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woefulmachiavellianism · 11 days

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Thank you @vithe-potato and everyone who got me to 5 reblogs!

Bad batch Hc- Love Languages

So I have this theory that everyone's love language for giving and receiving aren't necessarily the same... Unless you're Hunter.

Hunter:

Giving: Acts Of Service

Hunter isn't always the best with words and sometimes can't be around other people with his hypersensitivity, but he can show his love for you by doing little things every now and then. He might do your assigned chore for the week that you really hate. He'd make sure to grab that favorite fruit of yours from Naboo after a mission there. He'd make sure to note the things that get on your nerves or stress you out, and actively try to avoid them. If you need the boys distracted so you can have some quiet time alone, he's your man.

Receiving: Acts of Service Just as I said he's not always down for physical touch or quality time. He's not really a big fan of gifts either, he's never sure what to do with them, and words are just words after all. But he's absolutely head over heels for you when he catches on to all the little things you do for him. His heart skips a beat when he comes back out of the 'fresher after a particularly messy mission and his gear has already been wiped down. He always chuckles to himself when he finds the ration bars you snuck into his pockets for when Wrecker won't stop complaining about being hungry. And when he finds you reading to Omega to get her to sleep...he swears right there he's going to marry you someday.

Echo:

Giving: Quality Time

After the Citadel, Echo is not the man he used to be. His confidence with words were cut out of him at the Techno Union along with his limbs. However, he knows how to be quiet and listen. He did a lot of it at the Rishi base, and you couldn't grow up with Fives and not be good at sitting silently while someone talks. He's happy to just sit and watch you talk about your day or even rant about that one thing that grinds your gears about the others. He's also content to just sit in silence, reading or working as you do the same. He's not confident enough for some things, but by the Maker he knows he can show and listen like no other.

Receiving: Words of Affirmation/Physical Touch This man is about as touch starved and insecure about his body as you can get. When Tech said he was more machine than man percentage wise, he silently cried himself to sleep that night. He needs to hear daily how much you care, not only to reassure him you want him, but to ground him to the present. Even if it's just a "Hey, handsome" in passing, it's enough to make his stomach flutter and a little color come back to his cheeks. At first he'd be very skittish about physical touch. He'd worry that his limbs are uncomfortable or you'd feel differently once you physically felt all his prostheses. However, once you two got over that bump, it'd be what he craved most. He wouldn't care if it was barely brushing knuckles while standing next to him, or waking up in your arms in the morning. Stars, if you combined the word with physical touch...snuggly pep talks or praise in the bedroom...he's a goner.

Tech:

Giving: Gifts

Tech understands that most of what he thinks to say isn't very romantic and while physical touch is nice, it's not always very practical. But Tech is very proud of his engineering skills and realizes how happy it makes those around him. The first time you complain about needing music he makes a note of supplies to scavenge for a radio. That man will never be over your face when he finally presents it to you. The shocked gasp, eyes alight, arms thrown around him in excitement as you squealed how much you loved it. If that had been his last day alive, he would've died a happy man. But now that he knows how you react, he takes every opportunity to present you with little trinkets and gifts. Need a new holster for your blaster? Give him a day. Looking bored while waiting for a new assignment from Cid? He'll grab a few spare bits and bobs from his pocket and make a spinning toy right at the bar.

Receiving: Quality Time While he lives to give you gifts, Tech doesn't need or want anything he can't or hasn't already made himself. Words of affirmation are kind of pointless...he knows that he's a good man and treats people fairly. What Tech really loves the most though, are the quiet moments together. Most of the time you aren't talking or even looking at each other, but having your calming presence in the room as he works is all he wants. If you're competent enough to hand him tools or assist him on projects, the man could kiss you right there. Nothing is more attractive to him than the sight of you wearing his goggles, working on the Marauder's engine beside him.

