#i have no moral compass whatsoever

[velidewrites]

Just for fun who's your favorite in acotar and what would you do if they died?

Bestie how is this fun?????

I mean of course Lucien. My blog was meant to be writing advice and the occasional acotar fics and look what happened. If I don’t post at least one Lucien thirst trap a day I will literally stop existing.

What would I do if Lucien died? Welcome to my villain origin story. I would become the most unhinged menace Prythian has ever seen. Amarantha who?

[lloydfrontera]

javier keeps expecting lloyd to come up w the plan first but like. sometimes that fails him and if he just says "hey there is no way i'm not fighting this threat what're you gonna do about it" he could just skip the "lloyd runs away, javier calls him a coward, lloyd doesn't see what's wrong w his actions, javier runs off to go fight the thing after giving his last words to lloyd to carry to the count and fam, lloyd reluctantly goes back to help javier" process.

ASKJDHKAJHDS

llojavi is just two idiots constantly going:

"i'm going to fight the thing" "don't fight the thing" "i am fighting the thing" "*sigh* fine i'll help you fight the thing, but i'll complain the entire time about it!"

at each other and i think that's beautiful <33

stubborn bastard/stubborn bastard supremacy fr

[burialrite]

I, hmm, wish there weren't so many comorbidities between different mental illnesses and neurodivergences bc I am really having a hard time figuring out if I'm manic somehow or just autistic

[yeonban]

OC Questions on the Seven Forms of Love.

@effigist asked: Does your OC have a healthy sense of their own worth and value? Or do they see themselves as failing to live up to their original potential? Perhaps they are convinced of their own sinful or inadequate nature? / for tobias &. elijah again !

Tobias does! If anything, his sense of personal worth is more inflated than a regular person's should be. Like the majority of the orphans from Wammy's House, he wholeheartedly believes that he is always right and he has complete trust in his own abilities, regardless of whether we're talking about his intellect, attention to details, leadership skills or whatever else. He's confident in everything he has to offer, and he knows exactly what his value is, especially in relation to the underground and Wammy's House. That is partially why he feels comfortable enough to purposefully act rude to some of his caretakers and allies: he's aware that no matter what he might do or say, as long as his usefulness outweighs it on the balancing scale, they won't be able to do without him. It's comical to watch too, how grown adults have to resort to relying on someone as young as him time and again even when he's intentionally getting on their nerves. It definitely serves as an ego boost!

The downside to that, though, is how very much of his self-worth is based on how well he's doing with his schemes. Being wrong once would be a humbling hit to his ego, being wrong twice would be the same as having the sky fall down on him, and being wrong thrice would practically cement that he's no longer an useful asset, which would prompt him to prepare ahead of time for his incoming death. This is one of the many side-effects of having been groomed by Wammy's House into equaling his existence to how successful he is, and Tobias is actually one of the few orphans who takes this news well, since he's always been prepared to die, even long before he arrived at the orphanage. That said, he genuinely doesn't think it's possible for him to ever fail or be wrong, so he's rarely if ever contemplated this. #Ignorance_is_bliss!

As for his opinions on his own nature... Tobias may be certain that he's living up to his full potential and that he'll only get better from here on out, but he is just as confident that he is a "sinful" person down to the core. Not because of what he does for a job nor because of what he does to guarantee his survival, since he doesn't think others in his position are sinful, but rather because of his guardians. He's always thought that by having been born as his parents' son, he will eventually end up like them too, filth teaches filth, and the fact that daily he grows more similar to them really doesn't help the counter cases. His parents literally modeled him after themselves during his formative years, to the point where he grew to enjoy hurting others in spite of the many teachings Wammy's House tried to instill in him which ultimately only helped him select a target (criminals who should be taken down a peg) for his enjoyment rather than eradicating the habit entirely, and were his parents' friends still alive, they would be able to recognize Tobias as the Stratford family's son the second they'd lay their eyes on him; not even by looks, but by his uncanny smile, the way he holds himself and his interests.

Even worse still, his next guardians (Watari, Roger, Wammy House's misc. staff) are people who also couldn't care less about what happens to the orphans they raised as long as they aren't fit to become the next L, and Tobias realizes he's subconsciously adopted many of their beliefs as well. If everyone who raised him was/is a godawful person that the world would be better off without, then it's obvious that he is the same as them. Fortunately though, he can't bring himself to really care about what his overall impact on the world is. Whether he'll leave this world better off or worse off than it was when he was born, it doesn't matter. He'll be satisfied with whichever. All that actually matters to Tobias is getting to live his life however he pleases, by seeking fun as he currently is and by getting to feel alive for a bit rather than feel detached, empty or angry as he's always felt during his childhood and teenagerhood. He never got to enjoy life until he left Wammy's House at 16, so he's going all out on it now while he still can say he'll wake up the next day. He has a... surprisingly positive view on himself and life, all things considered.

