouth just for the sheer agony of what it was doing to him.

You took your shot and bit right into his fingers.

“Stop it, you’ve got to– you can’t–”

And, yea, you could actually. You shut Joe up with kisses of your own this time.

You were sharing your first shower together, and it felt sort of momentous.

It felt momentous because you’d shared words that had been stuck in the back of your throat for a while now.

It felt momentous because Joe just told you that he loved you.

It felt momentous because you said it right back and everything about it felt right.

It felt momentous because you were going to have loud shower sex and Josh was likely going to hear you and you actually didn’t care about it. You cared more about the pizza that was slowly defrosting on the kitchen counter which actually sounded like the perfect breakfast food, if you were being honest.

You and Joe were just flatmates, but not.

Were just close, but more.

Were in love. Had said the words now, for the other to hear with their ears, and wasn’t that a shocking turn of events after last night?

Joe couldn’t explain it if he tried.

Didn’t really want to either.

As long as you knew. As long as you understood.

And you did. The proof was in the pudding.

Something felt alive in Joe’s chest. And in yours too.

Maybe someday, they could meet.

Have a chat.

Talk things through.

Or not.

They could also just look at each other. Sit on the sofa. Curl into each other and eat pizza. Watch the first ten minutes of films before they’d doze off together. Make fun of plants that got overwatered in a desperate attempt to keep them alive because they were buddies with yours and Joe could never be responsible for the death of plants that had friends, were you joking?

They’d call you idiots.

And, yea you were.

But it was fine.

You were just close. In love. Together. And that didn’t need explaining. As long as you knew and understood, that was all that mattered.

You were all that mattered.

Your lead.

Your time.

Your pace.

Your love.

the end

---

The Taglisted

@ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson,

@choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @djoseph-quinn,

@dolcevit4, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee,

@figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @hanahkatexo, @harringtonfan4,

@hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke,

@lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr,

@munson-mjstan, @nadixq, @nglharry, @notverywise, @pepperstories,

@phyllosilicate-s, @royale1803, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @solzi1420,

@songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73,

@werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

#joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfiction #reinvent love #define close #explain us

[bloodtiesandbrickways]

Hey! You! Chronically online millennial looking at this ad!

Do you like lesbians? Do you like queer urban fantasy? Are you sick and tired of Chicago being the main character of every story and wish you could live in the faerie suburbs? Most important of all, do you like free shit?

Great, because this

is for you, and you don’t have to pay one single piece of money for it. In fact, odds are I’ve paid money to put this in front of your eyeballs in the worst Blazed post of all time. But if you’re already here, you might as well click one tiny little link for me. What could it cost you?

Click here for part one of Grocery Shopping is a Dangerous Job, a cozy urban fantasy novella about internalized classism, disability metaphors, shapeshifting of all flavors, F/F and trans!M/F relationship sideplots, and most important of all, what happens when you try and fight a kaiju with a mop after drinking half a gallon of cold process soap at thin trace.

Now, right now that link only goes to part one. Part two will be posted 3 May 2024, so, you know, after I’ve fought the horrible beast known as HTML style tags in the great game of copy/paste. Builds up the suspense, as they say. But I’m only gonna enjoy posting it if you read my story and send me hate mail about how much it sucks. And it has to be detailed hate mail, guys. None of that lazy shit. Tell me what specifically pissed you off or don’t bother.

There! That’s the end of the ad! Go do something useful with your life now, like read my story!

#urban fantasy #queer fantasy #writeblr #blood ties and brickways #bt&bw

[elbiotipo]

Would be fun to have a very strict, very realistic ancient human (neolithic) survival videogame. No, you don't get to build furnaces or a city or an industry at the end like in every goddamn survival game. There's not even an inventory, you got two hands and a skin bag that can carry a couple stones at most (and only because I'm feeling merciful). No HP, you get lacerations, broken bones, hemorrages, disease, and there's practically no medicine (no 'medicinal' herbs either, at best some cleaning and some soothing). You don't build, you just survive. AGAIN, NO FUCKING BUILDINGS. YOU DON'T BUILD SHIT. YOU DON'T HAVE A MAGICAL INVENTORY. TWO HANDS. THAT'S FUCKING IT.

Perhaps the most fun part would be interacting with the rest of your tribe. Try to impress your fellow tribe girl by hunting a goddamn smilodon, do a cave painting for the next initiation ritual, or figure out what those neanderthals are up to.

#cosas mias #I'm watching Stefan Milo's youtube channel and I'm in an ancient humans binge #I also taught anthropology if you didn't know #for a more fantastic take on it you could set it in a shrunk down Africa and interact with all the other hominins

[comradekatara]

i read somewhere that, after the war, zuko at least hands hama over to the swt instead of keeping her in fire nation prisons 'till the end of her life. Which is nice, I think. But I'm also curious as to how that would work out.

Most notably: how do you think it'd go down if she were to meet Pakku? given they both have some sort of connection to kanna's life, the idea of them being forced to interact even once entertains me very much. like, old waterbending master pakku—white lotus member—who has grown up in a patriarchal society and actively forbidden women from training to fight, under the precedent they are somehow ontologically weaker, fragile, and belonging in the healing huts... THAT guy, meeting his former fiancé's old friend: (or current wife's if you go by canon, which, eugh) A woman who not only fought in the front lines but ended up becoming one of the most skilled, creative, and deadly waterbenders in history. How would he react when finding out that a woman came up with blood bending? How badly would Hama mind-fuck him?? Because I'm confident they'd hate each other's guts-- no way she'd tolerate him,,,

And on a similar note—how would Kanna feel upon reuniting wirh Hama and discovering what she put Katata through, in your opinion? Idk, I'm just full of puppetmaster thoughts today. Hama is incredibly interesting and I wish she wasn't handled so much like a Halloween Specisl creepy witch, (even though katara herself is handled and written pretty well in this episode, i think. but i digress.)

i mean obviously i think about this all the time. i personally think that zuko hands hama over to the swt upon katara's request, and she and aang personally deliver her on appa (sokka is not there, for the very deliberate reason that if he knew what they were doing he would very vocally disapprove). and so katara is sort of retraumatizing herself by doing this, but she also feels like it's necessary specifically because she needs to be able to look hama in the eye and tell her why they're not actually the same (especially now that she actually did bloodbend someone in cold blood). katara has the love and support and safety to step back from her anger and her pain and her grief and hang onto her own humanity and allow herself to be the bigger person even in moments of abject rage and acute trauma, and hama doesn't. hama is a victim of her circumstance, and that's part of what makes her so uniquely terrifying to katara, because katara has that same capacity to make people hurt, she has the same tools at her disposal, and she has the same justifications to exercise that power. but unlike hama, she hasn't actually been pushed past her limits. sometimes she can see the cliff's edge, and sometime she even teeters on the line, but hama was fully just shoved off without a parachute, and that's really what separates them above all. i think katara should be allowed to acknowledge that and forgive herself for that, even if hama doesn't directly apologize to her (although in my mind she does, and it's not enough, but it's also so much more than katara ever expected to hear). even if it is too late for hama, katara deserves to heal.

frankly, i don't really give a shit about pakku or his reaction to hama. i also don't actually think that he thinks woman are ontologically incapable of being talented waterbenders of whatever; he's a pretty worldly guy, the reason he clings to these traditions isn't born of the belief that they're grounded in logical evidence like sokka's is, it's because he believes in the preservation of a system that benefits and valorizes him. pakku thinks katara belongs in the healing huts because he comes from a culture that dictates that women belong in the healing huts. like, he might also subscribe to the bioessentialist logic that women are better healers and men are being fighters, but that honestly doesn't really matter, because (unlike sokka) his epiphany lies not in the fact that woman can fight, but in the fact that his role in upholding these systems has actively driven his loved ones away due to his cruelty. he decides to be kinder, to women and in general, because he realizes that being an asshole has negative consequences. but frankly, who cares what he thinks of hama. realizing that your sister tribe in the south deserves aid and protection after being subjected to a century of genocide is kind of too little too late imo. unlike katara, sokka, aang, or kanna, who can approach this situation from the perspective of being a genocide survivor who even remotely understands hama's trauma, pakku really has no place in this conversation to me.

