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yanderenightmare · 5 months

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Mahito x darling

TW: NSFW, noncon, psychological torture, Mahito in and of himself

fem reader

Mahito is so scary because you're the only one who sees him.

You can't tell your friends, you can't call the cops, you can't even discuss it with your therapist for fear of being committed.

You're all alone with him – half the time convinced you’re going insane.

He doesn't even need to kidnap you. Why would he? He likes your cozy apartment. To see you in your natural habitat with all your personal trinkets. Your books, your decorations, the contents of your fridge, your makeup, your clothes, not to mention the soft warmth of your bed…

Sure, his sewer has its charm, but you probably wouldn’t like it there very much. Not that it would stop him, but he’s sure you’d be boring if all you did was stay cooped up there all day.

This is much more interesting. To be there when you come home from work, having trifled through all your belongings, dragged everything out – made a mess like a new puppy would. To watch you try to cling to your sanity, going about life, trying to live it normally even when he’s right there on your sofa wanting to dish about how much you loath your pissy boss or that loud neighbor and what fun it might be to kill them.

You brush him off as intrusive thoughts – a manifestation within your mind. That’s the only explanation that allows you to keep your wits with you.

But it’s become hard to bring anyone home. Even though others can't see him, he’ll walk about your friends and the odd date and comment on all the things they do, ridiculing them when they say something cheesy, feigning puking before giving it away with a snicker, then asking you why you bother hanging out with them at all. And you wonder if that’s what you really think… why else would a figment of your imagination say something like that?

No. You decide. He doesn’t represent your thoughts. He’s just… a roommate who knows no boundaries.

Funny enough, you don’t really recognize that he’s any dangerous before you’re getting dressed after a shower, opening a drawer on your dresser you rarely look in – only to find it overfilled with dozens of tiny shrunken heads.

You scurry back on the floor with your hand clasped over your mouth until your back meets your bed – skin crawling. There’s no air left in your lungs from the shock to produce any such thing as a scream – so instead, you start heaving – then crying.

“Oh – I was wondering when you’d find them!” A cheer is heard from your bedroom threshold.

Your eyes pan to look at him – or it. Mahito, with a big grin on his face – clapping as though impressed by your performance.

“Wh-what – what is this?” You splutter, trying not to throw up – casting shifty glances over at the lump that had fallen to the floor – its face twisted with agony, unrecognizable, but you think you still knew… “What have you done?”

It doesn’t smell of rot, but something else – like unwashed clothing – sweat and piss and shit – you don’t understand how you hadn’t smelled it before. You don’t understand how you hadn’t heard it before – the moaning, though only in hoarse weak voices, still there, in a chorus, crying in pain.

“I’ve been studying them.” He says – casually, padding across the floor before bending down to pick the one up.

He looked at it with disappointment, throwing it up and catching it like one would a baseball – then clicked his tongue.

“But I must say you’ve got boring taste… I don’t feel like I learned much of use from any of them at all.”

He drops it to the floor in a fleshy splat, and you cringed anew – wanting to crawl away, wanting to get out, to call the police – maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to be committed – maybe there was something genuinely wrong with you…

Mahito doesn't share your concerns, though. He’s got his mind on other things.

“I think I’ll learn better through practice.”

You don’t realize what he’s talking about before you’re being lifted up on the bed and then pushed down against it.

His lean but muscular frame has you dwarfed as he crawls after you – caging you between his arms and legs.

“I wouldn’t mind the floor, but I’m sure you’d prefer the bed. That’s how you humans usually like it, right?” He smiles – as though he’s doing you a favor.

He’s taken off his usual tunic – showcasing a pale grey chest patchworked together in crude stitches – and you don’t really understand why you’d ever conjure something that looked like it. So human, yet still… so not.

“I didn’t know what size you’d want – they were all so different – but I think bigger is better, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t register before you feel the weight of it on your stomach.

Fat and warm, ridged with veins and hard against you.

Looking down, feeling the situation settle on your skin like the raw cold – you realize, though you don’t understand it – Mahito isn’t just some imaginary friend.

Whatever he is – he’s no such thing as a friend at all.

Your chest flares. “Mahito, no – ”

Your hands fly to try and push him off, but they’re easily caught. His fingers stretch inhumanly like playdough, using only one hand to reign in both wrists, pinning them to the pillow above you.

“No? Still too small?” He asks, as though your uproar had been a cry for more – his voice in a playful lilt. “I can make it bigger if you like~”

You squirm when the thing between your thighs grows an inch – swelling up into something fatter than your wrist – weighty and twitching atop you.

It alone churns your guts, but the sight of his face gleaming so innocently makes it all so much worse.

You whimper as he drags a rude finger through your folds – bluntly poking at your hole.

“You’re supposed to be wet, no?” He posed, keen eyes watching your face grimace in discomfort – drilling his digit inside you despite it.

When knuckle-deep, he curled it, nail scraping into the gummy of your tender walls – making your whole body twist with an ache, shaking your head while sinking your teeth into your lip.

“Stop-” You croaked pitifully, still trying to wring your wrists free – but the hand keeping them jailed had hardened into something that was no longer skin.

He just yawned at your struggle. “So noisy...” Bored while looking down at you and the ugly way your lips curled at his crude fingering – but then his eyes widened. “Wait – oh! I get it now! So, this is what kissing is for…”

He didn’t give you much time to turn away before his mouth locked on yours – more in an attempt to swallow than to kiss, feeding you his tongue – which felt so much longer than it should be – winding through you until it licked your gag-reflex and made you choke.

You tensed in response, clenching the finger prodding you – and he took it as an invitation to squeeze another in – making you squeal out a sob in his mouth.

But though it was a cruel ministration, it was enough to tickle the instinct – dragging wet out from within you, bathing the digits that now slid with greater ease in and out.

“See~ I told you I’d learn better through practice...” He mumbled against your lips – having felt the change – also noticing the quiet that befell you… looking so cute beneath him.

He chuckled – the taste of your kiss still warm and wet on his lips.

“That really did shut you up, hm~ you humans are so funny.”

That thing resting heavily on your belly does a little jump, and you flinch with it. Left panting after being throat-fucked by a tongue – you’re really only able to shake your head as he slips the beastly thing down between your thighs – its fat head licking your clit on its way until kissing your entrance.

Two fingers haven't done you any justice – nothing could – to prep you for something of that size.

“I think this is correct…” He muses, nudging himself against the slim coin-sized hole – looking a little confused while he did so – though not exactly unsure of himself… more as though it was the whole procedure in and of itself that was at fault and not him. He was just following instructions, after all.

Sucking his teeth at the tautness, he continued to press the tip through you.

A whine was ripped from your chest as it arched off the bed – thighs quaking on each side of his hips, kept spread despite wanting to force themselves shut.

“It’s better if you relax.” He offered then, though without much sympathy. Sounding almost jaded – as though you were keeping him waiting.

But then a thumb pressed down on your clit, forcing another jolt to rush through you.

“Women like to be touched here, right?” He rubbed crass circles into it – worse than amateurishly – rough patterns that bore no real intention of making you feel good.

Then his mouth slid from your mouth, down your neck – only to sink teeth in your tit.

“And here~” He giggled while nomming your nipple, rolling the little nib between his teeth before flicking over it with his tongue again and again, sucking on it harshly.

None of it made you relax like he’d suggested. Either way, he continued to sink his length one thick chub at a time as fast as your hole allowed. And soon enough, he reached your end before your hole could reach his. But that was no issue…

The hand on your clit, cupped your mound instead – and beneath it, where warmth pooled, you felt inner things alter – change, rearrange, allowing the giant member inside you to sink deeper even though you knew there couldn’t possibly be any deeper to go.

“Wow~ look at that…” He awed when his pelvis smushed against your mound – kneading into your clit as he pressed a curious hand down on the bulge he was making in your belly.

Strings of drool stuck from his lips to your chest – and a sick look pooled in his eyes.

Thicker and thicker breaths left him. He swallowed thickly. Barely blinking.

“I think I get it now…” His voice had shed its humorous tone, now sounding soft with something you didn’t want to have the attention of. “It’s like our souls are playing together…”

His hand stroked your stomach – like he was petting something.

“Feels good.”

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inkskinned · 2 months

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crying because i call myself my dog's mom but i'm probably more like a sister to him and the way i love people is always spilling out over my hands in milk so yes i got told a lot you try too hard as a kid and i didn't know what that meant i just try to shove everything i care about under my wing and hold it there so every feather acts as an umbrella and if you're normal that's okay they'll say you're kind but if you're not normal it is a problem and someone who says they're an empath watched me fall down on the train and refused to give me the hand up

and yeah maybe i'm kind of bitter because every time i try to open up i only get to the bones of the thing before someone else takes up the whole room with meat and gristle and sparknotes of their own life painted in a pelt across my palms and just as i'm tryna clean up one mess another seems to pop up and it's really difficult to explain to your therapist that the problem is that you are too aware of the problem and that you keep fucking up and it's really difficult to explain to your partner i have no faith in the concept of love and life is a lot of sliding down these days, turn my body ice and moth, and that's okay! i am broken upside down like an egg and i am going to love you like an explosion and a star and a fucking galaxy! i'm gonna be too much

because god forbid you feel like me! god forbid you know what it's like! holy shit, god forbid. i'm gonna love you because i didn't get love. i'm gonna love you because otherwise the world is too cruel. i only live in the dark. maybe i'm a martyr. i think it's more like - i need to be right about this, about hope and trying and community. i'm going to be right about this, even if i need to set myself on fire to procure the warmth. come take it then, come latch on. i need you to be okay so someone is okay. so there's a reason i was born. i need it to work. i need to be shelter. a lighthouse. endlessly giving more.

i need to be. holy shit, god forbid. i can't live in a world that's only storm.

#this doesn't make any sense <3

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star-anise · 1 month

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are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

#staranise original #therapisting

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 month

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The Bolter (part three)

Steve Rogers x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : The reader returns to New York for the first time after Steve left, reuniting with Bucky. We see a little more of what the reader and Steve went through while on the run.

themes/warnings : pining, tension, unrequited love, two sad saps (reader and Bucky) trying to get over trauma and heartache :(, language, brief mention of injuries

word count : <2k

masterlist ▪︎ previous chapter ▪︎ next chapter

2024, three months after Steve's departure

You just finished your second mission since the final battle.

Since Tony. Since Nat.

Since... him.

Only three months, or rather, three long months. You don't know why Sam was worried that you are apparently overworking yourself.

He keeps calling you up, checking in from time to time, making sure that you are allowing yourself to relax. Have a little break. Stay with them in New York for a while. Maybe even have a couple of sessions with the therapist Bucky is seeing.

He must have done a darn good job at convincing you, or maybe you were just exhausted, because you arrive back in New York soon enough.

And Bucky comes knocking on your door not long after.

Your eyes meet, both of you blocking your doorway. Not a single word needs to be said - the understanding you two share runs much deeper.

Two kindred abandoned souls and whatnot.

You step aside to let him through and close the door behind him. His hair is trimmed shorter now, and with his getup, he could pass as just another civilian. It takes another beat of silence before he finally asks, "So how are you?"

You snort at how ridiculous his question sounds. He knows. "How are you?" you counter, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

"Touché," he says, shrugging off his leather jacket and placing it atop your kitchen island. He knows his way around. He's been here before, on the many nights you both shared drinks with Natasha, Sam and... him.

Damn it. You curse internally. It's okay, his name was Steve. He's not the fucking boogeyman.

He gives you a quick once over, immediately noticing that you're putting a lot of your weight on your left leg.

"I fell out a window," you sigh.

"Fuck's sake," he grimaces, shaking his head.

"Hey, we can't all be super soldiers, Buck. My muscles are just a bit softer than yours."

He presses on, still concerned, "Checked in for your physical yet?"

"Booked it for tomorrow," you respond. "But it shouldn't be too bad."

You feel his eyes continue to scan you, but in a non-invasive way. He's checking for more injuries, more signs of wear and tear. He's a lot like Steve, but his gaze is different, less commanding.

More broken.

"Anything new?" you have to ask to distract yourself, and he picks up on it right away. About Steve. He hasn't shown up like he said he would. You had been dreading it - the possibility of seeing a much older Steve, after he got to live out his life in this timeline.

He promised he would try and find you. A version of him, at least. White-haired and wrinkled and weary, but still your Steve. He said you would see him again, in what would be his future and your present, and say a real goodbye. Maybe even tell you all about his life and his girl.

