#whoops!! more angst!!

[starheavenly]

Poor Drift, the poor guy, is going through so much angst

Yeah... Poor guy....

[egophiliac]

What do you like about the Diasomnia boys if I may ask?

I always love hearing about the different reasons people enjoy characters.

I mean, c'mon. he has split custody over Sebek okay

also, Lilia in particular has maybe the best timeskip character development of all time

[fraycreations]

Silver Bloodstains by @blueisquitetired

‘Yes! Yes. I- I forgot almost everything, you must forgive me. You are…’ He paused. ‘…my former host?’ ‘ Brother. ’ Emmet corrected, pulling his twin to his forehead once again. ‘I am your brother.’

[justsigma-bsd]

He comes back by the evening, quietly entering Sigma's room.

- @my-taintedsorrow

*He's not in his room, but a note is*

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to ? | fame au interlude

p1 p2 p3 p4 p5 p6

After the Globes both Steve and Eddie's teams decided radio silence was the best. Let people assume what they’re gonna assume. Hope that that assumption starts with D and ends with rugs.

And most people do assume that. It circulates as a listicle oddity for a week then disappears. Written off as some weird celebrity quirk. Hollywood whispers, but they always do.

But then some people, some people start to speculate.

They listen to Penitence, really listen to Penitence.

Through all its torn up apologies, its sorrow & regrets, they hear about someone getting left behind, turned against for the crime of their success & the artist’s failure. Someone the artist would do anything to get back.

And they start to dig through old interviews of Steve’s. The really early ones. Digital archives of defunct genre mags. Where he talks about falling into acting by chance, talks about moving out to LA with a partner and working odd jobs.

It doesn’t line up with the stuff Eddie had touted on late-night. Steve hadn’t moved to LA to be an actor. All his early interviews say so. Lie after lie piles up so they swirl and they speculate and they make their theories.

But it’s nothing to worry about. Their teams both reassure them. Not really. It stays in its corner of the internet. Stays that way for months. Well into the summer. Quiets down a little, even. Well, it does until–

The picture itself is incriminating.

Steve Harrington, leaving Eddie Munson’s NYC brownstone, stretching out for a morning jog. Hickeys littering his neck, a bite-mark visible on his collar bone.

But he's not embarrassed, no. For some reason, he’s grinning like an asshole.

[rip-headphones-users]

You could just leave this here, happy and satisfied as is…

…But thats not how things get to end, right?

Maybe one day they can be happy together. But not like this. Not when Infected can barely remember who he’s with, and not when Lampert is so scared of contracting the parasite himself.

One of these days I’ll do a full summary of how I interpret their dynamic. Both as friends and as a ship. I see them as having a queer-platonic relationship for the most part though.

[letternotekisses]

Ouuurghhhh Ramattra hate sex ourghhhhh 😫😫

He fucks you like he hates you because secretly he doesn’t.

There's little love in the way Ramattra takes you, leaving bruises and scrapes along your soft flesh because of his heavy handedness and the desperate need he has to convince himself that this is just for your mutually assured stress relief.

It's almost pathetic of him really - bending you into all sorts of positions and watching how much it takes for your fleshy body to give in and let him inside - all because of a few feelings he wasn't brave enough to face up to. Yet even after every time you still return for more, truly a glutton for punishment.

Or maybe you were just like him. Two points of time at a devastatingly slow standstill. Mixed up mirrors of one another, tangled in something equally sweet and sickening he'd spent many a night fixated on.

As the days go on he learns to treat you a little differently. You are smaller, delicate - human, putting your life in his hands in a manner of trust he surely wouldn't hand over to anyone else. Ramattra could crumble you beneath the creaking of his fingers but he wouldn't, he couldn't - and it would enrage him to see anyone else even entertain the idea.

It sours him more to think that he belongs to you just as much as you do to him, and Ramattra shows it to you in the only way he knows how - by grabbing the fat of your hip too hard when he brings you down onto the girthy silicone standing deplorably between his gigantic legs, leaving aching bruises to mask the utter shame of his excitability.

And yet you cry for more, meek mewls and sheer rambling nonsense to spur him on as he splits you open, carving a place for himself deep inside you despite what common sense may seem to scream at him.

Whatever it is that he really feels, said gigantic, terrifying omnic isn't quite ready to face it yet. To face you and the cruel mimic of love you'd plagued him with.

Only, there's no mimic and that just might be what scares him the most.

