#“Please don’t touch me.”

[stormxpadme]

​Whumptober 2022 No. 30 - “Please don’t touch me.” 

02/24/2001

"The sheer, unblinking audacity of this man.

Charles stopped his wheelchair at the door of his apartment the second he realized he was having a visitor who'd definitely not been invited to the party downstairs, and one of the few people capable of hiding their presence from his powers at that. For seconds that felt like an eternity, he was at a complete loss. This was impossible. He'd only been in the celebration hall for half an hour tops, less out of necessity to show his face, given he was the host of this superhero gathering hardly even in name, than to make sure that when the day came, he would be able to rely on the help of Flash Gordon and his people once more to put his final plans on Earth into action. Just a few minutes of polite smiles and empty talk, enduring the jackhammer of pain behind his forehead that was the voices of too many people around him since being robbed of a small part of his powers on the Scapels moon not too long ago … A few moments only of carelessness in his overloaded mind, of not monitoring every smallest process in and around his house …

  That had apparently been enough for his former partner, not least to the metal around his head shielding the keen beauty that was his brains from Charles' mental tendrils, to slip by all security systems and dozens of highly capable warriors in his damn living room unseen.

  "How …?" He closed his mouth again before he'd even really started asking because truth was, it didn't matter. Not how Erik had made it in here and definitely not the question as to why. This time, Charles couldn't look the other way. This time, he had to alert the others, make sure someone would call the authorities to take back in what was a highly dangerous terrorist, finally …

  'Because that has worked so well the last two times?' a nagging voice in the back of his head whispered, and if Erik's and his mental link hadn't been cut decades ago, Charles could have sworn, it was his dry chuckle he could hear there.

  No, it wasn’t likely that someone would build a prison this time that could hold one of the most powerful mutants in the world. And whenever Erik escaped confinement, it was only a question of how many had to die for that, not if it was possible. The only place this man could reasonably be expected to be held in without casualties was this very house, and that was the last place Charles had wanted to see Erik enter ever again. He was still trying to decide whether to send the emergency signal on his watch before Erik could think about crushing it on his wrist with his powers – or possibly ripping it off him along with his arm, depending on the mood which was highly unlikely to be exactly splendid – or project a respective order straight to Jean's head, when Erik finally deigned to give him attention.

  His tall shape, wrapped in the grey and black camouflage of the night and dripping wet with melted snow, remained unmoving where he was leaning heavily on Charles' desk, skimming with trembling hands through documents that had been safely locked away in the vault when Charles had left the room. But when he turned his head an inch or two, it became clear that Charles at least didn't have to fear much from his old lover tonight, at least not physically. The shock about what Erik must have read in these letters, legal forms, and business contracts sat visibly heavily in his bones. The shadows under his eyes were approximately the size of Ontario Lake, and his skin color matched the empty wall over his head where once their portrait had hung, removed, and burned the day Erik had left this house behind. Somehow, Charles had never got around to find something adequate to fill the spot. "I used to live here, that's how. If you're quite done staring, do you horribly mind?" He waved at the door, grabbing the knob with his powers to lightly knock it against the wheel of Charles' chair. "It will be a while until whoever you think about calling will come. Let's use that time."

  "What makes you think I want anything to do with you after all that you have caused?" For some reason though, Charles found himself finally entering his apartment anyway and even locking the door behind him like the fool he was. Maybe he just didn't want Erik to do it for him, needing to keep a sense of control in a situation that could be potentially lethal for him, and that he didn't want to become lethal for the people in his house who had earned Erik's hate or even worse, dozens of innocent children.

  "As long as you're still residing in this galaxy, you'll have a hard time avoiding me. But right now, all my bullet cartridges are empty. So stop fussing. I'm not here to be trouble." Erik skipped to the next page of Charles' inheritance documents as if he had a right, his jaw set tight in bitterness at that least appeasement that shouldn't have been necessary in the first place. Not if they'd still be who they'd used to be. Yes, soberly seen, Charles’ old lover still needed only a couple of gestures and half a focus on his abilities to raze this whole building to the ground and crush everyone in it to pieces. But looking into his own angry heart, Charles found without much surprise that still, after everything that had happened, he couldn't bring himself to believe Erik capable of that. Not even after all the defeats, the X-Men had handed their enemy last year. Erik had a lot of flaws, but vengeance against mutants had never been high on his agenda.