Elijah on the other hand, is much worse off mentally and existentially. Similarly to how Tobias and every other Wammy orphan in existence bases their worth around how perfect (or not) they are at utilizing the skillsets that made them into "official" geniuses worthy of being taken to Wammy's House, so is Elijah, except when he arrived at the orphanage's doors, he already felt like a deeply inadequate person. His mother died when he was very young, several years before he became an orphan, and although he does vaguely remember her kindness and warmth, what he remembers more vividly is his father, who ignored his existence by either not being present at home if possible or by outright acting as though Elijah didn't exist. His father was never fond of children to begin with, but watching his son take on all of his late wife's traits reminded him of his loss and only added salt into his wound, making him eventually dislike even seeing Elijah.

The only times Elijah was ever spared a glance, or rarely, given praise, was when he put up a convincing act in front of his father and/or his father's friends by "becoming" someone he wasn't. He purposefully rid himself of every trait that his father disliked and instead took on a "persona" which would be catered to his specific preferences. Later, he took it up another notch and began changing his appearance as well, to whichever extent he could manage with the resources he could find in the house. Soon enough, his father figured he could use his son's acting and disguise talents to pass it off as having multiple children with varied interests and personalities, which led to him striking numerous (scam) business deals in Elijah's name (as well as "his other sons"' names) for the future. Moreover, he promised others that "each" of his "sons" would marry into certain families down the line based on whichever offers or connections he received right now in return, and thanks to the usefulness he suddenly found in Elijah, his father started paying more attention to him. Except, his father never liked Elijah for who he really was, only for who he could become, and therefore not only did Elijah never like himself either, but he only ever saw a semblance of worth in himself when he wasn't being himself.

Safe to say, after his father died in an accident, Elijah no longer knew who to be. He "was" several boys, each one in front of different people or on different days of the week, and whoever he was would always be picked by his father. Although Elijah did find his way into Wammy's House that same year, he wasn't found by Watari. Rather, he was found by one of the letters of the third generation who then sent him to be "examined" by Watari's staff to check which of Quillish's orphanages he would fit better in, and this examination only helped worsen what Elijah thought to be true. He once again had to prove himself if he wanted others to not abandon him, and so he proved his talents and continued to do so when he was selected for Wammy's House as well.

It was only when he met Tobias, who bluntly disregarded his acting and called him out for having no personality on their first meeting, that Elijah was forced to face the reality that even he himself didn't know who he was or what made him him other than his skills. Ironically enough, with the two of them having arrived at the orphanage only a few days apart, they were selected as roommates for the rest of their stay at Wammy's House. The problem was that Tobias disliked every single one of Elijah's personas, and made it painfully clear. This brought Elijah to quite a conundrum, because even the new ones he tried to create to cater to Tobias' taste incited, at best, a roll of Tobias' eyes. The ongoing hostility from Tobias' end also intimidated him for a while, but the forced proximity of their shared room and the subsequent years of Tobias looking down on him in pure disgust despite his best efforts to accommodate him eventually irritated Elijah enough to start a physical altercation.

Puzzlingly, and although Tobias was at first seriously considering murdering him for daring to jump him, Elijah noticed that Tobias tolerated him more easily when he showed his real feelings and expressed his real thoughts than when he made some up. They were still antagonistic to each other for a while afterwards, but with Tobias respecting Elijah's true self more than his imitations, and with Elijah realizing it and acting accordingly, he eventually formed a personality that felt more authentic to himself. The others, fellow orphans and the staff alike, liked his real self too, and this has helped Elijah let go of some of his preconceived beliefs of his innate unworthiness.

However, he couldn't rid himself of them entirely, because Wammy's House flourishes by working on and perfecting every orphan's particular skillsets in preparation for their future as safeguarding agents. Elijah's talents, whether he liked it or not, were acting and disguises, and thus this was what his individual lessons were focused on, whereas the missions given to him all entailed different identities to take upon himself for espionage work. Although he made a step forward by being able to show his true self outside of studies and work, he couldn't always be himself, and that was enough of an obstacle for Elijah to once again become unsure of which parts of himself were him and which were adopted from others.

