#and then nobody ever acknowledges it again like they didn't do that

[househrt]

Do you have any headcanons about how different people would react to seeing House at his lowest? Like seeing him cry (as if he’d let anyone see that…) or something?

honestly this is why I LOVE whump, it forces characters who are normally allergic to vulnerability to be vulnerable via external means. it's so delicious

I think it's also different depending on if House is crying for physical reasons or emotional reasons. He'd be more okay with people seeing him be a wreck if he's bleeding out than if he's freaking out over something not physical (nightmares about his dad, etc). That way, he can blame the physical ailment or whatever, and he doesn't have to admit that he isn't okay

I want to see Wilson and House hanging out when House suddenly starts freaking out, trying to hide it, trying to get Wilson to leave his apartment immediately (but Wilson is obviously suspicious). House is desperate and basically pleading because he doesn't want Wilson to see this and he can feel the panic overtaking him until he's screaming at Wilson to get out, and then the next second he's crying

I'm just imagining Wilson looking over, seeing him and going, "Are you crying?" and House responding with, "No. Shut up, fuck off." But Wilson knows how to speak House-ian so he knows he isn't allowed to talk about it or acknowledge it any more than that, but he can give House the specific kinds of comfort that he needs. And then they can never ever mention it again, obviously

I think the really concerning thing for Wilson would be House genuinely talking about his emotions. Not hiding behind sarcastic comments or insults. Just saying, "I'm tired, Wilson." And being so deflated, lifeless. If any of the ducklings saw him like that, I imagine they'd flock to Wilson to ask him to fix whatever's wrong with House (assuming he isn't faking to fuck with them). (I really really really want Kutner to see House in this state)

Anyway, to what you actually asked lol (about the few characters currently rattling around in my head):

I think early-seasons Chase would hyperventilate himself into a panic attack if he saw House crying. Mid-seasons Chase would quietly leave the room and hope House didn't notice him. (and I don't remember late-seasons Chase enough to decide what he'd do)

Cameron would try to earnestly comfort him and absolutely make things worse lol (but hey, now House is annoyed enough that he's stopped crying)

Masters would bombard him with a million questions in her quest to try and figure out what she's meant to do in this situation and generally just make House even more overstimulated. Maybe she'd go get Wilson eventually, and then keep launching questions at both of them the next day and keep talking about it with other people (who unanimously tell her to stop bringing it up if she wants to keep her job tbh)

Thirteen would treat him like he treated her that time she cried and he pretended he didn't notice (but sometime in the next few days, she'll ask, "You good?" while nobody else is around and House will say something snarky and sarcastic, but she'll raise an eyebrow and then he'll give a tiny genuine nod, and she'll leave it alone after that)

[asexualannoyance]

i finished rewatching kinnporsche today and, like, it's so fucked that - even though he is head bodyguard (be it of tankhun or in general doesn't really matter) and being send on an extremely dangerous mission - it takes tankhun saying something for kinn and porsche to be more than a little suspicious of the whole vacation story, and even then they are sceptical of the validity of tankhun's claim that something might've happened to pete

like, pete has been a bodyguard for quite some time and still not even kinn thinks it's suspicious that pete doesn't report back after the mission - even though kinn acknowledged the dangers of sending pete on that mission

and i know part of that is porsche's doing - honeymoon phase, hoorayyyy - but just, they do so much stuff in these episodes where pete is captured and not once is anybody going "ey, what's up with pete?" - not even the other bodyguards

[side-b-bumblebi]

Men who view women as their intellectual equals 😍

[ghouljams]

Ok nobody extrapolate anything about me from this...

The first time you cry in front of the 141:

The first time you cry in front of Ghost it's because you can't fucking take it anymore. All the little things, all the comments you know he didn't mean to hurt, all the conversations you ignored because you didn't want to make him feel like the bad guy, it all comes to a head. You don't even mean it to happen, and you feel like shooting yourself on the spot as soon as the tears start flowing. It feels manipulative. It feels disingenuous. You feel like a piece of shit having him awkwardly bundle you in his arms as you break down sobbing over a topic that normally would mean nothing to you. And it all comes out. All the worries and slights you ignored, all the fears and doubts, all the things that made you question if you could ever even start to bring up with him. Like throwing up, once it starts you can't stop it.

He looks like you've hit him when you finally escape his bear hug. You barely get the chance to take it in before you're thrust back into sobbing hysterics, blubbering out apologies, how you feel like you're manipulating him, how you're a bad partner, how you're sure he's going to realize he doesn't want you and leave. You barely hear the rough "Jesus Christ" over your own hiccuping.

Ghost shuffles the two of you over to grab you a t-shirt to blow your nose in while you're sniffling and wiping at your eyes. You feel pathetic having him hold the fabric to your face and telling you to blow.

"Didn't know ya made this much snot love," he jokes.

"You're dot funny," you whine, nose still clogged with wattery mucus as your tears finally start calming down.

"I know," he grumps.

"You're mad at me," you sniffle.

"I'm not," he sounds mad, "mad at myself. Shoulda seen ya keepin' things to yourself, I'm glad ya finally told me." His scarred mouth screws to one side. "Just gotta work on makin' sure we don't get to this point again."

-

The first time you cry in front of Soap it's because you're so fucking mad at him. He's arguing with you over nothing, the same way he always does when he's in a bad mood. Finding little things that dig at you and twisting just enough to make it not his fault when you snap. Back and forth with your barbs until you got to bed angry.

You can feel the tears burning at your waterline before they spill and you know your hot cheeks don't bode any better. You're not yelling but you almost wish you were, at least of you were yelling at each other it might make you feel better about the sudden waterworks. You hate when this happens. Too big an emotion in the body, it has to come out somewhere, you suppose this is just the quickest avenue. The way Soap's face drops from anger to concern pisses you off though.

"Hen, are ya-"

"I'm so fucking mad right now," you assure him, "don't look at me, don't even acknowledge them."

"Ah dinnae ken," His voice is getting softer, it only makes you more upset, "Oh my bonnie, ahm sorry ah didnae think this would hurt ya so bad."

"Fuck off," you try to push past him to lock yourself in the bathroom and he catches your arm to pull you against him. "Fuck off!" You shriek, pushing at him.

"No," he holds you a little tighter, "my mam would 'ave my heid hearin' ah let ya walk away from me like this, yer stayin' 'ere."

"I will fucking skin you Mactavish," you struggle harder.

"Aye anno, now shut up an' quit yer kickin'."

You do neither of those things.

-

The first time Gaz sees you cry it's because no one's ever seen you before. Even in your best relationships, your closest friendships, no one sees you like Gaz. No one picks you up from work with flowers and takes you by your favorite bakery just so you can have a slice of cake when you watch your comfort show. You're not even through the title music, Gaz sorting through your takeout options after he'd gotten you a "fancy plate" and a small fork to eat with, when you break down in sobs. He's on you immediately, hushing you as he gathers you into his arms. He's so attentive it hurts.

"It's OK baby," he hums, "don't have to talk about it, you just let it out."

God even that gets you crying. You don't have to get your words right or find a way to explain what you're feeling, you can just feel it. You try to think of a way to put it into words but it all lines up wrong, sounds too juvenile, doesn't make any sense even to you. There's no need to say anything though, Gaz just sits there with you, holds you through it as you wet his shoulder with your tears.

You don't even know why you're crying by the end of it, you just kept coming up with other reasons to cry. Jesus you don't think you ever got over your last grandparent dying, or losing that one friend, that's something to unpack later. You feel drained. Literally dehydrated drained. Gaz's shirt is soaked, but he doesn't day anything when you pull back.

He cups your cheek at wipes at the wet stains on your cheek with his thumb, eyes searching yours before he gives you a tight smile.

"Why don't you go take a hot shower, yeah?" He offers, you give him a watery nod, he smiles and pats your knee. "Alright, off you go. I'll be in, in a second."

The second time you cry in front of Gaz it's before he's got you pinned to the shower wall.

-

The first time Price sees you cry it's because you're tired. You're tired of giving everything to this relationship and seeing him leave right when things seem to be falling into place. His phone buzzes in the middle of the night and you don't stop the downpour when he grumbles out a swear and turns on the light. You glare at the ceiling and let the tears flow. It hurts. Tight in your chest. This feeling like you'll never be enough, like he'll always have something more important than you, it kills you. So why can't you leave him?

Are the good times really good enough to make up for the bad?

It makes him stop what he was doing when he sees the resolute grimace and the flow of tears over your cheeks. You shudder in a breath when he sits on the side of the bed. You refuse to look at him.

How could he do this to you?

"Sweetheart," he starts, his voice low, gentling, "I'm sorry."

