#derivative of √x

[aimasup]

Business partner doodles

very much business yes

[andersonfilms]

feat. anderson's treats & baker!abby

abby who owns a bakery shop and you have an insatiable sweet tooth that never seems to end, a match made in heaven. your first date being in her shop she closes for the night, anderson’s treats, flour anxiously spread across her cheeks, she’s blushing furiously as you watch her, careful hands kneading the dough as you gaze at her with a certain sparkle in her eye as abby speaks about what got her into baking in the first place. 

then, curiosity gets the best of abby and she’s asking you questions about yourself, maybe she gets you to assist her, the butterflies in your stomach swarm as she tells lame jokes no one should really find funny but you do. with skillful hands, she makes you her favorite, one her shop is known for. it crumbles deliciously in her mouth, but the filling comes out as it coats the corner of your mouth, leaving her to use her thumb to wipe the strawberry filling away. with intentful innocence, she brings it to her lips. your deep, curious eyes inquiring at her mouth, full pink lips sucking the strawberry away. it’s only then she’s realized what’s been done. 

burning bright and red, the blush noticeable from a mile away. it’s when you notice the scar on her cheek and it makes you wonder how she got it and maybe you’ll ask her at another time but you don’t want to dismiss the moment. abby anderson, looking upon you with a blinding smile, giggles. airy and light, as if her laughter is the dough you’re kneading. the delightful substance infused into your bloodstream, needed as much as the blood pumping through your veins. 

as delightful as it is, it’s still a distraction. you think of her instead of the task she’s so cutely assigned you to. 

as you visibly struggling to knead the dough correctly. abby thinks it’s cute, but she decides to assist you. “here, let me—” the blonde maneuvers her frame around you, arms practically wrapped around your waist as she places her warm hands on top of your own. her voice sends a sensational shiver down your spine. “oh!”

abby chuckles but offers nothing else to say as she shows how to do it correctly. the feeling comes natural to her and she passes along her natural instinct but all you can think about is how she feels, her words coaching you in your ear as abby’s breath causes goosebumps to soothe every inch of your skin. 

“yeah, just like that. you’re a natural baby.” she kisses your cheek sweetly. she smirks as you lean back to her, finding comfort in the safety of her warmth. a homecoming, a sense of it settled in your heart, one only she could’ve brought to a full bloom.

OKAY BAKER!AU??? I MIGHT NEED TO EXPLORE THIS MORE GAHHHHHDKJF ♡

tags: @plutolovesyou @brackishkittie @nybueckers @only4theweeknd @tlouloser @marvelwomenarehot0 @grey-jedi12 @r3starttt @bittersu1te @pxgeturner @maxinephobia @marsworldd @aouiaa @mytwoseater @cherrybunny @twopeoplee @i-lov3-w0men @lvlymicha @half-of-gay

wanna be tagged?

[lunnessey]

i’m terribly sorry it’s so embarrassing to have gotten it so wrong. of course THIS is jamie roy and keeley when they start dating

[lelelego]

had a dream and drew it :o)

[eskir]

crave - sunday x reader

short writing thing! based slightly off the song crave by valleyheart

he wishes that he could someone different, someone more worthy of loving you. even if you try to ease his heart and hold him in your sweet embrace, even if you tell him that he's been working too hard, in both his job and in the relationship, he craves perfection. no, it's not that he craves perfection, rather, he craves the comfort that it bring him. just like the comfort you bring to him

yet with every move for perfection, the lingering doubt in his head points out the flaws, gestures to the possibilities of failure. so he keeps moving, keep searching for a world where robin, you, and everyone else can live in safety and happiness. he craves a utopia-

-but if the books were any indication, utopias don't exist

yet he'll give up his life for the slight possibility of guaranteed happiness. when you try to confront him he talks in hushed tones of all his worries. he worries about you.

oh but ophelia can't you see the way this man is destructive dying in a whirlwind of fire?

so once more you have to reach out for his hang, pulling him back onto the couch. he is surprised at your sudden action, having expected you to understand, which you did. but you didn't want him to give up all of his happiness just for you, you didn't want a world without him.

you hold him, embrace him and comb through his hair, speaking of your reservations. why you don't want him to leave, why you need him to stay, and why working himself to tatters isn't good for the ones he loves. but he doesn't say that he believes himself unworthy of love. he'll love freely, but he doesn't expect the love back.

can't we find contentment in just being still?

a question you posed, the words that he'd never understand until the finale. sunday isn't living. he lives for others with his own happiness barely getting by.

so your embrace is dear to him. you're the fleeting spark of comfort he's chasing.