You thought you blocked all that out, but sadly it did not slip your mind. You remember. And you didn't want to be there when it happens.

But nothing did, and you didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

"Nothing," Bucky shakes his head. "But Dr. Banner is keeping track on whether there are any anomalies in the timeline, specifically in where Steve went back. Everything seems to be normal."

He's fine, and he finally got his normal. And you should let go.

As if he can read your mind, Bucky says, "It's hard to let go, isn't it?"

He's struggling. Of course he is. Bucky also has an old skin to shed, and bones to bury. You never encountered the Winter Soldier back in the day, but you heard of him.

Once you got to know Bucky, you never needed to know anything else. This is who he really is, and he's a good person. He's your friend.

And Steve trusted him. He believed in him. That would have been enough in your eyes, if anything.

"What makes you think I haven't let go yet?" you smile weakly.

He exhales, smiling back. Because, he seems to say, I know you.

Stepping forward, he opts for putting a hand on your shoulder first, unsure. He squeezes gently once, but then changes his mind and pulls you in for a hug at the last second, careful not to add any stress on your leg.

It takes the breath out of you, with his vibranium arm wrapped around your midtorso.

"I'm glad you're back," he mumbles against your hair.

Bucky knows that only you would really understand. The others, maybe they loved Steve too. Admired him. But it was different with the two of you.

Clint can move on with his family. Sam has his new responsibilties. Thor is out of world. Wanda has her own burden to bear. The world will go on as it always has.

But not for us, you think. As he held you tight, you decide that you will help Bucky through it. You will make sure that he gets the peace that he deserves and he is able to let go of Steve. Even if doesn't happen for you, this would be enough.

You offer him a drink after a moment, and he accepts without hesitation.

This is how it starts. This is how the two of you begin to move on.

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2017, ten months after the Avengers' Civil War

"Where were you?" Steve's voice came from somewhere in the room. He was seated in the small living room of your shared cabin, blinds drawn shut, almost out of sight.

You twisted around, and let your duffel bag fall to the floor. Squeezing the bridge of your nose, you let out a shaky breath. "What the hell, Steve, you nearly scared me."

You rummaged through the cupboard, looking for your stashed whiskey. "Nearly," you repeated in jest, when you heard him making his way to you.

You got a much better look at him then. His hair had darkened due to its length, and his beard was thicker. You were going to need several swigs of hard alcohol to resist jumping his bones.

"I was worried," he said, and his tone was gentler. It made you feel guilty, and you didn't know why. "I came back from Wakanda and you were gone."

"I wasn't gone, Steve. Sam needed help getting away with something, you know how it is. We don't exactly have a set schedule on when and where to go, given our fugitive status."

"I know, I know," he said right away, frustrated. What's wrong with him? "But you could have called, left a note - "

"A note could have been intercepted."

" - anything. Just to let me know how you are. You could have been taken in for all I know - "

"You really think I would let them take me in?"

He threw a stern glare your way, propping a hand on his hip. Based on his stance, you thought of how it looked like Captain America was about to give you a good scolding.

But you beat him to it. You were just too tired, and your arm was killing you. "Look, Steve, I had to help Sam and you were still in Wakanda checking up on Bucky. I didn't think it was a big deal. I thought I would be back here by the time you - "

"What's wrong with your arm?" he interrupted you, his practiced eyes easily noticing the damage, and reached for your forearm. "Take your jacket off."

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head before you can catch yourself. "What?" you squeaked, but you knew just what he meant.

Steve was on full Captain mode, always looking out for anyone he feels responsible for. That's all it was. You had to remind your hopeful self that it was nothing more.

His hands were waiting by the neckline of your jacket, asking for permission. Ever so polite, even when his mood is sour.

You can ignore a lot of things, compartmentalize your emotions. You're used to it all, not getting too attached to anyone or anything as a result of your chosen life.

But you couldn't ignore the burning feeling his fingertips left behind as they grazed your skin. When he guided you to the couch so he can take a better look at the bruises on your arm, you were seated close. The closest you've ever been to each other, but he didn't look fazed at all.

Of course not. This doesn't mean the same to him, as it does to me.

You watched him the entire time, his long eyelashes almost grazing his cheek as he looked down at his work. His brows furrowed in concentration. Once in a while, he mumbled something that sounded like, never should've happened, or gotta watch out next time.

It didn't take long for him to fix you up nicely, your arm disinfected and wrapped in gauze.

After you thanked him, you stood from the seat, ready to compartmentalize that moment too. Because that was not the time to go falling for anyone, especially not someone who was just too good for you.

But he grabbed your hand before you walked away, looking up at you as he stayed seated.

"Steve?" There it was again, that burning. That warmth. If he didn't notice the goosebumps on your skin before, you were sure he saw them then.

"I - " he hesitated, before finally deciding on, "I'm glad you're okay."

You tilted your head, smiling. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, y'know."

His worried and serious expression drops and he smiled, eyes all crinkled.

And that was one sight you won't ever be able to ignore.

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A week later, Natasha dropped by. Sporting a brand new white-blonde hairdo that suited her just as fine as her signature red.

You teased her about it, saying how she must have been waiting for an opportunity like this to have an excuse to drastically switch out her hairstyle.

The two of you sat on the bench on the patio while Steve chopped up wood in the distance, looking like a right ol' lumberjack.

He looked too damn good, and it annoyed you. He wasn't making any of it easy.

"You could switch your hair out too, you know. It helps in going incognito," she reached over and twirled a strand of your hair.

You swatted her hand away playfully, grinning, "Oh, but my face is too memorable so it might not even work."

"Oh really?" she smiled, with that mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, Steve certainly seems to think so."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"He looks at you like you're his sun or something," she stretched out, amused by the obvious rush of blood to your face.

You shook your head profusely, because of how wrong you thought her assumptions were. "He looks at me because there's no one else around here to look at. Not for at least fifty miles or even more."

"Honey, please. It's my job to know these things."

"Oh, is it now?"

"Mhmm," she patted your knee, tilting her head in Steve's direction without turning to look at him. "I'm willing to bet Tony's LA mansion that he's looking at you right now."

"No, he's not - "

"Then prove me wrong."

But you turned, and you couldn't prove her wrong.

Your eyes met Steve's and when he realized your attention was on him, he simply smiled.

Like you were his sun, Natasha had said. But she was a bit off the mark.

You were never Steve's sun, but he was yours.

Read part four here ~

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx

It will be a bit more of jumping back and forth through time, before we see everyone back together (even Steve? 🤷🏻‍♀️)

It's the start of a potential Bucky x reader. I gotta be careful here because I might just flip and want the reader to be with him instead.. who could ever look over Bucky???? He's going to make it hard for us that's for sure.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #the avengers #mcu #chris evans #captain america #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the bolter

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mrs-illyrian-baby · 8 months

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The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 1

Rules to Follow | Loki x Reader

The Avengers bring you to the compound after a series of odd events draws their attention. Life seems to be looking up, until your abilities start to show again.

Chapter warnings: 18+ for implied sexual content, false/medical imprisonment

Series Masterlist

The cold, bleak conference room was a welcome balm against the uproar of the last two days.

You weren't sure how it happened. One minute you were furious, staring down from the balcony of your flat, anger bubbling through your veins. And then you were watching a row of cars burn in the car park below.

Maybe you would've gotten away with it if the weather was bad. If less people had been around. If it hadn't gone viral on TikTok. If it was the first time you'd done something weird.

It wasn't unusual for people to have strange powers, not anymore, but there were certain rules to follow. Rules that included not setting cars on fire and frightening passersby. Rules your grandfather had set about staying in the flat and controlling your emotions, taking your medicine and laying low.

A hand snapped in front of your face.

“Okay kid, spill. What are you?” Tony asked.

“Uhm, I’m not anything at all?”

“No, come on. Setting shit on fire, what’s that?”

“Monster, alien or wizard?” Sam piped up.

“I swear to god Samuel quit it with that,” a pen flew across the room with surprising accuracy and embedded itself in the wall behind Sam’s head.

You’d seen them on TV, the Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Captain America, Black Widow, Hulk, Vision, Scarlet Witch and Iron Man. It’d be cool if you had any idea why you were here.

“Mr Stark. I didn’t even know I was doing it until it was too late. I don't know how it happens, but I promise I’m not a threat. It wasn't deliberate, you have to believe me." Your voice wavered, tears pooling in your tired eyes.

“Tony, let her sleep. She can use the spare room on our floor. We’ll keep an eye on her”

“Thank you Mr Rogers” you choked, wiping your eyes.

“Steve, please” his face was soft, reassuring.

It took an hour to find you something proper to wear.

A day to get your room fixed up, belongings brought from your little flat in London and new furniture procured

A week before you ate with the team, although you watched them from a safe distance.

A month before you really spoke to anyone. Eventually they called in a therapist.

The compound was nice, spacious and modern. There was no work to do, like at your grandfather's flat, just lots of questions that left you tired and disoriented.

Lauren the therapist was the only person you'd really communicated with, even though you were sure she was relaying the information back to the Avengers anyway.

"So from what I can tell, she's around twenty five to thirty." Lauren addressed the room, taking in the gathered Avengers. "The details of her life are very hazy, she lived in that flat you visited, Steve, with her Grandad. I know she cared for him and he died some months ago leaving her the flat in his will. She takes medication every day." Laura turned to Bruce "I hope the few I managed to pass on were helpful, so you can refill her script when she needs it."

"That's the thing," Bruce said, "I can't work out what she's been taking. I've had FRIDAY take scans and vitals, asked Dr Cho, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with her."

"Because she takes her pills?"

"No, Steve, there's just - there's nothing wrong with her. Her temperature is a little elevated. But that's it, not a dangerous amount. I'd just say she runs warmer."

"So what's in the pills?" Tony asked, leaning over Bruce to look in the manilla file he had spread open on the table.

"If I didn't know better I'd say something alien."

"But you do know better…" Tony prompted.

"Adgardian maybe? But in a bottle from her local pharmacy. The name on the bottle’s been scratched off and I couldn’t find anything like this on any pharmacy database."

Tony and Steve turned to Natasha and she nodded. She'd not been able to find anything either. No phone, no social media, home schooled. Sam suggested they do it the ‘old fashioned way’ and started to encourage Lauren to bring the woman out of her room to spend time with the others in hopes she would make more friends and let more information out.

As you spent more time with the group they found you brought a strange sense of calm, arguments stopped as you approached the table, worries about missions faded away. They even spent more time together as a team organising movie nights and parties, sitting together and being more tactile.

That’s when things started to get very strange.

The old evening routine of everyone slinking off to their bedrooms had been replaced by an easy comradery and then a fizzle of excitement started to build. The music seemed muffled and even Steve and Bucky’s heads felt fuzzy, drunk.

“Let's play spin the bottle!” You declared, downing your beer and lining it up on the coffee table. Before anyone else could fully agree you had flicked the bottle, everyone watched it slow until it came to a stop in front of Wanda.

“You girls don’t have to kiss if you don’t want to,” Steve said. But you shook your head.

“I don’t mind if Wanda doesn’t… I like girls too and it's just a game, right?” you shrugged.

You leaned over and kissed Wanda quickly on the lips, noting the frisson of tension that built when you pulled away.

Sam went next, “your lucky night,” he laughed before pulling you in for a kiss.

The next spin was Natasha and somehow no one was surprised when it landed on you again. Natasha leaned in close but, before her lips could meet yours, you tilted your head to whisper in her ear, “I know there’s someone else you want to kiss, you don’t have to." Natasha blushed, but pressed a warm kiss to your lips anyway.

“Did you rig this bottle?” Steve asked, picking it up before spinning. You, again.

Bucky put his hand on the bottle. “I wonder who” he laughed, but you had noticed his eyes move across the circle to the red headed assassin.

As he leaned in for the inevitable kiss you put your hand up, hiding your mouths, “she’s a good kisser,” the words were out before you could stop them. Bucky pulled back, frowning.

“Who?”

You didn't answer, but your eyes danced across the circle to Natasha, studying Bucky's face as he followed the line of your sight. With their eyes locked you placed a chaste kiss on Bucky’s cheek.

You felt dizzy, only two beers in, but your head was swimming. The rest of the group weren’t fairing any better, both girls falling asleep and the boys nodding back against the sofa. Quietly you removed yourself from the pile of blankets and slunk back to your room. You hadn’t meant to say any of that, but you could feel it deeply, so deeply the words had bubbled out before you could swallow them back down.

