#they make me weak and crazy

[arrokett]

salamander and fries doodles… eat up fnc nation…

full page:

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.5  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.7

p.6

AN: Have you eaten yet? this guys an angsy lil shit

warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside his moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

the talk

When Toji came home, Megumi’s protectiveness magnified tenfold.

His usual quiet demeanor gave way to something more intense, almost territorial. Without realizing it, he’d position himself between you and his father, his sharp eyes narrowing every time Toji stood too close or made an offhand remark. It was subtle at first, but it grew harder to ignore.

“Why’re you standing so close to her like that?” Megumi’s voice would cut through the air, low and firm, laced with thinly veiled disdain.

Toji, never one to miss an opportunity to provoke, would sport his usual smirk. “Relax, kid. She’s my wife, you know.”

That word—wife—hit Megumi like a sucker punch, sending something bitter and ugly twisting inside him. He hated it. Hated the way Toji said it with that smug tone, as if it were a brand.

Hated the way you responded so nonchalantly, as though it didn’t faze you at all. Toji calling you wife felt deliberate, like his father was staking a claim on something Megumi didn’t fully understand—but desperately wanted for himself.

It set his teeth on edge, made his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t name—most definitely couldn’t ignore. The feeling so abstract, something that had been building up in the months spent at your side. Learning everything he could about you.

“It’s not like it’s real,” Megumi snapped suddenly, his fists clenched at his sides, his voice harsher than he intended. “She’s just your arranged wife. Stop acting like it’s anything more than that. She doesn’t even want you that close in the first place. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

The room went still, a suffocating tension settling between the three of you. Even you froze, caught off guard by the venom in Megumi’s tone. Toji’s smirk faltered slightly, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied his son.

You braced yourself, worried another fight might erupt to completely sour the evening.

But then something shifted. Toji seemed to catch onto something—something even you hadn’t fully noticed. You've caught yourself a little lovesick puppy. His laugh came low and mocking. And his signature smirk returned, sharper than before, as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.

“Man, you’re so protective,” he drawled, his tone dripping with condescension, every word a deliberate jab. “You do know I’m the reason she’s here in the first place, right? Gotta admit, it’s kinda weird, though—acting all territorial over your mom.’” He practically spat the word mom—a taunt rather than anything sincere. Megumi was sure to say that out loud around him. So why the hell was he hurling it like an insult?

And yet the jab had hit Megumi harder than he expected—not because it was wrong, but because of how disgusting it felt coming from Toji.

So what if he called you “Mom”. He'd always said it quietly, in moments where it felt safe—where he knew he wouldn’t be called out for it.

So what if he liked how you smiled when you heard it, the warmth in your voice when you responded, the way your gaze lingered on him like he was the most important person in the room. In the world. It had made him feel... secure, like you wouldn’t leave him no matter what.

But hearing it from Toji’s mouth, laced with mockery, made it feel almost...invasive. Like he was twisting it into some kind of fucked up joke.

It boiled under his skin, consuming and unbearable, a flame that refused to die out. Why did it piss him off so much? Why did it matter what Toji said? And why did it feel like Toji was seeing right through him—exposing the feelings that even Megumi himself didn’t fully understand? And right in front of you—

“Shut up! She’s not my mom,” Megumi hissed back, much sharper than he intended, unable to keep the vitriol out of his tone. He didn’t even know why he felt the need to clarify. Why those words spilled out like a defense.

But the moment they left his lips, guilt crashed over him like a wave. His gaze darted to you, instinctively, catching the flicker of hurt in your eyes before you quickly masked it—taking a deep breath. His chest tightened painfully, shame coiling in his gut.

He hated that he’d made you feel that way, hated that he’d let Toji push him into lashing out. Hated that he needed to hide it. Toji shouldn’t have even been there in the first place. He wanted to say something to fix it, to reassure you, but the words stuck in his throat, refusing to come.