as for kanna...... god. hama/kanna reunion is genuinely one of the most heart-wrenching concepts to me in all of atla. as a sidenote, hama/kanna fanfic goes so hard every time. there's a total of like 15 fanfics for them on ao3 (last i checked) but they're all sooooooo. fucking delicious. tide locked........... ugh. anyway. i cannot fathom kanna's reaction upon learning that her closest friend once upon a time is not only alive, but also a convicted felon, for crimes including but not limited to manipulating her granddaughter, violating her (and sokka's) bodily autonomy in cruel and perverse ways, and forcing her to participate in that mode of violence in a way that traumatized her forever. even if you don't read them as former lovers (although it is indubitably better that way) it's so gut-churning. kanna lost so many people over the course of her life, and to learn that one of them has returned but in the worst way possible must be mind-boggling and distinctly unreal. like how do you even process that. first, how do you process how much pain she must have went through to become the kind of person who is capable of doing this, and then, how do you process the knowledge that the person you once loved most in the world irreparably hurt the person you now love most in the world? obviously she would always prioritize katara's safety over anyone else's no matter what, but god. kanna has led such a fascinating and impossibly difficult life, and it's not over yet.

#kallianthi #asks #analysis #postwargaang #hama #katara #pakku #kanna #hamaxkanna #hama&katara #also i didn't mention it in the post itself bc i've talked about it before but yeah i very much agree that i wish hama had been framed #differently because i do feel like making her into a cackling witch kind of undermines the whole point of the episode #she's someone who is deserving of our empathy and understanding despite her violence and by reducing her into a caricature #we lose that nuance #but otherwise it's such a fascinating episode.... #kataraaa.... katara i love you katara <33333

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part three

part four: say the one thing i've been wanting

Steve had been dreading actually talking about this with Robin. He hadn't wanted to put her in a position to feel like she had to come out or stop using him as a plus one to industry parties to fuel rumors. Even as he and Eddie pretty publicly dated Robin's agent and most tabloids still thought Robin and Steve were a couple some even going as far as insinuating Eddie was Steve's side piece or their third.

"Steve, you're kind of scaring me, what's going on?"

"Birdie, I'm only telling you this because I can't not anymore but I want you to know nothing is your fault and I literally don't need you to do anything. I just need to be able to talk to my best friend and in order to do that I kind of have to get through this uncomfortable part," Steve answered.

"Anything, Steve. Whatever you need," Robin said.

"Okay, so Eddie and I kind of broke up because Eddie assumed I was cheating on him with Nance when she came to visit earlier this year. He got really upset and kind of blocked me from any way of contacting him so there was no way to clear anything up after he left but he definitely assumed I was cheating on him and he wrote that fucking song and I just need to talk to you without leaving out this really huge massive reason why Eddie left and why I still feel like total shit," Steve rushed to cover the main points.

"Steve, hun," Nance comforted. She probably guessed something else was going on but had been understanding enough not to press Steve for more.

"Steve, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault," Robin started catastrophizing.

"Can you please stop saying my name. It's kind of freaking me out," Steve joked, "Robs, it's totally not your fault at all. It was a shitty situation I could have handled better and so could Eddie but there's really nothing to do about it know because I can't explain it to him and he clearly doesn't want me to so we are moving on, all right?" Steve attempted to keep the energy light.

"If that's what you want, sure babe," Robin said.

"I just want to stop going down Tik Tok rabbit holes of Eddie's stupid song without being able to complain to you about how fucking tired I am of not being able to do anything," Steve said, "and also I want so much ice cream and a really stupid TV marathon with my best girls and maybe roast Eddie's new song a little bit."

Nancy had already pulled up doordash and they were soon on their way to eating a smorgasbord of snacks and ice cream while watching reality TV and eventually dissolving into a karaoke session initially overdramatically singing along to Eddie's knew single and ending with some old school Taylor (her version of course). Steve was feeling better than he had in a long time and started getting out of the fog he'd been in since Eddie had left.

Eventually, Steve started answering his agent's emails again and submitting tape for different roles. He'd gotten a part in a small indie film in Italy and Steve was pretty ready to take it. It was an interesting part, it was literally away from everyone he knew, the director was kind of weird and didn't let his cast use socials while filming and encouraged only phone calls and old school letters to really get into the period mindset. It was honestly kind of a perfect next project and it helped that the script was actually kind of great.

"As long as you aren't going because you're running away, Steve. You know I don't want you to leave and you shouldn't feel like you have to," Robin said as he was starting to pack his bags.

"I really like the project. It's a good script and I get to get out of my own head for a while. Kind of perfect honestly. The shoot is pretty short its only like four weeks so I won't be gone that long and you and Nancy can keep holing up in my apartment without me getting in the way!" Steve answered.

"You're never in the way, dingus," Robin nudged him and then brought him into a hug, "we'll just miss you kiddo."

"I'll miss you too, Bobbie. Now let me go so I can pack." Steve pulled away with a bigger smile than he'd had in weeks.

@lololol-1234 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @zombiethingy (if you wanna be tagged in future parts feel free to comment! happy to add people)

#steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie #don't worry robin will fix it #angst #angst with a happy ending #rockstar eddie #actor steve #was it over then ficlet

[brucewaynehater101]

You know what would be so much funnier than Tim getting into fights with Darkside? In the YJ98 comic run, at one point Darkside canonically adopts a character named Secret. Before he does so, they have a few actually cute scenes together such as him giving her genuine life lessons and advice while she was on the home world of The New Gods and when she goes to Apocolypse, instead of getting tortured like most he gives her all the ice cream she can eat <3. She even calls him Doug!

Fun fact about Secret. She is also on a team with Tim. She had a crush on him at one point! He was actively dating Steph at the time tho, but the pair are still good friends even up to modern comics! She's *still* part of the Young Justice crew through and through.

So that leads me to this silly idea you may like: Darkside and Tim exchanging parenting tips. Darkside may or may not owe Tim a few favors thanks to helping Secret with stuff (he would have done the stuff even without the promised favor it was just a nice bonus). He can go on vacation to Apocolypse any time he wants to and he perfectly safe. Has he tried to recruit Tim? Probably. But Tim just said he already has a job and when his job ends he'll think about it. None of the Bats have the faintest clue about this.

I love this idea so much. I wonder how the BruceQuest would affect this relationship, but I think they might be able to get over that slump. Perhaps Darkseid even informs Tim, after Tim goes to beat him up and ask him to get Bruce out of the timestream right this second, that the body was just a clone of Bruce. Darkseid couldn't grab Bruce, but he gives Tim some aid (and many many apology gifts).

Tim gets revenge, but it helps them to move past Darkseid hurting Tim's son.

Anita, Tim, Darkseid, and Ma Kent all have lunches once every six months to chat about parenting. No one, not even Clark, knows about these lunches besides those involved and YJ.

Because Darkseid and Tim are friends, Tim may even provide him assistance here and there.

I love fics where the Bats find out some crazy shit that Tim gets up to and I'd love to see their reaction to this

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #dc au #thank you for the ask!!!! #darkseid

[katelynnwrites]

i can do it with a broken heart | laura freigang

warnings: angst with no happy ending

word count: 831

summary: you're determined to fake it 'til you make it, even with a broken heart. also known as your the reader's perspective of down bad

a/n: the third installation of my 'the anthology' blurbs series

you can feel laura’s gaze on you, from across the locker room.

a few short weeks ago, you would have blushed and teasingly told her that it’s rude to stare.

now, it makes your heart clench so you plaster a large smile on your face and turn to look at tanja, starting an intentionally cheerful conversation.

it is impossibly hard for you to ignore the blonde, especially when her eyes are on you again, this time in the club as you and your teammates celebrate the club’s win.

in stilettos, you have a drink in hand, a pretty sequined dress on and your makeup is done to perfection.

she’s sitting alone, at a table by the side of the bar and you can practically read her mind. you know her well enough for that.

