#and it's because they NEED to be superior

[yanderenightmare]

Mark Grayson — Invincible Variants

♡ TW: nsfw, yandere, poly yanderes, captive reader, invincible variants in general, you've seen the show

♡ GN reader

You’re dead in every other universe. 

It’s his fault.

He tries to save you, but he’s too late—every single time.

And in every universe, it’s what pushes him to embrace his Viltrumite nature. It’s his canon event. The moment he realizes he can’t trust in the weak constitution of human beings, it costs him too much, so he adopts his father's truth—things that drop dead like flies have the same value, meaning worthless.

So you can imagine the clusterfuck raging on in each of their heads when they find out you’re alive and well in the universe they’ve been told to wreak havoc in.

And you’re as pretty as the day they lost you. And teary-eyed and scared and cute, calling out for your Mark to come and save you. Oh fuck, how their cold hearts all melted at once.

The plan changed then. If this were the only world you were still alive in, then it was the only world they needed to conquer. And with eighteen of them, it wouldn’t be hard.

Or well, so it proved to be a little hard…

But the eight of them that survived killed Angstrom. Then locked your Mark up, thinking he could be convenient to keep.

It didn’t even take a week before Earth surrendered in full.

That wasn’t the hard part. In fact, it’s good that over half of them died—because sharing you between the eight of them is the real challenge. 

It’s not something they’re used to. Fights break out daily. And they don’t care about the damage dealt. It’s like kids stomping on an anthill just for the fun of it, leaving thousands to die every time.

Feeling as though it’s your responsibility, you try your best to please them all. Coming up with schedules—how they can alter daily or even hourly if need be—but it all proves fruitless. All you end up doing is begging them not to fight—on your knees, bowing while sobbing, holding onto the edge of their cape, pleading with them to stay.

They seem to like that. When you lower yourself.

Most of them refer to you as a pet. 

You remember Mark saying his father said he saw his mom the same way. You remember your Mark being disgusted by it. But even those of them who don’t refer to you that way still treat you like one, like something lesser, like something they’re letting live for personal reasons, not because you’re something that deserves to live.

The kinder Marks have a little more decorum about it. The superiority has really gotten to their heads, trying to spare you the understanding of how they truly see you, as if you can’t read between the lines. You don’t know if you dislike them more than the cruel Marks. At least they’re honest about it.

You’re starting to doubt whether your Mark is even still alive…

You’d cried for weeks on end to see him. And when they’d finally complied, they took you to the prison cell where they were holding him. You’d sobbed and kissed him and told him how much you missed him and how terrible everything had been without him, how you weren’t sure how much more you could take. 

He’d played along well enough for a while—you hadn’t been able to tell. But at some point, the way he touched you just didn’t feel right.

He laughed once you understood it. Mocked you. Licked the tears off your cheek with a grin and said it was worth it playing your weak-willed wimp version of them just to see that pretty look on your face. A couple of the others came in after that—they’d all found it just as funny. And then they told you they knew of a way to cure your loneliness—after all, why have your wimpy Invincible, when you can have the elite?

One time, when you were being extra whiny, as they call it, they’d taken you up in the sky and used you to play catch.

Mark had taken you flying before, but he’d never ever dropped you. And so you’d screamed until your voice gave out, and then you’d just closed your eyes and prayed for death.

But that wasn’t the worst part of it, as you found out… No, the worst part was when they’d undressed you and started playing something different with you. In the air, thirty thousand feet above the ground.

They all might look like Mark, but none of them are anything like him—some more than others. Beyond just sadistic, they’re psychotic. No humanity left, just trigger-happy thrill-seeking maniacs. They don’t even fight each other over you—they fight each other for fun. Coming back with mangled legs and broken jaws. Because why not? It’s no matter. They’re healed within the week. They don’t care about the many lives they’ve left in their wake.

But you’d caught a foul cold after their skylarking.

They’re not used to facing consequences—didn’t know who to blame but each other. Didn’t know how to fix it either—all scared you were going to die. They never did it again after that.

That’s not to say your life became any easier.

The dynamics became ever more strange the more months that passed...

At first thy wouldn’t fuck you at the same time, then they would, but without acknowledging the others presence, then it became a competition to see who could fuck you best. 

It’s not like that anymore.

Their narcissism has now evolved into a strange attraction towards each other. And it’s odd as fuck to be caught in the middle off.

They like watching each other fuck you now. Getting off on seeing themselves get off, using you more like a toy than a partner.

Any day now, and you’re sure they’re going to start kissing and touching each other.

Fuck knows what your role will be in all of it when that time comes.

♡ MISCELLANEOUS masterlist

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Ten

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, mild suggestive themes, mentions of war

Word Count: 4.4k

Under Simon’s watchful eye, Kyle and Johnny keep you occupied during the singles social. Simon has a frank conversation with you.

Chapter Nine // Chapter Eleven

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

“Looking to crack some teeth, Lt?” asks Johnny as he peers into his empty cup.

“More like cracking a few skulls,” replies Simon with a growl.

Across the room, you chat with a man Simon doesn’t recognize. The sizzle beneath his skin becomes a raging boil, threatening to bubble over into action. The fucking wanker shouldn’t be standing that close or smiling at you like he can’t wait to get you under him.

Johnny clucks his tongue in disappointment. “Talking about your jaw.”

Fucking hell.

“What about my jaw?”

“It’s clenched.” Simon promptly relaxes his jaw. “That’s a good lad,” croons Johnny.

“Shut the fuck up, Soap.”

Soft classical musical plays from hidden speakers in the ceiling. The lighting is warm, casting the room in an intimate glow. Simon hates these events. Fucking loathes them. When he first arrived at this Safe Zone after the whole of Task Force 141 was transferred, he met with a family planner just as you did. But because of his position in the military and the importance of his work, they never put up a fuss when he refused their every suggestion. He avoided the socials they told him to attend and ignored each summons to their office.

For a while, Simon was free, unbeholden to everyone except his superior officer. He kept busy, picking up every mission and every job Captain Price brought to him or the team. And when he needed his cock sucked, it was never difficult to find a willing mouth. They left him alone, and Simon forgot all about the pillars and the mandates and the other stupid fucking rules and regulations civilians are forced to follow.

Unhappy is the word Captain Price used. Unhappy with his refusal to propagate.

“They might force my hand, Simon,” Price had said. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Punishment. Rescinding his rank. Forced leave. Price listed off all the possibilities if Simon couldn’t get his shit together and pretend to be involved.

Johnny lightly taps Simon’s upper arm with his empty drink cup. “Need a damn refill.”

“Not stopping you, Johnny,” replies Simon dryly.

As you shift on your feet, popping your right hip, the man you’re talking with glances over your shoulder and makes direct eye contact with Simon. Like a knife to the jugular, the man’s face pales. Good. The bloody wanker gives you a half-hearted smile before turning tail.

Johnny whistles lowly. “Still got it, Lt.”

“Never lost it,” chuckles Simon.

Victory is sweet brilliance—an infinite bath of joy that can only occur when you’ve taken another step toward the thing you want most. Simon could soak in this feeling all damn day.

It’s a temporary exaltation. Fleeting. A momentary triumph.

Like a copperhead lurking in the leaves to bite the wayward hiker, Sergeant Noah Fields strikes. Emerging from nowhere to take the previous man’s place, Fields smoothly slides into conversation, lightly touching your elbow for a stirring of your attention. As you turn toward him, Fields adapts a smile that would fool anyone if they didn’t know him well enough. And you, unknowing of Fields’ transgressions, greet him.

Anger is not the correct word. Red may be the color, but it is not the tangible malice that culminates in his limbs, urging Simon to succumb to poor decisions. It is sharper. Feral. It is bloodthirst and violence.

Johnny notices. And he reacts.

Before Simon can take a step toward Fields, Johnny drapes his arm across Simon’s shoulders, halting his forward momentum. Bringing him in close, Johnny whispers to him. “A drink, Ghost. You need it.”

“Another and I might start swinging.”

Johnny shakes his head. “Ya need a drink. A strong one.” He sighs. “Maybe a fucking walk.”

Fields leans in like he’s about to tell you a secret. You turn your head to give him your ear. The inhale is small, but Simon notices—and he seethes. Fields’ nostrils flare, eyelids growing heavy as he takes a whiff of you. With a slowness that borders on maliciousness, Fields’ heavy-lidded gaze intensifies, flicking upward. Calculated with cold execution, Fields smiles over your shoulder in challenge.

Come and take her, Lieutenant.

Simon tastes metal. If he’s bitten his tongue, he feels no pain. There is only focus, and a great, heaving need to take Fields out in the street for a fucking curb stomp.

“Simon,” warns Johnny through clenched teeth.

His arm around Simon’s shoulders tightens. The empty cup in his hand is quickly discarded as he presses his palm to Simon’s chest. Johnny is just a barrier, one that Simon can easily push aside if the determination is there. And it fucking is. Fields shouldn’t be anywhere near you and why the fuck are you even entertaining him? Simon told you to stay away. It’s infuriating how you listen to him but don’t out of sheer stubbornness and spite.

His dick would be hard and throbbing for you if he weren’t so bloody mad.

“Handle this, Johnny,” growls Simon. “Or I will.”

“Be civil, Lt,” murmurs Johnny, his gaze sweeping outward to observe the surrounding area. “Don’t draw unwanted attention.”

Without breaking eye contact with Fields, Simon speaks out the corner of his mouth. “You and Kyle said you’d keep her occupied.”

“We did,” affirms Johnny.

“Then go occupy her time.”

Johnny squeezes Simon’s shoulder, putting on one of his best smiles. “Can’t be suspicious. Everyone will think I’m desperate.”

“You are desperate. That’s why Kyle’s chatting up the blonde in the corner. Need a wingman to get your dick wet.”

Johnny nods at two men from another unit as they walk past. “You won’t share,” drawls Johnny, giving Simon a pat on the back that’s more forceful than necessary.

“I won’t share her.”

With another squeeze of Simon’s shoulder, Johnny saunters over to where you and Fields chat. The man isn’t in your space like he was before, but the fact that he’s in your vicinity at all pisses Simon off. Every man that looks your way is a threat and Simon’s instinct is to lash out—to push in and shove them away. His interest is the only one that matters.

“Noah!” booms Johnny, extending his arms outward like the two are old friends.

The easy smile on Fields’ face becomes a grimace as Johnny embraces him with overt enthusiasm. Simon would laugh at the spectacle if he weren’t irritated with it all. Johnny deplores Fields just as much as Simon does. Everyone knows this.

The hug is intentional. Johnny places himself between you and Fields, creating a clear separation. From where Simon stands, he can see Johnny’s lips moving, but the distance obscures the words. Fields, to his credit, keeps that forced smile. They’re both pretending—faking it for the sake of control. Johnny aggressively pats Fields’ back before grasping his shoulders. The façade begins to crack, annoyance slipping in between the fractures. The man is about to snap, and it’s exactly where Simon wants him.

Make an ass of yourself, Fields. Go on.

Fields attempts to step away from Johnny, to create space where there is none, but Johnny is a menace, completely obstructing you from Fields.

“Atta boy,” murmurs Simon.

Kyle appears to your right, gently touching your arm to bring your attention to him. You turn, and Kyle gives you a stunning smile. His charm is the perfect distraction, and it takes Kyle no effort at all to herd you away, striking up an easy conversation with you like he’s known you for ages. Fields doesn’t even notice that you’ve disappeared. He’s too focused on Johnny. With a scowl, Fields storms away, heading for the bar. Johnny pivots on his heel, winking at Simon as he makes for the blonde that Kyle was schmoozing minutes ago.

Another hour of this and Simon can take you home. The two of you need alone time. He needs you to listen, to understand that this isn’t a game. On the surface, this entire process might appear trivial—Simon thought so when he first arrived—but eventually, as all authoritative powers do, they sink their teeth in, shaking you around in their maw like a dog toy. Wombs are precious, which is why they’re already shoving this down your throat, forcing you to eat the mandate of genetic contribution all while telling you how good it tastes.

The only choice you’ll have is who. Simon intends for it to be him.

Walking the perimeter of the room, Simon keeps tabs on you. Pretending is the hardest part—faking his disinterest because someone behind a desk wants you to “shop around.” Every glance your way, every step, every word from another man is a threat. From the moment you were brought before him, Simon knew.

You are an opportunity. A way to not feel so alone anymore. He seized it. Cornered you. Staked a claim. From that possession came longing—deep and sharp and bloodied. For Simon, every intimate interaction has been transactional. But with you, he can picture a different future, a path where he has an actual partner and not someone looking for a handout.

Not that he blames any of the women that tried to baby trap him, or the ones that never told their husbands that they cheated. Danger is thrilling for the ones stuck in monotony. They seek escape with him. Others want to ensnare him, bring him to heel simply for their own ends. Simon knows. He understands. Which is why he takes every precaution. It’s why he has a reputation.

Safe Zones bleed with rumor. Civilians eat that shit up, devouring it as quickly as they devour resources. Simon hears what people say about him. It’s no mystery. When women flock to him to seek his bed, it’s easy to sus out who wants a quick fuck and who is looking to get knocked up. Simon always indulged the sex but never took it farther. They never wanted him. They never wanted Simon.

“See the new military ordinance?” Kyle saddles up to Simon’s left side, taking a sip from his cup.

“You’re not with her,” observers Simon.

Kyle inclines his head. “Price is with her.”

Frowning, Simon glances around the room, seeking you. It takes a few sweeps before he locates you near the far wall in animated conversation. The tension in his shoulders dissipates some. In terms of rank, Captain Price is one of the highest in the room. That authority alone will deter anyone from cutting in.

