#what are you meant to do in this situation. what. what do you do. what is the protocol

[a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats]

okay so let me start off by saying that when I said "influential" I meant "most influential" because, like, pretty much everything that's put out in front of people is influential, my bad on that one, and I was focusing pretty heavily on mechanical stuff (because I like mechanical stuff in games)!

with that said I still don't think it was hugely influential because most of what it did didn't spread outside of it; this isn't a value judgement on what it did, it's just me saying that it didn't influence a lot of other games heavily.

the dialogue, while good, has a very distinct style and it's largely not left undertale/deltarune, probably because it's difficult to do well without feeling like you're imitating it, story is in a similar position, but there is a bit of influence there, for sure; everhood did it as I mentioned in tags, but by and large I don't see A Lot of it. Again, probably because kill/spare is very derivative of the game itself and you've gotta put in some work to make it, well, work. Deltarune is having a similar "sort've influential" situation with the narrative in there, and I'd put it about where kill/spare landed, but it is definitely more prolific, probably because it's easier to work with (in my opinion, anyway).

Cultural impact.... yeah you got me, it definitely swamped internet culture and continues to! I can't argue that at all.

Undertale inspiring other indie games is almost certainly true, but it's sort've hard to quantify, YMMV, I guess, and yeah, it did probably result in a bump in indie game development, but there was a pretty solid flow before undertale hit, and honestly I don't think it went up That much.

and I don't really view any of these negatives as a bad thing really! Undertale is still a great game and it's one of a very small number of games I've played more then once. I'm really looking forward to future deltarune chapters, I personally think undertale and deltarune are some of the better games I've played, toby really did do a great job and I don't think it's an accident judging by how deltarune is turning out, even if he did get lucky in the marketing department for undertale.

Great games, but not wildly influential in terms of other games. I'm sure this could be argued further, but I've said my piece (and taken way too long doing it, too).

Still can't get over the fact that Toby Fox dreamed up a game ending, but he decided he wanted to make something a little less ambitious first, so instead he made the most influential indie game of all time

[gold-onthe-inside]

contingency operations

n. def. - a situation requiring military operations in response to natural disasters, terrorists, subversives, or as otherwise directed by appropriate authority to protect US interests.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: when a former navy SEAL threatens your base of operations, your safety is the only thing on spencer's mind. content warnings: jealous and pining spencer, gun talk, spencer kind of manhandles you, spencer getting cockblocked by jj word count: 1.8k a/n: don't hate me, i didn't have his confession speech planned.

It’s not that far a stretch for you to be the first person he thinks of — while JJ’s negotiating with her DoD contacts to get them a look at a classified operation, he’s gone upstairs to look for you. Working in counterintelligence meant you had access to all kinds of information, whether that be domestic or international. Spencer carefully carried the cup of coffee, file pinned under his arm, aiming to find you at your cubicle, except you’re standing at another one, perched on the table while you talked to another person.

Spencer’s not the kind to get jealous, or so he thought, except the guy you’re talking to isn’t like the others who occupy the floor — he’s got broad shoulders and an easy smile, and at least if he was blond, he wouldn’t have been competition. He just had to be a brunet, charming to top it off. Spencer doesn’t know if he’s ever made you smile unless you were teasing him.

The longer he stands there, the more awkward he feels, and he eventually gets the nerve to knock on your desk and make you look up — an improvement to a year ago where he would have just pretended to look lost and leave. His stomach turns when he watches you place your hand on the guy’s shoulder, squeezing as you walk away.

“Is that a bribe I see?” you asked, the corner of your lip curling as you spied the coffee in his hand.

“Nope, it’s completely unrelated to the favor I came to ask,” Spencer said, earning a rueful look as you take it and sit in your chair.

“What do you need?” you asked, sipping the coffee that was made perfectly to your liking — he'd gotten to know your preferences better over the last year, spending more time together since the Doyle case. You'd been an escape from the suffocating emptiness of the bullpen, and he'd been good company when you had been barred from Penelope's lair for 6 months.

“Anything you might have on Dorado Falls,” Spencer said, his voice rising an octave in hope that you might help as you go through your files.

“And Pen can’t do this because?” you asked, pulling up your file directory.

“She doesn’t have clearance,” Spencer said, lacing his fingers together and twisting it in his nervousness. As expected, you turn your head to look at him.

“You want eyes on a classified op you don’t have the clearance for?” you asked, raising a brow at him.

“Yes?” He's got this puppy-eyed look, like when he asks if you have lunch plans, or if you want to see a 4-hour long sci-fi film that's only available in Russian.

“Reid,” you said with a sigh, rubbing your forehead. “I can’t just—”

“He killed 8 people in one day,” Spencer insisted in a hushed voice. “He’s got a U.S. General as a hostage, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” He watched your folded lips, your contemplative look, and he can finally take a breath when you turn your chair and acquiesce.

“You people are gonna get me fired one of these days,” you muttered under your breath, Spencer leaning over your shoulder as you find the file you’re looking for. “Navy SEAL operation, 2003, this what you’re looking for?” you asked, his breath fanning over your cheek, warm and coffee-tinged. If you turned your head, you could probably kiss his cheek — not that you would. But the thought crosses your mind as he nodded.

“That’s the one,” he said, and moved when you had to reach for the drawer, copying the file onto a clean flashdrive before ejecting it.

“I like my job, Reid,” you said, turning to look at him, which you could do forever with his coiffed hair and blue sleeves rolled to his elbows, paired with a grey vest. “If I get fired, you’re paying my rent,” you continued, pressing the flashdrive into his hand and his lips break into a smile.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he replied, closing his hand over the drive and leaving you to your work, and you watched him walk until he got to the glass doors, holding back a laugh as you watched him break into an awkward run for the elevators.

The next time he goes to your floor, he doesn’t bother waiting for the lift, running up stairs as fast as he can to get to you before the unsub does — even though it’s wholly unprofessional. He needs to be with his team, ready to talk down the unsub at a moment’s notice, but his focus shattered the moment he found out you hadn’t evacuated yet. Instead, you were focused on activating a failsafe program, in case anyone other than the members of your division moved to access the network on your floor.

“What are you still doing here?” Spencer yelled at you, almost skidding to your cubicle.

“Almost done, give me a second,” you said, gritting your teeth, fingers flying over your keyboard as you authenticate yourself. “Jesus Christ, I need to make this program faster,” you muttered and Spencer swears that if the unsub doesn’t kill you, he might.

“Really? There’s a Navy SEAL breaking into the building, and you’re thinking of more projects to work on?” he demanded, his hands pressed to his revolver.

“There’s a Navy SEAL on his way and you think a cowboy pistol’s gonna save you?” you retorted sharply.

“What do you have against my gun?” he asked, his voice rising in octave again.

“Uh, how about the reload for one,” you said. “What, do you carry around spare bullets in your pocket? Plus the recoil rules out rapid fire. What are you gonna do if you get pinned down?”

“I’m gonna keep you from getting killed,” he said, reaching out to grip your bicep. “You’re right, I don’t have the firepower of an uzi, what I can do is get us out of this room,” he finished, tugging your arm.

"Hold on, it's almost done," you muttered.

"No, I'm dragging you out of here now-" He said, but you just shrugged, still tapping away at the keys with only your left hand free.

"No, you can't," you said idly as you continued to work. "You haven't the strength to get me to move without cooperation, and I'm not leaving until I finish this."

“I-“ he opened his mouth, then closed it. What was he going to say? That you were being stubborn for the sake of it? That your life was more important than this task? That you should get up, and run with him? That he’d save you? He couldn’t voice any of those. You both knew them all anyway, and you’d be able to rebuff them with ease. “Just hurry, please.”

He leaned closer to you, trying to ignore the soft scent of your hair.

"Oh, well, now that you've told me to hurry," you responded dryly, turning your face to look at him, inches away from his. The proximity surprised him, but he barely had time to think about it before you were hitting return and taking your hand off the keys.

“Done,” you announced, standing up. “Time to run. Unless, of course, you want to argue about that too?”

"Can we?" he asked, pulling you along the corridor. "I do have a list of complaints about your recklessness."

"You have a list of complaints about everything," you retorted as he opened the fire escape door for you. You stepped through, Spencer closing the door behind you both.

"Your general attitude is up there," He admitted, running down the stairs and pulling you after him. "Your inability to keep yourself safe, your tendency to throw yourself into danger for the sake of a project—"

"Jesus Christ, Reid, if we find out a rogue operative is going to break in, you don't think we'd have a protocol for it?" you argued, frustrated.

"Yes, I believe the protocol is to evacuate," he reminded you, reaching the landing. He kept you close, though he'd never admit that it was to reassure himself.

"God, for a genius, you really are daft," you muttered, rounding the corner to another flight of stairs. "You think we'd just leave the entire network open for him?"

"No," he allowed, following your hurried footsteps. "But I don't think your life should be worth the risk. No data is worth you dying."

"Yeah, how about dozens of classified operations and cover identities that need to be kept under wraps?" you snapped at him. "I was doing my job, you're the one who came looking for me when you should be with your team."

"The team knows my priority is with you," he admitted, then immediately regretted it because that was information that he hadn't been planning to tell you.

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. "What does that mean?"

His eyes widened and he backtracked. "The team knows that if you're threatened, the likelihood is I'll disregard protocol," he said. Well, it was the truth, even if it wasn't really what he'd meant. "We should keep moving," he said.

"No, you can't keep doing this," you demanded, pulling at his arm. "Every time, every time, you say this cryptic coded thing that I don't know what to do with. Just say what you mean, already!"

"I-I don't..." Spencer's heart was hammering in his chest, his eyes wide. The truth was, he wanted to tell you. He wanted you to know where you stood with him... but the fear of rejection would stop him every time. He was in love with you. He hadn't had the courage to admit it yet. His earpiece interrupts him, and for once in his life, Reid is almost glad to have his earpiece interrupt his thoughts.

“Reid, we’re seeing movement on the 7th floor, where are you?” JJ asked, her voice rushed.

"I'm in the stairwell with the most stubborn woman in the world," he said, looking pointedly at you as you scowled at him.

“Get back up here,” JJ replied. “We need all hands on deck.”

"I'm coming," he said, and looked at you. "So much for getting you out," he murmured. "If you run now, can I trust you won't go back to your desk?"

“Believe it or not, I have no interest in facing a 6 ft Navy SEAL,” you replied dryly.

"So that's a yes," he says, smiling despite his attempt to remain serious.

