#forty writes

[comfortyart]

Forced Retirement AU- Prologue

As promised, I'm working on writing my AU! I'll continue to post arts and chapters here. I've decided to write the AU in a way that avoids direct manga spoilers, though the AU is inspired by a manga spoiler. Read at your own risk! Summary: After recovering from an accident, Katsuki learns to deal with the aftermath both physically and mentally. After spending his life assured of his future, he needs to find his place in the world when that's no longer possible. This is a BKDK fic, featuring an established relationship.

WARNINGS: Panic attacks, mental health talk, depression, self loathing. May have sexual themes in the future but will be marked accordingly. Teeth rotting fluff to balance it all out. I'll edit to post links to future parts here. Enjoy!

Ringing pierced his ears as he watched a muted mouth move as it spoke to him. The sound of his heart pounding silenced the world around him as his body began to panic. His breathing felt erratic as his throat threatened to collapse in on itself. He could see it in her eyes, the nurses’ speech pausing as she scrambled to his side as shock trembled his entire body. He remembered staring down at his hands, vision blurred, convinced he was going to die in the moment - because what was left worth living for? _________________________ Shrugging on his coat, Katsuki pushed aside the memory that prodded at his mind. He’d never forget that feeling of his blood running cold, losing the ability to hear. He wished he could forget. It’d be easier. He cursed under his breath as he felt his chest tighten. He wasn’t doing this, not today. He slid his hands down his coat slowly, smoothing the soft cotton. His suit was a stylish maroon, with a dark blue t-shirt underneath. It was a bit fancier than he’d prefer, but for the occasion he was willing to make an exception. He met his gaze in the glass reflection, scanning over himself. His throat tightened, eyes wrenching shut to wish away the negative emotions. Fuck, fuck, he could not do this today. “Kacchan?” Katsuki’s eyes snapped open to meet the bright, green ones in the reflection. Turning his body he met them directly, Izuku’s disquiet look making his stomach flip. The last thing he wanted was to ruin this day, ruin it with his stupid fucking thoughts. “I’m almost ready, sorry.” 

Katsuki managed to keep his tone flat, lips tightening into a line as he willed himself back to composure. Izuku returned a small smile, reaching to take the blond's hand firmly. He looked down at their hands, taking a deep breath as he squeezed, running his thumb over the changing textures of the scarred hands. Katsuki stiffened from a sudden contact to his face, looking up to meet pools of verdant green as a warm hand rested against his jaw. “You know I can tell when you’re lying,” he teased, tone soft. A warmth spread through Katsuki’s face as he averted his gaze, a frown pulling at his lips. Intimacy was hard - impossible, even - at the best of times. It’d taken years of consistency from Izuku to not perceive his own vulnerability as weakness, and still he tried his best to hide his weakness. 

Anything to not feel like a failure. “Pft, bullshit, I have the best poker face in the damn country,” he scoffed, giving a gentle smile as he met Izuku’s gaze once more, causing them both to chuckle warmly. The moment hung as the silence started to grow uncomfortable with each second. Katsuki’s pulse raised as he swallowed thickly. He hated this. What could he even say? “You know..” Izuku trailed, looking down at their hands. He dropped the one from Katsuki’s face to grab his other hand. “You don’t need to come,” he said plainly, attempting to hide what would be disappointment. Afterall, he wanted Katsuki by his side for everything and anything. Katsuki’s brow knit together as he scowled.  “Like hell I’m missing this,” he growled. “You’ve worked your fucking ass off for this! No way in hell I’m not going.” Izuku smiled warmly, squeezing Katsuki’s hands. “You mean, we’ve worked hard for this. I couldn’t have done it without you, Kacchan.” 

With a roll of his eyes Katsuki leaned down, roughly pulling Izuku against him as their lips met. It was firm, chest heaving slightly with a sigh as he released the tension building inside of him. Pulling away, Katsuki leaned his head against Deku’s. “Always so fuck’n modest,” he whispered. Untangling their hands he wrapped his arms around the other tightly, Izuku bringing a hand to his hair as the other rubbed down his back. Izuku listened as Katsuki swallowed thickly against his ear, a shaky breath leaving his lungs as Katsuki clung to the smaller man. “Listen,” he spoke carefully, praying his voice would not betray his last scrap of dignity. “I’m not gonna lie, this is hard. I want this for you, more than anything, but I still- fuck.”

Katsuki grit his teeth, a tear rolling down his cheek as he buried his face into Izuku’s neck. “Kacchan, it’s ok to feel this way, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Izuku reassured. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.” He ran a hand through Katsuki’s hair, pulling back to hold his head in his hands, smoothing bangs away from his eyes. “I love you, you know. Nothing will ever make you less of a hero to me.” With a scoff Katsuki smiled softly, moving one of Izuku’s hands from his face so he could rub tears from his eyes. “Fucking sop,” he teased. “Always gotta be the fucking hero, whether its a big bad villain or my fucked up self confidence issues.”

Izuku pouted. “Kacchan-” “Yeah yeah, I love you too, nerd,” he huffed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Sorry, just got in my own head.”

Izuku shook his head. “Hey, it’s alright. You know you don’t like asking for help, but I’m always happy to uh, rescue a damsel in distress. I mean, it’s sort of my job,” he teased, Katsuki feigning a frown, trying to hold back a laugh. He playfully pushed Izuku off him, crossing his arms. “Fuck you, I may not be a hero but I ain’t no damsel.” Izuku’s laughter filled the room, Katsuki feeling the warmth spread throughout his body as he watched tears prickle at the side of the other’s eyes. He’d felt this a few times in his life, the realization of why Izuku would someday be #1 - and this was one of those times. His panic attacks had been nothing new. His head often too loud, void of silence, but he’d learned to live with it. It was different with Izuku, though. There were never long, hollow hours after crying, no zombie-like days of feeling numb. There was light. In fact, the deeper the darkness grew, the more dazzling the light shined. And that light to him was Izuku. He was still picking himself back up every day, learning to exist in a world where his dream was a barred, closed off possibility. But with Izuku there it felt less bleak, less exhausting. He had a reason to keep fighting for a day where he felt adrenaline for life once more. Katsuki smiled, letting out a small huff as he watched Izuku regain his composure. “I swear to god, no one deserves that damn spot more than you.” Izuku met his eyes, the sincerity gleaming behind the statement left Izuku nearly on the brink of tears. “I’ll fucking kill them if they even think of putting you back in #2,” he growled. Izuku held back a smile. “Kacchan!” he chuckled. “What? Name one hero who worked fucking harder than you? I still think it’s unfair they didn’t place you there after all that All For One crap,” he scoffed. “Kacchan, you know they can’t just put a 16-year old under that much responsibility,” he laughed. “Does it look like I fucking care? That place is yours,” he smirked, shifting to place both hands on Izuku’s waist, and placing another soft kiss to his lips. Slow, intimate. A letter to the other for his gratefulness, for pulling him from his mind once more. “Let’s go get you that #1 spot.” Izuku smiled widely. Eyes determined, he nodded. 