“Surprised he’s here,” replies Simon.

The middle of Kyle’s brow furrows. “The old man isn’t married.”

“No,” says Simon slowly. “But he donates.”

Kyle bursts out laughing. “No shit?” He shakes his head. “Wanking on the weekends.”

“Don’t we all,” comments Simon which only makes Kyle laugh harder.

“Wonder how many little buggers are running around with Captain’s genes.”

“Probably more than we think,” muses Simon with a chuckle. Glancing away from you and Price in deep conversation, Simon changes topics. “What’s this about a military ordinance?”

Kyle’s humor dissipates, replaced by exasperation. “Excessive force.”

“What about it?”

“Use of force must match level of threat,” says Kyle as if he’s reading from a script.

Simon snorts. “That’s nothing new.”

“Use of excessive force against civilians or essential infrastructure is now considered a war crime.”

Simon clucks his tongue. “Sounds like one of the zones was behaving badly.”

Kyle nods. “Bad enough that every zone has to establish a civilian oversight committee.”

“Fucking hell,” growls Simon. “We taking orders from civilians now?”

Kyle shrugs and downs the rest of his drink. “Talked to Price about it. Says military personnel are included in the ordinance. But we’re not the problem.”

“Then who is?” asks Simon. Kyle arches a single eyebrow. Simon scoffs. “Fucking police. Always on a goddamn power trip.”

“Bunch of gits who couldn’t pass basic,” mutters Kyle. “Don’t know the details but Price said it wasn’t good.”

“People died,” states Simon because it isn’t a question.

“Enough that it fired up the Continuity Council.” Kyle takes a slow, lingering look around the room. Leaning in, he lowers his voice until it’s a whisper. “And upped the minimum number of births across all zones.”

“Price confirmed this?”

Kyle gives a quick nod of his head. “Said he’d debrief us in a few days. We might be heading elsewhere for a bit.”

No. No.

You’ll be left unattended. Vulnerable. Up for the taking. Anyone can step in and make themselves at home. Simon won’t be able to stop them.

“Sounds like tyranny,” growls Simon.

“Stinks of it,” mutters Kyle, his mouth curled downward in disgust.

A trio of women saunter by, their gazes lingering on Simon and Kyle in lecherous interest. Kyle sends a flirty wink in their direction, eliciting a few girlish giggles and a fluttering of eyelashes. Simon remains unmoving, expression neutral. They don’t interest him. The only woman he wants is you.

But that future might be slipping away.

“How many days are left?” asks Kyle.

“A few,” answers Simon. “Then she’s on her own.”

Kyle inhales deeply. The exhale is slow—almost a sigh. “You need to talk to her. Make a move before it’s too late.”

“I know,” mumbles Simon, his gaze growing soft as he watches you in animated conversation with Captain Price.

You’re a strong, stubborn thing with a touch of sweetness. There are moments when Simon lingers in memory, when the two of you slept beside each other in that bunk on base. He draws up the desperation on your face, the vulnerability of loss, of how you begged for him to make you feel anything other than the pain you felt in your heart. You were beautiful and soft. Simon hungered to devour every bit of yourself you were willing to give.

If only Johnny hadn’t interrupted. You’d be his right now, and the two of you wouldn’t have to navigate this ridiculous function. There would be no threats, no potential suitors.

Simon checks his watch. “Fucking finally,” he grumbles.

“It’ll work out,” affirms Kyle as Simon heads in your direction.

When you notice him, there is no malice or fear. Your smile widens in pleasure, a clear sign that you’re happy to see him. Hope renews itself, pushing down on Simon’s worry. There is every possibility that things might not go his way, but you continue to gravitate toward him. You will choose him. Simon only needs to make you understand.

“Time to go,” he murmurs, placing his hand on the small of your back.

You melt into him, leaning into Simon’s touch as you gaze into his face. Pride blooms in his chest at how quickly and easily you respond to him. There is no asking—no commanding. You are drawn to him, effortlessly seeking him when he’s close.

“Finally,” you sigh, your gorgeous smile softening. “Thought you’d never rescue me.”

Captain Price inclines his head, a knowing glint in his eye. “Have a good evening.”

When Price is out of earshot, Simon leans in, drawing you closer to him. “Ready?”

“Yes. Please, Lieutenant.”

The way you say his title pleases him. Even when you’re angry, even when you say it with venom, Simon adores it. He wants to bottle up the tone of your voice and bathe in it.

With a gentle push at your back, Simon shepherds you away from the noise and drudgery of societal expectation. There is only the two of you walking in quiet contemplation, simply enjoying the mutual company. While you don’t hold his hand, you stroll along the pavement close to him, your arm occasionally brushing his.

It's not until the two of you enter your temporary flat that Simon drums up the courage to push the issue.

“How was it?” he asks, shutting the door behind him.

Simon steps up to you, helping you out of your coat. “Fine,” you reply. “Better than I thought it would be.”

“Not a social butterfly?” teases Simon.

“No,” you laugh. “Not when it’s forced and with people I don’t know.”

“That’s fair,” murmurs Simon, hanging your coat on a hook near the door. “Family planner will want to hear about it.” The annoyed groan that bursts from you makes Simon chuckle.

“Joann can go fuck herself.” You rub at the back of your neck, rolling it back and forth. “She’s pushy.”

“That’s her job,” replies Simon dryly. You turn, narrowing your eyes in annoyance. “Not justifying it, dove.”

You drop your hand. “Probation isn’t over and she’s up my ass about finding a partner. I don’t even know where I’ll be living once it’s up. And I just started work.”

Kyle’s words from earlier creep in. Enough that it fired up the Continuity Council and upped the minimum number of births across all zones.

It’s no surprise the family planner is being pushy. If the United Nations Continuity Council is upping the minimum number of births across all zones, the family planners and localized governments will do anything to incentivize women to increase their numbers to meet the new standard. You’re an untapped resource they intend to seize.

“Contributing to the genetic pool is the first pillar,” states Simon. “It’s expected from everyone.”

“Is it?” you counter. “Or is it only truly expected from those with a working womb?”

You don’t understand the significance of what you’re saying. There are much larger powers at play that don’t entirely care about your opinion on the matter.

“This isn’t a game,” growls Simon.

“Didn’t think it was,” you retort. “But I will not be forced to choose.”

No. You truly are ignorant to how it works.

Simon slides into a calmer tone. “You’ll have to make a choice.” He takes a step toward you. “They will push. Talk around your options. But you will choose.”

“Will I?” you counter. “How long have you lived here, Lieutenant? Did they ever force you to make a choice?”

Simon draws back from the blow. “No.”

“That’s exactly my point,” you hiss, stepping into his space, staring up at him in challenge. “You’re a man. They would never.”

“That’s not entirely true, dove,” murmurs Simon. “They might covet those with viable wombs, but they need healthy, strong donors to fill them.”

The fire in your eyes fades a bit, your gaze hiding nothing from him. Simon picks up on it, glimpsing the hesitation as you process his words. This place is a stranger to you. Isolation has numbed you to the reality of the world and how it functions in the aftermath of so much death.

You lick your lips, glancing away from him for the first time. It’s not a sign of submission. It’s a consideration.

“It’s not the same,” you murmur.

“No. It’s not.”

A few brief seconds pass before you look up into his eyes. “I don’t want to choose.”

“I know,” he answers softly. “But it doesn’t matter what you want.”

It’s far too blunt, but it needs to be said. If Kyle is right, and they might be leaving shortly for a new mission, Simon needs to have this conversation with you. Bringing you gifts and asking to kiss you might be small steps toward his goal, but they won’t be enough if he leaves for an extended period.

“The fact I have to choose at all is ridiculous.” Your voice breaks, and it hurts him to hear it. “The pillars preach autonomy but contradict it in the next breath.”

Desperation clings to you—holding on like a sickness that just won’t clear the system. Simon understands your frustration, he accepts your anger with it all, but some battles are not achieved alone. Sometimes, you must mold what you have and make it work.

“Picking someone is better than fighting.”

“It’s not a choice, Lieutenant! It’s an illusion.” Your outburst softens into a murmur. “I shouldn’t have to.”

You’re not drawing back from him—not fleeing. Taking a chance, Simon shifts closer, fingers itching to touch you, to feel your skin against his.

“That’s the reality, dove.” You scoff, turning away. Simon reaches out, grasping the back of your neck, forcing you to look him in the eye. “But as long as you pick, they’ll think you’re trying. They’ll leave you alone for a while.”

Even now, your eyes water. Tears are threatening to fall. Simon longs to chase them away.

“And what happens when there is no baby?” you counter. “What happens then?”

Simon’s answer is immediate and laced with finality. “There will be.”

“Really?” you guffaw, clear disbelief in the way you snort. “With who?”

With me.

Simon remains silent. You’ll figure it out.

The deep creases in the middle of your brow start to smooth as your facial muscles relax, shifting from disdain and stubbornness to surprise.

“With you?” you whisper. Your lips part, eyes darting across his face as they seek any hint of confirmation.

“I told you I’d protect you. Provide for you. Keep you safe.”

Your head shakes slightly in abject refusal. “I—I don’t—”

“When they make you choose,” continues Simon. “Who will you be safer with?”

“Don’t, Lieutenant.”

“Who do you think will be patient?” he pushes.

“Stop.”

“Me? Sergeant Fields?” He pauses. “A stranger?”

You attempt to pull away, to remove yourself from this conversation. Simon stays steady, his grip on your neck firm and unmoving.

“I’m done talking about this,” you say, nearly begging.

“But the family planner will ask,” murmurs Simon. “Joann will want to talk.”

Genetic contribution, the rebuilding of society, are veins sunk deep in the very fabric of this new world. Genocide and war will do that. Near erasure of an entire people cripples everyone. There is a reason there are so many rules and regulations now. There is reason in the spreading of cultures across the globe, equally divided among Safe Zones. Isolationism and puritanical eugenics brought the world to a precipice. Then it pushed everyone into the abyss. Even the ones that believed these ideals would save them suffered.

There were no winners. Just carnage and scorched earth. And the remains of civilization.

“Just go home, Lieutenant. Just—go.”

Your voice is breathy, tinged with grief. You’ve right to be angry with him, to blame him for ripping you away from everything you know. It was selfish. Simon won’t deny that. To pursue you after is pure greed.

“Look at me,” he urges, coaxing you with gentle timbre. You shake your head, refusing. “Look at me, dove.” With the lightest touch, Simon taps your jaw with his thumb. It’s brief, a ghost of a thing, but you respond to him. “You’d be safe with me.”

Your mouth forms a sad smile, and it’s an answer unto itself. A revelation. An epiphany toward revealing what you’re truly thought all this time.

“But can you make me happy?” you ask. Your stare is piercing—seeking answers and reassurance.

Simon doesn’t lie. Not to you. But sometimes he twists the truth.

“In time,” he sighs, tilting your mouth toward his.

Maybe you believe him. Maybe you don’t. The only concrete reaction Simon can gleam is your refusal to choose, that in the end, you will have an option. For now, you do have the option, an opportunity to select the man who will father your children. But if you keep denying—keep pushing the decision off—someone will be assigned to you. And if Simon is gone, if he’s away at another zone, it won’t be him.

“It’s not enough.” You place your hands on his chest like you’re going to shove him away. But there is no pressure. Just your palms against his pectorals.

He needs to frame this differently, to give you reason to pick him over anyone else. The truth of the situation isn’t working. For whatever reason, you’re denying it, believing that all will be fine, and your autonomy is intact. When it comes to life in the Safe Zones, this is true. But genetic contribution is their top priority. It is the one thing they won’t budge on.

Drawing you close, he drapes his arm around your lower back, his hand splaying wide across your hip. The way you surrender to him, how you melt and form to him with gentle comfort, should be enough to persuade you. How the fuck do you not see it?

“Then why do you indulge me?” he asks softly, bringing his face closer. You sigh with contentment, eyelids closing, head tilting to welcome him. It takes all but a single kiss. You fully collapse into him, your splayed hands moving upward to hook behind his neck. “You like this,” he rasps against your lips.

“It’s—it’s just a bit of—” Simon’s hand falls to your ass. Squeezing, he nips at your bottom lip. “—comfort,” you manage to gasp out.

Simon nuzzles the side of your face, lips brushing your cheekbone. His hands roam, and with each exploration, you press into his touch, little moans of pleasure falling from your lips.

“You begged for me once,” he murmurs. “Spread your legs and welcomed me.” Simon’s hands slip beneath the hem of your blouse, fingertips caressing bare skin. “You tasted so good,” he continues, licking his lips in remembrance.

Blood rushes downward, hardness becoming an intense, throbbing need. You shiver as his fingertips trace an upward path, and then moan when he palms your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple, bringing it to stiffness.

“Do you want safety with me? Security?” Simon palms your other breast. “Pleasure?”

You whimper, hips flexing as if to grind against him. Words mean nothing in the face of action. Denial dripping from your lips are empty, hollow shells when you surrender to him like this. How close he is to making you his.

Mine.

Always mine.

Simon’s hands descend—retreating. In the haze of lust, you drift upward, emerging as if from a dream. Deep in the recesses of his mind, Simon captures this, storing it away. When you’re bare and riddled with post-orgasm euphoria, is this what you’ll look like?

“I can’t,” you breathe. “I won’t choose until I’m ready.”

Stubborn as ever.

There are no more kisses, no yearning touches. Simon gently cradles your cheek and lightly presses his lips to your forehead. The ticking of the clock on the far wall is an incessant reminder.

Time is fleeting. And it is not his ally.

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@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie @tiredmetalenthusiast @sporadicpizzainternet @tessakate @mistresssolana

[stareiiez]

Random but what do we think about all the mark variants going through no nut November and what eventually makes them crack (reader)?