"You're not." You correct him, "Otherwise you wouldn't keep doing it."

"You want me to choose between you and the world, you know what I'll say." He always sounds so sharp, ready to guilt you into giving up what he wants.

"I'm asking you to choose between me and paperwork," you bite back.

"You don't know-"

"You get phone calls when you're being deployed." You remind him, "You get reminders when papers are due." You turn to glare at him. The look on his face twists like a knife in your chest. You're dead on the money, and it's killing him. "So can this really not wait until the morning, are you really that eager to be rid of me?"

"I'm sorry," he tries again, toeing off his shoes, "you're right, I hadn't noticed." You turn over as he climbs under the duvet again. You fold your legs up as his arm drapes over you hip and he curls around you. His lips touch your shoulder, a silent plea for forgiveness. "Let me make it up to you, no more running into red tape I promise."

You don't bother agreeing to empty promises, but the next day he's had the paperwork sent from the base. The same the next day. Price always told you working from home didn't suit him. Waking you up with a cuppa on the other hand and walking you to the station does though.

He makes good on his promise, he doesn't run off until the next call comes in.

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

I think it would be so hard for Toji to deny you of anything when you're upset to the point of crying. You always act so passive about things that bother you, for him, because he rarely falls apart on you, so who are you to dump your emotions on him like that?

You come home from a really bad day at work that never allowed your headache to cease. Everybody was turning things in late, nobody was working to beat their deadlines—extended deadlines— and you were the one who took the hits for it all, as the leader of your group. You were one more mentioned member of your team away from snapping at your boss. Thankfully, you were allowed to go home after that talk.

Toji got home before you, so he had some time to wind down from his own stressful day, but the minute you walked in, he knew there was something wrong. You barely acknowledged him, a small smile being all you offered him, before you dragged yourself to your shared bedroom. No 'hi, baby' followed by you literally tossing yourself onto him, or even a 'wow, you're home before me?'

That didn't slide with him like you may have thought it would.

He got up after waiting two minutes for you to come back out. You never did, so he went after you, immediately spotting you face down on the bed. Your body was trembling, your shoulders jumping with your sobs. It was a strange sight, but it didn't make him feel any less concerned for you. He strode over to your side, resting a palm on your back. Your body was rigid with tension, your shoulders unable to drop because of it. He's sure you'll complain about the pain once you've calmed down a little more.

It was hard to get you to talk, but eventually you spilled every detail of what made you feel this way. Toji couldn't relate to your patience. If he were disciplined for other people's actions despite doing his job of trying to catch them up and reminding them to do things, he would be livid. You aren't like that, though. Things happen at work. Things that lure out frustration, anger, and overall feelings of wanting to implode and instead of leaving it there at work, where it belongs, you bring it home. You've clearly reached your breaking point.

"Want me to kill them?" He asks, feeling you shake your head against his chest in response. "Might just do it behind your back if you come home like this again, ma. Dead serious," he says, noting that you still haven't fully relaxed in his hold. "No reason you should ever be this stressed over people not doing their jobs. Fucking idiots, acting like children because they know it all weighs down on you."

You wanted to cry again at the way he tightened his hold on you while he defended you. You sucked it up and moved off of his chest, and when he looked down to see what you were doing, you kissed him. Your hand went beneath his shirt and felt up his warm, sculpted abdomen.

Clothes were removed and you now sat on his lap, his cock deep inside you. He knew you needed this despite how you were so distraught when he came into the room. He couldn't turn you down when you asked if he could be as close to you as he could. He knew you needed to release some steam, but he didn't expect it to be so calm. You laid your head on his shoulder, your arms draped around his neck while he held you close, his hands resting on your back.

Toji cooed at you, when you started sniffling, again. Slowly but surely, you were releasing all those bottled up emotions, your tears landing on the bare skin of his shoulder.

"Shh... it's alright. You don't have to think about anything, right now." He presses a kiss to your shoulder and then one to the side of your neck, before moving his hips a little, luring some quiet sighs from you. "Yeah, let me take care of you, mama. Just gotta breathe for me. That's all you gotta do, 'kay?"

You nod against his shoulder and allow him to bring both of you, soft, intimate, and unhurried pleasure. Your moans were light and airy, your whimpers soft and muffled by his skin.

Toji's orgasm rolled in before yours. His generous amount of release coated your walls, heavy and ragged breaths grazing your skin. In his head, he blames it on being able to become a safe space for you and his ability to provide protection. Your emotions were unconfined and you confided in him to soothe you. The mixture of physical intimacy and his comforting words was enough to calm you down. Your shoulders weren't tense anymore, and you were able to melt into his embrace.

Your orgasm had your body quivering against his. The sound of your rapid breathing was all you could release into his neck, your nails dragging across his shoulders through the intensity. He smiled softly, satisfied when you let out the smallest squeak.

"That's it, baby. Good girl. Just relax." He strokes your back, stilling his hips once the zenith of your pleasure passes.

Once the adrenaline dies down a little, you go back to rest your head on his shoulder, retightening your arms around him. Toji keeps stroking your back, his other hand resting on the back of your head.

"You're not going to work tomorrow. You have... let's see... food poisoning and you can't move without feeling like you're gonna blow chunks." He can feel your laughter against him, your shoulders jumping as a positive gesture compared to how he found you, luring a smile onto his face. "I'm not taking no for an answer either. We're both out tomorrow, 'cause I can't leave you here to die. Alright?"

"Okay," you mumble.

[bet-on-me-13]

Wes ruins everything

Wes had finally done it, he had finally realized why nobody ever belived him about Fenton and Phantom! It made so much sense now, he had been looking for an answer for years, thinking he was going crazy because everybody refused to see the Obvious!

He was Cursed!

He literally had an Ancestoral Curse on his Bloodline that made it so that all those born with the gift of Prophecy would be ignored! A Gift of Prophecy that he apparently had.

It was Cassandra's Curse, the one from Greek Myths. Apparently she was his Great×1000 Grandmother and passed down the Gift (and Curse) of Prophecy to him. And he knew how to break it!

All he needed to do was gather the right resources, chant the correct incantations, make sure not to accidentally summon a Demon in the process, and he could just foist the Curse onto some other poor schmuck. Sure it would suck for them, and he would loose his Gift of Prophecy, but Wes had been ignored for Years at this point, he needed validation!

So he did the Ritual, and he didn't mess it up, and he managed to get rid of the Curse.

Now all he had to do was convince everybody that he was right for the first time in his life! This was going to be great!

...

Cass didn't know what was going on.

A while ago, she had started getting these...gut feelings that she couldn't explain.

She would look over the details of a Case her Family was working on, and see a patern that the others were seemingly ignoring. Like when she realized that The Penguin was about to raid the Docks on the East Side, but the others were convinced it was going to be on the West.

But when she had tried to tell them, they had brushed her off. "We've already concluded that he will begin the Raid on the West side, no need to go to the East."

She had gone anyways, and low and behold she had been right. But nobody even acknowledged that she had been right at all, they had just wondered how they had missed the signs, not even questioning how she had known.

It wasn't limited to Cases either. Even small things, like telling her brother's where the TV remote was were brushed off, and hours later they would still be looking, never even having checked where she told them.

It seemed that no matter what, nobody cared about her point of view anymore. They kept brushing her off, telling her she was wrong, actively ignoring her ideas.

And it was getting worse. They were starting to ignore her more and more, forgetting she was in the room, not calling her down for Dinner, even forgetting to check in on her during Patrol.

She knew that there must be something going on, Magical or otherwise, but when she tried bringing it up with her Dad or JLD, they would also Brush her off.

Her Family was forgetting her. And they didn't even realize it.

...

Danny was not okay at the moment.

When he had gone to school a few weeks ago and noticed everybody staring at him, he didn't give it much thought. Maybe Dash or Paulina had spread another Rumor about him again, not too out of the ordinary.

When his name had been called over the Intercom, he hadn't thought much of that either. His grades were falling even more than usual, so he assumed his Guidance Counselor wanted to have another talk with him.

When he walked into the Principals Office to see both of his Parents and some GIW Agents, that's when he realized something big must have happened.

He didn't have much of a chance to react when the Shields went up, but he did react when the first Ecto-Blast scorched the wall behind him. His Parents began to scream at him as they fired their Blasters, something about replacing somebody? He didn't know, he was pretty preoccupied at the moment.

It took more effort than he cared to admit to escape the Room, but a stray shot to the hidden Shield Projector under the Principals Desk proved to be his saving grace. Unfortunately the moment he escaped the Office, he was met with a veritable Army of GIW Agents, all armed to the Teeth with Weapons he had never even seen before.