I'm in love with you, he thought, but he wasn't brave enough to say.

I don't want to lose you. He was even less willing to voice that.

"Don't stop running till you're out," he told you instead, his voice as firm as he could make it.

"Don't get killed by a SEAL," you replied, your sense of humor never failing you as you add, "Although, it would be a cool way to go out."

"I'm sure you'll be very smug about it at my funeral," he said, but neither of you were really smiling anymore. "I'll be okay," he promised you. "Get out of here."

You take one last lingering look at him, then started running down to the exit, leaving him behind.

It took him a full 5 seconds to start moving after you finally left, and the feeling of emptiness in his chest only grew with each step up the stairs.

He was in love with you, and he was determined to tell you.

Just not yet.

[corameiwrites]

𖦹 searching for love 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: your shift at a small bookstore is about to end when a handsome stranger walks in five minutes before closing

wc: 2k

A far off chime sounded from the old grandfather clock, signaling the passing of another half hour. That meant it was 8:30, and more officially, 30 minutes past closing time. Normally, you would have been packed up and locking the door by 7:58, eager to get home to your grouchy cat, messy room, and half-written research paper. There was nothing normal, however, about the six-foot something man with biceps the size of your head, meticulously browsing the shelves of your bookstore. 

Well, not yours, but the number of shifts you picked up having to pay the bills for your not-so-cheap Gotham apartment had basically made this place your second home.

So when the very fit and handsome stranger walked in a mere five minutes to closing, you lingered a little. Behind the counter at the front of the store, of course. It was far too scary to go and ask him if he needed help—you would run the risk of embarrassing yourself further. 

Earlier, when he had entered, you made the mistake of welcoming him with a rushed “Good Morning” despite the full moon visible through the store windows. He had glanced in your direction, nodded, and walked further into the store, going to start his long search of whatever it was he came here to look for. 

Which, by the looks of it, he found. 

He set the books down near you, looking at an assortment of random trinkets and bookmarks displayed on the counter. 

You smile, recognizing the titles. “Are you a fan of Austen?” 

His head sprung up as though he hadn’t been expecting you to speak to him. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.” 

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” Looking up the titles on the rather out-dated computer, you ring them up on the register. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.”  The corners of his mouth twitch up in a semi-smile as his hands retreat into his leather pockets. An odd choice to zip a leather jacket all the way to his chin, but who are you to judge? It's only now you're looking that you notice the scars littered across his face, as well as the few wisps of stark white hair across his forehead. You look down into his eyes, and though it was only a fleeting moment of prolonged eye-contact, it made you feel far too vulnerable.

 Looking away and vaguely remembering some staff meeting about professionalism, you read the total amount due to him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” His face blanks, and he blinks twice before digging through his pockets. His brows furrow. “Sorry, I…” his hands pat down his cargo pants before his shoulders slump. His face turns to one of slight annoyance. “I lost my wallet.”

“Oh.” Frankly, you don’t know what to do in this situation, and by the looks of it, neither does he. It's a little awkward—do you suggest he trace his steps? Call the bank to pause all his cards? But he’s paying in cash. Oh god, a thought crosses your mind. Is he a criminal? Fortunately, your mouth speaks before you even process what's coming out of it. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, and it's embarrassing the way your eyes track the movement. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. “I work tomorrow and Wednesday until closing if you want to come in around this same time, but I could tell my other coworkers of the situation if you come in a different day or time.” 

Silently, he stares at the poster. You recline back to your standing position, mentally slapping yourself for sharing your work schedule with a complete stranger who could very well be a criminal. A hot criminal. 

“...You close at eight?” 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” Thank you for finally showing up, customer service voice. He frowns, lifting his arm and pushing the sleeve of his leather jacket up before looking at you in shock. 

“You're closed right now?” he asked, though it sounded more like a state of a fact. 

You start to fidget with your clothes. “Technically speaking, yes.” 

His hand flies to his face, semi-face palming. “Shit,” he starts to back away slowly towards the door. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know.” 

You smile at his panic, feeling a little amused despite yourself. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

“No, it's horrible, I’m horrible.” You can’t help but let out a small chuckle at his apologetic demeanor. By now he's halfway out the door, but turns back at your laugh.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up Pride & Prejudice, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

To that he nods, leaving and walking down the sidewalk in a rush. You stand for a minute, replaying the strange yet exciting interaction, hoping that the man would come again to claim his books. 

You were absolutely going to text your best friend about this when you got home. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♥  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

Jason Todd had lost track of time. Maybe it was the warm lighting that made the strain on his eyes decrease, or the soft music soothing his aching head, or the various earth-tone decorations that made him stay longer than he intended. He had only meant to hide for a couple minutes, enough to get Condiment King off his trail and onto Tims. That was until he spotted Pride & Prejudice on a shelf with the exact cover of the one he read in Bruce's library when he was younger. Blaming it on nostalgia, he picked it up, and before long the quaint bookstore became less of a hideout and more of an actual store. 

In all honesty, he could have spent the rest of his patrol in the place if not for an angry text from Tim cursing him out; something about going MIA and getting the mustard and ketchup smell out of his suit. Snapped back into reality, he found himself with a rather large amount of books he definitely couldn’t fit into his motorcycle bag. 

Through little internal debate, he lowered the amount to three books, Pride & Prejudice, 1984, and This Is It, chastising himself as he made his way to the front. It was reckless spending so long hiding when he was supposed to be out on patrol. Hell, his helmet and guns were thrown behind a dumpster in an alleyway down the street! For all he knew, they could be stolen and pawned by some homeless person. 

But there was just something about this store and its ability to make him lose track of time. 

He hurried to the register, glancing at the super-hero themed erasers. He spotted some of his family's personas, grimacing inwardly. Ever since coming back to Gotham, they had been pestering him to join them at the manor outside of vigilante duties. Personally, he would rather be shot ten times before–

“Are you a fan of Austen?” 

He looked up, a little spooked. Did he totally forget that there was another person here, working? Maybe. Scrambling his head for a response proved a daunting task, and that smile you were giving him wasn’t helping. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.”

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” You looked through the books, ringing them up on your computer. You seemed almost pleased with his choice in literature. 

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.” That knowledge, for some reason, makes him happy. From what he remembers, he also enjoyed the tale of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy when he was younger. 

He put his hands in his jacket pockets, slouching a little more than usual as he studied your clothing and your face. You were young, probably around his age and good looking, working at a bookstore; definitely not anyone dangerous. He knew his height and build tended to intimidate people, and despite its uses when he wore the mask, off-duty he rather disliked it. He didn’t look kind or soft the way you did. Conscious of his build and the darkness outside, he did what he could to hopefully put you at ease. 

You turn back to the register, clicking a few buttons. “That’ll be $14.33.” you look back up at him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” Legally, he couldn’t use cards since he was supposed to be six-feet under. He moved his hands around in their pockets, trying to find his wallet. “Sorry, I…” Patting down his pants, he inwardly groans, remembering leaving his wallet in his safehouse of the week before going out for patrol. “I lost my wallet.” 

“Oh.” Yeah, he's a dumbass. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” Your voice is hesitant and he swears on everything he will always check if he has money in his pockets before entering another establishment ever again. 

Running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he picked up on, he waves you off. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.” 

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. You're still talking to him, but he looks at your face, noticing small details he hadn’t before, like the unique slope of your nose, the shade of your lips and how delicately your lashes fall over your eyes. When you stop talking, he averts his gaze at what you pointed to. 

“Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M., Sat.---Sun. 12 P.M. to 5 P.M.” He reads it again, trying to remember the day. Damian wasn’t on patrol, so it was a weekday. “Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M.” He rereads it once more in confusion. Given the darkness outside, there's no way it wasn’t past eight already. 

“...You close at eight?” he hesitantly asks. 

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” If you were closer, he probably would have teased you about the customer service voice. He checks his watch. His whole body freezes as he reads the time. 

8:34

His head whips to you in confusion. “You're closed right now?”

“Technically speaking, yes.” You seem almost bashful as you answer.

Instant mortification fills his body, and he could hit himself for what he’s done. Not only did he unintentionally skimp out on patrol with Tim in a bookstore, potentially scaring the innocent and hot worker, but he wasted that workers time by wandering around for thirty fucking minutes past closing.  He starts to leave, apologizing to you, and despite your assurances, he can’t bring himself to face you knowing he’s kept you working later than you should. He's halfway out the door when he hears you laugh, and he momentarily pauses, turning halfway to face you. 

You’re smiling.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up a book, waving it at him, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!” 

His throat seems to close up, and whether it's from embarrassment or that smile, he can’t tell. Nodding, he quickly leaves the store, walking in long strides back to his gear. Guilt, shame, and confusion all pile up inside him as he puts on his thigh straps, holstering the guns he put a little more care into hiding. Zipping down his leather jacket, he puts his helmet on, which immediately reconnects to his line with Red Robin. He's met with instant accusations and threats. 

“Wait for me down Fourth and Main, I’ll be there at nine.” He murmurs quickly, grappling to the top of the nearest building before disconnecting from the line. He perches over the edge, watching the lights in the bookstore shut off before you run out, closing and locking the door.

He takes extra care to keep himself hidden from your sight, ducking behind various rooftop structures and grappling to different buildings, silently protecting your late walk home. It’s only when you’ve entered your building and he sees a corner apartment window light up that he leaves. 

He’ll return to that bookstore tomorrow.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Wife Vs Wife (StephCatleyXFoordReader)

Summary: you Play for Manchester United while your wife plays for Arsenal. You have to play against one another and things don't end well.

Warnings: head injuries,blood

You sat in the changing rooms, headphones on. Listening to your pre game playlist. It was a mix of songs to hype yourself up and songs that helped you find your focus.

Ella sat down next to you. Watching you. There was something different about you today. She tapped you on the shoulder gently.

"y/n?" She asked. You took your headphones off and put them aside.

"yes, Tooney?" You asked her.

"are you okay? You seem a bit...Off today!" She told you. You sighed softly.

"what can i say, i don't like playing against Steph! I know it's Part of the Job but still..." You admitted. Ella gave you a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"you don't mind playing against Caitlin but you stressed about your wife? That's cute!" She told you and you rolled your eyes at her playfully.

The changing room filled with the rest of the Team soon. You guys talked about tactics before it was time to wam up. Which you did with Ella as your partner. Glancing over at your wife and your sister for a moment before your focus was back on warming up.