[knightwhoisni]

so, like, this is specifically arthur's kinepage. if it's not just a weird copy via Void Shenanigans, we really just waltzed in and stole this man's pager with help from kalymos.

bro is gonna go nuts looking for that thing only for drifter to turn up and go "yeah hey sorry i kinda borrowed this without permission by projecting myself back in time and following the doctor's giant cat. you can have it back now."

[onceonafullmoon]

Atropine (Whenever I look at you)

Yan! Dazai x Gn! Reader

Reader wears a skirt but has no set gender

Warnings: obsessive behavior and thoughts: bordering on worship, stalking, abusive relationships, kidnapping

Beast! AU implied, from Dazai’s POV so I tried to incorporate the writing style of No Longer Human at some points, also… Happy Valentines!!

Well, it was fine, after all he had a lifetime of chasing you in his arsenal and he felt it was only fair that he had a lifetime of keeping you to match. (Of course, it really wasn’t fair, but since when did the rotten care for fair? That was only for the viritous and right… like you.) Yes, he had all of this lifetime to keep you, and he’d be damned if he let anyone else feel you in any sense including sight, as undeserving as he was.

It all starts in the middle of October, with the biting wind brushing past him and the aroma of cinnamon hovering in the air.

It’s October when he sees you again, although, technically speaking, it was actually the first time he’d set his eyes on you.

Your hair is longer than it usually is—

(“Really, I don’t understand why you don’t get rid of those bangs, isn’t it hard to fight with all that hair in your face?”)

—and you’ve allowed yourself a more stylish outfit than the ones you usually wear—

(“…yeah but skirts are impractical, I’ll flash someone.

…W—what do you mean “good”?! Your such a—!”)

—and you seem more relaxed than you usually are (were, he corrects, were), probably attributed to the fact that you’re not an agency member anymore.

It really shouldn’t surprise him, when he sees you, because of course he would eventually.

But it’s enough to make his heart stop.

Because despite the fact that so much had changed, your same shining smile remained, a testament to your nature, comparative to that of the natural wonders.

You were like the river, rapids would falter and the very ground before you would ebb and weave throughout, but you were a constant.

The universe was a funny thing like that.

As if it were taunting him for his past decisions, for his mistakes, mocking him for his very existence with each step you took away from him, brushing past him like he was nothing.

And he was, wasn’t he?

Both in the literal sense to you and metaphorical sense to himself.

What a wretched joke.

Even he couldn’t bring himself to play the part of the clown and laugh.

Instead, he just stared at you, longingly, in the way that a lovesick school boy would stare at his first love, at your fluttering skirt as you brush by his table without a second thought.

But that wasn’t quite the right way to describe it either, as his eyes held a certain darkness to them, one that was inconsistent with the innocence of a first love.

Because it was him and he was tainted and rotten and the dregs of society and nothing he did was without ulterior motives. That deep carnal desire, the feeling of want, it burned him, it made him feel alive, he wanted you, he wanted you so badly.

In any way possible, in every sense.

And it was almost sickening, the ease at which he was able to conjure up all those images in his mind, like flickering through memories of moments that hadn’t yet occurred, and hopefully would not (but who was he kidding, it’s not like he could resist you).

A cozy domestic scene, the way you would smile that heart achingly nostalgic flustered smile as he pulled you in for another lingering kiss, despite half hearted protests about being late for your work, and then pulling you in for one more just for good measure.

The way you’d laugh at his clowning, the way that he effortlessly made himself into a fool with that contagious laugh of yours, that he would forget that he was anything else in that moment but a jester for your amusement.