He managed to get away for a moment, hiding in the Bathroom as the Agents chasing him passed it by. That's when he met Wes.

He obviously hadn't been expecting him, but the moment he saw him Wes put on a smug look. "Oh hi Fenton, trying to get away from the other students?"

Danny had replied with confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I finally managed to convince everybody about you, now everyone knows that you're Phantom! I'll bet you're hiding from all of the other Students hounding you for questions right?"

"...it was you?"

"Yeah, so? I finally get to be right!"

"...You absolute MORON-"

That was the last Danny got to say to Wes before an Ecto-Blast launched him through a Wall, seeing his face morph into a look of Shock just before the dust cloud covered it up.

Since that day, Danny had been on the Run. Nowhere was safe anymore now that the GIW knew both his Human and Ghost's faces, but he had to keep running. He crossed state Lines already, and was on his way to the next Ecto-Rich City he could sense, somewhere in New Jersey.

He cursed his Fenton Luck every day. Why had everybody believed Wes this time?! Nobody had ever belived him before, nobody even seemed to acknowledge his existence after a while! What had changed?

Danny just wanted to rest already.

...

Cass had taken to Patrolling alone recently. She had taken to doing a lot of things alone, actually.

After the first month, it seemed that nobody could remember that she was in the room with them, even if she was within their eyeline, she just faded into the background. By the 2 Month Mark they had stopped talking to her entirely, although occasionally she would get a Text or two from her dad. By the 3 month Mark she was completely invisible, and By the 5th she had been forced to get used to it.

She didn't know what was going on, was it a Meta Ability? Magic? Alien Tech? She had no idea.

She had begun to cook for herself after the first time Alfred forgot to set her Plate at the Table. The same with Washing her own Clothes, Cleaning her Room, and Paying her Phone Bills. At the very least the Automated Allowance Payments to her Account had kept up, or she wouldn't have been able to go to her favorite Cafe anymore.

It was bittersweet for her. She used to go to that Cafe every week with Alfred, but he didn't even come on his own anymore. Had he only come for her? Did she really mean that much to them? It hurt, she finally had a family that cared for her and suddenly she didn't exist to them.

She sat alone at a Table, ignored by everyone in the Cafe as usual, when a new face walked in. He looked about her age, a little roughed up, walking with a sort of cautious gaint, as if he was scared of something. His Body Language seemed to agree with her assessment, as his body practically screamed "Worry" in its movements.

Cass stopped watching at that point. Just another Gotham Teen, probably worried over something like getting not having enough money or getting mugged on the way home. It was a Common sight in Gotham.

She attention was pricked again for a moment when she heard a voice speak up. "Uh, can I sit here?"

She ignored it, he wasn't talking to her.

"Um, excuse me? Miss? Could I sit here?" He repeated.

She ignored him again, he wasn't talking to her. Nobody talked to her.

"Hello? Do you have Earbuds in?" He said, and he waved his hand in front of her face.

Her face. He waved his hand. In front of Her Face.

He was talking to her.

She looked up at him sharply, seeming to startle him for a moment before he asked, "So, is that a no?"

"You can see me?" She asked.

He looked a bit bewildered, but replied "Uh, yeah? Why would I not? Are you...a Ghost?". That last part sounded a bit suspicious.

"No. Not a Ghost. But nobody sees me. Ever. Nobody remembers me." She replied. She had never spoken this much to anybody outside of her Family, but in the past few weeks she had been starved for interaction.

He seemed slightly interested, and sat down at her table. He looked her in the eyes, and said "Do you...talk about it?"

She smiled. He could see her.

[periprose]

Hi! :)

I’m craving some Logan Howlett angsty fluff and I really like your writing style… Do you think you could maybe do a fic where either Logan and reader are in the heat of the moment and his claws come out and he scratches her. Or where Logan has a nightmare and the same thing happens. Either way the reader ends up comforting him.

Thank you! 🩷 :)

Hi!! So sorry for getting to this so late 🥹 loved the idea btw :) ended up doing a bit of a mix of both? If that makes sense.

/

"Out with it."

Your voice rings out clearly among the X-Men, the throng of battle no longer around you all. It was a more exhausting battle than you would've thought, but nothing irks you more than knowing that Logan has been apparently thinking of you as someone to play babysitter to. He hadn't trusted you to make your final blow to the enemy, and instead scooped you away to safety before lashing out with his own claws.

Logan clearly has something to say to you, and you want to hear it. You're not going to let him escape again- the way he always does, nonchalantly, refusing to acknowledge how he treats you.

Charles stiffens next to you in the helicarrier. Watching the tension, feeling the palpable heart-wrenching sensation between you and Logan. He doesn't know how you got to this point.

"Listen. Just because you didn't have it doesn't mean you're not a good X-Man-" Logan starts dismissively.

"But I did! I did have it!" You shout back at him, and then inhale carefully. "Nobody told you to rescue me, Logan. If I was about to die, then I was. I wanted that to be on my own terms."

"Don't talk like you're a fucking martyr when you've never had the privilege, kid." Logan's unnecessarily harsh tone has you flinching. "Do you know how many people I've seen die, for no good reason? Do you really want a bunch of Pentagon psychos to be your last memory?"

"Shut up." You shift in your seat, feeling small. "We don't get to choose when we die. Not like you."

Logan becomes visibly angered with that, the little taunt you've made towards his immortality. "That doesn't mean you have to go seek it out, dumbass."

"Oh really? Don't tell me you're getting soft, Logan." You glare at him, and Charles and Jean and Scott look at each other uncertainly. "Just because your life is so long doesn't mean the rest of us have forgotten what it means to be alive."

There's an unspoken, sudden charge in the air, now that you've mentioned what everyone else has the good sense to shut up about- Logan having lived so long and not caring about the consequences of his actions. Logan's eyes narrow until you feel sure that you've pushed him too far this time- he looks more animal than human, more Wolverine than ever- and you feel yourself inching forward, letting the anger of not being understood push you to fighting him- and Charles suddenly raises his hand in protest.

"Please, you two. I'm not sure what has transpired today, but I know you are better than choosing to have a physical altercation on a helicarrier flight." His calm, soothing tone makes you feel a little disappointed in yourself, and you settle back in your seat, refusing to meet his or Jean's glances of concern.

/

All you really wanted was an apology. A "Sorry, I won't do that again." Or even an explanation for why Logan keeps tabs on you all the time, never letting you be a real part of the X-Men, always safely on the sidelines. Were you just too weak?

Should you even be here?

You feel guilty for what you said to him. It's not a bad thing, you know, that Logan doesn't want you to get hurt- it's just that you want to do your job. You're not a kid.

It almost, almost justifies how you treated him, but even you know that was too far. You can't act as if you know Logan's life story- not even Charles or Jean would claim to do that, and they've searched his mind for memories several times.

Like it or not, the man was mysterious. He kept to himself on a lot of things, citing past hurt as his reason why- and you should've respected that.

"Maybe I am weak." You mutter to yourself, wondering why you can't restrain your emotions around Logan.

You're practicing shooting small, psionic blasts towards the target in your room- it's a great way to pass the time when you can't sleep- when you hear a groan, a shudder, an angry, deep growl-

It sounds like Logan. His room is right above yours, and the sounds are definitely coming from there- you hear him yell, and before you can stop yourself, you're bounding up the stairs to the third floor of the X-Mansion, bursting through his room's door with a ready hand, in case you need to fight.

/

Logan watches as you berate him in his dream.

Actually, it's not quite you- it's some venomous, evil, witch wearing your face. You giggle at him- you call him old- you don't take him seriously.

With every taunt, you fire another bright purple blast at him- and for once, his body doesn't heal instantaneously. He is getting old, getting hurt, watching as blood pools out of him. It's agonizingly painful.

He's going to die this time, without making it right with you- he's afraid that you're right about him, that he's a washed up sad old man who can't ever let people in.

"We don't need you anymore, Logan..." The not-you whispers softly, smiling a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and Logan can't help but believe it.

His self preservation instincts kick in, and he launches forward, snarling, claws out with a sharp snikt sound. He feels that even though he'll regret your death, he'll miss you immensely, it's just one more tally mark to several others.

/

"Logan. Logan!"

You're leaning over Logan's sweaty, clammy body in his bed. You watch as his hands fist in the sheets, and he tosses and turns in agony- you breathe in hesitation, in fear that he's not going to be okay- he grunts suddenly, and you're reminded of how Rogue tells you about his nightmares. They're frequent.

How out of touch could you have been today?

