#more like homocide

[cevherien]

Wait hear me out—

Ellie by herself is already crazy, BUT IF SHE HAD DINA W HER???

are you insinuating a love triangle 😈

Cause wether or not dina shows any interest in reader Ellie will still go ahead of herself and get jealous (she's a bit silly as you may know) And if she does show any interest in reader, like explicitly, homie-cide i think.

[oopey-doopey]

One thing I appreciate is that they have been showing how depressed some of the characters are by having them do things incredibly out of character for them

Simon threw away a child’s book, making her cry, which given his own daughter he would never do in a good headspace

Prismo took someone saying wish on accident and used it as there one wish, when he actively refused to use up Jake’s one wish for a sandwich

The Lich held up the main trio and could’ve killed them, but decided not to, which is the most surprising of the three

I like this but also it’s mostly caused by the fact that the characters got what they wanted:

Simon only became so hostile cause he was constantly reminded how much happier and cooler they saw him as Ice King despite him wanting to be Simon. He’s realizing it’s not being easy when he feels like no one knows Simon and only the Ice King.

The Lich is despressed cause his existence is meaningless now. He is the bringer of extinction and there’s nothing to end now. He won. Even if he killed the three hee be back to having absolute victory and being without purpose, without meaning. I think it’s the least surprising to me cause if my purpose was rendered meaningless by my own hand… What’s the point?

Prismo is a special case in that it’s more he clearly doesn’t have anyone. Prismo isn’t really allowed to fulfill his own wants and by trying to do so it did cause problems for him but technically completely separate fro why he’s depressed. Also I think the wish is in character as Prismo is a tad bit snarky and mischievous, he describes his wishes as trick wishes himself. The Jake thing is more Prismo like really liked Jake and broke rules for him. It’s more so Prismo wouldn’t have been so blasé about the wish but he’s sorta in a rut since his dog crush died.

I think it perfectly shows that each character reacts a different way to being stuck in their lives that are supposed to be wonderful now and how it affects others who believe that they are happy.

[nejackdaw]

Me earlier: haha, what were you guys doing in college?

Me, starting the next chapter: "ONLY BID ME GOODNIGHT?????" Sleep deprived, shot, bleeding, feverish, on the run, etc etc and "TELL ME GOODNIGHT?????"

And I'd like to bring your attention to:

"I THOUGHT I GAVE YOU MY WORD," HE SAID

His DOZEN YEAR AGO COLLEGE CLASSMATE broke into his house at 2am (actually 11pm, because he confessed he'd been in the house three hours,) bleeding, starving, hasn't slept in three days, basically confessed to theft (not much other explanation,) confessed to wanting to murder, and then ASKED HIM TO TELL HIM GOODNIGHT, and when he suddenly was like "no funny business about betraying me" you get OFFENDED bc you GAVE HIM YOUR WORD

WHAT WERE YOU TWO DOING IN COLLEGE?????

[thestarsaligne]

"should I commit homocide" unsure, doesn't communicate strength

"I should commit homocide" affirmative, taking the initiative

[3cosmicfrogs]

fuck marry kill: golden kamuy, atla, radiant emperor

3 queens stand before me.

Marry alta, its the most wholesome. Media of all time. an incredibly respectable choice. one you would bring home to your parents.

fuck the radiant emperor series. zhu? extremely fuckable. baoxiang? extremely fuckable. ouyang? so unfuckable that he's looped back to being fuckable. Xu Da? canonical sex god. ma? pussy so good it will make you want to be a better person. esen-temur? BARKBARKBARKBARK this is THE esen thirst blog, need i even say it?

kill golden kamuy. out of the three, killing it would actually be the Horniest option. it would pop the king of all boners while i choke the life out of it if im being honest... everybody say "thank you, noda!"

[littlestrawberry-fairy]

In-ho is so down bad for Gi-hun every shot I think they’ll kiss

[valentinestexas]

my mom has hurt me so many times in my life, sometimes unintentionally, & its such a weird feeling cos theres some things ill never forgive her for ? and i resent her so much for shit thats happened to us and things she’s said to me and the experiences i’ve lost because of her . but at the same time i see her and i just see a little girl who was hurt by the ppl around her and never learned how to truly love others and be loved and it kills me

[enigmaris]

Ive written like 20k words for my two dpxdc ideas but of course my mind is giving more ideas:

Ghost King!Danny gets summoned one time by a cult and is like 'absolutely not'. He is already barely scraping by in highschool with all of his ghost fights, if he can be magically yoinked at any time he can kiss graduation goodbye.

He asks his ghost friends and one of them tells him he will need a human magic user to create a ward for him, since its human magic thats summoning him the protection should come from the same source.

