#people using the reasonable part of their brains

[mistymisfit]

Can you please make an AK jason a-z nsfw alphabet please. The jason one was so good ❤️🎀

Sorry this took so long 😭😭😭and tysm, i actually didn't think about writing an ak!jason version of this but really enjoyed it (once i got over my writer's block) I think all of them are GN, if not lmk and I'll edit it. Mentions of size difference in point X (i think). original version Minors and blank blogs DNI!!

Dirty A-Z headcanon game  

Btw these are all personal headcanons !!! And AK!Jason is waaaay more traumatized than comic Jason. Keep in mind that these are written thinking that reader's a civilian and there's a previous relationship to him being kidnapped as I don't see him trusting anyone new, or if he does, it takes him quite a long time to get to the point of sleeping with them.

A - Alone time (how do they get off when they’re all by themselves? do they watch porn, is it all in their imagination, do they jerk off, do they use toys?)

Let's start by saying this man has a lot of issues with intimacy and sexuality. He thinks those parts of himself are rotten, until he reunites with you. So if he does it's mostly to relieve stress or to chase the dopamine the brain releases, to feel good for at least a moment.

B - Bondage (do they like it? do they not? do they prefer to be the one being tied or the one doing the tying?)

Not to repeat myself, but there's absolutely no way in a million years he's letting himself be tied up. I don't hc him as being a "I suffered so you have to suffer to" with a romantic partner (Batman can go to hell idc) so his feelings on tying you up are pretty much the same, he went through a lot with joker so the sight would only bring back bad memories. After all, he still loves you, even if his way of showing it changed drastically when he came back.

C - Crying (is it a turn on? a turn off? do they cry during sex? have they cried during sex? what was the reason?)

There's no way he isn't crying-- and trying to hide it too. There's a lot of tears involved the first time you do it, what gets him to cry is how soft and gentle you are with him. You reassure him that you love him, you missed him, and that none of that should've happened to him. Your kindness is so foreign to him that he doesn't know what to do with himself, and when you kiss his tears away with your soft lips going over his marked cheek, he shortcuts. He equally wants you to stop and to keep being this gentle, he feels so conflicted that his quiet tears turn into full on sobbing on your shoulder. You were not surprised, in fact, you actually expected him to break down the first few times you got intimate.

D - Dominance (do they prefer to dominate, or be dominated? do they have experience as a Dom? Do they have a Dom that they trust already? What kind of things do they enjoy as/with their Dominant partner?)

He's had no control of his life for years, first following around Batman's orders, trying to be the perfect Robin. Then under Joker's torture. He's lost enough agency and control over his own body that I don't see him giving up any more of it. The most he can do is let you go on top, and even then, he's got a bruising hold on your hips.

E - Extra info (any other fetishes? feet? leather? role playing? blood? fantasies that they might want to experience not on this list?)

He gets a little jealous sometimes, not of other people looking or wanting your attention but of you. Jealous that you got to live a normal life, that your world kept spinning after he was gone. He gets rougher with you on those nights, trying to take out some of his anger.

Manhandling! He gets extra turned on to see how easily he can throw you around, and how much you trust him to not hurt you while doing it.

F - Food play (do they like using food in the bedroom? are there any foods they prefer to use during sex or foreplay? any they’d like to try?)

He's got a lot of hard nos, but I think this one is more of a soft no to him. You could ease him into it if you tried, but after being fed rotten and poisoned food, his relationship with food was severely scared as well. Mixing two things that stress him out (food and sex) is not a good combination. HOWEVER, as he gradually heals, he could let you convince him. In his mind the equation would be something like this: reader= safe so food+ reader= must be safe.

G - Group sex (would they have a threeway? four? an orgy? do they put on a show for spectators? or do they like to keep it just between them and their partner?)

Bro can't even look at himself in the mirror, and barely ever lets you look at his body (see point L). There's no way he's getting more people in the mix, he's got enough worrying about handling his intimacy issues with you. Besides, he said in the Arkham Knight genesis comic he does not share.

H - Humiliation (does degradation and insults get them hot? do they get off on humiliating someone else? what kind of humiliation is good for them?)

Insults do not get him off, for obvious reasons. He's had enough humiliation under Joker's hands to last for five lifetimes. And like I mentioned before, he's not "I suffered so you have too". Yes, you do yell at each other and argue quite often, which ends with name calling from both ends. But that's different, sex is an entirely different thing for him. It's a demonstration of his trust in you, that he loves you even if he can't say it.

I - Impact play (here’s where talking about things like spanking, paddles, canes, floggers and the like.)

I don't think he'd be into it. His relationship with you is something sacred to him, it's perhaps the only thing he got back from his old life, and that's why I think he's so against hurting you. He wants to keep you as separated from the violent aspects of his life as he can so he can at least try to hold onto some sense of normalcy.

J - Jelly (what kind of lube are they using? is it flavored? have they tasted it? do they prefer to use something other than real lube during sex?)

K - Kissing (what parts of their body do they like having kissed? what parts of their partner do they enjoy kissing? do they like leaving marks / having marks left on them?)

Likes forehead kisses, and also likes when you kiss his marked cheek, it proves him you're not scared of him or that you don't think he's a failure. Looooves kissing over your pulse points, staying a little longer to feel your heartbeat under him.

L - Lighting (are the lights on? off? do they have some kind of mood lighting set up?)

Off, he doesn't want to see his scars, doesn't want you to see them either. If the lights are on, then he's keeping most of his clothes on.

M - Masochism (do they like pain? scratching? biting? being bossed around? spoken down to? choked?)

No to all of the above, for reasons previously mentioned. But he's into putting a hand around your neck, doesn't choke you but you definitely feel the heavy weight of his hand. Does not complain if you end up scratching his back tho, I think his pain tolerance got so high that he probably wouldn't even feel it.

N - Not yet (orgasm delay? orgasm denial? do they tell their partner not to touch themselves for a certain amount of time or under certain circumstances? do they delay or deny other things like bathroom usage or food? do they need to beg first? do they like being denied / delayed?)

Would deny himself without even realizing what he's doing. I think it'd be a kind of subconscious self punishment. He'd put off his orgasm in favor of you feeling good until you're overstimulated.

O - Outdoor sex (have they ever done it in public? would they? where?)

Sorry, he's too traumatized to expose himself to situations like this, next.

P - Photography (are cameras allowed in the bedroom? do they send nudes? do they ask for nudes? would they ever record themselves having sex / being caught up in a sexual act?)

Not even with 20 years of healing would he allow this. HOWEVER, I'm a sucker for the "his helmet has a recording option" hc. I think that would be the only way of allowing himself to record these moments since it's from his pov and only gets to see you and not himself.

Q - Quiet please (what’s the volume like in the bedroom? are they quiet? do they scream? do they like a loud partner? do they prefer if their partner is more soft spoken?)

Extremely quiet, like you wouldn't know he's feeling anything if it wasn't for his occasional grunt or shaky breath. He endured torture and was forced to keep quiet in fear of it getting worse if he screamed, so it doesn't come naturally to him.

R - Routine (do they have a routine when it comes to picking up one night stands? do they have scheduled sex with their partner? are things spontaneous or planned ahead of time?)

I think it all depends on how low his self esteem is that day, and how intense his need for closeness and love is. At first, you never initiated it, too afraid to trigger him or make him uncomfortable, but he does not know how to say that he likes it when you seek him out first. He feels wanted, loved, and eventually you pick up on it.

S - Sleepy sex (do they give oral to wake their partner up? do they like receiving oral to wake up? do they like fucking their partner awake? being fucked awake? how about being fucked to sleep at night? do they have lazy morning sex?)

You know what... hell yeah...

He was already awake when you turned around in bed, he sighed a low morning with a raspy voice, and you responded by pressing a kiss to his lips. Neither of you knew how it turned into having a hand under each other's pants and then you giggling as he lazily thrusts into you. There's a lot of skin to skin contact, and the room is dark enough for him to feel comfortable taking all of his clothes off. He's still sleepy enough to let a little "i love you" out while you hold him in your arms.

T - Top or bottom (self explanatory…)

U - Underwear (what kind of underwear do they put on in the morning, if any at all… do they own any sexy underwear or lingerie?)

Jason truly does not care, he's got bigger problems and things to carry about lol. But you did jokingly ask him to buy you a cute set in his favorite color so you'd wear it for him, and while you didn't expect him to follow through, he did. You did hold up your part of the deal.

V - Voyeurism (do they like to watch, or are they more hands on? are they more of an exhibitionist?)

Has stalked you before reuniting with you, so he's definitely seen you take care of yourself, he probably feels ashamed of watching you like that, or watching you get dressed, but he'd never tell you about that. In terms of exhibitionism, the most he'd do is fuck you while the men he assigned to watch over you are outside the apartment you were in.

