#feel better anon!!

[minustwofingers]

omg don't have pressure because of me! I'm mentally destroyed but I don't want you to hurry because of me take your time love !!!

I'll be waiting, I can't wait to read it🥹🤍

no no dw!! i’m not feeling pressured at all! i appreciate the extra motivation to get it done tho, and i’m at the point where i just need an extra push to finish out the last few scenes :) i can’t wait to share it with you!!

[hinamie]

mentor

[xxplastic-cubexx]

your movie charles art gives me cuteness aggression

obsessed with getting these asks back to back and yet they both hold some truth i think ...... thank you very much everyone ....

[teaboot]

I’m sending this anonymously but this is NOT anon hate

You are such a good person, i think. Your latest post(as of 4:10pm Arizona, US time) spoke to me really hard. My father is a cop, in the united states, arizona, duh. And he used to be such a good person, he was a security guard and a damn good one too, and later in he became a prison guard because it paid better, and then he joined the police force.

I’d like to think that hes one of the good ones, and for the most part he is. A lot of my delinquent friends over the years who’ve had run-ins with him say that he gets them breaks, he takes care of them, hes a good cop. I’ve even seen body camera footage of him in the field and i’m proud to say that hes my dad. He calls out bad actors where he sees them, and he gets punished for it. He doesnt see the system or how his punishments are by design. And he continues turning in his cog, begrudgingly, and slightly out of time, but he thinks hes making a difference

Sorry for the ramble and essay, i just wanted to say that i really like your blog and i think you are a very nice human being. Thank you for sharing your perspective.

P.s. i’m totally basing an oc off of your outlook on security. You strike me as more of a superhero than a security guard.

-🦕 anon

Oh, that’s a super flattering take and a valuable perspective- so thank you! But I’m a gullible dumbass, and not even an incredibly smart or fit one- I just want people to be happy and safe. That’s all. And I don’t want to BE a cop, I’ve NEVER wanted to be a cop, but every time the request comes around I feel like I’m wearing down.

I keep wondering if I could help MORE in a position like that.

Probably like your dad did.

Here, people know they’re safe with me because I shut down the gunhappy jerks, but I don’t know how long it would take to truly make a difference in public security, or how many of my morals I’d have to compromise to get to that point

I feel objectively like a system so archaic and flawed can’t be changed from the inside, but another part of me says that you don’t need to change an entire system to make a difference where it counts

I believe that so many bad situations and life-changing moments can be diverted or changed by a single person in the right place at the right time- and I figure, if I trust myself to do the right thing and BE the right person, shouldn’t I do my best to put myself in those places?

But good intentions, roads to hell, you know? I don’t WANT to be a cop. But I want to be able to DO SOMETHING about the thinks I dislike seeing in conflicts. SOMEONE has to be willing to do that, right?

I’m not religious, you know? But the devil can be very convincing

[bixels]

Be honest, what are your thoughts on appledash? Do you hate it or its more of not a big deal

Not a big deal to me. I like it, I see all the appeals, I just personally like Rarijack more.

[allastoredeer]

It's kind of funny to think that when Lucifer points out to Charlie that they have the same blood, it's clear that Lucifer has golden blood due to being an Angel, while in battle we see that Charlie actually has red blood, probably due to being the daughter of the first human/sinner woman, which ironically makes her even closer to Alastor just on a visual level.

Another thing I love about that song is that Lucifer stresses that he will support her, but always focusing on material things and the use of his power. While Alastor, the manipulative bastard who knows everyone's weaknesses, brings out all the bonds and emotional support he's given Charlie just by being there from the beginning, how they've become friends, how he makes her laugh with his jokes, he even hugs Niffty, and all that "corny" stuff is what Charlie really appreciates, but she has no interest in material things.

Ooooh! Good point about the blood! In that aspect, she could be more closely affiliated with sinners than Lucifer or the hellborn.

Also, that's what I REALLY love about Alastor and Lucifer's song, because your right! Lucifer is focusing on all the things he can get her. Material items. Which is exactly where he went wrong.

Charlie is the princess of Hell, I'm pretty sure she has no problem buying anything. Lucifer may be able to snap things into existence, but that's not what Charlie wants. It's not what she needs.

Alastor, on the other hand, is observant as fuck. He was with the Hazbin crew for only a week before he pegged Charlie's daddy issues.

