#how could we ever expect others to help us when we choose to ignore others?

[what-do-you-mean-theyre-evil]

Friendly PSA:

If I've unfollowed you for a post you reblogged please check the notes of said post because you might've reblogged it for a completely separate reason for it's existence

#putting “anxiety reblogging” and “current events” in the tags of the same post reads as one thing #no one wants to see what we're seeing. no one wants to know that this is still going on #but we keep talking and posting because the second we stop is the second they're done for #you think I like scrolling my page and seeing all the hurt and sadness going on? #of course I don't but if it helps bring one more set of eyes on the situation. If it brings one more voice to the cause then I'll keep on #we can ignore “current events” for our mental health because it's safe and warm in our beds but if we were in this situation? #how could we ever expect others to help us when we choose to ignore others? #like I said you might not have meant it this way but it's unfortunately something that can speak volumes for your character #you want to protect your peace well I'm protecting mine #rather not follow people who actively ignore the plight of others #free Palestine

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

hello! i’m not sure if ur taking requests but maybe an astarion x bard! tav who is neutral good? ik in game he hates it when we’re nice, so i’m wondering how you think he’d handle a tav who is not only kind but also not really interested in sex

Oooh, I like this! Time to bring out the bitchy cat energy. Because he is a bitch. Lot of Act 1 in game references here btw. Sfw, but y'know, Astarion sad boy backstory is always looming. Also conveniently ignoring the canon fact that Astarion doesn't know how to swim because I can~~~

~

Astarion supposed he could have come across a worse rag-tag crew of undesirables to associate with. It was made clear, disturbingly quickly, that he wouldn't have made it out here on his own. Not with the goblins and cultists lurking around every corner. And a damn vampire hunter for gods' sake.

Astarion could have done much worse than this merry-band of weirdos. Like laying dead in a ditch for instance. That said, it didn't change the fact that he was quickly growing tired of their leader's antics.

You were just so annoying. So selfless, in one of the stupidest ways he had ever seen. For one thing, why one earth would you ever trust a gith or Shar priestess? Or a vampire spawn for that matter. How no one had stabbed you in the back yet was beyond him, considering how you gave them every opportunity to do so.

Not that Astarion would, or at least not yet. But he could. Easily, considering all the misguided trust you had put in him.

But despite your flaws, he had to admit that you were capable, that much was clear. You were strong, quick, witty, and not above deception to keep the peace. He.... liked that about you, in a way. The extent to how far you would go to save others. It was courageous, as well as incredibly stupid, but he could respect it.

Slightly.

it helped that you were a cute little thing, even with the aggravating sunshine personality. Cute enough for Astarion to start thinking of... certain options. You would be easy to manipulate, he was sure of that. Enough so where his life could become one of your top priorities. You already seemed to like him, without him turning on the charm. It would be so easy to get you wrapped around his finger, with nothing but a few shiny words and some pleasant bed-warming. Nothing that he hadn't done before. And if anything, your absurd levels of kindness could.... make everything a little more pleasant than what he was used to. Gods willing.

And tonight seemed as good a time as any, considering everyone was still on a high from being the tiefling's heroes. You were excitedly talking at him, adorable in a frankly infuriating way. Or maybe the wine was working on him more than he had anticipated, he wasn't quite sure. But... your smile seemed extra enchanting tonight.

Enough so for him to get to the point after you asked how he was feeling, "I'm just looking for a little more excitement. A little more fun."

You cocked your head at him, innocently confused as he continued, "You know, we could always make our own entertainment darling. Get a little closer, so to speak."

"Sure!" You said, jumping on the opportunity faster than even Astarion had expected, "Can we do it now?"

Astarion blinked, pleased if not a bit surprised. He's not wholly against giving the camp a show, though the children still lurking about definitely put a damper on things. But maybe if you went far enough away...

"And can I choose what we do?" You asked, a wide smile on your face.

Astarion laughed, delighted at just how easy this was going to be, "Depends on how adventurous you're planning on being."

He hadn't expected you to grab his hand, easily intertwining your fingers with a smile, "I can show you."

Astarion hadn't been prepared for the quick escalation of events, but he was happy to abide by it. He nodded his head, giving your hand a small squeeze before saying, "Then lead the way."

And lead the way you did, right to the Waypoint of the swamp. Not exactly the most romantic place to be having sex, but Astarion had done worse. That was until you conjured the dancing lights, the dreary darkness suddenly transforming what should have been a putrid bog into a dreamy landscape, filled with flowers and freshwater.

Astarion looked to you, eyes wide, "How...?"

"We purified it!" You announced with a massive grin, "We did it this morning, before the party. Halsin and the other druids came down, I amped up their magic with a fantastic song, and bam! No more stench of the hag. Isn't it pretty?"

That... sounded exactly like something you would do, sweet thing that you were. Astarion nodded as he looked around, a little touched that you brought him here at all.

But as nice as the gesture was, he wasn't here for strictly fun. He had a plan, one that you were doing a wonderful job of putting into motion. Considering how you were in the middle of pulling your shirt over your head.

You looked at him expectantly, laughing a little when he rushed to join you. But before he could get his underclothes off, you were stepping away from him and... jumping into the water?

Astarion stared as you sputtered up to the surface, wiping your face with a loud laugh, "My gods, it's cold!"

"What on earth are you doing?" He called out to you, cautiously walking towards the water, "Are you trying to freeze to death?"

"Oh, hush!" You said, waving your hand in the air with a splash, "If we can kill an entire goblin camp than we can handle some cold water. Now get in already!"

Had he mentioned that you were aggravating yet?

But he hadn't made it this far to back out now. Besides, this was far from being on the list of the worst seduction tactics that he had to endure. Though it may have been the oddest one. Astarion couldn't remember a single time that jumping into a purified water pool led to lovemaking. But there was a first for everything. Though it didn't help that the water was indeed freezing.

"For fuck's sake," Astarion cursed when he came up for air, "This is your definition of fun?"

You giggled as you swam towards him, stopping to wrap your arms around his neck with a smile. Another unexpected move from you, a factor that he hadn't expected, but found oddly endearing.

You were playing with a lock of his wet hair, twisting it between your fingers as he wrapped his arms around you, "Well the fun part hasn't started yet."

Astarion laughed softly, his eyes zeroing in on your lips, "Is it about to start now?"

"I think it is," You whispered back, "You ready for it?"

"More than you know," Astarion murmured, leaning in to finally connect your mouth.

But before he could press his lips against yours you were dodging him, giggling as you whispered in his ear, "Good. Let's race."

And then you were pulling away from him entirely, diving under the water just to show back up a few feet away, a manic grin on your face, "Whoever gets to the opposite bank first wins!"

And then you were off, swimming away. You little cheater. Astarion didn't even think as he want after you, a childish competitiveness taking over. You still won, of course you did with that large of a head start, but he managed to beat you on the second and third try.

By his fourth win you were officially pouting, which only devolved into a splashing fight from there. One that he gracefully let you win.

It was all so stupid. Completely juvenile and beneath him. But then why was he having so much fun?

Eventually, you both got out of the water, opting to sit on the bank as you talked. Just... talking. Nothing more, and about the silliest things:

"If Halsin can turn into a bear, do you think I could learn how to grow an extra finger or two? It would make the lute playing so much easier."

"If you don't mind looking like a freak than sure. Are you thinking of literally growing them or having them attached?"

"If, and just hypothetically, Lae'zel and Shadowheart fought to the death, who would win?"

"Darling in all honesty, I think it would just devolve into lesbian sex."

"If you could go anywhere in the world, right now, where would it be?"

"...I think it would be here."

It was a startlingly fun conversation, one that had Astarion being sincere in ways that made him uncomfortable. But that didn't stop him from participating. The two of you talked about anything and everything until the sky started to lighten, both of you leaning into each other as you watched the sunrise.

That was something Astarion would never tire of, how beautiful the light and sky looked at the start of the day. Part of him still couldn't believe that he was able to see it at all, after two centuries of darkness. But now here he was, sitting on a peaceful riverbank after talking the night away, almost like... like he was a person. A real person who mattered. With someone who somehow thought the same.

You sighed, your head resting on Astarion's shoulder as you watched the pink sky, "We should head back soon. Before anyone starts to worry."

Astarion nodded, his heart clenching the slightest bit when you pulled away to stand. He... didn't want this to end. Not yet. Not when he-actually now that he thought about it, he hadn't done anything in the past eight hours that he had planned. The two of you hadn't even kissed, despite the fact that you had spent the vast majority of the night wet and in your undergarments.

How in the hells did that happen?

Astarion was still trying to figure that out as you tossed his shirt and pants his way. He stood, hastily putting it on while he struggled to figure out what to say next. He was completely off his usual script, at a complete loss as you re-opened the magical waypoint.

You turned back to look at him, that same sweet smile on your face that you had been wearing the whole night, "You ready to go?"

Astarion wasn't the type to stutter, but that's where he found himself when he blurted out, "I- wait- I mean, is that it?"

You cocked your head at him with a tiny frown, one that Astarion wanted off of your face immediately, "Did you not have fun?"

"I didn't say that, but it wasn't exactly the fun that I was referring to," Astarion said as he closed the distance between you, regaining a fraction of his usual forced confidence. Why were you so good at making him feel off-kilter?

He took your hand in his, reverting back to the seduction tactics he knew as he used his other hand to tilt your chin up, "I was thinking something a little more... intimate."

"I know what you meant," You said with a little laugh, giving his hand a small squeeze, "But my way seemed just as enjoyable, don't you think?"

"Darling, that's not exactly the point I was trying to make."

"Oh, I'm aware, but it was mine," You said easily, standing on your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek, "Thank you Astarion. It was fun, and I hope we can spend more time together like that in the future."

And just like that you were pulling away again, letting go off his hand to step into the portal, the feeling of your lips against his skin still lingering as you disappeared. Despite himself, Astarion brought his fingers up to where you kissed him, standing there like an imbecile as new feelings started to course through him. Emotions that he had no names for.

Maybe... this was going to be a lot harder than he thought it would.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #asks #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #cutsey #pre-relationship basically #our boy is trying lol #silly things

[saintsenara]

What is your rationale for disagreeing with the fanon that the horcruxes affected Voldemort's sanity?

that it's literally canon that they don't!

i obviously don't have an actual problem with people using the idea that the horcruxes affect voldemort's sanity as a trope, if that's what works for their story, but what irks me is that this idea is often repeated by voldemort enjoyers as canon fact, when the impact of horcruxes on cognitive function is spelled out clearly in half-blood prince:

Harry sat in thought for a moment, then asked, “So if all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort could be killed?”  “Yes, I think so,” said Dumbledore. “Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Never forget, though, that while his soul may be damaged beyond repair, his brain and his magical powers remain intact. It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort even without his Horcruxes.”

in half-blood prince - as in every book prior to deathly hallows - dumbledore functions as the "word of god" character, which is to say that the information he provides us - as long as it relates neither to harry nor himself - isn't up for interpretation, it's understood within the narrative as correct. we can also be sure that he's done his research on horcruxes, knows exactly how they work, and is speaking as an expert when it comes to their impact on the mind - and we can also note that slughorn [who also seems to know what he's talking about when it comes to horcruxes and their function] doesn't mention them causing any cognitive damage when discussing them with the teenage tom riddle.

but nobody has ever made as many horcruxes as voldemort! maybe one doesn't affect the mind, but seven certainly could.

except this doesn't align at all with how the series understands the relationship between the soul and the will.

one of the central themes of the harry potter series is the value of choice. all of its main characters have narrative arcs which hinge - in some way or other - on them making a choice, very often the choice between what is right and what is easy. ron chooses to leave and then chooses to come back; hermione chooses to stay. sirius chooses to take a stand against the life his family expect of him. snape chooses to repent of his sins and work forever to atone for them. harry chooses to walk into the forest and die. lily chooses to ignore voldemort's request for her to stand aside.

all of these choices are made of the character in question's own free will - and the same applies to everything voldemort does in the series. he chooses to kill and to keep killing of his own free will, with the full capacity to understand his actions, and he refuses, right until the very end, to show the slightest bit of remorse for what he's done - and it is this, in the narrative's view, which makes his behaviour so heinous and which causes his behaviour to have such an impact on the state of his soul.

if we assume that voldemort's grasp on rationality declines with the number of horcruxes he makes, we are also assuming that his capacity to understand the full wickedness of his actions also declines - but his motivation for killing myrtle to make a horcrux and his motivation for killing frank bryce to make a horcrux are exactly the same: he wants to, and he doesn't give a solitary fuck about the life he's just taken.

and this stands in contrast to something else we see in canon - the idea that killing does not automatically have an impact on the soul:

“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?” “You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore.

this - the set-up to snape's mercy-killing of dumbledore - suggests that your soul is not harmed if you know without question that the death you cause is justified.

snape kills dumbledore of his own free will, but this suggestion also implies that it would be perfectly possible for the soul to remain unharmed if a killer was understood to be non compos mentis. that is, if someone lacked the capacity to understand their actions were not justified, then their soul would see them as "not guilty by reason of insanity" and not splinter.

voldemort's ability to make so many horcruxes in the first place, then, must depend on his capacity to understand exactly what he's doing - to know he could choose not to kill and then still do it anyway.

and we do actually see in canon that - while he's shown to be someone who kills with the slightest provocation in the films - the voldemort of the books is clinical and methodical in his violence:

“Nice costume, mister!” He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face: Then the child turned and ran away... Beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand... One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother... but unnecessary, quite unnecessary...

the canonical voldemort's known kill count is actually surprisingly low, and each of his victims is clearly selected with a rational [in the "does he have a disorder of thought?" sense, not in the "is this morally justifiable?" sense] motivation driving his decision to attack them - even if his actions are also affected by an emotional trigger [he does not, for example, kill his father or massacre the goblins who tell him that the cup was stolen for reasons which are irrational or delusional - incandescent fury or fear that your secret is out are not insanity].

voldemort kills and makes his horcruxes out of choice, and the series is clear that his capacity to understand that choice does not degrade across the course of his life.

ok, but you have to admit that he's definitely not... all there, personality wise...

sure. but i don't think this has anything to do with the horcruxes...

the idea that voldemort runs around shrieking and cackling to himself is an invention of the films. the canonical voldemort is shown to be lucid and thoughtful even in deathly hallows, he remains a formidable strategist right up until the end - and i think it's also worth noting that the films really gloss over just how successful his takeover of the government is - and his prodigious intellect and magical talent are acknowledged by the order throughout the series.

his more volatile personality traits - his fondness for monologuing, his rapid switching between being superficially charming and feral, his tendency to get lost in his own obsessions, his emotional brittleness - are all ones the eleven-year-old riddle is shown to possess, and i think it's much more interesting to explore the idea that they remain aspects of the person he once was which the adult voldemort cannot hide behind the mask he has constructed.

but - yes - its certainly true that the resurrected voldemort of order of the phoenix onwards is more paranoid, harder to soothe, crueller to his death eaters, more inflexible in his thinking and so on than he is implied to have been in the 1970s, and so i understand why many readers interpret this as evidence that his last two horcruxes [harry and nagini] - plus the arcane horror of his resurrection ritual - might have sent him round the bend.

but i think that the implication of canon is that this behaviour has much more mundane causes.

in october 1981, all the evidence we have is that voldemort is about to win. he is an unassailable terrorist kingpin with an army of highly-trained, highly loyal minions and - we can assume - widespread popular support.

and then only four of these supporters try to find him.

it's clear - as we can tell from the fact that barty crouch jr. is so shocked to discover that he didn't massacre the reassembled death eaters where they stood - that voldemort is livid that none of his "loyal" servants came to rescue him from the tree in albania his soul piece was hiding in, choosing instead to pretend they were under the imperius curse and that they'd never have been seen dead supporting him had they been in their right minds. it's also clear that he has no choice but to welcome these death eaters back to the fold once he's resurrected because he'd have no core supporters otherwise.

but it's also clear that he doesn't trust any of them one single bit once their commitment is proven to be so fragile - and that it is this, this evidence that he's just a human being with human feelings, rather than a creature of pure magic whose mind has been warped by that magic, which provides a much, much more interesting explanation for his increasing volatility as the war draws to its conclusion.

voldemort is at his most interesting - in my opinion - when his humanity [and his failure to outrun it] is foregrounded. this isn't incompatible with his creation of the horcruxes at all. but it is, i think, incompatible with the idea that they warp his mind.

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort

[totaly-obsessed]

can you write something for mary when she could be having a bad day or something and the reader helps cheer her up

Lucky Gloves

Mary Earps x reader request

-> Mary just needs her girlfriend after a hard day, but it's date night

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You were late.

Not that you really had somewhere to be, it was more just an annoyance – it was date night. Every Thursday the two of you would go out together, just a little tradition you had carried through two years of dating each other.

“I’m sorry love, let me get changed quickly, and then we can be off.” You rushed into the house, not even seeing Mary anywhere but you were far too stressed to notice.

Ten minutes later, now changed out of your teacher attire you started to look for Mary when she was not read by the door like she usually was. “Mary?” You could not hear an immediate response, furthering your panic. “Baby?”

“Hmm?”

Ah. There she was.

But after following her vague noises you did not find her in a casual-chic outfit ready to wine and dine you like she usually did. “Mary? Love, why are you still wearing your training stuff?”