Comforting him on the days he couldn’t keep up his act anymore, when he left his stage to show you the pitiful actor he really was, with the tired eyes and the dead expression that he couldn’t bring himself to change.

“I’m sorry.” He’d say, and he’d say it with whatever was left of what honesty remained within his garbage infested soul.

But he wouldn’t need to, because of course you’d pull him in closer to you, both in your arms and to your heart, because that was the type of person you were, the kind sort of naive person he’d dream about ruining, only to find that you were the one to stain him in the end.

At least, in that dream you were.

For the most part, you weren’t so lucky, and maybe that’s why even despite his own knowledge of his debauchery he tried to hide those thoughts deeper inside himself.

But in the end you were still such a precious little thing, weren’t you?

Another scene, a club you exit from in the middle of the night, the smell of cigarette smoke and sweat heavy in the air as he gazes at your slightly stumbling form.

(You’re not drunk, you’ve never really been a drinker after all, but you never could walk in heels very well either.)

And he’s trouble, as he always was (and forever will be), so when he sees you, a pretty young thing with a bit too much innocence in your eyes, he closes in like a shark would on a drop of blood.

He’d greet you with a slight grin on his face, and laugh to himself as you startle at his voice, before greeting him in return with an uncomfortable smile.

You’d say something about wanting fresh air, and he’d be able to tell from just one look at you that you were lying, that the club was never your scene and you were just searching for a way to distract yourself, or perhaps you were just putting up with something you detested for a friend, you were always too sweet like that.

Whatever it was, he could tell that you were right out of your element, and he wasn’t one to miss out on an opportunity presented to him.

“Need some company?” He’d ask, the smirk on his face a little too wolfish, but it was far too dark for you to see anyways, so you’d agree.

And you’d talk and talk and talk, talk into the hours of the night, until you forgot the reason for your nerves to begin with. Until you found a friend within the jester persona that he portrayed, laughing at the antics he put up solely for the purpose of entrapping you.

He’d leave with your number of course, and he’d keep up this charade with you for months, years even depending on how cruel he felt.

One way or another you’d end up letting him come home with you, after all he knew you too well (and he always would, in any form you came to him), and he’d savor every second of the moment.

Perhaps it would be your first time.

(It was, more often than not in all of his indulgent little fantasies, it was something about taking something from you that he could keep forever that did something for his perverted self.)

But perhaps not.

Either way he would be satisfied with having the chance to indulge in your sweetness just once, your taste, your scent, simply just your feel as he made you come undone for him for as many times as he fell for you (which was simply impossible to count).

And then… he would leave you.

He’d leave just as quickly as he came, a ghost in the night, finding a largely perverse delight in the way that you’d falter so suddenly after his absence, the anguish you feel coursing through you.

Because as disgusting as it was, he loved every corner and crevice of you, he loved you when you were at your highest of highs or your lowest of lows, and he loved you as you were smiling as much as he loved when you were sobbing.

And he’d come back of course, because he could never really bear to leave you, but he’d never stay for you, he’d always leave you on the precipice, wondering whether you ever really had him to begin with.

(And of course you really did, but how could he resist you when he knew you were staring at your wall at midnight, eyes bloodshot from crying, wondering if you were ever going to see him again.)

Because he loved when you were a mess, didn’t he?

He loved when you were begging on your knees for a pathetic thing like him, not because he liked feeling greater than you, but because he loved seeing that beautiful bittersweet expression on your face.

But that wasn’t all of it, that wasn’t the true depths of his depravity.

The final act remained after all, and this one was the most vile and disturbing of all.

It starts off the way he sees you presently, a civilian with far too much beauty catches the eye of a sleazy mafioso in a cafe that paid tribute to the local chapter.

You don’t know of course, most people don’t, but those who do watch with baited breath as he gets up from his stool in the back to saunter over to you with a deceptively disarming grin.

He’d excuse himself and ask if he could have a moment of your time, and you, the angel you were, would let him with a confused smile on your pretty little lips.