You sighed, stepping in before the tension could spiral further out of control. Toji’s taunt had struck a nerve in you as well. His oh-so casual reminder of your arranged marriage—of why you were here. Your arrangement bound by duty more than choice—just why the hell was he bringing it up? Like an unspoken warning that you couldn’t place. It stirred something uncomfortable in your chest, but you pushed it aside.

This wasn’t about you.

Right now, it was about defusing the storm brewing in the room.

“Alright, that’s enough,” you said firmly, your gaze cutting to Toji with a sharpness that immediately silenced his smirk. Surprisingly, he left little argument for when you bothered to step into their fights.

“Toji, stop teasing him.” You turned to Megumi, your expression softening—if not just a little, your tone gentler but no less firm.

“And Megumi…” a voice with such warmth you reserved for him. How would you phrase this? “Toji is my husband. It’d be weirder if he avoided me. But I’m here for both of you, okay? Not just him, not just you. Both of you. We’re family. So let’s try to get along, yeah?”

Megumi didn’t respond immediately, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor, his emotions a tangled mess he couldn’t even begin to unravel. 

Family. 

He despises that word, loathes the way it forced Toji into something that, in his mind, should have been just you and him.

The warmth in your voice, the way you said it with such sincerity, made his chest tighten painfully. It stirred something deeper than anger or frustration—something vulnerable and raw that he didn’t know how to name. Disgust. Jealousy. Delirium.

Before Megumi could even begin to piece together the scattered fragments cutting him mind, you gently shooed both of them out of the kitchen.

Your calm words was stern, your smile soft but unyielding as you set the boundary. Pushing him by his shoulders towards the doorway. “Go, Megumi. Relax for once, okay? I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

He wanted to argue—he always helped with dinner—but the way you smiled at him left him unable to make an excuse. He didn’t want to upset you. Didn’t want you to hate him.

Reluctantly, he left, the loss of your presence settling over him like an ache.

Toji, watching the interaction with a raised eyebrow, smirked as he pushed off the counter. “Got him well trained already, huh?” he quipped, but his tone lacked its usual bite, almost as though he were trying to gauge your reaction. He had picked up on something. Something he didn’t exactly like.

You didn’t spare him a glance, your attention focused on the meal in front of you. “It’s called building trust,” you replied smoothly, your voice easygoing. But with a subtle edge. That warning telling him not to pester you.

Toji chuckled softly, a low, thoughtful sound, before turning and following Megumi out of the kitchen.

Outside the kitchen, Toji followed Megumi to the living room, leaning lazily against the wall, his smirk as irritating as ever.

It was the kind of expression that always set Megumi’s nerves on edge, a reminder of just how easily his father could get under his skin. They fought constantly these days. Even when Megumi tried to ignore him.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and loaded, before Toji finally spoke, his tone dripping with a hint of mockery. He was always the first to provoke.

“What’s got you so riled up lately, huh? Acting all high and mighty—like you’re the man of the house.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened, as he shot his father a glare. “I’m not acting like anything,” his voice taut. Ready for the oncoming argument.

Toji snorted, pushing off the wall lazily, his smirk widening with amusement. Strolling closer to where Megumi sat on the couch. He made it so easy to stir the pot.

“Sure, sure. That’s why you’re always hovering around her, huh? You like calling her ‘Mom,’ don’t you? Only I’ve noticed you only do it when you think I’m not around, yeah?”

Megumi’s face burned, heat rushing to his cheeks at the way Toji phrased it. “Shut up,”—a sentiment he always spat at least once when interacting with his father.

Toji’s grin only deepened, clearly feeding off his reaction. But he needed to get to the bottom of this.

“What’s this—huh? Some kinda mommy fetish? You’re a weird kid, you know that? But don’t forget—she is my wife. She needs this marriage a hell of a lot more than I do, so keep that in mind. Wouldn’t want word getting out that my boy’s been drooling all over her, yeah?”