Wrecker:

Giving: Physical Touch Even in all his goofy absentmindedness, Wrecker is entirely aware of how big he is. And despite his namesake and his love for explosives, he's the softest man in the galaxy. He can tell just by the way his enemies fear his size, it comforts those who are close to him. He would do anything to make you feel safe and protected. He loves sneaking an arm around during briefings, or a hug before leaving for a mission. Kisses on the top of your head are his personal way of apologizing for his antics while simultaneously pointing out how short you are compared to him. If you're ever frightened, he won't hesitate to wrap his whole body around you like armor and say, "Cyare, 'm never gonna let anything happen to you."

Receiving: Gifts

I mean there probably was a time before gifts were his favorite, but once he got Lula, (and I firmly believe she was a secret gift from Cross) that was it. He sometimes struggles to remember the little things so it always amazes him how much you remember. You always have a carton of Mantell mix ready after a mission. Every time you get the chance to help him pet some small fuzzy creature, he's so happy he could cry. He tends to prefer food and comfort items, but even if you bring him a rock and say, "It reminded me of you," he goes weak at the knees.

Crosshair:

Giving: Physical Touch

Crosshair, as usual, doesn't operate the same way as his squad. The physical touch he gives isn't the same as Wrecker's or as Echo recieves. If he said how much he needs you aloud, it would make it true and in doing so, make him vulnerable. On the other hand, he can easily grab your ass or shove you against the wall for a kiss. His snark puts everyone off, he's painfully aware of that. But he's equally aware of his body and the sensations he can offer you. He knows exactly how to make you feel desired without uttering a word, and he loves to see you slowly faltering in your composure around him. His ego needs that stroke, and needs it often.

Receiving: Words of Affirmation/Quality Time Being the sassy asshole he is, Crosshair spends a lot of time alone and in silence. While he likes the silence and peace, he admits (only to himself) that it can be lonely. Having a partner who seeks out his presence but doesn't have to speak to or do anything with him to enjoy their time, it's all he's ever wanted in a relationship. However, what he never knew he wanted was the kind words you'd speak about him. All his life he'd been the asshole, the one everyone tells to shut-up and calls grumpy. The first time you tell him how good of a man he is, he has to physically turn away to keep his composure. No one had ever spoken that way to him or about him before. If he overheard you speaking kindly of him to someone else, he'd be strangely cuddly that night. He wouldn't try to take things further than kissing and tracing circles on your back while he holds you, and he wouldn't explain either. He just needs you to feel that same kindness in the only way he knows how to communicate it.

#5 reblogs #tumblr milestone #thank you

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woefulmachiavellianism · 12 days

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Thank you to everyone who got me to 50 likes!

#50 likes #tumblr milestone #thank you

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woefulmachiavellianism · 13 days

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Obvious Chapter 1

Fem!reader x Matt Murdock

Warnings: angst, assault, violence, vomiting

It was late. You were the last one at the office, again. You didn't mind. The quiet helped you finish your charts. You couldn't stand going home knowing that if they weren't done, that these people couldn't get the care they need. After submitting the final file you closed your laptop and began shutting things down for the night.

You locked the door behind you and started off. You had parked in the garage over on W 58th. The night was warm but dark. There weren't many streetlights in this part of town. You heard the wailing of sirens not too far off. You pulled your hood up and hiked your bag higher on your shoulder.

As you walked, something felt off. It was quiet. Too quiet. The normal malingering and chatter of the street was absent. You picked up your pace, hoping you'd be fine as long as you kept your hood up and your head down.

You began to hear quiet, almost inaudible footsteps behind you. You kept your speed but turned your head just enough to get a glimpse. A man, maybe 10 yards behind you, was following your exact same path. His gaze drilled into your back. You whipped your head forward again, picking up speed. The way you were walking would've looked comical if it weren't in fear for your life.

You crossed the street, trying to put distance between you and your stalker. However, as you passed a small alleyway, you caught in your periphery another menacing silhouette moving towards you.

"Oh," was all you thought. The realization washed over you. This was a trap, they'd just been waiting for someone to spring it. Your mind raced: looking for alternate routes to run, trying to remember your bit of self-defense classes, thinking through all the items in your bag for a makeshift weapon.

You were so lost in preparing mentally that you almost hit the final goon, who stepped out in front of you. The trap was sprung.