The game started and it got intense right away. You and Katie got into really heated one vs one situations, pushing eachother and yelling at one another. Kinda funny. Given that you are actually great Friends and she is dating your sister Caitlin. Both of you got yellow cards. Tooney scored an amazing Goal which meant you took the lead. By half time it was 1-0.

You walked back into the Tunnels and back into the changing rooms.

"that was intense!" Maya said, looking at you. You nodded your head.

"it sure was!" You agreed.

"at least Katie distracted you from the fact that you are playing against Steph!" Ella answered. You turned to look at her and frowned.

"yeah i forgot about it...until you mentioned it!" You said and sighed softly.

" i have to play against my best friend as well, so i get it!" She replied. You chuckled a bit at that.

"Tooney you and Alessia are besties so that's different. I mean Steph is my wife! I married her! We have different dynamic then you have with Lessi!" You answered and giggled softly.

The second half started soon and things were intense once again. You and Katie gave eachother hell again. Kyra scored a goal for Arsenal in the 78th Minute. So it was 1-1 now. In the 87th Minute you got a Corner. So you standing by the second Goal Post, your wife was close, so was Katie. You tried to get the ball in with a Header and Steph tried to get it out of the danger Zone. Both of your head collided at that and you both fell to the floor. No one really cared in that moment that the ball got in cause Steph was groaning in pain, tears in her eyes holding her head and you were passed out, a small cut under your right eye was bleeding.

"Babe?" Steph asked. Trying to sit up but couldn't see cause she was dizzy. The medics running over to you. Both Teams forming a circle around you to shield you and Steph from the cameras and Fans.

"Steph, don't move. You might have a concussion." Leah told her. Worried about you and her teammate. Caitlin was kneeling down next to you, tears in her eyes. Fear was evident in the way she looked at you as well. But you didn't knew cause you were out like a light.

"she is unconcious!" Caitlin sobbed out which sent shivers down stephs back.

"what?! Babe please wake up!" She sobbed out. The medics keeping her down when she tried to move. Cause she had a concussion.

You woke up after around a 40 Seconds and turned your head to the side. Throwing up. Yes you had a concussion as well. And the cut under your eye needed to be glued back together. It for sure was gonna be a black eye by tomorrow.

Both you and Steph were taken off the pitch and brought to the hospital for some CT Scans. You both needed to be watched over at night which Caitlin offered to do and Katie was gonna help.

The Game ended with 2-1 win for you Guys.

Caitlin stayed at your place with Katie. You were thankful for that cause that way you were allowed to leave the hospital.

"you look like Shit! Both of you do actually!" Caitlin told you & Steph. You tried to laugh but quickly stopped yourself cause laughing hurt your head too much.

"good thing we look like shit together, right Babe?" You said softly.

"Catley what are you talking about? You Look hot!" She told you. "No matter what!" She added.

"so do you Catley!" You replied to your wife and gave her a small kiss.

"disgusting!" Katie said, making fake gagging noises. But she was only teasing of course.

"but for real, the two of you gave me a Heart Attack." Caitlin admitted.

"sorry." You mumbled out already drifting off to sleep.

"She is gonna hate that we have to wake her every 30 minutes. Same goes for you Steph. So don't get to comfy." Katie whispered out. Steph frowned a bit and then cuddled up to you.

"See you in 30 minutes then." Steph told your sister and Katie before falling asleep as well. You two holding one another. You both slept peacefully on the couch. Well as peacefully as possible in that Situation because Katie and Caitlin took turns to wake you up every 30 minutes. Which sucked cause your head and face were killing you but thankfully you were due for another round of painkillers around 1am. Which both you and Steph took happily.

One good thing came with the concussion. You and Steph had to take two weeks off of Football practice so you had some time for eachother. Which you spend cuddling, going on walks and believe it or not talking about adopting a child.

[solarbiomechanist]

content warning; discussion of unhealthy relationships and social dysfunction

In therapy, I learned something very important; boundaries apply to what *we* will do if *someone else* does something.

"Do not interact if [identity/behavior/random piece of shoe lint]" is not a boundary, it is a command. It has all the effectiveness of a piece of wet cardboard at creating the social space you want. It is possibly worse than useless, because you have given strangers a list of things that piss you off and a sign saying you rely on other people being nice to avoid being pissed off.

"I block all [Identity/behavior/random piece of shoe lint]" is a statement that forms the motive of a boundary, but it isn't an if/then yet. Could stop here, but there's room for argument internally, so if you don't want people arguing about what you meant, and you don't want to argue with yourself later when it's time to clean house, you really should phrase it something like;

"If you [Identity/behavior/random piece of pocket lint] then I will block you." For people who are looking at your blog, which is probably a fraction of who you interact with, this will be a very clear statement of control over your own space and behavior. You *will* remove yourself from situations that do not meet your standards (as long as you actually *do that*). It is also clear to yourself later when it's time to clean house, so you can't walk back and go "well, maybe I'm being too harsh", if it meant enough to you to write it down, you arent being too harsh, you're keeping your peace. This is a good thing! Not only will you have a more peaceful online life when you think of yourself as an agent with free will rather than a victim of other people's whims, but also, people who want to harm *someone* are less likely to pick someone who is not reliant on a safety created by others.

In your real life, also, watch out for commands that are called boundaries. If someone says their boundary is "you can't go out of the house dressed like that", they're either shit at communicating to the point of being a hazard to other people, or they're deliberately using the language we associate with respect to disguise their control over you. Take some time while you aren't in a situation of high emotion to think about what their "boundaries" usually are, and whether they're more about what *they* choose to do or what they want *you* to do.

For a harsher example, "if you cheat on me, I will break up with you" is a boundary.

"You can't talk to your friend unless I'm in the room, that's my boundary" is control.

Be well, dear reader.

i don't respect DNIs not in the sense i go out of my way to break them but in the sense that i don't respect DNIs as a concept and consider them to be something of a red flag in general.

i'm not sure how to explain it but it's the combination of usually putting very serious issues on the same level as fandom stuff, the fact that half the time people don't even know what they're against beyond 'the bad stuff' therefore even further watering these issues down, and the idea that other people are expected to manage your online existence for you.

there's a passiveness to it that i think is actually a problem and it does not surprise me in the slightest that people with DNIs tend to view what media they consume as activism. do you get what i'm saying.

[jiminomenon]

what is jimin’s reaction to assistant yn threatening to quit?

from my series: the devil wears prada

the penthouse was silent—eerily so, considering the shouting match that had just taken place. the air between them was thick, charged with lingering frustration and unspoken words. jimin stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, expression locked in a stubborn scowl. y/n was a few feet away, breathing heavily, fists clenched at her sides.

neither of them had meant for it to escalate like this. it started with something minor—an argument over jimin’s impossible demands, her bratty attitude, the way she acted like y/n was hers to boss around twenty-four-seven. but then, words were thrown like knives, sharp and cutting.

and then y/n snapped.

“maybe i should just quit, then!”

the words ripped through the space between them. jimin stiffened instantly, her brows drawing together.

“what?” her voice was dangerously quiet.

y/n exhaled sharply, still fueled by frustration. “if you’re just gonna keep treating me like this, maybe i should just leave, huh? find another job where i’m actually respected.”

jimin scoffed, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “you wouldn’t dare.”

“why not?” y/n challenged, eyes blazing. “give me one good reason why i shouldn’t.”

jimin opened her mouth, but for once in her life, she had no comeback. no smug remarks, no bratty retorts. because the idea of y/n actually leaving—actually walking away—felt like a punch to the gut.

her jaw tightened. “you’re being dramatic.”

y/n let out a bitter laugh. “of course you’d say that.”

jimin hated this. hated the way y/n looked at her right now—like she was tired of her, like she was done.

“you’re not quitting,” jimin said firmly, like it was a fact, like she refused to acknowledge the possibility.

“and why not?”

“because—” jimin’s voice faltered. she wanted to say because i need you—because she couldn’t imagine her life without y/n constantly by her side, keeping her in check, understanding her in ways no one else did.

but that wasn’t how she worked. she didn’t admit things like that. she didn’t let people know how much they mattered.

“because i said so,” she settled on instead.

y/n’s expression darkened. “you don’t own me, jimin.”

“i never said i did.”

“but you act like it!”

the silence that followed was suffocating.

jimin hated the thought of y/n leaving, but she also hated feeling like this—out of control, vulnerable, on the verge of losing something she refused to name.

so she did what she did best.

she walked away.

but before she could fully disappear into her bedroom, y/n’s voice cut through the air.

“you don’t even care, do you?”

jimin froze.

“if i left, it wouldn’t even matter to you, right?” y/n’s voice was quieter now, but still laced with hurt. “you’d just find someone else to boss around.”

something snapped inside jimin. she turned around, storming back toward y/n, eyes burning with something unreadable.

“it would matter,” she said, voice low. “it would matter a lot.”

y/n blinked.

jimin exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair, frustrated—at y/n, at herself, at the entire situation.

“you think i don’t care?” jimin continued, tone softer now but still firm. “you think i’d just let you go that easily?”

y/n didn’t respond.

jimin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’m sorry, alright?”

y/n’s brows shot up. “what?”

jimin groaned. “don’t make me say it again.”

y/n stared at her, searching for any sign of insincerity—but, for once, jimin actually meant it.

a small smirk tugged at y/n’s lips. “wow. never thought i’d hear those words come out of your mouth.”

jimin rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “don’t get used to it.”

y/n chuckled, shaking her head. her frustration wasn’t completely gone, but… jimin had apologized. and for someone as stubborn as her, that was a huge deal.

“you’re impossible,” y/n muttered.

jimin smirked. “and yet, here you are. still not quitting.”

y/n sighed dramatically. “unfortunately.”

but there was a warmth in her eyes now, and jimin—though she’d never say it out loud—felt like she could finally breathe again.

[4mrplumi]

ZERO (iii) : SCAVENGERY . (ms/prev/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, guns, violence, child neglect, messed up legal system, mention of death, poor living conditions, bug taxidermy, everyone's a b, paranoia, ocd, full list on master list.

> a/n; the prologues are text heavy... i'll try more dialogue for the first chapter (next upload) and onwards. in the mean time, feel free to send asks and ideas, i'd love to discuss and tie up my own lose ends too. hope this suffices for the reader's relationship with the bat family!