[fucknofortunato]

im trying to create, I need to vent these stupid thoughts, its all fucking cringe, I want this poetry in my brain to stop churning out

[smallpapers]

Commission I did a few months back for @gracefulsouffle ‘s Hunter-centric time loop fic, Again and Again, (Chapter 17!) Go check it out!!

[taddymason]

I genuinely don't know how they're going to redeem Jay "I got my ass beat once so I'm joining the fascist group that wants to destroy all the kingdoms" Walker

[thecleverqueer]

Friendly reminder:

Ahsoka is in her forties.

She’s tired.

She has to go to bed before 11PM or she feels hung over even though she drank nothing.

She has random joint pains.

She feels weather.

She needs readers, but she’s in denial about it.

She has zero tolerance for anyone’s bullshit.

She is easily annoyed by said bullshit.

She’s no longer 16.

She’s no longer “snips”.

No one in their forties acts like they did in their teens. They’re not even the same person they were in their thirties.

She’s sage. She’s old. She’s going to act old. It’s okay. It happens.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

🚨CROOKED KINGDOM SPOILER ALERT!!! 🚨

I’m once again thinking about how genius it was of Leigh Bardugo to kill off Muzzen near the start of Crooked Kingdom, simultaneously foreshadowing Matthias’ death and leaning us away from thinking it would happen

[everybodyshusband]

uhhh in My Feels™️ so woe, ansgt be upon ye !!!

disabled rain, angst, hurt/not much comfort, it's just sad and a bit weird and bad i'm sorry ksdfjnsfkdf divider by the icon that is @/wrathofrats

Rain is a jealous ghoul. He’s always known it.

It’s fun, sometimes. Fun to let his packmates play with his jealousies until he just can’t help but snap. Until he’s got one of them over his lap, turned on beyond belief, skin red hot, as they beg for his mercy. As they apologise for daring to belong to anyone but him.

So yes, his jealousy is fun, but he never expected for it to manifest like this.

The first time, he thought he was just overtired. Anger boiling inside of him caused by lack of sleep the previous night rather than jealousy of one of his packmates. After all, this is a stupid thing to be jealous about, and the night before, well… He’d been rather too busy being taken apart inch by painstaking inch by Zephyr to really have had any modicum of decent sleep at all. So again, why was he jealous? Why is he still jealous? What motive did he have to be jealous of the ghoul that was in his bed only the night before?

It wasn’t until Aeon was summoned that he figured it out. Until the sensation of his blood boiling could be tied to more than just an abstract feeling of annoyance bubbling under his skin. With Aeon, he’s never felt his usual jealousy—the quintessence ghoul is in his bed more often than not, so why would he? What he has felt however, has been that awful, sick feeling of hatred every time that new ghoul stumbles. Complains of his ailments. Asks to borrow one of Zephyr’s old canes or pairs of forearm crutches for stability on a particularly bad day.

That’s when it had all clicked together. Aeon. Zephyr. Sometimes even Mountain or Cumulus.

But never Rain.

His jealousy stems from the fact that they get help. They are allowed to be in pain, to be uncomfortable. They have a reason. They have been seen by Omega, by Aether, by the team in the infirmary, and they all have something different about them.

Rain doesn’t.

Rain, with the hyperextended legs that apparently cause him no medical difficulties and yet still stumbles during practice or onstage. Rain, with the perfect iron count whose vision still turns to static when he stands up. Rain, with joints that ache, bones that pop, a head that never quite seems to be able to pay attention as well as the others, but he’s fine. No matter how hard he presses that something is wrong, he’s fine. Nevermind that he’s been Up Top for years, nevermind that he’s done all that he can to treat this on his own. Nevermind that he’s getting worse. He’s fine, at least that’s what Aether had told him the last time he took a trip to the infirmary.

So yes, he’s jealous. He’s jealous of Zephyr’s chair on their bad days and the fact that Aeon feels no shame in asking to borrow mobility aids from ghouls that aren’t using them. He’s jealous that Cumulus only needs to ask Aether for a wrist splint before one is in her lap, being meticulously fastened by the quintessence ghoul himself. He’s tried to reign it in, the intensity of his emotions about this, but no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t. He knows it’s not anyone’s fault, least of all Aeth’s or Meg’s—they’re just doing their jobs, there’s protocol they have to follow—but that knowledge doesn’t stop the jealousy, the aggravation, the hatred of his beloved packmates for simply existing in a way that he’s not allowed to. For getting help in a way that he’s too scared to ask for.

He often thinks that perhaps this is why he’s so angry, so jealous. It’s his own fault he can’t—won’t—ask for help from any of them. He knows he’s allowed to. He knows that Aether and Omega would be more than happy to bend the rules a little to help him out, or that Zephyr wouldn’t mind lending him a (literal) something to lean on when Rain needs it. But he’s scared. Scared that if they can help, he won’t be in pain anymore and he’s been lying this whole time. And scared that if they can’t, that he’s unfixable, untreatable. That this vessel is just another one of God’s mistakes that Satan never bothered to fix. Maybe it is. Maybe there’s no fixing him. No helping him.

He hopes that’s not the case. As much as getting whatever this is fixed scares him, he knows he can’t go on like this forever. His pack knows it too. Zephyr had noticed it first. They’d sat him down one day in their room and had simply waited until it had all come pouring out in a mess of tears and snot and helplessness. Since then, the pack have known what’s been happening and as a collective, they’ve been doing their best to help him. It’s nice, he thinks. For them to be so kind to a being as broken as himself. One day he’ll try his best to repay them all. For now though, he just needs to work up the energy to swing his legs over the edge of his mattress, to muster up the courage to call Aeon and ask for his help, and maybe a cane.

Or maybe he’ll just stay in bed a while longer...

[sabrinasideblog]

so i found this picture (i’m unsure of the source so let me know if you know it) of roger’s designs for a band logo and name (an interesting concept for sure)

but i also noticed at the top of the page, he’s noted down freddie’s family home address in feltham, as well as directions to get there! i’m sure the other scribbles have meanings too, but that was the only obvious one to me :)

[kawareo]

Nsfw alphabet

A- aftercare

Can we know for Gortash/durge compared to astarian/durge?