[nartothelar]

But for the vampire au, have you considered Emmet getting Severely Hurt™️ and Ingo turning him to keep his brother alive?

Or do they have an agreement to just let things happen?

“No.” Emmet responds simply, decisively.

The answer is expected and yet, the disappointment Ingo feels is an unwelcome heaviness, his constant frown turning genuine without it meaning to.

Ingo had asked the very same question thrice times now.

Once was when they were kids. It was casual inquiry that came with little prompting; he had asked out of curiosity more than anything. Ingo had asked Emmet after they had defeated a trio of challengers off hand. Emmet had laughed, light and airy, when he answered. They had gotten ice cream using their winnings after.

The second time had been following a much more harrowing experience. A safety check forgotten, a simple mistake by a depot agent newly hired, had resulted in a derailed train. Fortunately only a few were injured. Unfortunately, one of those few was Emmet.

Ingo had asked him with bags under his eyes, something quite silly since Ingo didn’t even need to sleep. (Was that makeup? Emmet had joked with an exhausted smile.)

Emmet, laying in that hospital bed, IV's in his arm and a cask around his left leg, had responded much the same, a chuckle rather than a laugh. Perhaps his headache had come back to manage much more than that. Ingo didn’t attempt to change his mind and offered him the chicken noodle soup Elesa had brought for him.

And the third time was right now: Ingo sitting across from Emmet in the dining room of their shared apartment. It was morning and even though the windows curtains were drawn, the room was illuminated with a soft glow. In front of his brother was a plate of eggs and toast, him nursing a cup of black coffee. In front of Ingo was just a cup of tea, untouched and cooling.

“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”

“But why don’t you want to be a vampire?”

The way he asks shows his cards far to easily. Whoever had said Subway Boss Ingo was hard to read must have not tried at all.

His brother looks at him, assessing him, and then looks away.

Emmet is silent for a minute, simply gazing at the cup in front of him. His food was getting cold.

Most would think Emmet was being hesitant when answering, that this was a sign he didn’t want to answer at all. But Ingo knows him well. He knows he wants to go over what he will day and that he voices his thoughts properly.

Ingo is patient and waits. Finally, Emmet answers.

“I like the sun.” His brother says, looking at him. The color of his eyes haven’t dulled all these years. “It feels warm on my skin. It feels good.”

“I love eating. The taste, the action. Yup!" Emmet picks at his plate with a hum. "I want to eat what I like, when I like."

“I like my independence." Ingo's tea leaves an ashy taste as he sips it - a floral chamomile bag floats at the bottom of it. "I do not want to be dependent on others. I do not want to be dependent on things out of my control."

"I know that I will have to sometimes." Emmet really looks at him now. "And that is ok. But I still feel the same way.”

Ingo squeezes his mug, before he relaxes his grip. Emmet notices.

Emmet lays his palm on his chest, closing it into a fist near the middle.

“I like being human.” It sounds final, the words like a gavel to wood, the way it echoes in his mind. “I do not want to be a vampire.”

Ingo wants to argue. To convince him that the pros outweigh the insignificant cons, but he does not. No. Usually Ingo is more eloquent with his words, but the fear that rises up in his throat makes his usually well thought out words more brisk, more succinct, more honest as he says the obvious.

“But you are aging.” Ingo says. You are dying, Ingo tries, fails, and a refrains to add.

Ingo hands are smooth, his face without a wrinkle. He looks as the same as he as when he first became a subway boss. He has since he was sent to Hisui. Forever youthful. And Emmet.

Emmet's hands are calloused, wrinkled from years of maintenance at gear station. His hair is thinning and his temples were turning white. His stride not as brisk as it was years ago.

“I am.” Emmet replies. “And I will continue to age.”

Ingo knows Emmet. He is stubborn, just like himself. That is how he is. He knows he will not change his mind. And that makes him clench his jaw, look down at his cup with furrowed brow.

“Ingo.”

Ingo snaps his head up, fear turning to anger that makes him feel sick. He should not be angry, but he is.

“Then you plan to reach your final stop?” Emmet’s smile dims. Ingo continues anyway. “Leave this station?” Without me? Ingo clamps down before he utters the accusation.

“You....you will have me wait here for you to die? And do nothing?!”

And there it is. Ingo barring his greatest fear since he got turned. The thing that has plaguing his mind since he stood at the grave of his old clan leader in Hisui, at the cemetery where his other wardens were laid to rest. What he had realized as he saw time passes by, years of constant goodbyes and tearful farewells.