It is also very interesting that in this photo Lucifer is in the spotlight with his back turned to Charlie, and Charlie's body language is so hurt and closed off, she's literally on the brink of tears. I'm just saying, I don't think we give Charlie's feelings about her and Lucifer's relationship more credit. We tend to focus more on Lucifer's emotions and that is such a shame because LOOK at her. Charlie is not okay.

Charlie wants connection, support, and community. She wants someone to be proud of her. She wants someone who is reliable and involved.

And Alastor knows that and, when you think about it, he HAS done that.

Look at Charlie's face when he tells her he's happy to "fulfill all her bizarre request."

Requests. Not just poofing items into existence.

We've already seen examples of Alastor being involved with the hotel and doing things that Vaggie and Charlie ask him to do, such as taking the egg bois with him, sitting in on Charlie's exercise's, making a commercial, building a new wall, dealing with clogs--and I imagine he's done a lot more over the 6 months that he's been there.

(Also, not to go off topic but Alastor's back arch oh my god??????)

Look at her face when Alastor say's that she's an "impressive young lady" and that they're all "very proud of her."

He didn't even need to say "I'm proud of her," it was "we're proud of her."

It makes me wonder when the last time Charlie heard those words. Did Lucifer and Lilith ever tell her they were proud of her? I looked through the episode transcripts, and there wasn't a single time Lucifer said "I'm proud of you", even after they rekindled their relationship.

I think it's something Charlie has wanted to hear for a VERY long, and hearing it from Alastor (who's as close to a father figure as she's had, I guess), I can't imagine how much that meant to her.

Also note Charlie's face when Lucifer interrupts them to request he meet her other friends.

Charlie wants emotional connection. She doesn't want Lucifer to come in and fix all her problems, she just needs a little help. She wants his support. She invited him to the hotel so she could show him what she was working on and how much things have improved.

And let's be honest here, Lucifer went to the hotel for purely selfish reasons.

He didn't go to listen to Charlie's pitch or even consider helping with it. He already said no about setting up a meeting with Heaven and he went into the hotel already believing it wouldn't work, with no intention of keeping an open mind.

He missed Charlie and went there only to see her, which isn't altogether bad! He missed his daughter. That's fine. But by all accounts it was a selfish decision that he made purely for himself. It was to benefit him, not her.

And I think, on some level, Charlie expected that.

So when Alastor swoops in saying all the right words, knowing exactly what Charlie wants (because he's been paying attention), knowing that she doesn't need material items but emotional connection, you know, I can't blame her for looking the way she did, and I'm not surprised it sent Lucifer head-first into a whirlpool of insecurity.

Lucifer went wrong by trying to "buy" (for lack of better term) his way back into Charlie's good graces. I don't think he meant for it to come off like that, but the whole basis of his "i'm a better dad than Alastor" argument is "look at all the things I can get for you," "look at all the ways you can benefit from my status" and "we're blood-related."

Whereas Alastor's was "here's all the things I've done to help and support you," "look at the times I've been reliable" and "you've already made a found family here, you don't need a biological one."

I'm sorry, but going by the song? Yeah, Alastor kind of beat Lucifer in the dad category.

Doesn't mean he's an actual, loving, and supportive father figure to Charlie LMAO, but by all accounts, he's checked the boxes.

[inkskinned]

oh you know it's all latestage capitalism but the thing is. how are you supposed to be a person inside of this. a person trying to be a better version of yourself.

oh, you started working young, which was kind of hard, but it's just the way stuff works sometimes. and it was 2008 and your family couldn't afford heat. but it's fine, you grow a spine and get used to the professional world and besides it was the suburbs we're talking about here, like, your life could have been actually hard, so what if your father lost his job and you can't afford to move or turn the lights back on. and once you start making money, it's good. you keep doing that. because now they're relying on you. so you have to do that.

oh you were in thousands of dollars of debt at 17 years old so that you could go to school, because you have to go to school if you want to get a "real" job. you even did it "right", you worked parttime and attended community college before you transferred to a public school. you were under so many merit scholarships.

which is fine. you pick yourself up and you say like, okay. i graduated college. i'm holding down a job. i'm doing the Adult Thing, which looks and acts like this, according to all the books i've read. you start with the shitty job and then you climb that corporate ladder.

