#and then not actually making anything make sense to anyone

[chronicangel]

I mean, obviously yes, people with ADHD are just kind of abandoned by the system completely, but I feel like this post is somewhat obviously about the way that "smart" kids with ADHD and high-achieving kids with ADHD are not only neglected by the system but exploited by it.

I was a good student in all the traditional senses. I got good grades, I loved school, I did not have any significant behavioral issues. All of this was directly because of the fact that I had ADHD, which went undiagnosed until I was 20. I got good grades and loved school and was well-behaved because I found learning stimulating, and I needed mental stimulation so I didn't explode.

I was actually just going down an hour-long spiral yesterday about how if anyone had ever just told me that hyperactivity could be mental I would have realized that I had ADHD before I was 20 entire years old. Nobody ever bothered to tell me that it wasn't normal to frame every moment of your life around the need for intellectual stimulation so your thoughts didn't start racing and spiraling out of control. No one ever told me that experiencing writing as a form of meditation because it's one of the few times you're allowed to just sit in your whirlwind of thoughts for a few hours and pick out the good parts without trying to force yourself to Pay Attention to the Right Things was not, in fact, how everybody else was experiencing it. No one ever told me that plotting 10 scenes ahead in your pretend play (or, as I got older, roleplay) and then getting excited when the other person didn't follow your plotline because it meant you got to plot 10 more scenes ahead with new ideas was not why everybody else was doing that.

Every moment of my life I have had a constant, uncontrollable internal monologue, and it never stops, and it never shuts off, and it just goes and goes and goes. And the only thing I can do to make it bearable is find the things that are intellectually interesting, so my thoughts can all get channeled into One Thing, and they aren't bouncing all over the place and completely overwhelming me until I can't function at all anymore.

And no one ever told me, or asked me, or said or did anything. Because I got good grades.

[mariasont]

I know youre working on a fic right now but can you sometime make a fic where a new agent comes to work at the bau (the reader) and early seasons Spencer catches her interest, to which he's completely oblivious? Like just a cute little fluffy fic where two genius idiots can realise they like each other throughout their case together.

(also a lot of jokes from Morgan lol)

Reading Between the Lines - S.R

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: reader just being in love with dr. reid

wc: 1.2k

The two of you were alone in the police station break room, which had become something of unofficial workspace for the team during the case. You'd been sitting there for a while, mostly pretending to read through a file while Spencer, across the table, actually read his—flipping through pages faster than should be humanly possible.

You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes, trying (and failing) to keep your focus on your own. You couldn't help it. He was enthralling to watch. His long fingers moved smoothly over the paper, turning each page with that ridiculous speed-reading technique of his. And when he tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the words so quickly it looked like he was barely reading at all, you were sure you'd never seen anyone more unfairly attractive in your entire life.

And you did mean unfairly in the purest sense. It was undeniably unfair—no, unnatural—for a man to possess such a perfect plethora of qualities, like Spencer Reid did.

You hated how obvious you were being. Every time Spencer glanced up at you, your face grew hot, and you had to fight the urge to duck your head like a nervous schoolgirl. It was absurd. You were a grown adult—a professional in the FBI, for gods' sake. You had no business mooning over someone this hard. But... it was Spencer. How could anyone not?

Eventually, you gave up trying to work and leaned forward on the table, resting your chin on your hand. "How do you do that?"

Spencer glanced up, blinking. "Do what?"

"Read that fast," you said, gesturing toward the file in his hands. "I mean, it's like you're just flipping through the pages for fun, but you're actually... reading them, right? You're not just pretending?"

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smile. "No, I'm not pretending. I'm absorbing the information. It's called speed-reading."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just... taught yourself how to do that?"

He nodded, setting the file down in front of him. "It's not as hard as it looks. Anyone can learn it with enough practice."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone," Spencer said, leaning back into his chair. "It's all about training your brain to recognize patterns in the text and absorb information in chunks rather than word by word. It's just a matter of rewiring how you process what you're reading."

You stared at him for a moment, then a grin spread across your face. "Teach me."

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Teach you?"

"Yeah," you said, sitting up straighter. "If anyone can learn it, prove it. Teach me how to speed-read."

For a second, he just stared at you, like he wasn't sure if you were serious. But then his expression morphed into something that looked almost... excited. "Okay. I can teach you."

You tried not to look too pleased as he reached for a book sitting on the nearby counter and slid it across the table toward you. It was some dry academic text about linguistic patterns across extinct languages—typical Spencer reading material—but you figured it didn't really matter what the book was. You weren't here for the content.

"Alright," Spencer said, pulling his chair closer to yours so he could see what you were looking at. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours, and every single coherent thought you had ever had evaporated into thin air. You swallowed hard, staring at the page but unable to actually read anything. "The first thing you need to do is stop subvocalizing."

"Sub... what?" you asked, already lost.

"Subvocalizing," he repeated patiently. "It's when you say the words in your head as you're reading them. Most people do it without even realizing it, but it slows you down. If you can train yourself to read without subvocalizing, you'll process the text much faster."

You nodded slowly, though you weren't sure you entirely understood. "Okay. So... how do I stop?"

Spencer smiled. "It takes practice, but one way to start is by using your finger to guide your eyes. Like this."

He reached out and gently took your hand, guiding your index finger to the first line of the text.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. His hand was warm, touch light as he moved your finger along the page. Did he notice the way you tensed up? Did he feel how clammy your palm was? If he did, he didn’t mention it, his focus entirely on the page. Meanwhile, your focus was entirely on him.

"Try to keep your eyes moving with your finger," Spencer said. "Don't focus too much on each individual word—just let your brain take in the whole line."

Every time you inhaled, you caught the faintest hint of soap and coffee—clean, warm, him—and it was becoming impossible to think straight.

"Okay," you said softly, moving your finger along the line as he'd shown you. "Like this?"

"Exactly. Now, try to pick up the pace. Keep your eyes moving."

You tried, but your focus kept slipping—not because of the text, but because of the way Spencer was leaning so close, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watched you. You could feel his breath, soft and even, against the side of your face, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that this was probably the closest you'd ever been to him.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Mostly," Spencer said, his hair brushing his forehead as he leaned even closer to point at a section of the text. His long fingers hovered just above yours, and your heart stuttered at the proximity. "But try not to pause at punctuation. Just keep your eyes moving in one fluid motion."

"Okay," you said again, though honestly, you weren't sure how much you were actually absorbing. Your brain was too busy screaming Spencer Reid is touching me. Spencer Reid is this close to me.

For a few more minutes, Spencer guided you through the process, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he helped you adjust your pace. You couldn’t tell if you were actually improving or if you were just doing your best to survive the moment without completely embarrassing yourself.

"You're doing better already," he said. "It just takes time to get used to."

You smiled back at him, cheeks warm. "Thanks. You're a good teacher."

Spencer’s ears turned pink, and he glanced down, his fingers brushing idly at the edge of the book. "I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. A good teacher, I mean."

You couldn't stop smiling.

"Maybe next time, you can teach me," he said suddenly.

You laughed. "I don’t think there’s anything I could teach you that you don’t already know, Spencer."

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, his eyes met yours, before flicking back to the book.

Correction, you wouldn't be able to stop smiling for the next 3-5 business days.

Morgan was leaning against the hallway wall just outside the break room, holding his phone and scrolling casually, when you finally stepped out of the room.

You didn't see him at first—you were too busy floating on a cloud, practically glowing as you replayed the last few minutes with Spencer over and over in your mind. You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt, and you could still feel Spencer's hands on yours.

"Well, well, well," Morgan voice cut through your daydream, startling you so badly you almost tripped. You snapped your head toward him, your heart jumping to your throat. He was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a mouse. "What's got you all smiley? Pretty boy say something sweet, or are you just thinking about those magic hands of his?"

You felt your face burst into flames. "What? No! It's not—"

Morgan held up a hand, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Save it, girl. I know the look of a lovesick rookie when I see one. Trust me—you've got it bad."

You sputtered, desperately trying to come up with a convincing rebuttal, but Morgan was already walking away. "Better make your move before he speed-reads right past you!"

You groaned, burying your burning face in your hands as Morgan’s laughter faded down the hall. Lovesick rookie? Was it really that obvious?

Yes. Yes, it was.

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[fangbanger3000]

we need to talk about The Silence and The Song

as per my last post, i have received a lot of encouragement to go public with this, and the more disappointed people i have in my dms, the angrier i get. so i will.

the silence and the song is an ancient arlathan au DA fic on ao3 by luxannaslut, and it is partly, if not entirely, written by an ai. i have no wish to be involved in any kind of fandom drama or witch hunting or bullying, but as a writer myself there are few things that piss me off more than watching people steal the work of others because they can't be fucked to write. it's disrespectful to your fellow writers, it's disrespectful to your readers, and it's disrespectful to the authors of the works the ai is stealing from.

ai is a plague that has no business being in creative spaces and you must do better.

the writing pattern

there was something very odd and monotone about the sentence structure of tsats that i couldn't quite place, so i fed chatgpt a prompt along the lines of "two people in a fantasy novel hate each other, but they secretly desire one another, and they kiss", and the screenshots above are the results. the third one is an excerpt from chapter 40 of tsats. the writing pattern is identical and it doesn't seem like the "writer" has even bothered to pretend they wrote it. if you're going to use ai, at least be sneaky about it. you know, paraphrase a little.

nonsense descriptions

"her nimble fingers worked with quiet precision" (ct. 1), "his grip firm but tender" (ct. 33), "her gown pooling around her like embers" (ct. 1).

fingers don't make sound, so what does quiet precision mean? as opposed to what? her joints cracking with every movement? how is a grip firm but tender? what does that mean? since when do embers pool?

the entire fic is littered with these adjectives that contradict each other or just straight up do not make sense, because all an ai does is generate descriptive language with no understanding of what the words it's spitting out actually mean. i could spend hours picking out examples from the seven billion pages worth of text, but i quite frankly have better things to do and would simply challenge you to try getting through a chapter or two without noticing the pattern.

repetition at structure-level

all the scenes in this fic are described in pretty much the same way. they open with purple prose vomit of the surroundings; solas is standing somewhere looking "unreadable as ever"; ellana's fiery golden molten fire copper ember ginger red hair is flowing this and that way; there's some dialogue with whoever is present and it leaves ellana feeling different variations of "something she couldn't name". this is, once again, a blatantly obvious sign of ai. below is the result of me feeding chatgpt the line "write me a scene from a fantasy novel where a woman with red hair is sitting on the ground in a magical garden at night", and side by side with that is the opening scene of the fic. make your own judgement.

repetition at word-level

this one speaks for itself. we fucking get it. her dress is orange, her hair is red, mythal's presence is heavy in the room, solas looks unreadable, compassion is sitting on her head like a crown, solas' ears are betraying him and ellana's move with every thought she thinks. we get it. the issue here is that an ai remembers the info you feed it, but not necessarily the info it shits out. if it's being told to write scene after scene of an elven woman with a gown that looks like fire doing xyz, it's going to do so with no regard for how many times the reader has already been informed of these details.

lastly: the breakneck speed

359,6k words in four weeks by a person who allegedly is employed and married and hasn't pre-written anything? no. any writer will tell you that this simply isn't possible. it absolutely infuriates me to see how much praise this "writer" gets for posting up to three full chapters in a day without anyone calling bullshit. i am pulling out my hair, you guys.

why i'm not going to live and let live this one

perhaps i would be less angry if the fic was some silly bullshit court intrigue Y/A stuff, but this is a text that handles very heavy and triggering topics such as SA, coercion, domestic abuse, and other things of the same vein. to sit back and put your feet up while having a robot write these extremely sensitive and very real human experiences with words it has stolen from texts written by actual persons is fucking heinous. the "writer" should be deeply ashamed of themselves and i'm sick and tired of watching people eat up their bs.

and on that note: the amount of people in my dm's telling me that they feel stupid and naive for not clocking this has infuriated me more than anything else. you're not foolish for this. being fed ai-generated bullshit is not what is supposed to happen on any creative platform and much less a fandom-centred one, so of course no one approaches a fic through that lens. fandom and fic writing is supposed to be about passion and the only person in this situation who needs to do better and change their behaviour is luxannaslut. polluting our creative spaces, wasting the time of your readers, and minimising the effort of actual writers who are working hard to provide content for us all to share and enjoy is vile and so, so lazy. i beg of you: do better.

