#Men who cry

[theexodvs]

"You need to acknowledge that women are sexual too!"

"So, can we chalk up some women's desire to see men emote, particularly through weeping, to dacryphilia?"

"No, not like that."

[catcze]

Sylus on his wedding day…. who can’t keep his eyes off of you as you walk down the aisle towards him, a vision of white so stunning that his breath is stolen right out of his lungs. The person that he had sworn his whole heart to over and over again, across countless lifetimes and against every tragic ending— his beloved, who he’s about to marry.

Sylus whose voice shakes just slightly when he says his wedding vows to you, struggling to keep his cool.

Sylus who, for the life of him, is fighting for his life to keep it together as he holds your hands in his, declaring his love to you— vowing himself to be yours for the rest of eternity. Whose voice cracks just slightly when he says I love you. Something in his chest is warm when he sees tears gather in your lashes— when he sees the love just as deep as his reflected in your eyes.

Sylus who kisses you before he’s even told to do so, heart racing so badly that he fears you might feel it trying to jump out of his chest— his hand trembles as he cups your cheek, drawing you in for a kiss that seals the rest of your lives together. Your lips are so soft against his, your body slotting against his like puzzle pieces finally reunited, and he almost falls to his knees when he feels you smiling into the kiss, when he feels your hands wrap around his neck and shoulders, pulling him down against you, just as eager to spend the rest of your life with him. 

Sylus who kisses you once, twice more— again and again, until you’re laughing into his lips and your hands tangle in his hair, not another thought in his mind aside from the fact that from this day onwards, he’s your husband. 

And oh, if you feel just the softest drops of rain that fall onto your cheeks, you say nothing about it. Instead, you smile, wipe the tears that gather in his lash line away with the pad of your thumb, and draw your husband into another kiss, sealing the two of you together for the rest of eternity.

[borealing]

HE SHOULD BE TUMBLRS SWEETHEART

[zzz-sunflowr]

"blah blah men can be oppressed bc they aren't allowed to cry and express emotion"

they aren't allowed to do that bc that's perceived as feminine.

the feminine is being demonized.

it still comes back to oppression of the FEMININE.

[manichewitz]

imagine you’ve been through unspeakable trauma in one of the most horrific atrocities humanity has ever faced and you’ve convinced yourself that you’re nothing more than the worst parts of yourself and that you’ll always be alone and then some beautiful british guy drops out of the fucking sky and tells you you’re not alone and helps you remember a time before you lost all your innocence and your whole life was torn apart and suddenly the pure acceptance and love you’ve finally been shown makes you realise you’re more than your anger and your trauma and your shame, and from that realisation you unlock a strength so powerful you can turn satellites on their axis and raise submarines out of the ocean with your bare fucking hands. well that’s what happened to magneto

[lavenderprose]

I don't think my Rook is a virgin or even particularly inexperienced; they're like thirty and the Mourn Watch seems to know how to fuckin party if the Hezenkoss plotline is any indication. However there's something that resonates with me about Emmrich being their first for OTHER things like:

- First time being brought breakfast in bed (Rook cries. Emmrich panics. Darling, it's JUST oatmeal!)

- First time actually taking a midnight stroll while holding hands? Rook thought that was just. Romance serial behavior. People don't actually DO that. Then they're in Treviso very late one night and making their way back to the Diamond and Emmrich pulls them close while walking along the canal, wraps their hand in his (Big. Warm. Long fingers) and kisses the back of their palm and just? Doesn't let go? For the rest of their walk?

- First time being apologized to in an argument? Rook is very used to people who are opinionated and knowledgeable--the Mourn Watch is basically a university meets a corporation meets a seminary (In the WORST kind of way, at times) so you're constantly meeting people who are singularly convinced of their own expertise. Rook, themself, can be pretty opinionated. The first time Rook disagrees with Emmrich on something and it gets a little heated, they figure they'll go cool off for a little bit and then go tell Emmrich how Special He Is just to put the argument past them, because that's what worked in the past, with other situationships. To their surprise, Emmrich finds them fifteen minutes later and sits down on the floor with them, huge old text book on his crisscrossed legs, and says, "Darling, I can't apologize enough. I looked it up and actually, you were correct--" Rook takes the textbook out of his lap and replaces it with themself.

- Most importantly, Emmrich is the first partner to make Rook feel like they can truly just...unmask. Be themself, and that not only will Emmrich tolerate that but ENJOY that. Emmrich enchants an orb to play the echoes and creaks of the Necropolis at night so that Rook can sleep better in the silent Fade; he spends an hour gently rubbing Rook's head after they snap at him one night because he realizes they're having a migraine. He's also, like, y'know, very very good in bed and seems to be genuinely horny for a lot of this stuff. Like, caring for Rook seems to genuinely DO IT for him y'know?

Rook tells him, "I've never had anyone love me the way you do," and Emmrich just tilts his head and smiles at them in that sweet, beautiful way of his.

"Darling," he says, "As the man who loves you, I can with confidence say that the others were doing it wrong. This is how you deserve to be loved, and shall be, so long as I breathe air--and perhaps long afterward as well."

Rook starts crying. Again.

