#we are trying to be as vigilant as possible.

[thelindenpapers]

"who taught you that suffering in silence was noble, and how would you shutting up have benefited them?"

It's often something you learn when you're in an abusive or oppressive situation.

Especially long-term.

And especially if those long-term situations occur multiple times throughout life.

I grew up in an extremely racist/misogynist community.

They learned that they couldn't bully or intimidate me ...but they would pick on anyone who tried to defend me.

And that later expanded into them shunning or bullying anyone who I let on that I liked, or even worse, was crushing on.

I grew up with an abusive, fascist father.

He killed our dog. Why? Because it kept angrily and loudly barking every time he was trying to hurt Mom and me.

More than that: in my childhood community, anyone I tried to talk to would either ignore me like I was a ghost, or, shout slurs and death threats in my face. I'm talking early on in life: Before kindergarten, Kindergarten to at LEAST thru 3rd grade.

So:

You learn that anyone you like gets punished for the grevious faux pas of being liked by you.

You learn that anyone who tries to help you, gets hurt or even killed.

You learn that almost nobody comes to help when you cry for help.

You learn that even trying to talk or say 'Hi' to people, results in them suddenly appearing harmed or troubled or annoyed or angry, somehow.

...And why wouldn't I be silent?

As a feral kid, no one was going to listen to me anyway, no one was going to care how I felt about anything or about how anything was affecting me.

And if I did tell?

People frequently took the abuser's side.

Just as the cops did, the very first time I was finally old enough to threaten dad right back!

Don't even get me started on my marriage.

How long are you supposed to keep on telling a person, 'Hey, these are my needs, and I need your help to get something done about it please.

Hey, I should probably see a doctor, why aren't you letting me have access?

Hey, we really need to talk about our relationship. I don't know why you don't want to spend bonding time together.

Why are you making it so difficult for me to try to get a job or an education?

Why are you sabotaging my writing efforts?

Why do you get so upset at my physical activities?

What is with the panic when you see I'm trying to advance my tech skills?

Why does it anger you so much when I try to be proactive and vigilant in making us a comfortable and clean and helpful home?'.....

He actually complained to me:

"Why can't you just LIE?"

About being happy.

About being well.

So yeah.

Why would I want to ask his (or his parents) help in anything. I can't trust them at all.

Why would I allow someone to help if it might get them hurt or killed in the attempt?

Why would I bother to let anyone know? When, after SO many years of being stuck in a deep pit of a life, to help me would probably cause WAY more stress and take WAY more effort and resources, than any one person could possibly offer or endure?

Why would I do that?

When someone might decide to try and help, start the process -- decide partway through that it's all too much, and abandon the process: leaving me in a position that is less safe than where I started?

( Hell, sometimes that is an on-purpose thing. When a person feels bad, and knows they can't or don't want to help, but they'll make a gesture to make themselves feel good, not caring whether what they try to do is actually helpful or effective. )

And why would I tell people exactly what I'm going through, when so many around me would instead:

Victim-blame me.

Call me a liar.

Assume I was crazy.

Nod sympathetically and then use it as a way for them to feel much better about how they're doing in their own lives.

Say it's too much, say it's not so bad, or say others have it way worse.

Enjoy my explanation and my existence as a form of entertainment like I'm their personal IRL soap opera.

Or, use the information that I've given them about me as a way to hurt me further -- since they now seem to think that I'm some easy target, or that, in some twisted sense, abusing me further is somehow less morally bad, and more acceptable: because I've been abused before.....

So in their eyes, I'm 'Already soiled'?

'Already hopeless'?

'Already nothing'?

It's nothing to do with moral superiority.

It's survival.

...And I'm not saying it's right.

In an ideal situation, absolutely: being helped at any point in my life would have been great!

A healthier social structure would allow for this.

In a world where care was offered by the Community rather than by the individual, I wouldn't worry about speaking, just to find myself in worse trouble than when the 'helping' process started...

But this ain't a healthy world yet.

^^;

You asked why people feel that way.

So I've told you all the reasons why they might.

YMMV. 🤷🏾‍♀️

who taught you that suffering in silence was noble, and how would you shutting up have benefited them?

[vigilskeep]

I thought Alistair's conversation with Anders was supposed to reference their meeting in Awakening. Like yeah, Alistair can probably sense he's a Warden but I'm pretty sure he recognized him. That's just my opinion anyway.

sorry i forgot to answer this when i was posting abt it. anyway yes i think alistair’s “wait, weren’t you...?” definitely reads as recognition, it’s mostly weird that anders opens with “say, weren’t you a grey warden once?” as if he hasn’t met the guy

[fingertipsmp3]

What just fucking made three loud clicking sounds at the back of the house 🚨

[luparaneo]

Lost followers after reblogging that whole thing about JKR being radicalized over the years, and that disturbs me.

Like if you think saying that people can be radicalized and manipulated into hate is somehow justifying it, yikes. And if you think that people are somehow just good or evil and that you are not at risk of buying into propaganda, have I got some very red flag news about that!

Idk if its because I am an older Millennial maybe (most who unfollowed were younger) but I watched a ton of that generation slide from one of the most progressive to the far right before my every eyes. Hell, my dad fought alongside his black friends in the Detroit race riots and now he watches Fox News 24/7 and talks about the border wall. Yet still claims he could never be racist because of how he used to be. He doesn’t even realize what he has become.

JKR isn’t a deluded old woman or innately evil, but in fact THE prime example of how well-meaning ignorance and privilege can be weaponized and encouraged down a pipeline, until it turns into a force of hate, and should be a cautionary tale about why educating and being open about these issues are necessary. Because there are those out there who will use those divisions and ignorance to their own ends. And just digging in our heels and saying “that could never be me!” is the very thing that puts you more at risk. I’ve lost so many loved ones down that pipeline and it is more slippery than most realize.

Stay alert, stay compassionate, stay humble, and make sure you move through life guided by reason rather than reaction. I love y’all and don’t want to see your passion twisted to get used against the world.

[bookwormjust]

Hidden pregnancy (established relationship Eris, protective hound)

You’ve noticed it for the past few weeks—Eris’s chief hound, the leader of the pack, has become more possessive, hovering around you constantly. His behavior has shifted from his usual loyalty to something far more intense. He never leaves your side, growling at anyone who comes too close, even Eris on occasion. At first, you found it endearing, but now, the overprotectiveness is becoming hard to ignore.

You’re in the sitting room of your shared estate in the Autumn Court, lounging by the fire. The hound lies at your feet, his golden eyes fixed on you with a sharp, almost vigilant focus. Anytime you move, he’s right there, nudging at you gently as if to keep you still. It’s almost as if he knows something you don’t.

Eris had been busy, as usual, with the duties of being the High Lord, but today he finally found time to join you for a rare moment of peace. He enters the room, his fiery hair catching the light, and as soon as he steps toward you, the chief hound growls low, his massive body shifting to block Eris’s approach.

“Again?” Eris mutters, eyebrows raised as he glances between you and the hound, a mixture of amusement and mild frustration in his amber eyes. “He’s been acting like this for weeks. What’s gotten into him?”

You shake your head, resting your hand on the hound’s massive shoulder. “I don’t know. He’s just... more protective than usual.” You give the hound a reassuring pat, trying to calm his overprotective instincts, but he remains tense, standing between you and Eris like a sentinel.

Eris sighs, walking around the hound cautiously, his gaze softening as it falls on you. “Has anything felt different?” he asks, sitting beside you and taking your hand gently. “Any reason he might be sensing something?”

You shrug, leaning into Eris’s touch. “I’ve been a little tired, but I thought it was just stress. You’ve been busy, I’ve been restless—maybe he’s picking up on that.”

Eris watches you closely, his brows knitting together in thought. His hand moves to your cheek, gently tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’ve been more than tired. I can tell.”

Before you can respond, the hound lets out another low growl, his nose twitching as he presses closer to you, almost nuzzling your abdomen. You laugh softly, though the possessiveness in his eyes makes you feel slightly unsettled. “See what I mean?” you say, gesturing toward the hound. “He’s never this intense.”

Eris is silent for a moment, his sharp gaze flicking from the hound to you. Slowly, his eyes narrow, his posture stiffening. “Wait...”

His nostrils flare slightly as he leans closer, inhaling deeply, his focus entirely on your scent now. His eyes widen suddenly, and you see the shock and realization wash over him, his usual calm composure faltering.

“By the Cauldron...” he breathes, his voice low, filled with awe and disbelief. “You’re pregnant.”

You blink at him, stunned, your heart racing. “What? No, I—I couldn’t be...”

But before you can finish the sentence, the truth of it hits you. The exhaustion, the small changes in your body you’d brushed off—all of it suddenly makes sense. Your hand instinctively moves to your stomach, where the hound had been so possessively guarding.

Eris reaches out, his hand gently covering yours, his expression softening with a mixture of joy and concern. “He knew before I did,” he says, glancing at the hound, who is now lying at your feet, his head resting protectively on your lap, watching both of you with sharp, possessive eyes.

You’re still processing the news, your mind spinning. “How is that possible? It’s too early—”

“Fae hounds are attuned to life in ways we aren’t,” Eris says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “He sensed it before your scent changed enough for me to detect it.”

You look down at the hound, a new understanding settling over you. His protectiveness, his possessiveness—it wasn’t just instinct, it was his way of guarding the new life growing inside you, something he had known long before either you or Eris.

Tears prick at your eyes as you meet Eris’s gaze, overwhelmed by the sudden realization. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Eris smiles, a rare, genuine warmth in his expression as he leans forward to kiss your forehead. “Yes, we are,” he whispers, his voice full of love and wonder. “And he’s already started guarding both of you, hasn’t he?”

The hound lets out a soft huff, as if in agreement, settling more comfortably by your side, his head resting protectively against your stomach.

Eris wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his lips brushing the top of your head. “I promise, I’ll protect you both with everything I have.”

And with his hound at your side, you know he means every word.

[starshipsofstarlord]

locked away

summary. whilst hiding out from walkers in a closet, you grow extremely bored. the only thing to do is daryl, but you have to make sure he stays quiet

warnings. smut, handjob, sub!daryl, dom!reader, praising, mentions of gagging, crying

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The aroma of cigarette smoke that clung addictively to his clothes filled your nostrils as you hid in union together, avoiding the stream of deadly walkers that marched in their haphazard staggering through the wide hallway. There had been worse that you survived through, so as long as you didn’t alert the parasites that filled the decayed human bodies of your presence, you would be fine.

Boredom struck you after the first hour of leaning all of your weight against the chipped brick wall, listening without consent to the groans and growls of the dangerous passers-by. If you had a nickel for each time you expressively rolled your eyes that had adjusted to the shadows which conjured a graphite colouring to which you could see, you would be astoundingly rich in a world without cash currency.

You had an impulse to blabber out the most random thoughts that appeared intrusively in your mind, although you were sure if you dared to your beloved Daryl would gag your mouth with that dirty red rag and tell you to shut up; and it wouldn’t be a first time for that. Your shoulders slumped defeatedly as the pressing circumstances of the long and drawn out waiting game refused to come to an end.

How many goddamn walkers were out there? Actually that was an answer you’d rather not find out whilst you were contained in a narrow closet which was consumed with lacklustre silence. Daryl wouldn’t even meet your eyes in the dark space, sternly pent up from your antics during the run that had lead you into being entrapped by your own free will and vigilance to live another day. He was pissed, and worst of all in this circumstance; turned on.