[lizardsfromspace]

It's tempting to call out evangelicals on grounds of hypocrisy - on ignoring the teachings of their own religion - but to them, it all makes sense, because they've developed a framework that basically amounts to Jesus having no real philosophy

They acknowledge the many verses about caring for the poor etc, but take it either as a code or of lesser importance. It's not about changing society, it's about individual charity, but not about compelling people to be charitable, just that it's nice. When Jesus spoke of the "least" of society, that wasn't about helping marginalized people, that was either about Christians, or about what side to take in the war that happens after the rapture. Simple. You may think "wait, but right before that it mentions caring for the poor, sick, and imprisoned" and their answer is, as I understand it, that you can just read every verse of the Bible in isolation from every other verse and it still makes sense on its own, so it doesn't matter (for reference, the New Testament wasn't split into numbered verses until 1551, when they were decided on by a random Frenchman)

This doesn't make sense on many levels. Anyone outside the sphere would point out that, religion aside, it would be really weird to have a story about someone telling a bunch of people to help the poor and then reveal "actually, it was all about events that will happen thousands of years after everyone present was dead! Nothing that was said matters to you or most people reading this!" Like what's the point. But within the sphere they have so many rationalizations, like how it's taken as writ in evangelical circles that it's okay to be rich because the "Eye of the Needle" was a specific gate in Jerusalem that was merely difficult to get through. Meanwhile, outside their culture, no references to that gate exist, because it didn't exist

One fun strain of this thinking is this

The Good Samaritan is a parable that ends with the directive to "go and do likewise". So clearly, the real point of the story is that you can't do anything. Jesus told everyone to go and do likewise to prove that nobody can ever show the impossible love to...help a guy who got robbed? Because Jesus was perfect, all advice from Jesus can be disregarded, because nobody can follow it because they're not Jesus

This idea, that every story Jesus told was just about how nobody can ever be like Jesus, is a thing in those circles and it's such a baffling foundation for a religion. Follow our messiah, who told us to be nice to people, but we know all the secret messages about how all those stories meant we SHOULDN'T be nice to people. Their sacred text is not a guide to living, it's a textbook for the apocalypse and how to go to heaven disguised as a guide to how you should be nice to people and help poor people. But a bunch of well-off white people discovered the secret parts of the Bible absolving them of the responsibility to care about people, so

[prettyboykatsuki]

do you see anyone other than me? (baby please) | rafayel (lnds)

✮ tags ; rafayel x fem+ afab!reader, established relationships, dom!reader, sub!rafayel, gentle femdom, oral (m!recieving + some f!recieving), anal (m!recieving), praise kink (so much), dirty talk (SO much),pegging / topping, top!reader, bottom!rafayel dry orgasms 18+

✮ wc ; 6.9k (come on man)

✮ a/n ; reader and mc do not share a personality in this. reader is intentionally meant to have like... a more serious personality. so they are mc but not at the same time if that makes sense sdkjskj.

also i know this guy but only a little bit. i was planning on binging the main story after caleb got released but got ?? caught up writing this?? this has happened twice im so scared

✮ synopsis ; making sure rafayel actually forgives you is at the top of your priorities.

When you come home  from the office, take your shoes off, and turn the corner into the living room—you know without looking that Rafayel is in a mood.  

Not a good one.  

It’s something in the air, a lingering tension that makes all movement stiff as you attempt to navigate through the unease. You find Rafayel on the couch. Soft, deep lavender waves tussled like he’s been tossing and turning - pressed into the side of the couch. All curled up small.  

Somehow, you just know what sort of attitude you’ll be met with. You know your lover well enough to know that he’ll be moody but you’ve less confidence in regards to what that mood may be.  

Taking a deep breath, you step into the wide expanse of Rafayel’s living room and studio. His head turns, bangs falling in his face as you slide your work bag off from your shoulder to set aside. Your keys, noisy as you set them down, even gently—trying to leave the air undisturbed. He’s looking at you from over his shoulder but realizes he can’t completely see you that way. Instead of standing to his feet to come greet you, he drops his head back on the arm of the couch to stare at you upside down in a tense silence.  

You give him a look. His mood is sour. Maybe more than you thought. He smiles first, then frowns unhappily before turning his attention back to what he was doing. You hear small scratching noises—he’s sketching. You wonder how long he’s been sitting there doing that, since he usually just prefers to paint without thinking too hard.  

After that, he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t greet you, either.  

“I’m home.” You say evenly. You think about being placating from the jump, but without knowing his exact reason - you worry you’ll only worsen the state of affairs.  

Rafayel hums. “Welcome home.”  

Your brain wracks through every possibility on what could be the source of this level of moodiness. Sometimes, his moody behavior is for kicks but it’s not this time. If it was, he’d lay it on thickly. Act theatrically towards you, get in your face about it. 

But he’s tense, forceful—every scratch of his pencil is too harsh like it’s rife with irritation. You tread carefully.  

“Can I sit with you?”  

“Why are you asking? Don’t you live here too? Just because I bought the couches with my money doesn’t mean—“  

“Rafayel.” You say, interrupting him. He scowls at you. “Can I?”  

As if more bothered by you being level, he huffs. It’s followed with a business smile over his shoulder. “Sure. Do whatever you want.”  

You choose to sit on the empty end of the couch where Rafayel does his sketching - fitting yourself in the gap of his space near his feet. You slide yourself in then gently lift his legs into your lap. Rafayel gives you a look when you do this, clearly debating on whether or not he should reject your act of goodwill. Ultimately he stays. 

Notably, while his pencil is still scratching on paper - you think by this point he’s not really sketching anything at all.  

“I got off of work late,” You explain. You rest your hands on his calf gently. “There was an incident near the station but it was a false alarm so I ended up being cleared.”  

“Oh? Is that so?”  

Warm, you think. You nod.  

“There’s been a lot of Metaflux increases in the residential districts close to our headquarters. It’s odd.” You explain. Rafayel is quiet, looking at his nails disinterested. You go on, not taking offense. “Strange as it is, there’s been no active threats. Still, given the location, it needs a lot of man power to be investigated.”  

Rafayel sits quietly, unreadable. You continue on. “So it’s been busy. I think we’ve cleared the level of threat, so another team will probably take over soon.”  

“Hm.” Rafayel says, a petulant edge to his voice. Warmer. “So that’s why you’ve been so late this week. I guess it’s good that nothing happened. It must’ve been difficult, so difficult if you could barely spend time with your one and only lover. But I guess it’s fine, it’s not like there’s anything you can do in that circumstances. Well, you could’ve done a lot but if it didn’t occur to you there’s nothing to be said, then again—why would it—“  

Hot. “Rafayel.”  

“What.” 

“I’m sorry for being late,” You say.  

A beat. His frown deepens.  

“And?”  

You pause before answering, smiling apologetically. “For not keeping in contact with you more.”  

Some of the life returns to him. You’ve deduced the source of his bad mood, which means the only thing left is to alleviate it. You don’t like seeing him upset. He’s quick to forgive you, always optimistic and trying to keep your relationship lighthearted.  

But there is an underlying desire in him that makes you more conscious about any minor infringements. Despite himself, Rafayel is more concerned about you liking him than he’ll ever let on in  his life. Even when he’s upset, he’ll forgive you - but the feelings linger until they explode. When he gets like that, it’s much harder to comfort him.  

It’ll fester if you don’t apologize properly. You know him well enough to know that and you love him well enough to not want to see when disaster strikes.  

(Plus, there’s something about the way he’s still pouting. He’s trying to relax, but it’s there. It’s cute to you. It makes you want to kiss it better.) 

“I’m sorry,” You offer. You reach for the hand resting in his lap and he lets you take it, though it’s limp. You press a kiss to the back of it, eyes full of affection. “I’m not used to having someone wait for me,”  

Rafayel makes another face at you, unreadable. “Not just anyone.”  

You laugh lightly. “That’s true.”  

Squeezing his hand tighter, you kiss it one more time. “Can I make it up to you…?” 

“I don’t know. Can you?”  

“I’d like to,” You offer, another kiss - just higher on back of his hand. Closer towards his wrist. “Whatever you wanted.”  

“Whatever I want is a tempting offer, Miss Bodyguard. What a talent for bargaining you have, indeed. Maybe you should try bidding a one of my auctions, just to see.” 

“I’d bid too high off the bat. I’d go bankrupt,” You tease back, a sweet lilt to your voice that makes Rafayel’s eyes shimmer, fond of your wit. “Would you be willing to keep me if I gave it all up that way, I wonder?”  

“Since it was for me, I could consider being merciful.”  

You give him sincere but small smile and Rafayel seems to warm up seeing it. He can be coy, even playful about his affection but there’s something about him today that feels more shy then it does anything else. 

“If I can ask for whatever I want,” Rafayel starts. “Maybe we could start with paying back your dues. After all you owe me your full undivided attention after your week of neglect.” 

“That’s easy.” You say, charming. Rafayel makes a face at you that makes you want to laugh. “I wanted to give you that anyway. Is that all?”  

“Are you telling me to be more demanding? You think that’s a wise choice?”  

“If it makes you happy, I’ll play the fool.”  

It’s corny, deliberately not something you’d say to anyone else or at any other time. Something that Rafayel might say to you in a different circumstance, so in a way you’ve simply beat him to the punch. He goes through several feelings, each passing over his expression. Amusement to disbelief to embarrassment even he can’t cover up too easily. 

Great risk comes with great reward. Yours is a smiling Rafayel, boyish and amused. Color returned to him, a playful air of mischief about him.  

“Well if you’re that desperate to make it up to me, then I guess I could try to forgive you. Gosh, you must be so desperate if you’re willing to act this way. You’ve totally fallen for me, haven’t you?”  

Yes, you think. Too much of that at once and he’ll get shy again. You’ll have plenty of coaxing to do later so you keep the thought to yourself. You smile at him instead. “So, you’ve anymore demands for me, my liege?”  

Rafayel hums before breaking out into a grin. “Hmm. For now, just one.” He offers you his hand. “Take me upstairs.”  

__  

Rafayel has a way about him, with you and only you, that makes you especially weak to his advances.  

Whatever those advances are, however taxing on you they may be—there’s so rarely a time where you can tell him no. He likes having that much influence over you, no matter what his particular mood is. If he’s feeling the desire to keep you under his thumb or be at your mercy. Whats central to him in each instance is that he has the full breadth of your attention, your desire, and most importantly—your lacking will to resist.  

You like it all because you like Rafayel. Like how it feels trying to hold onto him as  he slips between your fingers.  

If someone asked you what you like most, though - it’d be this.  

Not quite at your mercy but expectant of your devotion. Crystalline eyes and long, straight lashes blinking up at you with unwitting demand, crowding around you mercilessly. A gaze that weakens you, disarms you, demands your propriety.  

“What are you thinking about?”  

His words come out more annoyed than he wants them to. Your eyes come back into focus to Rafayel on top of you, in your lap as you lean against the headboard. His weight settled like he’s something that fits there perfectly and he does. Your hand reaches for his lower back, eyes tracing down the damp skin. Button shirt opened just loose enough to catch glimpse of his collarbones, with only boxers underneath. Your hands run down his sides, smooth down his bare thighs - mesmerized by cream colored skin that begs for blemishes. 

His expression bewitches you even when your mind had prepared you for it. You smile almost lazily, drawing him just a little closer to you until your noses touch. “Of you.”  

He scoffs at you. “Is that so? Not that you have no reason to think about your perfect, darling lover—it’s just that it seems like he’s the last thing on your mind these days, so you know,-“ 

You kiss him. It’s only partially to shut him up. It’s mostly because him talking makes you look at the shape of his mouth, the curve of his lips—the way he’s pouting at you. It’s almost too much. You part after a minute, careful not to deepen the kiss.  