The goalkeeper did not answer aside from a deep groan as she burrowed her face deeper into your favorite fluffy blanket. Wordlessly you sat down next to the couch on the ground, rubbing her back. “Baby? Are you okay?”

Finally, she turned her head, now facing you. Tired puffy eyes meeting your own. “Sorry love. Let me get dressed.” With cracking bones your girlfriend started sitting up, not expecting you to throw yourself on top of her.

With you straddling her lap, hugging her close to you, she had no way of leaving. Of course, she could just stand up with you on her hip, but she would never use her strength like that, too scared that she would hurt you.

A couple of minutes of careful coaxing and cooing in her ears let the brunette finally relax, nuzzling her face into your warm neck – humming with contentment. “What’s up with you my love, huh?”

Mary would never admit it to her teammates, no matter how much she loved them, but here in your shared home, with you on her lap was the only place that she would ever call home. “Had a really shitty day.”

“Awwh, I’m sorry honey. Why don’t you take a shower and get changed into comfy clothes and I’ll get us some food, huh?”

As good as that sounded, it was Thursday, and it was the goalkeeper's turn to choose the place to eat, and she didn’t want to disappoint you. You, who had shitty days all the time and never needed to be treated like a baby. “But it’s Thursday baby. It’s my tu-“

The blonde couldn’t whine further as she was shut up with her favorite lips giving her a soft kiss. “Nonsense love – quiet night in. Doctor’s order!”

A soft laugh escaped her chest, letting you relax just a little. “Who’s my doctor then?”

“Me of course – silly girl!” Your blatant lie of being a doctor only made the older woman laugh harder, pushing you off her lap. “Alright then.”

Twenty minutes later you were changed into one of Mary’s ‘MAE27’ shirts, fuzzy socks, and some shorts that definitely weren’t yours either. “Supporting me, I see.”

Warm arms wrapped themselves around your waist, Mary’s head finding its favorite place in the crook of your neck, peppering kisses wherever she could. “I’ll always support you, baby.” And she knew you meant it, even without the deep kiss that followed your silent promise – but she was thankful for it either way.

Mary laid the cutlery down on the couch table, ignoring your perfectly made dining space, opting for comfort instead.

So here you were, each a bowl of your favorite soup in your lap while the goalkeeper’s feet kept digging into your sides.

“So, you wanna tell me what’s made your day so bad then, love?” You had both finished your bowls, so Mary took it upon herself to steal yours from you, setting them both down on the table before laying back on the couch – pulling you on top of her.

Your front pressed snuggly against yours as her prize-winning hands found their place in your hair, giving you a massage.

“This morning I woke up without you – bad enough. Then I couldn’t find my lucky gloves and spilled my coffee. So I wanted to go to that tiny shop down the road, yeah? I get there – closed! Can you imagine? So I get to training and all Mark did was yell at me, fucking hate that prick. And then Ella – goddamn Tooney goes and fucking lobs me. The cheek the girl has! And, oh my god, she didn’t shut up about it!”

Mary’s rant continued for a while, finally getting everything off her chest. But no matter how shitty her day was, here in your arms life was perfect.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #engwnt x reader #woso imagines #lionesses x reader #mary earps x reader #mary earps #man united wfc x reader

[calumfmu]

i really love your fics! could i request steve x f’girl reader? i love flipping tropes on their heads!

Hiiii!! Thank you so much <3 Sorry that this took so long, I'm getting out of a writer's rut, but this definitely helped me. I hope that this sufficed. I wasn't sure how smutty you wanted it, so I kinda met you in the middle. Steve x Fuckgirl!Reader 18+ mdni; smut-ish, heavy petting, making out, premature orgasm (lol quick Steve), allusions to sex, 4.4k+ words (Jesus h Christ, Im trying I swear)

It was late in Hawkins when you stumbled into the Family Video, sunset spreading golden orange and yellows across the sky. An overhead bell rang above you, signaling your arrival to the near empty store.

“Welcome in,” you heard a far away, meek voice say to you, you looked up to see a brunette girl, hair cut short and over sized vest hanging over her small frame. You raised your eyebrows in a greeting to her, hand waving slightly in her direction. Noticing how she blushed in response and quickly ducked her head, you laughed to yourself, used to those type of reactions from people—women and men alike.

You recognized her from school, a few years younger than you, was in band or something of the sort. Not really your crowd to hang with, but someone you briefly remembered from that time. She ran over to say something to another worker a few feet away from the counter, stumbling over her feet in the process.

Searching through horror films, you were bent at the waist, blue denims squeezing your hips in all the right places. Running your fingers over the VHS cases, you were startled by a hip crashing into the shelf next to you. The man to which it belonged to faked his cool, leaning against the shelf with one elbow, and his other hand running through his hair, smoothing it back into place.

Giving him a once-over with a raised eyebrow, you stood to your full height. He smiled at you, brown puppy dog eyes crinkling behind the size of the grin.

“Welcome to Family Video,” he rushed, sticking a hand out for you to shake. You eyed the hand briefly, smile toying at the corners of your mouth as you reached up to meet it.

“I think she’s got you beat, big boy,” you laughed, nodding your head over to the brunette who leaned over the counter to watch your interaction. Upon noticing you look at her, she turned around quickly, pressing random buttons on the cash register as if she hadn’t been staring.

The man turned to look at her, red blush covering his cheeks. “We just like to give all of our customers equal satisfaction, if you know what I mean.”

You gave him a face, wincing at the attempt of flirting he tried giving you. Turning back to the tapes, you were set on ignoring him, not really interested in his attempt for… whatever this was. He didn’t let up, choosing to straighten up and adjust his collar, fixing his sleeves as you found sudden interest in a description of a movie.

He cleared his throat, “I’m Steve. Steve Harrington.”

His hand shot out again for you to shake, dropping it once he realized he had already done that. The girl’s laughter in the background urged some of your own, this man—Steve—being the worst at flirting you had ever seen in your life.

Clearing his throat, his voice was shaky as he said, “What can I help you find today?”

You briefly looked at him, noticing the confidence he had that flowed off of him. It was in the wrong place though, his flirting, if you could call it that, was all terribly wrong, nothing of the sort that you would expect from someone with his looks. There was something about him though, something that made him seem like he knew what he was doing even if his efforts were being missed. You could tell he had some sort of game, it all being lost on you.

“Think I’m managing just fine here.”

He chewed at the inside of his lip, seemingly wondering how to get around the rejection you gave him, short answers not giving him any room to continue. You grabbed a different movie off the shelf, satisfied with it as you turned to move towards the counter. He blocked your path, chest broad as his arms were crossed over it.

You ran your eyes over his chest, admiring the way the material stretched taut over muscle, showing off biceps you would love to imagine wrapped around you. Smirking up at him, you indulged in the feeling, ready to have some fun with the nervous boy stood in front of you.

“I can give you a few suggestions, hon.” The nickname had you staring up at him, eyebrows shooting up yet again. “Little Shop of Horrors? Really, I don’t think someone like you should be watching that alone.”

You pushed past him, fingers at your side lingering at his waist as you walked up to the counter to rent out. The girl—Robin, her name tag read—moved to help you, only to get knocked out of the way by Steve, his hurried attempt to make it around. Squinting your eyes at him, you shook your head, humour finding you as you realized his attempts wouldn’t stop.

“Watch it, shithead,” she grumbled, bumping him with her shoulder as she replaced him on the floor.

“Good thing I’m not watching it alone,” you smiled up at him, placing an ID on the counter for him to run your information. He said your name out loud, eyebrows wiggling at the mention of it. Rolling your eyes, you continued. “I’ve got a date with Billy Hargrove.”

Your thumb pointed outside, a blue Camaro parked outside the store that he noticed for the first time. Its loud engine could be heard from inside the store, rumbling so deeply you could feel it if you stopped long enough. His face fell, fingers faltering at the computer as he looked over at you.

“Billy? Seriously?”

You giggled, leaning across the counter as you decided to play into the game he was attempting—yet failing so miserably at. You smirked as his eyes dipped at your chest, noticing the way your low scooped top exposed more than it should’ve of. He tried to cover it up, clearing his throat as he made his return to the computer.

“Oh shit, did you have a date with him too?”

The look he gave you was incredulous, eyes deadpan as they cut to you.

“I’m just saying… not the best option,” he pointed to the tape in front of you, “to watch on a date with Hawkin’s worst option.”

You leaned even further, voice dropping lower. “Yeah, I don’t think the plan is to exactly… watch the movie.”

His face flushed as he turned to look at you, sliding the ID back over to you. Your eyes were hungry as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, audible gulp filling the room. This was your favorite part about being the town’s “most eligible bachelorette”, watching people crumble around you even when you did nothing.

“Well, what are you doing after?” He leaned into your space, face closer to yours as he tried mustering up the confidence he once had. “Bet I could show you a better time than that Hargrove guy.”

A small tapping sound filled the tense air as your fingers moved across the counter, imitating a walking motion with your index and middle. You trailed them up to Steve, ‘walking’ them up his body until you met the junction of his jaw, hand reaching out to lightly rub him on the cheek.

Your fingers traced the light dusting of stubble, feeling the prick of the hairs underneath your fingertips. His eyes were focused on you as you touched him, eyes low with a glimmer behind them.

“Is that so, Steve Harrington?” You pouted at him, his eyes clouding over as your hand ran across his cheek to trial to his hair. The sound of his name on your lips had him gaping, teeth running across the expanse of his bottom lip. Giving his hair a light tug, he leaned into it, mouth dropping as you removed it, placing it back onto the counter.

You leaned in closer to his face, inches away from his mouth as he subconsciously moved closer to you as well. From the close proximity, you could feel his breath on your lips, the scent of spearmint hitting you. His eyes remained low, fixated on your mouth.

Right as he leaned in to close the distance, you moved away. “Maybe next week I could pencil you in, I’ve got another date at 10. Busy gal.”

You gave him the fakest smile you could manage, grabbing the tape before turning on your heel. Making your way to the door, you turned around once more, noticing the way his eyes were glued to your hips.

“I’ll be back Friday,” you said, his eyes shooting up to yours. He seemed stuck in a trance, mouth parted into an ‘o’ as he stared at you, deep red flushed across his cheeks and bridge of his nose. That Robin girl stood in the distance, her own look of shock present on her face as she apparently had been watching the entire interaction. “You know, return policy and all.”

You spun around, swinging the door open as you exited. Robin’s voice was the last you heard in the store, ‘The Scoops legacy continues.’ Billy’s car revved at you, engine blaring through as you swung your body inside.

“Took long enough, sweetheart?” His sunglasses were low on his nose as he looked over them at you. You fought the eye roll you wanted to give him, the smacks he gave to his gum overwhelming you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, coy smile on your lips as you reached a hand to place on his thigh. His foot hit the gas again, revving the vehicle as you trailed your fingers over his groin. “Don’t we have somewhere to be?”

The speed in which he pulled out of the parking lot was nearly comical, your head slamming back into the head rear as tires screeched on black asphalt. Thoughts of the Harrington boy filled your mind as your plans with Billy became closer to reality, he wasn’t supposed to be in there—wasn’t supposed to be clouding your judgement especially when your entire MO was not to let anything linger.

The doorbell rang as you were in the middle of throwing a shirt on over your exposed chest, the final bit of credits rolling from the horror movie you picked out. Irritation pricked at the back of your neck, figuring it was Billy, returning due to forgetting something or to finish the job.

Marching over to the front door, you prepared to yell at the blond. You had kicked him out of your place, frustrated as he had a few too many to get it up. He had been pushing at you for weeks, practically begging to get a date with you, and the second he got one, it ended like this. It was disappointing to say the least, yet what was to be expected every now and then from the pick of Hawkins.

Throwing the door open, you hissed, “What do you want, Bill—oh.”

A pleasant surprise. It was Steve, red flowers in one hand and a VHS tape in the other. He looked nervous yet hopeful, tight blue jeans and a crisp polo, covered by a black jacket. Tilting your head, you looked at him in surprise, not expecting him to be at your doorstep. Let alone, not knowing how he even got your address in the first place.

“So, this is the right place,” he beamed, stepping through the front door as you moved to the side, too shocked to even question it.

You closed the front door, following him into the living room as he turned to give you the flowers. You accepted them, looking down at them in shock as he became suddenly nervous, teeth returning to his bottom lip to chew.

Your mouth sputtered briefly, “What is—how did you—Steve, what are you doing here?”

He clasped his hands in front of himself, teetering on his feet as he nervously gazed at you. You felt slightly exposed, a foreign feeling, as you stood there in a plain white t-shirt and pajama bottoms. You crossed your hands at your chest, pushing down the feeling as he stood in front of you. Straightening your posture, your eyebrow arched at him, throat clearing away the thought of him looking so good in front of you.

“Well, you said you were hanging out with Billy to watch, y’know—“ his thumb pointed to the TV, his mouth quirking at the corners awkwardly, “and that’s only like an hour, 30. Then, you said you had a date at 10, leaving you a few hours to, uhh, hang or… something. Busy gal, ya know?”

The repeated words from earlier had you blushing this time, a smile crossing your face as he made himself comfortable. You tried to immediately get rid of it, a step out of character from your usual when it came to boys. His face flushed as he held up the tape he was holding: Fast Times at Ridgemont High. You stared at it and him, eyes jumping back and forth.

“Fast Times. Short runtime. Perfect duo, if you ask me,” he smiled, hair falling into his face as he stepped a bit closer to you. You laughed at him, feeling too shocked to even argue with him.

You led him into the living room, taking the tape into his hands before setting it up in the player. He fell onto the couch with a sigh, leg shaking nervously as he looked around the living room. You made your way over to him, sitting next to him as he looked at you, smile wider than ever.

“How did you know where I lived?” The TV was loud as it started, the two of you jumping at it. The two of you laughed as you realized you had ended up a bit closer to him, hand resting on his thigh. Removing it, you settled back into the couch, clearing your throat as you tried to remain cool. You didn’t like this, how Steve made you nervous despite not doing anything. That was supposed to be your role, he was supposed to be the one falling to your feet.

“What do you think we need your ID for over at the store?”

Shaking your head, you took a good look at him, noticing the way the man had moles dotted around his face, marking him in perfect places. In this moment, you did recognize who he was, him being a year below you when you used to run Hawkins High. He had stepped up to bat by the time you hit your junior year, rumors of him running rampant around the school. Based on this version of him that stood in front of you, you couldn’t tell what had happened to him—where his confidence and irresistible charm had gone.

“You’re so—“

“Smart?” He finished for you, blushing. “Nah, I can’t take credit for that. It’s all Robin, she’s, like, my wing-woman at this point.”

As the movie started, he began to relax, settling into the couch, and his palms rubbed the cloth over his knees, legs parted. Your knees were pulled up to your chest, yet body turned to him, engaged in conversation that allowed you to get to know the man in front of you. The movie was a blur in the background, the two of you facing each other, inches away with hands just shy of touching each other.

The landline rang, pulling you out of the conversation, Steve’s gaze lingering on you for a second too long as you contemplated picking it up.

“You’re not going to get that?” The drop in his voice had you distracted, mind wanting to hear just how low it could get.

“Uhhh… I’m just going to let it go,” you answered, leaning into him. The phone went silent, his eyes briefly darting to it before returning to you. You were much closer to him now, your tongue licking at the corner of your mouth. “Can I try something, Steve?”

“Uh huh,” he whispered, hand shooting up to place on your cheek as you leaned in. Your lips met, two pairs of eyes fluttering shut. He was soft, lips fitting snug into the shape of yours, tongue warm as it found its way into your mouth.

“You’re gonna get it now?” He muttered against your lips with a slight smile, pressing soft kisses to you. You hadn’t even noticed the phone was ringing again, too caught up in the way his fingers felt in your hair, the other planted softly at the base of your neck.

“I guess I should,” you didn’t even open your eyes, continuing the kiss as you began to straddle him, pressing him into the plush couch cushion. The phone went silent once more, only to be ringing again, in what seemed like a more urgent matter if that was even possible.

“For fuck’s sake,” you exclaimed, pushing off of him as you stormed over to it. “Who is it?”

Steve’s face was flushed, his hands adjusting his hair and pulling at the rumbled front of his shirt. He sat up slowly, pressing the back of his hand to his cheeks to cool them as he began to notice how flustered he had become. You trailed your eyes over him from across the room, hunger in your eyes.

“Oh, Billy—hey.”

The name had Steve stiffening, his face dropping as you continued the phone call. He directed his attention to the television once more, pretending to tune out the conversation, yet you knew he was listening.

Billy’s words in your ear were droning on, a blabber of speech that sounded strikingly similar to the parents in the Peanuts cartoons. You fought the eye roll, even if he couldn’t see it, you had to save face in front of Steve.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, babe…” You spoke to him, putting up your best good girl voice that normally works in this situation. Steve’s head ticked slightly in your direction, eyes squinting barely. “Of course, we can try again. Anytime.”

Steve stood up, hands dusting over his jean pockets as he dug his foot into the carpet. He seemed as if he didn’t know what to do with himself, hands moving from in his pockets to outside to crossed at his chest to finally rest at his hips. He cleared his throat, you pulled the phone away from your ear to listen for his next words.