‘she’s having the time of her life.’

well you can show her lies.

you can show up to trainings on time. you can attend every team bonding with a bright expression. you can do it all. even if it’s killing you inside.

because you’re a real tough kid. you can handle your shit.

after all they say you gotta fake it ‘til you make it. and you will.

so the one thing on your mind, repeating over and over as you push through each and every day is ‘lights, camera, bitch smile.’

even when you wanna die, you will do it.

your ex said she would love you all her life.

you believed her. you still do because you see the dark circles she has. she’s clearly devastated and barely holding herself together.

and you know it is all your fault for breaking up with her.

but you had to. had to because you love her so much. you trust her excessively and before you fall any harder for her, you needed to stop yourself.

it would have hurt too much when you landed and you know that if you allowed laura to love you the way she wanted any longer, there would be no coming back from that kind of pain.

so for your own sake, you had to leave her. even though it gives you overwhelming guilt to break her heart.

but you can grin like you’re winning and you can hit all your marks.

you’re playing better than ever because you know you are good. you know you’re good because you can do it, even with a broken heart.

you cry a lot now that you have left the striker but you are still so productive that one could consider it an art.

really, it’s only through the extensive uses of subtle makeup, face masks, cooling eye packs and the odd frozen metal teaspoon that no one has noticed it yet.

most of your relationship with laura was spent staying over in her apartment but there were nights that were spent in yours.

more than a few if the way you keep finding her things in your drawers is anything to go by.

first it was a old penn state sweatshirt. the next, one of her retro frankfurt jerseys.

now it’s her favourite pair of jeans.

you choke on your tears when you find it among your own clothes.

she’d worn them to your first date.

laura might keep looking at you but she avoids you like the plague otherwise. she doesn’t want to walk near your cubby in the locker room or be in the same training group as you.

she must hate you and you can’t blame her.

it is part of the reason why you cannot bear to return any of her things to her. they are the last tangible memories you have left of her, crucial evidence that for a brief time, you had the love of your life.

you feel like you’re drowning in your grief now but you can hold your breath.

because you’re a real tough kid. you can handle your shit. there is no reason to drag the german woman back into it, if she would even deign to give you the time of day.

so breaking down, you’ll hit the floor. all the pieces of you shattering as the fans chant, ‘more!’.

you might be depressed and you might be struggling but you will be damned if you’re not doing your best.

you will show up at trainings and team bondings on time, with a happy grin fixed on your face. you will only post the most positive and staged content on your social medias and you will not let any of your teammates or most importantly laura herself, see just how not okay you are.

‘lights, camera, bitch smile.’ you think once again.

even when you wanna die, you’re doing good. you know you’re good because you’re miserable and nobody even knows.

you swore that you would fake it ‘til you make it and you’re doing it.

it’s your new job and you are not going to let anyone try to come for it.

#laura freigang imagine #laura freigang x reader #laura freigang #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso blurbs #woso oneshot #eintracht frankfurt frauen #dfb frauen #gerwnt #katelynnwrites #'the anthology' blurbs series

[thelakesuite]

The Rusty Lake Story in Bitchass Baby Terms

this is ALL off the top of my head (and i haven't experienced like 10% of it maybe?) so i might be wrong but i don't care right now

the lake itself isn't, like, that well established 'cause it's a mystery game or something so we don't need full exposition. it's some deity-like thing as old as the mammoths (not canon) that eats time. or rather memories that are stored in lil cubes. and it gives its zookeepers immortality so they can keep feeding it. they call themselves the Rulers of the Lake but we all know the truth. 'immortality', or rather enlightenment, is represented by you becoming your fursona and living maybe an extra century. mr. owl's looking for a new heir pretty quick in the process but we'll get to that.

corrupted souls are kinda a byproduct of all this. truly the lake's farts. when a person dies horribly, when their memories get extracted wrong, or when the plot demands it, they become corrupted. corrupted souls still talk, and some of them are even sensible (like your mom oooooh), but generally they're jumpscare beasts or wet little puppies. sometimes both. yes you can get corrupted when you're enlightened, and right now it's the more likely outcome actually. there's a whole 'elixir of immortality' that gets harped on, where one drinker gets corrupted and the other gets enlightened, but that is literally only a thing for roots and a little bit of cave so don't worry about it too much. unless you're making dramatic fanart in which case leverage that shit.

cubes come up a lot in cube escape, believe it or not! black ones are bad memories, white ones are good memories, blue ones are connected to the past in a way that's somehow not a memory, gold ones are connected to the future, red ones only exist in my fangame that ellesian recently unearthed, and green ones are jello yum. also suck it anyone who told me pre-tpw the gold cube thing was unestablished. anyway. it was a big thing mr.'s owl and crow were working on, creating a golden cube (presumably to extend their own lives) as seen in cave, but then one just kinda appears in the past within when albert does electric jujitsu. jury is still out on that.

onto the actual narrative i think.

in paradise, you're mr. owl pre-owling (1790-something). the lake's current suckass servants are your family who tried to sacrifice you to it way back, but your mom took your place for mom reasons. now mom's corrupted and guiding you to... well, to get sacrificed for real this time. but with your powers combined (yes mr. owl was two people, no it is never addressed) you get enlightened and tell your family to fuck off 'cause you're building a hotel on that island now. you also get a tease in the secret ending that dale and laura will do a similar fusion dance to be the lake's next suckass. we've been waiting 6 years for that to happen.

in roots, two alchemist brothers get that elixir shit going (1860-1935). one of them becomes mr. crow, while the other becomes a playable character for a game. and corrupted. you rope your whole bloodline into this, harvesting their body parts (usually after they die from other means, but you totally caused most of their deaths) for a reincarnation ritual involving a magic seed (that also only exists for this game). this is where the best characters come from because rusty lake actually wanted to tell a story with this game. you reincarnate into a woman! don't think about the implications.

in samsara room, the inside scoop of reincarnation is fuckin' weird, dude (1935). the original was made before rusty lake began, so it's not truly part of the narrative, but it got folded in for the fifth anniversary.

in hotel, you do not get the backstory of the third bird man (1890ish). instead, you get to kill mr. owl's family again, but one-on-one as animal people. how did they become animal people? fuck you that's how! mr. owl probably did it on purpose to spite them with shit sandwiches and bullets to the brain. oh, also, there might be an evil twin of mr. rabbit that shows up later.

in arles, you're vincent van gogh. that's it. he's not relevant. but it is funny seing the death date of paul gauguin in the timeline docs.

we're talking about the past within later but the 'past' segment takes place around here. 1926 iirc?

in birthday, your parents get shot (1939). you're going to be an important detective, dale, but like right now you're getting traumatized. or rather you're experiencing that memory, then doing blue cube magic to fix it and have your grandpa shoot evil mr. rabbit instead. is your grandpa actually mr. crow? no. shut up about it now.

in underground blossom, your mom gets abducted (1935-1972 maybe). okay, well, not you. this is the laura backstory metaphor game but you're actually playing as the third bird man who is both her stepdad and her pet. and her grandpa albert takes her mom rose for his own nefarious reincarnation schemes maybe probably. rose is surprisingly okay with it but characters rarely put up a fight with the plot anyway. laura's a lonely kid, starts dating robert, picks up art to soothe her nightmares, gets murked, then reaches some kind of epiphany that we just train ride away from before finding out what actually happens. she's your daughter, damnit, you should support her transcendence. not enlightenment importantly. also, no, laura's life didn't literally happen at train stops, it's just a vehicle. not even a pun don't fucking laugh i see you snickering.

in seasons, you set up a really interesting plotline that gets utterly countered by everything that came after (1960's-80's). it's just laura time in there, and she uncorrupts herself, thank you very much. the series has been struggling with how laura gets her corrupted self to 1980-whatever, and so far only one other game's even taken place after 1972. and that game's the past within which also counters every other plotline. sigh. maybe we're not smart enough for these puzzle games. at least harvey's cute and bird-shaped. key point that's impossible to fuck up is that laura dies in 1972, and it's unclear whether it was a murder or suicide. that's why we get a detective.