He has something to say after the fact, dazed - hands on your shoulders trying to give himself the room to speak before you kiss him again.  

But you don’t relent. You kiss him harder, a hand around the back of his neck - slipping your tongue against his lips in the way you like. He doesn’t concede. You’re not really expecting him to. He kisses back even harder like he’s trying to prove a point - teeth digging into your lower lip. A little too sharp for human, but perfect for him.  

You pull away breathless. A hand still on the nape of his neck, sliding around enough to feel his pulse under your thumb. Thump, thump, thump—rabbit quick. You smile at him suggestively, proving him displeased.  

“Don’t interrupt me. Trying to kiss me when I’m airing out my complaints is unprofessional and rude, I’ll have you know.” 

“I’m sorry,” Your lips brush his jawbone. “It’s hard to think about talking when you’re half-naked on top of me.”  

“You can be so vulgar. It’s shocking. You’re usually all serious and about work and then sometimes you look like a dog waiting to be told it can have the treat on it’s nose,” Rafayel says airily. Fake haughty, voice colored with coyness. You look up at him. “Does it really count as making it up to me if all you’re doing is lusting after me?”  

You don’t deny him at face value. “You set the standard. You tell me. Do you feel like I’m still making it up to you or should I work  a little harder?”  

There’s something between you. A spark of electricity that fizzles and pops, tension deepening. Rafayel likes playing tug of war with you. Even though he’s expecting to be pampered - there’s nothing easy about letting him. But it works when you keep yourself even. Eager. Having your desire and lust for him out in the open gives him the power again and he likes that, even when it’s mostly pretend.  

“Work harder. You have to earn your paycheck Miss Bodyguard.” He says. You laugh a little, sitting up a little straighter.  

“Yes boss,” You reply. You lean forward, pulling his weight down as your hands slide underneath the loose, flowy button up. Your hands find his waist, holding his sides before gliding them up on the planes of his back. He’s got lean muscle, a swimmers build that feels tight to the touch.  

You kiss him on the lips again, tongue sweeping against his lower lip. Rafayel playfully rejects it when you do. You pull away one hand to cup the back of his neck and force the kiss deeper, tongue pressing the closed seam of his lips until he yield and lets you. He melts at the gesture rather  unwittingly, the softest little whimper sounding as you feel your tongues touch. It’s a wet, hot kiss. Mouth sticky with spit and saliva.  

“I’m working hard so you shouldn’t be too hard on me,” You say playfully. Rafayel rolls his hips, makes a noise for you as he huffs. “I want to make you feel good.”  

“You’re—“  

You interrupt him again. Not with a kiss on his mouth this time, but a chaste one to the very corner of of it - trailing down the soft curve of his jawline. You make the pressure on his neck featherlight. Thin skin prone to being sensitive, he melts at the soft touch. Cranes his neck up subconsciously to give you access to it. In the spirit of pampering him, you bite at the skin with a genuine hunger. Marking each bruise with a kiss first, you sink your teeth into him without remorse. Incisors scraping the delicate area before you suck hard, broken capillaries throbbing underneath your tongue when you lick them after the fact. 

 Deep, deep shades of red and purple bloom all over the column of his throat. It doesn’t feel like enough to you still.  

“My neck hurts from all your biting.” His voice comes out in wet pants, betraying the sentiment. You laugh warmly at his attempt to diverge.  

“Does it? Should I be gentler, then?” You offer. After you feel like you’ve marked his neck enough, you press another feather-light kiss right where his adams apple sits. Another on his clavicle. When it gets to his collarbone - you don’t do anything more than brush your lips.  

Rafayel whines. It’s a throaty sound that makes your whole body break out into a shiver. Such a pleasant sound on the ears that your mind pictures instantly what other sounds he might make if you just had your way with him. It uncovers a selfish part of you. You could flip him over on your bed and take him if you wanted. Fuck him until he sings as punishment maybe for being tempting like a siren drawing a lone sailor into deep waters.  

You keep the thoughts to yourself, and keep your composure. You ask again instead. “Come on. Tell me. Do you want me to touch you more gently?”  

He fusses in your lap. You grin. “What’s the point in being gentle now if you’re being so rough to begin with? The change would be just weird, you know.”  

“I guess it would,” You let yourself lick the same places you just kissed. You bite then hard enough to leave a mark and Rafayel arches himself into it. “It’s better like this then, right? If I leave marks all over you, then maybe you’ll feel less lonely when I get busy again.”  

“I should get to leave them on you too. Your memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be. A physical reminder might do you some good, yes.”  

His voice is trembling, despite himself. You pull away to look up at him, and catch sight of a fragility you sometimes forget he’s capable of. Brows drawn into a furrow, lips pulled into a pout. Like a wound reopened inside of him that he’s so desperate to cauterize but can’t. You want to kiss the lines between his brows and get on your knees for it. A proof of your affection.  

“I’m sorry for being careless,” You say, sincere. Rafayel looks ready to quiet you, concerned about the mood but you proceed anyhow. You lift his shirt up and hold it to his mouth, and he bites without your instruction. Bare chest exposed to him, you flit your gaze to his face. “I can’t do anything but try to beg your forgiveness. Still,”  

You kiss his sternum, your hands on his waist. You fingers trail down his sides, hands sliding back up to chest. His nipples are hard, damp skin cool to the touch. Your warm him with your fingers, rolling over the sensitive tips. Rafayel makes a muffled noise, his cock twitching responsively.  

“All I ever really think about is you,” You say. Rafayel gives you a long, unreadable look as you toy with his chest. “I’m not the type to half-ass things so my thoughts always revolve around you. Finishing work to come home to you. If you’ve eaten or if you locked yourself in the studio to paint all day. If we should go somewhere together on my day off.”  

You lean forward and stick your tongue out, taking his nipples into your mouth. You roll the other one with your hand to increase the pleasure - content as you watch his face begin to flush. He watches you so closely, the tips of his ears burning a bright red. You suck hard, wetting them with saliva before you take them gently between your teeth and tugging.  

“I’m not good at balancing work with play. I’m also not very friendly so you’re the only person I’ve ever spent so much time dating” You hum, nuzzling his skin. “I’m sure down the line it’ll be harder. But, if it helps, it’s true that my heads always filled with you.”  

Your hands grip his waist, pushing his hips forward slightly as you suck and bite his chest again. A line of saliva connects you both as you pull away - teethmark indentations in their place.  

“I want to make you feel good,” You maneuver Rafayel until he’s underneath you. His expression reads as overwhelmed but the faint blush blooming all over his skin and the hazy look in his eyes makes you confident he’s feeling more than just uncertainty. More like restlessness. A desire to be touched as he lays on his back with you looming over him. “And to touch you everywhere.”  

You lean into him, trailing kisses down the his chest. You can feel his pulse quicken again as you touch him, spreading his legs as you put your thumb inside the waistband of his boxers.  

Like this, he looks especially enchanting. The sleeves of his shirt pulled over his palms, button-up bunched up underneath his chin, and tight gray boxer briefs snug around his hips. Your bedroom, dimly lit, casting shadow on the sinewy muscle. His chest heaves with anticipation, stomach tense as your lips trace a path down from chest to navel. Excitement wracks through his body.  

You put a hand on his stomach and look up at him. “I want to leave my mark on all of it. I want your body to remember I felt this deep inside of you and shiver. You’ll be able to think of me half as much as I think of you.”  

Rafayel heaves, eyes glossed over. “Shit, you’re so unfair. It’s like you have two personalities or something. Are you tricking me? Is it actually you in there?”  

You smile a little, pleased by his reply.  

You follow your instinct, sliding his boxers off and tossing them somewhere. Rafayel is hard. So hard it looks like it hurts. The tip of his cock is ruddy, wet with pre-cum and swollen. His dick is long. Stands up with a straight curve. You breathe on it, making Rafayel flinch with anticipation. Your eyes flicker up to his face, terrible pout betraying his feigned moodiness..  

“Don’t tease me,” He voices. Arousal strikes through you like hot iron at the whine of his voice. Almost pitiful.  

“Not today,” You promise. 

You making yourself comfortable between Rafayel’s legs, sticking your tongue out to taste him. He smells like soap and skin, but the scent is still so arousing. Your head is heavy with it, senses suffocating, hands stabilizing themselves by grabbing hold of his thighs. Rafayel looks near overwhelmed from even the slightest touch. It’s uncharacteristic for him to be so quiet. Almost meek. He must be aching for you more than he lets on.  

You let his cock rest against your face, nuzzling it with your cheek. His cock responds sweetly to the lewd act. He lets out a sigh about, subtly trying to shimmy away from the touch. Unable to win against your grip, he sinks back into the bed and takes a long breath.  

“Keep your eyes on me,”   

In the business of spoiling him, you leave your teasing to a minimum. You gather spit in your mouth and spit it onto his cock with force - relishing the his breath hitches. How his eyes widen just slightly. You stroke his shaft with a tight grip, bringing your head down suck lightly below the shaft of his cock. His head falls back again, mouth open in a silent plea.  

Rafayel keens for you when you work him with the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. You use your hands to fondle him while you shift your attention to his length. Your lips placing hot kisses up until they stop at the slit - tongue dipping into and tasting precum. Salty and warm. You wet your lips again and brush them against his cock - watching the way his expression shifts at the sensation, lightly sucking as you build yourself up having him in your mouth.  

He pitches his hips with desperation that spurs you to give him more pleasure. You open wide to take his cock into your mouth. The weight of it feels good. Arousal clouds your mind as you hollows your cheeks and stick your tongue out over your lip. He’s throbbing so hard it makes you lightheaded.  

A minute passes as you just hold him in your mouth, getting your jaw used to the sensation before you put in work in making him feel good. Like steel over your velvet, you use your tongue to lap at the sensitive skin while spitting and drooling. You’re making a mess. The room echoes with the filthy noise of you swallowing and choking on Rafayel’s cock.  

“Oh, fuck.” 

Your eyes flicker up to Rafayel, trying not to crack a smile at the state of disarray he’s in. His expression is so twisted from pleasure. All of his features reflective of it. His blush seems to creep down even further the longer you go. Your body gradually heats up, core throbbing as you take him down. Take him slowly into the narrow canal of your throat, eyes watering.  

You ease yourself down the very base - nose pressed against his navel, tongue over your lip. Rafayel’s fingers curl into the sheets underneath you trying not to buck his hips.  

“Get off of me, I’ll cum.” He says, almost panicked. “Your throat feels so good. Y-your mouth is so hot and it’s making me feel so good, can’t—I can’t. You gotta get off or—”  

His words of protest fall on deaf ears as you spread his legs even further. Wanting to make him feel better, you part them. 

 You’re greeted by pretty pink hole - already wet for you. A stream of spit follows as you pull off him. 

 Rafayel heaves in relief.  

“You got yourself ready,” You say, less than ask. Rafayel rolls his eyes.  

“So what if I did?” 

“I wanted to do it for you.” You reply, pretending to sulk. “Told you I wanted to spoil you.”  

He blushes further. “Don’t you have any sensibility? You’re doing more than enough. Being excessive, even.”  

“I don’t believe in being excessive when it comes to you,” You hum. Sitting up, you reach over the bedside table for a bottle of lube. You pour it in excess on your two fingers before coming back down between his legs. The bed creaks under your weight.  

Lube drips from your two fingers onto Rafayel’s hole, thick as you push the excess with two fingers. Both go in so smoothly it makes you smirk. He’s soft inside. It’s so easy for you to put both fingers inside of him, even easier to find his prostate - swollen from arousal. He must’ve fucked himself open like this on three fingers given how easily yours follow.  

“It’s so wet inside. You must’ve really wanted me to fuck you.”  

“So what if I—aah—did?”  