You gently-yet-firmly grab Logan's arm, shaking, and his arms move forward in a self-defense mechanism that seems practiced, as if he's been attacked in his sleep before, and before you can move away, there's a sharp snikt sound, a quick wave of claws, and a searing pain in your side.

It all happens before you can even blink. You fall off to the side, on the floor, writhing in pain. Logan's claws just nicked your side, it's essentially a scratch- but the pain is so much worse than you're expecting, and you fall to the floor again as you try to get up.

You breathe in harshly, holding back a sob, as you feel wet blood pooling through the side of your night dress.

"Jesus Christ." Logan pounces off the bed, waking to blood all over his claws, and he's leaning over your body, as you blink up at him hesitantly. He immediately panics, lifting you up and resting you on his squatted thighs. "Kid! Hey, kid, don't close your eyes-"

"..." You're just barely hanging on, but you listen.

And Logan feels that same sense of shame he felt when he attacked Rogue, when Jean "died", every single time he had accidentally unsheathed his claws towards someone who didn't deserve it.

Doubly so, considering it's like his terrible nightmare has come to life. But you absolutely didn't do anything wrong- he can't believe he was so angry with you.

He calls for help, in a slightly broken tone, and no one seems to be coming.

"Just a scratch." You try, but Logan shakes his head.

"No, no, no." Logan spits out. "How could I- I never meant to-"

"I'm sorry, Logan." You cough, and Logan feels awful that you're apologizing while bleeding out due to his actions. "I shouldn't have said what I said. You're not some unreliable old man who doesn't care..."

You flinch at a sudden, sharp pain, and Logan motions for you to stop talking, but you keep going.

"If anything, you're the opposite. You're there for me. And I'm sorry that I got so... so angry at you for that." You mutter to yourself, not aware of how Logan hangs onto your words. "You're protecting me from making mistakes, and I'm grateful."

"No, kid. You had a point before." Logan interjects, but you shake your head.

"Did I? Or was I being a brat?" You grimace at yourself.

"You did have a point. I was being selfish," Logan shakes his head and then swallows that urge to push you away. "I don't always know how to leave people well enough alone. Sometimes I'm too much."

He hesitates, and then continues on. "Like, I treat you as if you're a nuisance, right? But I always... I always want you next to me. And I know I should just sort my shit out like an adult. But I'm scared."

"Scared?"

"Of what happens. What always happens." Logan sighs in defeat. "I fall in love, and they die. I find my people, and they leave me because I'm such a jackass. There's too much surrounding me that just... ruins everything."

"No, no. I won't leave." You tighten your hand around Logan's, and he, despite wanting to say that you're wounded because of him, believes you. He's so grateful to hear you say it- he had no idea that's what was weighing on him so badly.

He loves you, he knows he does. Logan has never been the best with feelings, but for once, he's glad he was honest.

The first thing Scott sees when he finally makes his way to Logan's room, from all the way across the X-Mansion, is Logan whispering "I'm sorry," and... he thinks (he's not 100% sure), "I love you," to your very forlorn, softly curved-around-him body.

It's a very tender moment, and Scott feels he should leave.

Then Logan presses a firm, shaky kiss on your forehead, and then your lips, and you, with your limited reserve of energy, kiss him back, and then Scott interjects with:

"Hey!...?"

He seems taken aback as you both look at him. "I heard screaming? What is this, some sort of weird cult sacrificial scenario?"

"Logan... had a... nightmare..." You wince, and Scott sees the red on your night gown. "I need... medical attention."

"On it." Scott glances at Logan for permission, and he's currently trying to push all these mushy feelings back into his chest where they belong, and he wants to be there to help you in the clinic, but he's flustered with everything that's happened and he can only hand you to Scott without looking at him.

Scott smirks to himself as he runs you to the clinic of the X-Mansion.

"You and Logan, huh? I knew there was something in that fight today." Scott remarks as you cling to him.

"It's taken an embarrassingly long time for me to figure it out, but yeah." You blush. "Has everyone else...?"

"Jean's been running a bet for the last year." Scott laughs. "She says you both are two sides of the same coin."

You can't help but agree.

[sharp-rosee]

A lot of "radfems" continually peddle the idea that Middle Eastern men are more misogynistic than white, "Western" men and either do not realize or purposefully do not mention that this rhetoric was started by the far right to popularize white supremacy/Neo Naziism and is a dogwhistle to "The Great Replacement" theory.

They start off at first framing their worry with immigrants by spinning a story of how Middle Eastern men are coming into Europe and raising the incidents of rape to an extremely high degree. They show false statistics and reports that have been faked to further convince you of this new rape epidemic.

After watching crazy exposes of these supposed incidents you continue to "research" more and more into this phenomenon, why nobody is acknowledging it, etc. and after they radicalize you into hating these men specifically, they introduce escalating ideas of racism to you until the idea of the "great replacement" is acceptable to you - and that we shouldn't accept immigrants and refugees because rapists are coming through the border to Rape our Women and Convert them to Islam (and to get rid of white people) and we hate the Men, not women! (Ignore that a majority of refugees are women and children; ignore that immigration is a lengthy process, and "Illegal immigrants" are just refugees, those who have been on the waiting lists for years, or those who are technically considered "illegal" because they didn't renew their visas; ignore that the sources we provided are made up, ignore that we only ever talk about black and brown people, we can't have white people going extinct- being replaced!)

How do I know about this and the things they say? I was introduced to a big part of alt right propaganda by Lauren Southern, which led me down what online leftists called the "alt-right pipeline." I wasn't looking for this, I was introduced after watching more and more misogynistic content. It happened slowly, and before long, I knew of the theory. I knew of the Evil Jews destroying the Earth. I awaited the Boogaloo. Overall, though, I didn't care much for these theories - I just wanted to indulge in my self hatred, and yet bigotry was instilled in every misogynistic content they produced. Every word and line they said implanted the seed of what they were really fighting for. And although I enjoyed letting my mental illness fester by watching this content, I couldn't ignore the racism/homophobia/etc. and, in a way, I suppose that made me realize that misogyny was illogical just like any other bigotry, too.

I was going to link to Lauren Southern's video popularizing this term further and how she uses the rhetoric above, however, she's since deleted it. Another Youtuber has called her out in this video here, which clips some of her original video:

More examples of her peddling the Rapist Immigrant rhetoric:

Seeing the same propaganda pop up in the space I've learned to love myself in is terrifying. Seeing the beginnings of what became an awful ideology I found myself in whenever I festered in my own mentally ill thoughts is terrifying.

This is a racist talking point you are promoting. It is false. It has been disproven time and time again and yet here you are, still believing in it.

And to any radfems still questioning that this is propaganda, I urge you ask yourselves:

What sources gave you this information?

Why is it only this specific group of men?

If reports of rape are rare compared to actual incidents of rape, and if the concept of "false accusations" are always brought up whenever any incidents of rape do get reported/do occur, why is it only in this specific instance that rape is being called out at all?

If the sources that gave you this information truly cared about women, why do they never report similar "spikes" when referring to immigrants/refugees in other countries or just in other countries in general?

If you can believe it is all men, then why do you assume that one culture is worse when there are similar or even higher misogyny rates in every single country on planet Earth?

If you still cannot introspect on your racism and the origins of the ideas you are peddling, whether ignorant to it before, you are not a radical feminist, let alone a feminist at all. You are a white supremacist. You are not welcome here, and never will be.

And above all else, you are actively harming and making it unsafe for black and brown people, especially black and brown women, to be here on Tumblr and make it unsafe for them to exist at all.

[mangostarjam]

late night confessions — kaiju no. 8, fluff, "sweetheart" as a pet name, hoshina soshiro x female reader, 1.6k words, sequel to this fic + part three

Something is a little… off. 

You clutch your longtime crush's borrowed jacket in your hands, rumpling the fabric as you shift your weight. The door to Vice Captain Hoshina Soshiro's room is shut, but you know he's in there — not that you've been… keeping tabs or anything, but he just got off duty and dinner was an hour ago so where else could he be? 

In the training rooms again, overworking — but no, he pinky promised you just this morning that he'd go to bed on time tonight. 

All you need to do is knock. One of the perks of being Vice Captain means he has his own room, so you wouldn't be disturbing anyone else. True, he didn't exactly invite you to his room today, but he's been… avoiding you. A little bit. 

Okonogi thinks it's all in your head. You confessed to her after she cornered you about your new pet name, and she's been championing your relationship developments ever since. "You don't see the way he looks at you sometimes! And didn't you just talk this morning?" 

But besides calling you "sweetheart" in public — always in that light, casual tone he uses with pretty much everyone except higher ups — Soshiro hasn't made any moves to acknowledge that night in the training room. He doesn't even stand that close to you anymore. 

