#sad anons

[sneezemonster15]

I'd give you an analysis, but frankly from what I've seen from your own "analysis" you're not very good at reading

also if you'd be so kind to tag this as mha spoilers, or screenshot this ask and put it under a read more so i dont spoil anyone who's interested in reading mha. it'd be greatly appreciated

(also thanks for getting rid of anon, this time i will include pics !)

anyway, this is the "straight dude who is having a typical cutesy high school het romance with a girl in a taken for granted het world." you're talking about;

also i wont lie, calling mha a het world when these are real dialogue is highkey stupid:

and i know the topic at hand is s/n/s and bk/dk but lets pivot to tg/chk bc theyre more relevant to what im saying

theres a lot to say but honestly, the manga speaks for itself :)

oh and also, you're right, bk/dk has no romantic subtext - it has romantic text. no subtlety needed! :) that is, if you have read the manga - my favourite example is this:

and then shgrk then proceeds to kill bkg, who "dies" (sort of) thinking about izuku in his final moments:

and then izk loses control when he sees bkg "dead" on the ground

and these are from recent chapters! imagine the rest of the series, ey

well! that got long. i'd tackle your crappy assessment of deku's character, but then I'd be here all day!

anyways, if i were you, I'd reread mha and really really understand the text you're reading. you might end up seeing something you missed at first!

Aiyyo someone got triggered! Hehehe. Ah it was inevitable that the moment I talked about MHA and rejected shippy head canons from the show, some delusional hardcore shipper would get all up in arms. Sigh.

You think what you wrote is analysis? Hehehe.

So just some random panels and chapter covers from the manga prove Bakugou or Deku is gay? Lol. I have seen fans like you in Naruto fandom as well. But you are right, I am not as invested in MHA, because it just doesn't have the versatility and genius of Naruto and Shippuden, it is actually quite a straightforward story and I don't need to burn a lot of my braincells to 'get it'. Lol. I am not saying it's bad, but as compared to its contemporary mangas, it just isn't at par for my tastes. It's good for entertainment but it doesn't affect me like other mangas that it takes inspiration from. Some silly shipper telling me I can't read, I would tell you my credentials but nah, too much work for disproving silly ass headcanons.

Fans make comparisons between Naruto and BNHA because Horikoshi is inspired by Kishimoto, definitely some similarities are there, but it misses on the most crucial point. Naruto and Shippuden are love stories. BNHA is simply your typical shounen manga. Naruto and Shippuden use the narrative tool of subversion to tell a love story in the restrictive genre of shounen. It has multiple layers and you need presence of mind to see them. Naruto is gay and you see comphet in his character, his interest in Sakura looks superficial from the beginning and then in kage arc, it is concluded as a mere cover to run from confronting his dilemma, and closetedness. His character is consistently shown as having an internal fight, a dilemma. Sasuke is just on your face, he is clearly shown as having no interest in women, but with Naruto he is especially intimate on his own accord. Ya know, using random panels ain't gonna help, you need to establish it in the narrative. Headcanons are all nice to entertain when that's all you watch media for, shipping. But please to be showing more maturity and media comprehension when sending me an ask, I am not very sympathetic to gaslighters whose heads are filled with shippy shit and cheap self gratification. When I talk Naruto, I make comparisons with other clearly gay media, and point out the common tropes, it's a result of expansive research. Not just random panels that prove nothing. Little one, you need more than that to prove your theories. I have watched a wide range of media, including gay media, your ask is just representative of your ignorance and lack of knowledge about how storytelling and character building works. Heh. Or do you think BNHA has its own concept of homosexuality, its own private language that cannot be compared with how other media establishes homosexuality in a given universe? Yeah, solipsistic ideas like that cannot be taken seriously.

Conformity is one of the pillars Japanese society is built upon, so it's not surprising that Japanese media talks upon how anything that doesn't conform to the norms is rejected. Their media is representative of their society. Mha also touches upon that and there's no surprises there, but again, you need more than that to prove it in the course of plot building and narrative. Some random out of context panel about some character saying something about conformity proves your point? You need to SHOW it and not just tell. But where other mangas, great mangas, popular and critically well acclaimed mangas have explored this idea in detail, MHA is just touch and go. It doesn't entertain a balanced proper discourse on it. It is truly shounen in that sense. Again, I am not saying it is bad, it is just more age appropriate. Which is totally fine. Do you know how heteronormativity is established in the narrative? Like this. Show me where this happens in MHA. Lol. Sweetheart, if the writer had made any attempt to write this world as heteronormative, where gay characters face challenges, I would have seen it. But mha is just not that deep. Sorry to burst your bubble. But that's just a fact.

