#i need him to have fight in him even when all is lost

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Yandere batfamily x neglected reader

The manor is cold, silent as a tomb, and for once, it feels like a fitting home. You lie still on the bed, too small and fragile in the heavy, towering room. They all gather around you, each staring in shock, faces pale, breaths shallow—as if hoping that, by holding their breath, they might somehow trade their own life to coax warmth back into your cold form.

Bruce’s hand hovers over you, hesitant. His calloused fingers, so accustomed to war and violence, seem clumsy when they brush against your cheek. He trembles, silent, fighting against the whirlwind in his chest, his stoic mask cracked beyond repair. “I promised to keep you safe,” he whispers, his voice breaking in a way none of them have ever heard before. “I promised… and I failed you.” His hand, heavy with the weight of every failure, drops to his side, useless.

Dick’s hands cover his mouth, choking on a sob that won’t stay hidden. He’s the eldest, the one who was supposed to know better, to set the example. But he looks at you now, his eyes red and raw, remembering each time he walked past you, too busy laughing with others to notice you slipping away. “Why didn’t I tell you…?” he whispers, agony etched across his face. “Why didn’t I show you that you were loved?” The words fall into the silence, lost, and he knows you’ll never hear them now.

Jason kneels beside the bed, clutching your lifeless hand in his, as if he can pull you back with sheer force. His shoulders shake, his body radiating rage, despair, regret. His lips tremble as he remembers the countless times he shrugged off your gaze, ignored the quiet plea in your eyes. He thought he was sparing you from his darkness, protecting you from the world. But now he sees it for what it was—neglect, cold and unkind. He bows his head, the unbreakable Red Hood shattered, silent tears falling onto your still fingers.

Tim stands back, his face white, hands trembling as he presses his fists to his sides. The detective, the genius, who noticed everything—except you. He let the days slip by, assuming there’d always be more time, that you’d understand he was busy, preoccupied with saving the world. But now, as he watches the life drained from you, he feels a pang in his chest sharp enough to cut through bone. “I should’ve been there,” he whispers, voice barely audible. “I should’ve been a brother to you…” He stares at you, eyes rimmed with despair, the guilt hollowing him out from within.

Damian’s usual steel has melted into something unrecognizable. He doesn’t know how to touch you, where to place his hands, and the hesitation makes him feel powerless in a way he’s never known. He’d prided himself on being stronger, colder, above such weakness—but now, faced with your absence, he finds himself wishing he’d let you in, softened just a little. “You… you weren’t supposed to…” He can’t even finish, his words broken. He reaches out, almost unwilling, to touch your hand, flinching when it’s cold. His lips press into a thin line as he tries to hold back tears, but they fall, betraying the ache he’d been too proud to acknowledge.

They stay by your side, each of them reliving every lost opportunity, every moment they could have held you close and didn’t. Days pass, blurred, and they linger in the same room, surrounded by memories of what should have been.

When Alfred brings them food, they push it away. They can’t bear the thought of comfort while you lie there, untouched by life. They whisper to you, sometimes out loud, promising things they can’t ever deliver: "We'll make it up to you…we’ll fix this." But no voice answers back.

Driven by desperation, Bruce turns to ancient books, rumors, magic, anything that offers a hint of hope. He works night after night, chasing the impossible. The others follow him, each digging into their own corners of madness, driven by the need to correct what they destroyed. But every ritual fails, every lead falls cold. And the bitter truth gnaws deeper: there is no cure for regret, no resurrection from guilt.

The night finally falls silent, and they’re left alone with you, as if the universe itself mourns. Each of them curls beside you, their heads on the bed, hands on your arm, your hand, your chest, wherever they can cling to you, trying to pretend for one last moment that you’re still there. They hold on, eyes shut, whispering prayers to a god who’s deaf to their pain.

When morning breaks, none of them rise. They stay beside you, unwilling to face a world that doesn’t have you in it. They’ve lost you, their last chance to be the family they should have been, and they know now they’ll never be whole.

(A/n: no one asked and I also didn't but INSPIRED BY DIS IDEA FROM @steor-ra ILY BESTFRIEND BUT PLEASE UPDATE 💜👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩)

[sage-nebula]

I've been suicidal many times in my life, and while I could talk about those experiences, given what this post is about, I'd rather talk about something else.

My boss at my previous job was not just my boss. He was my friend, my mentor. I'd met him as a student employee; I still remember the day I went in for my interview, and I asked to speak with "Mr [name]," and the other student employee who answered the door made a face and said, "Hey, Mr [Name], this girl is here to see you" when he let me in because my boss never wanted us to be so formal with him. We were on a first-name basis with him, always. I was nineteen, and super nervous interviewing for my first job that wasn't retail or food service, but he cracked jokes and made me feel welcome. He treated all of us like that.

He was just a really good man. He always stood up for us, every time the university tried to do something that would make our lives harder or less safe. I made a Facebook status once about how I was harassed by a gas station employee near the university, and he commented telling me he'd bring his bat if I needed it. When one of the supervisors ended up overstepping boundaries in a big way with us student employees, he worked overtime to make sure that we would all be safe. When I got promoted to a supervisor position after graduation, and took it upon myself to oversea the yearly Secret Santa tradition for the students (meaning I didn't participate because otherwise I would know who my Secret Santa was), he decided he wasn't letting me go without a present and got me one anyway, despite my insistence that it wasn't necessary.

Unfortunately, he had his own demons to fight. He was going through difficult stuff in his personal life. He told me a lot about it; I was a confidant for him, and at one point he told me I was the only person he could speak to about any of it. More unfortunately still, as much as I wanted to be there for him, I was also struggling to keep my own mental health on track. It was around this time that I was looking into starting antidepressants / anti-anxiety medication for the first time because of how much I was struggling, and I was really focused on getting all of that sorted so that I could stop being tempted by the trains I heard pass by my home every night. Because of this, I didn't check in on him regularly. And so, when his boss called me one morning before my shift was supposed to start and told me that he had taken his own life, I was consumed by more than just shock and grief; I was crushed by guilt.

You see, I blamed myself. Largely because he had told me I was the only one who could confide in, I couldn't help but think that if I had checked in on him more regularly, if I had been there, this wouldn't have happened. I could have prevented it. I could have saved him. He wouldn't have taken his own life, and it wouldn't have been one of his young daughters who found him like that. Not only had I lost a friend of nine years, but I felt like I failed him.

I know now that isn't the case. There were many factors involved, not the least of which being it turns out I wasn't the only one he confided in after all. But it took me a long time to reach that point—a long time until I could honestly say that I didn't feel like it was my fault.

In the midst of depression and suicidal ideation, it can be incredibly hard to see the importance that you have in other people's lives—the place that you have there, that no one else can fill. I know this intimately, because it is something that I struggle with regularly. But even if you can't see it, you have to hold in the forefront of your mind that the importance is there. The impact will be felt. Not only do people care about you, but those closest to you will hold the weight of responsibility for your life on their shoulders for a long time. If nothing else, you don't want that for the people you care about, do you? You don't want to do that to them, do you?

You are not the only one harmed by your suicide. In fact, you're the one who will feel the impact the least. Death doesn't hurt the deceased; it only wounds the living. That's why we have funerals: it's for the sake of those left behind. But no amount of funerals or celebrations of life can assuage the pain left by a suicide. It doesn't help. Notes don't either.

If you're in a place where you're ideating, reconsider. Reach out to someone close to you. Tell them where you are, mentally, and have them come be with you. Believe me when I say that they would much rather sit awake with you all night, than wake up the next morning to a message that you're gone.

Give us the chance to be there for you. It's all we ask.

periodic reminder that your death by your own hand will wreak more havoc on the lives of those you know than you are ever capable of imagining and if you need a sign not to kill yourself this is it. people care more than you know & i am one of them

[hotshotsxyz]

too little, too late

(8x08 coda) (buddie) (1.2k) the episode chose violence and so did i :) spoilers for 8x08, and hey, guess what? this is my 100th 911 fic! it feels right that it's an evil one <3

The real estate agent has an irritating voice. It’s pitchy and run through with vocal fry, and if Buck has to listen to her talk for another second, he might actually tear his hair out. And it’s definitely about her voice. Nothing to do with the largely helpful information she’s handing over to Eddie like candy on Halloween.

“Anyway, we can touch base again once you’ve had a chance to look over those listings. I’m sure we’ll find something for both of you to love!” the realtor says.

Buck smiles. It feels brittle and fake.

“Thank you so much,” Eddie says with all the sincerity Buck can’t quite muster. He ends the call and sits back against the couch.

“That, uh—that went, um—” He’s choking on the positivity he’s trying so hard to exude. “—well,” he manages.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He runs a hand through his hair. “Seems easier than I thought it was going to be.”

Easy.

That’s—

Yeah.

“You know you—you don’t have to buy straight away,” Buck says as casually as he can manage, which is to say, not casually at all.

“Buck,” Eddie says with a sigh.

“I know!” Buck says, throwing his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Just—maybe you want to make sure, you know? Before it’s—it’s permanent.”

“I can’t keep missing out on his life,” Eddie says quietly.

Buck swallows. He knows. He knows! Knows it like he knows there’s going to be an Eddie-and-Chris shaped hole in his heart for the rest of his goddamn life.

“I don’t want you to,” Buck says, and it’s maybe the first honest thing that’s come out of his mouth since he sat down on Eddie’s couch.

Bile rises in the back of his throat as he realizes this might be one of the last times he gets to sit on this couch, in this house, with this man.

Eddie drops his head into his hands. “I don’t—” He cuts himself off.

“Have you told Bobby yet?” Buck asks. His breath catches.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Oh,” Buck says in a rush of air. “That’s—” He wants to say good. He can’t say good. Eddie needs—he needs—

Eddie lifts his head from his hands and his eyes are shining. “I don’t want to,” he admits. “I thought—”

“That he’d want to come back,” Buck supplies when Eddie doesn’t finish his thought.

He nods.

“He still—he could still—” Buck starts.

“He’s not going to change his mind.” Eddie cuts him off. “He doesn’t hate me. It’s worse than that. He doesn’t care.”

Buck’s chest feels tight. “He—he loves you, Eddie,” he says weakly.

“Maybe before, but—”

“He does,” Buck insists. “And—and if this is what you have to do to make sure that stays true I—I get it.” He does. He gets it. He’d do anything for Christopher. He’d—

It’s the worst feeling in the entire fucking world, but he’d give up Eddie for that kid. Is. Is giving up Eddie for that kid. A sob jumps up in Buck’s throat. He fights it back.

“I want to believe you,” Eddie says.

Buck knows that he doesn’t.

“Have you, um. Have you talked to Chris about this yet?” Buck asks, feeling a little bit like he’s just laid his neck across the base of a guillotine.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I—I’ve got to do this, whether he wants me to or not.”

All at once Buck’s angry. Angry at Eddie, angry at his parents, at fucking Kim, at himself, and maybe even a little bit at Christopher.

“Eddie, you—you told him he could come back!” He says, a little louder than he means to. “Doesn’t he deserve to know that’s not going to be an option anymore?”

