#or him feeding without killing people

[nandermoenthusiast]

guys i have been in a state for days. i am giddy i am gasping for air i am broken inside i am blushing i am sweating i am twirling my hair i am suffering i dont know how to deal with the very real possibility that nandor has loved guillermo for years and has been restraining himself, feigning aloofness, keeping his distance, because all these years he understood that maybe guillermo would never be ready for vampirism - and maybe hes been so depressed in the latest years because hes finally found someone he wants to spend eternity with, and he strongly suspects he will spend eternity missing them instead

[wickjump]

if horror had a had a remy (rat chef) would it live in his empty eye socket

[mad-hunts]

starting off this sunday with a sad fact, and that is often whenever barton smells this cinnamon, but as a part of a specific blend with... something else he can't quite identify? barton is reminded of marcy because she used to wear a perfume that had that sort of scent to it.

[amischiefofmuses]

.

[millionsknives]

*starts listening to the thg playlist*

augh -1 health

oof -1 health

ugh! -1 health

mmf -1 health

ugh! -1 health

augh -1 health

etc

GOOD that’s the effect i wanted >:)

[humanmorph]

i think asepsis could make lyke so much worse

[youmustfixyourheartt]

fucked up what happened to mike crew.

[isopodhours]

because like. using carbon fiber was such an obviously bad idea. like its fucking fiber. its strands of carbon woven into a fabric. a common method of making it is to just burn rayon. insanely high tensile strength, literally zero compressive strength. all the stiffness of a carbon fiber material comes from whatever its in a composite with which usually means polymer resins. that submarine was relying on a cylinder of plastic with a bunch of shit mixed in to stand up to the pressure ¾ of a mile underwater. the actual carbon was contributing nothing. Billionaire Playboy Hamfisted McMetaphor and his plastic toy submersible was basically asking to die. its like he thought these proven engineering principles and safety regulations were nothing more than some sort of arbitrary etiquette. nobody builds deep sea pressure vessels out of carbon fiber because its the engineering equivalent of putting your elbows on the table. you gotta put a black box in your submarine because its rude not to. well hes not afraid to be impolite. what possible problem could there be, its carbon fiber, its so strong. and it looks cool. obviously hell be fine, hes a billionaire, someone took care of that for him. and people who think like that run the world. the entire global economy is a carbon fiber submarine, and I, for one, will relish watching the billionaires get crushed as the world implodes on all of us. look around you and tell me they dont deserve it.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Idk how this is even gonna work but I just love the idea of a non-sorcerer who’s really down on their luck and is open to do any job. ANYTHING. Even the job listing about kidnapping the strongest sorcerer around.

You have no idea what sorcerers are, but you’re desperate and you take it without a second thought. By some miracle you manage to break into Gojo’s penthouse (weird how there’s no security system, right?) and clumsily declare how resistance is futile and he needs to come with you.

And satoru just….goes with it.

For a kidnapper you’re really nice. You constantly ask if the rope needs to be looser. His hands are kinda preoccupied so you have to hand feed him the delicious food you made for him. The fact that you can cook do is also a plus. you practically wait on him hand and foot.

And let’s be honest, Gojo has no vacation days so he’s taking every chance he can get.

He gets so used to being pampered that he straight up just refuses to go back.

Naturally the Gojo clan is furious that their weapon—uh asset—uh tool— really really important member of the family has been taken. they have a couple powerful sorcerers of their own so it should be a piece of cake to break in to wherever you’re keeping him and killing you. Except they can’t even get miles within your place, it’s as though Gojo is intentionally putting up a veil to protect his kidnapper.

Oh wait, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

It gets so bad that Gojo stops pretending he’s your helpless captive and teleports back to his family home to demand that they pay the ransom. 2 million? That’s way too fucking low. 20 million-no 200 million.

eventually he needs to get back to his life someday so he stops making a ruckus for everyone. When the ransom is paid, he naturally kills the people who talked you into doing this so you get all the money. Its a happy ending for exactly two people

All of this is naturally a huge blow for the gojo clan. To make matters even worse, satoru somehow convinces you to marry him after that fiasco. And nobody within the gojo clan ever breathes a word that the wife of the gojo head is actually a criminal who kidnapped him that one time. It just turns into yet another skeleton in the closet.