FINALLY getting to this :) here we go

Sinister Mark

No Nut November is for idiots and simple minded people that are too ashamed to get their dicks wet like he does twice a day, every day. sometimes more if he's feeling extra worked up. when you told him about the ' challenge ' as a joke; he looked pissed that you would even suggest such a thing to him. his lips curled in a sneer, eyes squinted to a low glare that could melt ice.

what? you don't want to fuck him anymore? you think his dick ain't that good enough anymore? fuck that, he's got you in a head lock/ full nelson while fucking you. spitting in your ear about, here is what he thinks about your stupid human challenge.

Mohawk Mark.

He took that No Nut November as a challenge to heart. He wanted to prove he's superior enough to go through one month of no touching you or vice versa. A ruler such as himself, can do this easily. He sneered in your face when accepting the stupid idea.

what breaks him. . however? He can hear you touching yourself when he's sleeping next to you. The buzz of the vibrator you're using ain't that fucking quiet, and the sloppy pussy of yours wakes him from his dreams. he's got your ankles by your ears, clothes shredded off both your bodies. his first load spurts out extra thick and creamy, just how he likes to leave you filled.

Lens-less Mark.

Does not break. He's gone above and beyond to secure his place in the ' most badass man ' out there by beating this challenge. He's gone above and beyond, he has a cock cage that holds his swollen dick 24/7. Except when he pees, he's extra sensitive. Don't ask how he got it, he's into things that would make your wildest fantasies look like boring and comical. His balls are screaming at him to just touch you, just put the tip in at least for a second. But he endures the pain with a smile, because he knows when he'll cum after this month? It'll burn or sting, and it'll feel so fucking good.

Head Cap Mark.

breaks after a week. it got too boring for him. restrict him? of sex? please. besides, he's gotten tired of you eyeing his bulge in his costume everytime he puts it on. the sixe of it slightly grows larger, you swear, because of your neglect. you and your wandering eyes and doe eyed fucking stare when he talks is enough to shatter his walls.

he breaks when you brush against him. either by accident, like walking past, or you want to taunt him by sliding a hand down his arm when you talk to him. you and your stupid eyes are made to roll in the back of your skull when he has a thumb hooked into your ass while he plows you over the arm of your sofa.

Shiesty Mark

Fuck you and fuck off. He's fucking every single day of the month. If you're trying to egg him on with No Nut November? He'll go sleep with the pretty blonde down the hall with massive knockers and the too short skirt that lifts up at the smallest of breezes.

Omni- Mark.

Take this very seriously. He sleeps in another room to avoid even touching you. Completes almost the whole month of No Nut November until you're the one to actually whine and beg for sex. he makes you drop to your knees, hands pawing at his cape like a wounded puppy.

he fucks you to shut you the hell up when your whining gets too much on his nerves. he fucks you because you don't get on your knees for him enough.

Fully Masked Mark.

Breaks after half a day. you feel bad for even joking about the challenge, the look in his eyes makes your heart squeeze.

lil sweetie can't handle not touching you, smelling you, kissing you, licking you, biting you, tasting y---

take your clothes off. he needs to feel you again. so what if you two have already screwed three times already. he needs you again.

[friendsinsolitude]

Is Rui woke? I’ve been chewing on Rui’s (and for comparison, Tsukasa’s) role in the gendered dynamics of Smile of a Dreamer episode 3, the Shosuke and Keisuke v. Emu conflict, for what’s surely been forever, I think I’m starting to get my thoughts together now:

Tsukasa takes issue with the Wonder Stage being slighted instead of Emu being told she should’ve given up, reacting before Shousuke even finishes his sentence about her, because the Wonder Stage and all of Wonderlands x Showtime are Tsukasa’s dependants as troupe leader. It’s his job to look after and protect them. You slight them, you slight him, you slight his authority. Which he absolutely will not tolerate. On his honour and pride and duty as a patriarch. I don’t mean to imply he doesn’t care about Emu here, but the way that he cares about her and WxS and of course Saki more generally is fundamentally tied up in his deep commitment to his patriarchal role (beyond what is actually expected of that and sometimes somewhat subversive to, but still framed as, to Tsukasa). As leader, as a big brother, as a man, he will not stand for the disrespect of his troupe(‘s stage).

Rui then stops Tsukasa, cause trying to assert his authority over their literal fucking bosses is not helpful, and he’s not saying anything that will change up the conversation enough to be worth having it here like this, for the sake of their job security especially. A pissing contest of authority is a contest they will lose; fall back.

Shosuke takes this to view Rui as a Smart Young Man Who Knows His Place, absolutely unlike Emu, respecting him as such and feeling comfortable enough to then insult Emu to the face of someone reasonable. Obviously and explicitly positioning Emu as a Stupid Girl Who Doesn’t Know Her Place. Shosuke props Rui up at Emu’s expense.

Of course, Rui and Emu are alike in their deep commitment to dreams, to whimsy, to making the impossible possible. Rui knows intimately what it’s like to get other people hurt while chasing your dreams. Emu’s intelligence and creativity, her unique way of seeing the world for what it could be instead of what is is, is what makes her so amazing. Rui has seen and respected and admired her for that since day fucking one, and Shosuke is portraying Emu as stupid for it, is saying that if Rui is smart like Shosuke thinks he is, he’ll agree and leave her out to dry for his own sake.

Rui’s arguments are this:

1: You’re pathetic. Someone else believing in their dreams in the face of a reality that can be oppressive reminds you of what you gave up, and you feel the need to crush Emu like you got crushed, because you can’t see that she’s stronger than you. Loser behaviour, I pity you.

2: I am also someone like Emu. She is my equal and peer. In calling Emu stupid you have been insulting both of us. I don’t want your respect at her expense.

3: Emu is a truly incredible person that I’m honoured to know. I’m not involved with her in spite or in ignorance of her dreams, she is not a burden in any sense. Her ability to dream in the face of a world and people like you who can’t see what she sees is what I admire about her, even if you can’t recognize that as the wonder it is. It’s difficult, it’s perilous, and she does it with ease.

4: Stop insulting Emu. You’re entirely out of line. I don’t want the bullshit you call “courtesy” and we will stay by Emu’s side regardless of how you try to demean her.

All of course coated in utterly polite form especially exasperated in the original Japanese, despite the confrontational content. For this entire interaction Rui uses an especially polite form, he speaks the way that you should be addressing your superiors (unlike Tsukasa who’s rude as hell). And then iconically, in the above line, Rui switches up his first-person pronoun from boku (僕) to ore (俺) which is more masculine, largely cause it’s ruder, and implies a sort of haughtiness even. To my understanding, you wouldn’t say ore in a formal context in real life, but these characters don’t switch up their personal pronoun depending on who they’re talking to like speakers do in real life anyway, so for Rui to switch it up for something ruder in this situation is really fun. Especially while he keeps the ultra formal sentence structure. It’s kinda like “I (<- fucking awesome) must insist that you cut that shit out. /humble” okay well I don’t believe you. The contrast makes it feel like Rui doesn’t actually respect who he’s speaking to, but is keeping the politeness perfunctorily, and is letting you know. More than anything else it’s very steely, very serious, you will listen to his point if it kills you /polite.

Honestly, largely cause of Rui dropping the ore, I’ve never quite known what to make of the nuances of this line. By switching up his first-person pronoun to something even more masculine, is Rui drawing attention to himself specifically, pulling status as a man? Like, if it’s “stop insulting my (/masc) friends like this” is it “stop insulting my [someone you should respect’s] friends [WxS or the concept of Rui’s friends at large as contrasted to the specifity of talking about Emu in previous lines] like this” and therefore a sort of patriarchal claim on WxS and Emu like “fuck with my troupe and you fuck with me”? In the Japanese line though, Rui says oretachi (俺達), -tachi (達) being a suffix that turns a term of address into a plural, referring to a group, like “and everyone” pretty much. So here, Rui’s saying our, instead of my. Basically the original line is something like “I humbly urge you to stop insulting our friend” which is mostly relevant for how the subjects of the sentence have changed from presumably [Rui] and [Rui’s friends, including Emu and probably WxS at large], into [Rui, Tsukasa, and Nene, as WxS] and [Emu, a part of WxS, a friend and colleague].

So I think the emphasis in this sentence is not on Rui, but on WxS, as Emu’s friends, as a rejection of the premise of Shosuke’s barrage being reasons to cut Emu loose, given out of courtesy, for any sensible person would be through with her dreaming. They will stand by her as her equals, as people chasing the same dream. Shosuke does not have an ally in any of them. And I think the point of Rui’s use of ore here, as something forceful and somewhat disrespectful to say, is to be the nail in the coffin for Rui rejecting Shosuke’s premise of him being a Smart Young Man Who Knows His Place that will be reasonable and agree with the unreasonable disrespect he’s aiming at Emu. Shut the fuck up, basically.

Also, addition from the future, I realized that Rui’s final line here directly echoes Shosuke’s “We’re through dealing with you!” above, and Rui’s use of oretachi here is him almost explicitly throwing Shosuke’s own words back in his face. This is Shosuke’s line, with the original Japanese text, romaji, literal word by word meaning, and my own rough translation:

これ以上俺達を巻きこむな!

Koreijou oretachi o makikomu na!

[any more] [I and everyone] [involve] [negation]!

“Don’t involve us anymore!”

And for comparison, this is Rui’s line:

これ以上俺達の仲間を侮辱するのは、やめて頂きたい

Koreijou oretachi no nakama o bujokusuru no wa, yamete itadakitai

[any more] [I and everyone] [‘s friend] [insult], [stop] [I want you to /humble]

“I must insist that you stop insulting our friend any further.”

Rui is throwing Shosuke’s own words back in his face, getting on his level, using the exact same opening and sentence structure, only politer. Earlier, in “We’re in their employ. This isn’t the right time or place to discuss this,” the very sentence that made Shosuke think Rui “had his head on straight,” Rui had used bokutachi. Mirroring Shosuke’s use of ore here is a fucking insult for which Shosuke absolutely has the context for. “We are not the same, none of us will tolerate you demeaning Emu, and to illustrate this, I’ll use your own goddamn words.” Rui was cooking for real.

Rui’s whole argument is a really good response, insicive, all-encompassing, and leaving no room for further argument. I also think it’s notable how Rui doesn’t cede any of Emu’s ground here, something really quite incredibly rare for men arguing on behalf of women. I think most any other guy *cough* would’ve agreed with Shosuke’s premise to some extent, that Emu does have her head in the clouds too much sometimes, or that there’s any context or blood relation or gender dynamic that would make anyone saying that to her okay to any extent.

In Tsukasa’s 2☆ side story 1, Tsukasa’s ire is directed at Emu’s brothers on the basis of them failing their roles as brothers. He cedes ground to the idea that for matter of being family and all families being different, if there was a good reason for it, slighting Emu to some extent could have been okay, this was just too far. Tsukasa places the emphasis of why this behaviour was wrong on being “disgraceful for an older brother”, immediately preceded by Saki placing the emphasis on Emu “not deserving being treated like that.” This is discharitable to an extent, but like, hmmmmmm 🤨 ? Obviously, the idea of what a “good big brother” is is incredibly important to Tsukasa, and this, which grates at that so fundamentally is gonna piss him off and lead his thoughts to that angle specifically. And his takeway is gonna be that Shosuke and Keisuke are doing “brother” Wrong, and not that for matter of having bought into the patriarchy they believe themselves better and smarter and more Serious than Emu, entirely refusing to see her intelligence on the basis of her being Pink even though Emu’s fucking incredible. If Tsukasa were the one to engage Shosuke in the moment instead of Rui, he would’ve done a shit job.

And think also of Akito arguing with Shin-ei about Ena in Insatiable Pale Colour. A similar situation of a patriarch disparaging a younger girl for being less strong, intelligent, and serious than he, on what amounts to the basis of her being a woman. Give up before you get hurt (said while hurting you). While arguing that Shin-ei maybe shouldn’t have called Ena’s art worthless and that she should give up, that Ena doesn’t want him to protect her from suffering by hurting her preemptively, Akito says (paraphrasing) “Yeah Ena’s not as good as you, she’s hysteric and prone to overreacting so she would have it rough, but even I think you went too far.” Like. Even while arguing on her behalf, Akito is incapable of not throwing her under the bus.

The examples above to illustrate a negative, Rui’s argument on Emu’s behalf is refreshing. He cedes no ground to the idea that she’s anything other than amazing on her own talent, nor that he’s better or smarter or more serious than her in any way despite Shosuke’s presumptive implication, nor that insulting her is acceptable behaviour in any context, nor that it’s unacceptable because of her relation to a man responsible for her. Put some respect on her name, because her name deserves respect. It’s nice.

[rekino2114]

Hello! I would like to know your opinion. For example, how would The Four Horsemen behave if they were Yandere in relation to their loved one?

What kind of yandere the horsemen girls are

A/n: I always write the horsemen as soft yanderes cause that just makes sense to me but I went into a bit more details in this one.

And this also fits in nicely with a request @i1knowitsoverstill1icling made in my messages about yandere makima headcanons that I completely forgot about until now, I'm sorry for being late but I hope you like this

Also since this is already a long note I thought I should mention that from now on I'll do a post about the horsemen girls (or a csm one in general) every week probably

Cw:yandere stuff,murder, torture (note that none of those are directed towards reader as i will NEVER write something like that) the girls are obsessed with you but you don't mind.

