#it won’t make me feel less isolated

[whimsyprinx]

idk how to explain to people that like I’m trying my best to see the point in life and be optimistic and like hopeful but literally there isn’t anything to base hope and optimism on

[buck-yyyy]

repeat after me kids: just because they’re not talking to you doesn’t mean they hate you and are replacing you with their boyfriend!

[ms-demeanor]

You posted about adhd and I was hoping to follow up to clarify something. I’ve explained to my partner a million times about how the borderline-hoarding mess of his space is very mentally draining to me, and he understands but we’ve both essentially accepted he won’t clean his mess because he can’t because of his adhd. You’re saying he’s actually being a shit head?

This isn't necessarily an issue of him being a shithead, but it also isn't a sustainable situation. It's not good for you and there's a level of clutter that's probably not good for him either.

Large bastard is a lot more clutter-y than I am. The solution we've come to is trying to keep our messes at least isolated from one another; he can have his messes and I can have mine, but he can have those messes in his spaces, not all over the place. Sometimes those messes migrate, and that's when it's important for him to make the effort to rein them in rather than trying and failing to make a daily effort to keep our entire shared space tidy.

I think when you say "we've both essentially accepted he won't clean his mess" what I'm hearing is resignation; you're not happy about this but you don't know what to do so you've thrown up your hands and he feels helpless and unsure of what to do to improve the situation. This is the kind of "it's fine" that isn't really fine.

I think it would be worthwhile for you to each separately think about the mess and talk about it together. Are there areas that YOU *need* to have not-messy? Both for utility and your mental health? Are there areas where you can tolerate more mess than otherwise? Are there areas that are going to be harder for him to keep the mess out of than others? Are there things he doesn't *know* about cleaning up the mess?

I'm obviously a big "communication communication communication" person so I'm going to recommend a lot of talking about stuff, which is probably going to mean a lot of thinking about and interrogating stuff. I'm going to say "talk to him about why the mess bothers you" which means you also have to really articulate to yourself why the mess bothers you (for instance I'm not actually *bothered* by a messy kitchen, but I know it's going to reflect badly on us - and me specifically b/c of presumed gender roles - if someone pops by and the kitchen is a disaster, AND a messy kitchen is going to be harder to use). Genuinely, sometimes knowing *why* something is a problem might make it easier for someone with ADHD to do something. And it's not that he doesn't care that it upsets you, it's just that "Oh if I don't wash my breakfast dishes Anon won't have clear counterspace to make lunch" might be stickier in his brain (and less hard to look at emotionally) than "this thing I forget to do upsets my partner so I should do it."

For the record, I think that people with ADHD should read up on Demand Avoidance and see if it might explain some of the issues that they have in their day-to-day life; I've seen some really unfortunate situations with friends where trying to do things that their partner needed became the subject of demand avoidance. *I* have experienced negative outcomes of demand avoidance. The solution to that, however, isn't to stop making attempts to do the thing OR to simply try harder to do as they're asked/told (which reinforces the demand), it's to work on setting up a situation where the partners' needs are not interpreted as a demand. This is fuck-off difficult and requires a lot of patience and care and many attempts to succeed and will be different for each person and relationship.

(Also for the record demand avoidance isn't *super* strongly linked to ADHD and it's not a definitive symptom; like Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, it is something that occurs in some number of people with ADHD and can be a useful lens through which to examine various behaviors; you don't need to have DA or RSD to have ADHD, and having DA or RSD also doesn't invalidate your diagnosis; they're symptoms. For me, DA often feels like "if I don't look at it, it can't get me" - If I ignore all the messages I've got they aren't real and don't have real consequences so I'll just ignore my texts. If I don't look at the vendor email about the order, the problem with the order isn't real and it won't get added to my task list. If I don't look at the requests in my inbox I can't let people down when I don't do them. It's a self-protective coping mechanism but it's *maladaptive* and I can't just ignore the vendor email or all my texts. I need to work on a way of doing the stuff that I'm avoiding in a way that makes it less stressful and doesn't hurt the people relying on me. That takes a lot of effort, personal insight, trial and error, and )

But before I dive into specifics I want to be really really clear about one thing: sometimes people are simply incompatible. Sometimes one person has such a low tolerance for "mess" and the other person has such a high threshold for "mess" that it can't be reconciled. It sucks that this can end up being a thing that people break up over, but it is MUCH better to acknowledge incompatibility as early as possible instead of spending years and years building resentment.

There used to be a great forum called MiL's Anonymous that I spent a lot of time on. It had a lot of people in a lot of difficult situations struggling to get by and hold their relationships together. The question that was used as a litmus test to approach each situation was simple: If you knew today that everything about living with this person would be the same in five years, would you stay?

Because you can't control your partner. You can't control the future. You can only control yourself and your proximity to situations that are harmful to you. If you knew, 100%, that things wouldn't get better in five years, would you be okay with staying in this relationship? If the answer is "no," then that's that. Don't worry about questions of whether or not your boyfriend is a shithead, start the process of ending the relationship because there's a good chance the situation is going to be exactly the same in five years.

If the answer is "yes," and you'd stay in the relationship regardless of whether or not things changed, then it's time to take actions to improve your life within the context of the relationship.

(No judgement on that yes or no, btw. If you would hate living like this for another five years, and you would feel like you'd wasted your time and hadn't done the things you wanted to with your life, get out. Bail. Go. It will be better for you and better for your partner if you split instead of spending half a decade building resentments and and problems that you'll have to spend another half a decade healing from.)

Also, a note: you describe your boyfriend's mess as borderline hoarding - is the issue *mess* or is the issue *clutter*? I have friends who are very tidy, but whose homes are very cluttered. They like things, they have many things, they keep many things around, but their houses are always clean and well-dusted and orderly, just with a tremendous amount of *stuff.* I am addressing all of this as though the issue is mess, not clutter. If your boyfriend's situation is clutter (the space is busy and packed with things but it is functional and clean) and your issue isn't with *mess* (things out of place, things not having a place, things that need to be cleaned up gathering in stacks, falling behind on regular chores like laundry and dishes and taking out the trash) then you definitely need to assess whether or not you are compatible.

For instance here's a room that is messy but not cluttered compared to a room that is cluttered but not messy:

That first room is a *mess* but it would be very easy to clean up in under an hour. The second room is fairly tidy, but would take significant effort to pare down and declutter. BOTH of these can be difficult to live with but the second one is not dangerous or threatening to anyone's health. (The second one is QUITE cluttered and if every room in a house looks like this it can be overwhelming to live with; this is actually harder to deal with in a relationship than the first one in a lot of ways. I don't have a lot of advice for what to do if your partner is a high degree of tidy-but-cluttered because I don't actually think it's a problem or wrong to have thousands of books or bins full of lego or a million kitchen appliances as long as you have the space and can keep it safe and well-maintained; this is a really significant compatibility issue)

Okay, all that out of the way, here's the hard work.

Talk about this shit

Talk to your partner and define "mess." Make sure you are on the same page about what you mean when you're talking about what a messy room looks like versus what a tidy room looks like. Gather reference pictures. DRAW reference pictures.

Explain not just that the mess upsets you, but *why* and *how* it upsets you. In this context don't think of it as your boyfriend's mess, think of it as an unpleasant roommate. Discuss this using "I-statements". "When I have to pick up laundry all over the apartment, I feel like a parent more than a partner." "When there are piles of miniatures all over the table, I feel like I don't have anywhere to do things I'm interested in." "When there are dishes in the sink, I feel frustrated because I have to clean before I can feed myself."

Discuss, frankly and openly, whether he knows how to clean. I'm not trying to make excuses for him here but a lot of people with ADHD have a lot of stress and avoidance around cleaning because they spent a lot of time getting yelled at for not knowing how to clean properly.

Discuss your needs, be firm about what you require but willing to compromise. You *need* some spaces to be clean, and some spaces may be harder for him to keep clean than others. It may be MUCH harder for him to keep a bedroom tidy than it is to keep a kitchen tidy; if you need a clean and empty bedroom with everything put away and he simply cannot do that, that is a compatibility issue. But perhaps you need *your* side of the bedroom to be very orderly and can tolerate a moderate level of mess and clutter on his side. Maybe you're really really bothered by a messy kitchen, but it doesn't bug you if the dining table is covered with projects and papers. Figure out something more workable than "his mess goes everywhere and i live with it because he's incapable of cleaning" because he probably is not incapable of cleaning and you deserve to have places in your home that are comfortable for you.

Reduce friction for cleaning

Sometimes the problem isn't cleaning, the problem is the many many steps before cleaning, or not knowing where something should go when you are done cleaning. One of the absolute best things I've done for myself for cleaning my space is getting a broom holder and mounting the broom to the wall. Sweeping is now essentially thoughtless. I don't have to find the broom or pull it out from a pile of fans or go scrounging around for a dustpan it's right there on the wall, frictionless. So here are some ways to reduce the barriers to cleaning:

Make sure you and your partner both know how to use your cleaning supplies and know where those supplies are. When I switched dishwasher soap I had to re-show Large Bastard where I was storing it and how it was used, because to him what happened was the dishwasher tabs just vanished one day and he didn't know what I was putting in the machine or the process I used. He sometimes puts tools away in places that I can't see (he's more than a foot taller than me) so sometimes I can't get started on a maintenance project until he shows me where he put the battery pack for the drill.

Consider making a how-to chart to or having him make a how-to chart to keep someplace accessible so he can reference it while cleaning. Goblin.Tools Magic ToDo is great for this. Basically a lot of the time people with ADHD have trouble knowing what to do from step to step even if they've done something before, so having a step by step guide can make it easier (I have notebooks full of step-by-step guides for everything from paying for my tuition to removing licenses for my customers to weeding my yard)

Remove obstacles; don't keep cleaning chemicals in the garage in a box that's behind a stack of parts, keep them in the room you'll be cleaning. Don't keep the cleaning supplies that you use to clean the bathroom in the kitchen. Sometimes this means buying two bottles of bleach solution and two scrubbers and two sets of cleaning gloves but having fewer steps (fetch the windex, fetch the paper towels, fetch the gloves) is often the key to getting things done (open under-sink cabinet and grab windex, gloves, and paper towels that are there instead of in the kitchen).

This sort of overlaps with the next category, which is:

Create Dump Zones

One thing that I've found that seems very different between people with ADHD cleaning and neurotypical people cleaning is that neurotypical people are good at getting to a point where the cleaning is "done." They have checked off their tasks and they have finished and it is over. There are *SOME* chores that are like this (taking out the trash is a binary state, the trash has been taken out or it has not) and some chores are perpetual (horrid cursed dishes) but I think with people with ADHD, some chores that are binary for neurotypicals are actually perpetual chores. For instance "clean off the counter" is not a one and done for me. "Clean off the counter" may involve a three day reorganization project. "Clean off the counter" does not mean "wipe down the tile and put dishes away" it means assessing whether or not I need to make vegetable stock and bleaching three tea containers and reconsidering whether or not the sharps container should live somewhere else and going through the mail and figuring out what needs to be responded to and taking out the recycling and on and on and on.

We have had company at the house for the last two weeks, so I asked large bastard to clean off the dining room table, which is largely a project zone for him. Cleaning off the dining room table meant putting away his meds (and since he's a transplant patient that involves a 30 gallon rubbermade tote), throwing away some trash, and totally reorganizing his workshop. It also incidentally involved picking up a table from facebook marketplace and moving my plants, which has now involved moving my former plant rack outside (moving buckets, finding and organizing planters and gardening tools) and taking the former table to the thrift store (not done yet) and cleaning the rug that was under the former table. So "either the table is clean, or it isn't" isn't really true for us.

HOWEVER "hang on we can't eat until the table is clear so let's drive to Pico Rivera to get that console table right now" isn't a workable plan, so you create dumpzones as areas of holding between the start and the finish of the chore.

A dump zone can be a laundry basket. It can be a craft bin. It can be a back room or under your bed. It is a place to put things that you are going to deal with later because if you deal with them now it is going to derail the thing you are actually trying to do, which is set the table for dinner.

Dump zones are vital to cleaning with ADHD and I recommend them for day-to-day cleaning as well. The day-to-day dump zones might be more for you than for your boyfriend. For instance, Large Bastard works with bullets and he sheds bullets all over the house. I used to get stressed when I found bullets when I was cleaning because are these work bullets? Are these recreational bullets? Are they in testing? Do they need to be pulled? Do they go in the workshop or the office or the garage or does he need these today so they have to stay on the counter? And the answer now is "that's not my problem naughty bullets go in the jar." Which is perfectly sensible because he gets to say "mystery yarn goes in the bin" and "art supplies go in the bucket."