He’d flirt with you for a bit, make you grow flustered with that sweet little embarrassed smile that you’d hide your face in your hands to hide.

But this time he wouldn’t need your number to see you again.

After all, with so much power in his hands, why would he need anything as impermanent as that?

It wouldn’t be so hard to find out where you lived, where you worked, where you liked to frequent your weekends at, where you liked to spend time with your friends, who you were friends with, who you detested, (and god forbid) who you loved.

Nevermind the little details about your favorite color and what your favorite book was, after all he already knew those things by heart.

It wouldn’t be hard to schedule an “accidental” encounter with you, brushing by you as you peruse the shelves of your favorite bookstore (its funny how some things would never change), and you would look at him with your pretty lips parted in surprise before you’d smile at him, not so much charmed at his persistence than the causality of a second chance.

It was funny how that worked, how a moment seen as a romantic twist of fate could quickly turn into a chilling horror if only the light was shown on the truth of the matter.

But he would have no reason to reveal that bitter truth to you yet, so he would keep quiet and simply smile at you in turn.

Chances and chances and chances would pile up on top of eachother as he would seek out any sort of way to endear himself to you… and then, when you found yourself finding the slightest bit of trust in him, he’d pull away that final layer and reveal himself wholly to you when he would finally take you for himself.

He could imagine it very well, your betrayal, your anger… all of it when you’d find yourself in a room unfamiliar, bound and gagged as he would monologue joyfully about every little thing he had planned out from the beginning.

And better yet, the sense of horror you would feel as he would continue rambling about all the things that he was going to do now that he had you.

Finally, he’d pull off your gag and watch as you would stutter out your words rightfully calling him out for what he truly was all this time.

He’d look at you as you tear up, a grin on his face, although if you really looked at him, you’d see it was really just empty, simply a mockery of emotion.

“That’s right, I am a monster. The very worst one.” He’d say softly before he would make his advance on you and then…

And then indeed. Because he already had several ideas on what to do, depraved things that he would subject you to, but the only question was which ones…

Well, it was fine, after all he had a lifetime of chasing you in his arsenal and he felt it was only fair that he had a lifetime of keeping you to match.

(Of course, it really wasn’t fair, but since when did the rotten care for fair? That was only for the viritous and right… like you.)

Yes, he had all of this lifetime to keep you, and he’d be damned if he let anyone else feel you in any sense including sight, as undeserving as he was.

Those tormented emotions that only he could bring to light didn’t really belong to him, but he would savor them more than any other could possibly imagine. And he was sure to believe in that if nothing else.

So, with that he pulls himself from his most rousing daydream and sets his sights on you sitting at your little table, a coffee at your lips and your legs crossed showing the slightest hint of skin as your skirt subtly rises, and pulls himself up from where he sits to make his way over to you.

“Excuse me, may I have a moment of your time?” He asks as he finally crosses that short yet impossible distance to meet you.

And you.

You blink up at him with those breathtaking eyes and those lashes that catch the evening sun, and you say.

“Um… well, sure. What is it?”

Despite the shame he should feel, his lips hook up into that same mischievous smile, because of course you would.

“...I just wanted to say that you’re the most breathtaking person I’ve seen in my life.”

And when you smile that sweet little embarrassed smile, he feels a perverse thrill running through him.

[miasmaghoul]

anything little dick mountain.... PLEEEEASE

anything you say?

okay.

how about little dick mountain and nonbinary intersex mist getting stoned and fuckin around in the woods?

thats something.

"This is nice," Mountain murmurs, twirling a lock of fine silver hair between two fingers.

"Always is," Mist lilts in reply, plucking the half-burned joint from Mountain's other hand. They offer him a slow wink, and Mountain grins.

They've been here for a while now, naked and sprawled out beside Mist's favorite stream deep in the woods. It's a tranquil place, serene and nearly silent. The babble of the water soothes something deep in Mountain's core, as does the late spring sun filtering through the boughs above. The warm light dapples Mist's pale skin, washes them in an ethereal glow, and stoned as he is Mountain can't help but touch.

