#but some things there's just no way I'm going to be able to get in contact with the actual artist

[pepurika]

i wanted to thank you all for being patient with me, today i managed to ink half a page and made this small doodle!

it's been very difficult to get into that mindspace of being excited about comics and drawing. my main worry is that there might not be book two or three of tigers.

i've been trying to look for an agent to help me with the hiveworks and seven seas contracts and to give me guidance on how to move forward with all of this, but no luck so far! i've been sending emails right and left just hoping that someone would answer, but i know it's a long game anyway. my main driving force is that all the people who have bought the first volume deserve the rest of them in their shelves too. a single volume would look so sad haha! like a failure of some sort! and your money wasted somehow!

but today when i was drawing i forgot all about that for a little moment. i just drew and drew and i got that excitement again, that i can't wait to show this page to you. to see what people think about the story. and i felt so lucky that i have the opportunity to experience that communication between the creator and the reader, even if i've chosen to be a silent observator mostly, your comments and interactions mean so much for me. my way of talking to you is the comic itself, in a way.

i cannot promise you that the rest of tigers will ever be printed, but if it happens, it happens! for now i'll let all of this float slowly forward, maybe it will end up somewhere, maybe not. i hope you will be understanding with this issue, i am doing my best but sometimes things might not work out!

but i feel my excitement coming back today. the small hiatus was much needed, but i miss the comic so much and i miss this small internet world of our strange communication. i cannot even begin to explain how you have helped me through a slump after slump, during all these years. this has been the worst, but now it's finally starting to loose its grip from me.

so, you have my most sincere thank you. please know that tigers wouldn't have gotten this far without every comment, fanart, fanfic and interaction i've had with you.

only two more chapters to go- i hope you will keep enjoying the finale of the comic. i'm working very hard to deliver it through the finishing line, and i'm so, so excited to be able to show you this strange world of sea sponges, dramatic siblings and elder gods.

thank you!!!

[wandanatsgf]

Inappropriate Feelings

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: you have feelings for two married women. When it gets in the way of your work they confront you

Warning this contains: praise kink, mommy kink, daddy kink, bondage, face riding, strap usage, fingering, orgasm control, name calling (just one time)

Part 2

You shouldn’t feel this way about one married woman, let alone two. You know it’s wrong. The way you feel when their hands ghost over yours. When they brush past you in the hallway or when they talk to you.

You get butterflies in your stomach. Your breathing gets short and it gets hard to think. Being around them is hard, your feelings always get in the way. They cloud your judgement until all you can think about is them kissing you, loving you, touching you.

Your feelings didn’t get in the way of your job, at least it didn’t until a few weeks ago.

You were on a mission with the two women, confined in the small space of the quinjet for hours. You struggled to remain calm around them. Your senses were in overdrive as they walked around the jet, talked to you. If you were naive you would even think they were flirting with you. But they’re married and you know better.

You struggle with your feelings, something you normally never do on a mission, until you finally landed at the job site. There you try to stuff your feelings down, trying to compartmentalize in order to complete the mission.

The three of you walked out of the hanger doors and run into the Hydra base you are meant to infiltrate.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. A simple mission. But nothing is ever easy when you’re an avenger.

You got ambushed, it was all a set up. And because you got distracted by how good Natasha looked while she was fighting a bad guy, you got shot.

It was just a bullet to the leg. Everyone gets shot at some point in your line of work. So to you, it was no big deal. But to Wanda and Natasha it was everything.

You had never seen them so upset and pissed off. You’re not sure if they were pissed with you or with the agent who shot you. You didn’t ask, too scared of the answer.

They spent the next couple of weeks taking care of you. Helping you get around the tower, h getting you anything you need, and eventually helping you with physical therapy.

You appreciated their help but all it did was remind you how they’re not yours. No matter how good being helped and babied by them feels, it’s not going to last.

So when you’re better, you push them away. Which is what you’re doing now. It's been weeks since you were healed and you're now able to do things on your own. The only thing left from the injury is a scar that is here to stay.

It's also been two weeks since you have seen them, touched them, interacted with them. But it's for the best this way, at least until you can get your feelings for them under control.

You're about to go train when Natasha puts herself in your path. You move to turn around, but she reaches out a hand to stop you.

“Come on. We need to talk,” Natasha says. Her tone is serious, her words short and to the point. Her words leave no room for arguments so you follow behind her as she walks the two of you to her room and shuts the door.

Wanda is already in there, sitting on the bed.

"You know what I think I'm needed elsewhere," you say, suddenly nervous about what's about to happen.

"No you don't baby," Wanda says. A red glow encases the door before it fades. You try the door and it's locked.

"Wanda," you whine. "Let me out." Your fists bang on the door and you attempt to pull the handle but you have no luck.

"Not until you tell us what's wrong." Concern is written all over her face. You can see it in her eyes. In the way she furrows her eyebrows.

"I can't," is all you say.

"Then I guess we'll be in here for a while." It's Natasha who speaks this time. Her eyes watch you, moving up and down. She's watching you like she's stalking prey, like she's just waiting to attack. And then finally recognition dawns on her face. She says nothing, just looks at Wanda. You think the two are having some sort of telepathic conversation, but you're not really sure.

"If you don't want to tell us we can always guess," Natasha suggests, breaking her eye contact with Wanda to look at you.

Wanda moves in front of you and situates herself so that her front is pressed against your front. You can feel her nipples through her thin t-shirt. You can smell her vanilla perfume and her strawberry shampoo.

You move to back up but Natasha stops you. She stands behind you, one hand on your waist, pinning you in place. You're trapped between the two women. It's like your wet dream come to life, if only they weren't interrogating you about your pesky little feelings for them.

"Now are you going to be a good girl and tell us the problem?" Natasha asks. Her words send a thrill down your spine and a sticky straight to your core.

You nod your head no, too scared that your voice would betray you.

"It's okay baby. We know what the problem is," Wanda says, her tone sickly sweet. Her lips get close to yours. So close that you can feel her breath ghosting over you. If you wanted to you could count the flecks of brown in her eyes.

“We see how you look at us baby,” Natasha says, her lips ghosting over your exposed neck.

"I can hear your dirty little thoughts about us, thoughts you think no one can hear," Wanda whispers. Her words are like a bucket of ice water that has been dumped on you. They're sobering.

"I-um," you stumble out. Even though you're an avenger, you're stumped on what to say. You can't think of a lie that could save your ass right now.

"It's okay baby. You wanna know a secret? We like you too," Wanda says. Once the words leave her mouth her lips capture yours in a heated kiss. You kiss her back, reciprocating her affection.

Natasha, who is still behind you, peppers kisses up your neck. "You have no idea how much we like you detka."

"I think I'm starting to understand," you say against Wanda's lips.

The two woman move you over to their bed and lay you down.

"Is it okay if we tie you up," the red haired woman asks.

"Please," is all you say.

"I told you she'd like it," Wanda quips.

"Mind reader," you say, rolling your eyes.

"What was that baby?" Wanda pins you to the bed with her hand around your throat.

"Nothing mommy I'm sorry."

"There's my good girl. You're catching on quick, huh?" You nod yes and Wanda removes the hand from your throat and steps back to let's Natasha take over.

Natasha reappears in your line of sight with rope in hand, although you never actually noticed her leaving. She makes quick work of tying your hands to the bedpost, leaving you completely at their mercy.

"How's that feel?" Natasha softly asks you.

"Good."

"If it's too much say red and everything stops okay?"

"Okay daddy."

"Good girl." The praise leaves your core aching, but you're sure the two women will fix that soon.

Natasha is on one side of you while Wanda is on the other. The two women are standing over the bed, just admiring you.

"You're so pretty like this, all spread out for us," Wanda says.

"We just need to get these pesky clothes out of the way," Natasha says, looking at Wanda. Wanda nods in understanding because the next thing you know you're naked, bare and exposed before them. Wanda also removes their own clothes, so you can see all of them. It's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen. And based on the looks on their faces they are feeling the same about you.

As if it is a practiced dance Wanda moves to your head while Natasha moves between your legs, sucking and biting your thighs. She's teasing you, ignoring the place you want her most.

While Nat does that Wanda straddles your face, her legs on either side of you, caging you in.

"Come on baby, stick your tongue out. Let mommy ride your face," Wanda encourages. You stick your tongue out and Wanda lowers herself onto your face, grinding back and forth. Her clit bumps into your nose with each thrust, causing her to moan loudly.

"You making mommy feel good baby?" Natasha asks, still pressing teasing kisses to your thighs. You groan in response, which makes Wanda tremble above you.

While Wanda continues to ride your face, Natasha finally stops her teasing. She spreads your legs and positions herself between them.

"Such a cute little wet pussy," Natasha murmurs before she slides a finger up your center, making you gasp.

"Please daddy," you try to say, but it comes out all garbled from Wanda being on your face.

"It's okay baby I'll give it to you." Natasha slides a finger into you, making you moan out. Wanda's movements stutter above you, you can tell she's getting close the longer she rides you.

"Fuck," Wanda moans out. "You look so pretty when I ride you baby." Wanda's movements speed up as she chases her orgasm while you're chasing your own. Natasha's finger pistons inside you and then she adds another. The pleasure intensifies and you can feel the coil in your stomach getting ready to snap.

"Please let me cum," you try to say, although it comes out mumbled. You're thankful that Natasha can understand you.

"Come on baby. Cum on Daddy's fingers." Her words are all it takes for you to let go. Your body spasms and shakes as your release hits you. Your moans vibrate through Wanda's pussy and also send her over the edge. You swallow everything she gives you, licking your lips when she gets off of you. She walks into their closet while Natasha climbs up your body and leaves a gentle kiss on your lips.

"You were such a good girl for us baby," Natasha says. "But we know you can give us more." The glint in her eyes is intoxicating, it makes you want to give her more orgasms until you're completely spent and putty in their arms.

Wanda walks back out with a strap on around her waist. The scarlet colored strap dangling between her legs. It's bigger than anything you've ever taken, and you say so.

"It's okay baby, I'll make it fit." Wanda's words have you getting wet all over again. Wanda positions herself in between your legs, and slowly pushes into you.

"Shh it's okay detka," Natasha says, comforting you. She kisses you softly, distracting you from the burning stretch of the dildo entering you. Natasha slowly pulls back and brings a hand to your clit, rubbing in circles.

Wanda sits there with the strap still for a few minutes, letting you adjust.

"You can move," you finally say.

Wanda fucks up into you. The strap hits places inside of you that you didn't even know exist. It feels amazing, but you're still not quite satisfied.

"Daddy," you moan out. "Wanna please you." You want, no need, to please Natasha. You want her to cum on your face, feel the same kind of pleasure you're experiencing right now.

"You want daddy to sit on your face sweetheart?" Wanda asks, continuing to fuck you.

"Please," you beg.

"Give our little slut what she wants Natalia." Wanda keeps fucking into you. The strap feels amazing inside of you and you can feel your orgasm building.

Natasha lowers herself on to your face, suffocating you with her pussy. If this is how you were to die you would die happy. You stick your tongue out and lap at her pussy, tasting her. She tastes sweet and you can already tell her pussy is a taste you'll be craving for the rest of your life.

"There you go baby," Natasha moans out when you slip her clit into your mouth and suck on it. "Keep on sucking me just like that."

Wanda continues to fuck into you and soon you're close. Your hips are bucking up to meet hers, your moans become more frequent. You're desperate for release.

"You can cum when Nat cums,"" Wanda tells you, invigorating our efforts to make the redhead cum as fast as possible. You suck on her clit harder and soon you have Natasha seeing stars. She smooshes your head between her thighs, her orgasm overtaking her body. She cums in your mouth and you swallow it all.

Once Natasha stops shaking and gets off of you, Wanda gives you permission to cum. Your pussy clenches around her strap and you scream out. The pleasure is too good, it overtakes your body and leaves you spent. Your body turns to jello as Wanda slowly slips out of you.

Wanda takes off the harness and throws it off to the side. The two women collapse beside you, one on either side. Wanda uses her magic to untie you and the ropes disappear. The only sign that they were ever there are the faint rope marks around your wrists, which Wanda notices.

"Give me your wrists." You give Wanda your wrists and she magics some ointment beside her. She opens the jar and rubs the cream on one wrist while Natasha does the other.

"Anywhere else hurt?" Natasha asks.

"No," you say.

"You sure honey?" Wanda's use of the nickname honey has you melting against her.

"mhm I'm sure."

"Good girl," Natasha says, proud of you for speaking up. Her words have the flame in your core reigniting. The praise goes right to your pussy.

"Daddy," you whine, wanting the two of them to use you again. Wanda notices your excitement and puts a stop to it.

"Natalia!" Wanda exclaims. "Stop teasing her. She needs to rest before we use her again."

"But she likes it when I tease her, don't you baby?"

"Yes daddy," you agree.

"Shhh baby your mommy's right. You need to rest so we can have some fun later okay?" Natasha says, like she wasn't just instigating and teasing you.

"Okay," you pout, not truly happy about this decision, but you know you need the rest. Your muscles ache, your body spent in ways it hasn't been in a while.

The two women choose to ignore your pouting, this time.

"Rest baby. Then we'll make you feel good later," Wanda says. You nod in agreement and situate yourself in between the two women. Natasha wraps an arm around you while Wanda tangles her legs with yours. The quiet, calm atmosphere lulls you to sleep. You fall asleep excited for what's to come, knowing round two will await you when you wake up.

[corviddusk]

I think there needs to be a healthy balance because of how things can I'm fact be harmful to children. Exposure to certain things is just as capable of some level of harm when it's in media as it is when it's in real life. There needs to be an attempt to make it be in and of the proper age range, that's why we have age ratings. One of my minor traumas from childhood was my father accidentally watching a horror movie when he didn't realize I was in the room at the age of 5. It horrified me and absolutely terrorized me. The same is true for when I watched the TV by myself and saw a documentary that covered a man getting his hands chopped off for stealing. That's not appropriate for someone in kindergarten. That's not safe, such a young child can't fully differentiate fiction and reality.

Yes it's true I had far worse experiences. I was trafficked as a child, I know that it happens and if there was more discussion on the topic I likely would've been able to get help while it was going.

But that doesn't mean that dark media with these heavy subjects should just be labeled as all ages because it's possible to be a victim of such a crime. It should be a case by case basis. I would never go in depth about my trauma to a child who I know is a child because that could cause them severe stress and harm.

There DOES need to be censorship of these things to a certain degree. There's a way to discuss topics in an age appropriate manner. It is not about controlling children but about protecting them from harm. And yes to an extent some people get overzealous and go too far and sanitize everything.

There's a reason I love children's horror as a genre, a reason I love stories that cover more difficult themes that are done in age appropriate ways and so on. It's important for kids to know about things, but letting someone under the age of ten watch a slasher movie, for example, will in the majority of cases severely harm that child.

Child soldiers exist, war is not an adult topic.

Children die, death/murder is not an adult topic.

The Troubled Teen Industry exists, child trafficking is not an adult topic.

Children get raped, sexual assault is not an adult topic.

Children have alcoholic parents, addiction is not an adult topic.

Children get beat to the point of hospitalization at school, that level of violence is not an adult topic.

That when these things get into "kid friendly" media at all, they tend to be heavily censored is about protecting adult control over kids, not about protecting children.

[ddlydevotion]

OUR DAY WILL COME ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Being Bo Chow’s Wife headcanons…

a/n: this was written with a black fem reader in mind (this is a little self indulgent lol) but anybody can read & enjoy this! I’m not strictly a Sinners blog so I won’t be writing for these characters all the time. Also, the backstory was inspired by @nothanksofficer, so go check them out 💌!!

Currently listening to: We’ll Be United by The Intruders

You cannot tell me that this man doesn't teach you how to string together sentences in Mandarin (if you don't already speak it). It'd start with him having sweet little nicknames for you in his native tongue, then you'd get curious & end up wanting him to teach you what he knows.

Many of the nicknames he has for you derive from your characteristics & personality. I'm really set on the fact that he'd call you 'little sweetheart' in Mandarin. It's also quite obvious if you've seen the movie that he'd call you baby. Imagine this man calling you baby/sweetheart/honey in that smoky southern accent...I need to be put down.