Makima

To makima you are the most precious and valuable being in the universe, your mere existence and love for her inadvertently saved so many people and more important it saved her

Thanks to you makima can now love and be loved she can have that love she always secretly longed for, the love and emotions that turned her into an actual human and its all thanks to you, so now that she has you she's not letting you go anytime soon

Makima is extremely protective over you. She basically always stays near you except during missions, and even then, she always keeps an eye on you in one way or another, she just doesn't want you to get hurt in any way....she's genuinely scared of what might happen to her if you died

Her obsession is actually not that extreme, sure you are the most important thing in her life and she wants to always be together with you but the thing is.....you basically do always spend your time together since she is genuinely such a perfect and loving wife staying with her is easily the best part of your day and most of the time your entire day

If she found out someone hurt you they're dead, human or devil it doesn't matter to her. Don't get her wrong she has morals now thanks to you, she wouldn't kill innocent people and so she'll let it slide if it was an accident

But If someone actively wanted to harm you for whatever reason, then she can't just let it go now can she? To her people who intentionally hurt you are not people worth living anyway, they're not even people they're disobient dogs who need to be taught a lesson

She will have them groveling on their knees begging you for mercy, they need to understand that you are far superior to them and that doing anything at all to hurt you is a sin that needs to be punished accordingly

It's the only moment when the smallest part of her old self will come back, not directed towards you of course, that could physically never happen but to the person who hurt you. They will see the control devil's old cruel self

Yoru

Yoru is definitely the most yandere out of her sisters

She actually enjoys slaughtering humans and watching them suffer.....well maybe enjoyed is a better term

After falling in love with you, her love of violence and destruction toned down. She still likes them, but she loves you way way more, and if she just started committing massacres left and right, you wouldn't like that, so she's willing to commit as little murders as possible to please you

Which is actually still a lot, but what do you expect her to do she needs her weapons, and there are a lot of people who won't be missed, so as long as it's people you don't care about it should be fine right? You go along with it cause it's practically impossible to make her stop completely with the murder

The only things stopping her from instantly turning into a weapon every girl who flirts with you is the fact that she's stuck in asa's head.....and also because you'd be sad

However, with people who actually hurt you, it's a different story. The people she turns into weapons don't actually feel pain, sure they die technically and become just tools for her to use but in the moment she uses her powers they're not screaming in pain regretting whatever choices led them to this moment which is exactly what she wants the people who hurt you to feel

This girl could and would commit a genocide for you (ok all of the horsemen would yoru is just the most likely to do so)

Fami

Before she met you fami though that bringing humans death would save them from suffering, she thought that was her goal in life and that she was doing humans a favor by saving them

But of course, when she met you, she completely changed her view. She understood how valuable and beautiful life and humans were and that she wasn't saving them like she thought just killing them mercilessly.....which caused her to cry and blame herself for all the deaths she caused

But thankfully she met you relatively early during her life on earth so she hadn't killed that many people and you comforted her about it so she was fine after a while but vowed to never hurt a human again to make up for all of the deaths...........With one exception of course, anyone who hurts you.

Fami loves you so much, and she's incredibly obsessed with you in kind of a pathetic way to be honest, she's definitely the type who sniffs and......does other stuff with your underwear when you're not around

She's so devoted to you you could do anything to her and she'll still love you (not like you'd ever do anything bad to this sweet girl) she's used to be treated like trash so the fact that you actually love her and treat her well means a lot to her. She'd do anything for you

Like i said before, Fami really doesn't care if anyone mistreats her. She's kinda used to this, and she's way too anxious to confront bullies or anyone who hurts her so she kinda just lets them say and do whatever they want to her, except for when they insult or hurt you, then she immediately gets involved and kills them

This time she knows she's not saving them, she knows she's just mercilessly killing them, but she doesn't care, in fact she's happy about it, she gets to defend her love's honor and get rid of bad people all in once, after all those people were so mean and cruel no one would miss them and the world would be a better place without them, she's still doing humanity a favor like this and especially you and that's all that matters

Death devil

Despite being the embodiment of the fear of dying death actually doesn't like killing humans that much

why should she? After all humans make the food she loves and the person she loves most in the world is a human so she really has no reason to hurt any of them......welll almost no reason

While death's obsession may seem tamer when compared to her younger sisters, it's just because of her emotionless and stoic attitude. She likes to let her actions speak rather than her words. She will do anything you ask of her with no delay or issues, not saying a word and just doing it, because you deserve everything in the universe and she will do whatever she can to make you happy

Death has a weird habit of just...showing up in your house, you'll be out for a while and when you come back you find your girlfriend on your bed eating a mountain of snacks. She didn't even break in cause nothing is broken or open she just........appeared there because she missed you

She actually isn't that overprotective of you, but that just because she doesn't have to be. You're dating the death devil most devils can simply sense the smell that she leaves on you and are smart enough to not mess with you because of that. And as for humans who don't know her identity.....if you insult someone and out of nowhere a really tall woman starts glaring at you with pink ringed eyes and the deadliest aura you've ever felt you'd probably apologize. However for the people stupid enough to actually hurt you and act like it's nothing she can take care of them easily

Death has a lot of really strong devils at her service, falling, guillotine, fire, and so she can kill them in any way see wants without even getting a single drop of blood on her and while comforting you about the situation. Some times she'll even ask you how you want the person to die, you deserve to choose, you were the one they harmed after all

However, if they hurt you in a particular way, in a way that made you cry, perhaps, or if they even drew blood then she will take care of them herself. No one hurts her love that badly and lives, by the time she's done, in the few moments before their imminent demise the person who dared to hurt you will understand why she's the most powerful devil of all, they'll understand why every single human is scared of death and she will make sure theirs will be a painful and torturous as possible

[temis-de-leon]

Demon Brothers and Short!MC

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon and Satan x gn!reader (separately)

Main Masterlist

Requested by @yeosanityyyy: hiii!!! i love love love your writing and wanted to request something! can you write head canons w lucifer, mammon and satan with a short mc? like for reference, i’m about 5’0, luci is 6.3, mammon is 6’1 and satan is about 5’11! :))) ty!

A/N: I'm 5'3 if you're curious

.

Lucifer

It isn’t something he pays special attention to, at least in the beginning. After all, when he first meets you in person, you’re scared and shrunken by intimidation; everything around you is unknown and hostile, so your small stature seems even tinier.

Over time, although he doesn’t really need it, the high difference makes him feel stronger, more powerful and superior.

His shadow leaves you in darkness when he stands before you in the staircase and he threatens to harm you if you don’t stop investigating the voice coming from the attic. When he dances with you at the castle retreat, the span of his wings makes you disappear and your whole hand cracks under the pressure of just a couple of his fingers.

The imbalance strokes his ego and helps establish your place beneath him.

That is, until you start disobeying him and jeopardizing Lord Diavolo’s plans for the future.

You’re tiny and puny, yes, but also a nuisance with quite the potential. His frustration over your actions makes him momentarily forget about your height, and after all the… drama, it ends up being the last thing in his mind.

It isn’t until you’re gone and he misses you that he starts to pay attention to that feature.

He thinks of the last time he held you, your last night in the Devildom, and his last goodbye to you, when he had to bend down to whisper his last words to your ear. He’d been so focused on the idea of your inevitable absence at the time that everything else seemed meaningless.

One night, after sharing more than a couple of bottles of Demonus, he comes back to the House of Lamentation feeling uncharacteristically melancholic. He wants to hold you again, but you aren’t there for him, and the only thing that can console him is your uniform, neatly kept in your closet, and the faintest hint of your perfume that still lingers in the air.

He holds the hanger right in front of him, trying to get his mind to fill in the gaps and imagine you there in front of him, but the way he’s doing it is making it seem as if you were floating. His fingers graze the textile that would be hugging your waist.

And he wasn’t thinking about it before, but your height certainly can’t leave his mind now.

Mammon

It’s the first thing he notices when he enters the Assembly Hall that first night. You’re shivering in the vastness of the room, all wide eyed and mouth agape, and you’re as small as a mouse.

He laughs at first, because how could he not? You are a walking stereotype. Human, weak, dumb and small? You have it all.

Although he would find it even more hilarious if he didn’t have to be the one responsible to actually look out for you.

Whatever.

It’s better than being hanged from the staircase for days on end, right?

Thankfully, it turns out that you’re not that much of an inconvenient. It turns out that you can be decent company, smart enough to not seek death and even funny sometimes.

He would never say that you are friends, but it’s obvious to everyone that you are the best one he has; never mind what he says about Goldie.

Still, that doesn’t mean he will stop teasing you about how small you are just because now you are buddies or something. He complains several times a day about the neck pain you cause him when he has to look down to talk to you, he uses your head as an armrest pretty often, and even though he’d never say it out loud, he panics every time he loses you in a crowd.

However, it isn’t until you’re in actual danger that he realizes how small you actually are.

The most noticeable time is when you’re in the kitchen late at night, eating a custard like it’s nobody’s business. You’re tired, cold and cranky, not in the mood for midnight snaking, but you’re doing it anyway because he’s telling you to do so. Sadly, his brother appears in the doorway before he can congratulate you for being so obedient, monotone voice deep with a primal need for revenge and fists clenched while his eyes focused on the empty container in your hands.

Next thing Mammon knows, you’re both hiding behind the counter while the Avatar of Gluttony raids the kitchen in search of something that can satisfy him. You are trembling in his arms, but not from the temperature that time, and he can’t help but feel like a single punch would break you in half.

He allows himself to hug you tighter, to protect you of course, and enjoy how nicely you fit in his embrace.

His behaviour won’t let him seek you the way he wants to, but each memory will stay in his mind forever.

Satan

Obviously he notices how short you are, but he is one of the only brothers in the family to force himself to ignore it. It would be uncharacteristic of him to judge you based on a physical feature (quite literally judging a book by its cover) and he does love a good mystery.

How different are you from how you look like? Just as meek and discreet? Or do you hide some strength that could surprise everyone around you?

However, as curious as he is, Satan doesn’t really interact with you during the beginning of the exchange program unless strictly necessary. He has more important things to do, like keeping up with his vast social circle and antagonizing Lucifer as much as possible, and Mammon is already there to make sure you aren’t dead by the end of the day.

Of course, his lack of interest vanishes quickly when he realises how much you unnerve Lucifer.

Forming a pact with you looks like the perfect way to annoy the eldest brother, and seeing how easy it was for his brothers to get one with you, he supposed you would accept instantly if he so graciously proposed it unprompted.

Unfortunately for you, he was wrong.

You reject him, right out of the bat, and he doesn’t really think much of anything beyond that point. You forged bonds with Asmo, Beel, Levi and even Mammon, but he is where you draw the line? Him, Satan? Don’t you trust him? Do you see him as inferior? Below those idiots?

The threats are quick to leave his lips, and as his words get more gruesome and violent by the second, you shrink over yourself with fear and hopelessness. Your frame disappears in the shadows of his room, and for a moment, he wonders what would happen if one the book towers in his room collapsed under the power of his outrage.

How much would you break?

Thankfully, although Satan feels gutted to even think this, Lucifer appears just in time to deescalate the situation. What comes after is a series of events that he would’ve never imagined happening to him, like coming to an understanding with his eldest brother, but it ends up with him apologizing to you and creating a pact out of genuine emotion and not petty manipulation, so he’s satisfied.

Your height doesn’t come up to his mind after that. The violent thoughts that possessed him back then in his room vanish and he goes to treat you with complete normality, like he would with any other friend.

The main difference is that he sends you way more cat videos than he does to anyone else he knows, even Solomon.

But for some reason, he only sends videos with munchkin cats.

Weird.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

Normally, Bob makes a point to keep a respectable distance. He doesn’t touch anyone or anything without the most careful of considerations first—even though he wants it, craves it. But when you’re this close, when you’re leaning into him instead of away, when you’re looking at him like he’s just Bob and not the same guy who almost let the Void inside him swallow New York whole, his hands can’t help but ache for you.

To be ached and carved for 🤭🥰

And although you never talk about it, there is an easing of invisible barriers after that. Now that he’s had a taste, Bob can no longer resist the warmth of your skin against his—no matter how chaste or innocent the contact is. What if, one day, he could lean in just like this and let his lips find their way to yours? Impossible, but a man could dream.

Sometimes dreams do come true 😌

And when you smile up at him expectantly, even when Yelena catches him in his little white lies one day, lifting a skeptical brow when she meets his eye over your head, Bob just carries on.

Yelena instantly clocks it

The first time he ever holds your hand is on a Thursday.

How he remembers the exact day 🥰🥹

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out there,” Bucky said to you, slapping a hand down onto Bob’s shoulder before turning towards him, “Right?” “Right,” Bob mumbled, feeling his cheeks going red because evidently his feelings were written all over his face, and now even Bucky, of all people, was taking it upon himself to nudge things along.

Love Bucky as a wingman 🤭

Bob wonders what others think you are to him. He wants them to know you’re special. He hopes you know, too.

He is so precious 🥹

But he still can’t control his powers well enough yet; it’d be too dangerous for him to be out in the field with them. He understands this better than anyone—the last time he tried tapping into full extent of his Sentry powers, he almost murdered somebody (even if Alexei would argue that that person, Valentina, had deserved it), that god-like sense of superiority leeching ominously into his mind.

Of course Alexei would argue like that (fair tho🤷🏻‍♀️)

Please don’t. Don’t ever leave me alone, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he just shakes his head again.

Love a desperate man

“I’ll be fine, Bob,” you said quickly, smiling at him through your pain. Ava scoffed, her face scrunching up in both confusion and annoyance. “She can take care of herself. Just last week she kicked John’s ass—”

Period👏🏻

That was somehow worse than your physical injuries. Bob wanted to know then and there who did this to you, because he would unleash the full and unrestrained wrath of his powers if it meant avenging you, consequences be damned.

