#I don't know anyone else enough to get a full idea so if i ACTUALLY commit to that they'd be a little more ooc in my opinion

[suiana]

fellas, have you ever wondered if a man could ever be as adorable and cute as a baby kitten? well now you can experience and love on in real life! suiana presents to you innocent! yandere and smitten reader ❤️

your very own innocent boy who doesn't even know what NNN or OF means. his instagram feed is full of baking and and clothing ideas, he goes out to help stray animals, and he goes on daily walks to the park to reconnect with nature. he has no idea what a skibidi toilet is, brain completely nourished with the books he borrows from the library. yeah, this guy smells like bread and cookies too btw, he does lots of baking. and cooking. have i mentioned he's completely skilled in the kitchen? yeah, he is.

by some stroke of luck, you meet him one day and... look, he's just the cutest thing ever! i mean, he's fashionable, smells good, and was even defending a stray dog from being bullied by some kids. so you ask him out on a date, but the second you ask him the question you swear you could just die on the spot... because tell me why his entire face is red and he's genuinely so happy??? all smiley faced and blushing like a tomato???

oh it's his first time getting asked out and he's flustered??? he's never been approached by anyone before??? he thinks you're really attractive and he would like to go out on a date too??? oh my god guys, he's even asking if you're comfortable with him rambling like this and not trying to get too close without your consent😭

anyway the two of you go out on a date and you think you just might marry him on the spot with how much of a gentleman he's being??? INSISTING on paying for your meal, respecting your distance and being genuinely curious about you on a deeper level. no mention of hooking up, being casual fwb or anything like that. he's... actually looking for a serious relationship unlike your previous partners? holy shit? so you asked him his thoughts on cheating and some other stuff...

"so what are your thoughts on cheating?"

"cheating?"

"yeah, like when you get with someone else when you're dating."

"isn't that illegal?"

HELLO??? he thinks cheating is ILLEGAL??? you had to spend the rest of your date trying not to cry or hug him because he ended up finding out some devastating news.

"yes... cheating is illegal unfortunately."

"I don't know why. it should be illegal, that is a very bad thing to do 😦 do people actually cheat? really? no way."

UGRHGRGR you two end up dating and he's the sweetest guy you've been with. cute date nights, reassurance that you're perfect and enough, handmade gifts and deep talks into the night that deepen your bond together... the only problem is just that maybe he's a little too sweet.

he's constantly buying you gifts, telling you how much he appreciates you and just... being the perfect boyfriend? the perfect clingy boyfriend.

at first you found it cute. but...

why is he so in love with you? why is he so nice? you don't know what to do with a man as sweet as him and can only give into his seemingly harmful actions. you used to think that he had an ulterior motive but... you don't know whether you're being deceived or not. why would you? he's not being manipulative. how could he ever be manipulative? he's just a sweet and nice green flag!

asking you to always be with him? that's just a romantic thing everyone else says. chasing away any people who shows the slightest bit of interest, even if it's not confirmed to be romantic? what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't do that? asking for your location if you ever try to go out without him? silly lover, why would you worry him like that?

no no, he's not being possessive. okay, maybe he is. it's just a tiny bit though! surely you're fine with that. after all, he's still treating you like the royalty that you are. he should be allowed some grace for his unwillingness to share.

you're not sure whether or not he's truly innocent or not. was he even innocent to begin with? maybe, maybe not. perhaps it was all just an act...

but you shouldn't think that. why would you think badly of your boyfriend who's only ever been sweet to you? even during fights, he doesn't raise his voice and actively listens to you, trying to resolve the issue. he could never want to hurt you.

after all, he's your innocent boyfriend that you're smitten with, right?

[dragonsondragons]

Prologue - Hard To Resist | You Should Probably Leave series

In which Jack’s therapist challenges him to enjoy the daytime and he admits he has a work crush.

Content: yearning!jack, medical social worker!reader, reader is Jack’s work crush, slow burn, tons of therapy, working through trauma, Jack on his #healingjourney, angst, unspecified age gap. 

Word Count: 2.1k

Authors Note: Enjoy the first little snippet of this story! This part is solely Abbot's POV during a therapy session, but next part we will see him interacting with reader and the rest of the Pitt crew. Yay! Let the yearning begin, hope you enjoy :) This series is based on the song You Should Probably Leave by Chris Stapleton, I would highly recommend giving it a listen before/while reading.

(I thought this gif from Chicago PD was so Jack at his therapists office lol)

[Next part] [Masterlist]

Jack’s therapist had recommended that he try to get more comfortable in the daytime. His relative ease in the darkness of the night was a useful coping mechanism for a time, she explained to him one session, but he didn't have to be in fight mode anymore. She was encouraging him to seek out safety and connection in the daytime so that his past had less control over his present. 

Jack had scoffed when she said that. Because what else does his past do than rear its ugly head every moment of every day? And did he even want to forget it? All of those soldiers he couldn’t save? They deserved to be remembered. 

“This isn’t about forgetting them,” she reminded him, “but rather processing your past experiences so that they are less distressing in the present. Putting yourself outside of your comfort zone of the night could be empowering. It could give you enough space to hold those people with you and move forward living as full of a life as you can. In their honor.”

“In their honor,” Jack echoed, mulling it over. He could do that. He wanted to do that. Move forward. That’s why he was doing all this work in therapy. But one thing he had come to find out, is that actually changing is a lot harder than knowing you want to. 

“Any ideas on what could be your first attempt at enjoying the daytime? Maybe some sort of social interaction,” she led him with her question. Her and Jack had talked about the power of improving social bonds before, how they can create community and give someone a deeper experience of life. Jack promised to give it a try but admittedly doesn't follow through much on that one. Jack didn’t really want a deeper experience of life if that meant opening yourself up to feeling all the pain that comes along with it more deeply, too.

“I don’t know, doc. I don't have many friends.” 

“Outside of work, you mean?” she said, surprised at his statement. He spoke of his coworkers all the time, they seemed plenty friendly.

“Well…there’s Robby. We hang out outside of work.” By that, he means that they push each other around at beer league hockey when their work schedules allow it and then grab a beer after. Other than that, their main points of interaction are admittedly at work, often on the roof of PTMC. 

“Yes, there’s Robby. But that's not exactly out of your comfort zone. That's pretty firmly within it from what I know.” Jack was silent, not keeping eye contact like he usually does. She could see there was something he wasn’t letting on. She never forced Jack to talk about anything he wasn’t ready to. That's something he appreciated about his therapist. But she also knew when she could push him a little bit. “Anyone else, then?” He’s silent again. She let it simmer, waiting for him to fill the gaps.

“There’s someone I work with,” Jack blurts out, his ears turning red. His knee was bouncing up and down. 

Your face flashed in his mind and he wrung his hands together. Jack was usually good at composure, but he found himself starting to crumble at the mere thought of you.

“You seem a little nervous. Care to tell me more about this someone?”

“Uh, well…yeah, she makes me a little nervous sometimes. But mostly she calms me down.” He wasn’t letting on much.

“Hmm, what about her calms you down?” his therapist hummed, encouraging him to continue.

“She's a social worker in the ED. Smart, caring, great at what she does,” he rambles. “We eat lunch together sometimes. If the timing works out on shift. When I'm having a shitty time at work… sometimes she makes me feel better. Just her being there.” He thinks about your knee brushing against his under the table after he made you laugh. Some stupid story about a guy who broke his femur literally slipping on a banana peel.

“So what about her makes you nervous then, if she makes you feel better?” 

“I mean– she's beautiful, that's mostly what makes me nervous.”

I can’t believe I just said all that, he facepalms internally. With all the respressing Jack does, sometimes a feeling will just catch up to him out of nowhere. There are a lot of things he used to distract himself throughout the day. From working in the ED or drowning out the silence at home with the police scanner, to working out until his whole body ached and volunteering at the VA. But there was never enough to fully distract him, eventually whatever it was he was trying to prevent floats to the surface.

After losing his wife years ago, after losing his brothers in a desert overseas, Jack had played it pretty close to the chest with his feelings. If he doesn't show his emotions, even to himself, then he could try to pretend they don’t exist. That the pain doesn’t exist. 

But that's why he’s in therapy, because the pain still very much exists. And one day he finally realized he couldn’t go on any longer without doing something about it. That was more than a year ago now. 

For this to work, you have to be honest with me, he remembers his therapist saying in their first session. But most importantly you have to be honest with yourself.  

If he’s being real honest with himself, he likes you. He had barely even admitted it to himself before today, but god he likes you. And with each day you were getting harder and harder for him to resist. 

Now, he had practically announced the crush to his therapist. Admitting out loud that he has some type of feelings for you made him more nervous than anything else. He couldn’t deny it now. Time to be honest.

“Maybe you should invite her to do something with you,” she proposes with a knowing look. 

“I don't know if that would be a good idea,” Jack says earnestly. Maybe he had admitted the crush but that doesn't mean he was ready to do something about it. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because she probably doesn't want anything to do with this,” he gestures around himself vigorously, slightly worked up. “I’m a little fucked up, and scary, I guess… I’ve heard people say.” And old, he thinks to himself, too old for her at least.

“Did she tell you she wants nothing to do with you?”

“No.”

“Then you don't know that. You said you eat lunch together. If she chooses to spend her valuable break time with you she likely enjoys being around you.” His face is full of apprehension. “You’re allowed to let yourself have good things, Jack.”

“There’s this part of me that wants to believe that,” he admits quietly. He’s opened this door now and there’s no closing it. He can’t help being drawn to you anymore. “But there's also a louder part of me screaming run.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, head hanging and taking a deep sigh.

“Remember that the brain’s automatic response is not always logical. Sometimes the loudest voice is actually the most illogical. And if you listen to it, it can cause you to spiral.”

“I've been thinking about that one, doc. I’ve been trying. To stop the spiral.” That’s one of the biggest challenges for him. To not let flashes of dark moments spiral into a category five hurricane. To take back his agency over his thoughts.  

“Good. How is it going?” He blows out a long breath, leaning back into the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Not so great. For a long time, my automatic thoughts,” he puts up air quotes around the phrase, “My instincts, they saved my life. Saved other guys lives in the med tent. So it's kinda hard to rewrite that pathway.” A lot of the time, he couldn't help but feel like ordinary decisions still meant life or death. So much anxiety had built up inside him that it felt like if he chose the wrong thing at the grocery store a bomb would explode.

“You’re not at war anymore though, Jack. Letting yourself enjoy this woman’s presence in your life won’t get anyone killed.” 

“Yeah.” Again, he’s quiet, remembering. 

“Part of processing is not letting past trauma control the now. Remember, things can be different this time. You’re encountering a whole different set of challenges in the present that don’t always require the tools of the past.”

“My shrink, always so wise,” Jack jokes.

“I asked you not to call me that,” she scolds him.

“Sorry, got a lot I'm working on at the moment.”

This gets his therapist to crack a smile, glancing down at her watch. “Time to wrap up. Keep working at that– making the choice to challenge your automatic thoughts. What's important is that you try to recognize them as they pop up and inquire as to why you may think that it’s true. It takes time and repetition, but you’ll get there. You’re doing well, really.” 

“Thanks, doc.”