“Well, I wanted to take you apart nice and slow.” You say, slowly rubbing your fingers against his prostate, pleased by the little oh noises he makes when you. Cum spills from the tip immediately. He’s so sensitive. You divulge your plans to him as you stretch him. “First with my mouth once or twice.  I was going to save fucking you for the end  but—“ You push your fingers deeper. To the knuckle. His eyes shoot wide open before his voice breaks into a moan. “Since I’m making it up to you you, I was wondering if I should just cut the chase and make you cum on my cock over and over and over. Maybe you’d prefer that.”  

Rafayel’s eyes go wide. You feel a sense of accomplishment knowing without him telling you. He clears his throat, strangely sheepish.  

“It’s not like the other stuff feels bad or anything—“  

You make eye contact with him, sitting up on your knees. Your other hand cups the back of his neck as you press a third finger inside - fucking it in slowly. Rafayel moans unabashedly as you do. His skin is feverish as you press your forehead to his, noses brushing. The wet sound of you stretching him open makes you dizzy, shared breaths between you filling worsening your appetite for him.   

“It’s not what you want though, is it? Not today anyway.” You say, leaning close enough to kiss. You don’t follow through, your voice low on a whisper. “Tell me how you were picturing me fucking you in the shower. I’ll give you whatever you want today,”  

Rafayel seems to let go of the last threads of fight in him as you approach like this. You’re in the thick of your wanting for him. Your body and your mind hunger to make it feel so good it looks like carnage to everyone else. To be pleasured so ruthlessly he can barely move 

He’s rarely too shy but right now he’s in the depths of his desires. He moans sweetly like this. It’s not a sound you can coax out of him easily. It sounds so perfect still. Mouth fallen open, his hands finding purchase in the back of your shirt.  

“Want you to fuck me deeply,” He pants, like it’s straining to even thinking about it. “N-not too fast, but not too slow either. Want you, hngh,” Shivering, he tries to speak coherently as your eyes meet - lips barely touching but almost. “To p-praise me and—“  

You grin. “You want to pampered while I fuck this pretty little hole, right?”  

You push your fingers in harder. He whimpers. It’s loud and broken and makes grip on you tighter. He just nods. “Please. Fuck, please - need it now. In me, please.”  

It’s exactly the words you’re interested in hearing. You kiss him on the lips deeply. He sinks completely into the touch, malleable under your fingertips.  

“Shh, I know.” You hum, soothingly. Rafayel whines from the loss of contact as you pull your hand away.“You earned it. Just a little more.” 

You stand up again on your knee, stripping yourself of the remaining garments left on your body from the work day. You unhook your bra and take it off along with your tank top in one go, tossing it somewhere on the floor. 

Next come your slacks, tight from the way you’ve tucked silicone cock up against your stomach to be ready to fuck. You put it on earlier while he bathed - tucking it in your pants to keep it out of the way. Seeing you unzip your work slacks and have a heavy silicone cock fall from them evokes a reaction in Rafayel that endears you endlessly. A bitten lip while a shiver wracks through him. 

Deciding your pants will get in the way, you make quick work of wriggling out of them completely before returning between Rafayel’s legs. You spit in your hand and stroke yourself with it, wetting your cock before letting it rest against Rafayel’s own. 

“How do you want it?” You ask.  

“Like this,” He says, unmoving. He seems certain on that end but he’s hesitating. “But I want you to…” 

He looks away. You try not to grin but fail.  

“You were being so bold a second ago,”  

He rolls his eyes. “Well a second ago someone was trying to rearrange my insides so I didn’t have to think very hard,”  

“So, should I do it again, then? I think we’ll get better results that way.”  

“You’re so noisy. I don’t pay you for this,” He pauses. “I want you to hug me while we… like be close to me.” 

You pause before smiling gently. You’re so charmed by the innocence of it. It’s so unlike him. Being away from you must’ve bothered him more than he cared to admit. Softening, instantly - you lean forward and press your lips to his forehead.  

“Sure. Anything else?”  

“Ugh. Not for now. But it’s annoying. I should be running you into the ground by now but here you are,” 

“Making good on my promise?,” You finish. Rafayel doesn’t refute you. You kiss his shoulder blade. “Anything you want today. I’m yours.”  

“Say it again,”  

“All yours.”  

He wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you down. “…Hurry up and fuck me then.”  

Complying with his wishes, you sit back on your knees as you line your cock up with Rafayel’s entrance and push. He gasps as you slide the fat head of your cock in, a wicked smile on your face as you watch his hole stretch out and around you. Three fingers is more than enough prep. It makes filling him so easy.  

Still, the stretch - the feeling of being full is nothing like just fingers. You watch as Rafayel’s body adjusts to  it. Inch by inch, you rock your hips forward gently until he’s swallowed your cock up half-way. He’s trembling as you lean forward. Waiting for you to bottom out before he pulls you forward for as much skin to skin as he can have. Your chest squishes against him.  

When his hips roll for you to go deeper, you take it as a sign. With all of your strength, you hold onto his waist bury yourself inside of him in another single thrust. His nails dig into your shoulder, his voice next to your ear as you. Tightening his grip, he cries out at the sudden movement 

You can feel him shake underneath you, cock clenching hard while you hold him.  

“Fuuck,”  He goes stone stiff underneath you before starting to tremor more violently. “Fuck, oh fuck.”  

Realization dawns on you a few seconds later. “Did—did you cum just from putting it in?”  

He opens his eyes and frowns at you.  

“Shut up. I didn’t get to cum earlier.”  

You laugh. “You’ll kill me being this cute. I don’t know what to do.”  

“I could give you an idea if you’re going to just sit there,”  

His impatience amuses you.  

“Sorry. I’ve got you. Cum as much as you want.”  

You anchor yourself, pulling out slowly and internally groaning at the resistance as you do. How his hole grips onto you so tight it feels nearly hard to move despite know how stretched he is. A phantom sensation fills your waist as you feel his stomach shift as you thrust.  

Heeding earlier requests, you use your hips to set a pace to fuck Rafayel the way he wants. The ins and outs of his body come naturally to you now. Finding the right pace, the right motion, the right angle - all come easier to you than you even remember. On muscle memory, you hike Rafayel’s legs up and begin to fuck him deep. Not too fast, not too slow - but consistent in grinding against that sweet spot. Deliberately thrusting your hips up, you try to direct all the remaining focus into fucking him as good as you can.  

You know you’ve hit the right places when his grip on you gets tighter. His legs locked around your back, Rafayel is a mess underneath you even when you’ve barely begun. Like he can’t stop cumming, his body helplessly wound as your hips clap his ass.  

The moans that come out of him, broken and sweet. More angelic then pornographic but lewd enough to make you dizzy with the urge to pin him up and fuck him harder. Groaning when you fuck him just right. You can feel his cock against your stomach with how close your bodies are as you grind - twitching. Pre-cum leaking in long spurts and wetting your skin. 

You coo at him feeling it start to be easier to fuck him.  

“It’s just like a pussy, huh? You take me so good inside of you. It feels like you were made for it,” You press kisses wherever your lips can find the skin. On his face, his mouth, on his shoulders. You can barely make sense of your own filth, your mind moving on it’s own as your body chases its own arousal. Your clit is grinding against the base of your strap-on so well like this, you could easily chase the high and find your own orgasm with seconds. You’re too busy paying attention to make well on it. “I like when you act cute like this. Usually you’d put up a fight about it but you’re asking without fuss. It’s precious seeing you fall apart on my cock.”  

He moans your name like an incantation, another dribble of cum spilling. He can’t stop cumming. Just shuddering beneath you, his face in your shoulder and panting like he can’t find the words.  

“All mine, yeah? Everything, all of you. It’s all mine to tend to, so you can be as selfish as you want.” You hum, encouraged by the whimpering repetition of please in his voice. He’s being so pliant, so good. You can’t help yourself. “Take when you need. Cum when it feels good for you. I want you to feel good. Want to make you feel so good you can’t stand it. Think you can do that? Come on,”  

Rafayel moans brokenly into your neck. “I’m g-gonna cum so hard, fuck—feels like I can’t stop, please don’t stop, fuck me,” 

“Shh it’s okay. I wont stop until you tell me.” You tuck yourself against his neck, kissing it before biting his ear lobe. He gasps. “Don’t think about anything other than cumming for me.”  

“Fuck,” His nails dig into your biceps, coiling you around as you get close. “Fuck me. P-please—I’m cumming, I’m cu -“  

Rafayels whole body stiffens under the weight of your body. You fuck him steady, pinning him down as he cums. His cock pushes hard against your stomach, twitching helplessly as his cum spills in streams. His back curls up, gripping onto you tightly as he moans loud and unabashed, euphoria splintering through his muscles. You fuck him through it until he rides out his high - his body loosening up as soon as it passes.  

The sound of cum unsticking from your skin as you part from Rafayel makes you grin. You pull back out of slowly and get on your knees. You use your hand to wipe the cum off of your stomach and smear it against Rafayel’s hole.  

“You made a mess,” You say brightly. Rafayel pants, looking up at you. Before you can ask, his voice trembles. He weakly reaches for your hand.   

“Let me make you finish,” He says, abrupt. You blink at him owlishly. “Please.”  

“Isn’t this about you?”  

He frowns, looking at you seriously.  

“It is. And I’m telling you I want you sit on my face and cum on it. Please.”  

You give him a look before breaking out into a laugh. You stand onto your knees and undo the buckles of your harness - shimmying out of them. “I can’t refuse you if you ask like that but I don’t think it’ll be long.”  

“It’ll just be once for now,”  

“For now?”  

He nods matter-of-factly. “You still owe me after the crimes of neglect you’ve committed against me.”  

“Right.”  

“And I’ve decided I want to exercise my rights to eat pussy until sunrise.”  

“I see,” You say bemused. “And this is… revenge I take it? And not perhaps, an act of goodwill towards me.”  

“I have no reason to show you good will, do I?”  

You break out into more laughter. 

“Right. We’ll be even after today then, at least.”  

“Hurry,” Rafayel says again, after settling it. Same puppy dog look in his eyes as before, back in instant. You can’t help but be charmed by how quickly he reverts back into desiring your attention.  

Rafayel lays down as you take your strap-on off and crawl over towards him. Deciding you’re not done with him for the day - you stand on your knees just over his chest and spread your pussy apart for him to see. He’s not expecting it, evidenced by the way his eyes go wide at the sight. 

“Even without cumming, making you feel good turned me on this much. Is that what you were hoping to know?”  

Rafayel goes flush again. “I never said that.”  

“So difficult,” You hum. “Come on. Can I sit?”  

Rafayel barely masks his enthusiasm as he nods. You crawl over him further before carefully setting yourself above his face. You try to avoid letting the full weight rest on him, but Rafayels hands are on you in an instant. With the same desperate grip he had while you were fucking him, he pulls your thighs down until your pussy is in his mouth - tongue out and lapping up wetness instantly. You shiver at the desperate movement of his tongue. 

It gets your body hot all over again. Your fingers thread through the purple strands of hair for anchor as you push yourself against his willing mouth like you’re fucking his face. Your own desires hadn’t crossed your mind until now, but now that you’re aware of it - that familiar restless lust returns to you tenfold You shiver as the familiar flames of arousal stoke back up inside of you.  

Your gut honeyed, sticky lust making your limbs feel thick. You use your other hand to tweak your nipples as you rock your hips back and forth. Rafayel lies underneath you obediently, eagerly - his hands helping you move at the pace you want without complaint. He always manages to surprise you. His willingness to give to you making you feel weak in the knees.  

Already so worked up, it takes you hardly any time to reach your climax. You feel it in your waist, body going slack as the knot inside of your stomach uncoils. You let out a short cry, hands tightening in Rafayel’s hair as you cum all over his face - swearing as you do. You feel Rafayel moan against you, reverberating through you as you ride out your high and finish.  

You pull away from his sated, pulling back to see him wiping his chin before licking his fingers. The look in his eyes sends an amused sort of arousal through you.  

“You look like you’re going to eat me.” You say. Rafayel nods.  

“I mean… I’m certainly trying.”  

You laugh tiredly, swiping your thumb against his cheek with a smile.  

“After we clean up and have dinner,” You say. “I have some mandatory time off so I won’t be called in.”  