“Hey, uhh, I think I’m going to get going,” he muttered, face flushed as he pointed his thumb towards the front door. As he went to go turn, you hung up on Billy, ignoring his shout of protest as it hit the hook.

“Wait! You’re leaving?” You asked, rushing over to him as his back was turned to you. You placed your hands on his shoulders, fingers urging him to sit down before you returned to your previous position, knees caging in his hips, your bum pressed firm into his lap. His fingers came to rest at your fingers, spread wide over the expanse of skin, slightly pushing up your pajama top.

“I… you seemed busy,” he sounded distracted as you began to press kisses to his neck. His head hit the back cushion, hips rutting up into yours before he could even think of it. You ground down on him, a roll of your hips pulling a guttural moan from him.

“Can’t we have some fun first, Steve?”

His eyes fluttered shut at your hips worked magic over his, the bulge in his jeans growing by the second as your fingers explored his chest, finally feeling the firm press of muscle beneath them. Meeting his lips again, you pushed the kiss further, licking into his mouth with a fervor behind it.

He placed a hand in your hair, pulling you into him as your chest pressed against him, pants escaping your mouths.

“It’s okay, Steve,” You whispered against his mouth, arching up into him. He was beyond hard in this moment, grinding up into you as you worked him, movements slow, yet calculated over him. “I’m yours for tonight.”

He nodded into the kiss, pulling his hand towards the front of your sleep shorts, fingers dipping below the waist band to brush over your pubic bone. You gasped at the feeling, head pulling away from him to look down at his hand disappearing behind your shorts. His fingers brushed over you, slight pressure applied to your clothed clit.

You arched into the touch, your own hand coming to rub at the front of his pants, brushing over his bulge pressing at the front. The two of you became breathless, heavy pants filling the room as you rubbed at each other. His fingers moved in circles over you, the material of your panties separating the skin-on-skin contact dampening with each movement.

“You know, I’ve—“ his voice was strained, caught in his throat as he spoke, eyes low as he looked up at you on top of him. “I’ve always had a crush on y—“

You kissed him again, swallowing his words as the confession left your mouth. Your heart began to pound in your chest, arousal briefly leaving at the words. That was something you didn’t do, no, definitely not. He wasn’t going to sit here, look pretty as he fell apart, and confess his true feelings for you.

His breath hitched even further as you slipped your hand into the waistband of his jeans, gripping him through the thin material of his boxers. Fuck, of course, he’s huge, you thought to yourself. His looks, of course, weren’t enough for him.

The grasp on him had him mewling, hips coming up off the couch as you felt around, giving him light tugs. He tried keeping up the movements with his own fingers on you, failing as he fell apart under your touch. With a low moan, his hips stilling as he came, eyes squeezed shut with his chest heaving rapidly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, tongue darting out to dampen his red, kiss-swollen lips. You kissed its traces, giggling at him as he opened his eyes to meet you. You were tempted to sit there for a moment, get lost in the deep amber of his eyes, find yourself a home there. That wasn’t your MO, you couldn’t bring yourself to do that.

You pulled yourself from him, clambering off of him as you adjusted the front of your clothing. Glancing back at the tape forgotten on the tv, the credits began to roll, the distorted flashing of the Ridgemont Mall showing on screen.

“Hey, you didn’t even—“

You cut him off, smiling as you began to walk towards the tape, turning it off as you spoke, “You better get going.”

You handed him the tape, tucked into its sleeve as he sat on the couch, shirt ruffled up, pants loose at the waist, dark patch wet at the front. He glanced down at himself, embarrassment flooding his cheeks at the state he was in.

“What about…” He didn’t finish his words, shaking his head as he stood up off the couch. You sat in silence with one another as he fixed himself, his hands running through tendrils that lay across his forehead.

Walking him to the front door, you chewed at your bottom lip, feet shuffling under you as he stood in the door frame. You avoided eye contact, hand clasped on the door as he stood there, searching for something to say. You felt if you looked at him, you would cave, would give in to feelings that you knew would be bad for you.

“Could I, at least, see you again?”

The sound of his voice had you looking at him, heart beating faster as he looked so sincere with the porch light casting a halo around him. He looked unraveled, yet in the best way, cheeks still coloured red from his high.

You went to shake your head, wanted to explain your thing when it came to situations like this, yet you found yourself pausing in the movement. His confession earlier stung at you, eating away at a part of you that was surprising to even be there in the first place. Reluctantly, you nodded, ignoring the beam he gave you immediately.

“Friday,” you supplied, knuckles lightening in color as you gripped the wood. As he opened his mouth to speak, you covered it quickly, “Return policy and all.”

The joy was gone from him, smile falling just as quickly as he gave it to you. If there was any time for you to feel like a villain, it was now—this opportunity feeling like taking candy from a child. Only it was worse. Yet he had to know this was just how you operated, his own rumors that once circled the town not straying far from your own. Turning on his heel, his head was low as he made his way down your walkway.

Slowly, you shut the door behind him, eyes fluttering shut as you leaned to rest your forehead against it. The feeling of guilt in your chest was inexcusable, the length of time you had even known this boy too short to make up for it. His confession earlier lingered in your brain, wondering what might have happened if you urged him on, pressing details of his crush.

You fought the thoughts for the rest of the night, ignoring them as you were pressed into the back seat of another boy’s car at Lover’s Lake. Had to focus on the feeling of the stranger’s hands on you, the feeling of him inside of you as windows became steamier, clothes were shed. Notches on your belt were what they seemed, nothing too much to think about as you ignored the gnawing in your chest.

Friday came and went, Robin standing behind the counter as you pressed the tape over the counter into her hands. The boy that remained on your mind was nowhere to be seen, missing from the floor as your eyes searched the heads appearing in between aisles of films. And if when you asked about his whereabouts and Robin gave you an answer alluding to him coming down with something, you definitely did not fight the feeling to be upset, figuring it was just as much nothing to him as it was to you. You didn’t call Billy back that night, didn’t pretend it was Steve instead who was kissing you, arching you down in a way you would’ve loved to be with him with.

Masterlist. Inbox and requests are open! <3

#my writing #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington smut #smut #loser!steve #ugh love him #that's my baby #I hope you enjoyed this #requests

[starsxblazing]

Cause and Effect (Part 3)

a/n: please excuse any proof reading mistakes because my brain is still mush after working my 40 hours this week. I was too excited to post the next chapter simply for all of your amazing responses!

You huffed in annoyance from your lack of sleep just as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky. Sleep had evaded you for the majority of the night because you just hadn’t been able to calm your mind. The happiness and excitement that you had felt just for having someone pay you some attention made you feel horrible about yourself, like you were no better than a toddler. It didn’t seem to bother the male that you had found such a sense of peace with just by being in his presence for just a few minutes.

Hope surged through you at the thought of him and found yourself praying to whatever the Fae believed in that you would see him again today. You dug through the clothes that you had been given but you didn’t have the energy to put much thought into anything. A grumble of your stomach had you completely abandoning the idea.

“Good morning,” you mumbled sleepily, still in your pajamas, when you entered the dining room with the male from the day before and Mor sitting at the table.

“Good morning,” Mor replied with a small smile. “We weren’t expecting you to be up so early.”

“I do rise early sometimes,” you chuckled as you took a seat beside her with the male sitting across from you. “But everything.. It’s hard to sleep now.”

“That’s completely understandable.” Mor rubbed your arm for a moment in a comforting manner. “We’re glad that you are out here with us.”

You gave her a small but sad smile, unsure of what to say. It was obvious that none of them knew about you and even though it hurt, you did your best not to show it. Feyre had mentioned in a conversation that you accidentally overheard that the food here was delicious and now that you had a taste, you weren’t sure if you could ever go back to normal human food. The thought had you returning to the day that you had been forced into the cauldron and realized that you didn’t know anyone’s name and most importantly, how they all were doing after injuries.

“You were hurt.” You locked eyes with the hazel ones across from you. “And your friend-”

“We’re alright,” he assured, causing you to slump in relief into your seat. “Cassian’s wings are healing as we speak.”

“I’m so glad.” You gave him a gentle smile before gazing at his wings momentarily. “I can’t imagine how much pain that you were in. I feel horrible that I didn’t even think to ask you last night.”

“It’s okay.” He gave you another genuine, small smile that earned a near silent gasp from the female beside her. “You have been through more than any of us can imagine.”

“I don’t even know your names,” you mumbled, choosing to ignore his reassurance since you were trying to avoid the thoughts of your own.

“You’ve met Mor.” He gestured towards the female beside you who simply rolled her eyes. “Cassian, as I said, was the one that was injured as well and Rhysand is our High Lord of the Night Court.”

“Oh.” It was hard to keep your mind from the horrible memories, the thoughts making your heart hurt even more now that you knew their names. “Have you heard from Feyre?”

“She will be alright and will be back as soon as she can,” Mor answered confidently. 

Your sister had obviously thrived since she had become High Fae and you couldn’t help but wonder if you or your other sisters would be able to do it as well even though you didn’t have much of a choice. A part of you wanted to adjust but at the same time, you were terrified of the life that you had been unwillingly shoved into. You were at least trying to be friendly even though Elain still refused to speak and Nesta was being her usual angry self.

You weren’t sure how to feel with everything that was going on around you but your mind began to drift back to your human life. Your favorite holiday would be arriving in a few months and you hoped that it would be something that would be accepted for the first time. Remembering that you didn’t know the male’s name, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are you stingy with your name?” 

“No,” he chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeated, finding that you liked how it rolled so simply off of your tongue.

He seemed to like it as well due to the smile tugging at his lips but you chose to ignore it, opting to eat what you could. You could feel his gaze on you and noticed it for yourself when you glanced at him from your peripheral as Mor began to tell you what Velaris had to offer.

“It sounds beautiful,” you sighed in awe.

“I could take you.” Your eyes met Azriel’s, noting that his expression was neutral even though you felt like he deeply wanted you to agree. “The city is meant to be seen at night.”

“I would expect nothing less from The City of Starlight,” you laughed, noting an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t place.

You listened to stories pour from Mor and your emotions turned over in a constant loop, wondering if you would fit into this tight knit family. It was something that you had never had and so desperately wanted. You hoped that now that you and your sisters were all together that the family dynamic might change, hoped that you would finally become important. Deciding to try to interact with your sisters, you gave them a small smile and a nod before going to find them.

Just as you expected, Elain was still staring blankly out of the window with Nesta in a chair in the room and reading a book. Your oldest sister’s flat stare fell on you and although you felt uncomfortable, you held your ground and held onto hope.

“How are you both doing?” you asked quietly, eyes darting between them both.

“How does it look?” she snapped, her ever snarky tone lacing through each word. 

“All of this is so hard and I want to try to help you if you would let me,” you offered, gripping your intentions with a steel grip so that you didn’t back away.

“Why don’t you go back to the male that you decided to prefer your company with?”

“Then why did you even bother to make him leave me alone!?” you exclaimed as your pain began to overwhelm you.

“Go. Away,” Nesta growled.

It took all of your self control to hold back your tears as you darted back towards your room. Loneliness, which was a feeling that you were well acquainted with, overtook all of your senses. Even though you were used to it, it hurt even worse with the circumstances that you were now in. It felt as if it was impossible to sort through without your own family's help. You could only hold onto hope that you may have found real friends with Mor and Azriel.

You stayed in your room for the rest of the day, not bothering to leave for lunch or dinner. A knock had sounded on your door after each missed meal that followed with Mor’s muffled but concerned voice sounding through the wood. You had jumped up from your bed whenever the sun began to set, remembering that you had a late afternoon with Azriel planned. It made some excitement return because you truly did love his company.

Mor was at your door once again while you were staring at your new wardrobe as if she already knew of your struggle. She laughed at your confused expression and joined you to look at the variety of the obviously expensive dresses. It was more than welcome and you decided to let her make the choice for you since you knew next to nothing about dressing up.

“This is so hard,” you whined but fell quiet at the gorgeous blue dress that she pulled out.

“What about this one?” she asked, a knowing twinkle in her eye that you didn’t understand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything so nice in my life.” You stared at it in awe and the female seemed pleased. “I love it.”

“I thought that you would.” Mor gave you a brilliant smile before directing you to the vanity. “Now let’s get something done with this beautiful hair.”

A blush rose to your cheeks at the compliment since you hadn’t received very many. You watched her work, noting every small movement that she did so that you would be able to do it for yourself at some point. The loose curls that ended up forming was something that made you feel brand new. Your eyes burned from the tears that wanted to form at the sight of yourself once you were fully dressed and staring at yourself in the mirror.

It was the prettiest that you had ever felt in your entire life and you finally felt as if you actually meant something, even if it was only a fleeting moment. You took a deep breath before you rounded the corner where Azriel was waiting in an attempt to keep your newfound confidence.

His face instantly softened when he saw you and you could feel Mor’s eyes on you from behind you. Heat rose to your cheeks once more, unaccustomed to having a male look at you in a way that didn’t mean that he only wanted to sleep with you. He guided you to the balcony, his hand barely brushing against your lower back.

“The House is warded against winnowing so we will have to fly,” he started gently, watching you with nearly invisible caution. “There is always the option of the ten thousand steps to the city but that would ruin your beautiful dress.”

“I’ve never flown before.” It was hard to speak and keep the shock from the simple compliment from your tone before eyeing his wings. “It sounds scary.”

“I promise not to drop you,” he chuckled, the noise almost inaudible.

You nodded despite your fear and focused on your excitement for the night.

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#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel

[c0ffinshit]

Hello, You. (Dexter Morgan x Stalker!Reader) PROLOGUE

a/n: hello, you. (get it? hehe). ANYWAYS sorry i've been gone for a while. i've literally been depressed for like months but I'M OKAY NOW. i promise. so, in honor of my mental health being good now, i wrote this story about a reader who REALLY needs to see a doctor. word count: 1,466 warnings: dead dove: do not eat, mentions of attempted rape (and rape in general), assault, borderline psychopath reader, stalking, like one mention of abortion, joe goldberg core

Hello, you. Dexter Morgan, you sick and beautiful freak of nature. I know what you’ve done. I’ll stay quiet for now since I’m such a good girlfriend. Well, about the girlfriend part. You don’t know yet. But you will soon, my love.

I would tell you how long I’ve been following you, but I fear it would make you more likely to run the other way. But the thing about that is I don’t want you gone yet. You don’t know yet that you desire me to. The same way I enjoy and crave you.

Ever since Rita died, your life has been fading colors, Dexter. You lack a desire, a need to kill, and feel that release. And I understand that better than anyone. Sure, the context may differ for us, but it always leads down the same path. You don’t have that drive, but I do. And more importantly, I want to give you that purpose you feel you lack. I’ve done everything to get your eyes to meet mine, but everything never works. It’s like I’m some piece of glass you can ignore. You want to look past me, Dexter, but I find that incredibly flustering when I’m standing there. I’ve quit jobs at places frequently and wore heavy makeup and ugly clothes, all for you. You can’t ignore me forever, Dexter.

Now I sit in a nearly empty store, just for you. It’s like I said, you can’t ignore me for long.

The store is bland and uninteresting, a place I would never expect you to be. Of course, this is where you’ll see me finally. You wouldn’t be able to unsee me. I’ve dyed my hair and changed my appearance. It’ll be hard to recognize me of the changes I’ve made. I know you’ll think: I’ve seen this girl before, but I can’t place where. But the truth is that you’ve noticed me in everything your eyes have touched. At supermarkets and malls, where I just watch you and your children enjoy a day out together. Then, your wife was murdered brutally by the Trinity Killer. Now, did I have connections to the Trinity Killer to cause her death? No, unfortunately. The death of your wife was still all him. But I quickly struck when I knew it was my time to shine. The children, not including Harrison, were finally gone. Now that I can manage. You, Harrison, and I could finally be the perfect family together.

But you had to make things complicated. First, it was Lila West. Now, I don’t like cheaters, Dexter. But here’s the thing about that. It's hard to compare all of your actions and say that cheating on your wife is the worst of them.

She was a serial arsonist. Lila didn’t understand anything about you, but she was good at taking care of your so-called addiction to heroin. You told her what she wanted to comprehend. Lila tried to save you when you were unsavable in her eyes. She wanted to save the unsavable.

Next thing you know, she’s off to France after almost killing you and Rita’s children in a house fire. She ran from you when you didn’t choose her over your wife. Pathetic, honestly. As much as I can say that I would do the same, I would be wrong. Dexter, I’ve known you for years now. We were coming up on our fourth year together. My fourth year in your life without you knowing of my existence.

Then that girl came into your life. What’s her name?

Oh, right, Lumen—the poor girl from Minnesota who sweetly begged for your help in the killing of her rapists. As much as she got in my way, I will admit, I did like her for you.

If I failed to exist, you would've destined to be with her. How funny fate works, though, since she left your sight in the blink of an eye. Was that my doing? For the most part, it was all her. Lucky me that I didn’t have to do anything before she told you that her dark passenger had left her and how she finally managed to heal from the torment. It's funny how someone so tortured by her past could move on so quickly, unlike you, who seems forever stuck in that cargo container.

My point is every girl in your life has left you in some capacity.