Mist hums on an inhale as a large hand caresses their shoulder, rough fingers tracing the intricate lines of the tattoo there - a sea serpent with fangs sharp enough that even the ink threatens to cut. Mountain could study it for hours, could spend an age gliding his fingertips along every curve. From the tip of the tongue that sits just above the barely-there swell of Mist's chest to the tail that ends at the small of their back.

Mist's slight hand rests on Mountain's chest, delicate fingers fiddling with his chest hair, and he takes a moment to admire them.

They look exquisite; silver-blue eyes reddened and heavy, hollow cheeks crested with pink, gills rippling as heady smoke flows from them in entracing waves. Mountain lowers his head to drink it down, his hand sliding around to rest between Mist's shoulders while he noses at their throat.

"Greedy," they tease, voice light. Mountain chuffs, dragging the tip of his tongue along their jaw. Mist sighs, tilting their head and taking another deep pull, burning the joint to its end. Mountain feels their lungs fill under his touch, and something about it makes him throb.

"Can you blame me when you taste so good?" Another lick, and Mist trills, amused.

"Not even a little."

Another plume escapes Mist's gills and Mountain sucks it down, holds it in. He pulls away with a curl to his lips and finds Mist peering up at him expectantly, the tip of their tongue poking out between needle-sharp fangs. Mountain threads long fingers into soft hair, grips gently, and when their lips join it's in a cloud of sweet smoke.

It's slow. Languid. A relaxed meeting of tongues, an exchange of breath and saliva alike. Mountain's hand glides down the length of their spine, a brief journey that ends with his palm on Mist's sharp hip, fingers dimpling the subtle curve of their ass. They shift a bit, hook a leg over his thigh, and Mountain chuckles at the almost imperceptible weight of it. He smiles against their lips.

"I always forget how small you are," he murmurs, and Mist rewards him with a sharp tug to his chest hair. He gives them a hiss, one that fades into a pleased hum when cool, bony fingers drift down over his stomach.

"No you don't," they say, clearly amused. Mountain pulls back just enough to catch the sparkle in their eyes, a glint of brilliant sapphire in those pale irises.

They're right, of course. It's impossible to forget how tiny Mist is in comparison to him, how seemingly frail. Elegant limbs, bony joints, slender from head to toe. He has a solid two feet on them, and who knows how much weight, but on the rare occasion Mist hunts him down for these trysts it's never them that seems to feel small.

That wandering hand vanishes between their bodies, and Mountain lets his own hand travel down the creamy thigh over his hip, squeezing along the way. Mist licks their lips, gives him a sharp smile.

"But I could say the same about you, big guy."

They punctuate that statement by wrapping deft fingers around his cock, and Mountain groans as he feels them engulf him completely. The one place where he is decidedly not big.

"Oh, someone's excited," Mist sing-songs, giving his little stiffy a nice squeeze. He shivers with it, hips rolling already.

Mountain can't deny it - truth be told he's been chubby since Mist caught him on his way back to the abbey, arms full of freshly snipped roses that Primo had requested for his chambers. He'd pawned that task off on a nearby sibling, content to follow his dick and the stunning ghoul before him instead. Mist thumbs over his sticky head and Mountain huffs out a tight sigh.

"Sensitive as ever," Mist taunts, loosening their grip and giving him a couple of soft little pumps that have Mountain's eyes rolling back. "Planning to blame the weed?"

He always does, but they both know better.

"I can if you want," he rumbles, hitching Mist's leg higher on his hip. "But it's easier to blame you."

Mist laughs, loud and bright in the surrounding silence. They shift closer, close enough that Mountain can feel the brush of their pebbled nipples against his chest, their piercings pressing chilly into his overwarm skin. Mountain drags blunt nails up their thigh, relishing the goosebumps that appear in his wake. He slips his own hand between their bodies, and Mist smiles. They wrap a spindly arm around his neck, arch their back, and with a loose rock of their hips Mountain feels the firm length of their dick press into his thigh

"Looking to return the favor, sycamore?"