You were known in town as the girl to go to if somebody needed artistic or creative direction in whatever they were working on. That lady down the street needs help patching up a dress? You'd show up with your sewing kit ready to go. The owner of a local bakery needs assistance painting over some stubborn stains? You'd be there with your very own paint, gloves, brushes, and a little stool for you to stand on. That's how you and Bo met in the first place. He was in desperate search for somebody that'd be able to help him produce a sign for his store. Every time he'd ask somebody if they knew anyone who could assist him in such a task, they'd reply with your name and nod their head towards your studio.

and by God, were you gorgeous. Bo stumbled over his words for a good ten seconds before pausing and finally spitting out "uh d'ya think ya could help me with a sign? I heard ya paint and do all sorts of things and uh- it's for my store." He was nervous but he'd be damned if he screwed up his first impression and ruined all his chances of working with you in the future. But, you simply flashed a sweet smile his way and graced him with an enthusiastic "of course! Whaddya have in mind?"

he loves eating pussy. send!

he’s very very handsy when he’s eating you out. One of his hands is always kneading and pinching your tits, savoring your sweet little sounds before trailing down to settle his hand on your tummy. He wraps his strong arms around your aching thighs, anchoring your hips down to the bed.

What he had in mind was him getting his act together so he could see that sweet little smile of yours every single day & night.

Bo definitely wants to have at least one baby with you. He's brought it up many times when the two of you are laying in bed together, skin-to-skin, after he's worn you out. He'll trace your plush hips n torso with his fingers, racking his eyes up the body that he adores oh so much before saying "I think we should go again, hm? Just to make sure it really sticks."

This man is suave he knows exactly how to flirt with you and what it takes to get you going. He doesn't lay it on thick (unless it takes you a while to understand he's flirting), he's slow with his touch and intentional with his words. Sorta like a game of cat and mouse.

Gives amazing massages. He'd definitely be the type to plop your sore feet onto his lap after a long day of walking around and start rubbing them.

"Does that feel good? Oh, I bet it does. You're real tense, baby."

He is a monster when it comes to eye contact and he'd do it even more if you're quick to get shy. He uses your flustered state to his advantage and gets you to finally look at him by placing a hand on your chin & tilting your head in his direction.

"y'know you can look at me right, ya don't gotta be all shy. Such a pretty lil thing, aint'cha?"

His proposal was one of the sweetest things you ever witnessed. You couldn't contain the gasp that left your mouth at the sight of him getting down on one knee. He went on to list all of his favorite things about you, your sweetness, compassionate nature, the protectiveness you harbor for the things you cherish. He recited his favorite moments that the two of you have shared, how he loves when your nose scrunches up when something is too sweet, how you bite your lip when you're concentrating, how you can't help but close your eyes and smile when your favorite song comes on.

"and I just knew from the very first moment I saw ya, baby, that you were the girl I wanted to settle down with. I wanted to bring you to meet my mom an' dad, buy ya a house, give you my baby if you'd let me, everything -anything you wanted, I wanted to give it to ya. and that's exactly what i'ma do, baby. All ya gotta do is say yes."

He undoubtedly got misty eyed seeing you walk down the aisle. Your wedding photos look a lot like the ones below (I know these aren’t time accurate let me have fun):

Bo is most definitely the type of man to hand feed his woman. Whenever the two of you are working on dinner together, he’ll hold a spoon up to your mouth so that you can have a taste of what he’s fixing up.

I’ll be posting a part two soon so let me know if you’d like to be tagged once it’s finished 💌🌷.

[mmmilkweed]

I'm still here!

hi all, just wanted to update y'all on how I'm doing.

Thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, for the kind messages and anons. Every single one picked up a tiny piece of me and placed it back into its original place. I cannot thank you enough.

.. There's no easy way to say I'm still not doing good. BUT! I am doing *better.* Even if just a little, I consider it a win.

Mornings are a heavy issue. The past two, I've thrown up. Not today though, so that's a win right? Nightmares plague me - even today I caught myself dreaming that, once again, my words have been used against me and I was left alone, with only hatefull paragraphs to keep me company. Had I not realized I didn't have my phone in my hands when I woke up, I might have thought it was real. Man. Just another reason to have an aversion to my phone!!

I found a new.. Man, I never thought I'd use this word. I found a new trigger for my, what I can only assume, are panic attacks. Discord notifications. Just seeing the icon on the notification bar has my heart in my ears and I can't breathe. I still don't know how to efficiently calm myself down from these. While walking helps, I sit back down and it starts again. My job requires me to sit!! I've begun just brute forcing past it.

My appetite has completely vanished. I usually eat a decent amount through the day, but for the past 4 I've hardly been able to finish a single plate of food in a day. Yesterday I struggled with a can of monster. I LOVE MONSTERRR and yet I kept nursing it the WHOLE day. I was so mad... I'm going to go to my favorite restaurant soon, gonna work on getting my appetite back up.

On the way to my atelier, the song that inspired Timeless!AU came on: For Her by Jeremy Jordan. I adored this song. It meant everything to me, it's going to be on my Spotify wrapped from how much I listened to it. I.. Can't. Anymore. I put it on blast, I couldn't bring myself to skip it - and still, even when I was walking my heart beat faster than it should and I suddenly found myself out of breath. Negativity seeped into my favorite song. Figures

Still - it brought me some clarity. Past days I've really been feeling like a monster - but For Her made me remember that the AU really was always meant for this unrequited love, the whole thing somewhat inspired by the Great Gatsby and a dream that's just out of reach. How could I let myself be deluded so much? How did I let their words get to me so deeply that even I began questioning myself? ESPECIALLY since they don't me at ALL?! I saw someone say something so outrageous it become an inside joke with my friends! That really helped to disillusion me. I hope that with time, or with enough replays, I can find comfort in For Her again.. And I will. Jeremy Jordan is too good not to listen too

It's not all bad, though. I know I've been venting, yet I have to tell it at least to someone that's not my wife. Poor thing, I feel bad for her. She shouldn't be weighted my mistakes.

now let me tell you about the good too.

Oh there's so many amazing people in this community. Like each of you. Like my community on discord. Like my closer contemporaries. Discord notifications are not as scary when I see a certain groupchat or even server. Yes, while my heart skips a beat - I've laughed far more than cried. I can't thank them enough. I'll never bring it up to them, I don't need to drag down their mood, so I'm telling yall instead.

I've begun drawing again. I feel like I understand Shadow Milk Cookie on a very personal level now. If his demeanor changes going forward... I'm probably projecting.! Oh I've gotten to the point in rock bottom where I imagine PV helping me out with stuff. Man that's embarrassing to say. Akctually everything here is embarrassing to say - I still feel ashamed my body has such a visceral reaction to.. All of this! I digress. I began drawing again. I'm happy with what I have, can't wait to start showing yall.

I've begun scrolling Twitter too. In small doses. My modteam suggested it, and woah, it helped scrolling through the splatoon tag. I can't just up and leave it, as it's my current main source of income. I'm watching CRK tiktoks too! Slowly.

I'll try to be stead fast in my recovery - I've come to realize there are people who are dependant on me, they look to me to see how they should react. I did not see that before, and for that, I also apologize. Many have pointed out I'm new to this, and only now did I realize just how right you were. Especially as someone whos always kept to a side line - having a voice baffles me.

[adelina-shifts]

i know it's a lot to read, but this may help you shift

(not my content, credits to Quackisp on reddit)

I have the exact same problem now :/ I'm also a logical person and had the exact same way rationalising shifting. This post really resonated with what I do and how I think. I personally gaslight myself into thinking a specific method WILL give me results because of my own articulated logic behind it and I actually shifted for the first time with it. It was the sinking method and I believed that it would be best for me to use it to shift because it requires you to have a transition into your dr. If that makes sense?

I can't visualise at all and I can't pretend to feel any of the senses which really deterred me in my journey cuz I thought that not being able to do those would hold me back and I wouldn't have as many opportunities with shifting as the people who could carry these actions out. And after thinking and mulling it over alot I found that I formed a sort of reasoning behind my problem that these methods which I cant do because of my hindrances have some type of transition into the other reality. Like the double sided staircase method. If I did a non-visualization or sleep method it would mean counting and affirming then laying in wait to shift or fall asleep which I subconsciously thought I wouldn't by that time cuz I overthink alot.

Also void state wouldn't work cuz I couldn't no matter how hard I tried get into it and I couldn't lucid dream after years of trying so that means not being able to do the lucid dream method. And the adhd method had so many steps that I would focus on remembering the STEPS and which comes after which instead of where I'm going. All other methods like the Julia and raven are ruled out as well cuz again I'd just have to affirm and wait while my mind wandered.

But the sinking method seemed immensely easier and made more sense in my mind. Though now looking back on it, it could've easily been a method that requires heavy visualising and pretending to feel stuff but because the creator of the method specified that it wasn't a visualising method I tried it wholeheartedly.

The steps are:

Affirm that your dr self/dr body is directly beneath your bed. Until you believe it.

Then count from 1 to 100 or what ever number of your choice and between each number breathe in and out. While breathing out feel yourself sink into your mattress.

You could also say affirmations like "I'm sinking into my dr self." And actually try to feel yourself sink into it and do this until you feel like you've fully sunk down to your dr self.

Fall asleep upon feeling so or open your eyes if you feel like you're in your dr.

So my way of thinking was that I could make a transition into dr easily like this and that's why this method worked for me.

TLDR: gaslight yourself with facts and logic that a certain method might work for you because of "____ reason" and it will.

Also writing this reply made me realise that if I use my own tip and gaslight myself into thinking that a specific thing works for me then it will because that's essentially what I did the first time I shifted.

[atan-orofarne]

I think it's worth noting that art like this often only ends up looking like a photo from at least a moderate distance — or on an eensy weensy phone screen. Note that the painting of Percy is 24"x36" — that's a yard wide (almost a meter wide)! The way the artist captures the details is amazing, especially their command of the way light and water interact! I'm absolutely not detracting from this person's clear skill, nor talking down the quality of their work. I love hyperrealism, especially when the work includes reflective objects and clear items that refract light in interesting ways.

But, at least for me, part of the joy of seeing these works is the experience of approaching them and beginning to be able to resolve and see the brushwork and paint that actually make up the image. (And that's visible to various degrees in different works from different artists.) Even if I can't see the painting itself, I loved zooming in to look at how surprisingly large some of the strokes and areas of color are in the paintings in this post.

There was an artist who consistently appeared at a local art show we would go to each summer, and she painted glass bottles and jars. And her brush strokes, as you got close, were surprisingly large, too. (There's also the obvious skill involved in blending colors into smooth gradients where needed.)

There is a surprising economy of detail in some areas, which makes the overall effect even neater, I think. These are some of the things that lead me to prefer hyperrealism over photorealism. But that's entirely a personal preference, not a value judgement.

And just as a caution: remember that hyperrealism and photorealism are both just artistic choices — not end goals or ultimate ideals for all art! "That looks like a photograph!" is not the highest complement possible for a painting or drawing.

These works add to the diversity of painting and sculpture that exist to appreciate, and galleries and museums would honestly get dull if everyone did the same thing.

(To be clear, I don't think most people reblogging or commenting are doing this, but it's worth a reminder.)

Pool # 27 -  Ann Goldberg , 2016.

Canadian , b. 1970s

Oil on canvas , 30 x 48 in.

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Reading Rooms

Inspired by some other gorgeous individuals, I thought I'd try and compile some of my weekly reading into some kind of list. Since throwing myself into the Marvel fandom and actually writing for these characters rather than just reading, I've followed - and been followed by (cue fangirl shriek) - some epic blogs, and I want to be able to throw as many new readers and followers their way as I can.

Always remember to heed the warnings posted by the individual authors. What I'm happy to read may not be what you're happy to read, so I take no responsibility if you find something you're not into.

And finally, Tumblr is a community. Reblog, gush like you've never gushed before - I promise you, the authors below will love it, and love you for it! We write because we love to, but we share our work because we love the community of it. If you read something you like, let the world know! 💕

The List

Lessons in Love-Making by @artficlly. I've only read the first chapter so far, but this already has me totally hooked! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Not a Fairy Tale Kiss (no names for this exist) by @azriona . This is the very definition of EPIC. A staggering word count, an absolute feat of storytelling. I've barely scratched the surface of this so far, but I'm loving every second. Posted on AO3, so head over there for your fix! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

@mrs-elsie-barnes , the writer that you are! I have a whole heap of recommendations here. First up, Policy & Procedure - if you like your Bucky Congressman shaped, this Bucky Barnes x Reader fic has your name on it. Then we have the little (slightly spoilery) Thunderbolts* drabble - Home Time - Bucky Barnes x Reader. Finally, we have the super hot - I've got to let you know (I need you tonight) featuring Joaquin Torres x Reader.

The 2k Drabble Challenge by @marvelstoriesepic is bananas. The dedication, the range, the heartbreak, and longing... ugh, these are all incredible, but my personal highlights are Misfire, Where We Were When The Stars Came Out, What the Mirror Doesn't Say & Tattoo Me In Flowers. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Put Your Hands In Mine by @buck-star is so moving and vitally important. I loved it so much. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Oil & Water by @flowersforbucky was so insanely hot it had me squealing. It is literally perfect if you would like to sit on that man's face. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Charm and Claim by @ramp-it-up were both so excellent and super hot! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

@aquaticmercy is a genius and the writing is impeccable and when I tell you I RUN to every post... I've so much to catch up on, but Interstate Love Song was gorgeous. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Let Me Hurt a Little Longer by @daxisyzz was so good! I loved the slightly manipulative POV, who wouldn't want Bucky's hands on them?! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

The Dog Tags series by @marvelwitchergilmore is brilliant! Part 1 is linked, be sure to check out the rest, and what a masterlist to get stuck into - especially for my Slow Horses babes because there's some River Cartwright in there, too! (cc. @cillmequick @dreamer-98 @annaelizabethhenry1 @liquid-confidenc3 💕)

Then we have @navybrat817 , who is pure genius and her post Thunderbolts* fic Not Exactly A Secret. Navy's setting up a Tower Shenanigans list, so expect more from the Thunderbolts*. As well as this, I read the excellent Late Night and Late Night Recap. Bucky Barnes x Reader.

I came across @jobean12-blog 's This Is Love this week, an oldie but a very goodie! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

If you haven't read Security Clearance by @societyfolklore yet, why?! This was soooo hot! Bucky Barnes x Reader.

And lastly, I'm sharing this little New Dad Bucky Headcannon by @sunday-bug , and lemme tell ya, it will not be the last thing I share of Sunny's! I can't wait to get stuck into her Masterlist because it's going to take over my life in the best possible way!

This covers everything I've read this week 🙌

God, I hope the links all work cos that took forever 🤣. Apologies for sharing via my own slightly unhinged reblogs. Next time, I'll try and make sure I share original links where possible!

💕

pressing post and hoping all the tags work 🫡

[mintyys-blog]

hello! I hope your day is going wonderfully! I just recently found your account (your fics are amazing, I've been binging 😅) and then I saw your request open!

I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing a fic with either Jason or Dick (I'm not too picky, I love them both in vastly different ways) where the reader gets taken? And they rescue her? Or something similar? Sorry that's not super specific, theres a lot of smut for them and a lot of fluff. But i'm a sucker for hurt comfort 😅

Super excited to see if this strikes your fancy! Have a great day!

TAKEN | dick grayson x reader x jason todd (separate)

DC MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: kidnapping

You were almost ready—everything was perfect. The dress fit just right, your makeup flawless, and your hair carefully styled. Tonight was supposed to be your night with your boyfriend, a quiet dinner, a moment to unwind together. He’d been a little distant recently, but you didn’t mind. Your boyfriend had his way of showing affection—his rough, protective nature that often spoke louder than words. You were looking forward to it.

As you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your lipstick, you checked the time. It was getting late, and he still hadn’t shown up. It wasn’t like him to leave you waiting, especially when he’d always taken the time to show up early, walk you to his car, and open the door like some kind of gentleman.

You frowned slightly as you walked to the front door. Maybe he was running a little late, or maybe he was planning a surprise. You hoped it was the latter, something special. You stepped outside onto the porch and scanned the driveway, expecting to see the familiar black car he always drove.

But it wasn’t there.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. Instead of his car, you saw a nondescript sedan—dark, unremarkable. You were sure you hadn’t seen it around before. Your pulse began to race, the unease growing with every passing second.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. Something felt wrong. You glanced around, your thoughts racing, but there was no sign of him, no sign of anyone.