The one in front of you spoke, "What's someone like you doing alone on a night like this?" You heard the footsteps of the two coming up behind you, boxing you in

You didn't answer and tried sidestepping to get around him. Over one of the buildings, you could see the soft glow of lights from the parking deck just one street over.

The man mirrored your movements, blocking your path once again. He smelled like bathroom cologne and Marlboros. "Don't worry, we'll get you where you need to be."

It was as if time had stopped, or at least slowed. This was it, the horror story we're all told growing up: men snatching you in the night. You could no longer hear the distant sirens over your own heart. You started to think of the people in your life, friends, and family, and how they'd never know what happened.

"No," you said to yourself. You had to make it out of this, or at least try. They deserved that much, you deserved that.

The thug in front of you began to take a step forward, and like that time started again. You gritted your teeth and ducked down, swinging your bag with all your might. It cracked into his side, knocking him off balance. As soon as his mass was out of your path, you lunged forward into a sprint. This was your chance, your only chance.

You made it a couple of paces, thinking you might have escaped before you were yanked backward by your hood. All the air left your lungs as your body slammed into damp asphalt. The two goons previously behind you had caught up and were now standing over you. Before you could even catch your breath or your thoughts, you were being lifted off the ground by the front of your shirt. You struggled to get a firm stance, flailing your legs as you cried out.

One of the other ones, the one you knocked over, grabbed at your hair, wrenching your head back until your feral eyes caught his. "You're lucky you're worth a small fortune, bitch, otherwise I'd just kill you now."

You continued to cry out and flail, even after the third one placed a gag in your mouth and began to bind your hands.

-Clang-

You didn't have time to process the sound before hitting the pavement again, head slamming against the road. You clawed at the ground, trying to push yourself away. Your vision was swimming from the fall, but through the waves and spins, you could make out a small rod of metal on the ground. It took you a moment to realize that it was lying in a pool of blood next to the captor who'd been holding you up. Crawling slowly you began to see more. There was a fourth man, dressed in black, a mask covering…his eyes. No, that couldn't be right. He was taking on the other two men with frightening speed. He had just thrown one to the ground by his arm, bones audibly cracking.

The third assailant dragged himself up from where he must've been knocked down. You don't remember that happening, but now he was behind the man in black. In the darkness, you could barely make out the glint of metal in his hand. You tried to warn the man in black, a guttural croak leaving your lips. His head flicked in your direction but it was too late. You heard the sickening sound of ribs fracturing as the assailant's fist made contact.

A silent scream left your body as the last hope of your escape fell to the ground. You watched in horror as the last thug standing made his way over to you. Grabbing you by the hair, he yanked you onto your knees. The look in his eyes had changed, a fit of frustration and rage bubbling just beneath the surface. His free hand pulled back so you could clearly see the brass knuckles adorning his hand.

Your eyes clenched shut as you awaited the impact of his fist, but it never came. Instead, you felt your hair released, barely catching yourself before your upper half slammed into the pavement again.

Above you, the thug was now sputtering for air, a chain wrapped around his throat and armed hand. You looked across to see the place where the masked man had fallen was now empty.

Time seemed to slow again as you watched the assailant above you begin to struggle less and less. Despite the lack of lights, you could make out that his face was no longer a healthy color. It was sickening. Despite what he intended to do to you, bile began to rise in your throat as you watched his face contort, his lungs begging for air. It was a relief when his eyelids eventually began to droop, his body falling slack. As he dropped to the ground in front of you, your stomach betrayed you, your throat and sinuses burning as you heaved up what remained of your last meal onto the street.

Even after you were beyond empty, in every sense of the word, you couldn't move from the dry heaves wracking your body. It wasn't until the man in black wrapped a hand around your bicep and pulled you towards your feet that you could start to breathe.

"Can you walk?" His voice was hoarse and low, vibrating through your bones as his breath skimmed your ear.

You attempted to nod in response but your head barely moved. Your muscles had begun to weaken quickly, losing the power of adrenaline had aided you.

His grip around your arm briefly tightened– a squeeze. You let your head loll back and forced your eyes to focus.