in harvey's box and the lake, uh i don't know really (1969). these are early games that are basically spinoffs of seasons. they help with the overarching stuff but aren't much for the narrative at this point. also they suck

in case 23, dale starts investigating laura's death and gets wrapped up in the lake stuff (1972). it was supposed to be just another murder case, but he got too into it and it got too into him, so he gets teleported to the lake chapel and ferried off to. somewhere idk. he goes into an elevator that takes him down memory lane to the lake floor.

in the mill, mr. crow is really trying to clean house before dale gets here (1972). this is where laura gets her ass corrupted by mr. crow, and we find out how the lake eats memories or whatever. it's supposed to overlap with case 23 and it almost succeeds. whatever skrunk is still there is forgiveable, this was the flash era after all.

in theatre, dale learns about ripoff hinduism, goads a man into suicide, and abandons his darling toilet fetus son (1971). it's like birthday again, where this is a memory we're seeing, but that is a light distinction. robert kills himself at the bar, and we take his memories for legal reasons. there's some sixfold wheel we learn about that doesn't matter much.

in the cave, mr. crow still cleans house before dale gets to the Magic Memory Machine (1972). mr. owl's kinda sorta dying, and dale's been elected his son or something. gotta get his mindmeats. you read a textbook about cubes, pilot a submarine to the lakefloor, put dale and laura in a surrogate fusion dance machine, then give dale the golden cube it makes before sending him up the elevator again. hotel did imply something serious was gonna happen when he gets to the top, but that was eight years ago. the devs probably forgot and fell too in love with albert vanderboom in the meantime.

in the white door, robert unkills himself and gets wrong psychiatry (1972). as it turns out, mr. owl has a front business running a for-profit psych ward to extract totally good and healthy memories from people. this one is an actual factual spinoff but is kinda relevant for the greater rusty lake metropolitan area.

in paradox, fuuuuuuuck who knows maaaan, isn't it all just a metaphor? (1972). there's a consensus that none of the stuff that happens in paradox actually happens, and that it's all in dale's head while he's in the Magic Memory Machine from cave. even though there's five different endings, he kinda walks away at the end, which might be the worst ending of the lot. the information's solid though; mr. owl spells out the whole heir thing, there's bits of backstory for dale and laura everywhere. also the movie's sick.

in the past within, albert becomes a mechanical engineer for the sole purpose of making plot armor (1926/1984). yeah, remember that guy from roots? the voodoo murderer who got third-hand alchemy information to make up for his lack of pussy? yeah, he invented a time machine decades ago. and he enlisted his daughter to talk to her past/future self to grow him back to life in 1984. with a gold cube that he somehow got. and somehow his scar is genetically coded in him. and we don't see his wiggly lineart dick. what does he do in 1984? trap his daughter in a time loop then who the fuck knows. he's stuck in his jumpscare beast ways from being corrupted for so long. how did he get corrupted when he was literally buried in the ground and salvaged bones from? next game!

there's an ARG that i never saw a thing of because i hated it, best kept memory. from what i gathered, it was another front scheme for memory harvesting, except in the 2000's. does that mean it's enlightened dale/laura doing this one, since mr. owl presumably passed on the title then turned into a fish? i'd like to know too!

also, a chapter of underground blossom i haven't completed, and a paper-based game coming out within the next two years or whatever. i don't know how much they'll clear up.

toodles!

#rusty lake #basically the cube escape era set up this 1972 arc without actually concluding it #and each of the steam titles have been more distinct stories while still playing to the overall plotline #kinda like spinoffs of spinoffs #a lot of us old folk are bitter that we still haven't resolved 1972 and there isn't much focus with the recent games #like they do just enough building on each other to make it irritating they aren't doing more. especially compared to the cube escapes

[just-late-roman-republic-things]

Warning signs of fascist themes in history media

Fascism is a reactionary, authoritarian and nationalist ideology that opposes peace, democracy, and human rights. Fascists are sometimes attracted to history because they use it to promote violence and myths of racial superiority. Fascist ideas can be found in certain books, movies, social media, Youtube channels and more.

Here I'm going to talk about general patterns to help you recognize fascist shit when you see it, examples I've seen in Roman history studies, and suggestions for what you can do about it.

Fascist themes

I have focused on themes rather than specific dogwhistles, arguments, or symbols, because fascist rhetoric often disguises itself to appear more palatable, and varies across countries. Themes are also useful for analyzing books, podcasts, and other media where political bias isn't always obvious. For specific fascist code-words and symbols, see the links at the end of this post.

Not every item on this list will appear for every fascist, and not every person who does one of these things is a fascist. But any of them should warn you to be on alert.

1. Fascism is reactionary.

Fascism rejects the modern, changing world. Fascists feel like the "natural order" or "old way of life" is threatened and must be preserved. They may call themselves conservatives or traditionalists, but their methods and goals are more radical and disruptive than traditional conservatism.

Fascists often feel like they have been attacked, humiliated, or left out of their rightful place in society. They resent groups of people they believe are getting undeserved benefits or respect. These groups are usually minorities such as immigrants, Jews, queer people, women or racial minorities. The fascist may believe these groups are involved in a conspiracy to undermine or corrupt "decent" people, or to abuse children.

Be especially alert for antisemitism, which accounts for a large number of hate crimes, and has been a key part of most fascist movements.

The fascist portrays modern society as weak, corrupt, degenerate, or oppressive to people like himself.

In history media, this may appear as nostalgia for the past, "reject modernity, return to tradition," and romanticizing a primitive or traditional aesthetic. It can also show up as whitewashing the "heroic" culture and vilifying other cultures, or erasing the existence of minorities from history altogether. The fascist may downplay historical injustices like slavery and the exclusion of women from the workforce.

2. Fascism is authoritarian.

The "natural order" of the fascist is hierarchical, with some people mattering more than others. Those on the bottom of society are there because they deserve it, and their struggles and feelings don't matter. If they demand equal rights, assistance programs or respect, they are seen as entitled, lazy, whiny, and arrogant. Naturally, the fascist assumes his place is at or near the top of the hierarchy.

The fascist usually opposes ambiguity and crossing boundaries - mixed race couples, cultural exchange, women in mostly-male jobs, trans and gender-nonconforming people - because these undermine the artificial divisions in the fascist hierarchy.

A powerful central authority is seen as necessary to fix society. To be good requires obedience; to disagree makes you a traitor.

If the fascist has a leader, that leader is idolized and unquestioned. The fascist leader is typically charismatic, masculine, and "tough on crime." The fascist denies any wrongdoing from the leader, minimizes or tries to justify it.

Opposition to democracy, because democracy requires dissent. The legislature is de-legitimized as representing the people's will, and elections are called fraudulent without evidence. The fascist sees rule of law as a hindrance to "reforming" society. (This separates the fascist from the "mainstream" conservative, who usually cares more about upholding the status quo.)

Many fascists will project authoritarianism onto their opponents because they assume those opponents also view the world this way, just with a different group on top.

In history media this may appear as glorifying anti-democratic leaders, justifying violence as necessary, or denying that shameful events like the Holocaust happened. The fascist is also likely to portray democracy, defense attorneys, and civil rights activists as obstacles to doing "what needs to be done."

3. Fascism is nationalistic.

Fascists usually identify strongly with a certain nation, culture, or race. Different kinds of people are seen as inherently different in moral character, intellectual ability, or skills. You are encouraged to derive your worth from this group identity and to treat other people based on theirs.

This group is elevated at the expense of individual human rights. The fascist only values freedom of speech, freedom of association, and the rights of the accused for himself and his allies. People who are inferior or who disagree are not granted those same rights.

This offers a sense of identity and pride for people whose identity is feels unstable or threatened. It preys upon the lonely, the disillusioned, the failures. Historically, most fascist support comes from middle-class people who feel insecure about their place in the world, and angered by the rise of groups they see as beneath them.

4. Fascism is anti-intellectual.

Although fascists are attracted to history, they are usually more interested in using history as a prop for their mythic struggle of good and evil than in learning what history actually was.

Fascists will readily cherry-pick events and stories that feel glorious, exciting or romantic, or which feed their belief of being victimized. They will ignore or distort information that contradicts this, like historical multiculturalism and facts that make the "glorious race/empire" look bad.