“Shut up!” Megumi’s voice rose, drowning out the faint sounds from the kitchen. Striking another on the counter. He kept himself taunt, fully prepared to throw punches, no matter the outcome.

And if he’s honest—he didn’t care about the mocking tone, the smug smirk, the bait Toji was throwing.

No. All he cared about was you—the person Toji dared to talk about so casually, so possessively, like you belonged to him.

Like he knew you.

Like he deserved you.

Toji chuckled, shaking his head as he straightened up.

"Relax, Megs. I’m just messing with you," his voice drawling out the words. Though there was a slight edge to his voice that felt more probing. More insistent. He wasn’t getting anywhere like this.

He forced his voice low, conspiratorially, the humor draining away. More serious than he’s ever been with the kid.

"But seriously, what’s with you lately? Always stuck to her like glue—damn near biting my head off if I so much as breathe near her. So what is it? You think she needs you or somethin’?”

“What’s your point?” barely masking the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

That look in his eyes—he’s confirmed it. Megumi was an open book by this point. How you hadn’t even noticed it was astounding. Maybe too swept up in your role in their world. In being the perfect little housewife.

But he couldn’t let this go. Not that he really cared whether Megumi liked you—no.

That wasn’t the issue.

Toji watched—his sharp gaze piercing right through Megumi. “My point? You’re playing with fire, kid. You’re gettin’ too close to her, and you don’t even realize it. Her clan’s no joke—they’re a problem waiting to happen. And trust me, it won’t look good if someone thinks you’re trying to....I dunno, play house or somethin’.”

Megumi froze, his breath catching in his throat. Playing house with her? The insinuation made his stomach twist, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

“What are you talking about?” he said sharply, not able to keep his confusion from bleeding into defensiveness. “She’s my…she’s family.”

Toji raised a brow, his smirk growing more condescending by the second. “Family, huh? Is that what you’re telling yourself? That why you’re lookin ready to throttle me every time I get close to her?”

He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to something—a warning. The only true warning he’s ever given Megumi. “You’re a kid. You don’t even know what you’re feeling yet, so let me make it simple. Her clan’s trouble. Big trouble. And if they catch even a whiff of you trying to get closer to her—closer than you should—they won’t just make it your problem. They’ll make it hers, too."

Megumi’s fists remain clenched, his glare unwavering. But he can’t deny it—Toji’s words hit like a bucket of ice water, freezing something deep inside him. His mind raced, still trying to process the implications of his words. Still reeling at the thoughts of playing house with you. Of what he was really feeling here.

Toji didn’t let up, his tone growing heavier with meaning. “You know they’ve got their eyes on you, right? Them and the Zenin clan? They’re not the kind of people you want to be messing with. You so much as breathe wrong, and they’ll have you tangled up in their bullshit before you even know what hit you.”

Her clan. His father’s clan. Two powerful entities with enough influence to manipulate countless minds—meddling in affairs where they had no place. The thought made Megumi’s stomach twist uncomfortably, a heavy knot of unease forming within him.

He’d known about your clans visits, their persistence, the weight they seemed to hold over you. But hearing Toji say it like this, with an edge of warning, unsettled him.

Were they really that dangerous? Were you in more trouble than you let on? What did they mean to you? You hadn’t ever hinted at the possibility that they could be a threat. His mind raced, questions colliding with emotions he couldn’t quite untangle. Just what was Toji implying? He felt crazy—not able to form a rationale sentiment.

His judgment clouded.

“I can handle it,” Megumi said stiffly, his voice cold, though his chest remained tight. Not fully believing his own words. “Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.”

Toji’s smirk widened, his sharp eyes boring into Megumi like he was dissecting him, pulling apart his defenses with ease.

The kid never had much experience with the clan life either way. So how else was he gonna know what they were really after? Toji may not be a great father. But he did his job well. Megumi hadn’t any clue what this could mean for him.