  So Charles came in and left the world outside as if it was still 1960 and his lover and he would be retreating for a few private moments after their work at the school was done, hanging up his jacket over his dresser and driving over to his small cocktail cabinet for a half-finished bottle of brandy that hadn't been opened since the 1980s, all of that without leaving Erik out of his sight who still stubbornly had his back to him. "Spill it then, so I can say no and decide in which cell to have you thrown in."

  "With all that obsession lately about seeing me in restraints, one could almost forget we're no longer committed to each other." The tired twitch around Erik's lips at another brief look back over his shoulder only made those deep lines around the corners of his mouth stand out all the more. Not only the residents of this house had aged by what felt like 10 years in these last few months of hell. "Why are you so angry? Your people won."

  Charles knocked back a first shot glass without letting go of Erik's amused gaze and poured himself another one right away. He had a feeling he would need that for this kind of conversation, though he still intended to make it a short one. "And you think that makes it all go away? Liberty Island, Alkali Lake, the Inferno, Washington?"

  Erik put him off with a still conspicuously unsteady hand, obviously not much impressed by the new pages in his terrorist file that named things like attempted genocide, assisted murder in tens of thousands of cases, or failed coups at world domination. "You stopped me from doing far worse things."

  "I didn't stop you. They did." Charles nodded sharply downstairs, tapping his fingertips against the activator button of his watch to remind Erik, his patience with semantics had started to become very limited when his former lover had turned his back on him for a life of crime. "And they're ready to do it again anytime. If you've come to make peace, look somewhere else."

  "Peace stopped being an option between our groups in 1979." Erik finally straightened up, only to sway on his feet unexpectedly so that he had to hold on to the desk, blinking rapidly. He sharply held up a hand when Charles tried to approach him, with a worry he didn't think could ever die completely in his mind, no matter how bottomless the depths of violence and madness this man would fall in. So it was not just the shock about what Erik had found in this room that caused his compromised condition, a shock that maybe hadn't even been such a big one in the first place. "Don't. I don't need anything from you. I just came to see for myself if the rumors are true."

  Charles decided not to think about too hard who in his environment could possibly be gossiping about something he hadn't even been entirely sure about until a few weeks ago himself. With the news somehow having reached even U.G.E.R. already, it had probably been only a matter of time, or of Mystique nosing around in this house once more unseen for his old lover to know. As long as Charles could keep his intentions from the people he didn't want to burden any more than necessary, he could deal with talking behind his back. That had been happening since he'd stepped into public with this school for the first time. "Why? You shouldn’t have moved out if you are so concerned about my living accommodations."

  "It didn't seem like much of a choice at that time." Again that sardonic, unbelievably sad grin that had dominated the last few months of their relationship as well. "One thing I learned from being with you was, I'm not big on sharing the people closest to me. Give the Empress my best, now that she'll have you all to herself soon. I'm taking my leave."

  Charles had a harsh comment about how distorting history wasn't suiting Erik too well on his lips, but he never got around to giving it.

  The moment his former partner stepped away from that desk for good and approached the window to leave the way he'd come, his legs gave out under him.

  Charles arduously fought his first instinct about getting Hank or Jean immediately when he felt a weak but still very effective invisible grip around his watch, blocking all functions. Such an emergency call would at least the traditional way not have left this room anyway. Instead, he drove his chair to Erik's shaking silhouette on the ground as fast as possible and leaned over him with suddenly very cold hands, feeling for life signs that were far too shallow and irregular for his taste. "Erik, you need …"

  "Not from people who would rather give me a lethal injection than do what they're being paid for." He was interrupted sharply, his old lover already recovering enough to push himself to his feet somehow, past Charles' chair and over to the sofa with his unsteady gait where he dropped heavily and rested his face in both hands. For long seconds, he didn't move, didn't even seem to hear Charles' questions, or remember he was in an enemy fortress where every moment of weakness could be his last one.

  And suddenly Charles knew, just like that. He might have understood earlier if he hadn't spent the last few nights without an overabundance of rest himself, not least because the direct cause of his ex-lover's lousy condition was busy drinking and laughing two stories below. "When was the last time you slept?"