Your heart dropped into your stomach when the car door creaked open. A tall man stepped out, his face obscured by shadows. His movements were deliberate, controlled. The pit in your stomach grew, and before you could react, he was in front of you.

“Get in the car,” the man commanded in a low, dangerous tone. His grip on your wrist was firm, his fingers cold, and the raw panic shot through you like an electric shock. You opened your mouth to scream, but a cloth was pressed against your face, suffocating you in an overwhelming scent.

The world spun, the darkness overwhelming. The last thing you remembered was the feeling of your knees buckling under you, your vision going black as terror consumed you entirely.

JASON TODD:

You woke up in darkness, your head spinning as you tried to gather your bearings. The air smelled musty, like old concrete, damp and unfamiliar. Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat a frantic pulse of fear. You tried to sit up, only to find your arms bound tightly behind your back. The rough ropes scraped against your skin, cutting into you as you struggled to move.

Your makeup was smeared down your face, streaked with tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. Panic clutched at your throat, making it hard to breathe. You could barely hold onto your thoughts, your mind spinning as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

Everything was dark. The walls seemed to close in on you. You could feel the overwhelming pressure of being trapped, helpless. You were alone. You couldn’t think straight. Every part of you was on fire with fear.

Terror bubbled up inside you, choking you. You thought of Jason, wondering if he was looking for you, if he even knew you were gone. Would he be able to find you? Would he be too late? The thought was too much to bear.

And then, you heard it. Footsteps. Slow, purposeful. They echoed through the room, growing closer. Your body tensed instinctively. Was it him? The man who had taken you? The one who had stolen you away in an instant?

The door creaked open, and your breath caught in your throat as you braced yourself. But no, it wasn’t him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Jason’s voice came, rough with emotion but also filled with something else—something fierce, protective.

Your eyes snapped open, a rush of relief flooding through you like cold water to a burning fire. “Jason?” Your voice cracked, the words weak and unsteady, as if saying his name could somehow confirm that this was real.

Jason was there, his familiar blue eyes scanning your face with barely controlled anger. He was angry—not at you, but at the situation, at himself. His jaw was clenched tight, his expression hardened in a way you’d never seen before.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. His hands moved quickly, cutting through the ropes that bound you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

The ropes fell away, and you collapsed into his arms, shaking uncontrollably as he held you tight against his chest. He was warm. He was here. He was real.

“I thought I lost you,” he muttered, his voice rough as he buried his face in your hair. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not again. Not ever.”

You clung to him, letting the tears fall freely as the weight of everything hit you all at once. Your body trembled, the fear still raw in your veins, but Jason’s steady presence was the only thing that mattered now.

You pulled back slightly, glancing up at him through bleary eyes. Despite everything, a weak laugh bubbled up in your chest. “What now? Are we still going out to dinner, or did this whole thing ruin the night?”

Jason’s expression shifted slightly—his lips curling into a grin that was tinged with exhaustion, but there was still a hint of humor in it, a reminder of the man you loved. “Well, if you’re asking if we should reschedule,” he teased, “I think I can manage to still be your charming date. I may have to find you a new dress after all this,” he added with a wink, his thumb gently brushing the smear of makeup down your cheek. “I’m pretty sure that mascara’s going to be permanently on your face now.”

You gave him a playful glare, but it wasn’t the fiery anger you’d normally reserve for his teasing. It was exhaustion, mixed with relief, mixed with something deeper—a profound sense of connection, of safety. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, slapping his chest lightly. “You can joke after everything that’s happened?”

Jason’s grin widened, though his eyes were still searching yours for any sign of lingering pain. “What can I say? The world might be falling apart, but I can’t let you think I’ll be this down on our date. You deserve better than that.”

You let out a deep breath, still shaking, but his touch grounded you. The fear began to fade, replaced with the warmth of his presence, the safety in his embrace. “Just don’t make me wait like that again,” you said softly, the tension slipping from your body as you leaned into him.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice low but filled with sincerity. “I swear. And if anyone even thinks about hurting you again, I’ll make them regret it.”

He held you tighter, his hands gently stroking your back as he whispered calming words in your ear. “But hey,” he added with a little chuckle, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “At least we’ll have a hell of a story to tell on our second date.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched into a small smile. It wasn’t the night you had planned, but with Jason by your side, you didn’t need anything else.

DICK GRAYSON

You woke to darkness, disoriented and nauseous. The air was cold and metallic. Damp. It smelled like rust, mold, and something sharp that made your stomach churn. The hard floor beneath you felt like concrete. Your arms—bound. Tight ropes bit into your wrists behind your back, the fibers already raw against your skin.

You struggled, a choked gasp escaping your lips as you tried to shift. A sound—a whimper?—escaped you before you could even stop it. Your breath came in short, panicked bursts.

Your mascara had run down your cheeks, a black river from your lashes to your jaw. You didn’t even remember crying.

But you were crying now.

Trapped. Alone. Somewhere you didn’t recognize. No phone. No light. Just your heartbeat thudding in your ears and the echo of your own frantic breathing.

Fear gripped you like a vice. Your thoughts spiraled.

Dick.

Did he know?

Would he find you?

Did he think you stood him up?

You were terrified that the answer might be yes. That he didn’t know. That no one knew.

And then—footsteps. Boots on concrete. Echoing. Getting closer.

Your breath froze in your throat. Your heart felt like it stopped.

Not him. Please not him.

The door burst open with a deafening bang, light flooding the space in a sudden, searing wave. You recoiled, squeezing your eyes shut, body trembling as instinct screamed danger.

But then, through the chaos, you heard it.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” a voice said—familiar, gentle but firm, like a tether pulling you back to the world. “It’s me. It’s just me.”

“…Dick?” you whispered, blinking rapidly, unable to believe it. He stepped into the light, his Nightwing suit torn at the shoulder, blood staining his gauntlet—but his face… his face was everything.

His jaw clenched the moment he saw you, eyes going wide as he took in your trembling form, the ropes, the tear-streaked makeup, the way you had tried curling into yourself like you could disappear.

“Oh god—baby,” he breathed, already at your side, kneeling. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you now, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there sooner.”

His voice cracked, and you felt his hands—steady, warm, gently working the knots that bound your wrists. “I’m here now. You’re safe. I swear, you’re safe.”

When the ropes fell away, your body collapsed forward, and he caught you without hesitation. His arms wrapped around you tight—like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. He pulled you into his lap, rocking you gently as he pressed soft, frantic kisses to your temple, your hair, your forehead.

You sobbed into his chest, the adrenaline breaking like a dam.

“I was so scared,” you whispered. “I—I thought I was going to die, and you wouldn’t find me. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’d tear the city apart for you,” he murmured fiercely, voice low in your ear. “You really think I’d let that happen? You’re everything to me.”

You clutched his suit, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He was warm. Real. Solid. And you were safe.

“…Still hungry?” he asked after a long moment, voice a little hoarse, but teasing.

You pulled back slowly, blinking up at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“I mean, our reservation’s totally shot now,” he said, that familiar crooked grin rising at the edge of his mouth, even as his eyes stayed soft with concern. “But I’ve got a stash of emergency freezer waffles at my place. Not exactly five-star dining, but… maybe we could call it a dramatic first course?”

You let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, then reached up and slapped his chest lightly, tears still trailing down your face. “You idiot.”

“Thats my girl,” he said with a small smile, pulling you close again. “Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here.”

[bahngarang]

chapter 9.0 ☆ imposter syndrome

ss: 18

wc: 862

cw: food mentions, mentions of physical fighting

a/n: I lost two years of my life trying to edit that photo if it looks bad don't tell me (also the initials l . y are l/n y/n if you're confused)

"okay, okay, hear me out," minji paused, chewing a heroically sized mouthful of pizza, holding her finger up as if to hold her place in the conversation.

it went on for just long enough to be awkward, and yn took a sip of their soda – as if they weren't already stewing in a pool of their own embarrassment at this whole situation. and it was embarrassing, to say the least. how long would it have taken them to get to this point if not for some... some bitch trying to steal their soulmates? honestly, yn thought they would have the opposite reaction to this sort of thing. the other yn – she was pretty, able-bodied from what they could tell, and she seemed remarkably put together. a far cry from their own life. she seemed to be everything yn wanted for their soulmates.

well, except for the fact that she was almost undoubtedly a sasaeng. stray kids' management had gone to great lengths not to show their soul marks, but there had been a few slip-ups over the years, and despite their best efforts, it had come out that the group were soulmates – and that there was one more person included. that came with a lot of failed attempts of stalkers trying their best to convince they boys that they were their soulmate. up until now, it had always been fairly mediocre attempts, and/or easy to see through. it was different this time, almost indistinguishable from yn's own (before the accident).

but apart from that, theoretically, she was perfect for them. and yn... wasn't. but that didn't stop the pit of frustration burning deep in their stomach – frustration at themselves, mostly, at the world, and everything else. although, that last one was the more general ire for living made worse by this whole debacle.

sometimes, privately, yn wondered if it really was just a big coincidence, if they really were their last soulmate. it just felt like they... didn't fit. and, just occasionally, they wished it was that way – although, not really. they didn't know the others, and didn't really know how to feel about them just yet, but the idea of chan being with someone else made yn's chest clench painfully.

"what if," minji started again, "what if you showed up at the company building with like, one of those massive rose bouquets and blasting a sad song on your boombox?"

"well, first of all," yn said, "where are the funds for this rose bouquet? with the price of everything these days, i'm not sure i even have enough for twelve. secondly, a boombox? how old do you think i am? contrary to apparently popular belief, i do not have a boombox. and, you know, i think security wouldn't let me within 50 metres of the building."

"darn."

the quiet clicking of lego pieces broke the silence between the poignant lack of ideas in the brainstorming session. it was difficult, coming up with a way to explain to your best friend that you'd been hiding the fact that you were his last soulmate that made you look least like a buffoon. it was unavoidable, looking like an idiot, but surely there had to be a way too minimize the damage, right?

it wasn't going very well so far.

yn sighed heavily to themselves. any angle you looked at it, it was bad. the problem being self aware was exactly that – being self aware. the second-hand embarrassment at their own actions had suddenly hit them like a freight train early that morning during classes. it had not been a pleasant day, with every free moment spent shrivelling into their own skin in a very visceral reaction. god, it was just... ugh.

the doorbell rung out through their apartment, breaking the spell that had fallen over the three of them. bingus trotted in, complaining loudly at the intrusion. his fur was all scruffed up, indicative of his 47th nap of the day that he'd just been rudely awoken from.

chika furrowed her brows, glancing in the direction of the door. "you got a package coming or something?"

"uhh... not to my knowledge..." bingus jumped up onto yn's lap, circling a few times before climbing up onto their shoulders like a parrot. chika reached over to brush his fur back into place, eliciting a deep, crackly purr as he pushed his face against her hand. "i'll go see who it is..."

yn stood up tentatively, gently supporting bingus's ass so he didn't fall off during the process, before walking over to the door, grabbing the keys off the hook next to it and unlocking it.

"hey," minho said conversationally, like he hadn't just shown up at yn's door unceremoniously.

"hi," yn mumbled, forcing the word out. they couldn't decide where to look, the doorframe taken up by not only minho, but seungmin and hyunjin as well, the other two appearing at least a little more awkward about the situation.

"we know."

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a/n: if you're wondering I do find joy in torturing people with cliff hangers

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[antianakin]

I'm not sure that was the intended reading of the Teckla situation. I don't think we ever find out for sure that Padme is the one paying her. I know she's supposed to be a handmaiden, but she's clearly not given the same naming conventions as Padme's more typical handmaidens in order to match hers (even the ones we know she has during her Senator years seem to do this, like Corde and Dorme), so it makes more sense to me that Teckla is actually more of a governmental aide than a handmaiden. Not to mention that the original handmaidens are something that were likely ALSO assigned to Padme by the government rather than something Padme chose for herself. We know that Padme is only a Senator because the Queen of Naboo asked her to be, and that the Queen of Naboo has the power to remove Padme from this position if she so desires. So it would make sense to me that Padme might be assigned a governmental aide at some point who gets paid by the government of Naboo, not Padme herself.

And Padme, for all that she is obviously in a pretty high-ranking position within the government of Naboo, does not actually RUN said government anymore and doesn't even seem to be included on the day-to-day minutia of running the government like council meetings and such. So it would seem entirely possible that Naboo maybe is being required to pay a lot in taxes to the Senate as part of the war effort and so the government is then having to pinch pennies in certain places, leading to Teckla's family occasionally going without water or power, without Padme being as aware of it.

I will admit that the situation with Teckla is unclear, for sure, so you CAN interpret it as Padme not paying Teckla a high enough wage for her family to be able to afford water or power sometimes and Padme either being a massive hypocrite or just ignorant. But this doesn't really jive with what the way this narrative is presented to the audience.

I think what you're trying to say here is that Padme grew up feeling like she could trust the Senate which made her more susceptible to manipulation, while Leia grew up knowing she COULDN'T trust the Senate and so she was more independent and less capable of being manipulated into making bad decisions. And I think there could be some truth to that, but a large part of Padme's arc in TPM is about her realizing that she does need to step up and learn to trust her own instincts rather than letting everyone else walk all over her and only doing what other people tell her to do when none of it seems to be leading to a good outcome for her own people. She grows from being a Queen who refuses to do anything that would lead her people to war to being a Queen who goes to negotiate for an army and leads said army to war to free her people by the end of the film. She trusted that putting removing Valorum from power would lead to aid for the people of Naboo, and then it didn't, and that was a wake-up call for her in so many ways.

Padme becomes so much more decisive after this, to the point that her Captain in AOTC is very worried about her being reckless. One of the things she becomes most known for as a Senator is her willingness to speak up against the Senate, to go against the grain. Most of the reason for the assassination attempts in AOTC are to appease Nute Gunray, but a small part of it is due to the fact that Padme's busy making anti-war speeches to the Senate and Palpatine's plans will go a little more smoothly if she can't keep doing that, which is why he insists on her leaving "for her safety." We see her speak out more than once in TCW, too, regardless of how well that tends to go for her. She has an entire conversation with Satine about how she's perfectly aware that the Senate has a lot of corrupt people in it and isn't doing its job the way it's supposed to, but the system itself is worth fighting for still and that's why she continues to stay. And of course if you take the deleted scenes from ROTS into account, she was one of the people building up a group of people who would be willing to try to somewhat illegally oust Palpatine from power because of how corrupt he'd gotten. She's not a complete idiot who has no idea what's going on around her in the Senate. She's watching it fall apart and doing everything she can to keep that from happening.

Bail Organa is also not sitting idly by as the Senate becomes more corrupt. There's an entire arc where he's supposed to make a big speech because he is one of the most influential Senators in the entire Republic and everyone knows it and so he's taken out of commission specifically to stop him from making his speech. He speaks up against declaring war in AOTC after Padme's left, insisting that the discussion about it was not over just because they'd discovered some new information. When Palpatine goes to see his army, Bail is right there, clearly devastated and angry over what's happened. And of course he's also right next to Padme in those deleted scenes where they're trying to build up a coalition to oust Palpatine in ROTS, and he's the one who immediately helps intercept the Jedi survivors to ensure they don't fall into a trap and is Yoda's getaway driver when he goes off to try to KILL Palpatine and then volunteers to take in a Force sensitive child and hide her from the Empire. This is not a man who has gotten used to just leaning on a Senate he thinks he can trust.

And of course, who do you think TAUGHT Leia how to be a Senator during the reign of the Empire? She definitely didn't teach herself. That came from Bail (and Breha, who was a prominent political figure and leader during the Empire, even if she wasn't a Senator specifically).

Leia is the way she is because Bail and Breha raised her to know right from wrong and how to fight for justice in a world where the government in power would never take her side. They taught her how to help undermine the Empire without immediately getting caught because they've been DOING THAT already for years. Leia is the way she is because her parents had to watch their own government crumble around them as they did everything they could to save it until it become clear that it had gone past the point of no return and all they could do now was fight to destroy it. Leia is the way she is because she had parents who gave her her best chance at success in a world that wanted all of them to fail.

People are SLEEPING on the most interesting Leia & Padme comparisons because there's so much focus on Leia being "like Anakin" because she gets annoyed sometimes and Padme being this perfect moral beacon of truth and justice despite all of her very canonical lies and cover-ups and obstructing of justice.

