#they both have control of the entire thing

[dedalvs]

Today is my 44th birthday. I was brought to my mother’s arms as Ronald Reagan was being sworn in and then went to the airport to welcome the Iranian hostages home—a meeting we now know was pre-arranged, as Reagan’s team negotiated to keep the hostages in captivity a little bit longer just so it could be Reagan, as opposed to Carter, who got the credit for releasing them.

Every four years my birthday falls on a US presidential inauguration. Some of those days are good; some are bad; some are terrible. Today is certainly one of the worst.

My birthday also sometimes falls on the day the US honors Martin Luther King, Jr.—or, when it doesn’t, always on a day very close to it. I always spend some time on my birthday thinking of him, too. Like all of us, he wasn’t perfect, but more and more what I think about regarding his legacy is how some of the things he said have been cherry-picked and stored like prize possessions in jeweled boxes for admiring every so often while the rest has been buried. MLK was an outspoken opponent of the Vietnam War, of income inequality, and of capitalism. Of all things I remember the first time I heard anything by him about that was in college when I happened into a record store in San Francisco and heard one of his speeches (not the “I have a dream” speech) remixed in a song.

Often you will hear that you should focus on what you can control. This is true, when it comes to your own personal well being—your state of mind. I feel like there should be a balance, though. Sometimes your well being is well enough that you can spare the anguish that comes with worrying about the state of the world—the many injustices you can’t fix, either by yourself or right away. We need that to push us to actually fix these things, either in small individual ways or collectively, through both direct and indirect action.

Each of us at different times in or lives—or on a micro level, at different times of the week or year—goes in and out of phases where we must focus on self-care and phases where we can look outward. Today I hope we can treat ourselves and each other with a little kindness when it comes to recognizing where it is we need to be in a given moment. Looking around on social media, it may seem that some are always on—always fighting, always pushing for change—and some are always off—cat memes, shipping, fandom. But that’s nothing but a small window into a person. First, that’s simply how that person interacts with one social media platform; it’s not their entire life. Second, it may be that this is the place they come to unwind—or, alternatively, this is the only place in their life where they can share the rage inside of them. Whoever they are, however they are, let them be, and offer them kindness. It’s going to take all of us to fight back.

[opinions-about-tiaras]

This is sort of true historically speaking, but only to an extent and is culturally dependent, and it isn't really true today.

A plantation owner, especially a larger one, would never, ever describe themselves as a farmer. They were gentlemen. In fact, it was considered uncouth to know how to manage your own land. Many of them did know how to do this, of course, but it was considered socially awkward. A true southern gentleman did not need to concern himself with the adding-up or the planting or the price of cotton; that was what the other, lesser people in their employ were for. If you had to manage your own land and couldn't hide the fact that you were doing so, this knocked your social standing way down.

The way this worked out in society was you would describe yourself as "having" land. You would not say "I farm five hundred acres in Assumption Parish." You would say "I have five hundred acres in Assumption Parish." People could infer from that what was being done with the land in order to provide you with income.

With European feudal nobility, it could be a lot different.

An actual-factual feudal lord of high standing would never describe themselves as a farmer, nor would it be considered accurate to describe them as such by their contemporaries. The Earls of Warwick controlled thousands of acres of productive farmland, but calling them "farmers" would be a risible thing to do.

However, the smaller British nobility, up until the 19th century, would often describe themselves as "farmers," sometimes with a capital F, or at least "farming land" if that was what the land they were deriving rent from was used for. It was sort of a cultural modesty thing; if you had only a small title, or none at all, you wouldn't necessarily want to put on airs or get above yourself.

I hesitate to reach for fictional sources, but there's actually a really good example of this in Lord of the Rings, when Pippin meets Bergil, son of his friend Beregond:

"Which question shall I answer first?" said Pippin. "My father farms the land round Whitwell near Tuckborough in the Shire.

I bring this up because Tolkien was quintessentially British in his use of language and this is a very precise and deliberate use of language. Pippin does not say "my father is a farmer." He says "my father farms the land in this locale."

Paladin Took has probably never picked up a hoe in his entire life. (Neither had Pippin, I'd wager.) He is a large landholder who lives in a gigantic underground mansion, deriving his income from rent, and he is titled. Hundreds of men answer to his banner, and at the time Pippin is having this conversation, he is conducting a guerrilla war against occupiers.

But because the Shire is meant to be an ur-representation of idealized British countryside and village life in the pre-modern era, Pippin presents it as "my father farms the land." This isn't something Tolkien made up, it was a common way for the smaller nobility or large non-titled landholders to present themselves.

However, that use of language dropped off massively in the 18th and 19th century. There were a lot of reasons why, but by the 20th century it would be very unusual to describe yourself as a farmer unless you were at least actively engaged in the management of your land.

The way I personally would delineate this in the modern era is, do you know how to farm, and do you apply that knowledge to making a living from farming? If the answer to both of those is true, you are probably a farmer. If the answer to one is not true, you probably aren't.

The CEO of Cargill is not a farmer; that idea is transparently nuts. There are people working at Archers Daniel Midland who have immense knowledge of farming and are formally educated in agricultural studies; they might be farmers, but many of them are not. The guys down on the ground are absolutely farmers.

There's this Tumblr poll going around asking when was the last generation people's ancestors were farmers. And the option for none of them is "none, my family was always wealthy" and I'm fascinated by the assumptions that

a. the only options historically were "rich" or "farmer"

b. farmers were never rich

Firstly I swear it wasn't just castles and farms until 1900, cities and towns existed, people had jobs besides King and farmhand, but also I think people conflate "farmer" and farm laborer. They are often the same but a farmer is technically just someone who owns or manages a farm. Plantation owners were farmers. European feudal lords were farmers. Oddly enough control of agriculture lead to a lot of power and resources, historically speaking

[novelistwriter]

The Reformed King

DP x DC Prompt

Danny is done with his home dimension. His identity was revealed after the "Dan" incident, and he has been constantly on the run. The GIW, all the adults, his parents included, were hunting him down, and no one was helping him. He doesn't know that the GIW has captured basically his entire school and his sister to interrogate them all about him. So he hopped into a Natural Portal and left it for the Infinite Realms/Ghost Zone.

His half-life started going downhill after Pariah's attempt at conquering his dimension, as after that happened, Vlad was making more attempts to make him his son, which caused him to have arguments with his parents about Vlad. His Ghostly Rogues began to attack/play fight with him a lot more, which caused his grades to decline even more.

He freed Pariah again. But to fight the Tyrant in what's basically a suicide attempt, he's depressed because he thinks no one has his back and is against him.

The fight between the two lasted a long time, but eventually, the fight ended with both of them changed. Danny had managed to instill some changes within the Tyrant King during their fight because he was shouting at the King what he did to his life, and since Danny is basically a Ghost Baby, Pariah's Ghostly instincts won over his desire to battle. Things only escalated from there, as Danny became the son to Pariah, making him the Ghost Prince, and Pariah himself is going through some positive changes because of Danny, albeit slowly.

He managed to close the portal that his parents have after learning that the portal is connected to his core. He is now living with Pariah in their keep. The Observants tried to do anything to regain control of the power they lost when Pariah became Ghost King again and to try and make Danny lose his title of Ghost Prince. They instead lost almost all of their powers because of Pariah's new Royal decree on them when he learned of what they were going to do to his son.

It had been a few years, and Danny's human half began to affect his Ghost Half. He needs to take care of his human half, or he will cease to be. Pandora, his current fighting instructor, recommended her home dimension to Danny and Pariah to live in for a few years. The King and Prince went to the dimension, with a mortal body Clockwork had given Pariah to become a Halfa himself.

The Father and Son are living in a city called Gotham, which has enough ambient ectoplasm for them to survive. Occasionally, they will travel around the world when they have enough ectoplasm stored in the Thermos' Danny made for them. He made other things since he practically made most of the inventions his former parents used.

In their travels, the Father and Son have gotten the attention of three individuals, Bruce Wayne, Diana Prince, and Clark Kent, due to Danny's resemblance to Bruce and Clark, and the way Danny fights for Diana.

[gojos-version]

Take it.

Pairings- Y/N x Satoru Gojo

Summary- Porn without the plot.

Warnings- Tummy bulge, breeding, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it yall), mating press, doggy style, pet names (sweetheart, baby), praise, overstimulation

Word count- 1k

Proofread- ✅

A/n- Hi!! It's been a while since I last posted a fic :c I've been pretty busy, and I've had a lot going on so I couldn't sit down and write but things have been getting better so I can finally do what I love doing. Thank you all for your patience, as compensation I'll get out as much Fics as I can, so please feel free to drop any requests <3

⋆ ✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆ ✮ ༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆

Satoru pins you to the bed, placing a harsh hand on your upper back. "Such a pretty girl." he Coos as his free hand thumbs your soaked slit. "Y-you know-" You're cut off when you feel his leaky tip at your puffed entrance making you freeze.

"Know what, hm?" He grins and slowly pushes his fat tip in making your walls spasm around him at the sudden intrusion. "Cmon baby, you look so delicious today let me give you a good fucking, yeah?", You blearily nod your head as he sinks his entire length into you.

Fuck. Fuck. Your tight warm walls squeeze the life out of his stupidly big dick, and he hisses in response. "Stop squeezing me baby, might finish too early." He grunts out and slowly starts thrusting his cock into your gooey hole. Shit, he can’t control the whimper that escapes his lips when his hard length sinks all the way into you to the hilt then pulls out to only sink back in till his pelvis goes flush against your hips.

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation of him now ramming his cock into you with pure need. Each thrust felt like he was trying to reach your lungs, like his cock was tearing your insides to mold and fit him and only him. Skin slapping against each other fills the entire room, a lewd Plap! Plap! Fills your head; your cunt squelching like something you'd see on shitty porn videos but fuck it was real. Your cunt was being so loud. Your body was tingling almost like it was on fire just spreading though each and every one of your veins.

With each thrust his leaky tip with precision would hit your g spot. That fucker had to be using his six eyes. "'Toru- Are you seriously u-using-hah- your s-six eyes-! hngh-!", “H-hah-! So, what if I’m using my six eyes- shit- it feels so good- fuck-!” He gasps out as his hands squish your ass cheeks, spreading them apart and watching as his dick bullies its way to kiss your cervix.

“Satoru- how’s that-! Isn’t it exhausting- fucking! Shit-!” Your walls flutter around him, squeezing the life out of him, “Heh- don’t care- can just use reverse curse technique.” He breathily gasps out. Fuck his body felt like it was going to explode any second, he could taste his release on his tongue threatening to come out at any second. Your walls clamp up and squeeze him so tight that he couldn’t hold it back anymore. Before Satoru knew it his dick explodes. White ropes fill you up, and when he comes, he comes so much. You shudder at the feeling of his cum breaching so deep inside of you, it felt like it could reach your throat from how deep inside of you he is.

Your body shakes from the orgasm that just got pulled out of you, your walls clamping and unclamping around his cock. Your insides tighten up when Satoru doesn’t slow down or stop after riding both of your orgasms out like usual. You cry out into the pillow as he fucks his cock into you speeding his pace up faster than before, your cunt- overly sensitive from your previous release- has your back arching and your hands curling into fists clamping the sheets below you till your knuckles went white.

"N-no-! S-slow doohhwwnnn!!" You scream out and he laughs when you pathetically reach a hand behind you and try to push his hips back- a failed attempt to stop him. He grabs your wrists with both of his hands; while not slowing down his harsh thrusts, he pins them behind your back and all you can do is lay there and take it. "Take it. Fucking take it." he moans out, his head falling back in pure pleasure.

Your eyes roll back, and your body feels hot. Too hot. The more pressure he used to pin your arms behind your back pushed your stomach deeper into the mattress causing it to put pressure on the lewd bulge in your stomach. Fuck right now you could incinerate. You sob out of pleasure into the pillow and cry out Satoru's name. “Shh baby, ‘ts okay... yeah... that’s it, sweetheart”, He coos out knowing full well on what he’s doing.

You let out a string of muffled moans as your hips try to meet his, following his thrusts while you weakly whimper into the sheets. "Thats it...such a good girl f'me, aren't you? Atta girl...that's it..." And before you know it, he pushes the weight of his body on top of yours, his chest and abdomen flush against your back, his hands release your wrists to just pin your wrists against your back with his chest.