  "The night before the UN/NATO summit." His former partner sought his gaze from bloodshot eyes through his fingers, shrugging slowly when Charles' let out another strangled, disapproving noise. More than two months. It was a miracle that man was still on his feet at all. "I said, stop fussing. That includes fussing about me. I get naps in between, even an hour a night every night and then. As long as I avoid REM sleep, I get by."

  Charles spared his old friend the question about which nightmares it was that he was fearing so much that he was running his health into the ground so willingly. He had a vague idea, he'd soon see them from up close. "Get on my bed."

  "That Shi’ar dictator you married really did a number on you. You used to be so much more romantic." Erik didn't move a muscle. Maybe his exhausted mind really hadn't even caught on to what Charles was offering him here, against every better knowledge and reason.

  In such a state, only the clearest, simplest orders had a chance to make it through a thick haze of threatening cognitive impairment. "Bed. Now. Take your helmet off."

  Only now Erik finally looked up again, suspicion and reluctance immediately furrowing his brow. But in those unbelievably tired bright eyes, Charles also thought to see a glimpse of hope. "You can't possibly expect me to …"

  Charles interrupted him harshly, pointing next door. "It's you who came here with expectations, even though you couldn't admit it even to yourself. So make up your mind before I change mine."

  "Are you sure that's all you're trying to change?" Erik still wasn't moving, but at least his agitated fingertips started tracing the edge of his helmet on his cheekbone. The wish to end this grating, dangerous condition of his was bravely holding its ground against the fear he'd been meeting Charles with ever since they'd started to work together. Ever since they’d both started to understand how little it really was what they shared.

  In those years before they'd finally had to admit, these were distances impossible to bridge, a lot had happened that had discouraged Charles henceforth from even thinking about getting in another kind of relationship, safe for one that had only required his physical presence once a year at most so far. But nothing hurt as much as this one reproach of a kind of violation Erik seriously thought him capable of. "Next time you try to kill billions of people, I won't be there anymore to take a bullet for you. If they came in here right now to take you back to your plastic cell, you wouldn’t see me stop them. But I have never once, ever since we first met, altered a single thought in your head. By the end of the year, this will no longer be my war. Least I can do is make sure you're not too tired to remember surviving it yourself. You know my only condition."

  "People in this house never had anything to fear from me." It was Erik's turn to look hurt and his turn to lower his head promptly at Charles' huff. Good intentions quickly reached the end of their effect when clinically insane ferals, power-hungry shapeshifters, and cast-out children of the sewer were involved. "What happens between our people, on the other hand, when they go to war, is out of our influence. We knew that from the start."

  Charles did, and so did the people he was no longer responsible for anyway. This was a choice he couldn't take from them. He’d done that too often already.

  With that mutual promise renewed, this time, Erik obeyed his gesture next door, sinking so heavily down on Charles' mattress, upside down with his head right by the foot end, that Charles wouldn't have been surprised if he'd fallen asleep instantly. He didn't fall asleep. He pulled his helmet from his face, revealing hair that was going from grey to white alarmingly fast, and put his most important mean of defense down next to him with a tense sigh, waiting for Charles to drive up to him with his eyes wide open. New pain, raw and honest glistened in them when Erik reached out for him just for a moment and Charles pulled away immediately.

  "Please don’t touch me." It should have been an irritated warning but came out like a despaired plea. No more threats, no more hostility between the two of them, no crying over spilled milk. All of that, Charles could live with, not least because any attempt to stop Erik from his ongoing plans against humanity on his part would have ended the same as the last few times. Besides, he didn't turn anyone away coming to this place for help. But what had once been between them was also no more, and if Charles allowed himself to forget that right now, no matter for how shortly, he might not be able to send that message to Gordon and make his way to U.G.E.R. to wait for his space cab when the time came after all. Then this endless battle that his people long knew to fight far better than he could, would continue to wear him down to the bone until the day he died. Ending, sooner or later, with either Erik or him having to take each other out in the field against their will. Charles had sacrificed his own wishes and needs and a great part of his soul for the safety of this planet countless times and never regretted it. But this small, tarnished, splintered-off piece of his heart that was the undying memory of his biggest love, he wanted to take with him to the grave without having it turned to nothing but hate. “Close your eyes."