That's… bad, right? What if he's changed his mind? What if he's come to realize that he doesn't want you like that — but he can't figure out how to reject you, especially not when you work so closely together — 

"Argh, this is why relationships are frowned upon in the Defense Force," you mutter, shoving your face into the jacket in your hands. 

"Huh? What're you doin' here, sweetheart?" 

Shoot. Stupid Vice Captain and his stupid light feet and the stupid doors being so well maintained you didn't even hear it open. 

"I came to return your jacket, sir." 

You hold it out and resolutely focus on his neck, directly in your line of sight. It's missing the skintight turtleneck of his fighting shirt, which means… he's in casual clothes. Your gaze dips down slightly to confirm this and… you find nothing. 

Instead, your eyes drag over miles of smooth, densely packed muscle covered by pale, scarred skin, visible reminders of the many battles he's faced and the numerous kaiju he's slayed. Oh, shit. 

You close your eyes. "I apologize, sir, I didn't mean to disturb you! Please —" 

"Aw, you're givin' it back? I liked seein' you in it." 

You feel his hands wrap around yours and peek open your eyes slowly, doing your best to keep them on his neck. Not that it's really much of a safe spot to look, when the strong column of his throat just meets the sharp cut of his jawline and before you know it you're glancing up at his lips which are… frowning. 

Why's he frowning? 

"Y-you do? Sir?" 

"Come inside, will ya?" Soshiro says, tugging you in and kicking the door shut with his foot before you can protest. "There. Now we're alone." 

He says it expectantly, raising an eyebrow when you gape at him. "S-sir?" 

Soshiro's frown deepens. The adrenaline rushing through your veins is making you jumpy, and you're sure he can feel your hands twitch in his grasp. 

"I said it was fine when we're alone, right?" 

What is he…? Oh. Oh. 

"Hoshina-kun?" 

Soshiro's frown lightens and he sighs, releasing your hands and taking the jacket. You watch, brain swirling, as he hangs it up neatly and pulls on a loose t-shirt. Silently you mourn the loss of the view, but the way his arm muscles bunch and stretch as he moves more than makes up for it. He must've just finished in the bath — he's wearing black track pants that ride low on his hips, and his hair is still a little damp. 

"Was anyone givin' you a hard time? About my jacket?" 

It takes you a second to register his words, and you shake your head quickly. "No, nobody said anything, I just… felt bad for borrowing it for so long. I thought you might want it back." 

"It wasn't that long…" 

You stare up at him. Is he… is he pouting? 

The urge to giggle bursts out before you can help it, and Soshiro's expression lightens at the sound. "You're so cute when you laugh." 

Heat burns along your cheeks. So he still thinks you're cute! All hope is not lost! "Is there… is there something bothering you, Hoshina-kun?" 

Surprise flits across his face before he smothers it down with a grin. "Now, why would ya think that? Everythin's just peachy!" 

The hum of air conditioning kicks on and fills the room with a low buzz. It's your first time inside Soshiro's room, but you aren't surprised that he keeps it neat and tidy. There's a low shelf filled with books, and his bed is made with not a wrinkle in sight. He's left the overhead light off and only flicked on the lamp at his bedside, so the corners are bathed in shadows. 

You fix him with a glare and watch with satisfaction as he gulps. You're tired of dancing around the subject, and apparently Soshiro is a master at deflection and compartmentalizing. "Don't lie to me, Hoshina-kun. You haven't been… the same, lately. Do you… Are you trying to reject me?" 

Soshiro's grin slips off his face and his red eyes widen. "So you were confessin'? That wasn't me gettin' my hopes up?" 

"Wha— what did you think it was?" you ask, flabbergasted. Is he serious right now? The furrow of his eyebrows tells you yes. "I told you that you're the only one allowed to call me a pet name! And that you stress me out! I held your hand!" 

"Well," Soshiro winces, "I know the job's stressful, so I thought it was that. And maybe you were just lettin' me call you 'sweetheart' 'cause you didn't wanna get mixed up with Okonogi. 'Sides… it was late. Maybe you just didn't wanna trip on the walk back." 

He's got his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his track pants. His shoulders are a little hunched, and he's still watching every confused and exasperated expression cross your features, but somehow you still surprise him when you take a few steps forward to cup his face in your hands. 

Your palms are warm. Your thumbs sweep along his cheekbones soothingly and he leans into the touch. "I really, really like you, Hoshina-kun." 

"You do? Even though I'm only good with blades?" 

You squish his cheeks in surprise. "How is that even relevant?" 

Soshiro reaches up to pull your hands away from his face so that he can speak. "I was just thinkin'... I know I've got my work cut out for me, choosin' this path of mine, but that doesn't mean you've gotta walk it, too. You could pick anyone else — a civilian, so you don't hafta worry 'bout them riskin' their lives, or another Defense Force member who can actually use a gun —" 

"Hoshina Soshiro," you say firmly. His eyes widen in surprise, but he stops talking. "Begging your pardon, Vice Captain, sir, but please shut up. I like you for a whole bunch of reasons, and you don't get to decide that I should choose someone else just because you're feeling self conscious." 

"Even if I've got beady eyes and a bowl cut?" 

"I'm going to kick Captain Narumi's ass the next time we visit the First Division," you grumble, but a corner of your mouth lifts as Soshiro laughs. Man, just watching him laugh makes your stomach swoop. "You know I think you're hot, right?" 

"Whuh?" 

"Did you seriously not notice me trying not to check you out like five minutes ago?" 

"Y-you were? Wow, I've got one cute admirer." 

You drop his hands and sink into a crouch, burying your face into your arms with a muffled groan. Now that the issues have been aired out, you can feel your adrenaline leaving you in a rush. Soshiro goes down on his knees an instant later, hitting the floor with a thunk, yanking your arms free so that you're facing him properly. "Hold on, sweetheart, what was that?" 

"Hoshina-kun, do you like me?" 

Soshiro's face turns charmingly pink. You want to take that as a "yes", but you wait as he sits back on his heels and scratches at the side of his face. "Ain't it obvious?" 

You put your face in your arms again. The long ends of your lab coat are pooled around you, and Soshiro is careful to avoid pinning you in place as he leans forward to tug at your hair. The hum of the air conditioner clicks off and you sit in silence for a moment. 

"Are we dating now?" 

You lift your head to glare at him incredulously. "No." Maybe you should be nicer about this — it's clear your Vice Captain is in over his head, no matter how easily he seemed to be teasing you before. "You haven't even confessed yet!" 

There's a beat of silence, and then —

"I like you." Soshiro looks determined in spite of the redness of his ears. "I think you're funny, and cute, and brilliant. You're always supportin' me and the lil' fledglings, and you make me feel like... I exist. Even though we could die at any moment fightin' kaiju, you make me happy." Soshiro pauses and rubs at the back of his head sheepishly. "Yikes, that was kinda sappy." 

Heat burns through your body. You can't help the silly smile that spreads across your face. "Yeah? I guess we can date now." 

"Good." The hand at your hair slides forward to cup the back of your neck. Soshiro grins, his entire body unwinding with the release of tension as he leans forward. "'Cause I ain't ever givin' up my spot at your side." 

[chocoqtelle]

𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝﹕𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 ♡

you may be called to multiple piles, that's perfectly fine ! remember that not every message may resonate. take what resonates and leave the rest. tarot is not completely certain and things may change. do not use tarot as a replacement for professional advice. divider credit to @sister-lucifer

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄

okayyyy 🤭 seems like someone's self focused right now. you're dodging these desperate mfs and focusing on your finances. you oughta give yourself more credit for that at least. choosing attention from yourself over attention from others is rough. and it's clearly paying off because you are GLOWING. if you've been getting more attention that's why. you're looking better than ever right now. you don't need anyone to take care of you... but if you want that then there's plenty of options. you don't even have to put effort in. it's all self concept. as long as you acknowledge how perfect you are and what you deserve, you'll get exactly that. you've been working hard, clearing out old patterns, all that. so why would you be shocked that things are going well/going to go well? you deserve that! you worked your ass off to get to this point and you act like you didn't sometimes. whatever help you may have got wasn't near as much as you put into yourself. reap your rewards with no shame. this is your well deserved prize.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎

"i don't know if i want her or her" energy. you got options for just about everything. you're in that empress mode (regardless of gender dw.) you're pouring into your creative talents and you're doing great. keep expressing yourself, don't worry about what's weird! it's fun! that's what matters. you could have some annoying exes/haters and honestly just take it as an ego boost. they're obsessed with you for a reason. but isn't everyone? you don't have to worry about anyone. grabbing for scraps of stardust when you're the star is the life they chose. you, however, have an unlimited source and you should enjoy it. if you're thinking of going bigger with your creative talents/career. you definitely should. you have the talent whether you wanna admit it or not. "what if I fail?" then you can try again or move on. your life won't be over. what if you win? believe in yourself more. believe you'll make it regardless of what happens. if you're worried about money, let it go. god/the universe/spirit guides/ancestors/whatever applies will take care of it. just trust things will work and opportunities will reach you soon. you could have that perfect duality too is what I'm hearing. geek girl vibes (it's on Netflix still, I think.)