If Luke is the Jedi that Anakin should've been, then Leia is the LEADER that Padme should've been.

Padme is a hypocrite, proclaiming that all people deserve basic decency and the right to safety, but at the same time allowing Anakin to get away with a mass murder with no consequences by covering it up.

Leia doesn't even let Han get away with being a little bit of an asshole, there's no way she'd let him get away with mass murder. She holds everyone around her to a higher standard, believing in the best of them but also but refusing to accept excuses for cowardice and selfishness.

Padme talks so much about wanting the war to end, but then allows one of the opposition's biggest generals go free just to get Anakin back because she cares about him, causing the war to continue to go on for even longer.

Leia lets Luke sacrifice himself because she knows it's possibly the only way they might have a victory and beat the Empire, even though she knows what he is to her and loves him. She knows what has to be done and respects the choice Luke is making and would never condemn their efforts just to keep him with her.

Padme's story parallels Anakin's, she devolves as the narrative goes on, until she's barely a shell of the person she used to be. That strength and moral clarity she showed as a Queen is entirely gone, leaving only a scared woman pleading with a murderer to come back to her.

Leia's story parallels Luke's, she gains more and more strength and clarity as the narrative moves forward. The bossy young woman we first met has become a confident rebel leader who knows she doesn't have to harden her heart to be strong.

[kingkat12]

So Kate's (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: dom/sub dynamics, foul language, humiliation, office misconduct, reader is a freak ouf

summary: being a brat has its consequences-- did you really think Mr. Godfrey was going to let that go with no repercussions? time to smarten up, and dress up too.

word count: 9,670

← previous chapter |

a/n: I've been obsessed w Zendaya's shoes as of late, so you best believe I managed to squeeze in a chapter about Louboutins....... and we are FINALLY getting reader and Letha being cute besties again omfg so TIHI ENJOY<333

Handling pain is a skill.

However, there are some people that are born without the ability to feel pain, and that is often a lethal flaw-- if you don't feel pain, then you're actually more susceptible to injury, did you know? I didn't. After scouring BDSM forums all over the internet, I had quite frankly gotten obsessed with finding out everything I could, and the more I got into the pain aspect of it, the more I found myself unable to understand. 

I didn't like pain. Never have, never will like pain. That wasn't the part I enjoyed, or wanted, out of my odd relations with my boss. Although, it seemed I might be into the emotional pain of being Mr. Godfrey's secretary-- it certainly made my brain hurt and my cheeks burn, but in the most intoxicating way. Something told me that was a feeling I had been chasing my whole life, and now that I had it, I finally felt complete, and unable to let go.

But, back to it-- if you're unable to feel pain, then you're prone to unintentional self-injury, because you literally can't feel it when you get a paper cut, or when you've bitten your tongue too hard, or even broken your bones. Maybe it's alright to be in pain sometimes? Maybe it's fine to feel it in exchange for health? I had no idea. All I knew, was that I had managed to triumph over the worst pain a woman could handle; not my period, no, not childbirth, but--

Wearing So Kate's.

The classic stiletto by Christian Louboutin, famously worn by Zendaya and probably all of Hollywood.

I'm joking, of course-- I know there are much worse things I could go through. However, I had gotten a pair as a gift for finishing college, and originally, I fucking hated those pretty sons of bitches. They were gorgeous, elegant, classy, perfect, yet agonizing to wear. I couldn't walk for more than five minutes before my feet would beg to be beaten with a hammer in order to not be able to walk in them anymore. However, after about four months of wearing them around my apartment, making dinner in them, washing the dishes in them, doing my laundry in them, they almost started to feel like socks.

I had pushed past the pain, and gained something beautiful-- a wearable pair of Louboutins. 

And today, I finally dared to wear them to work. It wasn't like I was running track around Godfrey Industries, right? I could totally wear them without even noticing how ridiculously tall they were. I knew how to handle them, after all. I could totally fucking do this. 

Anyway, I needed something to distract me from the psychological warfare Mr. Godfrey was waging on me for biting his fucking thumb. Stupid, stupid girl.

Using my shoulder, I nudged the door to his office open and slipped in like a shadow, keeping myself small and unnoticeable. Hoping to get it over with soon, my first step was hurried, and that made the cup clink clumsily in the saucer; with a quiet hitch of my breath, I deliberately slowed, pressing my steps into silence. Thank fuck I wasn't a spy-- I'd get myself killed with my heavy damn steps. Or was it the Louboutins? 

One cube of brown sugar.

Not too much milk.

Stirred three times, exactly.

I always got Mr. Godfrey's coffee just right. I always made it with the utmost precision. If anything, I was the picture-perfect secretary right now (if you excluded the times I got off behind my desk, or the two times in my boss's office whilst he watched me). Had Godfrey Industries been a fair place to work, I wouldn't have any problems here. However, it wasn't-- this place was somewhere I'd guess the Anti-Christ would set camp, if he could choose. 

So, with my heart lodged in my throat, I continued making my way to Mr. Godfrey's desk, not daring to take my eyes off the coffee; there was no way in hell I'd spill any of it and give him more reasons to deem me incompetent. 

But just as he had done every day for the past week, Mr. Godfrey didn't look up. 

There was not as much as an acknowledgement, not as much as a glance. He sat behind his desk, back perfectly straight, one hand poised near his temple with a pen resting lightly between two long, slender fingers. His green gaze scanned some document with such intensity that it was almost theatrical, like he knew I was standing there and he was choosing, with full awareness, not to acknowledge me. Fucker. 

With a subtle roll of my eyes, I cleared my throat; "Your coffee, sir,"

I put it down one inch from the edge, centered with the stack of papers to his right, just as he had instructed me to do during my first week here. It was perfect; I was perfect. I put it down with a trembling sort of reverence, my hand ghosting over it for a second, unsure, like maybe if I lingered just a little longer, he'd finally look at me. Maybe he'd say something, acknowledge me? I didn't need much at this point. I'd take anything, just a glance, a huff, a sigh, anything.

But... nothing.

The air between us stretched thin. I could hear Mr. Godfrey's pen scratch against the paper in front of him, could see the way his sharp jaw flexed once, twice, like my presence was physically bothering him-- and then, he moved.

I held my breath as Mr. Godfrey's hand reached forward, slow and unbothered. For a moment, I thought he was going to say something, that this would finally be the morning he gave in and spoke to me again, even if it was just a snide comment or a thinly veiled insult-- I was so starved for his attention, I would've taken it like praise. I would've taken it with open arms, whatever it would be. Even if it was just a tiny 'this coffee sucks', itwould probably make my day, and maybe even make me orgasm on some higher level right in my Louboutins.

But instead, Mr. Godfrey lifted the coffee cup by its delicate handle, turned a fraction in his seat, and... dropped it into the trash bin beside his desk. The ceramic hit the bottom with a sharp crack, and I flinched. The sound echoed in the quiet room like a slap-- I stood frozen, watching the faint steam curl up from the bin, mixing with the scent of scorched sugar and shame.

I balled my hands into fists. 

Mr. Godfrey had been pulling this crap on me for a week now, and I knew that it was because I had bit his thumb. I knew it, deep in my gut. But after he had let me cum on his shoe (yes, I know, I'm deeply ashamed, don't you worry), and I bit him (because I was overwhelmed by the power he held over me, like any fucking newbie would be), he had stepped on me and called me a brat! Who the fuck does that?! If anything, I should be spitting in his OCD-coffee!

... Oh, that's a good idea, actually.

I wanted to spit down at his feet too, maybe even specifically on his right shoe, where I had gotten off. How dare he make me feel this way? How dare he play these games with my head?! At the end of the day, it was fucking childish, and at the end of the day, it... was getting to me. Ugh. Why couldn't he at least look at me?

I forced a swallow past the burn in my throat, and I nodded even though he couldn't see it. Or maybe he could? Maybe he was watching me through his periphery with that sick, surgical precision he had, cataloguing my humiliation like it was data, like it was proof that this was working?

Bastard.

However, in the midst of my frustration and anger, I recognized that I had missed the sickness of it all. The twisted feeling of being scorched, and feeling my skin swell in resistance to the burn. I stood in Mr. Godfrey's office a beat too long; way too long, actually. Maybe I was stupid enough to believe that if he got uncomfortable enough, he'd say something? I just needed him to speak to convince myself that I hadn't imagined the whole thing, that I hadn't invented the way he had pressed me down onto this very desk, the way he had looked at me, and the way I had unraveled in his hands like a silk ribbon--

But Mr. Godfrey didn't change his mind. He wouldn't-- not for me. He didn't look at me, nor did he give me anything as much as a hum. Instead, he merely raised his hand and gave a short, dismissive flick of his fingers, a wordless, effortless command for me to leave, the same way one might shoo away an insect buzzing too close to their ear.

The flick of his wrist felt like a phantom bruise, and as though I had been slapped, I turned around on my Louboutin heels and marched out of Mr. Godfrey's office, stomping my every step to his floor. Hopefully, I'd leave a large scratch or two. 

How long would this war last? What did I need to do to get him to sign a peace treaty?

Ugh.

This day sucked.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

.... Okay, fine, maybe this day had some redeeming factors after all.

"--He's really sweet and all, but I feel like he can sometimes be too sweet. This isn't high school, y'know? I don't like going on dates with him and feeling like I'm going to prom every time!" Letha swirled the rosé in her wine glass, tutting the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth with disapproval. "What the hell happened to normal men in the 21st century? What happened to them, seriously? Where did they go?"

I could only laugh, glancing down at my Louboutins as she continued complaining-- lunch with Letha was always amusing. She also worked for Godfrey Industries, but much higher up (nepotism alert), and therefore always had access to my schedule. Even though she worked remotely from inside some mansion her father bought for her as her graduation present, she could therefore calculate when she could swoop by the lobby on the first floor and ask for me to be called down for lunch; the Godfreys were all smooth like that. 

Letha was the one who had gotten me my Louboutins for graduation, and Letha was the one who got me the interview at the company-- I could trust her. If anything, I needed her opinion on what was happening between me and her cousin, without her knowing who I was talking about. However, I needed to get to that somehow, eventually. "I don't know," I answered, placing my elbows on the table and putting my face in my hands. "But I promise you, you could find someone way crazier than someone who wants to date you the old-school way." Much, much crazier.

Letha sighed, cocking her head to the side as she looked back at me with those classic Godfrey-green eyes. It was almost scary how similar they were to Mr. Godfrey's-- well, of course. They were cousins, after all. Maybe I could keep looking into Letha's eyes for the rest of my life, and that'd relieve the withdrawal symptoms I was having from my boss no longer looking at me? Yeah, that sounded like a good plan. 

"You might be right," she purred, steepling her fingers as well, mimicking me. "Or maybe I just find it repulsive that he's into me? I've been scouring the internet, and that's what comes up most of the time."

I shrugged; "I don't know, Lee. Maybe you should bring that up with the guidance counsellor, just like in the good old days?"

"Ha-ha," Letha rolled her eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "But I think my main issue with this guy is that he seems genuinely nice. Big difference from Chad-- do you remember Chad? That asshole didn't even bother to pay for dinner when we flew to Aspen together!"

"Of course I remember Chad! But him not buying dinner for you doesn't really indicate whether he's a nice person or not, though?--"

"Come on! It's enough to show he was a shitty boyfriend!-- Oh, wait, yeah, that one's mine," 

Our conversation was cut off when our food arrived, and as we exchanged polite smiles and short thank you's, I couldn't help but notice the look in Letha's eyes when she scanned our waiter; it was almost flirty, yet openly hungry. She brought her hand up to her shiny blond locks, twirling it around her finger as she locked eyes with the guy, blinking sweetly, innocently-- I had to do everything in my power to not groan or laugh. It was crazy how this sort of stuff always worked for Letha without fail, because as predicted, our cute waiter left the table with a pink tint colouring his cheeks.

Godfrey-green eyes met mine once more with a playful smirk. "I love the waiters here," she purred. "That one's my favourite. He's particularly yummy!--"

"Okay, enough!" I grabbed my cutlery, suppressing my giggles. "You were just talking about the guy you're actually dating. What was his name again?"

A rather pregnant pause ensued. Letha swallowed, clearing her throat with suspicious anxiety. "Well, I call him Barty..." she mumbled, barely audible.

Wait. Immediately, I put down my fork. "No," I breathed, stunned. "Lee, don't fucking tell me his name is!--"

"He's from old money!" Letha whined, placing her glass next to her plate. "Of course he'd end up with a name like!--"

"Bartholomew?!"

"I know!" With a cry-like sigh, Letha grabbed her fork and stabbed her salad, visibly upset. "Okay, now it's decided. I should definitely break up with him."

I bit down on my lower lip, crossing my legs at my ankles as I hoped to regain my composure and hopefully not be too harsh with Letha's endeavours. "Again, I don't agree with that. Maybe he has a crazy name, but at least he seems normal! There are much worse men out there, believe me. Seriously, maybe you should stick around and take it slow, this time?" Believe me, believe me.

Letha stabbed another cherry tomato with such force you'd think it had personally offended her. "I'm not so sure about that," she mumbled. "Ugh... Bartholomew just sounds like the kind of name you moan by accident when you're trying not to finish."

I choked on a piece of salad. "Jeez, Letha!"

"Tell me I'm wrong!"

"You're... not," I muttered, trying very hard not to imagine anyone whispering Bartholomew in a sexual context. Ew. Could not be me. "But I'm also begging you to change the subject."

Letha smirked, clearly pleased with her joke. "Fine, but I'm not wrong about him. He wears Balenciaga shoes unironically. You know how I feel about men who dress like they're about to blow Kanye West in the middle of January!

Ew, ew, ew! "Yeah, but you've dated worse!"

"And that's not a comfort!"

I ended up rolling my eyes, letting her spiral while I pushed my salad around my plate. This restaurant was glossy and cold in that exclusive way, and I knew I had to eat my food until its last crumb to not offend the head chef or something--- with its white tablecloths and modern chairs, this was the kind of place that pretended it wasn't trying too hard, even though you knew a thousand-dollar lighting consultant had planned the ambience. It was a typical Letha-place to dine. The wine was crisp, the water had cucumber in it, and someone was definitely eavesdropping from the next table over.

Still, it was better than the office, where Mr. Godfrey was ready to make my life pure hell. 

"Well," Letha said suddenly; "At least your love life's probably better than mine. I haven't seen you in a while, so I expect a good fucking update! Who are you dating at the moment? Does your guy also insist on intense eye-contact during sex? Sickeningly long cuddles afterwards? Ugh, I could barf..."

My fork paused halfway to my mouth-- I set it down gently. Eye-contact? If only. Physical intimacy? I wish. Sex? Oh Lord. I cleared my throat; "Actually, about that..." Your cousin is into some form of office sadism and has seen me cum multiple times. Did I tell you I came on his shoe last week? "I know you have more experience than me regarding relationships and men, so I need your opinion on something."

Immediately, Letha's ears perked up, and she beamed at me from across the table. She grinned like a cat who had just heard a mouse blink; "You're seeing someone?"

"Oh, hardly,"

"You're... sleeping with someone, then?"

"Not really?"

"What?" Letha chewed on a cherry tomato as her brows drew together. "How can you not really sleep with someone? Do you, like, exclusively dry-hump or something?"

"I'm-- yeah, I don't know what the fuck this is," I scooted closer to the edge of the chair, lowering my voice so that the rich aunties next to us wouldn't hear me. "It's not sex, but it's not nothing... it's much deeper than that."

Letha blinked, putting down her cutlery with urgency before leaning closer. "What do you mean?"

"There's-- there's this guy," I whispered. "And I feel like he's literally inside my head! It's like he knows what I'm thinking, like he knows my nastiest thoughts, and it's freaking me the fuck out because he uses it against me!"

Letha looked like she was about to explode like those birds in Angry Birds, barely able to contain her excitement. "I'm listening,"

"No, no, this is not a good thing!" I tried, fiddling with the napkin nearby. "He knows what I want before I even know it, and... these past few weeks, I've done some really crazy shit, and I just-- have you ever let someone control you?"

Letha's plush lips parted slightly, eyes scanning my face with confusion. "That sounds really... kinky,"

"Yes, but have you ever?"

