distracted for life

anonymous asked:

In that yandere thing you said Noct would panic about his s/o leaving him in some way so would that mean he'd imprison them if he had to or would he go to the extreme of killing his s/o and preserving their body to keep them with him at all times, so they CANT leave cause they're dead? Like in the song A Little Piece of Heaven by Avenged Sevenfold.

I can’t see Noct going as far as killing his s/o and preserving their body to always have with him, for some reason. Maybe because death is always a looming presence in and around his life that I kinda think that he’d shy away from that kind of yandere. He’s scared of his loved ones dying and leaving him that way, I imagine.

However… I do see him going on a killing spree to keep them safe. All while hating himself for being that way and hiding it from them while slowly accepting that this is the way things have to be in order to keep you by his side. Out of all the bros, I think that Noct would be one to constantly battle with himself over what his fear is making him become. Like, he’d know it’s fucked up and wrong. But he’d spend a lot of time convincing himself that it’s not and he’s just doing what he has to do.

As for cages… that’s @diabolik-trash-heap thing. LOL. But I def see it for yandere!King Noct for whatever reason my brain is telling me rn.

At Ease (Final Rose)

There was something so nice about just spending the day with Averia without having to worry about any of the distractions of royal life. Elsa had spent much of the day tidying up the interior of the log cabin as Averia devoted her attention to patching up any problems with its exterior.

She had been pleasantly surprised by how good Averia was when it came to repairing the damage that several storms had done to the roof and walls. However, the pink-haired woman had just shrugged and given Elsa a secretive smile.

“You’d be amazed by what my family got up to,” Averia had murmured, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss before she climbed back onto the roof. “We spent a lot of money on repairs before my parents decided to just have our Aunt Vanille reinforce the house, so we wouldn’t have to worry about breaking it.”

Elsa could have used her powers to make the process of tidying and decorating the interior easier, but she wanted to savour the task. It was almost like they were newlyweds again, and she would have been lying if she said that her mind hadn’t conjured a fantasy or two.

She could see it now: Averia as the rugged huntress and tracker who spent the day scouring the woods and forests to make a living while Elsa played the part of a dutiful housewife, readying the house and herself for Averia’s return. Averia would get back, and Elsa would greet her at the door…

Elsa wisely chose not to follow that particular fantasy too far down the track. Otherwise, she would never get any work done. Instead, she busied herself with the details, moving furniture and cleaning until she was satisfied that the interior was as nice as it could be. Up on the roof, she could still hear Averia moving around, but it wasn’t long before she finished and swung off the roof to appear at the door.

“This looks great,” Averia murmured, studying all of the changes that Elsa had made. She stepped forward and then stopped, kicking off her boots. “I wouldn’t want to track any dirt in after you worked so hard to clean it up.”

“How polite of you,” Elsa said. She took hold of Averia’s hands and peered at them. “No accidents with the hammer?”

“Accidents?” Averia smirked. “Please, I’m not that clumsy.” She chuckled. “I got all of that sort of thing out of the way when I was younger.” Her gaze grew warm with fondness. “I don’t suppose you’ve got too much experience swinging a hammer around, do you?”

“Well,” Elsa admitted. “I do know the theory of repairing a roof, but I can’t say I’ve ever done it by hand. My parents weren’t exactly big on letting Anna and I do manual labour, and my Semblance makes repairing things more a matter of knowledge than physical effort.”

“That’s right,” Averia murmured. “As long as you know the theory, you can just use your ice to make the repairs. That’s quite handy, if a little unfair.”

“Says the woman who can fight a whole army and make it look easy,” Elsa shot back. “And don’t even get me started on what else your Semblance can do.”

“Fair enough.” Averia acknowledge the point with a nod. “But it just occurred to me that we still need to get dinner.”

“I had assumed that you would go forth and kill something for us to eat.” Elsa pretended to be exhausted. “Your poor wife is faint with hunger. You’ll have to find something suitable before she starves to death.”