And the only male figure in your life failed you. I, however, understand that you don’t need saving or fixing. Killing is a part of you. Harry made that very clear to you. He tried to save you by shaping you into a hero. But as we both know, that didn’t last very long.

Now you’re here in Iron Lake, New York. Ten years clear from killings. I’m sitting outside the homely yet bland store, waiting for you to leave. Yes, I plan to follow you home. But I have a good reason. Tonight’s the night I tell you of the accident you saved me from, how you caught the man that could’ve killed me that very night. You rescued me by slaughtering him.

You probably don’t remember that night. I don’t blame you for that. It was just another kill for you. But allow me to enlighten you.

It was when you were still in Miami, November 1st, about nine at night.

I was leaving a bar after another sad night alone. A man follows me out of the bar. I can’t remember his name or his face. You would be better at recognizing his name and his face than me. All I do recall is someone grabbing me as I left, pulling me into an alley. His hand covered my screams, his other holding a hunting knife to my throat.

"Shut the fuck up, or this goes straight through your fucking neck." The man threatened, pressing the knife deeper into my neck.

I’d be powerless my whole life, always a second choice, but I never pled for what happened to me. But I don’t blame him for what he targeted me—a vulnerable young woman leaving a bar in early November. It’s a recipe for murder.

My voice tries to scream out more, my body thrashing against his. The man's grip moves away from my mouth, moving down my body. I feel tears swell in my eyes as his hand pulls up my skirt and pulls down my panties. I knew where this was going, and I was terrified. I couldn’t afford a police investigation or an abortion. I would have to carry the baby, that fucking rape baby.

Suddenly, the knife he was holding drops out of his hand. His threatening pleas of my silence turn hushed as I hear his body thud against the pavement. The loose rocks and debris scratch against his body as you drag him away. My eyes are shut tight, too scared to open them. But I knew it was you, the Bay Harbor Butcher. Things like this were happening all over the city. Stories of your heroism, saving all walks of life. You were a hero, never the villain. I just never thought it would happen to me.

The dragging briefly turns shushed as I feel your eyes on me. "Go. Run far." You say in a hushed tone.

My eyes shoot open, and it feels like my feet think for me. I do as you say. I ran, and I ran fast. My feet and lungs held my body as upright as they could. Finally, I reached a gas station near my apartment before I became tired. I ran five miles the night, just on adrenaline alone.

That’s how you saved my life that night, Dexter. Three words. You had given me a purpose and something to fight for.

It wasn’t hard to find you after that. I searched in forums across the internet, talking of this Bay Harbor Butcher persona of yours. Of course, I never encountered you on any of those, which I should’ve figured. So, my search efforts had become ten times harder. So, I did what any logical person would do and found patterns within your murders, all criminals who either went under the radar or were recently released. You try to save the people, like some sick and twisted Batman. When, if anything, you follow closer to Bateman than the caped crusader. I did what a cop or detective couldn’t have done in a year. After all that time and effort, I found your name and shady Iron Lake cabin: Dexter Morgan, a man in the countryside with a girlfriend who's a cop. Shame for her since she won’t live to hear my declaration. But even if she does, she won’t like what she hears.

#dexter morgan #dexter showtime #michael c hall #dexter morgan x reader #send help #i want him #dead dove do not eat

[wachtelspinat]

Hey ! I’ve been seeing your art going around since your midnight crew stuff and I just recently stubble across your tumblr, thank to your beautiful overwatch art for our beloveds junkers ! I’ve been scrolling through your account and read about your experience of being a former graphic designer who is a doctor now. And damn. I can’t emphasize how much I admire you, especially as someone who is struggling really hard to choose between 2 careers paths ( with one of them being art related ). This is why I was wondering if you would be open to talk about how and why you switched from art to medecine ? Especially because most of the time I feel it happens more the other way around ? ( If it’s too personal just ignore this ask + sorry if you already talked about it before )

hey ! no worries, i don't expect ppl to scroll through my tumblr to find an answer for a question they might have. first of all thanks for your nice words, means a lot <3

i switched from art to medicine because my early 20-something-self was even more anxiety-ridden than my present-self, and being in art school and having to "perform" regularly was a nightmare. i'm talking about a time in which i was so scared of being perceived that i often skipped grocery shopping, just so i could avoid being around people. so like, pitching art related projects to peers and profs was eeh... especially because art is so personal oh my god. i still hate it when someone tries to sneak a peek while i'm drawing, makes me wanna throw my sketchbook and myself off the bridge. anyways so i always felt a 110% inadequate (plus i got a gf during that time who was so good to me and tried to get me out of my funk on multiple occasions (she was and still is an artist and has now a career as a freelancer and i'm rly proud of her) but i couldn't see that because i just compared the two of us all the time and sabotaged any attempt she made for having fun with drawing with her) that i sat down at some point and asked myself if i could do this any longer, and i came to the conclusion that no, it really kills me rn.

what made me go into the health sector? i don't even know anymore, i think it was a mixture of "i loved biology, esp. the human body in school" and "my mum is an icu nurse and talks a lot about hospitals, maybe i should check it out"... it was not a well thought through decision, which is so funny because studying medicine was a hell of a meatgrinder ride (also my anxiety and self hatred? still there, but now i wasn't judged anymore because of my art but instead being called a dumb idiot collectively with all the other students because nobody likes med students) and for some reason i was able to get through that despite it not being my passion at all, but i couldn't stand up for myself in art school. i don't even know if i could work through it nowadays, but the good thing is i don't have to ask myself this question anymore, because being a doctor pays the bills, and ever since i left art school i was able to just draw without consequence. which is nice to a degree, my artistic output is not tied to the means of generating money. on the other hand... idk, in another life with more confidence and less worries, i'd love to be some sort of character designer T_T

so yeah that's basically it. at some times i cherished my career decisions, at other times i regretted them deeply, worst thing is i know it has a lot to do with personality, but the fact that we can't change who we are with a blink of an eye gives me the framework to think that the path i took was ok. as in. things happened for a reason and maybe i'm just not cut out for that kind of work. you have to be aware of the conditions of a job to decide if you are up for it. because being an artist doesn't end with "just draw". i myself had an unrealistic view of the job back then too. and the fact that i could not seperate between personal aspects and "doing a job here" was crucial.

yeah, idk if this is helpful at all. i think the one thing that is super important here is to have a realistic view on the conditions of work you are about to head into, and i know this is mostly very difficult to aquire. because unless you really work in a sector there is often no way to fully grasp the situations you can find yourself in (this applied for me also in the health sector, which made me fall into a depression a year ago, but what do you do after you spent 6 years of studying :') ). doing internships and just trying to get to know a lot of things really helps. and - idk how old you are, but if you're really young: it's ok to switch careers at some point. it's even ok to do so when you are older (trying to end on a positive note here because it feels like i just said a lot of depressing things... like don't get me wrong i like my job, the conditions are just fucked up, and again my personality prevents me from switching again but it's also not that easy in germany, BUT it's a valid thing to do, being versatile is good! just... make sure you don't end up with a job that you absolutely hate because that kills it all)

#LONG #sorry #i'm rambling #being an adult is hard and it never ends being a work in progress

[ohtobeleah]

Chaos // Bradley Bradshaw

Chapter Four: Flight 29 Down

Summary: You were told that for this mission to be a success there would need to be no less then two consecutive miracles—but all you got was a back seater and a shitty ex boyfriend.

Warnings: Angst. Rooster x reader. Platonic Bob Floyd x reader.

Word Count: 7.1k

Author Note: We have some platonic Bob moments and a couple of flashbacks. Absolutely powering through this series. Also, for a filler chapter before we get into the big stuff somehow this is 7k.

“Not a morning person Chaos?” Hangman picked the wrong day to try and mess with you, but then again. When was there ever a good time? Slamming your locker had become something of a habit you’d created, but this morning? After having just had your heart torn out and gutter stomped into nothingness by the man you promised yourself you wouldn't go back to– it only seemed out of necessity. You know, so you didn't blow your own brains out. “You look awfully tired? No coffee in the mess hall?”

“Hangman, there are exactly three places you can stay for free, the fuck out of my face, the fuck out of my way and the fuck out of my buisness.” The silence that filled the room, you swore you could hear a pin drop. Everyone looked at you like you’d just committed a crime. Suddenly the centre of attention, exactly where you didn't want to be. Rooster stood by his locker, hurting himself. He didn't have the balls to confront you in the locker room, not after this morning's escapades. He thought some time passing would help ease the situation, perhaps he’d get you at a better time to just explain he hadnt done what you thought he did. He didn't have a girlfriend. He didn't want anyone except for you.

Hangman stared at you with a subtle smirk on his face, chewing a piece of gun as always. Cocky and oh so sure of himself. Looking over your shoulder he saw Rooster staring at you. Guilt just dripping off of him. Jake Seresin was good at a lot of things, but one thing he was exceptionally good at was spotting a guilt ridden man. Choosing to leave the situation he found himself in at that. Not giving you the time of day as he walked away, directly towards Rooster.

“I was right about the eleventh man theory wasn't I?” Hangman whispered as he came to stand next to Rooster. Rooster was adamant if there hadnt been so many people around he would have clocked Jake up the side of the jaw himself, but the risk to reward ratio didn't weigh up in his favour. “What exactly did you do?”

“I messed up.” Rooster's eyes never left you as he watched you leave the locker room, doing up his flight suit as he sighed. His fist slamming against the thin door of his locker. Leaving an indent. “I messed up big time.”

“God what is it with everyone abusing the lockers this morning?” Fanboy questioned as Bob shook his head as if to say don't ask. Hangman was trying his best to put the pieces together, opting to place his hand on Roosters shoulder. Smirking, still chewing that piece of gum Rooster hoped he’d choke on.

“Oh well, you know what they say man, the more you fuck around the more you find out.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Good morning.” You barely had the energy to sit and listen as Admiral Bates stood before you. Unlike yesterday, you sat snugly between Phoenix and Bob, Rooster’s gaze burning into the back of your skull as you did everything in your power to ignore him. Still seething from your fight earlier that same morning. From having your heart ripped from your chest without any medical intervention. “The uranium enrichment plant that is your target will be operational earlier than expected.” Sighing dramatically as you rolled your eyes, your head lulling to Bob's shoulder in defeat. Honestly at this point it didn’t shock you, you used to think adulthood was one catastrophe after the other– but oh how wrong you were. They all liked to pile on top of one another at the same time.

“Raw uranium will be delivered to the plant in ten days time, as a result, your mission has been moved up one week.” Now that? That sparked your interest slightly. Truth be told, It scared you—what the hell? What time did any of you have?

“I don’t mean to offend, but you know you look like hell right? Everything okay?” Bob leaned over as he whispered in your ear.

“Thanks Bob, you always know how to make a girl feel awfully sure of herself.” You teased as you sat up straight, sending him a soft and subtle smile. “Im fine–” Admiral Bates raised his voice a fraction, gaining your attention once again.

“In order to avoid contaminating the target valley with radiation.” Bob kept his attention on you though. Something had happened, he just wasn’t sure what. You looked tired—sad. What had Bradshaw done? Bob had a pretty good memory and it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. He knew Rooster had a tendency to break your heart, his favourite pastime. A hobbyist.

“Sir, no one here has successfully flown a low-level course.” Coyote interjected as he sat up a little straighter. More integrated. Concern plastered evidently on his face.

“Nevertheless you've been ordered to move on.” Admiral Bates wasn't a warm man, but this? Even this was a little out of his usual realm of expertise. “Captain–” He gestured as Maverick stepped before the group, you'd all seamlessly lowered yourselves into the chairs you sat on. Defeated even before the first training session of the day. The deck was truly stacked against you, everyone felt it. But you felt it the most. How on earth could you pull yourself together to be able to look Bradley in the eye and confidently tell him you’d have his back if you were told to fly together? At the moment you couldn't. No way in hell, completely blinded by rage.

“We have one week left to focus on phase two, it's the most difficult stage of the mission.” All you could do was listen at this moment in time, but that was difficult when memories of last night were rushing through your head. The juxtaposition of love and wholeness you felt in Bradleys arms completely diminished by the anguish and betrayal you felt when you heard those words come through his phone. His girlfriend? What fucking bullshit. Did you have loser tattooed on your forehead? Perhaps use me?

“It's a pop-up strike with a steep dive requiring nothing less than two consecutive miracles.” Pete held up two fingers as he looked your way, making a mental note at how drained you looked. Something was off– he could tell. Turning his attention to Rooster who sat across the aisle from you, who looked just as awful. Fuck not now. Not with the teams he’d already proposed to the Admirals for training today. Whatever it was, it would have to wait.

“Two pairs of F-18’s will fly in a welded wing formation, teamwork, precise coordination of these aircraft is essential to both the mission's success and your survival.”

“As you know, the plant rests between two mountains.” Pete went on to explain as you watched the graphic play behind him. Taking notes as you watched the screen run through of the mission someone in operations must have digitalised. “On final approach, you’ll invert directly into a steep dive. This allows you to maintain the lowest possible altitude and the only possible attack angle.”

“Your target is an impact point less than three metres wide. The two seat aircraft will paint the target with a laser bull-eye. The first team will breach the reactor by dropping a laser-guided bomb on an exposed ventilation hatch.” This all seemed too surreal. How on god's green earth were any of you supposed to pull this off?

“This will create an opening for the second pair, that's miracle number one.” Maverick pointed out as he walked up and down the front.

“The second team will deliver the kill shot, and destroy the target. That's miracle number two.” It wasn’t that Rooster wasn’t paying attention—he was. But as he fumbled the necklace you’d thrown on his lawn, he couldn’t help if his mind escaped to someplace far away. He’d managed to fix it in the time he sat eating his breakfast before work. Thinking of all the ways he could explain himself.

“If either team misses the target? Then the mission is a failure.” Rooster couldn’t help but to think about the moment he’d gifted it to you. Your sixteenth birthday.

His face still hurt like a mother fucker. The stitches in his eyelid, cheek and neck would be a dead giveaway to the pain that radiated across every inch on his face. But Bradley Bradshaw would need to be six feet under in order to miss your birthday.

“What the hell are you doing here!?” You beamed, so unbelievably excited as you took Bradley into your arms. Being as careful as you could be so as to not hurt him. Still battered and bruised. “You should be at home!”

“I wasn’t gonna miss this.” Bradley beamed back as you gently ran your fingertips across his cheek. “Trust me—it looks worse than it really is.”

“I find that really hard to believe.” Two weeks prior to your sixteenth birthday, Bradley Bradshaw has gone head first out the windshield of his buddy TJ’s 1998 Toyota Corolla. He hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt. For a few days it had been pretty chaotic to say the least. But you’d spent every morning before school and every afternoon after school by his bedside. Some afternoons even staying so late that the nurses had to remind you of visiting hours.

He’d learnt a valuable lesson that day, to savour every moment he could because life was precious. He’d also decided that loving you was going to be the one thing he was going to put any effort, any time into.

“Enough about me—I got you something.” Bradley pulled out a small box from his back pocket. Handing it over as you took it gently. Your dad watching the moment from a distance, asking god to give him strength if a Bradshaw was gonna be the one who stole your heart. “I just thought maybe having something to always know how much I appreciate you would make things a little easier to process when I get myself into situations.” He wanted to say how much he genuinely loved you—but right now? With all your friends and family around for a barbecue, he’d settle.

“Bradley—it’s beautiful.” You cooed as you opened the small box, the left side of a silver broken heart with a small B.B etched into it. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Bradley pulled out the other half that hung around his neck. “See, I’ve got the other half.”

“Well I'm sure it’s the only broken heart I’ll ever have as long as I have you around.” Pushing yourself onto the tips of your toes, you gently kissed Bradley Bradshaw on the lips for the second time in his life. Stealing his breath away. The first time being when you were playing a game of spin the bottle at Roger Mclauclans house over the Summer time. “Thank you, I love it.” Bradley remembers washing you dash away to show your mum. He remembered standing still with his eyes on you for what felt like an eternity before your dad made his approach.

“You look more and more like your old man every time I see you kid.” Tom smirked as he stood next to the seventeen year old. “Just don’t grow a moustache, ever.”

“I’m trying my best Mr.K—“ Bradley teased. Rubbing your cheeks. “But I’m not quite there yet.” He remembered standing with your dad, both admiring the person you were becoming, sighing Tom asked an incredible question that Rooster still remembered his answer to word for word.

“What are your intentions with my daughter Bradshaw?”

“Just want to love her the way she deserves to be loved, Mr.K”

“Egress is a steep high-G climb out to avoid hitting the mountain.”

“A steep climb at that speed? You’re pulling at least eight G’s–” Hangman was quick to interject as he sat across the aisle. His eyes drawn to the graphic display behind where Pete stood. He was in this–every ounce of his being was in this mission.

“Nine minimum, most likely.” You offered your opinion easily, knowing eight G’s wouldn’t be enough to get you over the lip. “Closer to ten if you really wanna keep your speed going over the lip–basic aerodynamic maths.”

“The stress limit of an F-18’s airframe is seven point five.” Rooster ran his mouth as you turned to face him in your chair. His eyes dark as he twirled his pen. He’d abandoned all his Inhibitions at the threshold of the door you were so eager to leave through this morning. His neck littered with bruises, reminders of how close he came to being yours again and just how easily he let you slip through his fingers. “Basic, knowing your aircraft.” Bob felt your hand ball up into a fist beside him, opting to cover it with his own as he looked at you completely blinded by range.