“I won’t let you sleep,” He says, clingy again - face pressed against your thigh. You grin. His many moods make you so weak to him. 

You bend down to kiss his forehead.  

“I wasn’t planning on it.”  

✮ a/n ; rafayel fans . let me know if this was okay im lacking confidence but i had writing him. i want to keep like a spoiled housecat maybe.

[m1ssed-m3ssages]

Oh my God. I love this.

Adding to this, from akechi's angle (because God knows I, an Akira fictive, do NAWT want to dive headfirst into my emotions)-

Similarly to Akira, akechi's instant reaction when hit with the fear SE is to call for joker. No, not Akira- he can feel the difference between the two, Akira was the awkward, sympathetic teenager who loved the craft of coffee and curry and pretended to miss his hometown, but joker was the suave, flirty, tactics-focused leader who put his team before anything else in the world, and knew the metaverse like the back of his hand.

He didn't place his life and safety into people's hands for fun, so Akira had really earned it. If he did just trust anyone he tolerated, he would have had a partner-in-crime by now. But he doesn't, and the only person he's ever offered to pair with and take a step back from leading was for joker. His rival.

Now, actually talking about the fear status effect- I can imagine the feelings provoked for akechi were the ones when he was a little kid, on the days he would be waiting for his mom to fetch him from the hot springs and she would be later than usual, sitting in the hot water thinking "is she on her way? Is she okay? Oh God, she's dead isn't she?".

That, or the emotions of having to acknowledge that joker surpassed his strength, duelling in the metaverse.

Or maybe when he had gone 8-1 with the phantom thieves, and couldn't hold out and defeat them, even with Loki? Or maybe it was all of that at once, not even akechi really knows.

He calls for joker because even with him being the name of akechi's existence (no, he will not acknowledge that that feeling may be jealousy) he was the one constant force that akechi could count on, despite how ironic it was to do so with someone literally called the wildcard. Leblanc feels safe, but it feels like what akechi could only imagine home had felt as a kid, under a different circumstance when Akira (not joker, joker rarely stepped foot into the cafe) was there.

Joker was someone he could count on, and the person he was outside of the phantom thieves' work- Akira- was someone he could tell things to. So, naturally, when he is hit with fear, he craves the comfort akira brings, even if he refuses to look it in its eyes.

The thieves are confused- who wouldn't be, if they didn't have the metaphorical claws joker does to slice through the meaty flesh and bone of akechi's metaphorical chest and puncture into his metaphorical heart- they thought akechi and Akira were rivals? So why do they seem to ask for (or, formerly they thought avoid out of fear) one another?

It's a little funny to imagine akechi/Akira comforting Akira/akechi while the other thieves are like "didn't akechi shoot him in the head and Akira accidentally lead him to his death??".

Sorry if this doesn't make sense, I'm a connoisseur on all things Persona-5-rambling.

Thinking (again? Has anyone done this?) of Joker saying Akechi's name during Fear status and literally everyone assumes it's because he's flashing back to the interrogation and his near death experience.

Those present try to push Akechi away from him, when the affects seem to linger, and Akechi himself at first assumes this is the case as well.

They assume that the way Joker is looking around frantically is because he's still sure Akechi is "after him."

Except when Crow loses patience and slaps him out of it with a clawed hand and everyone (aside from Sumire) expects the worst, Joker doesn't freak out and run.

No, he relaxes and instantly, sheepishly, starts to calm down.

Akechi brings it up again when he self-destructively tries to push Akira away by reminding him of it, saying "a part of you is still scared of me, don't deny it-" only for that to make Akira laugh, angry.

He isn't scared OF Akechi. He isn't saying he never had been - it was terrifying, potentially facing death while powerless. But no.

When he's hit by Fear, the worst thing it dredges up is how he felt after Futaba said she couldn't find his signal, that he'd just heard Akechi die behind a barrier he couldn't get past.

It's the worst possible thing for Akechi to hear. It scares him, that trying to push Akira away won't work, that Maruki has his life as such a high value bargaining chip in Joker's eyes and Joker doesn't even know it, and it scares him in general that someone might actually care about him so much.

It means that Akechi outright knows that on 2/2 he's forcing Akira to create another new worst memory of losing him again.

And when he wakes up alive, it adds even more pressure to the idea of letting Akira know he's fine - because if he admits it, then he has to face the ordeal of being loved so much, so powerfully.

[wetpussyju1ce]

retired!John Price and the ghost girl living in his sea side cottage. 

he didn't even know the house was haunted when he bought the place. it's not like the owner of the cottage would've told him. and in this time and age, not a lot of people really believed in ghosts, heck he didn't believe in them either. 

well, maybe that's a bit of a lie. he doesn't believe in actual ghosts appearing and knocking shit over just to mess with the living. but he's been long enough in the military to know that every man and woman have their own ghosts they carry around. heck, even some bases are worse than others, sometimes when the wind blows hard and runs in the corridors, it sounds like souls out of hell, coming back to haunt the ones still alive, telling them their time was counted for. 

But this type of ghost, the type that's absolutely shit at being a ghost, John thought it was a house squatter, a homeless person using the cottage because it was empty for a very long time, that's what the owner told him. When he first saw her, she dashed past the door, fast enough that he couldn't exactly see who it was but slow enough that he could tell it was a person. 

then she'd follow him around, she wouldn't make any noise of course, but he could sense her presence and see her in the corner of his eye. He thought maybe it was his old age getting to him. because no matter how hard he looked there was no evidence of human presence, other than himself, of course. he catches himself staring long and hard at his cigar, getting suspicious of his own tobacco, if he'd somehow mixed some cannabis in it and forgot. But no, she was there, and very real. 

The longer he stayed in the house, cleaning, dusting, moving things and unpacking, the more he could see of her, just glimpses here and there. And for a reason completely unknown to him, he wasn't scared. why would he? if she wanted to hurt him she would've done it by now? plus, she doesn't look as scary as someone would think. John knows that she's barefoot, wears a light pink dress and her flesh looks of normal, if faint, human colour. It doesn't look rotted or grey. 

John hasn't told anyone about his little ghost roommate, and probably won't because they'll definitely drag him to a retirement home if he does. So he keeps his mouth shut and tries to catch this little ghost, or at least get a look at her face, speak to her, ask her what is she doing in his house. 

That day came sooner than he thought, where she was creeping behind him, it was comical how John immediately knew what she was doing, saw her in the reflection of his glass of water. then walked out of the kitchen, slowly at first, when he turned the corner he booked it for the other kitchen door, getting in and there he saw her, slowly creeping to the door he just exited out of. He wanted to laugh at how bad she was at being stealthy but held it in, then he creeped behind her, then pounced, wrapping his arms around her. 

She shouted and he gasped, hearing her voice for the first time, she was cold, and soft. when it finally registered in her head that the human man was touching her, she froze, and when she did, John couldn't feel anything anymore. She was still there, looking down at his arms that were now floating inside her. John moved his hands around, eyes wide and she shuddered, stepping away with her shoulders hunched. 

John felt bad for scaring her like that so he cleared his throat, “Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,”

She didn't move for a minute, her back to him, and then slowly looked over her shoulder, blinking her wet eyes at him. She was scared and his heart twisted in his chest at the youth etched in her skin, at her hunched shoulders and trembling lower lip. 

“I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean to scare you,” John quickly apologised again, this time trying to whisper, his hands in the air, trying his best not to scare her away. 

Her body slowly turned around, levitating and floating, then he could finally see all of her, including the marks wrapped around her neck in the shape of fingertips as she stared at him, shaking. John never thought he was capable of scaring a ghost, if anything he should be the one terrified out of his wits. This wasn't normal.

“I'm John, John Price,” John introduced himself, “I bought the house a month ago, as a retirement present for myself…” Price explained as if she would care why he bought the house. 

“You can see me?” She asked, her voice just above a whisper and Price nodded, eyes wide. 

“And you can touch me?” She asked again, fingers grabbing hold of her dress, pulling at the fabric and toying with it.

John nodded again and she looked down, confusion written all across her face. 

“Are you a ghost too?” She asked, hopeful and Price’s small smile fell, did she just ask him if he was a flipping ghost? 

“Am I dead?” He repeated and she nodded once with a grimace.

“Well, I hope not,” He awkwardly laughed, running his fingers through his beard, thinking hard if he could've lost his life in the battlefield, a bullet to the head or something. 

“Are you sure?” She asked and he frowned, was he sure? 

“What's something ghosts can't do and living people can?” John asked and she tilted her head to the side, thinking. 

“Well, I can't leave the house…” She shrugged and he nodded, that's it, all he has to do is leave the house and he'll be sure he's actually not dead.

John walked to the door, turning the key and looked over his shoulder, “I'm doing it!” Then he put one foot outside, then another, and nothing happened, “See! I'm not a ghost,”

She frowned in confusion, “If you're not a ghost, then why can you see and touch me?”

John walked back in the house and locked the door behind him, “I don't know, you're the first ghost I've ever talked to, I'll tell you that,”

“Really?” 

“Yes,” John smiled a little, “Are there others in here or is it just you?”

“Just me,”

“Alright, will you give me a hard time?”

“No!”

“Good, then why don't you make yourself useful and help me pick a new wallpaper for the hallways,”

[blackheart-6]

noelle undertale style sprites

hi yall

ive been wanting to get better at sprite art (this was my news years resolution actually!) so i decided to try and turn noelle into an undertale style battle sprite!!

i also really want there to be some sort of light world battle at some point, in the undertale style! i think noelle would be a pretty good candidate for being the enemy of that fight, so thats another reason i made this

i feel like it couldve turned out better, but i also dont really know what i couldve done different, if that makes sense 😅

i was trying to make sure she wasnt too tall or short, so that was kind of hard to work around. plus, i love my girl noelle but.. she got a biggol head lol. if you count her hair shes like half head 😂😂. but i couldnt really do anything about it without making her too tall (i was trying to be as accurate as possible)

but, i think i didnt do too bad overall ^^

i also made animated versions!

i couldnt decide which i prefer (since they both are kinda bad 🫣), so theres 2

ehh, im not too disappointed with myself, this is only what, my third pixel gif? im sure ill get better!! or at least i sure hope so :^

i also did those alternate faces/poses for fun, but i did them real quick, so dont inspect them too hard haha

if anyone has any tips or advice of any sorts to improve at pixel art, please share 🙏🙏 i struggle so bad at these, just being indecisive on every pixel i place 😫

but anyways, thats it for now, bye yall!

[h0neybane]

Evelyuu for the No Yandere Simulator AU by @quartztwst!! More detailed notes below...

Evelyuu for the No Yandere Simulator AU by @quartztwst!! More detailed notes below...

Evelyn always carries two sketchbooks and her fountain pen with her. Her fingers are constantly stained with ink and she can often be seen drawing inside the books. However, she is EXTREMELY protective of the sketchbooks and has not allowed anyone to look inside them.

Evelyn has a good reputation around the school as she is willing to tutor people for free time to time. She also often shares her own food, further gaining the favor of other students. However, her reputation is slightly negated by her strange behavior around a certain student...

Evelyn is mostly unassuming, but there have been a few moments where she has been caught staring down Leona Kingscholar, with rumors stating that her gaze was 'frighteningly intense.' She seems to be deeply infatuated with him... (... In contrast to Quartz, Evelyn is an ACTUAL yandere whos target is Leona. She is mostly dormant and has not taken any action, but if pushed far enough, she could kill someone. However, at current, she has resorted to watching him from afar. Inside of one of her sketchbooks, she holds hundreds of drawings of him, messy sketches made while watching him. The other is filled with violent images, of which she uses as a stress reliever.)

Evelyn is deeply resentful of Azul Ashengrotto because she views him as a better version of herself. She finds many similarities between herself and him, leading to her generally trying to avoid him, but *it becomes difficult as she is a member of the student council alongside him. Furthermore, Evelyn is the type of person to see something but never say anything, especially if it's to her benefit.