“And don't forget your homework. To do something out during the daytime. Not errands or the gym, but something you’ll have fun doing.”  Jack rolls his eyes. She must really think I'm a snooze fest, he thinks.

“I know you can have fun, Jack. You’re human, just like the rest of us.” Sometimes he felt like a cyborg forged for war that would never be wired for civilian life ever again. But that’s all he was now, a civilian. A doctor. Not a cyborg, just a man. Through the sludge of his past– all that he’s seen and felt– what he has to do now is figure out how to live again. Too many years have passed him by in a haze.

“Whatever you say doc.” He does a loose salute with his fingers as he gets up from his chair to exit her office. “See ya next week.”

“See you then,” she responds, scribbling down notes from the session as he steps out the door.

“Oh!” she yells after him. “And I’ll give you extra credit if the fun involves this woman from work.” 

Jack only scoffed in response, then blushed in the elevator all the way back down to the lobby.  

————

Driving from his therapist’s office to the pit, he brainstormed what he could do for his “daylight assignment”. Just the thought of it was setting him on edge. All of the people and noises and atrocities that happen while everyone is awake. He’d do whatever this is in the day time, sure. But firmly in the afternoon so that the comfort of night would come soon enough and greet him, he decided. 

He wants it at his own house too, in his own space, to help dull the anxiety inside him. That would have to mean inviting people over. At least it would be people he chooses to invite, another element he could control. Robby, Dana, Shen, Ellis— they knew Jack, didn't expect too much from him. 

Then there was you. You who had boundless empathy for any patient that walked in the door and extensive knowledge of any resources that could help them. He admired your commitment to the patients and their families, in supporting people outside of just their medical needs. And of course, you radiate beauty like a goddamn emergency department Snow White. 

Your presence simply made Jack feel at ease, and in a place like the Pitt that was a very welcome feeling. But as much as he craved it, Jack was not used to feeling at ease. Eventually, his mind would rebel and tell him to retreat; that the peace was too good to be true. He couldn’t let himself have this. It was too risky. He had to resist.

Automatic thought! He warned himself. Ugh. Jack was tired. Tired of having to be so vigilant even inside his own head. Tired of whatever devil was on his shoulder always whispering in his ear. No, not whispering. Yelling. His therapist was right, the thoughts were loud. What had she said? Inquire why you think these thoughts may be true, he recalls. 

Why does he think he has to resist? Because everything good he’s ever had falls apart. Usually he was the one who ripped it apart. Never on purpose, just through being who he was, who life and war had made him.

Things could be different this time, Jack reminds himself, drumming his thumbs over the steering wheel. He sighs deeply, groans.

As much as he was spooked by the revelation that he couldn't contain his desire for you so well anymore, he was also enflamed by it. He wanted an angel on his shoulder. He wanted you. 

The voice inside of him saying that wasn’t harshly yelling, there were no flashing lights or sirens. It was steady, calm, all encompassing. And pure warmth. Maybe that’s how he can tell it's the right voice to listen to. 

Fuck it. He decided. I’m gonna throw a party and she’s gonna be the goddamn guest of honor. 

[frostgears]

gardening

you did something stupid and now you're here in your itchy twice-a-year dress uniform in this bright busy room in the regimental HQ trying to figure out if you're going to be yelled at, shot, or promoted. the room's full of folding chairs. apparently not enough furniture in here normally to contain all the suits and all the brass.

your "ops coordinator" ("we don't say 'handler', grunt, it gives the civilians weird ideas") got pulled off for a side conversation two minutes after you got here and you haven't seen her since. you're looking anywhere for a familiar face. you're coming up empty. at least the woman next to you looks equally stressed. she must be civvie, some consultant or other; soft face, masses of curly hair. she's wearing a blazer and slacks with big round dataframes.

"hey," you elbow her. "what are you in for?"

"gods above and below." she sighs. "everything. but today mostly Neryx-9."

"the ag research station. you were there?"

"hardly," she says. "just came up on my huge list of problems."

"creepy shit. i was front and center for it…"

she cocks her head to listen. you explain.

Neryx-9 had been a cluster of greenhouses on the surface. supposed to be vacant, powered down — actually they'd said "mothballed", then looked at you like you were stupid when you asked what a moth was and what they did with their balls. but not vacant. far from it. you went in with a miniframe. first thing you found was the bodies of the grid authority techs that had called it in. purple mold already growing over them.

"it was wrong," you tell her. "not like that white stuff you get when an open nutripak sits in the fridge too long. i mean, i don't know if that would have been better. i just, i don't know, i didn't want to get any of that stuff on me. frame or no. maybe there was some already on me, but didn't want to get it on anyone else. so i backed out, sat in the airlock, thought about calling for extraction. thought better. backed to the wall, cycled my flight jets until it was starting to get warm even inside the frame, thought maybe i'd cook it off me. my ha– ops coordinator asked me what the fuck i was doing. snapped me out of it, i told her, i need fire. incendiaries."

they'd found them, somewhere. support rigged another airlock outside of the main airlock after you'd yelled at them to keep that shit inside. a miniframe-scale plasma cutter for outside construction work, and some purpose-built low-velocity liquid pyrophoric agent rockets.

the woman in the blazer made a face. "we just have those sitting around?"

"starship boarding actions. when we don't want to breach the hull but we do want to use all the oxygen. splashes around, gets everywhere, but nowhere near hot enough to melt anything structural. only used 'em in sims, of course, not like we get a lot of star traffic. horrorshow shit. or i thought it was, before this."

the outside airlock door opened and you'd taken up what they'd brought you.

you stepped over the bodies of the grid techs into hell. purple and orange jungle everywhere. insane external humidity and particle count. dome after hallway after dome of the shit, growing over the grow lights, growing up the walls, into the vents. you could feel it through your frame, through your suit. it was hungry. it wanted in.

"ma'am, compared to that feeling, that pressure, the first giant critter trying to eat my frame was a relief."

six thick legs, triangular jaws, scales and plates all over, massive paddle tail. it had reared out of a pond and tried to drag you back in with it. it wasn't as heavy as you, maybe, but it was mad as hell and a fast mover, and fuck, what right had anything like that to exist in an abandoned greenhouse? you knew you didn't want to be in that filthy water. who knew how deep it was? it'd clog your exhaust, choke your radiators. you twisted around as best you could in its grip, armed your wrist weapon, and blasted a thousand flechettes directly into its face.

"and that stopped it?"

"well, wasn't much left to be stopped, but yeah. and that's when i found it that it had friends and they could smell blood in the water."

she wrinkled her nose in a way that was either a dataframe input gesture or genuine surprise.

"why not just depressurize the domes, at this point?"

"thought about it. i had breaching charges. but… like i said, this stuff felt like it shouldn't get out. there's not much out there, yeah, but i just couldn't. and i had the cutter, and the rockets. so i decided to make it too hot on the shore for them to get me so easy."

you'd turned the artificial jungle into curtains of flame. the big creatures dove back into the water, giving you a narrow path to keep going. in the burning canopy, smaller things flared and dropped; you hadn't seen them moving until they died.

your handler had been screaming at you to get clear, get back to the airlock, but the flames made that a losing proposition. so you kept going in. Neryx-9 was roughly linear. there was another lock on the far side.

"past the labs, it turned out. and maybe some of those corpses in there had been growing these things, but it looked like the shit got away from them and was growing on them. there were these ribbons of orange moss, growing everywhere, out of containers, branching into foam and fabric and dead flesh — i tried to pull it off someone, before i realized they were all dead, and their skin came off in sheets, brown-black and full of tiny holes. charred, but not. think it was acid."

"something like a lichen."

"yeah, maybe? i learned about those in school. you can see 'em out the windows in a lot of places. they grow on rock, right?"

"they do," she says. "useful. so what did you do then?"

"i set the cutter to max spread and i torched a path through to the far airlock. and i don't mind saying, when i noticed the cutter battery and gas cylinder were doing okay, i started spreading it around a lot more. i just. i had to burn it."

"happens that was the right move," she said. "good instinct."

"please tell me someone did something about that shit."

"well," she smiled, "there's you. you know, you're refreshingly simple. like a cat that somehow had the sense to eat an invasive lizard. and since you didn't drag the bits all over, i tasked a solarsat to finish the job. can't beat a pass with an X-ray cloudpiercer beam for that kind of cleanup."

she wrinkles her nose again, and the general murmuring of a dozen conversations in the room changes as people look to the main wall display, which now shows a collection of greenhouse domes sagging as if collapsed by an invisible weight. the rock under them begins to glow.

"what's a cat?" you blurt out, before the words "i tasked a solarsat" have a chance to sink in. like, her, personally?

"an animal. a dumb little predator that associates with humans. from Terra, way before the Catastrophe. we're not ready for them just yet, but maybe someday."

a door opens to your side, and you both turn to see your handler, looking about at the end of her rope, and next to her, her boss, the major, who reports directly to the colonel.

"shit, there you are. look. you're gonna have to answer some questions. and it's not guaranteed you're going down for this, not yet, so just be honest, but for fuck's sake be brief, don't try to understand or interpret—"

both of their faces blanch. like, almost completely bloodless. eyes wide.

the curly-haired woman in the blazer smiles widely. "don't worry," she tells them, "she already did. she's been very helpful. in fact, i think i might like to keep her." she puts a hand on your knee.

"i'm not sure i understand, ma'am?"

"pilot," the major says, "is there a reason you've been occupying the time of the Director of Planetary Ecology? the woman who keeps this entire planet breathing oxygen and eating something other than rocks?"

and now your face must be bloodless too. the DPE? even you know that position. but you can't remember ever seeing a photo.

"oh, she was just telling me how she improvised containment protocols to prevent someone's experiment with Araukan imports from getting out of hand. clever girl. or lucky, at least."

you risk a glance to your side. she's still smiling. the woman who can steer any bioscience research on this planet, cut off power and water and air to anything she deems anathema to the coming ecosystem, commandeer keystone orbital infrastructure and burn habitats like you burned trees.

"i don't think we can possibly say no, Director," your handler says, carefully.

"no," the Director agrees. "you can't." □

[seafoamsol]

The best years of my life...

... what I wouldn't give to have them back.

I had the great pleasure of working with @spiderscribe on a DeadCeptor work for the @tf-bigbang, which you can (and should!) read [ HERE ]!

Details and artist commentary under the cut!

Okay, first off, I just wanna say, thank you so much to @spiderscribe for picking up my very loose scribble and taking the jump. She's an absolute champ, and I IMPLORE you to read her writing. She did a knockout job on the fic, and guaranteed, these two pieces wouldn't have been so elaborate without her. If you're a fan of deadceptor, parallels, lovers to enemies to apocalyptic teammates to ???s, I'm sure you'll find that and more in there.

[ HERE ] is the link to that, if you missed it the first time around.

The background for the supermarket was a MASSIVE undertaking. I ended up blurring it in the final to keep the dream-like quality, but there is a lot happening there! Most of the time I spent on the background was (jokingly) complaining though.

Anyone who works retail will know the agony of customer-misplaced stock. The little canisters of energon additives seem like prime candidates to be placed willy-nilly.

The little warning sign... My favorite soda, apple sidra, has a carcinogen warning, so I'm familiar with it. It was slightly surprising to me that those warnings are not countrywide, despite the fact that they very clearly say "California Proposition 65", and well. Not something else, like "Federal" or whatever.