One of his free hands grab your tit and the other mushes your face together and pushes your head up so he could see you. "My pretty girl..." He whimpers out and he peppers kisses all over your neck and jaw. "Mpphhff! Hnnghh!" Your muffled whines were music to Satoru's ears. "Hah- yeah..f-fuck 'm close..." His cock felt like it was in heaven, your gooey, warm, wet walls just milking him already had his toes curling and thighs tensing.

The both of you didn't notice it yet but, the lamp the both of you had on flickered and frankly so did all of Japan's lights. The hand fondling your tit moved down to your clit as he rubbed and pinched harsh circles making your stomach clench and your thighs tense in response.

"So- ah-rough-!" You managed to babble out, "Quit your complain'. You'll take it f'me won't you, baby? Gonna cum all over my cock, yeah?", That's the last thing you hear before your vision turns white and your body shakes; your body on fire while you squirt all over Satoru's cock and pelvis, your release dripping down both of your thighs and onto the sheets below.

You feel Satoru's own release flooding your insides as your walls pulse around him. When you finish coming down from your high you notice the rooms pitch black and..well..when Satoru opened his eyes he laughed. "Hah- looks like the powers out again...'ts okay we've got my eyes, baby." He chuckles out and sits up, flipping you over onto your back and he pushes your thighs to your chest and slips back inside of you making you gasp in response.

"H-hah- We're goin' all night baby. Take it, yeah?" You both weren't making it out alive tonight.

✩°｡⋆ 𖦹｡˚ ⋆ ✮ ༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆༺ ⟡ ݁₊ ⊹ ა ✧ ໒ ⊹ ₊ ݁ ݁⟡ ༻ ✮ ⋆

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Tags!

@my-own-au-my-way

[deanangel]

Under Heavens Control

pairing: sam winchester x angel reader .ᐟ | minors do NOT interact

synopsis: heavens weapon and a winchester, both destined for something better, yet stuck with each other. unclean and full of sin they meet.

warnings: religious themes , mentions of blood and death (very briefly) , smut p!v unprotected sex (wrap it UP!!) , finger fucking , kissing , cumming inside , cockwarming (if you squint) ..

word count: 1.5k

THE air inside was thick and cold, restricting the amount of breaths one could take. the sound of screams evident in one's ears. crimson liquid staining the concrete walls, metal chains bounding one in place for eternity. despair and death overwhelmed anyone who dared to enter.

heaven to humans was the best place to go to in death. anything you wanted, you would have. it was sickening for you to think about honestly.

locked up and forced to do the angels' dirty work was how you spent your days.

being a weapon was all you knew.

there was no escape even if you tried, the other angels – your 'siblings’ – kept you on a tight leash, always finding a way to fix you when you malfunctioned. 

the children of god were pure, clean, and all things innocent. while you were none of those. rabid, dirty, sinful, and so on is what would be used to describe you. the first to go to war and the last to come back, blood staining your entire being.

you found solace in the ones like you; however, they never lasted long. always being taken away far too soon. warm hands cradle your face as if you were their pet, cooing softly that this is what you were made for. that you didn't need friends, only them. so you stayed, and never fought back. angels were the light, yet somehow you were the dark.

chained down and all alone is how you sat, until the faint sound of footsteps echoed throughout the halls. your breath hitched, awaiting whatever came your way. the voice of another rang into the cell. 

“we need you to go down to earth, a few souls are to be collected…early.”

the booming sound was opposite to the eerie silence you were used to. you knew deep down that this could be your chance to break free, escape from the shackles of heaven that weighed you down. but when push came to shove, you were under their control. trained like an animal, domesticated like a dog to bend to their every word.

watching silently as they unchain you, immediately jumping back like you'd attack. some dogs go rogue on their owners, they're afraid you may be next.

standing up with shaky legs you follow them, shoulders slumped and head low.

“make it quick, we don't need to waste anymore time.” the voice ordered, harsh and direct.

the sound of bare feet pattering against the floors filled heavens walls contrast to the usual heels and dress shoes.

eyes following your form as you trudge through the halls. the prayers of humans wash over you like a tidal wave, ears ringing as millions of voices flood into your mind. yet, you found the power to focus on one. his voice was calming, you could listen to it for all of eternity.

the wind cascading around your form snapped you out of your trance, wings almost failing to set you down safely onto land. it had been millenia since the last time you were set to go to earth. you were here last when lucifer wasn't the devil, instead he was a friend..

shaking those memories out of your head, you focus on the task at hand. 

collecting souls.

the human soul was pure and untainted, it held power that many wouldn't be able to wield. the more souls in heaven, the stronger it was.

it was your job to help make the empire better. it was a shame that they took the souls early, poor people. as an angel you didn't have empathy, but you liked to pretend you did when regarding humans.

the names were engraved into your brain, programmed into your software. that's how they kept you sane. taking you apart and rebuilding you once you showed signs of rebellious behavior.

the suns harsh rays beat down on you; however, it wasn't uncomfortable. the heat was better than the cold dark room you were kept in. taking souls was a rather simple job, but not when the soul was him. the man whose prayers you zeroed in on while in such a weak state.

sighing you made a choice, he would be last. and then – hopefully – you would've gotten over the nagging feeling in the back of your head that he could save you. get you away from their judgmental gazes and harsh orders.

you didn't want to do this, you were an angel. why you? why not capture a demon and make them heaven's pet. 

instead god chose you.

did he get off on this? one of his children being used and crafted to be as vile as the devil himself. it was his sick and twisted way of entertainment.

you didn't dwell on the thought much longer. ‘make it quick.’ repeating in your head over and over. making your way around the world, taking each soul in swift and precise ways.

here you were, standing in front of him.

sam winchester.

his brown hair framed his face perfectly, his entire being ethereal under the moonlight.

from what you'd been told, he was somewhat like you. being injected with demon blood as young as 6 months old, watched and manipulated by demons it was sad really. your hand came down onto his face gingerly. caressing his soft skin with care. a warm feeling filled your body, engulfing you in a blanket of comfort.

sam stirred slightly in his sleep, eyes opening to look up at the figure standing before him. a warm glow emitting from them. their presence was calming, lulling him to slumber. yet, he knew better than to fall for the trap of the supernatural.

“shh, you're safe. i'm here to help.” you cooed softly, copying the way you were spoken to. hand coming up to stroke his hair. he grabbed your wrist to stop you, his touch didn't burn like others did. instead it felt right.

“who are you.” he questioned, his voice rough and hoarse from his previous sleep. your heart fluttered and the warmth came crashing down–harder this time.

“i..i'm here for your soul, sam. heaven's orders.” you couldn't help but admit, something inside you compelling you to do so.

like he had greater control over you than god, than heaven.

his grip tightened and he sat up, bringing you closer to him with a slight tug.

he was beautiful, so beautiful.

sam couldn't help but stare in awe at you. your beauty was unmatched, like a rose in a field of weeds. you stood out. he could tell you didn't want to, he felt something pull him to you. he fully knew that you wouldn't hurt him when he brought his other hand to your face, running his thumb over your bottom lip. his heart melted when he heard the hitch in your breath at his actions.

you were laying with him, soft moans leaving your now swollen lips as he pumped his fingers inside you. your nails dig into his forearms as he lay behind you. “sam..” his name rolling off your tongue like silk. your back arched, deepening his fingers. “just like that, sweet girl..” he whispered into your ear, edging you on. his long, thick fingers hitting that sweet spot everytime. your hips shuddered and bucked against his as your orgasm came down over you.

sam continued his relentless pace as you came down from your high. chest heaving and pants escaping your mouth breathlessly. “y'so good f'me.” he whispered as he brought you closer, slipping his cock into your tight cunt. his arms encased you, but unlike heavens hold it wasn't cold nor painful, it was warm and brought great pleasure. you whined at the feeling of him stretching you out, juices coating his cock until he bottomed out. he kept a slow and torturous pace, keeping you still with his hands so you couldn't move.

“please, please!” you let out, pleading loudly for him to go faster. he gently caressed your hips, his thumb tracing circles into the skin.

soon the sound of skin slapping filled his room, your moans and his grunts echoed through the walls. anyone within a mile radius could hear what was happening, and he nor you cared to mind.

you gripped onto him tighter and so did he, his hold on you was bruising. pushing himself as deep as he could, he came. a warm sticky substance coated your inner walls. tears were streaming down your face. he stayed inside, tugging you so you were facing him, bringing your lips to his in a searing kiss. it was passionate and full of love, not dark and hungry.

you and sam were connected, bound together. not by heaven but by the duality of man.

you were more bad than good, and he was more good than bad. yet, you found solace in each other. both born to be weapons.

one got away, while the other stayed under their holders control. but, that would not happen again, for sam was yours and you were his.

heaven had no control anymore.

authors note: hiii everyonee! this is my first sam smut so please lmk how you feel!! comments are appreciated. i hope its okay because to me its not the best but i had to get it out of my head!!

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

ah, look at that. have some omegaverse angst inspired by this post here <3 if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

well, this turned out to be miles longer than i expected it to. there's not really a solid ending, so let me know if you want more! have so much fun getting your heart ripped out <3

word count: 4,616 masterlist ao3 link

Three years ago, you and Simon got married. It wasn’t anything flashy or big - fuck, how could it have been when you didn’t even love each other? But, military law forbade an unmated omega from joining the ranks, and Simon was seen as a wild-card alpha, too headstrong and violent, too hard to control. So, the brass laid out an ultimatum: mate, get married, or be discharged. Both you and Simon had worked too hard for too long to get where you were, so discharge was entirely off the table. There was no courting, no dates, and the wedding, if you could call it that, was little more than signing papers - three signatures on a thick piece of A4 government paper, one from you, one from Simon, and one from your witness, Captain John Price. You didn’t even exchange rings or vows. It took less than five minutes. 

After all was said and done, you and Simon went back to your lives. Sure, you were respectful to one another, and you spent one or two heats and ruts together, but you both maintained a distance away from each other. Neither of you were thrilled with the idea of being tied down, of being mated. The mating bond between you felt more like the neck of a too-tight sweater than it did a comfort, feeling each other’s emotion more of a chore than something you looked forward to. Sure, you worked well together, fluid and deadly like a well oiled M2 on the field. Always had. But there is a stark difference between working well together, and being mated.

So that’s how you ended up here. You had lost twenty pounds. Your skin was sallow and pale, your eyes sunken in. When you looked in the mirror, you could count your ribs, the knobs of your spine, under the bruises. You had thrown yourself into work, and when there was no work, you were challenging any living thing to go for a round with you on the sparring mat. But, you were weak; the bond sickness sapped all of your energy and strength faster than you could ever hope to replenish it. Your scent, which was once a warm and spicy caramelized vanilla, now smelled like sugar burnt to the bottom of a pot - acrid and rotted. You were dying, and you knew it. But your pride was far too great to ever go crawling back to Simon, the very man who caused the sickness to infiltrate every cell of your being. It had been months of this torture. 

You had seen the concerned looks of your team as they watched you haunt the halls of the base like a spectre. Soap had started to bring you chocolates and drinks, anything in hopes to get you to eat. Gaz took a different approach, always being the one to take you up on your sparring requests, the beta knowing that at the very least he could be gentle with you while still giving you an outlet. The Captain had made sure to keep you off any truly strenuous missions and tasks, mainly relegating you to the medbay or to training recruits. If you were any stronger, you would be pissed, but right now you took it as a blessing. At least he hadn’t kicked you off the team for your weakness. But Simon? Simon was nowhere to be found. He continuously was the first volunteer for the most dangerous missions, keeping him away from base for weeks to months at a time. When he came back bloody and bruised, he would avoid the medbay like the plague, only coming in to get fixed up by another combat medic when he knew Soap or Gaz had forcefully pulled you away. If you two happened to be walking in the same hallway, Simon would duck out of your sight without even so much as a word. You had long since given up on running after him. 

So color yourself surprised when you were standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom and the screen of your phone lit up, a text from Simon blaring on the too-bright screen. You had every intention of ignoring it, but your pride was no match for the dying ache of your omega. 

Come to my quarters.

The text was simple. Demanding, even. And all it did was make you angry. 

You quickly tugged on a pair of sweats and forced a tank top over your bruised and feverish skin. You thought briefly for a moment about tugging a sweatshirt on over your mottled skin, but, fuck it, let him see all that he has done to you. Maybe he would give you the one blessing you had hoped for over the last few months of neglect, and finally sever the bond between you. 

You trudged through the hallways of the base, every soldier you passed giving you a wide berth. You were certain you looked like death froze over, and the rage-filled expression set over your brows and your lips certainly did not help. When you reached his door, you didn’t even bother to knock. You just shoved your copy of the key in the door and slammed the door open. 