That night your sleep troubled you, the room was too warm making you sweat and writhe in the sheets and dreams of the Avengers flashing behind your closed eyes.

The next morning no one could make eye contact, each team member focusing on their coffee or toast, eyes down.

When you sat down the same static spark of electricity seemed to move over the kitchen island, making everyone squirm and move in their seats.

Eventually Wanda completed the group, walking in red faced and nervous as she looked around the kitchen before visibly relaxing.

“Oh, we all had the same dream!” She exclaimed “I don’t feel so bad now.” She said, cheerily.

“Wan, you’re not meant to read our minds,” Natasha protested, covering her ears as if that would make any difference at all.

“Can we not talk about it,” Bucky grumbled, looking away from Natasha.

“But you slept, Bucky, isn’t that good?” At least Wanda was happy, you felt hot and sick “you didn’t have a nightmare like usual, you had the same …”

“Enough,” he snapped, slamming his spoon into his bowl a little too hard, milk splashing on the spotless counters.

“Your dream was different though,” Wanda put a hand on your temple despite your attempt to squirm away, “yeah, yours was very different. And so was yours,” She pointed at Natasha who looked over to Bucky without thinking.

Wanda squeaked, a hand over her mouth “But Bucky, yours was just like…”

“Thats enough, ” Steve stood hands on the counter, “we need to figure out whatever is going on here,” everyone looked away blushing as he crossed his arms, Captain America voice in full effect. “For goodness sake, I’m going to speak to Bruce.”

Steve stormed out and a rush of air moved across the island as everyone breathed out. Wanda let out an awkward laugh, head down so she wouldn't catch the eye of her teammates and left the room.

After that incredibly awkward breakfast you began to pull away from the more open group spaces and started to spend a lot of time in the lab with Bruce while he tried to synthesise your medication. The small unlabeled tube of pills one of Stark’s assistants had packed for you was now empty. But all Bruce had been able to discover was a heavy sedative.

“You shouldn’t have even been able to walk around taking something that strong." He took his glasses off to rub a hand over his face, the fatigue of a sleepless night of experiments catching up to him, "you feel okay now?”

“Yeah”

“But you’re an inch taller than yesterday you said?”

“I’m an inch taller than I was this morning.”

Bruce rubbed his hand on his face, dangling his glasses from the other hand.

“Okay, walk me through what happened again”

“So I sat next to Captain Rodgers and Sergeant Barnes in the kitchen and when I stood up I was an inch taller, I could tell because my jeans were too short.”

“That’s not how growing works,” Bruce took a seat beside you and huffed out a breath.

“I know that I’m not doing it on purpose”

For the last few days you had been slowly growing the trait of anyone you were in close contact with. It was unnerving everyone, looking up and seeing their eyes glowing back, or their hair colour tinged in highlights around your face. But worse still was that there was no clear explanation, none that you could or would give.

It wasn’t the only change the team had noticed. Wanda, Nat, Sam, Steve and Bucky spent the most time together and they had all spent the most time alone together with you. But after only a few days they refused to even enter a room if you were there, prefering to skirt around the edges or take a different route.

They couldn’t forget the night when they played spin the bottle, in fact they had thrown away all the beer of the same brand and there had been no more team evenings suggested.

When you were alone with them a tension seemed to fill in the air. Steve had shifted your training rotation so that no one was ever left alone in the gym with you. Sam admitted you’d almost kissed last time you were alone and, red faced, Wanda agreed. Natasha and Bucky had also blushed, looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes. They complained that you kept trying to make them stand next to each other, and had even locked them into a cupboard 'by accident’ while pretending that you were unable to find the key until Steve freed them.

You couldn’t seem to control the feeling either, a primal urge inside of you growing the longer you were without your tablets. Growling and clawing until you had to excuse yourself and take a handful of the sleeping pills Bruce had given you.

Wanda admitted, as you escaped the building tension for the last time, that this was when her dreams were the most extreme and everyone nodded along. Their nights filled with vivid, primal scenes, moaning and panting, the touch and taste of another filling their senses.

And, though you could hear them talking about you, you could never admit that your dreams were different, that you saw yourself orchestrating their dreams like a puppet master, like a god and you’d wake in a cold sweat.

Frightened, they placed you in the medical wing, a secure room with two way mirrors, sound proofing and, most importantly, a lock. Bruce told you that it was somewhere safe, where you could withdraw from the medication that was dwindling in the little orange bottle. But Tony was relieved that the team could relax now without you around.

Alone, you took another sedative and rolled over in your plastic bed, under the thin sheet, and cried.

The last time the team had met someone who had so easily got inside them and changed their dynamic, they had ended up with an alien invasion. Steve was sure you weren’t in control, thinking about your embarrassment and desperation when Bucky and Natasha were locked in the cupboard, how quickly you left the room whenever the conversation became heated. He was sure, sure , you were safe, that it was just a side effect of whatever you’d been taking all these years and that given time everything would go back to normal.

Tony, however, was taking no chances.

“We need to call Thor.” He suggested as they watched you through the mirror, you were reading a book and running your finger over your lip as you concentrated. With each pass of your finger your lips changed colour, working through shades of pink and red.

“What can Thor do?” Bruce had had enough stress for one month, thank you very much, and was much happier handing out medication until they could find somewhere else to send you. All he needed to do was refine some samples and he’d be able to remake your medication and then he could give Fury the go ahead to have you moved.

“He can bring Loki,” Tony said, jumping up to sit on the tall lab counter and tossing a few blueberries into his mouth.

Bruce looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. “Is that a good idea? The man’s mad.”

“I don’t want to see him anymore than you do. But they could help us figure out if this is magic like them, or a mutation, or if…it’s something else. Then you can pack her off to whichever medical facility you think is appropriate.” Tony waved his hand around in the air as if to demonstrate the unknown fears they all shared. “She shape shifts, Bruce. Loki can do that. And the manipulating thoughts and feelings? Maybe she can learn to control it. We need her to control herself and maybe, maybe , if we’re nice enough, she’ll want to help us too.”

“Do we really want Loki to teach her that, how do we know we can trust him?” Bruce cringed, thinking of the havoc the man had wrought, even if he was being manipulated. Loki was powerful, who knew what he could achieve with a little planning.

“Thor can help keep him in line,” Tony seemed confident and although his confidence was often catching, Bruce still felt the deep simmer of apprehension sitting low in his gut.

“At least we’re not fighting like last time,” Bruce sighed heavily, the memory of his last encounter with Loki still fresh in his mind.

“No, but the sexual tension is killing me. We need to end this.” Tony laughed, thinking back to the red faces of his colleagues and their lack of enthusiasm when he suggested they get drunk and play spin the bottle again.

“Okay, fine, Tony, you win. Call Thor.” Bruce sighed, leaning forward onto the counter and resting his head in his hands.

“And Loki?”

“And Loki."

<;< Masterlist

Part 2>>

#Loki #loki laufeyson #Loki Odinson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki marvel #Loki/Reader #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki/You #Loki/female reader #Loki series #The Old Gods and The New

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7ndipity · 8 months

Text

Dating headcanons pt.2

Namjoon x Reader

Warnings: swearing, suggestive, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! We’ve got a double dose of Joon for y’all today! As usual, these are just all over the place and more crack-ish than pt.1, but I hope you like 'em!

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Therapist bf. Anytime you need to talk about anything, he’s there asap, whether in person or over video call, letting you vent or ask for advice.

Write lyrics about literally everything(even things that maybe he shouldn’t have).

“Did you really make a whole song about me saving you from choking on a pizza crust?”

“I felt that it was a pivotal moment in our relationship!”

Sends you questionable photos? And not in the fun sense of like spicy/risque pics, I mean that they’re just random pictures of his feet.

“Guess where I am rn?” “The corner of Bitchless and Single St. if you don’t stop sending me these.”

(seriously tho, if I had a nickel for every time he’s posted a feet pic, I could actually afford merch, smh😖)

Similar to Yoongi, I think he keeps little mementos from your relationship, like ticket stubs or a random leaf you found that you thought was pretty.

Has this little habit of tucking his face against your neck whenever he hugs or holds you. Finds your scent very comforting(would probably swipe one of you hoodies or smth when he has travel)

Tried to learn how to cook for/with you… It did not go well.(there were a lot of band-aids, just order takeout, pls)

I feel like he likes to act as if he’s not into some of the romantic ‘cliches’, but you’ve heard his songs, man’s as hopelessly soft as the rest of us.

Surprise him with any variant of the candles and rose petals vibe, and he’s a goner.

I would be ignoring the obvious if I didn’t mention his fucking dangerous mouth. Can go from whispering the sweetest nothings in your ear to the filthiest ideas he can think of just to rile you up and watch your face heat up.

Likes to play the ‘tell me what you need, baby’ card and make you tell him exactly what you want from him as well(He does this in both domestic and intimate moments). He lives for hearing that you want him as much as he wants you.

Has slipped up on more than one occasion and called you his spouse(lowkey thanks god that you weren’t with him when it happened, cause he knows you would tease him to death)

Likes to show off his strength now and then by picking you up/carrying you/just generally manhandling you(carefully!)

He actually tries super hard to be careful and gentle with you. He can't stand the thought of accidentally hurting you🥺

#namjoon scenarios #namjoon scenario #namjoon headcanons #namjoon reaction #namjoon fluff #namjoon crack #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts headcanons #bts reactions #bts requests #bts reaction #bts fluff #7ndipity

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kolyubov · 4 months

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Ok I need you to hear me out! What about dazai, Fyodor and or Nikolai with a s/o that is the psychologist/therapist for their respective organisation! Is reader aware that they are way beyond redemption? Yes, does reader know that they can't fix them? Also yes, but as their s/o they try their best to save the little sanity they have left by reminding them to take their pills/vitamins, having casual therapy sessions with them and comforting them after (btw I don't think any of them would go to therapy on their own so reader being the therapist of the organisation they are in would make more sense for them to communicate and eventually form a relationship, plus I think a emotionally intelligent reader would really balance them out)

Have a wonderful day or night and don't forget to hydrate!!!!

omg nonnie, this is very interesting! I tried my best to imagine these three going to therapy… sort of.

please remember to hydrate yourself too<33

Therapist s/o!

✧ contents. sfw!!

I'm kind of sure that a psychologist (and I think a therapist too) is not allowed to have a personal relationship with their patient, so I'd like to think that their relationship with their s/o is a secret, at least inside the organization.

Dazai will come to visit you every day even if it's not necessarily for a therapy session.

He only goes to the Agency to see you— I imagine you have a small office inside the building of the Agency, so whenever Dazai is bored, he leaves the Agency's office and goes downstairs to visit you!

For him, it's a good thing that his s/o is also his therapist because he won't open up with anyone else but you. He would ask for you to run your fingers through his fluffy hair as he tells you how his past memories are still tormenting him sometimes.

Since you're a professional and know so much about people's minds, your conversations are always very deep which he's thankful for; knowing that someone understands him and gives him the comfort that he needs badly.

Dazai doesn't need any type of medication I think. Maybe he'll need to sleep better and eat properly but as long as you sleep with him and remind him to take his meals, he'll do as you said<3

I believe Fyodor doesn't want therapy, or pills, even if he needs them.

You know his physical and mental health are not the best, and he knows it too, but he doesn't care about it that much.

Maybe the roles would turn upside down? He would ask why you have such opinions and would discuss a lot of philosophical stuff about human beings and their lives and the way they socialize with other humans.

Fyodor would be the stubborn type; like, you would tell him to go out for a walk and get some fresh air because he's lacking vitamin D but he only chuckles and says that he doesn't need to, that he's perfectly fine.

A few hours later he would go out for a walk as you said and left a small bouquet of flowers he collected himself on your desk.

Also, he comes to ask for your opinion on important things before doing them!

Nikolai wouldn't take things seriously most of the time. He needs to make silly jokes and tease you as you try to advise him for his own good.

He would gladly take any pills you give him but you need to sit on his lap and give him the pill yourself, then kiss his forehead and call him a good boy. If not, he would refuse the medication.

Sometimes he feels very very down, like; he enters your office with a somber expression and needs to be cuddled as you try to help him solve his problem.

You make him feel happy even if it's just with a kiss on the cheek or words of affirmation<3

Definitely surprises you and teleports behind you as you're doing paperwork.

About his “freedom” thing… As much as you'd like to tell him that it's (almost) impossible, he won't stop trying to reach his goal and will keep on telling you with a big smile how he plans to achieve it. Well… At least he's still your Nikolai for now.