Oh I'm sure he would

Ava cursed under her breath when Bob’s eyes flashed gold, but then you were asking him, “Help me to my room?” Just like that, his eyes returned to their natural blue, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief. But he can spiral later; you need him now.

He is so soft for her 🥺

He hates it, that feeling of helplessness as he’s forced to stay behind in the Tower.

Urgh that's rough...

But what he hates even more is the thought that one day, you or Yelena or any one of the team could die out there—and he’d be here, safe and sound even though he was the strongest out of all of you, twiddling his thumbs waiting for you to come back.

...and that certainly doesn't help

“Don’t say I’m not ready,” Bob bites back a sob as he drops his forehead to your bare shoulder, “I’m ready. I’ll always be ready to protect you.” He’s just found you. He can’t lose you now. “I know,” you turn around and your eyes shining just as brightly as his are. “And we’ll protect you, too. I promise.”

🥹🥰🥹🥰

ROBERT “BOB” REYNOLDS x F!READER: Four times Bob let’s his true feelings for you go unaddressed, and the one time he doesn’t [3.3k]. » CONTENT WARNINGS: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy/nudity, bob’s sadness and self-deprecating thoughts. » NOTES: didn’t feel like my usual formatting today, it’s actually so much work?? why do i do this to myself? 😭 anyway, whatever lol. i was actually gonna take a break from writing (again, i know, i’m sorry) but i somehow managed to bang this out today at work so here you go, my first ever bob fic 🫶🏻 happy wednesday!

« truth be told »

The first time he touches you, he does it almost without hesitation.

Normally, Bob makes a point to keep a respectable distance. He doesn’t touch anyone or anything without the most careful of considerations first—even though he wants it, craves it.

But when you’re this close, when you’re leaning into him instead of away, when you’re looking at him like he’s just Bob and not the same guy who almost let the Void inside him swallow New York whole, his hands can’t help but ache for you.

He’s restless with it, his palms itching as though something was missing. He wants to know what your skin would feel like under his fingertips, whether your eyelashes would flutter under his touch, and if you’d sigh just the way he would whenever he imagined closing the distance between you.

So before he knows it, Bob’s already reaching for you.

His heart leaps to his throat the moment he makes contact, turning his hand over, using the blade of his finger to brush away the crumbs at the corner of your mouth.

You look up from your plate, the box of pastries you’d bought for the entire team as an early afternoon pick-me-up still laying open on the table, your eyes widening a fraction when they meet his.

“You’ve got a little bit of…” he trails off, not really caring or even knowing what it is. Bob’s never had much of a sweet tooth, but right now, you smell like almonds and raspberry jam and a touch of something that’s uniquely you… and he suddenly wants nothing more than to taste.

“Oh,” is all you say, staying still as he lets his hand linger instead, his knuckles brushing along the curve of your jaw. You smile, your eyes softening, and for a fraction of a second Bob swears you lean into his touch. “Thanks, Bob.”

He nods, not trusting his own voice or the temptation of your name on his lips, before very reluctantly breaking the connection. His fingers are already twitching with the need to touch you again by the time he puts it back down onto the dining table.

And although you never talk about it, there is an easing of invisible barriers after that. Now that he’s had a taste, Bob can no longer resist the warmth of your skin against his—no matter how chaste or innocent the contact is.

“You’ve got an eyelash,” he’d say, pointing to his own face, his lips twitching with the fib, and you’d simply lean forward at the same time he did, allowing him to swipe the tip of his finger down your cheek. Trusting, unsuspecting, and oblivious to the yearning expanding like a balloon in his chest.

What if, one day, he could lean in just like this and let his lips find their way to yours?

Impossible, but a man could dream.

But sometimes there isn’t anything there at all, but he still dips slightly at the waist, beckoning you with his hand before removing the imaginary thing from your cheek, your nose, or the aching perfection that is your cupid’s bow.

And when you smile up at him expectantly, even when Yelena catches him in his little white lies one day, lifting a skeptical brow when she meets his eye over your head, Bob just carries on.

Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it.

—

The first time he ever holds your hand is on a Thursday.

It’s unseasonably cold for the time of year, and Bob’s shivering under his sweater. You have been sent out on an errand to restock the Tower with food and supplies, and Bucky insisted that Bob go with you.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out there,” Bucky said to you, slapping a hand down onto Bob’s shoulder before turning towards him, “Right?”

“Right,” Bob mumbled, feeling his cheeks going red because evidently his feelings were written all over his face, and now even Bucky, of all people, was taking it upon himself to nudge things along.

“Plus Bob can help carry your bags,” Yelena joined in, not looking up from the game of Scrabble she was playing with Alexei. “Dad, that is not a word!”

“Says who?” He said, gesturing to the gibberish he’d placed on the board, full of X’s, M’s, C’s, and V’s, but not a single vowel in sight.

Ava scoffed, her face scrunching up in both confusion and annoyance. “She can take care of herself. Just last week she kicked John’s ass—”

But then John nudged her, maybe a little too hard, almost sending her tumbling out of her chair. She glared up at him, before she caught the meaningful look on his face.

“Oh… yeah… erm, nighttime in New York is practically the Purge. Might as well take him with you.”

You gave them all looks of thinly veiled suspicion, but then you just shook your head and turned to Bob as you were winding a scarf around your neck. Smiling, you asked him, “Do you mind, Bob?”

As if he would.

Venturing outdoors is still rather daunting, which is probably another reason why the team’s been so eager to get him out of the Tower. The thought that someone might recognize him makes him sweat, despite the mid-morning chill.

And then the two of you approach a particularly crowded spot on the sidewalk, and Bob’s footsteps falter slightly. You stop as if you sense his hesitation, turning to him just before disappearing into the throng of New Yorkers. As naturally as breathing, you hold out a hand.

“Come on,” you prompt with a shake of your hand when he just stares for a few seconds.

Bob holds on quickly before you can change your mind. You tug him along, squeezing his hand tighter as you reach the thick of the crowd. Bob emerges on the other side of it with pink cheeks that should be almost numb from the biting wind, but instead they are warm with something else.

And even as the horde dissipates, the sidewalk opening up with more than enough space for the two of you to walk side by side, you don’t let go.

He catches your reflections in the glass windows of the nearby shops, you with your head turned away to admire the displays of a flower shop, but your hands still joined together.

Bob wonders what others think you are to him.

He wants them to know you’re special.

He hopes you know, too.

—

The first time he falls asleep next to you starts with him sitting in the dark of his room, his shoulders slumping a little further forward with each passing minute. The others have left on another mission without him, and Bob just wishes he could do something to help.

But he still can’t control his powers well enough yet; it’d be too dangerous for him to be out in the field with them. He understands this better than anyone—the last time he tried tapping into full extent of his Sentry powers, he almost murdered somebody (even if Alexei would argue that that person, Valentina, had deserved it), that god-like sense of superiority leeching ominously into his mind.

He is hopeful when Yelena says he’s improving, slowly but surely, tries to believe it when Bucky tells him that it will happen soon. He just needs a little more time.

But Bob can’t help but feel like a burden, someone they have to take care of rather than a part of the team. The voice in the back of his mind comes back, a few notes lower than his own, that slight taunting lilt of it latching onto the edges of his subconscious.

You’re worthless, Bobby.

You think they care about you?

You will always be alone.

It will always be just you and me.

He doesn’t know how long he's sat there like that, but the room remains dark now even though someone draws the curtains. Bob shrinks back, as though the beam of moonlight spreading across his lap hurts him, doesn’t even look up when someone calls his name.

“Bob?”

He sighs, closes his eyes against the habitual burn of shame, that familiar heat creeping up his neck. Because he’s never wanted you to see him like this—so sad, so pathetic, wallowing in his own self-pity.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask carefully, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse when he hears you kneeling on the carpet in front of him.

He shakes his head.

“Okay,” you tell him gently, patiently, so kindly, “do you want me to leave?”

Please don’t. Don’t ever leave me alone, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he just shakes his head again. Despite himself, he’s somehow relieved when he feels the mattress dip slightly next to him, the warmth of your thigh dangerously close to his.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees in the periphery of his vision is your hand, lying face up on your lap. It’s an invitation that’s too sweet for him to deny, and he slides his hand into yours, watching with a strange mixture of disbelief and euphoria as your fingers close around him.

That you would still want to touch him after seeing him like this. That he would find such comfort in the simple meeting of your palms.

His chin lifts when you turn, your other hand coming up to tuck a curtain of his hair behind his ear.

“Is this okay?” You whisper.

Bob nods, and for one treacherous moment he lets himself believe that you unconsciously seek him out too, that your hands itch to touch him just as his own do for you. And then you’re gathering him into your arms, and he follows without hesitation, falling into your embrace and burying his face into your shoulder.

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep but when he wakes, you’re still there.

“Hi,” you breathe, as though afraid you’ll disturb this peace if you speak any louder. Bob doesn’t tell you that he thinks he’ll only find peace if you’re around.

“Hi,” he whispers back, a smile lifting his lips as though you’re breathing life back into him. “Thank you.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Anytime.”

—

The first time you undress in front of him is, well, it’s not like that.

Because the entire time, Bob is furious. He wants to break something, feels the frustration crowding his lungs and resists the urge to just scream it out.

The whole team had frozen when he appeared in the doorway when they got home, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of you. One of your arms was slung around Ava’s shoulders as she propped you up, and your other hand was pressed gingerly to your ribcage.

There was a bruise blooming along your temple. Your lip had split in two places, and there was dried blood along your hairline. He could smell fresh blood in the air, even though he couldn’t see any open wounds.

John took a step toward him, one hand up in what seemed to be a placating gesture. “She’s okay, Bobby.”

“Okay?” Bob asked shakily, “she can barely stand.”

“She made it home alive, that’s all that matters,” Yelena reminded him, and while it was somewhat reassuring, it did little to quell the fire in his throat.

“She just needs to rest now,” Bucky told him, inhaling sharply when Bob’s jaw was clenched so tight it looked like his teeth might crack under the pressure.

“I’ll be fine, Bob,” you said quickly, smiling at him through your pain.

That was somehow worse than your physical injuries. Bob wanted to know then and there who did this to you, because he would unleash the full and unrestrained wrath of his powers if it meant avenging you, consequences be damned.

For the first time, he wanted to see something burn.

Ava cursed under her breath when Bob’s eyes flashed gold, but then you were asking him, “Help me to my room?”

Just like that, his eyes returned to their natural blue, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

And now, as he stands in your room, his hands are shaking as he pulls a clean set of clothes from your dresser. You limp toward the en-suite bathroom, leaning one hand on the counter and breathing deeply through your nose as you try to peel off your soiled tact-suit.

The second you let out a hiss of pain when the movement tugs at your stitches, Bob is at your side in an instant. He pushes down the panic clawing at his throat, the one that won’t quite settle down even though you’re right here, alive and breathing.

But he can spiral later; you need him now.

Bob gently, so gently, brushes your hand away so he can reach for your zipper. You make eye contact with him in the mirror, nodding, and he swallows the lump in his throat as he slowly helps you out of your bloody clothes.

“I’m going to be fine, okay?” You repeat and he just nods, his hands skimming over your shoulder blades, down your arms, as he helps you undress. His breath hitches as your suit falls into a heap around your feet, when he finds the square of gauze taped over your midsection with a spot of dreaded crimson seeping through. There’s a matching one on your opposite side. “It was a through and through. Missed all vital organs, the doctor said. It’s basically a flesh wound.”

“I should have been there,” Bob finally says when he finds his voice.

“Hey…” you turn to face him, “this happens. It’s part of the job.”

“I can help,” he almost pleads. He presses your hand to the side of his face, trying to hide the sting of tears. “If I’d been there, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. None of you ever would.”

He hates it, that feeling of helplessness as he’s forced to stay behind in the Tower. But what he hates even more is the thought that one day, you or Yelena or any one of the team could die out there—and he’d be here, safe and sound even though he was the strongest out of all of you, twiddling his thumbs waiting for you to come back.

“Don’t say I’m not ready,” Bob bites back a sob as he drops his forehead to your bare shoulder, “I’m ready. I’ll always be ready to protect you.”

He’s just found you.

He can’t lose you now.

“I know,” you turn around and your eyes shining just as brightly as his are. “And we’ll protect you, too. I promise.”

Bob’s never doubted you before.

He won’t doubt you now, either.

—

The team never leaves Bob behind after that, and when he first tells you what’s in his heart, it’s a quiet, almost unassuming thing.

He hadn’t intended to, although he’s always wanted to.

He wanted to tell you when you all boarded the jet, full of nervous but cautiously optimistic energy now that Bob was with you. He found his spot next to you, ignoring John’s teasing quip and Alexei’s beaming smile, his arm pressed to yours on the armrest between your seats.

He wanted to tell you just before stepping off the plane, when you gave him a reassuring smile and a confident nod, like you were saying you’ve got this. He wanted to call it after you as you rushed into the fray, weapons raised and ready, the others following closely behind you.

He wanted to tell you when he stepped in front of you, absorbing the impact of a bullet aimed straight at your forehead. It bounced harmlessly off him with a high-pitched ping, didn’t even leave a single dent or red mark on his skin, but you still gasped behind him and cried out his name.

But he couldn’t think straight in that moment, could only think about eliminating anything and anyone who’d try to take you from him.

He wanted to tell it to you on the plane ride home, when you brushed his hair back to double and triple check the spot where he’d been hit, undeterred by the splatters of someone else’s blood on his suit.

Bob thought about the man it belonged to. He hadn’t set out to kill anybody, but if that was the price he had to pay to keep you alive… well then, he’d pay it again and again.