Mountain doesn't try to hide his whine, there's no point. He always gets noisy when they do this, and all the high does is make him more willing to let it out. He wraps an eager hand around Mist's already slick length, and they reward him with a tighter grip on his own. Mountain groans deep in his chest, leaning down to knock their horns together.

"You're really hard," he murmurs, the hand in Mist's hair drifting down to settle at the back of their neck, angling their lovely, handsome face towards his own. "Gonna blame that on the weed?"

Mist doesn't deign to answer, getting a nice handful of his hair and licking a wide stripe over his stubbled cheek instead. Mountain feels himself throb in their hand, feels Mist leak over his knuckles, and as they catch him in a decidedly more hungry kiss Mountain lets himself be overwhelmed.

It's easy to do. The smooth swipe of their tongue along his own and behind his fangs drags him further and further down. The slowly tightening channel of Mist's hand pulls pearl after pearl of pre from his firm little cock, the slick sound of both of their hands filling his head with static. Mist's nails rake over his scalp, just sharp enough to provide the hint of a sting, and Mountain doesn't even try to hold back his moan.

It's nice like this. No rushing, no frantic urgency, no pleading for more. No need for it. They both know Mist controls the pace of these stolen moments, and Mountain has absolutely no problem with it. He lets himself enjoy the kiss, the taste of Mist filling his mouth. Fresh and clean with a specific sort of bitterness Mountain has come to crave, all of it accentuated by the herbal flavor of their shared smokable. It's intoxicating, and before Mountain knows it he's panting into their mouth, starved for more.

He pauses on a downstroke, wraps a finger and thumb around the base of Mist's twitching length and slips two fingers back between their legs. He moans out a curse at the slick heat he finds there, swiping his digits through their folds. He dips just one inside, and the tightness he finds there has his stomach swooping.

Mist purrs into the kiss when he swirls it inside, abandoning their grip on his short length in favor of grabbing his wrist. Mountain doesn't fight when they pull his slippery hand from their body, maneuvering it instead to hold the both of them together.

Mountain has to pull back then, chest heaving and eyes glassy as Mist guides him to stroke. The feel of it is exquisite - his large palm is rough, callused, but Mist leaks so much that it eases the glide in moments. The sensation wrings a pained gurgle from him, and Mountain can't keep himself from rocking his hips. From letting his tip kiss the underside of Mist's, every drag of their cocks against one another sending his head spinning and forcing heat to swirl through his belly.

"Fuck," he breathes, long and low. "Mist, fuck -"

"Feeling good, aren't you?" Mist sounds entirely too calm, as they always do, but the way they pulse in his hand betrays them. "Think the little guy's ready for me yet?"

They rock their hips just as Mountain does, ruts their cocks together, and Mountain makes the most embarrassing sound. He gives a quick nod, sucking his lower lip between his fangs, and before he can do anything more Mist is rolling him onto his back. Straddling his hips. Moving him like he isn't at least twice their size everywhere except where it counts.

"That's better," Mist says on a sigh. They settle on their knees, palms flat on his chest, and Mountain gazes up at them with what can only be called unabashed adoration. Mist smiles down at him, tossing the silver curtain of their hair over their shoulder. Mountain rests his hands on their waist, loving the way his thumbs overlap just below their navel. "Don't you think?"

Mountain offers up a dumb little sound of confirmation, too busy visually feasting on the little ghoul above him. Soaking in every angle and curve, every ridge of their gills, the sparkle of their nipple rings and the shimmering black scales decorating their collarbones and the vee of their hips. His gaze halts there, caught completely on the way their shiny pink cock sticks straight out between their skinny thighs.

Mist doesn't miss it, their lips curling into a positively cheshire smile while they scoot forward. While they settle themselves over his own aching length where it lays on his stomach, leaking pre into the smattering of hair there. Mountain chokes on a moan when they shift just enough to drag their dripping cunt over his little cock, and it's a miracle he doesn't cum right then and there.

Not that Mist would allow that, of course. He knows better.

"So warm," they murmur, moving their hips in gentle circles that have Mountain's thighs quivering. "How badly does he want it, hmm?"