"... No? I don't think so,"

"Are you sure? Has a guy never, like..." I couldn't even say it out loud. I glanced at the nosy ladies next to us who were trying to eavesdrop, and they quickly turned away from us and our conversation. Sighing, I turned back to Letha-- how was I supposed to avoid making it obvious that I was talking about her intimidating (and ridiculously hot) cousin? "Have you ever, like, for example... humped guy's a shoe?" Maybe it was a normal thing? Maybe I just wasn't experienced enough?

But then, Letha practically jumped in her seat, gasping; "Humped a shoe?!"

"Shut up!" I hissed, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. Oh God. "Lee, please, I!--"

"I need to lie down!" Letha exclaimed, blissfully stunned. "Preferably in traffic, because this is so much juicier than Bartholomew! What the fuck have you been up to, seriously?! Who are you, and what did you do to my best friend?"

"--I didn't know what I was doing, okay? It just happened, and now I can't look at him without thinking about it! And even worse, he won't even look at me anymore! 

Letha had both hands over her mouth, but I could still see the unhinged smile hiding behind her fingers. "Oh my god. This is... this is the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life," she whispered, barely containing herself. "You humped a shoe? His shoe?!"

"He told me to!" 

"And you just did it?!"

"I told you, I've lost my mind!" I stared down at my plate in shame; I knew I had gone mad when a piece of lettuce started to look judgmental of me as well. "Forget I said anything... Seriously, just forget it."

"Right..." Letha's voice was now a reverent hush, like she was observing a religious moment. "So, you're saying he won't look at you anymore?"

"Yeah," I breathed.

"Maybe he's ashamed?"

I cocked a brow; why was she suddenly sounding like she was actually helping me? "Nope,"

"Well, to me it sounds like he might be toying with you, then," Somehow, Letha had calmed down, and was now casually back to eating her salad. "If he's the type of guy that tells you to hump his shoe and then ice you out, he's playing a game."

"... Oh?"

"Definitely," She tilted her head and flashed me her pitiful, green eyes. Gorgeous. "And I don't know too much about this sort of stuff, but if I were you?" Her voice dropped, soft as a dare, yet served with concern; 

"I'd learn how to play the game."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

There was a woman waiting for Mr. Godfrey. 

I stared at her from where I sat behind my desk later that day, wondering what on earth she was here for. She had been waiting patiently outside his office for about fifteen minutes, refusing to sit down on the designated seats, and it had now gotten to the point where she was clearing her throat and squirming uncomfortably because of her heels. 

They weren't very tall, yet I guessed they were a pair of those kitten heels that felt really comfortable in the morning, but became absolute killers by the end of the day. 

However, she was gorgeous. With legs that could probably reach all the way to China, she was statuesque, poised, and everything I'd guess Mr. Godfrey was usually into. Something in me burned when I realized that he'd be alone in his office with her, and images of me throwing my computer at her and ruining her beautiful face flashed before my eyes-- I shook my head, hoping to get the thoughts out of my head before I continued smashing my fingers against the keyboard to hopefully complete the weekly report I needed to hand in soon. The harder I clicked the buttons, the more I felt my aggression relieve itself-- God, how I wished I could relieve myself my usual way, yet Mr. Godfrey had installed something in my brain that wouldn't let me. For some reason, I couldn't physically bring myself to go against his words, and that scared me more than anything.

Ms. Long-Legs cleared her throat again, making me wonder whether it was a tic, before she approached my desk for the fourth time today; "Are you sure that he remembers my appointment? I was scheduled for 13:45, and I have been waiting for fifteen minutes! It's almost two o'clock now!"

With a long, dramatic sigh, I glared up at the woman; I couldn't bring myself to be nice to her, knowing she'd be alone with him shortly. Would she also be asked to hump his shoe? Did she get off in front of him too? "Mr. Godfrey is a very busy man," He's not running a business for fucktards, after all. "He will be with you shortly." And you can shove your cock up your ass.

Was he maybe toying with this woman too? Was he making her wait because he knew this would drive her crazy? It seemed he had a pattern.

She scanned me up and down, sensing my hostility. "And you're sure he knows I'm here?"

... Something told me she had been a part of the Godfrey circus longer than I. 

Bitch.

I blinked, angered. Because this, I wasn't actually sure about. Mr. Godfrey's blinds were rolled down. Therefore, I had sent him an email about this ten minutes ago, yet he hadn't answered any of my emails the past week, so... ugh, I knew what I had to do. With a sharp breath and an unprofessional roll of my eyes, I got up from my seat, expertly poised in my high heels. As I graciously made my way past her and her pained feet in Louboutins that were nowhere near a heel-height threshold she could handle, it made me feel on top of her in some evil way. Better than her. Why would Mr. Godfrey want someone who couldn't deal with some pain?

Hoping to hide my anxiety from the woman waiting for him, I knocked thrice on Mr. Godfrey's office door. 

No answer, of course.

I glanced over my shoulder-- Ms. Long-Legs was still watching me like I was an idiot. Frustrated, and keen not to be seen as incompetent, I knocked again, this time a bit harder. My stomach knotted with anxiety, because I knew the woman was still staring, arms folded, one foot angled awkwardly as if trying to relieve the pain in her heel. When I didn't get any answers again, I pressed my ear closer to the door, feeling as though I was breaking all the laws in the universe. 

I quickly pieced together that Mr. Godfrey was on the phone; "--No, I said I don't care who signed off on it, you run it past me first, that's the entire goddamn point!--"

Then, the door flew open.

It was clear that Mr. Godfrey had dragged his hand through his hair multiple times; it was a mess.  The top two buttons of his shirt were open, and the anger flaring in his green eyes was unmistakable. However, despite all of it, he looked handsome as ever-- bastard. 

I blinked up at him, staring; up close like this, I could smell his cologne, probably with hints of his aftershave as well. Just as I started to feel pink mist seeping out of my ears, I cleared my throat, hoping to get his attention through his scattered energy, and--

Oh.

He looked at me.

Mr. Godfrey looked at me.

For the first time in about a week, eyes wide with frustration with the person on the other side of the phone he had pressed between his shoulder and his cheek, he looked at me.

"Sir," I tried, nodding towards his guest. "Sorry to disturb, but you have a-- a visitor... she was scheduled for 13:45."

Visibly annoyed, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes landed directly on her, and immediately, his expression faltered. It was momentary, like he was horrified to see her, and his jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the beautiful woman waiting to get a moment of his precious time. "Right," he breathed, probably debating whether to jump out the window in his office, or if it'd be easier to shoot himself with the gun I knew he had in his third desk drawer. "And you are?"

The woman straightened up; "I'm with HR. We met a few weeks ago,"

HR?  What the fuck had he done, now?

Mr. Godfrey sighed, relenting; "Come in, then,"

Ms. Long-Legs straightened immediately, her discomfort forgotten in favour of the crisp swish of her designer skirt as she strutted past me and into his office. I remained outside, still holding the handle, uncertain whether to close the door behind her or not, until Mr. Godfrey made the decision for me-- he slammed it shut in my face.

The blinds stayed up this time, and for a second, just a second, I saw him-- Roman Godfrey. Not the suit, the tyrant, or the freakishly composed bastard I'd come to hate and want at the same time, but the man; pale, quiet, and rattled.

He was visibly uncomfortable, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over himself, as though that would somehow protect him from whatever the woman was there to tell him. I watched as his eyes narrowed and fixated on the way Ms. HR shifted in her heels in hopes of relieving her discomfort.

Then, through the blinds, I watched as his gaze flicked to mine.

My heels.

His lips parted, just slightly. Was he maybe thinking about the difference? The way I looked like I could be in these hell-bringers for hours, yet the other woman couldn't even hold herself for fifteen minutes? High, thin stilettos, black patent; perfectly balanced. I hadn't shifted once-- I didn't need to, and I wouldn't. I could stand in these all day.

But Mr. Godfrey didn't seem to allow himself to stare on any further. Without a word, he stood up with a sharp clack, and approached the blinds-- I couldn't read him when we locked eyes, and I didn't have any time to, before he snapped the blinds down again. 

Ugh. I couldn't see anything now, so I did what any dangerously curious person would do; I stayed frozen and pressed my ear up against the door, just close enough to hear.

"I'm here about the complaint filed last month by your previous secretary," came the woman's voice. Cool, measured, practiced, HR; that was what she was. Not a girlfriend, not a sub, but an executioner. Thank fuck. "I assume you've read through the preliminary documents. There were some... disturbing claims. Specifically about a personal dynamic between the two of you that was allegedly coercive."

A sharp scoff followed from Mr. Godfrey, almost a laugh. "She begged for that job back after I fired her," he huffed. "There was even a whole fucking scene the day I interviewed for my new secretary! If anything, she should be the one in trouble right now! There was nothing coercive of the sort, and I'm even suing her for saying that crap, ask my paralegal!"

"That may be," the woman replied, cold. "But the concern is the power imbalance. The possibility that you encouraged certain... behaviours."

Mr. Godfrey snapped back, raising his voice; "That's bullshit! She was undeniably nuts, you must've realized that during your talks with her?!"

"-- Mr. Godfrey, please, this is simply a formality! You must understand that!"

"I do!" he hissed. "And you've done your job, so are we done? Can I go back to doing mine?"

"If you're asking if I'll be filing a formal report, then no... But this will stay on record,"

Mr. Godfrey groaned-- I didn't need to see him to know that he was rubbing his temples. He did that whenever he got properly annoyed. "If every woman I'm going to work with is going to try to squeeze this company for my money, then I'm compelled to only hire men! But I can't fucking do that because of your fucking inclusivity regulations!"

"Mr. Godfrey, I suggest you stop speaking!--"

"This is my company! If my previous secretary is going to press with crazy claims, then I expect you to be on my side!--"

"I am not here to shield you, sir! I am here to protect your employees, and quite specifically, your young, new secretary who frankly looks terrified of even being in your vicinity!"

Something thudded inside the office-- maybe a drawer slamming, or a fist. I couldn't make it out. In an instant, I scurried to my desk, sitting down with the utmost hurry. So, my suspicions had been correct; the previous secretary had definitely been his sub. Why couldn't Peter have told me this? How many people knew? With trembling fingers, I tried to go back to working on the weekly report-- I had to submit it in about ten minutes, and I realized all I needed was Mr. Godfrey's signature. Fuck. 

Then, I heard harsh footsteps nearing. The door to Mr. Godfrey's office whipped open with a gust of air, and the man himself stormed past me like I was invisible. 

The HR woman stepped out shortly after, smoothing her skirt and offering me a polite smile; I could see the evil glee behind those gorgeous eyes of hers. I didn't return it. Bitch. 

For some reason, I felt beyond angered by what I had just witnessed. If Mr. Godfrey was being hounded for something that was consensual, that was simply unfair. I would never do that to him. I would never, ever, even though Letha confirmed that my afflictions were irrational, even though I knew it was irrational-- in a hurry, I grabbed the weekly report from my desk and rushed after him.

I wasn't terrified of Mr. Godfrey; I needed him to know that. If anything, I wanted him near at all times. The HR bitch had no idea what she was talking about!

That was why I was now on my feet, heels clacking sharply against the marble as I chased after him. "Mr. Godfrey-- sir-- wait!--"

But didn't stop; he wouldn't. He was a storm in motion, cutting through the office like it offended him just by existing. A few people looked up as we passed, some quickly ducked their heads back down behind their screens, and others openly stared. I didn't care; all I saw was the back of his head, the sharp angle of his jaw as he strode ahead of me, fists clenched so tight the tendons in his forearms stood out.

"Mr. Godfrey!" I tried again, clutching the paper against my chest. Maybe talking about the report would make him see that I wasn't scared? I had no idea what I was thinking. "I just-- I just need your signature on the!--"

In an instant, he stopped so abruptly that I nearly crashed into him. Mr. Godfrey turned around, eyes blazing, lips parted with fury-- and before I could take a breath, duck, save myself, he shouted at the top of his lungs; "What do you want?!"

The hallway went silent. Several doors cracked open. Somewhere, a printer stopped mid-page. All I could hear was the thundering pulse in my ears.

I blinked up at him, stunned.

"What," he spat, "is so fucking urgent that you need to chase me like a lunatic down the goddamn hallway?!"

I froze. "Sir, I-- It's just the weekly rep--"

"I don't give a shit about the weekly report!" he barked. "You think I'm in the mood to babysit your paperwork right now?! Don't you see I have more important things to deal with right now than your incompetence?!"

My ears were burning red from the humiliation, but this wasn't the kind I had previously liked-- this felt like torture. I couldn't yell back, couldn't oppose him, not in front of the whole office. My body betrayed me, and I felt my eyes well with tears; did he think I was incompetent? Was that maybe all this week had been about, that I just... wasn't good enough? 

Had I imagined everything?

Mr. Godfrey wasn't done. "Oh, don't stand here and look like a victim! I told you to stop stuttering, and to wipe those fucking tears you always have! And still, week after week, you hand in your work like I should be grateful you managed to use a stapler!" he yelled. "If you need my signature on bullshit like the weekly report, learn to forge it, and save me the fucking waste of time! How incompetent is it possible to be?!"

A lump rose in my throat, and I pressed my lips into a straight line, not wanting to give away the way they quivered with my building tears. 

But then, Mr. Godfrey's voice dropped, and he got all up in my face-- to truly cross the line, he pressed his finger into my shoulder, giving me a harsh shove in hopes of me losing my balance; I didn't. Not in my fucking Louboutins. I didn't dare to look at him, and I screwed my eyes to the floor. 

"Fix it," Mr. Godfrey hissed, low and lethal. "And get out of my fucking face."

With that, the scratch of the heel of his shoe violated my ears before he stormed off, yelling something I couldn't catch at the rest of the employees who were watching. 

My hands were still gripping the report, wrinkled now and damp where my fingers had started to sweat. My vision blurred as hot tears finally spilled over and fell, one after another, down my cheeks and onto the paper. I didn't even wipe them away. I just stood there, crying silently like some stupid little girl who couldn't even handle a bad grade. How could I have been so thoughtless? How had I manage to convince myself that Mr. Godfrey was into me, when all along, he was just a plain fucking sadist?

Letha's words stung me as I stood there, frozen, staring at the floor, and specifically at the marble that shimmered faintly beneath the artificial lights. Somewhere behind me, someone coughed. A keyboard clacked. A door eased shut. Life went on, yet I couldn't move. How was I supposed to play Mr. Godfrey's game? 

Then, a voice cut through the blur, urgent but soft; "Hey-- hey, hey," A warm hand appeared on my arm, and I instantly knew who it was. 

Peter's handsome face was a mix of worry and fury, his brows drawn tight as he stepped between me and the eyes of the office. "Come here," he murmured, shielding me with his body. "Don't just stand here, come on."

I shook my head and tried to push him off, tried to regain my dignity, but he wouldn't let me; "Don't argue with me right now," Peter said, gentle but firm. "Look at the state of you... Jeez, you're shaking. You're coming with me."

Like the saviour he was, he ushered me toward his office, blocking the view of every curious face that dared look up, his hand never leaving the small of my back. He opened his door, pulled me inside, and shut it behind us with a soft click. "There you go," he murmured, guiding me into the chair across from his desk before leaving to close the blinds. 

The moment I knew no one could see me, I allowed myself to unravel-- the sob clawed out of my throat before I could stop it, and I bent over my knees, hands clutching at the short skirt I had specifically worn for Mr. Godfrey, just trying to hold something, anything. My pride, maybe?

Peter was already crouching beside me, his sigh falling warm against my knee. He didn't touch me, didn't shush me-- he just stayed still and let me fall apart. "Hey," he eventually said, voice barely above a whisper. "He doesn't get to talk to you like that."

I shook my head, but I couldn't speak. The tears kept coming, thick and hot, soaking my lashes until the whole world looked smeared. My ribs hurt from holding it all in, and now it poured out with everything I had been hoarding for a whole week.

Peter shifted closer, eyes round with concern. "You're not stupid," he said, softer now, reading my silence. "And you're not bad at your job. Roman just needed someone to bleed on, and you were standing too close... It's not your fault, kid."

I let out a shaky laugh; my tears were shockingly salty as they spilled over my lips. "I'm so pathetic," I whispered, voice breaking. "Crying in your office... Over him."

"No, you're not pathetic," His voice was steel now; "He's the pathetic one, for taking his shit out on someone like you."

Someone like... me?