but the shitty job doesn't cover rent and you stretch yourself too-thin so you get sick. good luck with that. the shitty job no longer pays for your meals. everyone asks why you don't just move, but there's nowhere to move to. and with what money are you going to be moving? and then the loans come back, because they were never going to forgive them, because you were 17 and trying to do the right thing, which was stupid. people are now saying you shouldn't have even gone to school.

which is fine. but because you have no other option, so you do the shitty job, and you apply every day for like 5 new ones, and despite the fact everyone says "there's no one who wants to work!" it's actually just that nobody is fucking hiring so you can either work for 13 dollars an hour in the shitty place you know (where at least you have a passingly friendly relationship with the manager) or you can start from scratch again with a different 13 dollars an hour without knowing how much abuse from the new job you'll be taking.

and if you quit you lose your insurance. if you quit you lose your housing. if you quit, you'll be another burnout kid. the lazy ones. these assholes, look at them!

and you come home to a family dinner and you hear from your father the same old thing. how he worked hard at his job and yes it sucked for a while but he was able to provide for the family and then the house and the dog and the rest of barbie's dream vacation. how the insurance did cover some of it. how you just really need to start speaking up more in manager conversations so they know you're a go-getter. you want to tell him - did you know we're actually doing more now hourly than any previous generation? - but you can't remember where you heard that statistic, and you're far too tired for the fucking argument. and then he starts in on his usual bit. where's the house? where's your kids? where's your ambition.

the same job the same money the same hours doesn't do it anymore. the same nose-to-the-grindstone now just shreds your face off. there's no such thing as upwards mobility, not really. and as far as you're aware, the money certainly is not trickling. you do the soulless stupid shit you signed up for because you fucking have to or else you literally risk your life (food, the apartment, the insurance), but it's not getting you anything. you download the stupid "save more" app and you budget and you do every right thing and then the price of eggs is 7 dollars and you say - oh great! another thing i have to fucking worry about now!

and you go to your stupid job and everyone in your father's generation just tells you to be better about being an adult. they have their homes and their savings account and their bailout and they say. well have you tried not drinking starbucks. well your generation just spends too much on clothing. well you might just be too addicted to travelling. and you - because you need the job - you bite your tongue and don't say i am being held prisoner and you're suggesting i stop pacing my cell if i don't like the scenery and you don't say what the fuck do you think i've been doing with my money and you don't say i haven't spent a cent on something nice in literally forever much less coffee you arrogant asshole. you open and close your bank app and check your loans and check your credit score and check fucking zillow and ziprecruiter and apartments.com just one time more. and still they give you that demeaning little grin and say - see, what you need is -

what you need is for your meds to stop being so fucking expensive. what you need is for the housing bubble to explode into dust. what you need is for billionaires to choke on their wealth. what you need is actual help. what you will get is more economic advice from people who are older-and-wiser.

and above you, almost in a glimmer, you can see the wedged smile of your debt getting toothier, wider.

[ahappydnp]

this might be too much of a deep lore question but i figured who would know better thank you if anyone: did they say somewhere or is it established that Phil was meant to join Dans tour in Australia but then randomly couldn’t because he had health issues/migraines?? And if so where did they say that bc i’ve read this in like 3 fics and would love to know the backstory hahaha <3 thank u

hiii they did talk about phil planning to tag along to the australian leg/some of europe "for a free holiday" (18:25) in october 2022. phil also joked tweeting about going to a canada show as well so it definitely seems like they were planning on phil attending more than just the one show

in january 2023 (right before the aus leg of the tour) he mentioned that his dizziness/vestibular migraines issue had gotten worse and he had been seeing specialists/taking new meds (1:34) and that he couldn't fly

the worst part is the last show of the AUS/NZ leg was on january 28th (two days before phil's birthday) so they definitely planned on staying and having a little holiday before the EU leg started (especially as they both really love it there and had a special holiday in australia previously during ii). dan ended up immediately flying home to london after the show for phil's birthday on the 30th

[glitteringdust]

Bc I'm sick rn, Lucanis taking care of Rook while they have a fever?

Rook sat in front of the dining room's fireplace, blanket wrapped around her shivering shoulders as Lucanis stirred the pot on the stove.

She'd taken a blast of raw magic head on earlier in the day, according to Bellara. On the group's return to the Lighthouse a torrential downpour left them soaked to the bones by the time they'd stepped through the eluvian. Rook had been the worst off but was unwilling to admit it.