Now where to find a magic user that can

1) make a protective ward for a half ghost/ half tired teen

2) will do that when Danny has about 3 dollars in his piggy bank

Danny through whatever means are the funniest discovers the soul tax evading John Constatine and has an idea!

A few days later John finds out his soul has been bought by the high king of the infinite realms, who last he checked, was a homocidal maniac.

This isnt going to end well.

[dellinah]

I kicked myself out of a depressive state to watch this movie and pick myself up and I found it so APPALLINGLY BAD that ngl I was too stumped to remember I was depressed in the first place for a bit so positive points for it somehow??

TAI LUNG | KUNG FU PANDA 4 (2024) Dir. Mike Mitchell

[malachitezmeyka]

Маленький by Дайте Танк (!) is such a Suiren song I’m gonna cry

“Once again, I’m young, the sun is bright

Mom is stronger than everyone in the world

I’m once again scared of dogs

And being left home alone.

And the trees are so big,

Bad words are unknown to me

Wanna play hide and seek?

The grass is again up to my waist.

I can’t reach the floor with my feet

Or is it the floor that can’t reach me?

Those who I once considered my enemies

Are only making honey.

I’m still me, but children shake their heads,

They didn’t recognise me, they say they can’t help.

I’m stronger now and I won’t climb in bed with my mother

The monsters didn’t come – I waited for them all night”

[shanieveh]

jealousy, jealousy . . .

- everyone can see his rageful eyes as he looks at the both you, except for you (genshin men)

Murder. Execution. Homocide. These were the words echoing in NEUVILLETTE's mind as he looked at the two of you.

How can you sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?

The chief justice can't do jokes, unlike him. He can't smile and jest so easily, unlike him, and that's what infuriates him. But little did he know, that precious smile of yours can only be made because the topic of conversation was him.

The God of Geo gave prosperity and stability to the land of Liyue and that is about to crumble if ZHONGLI looked at the both of you dancing for even one morea second.

A childhood bestfriend, huh?

Then why was he so eager to grab your waist?! That was his to grab! Didn't you say you were his and that we was yours? Enough. That guy won't mind a bit of indestructible power of earth and contracts? He... was about to face the wrath of the rock.

At this rate, WRIOTHESLEY would have a brand new prisoner. Every single one of his friends is forcing him to keep his fists in his pockets and so far it has not been working.

Don't give my spouse some puny ass flowers, you punk!

His mind was going into the direction of violence, chanting the ancient languages of tevyat to send this guy into Celestia. But as you saw him and smiled happily and gave him a flying kiss... why was he mad again?

LYNEY was not the jealous type, he thinks so. So when he say you with him out of all people, it popped off twelve bloodvessels. You shouldn't be near him, that was your ex! He was taller, much more muscular..

He can't be insecure, he was Lyney after all!

He was deeply insecure, more than everything. No more glints of rage and sadness, but rather, a sad cat in need of cuddling and as you see this poor sight you immediately dismissed your ex. He was your home after all, the love of your life.

So it wasn't normal to destroy several properties after learning your significant other kissed someone in the cheek? ALHAITHAM knew it was a 5 year old but it didn't make a big of a difference. That for me him was betrayal.

Oh so you want cuddles now? After everything you did?

It took you 71 hours and 56 minutes of constant cooing and cuddling and reassurance for the big baby to forgive you for kissing an actual baby. In the end he hugged your chest in front of that 5 year old and smirked for him to know his place.

KAEYA was a natural flirt who gives flattery to everyone who surrounds him, so when another guy gives you that type of flattery then he wishes to relish the depths of hell.

What do you mean they look like most echanting rose?! Don't compare them to a mere flower!!

And the list of argument comes on as he mades on his way to you both with a sparkle in his eyes. A mission. To wipe that guy's stupid smirk off his face. Forever.

[hishumanbellestories]

His hell.

Part one: 1920, New Orleans - click here. WARNING: suicide, homocide. The ending is a little sweet/fluff! Sex mention.

The water was warm. Too warm. It wrapped around you like a weighted blanket, seeping into your skin, your lungs, your bones.

Steam curled in the air, clinging to the cracked tile walls of the bathroom, blurring the edges of the world. The dim light buzzed overhead, flickering, as if unsure whether it wanted to illuminate this moment or let the shadows swallow it whole.

You sat in the tub, knees pulled to your chest, arms limp at your sides. The water lapped gently against your skin, a quiet, soothing lullaby. The scent of lavender soap clung to the air, a mockery of peace.

Your fingers traced the surface of the water. It rippled at your touch, a delicate distortion, before stilling once more.

You exhaled.

It had to be this way.

The weight of it all had become unbearable—the heaviness of his eyes, the way his voice cracked when he thought you were slipping away, the madness lurking beneath his ever-present grin.