  He did the same before Erik had even followed the gentle request, his hands left and right of his former lover's head, no longer afraid to turn his sight away from someone who'd had all the chances to kill him in the world already and had made his choice against it every time. Charles owed him the same. He dove into the troubled labyrinth of blackest abysses that was Erik's mind and started to block out, bit by bit, what the touch of a certain magical ring had planted in Erik's head in Washington. All these voices and faces of his ancestor's souls, tortured, mutilated, and disgraced behind the walls of a concentration camp all these decades ago ... It was enough to have him shake with terror and shock himself just half a minute in, but these, at least, were ghosts he knew how to fend off.

    ***

    "Will you tell him?" They both were exhausted after that session that had taken a lot more of Charles' energy than he'd expected it to thanks to fighting powers that had nothing to do with mutations and were twice as hard to block especially in a mind that wasn't his own. Erik had withdrawn to the other side of the bed, leaning tiredly against the headboard, fingertips trying to rub away the ache behind his forehead in vain, with his thoughts already back on what had once been their common work. Which was the clearest sign of Charles' efforts having achieved their goal. "The boy. You should tell him at least. That you're going, and everything else you kept him from since you found him. You're leaving him one hell of a legacy. Half a manual might not be enough to navigate through it."

  "Scott's mind is sharp enough to piece the missing pieces together on its own one day when his soul is strong enough to deal with them, but it isn't exactly telepath proof." Charles came back in with that bottle from earlier and put down the glass for Erik on the nightstand. "The moment he knows, Jean knows and then all of them will. They wouldn't understand."

  "You really think so?" Erik clanked his glass against Charles' amicably before emptying it in one go, with a little shudder. Neither of them had ever been that big on drinking, but anything that would help that man finally get some good sleep tonight again was welcome right now. Given that he was doing well enough again though to provoke Charles, the worst of fatigue seemed to be fading already. "Or is it maybe that you think they'd understand too well? Last time I saw them, they would have been all too happy to sit you down in a shuttle with a one-way ticket themselves. It’s probably easier to take a memory of friendlier faces with you."

  "You don't get to be my judge, Erik. Not after all that you did." Charles quickly turned away from the bed before a far more rude comment could escape his lips, and drove towards the door. "Get some rest. I'll wake you before sunrise."

  "Charles." That tone. That damn broken, yearning tone in Erik’s voice that Charles had been certain he would never have to try and ignore ever again. Sleep deprivation really was a hell of a drug.

  "Don't." His hands clenched hard around the armrests of his chair but he couldn't get his fingers to reach back for the stick to move on. Not even when he could hear his lover get up, and approach him. The exertion earlier, and being so deeply in a mind he'd once used to know inside out and had loved in spite of all the darkness in it, had shattered a lot of his own mental barriers. "I told you. If I don't leave now …"

  "You won't." Erik knelt down in front of his chair to look him straight in the eye, inches away from him but without laying as much as a finger on him. No matter how little respect they'd had for each other's work after they'd stopped doing it together, their mutual personal boundaries, Erik usually respected. "You won't leave me if I ask you to stay tonight. But that doesn't matter, Charles. Because I will. Unlike you, I have managed to do it before."

  Charles didn’t know what to say. He didn't know what to do. And he didn't move away this time when Erik rested one hand on his leg, warm and firm. Maybe for once, he needed someone to make a decision for him.

  Silent resignation had never been enough for Erik though, not when it came to the two of them. "Will you let me say goodbye to you? Or do I not also deserve to be a memory of happiness in your head instead of blood and wrath?"

  Charles closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowing away the salt burning in them, his hand a helpless fist by his side, just for a second, before he closed it around Erik's without remembering giving that order, his other one locking his chair's break. "You do."