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

the body is BODYINGGGGG. if you don't know that, you must be blind. and don't start talking about some "but hip dips 😖 but tummy but-" nobody in real life cares about that. if it's your body, it's nice and loveable by default. you're like the "airport girl" phenomenon where people see the prettiest person ever at a random place then never see them again and they're just haunted by their beauty. you're probably resting right now but make sure you're not rotting. it's good to still take care of yourself. I don't know if you're insecure or not, but if you are I will personally come through the screen and yell at you (affectionately.) because you are so gorgeous. pinterest level pretty. moodboard pretty. poetry pretty. you could have people writing like "her bosoms jiggled gracefully in the wind like hanging grapes." 😭 being pretty is one thing but being kindhearted on top is just extra. sweet and pretty??? fine you win 😒 save some beauty for the rest of us. you could also be an Aphrodite devotee or benefit from reaching out to her :)

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧ ₊˚・

[minus-plus-zer0]

Dead of Night

♡ Genre: Slight hurt/comfort or angst ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Aged up, friends with benefits, pining (Bakugou's side, as always)

Old habits die hard. Bakugou couldn't spend tonight without you once again.

You weren't official, you told Bakugou that this whole ordeal would be no-strings-attached. And like an idiot, he agreed. But now he was trained to sleep by your side, and without you there he felt like a magnet searching for his opposite and equal.

You were much sweeter than he was, and given your caring nature he was hoping you wouldn't mind him wobbling over to your house in the dead of night. He texted you ahead of time so he wouldn't surprise you like a creep. If you said no, then there was always a bar nearby where he could drink until he got home and blacked out again. He was never the type to drink heavily... until now.

He was never the type to do a lot of things until you came along, and brought him out of his shell.

You finally texted him back. "You can come over, but we're not doing it tonight."

Bakugou sighed at the second half of the sentence. He expected the rejection but it didn't feel any better. He wasn't used to being rejected.

Firstly, he didn't usually want any type of relationship/situationship. Secondly, what he did want (power, good grades, etc.), he usually got with some effort. Though he's had to struggle hard for the latter in the past, he's never had to struggle for the former. It was like starving for the first time in his life. Some days he couldn't deal with it, wanting what he couldn't have. He just wanted to spill his heart out to you, but he knew you'd say no...

Bakugou finally reached your door and knocked. It took you a minute before you opened it. Your hair was messy, your pajamas were somewhat disheveled, and your expression was one of total sleepiness. He hoped he didn't wake you up, usually you were more of a night owl than he ever could be. But regardless, he really enjoyed seeing you in such a clumsy state. It was something only he got to see and he cherished having that privilege.

"Don't fall over, dummy." He poked your sleepy head while you were nodding off.

You barely mustered the energy to pout at him before heading back inside, mumbling "I'm not a dummy..."

He chuckled below his breath and closed the door behind him, locking it as per your guys' routine. Admittedly, he was a little offended you immediately hobbled back to your bedroom without acknowledging him, but maybe he did wake you up while you were sleeping and that was why you barely had anything to say to him. Although Bakugou felt excited every time he went over here, to you it was just another night of dealing with Bakugou. He'd make it up to you in the morning by cooking breakfast, complete with an apology kiss.

You slid underneath your covers and curled up into a ball, leaving room for him. Bakugou followed you into your bedroom, taking off his clothes and putting on some pajamas he brought over. He slid into bed after you, arms wrapping around your tinier form.

He kissed the back of your head and sighed in relief. It was hard for him not to show his softer side around you when you slept together. He kept trying to hide his deeper feelings (as impossible as that was), but nobody would notice it at this hour. Honestly, he was wondering if you'd ever notice. It was like he never crossed your mind outside of hanging out or hanging out in private.

Maybe you thought that because Bakugou never had feelings for anyone, he would never feel anything for you. And maybe one day, you will tell him you've had enough and you don't need this arrangement anymore. But it was times like these where Bakugou could lie to himself and say that you were all his, and with you sleeping in his arms he could believe it very readily.

"Love you..."

[the-modern-typewriter]

Encouragement: your prose has such a physical, tangible element that is so rare and immersive and incredible! Your descriptions don’t just feel real, they make me feel like I am real inside the story (if that makes any sense haha). Thanks for sharing your talent so generously!

Prompt request: a sword fight between the protagonist and antagonist, including all the witty banter and sexual tension, that ends with the protagonist on their knees, sword under their chin, pretending not to be terrified - and whatever you think should come next :)

"It's been a while since we've done this," the antagonist murmured. Their intent gaze tracked every step, every breath, that the protagonist made around them on the arena sand. "I was starting to think I wouldn't get the pleasure again."

"You like being cut to ribbons and knocked on your arse, sire?"

"Well, you do it beautifully." The cruel monarch's eyes gleamed in the sun. "What can I say? It's inspiring."

It wasn't what the protagonist had expected. The last time the protagonist had challenged them and won - bargaining for the safety of their entire village - the antagonist had been livid. They'd never lost before.

There was no lie in the antagonist's eyes though. Only a strange admiration that made something in the protagonist's stomach bottom out.

The antagonist lunged in the brief distraction that comment caused.

The protagonist parried just in time - then they were off. The air rang with the clash of their swords, with the sound of their panting breaths and pounding hearts.

The crowd roared hungry behind it all. It was a long-awaited rematch after all. A talented tyrant and the only upstart to ever beat them on the field. A nobody.

The protagonist was swiftly made aware of the fact that the antagonist had vastly improved since their last match. Everything about them was sharpened to a deadly purpose. The protagonist's heartbeat quickened.

It struck them, for the first time, that they might not win again.

They paused many minutes later with both of their blades locked in place, their faces inches apart. Sweat stung the protagonist's eyes.

The antagonist grinned. "As I said, inspiring. I'm so glad you came back."

"You made it hard not to."

"You made it hard not to spend the last three years thinking about you."

The protagonist swallowed.

The improvement was impressive. The antagonist was as gorgeous to watch in action as they were horrifying to fight against.

"You're still not winning," the protagonist said. "Go back and train for another three years. Then, maybe."

"Your arms are trembling."

The protagonist wrenched back, at that, and lunged anew. The problem was that their arms were shaky with the effort of blocking and evading the antagonist's blows.

The two of them had always had different styles. The protagonist was fast, light on their feet. They'd mostly trained for multiple opponents. The antagonist had trained for this. They were far stronger than the protagonist was in the force of their blows. Before, they'd been much slower. Now, they were still slower - but only just. There was no respite.

The longer it dragged on, the more the fight tipped into the antagonist's favour. The protagonist had always won by dispatching their opponents as swiftly as possible, but the antagonist was a siege weapon. They didn't even seem tired.

"Would you like to get on your knees for me now," the antagonist asked, "or would you like me to knock you to them? I don't mind either way, when it's you."

The protagonist snarled, too breathless for words.

They'd managed to draw first blood, just like last time, but since then...

The antagonist tipped their head, a mocking incline of acknowledgement. Then they were bearing on the protagonist again.

The protagonist didn't remember hitting their knees, some time later. They were too concerned with their sword wrenching out of their hand, landing out of reach, for the dull pain of it to register.

Cold, unyielding metal pressed cold against the flushed skin at their throat.

The protagonist finally went still. They had one hand planted on the sand to catch themselves, head bowed where they'd frozen. Beneath the cover of their hair, their gaze flicked around desperately for an angle they could use.

Could they tackle the antagonist's legs? Make a dash for their blade again? A grab for the antagonist's sword instead?

Not with that blade held so firmly, so confident, against their jugular.

The antagonist nudged the sword up against the protagonist's chin. The protagonist tipped their head back up, careful not to make any sudden moves.

"Hands behind your head," the antagonist said.

The protagonist met their eyes, then slowly did as they were told. Their chest heaved.

The crowd, for all of their baying racket, felt distant. Inconsequential.

Nobody would challenge the antagonist if they slit the protagonist's neck. They probably wouldn't even be surprised. Fear licked up the protagonist's spine.

"Tell me you surrender," the antagonist said, softly.

"I don't."

"You don't want to do this nicely?"

The protagonist said nothing.