A monster.

You had made him a monster.

Alastor had always been dangerous, always danced on the edge of something inhuman. But you—you had been the reason he crossed that final line.

The blood on his hands, the bodies buried in the dark—they were yours.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

The only way to free him was to remove yourself from the equation entirely.

You slid down, slowly, letting the water rise to your shoulders. Your hair fanned out, floating in the stillness.

Your breath came faster. Your heart pounded against your ribs, but you ignored it.

Your body didn’t want this.

But your mind—

Your mind knew it was necessary.

You tilted your head back, allowing the water to touch your chin, then your lips. It slipped past your teeth, cool and silent, like a whisper.

And then you pushed off.

Down.

The water rushed over your face, into your nose, into your mouth—

And suddenly, the world was quiet.

No thoughts. No guilt.

Just the muted hum of the water surrounding you.

Your chest screamed. The instinct to breathe clawed at you, but you fought it.

You wouldn’t fight for the surface.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs went weightless, drifting like a forgotten thing at the bottom of a lake. Your fingers twitched, reaching for nothing.

The pressure built.

Your lungs burned.

Black spots danced behind your closed eyelids.

Your body convulsed.

And then—

A moment of surrender.

The tension melted from your muscles. Your fingers went still.

The last of your air slipped from your lips, a trail of tiny bubbles rising toward the surface, toward the life you were leaving behind.

And then...

There was

nothing.

The silence didn’t last.

A violent crash shattered the fragile stillness. The bathroom door slammed against the wall, shaking the very foundation of the room.

Then—hands.

His hands.

Clawing, yanking, dragging you from the depths.

Alastor’s grip was punishing as he dragged you from the tub, water sloshing violently over the sides, soaking his clothes, the floor, everything.

"No. No, no, no—". The word tore from his throat like something feral, his hands shaking as he laid you out on the cold tile. Your body was limp, water still slipping past your lips in weak trickles.

You weren’t breathing.

"Breathe!", his voice cracked—an unnatural thing, strangled with terror. He pressed his ear to your chest, but there was only silence. No heartbeat. No breath.

The world tilted.

Alastor had heard silence before, had created it in others. But never in you.

Something in him snapped.

With a snarl, he tilted your head back, pinched your nose shut, and crashed his mouth onto yours. Air forced its way into your lungs, but your chest barely stirred.

"No, no, no, NO!", his vision swam red. His hands, trembling, pressed against your ribs—he pushed, counting, forcing life back into you with each brutal movement.

"Come back to me!"

"Not again... please! Not again! I can't...", he shudders at the thought of eternity without you, his voice consumed by pain, fraying at the edges, unraveling.

Another breath—his lips sealed over yours, his own air spilling into your body. Your skin was cold. His hands were shaking too hard to be useful, but he kept going.

"You don’t get to leave me!", his fist slammed against your chest, hard enough to bruise. "Do you hear me? You don’t get to—"

A weak, spluttering cough.

Your body jerked.

Water surged from your mouth as you convulsed, gasping, lungs burning as air rushed back in.

Alastor made a sound—a broken, guttural thing—and crushed you against him. His fingers tangled in your soaked hair, his breath ragged as he rocked you against his chest, whispering something feverish against your temple.

"Never again," he growled, voice thick with something near insanity. "Never again, do you understand me?".

"Why?", his voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a scream. "Why would you do this to me?".

He lifts me off the floor in his arms, wraps me in a warm blanket and carries me to his room. The door slammed shut behind you.

The click of the lock echoed through the dimly lit room, final, absolute.

You were still shivering, still soaked, your lungs still aching from the water you had forced inside them—but none of it mattered compared to the way he was looking at you.

Alastor stood before you, his shadow stretching long across the wooden floor. His soaked suit clung to him, disheveled, darkened by water. His hair, always pristine, stuck messily to his forehead. But it was his eyes that unsettled you most.

Wild. Frenzied.

He was staring at you like a man on the edge of something terrible.

"Do I mean nothing to you?"

His voice was soft. Too soft. It slithered into the space between you both, curling around your throat like an unseen noose.

You opened your mouth—to say what, you didn’t know.

But you never got the chance.

Alastor moved.

In an instant, he was on you, his hands grasping your arms, shoving you against the nearest wall. His breath was hot, shaking, uneven.

"Tell me," he whispered, his fingers pressing into your wrists, "tell me I’m wrong."

You swallowed hard. "Alastor—"

"Tell me you care about me!", his voice broke on the last word, something sharp and aching buried beneath it. His grip on you trembled, as if he were caught in some horrible war with himself.

The intensity in his stare burned straight through you.

You had done this to him.