Eddie’s gaze snaps to his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s got—he’s got friends here, and—and Carla, and—” He can’t say it. He doesn’t have the right to say it, doesn’t have the right to feel like he’s already lost a limb and now they’re taking a lung, but— “and me,” he finishes quietly.

Something like devastation flashes across Eddie’s face. “Buck, I—”

“No,” Buck says quickly, standing up from the couch. “I shouldn’t have—I’m not—”

“Buck, wait,” Eddie says, following him as he retreats toward the door.

“I, um—I forgot, I have to—I promised Maddie,” he tries to lie.

“Please don’t go,” Eddie says, and god, how many times in Buck’s life has he yearned to hear someone say that to him and mean it. How many nights has he driven home from Eddie’s wishing he’d been asked to stay.

This thing building in his chest, this thing of anger and grief and regret—it hurts. Every breath he takes is a little more constricted, a little less effective.

Eddie looks at him, and Buck sees it. That thing he’s always wanted to see. That thing he didn’t even know he wanted from Eddie until right now and it’s—

There was a small, naïvely hopeful part of Buck that really still believe that if someone loved him enough, they’d stay. Eddie loves him, looks at Buck like he’ll break his heart when he walks out the door, and it still isn’t—

Eddie loves him, and it isn’t enough to make him stay.

Buck is in love with him, he realizes, and it doesn’t fucking matter because he’s leaving. Like Abby and like Tommy, except Buck didn’t know how much hurt he hadn’t even discovered yet, because this isn’t Abby or Tommy, it’s Eddie, and Eddie—

Eddie’s supposed to be the one that stays.

Buck shakes his head and shuffles back until the doorknob is digging into his spine. “I have to,” he breathes, a grossly distorted reflection of what neither of them has quite managed to say.

Eddie opens his mouth like he’s going to ask again, like he’s going to beg Buck to stay, to show him all these awful pieces of his heart that he’s just found so he can remind himself that it’s not too much to leave behind.

Buck’s out the door before he can say another word.

He throws himself into the Jeep and all but fishtails it out of Eddie’s driveway. He makes it three streets away before he has to pull over.

The first sob surprises him with its softness; the second with its violence. He wraps his arms tight around his stomach and, god, he tries to breathe. But there’s not—there’s not enough oxygen in the entire world to make up for the way his lungs refuse to expand in the face of this loss.

He has to—he can’t—Eddie needs him to pull it together. To—to help him. To support him, and god help him, Buck will. There’s nothing Eddie could ask of him that he wouldn’t give. Nothing Eddie could do, Buck’s realizing, to make him love him any less.

Hot tears spill down Buck’s cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath and wipes them away. His vital organs are crumbling, so what?

He’ll set himself on fire if that’s what it takes to keep Eddie warm.

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Heyoooo, i just read your say it louder and im in love with that so much like holy, so i was wondering if you could make something kinda similar or something? like maybe logans chasing reader because she stole his cigars and they have a cute moment or something along those lines, maybe end a bit with or with smut? thanks so much babes!

Mine Now | DOFP!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Warnings: Primal!Logan, Scent Tracking, Shotgunning His Cigar, Marking, Implied Smut, Reader is a Mutant who has invisibility, Enemies to Lovers because I’m a sucker for pain, Takes place at the very end of DOPF when Logan comes back to the future, Pain Kink, Breathing Play, Choking, Claws come out – I repeat the claws come out,

Rating: R – No Minors

Word Count: 4.5K

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for your request! This was a blast to write and honestly? It gave me a good excuse to write for DOFP!Logan! I adore you! 😊 Also completely unrelated side note….you did say you wanted smut, right??? Because I may, or may not, have spaced you said cutesy and went right to horny.

To be tagged in any future work of mine, please fill this out.

“Hank, have you seen her?” Logan asks, his voice layered with annoyance. You couldn’t help but silently snicker as you watched his brow crease, his nose twitch with frustration, his finger rapping at his side impatiently. The way his jaw ticked as Hank narrowed his own eyes at him made it impossible to hold your laughter, even when you were currently pressed up against the wall – a clear view of the situation going down. You pulled your lip between your teeth as you homed in on Logan’s features, eyes glimmering with rage. It was such a beautiful sight to see, one you have been dreaming of for months. Though you’d never openly admit it, everyone knew, all except him. You had to make the chase worth his while.

Logan Howlett is a force to be reckoned with, everyone told you that. When Charles and Eric first recruited you to teach with them in New York – you thought it was a joke, a cruel one at that. Living paycheck to paycheck in a hole in the wall Hell’s Kitchen apartment, dealing with constantly screaming and fighting from your neighbors, it wasn’t where you wanted to be. You were a survivor, you could adapt to anything, but after what you had experienced, you needed a fresh start. Working at a local diner, making shit for tips wasn’t ideal, but it was enough to help you save to leave. Where would you go prior to this? You had no idea, but someplace that experiences winter – you always loved the snow. But alas, that dreary November day a few years ago changed everything; It changed you. Meeting Logan on your first day told you everything you needed to know about him – he refuses to get close to anyone, you wanted to break that.

It's been three years since you first met Logan, two since you found yourself thinking he was cute, a year since you felt yourself falling for him, and six months since you started the cat and mouse chase. At first with how standoffish Logan was to you, you started to resent him. A year it took before that all fell to the wayside; Your feelings had shifted when you found him outside one night, crying as he smoked his cigar. Of course, your mutation left you able to turn invisible, able to watch him, without him knowing you were there. Through the heavy rain your smell was masked, he couldn’t tell you were there. But it made you feel closer to him; He wasn’t some robot who didn’t have emotions. He felt them too strong, which is why when he started to slip back into his mind, he pulled away. Being over 200 years old meant he saw some shit, lost people he loved, it took a toll on him after a while. That day forward you stopped keeping your distance, but instead made the effort to be near him, to show him you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly you noticed how Logan started to open up to you, telling you stories of when he was young, his first mission with the X-Men. You got to learn a lot about The Wolverine, and come to find out he wasn’t a hard ass – he was sincere, doting, downright admirable. What he dealt with in his years fucked him up horribly to where he didn’t trust people easily – but it didn’t make him less. He always pushed forward and strove for success, to survive. He wouldn’t classify himself as a hero, but he was to you, and he deserved to know. Logan found himself trusting you easily after a year, his lonely nights stuck in his own head turned into game nights with you, strolls through the garden, getting a drink at the bar downtown. He could still be himself, but not have to carry the baggage by himself all the time. Falling hopelessly in love with him was inevitable, but also impossible. Nothing more could happen between the two of you and you knew that – but there was still a flicker of hope in your mind that wouldn’t quiet down. Especially with how flirty Logan had become with you.

 Usually, he was like this with Jean and Storm, taking it up a notch with them so he could have the last retort. To say he wasn’t a ladies’ man was a lie, he could pull anyone he wanted to. To Logan it was a game, seeing how flustered he could make him teammates – and he loved to win. With you it was different – it wasn’t low growls and light touching on your arms, no, it was more. At first to started off to be resting his chin on your shoulder, letting his breath stroke the column of your neck. Slowly it moved out to touches; Holding your waist from behind, rubbing his large hands over your lower stomach, slipping his hands under your shirt to caress your hip. Over the last few weeks though, he upgraded to holding your face, running his calloused thumb across your bottom lip, stealing forehead and cheek kisses before heading out. Rogue and Kitty that you two were dating, even Bobby got in on it – but when you stated you weren’t everyone looked at you like you had six heads.

“No Logan, I have not.” Hank let his eyes pan to where you were hiding as Logan turned away for a moment, giving you a small wink as he played along. After all, this was his idea – well, his and Xavier’s. You had overheard a conversation about how Logan’s cigar smell had been wafting into their classroom’s lately – distracting everyone as Logan taught. Charles had the bright idea for you to nab them and hold them hostage, until Logan learned his lesson. You on the other hand, were far too gone to do that. Instead you decided to take the cigars, but make a game out of it. Little post it notes with clues on where you were hiding, you stored them all over his bedroom and classroom, thanks to Scott. Ever since Jean told you just how primal Logan could get, how good of a tracker he was, you wanted to test it out for yourself. What better way than take the one thing he cannot live without? “What happened this time?”

Logan huffed as he ran both of his hands down his face, coming dangerously close to propping his hip against your body. You had to shuffle slightly as he leaned into the wall, letting his head bounce off the wood a few good times. “Little shit stole my box of cigars.” He looked exhausted, frustrated, and downright sexy. Seeing how lost and irritable he was without them made you smirk, causing you to bite your lip harder to suppress a whimper. You noticed how Logan’s ear perked up as you gulped, his head turning softly. Hank noticed this almost immediately and replied with a whooping laugh.  “Ha!” You sighed inaudibly as you silently thanked Hank, knowing he used his booming voice to mask your sounds. Holding one of his hands up to Logan, he snickered as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that was cruel of me. What I meant to say is, that’s funny.” Hank let out a small chortle at Logan’s distain, being met with a flash of a middle finger, and claw too.  “Thanks, asshole,” Logan huffed as he pushed himself off of the wall, running his hand through his hair.

You watched him intently, thanking whoever was listening for making you have the power of invisibility. Being able to listen to everything going down, while Logan has no idea you’re here, made you feel powerful. You heard talks about how your power could be useful, but ultimately not threatening; Now, you’d beg to differ. Though you grew tiresome of the chase, being a fly on the wall versus a real player. It was fun the first two hours this started, but encroaching on hour six – the school clearing out and the sun almost set on the horizon, you grew slightly bored. “Have you tried the library? She likes to hide there.” Hank let out without hesitancy, making your eyes grow wide. It was like an aha moment for you, choosing the most likely place for last. Earlier it was too crowded, people would know you were there the second Logan came looking for you. But now with the young mutants either outside or in the city due to the upcoming weekend, you knew it would be vacant.

“I know her all too well, Hank. That’s the first place I looked.” Hearing Logan say that made your heart flutter, made you feel special that he knew you so well. A strong sigh left your lips as Hank coughed, dreamily staring at Logan as you started to walk backwards. Losing your invisibility for a moment, you stood a few feet behind Logan, walking towards the grand staircase that took you to the library. Waving at Hank, you motioned for it as you smirked, causing Hank to laugh. “You sure?” He asked, nodding behind Logan. As you stood closer to the staircase, you noticed how Logan was sniffing the air – his body growing tense as he spun around. It’s when he laid his eyes upon you that you knew he was fed up. It wasn’t the primal growl and heavy breathing that got to you, but the way his hazel eyes went from green to black in a split section, his chest heaving as he stared at you. “Oh shit,” was all you managed to let out as you turned invisible again, running up the stairs.

Everything was a blur to you, running as fast as your body could take you. Three flights to get where you needed to go seemed like forever, when you were being chased by The Wolverine. He had super human speed, a great nose for sniffing things out, he was at the advantage whilst you were at a disadvantage. Even with scent masking, now that you started to sweat it would make you more obvious, especially when the library was empty. Huffing and puffing as you managed two steps at a time, you refused to look back. But you could hear the stomps of Logan’s boots, clearly taking three steps to match you. Silently you prayed to whoever was listening, to get you to the library safe and sound before Logan got you. The last thing you wanted was for him to pin you to the stairs so everyone could see, that was too on the nose.