Simon barely even looked up from where he was lounging on the bed. His shirt was off, a rare sight, even for you, but even more shocking was the fact that he wasn’t wearing his mask.  He didn’t look much better than you - his once-bronzed skin paled, his own scars raised and reddened, and he had a poorly bandaged bullet wound wrapped, the white medical wrapping blossoming with a red mark. Pulled stitches, definitely. 

“Close the door,” came the rough demand as his arms lazily opened in an invitation to lay with him. “And c’mere.”

You, in all of your rage, just stood stockstill in the still-open doorway. Even as your omega side cried to jump into his arms and let his scent and his touch wash away all the pain, you refused with a defiant jut of your chin. You didn’t know why he had called you here, and the only thing your mind could conjure up is that Price, or Laswell, or fuck, even Soap, had sat him down and forced him to do this. And you wanted nothing to do with this or with him if he actually was not trying to change.

“I don’t want your pity. And I sure as hell don’t want your affection just because Price told you that you had to fix me,” you replied, your voice shaking with weakness and pain, even as you tried your damndest to keep it steady, strong. 

Simon growled, the sound of an alpha not used to not getting his way, as he rolled onto his side to look at you more squarely. His arms were still open, but you could see the way his muscles clenched, his own anger rising. “It ain’t about pity. It’s about basic biology,” he bit out, the words short and angry. 

That made you laugh, the sound short and sardonic before it morphs into a cough that shakes your entire, frail being. You brought a shaking hand up to wipe your lips before you fixed him with a glare hard enough to freeze an ocean. “Basic biology?" you mocked. “Yeah, for sure. But it’s also basic biology to not let bond sickness even be a worry for your omega, but looks like you fucked that one right up, didn’t you!?”

Your words made something in Simon snap. Your rage, the vitriol, clenched his hands into fists as he quickly swung his powerful legs over the edge of the bed, crossing the space between you in the space between one of your breaths and the next. He was in your face now, just enough space between you to not be pressing completely against you. You averted your gaze, knowing that if you didn’t, you might continue yelling at him, or worse. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, using the same tone he does on the battlefield. His hands are still clenched into fists, but they are shaking. Why?

That tone made your eyes harden, the instincts of a hard-bred soldier kicking in. Even through the fraying of your bond, your sickness, you knew that voice. You listened when given an order. You allowed your head to loll back to look up at him, but your expression was still set in that same hard glare. You weren’t on a battlefield. You were on base, far away from the acrid explosions and hot gunpowder. How dare he pretend otherwise? “Why?” you bit back in response. “This isn’t some tactical decision, Simon. Don’t treat me like one of your fuckin’ rookies.” 

He took a sharp breath through his teeth, obviously trying to control himself. He knew you were weak, the bond sickness taking so much more from you than it ever did him. But your defiance, your spirit despite the bond sickness was making his alpha go crazy. Even with you glaring up at him, he stared down at you with fierce eyes as his hands gripped your hips, shoving you out of the doorway and pressing you against the wall right beside it. Taking one hand off of your hip, he shut the door with a resounding click before his grip, and his attention came back entirely to you. “I ain’t treatin’ you like a goddamned rookie,” he growled out, his cold brown gaze entirely focused on your own broken one as one hand slams into the wall by your head. Even through your rage, he can see it. Feel it. He had broken you. And that knowledge caused his alpha to writhe in pain. “I’m treatin’ ya like my fuckin’ omega.” 

As he caged you in, growled those words at you, your own expression hardened. Your lips curled up to reveal your smaller omega fangs, a low growl of your own reverberating from your chest as your hands clenched into fists. It’s hard to ignore the sheer size difference between the two of you as he towers over you, his head dipped low to keep your attention. However, that did nothing to stop your rage, in fact, it increased it tenfold. 

“Oh, right. I forgot. Being your omega means less than being one of your rookies, silly me.”

You knew the second the words left your mouth that you just opened a Pandora’s box. You saw it in the way his eyes instantaneously darkened, in the way his hand left the wall before you could even blink, his fingers crushing your jaw between them in a bruising grip, forcing your head back against the wall as he brought his face ever closer to yours. However, as his face got closer, you could see the glint of something else in his eyes. Triumph. His alpha was revelling in watching you snap and get fiery again. It was a victory, in his mind, to see you able to be so angry after the bond sickness had taken so much from you. “Watch it, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. “I know that attitude of yours will always be there, but careful.”

His words sent another wave of anger through you, and as he forced your head back, you jerked your neck, snapping your teeth at him, your small omega fangs glinting in the low light of his quarters. It was a clear message. Fuck the bond sickness, he had no right to touch you right now. You did not forgive him, and he has to work to even begin to earn that, and if he won’t? You would dissolve the bond without him, whether or not it risked your life. 

“Don’t sweetheart me,” you growled out, glaring up at him even as the bruising grip of his fingers squished your cheeks together, slurring your words. “Not after everything.”

His alpha instincts flared again, the desire to force you into accepting his help clear as his eyes flashed in irritation at your anger. He pressed you further into the wall, his body now flush against yours as he snarled right back. “Then do something about it,” he challenged. “Get mad. Fight me. Let it all out. But, you’re not leaving this room until you let me fix this.”

As much as you hated it, hearing Simon’s permission gave you the ability to let it all out. No matter how much you wanted to pretend that you were unaffected by him, the knowledge that he wanted you to fight, wanted to fix this broken bond between you, allowed you to finally and truly get all of the anger out, and maybe, just maybe, give the bond a chance to heal. 

And so you did. Your body jerked against his, your sallow cheeks flushing red as you bared your omega fangs and growled at him again. Your eyes held the faintest spark of life, a far cry from what they used to have, but there’s something there now. 

When Simon saw that spark, the faintest hint of his omega coming back, he chuckled gruffly, his eyes glinting with a possessive heat. 

“Yes, spitfire. I want you t’ fight me. Hit me, scream, yell at me, tell me how shit of an alpha I’ve been. I don’t care. Just don’t. Hold. Back.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the dam inside of you broke. Months worth of anger, agony, grief, pain, and aching sadness flooded your veins like a hot, volatile drug. It felt like a living, breathing thing as the emotions curled around your lungs, your muscles, your heart. Tears pushed at your lash line, the aching pain making itself known through the rage. 

You held his cold brown gaze for a moment, your eyes searching his. When all you saw in return was steely determination, you did the only thing you could think of. Before he could even move out of the way, you shut your eyes and cranked your head back as far as it would go, and drove your forehead straight into his nose. It wasn’t nearly hard enough to break it, but definitely hard enough to hurt and make the blood start flowing. 

He staggered back from you, his hands coming up to cup his nose, but the alpha was far from angry. In fact, he was grinning, the blood pouring from his nose coating his lips and teeth. A low growl of approval rumbled from his chest as he stared at you, approval glinting in his eyes. “Good girl,” he muttered lowly, the praise slipping through so naturally. 

As his praise washed over you, you felt your stomach flip. It shouldn’t feel that good. Not after the months and months of neglect so bad that you were literally dying. But, you couldn’t help the small ember of warmth that bloomed through your chest as that muttered praise of good girl flowed through your veins like a warm blanket settling over you. 

But, you were still angry. And hurt. And countless other emotions that you couldn’t even begin to name, all just culminating into a neverending ache. And as you saw the blood marring the plush flesh of his lower lip, something inside of you snapped. 

He had made his worst mistake. He had let go of you, and now you could truly fight. 

You crouched down, using your smaller stature and power legs to kick your leg out, and you swept it across the ground, knocking the much-bigger alpha off of his feet. You watched as his massive frame hit the ground, shaking the walls, a bloom of satisfaction erupting in your chest. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins now, the only thing allowing you to move, and before he had the chance to become reoriented, you were on top of him, straddling his hips as you punched at his chest. Your tears of anguish were falling freely now, sobs breaking free with your yells. 

“You have broken me! Broken! I used to be so strong, so happy, and you destroyed that! Ripped it away from me! All because you were too fucking caught up in your own shit, your own fucking fear, that you couldn’t even be half of the alpha you needed to be!”

Simon grunted in pain as his back collided with the cold, hard tile of his quarters, his hands automatically coming up to grab at your hips. Not to shove you off, no, but to keep you on top of him. He knew he deserved this. Every punch, every pointed word, every tear. It was his penance for all of the pain and agony he had put you through, even if it was ripping his heart to absolute shreds. 

“I know, I know,” he growled softly, his voice thick with regret. “I know I did.”

You shook your head, tears and snot flying from the force. You were so angry, so hurt, but the adrenaline was quickly running its course, leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion and pain. Your punches slowly weakened, until you were barely able to lift your hands. Instead, they came to rest on his bare chest, your omega claws digging sharply into the thick muscle that covered his chest, one of your hands digging directly over his heart, needing him to feel a fraction of the agony that coursed through your own. 

“Don’t you agree with me! Don’t you dare! Gods, you do this to me for months, and you… you have nothing to say for yourself!? I tried! Tried to be a good spouse, a good omega! I tried to give you your space, to be unobtrusive, even though that killed my omega! And all I fuckin’ got in return is this fucking bond sickness that is killing me! Tearing me apart from the inside out!” 

His body shuddered as your claws dug into his chest, his skin breaking under the tiny points. It hurt in every way that it could, but the tiny pinpricks of blood that welled around your claws were nothing compared to how he had hurt you. He knew that he deserved this, every inch of your wrath, of your anger, and the pain it brought for him. It was the least he could do - to bear this for you. But, Gods, it didn’t stop your words from tearing into his heart in a way your claws couldn’t even begin to touch. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he repeated, his words thick with the guilt that was threatening to choke him. “And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

His apology broke what little strength you had left. The bond between you was fraying, seconds away from snapping completely, and you had never felt more lost. A sob broke free from your lips, the force of the sound causing your body to lurch forward. But, Simon was there. For once, he was there. His chest caught your head, your tears wetting his skin almost instantaneously as your claws scratched down his torso, leaving thin, raised red lines down his scarred skin. 

He hissed softly in response to the pain, but he made no attempt to move, to shy away from it. You had completely given up on your ego, your omega so desperate for your alpha, no matter what he had done. But, you were still so hurt, your omega so wounded that you had no idea how you were going to come back from this. 

“Just… just tell me why. Why did you do this? Why did you treat me like this?” you sobbed out into his chest, your sour, distressed omega pheromones wafting around him like a shroud of despair. 

His alpha writhed in pain at your scent. It was wrong, so, so wrong, but he had done this. His neglect, his apathy, had taken his once strong, ferocious omega and reduced her down to this. He had never seen you like this. And he never wanted to again. He could feel the bond between you slipping between his fingers like shards of glass digging into his very being, and fear rose to take its place. He wrapped his arms around you, cradling your tiny, trembling form against him, his nose burying into your hair as he pressed a featherlight, shaking kiss into it. He swallowed harshly against the lump in his throat, his heart clenching in fear. In pain. In anger at himself. “I was a coward, love.” 

You sobbed harder against his chest at his admission, shaking your head jerkily. Your body felt like it was freezing and burning up at the same time, as the frayed edges of the bond dug into you like poisonous thorns. You could feel your mind shattering, your heart stuttering as the bond sickness continued to take hold. You were dying, and you knew it. But at this point, you would almost take death over the amount of pain you were in. “That’s not a good excuse,” came your shaking reply, the words thick with tears and agony, but they were strong with conviction. “Tell me why, Simon. Tell me why, or break the godsdamned bond.” 

The words that left your lips felt like they were suffocating the alpha. Break the bond. His arms tightened around you until you were completely pressed against him, and he could feel every shudder, every quiver in your weakening body. A low growl rumbles from his chest, the sound full of pain but also a desperate desire to comfort. He had to try - to even attempt to explain, even if he wasn’t sure it would do anything. But the thought of losing you without even trying made his heart shatter, his alpha howl in protest. 

“Because I was afraid,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret and honesty as his knuckles ran across the knobs of your spine. That caused him more pain than you would ever know, feeling how you had atrophied from his neglect. How his dismissal, his abandonment had caused his once strong, beautiful omega, to waste away before his very eyes. “Afraid of getting caught up in you, in this. Of loving you, of giving you part of my heart. I didn’t know how to keep you safe. I didn’t think I was worthy of having something like that, like you. I still don’t.” 