His pools of pitiful blue distinctly avoided your gaze, trying his darnest to focus on the stakes that were against you both. But he was pursued by a cloaking of consuming lust, his shoulders rigid as he thought repeatedly of your earlier words. If you’re a good boy, then maybe we’ll have some fun before we get home. It wasn’t likely to happen now, the bowman thought intuitively, sharply discarding the sweet images of pleasing you from his brain.

These walkers were preying risk to more than just his life, he felt like he could explode from the overbearing desire to feel your hands rake upon his entire body, and he mentally cursed as he felt his cock spring to life at just the the sinful thought. He grunted in solitary longing, pacing with light and feline like steps as much as he could in the limited ground that was cemented in the storage room.

“Something wrong?” You almost inaudibly spoke, cocking your head as the corners of your mouth twitched in mocking amusement, and he would have whined in response if there wasn’t the threat of the passing walkers merely inches away. “Come here, let me help you baby.” His head was lowered in a submissive bow as he followed your command, creeping towards you until your chests were all but touching.

It was something you adored, to see Daryl in such a state, and it made you feel powerful without any limits. The flow of your bloodstream began to pound with revelations with what you could make your obedient man disperse himself to. It was like he was a buffet of possibilities, however his arousal was rubbing against your thigh, making you recall his desperation, and it would be satire and cruel for you to allow him to suffer without your amorous caregiving.

You shuffled, keeping a balance on your body weight so that you didn’t accidentally stagger backwards into the buckets or moulding mops that were leant against the wall to your left, as you lowered your hands to his wide hips, giving him an affectionate squeeze before you turned him in your embrace so that his back was facing your front.

Admittedly there were times where you loved to listen to him beg and cry for lustrous attention, but now was not the time; neither one of you could make so much as a speck of noise, it was going to be difficult as often times Daryl would draw out long and pathetically attractive moans each time you held contact with his cock in any manner, but he would just have to be quiet somehow, and if he couldn’t control himself, you had ideas of how to make him.

“Be a good boy.” You whispered with sultry warning in his ear as you reached further around him, slowly and tantalisingly unweaving his belt, pulling the strip of leather through the flimsy loops which granted you access to undo the button and fly of his trousers. With swift motions you did so, carefully shoving them down his sides as his cock was released from its containment. It was leaking defiantly with precum, and he resorted to calming breaths as he steadied his own self into being relaxed despite the nearby danger.

He inhaled immediately as he felt one of your hands wrap perfectly around his achingly hard length, gliding up and down the taught and erect flesh which made him throw his long locked head back in pleasure. His eyelids twitched as he fought against his desire to let you know how utterly amazing you were making him feel, as he bit his own bottom lip over and over. You dared to increase the pace in which you were stroking him, and a shattered gasp tumbled past his bared teeth.

Without so much as a thought, you smothered his mouth with your hand, pinching his nose a couple of times between your thumb and forefinger to restrain the oxygen he was permitted for a few seconds. A vibration riveted against your palm, as a quiet moan was silenced by your restriction. His whole body was rattling, as he began to rut his hips so that his cock was moving in the grasp of your soft hand.

“Such a good baby.” Your breath hit his ear as you forbade yourself from saying anything else, knowing that it would be obscenely dangerous, and the hoard of vacantly minded walkers were more than capable of pushing through the locked door. Your thumb rubbed expertly against his tip, as tears began to fill Daryl’s eyes, however he continued to jerk into your grip, and soon they fled from his tear ducts. His salt water, pleasure filled tears rolled onto your hand, weaving across your flesh as his tongue rolled pathetically around your palm, losing any grounding to reality that he had.

It drove you on farther, moving your hand at a quicker pace to make him spill over the edge, and with one last tough tug, he expelled his seed from his balls, it shooting directly in the air for a moment, and landing vividly on the ground. Daryl continued to shake like a leaf, breathing a kind kiss to your palm as he held your hand against his mouth for a while longer. This was definitely an interesting tale, however you would never tell anybody else. Everyone else thought Daryl was the being of all dominance in your relationship, and it made you inwardly cackle at how wrong you were.

He was as submissive as a human could come (pun intended), and he stood there idly and cautiously as you aided him in tucking his cock back into his confines. You grappled his belt, pulling it back around into its holding as you pulled it tightly around his waist, your eyes glowing with the satisfaction that you could make him so easily crumble. With one last pat to his sensitive bulge, you waited a while longer, until the coast was clear and it was only a few stragglers of the herd to take out in order to make your unruly escape.

[cannellee]

HIII cannellee!! (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) it’s 🍓 again!! i have another super cute abo idea, could we have the tr boys with a very clumsy but cute omega who has bruises all over her legs from bumping into objects because she keeps running into things like chairs or low tables… maybe how they react seeing injuries for the first time? or how they try to “steer her away from danger”? ty for reading, i hope you have a amazing christmas!!!!!! ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)!♡

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ☆

୨୧ alpha! tokyo rev x omega! reader

— their reactions to a cute and clumsy s/o (pairing : mikey, mitsuya, kazutora, chifuyu, izana, kaukucho, angry, baji)

my masterlist : ☆

I reaaally love this, it's so cute! I hope I did a good job, but I'm not really proud of this one sorry. I hope you had a great Christmas too thanks<3

ALPHA! MIKEY

upon noticing your bruises and bumps all over you, mikey gets immediately concerned and harbours a deep frown when he asks you about it.

his alpha instincts command him to make sure you're well and assess the situation to know what's wrong.

when you admit it's because of how clumsy you are, he's relieved it isn't anything more serious and finds it even endearing.

of course, his protective nature doesn't take long to kick in and he's paying even more attention to your surroundings.

rather than being upset about your lack of care, he's understanding and gently inquires why that is, so he can identify the issue behind your clumsiness.

now, when you're together, he offers you his support. whenever you fall and if he hasn't prevented that before, he'll be quick to help you up on your feet, pat your head to assure you it's okay and check your knees to look for any new bruises.

he'll tease you about it, but just to lighten up the mood and show you that he doesn't view your clumsiness as a source of frustration. it is made to make you feel comfortable around him.

ALPHA! MITSUYA

mitsuya is very observing, so he did noticed your tendency to fall and trip early on.

he won't mention it to you though, he'll provide a silent support and watch you carefully.

he'll offer to do certain tasks if he thinks it might harm you. if you need to reach something which is put high in a cupboard, he grabs you by the waist before you even finish climbing and gets it for you.

he tells you to rely on him, he's your alpha and he wants you to trust him and let him act like your partner.

when you're taking a walk, he takes your hand and gently guides you, replacing you so that you don't step into a bump on the road for example.

he does everything so that you don't have to injure yourself, but if it was to happen, his reaction is quick. he'll profusely scent you to prevent any stress or anxiety troubling you and will patch you up.

you'll end up cuddling with him inside your nest!

ALPHA! KAZUTORA

now kazutora is really worried.

what do you mean his omega is getting injured on a daily basis ?

when he first saw your bruised legs during summer, he felt an immense amount of anger.

kazutora is the type to act on impulse and in his head, those were the result of some bad people with malicious intentions towards his sweet omega.

he was furious and checked for more injuries, it was a hard task to calm him down and you thought it wouldn't be possible unless you gave him a couple of innocent names (that had nothing to do with the situation, he was just so sure you were a victim of crazy alphas).

luckily, upon smelling your calm pheromones, he figured you didn't lie to him out of fear and he eventually let his guard down.

now he's even more vigilant. it actually hurts him to know you're this clumsy and it troubles his mind.

he's the type to kiss your bruises though, and act overly reassuring and protective even when you don't actually need it.

ALPHA! CHIFUYU

although stressed at first, chifuyu is quick to approach the situation with a calming demeanor.

he's soo gentle with you, he'll rush to you each time you hurt yourself and shower you with his reassuring pheromones while making sure the cut on your finger isn't too deep.

if the fall was hard he asks you if you're okay, eyes full of care, telling you soothing words to drive away any distress.

chifuyu's touch is tender and he'll softly remind to be more careful whenever he's not here because he can't assist you.

he'll try his best to create a safe space for you : his omega can't get hurt if she's under chifuyu's watchful care!

if it was really serious, he will crack a joke to lighten up your mood and distract you from the pain.

he will offer you a comfortable place to sit afterwards ; if you're out, he's bringing you snacks from the shop next to you and if it was at your place, he's tucking you inside your nest. all the smells make you instantly relax!

ALPHA! ANGRY

angry is concerned.

once he learns you're this prone to injure yourself, it's over for you.

he was already worried sick about you going outside alone, as an omega you're often a target for other alphas and people who might know you're affiliated to him.

but now? now that he knows you don't even need to go outside to be at harm's length, he's constantly trying to check up on you.

now your dates consist of you both staying at your place, watching a movie inside your nest, cuddling and playing games, overall very calming activities.

angry might overdo it, but you need to understand that his instincts are shaking now knowing his omega is jeopardizing herself.

he carries band aids everywhere with him too.

ALPHA! KAKUCHO

he is prepared and reliable.

yes, you can hurt yourself alone, it happens, but it never does in his presence.

he's careful, even if he looks focused on something else, and will prevent anything from happening to you, from the tiniest cut to the most absurd fall.

if your clumsiness appears because of stress, you can be sure his scent is always enveloping you.

he tenderly kisses your forehead and praises you whenever you successfully stop yourself from falling.

he slowly kisses your bruises and healed scars with sweet patience, you absolutely love his kind nature.

you sometimes feel guilty for the way he seems genuinely upset and apologises for not being able to look after you better.

you tell him it's okay but he feels a sense of responsibility for his omega's wellbeing. he's committed and as your alpha he has to shield you from anything hurtful.

ALPHA! IZANA

he's devoted. he offers you his entire support and will do anything to keep you far from harm, even if you're the one bringing it to you.

he doesn't get mad nor annoyed, he just wants to make sure it won't happen again.

if you thought you weren't protected enough by him, expect an even more on edge izana. you're so important for him, he can't help the creeping worry he's feeling.

he now ensures that his physical presence is a constant source of protection. whether it's standing close or wrapping an arm around your waist, he establishes a boundary to both claim you and reassure you. it keeps you steady and he's there if you ever were to trip.

izana wants to have control over the situation and does his best to react accordingly to ensure your safety.

but he's still gentle and have a careful touch despite his alpha assertiveness.

if he didn't know you often bumped into furniture, you better tell him fast because he won't calm down as easily as kazutora.

izana won't believe you at first, and will definitely not tolerate anybody touching his precious omega. that's why he's a menace.

he tends to be overprotective, doing his job as your alpha a bit too well and literally preventing you to live normally.

he calls you regularly and checks for any new bruises everytime you meet up, he made you swear you would be more careful!