Turned the ever-composed, ever-smirking Alastor into this—a man unraveling before your eyes.

"I—", your breath hitched as his forehead pressed against yours, his entire frame shaking.

"I died for you," he whispered, "I killed for you. I tore my soul apart for you, and yet—", his fingers tightened around your wrists, "you still tried to leave me."

His voice twisted, laughter bubbling at the edges, but there was no joy in it. Just something fractured.

"That’s not very fair, now, is it, dearest?"

You tried to pull away, but he held on.

"Where do you think you're going?", his grip was bruising, his grin widening—but it didn't reach his eyes. "You won’t do that again, will you?"

He leaned closer, breath warm against your lips.

"Because I won't let you."

WARNING: SEX MENTION.

Alastor's hands roamed your body with a frenzied intensity, his fingers digging into your skin as he pinned you against the wall of his room. His eyes, wild and haunted, bore into yours with a desperate need that bordered on madness.

"I can't lose you," he rasped, his voice raw with emotion.

"I won't let you leave me."

His lips crashed against yours in a brutal kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth as he devoured you with a hunger that left no room for gentleness. You could taste the desperation, the fear, the all-consuming passion that drove him as he grappled with the thought of losing you.

Alastor's hands tore at your blanket, ripping fabric as he sought to bare your skin to his touch. His fingers found your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with a force that bordered on pain, as if he needed to mark you, as if he needed to feel you.

Alastor's hips surged forward, his cock grinding against your throbbing sex through the layers of wet fabric. The friction sent sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through you, your body arching into his with a desperate moan.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a low, feral snarl. "I'll never let anyone, anything, take you from me."

His hands slid down to your hips, fingers digging into the flesh as he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Alastor pinned you against the wall once more, his fingers danced across your slick folds, his touch feather-light as he explored the delicate contours of your sex. He traced the swollen lips of your pussy, circling your clit with a gentle, teasing touch that had you arching into his hand. "Beautiful," he murmured. He slipped a finger inside, his thumb finding your clit as he began to stroke in a slow, sensual rhythm. You gasped, your hips rolling against his hand as he worked you open, preparing you for the thick length of his cock. Alastor's other hand slid up your body, his fingers splaying across your stomach, your breast, your throat. He claimed your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as he continued to tease your clit with expert precision. Breaking the kiss, he looked into your eyes, his own dark with lust and adoration.

Alastor's fingers curled inside you, stroking that sensitive spot deep within your core. He watched your face, his gaze intense and focused, as he coaxed your pleasure from you. Your body responded eagerly, your hips undulating against his hand as he worked you towards the edge. "You're so responsive," he breathed, his voice a low, appreciative murmur. "I love feeling you come undone for me." He increased the pressure on your clit, his thumb rubbing firm circles around the swollen nub as his fingers continued their relentless pace. The dual stimulation was too much, and you felt your orgasm building, coiling tight in your belly like a spring ready to snap. Alastor leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Let go, my love. Come for me."

With a low moan, you surrendered to the pleasure, your body convulsing as your orgasm crashed over you. His fingers never stopped their relentless stroking, drawing out your climax until you were left trembling and breathless against the wall. As the aftershocks subsided, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your essence. His eyes never left yours, burning with a hunger that spoke of his own need. "I need to be inside you," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Now." You were a mess of gasps and whispers, still not realizing what was happening. But you let him in. He positioned himself at your entrance. With a single, gentle thrust, he sheathed himself inside you, his cock stretching and filling you in a way that made you gasp hard. He buried himself deep inside you, his length stretching your walls to the limit. You cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he claimed yours in a searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a primal dance of desire and desperation.

Alastor's hips snapped forward, driving his cock into you with a brutal intensity that left you gasping and trembling. Each thrust was a declaration of possession, a assertion of his dominance over your body and your heart. Or maybe… his heart's desperation for you. You could feel him losing control, his grip on you tightening as he pounded into you with a frenzied abandon. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat as he rode you hard, chasing the release that eluded him. "I need you," he growled, his voice a low, guttural rasp. "I need to feel you, all of you, mine. I need to feel that you won't abandon me again." His words were a dark confession, a admission of the all-consuming hunger that drove him. And as he continued to thrust into you, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure-pain through your core, you knew that he wouldn't stop until he had claimed every last shred of your being.

Alastor's teeth sank into the tender skin of your neck, the sting of the bite mingling with the intense pleasure of his body pressed against yours. He pounded into you with a fierce, consuming passion, his hips driving against yours in a rhythm that bordered on brutal. You could feel his desperation, his need to claim you, to mark you as his own. His lips trailed fire along your jaw, your ear, your throat, leaving a path of searing kisses in their wake. "You're mine," he growled, his voice a low, husky rumble against your skin. "All mine." His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he thrust into you with a primal intensity. The wall behind you provided a rough counterpoint to the smooth glide of his cock inside you, the friction sending sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through your body. Alastor's teeth grazed your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, "forever mine," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "No matter what, I'll never let you go." His words were a dark promise, a vow spoken against the heat of your skin as he continued to take you with a fierce, all-consuming passion. Alastor's body was a living flame against yours, his every touch, every kiss, every thrust a declaration of his devotion, his need, his love. As he rode you against the wall, the world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a sea of pleasure and desire. Alastor's cock throbbed inside you, his release building with each powerful stroke.

The air between you was feverish, electric, charged with something too vast to contain. Alastor's trembling fingers ran along your skin, mapping every inch, desperate to make you real—to assure himself that you were still here, still his, still alive.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, his face. You could see it now—beneath the ever-present grin, beneath the manic energy, there was something else. Something broken. Something desperate.

"You were going to leave me again," he whispered, his voice hoarse, raw with anguish. His grip tightened as if you might disappear between his fingers. "You would have left me alone in this wretched existence, and what then? What would I have become, darling? What do you think I am without you?"

His lips brushed over your cheek, over your jaw, down to your throat, lingering as his breath ghosted over your skin. He was trembling. Alastor never trembled.

"You need a reason to stay, my darling," he murmured, his voice thick with something possessive, something final. "And if you won’t stay for me—", his fingers trailed down, pressing against your stomach, warm and firm and claiming, "—then you’ll stay for what I’ll give you."

His lips found yours again, but this time, there was no teasing, no hesitation, only a consuming hunger. A kiss meant to brand—to burn—to ruin. His body pressed against yours again, an unspoken plea in every touch, every shuddering breath.

"I will fill you with me," he rasped, his voice breaking, his forehead against yours once more. "And then you will stay, my love. You have to stay."

His fingers dug into your skin, as if he could anchor you there, as if he could tether you to existence itself.

"Promise me," he pleaded, his voice raw, desperate. "Promise me, darling—promise me you won’t leave me again."

His lips brushed against your temple, your brow, your cheeks—frantic, reverent—before his forehead fell against yours, breathless, broken.

"You belong to me," he whispered, barely a sound, barely more than a prayer. "And I belong to you. Always."

He pushed even harder, his fingers tangling in your hair as his eyes drank in your every expression and his lungs breathed in your gasps.

"I'm close," he groaned, his hips snapping forward with renewed urgency. "Come with me, my love. Let's fall together." With a final, savage thrust, he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he spilled his seed inside you.

WARNING: resumes normally, fluff.

Alastor’s grip on your wrists trembled.

His forehead stayed pressed to yours, his breath erratic, uneven. Then—something cracked.

A broken, shuddering breath escaped him, and his fingers slipped away from your arms, as if burned. His entire frame shook, his chest rising and falling too quickly, too sharply.

And then—he crumbled.

A ragged sound tore from his throat as his knees buckled. His hands, once so desperate to hold you in place, slid to your waist, clutching at you like a man drowning, like a man whose only lifeline was slipping through his fingers.

His head dropped against your shoulder, and you felt it—wetness.

Alastor was crying.

Not loud, not with sobs—but with something far worse. A silence so deep, so shaking, that it suffocated the air between you.

His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you closer, closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. Until it was unbearable. Until you could feel every tremor wracking through him.

"You," he breathed, voice wrecked, "You don’t understand what you’ve done to me."

You opened your mouth, but his hands flew up, cupping your face, desperate, trembling.

"You’ve broken me." His voice cracked, his red eyes burning into yours. "You’ve taken me apart, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of me but you."

His grip on your face tightened, his thumb stroking over your cheek, his breathing sharp, desperate.

"I cannot exist without you. I have forgotten how. You are my breath, my heartbeat—", he exhaled sharply, trembling, "the only sound I still care to hear."

His forehead pressed against yours again, his lips hovering, teasing, but not touching, his breath hot and shaking against your mouth.

"You say I am a monster?", his fingers curled in your hair, pulling gently. "Then you are the wicked little thing who made me so."

His lips brushed against your cheek, his voice sinking lower, turning softer, more dangerous.

"You—you have cursed me," he whispered, "and I have never loved anything more."

His hands slid down your arms, settling around your waist, his grip possessive, desperate.

"Do you not see?", his breath caught, and his lips finally—finally—brushed against yours in something too fleeting to be a kiss.

"I do not want to be saved. But I want to save you. To protect you."

He pauses, his gaze averted for a moment.

"I meant what I said, you know," his voice dipped lower, softer, but there was no mistaking the weight behind his words. He nuzzled against your cheek, his grin widening, though something in it was almost… desperate. "If you were to have my child, you’d have no choice but to stay. No choice but to live."

The air felt heavier. Charged. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you even closer, as if you could disappear beneath him, into him.

"And that," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, "is exactly what I want."

He kissed you then, deep and consuming, fingers digging into your skin like he would never let go. Like he could not bear to let go.

And when he pulled away, forehead still resting against yours, his next words shattered everything.

"If you ever leave me again…", his voice wavered, shaking, "I will follow you. Even if it is to death itself."

Alastor’s breath was warm against your lips, his trembling hands still cradling your face, his eyes dark with something raw, something starving.

His lips parted—then shut—then parted again, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

And then, with a shuddering breath, he did.

"I love you."

"But telling you these three words is not enough… I have always been in love with you," his voice broken, his vibrant gaze fixed on your eyes.

The words slipped from him like a confession, like an admission dragged from the deepest, darkest part of his soul.

His grip on you tightened, his fingers twitching against your skin as if the words had unmade him.

Then—he laughed, breathless and broken. "Ah, look what you’ve done to me, darling. I’ve gone and said it. No taking it back now!"

His grin was sharp, but his hands were gentle as they slid down your arms, grasping your hands. He lifted your left hand to his mouth, his crimson gaze locked onto yours—unwavering, hungry.

"And now," he murmured, "I suppose I should make it official, shouldn’t I?"

His lips parted, his teeth grazed your finger, your ring finger, to be precise.

Then... he bit.

It was not harsh. Not cruel. But deep enough that it stung, deep enough that his fangs pressed just below the bone, deep enough to mark.

A gasp slipped from your lips as warmth bloomed beneath his bite, pain mingling with something else, something intoxicating.

His tongue flicked over the indentations before he pulled back, admiring his work.

A perfect ring of red encircled your finger—his mark, his claim.

"There," he exhaled, satisfied, his grin wide, sharp. "A ring made of flesh and blood. Now, that’s much more binding than metal, don’t you think?"

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, his voice dipping to something low, something dangerous.

"Tell me, mon amour", he whispered, lips brushing your ear, his trembling fingers grasping your chin. His grin was still there—fixed, stretched, unwavering—but his eyes... his eyes betrayed him.

They were wide, dark, desperate.

"Do you love me?", his voice was steady, but beneath it was a tremor—something unstable, something on the edge of breaking.

A sharp inhale, a flicker of raw emotion in his eyes. And then—he collapsed against you, forehead pressing to yours, hands gripping your waist as if you'd disappear if he let go.

"You haunt me," he whispered, almost shaking. "I cannot breathe without you. I cannot think. You have broken me, darling, and oh—" he laughed again, but it was frantic this time, bordering on hysteria—"I don’t even mind!"

His hands roamed, memorizing you, worshipping you, as if you were slipping through his fingers. "I would burn the whole world to keep you here, right here, where I can feel you, where I know you’re real."

His breath hitched—his nails bit into your waist—his body pressed impossibly closer.

And then, suddenly, his hands caught yours, pinning them to the wall beside your head. His grip was bruising, possessive, but his touch trembled—terrified.

"Marry me," he breathed, voice hoarse. "Bind yourself to me. Forever. And I swear to you���I will never let you go. I can’t let you go."

His fingers slipped between yours, and then his eyes lifted to yours, wide and pleading behind the madness, behind the hunger, behind the need.

"Say yes," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Say yes, and I will be yours".

His lips hovered over yours, waiting.

"Say yes, mon amour. Say yes before I go mad."

[rookamell]

Ignore me I need to yell for a second about the almost kiss because I just watched it again and I might have gone a little crazy with the screenshots

Ok so we have Lucanis sauntering over acting suave. Because he is.

But then look how genuinely Happy he is to be there too! Look at how he's looking at Rook! Look at how much he likes them!!

^she has never been more in love btw. He makes her stupid. The wall lean has put her into a catatonic state.

Then obviously there's the look at Rook's lips. I do find it interesting that this happens After Rook touches him so it's not the touch that makes him hesitate. The touch only spurs him on.

Bonus I caught the face scrunch

And then look how close they get!!! I didn't even notice they got this close!!

Devastating. His eyes are still closed when he pulls away. He wanted to kiss them so fucking bad. I have very many thoughts on what might have happened here but I'm saving them for the fic. This screenshot made me take psychic damage.

Like look how much effort it takes him to pull away. He Knows he's hurting Rook. But also this has to happen, because he's not ready. I do always wonder if he's like... taking it upon himself to try and protect Rook from themselves a little bit too? 'At least I know I'm doing it' -> Rook might like me but they don't know exactly what they're signing up for so I have to pull back for both our sakes rn. Also I don't think Spite had anything to do with this. All the other times Spite said/did something it was a lot more jarring. I could be wrong tho that's just my interpretation. It's even worse when you compare how happy he just was! And he's not letting himself have that happiness!! Lucanis!!!

Homocide

Double homocide

[we-are-not-a-number]

Tdlr; Rates of violence and homocides against older women (notable grandmothers) rising, a dual issue of children of and partners being domestically abusive, most notably sons. Mothers are less likely to call authorities on their own children for domestic violence or threats, which impacts this grizzly development. Warned "matricide of older women" and lack of awareness. Article from Australia but this issue is stated to be global.

Fourteen women over the age of 55 were allegedly killed in domestic violence-related homicides last year, according to a tally kept by the online feminist group Destroy the Joint. When the Australian Bureau of Statistics releases its data for the year, this number could well increase.

In 2023, according to ABS data, there were 28 women over the age of 55 allegedly killed in domestic violence related homicides, roughly a third of all such alleged homicides. Experts have called it a “silent crisis”: older women who are killed by family violence but whose deaths rarely get as much attention as those of younger women, and whose experiences do not figure sufficiently in government responses to violence against women. “There’s a matricide of older women [and] people aren’t even noticing, there’s no outcry. There’s silence,” says Catherine Barrett, director of Celebrate Ageing. “It’s just being missed.”

A Guardian analysis of government data has found that in the 10 years to 2023, nearly 200 women over the age of 55 were allegedly killed in family violence related homicides, suggesting older women could be at dual risk – from partners and from their children, especially their sons.

The rate of alleged domestic homicides in Australia has more than halved in the past 30 years, from 0.71 deaths per 100,000 in 1992-93, to 0.3 deaths per 100,000 in 2022-23. However, the rate at which older women are allegedly killed in domestic homicides has not fallen consistently. In the past 10 years, the rate of women aged over 55 killed in family violence homicides has reached 0.7 deaths per 100,000 (the same rate for all women 30 years ago) three times – in 2017, 2018 and 2023.

The problem is a global one. In England and Wales, the number of women killed by sons has risen since 2016, after remaining stable for decades. There was also a rise in the number of grandmothers killed by their grandsons, according to the Femicide Census, co-founded by Clarrie O’Callaghan and Karen Ingala Smith.

Lee says that while every family violence homicide is a tragedy, some deaths are given more attention than others, with the media and general public often focusing on the deaths of younger, attractive white women, while the deaths of “women who are marginalised … don’t get highlighted”. “The invisibility and the marginalisation of First Nations women [and] older women means that they remain invisible even when they’re killed.”

One of the main factors, Lee says, is that domestic violence is often considered primarily a problem for younger women so services are often geared towards them. That means older women may not see a family violence service as one that can help them.

“When we talk about violence against women, it’s always a younger woman fleeing with two little kids hanging around her knees. You rarely see any commentary about all the women who grow old with violence, who live with, maybe, sons who are violent. They are really invisible.”

Barrett says sometimes, after a violent relationship breaks down between a man and his partner, the man will move back in with his parents – particularly if he has mental health or addiction problems – and continue to perpetrate violence there. The problem has only increased, she says, in light of the cost-of-living crisis.

“The mothers are not reporting their sons … because this is their son, and it’s shame on the family, and they’re worried about his mental health. “We’ve got this perfect storm, which is: a cost-of-living crisis, a mental health crisis, sons moving in with their mothers, and no one’s talking to mum, or she doesn’t see a service that could actually help.” What’s needed, say both Lee and Barrett, is a life stages approach that addresses the different ways family violence can affect older women.

[tf2occontest]

The Therapist VS THE HUNTER VS The Barman

(Full matchup list here)

Alright team, here's a recap: This is a contest to determine who amongst you will take the top of the leaderboards and be hired at TFI! Simply put, whoever gets the most votes gets to move on, and whoever doesn't... Well. They'll be put down swiftly and cleanly. :}

So, mann your stations, because here are your next contestants! Vote for your favorite mercenary who you want to win the TF2 OC Contest! - P

OC INFO UNDER THE CUT!

We highly encourage you to take a peek to make your decision!

The Therapist

@hazardtoons

Image credit: @/hazardtoons

You wouldn’t expect an organisation like Team Fortress Industries to invest in something like mental health treatment for its hardened soldiers. The one giving them this generous care is a woman only known by those who work at the company as Therapist - a seemingly well-intentioned lady there to give everything from a shoulder to cry on to someone to seek advice from.

There is a catch, however. Not all the information she gathers from her clients is used for good. Underlying that comforting presence is another tool of oppression used in the company.

THE HUNTER

@scozthewoz

Image credit: @/scozthewoz

hailing from the london countrysides of the united kingdom, this insatiable butcher with the cheshire grin is a teenage expert at the art of paid homocide, despite how squirrely she may look! her presentation is a vauge riddle, hinted at with hyena-like cackles, a cruelty behind her constantly bared teeth she tends to mask as friendliness. she prides herself on her toys, each of them meticulously handmade and carefully hidden like snakes in the sand, every beartrap or snare serving nicely to hold her prey in place and maim them as it does so just in case one pesky rabbit weasles out! this viscera-lusting vermin prefers a more hands-on approach when she crawls out of the walls to play, often putting her guns to the wayside in favour of her beloved knife -- and on occasion, her teeth.

a taste of blood goes a long way for her motivation, you know.. why don't we give her a little push?

The Barman (Thomas Armstrong)

@trypo-p

Image credit: @/trypo-p

Born and raised in Stratford, Ontario, Barman is an affable gentleman who specializes in the art of mixology. Among the mercenaries, Barman is relatively tame in comparison; he gets along with everyone and is seen as an almost "parental" figure to most of the team. Whether it be telling old stories of his life back in Canada, or smacking Scout on the back of his neck for forgetting his manners, he has his ways of making the team remember that he's their elder.

Most of the man's time is spent in his makeshift bar in the team's base, or in his own room. That, of which, contains a multitude of model train sets. Sadly Barman was unable to live his dream of becoming a train conductor, but he can still lose himself in the fantasy when he's alone in his room with his models.

When he's in his bar, however, he gets to have casual conversation among his teammates. During his time working for the team he had become quite friendly with Demoman and Spy, often spending nights with them at the bar after a long battle. He'd listen to everyones worries, give them advice, then laugh the rest of the night away to lighten up the mood.

[bluespider62]

I absolutely LOVE how much of a threat Starscream is in the Energon Universe.

Rather than being relegated to the role of comedic relief, Starscream is depicted as a force to be reckoned with and an irredeemable character. (As much I want to see a redemption arc, it doubt it's possible.) Upon being reawakened on Earth by Jetfire, what's the first thing he does ?

He shoots Bumblebee's face, blasts his only friend for showing weakness and squishes Carly's father like a squeaky toy just for fun.

Later, he willingly abandons an injured Skywarp, telling him he'll come back for him, only he does the opposite and shoots a hospital. This shows how careless Starscream is of the other Decepticons and how he's willing to abandon his men if it benefits him. Once they get back to base, the wounded Seeker is ripped apart in order to repair Teletraan-1 with his parts.

In Issue #13, Starscream mentions that he and his "brothers" are refusing to join a side, clearly referring to Thundercracker and Skywarp. This makes Starscream and Soundwave tearing Skywarp apart even more disturbing than it already was. Did I mention Starscream kicked Soundwave's Ravage and replaces Skywarp with Thundercracker ?

During Devastator's attack on The Ark, Starscream is shot by Carly, only to be spared by Cliffjumper. (Mind you he killed Cliff's entire clan.) Just when he's about to kill Carly in a similar fashion to her father's death, he's accidentally injured by the combiner.

After being challenged by Soundwave in a fight for leadership over the Decepticons in Issue #7, Starscream has his eye gouged by Laserbeak and gets tossed into an active volcano.

It isn't until issue #13 where we see what happens to him and and how he came to be. Prior to the war, Starscream was a blue-eyed scientist named Ulchtar and was friends with Jetfire and a Decepticon named Genvo.

After Jetfire leaves Cybertron, a battle erupts outside Ulchtar's lab before a stray missile destroys the building. Genvo grabs his friend and runs, but gets shot by none other than Optimus Prime himself. Ulchtar is praised by his friend for "screaming the stars into seeing us" before dying in his arms.

With his work destroyed and his friend dead, Ulchtar ponders his future until Megatron approaches him and offers revenge for Genvo and his clan as a Decepticon. Upon being asked what his brothers called him, Ulchtar's eyes turn red and, inspired by his friend's dying words, answers "My name- is Starscream".

A fun little detail I love about this backstory is that both Optimus and Megatron are responsible for Ulchtar's transformation into Starscream.

Ulchtar is a more sympathetic and likeable character. Rather than the treacherous power-hungry homocidal maniac we all know and love, he's somewhat a juvenile delinquent (hence his innocent baby blue eyes) and a bit haughty, self-assured and overly confident (kinda like Maverick in the Top Gun films). When meeting Megatron, his eyes change from blue to red, showing the end of his innocence and the beginning of his corruption.

Issue #14's preview shows Starscream getting fused to a tank by the M.A.R.S. salvage team after getting his legs burned off in the previous issue.

I guess he's Cybertronian Charles Xavier now.