The bags of nuts and bolts below, I asked several people what flavor they would be, and I suppose I failed in my job, because I wanted the purple to be the "regular" flavor, and the green to be the "sour". But grape and lemon-lime work as well!

The tub is full of rust-sticks. I have no idea if that came across. My friends kept calling the individually wrapped ones slim jims, which I mean, I guess!

The car batteries... My idea was that they were similar to shots, in a way? So that's how I ended up with a battery with enough terminals to rival an international airport. It's also sunset-coloured, because, I don't know, that's what Party Flavor is to me.

Okay. The second illustration. This one was a headache, mostly due to my own lack of planning, and the fact that I lost the file for... basically everything I did, including the above illustration. So it was a bit of a rush job.

The background bots started off as these very vague silhouettes, which I'm a little proud of. Look at how nice and somewhat readable they are! Okay, now what if I ruined it? What? You don't like that? That's rather unfortunate, because that's what I proceeded to do. In fact, if I take off all.. 10 or something adjustment layers, they look like this:

My process went: Shadow block> Fill rest of form> Color randomiser> Copy and skew (to populate background)> Hue adjustment> Gradient map> Fill Light> Chromatic aberration> Vignette> Levels> Curves.

The.... Magenta cube is there because due to the nature of the color randomiser, the foot had a high value, and stuck out like nobody's business in the end.

Here's what it would look like without the cube. Begone, distracting white blob! (I didn't have to worry about the lava arm because Percy happened to cover it up. What a save! But if he didn't then... there would have been a second cube.)

Basically, it was a mess. But... at least it came out fine in the end! I hope!

I'd love to have speedpaints on hand, but I was switching between CSP and PS for a good majority of the work.

I'd say that's it for these two pieces! I actually have more, but those demand more time. I'm much slower at doing inks than I am at painting, but I hope you'll get to see them soon.

[writingwisterias]

how would eras of leon respond to jealousy/yearning with sex?

Hi Anon!

Thanks for the request...I had a lot of fun thinking about this one 👀

Ok ok I'm cracking down on requests! I promise I needed a day to recover from work 💗

Warnings: NSFW, Yearning, Jealousy, Sexual Tension, MNDI

GN!Reader

RE2:

Just for something different, I'm doing a no Apocalypse AU for this one

You sit opposite him, your desks are connected. You were always so kind to him compared to the other officers

Both of you always get along well when you are paired for patrol etc

But he's not the only one that has eyes on you, every other officer seems to as well

He hates feeling jealous that the other officers are talking to you, touching you as they past and you are entertaining them?

There's a staff party and everyone is buying you drinks and chatting, he barely has a chance to speak to you. After all you are his only friend

What he didn't know is you are frustrated from all the attention and you are just trying to get to Leon

When you finally reach him, he's in a mood and it doesn't take long for you to realize hes jealous.

Maybes it's the drinks in your system or the small crush you have on him bubbling in your chest. But you kiss him

He's shocked at first, but recovers fast. His lips are desperate

Spots all the officers back off when he kisses you, so then his touch becomes possessive claiming you as his.

He'll make sure he's the only one you think about when you both leave and he takes you home. 👀

RE4R:

He's touched starved so anyone even approaches you with the intention of sex he's immediately jealous

He's confident enough that you won't go for someone else, even if you aren't exclusive but he'll be pissed off for a while

His jealous would come out in the form of silence,

like he's giving you the silence treatment until you figure out what's wrong and fix it

I think he would probably insert himself into the situation but more of him being a presence there than actually joining in...again silent treatment.

If you don't give him attention he's very heavy with eye contact, constantly trying to get you in his eyeline so he can watch you

Infinite darkness:

The most verbal about being jealous,

like he will pull you away and probably whisper to you how you are making him jealous

Longer touches as well, on your hip or lower back..he's making sure you notice it's there

I think he'll just constantly remind you of his presence until you eventually cave

To make him jealous it would be entertaining other people in an awkward conversation, like if someones asking you to dinner or whatever and your reply is "I'll have a look at my schedule" or "let me get back to you"

You probably aren't going to do either of those things but Leon doesn't like it, he'll make sure your schedule is full of him

Damnation:

I like the idea that he doesn't care enough to get jealous, like if you don't want him he will accept defeat and it will add to the list of other things wrong with his life

But he won't hide the fact he wants you

I imagine it's a situation where he's rough with everyone but you

The rest of his department constantly digs at him for this, it makes you blush when you finally notice it

Heavy eye contact on you, like constantly watching what you are doing around the office etc

It's when you are on a mission together that you finally cave and give him what he wants, and you definitely don't regret it

RE6:

I think he would be in the same boat as damnation where he doesn't really get jealous but he does show that he wants you

With his intense scenes with Ada as well he would make it even more prominent that he wants you

Whenever it's to show Ada that he's moved on or it's to show you that he still wants you

That's up to you

But he's going to make it known that there's nothing to worry about, he's smart enough to understand how him caring for Ada might seem he's still hung up on her

Vendetta:

I like the idea of you being a bartender at the bar he constantly visits

He enjoys your attention and sympathy, often having long chats about anything but his work

As soon as someone needs you though or you turn to serve another customer he's instantly jealous

You want him too, it's obvious. But not drunk and in the state of mind he's in

You understand that he would be good with that commitment and probably a loving partner but he needs to heal first

You put up with his drunken exclamations how he loves you and wants you, his constant staring and snarling at other customers

It's cute that he wants you that badly but until he sobers up and shows some signs of self improvement you won't do it

It does increase the heat from him, but he'll be thankful when he does eventually get sober

Death Island:

Super super jealous

Like you are an angel in his eyes why are you hanging out with someone else?

Why are you talking to one of his co workers? You don't need to entertain that asshole you are his

You aren't actually though, not yet

Both of you tip toeing on this line of friends and lovers

A game of seeing who caves first

He does, pressing you into a kiss that you can't forget. It was rushed after he had a close call with the virus.

Yet it leaves you logging for more, he's just waiting until you finally admit it to him

[melwnst]

Hiiiiiiii! We haven't interacted much but you show up quite a bit on my feed. I have a scenario that I just don't feel like I can do justice for myself, so I'm entrusting it to someone else to help with your writer's block. (And yes I'm reading this directly from the pin/tweet that made me want to see it written)

You know those scenes in romance books where she hits and punches his chest repeatedly in complete agony until it all gets too much for her to bear so she just slumps into him and sobs and he embraces her like she would disappear if he let go?

Dean x reader pretty please <3

────── ⋆⋅☆ GUILT TRIPPER, D.W

⭑.ᐟ Thanks for the request hun- not sure if this is what you had in mind but I was fighting for my life I needed to write angst. He’s such a fucking cunt in this I actually hate him. Pls interact and send requests if u have any<3

word count. 1k

supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

You find yourself cursing someone, anyone. Hoping and praying this is just a sick joke. That this isn’t what’s left of it- that this isn’t the final blow. That maybe, it’s just the universe getting back at you, but it’ll come back to normal eventually after it’s taught you a lesson.

It doesn’t.

It probably never will, at least that’s what you tell yourself.

It starts slowly.

It starts with you noticing the looks from across the room at the bar. You see the way she looks at him, but you refuse to acknowledge the way he looks back at her.

Then he stops holding your hand from across the table at that same bar- because she’s there. You know it- deep down, that something’s happening. But you tell yourself that it’s stupid- maybe you’re imagining things. The case is about to be over anyway- and you’ll be on your way, far away from her.

Then- his hand doesn’t lay at the small of your back when you walk into the bar. He doesn’t kiss- look- laugh anymore.

No-he stares. He stares at the same blond, tall, beautiful woman that makes you feel so small, you might shrink to death.

Sam notices it. You know he must’ve told Dean to stop- to pay attention- must’ve cursed at him, because he has you- but you also know it’s no use. When Dean sets his mind to something- someone, he gets it. Because he’s Dean Winchester. Anyone would be crazy to say no to him.

When the case is over- you’re packing your bags, the silence fills the room. It’s so loud- it’s almost scary because all you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat, and Dean’s footsteps.

‘What are you doing?’ He asks, his arms crossed, leaning on the bathroom door.

‘Packing. Why aren’t you?’ You ask, sniffling, because you know exactly why he isn’t.

‘I figured we could use a vacation, maybe stay here a couple more days?’

Then you straighten your back. Your hands go on your waist. And you laugh.

You laugh and turn around to see dean’s confused face looking back at you.

‘We could use a vacation? Seriously? You couldn’t come up with anything else?’ You stare him down, hoping to make him feel the way he’s been making you feel since that first night at the bar although you’re this close to breaking down.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Dean walks closer to you, but you stop him.

‘Don’t.’

‘What are you doing right now?’ His arms wave in the air, like he’s so innocent he has no idea.

‘What’s her name?’

Dean blinks. He blinks- but he doesn’t answer.

‘I know, Dean. I’m not fucking stupid.’ You confess. His eyes still move-erratically. His breath quickens as if he’s scared he got caught.

The silence fills the room again. But this time it’s a quiet silence. The one that doesn’t sound too harsh in your ears. The one that cuts deep. The one that makes you want to die.

It’s your turn to blink, but you blink tears- not guilt. The tears fall- faster, your heart feels like it’s being ripped out of your chest, and soon enough, he talks again.

‘It was one night. I didn’t mean for it to happen.’ It’s faint. Barely audible like he’s ashamed.

The sigh you let out is enough to break his heart.

His heart that didn’t mind breaking yours. Or that didn’t think it would anyway- because for him- it’d stay a secret, hidden deep inside of him, you’d never find out.

‘Right. So you stuck your tongue in her mouth but you had no control right? You were in her but you weren’t thinking? You expect me to believe that bullshit?’

‘Liste-‘

‘No you listen. You’re a fucking coward. I left my whole life behind so I could do this with you. For you! You begged me, Dean. You told me you wouldn’t do this without me. You guilt tripped me into becoming a hunter. Who does that to a person they’re supposed to love? This whole thing was a damn lie!’ You’re closer to him without realizing it. You choke through the tears he’s letting you shed.

‘It was never a lie!’

Then you hit him.

You hit him, again.

And again.

Until your writs, your fists hurt because he deserves it.

‘Yes it was!’

You hit him because you’re breaking. And because he deserves to be hurt.

He deserves to never be loved by anyone ever again because of what he did to you.

Because of all the promises he swore he’d never break but eventually did.

‘I hate you!’ Your fists pump against his chest, the bruises form, he tries to make you stop but figures there’s no point. He deserves it. Maybe he is a coward. No-he definitely is. So he lets you.

He lets you lash out. He lets you hit him so hard your hands are this close to bleeding.

Then the strength fades out. You can’t hit him anymore. You’re trying, but the hate and pain you feel is enough to make you collapse.

You don’t see it, but Dean cries. He cries for you- for what he did to you. He cries because he hates that he’s put you in this position- this state. So the moment you give out under your feet, dean’s right here to hold you. He finds himself on the floor with you. His chest burns, his heart aches, his arms hold your frame like you’re so fragile you might just die because of him.

He’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. He’s scared you’ll hate him for the rest of his miserable life. But he gets what he deserves right? This is all on him.