ALPHA! BAJI

the first time he noticed your bruises, his face was livid while he lifted your arm into his gentle hands.

he's terrifyingly calm and you know it would only take a name before he completely lashes out.

luckily he's a very great listener and really attentive. once you tell him about how you hit your elbow in a door, he gets reminded of all the times you tripped and easily connects the dots.

you're a very clumsy omega and you trigger his instincts like never before.

he softly nags you, praying you to be more careful while also being completely clueless as to why you're so uncoordinated with your movements.

why do you have to drop everything? and the most dangerous things at that?

you give him literal heart attacks.

but he'll joke about it so you never feel bad about that part of yourself. he will sometimes sweep you off your feet and carry you himself so you don't fall down. he will condemn any sharp items and challenge anybody who might make fun of you for it.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Don’t imagine MK1 men edition;

This came to me as I was listen to asmr last night. Honestly have no clue what this is. 🦦

Don’t imagine Tomas asking you out of the blue about how he smells, having just finished using a new shower jell that had you recently bought, and once you were within range Tomas then pecks your forehead with his soft lips before pulling away with flustered cheeks and a dopey smile as he sheepishly rubs the back of his head.

‘I couldn’t resist.’ He claims. ‘I saw others doing something similar with their spouses, and so I guess I wanted to do it too. Pretty silly huh?’

Don’t imagine Raiden listening intently as you spoke, giving you every ounce of his attention towards the topic of discussion, smiling softly as his unwavering gaze never once faltered from your face; whereas yours would find a hard time staying glued to his beautiful dark ones because of how deeply he looked at you, making you feel not only heard but seen too.

Even as you apologised for talking his ear off, Raiden would counter that your voice was something he could never grow tired of, for it was his favourite sound.

It was such a simple thing but it was enough for you to feel yourself becoming fidgety under his gaze. It didn’t seem to matter how many times Raiden did this because it would always feel like the first time, every time.

Don’t imagine Liu Kang trying to make up for lost time by spending whatever small amount of time he had with you to the fullest before duty inevitably calls for his attention once more.

He’s fully aware that you don’t hold it against him and that you knew what you were getting into upon agreeing to being with him, but he couldn’t help but feel as though he was in some way selfish with you, to which you were quick in disagreeing with by saying he was more selfless then selfish.

However that didn’t stop Liu Kang from helping you with your daily tasks as a way of expressing his gratitude for you, whether that be going down to the market, making the bed, preparing breakfast or something to drink. Liu Kang will do it without a second thought because who knows when he’ll have to leave you again.

So he savours every moment while he can but it doesn’t make the pain of having to separate from you anywhere near bearable.

‘No matter how far apart we may be physically, that does not mean my heart isn’t any less always with you.’

Don’t imagine Kuai Liang holding you tightly to him during the cold nights, his above average body warmth acting as your only form of comfort to combat the cold drafts that would somehow make their way into your room.

He’d thoroughly enjoyed the view of you trying to get as close as possible to leech off of his warmth, he couldn’t get enough with just how perfect you slotted against him and would often times have to pull you back into his embrace when he felt you shift the slightest bit away from him.

Kuai Liang loves keeping you close to his person, it makes him feel as though he’s protecting you with everything that he has, he loves it even more when he gets the chance to wake up before you and chooses to admire your every feature with adoration and love, engraving every inch of your face to memory; even your every imperfection that you claim to posses was engraved into his mind as to Kuai Liang, to love was to love imperfectly.

Not all love was perfect but yours certainly the most perfectly imperfect love there was.

Don’t imagine Bi-Han allowing you to take care of his injuries when he gets back from missions.

Don’t imagine Bi-Han‘s muscles tense up initially upon feeling your hands upon his injured bicep, soft hands working away at the wound in a way that wouldn’t cause him any more pain then he was already in.

Don’t imagine Bi-Han as his his sharp, observant eyes watch your every movement like a hawk, it’s not like he didn’t trust you, he was just trained to be vigilant whenever he put his care within the hands of others. He would even do it with the medics now and then but quickly came to accept that they knew what they were doing.

Don’t imagine Bi-Han slowly coming to terms with just how touch starved he was when he found himself at the mercy of your tender, caring touch, practically giving over all power to you in that situation to do whatever you saw fit. You could’ve hurt him even further for all he knew but instead you treated each of his wounds with a kind of gentleness he had never seen nor received before.

Whatever you do don’t imagine Bi-Han inspecting your work after you were done, giving a satisfied grunt, before he did an uncharacteristic thing by grabbing your hands within his own and kissing the back of them in gratitude.

[foreingersgod]

Could you write something for Caitlin? Maybe the reader is dating Caitlin and on the Iowa basketball team with her and she gets injured from a technical foul?

of course you can! thanks for the request!

Twisted Ankle . CC

paring: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis:

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

you guys were down by 1 against lsu, the pressure was on and all of you were feeling it. the stadium was buzzing with anticipation as you and the team prepared for the final seconds in the game. while everyone was setting a tight strategy for the remainder of the game, hoping it would clinch another win for iowa, you noticed caitlin across from you. she was in her head again, biting her lip and trying not to get too frustrated.

“Y/L/N, we’re going to seriously need you right here” kate pulled you aside for the remainder of the timeout “you’ve got to get in there, ok?”

you nodded your head, taking a swig of water and wiping the sweat from your brow “you got it”

shortly after, the whistle was blown, signaling it was time to start the clock. you all took your positions, waiting for the game to commence. caitlin stood vigilant, trying to find one of you who was open. you quickly passed by your opponents, trying to get open for her.

almost instantly, she spotted you, attempting a pass in your direction. you went to jump in the air, arms up and ready to catch the ball, but before you get your feet off the ground, a player had collided with you.

you went down, smacking your head hard against the court floor, ankles twisting as your opponent interfered with your landing. it all happened so fast, the pain from your head and ankles shooting through your your body. you felt like the air was knocked straight out of your lungs. your vision was starting to go blurry and your ears were starting to ring.

upon your fall, the whistle was blown and the crowd went silent, eventually noticing you weren’t getting up and gasping with worry. despite your fading vision and lack of hearing, though, you could make out several people surrounding you, trying to tend to your injuries, calling for assistance. some you could tell were medics, others probably from your team, and most definitely caitlin. she was the first one at your side, you assumed, feeling her familiar hands on your face, trying to get you to open your eyes.

“hey, baby, baby you gotta get up” she whispered, voice wavering. from your lack of reply she hollered “hey we need someone over here now!”

you could feel yourself being rolled onto a some sort of stretcher or gurney and being carried into the rehabilitation room (idk lol sorry if this is all inaccurate). figures of people whooshed by you, lights rushing over your head as you were sped down the hall. you could hear the announcers of the game behind you, the game was going to continue without you there.

as you were being tended to, still rushing to get you to a private area to properly take care of you, you felt your remaining vision faltering even more. it was too hard to keep your eyes open anymore, no matter many times the medics tried to keep you awake. eventually, your vision went completely dark.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

“is she going to be ok?” caitlin asked a nearby medic as they gently placed you onto the stretcher, trying to get as close to you as possible.

“we don’t know what happened other than that she got plowed down pretty good” the medic said hesitantly “it was a pretty nasty blow, but i’ve seen stuff like this before, i’d bet she’s gonna be ok”

she nodded, swallowing her nerves, trying to relax her body. others on both teams gathered around her to try and reassure her that everything was going to be ok. the poor girl that knocked you down was genuinely upset, claiming that she didn’t intend to hit you that hard at all. but caitlin ignored what everyone was saying, trying to not get riled up and focus.

“we’ve gotta finish this, caitlin” kate appeared at her side “i know you want to get back there with her, but there’s just seconds left, you can do this.”

caitlin said nothing, obtaining her position, ready to run out the clock. she was upset that you couldn’t be here, worried that they wouldn’t be able to do this without you. but she powered through, passing the ball to hannah for a beautiful lay up, finalizing another iowa win.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

“is she awake? can i see her?” caitlin asked a crew member, requesting to see you the second game was over.

“you should be able to go in, but she’s really sensitive to everything right now so…just be gentle with her” she was already bursting through the doors, anxiety racking her body.

she saw you, laying on a cot, head elevated and an ice pack sat neatly on top of your head. you had your eyes squinted shut from the brightness of the fluorescent lights. your left leg was extended, also perched on a pillow, wrapped in layers of gauze.

her heart shattered, seeing you laying there, clearly in pain. she walked over, causing to open your eyes, snapping in her direction.

“hey superstar! you guys did it!” you gave her a toothy grin, trying to sit up.

cait sat down on a stool next to you, taking your hands in hers, kissing the backs of them “no, WE did it, couldn’t have done it without you” she smiled back. “you had me going crazy out there baby, thought i was gonna die”

you tried to lighten the mood with a laugh “eh, i’m fine, just a headache and a sore foot”

“headache? sore foot? YN you smacked your head on the court and twisted your ankle” she ran her hands soothingly up and down your arms.

“ok yea, but i swear i’m fine, please don’t worry about me too much, ok? please?”

“well you made it incredibly difficult to not worry when you went unconscious out there” she retorted “i’m just glad you’re ok, i don’t know what i would’ve done if it were any worse”

“i know, im sorry” you smiled sadly

“don’t be, it’s not your fault” she leaned over, kissing you softly “but you’re going to need a lot of rest and a super awesome girlfriend to take care of you for the next little while”

“oh! know where i can find one?” you teased, playfully nudging her shoulder.

she pretended to scoff in annoyance “ok, i see how it is!” she fake-stormed off, pushing off the stool.

“no wait!” you laughed, pretending to pout in return “come back! you, i meant you, please don’t go!”

she stopped, sauntering back over to you “wouldn’t dream of it” she brushed stray hairs away from your face, smoothing her thumb against the skin of you cheek. “i’ll go grab the team so they can come in and check on you…but after that we’re heading straight home and getting you into a nice bath alright?”

“you trying to get me naked, clark?” you batted your eyelashes.

“for once, i’m actually not” she placed another kiss to your forehead “tonight i just want you to relax, hm?”

“yes m’am” you hummed “i don’t know what i’d do with out you, really. thanks for taking care of me, baby”

“always” she replied.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: short little request, enjoy!!

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Since the post about gusion babysitting I've been thinking, do you think the nobles that raised the kings miss have a kid about? Like imagine Mc is playing with some of the remaining demon kids and we accidentally give the nobles baby fever (especially gusion, I feel like he'd secretly have a big soft spot for kids)

Whb nobles getting baby-fever

Paimon loved taking care of Satan when he was just a little boy and not the king of Gehenna. He kind of misses the feeling of raising a child, and the war prevents him from adopting. He spends a lot of time in the orphanage playing with the kids, but there's only so much you can do when there's a war outside. He would take you to the orphanage with him. Even though the children are too young to remember Solomon, they still have heard about the great sorcerer so they'll be very happy to meet his child. When you start getting along with the younglings, Paimon can't help but daydream of a future where the two of you run after a little devil of your own.

Even though Buer moved from his previous region, he still has fond memories of taking care of Mammon, even if he was a sickly child. Paradise Lost doesn't have children native to it, the closest thing being Gamigin, but he's too old to be considered a child in the traditional sense. In his case, you would be playing with some new born puppies and helping Buer nurse them. He appreciates your caring nature and the patience you show towards the little creatures... it even makes him think about possibly having a child with you. Once the war ends and the demand for healers lessens, he'll make sure to ask you if you're willing to co-parent alongside him a new generation of healers.

Since Bael knows the type of country he rules over, he tries to stay vigilent and make sure that the children of Abysos don't overdose on something fishy. They already have a population problem, the last thing they need is for the few children left to die from his own ignorance. When he sees you playing with some of the younger devils, his heart can't help but melt. He was blessed to meet you and he'll try his hardest to show you that in the limited amount of time he can spend with you. Bael will hug you from behind and put his head on your sholder before whispering softly in your ear. "I can't wait for the two of us to have a kid as well. You'd make for such a great parent."