It was that, no matter how grand his ideals, the simple truth of the matter was that he was utterly powerless to the passage of time.

Ingo doesn't realize that he has stood up until he is already towering over Emmet's seated form. His fangs barred and he suspects his eyes are slits.

And despite that, Emmet looks calm. He looks...sad.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Ingo says softly, deflated as the anger leaves his body. To live on as those around him pass. To see enjoy his life without the people he cares most around him.

Ingo feels arms wrap around him and he wraps trembling arms around Emmet too, his head laying on his shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, simply holding each other, not letting go.

"I'm sorry I never gave you the choice." Emmet finally says. Ingo's hands grip at Emmet's shirt. "We were young. You were dying. And I was desperate. I did not want to lose you..."

Emmet pulls back after that, not all the way, but enough to look into Ingo's face. His fangs have retracted, his eyes normal again. "But those details do not matter now, do they?" Emmet sighs out, that sad smile still there.

"They matter. Of course they matter." Ingo protests, but he doesn't elaborate pass that.

Emmet looks at the floor, thinking about his words and looks at Ingo again before saying, "Everything reaches its final terminal."

"Not me." Ingo says. It comes out bitter.

"Everything does." Emmet repeats, shaking his head. He squeezes Ingo's forearm before he lets go. "I did not give you a choice. but you can choose for yourself now."

His brother’s crows feet, a result from decades worth of smiles, crinkle at the edges as he looks at him. "Just as I choose for myself."

Ingo dwells on those words, on what his brother is offering. A choice and a decision to make. Emmet looks at him and Ingo understands.

With a sigh (a concession, a compromise), Ingo nods and accepts Emmet's answer.

That heaviness Ingo feels is not fully gone from his mind, but it has lightened, the tension of the room dispersing like the morning fog.

Emmet notices, smiles, and sits back down to finish his breakfast. Ingo follows. And then the silence is filled anew with his brother's latest retelling of yet another dealing he had with a rude passenger yesterday.

Ingo listens and they both laugh and talk and all is right and as it should be that morning, in their shared moment of time.

Him and his brother were a two car train, always have been, no matter their differences. And no matter what, he was going to be there with him until his brother's final destination.

And then after that, once that engine has long gone cold, Ingo would decide when his last stop was too.

[dysfunctional-doodle]

So we've got the Leos thinking 03!Leo is really cool, the Raphs having mutual respect for 03!Raph because they understand each other, and the Donnies having respect (and low key fear) for 03!Don and his peaceful ways.

Last but not least, the Mikeys. Gotta ask how they feel about 03!Mikey. Do they aspire to be like him, hoping to one day be able to bring as much chaos as he does?

Yes. Hail Father Micheal, Humble Servant of Mother Klunk

(Without the context of my text/chat fic this makes no sense and I am not going to try and explain lol)

I actually do think he’s kind of adopted all the other Michelangelos (specifically the younger ones) to try and stop them from getting caught up in the whole “funny guy” face that he has had to his whole life - intentionally or not, his brothers rely on him to be happy and carefree, and he wants to be the support he never got to the other Mikeys so they can express their own feelings and vent at him. He also wants to wrap them all up in bubble wrap and stop them from all the trauma sprinting towards them, but he understands he can’t and instead solidifies himself as the supporting pillar they need.

(Also they absolutely follow him around like ducks as he teaches them all the ways of pranking and mischief. He takes them under his wing to all become pranking gods.)

[grab-my-digits-dude]

For @may-blade day 2: As a bit beast Oh hell yeah I love bit beast merge aus! How about the more use of Dragoon the more corrupt Tyson gets YEAH ! ! !

[literarystarfish]

Voodoo Doll - part one

Villain has Hero under their voodoo doll-like powers and is nearly ready to enact their plan against Superhero. Until, of course, they are forced to pause that plan by some curious, unforeseen events.

Part one ~1900 words

Part two (Final) here

Kind of dark, not really a hero x villain since there's not really a relationship unless you squint really hard at the end, angst with a happy(-ish?) ending, a few curses, heed warnings in the tags (more to be added in the next part)

This will be two parts

~~

What? No… How?!

Villain gasped as a burning pain in their shoulder ripped through them as if their arm was being twisted the wrong way, feeling as if it would pop from its socket at any moment. They watched in surprise and pain as small red marks appeared that would surely turn to finger-sized bruises along their arm where a heavy, painful pressure was holding just too tightly.