W - Water (pool sex? bath / shower sex? are they into watersports at all?)

I do think in my heart this man would benefit so much from some soft bath sex. Dim lights and a few candles lit nearby. He feels the ache in muscles fade a little, and he lets himself enjoy the intimacy of it. He'd melt at your hands washing his hair and the grime from his body, and then ofc you riding him lol.

X - X-dressing (do they crossdress as a part of teasing / foreplay? does crossdressing turn them on? turn their partner on? do they prefer to do it or watch their partner crossdress instead? do they use other costumes? cat ears, tails, etc?)

His helmet lowkey has cat ears... which could mean nothing...

Not crossdressing again but, the first few nights he took you with him and didn't give you time to bring much of your things so you had to sleep with one of his undershirts. You decided to ditch the pants since they were too big and uncomfortable. He stopped by to see you, and you stood rubbing your eyes on the door frame of your bedroom. A soft "Jay? is that you?" left your lips, and his eyes wandered over your figure. You were rubbing your eyes with one hand while the other pulled down the hem of the shirt for more coverage.

He was oddly relieved to find out he could still get hard that easily.

Y - Yes, Master (what kinds of names are used during sex? do they like being called master / mistress, daddy, etc…? what names do they call their partner?)

If you had any nicknames at all before he was kidnapped, you'd strictly call each other that during these moments. He's doing everything he can to grab onto that nostalgia from a time when it was simpler, when your relationship was simple. You didn't need to jump through hoops to understand him, and he could tell you what he felt and wanted. The familiarity helps the gears on his brain turn slower, he even feels time moves slower with you sometimes.

Z - Zones (what are their erogenous zones? what spots on their body should be touched, bitten, kissed, when someone wants to get them in the mood?)

Most of his body is covered almost all the time, so if you took one of his gloves off, or pulled his clothes to uncover some skin so you could kiss it, he'd die on the spot. What do you mean you want to see him? That you only want to kiss his skin, no matter how scarred or broken? You think he's worth kissing no matter what, and you mean that.

[softsunnyy]

unhealthy obsession, he enters your bedroom, you feel like you're going crazy (pretty close), masturbation, obsessive and dirty thoughts. This is pure obsessive without much sense, but i like to think about how a simple crush can lead two people to desire each other in this way 🚨🚨 kinda pt.2?

i keep thinking about Quinn, about his obsession with you, which is completely mutual. And i think about the looks, the thoughts, how both of them want to be patient, but i feel like it won't take long, because even though Quinn is normally a patient man, when it comes to you, his world crumbles, and he begins to become irrational, impulsive, and destructive. The desire to possess you is a thousand times stronger than his conscience demanding control.

he easily figures out how to break into your bedroom, which is alarming, but he'll behave himself; he only does it to learn more about you, to know how to approach you properly.

he's also memorized your schedule, so don't be surprised by the number of hours he spends in your room, reading your books, learning your tastes, leaving his scent in every part of the place, so that when you arrive, you feel like you're going crazy, as it has been doing for the past few weeks.

and so it is, your mind becoming more and more dangerous; more and more lost. You feel your pillow smell like him, and you use it to rub your soaked pussy, getting even as if that will erase his face from your mind. You see your books moved, and when you look through them you see that the most intense pages are marked clumsily, as if someone wanted to give you a message.

and today? today you saw him in a game, and for a moment, when his eyes fell on you just after he scored a goal, you felt that maybe you weren't completely crazy. Although perhaps that should have been the sign that you were about to lose your mind, letting yourself be hunted by him.

you began to question if he had something to do with it, if he knows.

oh god, he definitely knows.

for some reason, it doesn't alarm you, it doesn't embarrass you, but rather it makes you feel excited. The idea of ​​being chased, of him obsessing over you as much as you are over him drives you crazy, and you want it to be true. You want him to know that you know his secret, so you deliberately start putting on a show for him, and you leave those panties you wore that day on your bed, still stained, smelling of your arousal caused by him and his eyes, his hands, his presence.

so when Quinn comes back in he's clearly shocked, and his brain is melting thinking about the possibilities.

this has to be on purpose, right? this has to be, because you've surely realized it already, because you surely want him to do something about it.

and even if it was hasty, even if it was impulsive and idiotic, he knows you want him, and he knows you're smart, that you must be putting the pieces together and trying not to go really crazy, convincing yourself that he's really entering your safe place. So he decides to act, lying down on your bed like all the other times, but stripping off his pants and underwear, freeing his cock, which was slowly waking up to what he was about to do.

his little whore, his sweet and pretty girl, this was intentional, he knows it. He's learned to read you, to know what you like, how you think.

he wrapped your panties around his cock and began to masturbate while remembering how beautiful you looked at the game, watching him, cheering for him and only him. His hand moves faster when he remembers your excited face when he looked at you, when he gave you hope, and he groans, blinded by pleasure, when he remembers that today you were a little braver, and you wore that jersey they gave to fans with each player's number on it.

you were obviously wearing his, and just thinking about it makes him feel like he might come, so he moves his hand hard, squeezing, trying to imagine how good it must feel to push inside you, forcing his way between your walls, which must surely be tight, waiting for him, but soaked enough to make it easy to slide in.

he can imagine your moans, the way the drool stains your chin and your eyes roll white, taking his entire cock and begging him to be gentler, to go slower, so that in the end he'll do the exact opposite, torturing you, melting your brain, killing any coherent thought, making you only want him.

he doesn't even realize the moment he cums, staining your panties with his fluids. He keeps going, overstimulating himself, making his body tremble as he keeps thinking about you, about everything he can do to you, all the ways he can have you.

he doesn't even stop to think that his plan was ruined, that he skipped steps he can't erase now, because with this, you'll know everything, and closeness will be inevitable.

it's when he cums a second time that he reacts, and with some panic, he leaves the scene, leaving your stained and soaked panties on your pillow. The damage is done.

however, when you return to your room and find the scene, you smile, thinking about the camera you just bought, and the plan you want to carry out. You can play too, and you will. But now you must take care of your needs, so you take your panties, disgustingly licking the remnants of his cum, tasting it. And you can't even be mad at him for ruining your panties, because doing so only gave you the green light to start what you wanted so badly.

so the next time he went to your room, he found another gift. This time it was a memory card from a camera lying next to it. When he inserted it, he found a marvel. It was a video of you, touching yourself, moaning for him, and showing him how your fingers thrust in and out of your hole, moving faster and faster as your face twists in an expression of pure pleasure.

he starts touching himself through his clothes, but everything in his mind shuts down when he hears it. You moaned his name at the very moment you came, glancing briefly at the camera, giving him the full show.

oh, what did you do?

now he'll have to wait for you, sitting on your bed, holding back the urge to touch himself, but replaying the video, driving himself crazy, wishing you'd walk through that door so he could destroy you and stop playing games.

his little hunt is about to end, but he's not mad about it.

you, on the other hand, need to prepare yourself, because he won't have mercy on you, not after that.

[zcmbiegirl]

⋆.˚ ★—  "bad idea, right?"

☥ / percy jackson x mean!ex!reader

It starts with a text.

[1:14AM]

you up?

Percy stares at the screen like it’s cursed. Like if he taps the bubble, it might explode in his face. Because you? Texting him first?

That’s how people end up drowning—literally and emotionally.

He’s halfway through deleting the message when it buzzes again.

[1:15AM]

you forgot your hoodie. the blue one. smells like you.

Okay, that was evil. You knew what you were doing. That hoodie might as well be laced with ambrosia and nostalgia. He wore it on your third date. You stole it the morning after your first kiss. It’s stupid how much he misses it. How much he misses you.

But you’re bad for him. Annabeth said it. Grover agreed. Even Chiron gave him a look once like, “Dude. Really?”

You were…a little cruel. Not in a cackling-villain kind of way. Just sharp. Distant. Dismissive in that I-don’t-need-anyone-but-somehow-you’re-still-here way. You’d make fun of the way he worried too much. Roll your eyes when he brought you surprise coffees. Kiss him hard and fast and then vanish like smoke.

And gods, he loved you. Probably still does. Definitely still does.

So yeah, he’s not exactly thinking with his brain when he sends back:

[1:17AM]

can I come get it?

⸻

[1:53AM]

It’s raining. Of course it’s raining.

He’s at your door, hoodie clinging to him like second skin, knuckles hovering just before he knocks. He shouldn’t be here. He knows that. This is a bad idea.

You open the door before he can even touch it.

You’re wearing his hoodie. Smirking like you knew he’d come.

“Missed me that much?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, stepping inside.