The worst part is, he’s not sure he regrets it. The only thing he regrets is that he let you find out. That he wasn’t subtle. That he let you get hurt- not because he cheated, but because he could’ve been more careful. Hidden it better.

You’re not sure you can think anymore.

Your brain is fuzzy, your entire body hurts, you feel like your heart’s not working anymore. Or it might give out soon. It’s unfair.

He promised he’d stick with you.

He promised he could love you more than anyone with a normal life could.

He promised he wouldn’t go anywhere.

His first promise was that he wouldn’t let go. He’d be here- it’d be just you, him and Sam.

He lied.

Dean Winchester is a damn liar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @bluemerakis @blossomingorchids @l0v33-rey @mostlymarvelgirl @that-stanford-girlie @sunnyteume @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb (comment to be added!)

[hexhomos]

Kiss on the check accepted! :3c

And your response reminded me of a detail I always pick up on rewatches but hadn't fully untangled yet—in the flashback of her childhood, Mel steps into that broken throne room with blood still drying on it. At Ambessa's prompting, Mel goes right into talking about how to renovate the place. "Paint the walls gold"...like gilding over the horrors of conquest that got that power in the first place.

And when she describes the regent they should have, she finishes with, "she should be pliant, so we can mold her." That IS what she was doing with Jayce, slowly, over a decade, and then quickly through Acts 2 and 3.

And then in the scene, after Mel finishes describing a "pliant" regent who can be molded, her mother suggests MEL could be that regent. Young Mel is excited at the idea, entirely missing the implication that she too would be an asset of her mother's reign.

That's why she takes off her Medarda ring right before casting her vote for Zaun's independence. She's finally realized she's just as subject to her mother's games as anyone else and Chooses to stop working in the interests of her family's power.

And augh, I wish her s2 plotline hadn't taken her out of Piltover so we could have seen more of the spycraft against Ambessa she was up to in Arc 1. I can't help but think of how much stronger her confrontation with Ambessa would have been if we had a full season of "daughter works against mother" instead of just a few scenes and a lot of getting kidnapped. More ambiguity with Leblanc would've been great too instead of her killing Elora to say hello.

[continued from here]

EXACTLY the way they shafted the politics in s2 (specifically so they wouldn't need to have hard conversations) genuinely had a negative impact in the ENTIRE story. The systematic horrors were downplayed and plotlines were dropped with very short acknowledgements - this is why we get people complaining about the jayce/mel breakup scene "coming out of nowhere" despite the fact that it made perfect sense for these characters!!!!!! It was just too short and they changed the subject too quickly, so we don't have TIME to think about the economic issues again.

It's so clear to me that jayce, viktor, ekko, mel (each representing a diff political facet. curious!) etc were carefully removed from the actual real world so we never have to analyze or push back against the notion that cait/ambessa are doing a hostile military coup and HAVE gotten people killed, imprisoned, and tortured en masse. So they can neatly resolve all of the plot with an avengers-style montage and never talk about the stuff with real world implications. There is no war in piltover and zaun. Just a cartoony last second villain. We just need to unite to protect... piltover...? And now viktor is randomly forgetting his proud zaunite commie stance and teaming up with the imperial invaders that were plaguing the earth moments ago........? We never talk about the class inequality ever again? Forget everything. Nothing ever matters.

The end result was that we spent far less time with these characters and they ended up being pretty underdeveloped. I know this happened for marketing reasons, its so incredibly clear aspects of the story were dumbed down so they could sell more ingame skins or pitch new champions, and that was seen as more valuable and desirable for the company than politicking - because at heart riot don't care about the political stuff anyway. But it still makes me throw my hands up in the air. such an asspull

In a reality where we had enough time and investment to touch on this, Mel could have actually gotten to push back against ambessa/cait and directly deal with the consequences of her actions. SEVIKA could have gotten a proper payoff for her underground character arc, instead of vanishing halfway through and then randomly accepting a diversity hire seat on the council (insanity. that was insanity) Ekko and the firelights would have obviously played a key role in rallying people against ambessa and helping Jinx recover from her displacement crisis (sorry isha, but even you could have been better used as part of the firelights dilemma) Jayce's mounting disillusionment with piltover and his loyalty to Viktor would be much better explored if they were still in conversation about the cities, the world they wanted to help, and the chaotic blurry lines of personhood/citizenship that decide who is an 'acceptable' target under the fist of the state. Vi could have built a self-reliant identity for herself, something better to fight for that isnt 'being a cop'. This show could've been awesome. I wish it existed

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

My thoughts about the Trump assassination attempt

After having a few hours to process this whole thing and see reactions from across the political spectrum, I'm having some thoughts and some feelings.

First off, as I said earlier, Trump is a fucking boss. Take anyone who ran for president in the last 20 years, put them in that exact situation, and I don't think a single one responds by raising his fist and snarling in defiance and righteous anger. They run. They cry. They keep their heads down and the first statement you h ear from them is hours later filtered through 20 different speech writers. Today proved to me that, whatever else he may be, Trump is a genuine bad ass. He's exactly the person I want at the end of a sword pointed the United States. Because he's going to have a sword of his own pointed right back, and he's not going to run and hide when it comes time to use it.

Second, the modern left is full of monsters. The amount of people screaming and crying because this assassination attempt failed actually sickens me. It's one thing to have fantasies about easy solutions to the things that scare you. Hell, I'm not innocent. I've thought about how much better things might be if this politician was no longer around or this activist group got axed. But one of the things I did today was think about how I would feel if the assassin succeeded. And then I thought about how I'd feel if someone took a shot at Biden and he didn't survive. Neither thought gave me any good feelings. Obviously I'd be more upset if Trump died, but today showed me that I don't want us to start down the path of shooting political leaders. But too many people on the left, people who should know better, at least enough to hide their true feelings, have no problem publicly wishing Trump was dead right now. That assassinating presidential candidates was a legitimate tactic--but only against the politicians they don't like, of course.

Fuck that.

Fuck them.

America is better than that. Americans are better than that. We're not some third world shithole like Mexico. We're the greatest country in the world. We're the last bastion of representative government. The last place in the world where freedom exists. And it's time we started acting like it.

Third, I ain't got no time for conspiracy theories. Sorry guys, but this wasn't staged and this wasn't a CIA hitman. Unless real, hard evidence comes out otherwise, you won't ever get me to believe any of the nonsense I've seen floated around. Don't be so lost in the true things the media has dismissed as "conspiracy theories" that you immediately jump to the most conspiratorial explanations first for everything that happens. It's lame and cringe and a lot of people I've seen seriously putting these theories forward should know better. I know we're in our emotions right now, but keep your heads.

Fourth, my heart breaks for the families of the people who were hit with the bullets meant for President Trump. But that's the kind of evil we're facing. Whoever did this decided that the idea of a Trump presidency was so awful that they were okay with shooting innocent people just to stop him. And this is after he was already president and none of the things the media is fear mongering about happened during his first term. Those people just wanted to see a man speak. To have some hope for the future. And some piece of shit shot them because he didn't like a presidential candidate. Or worse, because the TV made him scared.

Fifth, fuck the media. You think you hate them enough, but you don't. The media is the driving force behind our enemies, and there's no such thing as a good journopig. They're all lying propagandists. We just like some of them because their propaganda occasionally hits on the truth.

And that's all I got. None of this is organized, none of this is proofread. These are just the thoughts I've been wrestling with for the past few hours. This is the only place I can get them all down without being interrupted or feeling like I need to censor myself. Do with them what you will.

[halemerry]

On Crowley, memory, and identity.

So full disclosure first, I am not someone who is particularly interested in having Crowley's angel name on screen - personally I rather like the idea of never having an answer to this question - but I also do think it's interesting and fun to speculate and we got quite a few hints at this throughout this season soooo

Obviously part of this is that we meet him. The angel that would become Crowley is the first person on screen this season. We confirm a lot about him here. He confirm that he is powerful enough to start the engine of the universe. We confirm that he can control gravity and time and space and light. We confirm that he is the being that says let there be light before the beginning. We also confirm that he consulted with the concept designer of the universe and that he's very comfortable with the idea of questioning authority. We are also given Aziraphale's anxiety as a contrast to this and as proof that that is not a universal trait for early angels.

Now, we have always had evidence that Crowley is powerful. He's done some things that seem impossibly big. He stops time very casually and seemingly without effort - even at the end of season 1 it doesn't even seem to give us the same strain on him that holding the Bentley together does. This is a thing that we only ever see Crowley do and notably a thing that you would think other beings would mess with to their advantage if it was possible. Which means they either literally can't or that it never occurred to them that they could. Or as is becoming increasingly clear: perhaps it's a bit of both.

But that's not the only implication of power we get in season 1 either. We get Crowley seemingly in tune with the universe in a way many angels and demons aren't. Which, makes some sense if he helped make it. This manifests in all sorts of ways. He's constantly aware of Aziraphale's presence. He can smell when the world state changes like when Adam names Dog. He holds the Bentley together through utter destruction. He notices that there are different books in the bookshop - something I always assumed was meant to convey he was familiar with the shop's contents but after learning he didn't even know Jane Austen was a writer I wonder if it's actually more to do with him being in tune with reality. He also can apparently quite literally feel when there are eyes on them.

We're given even more of all these things this season in some really interesting ways. Crowley literally tests the air to check if a miracle has happened - another thing that we don't see anyone else do despite Heaven literally assigning someone to Aziraphale to check for a specific miracle. This particular beat is also something we are shown twice this season. Both here and in 1941, when Furfur uses the miracle blocker on Aziraphale. Here Crowley tests his miracles and despite getting nothing of the sort when Aziraphale tries a miracle literally the beat before this, we are given both a visual and an auditory effect. It ripples out with a watery sound effect from Crowley's finger. It's like he's prodding at reality.

There's also several instances involving the recognition or lack thereof of angels and demons. Crowley feels that the demon army is arriving before it does. Neither side seems to be able to track Gabriel - one of the most powerful beings in existence - at all once he leaves Heaven. We also see countless angels fail to notice Crowley himself both as Bildad the Shuhite performing literal miracles right in front of them. And this happens again as he prances about Heaven after Muriel. Aziraphale can't tell Shax is a demon despite Crowley recognizing she's manifested behind him nearly as soon as he answers the phone. Aziraphale can't even recognize that he himself is still an angel at the end of the Job story.

He also. Quite literally. Brings someone back from the dead???? Like waves a hand casually on the street and reconstitutes Mr. Brown like he'd never been dead at all. Mr. Brown returns with no memory of what happened to him holding a newspaper that seems to have literal bite chunks coming out of it. It's not framed as a huge miracle or anything strenuous either - just a casual snap.

And that's not even getting into the parallels with Gabriel. First of all. We get the color purple. It's purple when Aziraphale and angel that would become Crowley start the engine of the quadrants of the universe and it's purple when they miracle to hide Gabriel. This color is associated with power and, historically in the language of this show, with Gabriel himself. Them using it together twice speaks a lot to the power they have together.

But that's not the only symbolism historically tied to Gabriel that has found its way to Crowley this season either. Most flashy of all is the lightning. This is how we see Gabriel arrive on earth at the end of season one and it is something Crowley apparently just Does when he gets too mad to contain himself.