What’s happening? 

The person they have under their voodoo power at the moment is Hero. They were sure it was Hero. It couldn’t have been anyone else.

But Hero was safe, back at home. Villain made sure of it. They had silently followed the defeated do-gooder as Hero had retreated and made their way back to their home, where they lived with Superhero.

With Superhero, for gods’ sake! That was the safest place they could be in this damn city.

How were they getting hurt?!

Villain had wanted to be sure they could keep their voodoo spell connected with the hero so that the next phase of their plan could go smoothly. Which meant Hero had to stay out of trouble and out of any fights or else Villain would have to sever their connection. They can’t have Hero getting hurt and, in doing so, hurting themself in the process as well while their spell over Hero was intact. 

I’ve been careful. They can’t have figured out my power works both ways... The villain’s thoughts ground out just before the pain started to let up in their shoulder. They let out a sigh of relief, though the finger shaped marks and bruising pressure remained.

For all the heroes knew, if someone was under Villain’s voodoo powers, then the masochist that was Villain could hurt themself and cause that damage to the one under their influence. Villain had carefully built up their pain tolerance for years to have this advantage. 

It was a wonderful distraction mid-fight to have their opponent taken off guard by sudden wounds opening up on their skin. The hero would look up in terror and see Villain holding eye contact with them with a sinister smile spread across their face. The villain would slide a knife across their own body and an identical bright red pool would slice itself open on the hero's own body. 

That fear from the heroes was priceless.

The dense patchwork of scars that littered Villain’s body only added to the disconcerting aura that their opponents feared. Each one a clear indicator of what they were willing to do to win in a fight.

Villain had heard whispers of the fear it brought the heroes to see the marks littering their skin. The violent masochist. The scarred villain. They wore them now as a badge of honor.

What kind of person would willingly hurt themself to the point that their body was more scars than skin just to win a fight. They were even missing half a finger for god's sake! Though the story of how Villain had sustained such an injury was lost to the heroes, it didn't stop the rumors spreading about it. Surely it was done to get the drop on some poor, unsuspecting hero who perished in their fight!

Never mind that Villain, themself, had never once killed a hero on purpose unless that hero had forced Villain's hand for their own survival. Though the death toll of heroes who fought them was steadily growing, it was no skin off their back to have less of them crawling around the city. It was less vermin to drain the city of all its worth and infect its citizens with their righteous disease as far as the villain was concerned. 

The people were too blinded by the dazzling brightness of the hero's fools-gold exterior to see how much the heroes leeched from them in the name of doing good. Like a frog in slowly boiling water, they wouldn't know until it was too late.

So Villain took great pride in making sure to annoy and torment any and all heroes who participated in such blatantly fake morality. Unfortunately that left little more than a handful of heroes that they considered truly good.

And if it wasn't for their association with Superhero- head of the "Superhero's Guild" and one of the most corrupt of them all, though they have yet to gather any true proof until they soon pulled off their plan-, Villain would even consider Hero to be one of the more moral heroes.

And until Villain could pull the rug out from that corrupt kingpin, they would have to continue to annoy the heroes and foil any underhanded 'heroism' in any way they can.

The desperation and terror that Villain could watch form in their faces from not being able to control what was happening to themselves as they fought them was an amusing bonus.

And even better were the ones who didn’t know... The ones who had come into the fight blind to what Villain’s power was. They were the fun ones to torment. It was all over for those heroes with one measly touch. That's all it took. One moment of contact with Villain and they were at the mercy of their power. 

The immediate confusion and pain and then the slow realization of what was happening as every attack they landed affected themselves as well. Watching the slow shift in their tactics to see what the limitations of Villain’s power might be as they fought only for them to inevitably come to the same conclusion: they cannot harm Villain without harming themself. 

Villain's power terrified them. Why would you hurt the person if it means you were hurt too? How do you fight an enemy like that?

God, that fear and desperation was addicting. Delicious.

How many of these heroes had never felt what their own powers could do? What they had put each and every villain or criminal through that they had ever fought in the past? Never knowing what kind of harm and pain and fear they could do first hand? Some of them—the moral ones at least, bless their righteous little hearts— were hesitant to use their powers again, full strength or otherwise, after they had felt what they could do for themselves. Some even retired completely. 