"Tell me I'm a better fighter," the antagonist said. "Tell me I'm the best you've ever fought."

They absolutely were the best the protagonist had fought in a very long time, but that was also absolutely besides the point.

"We've both won one." The protagonist's jaw clenched. "We'd have to go a third round to decide that."

"Mm." Something shifted on the antagonist's face, there and gone in an instant. "By all means. Can you get up?" They tapped the protagonist's chin with the sword again, that time breaking skin. The protagonist felt blood trickle down their neck.

The protagonist started to rise. They crumpled just as quickly, with a startled hitch of breath. Their tired legs abruptly felt like jelly. They'd no idea how they'd got so exhausted. They-

"Your blade," the protagonist said, in accusing disbelief. "What did you-?" The antagonist's talent was by no means fake, but they'd also clearly had no intention of leaving a rematch and their reputation to chance. Their blade, and the thin cut on the protagonist's neck, was tainted by something.

"Oh dear oh dear," the antagonist said. "It seems you've pushed yourself too far. You should have yielded with dignity."

"Bastard."

"Surrender."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll give you enough of a dose that you can never pick up a sword with those impressive hands again. I respect you greatly. You will give me the respect I deserve in return."

The protagonist stared at them. They shouldn't have been stunned. They knew the antagonist's reputation.

The smirk had vanished from the antagonist's face. So had the flirting, if it could be called that.

"I surrender," the protagonist said. Their vision hazed.

The antagonist dropped the blade from the protagonist's throat, sheafed their sword, and offered a hand.

With everyone watching, the protagonist took it.

The antagonist hauled them up. The protagonist's vision tunneled.

"Good match," the antagonist said, sounding sincere. "You really are incredible." They yanked the protagonist in close, to press their lips to the protagonist's ear. "If you can walk out of this arena without collapsing, I'll even let you go. I just had to prove I could win, you see. People talk. They get ideas."

The protagonist made a small, involuntarily strangled sound.

The antagonist's thumb caressed their racing pulse. "My god, though." Their voice dropped. "You look even more enticing than I imagined beaten. You really shouldn't have been interesting. I thought you'd cave like everyone does."

The antagonist clapped their shoulder and stepped back, beaming.

The protagonist made it all of three, stubborn steps before they hit the dust.

[disneyprincemuke]

another williams adoptee * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver

notes: this actually took me longer than thirty minutes to write im sorry

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |

you press your lips together as you approach the pit lane. you sip from your water bottle and squint as three men come into your sight. around them is a camera crew sporting the williams team shirts, the cameras pointed towards logan and alex predominantly.

and when you look closely, you can see your teammate not too far from alex, stretching. "what are you guys doing?"

logan is the first to acknowledge you out of the three. he stands up from his previous position of bending down to touch his toes and grins at you. "we're racing."

"what?" you raise an eyebrow and tilt your head. "racing?"

"yeah," alex says with a sigh, also standing from his position of stretching. "we're foot racing to those karts over there at the pit lane exit."

you crane your neck to the view behind them and notice three karts. then you look again at the two williams boys, and point at your teammate at the side. "why is he here? is he joining you?"

"yeah," alex says again. "he will always be part of williams."

"wait a second," you shake your head, closing your eyes momentarily to try and understand the nature of their competition. "you're foot racing to those go-karts over there for a round on the track?"

logan nods, beaming with the widest smile you think you've ever seen him sport all year. "yeah. you should join us!" he turns around abruptly to someone behind the camera. "do you have another kart she can take so she can join us?"

george finally steps up. "what, no! she's not a williams girl!" he cries, shoving you in the direction of the paddocks once more. "you're not welcome here - this race is for williams racers only."

"no," logan whines, chasing after both of you. he grabs the sleeve of your shirt and tugs you towards him. "come on, it could be interesting!"

"no way," you scoff, taking a step away. "you guys have much longer legs compared to me. no way i have a chance to even win this stupid race of yours."

"come on," logan whines, pouting his bottom lip out as he stares down at you. "we'll give you a three-second advantage."

"your marketing team didn't even say 'yes'," george scoffs, glancing over his shoulder to seek for the verdict that never seems to come.

"we got a spare kart!" someone shouts within the crowd around you, and you sigh, throwing your head back.

you glance at logan with a hopeful smile at you, nodding to hoax you into joining them for the race. then alex, who simply shrugs you off and continues to stretch, then george who is blankly staring at you.

"this is for williams, isn't it," you mutter, throwing the question towards their marketing team that's now scrambling around to prepare the kart for you. "i don't want to be a bother, really."

"no, it's alright!" a man smiles at you. "you're like part of williams now - you're always with logan and you've made two appearances on our instagram now. the people love you."

you grin. you take a step forward as logan guides you towards their huddle with a hand on your shoulder. george begrudgingly follows behind you, muttering something about how you've never driven for williams before. "okay, you're on. a five-second advantage, was that, logan?"

"i believe i said three."

"i don't think that's what i heard."

[luvfy0dor]

can u do neck kisses w/ akutagawa?

Akutagawa + Neck Kisses ♡⁠˖

Warnings; biting, allusions to hickeys

Akutagawa had a tendency to slightly shiver or squirm when touched because he wasn't used to such gentleness just yet. Your relationship wasn't all too new, but you were still discovering which parts of his body were the most sensitive. One evening while you sat next to each other on the couch with only side-to-side contact, you stretched your arms and yawned before letting them fall over his shoulders with your forearm grazing the nape of his neck. His shoulders scrunched up and he grimaces, letting out a shaky sigh at the feeling of your wooly sweater touching his skin and raising his hairs. You raised an eyebrow and leaned into him. "I didn't smack you or nothin', did I?" You whispered, drawing his attention to your self. "No, it just grazed me awkwardly and made me shiver. My neck is sort of sensitive." He tells you. You hum and lean your head on his shoulder, glancing at his neck every now and again instead of focusing on the movie the two of you were watching. "Can I kiss your neck, Ryuu?" You ask him, staring at his Adam's apple as it bobs when he swallows. "What would you want to kiss my neck for?" You shrug. "Just cause. I won't if you don't want me too, but-" you start to put your hands up, but he grabs them. "Go ahead, kiss my neck all you'd like." He says, his grey eyes wide grey eyes nearly burning holes through your skin with his stare. You laugh at him a little and peck his lips before traveling downward to his neck. His white skin gradually turns pinker when you press your lips against his neck, sucking gently with your hands on his shoulders. Your head was tilted as you gently bit down on his pale flesh, making him gasp quietly and lean back into the couch. His hand fell on your hip while you started to pull away, but not before licking over the red mark you'd left. "uhm, I believe that was not just a kiss." He said, staring at you with squinted eyes. "I'm sorry, Ryuu', you coulda told me to stop if you didn't like it." You say, a nervous frown on your face. He shook his head and grabbed the collar of your shirt, not tugging it but just holding it. "Did I say I didn't like it?" You laughed and shook your head too. "No, no you didn't. Want it again?" He averted his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. "Well, since you're offering.."

A/n; new theme chat since NOBODY EVER WANTS TO ACKNOWLEDGE IT /lh but I think it's cute, I like the more muted color and my last one was not nearly as cohesive as this one. ALSO ALSO I get to participate in my first varsity banquet this year for varsity swim, I'm so excited fjekskdkkwk

[luigra]

Why the nuke ending was good and important for the story, and why it was NOT retconned: an important essay

So, I& assume that most people here have only really watched DSMP through Tommy's POV. Maybe a few other of the most popular POVs. Even more people have just... straight up never watched the actual streams and got all their info off of social media. I& get it, I& can't blame you. But because of that you all have missed out on the absolutely crucial reasoning for why the nuke ending needed to be Like That.

I& will try to sum up Jack Manifold's lore here real quick, but I& can't ever do it justice in a text post, so I& implore you all to watch at least one or two of his lore streams, preferably the one in which he exploded the hotel and his POV of the finale, those are the two best ones lore-wise, and he re-explains his motivations quite frequently.

The biggest thing with his character is that he has always been forgotten about. Treated as a side character to the "main protagonist". He was never noticed, his three deaths were completely ignored, and no matter what he would do, people would always look past him to focus on whatever the big plot was. In his own words, he tried to kill Tommy and he didn't even care.

As the result of this mistreatment, literally having everything taken away from him - his home, his friends, his lives - he tries to find the root of it all, and comes to the conclusion that Tommy is to blame for it all, because he was his friend once but is now the cause of the server fighting all the time.

All of this is to say, he is an important narrative foil to Tommy - where Tommy struggles with just wanting to move past Exile and his trauma, Jack instead clings to everything that hurt him and just wishes to be noticed. He wants his pain to be acknowledged, and in doing so he spirals further and further into self destruction. He burns down Manifoldland. He blows up the hotel.