Reaching the top step of the library, you managed to sway your way through the wooden chairs and tables, giggling to yourself as you were halfway across the room. Due to the grand nature of the library, especially being two floors, it gave you so many good hiding spots. A circular room to see everything, yet hide in plain sight. As you made it over to the spiral staircase for the second level, you had noticed Logan standing at the entrance of the library, huffing and puffing. It made you snort, seeing how riled up he was. You had to admit, it was sexy to see how pissed off he was, causing a fresh wave of your arousal to coat your panties. Logan seemed to have taken note as he sniffed the air, his eyes cutting across the room straight to yours. “Come on out princess,” he growled, flexing his hands at his side. Slowly you crept up the metal staircase for the second level, taking one step at a time to not elicit any sounds. You let your breathing relax, slowing your heart rate as you kept calm, not needing to give yourself away. But Logan could sense you, eyeing the staircase with every move you made. “I got you now.”

A devilish grin fought to claim his mouth as he pounced over the tables, running on all fours as he landed right at the bottom of the staircase. You managed to get all the way up and around, leaving to the right. Multiple aisles of books covered upstairs, as well as the walls, each window let in the dusk light – showing dust particles roaming the air. Your tell-tale shimmer of invisibility was caught in the light a few times, but Logan was too lost to notice. Finding your perfect hiding spot away from prying eyes, you slotted yourself against the endcap of Psychology of Mutants, knowing no one reads these. You could feel the stagnant beating of your heart at times, wondering if it was due to fear or the thrill of the chase. Maybe it was the aspect of it being bittersweet as well; A years long chase with Logan finally reaching its peak. You knew there would never be going back from this, and that was okay. Stealing his cigars wasn’t the endgame, it was only the beginning.

“You can’t hide forever you know,” Logan snarled as he reached the top of the landing, huffing as he eyed every shelf. You could see him, nor did you want to, hoping to God he chose to head left instead of right. Alas you were sorely mistaken as his heavy steps started to echo right, causing you to curse under your breath. SNIKT, you heard the metallic sound echoing through the room, but also your mind, causing you to whimper. Logan had unsheathed his claws, holding them out. The idea of him using the claws on you, pinning you down with them, holding them against your neck made your body run hot, your arousal heightening as the thoughts ran rampant through your mind. “I will catch you.” It was not a threat but a fact, Logan was not kidding anymore. The animal inside of him was taking over, leaving the Logan you knew behind. This was all caused because you pushed him to the point of no return, and you fucking loved it. The reverberation of his claws against the wooden shelves made you shudder, knowing how close he was getting now.

Biting down hard on your lip, you placed your hand over your mouth, trying to regain control of your breathing. Being right across from the last window on the right didn’t do you any good, especially with the beam of light falling through. If you moved even a millimeter, you were going to be made. It’s then when you opened your eyes to pan to your left that you saw his shadow encroaching on you, his stance wide as his claws were pointed at the ground. Each gruff huff he let out made your eyes roll back, finding it harder and harder to keep yourself hidden. You couldn’t look away from him either, you needed to watch him; How the sweat beaded at his hairline, how his little tufts of hair were wild from pulling at them, how his snarl got more animalistic the longer he tried to look for you. “Where did you go?” You couldn’t describe how Logan sounded in that moment; Primal and animalistic do not even begin to crest.

You focused too much on his tone, completely forgetting your watchful eye on him. When you glanced back after trying to calm yourself, you noticed the 6’2 Wolverine was no longer walking his way towards the aisles but vanished into thin air. Not knowing where he was, made your heart rate skyrocket – panic ensuing all over your body. Goosebumps arose across your skin as you pondered where he could be, afraid to move in case he was lurking close to you. Maybe he went off to the left instead, leaving you by yourself to escape. It would make sense, considering how you heard the creaking of the floorboards on the opposite side now. Letting out a concealed breath, you slowly moved away from the end cap of the shelf, leaving your back exposed. You knew it was a mistake when the hot, stifling air of the closed space became ice cold, a shiver falling down your spine. The sun shifted away in that moment, blanketing the area in darkness, complete with only a sliver of light, not even to cast shadows. The second your back was exposed; All hell broke loose.

Two strong hands grabbed hold of your hips, pulling you back into a solid form. The yelp you let out was loud enough to echo, but not loud enough to raise suspicion. The strain on your powers had gotten to be too much, slowly slipping back into being visible. You huffed out as your back connected with his chest, your hands finding purchase on his muscular forearms. “There you are little mouse.” He snickered in your ear, pressing his nose to the pulse point of your neck. Logan deeply inhaled at the vein, his teeth barring to nip at your exposed shoulder. It felt good to have his mouth on you, to have him seemingly obsessed with your scent. After all, it is what gave you away. Whimpering out, you dug your nails into Logan’s arm, feeling the reverberation of his snarl through your body. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move – you were a lost cause. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

Logan was mocking you at this point, purposely being a little shit to mimic how you have been with him. When it came to his cigars, he wasn’t fucking around. But when he knew it was you who took them, well he wasn’t going to let you live this down. Logan moved from behind you, but kept his hands grasping your flesh. Moving to the side, he pressed your back against the end cap again, bringing you back to your original position. His right hand remained on your hip as his left grasped your neck, pressing against your pulse point, feeling the thrum of blood on your veins. The edges of your vision began to go fuzzy due to the restricted blood flow, but you didn’t care. Logan was putting you right in your place, and you were obeying so well for him. “I believe you have something of mine,” he murmured; His prominent nose pressing harshly against your cheek. The warmth of his breath on your skin, mixed with the cold drag of his claws against your skin made you shiver, loving how it felt too much. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You laughed out, clearly laced with thrill.

Logan didn’t take too kindly to you playing dumb, the tick in his jaw spoke measures. His grip on your neck was heavier than before, using his full weight to restrict your blood flow quicker, your vision developing black dots. “Oh, you don’t?” The challenged in his voice said all you needed to know – he was fucking desperate. There was no hiding it now, he needed you – not his cigars, but you. Gulping down against his large hand, you felt the press of his claws against the back of your neck, pushing through the wood of the bookshelf to lock you in place. He would never intentionally draw blood, or hurt you, but he knew this was your deepest fantasy, all thanks to Jean relaying it. His lips were inches from your ear as he chuckled darkly, groaning out against the flesh. “Do I need to jog your memory?” You shouldn’t have been as turned on by that as you were. Your knees buckled slightly as you almost fell, your eyes rolling back into your head.

Logan took advantage of your eyes being closed to pull his hand away from your hip. The loss of touch made you whine, but quickly you were quieted by his roughened tugs. Grabbing at the edge of your tank top, Logan ran his claws through the fabric to create slits, ripping them open just as easily. Looking down at your jeans, he could see the bulge in your pocket – where you had hidden a few of his cigars. A huff of relief fell from his parted lips as she cut your pocket open, letting them fall right into his hand. He mimicked your hiding and shoved them into his own pocket, moving on to the next. The cool breeze against your exposed skin made you quickly heat up; Logan using his claws on you made you lose your fucking mind. He repeated his efforts with your other side, making matching holes in his jeans and shirt, not caring anymore.

It was as the last few cigars rolled out of your pocket that Logan pulled back, his heavy body heat no longer suffocating you. The contact was missed, causing you to pout slightly. “Boo hoo hoo,” Logan mocked as he watched you, walking backwards to push his back against the window. The sill right below it was begging him to sit, so he took advantage of it. Reaching into his left pocket, Logan pulled out his Zippo lighter – flicking it against his pants to ignite the flame. It was intoxicating watching him, how effortlessly fluid his motions were. Biting your cheek, you watched him intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulled out the precut cigar from his pocket and pushed it between his lips, favoring his left side for it to rest between his teeth. Lighting the end until the cherry burned bright, he took a few quick puffs, blowing the smoke out in a cloud around him.

Your eyes could not pull away from him even if you tried, it was nearly impossible. The way he moved was like silk through the wind, so effortless and elegant; He knew he was hot like this. Taking another quick drag, Logan let the smoke fall from his lips as he tucked the cigar back in between his teeth, putting away his lighter. Reaching forward with his claws still extended, he hooked two of the blades into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you forward. There was about a person’s space between the bookshelf and the window, making it easy for him to grab at you. Of course, your body obeyed his silent command, tripping slightly as you tried to regain your footing. Placing both of your hands on his thick, warm thighs, you licked your lips. The smoke being released from both the cigar and his mouth captured your attention, making it difficult to focus on what he was saying. The way his motions flowed were so smooth, it was impossible to say anything else to him.

Taking a rather large drag of his cigar, he puffed his cheeks out a bit to hold it all in. It took you by surprise, why he was holding it all in his mouth. Retracting his claws on his right hand, Logan grabbed at your jaw like a man possessed, pushing his meaty fingertips into your flesh. The slight ache of his possessiveness made your mouth part, a pained look on your face that you were lost in. Logan got close to you, his lips only mere inches away from your mouth as you whimpered. With your lips parted, Logan mimicked your motions as he breathed out. The soft, heady tendrils of smoke wafted from his mouth into yours, causing you to let them stir. Tobacco mixed with the sweetness of the wrap caused your eyes to dilate, boring into Logan with pure unadulterated lust. There was no mistaking it as he shotgunned his cigar with you, his smirk prevalent. “That’s my good girl.” He crooned, taking in your big eyes, the heat of your skin – basking in your glory.

You blew the smoke right back at Logan while he chuckled, licking his lips to wet them as he took another puff. There was something so intoxicating about how you reacted, it was like watching a painting come to life. From the first day he met you, he knew you were something else – he had to challenge you. Almost four years later and you’re still trying to get with him, he admired it. Finally, the silent love he had for you could be shown, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for you. You made him work to catch you, now you had to work to get what you wanted. “Get on your knees.” The command fell off of Logan’s lips so naturally you almost didn’t catch it at first. Your eyes glossy as you watched him, your brain not keeping up. Narrowing his eyes at you, he cocked his brow as he laid the cigar to the side, watching to see your reaction. “I’m sorry?” You questioned without realizing, your face slack with lust.

Reaching forward towards you, Logan grabbed your neck once more, this time yanking you so close to his face that you felt his breath waft over your features. “Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.” There was no hesitation in Logan’s voice as he stated his command, letting his face go rigid to show he was getting pissed off. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” You wanted to, every fiber of your being wanted to disobey him, make him angry so he was rough with you – at the same time you didn’t want to make him mad, not yet anyway. Nodding to him against his hand, you slipped down to your knees easily with a moan, pressing out your wet bottom lip as you gazed up at him.