“family business”, you squint at the sign, “12th sector conveniences, run by a family business!” the print on the plastic sign is misspelled, and fading away completely. red into pink, orange into pale yellow, and green into cyan. a lovely place to be at for what you’re doing.

family has always been an iffy subject for you, in your mind and verbal exchanges. you never humoured your friends’ prods at you to talk, and were especially vigilant about shutting down conversations about family.

you’d already brushed over the meaning of the word in your head, on terms with the fact that you would most likely never understand it in this lifetime, but the experience with it still stung. sometimes.

at ten years old, the landlord of your apartment, who’d let you stay for free since it was so horribly kept, passed away. it meant you had effectively no place to live, since it wasn’t legally in your hands anymore. nothing much about your situation was legal, but he’d argued your case for you for years, and the neighbours were supportive of it too.

gotham is a gritty place, and even with the varied dictionary of swears they used to poke away security, it was a little show of squishy softness from the people. 

after he died, your friends’ parents and your neighbours shuffled you around in their homes, month to month to keep you around. no one thought of calling fosters, or the police, since you were their kid as much as their children were. “love” was an odd word to use, people in your alley married for benefits and children were kept about for that reason too. there were exceptions, but the reason for your staying was obligation.

at eleven, you got caught directly in between a scuffle on the streets. the guys must’ve been waiting to put off steam, since it got bloody way faster than you’d ever seen. but honestly? you could’ve gone past it, it was nothing unnatural for the city, and having grown up in it on your own, you would’ve been fine.

but gotham was a city full of interruptions. buses, classes, going to the store for chips or even walking back home, you would be interrupted. by a gun, a fist, or if you were especially unlucky, the big old bat and his big old car. you wonder if you could’ve saved yourself all the trouble, the tax on your mental state and the worry you keep everyday of your life now, if you had just been a bit faster, fast enough to avoid the batman’s interruption. maybe, you would’ve been in the stairwell with your friends now, eating chips or running from old mister ford on the sixth floor.

you’d been put in the police station down the road, the same one your friend had thrown a brick through last week, while the caped weirdo, batman, told you it’d be alright. alright? you were fine. what did he mean, alright?

you’d nagged the officers to let you go, lying that people at home would be worried (maybe they were, you never got to know), but they’d sat you down and expected forced, timid compliance from you. these guys are always expecting better. one lady even had the gall to put on a show for you on the tiny tv in one of the “comfort-rooms” and you’d gone biting, screaming and struggling.

‘radicalised’ was what your landlord-uncle had called it. gotham’s people, even those not submerged in the high of crime, couldn’t help but grow up to be hard and rough at the edges, hating the people who put them here. the divide between the common people and the socialites was so jarring, so far. you didn’t want to comply with what these guys were telling you to do. all the adults hated them! why wouldn’t you?

it had taken two hours of watching a few pink-haired girls run around behind the screen, in cold, cold anger before you were let out. “a new home,” the lady officer had said, “safer.” it wasn’t until later that you got to know the reason they didn’t let you leave or shoved you in a care-home you could've run from, and instead pushed you into the manor; was because of your lack of legal documents. most noticeably, your birth certificate and the absence of your parents. 

you think now, that maybe batman had expected you to be broken, ruined and lonely like his other odd children. fact of the matter is, that you were fine. you were none of those things, until he intruded in your life. why he never let you go… perhaps he feared any resentment you held. you held none, until him.

the fight never left, you’d hissed all the way home at the old guy and the other man who’d come to pick you up, swiping at a hand offered to you. a new home? a new home? you had a home! they were waiting for you, you think, what do these people mean about a new home? why would you trust a badge and cap or a suit and tie, on their judgement of safety?

you want to go home.

the house they put you in was gargantuanly huge, your room the size of your old shared apartments. it made you sick. the ceiling was too high, and the corridors too long. admitting to fear was a sure way to get snuffed on the streets, and you didn’t admit to it, spending hours hiding in a bathroom alone, still too big for your liking. you hid and hid and you still hide. all the time.

when you got used to the place, pangs of loneliness and homesickness hit you. having never talked much, it was an unusual habit to reach out to someone. the flats you lived in used to be small enough for three people to have to sleep in the same bedroom. and the other four to crash on top of each other on the couch.

it’s different here, you’re alone. there’s no situation where everybody has to be together. you could tail along with the old guy while he cleaned, or stalk the boy who came to visit every month, but you avoided the man who got you here at all costs. you hate him, it would be betrayal to yourself to want to be around him. but seeking out company was too taxing, too new a thing for you. no one else came to you on their own, never needed anything from you. you were isolated. lonely. scared.

you weren’t forbidden from going outside, but always tailed by a security guard your “father” would set on you. the place where you grew up was blocked off your mental map too, a firm hand on your soldier from the boy, richard grayson, and his voice telling you it was off limits.

when you demanded a snarled “why?” with a dark, dark scowl, he’d just shook his head. an answer never came to you on its own, but it was quite clear you’d never be able to disobey.  so you scuffled around, lonely, the shadow of the manor on you making street-kids you’d get along with otherwise frown at you, everywhere.

a few months after your glorified kidnapping, another boy came into the polished picture of your family photo; jason todd. he was about the same age as you, with a noticeable and heavy gothamite-accent that you recognised immediately. though you still didn’t much enjoy seeking out the company of anyone in the house, jason’s was by far, the easiest to go to.

he was a surprisingly tender little kid, you’d expected a meaner, more similar to you type of guy, but it didn’t matter much. you’d sit in the same room as him when he studied, listen to him whisper under his breath about some composition of something, watch him run around in the garden after alfred to help him, gain the favour of the man, and wonder where he’d gone at night when you tried to stay awake with him in either of your rooms. the two of you were unalike, but the comfort of knowing rags better than rugs brought you together, just a bit.

towards the… end, he’d become more biting. more snappy, on edge. the change had come suddenly, and made you conflicted. on one end, you were delighted at his hostility, seeing a familiarity of behaviour with him. he was finally growing into the hardened shell. the other end just made you sad. what happened to the kid? to your brother? what happened to him?

it’s safe to say his death destroyed any neutrality you had for this place. when you’d seen bruce one night, he’d looked absolutely horrible, and you hadn’t understood why. you couldn’t much bother to ask, assuming it must’ve been bitchy-bad billionaire-blues, and the shock, the blunt punch that came to your gut at attending jason’s funeral the next day made you sick. 

dick had stood crying, his face in his hands, alfred had put an umbrella down to his face in what you assumed was sorrow, and bruce’s expression was unintelligible under the shadows that fell on it. you only stared, and stared, and stared at the stone of his grave, as though wanting to erode it, dig him out. jason. jason. a good soldier. 

soldier?

you were livid, entirely unable to express your emotions in any way possible, no outlet among your family, no friends, no social circle or activities to let out even the smallest sliver of your anger out. you hadn’t cried, mourning was never one of your customs, but you were so horribly angry. he was gone. gone.

what probably made it worse was that you never knew how he died. he disappeared one day, and came back dead the other. your only half-friend in your whole life, was gone, the sweet, helpful little boy, gone. your brother. gone. you shut off entirely, unwilling to accept dick’s offers to spend time together, snarling that his attempts at being a better brother to you would never undo anything that he’d ever done. with no knowledge on the cause of his death, you blamed everyone for jason todd’s story. 

dick had pulled away his hand, expression darkening, and did very pointedly avoid you from there on. thinking back, you wonder why he couldn’t excuse your grief. you were a child too. how did he manage to excuse everyone else?

tim drake’s arrival had been a thing of great disgust to you. he’d become an outlet for your fury, shoving past him in the corridors, muttering curses at him at the smallest issues, and flashing a scowl and a glare at his direction whenever he spoke. from the very beginning, tim knew about your distrust, your hatred of him, and avoided you in return to avoid trouble.

maybe you shouldn't have, and you don’t anymore to anybody, but you’d often go at him when you were at home. snarky comments on what he did, brushing off efforts he didn’t even present to you. you could see the slight effect it had on him, reclusivity, him thinking twice over his words. that on it’s own, and grayson’s narrowed glare and muttered “lay off, (name)” had almost made you guilty. 

almost.

he’d come to eventually just spit back at you, or ignore you, and you’d leave him be too. it’s just that the impact that period of time had on the both of you was irrefutable, and harsher exchanges would come out much easier from your mouth now. again, you wonder, why he couldn’t excuse you. you would take any hatred back from him, face the consequences of your actions and accept what you did was terrible. even if he never forgave you for being so unwelcoming to the little boy he was, if it meant that one day, tim drake would look your way without a scowl. but why did he never excuse you?

around this time, you took up many things. jason’s death had soured you against the crime in gotham way more than your arrival at the manor did, so you took to listening to the news and skimming through pamphlets. the common figures of the batman and robin had created a semi-permanent furrow in your brow, and you pitied the robin-boy who’d have to work along the incompetent, interrupting, annoying bat-hag. batman. 

the repetition of’ saves the day’, ‘exposes the scene’ and ‘back at arkham’ formed a slight obsession in you, and you had to know who these… geeks in costume interrupting everything were. if they could so skilfully weave through the riddler’s intricate puzzles, handle the joker’s lunatic schemes and avoid the bristling thorns of poison ivy’s attacks, how could they not put their minds to the little guy? the smaller problems?

 from stalking tim and watching his work methods, without his awareness, you picked up a pin and a photo, and got to work. school was never challenging, maybe initially with your lack of an uneducated pre-teens, but easy to catch up to with your abundance of time. with all the hours freed up from not having to do homework you’d already finished, you made it a personal goal to find out who batman and robin were. the man and the boy who failed you, jason, and all the kids down the road.

and you found out. in february, wearing a short sleeved shirt ‘cause the heating was always up, with a final thread of glittering blue thread, you found out. the anger that had built up over the years had started to die out, and snapped with a fizzle when you understood.

you hate them. bruce wayne, dick grayson, tim drake and even, even jason todd. you hate them all. incompetent fools. idiots.

a sense of emptiness lingered in you for days, a morose sense of nothing to do. you came across a video of a girl stuffing a hollowed spider with cotton, and gently placing it’s dangly limbs on top of pins like they were footrests. the spider’s paws were limp on her sides, but she looked alive. she looked alive, even after dying.

maybe it would’ve passed on a fleeting interest, if you had not come to the terms with the fact that rich people could do just whatever. without asking anyone, you’d gone out to buy a board and some bob-pins, signed your name off as someone else on the shop record book and left. two habits, hobbies, created on the same day. taxidermy and paranoia. 

you were not paranoid.