I'm fascinated by the differences in those relationships

(Gonna say for pre-tadpoles because after that the dynamics obviously change)

Astarion and Durge are very much friends with benefits, and (mostly for Astarion's sake) their aftercare is them getting back to normal as soon as possible. That includes breaking any potential tension, starting a conversation about something unrelated, healing whatever injuries Durge has given to himself during sex (their bondage tends to be improvised and not exactly safe for Durge when he's tied up) but they do also cuddle. Often Durge falls asleep and Astarion gets to lay there and think about when he will do when Caz is dead, or just whatever, because he does feel safe enough to dare think about things Cazador wouldn't like when he's being held by a Bhaalspawn.

On the other hand, Durgetash... They're more domestic. More quiet. Silently undoing Durge's binds and Durge quietly checking up Enver to see how badly his body took it. Enver often has a flareup in his bad hip after sex and they both pretend not to notice but Durge is mindful of it. They often take a bath if they have time and whichever is injured less helps the other there. Healing potions and quiet prayers are a staple of their aftercare. Neither of them is supposed to care enough about the other to provide aftercare tbh, so they do it almost silently and pretend it never happened.

So yeah the main difference is that (in Bhaal's eyes) Durgestarion is just casual necrophilia and Durgetash is a fucking blasphemy and aftercare is treated accordingly

[miraclewoozi]

[ 22:38 ] - b.sk

pairing : seungkwan x fem reader. content : smut. literal pwp. (MINORS DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT.) w/c : 1.5k. notes : i’m down horrendous for boo seungkwan and his fucking hands. what else is new? SMUT TAGS UTC.  notes 2.0 : my first timestamp! wow. how fun. (i honestly just needed to get this out of my system, so. sorry about it.) boosadans, u guys are are so starved. pls accept this little token of my love to you.

smut tags : soft!dom seungkwan, sub!reader. swearing (obv). physical restraining (if you squint there’s maybe the tiniest implication of a size kink but not really?), some possessiveness but it’s minimal and mc likes it, unwrapped piv sex (he pulls out but still. be safe out there team), nipple play, clit stimulation, praise, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart), some orgasm control. LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANYTHING.

Both of your wrists fit so perfectly in just one of his hands. 

It’s the best revelation he’s ever made. In the months you’ve been together, there have never really been any true power dynamics at play in the bedroom, both of you always too caught up trying to please instead of dominate. But when you release your hands from where they’ve been tangled in his hair and they fall onto the mattress just above your head, something clicks inside him. Seungkwan finds himself now gently pinning your arms down to your bed sheets as he leans over you, his long fingers spread wide to keep you in place, his hips rocking against you rhythmically. Just hard enough to rile you up. Just a little too slow to have you shaking.

It’s perfect, Seungkwan thinks, because it keeps his other hand free to use however he desires. He can cup your cheek, and murmur ‘my pretty baby’ at you as your eyes roll back into your head. He can toy with your nipples, if he wants, and tell you how perfect your tits look when he thrusts hard enough to make them bounce. He can grip your waist, holding you still as he fucks into you slightly rougher, watching your smooth skin depress under his touch. 

He can even tease his fingers over your clit and make you squeeze your sweet little pussy around his cock. That’s his favourite, he thinks. By the way you react, it might just be yours, too. 

“Harder,” you gasp as he readjusts his hold on your wrists, and he looks down his nose at you with that raised eyebrow, sideways smirk signature he has. You swallow, biting your lip briefly before you say, “fuck— please, Kwannie. Hold them tighter.”

“Oh, princess,” he coos, cock throbbing at how you sound so angelic and beautifully fucked out. More-so as you whine in desperation when his fingers curl more harshly, giving you enough pressure to immobilise your hands entirely. “Is this it? This how you like it?”

“Yes,” you tell him, nodding and tugging against his hold, testing it, but it’s to no avail as he presses you further into the sheets, rolling your clit now between his thumb and forefinger on his other hand. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Not yet,” he interrupts you, shaking his head with a pout that you’re almost inclined to believe is condescending. “You can’t come yet, okay?” 

Well, fuck. You’ve never been too good at holding your orgasms off, and thankfully Seungkwan has very, very rarely asked you to try. He loves the way you feel around him when you unravel, and he’s always so eager to get you off before he does that the moment you tell him you’re close, it’s music to his ears. You’re just so velvety around him. So warm and wet and he sometimes feels bad that he can’t always last that long, but it’s all your fault for being so damn perfect.

You try your best, but you don’t even have anything to grab onto. You can only ball your hands into fists to try and anchor yourself as he snaps and snaps and snaps his hips into you, as he pinches and massages at the bundle of nerves between your thighs. That little smirk makes a comeback on his features, but you don’t notice. Not until —

“Wish you could see yourself right now,” he sighs as he angles his thrusts a little bit deeper and your eyes fly open, your lips parting in a squeak of surprise at how far up in your stomach you feel him. “God, you’re doing so well, baby. Feels like this pussy was made for me.”

It makes your head spin. This is the first time he’s ever said anything like this in bed — he’s usually so… shy, so decorous. But thinking about how every vein in his cock must surely leave imprints on your insides, how the fucking your cunt takes multiple times a week makes you inarguably his? You’ve only ever been turned off by a possessive man, before now, yet this, from your usually so sweet boyfriend? Sends pulse after pulse of pleasure straight to your core. 

You think you need to try and bring this out in him more often. 

Talking back to him is a waste of the effort you’re using to try and hold yourself back from the edge, so you just nod, pinching your lips together as you swallow the words. The issue here, though, is that in your silence, your ears are left to pick up on every single other thing. The lewd sounds of your hole sucking him in over and over. The way your old bed frame squeaks with every single movement. His breathy sighs and moans. The slap of skin on skin when he eventually uses that free hand to hike your left leg up around his waist and he manages to get even closer, still. 

“Please tell me you’re—” you start to say, the fire inside you warmer than it’s ever been without you letting it consume you. “I don’t know if I can…”

“You really need it, huh?” he asks, dipping down to kiss your lips softly, slowing until he almost stops. “You gonna come?”

“Please,” you beg, trying to move beneath him, trying to fuck yourself on his length. You’re so close. You just need a little more. “Please, please, please—”

He lets go of your wrists altogether and immediately, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your fingertips into his back as he settles back into a delicious rhythm. 

“Okay,” is all he says, the word hot as it fans over your parted lips, as his exhale disappears into your mouth. But it’s all he needs to say. Frankly, it’s all he gets the chance to; it happens before you’re ready, before you can communicate it, even though you’ve spent what feels like forever being built up to this. All of your muscles stiffen as it hits you and you’re seeing stars behind your tightly closed eyelids. Your breaths escape you in a series of moans and whines, each inhale more like a gasp. He feels you clenching around him, feels how you try to pull his whole weight down against your stomach, feels how much wetter your cunt gets and how your leg tightens around his waist to try and keep him buried inside you. 