Logan rolled his eyes as he grabbed the cigar again, pressing it against your lips. It’s when you take a drag of it that he pulls out, putting it in his own mouth once more. With his hand now free from holding his cigar, he quickly flicked open his belt buckle, undoing the top button on his jeans as you took the silent command to pull his zipper down. His erection was stiff against his jeans and left nothing to the imagination. He was big, he was hot, and he was fucking turned on. Watching you with a lustful glow in his eyes, Logan groaned as he watched you, never letting you have the last word: “You may have started the game princess, but I am going to finish it.”

----

Tagging: @livelaughl0ve3 @mehjustalasshere @allen-444 @begaytotallygay @tezooks @hughj1d @mami-veracruz @salemslostwitch @karencaribou @princesstarble @dirtylittlefairytales @hbwrelic @mosscrissfemmefatale @pinkanonwriting @craziersarah98 @actuallybridgetjones @silversprings-mp3 @lokidovahkiin

[zeninslut]

That's just my baby daddy

pregnant hcs with ya favs ( Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru)

AN: when I figure out how to make these posts actually look good its over for y'all fr. I hope y'all enjoy, comments and reblogs are appreciated guysss!

C. Kamo

husband choso who is beyond ecstatic when he finds out you’re pregnant because he wasn’t even sure he could give you a child, being ,you know, half curse and all

Husband choso who coddles you the whole pregnancy making sure you don’t lift a finger unless you truly want to and even then it still takes a little convincing. he can't keep his hands off you truly, always seeking your comfort. He puts your shoes on for you very early in the pregnancy and never falters. 

Husband choso and uncle yuji who fight while building the crib somehow making the crib in 3 different ways (all incorrect) before they finally get it together.

Husband choso and uncle yuji who talk to your unborn baby through the stomach. Both sides of their head attached to your belly. They talk to your baby girl for hours even when you fall asleep. Yuji is so excited for his big brother and choso is happy that his brother loves your baby almost as much as he does. 

Husband choso who has a sixth sense for your pregnancy needs. He wakes up minutes before you whine about a pregnancy craving, making you exactly want you want without you even asking. The both of you don’t know how he does it but you’re grateful nonetheless. 

Husband choso who thinks he could never love anyone more than you until you have his daughter

Husband choso who is absolutely wrapped around his daughters finger in the moment she opens her beautiful brown orbs to stare at him for the first time. He feels his heart swell with tenderness and pride as he looks at his own eyes in female form 

Husband choso who thanks and praises you as soon as he hears the strong cry of his daughter

Husband choso who follows you and his daughter like a lost puppy. Not wanting to be without you and especially not her 

Husband choso who is actually really great at changing diapers despite having no experience. Changing his mini me’s diapers with speed and efficiency. Because of this, he is constantly on diaper duty, which he always complains about but secretly he doesnt mind. He loves cooing and playing with her hands after. 

Husband choso who kisses your daughters feet and hands just absolutely in awe that such a wonderful creation is his. His heart flutters every time he hears her laugh 

Husband choso who definitely cries when he hears the cries of your daughter getting her ears pierced 

T. Fushiguro

Husband toji who was scared shitless when you told him you were pregnant. The shitess quickly turned into him shitting himself when he finds out that its a girl.

Husband toji who truly questions who wears the pants in this relationship at this point in time because your hormones have been off the roof. He knew you could be a brat but this new found attitude of yours is truly unmatched. He finds himself listening the first time (surprisingly) when you ask him to do something, for fear of getting his ear yanked down to your height and screamed in.

Husband toji who loves the fire in your eyes as the pregnancy progresses.

Husband toji who doesn’t protest but instead hides some chuckles as you chew shiu out for constantly bring him new assignments knowing damn well he has a pregnant wife at home and he can’t say no to money 

Husband toji who shares a beer with uncle shiu as shiu tells him what its like to be a girl dad and live in a house full of exclusively girls.

Husband toji who doesnt think much about how fast and huge your belly is growing at only 4 months in.

Husband toji who gets a little nervous when shiu’s wife tells him that you’re getting huge and she only was that big when she was having twins. He shakes it off though, he knows he’s a big man so it would only make sense right… RIGHT???

husband toji who thinks he might faint when a routine ultrasound turns into the sonographer saying 

“Hmm I must have missed this the last time but it appears you’re expecting twins! Congratulations!!” 

Husband toji who fears being a terrible father especially to girls. You reassure him that he is not what he grew up with. He’s more than deserving of a happy family and that he will make a great dad. 

Husband toji who keeps his hand on your belly at all times especially in public. It’s his effort to shield you and his kids from any harm 

Husband toji who makes it a point to occasionally hold you from the back and lift your stomach to take the weight of your back. He figures its the least he could do especially because of his strength. It’s moments like this where you know he would make a great girl dad. 

Husband toji who knows he’s a wanted man so he doubled on security and tripled in it on days when he isn’t around. Even getting a couple guard dogs just in case. He can’t take any chances on losing the best things that have ever happened to him, he already lost so much 

Husband toji who sends shiu and his wife to the house for you on days where his target is being particularly hard to find. 

Husband toji who has to be stopped by shiu from punching all the men in the room for peaking at his wife in such a vulnerable state during labor

Husband toji who’s fears of being a bad father dissipate when he holds his girls for the first time. It’s all clear to him now, he will lay his life down for you and his daughters. He vows would do whatever it takes to make sure you guys are safe and taken care of. 

Husband toji who now wears a baby wrap always opting to carry one of the twins 

G. Suguru

Husband suguru who genuinely isn’t surprised when you tell him you’re pregnant but he sure does put on one hell of an act. It was only a matter of time before the birth control you used was completely out of your system as he switched out each individual pill with a sugar pill and precisely packaged it back to normal 

Husband suguru whose heart swells with pride when you start showing.

Husband suguru who wont stop cuddling you and making you the little spoon. He claims its good for the baby and for no other reason but everyone knows its for him

Husband suguru who insists on making sure you have a midwife or doula who stays with you on days that he can’t. They are in constant communication about you and your pregnancy. Personally, the doula thinks he bothers you too much but you think its just right and that’s all that matters. You could never get enough of your loving husband 

Husband suguru  who sees the pregnancy glow on you get stronger and stronger. It’s like his kryptonite. He could never resist you in the first place but it just makes it so much harder to get work done when his beautiful round pregnant wife is sitting on the couch in his clothes reading a book on maternity. 

Husband suguru and uncle satoru who take turns singing to your belly while you laugh in glee. You never minded how close satoru was to your unborn baby, it was only expected. Suguru and satoru were like salt and pepper (literally)

Husband suguru who makes the most exquisite love to you throughout the whole pregnancy. He makes sure you know you are loved and cherished in any form you are in.

Husband suguru who has thoughts about blowing the whole hospital up if you experience so much as a smudge of malpractice. It’s his wife and kid for god’s sake. 

Husband suguru who because of this makes sure he has a team of trusted maternity doctors in the house while you have a water birth. He sits next to the tub with you praising you for all that you’ve been through and what you’re about to go through.

Husband suguru who kind of hates himself when he sees that the pain youre in is immense. It brings tears to his eyes even when you tell him that it’s okay and that you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He still wants to drive a stake through his heart for “hurting” his precious wife.  

Husband suguru who quite surprised when he sees that his daughter has his beautiful violet eyes. 

Husband suguru who falls completely in love with you again when he sees his daughter latching onto your breast for the first time. He loves the motherly look on you.

Husband suguru who loves having you on his lap and his daughter in yours. 

Husband suguru who’s heart has been stolen by his beautiful daughter when he watches her smile and wrap her small wrap around his index finger. 

Husband suguru who is pleasantly surprised when he reaches under the bathroom counter to see your abandoned pack of pseudo birth control hiding in the corner. You didn’t touch it for months leading up to the day you said you were pregnant. he knows you wanted him to see it. He smirks to himself knowing that he has truly met his match and that you are nothing short of the one for him

[unknown-cold]

In this interview Amanda said something that caught my attention. Do you think that in ep 8 Caitlyn will talk about what Jinx did to her when she kidnapped her? Bc Amanda said that in ep8 there's a Caitlyn line that will make us say "Oh so that's why"

Amanda means this line that Cait is going to say will let us know why she was so mad at Jinx in ep 3 and how Caitlyn went completely blind when she saw Jinx in her target and bc of her anger and also her fear and terror of Jinx, Cait has completely lost control of herself in this moment. (there is someone who made a post on this topic @loycos and talked about what happened to Cait in ep3 and how Cait didn't see Vi or Isha in front of her bc of her anger and her deeply terrified of Jinx) I mean look at her eyes and the expression on her face, yes she looks angry but she is also terrified.

This is a natural reaction. I mean for example, imagine that you see something that scares you so much. There are two reactions, either flight or fight, and these reactions always come without a person thinking. At this moment the person is only thinking about getting rid of the thing that scares him, and he does not focus on what is around him bc these strong feelings control him.

Anyway, what makes me sure that this scene might happen in ep 8 (Caitlyn talking about what happened to her when Jinx kidnapped her) is Reed Shannon (Ekko VA) comment when he saw the drawing and said "I thought this was a leak" Reed might be joking as usually, but why this particular drawing and why he chose this word "leak".

But honestly if this scene actually happened and we knew what happened to Caitlyn, it would make us understand more why she was so angry and scared of Jinx when she saw her in front of her and it would also explain why she literally went blind and didn't see anything around her at that moment, neither the child nor Vi, all Cait saw was Jinx, she just wants to bring down Jinx. I mean look at these pictures she is so terrified of her

Again Caitlyn's insistence on killing Jinx in the scene in ep 3 was not only motivated by revenge on Jinx, but also out of fear and terror of her.

And not like those idiots who say that Caitlyn wanted to kill the child on purpose to get to Jinx or even say that she wanted to kill Vi too, or bc she's a cop and the cops kill children and blah blah... That's really ridiculous and annoying!! Bc if we focus a little bit on the period that Caitlyn went through we will see that Cait didn't have time to process all these things that happened to her, from the torture that happened to her when Jinx kidnapped her, then the killing of her mother, then the attack on the memorial ceremony. (I know that Jinx is not the reason, but from Caitlyn's perspective she thinks that Jinx and the Silco followers are the reason)

And in the end I hope that no one comes who doesn't like the post bc I am defending Caitlyn's character. If you don't like this character I don't care, there is no need for you to write a stupid comments. Please don't tire your little fingers if you don't like my post block me this is better for you and me. I will not waste my time responding to you, I will delete your comment and block you immediately.

I am a student at the Faculty of Psychology, and when I talk about trauma and the interpretation of human behavior and reactions, I know well what I am talking about. Bc most of the characters' reactions in this show are very realistic and need to explanation, writers do not want to explain everything in the show, they want viewers to occupy their mind and explain the events themselves (And I still repeat the point that the show focuses on the development and complexity of the characters more than anything else, and does not focus on solving political issues, the show is not about politics, okay)

And btw some people ask me about my opinion of Jinx's character, I have no problem with her character at all, I like her and I understand her condition, when I criticize her actions, it doesn't mean I hate her.

One day I may do a post about her character development and her condition, but I see that there are many posts about her and her actions, and I feel like I won't say anything new about her. Unlike the rest of the characters like Vi and Caitlyn, there are not many people talking about them. And maybe I will make a Viktor post bc I really like the development of his character. When the show ends, maybe I will.