Seriously, you are going to give me the example of Toga? I haven't gone through the recent chapters yet. I have only watched the anime. But it is clear that, that girl is medically insane. Her idea of liking someone is to kill that person and drink their blood, for her own pleasure. She ain't a homosexual, more like hemosexual. Hahaha. Again, you gotta show me the trajectory of her character, start with the base and show me how it escalates, how does she learn better about herself, her own feelings, the world from her perspective. No character is isolated, any writer who is talented enough to write multimillion franchise knows that. Don't project your assumptions on the story and the characters, work with what you have and draw the meaning from what's given, not the other way round.

There is no doubt Izuku and Bakugou have a strong relationship, even if it is mostly rivalry. But one can see that Bakugou cares about Deku and vice versa. Before telling me how to read, perhaps you should have done it yourself. Lol, I see this type of behaviour a lot from typical silly shippy shippers. "What, did you just say my ship makes no sense? 🤬"

Read.

Do you even know what subtext or text is? Hahah. This is text and subtext. So just because Bakugou and Deku talk about their rivalry in their vulnerable moments, that the audience knows as congruent since we have already seen they have a hot and cold relationship but that they are friends nonetheless, that proves they love each other romantically? You obviously don't know how romance tropes work. The dynamic between two men who respect and admire each other is always shown with a lot of empathy in Japanese media. It is one of the founding pillars of shounen, a genre meant for teenaged boys. They are certainly closer to each other than they are with women they are interested in, but a lot of fans such as yourself misinterpret it as romantic, because headcanon goggles. No, you gotta have more than that. Where Naruto and Shippuden have it in truckloads, none of that in BNHA. Deku is heterosexual af. If he is so interested in Bakugou, how come he reacts the way he reacts to Uraraka? Where is his conflict? Where is his dilemma? His affection and romantic interest in Uraraka is genuine and sincere, not a cover to hide his more private feelings. Unlike in Naruto's case. Kishi uses clever narrative tricks and tools to tell his love story in shounen and he does it skillfully. His motives and intentions are clear as water. He uses inventive smokescreens and red herrings to escape from being too controversial and colour inside the borders of shounen, nothing like that in BNHA. To begin with, Horikoshi doesn't even delve into the sexualities of his characters, because his story is not about that. There's no context, no set up, nothing. His worldbuilding is simply conventional, by which I mean heteronormative, there's no talk about sexual orientation of characters. You see the usual shounen perviness by Mineta and Kaminari and typical straight girls going kawaai over good looking boys like Todoroki, what impression does that give? If Horikoshi wanted to establish his characters being gay, he would have set up the context mindfully and carefully, like Kishi did. Gay relationships and characters can't be shown so explicitly in shounen as that would jeopardize its distribution in the west. Reason? Censorship. That's why Kishi had to be so careful, his target audience might not get it, but the adults do. Well, unbiased adults do, at the very least. So the boys in bnha are gay just because? Because you want them to be? Storytelling and character building doesn't work like that.

Seriously everything you think works as 'analysis' isn't even valid. I honestly didn't even want to respond to this ask, given it's so surface level and ridiculously simple minded. Perhaps you are a tween or teen who thinks every time two boys or girls smile at each other or rescue each other, they are gay and in love. Lol, watch gay media. Like actually watch it and see where your arguments stand in the scheme of things. I will tell you, nowhere. Juvenile kiddy stuff. I won't entertain anymore asks like these, they are a waste of my time.

[hellsitegenetics]

WHY ARE YOU MARKED RED ON SHINIGAMI, WTF DID U DO

i cant even post moths anymore. because of woke

[lazylittledragon]

Dadstarion has me in a chokehold and the way you draw him being so GENTLE with Kit is so precious, I would die to see the transition from his new parent terror to how comfortable he eventually gets with him :O

of course he got there eventually <333

[canisalbus]

✦ Never let me go ✦

[sad-leon]

"i dont hate you"

how long could they argue without thinking they're hated by each other. how long until they can't take it anymore

[egophiliac]

do skully have pokemon?

Pumpkaboo is the obvious one, but y'know, sometimes the obvious one is the right one! (we'll say SUPER SIZE Pumpkaboo, just for fun. big pumpkin for big skeleton boy.) and another person actually also suggested Greavard, which I somehow hadn't considered, but feels so perfect that I feel like I should have. dangit.

(they can also have little Nightmare Suit costumes :D)

[petaltexturedskies]

Franz Kafka in a letter to Milena Jesenská dated August 1 1920, featured in Letters to Milena

[plumadot]

not to be gay and yearning but. more soft scarian would be so cute... maybe them cuddling specifically... if u want...

it's only blood; i have plenty left

[photosofyou]

what’s a girl gotta do to get some love letters around here?

[electronicmail]

Firefox-official vs electronicmail

Hydrogen bomb vs coughing baby

okay come up with a better idea then. firefox-official is gone asshole it’s electronicmail or nothing

[shepscapades]

Uhm hi Shep 👉👈

if I were to request more Xisuma, what would you sayyyy?

(P.S. saw you redraw one of the mini doodles for the last request - this time, can it be the cleo and X one?)

Well normally i would rush to find a little xisuma to share from part 3 (which is almost done btw >:3), but I remembered that little doodle of cleo hugging x and whipped this up because they are so special to me and I think xisuma should get 100000 comforting hugs

[robo-writing]

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶���

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

[bi-writes]

do you think simon and mob wife snuggle in bed? because of various joint and muscle issues it’s hard for me to sleep without something supportive between my knees/hips and the bed so. curious if simon is a cuddler or if he just lets wifey cling to him :3

i don't think simon is a huge cuddler, but his bride is, so he sucks it up.

it isn't because he doesn't want to cuddle with her, it's because he has nightmares sometimes, and he hates to wake her up. the jolts that have him sitting up, the breaths he tries to catch when he feels like he's buried six feet under again.

you've learned not to wake up fully anymore. you just feel around for his hand and hold it. simon doesn't like attention when it happens, doesn't like for you to baby him, but the small gesture is enough to get his breathing back to normal, for his heart rate to slow back down.

and he can only go back to sleep again once he's got you tucked under his arm, your legs tangled between his. he appreciates that you never say anything; he appreciates that all you do is kiss the side of his face and go right back to sleep. if he wants to tell you about his nightmares, you let him, but you never ask.

you just keep your head on your chest and listen to the sound of his even breaths as he falls back asleep again. sometimes you wonder if it'll be the last night you hear them at all.

[frownyalfred]

You know the "all osha regulations come from blood" thing? I like to imagine the exact thing happens with the Justice League. The list of protocols and rules goes on so long but every single one has a story behind it.

Some of them seem out of place, or down right useless. New members often scoff at the trainings they're tasked to attend.

One of the regulations involves a required emergency survivalist kit on every space craft the Leauge owns, and requires routine inspections of said kits. New members get stuck with that bit of maintenence, and often complain "there's no reason it'll ever be needed." That is, until a begrudged Batman plays a video from the time Aquaman, Flash, and Wonder Woman got stuck on an ice planet with no vegetation or wildlife and they nearly froze to death.

Those who can fly ask why they need to attend trainings on emergency landing procedure. Any founding member gladly points to the framed front page Daily Planet article on the wall. It documents the island-sized crater Superman made after being super-punched back into the atmosphere a few years back.

And so on.

If you kill a civilian, knowingly, out of outright negligence, Batman will be out for blood. You'll be kicked off the League if you're lucky. You're an adult and you should know better. Every single rule and contingency he has in place is either because someone fucked up once, or they're like to fuck up someday.

Over time, those same cocky new members slowly realize that Batman is the one cleaning up after those incidents. He's the one who pays off the families and replaces the equipment. He quietly settles lawsuits and pays for future medical care. He repairs buildings and offers grants to displaced civilians. And then he goes up to the Watchtower, writes up the new regulation, and has to live with that kind of responsibility all over again. Because now they know better. Now there's a rule, and god willing, this won't happen again.

Being stupid, being cocky, just simple ignoring the rules briefly -- it all has a cost. And usually, that cost is borne by the flesh-and-blood humans, not the metas, aliens, or gods. Humans.

[yuff7e]

hey! You could make a male reader x Bakugou where they have an argument and their marriage is no longer the best, so Reader asks for a divorce and Bakugou regrets it and tries everything to achieve it not happen? (with a happy ending, please!)

˗ˏˋ you’re the only thing i want. ´ˎ˗ violence / angst / fluff

male reader (could be gender neutral)

hi h0osyy !! i’ll totally write this for you !! i love me some bakugo brainrot … jejwjwjr he js such a baby !! he got that sweet baby boy syndrome he js has a hard time expressing it guys trust he’s the best he js needs all ur love !! (╥﹏╥)

the cuties song -> www.spotify.com

“okay and what the fuck do you want me to do?!” katsuki yells at you from across the room, he’s thrown about items and was seething with anger. you just stare at him, it was never supposed to get this bad. you knew he had issues, you thought he was starting to get better.. but you were wrong.

you’ve begun to fear for your life as he punched walls a little too close to you, threw utensils that would fall not that far from your head, etc. you feared your own husband was going to hurt you.

that’s when you knew you had to get out.

as you stare at him his anger rises, “speak will you?!” he screams, taking a hand and grabbing his face - clenching his jaw. “why do you never fucking speak?!” this was another one of your arguments, another scary, loud, argument.