But the second the door closes, it’s like being pulled under. Your perfume hits him first—sweet and dangerous. Then your eyes. That look. Like you’re bored and amused and maybe a little pleased.

“This is a bad idea,” he says, because someone in this room needs to say it.

“Totally,” you reply, tugging the hoodie off slowly, teasingly, revealing the tank top underneath that definitely wasn’t there by accident. “Wanna stay anyway?”

He swallows hard. “No.”

You raise a brow. “Liar.”

You’re close enough now that he can hear your heartbeat—or maybe it’s his own. Everything about you is sharp and familiar. Your voice, your laugh, the way you always smell like stormy nights and vanilla chapstick. The way you used to twist your fingers in his hair when you were pretending not to care.

“Percy,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes, “you’re soaking wet.”

“Didn’t have time to change,” he says stupidly, like that’s what matters right now.

Your hand brushes his. “I still dream about you, you know.”

It’s a trap. A loaded sentence dressed up like a confession.

He leans in anyway.

Because you’re not good for him. Because he should run. Because he left for a reason.

But the way you kiss him feels like gravity. And maybe he’s not strong enough to fight it tonight.

⸻

[3:04AM]

He lies next to you in the dark, eyes wide open, heart cracked open.

You’re asleep—or pretending to be. You always hated saying goodbye.

And he can already feel it. That sting of regret. That whisper of I told you so from the back of his mind. From Annabeth’s voice. From the part of him that knows this was reckless, dangerous, stupid.

But your fingers twitch in your sleep, curling into his.

And he lets them.

Just for tonight.

⸻

End.

(But it’s never really the end with you two, is it?)

nemmi yaps . . ! / hope u guys liked it, this is my first one shot so hopefully it’s not too bad !! i love uu <3

[familiarscars]

drive you insane | noah sebastian | 10

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. noah sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. a mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships.

"How did the lady spend the night?" He asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. Rune was on the other side of the table, wearing a dark blue sweater, his hair holding his glasses in place as it had grown longer, falling over his face. "Did you manage to sleep easily?"

He placed his hands on the table, fingers closing around a black pen. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus back on his face. Travis was calm, speaking slowly—like a psychiatrist.

"Is it just me, or am I in the middle of a session?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"In a short period of time, you saw two dead people, and one of them committed suicide right in front of you. That’s something worth monitoring. I'm not offering you assistance as a doctor, but support as a friend." He sounded sincere.

"It’s just that…" You hesitated, rubbing your fingers together. "It just seems like this concern certainly came from Dr. Steve because he suspects me again."

Rune took a deep breath, sliding back slightly in his chair, adopting a more relaxed posture. His fingers kept fiddling with the pen, making an irritating sound as the tip clicked against the table. Your night had been terrible—too many events to process in sequence, not to mention the excruciating muscle pain from your adventure in the Hidden.

"Elias was a patient with a high risk of suicide for months. He was under constant monitoring, even when he went to the bathroom for basic needs. There’s no reason to suspect you, Doctor. You just had the unfortunate luck of being in the wrong place and witnessing it." Rune said patiently. "Are you feeling guilty in any way?"

"No. Not at all." You shook your head. "I had recently accessed Elias’ records, and it shocked me to learn that he was a fellow professional who met such an end."

"None of us are immune."

"You always seem so sure of yourself, Dr. Rune. As if you were immune to Grimshade’s contagious air."

He smirked, just slightly.

"That’s just your impression," he dismissed with a casual wave of his hand, as if it didn’t matter. "I don’t believe in legends—especially the ones that reinforce the stereotype of psychiatrists going insane when exposed to places like this. Elias already had an undiagnosed psychotic tendency, and the pressure from work, among other factors, triggered a crisis."

Travis had a way of being didactic, speaking with the conviction and clarity of a university professor. Explaining something, no matter how complex, came easily to him.

"I understand perfectly, Dr. Rune, but I find it shocking that I was hired for a position without knowing who held it before me. It’s as if his life didn’t matter."

"Dr. Steve must have had his reasons, and that likely means he treated Elias as just another patient after his admission. He didn’t see the need to bring up that detail with you."

Detail.

To them, it was just a detail.

"Aren’t you hot?" he asked, gesturing toward you with his chin.

Your gaze flickered downward. You were wearing a thick, high-neck sweater, hugging your own arms with a restless grip. You were trying to hide the terrible number of bruises decorating your body—ranging from knife marks to deep purple contusions.

You had definitely lost your mind the night before, and a good part of your current disorientation had little to do with Elias’ suicide and everything to do with the memories Noah had carved into your brain with the tip of a blade.

Impossible to forget.

"Am I free to go? I have a schedule to follow, and I recall you complaining about leaving some patients hanging these past few days."

"This isn’t a session, Doctor. I truly just wanted to know how you were."

You stood up promptly, as if the train was about to depart and you were running late—or as if the chair itself housed a colony of ants ready to crawl up your legs.

Unintentionally, you exposed a bit of your wrist when your sleeve shifted, and Rune caught sight of the laceration on your skin—the one left by the chains.

His blue eyes slowly traveled up to meet yours, and you swallowed hard.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you."

You finally said, leaving the room.

Mariene’s voice was a constant buzz in your head, a muffled noise that faded in and out, like someone twisting the tuning knob of a faulty radio station.

“She gave me a dirty look, doctor. Like she’s better than me, but everyone knows that bitch is just as filthy as anyone else in here. I just spoke some truths, and she came at me, thinking she could threaten me. But I’m not afraid of her! You get me, right? I just…”

Her words brushed against you, but they didn’t sink in.

Your gaze was fixed on the window.

Outside, in Grimshade’s garden, Noah was crouched down, his fingers buried in the damp earth. The dark fabric of his pants grazed against the dirty ground, and the unruly strands of his hair fell over his face, hiding part of his expression. He moved slowly, as if he were digging, carefully pulling up bits of soil with an almost reverent touch.

What was he looking for?

Your stomach clenched in discomfort, and for a moment, a cold sensation slithered down your spine.

“Doctor?!”

Mariene’s voice snapped you back, your eyes shifting abruptly to her.

She narrowed her gaze, her face tightening with suspicion.

“You’re not even listening, are you?”

You forced a brief smile, picked up your pen, and scribbled something random onto the file.

“Of course I am, Mariene. Go on.”

She muttered something under her breath and resumed her speech, her voice once again becoming background noise.

You glanced at the window once more.

But Noah was no longer there.

The soil where he had been digging was still disturbed, marked by the traces of his fingers.

But him?

He had vanished.

“Can you pay attention to what I’m saying? When my sessions were with Dr. Rune, at least he pretended to be interested in what I had to say!”

Mariene’s voice had a shrill quality that grated on your ears, especially when she forced it for attention. She spoke in rushed, overlapping words, and the melancholy from the last group therapy session had given way to a concerning euphoria.

“I’m not only listening to what you’re saying, but I also noticed how agitated you are just by the tone of your voice. That shouldn’t be happening with someone on your type of medication.”

“I asked Dr. Rune to lower my dosage, and he allowed it.”

She said it with a puffed-up chest, as if she were in control and you were the subordinate. Heat rose to your cheeks, and a sharp anger churned in your empty stomach.

“Under what authorization? I am your psychiatrist!”

“You were too busy when he took over your patients, weren’t you?” Mariene taunted, her voice laced with challenge. “Or rather, you were so busy you didn’t even show up to our last session and have no idea what’s going on with me!”

Exhaustion and hunger gnawed at the last shreds of your patience. Without thinking, your hand slammed against the desk with force, making Mariene flinch.

“Enough!” Your voice was firm, cutting. “I will not tolerate that tone with me, not when I’m the authority here and you are the patient! I know exactly what’s going on with you, Mariene! I know you felt confident enough with Dr. Rune to mimic this hostile, arrogant stance, but I won’t accept that kind of defiance in my own office! And I will not allow you to question my methods. That is for me and me alone to decide. Understood?”

The words came out fast, sharp. You needed a moment to catch your breath while Mariene remained silent.

“Now, can we get back to our session?” you asked calmly, flashing a smile.

Mariene’s silence weighed down the office like a shadow.

Your chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

You tried to focus on her features, but Mariene’s face seemed… unstable. As if her skin was vibrating, her contours shifting imperceptibly, like a wet painting being dragged by invisible fingers.

Your stomach churned. You blinked, your eyes burned. When you looked again, Mariene was no longer there.

In her place, something deformed stood, its neck stretching unnaturally, its features melting like hot wax dripping from a skull. Its eyes sank into the sockets, now black voids without end. The mouth opened too wide, jagged shards of teeth sprouting where gums once were, a wet, sticky sound escaping its twisted throat.