"Bad," Mountain rasps, doing his absolute best not to hump up against Mist's inviting body. "He wants in so bad."

Mist trills, a deeply pleased sound. They raise up just enough for Mountain to see the thick trail of slick that connects their bodies, and his cock kicks so hard he grunts.

"Looks like it," Mist chuckles, gripping him again and giving a slow stroke. A blurt of pre leaks over their fingers, and Mountain's balls ache. "Little thing's drooling all over."

Mist is one to talk, their own dick dribbling a nearly constant stream of sticky fluid that pools in Mountain's belly button. He can't get his breath under control as they raise up, pointing his needy little cock up into the air while they line up.

Mountain isn't sure which of them moans louder when Mist sinks down onto him, impossibly tight and so, so slick. He grips them tight, fingertips digging firm into their back, their stomach. He watches the flat plane of it tense when they bottom out, taking his few inches with an ease that leaves his toes curling.

"There we go," Mist coos, narrow chest flushed pink as their leaking tip. They pluck at their nipples, rolling the stiff buds between their fingers and sighing. "You always fill me just right, don't you?" Mountain nods furtively, not trusting his voice when Mist clenches around him. "A perfect little cuntful."

Mountain lets his head thud back against the warm earth, swallows hard, and when Mist starts riding in an achingly slow rhythm he swears the world tilts.

"Be a good boy and make me cum," they say, low and sultry, peeling one of his hands from their waist and moving it to their swaying cock. "If you do well enough I'll even let you eat your load out of me."

Mountain whimpers, starts to stroke, and silently adores the way Mist laughs at him when he drools.

[hetafice]

Yesssss yandere hetalia!! Can I request yandere Russia

hey! i’m combining this with another request that asked for ivan with an introverted s/o. hope you enjoy nonetheless.

yandere!russia headcanons :

Ivan is a man who contains innumerable facades. Vulnerability is hard to get from him, which is why he is so taken aback when he meets his darling. Anyone special enough to catch his attention and keep it must have some sort of hold over him -- and he cannot have that.

He would initially try to distance himself from you, and then after realizing that does not work, he would try to exercise as much control over the situation as possible.

He takes an almost managerial role, employing the use of strict guidelines and occasional punishments to gain a semblance of control.

Once he acknowledges his feelings towards you he will sit and machinate ways to get you to reciprocate his feelings. He regards you as an object that he needs to get sooner rather than later. He would understand that it might be difficult to get you to come off your own volition, so he is not entirely against using force to get you to be with him should his attempts at courting fail.

Ivan often finds himself exhibiting certain behaviors not because he wants to, but because he thinks that these behaviors are what a normal person would do. This leads him to think that presenting himself in a certain way would make you feel comfortable around him, or win your romantic favor -- in reality, they end up coming off as stilted and strange.

If he ends up entering a long-term relationship with you, he’ll likely stop putting up airs, leaving you interacting with someone much more stoic and withdrawn.

Contrary to popular opinion, he is not really hotheaded or quick to violence, and will not let his true emotions overtake his carefully curated mask very often. He is a quick thinker and will remain efficient under pressure. However, should you do something to upset him, he will act quickly and decisively. He loves you deeply, but to him, to truly love someone is to try and bring the best out of that person. He will do so by whatever means necessary.

That isn’t to say that he’s always cold though. He’s happy to dote on you should he think the situation calls for it.

Ivan, however, is no stranger to betrayal. Should you try to leave, exhibit suspicious behaviors, attempt to undermine his authority, or oppose him politically -- there will be dire consequences.

Unlike other yanderes, he has no qualms about hurting you. Ivan witnessed extreme horrors during his childhood, and as such is desensitized to most violence. He will not harm you unprovoked, but should you test him, you will find out how cold and cruel he truly can be.

A more introverted partner may actually suit the life he has planned out for them. Once he finds love he is likely to whisk his partner off to the countryside for a time, rarely to be seen in public.