[kkayyerr]

haiii!!! I had an idea for male!little!reader? (Or fem, I don't mind honestly I just kinda wanted to share this idea 😅)

but what about Rafe getting a giant stuffie for his little one basically saying it's so his little one can hug it whilst he's at work or overall just taking care of business (with Barry maybe?) but him getting jealous when you start getting super clingy to the stuffie-

feel free to completely ignore this!!!

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა ♡

Jealousy

Summary: Rafe getting jealous because his little boy spending too much time with his giant stuffie.

Warnings: Age regression; none.

At first, getting you a big stuffie that would help you regress when Rafe’s not around seemed like a good idea to him. Seeing your happy face and a bright smile when he had presented it to you had only proved his point; you needed something that would remind you of him when he’s not around. He even had sprayed his perfume all over that giant teddy bear, so it would help you fall asleep, cuddling with it as if it were him laying close to you.

Of course he wanted to always be there for you, especially when you would go into the little space, but sadly, his business deals with Barry had taken over his life completely for the past few weeks, leaving very little free time. Mostly he would come home late, when it’s past your bedtime, finding you asleep hugging stuffie that he had bought you, and at first he was happy that you were so calm and understanding about his business.

But then it would get too much. Whenever he saw you around the house, you were always wondering around with that toy, mostly ignoring Rafe’s presence. Of course you didn’t mean to neglect him; you just really liked that stuffie and got used to your Daddy always being busy, so you wouldn’t even bother trying to talk to him or ask him to play with you. Rafe always had been a jealous person, but never in his whole life he wanted to fight a fucking teddy bear. The one that he had bought himself, actually. Every time that he would see you with that toy, he would just clench his jaws, trying not to say anything; he didn’t want you to think that your Daddy was tweaking. 

And he tried to remain calm. 

Until the day that he had completely lost his grip. 

It was another day of your life; you were casually regressing, laying in your bed sucking on pacifier and hugging your favorite stuffie, sniffing on Rafe’s perfumes. You were almost asleep as you saw Rafe coming into the room. He had yet another conversation on the phone, so you choose to ignore that, completely losing interest.

 

„Yeah, man. I’m sorry, but tonight you’ll have to deal with that stuff yourself; I have plans."

 

Your eyes widened at his words. You didn’t hear him reject Barry before, not even once. But it seemed like tonight something had happened. Or it was about to happen. 

You were too confused with that conversation to see that Rafe was staring at you for at least a minute now, with a sly smirk on his lips. You took the pacifier out of your mouth. 

 

„Daddy, what happen’?”

 

He completely ignored your question and your confused face expression, approaching you silently as you were still hugging that goddamn toy. Rafe got on the bed beside you, quickly grabbing you tightly with both of his arms and pulling you into his embrace that in fact felt more like a death grip. 

Rafe then quickly pushed your stuffie out of the bed, kicking it with his leg with a little too much force. 

You didn’t even have a chance to protest because Rafe quickly shoved a pacifier in your mouth, making you melt in his arms almost immediately.

 

„I won’t let that naughty bear steal my little boy from me.” 

 

Rafe said, surprisingly, his tone didn’t sound like he was joking. He was actually so fed up with you cuddling up to that thing instead of him, even though he knew that there was a part of his fault also.

 

„I told Barry to keep an eye on our business while I’m away, so now I have a whole week to spend with you, baby.”

 

Your eyes widened at his words, and you clapped your hands, imagining the whole week that you would spend with your Daddy without him having to answer to those business calls every five minutes. Rafe smiled softly at you, leaning down to kiss your forehead, before his gaze turned cold once more as he turned his head to the stuffie that was laying on the floor.

 

„And that bitch is staying home, he’s grounded.“

Taglist: @marvelfanfics1 @rafecameronsloverrrrr @aew-regression-cove

[thewistlingbadger]

I don't think the vander/silco fall out was solely because of Felicia's death. I think it was more about their attitudes towards her death.

In the scene where Felicia reveals to them that she's pregnant, she says that she can't try to be a parent for the first time and protect her child from the dangers of Zaun all at once.

"But then I realized I don't have to. Because the second I told you, I put you on the hook. You two are going to figure this Zaun thing out. I don't care if you have to carve it out of the bedrock covered in blisters. You're not allowed to fail anymore. For her. For me."

Except they did fail. The demonstration on the bridge was a massive loss for Zaun. They lost tons of people, including Felicia. This is where the brothers diverged. I believe that Felicia's death made Vander prioritize safety where her death made Silco realize the importance of sacrifice. In the game Jinx Fixes Everything, we find the journal that we saw Silco writing in in the flashback. We don't know when his specific words were written, but what we know that he wrote about Felicia's courage and how much he admired her. At the bottom of the page, he wrote "Blisters and Bedrock", clearly calling back to the night she revealed her pregnancy's.

It seems that this idea of doing whatever it takes to make Zaun happen originally came from her. Or at the very least she's who inspired this idea. Silco saw Felicia's death as a testament to the type of zaunite and woman she was. She died fighting for what she believed in. She risked EVERYTHING because she wanted a better tomorrow. The bravery he saw in her before increased by tenfold when she laid down her life for the cause. This is why Silco is so upset at Vander in S1 E3.

"So you'll die for a cause, but you won't fight for one?"

Vander saw her a death as a sign that the concept of the Nation of Zaun itself was a failure, that it couldn't be done. His job as her friend was to protect her, and he failed to do that. He saw the direct consequences of her death, and he feels the need to take responsibility and clean up his mess. Especially since he knows how much Felicia wanted to protect her kids, especially since he's been around her kids. The bridge made him realize that there's nothing more important than the community they have. Without the ones they love, they are nothing. So Vander gave up the cause to look after everyone else. Which is probably why he felt the need to kill Silco when Silco insisted on pursuing the Nation of Zaun even after Felicia died due to their failure. They already lost their best friend, and for what? For a dream that didn't and can't work? But Silco would be DAMNED if he gave up on the very thing Felicia believed in, her death would not be in vain.

And so they betrayed each other. And their makeshift family was broken.

[hom3landr]

Writer’s Block

18+

In which Homelander thoroughly enjoys a quiet night in, his hand, and some ao3.

CW: Selfcest adjacent, Anal play, Masturbation,

“His hand wraps firmly around your throat as he bends you over your desk with a low groan. The hard bulge in his costume grinds against your ass and each filthy thrust causes your hips to bump painfully against the wooden edge. The various knick knacks and office supplies decorating your space rattle with the movement. His hot breath causes you to moan as he whispers into your ear.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

Homelander groans low in his throat as he strokes his cock languidly. The leather of the couch that was cool at first is now growing warm from the heat of his body. His cock twitches in his hand and a drop of precum drips down his knuckles onto the cushion. He’s taking it slow tonight. He intends to draw out his pleasure now that he finally has the entire space to himself for the night.

Now that he has a son to raise, he’s had to stop being so bold about where and when he decides to take a load off and relax. Luckily he was able to pawn Ryan off on Victoria and Zoe for a sleepover. Vicky wasn’t happy about the surprise but he isn’t sure why. His son is a fucking delight. He plans to make the most of his free time as he reclines lazily and uses the remote in his free hand to scroll through the fanfiction on the screen.

He had found the stories maudlin and pathetic at first when he first stumbled onto the online community dedicated to writing about him. They made him laugh at how desperate and pathetic they were. Even the ego boost wasn’t enough to erase the disdain towards the nobodies of the world who deigned to think that he would ever want to fuck them. He’s so pristine in the stories. A white knight handsome savior to sweep them away from their problems. If only they knew the real him and not the puppet Vought made him into.

But that was when he had Stormfront on his arm. A perfect goddess to chase away the pangs of loneliness and who any ordinary mud person would pale in comparison to. When he lost her, he began to see the value in such pathetic fantasies. As he lost more and more control over his surroundings, it was comforting to disappear into this place where the world still revolved around him and he could see proof of devotion that wasn’t just the steadily dropping points tacked to his name.

People still wanted him.

And sure, things might be looking up for him now. He’s head of Vought and he finally has his beloved son by his side. He has an army of mindless fans ready to fight for him. But his bed is still cold and a man has needs. There’s an earnest quality to the writing that scratches an itch that isn’t satisfied by the subpar porn Vought churns out. This is personal.

He grips his cock a little firmer and he twitches as he runs his thumb over his sensitive slit. He continues to read.

“He can smell your arousal. It coats the back of his throat and he can taste it on the roof of his mouth.”

Homelander unconsciously licks his lips. It’s not hard for him to conjure up the smell of sex in his mind. His own pleasure is already heady in his own nose. He whines and brings two fingers up to his lips and sucks. The salty tang of his own slick is filthy and his whole body throbs. His hipbones ache as he imagines what it would be like to be bent over, to lose himself to pleasure completely, to have all the worries and concerns knocked out of his brain. He can understand why this fantasy would appeal to someone so insignificant as the author. It’s not a perspective that he would normally ever indulge in but there’s something so tempting about it.

“You struggle to catch your breath and muster any kind of defense as he continues to take up more of your space. One hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, cutting off your airflow even further. He can hear you clench around nothing and a smug smile spreads across his face.”

Still sucking on his fingers, his other hand drops the remote and wraps itself around his neck. He presses down cautiously and the restriction of his own airflow causes a wave of heat to flow through his veins. He bucks up into nothing with a low grunt.

“He presses hot and hungry kisses against your jaw as his free hand grabs the waistband of your work trousers and tugs. The fabric rips easily and you can’t even gasp in surprise as his fingers delve under your underwear to press against your hole.”

Homelander follows suit, taking his spit slick fingers out of his mouth and reaching down to tease around his rim. He gasps, sensitive. He’s no stranger to touching himself here but it’s like a shock every time just how nice it feels. He wonders what the inbred brain dead hicks who worship him would think if they knew their fearless hero liked a little ass play. Would they still grovel? Would they keep him on his pedestal? He laughs bitterly at the irony of his power over people still being reliant on fitting into the narrow insipid boxes they feel like putting him in. He has everything he’s always wanted but he’s still fucking trapped.

Tears prick at his eyes. He’d started this just wanting to feel good but now his stomach is uneasy and his erection is already starting to flag. Even alone, he can’t escape people’s expectations of him. He removes the hand from his throat and wipes at his eyes, self loathing building tight in his chest at how pathetic he is. He can’t even get himself off properly and now he’s crying over it. He grabs the remote and goes to turn off the screen in self pity but his eyes catch the next words.

“Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of the situation. Everything is happening so fast and so much.

“Shhhhh” He whispers in your ear. “You might as well just let it happen. Let yourself feel good. It’s not like you have a choice.”

“It’s not like you have a choice.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can hear his own voice echoing in his head. It’s familiar and he follows where it leads. He brushes reality aside as he allows himself to sink back into the fantasy. He thinks about the ache in his hipbones and a body pressing him down and forcing him to relax. He puts his hand back on his throat, this time pressing harder until it borders on the hint of pain as his head swims. Idly he wonders where this written version of himself came from. How one measly author amidst the rush of saccharine romances managed to capture this raw real side of him.