2024 © pinklacydovey

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scintillyyy · 4 days

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☕️ on good and bad jobs for Dick Grayson

ooooh fun. i'll say something controversial on bats and jobs in general & that's that i think that the focus on what jobs would be good for them have a tendency to focus on like. full-time Good Respectable careers as potential jobs for them (& i think it stems mainly from bruce being a CEO & people thinking that the batkids should follow suit to maintain a civilian persona or w/e). and the truth is that they're all rich af and nobody is checking for whether the 'wayne kids' are gainfully employed, so there's no need for them to ever pursue. careers. on account of it would probably get in the way of their more important job. (also, there's something about the careers usually chosen for them that implies. well, nobody is ever choosing retail worker for them for some reason despite the fact they have the means to pursue literally anything & not struggle for it).

i'll start with good:

so all & all i think a good job for dick is one where he can connect with the public & forge community bonds. that being said, i am drawn to part-time work such as bartending or being a gymmastics coach (which i believe he's canonically done both of those) as the ultimate best jobs for him as they're generally low commitment, low stakes ways for him to get that involvement with his local community.

we could also lean into his love for math & make him an accountant, but like one who does a ton of pro-bono work and focuses in on helping his local community with retirement planning & taxes (little bit too high stress & busy, especially around tax season, for my taste but dick does like to make his life hard so.). or like. economist or health economist? maybe someone who is contracted to help cities with budget stuff.

if he does work a municipal job of some sort--any sort of seasonal recreational job would be best for him over anything else imo. let him be a lifeguard or something. again, none of them can commit to the hours needed to work full time for the city, but taking a job that would promote good in the city (being able to keep pools open for kids) would be a good, relaxing thing for him. i'm sure he'd appreciate being able to save kids from drowning, too. or a city planner. that sounds fun for him for some reason.

bad jobs:

listen, as much as i actually do like the cop job for dick, not in a he's there to reform the police department like dixon tried way, but in a 'i like when dick makes decisions that are fundamentally a bad idea for him that will eventually blow up in his face' way. cop is a terrible choice for dick lbr.

any flavor of paramedic/emt/firefighter. god, i think i've told you this before, but i genuinely think this is the worst possible job for any of them. ever. especially dick. don't be fooled by media that shows only the heroics. this is a job where, while you do save people & that's very important, it's more about having to be okay with all of the people you can't save. of which there are a lot. this is a job that requires so much ability to dissociate from being called too late/failing/etc in order to go about your daily life, that none of them would be able to do it without constantly ruminating on the person who they tried & it was impossible to save them from the start. these are fantastic jobs to make dick hate himself, i'll give it that.

on a related note, physical therapist/any healthcare job in particular. trust me on the physical therapist. (seriously, though, it's another job where it's like. u have to be okay wuth the fact that you'll never be able to help everyone.) but really any healthcare job in general....like dick would do much better in a job where he can make tangible change in healthcare and how it works to make people's lives overall better over healthcare itself. u think dick is going to do well in a job where he has to cut off someone's rotator cuff repair treatment because insurance decided the person was done 3 months in. no. any healthcare job would demoralize him too much.

any sort of influencer/model/social media personality. it doesn't make sense.

aerialist trainer. listen this seems like it'd be good for him, but bad things tend to happen when he goes back to circus stuff. let him not be traumatized for once. (slightly joking)

spy. sorry. but spy.

#scintilly ask tag #zahri melitor

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bigfan-fanfic · 10 months

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Brother Mine (Winchester!Reader x Sam and Dean Winchester PLATONIC)

@xweirdo101x Hello, hope you are having a good day/nightI was wondering if I could request a Sam and Dean having an older brother (maybe by one or 2 years) maybe they haven't seen reader in a couple years. The brother's finally get to see reader when he pulls them out of trouble?

(okay, author's note in that Sam is 22 at the start of the show and Dean is 26. The show spans the same amount of time as in the real world, technically, so Sam ends the show at 37 while Dean ends it at 41. Meaning this elder brother is probably 28 at the start and ends it 43. Good lord, that show went on for a while lol)

"So, explain to me why the two of you chuckleheads are in jail in freaking Kentucky? Because last I heard, Sam was going to college in California and you were still hunting boogeymen with Dad."

The two young men in front of you share a glance as you bail them out of some podunk town's drunk tank.

"Dad's... in trouble." Sam sighs, finally, to a harsh glare from Dean.

"Good riddance to bad assholes." you growl, and Dean clenches his fist

You and your little brothers don't exactly have a great relationship.

With the better part of seventeen years of your lives dedicated to hunting what lies in the darkness, spurred on by your domineering and obsessive father, Dean always has blamed you for "abandoning the family" and "breaking Dad's heart" because you left the life at nineteen and left seventeen year old Dean and thirteen year old Sam behind.

You did the amateur boxing circuit for a while before you were hired on to an indie security company and ended up catching the eye of the owner who trained you until you took over, eventually buying the company and running it.

You know a lot of your money was sent to help pay off any expenses Sam had, but you don't know if it was used for that or blown for motel stays or alcohol or sawed-off-shotguns or salt slugs for Dean and John.

You tried to stay in touch with Sam, but it was awkward. And he wanted space away from "family."

So you know neither of them would ever contact you unless something real bad happened (and apparently Dean's grudge was so strong that he wouldn't even inform you that John went missing)

Though to be perfectly honest, it wouldn't really matter to you anyway, and that's a matter to discuss with your therapist.

"I can't believe you called him." Dean grumbles, like a child.

"Sam apparently knew you'd need a responsible adult." you snark, and he grimaces. "Now, care to tell me why you're road-tripping?"

Sam looks at you. "My girlfriend. Jess. Whatever got Mom... it got her too."

"And you think that Dad is close to tracking it down and that's why he vanished." you sigh.

"Lemme guess, you're gonna tell us that there's nothing that goes bump in the night?" Dean sneers, looking at Sam.

"No, I'm not. I'm gonna tell you that it's not your job to chase it. It's not your duty."

"We save people. We hunt things. It's the family business." Dean growls.

"Jesus, Dean, do you hear how you sound?" you groan. "It's this kind of obsession that I tried to get away from! A terrible thing happened to Mom, and there was nothing any of us could do to stop it. It's not our fault, and it's not our responsibility to chase whatever did it down!"

"It's just gonna keep hurting people. We've seen it happening. It's gathering other people like Sam."

"Fuck." you growl.

Dean senses an in. "You were even better than me, back in the day. Remember when you ganked that skinchanger?"

He says "you were only 14" with as much reverence and awe as you do disgust and shame.

"I can't convince either of you to... let the chips fall where they may?"

"Nope." Dean pops the "p" sound.

"Sorry, no." Sam adds.

"I don't wanna kill things anymore, Dean. Not even bad things. But I do care about you both. So here. I'm going to help you, on one condition. We're going to all come back to my place in California, and Sam is going to apply to fucking law school, and you're gonna think about what you really want with your life, Dean."

They think.

They look at each other.

They nod.

"Welcome back." Dean grins.

"You better not still drive that shitty Impala and listen to crappy 80s rock."

Sam winces.

#male reader #sam winchester x male reader #dean winchester x male reader #supernatural x male reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural headcanons #headcanons

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 9 months

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AITA for keeping a huge secret from my mom?

so i (26ftm) moved back in with my parents a little over a year ago due to the housing market. shakes fist at sky. you know how it is. anyways, uh, while i may be a broke zillennial, my parents are fairly financially well off, and it's in part due to my father's job. my mom recently retired and my father keeps saying he's going to retire, but still keeps pushing it off (and has been pushing it off for about a decade now).

now uh, shortly before i moved in, my mom was telling me that she was having problems with my father. that this was "the third time this had happened" and "this is his last chance" - i think you may see where i'm going with this. he was cheating. for the third time. and she'd caught him, got them to go to couples therapy, and told him there would be no fourth chance. she was willing to move out of the house and start anew somewhere else if she needed to.

um. enter me, the apple of my dad's eye. i move in. one night my mom is off at a book club so it's just me and him for dinner. he opens his phone (up til this point i've noticed he looks at his phone A Lot.) and opens up wechat. he's calling someone "babe" and sending them red heart emojis. i instantly feel kind of sick. i ask him, "are you texting mom?" and he gets SO confused for a second and says no (i don't think he knew i'd seen his phone screen).

that was almost a year ago today. since then i have seen him text this other woman nonstop, has talked about starting a family with her, has talked about taking her with him on his "work trips," and - for some reason - i've seen him google straight-up escort websites on his phone. uh, that one was while my mom and i were in the middle of showing him old family videos.

i feel so fucking guilty. every time i see him i want to [REDACTED DUE TO TUMBLR GUIDELINES]. i lost my therapist that i had known for five years in the move, i lost my entire support network, and i still haven't found anything like that up here. i am completely isolated, and while i have my own job right now, i am in no way financially stable enough to find my own place to live. if i tell my mom, i don't know what's going to happen to me. i don't know if she will kick him out or if she will move. i am trying to move back to where i was living, but i just can't afford it. i feel completely trapped in this situation, and i know what the right thing to do is, but i am terrified that on top of losing my entire life a year ago, i'm about to lose everything else, too.

a large part of me wants to confront my father first, but i am also terrified of him. i know i'm his favorite, but i am well aware of his temper, and while he's never physically harmed me, i feel like the situation might be a bit different if i'm the person that might get him divorced and ostracized from the entire family. i don't know. i honestly have no idea. everything is so confusing and i just have felt frozen for an entire year.

but the other night i saw him texting her again. she's mentioned she had been feeling sick lately and he told her that she might be pregnant. i was so close to losing it. i almost ripped his phone out of his hand and smashed it on the ground. i couldn't look him in the eye. i could barely even speak to him. maybe the funniest part about this is that he doesn't realize anything is wrong. he's a fucking narcissist and doesn't pay the slightest bit of attention to how other people act around him.

the next day, he was gone for another "work trip".

i am run completely ragged and i don't know how much longer i can take this. i find myself wishing someone else could take it out of my hands so that i don't have to be responsible for destroying our whole family.

anyways. am i the asshole for being a coward?

a bit of extra INFO as well though: as far as i'm aware, my parents are in a bit of a dead bedroom situation (frankly. my mom likes to oversshare.) so uh. at the very least i know she's not getting whatever diseases my dad surely must have by now.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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aqours · 7 months

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ok i REAAAAAALLY need to make a dedicated sideblog for this shit now i realize bc this game is gonna fucking fully get me dragged into this discourse so i'm gonna make an active effort to stop putting these on main, but i can't see myself saying more beyond this in general but ANYWAAAAYS

so i recently made this post about the cognitive dissonance regarding this game and people using fucking CALL OF DUTY a game that is more or less a recruitment drive to make the US military look cool and try to get kids to join up and that GTA's wanted system is actually NOT rewarding you or something to try to play a dick measuring contest with coffin but this interaction really interested me and i wanna talk about it bc i just blocked them after they refused to answer the last question but this is a very specific kind of gaslighting tactic i'm very familiar with from my own days as an anti

i think p much all of us who are used to engaging with this discourse are used to like y'know, being called awful horrible disgusting things. this is not the first time some fucking weird random person came onto my content asking me if i was a kid didler or wanted to fuck my brother. ain't gonna be anywhere near the last time either folks, but i and Lord God knows that's not the case so i don't care what a rando on the internet says but here's the thing: you can't "win" this, but they want to win it. no matter what you say you are the absolute worst kind of dreg of society that should be shot behind a barn and no amount of anything would work. if i actually pulled a list of sourced all that would have happened was they would've doubled down on calling me an inc*s*ious p*d* that I would be willing to use articles probably written by "people like me." because YOU don't care about "winning" this argument, you just wanna get the facts out on your end. it's a catch-22 folks, nothing you say will get you out of it!

i started by calling them a karen, they immediately escalated the living FUCK out of it and tried to trap me in this catch-22 to keep feeling morally superior to me. me saying i don't have such desires and never will isn't enough because i like this game. nothing but me renouncing it will change it.

but here's the thing about antis- they fucking HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE it when you turn it on them. look at the difference. look at the difference between they were the one throwing the catch-22 at me vs. the other way around. what about you? you just came onto my post to harass me, so i'll say it back. how about you? are you just accusing me of these horrible things because you are projecting your thoughts on me? you told me to get a therapist: so maybe you're the one that needs help if so!

violent video games must encourage violence, riiiiight? and you support it because it's violent. Game of Thrones had in*e*t in it so everyone who likes it also is the same. and Demon Slayer, where the pfp is from is violent, so you support it. the main protag's little sister also gets a superpowered form where she gets physically older and a tits out kinda look. so clearly YOU want to see your sister in the same way, right?

and it went as expected. you can see the tone going from smug jerking off with a shit-eating grin to just annoyed while smelling their own farts like it's a rose. and the moment i started doing the same uh i got NO fucking answers and they stormed off. i waited half an hour for a response before blocking them

so why am i typing up this walltext? because i used to be an anti. i fucking guarantee you i would've called everyone who liked this game [insert horrible things] like 7-9 years ago. so let me tell you, you know what pisses off antis more than anything? more than ANYTHING? turning this catch-22 bullshit on them. this is the only way you can end this miserable conversation without blocking them.

it's all one-sided bullshit and the moment you turn it on an anti it IMMEDIATLY shuts it down. this fucker KNEW the answer and you know it. so i wanted to share that, if you ever struggle with this shit: well the best thing you can do is block them and to give a fuck about winning their imaginary argument, but this is the only way to make the headache end otherwise. just throw the catch-22 right back and that's the end. thanks for reading!