He'd already tried bringing her back to bed more than once—she would return to her spot near the fire not long after, no matter what he did. It was safer for her to remain close, if she was so determined to return.

Stubborn. Should be in bed.

It was clear the demon agreed with Lucanis on one thing, at least.

“You should be in bed, Rook. You need to rest.” He sets the spoon down, leaving the soup to simmer a while longer as he makes his way to her.

“It's magical sickness, it'll pass soon enough.” She looks up at him, blue eyes big enough to drown in. He would almost believe her lie, if he did not see the fatigue etched into her face.

“Until it has, you should take the advice you give me. Rest.” He holds his hand out towards her.

“In that cold bed all on my lonesome?” She takes his hand, lets him pull her up close, “You could help make it warmer, you know.”

So close, he can feel the heat radiate from her.

Warm, very warm indeed.

As intriguing as it was for Spite to see something new, Lucanis knew Rook needed hydration and rest. A cool cloth on her forehead to help the fever. He needed to do something.

Bargaining would have to do.

“If you promise me you'll try and sleep, I'll hand over dinner privileges to Bellara and be your personal bed warmer.”

A small grin, yet he can tell she's satisfied with her victory.

His small bed in the pantry is closest, and more practical than walking the distance back to hers. He sends her to it while he goes to inform Bellara that dinner duties were now hers. When he returns to the pantry, Rook is lying down in his bed with the blanket pulled up to her chin.

Her gaze meets his immediately, and she smiles, “You came back.”

He slides his boots off, one at a time, “Of course I did, I'm a man of my word.”

He has no intention of sleeping. It's the one thing he tells himself as he lays down beside her. But then she settles in closer to him and entwines her fingers with his. Her breathing becomes a rhythmic pattern as she drifts into what will be a fitful kind of sleep. There was no leaving, now.

Proximity was contagious.

He should try to sneak away, see if Harding had the plants needed to make a tonic for fever. Or at least make more coffee, since the one he had was now abandoned in the kitchen. He certainly shouldn't be growing drowsy from the warmth of her, the comforting smell of cinnamon. He needs to stay awake…

…

…

When Bellara comes in later to announce dinner is ready, she can't bear to wake them.

[luminique]

i woukd have some thoughts id like to share w the class… i remember seeing a video on guardian bells once; i’m not too well-versed in biker culture but they’re bells bikers/motorcycle riders put on their bikes as good luck charms/protection from accidents or mech failures. i havent actually touched zzz in a while, so i don’t know if the SoC have them in their designs or mention them in dialogues but i like to think they do have these bells somewhere on their own vehicles or have knowledge of them at least!

imagine lighter receiving one from his s/o / love interest / crush… maybe it was made just for him or maybe they gave/made the entire crew their own bells, but a certain someone takes extra care of his and makes sure to keep it in his sight when driving….. many brainworms… safe to say this man is making me a little insane…(● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾

hope im not being too much of a bother by dumping too many Thoughts™️ and that ur generally doin good in life/staying in good health!（＾∇＾）i rly like ur works and i always look forward to whenever i see u post something regardless of what it is… <3

OH MY GOD !! THIS FACT IS SO INSANE i went and watched some videos about it and it is so cute to think that.

maybe you aren't that good riding bikes or just not much of rider yourself, so instead, you gave all of the sons of calydon their own bells. they could hear it jingle in your hands as you rushed over to them. they had the signature boar design on them and then little engravings of their name on it so that it was extra special. supposedly, when a biker bell is gifted, it enhances its power of keeping the rider safe.

all of them appreciated the lovely gesture but lighter specifically, he didn't know where to properly place it. most of the time, you hang them on the bottom of the bike. that's no good, he wanted to see this gift, a reminder that you got it for him specifically.

but as the legend goes, it is to ward off little gremlins.... wait were there even gremlins in the outer ring? maybe bangboos might cause havoc on the bike but they wouldn't do that, right? well he didn't want it to not work, so he begrudgingly installs it pretty low on his bike.

every time he rides, he can hear the soft jingling of it from the wind. it does get drowned out by the loud engines but just the knowledge that it's there, the knowledge that you want him to drive safely, he can't help but smile whenever he hears it.

[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.