And finally, he blows up the world.

It was his desperate cry to be seen, a natural conclusion to his mental issues that everybody just ignored. But now, they couldn't ignore him anymore. They physically COULDN'T. And THAT, is why the ending is so brilliant. Because throughout all the trials and tribulations, Jack finally gets what he always wanted. He finally gets to kill Tommy the way he wanted to kill him, and at last, nobody can ignore him, this forgotten and abandoned kid that just tries to make things right, Jack Manifold.

BUT HE ISN'T ACTUALLY HAPPY ABOUT TOMMY DYING. IN HIS LAST MINUTE, HE REALIZES THAT HE'S BEEN MISGUIDED ALL ALONG AND WITH TUBBO'S HELP HE REALIZES THAT ALL HE REALLY WANTED WAS FOR HIS FRIENDS TO ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT HIM AGAIN.

SO HE TRIES TO SAVE HIS FRIEND AND LITERALLY GOES INTO LAVA TO TRY AND REACH HIM (THE SAME LAVA THAT TOMMY THREW HIM IN AND KILLED HIM WITH)

BUT IT'S TOO LATE.

IT'S PURE FUCKING CINEMA.

IT'S THE MOST TRAGIC ENDING EVER. IT'S THE BEST POSSIBLE WAY TO HAVE ENDED THE SERIES, WITH AN UNDERDOG WHOM EVERYBODY IGNORED UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE, FINALLY GETTING HIS LAST SPOTLIGHT. FINALLY HAVING A SMIDGE OF HOPE THAT SOMEONE OUT THERE MIGHT CARE ABOUT HIM IF HE JUST TRIES AGAIN.

So what does that mean for the latest new stream? It means that Jack finally got his closure and got to talk to Tommy. And he learnt how to move on. He doesn't center his life around him anymore.

But he does wish for Tommy to be happy. Even if he himself can't, even if he's still stuck gambling and addicted and all alone with no one by his side, he finally moved on from Tommy. He finally planted Manishroom in the ruins of his burnt down house.

And the fact of the matter is, this has been streamed from Jack's POV. And now, this is his story. Let him have this. The fact that his actions left an impact is important.

Let us, the manifolders, have this. Please. The nuke ending was never about Tommy or Dream or whatever. It was always about Jack.

[fleshwerks]

Righto, I've had my brekkie, it was mediocre. Let's continue. To followers: I do my best to tag my shit now, so keep your Xkit or other tools updated, as I return to form with my long-winded, acidic essays on good old Dragon Age. It's like we're back in 2017 again! Now I want to offer commentary on an IGN article from September 25, 2024. And I briefly surmise on how evidently, Epler and friends either didn't play, or didn't understand their own home company's game, DA: Inquisition.

By giving up the Inquisition, the Inquisitor also surrenders all their power, gained lands and bases, influence, and treasure. All the Inquisitor has after disbanding or handing over the Inquisition is their personal reputation. The manpower, estates and so on is gone, not in small part because the Inquisitor's enemies don't vanish with the Inquisition, they are not just a splinter in Solas' eye, but there are a lot of powerful factions in Thedas who would very much like to see their investment in Inquisition to pay off. Especially since not nearly all of them threw in their lot with the Inquisition not to stop the world-ending threat, but for power and money. By deleting the Inquisition, the Inquisitor has absolutely robbed these powerful factions of their mail-clad, holy fist, as well as a lot of money. Not to mention everybody else you offended.

Also is gone the thing that made you special in the first place: the Anchor. You're nobody now. You're just a regular person with a great story, and nothing more. By the stinger at the end of Trespasser, you are Rook: you have a very small contingent of ordinary people, and you're back to having to handle everything by yourself again because your ace in the hole and all your resources and manpower are gone, gone, gone.

This quote also doesn't acknowledge the fact that until the very end, the Inquisitor faced distrust from every angle, and the only ones trusting you completely were the pilgrims and refugees, the contingent of people with the least amount of power to actually make meaningful change. Hell, even when you reached Skyhold, there was only one conversation about taking the Inquisition in a more cohesive direction back in Haven. Leliana and Cassandra and Cullen and Josephine virtually sprung your your new title on you by surprise. They ambushed you on a staircase, in front of a crowd, and shoved a sword in your hand. You had no way to say 'oh fuck no' without the desperate crowd below tearing you from limb to limb... in the isolated mountains. On an isolated mountaintop keep's grounds. There was never a choice there. From then on, you had to beg, connive or kill to get people to support you, and Trespasser directly dealt with the fact that people still wanted you gone or harnessed to the church. Your Inquisition wasn't united by the faith of all that contributed to it, it was united by lying, begging and killing. All that really united you was money and fear. The Inquisitor had to earn respect and fear. they had to beg and kill. Nobody in the Inquisition handed you stuff, you had to work for it.

Whose Inquisitor, Ms. Busche? Yours? Because if mine was headcanonically alive, he would not feel even a shred of remorse over being played like a fiddle by a literal elven god, thousands of years old, whereas all he ever was was a 30-year-old drunk soldier brought up in the societal isolation of a Dalish clan, and being functionally illiterate to boot. My Inquisitor is very clear: Solas' choices are his own, his deeds are his own, his manipulation is his own. The Inquisitor, especially the unfriendly-to-Solas Inquisitor never once had any control over Solas. It does, however, play into what's been my most consistent criticism of Solas, but more importantly, Bioware over the past 10 years: it acts like Solas is your fault. It acts like you getting manipulated and played by a vastly more powerful and older and cleverer person is your own fault, or your own responsibility. It's the epitome of Bioware trying to sneakily communicate: "Look what you made me do." And that's Solas' whole deal in Inquisition: he burdens a single, young mortal with proving to a literal god why he shouldn't kill the entire world. And if you fuck up, then Thedas dies. It's not unlike the nasty phenomenon of "if a white person does it, he's mentally ill and an outlier, if a black person does it, all black people are Like That." This is Solas: 'if I do it, I'm a sad rebel making big mistakes. If you do it, you're the reflection of all members of your kind. And my Inquisitor had none of it.

Very telling, Epler. This is you saying, in Bioware style, that there's a correct way of playing Dragon Age games, and there's 'any other ways'. The correct way is 'romance Solas'. The others are just variations on a theme that, in the end, don't really matter. And it shows in Veilguard, it shows. The very least you can do is prioritise your intended path, Epler, while not actively disregarding other paths. This isn't the case. It isn't the case with the entire Thedas universe from these four games, because Veilguard nuked all of the Southern regions in a not so veiled way to say: 'They don't matter. What happened there does matter. You might've felt like each of your PCs achieved a victory, but they were just officers stalling for time. They were all losses in a war that now has to be won, and they just don't matter.' No. My Inquisitor doesn't feel guilty. My Inquisitor is meta level enraged that all he ever was, was an unknowing valet to Solas, and somehow that's his own fault.

Sure. It's not like Tevinter has been ever-present throughout three games, with important NPCs hailing from there, North's influence on the South, and endless codex entries and book material talking about Tevinter. The lore isn't gone, Bioware. It's not a brand new region, it has always existed in Thedas, we just haven't been there personally, but we've read about it. A lot. And you cannot just delete it all like you did in Veilguard. The place has a well-known, established lore to each of its nations. It's not a clean slate.

OH, REALLY???

Really? Really-really??? Really-really-really????? Reeeeeeallly? Reallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreally----

Fair. Reasonable. Expected. But you're not writing a book that requires no personal hands-on involvement by its reader. You're writing a roleplaying game where the player is as much a storyteller as a spectator. And you just wiped the slate clean. Nothing stayed even a little bit fixed. So I, as a player and a fan have to ask: why should I care if all the places in Thedas I mended and helped get destroyed and deleted. Why should I care if the people I care for in the game are all dead. You could argue 'it's for the experience, the transitional nature of time, what matters is the moment and not the end goal' and it's a noble sentiment. But does it make for a great game? Because it's one of humanity's key questions and grievances that has been pursued, fought over, died for: 'Does anything I ever do even matter?' And in real life, the answer is: "It matters if you think it matters." But Dragon Age is not a real world, it's our escape from the real world. It's a place where people come to matter more than in the brief cosmological second we inhabit this universe. We want things to matter in Dragon Age, because in real life they don't. It's why we tell stories, Varric. We want something to last, and something to matter. We want to engage with what hurts us in real life, and we want to change that, and achieve at least some permanence. Because we cannot have that in real life. And Bioware proudly and self-assuredly has said to us: "Nah."