The fascist may also combine myths, occult symbols, or historical details with no connection to each other, looking for a "deep underlying truth" that academics have missed (because it doesn't exist).

Fascists often try to discredit scientists, historians and the humanities. They may accuse "ivory-tower intellectuals" of being wrong, worthless, elitist or out of touch, or even creating a conspiracy to hide the truth. By framing intellectuals as the enemy, the fascist gives himself an excuse not to listen to them or doubt his fantasy of superiority.

When fascists present their own intellectuals, these intellectuals usually fixate on denouncing modern society and supporting fascist ideology, not on new discoveries or creativity. In the fascist mindset, all important truths are already known, all cultural and moral questions are already solved. Art can only conform to accepted standards, not challenge standards or create anything new.

Self-contradiction and hypocrisy. Fascist ideology appeals to people's feelings, not their logic. The enemy is both strong (to present a credible threat) and weak (so they can be held in contempt). The genocide didn't happen - and if it did, it wasn't really that bad. It's wrong for others to offend us, but we are justified in harassing or attacking them.

Intolerance of disagreement and dissent. The fascist mistakes feeling uncomfortable for being harmed, and thus any statements that make him feel uncomfortable, must be attacks from bad people. Critics must be shamed, mocked, harassed into silence, or expelled. Changing your mind is a sign of weakness.

Black and white morality / intolerance of nuance. The fascist has already decided that some people are right, period, and others are wrong, period. There is no room for morally complicated situations or mutual responsibility.

In-group jargon and redefining words. The fascist may refer to his opponents as slurs, say "pedophile" when he means "gay people," or invent new slang, dogwhistles and acronyms. This word-shuffling builds a sense of connection with other fascists, helps to dehumanize the enemy, and allows fascists to deny that they're bad people because they're not using specific bad words. (A fascist may complain about "Zionists" when he means "Jews," use Norse runes instead of swastikas, or say he's "proud of his heritage" instead of a white supremacist.)

In history media, look for dogwhistles, narratives with clear "good guys" and "bad guys," claims of a conspiracy among intellectuals or bankers, and contradictions. Does the text try to persuade you with evidence and logic, or with emotional appeals? Does it downplay or erase facts that would undermine the author's argument?

5. Fascism is violent.

Glorification of violence and war. Fascists believe that violence against their enemies is both necessary and justified to "defend their way of life," or protect society. They exult in shows of physical strength and aggression, and see physical weakness as pathetic. Weapons may be glorified and fetishized as well.

This can also extend to sexual violence and domination. The woman is an accessory to macho fantasies: an object of conquest, a prize to be flaunted and defended, a symbol of the man's own success and competence. A man who feels humiliated or threatened by a woman, perhaps because she rejected or outranked him, may threaten rape to "put her in her place."

The cult of heroic death. To overcome people's natural instinct to live, fascism glorifies veterans and martyrs, and encourages people to identify with and fight for the nation/race. Courage and strength are equated with violence. The costs of war are ignored - homelessness, starvation, massacres, grief, lifelong trauma and disability for many - even on the "winning" side.

Opposition to peace. Pacifists and neutral parties are considered traitors. Compromise is seen as giving in to the enemy. "You are either with us or against us."

Fascist justice centers on punishment, enforcing obedience and purging "bad people" rather than rehabilitation, education, or providing adequate social services.

In history media, look for an emphasis on the military, weapons, symbols of power, brutality, conquest, and sexual violence. Are these things equated with masculinity, power or success? Are we encouraged to identify with the conqueror instead of the conquered? Does the narrative mention people who opposed the war, or are they erased or lumped in with traitors?

6. Fascism is mean-spirited.

You probably noticed resentment, insecurity, anger and contempt in the previous sections. Fascism appeals to these emotions within people, and tells them that their unhappiness is other people's fault.

In fascist communities and blogs you will often see these same negative feelings, and externalized blame. Less overt fascist spaces may seem supportive, friendly, or just like hobbyists having fun, and this draws vulnerable people in. But it's juxtaposed with a deep disrespect for those who are seen as inferior.

Fascist jokes and memes are usually predicated on smugness (at being part of a "superior" race or nation), contempt (for "lesser" people), anger, or violent fantasies. They have a mean streak and may appear ironic ("It's just a joke, lighten up"), for the sake of plausible deniability.

The fascist does not merely hate that the "Other" exists (although they often do) - they resent being expected to treat others with respect, empathy and equality. They may demonize empathy by calling others "special snowflakes" who are trying to enforce "political correctness" or restrict freedom of speech. These are deflections so the fascist can avoid admitting how unreasonable and hurtful his behavior actually is.

Pay attention to how specific communities and media make you feel. Do you feel like you're becoming angrier or more fearful of the world over time? Do you feel less respect for certain kinds of people than you used to, or see the world's problems as those people's fault? If so, those spaces and media may be unhealthy for you, and could be promoting prejudice.

Example red flags I've seen in Roman history studies

Exulting over the Roman empire's size.

War being portrayed as exciting, heroic or brave.

Arguing that conquest (especially Caesar's conquest of Gaul) was justified.

Praising the emperors Vespasian, Titus or Hadrian uncritically - all of whom were involved in brutal oppression of Jewish people.

Arguing that Roman slavery was "not that bad" compared to other forms of slavery.

Unironically calling non-Romans barbarians, savages, or primitive.

Erasure of Rome's cultural and ethnic diversity, the role of women in politics, and queer history.

Portraying the end of free elections, debate, and political opposition as a good thing, particularly under Julius Caesar or Augustus.

Attributing the fall of Rome to "moral decline" or "degeneracy."

Attraction to symbols of power and famous military leaders - legions, centurion armor, idolizing Caesar, even the word "fascism" comes from the Latin fasces.

Falsely claiming that the Nazi salute originated with the Romans. (It's a neoclassical invention.)

Now, just because you see these red flags doesn't automatically mean the person is a fascist. Sometimes people use a word or meme without realizing its implications, and older works often say things that would be offensive today. That's another reason why I focused on general themes.

Look at the underlying patterns in what a person or work is saying, and think about what they want you to believe. As a whole, does it seem reactionary, authoritarian, nationalist, anti-intellectual, pro-violence, and/or mean-spirited? Conversely, if the person or work seems to value open-mindedness, democracy, education, peace, empathy, feminism, and multiculturalism, and if they treat those who disagree with them with respect, those are all good signs.

How should you respond?

A full guide to fighting fascism is beyond the scope of this post. I suggest contacting human rights groups in your area for the best ways to counter fascism in general.

For media with fascist themes or by fascist creators:

Do not share, recommend, or give it a wider audience. Even if it's "just a funny meme," spreading it can give fascists more followers, and make them more confident to attempt violence.

Do not spend money that will support fascist creators, organizers, or groups if you can avoid it. Don't buy their books, anime, hockey team apparel, whatever. Boycott them and tell people why.

Call it what it is. Fascist, racist, white supremacist, or whatever label applies. Don't use euphemisms for the sake of politeness - that only helps fascism appear respectable.

Post or share critical reviews that explain why the media is fascist. This will help others learn to recognize and call out fascism, too.

Sometimes people are attracted to controversial works just to be contrarian or to see what the controversy is about. You might decide it's more effective to avoid naming fascist works and giving them more publicity, and instead to call out the fascist ideas in them, to educate others. This is the approach I took in this post, but which method is better depends on the situation.

Don't use "fascist" for any bigot, conservative, or person you dislike. This waters the word down and makes it less likely to be taken seriously when a real hate group is threatening people. Fascism is a particularly violent, extreme, and anti-democratic type of bigotry. But when you DO see fascism, name and shame it.

If it's on social media or a blog, do not respond to it directly. Make a new post instead debunking it. This will avoid giving the fascists a broader audience, and they're less likely to notice and threaten you. Block and report them; try to get their communities removed from the platform. On a large enough scale, this helps prevent fascist groups from organizing and expanding their membership.

Read, watch, and promote non-fascist media and sources, like I do in my book reviews and favorites page. Bonus points if you can find sources for historical diversity and multiculturalism!