A visceral shiver tore down your spine. You stood up so fast the chair toppled over. The creature tilted its head to the side, bones cracking with a dry, sickening pop.

“Doctor…”

The voice was no longer human. It was dragged, cavernous, an echo of a thousand voices speaking at once.

And then it moved.

Towards you.

Instinct screamed before your mind could rationalize.

It’s going to devour you.

Your body acted before your thoughts. You threw yourself backward, slamming into the desk, knocking over stacks of papers that scattered across the floor. The air thickened, the entire room seemed to tremble around you.

“Stay away from me!” Your own voice came out in a hoarse, desperate scream. But it kept coming. You felt something creeping over your skin. A cold, sticky touch.

It was on you.

You started scratching. Your nails dug into your own flesh, trying to rip it out.

The scream tore through your throat.

Out. Out. Out.

You flung yourself against the wall, trying to crush whatever was spreading inside you, writhing, suffocating.

And then—

The door burst open.

Guards stormed into the room.

The world spun.

Your chest rose and fell in chaotic bursts, your nails still embedded in your own skin. You felt firm hands gripping your arms, but you couldn’t stop thrashing. Mariene’s frantic eyes met yours. She was on the floor, cornered against the wall, her body curled up like a frightened animal.

And she was screaming.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING! YOU’RE CRAZY! YOU SAW SOMETHING THAT WASN’T THERE!”

Her voice rang inside your skull like a bell. Your body trembled, your lungs begged for air. The room was spinning.

You heard the guards murmuring, a distant hum. Someone dragged Mariene away, and the last thing you saw was her face twisting in panic as she screamed, thrashing uselessly against the arms that held her.

“YOU’RE JUST LIKE THEM! JUST LIKE THEM!”

The door slammed shut.

And then, silence.

You realized you were shaking from head to toe.

The bitter taste of bile burned your throat.

Your eyes drifted slowly across the office. The toppled chair. The scattered papers.

“Take her to the pit,” Rune ordered the guards before stepping closer. “Are you alright?”

You flinched at first, until you checked his face and made sure of who he was—the man trying to touch your face.

“She attacked you? Shit. Shit,” he muttered, tilting your chin from side to side. “In her last sessions, I offered to gradually lower her medication, and I messed up by doing that. I apologize.”

You locked eyes with Dr. Rune’s distressed gaze for a few seconds—he truly believed Mariene had done this, and her condition made that version easier to accept. You hated lying, but if you told him what had really happened, he would hardly believe you were being affected by the supposed curse on Grimshade’s grounds.

Rune already doubted your sanity; you couldn’t afford to give him more reason now.

You were not Grimshade.

Noah was wrong.

A sudden surge of anger made you yank his hand away from your skin.

“I’m glad you recognize your terribly amateur conduct, Dr. Rune. Next time you interfere with the treatment of a patient whose records belong to me, I will report you to Dr. Steven. I hope you’re satisfied with the outcome of your ridiculous experiment!”

You spat the words and struck his arm before walking away.

You were definitely not going crazy.

You were not going crazy.

You were not going crazy.

You were not going crazy.

You were not going crazy.

You were not—

A sudden need to understand where the hell your feet were planted surged within you—one that should have unsettled your mind long before you threw yourself headfirst into the troubles of Blackridge and Grimshade Asylum.

What was this island, and why did Noah speak about it in that way, despite it being his home since birth? Why did he have such an aversion to his own house that he preferred to stay in this place? Why did he choose to remain in an asylum he openly admitted could drain the sanity of even the most lucid creature that set foot there?

Who were the Blackridge family, and why were they worse than a stay in the dreaded Grimshade?

There was no better way to explore the region than with another walk through the city.

The city looked like a forgotten Victorian painting.

Narrow cobbled streets, old architecture with steep rooftops and arched windows. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the woody aroma of spices and burning incense.

You walked among the market stalls, where raised voices blended with the sharp clinking of coins exchanging hands. Vendors competed for the attention of passersby, offering vibrantly colored fruits, cuts of meat displayed on wooden tables, aged cheeses, and embroidered fabrics adorned with arcane symbols.

Nearby, a group of gypsy women danced to the scratchy sound of a violin. The shimmer of their colorful skirts rippled through the air, the bells on their ankles jingling with every movement.

There was something peculiar in the air. A disturbing sensation, as if you were being watched.

You turned a corner into a narrow alleyway, but before you could react, a bony hand gripped your wrist firmly.

"You."

The voice was rough, scraped by time.

The woman before you had dull, faded blue eyes and skin etched with deep wrinkles, like ancient parchment. Her fingers were thin as dry branches, adorned with darkened silver rings. The scent of sandalwood and damp earth wafted from her dark robes, which swayed lightly in the wind.

“Let me see your hand.”

You instinctively yanked your arm back.

"I don't believe in these things."

She smiled, revealing yellowed, crooked teeth.

"You don't need to believe for it to be real."

Before you could step away, she seized your hand by force.

A shiver ripped down your spine.

Time seemed to slow.

Her fingers traced the lines on your palm, eyes narrowing as if trying to see beyond the visible. For a moment, the noise of the market vanished, the entire world reduced to the icy touch of that woman.

Then, her face twisted into a strange grimace.

Her skin seemed to pale, and her lips parted as if to say something—but she only took a sharp breath, abruptly releasing your hand.

You felt unbearable tension in the air.

"What is it?" Your own voice trembled.

The old woman simply stared at you. The cloudy blue of her eyes seemed… distressed.

She leaned in a little closer and, in a whisper as sharp as shattered glass, said only one thing:

"You need to wake up."

And then, without waiting for a response, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

You stood frozen, your heart hammering in your chest.

The cold of her touch still felt imprinted on your skin.

You shook your head, scattering the thought and its insignificance. You hardly cared about predictions of the future. Nothing unproven by science had the power to convince you of anything.

Back on the other side of the market, you wandered past the stalls, observing how, despite their rich culture reflected in the creativity of their arts, the people were humble and struggled to get by with the little money they had, given the high cost of food. There were no factories or businesses providing jobs for the population, making it impossible for them to prioritize anything beyond survival.

They lived in absolute misery, one they felt compelled to disguise in a manner you found almost grotesque—decorating the city, sculpting, dancing, drinking, and ignoring the harsh reality. But you could still see the cracks along the edges.

"Would you like an apple, miss?" a quiet voice asked.

You turned and came face to face with a child, his face smudged with dirt, holding a bright red apple in his small hand.

"Thank you." You accepted it, placing a bill back in his palm. "How old are you?"

"I'm eight," he said excitedly, tucking the money into a tattered box beside him.

"It must be fun working at the market… I guess," your voice nearly faltered at the ridiculous remark. "But you should be in school."

The boy let out a brief laugh.

"Mom said school is for rich people. They can read and write too. It must be fun." He shrugged, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "You look like someone who went to one."

You took a deep breath, looking away for a moment.

"Yes… I did."

"That's amazing!" He smiled.

Entire generations of those people had grown used to that miserable life—yet they were still grateful for it.

"Do you like living here? In Blackridge?"

"Why wouldn't I?" He frowned, confused. "We have food, clean water… Mom and Dad know how to make good potions when we get sick. The Blackridges always let us keep the leftovers from the banquets in that huge mansion. We're excited for the wedding…"

His voice carried genuine excitement, but you felt your stomach turn.

"There will be a lot of good things left over."

"I imagine so…" you murmured, feeling the weight of those words.

The boy, however, quickly got distracted, waving at a middle-aged woman approaching, eyeing the fruit with a critical look.

"Hey, Fiona! How are you?"

She didn't reply immediately, just scanned what was for sale.

"We set aside the best for you today," the boy continued enthusiastically. "I hope Mr. Blackridge approves."

The name made your body tense instantly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you studied the woman: long hair tied in a low bun, an entirely black uniform, pale—almost sickly—skin, and an expression of someone who could faint at any moment.

A servant of the island’s owners.

"I hope so," the woman muttered in a harsh voice. "Lately, they've only been sending me garbage."

She picked up a few fruits, dividing the bags between her arms, and left without looking back. You flashed a quick smile at the boy before following Fiona at a slow pace. There was no plan in mind—just curiosity about how far this would go. But above all, you needed to find a way to get close to the grumpy old woman.

Fiona didn't stop at any other stall, and you realized there were no natural opportunities to start a conversation. Unless…

"Oh, damn… I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that," you murmured in a falsely regretful tone, bending down to pick up the bags that had accidentally fallen.

"Leave that, girl," she snapped immediately, curt. "My employers inspect everything that comes from outside before touching it. They wouldn’t eat anything bruised."

"Well… I can go back and pick new ones for you."