The phrase echoed. Someone like me. Someone who still wore short skirts because she wanted the attention, someone who played pretend-submissive in her head like it meant something, someone who thought she could turn lust into safety, or longing into control. Someone delusional. Someone small. Someone pliable. Someone discardable. Someone unimportant. 

"I just thought he--" I stopped, swallowing another sob. "I thought he liked me." Stupid, stupid girl. Why would anyone like someone like me? Especially Mr. Godfrey, who could have anyone he ever wanted.

Peter's silence was heavy. It wasn't cruel, wasn't judgemental, but full of all the things he didn't want to say too quickly. "He did-- He does," he tried. "But not in a way that's good for anyone." Peter looked at me, earnest, eyes kind in a way that only made it worse. "I can't say much because of legal reasons, but the way he handled the last secretary wasn't... it wasn't okay. None of it was alright."

He shifted, gently placing his hand on my knee; something about it made my skin pleasantly buzz. "Look... This is a guy who grew up being told he was a God. He's been bathed in wealth we can't even begin to comprehend, and his mind is all screwed up because of it, so anything he says, comes from his sheltered little dream-land. He doesn't understand consequences. He doesn't understand that you're sitting here, upset. Imagine it like... like he's constantly in a moderate bubble of psychosis. Life is not real to him, so you can't make him real. Roman Godfrey is the virus in your computer, and it's time that you either tossed the whole thing out or built a firewall,"

I blinked at him, my heart aching in some small, tender way I wasn't prepared for. "But... I like my computer," I whispered. 

Peter reached out with his free hand, slow, careful, and peeled the wrinkled report from my grip. "It's a very nice, shiny computer," he said, rubbing my knee with his thumb in soothing motions. His eyes rounded out further with concern and pity, and he sighed before he landed his last blow;

"But you really need that firewall if you want to keep using it,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Handling pain is a skill.

Going through a full workday at Godfrey Industries was also a skill. It could break the strongest of soldiers, kill the most resilient of wolves, yet somehow, I had gotten through to the end of it. 

Mr. Godfrey hadn't come back from where on earth he had ran off to (probably his palace in the depths of Hell, if you ask me), and I had been back from Peter's office for a while now, sitting behind my desk playing my favourite game-- snake. Now that Mr. Godfrey wasn't here to give me any assignments, I had nothing to do, and quite frankly, I couldn't focus on anything that garnered my full attention; I needed something to space out to, and this was perfect.

I had about thirty minutes until I could go home. Hopefully, my crazy, evil, handsome bastard of a boss wouldn't return from Satan's secret lair, where he probably resided, and I wouldn't have to face him until the end of the day.

But as you likely guessed, speaking of the devil--

Mr. Godfrey's steps were usually harsh, quick, rash, and I'd usually be able to hear them from miles down the hall. However, he had somehow managed to appear in front of me with the swiftness of a CIA-trained spy, completely undetected. He leaned against the wall opposite my desk with his arms crossed over his chest, not looking at me-- instead, I saw the way his eyes had fixated on my Louboutins, and most specifically, the heel of them.

Then, just as I thought he was about to yell at me some more, and just as I grabbed my desk with dread, his first words were shockingly soft; "Those are sharp," he mumbled. "Sharp and high. I wondered why you were so tall today."

Stunned, I shifted in my seat, straightening up. I couldn't believe he was talking to me again. Swallowing over and over, I scanned him; was he wearing a different shirt? Maybe he had sweated through the previous one-- the whole incident with the HR lady seemed intimidating, after all. "I'm glad that how I dress doesn't utterly disgust you anymore," I huffed. "Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Maybe I could go get another cup of coffee for you to dump in your trash?"

Despite my sharp words and attitude, I flinched when Mr. Godfrey's green eyes darted to meet mine. However, they weren't terrifying like they had been earlier. Something had changed. "Yes," he said, pushing away from the wall and swallowing the reprimand he wanted to give me for mouthing off. "There is something you could do. Follow me."

There was something unbelievably relieving about hearing Mr. Godfrey talk to me and treat me like a normal person. If anything, it made everything worth it, and I felt sick for even thinking it. Some part of me would maybe even let him yell at me every day, if he'd come back at the end of it and speak to me softly like this. Without saying a word, I nodded and followed his long steps into his office.

The door shut behind me with a muted thud.

I stood in the middle of his office, unsure whether to sit or wait for him to tell me to. It felt like I had walked directly onto a wooden stand, ready to have my head chopped off by the dreaded Godfrey guillotine. 

However, Mr. Godfrey didn't look at me. The silence was suffocating, and the room smelled like that expensive cologne he wore, mixed with the adrenaline still lingering from whatever fire he'd walked through to get back here.

Without saying a word, he went to the bar cart by the dying orchid, fingers brushing over a crystal decanter before pouring a glass of what I could only guess was brandy. That alone told me something was off-- he never drank during office hours, meaning something was brewing, and it might be the cauldron where he was going to cook my remains.

Mr. Godfrey walked over to me and handed me the glass. What? I took it because I didn't know what else to do, and placed it beneath my nose; yeah, this was brandy, alright. 

Then, finally, he spoke, still not looking me in the eye; "What happened earlier... wasn't supposed to happen,"

"What are we talking about?" I asked, clutching my glass. "Me getting off on your shoe, or you yelling at me in front of the whole office?"

That did it-- Mr. Godfrey's eyes snapped up, ready to burn a hole through mine. It was clear that I had caught him off guard, and that he had obviously meant the latter, but I had been dying to finally say it out loud. You've seen me cum. You've seen me cum!

I was building my fucking firewall, piece by piece. Thanks, Peter. 

I had to play Mr. Godfrey's game to defeat him, the ultimate boss. Was he perhaps the modern equivalent of Bowser? That wasn't a thought I wanted to think right now, but anywho-- thanks, Letha.

"I crossed a line," Mr. Godfrey finally said, his voice tight with discomfort. "But I'm not usually surrounded by like-minded people, so... I got ahead of myself. I got too excited."

"Like-minded people?" I took a careful sip of my brandy as my words echoed the office. What was that supposed to mean?

Mr. Godfrey's mouth twitched like he regretted saying it out loud. He turned away slightly, running a hand through his hair; it was disheveled again in a way that made him look younger, almost boyish. "I saw something in you," he said after a pause, quieter this time. "Or, well, I saw you, and what you did, and I suppose I took that as an invitation. But was it?"

"Was what?"

"Was it an invitation?" he pressed, swallowing. "That first time I saw you? Did you want me to see it?" 

I stilled, pressing the glass to my bottom lip as I tried to find my words. "No," I breathed-- that was the truth. It'd had nothing to do with Mr. Godfrey. I was simply doing what I had been doing for years, and I had only wanted to relieve myself, but... "But I think I part of me wanted you to."

"To?"

"To see me, sir," My gaze fell to the floor, glancing at my Louboutins as anxiety burned its way into my fingertips-- or was that the brandy? "I just... wanted to be good."

Mr. Godfrey blinked. "Good?"

"Yes, sir,"

"Good for... me?"

Green eyes burned into mine when I dared to meet them again. The tone of his voice, the way it was painted with a delicate stroke of uncertainty, made my heart skip a beat. "You're doing it again," I breathed. "You're talking to me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like this is something more than me being your secretary, and you being my boss,"

The air between us grew thick with tension as Mr. Godfrey's gaze never left mine. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His broad chest rose and fell as if trying to steady himself, like he was trying to catch up with something that had just slipped through his fingers. "You're right," he said, his voice low and controlled, though there was a hint of something raw beneath it; "And I don't think I'm able to stop."

Oh God. 

I didn't know how to respond; I was suspended in that breathless pause, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me, and not because of anything cruel, but because Mr, Godfrey was so composed now, so gentle. I opened my mouth, daring to speak, but he lifted a hand-- calm, slow, before he delivered the final blow; "So, if you wish to leave, you're not going to walk out of here with nothing. Don't worry. You'll get the severance package, full benefits, letters of recommendation, glowing ones... You'll be taken care of. I want you to land softly after what I've put you through,"

I stood still. 

Very still. 

Too still. 

It felt like any movement might shatter the fragile air between us, but in this tension, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't exist. So, I downed the brandy, to Mr. Godfrey's surprise-- I put it down on the floor next to me, flexing and unflexing my fingers like a nervous tic. I could feel my eyes well with tears as all my air got stuck in my chest; was this really happening? 

No, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

"Sir," I breathed, hoping my voice wouldn't crack. "Are you firing me?"

Mr. Godfrey's eyes widened slightly-- not with anger, not with that usual razor-sharp contempt he wore like a suit, but with something closer to confusion. However, there was no uncertainty when he gave me his answer; "No," Immediate. Definite. "I'm not firing you. If I fired you, you wouldn't get the severance package, so no. I'm not firing you. You're just... allowed to leave."

Something within me had cracked, and I couldn't mend it. I was trying to scoop up my emotions and stuff them somewhere I couldn't reach, but there was no going back. My tears had blurred my vision completely, and I had no idea how they hadn't spilled down my cheeks yet. This was an immediate panic unlike anything I had ever felt before. It felt like I was about to be executed, and like my entire reality was shattering. "Am I really that bad?" I breathed. "Did I-- Did I do that bad?"

"... What?"

"Did I do that bad of a job? Was I-- was-- I that bad?"

Mr. Godfrey stilled, but not like before; this was different, quieter, slower, like I had said something in a language he only half-understood. He took a single breath, and then, almost cautiously, exhaled; "You think this is about your job,"

"I just!--" I swiped at my eyes, furious that I couldn't stop my tears. "I'm just trying to-- to understand, sir! What did I do-- do wrong?"

Mr. Godfrey blinked. His hands gripped the desk even harder, as though that would ground him in this unforeseen conversation. Something told me that no one had cried like this in front of him before, and that he had absolutely no idea what to do with the crybaby in the room. "I thought I was doing you a favor," he tried. "I thought you'd want out, after what I've been putting you through?"

I placed my fingers beneath my lower lashes, hoping to salvage at least a bit of my makeup. 

Now that I was faced with the option, I finally knew what I wanted, after all the different inputs of the day. Just the thought of no longer seeing Mr. Godfrey, no longer being told what to do, no longer chasing the pain, the humiliation, the exhilaration, along with the high of having his full attention, made me want to scream. I needed him like water, despite what everyone else thought I needed. I'd had a taste of what I could have with him, and I needed, needed, needed, needed--

"No, I need this," I said, suddenly, voice thick with the kind of desperation I didn't know I was capable of exposing. "I need this job, sir. I need the rules, I need you to keep telling me what to do, I need-- I need this."

I watched as Mr. Godfrey flinched and pushed away from the table, shaking his head as though I was telling him something he shouldn't know. He paced back and forth, chewing on his bottom lip. He stopped with his back to me, his hand dragging down his face. "You can't need that," he muttered. "You shouldn't."

"But I do!" I cried, louder now, surer; it was a relief to say it out loud. "This, whatever this is, has been the only thing that's made any sense to me in a long time! It's like-- it's like I've been living under a damn rock for years, and all your bullshit makes me feel alive!"

Mr. Godfrey practically spun around on his heel, facing me with his brows drawn together in a look of offence; "My bullshit?"

"Yes, your bullshit!" Sniffling, I rubbed my nose, trying to get myself together. "You haven't even as much as looked at me for a week now because I showed some resilience!"

"That's not!--"

"No, that was why, sir! That's why, and I've loved it!" Tears ran down my cheeks as a broken laugh slipped past my lips. God, what a relief, and what a revelation-- all the emotions from my week of being ignored had culminated in something I had never felt before; important. Because Mr. Godfrey had taken the time to single me out, put his energy into ignoring me, and that made me feel beyond special, beneath all the pain and confusion. 

I needed this. I needed this.

Mr. Godfrey stared at me like I had just spoken in tongues. He was absolutely baffled-- positively scandalized. I watched it ripple through him; first the disbelief, then the reluctant understanding, and then that flicker of dark, stunned delight. "Are you sure?" he eventually asked, scanning me for any possible cracks. "Are you sure that this isn't just some new obsession of yours?"

I took a shaky breath; I was sure. "It's not,"

"And how can you be sure?" Something told me that Mr. Godfrey was nervous about this too, somewhere behind his deep, green eyes. He had previously had a hefty telling-off from HR, which I definitely should've have witnessed, so I could understand that he was reluctant to step into this again, no matter how much he wanted to; however, something in my head stopped working, and went into a gear I didn't know I had.

My brain short-circuited and did the most instinctive thing I could've done. I stepped forward away from the door, one step, two step-- I was sure, and this was the only way to show him.

I dropped to my knees before Mr. Godfrey.

The carpet grazed my knees, but I barely felt it. My breath came down in hard, choppy motions, but I didn't let it show. I simply placed my hands on my thighs and waited. I waited for him to say something, to deny me, to accept me, to step on me once more and call me a stupid little girl with a brain the size of a nut, anything-- I had to lower my gaze.

And for a few agonizing seconds, nothing happened. 

Then, I heard the sound of his shoes.

Mr. Godfrey stepped forward, silent, until the tips of his expensive shoes were nearly touching my knees. I didn't look up, I didn't move-- I couldn't. I was offering myself up to his dominance, to his control, to his liking, so I needed to stay very, very still. This felt like a mating dance I'd see birds do on National Geographic, because that was their nature, and this was ours. I could sense the air change above me, hear his soft sigh, and then--

Mr. Godfrey snapped his fingers, and I didn't need to talk to know what he wanted.

I tilted my head upwards, daring to meet his green, unreadable gaze. From this angle, he was gorgeous as ever, breathtaking-- I couldn't believe I even had a sliver of his attention.

Mr. Godfrey's thumb touched my bottom lip; his skin was warm. The pad of his thumb pressed inward with gentle pressure, and his eyes never left mine, even as they fluttered with my shaky exhale. 

I parted my lips, inviting him, accepting him.

He let his thumb rest inside my mouth a moment longer, not controlling, just there, like a question he already knew the answer to; I wouldn't bite. I wouldn't do that again, and he knew that now. When he eventually pulled it out, slowly, carefully, he brushed it against my cheek, smearing my spit into my skin, wanting to see whether I'd whimper with discomfort or squirm with disgust.

I did neither.

With a dreamy sigh, Mr. Godfrey crouched down in front of me, getting on my level for the first time-- it almost felt symbolic. We had accepted each other. It was done. He leaned in closer, so close I could smell his cologne again, so close I could trace the outline of the blessed Forbes nose, close enough to make me wonder whether he'd kiss me or not, before he whispered; "Are you sure?"

My lashes were heavy with my drying tears. "I'm sure,"

"I've been burned here before, so I need you to be clear with me. Do you consent?" Mr. Godfrey's green eyes seared into mine as his words clung to the thick air-- he needed to know. He needed to know, the same way I needed him to doom me.

I needed him to specify; "To working here?" 

"No," Mr. Godfrey breathed. "To being my submissive."

My heart stuttered-- finally.

It was out in the open, and in the midst of my joy, my eyes scoured his, searching for lies, searching for anything Mr. Godfrey could trick me with, but this was one of those rare moments where he was laying out everything for me to see. Something told me I wouldn't get him like this ever again. If anything, this was the opportunity of a lifetime, and an opportunity I had been waiting for him to give me since the second I met him. 

Finally, there was no question in my mind. I didn't need a firewall; I needed a dominant.

"Yes,"

(a/n: there is so YUMMY about this guy.... wtf is wrong w me?? OH WELL<333 HOPE U ENJOYED, MWAH MWAH MWAH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT!!!<333)

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@lunaskye999

[1-800-local-slut]

Jenny bestie hear me out . Reader with the personality and powers of shadow the hedgehog 👀. So she would be an anti hero that refuses to work with anyone but has that romantic tension with main mark grayson . While invincible is trying to convince her to turn over to being a full hero , cecil and the guardians are trying to take out reader but are always failing to do so cause ain't no way they're reaching the ultimate life forms level of power 🤭 . So like basically like headcanons of mark trying to get reader to turn over to the good side while she's basically trying to kill the guardians and cecil losing his mind over not being able to control her .