Further resources

This is an updated version of my older post, based on my notes from Umberto Eco's Ur-Fascism and Stuart Hood's Fascism: A Graphic Guide. I also found Miriam Griffin's A Companion to Julius Caesar anthology useful for understanding how fascism and other political movements have co-opted Roman history for their own purposes.

The Alt-Right Playbook video series deconstructs fascist and alt-right arguments, and explains how they gain traction in politics, particularly in the USA.

Subtler signs of fascism: What are dogwhistles? / List of dogwhistles (incomplete) / List of hate symbols / Early Warning Signs of Fascism

Art Spiegelman's graphic novel Maus is a memoir of the Holocaust from the viewpoint of an Auschwitz survivor and his son. It is much darker and more visceral than the preceding books, but also valuable for demonstrating what fascism looks like "on the ground" when it gains power, and the consequences if we do not fight against it.

If you or someone you love has gotten involved with hate groups, Life After Hate offers support and counseling. Also check out QAnon Casualties - Resources, even if the group isn't QAnon. Your past doesn't have to define your future.

For good sources on Roman history, I have a page of recommended media, including links to resources on queer history, Black history, disability studies, women in classical antiquity, and my tips for evaluating whether a history book is reliable.

I am not a historian or political theorist. If I got something wrong or if you have additional helpful info, please don't hesitate to say so!

#warning: this is like 2800 words #as usual i'm not a historian just an amateur trying to help raise awareness #correct me if i got anything wrong #good luck. i love you all <3 #fascism #media literacy #critical thinking #literary analysis #jlrrt essays #things to whack racists with

[jheselbraum]

It's 2024 and some of y'all are still whining about Katara being "mean" to Zuko after he joined the party like he didn't directly betray her trust and almost caused her to waste the spirit water on him instead of saving it for Aang which-- while definitely not intentional on Zuko's part since 1) Zuko didn't know that Azula was going to shoot Aang with lightning and 2) He didn't offer or expect the spirit water to be able to heal his scar-- from Katara's perspective the last time she trusted Zuko the Avatar cycle almost fucking ended. Of fucking course it's going to take her the longest to trust him again, she's right! She was the first person to trust him, and he burned that bridge!

Everyone's field trips with Zuko make the most sense for both how they happen and when they happen. Toph trusts Zuko the quickest because she can literally tell when people are lying and is also good friends with Iroh, who's like, the number one "Zuko's not evil he's just in turmoil" guy. Aang trusts Zuko next because he's a fucking air nomad pacifist who is culturally predisposed to the virtue of forgiveness. Sokka trusts Zuko after an intense and prolonged mission to rescue some POWs because Sokka is a warrior at heart and while he like Toph sees the strategic value in Aang having a firebending teacher (eventually), he needs to know how Zuko behaves while on their side before he can trust him. Like-- the change in dynamic between the air temple, when Sokka and Zuko aren't on mission and Zuko is kind of the one "in charge," he has the information Sokka wants but Zuko is the one who hesitates to give it freely and Zuko is the one who dictates how Sokka leaves the temple for the boiling rock, to when they actually get there and Zuko follows Sokka's lead and Sokka is the one calling the shots and coming up with the plans really emphasizes how Zuko works in team setting when it counts.

And Katara's field trip with Zuko has to be her revenge quest, and how Zuko acts during that quest really tells us a lot about what Zuko wants personally from that field trip which is the same thing that he wanted from the others-- jack shit.

Zuko asks Sokka about his mother's death because he wants to better understand where Katara's coming from, and from where I'm standing it's pretty obvious that he only realizes "hey hang on my years at the Fire Nation School For Little Princes might come in handy actually" and tells Katara what he now knows about the raid and who did it.

And throughout the entire episode Zuko is 110% on board with whatever Katara wants to do with that information. If she'd said at the tent "Thanks but the only revenge I want is helping Aang defeat the firelord and ending the war" then he would've just been like "ok"

Zuko makes no judgement call on Katara's use of bloodbending and he makes no judgement call on Katara's decision to spare Yon Ra and every move he makes in that episode is Zuko saying "You're right, I fucked up, and I understand where you're coming from" every move he makes is in support of Katara, she is the one in control in the situation and I think that's why Zuko brushes off Aang's call to pacifism earlier in the episode, because pacifism isn't what Katara wants in that moment.

Like that whole sequence comes from such a genuine place of caring and support from Zuko for Katara and I think the interpretation that Katara is just being Mean to Zuko for No Good Reason really cheapens one of the best episodes in the series as well as the episodes leading up to it.

#atla #the southern raiders #zuko #katara #look man the team they sent to go take on fucking AZULA was zuko and katara #it's 2024 give my girl her fucking dues

[lillybearrie]

Guys- guys! I need to talk about this because omfg arararara

Ok so I was watching sherb's most recent hardcore stream, or more accurately got not even a minute in and ran to Tumblr because I have thoughts, and maybe it's because I just binged Icarus's pov post-centross death but the first like 30 seconds or so of the hardcore stream made me realize the difference between someone like hardcore!Sherbert and Icarus.

Icarus is in a deep state of self loathing and needing to grief so so many things so many people they need to process so so much but their own father has convinced them that it's pointless that it's not worth it that they should just focus on other things like helping him in his endeavors and so they don't and instead they bear the weight of this feeling of guilt and dread that they carry it around all day every day and they use it like armor because they don't have much else anymore. They pour all of the doubt they used to have into blind faith in fable's cause because they will not process and they will not grief over the fact that in only the past 4 months they have either indirectly or directly been at fault for 2 of their friends deaths and that their very existence prompted the destruction of so many peoples lives fable caused the resets for them to save their life fable destroyed reality over and over and over until the universe was delt what is likely irreparable damage all for them and honesty we really don't talk enough about the guilt they must carry for that. Icarus wakes up and even if it's been a few weeks is immediately so so tired the weight of everything going on in their life waking up with them waking up with the voices that constantly tell them what they already know the voices the yell and scream that their wrong that their hurting people again that their acting corrupted The voices that never shut up day in and day out. And they stretch because sometimes keeping a routine in times like this is key to keeping sane and yk stretching is just generally a good habit. Their alone except for the emotionally distant basterd of a previously immortal man that dares call himself a father ( we're not gonna talk about how the stuff he instilled in ick when they were little influenced a large part of how the corruption presented itself in them during season 1 because this is not that post but if it was I would have so many words you don't even know) life right now is one big distraction and when it's not they either have a break down or they're chasing the next distraction and you can see that when they wake up because you get 2 kinds of Icarus in the morning angry Icarus who will take it out on quixis or us because they need that emotional release and we're easy targets or planning Icarus who is only thinking about what they need to do today they do mindless chores or talk with co-workers or are figuring out how to complete task fable asks of them.

Hardcore!Sherbert on the other hand is for better or worse alone completely and utterly aside from the things their's not a single actual person in their life. they farm they build they vibe and weird shit happens around them sometimes and they hear voices, they wake up and look forward to the next day even when they've been asleep for months they look in the bright side "not a bad thing tho it's important to get your sleep" they are so... free in comparison with Icarus and you can hear it in the way they talk its lighter you can see it in they way they move it made me realize how little Icarus actually truly smiles nowadays hardcore!sherbert has their fair share of struggles don't get me wrong but at they end of the day they're happy they enjoy life for the most part.

And Sherb does such a good Job acting out this fundamental difference between these two variations of the same guy. I go ababababa it think it's neattt anyway go appreciate Sherbertquake56's phenomenal acting after this long ass post psychoanalizing they way their minecraft characters wake up which is a total sane and normal thing to make a Tumblr post about at 4 am mhm

#i just think they're neat #thank you for coming to my ted talk #i go abababababa #i hold them #i has so many think thoughts #so many #the psychology of Icarus Morningstar consumes my brain #send halp #icarus morningstar #hardcore minecraft #sherbertquake56 #sherbverse

[aizawas-dryeye]

➭shiny (leon kennedy)^^

content: DARK CONTENT, noncon/dubcon, somnophilia, smut, reader has a vagina but no pronouns, re4!leon, wet dreams, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, he thinks about drugging u, leon feels terrible but he also doesn't care enough,, gore mentioned, catholicism also mentioned LMAOOOO

words: 2.9k

!!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

bitch please read the tags like u must

• • •

The mission was absolutely draining, and Leon isn't even knee deep in it yet. On paper, it sounded like the easiest thing in the world (and it usually does; he found that out quickly while working for the President). Find the First Daughter and bring her home. Cut and dry, really. But Leon's had shit luck his entire life, so why would he start being fortunate now? His idiot superiors neglected to mention the cult of parasitic psychopaths that inhabited the village, so now his super easy, cut and dry mission has turned into a horrific gore fest. At least they were smart enough to send him with back up, as much as he hates to admit it.

