#just killed an old man with heart problems

[kanguin]

Ideal show:

Slow paced adult audience portal fantasy anime where a shutin dies in an accident, unfulfilled, unaware of who he really is, but is reincarnated into a fantasy world with a demon king situation. Standard fare. However, instead of getting going right away, the protagonist stays depressed and doesn't even attempt to start the quest he was given until he meets a high energy local adventurer lady, and through helping out with a sudden incident in town, protag and the adventurer form the first true friendship he's ever had. He finds her attractive, but doesn't say as much, as it he quickly finds out via a run in with her ex that she's a lesbian. Turns out, this magical world is enthusiastically and normalizing-ly accepting of queer people, and that actually comforts him greatly for some reason, even though he's pretty sure he's a straight guy; must just be happy for the people here.

His new friend encourages the him to go on and start the quest to defeat the demon king. It's a long journey, and will take years, but if he's prophesied to be the hero, then he's the only one who can do it. There's just one problem, the one prophesied to kill the demon king is a woman. Surely then he must have just misheard, clearly he must have been summoned to HELP the hero, which while disappointing and less glamorous, eases the burden somewhat. So the two gear up for their journey, and the protagonist purchases a magical item from a shop, a bracelet said to help the wearer reach their true potential. If that potential is heroism, it helps you build muscle and strengthens your bones. If that potential is music, your dexterity and fine motor skills slowly improve. Whatever change needs to be made, will be made. So surely, if a nobody like protag is taking to help defeat the demon king, that will be necessary.

The two set off, heading through more and more difficult areas as their quest takes them toward the heart of evil. Slowly but surely, protag gets stronger and faster, hell this bracelet is even smoothing out his skin. With his friend's help, protag slowly catches up to her, but not before she advances further. His adventurer friend has flings from time to time, but this doesn't really bother him, he's just happy she's happy. However the adventurer is getting confused, because she's certain she's not into men, but sometimes the light catches her friend's eyes, or glows off his hair, and she feels... Funny.

As time passes, protag's hair gets longer, from many uncut months, but it's also getting denser and more voluminous, and his hand, despite getting stronger wielding shields and swords, are also getting softer. Maybe the bracelet is trying to sighal to him to live a quiet life? But hey his stomach's getting flatter, even if it's all just shifting down to his thighs. Eh, must be there to build muscle, right?

(more under cut, this started out as a simple wishlist of ideas but ballooned into a full vague framework of a story)

But slowly, this new world challenges the protagonist on facts he took for granted. He meets people who were born one way, only to find they would rather be another, and starts to question what it even means to be a man, or if it even meant the same thing to him as other men. It means nothing to him though... Slowly, he stops trying to prove his manliness at times, and just, wants to be himself. But he's starting to question who he even is; new experiences keep making the protagonist think back to their old life, and reanalyze some things they never gave any time of day. Suddenly they're relating less and less to men, and really, truly feeling happy in the company of women. Perhaps it's just because men bullied them?

Meanwhile, the protagonist is looking... Prettier? And smiling when they see themself in the mirror? They're normally a sad snarker, but their adventurer friend is starting to be thrown off guard by their genuine joy along the journey. And... Kind of attractive, but holy shit what??? They're a guy, she doesn't swing that way, no way.

By the time they're halfway to the demon king's castle, they're greeted at a tavern as two "young ladies". Which throws the two of them for a loop, because clearly there's only one girl here, right there. Sure, the protag is pretty androgenous, always have been, so the mistake is easy to make, but... Wait have they always been androgynous? No they were clearly just some out of shape guy when they got here, why would getting in shape from a magic bracelet make that less defined. And that's when the two remembered.

The bracelet works off of the true self, the full potential of a person.

The two get a room at the in and realize they NEED to talk about what this means. The adventurer is excited, but protag is just confused. The adventurer shouts in joy that protag must be destined to ge a girl, that's why the prophecy seemed off. In a panic, protag checks their pants... Okay little buddy is still there. This, however, makes their friend crack up laughing. She's in hysterics at why they think becoming a girl means that would change. Sure, most girls have a vulva, she has one she says, but not all girls do. And if your truest, most ideal self still has a dick, there's no reason it would go anywhere.

Sure, they've been happier lately, and no longer hate seeing their face in mirrors, but do they really see themself as a girl? Wait, they've not really been referring to themself as a guy in a while, and somewhere along the line "he/him" just got dropped without them even noticing. Why does this suddenly put a lot of things from the past into context? Why does that feel like a weight off their increasingly heavier chest? Changes like this, so gradual you don't even notice, so right they just feel natural... maybe this is what they needed. Maybe this is what they've always wanted. Maybe when they arrived in this world, they weren't exactly the hero of legend, but maybe... maybe they want to become her?

This introspection greatly relieves their friend, who had grinned and bared that she must have stumbled into the responsibility, but never truly felt right taking the chosen hero's role just because of a little gender incongruence. Then again, everything about the backwards, if technologically advanced, world her friend came from makes sense why they just assumed it must be her instead.

When the pair got back on the road again, the two adventurers were working in better sync than ever. The friend native to this world started peppering in feminine terms when talking to and about the protagonist. She'd comment on "her" hair, ask a blacksmith to repair (and adjust) "this fine lady's armor". When the terms would hit a nerve, she'd back off, but slowly, the terminology started to make the protag smile sheepishly.

The protagonist wasn't the only one who was changing, of course. While both were becoming more skilled adventurers as they took on bigger and bigger missions, the more seasoned of the two found herself sitting closer on benches to her friend, stealing glances at night when they brush strands of hair out of their face, having to look away when the tent curtain isn't fully closed when the protagonist starts changing... Oh my god she's into her. Them. Whatever. At least protag isn't a guy after all?

The two of them pick up other party members along the way; some stay for a while, some leave, but by just after halfway there they're a pretty consistent team of four, and the other two are certain there's something between the co-leaders, but hell if they're going to poke that hornet's nest of drama, they have to hear the two of them fretting fruitlessly to themselves when the other isn't around as is.

2 years into the journey, and just looking at the protagonist, there's no clue she could have ever been mistaken for a man. Mere months from the demon king's castle, and she's gone from a joke the hordes can't take seriously to a fearsome warrior you don't approach, lest she strike you down with her blade or her crossbow-wielding situationship takes you out first.

Despite all the battlefield confidence, however, the protagonist and her oldest companion in this world still rest at a stalemate, where each have formed a wall of excuses for why they shouldn't approach the other about how they feel. Fighting is easy, navigating feelings is complicated, especially when the circumstances today are different from when they first met years ago. The demon king is mere months away, the party is ready to take him on, but that's bizarrely ever the topic of conversation. The mage and cleric find it not only amusing, but also reassuring, as if navigating complex social barriers is their biggest concern, then they're probably going to be just fine.

That is, it's funny until it's gone on for 3 years, the captain's a clueless virgin, the co-captain stopped having hookups over a year ago, and both are pent up to high heaven.

Then one day, just before they get to the demon castle, the impending threat cracks the surface of the tension, and the protagonist confesses to her companion, even though she knows her friend only dates women, she just has to confess. To this, her friend calls her an idiot for not realizing that isn't an issue, it hasn't been for a long time. She does reciprocate those feelings though, she was just worried the protagonist had long ago written her off as an option after she made it clear she wasn't into men, even though things had changed. In relief, the two laugh, sob, and hug, before pulling away into a long overdue kiss.

The party, newly resolved of tension, gathers their materials, and lays absolute shit into the demon king. The three years that it took to get here had honed all of them into fine warriors, but most of all the protagonist's bracelet had made her into the perfect weapon to slay the evil tyrant. With a decisive slash, the absolute evil that had plagued this land was now without his head, and the hordes of his armies that witnessed this cowered in fear of their defeat.

It would take many more years before the rest of his forces in the land outside the path the party cleared were stamped out, but the root had been thoroughly ripped out and the land could heal and rebuild without threat of absolute destruction for once in many millennia. The protagonist and her "best friend" would go on to get married, and after a few more years helping stamp out the dark army's remnants, the two would settle down in a small town, open a shop, and most of all be happy.

Maybe they stay monogamous, maybe they find a third person they both fall in love with. Maybe they eventually open the relationship but have each other as their anchors they always come home to. Maybe just the one from the magical world originally goes back to hookups on the side with her wife's blessing. I don't care how it's handled (though shirking monogamy in a story is always welcome), but I need a story like this put to animation in my lifetime. Maybe I might write my own story off this framework someday, fleshed out into a full narrative with actual names and locations, but if something like this gets put into production, which is a pipe dream I know, I would truly die happy. I love portal fantasies and their opportunity to explore a world unlike ours, and the opportunity for fish-out-of-water tales that help the protagonist grow into a better version of themself bring me so much joy. So to take this genre that is so often male wish fulfillment, and make it something that reflects my fantasies as a queer trans feminine person, it would just make me so happy.