Hiiii! I loved this, thank you for the request! I hope you can forgive the delay, I've been crazy busy but I'm trying my best lol. Anyways, this is going to be a mix of angst but mostly lighthearted cuz I've been writing way too much serious stuff later. Thank you for the request <3

Warnings: making out, slight angst, homicide attempts, fluff and good vibes, you've literally never been normal a day in your life

Note: Amber and Mark broke up before he goes to see the Thraxan's because I say this all the time: man, stealing is never the move. Also, you were created in a lab here (hence the whole ultimate life form thing) so you don't know everything about yourself, but you escaped to live your own life.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

📯 You and Mark know y'all wanna make out, it would be safer for everyone if you just did it

📯You don't get along with anyone. You're more of a reluctant ally. You help when it serves you. Mark helps when he's nearby, he's gotten better at letting other heroes handle it.

📯But when you do stir up trouble, Mark unfortunately is who they call to try and arrest you. He always fails, of course. He can't physically catch you, and when he does grab you by pure luck and speed then you get terrifyingly strong and put belt to ass. You don't even have to fight him all the time; you just always end up doing so

📯Lowkey they call Mark because the GDA knows you always get distracted by Mark even if you don't know

📯 You can literally escape at anytime but the opportunity to be close to him (even if it’s in a battle) makes your heart beat just a bit harder for some reason

📯 The trash talk? Oh my god, it's amusing to you both and you both like it. Your mouth is more reckless though, so you tend to say crazier shit than him. He loves hates when you explain why he can't beat you for the tenth time in a month.

"You ready to go to jail?!"

"Fuck you, you can't arrest me! I'm the ultimate life form!"

📯 The news is sick of y'all. The Guardians are sick of y'all. The GDA is sick of y'all. William and Eve are sick of y'all.

📯 When you two do get to team up, you both know you like it. You like working with someone who won't sell you out. Mark just likes you. But the other thing is, you only talk to Mark.

📯 When you all went to Mars, you kept your words minimum. Not like your usual sly comments. Mark was so ashamed to realize that he liked you not giving the other heroes the time of day. You kept everything to a brief five words or a 'hm.'

📯 You go back and forth with Mark, and Mark only. Like that’s the only person whose had a kind of conversation with you

📯 Your only actual issue with Mark is that he’s insisting on seeing the good in you. You aren’t exactly an evil person. You’re just more for following your own rules, and you also don’t trust the government.

“See? You can be good! You’re really good at it.”

As you’re carrying a group of wailing and coughing children out of a burning building.

“Their children.” Was all you said, and that was explanation enough.

📯 You don’t really like people. You don’t play nice with others. It’s not exactly your fault. But you tolerate Mark

📯He eventually is able to get you to not mind being around others. You even said 'hello' when walking into a room, but you blamed on being in a good mood for once.

📯 Slowly but surely you two were making progress. Baby steps as they say. You sat next to Rex one time and he went entirely still to avoid somehow irritating you into getting up. You're kind of like an unfriendly cat but when you are friendly it's the best feeling ever

📯 You're even getting along better with Cecil!

📯 You stop just walking out when he's speaking to you

"Piss off. I don't follow your orders."

Before you're skating out the door.

📯 Now you let him talk and just ignore whatever he's saying. Literally everything was great-ish. You and Mark weren't attempting to kill each other every other week; he's kind of like your safe space when you don't want to hang around randoms anymore

📯 Until you had some personal business to attend too, which led to you getting shot with a giant laser. But you're the ultimate life form so that beam felt like a mild sunburn to you.

📯 You aren't stupid, obviously Cecil fired that canon at you. He swore it was an accident "we weren't trying to hit you!" but that didn't really matter to you when he was dangling over the edge of a building

📯 That homicide attempt was an accident. But you don't take threats to your life lightly. It did nothing to you, except singed a few of the red streaks in your dark curls, but you still didn't appreciate it. PLUS the blue haired priss who followed you all the way from your home escaped with her life. You were going to have to see her again thanks to Cecil's interference. Safe to say, you were not pleased

📯 You stopped any type of heroism. Not because of a personal vendetta against the people of Earth, but you just couldn't trust it. Everything was a set up to you. You even stopped talking to Mark.

📯 The man was hurt. He couldn't even call you, he just missed you. You weren't his girlfriend. He shouldn't want to see you, shouldn't want you sitting next to him on a roof top after an arrest. He shouldn't want you the way he does, but absence makes the heart grow fonder.

📯 He missed you. He thought about stopping by your apartment. He thought about appearing in front of you under the cover of darkness and telling you how he feels. But you've been so on edge lately that he knew the second you laid eyes on him things would be different.

📯 Your sharp eyes wouldn't soften just a bit like they usually do. Instead, they would go wide with rage, you'd think it was a set up. He doesn't know your favorite food, your favorite color, he doesn't even know why you call yourself the ultimate lifeform.

📯 But Mark does know you. He knows how when something gets in the way of what you believe, you don't take kindly to it. He knows you stand for what you think is right. Knows how your nose scrunches just a bit when you think something is ridiculous. He knows your beautiful, and knows you know that your beautiful. The way your ruby irises follow your own reflection in mirrors is telling.

📯 And he knows after almost a year of knowing you, when you get paranoid or antsy it's best to leave you alone. So he does, he leaves you to your own devices for you to cool off. You clearly need sometime but you aren't getting that since your back on enemy terms with the government.

📯 It also didn't help when you caught Cecil spying on you, in revenge you attempted to curb stomp him, but Immortal decided that was the time to run a fade. He was quickly silenced, along with Black Samson. Mark's never seen someone use another person as a bat to slap another person, but he was impressed

📯 The girl he liked was currently at war with the government and his friends. Mark was choosing to stay out of it, plus he had to run. Off to save the Thraxans BUT those two months of absence were not fun for you. He saw you before he left though

"Why would I care that you're leaving?" You asked, brushing through your wet curls and spraying leave in conditioner into the plats. He watched as you used your fingers to distribute a hair mask through your hair and rustled through your hair products for a scrunchie.

Mark sighed, leaning against the fire escape of your apartment. For a crap hole building, you fixed it up really nice. It was a crap hole, but you were a pretty good thief. Good enough to steal appliances and furniture enough to cover up the state of the house. He's pretty sure you let your landlord keep living as a form of rent.

He was standing out there, under the stars outside your bedroom window. The brick and glass separating you two felt almost poetic. He would've stayed all night if there wasn't a spaceship waiting for him just five miles away.

For once you were at peace, and you looked so beautiful just calmly sitting and doing your hair.

"I don't know. I know things aren't great between us right now. But I...I don't know. It didn't feel right for me to leave without telling you."

You paused, biting your lip as your red eyes glanced down at the vanity you were sat at. For a moment he imagined you two were different people. Not Invincible and the anti-hero fans have taken to calling 'Streaker' (a name you have no solid opinions on), but Mark and the woman he wants to be with.

"When are you coming back?"

A beat of silence hung through the night. Wind pushed Mark's hair around his head, and the wind pushed through your window and rustled some random receipts on your dresser.

"Soon."

The sharpness of your eyes glanced over to Mark through your mirror, and you swallowed hesitantly. Eyelids fluttered shut before you recomposed yourself like nothing happened despite your obvious dissatisfaction with the lack luster answer.

Your fingers now brushed through a red portion of your hair, applying the cream to it before you finished the final braid and placed a shower cap over your head.

"Try not to die in space."

📯 Mark knew you'd get into it 10x worse with the GDA and everyone. No matter how much they insisted the murder attempt wasn't on purpose, you insisted they should've minded the business that pays them.

📯 Tells Cecil not to provoke you in the meantime.

📯 Mark was right, things got worse. You almost had to move due to how much they were spying on you. The other heroes did not like you; you were a loose cannon to them.

📯 You don't miss Mark (you run by his house sometimes on the way home just to see if he's back, you live the entire opposite direction)

📯 The only person who kind of understood you was gone. 'Soon', turned into two months. Why should you care? Mark wasn't your boyfriend.

📯 You've never imagined what it would be like to wake up next to him. Never thought about ditching all the bullshit and living somewhere peaceful together. Never had a strange dream about having a baby together (or a nightmare where he cheated on you)

📯 OH MY GOD YOU'D FLIP YOUR SHIT IF HE 'CHEATED' ON YOU

📯 You're 100% the jealous type over a man who you aren't with. You aren't the type to purposely disrupt his relationships. That's desperate and it NEVER gave that. But you smile just a bit when he fights with his girlfriend before they broke up.

📯 You want Mark to be happy of course. But if it can't be with you, then is he truly happy? You feel bad, it's selfish and you know it. You can't help it though. You two can't be together. You go after something when you want it, but you know who and what you are. You liked Mark too much to risk bruising your ego over a rejection that big

📯 You woke up pissed off for a week, you had a dream he hooked up with some alien broad with three boobs while he was up there and that's what was taking him so long.

📯It didn't matter how much you steeped in your own rage; you couldn't exactly yell at him. And you wouldn't have the right to do so either.

📯You were gonna beat his ass when he got back, how could he disappear for two months? Didn't he think about you? How could he leave you on this planet with a bunch of losers and people you hate for so long? Didn't he know your thread of self-control was already weak? Didn't he know he kept you under control? Didn't he know you needed him??? How could he! (you're literally delusional but it's okay because Mark is delulu over you too)

📯You're mad until you physically see him. You totally planned on whopping his ass for cheating on you in your dream and leaving for two months. But when you saw him, all you could do was nod in acknowledgment of his safe return. In your language you basically just hugged him

📯He appears on your balcony again. But this time things are different. You ushered him into your window.

He looks perfectly out of place. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he stood on the hard floor of your bedroom.

"I'm back."

"I can see."

Then nothing. Mark took the silence to notice something: he never realized that you were really soft on the inside. Well he knew. But right now, watching you paint your nails and inspect your toes, he was coming to an understanding. You were a normal person sometimes. And Mark was attracted to that version of you too.

"Listen, I'm sorry I was gone so long."

He wanted you to be mad at him. To grab him and yell at him just how badly you missed him. He found himself thinking of you every day, dreaming of you every night. You haunted his every moment. The memories of simple conversations, the few times you violated one another's personal space.

In addition to mentally missing you, he had been bone crushingly sad which he feels is fair considering everything he went through in a simple two months. So late at night, he imagined seeking comfort from your body.

Soft touches, eyes meeting, maybe a cheeky grin from you, something more.

"I kept myself busy." you informed him while you took a bite out of your hamburger that sat in a wrapper next to you after capping your nail polish, dragging him out of his dreams of you.

"I heard all about it. You didn't need to blow up that GDA truck you know, I don't know how you accomplished that."

You shrugged but he could see the devastatingly attractive glimmer of pride in your eyes.

"Like I said, I kept myself busy."

📯Now y'all know I'm a hopeless romantic at heart. So, I want to talk about the real romance between you two

📯Mark watches your back. He knows he can't hug you or catch you if you're falling. He can't even imagine you initiating a hug. He's not a touchy guy anyways so it's okay with him that you aren't hanging off of him. But Mark always will have your back

📯He knows you're the ultimate life form even if he has no clue what it means. But he doesn't miss the look in your eyes when he blocks a boulder flying at your head.

📯You get him gifts that aren't gifts. Essentials we'll say. He's bleeding heavily from the nose? You're stuffing tissue up his nose (albeit a bit roughly) before going back to whatever you were doing. He's hungry on a mission? You'll share your last snack with him. He's acting like a man dying of thirst? You're grabbing water from the closest convenience store and handing it to him soundlessly

📯You aren't great with Oliver at any age. When he's a baby you don't know what do with him, he seems to think your glowing red eyes are squishy toys. When he's toddler, he's a smartass and you're not loving it. But you do care for him, you just don't know how to show it.

"What's wrong with your eyes?"

"Oliver!"

"They're in my head, there's nothing wrong with them." You dismissed him while fighting a scowl. For a five-year-old he has a lot of question.

📯"Why are you so fast? Are you faster than Mark? Are you faster than my dad? Do you have a dad? Mark never said you have a dad. Where is your dad? Are you a mom? Are you and Mark dating? Have you two mated yet? How old are you? Can you teach me how to be fast? I'll teach you how to fly! Can you fly? What exactly are you?"

📯Before Mark or Debbie tell him to knock it off. You answer most of his questions though. A few you don't exactly know the answer to, so you just do your best with him.

📯Debbie doesn't know if she likes you. You're not Mark's girlfriend but she isn't blind, she knows her child.

📯The second he sees a beautiful black woman who would rather die before being walked over he's gone.

📯She doesn't judge you; she just can't really get a read on you since you rarely speak. Mark insists you're just nervous about meeting new people. You speak when spoken too but even then, it's hard to get a real sentence out of you.

📯BUT that all changes when you get hit with a car for Mark. A literal car flying at you through the air. You could've dodged it, sure. But you pushed Mark out of the way and the car landed on you with only your skates visible. Your legs flailed around comically, and you angrily told Mark to watch out for himself when he freed you a second later

📯Any woman who is willing to take a hit like that for Mark is alright in her book. She wants Mark to man up and ask you out already.

"She got hit by a car for you!"

"Mom, it's not like that. I don't want to freak her out, of course I like her but..."

"Don't be a scaredy cat Mark!"

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

📯Okay now for the real juicy stuff: the relationship

📯You confess to Mark one day. Neither of you can get drunk, your body burns through it too fast, and Mark's body will heal him quicker than he can blink.

📯You're comfortable together. Comfortable enough to sit in silence together while everyone celebrates together. Eventually you even let him slightly touch you. No where close to hugging but you do let your skin touch in proximity

📯He wasn't paying attention, but you were stewing in what seems like anger all day. He's the only one who can handle you like this, so you sat with your arms crossed in agitation

"I want to go home." you scowled with the redness of your eyes intensely glowing like hot embers.

"How about we stay for a while, then I take you home." He soothed gently, rubbing your arm but it did nothing to calm you down.

"Why?!" You exploded and Mark jumped at your sudden outburst. The entire room went silent. You looked around, anger and embarrassment  flooding your face. Mark wasn't having the greatest time, but it was still nice to get together with everyone.

"The fuck are y'all looking at?" Before you hopped off the couch and with a streak of red light you were gone.

He followed because you have him hooked. He's never been fast enough to catch you; you tell him all the time he never will be. BUT you do seem to like flowers. He's found you in flower patches before just on a lazy day, lying around doing nothing. He's found you in a specific one in the woods by your house just a few times. The little clearing helps you clear your mind.

When he does find you, you're angrily pacing back and forth on a little worn path. For once not running. You stop once you hear him land behind you.

"What." It came out as a sharp snap, without facing him.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"Nothing's wrong with me. Go away."

"You can tell me."

In a rage you spun around eyes darting around as if looking for something to throw at him in an attempt to repel him. A frustrated huff crossed with an angry shriek was his answer as.

"What the fuck! Just tell me what's wrong, why are you being so difficult?!"

Your shoulders rolled before you stalked to the edge of the clearing with your back to him. He followed because like I said you have him whipped girl.

"I like you. I like you so much it pisses me off! We had a shit day, I got stuck in a sewer drain then you wanted to go hangout with everyone, why? I don't like them people, but I like you and wanted to make you happy. But honestly, I can't force myself anymore, okay?! I can't do it! I can't stand this shit!"

That was the most he ever heard you speak.

"We don't have to hang out with everyone."

"Don't patronize me. Fuck off." You laughed, your voice raw with what sounded like forming tears and your eyes now a dimmer red.

He floated over to you, where you kept your arms wrapped tightly around your body. You fought his arms, his affections. What, did you think he was about to hold you then laugh and say sike?

His eyes followed your face as you squirmed from the warmth of his hands.

"We don't have to hangout with anyone else. I just want to hangout with you."

📯From there you've been insufferable. It's so yucky. You literally don't care about anything else.

📯Remember how I said Mark isn't a touchy guy? I lied. He wasn't touchy before you, but he really REALLY likes touching you. He's always touching you, it's so annoying (you want to live in his skin but you have to stay nonchalant)

📯He's holding your hand, touching the small of your back, forcefully laying his entire body over yours while you try to nap, he might even lick the side of your neck for the fun of it.

📯You hate it (lie) but you get used to it. You even held your hand out for him to hold it once. Hell, you once opened your arms for a hug and he almost bawled.

📯Here's the crazy ass thing: when Mark gets you used to the touching then he can't get you to stop. He can be trying to shit and you're holding his hand

📯Even on the battlefield when you're supposed to be staying focused you were staring at him with those big red eyes.