#starposts #the coffin of andy and leyley #coffin of andy and leyley #proship #comship #long post #anti anti #discourse cw #ok i REALLY do want this shit off my main blog though i'm gonna start using a sideblog probably

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pianocat939 · 1 year

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I think I’m crumbling a little bit and kinda need to reset so I’m going to indulge myself.

This is purposely romantic, but I suppose in some parts can be platonic as well.

I’m a sad little human rn so I’m just gonna rant about my obsession for a while.

Tw: it’s long, everything is so inconsistent, this is a mess, manipulation, implied murder, worshipping, religious themes (as in MC is the religion), trauma, dependency issues,

Yandere Rottmnt Hcs (Only the turtles)

Raphael

Type: Dependent + Violent

• He’s a very very good boy who needs a lot of comfort from all the burden he’s had from being the eldest.

• Therapist MC? Therapist MC.

• Since the day you met, the two of you became much closer with the turtles. Especially Raphael.

• You found out you and him had some similarities, mostly with the problems in each other’s life. The feeling of responsibility weighing down on both of your lives; having trouble expressing weakness due to being always relied on.

• At first the poor big boy didn’t want to really open up in fear of being judged, but slowly he comes to spilling all his tears out.

• “I’m really glad we met, Y/n. Now I don’t feel so alone standing up so high.”

• Every time you visit the lair he excitedly pulls you to either the training grounds or his room. There, he shows his new moves or talks about his worries and thoughts.

• Overtime he becomes dependent on the attention; following you around to all the places you go to (without being seen as a mutant ofc).

• He just finds so much comfort in your love! He feels so safe and appreciated! All he wants to do is cling onto you!

• Of course, this becomes a problem. Primarily when you have things to do other than school or work. Even if you try to explain to him, he'll justify himself by insisting you need him just as much.

• Let's say you somehow manage to avoid him once. However, the Foot clan decides to show up and give you a little “nick”.

• Raph is right on the enemies' tail, but is enraged at the sight he finds himself at.

• Then, he breaks.

• Malewife turns into manslaughter. When the fight is over, his bloodied hands hug his terrified friend.

• "Hey, hey, it's ok now. I'm here, I'm always here. You were there for me, and now it's time I return the favor."

• He's definitely kidnapping you after the incident (or “keeping you safe” as he likes to say). His anxiety gets so bad he just can't think rationally if he doesn't know where you are at all times.

• Will ask for cuddles and forehead kisses 101%.

• Speaking of cuddles, he holds you so close and tight, to the point it’s a little suffocating. Again, calls it “keeping you safe”.

• Bro literally does almost everything with you; sleeping, eating, watching/playing anything, and ofc affection.

• He’s extremely dependent, maybe not on doing things per se, but needs you for emotional security.

• If you ever escape he'll go on a rampage, destroying everything around him until he finds you. It's so bad his brothers can't stop him.

• “Sweetie, where are you?! I’m freakin’ out!”

• His anxiety eats him up, to the point he panics if you aren’t in the same room 24/7. If you ever want privacy you’ll have to hand a plushie of yourself (graciously made by Mikey), but will only keep him busy for a few minutes.

• He’s very suffocating, but means well…If murdering and hiding bodies means well that is.

Leonardo

Type: Manipulative + Dependent (Indirectly)

• We all know he’s the master of mind games.

• His actions don’t really start until a little later in your friendship; only because he’s a dumbass about his feelings (like he's obviously some type of gay) and kept making excuses.

• It could be quite anything that will trigger him into realization but once he does, he’s unstoppable. The reason will probably be some heart-to-heart interaction, especially with all the trauma he keeps inside.

• The reason he even does manipulate is 1. he’s good at it, 2. he wants to have you rely on him, and to see him as your knight in shining✨ armor.

• Now to elaborate a bit more on the second reason he manipulates, he feels useless. He doesn't express it too much, mainly when he covers his emotions with humor. I think we all know he canonically feels useless (ex. Don Suave episode).

• So to simplify things, he feels useless, so to make himself feel better he tries to be useful to you...By making you feel helpless.

• He's subtle at first. For example, he comments about how mean your friends are sometimes, or why hanging out with him is much more fun with his portal ōdachi.

• "Y'know I was hoping that we could hang out in the Hidden City, but if you're going to shop with your other friends then I suppose I'll go alone."

• But later on, he feels you don't depend on him enough so he multiplies the intensity as time flows.

• Prepare for his unleashing. He'll start inviting you to missions (effortless ones, nothing to get you too injured) and save you if you're ever in a time of assistance. Don't worry, he'll protect you, you should never worry about your safety when you're with him.

• "You're safe, no danger when my fabulous presence is here~"

• If you're the type of person who doesn't mind being dependent then he'll be ecstatic. Calling you his "distressed darling" while snickering.

• He'll surprisingly confess like a normal, legal being. No, you can't reject him because he'll just manipulate you even more.

• If you don't like being dependent on someone too much then he might snap.

• Why can't you appreciate all he's done for you? He's just trying to be a good friend!

• He'll angrily confess, gripping your shoulders and a mad look in his eyes. "I'm doing this so that maybe, you would find me useful! So that maybe you'll see how much I- I- I love you!"

• He's a wreck and will continue to manipulate you until you finally accept his love and hardships. Once you do, you'll be a pretty normal couple, except for how oddly accepting you are of his actions.

• You're his little darling, all vulnerable without him right by your side.

(Sorry I have to go ham with him, he's the perfect material for this type of writing, and I'm similar to his personality so I can understand everything about him accurately.)

Donatello

Type: OVERPROTECTIVE + Controlling

• Really, his horrifying demeanor is quite the delicious thing to write.

• Not only is he someone of implied violence, but he's also the exact definition of many villain troupes. So he would be an excellent antagonist (which is quite literally what this blog is about).

• You see, villains usually tend to have some type of downfall before their absolute breaking. In this case, Othello Von Ryan, felt as if his inventions were never advanced enough for his family and friends (no he would never fucking admit it).

• But then you came along and god is he an excited little boy. If you show even the smallest interest in his work he'll chatter away, his eyes brighter than the moon.

• Praise him, he's hooked for life. Finally, someone sees his genius technology!

• "You need to lay your eyes upon my new circuit work! It is not only smaller, but it contains the inner workings of your phone but complex on the triple!"

• But then he notices that there's an outside world that you wander on; endangering your life every day.

• He rarely shows his emotions, but when he's alone he feels a dark worry clawing at his brain, feeding him horrible thoughts.

• What if you get hurt wandering the city? You never know what the dark corners appear to have. They could injure you so badly! Even worse, murder you!

• He overthinks things already as a sane person so it's not a surprise that he suddenly hands small but effective weaponry to you, a crooked smile of unease gleaming in the dim light of his lab.

• You appreciate the thought, but soon it becomes overboard with the things he suggests.

• He's made a protective shell for you (more on defense than offense), any sharp edges in the lair are covered in some sort of soft material, and any technology you used to own will now be destroyed and replaced by his handwork (no hackers in this household).

• You're so precious to him, and if the person he loves so much disappears, he doesn't know what he'll do.

• "I'm going to attach a non-tracking attachment to your phone, alright? You can never be sure about what people are trying to do." It includes a tracker that only he can access.

• If you ever try to stop his behavior he brushes it off and continues to work on his technology. Most likely some type of camera to watch you.

• One day, an incident happens near you and you end up being wounded, having to call him for help as the hospital bills are not worth it.

• He'll act slightly distressed, but nothing too noticeable; however, he's panicking inside and unleashing all his medical tools stashed in the corner of his lab.

• He'll ask his brothers to deliver you to his working space, getting all the chemicals and instruments ready. His mind is running wild, thinking of all possible situations that could happen.

• Once he knows you're safe and all operations are a success, he'll usher his family out of the room. Stating you need rest as he monitors your health.

• He clutches one of your undamaged limbs, tears pouring down as he blabbers, "I never express my true thoughts but darling you worried me so much! I could never bear the thought of you hurt without me there to save you!"

• You're literally unconscious and he'll be making promises about how he'll keep you safe and away from harm. Which may or may not be him keeping you trapped at the lair.

• Consider yourself an eternal hospital patient because he treats you like one. Your diet, physical activity, and even sleep schedule will be monitored by him. Daily check-ups are also another thing.

• If you ever question his drastic measure he'll just quietly mumble, "Hm whatever you say, now let's watch some Jupiter Jim as I assess your temperature and overall well-being."

• He'll admit his feelings in a secluded way and just assumes you like him back. He's the smartest, and most handsome man alive!

• Once you're together he'll try to be a little more expressive on his feelings, but not really. He'll for sure tell you his violent tendencies whenever he sees a friend of yours walking down the streets though.

• Overall, he worries a lot and can't seem to get rid of his anxiety that sky rockets whenever you're not in a designated safe area.

Michelangelo

Type: Obsessive + Delusional

• Another one great for writing. Now at first, he seems to be cheerful, and pure, when really he has a twisted mind himself (in his own adorable way ofc).

• He develops his obsession rapidly, within a few months of being friends with you. He'll ask questions about your interests and dislikes, trying to soak up any information as much as possible.

• He is an artist, so he loves viewing you as his "muse". He thinks that you can do no wrong and that the world is meant to revolve around you no one else.

• Needless to say, he loves recreating you in any shape or form. Sometimes, he'll create a recipe dedicated to you and only you. Heck, he'll try to name a shade of some color after you (even though it's already named).

• He wants to surround himself with the encompassment of you. The walls of his room are painted your favorite color, and pictures of you line up those same walls. He also has sketchbooks upon sketchbooks dedicated to you.

• "I think them standing with their arms spread out really captures their beauty!"

• He's obsessive for sure, but he's delusional too.

• He thinks that no one deserves to see you because he assumes they are worthless compared to your divinity. Which leads to him trying to worship you as if you're a god of some sort.

• He'll stop you from interacting with friends and family; with the only exceptions being his family (even then they are always on the lookout by Dr. Delicate Touch).

• Will he bring offerings? Yes, he will.

• It can be quite a few things. Most cuisine he's made or artworks he's created, but occasionally he'll write little poems about you. He is an embodiment of creativity after all.

• "My god! My deity! Will you take this artwork of you as an offering?"

• Don't try stopping him with anything really. He may be the youngest but he definitely knows exactly what to do may there be a chance you try to run away or distance yourself from him.

• He'll follow you and cling to you just like Raph, except more cautious. He believes your touch is holy so holding your hand and grabbing onto you is quite the revelation for him.

• If he ever does confess, it's a rollercoaster, honestly.

• He feels self-conscious about him not being your equal (how he puts it as anyway) and hesitates before dramatically expressing his undying love.

• He'll kiss your hand and act like you found a cure to all cancer or something.

• "Oh baby you make me so happy! I can't even say how much I love you!"

• Nothing really changes, he'll be more physically affectionate, and may possibly commit arson every time someone gets a little too close.

• But no one could ever blame such an adorable guy like him right? As if he wouldn't commit murder if it weren't for the laws of society!

——————————————————

This is such a mess but I don’t really care because all I’m trying to do is haul myself out of this goddamn depressive state.

Yes it’s 1 AM and I’m about to pass out.