But, unfortunately, the voodoo spell goes both ways. If their victim sustains damage, so does Villain. It was easy enough to sever and then reestablish the connection if Villain ever wanted to do any true damage to the hero without receiving it themself as well. Just a quick thought to dispel it and a simple touch to connect it again. This is what made it easy to hide this unfortunate side effect. 

And this was the part of their power that they knew they had to keep silent. A hero with that knowledge? One that was feeling a bit too self-sacrificing? That could be dangerous. Villain would cut off the connection before anyone could truly kill them by taking their own lives, of course, but it was dangerous nonetheless. Too many close calls already. 

But now… Villain suddenly wasn’t too sure if their carefully kept secret was as secret as they’d hoped. Why else would Hero be taking damage in the safety of their own home? 

In a home they share with Superhero no less! If there was anywhere Hero would be safe, it was there. 

Villain was ripped from their thoughts as the breath was knocked out of them and they fell to the floor gasping for air. Villain felt as if they’d just been punched in the gut. Hard. 

Maybe Hero did get into a fight?! Villain hadn’t actually watched them go inside. They couldn’t get close enough to the house to see the door without fear of getting caught by the tight security measures of the heroes’ home. But they saw Hero walking up the path that couldn’t lead anywhere else but that front door. 

Were they ambushed? 

The spell’s connection was silent for a while. If Hero was in a fight, they must have finished it already. Or perhaps Hero’s opponent was monologuing, as so many of the more ridiculous villains in this city seem to do. 

But, if it was over, then Villain’s plan could still work, as long as Hero went home… now! 

Villain willed the Hero to get to the safety of Superhero’s residence, wishing their voodoo powers also influenced the will of the other person and not just their physical being, but knowing it did no such thing.

The next hit Hero must have sustained wasn’t what Villain would expect from a fight with a villain. It was a slap across their face that took them fully off guard. Villain’s hand shot to where they had just felt the phantom hand hit. Their cheek burned at the force, the hand print sized spot was warmed to the touch, their jaw ached. 

Who the fuck is Hero fighting that would hit them like that? What a useless attack! Villain would have found the idea of Hero being slapped shitless by some villain like that hilarious if it send a jolt of confusion through them. Something about this wasn’t right. 

Villain has felt what others have felt when the other was in a fight. This didn't seem to be the same.

What the hell has that damned hero gotten themselves into now?

Then, the moment oxygen was being restricted from their airways by an invisible grip around their neck, Villain dropped the spell, sputtering for breath as they coughed and heaved in shock. 

Why did it feel like Hero wasn’t even putting up a fight?! There was no stinging on their hands or legs from any counter punches or kicks. There had been no straining of their fingernails if Hero were to scratch and claw away from the hand trying to squeeze the life from their throat. 

What was going on? Surely Hero wasn’t that exhausted that they couldn’t fight. 

How annoying it was that Hero had a pension to get themselves into the middle of fights so often. Why do they have to stick their nose into everything? 

Or perhaps they really had figured out Villain’s secret?

This put a damper on Villain’s plans either way. They’d have to make contact with Hero again now, if they want to get away with their next phase. Preferably without their knowledge if their secret was compromised. 

What a hassle.

Villain grumbled to themself, cursing the hero’s inability to take a damn break from their crime fighting for even just a few hours. Surely, they would want to rest after their disastrous battle with Villain just a little while ago. Why would they want to go into a fight while still so weak?

Probably a desperate attempt to save their ego, Villain thought with a slight grin. Pathetic. That's why they weren’t putting up a fight as well. That must be it. Hero didn’t have much left to put up. They were trying to save strength until absolutely necessary. Villain had left them weak. Not completely unable to defend themself but definitely hindered.  

Regrettably, Villain’s plan would not work with just any other hero. They needed Hero specifically. After all, they were looking to go after Superhero. And what better way than to get the person closest to them.

So Villain gave Hero two days to recover from their fights and gleefully went out to create enough havoc that they knew Hero would come to ‘stop’ them. 

——————————

Hope you enjoyed part one of my inaugural tumblr posts! Part two up shortly.

[starheavenly]

Uh oh.

[dreameatingparasite]

relationship ended with sixer gotta find someone new i guess

[uselessmicrowave]

Ooh either tfp shockwave realizing he’s in love with Starscream, or screamer realizing he’s in love with KOBD!

how about both?

shockwave + screamy

Shockwave… doesn’t think that he should be feeling like this. He’ll procrastinate on putting a label on this fuzzy warm emotion he gets when near the second in command.