Leon's never been one to play nice with others when it comes to The Job. He's got such a big dick ego (and a hero complex to boot), and it honestly makes him insufferable to work with. But so far, he doesn't really have a problem with you. You're competent, quick on your feet, and got a pretty little face that serves as his own personal pallet cleanser after staring at putrid monsters for hours on end. He'd say you're bordering on distracting, but that wouldn't be fair; it's not like it's your fault Leon likes to gawk at you like some horny teenage boy.

He intended to keep his distance during the mission, keep his eye on you sure, but never more than that. Hell, he hardly even speaks to you unless strictly necessary, opting to use hand signals whenever he can. But again, Leon has shit luck and the universe really loves to test his patience because now he's trapped in a run down cabin with you, thanks to the raging storm outside. Normally he'd keep it pushing, but the rain had gotten so thick that neither of you could see two feet ahead. It's honestly a surprise you even managed to find the little cabin as you wandered blindly across the slippery mud trails.

Did Hunnigan really not see this coming? Did nobody think to check the fucking weather or do they just like to fuck with him? The rescue helicopters can't even make it to the village until the storm calms down, which means he'll be here even longer. Whatever. He knows where Ashley is so he can't be too grumpy about this, though he's ready to get it over with so he can leave this awful place. The stench of decaying flesh was starting to make his head throb.

Leon hears you shuffling around in the cabin, most likely pulling supplies together, but he keeps his gaze towards the window, trying his best to see any signs of movement. Seems like the rain slowed the ganados down significantly, so Leon isn't too worried, but the tension in the air makes his skin prick. The tight military gear certainly doesn't help.

He feels a soft thunk against his left shoulder that makes him jump, and he turns around to glare at you. "What?" he hisses. He glances down at the rotting floor to see a granola bar.

"Just thought you could eat while you spiral. My fault," you say flatly, giving him a shrug. You had set up a little spot on the cleanest part of the floor so you could easily go through your pack to take inventory. You're both short on ammo and medicine, and it's highly unlikely that this shit hole has anything y'all could use.

"We need to move soon. My pistol is completely out and I doubt there'd be much ammo in here."

Leon rolls his eyes at you and stalks over to where you're sitting, granola in hand. "No shit. If you wanna wander around the village completely blind, be my guest."

His voice is strained and short, and it's painfully obvious he's pissed, but so are you! He's not the only one stressed and exhausted, and the way he's acting is starting to get on your nerves.

You snap your pistol back together and stand up.

"Well, I'm going to look for supplies. Have fun sulking in here, Sunshine," you say. Leon huffs and and makes a pitiful attempt to hide the fact that he stares at you while you leave the room. It doesn't surprise you, lot of the male agents you work with are pervs, but at least Leon doesn't make it blatantly obvious. Just obvious enough that it gets under your skin.

Leon finishes his sad, little granola bar and leans up against the wall, eyes shut. He's absolutely wrecked from this mission so far, and he’s not even halfway done. Every fiber of his being is telling him to just say fuck it and brave the hurricane outside, but this isn't something he can go risking his life over. No Leon, no Ashley, and he doubts you can finish the job yourself. The thought makes him snicker— half heartedly sure, but he's got nothing if he can't find at least a little humor amidst imminent death.

A few more minutes pass and you're still not back. The cabin isn't big enough for a sweep to take this long. You probably got distracted by some mundane shit like letters or family photos. It's cute. How you still have enough energy to care about monsters lives after gunning down hoards of them not even an hour ago. Still, it makes him uneasy that he can't hear you, call it abandonment issues or whatever the fuck.

A crack of thunder shakes the walls of the cabin and the loud, booming sound irritates Leon's tinnitus. Makes his head pound like nothing else. Maybe you found some medicine, painkillers at the very least.

Leon decides to stalk through the house to find you, ends up spotting half your body under a dusty, broken down bed. He kinda hates himself when he shamelessly stares at your ass as you rifle around for whatever you found. Your back even arches (not unlike all those actresses in the porn he regularly consumes) as you go to push yourself out from under the bed.

"Anything?" he asks, leaning up against the doorframe. He even cracks a smile when he sees you struggling to shimmy out from underneath the, frankly short, bed frame.

"Yeah," you say, sounding hopeful. "Check this out."

You pull a small box out from underneath the bed and open it up for Leon. It's not a lot, but there's at least a case of shotgun shells and half a thing of pistol ammo.

Leon scoffs loudly and stalks over to you. He grabs the box and rifles through it. "That ain't shit," he says, dismissively tossing the box on the mattress. A plume of dust puffs off the sheets.

You cock a brow at him and stand up. "Oh, you're right, Sunshine," you say. The way Leon rolls his eyes at the sarcasm only annoys you further.

"Let me just go to the nearest Bass Pro and fucking stock up. Silly me."

You flop down on the bed and put an arm over your tired eyes. A fucking headache, this guy. It makes the vein in your temple pulse. Despite that, there's a blissful minute of silence where you can just lay there and listen to the strengthening thunderstorm outside.

You feel the mattress dip next to you and peek through your arm to see Leon shedding his backpack and guns. With a grunt, he scoots himself further up the bed so he's propped up against the headboard, eyes pinched shut. The irritated wrinkle between his eyebrows doesn't smooth out even as he gets comfortable, and you're almost certain that his face is just permanently like that.

"Take first watch," he says, crossing his stupidly large arms over his chest.

"Excuse me?"

He sighs and opens his eyes to glare at you. "We have nothing better to do than rest. This isn't a little sleepover where we can paint each other's nails and gossip about boys," he says mockingly.

You scoff and immediately get off the bed, snatching up his shotgun as you go. You make sure to leave him with a parting 'Go fuck yourself' and set up in what you assume used to be a living room.

Leon falls asleep in record time. To be fair, his aching muscles didn't have much energy left after 5 consecutive hours of bullshit, and the granola bar didn't exactly fill his tank. He wasn't expecting a completely peaceful and fulfilling nap— he hasn't had one of those in years, let's be honest— but he certainly wasn't expecting to be passed out for over an hour. It's almost like his body eventually rejects the relaxation, jolting him awake with a gasp. His brain is still fuzzy and the remnants of his dream flood his memory; touching skin and gentle, rhythmic panting. He can't put a face to the body that squirmed beneath him, but their desperate sounds play over and over in his head.

God, his skin is on fire. And the murky, rainy air does little to help. His clothes feel restricting, making him groan and toss his head back. It takes a while for him to even realize he's hard, only does when his dick twitches and bumps the protective cup in his pants.

A flash of silver lightning shines outside the cracked bedroom window, catches his eye, and he turns to look. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you lying next to him on the bed. You're sound asleep, curled up on the very edge of the mattress so as to not disturb Leon while he slept.

He's not even mad that you didn't wake him up to take watch— anxious as hell because someone could have snuck in while you both slept, sure— but the faster his heart beats, the more his cock throbs.

Leon groans again and unbuckles his belt for some relief. He glances over at you again, rakes his eyes over the curves and dips of your body as you snore softly. A noise escapes you, a sigh most likely, but the breathy sound makes his balls tighten pathetically. His hands move to his zipper before he even fully realizes what he's doing.

It doesn't take long for him to pull his pants down, nearly ripping off his cup so he can palm his erection through his boxers.

That's all, he tells himself, biting his lip as pleasure runs down his legs. Just a bit of relief, nothing more. It's inappropriate, after all, and what is Leon if not the epitome of a golden boy. A really, really fucked up, depressed, traumatized golden boy, but one nonetheless.