- Celina

#yandere #yandere x reader #Yandere ROTTMNT #ROTTMNT #Tmnt #tmnt 2018 #Yandere Tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #Leo #Donnie #Mikey #Yandere Leo #Yandere raph #raph #Yandere Donnie #Yandere Mikey

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tilebytiles · 2 months

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When the Sun Goes Down (Alex Turner x Reader) - Part 2

summary: your favorite barista is … a vampire?

word count: 4.4k

warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts, violence (a fair amount and kind of graphic), death

part 1

You had to kill a vampire.

You were sat on the floor of the living room of your flat, sipping at a diet Coke and watching Alex as he paced back and forth. He stopped every now and again, turning to you and opening his mouth, and then he'd mutter something to himself while shaking his head and go back to his pacing. You were starting to get a bit sick of his inaction. "Alex," you finally said, "can't I just, like ... I dunno, pelt him with garlic bulbs?"

He stopped and looked at you, and you were thankful when he didn't start pacing again. "It would probably hurt a bit," he said, scratching at his chin, "but from what I can tell, he's ... powerful. We'd need more than garlic."

"Silver, then."

"Do you have a silver sword?" You shook your head slowly. "Our best bet is to behead him."

"Behead?"

"If you take a vampire's head, they can't come back. They're dead for good."

"Oh." In hindsight, that probably should've been obvious. "So we behead him. But we don't even know where he is."

"Not yet." You watched as he walked out of the living room, disappearing through the doorway of your bedroom. You wondered if he could see his reflection; probably not. There was a thump as something fell, and then he came back in, carrying one of your pillows with your blanket trailing behind him. You rose an eyebrow, but didn't move from your spot on the floor as he set the pillow and blanket up on your sofa. "You have a connection to him," he finally said, standing up straight once the pillow was fluffed to his liking. "He's in your dreams. My theory is, the locations you've seen him in aren't coincidental. You'll go to sleep, hopefully have a nightmare, and then he'll show up and maybe we can find out where he's hidin'."

"And if he doesn't show up?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. You questioned if it had ever been neat. "We keep tryin’ until he does."

You got up and set your Coke down on the nearby table, then laid down on the sofa, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders. Alex perched himself on the opposite arm, watching intently as you closed your eyes and attempted to fall asleep. You'd never been very good at falling asleep when you wanted to, and you anticipated it taking a good few minutes before you did slip into a state of unconsciousness. Although you weren't sure exactly how long it took, when you opened your eyes, you weren't in your flat anymore. You appeared to be back in the Victorian maze you'd detailed to your therapist, the deep red walls surrounding you on all sides. This time, however, one of the walls housed a door.

Cautiously, you walked over to it, a couple of the planks in the floor creaking beneath your weight. When you were close enough, you reached out and wrapped your hand around the handle- it was wooden, elegantly carved and smooth beneath your fingers. You pulled down on it and pulled the door open, poking your head out into the hall. There was a painting directly across from the door (Saturn Devouring His Son, if your memory served you right) with a small table beneath it, holding only a small white vase of flowers. They were roses. To your right, the hall seemed to end with another door, but to your left, it opened out into a bigger room. You emerged from the room you'd woken up in and took a left.

You were in a mansion, you thought, and you'd just stepped into the entrance hall, if it could even be called a hall. There wasn't much furniture, beyond a coat rack close to the front doors, and two large staircases on either side led to the second floor of the house. There were tall windows in the front wall of the mansion, revealing the full moon that hung in the night sky. To your left, an open doorway revealed a parlour room of some sort. There were half-full teacups on the low table in the center of the room, indicating there had been life here once. Tall cabinets with ornately designed glass panels in the doors held shelves full of ceramics that you thought might break if you got too close. There was a window in the wall on the other side of the room, covered by sheer white curtains. It was open, and a cold draft blew in, making you shiver.

"Cold?"

You jumped at the sound of a voice and whipped around, the colour draining from your face at the sight of the tall man. He didn't acknowledge your fear, though, just shrugged his cloak off and draped it around your shoulders. He then stepped into the parlour room and sat down in one of the armchairs, picking up a teacup and its accompanying saucer. There were flowers painted below the rim of the cup, their pastel colours a stark contrast to the moody palette of the house. He took a long sip of the tea, staring at you the whole time, as if he were waiting for you to speak first. You didn't know what to say; you were rather uncomfortable. Finally, you gathered up the courage to ask, "Who are you?"

He simply smiled and set the cup and saucer back down on the table, then sat back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He was wearing a white button-up shirt with a black vest over it and a pair of black trousers. He had black socks on and his shoes ended in a point. His hands sat clasped together in his lap. "I've been watching you for some time, Y/N," he finally murmured.

The sound of his voice- deep, gravelly, perhaps even a little dry and raspy, as if he'd had to swat away cobwebs before speaking- made your skin crawl. "That doesn't answer my question."

He just smiled again. "You'll learn who I am in due time, Y/N. Sooner than you think. In the meantime, I think we should evaluate who you are."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Your life has no purpose, Y/N. You struggle to leave the house. You have no friends. You have a hopeless crush on the boy that makes your coffee. You're letting your degree waste away in a picture frame. You have no real direction. You're wandering aimlessly, waiting for someone else to give you the answers instead of seeking them out yourself. You've considered suicide before, but you've never acted on it. Why? Are you waiting for your Prince Charming to save you from your mundane, meaningless life?" He leaned forward in his seat. "Think about it. If you have to question if anyone would care if you died, doesn't that tell you exactly what you need to know?"

You gulped. Your hands balled themselves into fists at your sides. "You don't know me," you said, although the small wobble in your voice betrayed you. "I haven't killed myself because I know things will get better."

"Will they?" he asked mockingly. "Or do you just keep telling yourself that, and then nothing ever improves?"

"If you think I should be dead, why haven't you killed me yet? Why do you want to turn me instead?"

His smile grew a little crueler. "You're much more useful to me when you have to bear the weight of being a vampire- my vampire."

You hated the way he said that. "What are you talking about?"

"You're the one. Can't you see? I'll turn you, and you'll become ..." His eyes widened, his smile turning into an open-mouthed grin as he looked up at the ceiling, his arms outstretching. "... my queen. Your life will have purpose. You will serve me until the end of time." You could hear a faint rumbling sound coming from somewhere.

"No." His queen? Was he mad? "No, I'm never-"

"Too late," he said, looking back down to you. His eyes were still wide. "The plan is already in motion, Y/N." The rumbling drew closer, shaking the floor beneath you, and before you could react, the ceiling crashed down around you, burying you in rubble and dust.

You shot up on your sofa, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Alex left his perch in an instant, kneeling down beside you and rubbing comforting circles against your back. "Breathe," he said softly. "You're okay. It's over."

When you'd calmed down enough to form sentences, the first thing he asked was, "Were you able to find out where he is?"

Fuck. You hadn't even thought to ask; then again, with the way the tall man had behaved, you didn't think he would've told you, anyway. "No," you mumbled, burying your face into your hands. But then you paused. Somewhere, deep in your mind, a faint flicker of a thought came forward for a passing moment, like a whisper in your ear from a familiar stranger. You slowly lifted your face from your hands and looked at Alex, whose brows were knitted together at your apparent revelation.

"Y/N?" he said slowly.

"I know where he is," you mumbled. His eyes widened.

•••••

You and Alex stumbled up the dirt path worn deep into the hill, the full moon that hung in the sky perfectly illuminating your path. You wondered if that dream of yours had been foreshadowing, but you tried not to think on it too much. The grass you passed by was tall and dead, swaying gently in the wind. If you walked too close to the edge of the path and brushed against a blade, it would curl in on itself and crumble into dust.

As you reached the top of the hill, the house from your dreams came into view. Beside you, Alex let out a breath. “You were right.”

There was a tall metal gate, and standing in front of it was a man. Something about him looked off, even in the darkness of the night; his eyes looked glazed over, his clothes were worn and torn, and dirt was smudged on his skin, as if he hadn’t bathed in days. His hair was dark brown and cut short, and from where you stood, his eyes looked like two black holes. He had a pistol in his hands, and when he saw the two of you approaching, he lifted it up, his eyes going wide. “State your names.”

“Put the gun down,” Alex said, stepping forward. “You don’t have to do this.”

“State your names!” the man shouted. His hands began to tremble around his pistol.

“You’re under his control, aren’t you?” Alex could barely get the last word out before the man pulled the trigger, firing at him. You covered your ears, expecting a deafening bang, but there was only a faint click instead. You looked over at Alex, swallowing a scream at the sight of the blood that was seeping through his trousers. He’d been shot in the left thigh. He looked down at the wound, then sighed and shook his head, looking back up at the man. “He didn’t even give you silver bullets?”

In one swift motion, Alex sped towards the man and knocked him down, the pistol skittering across the dirt. You heard a scream, but it quickly became gargled and then turned to silence. You hesitated, then finally asked, “Who was he?”

“Thrall.” He slowly stood up, holding a set of keys. He must’ve gotten them from the man. “A vampire’s servant, unwillingly. No idea how long he’s been out of control for. That’s why he looks a mess.” You approached slowly as he unlocked the gate, pushing it open with a thunderous creak. The man- thrall?- had died somewhat painlessly, at least; the only indication of anything having happened to him were the two red dots on his neck. You forced yourself to look away and followed Alex through the gate.

You eyed the red stain in his trousers warily and asked, "Doesn't that hurt?"

It was almost like he'd forgotten he'd been shot at all. He stopped and looked down at his leg, then shut his eyes. You knew something was happening, although you had no idea what; at least, not until the bullet popped out of his thigh and hit the dirt. You stepped in front of him and eyed the hole in his trousers. The skin of his thigh was perfectly smooth, as if he'd never been shot at all. He seemed to know what your next question was, for he said, "Healing properties. I have to be completely still for it to work, though."

"I don't know if I should be amazed or horrified."

"Maybe a bit of both."

The two of you headed up to the front doors of the mansion, ascending the stone steps. There were two large pillars on either side, connected to a stone arch that sat above the door. At least the tall man had good architectural taste. Alex reached out to open the door, but the handle only jiggled in place. "It's locked."

"We'll need to find another way in." You descended the steps and took a few steps back, examining the entire front of the mansion. You were hoping one of the windows would be open, but they were all closed. You thought back to the dream you'd had- the parlour room. You motioned for Alex to follow as you walked around the side of the home, making your way to the back wall. Sure enough, the window was open, the feeble wind shifting the curtains every so often. You climbed in first, and Alex followed.

Not much was different in the parlour room except for the teacups being gone. "It's a bit too quiet in here," Alex murmured. "Are there not even any thralls around?"

"It was this empty in my dream," you replied. "Maybe they're all hiding somewhere ..."

A sudden thump erupted from upstairs, making both of your heads snap up as you gazed at the ceiling. "Looks like that's our answer," Alex said.

You abandoned the parlour room and went back out into the entrance hall, making your way to the staircase on the right. There was a red carpet trailing down it that you did your best to avoid stepping on; a part of you was convinced it'd slip out from beneath your feet and send you tumbling down like something out of a cartoon. The second floor of the mansion appeared as empty as the first, although you immediately noticed something strange: all of the doors were open. You nervously glanced at Alex, who said nothing and pressed forward.

There was another thump not long after your emergence at the top of the stairs, much louder than the first. A few seconds passed, then another. Against your better judgment, you and Alex followed the sounds, taking a left, then a left, then another right ... how big was this place? The monotony of the halls and the paintings on the walls wasn't helping any. At least the thumping was getting louder, signifying some kind of progress- and, simultaneously, something positively terrible. After a few more turns, Alex came to an abrupt stop, and you almost crashed into him. "What?"

Silently, he lifted his arm, pointing at something not far ahead. You peeked over his shoulder. Only one door was shut, and behind it, something violently thumped, increasing in speed with each step you took. When you were right in front of the door, Alex grabbed the handle and yanked it down, pulling the door open. The thumping stopped, and you both stared in confusion at the contents of the room. White sheets were draped over different pieces of furniture, and a window sat in the opposite wall with the curtains pulled back. There was no sign of life; the moonlight that filtered through the window revealed the dust on the floorboards.

"We can't have just imagined it," you said, stepping into the room. "We both heard it, we-"

The door swung shut behind you, and you gasped, whipping around to face it. You ran over and tugged desperately on the handle, but the door wouldn't budge despite being unlocked. On the other side, Alex began banging on the wood. "Y/N!"

"Alex!" you shouted. "What's happening?"