  It turned out, Erik had more strength in him still than Charles would have expected at the beginning of the night. His arms around Charles' back and legs had the never-forgotten routine of years of care in their muscles, his elbow even remembering to hit the light switch before carrying Charles to the bed because Charles hated the sight of them together naked, the shape of their bodies so uneven, his own robbed of all the strength he'd used to stand by Erik's side with once. The dark also made it easier to pretend, those worrisome lines of age and weariness were not on his lover's face when Charles recalled every inch of it with trembling fingertips, a last choked noise of defeat in the back of his throat when their lips finally met. And to pretend not to feel all that rough, tender skin of countless scars when he reached lower, stroking, gently tugging, and twisting on the sensitive spots he remembered all too well. It wasn't only age that had turned them both into mere caricatures of the idealistic, hopeful couple once so sure the world was theirs for the taking, but also decades of fighting windmills, too many of them spinning in their partner's own damn backyard. But age was a number and latent anger had always yielded to lust once the decision was made, so they were both panting and throbbing against each other's touch soon enough, minds and air heavy with relieving heat and, at least for the moment, all thoughts of war and parting forgotten. The tiredness was in both their cells still, so Charles willingly leaned back and waited when all too soon, Erik sat up to rummage in his nightstand. With a pillow placed under his hips, his useless legs wide around Erik's kneeling shape he writhed against a touch long-missed, quiet moans on his lips, his hands firmly buried in Erik's thighs. There was just enough light falling in from the night illumination outside to not be able to forget that it was silver and no longer jet-black hair he clenched his fist around next, groaning against his lover's neck at a far thicker, more satisfying intrusion. But those well-aimed, sensual trusts finding their target with ease in spite of the difficult angle, helped keep up that illusion of traveling back, at least for a few minutes, to a time when happiness had always been only a kiss away. They were basically asleep the moment they'd reached their height, but somehow, Charles managed to tear himself from the screaming of the dead in his own dreams just in time before life could start over in his mansion at sunrise. The haze of disorientation was thankfully thick enough to not remember how to regret yet, but also too intense to think of anything to say when Erik started getting dressed. He wasn't sure he wanted to anyway.

  "Call me," his lover suddenly said, almost out of the door already, without turning around. "When it's time … let me know. I'll drive you."

  "I can't take you to U.G.E.R., Erik, you know that." After what they'd just done, Charles was reluctant to drive another wedge between them right away, but he was far from being fucked out enough to get careless in the presence of an enemy leader.

  And Erik was aware enough of that himself to keep the cynicism mostly out of his answer, of his wry grin at a last look back over his shoulder. "I have a pretty good idea which area in Canada we need to go to at least. And if you want to feign your death believably, you can't let them get you with a helicopter in Westchester. We started this together, Charles. Let me help you end it, too."

  Charles decided not to remind his old friend, he didn't exactly have his cell number to even contact him when the time came, so he just shrugged tiredly and signaled Erik, it was time to go. But he also made no move to say that goodbye he indeed owed his lover at some point before being parted from him forever yet. When the moment was right … things would probably come together. With them, no matter how bitter the enmities between them, somehow, they always had. That at least was a loose end, Charles would be able to tie up before leaving his home behind forever.

*******************************************************************************

@whumptober | @whumptober-archive​

[oliswamp]

Whumptober Day 30

No. 30 NOTE TO SELF: DON’T GET KIDNAPPED Manhandled | Hair Grabbing | “Please don’t touch me.” RPF: Part 5 of Wilbur kidnapped. Wilbur is sleeping at Tommy’s house to make sure he’s around other people, and has a panic attack.

The psychologist that got in contact with Wilbur directly after he got rescued had one hint for him: don’t stay alone. And he let it slip to Tommy. And Tommy, the heart of gold Tommy, immediately called his mother to inform her Wilbur would be staying with them.

So Wilbur, the moment he got out of the hospital, got carted off first to his apartment, to get his stuff, and then to Simons’ house.

He has been there before admittedly, but never for long. For a tea, to catch up with Tommy, yes, but he never slept over.

“It will be like a sleepover! It will be alright big man,” Tommy said to him, squeezing his wrist, when he voices his anxieties. Tommy did that a lot since Wilbur had come back. Touching. Touching his hands, side-hugging him, patting him on his shoulders… it was… not unwelcome. And Wilbur understood the need to make sure the other was okay. The kidnapper threatened to bring Tommy into this even further, to kidnap him too, he’d be such an easy prey… And Wilbur did whatever he could to keep him from this, begging, going through torture… Yeah, he liked the touches. They reminded him that he was out of the whole situation, and that Tommy never joined him in it.

So there he lied, on the bed next to Tommy, who was idly playing with his hair. It was relaxing. It made him want to doze off. He probably should, considering the hour.

He let himself drift.

That was a mistake.

He was in the room with the kidnapper, bound by the wrist and ankles and unable to shrug off the rope, and the kidnapper was coming closer and closer with a whip.