“Then break the bond,” you whimpered out, the pain of the bond sickness, of your own emotions, and what little of Simon’s you could still feel through the barest threads of the bond ricocheting through your body, reduced you to little more than a husk lying on top of Simon. Your heart was shattering along with the bond, the broken edges of each splintering in a way that made it hard for you to breathe. Your breath pushed and pulled achingly slowly through your chapped lips like broken glass, just another thing ripping your very being apart. 

“If you can’t do this… I’ll… I’ll figure it out. The brass’ll let me stay, at least for a little bit. But, I can’t… I can’t keep doin’ this. ‘M not asking for love. ‘M not asking to be a real marriage, but I can’t be apart of a bond where ‘m not… where ‘m not bein’ taken care of. I can’t.” 

Your words were slurring, little more than a broken and pain-filled whimper against his broad chest, and Simon could practically hear the way his heart shatters beneath you. He did this. He did this. And yet, the selfish part of him couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, no matter how much pain he had put you through. The alpha snarled as he wrapped his arms around your ever-weakening frame impossibly tighter, as if he was afraid that if he didn’t hold you tight enough, you’d slip away from him forever. 

“No, baby, no,” he replied softly, but the words were filled with a growl of conviction, of promise. “I was stupid. I was so stupid, and I hurt you. Let me… let me fix this, okay? Please, baby. Lemme fix you. Just for right now.” 

Simon was begging. You didn’t know if you had ever heard him beg before, but here he was, begging you to allow him the chance to fix you. Your exhausted, wounded omega perked up a bit at his conviction, but you couldn’t help but feel like this was far too little, far too late. “I… I don’t know, Simon. How can you… how can you fix this?” 

The pained gasps between your words drove a stake of fear through Simon’s heart, his alpha whimpering painfully. He swallowed harshly against the ever-growing lump in his throat, as he knew that he had to be the pillar of strength. If he broke right now, there was no hope for you. His lips brushed against the top of your head as he inhaled your sour, rotted scent in despair, his hands running up and down your back in a vain attempt to soothe you. 

“Let me… let me have a chance,” the alpha, your alpha, pleaded. “Please baby, let me fix this. I’ll do better, I promise. Gods, I’ll do anything. Just… just let me get you better,  baby, please. And then, if you still want to break the bond, we can, okay? Just… I can’t lose you. I can’t let you die. Not like this. Never like this.”

You felt, more than heard, his words wash over you. You could feel your body failing, the bond sickness taking what little was left of you. Even with Simon’s touch, with his promises, you had a brief moment of clarity where you just knew that this still might be it, that the bond had been strained too far, the cavernous distance between the two of you still too great, that this bond sickness might still kill you, despite his promises to fix you. 

You were so tired. So, so tired. The pain is too much, your eyelids too heavy, and it felt like what was left of your shattered heart wasn’t pumping nearly enough oxygen through your veins. You were teetering on the edge, and all you wanted to do was sleep. 

“Just… just let me sleep. In here. With you. Please?” you mumbled, the words soft and slurred. Any fight, any pride you had just a few minutes ago was long gone, and if you were going to die, your omega wanted it to be right here, in your alpha’s arms, taken peacefully in your sleep. “I need… just, please, Si.” 

Simon’s resolve shattered at the nickname that fell past your lips. He instantly sat up, gathering your frail, fragile body in his arms as he nodded, his own tears finally breaking free. 

His fault. All his fault. Always his fault. 

He quickly stood up, your body light (too light, too light) in his arms as he carried you to his bed. He was terrified. He could feel how slow your heartbeat was, how weak your body was, how slurred your words were. He shushed you softly, gently, but the sound warbled against his own tears. 

“Shhh, shhh, baby. I got you. I got you. Just… just sleep, okay? I’ll be right here. Right here. Never leavin’ your side again. I promise. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Just sleep.” 

He gingerly laid you on the bed, surrounding you with blankets and pillows, anything he could find that was drenched in his alpha scent, before his body came to blanket you. He couldn’t lose you. And he will keep his promise, even as his own silent tears fell down around your now-unconscious face. 

What’s that old saying? Oh, right. You never know what you had until it’s gone.

[weebsinstash]

Sort of a specific idea but

Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham to become Batman in his late 20s and he doesn't retire (at least from working in the field) until I believe he's in his 60s, so

It's entirely plausible to think of a platonic yandere Batman scenario where, you were a child involved in a disaster that he rescued, and some 10, 15 years later he runs into an adult you by whatever means and he can see you're struggling to make ends meet and you're having issues that ultimately stem from the trauma caused by that incident all those years ago, and he wants to help you, save you from your current situation, and maybe even finds out you've fallen to the dark side in all this time you were out of his sight

Like, the added drama if, in a way, he feels partially responsible for your current situatuon; he was still kind of green when you went through your accident. Maybe he feels like he should've kept a closer eye on you after the fact, helped make sure you were OK; you were just a little kid clinging to him in fear, so small you fit into his arms to be picked up. Could you even imagine it's something like, you lose your parents in a villain attack and you're just this frightened little kid and some 10 years later Bruce meets you as an adult and you're either an addict, a criminal, both, and potentially even a metahuman on top of everything else so you have the capacity to be legitimately dangerous

See, a lot of the thematic elements of Batman as a franchise itself is that many of the Batman villains were sort of just, normal people that had horrible things happen to them that, while not being justified, may be understandable. A lot of Batman villains carry underlying themes of, being victims of abuse, victims of society, victims of disability or mistreatment for that disability, so, from a narrative standpoint, you then have Batman seeing you as not just someone he feels he failed to fully save, but now, you could potentially end up going down a dark path like so many others he's personally seen spiral, and he doesn't want to have to put you in Belle Rev or Arkham.

Batman loving you and wanting to protect you but for your own good he ultimately feels has no choice but to contain you until he can either convince you to control your powers or he finds a way to suppress them by force. Then, he wants to take you under his wing; you're broken and hurting, just like a part of him will always be. If you've got no one else to look after you anymore, he can be your new family.

Batman going into full helicopter Batdad mode where he's just, fully convinced that just about every negative action or choice you make is just stemming from trauma or some other problem he has to fix and basically, kind of in a way robs you of the autonomy and accountability that you have making your own choices as a whole. Oh, you haven't had mental healthcare all these years? Prepare for him forcing you to go to therapy and promising you he doesn't know what you talk about which is a lie because he has spy equipment to listen in on your sessions anyway. Hope you like being forced to take medication for conditions and disorders that you're not sure to believe you've even been credibly diagnosed with.

Then of course you have all your new "siblings" and comrades in arms watching over you, ESPECIALLY once Batman becomes convinced that fighting crime with him and the others will be the outlet you need for your anger just like it is for him and most of the others in his traumatized gaggle of adopted children. NOW you've got this entire, basically half dozen or so prodigies with their own sets of skills, traumas, obsessions. Some see you as a playful rival. Others see you as more of an equal. They ALL see you as "sweet cinnamon roll, must protect"

Batman having to keep you from becoming radicalized. Batman dealing with this super-powered angry version of you that wants to take justice into your own hands, in YOUR way, which yeah, involves a lil killing, as a treat. Bruce absolutely convinced, and perhaps being right, that he's the only one that can save you from doing something that will ruin your life forever

You'll don your new costume and you'll like it. You'll have his symbol on your chest marking you as his family and you'll like it. You'll spend basically every waking moment either in his home, with a member of his found family, or with him, and you'll like it. Hell, maybe you'll even be finding your last name was legally changed to Wayne without evem being discussed with you, and guess what? You'll have no choice but to learn to like that, too :)

[witchesverse]

Exposure of Daddynattt

In October 2024, Minor and I started talking to Jess. She was under the impression that Minor was 18 and I was 20. On the 28th of November 2024, Minor came clean about being 17 years old. Jess decided to still be friends with Minor (even after Minor had been sexual with Jess) and I had warned Jess that Minor would continue to be sexual and pushy, yet Jess brushed me off. Minor kept sending me screenshots of Jess being suggestive to her after finding out Minor's real age (Screenshots A). In these screenshots, it seemed as if Jess was suggesting that she had already found the girlfriend she wanted (Minor) and even told Minor to ask Minor's friend to explain what Jess meant. As I was disgusted by this behaviour, on the 22nd of December 2024, I came clean about being 16 (I am now 17 as I write this) and confronted Jess. Jess denied being suggestive and explained it was a 'joke'. At the time, I believed her, but as I look back on it it was clearly not a joke. I stopped being friends with Minor and went low contact with Jess after this interaction.

SCREENSHOOT A

On the 15th of January 2025, Minor messaged me and provided screenshots of her conversations with Jess. In (Screenshots B), Minor tells Jess they can no longer talk due to the age gap. During this conversation, Jess keeps playing things off as a joke and Minor 'forced' her into doing sexual acts. Unless you are being blackmailed (Jess was not), you cannot be forced to do anything online. Of course, you can feel forced but the block button exists for a reason. Although, Jess continued talking to Minor suggestively after finding out she was a minor (before the sexual things started). This completely negates her entire argument that she was manipulated as she was suggestive before Minor was being forceful/manipulative. In (Screenshots C), Minor is sending Jess explicit posts on Tumblr, which Jess replies to with "Us". In (Screenshots D), are the sexts of Minor and Jess. Personally, she did not look very forced and was into it. She even highlighted Minor as "A little younger girl" and said, "I like younger girls a lot.". When Jess references "her" in Screenshot D, she is talking about her adult friend she was on call with. She wished that her friend could hear Minor "sucking her cock" In (Screenshot E), Jess is admitting her love for Minor. In (Screenshot F), Jess mentions the possible chance of them dating and that Jess does not regret meeting Minor. In (Screenshot G), you can see Jess urging Minor to show Jess that she is masturbating.

SCREENSHOT B

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SCREENSHOT C

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SCREENSHOT D

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SCREENSHOT E

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SCREENSHOT F

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SCREENSHOT G

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On the 15th of January 2025, I confronted Jess for being a pedophile (Screenshot H). She did not admit to it at first and even played dumb in an attempt to avoid the situation. She only admitted after I said I had screenshots. In these messages, she seemed to be shifting the blame to Minor. She explained she felt pressured and forced, and that it was consensual with both parties. Yes, Minor is of legal age, I acknowledge that. But, I also acknowledge that Jess is 28 in 4 months (2 years off 30) and she is attracted to a teenager and minor. That is against my morals and I believe that the law should not be an excuse in this situation, hence why I'm making this post. In some countries, the age of consent is 14 and under, would that make it okay if a 28-year-old was sexual with them? Personally, I would say no as the law does not control my morals. On top of that, there were multiple sexual things sent between them. There were sexts, phone sex, nudes, and video porn. Even though Minor is of legal age, those sexual materials that Jess willingly received and asked (as seen in Screenshot G) for are considered child porn. That is illegal.

SCREENSHOT H

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I am at my limit of photos in this post. I will have to explain rather than show.

Once I had told Jess' friends about her actions, she focused hard on shifting the blame to Minor and me. She blames Minor for pressuring her (she is the adult and should've known to block), and she believes she did nothing legally wrong (child porn is illegal in her and Minor's country). In that conversation, Jess talks about Minor knowing and being serious about what was happening. I have known Minor for nearly 4 years, she has never known the severity of being groomed. I will admit, I also don't understand the severity but I see adults get angry and upset, so I know with age I will see the issue. Jess continues to put me at fault for "a lot of things". I have lied about my age multiple times (from 15 to 17) I know lying about my age is bad, I swore I would never do it again, and then I started to struggle mentally and didn't really care anymore. I know that isn't an excuse but that is the reason I lied and I know people might berate me in the comments; that is ok. Jess says that I knew Minor was underage and "tagged her along". Yes, I knew Minor was underage, but I did not force her; she asked me if she could join the Discord server. I am not responsible for her. Jess said I told her friend "Minors get horny" to defend prying on adults. I did not tell her friend that sentence so minors can pry on adults, I said that in response to interacting with 18+ fanfic spaces. I was talking about fanfics. Jess believes me calling her out is "fucking ridiculous" and I do not understand this. Jess decided to be sexual with a teenager, why am I the ridiculous one? Jess mentions she was "harassed and forced" by Minor, which again, cannot happen without blackmail. Jess was not forced, she could have blocked but refused to.

After this all happened, Jess deactivated her Tumblr account 'Daddynattt' to avoid backlash. I am making this post because I want people to know what happened. I understand that people will defend and feel sympathy for Jess, but Minor and I lying about our ages did not sprinkle pedophile dust on Jess. She would have groomed a minor regardless of our actions. I am being honest and if anyone has questions or anything, send me an ask. Anyone who is reading this and is still one of Jess' friends, if I have skipped anything that avoids making me look like the 'bad guy' send me and ask and I'll post it, no problem.