It almost tips him over the edge, too, and even though he stills, he finds himself having to go back naming all of his highschool teachers in his head just to try and keep a shred of composure while your walls do their best to milk him dry. Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long for your arms to go slack around him, and (though reluctantly) he hurries to pull out of you. Seungkwan takes his cock into his hand instead and he fucks into his fist at the same pace as before – and no, it’s not as plush or warm or tight as you, but it doesn’t need to be. You take him to the point of no return every time — this just needs to be enough, and wow, it is. In seconds, his balls tighten and his forehead scrunches and he grunts as he releases in spurts all over your stomach.

He comes, and he comes, and it feels a bit like he’s never going to stop coming. But whenever it does end, when his agonisingly sensitive length starts to soften, and squeezing out every last drop onto your waiting body is almost an impossible task, he feels exhausted. He made such a mess. It’s everywhere. All on his hand, on the sheets, on you; you’re lying there looking so fucking pretty, breathing like you’ve just finished a race, and your belly is pearlescent with his cum, and all he wants to do is go to sleep. 

But you half-sit up and reach out to him, taking hold of his wrist, now. He lets you (he’d let you do anything in these afterglow moments, and he knows that you know it too), softening the muscles in his arm to straighten at the elbow, and he watches you. Watches you drag your tongue over the skin between his thumb and his pointer finger. Watches as you lap up and swallow back the cum he was about to get up to wipe up with a tissue. Watches as you clean up every trace he left of his orgasm on his own hand, before you flop back onto the pillows, giggling and licking over your kiss-swollen lips. 

He almost feels like he could get hard again at the sight of it. But — much to his own dismay — Seungkwan’s refractory period has never been quick. Even if he did pop another hard-on right now, he knows he’d be way too sensitive to do anything with it. 

“You can’t do that to me,” he pouts, leaning over you to the bedside cabinet to grab a few tissues to start cleaning you up. “Not without a warning.”

"A warning wouldn't help and you know it," you tease him. He gives a 'hmmph', pulling a few free from the box and rolling his eyes as you squirm, ticklish when he starts to wipe his release from you. “You’d whine about it anyway.”

“I don’t whine,” he-… well. “Come on. Get up — bathroom, baby.”

You think that this is supposed to be distracting, to stop you being able to call him out for his immediate contradiction. On the other hand, maybe this is just his way of looking after you — it could be both, even. But you reach both arms up, first, silently asking him to come down to you one more time. He does, rolling his eyes and meeting you in another kiss, the tissues still scrunched up in his palm.

“Two minutes?” You ask, locking him into a cuddle he could probably escape from, if his strength ever happened to overpower the love he has for you. Yet, he rolls onto his back and tosses the tissues with alarming accuracy into the bin next to your dresser, pulling you into his chest.

“One and a half,” he agrees, nodding up at the ceiling.

He can never say no to you. Not especially when you hum into his collarbone and drag your fingers down his arm to take hold of his (clean) hand.

thank u sm for reading!! as always, likes, reblogs & feedback are all greatly appreciated.<3

[comfortyart]

A poem about The Pale Elf

[emberunderscore]

guys im going crazy with the edits over here (im sure this has been done with this song before but idc i wanted to)

also guys im going to include the rambling in the actual edit post this time because i actually cannot contain myself . (i went on and on for this one i had a lot of thoughts )

OK BIG ONE COOL ONE WHEN IT SAYS "I'm a worthless human being" there is an overlay during the word "worthless" of the prison scene and the word worthless is layed over sherbert's forehead, think of it like the word worthless and failure going hand in hand because icarus doesn't belive they are worth anything if they are not useful and they cannot be useful if theyre a failure which they wholeheartedly believe they are THATS IT THATS MY FAVORITE PART OF THIS EDIT (not really but shshshshs)

ok back to being in order

"I had left you" and "I forgave you" being right next to each other is SO PERFECT because that part is referencing the cave obviously and immediately after centross dies icarus is like 'get the fuck away from me why did you do that, holy shit you were gonna kill me' and then he tells them he can bring centross back and they immediately forgive him (and its not rlly great editing wise cause obviously theres not much contrast between the clips but the sacrifices we make are very small)

"I forgot you" this line is kinda hard to understand how ive coded it cause centross is on the screen so it kinda makes it seems like im saying they forgot centross but NO! they forgot about fable, they were so focused on bringing centross back that they completely lost sight of fable and his actions and how that hurt everyone around them

then the "said you loved me" I LOVE PUTTING VOICELINES IN EDITS CHAT. I LOVE IT SO MUCH AHHHH. i love when the words and they go together and theyre similar and i go crazy . im knawing at the bars of my enclosure

(i was going to put a voicline of fable's 'you will not survive' from cathedral of war in this part, but only chose not too cause it made the audio too chaotic but its still the clip from when he said that so just KNOW) i really love the "said you'd kill me" part. it just looks really cool to me, please appreciate my work thank you goodnight <3

THE WHOLE NEXT PART. THE BEAT DROP IF YOU WILL.

the text is all shaky, the way ive always imagined this part of the song in my brain is like full mental breakdown, hands pulling at hair hitting at your head . theres something inside of you and you want it OUT and you will hurt yourself to makes that happen . so thats kind of the vibe i wanted to portray, however . im not that skilled and capcut only has so many free text effects so . we make do. i also couldn't put that effect on all the text because for it to look right i couldn't use an 'in' animation for the text so having all of it just appear looked kind of weird so i had to comprimise a little

also the font is called "honest" which . if you know me i love putting subliminal messaging in my font usage when i can which i managed to do a couple times in this edit actually. the font is very jagged which fits for the idea of someone who's reaching their breaking point and all the rotation and bold and italics are all just thrown around there. making em all look interesting . for *flavour*

the other font that's got a cool title and this one i actually only picked because of the title and that's "innocent" its used in a lot of frames like "you possessed me", "you controlled me" and "or he'll hurt me" all times, the word 'me' uses the innocent font, because with the song it sounds like icarus is trying to remove any of the blame from themself, it was fable's fault because he manipulated me i didn't do anything wrong. so they see themself as 'innocent' which is also why that text is yellow cause its about icarus. i wouldn't have used that font if not for the title icl. but it also makes the times when that font isn't used all the more interesting, this can be seen most notably in "said you'd kill me", and both of the times in the "he's still speaking, speaking for me" parts , and i will let you cook on that cause not everything needs to be explained in great detail as much as id like to do that

most of the fonts at this one were just me throwing shit at a wall and seeing what fit the vibe ill be so fr, i knew i wanted a lot of variation cause its a chaotic sounding song and the colours also have very little thought when it comes to the difference between white/yellow/red for the most part . green is for fable and purple is just whatever the fuck i felt like .

final thing i'm going to say when it goes "i'm a [worthless human being" there is no text on that part and i just want it to be known on the record that it wasn't an accident and it was an aethetic choice and i can't come up with a bullshit important reason for why there's no text on the screen for that SINGLE PART and honestly it just looked so shit with text there but it also looks so out of place with it being the only part but im sure many of you didn't even notice there wasnt text there before i pointed it out so . i can also point out all the slightly off timings for you if you wanna see my creation through my critical self-loathing eyes /silly

[neverpoor]

lifesteal's going great

[gigglemugger]

The Naked and the Blind (or The Ballad of Meg Halsey).