“katsuki stop.” you cross your arms, stiffly standing against the door - he just looks at you. “you want me to fucking stop? are you serious? you’re the one that started this you bitch!” he seethes, clasping both of his hands to his sides - “you make me feel like this!”

your eyes were filled with tears at this point, when you two would have these arguments you’d have flashbacks to when you were teenagers - how he would hold you as you walked through festivals, keeping you close. smiling in your ear and kissing your cheek every so often, telling you happy he was with you, how he’d never hurt you.

now look at where this has put you both, “i thought you got better, i guess i was wrong.” you blink a few tears away, them sliding down your cheeks. “oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” he bangs his fist down on the drawer beside him as he stand next to the bed you both share, you haven’t slept in the same bed for a whole week now.

you couldn’t even look at him as you gulp, your hands shaky and sweaty, your heart racing. you were scared, you knew this isn’t how a marriage is supposed to be. the more you think about the relationship you two share, the more you realize how abusive and unstable it’s become.

you’re a firm believer of stable, safe relationships. and this wasn’t one of them, you tried to say the words - but they just wouldn’t come out. you grip your arms tightly, your heart was beating so fast but you knew you had to get out of.. whatever this was.

“i want a divorce.” you croak, hot tears staining your face as you bring up a hand to wipe them away - you realized you hadn’t been wearing your wedding ring. katsuki turned around to face you, a hand on his mouth - rubbing his chin.

“yeah sure, go take a fuckin walk.” he laughs and shakes his head, putting his hands on his hips and turning away from you again. “im serious katsuki, im scared. you scare me, i.. i need out.” you confess, you were literally about to vomit.

katsuki stopped for a second, looking at the ground. he turned to you again, a more serious look on his face. “what?” “you heard what i said.” he stared, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “you really mean that?” he sounds a little panicked now, and he begins to walk toward you.

“yes and… please keep your distance.” he stops at your words, his hands had fallen to his sides and he looks absolutely crushed. he loved you so much, you really think he scares you? “what do you mean i scare you?”

“you just do, the way you act, the things you say. katsuki im fucking tired.” you sigh, you can hear him get choked up and you look at him. “what the fuck? no i.. i would never hurt you. i married you for a reason [name]. i want to be with you. i’m just.. tired too.” he admits, slowly walking towards you again.

you don’t stop him this time, he places his hands on your arms and you tense up. “please.. please god.. please don’t be scared of me.” he pleads, his hands began to shake.

you look at his hands and then into his eyes, he was looking down at your body - he couldn’t bare to look you in the face. you take a hand and place it on his and he breaks down, leaning into you. you break down as well, clutching onto each other in a desperate attempt to not run anyway from one another.

“i don’t want to leave you katsuki, you’re the only good thing i have in my life.. i fucking love you. i wouldn’t want to leave you but i fear i need to because of how aggressive you’ve been lately.” - “please don’t say that, you know id never hurt you. fuck [name] i’m just scared.. everything i’ve ever wanted has come true and im so used to everything failing on me.. i don’t want this to fail and… fuck..”

he grabs onto you tighter, burying his face in your neck - squeezing his eyes shut. “you’re the only thing i want, [name].” he sobs into you and you cradle him, hearing you being afraid of him is one of the things he never wanted to hear. “i want to work this out with you, im just…” you trail off, caressing the back of his head. he pulls away from your touch and looks you in the face, his eyes red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears. “im so sorry.”

you apologize and he touches your face with one of his hands, you don’t pull away or flinch you just stare at him. he leans in to kiss you and you hesitate, he waits - and you lean in too. he puts his hand behind your neck gently, holding you like glass in fear you might break under his touch.

“don’t apologize [name], this is my fault. i’ve been treating you horribly, i’ve been.. scaring you. that isn’t what a husband should do. i’m going to start treating you better from here on out - i promise, [name].” you look into his red eyes, and he looks back into yours. “i’ve wanted to be with you since the first day i saw you in that academy katsuki, and now that i finally have you i want this to work… so bad.” “i know, i know.” that comforting tone of his makes you tear up again, but he wipes the tears away.

“no more cryin’ .. we’re going to work this out.” you go in for another kiss and this one is longer, knocking the breath out of you both for a moment. you chuckle and he does too, “now you need to clean this damn room.” he blinks at you and looks behind himself, realizing how much of a mess he made. “right.” he looks back at you, “i love you.”

“i love you too, katsuki.”

—

REQUESTS : OPEN

[sad-leon]

Forehead kiss for any of the turtles?

twimns <3

i wanted to have a whole 5+1 type of thing but did not think it would be interested enough to force myself to draw it all akdjfalsjd

maybe if i finish one of the other sketches ill post it later <3