There was no humor in Toji’s expression, only a bitter edge that made Megumi’s skin crawl. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about, do you?” His tone almost pitying, the mockery cutting deep. “Like I said before—you’re a kid. You think you can protect her? Keep her safe from that world? You can’t even tell how bad you’ve got it.”

Megumi stayed silent, unwilling to give Toji the satisfaction of a reaction. But Toji wasn’t finished. Wanting the warning to stick. Needing it to.

“The Zenin clan…” he drawled, bitterness coating the words. His gaze grew distant for a moment, as if dredging up something unpleasant.  “They’d love to get their hands on you. You’re already on their radar.”

Though his voice remained calm, the weight of his words settled heavily in the room, the faint clang of dishes sounding in the background. A running sink.

A constant reminder of your presence.

“Y’know that’s why she’s here, right?” Toji stalled, looking back as if making sure you weren’t overhearing this. Nearly debating on if was worth telling Megumi about this in the first place.

He didn’t like the idea of placing more pressure in his son’s only relationship—if he could call it that. That bond was still a type of relationship, after all. No—he didn’t like the alternative. Didn’t like where any of this was headed. At the very least, he wanted Megumi to know the full truth—have all the facts, and make an informed decision for himself.

“Funny how they work—arranged marriages. The clan heads can decide whatever they want. They’ve got so much control, especially over people like her—Women, y’know. It’s just another move to pull you in. Sent her here to watch…to get information—on you, on me. See if you’re all talk.”

Megumi’s eyes dart to his father’s, surprise painting his features. And for all intents and purposes, Toji met his gaze—piercing and unreadable, pinning him down. His tone so shamelessly casual, as if he were discussing the weather.

Megumi’s felt his head spin at the statement. He didn’t want to believe him. Didn’t want to think you could do that to them—to him. But worst of all—his didn’t want your affection to be fake.

Was it was true?—because why would Toji lie here? What would he get out of this?

He didn’t want to ask the question that burned at the back of his mind—didn’t want to hear his answer—not yet. But it slammed against his thoughts like stones pelting a wall. 

Why had Toji let someone like you into their lives in the first place?

“What do they want with me?” Megumi avoided the glaring question. The disbelief still strung across his face. Ensuring his voice didn’t carry to the next room.

“Your Ten Shadows Technique. That’s what they’re after. That’s the prize. They want to see if you’re worth the trouble. Investments and all that. And if you are, they’ll come for you.”  

Toji spoke it like he was telling a scary bedtime story. An unimaginable boogeyman lurking in the shadows, just waiting to snatch him up. It was almost comedic in a way.

“She hasn’t even asked about that,” he shot back, defensive. His mind still racing. He couldn't stand the pounding in his ears. The possibility that you might not be the person he thought you were. That you didn't actually care about him. Was this all a performance?

“She isn’t stupid,” Toji replied smoothly, his tone unnervingly calm. Feeling somewhat sympathetic for whatever the fuck you two shared.

“She’s sharper than they give her credit for, playing their game better than most of them realize. But don’t fool yourself, kid—she’s still here for a reason. She might care about you, but don’t pretend she’s not tied to a leash. And she will always be tied to it. Don’t forget this.”

Reeling. Turning. Spinning.

“Even she knows what’s at stake,”

Megumi’s glare faltered, feeling drained. Confusion was a constant these days. And it laced his tone as he pressed further. "If she’s not with them anymore, then why would she still be reporting to them? Why is she even talking to them at all?”

Toji sighed, moving to lean back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. “You think it’s that simple?” he said. “Clan heads don’t just let go of what they think is theirs. You don’t just walk away clean, kid. They’ve got ways to drag her back if they want to. Dissolve the marriage, make up some bullshit reason. Hell, if it’s anything like I remember, they don’t even need a reason. They’ll just take her.”

Megumi’s face contorted into a grimace.

“You think her life before this was sunshine and rainbows?” his voice dropping lower. “If it was anything like the shit I saw growing up, they probably already beat the defiance out of her a long time ago. I got out lucky, but not everyone does. You don’t survive in a clan like that by fighting back too much."