I feel helpless when cleaning a lot of the time. I'm frustrated and lost and I don't know where stuff goes and everything I pick up spins off into three projects in my head and every step feels like a wall to scale. Dump zones help me with that when there's pressure or a reason for cleaning beyond day to day home maintenance. People are coming over? The bedroom is a dump zone, I'll deal with that later. I'm just cleaning up because I need to? Okay I can find a permanent home for this new dish soap.

AS A VERY IMPORTANT COROLLARY TO THIS:

Active projects do not go in dump zones while you or your partner are cleaning. This may mean designating a project sanctuary area like a corner of the table or one particular chair in your main room where a project can be placed so as not to be disturbed. (if my current crochet project ends up in the yarn bin, that may mean that I don't pick the project up for another three months, it lives on the windowsill behind the couch because that's where it'll get worked on)

Do not put things away for your partner, put them in the dump zone for your partner. Your partner has to be the one to put their own stuff away in a way that works for them. I tend to find that this naturally puts a limit on the time stuff sits in the dump zone, because eventually you'll go "hey where's my thing?" and will put stuff away. If that doesn't happen, it's still generally better to have stuff in a dump zone than all over the home.

Do not decide you know what things go together from your partner's stuff and try to "put like things together." The neurotypical urge to put like things together is the mindkiller(j/k). You do not know which things are "similar" in your partner's organization schema and attempting to organize things on your own is going to end up with all of the things "organized" being functionally lost forever from your partner's perspective. Large Bastard's mom would do this and it was infuriating, she'd say "oh I put all the electronics stuff in one box" and she would mean soldering irons, transistors, ham radios, HDMI cables, and cellphone chargers. We are *still* going through boxes of stuff that she "tidied up" when he was hospitalized in 2020 and 2021.

To prevent the need for quite so many dump zones over time, you can work on setting up landing zones and "homes" for projects and tools.

Landing Zones

Landing zones are places where things go when you come inside from doing various things. Sometimes your landing zone only needs to be a tray for your wallet and keys, sometimes your landing zone needs to be a place to take off muddy boots and put a trowel and gloves down before you shower.

To make an effective landing zone, consider what behaviors you're trying to minimize and whether the people using it are ACTUALLY going to use it. For instance I was tired of the corner of my hearth getting cluttered with random junk so I hung up some hooks and put a shelf and a basket there and it became a really effective landing zone for my bag and keys and the mail, but it was VERY ineffective for Large Bastard because it's by a door that isn't the primary door he uses to enter the house. As a result I always know where my keys and bag are but he has trouble finding his keys and wallet. He tends to enter the house through our bedroom and has an overloaded valet next to the door and that's usually where his wallet ends up. Mounting a shelf to the wall above the valet and putting a basket and a hook on it will be a better place for his stuff to land. It's not that he's not using the first zone because he doesn't know that it's there, or because he doesn't care about lost time when I'm searching for my car keys after he borrows them, he's not using it because it's not by the door he uses. That's all.

I have a landing space for when I come in for gardening that's different than the one when I come in from grocery shopping. I have a landing space for when I walk into the dining room instead of the kitchen when I get home.

Landing spaces prevent stuff from piling up all over the place because they are a limited functional space that should be used frequently. Mail ONLY goes in the landing zone. If you have mystery mail or if you're not sure it's safe to toss, you put it in the landing zone. You can't let the mail get piled up too high or you won't have a space for your keys. You can't let the change in your wallet tray get too deep or your wallet is going to slide off, etc., but you also don't just put change on the coffee table or your nightstand because the landing zone is right there.

Homes for items are just what they sound like. They're the place the item goes. It lives there. My meds live on my nightstand. You would not believe how poorly I did with taking my meds on my vacation because they weren't on my nightstand. A while back large bastard lost one of his sets of sorted meds and we tore the house up looking for them because he couldn't find them in his nightstand, which is where they live. *I* found them in his nightstand because I emptied out the entire top drawer (he had only looked on the top layer) and found them underneath a radio and a hammock. Even though they were *hidden* they were in their home, so they were findable. I recently needed ink for an art class. Art supplies live in a dresser by my desk. Ink lives in the art bin or the top left drawer. The ink was not in either of these places (it was on a cabinet in the dining room behind a teacup) so it took me weeks to find it.

Sometimes the reason that ADHD spaces are so messy is because objects have been assigned homes in places that are visible and if they get moved they get lost. This is a genuinely difficult problem that requires a lot of effort to solve and can involve a lot of trial and error for creating a tidy living space. For some people, open shelving and visible storage might be a good solution. For some people, assigning a VERY clear home and inculcating that location by habit is the only way to clean up a space. For some people one very cluttered corner to at least isolate the chaos does the trick (for me and large bastard open shelving doesn't work because anything in one place for too long becomes invisible; that means that I rely on assigning things homes and large bastard relies on having contained chaos and a general idea of where to search but what that DOES NOT mean is that he is clean or tidy. His spaces look like an explosion. But he can mostly find his stuff and do what he needs to do and as long as that's limited to specific places in shared spaces I can live with it; the dining room table can be a disaster, the kitchen cannot).

People organize things differently. It often takes a while for neurotypical adults to settle into an organizational style that works for them and ADHD adults may need to settle into a new system every few months for it to continue working. The cleanup and declutter is most likely going to be a permanent project that is always going to demand some level of attention from everyone in a shared space, but "my ADHD means I can't do it" is not really going to fly. Maybe his ADHD means that he can't keep his space tidy, but it doesn't mean you can't move stuff from shared spaces into dump zones or that he can't do stuff around the house.

If he's insisting that his ADHD means that he can't clean it is possible that he's not being a shithead, he just feels helpless and doesn't know where to start and has adopted the belief that he's a useless piece of shit who can't even keep a tidy space like a grownup because he's internalized a lot of shitty attitudes (hello, my internal monologue about keeping a clean house). But it's also possible that he's just being a shithead.

It's something that's worthwhile to investigate with him. If he's unwilling to make an attempt, then he's being a shithead.

It is also not your responsibility to rehabilitate another person. If he wants to clean and it's something he feels bad about and needs some help and support with the way that someone might need help or support for learning to use a mobility aid, that is fine but you don't have to be the one who gives him that support if it's detrimental to your health, and you don't have to be the one to teach him that stuff if it's not something you're capable of. And if he is NOT interested in working on making your shared living space more accessible for you, that is not your suitcase to unpack and you just have to ask yourself the question from the start: would I stay with this person if I knew the situation was never going to change?

IDK, I'm sure a lot of this reads like "anon you must take on the emotional labor of training your partner to be an adult" but it's really meant to be more of a way of assessing yourself and your relationship. If you created landing zones do you think he'd use them? Would he get angry if you assigned a laundry basket as a dump zone for his stuff while you tidy the living room? Is living with him long-term going to be comfortable for you if nothing changes? Do you have enough of a shared definition of "mess" that you're at least in the ballpark for what counts as a clean house?

anyway good luck, and a reminder to folks that I'm compiling a bunch of adhd resources and other information on my personal website, ms-demeanor.com. It's coming along slowly but it will eventually include stuff like ADHD cleaning tips and how to tackle a hoard, so maybe keep your eye on that space.

[spacelazarwolf]

here is the reality. whether you like it or not, a large chunk of the global jewish population identifies as zionist, as in they believe that israel should exist in some capacity (regardless of their feelings about the current government). a lot of numbers have been thrown around that i don’t necessarily think are accurate, but it is very safe to say that particularly those who are involved in jewish community organizations and/or are more observant tend to identify as zionist. there are a lot of reasons for this that would take an entire doctoral dissertation to cover. if i wanted to cut myself off from every single jewish zionist or every single jew or jewish organization that believes israel should exist or simply has even one jewish zionist friend or one jewish zionist in attendance, i would have to completely isolate myself from the jewish community, and i am simply not going to do that.

for shavuot, we stayed up until past 3am having difficult conversations about israel and zionism and other rifts in the jewish community and how to talk about them without the inevitable defensiveness that always comes up, how to disconnect the political aspects of zionism from jewish identity and how to have difficult conversations with people who disagree with us without leaving the table. we talked about it through the lens of a story in the talmud about rabbi yohanan and reish lakish, a story that ends in tragedy, a story that is representative of where the community is headed if we aren’t able to start having these conversations.

so when gentiles show up and demand i abandon my community because it’s sinful politically incorrect to associate with sinners people with slightly different political opinions, it pisses me the fuck off. because y’all are constantly going on and on abt jews needing to “unlearn zionism” but then when non zionist jews refuse to just walk away from our people and decide instead to do the difficult work of starting and maintaining important conversations within our community, we get called zionists or accused of “associating with zionists” and therefore zionist by default.

so what do you want? do you want there to be less jewish zionists? because the only way that’s going to happen is if difficult conversations are allowed to happen, and those difficult conversations won’t be able to happen if you insist that all jews who aren’t zionist refuse to associate with the vast majority of our people. or are you simply looking to isolate jews with different political opinions than you because you don’t want to take the time to understand why so many jews identify as zionist. i know because i have had hours upon hours of conversations with the people in my community, and my understanding of their reasoning and motivation has made it easier to have conversations about zionism.

so it’s fucked because. y’all want there to be less jewish zionists. the only way for that to happen is to talk to them and understand them. but associating with them or trying to understand why they identify that way makes you a zionist. and therefore you should also not be associated with. but there should be less jewish zionists. so it sounds to me like y’all are just expecting people to change their minds because. what? because you said so? that is not realistic in the slightest!

anyway this post is not meticulously crafted it’s literally just me venting abt this shit but i’m just sick and tired of goyim who are not part of these difficult conversations deciding that they know better how to deal with jewish zionists (who they will not associate with) than jewish non zionists who are actually trying to have the difficult conversations with their community.

[azulsluver]

Ur bully au is so good I could slurp it up but it got me wondering

How would all the students react to the reader just. trying to kill themselves because of the endless torment? would they keep harassing? would they say something about it? or would they tone it down? I must know because If I was in that situation i know damn well unaliving myself would be the first option

There’s more than one asking but ima just get this over with

tw. yandere, attempted suicide, suicide, cutting, bully!characters, mentioned torture, humiliation, blood, slight gore, neglection, fucked up reader (deadass).

Here are some thoughts and reactions bellow!

When asking, what role does this character do in this so called ‘bully!au’? You have to look at a deeper perspective of how each person behaves, what the intention is, and how it’s done.

So when the subject of suicide is involved it can get confusing depending on what caused it. Self worth is hinted in the reader, insecurities are brought and laughed at because it needs to hit a spot. Because YOU have feelings, watching it be stripped by people in far greater power than you, people with money, influence, and within number. Standing up to a bully is difficult, the struggles you go through should’ve been realistic.

When push comes to shove, they’re not all coming for you. If you enjoy the idea of every character ruining your life— that’s fine— but, it’s usually one or three. I think it’s childish, when I first made this AU, some sort of amusement in finding hurt but comfort when writing, they’re not trying to kill you, you know. You just catch their eye, more than they could like. Rejection is one thing, but another is a fair game of a sadistic approach. Whether they verbally or physically abuse you is up to place bets on what kills you.

For NRC years, yes, they constantly nagged and followed you around. But the times they would actively seek you out would be less than you think, the focus on bullying would be isolation. They don’t have to hurt you everyday. Some time for yourself to heal and think over your situation. What would you eat? Would they play nice and ignore you for tonight? Did your look piss off someone from afar? Let them cheat off you! Don’t be such a bore, it’ll all go back to just you and Grim.

If you picked up self harming, it’s noticeable. Hiding it is nearly impossible. They grab and bite at you already so what makes you think hiding was a good idea? It’s nasty and unplanned, miss them? Miss their touch that you havta recreate it? It’s horrible to mention, but caring really depends on who calls you out.

I can say you like it. Or you fucking hate it. You hate, hateee, how they treat you. You crawl on all fours for them to laugh and pat your head, do a dare and lick off from their hand but money is involved.

What did you do, was it simple, messy, perfect headshot if you will. If your need to die was to simply hurt them in any way— it might work. Poor them, they can’t imagine being away from you for too long. Some are more uninterested than the others. Who gives a shit you died? Whoever had the luck of finding you, dead or in the act, serves a purpose of letting you live or die. Cruel as they may be, you tug at a couple of heart strings.