[hurlingdown]

God damn am I hungry, I want to fuck and suck on kuzan's pussy lol, like this man would taste like spearmint(lol joking ofc), he'd love to be fuck hard deep and slowly, choking him slightly so he can barely breathe will make him cum, bound him by sea cuffs, and watch him melt, he could go for hours, he'd want to get fuck until his cunt is ruined and he's pregnant.

Then he'd ask the next day for the same thing, so you decide to fuck him in an alley way him bent over a crate while he's crying and drooling his cunt still dripping leftover cum, fill his pussy to the brim with cum again and make him babble about how he wants your baby, he'd also being cockwarming you while you work, or at a meeting, everyone knows what you two are doing but rather not say anything because they you'd beat the shit out of them.

He'd also be into somnophilia, him sleeping while you fuck him, or him riding you while you're asleep, your both such deep sleepers that neither of you know what happened unless one of you tell the other, but neither of you guys care enough to do anything, or fuck him while he's in early pregnancy softly, even if he asks for harder, just shut him up with a kiss, and he'll shut up and wrap his arms (and legs) around you

-🍬

this is such a coincidence because i just received a kuzan thirst earlier... making a baby with kuzan. hmm. sweet thought.

kuzan getting baby fever is a natural disaster. grabbing you during work breaks (or in the middle of work) and the moment the both of you are out of sight, he's yanked down both of your pants, exposing his leaking cunt and wanting to be bred again. he's gotten used to bringing a piece of seastone with him wherever because he's learnt his lesson after repeatedly freezing your cock in his cunt whenever he gets too excited, though the idea of you being permanently stuck inside him isn't a bad one.

you've got him pressed up the wall of the bathroom, balls deep inside him and bucking up into his sweet cunt, pumping him full of your warm seed and he's muttering something about how you were the perfect temperature, that he wanted to get pregnant again and again if your cum was always gonna feel this nice inside him.

[varpusvaras]

None of the Queens are devoted tea drinkers, not in a way that they would have strong opinions on how to drink their tea, aside from what to not put in it (Roy still gives tea with milk a very long stare even if he doesn't say anything).

It's about more than just liking tea as a drink, though. It's about the process of making it, the practised routine of it, the feeling of simple, grounding safety it brings.

It's also about the company.

It's just past five in the morning. Dinah is still up, sitting at the kitchen isle. The house is quiet.

She must've dosed off a little, because she notices Jason in the kitchen only when he is already in there, putting water in the kettle. He has Roy's hoodie thrown over his shoulders, and he says nothing as he puts the kettle on and starts to silently go through the drinks cabinet. Most of the tea in there is his, so he picks through the variety with ease.

Dinah comtemplates telling him to go back to sleep. They've all gotten back home just a couple of hours earlier, after running back to back missions, first on their own and then together. Jason has a rather nasty looking bruise stretching over his brow and temple, and Dinah knows that he hoodie is hiding a wrist brace beneath it.

She doesn't say anything. Everyone has a hard time falling asleep after being up and running for so long from time to time. Today, it's her and Jason. It's nice to have someone with you when dealing with that.

The kettle clicks. Jason takes out two mugs and pours water over the teabags. Dinah watches as he mixes in a good spoonful of honey to the other mug, the spoon clicking softly as he stirs.

He then takes both of the mugs and brings them over, setting the one with honey in front of her. He then sits down, a couple of chairs away from her, and looks at his own tea.

"I heard from Barbie that you were with the birds earlier", he whispers, his voice a little rough with sleep that will not yet come. "It's chamomile with honey. Helps with a sore throat."

Dinah takes her mug. It's warm against her hands. The morning is not cold, but the warmth is comforting, anyway.

She takes a sip. It's soft and sweet, and the taste of the honey stays for a bit after she swallows.

"It's good", she whispers back to him. "Thank you."

Jason hums, just as soft and sweet as the tea. From the corner of her eye, Dinah can see his lips turn up ever so slightly, before he hides behind his own tea. Dinah smiles as well, before taking another sip.

[teachyouhowtodothesponge]

Sick rn 💔, can i request a sick Eddie so he can suffer with me

Oh no! I hope you feel better! Being sick is the worst, but these sick Eddies should help a little! :) Frank is there too!