when you were now sixteen, bruce- no, batman, had gotten home troubled, more so that usual. it had peaked your curiosity, and you couldn’t help but eavesdrop through a micro communicator tim had so considerably left out in his room when you snooped through it.

the silhouette of a red hood trailed their conversations, troubling them with drugs and guns and knives. you’d found it all very amusing, minus the fact of his crimes. anyone who troubled the batman was amusing, but crime? you never excuse.

the relevance two months down that jason todd was alive, when you left the communicator on on a sleepless night, jolted you fully awake. a similar resurgence of not knowing, and fear, and worry engulfed you, much alike the same feelings you felt coming to the manor five years ago. 

you wanted to demand for answers, weasel out how, why, where he was. why he wasn’t coming home and why bruce was so incompetent at getting him back to the manor. but you couldn’t. no one could know you knew, no one could know you had that information, of their identities on them, and have that leverage over you. you bit your tongue. 

you never spoke to him, or saw jason face to face after his “rebirth”, catching glimpses of his voice on the mic’s that inputted into the oracle’s connected networks at night. you caught a glimpse of a large figure, draped in a leather jacket jumping out the window from the kitchen, but too late and too awkward to call out.

he’d gotten so tall. grown up. it hurts so bad, and you’ve never hurt before. never admitted it.

how had he managed to regain just the littlest bit of ties with the rest of the family, but not with you? you knew he snuck in on some nights, and he rarely ever came to the manor to talk to anyone, but how was it so easy for him to just, forget you? did he ever wonder where you were? did he ever want to see you again? you know he couldn’t, wouldn’t, but would he want to?

the pain that comes from seeing damian enter the manor is ten folds that. another little boy, falling to the bat’s trap of glory and growing up like jason and dick and tim, trapped. you want to warn him, but his kohl-lined eyes and scowling face makes it too difficult.

he reminds you too much of yourself, and that’s just about the scariest thing you know. self-importance and snarkiness. 

the worst thing? their tolerance. their excuses. dick’s grin at damian a day after the loudest scuffle, the meanest words you’d heard come from a ten year old’s mouth, him being excused. tolerated. tim excusing him, and bothered to still talk to damian even after all the insults and demeaning of his work, the tolerance he received.

bruce wayne’s hand on his shoulder, showing him around to help him adapt to the new, unfamiliar place. why had no one done that for you? why did no one excuse you, see if you were okay? why were you like this? what had damian done that you hadn’t, and what had you done that he didn’t?

“the blood son”, he had declared at you the first time the two of you spoke, “has come to show his worth to the family. remain on the sidelines from your unimportant and tarnishing stain on father’s name, or struggle against my defense.” you didn’t respond to his edwardian monologue, and left despite his appalled scoff at your indifference. the blood son. he had a family. you could never compare to the concern or the trouble they put in to be with him, because he was family.

family. 

you could’ve ignored damian if he didn’t come into your business so often. poking at the posters you’d put up to cope with the large, empty walls in your room, scoffing at the music you’d put on to drown out the ring in your ears from the silence and snapping your last nerve upon stealing a cricket from your board to bury in the garden.

you’d said nothing, quietly taking it back when he was faraway, straightening the legs of the insect with a motherly tenderness. he had soiled a lifeform put in your hands over his own sense of honour and humanity, effectively disgracing the ideals you had been raised on and live on now.

you knew of his upbringing, and you knew better his horror at your practice. but nevertheless, it was yours. he didn’t excuse you, he demeaned you, he didn’t consider you family.

he was not your family.

none of them were, and none of them will be. they’re self-prestiged vigilantes with overblown egos and no semblance of shame or understanding. they know nothing, and you can’t abandon a city so unfortunate to be in their care like this. they don’t know anything, because the ceiling they live under is too high to need to crouch and hide, and the corridor is too large for them to have to squeeze through when running.

a tap on your shoulder brings you out of thought, and your reply is a gruff “you’re late” at the girl in front of you. the salty green-white lights of 12th sector conveniences buzz on as you make your way inside, and garcia’s grin is too wide for someone so inconsiderate of your carefully mapped plans.

you hate your family, and their poor work. so you’ll have to scheme in different run-down hell holes to undo their messes. but order and control is important. if you’re in hell, why should you stop here? “one day”, your ‘girlfriend’ had said, “all these places you take me-” “you all,” you had interrupted, “i take you all” “-will be as clean as your nails, (name)”

you hope that she’s not mocking. and you hope she’s right.

> a/n; nothing much left 2 say! i notice my writing habits have switched up a bit, way less unnecessary words and stuffs. this is queued for tmrw so hopefully im not spamming anything. re-added the tags i left out for zero:ii too. idk when my next upload will be since my first exam is day after tmrw, but i wanna really write for the plot soon.

thanks for reading!!

taglist: @boredselkie @shirp-collector-of-fixations @randomlyappearingartist @bat1212 @maicenitas @xjesterxjacksx @heartjwonie @lucienneb1ue @vikkus-main @adornedlace @cuntiesweet @minorlyatfall @staarflowerr @ithoughtthinks @crazycaoticsimp

[p1astr81]

chocolate lava cake pudding

in which: you’re a chronic night baker

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

warnings: none

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ * ‧₊˚ ‧

You had a terrible habit of waking at odd hours of the night. On most occasions, you were unable to get back to sleep.

The logical solution? Take some melatonin. Your solution? Bake.

The first few instances it happened, you accidentally woke Oscar. He’d come from the bedroom each time, eyes half lidded, murmuring in his rough sleepy voice something about odd hobbies. Then he’d slip his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder until he was ready for sleep again.

Since then, his body has become accustomed to it. The beeping of the oven no longer pulls him from slumber, nor did the accidental clang of baking sheets.

Tonight was another one of your late-night baking affairs. You were trying out a new pudding recipe, flavored of chocolate lava cake. Oscar hadn’t cared for the old one, a plain banana.

The pudding was sat and ready to be chilled. You dipped a finger in to taste it, humming when your taste buds absorbed the flavors. It wasn’t quite right, but you didn’t know what was missing.

The dark contents of the bowl were lit under the dull lighting of the moon and a singular spider-man night light. You glared at it, as if demanding for it to tell you what it was missing.

You huffed, looking to the hall down where the bedroom was, and back at the dessert.

Taking the bowl from the counter, you brought it to the bedroom. You climbed over to Oscar’s side of the bed—his back was to you—and laid the upper half of your body on his.

“Osc?” You called softly, receiving a sleepy hum in response. “A need a second opinion.”

He didn’t need to open his eyes to know what you meant. “What time is it?”

“Just- please taste it.”

Oscar wore a small smile, cracking open an eye to see some of the pudding on a spoon, waiting for his consumption. He sighed a laugh.

“It tastes good,” he commented, eyes closed once more and cozying himself back into the sheets.

You pulled back, sitting on your heels. “You don’t think it needs anything?” Your question was answered with a small shake of his head.

Lips met his temple, though he’d already fallen asleep once more. “Thanks, babe.”

The following morning, Oscar woke before you, per usual. He followed his usual morning routine of cooking the both of you breakfast, pancakes and hashbrowns today.

You woke a little earlier than typical, greeted by the scents that promised a delicious breakfast.

Oscar smiled at the sight of you, pulling you to his side to kiss the top of your head. “Morning,” his voice still carried remnants of sleep. “you didn’t bake anything last night?” He guessed, having not seen a new dish on the counter.

You pulled back, searching his eyes for a glint of humor. “I made pudding. Do you not remember?”

“How would I remember? You always bake when I’m sleeping.” He laughed.

You tilted your head to the side, a smile creeping it’s way onto your lips at the situation. “I woke you up. I had you taste it.”

His eyes divert from yours, slightly squinted as he tried to recall the events you describe. “I do not remember that.” He chuckled.

The pudding was taken from the fridge. Oscar, fully conscious now, took a spoonful.

“I think it’s missing something.” He commented.

You blinked at him before banging your head against the fridge.

[sage-nebula]

In my personal opinion, all three of these have a high probability of backfiring. They assume that the person you're interacting with knows your intention, and/or is interacting in good faith, but on the chance that isn't true (and there is a good chance there isn't), all this will do is escalate the situation and make it worse.

To explain in detail:

"Are you okay?" — This comes across as incredibly passive-aggressive and patronizing if it's said in response to someone who is, by all appearances, in fine health. Particularly if the person you're speaking with is already in a hostile mood, they won't read this as concern, but rather as mockery, and it WILL further escalate the situation. Further, the HR representative has every opportunity here to put their own feelings into what you meant: did you have genuine reason to believe your coworker was in distress? Or were you passive-aggressively insinuating you believed they were deranged? Because the coworker believes the latter and that's why they reported you (after yelling even more in response to you passive-aggressively calling them crazy).

"Could you repeat that for me?" / "Can you explain what you mean?" — Playing dumb can work if, and only if, the coworker is genuinely not an asshole. However, some people are. And these people will see these questions and repeat / explain themselves in an even more condescending, insulting way: slowed down speech, over-enunciated sounds, little words. Now, you could get them with HR even harder for this, but you're taking a hit first.

So, what should you say instead? Here is your step-by-step guide.

Step 1: Acknowledge Their Issue — This is NOT the same as apologizing. If you genuinely did something wrong, by all means, but if you didn't, don't claim responsibility for something you didn't do! Here is a good stock response: "I understand where you're coming from, and see how that would be frustrating."

This acknowledges their feelings, which is an important step in deescalation. Even assholes often just want to be heard and validated. However, we are not done. IF the asshole doesn't deflate after having their feelings soothed, you'll need to move onto Step 2. (You can also lead right into Step 2 if this is all through email or Teams.)

Step 2: State Need for Professionalism — In this step you both stand up for yourself, and make it explicitly clear what your intentions are, in a way that cannot be misconstrued. Here is a stock phrase: "I feel that this conversation has become a bit heated. I ask that we remain polite and professional for the remainder of this discussion."

Using "I feel" language removes any chance that the coworker can say you accused them of anything. You aren't insinuating that they're crazy or anything like that, but rather just saying that your perception is that this conversation is heated. You are also asking for polite professionalism, which is an expectation of the workplace, but in such a way that it CANNOT be twisted into an accusation (but that YOU know is commentary on your coworker, and your coworker will understand as well, without being able to use it against you).

But we're still not done! If they continue to bluster and storm, Step 3 has got you.

Step 3: End the Convo, Involve Higher-Up — In this step you both disengage the rude coworker, and cover your ass (CYA). Here is a stock phrase: "Apologies, but I do not feel that continuing this conversation will be productive for either of us. I will see if we can resume this conversation with [manager / HR] present. Good day."