This alone wouldn't catch my attention except. Except the way Crowley reacts to Gabriel's memory problems is... interesting to say the least. He's angry and understandably so. Part of this is him being mad and protective of Aziraphale - he says as much himself to Jim directly. And yet, weirdly, it's the kind of mad that reminded me of something else.

This is the mad he tends to gets at his plants. Do it properly. Think hard. You can do better than that. Grow better. It's the kind of angry that's steeped in projection. It's he kind of angry that is undercut with the occasional weird undercurrent of understanding. And so much of his dialogue with Jim around this is framed like he does actually understand. Jim says it hurts and he says he knows. Jim starts talking about it feeling like being an empty house that still remembers where the furniture is and Crowley immediately latches onto this and understands ah it's looking at where the furniture isn't.

And there's a few other conversations that center around this issue that I find really interesting from a projection perspective. There's the conversation that happens when Crowley goes to have an alcohol fueled chat with Jim. He says "You're Jim now. Got everything just the way you wanted?" This doesn't make a whole lot of sense for him to be addressing Gabriel with. As far as he knows all Gabriel would want was the end of the world.

And then there's the particular way he asks Jim to eliminate himself in this scene. Climb out the window. In other words, have a fall. Something he pretty immediately retracts and clearly feels guilty about no matter how much he hates Gabriel.

And then there's the first conversation he gets to have after learning about Gabriel. Crowley opens this conversation, thinking out loud. He's staring out, not talking to Az yet and the very first thing out of his mouth is, of all things: "He's going to be okay." A weird start for a statement about Gabriel in itself but then Crowley goes and adds what at it's core is his own trauma narrative to the end with, "We can just take him somewhere and leave him there."

Now the real fun bit: Crowley also has memory issues that are out very prominently on display even as far back as season 1.

He has inconsistent memories of his Fall. The answers he gives us to why he Fell change slightly - even when he's alone with himself. He doesn't seem to understand why exactly he Fell even though he clearly has some vague idea of the pieces in play. I always thought to some degree that this was just a trauma response, but season 2 drew even more attention to this and now that we know that memory alteration is how Heaven handles powerful angels I can't help but to wonder if there's more in play here.

Crowley can't remember Furfur - who he apparently literally fought next to during the war in Heaven. Crowley can't remember building a nebula with Saraqael. Crowley doesn't remember why they decided gravity was a good idea.

But he does remember bits and pieces here and there. He remembers doing some of the starmaking. He remembers how to access clearance locked files. He's missing pieces and also seems to have an understanding that Gabriel's memories ARE in there. Almost like he's done this work on himself before.

This narrative itself is also far more concerned with the angel Crowley was this time around. It teases his rank a few different times. Most notably is him having access the files only available to Dominions and above.

Now angel hierarchy is a bit of a messy area depending on what sources you're using but given Good Omens tendencies in the past we can assume that this leaves us five ranks. Dominion, Throne, Cherub, Seraph, and Archangel.

I might break down why I think Dominion, Throne, and Cherub feel kind of odd to me later if there's interest - now available here - in that but given the current length of this meta I just want to focus on that last one for now.

Crowley was an Archangel is far from a new theory and I've honestly historically had some fairly mixed feelings about it. But the parallels between Jim and Crowley lend some interesting connective tissue to a lot of those theories. And. There's also some interesting camera work and script writing tied to Crowley and that term outside of the scenes about Gabriel's memories specifically.

Firstly, during Crowley's chat with Beelzebub he says it's a big universe with plenty of places for an archangel to hide. Like Alpha Centauri perhaps?

Then we get Aziraphale and Crowley both presenting Hell and Heaven respectively the idea that it could have been them that did the archangel class miracle. Aziraphale gets scoffed at and yet. Shax is the one who says the miracle was archangel level and Crowley's response is "how do you know I didn't do it?"

Then later as she's prowling about the shop we get this interesting shot of Crowley in the doorframe and Jim in the background. Crowley grins and offers to let Shax look in and see if she can see any archangels in there while he's framed dead center and Jim himself is blurry in the back of the frame.

And most fascinating in my opinion is this shot that happens when Crowley and Muriel are accessing the classified files. Nearly every shot in this sequence is group shots or shots of Gabriel. The camera is focused in the plot and the way the archangels function as a group and on Gabriel himself. But we get one single shot in this entire sequence of Crowley by himself and it is immediately following Gabriel saying "I am the only first order archangel in the room - or, well, the universe."

And then in the end. We get the Metatron who goes out of his way to avoid using Crowley's name. He calls him demon (and insists correctly that Crowley would recognize him even when Michael doesn't) or refers to him as Aziraphale's friend. He only ever uses that name when trying to use him as a bribe for Aziraphale. That combined with the dark look he gives Crowley implies a familiarity that only the Metatron has with him.

So who is he then? There's plenty of old meta out there about why certain archangels fit or don't and I won't reiterate them here. They're interesting and definitely worth poking around at and very fun to read! Personally I'm not as interested in naming the someone he used to be as I am in examining the places that ghost of this angel has started to poke through the narrative so I'll end this here. It's spiralled into something far longer than I ever meant it to be anyway.

[onmyyan]

Yandere DC Purge Au

A/N: inspired by a bot on janitor ai here's the link reader is this universes wolverine fem reader, yandere themes

Getting home from the Titans Tower, you shrug off your brown leather biker jacket, letting the heavy garment fall to the floor with an audible thump.

Boot clad feet accidentally kick a small black elegantly wrapped package that been slipped through your mail slot. (E/c) Eyes full of curiosity, you bend down to pick up the box, it was a little bigger than your hand, unable to fight the curiosity, you threw your helmet on the couch and used your sharp pointer finger nail to tear a seam into the paper, your mind moved a mile a minute as five neat letters in black envelopes were revealed.

Your heart falls to your stomach, you knew what these letters meant, what they entailed, you'd been chosen, and not by one yandere, but five. You didn't bother to read the letters, setting them down on your coffee table like the paper was going to bite you, sitting on the couch with a groan, your shoulders coiled like a animal ready to pounce. In all your 24 years you'd never had to deal with a yandere, while you were aware of them of course, your particular lifestyle didn't allow for such things, you were a hero after all, you couldn't help but tense, yes you were a formidable fighter, yes you had confidence in your abilities to defend yourself but five separate psycho's? That was a lot to deal with even for you.

You had a day to prepare, that's all the decency the government allowed people like her. A day to prepare for the insanity that was the Purge. All former plans for a quiet week off patrols were gone, replaced by your fierce determination. You wouldn't be caught, you'd been caged enough for your lifetime.

The next morning you make your way into the Titans Tower business as usual, you had no idea who the senders of the letters were so you kept your guard up.

It was a tradition for the team to hang out one last time before the purge, since all crime, including all yandere crime, was legal, the team technically got a week long vacation. So they liked to hangout the day before those infamous sirens would ring out across the city. The whole team was there, doing their usual things when you were approached by Rachel Roth aka Raven.

"Your mind is.. guarded tonight, are you alright?" Her soft monotone voice calls out dragging you from your mind, "Yeah just ..tense about tomorrow ya know?" Your voice gruff yet feminine, you didn't mind the fact that she was peaking into your head, having long since gotten used to her antics, instead you lean back on the counter surveying the room with a calculated gaze. You kept your thoughts clear knowing she had a penchant for reading your mind without permission, you didn't want to tell the team about the letters for a multitude of reasons, the main one being you didn't know if it was one of them who sent it. Of course you trusted your team but you'd learned long ago to trust yourself before anyone else.

And your enhanced animal like senses told you danger was a foot. "Any big plans for the week?" You ask casually still observing your other teammates.

"I rented a cabin in the snow, very tranquil, very secluded.." she paused a moment her dark eyes scanning your features, "You could come with me- if you don't want to spend the purge alone?" The question hung heavy in the air, the intensity in her gaze made you smirk, no way in hell were you taking a trip right now.

"I actually have some plans already." You smiled at the dark haired sorceress, trying to soothe the wound of denial. "Well if you at any point change your mind simply call for me and I'll be there." She says flatly, but her steel gaze was as intense as ever.

"Definitely." You respond before pushing off the counter, "I'm gonna hit the gym, see you later Rav."

'Well that was something' you thought to yourself, she'd always been attached to you, finding comfort in your troubled past, but she'd never looked so..like that before.

Shaking off the encounter you find yourself in the gym toned (s/c) arms stretching across your chest in preparation, a training dummy standing across from you. Just before you throw the first punch Conner aka Superboy walks in the room his arms crossed. "You wanna keep playing with that thing or you want a real fight?" The tall wall of a man asks walking closer to you, this wasn't out of the ordinary as you were one of the only people on the team who could keep up with Conner physically.

"let's go." You say getting into a fighting stance, your feet wide, fists in front of your face.

The spar was intense as usual with him, he didn't hold back, because of your healing factor he didn't need to, and you preferred it that way. You two danced around the mat swiping at each other, trading blows that would send a normal human to the grave. Your adamantium covered skeleton allowed you to land hits on him that actually sent him reeling. Your breath came out in heavy pants as Conner made an expert dodge, he sweeps his leg under you catching you off guard enough to stumble backwards, he grips your tank top stopping you from hitting the mat staring at you for a second too long before bringing you into a head lock, panting in your ear, "You give?" You could hear the smirk on his face, you growl under your breath, "Fuck off.", elbowing him hard enough to make him release you, instead of getting angry he just grins at you looking like an animal about to pounce.

The spar ends in a draw both of you covered in sweat, "you wanna hang out tomorrow?" He asks wiping his forehead, you pause thinking over the fact that tomorrow was the first night of the Purge, sure is didn't start until 7pm but it was risky as hell to go about business as usual on the day of.

"Sorry big guy I'm fully booked." The lie flows off your tongue easily enough, you couldn't risk getting Conner involved in whatever the yanderes had planned for you tomorrow, you also couldn't rule him out as a suspect yet.

The rest of your day is full of similar interactions with your team, Garfield aka Beast Boy had invited you over to his place for a gaming fueled sleepover, pouting when you decline, Kori aka Starfire had offered to straight up stay with you for the duration of the purge, looking absolutely confused as to why you'd said no.

The day ends with you gathering your things as you wouldn't be in the tower for a week. Damian, the current Robin and leader of your team walks over before you can leave. "I assume you've made preparations?" The enigmatic man spoke in that usual Damian tone that you could never quite get a read on. "I'll be fine." Was your simple answer. His green eyes studied you, taking in your response. He simply smirks at you before bidding you goodnight.

You got zero sleep that night the rainy Gotham skies a background to your inner turmoil. Your instincts said to run so you were. A few minutes before the sirens go off, you're in your garage, a duffle bag thrown over your shoulders, when you notice your bike's tires have been slashed, both of them deflated.

Cursing under your breath you steady your nerves before heading back up to your apartment. Navigating the streets of Gotham on the first night of the purge was a bad idea even for a self healing mutant with adamantium claws like yourself. Instead you choose to take the situation as it came, barricading the front door with a bookshelf, you pour yourself a double shot of whiskey and light the cigar you'd been saving for a special occasion.

The shrill terror inducing sound of the annual purge sirens go off on schedule, you remain unflinching as you prepare yourself for the inevitable encounter.