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

ngl the "im white so i dont talk abt any characters' race ever bc im afraid of accidentally saying something racist" approach to fandom is like. very weak. imo.

like first of all: i get that "i dont incorporate race into my media analysis because i'm afraid of messing up" comes from a different place than "i don't incorporate race into my media analysis because I Don't See Race 😊 there is only The Human Race." but it has the same functional effect, right? that effect being that your analysis of [INSERT MEDIA HERE] ignores the very real way that race impacts people.

second of all: it feels kinda lazy! like ur saying "i dont know enough abt race to feel comfortable commenting on how race affects this show and i dont care enough to learn." the only way to become more comfortable discussing race is to actually practice discussing race. but when i see people saying this it feels like they're saying "i'm white, which means i don't know how to talk about race, and i don't have to know how to talk about race, and i don't ever have to know how to talk about race, so i'm choosing to never learn how to talk about race."

third of all: just because you don't openly talk about race doesn't mean you're any less likely to accidentally say or do something racist. implicit biases run deep, y'all. it's probably already there in your interpretation of the show. but the "i don't want to accidentally say something racist" implies that you are positive that your interpretation of the show isn't racist. and i'm not saying you're wrong. but i'm saying that if a person of color tells you that something you said about [INSERT MEDIA HERE] was racist, you better be prepared to actually listen and not just brush them off because "i can't be racist! i purposefully never talk about race just to make sure i'm not racist!"

which brings me to my final point: if you do accidentally say something racist... literally just apologize. if someone says you've been doing something racist, apologize and stop doing that thing. it's literally not that hard. i've done it. i've seen other people do it. "i'm scared of being called racist!" is such a weak excuse im tired of it. getting called racist is not the end of the fucking world. calm the fuck down and grow a spine. jesus.

[booksooks]

hihiii what do u think tomura x civilian reader would look like 👀👀👀

𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬𝑺 𝒀𝑶𝑼

Author's Note: HELLo! ty for the ask, i hope this was what u were looking for!

Content: Like... one? Death threat. You'll be fine. Lots of dialogue.

Word Count: 1430

Summary: Shigaraki decides he likes you.

The first time you ever met Shigaraki Tomura was at your local bookstore slash game shop. You were, as per usual for this store, weighed down with an armful of books, and you were about to make your way around a shelf to head to the checkout, when you stopped, intending to look at an interesting looking book. Instead, your foot collided with someone else’s, and you watched in horror as the person attached to the foot lost their balance and fell back on their ass. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You cried, immediately plopping your stack of books on a nearby shelf. You picked up the person, no, the man’s game cartridge, and put that on another shelf before you reached out your hand to help him up. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was putting my feet.” 

The man only glared at your outstretched hand, a black medical mask covering the lower half of his face. It did nothing, however, to hide the downright murderous scowl that contorted his forehead. His eyes flicked up to yours, red and full of hate. 

“It’s fine,” he spat out, but you could tell he was not happy with you, or the situation. He completely ignored your hand and stood up by himself, brushing himself off and snatching the game cartridge from the shelf you had put it on. 

“Are you sure?” You asked, trying to catch his eyes again, but he stubbornly kept his face ducked, which caused his hair to blur any noticeable features. “I’m really so sorry.” 

“I said it’s fine.” 

You bit your lip, hesitant, before you blurted, “look, I know we’re not supposed to use our quirks in public, but if you’re hurt I can take care of it for you. It’s the least I can do.”

That gave the man pause. His scowl dropped, and although he still didn’t look at you, he wasn’t actively trying to run away from you. “You can?” 

“Yeah!” You chirped, a bit too loudly, and you winced. “I-I mean, yeah, I can. Where does it hurt, I’ll help.” 

You saw him swallow, reach a hand up to scratch at the base of his neck, and then he stopped. He held that hand out to you, shaking ever so slightly, and turned it palm up. His wrist had the ittiest, bittiest bit of rug burn on the inside, it was nothing really. It would heal by tomorrow. But you had told him that you could help, so you activated your quirk and raised two fingers to wave above the wound. You didn’t even touch him, but he still flinched back, as if you were burning him.

Something in the back of your mind snorted at the idea of calling the tiny patch of raw skin, barely red, a wound, but you were nothing if not someone who followed through. Either way, it was gone in a moment, fading to pink, and then his wrist looked like it had never been injured. 

“Better?” You asked, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. Unauthorized quirk use could get you in major trouble. 