He runs a tight fist down his clothed cock and grits his teeth. The scratchy cotton of his boxers is irritating as hell and doesn't leave much room for proper stimulation. Still, it doesn't stop him from leaking an embarrassing amount of pre cum, staining the grey fabric in an inky black.

Another deliciously breathy sound from you, and another groan from Leon before he decides fuck it. He squeezes his dick so hard it hurts. Pain was never really his thing in that way, always opting to punish himself instead whenever he had these thoughts. Like the good Lord taught. But the way his cock aches and pulses afterwards makes him whimper.

You kick a little in your sleep and his eyes dart to your body. Sound asleep, probably dreaming, and Leon hopes to God you're dreaming of him. It's delusional as fuck, but he doesn't have half sense with the cloud of arousal fogging up his brain like this. Right, fuck it.

Before he fully knows what he's doing, Leon is pushing his underwear down and fully stroking his cock. His tip's wet enough that he doesn't need spit, and it makes his cheeks redden, a soft moan slipping passed his bitten lips. He leans over and very gently pushes one of your knees up, putting you in an accessible position.

You don't stir an inch as he reaches around you to clumsily unbuckle your belt, being as quickly— and as stealthily— as he can. The clinking sound of metal being pulled apart echoes in his head and his vision blurs, heart pounding in his chest, as he pulls down your cargo pants.

Leon doesn't do this— he shouldn't be doing this. He's a good Catholic boy, but Lord forgive him, something about this mission has already broken him. Broken down any resolve or inhibitions he may have previously had, making him all stony and cold. The shame is still there of course, always shame, but it's not enough to stop him. Maybe he even revels in it like some sick, perverted freak.

He settles himself closer to you, hot cock nestled comfortably between your asscheeks. A hesitant thrust and he has to bite his lip to muffle the pathetic sound he makes. Oh, he could cum just like this. Humping up against you like a sheltered virgin, all sweat and whining.

Leon can’t waste this opportunity though, and he’s this deep into it so why not go further. If you get him fired or sent to prison at least it’ll be a fucking vacation. He spits on his fingers and immediately slides them between your cunt. He’s not exactly what you’d really call gentle, but the porn he watches taught him that tempting little bitches don’t like gentle. When he’s decided that you’re wet enough— and pushes you so you arch your little pussy out— he smushes the tip of his cock against your hole.

Only then do you startle, opening your tired eyes as much as you can and mumbling a “Huh?” into your pillow. Your body is still in between fighting consciousness when Leon shoves his cock inside of you, and the surprised grunt you let out makes him curse.

You’re tight. Could be because you’re still dry, but Leon likes to think it’s because his cock is too much for you. You let out a raspy yelp when he thrusts against you, the force making you bounce up the mattress. He sinks the pads of his fingertips into your hips to keep you steady, before fucking you with a rough, fast pace despite himself. He knows he should savor this, God only knows the next time he’ll get pussy again, but burning need to cum consumes him. Attacks his prefrontal cortex like a fucking virus.

Still delirious, you can’t even fight Leon off. Not that you could even if you were fully awake; he’s a fucking tank compared to you. And it doesn’t help that his cock repeatedly plows against your cervix, knocking the wind out of you.

“L-Leon… wha’ are you doing?” you croak. The force of his thrusts makes dust puff off the mattress, making you choke on coughs. You turn your head as much as you can to look at him pleadingly. Even through the dark bedroom, you can see sweat glistening off his furrowed brow, and how he’s pointedly avoiding your gaze. He lets out a breathy grunt and he presses your face into the pillow roughly, hand right over your mouth.

“D-don’t,” he hisses, speeding his hips until your ass jiggles with each thrust. And just like that, his annoyance towards you comes crashing back. He misses when you were asleep, letting him touch and rub all over you with no defiance. Briefly, he wishes you had found painkillers, strong ones. Could keep you nice and pliant while he violates you.

“Fuck… Fuck!”

His balls tighten almost painfully, making him groan, head tossed back and eyebrows furrowed. White hot pleasure courses through his body so hard his thrusts turn sloppy, grinding against your ass like he wants to die like this. Buried deep in your pussy.

You feel Leon’s cock pulse before ropes of thick cum coat your walls. He’s panting like a beast above you as his balls finally empty, using your little hole like his own personal fleshlight. He slams his cock into you one last time for good measure, laughing under his shallow breath when you gasp harshly.

Relief washes over you when Leon pulls his softening cock from your hole before collapsing on the bed. He doesn’t even bother pulling your pants up, not that you expected him to, but fuck. It’s the least he could do. You lay there, unable to do anything about the uncomfortable, sticky sensation of cum dripping out of your hole.

After a moment of eerie, tense silence, Leon pulls his pants back up and lays as far away from you as possible. Thunder rattles the cabin, and he watches the smashed light fixture on the ceiling swing. He keeps his eyes on it, just so he doesn’t have to look at you. What’s worse is, he doesn’t regret it. Mainly, he feels bad. He’s never seen you so pathetic and it icks him out.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice flat and void, before turning over and shutting his eyes. You know he’s not really sorry, it’s pretty apparent, but the apology makes your stomach feel a little warm. Not often a guy would apologize. You’re certainly not stupid enough to think Leon cares for you, but the fantasy takes over your mind and— even if it’s your fucked up way of coping— you feel yourself getting giddy.

#READ THE TAGS BITCH #if this flops i might **** myself #oh also im not makin those fucking boarders anymore like omg im lazy #leon kennedy smut #resident evil 4 smut #resident evil smut

[fotibrit]

what's your opinion on steves 'ending' in endgame? i generally feel like it sort of goes against a character arc of his, and a bit conflicting how much he did to not lose bucky and then sorta ditched it all the second he could actually exist with him once more, kinda also feels like a plot hole in some scenarios for his character and the future but i'm probably talking with some form of bias, I'm not too sure!! so I wanted to know another persons perspective on it!!

opinion: Was Bad

credentials: My very first introduction to Marvel was my best friend (hardcore Steve Rogers fan, called me “her Bucky”, was as insane abt Steve as i currently am abt tony) bringing me to see Endgame, and then her talking MAD SHIT about the ending for the next few months. I have heard every criticism. I learned that the ending was character assassination before i even know what character was being assassinated.

So. i don’t think it’s good. Getting into the Meta of the MCU for a sec, the MCY movies are partially paid for by the USA military etc etc so they reflect some political targets of the country. You gotta watch for propoganda in the movies. and in endgame, it was the happy little family. There was the family together in Wakanda, Tony being all domestic with his wife and daughter, Clint finally got to be back with his family. The snap brought back other family members, including don’t remember enough but generally… they were pushing the happy family thing. The US birth rate is down, and i imagine that part of the funding included some sort of push for more family imagery, in order to influence people to settle down together.

And then there’s Steve. Who has always had a found family, he’s out of time, away from his legal family. He doesn’t have any way to be included in this push for a family. My guess for what happened in the writers room is that they assumed everyone would fall for it hook line and sinker. that people would start believing, somehow, that birth family and nuclear family structures are most important.

If you look at it from the framework of their imagined audience, who thinks a nucular familg reunited is the happiest structure of all, Steve got a happy ending! He got to be with a hetero romantic partner!

Where they went wrong, is that nobody fuckin fell for it. Because it wasn’t convincing in the slightest. They spent hours after hours showing how desperately Steve cares for Bucky, and then they betray Steve’s primary motivation (keeping friends safe) in order to fit into their Nuclear Family Initiative.

they accidentally created a character who was the perfect encapsulation of an audience member who would NOT care most about a nuclear family unit. They made a character who cares most about a non-romantic partner. And then, they had to try to convince us that it was the same guy, while actively betraying his core values.

Bad ending. Wrong ending. Betrayed the audience and the character.

And it’s due to propoganda.

(side note: as far as i can tell, they’ve moved from “family unit” to “parenting is important”. Most blatant example i saw of this was in the last GotG, but it’s all over. they’re making everyone parents.)

#marvel mcu #avengers #hot take sorry