After he weighs the pros and cons of confessing, Shockwave decides he wants to tell Starscream. The only reason why he hasn’t done it yet is that when he’s about to tell Starscream, his vocalizer seems to shut off or fill with static.

Shockwave finds this all very illogical. His emotions and the nervousness, it’s unnecessary, why can’t he just tell Starscream without worry or shaking?

Shockwave, to get over his fears, sends Starscream a long comlink message about how it would be logical to know eachother better work together and cuddle have more interactions.

Starscream’s response is cautious, but he agrees to meet Shockwave in his lab and drink stolen high grade from Megatron’s stash discuss Project Predacon.

screamy + kobd

Worried, longing glances.

He’s completely new to poly relationships, so when he considers the possibility that they all could love eachother, Starscream worries that one of them will feel left out and be upset.

His confession is rough. Starscream barely drags himself to the medbay after he angered Megatron, and neither Knockout nor Breakdown were on shift in the medbay. When they came back, the air commander was curled up on the floor, barely conscious but still attempting to put pressure on his wounds. After the two patch him back up, Knockout offers to polish his wings while Breakdown does his servos, then he decides to be brave and confess.

KO’s response to this was, “You should join us for energon sometime, Star.” Breakdown is quiet, he just blushes and smiles.

[whatwooshkai]

2!

Blades isn't sure if First Aid is still alive. After Groove died, the bond became chaotic and muddled- he's not sure who's thoughts and dreams and nightmares he gets anymore, if they're in real time or just echoes. He's learned to tune them out, when he once believed it unthinkable.

But in moments like this, Blades is sure he's alive.

Because it's First Aid's voice screaming in his processor as he tries to patch a torn fuel line in Heatwave's torso. Because of course it's Heatwave. Again.

"Would it kill you to develop some self-preservation skills?" Blades snarls when Heatwave flinches, nearly reversing all his hard work. "I swear to Primus, it's once a week! How are you not dead?"

"We wouldn't live to be millions of years old if were weren't at least a little resilient," Boulder points out from where they're doing damage control, and Blades has never before wished such violence on the bot.

Sparking wires, Blades! Focus on the issue at hand! First Aid's voice centers him, and Blades takes a deep vent and wiggles his rotors. Boulder's more useful conscious right now, anyways. Keep those out of the way of the fuel line- mixing those is BAD BAD BAD.

No shit, Sherlock, Blades thinks ruefully, but his rotors wiggle again, a little pleased he's had a reason to use that phrase.

"Aren't you glad you get the practice?" Heatwave offers in strained voice, not bothering to look up at Blades. "You've gotten so much better lately."

"I'd rather practice new techniques before I try them out on you," Blades snaps back, trying not to preen at the praise. Heatwave's trying to distract him from being mad, and Blades is not going to let him get away with it.

You are getting better, First Aid's voice offers, and Blades relaxes into the familiar tone. Real or not, it's nice.

He turns his attention back to the sparking wires and gets lost in his work.

[crybaby-bkg]

sadly and soggily thinking about dating gojo and being so deep in the relationship, that you think you two were made for each other. two peas in a pod, two halves of a whole, two severed souls connecting once more. so perfect for each other that you don’t even think about mentioning marriage and kids, convinced that you guys are already on the same page.

all until it comes up in conversation and things aren’t as perfect as you thought they were. marriage—yes, absolutely, gojo is ecstatic about tying the knot, giving you the wedding of your dreams, calling you his for the rest of you guys’ lives.

but….kids? he’s thought about it and the answer has always been a clear no in his mind. he couldn’t even dream of bringing another him into the universe, fears that it might throw off the balance of the world. that he can’t exist if his child does, but why exist at all if his child’s lesser abilities will only result in them being shunned? of being told how much of a disappointment they are? of being isolated?

and sadly, it’s a breaking point for you. you just wanted one, at least, with your forever partner. and if he can’t give it to you, then he must not be the one for you. you didn’t wanna trap gojo or coerce or manipulate him into giving you the baby you always so selfishly desired, so you leave him.

and how broken does it make him. makes him resent a baby never even conceived or planted, makes him hate what used to be and would have never been.

but…it also makes him think. if his fears would come true, if his hesitance is justified. would he be able to go long lengths to protect his baby? to protect you? would that target his whole family having a weak spot? and is it…is it even worth it at all?