“That's the accepted limit, to survive this mission, you’ll pull beyond that. Even if it means bending your airframe.” Maverick had your back, you were right. Rooster eased off a little into the back of his chair, watching as you let your head fall back to Bob's shoulder. Tired. Still listening to what Pete had to say.

“You’ll be pulling so hard, you’ll weigh close to two thousand pounds,your skull crushing your spine, your lungs exploding like an elephant sitting on your chest, fighting with everything you have just to keep from blacking out.”

“And this is where you'll be at your most vulnerable, this is coffin corner. Assuming you avoid crashing into the mountain, you’ll climb straight up into enemy radar while losing all of your airspeed.” A sudden beeping rang throughout the room as you watched the two jets flash red. “Within seconds you'll be fired upon by enemy SAM’s, you've all faced sustained g’s before, but this? This is gonna take you and your aircraft to the breaking point.”

“Sir, is this even achievable?” Phoenix cooed as she sat quietly taking everything in—she’d been benched with a sinus issue for today, grounded.

“The answer to that question will come down to the pilot in the box.” Maverick lethis answer linger for a second as he pulled a piece of paper from his top left pocket. Unfolding it as he rubbed his brow. “First team will be the red team, Hangman flying with Payback and Fanboy. Second team will be the blue team.” You caught onto his pause, perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea Pete thought to himself. But nevertheless—he persisted. A chance now would be detrimental to the lineup of today's runs. “Because Phoenix is out with a sinus issue it’ll be Rooster with Chaos flying pairs with Bob.” This couldn’t be fucking happening.

“Mav!!” You shot up out of your chair like a rocket, laser locked eyes mixed with a locked jaw. “You can’t be serious—“

“Trouble in paradise huh Rooster?” Fanboy bumped into Roosters shoulder as you looked at him. His eyes full of regret and love. Rooster knew you were hurting, but the extent of it he was blind to.

“It’s not a question Lieutenant, either fly or pack your gear. That’s an order.” Vice Admiral Beau’s voice bellowed from the back of the room as you spun around to face him. Groaning, you marched off to grab your gear—feeling completely set up to fail. Deciding hiding your emotions was going to be the only thing that would get you through this day—either that or a lobotomy.

***~***~***~***~

“Chaos!” Rooster caught up with you as you walked towards the double seater F-18 you’d be flying. It had been a minute and truly? You didn't know if you were ready to do this again. Simply because the idea of having Bob’s life in the palm of your hand scared the shit out of you. “Y/n!” You didn't dare slow down, ignoring Rooster as he called your name. “Lieutenant Kazanksy, a word, please?” God he got you with that one. Knowing you couldn't deny a direct order. Rolling your eyes with a huff, you turned to face Rooster. Both geared up in your flight suits and flight gear. “We need to talk–”

“About what, exactly? The way you manipulated me into thinking you really wanted to change or the fact you omitted key details about your blooming love life!” Your voice was just above a scream. Nostrils flaring. You were just trying to protect your heart at this point.

“I didn’t omit anything Y/n, if you would just let me explain then—“

“Unless it's about the mission I would like to refrain from mixing my professional and private life, Sir.” Rooster felt like he’d just been shot in the chest. You wouldn’t give him the time of day to explain. “So, do we still have anything to talk about? Or can I go now?”

“No ma'am, I guess we don't.” Silence fell heavily around the pair of you as you both stood looking each other up and down. You would rather be anyone else right now. You felt dirty, like you had to wash the first three layers of your skin off.

“Good, because this is hard enough for me to handle, standing here–with you, after I fell for the same bullshit again–”

“Y/n.” Rooster reached out to grip your forearm, only for you to pull yourself away. Bob happened to be walking towards you as you grimaced at Roosters touch.

“I sweat to go if you don’t stop touching me Bradshaw I will fucking shove my fist so far down your throat you’ll need a permanent feeding tube.”

“What are you? Psychotic?” Rooster towered over you as you held your ground, how did things change so quickly. Last night you were convinced you were the love of Roosters life. Now you were convinced he’d only ever wanted someone to play with, his personal play-thing.

“I dare you to say that again you sociopath—“ You got a little closer to him. “I’m not afraid to throw hands Bradshaw ask Hangman—“

“Okay–” Bob intervienced as he heard you threatening Rooster, reaching out for your shoulders as he led you away from the confrontation. “Enough of whatever the hell that is?” Looking over his shoulder back to Rooster with a puzzled look. God what the fuck was going on with you too?

“You good?” Bob asked as he offered you a hand up onto the wing of the F-18.

“Never been better Bob—“ Taking it, you huffed as you stepped up. Walking carefully across the mix of carbon fibre and aluminium.

“I’m not feeling inclined to believe you, somethings up.” Bob groaned as he jumped up onto the wing, pulling himself up muscle up style. It always seemed to catch you off guard as to how strong Robert Floyd really was.

“I promise I’m good, just drop it.” Bob was starting to get on your last nerve. But that didn’t stop him as you sat down in your seat. Strapping in.

“You know you’re a bad liar right?” There was something comforting in Bob's persistence. It was coming from the best part of him. But right now? Was the last place you wanted to be grilled about your love life. Behind the throttle of a god damn F-18 fighter jet.

“Jesus Bob, get off my dick—I said I’m fine!” You shouted. Bob didn’t care, he knew he was close to cracking the shell you’d surrounded yourself in. Situating himself behind you as he strapped himself in. Going through the motions. The process.

“You know beauty isn’t your lack right?” Bob learned over your shoulder from his seat behind you. “I mean—if he’s gonna call you a psycho anyway, you may as well cause a scene, just not around me because I feel inclined to intervene.” If there was one thing on this earth Robert Floyd was good at? It was being a good friend. It felt good to fly with Bob again, strange. But good. Going over your systems as you taxied down the taxiway, you made sure your communications systems were still turned off. Sighing as you explained what the hell had been going on.

“We slept together—“ It felt wrong to say. Especially since you’d told Bob just how badly things had ended in the past.

“Oh?” Well, I wouldn’t think that would be—“ You didn’t let Bob finish what he was about to say.

“Then his girlfriend called this morning.” Bob couldn’t see your face, but he just knew by the tone in your voice that you weren’t alright. Not in the slightest bit. “There’s a part of me that loves him unconditionally Bob but I swear to god I’ve never wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth more.”

“Rooster has a girlfriend?” Bob questioned as he continued checking all his systems. “That doesn’t add up?”

“Names Lindsey—“ You interjected. “She called while I was still in his bed.” You groaned as you threw your head back in defeat, squinting your eyes to stop the tears from falling. “I’m the other woman Bob, how fucking gross is that? I should be put down for this.” Placing your helmet on you flipped your visor down. “I’m completely exhausted, emotionally and physically and I feel like I’ve been broken into a million different pieces.” Bob followed suit as he placed his helmet on, flipping his visor down before he responded.

“The world breaks everyone, Chaos, the very good, the very gentle, the very brave–and those it doesn't break? It kills.” Scoffing out a small chuckle, you made your way to the end of the taxi zone.

“Is that from the good book, Pastor Floyd?” You teased as you turned your communications systems on, knowing flight control was having an aneurysm at how long it had taken you to do so. But your conversation about your forever failing love life didn’t need to be the talk of the naval base anymore than it already was.

“The great book, Hemingway.” Bob chuckled as he continued checking his systems. “All I’m trying to say is, if you let him get to you? That’s exactly what he’s gonna do.”

“That advice free?” Clipping your mask over your mouth you signalled the runway guides that you were ready for take off.

“Throw me a fiver and I’ll even write you some positive affirmations.” Bob followed suit, placing his mask on. “All systems are a go back here Chaos.”

“Roger, Roger, preparing for take off—requesting permission to engage in active drill mission run through two two nine four.” You spoke to range control. Waiting for their response you signed, gritting your teeth as you grounded yourself in your professionalism. “Rooster you copy?”

“Check, all systems in check standing by ready for take off.” Roosters' voices hit you like a frate train. He had you feeling all kinds of emotions. There was a part of you that wanted to hear his explanation, but the part of you who just wanted to get as far away from him as possible overpowered that urge.

“God this is gonna take everything I have.”

“Nice Kazansky, way to make a guy feel like you’ve got his back.” Rooster fired back as the remaining pilots sat around the break room listening in.

“The last thing I'd want is to be haunted by the ghosts of you, Bradshaw so of course I have your back.”

Your knuckles felt hash against the front door of Rooster house. Carrying an empty box for the bits and bobs you had left there over the last couple of months.

Breakups were hard enough as it is, but the moment Carole opened the front door? She was embracing you with loving arms. It made it so much harder.

“Oh sweetheart—“ Carole cooed as she pulled away, her hands still resting on your shoulders. “He’s such an idiot.”

“It’s okay Mrs Bradshaw, really.” You wiped your tears before they had a chance to stain your cheeks as you followed her into the home that held so many memories. “Maybe we just weren’t meant to be together?”

“Oh trust me honey you are definitely meant to be together.” Carole Bradshaw had never been one to not speak her mind. Following her down to Bradley’s room, she turned back to you over her shoulder as her feet padded gently against the hardwood floor. “Boys just don’t know how to think—I remember Goose tried to break up with me twice before we got married.”

“Tried?” You asked, following the women who had always treated you like the daughter she never had.

“You think I let him?” She chuckled. “I just never listened.”

“Well, I think Bradley’s pretty set on just being friends right now—“ You explained as you sat down on Bradley’s bed, next to his mother as she pushed your hair behind your ear. Admiring your beauty, your sadness. How you tried to keep yourself together even though your heart was breaking. “And at this point I think I’d just be happy to keep him in my life—so friends it is.”

“He’ll lose you one day if he’s not careful sugar, don’t let any man take you for granted, not even my son—“ Carole had always been good at giving advice. Were you going to listen? Probably not. But it was nice to hear she thought you deserved better. Looking at the picture frame Bradley had on his bedside table of you and him as children playing in the sandpit, you couldn’t hold back your sobs any longer. Falling into Carole’s arms as she consoled you. Her chin resting on the top of your head as her arms wrapped around you tight. “Oh honey, don’t let him get to you like this.”

“Why doesn’t he love me?”

“Talk to me Bob.” Roosters' voices cut through your memories like shards of glass through your skin.

“We’re twelve seconds late on target, we gotta move, we gotta move.” Bob explained as you got yourself back into the game. Throttling forward.

“Copy– Try to stay with me.” Rooster replied as you trailed just behind him. Something appeared on Bob's radar that made him question his judgement.

“Huh? Wait, who's that?” Bob questioned as Mavericks voice was sharp though the comms, coming in hot.

“Blue team, you've been spotted.” Maverick chimed in. Of. Fucking. Course.

“Shit– it's Mav.” Rooster hissed under his breath.

“What the hell’s he doing up here?” You questioned as you tried to stay on target the best you could, flying just shy of Roosters left wing.

“I'm a bandit on course to intercept, blue team what are you gonna do?”

“He's twenty miles left, ten o’clock, seven hundred knots closure.” Bob reported from the back seat as he watched the radar system before him light up. Maverick position changing rapidly.

“Your call Chaos, what do you wanna do?” Rooster’s voice rattled around in your head like a rock. Visions of his body under yours flashing before your eyes as you tried to remain focused. The way he felt inside you, the way he made you feel. Explosions of pleasure still jolting your core, the very essence of Rooster still dripping from you. Metaphorically.

“Continue, we’re close, stay on target Rooster.” He knew he should have just told you, should have just shouted it to heaven and never let you go. He should have tried harder to get you to listen, explain what the hell was going on. But He didnt and Rooster couldn't go back in time no matter how badly he wanted to.

“He's swinging around to the north!” Bob shouted, both you and Rooster committed to seeing this run through out.

“Stand by for pop-up!” Rooster engaged as you failed him. Just behind him.

“Be ready on that laser Bob” You ordered the big eyed, big hearted soul in your back seat.

“Copy” He beamed, his hand coming down to unlock his laser. Your second pair of eyes in the sky.

“Blue team, bandit is still closing–” Maverick chimed in as he came closer and closer to getting you on tone, knowing you were too damn stubborn to leave Rooster.

“Popping now!” Rooster shouted as he pulled back on his throttle, sending the nose of his F-18 high into the sky as you followed shortly after. “Talk to me Bob, where's Maverick!”

“He's five miles out. He's coming fast.” Bob turned to see Maverick coming in hot behind you.

“Targets in sight.” You shouted. Ready for this exercise to be over and done with. You couldn’t handle flying with Rooster—you had to make that known.

“Where's my laser Bob?” Rooster hissed.

“Deadeye, deadeye, it's no good. sorry– I can't get a lock.” You couldn’t help the groan that escaped you. All this effort for a deadeye?

“We’re out of time, I'm dropping blind.” Rooster tried to line his target up the best he could. Dropping blind only to miss. “Dammit, missed.”

“That’s a kill—“ You heard the tone before you heard Pete.

“Mavericks got missile lock on us–” Bob sighed in defeat.

“Shit we’re dead.'' You signed, ripping your mask from your face as you levelled out.

“Blue team, level out– Rooster, Chaos? Nice team work, try a little harder to not die next time.” Just as Maverick pulled up beside you, birds smacked against his window. “Bird Strike!” he shouted as he turned to watch them get sucked up into your engines. Sending you off course for a second before you regained your bearings. Only for a second.

“Bird Strike!–” You gasped, Jesus Christ not now.

“Chaos, you good?” Rooster's voice came through the comms a little unnervingly. “Talk to me Chaos—“

“Chaos, left engines on fire.” Bob relayed what was going on, even though he knew you already knew from the amount of alarms ringing off. This couldn't be happening, not again.

“Climbing!” You began to panic, there was no way this was happening, not now. Not after Lemoore, Not with Bob, not with Rooster. “Throttling back, shutting off fuel to the left engine, extinguishing fire.” Bob watched as the right engine began to diminish, not something you’d want to see at a time like this.

“Chaos, right engines out I repeat! right engines out!” panic laced his tone as Bob watched you do everything in your power to keep you level. Keep him safe, get him back on the ground.

“It’s still spinning, trying to restart the right engine.” You explained as you went through the motions. You lungs felt heavy, like you’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Chaos it’s on fire, don’t try to restart it!” Roosters voice came through the comms. All he could do was watch on in horror as you lost altitude, your engines on fire. Although you were an exceptional pilot, he knew you were panicking. “No—fuck, Y/n don’t!” God he loved you, so much. Rooster prayed to whoever would listen that you’d make it back to base safely. He couldn’t lose you, he wouldn’t be able to handle losing you.

“Throttling up!” Warnings for every single system you had were ringing throughout the cockpit as you tried to regain control of your F-18.

“Chaos we’re on fire, we’re on fire!” Bob shouted, his own heart racing—trusting you to get him the hell out of dodge.

“Dammit–” You groaned. Feeling completely out of your depth. Feeling completely out of control of the situation. Rooster couldn’t breathe as he watched you losing control of your aircraft.

“Chaos, Bob, punch out now, punch out!” Maverick shouted in desperation. Both him and Rooster flying around watching in horror.

“There’s warning lights everywhere Chaos, we’re in hydraulic failure.” Bob reported, there was nothing left to save.

“I can’t control it–” It was the way you said it that broke Rooster's heart as he watched you burn out. He couldn’t lose you, not like this. Not with everything he had left to explain. “I can’t—I’ve lost it.”

“We’re going down Chaos, we’re going in, we're going in!” Bob repeated. Automated warning signals blasting throughout the cockpit.

“You can’t save it, eject, eject!” Rooster cried, hoping his voice would break through whatever clouded panicked judgment you were experiencing. “Get outta there—“

“Eject, eject, eject!” You shouted, Bob was first to pull his emergency handles, seconds later with a solid pull—you felt yourself flying up into the air. Gasping as you flug up and out of the cockpit. It wasn’t long before the jet was barreling down into the side of the valley, exploding on impact.

Damn—that could’ve been you.

***~***~***~***~

Miramar base hospital didn't really get a lot of attention most days. The small clinic accompanied with a few surgical rooms and about a dozen in patient rooms would consider it a busy evening when you and Robert Floyd were brought in for mandatory observation. There was something off putting about being made to do something you didn't want to do. You hated being poked and prodded. Hated being in hospitals, the smell of sterilised everything, it made you feel sick, weak.

“Where is she?” Roosters' voice filled the lobby. Pete Mitchell considered himself to be a patient man, but Rooster was testing his limits. Pushing himself up from the chair he sat in as Rooster came closer—his hand stopping his trajectory by pushing against his chest. “Mav—“

“I don’t know what the hell is going on between you too, but whatever it is needs to stop.” Pete grumbled as he stood before Rooster, a few inches shorter but a few decades older. “Now I've asked Y/n already and she assured me it wasn't going to be, but are you two going to be an issue going forward, or do I need to pull one of you from this program?”

“Now's not the time—where is she?” Rooster held back every single tear he wanted to cry. He’d just witness you eject from your F-18. He’d see it over and over again in his nightmares. He’d never not remember the way he felt watching you go down, thinking he was truly going to lose the love of his life, his best friend, the person who was supposed to know him better than anyone. The one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, for better or worse. And fuck things had never been wrse between you. “I just need to see her, Pete.”