[perplexingly]

I barely remember any of the Vulgate cycle so I checked some chapters about Galehaut and by god I forgot that it was written Like That

Galehaut, trying to convince Lancelot (in disguise) to stay with him Forever, soon after meeting him:

Lancelot promised he'd stay only if Galehaut (who at the time was battling Arthur, and was very much victorious) withdrew his army, to which Galehaut's entire attitude was like: "this pains me not at all, since it is your wish". Lancelot's reaction to this:

Galehaut planning to keep Lancelot aaaall to himself:

Galehaut answering to the question what would he do to keep Lancelot's company forever:

Galehaut's grieving out of love for Lancelot:

Lancelot and Galehaut so worried about each other they're afraid to do anything not to hurt the other (and in the second screenshot both of them almost die because they're so worried)

Lancelot and Galehaut's Romeo and Juliet-like ending:

[doctor-vertigo]

Based off of this tumblr post

[ishkabibblethings]

[thetorturedlovergirl]

I love The Master because they’re pathetic af. THEY HAVE TO BE PATHETIC IN ORDER TO BE THE AMAZING CHARACTER THEY ARE !!

the yearning for The Doctor? pls get a room to cry it’s embarrassing. the plans that never work? just retire it’s pathetic to see you fail. They’re a girlfailure at it’s peak and love that for them. I love The Master.

[geniemillies]

it's that time again when i get possessed and draw tamlin during ungodly hours. so i shall present thee.. shirtless tamlin 🤲

my lil process too!

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.

[sentientsky]

hey so i'm rewatching the nimona movie and uh. i forgot how much this film fuckign HURTS

like what the hell,,, am i cRYING ????

[strewwwberry]

I need a binggeyuan fic where it's post bingge vs bingmei, and it's the classic bingge goes searching for a sqq of his own finds sy yada yada

BUT

First of all, Time in this world isn't lagged behind or something

And second of all, The ONLY and BIGGEST difference between the sqq sy and china sy is that china sy IS STILL ALIVE

and we know that shen yuan died early 20's I like to headcanon he's around 21-22 when he died, it was like 3 years before immortal alliance conference and I think bingmei spent 3 years in the abyss so sy would be 27-28 and then plant coma happens for 5 years so svsss sy is still in like 27-28 mentally but technically is around 32-33

Soooo

STILL ALIVE SY WOULD BE 33 ISH

NOT OLD AND LIKE PEOPLE CAN OBSESS FOR YEARS BUT IT WOULD BE SO FUNNY IF SY THINKS OF PIDW AS A PHASE

LIKE THAT WOULD BE AMAZING (and honestly pretty in character like obsessing over something until it's squeezed dry and then moving on, sounds pretty sy to me, at least in my headcanons lmao)

oh yeah and the bingge shows up like

"I want you, love me"

And sy, with eyebags, scruffy but in like a "messy bun" way (not bad scruffy like serving cunt scruffy), maybe he has a job coz his parents threatened to cut him off if he continues to just leech off them past 25,

Is just sat there, on his laptop probably reading another webnivel like

"Wtf, why did some xianxia demon style guy show up in my room, you remind me of that guy from a novel phase I had 🤔ᴴᴹᴹᴹ"

Better again if he's like half way there to realizing he's gay, maybe he goes around and if someone asks he's like "pretty sure I'm bisexual? Is that what it's called? Yeah? Yeah okay"

You know, 13 years of obsessing over sexy men on the internet and having a younger sister who's in the know, and the addition of 2 older brothers who his meimei definitely coerced into nagging at sy, will probably get at least a little cog going ykyk

So yeah I need it.

I'mma just a spiral into my corner about this

I can't write so I'm just drawing my shitty little drawings of my little scrubklys

[dollypopup]

"Penelope should have chosen Debling!"

My sister in Christ. . .he literally dumped her???

Like just before Colin Bridgerton was on his knees after outrunning her carriage to profess how he can't stop thinking about her in his love me, choose me, I'm yours speech, Debling did the Regency equivalent of calling her a floozy who would undoubtedly cheat on him when he abandoned her for several years to chase his passions (because she would never be one of said passions since she asked outright if he could ever come to care for her and he went 'hmmmm seems unlikely! good thing you have solitary hobbies to occupy you instead!') when he has been given 0 evidence of such other than realizing she liked to look out the window because she had a crush on the boy across the street. I was ready to challenge that man to a duel for Pen's honor

His feelings for her were middling at best, I mean Christ on a Pogostick, after he asked her mum for permission to propose he isn't even happy when he opens the door and Pen is there? She's looking like a snack- nay, a whole ass MEAL, and he can't even smile? He just nods at her and dips the fuck out? You don't think it would kill Penelope to know that both her sisters have husbands who absolutely adore them and she's out here with an absent dude who likely won't even write to her?

Portia's 'Love is make believe!' speech is so transparently full of shit when you realize that we've got Dankworth who is so obsessed with Prudence that he makes heart eyes at her every waking moment and considers her his little bonbon and Albion who loves Phillipa so much that he was waiting for her to consent to sex (not realizing she didn't know what it was) for two entire years because he would never pressure her and so he was content with finishing in his pants when he kissed her to make sure she was comfortable. And you want Penelope to settle for a life of loneliness? When Colin is so besotted with her that he dreams of her and breaks every societal expectation in the book as a notorious People Pleaser to run after her and cannot even wait for the morning after being intimate with her to introduce her as his wife to his family in the middle of the night? You want her to turn down Mr "When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible" Bridgerton? For LORD PENGUIN?

Be so serious right now