"Don't waste your time," Fiona retorted, her eyes analyzing you with veiled suspicion.

"Sorry for the approach, I was heading to Blackridge Manor…" you improvised, scanning the surroundings for inspiration. "My friend didn't give me the right address, I think I got lost. Could you help me find the trail back?"

Her brow furrowed, and an unpleasant knot formed in your stomach.

"You know Miss Cianan?" Fiona asked, clearly suspicious.

"We're college friends," you said, shrugging. "I wanted to congratulate her on the wedding."

"That's strange…"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

What a terrible excuse.

"I know all of Miss Cianan’s friends… and as familiar as you look, I don't remember ever seeing your face."

"Understandable," you replied, keeping your composure. "But you can call her now and ask if you want. I just don't think she'd be too happy to find out I'm going through this kind of situation. We're pretty close."

Fiona cleared her throat, maintaining her rigid posture before abruptly turning away.

"Let's go."

You feigned a subtle smile and followed her, trying to appear as natural as possible. Each step echoed in your mind like a countdown to the moment Fiona might realize your lie.

The woman walked with mechanical precision, her body upright as if carrying an invisible burden beyond the bags. No hesitation, no glances back. Only the sound of hard shoes against the stone ground.

You analyzed every detail about her, searching for any clue that might reveal more about her position within the Blackridge mansion.

When they finally turned a corner and moved away from the bustling market, Fiona spoke without taking her eyes off the path: "If Mr. Blackridge finds out I brought a stranger in without informing him, he'll blame me for it."

You kept your expression calm. "He won't."

Fiona let out a dry sound, almost a humorless laugh.

When the mansion gates appeared ahead, a shiver ran down your spine. They were immense, made of black iron, adorned with intricate arabesques resembling sharp claws. At the top, two raven statues watched over the entrance, as if they were sentinels of an ancient secret. Fiona extended her hand and pushed the gates open, their slow creaking sound protesting against your presence.

The garden revealed itself as a private kingdom of melancholic beauty. Dark roses and lilacs grew in untamed flower beds, among gothic statues of angels with tragic expressions and stone gargoyles covered in moss. Mist crawled over the ground like pale fingers, enveloping dry trunks and marble fountains worn by time. In the center of the garden, an ancient fountain lay empty, its sculpture of a hooded woman leaning over the edge, as if mourning something lost centuries ago.

The mansion was not just a home—it was a castle ripped from another era and transplanted into modernity. Its pointed towers defied the sky, its arched windows reflected the few remnants of light escaping the mist. The façade was of dark stone, almost black, as if time had tried to consume it but failed. There was grandeur in the structure, but also a coldness, a silent warning that this place did not belong to the present.

"It's more... beautiful than I imagined," you murmured, looking at the tall windows, where heavy velvet curtains remained drawn.

You climbed the stone staircase leading to the main entrance. The marble floor was damp from the drizzle, and each step felt like an invitation to another world. The door was a masterpiece—solid wood, carved with ancient symbols you didn’t recognize, flanked by two lit torches. The flames flickered in the wind, casting dancing shadows into the darkness.

As soon as you approached, the door creaked open on its own, revealing a long corridor illuminated by candelabras and crystal chandeliers. The air inside was dense, filled with the ancient scent of aged wood and burning candles.

Crossing the threshold, you felt as though you had stepped through an invisible border. As if, from that moment on, nothing outside existed anymore.

"Miss Cianan is not home, and you'll have to wait if you want to see her," Fiona said while adjusting a flower vase at the center of a small table. "Or you can return another time and leave a message. If you're college friends, I recommend finding her on campus. The Blackridges don’t like to receive... visitors."

In reality, Mr. Blackridge didn’t like to receive visitors, but why? You ignored that subtle detail, the one where the maid made her burning fear of her master obvious, since you weren’t there for the girl. Fiona seemed far more interesting.

"Have you worked here for a long time?" Your question came out as innocently as possible, and she glanced at you from the side.

"Yes. I've watched them all grow up. My employers never liked the children getting close to the staff, but they ignored it."

Direct and precise.

"You must have a special fondness for them... it's normal when you spend so much time with children." Your voice held a neutral interest, and she didn’t seem to notice.

"Yes, I started working here when I was very young, and they were like dolls to a teenager." She gave a straight smile as she continued down the corridor, and you followed. "My employers were rarely home, and I grew attached to the children. I brushed their teeth, put them to bed, and knew every allergy and whim."

"Did you never have the chance to build a family beyond this one?"

"My work was always enough." She cut you off, and you felt it.

Fiona walked past the kitchen island and watched the staff work on what you assumed was dinner. There were many of them, moving with the urgency of a professional kitchen. It smelled good. Roasted chicken and potatoes.

The rigid-postured woman crossed the back door, and you followed her into a garden so vast it could easily be mistaken for a university campus. However, there was no sign of life there. No birds cut through the sky, no insects buzzed among the leaves—because there were no leaves. Everything was gray, dry, dead. The heavy scent in the air was reminiscent of a cemetery, as if that soil had housed more bodies than flowers.

With the evident closeness between her and the siblings, and the affectionate way she spoke of them—even with her voice laden with coldness—it was clear that her bond with the two was much stronger than any ties they had with their own parents.

"And they, without a doubt, became fond of you too..."

"They were well-mannered children, dedicated to their studies, disciplined... and they had generous hearts. It was impossible not to like them."

"I imagine... Cianan is an amazing girl, sweet... and she always speaks very highly of Noah. I mean, of the relationship they had before everything happened," you said, trying to sound natural.

Fiona let out a deep sigh but did not respond. She kept walking with her hands behind her back, crossing the silent garden. You followed her pace, observing the surroundings until you both entered through a glass door that led to an isolated wing of the mansion. The corridor was lined with doors and filled with the movement of employees coming and going. You frowned, intrigued, but continued following her without question.

Fiona stepped through one of the doors, revealing a small and simple room: a bed, a wardrobe with a few pieces of clothing, and nothing beyond the essentials. Without a word, she opened the wardrobe, took out a box, and sat on the bed, patting the mattress beside her in a silent invitation.

Hesitant, you sat next to her. There was something strange about her. Despite the cold demeanor, Fiona exuded a disconcerting familiarity… almost comforting. In a way, she was helping you, even if indirectly.

For a brief moment, you dared to think that Fiona was just a lonely person looking for someone to talk to. She seemed unaccustomed to being heard, and perhaps that was what intrigued her the most: for the first time, someone was showing a genuine interest in her life.

You watched her rummage through the box, the rustling of papers filling the room's silence. Fiona was focused, searching for something specific, her eyes fixed on the contents before her.

Then, unintentionally, your attention shifted to her wrists. The sleeves of her blouse slid up slightly as she moved, revealing the skin beneath. You blinked, surprised, feeling a strange chill run down your spine as you noticed the marks there.

You felt the blood freeze in your veins. The sight of the marks on Fiona's wrist made your stomach turn, as if the reality around you bent at an impossible angle. They were identical. The same shape. The same depth. As if someone had passed chains through them and tightened until they left a permanent reminder.

Fiona noticed your gaze and quickly pulled the sleeve down, hiding the scars beneath the thin fabric.

"Did you see something interesting?" she asked, her voice laden with an artificial calm, almost rehearsed.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your mind filled with questions that seemed to swallow one another. How did she have those marks? Why were they the same as yours? What did this mean?

Fiona resumed searching through the items in the box as if nothing had happened, but you could no longer focus on what she was doing. The environment around you seemed to change. The warmth of the candles became suffocating, the shadows in the room's corners stretched in a strange way, almost as if they were watching.

"Here it is!" She smirked slightly as she handed you a stack of photos. You flipped through them, running your finger over each one.

Photos of ordinary children, cute and smiling, doing childlike things.

Fiona let out a deep sigh before continuing, her expression heavy with distant memories.

"Noah was always a good boy," she repeated, as if reaffirming something to herself. "He had his rebellious side, of course—impulsive, mischievous like any boy his age—but in the end, he always returned to being the same sweet child. He had that angelic aura… quiet, observant. It always helped him get what he wanted. But above all, he wanted to help others, wanted lots of friends, wanted everyone to be okay..."

She smiled faintly, shaking her head as if laughing at a memory.

"He taught me how to read, just so I could tell him bedtime stories. Even when he was older, he still insisted on it."

The tenderness in her voice when she spoke of him contrasted with the weight in the air. You swallowed hard, feeling an uncomfortable knot form in your throat.

"The way you talk about him..." you hesitated before finishing. "It sounds like he's dead."

The softness vanished from Fiona's face, replaced by a cold and cutting expression.

"Because he is."

The silence was so heavy it seemed to compress the space around you.