He opens his eyes and squints so the world is a little fuzzy. The words on the screen blur but are still readable and as long as he has those he can block anything else out.

“Your body goes limp against the desk, becoming little more than a doll for him to play with. He dips his fingers into you, stretching you just enough to make you gasp before pulling back. He’s gentle but inescapable and there’s nothing that you can do except succumb to his touches. You moan pathetically as he finally takes pity on you, two deft fingers finally pressing in fully as they twist and curl until they find the spot that makes your legs tremble and shake.”

He whimpers as his fingers delve inside. It’s been a while since he’s had the opportunity to do this and he’s tight. He huffs and he can feel the bobbing of his adam’s apple against his hand. He can’t move yet as he focuses on relaxing his muscles until he’s no longer at risk of pushing his fingers right back out. The stretch feels good and his cock quickly swells back to its previous hardness. He’s torn between reaching down to stroke himself or staying put and following along with the whims of the story. He crooks his fingers slightly and a strangled yelp leaves his lips as lightning shoots up and down his spine.

“Touch yourself.” Homelander instructs as he continues to scissor his fingers and stretch you out properly. “C’mon, don’t make me do all the work.”

Homelander wastes no time. He’s eager now that he has permission. He wishes that there was a way to keep the pressure on his neck but he’ll have to think of something for next time. His cock throbs under his palm as he begins to stroke himself. The room fills with eager wet sounds and it allows him to sink deeper into the fantasy. He reads on, eager to know what he’ll do next. It baffles him why anyone would want to leave him now that he knows how good being with him feels.

He’d had an opportunity before, with Doppelganger. But it was wrong. It wasn’t him. It was just a pathetic needy imitation. So ready to please that it reeked of desperation. He’d seen something in “his” face that day that turned his stomach. He’d needed it gone.

This is different. This fictional version of him is perfect, strong, determined, and willing to just take what he wants. He’s perfect, like marble.

Homelander moans echo through the penthouse, filling up all the open space and desecrating the ears of the founding fathers. He has no need to be shy now that he has the place to himself again for the night. His cock is leaking all over his hand and dripping down onto the leather. The wet sloppy sounds of him working himself over are practically deafening to his sensitive hearing.

“That’s it, Sweetheart. Doesn’t it feel good to take some initiative. It’s a good thing the rest of the tower doesn’t have my hearing.” He goes quiet for a moment, allowing the sloppy sounds to echo through the empty room. “You would not believe some of the things I’ve heard go on around here. For example, do you remember fucking yourself in the bathroom after I surprised you in the elevator the other day?”

A wave of shame and panic floods through you as the memory of the elevator comes back to you. You were too flustered to say anything then. You had been surprised that he would bother with an elevator at all. The masculine vetiver scent of his cologne was subtle but in the confined space it seemed almost suffocating. You hadn’t said anything and he didn’t bother to even acknowledge your presence. He didn’t even look your way. Still, the strange intensity of the encounter had you running into the empty bathroom to relieve some stress. You wouldn’t have been able to concentrate otherwise.

“Nothing? I could practically smell you during my meeting. I could definitely hear you rubbing away.” He leans down to nip at your ear.”

Homelander briefly lets go of his cock to massage his balls, groaning loudly. He wants to prolong this but he can feel himself reaching the end of his rope. His abdomen is sore from the clenching of his muscles and he can feel his heartbeat in every fiber of his body. His lungs can’t seem to get enough air as he gasps at the wave of arousal.

Something prickles at the back of his brain. The story ignites some synapse that sparks an unimportant memory. It’s not enough to draw him out of his fantasy but somewhere in his hindbrain he logs it.

He imagines someone hearing him right now and his cock twitches. He gives a comforting squeeze as he wiggles the fingers inside himself again.

Fuck

“The combination of his filthy words along with your eager rubbing has you coming undone before he even fucks you. You feel truly visible for the first time.. Homelander saw that embarrassing needy part of you and he wanted it. He tracked you down once the rest of the crime analytics team had left and bent you right over your desk.

“There you go. Doesn’t it feel better to come on my fingers instead of your own?”

FUCK

Homelander’s vision goes red and hot as his fingers hit the spot inside him juuuuuust right. He tenses, entire body locking up, balls tightening, toes curling against the floor. He hangs weightless for a single moment before the storm of pleasure hits like a tidal wave. Hot ropes of come splatter all over his thighs and chest as he frantically strokes himself, milking himself of every last drop of pleasure. He bears down on his hand as he rides himself through it. He can hear his own voice ringing in his ears, the perfect voice of his best self.

“Doesn’t it feel better to come on my fingers instead of your own?”

In his mind he’s bent over the desk with a warm body against his back. His hips are sore but his muscles are pleasantly relaxed for once. He feels safe and protected. A strong hand grips his hip to hold him steady as the other Homelander removes his fingers with a soft wet noise.

He slumps into the leather, pleasantly sated.

Once he’s regained his senses a bit, he reaches for the remote and clicks off the tv. He’ll have to remember to finish the entire fic later when his cock has recovered a bit. The black screen reflects his face and Homelander is surprised to see the pleasure drunk smile on his face. He can’t remember the last time he smiled like this. Probably not since… He quickly shakes his head and shoves all thought of her from his brain. He doesn’t need anyone else to get off. He’s just fine on his own.

The little brain worm from earlier returns now that the room is quiet and distractions are gone. His mind still itches. Homelander clicks the tv back on and scrolls back up with a frown.

Crime analytics?

Most of the fics he reads are mindlessly generic. Most depict a banal office atmosphere when the setting takes place at Vought tower. It’s very easy for him to tell when the author is an outsider. Name dropping a specific department is new. Not to mention, the way the office was described in the beginning was eerily similar to the large room where the crime department is located…eerily similar.

Homelander’s heart pounds as he puts together the pieces. The author works at Vought and he knows in which department. The author has likely crossed paths with him. In fact, Homelander’s stomach tightens as he skims the fic, the author has probably shared an elevator with him.

He checks the upload date.

One week ago…

The unimportant memory floods back.

One week ago, he’d frightened a mousy crime analyst when he’d stopped the elevator for a ride. The little analyst never even looked directly at him. It was typical and not even worth the effort to get annoyed by. The sound of a fluttering heart and the scent of adrenaline were common occurrences no matter where he went. The moment he exited was the moment he’d already begun to forget.

Homelander sighs contentedly as he closes his eyes and lets himself bask in the afterglow. Curiosity sated, he lets his mind wander. Maybe he’ll surprise his little writer tomorrow and let them properly enjoy the fantasy this time. It’s the least he can do.

He reaches down and touches his hip, the phantom soreness still lingering.

After all, he knows just how good it feels to be fucked by him.

[coffee-in-rain]

The way Hannibal's gaze is glued to Will in this moment (when he's about to give up everything) is making me sick because he was so desperate to have Will's attention on him one last time. My vulnerable little pumpkin just wanted to be loved 😭 He simply never learned how to express his emotions in a normal + healthy way and that is why I'll forever be a Hannibal Lecter apologist.

Hannibal could've stayed inside Will's shed and Jack eventually would've found him in there. But he decided to kneel down onto the snow which is monumental in itself because of his childhood trauma: the last time Hannibal was on his knees in the snow was when he was a child; directly after the death of his parents and sister; when he was on the verge of death from starvation. I think this action was a form of self-inflicted punishment because he felt that he was losing Will and resorted to this: something that would seep into his bones + rival the ache in his heart. Hannibal had no one to look for the last time he was knee deep in snow. He had no one to turn his gaze to; no one that would even remotely care. He did in Digestivo. He made sure Will saw him, so that he wouldn't be forgotten, because what he feared most was Will's apathy and disinterest.

I need need need a fic where Will learns Hannibal struggles with chionophobia (extreme fear of snow) + then links it back to the moment Hannibal surrendered and knelt in the snow in his backyard.

Imagine Hannibal being taken post-fall when it's the dead of winter. He fights back (but is sedated and severely wounded in the process) and collapses in the snow + it ends up triggering his chionophobia. He's out there for what feels like hours. Will is desperately searching for him the entire time. He's curled in on himself to stay warm and unresponsive (with a glassy-eyed gaze) until Will's hands come to cradle his wet, freezing cheeks.

Tėtis is a word Will's only ever heard in instances where Hannibal sleep-talks during fitful nightmares. He knows what it means now (after his curiosity had gotten the best of him one night + he ended up resorting to google translate; only for his heart to shatter in the process). Will's chosen to never tell Hannibal that he sleep-talks and instead cherishes the moments Hannibal unconsciously seeks out comfort + unknowingly lets his gaurd down once he's subsequently cradled against Will's chest + soothed with gentle touches and soft words of reassurance until he ultimately settles down + returns to a peaceful state of sleep.

Imagine Will bundling a shivering Hannibal into his arms + carrying him to the car + reassuring Hannibal that it'll be okay. That Daddy's here. That he's safe now. That he'll be warm soon. Imagine Will wondering throughout all of this: if Hannibal had been close to regressing that night in his backyard + if any more time had passed would he have found Hannibal in a similar position: curled up in the shed + shivering + begging for the comfort of his dead father in a language Will wouldn't have been able to understand.

Imagine Will taking notice of the large wet patch on the front of Hannibal's crotch + the acrid stench of urine clinging to the ruined garment. Imagine Hannibal whimpering and whining as it's quickly removed because he's far too cold + then Will comforting him with gentle words and wrapping a jacket or a blanket around his waist. Imagine Hannibal being in the backseat of the car (or even the loading trunk because it's easier for Will to strip him there and bundle him up in the blankets designated for their dogs, who occasionally reside in the trunk during car rides) + panicking because he lost sight of Will, who is now driving them to a getaway boat. Imagine Hannibal calling out for Tėtis in a frightened, tearful voice; so unlike the precise manner in which he usually speaks.

Imagine Will wondering what would've happened if more time had passed before Jack had arrived in Digestivo. If he would've had to witness Hannibal in a state such as this; being whisked away when he felt cold and frightened and in search of reassurance; in search of Will; in search of someone who loved him. It's at this moment where Will realizes Hannibal hasn't felt loved since he was a child.

Will gets Hannibal to the boat and changes him into a set of fresh clothes and attempts to feed him a bowl of soup to help warm him up, but Hannibal panics and refuses. It's the first time Will's ever seen Hannibal cry and consciously seek out physical and emotional comfort, burrowing into his chest to be held.

[majimaisms]

re: them being textually alienated from their own desires, YES im always saying this and it makes it really tricky to analyze characters' sexualities. theres a whole substory in y0 (mr. libido) where majimas takeaway from it is that he needs to be "more honest with himself about his desires"

but he's referring to the fact that he has no sexual interest in women. he's saying he needs to stop lying to himself and forcing himself into this box because he thinks its what he *should* be doing, because, y'know, that's just what men do. speaking of.

even though he is nothing like this. so what gives? what personal experience are you drawing from here, majima?? of course this is only one possible answer he can give, the other is the one i mentioned in the tags earlier, that men and women can be friends. but the fact remains that this is something you can say as majima.

there's also something to be said about how he consistently abstracts himself out of conversations about sexuality and relationships and men and women. it's all "men like this" "women like that" but it doesn't even occur to him to include himself in the analysis, place himself on the playing field, so to speak. except for some reason when it comes to lumping himself in with men about being "beasts", then it's "us" and "we" suddenly. of course this could just be localization, so i can't say anything for sure, but i still find it interesting

he is very alienated from his sexuality in y0, seemingly ashamed or embarrassed to even talk or think about it, but i think that is precisely what obfuscates the true nature of his desires or lack thereof. there's this huge mental and emotional barrier that he can't look past. and nishitani frees him from that. but instead of clarifying things, it just obfuscates things more. he becomes more confusing. to himself. because now he's just performing it, and in a very exaggerated way, at that. that's just another barrier. and i think a lot of what majima is doing is just avoiding mirrors

i would talk about mad dog here but i have an extensive section on it in the analysis im working on so i won't get into it rn, but yes i do find it absolutely fascinating the dynamics at play when rgg guys are fighting, especially in majima's case because of the performative hypersexuality, and pairing that energy with kiryu who is as asexual as it gets makes for a very compelling and interesting dynamic. it raises more questions than it answers them, and that's what makes it fun to analyze

i will say i do think its somewhat reductive to phrase the question as a binary choice between fighting because they're yearning vs. because they're compelled to, i think "fighting" in rgg games (as lost judgment spells out) is just a way of communication like any other, and an active, conscious choice. and it's not necessarily born out of any internalized notions about how men can express their emotions around each other -- that is to say, even if they hadn't internalized that, there's nothing to suggest they wouldn't be fighting anyway. so i dont think its entirely accurate to treat fighting in rgg as something done in the place of something else, a second-choice, a compromise, something you settle for because the ideal method is inaccessible to you, etc.

TL;DR i dont think majima actually cares about sex all that much if at all

yeah i bet

[palesweetscherryblossom]

What were to happen if you stayed with Prince Hawks or Sorcerer Dabi

Warning: Possessive and controlling behavior, death, non con body modification, and murder. Reader doesn’t really get a happy ending in either scenario. Hypnosis because magic

-This would happen if Hawks got some divine power from some nicer fae allies. -He shows up to Dabi’s land of fire and magma, ready to rescue his beloved -The battle is long and hard, Dabi regularly taunting the feathered prince and Hawks being unnaturally aggressive and genuinely angry. -With one final blow to the Sorcerer’s heart, Hawks claims his victory. -Dabi’s castle halls are aligned with the slaughtered souls of his allies as Hawks arrives to the room where you’re being kept -You are awaken by true love’s first kiss, being torn away from the liminal dream land you were placed in. -Hawks cries tears of joy as he holds your body, peppering your face with kisses, stroking your head and proclaiming you as his spouse -You couldn’t help but ask what had become of the sorcerer who was nothing but kind to you. So dangerously intimate with you -Hawks smiles almost triumphantly, smugly as he holds your hands and proclaims something dangerously vague. “Don’t bother with such useless creatures, my dove. The only thing you’ll be thinking about is me.” -Your eyes shakily wander to the bloodied sword in your “beloved”’s hand and the burnt marks on his cape -Your wedding is grand and big, with all the gold, frills and lace one could want. Hawks is nothing short of a loving husband but you never stepped foot outside of that beautiful, shining palace. -You’re left in the dark about what happened to Dabi or his subjects. -Really, all you could really focus on was on Hawks. -He never left you alone, always hovering and clinging to you like a lost puppy. “My beautiful canary, my dear, beloved canary.” He’d praised, caressing your face and adorning you with kisses -He lavishes you with the finest things in the land, wings puffing up with pride whenever you use them or genuinely thanks him -You’ve never felt so loved yet never felt so much trapped. -After all, all a gilded cage in the end is still a cage

-Dabi was actually grinning ear to ear when he saw Hawks marching in with his little rag tag group of wannabe warriors. Really, he found it stupidly cute. -He took out Hawks’ posse easy then it was just the two of them. It unnerved Hawks with how cocky Dabi was, like nothing was at stake and it was just a friendly duel -Dabi played extremely dirty. Transforming into you to making Hawks’ hallucinate. Then there was the hypocrisy. “It’s honestly humorous that Y/N feels more safer with me, the supposed villain rather than you! Prince fuckin charming!” -Next thing Dabi knew, he had Hawks’ wings in his dragon maw. The fight was over, now Dabi could do what he wanted -He kissed you so sweetly, smiling as you slowly woke up. What he wasn’t expecting was for you to freak out “I-I didn’t want you to kill him! Oh god, what have you done!?” -You didn’t calm down, no matter how much soothing Dabi did. You were more focused on the type of backlash you’d received. -Hawks was beloved by all! No telling what his allies and subjects would do to you if they found out! -And Hawks didn’t deserve to die such a cruel fate. He just needed help but not from you. -While Dabi’s associates and allies celebrated their victories with parties, mass invasion and other cruel acts, Dabi was busy with you -You hadn’t ceased your guilt racked sobs. Your body shook with anxiety and fear as Dabi was fixing up a cure. Someone as pretty as you didn’t deserve to feel so guilty about some filth. -It was a pretty ring. Pure silver with a simple sapphire gemstone. But it wasn’t just a pretty gem to gawk at, no. -It would guarantee that you wouldn’t have to worry or even think. -You went quiet and calm when he slipped on the ring. You let him hold you and eventually lead you into the main hall to announce your wedding -Whereas everyone else smelt smoke, ash and blood, you simply smelt fresh pomegranate and ash Till death do you part, truly

@gh0stgirl333

[lilyminer]

Hey y'all, here's some more Emerald Duo character headcanon writing. A bit of a throwback since I haven't done this in a while. For anyone not caught up on my weirdly elaborate headcanons/sorta au, I made up a whole 3000 year timeline for the life of c!Philza, and most of it is sad cuz I'm an angst writer :) You don't need to know much about my headcanons for this tho, just go with the flow. Enjoy.

Like The Spring Thaw

The reign of the Antarctic Empire was a turbulent time, not just for Phil and Techno of course, the political conflicts, scarcity, and relentless environment was a constant onslaught against all the people they ruled over.

Philza and Technoblade's friendship was new, at least by an immortals standards. Techno had been so young when they first met, brought together as allies on the grand battlefields of a war neither of them really cared about. Win? Lose? It didn't matter. Techno was there to try to tame the influence of the blood god hidden deep inside his brain. Phil had been fighting to forget at first, to forget what he's lost, the home, the community, the friends. But nothing builds a bond like fighting for the same cause. Techno gave him something to fight to protect again, after all those years of not having time to take anyone under his wing. So once the war ended the two decided to try to bring peace to a divided world full of conflict.

They had their laughs, taking over the whole world via a bureaucratic loophole, yeah people got pretty pissed at them for that. But something about having a group of people to take care of again helped Phil fix some broken part of himself he left to fester years ago. He was still, and would surely forever be haunted by the memory of his long and winding path in life. The screams of those who had taken shelter in his temple as it was raided became a echo forever reverberating through his head as he slept. But now, instead of nearly being smothered in his sleep by his fellow soldiers, furious at his habit of giving away their position, there was a gentle knock at his door, a friend who's head was filled with much the same noise there to make him a tea and chat away the nightmares.

That castle became home. Sure he was forced to maintain a persona faker then any he'd worn before and the cold and exposed machinery made binding his wings out of the way a must, but they lived a life of plenty. Phil began to enjoy the cold, at home above the layers of ice and frost. Eventually, it became easy to ignore the small and inconvenient plights of his people. Without even knowing it he became the kind of ruler he swore he'd always hate. The apathetic king who saw violent gangs of thieves roaming the countryside as a non-issue. The monarch filled with so much hatred they allowed two armies to needlessly fight for decades. With a uncharacteristic lack of his usual foresight he was among those tyrants now, and so when reports came from the fishermen on the outskirts of the empire that a deadly plague was whipping out every man, woman, and child, the duel emperors brushed it off as yet another mild health issue. Just like the last illness, nothing to worry about.

And in the blink of an eye it was all over. Him and Techno watched in horror over the course of a handful of weeks as the treatments they knew had no effect on this illness. Their advisors locked them away in the castle, hoping to protect them but it only made the helplessness worse. Their doctors, nurses, midwives, wise-folk, and scientists dropped like flies. As they made the decree that all must evacuate the death-cursed city it seemed less were alive to hear it by the minute. All supply lines and social structure broke down, their empire fell to ruin while their backs were turned.

Him and Techno evacuated. Like cowards.

They were hated for a time, scorned for their inability to save their people. But not nearly long enough for Phil. At times he felt the need to remind people, even as generations passed. How could death on such a scale be forgotten? He had truly become what he hated all along, not even brave enough to fight back on others behalf. His lady was his world, but it pained him to know he had become the omen of death that he had been accused of being. Techno didn't speak much anymore, but he knew that similar feelings must be bubbling up for him as well. The two were more similar then they cared to admit.

Soon Techno was on the road again, Phil settled into a cottage all his own, but it was far too lonely. He began to feel better day by day, year by year. He laughed to himself when his crows once filled with wanderlust returned home with stories of the fearsome warrior of the blood god who opposed governments of any kind. It seemed Techno had taken a far more proactive approach to the beliefs he too had felt solidify after their great failure. He hoped the memories didn't haunt his old friend like they did to him. He did nothing with the pain though, no actions of great conviction, which he knew would make it worse in time. But his cruelty had been transformed back into the compassion he had been missing all these years along the way. With it, he felt any remaining pride he had for his days of leadership fade. The days he spent alone filled his old soul with the soft and tender warmth of a hearth fire. It was time to move on, he had sought out those who hated him for long enough. At the very least it was time to unbind his wings. It was time to fly again.

[milksnake-tea]

❀ ˎˊ- prompt: he was never allowed to grieve. ❀ ˎˊ- aventurine character study ❀ ˎˊ- wc: 545 ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: vent fic, spoilers for aventurine's backstory. got a little too personal but. yeah. really needed to get this off my chest (this is about my childhood dog btw, i didn't lose any person but... sighs i might as well have) ❀ ˎˊ- taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo , @moineauz ❀ ˎˊ- img credits

When someone's sister dies, they cry.

That's how it's always been. Loss, tears, and grief all went hand in hand. When you lose someone, you ache. You become numb. You feel as if all the world's come to a halt, except it hasn't, because time goes on regardless of who dies and who lives, and the world keeps spinning even if you are lost, even if you are still, the sun will keep burning, the birds will keeping singing, and people will keep living.

That's how it's supposed to be.

But Kakavasha... never felt that.

He is stolen, taken from his homeland, and with it, he abandons time itself. His eyes lose their light, and he is caught up in the fight to survive, too scared, too busy to remember his family. He has no time to cry, and so he forgets altogether.

And before he knows it, he is grown, and his chains are no more.

And he thinks nothing of it.

Time passes, and the world turns. He meets many people, most of which he forgets and few he will always remember. He throws himself into the thrill of the gamble, clinging onto his godforsaken luck and praying, praying with one hand behind his back, that his mother, that tricyclops in the sky, is watching so that the last of her legacy isn't snuffed here.

And every so often, when he is alone in his condo, in his luxury apartment, when he is allowed to think, he remembers. He remembers sand and sky, rain and hail, he remembers tents and rags and shawls and the hold of his sister's hand in his.

He remembers, and for a second, that age-old grief begins to surface, and then-

His tablet pings, and he is forced to move on once more.

And it kills him. He loved his family, did he not? They had born him, raised him, nutured him, and adored him, and he had them. They were his everything, his past that no one would know, and they are what's left of Kakavasha in the new facade that is Aventurine.

And yet, he hasn't shed a single tear for them.

Did he not love them enough? Is he really so heartless, so indifferent that he would not cry for those who had died for him? What kind of cruel- What kind of son doesn't grieve their family?

He should be sadder- He has to be. If not for himself, then in respect for them, to honor them with the mourning they deserve.

But he isn't.

But then, one day, while on yet another business trip, Kakavasha catches sight of a family. A mother and a father, an older sister and a younger brother.

And they look so... happy.

And for a second, his practiced smile stills. And he watches. From the table outside a coffee shop, a newspaper in his hand, peering over his gold-rimmed glasses, he watches.

He sees the brother complain as the sister playfully bullies him. He sees the mother reprimand them both, and the father hide a smile at it all. He sees their smiles, so bright and untarnished. He sees the brother hold his sister's hand.

It isn't until the newspaper crinkles and dampens his hand that he realizes.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[yusiyomogi]

Hi, if it's okay to ask, do you have any thoughts about Mithrun's violent fits and SH during his recovery? It seems at odds with his otherwise apathetic and desireless state, as well as his one stated desire to find the demon (whether to kill it or be devoured by it). I'm not questioning that he'd be in the mental state to act this way, but he's supposed to lack the drive to act at all. Was it a manifestation of a desire Mithrun had but no-one connected the dots, a reflex born of suffering, or what?

it's a very interesting question! i don't think i can give any concrete answer, but i'll try to express my thoughts.

first of all, we need to define mithrun's condition once again. we know he lost all of his desires except for one, being consumed fully by the demon. the first interesting thing is that dunmeshi doesn't give us a perfect definition of what desire is. by what we see throughout the manga, we can assume that "desire" in the story means a living creature's natural drive to have something, physical or not: satiation, comfort, happiness, beauty, safety etc. "desire" can be conscious or unconscious, losing desire means a person also loses basic motivation to do anything for gaining that "something".

desire, as it framed in the manga, is not exactly the same thing as motivation though, since motivation can be rebuilt consciously through the power of will: mithrun is an extremely good example of that. at this point it starts getting very blurry though, because it's very likely that we shouldn't draw a clear line between "desire" and "will" and it feels like manga supports that message.

so, mithrun at once lost pretty much all drive to have anything, except for the state of being fully consumed (unconscious desire, he does not realize it). he even lost the desire to meet his basic needs: it seems like they count as a drive to survive (to gain satiation, rest etc). he didn't lose his feelings or thoughts or most of his memories. here the second interesting thing: mithrun does act on his feelings a lot even though he shouldn't have any motivation to do so:

standing up, getting into kabru's face because he doesn't trust him.

smugly smiling as he alone is skillfully fighting against a group of enemies.

hiding his face and exposed neck behind his hands, when he tells his backstory.

getting openly frustrated at kabru at least three times (including pouting and even slapping his face).

crying and laughing in chapter 94.

so here we can see that involuntary emotional reactions aren't included in "missing drive to have something" bundle. possibly because emotional reactions don't have a clear motivational component to them, it's not something we "desire" to do. just like pain or goosebumps are not connected to desire to have something, it's just a reaction our bodies have to certain conditions like injury or cold - and it's something that mithrun can feel and describe without help, even if he can't always find the reason for those reactions.

experiencing emotions sometimes leads to physical manifestation of them: changing your face expression, crying, yelling, shaking, laughing etc. so, in relation to "desire", him crying is pretty much the same thing as him shivering from cold. he doesn't experience desire to rest, but he looks exhausted and his body immediately falls asleep when he feels comfortable. so yes, it looks like reflexes of the body itself are important components to his condition.

so, the thing is that in some situations self-harm can be an involuntary reaction to the stress. there are plenty of situations where self-harm is a fully conscious action and in that case you can see it as a drive to find comfort or relief. in mithrun's case it seems like it's the same thing as him crying or shivering: just something that his body does in reaction to the very stressful, upsetting thoughts. it seems like a good portion of his initial recovery mithrun was experiencing symptoms of ptsd and, like you said, was obviously in a very bad mental state in general. it's possible that all dungeon lords get to that point, we also saw thistle get anxious and self-harm in a very absent-minded way. to me it doesn't seem like mithrun's restless self-harming had any goal or motivation to it, it's closer to a bad compulsive behavior. it actually gives us some interesting thought experiment: imagine losing all of your desires, but your ocd is still there (fuck you, demon).

but it still seems like you need some minimal motivation to move in the first place. we see that thistle doesn't move at all after losing all of his desires, despite being very distressed. but he does speak after some time, and to me it seems like a very strong emotional reaction can override the lack of desire to act. honestly, the fact that he forces himself to speak despite having a worse condition than mithrun, tells me that in-universe feelings/emotions are what ultimately leads everyone to recovery.

anyway, when it comes to another interpretation (manifesting his only desire), it's really hard to say. to me it feels too disconnected from what he wanted, because it was a very specific thing that was only connected to pain and death in an ambiguous way. i mean, pain and death are components of the experience he wanted, but not the main or even necessary ones. i feel like the closer thing would be if his actions included attempts at throwing himself into the sea or fire, for example, since it's a lot closer to the state of being consumed by something (we actually know that he wasn't allowed being close to the fire, so there's that). and of course, the fact that he apparently stopped self-harming after a while, though it's possible that it was because his focus shifted to getting what he wanted directly from the demon.

i still think it's a good interpretation though, it makes the whole thing even more tragic. what i don't like about that idea is that it defines "desire" as some immutable thing and the only source of anything person can do. we know it's not true at all, like i said, there's some good evidence in the story that desire is the secondary to the feelings, body functions and the power of will.

[manatee-rp-memes]

Transformers: MTMTE Sentence Starters

~Feel free to tweak as needed~

“All good things must come to an end, if there’s one thing in life I’ve learned it’s how to say goodbye and mean it.”

“You think that just because the war is over, we can afford to stop fighting!“

“Okay, so tell me what happened–– In layman’s terms, please. The fewer syllables, the better. Science makes me twitchy. Too many rules.”

“Never stand next to a quantum generator when it’s about to flout the laws of physics.“

“So, who broke the rule?”

“I’m too smart to die!”

“Either it’s very far away, or you’ve invented the world’s smallest drink.”

“Don’t say I’m irritable. It really—it really irritates me.”

“One day you’ll say something nice to me—just before you tell me I’ve got a terminal illness or something.“

“Bottom line? I’ve got nothing else to lose.”

“Wow. If I’d known that was the best you’ve got, I’d have said something genuinely offensive.”

“Nice to meet you, loser!”

“But there’s always been a war! That’s like saying there’s no more blue or—or the weather’s stopped!”

“Nothing tingles like a teleport.”

“I was aiming for the other guy…! Obviously.”

“A senseless waste, a terrible tragedy. Boo hoo.”

“He promptly beat me to the brink of fade-out and left me in a critical condition.”

“But that’s a whole other story. Sorry—I always wanted to say that. That, and ‘Impossible! Our laserfire is just making him stronger!’ Ahem. Go on…”

“Please! I surrender! Don’t shoot!”

“MUTINY! Everywhere I look I see rules being stretched and laws being broken and protocols being dragged outside and kicked to death.”

“Maybe I have been taking things too seriously. Maybe I should try and… and… whatever. There’s a word for it.”

“Course I didn’t press it… but what if I had pressed it?”

“A metafictional bomb. It blows a hole in the fourth wall.”

“I can tell you pretty emphatically that none of this – none of this even approaches my definition of ‘okay’!"

"Listen to me. NEVER. HOPE. Hope is a lie.”

“That was a nasty fall. Need a hand?”

“Get the hell out of my bar.”

“Ah, enriched nucleon…! The magic ingredient!”

"You should really stop and listen to yourself sometimes.”

“Life’s messed up. I’m messed up. I’ve done bad things and I continue to do bad things, because the voice telling me not to…? He’s not said much for a while. And y'know what keeps me going? ANGER. Anger’s an insulator. Stops life getting too close. If I got myself 'fixed,' maybe the anger would leave me—and then I really would be screwed.“

"Your life is in the palm of my hand. Before I squeeze, I offer up one last shining truth…”

“If God were on your side you’d have stopped me by now! Will anybody pit their faith against mine?”

“I know, I know—I’m incorrigible.”

“Honestly? I think for an intuitive weapon to promote long discredited notions of moral absolutism is problematic in the extreme.”

“When did you first decide that the universe needed ‘dominating’?"

"My life is a succession of decisions made in confined spaces.”

“If you want to get the measure of an author, don’t look at what they’ve left on the page…. look at what they’ve taken away.”

“Information carries weight. It’s not corporeal, but it has presence. It can be felt. It hangs in the air like—like words. Like the morning after an argument! Actually, not like that. That’s a bad analogy. I’m distracted.”

“Shut up. Stop expecting things of me.”

“The war is over and, thankfully, we lost.”

“I’m confronting my own mortality! I’m having one of those—those existential crisises!”

“'Could!' The luxury of 'could!' I’m already dead!”

“If I sit next to you too long, am I going to die of smartass poisoning?”

“There’s a thin line between categorization and segregation, and I never want to see it crossed again.”

“If the world thinks you’re a monster, what does it matter? The world is wrong. But when you start to think of yourself as a monster…”

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”

“Here’s a survival tip: When everyone’s lining up to make sacrifices… always get to the back of the queue.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret… I can do whatever the hell I like.”

“Maladies of the mind are easily hidden. We don’t want to see them. They remind us of our fragility.”

“You have two weapons at your disposal: your brain and your fists. You must be prepared to use both.”

"I’m fine. Bad dream, that’s all. My first flashback. These things’ll happen when you’ve got a head full of history.”

“This conversation is ridiculous. You are ridiculous. Everything that’s happened in the last few days is intensely ridiculous.”

“We’re all of us the sum of our experiences.”

“I know who I am, but I don’t necessarily know who I was. I find it hard to compare the two.”

“I want to tell you a story.”

“I’m trying to show concern. I’ve seen other people do it.”

“People don’t like me – they just laugh at my jokes. There’s a difference.”

“I hate you. As in, I actively hate you. I am in hate with you.”

“No one cares what you have to say~”

“I had a plan! Same plan as always: survive.”

“I order you to survive.”

“Nothing makes sense anymore.”