With all these factors in mind, Quartz can interact with Evelyn in many different ways. If Quartz can gain Evelyn's favor, she can use her resent towards Azul and *her access to council information to turn Evelyn into an accomplice of hers. Another option is to take advantage of Evelyn's infatuation with Leona and drive her to murder, allowing her to be framed. * ok so i said evelyn is a member of the student council but i left it out of the actual image bc i'm questioning if the student council in this universe is just the dorm leaders??? if that's true and it wouldn't make sense for her to be in the student council, disregard everything marked with an asterisk.

@taruruchi @honeyedpearcrushh @boopshoops @scint1llat3

@h2llish @viperbunnies @buttholesparkles @oya-oya-okay @cheerleaderman

@qsoap @angelwishess @jadelover69 @skriblee-ksk @lychee-face

[clockwayswrites]

Hey clock!

Just read a hill to die on pt 2, and had a quick clarifying question I wanted to ask… with the way Tim describes his headspace, Danny def thinks he has did/osdd/whatever, so. Does he? And if so, is Tim like, aware of it? Or is he in denial lol.

(Also sorry if this ask is disjointed/doesnr make much sense I am. V v tired rn lol)

Very tired is a whole ass mood.

Tim is... having a hard time of it and his identity as a whole LOL So he's a bit in denial but more he's never really sat down and considered it. He was Caroline or Alvin because he needed to be. Now 'he's' Caroline or Alvin(eventually) because he wants to be. It's a big change for him (and them).

As the fic goes on, he becomes much more aware of it all and does actually talk to his therapist about it. That's actually the start of ch4! As a sneak peak:

Despite Tim making a phone number for Alvin and having permission for him to message Danny, Alvin was proving elusive. Tim wasn’t entirely sure why; he’d never really tried to interact with the other alters of his system like this before. He hadn’t even thought of himself as a system before, not exactly. After his date with Danny, Tim had hesitantly, nervously brought it up to his therapist. He had been worried that he might be infantized because of it or, worse, she would suggest that he be put on medication to try and get rid of the other parts of him. Luckily, there had been none of that. She had asked a lot of questions, including if next time she could speak with either Caroline or Alvin, and had promised to send him some research to read. Most of her focus was about how he was coping with this revelation and what they could do to make it easier for him. It had actually been, well, therapeutic. Go figure.

I think officially he'd be more OSDD than DID because of how much he can remember, especially when focused to? But I am not a therapist or psychiatrist or a system (please for those who are a system, if I get anything offensively wrong, let me know). And I know some people with DID are very entwined, from my conversations with them. (I'll likely avoid him getting a label from anyone official.)

And we'll see in ch4 some more of Caroline's side of it and how long she's been around, etc!

...but I need to finish up the last part of ch3 first >_>;

[realpontchartrain]

I saw your last anon and was wondering if you could go more into detail on your prison abolition stance. It means different things to different people so what exactly would you like to see happen?

Of course! This is gonna be long, so brace yourself, but hopefully a worthy read.

Well, my personal perspective is that prison is inherently traumatic. It is literal slavery. Nobody, no matter what the crime or circumstances that led up to it, petty or huge, should have to endure prison conditions in America. Imagine 24/7 having to be subjected to the brightest fluorescent lights possible, the loudest noises, crammed in a concrete block of a room with 100 or so other people (in general population jails) or at best 4 or 6 others for the entirety of your sentence — which is almost always blown out of proportion for the nature of the crime, or vice versa depending upon your privilege in life (the average white american getting probation or a slap on the wrist for a drug offense, the average black american spending a huge chunk of their lives behind bars for the exact same offense, and me getting away with two weeks in jail for trying to kill a bunch people just because i go to Harvard and my mom’s a cop).

The vast majority of crimes are petty. You can’t stop drug trafficking and addiction with mass incarceration. Encourage people to seek treatment when busted, provide them with the resources they need, and let them decide if or when they choose to get help. If caught redistributing drugs, make getting help mandatory, prosecute them to find the actual manufacturer of said drugs (if it isn’t them) and adequately punish them, then once they’ve completed a setlist of conditions (monitoring, rehab, yada yada), release them. If a woman is shoplifting baby food, you help that woman feed her baby, not throw the child into the OTHER trauma of foster care and the mother in prison for years.

When I was in jail, I shared a cell with an old black woman (we called her Rosa Parks LMFAO) who was in there LONGER THAN I WAS… for trespassing. A class C misdemeanor. She went to the bank to get change, but they were closed, and a manager called the cops on her when she was standing outside too long waiting for the next bus. Two weeks for me for attempted mass murder > two weeks or more for that old woman. What sense does this shit make?

Let’s talk major crimes like mine. These are always committed by someone with some kind of deep mental illness (untreated/undiagnosed) or trauma. They need help. Children aren’t shooting up their schools in troves for no reason. Look at their backgrounds: abusive/neglectful families, poverty, trauma, etc. When it’s easy to cop an AR-15 and we are THE most gun-loaded country for no fucking REASON other than mass paranoia and the delusion of freedom, then why wouldn’t a kid who’s already about to commit suicide with mommy and daddy’s AR collection out on display in the living room NOT see anything to lose in taking as many other motherfuckers out with them? Especially anyone else who wronged them and ridiculed them for their trauma or otherwise? They need help.

Even if they DO go on to kill people, they still deserve a second chance to make amends and face the consequences of their actions. Something drove them to that point, and there was already an infinite amount of failures in more systems than one that let it happen (easy gun access, poor mental health, no social services, bullying that’s unchecked, etc.). That’s why i’m choosing to research gun violence prevention — so that I can become a therapist who specifically focuses on homicidal people and youth, because so many of these so called psychiatrists never believed me when I said I was thinking about hurting people because I simply “don’t look like it.” And guess what? The vast majority of medicine used to treat physical and mental health problems in prisons have been discontinued for use in the general American population. When I was in jail, they put me on drugs to help with my “withdrawals” that caused me to lose sensation in half of my face and would leak out of my nose. That shit is inhumane, and they FORCE you to take it in front of them. If you don’t? Well, beaten or thrown into a suicide watch pad it is.

Throwing people like me in prison, or even people with less severe crimes but still pretty serious, without proper mental health (or any kind) of treatment will only make things WORSE. If we DO get out eventually, all of that trauma i described and WORSE will only follow them forever. That makes people more inclined to commit crimes again, usually even worse ones. This is what feeds the recidivism rate, which in turn feeds into the prison system and therefore modern day slavery as well. Anything “made in America” was made by prison slave labor. For pennies on the hour, sometimes pennies a DAY, when a fucking granola bar on the commissary menu is $50.

I think that the Scandinavian countries have it right. Even Anders Breivik was only given a 21 year sentence for the Norway shooting. If he wasn’t a spoiled and narcissistic brat who thinks he’s tough shit and “too good” to accept help, even HE would’ve had the chance to get out after killing 70~ people in only 21 years if he just completed his measly little conditions (be a better person lmfao). Look at their prisons. Better than a studio apartment in downtown LA for $9mil a month in rent. They get access to things that HELP normal people: games, technology, music, instruments, arts, TV, company, THE ABILITY TO FUCK IN YOUR CELL EVERY NOW AND THEN, EVEN. Do that shit in America and they’ll slap a sex offender charge on your ass just for jacking off in your cell and OFFICIALLY ruin your life forever. And yes, even sex offenders deserve a second chance in life! And look at their crime and recidivism rates (NONE of you racist mfs chime in about the immigration issue…).

My belief is that you have to HELP people like me, my ex, and my other deranged ass friends. Look at HOW and WHY we got to that point, and FIX IT so that the chances of it happening again are LESS. Not doing so only FUELS HUMAN SUFFERING MORE. Okay, let’s say they let child killer here out of jail after all of that shit, they didn’t help me for shit afterwards and y’all SAW THAT. Now imagine if I had snapped again and actually blew up a fucking orphanage in Kentucky or some shit. Who is to BLAME for that, other than the people who knew it happened, did nothing about it, and let it happen again? If your child gets molested by the known pedophile across the street who is on the SOR already, who do you blame for letting that guy back out of prison without ACTUALLY addressing why he did what he did? Even pedophiles need support groups, because let’s face it: NOBODY is out here “slaughtering pedophiles” in troves as people like to think. It’s all just about feeling morally superior in any small way, and it doesn’t get any worse in society than hurting a child somehow. So, why not make sure that Chester the Molester gets mandatory TREATMENT and COUNSELING and UNDERSTANDING of pedophilia, which is, yes, a mental disorder listed in the DSM-5 and therefore worthy of adequate understanding and treatment as any other mental condition.

Probation is another thing that needs reform. But i already rambled enough and i gotta actually answer that other anon who sent that ask in the first place, because they want my opinion on two other things lmao. Thanks for asking me about this, I enjoyed explaining it!

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Twenty Three

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: I just wanted to remind everyone who reads this, there are heavy moments of cheating/having an affair in this story. You might not agree with the actions of "reader" or Bucky but it does pertain to the storyline. If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

Tags: @cjand10 @generalmoonpolice @sapphirebarnes @baw1066 @nameless-ken @minami97

I let out a deep breath while pulling my jacket closer to my chest as I continued the walk down the busy streets of New York City. It was after six in the evening and everyone was rushing to get home to enjoy the rest of their evening while I was trying to make it to the office in time, before he left. 

This wasn’t an easy decision I made, knowing the consequences that could follow. But I didn’t have any other choice. He was the only one that could help me with this.  

The thought of if he would even want to help me did cross my mind a few times, especially with how things ended, but there was a small part of me that hoped his feelings for me were still strong. Strictly to help me with my problem, nothing else. 

I hadn't talked to any of the three men I used to work with, deciding to stay off of social media because I couldn’t bother to see what happened with Bucky and Natasha. By now, he had to have realized that I was right; Natasha was faking the entire pregnancy. 

Yet, I hadn’t heard from him so maybe he still decided to stay with her. 

You told him to stay away. Eight months ago.

Shaking away the thought, I turned the corner and the all too familiar building came into view as with one last deep breath, I pushed through the door and my eyes landed on the person sitting at what used to be my desk. My heart hammered in my chest as his scent filled my senses. 

“Well, it seems like the job isn’t available anymore, huh?” 

He turned around in a haste in the chair, eyes grazing over every inch of me to make sure I had been standing in front of him. 

The last time we talked was a few months ago and we actually hadn’t seen each other since before I quit. He looked the same, hair and beard a bit longer. 

“Hi Steve,” I smiled. 

“Y/N?” 

Steve was quick on his feet to wrap his arms around me and lifted my body off of the ground a few inches. I closed my eyes at the warmth, silently missing him just as much. 

“How have you been?” Steve asked while setting me back onto solid ground. 

I nodded. “Good, I guess. How have things been here?” 

Steve hesitated, his shoulders going stiff. “Have you talked to him at all?” 

This time I shook my head so Steve gently led me to the couch in the main area of the office and we sat next to each other. He scratched at his beard, trying to find the right way to say this. 

“He’s gone rogue the last couple of months. He doesn't need mine or Sam’s help for anything, he takes care of the problems himself.” 

I pointed towards his office. “Is he here?” 

Steve shook his head. “I haven't seen him all day. He called me earlier to say he’s got something to take care of so he’s going to be at Power Brokers tonight.” 

My eyes narrowed. “He hates that club. Why would he go there?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve sighed. “He doesn’t tell Sam or I anything anymore. We only show up here now in case he needs us.” 

“Are he and Nat-?” 

He placed a hand on my knee, stopping the words. “That’s something Bucky has to talk to you about.” 

With a slow nod, I contemplated my next move because I knew that if I went to Power Broker tonight, it would be a disaster from the start. That club was highly known as a black market, people trying to sell you things that you couldn’t buy anywhere else. But if you didn’t agree to it it would be highly unlikely that you would make it back out alive. 

“Are you going to tell me why you showed up tonight?” 

I gave Steve my attention now and shrugged. “Trust me, I would rather go to anyone else with this but Bucky is the only one that can help me.” 

He cupped my cheek. “Please be careful.” 

“Always,” I covered his hand with my own. 