Obviously, I won't be writing on this account anymore. Sorry to everyone who was excited about that series lol.

[harpieisthecarpie]

looking at how Goro Akechi became a foil of Akira Kurusu thru their childhood (attachment styles)

(Content Warnings for discussing all the stuff in Akechi's childhood specifically, bad parenting, neglect, mental illness. Take care of urselves)

waking up to the tags @1derpu2 added on another post of mine about Akechi ("#I don't think I could survive in his position") had me thinking of a 15-16 year old Akechi, and how survival even feels to him.

Because arguably Akechi has been in survival mode since he was born. Even with a mother doing her best to provide, poverty fundamentally rewrites the brain especially at such a young age−

(Tangent: Akechi's dessert blog actually reminds me of Brennan Lee Mulligan during the d20 Misfits & Magic actual play discussing his character [Evan Kelmp, an unhoused orphaned kid] ordering from desserts at restaurants in order to maximize caloric intake for his money bc stuff on the dessert menu actually tends to contain the most calories– ANYWAYS)

–and he also can feel the underlying tension in how his mother is treated, how he himself is treated, how there is no support network for them. I can imagine that's part of the lure of an ensemble kid's show like Featherman: reliable companions who take your hand rather than slapping it away.

I've done a lot of reading into attachment styles and attachment trauma (bc it's interesting and also haha ;] trauma) and it is a really cool lens to view the differences between our two Wild Cards Akechi and Akira.

adding a reblog with an attachment theory rundown! actual discussion of akechu attachment stuff below cut

There is no better fit for Akechi than a Disorganized Attachment style after finding his sole caregiver and financial (his mother) dead by her own hand after years of her focus being split by the work she needed to do for them to afford survival, before being passed around by distant relatives who viewed him with contempt, if they acknowledged him at all.

The world treated him and his mother like vermin, so of course no one else is trustworthy, of course the people who take advantage are evil. Of course everyone takes advantage. Just like his father, who is the root of this whole horrible thing (the thing being Goro's life, the thing being Goro)

His mother left him violently, voluntarily (from his pov, suicide & mental illness are complicated), so he must be someone repulsive. Incapable of being loved. If he wants others to love him, and he must in order to get close enough to his father to kill, then he must be anything other than himself.

One of the symptoms of disorganized attachment and attachment trauma is the inability to regulate emotions, leading those with it to feel things with an intensity they can't control, soothe, or explain that can fluctuate between emotions rapidly.

And doesn't that markedly fit with a kid who has awoken such disparate personas that are both him? His entire relationship with the world (there must be justice but there is no such thing as justice) and his inner psyche does explain why he brings up Hegel. If you have both Loki and Robin Hood inside you, thesis and antithesis, then isn't it a comfort to know their existence somehow makes sense? That you are synthesis rather than just chaos and pain.

Meanwhile, from the little we hear about Akira's parents and how Persona 5 frames the adults around him, the Avoidant attachment style fits best. He is fiercely independent, with such a strong sense of identity despite with the masks he wears for others that he has the true Wild Card ability. He stands his ground with his morals, even when everyone around him is telling him his life would be easier if he gave up.

He has a strong internal moral center because he was never attached enough to his caregivers that they'd be able to influence his cognitive assimilation. Why trust someone's moral judgment when you can't even trust them with your vulnerability?

This is why Akira and Akechi are so fascinating as foils, as rivals, and as people who know each other better than anyone else could. Akechi walks around as a fake, appealing version of himself that Akira sees through clearly. And Akira likes the bitter, vicious, angry version of Akechi because it's honest. That is the underlying intensity of people he knows is hidden behind the masks adults are convinced are their faces. (Where's your rage? RISE RISE RISE)

Akira and Akechi match so well not because they have a hidden ugliness, but because they view the pleasant masks people wear to excuse or ignore injustice as what are truly ugly. And their difference lies in Akira's belief that there is good in people while Akechi's upbringing has him convinced that humanity is rotten to its roots.

And Akechi wants Akira's beating, caring heart between his teeth because there is still a lonely little child in his own chest who loves Featherman and just wanted a better life for his mom. And who won't fucking die, no matter how Akechi tears the world apart to match his perception of it.

Akechi has spent years trying to kill his heart, which has done nothing but soaked his masks in his own blood.

Akira looks Akechi in the eyes, straight through those masks, and steals his heart from off the chopping block. And he keeps it close even as Akechi turns the blade on him in a rage borne of fear.

They're gay as hell thanks for coming to my ted talk. might improve after work

[andromeda-pleiades]

Just Trust Me

WORD COUNT: 1,747

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Part- 1

The ride home is quieter than usual. Simon, who typically fills the silence with small talk or offhand comments, stays focused on the road. You can feel the absence of his usual chatter, and the space between you both grows.

You bite your lip, trying to decide whether to bring it up. The missing phone. The app. Simon’s reaction could tell you more than anything, but you're not sure what you're hoping to hear.

"So, I think I lost my phone today," you say, casually, trying to gauge his response.

Simon’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, though his expression doesn’t change. “Lost it? That’s a shame. Where?”

You hesitate, thinking back to the sandwich shop. The moment you realized your phone was gone, it felt like it happened in slow motion. “In the sandwich shop, I guess. It was just... gone.”

Simon glances at you briefly, his eyes cool, before returning to the road. “That’s annoying.”

He says it with a certain calmness, almost as if he's dismissing it without making a big deal out of it. You can’t quite place it, but something about his reaction makes you feel... uneasy.

"I’ll get you a new one," he adds, as if he’s solving the problem for you. “No point in you going without one.”

You almost want to argue, but something holds you back. The way he offers to replace it feels like it should be reassuring, but it only adds to the sense that you're losing control over things you once took for granted. You nod, unsure of what else to say.

"Thanks," you murmur. But the words feel hollow.

The silence stretches on, the low hum of the car filling the space between you. You keep wondering if he knows. About the app. About the things you haven’t figured out yet.

You glance at him, but his face is unreadable, his focus entirely on driving. It's as if the missing phone is nothing more than a minor inconvenience, and you can't decide if that should reassure you—or if it should worry you.

The car pulls into the driveway, and you feel the weight of the day pressing down on you. You know Simon’s going to act like everything is fine, that the missing phone is just another small thing to be dealt with. But a small voice inside you whispers that it's more than that.

You can't put your finger on it yet. But something feels...

You sit on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you, while Simon moves around the kitchen, humming a soft tune as he cleans up after dinner. The evening feels deceptively normal, his attentiveness wrapping around you like a warm blanket. He checks in with you often—bringing you water, asking if you’re comfortable—all while wearing the calm, steady expression you’ve always admired.

It’s what you should want, isn’t it? A partner who cares, who notices even the smallest things.

And yet, you feel… off. Not because of anything he’s doing, but because of you. Because of your own thoughts.

You glance at him as he wipes down the counter, his movements smooth and precise. Memories of his stories about his time in the special forces flash through your mind—missions in dangerous places, the constant threat of danger, the toll it must’ve taken on him. You’ve seen glimpses of it in the night terrors that wake him up, in the way he’s always scanning his surroundings when you’re out in public, in the way he can’t fully relax even here, at home.

You understand why he might have done it. The app, you mean.

It feels foolish now, the way you reacted earlier when you found it. Simon has always been a good boyfriend, patient and attentive even when you’ve struggled to keep up with his complexities. It makes sense that he would want to keep you safe, that he might need the reassurance of knowing where you are.

He’s been through so much—things you can’t begin to comprehend. After everything he’s seen, after all the chaos he’s lived through, is it so wrong that he wants control? That he wants to protect you in the only way he knows how?

You press your lips together, fighting back a wave of guilt. Maybe you overreacted. Maybe the app really is just his way of looking out for you.

But there’s something else, something you can’t quite name. A feeling deep in your gut that won’t go away, no matter how much you try to rationalize it.

Because if it was just about safety, just about protection, why didn’t he tell you about it?

The question twists in your mind, and you hate yourself for it. You hate that you’re doubting him when he’s never given you a real reason to. He’s been nothing but wonderful to you. Understanding. Patient. The perfect partner in every way.

And yet, the unease lingers, curling low in your stomach like a warning.

Simon turns to you then, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You okay?” he asks, his voice gentle, concerned.

You force a smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Just... tired.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, and you feel your pulse quicken. But then he nods, accepting your answer without pushing further.

“You should get some rest,” he says, walking over to press a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll finish up here.”

You murmur your thanks, leaning into his touch despite the knot tightening in your chest.

As you retreat to the bedroom, you try to shake the feeling, to convince yourself that you’re overthinking it. Simon loves you. He’s always loved you. And he’s been through more than anyone should ever have to endure.

But no matter how much you tell yourself it’s fine, that he’s fine, you can’t ignore the small voice whispering in the back of your mind. The one telling you there’s more to this than he’s letting on.

And the more you try to silence it, the louder it becomes.

The room is dark and still when you wake, the faint scent of cigarette smoke lingering in the air. You blink a few times, disoriented, before realizing Simon isn’t beside you.

You sit up slowly, the silence pressing against your ears. Through the bedroom window, you catch a glimpse of him standing on the porch, his silhouette faintly illuminated by the cherry-red glow of his cigarette.

Simon doesn’t smoke often—only when he’s stressed. You watch him for a moment, his posture rigid, his shoulders tense as he stares out into the darkness.

A sense of unease washes over you, but you push it aside, convincing yourself it’s nothing. He’s probably just thinking, you tell yourself. Processing whatever ghosts still haunt him.

But you can’t shake the restlessness in your chest.

Sliding out of bed, you move quietly across the room. Your bare feet make no sound as they touch the cool floor. You don’t know what compels you to move toward the closet, but something in the back of your mind whispers for you to check.

The closet is orderly, as always—Simon’s precision extending to even the smallest details of his life. You scan the shelves and the small duffel bag tucked into the corner. It’s zipped shut, but not fully.

Your heart pounds as you crouch down, pulling it open. At first, you don’t see anything out of the ordinary: folded clothes, a shaving kit. But then your hand brushes against something hard and rectangular.

Your phone.

For a moment, you just stare at it, your breath caught in your throat. You pull it out slowly, your fingers trembling. The screen lights up as you press the button, and the app you found earlier stares back at you like a damning accusation.

You’re about to set it down when a notification pops up.

A message.

From Gaz

Your stomach drops. You hesitate for only a moment before swiping to unlock the screen. The message thread opens, and your pulse races as you scroll through it.

Gaz: She doesn’t suspect anything, does she?

Soap: Not a chance. Simon’s too good for that.

Simon: Just keep your end clear. I don’t want any loose ends.

Gaz: Relax. She’s not like that.

Your vision blurs as you stare at the screen, your brain struggling to piece together what you’re seeing.

She’s not like that. Are they talking about you?

You scroll further, catching bits and pieces of their conversation.

Gaz: How’s she holding up?

Simon: Doesn’t matter. Everything’s under control.

Soap: Yeah, but for how long?

The words feel like a punch to the gut. You don’t understand the full context, but you know enough to realize that this isn’t normal. This isn’t right.

And then it hits you.

Gaz

Kyle.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Kyle—the same Kyle you’d known for years, your childhood friend. He’d always been part of Simon’s stories, but you never knew he was the same person. You never knew that Gaz—the elusive, almost mythical figure in Simon’s past—was your old friend.

Your childhood friend. The same Kyle you ran into at the sandwich shop. The same Kyle who was part of Simon’s special forces team, whose codename you’d heard in passing but never connected until now.

Your mind races as the truth sinks in. This wasn’t a coincidence. None of this was. Simon had been watching you from the start, and Kyle had been helping him. Every move you made, every step you took—it had all been calculated.

You feel like the floor has been ripped out from under you.

You force yourself to put the phone back exactly as you found it, zipping up the duffel bag and closing the closet door. Your hands are shaking, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

When you glance out the window again, Simon is still there, his cigarette burned down to the filter. He crushes it under his boot, the movement precise, deliberate.

In that moment, he doesn’t look like the man you thought you knew.

He doesn’t look like the comforting, loving boyfriend who holds you when you’re upset or makes you laugh when you’ve had a bad day.

He looks like a soldier. A man trained to control every situation, to anticipate every threat, to eliminate every weakness.