The man made a face underneath the mask; the only reason you even noticed was because the mask itself wiggled slightly. “It itches,” he whined, using two fingers to scritch at the spot, 

“Yeah, that’ll go away in a sec.” You took a step back and grabbed your stack of books. “I’m really sorry again. Have a nice day!”

The only response you got was the feeling of his eyes trailing after you as you made your way to the front of the store. 

Over the next few months, you saw the man with red eyes again. And again. And again. And again. And one day, you figured he was trying to get your attention. You hadn’t known he was Shigaraki Tomura at first, not until your third or fourth encounter, when the features lined up just-so with the man you had seen on the news a few days earlier. 

Which spurred you on to do the stupidest thing you could possibly have, which was corner him. 

“Holy shit,” you hissed, shoving him into a back corner, behind several shelves and where no one ever really looked. “What the fuck, what the fuck, you’re that villain guy, Shigaraki Tomura, what the fuck! What the hell are you doing here?” 

Shigaraki, for the villain that he was, didn’t put up any fight as you practically bullied him backwards, his mask still over his nose and mouth. “Kind of surprised you didn’t recognize me earlier.” 

You furrowed your brows and looked at him incredulously. “You’re a little hard to recognize without that whole,” you paused, and made a general “covered” motion over your face, implying the hand that usually sat on his face. “You know?” 

Shigaraki shrugged. “The video games here are good.”

You dropped your hands and blinked at him. “This is… too weird. I should- I should be dead.” 

“I can still kill you if you want.” 

“N-No, it’s okay,” you insisted quickly, backing up. “I just… What? ”

“What ‘what’?”

You rubbed at your face. “I mean, what, why am I not dead, what, what do you mean the video games here are good, what on god’s green earth?” 

Shigaraki scratched at his neck, a habit you had noticed in a previous “innocent” meet up. “I mean I like the video games here. And you’re useful.” 

You nodded, pretending to understand. When it was clear that Shigaraki wasn’t going to elaborate, you shook your head in defeat. “How? ”

“Your quirk.” 

Oh. He had prodded you a bit more about it the second time you had met, and you had elaborated, thinking, ‘What the hell? What’s the worst that could happen?’ 

Well.  

“I see. Well um. Great meeting you, I guess.” 

“Wait.” Shigaraki shoved his hands in his pockets, awkward. You stopped backing away, knowing that your only chance of escape was dissolving like sugar in warm water. 

“Yes?”

“Join us,” Shigaraki said, looking directly at you. “We could use someone like you.”

You sighed and blinked at him, confused. “I-I have no reason to.” 

Shigaraki snorted and you were very suddenly reminded of the danger that was simply his hands. 

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” 

Shigaraki shook his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled beneath his mask. It wasn’t the most comforting look. “No.”

Which was how you found yourself joining the league. Actually, join was a strong word, it was more like you were on retainer when needed, or when not needed. It was really up to Shigaraki’s discretion. He popped in whenever someone was in need of healing, or when he was bored. Which, as the months passed, seemed to grow more and more often. 

And… well, you weren’t really afraid of him. Yeah, he threatened you often enough. But he never really seemed into it, nor did he ever follow through. So you entertained him, learned how to play his favorite video games with him, and even, on days when he was angry or frightened or just plain upset, he would let you read your favorite books to him. He would huff and pout, crossing his arms and kicking his feet up onto your coffee table, but he’d let you read without interrupting until you got to the end of the chapter, and then the flood of questions would pour out. 

He cared. You knew he cared, you could tell in the way he listened and took notes, remembering everything you said. He’d bitch about you bitching, but he wouldn’t let a problem linger around you for long, and you were never left wanting for anything for long. 

He never spoke up either, never admitted it was him leaving little gifts around your apartment for you to find. That was, unless, you went too long without mentioning it offhandedly. 

“How are you finding that new pan?” He would ask, not looking up from his Switch. 

“It’s fine,” you would reply, swallowing back any hint of a smile. “Food doesn’t stick to it like my old one.” 

“Good to hear.”

“Mmm.” 

And then you would move on. 

It was simple. It was quiet. Maybe society wouldn’t consider you a good person anymore, but you didn’t care. You lived a peaceful life, with people who relied on you, and made you feel needed. And the world’s scariest villain, Shigaraki Tomura, liked you. 

So yeah, you were doing pretty damn good, if you did say so yourself.

End Notes: i'm not sure how to feel about this one. anon, i hope you enjoy <3 feedback is always appreciated.

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