“No, not again,” he murmured, trying to get out of the binding. But it was no use. He closed his eyes.

Instead of pain, what came was touch. Overwhelming searing touch on his wrists and elsewhere. Phantom touches ghosted his skin, all over his body and he whimpered, “Please don’t touch me. Please. I’m sorry. Stop it. Please—” The hands holding him left, but under his eyelids he still saw the kidnapper’s face, and his heart was beating out of his chest, and—

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Wilbur, you’re safe, I’m sorry, I won’t touch you anymore. Just breathe, please, breathe.” Tommy’s voice broke through and made him think a little clearer. Right, he wasn’t there, he was at Simons’ house. That was, that was a bad dream, yeah, he was, he was safe, he was—

Hot tears streamed down his face and he sobbed, relief mixing with fear and disgust. He didn’t want to feel like this. He was free goddammit. He didn’t wanna.

But it happened, and something told him it was gonna be a common occurence soon enough.

The thought filled him with despair.

[moonkhao]

WE ARE | EP16

[ryan-sometimes]

Recently I’ve been getting anons and comments doubting the validity of some of the stories I tell on here. There’s nothing I can do to convince you that the stories I tell on here are completely genuine. All I can say is that they really are. I only post the wackiest, most interesting or funny stories of my life on here. You don’t get much of the boring day to day stuff.

Truth is, I come from a very long line of crazy people. When my dad was in med school he and some friends planted a small homemade bomb in an abandoned bathroom at their university. His roommate stole a pancreas from the corpse lab and put it in a girl’s backpack. The entire med school was suspended because no one owned up to it. My uncle would sneak out at night with my grandma’s car and she’d find out because she’d check the mileage and see it’d gone up, so my uncle started driving her car backwards since that didn’t increase the mileage. He got arrested driving her car backwards on the highway to another town. My uncle would steal my grandpa’s shotgun, tell his friends to jump in the pool, and start firing it randomly at the backyard. My cousin genuinely had two weed smoking girlfriends who were also girlfriends with each other. My great uncle had an affair exposed by having his intimate photos and videos with his mistress sent to the family groupchat by people who stole his phone, all because they were salty that my aunt told them to go fuck themselves when they messaged her asking for money. My aunt took out all her life savings and moved to another state to build a bunker because she believes the apocalypse is coming, and she didn’t even take any of her children. I don’t know how to tell you this, but life is just stranger than fiction sometimes. The sample size of life stories you get on my blog are just the instances in which that’s true.

[robiinurheart33]

Thinking of Simon laying his head on Johnny’s stomach and him playing with his hair and smiling down at him while he sleeps

Thinking of Simon lightly squeezing and unsqueezing Johnny’s waist under his shirt absentmindedly and placing his chin on his head

Thinking of Soap squeezing the back of Ghost’s neck before a mission and smiling at him

Thinking of when either of them can’t sleep they’ll place their head on the other’s chest and listen to their heartbeat while wrapping their arms around them to soothe them into sleeping

Thinking of how Simon would be clingy in bed and wrapping around Johnny like a snake even though he tries to get away because it’s too hot he will never let go

[platossoulmates]

every comic i read gets me more and more angry about his portrayal in the movies and media

[armedteen]

Adam Lanza and Robert Hawkins together… plz. Or SSB9 will come after you.

[britcision]

Hey by the way if anyone tries to deny Kabru is a judgy bitch I’ll send you the panels of him calling everyone worthless

Respect his duality he’s a good boy who genuinely wants the best for everyone but also thinks he has to do everything himself despite being the Least Qualified Ever because no one else lives up to his standards

He doesn’t even want to look at monsters but oh well every single other person is a piece of shit let’s go get my friends killed over and over again

He’s interesting BECAUSE he’s not one dimensional Good Pure Boy all the time, he’s a judgy manipulative little shit who will eat monsters if it gets him towards his goals, which are “nobody should be killed by monsters actually” and “i want to know what the fuck is going on”

He coulda had ONE honest conversation with Laios and known literally everything about him, Laios has never met a filter

But Kabru was raised for a good chunk of his life (6-18) by Milsiril, and for all he believes elves can never understand short lived people… he picked up the whole “I must be secretive and always conceal my own motivations”

He only breaks under literally the most intense high pressure situation he’s likely to see in his life, which along with being the potential goddamn apocalypse is also a rehashing of All Of His Personal Trauma oh and also Every Suspicion He Ever Had About This One Guy

He’s not more honest because he’s an honest person, he’s more honest because he forgot how sentences work when he finally caught Laios and doesn’t have the bandwidth to play the constant 4D chess in his head that underpins his EVERY INTERACTION WITH EVERYONE EVER until Marcille takes the lion

Kabru’s a pretty good person, with extremely good motivations and goals.