I hope what I wrote is enjoyable by anyone who reads this, and I sincerely hope I don't have to mute this post from terf backlash or something. If you got to the end here, thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Just remembered I have a psychiatrist appointment so early tomorrow. And I obviously dyed my hair so recently because there's green staining on my face. I don't think it's going to look great for the bipolar diagnosis, to disclose that I was feeling impulsive and wanted to get control over something, so I dyed my hair at midnight.

[chucklechampion]

evening dedicated to The Horrors

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: In which Arthur catches a glimpse of your intimacy, the vision driving him into madness until he finally decides to give in to his urges. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation, nudity, voyeurism (reader not aware he's staring), self-depreciation, and lots of shame from this poor man. Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 2,7k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Lately, Arthur had a problem. An incessant, disturbing, haunting problem.

He couldn’t sleep at night.

This could have been related to the gang’s precarious situation, being hunted down by the Pinkertons and surrounded by enemy gangs, O’Driscolls and Lemoyne raiders everywhere. Or even because of some older wounds, the loss of Eliza and Isaac amongst others, reminded almost every day by the complicated family portrait John painted with Abigail and Jack. Or the hurtful thought of the life he never had with Mary that was always following him since he had seen her again near Valentine. Life doomed from the start by his inherent violence and the mountain of corpses he was responsible for.

Arthur had plenty of reasons not to sleep at night. But this wasn’t because of any of that.

He couldn’t sleep because of you. 

Not that it was your fault. In fact, you didn’t even know about any of that and Lord have mercy, he was praying that you’ll never find out; because he would never be able to look at you in the eyes then.

A few weeks ago, the gang had settled at Clemen’s Point. A rather pretty spot just near the lake, and not so far from town. But it wasn’t exactly the place that was causing him trouble. It was the unexpected view he was having from his tent.

For some unknown, mystical reasons, Miss Grimshaw while deciding the camp’s ajancement had decided to place your tent right next to his. Not so big of a problem at first sight, right?

Except that you were a night owl combined with the suffocating warmth of the place. Making you get to bed naked.

Oh, Arthur knew you do, because every night, every single one, you let a candle lit to read, or write, or God knows what before sleeping. The light casts your shadow against the tent’s canvas. The shadow of your very much nude body.

The first night Arthur had noticed, he had come back exhausted from a job in the middle of the night and laid on his cot without even taking the time to remove his boots or hat. A very usual and typical slice of his life, which lately felt more and more like a terribly used one. As if all these slices were repeating again and again. An accumulation of jobs and missions and robberies and fights; deceiving, lying, stealing, killing. Over and over again, going round and round. At night, he was reduced to a slumbered mind in a spent body, that was definitely becoming old and rusty. Already half asleep, mud and twigs surrounding his tired limbs, his thoughts all tangled up like a ball of wool, he had turned his head to his left, reaching from instinct for his pack of cigarettes on the little table next to his bed. Another slice of bad habits from a bad life.

That’s how his eyes had met with this quite erotic shape displayed on your tent.

Said eyes had grown so big that it had fully woken him up all of a sudden, as quickly as if someone had dumped a bucket of iced water on his shocked face. After half of a second of pure stabbing surprise and incomprehension with his hand hanged in the air, his breath stuck in his throat as if really being punched in the gut, he instantly turned his eyes back to the ceiling of his own tent. Cheeks burning red, heart pounding, as if someone had caught him in the act of doing a terribly shameful thing. Exactly as if he had really seen you naked.

He had feverishly grabbed the cigarette pack without looking at it, gaze refusing to turn again, these two blue diamonds locked on the ceiling of his tent, and had messily pulled one out of it, his shaky fingers fumbling, almost spilling everything on the ground.

He must have looked so damn ridiculous.

The smoke helped him to calm down, its soothing and comforting feeling spreading and burning through his lungs. He had fallen asleep, turned to the other side facing the wagon, trying not to think too much about the peek of your intimacy he had witnessed, telling himself it probably was going to be an isolated incident. 

But of course, of course the Lord had to torment him even in the rare moments of peace he could have enjoyed.

Turns out this was apparently a habit of yours. 

To be honest, he probably deserved to be tormented. But this was years from what he had in mind when it came to the Lord's punishment for his life of crimes.

And Arthur, even though a hardened man in many ways, able to lock lips during torture, kill men with bare hands, and stay emotionally strong in any kind of situation, was still only, after all, a man. A man with needs.

Filthy, disgusting needs.

He had tried to resist. Had tried not to let his eyes slip in your direction like that first night. Sometimes he would allow himself a quick glance, just to check if you were wearing any clothes for once, like a normal person. And maybe the night after would be different? Every evening spent at camp, his pupils would end up brushing the sinful silhouette in just a soft, slight sight, as if not to scare you, as if not to feel too bad about it.

But it was getting harder and harder not to stare. The easy lies about just checking on you or looking at anything else in the same area as your tent to have the chance of winning a glimpse of you would soon not be enough.

Just the mere fact that he knew you were completely bare, only a few meters away from him, singly the thin and superficial fabric of the tent between the both of you, was getting him hard and sweaty, and making his blood boil as a virgin teenage boy would. He could almost physically feel it, like a burning presence in his back when he was sleeping head against the wagon's wall.

The Human mind may be well designed for a lot of things; it forgets an event too hard to carry or can trick you into thinking you're not experiencing any physical pain in extreme situations. But Arthur had learned that it was extremely poorly made when it came to ignoring something. The more he was trying to not think about his unholy urges, the more he ended up being plagued with them. As sure as the seasons always turned in circles, you would come back to his effusive psyche.

And Oh, he was ashamed. Ashamed and revolted by himself. This was absolutely not in his habits, all the contrary. Yes, he was an old miserable bastard who had killed and plundered. But for God's sake, he had never acted obscene towards a lady before.

But the shame wasn't enough for him to stop. On the nights when the guilt was at its lowest —when the tediousness of his days was nibbling at his patience, he had let his eyes wander to your sinful figure, telling himself that maybe if he did, he could just go on with his night and finally rest. Just a quick taste, not too long.

But it only made things worse. It made him dream of you. 

Dream of you stripped, his imagination taking the lead of what the tent’s fabric was preventing him from seeing. Dream of you moaning, taking him so tightly, welcoming him in your warm body and into your arms. Dream of the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, of the sight of your naked body squirming with pleasure. He would now often wake up frustrated and angry, if he had succeeded in sleeping at all, his member hard and throbbing on its own, his heart beating powerfully in his chest as if it had been real. His pants and blanket had even been damped one or two times. 

What was he, a fifteen-year-old boy again? He was so angry and mortified by the physical obsession his body was having with you that he was constantly in a foul and fiery mood;  bitter with everyone, his tension leaking into every movement and every word he spoke. He started missing targets when shooting, getting even more reckless and hot-headed during jobs, jobs often ending up missed or taken care of negligently, yelling at people when they weren’t fast enough, or clever enough, or silent enough, breaking things, breaking rules. The lack of sleep was making his deadly efficiency fade away, replaced by sloppy and messy gestures, stopping enemies from falling dead at his feet like his lethal skills always did, castrating the only thing that was left of his masculinity.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching you from afar during the time he was at camp, telling himself he knew, or at least had an idea, of what you looked like without these clothes on; feeling a twisted sensation of pride imagining he was the only one who did. On top of that, your sweet personality and beautiful face weren’t helping him at all with his addiction. Filthy old bastard, stop it- he had to mentally slap himself to prevent staring at you for too long, especially staring at your chest that this goddamn dress you had chosen to wear wasn’t covering at all; or your ass these goddamn pants were fitting way too well.

Tonight, Arthur is avoiding going to bed too early. He knows he would just lay in it waiting for you anyway. Instead, he goes for a walk along Flat Iron Lake’s shores, bringing his journal with him. Two entire pages are already dedicated to your shadow. He had no idea a picture exclusively made of black and white flats on a sheet could have such a powerful erotic effect. Or maybe he is a complete degenerate —which, he is sure, is more and more true.

He has to be honest with himself, he could just go to a hotel, or out of camp for a few days to sleep under the stars, and the matter would be settled.

But he doesn’t want to. Because deep down inside, his urges are winning, making him feel like the most foolish and weakest man alive. He enjoys watching you. He enjoys seeing those forbidden plumped curves cast on this canvas. He feels like you're not leaving him any mercy, pitiless, his days dictated by the wait for his taboo rendez-vous, his nights by your sensual apparitions in his dreams.

He is trapped, you have completely tamed him, and irony of it all, have absolutely no idea you are making him feel like this.

This woman is drivin' me insane.

After a few hours on the cold shore's sand, his fingers only capable of creating quick little sketches and scribbles, his feet lead him back to camp. What a surprise. He finds most of the gang's members already asleep, apart from the ones on guard duty and some late campfire enjoyers talking about life, about love, grief, the future, the past. He briefly nods at them without a word and walks to his private space. He already knows what’s waiting for him there, your tent looking like it’s still illuminated, his thoughts and body avid for it.

No, don’t be a fool, Morgan.