Cold hands wrapped around your ankles and forced you down onto the floor, pulling you away from the door, far away from the room and the mansion. Darkness surrounded you as Alex's shouts grew fainter and fainter until the silence absorbed them completely. You were alone. It was so dark that you wondered if you'd closed your eyes without realising, but blinking a few times instantly proved you wrong. A bit shakily, you pushed yourself up from the strangely solid chasm beneath you and looked around, hoping for anything to pop up before you and allow you back into the real world. But nothing ever came.

Somewhere in the distance, music began to play. It crackled and popped every now and then; it must have been some old record. You felt reluctant to follow it, but what choice did you have? The darkness felt cold and hot, real and nonexistent, loud and silent. You hated it. After some time of walking, a room finally became visible, and it took everything in you to not break out into a run at the sight of it. You could make out the gramophone that was nursing the record, its needle following the path laid out in the grooves of the vinyl. The room was cast in a soft orange glow, and when you got closer, you realised there was a fireplace. It felt warm and inviting.

You crossed the threshold and entered the room, immediately enveloped in the warmth of the fire and the tranquility that accompanied the gramophone's music. There was a piece of paper beside the gramophone, full of ridges like a mountain range due to having been crumpled and uncrumpled, folded and unfolded. One of its corners had been torn off. The writing was shaky, sloppy, as if the author was in a rush. You slowly picked it up and read it.

'I don't feel normal. I know they did something to me. I don't know what. Something's wrong with me. I keep having this really strong craving. What did they do to me?'

"So sad, isn't it?" You jumped at the sound of the voice and turned around. The tall man stood in front of you, his arms crossed over his chest. His cloak was still gone. "They say that when you are turned, you grieve. You grieve the person you once were, the life you once had. Try as you might, you can never go back. Things can never be the same."

"Please just leave me alone," you pleaded. You sounded a bit pathetic.

He just smiled at you. "I don't think, Y/N, that you would have anything to grieve at all. I could give you a life so much better than the one you have now. Why, I could ... fix you."

"I don't need to be fixed."

That made him laugh. "Don't you? Have you taken a look at yourself recently? And I don't mean in the mirror, I mean inwards. You are so broken, Y/N. If you came with me, I could pick up the pieces for you. I could put you back together."

"I don't want to be a vampire, or your queen, or- or whatever sick shite you're into."

The smile that had curled his lips slowly faded, and an unsettling glimmer settled upon his eye. "I don't think you have much of a choice."

In an instant, he darted towards you, and you narrowly avoided being tackled by him as you dove out of the way, making him crash into the table behind you. The gramophone played a few warbled notes, then seemed to right itself. You scrambled up and ran for the door, swinging it open. You were back in the mansion, although you had no idea where. A hall led away from where you stood in every direction, and you blindly began running down the one on the right, forcing your legs to go faster when you heard the tall man emerge from the room.

The hall, much to your dismay, ended in a short staircase that led up to the attic. Although the attic itself was a bit of a maze with all the wooden beams that stood erect, holding the roof of the mansion up, you knew you were screwed unless you got a weapon. "Y/N," the tall man called, slowly approaching the stairs, "you can't run forever."

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. You darted between beams and ran to the other side of the attic, ignoring the cramp that was starting to spread across the left side of your abdomen. There was a window that led out onto the roof, and you fought and fought with it until it finally opened, allowing you to slam the windowpane up into place. Nearby boxes held old relics, prized jewels, weapons from previous battles fought against mortals. The handle of an axe poked out in the air, practically begging you to take it. You silently thanked whatever divine being was watching over you and climbed through the window.

The axe was heavy- or maybe you were just weak. You made a note to yourself, if you got out of this alive, to hit the gym more often. You moved carefully along the shingled roof, some of the metal sheets slipping out and tumbling down to the ground below. You weren't sure where you were going, or if there was even anywhere left to go.

"Y/N," the tall man called behind you. You looked, watching as he slowly came out of the window. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're crazy!" you shouted, lifting the axe up. You didn't hold it very confidently.

He eyed the weapon in a way that made it clear he wasn't taking you seriously. You didn't think you'd take yourself seriously, either. "This is getting ridiculous." He stepped closer, displacing five more shingles with every step he took. "You need me. You're nothing without me."

Your grip on the axe's handle tightened. Off on the horizon, the sun was slowly beginning to show itself again. How long had you been in the mansion? "You're wrong," you said, staring him down as he finally came to a stop. "You're wrong about everything." Gulping, you summoned up what little courage you had left. "I did want to die at one point. I didn't see a point in sticking around. I didn't think anyone would even want me around. But ... that was before, and people change. I changed. I have something to live for now." You thought of the awkward barista with his big brown eyes and his pink lips and his hair that always got in the way and his lopsided grin and the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed and the way he made your coffee perfectly every single time.

"Y/N, you're being foolish. Do you think that boy really cares about you? He's just like me. He's going to use you."

"No." Your voice shook a little. "He's nothing like you. And he never will be."

The tall man dove for you, and with what little strength you had, you swung the axe as hard as you could. The world seemed to freeze in place, time slowing to a stop. The tall man's eyes stared at you, wide, empty, soulless, as his head separated from his body and fell, fell, fell, finally hitting the ground with a muted thud. A small circle of dust rose up around it. The body in front of you fell to its knees, then slumped forward, slowly rolling off to join the head down below. It wasn't as gruesome as you'd expected it to be; his flesh was kind of mangled, and you could see the vertebrae in his neck, but there wasn't any blood spewing out and getting all over you.

You stood for a minute or two and waited for the body to get back up, reattach its head, and resume its pursuit of you. It didn't, though, and after a minute or two of standing and staring at the corpse of a vampire, you forced yourself to head back to the window. The sun was slowly rising, shining down on the mansion that suddenly felt leagues more decrepit than it had before. That felt like a good thing.

It took you a while to navigate around the mansion, but eventually, you managed to find the entrance hall again. The hall, which had once been empty, was now littered with the bodies of thralls. There were even some on the stairs, and the sight made you queasy. Alex was knelt on the floor, finishing a thrall off, but when he heard your approaching footsteps, his head jerked around, blood smeared on his lips and creeping onto his chin. His gaze softened at the sight of you, and he dropped the body in his arms, getting up and walking towards you. "Did you ..."

"He's gone," you said. "He looked pretty gone, anyway. You know ... with no head." He let out a sigh of relief, and you hesitated before gesturing to your mouth. "You got a-"

"Oh, fuck. Sorry," he said, reaching up and wiping his face off with his shirt. It had been perfectly white before, but now it was blotchily stained red. The two of you stood there awkwardly until he finally spoke up again. "What are you gonna do now?"

You shrugged. "Go back to my daily life, I suppose. Café and all."

His brows furrowed. "You still want to see me?"

"Of course I do. Besides," you added, reaching out to grab his hand, "I think after all this nonsense, you owe me a date."

He looked down at your entwined hands, then met your gaze again, smiling softly. "Yeah. That is the least I can do."

As the two of you walked out of the mansion, he seemed to be deep in thought until he finally asked, "Does this mean you'll let me peek at that sketchbook?"

"One step at a time, Alex."

"Right, of course. But- eventually?"

"Eventually."

•••••

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay / @indierockgirrl / @melasworld

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #humbug #humbug era #arctic monkeys #fanfic #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n

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five-miles-over · 2 years

Text

Yandere!Arthur Fleck Headcanons

TW: Stalking, intrusion/breaking in, obsessive/controlling behavior, possible violence

A/N: Thank you to the anon who requested this. I hope you like it!

Arthur Fleck is definitely a jealous, obsessive type of yandere.

Due to his job(s), Arthur wouldn't be able to keep a constant eye on each and every move of yours.

Still he would find a way to let you know that he was always watching you.

After following you to your workplace/school once, he would make a habit of leaving you small notes there. The notes would be things such as "I'm watching you <3" or "You our so pretty" or "Can't wate to marry you :) "

How did it all begin, you ask? Well, it all started when you showed up at his doorstep on a plain Thursday night. An envelope - perhaps a bill - addressed to one "Arthur Fleck" was delivered to you by accident. So, you took it to the address listed on the bill, and found yourself face-to-face with the tall, green-eyed, thin man.

You gently told him what had happened, handed him the bill, and politely bid him goodnight.

Taken aback by your willingness to do the right thing, Arthur became intrigued with you. After you left, he wanted nothing more than to see you again.

The next day, you met Arthur by accident at Pogo's, a comedy club within Gotham. Drinking a bottle of inexpensive liquor or beer, you sat at a table alone...when all of a sudden, you saw Arthur take the stage.

His jokes were...fair. You liked some of the things he said about his schooling. So out of support, you laughed along with him with the best grin that you could muster.

You thought it was just harmless encouragement. But to Arthur, that was the confirmation to solidify what he already believed: you were made for him, that you were an angel sent from heaven to bring him joy in this dreary life of his. And that he could never let you be hurt by anyone, including himself.

Much of what Arthur did was...rather tame. In addition to leaving you notes, he would surprise you while you were on the way back from work/school. He'd give you a spontaneous song-and-dance routine, something inspired from an old film or one of his jobs as Carnival.

When he had a little extra money, he would leave a cheap, small box of chocolates or candies at your workplace. Along with a crude drawing of you and him as stick figures, holding hands surrounded by hearts.

It was easier not to take it personally, even though something in your gut felt very, very wrong about Arthur. He needed help, he needed a professional intervention from a therapist far better than the shoddy ones in the city. Still, a part of you thought that maybe he was just having a little crush, and that it would pass.

But everything changed one Saturday night. It was after the famous talk show host Murray Franklin was assassinated on live television by a comedian known as the "Joker" wearing a colorful costume and clown makeup.

Coincidentally, Arthur was mysteriously gone from you life. He was nowhere near you, much to your surprise. Relieved a little, you relaxed in your apartment with your favorite comfort food and a feel-good television show.

Just then, there was a knock. A familiar voice, calling your name.

Annoyed, you opened the door with a huff. "Arthur, how the hell did you- " At your door stood the same man who killed Murray Franklin, clown makeup dripping in all of its maniacal glory.

"There's no one to stop me now, doll," the Joker sweetly spoke, entering your apartment with a confident stride. "We can finally be together."

You trembled, trying to think of an escape route, any way to get out of this situation. "Arthur, please..."

The Joker slammed your door shut, and turned the lock. "I'm not him anymore, doll. I'm your world now. And don't even bother calling the police..." He pulled out a gun from his pocket and fired two shots at the door, causing you to scream.

"Now, now..." the Joker knelt, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're mine, remember?"

#arthur fleck headcanons #joaquin phoenix #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #arthur x reader #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #joker arthur fleck #joker 2019 #yandere arthur fleck #yandere joker

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decolonize-the-left · 2 months

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I can't express my suicidal thoughts and feelings to a real person or confess my previous attempts (that are a year or so behind me now with no danger of it happening soon) because obviously it's not good for that person's mental health, even if I do take out the selfish aspect that they could intervene when I don't want anyone to.

Like, I can vent, and whenever people try to be 'its all going to be okay' 'life is worth living' it makes me want to scream at them because if it was that simple I wouldn't keep feeling like this. if an AI says that I can just let loose with exactly how I feel about that sunshine-and-rainbows-sugar droll that nobody ever really believes in anyways and just say it because they have nothing else to say.

I can't go to a therapist, I can't afford it and even if I could, I'd lose my job because I'm certain that I'd be committed against my will for how bad my feelings get, and I don't want to have to walk on eggshells when explaining my feelings in a way that won't get me put in a ward or have someone think far less of me knowing how unstable I am.

and when I get sick of talking or am in too bad of a mood to continue, I can just exit the AI instead of leaving a real person freaking out thinking I'm going to go hurt myself or something. so yeah, while human connection is important that's not an option for some of us.

I'm fucking heartbroken that you feel this way.

Not even just because you're obviously so unhappy and upset, but that you feel like other people can't handle you or your feelings.

I think how you feel is part of a Much larger issue. I know what you're talking about, I have a post somewhere about it.

About how people who've been through a lot or feel a lot get called toxic for "trauma dumping" or how they make their "friends" feel uncomfortable and how often people like that (like us) usually end up isolated because of how our feelings effect others.

Nobody says it, but maybe we get texted less often or we slowly start to be phased out of a friend group as they invite us out less and less.

And so you end up with these people who desperately need community and need people and need support and need to feel like they belong somewhere....being completey isolated from all of this and being told THEY are the problem.

You're not. We're not.

To some extent, sure, not everyone can handle people like that. But when it's....everyone? That's no longer preference.

That's structural. That's systemic.

And I just can Not believe that using AI as a stand in for that is an option at all. I mean it's good for if you just wanna blow off steam or scream at something I guess?