📯Mark gets to see you being soft and normal and he's fallen deeper in love with you

📯When you wake up from a nap (after being able to sleep with him in the room) and your eyes are so sleepy and soft. You don't want to get up, and you're dragging Mark back into bed with you muttering something like 'no not yet'. Before you put on your makeup, without the sharp wings of your eyeliner, when you remove it and your face has a dewey glow of your skin care

📯Oh his favorite is when you're sleeping. He gets to look at you as much as he wants without you telling him to cut it out.

"What."

"I'm looking at you, I can't stare at my girlfriend?"

"No, what the fuck?" Before you're crinkling your face in disgust and rolling over so he can't look at you anymore.

📯But when you're sleeping, you're so cute. You're face smooshed against his chest, the red of your bonnet slipping (before he adjusts it) to give away to a streak of red hair in the front of your hair under the covers of black hair. You drool just a bit even though you'd never admit that though. You also sleep talk a little and he records it once. If he shows it to you, he fears you'll go feral

📯You like to climb on him. Only in the privacy of your bedrooms. Like if he's sitting, you'll climb onto his lap or neck.

📯You feel safe enough with Mark to be semi-calm with him. You still don't talk much but Mark can really get you talking. You try to fight it and keep it cool, but you just love him. You love him so much that your true self comes out

📯You even laugh, a high-pitched squeal that only comes out when you're truly happy. He always makes you laugh. In fact, you laugh so much that you almost got smile lines from the sheer amount of joy you felt. He's just such a good boyfriend.

📯He's there for you, understands that you don't feel the need to explain where you're from and doesn't push you, doesn't really want to know why you keep running fades with some random blue haired girl

📯Mark supports you no matter how many time's y'all fight he more so just cheers you on

📯You don't give a fuck about other people, you worried about yourself and your man that's it. He could be telling you the hottest tea and you'll fall asleep

📯It's so bad you'll be so out of the loop. Like you know nothing, and you don't care, you just listen because you want to listen to whatever he says even if it's in one ear and out of the other for you.

"Oh my God, I forgot to tell you. Robot cloned himself from Rex because Robot, who wants us to call him Rudy now, likes Monster Girl. But Monster Girl looks nine, literally looks like a little kid and he wanted to crack that, but he says it's okay because they're biologically the same age now? I don't know. I just feel like seeing a nine-year-old and wanting to hit that is so weird even if you're mentally the same age.

Stealing the DNA of a grown man because you think a girl who looks like a little kid likes him is crazy as Hell-"

Before you just pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Can we go back to making out? I don't care about this."

And he's so down bad for you that he has the dumbest grin on his face.

"Okay." With literally the biggest smile on his face, you love the effect you have on him. Then you two are touching each other everywhere. Literally everywhere, you never noticed how big his hands were before they were down your panties, and his fingers were inside of you.

📯Oliver hates how much you two 'mate' it's so gross. You two wanted each other for the longest time, now that you have this man you weren't going to waste the chance to rub up on him.

📯It embarrassed you so bad to not only want someone but ALSO want someone to do crazy shit to you

📯Mark wants you so bad too but you're both pretty busy. Well Mark is, you chose not to partake in society, but you have your own stuff that you do when he isn't around. But that does not stop you two.

📯It doesn't stop him from coming up behind you and pressing his boner into you, running his hands up your stomach and over your breast.

📯Ironically y'all do not have fast sex. I know the whole super speed thing makes it seem like you two would but you two love each other and want to spend as much time together possible. Privacy is very important to you two as well, so there's nothing going on in public. You want to enjoy it, not feel like it's just a cheap fuck and that's it.

📯Mark is just happy he gets to touch you. But no, he also wants to be gentle with you. He lets you take the lead because it makes you comfortable. He's just a man at the end of the day. He's happy to just lay with you. And he knows giving up power freaks you out.

📯So, if that means taking great pleasure in you setting the pace when he does sometimes want to go as fast as he can and watch you lose yourself, he also knows intimacy is a big step for you

📯But you do go fast sometimes. It just lasts long. Lots of screaming. You've gotten noise complaints.

📯He holds you afterwards. He rubs your back but doesn't say much. Over time you get very used to just taking it easy. More comfortable talking about your feelings. But after something like sex where you've just shown him every single part of you, he isn't gonna push you to do something you've just gotten used too. There is comfort in silence.

📯If you did speak or lash out after sex or maybe during then it meant you were upset and needed to talk it out. But Mark knows the less you say the better you're feeling after something like that.

📯Similar to how you two got together. Comfort in silence. Silence in sitting together, feeling each other and rubbing each other's soft skin until someone falls asleep. Usually, you first then Mark follows after making sure you're comfortable.

📯All in all: you two love each other. He's crazy over you, you're crazy in general. It works! You guys are the most sickening couple, you don't care whose around or what's going on you're gonna keep being a hater and stunting on these hoes.

📯You struggle with PDA, at most you'll hold hands, or he'll have his arm wrapped around your shoulder in public. Mark understands and he doesn't need to stick his tongue down your throat in public.

📯You try to get along with everyone a little better for his sake, but Mark knows you have a mutual dislike with almost everyone. Mark doesn't care either. You get along with William, his mom and brother, that's all that matters. Those are the people Mark would take with him on a desert island, he doesn't want no one else out there with him.

📯You become more of a hero instead of anti-hero because Mark won't let you hang vilians upside down in the name of good until police could arrive.

(Okay this is getting way too long y'all so we're gonna pack it up. But I would totally write a short story about this couple. Like a little day trip and when you two finally hold hands for the first time in public. That would be so cute.)

📯Ultimately, Mark loves you. He loves how you refuse to play nice, how you refuse to be something you aren't. He also knows better than to push you. You've been through it of course, but he knows you're trying. For his sake, you try, and he appreciates that. He loves you; he supports you, he's there for you no matter what.

📯You love Mark so much. He keeps you grounded; he doesn't take your anger to heart. You're push people away from fear, but Mark is glued to your sight. You couldn't pry him off of you with a crowbar. He accepts you; he gives you the love you need. You appreciate how he doesn't try to force things with you. He's supportive but lets you figure yourself out and everyone needs that sometimes. He's your safe place, you're his favorite person in the entire world.

[sturnlsstuff]

I was tanning today and got the worst sunburn ever. Would u be able to make a quick on about the reader telling either Chris or Matt that she got a sunburn? i don't know if I just thought it would be cute since summer is coming up.

the kitchen smelled faintly of garlic and something buttery— matt was at the stove, stirring a pan with way more focus than necessary. you padded in barefoot, hair damp and tangled from the pool, wearing nothing but a loose towel wrapped around your chest, and the faintest pout on your lips. your skin, usually warm and golden, now had a clear pink tint— especially along your shoulders and the tops of your thighs.

you crossed the kitchen like your skin wasn't on fire right now, opening the fridge and fishing around for something cold. matt glanced over his shoulder and smiled automatically, but the smile shifted when he noticed the color of your skin.

"woah," he mutters, raising his eyebrow. "you... good?"

"mhm, yeah,” you said, grabbing a soda and cracking the cap open. “i just, you know… might’ve accidentally fallen asleep in the sun for a little bit.”

"a little bit?" he asks with disbelief. "baby, that doesn't look like a small nap."

"okay, like… an hour and a half.” you close the fridge with your hip, taking a long sip of your drink, then making a face and turning around to show your back. "i was tanning and it felt nice and warm, and then next thing i know, boom— nap. and now everything stings."

matt winced in sympathy, abandoning the pan to cross the kitchen. “baby, that ain't even pink. that's medium rare."

"ha ha, so funny," you rolled your eyes but grinned, leaning back against the counter. “it's your fault, honestly. if you had been out there, i wouldn’t have fallen asleep. i was bored all alone by myself."

matt walked over slowly, stopping in front of you, his eyebrow raised as he looks over your body, seeing how all of it was actually sunburnt. “so now you’re blaming me for your sun-induced nap?”

"i'm blaming you for being cute in the kitchen instead of rubbing sunscreen on my back like a good boyfriend.”

“i would’ve gladly done that, you just ran outside god knows when, like a menace with your sunglasses, and your smug little pool float."

"it was calling my name,” you murmured, dramatically placing the back of your hand on your warm forehead. “the sun betrayed me.”

he chuckled, his thumb softly grazing your shoulder, making you hiss and jerk slightly. "ouch, matt, fuck!"

"shit, okay, no touching," he raises his hands in surrender.

you groan painfully, putting the soda on the counter and covering your face. "i feel like a tomatooooo...." you whine.

"well... and ya look like one, too.”

the death glare you give him makes matt smirk. "but like a hot one!" he adds immediately, but you keep pouting. even the slightest movement makes you wince. "a'ight, sweetheart, lemme take care of you. aloe, lotion, cool washcloths, whatever you want. i'll even fan you dramatically if you ask nicely.”

you finally give him a slow, mischievous smile, your hands wrapping around his neck while matt carefully put his on your butt. “okay, i want aloe and some strawberries, and you feeding them to me," you say, tilting your head to the side.

"woaaah," he grins, clearly not going to complain. "you get a little sun-kissed and suddenly you’re cleopatra.”

"oh, shut up, matthew."

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[sirfrogsworth]

Falling into the AI vortex.

Before I deeply criticize something, I try to understand it more than surface level.

With guns, I went into deep research mode and learned as much as I could about the actual guns so I could be more effective in my gun control advocacy.

I learned things like... silencers are not silent. They are mainly for hearing protection and not assassinations. It's actually small caliber subsonic ammo that is a concern for covert shooting. A suppressor can aid with that goal, but its benefits as hearing protection outweigh that very rare circumstance.

AR15s... not that powerful. They use a tiny bullet. Originally it could not even be used against thick animal hides. It was classified as a "varmint hunting" gun. There are other factors that make it more dangerous like lightweight ammo, magazine capacity, medium range accuracy, and being able to penetrate things because the tiny bullets go faster. But in most mass shooting situations where the shooting distance is less than 20 feet, they really aren't more effective than a handgun. They are just popular for that purpose. Dare I say... a mass shooting fad or cliche. But there are several handguns that could be more powerful and deadly—capable of one bullet kills if shot anywhere near the chest. And easier to conceal and operate in close quarters like a school hallway.

This deeper understanding tells me that banning one type of gun may not be the solution people are hoping for. And that if you don't approach gun control holistically (all guns vs one gun), you may only get marginal benefits from great effort and resources.

Now I'm starting the same process with AI tools.

Everyone is stuck in "AI is bad" mode. And I understand why. But I worry there is nuance we are missing with this reactionary approach. Plus, "AI is bad" isn't a solution to the problem. It may be bad, but it is here and we need to figure out realistic approaches to mitigate the damage.

So I have been using AI tools. I am trying to understand how they work, what they are good for, and what problems we should be most worried about.

I've been at this for nearly a month and this may not be what everyone wants to hear, but I have had some surprising interactions with AI. Good interactions. Helpful interactions. I was even able to use it to help me keep from an anxiety thought spiral. It was genuinely therapeutic. And I am still processing that experience and am not sure what to say about it yet.

If I am able to write an essay on my findings and thoughts, I hope people will understand why I went into the belly of the beast. I hope they won't see me as an AI traitor.

A big part of my motivation to do this was because of a friend of mine. He was hit by a drunk driver many years ago. He is a quadriplegic. He has limited use of his arms and hands and his head movement is constrained.

When people say, "just pick up a pencil and learn to draw" I always cringe at his expense. He was an artist. He already learned how to pick up a pencil and draw. That was taken away from him. (And please don't say he can stick a pencil in his mouth. Some quads have that ability—he does not. It is not a thing all of them can do.) But now he has a tool that allows him to be creative again. And it has noticeably changed his life. It is a kind of art therapy that has had massive positive effects on his depression.

We have had a couple of tense arguments about the ethics of AI. He is all-in because of his circumstances. And it is difficult to express my opinions when faced with that. But he asked and I answered. He tried to defend it and did a poor job. Which, considering how smart he is, was hard to watch.

But I love my friend and I feel I'd like to at least know what I'm talking about. I want to try and experience the benefits he is seeing. And I'd like to see if there is a way for this technology to exist where it doesn't hurt more than it helps.

I don't know when I will be done with my experiment. My health is improving but I am still struggling and I will need to cut my dose again soon. But for now I am just collecting information and learning.

I guess I just wanted to prepare people for what I'm doing.

And ask they keep an open mind with my findings. Not all of them will be "AI is bad."

[lemotmo]

I love winning.

Q. It's damage control. Nothing more. They're attractive men who they know people will find physically appealing. They're being sent out to hype up the show, alleviate the anger of Bobby being killed off and show the audience that they're platonic partners on a silly firefighter show. These interviews will include the two of them telling everyone that they're not the onscreen ship the audience will be seeing and they will be telling people it will be okay to move onto and love the BuckTommy relationship the show is clearly building towards. Ryan/Eddie will literally be giving his blessing for people to enjoy it. Thatbwill lead into the Oliver and Lou press tour. I'm stunned none of you seem to be able to recognize what's happening here.

A. I was absolutely going to ignore this insane level of denial, but you keep sending it so I'm going to address it. The PR tactic you seem to think you're explaining here doesn't exist. This is not how PR works. There is no network publicist, PR department, or executive anywhere in existence who would try to sell a different onscreen pairing this way. Because it's insanely ridiculous and laughably ineffective. You don't trot out two actors with insane natural chemistry to do interviews like Buzzfeed thirst tweets that will undoubtedly put that chemistry on maximum display only to then have those same actors say 'but we're not the pairing you're going to get. Nope, you're getting the opposite of this. Enjoy!'. That's simply not how any of this works. And I know at least some part of you knows that. Stop it. You don't purposely choose to showcase the chemistry of one ship only to turn around and say yeah this isn't the ship you're getting. You're getting the birthmark guy(rip my poor Oliver he's going to have to explain to millions of new people that it's just a birthmark) with a person he can't stand to be in the same room with unless someone has yelled action. A person he has such non-existent chemistry with, and such obvious dislike towards that we can't even let them do promo together. Aren't you excited?!

That's not a thing that exists on any level in the world of PR. You don't highlight the gold standard and then tell your audience they're getting the gangue (look it up) version instead. Most of the cast will be doing end of season interviews. We already found out that Oliver and Aisha did a SiriusXM interview of some kind as well yesterday. But the stuff they're sending Oliver and Ryan to do is markedly different in tone to anything else they have ever done before. That's the point and that's intentional. The Spill the Tea segment for Entertainment Tonight is specifically designed for duos, yes many are platonic pairings, but many are not. And since the segment won't air until after the finale, when the audience will have discovered that Bobby is alive, Angela and Peter would have made the most sense to get that particular interview. We didn't need to know about its existence prior to the finale. They could have filmed it and none of us needed to be the wiser until it aired. But ABC specifically wanted Oliver and Ryan for it. And they specifically wanted the audience to be aware it was happening. There's a reason for that. But the Buzzfeed interview is a major deal. I cannot stress that enough. It's insane that Oliver Stark and Ryan Guzman are getting a Buzzfeed interview. Not only are they getting it, they're getting the thirst tweets interview. They're going to be reading thirst tweets about Buck and Eddie out loud to one another. That is ABC fully embracing the shipping of the two characters. That is the opposite of what a network would want to do if the goal was to ultimately put those characters with other people. Buzzfeed used the Buddie hashtag to promote the interview. It's about Buddie. They didn't say Ryliver. They said Buddie. Oliver and Ryan have always been so careful about how they engage with Buddie fandom content specifically to avoid the baiting accusations, and they were correct to do that, but ABC has told them to embrace it. ABC has taken the training wheels off and are going to let their chemistry do its natural thing. You don't do that if the end goal is not to put the two characters together. At minimum the season is ending with a really significant Buddie hint. That is the only explanation for a thirst tweet interview. It would be asinine to do it under any other circumstances. I'm sorry you let Lou and a person who named themselves after cheese trick you into believing something else was going on here, but it's not. The level of Buddie exposure ABC is doing is a game changer and it's happening for a reason.

Thank you Nonny! Much appreciated!!!

Yeah, this ask was just insane. Why on Earth would two actors who play a heavily shipped pairing on a TV-show do promos for another less popular ship????

Wouldn't they just have the actors of the less popular ship do promo to expose them to the public? Make sure that people understand where this is going????

What kind of mind gymnastics do you have to do to reach a conclusion like this? I don't understand this.

Anyway...

Buddie is happening. Deal with it. 🤷‍♀️🤗

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