Toji reiterated—quite mercifully if he might add, "She’s not reporting because she wants to. She’s doing it because she has to.”

The silence stretched. Megumi’s mind replaying every moment he’d seen you quietly brushing off the clan’s calls, every forced smile, every dismissive excuse. The idea of you being under someone else’s control, in a way you couldn’t escape, twisted something inside him. A protective, feral instinct. A need to act. He knew you weren’t faking it. All of those moments—he couldn’t—no—wouldn’t believe it.

His unrelenting white hot anger surfacing at the thought of you enduring that kind of life. What else did he not know? The questions, the veiled threats, your nervousness—all of it had been happening right in front of him. The disgusting thought of someone beating you into submission—

“Let me be perfectly clear, kid—I don’t want you getting dragged into this clan bullshit. I’ve spent years keeping you out of it for a reason. I don’t like where this is headed, not one damn bit. But if you keep acting like this, keep pushing the way you are, they’re gonna notice. And when they do...”

He trailed off, the silence heavy and foreboding, as though Toji himself didn’t want to say it outright. But the implications were clear.

What could they do? Snatch you back? Use you as leverage? Dangle you over their heads like bait in their endless struggle for power and control? Force Megumi into a spot he didn’t want to be in?

Toji leaned in slightly, his voice cold and clipped. “They’ll use her. They’ll use you. And trust me, they won’t give a shit about what either of you wants. They’ll make it messy, and they won’t think twice about it. This isn’t some game you can play without consequences, Megumi.”

For once, there was no mockery in his tone, no smirk playing at his lips. He was dead serious.

Consequences.

What consequences would Megumi endure for you?

“I can handle it.”

Toji’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t change his mind, but he could correct the stupid. He didn’t want to see this. Didn’t want to see Megumi succumbing to those old fuckers.

“You don’t have the luxury of playing the fool here. If you’re serious about this—about her—then you better start thinking ahead. Because the way you are now? You’re weak. A burden at best. And a danger to her. Weak doesn’t stand a chance against people like them.”

The words rung like a bell, straight through him. It’s true. He’s right.

“If this is the hill you wanna die on, then you better do something about it,” Toji fixed Megumi with a small glare of his own. Something Megumi surprisingly saw rarely. “You’re not gonna get anywhere sitting around, sulking like a brat. You want to step up? Fine. Do it. I don’t like it, but I’ll respect your decision. Just know what you’re getting yourself into. Do it for the right reason. And make sure you aren't dragging her behind you along the way.”

Once again bathed in silence, they stared at each other. Opposite ends of the spectrum yet so similar in so many ways.

With a shrug that seemed too casual for the tension he’d left behind, Toji retreated back to the kitchen. Following your soft humming still drifting through the air. Oblivious to the fight that’d just take place.

Fight?

Maybe more like a warning.

To Megumi, your soft hums sounded almost mocking, a reminder of how you were so close, yet so far away. The warmth you brought into their lives was there, just out of reach, always at risk. And it only made the ache in his chest more unbearable.

Later that night, Megumi lay sprawled on his bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as his father’s taunting words played in his mind on an endless loop. 

Weak. Burden. Danger. 

He grit his teeth, the finality of it settling.

Distance—that’s what he needed. He needed to put some space between you and him, for your sake.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, his chest clenched painfully. The idea of pulling away, of losing the comfort of your presence, felt like a knife twisting in his gut. He hated this feeling.

Hated how much he relied on his father for protection, how Toji’s words exposed every insecurity he fought to ignore.

What made it worse was the truth behind them. If your clan really was as dangerous as Toji claimed, if they were determined to drag you back—or worse—what could he do to stop them?

Right now, he was nothing than a danger to your safety. The way his thoughts spiraled whenever he was around you, the way his heart twisted and burned with feelings he didn’t fully understand—it made him reckless. Possessive. Irrational.