"Dishonor is a grave sin," she said, firmly. "He dishonored his own family by defying what his father decided. He did that... with the girl..."

She didn’t need to finish the sentence for you to feel the weight of her words.

"I had to bring you here because I figured sooner or later, our conversation would get to him. But Noah’s name is forbidden in this house. My employers would rather speak the name of the devil than remember that he was once their son."

You felt a tightness in your chest, instinctively massaging the spot.

"That's terrible."

Fiona didn’t respond, she just looked away at the photos in the box, as if searching for something among them. You seized the opportunity to press on.

"On the other hand, Miss Cianan was always the complete opposite," Fiona commented, her voice heavy with nostalgia. "An angel. Good, with a pure heart and a clean soul. She was always simple, never knew anything bad in life... Poor girl."

You tilted your head slightly, observing her expression.

"She always said Noah was super protective of her."

Fiona sighed, diverting her gaze to the photos she was holding, as if looking for something that could support her memories.

"Yes," she murmured. "He protected her with an almost uncontrollable fury. Sometimes, it felt like he was the father and she was the daughter. Noah guarded Cianan like a true animal, fierce and impenetrable. That made them inseparable, as if they were one."

She paused, her fingertips gliding over one of the photos before continuing:

"Cianan never left his side, so I found it strange she came here. She never had many friends. Noah was always the center of everything in her life."

Then, with a hint of bitterness in her voice, she added:

"I dare say that even when Noah was upset, Cianan was the only one who came out unscathed."

Her fingers kept gliding over the photos, passing through birthdays, school games, the first baby tooth that fell, many meaningful moments, until they stopped on the last image. Her eyes widened slightly, trying to hide the surprise. Her finger traced the face of the child, recognizing every feature, all still the same.

"Unlike Julian..." she commented.

"Julian?" you repeated, your voice trembling.

"Yes, the eldest son," she replied. "He was always different from the other two, taller, more mature, and cold. He didn’t like physical contact, did everything on his own, and always isolated himself. Julian fit more with the Blackridge profile. He treated the staff as if they were inferior, was proud, selfish... didn’t even like eating with his siblings."

With every word, your chest tightened, and your vision began to blur, replacing the images of smiling children with colorful spots.

"I... I never heard of Julian," you said, frozen.

"We called him Julian, but his name is Travis," she confirmed.

The photos slipped from her fingers and fell into your lap.

"Travis Julian Blackridge Rune."

⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby ; @flowery-mess ; @youcanreadmy-mind ; @tikosblogg ; @gothic-pumpkin ; @badomensls ; @themorticians-world ;

[wncestnoir]

KISS CAM. the drabble no one asked for but here you go.

Dean loved baseball. The crack of the bat, the smell of overpriced stadium food, the cold beer in his hand—it was all part of the experience. Sam, predictably, was being a little bitch about it, sulking in his seat like he had something better to do.

Which, okay, maybe they did have actual work to focus on. The possible demon three rows down wasn’t going anywhere, but Dean had argued that keeping a low profile meant blending in. What better way to do that than kicking back and enjoying a game?

Then the music changed. The crowd cheered. Dean looked up—and froze.

Right there, on the stadium’s massive screen, were their own stupid faces, framed by a blinding pink heart with KISS CAM stamped over it like a goddamn brand.

Dean choked on his beer. “Oh, hell no.”

Sam’s groan was pure agony. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The crowd was loving this. People were whistling, laughing, egging them on. Someone behind them hollered, “Come on, fellas! Don’t leave us hanging!”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. This was bad. Not because of the kiss itself—hell, he’d done worse things for a case—but because this was Sam.

His brother.

And yet, when he glanced at Sam, all wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, the only thing worse than the sheer wrongness of the situation was the way his stomach did a weird little flip.

"Just shake your head," Sam muttered. "They’ll move on."

The crowd was already booing. People were pissed. Like they’d just insulted the sacred ritual of public make-outs or something. Dean could feel dozens of eyes on them. If they kept refusing, they’d stand out even more.

And, well… if there was one thing Dean Winchester hated, it was being the centre of attention when he didn’t wanna be.

“It’s one kiss,” he said, mostly to himself. “We walk outta here without a target on our backs. No big deal.”

Sam looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this moment. Dean wasn’t exactly thrilled either, but screw it—sometimes you had to take one for the team.

So he leaned in.

The second their lips met, the crowd erupted. It was supposed to be quick—just enough to get people off their backs. But then Sam’s mouth softened against his, his breath warm, and for some insane reason, Dean lingered.

His fingers bunched in Sam’s shirt before he could think better of it.

Sam didn’t pull away.

In fact, he—Jesus Christ—tilted his head, deepening it.

A bolt of heat shot through Dean’s spine, something too raw and too unexpected. He barely registered the roar of the crowd, the distant “Holy shit!” from someone too close. His focus narrowed to the way Sam tasted—familiar, but not, and why the hell did this feel good?

He made a noise before he could stop himself. Low, almost surprised. Sam gripped his arm, his fingers warm through Dean’s jacket, and shit.

Dean yanked himself back first.

His breath was coming too fast. His heart was doing something stupid in his chest. Sam looked just as wrecked—flushed, lips red and wet, staring at Dean like he was waiting for something else.

Dean swallowed hard.

“Well,” he said, his voice rough, “guess we’re committed now.”

And then, before his brain could catch up, he was pulling Sam in again.

To hell with the case.

______________________________________________________________

because i couldn't get the idea out of my head 😌 just a silly little something ig 😂

[ronearoundblindly]

Hello bestie! I was just thinking about how 'Superhero AU' isn't usually something the non-Steve CE Babes get to partake in. What do you think everyone's superpowers might be?

My mind is awash with possibilities, I can't wait to see what you come up with!

This. THIS was so unbelievably fun I could answer it in like 12 hours, wow. Honestly, I'm just sooooo glad you made this throwaway comment yesterday because my brain went brrrr and never quit! Love ya. Magical. No notes. And no warnings just fun!

James Mace - Mind Control

My beautiful, practical babe, bless. Mace is forever trying to choose the best, most efficient path forward, and he is endlessly irritated by people who argue with him or can't see that. If he could only tweak their mind to see his reasoning, everything would go a lot smoother and faster. Mace would love to have that control, and I truly think he would not abuse that power...much.

Curtis Everett - Super Strength

Curtis is keeping it simple--he'd like to pummel bad people. The end.

Sure, he can use unflagging, inhuman strength to help a lot, but the first and real goal is to stop those making terrible choices on behalf of those who cannot choose. Curtis has that violent side. He needs to let it out in a positive and beneficial way.

Jimmy Dobyne - Invisibility

He has a manually intensive job that doesn't require much intelligence, but I think Jimmy would love spying in a meaningful way. He's halfway there already, being invited to and blending in at upper crust parties, so why not gather up some info that can be used to stop those manipulative people from profiting off those like him, huh? There's a small part of this that is Jimmy simply not wishing to be seen sometimes, and every once in a while he'd like to not be found at 5am to start working. Let the man sleep in once or twice, jeez...

Johnny Storm - X-ray Vision

Ok, even I have to laugh at this one, but I also had to think about Johnny the longest! At first it hit me that maybe he'd still want to fly, but since he was already a pilot of all sorts, that might not be necessary. Then I considered he'd want to manipulate things like Sue, but nah, that seemed too...indirect for him??

Finally, I decided that there's an ability Johnny may have been hoping for since he was a boy--he'd like to see through walls. Yeah, he wanted to check out girls in the locker room for a while, or he'd like to win tons at a casino by seeing what cards are coming up. Then I kept having this idea he'd be more like Iron Man with Jarvis's heads-up display?? Again, weird, I know, but Johnny is military and NASA trained. He's a pilot and was supposed to be an explorer, so wouldn't it be awesome for him to see beyond barriers!!! It's sorta perfect, no?

Jake Jensen - Control of Machines

Duh. He's already trying this IRL, so of course Jake wants to innately have machines do anything he desires. Pretty sure he's first on the waitlist for every new 'doll' robot anyway. This power would practically mean he could make his own perfect woman, and he could remain as awkward as he likes lol.

Lloyd Hansen - Mind Control

Big shock--people annoy Lloyd. His life would be a lot easier if everybody just did what he said, no questions asked, and with no regard for their safety...especially since Lloyd has no regard for their safety. He doesn't care. He would absolutely abuse this power. That is the whole point.

Ari Levinson - Teleportation

Seems like the type of impatient who get an order or an idea and needs to get started now. Let's go. He needs to be in another part of the city? the country? the world? Well then why isn't he there yet? He needs to extract people from danger? What are we waiting for?! Blink: he's there. Blink: he's back. Person: safe. Object: recovered. What's next?