He’s a manipulative son of a bitch who will do anything, anywhere, anytime, to meet those goals, and spends a solid chunk of his time and energy on reading people so he can be someone they like… regardless of his own feelings.

He’s the living The Good Of The Many Outweigh The Needs Of The Few, and solidly puts himself in with “the few” by doing shit he hates because he thinks it’ll help.

Isn’t that more interesting than “oh he would never manipulate anyone, he’s so nice and good all the time”?

[xbasement-baitx]

Groping is one of my favorite love languages

[dunkinbublin]

pat pat

[misusing-basic-words]

Shrignold’s (slightly tweaked) AIL gijinka designs go kinda hard 😫 the scrumpdiddlyumptious OCS belong to @creepypuppetbrigade / @adventures-in-moderating 🫡🫡🫡🫡 !!!!

[queenwille]

Noa Argamani, 26. 🎗️

Also in the photo, Liora Argamani, Noa’s terminally ill mother, who’s only wish is to see her daughter before she passes away.

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A post shared by Israel War Room (@israelwarroom)

[iguessitsjustme]

Not BL but I just gotta say how much I love that Tae Sung is the reason the time shenanigans stopped. I also love that without his memores he really just saw Im Sol as a friend and I ADORED their friendship. It was so wholesome. But the fact that he was the one to close the loop so to speak? And then they thanks him for it? I could cry. I wish I could articulate this better but I’m still processing I love Tae Sung so much and his story is just so good for how little he was actually in the show.

[tyuncat]

thinking about possessive but soft dom!soobin who gets jealous when you get physically too close (in his opinion) to the other members. you’re his treasured possesion and he does not like to share.

soobin, who pulls you back to him and anxiously fidgets with the hem of your skirt for the remainder of the evening.

soobin, who appears calm and won’t say a word but gives a death stare every time any of the members dares to look your way.

soobin, who won’t let go of your hand the whole way home, looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars, occasionally kissing your lips fleetingly and tearing up a bit thinking about the possibility of losing you one day.

finally soobin who touches you like you were made out of the finest porcelain and could break under mere pressure of his hands, leaving butterfly kisses all over your body, trying to leave delicate marks to show that you’re only his, without causing even a tiny bit of pain or discomfort. eating you out like a starved man, like you were the only thing he wants to taste forever. so sweet and addictive. tears of desperation forming in his eyes once again as he says "they would never give it to you like i do, they would never treat you the same way. you’re mine, only mine". and later falling asleep holding your fragile body in his warm caring embrace, whispering words of affection in your ear and making sure that you know he would never let any other man touch you.

you’re ruined for anyone else by him anyway.

[canbean-enby]

Bakugou would be the type of dude that would be your personal reminder. If you’re not good with remembering things and you’ve told him, he would make the effort to write what you need down and text you or come to your room to remind you. As you’re about to go to sleep you would get a text asking if you ate. If you say no…be prepared to deal with his yelling. Yapping on and on about how bad you are at taking care of yourself and how much of a dumbass you are. You kinda stop listening after a while and don’t notice that he walked out. You thought you hurt his feelings by not listening so as you walk out of the door to apologize, there he is with a plate full of your favorite food.

“I don’t think it’s good to eat this late-“

“Shut up and eat.”

He won’t leave until you do it. And if you have pills that you need to take, he will shove them in your face so you can take them. If you have to take them throughout the day, he will make you eat before taking them each time. He doesn’t want to lose you to something as “stupid” as starvation or something going wrong with the chemical imbalance in your body. He needs you here and if bothering you about eating and taking your medicine ensures that you will wake up in the morning, then he will miss his bedtime each and every night.

[bendablefool]

Heavymedic fans when they hear the second verse of White Knuckle Jerk by Will Wood: