#write about revenge

[writersbeware]

Revenge

            Little kids are excellent at exacting revenge. You touch my truck/doll and I’ll smack your face. You steal my comic book, I’ll shred your favorite t-shirt.             As we grow, we’re taught that revenge is bad: that we are to forgive and forget. But do we really?             What do we do about the guest who breaks your favorite goblet? Was it accidental or intentional? Does that…

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Can I ask for a first time (iykyk) with tenjiku? Where reader is a bit shy at first but man she kinky af on the insideee

Tenjiku x Shy!Virgin!->Kinky!Reader

♡ NSFW, fem reader, fluff kinda, virginity loss obviously, virgin!Shion, soft sex -> kinky shit, rough sex/manhandling, overstimulation, creampie/breeding kink, cum play/cum drinking, daddy kink, saliva/spit play, tongue kissing, size kink/belly bulging, degradation, biting ♡

Characters: Izana, Kakucho, Ran, Rindou, Mucho, Mochi, Shion, Hanma

note: anon you ate real bad with this idea, I'm so sorry I procrastinated so hard with this 😭 I should be ashamed of myself fr

edit: added Hanma for @sayaka-ur-cutie

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Izana (breeding kink)

🎴 Izana is surprisingly gentle at first, he wants to make your first time as pain free as possible. But as soon as he feels you thrusting your hips against his and basically fucking him back, he's gone, eyes rolled back and everything (I believe in extra sensitive!Izana). It also didn't help that you were whining for him not to pull out, the mere thought of cumming inside you had him seeing stars. He spent the rest of the night fucking, filling, and overstimulating you.

Kakucho (cum play)

🩷 Kakucho literally makes the sweetness love to you, and it's not until after that he finds out how freaky you really are. After he pulls out and takes the condom off, he's shocked (and aroused) to see you take it out of his hand and raise it to your lips, swallowing every drop of his cum from it. He's standing there for a solid minute or two just staring at you before finally mustering up the courage to politely ask you if you want more.

Ran (daddy kink)

💜 Ran knows it's your first time, so he's going nice and slow with you...up until you call him daddy. He doesn't even say anything, he just smirks because he knew you were an undercover freak. He starts going slower, trying to make you whine and beg for him. He'll only speed up again if you call him daddy again though.

Rindou (spit play)

🩵 Rindou loves the way you hide your face when he starts fucking you, he thinks it's cute that you're so shy. You're a lot less shy by the time he finds the perfect rhythm though, your hands roaming all over his body as he pounds into your pussy. Eventually your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in his locks and pulling him into a kiss. He thinks it's just a sweet little kiss and it was, until you slipped your tongue in his mouth. He just couldn't help but moan into the kiss before sliding his tongue into your mouth in return. And he definitely picked up on the way you clenched around him when his spit mixed with yours and started dripping down your lips and chin. He found your weakness, so expect him to exploit it to the fullest extent from now on.

Mucho (size kink)

💙 Mucho didn't think much of it when you mentioned how big he was, he knew you were just stating the obvious and probably a little nervous since you were a virgin. But when he kept hearing you say it in between the occasional moan or whimper while he was fucking you, that's when he realized just how much the difference in size turned you on. And he definitely didn't mind, if anything he started doing things to make the size difference more obvious. He grabbed your thighs and pressed your legs closer to your body, making you bend in ways you didn't know you could. He manhandled you, touching you with more force to show off his strength. But his new favorite thing was pressing his hand against the prominent bulge in your tummy, chuckling softly as you moaned and writhed in pleasure underneath him.

Mochi (degradation)

🍡 Mochi knew it was your first time, so he was extra careful not to hurt you...physically anyways. You just looked so cute underneath him, he couldn't help but tease you a little. Whispering dirty praises in your ear, telling you how good of a slut you were for him. He'd totally understand if you weren't into it, but the smile on his face when he felt your pussy gripping him tighter gave away the absolute delight he felt in knowing that you were just as nasty as him.

Shion (biting)

♥️ Shion took his sweet time when he took your virginity, mainly because he was a virgin too and wanted your first time together to be special. He gently thrusted in and out of you with his face buried in the crook of your neck, planting soft kisses all over. All his gentle efforts went out the window when he felt your teeth sinking into his shoulder though. He had an almost visceral reaction to the bite, letting out a gasping moan and gripping your thighs tighter as he slowed down his thrusts, trying desperately not to cum inside you. He didn't know how to react, so he did what his body told him to and gently bit you back, his dick twitching inside you as he heard you let out a soft whimper. You two spent the rest of the night in each other's arms, fucking gently and nipping at each other's skin.

Hanma (rough sex)

🏵��� Hanma knew you were a virgin and was fully prepared to be gentle with you, at least at first. As soon as he bottomed out in you he knew damn well he wasn't going to be gentle the entire time. And your soft moans and the way you begged him to go harder only spurred him on. By the end of the night he was balls deep in your pussy with no intentions of ever being gentle in the bedroom again.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe

[glitter-stained]

Bruce: *gives Tim psychological abuse as a sixteen years old birthday gift*

Me: I am so close to writing you pregnant do not tempt me motherfucker

[sydneysageivashkov]

when you are Orpheus leading Eurydice out of the underworld but you don't know if there's even a way out. when Eurydice herself ordered you not to look at her but she doesn't understand why you won't. she's begging you to look. you'll die if you don't look. you don't look. you still don't even know if there's a way out. when your mourning is so deep that you create an underworld of your own but you still can't look for her. that a whole world was made from mourning, where everything was present once again.

[helimir]

Some top tier Caduceus quotes I've been thinking about in these Downfall times. Something about how so much of Ludinus' position seems to rest on revenge. Showing Bells Hells the squabbling of the gods as they debate what to do about Aeor, and asking 'You can just watch bad people get away with it?'

It doesn't matter if the gods were wrong for their choices. Killing them won't bring back Aeor and it won't stop the violence that Ludinus and the Ruby Vanguard have visited on the world. I just don't see what it's for.

[flutesolo]

zukki literally has so much potential as a ship it drives me insane. you have THEE firelord, exhausted from delegation and navigating a political field so resistant to change and dodging assassination attempts (probably also moonlighting as a vigilante). you have the very intense leader of a clan of insanely trained warriors, who after years of war, would probably take zuko’s safety so seriously. i’m not saying the kyoshi warriors should become zuko’s personal guard. but. and then we have the most politically powerful person in any room he walks in. just hanging out and playing ambassador. like this shit writes itself. why isn’t zukki more popular.

[lilacs-stars]

wait okay I haven't seen anyone talk about this yet (and I'm really sorry if this has been brought up before, to my knowledge it hasn't, but obviously I haven't seen every single post ever), during "perfect revenge" when they first go into the dead fish layer thing whatever, and around the time where uliana says "find that perfect, perfect revenge"

HADES LITERALLY GRABS ONTO MORGIE'S SHOULDERS AND DOES A LIL JUMP?? AND HE'S SMILING AND HE SEEMS SO HAPPY HE JUST DOES A JUMP LIKE

it's soo cute 😭 honestly in my opinion it feels super out of character for him, idk why it was even included but like maybe it shows a part of hades that's super bubbly, which he tries to mask with his apathetic, uninterested demeanor?

but the way he jumped on morgie's shoulders in particular, makes me wonder more about their dynamic? like is it because morgie's so bubbly that hades is like that around him too? and the way that morgie was quick to agree to hades's "yeah let's burn her to a crisp" makes me wish we got to see more of them. like imagine hades always acting so tough and unconcerned around maleficent, but finally letting loose and being super excited and happy when he hangs out with morgie.

anyways just a thought, I figured it would be nice to point it out and see what you guys think about it. that's all for now! :))

(also now I can't get the idea out of my head where hades is being all chill to maleficent like "yo imma go hang out with morgie" and she's like "okay whatever" and then cut to hades hanging out with morgie where they're both squealing and jumping up and down like a pair of teenage girls while one of them spills the tea 😭 I'm sorry I can't this is too funny 💀 I actually need a fic about this like this is some top-notch villain behavior fr)

[pricetagged]

sacrum

It's not denial, and it's not grief. How can it be when you're not dead? Or: Simon visits your tomb. It wouldn't be the first time he got grave dirt under his fingernails.

2.7k words. GN reader.

Warnings: death; grief; unhealthy coping methods; denial; mild gore and horror; references to ghost's past (being buried alive); implied character death; unhealthy thoughts; grave digging (simon literally tries to dig you up).; unedited.

Look after yourselves please. Read the tags and skip if necessary 💖

_____________

He is overwhelmed with the smell of rot.

That sickly, sweet scent of decay. Vegetation and plant matter transmuting into sticky, pulpy mulch, life rendered into dirt. It's the white lilies that bother him specifically. They're resting there, creamy white petals blooming open and speckled with dustings of heady, brown pollen. It's like looking at his own pale, wan face dusted with pockmarks and freckles, a grotesque mirror image. Beauty and rage. He looks at them and they look back, open and pretty and sweet where he is not.

And they reek. In this place of dirt, in this place of twigs and soil and peaty, earthy humus how did they spray their perfume? An altogether too syrupy, cloying bouquet that stagnates around you, settles at his feat like dense, soupy fog.

He knew that you hated them - funeral flowers, you called them- and he scoffs, toeing at one of the drooping, lurid white petals until it wilts underfoot. Lachrymose, it seems to weep great fat droplets of dew or oil or whatever it is that cries out wet with a wave of pungent redolence. You hated them, and it's so fucking stupid that they're here now because you aren't dead.

He'd nearly bitten Johnny's head off when he asked about your favourite flowers, the sergeant's voice pitched low and thick like he'd half-swallowed the words before they'd even come out. 'Dinnae want to get her something she wouldnae like, but my ma always said that carnations were fittin' for-' the rest of the words seemed to whither, choked like weeds under the weight of his glare. He wasn't quite sure what he said next, only remembering the stricken, glassy look in Soaps eyes and then the weight of his Captain's hand on his shoulder hauling him out for some air. He'd shrugged that off, too. Roughly. Circled around to face him like a dog in a pit. His teeth ached, itched to bite, clamp down and shake and tear, but even mad dogs know not to bite the hand that feeds them. Instead, he'd bristled, hackles raised high as he shoulder-checked Gaz on his way back inside.

Heard them whisper, too, as he passed, hushed and soft like they were all too aware of his pricked ears and quivering, hungry jaw. Mandated compassionate leave, numbers for bereavement counsellors. Denial. Grief. It's a load of shit.

Holding back the words feels like throwing grit on the fire; it's a battle, suppressing the heat and the rage but feeling it pop and spark and simmer beneath the surface. It's not denial and it's not grief. How can it be when you're not dead? He'd crumpled the order of service program, all crisp white parchment and serif-fonted verses. He'd held it so tightly in his shaking hand that it tore and cracked, card-type rendered to clay under his heavy fingerprints. He held it like that, thought about ripping or tossing it but your face looked back at him from the front page.

Smiling. Beautiful. Flat.

True, it wasn't you, but how could he ever damage something made in your image?

It was that pamphlet that led him here, now. He hadn't attended the service, hadn't wanted anything to do with that absolute farce. Had ignored the phone calls, the knocks on the door. You were not dead, and he was not alive. True to his callsign, he existed in some hazy, temporal space. Sustained on rollie cigarettes and tepid tea. It gave his hands something to do, thumbing at filters and glossy, thin paper in lieu of something worse. In lieu of his darker vices. In lieu of disappearing altogether into The Ghost. Faceless form. Nameless, too. But even smoke and shadows move, and he found himself turned Orpheus, drifting past the souls and shades of the departed until-

Until he's face-to-face with those lilies and that little patch of moss on the corner of your grave. Just a little speck of green against black marble. Typical of you, to bring life into desolate spaces. For you to furnish something soft and verdant where others see only hard, cold, dark. You'd burrowed deep into his driftwood body, a little seed that cared not for his splinters and hollowness. He'd been shaped, fractured, by salt and pressure. Twisted into some gnarled, dead branch but maybe that was the beauty of it. Maybe that was a portent, a sign, that he could be useful to you. That you could climb on, cling on and let him pull you up. That you were nestled inside, marrow deep in the mulchy, spongey hollows of his bones. Not hard enough or weathered enough by yourself. No sun-bleached, ossein outer shell of your own.

No matter.

The soil was strangely warm, piled high, and packed tight above where you lay. He dug his hands in, scarred, meaty paws chasing the warmth that surely was coming from you. It was wrong, actually, to say that it was strange. Anywhere that housed you would be warm. He was. His lungs were burning, squeezing at him, oxygen burning like bourbon as it whistled down his throat and smouldered in his belly. His face was cold, though, mouth and nose numb and something wet leaking and pooling down at his chin where he's tugged down his mask. Confusion titled his head, eyes closed towards the sky, neck arched in the closest he'd come to prayer in years. It wasn't raining, but something was dripping down his face.

He'd knelt like this before, put loved ones into the earth and stood stoic under the pitiful gazes and awkward, pinched smiles of acquaintances and strangers. Unbidden, the words from Tommy's - god, Tommy, Joseph, Beth - funeral echoed through his mind. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable.

He'd done it.

Walked in shadow steps across the Mexican border leaking blood and viscera, yes, but undead. It is raised in glory, it is sown in weakness. He'd clawed his way out once. Dragged his weak, struggling body to the surface to draw gasping, ash-tainted breaths and haunt the earth again. He'd help you do the same. You need him to.

Soft thing. You needed him to help you claw at the rich, grave dirt above your body, great scooping handfuls until his hands were stained with it. It was keeping you down there all compressed and boxed in, and he just knows you'd hate it. Hate being from him, hate being alone and in the dark listening only to the writhing of worms and the footfalls from above. You'd always cry a little when he was deployed, resigned and beautiful as you sniffled your farewells. Not goodbyes, superstition or hope preventing you from ever uttering words so final. So severe.

It's not goodbye if I'll see you later!

He swatted hard at his ear, his temples, fingers puppeted by paroxysm as the rich, peaty marl below him turned to dust and loam. Just for a second. Just for a whisper, the air he was breathing was thin and acrid and tasted like sand. He squeezed his eyes shut, screwed so tight that phosphenes danced behind the lids. One breath. Another. He could feel the soil caking and cracking on his skin, smell the heady, peaty turf and he was back.

The last enemy that will be destroyed is death. There was no Vernon here. No Manuel Roba, no Zaragoza Cartel. Just you, the dirt, and the foolish reaper that thought it could keep you from him.

After all those years grave dirt lingered beneath his fingers. It slotted in, filled in the groves of his knuckles and nailbeds like the tide returning to rockpools and crags along the shore. His body was made for this, forged by this, hewn from rock and dirt and left to shamble in the shape of a man. It's why he was numb to it, why stones crumbled to pumice dust as he clawed ever deeper. It was easy to ignore the jagged little pits of sediment that dug under his nails, stabbing until he dripped red from the quick. Watering your grave, he gave an offering of blood, sweat, and tears. You must have accepted this tribute, been satisfied in this champion for your soul because he felt something tugging at his chest. Deep, behind muscle and fat and gristle his heart sped up. Pounding so hard it nearly hit his ribs. He could feel it, see it when he closed his eyes. His red string connected to yours, all twisted and threadbare and fraying where it bored down into the earth, but still there. Still vibrant and raw and red.

And so close.

It was different digging down. When he'd first been reborn, he'd had company. There was him, and a lump of festering meat. A sack of bones moldering beside him in the casket. Dead and useless. Until it wasn't. Until he'd nearly passed out twice, arm shaking and stomach seizing as he raised his broken fingers to what used to be its face. There was no air, just lungs heavy with copper and carbon. He'd been hysterically lucid, thankful that that sick fucks had at least broken his nose before they tossed him in the pit. Probably severed his olfactory nerves but it was a blessing, really, not to smell the putrid, festering thing that was oozing over his fingers as he scratched and gouged until he hit bone. He had enough of his senses to kick at the boards above him, contorting around the hollow spots in the hope that the pressure of the dirt wouldn't do him in. Not killed by fucking soil, not when the bastards who wanted him dead had already tried and failed with greater means.

Digging up was like drowning. Like being dragged away by a current, water pressing and squeezing at your head until your ears popped and your eyes bulged.

It was fighting the urge to breathe, body struggling and kicking so hard against a nature that didn't care. Cruelty from indifference. Lactic acid burning and cramping through muscles that you couldn’t stop moving. Stop moving and you're dead for real. Digging up was rage and hope, something fiery and heavy pulsing under the skin. He remembered some poem he had to memorise back at the state comprehensive. Hope is the thing with feathers. He was shit at English, never cared for it. But he remembered that because it was so bloody trite. He'd told the teacher, first time he'd ever volunteered an answer in her class, and she screwed her nose up at him. Sent him out for cheek. Only it wasn’t cheek. Hope was the worm wriggling around in his guts. The stupid parasite that fed off his fear and made him wonder if he could be purged of it. Those same maggots writhed in his guts, wriggling and squirming as he kicked and pulled up. And up. And up.

Digging down, though. Digging down was harder. He wasn't getting dragged down by the current; no, he was sloshing great bucketfuls of water behind him, wondering why the ocean wasn't yet drained. It was frustrating, endless. Some kind of wank Greek tragedy where he'd been cursed to repeat the same task, over and over again. To have what he wanted, just out of reach, the finishing line set and reset at someone else's whim. Tantalus, Orpheus, Prometheus. He knew what they'd done to offend the Gods, but what about him? What bargain had Shepard and Price struck to have him back? To have him stalk and hunt under their flags, their causes. Would you disappear forever, trapped in the caves of the underworld if he tried to look at you one last time?

His body wasn’t his anymore, hadn't been for a while. Not since Mexico, and maybe even before that. He was more ghoul than man then. Some kind of shambling hellhound they set loose and tasked to kill. But his body wasn't theirs either, not anymore. He'd folded you inside himself so carefully. Made a home for his heart and yours in the cradle of his ribs until he wasn't sure where yours began and his ended. He gave his body in service to you. His heart, his mind, the gristle of his ugly mug - all those chunks of meat were yours. What use was he, then, if he couldn't protect you?

Six-foot-something and 200lbs of weapon rendered flesh, and you're damned bloody right he'd use it to reach you.

Except, something was broken. Salt stung at his eyes; whether perspiration or tears he wasn't entirely sure. Because there were tears, he could admit that now. He could admit that to the magpies watching him from the cracked, weather-worn tombstones littered around. He could admit that in the thick silence - heh, quiet as the grave - settling eerily as dusk fell like a blanket.

'Fuck.'

Regret punched him in the liver, bent and stooped him under his face was buried in the upturned earth below his hands. The first word he'd said to you since his last mission and it was 'fuck'. He didn't even say it properly, just gasped it out as he crumpled in on himself like wet tissue. Voice all damp and cracking like even that one word didn't want to come out. Soul of a poet, him.

You knew he wasn't a man of many words, though. You'd forgive him.

He was tired now. Exertion drank from him, stripped him down to his crypt-cold bones. He didn't think ghosts got tired, but here he was shaking and kneeling in the hollow of your grave like a starving mutt. Pawing and pawing at you until his nails cracked and his fingers bled. It was sapping out of him, now, candle in his chest flickering lower as he got closer and closer to where you were waiting for him. His face was wet, the wind stinging at bitter trails that swelled over his pallid cheeks. Blinking sluggishly, he licked at his cracked lips. Apprehension lingered there, danced along the seam for a second.

Whatever he finds down there, whatever state you are in he will join. You will rise together or rot together, there is no other way this can go.

His breaths catch in his ribs, jumping too quickly past his diaphragm but not quite strong enough to breach. Instead, they flutter downwards. Or something does, something sets his fingers to shake as they brush against polished wood slick with condensation. It's so cold, you must be so fucking cold in there. It sounds hollow, too, knock reverberating like a church bell from where his clumsy, swollen knuckles bump across the lid.

A person cannot enter the realm of the dead more than once. Not while they're alive. So this is it.

And he's so tired, thoughts turning sluggish and foggy as he folds his body over yours. There's just that panel of wood separating you now. The closest you've been to each other in weeks. Christ, he's given so much of himself already. So much, from such a young age. He's not sure he could even go on without giving, without a mission. But he swore to you, swore just before he left that this was the last one. Told you that he'd speak to Price, ask for family leave or an active service break or something so that you and he -

so that -

so-

Fuck, he couldn't quite catch the thought before it slipped away. Couldn't quite get his eyes to open, either. Just feathery lashes fluttering against his cheekbones until he gave in. Until he let them drift shut.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to fall asleep here. Just you and him, together. He could picture it; your head must be somewhere just below his. You'd probably tucked a hand under your cheek, angled slightly to the right so that he could reach out and touch you from his left. His hand slid across the slick, dirt speckled board, tapping out the syllables of your name with his fingertips. Curled around each other, forever, in the cold, dark earth.

________________

Sorry, I hurt our boy 😢 Not really confident in doing Simon's PoV - I always write from reader's perspective but, uhh, not really possible here. Just had to get the idea out bc it's been rolling around in here, gathering dust. Maybe it's been done before? Idk.

Some biblical, wuthering heights, and Greek myth references. And no shade to emily dickinson; that's ghost's opinion, not mine!

Knight ghost part ii will be out this week (finally lol, yay). Then some of the other stuff I've banged on about.

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

ok so. forgive me for a second but i've been abnormal about skizz and ren since the hiatus between third life and last life and holy shit this season is already not helping.

let's talk about skizz, ren, undying loyalty, and golden apples, shall we?

so the thing that you need to understand about skizz is that he is loyal to a fault. impulse literally says this exact thing about him in limited life, and skizz himself says himself: "you know me and my factions, i never turn." the second thing is that the first person their loyalty manifests for in third life is ren. he and ren run into each other on the second night when ren is getting accosted by mobs outside skizz's door and skizz gives him a place to stay the night. ren decides to trade skizz for his leather, for the upcoming enchanting buisness, and gives skizz a golden apple in exchange. skizz thinks this is wildly more than he deserves but is very thankful. skizz doesn't say it here, but this is the moment he swears his loyalty to ren.

throughout third life, he is willing to do or get basically anything for ren. the two of them literally die together to the tnt trap. when ren dies on the alter and everyone thinks martyn betrayed him, skizz is the first person to get there in the morning. he's in half broken gold armor and borrowed tools from bigb and he still tells ren "get behind me", still tries to protect him from martyn. when skizz is on red, he goes a bit crazy, but he channels that bloodlust into protecting ren. he kills jimmy in the red desert, he kills cleo when she tries to attack ren, he chases down impulse when he betrays dogwarts and dies trying to kill him.

when skizz dies in third life, he's got an unused golden apple in his hotbar. after he dies, he remembers the first time he met ren, etho, and martyn, and he spends quite a bit of time on his memory of ren and ren appears in his first memory of etho. after he dies, ren wields a blade named in his honor.

skizz spends third life loyal to ren- he dies for him and he dies with him.

in last life, ren and skizz end up on completely different sides, and it very quickly gets bad because when ren becomes boogey, he kills skizz. he lures him into a trap. he tells skizz he loves him. skizz literally says "i am broken hearted" when ren kills him. ren holds no regard for the relationship they used to have and yet skizz cannot help but compliment ren's skill with the trap, outright says he can't be mad at ren.

and then it only gets worse because skizz tries to storm ren's tower with impulse after they've gone red. and that! doesn't go well! and while skizz is retreating, while he is eating the golden apple in his hot bar, ren shoots him dead.

and that is the last time they've spoken. two years ago.

because skizz isn't in doublt life. and ren isn't in limited life.

and when skizz's time comes in limited life, he ensures he doesn't have a golden apple in his inventory this time. this time, he hands the apples off to his teammates, where he knows they will go to good use. and then he hands etho a diamond fucking axe (red winter is coming) and asks him to execute him for the sake of their alliance. ok! sure! fill ren's role more explicitly, why don't you!

and that first session of secret life genuinely only made it worse. when skizz is talking to tango and cleo about their alliance, skizz says he wants to give leadership over to someone else: "i want to be more of a soldier than a leader this time." cleo says she'll fill the roll of leader- she doesn't take orders well - and then seals their alliance by giving tango and skizz a golden apple each. because of course she does.

and well, we all know that didn't really work out, so that's one person off the list that skizz can fill the dogwarts shaped hole in him with, so then he goes to bdubs. he says he'll lay his sword at bdubs' feet. he says he'll win bdubs with his loyalty. he calls bdubs "my leige", jesus christ dude, you couldn't be less subtle unless you straight up called him ren's name.

skizz has been (whether accidentally or on purpose is up to you) trying to recreate the experience he had with dogwarts, and particularly what he had with ren, since the moment dogwarts fell. he can't have it with ren because he missed his only chance in last life, so he'll fill the void with whoever he can. his fellow soldier. ren's successor. ren's new kingmaker. anyone. and it's never gonna work. i need ren to come back for like, 900 reasons, but i especially need him to come back so skizz can have a shot at making it to spring.

[jaca3rys]

Padmé has top tier self control in ROTS I would have fucked this man every day of my LIFE there would be no "not here"

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Hello! how are you? im here again heheh well, i recently had a thought✨ i've seen so many post about Mickey and Smiley being the "worst boyfriend(s)", but on those post i haven't seen a Reader who ends the relationship in a "Mature way". Like: "I know we both are young, but i can't be with someone who is not serious in a relatioship. You're not romantic, nor make details for the two of us, not even hang out with me, you prefer to hang out with you gang friends... I guess you're not ready for a relationshi, it doesn't matter what i do, you don colaborate with me" and then, break up :) how would the react to that situation? would they be mad? they'll change? or regret all the things they did? (you could add any other character you want beside mickey and Smiley) Thnks you so much <3 and sorry for my lowprice enlish

How They React When You Break Up With Them For Being Immature

Characters: Mikey, Nahoya, Takemichi

♡ SFW, angst, gn reader, break ups, crying, cursing, possessiveness ♡

note: thanks for requesting 💗 I haven't written anything that wasn't school related in a while and college is kicking my brain's ass, so excuse me if I'm a little rusty lol

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Mikey

💙 Unbothered at first because he thinks you're overreacting

💙 Goes to Draken for advice and freaks out when he realizes that he's been essentially ignoring your existence

"Why didn't you tell me sooner Ken-Chin?!"

"Why should I have to tell you what you're doing, dumbass!"

💙 He tries to make up for it by being more present and carving out time for you (he shows up at your house in the wee hours of the morning until you let him in and forgive him)

Nahoya

🧡 Break up? That's not in his vocabulary babes

"Fuck you mean break up? You stuck with me." 😁

🧡 He's not letting you out of his life, so he'll get his shit together real quick

🧡 Pretends you never tried to break up with him, in his mind it never happened and he'll get embarrassed if you mention it in front of other people

Takemichi

☘️ In fucking tears, literally on the ground begging for forgiveness

"Y/n please, I'm so so so sorry baby. Don't leave, I'll change, I'll leave the gang if that's what you want!"

☘️ Obviously that's not what you want, you just want some time alone with him and you let him know that

☘️ He starts ditching gang meetings to take you out on dates more often, Mikey doesn't seem to mind, as long as Takemichi brings him some snacks back

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx @evergreen-endo @hanmaslilslut @dystop4in14nd @mysouleaten @mdsbabygirl

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

any bonten headcanons? i just think seeing em all interact is fun

Oh definitely!!! Here are the ones I came up with!

Kakucho is the glue that holds this team together, whenever he takes a day off things become more chaotic.

Pretty much no one listens to Koko's presentations, Koko has a grudge against all of them because of this.

Mikey will sometimes just disappear, like they'll search everywhere for him but won't be able to find him. He always comes back though, the others suspect he has a hiding place somewhere.

Sanzu threatens to use his katana on the Haitani brother's after they tease him about something often.

Takeomi smokes more then he did before, he often says "I'm too old for this" too. 

Ran takes a lunch break everyday and refuses to be flexible with it, even if it's an emergency. *Ran calmly sipping coffee while everyone's fighting behind him*

Kakucho was the first to get his tattoo then everyone else just kinda copied him (Mikey's orders)

Mochi isn't caught up on any of the bonten drama, he has no idea what the Haitani's are talking about when they try to fill him in on the gossip.

There's a hole in the wall in one of their buildings where someone obviously punched it but no one has admitted to doing it so it's a mystery. 

They're so used to bad assassination attempts that they don't even phase them anymore.

The Haitani brother's insist on taking Kakucho out for dinner a lot (they baby him a bit)

Pretty much all of them have either taiyaki or dorayaki on hand to give to Mikey (it's considered a good idea to carry it in case he's in a bad mood)

One time during a fight, Sanzu accidentally grabbed a taiyaki from his pocket instead of his gun so he just threw the taiyaki at the guy.

Rindou enjoys interrogations a lot since if he gets to do them then he uses his joint locking technique to break their bones one at a time.

Koko has the nicest office

Ran secretly likes it when the police and media publish photos of them (he normally makes sure he looks perfect for this reason)

Sanzu and Kakucho have a rivalry going on (the Haitani brother's love to gossip about it)

The building has accidentally been set on fire at least 5 times

[untitledgoosegay]

i was 20 years old when i learned that the line in the chorus to Avril Lavigne's Sk8r Boi is not, in fact, "He wasn't girl enough for her"

i maintain that that would be a better song

[i-live-in-dreams]

If a place has a prison, Mo will find a way to be imprisoned in it.

[mymarifae]

hsr's a great game it's like "hey here's this guy who's a cyborg cowboy of all things isn't that fun. look at how wild and flamboyant and entertaining he is! an automatic censor was installed into his universal translator when he got his rockin robot bod so he can't swear anymore and this is especially funny in the cn and jp text of the game because his swears are replaced with things like sweetie, baby, and cutie."

"also his entire homeland was wiped out by the intergalactic capitalistic monolith that's been cruelly siphoning valuable resources from countless planets with little to absolutely no regard for the residents. they spared nothing once their boss gave them the go ahead to use military force. not even his baby daughter, who had just barely learned how to walk."

"he never got the chance to erect a grave for her. or the other loved ones he lost."

[skelliko]

Hello first time requesting

I was wondering if I can request reader x hanma were they have a toddler and hanma rough plays with him and overall hanma being a good father to the point that the reader is moved to tears as they see that since they never really saw how a loving father is supposed to look like so it’s like healing their inner child seeing their kid being genuinely loved by their father not just in name

(It’s to heal them daddy issues yes)

a/n: we're in this together cause me too. at first I didn't wanna write it since I've stated I wouldn't write about marriage or pregnancy but I'll let this dodge just cause I said so. (btw I did the kids gender as a boy cause you mentioned 'him' once, not sure if that was on purpose or not but i hope thats okay)

____

Hanma Shuji |-° a good father

it was scary getting married, afraid that it would turn south and become unhappy to the point where we'd turn down walls just to get our points across. afraid that cause of all our bickering he'd secretly go with another woman, become avoidant and distant but that hasn't happened, at all.

finding out I was pregnant was terrifying, afraid that I would fail as a mother of a sweet baby and id be the reason for his dreams and innocence being taken away. you don't need to be drastically smart to know that you eventually become your parents, everyone has some sort of element inside of them that resembles their care givers. so I was petrified that I'd turn out like my father, or maybe that I had married the wrong man to commit in having child with; just like my mother. generational trauma doesn't go easy on anyone, so my heart always shook and sank whenever i held my boy.

I try, I really do try a lot to make sure that what I went through won't ever happen to my- our kid and he'll grow up to be loved. but fear does still strike me since I'm yet to figure out how to be as a parent, Im aware that how I grew up wasn't right at all, but that doesn't mean that I know what good parenting looks like.

I've told hanma about my fear of parenting before we had agreed on having a kid, he didn't look at me weirdly, he didn't say anything negative, he didn't tell me that I shouldn't worry half assed as if it should be common sense to figure it out on the spot. instead, he told me not to worry sincerely, he meant every word he said, soothed me with warm words and some of his little jokes, and told me I have plenty of time to figure out if I want to be called 'mom' and that there was no reason to rush into things. so after a few days I've made up my mind and went on to discuss baby names as a hint that i want to keep it.

----

I hear small giggles in the other room, ones that belong to our child, a child that has the most gorgeous smile and has his father's eyes. his tiny baby hands have grown to be toddlers and he's still growing everyday.

I wiped my hands dry and clean on a towel in the kitchen from washing the vegetables that I was about to cut up and cook. I could have started right away with the cooking but I wanted to quickly see what's so amusing that got our boy all loud and humoured.

leaning against the door frame I saw our boy stood up on his little feet with his arms circling around in the air, Hanma was gently pinching his tummy with this thumb, pointer and middle finger making him ticklish and making 'pow' and 'wow' sounds. Hanma was smiling and laughing along as he'd change him movements to then annoy the kid by tapping him on his cheeks and nose, the boy would try and move hanma's hand away but despite his annoyance he was enjoying it and that just kept Hanma to keep playfuly annoy him.

is that something that fathers do? is that what they call rough play, or is this something else?

a main thing that also struck me in this moment was that hanma was smiling while playing with the boy. Im aware that parents can still smile but seeing his joyed expression instead of a bothered and annoyed look felt really refreshing.

for the past few years we've had our boy he's been nothing else than a good father, sure we've had a few off moments but there will always be short lasting moments where it feels like we're all sinking because of our own mistakes and flaws.

but over time Hanna has made me realize many things, about himself, myself, our boy and on an overall what it means to be a good parent. what considers to be good parenting is a very controversial topic for most but I'd say as long as the child is happy and isn't sat through abuse or neglect, that's more than enough.

my boy will have the childhood that I needed but couldn't have, Hanma is being the father that I needed but didn't have. our boy will be smiling all throughout. while im over here trying to keep in my angsty emotions, c'mon I'm better than this aren't I?

I put a hand over my mouth to stop my quivering lips but my teary eyes took that as a chance to spill over before I could wipe them away. looking away to avoid any attention but before I could go back to what I was doing before; Hanma called my name out and I felt his hands slide up my upper arm and turn me around. he saw me cry before I saw him notice.

"hey hey, what happened? talk to me" he said worryingly

looking at him briefly, I wanted to speak up but even I was unsure on what I was crying about, but then i looked at our boy for a few seconds and it only then clicked in. I shook my head gently before replying "no it's just- you're a good father. and I'm glad our boy will have you to look up to"

hanma immediately brought me into a tight hug but then chuckled a little, I felt the vibration of his laugh against his chest. whats so amusing? "and he has an amazing mother to look up to as well. I know how stressed you've been and I'm really proud of you for how far you've gotten"

 ♡---