Phenix is constantly in the baby making mood. His proximity to Asmodeus for all these years have insured that all rationality leaves his brain and he can only thing of sex and violence. But that's kind of the norm in Abaddon, and Phenix is loyal to his king so gets to babysit the newest prince of hell - Dantalian. Even though Dantalian is an adult now, he's still young in the eyes of many. If Phenix were to see you acting motherly to the prince, he'd cum on the spot. He's come closer to you and hump your thigh while blabbering about how good of a parent you'd be and how he wants to breed you. Maybe Dantalian will be nice enough to teleport you to a private room, maybe he'll just take this oportunity to sneak off to Heaven, maybe he'll join in. The point is, you're not leaving until you're fucked silly by Phenix.

Gusion is still a teacher as a part time job. He kills angels, he does the paperwork that Belphegor's supposed to be doing and he teaches the multiplication table to toddlers. The quickest way to give this man a boner is to be a teacher. He likes to think of himself as rational, so clearly he's not having 'baby fever' he's just found the perfect mate. You're beautiful, have great genetics, are good with children and you're smart enough to understand a subject and than teach it to someone else. He's going to send you a very long letter that boils down to "let me smash, babygirl". At least that's what Bathin told you it was, Gusion's handwriting is shit so you need a translator most of the time.

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- home (part 2)

continuation from 'home (part 1)', word count: 6.1k

warnings: descriptions of injuries/blood/bruises, heavy angst, mentions of torture/torture tactics, trauma responses, ptsd, nightmares, deteriorating mental health

You’re awoken by Simon shaking you gently. As consciousness returns, you become aware of the warmth beside you. Opening your eyes, you find Simon, his features softened in the morning glow filtering through a curtain. 

For a fleeting moment, you think you’ve just woken up in your chambers beside Simon, not a care or worry in the world, until you feel the dull ache of your battered body seep into you.

Right.

“Darlin’, you have to get up. It’s time to go,” Simon says as quietly as he can, yet you can sense his tone is slightly stern. 

“We have to keep moving. Gonna go back home. How does that sound, lovie?”

His words pierce through your remnants of sleep, and you finally register the urgency in Simon’s tone. Reality floods back, dissipating into the sobering truth. You have heavy bags under your eyes that could be easily mistaken for bruises. 

You nod, exhaustion still clinging to your limbs. “Home sounds good,” you whisper, your voice raspy but determined.

Simon helps you sit up, his touch gentle yet purposeful. The room spins momentarily, a reminder of the pain you’ve endured. You steady yourself, leaning against him for support. As you gather the strength to stand, Simon retrieves a bag packed with essentials, evidence of the necessity to keep moving.

“How far away are we?” 

“Just over an hour or so away by horseback—”

You wince at that, and immediately Simon is reassuring you. 

“Can’t promise it’ll be an easy ride, but we just need to get you back to the castle as soon as possible, yeah? Gaz is already preparing the horses.”

You bite your lip and nod reluctantly, “Okay.”

With Simon’s assistance, you manage to stand on your own, the room tilting slightly before steadying. Simon slings his arm over under your shoulder and takes a moment to look at you, concern etched in his features.

As you make your way out of the bedroom, you’re met with the kind faces of Soap’s mother and sister. 

“Thank you for everything,” you say, your voice filled with genuine gratitude. “I’m sorry, I was kind of out of it yesterday—”

“No need to apologize, dear,” his mother gently scolds, yet reaches out for your hand to hold it, patting the back. 

Soap’s sister smiles warmly, “Take care of each other. You’re always welcome here.”

Simon nods appreciatively, and you both step out into the crisp morning air. The small cabin provided a temporary rest, but you all knew you had to return home as quickly as possible to receive the best medical attention. 

Gaz is waiting by the horses, their reins in his hands. His expression is stoic, but the concern in his eyes is evident. As you approach, he hands Simon a canteen and a small pouch of provisions.

“Stay vigilant. We don’t know what’s waiting for us out there, but it’s highly unlikely we’ll be met with anything dangerous on the trail we’re taking,” Gaz advises, his eyes flickering towards the dense trees surrounding the cabin.

“Understood,” Simon replies, giving Gaz a firm nod.

You take a deep breath, trying to muster the mental strength for the journey ahead. Simon helps you onto the horse, adjusting his cloak around your shoulders once more. He mounts behind you, ensuring you’re securely in place.

Gaz takes the lead, guiding the horses along a well-worn path that cuts through the forest. The early morning light filters through the leaves, casting a dappled pattern on the ground. The air is cool, carrying the scent of pine and earth.

As you ride, the rhythm of the horse’s gait reverberates through your body, each jostle sending waves of discomfort. Simon’s arms hold you firmly, providing stability as the forest passes by in a blur.

The journey is arduous, but the determination to reach your home keeps you going. After what feels like an eternity, the forest begins to thin, giving way to open fields. The castle looms in the distance, its towering spires a symbol of safety and familiarity.

You let out a sigh of relief when you see the towers, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. How exhausted you were, and the amount of pain you were in weighs you down. 

“We're almost there,” Simon says, his voice carrying a mix of relief and anticipation.

As you approach the castle gates, guards spring into action, recognizing Simon and Gaz. The heavy gates creak open, revealing the courtyard beyond. The castle walls hold you inside their protective embrace,  The horses are led to the stables, and you’re carefully helped down by Simon.

Almost immediately after you dismount the horse, you’re being ushered inside by royal personnel, advisors, and doctors. It all feels too overwhelming, having so many people around you when you just arrived home. 

You start to breathe hard, chest heaving as you try to calm yourself down. Simon, ever attentive to you, notices immediately. 

“Give her some space,” he growls, his protective instincts flaring up. The small crowd retreats, standing quite a few steps behind you two, giving you the room you need to breathe. Simon doesn’t waste a moment, keeping a steady arm around you and guiding you through the familiar corridors of the castle. The posse behind you follows, their murmurs and exchanges filtering through the hallways. 

Eventually you reach the infirmary, sighing when a hoard of doctors rush to receive you. Their faces shift between concern and relief as they realize you’re alive and back. Simon doesn’t let a single person touch you until you’re firmly laying on a bed, and even then, he’s keeping close watch on where their hands travel. He knows they’re just doing their job, but he can’t help but notice your face contort into something akin to fear. 

Gentle hands deftly unwrap the bandages Soap’s mother had done up for you, examining the various wounds and cuts underneath. Another inspects the splint for your wrist Soap’s mother had made, but decides to keep it on as it’s sturdy. The doctors work efficiently, tending to your injuries with a mix of salves, poultices, and heat compressions. A nurse appears with herbal tea, urging you to drink. 

Simon stands by your side, his eyes never leaving you. As they work, you catch glimpses of Simon’s expression—a mix of guilt, worry, and a fierce determination to make things right.

He can sense you’re grappling with the overwhelming environment of the infirmary. The sterile smell, multiple people tending to you, and the constant bustle of medical staff was disorienting to say the least. Especially after being treated extremely harshly at the hands of your captors. He takes your uninjured hand in his, offering a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s alright, dove. They’re just making sure you're okay,” he whispers in your ear only for you to hear.

You manage a weak smile, appreciating the grounding presence of Simon beside you. The doctors and nurses work diligently, their experienced hands moving with precision. The pain is dulled by the herbs and salves they apply, and gradually, you start to feel the exhaustion seeping in once again, having had only about four hours of sleep the night before. The new bandages around your wounds feel fresh against your skin. 

The head physician, a wise-looking woman with graying hair, steps forward. She speaks in hushed tones to Simon, discussing the details of your injuries and the required treatments. Simon nods, his expression serious but determined. You appreciate how involved he is, ensuring that every decision made aligns with your overall well-being. You missed having him around the past few months, having to fully take care of yourself in his absence. Not to say that you never took care of yourself when he is around, but it was nice to know that your husband was looking out for you to the best of his abilities.

As the medical team finishes their work, the physician turns to address you. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, but you’re in good hands now. Physically, you’ll recover with time and care. Rest is essential for your recovery. Emotionally, that’s another thing. That may take longer to heal.” 

Simon nods, his jaw set. Your eyes flit down, swallowing thickly at the doctor’s words. 

The doctor nods solemnly. “We’ll keep a close eye on you, and if you need anything, don't hesitate to let us know, your majesty. Other than that, you’re free to retire to your bedchambers to rest there. We can accommodate and bring the medicines to your chambers if that’s what you prefer?”

You nod gratefully, the thought of returning to the familiar comfort of your bed sounding like a dream. The doctor gives you a gentle smile before instructing the attending nurses to prepare the needed medications and supplies.

Simon helps you stand, steadying you with a supportive arm around your waist. The room seems to tilt slightly, and you’re reminded once more of the toll the past days have taken on your body. The tea you drank helped slightly with your dizziness, but it was still lingering in the corners of your vision. 

“Take it slow, love,” Simon murmurs, guiding you out of the infirmary.

After a few more steps, the blows you took to your body start to ache even more. With a frustrated sound, you look up to Simon, “Can you please just carry me?” you ask.  

Simon’s expression softens, and without a moment’s hesitation, he scoops you up into his arms, cradling you with the utmost care. The weightlessness is a relief, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent – a musky mix of earthy cologne and spices.

He carries you through the castle halls, ignoring the curious glances and hushed whispers from the castle staff that follow your passage. Simon’s protective embrace is a reassuring presence, shielding you from prying eyes. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his steps starts to lull you to sleep. God knows you’ve needed it after barely sleeping the past few days. 

Simon kicks open the doors to your bedroom and immediately beelines towards the bed. The softness of the mattress welcomes you, and you release a sigh of relief as Simon carefully lays you down. He pulls the covers over you, tucking them snugly yet carefully around your body. The dim light filtering through the curtains casts a warm glow in the room.

Do you need anything?” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort.

“Just you,” you reply softly, reaching for his hand. Simon’s lips curl into a small smile, and he settles beside you on the bed. His eyes are fixed on you with tenderness and concern, and he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light. 

For a while, there's a comfortable silence as you both absorb the fact that you're finally back in the safety of the castle. Simon runs his fingers through your hair, a soothing gesture that eases the tension in your shoulders.

“I'm going to make sure they pay for everything,” Simon says, his voice low and determined. “No one hurts you and gets away with it.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, appreciating the fierce protectiveness in his gaze. Yet, beneath the surface, you just want him to comfort you, stay with you. “I just want to rest."

Simon's expression softens even more, and he nods understandingly. “Rest, lovie. I'll be right here.”

As your eyes fall closed, you feel the weight of the past days finally catching up with you. The torture, the pain, the fear—all seem to blur into a haze as the exhaustion takes over. Simon remains by your side, a silent guardian watching over your sleeping form.

. . .

“Well, what’s it gonna be, hm? Answer me, little princess.” A voice rings out.

You’re stuck, the restraints on the chair biting into your wrists, and you instinctively pull against them, but they hold you captive. Shepherd stands in front of you menacingly, tools of pain and destruction strewn about in front of you.

“Stop, stop,” you sob, tears streaming down your face as the man approaches. 