“It didn’t hurt at all?” You asked. “Are you sure?”

He smiled, full of affection, exhaling on something of a laugh, “I’m invincible, remember?”

“That we know of,” you didn’t return his smile, “please, don’t do that again.”

Bob didn’t answer, because he knew he couldn’t promise that. Even if he could, it’s not like he ever would.

He wants to tell it to you when you pull him into your room the second you get home, standing close enough that he can count the stars reflected in your eyes.

He wants to tell you everything right now, everything he’s held onto so tightly all this time because he didn’t think that he ever deserved this.

Bob’s been made his whole life to think that this was never in the stars for him. The Void in his chest, the one that he manages somehow to keep at bay most days, still whispers it to him. Still sneers at him for even entertaining the idea he could ever have it, let alone with someone as good as you.

Then you kiss him. Just a peck, the briefest meeting of lips at first. You look up at him searchingly, waiting for him to push you away or say this is a mistake, but he would never. So long as you want it, he’d give you anything.

He’s the one to initiate your second kiss, more firmly this time, with the reverence of a man who believes he would never get to do this again. You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pull him closer and closer until your chests are touching.

“Invincible, maybe,” you whisper once you pull away, your voice wobbly as you breathe the words into the quiet space between you, “but not replaceable. Not to me.”

Bob feels something crack open inside him then. He buries his nose in the junction of where your neck and shoulder met, hot tears dripping down the delicate curve there and soaking into your shirt.

He wants more, to let his body tell you what he can’t yet bring himself to say, but finds himself almost afraid of it. It has been a while since he’s been this close, this intimate, with someone he genuinely cares about. Maybe even longer since he’s done it with a clear head.

But you seem content to just hold him, like that first time, as though it doesn’t make him near desperate with want and weak with affection all at the same time. And later, before sleep can claim the both of you, he carries you to the bathroom to wash up. The two of you stay in the tub long after you are clean.

Steam curls into the air, hot water rippling as Bob sits behind you, caging you between his arms as you lean back comfortably against the sturdy planes of his chest.

He says it to you then, murmurs into your skin that he’s found love here.

Bob almost can’t believe it when you say it back.

That night, he falls asleep in your arms again, the side of his head pressed to your chest, listening to the steady beating of your heart against his ear.

The darkness in his own begins to recede that much further with each reassuring thump, as though chased away by the dawning of the morning sun.

And you.

Always you.

fin.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. no part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

So I saw your post about the Vamp Trap AU about Ford having a fucking crisis about the growing age gap between him and his dead brother.

What if Ford hadn't come across Stan for several *years* after he got turned? Maybe not a full decade, but long enough to where he looks noticeably older than Stan?

Would that make Ford's mental timer on how long before he got Stan to turn him shorter? Or would it make it longer because it already feels like it's too late? Regardless, how much worse is Ford's guilt?

ohohohoh >:)

lets say its been five, maybe six years. Fords still in his thirties, got a few gray hairs from stress and wrinkles, also from stress. Middle aged and still looking good!

And everything is set up the same, they still meet up in that alley, Ford still sees Stan feeding, still sees his brother. His brother, who died at 27(ish) and has no wrinkles, no gray hair. Still middleaged but clearly younger than Ford.

Because he's The Beast. The monster Fords been hunting for five/six years and failing all the while. Long enough he's got a whole portfolio tracking it, has studdied its habits, has realized it mainly eats vampires and makes it so none of them have ever seen it and lived to tell the tale. And its Stan.

Stan, who's still deeply in denial but the facade is cracking the longer the denial has gone on. Fords here, just killed a guy and drugged him and dragged him to a silver cage and all Stan can do is quip about how he's somehow aged worse than Stan! Stan's life is awful but at least he's got a full head of brown hair and not a wrinkle in sight! (besides the ones under his eyes from his terrible sleeping, but thats fine! He doesn't dream after all, its just to pass the time :))

Fords goal here is to find out how Stan's strain works and get him to turn him asap. He's wasted enough time as it is, he needs to become Stan's superior strain, find a cure, then cure Stan and wait for five/six year to cure himself so they're back to being twins. He's righting an injustice here, and he's not going to let anyone stop him. His guilt is five/six times worse, because not only is his brother dead, its been long enough not noticing is a crime in itself and he's been hunting him down, dehumanizing him and thinking all the worst things.

Stan's his baby brother now. Is forever five/six years younger than him and getting younger every day Fords still breathing. Ford was already ready to abandon his humanity years ago, only didn't because Bill was the one offering for all the worst reasons. Now that its Stan Ford doesn't have to hold back.

[iamashrimp1]

A nice reflection that my dad (a 49-year-old man) has left me is that no version of TMNT is superior to another.✨✨🗿

He has watched all the versions of TMNT with me, and although his favorite is the 2003 one, he likes to make it clear that he doesn't dislike any of them and he doesn't think his favorite is superior, And yes, he hates those fans who cling to their favorite version and despise the others. 🤸🏻

He loves the classic version and the first animated one, but he is also fascinated by ROTTMNT.❤️

He loves the Rise of Raph version, although he prefers the 2003 version of Donatello, as for Leo, he's still undecided whether to choose the one from the comics or the one from the classic animated film, and well... Mikey is Mikey, for me dad any version will be beautiful of this little orange baby🧡🧡

And with the Splinter theme, you know that no one has been perfect, something interesting from my dad's point of view, is that for him the 2012 version of Splinter is a bad dad, But in the sense that in that version everything was "Leonardo, Leonardo, LEONARDO", and well, to the rest a "hello" was enough, although he is a very good teacher, as a character for me dad is a "meh", would have liked greater participation like in 2018 and the current one.🏃🏻🏃🏻🐢

And now we have Splinter from ROTTMNT, for me dad this is a good father in the sense that although the leader is Raph, this version of splinter, He has taken every step to develop each of his children, and as a teacher he is "like he was having his development" something that my dad loved about this version,It's just that he wasn't the perfect Splinter master in the art of teaching, but rather he was learning, in addition to having specialized chapters on it, and more intervention in the story.🫂🫂✨

More of my dad's views:

The classic and 2003 versions were very good, although some details still needed polishing.🤸🏻🐢🙂‍↔️🐸

2007 version, loved the development of the rivalry between Raph and Leo❤️💙

The 2012 version seems like a great story, but very long.🐢✨

Live-action movies: he's uncomfortable with the designs, but not to the point that it stops him from watching them.🗿🐢

The 2018 version seemed innovative and fresh, but because of Nick it couldn't reach its potential.❤️✨🐢

The current version is very good, although he dislikes the current jokes a little (really, very little).🤟

Comics, can't decide.

Villains, all the Sheders are very good, he likes the alteration they gave to ROTTMNT, but he liked the development that was given to the Krang of 2012, he loved Draxum and the villains of ROTTMNT, The only version of Avril she doesn't like is the 2012 one, that's because she didn't like the "weird and toxic" friendship or whatever it was that she had with Donn.🙃✨

If I could, I would definitely adopt Casey.🗿

Conclusion, let's learn to love all these versions 🤸🏻✨✨

(or well it's the recommendation of a 49-year-old premium adult and a 23-year-old noob adult)✨✨🗿

[mossyswritingcorner]

Okay so, I’m kinda struggling with ViriPV Pt2, so if yall have any ideas for that, please send them into the ask box, but I did manage to finish Archivist!Reader x Professor!Sage of Truth Pt 2, with this one being a more meaty chapter, so please enjoy! ❤️

Pt 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Witches.

Witches witches witches witches WITCHES!!!

This was absolutely TERRIBLE news!

Why was he here? How did he find you out? What did he think about you now??? Did he think you were some kind of stalker creep??? Was he here to give you a warning before he reports you to your superiors???

Yet, he seemed all too chipper for that to be the case…maybe he still wasn’t sure. Maybe this was a test to see if you’d admit it. Maybe this was all just a big misunderstanding, and he wasn’t even sure of who was really behind it all. You just have to play your cards right and do everything in your power to make this disappear.

So you force a smile onto your face and draw a hand to your doughy chest, disguising your genuine alarm at being discovered as a simple startle from your unexpected guest, “Ah! You must be the Sage of Truth, my apologies, you…surprised me. I didn’t see any scheduled appointments during my office hours today and wasn’t expecting any…visitors. Excuse my negligence, your…uhm…” You trail off, oh god what do you call a sage?

You weren’t exactly in a position where offending the cookie by referring to him by the wrong title would go over well, and most intellectuals of his stature who come to teach at the academy place great importance on how they’re addressed to - much to your chagrin - so you shakily settled on a meager, “…your…sageliness…”

Which you regretted the second it left your lips…especially when the Sage let out an amused snicker in response.

“Now now, there’s no need for formalities. After all, we’ve been around each other more than enough to consider ourselves familiar - more than mere acquaintances needing prissy titles for each other, really.” He hums, his sharp smile stretching even wider as he eyes you eagerly.

Oh witches, he’s already jumping to accusations.

You were screwed…unless…?

No, this was good, great even. You get to make the first move.

This was your chance to clear your name. He was presenting a bluff, a goad to get a confession out of you, but this hard and fast approach won’t shake you. Just be calm, remember you haven’t done anything wrong, and keep it to the snippets of truth in this elaborate lie you’re spinning.

“Pardon? I’m sorry, are you thinking of another archivist? I don’t believe we’ve ever spoken.” You answer simply, with a steadiness in your voice that even surprises you. Well, it was technically true, so perhaps that helped your fibbing to not falter.

His blue and golden eyes narrow into thinly creased expressions of mirth, “Ah, well that’s because we haven’t, but I’m quite sure I’m in the right office. I even cancelled class without warning just to confirm. The head bibliosoph told me that you’re the only archivist who takes their lunch at this time, and consequently, you’re the only archivist who was missing from your office during the time I would be lecturing.”

Just double down, you’re not screwed over yet.

“…I don’t understand what you’re getting at…I was not in my office because I was on my lunch break, that doesn’t mean I’m…what? Spying on you?” You reply simply with a bit of forced indignation, though you can’t help the bead of sugary sweat that glides down your face.

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But the fact that you’re back here so soon does. You were gone for four and a half minutes, and notably, there’s a two minute walk from here to my classroom. Now, accounting for the time it’d take to walk to my class, read the note, realize it was cancelled, and walk back, that would take roughly four and a half minutes. Far too convenient to be mere coincidence, don’t you think?” He explains in that same matter of fact glee that tilts on the taut tightrope between a well of scholarly knowledge and a showman’s theatrics.

WITCHES.

You knew the Sage was clever, but setting a trap of pure intellect just to catch who was eavesdropping on his lectures was absolutely insane. You’d already been outwitted from the moment you stepped into your office, but you were in way too deep to stop now.

“…but…I…uhm…well…I only came back because…because…” You stammer out, straining your useless brain for any out here, yet the twisted truths you’ve been relying on fail you entirely, leaving you to talk out of your own ass, “…because…I forgot something in my office…”

“Lie.”

Your brows raise, “What?”

“That was a lie. Rubbish, hogwash, baloney~! I’ve found the truth of the whom, when, and where; I’m just waiting on that precious little why to show itself.”

“Well, how would you know?” You huff defensively.

“Great question, always question your sources,” He praises with that familiar teaching tone he saved for students, “You see, the role of Sage of Truth is a great one, bestowed to me by the witches themselves and manifests its power in the form of my soul jam. Now, since a little cookie like me is tied to such a big idea like truth, I’m privy to a few little details most cookies can’t see. The truth sings to me through my soul jam, and your little lie did anything but resonate with me as truth. Also I saw a cookie leaving my lecture in a hurry yesterday in an archivist icing with your frosting features, so the longer I look at you, the more sure I am that my hypothesis is correct.”

It’s over. You’re through. You can kiss your job, your research, maybe even your degree goodbye, all because you were the idiot who convinced yourself that lying to the Sage of Truth was a good idea

The words start spilling out before you can stop them, instinctively leaning into damage control with your speech, “I…all I’ve done is attend a few classes, I-I’m not some creep-“

The Sage hums in reply, “Yes, that I am also certain of. You only seem to have any interest in my lectures, which I will say, is quite flattering to hear that someone regards what I teach as so intensely intriguing that they resort to such secretive methods.”

“…I’m sorry…it won’t happen again. I won’t disturb your lessons anymore…and I’ll accept whatever punishment the administration deems appropriate for me…”

His iced brows raise at that, seeming surprised by the notion, “Disturb? Punishment? Now, what on earthbread are you apologizing for? You’re not in trouble.”

“…I’m not…?”

“Of course not. Why would I fault someone for seeking out knowledge? It’s exactly what I stand for.”

You blink at the Sage with thorough confusion, “…because it’s against academy policy for employees to attend lectures?”

“…are you serious?” He deadpans.

“…yes…?” You hesitantly reply.

“…that is the stupidest rule I’ve ever heard of. I just assumed you were were too shy to come into class in earnest when I clearly left the door open for you, but the Parfaedia Institute policy is the real obstacle in this case?”

“Wait, the door was open for me-?”

But it seemed the Sage of Truth was far from done with his tirade, blinded by passionate frustration, “Staff at an educational institution should constantly be committed to extending their knowledge to pass onto the next generation which they teach, yet how on earthbread do they expect their staff to continue to learn and grow as educators if they can’t even attend a lecture! Just the principle of barring someone from the truth for such a foolish reason is absolute nonsense! I’m truly sorry that you’ve had to endure that. Craving the truth is as natural as existing, and it’s not right to have that stifled by stiff procedures by crumbly old cookies.” He huffed with a righteous glower.

“Wait wait wait…you’re sorry for me??? You’re not going to report me and get me fired?”