[08luvmailz]

𓇼 ME MISS YOU . . ਏਓ !

summary 𓍯 which he followed you because he missed you ꒰ 🧾 ꒱ fluffy life with husband

The eerie silence and the harsh wind whispers weaving through the cool night air, though it's only 5:30 in the afternoon. Crouching low, I fisted my hands through my victim's hair and chopped his head off as my breath steadied, eyes locked on the faint rustle of the bushes—a promising sign of tonight's catch.

It's been almost a year of this endless cycle, by day cuddling and having a blissful life with Mr. Crawling as you give him endless affection, or he will whine to death, and by night- killing humans to feed him. As your eyes wandered through your vision toward the unmoving dead body, your mind wavered toward your husband even though you weren't married officially.

You two are together and bonded by our souls, obeying you and listening to you even though there is a gap in speaking, never ceases to stun you every day. He waits at home, is always patient, and is always trusting. The thought of his joy warms you as you tighten your grip on your crowbar and knife.

Back at the apartment, it feels unbearable still. Mr. Crawling gazes through the door—waiting for your return. His fingers relentlessly tapped the tatami board as it echoed through the room. It's been almost an hour since she left him, she always does every day for him.

He still remembered her voice firming when she told him to stay.

He watches her moving to gather her things, his legs tucked close to his body. He knows her too well—the same command she gives every time. Stay. He doesn't think about it but wants more of her touch, only about the moment before her absence, and he clung to her as his large frame wrapped around her waist. He chirped in a low tone, full of worry and protest. His grip tightened slightly, enough to make his point without holding her back.

He pressed his face into your legs, his arms curling towards your leg, "stay" he told her as he snuggled to her, not wanting to let go, “ you’re so stubborn” she murmured, stroking his head. The gesture was a silent reassurance for him to stop worrying though she knew it wouldn't stop him from worrying.

She turns to face him as his face is still smothered to her thighs, his cold lips puckering into her skin. He doesn’t need words to tell her how he feels; the way he clings to her, his body trembles faintly, caught between his instinct to obey and his need to protect her.

As her warm fingers tangled into his hair, brushing it calmly, she told him, " Me back soon; I find food. " she promised, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to worry.”

With a final sigh, she gently pries him off, his cold finger reluctant to let go. “Stay here,” she says, her tone firmer now, though her heart aches at the look he gives her. He didn't move and obeyed her, as she smiled one last time and crouched to his level to kiss his forehead, " I'll be back soon. I Promise," She said one last time to open and lock the door, leaving him in a trance with determination to follow her.

He was hesitant to disobey her requests and always did, lowering his head in submission. But now, in the suffocating silence, he feels the weight of her absence like a stone in his chest. He tried to wait, his attempts to distract himself with television, watching shows that helped him understand her language more, but as soon as his face glimmered when he saw the heroine with her lover cuddling in a scene. It was no use. missing her so dearly that his pull to follow her was too strong, an instinct older than obedience.

She is his world, his reason, and the thought of her out there alone, facing whatever dangers the night might bring, fills him with unease. Even though he knew she was capable of handling herself well, killing those people for him joyed him. He knew she loved him as much as he loved her.

Making his decision wasn't easy for him, he knew he would face the consequences of her ignoring him though he shook his head, he wanted to see her, he needed her now.

He moves swiftly to the door. His movements are precise and quiet, the art of going unnoticed. He knows where she has gone—he’s watched her enough times at the window to remember the path she takes. He follows her scent, a trail as familiar to him as the rhythm of his footsteps. With every step, he feels her grace like a taut thread, pulling him closer to her.

Its darkness yawned wide like the mouth of a beast. He hesitates for a moment, hearing her voice in his mind, Stay. Wait for me. But he presses on.

He moved carefully, his body blending into the dark foliage as his fingers gripped the pole lamp. He saw her gripping tightly to her crowbar and massively hitting her victim, he watched in awe as pride swelled in his chest at the sight of her—strong, capable, everything he admires.

Though he knows the facade she's been growing through back there in his world, he saw her unreality in a tick of time, and by the hanging thread of webs-he had been with her, and he knew she was close to insanity. Was she close? Or she's already been insane nevertheless, he will always be there with her.

She didn't notice him at first, focused on the task ahead. But then a chitter of a familiar voice captivates your attention as you whip your head, your coat shadowing your expression of bloodlust to confusion. There he is, his head tilted with his adoring smile. She shook her head with a giggle, he never listened to her as she pointed him to get closer to him.

He lowered his body as his smile creeped out to his ear, he skitters toward her, his movements quick but careful as he came faster to her and clung to her lower body as his face smothered to her bloodied coat "I miss you, I love you. " he said with a chitter as his cold hands hold her bloodied ones and directly placed into his head.

You sighed in intent and ruffled his hair as you looked down and cupped his face with our bloodied hands "You didn't listen to me, But I forgive you. " You crouched to his level as his hands wandered to your body and cupped your face and smothered a messy kiss on your lips, his cold lips puckering your bottom lip leaving a chitter from him. "Me love you, " he told you as he came closer to your body, his large frame almost hugging your smaller ones. You giggled to him as you corrected his grammar, always forgetting the "I", " I love you, too. "

He chirps, leaning into her touch, his body vibrating with relief, he clung to her like a baby as his face looked at the bloodied streets. "Food?" He questioned her, as his hands never left hers. "Yeah, food for you. " As she pointed to the dead body beside them.

As she stands up to place the chopped meat in a plastic bag with blood, "Let's go home." her hands directing him to hold her, he stands up, his towering silhouette blending with the shadows of the city. His mind is clear, his resolve unshakable. He is with her, the love of his life, and with every consequence they will face, he knows she will be there with him as she is with him.

[bi-writes]

can't stop thinking about dark!simon with a sunshine!curvy!fem!reader, it's gnawing at my brain. (18+)

greeting him when he comes home in a little apron with dough smeared across your cheeks. you're bouncing in the kitchen, giggling as you wrap your arms around his neck. one burly arm hooks around your waist as he palms one side of your ass, and you kiss his lips over his blood-soaked mask again and again as you coo, "missed you so much, made you chocolate chip..."

you talk and talk and talk and talk. you're always talking. you're always whispering in his ear and chattering as he drives and telling him some story about something he missed while he was gone as you tidy up the flat. you never stop talking, never run out of things to tell him, and despite the monotone voice and the lack of response, he hears every single word that you say, and he forgets nothing. when he makes his way back on base, johnny is waiting, eager to hear an update about the receptionist at your work and if she is actually sleeping with your manager.

you wash his clothes without even blinking. you're at the sink, a bucket of cold, suddy water there as you scrub at his shirt. there's peroxide at the side, and you use a delicate hand as you scrub at the stains on it. ghost watches from the doorway as you hum to yourself, in a little pair of shorts with your hair tied up as you rinse the shirt clean. blood runs down the drain, and his shirt is clean as new.

you always find some kind of weapon around the house. you bend down to brush crumbs off the kitchen chairs, and you scold simon with a glossy pout because he left a bloody knife taped under the table. you whine when you find a grenade sitting in the same drawer you keep your tampons in. you complain when you take out the jar of rice to make dinner, and there's a small handgun hidden between the grains. but your face always softens when he cups your cheeks with two big hands, kissing you warmly, muttering, "gotta keep y'safe, luvvie...know there's a bloody line waitin' for a taste of y'r cunny, baby."

you visit him on base once in light wash denim and a white tshirt, sneakers hitting the linoleum and purse swinging as you wave at him. he's standing in front of a line of privates, watching them do jumping jacks, and his eyes light up a little when he sees you waving at him enthusiastically. when he finally makes it to you, he shoves you into the nearest supply closet and tugs your jeans down just enough to fit his cock between your thighs. when he's walking you out, the boys watch as you cling to simon's arm, a lovesick grin on your sweaty face as you flutter your lashes up at him.

he loves when your manicured hands touch him. scratching along his scalp, tracing the edge of his jaw, cupping the bulge in his pants. you're so sweet, the most giggly girl, and he loves tasting the strawberry of your gloss as you make him cum with your hand, cooing against his lips about how strong he is, how much you love him, how you would do anything for him.

he loves it most when you see him for what he really is. when he comes home battered and bruised, bloody clothes sticking to him, a snarl to his voice and the adrenaline of an op still pumping through his veins. he loves that nothing about him scares you. that even like this, you lean up on your toes and kiss him softly, that you get some of the blood and dirt smudges on the pink of your pajama pants, and you don't care, that he strangled a man with these very hands only hours ago, and you still want him to touch you.

he loves that you love him. that when he feeds his cock into you that night, in nothing but your baby pink lingerie, that you barely need any prep at all from how wet you are. thick thighs spreading apart, sticky slick shining on your skin, cunt nice and ready for him because you have missed him that much. he loves that no matter how ugly he feels, you always find him attractive, that no matter how many people he tells you that he killed tonight, all you do is smile and pucker your lips, and tell him, "it's okay, teddy bear, they deserved it, didn't they?" and yeah, they did, cause it is kill or be killed, and there is no universe where ghost does not fight to get back here, to get back to this pretty pussy, to get back to the bed he shares with you so he can watch those pretty tits bounce every time he fucks his cock into you.

ghost loves his pretty girl. all smiles. all soft, so cute, just perfect. ghost casts a shadow over the room, and you just brighten it right back up. ghost tracks blood into the house, and there you are to cover it all up with citrus and soap.

yeah. always just sunshine and smiles at home.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

You are a Blacksmith

Set in the universe where your destiny is written on your arm

(The Hero and Hope) (Being Villagers) (You are the Demon King)

You are a Blacksmith.

That’s why the dragon’s fire doesn’t burn you.

“Pretty sure dragon fire is hotter than a forge,” your party’s leader pants. Kent is a veteran adventurer of twenty years to your two years and he’s seen his fair share of dragon fire before today. There are curling scars dragging the corner of his mouth down into a permanent scowl that pairs oddly with how high he has his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. He exhales noisily. “I think you’re just a freak, actually.”

“Not nice,” Sella says. The archer is your age with twice your experience. Her leather armor is well-beaten by four years running around with Kent and getting far closer to battle than an archer should. Her red hair is tied with golden thread that matches the golden charms dangling from her necklace. She adds a new one with every successful monster kill. It’s lucky she’s so stealthy or else she’d be jingling with every step. “Mande is an exception, not a freak.”

You’re a party of exceptions. Most adventurers are Villagers or Guards, common destinies that don’t always find a place within a town or village that have so many of each already. There are days you report for a mission, and you’re offered a blacksmith’s job on the spot just because of the mark on your arm.

Kent is a landless Lord. There’s a story there, you know, but it’s not one he’s ever volunteered. You can see his destiny pull at him in the remote reaches of the Kingdom, where no Lord has laid roots and the monsters run roughshod across the barren soil. Nights where you’re too far from civilization find him gazing up into the stars, his fingers curled like claws into the earth. The look on his face then is so hungry that the first time you saw it, you offered him provisions from your own pack. He’d shaken his head wryly, his scarred frown twisting, and walked off into the night by himself, only returning in the morning light.

Sella is a Guardian without anyone to look after. You knew her story before she told it to you, whispering it like a bedtime story before the end of the world. She was part of a traveling theater group. She looked after them, feeding them and retrieving those with wanderlust from their journeys before curtain call. When a monster siege led by a Demon King fell upon the city they were performing in, the Lord called his people into his castle and locked the doors.

The troupe were not his people. But they were Sella’s.

Until they weren’t.

You drag your battle hammer up and over your shoulder. Conveniently, the dragon fire has burned away the wet viscera that had been clinging to it. The metal is dark with soot, but undamaged.

The things you smith can’t be melted by any fire except your own.

The skeletal trees make the scene of this final battle oddly silent. Ash drifts from the sky, carried by a wind too high to feel. You can hear your party sniping at each other behind you and the gentle gurgle of the beast’s body settling comfortably into death.

The red dragon is beautiful. Its scales gleam and sparkle like rubies in the late afternoon sun and its talons shine like obsidian. Each part of the creature could make an average family rich for a month. You consider it from an arm’s reach away. You chew your bottom lip as you think. Your adventures have taken you across the continent from the southern coast you call your home, to the western land of rivers, to the northern desert and then here, to the eastern dry lands. After all your travels, you find yourself still thinking of home often. Crab is a delicacy where you’re from despite being so close to the water. The preparation can be tedious which makes it a dish reserved from significant occasions. Cracking the shell was always your job…

“Oh,” Sella says faintly. She makes an attempt to rise and nearly tips over in the process. If it weren’t for her bow, she’d be on the ground. Her knees shake as she uses a combination of a tree and her bow to pull herself up. “Mande, rest first! In an hour I can help you—”

You bring your hammer down on the jaw of the dragon. The bone shatters after just two blows. It’s best not to think about how beautiful it looked flying overhead or the intelligence in its eyes. You’ve always had a single-minded focus and you rely on that now.

“Leave her to her dismantling,” Kent grumbles. He’s now curled up on the ground is if in his sleeping roll, hands tucked neatly under his chin. It can’t be a comfortable position given his full suit of armor no matter how peaceful his expression. “If she’s got the energy for it, who are we to argue? Just keep the ribs intact. That’s what the client wants.”

Smash!

“It’s our turn to do the dismantling,” Sella says. She glares down at Kent. “Mande already did last week’s gryphon and the hydra. Get up!”

Smash!

“I’m an old man who needs his nap time.”

“You’re an irresponsible leader who needs to do his part.”

Smash!

“Once Mande stops swinging that thing around, I will.”

“She won’t hit you—”

“She hit me last week!”

“And I apologized for that,” you say through gritted teeth. You let your hammer fall by your feet. Your last blow sent tremors through your arms. The dragon’s jaw is like glass compared to its skull. “Sincerely.”

Sella makes a gagging sound when you fall to your knees next to the cracked skull. “Mande, don’t put your hand in there, that’s – oh, that’s so gross.”

“The book I read said it’d be…aha!” Your fingers graze something cool and metallic. You abruptly feel like crying. It’s been seven months. Seven long months of endless missions and danger and being away from home. This entire dragon is priceless, but you’ve forfeited your share for this. You blink rapidly to keep your tears at bay. You aren’t going to cry. Not until you’re sure that you’ve really found it. “Quick, hand me my waterskin.”

Your urgency gets even Kent up and bustling towards the dragon’s corpse. With trembling fingers you accept the water from Stella, pulling out your prize. It’s smaller than you thought, only about the length of your arm or a third the length of the dragon’s skull.

With bated breath, you gently trickle water over the length of it. Your party kneels beside you, watching just as raptly.

“What is it?” Sella breathes.

Kent is wide-eyed as, inch by inch, your treasure reveals itself.

“A dragon’s silver wit,” you say. The silver is mottled by the dragon’s black blood and grey brain matter. “The last ingredient I need for a Hero’s Sword.”

-----.

“You can’t just make a Hero’s Sword,” Kent is still saying a week later. He throws his hands up to the sky. “Heroes make them from air and magic and righteousness. Blacksmiths just repair them!”

You didn’t ask for Sella or Kent to follow you home. In fact, you assumed they wouldn’t. The slaying of the red dragon marked the end of your time in the Adventurer’s Guild. Now you’re ready to return to your position as the southern port’s best blacksmith and you thought they’d be ready to return to the best two adventurers the Capital Guild had.

“I’ve heard legends about it,” Sella says. She’s walking backward. You’ve already warned her that the roads this far away from Capital aren’t as smooth, but she’d scoffed at your concern. Now it’s pure stubbornness to prove you wrong that has her continuing to walk backwards despite nearly tripping twice already. “Excalibur was manmade.”

“The legend of Hero Arthur is manmade,” Kent retorts.

“If you believe that,” you say, “you really don’t need to come home with me.”

Kent blinks. “Well,” he says slowly, “on the off chance it’s not a fairytale, I desperately want to see it.”

“Then shut up and follow Mande,” Sella says. She elbows him and mutters under her breath. “Or else she might not let us stay at her house.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure the dragon fetched enough coin for the both of you to get your own rooms at the inn.”

“Sure,” Kent agrees. He grins wickedly and the expression makes him look ten years younger. “But we’re not going to do that, are we Sella?”

“Nope,” Sella chirps. She loops an arm through yours before you can protest and squints at the horizon. “Is that your hometown over there?”

A hazy line of blue and white roofs is barely distinguishable in the fading light of day. Sella has better vision than you. You’re sure she can see the masts of ships in port, the green and yellow flag waving over the chief’s house, maybe even the orchard that creeps right up to the edge of the bluffs.

You can’t wait to see it yourself.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been smiling, but your face hurts by the time you find your voice. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

----------.

Mom hurls a loaf of bread at your head when you walk through the front door, Kent and Sella in tow.

Kent catches it an inch from your face. “Whoa, whoa!” He waves the bread as if unsure whether he should drop it or throw it back. “It’s your daughter! Mande! Put down the bread basket!”

“Mande and friends,” Sella says cheerfully. She waves at your Mom, Dad, and little brother. “Hello! I’m Sella.”

“I threw it because I know who it is,” your mom says. The grey streaks on either side of her temple are wider. Her round, kind face is pale with anger. “We thought you were dead.”

“We got your letters,” your dad says before you can ask. His hair hasn’t changed; he’s bald. He’s wearing his leather apron from the forge at the table. He takes a bite of soup. “All three of them.”

“Not nearly enough,” Mom snaps. Then, “And they could have been forgeries.”

“Who would forge a blacksmith’s letters home?” you ask in exasperation. Is that why she never replied? “Mom, please.”

“Don’t giveme that when you’ve been dead for seven months,” she says. She stands abruptly. “Three of you? Sit down. I don’t have enough soup, but bread will fill anyone’s stomach.”

“I’m Kent,” Kent blurts out before Sella can push him into a chair. He sits with a thud. “Sella, it’s rude to sit before introducing yourself!”

“Ruder than not knocking or coming for dinner without an invitation?” Sella hisses at him. She turns a charming smile on your little brother. “Sorry to intrude. You must be Axton. A pleasure to meet you.”

Axton doesn’t return her greetings. His eyes are fixed to the package strapped to your back. “Is that…?”

You swallow hard as your family’s eyes turn to you. You carefully pull the cloth-wrapped rod from your back. Your little brother isn’t so little anymore. You can see he’s taller than you as he stands in unison with Dad to clear a spot on the table. His long, thin hands make quick work of the ties.

There’s complete silence as the burlap falls away to reveal gleaming silver.

Axton’s throat bobs. He’s barely eighteen with the soft look of a fawn hovering around the edges of his jaw and cheekbones. Mom and Dad have done a good job feeding him while you’ve been gone. Seven months ago your brother looked like a wraith, all the light taken from him as if it all came from his hero’s sword.

“You’re going to make me a sword,” Axton says at last.

You’ve thought about this moment for seven months. You imagined you would say something like it’s okay now or maybe big sister fixed it. When his hero’s sword was taken from him, you thought about all sorts of things. It took a month for you to set out on this quest rather than one of revenge. It wouldn’t have helped Axton if you’d forged a hundred weapons of war to punish those who’d hurt him. It wouldn’t help Axton to pretend you fixed anything.

So instead you tell the truth.

“It won’t be the same,” you say. “It won’t work the way you want it to. Not right away. You’ll need to train with it and learn it as you would any other weapon. Your instincts won’t help you. But…it won’t break when I’m done. It won’t bend or chip. It won’t melt. It will serve you, Axton, until the exact moment you don’t need it anymore.”

Axton flies around the table to throw his arms around you. It’s amazing you came from the same parents. Where you are short and stocky, he’s really like a deer. His long arms could encircle you twice as he lifts you with a hero’s strength. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

And then you’re being hugged all around. Your dad’s strong, Blacksmith arms are crushing you to your brother, your mother’s soft cheek is against your shoulder, and there’s plate mail digging into your spleen while a sharp elbow digs into your spine.

You manage to turn your head just enough to see Kent hugging your from behind and Sella hugging him from behind. It’s her elbow that’s jabbing you.

“This is sweet,” she says. Her voice is a little muffled from how her face is pressed against Kent’s back. “We should hug more.”

“Does this make your brother a Hero?” Kent asks.

“This is a family hug,” you say.

“Duh,” Sella says. “That’s why we joined.”

You really can’t argue with that.

-

(Patreon)

Next week's story: Everyone in LA has two job. You've got a big smile and a talent for seeing ghosts. It's no surprise what your jobs are.

[rapplesart]

Random fic idea

Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.

Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.

One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.

But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.

Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.

Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"

Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.

First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.

The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.

Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.

Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.

Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.

The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.

Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.

[hazelnutsummer]

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND NOBODY UNDERSTANDS AERRGRGGG

Madoka Magika AU Desert Duo. At first this is simply a gag to draw Scar in Madoka’s dress but the more I think about it the worse it gets.

Warning for Puella Magi Madoka Magika spoilers:

Martyn once mentioned a theory that Watchers feed off human emotions, and you know who also feeds off energy generated by humans?? KYUBEY FROM MADOKA!!!

Allow me to reiterate. Kyubeys are produced without emotions as a high functioning high intelligence species, but Grian is produced as a flawed piece, one with human emotions. He hides it well enough for years, before one of his mission like many others is to make magical girls/mages.

It all goes south when the girl he tries to make the deal with (supposed to be on the brink of death) was actually rescued by Scar, who is a very strong and passionate passerby that literally lifted up the rubble long enough to keep her alive.

Situation goes terribly wrong. Essentially, some accidents happen, and Grian who was supposed to make a contract with a teenage girl made a contract with SCAR, HUMAN ADULT GUY!!!!

And Grian is stuck in this contract because Scar jokingly made his wish for Grian to become a human, and Grian is stuck as a kyubey (watcher in this case) turned human. He still have majority of his watcher powers, but is now painfully mortal.

Grian leaves Scar instantly, without telling him what being a magical girl entails, absolutely furious that he has been doomed to this fate. Despite now knowing the fact that Watchers are evil, he cannot help but feel guilty for permanently turning Grian human, and is unfortunately Down Bad the moment he sees Grian’s human form..

Scar, being left with 0 instructions, began doing superhero work around the community, fighting crimes and helping old ladies cross the road.

They meet again when Scar wanders into his first witches’ labyrinth, where Grian saw him and followed him in, with the intention to get Scar killed in there! Surely if he kills Scar, this might be reversed!!

Scar, however, exceeds expectations, slaying the witch and expelling the labyrinth. After exiting, Scar instead of trying to harm Grian, his guilty ass decided to invite Grian to live with him.

Grian and Scar begin living together. They meet different magical girls, work together and discover more about the world. And eventually Grian learns how to be a mortal and has plans on severing his connections to kyubei.

But you know how madoka goes…

Walpurgis occurs, and Grian watches in powerless horror as Scar dies before his eyes. In his last moments, Scar tells Grian he doesn’t regret what he’s done, but he does wish that he could go back in time so as to save everyone and not end in tragedy. Grian clutches Scar’s hand, holding it close to his sobbing mess of a face and in his mind, a genius idea comes to him:

If he is human now, does that mean he can abuse this system and become a magical girl/mage himself?

And Homura Grian & Madoka Scar occurs.

Grian goes back in time to prevent Scar’s death. Scar still becomes a magical girl, but somehow history changes and he is in contract with another kyubey/watcher (evil jellie) and Grian utilises his very limited amount of human behaviour knowledge and tries to become friends with him again, this time being a human from the start. They go to the same uni now, and Scar does see G’s weird habits but decided that’s just how British people behave.

Doomed yaoi.

In lieu of the affected timelines, even though magical girl Scar is supposed to look like the watcher he makes the deal with, he doesn’t look like Evil Jellie, and instead retains his avian aesthetic from before Grian rewound time.

Ps: check out the new au master post!!

[existennialmemes]

Ok Long Bill Cipher Rant please bear with me:

Bill is not a Good Person, and he is very clearly abusive to Ford, even before The Divorce™

But, there's an extremely poignant detail that everyone keeps leaving out. When Bill turned violent with Ford, it was not for no reason.

Bill wasn't just trying to get into earth for fun. The Nightmare Realm was disintegrating, and his Found Family would be literally eradicated if he couldn't find them a new home.

Using violence to save your family is an extremely different situation than just being violent to get his way.

He was literally running out of time to save them, and he was getting desperate.

That context is extremely important when analyzing Bill's character. He's not a good person, but he is not evil either. At all.

Additionally, Bill probably thinks it's somewhat normal for the people who love you to hurt you "for the greater good." Because his parents, who loved him dearly, were feeding him poison to make him blind.

The first Terrible Thing we know he ever did, destroying his home world, was done on accident, as a desperate attempt to get the people he loved to stop abusing him.

And he regrets it so much he literally cannot even think about it. He loved them. He just wanted them to love him without hurting him, and it ended up killing them all.

So yeah, he's got some incredibly fucked up notions of love and relationships. And that doesn't excuse what he did to Ford at all.

But there's still an overwhelming difference between "I'm going to hurt you because you didn't do what I say" and "I'm going to hurt you because if I don't everyone I love will die, and pain is a part of love, so this is normal and Fine."

Yes Ford deserved better, but Bill also deserves not to have the nuance of his character erased.

[alexiroflife]

toji likes to eat…

🥢🥢🥢🥢

and i mean he likes to eat a lot. though he blows a lot of his funds regularly on races and unnecessary bids, toji will always find the means to spare some change for a meal. ALWAYS.

he’s a big guy with a big stomach. all that killing he does on the job, all the energy he exerts whipping his body around at an inhuman speed, works up an insanely inhuman appetite

before he’s heading home to you, he’s grabbing the two of you ramen, onigiri, sandwiches, yakitori, anything he can get his hands on and loads of it. he walks into the house with enough carry out to could feed a whole village

as much as toji enjoys eating, however, he’s somehow found that he likes to watch you eat even more

it sounds weird when he thinks about it or says anything about it out loud, but bringing you food has come to be one of his love languages

you have long days at work when toji is out on jobs, working tirelessly to provide for the both of you and to help with the kids as much as toji does the same. you’re always completely spent by the time he gets home, and just as hungry

the first time toji realizes he loves when you eat is when the two of you are sitting at the dining table, the kids over at satoru’s, and your shoving your face into the takeout he just brought back. he pauses his own eating for once, something he has never done, and watches you, amused

he’s not sure what’s so particularly special about the way you eat. maybe it’s the way you’re always so appreciative, thanking toji for bringing the two of you dinner when either of you are too tired to cook, big eyes eying the bags in his hand as though you’re going to tackle yourself into it. when you open the containers of food, steam rising into the air and the delicious scent filling your nose and grumbling your stomach, you look so excited

“looks so good, Toji!” you would say, smiling widely as though he’d brought you the moon in his palm. you never take your meals for granted, especially not the ones that toji buys for you, and it’s so cute. so endearing

toji can feel himself smiling when he studies your happy face, honored that he’s the person to bring that smile to you even if you’re just happy about a damn meal. to see you so thrilled over something so simple that he could do for the both of you has his heart squeezing

and then when you eat, when you eat something good, your eyes light up and your releasing little hums of satisfaction as you shove food into your mouth. you do a little dance too, swaying side to side and nodding to yourself. it’s fucking precious

he likes that you don’t care how you eat in front of him, or in front of anyone for that matter. he likes how you indulge yourself, taking advantage of the things that satisfy you without worrying about what people may think, what he may think. it only lets him know that you’re comfortable enough to be yourself around him

he likes that you nourish yourself well, if that makes any sense. he likes the idea that when you eat, you eat for your health and your pleasure. he likes the way you savor every bite and chew slowly, pretty lips puckered and your cheeks full. he can’t put a finger on it, but watching you eat, especially the food he brings you, is like being rewarded with your satisfaction

it makes his stomach feel warm, his sage eyes studying you carefully as you wipe your mouth with a napkin. he grins, having momentarily forgotten about his own meal, and you look at him confused

“what? something on my face?”

he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “not at all,” he tells you, lifting his chopsticks back up. “finish your food, doll”

and you do, of course. you finish it every time, whether you keep some as leftovers or eat it all in one sitting

and you always end a meal by leaning back with a smile, commending the food choice before hopping up to press a kiss to his cheek, thanking him

he may be a creep to be obsessed with such a mundane thing you do, but toji doesn’t care. watching you eat is watching you be taken care of, watching you be content, and it makes his heart full

just a thought ;)