Ransom Drysdale - Invisibility

Basically so he can steal stuff he wants and mess with people, but Ran is also good at gathering information to use against his family people. Whatever power you give him, he's using it selfishly, end of story.

Andy Barber - Time Manipulation

Being able to move around a crime scene before anything can disturb it would be great, but being able to rewind what happened? maybe even stop it? That's ideal. I think in a way Andy is tired of helping to get justice after something terrible has happened. He would thrive with a preventative power.

Steve Rogers - Healing

This one almost feels like a giveaway because he could have saved his mother from TB, and Steve would obviously have never wished for a damaging power. He won't even carry a gun for goodness sake, and while he is absolutely there to fight bad guys, hitting, injuring, or taking down bad guys directly PROTECTS GOOD PEOPLE. He doesn't want anyone to die, actually. Steve would just show up at a different hospital everyday and clear the place out. That's like his dream job.

Bucky Barnes - Telekinesis

He admires the magical abilities of, say, Gandalf in The Hobbit & LOTR, and while I guarantee he'd totally show up at a crazy shrine school in freaking Tibet to silently study magic for years, Bucky would also just...love to be able to move stuff with his mind. He was a sniper in the army and as Winter Soldier, so distance from the thing he's affecting has always been a goal. Bucky would totally enjoy a sort of 'hands off' ability.

Thank you for asking!

A/N: I would be VERY INTERESTED to know what powers you think these guys would want/have, so please share your thoughts!!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would... Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry @bitchy-bi-trash @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63

[yujiimybeloved]

Has Anyone Else Died For You? | Megumi Fushiguro

07: Angels Fuck Devils Kiss

Words:

Mainlist

Megumi hated a lot of things about you, but there was something in your eyes, especially when they were looking at him that way that had him completely mesmerized.

Your flushed cheeks, your watery eyes, and your swollen lips.

"I'm sorry." You were so willing, so submissive, and without the need for any drugs. "I'm so sorry."

"Yes?" His hand took your face as he loomed more over you. That was where you should be.

You nodded your head as your eyes filled with tears. "Please." you pleaded with trembling lips.

How you ended up under him, with your clothes messy and your legs spread was a vague memory that didn't matter at the time because he was on top of you and I had no plans for that to change anytime soon.

"Please what? Use your words, Angel." His hand slid from your face to your chest where the cross necklace you used to wear was, he wanted to rip it off and keep it.

"I need you so much, Megumi." And he could see it in your expression, the way you were so needy as a puppy begging for some attention. "Please." His fingers left the metal of your necklace and went down your abdomen covered by a thin layer of fabric, he reached the edge of your pajama shorts and bent down to start leaving wet kisses down your neck tracing a path to your chest. Who was he to deny you what you wanted?

You gasped, as soft and sweet as you ever were, your hands went to her dark hair.

Your little whining only made his body's reaction worse. "God." slowly pulled him down your shorts exposing your pink lace panties.

"such a pretty baby." You gasped when his fingers went to the wet stain in the center of your underwear.

"does Yuji make you feel this way?"

"No, no, not him." You were so desperate for him, you wanted him and only him.

"Am I the only one?"

"You're the one, I feel like a love you, Megumi."

Agitated and sweaty that's how Megumi woke up that night, he probably hadn't had a wet dream since high school and of course you would have to be the protagonist in this comeback.

Now he was frustrated and the bulge in his pants hurt, he looked at the clock next to his bed, it read 1:00 a.m., well, the day had just started and it was already disgusting, he was disgusting.

Megumi still couldn't get you out of his mind and it was getting worse and worse. Your eyes, your lips, your stupid smile and your ridiculous giggle, he hated you and hated even more that every part of you was etched in his brain, he had memorized every detail in you no matter how small.

He was completely obsessed, he was crazy and you were the reason for it all, Megumi blamed you and even if there was no logical reason to do so, he always related you to the greater cause of his problems.

He got out of bed confused and married, he needed a glass of cold water and wipe the sweat from his face. Even when he was a teenager with altered hormones he didn't feel that way, he cursed you every step he took, as he walked towards the door so he could go down to the kitchen his eyes went to his desk specifically to the old pink notebook on him, although it had been a while since he had (stolen) taken and he had not yet opened it. He didn't really know why he hadn't done it but he felt that this was the right time, there was something that was calling him towards it or maybe it was just the fact that he wanted to find a new reason to hate you because the old ones were becoming useless.

Although there really was a reason And that was that your perfect life was coming back, little by little you were loved again, little by little people were talking to you again, little by little you began to be seen again as the sweet girl, with the perfect face, with the perfect boyfriend, with the perfect family. He knew that all that was a lie, you were full of insecurities, Yuji was not even the man you wanted, your family was not half as rich as you pretended.

You were horrible, you were hateful, you were a bitch. Your life was a lie, you weren't a big liar.

Although if it was the first time in a long time this was definitely not the first time I dreamed of you, I doubted it would be the last.

Even with the image of you lying on his bed, he opened your old diary.

08/13

First day of high school, isn't that exciting? I wonder if things will be different this year, I bet they will be! I'm dying to see Sasha again.

...

Even if the diary was from high school, Megumi felt that it looked too childish, too pink and too bright. It didn't go with his style but with yours he did.

There were too many pages that had been torn out, there were too many words erased or crossed out, there were too many irrelevant texts and there didn't seem to be much congruence with the way you wrote.

...

08/20

They Invite me to their table. Can you believe it? I didn't, but they said I couldn't take Sasha :( I don't know what to do, I really want to spend the break with them but I also want to be with Sasha.

..

08/25

Sasha didn't go to class today so today I was able to sit with them, they are fun but I feel bad for doing it secretly from sasha.

...

08/26

Sasha said she would go with me to the mall but she canceled at the last minute, she always does the same.

...

08/28

Today I left Sasha aside, I felt bad but I really like to feel like I'm part of the popular people.

I haven't spoken to her yet, she sent me a message but I don't know if I want to answer it.

...

09/01

That poor girl didn't deserve it, I don't understand why they thought that would be fun but I don't want to blame them, I'm sure they didn't think it through, they're not bad people.

Was it a crime? I don't think so, it was just an innocent joke although I don't know if I should worry about being complicit in some way, I didn't do anything but I know what they did and I'm not going to say anything.

...

Even if you didn't specify what you were talking about, Megumi knew it perfectly well and it only made him even more annoying that you didn't even take it as much as it deserved, no one had done it, everyone took it as just another piece of gossip, something momentary that everyone forgot when something more "entertaining" appeared.

...

09/03

Today I saw Sukuna again, it's been almost a year but I can't help but have feelings for him :( He ignored me completely, he was with other girl.

...

Megumi had a clear memory where during the last year of high school he saw you leaving through the back door of Yuji's house accompanied by Sukuna, although it seemed strange to her he did not pay too much attention to it, at that age he did not question why someone 14 years old was with someone almost 20.

...

09/18

I'm tired of Sasha only talking about her problems, now that I spend less time with her I wish we had fun instead of just talking about boring things, sometimes I think she's just exaggerating.

...

09/19

Today I saw Sukuna again, I swear I could marry him, even if I know he doesn't love me I feel like I do and that's what matters.

...

09/30

Sasha is a bitch, I'm not to blame for her problems, she should get into her business and stop focusing on mine, she told me she would tell my parents what I've been doing, what kind of friend is she? I swear I'm starting to hate her so much.

...

09/31

I swear I'm tired of that bitch, sometimes I wish she would leave me alone, all she does is judge and then tell me her problems as if I cared.

...

10/04

Sometimes I wish she would die, I swear, she's stressful, I hate her so much, she's not my friend, not anymore.

...

10/05

Sukuna gave me a cigarette and Sasha tried to take it off, holy God she should relax a little, I pulled her hair when she snatched it from me, I couldn't help but feel angry.

10/10

It was just a little joke and she's acting like I'm the worst person in the world, ridiculous.

10/31

I didn't mean it, I didn't think she was going to do it for real, she was playing, she did it, I can't believe it, she was playing, it wasn't real, it wasn't real but she did it, God, she did it.

There was two knocks on the door, megumi hid the diary under his pillow and opened the door, it was Satoru.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you, That's a lot to ask?" Satoru's tone was serious, but he was practically begging megumi to at least listen to him. "Please, Megumi."

"There's nothing we need to talk about."

"There's a lot."

"no, it's not so get out of here." Megumi was trying to close the door in his face.

"Toji will come." It was like a bomb dropped on him, he stood still, he knew that this could happen at any moment but he doesn't expect it so soon, he didn't want it, he didn't need it, his life was already a disaster and this will only make everything even worse.

"He can't." That was the only thing he said because his mind was a total mess.