This is a dilemma that he continues to experience to this day, feeling alien in his own skin, and especially so since he chose to help Tobias in his grand schemes by doing what he knows best to be helpful, meaning exactly what is causing him an identity crisis to begin with. It's why he struggles to find any value in himself and why he believes his worth comes solely from his skills and the intel or connections he brings back. It has reached a point where Elijah's different personas have sort of muddled into one that he tends to use outside of work, which is a mix of himself and the hundreds of other people he's faked being over the years. The only times you can see his unadulterated self, with no semblance of someone else and childish as it might look, is when he bickers with Tobias, which is amusingly enough also when Tobias shows his unadulterated self. A whole decade of mental development later and they're still the same perpetually beefing dumbasses 💔 Watari is rolling in his grave as we speak

The reasons why Elijah opted to work for Tobias rather than for Wammy's House are actually related to the point above. Tobias, unlike their fellow orphans, still manages to get an accurate read on Elijah even when Elijah himself doesn't quite understand what he's thinking or feeling, so being able to ask Tobias for psychological explanations is rather grounding. On top of that, with Tobias being unsure of how to navigate a "normal" life thanks to his out of the ordinary upbringing, and with this leading to him asking Elijah for help in turn, Elijah gets to feel useful even outside of his missions, as his own person separate from the disguise master and the spy. Though one could argue that Elijah's sense of worth remains mostly tied to his genius, and that his sense of self is nowadays mainly tied to Tobias' understanding of it. At least it's a good thing that Tobias is always right with his judgements.

[mxdotpng]

oughghgh nedrick and asch. nedrick. and.ashc.

[suguru-getos]

//fractures// geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 3

links 🔗: part one // part two

story summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through. the affection you’re forcing him through…

chapter summary: after getting a fever from the injury, geto calls shoko to treat you — however, he ends up being conflicted and bruising your psyche again with his words & actions. you, (sorta?) fight back this time though.

warnings: signs of abu$e, heavy degradation, mean mean mean MEAN geto, reader also gets mean by the end of it. fluff if you squint-,-

a/n: i'm just writing off this chapter for my funsies :3 but please it is such a 'dead dove do not eat' story so i'd suggest people PLEASE read it after heeding through the warnings ;) also, not beta’d 🤺✨

"its 100 degrees." manami sighs, taking the thermometer out of your mouth. a soft pout on your lips, "then do something to get rid of it, where is the anti-fever medication?" suguru raised a brow. after having your hand carved, it was obvious you would get a high fever. it was too much toll on your body. ever so evident anyway. "and some painkillers." you added, frankly you were still sweating in pain, it hurt. everywhere hurts. "the doctor will be here soon." suguru huffs, looking at manami dismissively, he can't really show that his heart is breaking apart for a good for nothing monkey after all. manami leaves with an eye roll. she felt conflicted too, geto's feelings were enabling everyone to think a little about their actions.

soon, shoko was here to heal you. she glanced at your form, you were beaten and bruised. eyes mingling with suguru, "she is a non-sorcerer." she commented, and raised a brow. "geto, I am surprised she is alive here" she hums, no expression on her face whatsoever. suguru doesn't respond, and neither do you. it did not help at all that she was amazed at something like that. after a second or two, you hummed, "cus he wouldn't get the money from my parents."

suguru's eyes widen, it- is it? is it the money that's making him act this way? no, money is never above his moral compass. the whole reason you're so tattered is because money doesn't matter. his resolve is just being tested, that's all. "shoko, don't heal her." suguru's jaw twitches, he doesn't want to do this but seems like he has to. "I want her worthless self to remember who she is even after she leaves, I want that shit to scar." he crosses his arms, looking at you with predominant hatred.

your heart sinks, you hadn't even thought about how it would feel… to see the grotesque mark looking in your hand for the rest of your life. monster, geto suguru is a monster.

tears well up in your eyes, shaking your head no rapidly. "please don't- please s' hurting too much-" you begged, hands reflexively gripping at his gojo-gesa. "no- no- g-geto? geto- sama" you answered again, while suguru notices how your body shivers in pain and drenched in sweat. "did I say you could touch me? you piece of shit?" a snarl echoed through the room, geto's hand raised to hit you but stopping, you were cowering, all small and flinching. just like his girls. hot and cold, his behavior has been hot and cold. one moment he was hugging you to calm you down, now, he's ordering shoko to let you suffer in pain. "if you touch me again, you filthy monkey, I will make sure to break every bone in your body and leave you handicapped in the basement to rot and starve." his jaw clenched, while you couldn't do anything but listen. you don't want to die anyway. "I'm sorry." you mumbled, heartbroken. six more days with him. your broken voice shoves him back into his senses, he is trying so hard to ensure that it doesn't happen - that he doesn't feel like killing himself, so he is uttering shit, whatever helps to balm his own brimming rebellion against his own thoughts. your eyes are still kind, its just the way they are, you still can't look at him with anything except a silent plea for mercy.