Fandom: Re-Animator (Movies - Combs), Herbert West - Reanimator - H.P. Lovecraft.

Pairing: Herbert West/Meg Halsey

Rating: Explicit, or at the very least Mature.

Archive Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence.

Chapters: 1. | 2. | 3. | 4. | 5. | 6. | 7. | 8. | 9. | 10.

Synopsis:

"Meg Halsey had a problem. In fact, she had several problems, the first of which, she acknowledges while looking at her semi empty living room, is that she can't afford to live alone anymore. The second one is that she doesn't wanna go back to her daddy's house again. This would be an inconceivable notion to her thirteen year old self, even her sixteen year old self, but at twenty five, she'd really choose living under the bridge first. Ok. Maybe not that." Meg Halsey is perfect: Beautiful, accomplished, a bright future doctor. She escaped her hometown and moved to New York, where she likely would have stayed forever. After her mother dies, though, she is forced to move back to Arkham and face everything she wanted to leave behind. --- A.K.A I made a tumblr post about how Crampton/Combs are romantically involved in all of their collabs, got replies and decided to write down a suggestion of "what if Meg was the protagonist, not Dan?" Also I did the cop-out summary thing and pasted the first paragraph of the fic. It's highway robbery. Criminal (I'm sorry).

Thanks to @resonanteye and @sugarsweetnightmareee for helping me shape this up in the replies!

Word Count: Multi Chapter, so far 2,561 published, 19,701 written at the time of publication.

AO3 Tags: I uhhh......... I have no idea what I made it started with one tumblr post then one reply and here we are, I included other works by Lovecraft here and rounded Arkham up and then ran, Character Study, In a way, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Dan Cain, he doesn't exist, Danbert shippers cry I get it, Canon-Typical Violence, Animal Death, Eventual Romance, Slow Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Eventual Smut?, maybe? - Freeform, this fic is an affront to god just like herbert's reagent, Not Beta Read.

Language: English.

CW: Meg went through some trauma. Dead parents, dead cat. She also helps kill her dad later on, considering, so. It's a heavy fic, but if you liked the movie you'll be fine.

AO3 link.

AO3 Notes (yes, they're huge, bear with me): This is an AU about Meg Halsey. I always wanted to write this because in every single Combs/Crampton collaboration, they play lovers (Castle Freak, From Beyond, the Evil Clergyman) EXCEPT FOR in Reanimator, so I made a tumblr post saying I'd like to explore a Meg/Herbert thing solely because of that (and I've only seen it being done one other time, which made me wanna take a personal shot at it). This post was WAY more popular than I expected (it didn't hit the hundreds, but it hit like 20+ notes when I expected like 1 and it being a comment of "are you insane?" with nothing else), so I decided to take it seriously. Then someone suggested I make a version where Meg is the main character, no Dan, no nothing and I thought that was a really interesting idea and ran with it.  I made several notes (like four pages) about Meg's character and realized that she’s an amazing, incredibly accomplished ball of air. They made her have good instincts, a good brain, be helpful, be sweet, and then gave her zero personality. This isn’t her movie, so the first thing I did in this AU was scramble around with her brains and give her a will to live for something. The second thing I did was to scramble around with her brains enough so she’d have ambition.  The third one was to scramble around with her brains enough she’d have a crush on West—who is her equal here. I'm not saying this relationship won't go into some toxic patterns, but so does Danbert, though I understand the implications. It's more like a double edged sword, though.  When I say this is an AU, I mean it’s an AU for sure. I changed a lot of plot points, and switched things around, because it turns out that having Meg as a protag changes a lot on its own. I personally think that Herbert liked Dan for three reasons: He was beautiful, smart and incredibly gullible. Here he likes Meg because she's smart, ambitious and much more like him than others would think. She doesn't take bullshit, though. Scenes are maintained but go different directions, etc. Meg also went through trauma and transformation, which will be unpacked, and though she externally acts like the Meg we know, most of the time, she's not. She had like a Veronica Mars esque transformation, minus the REAL TRAGEDIES of Veronica Mars.  I decided to name this a ballad cause I always name things ballads and start with the definition of the word cause I’m pretentious and like to make it seem as if it’s not ‘cause of the ballad of John and Yoko. In this case, though, I decided to just call it the ballad of Meg Halsey, instead of the ballad of Herbert and Meg, or Halsey and West, because this fanfic is very much about Meg—she deserves it.  The Naked and the Blind comes from that line from Every Me Every You by Placebo (like the naked leads the blind, I know I’m selfish, I’m unkind). It felt fitting. I also included two characters of Lovecraft lore which will be useful throughout the fic (and possible sequel in which I take the bones of bride of reanimator and completely reshape it), Asenath Waite and Edward Derby, from The Thing on the Doorstep. I also mention the Pickmans, Necronomicons, all of that. I think I'm going to use Welsey as a ship name for now, though I'm sure someone else somewhere in the world has already come up with a ship name for them. I also named the Playlist I made for them this. Very normal behavior.  I have seven chapters written, almost at the end of the fic as a whole, and I’ll try to upload one every Monday. We’ll see.

1. Sucker love is heaven sent.

Meg Halsey had a problem. In fact, she had several problems, the first of which, she acknowledges while looking at her semi empty living room, is that she can't afford to live alone anymore. The second one is that she doesn't wanna go back to her daddy's house again. This would be an inconceivable notion to her thirteen year old self, even her sixteen year old self, but at twenty five, she'd really choose living under the bridge first. Ok. Maybe not that.

Here's a picture of Meg Halsey's life one year ago: A happy medical student in New York, with her own room and roommate at one of the dorm houses. Not a sorority girl like her mother gushed about her being when she was twelve, but still friendly towards everyone. Her hair was a little shorter, less gruffy, definitely bobbed, and she probably looked serene. Medical students aren't by definition serene, but she hadn't majorly fucked up. She got high grades, was the second best in her class which was full of men, and she was proud of herself.