“She’s with Bob, room nine.” Mavericks' voice was soft and collected as he removed his hand from Rooster. “Bradley, she’s alright, but I can't not look past whatever is going on between the two of you, it's distracting and dangerous, it's against protocol.” Rooster didn’t respond, he simply turned on his heels and ran down the hall, ignoring whatever Pete had to say as he followed the numbers on the doors, mostly empty until he spotted a very frazzled, very dazed Bob sitting in the corner of room nine. Stopping in his tracks as he saw you in the bed, out cold.

“They had to give her a sedative.” Bob explained as Rooster stepped into the room, his eyes immediately locked on you. Never wavering. “She wasn’t being cooperative—I was gonna leave but.” Bob paused as he choked up. “I know she wouldn’t leave me.”

“Bob I—“

“What the hell is your problem?” Bob hissed as he stood from his chair in the corner of the room. “Chaos told me what happened—“

“Yeah well, she wouldn’t let me explain that I don’t have a girlfriend!” Rooster had had a gutful. “I don’t—I wouldn’t do that to her! God I tried to explain it to her but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Full disclosure, it's none of my business and I really couldn't care less about any of it.” Bob hissed as he stood beside Rooster, both men watching as you slept. “But you look like the biggest idiot on the planet in my eyes.”

“Don't know how I'll ever recover.” Rooster replied, almost rolling his eyes. What did Bob know? Rooster didn't care about how he thought about him, all Rooster cared about was you.

“She’s in love with you, Rooster, undeniably and wholeheartedly in love with you for some unknown reason I dont think I'll ever understand.” Bob spoke softly, his own gaze watching as your chest slightly fell, you were still breathing. Good. “She told me that she’d never go back to her ex because that would be doing herself a disservice. She knew if she went back to him, she’d end up just as broken as she was left all the other times before.” That stug to know, that you had disclosed so much about him yet so little. But what hurt to know the most was that the damage Rooster had managed to unintentionally do, caused you so much pain. “But as much as she told me she hated him, she hates herself even more because she knows deep down he could put her through everything, rip her heart out, break it a million times, but for the chance of getting to feel an ounce of love–an absolutely miniscule amount of love she deserves, she’d swim across oceans and run across fire for him.” Rooster stood next to Bob as he tried to take everything in, his head throbbed. It was hard to deny he never needed you more than he did right now, never needed your reassurance more. Never needed to hear your laugh or see you smile or feel your touch more than he did right this very moment. Because watching you almost die, coming that close, Rooster finally understood he couldn't live without you even if he tried.

“I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that ex is you, Bradshaw.”

“It is now will you two be quiet?” You grumbled as you turned away onto your side. “I'm gonna press the distress button if you don't quit it.” Bob couldn't help but to laugh softly to himself as he shook his head, patting Rooster on his shoulder.

“I'm not a betting man, but if I was? I'd put a twenty on your jaw looking worse than Hangmans in about ten minutes.” Bob had to leave it at that, he knew you could take care of yourself. But that didn't stop him from just making sure that the ones who hurt you the most knew he wasn't very fond of them, regardless if you went back to them or not. Rooster dragged a chair to the side of the room you were facing. Sitting down as close to you as he possibly could without actually being in the bed with you.

“Chaos–”

“I'm calling security.” Reaching out for the remote, Rooster grabbed your wrist as his eyes grew a little wider. “Bradshaw, I'm serious, you are the last person I want in here right now.”

“Okay fine, but let me explain first.” Rooster let your wrist go. Watching as you pulled the thin cover up over your body a little more. The room as cold as your heart. “Lindsey, isnt, my, girlfriend.” Rooster put so much emphasis on the four words he wanted you to hear loud and clear. “She was a fling who is still a little obsessed.”

“I couldn't imagine why–” you snarled. Rooster chuckled as he leaned back in the armchair. Silence filling the room for a moment.

“I understand the picture you've painted of me isn't all that great.” I know I've hurt you, over and over, but I promise you–you’re it Y/n.”

“I'm no stranger to being lied to, Bradshaw, don't start this shit again.” You huffed, rolling over in the hospital bed you laid in, still medicated, still heavily sedated. But not enough to not remember Rooster was bad for you. Heavily addicted to a drug that you knew one day would be the death of you. Rooster let you roll over, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he hung his head low.

“You don't have to believe me–”

“I dont–” You didn't care that you had interrupted Rooster. You just wanted him to leave. Your back to him still as he tried to explain himself.

“But–” He continued effortlessly. “I thought I'd lost you.” The weight of Rooster's words felt like an elephant sitting on your chest. He already had? What difference did it make if you were alive or dead. “You’re all I want, you’re all I have.” Singing, you sat up, crossing your legs under the blanket that kept you warm.

“Bradley, my plan fell out of the sky today. Do you really think I give a shit about your feelings right now?” Picking at the cuticles of your nails. “There will be a day when I can look at you again without feeling sick to my stomach but today is not that day.”

“I just want you to know I didn't use you, I don't have someone wondering what I'm up to behind their back, I'm not a cheater.”

“Well I'm glad you can take that off the list of things you are.” Turning to Rooster, you held back tears as you saw him holding the broken heart necklace you'd thrown from your car. Handing it to you as you shook your head with a scoff. God he pulled out all the heartwarming stops huh.

“If you honestly think we can’t make this work. Tell me to walk away right now and I will.” You didn't respond, god you wanted to, you wanted to tell Rooster to get up and get out so badly, but you couldn't. No matter how hard you tried. “I should have told you earlier, but I would never do that to you, never–you are the only person I ever want to be with.”

“You said it yourself Bradshaw, all this bullshit? It's a chain reaction that started with you and I can’t do this ag—-“

“Lieutenant kazansky?” Before you had a chance to finish what you were saying, A gentle knock came from the door of your hospital room. Vice Admiral Beau stood with his shoulders slightly hung. A sadness in his eyes as he approached your bedside.

Remember how you thought adulthood would be one catastrophe after another? But as it turned out, catastrophe’s love to bombard you all at the same time. Well, you now had another catastrophe to add to the ever expanding list that included but wasn’t limited to, Bradley bradshaw still owning your heart, regardless of his antics. Jake Seresin and his cocky attitude, Pete Mitchell and his threats of expulsion from the detachment if you didn't get your act together, your wingman's death, and now?

“It's your father–”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Chaos Masterlist

Tags: @lyannaredbird @luckyladycreator2 @skagelynn @teacupdreams @the-winter-marvel33reblogs @mrsjaderogers​ @katieshook02​ @thescarletknight2014​ @justanothermagicalsara​ @4ngelicb4byy @percysaidnever​ @puriini​ @luckylexie​ @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @shrimping-for-all @fayethefairy @lonelywitchv2​ @mizzzpink​ @unforgettwble​ @itzyogurl92​ @lemoonandlestars​ @mulletmcghee​ @redqueeen99​ @bucky-barmes​ @mak-32​ @fivsecondsflat​ @loveless-simp

#bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #too gun maverick #top gun fandom #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bob floyd x y/n #hangman x y/n

[hearsayhorizons]

Perihelion Freed

My apologies to the original poster to whom I'm going to respond--I didn't catch your name or reblog your post when it came across my dash because I didn't expect to keep coming back mentally to your stance on Perihelion, free will, and the University's potential blind spot between their ship and their... discrete... work, out in the borderlands. I don't even know if it was a recent post or something that someone I follow reblogged. If you find me, hi!

Another blogger posited that Perihelion doesn't have free will, that things are hard-coded out of its mental architecture, and that the Newtideland crew may be hypocritical for using basically an enslaved ship to free basically slaves.

I'm not sure whether this was "a take on the idea" or whether it was "this is canonical and fucked up," so I apologize if you (cool previous blogger) were just investigating the concept!

It stuck with me, though, the idea that Perihelion (as opposed to The Perihelion, the ship+mind=entity that is akin to body+mind=soul) may or may not have free will, and how there's a lot more to investigate in the interactions if it doesn't, and the crew is either oblivious or "one must imagine Perihelion happy," and in a state of grace, as I believe the blogger mentioned.

Sure, there's a lot of mileage in "even the best have their blindspots," and the edges where what Peri does with and for Murderbot might run against its programming, and whether it would adjust its programming or whether it even could contemplate doing so.

But from my recall of the text, I don't believe the coding and architecture for enslavement is present in Peri.

It makes the choice to let MB on board because it IS bored: it is capable of boredom; if someone were to design an entity with specific reactions and capabilities, both the Bad Designers and Good Designers would skip the capacity for boredom and tedium, wouldn't they? To do otherwise is either pointless or cruel.

I guess you could say that boredom is the other side of the curiosity that Peri needs to help its crew and students with class and scientific endeavors, but that gets into the weeds about what is and is not programmable or required for specific emotions; we can't guarantee that you need one to have the other.

Peri chooses to accept MB, rather than actually being enticed and/or ignorant like a regular bot pilot. It chooses to help MB customize itself, messes with its recycler logs, and forges its captain's signature at least once; I can't imagine even the most Star Trek utopian creator, if able to lock in specifics to the point that an AI has personality and goodwill but not free will, would leave in operating code that would permit that sort of gross overstep (not that it was morally wrong, but it's something no one ever contemplates ART is capable of because--it shouldn't be?)

It lies by omission when it doesn't relate what KIND of construct MB is even when it chooses to tell its crew. giving MB privacy and opportunity that an enslaved AI might not be able to do (and after it went to the effort to change its logs, which makes me think it's choosing also to tell port authorities one thing and then choosing again to verbally tell its favorite people other things). It has a "debris deflection system" which comes off to me as... "using the label as robotically an as possible as another lie of omission" BECAUSE its intentions are beyond the scope of what it "should" be capable of doing/thinking... if it was a supercharged but enslaved AI.

The tabletop game Eclipse Phase has "AGI" that have to grow and be developed like people in order to BE proper people (metapossibly to lighten some of the strangeness between PC and player, since if you grow up in a simulation, you've got more in common with your player...).

There's nothing I can recall in TMB to indicate this is the case--we know MB is Athena, formed fully-shaped from cloned tissue, parts, and pre-trauma, but MB has no idea what ART is or how it could be the way it is--MB considers at one point that it might be a construct, but the vibe I get from ART is way too... glassily alien, sometimes, for human tissue.

What if... Newtideland laid down the basic code and parameters of "this is a person," maybe yes, seeded in some "curiosity," or "willingness to figure things out," but maybe no more than any kid starts with parents' nature and nuture to shape their own trellises...

And then they presented the thing-that-would-be-Peri with options, maybe even classes, and it coasted through History of Economy because this is a utopia, damnit, and didn't find much to grab its attention in... Inventory Management, but then.

Then it slips into a small drone ship completely covered in "student driver" stickers and it spreads its stubby sensors out to encompass... everything. And it moves, and the more it moves the more there is to move through, and it feels this sense of rightness.

It comes back, and a kid, human classmate, asks it what's it like out there and through Peri's eyes, but you don't have eyes--. It explains, and the kid asks a question that young-will-be-Peri doesn't know how to answer. They look it up together, and over time and all and once (as you might find in a sim) it has synergized its own career, its own goal and passions.

I posit that Perihelion has free will, serves WITH its crew rather than for its crew, and that its happiness and pleasure in its position and life are genuine, as they can only be if it can choose otherwise. We can conjecture a world in which the designer could be so granular in programming that ART is capable of all it can do while also unable to do what is locked out, and ignorant of the painful irony of using enslaved labor to free enslaved labor (which, again, is valid as an interpretation! ) but I think it is... important, that there might be a kinder, more star-spangled world, if the University comes from a world in which even bots truly, actually have freedom that MB doesn't see even after getting Preservation Station.

The Perihelion MUST have free will because

"You are incorrect, Iris, I can bomb the colony."

#murderbot #mbd #perihelion #i guess i missed english class #long post #fanfiction kind of?

[elodieunderglass]

I really like the idea that one of the weird lurkers of your blog (like me) just hangs around looking for inspiration to write papers about. Like I realize that's not how it probably actually went down, but 2017 to 2022 seems like a pretty reasonable lead time from reading your post to conducting the research to writing and publishing the paper.

In reference to this:

It’s amusing that the original post only got 22 notes (likes), but when I looked at it again it had 19, which I’m choosing to interpret as the authors sheepishly withdrawing their likes in order to preserve their anonymity.

I think they probably just googled the phrase “friends to lovers pathway” before using it as the title of their paper and pulled up my post, or the other alternative being that the post popped onto their timeline when they were in the early stages of manuscript prep, and it was a moment of academic serendipity. I definitely don’t think I inspired the work in any way - just the quote and title. But it’s funny to imagine being studied.

I should say that I don’t necessarily expect permission to be asked if people intend to prosper or advance their careers from my words or art. However, I do appreciate the courtesy of being told that it’s happened. So far I’ve been quoted in a published book, quoted to name an academic paper, a person is actively selling plushies and other merchandise based on a post of mine while claiming that it’s their intellectual property actually, and screenshots of my work are regularly considered hilarious enough to steal but not pay me for. (the cricket post in particular was screencapped, went viral on Twitter some years ago without reference to me, was shared around BBC journalist twitter, and hundreds of people in the media industry said things like ‘lol we should pay this person to write’ …. in the apparent ignorance of the fact that if they had asked I would probably be open to…. Being paid to write……… and all the other times my posts have broken containment to go viral on other platforms for other people, with comments about how I should be commissioned to write a book; obviously that’s a normal part of online journalism and media, and I’m not naive about it, but it’s a bit much to for these people to be enriching their platforms with screencapped content, without the OP’s knowledge let alone consent, and joking about how they should pay for it or would read a whole book about it, when they’re the only people who could actually do something about it in the nightmare media landscape.) And nobody told me about any of these examples, I always find out by trying to retrieve links to my own stuff, or by friends telling me that someone else has gone so viral with my recognisable work that it got around to them.

Anyway if you do use my stuff in your own stuff, do let me know! I’m not here to prosper, but I am here to connect, and I’m quite willing to link your paper (and write a lay summary for free), buy your book or art, make your acquaintance, promote your work, or just add it to my portfolio - because if I ever DID want to prosper from my work here, which I wouldn’t usually consider except that it is evidently peer-reviewed good-enough-for-others-to-prosper-from, all of that would be valuable and helpful for me to know.

#elodieunderglass #at gmail #I’ve always said that if I wrote a book it would be a nonfiction book called something like THE SECRET LIFE OF MOSS with a linocut cover #stacked with all the other eco-unreadables on an unwanted desk in Waterstones #next to WALKS WITH MY HAWKS and THE HIDDEN LIFE OF MOSS and BEES FROM MY HEARTHSTONE #A YEAR OF HONEY AND WALKS #THE LOST WORDS OF NATURAL WISDOM #MOSS: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY #but you never know! I’d write a book for you if you wanted one #I’m just more of a journeyman writing to assignments and prompts than someone who wants to make up plots #and I believe my CHOSEN TRAINED career SERVES SOCIETY #far better than a novel going THE BOOK OF BONKS AND BLOSES #but fuck if someone was like #the world needs a book about walking with moss that fixes their mental health somehow #I’d be like sure. not to worry. the world does need that. #I am a workhorse who does work. I will do that work. #not the twitter marketing promotion stuff but writing is work and I do it on command. #anyway this has spiralled a bit

[ravendruid]

#9 for vaxleth OBVIOUSLY

Sitting between their legs as they dry your hair. Warning: This work is rated 'E'. (Hi, this is my first time writing and sharing a spicy fic. Any feedback is welcome <3) [Read on AO3]

The door to the bathing room opens, releasing a steaming cloud from its interior as Vax’ildan walks out with one towel wrapped around his waist and another around his head. Keyleth stares—no, she ogles—at her boyfriend. His firm, tanned chest is covered in droplets of water, one of them sliding down his pectorals towards his abdomen and the fluffy dark towel where it sits on his hips. Keyleth ignores all the scars—small and large—and the thoughts that come from acknowledging their presence, choosing instead to focus on the pull and twist of Vax’s torso as he walks around the bedroom, opening drawers and picking out clothes.

Keyleth is aware that Vax knows she’s tracking him. His extra slow and exaggerated movements would be enough of a confirmation if it weren’t for how he lets the towel fall at his feet with a smirk. Keyleth’s eyebrows rise as her gaze follows Vax’s long legs, reaching their peak when she sees him hard and ready for her. 

“Oh,” Keyleth bites her lip and looks bashfully at him. “Do you need help?”

Vax saunters off to the bed, where Keyleth’s legs kick nervously against the sideboard, he drops his clothes at her side and holds her chin up between his thumb and index finger. “How would you like to help me, Kiki?” Keyleth’s cheeks burn (her whole body burns with desire), and she bites her lower lip, never taking her eyes from Vax. He chuckles low and uses his thumb to free her lip with a tsk. “No biting,” He warns her and repeats, “How would you like to help me?”

“I can dry your hair for you,” Keyleth answers with the worst smirk she can muster. She has always been bad at flirting and teasing, and she’s not about to get better.

“I have better ideas of how you can help, Kiki.”

“Oh?”