He'd act on impulse, clinging to you like his life depended on it. His feelings still so jumbled, he tried to sort them out.

Why did his chest tighten every time you smiled at him?

Why did it matter so much when you called him family?

Why did he feel this gnawing need to keep you close, to make sure no one—not his father, not your clan, not anyone—could take you away?

Why were these feelings still present when he knew they weren’t dedicated to a mother?

It was raw and confusing, messy in ways he couldn’t yet fix.

But one thing burned through the haze of uncertainty: whatever this was, whatever you’d become to him, he couldn’t let it go.

He wouldn’t let it go.

You were the most important person in his life—that was for sure—and you were trapped in a problem he couldn’t resolve. Yet.

For so long, he’d stayed on the outskirts of jujutsu society, avoiding the weighty politics of clan life despite his continued development of the Ten Shadows technique.

But now he had to answer the question he’d been dodging: 

What was he willing to do for you?

His jaw was sore from all the clenching he did, he knew he couldn’t let things stay like this. Couldn’t keep standing idly by while Toji spoke about you like you were just his possession—his wife. While the higher ups—the clans threw around your life like it meant nothing.

Megumi’s feelings for you ran deeper than even he wanted to admit.

You weren’t just his stepmother.

You weren’t just someone who cooked and cleaned and made his life softer in ways he hadn’t known he needed.

You were…something else.

Something more. Someone who mattered in a way he couldn’t—wouldn’t—put into words. Something beyond words.

And if he wanted to prove that—to protect you the way you deserved—he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He needed to change. To get stronger. To become someone capable of standing by your side, someone who could protect you without relying on his father. He needed to grow up.

And fast.

p.7

AN: Thank you for reading! This is my last one for today, i've gotta go to bed-- to be continued soon. please give a follow and reblog if you want to stay updated - or follow along on my ao3

I will also be posting updates here:

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/obsessedjjk

come home

[beebeeazzy]

admiration for his muse or whatever!!1 thank you BoB for the mental illness <3

[heartorbit]

something something sewing event

[dailytogachako]

Ochako saying that Toga have a beautiful smile as the same time their noses touch each other. . .

[ohitslen]

Promises

He should know better. 

Wolfwood has seen Vash make promises, or hear about the ones he has made in the past. He has also seen the end of each one and how every single time the outcome is less than what was promised. 

Vash likes to say embellished words, with a soft and determined voice that lures you into his hopes and dreams, it almost feels like a spell, as if he was calling for you to come closer and believe him. But Wolfwood knows better.

He believes in him, but Vash is much closer to being an idealistic dreamer than a realistic person like he is. He might not be aware of it, but his beautiful promises of a better future give people hope, a hope that is usually embraced with things like disappointment and abandonment. 

He doesn’t think that Vash does it with the intent of looking for any of those things. Far from it, he might even do the impossible in order to accomplish said promises, but life is too short and humans are too mortal for his wishes, so in the end, most of Vash’s promises end up being empty or they come to haunt him as a reminder of his failed vows. He admires the man, for his perseverance and idealism, but he also hates the man, for his stubbornness and lies. 

Wolfwood knows all of this perfectly to a tee. And yet, he has also found himself being drawn to his world. Because he also dreams of it.

A world in where his always present calls for love and peace exist, a world that is far more kind than what he might deserve, a world in where the kids can be happy and roam around without any worry in their heads, a world in where he can peacefully turn grey with age and his hands can shed the harsh callouses of his life. Who knows, maybe a world in where he and Vash can finally know the peace that was taken away from them, in where they can share the calmness that comes with the passage of time, indulging in every tick of the clock welcoming with open arms whatever comes their way without any fear.

It is a beautiful promise. But Wolfwood is a person that has to keep his feet on the ground, indulging in “what ifs” would only make things harder than what they had to be. He can’t have any ifs if he can’t make it through the now. And by the way he is carrying his present, he is doubtful he will even get to see a shed of that promised world that Vash tries to drag him into. So why mourn something he doesn’t even have, or will ever have for that matter.