Then her mother died. The rest was probably history, or easily deductible.

Savings had existed, but living in Arkham was more expensive than she remembered. Her dad wanted to pay for the house, but she refused because she knew what that entailed. He also wanted her to move back with him, but that would also mean other things: You don't need to pay rent, but you'll have to cook, clean, take care of affairs and be your mother. She was shocked he hadn't sent for her when she was dying, but then it had been so fast that maybe he didn't have the time.

“Don't worry daddy, it's OK,” she had said with a smile, eyeing the wine. She couldn't drink in front of him unless it was a special occasion, like a thirteen year old. “I'm just gonna have to find a roommate.”

It had been a week ago, at that house that smelled of death. Wood, carpets of history, several footprints of doctors, her mother and all the versions of herself.

I wish I could have that drink…

“Hmm…” Yes. The characteristic Dean Halsey “Hm.” The same he had for his employees when he needed to convince them of something. Here we go… “I'm not sure it's safe for you to invite a stranger into your house, Meggie.”

“I had a stranger in my house, remember? My roommate in college.” A nice girl, who never got into trouble, she had told her mother in her semi-weekly calls, which was a lie. Becca was a protester who was always in and out of jail because of fights with the cops. Still, that meant Meg had quiet nights to study, or contemplate the lights on in places that hadn't been Arkham.

“I still don't know about that, sweetheart. Maybe you should move back in for a while…”

“Are you alright, honey?” Her mother's voice resonated in her head. Last phone call before disaster. She remembered the clothes she had been wearing: Light sweater, jeans, boots. A Meg Halsey classic. She remembered it was raining and that two people went behind her, two guys, talking. There was a light breeze from the door and they were gone.

“I'm alright, mom. You?”

“Meg,” Dr. Harrod said. Hospital. Residence. Meg was holding onto her scalpel too tightly. “Maybe you need a break.”

“I'm fine.”

Another picture of Meg Halsey’s life: Prodigy. Brilliant. Bright smile, beautiful blue eyes. She was a perfect specimen of what you would call a girl: Polite, traditional, good. She never stayed out past eight, she never went with boys that much, she never strayed from her studies. She wanted to be whatever her dad thought was best, whatever her mother thought would make her proud.

Meg had goals and ambitions, sure, but she also wanted other things. She watched her parents at the table, while cutting her meat. They were always smiling, laughing easily. All of it. She wanted it all. She even thought she had met a boy, her last high school boyfriend, traditional all the way, very nice and Christian upper middle class. Then…

The television was on, showing the news and Meg bit her lip. She looked at her nails, looked at the carpet and then at her cat, roaming around. “I'm not even going to have money to feed you at this rate,” she said when her beloved Rufus came to her lap. She put her face on his back gently. “God…”

Not turning back to the house, she'd have to find a roommate, one that she wouldn't be afraid would murder her in her sleep. Maybe she needed some coffee. Maybe she needed a million dollars.

She looked at the clock on the wall, the one that looked like Felix the cat, which she had in her bedroom at ten. The eyes went back and forth, freaking her mother out. It still had the stain of when she tried to paint it pink with glitter nail polish. Most importantly, it told her it was almost time to leave. Harrod would be going up and down looking for her and she had morgue duty, which was surely a lot for her muscles and she didn't look forward to it—morgue duty being that now it was the norm that someone else other than the attending intern doctor take the body downstairs, after an incident occurred (no more was mentioned about such an incident).

She wouldn't let her colleagues say she was using her status as the Dean's daughter to get out of good honest work.

However, she would have to look at Hill… He was always there testing his weird pen…

“Ouch!” She shrieked, looking at her hand and seeing the blood. “Oh, Rufus, get off!” Rufus did so, apparently understanding he shouldn't bite her and that she'd be rightfully pissed. She had to admit it was effective in bringing her back to the scene, though. It was a documentary which aired now, about a fishing town with a strange, rare disease. She had heard about it, and should be more interested considering, but frankly all she wanted was that coffee and a shower.

It was a pleasant afternoon in Arkham, her birth city. A strange city to be brought up in, with a deep history of the occult, but with a pristine, ivy league college in the form of the Miskatonic University. Meg stepped out of her car, chilly. She was wearing boots, a sweater and her hair was up. It was getting longer. Her dad almost went insane when she wanted to leave Arkham for New York, especially for medicine if she so insisted on studying that.

“A more womanly course would be interesting…”

“What's more womanly than curing people? Than being a healer?” Her mother waved her hand.

“I'm just not sure, Meg. Your dad thinks the same… Maybe it'd be best…”

“Would you have gone if you could? If you could do anything, would you? I can. I wanna go to New York.”

Every time in the past few months that she felt the air of the hospital wafting on her, sterilized and reminiscent of all the times she went to visit her dad, it was sort of like defeat. Not that she'd let that bring her down. She did go to New York after all. It was temporary, just until her dad got back on her feet.

Until he met someone, Becca said. A hot, pretty new thing to screw.

“Halsey,” Harrod said, standing by reception. Was she waiting? “Right on time. You need to go to 106, now. A patient just died, you need to take her down.”

At least she wasn't the one who killed her. Hooray for small miracles.

Scrubs became her, she thought—not that having vain thoughts was her hallmark—but they were not better than suits by a mile. She felt extremely underdressed in a second, walking into the morgue, at least compared to the austere, small man checking the beakers.

“Meg?” The man raised his head. The second man, being the corpse, stayed thankfully very still. “What are you doing here?”

“Pushing a body?” She laughed a little, to make things light, but she knew she had been busted. A few years ago it'd be unprecedented to go behind his back on anything, but now... Besides, it wasn't drugs, it was just a dead guy for Christ's sake.

He looked concerned right away.

“You're too small to be doing this kind of work. You'll kill yourself.”

“Honestly daddy—” she could feel the ears of the stranger perking up at that. Great going, Meg. Tell every single stranger about it. “It's fine. I can do it.” He paused and pursed his lips.

“Certainly one of your classmates…”

“I said I'm alright,” she smiled a little towards him, to mitigate any disrespect, before turning her attention completely to the left. “Who are you?” The small man looked up from a tag in one of the corpses.

“Oh, don't mind me. I'm sure I don't wanna interrupt family.” Her dad wouldn't pick up on the sarcasm, Meg knew, but she did. Her shoulders tensed, her eyes narrowed.

“Nonsense,” Dean Halsey began, well humored. “Mr. West, I'd like to introduce you to the most brilliant medical student in this room…” She looked away.

“Stop it, dad,” Meg smiled her brightest smile to hide her discomfort, as usual. West smiled back, in contempt.