Shepherd leans in, his face now partially visible, twisted into a sinister grin. “Oh, you know exactly what I want, don’t you, little princess? Information. Secrets. Things only you can provide.”

“Get away from me!” you cry out, desperation clawing at your throat. The room feels oppressive, the darkness seeping into your bones as your heart races.

He picks up a menacing looking tool, running it along the table with a sickening scraping sound. The metallic echo reverberates in your ears, intensifying your terror.

“Not until you talk.” Shepherd's voice is a low growl, and he looms over you, his eyes devoid of mercy. “Ghost won’t find you here. Not ever.”

You jolt awake, gasping for air, your body drenched in a cold sweat. The room is extremely dark, and you’re barely able to see anything. Anxiety is immediately tightening its grip around you, constricting your lungs. Your breath comes in ragged bursts, and you clutch at the sheets, trying to make sense of your surroundings. 

Where are you? Are you safe?

“Simon,” you call out, your voice a soft plea in the darkness. Tears pool in your eyes, threatening to spill over. 

The darkness feels suffocating, and for a moment, the memories of captivity wrap around you like a vice. The echo of your own voice lingers in the quiet room, and then you hear the rustling of sheets as Simon moves beside you.

“Simon,” you say again, louder, now trying to stifle a sob. 

In the hushed darkness, you feel the mattress shift as Simon sits straight up, moving to hover over you. His voice cuts through the shadows. “‘M here, love. Right beside you." His hand finds yours, offering a comforting grip.

You wrench your hand back from his grip, shooting up in bed, breaths quick and shallow. Panic claws at every fiber of your being, and your surroundings seem unfamiliar, even in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. Simon recoils, concern morphing onto his face.

“What—love, what’s wrong?” Simon’s voice is sharp, confusion and worry creeping in. 

You scramble backward, pressing yourself against the headboard, eyes wide and scanning the room. The walls, the furniture, everything is a puzzle, pieces that don’t fit together. The air feels thick with dread. You blink rapidly, trying to orient yourself. 

Simon tries to reach for you again in an attempt to calm you down, to ground you. The moment you see his hand reaching for you, you stumble off the bed, nearly falling down.

“Don’t touch me!” you plead, your voice trembling with fear. Your heart pounds against your ribs, and the room begins to spin.

Simon freezes, his hands mid-air, caught between wanting to comfort you and respecting your distress. His eyes search yours, desperate to understand and help. “Dove, it's me. It’s Simon. You’re safe.”

But the words fall on deaf ears, clouded by anxiety and disorientation. The room seems to shift, and the castle walls close in, reminiscent of the confined space in the dream. Every sound, every shadow, feels like a potential threat.

“I don’t… I don’t know where— I need air,” you choke out, desperately seeking distance from the nightmare that still clings to your mind. Simon watches, helpless, as you retreat further, eyes darting around as if expecting something to pop out of the shadows. 

This is something he’s heard of before, experienced himself. Simon remains on the bed, his eyes tracking your every move with a mix of concern. He wants to reach out to you, to pull you back into his arms, but he knows he must tread carefully. The trauma you’ve endured has left scars, and he’s acutely aware that pushing too hard might only intensify your distress. 

“Darling,” Simon calls softly, the tenderness in his voice cutting through the darkness. “You're safe, in the castle. No one can hurt you.”

You clutch onto the soft fabric of your pajamas, your gaze fixed on some invisible threat only you can see. Simon inches off the bed, moving with caution, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Let me help you,” he implores, his voice a soothing murmur. “We’re in the castle. Look around, love. This is our home.”

Your breathing is erratic, chest rising and falling with each panicked gasp. Simon takes a step closer, making sure to keep a respectful distance. He can see the distress on your face, the haunted look in your eyes.

“Remember, you’re not there anymore. You’re here with me. Simon,” he says, pointing to himself. “Your husband.”

You blink rapidly, the fog of the nightmare gradually lifting. His familiar voice, the gentle reassurances, start to cut through your panic. The corners of the room seem to retreat, and the shadows lose their threatening edge.

“I’ve got you,” Simon continues, inching closer. “‘M here, and you’re safe.”

Recognition flickers in your eyes, a spark of awareness breaking through the remnants of the nightmare. Slowly, your breathing steadies, and you start to fully register the details of the room—the familiar furniture, your bed, and Simon, standing there with genuine concern etched on his face.

“I’m here,” he repeats, now close enough to reach out if you allow it. “Can I touch you, dove?”

You nod shakily, granting him permission. Simon extends a gentle hand, letting it hover in the air for a moment. When you don’t recoil, he brushes his fingertips against your arm, a feather-light touch. 

“You’re back in the castle, with me,” he murmurs, his other hand moving to cup your cheek. “No one can hurt you here. Nobody.”

The reassurance in his touch begins to dissolve your residual fear, and you find yourself drawn to the warmth and familiarity of Simon’s presence. The room stops its disorienting spin, and you lean into his touch, grounding yourself in the reality of the castle. 

You finally sink into his embrace, and Simon pulls you in gently, his arms secure around you. A hiccuped sob escapes you, tears freely falling down your cheeks. He lets you release the pent-up emotions, pain radiating through his entire being. Your tears dampen his chest, his heart constricting when he feels them. All that matters to him at this moment is providing you with the comfort you need.

“It’s okay, dove. Let it out,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. He continues to stroke your back in soothing circles, offering silent support. The heat radiating from his chest comforts you, pulling you into something real, something tangible. The walls of your bedroom, which once felt like they were closing in, now provide a protective barrier. You’re safe, and Simon is here with you.

As your sobs gradually subside, you pull back slightly, meeting Simon’s gaze. Those ever reactive eyes reflect genuine concern, love, and a fierce determination to be there for you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently, fully prepared to listen. He himself has experience, knowing that sometimes, putting those nightmares into words can be a step towards processing. This is your first of many, unfortunately. 

You take a deep breath, the tremors in your chest slowly easing. “It was... Shepherd. The torture,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The memories of the nightmare still cling to the edges of your mind.

Simon takes a sharp intake of breath, jaw tightening at the mention of Shepherd, a surge of anger flashing in his eyes. He pulls you into his embrace once more, arms tighter. “You’re safe now. He can’t reach you here.”

You press your cheek against his chest, finding peace in the steady beat of his heart. You run your hands up and down his back, breathing in his scent. 

Simon takes a moment before speaking, choosing his words carefully. “I can’t promise that the nightmares will go away overnight, lovie. But I can promise you this—I will be here for you, through every one of them.” 

You look up at Simon, your eyes locking with his. His sincerity and determination resonate in those brown eyes that have seen far more than what you ever could imagine. A sense of gratitude washes over you. “Thank you,” you whisper, the weight of his words and the support he offers lifting some of the burden from your shoulders.

Simon places a gentle kiss on your forehead, a silent reassurance. “Get some rest, love. ‘M not going anywhere.”

Simon guides you back to the bed, helping you settle in comfortably. He tucks the blankets around you, making sure you’re secure. He remains by your side, a vigilant presence, until your breaths even out, signaling that you’ve fallen back asleep. 

Simon shuffles closer to you, laying an arm over you so you can feel his presence subconsciously. As he watches over you, his mind churns with conflicting emotions—anger towards those who hurt you, concern for your well-being, and an overwhelming love that makes him swear to protect you at all costs.

Simon reflects on the challenges that lie ahead, knowing that he’s going to do whatever it takes to take down Shepherd. 

. . .

Simon refuses to leave your side for the next two days, spending every waking moment right next to you. You don’t leave your bed at that time, opting to have the doctors come to your room to check you out twice daily. The doctors administer more medicines and herbal remedies to you, checking your vitals, your wounds, and your fractured wrist. The castle staff has been informed of the situation, and they treat you with a combination of respect and sympathy. During the times Simon did have to leave your side to tend to important meetings of discussing striking back against Shepherd, multiple members of court would approach him left and right, inquiring about your state. Although Simon didn’t speak much to them, he still ensured them that you would be fine, in time.

Simon attends to your every need, fetching whatever you desire and offering quiet companionship. His protective presence provides a sense of security, giving you peace of mind for the most part.

Another morning passes, and the doctor comes in. “How are you feeling?”

You take a moment to assess yourself. The dull ache is still present, but it's a far cry from the intense pain of a few days before. You manage a small smile, "A little better, I think."

The doctor reaches for a tray on a nearby table, revealing a light breakfast. “You need to keep your strength up, your majesty.” 

You nod appreciatively, understanding the importance of nourishing your fragile body during the recovery process. As you eat, the doctor continues to monitor your vital signs and asks about any specific changes in your pain levels.

Simon, ever attentive, hovers nearby, ready to assist with anything you might need. He pours a cup of tea and hands it to you, the warmth soothing against the palm of your hands. 

After the examination, the doctor offers a reassuring smile. “Your progress is promising, your majesty. I’ll continue the current treatments, and we'll monitor your recovery closely. If there's anything specific you need or if you’re experiencing discomfort, don’t hesitate to call upon us.”

You express your gratitude, acknowledging the doctor’s expertise and care. As they leave, Simon settles back into his seat beside you, his gaze filled with a mixture of concern and affection.

“I was thinkin’,” Simon starts, his tone gentle, “maybe a change of scenery would do you good. How about we spend some time in the garden? Fresh air might help you feel a little better.”

You consider the suggestion, appreciating his effort. “That sounds nice, actually. A bit of sunlight might help.” 

Simon helps you get dressed in comfortable clothes and ensures you’re bundled up appropriately. Slowly, with his arm supporting you, you make your way to the castle courtyard. Each step feels heavy, but getting out of bed even just for a little bit feels good. The sun, though not too high in the sky, is hidden behind some rain clouds, yet there’s a faint glow over the cobblestone paths and surrounding greenery. 

The courtyard is alive with the sounds of birdsong, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of blooming flowers. Benches are scattered around, inviting you into their embrace. Taking a deep inhale, your lungs fill with the fresh air, invigorating your sore body. 

Simon guides you to a secluded spot and helps you settle on a bench. He takes a seat beside you, looking out into the blissful garden. 

As you sit in the open air, you feel a subtle shift in your mood. You feel a bit lighter, and the combination of sunlight and fresh air brings a sense of renewal. For the first time in almost a week, you feel distracted from the trauma you had endured. The pain persists, but it’s a bearable ache compared to the torment you endured. The weight on your shoulders Simon, sensing the change, smiles at you.

“It's good to see you out here, y’know,” Simon says, his gaze filled with genuine joy.

You return his smile, appreciating the effort he’s put into making sure you’re okay. The garden, with its brilliant flowers and the soothing sounds of nature, provides a welcome distraction. The gentle rustle of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, and the subtle fragrance of flowers create a serene atmosphere.

“Being out here helps,” you say quietly, leaning your head against his shoulder. 

Simon nods, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. 

A distant rumble of thunder draws your attention, and you look up at the sky. The clouds gather above, hinting at an impending rain shower. A few droplets fall, and Simon stands up, extending a hand to help you up.

“We should probably go back inside before it starts pouring,” Simon suggests, not wanting you to catch a fever in your already vulnerable state. 

You agree, letting him pull you up. Slowly, you both make your way back to the castle, the raindrops intensifying as you reach the door. By the time you’re inside, the rain is pouring outside, tapping against the windows. 

Back in the comfort of your chambers, you change back into comfortable clothes. The sound of rain is like a gentle lullaby, and you find solace in the sound. Your exertion just from going outside catches up to you, making you feel tired. 