Vax’ildan bends over to kiss Keyleth’s forehead, then the bridge and the tip of her nose, one cheek, the other, and finally, her lips, where he kisses her gently. Keyleth doesn’t hesitate to open up to him, not that Vax needs her to. Vax’ildan, who can open any lock with his eyes closed and disarm traps with one hand. Vax, who has the key to her heart and still asks for permission to enter. He could take her and Keyleth wouldn’t move a muscle against it, but he still asks, and she still responds. So, yes. Keyleth opens up to allow his tongue to find hers, to allow the dance to commence with soft, practiced moves. Vax is not just dextrous with his fingers but also with his tongue, as Keyleth has witnessed time and time again, and when his calloused hands find her cheeks, the touch that can be both rough and soft at the same time ignites a fire in her core. Keyleth pulls away the towel to let Vax’s damp hair fall down the sides of his and her faces. She smiles against his lips and tugs at the hair on the back of his head, just the way she knows it turns him hotter. Vax groans in response, breaks the kiss and stares deeply and hungrily at her. 

“We should really dry your hair,” Keyleth tries again, not expecting Vax to nod in agreement. The pull of his hands from Keyleth’s face makes her cheeks cool slightly, but not her core. Keyleth’s fire burns hotter with Vax’s mischievous smile that makes her swallow hard. She yelps as Vax’s hands grab her knees and separate her legs, she lets out a shallow gasp as he sets himself between them and bends one knee, then the other, only to sit on the back of his heels, positioned perfectly that if someone were to look, it would seem like he was about to worship Keyleth. Which, in all fairness, he is.

“Why don’t you–” Vax teases Keyleth, gliding his featherlight fingertips up her legs, “–take care of my hair while I take care of you?” He brushes ever so slightly on the inside of Keyleth’s thighs, lifting the hem of her nightgown up to her hips. Vax looks at Keyleth through his eyelashes with that same expression he always has when he’s about to make her forget about the world, making her voice tremble when she replies, “Okay”.

Vax’s lips find the inside of one knee, where he presses a warm open-mouthed kiss. He then moves higher on Keyleth’s thigh, kissing and nibbling softly against her warm skin. When Keyleth thinks he’s finally going to reach his target, he painfully pulls away to kiss her other knee, going as far as to dare a smug look at her. Keyleth rolls her head back and groans, but Vax picks one of her hands and pulls it on top of his head. “Go on, Kiki. Dry my hair, love.” 

“Uh?” Keyleth looks down, confused. The sight of Vax sitting back on his knees, looking at her like she’s the most beautiful creature in the world, is enough for her brain to send tiny shocks down her spine, which does not subside when Vax’s deft fingers find the waistband of her undergarments and tug them down.

“I’m waiting,” Vax kisses Keyleth’s inner thigh again. It takes her a moment to realize what he’s asking for, but once she does, Keyleth raises her free hand and focuses on casting a gust of wind soft enough to dry Vax’s hair but not strong enough to make it go everywhere. “Good girl,” Vax teases another kiss, closer to her center this time. “Keep it up. Don’t lose control, alright?” Keyleth nods, then remembers their rule and says, “Okay,” out loud, which earns her a kiss further up.

He’s so close to that sweet spot that Keyleth can practically feel the thrum of her heart at the apex of her thighs. Anticipation builds up as Vax moves from left to right and back to her left inner thigh. He loves teasing her like this, feinting with his left and attacking with his right, but Keyleth knows him well enough by now. They have been doing this dance for a while, so she knows when Vax smiles against her skin it means he’s ready to launch his attack, and launch he does.

The first stroke of Vax’s tongue makes Keyleth buck her hips so high up on the bed that she loses control of the spell and falls onto the mattress with a groan (it’s a miracle that Keyleth didn’t clasp her legs, but there’s still time for it, she’s sure). Vax stops his ministrations, gets on his feet with a scowl, and Keyleth prepares herself for a scolding, but it never comes. Instead, he extends his arm to help her sit back up and resumes his position between her legs.

“Sorry,” Keyleth hides her face between her hands. She had one job, a simple one at that, and she couldn’t keep her concentration long enough. How was she expected to hold enemies at bay if she couldn’t work a simple cantrip?

“It’s okay. We can try again whenever you’re ready,” Vax offers, rubbing the outside of Keyleth’s thighs. Vax’s blind faith in her makes her heart shatter. Keyleth knows he would follow her to the end of the world and do whatever she asks without a second thought. Hearing the confidence in his voice and the support Vax gives her every time she questions herself and her abilities always manages to ease her doubts, no matter if her problem is as big as a leading decision that can affect the lives of thousands or as small as not being able to maintain concentration on a simple spell during their most intimate times. But Vax is always there, ready to hold her hand regardless of what demons speak in Keyleth’s mind, and she’s grateful for that. 

“Let’s try again,” Keyleth’s voice hits the business-like tone she always reserves for council meetings. Vax nods and waits patiently for Keyleth to raise her hand above his head again and recast the gust of wind. Once she’s done that, he waits for a few breaths to allow her to focus, then dips his head between her thighs. This time, when Keyleth’s hips buck, she doesn’t lose concentration on the spell. However, she digs her free hand through the hair on top of Vax’s head and pulls slightly (though hard enough to earn a groan of pleasure from Vax). Keyleth’s eyes close as Vax finds her clit, her head drops back and she releases a loud moan as the spell falters for the second time. Vax stops and looks up, peeking over the hem of Keyleth’s nightgown, to see her cheeks redden with embarrassment. She murmurs a soft “sorry” and then restarts the spell. This time, Vax doesn’t wait for Keyleth to focus but, instead, he resumes his ministrations with more conviction, as if he’s testing her concentration. 

It takes Keyleth a few more tries, but eventually, she is able to hold the gust long enough to start drying parts of Vax’s hair, and, in turn, she is rewarded with the press of his tongue against her clit, and the push and pull of his fingers inside her. By the time Vax’s hair is fully dry, Keyleth is writhing with her back on the bed, both hands holding Vax’s head tightly against her as the heels of her feet press against his shoulders. Keyleth’s body is tense as she chases her sweet release, the muscles on her thighs tremble from the strain of holding her legs. She is so close, and Vax knows it because he grabs one of her hands in his and tangles their fingers, squeezing them as if telling Keyleth to let go. 

Keyleth has always had trouble letting go of things (like the owlbear cub she once found injured in the forest and she brought home to heal, much to her father’s horror), but there is something about Vax’s love and faith in her that makes her lose herself. Keyleth never once found herself worthy of such love and adoration before she met the rogue, and she surely did never consider herself worthy of competing with a goddess for his faith. Yet here Vax is, kneeling between her thighs and worshiping Keyleth like a zealot. 

Keyleth raises her head just in time to see him look at her with so much love that it makes her stomach turn into butterflies. Just the sight alone is enough to release the damn she had been holding. Energy flocks down Keyleth’s body, from her shoulders to the tips of her toes, as she tenses and releases every muscle, as her back arches high on the mattress and she releases a scream that can probably be heard across the castle (oh, the embarrassment of tomorrow morning when she and Vax descend for breakfast and have to face her friends). Vax keeps his ministrations until Keylet’s muscles become loose and she allows her legs to fall from his shoulders. Only after pressing one soft kiss on her inner thigh does Vax rise to his feet with a groan and plop down on the bed beside her.

“You good?” He asks. She nods. Keyleth’s eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion and her brain is too mushy to form coherent thoughts, so Keyleth doesn’t complain when Vax moves her to rest her head on the pillows and covers her with the soft blanket. She peers through her semi-closed eyelids as he puts on pajama pants and lies in bed beside her, and she certainly does not reject him when he wraps his arms around her torso and brings her back to rest against his naked chest.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers against her ear. “You’re getting better at holding your concentration, but next time we need to try a harder spell, something that can last until the end.”

Keyleth barely has any energy left to chuckle but she does anyway, and she wiggles her body against her boyfriend’s warm chest, saying hoarsely, “It will be a true test to your skills, Vax’ildan.”

“I have faith in my skills, Kiki. And in yours,” Vax’s hot breath against Keyleth’s ear makes her skin burn anew, but she’s too exhausted to even think about a second round. Vax must know it because he peppers kisses to the back of her neck and shoulders, scratches the tips of his fingers on her naked arm resting against her stomach, and hums softly to bring Keyleth to sleep. 

Vax’s heart swells with pride as his eyes close. A gust of wind to dry his hair today, the reroute of a storm to save a town tomorrow.

#critical role #cr fic #vox machina #vaxleth #prompted #*posts this and disappears from the face of the earth*

[mrs-monaghan]

Hey! Really enjoy your blog.

I don't put a lot of stock into social media interactions as indicators of closeness but then as one of your anons rightly mentioned - the members are also co-workers and public figures who have a responsibility (kind of) to keep up an image of ot7. Given how vocal almost all of them have been about returning as a team in 2025… how does that tie in with the perceived lack of closeness and basic congratulations (on SM) for vmin?

Wouldn't there be some kind of hesitancy from v and Jimin if such a possible lack of closeness existed? Especially since they've been very loud about their friendship/soulmate status and it maybe does hurt on loosing friendships (or maybe not loosing but cooling down of) ..

Also I haven't been here in the fandom for a long time (less than a few months frankly, so maybe my opinions are not that well formed or accurate) but is this lack of closeness something that has been observed by you since some time or is it a new development?

It's a new development for me tbh. For some people they think there has always been something shady going on with Vmin. Like when V said Jimin likes men at a radio station, something that had the potential to go really bad if Jimin hadn't been quick witted with his reply. "I don't like you." But that could be chalked to immaturity and the fact that BTS did not have mouth filters back then. I mean, can u imagine 2023 BTS admitting they watch porn?

Coz I sure can't. The bigger they got the more careful they had to become.

Another example from the past i see people giving is this one. As u can tell from Jimin's face he wasn't expecting that question

I would go as far as to say he was taken aback. As we all know Jimin is sensitive with the weight topic. So some people think V should have known that. But as usual Jimin diverted the situation and the interview continued.

But what if this was just their dynamic back then? Picking on eo? Like when every member was asked who they would introduce their sister to and they all said Jimin except V. And that other time Jimin was asked what he would do if he was king for a day he said he would make V his slave so he could stab him?? 😂😂 I can't remember exactly what he said but it was something along the lines of making V suffer. For soulmates they sure used to fight alot. 😂

I have always found them to be cute and adorable but even as u watch their early content u will notice V treats JK now the way he used to treat Jimin. He used to be all over Jimin, used to tell him I love u all the time, used to always choose Jimin, etc. But Jimin seemed to have put up some boundaries between them in recent years. If this has to do with JK, idk.

Because Jimin is not as touchy feely as he used to be... with all of them not just V. So this skinship part of things could be Jikook related. Yes I know he kissed Jhope on his birthday but I dare u to find JK "jealous" moments when it comes to Jhope. Real ones, not out of context ones. They are close to none. Very, very, few. JK doesn't have an issue with Jihope moments.

While we are on the topic have u guys ever noticed when Jhope hugs Jimin he turns his body so they're not hugging front to front but rather front to side?

So yes... I wonder what's Jikook related and what isn't. 🤔 maybe Hobi knows how JK can get? Idk. Just food for thought.

Anyway, I digress. Back on the Vmin topic. I honestly didn't see it as anything. Not even after Jikookers started having an issue with it. But now it's kind of hard to ignore. He really is doing it on purpose and I can't help but side eye him a little bit. U know?

But like u said, would Jimin want to come back as ot7 if there was animosity between them? I think from the latest ot7 content (Jhope BB) its safe to say there is no animosity.

I'm not sure i answered your question but I'm not the best person to ask this. Because I didn't have an issue with this until I saw he keeps doing the same thing over and over without fail.

But I still maintain my stand that I hold nothing against the man as long as Jikook continue to be okay with him. And that seems to be the case rn. So if Jimin and JK don't have an issue with V, neither do I. Haters will always hate no matter what. But I can and will listen to other Jikookers who have an issue and I do see where they're coming from.

#this was all over the place #i apologise #hope u find an answer #somewhere in there #ha ha ha haa #bts ask #ask shaz

[protags-fic-blog]

Hello and happy new year! and happy holidays too if you celebrated. Theres no rush to get to this or anything I promise, I just came here because I don’t know any other blogs that do otome self insert requests lol

I’ve been feeling really down lately and I was wondering what guys you think would be really gentle and sweet caring with their partners? I could just really use someone whos caring right now. but no rush for sure because I know it’s a busy time of year! thank you dear

Want to send in a request? Go ahead!

my beloved anon <3 i totally understand you. Winter is real rough on me, I usually need someone caring too. If you're looking to play: Ichiya from VariBari, Ikki and Shin from Amnesia (any if you're playing the fandisc). If you like Stardew Valley you could play through Elliott's route (i love him i love love love him)

if you just want to watch something (reading can be hard), I recommend watching The Princess Bride. But! Let’s do some headcanons now. Under the cut, we have: Ichiya Mitsumori, Masaomi Asahina, and some amnesia boys!

Ichiya Mitsumori

I can guarantee he would be gentle. He knows what it’s like to be ignored, so there’s no way he’d look over any problem you have.

Silent hugs. Any pain you feel is immediately obvious to him. You don’t need to tell him about it, you only need to ask for him to be there and he will.

He will cook. He will clean. No depression nest for you!

Would convince you to do things to make you feel better (showering, getting dressed, brushing hair and teeth) by saying he’ll do it with you

Masaomi Asahina

He’s a doctor, so he’s tend to your physical wounds very carefully.

So so patient. He gets it from working with kids, ofc. but this means he’s a great listener. Even if you feel like you’re wasting time and just going on for the sake of dramatics, he’d say it’s good that you’re telling someone (and is honored you’re choosing to tell him)

I can’t explain how but you just feel the love when he’s near. His mere presence is a reminder of the love in your life

of course…. With one Asahina brother comes all the others. Expect lots of group hugs.

there’s one REALLY good fic (idk how to say this but it’s a 100/10 for me) that I reviewed early for him. Really recommend reading it. Link to my review (and the fic link) here: recommendation

Amnesia Boys

Ikki has the idea of ‘treat you like royalty’ stuck in his head and it will never leave

Again he’d do anything for you, but please don’t ask him to cook. For his sake and for your health. But he’d go great lengths to get any food you want.

Toma is so so protective. And yeah, while he may not always be gentle if he gets upset, he’s definitely caring.

Shielding from the outside world? Check. Hunting down anyone who talks shit about you? Check.

Ukyo would for sure be gentle. After the whole time loop thing, he’s trying to atone for what he did. You can try and tell him it’s too much and it’s fine, but he’d never tell you that he just likes being nice to you

He makes you pretty for fun. He’ll give the excuse that it’s for a photo and you’re helping him envision it, but you both know he mainly does landscapes

Braiding each others hair omggggg. Braid train. Even if you do the worst braid ever and get his hair knotted, he’ll wear it like that for the rest of the day

#amnesia memories #brothers conflict #variable barricade #mitsumori ichiya #ukyo amnesia #ikki amnesia #toma amnesia #protag-writes #ask #add to masterlist

[talkingattumble]

okay deltarune opinion incoming so spoilers and all that

Okay here’s like my take on the secret bosses so far. Fair warning this isn’t structured at all, I just kinda leap from subject to subject and this entire thing is just ramblings so don’t expect some well thought out and presented theory it is just my thoughts, and some messy theories. SORRY IN ADVANCE FIR THE LONG POST like seriously this post is just a bunch of enormous paragraphs about my extra shaky barely supported deltarune theories so be warned

First of all, jevil is pretty widely assumed to be the joker card in a deck of cards. Mostly from the fact that he was the jester in a card based dark world and that he is wearing a joker outfit. Also, his signature line is “I can do anything”, which is kind of a reference to the fact that a joker card can do anything in most card games. Anyways, so I saw this theory in a video about the bosses being tossed aside or ignored things. And I was agreeing with it, but then I thought about jebil. Why would a joker card be tossed aside? Okay well in my experience. The joker card is usually super op in most card games. For example, in war, most of the time the joker is regarded as being able to beat any card (in some cases only an ace can beat it, but I’m not sure how common that rule is or if it has any significance to the interpretation). For this reason, it’s usually not included to make the game more fair, as most of the time anyone who ends up with a joker card gets a huge advantage. So a lot of the time people end up playing without a joker and forgetting about it. And his whole backstory? I think that jevil believing that his life is a game is another reason he’s always saying “I can do anything”. The world he lives in is populated by (mostly) a suit of cards. And once he realized he was the joker, he kinda realized how powerful he was compared to everyone else. He could literally do anything they could. So yeah that’s my take. Very badly structured and probably obvious, but I’d rather make a post than spam my friends about it.