“Elsa, you had breakfast this morning. You’ll be fine.” Averia loped back to the door and tugged her boots back on. “But you do have a point. I’ll be back in an hour or less.” Averia glanced over her shoulder. “What would you like for dinner?”

“I wouldn’t mind eating some rabbit.”

“That can be arranged.” Averia paused and then breathed a sigh of relief. “I was just thinking that if Anna or Claire were here, they would definitely say something about Velvet or Satin, and then I’d have to murder them.”

“Regicide is a crime, you know,” Elsa pointed out.

“Not if you help me do it.”


Averia returned less than an hour later with a pair of rabbits. “It’s a bit more than we need, but we’ll be out here for another few days,” she said. 

Elsa’s lips quivered with amusement. “You know, if our kids were here, they’d be horrified at their mother murdering some defenceless bunny rabbits.”

“Yes, and then they’d complain if we didn’t share.” 

Averia moved to the kitchen and got to work preparing the rabbits with the smooth, effortless efficiency that Elsa was used to. The queen moved beside her, reaching for one of the rabbits and helping to prepare it. She hadn’t learned how to do this from her parents, but Averia had, and she’d made sure that Elsa knew how to handle herself in the wild. It was all well and good for Elsa to be able to massacre anything that threatened her, but starving to death after killing a horde of Grimm because she didn’t know how to prepare food properly would have been a fairly humiliating way to die.

It reminded Elsa of how quickly Anna had taken to this sort of thing. She blamed Diana and Claire for how happy Anna was to be swinging a knife around. Then again, it wasn’t like they were killing things for no reason. Averia had learned from both her parents, but from Fang in particular, that hunting animals for food was not something to be treated lightly. The Yun had very strong views on what constituted proper conduct in situations like this, and both Averia and Diana adhered quite closely to those.

When they were finished seeing to both rabbits, they put one aside, using some of Elsa’s ice to ensure it stayed fresh, before making rabbit stew with the other rabbit and some of the other ingredients they’d brought or found on their way to the cabin. In a surprisingly short time, they were sitting around a small table enjoying their dinner.

“This is nice,” Elsa said. “Just the two of us without a kingdom to worry about.”

“I can see why Taren likes exploring so much,” Averia said. “This sort of freedom is… nice.” She caught a flicker of emotion in Elsa’s gaze. “Not that I mind the life we have, Elsa.” She used a spoonful of stew to give herself time to think and phrase her next words carefully. “Part of having a family is having responsibilities. The same goes for being the consort of a queen. But I don’t regret those responsibilities because if I didn’t have them, I wouldn’t have you or the kids.”

Elsa smiled warmly and patted Averia’s hand. “I’m glad you’re happy.” She looked out of the window. “I used to complain all the time when I was a child, and we went on holiday like this. Now that I’m an adult, I find myself appreciating it more.”

“I’m sure it’s the company,” Averia joked.

“Maybe it is.” Elsa’s gaze was warm again, but there was a great deal more than fondness in it this time.

“After dinner,” Averia murmured, smiling faintly. “You’ll need your strength.”

Dinner passed rather quickly after that, and it wasn’t long before Elsa found herself leading Averia to the part of the cabin that served as their bedroom. The bed was a simple thing, and Elsa climbed into it, tugging her clothes off as she went.

“I’m feeling rather cold,” she lied. They both knew that changes in temperature did nothing to her whatsoever. “Warm me up?”

Averia followed her onto the bed. “Gladly.”

X     X     X

“Huh…” Diana chuckled. “So that’s where Elsa’s secret cabin is.”

Raine stopped sipping on her energy drink and leaned over to look at the holographic display in front of her cousin. “What do you mean?”

“See that? One of the weather satellites picked up an anomaly: a rapid drop in temperature in a highly localised area followed by normalisation.”