And suddenly, you realize: you’re not his partner. You’re just another piece on the board.

[originalleftist]

YEAH, NO SHIT RADIATION CROSSES BORDERS.

HOWEVER, nuclear fallout and other effects would NOT be distributed evenly everywhere on Earth. Some countries would be more likely to be heavily-targeted. Wind patterns are also a thing.

It is also false to present all radioactive fallout, or even most, as lasting thousands of years.

On fallout:

On which countries would potentially be least-affected by a nuclear war:

"The authors compared 38 island countries on 13 factors they said could predict success as a post-apocalyptic survival state, including food production, energy self-sufficiency, manufacturing and the disaster's effect on climate. Australia and New Zealand - both robust agricultural producers and tucked away from the likely sites of northern hemisphere nuclear fallout - topped the tables, with Australia performing best overall.

"Australia's food supply buffer is gigantic," the study concludes, "with potential to feed many tens of millions of extra people."

Australia's relatively good infrastructure, vast energy surplus, high health security and defence budget all aided in pushing it to the top of the table. Australia did have one major factor working against it, however: its relatively close military ties with the UK and US made it more likely to become a target in a nuclear war."

I will also emphasize here that while radioactive fallout is the risk people most often focus on, the biggest killer is likely to be neither fallout nor the initial detonations themselves, but starvation due to food production crashing during a prolonged "nuclear winter":

"A subsequent study, published in 2019, looked at a comparable but slightly lower 150 Tg atmospheric soot injection following an equivalent scale nuclear war. The devastation causes so much smoke that only 30-40 percent of sunlight reaches the Earth's surface for the subsequent six months

A massive drop in temperature follows, with the weather staying below freezing throughout the subsequent Northern Hemisphere summer. In Iowa, for example, the model shows temperatures staying below 0°C for 730 days straight. There is no growing season. This is a true nuclear winter.

Nor is it just a short blip. Temperatures still drop below freezing in summer for several years thereafter, and global precipitation falls by half by years three and four. It takes over a decade for anything like climatic normality to return to the planet.

By this time, most of Earth's human population will be long dead. The world's food production would crash by more than 90 percent, causing global famine that would kill billions by starvation. In most countries less than a quarter of the population survives by the end of year two in this scenario. Global fish stocks are decimated and the ozone layer collapses.

The models are eerily specific. In the 4,400 warhead/150 Tg soot nuclear war scenario, averaged over the subsequent five years, China sees a reduction in food calories of 97.2 percent, France by 97.5 percent, Russia by 99.7 percent, the UK by 99.5 percent and the US by 98.9 percent. In all these countries, virtually everyone who survived the initial blasts would subsequently starve."

That said, "a species-level extinction of Homo sapiens is unlikely even after a full-scale nuclear war. But the vast majority of the human population would suffer extremely unpleasant deaths from burns, radiation and starvation, and human civilization would likely collapse entirely. Survivors would eke out a living on a devastated, barren planet."

A regional conflict (an example given is an exchange of 100 weapons between India and Pakistan) is not as apocalyptic, but "the soot penetrating the stratosphere would cause severe damage to the EArth's ozone layer, increasing UV penetration by 30-80 percent over the mid-latitudes. This would cause "widespread damage to human health, agriculture, and terrestrial and aquatic ecosystems," the researchers wrote. "The combined cooling and enhanced UV would put significant pressures on global food supplies and could trigger a global nuclear famine."

So, in short:

-Radioactive fallout does not fall everywhere equally.

-Not all radioactive fallout lasts thousands of years, in fact most does not.

-Radioactive fallout is not the biggest issue in a nuclear war- starvation is.

-There is no good place to be in a nuclear war.

-That said, where you are does potentially make a difference to whether you have a chance of survival or are pretty much guaranteed a slow, agonizing death.

-A regional nuclear war is probably survivable if you're not caught in the initial blasts.

-A world war is pretty much a quick death sentence or a slow one if you are in any major Northern Hemisphere country. Your odds aren't super great anywhere, but you at least have a chance if you're in, say, Australia or New Zealand.

Obviously, such a war would be unspeakably horrific- even the "regional" variety. And obviously, most of us can't just up and move to Australia on a whim*. But there ARE meaningful things you can do to prepare for these scenarios.

Also, maybe next time a) do your research and b) respond to what I'm actually saying before putting words in my mouth, talking down to me like I'm too stupid to know radiation crosses borders, and implying I'm just some privileged colonial aristocrat. My initial reply was a lot less polite than this one.

*Edit: Me included, FYI- I live in Canada, in a major city and within the blast radius of a major military base, and I am well-aware that as things currently stand should such a war happen, my BEST case scenario is probably that I die quickly in the initial blasts.

sometimes it feels like we’re living in a bad alternate universe... but it’s real—and it’s terrifying. the idea of annexing canada as the 51st state? renaming the gulf of mexico to the gulf of america? fighting over greenland? it sounds absurd, but it’s part of a bigger, scarier pattern.

the mass deportations, the immigration raids, the open hostility—it’s all happening now. and it’s hard not to feel like the country is spiraling into a place where power is prioritized over humanity.

i’m worried for the future. for the people caught in the crossfire. for what’s coming next.

#politics #stateofthecountry #immigration #humanrights #worried

[muddyorbsblr]

a heart like yours outtake: at her side

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @lokiprompts | View request here

Placement: Years before the events of the main story

Summary: You return from a mission in Peru having been stung by a plant that causes uncontrollable itching, and Banner's antidote has a rather feverish side effect.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning/s: steamy moments alluding to a blue-skinned red-eyed mango ride at the end, but other than that…nothing. this is mostly fluff [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: idiots in love

If anyone dared question him why he'd chosen to situate himself close to the landing bay on this particular day and implied that it was done so that he could be one of the first to see to your return after a month-long mission with his brother in Peru, Loki would have denied it until the air depleted from his lungs. Lived up to his title of 'god of lies'.

The last thing he wanted was for you to find out that he'd been harboring any form of affection for you, and risked tearing asunder what ever semblance of a friendship you two had established in the months leading up to you leaving for your mission. There was no reason for you to know that he'd spent the last month within the mission control room, practically bounding into action whenever your voice filled the room, asking for an assist.

Or the relief that ran through his entire body when you finally sent in the update that you were en route back to the Tower.

He couldn't even bring himself to pretend to read the book he held in his hand while awaiting the arrival of your aircraft, failing to remember to acknowledge the mumbled greetings from passing SHIELD agents. All he could do was stare intently at the helipad, as if concentrating harder would somehow materialize the aircraft on the spot, and you would finally be back.

However, the god's eagerness quickly dissipated into concern once you finally did arrive, and you were curled up in fetal position in Thor's arms as he carried you into the Tower. "She fell ill," his brother explained, quite lamely, once he stepped through the doors.

"What did you do?"

"I assure you, Brother, I did nothing," he answered. "We stepped into the jet, and Lady Y/N mentioned something about being scratched by a plant and started shouting at me to have her strapped down before she scratched all her skin off."

The two Asgardians made their way to the infirmary, the older of them shouting for Dr. Banner to join them so they could find a cure.

"You're overreacting, Thunder," you muttered, holding on to both sides of the narrow stretcher, your entire mortal form tense as you fought against the itch, an alarming rash blooming all over your arms and neck. And those were only the areas visible to those in the room with you.

It took Banner quite a few moments to put together a serum that would counteract the effects of the plant that you explained was called "stinging nettle".

"Alright, this should get rid of the rashes, but I have to warn you, there is a possibility that you contract one hell of a fever after. Your body's literally fighting off poison, Y/L/N," he informed you, fighting back a chuckle when you all too enthusiastically nodded, presenting your forearm and answering him with a whispered impatient 'gimme it'. He injected the serum directly into a vein, and you had a few good moments of sheer relief, a smile playing at the sides of your mouth as the itching subsided.

But then you began to writhe again, groaning in clear discomfort as you began burning up. "Yup, there it is," you hissed. A sheen of alarming crimson bloomed across your skin, sweat starting to break out on your forehead. You made a motion to stand, pushing Loki to spring into action, ready to hold you upright if you stumbled. "This isn't my first rodeo, guys, it's fine. Plenty of fluids, bed rest, should be over in a few days. Right?"

You took a step before letting out a sharp cry of pain, clutching your head and instinctively leaning on the god to keep yourself steady. "Alright, little mortal, up you go," he said, scooping you up into his arms in an effortless, fluid motion. "No more walking until you're better."

He carried you to your apartment, gently laying you on your bed before going to wet a towel, using his Jotun powers to put it at a near freezing temperature before placing it on your forehead. You let out an exhale of pure relief from the contact, murmuring a faint 'thank you'.

"Rest, darling," he said softly, fighting back the urge to press a kiss to your forehead. You weren't his; that wasn't his place. "I shall bring you something to eat."

You were much too tired to protest, offering him merely a little nod before your breathing evened out. Once he made his way to the kitchen area, he found Romanoff there with her phone in hand, a rather inquisitive look on her face as she stared down the god.

"Banner told me Y/N's got a fever," she said, tapping away at her device. "Her comfort food of choice is fried crescent dumplings from the Chinese place down the block, and they should be arriving right about--"

"Agent Romanoff, you have a delivery at the main lobby," FRIDAY announced through the floor's PA system, making the Russian agent smile as if it was right on cue. "Shall I have it sent up?"

"Now," she told the god. "Thanks, FRIDAY. Laufeyson's gonna receive it." Before he could say anything, she posed a question for him. "Why don't you just use your magic to get rid of the fever?"

The question, simple as it was, had Loki internally stumbling to find the words. There was no logical answer for why he had chosen this course of action, especially when there was a much more expedient alternative at the tips of his fingers. He selfishly chose this to spend more time with you. Because of his affections toward you.

"There is already an excess of foreign bodies in her system, Romanoff," he said slowly. "I do not wish to add to that physical stress on her."

She merely nodded, making her way out of the kitchen, presumably to her own apartment. When she was about to pass him, however, she imparted some words that nearly stopped Loki's heart in his chest. "It's not a crime to like someone, you know. And it doesn't make you any less of a man or god, whatever you wanna call yourself, if you admit it. One more thing, ginger tea with a dash of cayenne pepper powder. She hates the stuff but it should help."

He prepared a tray to hold your food and a pot of the tea that Agent Romanoff suggested, a small smile tugging at his mouth when he saw how your nose curled up when you smelled the hot beverage. "Dammit, Nat even told you about the pepper?" There was an almost endearing whining tone in your voice, your bottom lip jutting out in a little pout; the god nearly let out a chuckle when you took a sip and your whole face scrunched up from the taste.

"I know it's rather ghastly, darling. But it will help you," he said softly, placing the back of his hand on your forehead. "You're feverish again," he grumbled, making the split second decision to shift into his Jotun form, his now much colder skin helping to cool the air around you. "Is this alright? I can change back if it's too unsettling for you--"

"It's fine, Loki," you told him, warming his heart when you gave him a tiny smile. "I actually think you look badass like that. I can tell you there's even a subset of people on the Internet that find it hot." You shut your eyes, shaking your head as if you were mentally scolding yourself. "I'm sorry I talk too much my filter goes straight out the window when I'm sick."

"You need not apologize, little mortal," he assured you. There was, however, a stray thought in the back of his mind, wondering if you were among that subset of people that found his Jotun form slightly appealing. He didn't dare voice it, though.

He sat with you in silence, relieved that he was able to help your fever become a touch more bearable and that at least you weren't perspiring as much as you were when Banner's serum first worked its way through your system. You needed some mild encouragement to get through the tea though, the god having to talk you through every other sip, some rather rude and intrusive thoughts making their presence felt in his mind.

Namely in the form of saying the phrases "That's it, little mortal" and "Just a little more, darling" to you in the very same bed, only under more pleasurable circumstances.

And the more he tried to shoo the images away, the worse they persisted.

Once you were finished, the tray disappeared off the bed in a flash of green, re-materializing on the floor by your front door. "Get some sleep, darling. When you wake you will feel substantially better, I assure you."

He conjured a book from his personal library in his hand, reading you a tale from the Vanir fables to help you fall into slumber. As your breathing began to even out, you lay a feverish hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Loki," you said softly. Weakly. "You don't have to worry, I won't tell a soul."

"Tell them what, Y/N?"

"That you're actually a nice guy. You're all tough out there and you look like you don't give a fuck about anyone, but you actually show up for your friends. I know you have a whole image to keep, your secret's safe with me."