"I think I should heal her, else she would die of an infection." she holds your wrist, a drastic change in your body immediately felt when she began to heal you. your internal injuries, popped lip, the carving, the cumulative blinding pain of it all fading away into nothing. geto only stands still, watching the way your creased brows turn softer, how your pained face turns neutral.

"thank you." you mumbled at shoko, and she smiles. "I don't know why he's got you kidnapped like some third grade movie's villain, but we have another certain someone who can save you perhaps." suguru raises a brow at shoko, the audacity was impressive. she leans back, watching the glimmer of hope in your face. her hand lands onto geto's shoulder, squeezing it firmly. "she's a human, didn't you say picking on the weak was not a good thing geto?" suguru rolls his eyes, gently pushing her away. "leave." he commands instantly, while shoko smiles at you, "see you, ne? y/n san!"

you were curious, who was this other person that she could send to help? then again, you're not sure if anyone could help you against this monster in front of you. suguru sighs, the way he speaks to you torments him more than it could ever torment you. which in-turn, makes him try harder to reach a state where he DOES NOT, feel this pathetic after abusing you. so? he mumbles again. "I wonder if you worked like a stripper mm?" you blinked, unsure where this was coming from. no, you weren't a stripper. you waited for him to continue whatever he meant to say. "I mean you certainly look the part, perky boobs, are they fake or real?" your face pales, so far geto has harmed you but nothing was remotely sexual, this turn makes you want to throw up. the expression of sheer panic on your face isn't gone unnoticed by him. he wants to stop, he wants to make sure he never says something like this ever again. then again, he just needs to 'kill' this kind, and caring part of him anyway. "maybe next time I can carve your insides up with the knife, leave you bleeding if you ever try to touch me again. since you want me so bad anyway?" you shake your head no, like a forced obedient pup in training. he was horrifying, absolutely fucking disgusting and every part of you wished he was dead.

to suguru… though, these were all just words. maybe now you will stop looking at him with hidden expectations that he would be kinder, nicer. more tolerable… you don't deserve that, monkeys don't deserve that!

"you will get your lunch and dinner here, don't move or I will chain you with your hands tied up and let my girls practise boxing on your pathetic rag of a body." christ, he was fucking insane. your mouth couldn't help it-

"you utter so much shit just because you're capable of killing me? maybe you're a frustrated eunuch, clearly looks from that disgusting, vomit inducing face. I hope you're killed like the dog that you are, impaled on something sharp since that's all you could ever think of, bastard." you widened your eyes after these words left your mouth. dead. you are to be dead.

suguru is stunned. "this is what happens when pets like you aren't trained well. as soon as the pain is gone, your mouth is on again hmm?" he's amused, you clearly can't do anything to him. still… your words… hurt. why do they fucking hurt? are you important to him? certainly not-

"mutts sleep on the floor." he yanks you outside the bed, throwing you on the marble floor and leaving.

six more days… and he will have you gone.

six more days, and you will never see the fucking bastard.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Pretty When You Cry.

Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.

Pairing - Joel Miller x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - Lots of cursing, sexual content, mentions of prostitution

Word Count - 1750

Author's Note - oh boy. buckle in. i love when a character has a messed up moral compass and is a little rough and jagged around the edges. i also love lana del rey. hence, this joel fic was born. please enjoy.

Masterlist. Requests.

“Stupid fuckin’ girl,” Joel spits at you.

You flinch and step backwards, trying to escape what is inevitably going to be a brutal verbal assault. The older man watches your every move and chuckles darkly.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Nowhere, is the answer. You’re down a dark alleyway in the QZ, a barely lit back street. Even if you run, you’ll just end up circling back around. You’re walled in – both literally and figuratively.

Joel moves towards you, his large frame making you want to shrink away instinctively. He towers over you, broad shoulders blocking your view.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

You weren’t, is the issue.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Joel has been desperate for a car battery for weeks. A few days ago, you’d overheard a guy talking about smuggling spare parts. You’d set up a covert meeting, and asked if he could get you what you needed. He’d told you he could – for a price. It didn’t matter that the currency was you. You’d do what you needed to do. For Joel.

You’d made your way to meet him tonight. His name was Pete, you were pretty sure. He was a sleaze, a real piece of work - but he had connections. He had people working for him, could practically get you anything if you asked nicely and promised to pay.