About five minutes after the bell stops ringing there's a loud knock on your door, the handle jingling seconds after, "(Y/n), open the door." The command was given pleadingly. You recognized that voice, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. You were prepared for some nobody to try and claim you. Not him.

"We're getting in there no matter what so you may as well just," a loud bang shook the wood, "Open up." A second voice spoke out, this one just as familiar as the first, your heart fell to your stomach at the realization, the other three didn't need to speak for you to guess they were out there.

Your eyes quickly scan the window of your apartment, you were on the third floor but it was an easy drop for someone with your healing ability.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be." The third gruff voice speaks before a gunshot is heard, the bastard had shot out your front door lock, a blue eye peaked in the hole locking onto you instantly a predatory look in the gaze. "There you are kitty." He says before glaring at the bookshelf in his way, it doesn't take much for him to start throwing his shoulder into the wood of the door.

"Don't scare her." The fourth voice chimed in but did nothing to stop the man barreling into your apartment. By the time the five entered you had already booked it out the window, your broken ankles healing as you sprint down the dimly lit Gotham streets.

"She's on the move." Bruce finally speaks, his authoritative voice left no room for argument. Damian was the first to act scaling down the apartment so fast he skipped some steps, he was a man on a mission.

Dick was quick to follow flipping out the window and landing gracefully before giving chase. Tim quickly pulled out a tablet tracking your every move.

Jason snarls at the chase, running after you like a beast on the hunt. Bruce follows behind in the batmobile with Tim guiding him to your location in the passenger seat, each man's heart burning for you.

The night had just begun and you were now playing a game you wanted no part in.

[reverieblondie]

Bad Dream

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Nightmares, Mysterious passes, Breaking and entering, Panic attack, Breaking washers, Bucky touches your underwear (whoops...)

Summary: You and Bucky are not only neighbors but friends for months now. You two are close... but are still finding out new things about each other...

Word Count: 2,613

A/N: This was inspired by an amazing request got from an anon. I loved the idea so much that I can see this being turned into a full series if enough people like it! Just let me know! I look forward to feedback like always! and request are always open!

Part two in the works!

"So... What am I eating?"  

Bucky says almost suspiciously as he looks at the macaroni noodle on his fork.

"I can not believe you are so picky," you say, rolling your eyes before taking a delightful bite of the casserole dish you made. Once swallowed, you point your fork accusingly toward Bucky. "It's called tuna mac. It's cheap to make but delicious. Now you can either eat it, or I will stop being such a friendly neighbor and stop sharing my dinners with you."

Bucky chuckles before giving you a smirk, "If that's the case, don't come knocking on my door when something of yours breaks again." 

You huff, he doesn't play fair. 

He watches as you pout and sigh before he takes the macaroni and tuna mix into his mouth. When he eats it, his eyes bulge slightly. "That's actually really good?"

"See, you just need to trust me neighbor. It's something my mom used to make. Boil noodles, mix up the sauce, and top with cheese. It tastes better than it sounds." 

Bucky smiles as you ramble on. When you look over at him, he quickly goes back to looking at his plate, mixing it around as he makes a face before eating more. "That's true. This is way better than that chicken we had last Thursday."  

"Hey! We agreed to forget that monstrosity!"

Of course, Bucky laughs at your dramatics, and you can't help but echo it back. Thursday night dinners have become your favorite tradition since moving in; no matter how shitty your week could have been, this always lifts up your spirits, even just a little bit.

Most people in your building seem to avoid Bucky; they won't join him in the elevator or even greet him at the mailboxes. They judge his past... but who are you to judge?

Though getting to know him didn't happen instantly, it happened because of an accident you might have caused…

You have been fighting with these washers and dryers since you moved in. And now here you are fighting with the washer. The stupid thing won't spin, and it's starting to flood with water. You paused the cycle and knew that you should just ask the maintenance guy for help, but that has the risk of being blamed for it being broken.

Distracted, you don't notice someone walking in to use the other machines. Honestly, it's surprising someone else is up this late just to do their laundry. So much for not running into anyone while you're dressed in your lazy day pajamas—no bra just to add to the pending embarrassment…

Trying your best to keep your head down and fix the machine as silently as possible, you didn't realize that your rattling around has definitely drawn attention. Until a shadow is cast over you. Turning slightly, you look up at the imposing figure and see your next-door neighbor. James Barnes... Ex Winter soldier and a current Avenger... 

His head tilts as he stares down at you, "Problem?" 

This is the first time you have really seen him up close… he's much taller than you thought, and his eyes are the clearest shade of blue… You shamelessly let your eyes wonder over him, his hair looks freshly cut but his jaw is still decorated with a scruff. He's dressed so casually it throws you off, if you didn't see him on TV or see the vibranium arm holding the basket of clothes you would think he's just some random dude... a cute random dude. While you're clearly staring, Bucky shifts on his feet, his scowl deepening.

Great, now you not only look crazy now your staring... you mentally chastise yourself for being rude before pulling your hand from the filled drum to offer him a handshake, stumbling out your name in the process. This was a mistake, however, because you ended up splashing the super soldier with washer water… -Shit… 

You look around forb something to wipe him with only finding one of your old tees, When you offer it he lifts his brow before just wiping the liquid away with his hand.

"I'm sorry, and yeah, I'm just trying to get this washer to work… they never want to act right… old machines acting wonky, what's new?" You huff a laugh, but Bucky keeps looking at you unamused… ah yes… he's an old machine, you idiot…Or maybe not? Danmit why didn't you read more about him!

You quickly take another step closer to him in panic mode to clear up your unplanned insult, your first impression clearly not going well... "Oh! But not all old machines! My grandma had a vacuum for like 20 years, and it never crapped out on her!" -what are you even saying? shut up! Shut up! 

Buck just further scoles you, keeping his eyes locked on yours. Okay... he's defiantly a bit intimidating—his intense stare locked onto you. Then there's the fact that his glare doesn't roam—it's just set on your eyes. Plus, you're just rambling on, and he's just watching you like you have lost your mind! You can't afford to move again… 

"Why don't you just call for maintenance?" he says in a confused tone, his brows knitting together.  

You give him a gentle smile, "I don't want to be blamed for breaking it…" 

He doesn't seem too impressed with your excuse as he rolls his eyes, but to your surprise, instead of walking away, leaving you to struggle, he places his laundry down and begins to investigate the machine. 

You step closer to him, "So you're going to help me?" you chirp.

"I'm going to try, but if it breaks further, that's on you…" -Okay can't really blame him for that..

"Fair enough, neighbor." he only seems to hum at that before continuing his investigation. 

He does his do diligence checking everything out; while he does that, you're doing your own checking out. It's not like you're trying to be a perv.... but curiosity always gets the cat in the end, so you allow yourself to check him out a little. His back faces you, and it's incredible how sturdy it appears; you can even see how the muscles ripple with every move despite it being hidden underneath his t-shirt. Then his narrow waist that draws your attention down the length of him, and his arms bulging with every move as it roots around on the inside of the drum. The dark metal arm is so eye-catching you can't help but stare even though you know you shouldn't... But you can't help yourself from admiring how pretty it truly is… and the craftsmanship is impeccable… 

"I think something is just caught if I can unwrap it…" With another pull and a slight groan, he rips out what was caught. Surprisingly, it's small... red and- 

Bucky holds up the dripping wet material, and now that he has it unscrambled, you are mortified... Of course, out of everything to get tangled up and caught, it had to be your thong. Turning it about, Bucky looks at the material confused, unsure, until he meets your wide eyes and flushed face. It must suddenly click for the man that he's holding a stranger's underwear because, with the inhuman speed, he's met with realization and he's practically throwing your underwear at you like it would bite him. 

The flush of his neck and the way he suddenly does not meet your eyes tells you he's thoroughly embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, ma'am…" Ma'am? Wow, now he's talking to you properly; he really is embarrassed...

It's quiet for a moment as Bucky awkwardly shifts on his feet. Then you can't help yourself any longer, and you laugh. You laugh so hard you all but fall over yourself, and to your shock, Bucky breaks from his embarrassment and joins in on your laughter till you both were on the verge of tears. As you wipe away your tears, you catch him smiling, and it's like looking at a completely different guy. If people saw this, they wouldn't be avoiding him, that's for sure. 

With the washer fixed, you could finish your laundry cycle as Bucky moved to start his. As you're turning to thank your helpful neighbor, he is gone? Scanning the room, you see him leaving, shit! 

"James!" You shout without thinking. He pauses before turning back with a small smirk. 

"Don't tell me you broke something else." 

He's… teasing you? A grin spreads to your face, "I wanted to thank you for helping me out." 

He shrugged, "It's no problem, but call me Bucky." With that, he walked off. 

Days later, you were still troubled by the feeling you didn't get to properly thank your neighbor for saving your panties from doom. So you did the only thing you could think of; making him food. Make sure debts and gratitude are always paid... or it could come back a bite you... it's something you picked up from how you grew up, but where your dad made sure to do it with favors and money, your mom would always pay by making desserts and meals. So, in your situation, you decided on a platter of brownies.

The look on his face when you knocked on his door was priceless. Of course, he accepted, and thus, the cycle between you two started. You would have a favor, Bucky would help, and then you would make him a meal or dessert. Over time, Bucky's grumpiness was replaced with friendliness, and your friendship got stronger. Even though you had fewer favors, you two continued the tradition of eating a home-cooked meal together once a week until suddenly, it was odd if you were not seeing him.

Like now...

It's been three weeks since you last saw him. It's honestly so lonely in the building without him around. Sure, he's not talkative all the time, and there are still things you know you two have not shared, but it's undeniable this closeness you feel to him.

You just hope you get to see him soon, or you will be forced to break something and force him to come back…

It's another quiet night. It should be a night that you rest easy, drifting far off into dreamland. But you just can't seem to fall asleep. Perhaps it's the fault of a certain super soldier's absence or maybe it just sometimes getting your mind to settle is just an impossible task. As you lay pondering whether you should just force yourself to rest or get up and do something until you're tired, a loud bang from the neighboring wall interrupts the stillness.

On instinct, you freeze and try to listen to where the crashing is coming from. Bucky's place... but that's odd; he's not home. Or did he come back and you just miss him? Another crash makes you second guess, it could be a break in… 

But who would be dumb enough to break into a super soldier's apartment?

Apparently, you...

It is technically breaking and entering, but is it bad if you do it for a good reason? What if someone is wreaking his place? What if he's in danger? What will you do if you actually run into someone?

You ignore that for now as you concentrate on picking the lock... You hated it then, but you're now thankful for the skill at times like this. It clicks with a few more twists, and you're now sneaking through the threshold.

It's the same place you have been in multiple times, but tonight, you see the crumble of blankets on the living room floor, the flipped furniture, the mess of wreckage. Then you see the more heart-aching sight in the room's darkness. 

Bucky usually stands so tall and has that sly smirk for you with some greeting. Now, he is crouched so small, disheveled, and trembling. Those ocean-blue eyes clenched tightly...

A step towards him immediately has him on the defense, ready to fight. But he pauses at the sight of you, confused, rightly so. But you're more distracted by how the outside lights for a moment reflect on the tears rolling down his cheeks.

You're about to say something, but his hoarse voice cuts you off before you can, "Get out!".