“Fired??? They’d really fire you over this? Witches, that explains the secrecy. No, I am not reporting you, though I will be having a stern debate with the headmaster, that’s for sure.” He replies.

“Please don’t, really it’s no issue. I-I was going to stop listening in after today, and I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Sage.” You reply quickly, already imagining all the ways the higher ups would phrase your letter of dismissal.

Yet the cookie only waves his hand dismissively at you, “Nonsense! It is a crime to see such brilliant budding minds tossed aside and criminalized for their curiosity. You have the makings of a great cookie; I couldn’t help but take a small peek into the research drafts left on your desk, and these theories are really something worth pursuing, yet you’re not going to get anywhere with an administration like this.”

That had your head reeling, the Sage of Truth himself had read your drafts and believes they’re feasible? He thinks you’re brilliant?

“You…you like my theories?” You utter so softly, your eyes wide with that tentative hope so fragile a stray breath could shatter it entirely.

He seems to be tipped off the track of his tirade by your question, his fussy frown soothing into a gentle smile unlike the amused smirks you’d earned from him before - this seemed to be a more genuine mirth lining his iced features, and you’re not sure what to do with it. He takes your dough in his, gently clasping your hand with gentle reassurance, “Like them? They’re incredible. The key to true knowledge is often pretty small, and I think your research might be the linchpin that brings the whole puzzle together. We’re going to develop this idea to the fullest, because your concepts truly deserve to be heard.” He answers eagerly.

“We?” You echo, your eyes widening.

“Of course! Now, you can change your lunch period around easily, can’t you?”

You nod hesitantly, tilting your head a bit at the random question, “I…yes, but-“

“Perfect! I get off for lunch at 1:00, we can discuss your thesis further over tea. I really think we can finish this up in a few weeks before it’s ready to publish.” He grins, that eager tenacity returning to his gaze

“Wait…you want to help me with my research?!”

“Absolutely! This is just something I cannot miss!I noticed how you pulled some ideas from my own writings and teachings in class, and I’d love to be able to assist personally in your research…that is, if you’d allow it. I wouldn’t want to intrude if you’d rather be the sole author-”

“Yes!” You blurt eagerly.

He blinks at you curiously, “Yes, it would be intruding?”

“No no no! Yes, I’d love your help! It’d be an absolute honor to work with you, Sage!” You stammer out.

His smile widens at that, “Well then, I’ll be seeing you at 1:00.” He replies, beginning to approach the door, “Oh, and one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“No need for ‘Sage’ now that we’re research partners, call me Blueberry Milk Cookie.” He answers jovially before slipping out of your office.

By the witches, you were going to work with the Sage of Truth himself.

Or well…Blueberry Milk Cookie…oh witches you couldn’t wait until 1:00.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: So I took the liberty of making Sage of Truth’s real name Blueberry Milk cookie bc I’ve been seeing it floating around and it seems appropriate for him, also I hope it isn’t too OOC, I tried my best. There’s probably gonna be four parts in total for this one, so I hope you guys enjoy this one. Let me know any suggestions or ideas you have in the ask box, I always love getting inspo from ppl :)

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 1x08, "poison"

the diagnostics department is poisoning its devotees to act just like their idol. chaos ensues.

this one felt good. it feels good to be hit over the head with some over obvious messaging every once in a while, especially when that messaging is very fun, exciting, and character-driven. PLUS we get major house and foreman dynamic development! i am very pleased.

this episode very conveniently comes in thirds, represented by each time chase, foreman, and cameron misstep during the case (in that order). they're confronted with a helicopter mom who reacts, in their view, poorly to how the diagnostics team treats her son. in my opinion, she's one of the first to rationally question their central practice of treating to diagnose, so it's funny how they all immediately get pissed off and write her off as crazy. i'll break down this first and move into other sub-conflicts/plots.

house demands to know why foreman cares so much about the case from the very second he presents the file to house. he's asking nothing but leading questions, of course, because he can tell that foreman's base interest comes from just that - blanket curiosity - rather than a more cameron-esque bleeding heart. house identifies a burgeoning house-ism in foreman, and it's one of house's most dangerous.

chase's tendency to be cavalier causes the mom to toss him off her son's case. he doesn't often weigh the consequences of what he's going to say in conversation, so long as it gets the job done, gets the patient to comply, gets the diagnosis clear and under control. yet another house-ism. yet, unlike house, chase doesn't have the necessary thick skin to bear through the pushback his big mouth gets him.

cameron's stubbornness could not present in a way more dissimilar to house, yet it's their strongest and clearest connection. she's also the last of the ducklings to be sent in to deal with the helicopter mom and, frustrated that she's compromising the diagnostic process, says that "no, it's on you. you need to do better. right now. yes or no." it's easy to put those words into house's mouth, but, not long after, the mom also boots her off the case.

each of the ducklings embody their own house-isms, but to varying degrees of failure. it seems like 1x08 may be highlighting the missing component for us: house combines all 3 of the aforementioned traits, rendering him pretty darn miserable, which makes him less compromising, less kind, and more convincing.

above all else, though, foreman gets the spotlight this time, which is refreshing after several chase and cameron-heavy episodes. while investigating the patient's home, cameron comments that he's "deflecting a personal question with a joke. gee, who do i know that does that?" foreman, understandably irked by this question (because, for nearly the full duration of this show, i believe that foreman does NOT like house), retorts with, "yeah, i'm just like him, except for the angry, bitter, pompous cr*pple part." he misses all the true comparisons to be made between himself and house thus far: their ambition, love of the puzzle, and the same cynical way toward others. and, just like how house md presents love in all its dimensions across several characters, the show will also present these traits in their character foils as equal parts good and bad.

later, when trying to make another appeal to the mother of the patient, she freaks out on foreman, too: "you're just as pompous and superior as [house] is!"

1x08 also presents these foreman/house similarities as inescapable. house is thrilled that foreman isn't making up with the mother by the episode's close, but foreman doesn't know why he would do that at all. never fear - house knows! there's no reason to make nice with her if "you don't care about her. or her son." immediately following this, foreman and house leave together in the elevator, where house smugly realizes that they do, in fact, where the same shoes. ugh, to respect someone so much and detest them at the same time is such an insanely interesting character dynamic.

a brief chase/daddy issues moment rears its head, too. he's able to redeem himself for his prior failures with the patient when he fakes a phone call to the mom from the CDC, since she won't go ahead with house's treatment till she hears their second opinion. not only is this ingenious and horribly manipulative, it also impresses house, a rare thing. i'll never forget the absolute elation chase feels after earning this fleeting approval, complemented nicely by a literal glow passing over their heads between shots.

that's his DAD, you guys.

there's another separate thread i want to highlight happens during cameron and foreman's conversation about house. foreman is upfront about house and vicodin - he's an addict. he uses vicodin to get through the day and can't pass easily through one without it. but cameron is so resistant to this. disputing foreman's diagnosis, she says, "he's not an addict. he has to take drugs. he's in pain!"

there are so many distinctions throughout house md about the root cause of house's addiction, a conflict that will basically tear up his relationship with cuddy and (very nearly) with wilson, too, in the distant future. oftentimes they're insistent that his pain is psychosomatic, therefore "less real," or it's phantom pain, or it's just Not As Bad as he claims. cameron makes a unique divergence from this separation of disability, addiction, and pain, by removing all traces of responsibility from house. it's all pain, so it's all okay. most people claim the opposite and put all the onus on house without factoring in the hand life has dealt him.

this is very in character for cameron thus far, as she wants to bring out the best in house, the kind of "best" that may not even be there in at all.

and, finally, 3 small notes:

hugh laurie has just about Found House at this point. the above picture says it all. he's endearing and funny and still a little evil.

wilson was there. this was probably his most "i, too, am in this epsisode" episode to date. i do love that he showed up solely to read the love poem the 80-year-old syphilis patient wrote for house, give him the test results that he had no business handling, and then leave. and he looked good during it all!

cuddy said like 3 words all episode :(

[caughtnyact]

Yay Thedas Weekend! For Emmrich/f!Mercar: "Tell me where it hurts, and be specific." from the injury dialogue prompts?

Hi hi! This is so late because I got way too into this idea lmao thank you for enabling me to provide this nonsense for @thedasweekend

Rook dislocates her shoulder and goes to her resident necromancer for some medical assistance (and no other reason whatsoever.) Rook makes it weird. Pre-romance because the unaddressed sexual tension is hilarious, and I have a puckish side that will not be denied

Mature - 1,491 words

“Rook, are you sure you’re okay?” Neve emerged gracefully from the Vi’Revas, turning back to make sure Bellara and Rook were close behind.

“Oh, you know,” Rook laughed through a wince, “I’ll just need to lay down for a bit.”

“Rook. You fell off a building.” Neve’s tone expressed concern, but her eyes betrayed an amusement at how ridiculous their trip to Treviso ended up being. It was Bellara that had the idea to ambush the group of Venatori by catching air off of a zipline. It certainly caught them by surprise when Rook had overshot the landing and flew over the edge of the roof.

“It’s fiiiiiiine, Neve,” Rook dismissed. “I’m just happy that I landed in that cart of cabbages.” Neve was unconvinced; Rook seemed to be fine, but her mageknife arm has remained at her side since they dispatched the Venatori.

As the ladies made their way up the steps towards the main room of the library, Neve got an idea. “Hey, Rook,” she tossed her pen at Rook’s left side, “Catch!”

Rook reflexively reached out her hand to catch the pen. “Fuck—” she cried as her arm stalled out and the pen fell to the floor.

“Ah, yes, how silly of me to be concerned.”

“Ya know, Rook, you should really get your shoulder checked out,” Bellara chimed in. “I can stabilize injuries in a pinch, but I’m not a professional.” Rook rubbed her shoulder, feeling the odd angle that her bone jutted out. Perhaps this wasn’t an injury she could walk off after all.

Neve’s lips curled into a smirk. “Let’s go, Bellara— Rook has an appointment with our most enthusiastic healer.” Rook dramatically rolled her eyes as the two ladies split off towards the kitchen while she continued up the library stairs.

Rook hesitated to knock on the laboratory door. The ladies were right to tease her; Rook had flirted a few times with their resident necromancer, but she could not get a read on how he felt about it all. It started out as playful friendliness on her part, but she quickly found him to be an interesting man of superior intellect; it also helped that he was extremely easy on the eyes.

The sound of Manfred's feet clacking down the hallway snapped her out of her daydreaming. “Hiss!”

"Hiya, Manfred! How's my favorite boy doing?" Rook couldn’t help but smile as she patted the top of his skull. The second Emmrich revealed his skeleton assistant, she insisted he come along with them. Manfred had taken very quickly to her upon their arrival to the Lighthouse as well. They played many a game of Rock Paper Scissors, after all.

Manfred grabbed at Rook’s hand to lead her into the laboratory, as he always did, but Rook winced in pain. “Ah— Sorry, buddy, that’s why I’m here, actually.”

He stopped in his tracks, tilting his skull in confusion. “Hiss?”

Rook could hear Emmrich’s hurried footsteps down the stairs, clearly startled by the commotion. "Manfred, are you alright? I heard a shout— Oh, Rook! What might I do for you, my dear?”

“Hiss!” Manfred pointed at Rook’s arm.

“Hey, Emmrich,” Rook smiled. “Had a little mishap in Treviso and was wondering if you might be able to take a look at it.”

"Ah,” Emmrich clicked his teeth, “Of course, darling. Please show me where it hurts, and be specific." She gestured to her shoulder with her other hand. Emmrich ghosted his fingers over the bone, wincing as she flinched under his touch.

“Just so! Rook, your shoulder is almost certainly dislocated. Thankfully it appears to be a simple subluxation— if it were a full dislocation, this would have been much more unpleasant.”

“Soooo…. would you be able to pop it back in so I can get back into the field?”

Emmrich simply gestured for Rook to lay down on the exam table. She hesitantly hopped up onto the table and waited for instruction.

He stepped away for a second, returning with a small throw pillow. “Please lie down, if you would,” he instructed. As she laid her head down, Emmrich tapped the table gently next to her ear.

“Oh, thank you,” Rook blushed and lifted her head for him to gingerly slide the pillow under her.

Rook looked up at him through her lashes as he stood behind her head. From this angle, her mind wandered to dangerous places. It would be so easy for her to tilt her head back and open her mouth for him to use as he pleased. She was grateful that Emmrich couldn't read her mind.

"First thing's first, my dear," he asserted, "I must ensure your trapezius is as relaxed as possible. It would cause you more harm to attempt this while you are tense."

He reached over to grab some kind of massage oil, pouring a coin-sized amount onto his hands and rubbed them together to distribute it evenly. This was not how Rook had imagined this would go, but she certainly didn’t mind. “I’m going to touch you now,” he explained. “The oil might feel a tad warm.”

Come on, Rook, she pleaded with herself. Think about something unsexy.

All rational thought ceased completely as hands met skin. Whether it was something in this massage oil or whatever kind of magic he was imbuing his hands with, Rook felt the most delicious warmth spread through her muscles. He started at her neck, wrapping his delicate fingers around her throat. As his thumbs began to work the deep-set knots down the back of her neck, Rook fought the urge to sink into his touch.

“My word, these muscles are tight.”

“I appreciate you helping me out,” Rook admitted. “I owe you big time— Neve was practically ready to drag me back through the eluvian to see the Shadows’ medic.”

“Perish the thought, my dear. You do so much for us all, it’s the least I could do.”

His thumbs continued to rub circles into her neck— breathing steadily was becoming increasingly difficult. Emmrich must have sensed this, as he pulled his hands away. “Rook, I fear you aren’t relaxing. Perhaps it would help to do some breathing exercises.”