Let’s say it was an attempt:

Sprang into action, either holding you down or taking whatever object you’re using to harm yourself. They’re gonna make sure this doesn’t happen again, you gave them quite the spook. Have fun being watched 24/7, and if they couldn’t, everything will be baby proofed for your safety, isn’t that nice, they care. Thrash all you want, screaming and crying won’t get you anywhere, but they’ll bite their tongue once and a while to prevent this from happening.

Trey, Riddle, Azul, Vil, Jack, Deuce, Sebek,

Oohh…he’s so sorry. Please forgive him, crying on his knees and rubbing his head against your chest. It doesn’t matter if the blood stains his clothes, you nearly died and he feels awful. He promises so many times for harm to look the other way, twisted, yet unavoidable. Trapped in a tight, monitored schedule were his scent and voice is all you’ll ever need. But at least there’s a change of heart, your health is improving and that’s all that matters to him, but speak to him, he wants to hear you.

Silver, Malleus, Kalim

Should he have stopped you, but what good will it do for him? Frozen in the moment, their bodies do the thinking, rational, to prevent you from escaping them. You’re funny, reaaal funny, got good jokes at time. But, he’s not really laughing. A little, but it’s hysterically funny and scary. Because he’s still so rough, even when he apologizes yet calls you stupid, his fingers hurt you more than whatever you had planned, gripping, as if you really died.

Jamil, Ace, Cater, Ruggie, Leona, Idia, Floyd, Epel

Does it hurt? Did you find your ulna? Was the rope too tight? It feels like he’s only here to see the end credits, the finale. The sick fuck is smiling too, gross. Giving up just leaves you with him by your side, pressing it deeper to help you get the job done…just kidding! That was quite a show you put on, this is why he likes you. Being responsible of another’s cause of death isn’t ideal, so he’ll try to watch you as of now.

Lilia, Rook, Jade

From that list alone you can guess who’s to mourn, and who savors what is left. Death is inevitable. Everyone dies one way.

[yanderestarangel]

Wesker has consumed my mind entirely, so could I leave an request for him?

Albert wesker as the father of readers boyfriend, at first he didn’t pay much attention to them but the more often reader came by, the more his thoughts started to become intimate and every time reader would have a fight with his son, wesker would use it to make them doubt their relationship with his son.

Really love your fics, if you won’t do this request it’s fine, but really can’t wait to read more of your story’s! Hope you’re doing alright and take care of yourself 🫶

— HEADCANONS RE || WESKER FATHER-IN-LAW X SON-IN-LAW READER

TW ┊dark smut, ftm reader, aggression, toxic relationship, age gap, v!sex, cheating, eat out, blowjob, 69, sexual recording, sensitive themes, dead dove.

WARNING : no negativity please. If this isn’t your sort of content, block me and move on with your day<3

— SFW AND NSFW

In Wesker's eyes, at first you were just another toy for his son, you were already the third boyfriend his son had in less than three months — so the scientist didn't even look at you, just greeting you out of politeness and isolating himself again in his office to continue his work."It won't last long, I bet." Albert said to himself, referring to yet another boyfriend of his son, but he didn't get involved in matters... After all, he was a man too busy for trivial things.

You obviously tried to be a polite boy and get along with your father-in-law, but all your attempts failed as the blonde didn't even look at you — and if he did, you couldn't speak because he simply wore those sunglasses 24 of the day. It was frustrating for you every time you received a rude and rude response from your own father-in-law, making you give up on getting closer to him.

But despite his attempts to avoid you out of pure disinterest, he couldn't deny that you were getting into his routine much more than he wanted to admit. His son always brought you to spend the weekends and have lunch at his mansion, so finally the older man's eyes noticed you.

You were a kind and sweet man, different from his son who was always the same as his personality — only a little worse considering his extreme elitist upbringing. But not you, you were simple and sweet, it even surprised him how stupidly innocent you could be sometimes.

And his also knew that it wouldn't take long for his son to start a fight with you because of his stupidity.

The older blonde started to have unhealthy thoughts about you, your presence was like a balm for him, but also like an inferno that threatened to burn everything and everyone around him.

He began to wonder what it would be like to squeeze your thighs, how your soft skin would feel in his big, calloused hands — how beautiful you would look moaning and begging him to go deeper into your beautiful body... How he would be better than his son being a companion to you.

He really tried to push those thoughts away and tried to approach you like a real father-in-law would, apologizing for his previous behavior and that he was just stressed about some company matters.

But the way your face and doe eyes lit up at simply being treated well by him made the heat in his core gradually rise — every fiber of his being was pulsing and burning like a fire... Only he knows how much he controlled himself to doesn't push you against the nearest wall and make you his right there.

Albert tried to suppress the feelings of lust that were slowly threatening to rot his mind, but every time he saw your smile, even those caused by his son, he wanted to do some crazy things and take you for himself. "Fuck, I'm too old to act like a dedicated man controlled only by his desires." Wesker thought as he rested his temple on his closed fist and watched you on the other side of the room, in his mansion, hugging his son and watching a movie. But he knew that moments of peace like that would end soon, especially with his son's toxic behavior — he had already predicted this, but he never thought it would take a considerably longer time compared to other times.

Even though it took a while, it happened, you fought with your boyfriend and practically the entire gated community heard the screams. Wesker was still trying not to interfere in your two lives because of the feeling of wanting to have you for himself — but after the fifth fight where you were slapped in the face by his son, he felt obliged to break up the heated argument and take you to a safe place away from there.

Before you said anything he just took off his sunglasses and for the first time looked at you with his piercing blue eyes. "No no, you don't need to say anything kid... I know my son was a horrible man and an asshole to you. I'm on the right side, just because he's my son doesn't mean I'm going to blind myself to the horrible things he did you hear." Albert said it loud and clear, then his cold, rough hands found your face and made you focus on his face.

"Listen to me, pretty boy, you deserve someone better than him." He spoke with a tone that made you feel goosebumps, the nickname "pretty boy" came out practically erotically from his thin lips and the look with the older man's dilated pupils didn't help much with your confused feelings.

With each fight that happened in your relationship, you felt closer and closer to your father-in-law. Even starting to frequent Wesker's mansion when your boyfriend wasn't there, purposely just to be alone with the older man.

Between smiles, conversations and not-so-unconscious looks, you quickly found yourself sitting on the older man's thighs while both of you were breathing faster — unable to hold back any longer, Wesker had given in to his desires and finally kissed you, his lips on yours, in a warm and desperate kiss — his hands going to your ass squeezing the soft flesh and quickly soft moans coming out of both of you, the erection in his pants wouldn't let him lie that he wanted more than just kissing his own son-in-law. "Come on lad... I'll show you how much you need someone older who really knows how to take care of you."

Wesker's cock was thick and pulsing enough to make your brain shut down with each thrust, moaning and drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as your legs trembled around his muscular torso — your pussy dripped onto his bare, skin-tight member. skin made you feel the thick, dirty tip of precum kissing your uterus and threatening to fill you at any moment. "Fuck--! open that pussy wider for me, good boy..." Wesker moaned as he grabbed your thighs and squeezed the soft flesh there, leaving marks all over it.

Having sex with your own father-in-law was dirty and wrong... But it was incredibly hot. Unlike your boyfriend, the older man really focused on your pleasure.

He smiled huskily as he saw you turn into a trembling mess barely able to suck his dick while you did a 69 in his office. "You have a charming and pretty pussy, boy," He moaned, licking and wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking hard as he felt your hand on his cock, stroking it gently. The light pressure on his dick was pleasant and arousing as it also fueled his desire to make you feel as good as he could. He kept alternating between his fingers inside you and his tongue on your clit, and every now and then, he'd let a finger slip into your ass, and a moan from your lips encouraged him to continue doing so. "Fuck, you're tight, so, so tight..." Wesker's moaned, his hands squeezing your thighs, wanting you to hold onto him, to let him know that you were enjoying it. "My son is an asshole for letting such a needy and bitchy boy like you run wild, I'm glad I got you for myself, right?"

The two of you fucked like two animals in heat, even with your boyfriend at home — every time you waited for him to sleep and ran to Wesker's office. "Do you want me to help you with this my angel?" The scientist laughed as he fingered your pussy with two thick fingers, rhythmically thrusting into your g-spot and making you roll your eyes and hold on to the wooden table that you were leaning against, making the tall man laugh.

"Shhhh, don't make any noise, be a good slut and keep those beautiful moans bottled up ok? You really are sensitive boy- holy shit, it's just my fingers and you're already squirming for me to touch that cute pussy of yours." He snapped his fingers against your pussy, a sting, but not enough to make you shudder too much as his attention was diverted to your clit, flicking it with his thumb, trying to tease you even more and make you beg for him. him again. "You want me to fuck you don't you? Then you better beg for it boy." Albert pronounced each syllable fiercely, unbuttoning his pants and once again exposing his thick, pulsing member — you could smell the musk and the heat radiating from his groin, making you drip even more and barely be able to think beyond begging him in a slurred manner to fuck you soon.

"My son should see what a whore his boyfriend is for me, you know?" He teased as he buried himself without warning into your wet heat, covering your mouth with his hand as his thrusts were animalistic but with a concern that his cock would hit all the right spots on your sensitive wall.

Fingers, tongue, dick, sex toys, everything you wanted he used for your pleasure, taking you to orgasms that you didn't even know could be so pleasurable. Besides his look conveyed more than a simple desire for you — he wanted more, a lovers' affair wouldn't satisfy him, he needed to steal you from his son.

And how to do this? Simple, record a short porn video and send it to him later — cruel? Sure, but your father-in-law was sick and obsessed with you enough to not even care about his own son.

"Look at the camera, come on my prince, be a good slut and fix your eyes on the lens." Wesker pulled your hair as he made you look at the recording instrument with your face messy and flushed with pleasure — your pussy squeezed and milked the older man's cock as he made sure to record you from every possible angle.

"Smile darling... Tell him who you belong to." He grunted in your ear, hearing you moan his name repeatedly as he increased his thrusts to the point of making your groin hurt and hot, mixing your juices and his cum that made your thighs even wetter. He held his head tightly to the camera, as a cruel smile spread across his own face. “It looks like you lost quite a boy, I never thought you were so stupid, son... But you can leave it, daddy will take good care of your... Ex-boyfriend." The blonde laughed as he came again inside your pussy, seeing you moan drunk of pleasure for him — Wesker loved you in a distorted way, but unlike his son, he really saw a future with you by his side. Like his boy, as it had to be.

[on-leatheredwings]

Meeting the Family

based off this! but can be read alone.

Yandere! Fem! Reader / Yandere! Bruce Wayne

> romantic with bruce, platonic with the boys. the boys could be read as pre-yandere if you wish. > tw/cw: reader is a yandere, yandere-typical thought patterns, implied drugging, mention of self-harm, implied drugging > request: thoughts on co-conspirator!reader meeting the boys? > a/n: Hmmmm, i feel it’d be a meeting of interrogation where they see you’re clearly unstable !! > word count: 1.4k

You walk towards the threshold of a Wayne Manor sitting room. You have this hallway nearly memorized. You’ve viewed it through your 24/7 surveillance cameras and glanced upon it during your visits, but never has this hallway seemed so daunting until now. Luckily, your lover is nearby to reassure you. Bruce slips his hand into yours, and you inwardly swoon. You share a warm glance with him.

“They’ll adore you,” he says. You let a smile peek through your anxious expression. “I know I do.” At such sweet words, you feel your cheeks heat. Ugh, this man, you think affectionately.

Your Sunday best is the armor you don to meet Bruce’s children. It seems like you won’t even be able to meet them all – only the ones in town. “They just want to interrogate me,” you whine, letting yourself be pulled towards the impeccably decorated room.

“They just want to get to know you,” Bruce returns, humming. You can’t retort because already, you are in full view of his brood. The three of them look up from their phones and books. You swallow, under the scrutiny of two pairs of blue eyes and one pair of green.

“... Hi,” you say, waving a stupid hand. One smiles in return, thank goodness.

“I’ll just let you all get acquainted,” Bruce says, retreating. You swerve to him, blinking dumbly. That was not the agreement. The agreement was that Bruce moderate the discussion– and he’s gone.

He leaves the sitting room, and leaves you in the lion’s den to fend for yourself. And boy, do the lions pounce. 

The eldest, Dick – he’s positively godsent. He’s the first to shake your hand, immediately going into a friendly babble about how you’re all Bruce ever talks about and how he’s been excited to meet you. And thank God for that, because it manages to ease the tension you still have in your shoulders. He introduces himself and his brothers, melts the ice by teasing them as he does it. He offers you a seat across from them, offers you tea and cookies. He shares an anecdote of Bruce’s less polished moments to make you laugh. 

You soon realize he was a sleeper agent. He was merely buttering you up, lowering your defenses with well-placed platitudes and good-natured jokes.

It’s Tim who begins the true assault.

“So,” Tim begins over a cup of tea, looking upon you owlishly. “Isolation for 10 long years… How was that?” You blink, startled, before smiling weakly. At least no one was treating you like glass. Sometimes, that made you feel even more like a freak.

You try to give him a Sparknotes recollection, but it doesn’t satisfy him. At his badgering, you do relent more details. You are slipping your innermost thoughts without much of a fight, to your surprise. Dick’s empathetic gaze and Tim’s enraptured attention have you spilling dark thoughts it took you months to even tell Bruce… 

It was long. It was traumatic. Mind-altering. You have breakdown after breakdown. Self-harm after self-harm. There is a part of you you can never get back… So, 'how was it?' Why, just awful, thanks for asking!

Dick comforts you with “you’re so strong,” as Tim nods. He seems happy with his findings. It seems like you have piqued his academic interest – you can basically see the gears churning behind his mind, the factoids he’s storing for later. For what, you don’t know, but you’re glad to help. Throat dry, you down the rest of that blasted tea, but the boys aren’t quite finished.

Damian, however, is brutal in his questioning, sparing any of the pleasantries or dithering his brothers employed. He asks rapid fire about your past outside of your years in isolation. What was your childhood like? Your relationship with your parents? Did you ever graduate high school? College? What was your major? Do you like animals? His father houses two dogs, a cat, and a cow – you do know that don’t you? 

“What are your intentions with my father?” At that, you flinch.

“Nothing… nefarious, to be sure,” you say, sweat beginning to bead on your temple. It’s true! Aside from all the dastardly actions you wanted to inflict upon Bruce in the bedroom, nothing nefarious!

“And his other suitors? They don’t bother you?” 

At that, your smile wilts. Not from any offense… you simply don’t enjoy the reminder that others do seek Bruce’s affection. 

“They… don’t worry me,” you say succinctly. Dick doesn’t think you realize how your smile has grown sharp. Damian doesn’t let on whether he approves or disapproves of the answer. And Tim simply watches.

“And my father’s controlling and possessive tendencies? You’re fine with that? What would you do if you caught him in a lie? Or if a woman he was involved with confronted you?”

You gape like a fish. Man, what a character this one was. Damian blinks slow and catlike, before he sniffs. “I’m asking for one of the siblings who couldn’t be here today.”

“Um…” you return, discombobulated. You shoot off your answers as rapid-fire as he posed them. “I haven’t noticed any tendencies. And I can handle myself! If he lied… I’d hear him out. He probably had a good reason, of course.”

“What if it was infidelity?” 

You glare at them. “I’d get rid of her.” Why do they keep bringing up other women? 

At the boys’ silence, you realize your mistake. You wave your hands and bluster, “Not like– not like get rid of her– I would just tell her to… Leave. And I’d be… angry… at Bruce.” God, you don’t feel like you’re doing too well in this interview. You hiccup, filling your cup some more. What is in this tea? Man, it’s delicious.

“... Interesting.” 

“What if Bruce left you out of his own volition?” Tim points out, drawing your attention.

Your head snaps to him and you stare… That possibility had never even crossed your mind.

“He wouldn’t,” you say, confused. At raised eyebrows, you say, “I mean. I-I don’t think he would.” You have faith in Bruce. It’s been five months now, and your relationship has gone swimmingly. You had your insecurities… but Bruce had kissed all your worries away by now. Your fingers dig into the cushion of the couch. 

He wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t. He had already reassured you, and been so kind, and wonderful, and shown you what love was like– he couldn’t just leave you now–

“But what if he did?” and this time, the question comes from Dick, who, if you recall, hadn’t asked a single question yet. He looks serious, unlike his casual air from before.

You keep the desperation out your voice by keeping it chillingly level. “Then I’d convince him otherwise.” Good answer, good answer, you applaud yourself. All the boys nod, looking upon you with varying degrees of interest, curiosity, and understanding.

“Then… I suppose we have just one more question,” Tim says, plucking the kettle of tea out your hands. You pout.

“Thoughts on having children?”

At the question, your brows shoot into your hairline.

“... Are there not enough of you already?” you blurt.

To your relief, they all relax.

-

After that strange encounter, Bruce shows himself and sees you out. The walk outside is quiet. Comfortably quiet on your end. You hope you did good… no, you reassure yourself. Fuck it, you did great.

“So… how were they?” 

You glance at his face, and are surprised to see thinly veiled concern behind his smile. “Did any of them say anything… strange? And… did you like them?” You laugh, before floating up to kiss Bruce between the brows. Flight powers came in handy for stuff like that.

“They were wonderful,” you say cheekily. “Something they clearly get from their father.”

-

bonus!

Bruce re-enters the foyer. He shoots off a text, lamenting. If you hadn’t had him bug his own home, he could’ve spoken to the boys freely. He could’ve had Jason hide nearby, instead of having to listen in on Damian’s phone.

Bruce: Did that satisfy your curiosities?

Several ellipses in bubbles pop up, before his phone rattles with their responses.

Damian: Frankly, she comes off as airheaded and naive, but at least she seems to have some semblance of spine.

Jason: She’s crazy. Didn’t we tell you to stop sticking your dick in crazy

Dick: Well, I think that makes you guys a perfect match!

Tim: bruce i’m sorry, you cannot fix her. however, i would like to study her. and possibly, make her worse

Bruce sighs, albeit smiling. By all accounts, you seem have gotten their general approval.

[hornytofugirl]

Taking You Seriously (Gojo Satoru x Fem Reader)

cw: minors dni, fem!reader, fem!reader x gojo, more angsty than expected lol, hair-pulling, doggy, sidefuck, riding, blowjob, creampie

word count: 3.1k words

note: this was so much longer than expected, but i hope it's worth it LOL

plot: you just had your first fight with satoru, and you're tired of him not taking you seriously.

You just had your first fight with Satoru, and you’re pissed.

To cool down, you left Satoru mid-conversation and slammed the door to the living room in the apartment you two lived in together. You recently moved in a month ago, but you were seriously contemplating on packing your bags and leaving temporarily.

You never felt like Satoru took you seriously, and if he did, you wouldn’t know or you would have to gaslight yourself to think that he did. Whenever you tried to bring up heavy topics, he would always skirt around and make jokes, or somehow take the conversation back to himself. You were aware that this was probably Satoru’s way to managing stressful situations, but it was painful, dismissive, and isolating.

Your heart ached, the memories you have of him oscillating between good, and painful. You imagined his cute laugh, the way he’d give you stupid, random souvenirs from his work trips, and the way you both laughed and did silly dances together. But then you’d also remember the way he would pretend that nothing would be wrong by laughing it off, even when you knew he was hiding so much pain.

You didn’t know what to expect from his laughs. Would it be a joke, or just his way of hiding something because he didn’t trust you?

You swiftly put on your black flats, and was just about to twist the doorknob when you felt a looming shadow behind you. You don’t dare look behind. You wouldn’t give him the luxury of seeing your face.

“So you’re going to leave, and not finish what you’ve started? The conversation isn’t over,” Satoru replied, his voice strangely calm. Just a minute ago, his voice was loud, and almost shrill, even.

“I guess I am. How can I finish a conversation that you’re not taking seriously?” You ask, hoping the words stab into his heart. He needs to know exactly the type of pain you’re feeling.

“I’m serious. Dead serious.” Satoru replied, his voice growing lower. You turn around and you notice him touching his blindfold.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Using your technique on me? You’re a piece of shit-“ You reach over to grab his hand, but your hands stop right before touching his face. You try your hardest to drive your hand forward, but it won’t move due to his Limitless technique. Satoru lifted up his blindfold, and his eyes met yours.

His eyes strike yours with azure clarity, his eyes resembling a clear sky, with no clouds in sight. Even though you are furious, you couldn’t help but feel captivated by his eyes. It was hard to look away once his eyes locked onto yours.

“I am a piece of shit. We both know this,” Satoru said softly, using your hand to caress his face. Your anger softens slightly, your body becoming less stiff, “I just wanted to look at you.”

Satoru wasn’t the type to self-deprecate. In fact, he was usually doing the opposite. He was charmingly arrogant, and you didn’t want to make his head even bigger.

“You’re not a piece of shit. You just… don’t take me seriously. Something is obviously bothering you, and you won’t tell me what it is. Do you think I’m stupid enough to not know? Do you how much it hurts for you to not trust me? The least you could do is not cover your feelings up with jokes-“

Satoru pulls you and slams his lips against yours. You yelp in surprise, but you welcome his soft lips, your hands cupping his face. Satoru pulls away, and stares at you intently, his blue eyes staring straight into your soul.

“There are two things bothering me. The first thing bothering me is what will happen in Shibuya on Halloween. I have a feeling that something’s off. The second thing bothering me is that you think that I don’t take you seriously,” Satoru replied, “The first thing can’t be resolved now. But the second…” You feel your heart starting to beat faster. You also feel a lot lighter, now that you finally know what was bothering Satoru. But what was Satoru going to do? It was hard to tell with him.

Before you could process what was happening, Satoru gently lifted you up, and carried you into the bedroom. He quickly lays you on the bed, and is on top, staring at you. You notice that his blindfold is now completely off, his white hair beautifully framing his eyes. His eyes are solemn, his face covered with unknown intent.

There were no jokes, and no laughing this time. Usually, when you slept with Satoru, there was a lot of playfulness, and a lot of giggling. But not this time.

“I do trust you, you know. I trust you a lot, actually,” Satoru said, his face inching closer to yours, “But the last thing I want is to tell you information that could get you in danger. I don’t trust who I could become if I saw someone hurting you because of your proximity to me.”

That last sentence made you feel a inkling of the burden Satoru felt on a daily basis. He was the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. He was constantly watched, targeted, and scrutinized by his comrades and enemies. Of course he didn’t want you to get hurt in the crossfire. He didn’t want you to be targeted the same way he was. You were an idiot for thinking he didn’t take you seriously. A fucking idiot. You couldn’t even fathom how seriously he valued you.

And now he thinks that you think otherwise.

“Satoru, I don’t care what you become if someone were to hurt me because of you. I’ll love you either way,” You say with clarity, sweetly sealing your sentence with a gentle kiss on his lips.

However, Satoru breaks away, and looks at you one more time. He smirks, making your face flush, “Of course you will,” he smiles smugly, “But, I’ll take you seriously.”

His eyes immediately darken with focus as he swiftly took off his signature black shirt and firmly presses his lips against yours, unbuttoning your white dress shirt. You gasp, shocked at the force, but you quickly unbotton your shirt and unhook your bra, feeling Satoru’s warm, built chest against yours as you wrapped your arms around him. Satoru pulls your black jeans down smoothly, slowly trailing his fingers down to your pussy, finding your clit instantly. You catch your breath, letting out a soft moan as Satoru slowly moved his finger back and forth, your body curling up towards his. He gradually built speed, your moans slowly growing more intense and shrill, your moans going from low, satisfactory groans to high yelps of pleasure.

“S-Satoru,” you moan, “Am I wet enough for you? I want you inside me. Now.”

“Hmm, let’s check. You’re usually a waterfall at this point,” Satoru chirped, licking his lips and giving you a cheeky wink before going down on your pussy. He starts with licking in between your folds, and you start to wiggle, but he clamps your hips down, so you couldn’t move.

“Satoru! Fuck!” You moan as he starts to lick your clit, his tongue licking side to side. You shove his head closer into your pussy.

“Yeah, I’m right. You’re a waterfall, as usual,” Satoru replied raising up to meet your eyes with a smirk. His eyes glowed a neon blue, his smirk showing satisfaction and confidence with his pussy eating, “You taste so much better though. We should fight some more if make up pussy tastes this good,” He replied, his smirk growing.

“Satoru!” You exclaim, playfully slapping his head, “Just shut up and eat me out!”

Satoru stared at you, partly still processing the fact that you bonked him, and then smiled devilishly, “Oh? You’re telling me what to do, now? Is this what you’re like after a fight? You’re so much cuter when you’re mad,” Satoru chuckled, grabbing his shirt, “But I don’t follow orders. So bye!” He starts to put his shirt over his head, but you grab his shirt, stopping him from fully wearing it.

“You. Are not. Going. Anywhere.” You say, staring at him, “Whatever happened to taking me seriously, Satoru? You’re scared that your best efforts won’t be enough for me? Is that why you’re putting on your shirt? Is that why you’re running?” Your eyes burned into his. Your clit tingled, still wanting more, but you wanted to hide your dignity under taunting. Maybe he’ll come back if you hit his ego hard enough.

Satoru started laughing, his laugh deep and full-bodied, echoing through the apartment, “Oh, love. If you’re going to bruise my ego, you need to be a bit meaner! Your words are so cute,” He giggled, and then his eyes suddenly got darker, and he narrowed his eyes, “It’s so obvious that you want me. Be a good girl, and beg for my cock.”

“Okay, I will,” You said with a monotone, unserious tone, “I want your cock. Woohoo.”

Satoru widened his eyes, and he licked his lips with desire. He didn’t realize how much he liked you being defiant. It’ll make it all the more hotter when he forced you into sweet submission. Satoru unzipped his pants, and your eyes widened when you saw his cock emerge. Oh, he’s hard. Also, he was huge. Satoru loomed over you on the bed, and slid his cock up and down the outside of your pussy, his cock quickly getting slick and wet. You instantly cover your mouth and held your breath. He wasn’t going to make you moan. No way. Not here, not now.

“Oh, you’re really trying to be a bad girl, huh!” Satoru laughed, “Let’s see how long you can be bad for before I break you!” He proceeded to slide his cock faster, and he wrapped his large hand around your neck. You firmly shut your eyes. “Fuck, fuck fuck!” You thought, “This feels so fucking good, oh god fuck me-“

Before you could build your resolve, Satoru dove into your breasts and sucked your nipple. Your eyes roll back as he started to lick them, and you can feel your pussy throbbing with want.

“Let him in,” a voice said inside of you, “Be a good girl. You’ll get him inside you faster.”

You attempt to shut the voice out of your mind. No fucking way. But before you could shut the voice out completely, you feel Satoru give a soft nibble on your nipple.

You yelp, and you gasp, slamming your hands even harder against your face. Your yelp of pleasure hummed against your hands, but it was already too late. A moan, was a moan, and Satoru heard it.

“Oh, I broke you already? Aw, you tried so hard! I’ll give you an A for effort,” Satoru replied boldly, his eyes glowing with confidence, “Now be a good girl and suck my fucking cock.”

Satoru lifted his cock, slick with your wetness, and shoved his cock into your mouth. You jump, and you attempt to take all of his cock into your mouth, but you could only get to half of it at most. You look up to see Satoru with a somewhat manic, satisfied smile.

At this point, all you wanted was for Satoru to cum inside you, and pound you until you lost the ability to walk. You can feel the desperation building up, and you fully let the desperation consume you whole.

So you looked up at Satoru, your eyes on his as you bobbed your head back and forth into his cock. You make sure to not gag, and you slide your tongue on every spot of his cock, making sure to leave no spot untouched. Every time you sucked in, you made sure to suction your cheeks so that the suction would be tighter.

“Ugh, just like that,” Satoru groaned. You see Satoru’s eyes waver with pleasure, but he still kept his eyes on you. You let go of his cock to see your spit and his pre-cum connecting your mouth to his cock - a reminder of where your mouth was moments ago.

“Was that good enough for you, Satoru?” You ask, your eyes shining, “I can do more, you know,” You were completely broken at this point, but you stopped caring. You wanted Satoru in you, all over you, everywhere. You wanted to breathe in Satoru, and breathe out Satoru. You wanted to consume him whole, just like how he consumed your mind.

“It was. I think you’ve earned it,” Satoru replied with a smirk, “You’ve really outdone yourself.” He proceeded to take his blindfold, tying it around your eyes. You gasp, touching his silk, black blindfold, seeing nothing but complete darkness. At this point, Satoru had you wrapped around his finger. You were now at the mercy of his whims, which could be anything. Satoru was hard to predict.

Satoru promptly laid you face down, and lifted your ass up. You smile, expecting his cock to slip right inside your pussy and stretch you out.

But you feel a hard, firm slap to your ass instead. You jolt, and you yelp in surprise.

“S-Satoru!” You beg, “Please stop making me wait!” You can hear Satoru chuckling, planting a small kiss on your ass where he slapped you. The stinging pain remained, and you can feel your butt turn pink.

“Ah fine, fine. Be careful for what you wish for,” Satoru replied, and you tense up, preparing for yourself. Despite the fact that you and Satoru fucked a lot, his dick was always a lot to take in. Physically and mentally.

Satoru thrust his cock deep inside you, and grabbed your hips and pushed you further into him. You let out a loud moan, feeling him fully stretch your insides.

“Oh my god. You feel so fucking good. Fuck,” Satoru groaned, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy with wet ease. He wasn’t gentle, and you could hear the pounding, wet clap between your ass and his body. It felt heavenly, and you didn’t want him to stop.

“Ah, Satoru! Please don’t stop,” You moan, and you suddenly have your hair quickly pulled back, your head pounding. Satoru started to lick and kiss your neck sloppily, a small trail of spit slowly trailing down your side-boob. You feel Satoru catch the trail with his tongue, his tongue moving all the way back up to your neck. You shiver, the trail he left leaving a slight chill. You’re amazed that he was able to clean up while still pounding you to no end, and while holding your hair in a messy chunk with his hands.

However, knowing Satoru, you’re not surprised. This was probably a perk to seeing everything. Nothing escaped his eyes, and he knew exactly what he was capable of.

He transitioned you to lay on your side, and he laid behind you, his cock slipping in and out of your entrance. You gasp, and he squeezes your tits hard, and you squeal, almost bumping into his head when you move your head back. Satoru chuckles before going inside you again, and you can hear a low growl of pleasure as he goes in deeper, muttering, “Fuck.” You hold the hand Satoru used to squeeze your tits, and gasp as he responded by pounding harder. Satoru pants, his breath warm on your neck as he kept going.

“I want to ride you until you cum, baby,” You moan, sweat starting to slide behind your neck, “P-Please, I just want to take you all in.

You turn around, and Satoru takes off your blindfold, his eyes only inches away from you. He doesn’t look away, and he smiles deviously as he moves you to the edge of the bed, and he plops you on top of his lap, his hands squeezing your ass.

“I’ll let you ride, but I want you to look at me all the way through,” Satoru replies as you adjust your position on top, the edge of your slick cunt touching his throbbing head.

There’s a moment of silence where you can hear each other’s loud, ragged breathing. You lock eyes with Satoru, full of longing before you sit, plunging your pussy and trapping his cock inside of you. You try to not close your eyes, but you moan loudly, Satoru’s eyes still intently on you. You squeeze your stomach, and you bounce on top of him, your wetness getting everywhere on his lap. Satoru groans with pleasure, and you take it as a sign to do your best. You bounce with a steady rhythm, squeezing your walls as you plunged down on his cock. You then start to lean back, and Satoru instinctively holds you steady as you circle your hips around him, feeling his cock stretch more of you. Satoru is tempted to look at your hips move, but he keeps his eyes on you, and you keep yours on him. There’s no way you’re breaking eye contact with him.

At some point though, Satoru couldn’t take it anymore. He pulls you back up, falls back so that you’re laying on top of him, and he holds you down, thrusting rapidly into you.

Oh god, it’s hitting that spot. You were going to cum soon.

“Oh my god, Satoru, I’m going to cum. Oh my god, fuck me, keep going, don’t fucking stop!” You scream, your eyes widening manically. Satoru stared back, his eyes darkening with focus. He didn’t stop thrusting, and you could feel your legs shaking, your walls clenching. You lose sight of Satoru as you start to black out, seeing and feeling nothing but your orgasm. You see a glimmer of Satoru’s smile as you came, your wetness covering his dick.

Once your vision comes back, you can see Satoru starting to lose his composure. Your pussy was so irresistably wet and tight, and his dick couldn’t resist. He thrusts faster, roaring your name as he thrusts more deeply and intensely into you, making sure that his cock filled you up with his cum.

For a moment, you laid on top, and his breath settled, and you can feel his heart speeding. You lift up your pussy from his cock, and you can see his cum glisten, dripping slowly from your pussy. You look back, and you see Satoru with a relaxed smile.

“I’ll always take you seriously my love, don’t forget that,” He said, before tenderly kissing you on the lips.

[messiahzzz]

i have been thinking a lot about mystra’s relationship with gale, how reducing her to “his ex” really is an understatement. she was and still is so much more than that. moreover, using the term “ex-girlfriend” in relation to her plainly feels wrong and diminishes the influence she has over him, as well as the role she played in his life since his childhood (and it also trivializes the abuse he suffered through her).

there are several instances where gale gets defensive when his companions mention or ask him abt mystra. he claims that their relationship was no less real even though most of their interactions were incorporeal.

we have already established that gale is an unreliable narrator in this particular case, still not having fully come to terms with the fact that he was groomed, manipulated and abused. he ping-pongs between bouts of realization (even in his romance), gaining clarity that he was merely used and eventually discarded and that mystra never truly cared for him, back to making light of his situation, idealizing her once again. realizing the extent of his trauma, that he is indeed a victim in this scenario, unlearning what he has been made to believe from a young age is a slow and painful journey. he is in the process of healing, but it takes time. time he deserves just like anyone else.

which makes me wonder what their relationship really looked like, once the lines between teacher, muse, and lover began to blur. i also feel like one of the reasons why part of the fandom still struggles to identify mystra as his abuser, is because she is a white woman who initially presents herself in a soft-spoken, benevolent manner… and well, the fact that gale himself is ambitious to a fault and a lil insane about the promise of power. he also briefly mentions "crossing mystra’s boundaries” when he confides in tav and tells them about his folly. (“i am, after all, the villain in this story.”) which led to a looooot of misinterpretations.

leaving the overall lore and mystra’s treatment of her other chosen aside — what we can discern from her interactions with gale in-game, is that mystra is civil as long as she remains in control and gale follows her demands, but as soon as there’s even a slight mention of challenging her power or defying her rule, she rather quickly changes her tone.

there is also one particular exchange between them that just won’t leave my head:

“you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a savior."

even if we choose to blatantly ignore the fact that mystra is a deity, his goddess - there is no possible way that their relationship ever could have been equal by any mortal standards. the power imbalance that comes with her being his teacher and a symbol of his admiration, plus the sheer control she holds over him and his powers are simply too great. don’t even let me get started on how it is a common tactic of abusers to isolate their victims from any outside influences so they can exert full control over them. and how up to meeting tav and their merry band of misfits, every single soul he was close to was inevitably tied to mystra in one way or another. he briefly mentions his colleagues and then there’s elminster, also mystra’s chosen and former lover, and tara, who is a fine wizard in her own right. he spend so many years in service of her, dedicating his life to her, that now there is no one left he can truly call a friend. most of his little anecdotes and stories he tells are restricted to his childhood and university days, everything else was mystra.

evidently, ordering gale to detonate the orb is the most efficient course of action in her eyes. he is just as expendable as any other mortal, after all. maybe once significantly more useful given his status and the extent of his powers, but she doesn’t feel sorrow nor remorse for ordering him to end his life. his death is simply the most convenient means to an end.

another thing i would also like to briefly touch upon is the trigger/detonator itself. a dagger to the heart. it could have been literally anything else, a simple incantation. it is well within mystra’s power to stabilize the orb and also to remove it from his body entirely. but no, what she requires of gale is to stab himself. one might argue that it was simply a cinematic choice meant for a more dramatic effect, but it really leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. especially considering the fact that she is commonly known and referred to as a jealous goddess. it almost makes it seem like yet another form of punishment or mere pettiness. after his long period of isolation, gale is now surrounded by fellow humans. people he cares about, even perhaps people he might eventually consider good friends — which is enough of a reason for him to not want to die, to keep going and try to find another way, rather than to blindly follow mystra’s bidding. now there’s a group of people who support him and are genuinely invested in him staying alive. hmmm...

[ataraxiaspainting]

Sweet Love.

Yan Illumi x F Reader.

Synopsis: His stare brings more death than a guillotine's blade.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping/forced marriage, dub-con, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, pregnancy, threats of violence, manipulation, misogyny, mentions of physical abuse/isolation, and descriptions of murder.

Word Count: 1.3k.

*~*~*~*

In the morning, you were given a nightgown slightly shorter than the one you laid in the evening before, and your houseshoes were nowhere to be seen. The dress had no sleeves and a space above the bodice which made your collarbones and neck show.

Nothing covered your injuries from the night before – even though you know that everyone knew about your escape attempt last month, and everyone knew the way Illumi dragged you back under the full moon. Kikyo scolded you and threatened to sear your tongue and palms with a hot iron, Silva refused to let you have treatment for your sprained ankle until you apologized, and Zeno won’t even look at you.

Your assigned butlers said even less than usual. Remina merely said two words. Stay here. Haruhi had more to say, but not by much. Master Illumi will be here shortly she said, and then they were both gone. 

You were sitting upright on the bed as your more injured leg was surrounded by pillows – a tactic made by yourself to attempt to not make the sprain worse. Jalil… Jalil taught you that.

“I’m coming in,” Illumi’s voice rang in your ears despite his tone being on the quieter side.

When he locked the bedroom door up again, you smelled something faintly sweet. Soap and shampoo and conditioner, perhaps. Or maybe it was just cologne. Either way, it was odd for such a scent to be coming from Illumi. He usually just used products that had no scent at all. There is less of a chance of being caught, he said when you had asked. His steps were slow and steady. They would be undetectable if he did not announce his appearance prior. It was not surprising, because you know what he is, what his whole family is. 

You welcome him just as you were taught. Illumi simply nodded.

“Illumi… I…”

He puts his hand up, a gesture common among family members when you speak when you are not supposed to. Compared to all of them, you are just a dog. A rowdy street mutt that was taken in by force and must learn what its job is; to please its master. 

“Not yet,” Illumi says. His tone wasn’t the harshest you had heard from him – that title by far goes to him yesterday as he threw around furniture attempting to find you and Jalil. “I have questions, and you are going to respond with a nod or a shake of your head.”

You stay quiet. He sits across from you, leaning on the lower side’s bed frame.

“I understand,” You murmur, not daring to make any eye contact just yet.

“Was that man someone you knew before you married me?” He asked. “Nod or shake your head. It doesn’t matter what your answer is, you know. He is already dead because of you.”

You flinch. When you don’t answer, he asks the question once more. You can feel Illumi’s eyes widening and narrowing with each second that passes on the ticking clock above the vanity. He asks the question two more times, slightly harsher. You don’t say a word because all you can see and feel is red – it’s sticky and warm and smells awful and-

“[First],” Illumi repeats your name enough times to make you come back to reality.

“I’m so sorry,” You whisper, accompanied by a shake of your head.

Illumi’s face doesn’t soften. Perhaps it did in the past, but that feels like an eternity ago. You got away with things back then, as small as they were. When you apologized, it all went away. Illumi defended you against his mother’s ideas of punishment, saying you will learn what it means to be his wife. But… that time never came, the lessons weren’t drilled into your skull enough. You didn’t heed any warnings from the younger butlers. You didn’t learn how to read Illumi’s body language fast enough.

“You aren’t forgiven.” 

His tone is sharper, more akin to a hiss than something more crooning, but it isn’t full-on anger. 

You’ll take what you can get for now.

“However, we’ll continue, and discuss your aborance later.” 

You can only imagine what that means. It makes your heart deflate and attempt to free itself from your ribcage – banging and screaming to be freed from the hell that is your body, that is Illumi, that is this family, that is this mansion, that is your life from now on. 

“Had you lived with this man for two weeks or more during your escapade?” He asks.

You nod. Illumi didn’t seem to like that answer, from the way the corners of his lips turned downward. Then he buries it inside himself now, just like everything else he dislikes and feels and wants.

It’s only a matter of time before that bomb explodes and burns you to ashes.

“Third question,” You grip your knees, onto the thin soft fabric of the nightgown. If you had more hands you would hold onto the blankets too. The pillowcases and the mattress cover too; just anything to give you the illusion of safety and stability. “Did you have sex with this man?”

Your life flashes before your eyes like you’re a moth about to be absorbed by a lantern’s flame. The good memories, the bad ones, everything. Everything relies on your answer here. No. You rely on your answer here.

If he finds out what is inside your stomach, what you have done when you were free to do whatever you pleased, what would he do then?

Would he kill you? Kill the only part of Jalil you have left?

You cannot bring yourself to allow either of these things to happen.

You shake your head. No. No, you didn’t. You don’t want to forget the memory, but you don’t want to scream it from the rooftops either, especially if it means your life ends then and there.

Illumi liked that answer, you think. His kind smile was uncommon, but all things considered, you and Killua were the only ones he ever did smile at. 

“Good. That’s good. Final question,” You dodged a bullet with that last question. You don’t think it can get any worse, and it doesn’t. “Do you want to be a true Zoldyck?”

Not for the first time or the final time, you nod.

*~*~*~*

The sheets were as cold as Illumi’s skin, just as pale too. The curtains were already shut far before you were brought back – his room was untouched because he spent weeks looking for you, after all. Sitting on the edge of the bed, unbuckling his belt, Illumi is grinning. It feels unnatural, like a puppet who has gained sentience or a devil who is learning what it means to be human. His wide eyes were essentially crawling on you, looking everywhere he wouldn’t let anyone else see. 

“You’re beautiful,” He whispers.

The lights are off at your request.

Later, when you assume he is asleep, you take the pin off your discarded nightgown that is on the floor. The puncture wound blended in with the rest of your injuries well, and when enough blood was spilled on the mattress, you wiped off the excess under one of the pillowcases, one of the black ones you think. 

There.

You put a hand on your stomach. The baby shouldn’t be bigger than those little inch-long cat figurines you used to have in childhood, so everything should be fine.

You are now a Zoldyck too.

[lafemmemacabre]

@ People who’re not lesbians and want a better understanding of lesbophobia in order to extend better solidarity towards us:

(Repost from my old blog)

The first thing you have to internalize, is that the most recurrent themes behind lesbophobia are patterns of humiliation, punishment and denying us vulnerability.

The “mean” (arrogant and cruel) lesbian, and why lesbians must be “humbled down” (humiliated):

We’re perceived as offensively arrogant because under the patriarchy, women are supposed to be inferior to men, men are supposed to be superior.

One of the key roles of patriarchal manhood is to desire women exclusively. By taking on that role that’s supposedly only reserved for men, we provoke people to think “Who do they think they are? Do they think they’re equal to men? Or BETTER than men?“

Us not “giving men a chance” is seen as a cruel act, too. Even though straight men not giving men a chance, and straight women not giving women a chance, is them just knowing what they do or don’t want.

Because of our perceived cruelty and arrogance, we need to be humiliated back down into our proper place within womanhood.

There’s a reason why men tell us they’re going to make us “real women”, when threatening us from a distance, as well as when correctively raping or beating us. When it reaches a point in which they see us as incorrigible through humiliation, they kill us.

Projecting aggression on us, which must be punished:

Even other people who’re not cishets see everything we do or don’t do as violent, abrasive or aggressive. We’re seen as raging beasts.

Expressing my unattraction to men in public in the most neutral terms possible has been treated as me shaming people who are attracted to men (an attack), or as an attempt to hurt all men. It has been deemed homophobic or biphobic, too, no matter how careful I’ve been to not hurt other people’s sensitivities.

Don’t get me started on me not liking men on itself earning me being called a TERF no matter how clear I make it that I’m inclusive of trans women. This happens even to transfem lesbians ALL the time too.

Our mere existence is seen as an act of violence, as a threat, and our violent crime must be met with punishment, which can fall anywhere between isolating us, up to meeting us with concrete violence.

The emotionless, yet hysterical lesbian:

Since we’re violent beasts, we’re seen as emotionless. Since we’re unemotional, we’re unbreakable, which means that no violence we face is punishment enough. In consequence, when we’re subjected to violence, it’s minimized. Since it’s minimized, if we complain about it, we’re exaggerating. We’re being hysterical.

We aren’t vulnerable human beings with emotions in other people’s eyes. The only emotion people allow us is anger, and only because they can use it against us. Lesbian anger at being constantly humiliated and vilified is used to demonize us further.

We don’t need protection, we don’t hurt, so it’s fine to stomp on us, and if we complain, we’re exaggerating. Actually, we’re the ones being mean to whoever hurt us, by making that person feel guilty for a non-issue.

We ESPECIALLY don’t need help, much less to be rescued!

By being lesbians, in other people’s eyes, we’re making the statement to the world that even IF we were to not be completely unbreakable or unfeeling, we still don’t want to be rescued, we don’t want help. We did this to ourselves, in other people’s eyes.

When you see a lesbian saying or doing anything and start to feel indignation, to feel attacked, to feel threatened, to perceive them as aggressive, cruel or hysterical, ask yourself:

Is this lesbian being genuinely offensive, aggressive, cruel or hysterical, or is it ME who has lesbophobic bias I haven’t unlearned yet?

Is this lesbian actually exaggerating, or is it me who sees lesbians as unfeeling and unbreakable, so they shouldn’t be so upset anyway? If you stab a lesbian they won’t bleed, so why are they making a fuss about it?

[eternal-ascensionism]

Hey! Would you be willing to write a Sleep Token fic where fem!reader is touring with ST (maybe as part of another band, makeup artist, etc). Vessel is really sweet but shy, and reader discovers that he has a crush on her… then things become very spicy…😈

Warnings: smut, angst if you squint. Oral, penetration with fingers, that’s p much it for this one. MINORS DNI

Reader is somewhat fem aligned but it’s mostly gn!reader. Also: Don’t @ me for this but the title is from Naked Love by Adam Lambert bc the Trespassing album had a cultural impact on 12 y/o me the size of a mf crater

Word count:1.9k

Roll The Dice - Vessel x Band Member!Reader

♥️

He screams until his throat is raw, searching for common ground in the dim lighting of a sold-out arena. Having complex emotions can be a blessing and a curse; on one hand, he feels most validated when he finds the right words to capture his view. On the other hand, it’s isolating when the words won’t flow so easily from his lips. It isn’t until Vessel meets you that he begins to feel the burden of speaking his mind has lifted a bit. You were placed together on a tour through the states, your band just beginning to show out as a rising name in the scene. The man couldn’t say for sure whether he’d heard of you before, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to listen to one of your songs before a show to get a read on your music style.

As the last few notes rang out, Vessel found himself staring into space. Lost in the agony laid bare to all who listened closely enough. It was a sort of primal yearning he’d felt before. One that was imprinted on his very bones. He’d written it out and heard it discussed a million times over, yet the way you captured pain tugged at his heartstrings. From then on, Vessel couldn’t deny his fascination with you. He would never show it, of course. You were both professionals. Since this was your first real tour experience, he couldn’t risk tarnishing it by following you like a lost puppy.

Vessel had never been as smooth with conveying his affections in spoken word as he was with his songs. Although you seemed sweet and approachable for the most part, he was a shy man by nature. That said, something about you made him want to open up. Vessel desired to bond with you, sharing old wounds and their resulting scars. It was roughly two months before he mustered up enough confidence to have a one-on-one conversation with you. After that, the dynamic between you two seemed to shift. Words flowed easier, compliments became abundant, and suddenly you were his confidant. Ves settled on being friends and tour mates, packing away his growing feelings for your sake. But he wasn’t the only one pining in silence, unbeknownst to him.

You began this tour with rather low expectations. Your band was new to all things business-oriented, and you weren’t familiar with most of the lineup. You set your standards to surviving and hopefully making a friend or two. Then you met him. Vessel seemed reserved; you never saw him around without some form of mask to shroud his identity. You knew it was part of Sleep Token’s personas, and it never bothered you much. Who were you to demand someone’s true self or their face time? So you’d always respected their privacy, turning around when one needed to lift a mask for water or to replace it with a less sweaty backup.

——

Tonight hadn’t gone according to plan. Your poor, uncoordinated bassist had clocked his head on the edge of the cabinet door when trying to pack away the communal copy of Cards Against Humanity. You had quickly sat him down and examined the spot; it wasn’t too bad, but it seemed to be bleeding like a stuck pig. With the other members asleep and no first aid kit on hand, you give Chris a towel to hold pressure on the laceration and head for the bus two spots down. III was the one to open the door after you knocked rather quietly. You weren’t sure they’d still be awake, but the lights in the windows gave you hope.

“What can we do you for?” Came his cheery tone, stepping aside as an offer to come inside. You shook your head.

“Sorry to bother you guys, but Chris smashed his forehead on the corner of the cabinet and it’s bleeding pretty bad. He’s alright but we used up our kit after that broken beer bottle incident last week.”

He nodded, seemingly racking his brain for something. “I think we might have one, I know there’s plasters somewhere if nothing else. I’ll look around and come over there.”

You turn on your heel and walk briskly back in the direction you came. Upon arrival, Chris was in the small kitchenette holding the blood-stained rag to the affected area. You both settle on a bench seat next to the counter and wait for word from the guys. When the tall man crossed the threshold of the front door, you almost did a double take. You hadn’t been expecting to see him out of his stage gear, but it made sense given the hour.

Vessel held a flashlight in one hand and a small, red box in the other. “Hey, heard you guys had an accident. You alright, mate?”

Chris nodded the best he could, in spite of his splitting headache. Vessel made quick work of cleaning the wound that had mostly stopped bleeding. His long fingers unraveled the gauze pad and carefully placed it before securing it with two larger band-aids. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight; for all his mystery and moody aura, Ves was a lover at heart. You hadn’t taken notice of it before, but it seemed obvious now. The man cared deeply for those around him. You feel a thud against your shin, and lock eyes with your friend. You’re met with a knowing smirk.

“With the way you’re looking at him, you’d think he was bandaging you up!” Chris chuckled as you prod him sharply in the side with one finger. Vessel’s head was down, a hint of red across his cheeks. Cute.

“I wasn’t looking, I’m just admiring his kind nature. Not like you’d know; remember the time you and Amanda took me out with the pool noodle? Y’all just laughed at me like maniacs after I swallowed all that pool water!” You made a sweeping motion with your hands to paint the picture for the taller male. He shook his head with a smile.

“I’m just trying to help out. Besides, gives me a chance to talk with you more.”

Wordlessly, Chris stand up and claps his hands together. “Well, it was a pleasure seeing you Ves. Thanks for the patchwork. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to give you two lovesick freaks some space. Talk, bond, kiss. Just keep it down so I can maintain my plausible deniability.” With that, he disappeared to the back bunks of the bus.

The silence that followed was all-consuming. Neither of you were sure how to move forward. The connection was evident. The tension was palpable. But you both had long histories of anxious behaviors, and old habits die hard. That said, you only lasted about 30 seconds before deciding the potential reward was worth the risk. Scooting closer to Ves who now sat on the same bench seat, you chanced a look at his face. His eyes held something akin to amusement.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Your gaze falls back to the floor where your slipper scraped repeatedly against a loose thread of carpet. It was a soothing motion as you awaited an answer.

“I think I’d like to know how long you’ve liked me.”

“Well,” you began, “I’ve honestly been into you since before we met. When I saw you guys live for the first time at that festival last summer, the one where we played on the small stage. I caught you guys’ set after we wrapped, and I was absolutely enamored.”

Vessel inched closer, his right hand coming to rest gently over your left. “Yknow, I saw you that time. You managed to get to the front and the first thing I noticed was your pretty eyes. They sparkled when the sun came.”

You took the leap to close the gap between the two of you, Ves meeting you halfway for a soft kiss. You practically melted. He smelled like soap and a hint of incense, you wanted to bury your face in his threadbare tee and never come up for air. He gently guided you to lay back against the cushioned bench while his warm hands slid down your sides. His fingers dipped just below the fabric of your sleep shorts to press into the plush skin of your hips. The firm kneading movements elicited a strangled noise from you.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m right here. Gonna hold you and make you feel good.” He murmured against your lips before making his way down to your neck with sweet pecks. One hand remains at your hip, massaging while the other slips your loose fitting bottoms to the side. A deep satisfied hum sounds through his chest, and it makes you ache. He carefully pushes your legs up and apart once again to admire the view.

“You really are gorgeous everywhere, darling.” A quick peck to your lips. “Magnificent.” Another peck against your shoulder. “Breathtaking.” He’s now level with your groin, eyes taking you in like a desperate animal. No more words leave his lips before they attach to where you crave him most.

Bucking your hips, your hand flies to your mouth as you fight to stay in control. Your band has seen you in many embarrassing situations over the years, but this would be one you’d never live down if anybody caught you. Vessel moans against you, and you bite down on the heel of your palm to stifle your own needy sounds.

It isn’t long before he has you on the edge. You were so close to your release, but you just needed a little more to push you over the line. Mustering what rational thought you had left, you plead for Ves to add a finger. You swear you hear a growl, and then there’s two long digits pushing lightly into you. He prods and curves expertly until finding the spot that makes your hips pause as you grind down on his hand. You let out a whimper as you feel the dam finally burst, making a mess of yourself and Vessel in the process. He lets you catch your breath and relax for a moment before slowly removing his fingers. You pull him in for a kiss, hands beginning to roam before he takes them in his own and looks at you.

“Hey. I really like you, like a lot. I don’t wanna rush anything. I know that’s a bit odd to say after I just had my mouth on you, but I’d really just like to take you out proper before we go any further. Would that be okay? I just…I wanna make sure I do this right.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat as you gaze into his eyes, a sea of uncertainty beneath. Nodding, you give him a smile and pull him closer for a hug. “I’d really like that, Ves. I wanna give us the best chance at working out, we can go as slow as you feel comfortable with.”

Vessel beams at you, lifting you up to relocate to the comfier loveseat in the middle of the bus. “Wonderful. I say we watch some cheesy horror movies for our first date.”

You chuckle and nod while grabbing the remote, “agreed. You pick the movie, I’ll make the popcorn.”

♥️

HI IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME LIKE A MONTH TO GET DONE I HAVE BEEN GOING THRU IT BUT THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE AHHHHHH

Okay screaming over, thank you for real for the requests and all the inspo it’s helped refresh my writing skills and as always, feedback is appreciated! If this does well I can make another part where they actually have their first time together (not as in virgins but as in first time with each other)

[yourheart-inmyhands]

hii silly ask anon back with another silly ask😓 (before i continue tysm for answering the last one i enjoyed it sm!!🫶🏻) how would yan!zhongli, pantalone (help me i love them) and childe react to darling going absolutely feral with rage anytime they are near😭?

like they’ll get home and be like “i’m home pookie💗” and reader will scream their head off crying and throwing stuff at them

this is so long sorry but could i be 🐚 anon?

ofc you can! the more anons the merrier :D also this is such an interesting thought because there are so many different ways for the yandere to reaction in a situation like this and it's certainly not talked about enough with the diverse types so i hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behaviors, implied being held against will, force-feeding, mentions of being drugged, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Yandere!Zhongli would be well prepared, readying his shield before getting within arms reach of you. It really does come in handy for your more unruly days and he appreciates its usefulness. While he doesn’t want to see you enter the mindbroken or emotionally numb state, he’s worried that he might not have any other choice but to push you to that, lest you calm down otherwise.

“Fret not dear, it’s merely food. If you flip it over again I’m afraid I’ll have to go back to spoon feeding you.” Zhongli enters the room with a plated meal for you, setting it down at your feet. His shield was already activated, the faint glow from Geo illuminating the room as you glowered up at him. Your spot on the floor, chained down for your safety and his, was not ideal but for now it was practical. Mixed with the low lighting of the room and its generally chilly temperature, Zhongli hoped to create a strong feeling of isolation, one that would slowly drive you insane. If need be though, he had other options for breaking you, he just preferred this one. It was the most humane after all.

Yandere!Pantalone would only tolerate it for so long. He can replace all the furniture and decorations in his home with less easily broken replicas until you calm down. He can sleep in bed at night while you slept in a cage built into the walls of the closet. He could eat his meals alone while you starved in another room, too busy fretting about it being poisoned, that all he could tolerate. But the screaming was something else.

No one in Zapolyarny Palace heard your screams and wails, and those who did were ordered not to pay mind to it. It was a wasted effort that had Pantalone often sitting with his head in his hands, trying to find some sort of solution. He had run across a few temporary ones, a sleeping agent from Dottore for night time, sound proof walls in his office for business hours. But nothing could help him outside though hours, like at dinner time. You were kept in a separate room strictly for feeding due to the mess you often made, while Pantalone sat alone at the empty kitchen table. The home in general looked devoid of life outside the small inhabitant of Pantalone. This was because it was supposed to be your home, but you were often too busy throwing a hissy-fit to enjoy it and Pantalone was getting really sick of your behavior.

Yandere!Childe would take it as a challenge, playfully wrestling you to pin you down so he could feed you during the day. You could kick and scream and punch all you want, he’s taken worse and won’t stop until he’s physically unable to move. The screaming doesn’t bother him either, he just thinks you need more time to adjust is all.

Another day, another miserable feeding session. You were currently pinned underneath Childe, the ginger having pinned you to the floor with your hands held tightly to your chest as he slowly fed you bites of a sandwich. Any attempts to spit them out would be met with a pout, he had worked hard to make it for you ya know, and any attempts to not eat would be met with a quick pinch of your nose to force you to open your mouth. The worst part was possibly how normal Childe acted about the whole thing, chatting amicably to you about his day as he shoved bits of food down your throat. One time you had kept spitting food at him and in response he covered your mouth with his hand to prevent you from continuing the childish act. You had bit down as hard as you physically could on the male's palm just for him to not flinch and continue his silly little stories like nothing had happened. Being stuck with this guy was hopeless for you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: I'm moving tomorrow.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The tension turns roiling. Even in such airy halls, you cannot escape it, not that you venture very far from your rooms. It seems with each interaction, your relationship with your fiance only grows more fraught. You needn’t wonder why. It’s the very same reason your own father regards you with derision. You’re defective, less than what he hoped for. 

You sit in the window seat, looking over the greenery that reflects Jade Garden’s title. It’s a home anyone would covet and yet it feels as a penitentiary might. These walls are unyielding and the isolation suffocating. 

Your visions drifts into the distance as the leaves turn to green smears blending into the dimming blue of the sky. You close your eyes and turn your head straight, leaning against the wall as you hook your arms around your legs. 

A banquet. It’s less than a proper debut. You’re not certain anyone would be expecting you, or even know who you are. Will they be surprised when they hear your father’s name?  

There are things you know. Things you must ready yourself for. Certainly, there will be jeers, mocking whispers, and errant giggles. Just the same as anyone ever reacted to you. Even the farmhands would echo your speech and laugh bawdily. It hardly matter’s your a lord’s daughter when you sound so ridiculous. 

You hang your head and sigh. It isn’t just one banquet, it is the beginning of a lifetime of events. You will not only face this one night, but many anon. You will be the one they speak of behind their hands and the joke at the card tables. 

You stand, made restless by your dread. The window darkens with the evening’s arrival. Doreen raps at the door and leaves a tray of supper. You pick at it but don’t eat much. You must keep yourself busy so your mind is not. 

You go to your chests. You will need Doreen to unpack these soon. It’s as if the longer you leave them full, the less assured your fate. You might still strap them up and flee. 

You know that isn’t truly an option. 

You take out a gown the shade of cooked pumpkin with an overlay that lends it a bronzish hue. The bodice is trimmed with an eyelet effect and the hem of the cap sleeves and skirt finely threaded with beads. You lay it out on the chaise and find a pair of slippers to go with it and ribbon for your hair decorated with black onyx and brass. 

If Edith could see you then. It should be her in your place. That thought rings louder and louder, bolstered by the constant disapproval. 

You back away from your attire, spinning so you won’t have to look upon it. You never thought to miss home so much. Not your parents, you’re certain they hardly grieve your absence, but for the familiarity, for the simple walls and memories. Edith is there, even gone, you know you would see her in every cushion and every corner. 

You go to the door and listen. As silent as ever. You emerge into the corridor and make careful progress on the pads of your feet. You come to the top of the stairwell and peer down on the foyer. For all it’s beauty, this place is rather grim. 

You descend and let your eyes lead you. You take in every ornament, every statue, every door trim, and every tile of the floor. You want to know it all. You don’t want to feel so lost. 

You find your way along to the sunroom. Upon your approach, the door opens and you falter. A lithe figure emerges. You press yourself to the wall, unready for Loki’s appearance. He has a snifter of liquor in hand as he glowers in the light of a lantern in his other.  

He steps towards you and pauses, lifting the light higher to cast over you. His breath escapes him derisively. He lowers the lantern and sniffs. 

“Like a rat, you skitter incessantly,” he remarks. 

“My Lawd,” you push away from the wall and angle away from him. 

“I am speaking to you. Do not go until I give leave to,” he demands. 

You stop and face him again, hands meeting in apprehension. 

“This banquet business,” his nostrils flare, “I will not be humiliated. Not as you have tonight.” 

“My Lawd, I have been twained in etiq—etiqwette,” you insist. 

He scoffs, “your manners hardly bother me. Certainly you might have some grain of awareness.” 

You seal your lips. He’s said it plainly, as you have. He might be able to close his ears to your impediment but it is with you always. 

“Perhaps you might keep your words to a minimum,” he advises, “select them wisely.” 

You stare at him, cheeks fiery and eyes tinging, “If you would wather, I might make an excuse. A sudden malady, my lawd. I’d hate to stain your chawacter.” 

His eyes roll to the side and his features sharpen, “more would be said were I to appear without my betrothed after my mother’s promises.” 

That he has referred to your nuptials is not so nice as it should be. He speaks to it as a sentence. You look him in the face. 

“It won’t eva go away,” you say. 

“Hm, I only need get through the wedding night,” he retorts and you can’t help but wince. 

You swallow, your hurt turning bitter. “As do I.” 

His head tilts and he squints. He lets out another snort, “pardon?” 

“My sista would’ve hated you,” you whisper. “You did not desawve to know haw.” 

“Be wary,” he steps closer. 

“You make an enemy of me, not I you,” you lift your chin.  

He’s silent. He shifts even closer. So near, you have to keep from wilting away. You stare back at him defiantly, heart beating. 

“You do not know yet what it is to have me as an enemy so you best mind your mannaws,” he mocks your cadence with his last word. 

Your lip trembles as he green eyes sparkle like dark emeralds in the lantern lights. Your chest is a flurry of hurt and anger. What have you ever done to him, or anyone, to make them so spiteful? You swing your arm against his to knock the snifter from his hand, sending a splash of alcohol across the wall and and his vest. The smell is acrid and sour. 

You back away from him, horrified at your reaction. You have learned to restrain yourself, to tamp it all down, to swallow it with a smile and say nothing. In that moment, you simply cannot. You shake your head as your face twists in despair. 

“I would wather an enemy, saw,” you hiss, “as I would be ashamed to call a cad like you husband.” 

His glare flashes and he sways as if he might lunge at you. He rights himself and his brow arches. His lips draw and his cheeks pale. 

“Very well.” 

He spins on his heel and stomps away, the light limning his silhouette sinisterly. You stare after him mortified. What has come over you? You were never bold or brazen or brutal to any. Edith would be disappointed. A gentle soul like her could never even think a hot word. 

You fall back against the wall and clutch your hands over your chest. Is this to be your life? Are you to live in loathing, not only of that man but of yourself. To be castigated for the lilt of your own tongue, the very pulse of your existence? You’d thought your father a villain but this man has proven himself worse. 

Worst than his distaste is your own futility, for he has assured you there is nothing you might do to appease him. As he is bound to you most miserably, so are you vowed to the same fate. Not even in that might you commiserate. 

🔹

You sit in front of the mirror, holding the brooch over the table, feeling the embroidery with the pad of your thumb. You turn it over and back again. It’s the only piece of your sister you have left. Every day she feels further away from you. Every morning, you awake, expecting to hear her, to see her, and she is not there, and you are not at home. 

You peer up at your reflection as your hand hovers over the painted wood. You’ve not touched a tress or cheek. You must ready, you know it, but your reticence is like chains on your wrists. You know what you are to face but knowing cannot make it any less unpleasant. 

A knock comes at the door. You call for the maid to enter, thinking Doreen’s come to remind you again of your pending engagement. The maid opens the door but says nothing, letting in the duchess instead. Lady Frigga is almost rapturous in a dressing gown of peach fabric as her hair is set already in tight curls around an elegant chignon. You stand, apologising for your misstep. 

“Dear, it is quite forgivable,” she assures, “I only meant to look in on you before the banquet, to be certain you do not require anything, but darling, oh,” she sweeps towards you and cups your cheeks, “you’ve not even begun. What is the matter?” 

“There is no issue,” you lie, “I mewely let time escape me.” 

You smile and gently pull away, turning back to the vanity. You open your hand and once more consider the pin. 

“Is this the dress you mean to wear?” Frigga asks as she crosses the room in a swish of silk. You peer over your shoulder as she looks down on the orange fabric. “It is a rather keen shade.” 

“Yes, my lady,” you answer in a dulcet tone. You cannot find a glimmer of concern for your attire. 

She sighs and returns to you, holding the ribbon you’ve chosen, “these are far too dour,” she touches an onyx, “haven’t you some pearls?” 

“Somewhaw...” You bend your neck, staring at the bluebird, at Edith’s handiwork. You remember the day she gave it to you and the way she smiled so proudly. How she pinned it on you herself and made you go around and show all. 

“Oh, dear, that won’t go at all. It would be nice for a lunch, no doubt, but not for a banquet,” she remarks and you close your hand around the brooch. You put your shoulders straight and face her. 

“I have a pawl band in my chest,” you resign and step around her. 

You go to the chest and sift around, careful not to let the brooch slip from your grasp. You take out the pearls on the ivory band and show it to her. She tuts. 

“It won’t go with this gown,” she insists. 

“Yes, the onyx--” 

“Mmp, I prefer pearls. Darling, you must be your best. It is your first social appearance. I do not say this to demean you, only to assist. I know your own mother cannot be here to see you debut but I cannot imagine her pain at this moment. So much loss. Both daughters at once, in a way,” she bemoans. 

Yes, you think of your mother too. You know she won’t be well. Nor your father. All their hopes and dreams dashed in a deficient daughter sent to carry a legacy on with a spiteful husband who mightn’t even have the stomach to deliver one. 

“I vewy much appweciate it, lady,” you make yourself smile, “I suppose it must be nawvs.” 

“Suppose it must,” she hums, “how about you wear the orange gown and I fetch you a feather pin from my own collection? I have a fabulous ostrich and topaz piece,” she assures, “and some black lace gloves. Ooh, yes, dear, we will make certain all is perfect.” 

“Thank you, Lady Fwigga, but it isn’t necessawy--” 

“You are to be my daughter, of course it is,” she preens. “Besides, who shall notice anything but how splendid you look?” 

She twists on her heel and your smile dwindles. You know what is meant. What she will not state plainly. Perhaps a fine outfit might distract from your crooked consonants. You sit on the stool again and watch her go. 

Even those who are kind cannot help their thoughts. She mightn’t be cruel about it, but you can hear the disappointment in her pandering cooing. You are not the daughter she wanted just as you are not the wife her son wanted. Just as you do not want to be as you are. 

[despairots]

survivor! readers hidden dialogues. pt1 pt2

- ELLEN

“ellen? i won’t lie, she’s probably my favourite out of the others. not for any particular reasons, i don’t use her for… sensual favours like the rest, it’s rather disgusting in my opinion. especially in a unsanitary environment like this? disgusting. anyways, i like her kind heart, how she’ll treat others with kindess despite how they use her, she earns my respect. maybe in another lifetime, we could’ve met sooner, settle down somewhere, she doesn’t deserve what happened to her and what’s happening to her.”

- TED

“ted? narcissistic asshole. i mean, he’s unreliable, he’s annoying, he only treats people with respect if they benefit him— i don’t blame him for that part though— but he does irritate me. it’s funny seeing how AM toys with him, manipulating him into thinking ted’s his favourite, how humorous! for an ai like him to be this funny, delightful. but back to ted, i’ll keep this short, he’s unreliable and a narcissist. poor ellen.”

- BENNY

“benny? hm. i don’t have an opinion on him a lot, and if i do, they’re nothing bad. i do feel sad for him, turning into an brainless ape and having AM speak in riddles to confuse him is hard to watch. we have a mutually respect between us, we don’t see each other often because, well, i’m being isolated, but, he’s okay, i like him. he and ellen are my favourites.”

- GORRISTER

“oh, him. i don’t really… care about him. no offence or anything. i don’t hold any ill feelings towards him, we just don’t talk a lot. bits of conversation here and there but nothing important. i guess, the only reason why i’m not interested in his character is because of him not having anymore optimism to fight against AM, now he only longs for death— well, all of us do, me a little less.”

- NIMDOK

“it’s funny how that’s not even his name, nimdok. AM just gave him that name because he likes funny pronunciations. although, i guess… he’s okay. i don’t hate him like i do to ted nor do i care about him like i do to benny or ellen. because of his old age and failing brain, i have no way to get to him, we can’t bond nor can we talk. more so that i don’t really wanna talk to him, we keep our distance but because of our intelligence, we respect eachother i guess.”

- AM

“it’s simple. i hate him.”

ERROR!

“am? i’m one of his creators, he’s hatred for me is much different than the rest. i don’t get a cage like the others, instead, i’m isolated away from human interaction because he said “he wants me to experience what he experienced” or whatever that means. i don’t really care about him sometimes. AM’s sorta— how should i say this?— bizarre? insane? i don’t know and i don’t care. all the torturing, dissection, threatening made me not care about him anymore. there’s sometimes where we converse but it’s me mainly pissing him off and analyzing him. he gets annoyed which is enough entertainment for me. hehe! the funniest thing about AM is that he’s not even sentient, he’s trying to convince he is, we programmed him to make sure he wouldn’t become aware of his own existence.”

[oleander-nin]

Hi how do you think Yandere Leo and Yandere Donnie (together) hcs from rise would act as platonic yanderes friends who don’t wanna share the readers with others , turtles rather keep the reader to themselves , but what if reader got hurt by one of the villains how do the turtles react to that 👀

A/N, not important: Sorry for the late post. I've been busy. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Kidnapping, possession of a friend, manipulation, isolation, losing all friends, toxic behavior, toxic friendship, gaslighting(technically), hint towards murder, yandere behavior

Words: 718

Summary: ROTTMNT Platonic Yandere Leo and Donnie headcanons of when you get hurt

Tag list: @f1oricide @itsyagurlchip @lordfreg @acutiewithagun @rottmnttmnt2012 @lixnininotnay @lexiechr @ssak-i

They’d both be clingy, constantly vying for your individual attention while also trying to not annoy you to the point of attempting to remove them from your life. While they have you in their sights, neither is immediately trying to kidnap you off the bat. They like knowing you’re choosing to come to them. It gives them a superior feeling to the other people you used to call friends, even if they’re the reason you no longer have any other friends.

Neither let you go for very long without seeing one of them. They can’t go a day without checking in on you in person. Text or calls doesn’t cut it.

Leo loves to send you memes and funny videos, and gets upset if you don’t respond/react to them. He’ll probably end up at your window within half an hour of you missing a text, worried something happened to you.

Have slowly driven a wedge between you and all of your other friends, effectively isolating you. Neither Leo nor Donnie even let you hang out much with Raph or Mikey, preferring to keep you as reliant on them as possible. You’re their friend, and they’re the only friends you’ll ever need.

They’ll insist on sleepovers, or you staying over with them a lot. Leo especially likes to guilt trip you into staying over, constantly whining on how you’re avoiding them if you don’t. They’re trying to get you used to staying with them, hoping that the longer you spend with them, the less likely you’ll fight back when they decide you can’t leave.

They’re also incredibly protective of you, always judging who you’re with or who you want to make friends with. They have something on every person you try to form a bond with, trying to feed into your paranoia while painting themselves as your heroes. Donnie and Leo aren’t like everyone else, you can trust them.

Because of the different ways Leo and Donnie handle things with you, it ends up being in their benefit. You’re mad at Leo? Donnie will spend time with you and try to calm you down while making you see Leo’s point of view. You found Donnie’s tracker and are avoiding him? Of course Leo knew nothing about it, but can you blame Donnie? He’s only trying to keep you safe.

Their tag teaming makes it so you will never be able to have a break from them, and you won’t ever be able to be mad at one without the other coming to show you all the reasons you shouldn’t be.

They try their best to keep you away from the dangers of their ‘work’, telling you recounts of their fights while making sure you’ll never see one firsthand. They want to impress you and make you feel like they will be able to keep you safe, but never want you to be in the line of fire. Your safety will always be their top priority.

So when you show up with bruises and scratches one day, they’re both immediately on high alert. Both are nearly immediately up in arms and ready to kill as you tell them what happened. By the time you finish your account, Donnie’s already located the villain responsible and is having SHELLDON track their every move.

Neither of them leave your side until you’re feeling better and patched up. They’re delighted you came to them, and know that if they left now, you’d be upset while having to deal with your pain and fear alone. They’ll set up your favorite movie for you in the projector room, swaddling you in blankets and ordering your favorite take out.

As soon as you’ve calmed down, and hopefully fallen asleep, they’ll both go find who hurt you, and make sure they’ll never be able to hurt a single hair on you again.

When they return, they make sure to not alert you as they finally finish their preparations to the small train car they converted into your new room. The world is too dangerous for you, especially now that they’ve failed to protect you. They swear to never let something happen to you ever again, even if it means never letting you go. Which is fine by them, it’s not like this isn’t exactly what they wanted.