The music of the club vibrated against my bones as I maneuvered my way through the seas of people, who did their best to either dance with me or sell me on their latest project they had hiding in their pocket. I ignored all of them, keeping my focus on finding the one person that I needed. 

When I asked the bouncers outside if they had seen Bucky, they were quick to give him up. 

“He’s been causing problems here all night but refuses to leave. The men we have here isn’t nearly as strong as he is to kick him out.”

I was on high alert, skin tingling with my senses, as I observed the giant open dance floor of the club until some commotion at the bar piqued my interest. I watched as a guy was thrown onto the glass bar top, black and gold fingers wrapped around his throat. 

“Where is she?!” 

The voice was deep, angry, and wanted to know the answers. 

My heart beat intensified as I marveled at how different he looked yet looking exactly the same. The brown leather vest that covered his broad chest was missing a sleeve, his entire vibranium arm on full display.  He didn’t look like a mob boss any longer but more so a soldier. 

The heat pooled between my legs but I squeezed them shut, knowing that now wasn't the time to think about that. 

“I swear, I don’t know where she is! Last I heard, they were in Budapest!” The man struggled for his life under the tight grip around his throat. 

“They were together?” 

The man on the bar nodded, as best he could. “That’s what my guys tell me.” 

As I saw a glimmer of sharp metal emerge from the pocket of the other man's vest, I finally decided to speak up. 

“Bucky.” 

My voice might have been hushed with the background noise of the club but I knew he heard because Bucky looked away from the man he had pinned, his once blue iris now dark stared back at me. The firmness in his body faded with his face softing, as he dropped the man to the floor below. 

“Doll?” 

I swallowed thickly at the old pet name because I couldn't get distracted, I needed to finish what I came for. 

“I need your help,” I admitted with a sigh. 

[aftgsucks]

Okay i’ve been thinking about twinyard dad!Romero Malcom for like two straight hours

Deranged Romero in town to stalk Neil and help Lola do arts and crafts with pigs blood, he squints at the twins as he watches them run around and is like “wait a minute, wasn’t I Ralphie Minyard that one time in California while I was setting up that weapons line for the boss????” And then he’s like shit! And he volunteers to stay in Palmetto and keep watching Neil while everyone else goes off to set things up for Nathan’s release and the whole time he’s got a little notepad where he makes checks in two little columns lableled “hate” and “like” wheres he’s trying to figure out if the twins will be upset when Neil dies. Because like “fuck Junior that little brat is annoying and not my kid and he deserves whatever he gets,” but also “damn i got two sons and i’ve never done anything for them, am i killing their friend or their teammate?” Which all culminates in Romero getting a glimpse Andrew and Neil kissing and then banging his head against a wall because now he has to somehow save the kid he’s supposed to torture and kill to even the score of a lifetime of ignorant neglect.

Cue Romero giving the Wesninski inner circle the run around, making deals with the Hatfords, and abducting Neil from the abduction of Neil in order to return him to his son and when Neil’s very reasonably like “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON,” Romero Malcom goes “shut the fuck up i hate you so damn much and would give antthing to finally watch you die,” and Neil just never gets an answer because this is Romero’s big move to do something nice for his kids but he’s not actually planning to let anyone know that what’s going on

He’s just going to stalk his kids from a distance and occasionally step in to help out without explaining

Eventually Neil will walk by Aaron and Katelyn looking at old pictures of Tilda and he’ll see the one picture of the twins dad they have and just stop functioning because that… is Romero and suddenly everything will make so much sense

Okay my running list: WHO IS THE TWINYARDS BIRTH FATHER????

1. Some asshole

2. Some normal dude with horrendous taste in women

3. Dean Winchester pretending to be FBI agent Bowie Minyard

4. FBI agent Towns and/ or Browning undercover as normal man Minyard

5. THE POSSIBILITY THAT DAVID WYMACK IS YOUR FATHER IS LOW BUT NEVER ZERO

6. Just some guy but Tilda killed him and buried him under the porch and it was the guilt of the crime that gave her such a complex

7. Stephanie Walker pre-transition and shes trying real hard to convince Renee to invite them over so she can explain but she lives in NORTH DAKOTA and Renee who has no idea why her mother wants to hang around her bestie and one of her least favorite teammates keeps avoiding the conversation despite the fact that if her and andrew knew they were siblings they would high five so hard

8. Romero Malcom under an alias

9. A Mamma Mia situation with three very different men who she met at a concert venue called Minyard on three separate nights

10. Batman

[genderqueerdykes]

“Oh you’re just angry when the disgusting trannies you secretly think are men in dresses are standing up for themselves instead of letting you treat us like doormats” is a thing i see a lot, like no. I wish i had the guts to say “You can stand up for yourself and assert yourself without being an absolute bellend about it, and also way to make hard fast (and incorrect) assumptions about me and my thoughts on my trans sisters just because I said you should not immediately jump to assuming harm or being a standoffish bellend when you can handle things with more tact and emotional control than immediate aggression if not for yourself then for your reputation and those around you” aloud without being so afraid of being labelled a bitchy whiny “tme” (see: one slip from saying the quiet part aloud and calling me a hormonal woman) “upset he’s not the centre of the universe for once” by people who intentionally and maliciously misinterpret what I say for the sake of finding a devil in the details that isn’t there.

I’m sorry if this doesn’t make any sense, I’m just overall tired of the rising culture of “you can be an asshole to people right out the gate if they’re wrong about something or say something hurtful” that’s prevalent not just in trans spaces but in the internet as a whole. People have conflated assertiveness and self-assurance with being an outright jerk and it makes it next to impossible to communicate anything with anyone without being fucking terrified of a bad actor or coming across wrong and not being given the room to elaborate.

Thank you so much for sending this. I really appreciate it because I agree 100% with this. I've had this exact same feeling for a long time as well.

My issue right now with our communities is not the fact that other trans women are speaking up for themselves, but rather that we've created and environment where being transfem and/or a trans woman means you have the right to be an actual asshole, and that you don't have to hold back from being cruel to other people, even other queer people, if something makes you even slightly emotional or upset. It's gotten to a point where so many transfems will instantly react by screaming and telling other people to shut up and to stop talking and that they are speaking out of turn. it's the default at this point. So many transfems are struggling with this right now. I understand it comes from a place of hurt, but it doesn't make it right.

It's happening in REAL LIFE, too, this is NOT isolated to online communities. A lot of transfems and trans women are fairly heavy internet users, so this behavior exists in both realms. I have experienced this in real life, in person, so it's a huge deal. I've had transfems scream at me for no reason other than I was crying. I've gotten screamed at for crying and being emotional.

We have to call it what it is finally and admit that we're allowing certain transfems and trans women to go way too far and hurt and shut up other people for literally no reason. We're allowing transfems and trans women a pass to be rude assholes for no good reason. No one should be getting a pass to do that. No gender or other queer gives you a pass to be an asshole. No gender or other queer identity gives you a pass to refuse to listen to other queer people and quite literally talk over them. being an asshole doesn't win people over, it just isolates you even more.

By constantly complaining about how transmascs and trans men and intersex people are "talking over us" and trying our hardest to shut them up so we can keep talking, we are the ones who are silencing other people and making the conversation about us all the time. We really are going through an "I am feel upset when we are not about me?" crisis right now in the trans community, and I'm going to break it to every other transfem and trans woman, but it's not trans men who are doing this right now. it's just not. sure there are trans men on a small scale who do it, but we are seeing a large scale effort to actively silence trans men. We are the ones talking over people, and yes it matters. Yes we have to accept criticism for this. Attacking someone and instantly telling them to shut up because the conversation shifted away from yourself is talking over someone else. We are literally talking over trans men and mascs right now. We are the ones doing it on a large scale.

“You can stand up for yourself and assert yourself without being an absolute bellend about it, and also way to make hard fast (and incorrect) assumptions about me and my thoughts on my trans sisters just because I said you should not immediately jump to assuming harm or being a standoffish bellend when you can handle things with more tact and emotional control than immediate aggression if not for yourself then for your reputation and those around you” aloud without being so afraid of being labelled a bitchy whiny “tme” (see: one slip from saying the quiet part aloud and calling me a hormonal woman) “upset he’s not the centre of the universe for once” by people who intentionally and maliciously misinterpret what I say for the sake of finding a devil in the details that isn’t there.

Thank you for this. It's not all transfems and trans women doing this, I will gladly say that. But those who are are showing these behaviors and these behaviors are not only toxic, genuinely damaging, but projection. It's all projection and it's genuinely painful to watch because these specific individuals do not realize that's what they're doing.

The behaviors in question that are genuinely a problem & danger are:

Instantly making negative assumptions about transmascs & trans mens' opinions on transfems and trans women, forcing the transmasc and/or trans man to have to defend themselves, instantly creating hostility and tension from the start of the interaction. This is negging, catastrophizing & black and white thinking.

The transfem and/or trans woman in the situation is expecting the other party to regulate their emotions for them. I've spoken with my therapist about this on a grander scale outside of just transfems and trans women and she told me most people expect others to validate and regulate their emotions for them. This is an extreme example of that behavior.

Demanding control of the situation due to thinking that they/all transfems or trans women are smarter than men, which is just bioessentialism copied and pasted.

Instantaneous misogyny and bioessentialism the second the transfem and/or trans woman finds out someone is a trans man, transmasc, AFAB trans person, AFAB genderqueer, nonbinary, gnc or other gender non conforming person, or intersex person with a vagina. This is one of the biggest issues we are facing in the community right now. A lot of transfems & trans women have tons of internalized misogyny and bioessentialism to get over, and this is an extreme example of that. Not all trans women and transfems believe these things, but the ones participating in these behaviors are struggling hard with internalized misogyny and bio/gender essentialism.

Instantly jumping to calling an AFAB trans person, trans man, transmasc, or other ""TME"" whiny or bitchy is deeply misogynistic. Viewing people with vaginas or who you perceive to have a vagina as bitchy or whiny is an extremely common form of misogyny that's present in cis women as well. Cis women who speak up for themselves are called bitchy. Cis women and trans men who have strong emotions are called whiny. As you pointed out, the logic is quite literally one step away from calling the trans man, trans masc, or other queer person in this group a "hysterical/hormonal woman".

Believing that one is smarter than the other if they have a penis, and the other person has a vagina. The tendency to treat people with vaginas as too stupid to think for themselves, weak, or lying stems from misogyny and toxic masculinity, and yes, transfems and trans women can still hold toxic masculine beliefs and behaviors. No one is immune to toxic masculinity. This is also bioessentialism.

When I moved into a local punk house because I was homeless, a lot of the people who came there frequently and lived there liked me a lot. Flirting with me, trying to hang out with me as much as they could, listening to everything i said, asking for my opinion on things. People had no issues with talking to me and were not rude at all. However, once my trans GF at the time found out I don't have a penis yet, and I have a vagina, she instantly started treating me different. The news spread and soon everyone was treating me differently.

I was now getting talked down to. I was now having my gender mocked and questioned. I was having my disabilities questioned. I was being questioned if I was faking my DID or Schizophrenia even though that never came up before. suddenly, out of nowhere, I was being told by the cis gay man and the amab trans girl i lived with that t hey had "never seen me in a psychotic or dissociative episode" before and that none of my alters are distinct and that i didn't present like i had DID, but the amab trans girl she was dating had "super obvious DID" that "wasn't anything like mine". She would go on and on about that girl's alters and how she obviously noticed when they switched, but then never spent enough time with me to notice when I actually did switch. My GF at the time did at least acknowledge my DID, but other people were challenging it left, right and center.

I could tell I Was being treated like a cis woman. It was painfully obvious. The atmosphere instantly turned sour. There was way more tension than before. The cis gay man I lived with was very misogynistic and seemed to see most trans men as cis women. It's inescapable. This isn't something that just happens online. A lot of transfems, trans women, gay men, and other queer people just do not view trans men as men at all and view us as cis women, no matter how hard we pass or no matter how far we progress in our transition. You can't be a man without a penis, and if you get a penis through surgery it doesn't count because it's "not the same".