The sound of his rough voice gives you pause, you should really listen, but as he sinks back to the floor, your feet feel like lead. With a swallow and a steadying breath, you step closer. He should understand by now that you're not one for listening. 

Closer now, you can take in his sweat-drenched body and matted hair and how he tries to stop shaking but just can't... Thousands of questions flock to you; but you just swallow them down. Slowly, you sit close enough to be noticed but not enough to touch him… Settled beside him, you place your hand out towards him on the floor, making a silent offer. "I'm going to stay for as long as it takes... I don't think you should be alone..." 

It could take minutes or hours. There is also the chance of him lashing out, but you will just be silent and patient and let him feel your presence and hear your calm breaths. It's the only thing you can think to do... to wait...

You're there for a couple of minutes until a clammy warmth touches your hand. Looking down, you can tell the shaking has stopped a little. You spread your fingers and let him lace them with his own. 

"I... don't know what to say..." he mumbles, but you shake your head before meeting his eyes.

"You don't have to explain... We all get bad dreams. "

"Every night I have bad dreams... Sometimes, I just randomly shake awake."

"Other times, you just lay there waiting for the sun to rise."

The look he gives you tells you he's shared the experience. You shrug and look out the window, "Like I said... bad dreams."

As you two sit there, his shaking slowly stills, but the grip on your hand only tightens. 

"I'm sorry..." It was such a silent whisper that you almost didn't hear it. Looking at Bucky he looks so tired, and a wreck, it brings back memories you thought were packed away. 

"Don't be sorry. Let's just work on getting you cleaned up. Go rinse off and I will clean up."

Bucky looks like he is about to protest but you just shake your head before standing, "Don't argue with me, go."

Bucky nods before standing up... He walks towards his bathroom but pauses just short... He has his own set of questions he wants to ask...But it will just have to wait.

You start placing what you can remember in their proper spots. Sure, this place was a mess, but you have had to fix the fallout of worse. Once done, you move on to the kitchen to brew the tea, your mom always liked tea on rough nights so it just seems like part of the process now. As the water heats, you just listen to the muffled sound of the shower.

Does this happen often? And if so, how have you never noticed before? You know he has a checkered past but, you never noticed this... he's always so buttoned up you guess he just popped...

Bucky takes longer to wash off than you expected, but ultimately, it's a good thing he took the time for himself. Getting the tea set in the living room you wait in dim silence till eventually he comes out of the bathroom. He emerges only in pajama bottoms, wet hair dripping down on a towel resting on his shoulder, and fixing his metal arm back into place. Bucky plops down on the couch and for a long moment he's just quite. From the look on his face he's still thinking of what to say, but you just slide the peppermint tea over to him.

Bucky gives a small thank you before he lifts the cup, letting the smell waft to his nose and the cup warm his hand. When he finally takes a sip, you feel like you can breathe again. While he works on his tea, you notice the drops falling from his hair and landing on his skin, causing him to shiver. He didn't even bother to dry his hair, huh? Carefully, you take the towel from his shoulder and softly start to dry his wet hair away. Bucky looks at you curiously as you focus on the task before you. 

"Why are you so good at this?" 

"Like I said, everyone gets bad dreams. Some worse than others." 

He hums before slightly chuckling, "Is that also why you know how to break into apartments?"

The playful tone in his voice makes your heart squeeze, and you can't help but grin, at least his humor seems to not be fazed, "You're not the only one with secrets, soldier boy." 

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

This is probably small in the grand scheme of things, but how did Emilie being noble play any impact in the story at all?

I mean, I'd get it if it was just a small detail to help deepen Emilie's character, but why nobility of all things? I don't know, from what I'm seeing so far, the whole "Emilie renounced her noble title" shtick just feels worthless if it's not going to impact the story or add depth to Emilie's character (like maybe upbringing or personal values?).

I don't know. Like everything else, the noble part just feels shallow and means nothing to the story, especially for a character like Emilie, who is the plot device for the whole show. Any detail about her, like her personality and life story, is supposed to influence the story and characters one way or another, namely Hawkmoth since she's his driving force.

So what was the point?

For context, this ask is about Félix's play which says that Emilie gave up her title to be with Gabriel. I'm gonna give a slightly larger section of the transcript of the play for full context, but the relevant but is at the end of the last paragraph:

Félix: The king and queen's twins grew up, each day as different in heart as they were similar in body. The firstborn, curious and brazen, despised life at court and escaped at every opportunity. The younger daughter, well-behaved and respectful, did everything she could to please her parents, and stayed quietly in the castle. Félix: (as Mr. Graham de Vanily) Oh, my queen. Did we entrust our legacy to the right princess? Kagami: (as Mrs. Graham de Vanily) She will fall in line, eventually. Félix: Confident that she would settle down as she matured, the king and queen allowed the curious princess to leave to study beyond the sea in another kingdom. There, she immediately found true love in a humble tailor. Félix: The tailor was making clothes so magnificent that they revealed the beauty of the soul of anyone who wore them. Although it made her parents furious, the curious princess gave up her rank, her wealth and her kingdom to live a bohemian life with the tailor.

Story wise, I have no idea why any of this was added since it adds nothing to canon. It's not like this finally explains why Gabriel and Emilie are poor while Amelie is wealthy. Along similar lines, it's not like Amelie's title has ever mattered. Prior to this play, I don't think that we even knew that she had a title or that she was the younger sister. The play is all about explaining things that we never had reasons to question in the first place.

My best guess as to why the writers wrote this pointless backstory is that they wanted to make Emilie seem even more pure and perfect so they went with the tired old trope of a rich girl giving up material things for the sake of love and art because good pure women don't care about material things! Only nasty, shallow women care about money. (Way to play into sexist tropes, guys.)

There may also be cultural elements at play here given that France doesn't have the greatest history with nobility, so giving up a noble title may be seen as good and pure to a French writer, but I don't know enough about French culture to say that with any certainty. If anyone who reads this blog is French and would like to chime in, then feel free!

While we're on the topic of the play, I wanted to point out that the above quoted passage is why I say that the Graham de Vanily parents can be as kind or as abusive as you'd like to make them. It's incredibly vague and you can read into it whatever you want to read into it. Were they good loving parents who were just upset about their daughter living in poverty or were they miserable controlling classist who Emilie fled England to get away from? It's up to you because you can get both reads from this. The play commits to almost nothing of value. Politicians could take lessons from this impressive level of noncommittal writing.

A better version of the play would have focused on things that actually matter to canon like the details of finding the miraculous and/or Emilie learning she's sick, but you could only have those details if they were coming from Nathalie or Gabriel. Félix is a terrible choice for a character to tell us the show's backstory because he knows so little of it, thus the play focusing on his largely pointless backstory.

[tealvenetianmask]

Stolas Makes Decisions Alone

I'm here to predict more problems ahead for Stolas. But don't worry- I do think he'll get through them because of character growth.

Stolas has a pattern of taking drastic actions that he believes are right and getting so caught up in his own point of view that he doesn't really listen to anyone else. I don't think he realizes this about himself. As much as he's now dealing with the consequences of his decisions at the end of Season 2, he hasn't yet learned that he can't go it alone. That he needs to communicate with the people his decisions impact- namely Blitz and Octavia, the people he cares for most. What I'm saying is, even though he's not the only one, our lovely owl man is a misunderstanding factory.

As for why he's like this, I have some ideas, but first, let's quickly go over the ways we've seen this behavior play out in HB.

It's treated as kind of light in Season 1 . . . despite being great with words, he's a lousy communicator because he gets carried away with his own ideas.

In Murder Family, Stolas has no idea that Blitz is panicking and . . . yes, I believe feeling pressured in this moment, even if he likes the deal later. In Loo Loo Land, he doesn't pay attention to Octavia's (not subtle) reactions enough to realize that no, she does not want to go to Loo Loo, and she absolutely doesn't want to bring the person Stolas cheated with along as a bodyguard. Also . . . as soon as Stolas listens to Octavia here, their communication improves, and Octavia is allowed to decide on the next father daughter activity.

The independent decision making tendency becomes more serious . . . tragic . . . in The Full Moon.

Stolas goes into the episode with a plan to do what he believes is right (freeing Blitz from himself), and he's so set on it that he blindsides the guy and shuts him out at the first hint of rejection, unable to pay enough attention to realize that it's . . . not actually rejection, just another wounded person reacting to a sudden change, since the entire decision making process already happened inside Stolas's mind.

Okay . . . Mastermind and Sinsmas.

I'm letting him off the hook for Mastermind, because he had only seconds to do something to save Blitz's life. I don't think he's wrong here. BUT symbolically, in the courtroom, Stolas rarely looks at Blitz. Someone who loves him is standing behind him, and there are moments of recognition between them, but Stolas still faces the decision, and his fate, alone.

In Sinsmas, we get the most blatant version of this kind of decision making. Yes, I know he's off his meds and going through a lot. He could have waited a few more minutes for Blitz to get back and talked through his decision to march up to his palace and demand to see his daughter. Blitz could have helped him calm down, and they could've had a conversation and decided on the best way to do it.

But that isn't how Stolas makes decisions. It isn't how he's EVER made decisions. Helping Stolas would put Blitz in danger, or Blitz might try to convince him to wait. So in Stolas's mind, if it's a choice between being kept from his daughter and dying alone by Andrealphus's hand, well . . .

There's so much that could be discussed here. Medication/depression. Suicidality. Autism . . . does this pattern stem in part from difficulty reading social cues?

These are all topics worth analyzing but . . . here's one thing that I think is at the core of Stolas's character regardless of the situation or other factors.

Stolas had all of his decisions made for him for his entire life. No one consulted him. Ever. Not about his career. Not about his marriage. Not about how he would choose to behave and conduct himself in the world.

Then when he was somewhere between 18 and 20, he had a child. And suddenly, his decisions mattered. Not in the big ways for himself. He still had to carry out all of his responsibilities. But he could decide how to raise this kid (Stella wasn't really interested in raising her after all). He could do everything in his power to make her childhood joyful, to make her feel loved, to teach her that she could be herself.

The problem is, making decisions for a kid doesn't make you a great collaborative decision maker. Being a parent means being an authority. He wasn't totalitarian like his own father, but there wasn't really anyone to honestly talk through his decisions and process his emotions with. So he's spent 35ish years never making a decision with someone else.

He's also rich and powerful, and that both keeps him isolated and gives him . . . a somewhat outsized view of his own importance and ability to control situations, in my opinion.

But now Octavia is 17, and making decisions that impact her without adequately communicating doesn't really work anymore.

And the other person he loves is Blitz. And yes, Mastermind is an exception, but Blitz usually doesn't need to be rescued or protected. He certainly doesn't need to be protected from Stolas (i.e. The Full Moon). He needs a partner. And Stolas needs one too.

So yeah, until Stolas learns to communicate (or at least learns that it's necessary) I worry about what he'll go off and do on his own.

Note: please don't take this as me blaming EVERYTHING on Stolas. Blitz and Octavia both have some responsibility for the miscommunications that go on. I just think this particular tendency of Stolas's is interesting and wanted to explore it.

[skeletonh0e]

hello! i was wondering if you could do an imagine of the boys with a workaholic reader? your choice of skeletons!

love your work btw :D

Thank you so much, sorry this took a bit, life has been hectic! I decided to do a draw the names outta a hat trick and narrow it down to just four, you got....