“Ah.” Raine nodded sagely. “That’s definitely the place then. There’s really only one thing that can make Elsa lose control like that…”



Dating Bruce Wayne Would Include

(Btw I am using the Batman v Superman Bruce Wayne, y’all)

  • Not being entirely sure as to how it all even happened
    • On the off-chance that you’re one of Gotham’s minimal elite, you probably met Bruce at a charity gala and, for some reason beyond your comprehension, he picked you out of the other well-dressed women
    • In the higher likelihood that you don’t come from an affluent family, there’s a multitude of possibilities as to where you met: Maybe you were at a gala working as part of the catering company and he accidentally spilled red wine on you. Maybe you worked as an intern or temp or had a desk job somewhere in the Wayne Enterprise building in Gotham. Or maybe he just saw some assholes giving you a rough time and he stepped in and then offered to walk you home.

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anonymous asked:

WAIT!! HOLD THE FREAKIN PHONE! I'm not caught up and I don't care about spoilers, so - CAS TOLD DEAN HE LOVED HIM?!?!

i mean, this scene is like art

and art is meant to be interpreted differently by everyone, incite some emotions, you know

but uh

i think we’ve narrowed it down significantly from “he’s in love………………………………………………………………..


……………………………………..with humanity

Persona 1: Be your real/true self

Persona 2: Rumors can become real, and you can always change.

Persona 3: Do not fear death, it is just a way of life

Persona 4: You have to go through a maze of lies to find the truth

Persona 5: Now that you’ve awoken to these facts….get up…and GET OUT THERE.

Enough excuses for parents who abused their kids but “meant the best”. They “meant the best” for themselves, not for the kids. It’s fucking easy to just rely on emotional abuse, threats, humiliation, shame, guilt and violence to get your way and to force your kid to stay in control and to sabotage and fuck up the child’s life so you would feel good about it, and then to just remind yourself “i meant the best” to feel no guilt about doing so whatsoever. Just repeating to yourself “it doesn’t hurt them” and “they deserved it”  while actively forcing your child to keep all the obvious trauma symptoms out of sight or ensuring the child believes it’s their own damn fault for feeling the way they do.

You know what’s not easy? Having your parent force control of your life via emotional abuse, threats, shame, humiliation, violence. Your parent getting into your own head and  gaslighting your senses until you feel worthless and insane and like a monster, until you don’t dare to feel your own feelings, until you’re ashamed of the pain you feel and can’t see yourself as anything other than a horrible burden and nothing you do can ever change that or make you good enough. You know what’s even harder? Still believing that your parent “meant the best” and not even daring to blame them and still being forced to draw the conclusion that it was after all, all your fault, for existing as you do, for being who you are, for not ever being good enough! And then, on top of all of it, hearing the rest of the world agree with the parent’s view, pressuring you to never blame them, to forgive them, to never hold them responsible, to “be better” and understand them, to not ever try to place blame on anyone but yourself because then you’re the monster.

Just. How. Is. One. Supposed. To. Heal. From. That.
Healing can’t even begin until the blame is placed on the parent! This person literally benefited from their child’s suffering! They did not get affected negatively from it at all, they didn’t even care, they walked away satisfied and getting what they wanted while the child now has a lifetime of traumatic consequences and mental illness problems! Their freedom is taken away, their quality of life reduced, their relationships and friendships sabotaged, their confidence crushed! They’re placed at extra risk for addictions and obsessions because they keep falling into the black pit of trauma no matter how hard they try to distract and their life is heavy and painful no matter how well they do afterwards! Their brain can’t regulate stress properly anymore! Abuse causes literal brain damage and all this is just so the parents would get their way! And you all still insist they shouldn’t feel guilty about it or be faced with consequences of their abuse? They shouldn’t fucking admit to themselves and to their children what they’ve done? If the truth will kill them, let them die. Abused children’s right to heal comes way before the abusers feeling good about themselves.

anonymous asked:

prompt: andreil + emergency room visit

(this is a sequel to THIS ‘I think there’s someone in the house’ fic!)