He hates the way Vash seems to promise things so easily. His tongue silky and pliant, slipping divine words one after the other, promises way too big for what that barren world can actually fit. 

But when Vash talks to him in that holy voice of his, when he hears him say “It’s okay, everything will be alright, I promise” so gently right on his ear, while he holds his face so tenderly making him focus on him and nothing else, he wants to believe him.

He has seen the end of his promises. He knows how impossible they are. But for once, he wants to believe it too. Believe in that loving world that will cradle them both until they fall asleep, listening to the soft sound of the wind laughing while the moons smile upon them. 

So he allows himself to indulge in the warmth of his palms, leaning into the comfort of his existence, feeling the soft air of Vash’s breaths against his skin while their foreheads meet in a touch that feels like a hot brand that will melt him.

For an instant, he allows himself to be selfish and believe that maybe, that is how living in that world Vash so desperately fights for would be. Soft and warm, making him feel safe in the hollow of Vash’s hands where the world seems to fit so well. A world where the blue sky is a blanket that covers the love and care that is nestled in it like the one in Vash’s eyes. He wants to see that world.

For now, he will selfishly think that the world that fits in Vash’s hands is right there in where he is holding him, where his blue eyes are drowning in the light of the sunset dripping with love and care while looking at him, that the gentle touch of Vash’s thumb wiping his tears is the same as the kiss of that laughing wind in that distant future, where the smile of his eyes overcomes the smile of the moons.

He should know better. But he loves the thought of that world. And he hopes that Vash will get to see that world, because that gentle sight is more fitting for someone like him than the one of his violent world.

He promises to himself that he will do what it takes for that day to be possible. Even if the end of that promise will be empty for Nicholas, he knows it will be a full one for Vash. So it really isn’t that empty for him after all.

He hates his lies, and he hates how true they sound, but Vash’s embellished words are far sweeter than his bitter thoughts so they feel better on his insides, almost like a balm that cares for the wounds of his throbbing, painful reality.

He should know better.

But aren’t humans weak at the promise of love?

[felsicveins]

Do you think that julien and jd are going to get together again? Man i am clawing at your leg begging for them to have that happy ending.

Part of me feels julien genuinely loves and cares for jd, and that the guilt of what happened and the shame of what he did follows him like a lost dog. Hes never going to know what happiness feels like as long as he doesnt have his boy. And that eats at him. He feels pathetic for begging but at the same time what does he have left to lose? Dignity? He lost that the day john found out about the lip syncing. About everything.

John might be in a similar boat, having the guilt eating at him. He hates what julien did. But does he hate him himself? Fuck if he knows. All he does know is that the ache in his chest is a pain in the ass and that no matter what he cant go back to alcohol to subside it. So what can he go to? What can he do? He needs to be strong, to set his foot down. But even though he acts like he despises the guy, he still has that fucking wedding ring. He still has that ache. Sure there were others, but those were casual even in marriage. But this? This had a plan. A promise.

And that was broken. Years ago.

I wonder if they’ll ever fix it.

Nothing will get fixed if no one changes

[daylighteclipsed]

While I’m talking, Cloud almost killing Tifa in Gongaga is not just a ‘would that be fucked up or what’ moment or even because Tifa has the true memories/proof to counter Sephiroth’s lies (though, that is part of it). It’s also because killing Tifa is the antithesis of who Cloud is. It’s the antithesis of the little boy who put his life on the line to save her and then dedicated his life to becoming strong enough to protect her. The antithesis of his promise to be there for her and the feelings behind it. “Cloud” and “Tifa’s killer” cannot coexist. “Cloud,” the boy defined by a desire to protect Tifa, cannot survive this. That’s why Sephiroth is trying so hard to get Cloud to kill Tifa. Sephiroth could kill her himself and that would still be majorly bad for Cloud’s true identity as he’d still lose his only tether to reality and the symbol of his conscience. But it wouldn’t be as effective as having Cloud do the honors. Sephiroth needs Cloud to kill the light in his own heart. He needs Cloud to kill his self. And there is no more definitive way than this.