“Thank you, Si,” you say, sincerity lacing your words. 

Simon smiles. “Always, love.”

As the rain continues to fall outside, you settle back into the warmth of your bed, grateful for your garden outside. In this moment, surrounded by the gentle pitter-patter of rain, you find a glimmer of hope and the strength to face whatever lies ahead.

. . . 

You wake up in a cold sweat, chest heaving with each ragged breath you take. 

“I’m right here, love,” Simon's voice reaches you, a comforting presence in the blackness of the bedroom. Your breaths are ragged, and it takes a moment for you to recognize him. His fingers lightly trace over your hand, allowing you to pull back if you needed. You don’t, instead lacing your fingers through his.

An involuntary shiver runs through you, the echoes of your torture still lingering in your subconscious. Simon senses your unease and shifts closer, his warmth a shield against the shadows. 

“Do you want some light?” he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. The room is illuminated by a soft, warm glow as Simon lights a bedside candle. The familiar surroundings of your chamber come into focus, and the anxiety begins to ebb.

“Better?” Simon asks, his eyes searching yours.

You manage a small nod. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Simon’s gaze remains gentle, trying not to let his concern worry you. He shifts to a more comfortable position, propping himself up on his elbow and running his fingers through your hair.

“Nightmares again?” he asks softly, already knowing the answer.

You nod, the images still vivid in your mind. Simon leans down, placing a tender kiss on your temple. 

“I wish I could take away those memories, dove. I hate seeing you go through this,” he murmurs, his voice filled with empathy and frustration.

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare.

“It's like they never want to let go,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I hate seeing you suffer like this. If there’s anything I can do—”

You cut him off gently, your fingers finding his. “Just having you here is enough. I know it's hard for you too.”

Simon sighs, a heavy weight in the sound. “I wish I could do more.”

Your gaze meets his, filled with gratitude. “You’re doing everything you can. It's not your fault.”

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I just want you to be okay.”

You swallow thickly, nodding in agreement. 

“I felt so alone,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "In that cell, in the darkness…” 

Simon's hand tightens around yours, as if grounding himself in the reality of your presence. "You're here now. That's what matters."

. . .

Simon is more of a man who searches for solutions to issues rather than sitting around waiting for someone to do something. He grew into being a natural leader from a young age, taking charge no matter the cost. In the days that follow, as you continue your recovery, Simon becomes more involved in the plans to get revenge against Shepherd. He spends hours strategizing with military advisors, intelligence officers, Price, and Gaz. The plans are kept secret from the vast majority of the castle, only a select few involved in them. 

Simon’s heart aches witnessing the toll Shepherd’s cruelty has taken on you.

He notices how quiet you’ve been, how withdrawn you’ve been. He doesn’t miss the way your face is almost always twisted into a small frown, or how hollow your normally bright eyes look. He doesn’t miss the way you clutch onto the nearest thing when he approaches you, hands tense and gaze intense until you’re reassured that you’re not being threatened. 

It was enough so that you admitted you couldn’t sleep in the spot of the bed closest to the balcony where you were originally abducted. That same day, Simon had your bed moved to the complete opposite side of the room, and you slept in the corner farthest away from the doors. Simon had also stationed his top knights in front of your bedroom door and balcony doors, their figures menacing and imposing, yet providing a level of protection Simon was satisfied with.  

Some nights are better than others, but for the most part you wake up in a panic, flinging yourself off the bed. It always takes a few minutes to coax you back to the bed, to calm you down enough for you to realize that you’re in Kastron and that you’re safe. It breaks Simon’s heart a little bit every night, the way your face contorts into pure, unbridled terror when you wake up in the middle of the night. 

The knights outside hear your screams sometimes, tensing until they hear Simon’s reassuring voice calling out to you. 

These meetings that Simon told you he was going to, you knew the true nature of them. 

You always knew in the back of your mind that Simon was determined to find Shepherd, enough to the point that he won’t rest until Shepherd pays for the pain he inflicted upon you and Kastron. Revenge is not something you seek, but the idea of Shepherd facing consequences for his actions is a step toward closure. And, unbeknownst to you, Simon had already asked Soap to stay by your side in the days he’s going to be gone. 

Simon refuses to talk about the plans to you, with you, and around you. The plans were strictly talked about in the war room, and if anyone was caught talking about them outside of the space, they would be punished. 

Simon feels as though he’s running out of time to find Shepherd, each day passing making it harder to track him down. 

In the war room, Price’s voice is steady and authoritative. 

“We’ve gathered enough intelligence. Shepherd is holed up in a fortress to the southwest,” Price says, his gaze meeting Simon’s. “The plan is to assemble a team and launch a strategic assault. It won't be easy, but we’re preparing the most capable soldiers we have.” 

Simon’s eyes reflect a burning resolve as Price speaks, looking over at Gaz. His jaw clenches at the mention of Shepherd, his eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and determination. 

Simon nods at Price. “We go in under at night. Stealth is our advantage. We hit hard and fast, catching them off guard. But I want to minimize casualties. We’re not stooping to Shepherd's level.” 

Gaz affirms the plan. “Agreed. We’ll need every advantage we can get. They won’t see us coming.” 

The select few in the room nod, the plan now to be set in motion any day now. 

. . . 

The small specialized force group is abuzz with whispers and preparations, but Simon keeps you shielded from the specifics. He spends every available moment with you, offering a reassuring presence amid his preparations to leave, this time for at most two days. 

The evening before the group is set to leave, the moon hangs high in the sky. Simon enters your shared chambers, his expression tired yet determined. You’re reading a book, encapsulated in the story. Reading has provided a great distraction the past few days. Simon sits in the bed beside you, taking a breath. He takes your hands in his, causing you to drop your book. The warmth of his touch seeks to reassure you, however, the tension in his shoulders doesn’t waver.

“I need you to know,” he begins, his gaze unwavering, “that everything I do, every decision I make, is to protect you and our home.” 

That immediately catches your attention, and a sinking feeling rushes through you. 

“Shepherd will be held accountable, but I want you safe. I won't let anything happen to you.”

Of course. This is about revenge. You really don’t want him to leave, yet a tiny part of you was happy knowing that Shepherd would get what is coming to him. 

“I need to leave for a couple of days,” Simon says, his voice steady but carrying a hint of sadness. Despite the fatigue etched on his face, there’s a fire in his eyes, a determination that both worries and frustrates you.

“I know, Simon. But you can't keep leaving like this,” you respond, frustrated. “Every time you go, I’m left here wondering if you'll come back. It’s tearing me apart.”

Simon tightens his grip on your hands, his gaze never leaving yours. “I hate leaving you, love. You have no idea how much it breaks my heart. But we’re at a crucial point, and I can’t afford to let this opportunity slip away. Shepherd needs to pay for what he’s done, and Kastron and you deserve justice.”

Your anger flares, and you pull your hands away. “I’ve been through hell, and you leaving doesn’t make it any easier. I need you here. I need you to help me get through this.”

Simon's jaw clenches, his frustration mirroring yours. “And I want to be here, more than anything. But if we don't act now, Shepherd might get away, and who knows when we’ll get another chance. I promise, this is the last time. Two days, love. I’ll be back in two days.”

The room falls silent, the weight of his impending departure settling heavily. You feel torn between understanding the necessity of his actions and the desire to keep him by your side.

“I hate this,” you admit, your voice breaking. “I hate that every time something goes wrong, you have to go.”

I feel so alone. 

Simon’s eyes soften, and he cups your face in his hands. “I swear, once this is over, I’m dedicating all my time to you. No more running off.” 

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead. “I love you, and I'll be back before you know it.”

A sense of emptiness lingers within you. You can’t shake the feeling of being left behind, no matter the cause. You’re left grappling with conflicting emotions, feeling sickened at the thought of being away from Simon once again with no guarantee he would come back. 

When Simon left to find Shepherd, you didn’t know how much his absence would truly affect you…

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[heroesriseandfall]

Introduction to Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying, April 1990

Introduction by Dennis O'Neil for Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying (1990 collected edition)

Transcription below the cut/readmore.

INTRODUCTION by DENNIS O'NEIL

Robin was gone. We needed a new Boy Wonder. There had been two previous Robins. The original first appeared less than a year after a new costumed hero called Batman made his debut in DETECTIVE COMICS #27, to instant success. Some time within the next eleven months, his creators, artist Bob Kane and his writer-collaborator Bill Finger, decided to give their dark, obsessed hero a kind of surrogate son, Robin, who was hailed on the cover of DETECTIVE #36 as “the sensational character-find of 1940—Robin, The Boy Wonder.” Over the next 40 years, Batman’s fortunes varied: always, however, Robin was at Batman’s side.

He served a couple of functions. If Batman were real (and it may shock some of our more avid readers to learn he isn’t), and if he were the grim, obsessed loner he is often portrayed as, Robin, with some help from Batman's faithful butler Alfred, would keep him sane; a man whose every waking hour is focused on the grimmest aspects of society, who is unable to release the effects of seeing his parents murdered, whose life is an amalgam of sudden violence and lonely vigilance, would soon skew into a nasty insanity if he did not have someone to care for, someone to maintain a link with common humanity. But Batman is, of course, not real. (My apologies to avid readers.) He isn’t exactly a fictional character—more on that shortly—but he does not and could not exist as a living, breathing human being. That doesn’t make Robin any less useful: he serves the same functions in the Batman stories as Watson served in the Sherlock Holmes canon and the gravedigger serves in Hamlet: like Holmes’s faithful doctor, Robin is a sounding board, a person with whom the hero can have dialogues and thus let the reader know how brilliantly he’s handling matters and like the gravedigger, he occasionally provides a bright note in an otherwise relentlessly morose narrative.

Which is why I was a trifle uneasy when we—the editorial staff of DC Comics—decided to let our audience decide whether he would live or die. It came to be known in our offices as the “telephone stunt.” We had a character, Robin, the readers didn’t seem terribly fond of. This wasn’t the original Robin, the “character-find of 1940”; that Robin was Dick Grayson and he had graduated from sidekick to bona fide hero who fronted a group of evil-fighting adolescents, The Teen Titans. In 1983, it was decreed that Robin should grow up and assume a crime-fighting identity of his own—become his own man, as befitted the leader of the mighty Titans. He left Batman’s world to assume the name, costume, and persona of Nightwing. Gerry Conway and Don Newton replaced him with a second Robin, Jason Todd, whose biography was virtually identical to that of Dick Grayson. Why not? Gerry and Don were not trying to innovate, they were simply filling a void. The assignment they were given was simple: Provide another Robin. Quickly and with as little fuss as possible.

In 1986, Max Allan Collins inherited the Batman writing assignment and told his editor he had an idea for an improved Jason Todd. Make him a street kid, Collins said. Make his parents criminals. Have him and Batman on opposite sides at first. Sounded fine to the editor and, since DC was in the middle of a vast, company-wide overhaul of storylines anyway, Collins was told to go ahead. I was the editor; I did the telling. And I’d do it again, today. Collins’s Robin was dramatic, did have story potential. But readers didn’t take to him. I don't know now, and will probably never know why. Jason was accepted as long as he was a Dick Grayson clone, but when he acquired a distinct and, Collins and I still believe, more interesting backstory, their affection cooled. Maybe we—me and the writers who followed Collins—should have worked harder at making Jason likeable. Or maybe, I guessed, on some subconscious level our most loyal readers felt Jason was a usurper. For whatever reason, Jason was not the favorite Dick had been. He wasn’t hated, exactly, but he wasn’t loved, either. Should we write him out of the continuity? It didn’t seem like a bad idea, and when we thought of the experiment that became the telephone stunt, Jason seemed the perfect subject for it. The mechanics were pretty simple: we put Jason in an explosion and gave the readers two telephone numbers they could call, the first to vote that Jason would survive the blast, the second to vote that he wouldn't.