The paramedics hammer on the door, and Neil looks up, teary-eyed, from where his face is pressed into Andrew’s damp hair. He’s feeling for his breath with the back of his hand, waiting moment to moment for Andrew to die in his arms, silently like he does everything else. Urgency keeps stunning Neil all over again, hysterical defibrillators. The EMT’s are calling out through the wall, muffled but calm.

It feels unthinkably wrong, their absolute evenness and ease outside his door when his life is an exposed neck and Andrew’s death is the whirring blade of a saw.

He realizes that he has to get up to let them in, and it seems as impossible as it would be for Andrew to spring up and answer the door himself. He feverishly wants them to crumple the door to splinters and be inside already. 

It’s a herculean effort to ease Andrew to the ground, like he’s gritting his teeth and cutting off his own leg. He touches Andrew’s clammy face briefly but he can’t bring himself to try and slap him awake. He props Andrew’s bare feet up on the rim of the bath so the blood will flood towards his head, at least.

He feels untethered to his body when he stands, a helium balloon with its usual weight passed out on the bathroom floor. He falls into the wall immediately, adrenaline neck and neck with exhaustion.

He finds his way to the front door without his mind’s help. His head is in the bathroom with Andrew, and he knows that no matter what happens it’ll be there for a long, long time.

The next time he blinks, a man in uniform is holding his biceps and peering down at him seriously.

“—sir? Sir, are you hurt at all?”

“No,” Neil says, lips numb. “Bathroom. He’s in the bathroom. He’s bleeding to death.”

He turns, easily slipping the paramedic’s grip. There’s a procession of them, hefting a gurney and a couple of kits, and they’ve brought all the cold from outside in on their heels. They’re such a foreign object in their warm, messy apartment — uniformed, official, and precise.

It’s deadly, walking in and seeing Andrew spread out in his boxers, blood oozing through his t-shirt from his loose stitches, pale enough to match the porcelain. Neil’s seen enough corpses to recognize what they look like. 

He falls heavily to his knees and puts his head directly to his chest, listening, tears slipping hotly over the bridge of his nose.

“Please,” he slurs. His heartbeat is a tentative thud, a knock from an unexpected guest. “Help him. Now, help him now.”

“We’re going to try our best Sir, but you’ve got to get out of the way,” someone says gently.

He topples backwards onto his hands. It’s a cramped space, and he knows it would be easier if he waited outside, but he also knows he’d rather die than leave them alone with him.

The first guy kneels down and takes Andrew’s pulse, and Neil shakes his head. They’re too slow, time is feeding directly into a wide open drain.

“He needs an IV. He’s two litres down, at least. You’ve got to—“ A petite woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs her off violently. “No! You have to listen to me.”

“We know what we’re doing,” she says. “Are you an MD?” She eyes him doubtfully, gaze flitting from his scars to where her colleagues are taking vitals and cutting through Andrew’s clothes.

“Yes,” Neil says wildly. “And he needs an IV. Possibly two. Large-bore, normal saline. He’s not getting any oxygen, and he’s been like this for as long as it took you to gather your meager response team.”

She purses her lips, but she’s a professional. He can see her repressing her anger and it infuriates him. He feels like he’s crashing, over and over again, and he’s watching someone daintily pump the breaks.

“He’s right,” one of the EMT’s says distractedly. “We’re gonna need to get some fluids started, he’s in hypovolemic shock, sats below 50.”

“You want to tell me what happened?” one of the men asks.

“No,” Neil says as evenly as he can manage, reaching out to graze Andrew’s cold fingers.

“Did you do these stitches?” the woman asks, pulling at Andrew’s skin to get a better look at them. He suddenly sees how they must look to them, sloppy and angry red. Neil bends her arm away without thinking about it.

“Don’t touch him,” he snaps. He could break her arm and it would make him feel better. He drops her, disoriented by his own violence.

“There’s no need to be antagonistic,” the first man says. “We don’t want to have to remove you.”

“You really don’t,” Neil agrees. “You won’t succeed.”

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