Saying that you don't feel the conversation is productive communicates the message that they are not communicating effectively, but once again in a way that cannot be twisted into an attack on their person. Furthermore, "productive" carries the connotation that YOU are interested in working with this person, which will look good to whichever higher-up you involve next.

Because at this point, you DO need to involve one. This is to CYA. Controlling the narrative is crucial in workplace disputes and that means being the first to report the situation. Pick whoever is most appropriate; if you and the coworker share a manager, you can go there. If not, HR would be the better bet. Even if you share a manager, you can still go to HR if you trust them more. It's up to you.

If this confrontation took place in person, walk away after saying this and go to either manager / HR to explain the situation. If the coworker tries to stop you, just repeat that you don't feel the conversation is productive and request that they move out of your way. Such a thing will attract attention, so it's important you seem as reasonable as possible while they make themselves look worse.

If this confrontation took place over email, immediately forward with an explanation of what they will be looking at. Here is a good template:

"Hi [Manager / HR name],

I wanted to bring to your attention a conversation [Coworker] and I just had, in case it has potential for further issues to arise. The conversation was initially about [situation], however, I feel that [Coworker]'s language was disrespectful and not conducive to a working relationship. I would appreciate it if you would review the situation and speak to [Coworker] on my behalf, since I do not wish for this incident to escalate further. Every email between [Coworker] and myself is included in the chain below.

Thank you,

[Your Name]"

This template accomplishes several things:

It alerts the manager / HR person to the fact that there is an issue.

Provides context as to why the issue happened.

Does not seem accusatory toward the coworker; accusations will work against you 9 times out of 10.

Places emphasis on wanting to maintain professionalism and productivity, which are things both managers and HR people also want.

Asks M / HR to take over the situation.

Provides the full conversation (i.e. the RECEIPTS) so they can see what went down.

By this point you might be thinking, "These sound like robot responses! Why do I need to include lines about professionalism and productivity? Why do I need to weasel around accusations?"

The reason to all of these is: this is how you both play and win the game. You're not in this to dunk on your rude coworker; you're in it to shut them down. And the way to do that is to be clear, specific, and get / keep management and HR on your side. That means getting to them first, and keeping yourself sounding reasonable in contrast to your asshole coworker. Stating intentions clearly means your words can't be used against you; using words like professionalism and productivity will make M / HR believe you really care about this workplace.

This is how you win. Trust me. (Source: Master's in communications management, mid-level managerial experience, and over a decade of experience deescalating and dealing with assholes in the workplace.)

Tips and ideas for how to respond when someone is being rude to you

For personal reasons I won't get into, I have a history of just freezing when some is rude / hostile / aggressive / condescending / patronizing / etc. It's obviously not something I'm happy about at all, most people who freeze or fawn aren't happy about it and would change it if they could.

One day I confided in my co-worker, a middle aged woman in her 50's, that this is something I struggle with. Considering how confident and assertive she always struck me as, I was shocked when she told me this is also something she's struggled with.

The advice she gave me is to just memorize and practice a few broad statements or reactions that you can pull out of your pocket so to speak when someone is being rude or disrespectful to you. It's not easy if you're someone who's been conditioned to freeze or fawn, but practice helps. Practice saying these things when you're alone. Put up a sticky note next to your bed or on your bathroom mirror with these phrases and practice them when you see them. Practice saying these with a partner or trusted friend, role-play scenarios where you might need to use these phrases.

Here's a few phrases that have worked for me. The nice thing about them is that they tend to shut down the situation rather than escalating, while still letting the aggressor know that you don't find their behavior acceptable.

"Are you okay?"

This works well in professional settings, because it's not like your work place's residential bully can run to HR about you asking if they're okay (but they might if you try to retaliate and give them a taste of their own medicine). However, it still effectively sends the message "I think there's something wrong with your behavior and don't accept it". It's also not likely the response they're expecting, so it'll likely throw them off and prevent further verbal aggression.

"Could you repeat that for me? I didn't catch what you said."

This one is most effective for people you believe to actually have a conscious and might regret what they said if they actually thought about it a little more. I find that often when I do this one, when people repeat the rude/snippy/patronizing/etc thing they either shamefully stumble over their words and show some remorse, or they change altogether what they say. In the off chance they don't regret what they said and end up repeating exactly what they said, this at least buys you some time to think of a better reaction since you're no longer caught off guard by a sudden rude and snippy remark.

"Can you explain what you mean by that?"

Similar logic to the last one. Often when people are being rude/snippy/patronizing/etc they're caught up in their own emotions in that moment and didn't think it through. This is a polite and civil way of putting their rude behavior in the spotlight and making them reconsider what they said. The other advantage to this one is that in case you did misread their intentions and they meant no harm by what they said or did, this gives them an opportunity to clarify that, instead of you just feeling bad over a statement or actions they actually had no ill intentions with.

If anyone has any further examples of reactions / responses / statements that have worked for them, I'd love to hear about them. I'm new to studying the art of how to civilly yet effectively shut down bad behavior from others, so I'm always open to hearing more suggestions.

[mameillieureennemie]

Have you ever seen that strap-on harness that’s meant to fit on top of a boot/shoe? If so, would you ever see Sevika or Vi using it on reader?

it's funny you sent this because i saw a post about this very harness. except someone had also modified it, so it'd have a hitachi vibrator attached to it. so when i saw this ask, i was like "whoooa, that's pretty coincidental!"

18+ minors go away.

sevika × afab!reader

cw: dominant!sevika, sub!bratty!reader

i see sevika using it more than vi, primarily because it gives off more sevika vibes to me, personally. i could potentially see vi using it, but it'd have to be a particular situation; like when vi's feeling very dominant.

sevika would have that harness for when she has to work, and you need her. but you're being bratty, very disobedient, and refusing to listen when she tells you, "not now, baby, i need to finish this paperwork."

so when you're finally tapdancing on her last nerve, she snaps, grips you by the chin, and says, "go get it," in a growl that never fails to have you whimpering. you know her patience's finished, that her tolerance for you has disappeared, so you obey with hurried steps and your heart threatening to burst from your chest.

when you arrive back, she doesn't even look at you. all she does is point down at her boot, and you move without a word. you strap on the harness with shaky fingers, anticipation racing through you, and make sure it's secure. then you're sitting back on heels of your feet, anxiously waiting for sevika to give you the go ahead.

she doesn't—for a long while.

she leaves you squirming, panties getting thoroughly soaked, as you try not to step out of line. your eyes dart between the silicone on sevika's boot and sevika's face, which remains unbothered as she completes her paperwork. it gets to a point where tears are prickling at the corners of your eyes, your frustration building with your arousal as it becomes unbearable.

you're about to break, about to tear away from your obedience, so you can fill up the painful ache between your legs. you're about to move when sevika finally looks at you, stares blankly, before a soft coo falls from her lips.

"look at my baby," she murmurs, mocking. "is she all pent up? is her slutty needy cunt in need of something?"

you fidget, cheeks burning, as you stare up at her through your lashes. all embarrassed, all desperate and on the edge of losing it completely.

"no answer?" sevika asks, pierced eyebrow raised. "oh well, i guess someone doesn't need this then." she gestures to the strap on her boot. "take it off."

"no, wait!" you suddenly cry out, reaching out with slightly trembling hands. "i...i need it..." you say softly, hands falling to her thigh because you need to feel her in some capacity. "need it, vika...please."

"what do you need, baby?"

"...need your strap in my...slutty needy cunt."

sevika's smile is sharp and deadly, the boot with the harness tapping a taunting rhythm.

"get on, then." she says—no, commands, and you're suddenly scrambling.

you don't even take the time to remove your panties.

you just shove them to the side before you mount sevika's leg and sink down.

[ur-sick-and-married]

CRAWLING BACK TO YOU • PAIGE BUECKERS

Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few?

🎵: Do I Wanna Know? covered by Hozier

TW: suggestive, angst, reader is an alcoholic, usage of Y/N, mentions of nausea and vomiting

SUMMARY: you get drunk to avoid running back to your ex…but tonight it brought you right to her.

A/N: I went to a UConn game the other day!

How many times were you going to find yourself in this situation? You were strolling around the crowded house, searching for anyone that would have you. You were drunk again, like you were most nights.

You did this a lot now; get wasted and hookup with strangers. The alcohol allowed you to loosen up, finally find some peace, and the hookups kept you feeling useful and pleasured.

The two of those things also kept you from groveling at the knees of UConn’s best female guard.

You and Paige had been in a serious relationship. You loved that woman. She was the best thing that ever happened to you.

But you’d fucked up. Your love for booze had scared her off. She got sick of attending parties every weekend, sick of having to take away the bottle, sick of dragging you from parties, sick of pushing you off at home when your drunk self tried to start something, sick of nursing your nasty hangovers. She had told you to chill, promised you movie nights and dates instead of parties.

You never listened, so eventually she sat you down and, with a lot of difficulty, ended things. It had become too much for her. She needed to focus on school and basketball. It was her last year in college, after all. She wanted to make it count.

Without Paige, your need for alcohol only grew, which is how you found yourself in the middle of a frat party. Things had been usual, until someone screamed and everyone started fleeing. You knew what this meant; cops. You started running, too. If the police got you, you were screwed. Chugging drink after drink was fun, until the idea of getting caught came up.

You stumbled through the woods behind the house. This was where people typically ran, but you were alone. Maybe you were going the wrong way? You could see lights up ahead, so you went towards those. If there was civilization, you could find your way home. Once you made it through the trees, you found yourself in a campus that you quickly recognized…UConn.

Well, you thought, at least you knew your way around.

You started wandering, your phone in hand, waiting until you had good enough WiFi to get an Uber.

When you first heard the sound, you thought you were imagining it. Surely it was just the sound you associated with the school.

Nope…when the small, outdoor court came into view, you realized there was someone dribbling a basketball.

That someone was Paige Bueckers.

What were the chances?! You needed to go, before she saw you. You turned around fast, and tripped over your own feet. Your body hit the grass with a small “oof” sound escaping your lips.

“Y/N?!” Paige called when she saw you.

She was at your side within a second, immediately trying to get you up.

“Hi, Paige…” You said awkwardly, trying not to slur.

“The hell are you doing here?” She asked as she pulled you to your feet easily.

“I was…in town.” You shrugged.

She was gonna say something else, when her nose wrinkled. “Jesus…you smell like beer.”