“Oh, does she have a name?”

“I'm Megan. Halsey.” She didn't bother stretching her hand, she didn't wanna touch him.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Halsey.” I don't think so.

“West just came from Switzerland. He was doing independent research for Dr. Gruber, before he died.” Meg knew the story, heard it through the grapevine, but no one knew any details.

Gruber was a brilliant doctor, though. She had read his most recent paper on brain death, and all the other ones he wrote a lot in New York. A page turner, Gruber—by medical paper standards, at least.

“So, you studied death?” She asked. His ears perked up again.

“Yes, I have.” Well dressed, prim and curt. Fun. I'll love having him in class.

“Alan,” a third voice filled the place, coming from the adjacent room, the one where he no doubt had been procuring a corpse from. Meg involuntarily twisted her nose and pretended she had an itch. She stopped on his feet. “Nice to see you down here, Ms. Halsey.”

“Well I'm glad, cause here I am, every Tuesday.” Next time tell him when you go out to do your laundry.

“Definitely more than your father comes down here. We haven't been seeing him in a while.”

“I was just showing our newest student, Herbert West here, the not-so-grand-tour.” He always made that joke when he brought people down. Meg saw him do it at least twice and heard about it four other ones. “This should interest you, Carl. He worked with Hans Gruber.” While her dad introduced Hill, and all of his prowess to get research grants somehow, probably with that freaky pen he carried, Meg was thinking briefly about how was Herbert West working for Gruber, fully, even as a student.

“I know your work Dr. Hill. Quite well.” Meg raised her head. “Your theory on the location of the will in the brain is… Interesting, though derivative of Dr. Gruber's research in the early 70s.”

She knew that. She needed a dictionary to read his most obscure work, but German and English were similar enough, she got by.

“So derivative, in fact, that in Europe it's considered plagiarized. And your support of the 12 minute limit on the life of the brain stem after death…”

“...Six to twelve minutes, Mr…?”

Meg wanted to leave.

“West. Herbert West. Frankly, Dr… Hill? Your work on brain death is outdated.”

“Carl,” her dad interrupted and Meg looked away from the scene. Frankly, Hill gave her the creeps, sort of, and seeing him that angry was unpleasant. Suck it up, ok? You know him since you were at least twelve, it's fine.

You were always soft.

“...Megan and I would love it if you came to dinner.” Wait what?

“What?” She repeated out loud. Herbert turned his bright hazel, poisonous eyes towards her. She straightened her back. “I'm sorry, dinner? When?

“Thursday,” West answered for the others. He put his hands on his hips. “Maybe pushing bodies around really isn't for someone as small as you, Ms. Halsey.”

“I'm fine.”

“You might kill yourself.”

“Dad, dinner, Thursday? I'm not sure I can make it.”

What else are you gonna do? Your friends don't talk to you anymore since you left for New York to hang out with feminists, artists, and bohemians, leaving them here with babies and husbands.

“Well, I'm sure you'll make an exception,” Hill said, looking straight at her. “A lovely, amazing student such as yourself should take some time off every now and then. Celebrate.” She hated when he looked straight at her. She could feel her dad and West observing in the sidelines.

“Sure,” Meg found herself saying, hands tight against the steel of the gurney, knuckles turning white. “I'll cook.”

You'll what?!

“Fantastic,” Hill finished, looking at Herbert next. “I'll see you in class, mr. West. Ms. Halsey.” He nodded his head and she smiled, closing her eyes.

Both Hill and her father left in what seemed to be a dream sequence, no doubt discussing the grant, and the autopsy room was silent once again.

Her head was throbbing. The walls and floors were gray, there was a corpse rotting in their midst, Meg took a deep breath—chemical and invigorating somehow.

“I take it you don't like Dr. Hill either.” She looked at West, whose eyes still shone. He approached her, footsteps echoing out. “How did you know I was studying death?”

“I'm a doctor, Mr. West. I read,” she released the gurney, feeling tired for the meal she'd have to cook, on top of studying. There was a beat before she could stop herself from asking “What happened between you and dr. Gruber?”

“What do you mean?” A slight twitch, a small movement of the lips. “Dr. Gruber had a lab accident that I was unfortunately too late to prevent.”

“I heard he was in his office when he died.” Another twitch.

“I'm sure you heard it wrong, with all due respect ms. Halsey.”

Chemical smells, corpses rotting, the smell of something burning—Hill's pen no doubt left crisp black flesh behind, and he did it on enough people in the morgue proper that it got to where she was. She looked at West for almost long enough she'd probably have his exact face and pose at that moment committed to memory, forever.

He looked at her, waiting for something to happen.

Her hands hurt from grasping the gurney for so long.

“I'm not doing so great, sweetie…” She had said. Two men talking behind her. Her dad and Hill were gone. West was there.

“I'm sorry I asked,” Meg finally gathered, headache suddenly subsiding, like it never was. “Sorry for your loss, he must have been a wonderful mentor.” West bowed slightly and Meg did the same before turning around and going through the doors.

[galaxy-fleur]

I hope it's okay to drop this here, since i've been seeing it pop up alot in this fandom sooo here goes

What kinda dad do you think Leon would be like? Parent in general and all that wonderful jazz :D

Also it seems to be quite popular headcanon that he'd be a girl dad, i can see the appeal and i find it super cute lol

Girl dad Leon, my beloved... I'm gonna be writing this with post-Death Island Leon in mind, since that's the best way I can imagine him being a father in my mind!

Leon is a family man at heart, it's nice to imagine him having the freedom to retire and build a simple, comfortable life he deserves. It definitely wouldn't be easy to adapt into a much simpler lifestyle after the one he's known practically all of his life at that point, and there will be challenges associated with that process, but it'll all be worth it in the end. The idea of actually starting a family of his own was always more of a distant idea than anything else for him. Something way on the back of his mind that he never once considered becoming an actual reality he could achieve in his lifetime.

After all... no kid deserves a father that's not only absent for long stretches of time, but also poses a danger to them due to his occupation. Not to mention his drinking problem. The idea of burdening someone with having to raise a kid practically alone, all while also having that same kid at constant risk of kidnapping or something even worse happening to them because of their association with him... Leon wouldn't want to inflict that upon anyone. It wouldn't be fair of him at all, regardless of his own selfish desires.

But once he gets to settle down and get comfortable with a simpler life? That distant thought of his suddenly becomes a very real possibility he might start to consider more often than he's willing to admit. Though I do think his partner will have to be the one to bring it up with him directly. He might become almost painfully obvious with his inner workings without even realizing it: smiling wistfully at the kids goofing around with their parents out in the neighbors' yard, bringing up his childhood memories in conversations way more often than usual, even looking into silly family videos out on the web instead of the usual trashy romantic comedy.