But I don't think any of us are ever going to Actually feel better if we keep Letting people treat us like we aren't even worth listening to and enabling that behavior for them through AI.

You should be able to talk to someone who loves you about this. Someone who cares and who is genuinely invested in your well being. Someone worrying about you is GOOD. You're worth worrying about! Let them worry!

They SHOULD be worried! You're ideating of suicide! That's a concern for people who want you to stick around and I hope you see that for the love it is.

I hope you give those people opportunities to be there for you. That's what they want. They worry cuz they care and they want you to feel better and they Don't want to end up at your funeral sooner than they should. If people are annoying about it, it's a testament to them caring.

That said, I know it can get annoying to reassure your friend when You are the one that's depressed, but you gotta remember that their friend wants to die. I don't think it's an inappropriate response to want an annoying amount of reassurance that they won't just drop dead one day ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Just find people who will respect your boundaries; people who, when you say, 'i don't wanna talk about this anymore' or 'i feel like your feelings are being centered over mine right now' and will listen and be gracious with what they demand and expect of you.

Abandoning your friends and yourself by turning to AI instead can not be the right answer for how to handle this. Let them be there even if they're annoying.

That can not be what you need and I truly, honest to God think that this will be worse in the long run for your over all self worth.

What do you mean human interaction isn't an option?

And hey, if you (or anyone else) wanna scream or yell or let off steam in my asks then do it.

If you don't want me to reply or post it, just tell me. If you don't want reassurance then say that. If you don't even want me to Read it then say that and I won't. If you want advice or a reply then say that.

No I'm not an rp blog and I won't ever be one and I won't reply like I'm a character lol

But I'm an actual person willing to be there okay?

If literally nobody else is, then my asks and dms are open.

Just like, for the fucking love of God do not feel like there is nobody on fucking earth that prepared or emotionally equipped to handle your feelings.

Like I know this sounds like a cringey pick me kindve answer but like.

It's very, very important to me that you don't think so little of your peers and yourself that you would turn to AI out of a need to be comfortably and conveniently suicidal.

My application:

I'm a mom who reads a lot of gentle parenting books

Learned a Lot about regulating emotions and naming them so I could teach my kid emotional intelligence

In and out of therapy myself since I was 14 and honestly probably should've been there before that

I read like a Lot of psychology books and articles

I too have depression and suicidal ideation and I Get that people can be annoying abt it

Im actively becoming a happier person and learning to enjoy life so I also Get what people mean when they say 'it gets better' (it does but not literally if that makes sense)

I'm also not actually in therapy anymore because of bad experiences

Promise not to have you committed

Has actually been committed (5250 gang waddup) and imo it wasn't an awful experience but that's probably because the environment was chaotic enough to feel weirdly like home but we can talk about that too if you want

You do not need to sugarcoat or sugar-rainbows bullshit me cuz I've literally been there (I even snuck a soda tab into the psych facility the hospital transferred me to 💀)

Can't promise you I'll know the exact right thing to say but I will always keep it real and no bs with no flowery bs that doesn't actually mean anything to either of us

#decols tw #suicide #sui mention #cw suicide #self harm #asked #answered #mental health #character ai #character.ai

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sugar-omi · 9 months

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okay, so i've been doing some thinking. i've been scrolling through your blog and i stepped upon these "cheating on cove with Baxter and the other way around" scenarios. (i'm sorry, i wasn't able to read them, my heart couldn't take it ;-;) but!

what if mc was like, in a normal relationship with Baxter. you know, a couple, maybe married later and stuff, while of course still being besties with Cove. later mc and Baxter have a kid together, maybe still a small baby but! plot twist! Baxter gets into an accident or something and dies. (i'm sorry, he's my favourite man but i had to kill him for that scenario:'))

mc is completely devastated and also a little panicked, because what about the baby? and then Cove stepps in, deciding to help his best friend take care of the little one and basically becomes its father. i recently watched a video of a dog "helping" a cat take care of her kittens, and there you have it.

this one may be boring, so feel free to ignore, but i can't stop thinking about it.

ITS OK<333 I figured some ppl didn't read it bc angst n pain</3 trust me I skip over angst all the time

(I even have the tag blocked😬 sorry angst writers but I will read it and not be the same for months, I read a kiribaku angst fic years ago, and was devesated for 4 months afterwards LMAO)

okay i... I cannot expand too much on this bc OUCH

(eta now that I've finished. who am I fooling? I rlly said that like I haven't wrote a whole novel 💀 anyway <3 this clearly made me pop off more than I thought I would bc I read this at first n was devastated!!! I had no words!!!! well clearly I found them LOL)

ALSO BORING??? ANON PLEASE.. BORING WHERE<///3

n im gonna fix the format later but for now here is the bare minimum. I'm going to bed rn so nini everyone enjoy a bit of angst I promise its fluffy as well<333

tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

p/n = parental name, since I wanted to leave flexibility for all the readers here <3

but anyway yeah cove would so step up for you

will follow you to the end of the earth and do whatever you need to help you work through this and to adapt to this sudden and unfortunate change

if/when your relationship starts becoming something romantic, cove would absolutely put the brakes on everything and you'd go so slow...

I imagine he'd probably move in with you or you with him, and he'd stay somewhere else (if you're living in his house he will leave anyway, he's a gentleman like that fr) so that way you can figure out if it's not just bc he's doing all these things n you're mistaking admiration for love

you'd spend the first year going super slow, as if you've never known each other before

which technically you haven't, since you've never dated before. but cove would go so far as to find out your favorite color, song, animal, food.. all over again, even though he has it memorized and knows your likes better than his own.

once cove is sure you're ready for this (after much talk between the two of you and even with your therapist that yes you've made enough progress and are emotionally ready for this) does he finally put a label on it

now if you get married...

I imagine cove won't propose at all

like I think you'd have to talk n almost beg him...

in that case he would do a small but grande gesture to propose. or he'd propose to you before you've even left the bed for the day... no inbetween

but like 8 times outta 10, you're gonna have to propose to him

he'd cry and hug you n say yes of course.

and unless you want to keep this outta your wedding, I think cove would include baxter in your wedding.

first, ofc you'd have the picture to honor his memory

but I think he'd even go so far as to have smth in his vows. but to start, he'd say smth like:

"I know the reason we became closer was unfortunate, but I'm so happy to be able to call you and [Child] my family. and I hope I can be a good father and husband"

and "baxter will always have a place in our hearts. even though he and I didn't get along at first (watery chuckle)... I'm glad he got to love you, and I hope he trusts me to love and cherish you the same way as well.."

also if you don't want to give up your wedding ring from baxter, I think cove would even go so far as to suggest combining it with his.

!!! omg I was gonna say your and baxter's wedding bands would be black, but I have another idea

okay now, for YOUR bands, I imagine they're either black or silver and yk those infinity(?) bands? that has the 2 types of metal or whatever

that's what cove would suggest doing. and if you are worried abt people asking why your bands are different, he'd get the same twisted band but silver with say a black diamond or smth. just smth to make it look like it's intentionally different colors but same design or smth

(im overthinking a bit but it's an idea right?! I'm not crazy??<////3)

or if you don't wanna do that, I imagine you can just slip it on a necklace or leave it as is, whatever you want. he wouldn't mind even if you kept wearing it, cove would never ask you to get rid of baxter's image or memory in any way, not unless it was a real problem and your attachment to him/his things was unhealthy anyway.

now for baxter's band... well if you didn't bury it with him, I imagine you'd give it to your child

another thing I think you could do w your wedding band as well, and give them both your bands to do whatever they want with. or if they don't want it of course you're not forcing them to keep it

even though they didn't get to know baxter, the way you and cove still cherish baxter's memory does help them feel something of a connection.

I also imagine baxter would take lots of photo n video w the kid, even though they're young n just a babe, theres so many videos of baxter looking n acting so loving w them

and even a couple where he's teary-eyed n all "imma do you right by you. I love you so much.."

of course, if the kid doesn't feel that connected to baxter since they were too young to know or rmbr anything, and they don't feel anything much other than sympathy and the occasional sting when they see how much baxter loved them, you don't force it.

you both know that baxter was basically a stranger to them and even though they still respect baxter and he has a place in their heart, they don't feel like they're lacking anything.

"I don't really know what to say.. or how to feel... I see how much [P/N] misses you sometimes, and we have pictures of you, and they talk about you and stuff...

but I don't feel like im missing a dad. I hope that doesn't hurt your feelings, I wish I knew you too. sometimes I wish you were still here, so I got to know you as well, even though I'm still happy to have dad cove for my dad.

I just wanna know what you were like. I wanna experience what you were like. I... I wanna miss you like everyone else misses you too...

anyway, just know that dad is great! he takes care of me and [P/N] really well! he makes breakfast in bed, and he does/used to do this thing where he lifts me in the air before bed! he's so cool. I see how he makes [P/N] happy as well, so don't worry. although, [P/N] said you always thought cove was reliable and a good guy so maybe you aren't worrying anyway.

well... that's it I guess. i hope ill get to know you one day, and maybe you can tell me you're glad to see dad took good care of us. goodbye,

baxter."

pa."

cove happily listens to anything they have to say on how they feel abt baxter btw. he accepts any of their feelings, be it that they don't feel anything at all, sympathy for others, or they feel sad abt losing him.

if they do say smth like how even though it's unfortunate and they feel bad for everyone who mourns baxter (for example/especially you), they see cove as their dad and don't feel like they're missing anything and they're happy to have cove for their dad.

ofc he cries n hugs them n tells them he loves em and he's happy n he comforts them if needed of course

I also think cove is very scared abt being a father

especially in this way... even if the kiddo doesn't remember anything, or it's hazy at best, he worries about replacing baxter.

he'd probably worry abt not living up to baxter

baxter was always much more mature, at least it seemed that way most times. cove just worries about if he has the backbone and the ability to parent the child well and be someone they can look up to and/or appreciate for being a good father

cries if they call him dad btw

if they do it before you start dating, I imagine it's one of the catalyst that cause you to talk abt your feelings for each other. or if it's in the early stage..

cove prbly freezes and runs away to the other room n freaks out, definitely cries. if you don't talk to him like right after he calls his dad n cries n shares his worries n fear

either way, when you do talk he's biting his nails n trying not to pace around the room and he's like "if you wanna distance yourselves so that they don't call me dad any more I totally understand, I mean idk it's prbly weird for you-"

n he just rambles. like none of it makes sense n u have to physically shut him up. kiss him, yell, throw a pillow, hit him w the child's stuffed animal, throw a single lego brick at his back and watch him fall to the floor like he just got a nuke thrown at him

if it's later on n theres nothing to worry abt bc youve talked abt this or saw it coming or its just the otherwise most natural step, he cries of course

but he doesn't fall apart from being his in the back w a single fucking Lego as if it hurt 🙄🙄🙄🙄 (I hate this man he's DRAMATIC)

well... actually no he does

hit him, kiss him, hug him, run him over w a hotel wheels truck.... he just cries harder

adopts them like immediately basically

I imagine you do it soon, like maybe before the wedding just so that way you can have a private moment (just to save him some embarrassment from ugly crying in front of your families. in fact he just might faint fr)

n you + the kiddo surprise him w adoption papers (depending on how old the babe is at this point, they have like no idea what's going on but they know that cove is now officially recognized by the whole world (even by the unicorns n wizards n warlocks) as their daddy))

imagine laying in bed w cove n the kid in between you two

and when you wake up, cove is alrdy awake and was watching you two. he was petting the kids wild hair and he had pulled the two of you in and kept you under his arm..

and the sunlight is coming in, the day is just perfect. n the look on cove's face is full of so much love but also a bit somber this time

(cove feels awkward being here like this sometimes. during times like this you have to remind him it's okay, and you pull him back in. of course he does the same for you on those days.)

"I love you two. so much..." he whispers, tears sticking to his lashes

the kid flips over, curling into cove and they stop their sleepy mumbling now that they're tucked into cove's chest, feeling warm, happy, and safe.

you whisper equally as tender. "we were meant to be like this too."

also!! smth I just thought of...

imagine the kid looks mostly/very much like baxter. they act very much like cove's kid

like you would think cove n baxter had a kid together LOL

(if the resemblance is too much, they ask if you're the step parent </3 pls Ik it may not make sm sense but I just think it'd be so fuckin funny)

#olba #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #baxter ward #baxter ward x reader #angst #baxter ward angst #cove holden angst #angst with a happy ending

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