Before he could respond, your hand went slack, a peaceful look on your face as you fell asleep. That was when he used his magic to expedite your recovery, nearly all traces of your even having a fever chased out of your system with a wave of his hand.

He shifted back into his Aesir form before placing your covers over you, leaning down to whisper to your sleeping form, "It matters not to me who knows, little mortal. So long as you do."

A few years later…

"My love, do you remember when you fell ill after your mission in Peru with my brother?" Loki asked you, blissfully holding you in his arms as you both lay in bed, tracing his fingers along the length of your spine.

"Hmmm, a little," you told him, shuffling even closer to him and resting your chin on his bare chest. "I remember the stinging nettle, and the fever…and I remember you carrying me to my apartment." Your mouth stretched into a wide smile as you recalled that particular memory. "Precursor of things to come, I guess."

"Oh yes," he said in a low sexy grumble, pulling you on top of him so you were straddling him on the bed. "I look forward to carrying you out of the throne room after the ceremony…" He pulled you in for a kiss, softly moaning into your mouth as he weaved his fingers into your hair. "Straight to my bedchambers…"

A thrill shot through you just thinking of what lay ahead for the two of you in the coming months. Nat and Wanda were ecstatic getting to plan the lavish ceremony over in Asgard, and Loki's mother Queen Frigga, your soon-to-be mother-in-law, nearly tripped over her own feet volunteering to make your gown for the wedding.

"I remember you reading to me," you continued, brushing your nose against his. "And you brought me dumplings. And that god awful tea that Nat makes me drink whenever I get sick." He let out a chuckle at that last bit, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, embracing you just a bit tighter. "Why'd you ask?"

"That was the day I realized I'd fallen in love with you," he confessed, his fingers starting to play with a lock of your hair. "Tending to your recovery, and knowing full well that had it been anyone else I would not have exerted the same effort, it made me face the startling reality that what I had begun to feel for you was not simply…lust or a surface-level affection.

"But right as you fell asleep, the words you said to me? That told me why I had fallen so deeply and thoroughly in love with you. Because you saw me; you may be perhaps the only one in my centuries alive who ever truly did."

His words had you melting, feeling the unmistakable sensation of butterflies going crazy in your stomach, as they often did any time you were with him. But his words also brought a shocking question to mind. "Hang on…Peru was years before the Sin Healer. I wasn't even seeing anybody back then, why didn't you say anything?"

We could have had so much more time together, you thought to yourself, lamenting on the months…the years that you lost.

"Back then, I couldn't comprehend that there could be a world wherein you returned my love," he explained, already moving to wipe away the tear that began to fall from your eye. "I kept quiet so that I may remain in your life, even if it had been simply as a friend."

That settled it. You two really were idiots way back when. You took a deep breath, relieved to actually be able to tell your future husband the words. "Loki, I was already in love with you back then." A brilliant smile stretched across his face hearing your confession. "I didn't ever think you'd ever even be attracted to me, so I kept my mouth shut. I was just happy you even considered me a friend."

Loki flipped you onto your back, his gaze darkening as his smile morphed into that smirk that turned you into a squirming mess of a woman. "You've always been so much more, my darling mortal." He leaned down to press his lips to the base of your throat, chuckling against your skin when your breathing hitched from his attentions. "I remember another remark you made that day…about my Jotun form. Something about others perhaps finding it appealing?"

"Ohh…" you squeaked, your face flushed as you begun to recall those specific words. "What about it?"

"I'm just…rather curious, sweetheart." Your breathing became ragged and labored watching as his stormy blue eyes turned crimson, his skin becoming an icy blue, and patterned ridges rose all over his face and body. "Are you among those people?"

A/N: I can't tell y'all how happy I am that I got to write a request that ended up with me returning to the blorbos of 'a heart like yours'. This was my first finished series so it's always gonna hold a special place in my heart 🥹

There's at least one more outtake I have in mind for this couple, but I honestly don't know when I'll get to that…we'll see where the brain takes me

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie

@superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814 @jaidenhawke

[29daffodils]

bison : resident noob dom extraordinaire

context : there was a discourse going on on twitter (as per usual) about whether bison is actually a dom or not or if it's just a trauma response that he may grow out of and eventually realize that he is not into bdsm. or something.

before i begin anything,

disclaimer : OP has both good and bad experience, so this meta/rant is entirely written based on my own understanding and experience within the BDSM community and with partners.

now, let's begin.

the original tweet that sparked the debate (also i think OP's QT aiming at “self proclaimed bdsm connoisseurs” is snooty and entirely dismisses all their arguments before and after that) (but that's just me)

the tweet with the counter argument?? i guess???

in support of the OG tweet

now that i've laid all that out, i'll begin by saying :

the idea of anyone being a “natural dom” or there being something like “natural dominance” in the context of sexual preferences is inherently harmful and sets people, both the dom and the sub, up for having a bad experience, or worse, being abused.

i know this statement wasn't from OP, but considering how they are on about the “bdsm connoisseurs” flooding their mentions, i think they should have addressed this since it's in support of their tweet. anyway.

now, i agree in part with OP's take :

bison is definitely influenced by his entire life being surrounded by violence. we have a young adult who has mostly no control over his life or how he lives it. he has witnessed violence and now he is in the center of it, and nevermind how good he is at his job, bison has made it clear he doesn't want to kill. bison has also told us that “pain kinda excites me.” so, just because his sexual lifestyle might be a trauma response, it doesn't mean he “isn't really a dom” or that his behaviour is “not rooted in natural dominance”. the idea of “natural dominance” is moreover, in my opinion, based on unrealistic patriarchal ideals and if you squint, this is a not so subtle shade on our young twinky dom as well.

so now let's look at bison as he is introduced to us :

witnesses the murder of his parents, clearly traumatized, get “adopted” by some shady ass woman who puts him back into a system where he is the one now inflicting violence, bison realizes at some unknown point of time that he “wants to be in control” because “pain kinda excites me” and purchases all sorts of bdsm paraphernalia, except he never dates because of his profession, until he meets kant who dupes him into trying out s&m, and bison very much enjoys his first play, fast forward to the falling out and kidnapping of kant and the fighting and make-up, and finally the scene in question that sparked the OG tweet :

in this scene, bison admits that he goes out and does fun things, like bowling, right after a kill, to take his mind off it. clearly, he doesn't like it. we already know this, bison has always insinuated to fadel that he wants an out and it's evident he doesn't hunger for the kind of violence he is made to dole out. but this is the first point we see him actually address this and outright say he deliberately does light-hearted activities to disengage from the aftermath of a kill. we also see him admit to the difficulties of a hitman's lifestyle and this particular piece of dialogue shows that whether he enjoys it or not, he is good at his job and he has made his peace with it. so where does his need for control fit in here?

in previous episodes (#2, tattoo parlour scene), bison admits to wanting control in bed, but he doesn't clearly state whether he is the S or the M. coupled with this omission, his “pain kinda excites me” dialogue makes me think he is both into giving and receiving pleasure from pain.

anyway, coming back to the main point, bison's need for control in bed may very well (and i've been suspecting it for a while) arise from his difficult lifestyle and his lack of say in how he lives, considering he is a hitman and (has to) reports to mother probably everything he does. for a 24yo, that's not the best case scenario. assuming bison was immediately adopted after the murder of his parents, he did not have a lot of (if any at all) time to explore himself or live his life in a way he sees fit. we know he sleeps around (that's his M.O. after all in most missions, i believe) and that's probably the only place where he could excersize any control or take charge. but we also know he hasn't done any s&m play before. so with the introduction of kant and the whole bdsm shebang, we can tell bison is exhilarated to finally be calling the shots and leading in bed in a way he and his partner both find pleasurable. and since he has all the tools and knows his own desires, it's safe to assume wants to be a dom. now whether he is or not, let's see.

we'll address the “natural dominance” debate here.

in the very first interaction with kant (who is older, btw, let's keep that in mind), he immediately tells off kant for being patronizing towards him. if you live anywhere in asia, you'll know it's kinda rude to talk back to older people. so even though they are in an informal setting, and the age rules don't apply here as such, bison doesn't shy away from putting kant in his place.

in the red room, we can see kant take the bed but bison walks away from him and takes the loveseat. in this scene, it is clear kant is used to leading, so he expects bison to listen to what he says. but bison (bless my boy), very easily throws him off by remaining seated and gesturing kant to come to him. kant still tries to keep his ground, but ultimately he makes the most pathetic meow meow begging face and that's when bison finally lets him have it. even after this, we can see kant is used to topping and pulling the strings, but bison once again throws him off by saying, “you are not doing this solo, you know?”

this whole exchange immediately defines their roles in the current setting and imo, is a very subtle foreshadowing for their future interactions.

in the tattoo bed scene, bison is excited beyond measure to be finally introducing and sharing his kink with kant and while initially we could see kant trying to lead this interaction, there are subtle signs/actions from bison that shows how he prepares kant for his submissive role : the slap to the hand on his thigh and kant's little flinch and gasp (one of my fave scenes from first, the micro-expressions were outstanding), the little slaps to his cheek before bison departs, etc.

i could go on and on, but the “natural dominance” that QTOP claims bison doesn't have, is actually out there taking a walk in broad daylight lmao. i think their intent was to say that because bison's dominance doesn't exist irrespective of his trauma but actually goes hand-in-hand with it, it's less valid than say, a dom who doesn't have a violent past and trauma related to it.

the question now here would be how good of a dom he is and whether he lets his trauma define his status as a dom. so far, there have been no signs of bison misusing his power and control over kant during a play (i believe we cannot count the drunk bison whipping kant scene here for obvious reasons). but so far, while bison was sober, he hasn't abused his power over kant during one of their plays. until very recently that is, and outside bed, does bison actually makes use of his power over kant : kidnapping and outrageous demands because he is hurting, but, the moment kant uses his safeword, bison drops everything and pulls away. from my experience, bison is very much a good dom so far, but he is also inexperienced, excited, in love, and under-informed (or that bit may just be the sloppy writing).

the word “natural dominance” suggests to me that QTOP expects bison to be in his dom role all the time, but it's not very often that people adapt their sexual preferences and make it into a lifestyle. doms are caregivers (by this, i mostly mean they lead and guide the sub and provide care/pleasure during and after any scene) in bed and outside of it should it be an exclusively d/s relationship with that kind of lifestyle. we haven't seen bison and kant discuss their dynamics or how they are going to implement it anywhere outside a particular scene. moreover, bison so far hasn't indicated that he wants kant and himself to be exclusively a d/s pair. rather, he is very much a romantic and likes doing all sorts of things that a stereotypical younger twinky bottom male in a gay relationship is supposed to do. even in the swing scene, bison is affectionate with kant the same way he was before learning the truth. the only difference we feel now is because bison finally knows the whole truth and is letting himself freely accept affection that he was holding himself back from when he was suspicious of kant's motives (even after getting together with him). so bison's cutesy actions in this ep are not because he doesn't have the dom bone in his body or because he hungers for affection but gravitates towards domination because of his cycle of violence. he is free and affectionate and it feels different now compared to before is because his entire relationship with kant is no longer sitting on a bed of lies and they have both come clean. this ultimately changes their body language and how they interact with each other. therefore, bison's desire to lead is just as strong as his desire to be cared for (leaning on his boyfriend, being cute, cuddly, etc) and both exist on opposing sides of the same sphere that's bison's life.

therefore, i think it's kind of ridiculous to say his actions/behaviour isn't rooted in “natural dominance”. I'm not even sure what that is supposed to mean except that QTOP either thinks bison is supposed to be some caricature dom who likes leading both in bed and outside it. because that, my friends, is not how most relationships (bdsm and otherwise) work. or that he is a christian grey 2.0 (which, 🤣🥹).

so what i urge most readers/watchers to do here is separate bison's innate ability to inflict violence effectively in his job from his desire to dominate and use pain for pleasure in bed. both are different things and not mutually exclusive.

i think most of us need to give up on whatever 50SoG “taught” us about bdsm and actually look at this whole thing realistically. also, i think from all this info it's clear bison isn't gonna change his dom status anytime soon and for valid reasons. so from what we have seen him do so far, i can safely say he knows what he wants and he will very much keep wanting to play with kant while he calls the shots.

therefore it's important that we see bison's character from a realistic pov instead of whatever christian grey was. yes, he craves control because he doesn't have it in most instances of his life. but also yes, he craves romantic affection from his partner because he is a fool in love. both of these things can co-exist. what we need to remember is that just because someone is a dom doesn't mean they only need to be a sadist or be a top (I'm looking you, vegas).

in the future eps, bison might settle more into his skin and he may (however unlikely) realize he doesn't need to demand as much control (not that he is doing that a whole lot now). but, we still have 4 more episodes left and I don't think we'll be covering that anyway. so, my final verdict is bison is very much a dom, but he is a total “noob dom” (as i fondly like to call him) and will get many things wrong before he gets them right. but kant will be there along the way to learn alongside him, so no worries about that.

anyway, rant is over. cheers.