He thinks he's being subtle about it, he really does. Still, it's one thing to think about becoming a parent, and it's completely another to actually have it as an approaching reality. Whether the decision to have a kid is going to be planned, or a somewhat unexpected surprise (if we're talking the natural way here), I kinda feel like he might have a little nervous breakdown about it at first.

It's excitement, happiness, anxiety, and doubt crashing on him all at once. A part of him is so insanely happy and in absolute disbelief that he'll actually be a dad for fuck's sake! Moreover, that someone he loves actually wants to start a family with him! On the other hand, he's almost more terrified than he's ever been before.

What if he's terrible at it? What if he disappoints his partner because he has no idea what he's doing? What if he hurts them both accidentally? And if his partner is pregnant, what if they end up getting hurt, too? Pregnancies are mortifying!

Point is... poor guy is going to have to sit down and calm down for a moment. There will be a long, important conversation in order. He needs to realize that he's not in this alone, and that there is no need for him to put so much pressure on himself. Take it one day at a time. He has that luxury now, after all.

He might get a tad overprotective and overbearing with his partner if they are pregnant. He means well, he really, truly does. He just wants to be the best partner he can be. But it can get rather frustrating when he keeps following them around like some kind of guard dog, not even letting them do as much as cook for themselves without butting in with the: 'you don't need to do anything, sugar, I got this'. While some might have no issue with it at all, a more independent person can start feeling a tad suffocated.

His protectiveness comes from a good place. In his point of view, having an entire kid growing inside you is an insane feat in and of itself. He doesn't want to be one of those partners who do nothing and just sit back while their spouse struggles on their own. In a way, he sort of overcompensates for his own feelings of inadequacy. And while he will always be a bit paranoid and overprotective, he will back off if asked to. It really depends on the kind of person his partner is. But healthy communication goes a long way.

Though he'll still be a nervous wreck when his kid gets born. He won't show it in front of his partner, though. If there's anything good that came out of his career as a federal agent, it's an ability to push through his fears and anxieties, and stay cool in stressful situations. He'll actually be a great supportive presence to be around. It's kind of humorous, really. He was such a major worrywart throughout the entire pregnancy, but at the most stressful time of it all, he's cool as a cucumber. He'll ensure that everything is in order, take care of all the rising issues on the go and keep murmuring soft encouragements.

He can't do much about the way his hands are shaking, though. And he'll definitely full-on collapse onto nearest chair or bench once it's all over. And yes. He will cry when he sees his baby for the first time. Depending on how tough the birthing process was, it might turn into a full-on ugly cry, too. Poor guy is overwhelmed and just can't help but let it flow free out of him in a form of tears. I also feel like he'll end up holding his partner's hand and thanking them tearfully. For giving him something so wonderful like this. He's a bit of a mess, but it's very heartwarming to see.

I also feel like he'll be so very torn at all times between staying by his partner's side and visiting his baby (since this IS a girl dad Leon ask, let's say it's a daughter! :3). He can't help but wish he could clone himself, so he could be at two places at once. He'll still get emotional whenever he sees his daughter for a few days at least. It just doesn't feel real to him at all. That this tiny little human lying in the cradle in front of him is his daughter. Something created out of love and happiness, instead of blood and violence.

Would be straight up terrified of holding her despite literally learning all the proper way to do that months prior. She's so small and fragile, and while his form is no longer as robust and muscular as he remembered, he still feels like he might hurt her without meaning to. Needless to say, he'll be standing there like a wooden post once she gets put into his arms. It's a bit funny to look at. Watch him absolutely melt however, when he reaches out to gently brush his finger over his baby's cheek and she grabs onto it with her tiny hand.

...Needless to say, another crying session might be in order. He'll get his bearings together soon enough. Just give him time.

As an actual dad, Leon is clumsy and a bit of a goofball, but he truly does his best. He makes some stupid mistakes sometimes, can be a bit overbearing, and is awkward with discipline. But he's also fiercely affectionate, very involved in his daughter's life, and is always there to be her support when she needs it.

He adores his daughter to bits and pieces. Leon is a quick learner, so there is no need to worry about him being unable to take care of the baby when she's in her first months of life. In fact, he gets almost scarily good at it. Him being pretty unaffected by having to deal with gross tasks is a pleasant bonus. After encountering all kinds of disgusting things in his career, changing diapers and burping a baby is a breeze. He's also a great entertainer. And while a newborn baby might not get any of his cheezy jokes or lame one-liners, she sees her dad smiling and laughing down at her, so she joins in on the fun as well. It's cute.

And hey, his daughter might be onto something with finding the jiggling of his keys the most hilarious thing in existence.

He's bad with dealing with her crying, though. Not because it annoys him or anything, but because he instantly gets a bit too anxious for his own good. What if she's in pain somewhere? Babies can't tell you where it hurts! Do they need to call a doctor? Oh, no, it looks like she was just hungry. That's a relief.

His heart is too fragile for these scares, or so he says.

As his daughter grows up, some things get easier, while others get harder. Leon always knows how to make her laugh and cheer her up, though some of his jokes will make her groan and roll her eyes at him as she grows older. But it's sweet to see him be his silly playful self with her. It can get hard for him to separate from her as she grows older. Leon knows just how rotten and dangerous this world can be all too well, and the idea of not being there with her to protect her when she needs it - is terrifying to him.

But he needs to accept that his daughter needs to make her own decisions, even if they might not always end in her favor. What he should be focusing on, is showing her that she can always come to him when she needs it. And he can't do that if he smothers her. It's a process, and it'll probably be stressful for all parties involved. But he'll come to terms with it eventually. And it'll definitely make his heart feel way lighter once he sees his baby having fun on her own and flourishing in a way he always knew she would. Even if it tugs at his heartstrings to know that she's not that tiny bundle of joy anymore. But she'll always be his precious baby.

Leon is also a bit clumsy when it comes to discipline, mostly because it's hard for him to distinguish that delicate line between being too harsh and being too soft. So, he just starts avoiding enacting any discipline in the first place. Not the best choice of action on his part, and he knows that, but he just can't help himself. I do think he'll have at least one moment of accidentally raising his voice at her, probably as a gut response to something like seeing her try to touch a hot kettle or something of that sort. He'll feel terrible for scaring her right afterwards. He might need some encouragement from his partner on that front.

Overall, I see Leon as a dad who's not perfect by any means, but he tries his best and loves his kid with all his heart. And that's what really matters at the end of the day.

[decembermidnight]

Regardless of how The Bad Batch is going to end, you're getting the sweetest, fluffiest Hunter breeding kink from me.