People genuinely do treat you worse when they find out you have a vagina or think that you have one. They will start treating you different the moment they find out. And yes, this includes trans women and transfems. It's rampant behavior. I dealt with it with other transfems who showed up as well. There were a lot. It was very painful to feel like an outcast in a very trans space. The reason so many transfems and trans women think that it doesn't happen is because it gets dismissed and erased constantly. Some people genuinely do go out of their way to cover up this behavior. It's not every transfem or trans woman, but this behavior is happening in every corner of the queer community right now.

I don't know if the people who say these things realize, but we see what you are doing. It's really obvious. We seriously aren't as dumb as you think we are. Please get over the internalized misogyny and bioessentialism that tells you to hate people assigned female at birth and people with vaginas. That's just textbook misogyny and bioessentialism.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Let The Rain Fall | Bucky Barnes x Autistic!Reader | Short Series - Part 2 of 4 - 1.9k

Bucky gets a welcome surprise and you finally meet Captain America. But when things don't go quite how you expect, you start regretting your decisions.

Warnings: reader is very obviously uncomfortable, some mention of workplace bullying from other agents and the preamble to reader having a meltdown.

A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has read Part 1, I've been so ovewhelmed by the really personal responses and support, thank you! I also love how much the fabric softener scent has been brought up! This is definitely me and is an Easter Egg I've left in other fics too, so if you do check out any of my other stories keep your eye out!

<- Part 1

Masterlist | Let the Rain Fall Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

The last thing Bucky expected when he pushed the door to the hanger open was to see you sat on the benches with the other recruits. He noted there was a foot of space between youand the agents beside you, their voices loud and echoing. You were wearing the suit he’d brought you, you seemed comfortable enough apart from the zipper, which you were pulling up and down in time to the hum of the fan above your head.  

He was pleased you’d come, but something like guilt twisted inside of him at the look on your face. You looked genuinely pained, agonised, and he wondered, not for the first time that week, whether there was something you hadn’t told him.  

“Good to see you all.” He said, eyes scanning the room but consciously not settling on anyone as he walked past.  It was too tempting to let his gaze linger on you.

A chorus of ‘good morning, Sergeant Barnes’’ followed him as he entered the jet and took his place in the cockpit.  

The day was as uneventful as Bucky had described, a short ride on the jet and then an hour hovering over some empty base while the other recruits worked with Steve.

Each time the comm crackled you had a rush of panic that you’d be expected to join them on the ground, an opportunity you’d shook your head at and then allowed Steve to move on very quickly to the agent beside you. 

You gripped the seat harder, your jaw clenched. Closing your eyes you took a deep, steady, breath trying to imagine your happy place, a safe place, inside a tent, under a blanket and... 

“Are you okay, agent?” Bucky’s low voice echoed through your imaginary tent, breaking your peace. The dark utility of the plane came rushing back. 

“I’m not going down there.”  You said decisively, adrenaline coursing through you, preparing to argue. You could feel it, making your leg shake in anticipation of defending yourself.

“Okay.”  Bucky shrugged a shoulder.

“I’m serious I’m - wait, did you say okay?” You opened your eyes to find Bucky sat in the empty seat next to you, the jet clear of anyone else. His long legs were splayed open as he let his weight rest against the netting behind you.  

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just came to make sure you’re alright.”  

The lead weight of dread that had been settling in your gut vanished and, weightless, you smiled, “better now.”  Adrenaline still flooding your body you tried to hold back tears of relief.

“Is there anything you did want to see? Steve said you oversee mission debriefs? Maybe you’d like to watch the mission from the cockpit with me?” Bucky stood then, holding his hand out to you briefly before tucking both hands into his pocket awkwardly.  

“I’d like that, thank you.”  

Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever had such a nice time waiting in the jet. He was often resigned to babysitting the Avengers’ jet, car, boat, horrid little safe house, whenever there was actual teaching to be done. He didn’t mind so much, it gave him the space to read his books, listen to some music or catch up on all the history he’d either missed or inadvertently been a part of. 

But today you were there too, and your presence brought him a sense of calm that had truly surprised him. 

“Make yourself at home.” He insisted, gesturing to the spare seat. 

“Thanks.” You sat carefully.

“I mean it, make yourself comfortable, we’ll be here for a while. You want a drink?” Cautiously you tucked your legs up, crossing them on the seat. Your boots were clean, immaculate even, worn only through the compound and into the hanger this morning, but you were careful to keep them as far off the seat as you could anyway. 

Bucky poured coffee from a large flask tucked into the side of his seat and topped it off with a generous helping of milk. 

“That’s just how I like it.”

He smiled, wide and pleased, “I asked around, wanted to make sure you enjoy your first mission.” 

That flutter appeared in your chest again, the surprising desire to stay close to him that had first made itself known when he'd squeezed himself in to your tiny office.

“Not really a mission if I don’t do anything,” you blew steam from the top of your enamel cup and took a sip, cupping your hands around the warm metal. 

“Well, that's all I’m doing and I’m an ‘Avenger’.” Bucky laughed making his voice deeper as he said Avenger before reaching his arm out to clink your mugs together. “Cheers to the easiest job on the roster.” 

You fell into an easy silence, Bucky read his book for a while until you couldn’t hold it in anymore and told him you’d read it a few weeks before. Before you knew it two hours had melted away and you were curled up comfortably in Steve’s seat, giving Bucky a run down of your favourite books so far that year. He watched you, the wide grin softening into an indulgent smile while you blossomed before his eyes. 

Some of the other agents had been whispering about you, while you boarded the jet, that you were odd, childish, over the top and impossible to be around. But he enjoyed the exuberant way you described each plot, the glimmer of excitement in your eyes when he agreed with you and the blunt dry way you told deadpan jokes before breaking into peals of laughter. 

Silently he prayed that you’d come with him again, just to spend time with him even if you didn’t want to be in the field.  

You surprised Bucky by coming on the next recon as well, even agreeing to accompany him to collect Steve and some other agents from a secondary base. Silently, you followed him into the cockpit and set your bag down next to him, tac suit immaculate apart from one addition, a small toy turtle on a keyring that dangled from the zipper.

“I got you a present,” you said once the jet was at altitude and Bucky had flicked a considerable number of important looking buttons and levers. Steve and the others had parachuted in this time, your stomach had turned just watching them.

Bucky turned to look at you, the clear blue of the sky reflected in his eyes. 

“Really? You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know, but I saw them in the gift shop in New York and, well, I like mine so-” trailing off you rummaged in your bag, pulling out a paper gift bag sealed with tape. 

Bucky took the little parcel from you and carefully opened it, removing the fluffy socks, striped like his arm, that were tucked up inside and staring at them.  

“Oh god that was stupid, I’m so sorry.” Your heart beat wildly, sweat forming on your brow.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, a way to keep you focused while you saw your doctor in New York. The city didn’t seem so busy when you were focused on your task, and Bucky had been so kind he deserved a present. But this was a stupid present, stupid, stupid present. You ground your teeth and squeezed your hand together, allowing your nails to bite into your palm. 

Before you could take them back, Bucky unrolled them and held them up, a huge grin growing on his face. “They’re socks! They make socks of me.” He laughed, rubbing his thumb against the soft fluffy fabric. “And you said you like yours - you got my socks have you?” 

“I - no - I -” you stammered and Bucky looked at you properly, a flush of embarrassment appearing on his own cheeks. 

“I’m messing with you ya doll, I love them, thanks.” 

Bucky’s heart

had soared, you’d bought him a present. Something you liked too and you’d thought about him when you weren’t together. He couldn’t deny how addictive your presence had become, the mixture of calm and joy. If you brought him a present surely that meant you liked him too? 

He’d have to talk to Steve later, he seemed to know more about you and where you’d come from.

The rest of the journey went by quickly, you talked about a new show you were watching, a book you finished and how terrible most of the agent’s handwriting was when you were trying to decipher their field notes, not to mention the way they ticked boxes wrong and put things in the wrong files.

He discovered it was you who’d streamlined the paperwork, automated some of the questions and changed the paperwork so it matched across teams. He was somewhat in awe of your ability to see efficiencies as if they were tangible, organising his own Avengers issue tablet to minimise the emails he received and sorting the rest into neat little folders in his inbox, all in the last twenty minutes of the mission.

Too soon the agents themselves were piling into the back of the jet, tired but excited, chattering away. Even Steve was still in a good mood, bouncing into the cockpit, his Captain America smile plastered on but his suit unzipped enough to show his flush chest and the grime of the mission on his neck. 

“Hey Buck, let’s get - oh, hello Agent.” He came up short, as if he hadn’t seen you at all. 

“Hi, Mr Rogers, Sir, Captain?” You fumbled. 

Bucky winced, you hadn’t really met Steve yet, he should’ve introduced you both properly instead of letting you struggle. 

“Steve is fine, Agent, you stay there if you want,” the Captain America smile morphed into his real, Steve, smile, and you looked surprised. He winked and turned to leave the cockpit again.

Before Steve had even shut the cockpit door you could feel the awkward lump of confusion move from sitting in your through with your unuttered words down into the pit of your stomach. Should you have given Steve his seat back? He seemed so insistent that you stay but maybe he was being polite and there was some etiquette rule that you weren’t away of at play.

You looked out at the gathering clouds in the distance and fixed your eyes on one cloud in particular, honing in on the shades of grey that built each bump and groove. 

“Are you alright? You don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to?” Bucky whispered from the seat to your right, the dark metal fingers of his hand lingered on your arm rest, so close you could feel his presence without him touching you. 

No.

No you were not alright.

It had been too long since you were in your own space, the jet was so loud and the din of the other agents so overwhelming that you thought you might be drowning in noise. You were confused about Steve’s behaviour, he was a superior, yes, but just a man and you didn’t think you needed to bow and scrape to him. But maybe you did?

“You’ve gone again, Doll. I need to know you’re okay.” His hand touched your elbow for just a second and then withdrew.

Oh, shit, you had, you were gone, everything felt weird and heavy and fuzzy, your eyes had drifted back to the clouds, body still, apart from the heaving of your chest as your breaths became more panicked. 

“I - yeah - I’m fine.” You grit your teeth into a false, pained smile and dug your nails into the arms of your chair. “I shouldn’t be here though, I should go back. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I’ll get Steve.” Before Bucky could stop you, you’d jumped up and rushed through the door leaving Bucky confused and alone in the cockpit. 

[velvetvexations]

on one hand i am a very big believer that reading written theory does not inherently define politics and that you can engage with most ideas without ever once touching a theory book directly and be just fine

HOWEVER - the number of people in general (not even just in transfeminist spaces) who think they can just write up their own theory without engaging with any other queer / feminist history or queer / feminist theory outside of their own bothers me so much

like, even re: people not understanding radical feminism and it's roots -- it's not just that radical feminism was born out of man hating, it was born out of genocidal rhetoric towards men. valerie solanas and ti-grace atkinson are the names to look up for anyone interested in the militaristic and genocidal roots of radical feminism that have never once gone away in the almost 70 years since the ideology's conception.

and you don't even need to be a scholar to look these things up!! you don't need to be an academic to learn history or to understand the basic principles of a political ideology. you literally just need a sense of curiosity and a search engine. hell - over half the time you just need wikipedia. then you could, if you really wanted to, support a local bookstore or used book website or your local library to read about the subject in your free time if you really felt compelled to. but again! books are not a requirement! if you're on tumblr the whole internet is at your fingertips!!

there are just so many routes to take the time to learn and be a metaphorical student, even just briefly, before you start acting like an authoritative teacher. the entitlement that comes with just thinking you can say anything about a subject and expect to be carried by your identity rather than the merit of your knowledge of a relatively accessible area of study bothers me to no end.

(also just for clarity none of those "you"s are directed at you velvet! they're the general "you")

The problem is that they read and don't internalize any of it. They just recycle all the big words they learned. Actually understanding the history of radical feminist thought is anathema to them because it'd pretty quickly make them realize no, for real, radfems don't think you're a woman, and also hate trans men. Being moderately educated on radical feminism would make their house of cards instantly collapse.