It was successful—oh my, yes. We expected to generate some interest, but not the amount or intensity we got. As soon as the final vote was tallied—5271 for Jasons survival, a deciding 5343 against—the calls began. For most of three days, I talked to journalists, disc jockeys, television reporters. We got a lot of compliments. They ranged from a critic’s liking our stunt to the participatory drama of avant garde theater to the brilliant comedy team of Penn and Teller expressing mock envy that we beat them to “the kill-your-partner-900-number scam.” But then came the backlash, ugly and, to me at least, totally unexpected: one reporter claimed that the whole event had been rigged—that, in fact, we had decided on Jason’s demise ahead of time and staged an elaborate charade; a teary grandmother said that her grandchildren loved Jason and now we’d killed him; several colleagues accused us of turning our magazines into a “Roman circus.” Cynical was a word used. And exploitive. Sleazy. Dishonorable. Wait a minute, I wanted to reply. Jason Todd is just a phantom, a figment of several imaginations. No real kid died. No real anything died. It’s all just stories—

I would have been wrong. Batman, and Superman, and Wonder Woman and their supporting casts are quite a bit more than “just stories” if, by “stories,” we mean ephemeral amusements. They’ve been in continuous magazine publication for a half-century, and they’ve been in movies, and television shows, and in novels, and on cereal boxes and T-shirts and underwear and candy bars and yo-yos and games—thousands of ventures. For fifty years. Fifty years! Although the circulation of our magazines is relatively modest, these characters have been so enduring, so pervasive, they have permeated our collective consciousness. Everybody recognizes them. They are our post-industrial folklore and, as such, they mean much more to people than a few minutes’ idle amusement. They’re part of the psychic family. The public and apparently callous slaying of one of their number was, to some, a vicious attack on the special part of their souls that needs awe, magic, heroism.

We had promised to abide by the telephone poll, and we would. But within a few days, it became apparent that we’d have to begin growing another Robin. We had forgotten that Batman exists outside the pages of our comics, is not the exclusive property of DC’s editorial staff; because he is both popular and imperishable, hundreds of others have some legitimate interest in him (not the least of whom are the readers who, for one reason or another, had missed the voting.) Our medium may have kept him alive, but others have added immeasurably to his success. When we began hearing from them, the consensus was that a Batman without a Robin wasn't quite a Batman. I wasn’t surprised. Nor did I disagree, particularly. So our problem became: how to create Robin III without generating the hostility that plagued poor Jason. Dick Grayson was the answer. If, as we thought, readers felt Jason had somehow usurped Dick’s place, then we should link the new Robin to Dick—give Robin III his predecessor’s stamp of approval. One writer had done almost all of the Dick Grayson material DC had published for a decade: Marv Wolfman, co-creator (with George Pérez) of the New Teen Titans. That made Mary the first, and really only, choice to undertake the task of giving Batman a new helper. And if we were using Marv, why not have some of the story happen in the pages of THE NEW TITANS, which he was already writing, and thus be able to take advantage of the very considerable talents of Marv's collaborator on the Titans, George Pérez? George volunteered to co-plot the story with Mary and do layouts on the TITANS episodes, and editor Mike Carlin enlisted Tom Grummett and Bob McLeod to complete George's graphics work. I asked the regular BATMAN artists, Jim Aparo and Mike DeCarlo, to handle the BATMAN issues. Finally, we chose a name for Robin III—Tim Drake—and, after a couple of editorial conferences, six gifted gentlemen retired to do what they do best.

The result seemed worthy of being collected between one set of covers, to be read as a graphic novel. We decided to do that and you’re holding the result. I hope you enjoy it. But please don’t think it’s the end of the Robin III saga. Dick Grayson’s lasted 50 years, after all, and Tim Drake does have his blessing.

Dennis O’Neil

April 1990

[super-firepaw119]

As you all know, the Kids Online Safety Act (KOSA) stalled out in the House of Representatives on August 1st 2024–The bill is still currently dead as of writing this post.

That being said, I’d also like to remind everyone that the House comes back from Summer Recess next Monday, September 9th. With only a few work weeks left ‘til the Election, there is a possibility—key word possibility, that pro-censorship lawmakers in the House will try one last time to pass KOSA. Nothing has been confirmed as of now, Evan had not raised any alarms so there is no need to panic.

My intention is not to spread misinformation or cause panic with this post, but to warn you all so in the instance this does happen, We’ll be ready to fight like hell.

I advise that we remain vigilant, but also calm. The only reason KOSA hasn’t passed yet is because we’ve remained calm & organized; So long as we keep this up, We’ll win out.

Make sure that any further information you post is accurate & from a reliable source.

Please spread this around.

Nothing has happened yet, we’ll be okay.

Keep calm & keep fighting.

[ronearoundblindly]

Ari- Baby is sick for the first time

Ari Levinson x best friend!reader (now fiancé)

New Parent Panic, a Bedrock and Blueprints tale

Warnings for protective!Ari, Ari not communicating, you doing the same, and then everyone gets their shit together and it's fluff. WC 2k *Off in the distance an ol' timey man pops up: "An argument, you say? You wrote an argument?? How different from your usual!!" Ha-ha. Yeah. We get it. Ro's the same hoe as last year... **I am not a mother. I know what would reasonably be categorized as zilch about babies. I have, however, seen this overwhelmed and guilty behavior from several of my peeps as they raise their youngins, so that's good enough for me. You're doing fine. I promise.

Sure, there was the rather severe diaper rash incident, and the time when nursing her turned your nipples into raw portals for a newly-discovered circle of hell, but nothing could have prepared you for this day.

Rachel was...meh this morning when Ari left for work. A little whiny, not sleeping well, but she's an infant; that's not new. Overall, she's actually been a very straight-forward baby.

And then you don't know what happened.

You napped very hard until noon (after only a moderately successful feeding) and by then Rach had a fever.

You called the nurses' hotline. You gave her the dose of baby meds. You're trying to keep her hydrated, at least, if she can't be happy right now. You just have to stay vigilant and wait it out.

But that's not easy.

She's crying and won't sleep, she'll barely eat, and you don't have a separate car. You only want to call Ari if it's to say "we need to take her to a doctor." You're not there yet.

So you do the shittiest feeling thing you can think of, the most painful thing, and you wait.

You don't sleep. You barely eat. You take Rachel's temperature like you are monitoring the possible meltdown of a nuclear reactor. One wiggle of a degree in the wrong direction, and that Bat Signal is going on.

I can do this, you tell yourself. I've wanted to be a mom for a long time, so I can do this.

Except you don't sleep and barely eat.

Ari arrives home precisely when he said he would, the exact number of minutes (after work shuts down for the day) that it takes to drive to the house, predictable, dependable, and utterly useless when he opens the door and asks "why is she crying?"

"Because she hates me," you blubber, holding her to your chest, arms cramped from cradling her for so many hours at this point.

"She need meds?"

Of course, I gave her the fucking meds.

"Hungry?"

No, asshole, I purposefully starved your fucking child for my own amusement.

"Calm down," Ari snips back. "I'm just trying to help."

Well then fucking help me!

By now, you likely look as if you're in a war zone: disheveled, manic, and possibly--definitely--hostile.

"Okay, okay, let me just take a piss and then I'll hold her."

"Yeah, of course. Whatever you want. Whatever you need." You turn your back to him before grumbling, "not like I haven't had to hold it all afternoon..."

Ari's still-booted feet land heavily beside you again. "Then I'll take her now," he grits through clenched teeth, "and you can use the bathroom."

"No. I already have her."

"Fine. I'll be right back."

"Take your time."

The way you lace the words with a sickly sweet melody has Ari spinning on a heel and staring at you through his long eyelashes, a tick in his jaw stopping him from saying something he might regret.

"Kid," he finally sighs, "just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

He runs a hand over his beard while he waits for your answer. A few seconds later, his hip juts out, arms akimbo, and he bites his bottom lip expectantly.

You just walk off toward your phone on the kitchen counter and call the nurse hotline back.

"I swear, woman," he mutters as you leave, but you're glad he can't hear you sniffle back a sob.

It should be reassuring that the nurse has no new advice for what to do. You're doing everything correctly. You're doing all you can. Don't worry. Keep checking her temp and giving her whatever fluids she'll take. That's all for now.

It doesn't feel like enough. It doesn't feel like all a mother can do.

Ari? Ari waltzes up to the fridge and cracks himself open a beer.

You don't even have words, only flaming hot vibes that will melt his face like a Spielberg movie--you have got to stop watching movie marathons during late-night breast-feeding--if you stare hard enough at his casual blue gaze.

"So," he begins, "you figure out what I gotta do?"

What had been steady whimpering from Rachel has amplified into wails that bring tears to both hers and your eyes.

They just fall down your cheeks, and you wipe them from your chin before they can fall onto your screaming child.

Ari's judging frown makes your stomach turn while he steps closer, bends at the knees, and takes his little girl in hand.

Less than a minute later, Rachel stops, and you just cannot fucking handle it. The only quiet moment you've had in six and a half hours he gets to enjoy moments after coming home.

That's not fair. Cure fucking cancer already, Levinson, and save us the goddamn grief!

The tears and the tired are choking you.

Ari tells you to go freshen up in the bathroom, but that is the most horribly wrong way to say anything to you, ever, in a moment like this.

You stomp out the front door, rip open the sliding back door of the SUV, and crawl onto the cab floor. Once the latch clicks behind you, face buried in the blanket kept on Rachel's car seat, you scream.

You whimper and you cry and you get your fucking time to be angry at all your feelings today because it's bullshit.

You didn't take your own temperature. You didn't get rest and drink plenty of fluids. You didn't take any medicine. All you keep going over in your mind is whether or not you were sick first. Did you have something you gave to your daughter? Is this your fault?

So the tears and the choking continue for...as long as they take.

You don't know how much time has passed before the car door is yanked open again. Thank the stars you are facing away. You can't look at Ari right now.

"Is she okay?" you ask with a watery voice.

His big, warm hand rubs across your back, making you sink further into the upholstery.

"Took a few ounces of a bottle and went down in her bunk."

Ari likes to call Rachel a part of his 'squad,' so he talks to your infant daughter like they're going on 'missions' to the store or getting a bottle from the 'mess.' Your bedroom has thus become the 'barracks.'

Sometimes, he holds her sitting up against his chest and uses her feet to 'march' the pair of them across the house.

Left. Left. Left right left.

And almost always, there's a giggle, too.

"Up you go, kid," Ari huffs, maneuvering you into his arms.

"No," you whine, so tired you can't tell what it is you don't want.

He just keeps saying, "I know. I know," until he's carried you inside.

Instead of taking you to the couch or the bed, Ari sits you both down in the front hall, balancing you on his lap while he loosens his boot laces and finally kicks the sturdy shoes off, placing them on the mat a couple feet away.