He sits down on his cot. Mumbles to himself orders and curses to try and stay reasonable. Takes off his hat, runs a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat and dirt from his busy day, as all the other ones, as always. Scratches his beard and his ears with a sniff, tells himself he needs to take a swim into that lake. That he’s as dirty on the inside as he’s on the outside. Pulls down his suspenders before stretching his shoulders, a pained groan escaping him. A cigarette joins his lips, a match lights it, and he breathes in slowly. He tries to calm down, focusing once again on this homey feeling it brings him. 

But his brows furrows. His lips tighten. He knows he won’t be able to hold on much longer. He needs to sleep properly. Even being the all-mighty Titan he is, he still needs a good night of sleep from time to time to keep the engine of his body turning, and you have kept it from him for days.

He lies to himself promising this is only for his health.

That this is the only way for him to stay focused during the day; the only way to rest properly and be at his best again tomorrow.

That this will be the only time he’ll do that.

His only moment of weakness. 

The still-lit cigarette and his good conscience fall to the ground as he lies on his cot, settled on his left side, his right hand already roaming on his lower belly. 

His eyes drop on the scene he had fantasized about for what seems like years to him at this point.

Lord have mercy…

Your shadow looks so perfect. He takes his sweet time to notice every detail of it, enjoying to the maximum his sinful behavior, now that he had succumbed to it. How you’re laying on your back, reading your book with your legs crossed. The curvaceous shape of your body looks divine to his insatiable gaze. Your hair messily tangled around your head. The silhouette of your chin and throat making him hungrier than any feast he could have attended. Your belly, rising and falling with your chest and breasts, gives the shadow an organic appearance. Your delicate legs, from the base of your thighs to your calves, to your feet, your toes mindlessly curling as you get lost in your story. And of course, the blurry outline of what was between them…

Damn it.

His hand quickly reaches his belt, unbuckles it,  fiddles with his pants, opens them carelessly in an urgent grip. He spits in his palm, lashes out at himself when the desire of it being your wetness instead crosses his mind, and slips it between the buttons of his union suit. It finally wraps around his desperate shaft, gorged with blood, and he wonders if he already had been this hard before.

The moment he feels the pressure of his own fingers around it, he can’t help but sigh deeply through his nose, and has to physically block the groan he was about to let out.

Make no noise, moron.

He bites his lips to stop any other immoral sound from crossing through his mouth. Last thing he needs right now is to get caught. He slowly rubs one languorous time from up to down, then up again, his fingers brushing his swollen head right where he needs to. He instantly knows he won’t last. He had dreamed about this, about you, both during days and nights. His eyes are locked on your tantalizing silhouette, this deiform delicious flesh. Goddess of the night, Queen of his desires.

His hand rubs once again and his muscles tighten. He starts to stroke in a rhythmic pace, his moves are efficient, messy, careless. He masturbates the same way he takes care of himself —quickly, roughly, as if matching his disgust towards his own self. The exact opposite of what he would do to you if he could. This is pure physical relief.

Yes, God, yes…

Your name turns in his mind between blasphemous curses as he pleasures himself, stroking faster and faster, delightful warm sensations spreading through him. Finally. The burning is no longer in his back or mind; it's right there around his erection, flames licking all around it.

He wants to be able to join you there, so badly. He wants to discover the tone of your bare skin in those places you never show to anyone. He wants to whisper sweet things in your ear and you to sigh back, your voice high and softly shaking from pleasure. He wants the lewd intimacy, the shared tension and the electric, exciting touch of two foreign skins discovering each other for the first time. He wants to see your hardening nipples he can only have a glimpse of through the fabric. 

He wants to have you, to take you, consume you, all to himself. He wants you to think about him the same way he is now, wants you to come while thinking of him, only him, your mouth to moan, whimper, scream even, all thanks to him. 

He wants your hand instead of his, around his cock right now, pressing harder, moving faster.

Yes, yes, jus’ a bit more darlin’… -

A movement from you, a real one, makes his pace slow down and his heart stops, afraid you might have by some sort of divine knowledge understood what was happening. But you’re just shifting in your bed, positioning yourself on your belly with your book open against your pillow, and Arthur’s balls spasm; he now has the most perfect view of your ass, its gorgeous, decadent round and plumped contour making his member twitch in his fist.

Ahh, shit… So god damn perfect… 

Pearls of sweat leak from his forehead to his neck. His ears shut close to the outside world, his surroundings completely disappearing. Now, there’s only you and your perfect back beautifully arched ending with your perfect bottom and him, and no one else’s on Earth. His breath is jerky, his entire face completely crimson, his fingers pumping so hard and fast he’s basically fucking his hand —your hand, with those wet and unmistakable noises filling the air.

His breath speeds up as Arthur feels his deliverance coming, blood rushing in his veins. He sees himself behind you grabbing fistfuls of your cheeks, he sees his erection diving deep between them. And it's the last straw. His brows are crunched in an exquisite expression of pure sexual delight, jaws so tensed he’s about to break his teeth, your pleasure-filled voice screaming his name in his head, dragging every sensation out of him. His orgasm hit him with the strength and speed of a thunderstorm, lightning bolts of satisfaction striking every fiber of his body.

 Yes! Yesss  —Damnit! 

He comes hard with a low and throaty growl he forgot to —or couldn't repress, silently repeating your name again and again, his lower lip almost cut open from how hard he had bit himself, an enormous vein on his forehead where sweat covers his skin. His thick, hot cum spills messily in an indecently large amount, the aftermath of having held himself back for so long, leaking on his pants and fingers and staining his cot; a dash of white contrasting with the darkness of what he just did.

He’s praying to the Lord and the Devil, any mystical forces known to man, that nobody had heard his final relief sound, especially not you. It was louder than what he would like to admit.

Shit, so damn good…

Using his black bandana, he roughly cleans himself then tosses it somewhere on the floor, his cock finally softening as he shoves it back under his clothes, balls empty. And it feels good. So good a wave of shame and guilt crashes onto him once more. What a pig he was for jerking off while ogling you. What an old bastard he was to mingle you and his filth. But at the same time, he feels like his muscles are thanking him, his restless flesh satisfied, even though he almost hurt himself with how fast he had stroked, lost in his haze.

His bittersweet and contradictory feelings accompanied him as he took a last glance at your tent before drifting off to sleep, his breathing still a bit raspy as if he had run for hours. You had closed your book and taken the candle between your hands to blow on it, the little flame flickering before fading. And then, darkness.

The curtains falling on the stage at the end of this private decadent act.

Eyelids heavy, Arthur knows he will finally sleep tonight.

But he also knows this isn’t the end of his torments at all; the conflicting thoughts paint his mind just as the sun pierces through the dark ebony clouds of a thunderstorm, creating those abruptly dazing shapes and color, pitch black laced with blinding light.

Never in this life or the Other he will forget the form of your naked body, no matter how wicked he feels. Because when it comes to you and only you, Arthur Morgan is, indeed, a very weak man.

tagging : @a-court-of-valkyries and @zae-heeyyy

[saeist]

a/n: alternate universe where touya didn't go insane and goes to UA :] dedicated to the loml @saerins cus we're on our touya brainrot + went a little insane with this instead...

"jesus doll, excited now are we?" touya muses, a smirk on his lips as he lets you push him inside your small and cramped bathroom.

rolling your eyes, you motioned him to sit down on the toilet lid while you prepare the shower. making sure the water is just the right temperature or else you might burn touya's head off when you rinse the hairdye off his hair

"is this the part where you remove your shirt and i suck on a titty?" touya says more of a statement rather than a cheeky question. you stop yourself from hitting the boy that has his signature lopsided smirk with the shower head you were currently holding

with an exasperated sigh and a pinch to your nose bridge, you answer him

"just shut up for once, touya. besides, won't your dad kill you if he found out you're dying your hair black? or did you forget that he almost kicked you out of the house when he saw your piercings for the first time?" you raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend who decided at the last minute to dye his hair as a sign of "rebellion against his "uptight, stick far up his ass dad" his words, not yours

"he can manage" touya huffs, scoffing at the memory of his dad yelling at him for acting and starting to look like a good for nothing delinquent or in endeavour's words, a villain. "it's not like it's my duty to keep our image of a "perfect family". if only the rest of the world knew what its like to have endeavor as your deadbeat dad!"

touya and endeavour never really got a long per say.. at least that's what touya tells you whenever he had a shit day training with endeavor. days where he would train with his dad were usually days where he'd opt to spend the night at your dorm. away from all the chaos inside the todoroki estate that he unfortunately refers to as his home

but to touya, at the end of the day, you are his home. his peace, his serenity, his anchor in this world where hell could break loose at any given moment

"don't give me that look, doll" touya sighs, shoulders dropping when he noticed you were staring at him.