Spamton is kinda more easy because of the sheer amount of characters who are able to add details and perspectives to his story. But I’m still gonna take a crack at it. Right off the bat, it becomes obvious that spamton is a spam ad. His disjointed speech that’s often interrupted with words or phrases you often see in spam, the fact that he pops out and starts forcing us to make a deal (in contrast to the other ads who you could choose to interact with), the rip off items in his shop, and his literal name. I think this is also what the addisons meant when they said “he was just unlucky”. Unlike the other ads, spamton was kind of doomed from the start. No matter how hard he works, nobody will buy his products because he’s a spam ad, and basically Nobody ever clicks on spam ads. The rest of his story is mostly outright told to us. He gets famous from a man named Mike, gets so popular he gets into the queens castle, the addisons leave him out of jealousy, Mike stops helping him, he goes a bit insane and starts worshipping a broken down machine, he gets evicted, and eventually we come along and help him (to sum it up). I also have a theory that he might’ve falllen into the acid pool at some point, but it’s not well supported. My only evidence really is that he’s very tiny and the dialogue in his shop where he randomly starts screaming in pain and saying how “it burns”. Not really important but I couldn’t fit it in anywhere else. Ok moving on. So even though we’ve basicslly got spamtons backstory down, there’s still something we’re all in the dark about: Mike, the man in the tv. So it’s kind of widely accepted at this point that mike is the grinning tv seen at the end of chapter two, and that’s what I’m basing my theory on. So why would the tv guy help spamton? Okay so here’s my thoughts. One thing that has been a regular thing on tv for a while is dumb commercials that try to convince people to buy useless things. I feel like Most people usually don’t pay attention to that kind of stuff. But I will say, even though I have no evidence to support this, based on my experiences and the people around me, commercials work much better than spam ads, even if they’re essentially the same thing. My thoughts on why: spam ads are something st the edge of the screen that you can ignore or usually close. And when they take the form of messages or emails, they’re usually sent straight to the junk or spam sections, meaning there’s a huge chance they won’t even be seen. But on tv, most of these spam advert style commercials are on live channels, meaning they can’t be skipped. Meaning that more people see them and are tempted to buy the things in them. So if spamtons ads were out in commercial form, it would make sense for him to suddenly get a boost in popularity. But this could also explain why Mike stops helping him. Eventually, due to changes in the way tv works, these dumb spam ad type adverts became less effective and only caused people to be more annoyed with live tv/switch to other methods of watching movies. So it would make sense for Mike to drop spamtons commercials as soon as they started causing viewers to drop. My last piece of evidence to support this would be, how one addison specifically calls attention to the noise that is heard when you try to call someone in the dark world. It’s described as garage noise, but what you hear is a messed up kind of staticky noise. Spamton also has static in his eyes when he mentioned Mike.

Oh yeah, here’s another thing. Something I don’t see many people talk about it the moment in his shop where his eyes go dark and he says “hello….can anyone hear me…..” or smth like that, and then says that he didn’t hear anything but he thinks it’s probably for us?? I’ve got a few theories. It could be his connection with Mike (again, note that he has dark static eyes when he says this). “It’s for you” is a phrase commonly used when you get a phone call for someone else, and in this theory we can surmise that Mike was the one calling spamton. So maybe it’s a hint about us facing Mike next chapter? I have some other guesses but no actual evidence to support them so I’ll leave those out for brevity (I say that as if this post isn’t a gajillion paragraphs long already lmao)

Ok last thing: this is pretty irrelevant to the bosses but it technically counts. So a lot of others have already drawn the obvious connection between spamton neo and mettaton neo. But why is mettatons robot body rusting away at the bottom of queens castle? Here’s my theory. So mettaton, at the moment, seems to not have transitioned by this point (wether you view his transition in undertale as being a trans thing or just being a ghost inhabiting a body it likes thing, the word still applies either way so it’s what I’ll use). He refuses to show his face, and is a lot more negative, angrily answering to you and immediately assuming you want to see napstablook instead. Another thing to note is that he calls himself a nobody, and no one in the town seems to mention him. So given all that it’s safe to assume he’s still a ghost with no body. But what does that have to with his neo form in the cyber world? Well my thought is that mettaton designed what his dream form would look like using the computer, but then for some reason (sadness, shame, despair, whatever you want to interpret it as) he tried to delete the file or buried it deep. As the queens castle in general reminds me of a search engine (the rooms based on the characters searches, the butlers giving people the things they ask for or like, the bookshelves, queen herself being concerned with noelles searches, etc.), it’s possible he might have even bookmarked a tab with his design and then forgot about it/didn’t want to revisit it, and the bookmark got buried under the searches and bookmarks of others. Whichever makes more sense idk it’s late. Anyways. So if mettaton is at the point where he wants fame, knows that he wants a different body, and has long had a design, why is he still a ghost who hides away? Well the sad truth is (in my opinion), he’s got no way to make the body. Undertale was a much more fantastical world, full of magic and crazy inventions and things that would be otherwise impossible. Deltarune is a much more grounded world. It contains monsters, but there’s seemingly no magic, no crazy inventions, ordinary shops and buildings. While a “magic portal to a dark town” would be commonplace in the world of undertale, this same thing is laughed at and not believed in the world of deltarune. So, chances are it would be way harder to build a robot as complicated as mettaton neo. Especially because it seems that deltarune takes place in the 2000a or 2010s (based on the computers they use, the chalkboard in the classroom, the clothes the characters wear, and also undertale took on as in 201X so I’d this truly is a parallel world then it likely also takes place at that time). Also, in this universe, alphys is a schoolteacher. There’s no such occupation as “royal scientist/inventor”. So there’s nobody to build the body anyways. In a nutshell: mettaton designs his perfect body, forgets about it or buries it deep due to negative feelings about not being able to achieve this, and he never transitions, meanwhile the powerful design he made stays in the computer, old and buried deep underneath all the newer searches and files.

But why would spamton worship this machine in particular? Well the first theory is that the machine is very old. Mettaton is obviously older than Kris (he was much older than frisk and doesn’t go to school with Kris). So it would make sense that by the time Kris gets to the cyber world, mettatons design file is considered very very old to the cyber people. Maybe file she has something to do with power, or maybe spamton assumed it was an ancient relic because of its rusty and decrepit look. I’d guess the second because I think one of the swatchlings has dislogue mentioning that spamton would pray to the machine, and that swatch refers to it as a relic. My second theory is that spamton thought that if he could transfer his consciousness to any other body, his strong would be cut, no matter what form it is. And the only available empty body in the castle was the machine in the basement, so he placed all his bets on that.

And finally my third theory (least likely to be true, I believe the answer is a mix of one and two, but this is my personal favorite) is that mettatons body design was made with freedom in mind. This is something they might have sensed and started worshipping the machine for. After all, for mettaton, that body meant being free to be himself, to express himself, to be who he really is. If queen can sense emotion through searches (she called noelles searches strange and sad and is protective of her due to this), who’s to say spamton can’t? Spamton also mentions the smell of freedom a lot, so it’s possible freedom is smth he can just sense.

WOW THAT WAS A LOT. Alright that should satisfy my “must talk about deltarune to everyone and anyone” urge for the week. A lot of this is super shaky, and a lot of it probably has canon answers I just forgot about. But whatever, I mostly just wanted to ramble about deltarune, no structure just word vomit (plus it’s like super late so I’m kinda tired). Also I’m sorry this post is so spamton centric, I know I said I’d talk about both bosses but jebil really got less words than mettaton of all character lmao. I do live jevil and have a whole other load of opinions and theories about jebil, but it’s late and that writing all that here would only make this essay of a post longer. Also there’s way more information available about spamton (two routes worth of content, lore dumps by almost every character in queens castle and even some outside of the castle like the sweet capn cakes or the addisons, the secrets in the spamtons sweepstakes arg stuff, and you can actually talk to him instead of just fighting him) which makes him easier to talk about.

ANYWAYS SORRY FOR THE LONGPODT GOODNIGHT AND CONFRATS ON ACTUALLY READING TJIS HIGE POST

#deltarune #undertale #spamton #jevil #deltarune spoilers #undertale spoilers #theory #long post

[iamthenerdqueen]

His Star - Part 1

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!OC, GOT AU, HOTD AU

CW: Death, Targcest, Obsessive Behavior, not proof read 

~ Prologue ~

There was not a time Prince Aemond Targaryen could remember without his cousin and closest companion, Valaena. From the moment she was placed beside him on the night of her birth, the two had not gone a say without the other. Sharing a wet nurse, and learning to walk side by side the two were more attached to one another than to anyone in the Keep, the young Prince would even choose a moment with Valaena over the comfort of his mother. 

He refused to believe there would ever come a time when the two would be parted. It was his entire belief that the gods had sent him to be with her if nothing more than an act of mercy for taking both her parents at her birth. According to Prince Aemond, it was his divine mission to protect her, guide her, and be with her always. 

The celebration of the Lady Valaena Targaryen’s tenth named day came as an unwelcome slight upon Prince Aemond's belief. 

The Red Keep was still dark, the sun was just beginning to crest the horizon when Valaena felt a cool hand shaking her dream from her. Still, Valaena hoped that if she was still and pretended to still be sleeping the hands shaking her shoulders would cease. 

“Valaena” 

She did not respond to his call, but the exasperated sigh that left her dearest friend almost made her façade crack as a grin began to form on her lips. 

“Valaenaaaaaa! I know you are awake, stop ignoring me!” Aemond whined as he threw himself back fist on top of her, resolved to make her get up and spend the early hours of the morning together. 

“Aemond. The sun is not yet out, I do not want to wake this early,” the pouting tone of the girl was clear to him even though he could not yet see her face, “it is my name day after all, Aemond.”

“Exactly, Valaena! This is why you must get up now, there is a tourney today in your honor. We will not be able to spend time together and read once your ladies' maids arrive to start readying you.”

With his pleading the girl slipped from underneath his body weight and dawned her housecoat before grabbing the large volume of text settled on her desk. It took her friend only seconds to join her, opening the entrance to the hidden passage he had used to enter her chambers. 

The pair knew the passageway like the back of their hand, not only did it connect their chambers but several specific turns would lead to the constant vigil held for the skull of the Black Dread. Often the Speta would find them here, reading late into the night or having fallen asleep with a book nestled between the two of them. It was their routine and on a day as special as this the two always read the same story. 

Sitting side by side, their shoulder nestling against one another Prince Aemond began to read the story, “in 114 BC, Lord Aenar Targaryen sold his holdings in the Freehold of Valyrian heeding the word of his daughter Daenys. Daenys Targaryen, known also as Daenys the Dreamer had…”

As Aemond continued with the tale, Valaena could not help but turn her eyes to his face, she was not blind nor was she deaf. She knew that her dearest friend was often ridiculed in the whispers of court, compared to his elder brother and nephews. Maybe it was her youth, but she could not understand how others could not see the beauty of the boy to her left. The light reflected on his freckled cheeks, the flickers of the flames dancing in his lilac eyes. To her, he was the best of them not only in beauty but none of her cousins – Rhaenyra’s sons included –  could contend how devoted Aemond was to his role within their family. His every day was spent trying to meet the expectations of his father, mother, grandfather, and the realm. 

His only reprieve, when he could truly act like a boy of ten summers was in his time alone with Valaena who expected nothing of him. She wanted nothing more from him than exactly who he was, her dearest friend. 

This was how the Septa found them a little more than an hour and a half later, Valaena’s head resting upon his shoulder as he read aloud to the girl for her name day. 

“My Prince,” the Septa curtsied before turning to Valaena doing the same. “My lady, we must ready you for today's festivities. Your aunt, the Princess Rhaenys awaits in your chambers to break your fast together.”

Scrambling to her feet, Valaena made her way to the Septa. She grasped the hand extended to her before turning to start their hurried return to her chambers, forced to take the long way as to keep her and Aemond’s passage a sworn secret. 

Just as the woman and girl were making their way to the hall beyond the chamber, the Prince called out once more, 

“Happy name day, Lady Valaena. We will sit together at the tourney, yes?” 

Glancing over her shoulder, Valaena called back to him, “Thank you, my Aemond, and of course we will sit together! How else am I expected to make it through the spectacle?” 

Her quiet giggling and hurried steps faded the further away she got, but all the prince could think of was how he had been dubbed her Aemond. The grin set upon his face would not leave for hours to come. 

The Princess Rhaenys could not hide the smile on her face when her charming niece finally arrived to break their fast together. Sweeping the girl into her arms, the princess for a moment let her thoughts return to her sister who had now been gone for ten years. She did all she could to keep her mind from Princess Daenys, but seeing her niece she could not stop the reminders of her little sister. 

“Oh, my little starling! How I have missed you,” The Princess spoke before placing a kiss on the girl's hair.

“Happy name day Valaena, I can hardly believe you are now ten years.” 

The two gathered at the table where the maids had served a meal befitting of the occasion

“Will you be staying for the tourney, Aunt Rhaenys? I have missed you,” the young girl spoke in between mouth fulls of bread. The sight of the girl's ravenous hunger brought a laugh to the Princess' lips. 

“I wish I could stay, unfortunately, I must return to Driftmark after we finish our meal. My lord husband has yet to return from our trip to Pentos to visit Laena and her girls.”

“Did you fly Meleys? To Pentos and then all the way to see me this day?” The girl could hardly contain her excitement at the thought of the Red Queen and her command of the sky. 

“I did! Lord Corlys may have the fastest ships on the seas, but it is nothing compared to dragon back!” 

“Can you take me flying? Just a quick flight around the Red Keep? As my name day gift?” the excited girl was practically buzzing in her seat for she did not have a dragon of her own, due to the unfortunate nature of her birth an egg was never chosen for her crib. 

“I would love to take you flying, but I fear the wrath of the Queen should I make you late for a tourney held in your honor. Fear not my dear girl, one day we will fly together.” The older Targaryen smiled reassuringly at the young girl. 

“I know that one day you will fly with me on your own stead, one as great as my Meleys, but since we cannot fly today I have something else to gift you for your name day.”

The Princess made a motion to the maid who waited in the room, gesturing for her to being a small box to her. Rhaenys took the lid from the box to show the young lady of house Targaryen what lay inside. 

“This necklace was one your mother had commissioned just before she passed. She never got to see it finished, so I found it fitting that you should be given this necklace when you are presented at the tourney.”

Rhaenys stood from her chair walking behind her niece before draping the silver strand of pearls around the girl's throat. Three larger gems sat between pearl drops now adorning her collarbone. 

“Now you have something of your mother and me. Never forget, that even if we are worlds apart you are part of my soul,” the princess moved to hold her niece's face in her palms, “I love you as if you were mine own daughter, and as long as I have my dragon, I will always come back to you.”

The two held each other in their arms, not knowing that the Stranger’s gaze rarely waivered from the young girl and his was a jealous stare. Rhaenys vow upon her dragon would come to haunt the girl in later years. 

That very same chain of pearls sat on the throat of Lady Valaena Targaryen when she sat beside her dearest friend at the tourney. The two were lost in their own little world as they whispered to each other while the rest of their family moved about in the royal box before the official start of the jousts. 

“I do hope no one gets hurts today, it would seem like terrible luck for a night to succumb to a lance on mine own name day.” Valaena spoke softly to Aemond who grinned back to her. 

“No one would dare sully your name day with blood, do not worry. Besides they would face my wrath if they should ruin anything about today-”

The pair were cut off by the slurring voice of Aegon who had fallen into the chair directly behind Aemond. 

“The dragonless Prince’s wrath, Ha. Yes, what a thing to fear indeed,”  Aegon snorted into his challenge full of wine

Aemond’s face began to turn red with anger and humiliation at his brother's drunken words

“Try not to soil yourself this time, cousin. Your mother was utterly repulsed with you when you became so frightened at the last tourney you could not make it to a chamber pot in time.” 

Valaena did not even turn to Prince Aegon as she reminded him of his drunken faults at the last tourney they had attended, instead, she grabbed Aemonds hand bringing it to rest between both of hers in her lap. 

In the next moments, something unexpected happened. As the first knights prepared for their joust, a lesser cousin of house Manderly approached the royal box. 

The man who could be no younger than Twenty and six years called out, “I wish you the happiest of name days, Lady Valaena. I have no doubt that I will be victorious if I were to have the favor of the Realms Star.”

Shock filled Valaena, as she had not been expecting to be asked for her favor this early in the tourney – if at all. She turned quickly to look at Queen Alicent for direction or safety, only to see the queen motion for the girl to stand and deliver the favor to the knight. 

In an almost shy way, Valaena approached the knight before tossing her favor of silver and red flowers onto his lance. 

“I wish you all the luck, good Ser. May you find victory on this day.” Her words escaped her in a shaking voice and she nodded her head to the man sixteen years her senior before returning to her seat. 

Whispers soon filled the box, scattered conversations of what a fine match it would be for the Lady Targaryen they were here to celebrate. Even the Queen herself spoke of matchmaking for the young girl to her sworn shield near the back of the box. 

At that moment, Prince Aemond felt the urge to scream at every whispering voice, more so after he saw the horrified look on his Valaena’s face. There was no better match for her than him. The gods had destined the two of them to be by one another’s side since birth, of this he was sure. The Manderly knight would never have her. 

And indeed the knight would not have anything more of hers than the ring of flowers upon his lace, the Stranger saw to this. Offended by the knight for even speaking to the girl under his cloak, a splinter from the second lance of his opponent lodged itself in between the gap of his helmet, straight through his tear duct and deep into his brain. 

None would forget from then on out that the Lady Targaryen’s favor was not to be asked for.     

AN: another one :) Let me know if yall like this or want to be added to a tag list or something. Also if I made this long form would yall read it on another platform??? and I made a playlist so let me know if you want me to drop a link or something. Feed back is more than welcome, also what do you guys think of Aemond being a smol wonder struck boy????

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