[cthulhus-curse]

You ever think about Wanda (or Nat, or both.... save me I love them both) and their hyperfixation on somnophilia. I think that's such a trust based kink that would drive them so wild, to know that their baby trusts them so much to be used like that in such a vulnerable way.... Do you see the vision.....

As someone who has tried somno, it’s such a vulnerable thing to partake in and I totally agree with you

Both would definitely be into it, but it would be much more therapeutic in a way for Natasha. She has never been able to have control over her life, much less her body. The Red Room took that autonomy away. Somno would help her get that back whether it be while receiving or giving.

While giving, Natasha is so incredibly tender with her baby. She wakes you up by giving you oral. So sweet, so soft. She never, ever dares make it uncomfortable, and once you stir awake, Natasha doesn’t fail to ask if you are still comfortable with it — even after having discussed it in-depth prior to falling asleep.

But receiving? She would love it. At first Natasha only wanted to try and see if she’d enjoy it, but then she fell in love with the idea. To trust in someone so much to let you touch her during such a vulnerable position. Natasha would not cry tears of anguish, but instead joy afterwards. The emotion she feels after having given you the reins is immense, and the aftercare pretty much lasts the entire day.

[askagamedev]

Why is the Shadow Temple scary? Not "why did Nintendo make this scary for kids". What put the fear in us? Why'd it put us on edge so bad despite Ocarina of Time not having the usual limitations of a horror game? You're good at parsing psychology and I feel like it's not just the aesthetics of the temple. Maybe you have a definitive answer for what underrated, subtle design tricks were used to make that successful in that sort of game. I wanna hear it in detail from a senior developer.

It's the combination of small things that add up to make it feel creepy specifically. After looking back at the Shadow Temple in Ocarina of Time, there's several major elements that stick out to me that work together for the sense of disempowerment and fear.

First and foremost is the music. It's got this creepy chant going on in the background the entire time with low and high voices that sound like they are at odds with each other. The harpsichord part makes heavy use of half-steps, which sound naturally creepy. There's also a bunch of noises mixed in there which don't feel like part of the music. This can put the player on edge, because it can be difficult to parse the difference between noises generated by actual threats and ambient noises from the music.

Second, the gameplay itself feels unsettling because a huge percentage of it depends on the use of the Lens of Truth. The player's normal senses can't be trusted - the walls aren't always walls, the floor isn't always floor, and there are invisible threats like spikes. The use of the Lens of Truth also helps - it allows the player to fighting back against the invisible threats, but it also limits what the player can see (no peripheral vision), which reminds them that they aren't at full ability. Even the dungeon item - the hover boots require a leap of faith because Link can't control himself as well while using them (more on this theme of Link losing control of himself later). These gameplay elements add to the player hesitation and that sense of feeling unsure tickles the "creepy" sense.

Third, the art style is obviously creepy. The Shadow Temple lore says it is where the Sheikah tortured and put away their prisoners and dissidents. There are skulls, scythe blades, robed reapers, and other various death imagery everywhere. There are torture devices, spikes, and guillotines. There are rooms where the textures look like you're standing on the same kind of mass piled skulls like out of an enormous mass grave. There's even a creepy boat ride clearly meant to evoke the Charon/Underworld connection to Greek mythology.

Fourth, many of the enemies in the dungeon are disempowering - they take control away from the player which adds to the feeling of helplessness. The Gibdos (mummies) and ReDeads (zombies) can paralyze Link in place while they slowly move closer to hurt him. The Wallmasters (grabby hands) can drop from offscreen and grab Link and put him back at the start of the dungeon while the player has to watch while it all happens. Dead Hand, the miniboss, is a strong combination of both the creepy art (zombie-like appearance with bloodstains) and disempowering moveset (hidden via shadow and the bloody hands in the room will grab Link and hold him in place). The final boss, Bongo Bongo, also has giant hands that can grab and hold Link in place and hurt him while the player can only watch, and whose main body is also invisible without the Lens of Truth.

Each of these game elements individually usually isn't enough to make players feel a particular way. However, when taken in aggregate all of these different parts work together to form a cohesive experience. The death-themed architecture, the creepy music, the gameplay elements that require players not to trust their senses and to go beyond their comfort zone, and the enemies that disempower the player and force them to watch as Link is unable to act all form to make a very uneasy and creepy experience as designed. I'm sure there are other elements I missed in this analysis, but I'm also sure that any you spot will also fit nicely into these themes. Feel free to add any others you see in the comments!

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[animeyanderelover]

I don’t know where I was going with this. But that doesn’t matter. The power of simping is simply too strong. I left out Finn because he died pretty quickly so I have no way of characterising him really well. I also know that apparently there is another sibling but I haven't watched The Originals so that's that.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, overprotective behavior, intimidation, threats, blackmailing, manipulation, violence, death

Images

Elijah Mikaelson

✞Elijah doesn't love easily. It speaks volumes that throughout his entire life as a vampire he has loved very few times only for that love to slip through his fingers like sand. Whether that loss has been his fault or the fault of the woman that he has loved, he has long since realised that he has never been innocent yet still he desires to maintain the image of the logical and rational man amongst a family filled with violence, impulsiveness and overflowing emotions that so quickly spiral out of control. If there is one person he wishes to be what he deep down isn't though then it is without a doubt his darling. Whilst he will never truly be the man standing on the morally high ground at the very least he wishes to uphold that image whilst he is with you. He values the love existing between the two of you deeply, his one firm pillar in between so many other shaky bridges that he still attempts to rebuild and keep with his siblings. No words could ever convey how deep his appreciation and his love for you goes for the sense of peace and calmness that you provide in his life yet still Elijah does what he can do to give back as much as possible for everything he receives simply by having you by his side.

✞There is no shortage of presents, trips and luxury in a relationship with him. Elijah truly embraces a romantic spirit now that he has you all to always let you know just how much you truly mean to him. Bouquets of red roses, letters expressing the thoughts and feelings he may not be able to convey spontanously as he crafts each sentence carefully and special dates when the circumstances have forced him away from you for more than a few days. It never feels like excessive spoiling though as each gift and each date has a thought behind it that goes beyond the simple luxury and price of it. With you Elijah is always the thoughtful gentleman he believes that you deserve, each action and confession crafted to the closest perfection that he can reach. That never means though that all violence has simply disappeared. It's hidden away from your gaze, the ruthless side Elijah doesn't wish you to see. Perhaps he aspires to be better for you, an act of mercy for all those who threaten you or the relationship as they receive one chance to turn around and to never return. Bloodshed has never been his signature yet should a fool choose to be a fool it cannot be helped.

Niklaus Mikaelson

♕Klaus is something and that can be interpreted in a good or in a bad way which applies both to him. His love is intense and coupled with so many thoughts and feelings that he has a hard tome controlling it all. There's a lot to unravel but the deeper you dig, the more Klaus becomes undone in front of your very eyes which only heightens all his emotions in return. Paranoia, abandonment issues, a sharp fear to forever be alone and a love that burns so intensely that it threatens to not only hurt the both of you but everyone around. Once such obsession has taken a hold of Klaus he is determined to never let you leave his grasp yet he is so used to being left that his hands clutching your life so tightly threaten to shatter it. So many things could go wrong and many things will go wrong as he struggles to deal with all issues and fears that have resurfaced so violently due to his feelings for you. His possessiveness runs high, his jealousy runs deep and the control he tries to force into your life runs wild. All because deep down he genuinely believes that otherwise you would never love nor accept him for the horrible person everyone hates and wants so desperately dead.

♕It's a long and difficult process to untangle the mess of feelings within him until he eases his body and mind. That isn't to say that moments of tenderness are nonexistent. An entire gallery filled with paintings of you, sketches neatly kept on his desk of your face and beautifully wrapped presents placed on your bed. Flights to Tokyo, Italy and all the places you wish to see with your own eyes and confessions of adoration and love that are so rare coming from his lips. All of it can be so easily shattered though in the face of your fear and horror all directed against him. Klaus retaliates whenever you reject him, covers his pain and vulnerability behind the rage and cruelty so many fear him for, becoming the monster you believe him to be. It's likely that he has hurt you once or twice, his feelings bursting out of him as agony and anger and leaving him drowning in the horrible feeling of guilt and a renewed fear that you will never accept him afterwards. Niklaus kills easily. He has left hills of dead bodies behind him throughout his long life already and now with his obsession for you in play new corpses start littering his path all to preserve you for himself.

Kol Mikaelson

🂱Kol is a true wild card as his actions are unpredictable and all guided by his own hedonism. By all means, he actually knows that his feelings are quite disturbing together with all the things he does as a result of it but he doesn't seem to feel an ounce of guilt. It's much the opposite instead as Kol actively revels in it. All the emotions coursing through his veins make him feel very alive to the point where he almost feels drunk on ecstasy and he decides to completely indulge in everything that this obsession has to offer. Known for loving the games though, Kol has a quite wicked way of treating you, the unfortunate victim of his obsession. His approach is quite two-faced as he wastes no time to get to know you during the day and present himself as someone quite cocky yet still quite charming only to haunt you at night and induce paranoia within you. He doesn't feel guilty though instead he finds it quite cute to see the visible effects his stalking has on you as you flinch at every noise, always turn your head over your shoulder as if afraid that someone is following you and start growing more unfocused as a result of the lack of sleep. So he will continue until you break.

🂱There is a different side that often reveals itself to you too, one far more enjoyable than the mindgames he so often puts you through. As he is neither as uptight nor as paranoid as his other siblings, Kol expresses his love much like the adventurous spirit that he has within him. Often he spontaneously whisks you away whenever he's in the mood, no matter what time of day it is. Kisses out of the blue, unpredictable and playful accompanied by some very corny pickup-lines that he has either come up with himself or has heard somewhere and cuteness aggression too. There's nothing that Kol really bothers to hide from you as he is the one who is the most open with his emotions, be it the good ones or the bad ones. Instead he basks in it all freely as he even indulges in the violent urges that arise when someone gets on his nerves. It's genuinely gruesome and evil though how he plays with his victims. He's taunting, he's tormenting and he likes to dangle a piece of hope in front of their noses and watch them running like frightened bunnies only to snatch it away right in front of their faces and enjoy the sheer look of horror and hopelessness.

Rebekah Mikaelson

❀Rebekah loves blindly and recklessly which spells a disaster in the making as her obsession quickly consumes her. She has been hurt far too many times over the centuries and every time she was betrayed by someone that she loved. It's understandable that she wishes to be wary yet deep down she is very much like Klaus in the way that she longs for someone to love her unconditionally and for someone who will always choose her no matter what. She fears being backstabbed by even you and it doesn't even matter how long the two of you have known each other at that point. All of those fears and insecurities combined result in this awful mixture of possessiveness, pushiness and control that can and will be overwhelming very quickly for you. Rebekah seems to have you under constant surveillance as if she is just waiting for the moment where she catches you cheating on her or plotting to have her put back in the coffin again. For that reason she even compels the people around her all to always know what you are up to and to always have someone watching over you and report back to her. She wants to trust, she really does, but she doesn't know how to do that after everything that has happened.

❀Still she is a girl who wishes to be happily in love and that shows in the way that she treats the relationship. In general the two of you are always together and seen as a pair with matching outfits and matching jewelry all chosen by her. Frequent dates, constant hand-holding and excessive mails and calls when she isn't with you at the moment. Rebekah wants her own happy lovestory and she wants it with you which is why she works so very hard to ensure that everything is exactly how she has always wished it be be. However, she has an extremely bad temper and that becomes apparent very quickly as you watch her. Her jealousy threatens to consume her on a daily base the moment you pay attention to someone else that isn't her and she gets spiteful and mean very quickly as that horrible feeling within her stomach wriggles around until she feels nauseous. She lashes out and she does so quickly as her emotions tend to get the better of her and in her rage even you will not be spared from her bitterness. It's that horrible temper of hers which makes her prone to hurt, torture and murder people she sees as threats to the happy ending she so sorely deserves.