[spaciebabie]

You’re weakly set along your bed, facing the ceiling. Your face scrunches as you try to focus your thoughts for a moment, but nothing works. You can’t even open your eyes right now.

There’s a creak at the door. It gives a high-pitched groan as it opens. Then closes. Heavy sliding steps near the edge of the bed, stopping next to it with a whir. You expect a sudden weight forcing the mattress down at your side. But… a pause. There’s nothing.

Then a slight mechanical shift lowering over you. A faint breath touches your face as the side of a muzzle slowly rubs against your head.

There’s a weight on the bed next to your shoulder, then by your legs. You manage to open your eyes enough to see the worn animatroic suit set itself on the bed and on top of you. He slowly, carefully wraps around you, one hand trailing down your side, holding you there lightly.

He gives a heavy exhale.

His smoothed nose gently nuzzles your cheek. His resonant yet labored breaths slowly turn calm, rolling through the air, turning to a graveled purr. All of your thoughts melt at the filling sound: nothing else could have you now.

“Hush. I’ve got you,” he whispers softly. He sets the side of his head against yours. His good ear curls over the top of your head, and with the final movement, you relax.

-heartbeat anon

[mcytegg]

i feel like killing a naked baby jepexx and a 3 heart planetlord feels like a special kind of evil

[arrokett]

chips and fish or something….

[fnaf-movie-countdown]

Oh before I forget:

Sonic movie 3 was very good, and I can’t wait for movie 4 <3

[michyeosseo]

I want to become stronger sooner to help Master wipe out the miasma from the Immortal Realm to free the people from oppression.

[pant--eater]

i'm sooooo starved for Smeech content/headcanons/fics/etcetcetc in this fandom, like he is such an enigma of a creature to me (affectionate as I shove him into a microwave). He's a Yordle so he might have been around in Zaun for centuries, ever since its foundation. Maybe he's seen first hand how Piltover's pet Heimerdinger rises to the top, and yet spends his time as a councelor ignoring every single problem in Zaun. Heck I can totally see him resenting Heimerdinger to a murderous degree for that; a Yordle traitor who gets a nice academic status for himself and builds his glorious city of progress, but never uses all that power to help the other Yordles in Zaun. (I didn't even spot a single Yordle in Piltover while scavenging the backgrounds on my rewatches!!)

Considering how new Shimmer is in the series' universe by Yordle lifespan standards, that means Smeech hasn't been inhaling it for more than a bunch of years. What was his life before?? When did he decide to start replacing his limbs with machinery, to make himself stronger and feared by Zaunites? When did he become a chembaron?? Chemtech is older than Shimmer, so he might have been a cyborg way before the events of the series, but it's fascinating (and sad, not gonna lie) to me that despite being possibly older than any of the other authority figures in Zaun, he has never managed to rise to Heimerdinger's level. No wonder he's such a rage-filled poisonous critter, no wonder he wants to take the throne of Zaun at any cost, to be "the one smiling in the end". And yet, despite all of his efforts, he is still fueled by and addicted to Shimmer, created by Silco's goons. Forced to depend on a creation of humans, in his pursuit to become stronger than them.

(also while I'm not a fan of episode 7's happy AU universe cuz it all feels like simplifying and undermining the complexity of Piltover's oppression in favor of an easy good ending, it DOES make me wonder how Smeech's life would have turned out in a universe without Shimmer? We don't see any of the Chembarons in the ep 7 universe so it makes me curious)

[brionysea]

for the record I'm keeping my #arcane and #arcane critical tags separate because 1) it's rude to go into a show's main tag to complain about it and 2) this way I can still go into the arcane tag on my own blog to enjoy season 1 stuff without being perpetually disappointed by season 2

[sunny-sainz]

the tanned skin and the black clothes are going to actually kill me