“Okay,” Rook exhaled, “How do I do that?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple. Just breathe through your nose, like so,” he demonstrated, “and out through your mouth.” As Rook began to do the same, Emmrich poured more oil onto his hands. She felt herself becoming lightheaded as her breathing remained shallow.

He tutted soothingly as he returned to his ministrations. “You’re breathing too quickly, my dear. I find it helps to count down in my head,” he suggested. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Rook felt her shoulders finally easing, her eyes closing as she surrendered to his touch. His hands started moving towards her front along the clavicles. “That’s it, darling. Slow. Deep.”

This is getting way too erotic, Rook thought as she rubbed her thighs together for some kind of relief. She could feel herself starting to blush across her chest as his hands continued further away from her shoulders. There was no way he didn’t know what he was doing to her, right? She searched his face for any indication of his intentions, but he appeared to be completely unfazed. Rook closed her eyes once more and tried to focus on the task at hand. The last thing she’d want to do is make him uncomfortable, especially while he was doing her a kindness. She had barely noticed as his left hand swiftly crossed over to meet with the other, working towards her injured shoulder. His right hand moved gently around the joint towards her back, and without warning he quickly snapped her shoulder back into place.

“Oh fuck—” Rook threw her head back as the most obscene moan escaped her lips. As she came back to herself, Rook saw the color had almost completely drained from Emmrich’s face. The professional composure had finally slipped— the sound of her pleasure practically bounced off the laboratory walls and straight to his cock. She thanked the Maker Himself that she was still eye-level with his quickly tightening trousers.

“My word,” he breathed. His hands were still holding onto Rook’s shoulder for dear life, as if to ground himself. He quickly removed them before he lingered too long. “I mean, that is to say, you should be all set now.”

Rook sat up and flexed her arm for signs of pain. “It feels good as new! Thank you again, Emmrich.”

“You are most welcome, darling. If you’re amenable, I would like to see you again— to ensure that nothing else needs to be done, of course.” Clearly still flustered, Emmrich retreated to find a cloth to wipe his oily hands on.

“Oh, you know me,” Rook smirked. “I’m sure I’ll find any excuse to come see you again.”

[shana-reviews-tmblr]

wow if there was EVER a perfect example to show how dumb it is to think Live Action is superior to Animation because it's "real"

it's this

what a cynical way to handle this

"we were left behind"

"all that stuff sounds so nice-that is not reality, THIS is reality and i need you to start living in it with ME"

Ohana means nothing now I guess- 'I need you to start living in reailty' KILL YOUR-

Anyway I havent been this mad over media in so long gang. I swear-

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Plotdale 30 May 2025

[The Village with Aaron and Robert]

ROBERT: So...what's it gonna be? #AreWeBackTogetherYet

AARON: *Deep sigh of regret* Sorry, I have to marry John. It's what the Plot wants.

ROBERT: *Rejected Face* Right...so the Plot still hates me. Great. But hey wait...you walked out of your wedding and kissed me back! #WhyAreWeNotGettingBackTogether

AARON: *Got me there Face* Yeah well that was a mistake #AndIWillKeepMakingThem

ROBERT: So why didn't you go with him just then?

AARON: Because I don't know when you'll be back again and I wanted to try and get all the face time I could before the Plot separates us again. And also #ForTheFans ...That's why I can't want you yet Robert. We thrive on angst and slow burns and the fans need to see the yearning. It's for maximum drama okay. Plus I'm Plot!Dumb. I don't know quite how yet but I am. #SeeYouSoon

--- AARON walks off ---

ROBERT: *Rejected Face*

PLOT: *Whispers* Look at the PARALLELS!

[The Village Hall with all those irrelevant people]

FAUXBERT: I should tell everyone the wedding's off. I can see the writing on the wall. Plus I know it will give the fans who hate me some hope.

PLOT: No no it's not time yet, here I brought him back.

PLOTRON: Hey hey I'm here, ready for the wedding of the year. #IMissRobertAlready #ButIAmStubborn #SoIPersist #ForTheDrama

REGISTRAR: *Over it Face* Damn I was really hoping to finally go home. #TheseGaysTheyAreTryingToKillMe

FAUXBERT: *Surprised Face* Oh good, cause I really thought you were going to choose Robert there for a sec-

PLOTRON: Oh I tried mate but I'm not allowed to yet. #ForTheDrama

REGISTRAR: Can we get this over with for the love of god? #MaybeICanOfficiateWedding3.0

--- The Most Dull Wedding of the Year Commences ---

REGISTRAR: Do you so and so take blah blah blah #GodIAmBored

FAUXBERT: *Attempts Smugden Face* I do! #NothingCanGoWrongNow

PLOTRON: *Through a fake smile* I do...I guess...at least this is practice for Wedding 3.0 #ForTheDrama #AreWeBackTogetherYet

[The Bus Stop with Robert and Swirling]

ROBERT: *Head in hands* *Moody mode activated*

SWIRLING: *Fond admiration Face* Was it worth it? Risking prison for #TrueLove ?

ROBERT: *Rejected Face* Apparently not. The Plot has it out for me. #IMissAaron

SWIRLING: Yeah it really does. I have to arrest you now because a currently unknown informant snitched on you. I'm as sorry as you are. I was rooting for you. For what it's worth, I won't cuff you. Does that get me an invite to the inevitable Wedding 3.0? *Helps Robert into the back of the car*

ROBERT: *Brushes Swirling's helping hand away* Yeah yeah...I might need a new best person since my own sister keeps selling me out.

[The Woolpack with PLOTRON, Mack, Ruby, Caleb, Kerry and some other irrelevant people]

VICTIM: *Plot!Dumb Face* *Gives the most uninspired speech unable to be summarized because it's already been forgotten*

MACK: *Interrupts the speech* #ThankGod Hey sorry I'm late I was locked in a weed attic. #MyPlotsAreWeird

PLOTRON: *Confused Face* Yeah it's uh...fine...you'll make it up to me later...probably when I become less Plot!Dumb. Plus, I had uh...other things going on. #IMissRobert #ForTheDrama

VICTIM: Oh...now I forgot what I was saying #NoOneCares

SOMEONE IRRELEVANT: Time for your first dance!

PLOTRON: Do I have to Plot? You know how I feel about dancing. #TechnicallyItsJustStanding

PLOT: Sorry you're Plot!Dumb right now. All previous characterization goes out this window. You're completely fine with this now. Anything else would be too direct of a reference to your superior weddings.

--- PLOTRON AND FAUXBERT dance ---

FAUXBERT: This is the best day of my life. #Foreshadowing

PLOTRON: Really I think we might be cursed. #Foreshadowing

FAUXBERT: *Sickly Creepy Smile Face* No this is how we were meant to be, together forever, I'm never letting you go. #Foreshadowing #RedFlag #RunAaronRun

IRRELEVANT PEOPLE: *Plot!Dumb Ignorantly Happy Faces*

--- CALEB AND RUBY arrive ---

CALEB: Sorry we missed the wedding of the year. I brought you interior design vouchers because everyone hates your flat. #ForTheFans

RUBY: You deserve happiness Aaron.

KERRY: Have you heard of Robert Sugden?

RUBY: Who?

PLOTRON: #GodIMissRobert

[Prison Phone Call with Robert and VICTIM]

ROBERT: Hey Vic, so I'm in prison again. Crimes of passion and all that. #IHateThePlot

VICTIM: *Shocked Face* Again? But I wasn't done choosing John over you right in front of your face. Makes no matter, I can do it over the phone. Aaron chose John forever and ever till death do them part #Foreshadowing They made a promise in front of everyone.

ROBERT: So did we...twice. Why does everyone forget that? #TrueWeddingsOfTheYear

VICTIM: I forget everything that isn't immediately important to the Plot at hand. So anyway you just need to use this time to move on. *Hangs up*

ROBERT: *Rejected Face* Move on? Has she met me? *Operation get Aaron back 2.0 Commences* #AreWeBackTogetherYet

[Outside the Woolpack with PLOTRON, Mack and some other irrelevant people]

MACK: Look I decorated the hideous van to make up for missing your wedding. I put in as much effort as this union deserves! #IHateJohnClub #DemotedToVicePresidentBecauseRobertIsNowPresident

PLOTRON: Uhh...yep, sounds about right. You can make it up to me at Wedding 3.0 to Robert.

--- FAUXBERT AND PLOTRON get into the hideous van ---

FAUXBERT: Right, lets turn our phones off the Plot can't reach us. #Foreshadowing

PLOTRON: Sounds great! Although usually I like to take my Plotless time to think about Robert and now I've got new material. Soz. Anyway...here's my totally inappropriate wedding song pick for our road tunes.

--- FAUXBERT AND PLOTRON drive off in the hideous van ---

KYLE: Hi! I've brought the Plot! There's a body being pulled out of the lake. Swirling is having the busiest day!

RUBY: Oh no I'm going to prison. #PrisonIsntSoBadRobertIsThere

IRRELEVANT PERSON: So much for being Team Fauxbert #Foreshadowing

[The Hideous Van with PLOTRON and FAUXBERT]

FAUXBERT: *Stops the van* *Soppy Face* I just want to savor this moment before the Plot hits the fan. #Foreshadowing

PLOTRON: Soppy Git *Derogatory*

FAUXBERT: *Soppy Face* We've made it. We're unbeatable.

PLOTRON: *He doesn't understand that Robert and I are inevitable Face*

FAUXBERT: Our lives are just going to keep getting better and better #HeavyForeshadowing #PlotKlaxon #TimeToGoFullVillainJohnnyBoy #BeOurHero #BringRobertAndAaronBackTogetherWithYourCrimes

--- PLOTRON AND FAUXBERT kiss ---

PLOT: Sorry sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you! #TeamRobert

[clairewritesfanfics]

if there were enough supplies in the wasteland for the marks to survive until angstrom got back on his bullshit what do you think wouldve happened?

(I will be basing my answer on my headcanons about the Marks' personalities and mainly the TV show variants.)

First, I'm going to rank them from most to least reasonable: Omni-Mark, Viltrumite > Full Mask, Maskless > Shiesty, Target, Sinister > Prisoner.

Omni would try to lead the group, he has strong big brother/dad energy and from what we've seen in his fight with Main!Mark, he has great control over his powers, which implies discipline, which implies patience. I imagine he would be very willing to wait things out. He doesn't seem like someone who would go around murdering everyone else right off the bat, the risk-reward ratio would be too low because the others would surround him. The same thinking can be applied with Viltrumite. However, taking a leadership role means that he (just Omni here) has all the power and most of the trust. Backstabbing is not out of the question once the numbers dwindle.

Full Mask and Maskless would be antsy but also cooperative. (I still haven't fleshed them out in my head so I'm afraid that's all I can say.)

Target comes off as an impudent thing, very childish, but not to the same extent as Shiesty. I feel like his "I won't keep you as a slave in my empire" was more like a disappointed superior than a kid throwing a tantrum, so while he doesn't like the situation, he's going to cooperate.

Sinister is manipulative and while a little arrogant, he isn't stupid. He's going to play nice to ensure his survival.

Shiesty maybe immature, but he gives off spoiled baby brother vibes. He is the baby of the bunch (even if they're likely all the same age), and like all babies, he may cry and whine, but he is still going to obey his older "siblings."

Prisoner, my darling, my baby, he would be furious and upset. He went straight from one prison to another. He'll pick fights and fly around screaming, trying to find a way out. The others have to wait for him to calm down before they can start conversing properly.

edit: I forgot about Mohawk. Having a harem is harder than it looks. I need to make a checklist.

Omni-Mark, Viltrumite > Full Mask = Maskless = Mohawk > Shiesty, Target, Sinister > Prisoner

Mohawk isn't an idiot. He knows that banding together, even if temporarily, is smarter than fighting or leaving the group. He doesn't want to murder anyone for no reason, so when he works with the others, he isn't pretending, he's genuine in his efforts to stay alive. Hopefully, everyone would still be alive so they can kill Angstrom together.

inside the little theatre (random scenes that form in my head, you may ignore them if you want)

You/Me: I love them!

The judge holding my harem responsible for their actions: They murdered over a million people across the multiverse.

Us: *shakes head dramatically* If they died then that's a skill issue on their part! They're just NPCs!

[ikneesias]

Tommy would never beat the DADT allegation for me.

Also when they talked about Sal's suspension, he talked about how Bobby fired Sal to keep the rest in line. I saw someone said that it seems Gerard did fired people. I think it was either that or his other direct superior (in military) is the one following this shit to the T.

And look at his face when Bobby showed up 😂. Bro was scared shitless because he just talked 'shit' about him 😂.

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But look how it changed in season 7-8. A guy who was afraid of losing his job back then suddenly did not mind fooling his superior with fake mouth static, and commiting domestic terrorism for his friend and (ex)boyfriend.

I look into this a while ago, and I think it can be explained with how hard it is to look for a helicopter pilot with ground support experience like Tommy. It was rare to have someone with experience and expertise like Tommy.

Tommy is a firefighter pilot with years of experience in ground support firefighting. He understand how both works, which will minimize the mistakes done during air support that can affect ground support. And especially during fire season, they were severly needed.

I also read somewhere that when Canada got caught in big fires in their forest (cmiiw), they requested the already shorstaffed LAFD to send help (helicopter) with air support helicopter pilot.

And plus, my headcanon, while he was mainly air support pilot, if there is shortage in ground support personel, he can subtitute for them.

So yeah, I think it was him being so needed that LAFD will reconsider him over and over again if they wanted to fired him.

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WE STAN COMPETENT KING WHO KNOWS HIS WORTH.