"He already took the Decision, there's nothing to do." Megumi didn't answer anything but took her backpack and began to put her things in her backpack. "Megs Please, let's talk." Satoru was fed up with Megumi always preferring to run away rather than talk, it was always the same story and he had never wanted to pressure him, he tried to understand it but he was tired of that behavior.

Megumi ignored him and continued to take his things, clothes, his cigarettes and so on.

"I didn't want this either but it can't be helped, I ask you to listen to me." He raised his voice slightly, not getting to shout but trying to stand firm.

Megumi set foot out of the room and that was Satoru's limit, she didn't want to pressure him but she wasn't going to let him ignore it either.

"You're not my father, I don't have to talk to you about anything." He walked away from him and left the house.

He was screwed, he felt screwed, everything was going from bad to worse and he needed you so much but at the same time he blames you for everything that had happened.

Because for him everything had begun to fall apart the day you sat next to him, even if his life had always been a disaster.

He thought about calling you one more time, he wanted to see you, he wanted you to stroke his hair while you watched a bad movie, he wanted to lie down between your stuffed animals while you told him about your day, he wanted you to make him a coffee and try to make him talk. He wanted you.

But it was pathetic to desire you so much so he just held back and tried to concentrate on something else, but it was impossible.

Megumi: Hey can I come over?

Notes area

>I'm sorry if the dates are confusing, English is not my first language so I write the dates differently (they range from August 13th to October 30th of the same year) Megumi could only read a small part of the beginning.

>Thanks for reading

>Comments, suggestions and feedback are welcome.

Taglist (open)

@d4rlinxs @anonnieghost @linaaeatsfamilies @sheluvzeren @briezy04764

[bitchfitch]

I had a shrink appointment today and while I could not see it I knew my doc was going through the five stages of grief while I explained my fool proof strategy for doing my t shots despite a crippling fear of needles: By abusing my vastly more crippling fear of being an inconvenience.

My mother and I play phasmophobia together every week. she usually has a pretty limited time to do this bc she's like. a doctor and a college professor whos always busy. So I asked her to just. hold me to doing them. We don't start playing until the shot is done. so my needle fear doesn't matter because now it's Wasting™ her time and I have to do it quick. Using one neurosis to defeat another.

It's a horrible coping mechanism because it's feeding the inconvenience fear, but it is definitionally a coping mechanism.

[stardustdiiving]

I notice Nahida is portrayed as frustrated or scolding of other characters (usually Wanderer) in fanon often but to be honest I don’t think Nahida really has that much of a temper where she defaults to that sort of thing very much….She can be angry and firm as needed but I really don’t think that’s her first instinct on how to assert herself in a lot of cases.

She instead really strikes me as someone who primarily gets upset when it’s on behalf of other people or someone embodying ideas she finds very devoid of care and compassion for others….but struggles to really be angry on her own behalf. Like, it’s pointed out it’s only until she’s actively being rescued that she finally says she’s angry at the Sages, and while she is openly angry then we see later everyone comments on how they seem to have gotten off days, which I touched on in this post and feel u can infer from that this idea Nahida struggles to be harsh even towards to the people who kept her in a cage for 500 years—which makes when u see how much she rationalizes being treated like this earlier on. She ultimately seems more concerned with the Sages mistreatment of her people vs their mistreatment of Nahida herself.

This feels consistent to why she seems pretty visibly disgusted with Dottore when they have their negotiation. Dottore is more or less an antithesis to everything she believes about wisdom and embodies a lot of malice and cruelty that Nahida would be really disturbed by. I personally like to write her lack of a temper in some areas as something that seems almost troubling — bc on one hand she’s very forgiving and kind despite through being a lot, but on the other this seems like it might be rooted in just genuinely not allowing herself to be angry to protect herself. But yeah overall I think unless you’re really causing an issue Nahida is more likely to give you a kind of frazzled sad puppy look and very politely ask you to be better as opposed to hitting you with a sandal or scolding you for it

In the case of her relationship with Wanderer specifically I’ve like, talked about how I feel people overlook the fact Wanderer makes a genuine effort to cooperate with Nahida and doesn’t really fight with her much…so i don’t think they’re often bickering with each other to the point Nahida has to get really firm with him. She seems to have a pretty interesting amount of patience with him especially post AQ, which again I think is helped by the fact Wanderer is genuinely trying to cooperate and she sees that. We do see her ask Traveler + Scaramouche to stop bickering in Inversion of Genesis but she is in my opinion very polite and at most a bit awkward about it, not scolding or irritated

[aqueenvictorious]

Without the least desire to be tumblr famous, I wish I was well-known enough to get regular asks.

There's a particular kind of boredom I get that is, I think, I lack of interaction. Everyone I could reasonably bother is busy! I ought to be busy, but I don't want to tab through documents. I want to listen to people talk about their niche interests and how their day is going.

[pidoop]

Honestly still salty about my 22 y/o sister who last night called asking to kiss someone the first time “weird”, “cringe”, and even “millennial”??? And it’s so wild to me for a young woman to have such an anti-consent standpoint.

Like you’ve said you don’t get accosted at bars, and hooray for that. But as someone who’s been groped in what can barely be considered a crowd once or twice, I’m partial to establishing that someone respects and considers me early on.

And Ik you’ve only dated from your friend group (I do not), so you feel more comfortable reading each other, which once again, great. But that doesn’t guarantee safety or that they’ll magically know what you want in the future when you’ve established that it’s cringe to ask and better to guess.

That’s how people get it wrong and cross your boundaries without knowing. And then you’re hurt but feel like you can’t blame them because you didn’t say anything and how would they know? Misunderstandings that can often be avoided by establishing clear and open communication about consent from day one.

Starting off your very first physical and sexual interactions with clear verbal consent is an easy way to set the precedent of asking for consent. Like cool you’ve been going out with this dude for 8 months and never seen a dick. Regardless of your pace, you should be thinking ahead and establishing how you’d like to be treated in sexual scenarios as soon as humanly possible.

I guess I thought society had moved past “it’s just kinda weird and awkward to ask though”, “you don’t have to say anything to know”, “just feel it out”, etc.

It’s also so clear how this prude, sex-negative culture makes it so that you can be comfortable engaging in an act but still feel icky about asking about / for it.

[pollen]

i've been diving a lot deeper into adhd symptoms and comorbidities and misdiagnoses and whenever i tell my boyfriend something i learned that sounds like me he responds with something like

[transannabeth]

hi. for people who saw gatsby: an american myth. do you remember mckee asking nick for lunch. and then gatsby in like the next scene inviting nick for lunch. because i remember.

[muontron]

A lot of people are upset or disappointed that modern science in astronomy is not so advanced yet to do all the cool hypothetical sci-fi stuff that we want to do—(intergalactic space travel, for instance, is a big kicker.)

So many people are so upset about this—the fact that we, as a species, inherently yearn to explore the vastness of space, but can’t because of , well—reality. And I understand that. But what really upsets me is that, This in turn, detaches people from Astronomy. Makes them think it’s boring-that there’s no POINT in doing all of this for space because it doesn’t directly seem to benefit us. And although I have many qualms about that statement, that isn’t the reason why I’m typing all of this out.

Listen— humanity is at that part of discovery and learning and innovation that what we can accomplish is—in my opinion, in its own right better in some ways— than what is the preconceived notions of what “advanced” humankind is supposed to look like.

Sure, we can’t fly a rocket to the Andromeda Galaxy, or terraform mars and live there, but you know what we can do?

Look at universes, other worlds, from long before the word “human” even MEANT something. See the distant past as if it was right in front of us. Send rovers and satellites and flybys to planets to send us data so we can do research on what COULD be there. Anyone can research about the universe if they so wished to, and all this information is available to anyone that chooses to accept it. …and, It always has been. Humanity has always looked at the stars for answers, whether that be scientific, religious, or spiritual—and I think that’s beautiful in its own right.

You will always have the choice to enjoy Astronomy— it’ll be there anyways, forever. You don’t need to be there-there to love it, because you’re right where you need to be. you just need to look up.

[tovaicas]

anyways my friends activated my conlang brain and I've made smth insane as usual

red is influences, blue is Elezen-family languages, green is like a mix bc I see the Alliance cities as having a trade language (that critically is limited to them).

I see Duskwight as a separate language from Black Shroud Elezen (but sharing a lot - easy enough to learn for those speakers). Coerthan and all its derivatives are a whole different language under the Elezen umbrella and isn't mutually intelligible with BSE. Because they split so early, they probably don't share much more than root words and etymologies; within the same family so not difficult to learn for other speakers of Elezen languages, but very distinctly different.

(also I'm not listing them but the branches extend to include other diaspora Elezen languages)