Killer, Red, Classic annnnnnd Ace!

You work too much ft, some of the boys.

Classic Sans:

Lazy x Workaholic, interesting dynamic

But honestly, he gets it. He works a lot too (not really). You've seen all the jobs he has right?

Here's the thing about that though, the more you work, the more breaks you get.

In others words....

Rest.

There is some tough love here, he'll always start off to gently tell you "hey relax" and when that doesn't work a bit more firmer of "relax or i will make you"

How will he do that?

Flopping onto you like a cat, putting all of his weight onto you (possibly even using gravity magic) and making it impossible to do anything.

He's grinning like a dumbass the entire time too, sorry, he loves you too much to let you stress yourself out silly.

Like he can fully respect that you are a naturally hard working person, after all he's gotten deep into some passion projects back in the day. A part of him honestly admires it, but he's never going to let it go too far.

And he has his methods of getting you to relax, aside from just laying onto of you, he'll hide your keys so you HAVE to call in from work, conveniently whatever you were working on is already finished, etc, etc.

It almost becomes a game, especially if you ever try to find workarounds to all the things mentioned above.

It's all silly but he loves you, don't stress yourself out please.

Underfell Sans:

Kinda does what Classic does but like....far far less tactful about it.

Will just grab you while you're working, drag you off somewhere like, "we're doing something fun, get yer' shit"

And suddenly just like that you're on break

Red is like very blunt, crude and yeah kinda mean, that tough love with Classic is doubled here.

"if you stay up any later you will get bags under your eyes and i don't want my s/o lookin' like shit" type beat

He means well, but yeah

He's a certified lazy fuck as you'd expect with any Sans, while there might be some form of admiration he doesn't get why anyone would willingly overwork themselves. Especially if it was a very demanding job

Also isn't he more fun? Don't you wanna spend more time with him? Huh? (he's not saying that because he wants to spend more time with tho-)

Will snatch your laptop, book, phone, etc to get you to stop.

Especially if work tries to call you in on a day off, full blown grabs the phone, tells your boss you're busy, then hangs up

Looks at you like "what?" afterwards, he did nothing wrong, you are busy.

Will also fucking lay on you to distract you

Unlike Classic he's a lot heavier tho so F in the chat there

Killer Sans:

You'll be buried in work then suddenly you have a knife placed right against your neck, not with enough pressure to hurt you but with enough to make you realize that it's definitely there.

How did he get into your house? How long has he been there? Who knows but he's come to give you a very important demand

"Rest. Now."

Will he actually hurt you? Unclear. I wouldn't push it though.

Like, he can respect the hustle but he does NOT like the idea of work taking advantage of you

Especially when he has his own shitty boss he has to deal with (we all know who)

So very aggressive forms of love here

Totally 100% threatens your boss into giving you more days off and insisting he make sure you're actually taking mandated breaks. Might even find a way to get you a raise or two

He got you boo!

Will also just drag you away from whatever you're working on to do something else, except it's basically a mini jump scare especially since he just appears outta nowhere.

However he can't really judge too much since he is also working a lot not willingly mind you, but still.

Will chill a bit if you assure him you're not being forced, that you do like working, etc. But not by that much.

Underlust Sans:

Workaholic? Him too bitch, the fuck.

He's a lot more tactful and far more reasonable than the other three bozos above as a result

See his policy is he does all his work on the clock only and instantly stops the moment he's off, but of course that's not a valid method in every work field

He's all about helping you pace yourself, like, he's not constantly nagging you but gives check ins, helps you set limits like no working long hours without at least one break, sets reminders

Probably tips he's learned over the years while being employed under Mettaton

....not as intense as Killer but if he suspects you're being taken advantage of, he'll help you go full Karen on your boss

As well as lecture you to not let others do that to you, you're better than this sweetie

Also he knows what it's like to have a job you like, excel at, and want to keep doing but constantly get bagged down by the expectations, demands and effort it takes.

Always here if you need to vent

He's very understanding, he does get it, alright.

All about finding compromises, but also he is not above bribing you, be it with cuddles, foods, things you like and well...he's definitely attempted to seduce you away from work at least once

If that didn't work he pouted about it for hours

This also ironically enough helps him phase himself at his work even better, largely because he refuses to be a hypocrite in any form

[sapphosclosefriend]

- Money, Power, Glory pt 1 -

Pairing: CEO! Silverfox! Natasha Romanoff x Escort! Fem! Reader

Genre: suggestive

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, successful and rich CEO, books an urgent meeting with someone who she might be able to finally destress with. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: top! Natasha x bottom! R, Natasha has a penis, BIG age gap (N=56, R=24), suggestive themes.

A/N: this story contains mature topics so anyone who isn’t 18+ DNI. Just as an introduction hehe don't worry, their first time is in the next one, I won't leave it out! Thanks sooo much to @rt--link and @supercorpdanbeau for being the kindest and both helping me out ❤️ As usual, likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated! Enjoy ♡

Masterlist

You still remember clearly the day you received the call from your agent. You honestly thought it was a cruel joke of hers at first, but the serious, yet excited, tone in her voice easily reassured you of the realness of the situation. The fact that she was calling you in the first place, and not quickly messaging you, was clear proof of just how important and urgent the matter was. Not only were you requested for that same night, meaning that the trusted woman deemed the new customer as important enough to ditch the advance days you usually demanded, but the house you needed to get to was of no regular person.

You were a high end escort, pleasing la creme de la creme only, well, at least in terms of monetary assets. You, and the agency you worked with, were known for your discretion, professionalism and skills, an overall level of competence that simply tended to attract clients of a certain status. And that's how you met her, the Natasha Romanoff herself, CEO of a multi-billion company she had created from the ground up in her decades-long career. But why was she so important? She would've been the richest one of your clients, it was as simple as that. Pretty much every single one of them were at the head of, if not close to, big and different companies, all with the highest power of the twenty-first century in their hands, money. You had actually thought about dipping your toes in the world of politics once, which was not so surprisingly filled with countless requests interested in your realm of expertise, but thanks to long consideration and much advice, you had decided to avoid its risks, settling on who you knew, after all, had what you wanted, filthy rich assholes. And gosh, wasn't she the richest one of them all.

Aside from her status, the thought of such a woman, so idolized she seemed unattainable, who could and probably had everything in the world, asking for your company, intrigued you immensely. That day, during every single hour you had spent to thoroughly take care of your appearance just for her, anticipation completely took over you. You knew she was beautiful and you genuinely thought she was fucking hot, which wasn't necessarily to be taken for granted in your line of work, but what you found yourself needing to know, and consequently making your interest in her grow even more, was how she was going to be in private. Was she going to be just like one of those countless naggingly cocky know-it-all's who thought of themselves as some sex gods, and gods in general, but really couldn't even figure out if you had cum yet? You found yourself almost wanting her to be different than everybody else, because deep down you felt like, even if she was the most annoying, full of herself bitch ever, you would’ve gladly tried to satisfy every single one of her needs and taken anything from her with a smile on your face. Ok, maybe scrolling for an hour through the internet looking up information about her and consequently ending up lost through any picture of her you could find wasn’t the best idea, but what could you say, you had a bit of a sweet spot for powerful women.

What you gathered from your innocent stalking session, though, was mainly about her countless successes in life but also concerning some gossip regarding her not so successful marriage life. It didn’t bother you, barely anything about your clients did at that point, but it only intrigued you more about why she wanted someone like you. She could’ve had anybody, she was a walking goddess with her pockets more than full and ladies most definitely falling at her feet left and right, yet there she was, in her car, getting back home after one of the longest and most tiring weeks of the past few months to wait for a girl she’d only seen a couple pictures of to take her mind off of everything. Her driver immediately knew not to even greet her by her frustrated sigh and the pinching of the bridge of her own nose as soon as she got in the car and immediately took off to her desired destination, making Natasha thank any and all gods for the nice relief after such displays of incompetence she had to endure from basically her whole staff. She was right at her limit and all the pent up anger and irritation from the week was finally starting to crack her composed facade at the prospect of the imminent weekend slowly reaching her. She didn’t even want to have dinner, she just needed to be at home, everyone out of her goddamn house and a pussy to unload some stress into. If she had to be honest, in that specific moment, she even missed her disastrous married life and the perk of having a wife always waiting for her at home, ready to meet her needs at the end of the day.

She, unfortunately, never felt the symptoms of "true love" with any of her ex wives, but the thought of how badly it had gone wrong with all of them still pained her a little every time her mind drifted to that phase of her life. During her successful yet busy life she'd been through her fair share of failed marriages, all with beautiful women she'd deeply cared for, but all eventually focused on one thing only, her absence. The first thing she'd always made sure to make very, very clear was just how little time she had to dedicate to anything outside of her company, which unfortunately included her personal life. Her best guess was that the haziness coming from a brand new love must've made it hard to get a grasp on her words…every single time, apparently.

It didn't matter anymore, though, because what she had to focus on now seemed to be much more important than any matter ever had. The quick, warm shower she had just enough time to take as soon as she got home was thankfully able to wash away the surface level anger that was starting to make her temple throb, preventing her from being a rude prick for the rest of the night. She was aware, after all, of the favor you were doing to her by working the night without any notice and all she wanted to do was be respectful for your kind availability. Being her perfectionist self, and deep down maybe even wanting you to like her, she knew she had to focus on not losing her mind on minor things like her outfit, so she decided to try to at least appear to be careless about her appearance and only focus the last bits of mental strength she had on the more relaxing, pleasurable parts of the night. Of course she still couldn't help but fix her hair just a little and change her sweatshirt for a still casual but more put together beige, cashmere sweater. She'd had it for years and, despite its condition not being the best, she couldn't bring herself to get rid of it, it just reminded her too much of- nevermind. A few small holes and pulled threads on her top would certainly be the last thought on your mind anyway.

She didn't even realize she was starting to zone out while still looking at herself in the mirror, when the sudden, distant ring of the front door slightly startled her, effectively making her get herself back together. What was minutes away from happening truly dawned on her as she descended the stairs to the first floor and, for a brief moment, as she walked through the entrance corridor and saw the blurry outline of your figure through the frosted glass of the tall door, time seemed to slow down and for the first time in years she felt a small twinge of anxiety creeping up on her the closer she got to you. She was really doing it, she was really about to follow the advice of her idiot Stark friend and didn't mind it too much. Maybe she was really getting old, maybe age was starting to actually play some tricks on her, because, as her hand pushed the cold handle of the entrance door and started to pull it open, the snippets of hair she could start to see of you lit a confident fire in her that only burned more vividly as your form was finally fully displayed to her, making it impossible for her to suppress the excitement she suddenly felt at the sight of you in person, looking at her through your lashes with subtle faux innocence she could see right through.

"Good evening, Ms Romanoff"

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Part 2

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Tags: @fxckmiup @natashasilverfox

[djevelbl]

Chaaaat, if I make a chatfic that's like. an EGREGIOUS 82% ooc due to being kinda new to the fandom, would y'all still read it???

I need to make a Lifesteal chatfic. the problem is i don't really know SHIT about the dynamics between ppl so it'd be SO ooc it would be a disservice to everyone involved--