It clicked in her brain just then. You opened your mouth to lie again, but all that came out was a shaky, alcohol scented breath.

“Ar you drunk?” She asked quietly.

“Just…a little bit.” You mumbled.

“Bullshit!” She exclaimed abruptly. “You’re wasted, aren’t you?!”

“I didn’t mean to be!” You yelped.

“Sure.” She scoffed. “You accidentally took a few shots? Chugged some beer? Drank some soda that you didn’t know had vodka in it?!”

You huffed, not knowing what to say. She was always right when it came to this.

“I just need to get home…” You whispered shakily.

“Where were you?” She whispered back.

“Party.”

“Hm. It’s early for you to leave a party.”

“Cops.”

An awkward silence passed. She watched you fight intoxicated tears.

“What do you want me to do, Y/N?” She sighed.

“Could you…get me a ride?” You said. “I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

“Where are you going? Home?” She asked.

You nodded.

“What if you go out again, huh? The bar? The club?”

“I’m super tired, Paige.” You shook your head. “I’m not going out.”

“You think I’m gonna believe you?” She scoffed. “You’ve pulled that shit before.”

“Then what are you gonna do?” You said, frustrated.

She sighed again, dragging a hand down her face.

“You’ll stay with me.” She announced. “Just for tonight.”

You froze. Really? Your ex would be the one taking you home?

“Come on.” She said, hesitantly placing a hand on your shoulder. “Let’s go. It’s getting cold.”

She led you back to her apartment. You were a bit unsteady, starting to feel the negative effects of the alcohol.

“Don’t you have roommates?” You asked once you were inside her building.

“They don’t mind.” She waved that off. “Just be quiet and they won’t care.”

“We shouldn’t do this…” You said.

Usually when you got drunk, you were all over her, insisting she go home with you.

You knew better by now.

“Don’t worry about it.” Paige said softly. “I just…I can’t let you go home alone right now.”

The both of you went up to her dorm. She pulled out her keys and opened the door, inviting you in. When you struggled to slip your shoes off, feeling unsteady, she knelt down to get them off for you.

“You feeling sick?” She whispered.

“Uh…not really.” You replied, despite that fact that your head was spinning.

Paige saw right through the lie.

“Go in my room.” She told you. “I’ll be right there.”

You quietly went to her bedroom, remembering where it was, of course. You perched awkwardly on the edge of her bed, waiting.

Paige came in a few minutes later, after convincing her roommates they they wouldn’t be hearing any grotesque noises. She carried a small trash bag and a glass of water.

“Drink up.” She instructed, giving you the cup. She then placed the bag in your lap. “And if you have to puke, do it in there.”

“Thanks.” You muttered.

She knelt down in front of you, looking at you with those insanely blue eyes. “C’mon…drink.”

You took a few sips of the water. You knew she was being helpful, but the water kind of made you want to throw up.

“Just hold onto that bag.” Paige said when she noticed your facial expression.

She stood up, and walked over to her closet. After digging around for a moment, she came back with a t-shirt and comfy shorts. The shirt looked so familiar…you suddenly realized why.

You would always steal her clothes when you were a couple. She often found her hoodies in your bedroom, her sweatpants (which were actually ginormous on you because she was so tall), mixed with your laundry. You rarely hid it well. Sometimes you’d just show up at her place in her clothes.

Your favorite thing to steal was one of her March Madness shirts. It was very comfy, and a reminder of how amazing Paige and her team were. So when she gave you the shirt that drunken night? You quickly burst into tears.

“What? What’s wrong?” Paige asked worriedly.

“You…you remembered.” You sniffled.

She didn’t know what to say. She felt sort of caught. She muttered a quick “Of course I did” and took the water from you.

Her bedroom was dark, only slightly lit by the moon shining through the window, so she didn’t see much when she helped you out of your party clothes. Not like she’d never seen you naked. Once you were in the comfortable clothes, she pulled the blankets on her bed back, allowing you to slip in.

“I’m gonna stop, Paige.” You whispered, still crying as she tucked you in. “I’m gonna stop drinking.”

She sighed. She’d heard you say this before, but never so seriously.

“Good.” She said. “You’re gonna kill yourself at this point.”

“I know…” You whimpered. “I don’t want to die…”

You were quick to put your head in your hands so she wouldn’t see you cry even more. She bit her lip at this. She was angry at you, for continuing to abuse alcohol, but…she hated that she was. She just wanted to comfort you. She never liked seeing you cry.

“Let’s just try to sleep, alright?” She said softly, climbing over you to lie down.

She got in the bed, keeping a safe distance. Neither of you were very comfortable. You were too tense. You hadn’t been in bed together in ages. It would’ve been nice if you weren’t so awkward.

You really tried to pull yourself together. You wiped your eyes, took deep breaths, focused on good thoughts. But your drunken tears kept coming.

Suddenly, Paige was shifting, and she was getting closer. She laid on her side, facing you. Then you felt her hand carding through your hair, gently scratching your scalp.

“What’re you doing…?” You whispered.

“When I used to do this, you’d be out cold within minutes.” She whispered back.

She kept doing the soothing motion. Your eyes were getting heavy, like she’d hoped.

“I’m really gonna stop.” You muttered.

“I know…just sleep.” She murmured.

“I miss you.” You whispered. In your half asleep, intoxicated state, you didn’t think twice about saying that.

She swallowed hard, her hand faltering for only a second. “I told you to go to sleep.”

“I just wanted you to know.” You answered.

“I know.” She repeated, smiling a little at the small amount of sass in your voice. “You don’t have to miss me, though. I’m right here.”

Exhaustion was finally getting to you, so you were falling into a deep sleep.

“I’ll be right here.” She whispered a few seconds before you fully sank into unconsciousness. “We’ll figure this out…we always do."

[neeeooon]

heyyy can you do blue lock guys with reader who adjusts with any situation without complaints or making demands because reader thinks they don't deserve their love? For example, if the guys cancel dates, forget an important date or can't make enough time for them. I hope you understand what I'm trying to say lolol 😭

okay i think i got it but i struggled a bit so if not pls lmk 😭🙏 thank you for the request!

when you go with the flow ;

bf bllk x gn!reader

itoshi sae

-> “where are you going?” “out. i’ll be back later. do you need something?” “… no, i’m good. have fun!”

-> you shouldn’t be surprised that sae forgot your anniversary, but it still hurt

-> sae appears at your door an hour later with flowers and a wary smile. “… i’m sorry i forgot our anniversary. i know it’s late notice, but can i still take you to dinner?”

yukimiya kenyu

-> “i can cancel, y/n, i don’t mind—“ “no, don’t cancel! we can go out some other time.”

-> you were not about to let your boyfriend miss a doctor’s appointment, even if it meant having to cancel your date

-> you didn’t mind waiting, but kenyu suddenly grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet. “do you want to come with me?” you smile was genuine as you said, “yes.”

barou shouei

-> “i’m sorry, y/n. maybe next week?” “that’s okay! really, i don’t mind :)”

-> you do mind. you just refuse to complain about it to barou because you feel unworthy of his love

-> thankfully, he’s not an idiot. “no, it’s not okay. i promised you we’d go out today, so we’re going out today.” “i really don’t mind waiting—“ “they can wait.” “… okay <3”

kiyora jin

-> “is it okay if we hang out next week instead?” “… sure! everything okay?” “yeah, just dance stuff. i’ll text you.”

-> you were used to getting blown off like this, but you didn’t mind. just getting to call kiyora your boyfriend was enough for you

-> the next time he had practice, you didn’t ask where he was going. “y/n?” “yeah?” “… do you want to come with me?” you try to keep your excitement contained. “yeah!”

nagi seishiro

-> “i’m tired. can we call instead?”

-> you sighed but responded that it was fine. nagi sent back a simple “:)” and the date ended there

-> on your call, you were listening to nagi talk about his game when he suddenly got quiet. “… does it hurt your feelings when i’m tired?” “sometimes? but there are times where i feel like i don’t deserve you, so even this is enough for me :)” “… okay.”

[ghostkittypog]

Imagining the way that people /have/ to know you're the only one with your memories wiped each night after years.... Imagining that there was once a time where they told you there's a time loop, nothing can progress, nothing can change anymore, they don't know how to get out. But your reaction eventually became another form of expectedness, so they let you go around believing everything was okay.

The other implications of this world... There's people stuck giving birth and cuddling their newborn, there's people with sick children who can never become UN-sick--even if the child is only sick with the common cold--people who just /are/ sick themselves stuck like that. Children who are never aging from 2, 7, 13, physically. You would keep encountering really eloquent toddlers because, if everyone remembers, so do the children. So do the elderly.

People stuck dying every day just from illness being revived each day. Other people who are Meant to die that day from happenstance being able to avoid it. And then nothing changes about their life because keeping themselves alive wasn't the key to getting out of the loop. The amount of grief and loneliness and horror put on hold for the situation because it's been years and nothing's changed.

If they ever broke out of the loop, all of humanity (except you) would get absolutely body-slammed by the amount of Everything that a loop can't let you process because of the sensation of inability to escape. People can reveal their true forms in the loop, their vulnerabilties, but they still need the reality of time moving forward. The only consolation is everyone else remembers, so nobody's so alone. Changes communicated by word, like self-expression, romantic flings, etc., those all remain even after a loop.

People in the hospitals getting really close with the medical staff because what else is there to do... The only people who keep working really just being those who work in the entertainment industry. Because anything else won't see much reward. Customer service workers still working, but kinda just...chilling and talking to the customers coming in and leaving the machine alone; maybe occasionally they scan an item and let the person pay, just for old time's sake.

Apparently, you are living in a time loop. Also apparently, you are the only person on Earth who DOESN'T remember the previous iterations. This is the first time you've experienced today; the rest of humanity has been stuck reliving today for years now.

[gatorbites-imagines]

scott summers x male reader where Scott gets hit with someones love mutation ( basically like a love potion type of situation ) and Scott " falls in love" with male reader, but scoot acts the same as he always does, because he is already in love with male reader.

Scott Summers x mutant male reader

Headcanons

Readers mildly based on Atom Smasher, at least power-wise. Still tired from working all week, but it is what it is. I eat up Scott being awkward, I hc him as autistic if anyone cares. Cuz I love Scott, and Scott is me.

You were on X-men, with a mutation that let you change your size. Like ant-man, but cooler, if anyone asked you. You didn’t need a suit to change your size, so in your mind you were the original.

How long you had been an x-men doesn’t matter much, just enough time for Scott to fall in love with you, but not long enough that you could read between all his actions.

Which isn’t very obvious to anyone but the teams telepaths, who can hear his thoughts because of different mind bonds they share. Or the ones who have been on the team long enough to notice he’s giving you favorable treatment.

To you it isn’t obvious, as Scott doesn’t let it show too much. favorable treatment from Scott is things like him pulling you into the danger room to spar more, or him secretly stocking up on your favorite snacks.

Scott would stick closer to you than most, but again, to you it just comes across as the leader sticking closer to the new guy. At least, in the beginning when you are the new guy. After that, you two have kind of a strategy when it comes to fighting from all the training, which makes you believe its that.

Scott was always a bit tense or flighty, in your opinion. But everything moved so slow or fast when you changed size, so maybe it was just that. being the leader of the x-men also meant he had to have a lot of weight on his shoulders, right?

It definitely wasn’t because your suit would rip and tear a lot back when you first joined the team, before Hank and you found the right formula for a suit that would shrink and grow with you.

At least you never flashed anybody, as much as Scott would silently in his mind wish you did. Which just ended up with him getting a lot of ribbing from Jean and whoever else could hear his thoughts.

When Scott was hit with the enemy mutants’ powers, no one really realized for a while.

You had been as big as a skyscraper at that point, fighting against a sentinel of all things. Why mutants would side with them, you never understood. But that’s life. This also just meant you didn’t see Scott get hit.

It was only after you guys got back to the mansion, or krakoa, depending on where and when this takes place, and other members of the team were getting treated. Hank was mostly shocked you hadn’t gotten hit, since you were so damn big and easy to hit.

The only difference in Scott was that he was hovering more than usual, hell, he even let his fingers brush against the back of your hand for like a split second but that was it.

Other than that, he’s the exact same, giving out orders and helping where he’s needed. Though, he does keep an eye on you more than usual, which isn’t that obvious with his visor and everything anyways.

Maybe Jean is out of commission for a while, so it’s Charles that realizes Scott was hit, so it takes a while.

And its only realized when Scotts thoughts spiral more than usual when it comes to you, sounding borderline obsessed and possessive. It’s when flickers of thoughts about using his optic blast on Remy when he’s doing his usual flirting that it starts setting off alarm bells.

Scott would deny anything being wrong with him, since he doesn’t feel different. Which, in the end, just outs him and his feelings to you which leaves you stunned for a while.

You end up having to sit with him and hold his hand to make him stop resisting treatment, since he’s way too focused and flustered about holding your hand.

Maybe your powers act up a bit from having these feelings put on display, because yeah, your team leader is such a damn smokeshow and he’s charming in his own way. But you never thought hed actually like you of all people.

It’s pretty awkward in the medical wing for a couple of moments, with Scott wanting to jump into the ocean at how embarrassed he feels. It doesn’t help when you grow a couple of sizes when you realize all the times you two have been grinding on each other during spars, and the table breaks right under you.

Being thrown to the floor at least makes Scott laugh. Enough for him to roll over and pull your mask off, because it’s not fair only you get to see how flustered he is, right? (it’s also because he wants to see if you are disgusted by him, but sssshhh, don’t tell anybody)

When he sees how flustered you are about it, how you keep worrying your lip and looking away it makes his heart flutter.

Scott has always been good at reading people, it comes with the job. But realizing other people like him has never been his strong suit, so he’s never really thought about it.

In the end you two kiss, even if it’s pretty clumsy and a bit weird with you being at least 8 feet tall, but you make it work. Good thing Scott doesn’t mind the size difference.

It takes a moment for you to shrink back to normal size, and you two just spend some time sitting on the floor feeling flustered and talking about it. Scott likes order in his things, so of course hed want to get this right too.

You two are not surviving leaving the medical wing for long though, especially when the rest of the team sees the smashed table. Everyone knows the real reason, but there’s so much teasing about “what were yall doing in there, huh?”

But you guys survive, even if Scott does get huffy and blushy about it. you get back at the teasing by putting the items of the teammates in places they cant reach.

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤㅤִㅤ ݁ ꉂ costume party ᴖ ֽ ㅤᷭ

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺⠀⠀tread carefully, my dears, for the words that follow are not for the faint of heart: what lies ahead is smut, a dance of desire that might just set your pulse racing. proceed if you dare.

warnings: smut. explicit nsfw. possessive behavior. rough sex. dubious consent. public sex. sexual tension. friends to lovers.

═══════════════════════════ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . 　 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

the night was buzzing with the wild energy of a costume party, where identities were masked, and inhibitions were left at the door. chris had dressed up as one of the charming magicians from now you see me, complete with a deck of cards, his attire adding a layer of mystique to his usual goofball charm. y/n, on the other hand, was a vision of dark allure as one of the dimitrescu sisters from resident evil village, her costume a black, low-cut dress that clung to her body, a choker, the symbol on her forehead, and a veil that combined sexiness with terror. they had agreed to meet at the party, but chris was there first, his social butterfly nature in full swing.

he was in his element, laughing, flirting, playing beer pong with reckless abandon, dancing, and even sneaking into the background of countless selfies, his energy was infectious as usual. but eventually y/n made her entrance, and the room seemed to quiet for a moment; she was breathtaking, her costume accentuating every curve, turning heads. chris felt a surge of possessive desire but tried to keep it under wraps; they were friends. just best friends. they reunited in the kitchen, their banter light and flirty, until chris was pulled away for another round of beer pong, but his focus shattered when he saw y/n on the couch, some guy leaning close, his intentions all too clear. chris, known for his impulsiveness and being the youngest of the sturniolo brothers, couldn't handle the jealousy; the thought of someone else with y/n, his y/n, was intolerable. he didn't hesitate, his blunt nature leading him to confront the situation. "what the fuck are you doing with my best friend?" chris demanded, his tone sharp, his body tense with aggression. the guy, taken aback, laughed off the tension, "just talking, man, chill." y/n defended herself, "i can talk to whoever i want, chris." but chris was not backing down. "yeah? looked like he was about to shove his tongue down your throat."

the guy stood, his own temper flaring, "who the hell are you to tell her what to do?" the argument escalated, words flying like daggers among chris, y/n, and the guy, until y/n, in a burst of frustration, grabbed chris's arm, dragging him into one of the party's closets for privacy, the door slamming shut, muffling the party's noise. inside, chris was still radiating anger, his chest heaving. "he was all over you, y/n! you're—" "chris, you're my best friend, stop worrying like that, no one's going to come between us," y/n interjected, her arms wrapping around him in an embrace meant to calm. their closeness in the dimly lit closet, the heat from their argument, it all transformed into something else when chris's hands found her waist, pulling her against him, his lips crashing onto hers in a kiss fueled by need. "you're fucking mine," he growled, jaw clenched as his hands slipping under her dress, feeling the smooth skin of her thighs. "prove it then," y/n whispered back, her voice laced with desire, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. the urgency of their desire took over. chris, driven by jealousy and possession, moved with rough intent. he pushed her against the wall, the fabric of her dress riding up. his hands roamed, exploring her body, the cold wall contrasting with the heat of their skin. he didn't bother with undressing her fully; his need was too much to handle, so he unzipped his pants, just enough to free his hard cock, the head already slick with pre-cum. chris found her underwear, pushing it aside rather than removing it, his fingers teasing her entrance, ensuring she was ready for him. y/n, caught in the moment, helped guide him, her hand reaching down to align him with her. chris lifted her, her legs wrapping around him, finding the perfect angle where he could sink into her deeply. the first thrust was hard, making her gasp against his mouth, the sound swallowed by their kiss. "you like that, huh? being fucked by you best friend?" chris grunted, each thrust forceful, his hips snapping against hers, the sound of their bodies meeting echoing in the small space. y/n moaned, her nails digging into his back, leaving marks through his shirt. "fuck, chris, yes," she panted, her body meeting his with each movement, the pleasure and pain of his possession mingling. chris fucked her with an intensity that was both punishing and passionate, his hands gripping her, pulling her onto him, one on her ass, the other moving to her breast, squeezing through the fabric of her costume. their movements were a dance of desire, his whispers of dirty promises fueling their passion. "i'm gonna fuck you so good, you'll never forget who you belong to." the rhythm was primal, the tension of their argument now stoking their desire, her body meeting each of his thrusts, her moans filling the closet, her body tightening around him as they both neared climax. when they came, it was like a storm breaking, chris's release a powerful claim, filling her as he groaned, his body shuddering. y/n's orgasm followed, her cries of pleasure mingling with his, the sound muffled by the walls of the closet. "you're mine, y/n, no one else's."

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my murder of crows: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns @ariieeesworld @pixie-sticks-are-good @luvjaeeee @sturnslutz @mattswifeyy

in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist.

[spread-the-influence]

Sorry for the Cain rant. I didn’t realize he was my favorite until you put him in this position 😭🙏🏾 Noooooooooo. I feel so bad for Cain. He dosent know. Ragathas blaming Cain for their suffering but the fact is that he’s an ai. To him, players showed up and haven’t been able to leave, so he TRIED. Made accommodations like the rooms, and the adventures. He’s oblivious but that’s bc he isn’t human, imagine being stuck with something you can’t fully understand. Zooble said it herself, Cain can do much worst but dosent bc He likes them. He wants them to love his adventures and have fun. He tries for them despite everything. It’s far from perfect and he’s flawed. But he tries. So I feel so bad for him bc waking up to everyone corrupted . After he tried so hard.

caine's my second favorite so while he's not going to go through pomni levels of trauma here he Is going to be beaten to the ground and shot at

what i find fascinating about caine is that he's put in a situation where he's Doomed to fail . he can try as much as he wants but he will always fall short . and it's just out of his control .

he's meant to be entertaining players with fun games , not play therapist to a bunch of traumatized adults with complex problems . he's not Meant to deeply analyze human emotions and problems — it's just not in his neural network . he has not been trained to do that . he said it himself ; making adventures is the only thing he's good at .

and i'll say this , he's not bad at making adventures ! they are juvenile , yes , but i feel like they are intended for a player putting on the headset for a short amount of time . everyone aren't a fan of them ( i like to think ragatha likes the adventures to an extent , though ) because they're jaded adults that are in the game for More Than A Day and are slowly being broken apart by the monotony of the circus . and that's something he cannot grasp .

so yeah . silly guy (: i have a lot planned for him here and it'll be fun (: