#not to copy the patterns! not to take them apart!

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Do you have any recommendations for other plushie makers or designers with shops where I can buy their plushies?

[isa-ah]

THERE IS. a website. that takes 3D models with seams and pulls it apart to make a plushie pattern and informs you where things need to be edited or darts added for the best effect. and then it lets you scale it and print off your pattern. and I want to lose my MIND because I've lost steam halfway through so many plushie patterns in the mind numbing in betweens of unwrapping, copying all of the meshes down as pieces, transferring those, testing them, then finding obvious tweaks... like... this would eradicate 99% of my trial and error workflow for 3D models to plushies & MAYBE ILL FINALLY FINISH SCREAMTAIL...

[oceantornadoo]

protective ex-husband!simon, implied violence/break-in

“i know! and that’s when i told her-“ you paused, your hand halfway to the keys at the bottom of your purse. your apartment door was open, a menacing sliver of darkness awaiting you. “hey, i’m going to have to call you back.” you ended the call with your friend, slowly backing away from your door. shit. you knew you locked the door when you left for work, and no one else had a copy of your key. a creeping sensation came over you, like someone was watching from within. slowly, you retreated, taking the elevator down to your apartment’s lobby as the anxiety crawled through your body. you wracked your brain, wondering if you should call the police. wondering if they would even believe you. there was only one call to make.

“come on, pick up.” you tapped your foot impatiently as your ex husband took forever to answer the phone. it was all you could do to not think about your home being violated, about a potential stalker or date gone wrong.

“‘ello?”

“si- simon, it’s me.”

“i know, lovie. that’s why i picked up.” you let out a quiet sob of relief at his voice, the bottle on your emotions starting to leak.

“what’s wrong?” his voice changed, immediately hearing your silent tears. he could always read you too well. “i don’t want to bother you but” you hiccupped. shit. “but my apartment door was open and i’m pretty sure i closed it, i usually do. i don’t know if im being silly but now im in the lobby and im just scared, simon.” there was a fumbling sound, the echoes of simon zipping up his jacket and pulling on his shoes.

“go to that cafe across the street, dove. go get yourself one of those overpriced hot chocolates. i’ll be there in 15.”

9 minutes later, your shaking hands were tapping random patterns on the cafe table, unable to raise your drink to your mouth without spilling it. your eyes were locked onto the wood grain, counting lines to distract yourself.

suddenly, a gloved hand covered yours. you looked up and there he was, your ghost in all his glory. you forgot everything for a second, forgot the past arguments and the strained silences, and flung yourself into his arms. you breathed in his comforting scent of pinewood that masked his cigarettes, a cologne you got him four years ago for christmas. your face was wet, and as he pulled you back to check you for injuries, his thumb brushed a stray tear away from your face. you didn’t even realize you were crying.

“‘s okay, baby. i’m here now. give me your keys.” you fumbled for your keys, purse strap sliding off your shoulder as your hands shook too much to keep it balanced. simon caught it gracefully, finding your keys in the same pocket you always kept them. “stay here. i’ll be back.” you nodded instinctively. only when you saw his figure retreat to your apartment building, clothed in all black like a figure of death, you realized you hadn’t told him your new apartment number.

twenty minutes passed. simon’s presence had worked like medicine as your heart rate has now dropped back down to normal, your hands stable enough to finish your drink. any other person would be worried for simon’s safety, but you knew the only person you should be concerned for was your intruder.

“you’re stayin’ with me tonight.” he was back, looking exactly the same. he wasn’t even winded. “thank you simon, but don’t be ridiculous. i can get a hotel. you live so far from my work anyways.” he approached you, crowding into your space as he leaned over you, even with a cafe table in between. “consider it payment then.” he tilted your chin up with his left hand as he hid his other one, covered with blood, in his pocket. “one way or another, you’re in my bed tonight, dove.” you gulped at that. “and i’ve got riley in the car. you wouldn’t abandon him, would you?” of course he had gotten your cat when he checked out your apartment. riley hated men, but never simon. cheeky bastard.

“you win.”

fast forward a couple of hours and you were getting ready for bed at simon’s, belly full from the meal he had made you. riley made himself at home on the living room couch, of course. “he’s in my spot.” you gestured to your cat on the couch. “wha’ d’ya mean?” your husband simon was now in sweats and sweats only, clean from the shower he had after you both got home back to his place. you pretended not to see him methodically wash blood out of his fingernails, reasoning quite easily with yourself that it was for a good cause.

“my couch for tonight.” simon moved toward you and you avoided his eyes, trying not to stare at how beautiful he still was. muscular but thick, torso adorned with scars you used to trace on sunday mornings when you both stayed in bed until the afternoon. he gripped your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. “told’ya you were in my bed tonight, dovie.” you swallowed and he watched your throat move, memories of you swallowing something else countless times rising to the surface.

“don’t be silly, simon. that would cross a line.”

“what line?” his arms were crossed now, drawing your attention to an unfamiliar tattoo right above his heart. a small dove.

“we’re not together anymore, simon.”

“you’re still my wife.”

silence. he was always like this, pushing you until you broke. he was unwilling to compromise, even on the smallest of issues. usually you’d fight him, spit fire until you lost your voice. tonight though, you were reminded of how he was the only person you were able to call, the only one committing dark sins without asking, all for your safety. instead, you threw your hands up and walked into his bedroom, mechanically stripping as you put on one of his shirts and a pair of boxers. you felt his eyes on you, burning a hole through the fabric. you were tired, so tired of this push and pull.

“what.” you whipped around, all venom. his eyes were impossibly soft, holding yours with a peaceful caress. “you’re as beautiful as the day i lost you.” your fire went out at that. “you’re just trying to get me naked.” you mumbled, looking down as you fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. you watched as his body came into view, pressing your forehead against his bare skin.

“could see you in a thousand layers and you’d still be the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen, dove.” ever so slowly, your hands crept up his body to grab his shoulders and neck. he picked you up with ease, turning the lights off and tucking you both in bed. “when did you get the tattoo?” you asked in the dark.

“3 months and 12 days ago.” what would have been your 3rd year of marriage, your anniversary. you lowered your head and gave him a kiss right where the tattoo was. “can we talk about it in the morning?” you snuggled into him, that familiar scent calming you once again. “always, dove.” he kissed your forehead, smiling in the dark.

----

idk why im obsessed with the break-in and simon to the rescue trope but its fueling me lately

[callalillywrites]

Allergies and Cuddles

Allergies have been kicking my butt lately. Height of that came a couple days ago when high winds really pushed around a lot of dirt and pollen. All I wanted was a nap and someone to cuddle with. Hence, the creation of this story.

Who better to cuddle up with than two super soldiers?

Relationship: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (Stucky) x Female Reader

Word Count: ~1800

Summary: Steve comes home to find you curled up on the couch with Bucky, napping to reduce the affects of your allergies. Fluff and more cuddles ensue in this slice of life piece.

Warnings: Slightly worried Steve and Bucky; (over)protectiveness activated; comforting each other; teasing; established relationship; lots of fluff; Steve POV

A/N: As stated above, this story was wholly inspired and written quite quickly, so any and all mistakes are my own. Just wanted a bit of fluff to make myself feel better and this is what came out of that.

Stucky Masterlist | Main Masterlist

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

A too-quiet apartment greeted Steve when he came home that evening.

When he would've called out, his enhanced hearing picked up the faintest of hums. Following it, he soon found himself upon a scene that tugged at his heartstrings.

Bucky lounged across their over-sized sofa with you laying across him, completely dead to the world. If he squinted, Steve could almost imagine the thinnest, cutest line of drool seeping from your slightly parted lips onto Bucky's shirt. One of your arms rested somewhere between yours and Bucky's body, but the one Steve could see had sneaked its way under Bucky's shirt, caging Bucky under you. No doubt you sought the warmth of his skin, something you often did when you weren't feeling well.

While you slept, Bucky had one arm draped protectively across you while the other held one of his favorite books. The book had pages threatening to leave what little binding kept them in the right place, but that never stopped Bucky from picking it up again and again. From the looks of this one, Steve would be searching out a replacement soon enough. Bucky's gaze would drift over to you every other line or so, just because he could.

The TV played some show that you'd gotten into recently, replaying one of the older episodes. The volume turned down low so it wouldn't bother your rest. Knowing you as he did, you probably had it up while you fought to stay awake, leaving Bucky to lower it once you were completely out.

Leaning against the wide opening from the hallway, Steve crossed his arms and just enjoyed the scene before him. If he had his sketchpad, he might've taken up residence in the nearby chair and sketched until he had both of you permanently down on paper, a memory no one could take from any of you. But, he didn't so he settled for mentally drawing this moment to revisit later.

"You gonna keep staring at us, or you actually gonna say something, punk?"

"Admiring the view." Steve pushed off the wall and crept closer, taking care not to disturb your slumber. "How long has she been out?"

Bucky closed his book though his attention focused solely on you for a moment. The arm holding you drew soothing patterns on your back as he mumbled, "About an hour or so. Found her trying to fall asleep at her desk in the office."

Sinking into a squat, Steve dropped a quick kiss on Bucky's forehead before turning his full attention on you. He could make out your red, slightly swollen nose as well as the puffiness that lingered around your eyes. The softest snores left you, telling him that your allergies had truly gotten the best of you.

"Her meds not working?"

Bucky shook his head. "I don't think she's been keeping up with them like she should. Her bottle's almost full, and it's almost a month old."

Steve's brows drew together. It wasn't a secret that your allergies could get bad, and you were usually on top of taking your medication to keep them from overwhelming you. Plus, you knew they worried about you whenever you weren't feeling up to your usual self.

"She took some before I made her lay down with me." Bucky's voice broke through Steve's thoughts. His own worry peeked through despite usually being the more level-headed of the group when it came to these matters. "Maybe it wouldn't be the worst to take her in and see if there's something a bit stronger out there. Nothing over the counter seems to help her anymore."

"I'll call Dr. Cho." Steve pushed to his feet, pulling his phone from his back pocket. "If she can't help, then she'll know who we can talk to."

"Tell her our girl didn't sleep well last night either. She tossed and turned pretty good. I'm that didn't help."

"Or you two can stop worrying and just let me sleep for a little longer," you groused, having been roused by your bladder to hear your boyfriends fretting. "It's the wind. Once it stops blasting away and blowing pollen around, I'll be back to normal."

"Sweetheart," Steve started.

Having had this conversation before, you lifted your head until your gaze could meet his. A steely determination stole over your features that had Steve stopping in his tracks.

"I'm going to be fine," your tone softened as you moved to capture Bucky's eye as well, "I promise."

"One week," Steve vowed.

You nodded, knowing he meant it. One week to get better, or they'd be taking you to the doctor. The last thing they wanted was to lose you when they'd worked so hard to rebuild their lives after having their old ones ripped away from them.

"Now, that's settled," you pushed up from your position against Bucky, "I'm going to the bathroom. Then, we're going to discuss dinner. I'm too gross to be touching food, so I'll let you two roshambo to see who's got kitchen duty tonight."

The bedroom door had barely closed behind you when Bucky turned towards Steve. His expression morphed into one of the softest looks he kept solely for his two loves. "Don't worry about it. It's my turn to cook anyway. Besides, you look like you could use some of her cuddles."

"You sure?" Steve couldn't help asking.

While the day hadn't been bad per se, it hadn't been a great one, either. So many reports had been perched on his desk first thing. All needed his immediate approval before missions could move forward. Sure, that was typically either Fury's or Hill's job, but they'd both gone on some mysterious vacation, leaving him to handle it.

Then, there'd been a small crisis or two where Tony's latest invention had gone a bit awry. It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't set Banner off, transforming him into the Hulk. A quick call in to Nat had helped, but it'd taken some time for Hulk to fully retreat and allow Banner the chance to return.

To say Steve was a bit wired would be an understatement.

Bucky tapped his shoulder, pulling Steve from his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm sure. Let her help you."

As if summoned, you stepped out of the bedroom. Your appearance looked a bit more put-together than it had when Steve first arrived home. Hair dampened and your face scrubbed. While your eyes still retained a bit of puffiness, they remained bright and alert as you closed the distance between you and Steve.

A cheeky smile flitted over your features as you asked, "Bucky lose, or did you pull rank on him?"

"He offered actually," Steve huffed, shooting you his best glare.

It had little effect as usual, but that didn't mean he didn't try now and then.

Your fingers slid between his and gently tugged him closer.

He went willingly.

His free hand dropped to your waist when you rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his jaw. Your gaze roved over his features. A soft frown formed as you murmured, "You're looking a little piqued yourself. Off day?"

"Something like that, sweetheart."

A soft noise escaped you. Your hand tightened around his as you tugged him toward the couch.

"Koala or weighted blanket?"

Steve's entire being sagged at the way you so easily read him. He honestly had no clue what he'd do without you and Bucky in his life, and he really didn't want to find out.

Bending slightly, he pulled his hand out of yours so he could grip you around the waist and lift. Your arms and legs wrapped around him without hesitation, allowing him to do what he wanted most. He dropped onto the couch, his legs stretching out on the floor. His arms snuck around you to hold you as close as he possibly get you while his head sank to your shoulder.

Your fingers inched their way up his neck until they scraped against and through his hair. Soft kisses pressed into his shoulder and neck where you could reach within the cocoon of his arms.

"I'm sorry," you whispered at some point, breaking the silence that had settled between you. "I'll do better about taking my allergy meds. It's just been a crazy week, and I hadn't meant to forget. It honestly didn't hit me that I had until the winds kicked up a few days ago. Please, don't worry about me."

Steve tightened his hold. "Always gonna worry about you, sweetheart. That's what you do when it's the people you love."

"Okay, that's a fair point, but I'm still going to do better. I don't want you to worry unnecessarily." You pulled back enough to meet his gaze. In the same cheeky tone as earlier, you added, "How's that?"

"Better," he murmured, shaking his head and huffing with pure affection.

You must've been satisfied because your cheekiness turned impish. "You are quite tense, Captain, and Bucky missed his workout because of me. It seems only fair after dinner that we have a special training session. Get all these kinks worked out and make sure you both stay in top physical form. What do you say?"

As if to further your suggestion, you wiggled in his lap until Steve moved his hands to grip your hips. A groan slipped past his lips when you managed to wriggle once more before he could fully keep you still.

Stealing a quick but searing kiss, Steve's grin grew. "I'd say I hope you've kept up your stretching routine, sweetheart, because it's going to be a long training session tonight. May even last until the early morning before I'm fully relaxed."

"Oh, my poor Captain," you crooned sweetly, pressing a kiss to his lips. "We won't stop until you and Bucky are fully satisfied."

"And what about you, sweetheart?"

"Oh, don't worry about me," you pressed another quick kiss to his lips before trailing down his jaw towards his neck, "I know I'll be properly taken care of in more ways than one tonight. My two super soldiers never let me down."

"Damn right, we don't," Bucky said from the doorway. "Dinner's ready. Better eat up fast because that special training starts in an hour."

Steve let you scoot out of his lap after claiming one last kiss, patting your butt as you moved towards the kitchen.

You tossed Bucky a salute, saying, "Yes, sir, Sergeant."

Steve's heart had never felt so full as he watched Bucky sweep you up, your giggles spilling out as you traded kisses with him before he sat you like the precious being you were in your spot. All three places had been set while he'd held you with the small candelabra his mother had left him burned brightly with the new candles you'd chosen a few weeks ago.

Home.

He was home.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How lock-in hurts design

Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

If you've ever read about design, you've probably encountered the idea of "paving the desire path." A "desire path" is an erosion path created by people departing from the official walkway and taking their own route. The story goes that smart campus planners don't fight the desire paths laid down by students; they pave them, formalizing the route that their constituents have voted for with their feet.

Desire paths aren't always great (Wikipedia notes that "desire paths sometimes cut through sensitive habitats and exclusion zones, threatening wildlife and park security"), but in the context of design, a desire path is a way that users communicate with designers, creating a feedback loop between those two groups. The designers make a product, the users use it in ways that surprise the designer, and the designer integrates all that into a new revision of the product.

This method is widely heralded as a means of "co-innovating" between users and companies. Designers who practice the method are lauded for their humility, their willingness to learn from their users. Tech history is strewn with examples of successful paved desire-paths.

Take John Deere. While today the company is notorious for its war on its customers (via its opposition to right to repair), Deere was once a leader in co-innovation, dispatching roving field engineers to visit farms and learn how farmers had modified their tractors. The best of these modifications would then be worked into the next round of tractor designs, in a virtuous cycle:

https://securityledger.com/2019/03/opinion-my-grandfathers-john-deere-would-support-our-right-to-repair/

But this pattern is even more pronounced in the digital world, because it's much easier to update a digital service than it is to update all the tractors in the field, especially if that service is cloud-based, meaning you can modify the back-end everyone is instantly updated. The most celebrated example of this co-creation is Twitter, whose users created a host of its core features.

Retweets, for example, were a user creation. Users who saw something they liked on the service would type "RT" and paste the text and the link into a new tweet composition window. Same for quote-tweets: users copied the URL for a tweet and pasted it in below their own commentary. Twitter designers observed this user innovation and formalized it, turning it into part of Twitter's core feature-set.

Companies are obsessed with discovering digital desire paths. They pay fortunes for analytics software to produce maps of how their users interact with their services, run focus groups, even embed sneaky screen-recording software into their web-pages:

https://www.wired.com/story/the-dark-side-of-replay-sessions-that-record-your-every-move-online/

This relentless surveillance of users is pursued in the name of making things better for them: let us spy on you and we'll figure out where your pain-points and friction are coming from, and remove those. We all win!

But this impulse is a world apart from the humility and respect implied by co-innovation. The constant, nonconsensual observation of users has more to do with controlling users than learning from them.

That is, after all, the ethos of modern technology: the more control a company can exert over its users ,the more value it can transfer from those users to its shareholders. That's the key to enshittification, the ubiquitous platform decay that has degraded virtually all the technology we use, making it worse every day:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

When you are seeking to control users, the desire paths they create are all too frequently a means to wrestling control back from you. Take advertising: every time a service makes its ads more obnoxious and invasive, it creates an incentive for its users to search for "how do I install an ad-blocker":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

More than half of all web-users have installed ad-blockers. It's the largest consumer boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But zero app users have installed ad-blockers, because reverse-engineering an app requires that you bypass its encryption, triggering liability under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This law provides for a $500,000 fine and a 5-year prison sentence for "circumvention" of access controls:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/12/youre-holding-it-wrong/#if-dishwashers-were-iphones

Beyond that, modifying an app creates liability under copyright, trademark, patent, trade secrets, noncompete, nondisclosure and so on. It's what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model":

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

This is why services are so horny to drive you to install their app rather using their websites: they are trying to get you to do something that, given your druthers, you would prefer not to do. They want to force you to exit through the gift shop, you want to carve a desire path straight to the parking lot. Apps let them mobilize the law to literally criminalize those desire paths.

An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a felony to block ads in it (or do anything else that wrestles value back from a company). Apps are web-pages where everything not forbidden is mandatory.

Seen in this light, an app is a way to wage war on desire paths, to abandon the cooperative model for co-innovation in favor of the adversarial model of user control and extraction.

Corporate apologists like to claim that the proliferation of apps proves that users like them. Neoliberal economists love the idea that business as usual represents a "revealed preference." This is an intellectually unserious tautology: "you do this, so you must like it":

https://boingboing.net/2024/01/22/hp-ceo-says-customers-are-a-bad-investment-unless-they-can-be-made-to-buy-companys-drm-ink-cartridges.html

Calling an action where no alternatives are permissible a "preference" or a "choice" is a cheap trick – especially when considered against the "preferences" that reveal themselves when a real choice is possible. Take commercial surveillance: when Apple gave Ios users a choice about being spied on – a one-click opt of of app-based surveillance – 96% of users choice no spying:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/05/96-of-us-users-opt-out-of-app-tracking-in-ios-14-5-analytics-find/

But then Apple started spying on those very same users that had opted out of spying by Facebook and other Apple competitors:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Neoclassical economists aren't just obsessed with revealed preferences – they also love to bandy about the idea of "moral hazard": economic arrangements that tempt people to be dishonest. This is typically applied to the public ("consumers" in the contemptuous parlance of econospeak). But apps are pure moral hazard – for corporations. The ability to prohibit desire paths – and literally imprison rivals who help your users thwart those prohibitions – is too tempting for companies to resist.

The fact that the majority of web users block ads reveals a strong preference for not being spied on ("users just want relevant ads" is such an obvious lie that doesn't merit any serious discussion):

https://www.iccl.ie/news/82-of-the-irish-public-wants-big-techs-toxic-algorithms-switched-off/

Giant companies attained their scale by learning from their users, not by thwarting them. The person using technology always knows something about what they need to do and how they want to do it that the designers can never anticipate. This is especially true of people who are unlike those designers – people who live on the other side of the world, or the other side of the economic divide, or whose bodies don't work the way that the designers' bodies do:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/20/benevolent-dictators/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

Apps – and other technologies that are locked down so their users can be locked in – are the height of technological arrogance. They embody a belief that users are to be told, not heard. If a user wants to do something that the designer didn't anticipate, that's the user's fault:

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

Corporate enthusiasm for prohibiting you from reconfiguring the tools you use to suit your needs is a declaration of the end of history. "Sure," John Deere execs say, "we once learned from farmers by observing how they modified their tractors. But today's farmers are so much stupider and we are so much smarter that we have nothing to learn from them anymore."

Spying on your users to control them is a poor substitute asking your users their permission to learn from them. Without technological self-determination, preferences can't be revealed. Without the right to seize the means of computation, the desire paths never emerge, leaving designers in the dark about what users really want.

Our policymakers swear loyalty to "innovation" but when corporations ask for the right to decide who can innovate and how, they fall all over themselves to create laws that let companies punish users for the crime of contempt of business-model.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/24/everything-not-mandatory/#is-prohibited

Image: Belem (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Desire_path_%2819811581366%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI WANNA GET MARRIED * SPENCER REID

SUMMARY　::　Where after JJ's wedding, a new certainty is born in Spencer regarding his relationship with Y/N.

FEATURING　Spencer Reid x reader　　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　fluffy fluff.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The hum of the television filled the dimly lit apartment, casting soft, flickering shadows against the walls. Y/N curled closer against Spencer, her body nearly molding into his as they lay sprawled across the green couch, tangled together like they had been built that way.

The warmth of his chest radiated through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, soothing, steady, safe. Her leg was crooked up, knee brushing against his hip, while her hand slipped beneath his shirt, fingers splayed across his ribs, tracing lazy patterns over the soft skin there.

Spencer’s arm rested heavily around her, one hand tangled in her hair, his fingertips running slow, absentminded strokes against her scalp. It was a ritual by now - this, them, the comfort of each other's touch as they watched Solaris (1972) for what had to be the tenth time. The dialogue was familiar, predictable, and yet, tonight, something felt off.

Spencer wasn’t making his usual comments. He wasn’t explaining the philosophical subtext of the film or discussing Tarkovsky’s use of long takes. He was just... quiet.

Her gaze flickered up briefly, but his was still fixed on the screen, his expression unreadable, lost in thoughts she couldn’t reach. Her brows furrowed slightly, but she didn’t move, didn’t break the quiet just yet. She let a few more seconds tick by, let another scene play out on the screen, before finally murmuring, almost absentmindedly.

"You’ve been off... Since the wedding."

Spencer’s fingers stilled against her hair for just a beat - barely a second - before they resumed their slow, rhythmic movement. His chest expanded beneath her palm as he inhaled deeply, his other hand shifting, sliding down her back, fingertips catching the fabric of her - his - oversized CalTech t-shirt and rucking it up slightly to trace against the warm skin below.

"Yeah." He exhaled, his voice quiet, weighty

Y/N let her eyes flutter shut at the feeling, but she wasn’t letting this go. Not with him. Not now.

"Talk to me, Spence."

Spencer’s jaw tensed slightly, his gaze remaining forward, as if watching the film would make it easier. As if keeping his eyes on something else would make it less real.

He sighed again, deep, before finally answering.

"Just... realized some things, I guess." His tone was too casual. Forced.

Y/N didn’t buy it for a second. She knew him, knew every little shift in his voice, every deflection. And she wasn’t going to let him retreat into himself. Not when she'd come this far in making him feel safe enough in her presence to open up about anything.

"What things?" She asked, still in a whisper, still soft, but unwavering.

She felt the breath he took before he spoke. It was a slow inhale, like he was gathering himself.

Then, out of nowhere-

"I want to get married."

The words sat between them, heavy and unfiltered. And for the first time in days, Spencer didn’t feel the weight of them pressing against his chest. Instead, he felt relief. Like finally speaking it into existence had made the storm in his mind settle, if only just.

Y/N made a small sound, something soft and curious, shifting against him slightly.

This was new. Definitely new.

"In general?"

Spencer shook his head immediately.

"To you."

A puff of air fanned against his collar, and for the first time since the conversation started, he finally tore his eyes away from the screen, tilting his head to look down at her. His eyebrows creased, trying to read the expression on her face, trying to gauge what she was thinking. But for once, he couldn’t.

And that terrified him.

"Honey?" He called, voice quieter now, unsure.

Y/N blinked up at him, her grip tightening slightly where her fingers rested against his ribs before she finally spoke, voice just as quiet, just as steady.

"You know... we kind of already are."

Spencer let out a confused hum, tilting his head slightly, and Y/N smiled, small and knowing.

"Married."

Spencer rolled his eyes, immediately trying to pull back - like a child -, but her hands didn’t let him.

"I’m serious, Y/N."

"I am, too!"

She was quick to defend herself, shifting so her head was level with his, her nose nearly brushing his as her free hand rose, fingers soft as they brushed through the strands of his hair, pushing them away from his eyes before trailing down, featherlight against his cheekbone, then resting just above his jaw.

His lips parted slightly when her thumb tugged gently at the corner of his mouth, his breath hitching just the slightest before she murmured.

"I would."

Spencer’s brows furrowed, his usually more than fast brain catching up a second too late.

"What?"

Y/N’s lips twitched, the corners of her mouth tilting into the softest, sweetest smile as she clarified.

"Marry you."

Something warm and blinding spread through Spencer’s chest so fast it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Hope surged up like a tide, crashing over him before he could even think to brace himself.

"Yeah?" He breathed, voice quiet, almost like he didn’t believe it.

Y/N nodded easily, fingers tapping gently against his skin before they slid down, cradling the base of his skull, her blunt nails raking against his scalp in a way that made him shiver.

"Yeah." She confirmed, soft but certain.

Spencer purred at the attention, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment, just soaking it in. Y/N huffed a small, amused sound, shifting again, pressing closer.

"Marry you a thousand times over if I could." She murmured. "Keep you with me forever."

Spencer huffed out a soft laugh, his lips twitching as he scoffed.

"Never getting rid of me anyway."

His lips hovered just above the warmth of her skin before he finally gave in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against her exposed shoulder from the loose collar, feeling the way her muscles relaxed beneath his touch. He slid his mouth higher, teeth grazing the delicate skin of her collarbone before he latched on, sucking just lightly, just enough to feel her shudder.

Y/N sighed, completely and utterly at ease, her body melting like butter against his.

"Good." She breathed, voice barely above a whisper, and Spencer felt his lips curve against her skin.

Forever. In every sense of the word.

© vanteguccir

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Bruce Wayne, mentor to many- father to none.

I want the angst of B having to come to terms that he doesn't know ANY of his kids not anymore at least and maybe never and the fact his kids are just- used to it?

Visiting Dicks apartment, he finds a picture of him smiling while surrounded by a bunch of little kids in spandax uniforms. Turns out he'd been a gymnastics instructor for about four years now and his most recent team had everyone qualify for state. (Bruce didn't even know he still practiced)

Jason stopped accepting Wednesday night patrols, but when he looked into it he found out that was the night he went to DND nights with his roommates every week. The roommates he met last semester after he decided to go to college and get an english major. (Bruce didn't even know he had applied)

Checking the library he found a small pedastal plague put up by Alfred displaying just one book. It said Cass was the author. Apparently she had gotten super into writing and published a book talking about language deprivation and lack of accomidation for deaf/hoh children born to hearing families. She had a book signing last month, Alfred had gone and grabbed this copy now on display (Bruce didn't even know she liked to write)

Tim finished a case early and let it slip he needed to sign off early to "meet up with his boyfriends" and hung up before Bruce could process. It only took a small glance at his middle child's latest social media post to see him alongside Superboy (what was his name?) and a blonde boy he didn't recognize. Both were leaned in to kiss his cheek and the caption said "Happy 3rd anniversary!!" (Bruce didn't even know he was interested in boys)

Steph's birthday came around and Bruce got her a new account and shoved a couple thousand for her to buy whatever she wanted. But he quickly noticed a pattern of everyone getting her- cat supplies? Apparently She had adopted a cat about a month ago to celebrate her new apartment, Mister Mystery was his name, and she had asked everyone for supplies instead of other gifts. (Bruce didn't even know she had moved)

He decided on some impromptu father-son bonding and tries to track down his youngest. But Damian is nowhere to be found. He gets pretty close to calling an emergency meeting but the moment he messages Oracle she reminds him Damian is in Chicago. Damian had won an art competition at school and his piece qualified for a gallery spot. The entire family had gone days ago and he was due back the next day. (Bruce didn't even know he cared about art)

Then Duke- his youngest in terms of time spent. But one he had grown fond of just as fast as the others. Especially working the day shift the time they spent was limited. Bruce got them both lunch, but it wasn't until halfway through eating that Duke had turned to him with panicked eyes and asked if the stew had shellfish. Duke had a severe allergy, thankfully Jason had been just up the street and had an epi-pen ready before they took him to Leslies. (Bruce didnt even know he had any allergies, let alone one so severe)

The worst part? There was no blow up. His kids didn't take his idiocracy as a personal insult or even raise a fight. They just rolled their eyes and moved on. As everyone crowded in the room, surrounding Dukes bedside he could hear Barbras voice. "Its not your fault, Batman may be omnipotent, but Bruce doesn't know anything really"

He wasnt meant to overhear or maybe he was, Oracle had always been petty But he couldn't refute it.

"But you have us"

Well- thats just it wasnt it? Even when Bruce was absent- his kids had each other. But was that ever meant to be enough?

[777heavengirl]

bags

sirius black x reader (no longer just a one shot :3 ) ! warnings: the good kind of yearning.., friends to roommates to ?lovers?, bittersweetie, no war!au words count: 2,549 masterlist

a/n: might make a series of little blurbs as a continuation... undecided so lmk what u think!!!

Being friends with Sirius Black was the worst idea you could've ever had. It was hell. He was charming, awfully so. Flirty and caring with his friends in a way that made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat. He was the type of friend with no physical boundaries, his legs often thrown over yours, his arms often over your shoulders, lips whispering jokes into your ear.

It was an even worse idea to agree to move in with him after you graduated. James had gone off with Lily and Remus and Peter decided to split an apartment. Sirius, naturally, found one in the same building and dropped the twin key in your hand on graduation day, a wicked smile on his face. He hadn't even properly asked you. He had assumed, well he hoped, that you'd accept no matter what. He knew you had no other plans, no other place to go. He knew you'd love to because he knew you. Because he was your best friend.

So he didn't ask. The small silver dog keychain attached to the key was enough for you. 

The answer was always going to be yes. 

Living with Sirius meant a lot of things. It meant an abnormal amount of blankets and cushions thrown about, it meant the ever-growing collection of pictures framed on your walls or merely pasted on if Sirius had his way. Ever since Lily gifted him a muggle camera for graduation, he hadn't stopped taking pictures. Of your friends, of you in the kitchen or on your couch, your first night in the apartment he took pictures of your every move. He titled them all, in the back or on the bottom of it.

Darling brushing her teeth, 1st night in #717. You smiled through your toothbrush, shirt askew, with pajama pants that did not match in the slightest.

Doll’s first tea in #717 You couldn't see your face in this one, it was a closer shot of your hands around the teacup Lily bought you fifth year, the delicate flower pattern on the hard porcelain contrasting against the soft of your skin.

He titled them all, with his cursive loops and cloying nicknames. He’d even owl copies of them to your mom— why they even communicated was beyond you— you’d then have to repeatedly remind her, when your parents phoned, that 717 was your apartment number, and no mom I am not dating Sirius, yes I know he’s a wonderful guy, yes I’ll tell him you said hello. His photography habit had gotten so bad he even took pictures of the ladybug that seemed to live in the leaves of the small English Lavander that sat on your windowsill.

 Living with Sirius meant putting up with his tendency to ignore the fact that you needed to get a job, in fact, he'd drag you everywhere with him to avoid you even applying, his hand intertwined with yours, warm palms pressed against one another. He did it all the time, holding your hand, pressing a kiss against your temple when he insisted on getting into the crowded muggle metro more often than not, your bodies pressed together as he held you when the tube moved. Every time you complained, that he was holding you hostage, that at this pace you'd never find a job, he'd ask, with his head cocked to the side "Why do you have to get a job anyway? It's not like we need it"

"Sirius I need to make money," the tube shook the two of you, his arm instinctively wrapping around you to pull you closer as the other one maintained a white-knuckled grip on the bar above. "How am I going to afford anything? It’s been two years my savings are gone-"

"You don't need it though," his words were low on your ear, and carefree as if they didn't hold any importance. "I have more than enough to maintain us— for anything you might want" Your face heated, and you looked down hiding the surprise that you prayed he wouldn't see.

"I can't just bum off of you," your words were a timid mumble, and he barely heard you over the intercom announcing the station, if it wasn't because he had been tilted down close to your face, he might've not heard you at all. 

"You're not bumming off of me love, I want to take care of you, yea?" he pressed a kiss to the side of your hair, and you didn't refute. Not for now. Because in moments like these, when he acted like it was the most obvious answer in the world and didn't seem to give it a second thought, you could feel the words claw at your throat from the inside. A confession poisoning you from the inside out. 

But then he'd look at you.

With his gray eyes, the steel cool of them making your lungs expand wider than you thought possible and your heart beat out of your chest. So you'd decide, every time, that it wasn't the right moment. There was never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate that you were in love with him though. And through his piercing gaze, you thought he could see you using everything within you to hold back. 

You guessed it could be worse.

Being in love with Sirius Black was actually the worst thing to ever happen to you. It got even worse when you moved in together. Waking up to his shirtless self making you coffee the way you liked it, his head disheveled and unruly from bed but somehow just as gorgeous as when he had it fresh and styled, his long dark locks looking nothing short of heavenly in either form. It was the intimacy really— the domesticity of it all— that screwed you. Eating your eggs and toast over the soft tunes of his music, going to the market together, his fingers eventually finding yours as his other hand carried the shopping. His laundry mixed in with yours, falling asleep on the couch together, old muggle movies playing on the TV he bought four months after moving in. You still didn't have a stand for it, it sat on two boxes full of books. Neither of you minded, there was no rush after all. But then you thought of his unpacked bags and the singular box of belongings, it had been a bit more than two years since you moved in. Two years since you started the routine of getting dragged everywhere he went, spending your days lounging around with Sirius like nothing else mattered. But his trunk still housed half his belongings. His walls had a couple of pictures he had sellotaped on, and the large David Bowie poster he had bought the summer after sixth year, yet his clothes would go in and out of his trunk, and his closet sat mostly empty save the lone leather jacket he insisted on hanging. 

The thought of his lack of settling made your tummy twist in discomfort. 

But, again, you guessed it could be worse. Godric forbid you ever confess.

He'd be walking out the door with his bags.

You decided you'd be okay with letting it all rot inside of you. You didn't want to be too forward or rush into things when you, practically, knew he didn't feel the same. So you savored it, with everything you had in you. The stolen touches and even more stolen glances. The kiss he pressed against your cheek when he'd say goodbye, apparating away to go drink the night away with the rest of the marauders, James escaping from his soon-to-be father duties for a few hours. Sirius would press a kiss to your flushed cheeks when you'd go out with Lily as well, a small stay safe love, escaping his lips right before you slipped out the door.

"Tell him how I feel? Is pregnancy melting your brain, Lily?" You almost spit out your sweet cocktail. Lily flicked your forehead. 

"My brain is perfectly fine thank you very much," She huffed, the corners of her lips aching to break into a smile as she rubbed a hand over her pregnant belly.

"You two are practically together, you live together for Godric's sake" Marlene scoffed over her beer,

"Not to mention the shared bank account-" you slapped your forehead as Dorcas let the fact that he'd been basically spoiling you for a year slip, "And I've seen the way he looks at you sweets-" Dorcas's words were slurred by the alcohol in her system, and her head resting against Marlene's shoulder. "You don't look at someone that way unless you're in love with them"

Lily almost spit out her juice as she turned to you with wide eyes. "You got a shared vault now? James and I didn't even do that yet-"

You shook your head, "No no, crap Cas-" you took a shaky breath, as Marlene shook her head in disappointment and groaned out a small You're impossible. "He just keeps paying for things, and he won't let me get a job- honest, I've tried but he keeps planning things and I just never have any time-"

"So is he holding you captive or- I just don't see why you can't get a job" The three girls looked at you, incredulous looks on their faces as you struggled to explain.

"He just keeps saying to not worry-" You hid behind your hands now, embarrassment crawling up your neck. "I don't know- It's complete rubbish, he's insistent on the fact that he wants to take care of me" The girls let out a collective 'aww', all screaming eagerly over each other

"I should've kept it all to myself" you mumbled as you raised your now-empty glass at your waitress, the older woman shooting you a nod as she went to bring you another one. The girls booed at you, 

"Now that'd be no fun would it?" Lily shoved your shoulder playfully, Marlene and Dorcas giggling in agreement. 

Tell him how you feel.

The thought bounced in your head as you trudged up to your apartment. Fumbling with the keys as you tried to steady yourself. But you didn't need to, as Sirius opened the door. His shirt missing and his burgundy red pajama pants sat loosely at his hips, but you knew he hadn't slept yet. Otherwise, you would've been able to tell— his hair would be a mess, as he tended to bury his head between his pillows, blocking the world away while he slept.

"I could hear you fumbling your keys from down the hall doll" you giggled as you entered, your body instinctively falling into his for a hug. He couldn't help but laugh either, your cheek pressed against his chest as you mumbled out a thank you. The couple of drinks you had made you feel more than loose, giggly and you couldn't help but let the words slip from your lips.

"I love you, terribly so" you'd probably regret such a statement in the morning.

"I love you too darling" you groaned out a no as you peeled yourself off, it poured out of you instinctively. You threw yourself on the soft couch James's parents had given the two of you. We're throwing it out anyway lovies you keep it. You were sure, by Euphemia's playful glint, that this wasn't quite the case. But you appreciated it, the plush sofa softening your intentional fall. Sirius laughed as he approached the couch, crouching next to where your face was smushed into the smooth material of the sofa. His fingers moved the hair away from your face, his eyes locking in with yours as his lips split into a lazy smile.

"Knew you'd make fun of me," You mumbled and his lips twisted into an exaggerated pout now, repressing the need to laugh and you buried your face into the cushions with another groan. 

He would've been lying if he said his heart hadn't skipped a beat, a flicker of hope that maybe, you felt as he did. Maybe your heart ran quicker when he held your hand, maybe the goodnight kisses you pressed against his cheek, against his forehead meant more, maybe the smile you had given him when he presented you with the key to your shared apartment, the smile that made him feel as if he was staring straight into the sun, meant something more. 

But for now, that would have to wait.

As he got you up and into the bathroom, wiping your makeup off with a damp cloth, you gave a mumbled slurred summary of your night. He made you close your eyes as he wiped away the mascara, and you listed the vague number of drinks you'd had— plus the drinks you had to make up for Lily’s inability to drink right now, Marlene’s idea of course. His fingers curled around your chin as he moved your face, and at any other moment, you would've been positively frazzled. But as you spoke of the shaky walk home after Marlene dropped you off down the street, you could only revel in his touch as he hummed along and got you ready for bed. The stubborn lipstick made his cheeks flush as he wiped at your lips repeatedly, making them look plump and if he hadn't had the ounce of self-control he still vaguely maintained he would've kissed you right there and then. But it just wasn't the time for it, there's never a right time to tell your best friend and roommate you're in love with them, is there?

Stumbling around the room with you, the pajamas he managed to get over your form as he tried not to look at you in your underwear— not that you cared at the minute— it all made his heart swell. A stolen moment for him to think on later, the small giggles that escaped your face, or the innocent clutch you had on his hand. You ran your fingers down the features of his face as he helped you lay down. He tucked you into your bed with a kiss on your cheek and a giggle erupting from your chest.

His heart ached with longing but he guessed it could be worse. 

You could've said no to living with him. 

You gave him a faux pout, and he mirrored it. 

"What is it lovely?" 

"Missed you tonight-" he could feel the crimson intensify in his cheeks at your words, but he ignored the flush and moved a stray hair away from your face. 

"I missed you too love, next time let's go together yeah?" You hummed in agreement, a small love you slipping past right as your eyes fluttered shut, sleep covering you like a blanket.

"I fear I might be in love with you doll," he sighed, yet you didn't answer to his whispered confession. Your chest rose and fell steadily. Part of him was glad, the thought of your reaction to his feelings chilling him to the core. It could be worse, he thought. 

Yes, he'd rather have this than nothing at all. Godric forbid he ever confesses.

You'd be walking out the door with your bags.

[moonstruckme]

Hi! My inbox is being evil again (it's trying to keep us apart!) and temporarily deleting the exact requests I want to find, so here's a copy+paste of the request I got and thank you so much anon :)

could you do a james x fem!reader where he helps her through a particularly bad panic attack and then just cuddles her and grounds her again? i get them all the time and the thought of the comfort just makes me feel better :,)

cw: modern au, panic attack

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 730 words

James knows it’d be no help to tell you how scared these attacks make him, but they do make him very scared. He imagines it’s not too different from your reasoning right now; he knows, ultimately, that you’ll be alright, but the thought doesn’t provide as much comfort as it should when he’s watching you with your breaths coming quick and short and your nails digging into your own palm like you can hurt yourself worse on the surface that whatever’s doing this to you. 

He starts there. Takes your hand and uncurls your fingers, threading them through his. 

“You’re okay,” he tells you, sitting on the coffee table with his knees touching yours. He shuts the computer on your lap, easing it out of your grip to move it away. “Take a breath, sweetheart.” 

If you can still hear him you show no sign of it. A tear forms in the corner of your eye, falling when you blink. He can feel your heartbeat jumping where the base of his palm rests over your wrist. 

“Can I give you a hug?” 

There, a slight nod. James curls towards you eagerly, if a bit awkwardly, his knees on either side of your thighs and sitting a bit taller than you while he rubs your back. He makes big, sweeping circles, hoping to lull you with the slow pattern. Tears slug down your cheeks in curved lines, his shirt collecting their damp masses. 

“It’ll pass, angel. It always does, yeah? I know it feels like it’s not going to get better, but it will. You’re doing so good. So, so good, my love.” 

Your breath wheezes slightly on the way in, evidence of your diligent efforts, and when it comes out a low, pained sound comes with it. James feels it deep in his throat. He increases his pressure on your back. 

“Is this okay?” he worries, then feels shitty. You’re hardly up for questioning right now. He tries to sound certain. “Focus on my hand, angel. You’re okay, I’ve got you. Take a big breath for me.” 

He feels you try, your little sob when it doesn’t go as deep as either of you want. 

“I can’t—” 

“You can, it’s alright. You’re already doing so much better, see? It’s going away.” 

This one is worse than some of the others James has sat through with you. It seems to take ages for your breathing to slow down, and a while after that until he feels your heart find a somewhat normal rhythm under his palm. 

He knows you’re with him, more present, when you move your legs to give him easier access to you. James adjusts eagerly, giving you a proper hug. Your crying is less stilted now. He never thought he’d be so relieved to hear you sniffle and weep on his shoulder. 

“There you are,” he sighs, holding you tight. “You did it, sweetheart.” 

“James,” you whimper. 

“I know, but you’re okay. Keep breathing nice and deep,” he reminds you, worried another one will start up. “You made it. Now all you have to do is take it easy for a while.” 

“Thank you.” Your voice is a soft, small thing. It encourages James back from you, though only far enough to see your face. One tear hangs from your bottom lashes like a dewdrop from a petal. When he kisses beneath your eye it transfers to his skin. 

“No thanks necessary.” He kisses you on your other cheek, just to make it even. “You did all the hard work yourself.” 

“Still,” you say, a bit wobbly, “thanks.” 

James frowns. He allows himself to stop rubbing that same endless circle on your back, brushes a piece of hair away from your face. “Anytime,” he tells you sincerely. 

The worst of your crying seems over, but the look you give him suggests you might start again. James likes to think of himself as a man unafraid of tears and strong emotions; he’ll let you cry all night if that’s what you need. Still, he’d prefer to avoid it. 

“How do you feel?” he asks quickly. “Do you want some water? We could go for a walk, it might help to be outside.” 

You don’t want to do either of those, but you do consent to another hug. Which, really, is a better outcome than he’d dared to hope for. 

[unintentionalseductress]

Can I be the Snoflake emoji? :D Requesting a 15...of Zayne AND Dawnbreaker Zayne somehow?

Hello! Yes you can be my snowflake anon! I'll update the emoji list. Now, I almost said no to this because I have a Dawnbreaker and Zayne threesome fic I'm working on with a very similar concept but I can't help myself, I'd religiously be taking cock everyday from these 2 if I could.

So if there are some similarities spotted between this and my other fic, pardon. I just really like both of them.

DVP

--------

Sex had always been a two person act according to you. You'd never wanted anyone else, not with Zayne satisfying your every need so thoroughly, not to mention his possessive streak.

So what the fuck were you doing, allowing Zayne's doppleganger to pull off your shirt as he gently traces your smooth skin reverently. This alternate dimension with Zayne's future self was mindboggling. You can see the differences between him and Dawnbreaker as plain as day and night.

Zayne's eyes hold tenderness for you, his girlfriend of many years, while Dawnbreaker's look at you with longing, like a man finding an oasis after wandering the desert. And both of them wanted you equally. Zayne had been thrown off when you both saw him at first but after hearing his story, it appeared that his mind had softened for his alter ego.

"I love her too, and I never thought I'd have her in my life," Dawnbreaker had whispered, gazing at you with those haunted eyes that made your heart ache for him. And somehow, Zayne had yielded, perhaps because in his mind, he was giving you to himself. You doubted he would have gone through with this if it was someone else.

And now you're having your first threesome, except it was with the same man you'd been sleeping with, copied, and feeling the same way Zayne did. It was so arousing, having two of him, with none of the awkwardness of a threesome because you knew him and what to expect.

Still, your body shivers as both Dawnbreaker and Zayne take one of your nipples into their mouths, their lips and tongue feeling similar but flicking different patterns onto the heardened peaks. You whine against the dual stimulation. One Zayne left you satisfied and warm. Two was going to break you, you were certain, in the most delicious way possible.

They suckle and pull, two pairs of hands roaming over your skin, squeezing and stroking every inch of you. Dawnbreaker is under a spell, marveling at the softness of your skin and the taste of your breast as he leaves a mark on the swell of flesh before kissing his way down to your navel, dipping his hot tongue into the little depression, making your squirm with need. Zayne reassuringly pets your hair before pulls you back against his chest, and he grips your thighs, spreading them apart for Dawnbreaker.

A flush erupts over your skin as he completely exposes you to Dawnbreaker's attentive eyes which widen at the sight, seeing the glistening membranes, and the proud little pearl peaking out of your folds at the apex.

"Suck it, like you did her nipple." Zayne issues the advice softly and Dawnbreaker, feeling his mouth water at the sight, obliges, running his tongue between your folds, making you sigh before sealing his lips over your clit. Your body is sensitized and your arousal keeps mounting, the knowledge that these two men were so utterly consumed with you and eager to bring ecstasy into your veins.

You moan and your hips buck but your legs are firmly held apart by Zayne as he helps Dawnbreaker bring you to your peak. "Does it feel good?" He whispers teasingly in your ear and you nod breathlessly.

"It's just like you," you admit then bite your lip as Dawnbreaker slips his fingers into your fluttering hole. His fingers work up a tantalizing rhythm inside you and your eyes squeeze closed and you let out a broken mewl as you cum so satifyingly on his fingers. Dawbreaker crawls up to kiss you and you're sandwiched between the two men.

"I think you can take both of us," Zayne purrs seductively and you're shifted so that you're laying on top of Dawnbreaker. As primal instinct takes over, you raise your hips and start taking his cock into you, feeling a rush at the way Dawnbreaker's eyes go wide as your velvety wetness envelopes him, welcoming him into your heat. He seems unsure what to do but you shush him and start to ride, and his head falls back as he lets out a groan.

Zayne embraces you from behind, kissing the back of your neck and fondling your breasts before leaning you onto Dawnbreaker's chard chest. You gasp as you feel him enter you, gently pushing past the muscle and filling your channel alongside Dawnbreaker. The headiness of being so full, so stretched and used draws a shuddering cry from you. Their cocks move in tendem inside you, strokng your walls and pushing you to the brink, caressing your gspot and kissing your cervix with their tips.

Dawnbreaker grunts and Zayne empathizes with his counterpart; of course he didn't know how needy he would become after experiencing you and your delicious cunt. He's barely holding on, teeth gritted from the additional stimulation of having another cock rub against him. He cums first, releasing his load into you as his hands grip your sides. Zayne starts playing with your clit as he thursts and stars form behind your closed eyes as a second orgasm rips through you before Zayne allows himself to climax, his seex mixing with Dawnbreaker's and making a mess in your already sloppy cunt.

[stars-obsession-pit]

DPxDC or other such DP crossover fics sometimes like to flirt with the idea of immensely powerful/eldritch Ghost King and/or Ancient Of Space Danny who outclasses everyone else, but I feel like they often fall short of making his power come across as truly overwhelming instead of just like… “regular powerful”.

Like sure he can easily take out the designated Worf dangerous villain (often Darkseid in a DPxDC thing) but like… without the actual story itself truly establishing that character’s power beforehand, that doesn’t necessarily feel as impactful as it could.

And even if the story does try to establish that, “he just punches the enemy and they fold” doesn’t carry the same… pizazz as something more reality-shaking.

(Not that stories necessarily need that pizazz, but like for reinforcing the image of strength it’s certainly helpful, especially if you don’t have that established power to take down first)

So anyway here’s a sorta rambled set of ideas for that sort of “more overwhelming power” stuff

What if when Danny is summoned, the whole world lurches for a moment as all of the planet’s momentum is ground to a halt by his arrival then reinstated. Or maybe gravity just… stops working for a moment, letting many items drift upwards into the air before falling back down.

Perhaps the whole sky could suddenly shift too. The daytime sky blackens to night, or the night turns to day. Maybe all the stars flare up brightly enough to become visible despite the sun’s glare (probably also shining brightly enough to cause eye damage to anyone unlucky enough to be looking outside at the time).

Or you could go more horror/freaky eldritch with it. The stars change to resemble eyes staring down on the world. Whispers can be heard originating from somewhere in the sky above. Maybe you’re crazy, but you could swear there’s a pattern to the positions of the stars currently visible, some hidden message encoded within them.

Or like just generally… summoning something that powerful isn’t a quiet affair. The world feels his arrival.

Relatedly, though not quite as directly relevant to this post’s contents, you’d probably also want to greatly increase the difficulty of summoning him. He’s too impressive to be given a lame/easy summoning ritual, you know? Make them work for their chance to talk to something this powerful.

And what about when Danny is present? How would he interact with the world?

Maybe when he needs to grab something from somewhere distant, instead of just creating a small portal and reaching through, space itself folds. Their vision distorts and suddenly the other location is just there beside them as if it always had been. Danny casually just reaches across, grabs the item, and then the world returns to normal.

Or alternatively, a tiny version of the world appears in his hands—not just a copy but an instance of the planet itself—and he just reaches down into it and plucks the item up. If someone were to happen to look up from the item’s location while he did it, they would see a planet-sized figure reaching down and lifting the item away into the heavens. And as it shrinks away into the distant sky, it simultaneously grows to appear in Danny’s own hand retracting from the globe.

That effect could also appear in a more subtle fashion when he travels - instead of zipping through the air, he seems to walk casually, yet each step moves him forward an immense distance across the planet (or beyond).

And when he fights, he’s unstoppable. His regular abilities are already tuned up to a million - cold powerful to bring a whole planet to basically absolute zero, his wail nearly tearing the fabric of universe ahead of him apart, etc. But you could also give him other fancier things based on being Ancient of Space or Ghost King like throwing around miniature stars or black holes, pulling people’s souls out of their bodies, etc. Hell, just the manipulation of space on its own would open up ridiculous numbers of possibilities - redirecting attacks (guaranteeing that his attacks hit and that others’ attacks miss (or are even turned back on themselves)), stretching/compressing space around someone to prevent them from moving, folding space to drop them into something hazardous like a supernova, etc.

Again, this is a version of Danny that’s meant to be godlike. I feel like his power should be able to majorly reshape the whole world around him (and thus you’d want/need to openly shown it as such for that fact to come across).

Even if he isn’t fighting, there’s also the more passive possibilities because like, his power doesn’t necessarily just vanish when not in use.

His aura is often shown freezing people under the weight of his power, but let’s take it further into the theme. It doesn’t just make them freeze, it forces them to experience all the different ways they could die. Or maybe it’s a bit more on the space side of things and they bear witness to the scale of the universe and heat death, all the stars burning out as their whole universe goes dark.

Then Danny apologizes and suddenly the visions recede and they realize that wasn’t even an intentional threat. His mere presence is just like that unless he actively realizes and holds himself back.

Or there could also be like, casual references to situations so beyond the heroes’ perceptions.

He’s summoned and mentions like “oh yeah I solved those threats to your planet for you” and they’re like “Wait, threats? Plural? There was more than one?!”

Because to them, those other threats were impossible to see coming (e.g. a really small, really distant asteroid that wasn’t visible to any telescopes yet, or their universe being on a collision course with something else in the Infinite Realms, or etc). But to Danny they were like… obvious issues with easy fixes (or maybe not easy per se but like, a normal part of the job).

[band--psycho]

Sylus x Reader x Zayne- Birthday Surprises (SYLUS)

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support! I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over.

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms

Part 2

Main Masterlist / Sylus Masterlist / Zayne Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Don't worry there are going to be multiple parts to this story!

Warnings: Possesive and Obsessive Sylus, Love Triangle, Complicated feelings, Sexual tension, Choking (Minors DNI)

Sylus was used to an unusual sleeping pattern; even having nights where he barely slept at all. 

But dreaming whilst he was sleeping….that was something entirely new. 

The first time it happened, he thought for a brief moment that you were really with him, that was until he looked at the empty side of his bed. 

He hated how his heart ached at the realisation that you were only a dream.

He thought that it was a one time thing, until he dreamt of you again the following night. 

He’d never dreamed before. 

Not really. 

Not until he met you. 

Then he couldn’t seem to stop. 

Whenever he would close his eyes and allow the darkness of sleep to take a hold of him, you would always show up. 

Sometimes you’d be talking to him about work; sometimes he’d hear the echo of your laugh in his mind and sometimes you were just simply sitting in a park with a book in your hand…

It was driving him insane, how much he missed you, how much he craved to hear your laugh, or yearned to see your smile…he felt like a lovestruck teenager.

And he both loved and hated it. 

He spent the next two weeks like this; he tried not to think about you, but it seemed the harder he tried, the more unsuccessful he was. 

He just couldn’t get you out of his head.

That’s when he knew he needed to see you…He knew he had to be careful, he couldn’t just waltz up to you outside of the Association and talk to you. 

But the second he laid eyes on you; he knew he couldn’t turn back. 

He had to see you today. 

And it was perfect because today was your birthday; if ever there was a day to surprise you, it was today. 

But his little plan started slowly falling apart when he saw you laughing because of something a dark haired man had said; it made his blood boil in his veins. 

He thought about using his evol to just pull you towards him; but they could arouse suspicion, especially from the man you seemed to be so friendly with. 

“Boss?” Luke asked from the driving seat; it was obvious to the twins who were sitting in the front of the car that they were going to be following you, but doing so was risky, if they were caught, it wouldn’t just endanger them but you as well. 

“Follow her,” Sylus’ baritone voice ordered. 

Luke nodded obediently, putting his foot on the accelerator a little, knowing that he had to keep enough distance between you and the car that neither you nor your new friend would get concerned;  but close enough that they wouldn’t lose you.

~~~~~~

After about thirty minutes, they were down the road from your apartment; the apartment that you and the mysterious man you were with had disappeared into. 

Sylus was leaning with his arm resting on the door armrest;  his lips pursed in a thin line as he continued sitting in his car, staring out the window, waiting for the man to leave your apartment so he could talk to you without any disruption. 

Sylus wasn’t sure how much time had passed until he saw a raven haired man leave your building; but in all honesty he didn’t care. 

As soon as the man was out of sight; he wasted no time in exiting his car and heading to your apartment and knocking on your door.

“Zayne, how do you always manage to forget your glasses,” he heard you call out from behind the door; hearing footsteps hurriedly rush towards the door; making a rage course through Sylus’ veins. 

Zayne? 

So that was the name of the man she was with.

“Sorry to disappoint you sweetie,” Sylus said with a hoarse voice that sent a chill down your spine, as you opened the door, puzzlement written all over your face. 

“Sylus?” You questioned; confused by what the hell he was doing here, especially today. 

“The one and only,” he smirked, “aren’t you going to invite me in?”

You were tempted to slam the door in his face; but you knew how stubborn Sylus was, knew that even if you did that, he’d still be outside your apartment tomorrow morning, and that would just put the both of you at risk. 

So you moved out of the way, allowing him entry to your home before quickly closing the door behind. 

“What are you doing here?” You inquired, folding your arms as you stared at him.

“Can’t I just drop by and pay you a visit on your birthday?” He replied, as though him being here was the most normal thing in the world when in reality it was anything but. 

“No,” you answered bluntly, you didn’t have time for this, you were meant to be meeting Zayne and a few people from work for drinks in a few hours.

If you were late, they’d have questions, if you didn’t show up, they’d worry. 

“Tsk, if I were a lesser man your words would wound me, sweetie,” Sylus retorted back making you roll your eyes: 

You didn’t have time for this.

But you also couldn’t shake the curiosity that piqued in your mind about why he was actually here. 

You hadn’t seen him since he gave you a lift back to Linkon City in his private helicopter a few months ago. 

You’d texted him a few times, but never got a reply so you just assumed he wasn’t interested in being friends (or more) anymore.

You’re not ashamed to admit that it broke your heart a little; you weren’t in love with Sylus, but you knew that you could’ve…

And being ghosted like that when you thought the two of you understood one another, hurt. 

But your slightly cracked heart healed; it was after this that you and Zayne grew closer. 

“Sylus, please just leave,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. 

Why was he doing this? 

Today of all days. 

“That’s a nice necklace, ” Sylus deflected your plea, reaching out and lifting the necklace off of your chest, allowing him to look at it more closely, “Where did you get it from?”

“It was a gift,” you breathed, trying to ignore how even the slightest touch of his fingers brushing against your skin, made you feel weak at the knees..

“From Zayne?” 

Jealousy laced his words and darkened his eyes. 

Jealousy was an emotion you’d never seen in Sylus before, but you couldn’t deny that something inside you loved seeing him like that. 

“If you must know, yes,” you responded; memories of when Zayne gave you this breathtaking gift a few moments ago, making your head spin. 

Sylus hooked his forefinger under your chin, dropping the necklace he’d been carefully holding, allowing it to fall onto your chest, “Is he your boyfriend?” 

How could you answer such a complex question? 

And how did he have the nerve to be asking it?

Sylus wasn’t your boyfriend, he wasn’t your friend, he was just someone that you last saw months ago…someone that made you want to disregard all sense of logic…

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you bit back; earning a snarl from Sylus in response. 

Your relationship with Zayne was complicated; you two would spend time together whenever you could around work,  and you would always look forward to spending time with him. 

He made your heart feel warm and fuzzy, something that you’d never felt for anyone before. 

But you were not a couple….though the words that fell from his lips before he left your apartment were still racing through your mind, making you think that tonight, that was about to change. 

“Everything you do is my business,” he growled, moving his hand from your chin and down your neck, wrapping his hand around it lightly. 

“My business is my own, who I see in my own apartment, has nothing to do with you,” you countered; trying not to ignore how turned on you were by how his hand was wrapped around your throat, or by how close he was to you…. 

You felt his grip tighten slightly around his throat at your rebuttal, “It has everything to do with me.” 

“You’re crazy,” you choked out.

And so were you, for letting him touch you like this. 

You should’ve pushed him away…but you couldn't bring yourself to do so. 

“About you, yes I am, and sweetie, I have no problem denying it,” he confessed, brushing his lips against your cheek, “I’ve dreamt about you. Nearly every night for the last two weeks,”

“You dream?”

His admission caught you off guard, you’d never expected Sylus to dream about anything, least of all about you.

“Never,” he mumbled, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Not once,” this time the kiss he left was on the corner of your mouth, you could feel how shallow your breath was getting with every second that passed. 

“Not until you,” his lips were hovering inches away from yours now,“And it’s driving me insane,”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you hated how shaky your voice sounded. 

What were you doing?

This was insane….

Were you really about to do this? 

Were you really about to do this with him?

Neither of you got a chance to say another word before there was a knock at the door; the sudden sound pulled you back to reality, and you pushed Sylus away, quickly.

“Don’t answer it,” Sylus whispered, grabbing your wrist, “You look so flustered right now,” 

You hated that he was right; you needed to take a minute to collect yourself; but that was hard to do when Sylus was still here. 

He was still here! 

He couldn’t be here. 

What if it was Tara at the door….or Zayne…

Zayne….

You felt your heart sink as you thought of him…

Your head was all over the place.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” You heard the all too familiar voice of your doctor ask through the door. 

You shot a glare at Sylus who was still holding your wrist with a smirk. 

“Hide in there,” you said, pushing him towards the coat closet by your door.

“We’re not finished here, sweetie, just remember that,” were the last words he said before he vanished into the closet.

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @fangirlsfandomsss @book-dragon03 @ollieneedsamilkshake @ladyparamount @hotdogcookie @kisukiis @deathkat657 @the-slytherin-poet @evilldentists @cheesemachine44 @thegalaxysedge22 @tasha-1994 @popcorn-mochi01 @worm-in-a-bug @babygirl-panda19 @sunshineotaku

[artificialroux]

MAISIE & MISTY QUIGLEY 🐁🦜

— a sister is both your mirror and your opposite

maisie quigley is part of the journalism club and yearbook staff, one of their most passionate members. she's eighteen, a full year older than misty. she grew up close to misty — their bond was intense, weird, and totally sincere. they performed skits, plays, and spooky “shows” at family gatherings — everything from haunted house tours to over-the-top reenactments of ghost stories. while misty idolized her, maisie was often quietly worried about misty's intensity and her hunger for approval.

she joined the journalism club mostly as a way to stay busy and snoop on people (“everyone wants to be remembered — they just don't know how ugly it looks.”) she ended up on the fateful plane trip because she was assigned to help document the soccer team’s championship journey. her and misty call each other “maze” and “missy” affectionately, they are close as sisters can be, maybe a bit codependent.

maisie is eccentric but in a different flavor from misty — she's outwardly charming and socially a little better at hiding her “offness,” but once you talk to her for more than a few minutes, it’s clear she’s just as weird. she has a strange sense of humor — loves macabre jokes, weird trivia, and “fun facts” that aren't actually fun. she's overly theatrical; she’s that girl who treats regular conversations like performance art. she is a little bit vain; she likes attention and thinks of herself as a misunderstood genius.

she gets most of her clothing from the thrift store, like misty, her aesthetic is vaguely 80s mixed with 90s schoolgirl looks: lots of thrifted cardigans, clunky shoes, odd jewelry (e.g., mood rings, lockets with nothing inside), lacy socks, mismatched nail polish. misty definitely copied some of her vibe — the chunky shoes, the colorful socks, the earnest but awkward way of presenting herself. maisie carries around a disposable camera everywhere for yearbook and journalism club, she even says she’s documenting “the end of an era” in a totally dramatic way.

being apart of yearbook / journalism club, she is the unofficial “historian” of the school. she is definitely over-involved in weird extracurriculars (debate team, tried to start a “macabre literature” club that nobody joins, besides misty.) she knew about the soccer team mostly through yearbook coverage — wasn't supposed to go to nationals but she tags along to “capture the moment.” post crash, she takes a lot of photos early on — documenting the crash site, their food rations, early cabin life.

her relationship with misty is deeply codependent, even if they fight sometimes. misty worships her a little — everything about misty's attempts to connect with people later partly comes from trying to recreate the weird little world she and maisie had together. they definitely did musical performances at family gatherings (like showtunes, or weirder stuff like reciting edgar allan poe together.)

while misty loves birds, maisie adores rodents! she also dyes her hair brown, which makes her curls pretty bleach damaged so they're more frizzy and unkempt than her sisters, especially since she teases them and brushes them out dry. while misty serves as a medic and later a cook in the wilderness, maisie is something of a scribe, a keeper, a historian. she keeps detailed records: writes down major events, food supplies, weather patterns, and (later) the group's evolving myths, rituals, and “legends.” she maintains a survival calendar: noting how long they've been stranded, seasonal changes, and tracking who is alive/missing. finally she acts as the memory-keeper for the group: the one who remembers when someone made a sacrifice, when someone broke a rule, when a tragedy happened.

tags ;; @dippindotties @logansdogmotif @chshiresgrin @antlrrqueen @orangecatsmissingbraincell @rippedpatches @soapysbouquet @ohno-people

[corduroyserpent]

“How do I look?” Tianlang-Jun steps out from behind a floral screen, already posing with his chin placed delicately against the back of his hand. His dark claws are hidden for the moment and the vibrant red of his nail dye nearly matches the gentle dashes of rouge across his cheeks and lips.

Su Xiyan has been leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and she straightens her spine now that the wait is over. The faint sound of other inn guests wanes as she steps deeper into the cozy room she purchased for the night. Having changed into Tianlang-Jun’s robes in far less time than it took him to put on hers, she has had ample space in which to grow used to the trailing sleeves and ill-fitting length. She moves slowly, with grace, so that she does not trip over a dark hem embroidered with a swirling golden pattern.

Her own clothes are less ostentatious, though she also prefers to wear black. She can’t quite say that her robes suit Tianlang-Jun—her lover is taller and has more width at his back and thighs—but with the demure way he’s holding himself, his hair devoid of ornamentation, a certain beauty emerges.

Not to mention her belt hugs his waist in a way that should be against the law.

“Well?” Tianlang-Jun lowers his voice, peeking at her from beneath long eyelashes. “Don’t be shy, my dear. Tell me I’m pretty.”

Su Xiyan says, “Your shoulders are too broad. Take it off.”

“Eh?” Tianlang-Jun’s tapered brows pull together as he’s caught between dismay and confusion. “What’s wrong with having broad shoulders?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want you to tear my clothes.”

“Ah, but my Xiyan is so affluent. Surely she can afford a new set of robes.” Tianlang-Jun’s smile returns. “Though why bother, when you can simply wear mine?”

She hums in neutral acknowledgement, distracted by his mouth. The deep red stain in the middle of his lips. She doesn’t wear any cosmetics so she’s uncertain where he procured his. That silent nephew, most likely. Regardless of where he got it, he looks unreasonably good.

“Oh, I almost forgot about these.” He takes out the small black stones set in his earlobes and offers them to her. “Trade with me.”

She reaches up to remove her earrings—a pair of azure flowers each with a dangling stem of silver. They were a gift from her shizun. She holds no emotional attachment to them. And Tianlang-Jun, it turns out, wears them better than she ever has.

Su Xiyan takes him by the chin, tilting his head down. “You are pretty, aren’t you?” 

“Devastatingly so,” Tianlang-Jun agrees, gaze unfocused from the shrinking proximity. “You had better hurry and make me your wife before my beauty captures the heart of another.”

She doesn’t allow his eager lips to land, turning his head away. Undeterred, he kisses her high on the cheek, just under her eye. 

“You’ll leave a mark,” she chides.

“Don’t I always?” Tianlang-Jun wets the pad of his thumb and rubs at the pink stain. He clicks his tongue, sheepish but far from apologetic. “I think I’m making it worse.”

“Coincidentally,” she says, “that is also something you always do.”

Besides, it’s not as if they have anywhere to be. Su Xiyan wouldn’t have agreed to this little dress-up game otherwise.

Tianlang-Jun takes her ribbing with good humor, and this time his lips do manage to capture hers. Tianlang-Jun kisses her, rapturous and slow, taking his time to enjoy her like she’s a well-loved copy of his favorite play.

Heat slides through her, warm and comfortable and embarrassing. She nips at his bottom lip, growing restless with desire. Her feelings for him are a terrible nuisance. It would be better if she liked him less, if she didn’t crave him during the days they were apart, but she can’t help it. 

Her shizun would be furious if he knew.

Good.

She breaks the kiss, tugging at Tianlang-Jun’s collar. “I was serious before. Take this off.” 

“What a scoundrel you are,” Tianlang-Jun says, playing the scandalized maiden. His voice goes soft and his eyelashes quiver. “Getting me alone, begging for me to remove my clothes in front of you—ah, Xiyan, we can’t. It’s not proper.”

“Shall I disrobe first?”

Tianlang-Jun gasps. “Heavens, no!” He pulls away dramatically, a hand to his head. His other hand stays at her waist because he’s absolutely incorrigible. “How would I resist the nude form of such a handsome young cultivator? We can’t, my darling, we mustn’t.”

He’s so annoying. She needs him. Desperately. 

Face impassive except for a telling flush at her ears, she pushes him towards the bed. He “resists” which mainly involves a good deal of making whimpering noises that no one in real life has ever made, and shamelessly feeling her up as he pretends to fight against her.

When he trips backwards onto the bed—his own doing—his hair spreads out around his head in a wavy puddle of deep black. He says, “You must take responsibility if you do this.”

Su Xiyan climbs on top, her legs bracketing his thighs. She’s breathless for some reason. Tianlang-Jun’s acting is atrocious but the robes and the rouge and his long eyelashes… She slides her thumb along his bottom lip. 

“I suppose I can.” She slips her thumb into his mouth. He closes his lips around it, eyes heavy-lidded but focused on her own. “If my wife insists.”

Tianlang-Jun’s breath stutters. She feels it. And there’s another thing she can feel awakening beneath her.

“Well?” She moves her thumb. Small, subtle in and out motions. Tianlang-Jun’s tongue drags against her and when she finally pulls free, his chin jolts up as if in chase. “Is that what my wife wants?”

Tianlang-Jun circles his arms around her neck and says, starry-eyed, “Yes, husband.”

Su Xiyan kisses him, deeply, feverishly, no longer able to pretend she could bear to hold back.

And all through the night until morning (plus a while after) she makes certain to take very good care of her wife.

[also on ao3]

[santoelle]

Copying others' ideas—like a winner author

Yes, the title is a reference to none other than Oscar Piastri. Stuff it.

People fear the viewers seeing through veil of your writing and accuse of a copycat. The truth may be that you did take that idea to begin with. Now how do you actually do this heinous crime and get away with it?

Deconstruct, Amalgamate, Rebuild

Deconstruct

There's something in specific you like about the story. Find it, and take it apart even more. Often you find out you like Enemies to Lovers and make it your entire personality without knowing it's already been etched into your personality without you knowing. People can love the same trope for different reasons and different aspects.

After all, not every person thinks the same. It makes the deconstructing part even more unique to each author. Here's some scenarios and deconstructing it properly

OG: Harry Potter is the chosen one

GENERALIZE: The character is given a fate before they were even born

DECONSTRUCTED: There is the inevitability of a path, the character has a choice whether or not to continue that or not—how will they get to the end goal if they continue?

Yes, that's one of multiple interpretations of chosen one tropes. If you disagree on that, then that's your first exercise on how to deconstruct something. Once you deconstruct it, not only do you give the reasoning, but the path and the patterns that make this trope work. With your unique interpretation of your own behaviour as to why you like a trope, it's one step to make your idea even more original.

Amalgamate

The plan that once you have a tried and true trope and running with it is comfortable. It doesn't let you experiment. One of my favourite books, Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, is a showcase of taking two different tropes into a mix.

The mundane life of offices (though technically not a trope, but a stereotype) and the nitty-gritty of an underground illegal boxing ring made combined with a fight club for boring men with rules they must follow strictly. This idea is done by directly contrasting tropes and finding ways to compliment each other. Something like that can be done with this step.

DECONSTRUCTED: Inevitability of a path. The character has a choice whether or not to continue

COMPLIMENTARY: The villain. It heightens tension and struggles for a supposed prophecy

CONTRASTING: Time loop. The character has all the times to make a choice and nothing moves forward

These two ideas can shape your story in different ways. It can even change the genre. Concepts can work together when you keep trying to mix them; find where they can meet, find where characters struggle to balance it, find the resolve. Your book can change genres depending on how you even execute these events.

Rebuild

This step is the aftermath of your floating concepts, either contradicting or complimenting. Finally, you create your story here. Whether you use a three act structure, a six, a simple outline of "Introduction, crisis(es), conclusion(s)", you finally start the journey of the original idea.

Authors can find the comfort into sticking into one genre, one trope (or multiple tropes that complimentary) that will then rely on world building and characters to make them stand out. Yet, they can find ways to be unique when they originally took this one idea from someone else. Deconstruct, amalgamate, rebuild. Is D.A.R an ugly acronym?

[14dayswithyou]

This Angel has another question! \o (and not just about Conan this time, I promise) As a follow-ish to this post (https://14dayswithyou.tumblr.com/post/698898007154917376/what-would-all-the-other-characters-be-like-if) , what would Kiara, Conan, Jae, and Olivia be like as yanderes?

✦゜ANSWERED: Typing this on my phone so da formatting will be terrible (and not proofread)... Sowwie!! >.<

Kiara... Weirdly enough, I can't see her as a yandere? If anything, she'd be obsessed with the thought of making you her muse; dressing you up in the finest materials, showing you off for the world to see, and revelling in making others jealous because they don't have a model as beautiful as you. She wants her pretty little wife to be plastered on all the front pages of magazines, wearing silk, velvet, and lace, and living the life of luxury that they rightfully deserve — even if it means getting rid of the competition by... alternative means. So long as your hands stay clean and pure, Kiara is willing to do everything she can to make you — and only you — shine the brightest.

Jae would be a yandere with a (non-sexual) owner/pet dynamic. Rather than a boyfriend, he'll see you as his helpless, incompetent pet. He'll keep you locked up in a cage for his own personal enjoyment, and only bring you out to play with whenever he's feeling bored or lonely. But don't worry, Jae would make a great owner! He'll feed you, bathe you, and take care of you with the utmost gentility — but if you bite the hand that feeds you, then he'll lock you away from the rest of the world and keep you there until you start to feel the separation anxiety kick in.

Conan would be very much a Glenn Arias (from RE: Vendetta) kind of yandere, wherein he'd try to make Angel resemble as much of his deceased wife as possible. He'd make them wear her perfume, style their hair and clothes the same way, and copy her speech pattern and mannerisms — all before realising that he genuinely liked them better as they were before he went and destroyed them. Now Angel has Conan in the palm of their hands as he begs and pleads them for forgiveness hehe :3c

Olivia would be your typical obsessive lover who'd follow you anywhere, even in death. Her love for you is so strong that she's willing to look for you in every lifetime... and do whatever it takes to be with you if you don't happen to exist in the same timeline as her. She'll rip apart worlds and shatter reality if it means finding a way to get to her beloved.

There's... actually a lot more going on behind the scenes regarding Olivia and her overall importance (like... no one has questioned the fact that she's the only character who can die on the same day you meet them???? /silly), so I can't really elaborate more on this one ^^;