He presses his lips to your temple, rough beard gently scrubbing over your eyelid and cheek.

"How many times I gotta tell ya to call me?" he whispers. He doesn't expect to have this same argument again, not like this, but his point still stands. "You know, you're warm, too."

If it's another question, you don't answer that either. You change the subject.

"Did you take her temp?"

He nods, and the number he tells you is the same as it was thirty minutes ago, or rather, thirty minutes before he came home.

Ari squeezes you tighter. "You want to get into bed, and I'll bring your some juice and meds, huh? Meet you in there?"

"I'm a bad mom," you breathe.

"What?" He pulls away, smacking his head on the wall behind him. "What are you talking about?"

How are there more tears left in your body? You should be nothing but a shriveled husk at this rate.

"Bullshit," he practically seethes. "Don't you ever say that again."

"I shouldn't have--"

"Stop."

"--you were--"

"Stop it," he blurts, firm and serious.

"But I'm the one who wanted this, Ari!" Your most powerful voice only comes out as high whisper. "Me. I wanted kids. This whole time. I bitched about how Joanna's done, and I thought I could just--" you swing an arm out dramatically "--and I suck at it. Rach even likes you better!"

"No, kid. She was exhausted. I only got here at the right time."

"It's 'cause your comfy and you smell good--"

"--not sure about that--"

"--and she loves you," you bemoan.

Ari snorts out a laugh.

"She loves you, too. You're her mom." He tucks you in closer, soothing you with petting hands wherever he can reach. "I love you. So much. So, so much."

He finds your hand and the sapphire ring he put on it, spinning it gently on your finger. He hasn't gotten to make good on his promise. Planning a wedding, even a small one, with a newborn is almost impossible, but that seems to be part of the problem.

Anything to do with you or you two feels selfish when there's three. Guilt grips you when you stop to daydream about your big day because it's not about Rachel. She's the most important thing. She will trump you forever as the single most--

"Can I tell you a secret?" Ari's timbre rattles close to your ear. "You're my favorite."

You slump into his chest until your forehead braces his throat.

"Almost not fair, really," he drawls. "You've got a decade of brownie points, and she's managed to make me buy more pads for her than I've had to for y--"

You pinch at his side harshly, biting back a smile, the salt from dried tears on your lips flooding your mouth.

"Oh! And you can control your bladder for a whole day, which is downright impressive wh--hey now--" Ari scuttles on the floor to evade your attack on his ribs. "I'm just...being...honest," he chuckles.

"You're a jerk is what you are, old man."

He easily grabs both your arms and pins them together in front of him.

"Yeah, but I'm your jerk. Your old man, kid. I'm yours, okay? You are not alone here. You don't have to know how to do everything by yourself." He lowers his voice as well as his face to yours. "And you mean just as much to me as that little girl in there. You hear me?"

There's a different lump of emotion lodged deep in your chest. You only nod because you can't speak.

He makes your foreheads meet.

"Please be okay. I could never do this without you. Any of it..."

That's when you realize what bothers you so much: Ari should need you to raise Rachel, but you never truly acknowledged you might need him to raise her, too.

This enormous weight of clutching every thread of life in your own two hands isn't real. You can share. You are meant to share your life with Ari. Ari is meant to share his life with you. Rachel shares life with you both, as she is meant to share with everyone around her. It's a lesson she has the opportunity to learn a lot younger than you, apparently.

He gets you to drink a whole bottle of water. He brings you some food and medicine while he handles some laundry and cleans out the day's bottles. He leads you with both hands to the bathroom, finally, and then gets you settled in bed.

As you fall asleep, you watch Ari take Rach's temperature again.

He lets out a silent cheer and holds his hand over her.

"High five?" he whispers. "No? It's fine. We'll work on that."

The last thing you see is Ari playfully lifting her from the basinet, sneaking out to the living room to enjoy a movie marathon, just for a little bit, snuggling together while he winds down for the night.

All that matters is she's safe and happy.

That, and of course, waking up in Ari's arms, listening to his slow breathing and Rachel's faster, baby huffs. You can handle anything because you made it through today and you have them.

[Ari's POV for this day]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @rogersbarber @yenzys-lucky-charm

[grison-in-space]

well, it's happened. at the ripe old age of four, Benton discovered he had a prey drive. he now believes that he is a mighty hunter and, faced with the loss of his quarry (another... possum? rabbit?) he has gone to stare out the missing plank in the back gate and shriek. prior to that he was circling the perimeter of the fence with glassy-eyed hope.

this is a new and horrible development, but at least pacing alarmedly around the perimeter prevents him from playing his other obsessive compulsive games like "Rattle A Pebble Against Your Teeth While Drooling Heavily" and "Dig Straight Down Into a Frisbee On The Ground" and his old great love, "Object Permanence: The Game." you know what, I'll take it. the newly awakened prey drive has also apparently overwritten Benton's terror of going outside on a summer's night (thanks, fireworks neighbors) so that he's actively resisting coming inside because he wants to hunt rabbits through the fence.

the one thing I also have to stress to you all is that Benton's actual hunting ability is very, very bad. All this got started when he identified that an adolescent opossum had moved in under our deck stairs, fixating on it for days, and eventually dug into its hidehole and evicted it. He had his teeth on that possum multiple times including an attempt at a death shake and as far as we can tell it played dead and we got him inside before it could wake up. He is awful at identifying mice and he gets so wound up that he starts traveling exclusively at a fast collected trot, like a dressage horse in heel. When he gets frustrated he screams like a toddler that fell down while trying to steal an entire pie. It is hilarious.

It's not that I intend to let him practice on the local wildlife, but I confess that his vigilance is not exactly keeping me up at night with concern over the possibility that he might succeed.

[monimccoythings]

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine SFW & NSFW headcanons

I never do the full template it takes too much work, I usually prefer to use the questions from the letters of the name. But this time I wanted to do a Bonus round with two extra letters that I haven't used and I really wanted to answer (one for SFW and the other for NSFW)

The template I'm using is the one from thecoldestgoodbye on tumblr, it's one of the best, if not the best.

TW: this has NSFW content

SFW

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Logan always claims he doesn't have patience for children and doesn't like to get attached to snooty brats, but we know this bitch is a liaaaar. Motherfucker keeps unofficialy adopting every kid he finds. He is such a dad, but he doesn't have the guts to admit it.

If you ever had children together, Logan would be one of the most amazing fathers to ever walk this earth. Attentive, protective, extremely doting on his 'pups', as he calls them. One could say he was meant to be a father.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It's hard, it's extremely hard for him to open up about his feelings and his past. He was barely able to come up to terms with the fact that he loved you, you can't expect him to suddenly reveal his entire lifestory, specially when there are fragments of it that he doesn't seem to remember.

Even if he dares to share some of it with you, it would come in small snippets, as he doesn't want to burden you with his trauma. When he's with you he doesn't want to think about his past, he just wants to look at the possibility of a future together.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He tries, he really tries to be gentle with you because he knows he's barely more than an animal. He can be feral and ruthless and one of his worst fears is that he'll lose control and end up hurting you.

Emotionally he can be very rude and blunt, he knows how he can get, but he's trying to keep his temper in check. Sometimes it's hard, specially if there's some little shit annoying the hell out of him, but you make it worth it.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Logan isn't very fond of PDA. Maybe he grabs your waist, has an arm around your shouldres, and kisses your temple. But that's it for him. One thing's for sure, he's practically glued to you. He won't oppose if you want to hold hands or kiss him, though; he'll just try (and fail) to keep a straight face as you pepper him with kisses.

Oh but when you two are alone, he can barely keep his hands off you. Kisses, nuzzles, hugs, he basically turns into a giant puppy. There's no escaping from his affections.

There's only one time when he will become more affectionate than usual not caring if you are in public or not. When you're ovulating. Logan has deeply rooted animal instincts that easily come to the surface when you're most fertile. Want to know when it's the best time to go for a baby? Just check how amorous Logan is being with you in public.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Logan has night terrors and sleepless nights are not unfamiliar to him. When he's laying with you in bed, he usually likes to keep himself awake just in case he has a nightmare and ends up attacking you. To keep his mind occupied, he watches you sleep. Just listening to your soft hums and breathing are enough to calm him down and lull him into a safe state between sleep and vigil.

In the morning, you will always find him holding you very closely, as if he was afraid you'd vanish if he let you go.

NSFW

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Any place is good enough for him. But he likes to take his sweet time with you, so your shared bedroom is his main base of operations.

Logan has a special kink for public spaces or common areas in the mansion because he loves the thrill of being caught in the act with you. He wants everyone to know you are already claimed. Sometimes you like to tease him on how kissing in public is uncomfortable for him but pounding you on the living room couch isn't.

(Ask him if he wants to do it in Scott's car and he'll light up like it's Christmas, he just loves to annoy him, he's a petty horndog)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Logan is the God of oral sex. For real. This man could spend hours lapping at your folds like a hungry dog, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you and he'd still not be satisfied.

He'd rather eat you out, but really loves being on the receiving end as well. Likes to see how you struggle taking him all in, sometimes nearly choking. He loves pulling your hair roughly to keep you in place and force you to look at him in the eyes. There's something really special about watching you watching him cum in your mouth.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

The only humour that is allowed in the bedroom is his dark, cruel and twisted humor. He will mock and tease you occasionally "Oh, is my sweet princess too fucked dumb to even speak?" "Am I too much for you, babe?". Otherwise, sex is serious business for him.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

When you first start seeing each other, he wouldn't bother much, just the basic cleaning, and helping you lay more comfortably. Once you become official he would treat you like a princess: making sure you got something to eat to recover your strength (sessions with him can and will become very intense), providing refreshments and meticulously cleaning you up. Sometimes he's so focused in taking care of you that he forgets to take care of himself. Thankfully, you're there to cover for him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Logan doesn't share. Period. He won't let anyone but himself have a taste of you. Threesomes are completely out of the question.

He also has a strong policy about using his claws in bed. If you want him to use them, you'll actually have to beg. A lot.

BONUS ROUND:

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He never saw himself settling down. But deep down, at his core, he just wants to live peacefully with you as a family in a cabin far away from the city. Maybe a ranch. Whatever as long as it's peaceful.

He manages. Like, cooking it's just some tool for him to feed himself and survive, you can't expect him to make something very elaborate. He knows the basics. With time and patience you will find yourself cooking dinner alongside him. He's more than willing to learn.

Cleaning? Yeah, he'll clean, he likes to keep his place decent at least. But doesn't want to get too close to the cleaning products, they make his very sensistive nose itchy.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Predator and Prey kink. Oh my does he love it. He's a hunter, we all know that and to turn that into a sexual game with you, you'd never know how happy you make him.

If he comes back to the mansion to stressed from a mission he'd call you to give you a running start to hide in the massive woods that surround the School. Once the time it's over he begins to hunt. It doesn't take him long to find you, it's nearly impossible to cheat his enhanced senses. Sometimes he likes to drag the chase, giving you a false impression of being able to outrun him. A bit of fearplay also make the experience even more delicious for both of you.

There are other times when it's you the one who starts the game. He will go upstairs towards your shared bedroom and find a note with a smiley face on it. "Come and get me :)" It won't be long before you hear his grunts and growls as he gives chase.