"i just don't want to see you hurt all over again. you almost gave me a heart attack that one time when you showed up here unannounced" you pout, letting touya slowly wrap his arms around your waist.

touya’s arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. “i can handle the old man. it’s his problem if he can’t accept me for who i am,” he mutters, resting his forehead against your stomach

"i mean, he already stopped giving a shit when he realized i can't withstand my flames, so who am i to give a shit back after everything he did to me?" touya continues, his grip tightening

you run your fingers through his hair gently, feeling the warmth of his presence. “shhh, we already talked about this" you shush him, "all i'm saying is that i just want you to be safe, touya. i can’t stand seeing you hurt,” you whisper, your voice tinged with worry.

he looks up at you, his usual smirk replaced with a rare, sincere expression. “i know, doll. i know." touya presses light kisses on your stomach, "but I have to be true to myself, even if it means pissing off endeavor” he chuckles, the pads of his thumb rubbing circles on your exposed skin

you both stay in that position in silence for a bit. just finding comfort with each other's presence. just the way touya likes it. nice and quiet. a contrast to his daily hellish life back at his own home

that is until touya starts to feel his scalp burn a little

"okay fun time's over, doll. my scalp's startin' to kill me here" touya shudders, slowly unwrapping his arms around you as he reaches for the shower head in your hand.

you stifle in your laughter watching him make a fuss inside your cramped bathroom.

that is until, you remembered that your bathroom tiles were pearly white and if he's rinsing off black hairdye then–

"TOUYA MY TILES!" you let out a screech

"too late, doll" touya pokes his tongue out at you, hair dye getting all over your walls and cold tiles.

you were gonna pay one hefty fine if you don't clean this shit up as soon as possible.

now, touya sits on your bed. drying his freshly dyed jet black hair with a towel and you're not even gonna lie to yourself. he looked a little too good for your liking. touya has always been a looker himself but with this new hairdo.. oh lord

"why are you looking at me like you want to eat me?" touya chuckles, hanging the now stained towel around his neck as he leans back on your bed with his elbows propped. he was giving you bedroom eyes, quite literally and figuratively.

what a tease!

"nothing. just making sure that i'm still talking to touya and not his emo alter ego dabi" you mused, plopping down on your bed next to him.

touya laughs at your comment. eyes turning into crescent moons

“thanks for everything, y/n,” touya says softly, voice full of genuine love and appreciation.

your heart swells at the sight of touya like this. you would move mountains if you could just to see touya– your touya happy.

"i love you, touya" you lean in for a kiss. to which touya happily returns the favor.

"i love you more than life, doll." touya smiles lazily against the kiss, cranking his neck to the side for more access as he deepens the kiss.

moments like these with you is when touya feels like he's on top of the world and he hopes it will forever stay like this cause to touya, he can face anything the world throws at him when he knows you'll be there right by his side

[rmbunnie]

I see so much of "is post-crisis Robin Jason an innocent little sweetie-pie or a mean aggro delinquent" and after reading through all of his batman and detective comic issues post-crisis I think i can safely say he's... an introverted and distrustful, but altogether friendly teen boy who has convinced himself to the deepest level that he is an Adult Man, and also does not hold a particularly good view of adults.

The sweet little babypie characterization falls a little short (assuming we aren't being too silly with it, there's plenty of that in the comedy issues of tec) because it disregards the part where he's a jaded teenager who is constantly going off and trying to take care of his own problems like "his own man" and reacts negatively to any breach of trust or move to take care of him. But negative doesn't mean "violent and rageful." The delinquent angle is incorrect because not only is his disposition peppy, silly, and agreeable most of the time, but assuming the problem upsetting him isn't a predator or the guy who killed his dad (and three out of four canon instances it is a predator to be clear) he reacts to emotional turmoil with Bruce by bedrotting, sulking, communicating through notes, and overall being avoidant. The only times he lashes out are when Bruce is calling him out or after Bruce told him to his face that he chose to look for the Joker over looking for him, and that case of "lashing out" is just getting a little snarky.

More than anything his main personality trait (besides being silly, a robin staple) is kinda coming into this parentified as fuck. Not that it's Catherine's fault, but it really shaped his character, like one of the first things he says to Bruce (after he promised not to turn Jason in to the foster system) is that he kept her fed and warm as long as he could like he wasn't her ten year old child when he started. It's why he views himself on the same level as adults and why he gets all closed off at any insinuation that he needs to be taken care of, both of which heavily inform his dynamic with Bruce. He's constantly checking in on Bruce's wellbeing, like half of Batman: the Cult is just him taking care of Bruce while he recuperates from being brainwashed. (Side note, he's also constantly asking Bruce stuff like "what's your relationship like with this woman or this rogue or the concept of religion, how did that play out, how do you feel about it?" he is Very chatty like that.) The first thing he does when Sheila tells him her (revised to exclude medical malpractice) life story is hold HER and try to affirm her struggle. After a while he starts to act more childish with Bruce (although he doesn't really stop trying to brush off attempts to care for him) but as soon as Bruce admits he prioritized crimefighting over Jason and didn't show up to look after Jason like Jason assumed he came there for, Jason snaps back to acting very independent and rejecting any attempts to be looked after on any terms other than some kind of "equals" thing, which he isn't, as he's a 15 year old boy. Like. He's very sweet to his former neighbor, but also he refers to being a homeless child and the sole provider in his condemned building living situation as "getting by" to her.

He's definitely not. some bloodthirsty delinquent, at least to anyone who's not an uber-misogynistic predator, and he like demonstrably is a pretty sweet kid. It's just that when people say he's a sweet kid they kinda just jump to "untraumatized eight-year-old who grew up in a loving family and just got a new puppy from Santa" instead of "good hearted and curious teenager who has trust issues and is deeply uncomfortable with being taken care of, so kinda just compromises by pretending his dad is a Friend Doing him a Solid and acts like his kid only when he has plausible deniability so he can't get the rug pulled out from under him." Of course. He does kinda get the rug pulled out from under him despite all that. So there's that.

[youryanderedaddy]

Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

IN PLAIN SIGHT YOU HID / BUT YOU ARE WHAT YOU DID

katsuki bakugou x reader

same concept as the boyfriend thoughts ❅ breakup version

inspired by the smallest man who ever lived

katsuki bakugou, who, towards the end, wonders if any of it was true. he tried to picture you, gazing at him starry eyed. but those days are gone, and his heart hurts thinking of this future.

katsuki bakugou, who swears that in some other universe, things are okay. who knows that somewhere else in the world, he’s sitting across from you on the kitchen table, going over the grocery list. who gives you more time and more space, and who actually listens to what you say.

katsuki bakugou, who’s got a reputation. who starts dating you when the everyone hated him, and you loved him. who breaks things off with everyone loving him, and losing you.

katsuki bakugou, who can’t control his temper anymore. who is always an asshole, but who snaps when someone breaths wrong. who misses you more than anything, and copes with it by making it everyone elses problem. who relies on kirishima at night to keep him sane, tearing his heart out to his best friend over the phone.

katsuki bakugou, who hung you on his wall and stabbed you with his push pins. who, in public, loved to show you off. who knew he was nothing like that in private. who knew you deserved so much better but was too selfish to wanna let you go. who wishes he could turn back time and be what you deserved.

katsuki bakugou, who keeps all of your photos on his phone. who doesn’t even dare deleting them. who avoids his camera roll like the god damn plague. who wants to cry when he finally does delete everything, staring at the 1,768 deleted photos in his recently deleted folder. who replays old voice mails. who sometimes calls you and listens to it, because he knows you won’t answer.

katsuki bakugou, who you’re sure was sent by someone who wanted you dead. who tells you that its for your own good, that he needs to think things through. he books you an uber back to your apartment, and who helps you pack your things. who tells you he’s too busy, that he has to put his job first. who you can’t even argue with.

katsuki bakugou, who seemed like he was always ready to break your heart. who slept with a gun underneath your bed. who once loved you so tenderly, so delicately, and who know acts like you don’t exist. who you can’t quite declassify, not even if you had 50 years. who makes you wonder if he’ll ever confess why he did it. good riddance.

katsuki bakugou, who you see with other people, in news articles and through whispers from your friends. who thinks its sexy now that its not forbidden. who uses meaningless sex to mask how badly he misses you. who sleeps next to a stranger but dreams of you.

katsuki bakugou, who hops on a plane to LA. he tells everyone its to follow in all might’s footsteps, and he’s not lying- but apart of it is to escape his pain. who sees your face everywhere. who smells your scent on his sweaters. who finds one of your hairties in his jeans pocket and holds onto it like a god damn lifeline.

katsuki bakugou, who deserves prison for what he’s done to you, but won’t serve time. who watches as the media tears you to shreds, blaming you for the breakup. who tries to stop it but is rendered powerless when he sees how the heartbreak has been turned into entertainment. who hates that all of this has happened because you loved him.

katsuki bakugou, who slips through the bars. who’s thumb hovers over your contact during a late night. who fucked up. who misses you and just wants to love you once more. who wants to change his prophecy, fearing that this might kill him. who misses you stronger than anything he’s ever felt.

katsuki bakugou, who you miss just as much. who you dream about every night. who still hurts you, even when its something small like his name brought up in conversation. who makes you wonder what went wrong. who crashes your parties and your rental cars just thinking about him.

katsuki bakugou, who doesn’t expect your forgiveness, and wants you to forget. who watches your life through the glass, over the years as you move on. who knows that nothing will change what he’s done, and has to lie in that bed. who knows he hasn’t wasted a single ounce of his love, because all of it is yours to keep. who is the smallest man who’s ever lived.

part 2 where he gets redemption? u guys lmk 🫧

[matan4il]

I'm still in shock.

Our Holocaust museum has just released a statement mourning the death of my colleague, Alex Dancyg. That's how I just found out that he and another hostage have been confirmed as having been killed months ago in Hamas captivity, and their bodies are still held hostage.

We just observed Alex's 76th birthday yesterday, not knowing he will forever be 75 years old.

Alex was born in Poland in 1948, to parents who had survived the Holocaust. He was a peace supporter. He was a man of humor, and a lover of Yiddish. He was a husband, father and grandpa. He was a farmer with a deep connection to the land. He was passionate about learning in general, and loved sharing his knowledge generously with everyone he knew. He had heart problems and was not receiving his medications from Hamas. He was a true educator about the Holocaust, helping to establish youth trips to Poland, to teach the youth about the horrors of the genocide against the Jews that took place there, but also about Jewish life in Poland before all hell broke loose. He was an educator against the kind of hatred that led to the Holocaust. It's hard to accept that this type of hatred killed him, too.

Goodbye, Alex. May your memory be a blessing. Actually, I know it will be. You'll forever be with us. 💔

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[tiktaalic]

catching fire dash simulator

finnicksgirl Follow

my streams have been cutting all season omfg what is going on

caps4finnick Follow

cinnagirl3000 Follow

anybody heard from cinna lately?

plutarcheology Follow

Plutarch Heavensbee circa 2282

revolutionarykatniss

As if it’s not ENOUGH that yall wanna fuck the most morally bankrupt man alive who is more than complicit because he gets paid to live in luxury to ORCHESTRATE the deaths of innocents so that they’re a spectacle and don’t have the option to die even semi peacefully. as if that’s not enough. You wanna fuck him when he’s ugly?

caesarflickerwoman Follow

anyone else still thinking about how caesar and peeta were kinda ..

czrflckmn

Aren’t you the one who had the week long meltdown about peeta being overfamiliar with him

caesarflickerwoman

Well you see I’m gay and a man now

theeclove Follow

already tired of this fucking season of everlark -_- idgaf about the fucking fog

siblingvictors

DISTRICT ONE GONNA SEND THEM A CANCELLATION NOTICE!! #CASHMEREGLOSS4EVER

czrflkmn Follow

everyone looooooves to act like NOTABLE cishet peeta is so gay w caesar as if his gay cohost isn't right there.... slaying in a wig..... sending yearning glances caesar's way right before the camera cuts......

johannadykeson Follow

tbh she’s got the WORST taste in allies idek why i continue to stan. girl MAGS?

#my girl going to get slorn :/

katnissgirlsmakedo

She is choosing with her HEART she chose to save peeta in the games REMEMBERRRRRRRR she’s literally a lovergirl to the core

#lovecore #heartcore #truelove

lucygraydotcom Follow

Caesar flickerman kidn if a laughing gnome. Reblog

finnickforever Follow

I’ve supported finnick through a lot and defended them and I’ve always been proud they're from my district but honestly they went way too far by doing the salute during the interview. I can only hope that they just got caught up in the moment with everyone else doing it and obviously it’s a stressful situation but I don’t think I can continue endorsing them. I’ll be changing my url this week.

divorceekatniss Follow

hey guys i know times are tough for everyone and the capital has really cracked down but my mutual @divorceepeeta got flogged the other day and could really use some help. v3nmo here. anything helps #signalboost #mockingjay

disabledmags Follow

Tbh the baby is the saddest thing I've ever heard </3

peetaspride

Another citizen falling for capital propaganda. It's so glaringly apparent that this is made up to draw in views. The tributes undergo extensive medical examination prior to the games. They would NEVER let a pregnant woman compete.

disabledmags

As if killing children has ever stopped them before?

#We all saw him fall to protect her stomach before they even started the victory tour #Is it that ridiculous to believe two newlyweds fresh out of a life or death situation would celebrate a little carelessly?

peetaspride

If you think even the marriage is real you're stupider than I thought. Peeta spends every interview begging us to see his truth. The capital is shamelessly silencing him and "the baby" is a distraction.

peetasbabymama Follow

URL CHANGE!! faggotpeeta->peetasbabymama

cupcakeeverlark

this isnt funny. peeta's a real person with real feelings. it will never be funny to call someone a f***** as a joke. how would you feel if my url was f*****peetasbabymama?

peetasbabymama

ok

district420

isnt cupcakeeverlark literally prez snow's 12 yr old granddaughter lol

tendinghiswounds

OOMF IS 12???????????

everlarklovechild

the age is the problem here?

marriedeverlark Follow

Canon url 🎉🎊💅😁🥰♥️

beeteemp3 Follow

New content of my favorite tribute 😁😁😁

3ffietrinket

Girl there’s a 96% chance they die ?

peenick Follow

getting reports from the presidential banquet that Peeta looks gay as fuck

3v3rlark Follow

ik peeniss has been flagging w the rehearsed speeches but did anyone else see the way they looked at each other in the censored district 11 speech

rues-song

you’re STUPID she’s a capital pawn AND i fucked your mom while you were busy looking for illegal streams

senecacraneofficial Follow

rip seneca you were so babygirl </3

plutarchbaby69

so now you think we can’t fuck old men?

#this fandom is so ageist #this is prob what I get for blogging about thg tbh since # it’s literally about kids. Some of you ppl need to grow up

[back2bluesidex]

One of Your Girls - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Gangster!Yoongi X Chaebol!Reader

Theme: PWP, SMUT

Wordcount: 1.2k

Summary: Min Yoongi has been threatening your father. But that's not the problem. The problem is that you wanna get fucked by him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, doggy style, unprotected sex (wrap it up), creampie, spanking, domish-yoongi, overstimulation, one night stand, mentions of smoking and drinking. NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Another smut, because why not.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” No Eul nudges you with her elbow, reminding you how questionable are the things you are doing right now. 

“Yes. The best idea I have ever come up with.” your pride spills through your voice as you reply without shifting your eyes from him. 

“But girl! He is a gangster! Do you know what that means?” your friend is now starting to be annoying. 

You shut your eyes, resisting yourself from lashing out on her. 

“Do I look like a seven year old to you? Of course I know what a gangster is, Eul!” You emphasize your point as much as you can. But you know your ‘idea’ would sound absurd to anyone. 

“Then why are you even doing this? What if he gets offended and he just… he just kills you?” No eul’s eyes are full of fear but you know it’s pointless. Rumors have it that Min Yoongi doesn’t kill women and children unless there is a very good reason. 

And killing you just because you asked him to fuck you? Seems like a far fetched thought. But you are not going to explain that to your friend, not right now, standing in the middle of a dingy nightclub. 

When you place your eyes on Yoongi again, his meeting has already ended and he is walking towards the bar island. 

“Omg omg! He is finally free. I am gonna go. Eul, just take a cab home and make sure Mr. Go doesn’t see you.” you speak hastily, already trying to beeline to Yoongi. 

“But Y/N..”

“Eul.. Go! Don’t just stand here. This is not the place for people like us. Just go home.. I will call you as soon as I am free.”  waving Eul off, you start walking towards Yoongi. 

He looks karismatic as he sips on his drink, eyes focusing on nothing in particular. His dark long hair reaches to his nape, his pale skin glistening under the dim light of the bar counter, veins pop out on his arms and you wonder how those hands would feel on your body. 

Your heels click on the floor as you walk towards the man but you can’t hear the sound because of the loud music in the background. 

What you can hear is the loud beating of your heart, which gradually increases as you reach close to him. 

“Is that seat taken?” you voice, making sure you sound confident enough. 

And then he looks at you with those dark eyes, you feel your soul leaving your body slowly. Yoongi doesn’t say anything. He only regards you for a few moments and you wait patiently for his answer. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice is sharp but you don’t understand if he is upset with you for being at this place. 

“You know me?” placing your question, you take a step towards him. 

Yoongi scoffs at your dumb question. 

“Do you think I went to threaten your father without doing any research on your familyline?” he cocks one of his eyebrows. 

You don’t say anything, rather you sit down on the empty seat beside him. There is no point in waiting for his answer anymore. 

But your mind briefly goes back to the day when he broke into your mansion, injuring all of the guards on duty and threatening your father by taking him aside. You were enamored by this mysterious, scary man and all you wanted was to be under his authority for once. 

“Did your daddy send his little daughter to deal with me? So that a bigshot businessman like him doesn’t have to be seen with a thug like me, huh?”  Man! Yoongi really hates your dad for whatever reason you are not aware of. 

“No. I came here alone, all by myself” you reply, sucking in a deep breath. 

“Alone?” Yoongi mocks you, as if he knows you are lying. 

“I mean alone with Mr. Go, my driver.” you answer and Yoongi scoffs. 

“And why did you do that? Why did you come here?” the fine hairs of your neck stand up at the low, husky voice of the man. Especially because he has scooted closer to your body without your knowledge. 

“I came here to see you.” 

“The reason?” 

“I want you to fuck me.” 

Yoongi’s eyes turn darker at your proposal. And your heart starts beating even faster. 

“Do you know what you are asking for?” 

“I do. We don’t have to be in love or something. Just make me one of your girls for the night.” 

Yoongi’s tongue darts out of his mouth and wets his lips but he doesn’t say a thing. 

Your cries get muffled on the pillow, your wrists sting due to the tight hold of Yoongi’s rough calloused hand. But you feel euphoric. 

Yoongi’s fat cock hits your g-spot each time he thrusts into you. The lewd sound of wet squelching and skin slapping fill your ears. 

“Your rich cock-hungry whore! You really got the nerves of asking me for a fuck huh? You brat!” Yoongi’s voice is breathless and you want to admire it but before you could, a sharp slap lands on your bare ass. You scream on the pillow. 

“Fuck! So tight! Your pretty little rich boyfriends never really fucked you this good, huh?” he pulls his dick out of your entrance, leaves on the tip inside and then enters you again with full force. Your world starts swinging because of the sensession. 

“N-no- Nobody ever fucked me this good, yoo-Yonngi.”

Nother slap lands on your ass. 

“Did I give you the permission to call me by my name?” Yoongi pinches your clit with his free hand. 

“No-fuck- I am so-ahhh” before you could apologize, he starts rubbing rough circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“G-gonna cum.” you inform him while drooling messily on the pillow. 

“Cum.” Yoongi commands. And you let yourself go. 

Honestly you thought he was going to deny your orgasm and you were a little shocked when he permitted you. 

But your confusions soon go away, when he flips you, lays you on your back all while still being inside you and starts thrusting into you again. 

Your mind goes numb due to overstimulation. You barely can make out what’s happening. 

Your senses finally start coming out of the clouds when you feel hotness flood in your hole. 

Fuck! Yoongi just came inside you! 

“Get your clothes and leave.” he says as he pulls out his dick. 

Even though his harshness hurts you a bit, you know he is right. You should leave as soon as possible. 

So you sit up, grab your panty from the floor, slip into it and walk towards Yoongi for one last time. 

Yoongi has lit up a cigarette and the smoke makes it tough to make out his expression under the fluorescent lights of the motel. But you know he is staring at you.  

Reaching on your tiptoes, you place a kiss on his cheek and maybe that catches him off guard. 

“It was nice knowing you, Yoongi.” you say in his ears before taking your heels and walking out of the door. 

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie

[msfantasy]

Return Home Visit

Paul Lahote x Cullen!Reader

Summary: Rosalie and Emmets daughter visits during college break.

“I said get out of my house dog!” Rosalie spits venomously to Paul who stands awkwardly in the door way. “I don’t care if she’s your imprint, she’s not going to be with you! Over my dead body!”

“You can’t keep her from me forever.” Paul retorts edging in closer. “She deserve to know she’s my imprint, we’ll be together eventually whether you like it or not.” Rosalie pulls her fist back which Emmet lunges and grabs her arm before any damage is inflicted.

“Don’t, she’s almost here.” Emmet whispers. Everyone in the Cullen household listens to the echoing foot steps walking up the drive way.

“Leave before-“ Your voice cuts off Rosalie’s threat.

“Oh my god Paul?! Is that you? What are you doing here?” You squeaked excitedly, placing your bags down only to swing your arms around Paul’s neck pulling him into a tight hug. Leaning away, Paul looks down to your face, looking into your beaming eyes. God his heart yearns for your affection. He just wanted to look into your eyes forever, and hold you just like you are forever. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” But before Paul could utter another word, Rosalie interrupts.

“Uh - hello? Aren’t you going to greet your own mother first?” Rosalie snaps making you quickly withdrawal from Paul’s embrace, the warmth of embarrassment creeps along your cheeks.

You quickly pull your mother into a tight hug. “I missed you Ma.” Your sweet words of proclamation melt Rosalie’s soul into a puddle. Your presence always managed to soothe her nerves.

“My turn babygirl, come give your old man a hug.” Your hulking father doesn’t give you a chance to pull away. He just wraps his large arms around you and Rosalie. “Both my girls are here with me. The world feels right again.” His corny words only make you giggle.

“Come now, we have your favourite take away ready on speed dial.” Rosalie hoaxes making you giddy with excitement.

“Thank ma, I’m starving! What do you feel like Paul? They have an awesome burger that has your name all over it.” Paul sheepishly enters the house hesitant under Rosalie’s murderous gaze.

“Sweetness… I thought it would just be a family evening…” You look to your dad to sooth the vein popping out of your mothers forehead, but your father only folds to your mother. Typical.

“She’s right sweetheart, we just want to spend the night with our daughter, we haven’t seen you in so long. I’m sure you understand Paul.” He says amicably, but the strong push of Emmets hands are anything but as Paul goes tumbling out the door and thudding shut on your long time crush which only serves to anger you further with the rush of humiliation.

“What is up with you guys?! What’s your problem with Paul anyway?” Your cheeks begin flaring in humiliation at your parents not so subtle dislike. “Ever since I met Paul you’ve acted so hostile and unwelcoming towards him. He’s never even done anything to deserve your wrath.”

“He’s a turns into a dog! They’re slave to their emotions, what happens if he gets upset with you one day and you come out more disfigured than Emily?” The horror of your parents words and actions light your head on fire.

“Uncle Jasper almost wrote the end date on my gravestone once, or have you forgotten?” You spit angerily, Rosalie doesn’t flinch.

“I have never forgotten, it’s why we are so cautious.”

“Your caution is suffocating me! I cannot live a long a fulfilling life if you guys are protecting me at every moment. Besides it’s not life Paul and I are serious or anything.” Now Emmet twitches at your statement.

“What does that mean?” Your Pa’s jaw clenches at your insinuation.

“It doesn’t mean anything Pops, it just means you and Ma are so over protective that we haven’t gotten more serious.” Your voice waivers.

Too late the words have settled outside of your mouth and Emmet looks ready to commit murder.

“That filthy beast! I’ll kill him!” Emmet announces, trudging to the door with great anger and throwing open the glass door.

It took all members of the Cullen family to hold Emmet back from a rampage. The boys had no choice but to call in Bella for her new born strength to hold back the over protective papa bear.

But Rosalie stared at her daughter, ignoring her husband and his antics whilst Y/n yelled to calm down . It only felt like yesterday when Emmet and her picked up their new born adoptive daughter, enamoured with her tiny hands and squishy rounded cheeks. Now a grown woman yelling at her dad to back off her unlabelled lover.

Rosalie yearned to turn back time to relive the glory days of having a baby, but just like human life, time is flashy by too quickly and she just wasn’t ready to let her baby go.

But she had to, this was her baby’s rite of passage.

Y/n, is Rosalie’s and Emmets grown-up daughter, and it’s time Rosalie finally accepts it.

[1-800-kami]

4:23 pm | the adventures of dad!gojo

content: 0.9k words, fem!reader, dad gojo, megumi is your son, silly crack fic

gojo satoru is a man with very little fears.

in actuality, people are afraid of him. a mere gaze from those cerulean blue eyes of his sends people running off to the opposite direction, so the adjective “intimidating” was quite the understatement to describe him. some might even say that he’s the strongest, so he possesses no fear at all.

despite that, gojo has one thing he’s deathly afraid of: you–his wife, when you’re angry.

“suguru, help me out here!” geto can physically feel his bestfriend’s panic through the phone. gojo explained the situation in a fast ramble–geto could barely understand what he was saying, but he thinks he got the gist of it: you went out to run some errands and entrusted gojo to take care of your two year old child, megumi, while you were out. gojo conjured up the genius idea of keeping megumi entertained by handing him a paper and markers–so that they could surprise you with megumi’s amazing artistic abilities once you came back home.

it had gone “so well”, gojo said earlier, picking up the paper and studying it. “i think this is a drawing of a cat? or a dog, i don’t really know.. still, it’s made by my son, and it’s the peak of art and i think everyone should see it!”

gojo was so busy trying to decipher what megumi had drawn that he didn’t realize that his son still had the markers in his hands. when he peers over to look at megumi again, he just about screamed.

“gumi- no- GUMI!” he shrieks, snatching the markers away from his son’s hold. megumi, not having a paper to draw on anymore, decided to use the wall as his canvas instead—sketching a poorly drawn house with a bright red marker. “you’re not supposed to draw on the wall! aw fuc-ahem, freak… your mom’s gonna kill me…”

“gosh suguru, some advice would help!” satoru’s never been so afraid in all his years of living. you’re coming home pretty soon, and he has no idea what to do. he’s already imagining the look on your face–and it’s pushing satoru to the brink of passing out. gojo satoru–the renowned sorcerer who’s fought the king of curses, been sealed away in a box and has had multiple near death experiences–all of these things have happened to him yet none can compare to the fear of facing his wife when she’s angry.

“hmm? what is it, nanako?” satoru can hear his bestfriend trying not to laugh over the phone. suguru knows an easy solution to his problem, but he thinks that leaving satoru in the dark is funnier. it’s rare to see the strongest sorcerer like this, so geto revels in it with pure amusement. “you’re hungry? okay… let’s see what i can make for you, yeah?”

“you heard her, satoru~ one of the twins are hungry. i’m afraid i have to go… good luck about the markers, yeah?” suguru hangs up before satoru could say a word. he curses under his breath, but feels his heart stop when he hears the door unlock.

you’re home.

“mama!” megumi yells, clapping his hands and slowly crawling over to the front door. you happily greet your son, placing the grocery bags on the table.

you walk over to your husband, kissing him on the cheek before noticing the piece of paper that he’s holding. “oh? what’s this?”

you grab the paper from his hands and satoru regains a little bit of his composure once he hears you coo at your son’s drawing. “thought it would be nice for me and megumi to surprise you while you were gone… it’s a drawing of a cat-”

“horsey!”

“...a horse. yup, that’s what i said!” he sheepishly ignores his son’s glare, mentally preparing himself to tell you about the wall.

“i love it! oh my gosh, megumi, aren’t you just a little artist?” you say, ruffling your son’s hair with a big smile. “this is definitely going on the fridge.”

“...there’s one small problem, though…” satoru refuses to meet your gaze.

“what did you do this time, satoru?”

“hey, it technically wasn’t me!” he says, this time being the one to shoot the glare at his son. “so hypothetically…what if i told you that gumi thought it would be a nicer idea to use the wall as a canvas instead of the paper?”

“...”

satoru perceives your silence as his death sentence. “look, i’m sorry! i was trying to figure out what he drew and i forgot that he still had the markers in his hands-”

“satoru-”

“and the next thing i know, he drew on the wall before i was able to take the markers from him-”

“toru-”

“and suguru wasn’t giving me advice either, but then-”

“satoru!” your final yell finally breaks him from his ramble. he’s surprised to see that no, you don’t have a look of murder on your face. in fact, you’re actually smiling—looking more amused than anything.

“satoru, they’re washable markers.” you take a baby wipe from your purse and walk over to the wall, wiping away the bright red marker strokes easily with a few swipes. you’re trying not to laugh at his dumbfounded expression. “did you not know that?”

now he’s the one stunned into silence. “...”

“no, no… i definitely knew that…!”

“yeah, sure you did.”

being a father is so difficult.

[notsunnyowo]

Iᖴ YOᑌ ᑕᗩᑎ'T ᗷEᗩT TᕼEᗰ - ᒍOIᑎ 'Eᗰ

Part 2

Summary: Gojo Satoru is known for being a flirt, but what happens when he gets a taste of his own medicine?

Content: Fluff, Flirt! Gojo, Female! Reader (AFAB), Gojo getting flustered, Teen! Gojo x Teen! Reader (Reader is the same age as Gojo)

Word Count: 778

It was well known that the infamous head of the Gojo-clan was a huge flirt. And understandably so. He was a striking young man with good looks that could rival the ones of even the Greek gods. Not to mention the personality to match.

He was a cocky little bastard. Always using his good-looks to his advantage. Didn't feel like paying the regular price for a double scooping of ice cream? - He'd just charm the vendor into giving him a "customer discount". Wanted to get into the VIP lounge of some club? - No problem. One wink, paired with a flirty comment towards the security was all it took for him to waltz right in like he owned the place.

Everyone knew he liked having things his way. After all, no one had ever opposed the strongest. And gotten away with it at least-

You supposed that's what ultimately resulted in his unique personality. . .

His boyish charm worked on almost anyone.

Except you.

There were only a handful of people that could resist Satoru's charming attitude and you were one of them. And for some reason it only made you a target more than everyone else.

But could you really blame Satoru for wanting to make the cute new girl wrapped around his fingers?

He just found you so interesting (not to mention adorable) whenever you rolled your eyes at his flirty pick-up line, brushing him off as if he wasn't the Satoru Gojo.

You were absolutely perfect.

One could only imagine the look on his face when you actually responded to his flirty comments.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" Satoru spoke in his usual charming tone as he leaned over your desk. "Don't you have someone else to bother Gojo?" Raising your head from the book you were reading, Satoru was met with your unamused expression. Letting out a dramatic sigh, Satoru answered. "No. Suguru's out on a mission and Yaga-sensei called Shoko to his office not too long ago. Said something about practicing for a medical exam, whatever that means." "Which means that you, sweet girl, get to spend the evening with yours truly." He added, flashing you his signature boyish grin. Rolling your eyes at his comment, you said sarcastically. "Gee. How lucky am I?" Grinning like the dork he was, Satoru completely dismissed your unenthusiastic tone and simply carried on with his 'speech'. "Don't get too excited now. I wouldn't want Suguru getting jealous." "But then again- Who wouldn't get jealous over the lovely little lady that gets to spend the evening with me?" He continued on with his 'speech'. Letting out a defeated sigh, you looked up at the white haired sorcerer. What was that old saying again? If you can't beat them - join 'em. "Y'know what.." You spoke up, capturing Satoru's attention. "You're absolutely right." "Oh?" The boy hummed, raising a brow at your response. Had he finally gotten to you? "Definitely." You chirped, shifting in your seat. "Heh, I knew you'd see it eventually." Gojo commented, his cocky grin resurfacing once more. "After all, it was only a matter of time till you fell for m-" His words were suddenly cut off by your hand tugging his shirt and getting him down to your level. Cerulean eyes meeting yours, Satoru could feel his heart picking up its pace at your close proximity. His breath hitched as he saw you lean in, till your noses were almost touching. "What's wrong, pretty boy?" You cooed, your grin matching the one on his face just a few moments ago. "Cat got your tongue?" There were no words to describe how fast Satoru's heart was beating in that very moment. Nor how lightheaded your words, and actions, made him feel. If his blood pressure didn't kill him you would. For once in his entire life. Satoru was left speechless. Chuckling at the flustered state you'd left him, you gently patted his rosy cheek with one hand, before pulling away. "Y'know Gojo.. You're not as bad when you shut up." You said, offering him a cheeky smile. "You should consider letting your face do all the talking next time." "Chao~" Once you were out of the room and Satoru couldn't sense your cursed energy any more, he let out an embarrassed groan as he raised a hand to cover his flushed features. He glanced back at the door you'd walked through a minute earlier as he muttered to himself, hand covering his mouth. "What a woman.~"

After that little fiasco, Satoru was never the same.

He had a new goal in his mind. Get the new girl to do that to him again.

Author Note:

OMG I did not expect my previous post to blow up this much-

THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!! <3

Also, I hope you enjoyed reading this lil' fanfic!

[calmcoldevening]

Slashers x child!reader [PLATONIC]

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, brothers Sinclair, Mark Hoffman

Tw: mention of murdering, violence, drinking

Thomas Hewitt

• You came to the Hewitts almost as a baby, you were the child of one of the victims. Surprisingly, you were left behind. Or rather, Luda stood up for it, she couldn't let them kill such a baby. Besides, she was always ready to take a new child under her wing again if he needed it.

• Thomas was a little confused, he couldn't figure out if he liked you or not. In general, he always wanted a family and children, but he knew that he would not have it because of his appearance and lifestyle. And so you came into his life.

• At first, he will be very hesitant about spending time with you in principle. He's just afraid of breaking you with your fragile baby bones. Besides, Thomas is not sure how to react to your frequent screams and tantrums, it pisses him off a little.

• Over time, he will really get used to you. A man will hold you in his arms most of the time if he is not busy working in the basement. Thomas will hold you tightly to his chest, clutching the diapers you were wrapped in, and looking down at you with warmth and love.

• Even if you screamed a lot when you saw Thomas's face, you always calmed down. It warmed his soul very much.

• The only problem was the food, because you were obviously very small and had to be breastfeed. Fortunately, there was enough dry mix in that victim's bag for the first time. Then Hoyt had to drive around the city.

• Thomas was very protective of you, always watching over you and taking care of you. You literally didn't get off his hands, constantly clinging to his clothes and long hair. He didn't mind. A man often kissed you on the forehead, gently stroking your tiny cheeks with his big hand. He loved hugging you so much and he was glad that you liked it too. Thomas's hands were carefully dressing you and washing your fragile little body. He never hurt you, not in any way.

• Thomas made a baby cot for you, which was in his room. Although you often liked to sleep with him. At such moments, you would unsteadily stand on your baby legs and stretch out your arms in his direction. The man's heart sank. He gently took you out of the cradle and put you next to him, hugging you protectively. You cooed and smiled as you fell asleep in comfort.

• Thomas was very happy about your first steps. It was difficult and slow, but he patiently sat on the floor two meters away from you and waited, arms outstretched in an embrace for you. When you finally found some kind of balance, you walked slowly towards him, giggling happily. You hugged him tightly. The man almost cried, watching the formation of his baby.

• He was looking forward to your first words, hoping that you would actually talk, unlike him. At first it was a strange babble of children. Thomas was almost sure that you would call Luda mom, even though the thought of it hurt him. When you said the awkward 'Dada', he started crying. Thomas hugged you tightly to him, kissing your baby face and body. God, you were so sweet, so precious. He felt such a pleasant warmth in his chest when you called him daddy, your daddy. Thomas thought he would die of happiness on the spot. Now you were his little ray of light, his child.

Brothers Sinclair

• You were the victim's child. Lester found you in the backseat of the car. He awkwardly picked you up and pulled you out of the car. He was the youngest brother in the family, so he understood absolutely nothing about children, he understood at most that what needed to be taken care of, for example, like a dog.

• Lester brought you to the Sinclair house. Vincent was in the workshop, and Bo was sitting on the couch, with his feet on a small table in front of the sofa, and enjoying drinking beer. The appearance of Lester, and even with a child, greatly strained him. Really, what should he do with such a baby? You didn't look more than five months old. Considering his childhood, Bo hated children, although he could take some care, after all, he participated in Lester's upbringing, one way or another. And it was still quite a big shock for him. There wasn't a single woman in town who could tell them what to do with you, the men were confused. When you woke up, you started screaming and crying. You were scared that your mom wasn't there. Rude men terrified you even more. I wanted to hide somewhere, but you couldn't do anything.

• The situation only improved when Vincent arrived. He was the most gentle and understanding of all the brothers. Vincent grabbed you out of Bo's rough hands with a little alarm, hugging you to him and stroking your head. Bo just rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen. You snuggled up to Vincent, feeling safe at last. You weren't crying anymore, but you were whimpering softly against his chest. You were scared and hungry. You clutched a man's clothes in your little fists, wanting to be comforted and cared for.

• Vincent, like the others, didn't know much about children. But unlike his brothers, Vincent was naturally quite sensitive and kind, he could not leave the child to these jerks. The man pressed you against his warm sweater, giving you peace of mind. He gently stroked your little body, checking for wounds or damage. Your diaper was full. Not the most pleasant part. Maybe you were really too scared. Vincent asked Lester to go back to that car and bring everything there that could be useful for the child. There was a whole bag of toys and baby food, as well as enough diapers and some clothes.

• Vincent immediately bathed you and gently changed your diaper and clothes. Then he fed you from a bottle. It was a little awkward, but he liked to see that you finally felt calmer. You were lying in his arms, making baby noises and greedily swallowing milk. Your eyes were red and swollen from crying. The man hugged you protectively, stroking your little tummy.

• In total, Vincent took care of you. He fed you, dressed you, and bathed you. Lester used to play with you a lot. Bo didn't pay much attention to you, he just went to the city to buy children's things.

• As you grew up, you started spending more time in Vincent's basement. You saw him without a mask and so gently grabbed his scarred cheeks with your soft baby hands, it made him cry. He now had a small cot in his workshop with lots of pillows and blankets. This is where you played while he was working. A man made you wax toys that you really liked. He even taught you how to sculpt wax yourself. Now you had your own little collection of wax ducks. You called Vincent Dad. When you did it the first time, he cried, hugging you tightly to him. Although Bo is sometimes very jealous of your brother, because Bo is just an uncle to you.

• You've become very friendly with their dog, Jesse. Jesse always protects you from the next visitors to the city.

• They tried to pick you up a couple of times. Once it was a married couple. The woman held you tightly in her arms, saying that these people in the city are monsters, and that she will become your mother and take care of you. You threw a tantrum asking Dad to come over. The couple almost ran out of town until Bo shot them in the back of the head. Vincent pulled you out of the dead woman's tight grip and held you close, stroking your hair. You cried and squeezed his neck, asking Dad not to leave you anymore.

• In general, you are a child who grew up in cruelty, but the Sinclairs themselves never raised a hand against you. You were cared for and loved. Bo especially loved giving you a lot of gifts. So you've grown up to be a mentally healthy child with them.

Mark Hoffman

• You turned out to be the child of his dead sister. At first, it even hurt a man to look at you because you looked so damn much like your mother. But he understood the responsibility. Mark realized that you are the only thing he has left of his sister. Besides, you didn't have any relatives anymore, and the man didn't want to take you to the orphanage. So he took custody of you.

• It was difficult. Mark was already tired with his job, so taking care of the child only added to his stress. But he tried. For you. For his sister's sake.

• When you were still young enough, a man often left you alone at home, even though he understood that it was unsafe. At that moment, his depression reached its peak, and he simply did not see any other way out. He started drinking. The man spent almost every evening at the bar, getting drunk to unconsciousness. It was after midnight when he returned home. Mark came into the apartment, heading to his bedroom, and your face greeted him. Your chubby baby cheeks were red and wet with tears, but as soon as you saw Mark, a slight smile blossomed on your face. You were already standing freely in your cradle, so when the man entered the room, you desperately stretched out your arms to him, muttering an inarticulate 'dada'. It broke a man's heart. In an instant, the intoxication was gone, and his whole being was filled with a vile sense of guilt. You were afraid to be alone, afraid of being abandoned again, and he was so brazenly leaving you alone in an empty dark apartment. But Mark couldn't help himself, he was in pain too. And so it is almost every day.

• When you went to kindergarten, he often picked you up later than everyone else. Fortunately, your teacher was a good woman and spent time with you personally, playing together. You were a smart and funny kid, but you still had trouble speaking, you didn't speak. Perhaps the fact that your 'dad' never responded to your attempts to talk to him because of your abilities influenced you.

• One day Mark got off work a little early, hoping to pick you up. He was standing in the hallway in front of your kindergarten room, his hand on the door handle. He saw you laughing while playing with the tutor in the playroom. You threw your arms around her neck and joyfully shouted "Mommy!". It broke Mark's heart. He was such a bad father, such a bad guardian. You drove home in silence this evening. Already at home, you didn't understand why Mark was so sad. You tried to hug him or ask for his hands, but the man just looked away. When he put you to bed, he knelt in front of your bed. The man took your little palms in his hands, kissing them gently. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"She's not your mommy... I know I made a mistake, but she's not your mom. Please.. don't do that anymore. I'll get better. I'm really going to get better. I treated you badly, I understand, but.. But I can't help myself. I miss her too, your mom.. the real mom..."

• You didn't quite understand what he was saying, but you leaned closer and put your arms around his neck. Mark hugged you convulsively, pulling you tightly to him and burying his nose in your hair.

• It got a lot better after that. Mark tried to drink less and spend more time with you. He took you to the park, amusement park, cinema and cafe. Now he knew the names of the characters in your favorite cartoons and bought you toys with them. The man bought you a lot of sweets and just treated you gently.

• "I want a balloon... Daddy!" Mark looked down at you and a pleased smile spread across his face when you first called him that. His chest was filled with warmth. He found a reason to keep living.

[evilvillain123456789]

i can't stop fucking old people. it's seriously a problem. their hearts can't fucking take it. they know i'll kill them. but they never say no. i travel city to city with each conquest. i log onto tinder and meet a girl. three chances a year... one for easter dinner, one for thanksgiving, one christmas. she takes me to her house to meet the family. the grandmother and i lock eyes from across the table. grandfather has passed. shes here alone.. sad.. we make eye contact for a while until she excuses herself, and i follow her. sometimes the deed is done right there in the bedroom, sometimes i'm given the number to her jitterbug, to return to her later. she makes me go in raw no matter what i suggest. i break up with the girl shortly after i've achieve sexual contact with one or both grandparents. i've no family of my own. that's true, that's always the excuse. i got a reputation that follows me. that's why i'm always moving. the grandmother often catches a VD from our little quickie. her weakened immune system. she passes away a few weeks later. some time before her time. or maybe just in time. god forbid, she invites me over. i sit in her little rocking chair as she speaks to me. that was her husbands chair.. she eyes me. my presence awakens this within her. i make her feel young again. she leads me to her bedroom. i have no reason to restrain myself, nobody will find us. she comes, then she goes. i clean her up as she grunts from the remnants of her heart attack, and leave her tucked into bed. she lays there peaceful, like shes asleep. that's when i lock the doors on my way out, and head to the next city. the next city, where i'll lay low until the next holiday season. start chatting up some chicks while i'm at it.. god, and the grandfathers. unlike with the grandmothers, they dont need to have lost their love to want me. they always cheat. they always want to use me as a tool to cheat. they look at me in ways their wives havent seen in years, and their wives see this. but their wives remain subservient. they always let him do this. they pray for him, but none of them pray for me. they hate me. they hate me so much. they know what i'm doing but refuse to make it stop. i lead their husbands away and kill them. they know it serves him right. i leave them heartbroken. but they'll never say a word. they'll never say a word about how an ugly little gay boy stole their man and now he's paid the ultimate price. and so have they. they seethe until their death. sometimes i swoop in on them too. silence them. they want me to silence them. but usually its too risky. after all, there are simply some secrets, that one must take to ones grave no matter what. i have nothing to gain from doing this. what i do is completely legal. all are lucid. but i feel as if i'm moving through a dream. i feel the earth around me shift as though i were asleep. i can't settle down. i can't fucking stop it. i want to stop. i want to find love. i feel so guilty. how many women fell in love with me, only to lose me. lose one or both grandparents and i'm nowhere near to comfort her. by the time it comes to mourn, i'm already long gone..

But yes, i suppose you can apply this to your fucking little tomgreg or harry styles or whatever. Yeah dude. You fucked that old man.