The mask… had no openings for his eyes. There was no way he could see between the inky fabric and the shadow of the night.

"Y-yes," it was barely a whisper. But his head cocked, conveying he'd heard.

"Two streets over there's a beat cop on the night shift. Head through the alleyway and flag him down. Your way is clear." With that, the grip on your arm and breath by your cheek were gone and you began to stumble your way through the night.

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woefulmachiavellianism · 13 days

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Poe Dameron Playlist Swing Dancing Drabble

So I saw this post years ago talking about Pe dAmeron flying around in his x-wing , blasting First Order out of the sky while listening to Uptown Girl and Danger Zone. Thus, a playlist was born. Every song has a scene or drabble I've imagined. This one is for Valerie by Amy Winehouse ft. Mark Ronson

...Grabbing your hand, he backs onto the dance floor pulling you closer with each step until you're flush against his chest.

“What are you doing?” you giggle nervously. Your cheeks warm and your shoulders curl in as you feel eyes from all around the cantina shift to the two of you.

His warm brown eyes crinkle with mischief and stare back into yours. The lightness in his voice and the smile playing on his lips melting away your nerves.

“Don’t think about it too much, just dance with me”

Now Poe was famous for his dancing escapades (both intoxicated and sober) around the base. It wasn’t uncommon for him to poorly attempt a moonwalk away from a conversation with Leia, or to catch an extremely embarrassing (and tipsy) crotch grab, kick, and spin as a way to torture Jessica when out drinking with Black Squadron.

However, this was different. Unlike his lighthearted attempts for comedy during the grueling day to day of resistance life, Poe moved now with ease y/n had never seen. Not only an ease in his step, the kind that one can only get after years of practice, but also an ease in his energy. The only person he was trying to impress and bring joy to right now, was you.

#star wars #star wars the force awakens #star wars the last jedi #star wars rise of skywalker #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron x y/n #bb8 #rise of skywalker #last jedi #force awakens #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fluff #Spotify

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woefulmachiavellianism · 13 days

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Bad batch Hc- Love Languages

So I have this theory that everyone's love language for giving and receiving aren't necessarily the same... Unless you're Hunter.

Hunter:

Giving: Acts Of Service

Echo:

Giving: Quality Time

Tech:

Giving: Gifts

Wrecker:

Receiving: Gifts

Crosshair:

Giving: Physical Touch

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woefulmachiavellianism · 13 days

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Netflix's Wednesday OC fic Teaser

fem!empath!witch!OC

Warnings: None currently

It wasn’t even first period by the time the rumor reached Maeve’s ears. A new student was arriving today. A plethora of rumors and emotions buzzed around the quad, but it all leaned towards the grotesque and Macabre.

“I hear she got expelled from her old school for attacking a kid,”

“Attacking? I heard she killed the guy and her rich parents got the charges dropped.”

It didn’t take much input these days to overwhelm her mind. Before she could notice, she too started displaying the signs of unease; bouncing legs, picking at her cuticles. If this student was as dark as they guessed, there was no telling what the effect would be on her psyche.

A slender hand soon grabbed her fidgeting one as Xavier’s sketchbook dropped to the table and his familiar weight joined hers on the bench. “Don’t listen to the idiots Maeve, they just don’t have enough drama to entertain them.”

Normally she’d find comfort in the assurances of her best friend, but his head was no quieter than theirs, betraying his own unrest at the prospect of the new arrival. The swirling feelings of fatigue, fear, and wonder permeated her every being, and as she brought her gaze to meet his she soon discovered even his eyes did not match his words.

“Thanks, Xave,” she forced through gritted teeth. She gave his hand a half-hearted squeeze before extracting herself from the bench. She needed to be alone. If this was to be the tone of collective Nevermore mind today, she would rather sit in the deafening silence of her own thoughts.

#wednesday addams #wip wednesday #xavier thorpe #tyler galpin #xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday spoilers #enid sinclair #tim burton #bianca barclay #divina wednesday #nightshade #the addams family #laurel gates #Empath #witchcraft #witch reader #neurodivergent

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