In the event of an extended business trip, he may take you along, depending on the location. Like countless things before you, people will try and use you against him. Because of this, he would never expose you to an enemy. Should he have a trip domestically, or somewhere he deems low risk he will take you with him. If not, you are expected to sit content in your idyllic countryside home until the two of you can bask in each other’s company again. 

Ivan is not super controlling, but he does have a set of rules that you are meant to abide by.

He also places importance on appearances, so you would be coached on how to conduct yourself in formal situations so that onlookers would have nothing negative to say about the two of you. That is why he may implement dress codes, or designate certain discussion topics as off-limits.

After sequestering you away in the middle of nowhere, if you perform well enough, he may move back to the city. He can use extreme methods, but he is not a complete monster. On a deep subconscious level, he craves normalcy. So seeing you navigate life around other people but still choosing to come back to him “willingly” may help him feel vaguely fulfilled.

He is the type to allow you to pursue most hobbies, and would not stop you from expressing individuality or possessing a sense of self. He does however want to make sure that you constantly view yourself as not just an individual, but as a part of a unit. With everything you do, there needs to be a consideration of how it’ll affect both of you.

In his more subdued moments, he treasures domesticity and would like to occasionally dote on you. He'll be pleased if you occasionally let him cook for you or pick out your outfits.

On the same token, he wants to feel as though you depend on him. Not enough to where you can’t exist without his constant care, but enough to know you are appreciative of all he does for you, and that you are hesitant to leave him. 

If you follow the rules and do not awaken his feelings of intense paranoia, you can live somewhat normally.

[house-plont]

-remy is dead

-bastion is the big bad of the season

-bastion can bring back the dead as human sentinels

-jean says she can still sense the living persons mind in the human sentinel we’ve faced

-👀??

[bubbloquacious]

Just realized you can extend x^x to the negatives this way, very neat!

[roxannepolice]

Just one of those things I just need to yell out so my executive functions work but make a separate post because I'm already getting blocked for my hot takes...

Are Doctor and Master trying to change each other? Oh, lately it's been framed as this, sure, but are they really? Or are they just trying to convince each other that when you get right down to the bottom of it, what the other wants is the same that they want, the other just hasn't realised this yet, but surely with a mind like that they'll arrive at it eventually, because it's the only rational conclusion?

[elizi--s]

drops my crack ship and refuses to elaborate

[windwenn]

Mulder's reaction in Sein Und Zeit to the thought that his mother may have simply killed herself just breaks my heart, like you spend your entire life building these castles in the sky, making it your purpose and your meaning and the basis of your motivation that somewhere there is something MORE, something HIDDEN, something you've missed. To always be grasping for the elusive truth that constructs this grand narrative only to be undermined entirely by its simplicity. Its triviality. His sense of meaning is so deeply rooted in the idea that there is a (usually sinister) narrative logic to the events of his life, when he's faced with a sudden, comparatively meaningless tragedy which lacks the same grandiose weight of conspiracy it causes him to break down entirely. Its often such a comfort to believe that things happen for a reason, and the whole show is kind of based on that idea (as a natural result of all the conspiracy) so it just hits like a ton of bricks when this is taken away, when the rug is pulled out and you're face to face with the terrifying fact that sometimes, things are exactly what they seem to be, and bad things happen for no reason - there is nothing more, and no one to blame. I mean im sure in true x-files fashion his mothers death will be revealed to be at the heart of some convoluted conspiracy eventually but taking Sein Und Zeit as a standalone episode, out of context, i think that moment is very impactful.

[rusanya-does-edits]

Stimboard series on Rusanya's collective identities!

45. Intrpio

Intrpio - Intrpio is a type of xive that instead of being based on a source, you are the character or person themself. For example, you're from a Pokemon but you're not an xive of them, you are that Pokemon but you're just now in a different body to the one you originally had. This can apply to those who would be classes as fictives, factives, and any other type of xive.

× × × || × × × || × × ×

[locally-normal]

Maybe I should stop telling people I'm an algebraic topologist and just say I do homotopical algebra. It's truer I think. But less well known. Which is weird because everyone knows about homotopy theory.

I guess the brave new algebra program was only fully realized fairly recently.