You had nothing to your name. No one did, these days. You knew you couldn’t pay Pete with alcohol, or cigarettes, or drugs. No, you’d give him something else. You’d give him you. An offer which he eagerly accepted.

He wanted you to pay before he’d give you the battery. You’d argued, but it was no use. You didn’t want to make him angry – it’d only make it worse.

So there you were. He had backed you against the wall of this very alleyway, demanding you take off your shirt. Just as you were lifting the hem over your head, Pete hit the ground.

You looked up to see Joel, more furious than you’d ever seen him before. He’d punched Pete in the head and knocked him out cold.

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” he hissed.

“Well I was doing you a favour. Not anymore, apparently,” you hissed back.

“A favour? You’re whoring yourself out as a favour?”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, turning on your heel to leave.

Joel grabbed your wrist and pulled you backwards with force, taking no care whatsoever. You were worried he was going to snap your arm, the way he was clutching it.

“Stupid fuckin’ girl.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Are you even listenin’ to me? What the fuck were you thinking?”

He’s looking at you pointedly, clearly expecting some sort of explanation. You’re not really sure what to say. When you don’t answer, he takes another few steps forward, intimidating you until your back is pressed against the rough brick of the wall.

Joel grabs your chin between his fingers and forces you to look at him. His fury hasn’t subsided – you can still feel it rolling off of him in waves. He’s buzzing with adrenaline, the electricity of it infectious, seeping into your pores.

“You better have a damn good reason as to why I just watched you take your shirt off for Pete fuckin’ Davis.”

He spits the man’s name like it tastes disgusting in his mouth. It makes you smirk slightly.

“You think this is funny? Huh?” Joel asks, squeezing your face tighter. You shake your head, not once breaking eye contact with him. He stares you down for a minute before releasing his grip.

“He has a battery,” you explain quietly. “He’s been selling spare parts. Said he could get me what you need if we cut a deal. It’s a small price to pay, Joel.”

“That is not a small price.”

The genuineness of it makes you wince.

The thing is, Joel doesn’t usually care about this kind of stuff. He’s not exactly an upstanding citizen, having made his fair share of dumb deals and below the belt exchanges. He’s usually the one encouraging you to break the rules a little, if it means you both benefit.

Above all, you are convinced that Joel doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anyone, not really. You know that he and Tess have this ambiguous sort of partnership - friendship at a complete stretch. But that’s it. Joel doesn’t care.

So why is he so furious?

His rage has infected you now. You’re exasperated, sick of the mixed signals. You and Joel were partners in crime, acquaintances at most. It didn’t matter that when he looked at you, the whole world fell away. It didn’t matter than when you heard his voice, time stopped temporarily. It didn’t matter that he was the last thing you thought about at night and the first thing you thought about in the morning. None of it mattered.

“Why do you fucking care, Joel?” you spit, shoving at his chest. His scent is suffocating you, making it hard to think. You need to put some distance between you before you do something reckless.

“Why do I care? Why do I fuckin’ care?” he practically yells at your face. “Are you that stupid?”

“Stop calling me stupid!” you retaliate. “I’m smarter than every damn person in this place!”

“Smart enough to turn to prostitution?”

That word makes you scoff.

“It wasn’t like that. It would have been a one time thing. A quick payment.”

“That’s not a fuckin’ payment! That’s the one thing you shouldn’t fuck around with!”

You can tell he’s genuinely upset, but you’re not sure why. It’s none of his business what you choose to do with your body.

“I was doing this for you, asshole! He would have given me the battery, and you could have gone and found Tommy. I did this for you,” you yell, shoving him as hard as you can. He doesn’t move.

“Keep your fuckin’ voice down,” he hisses.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“God damn it! You never fuckin’ listen, do you? How stupid are you, huh?”

Joel takes a heavy step forward, one hand reaching out to wrap around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just keeps it there, holding you in place. Right where he wants you.

His eyes darken, still alight with fury. He smells like smoke and musk and sweat and spearmint toothpaste. You want to lick the exposed skin of his neck to see if he’d taste the same.

He leans in, almost bumping your nose with his.

“We don’t fuck around with that stuff, alright?” he murmurs. “I’ve seen pretty girls like you get hurt real bad for a lot less. You can’t let them treat you as any less than human.”

You’ve never heard him this sincere. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why do you care, Joel?” you whisper. “I’m just as disposable to you as I am to the rest of them.”

He pauses, and you can see the cogs turning in his head. He’s still holding you by the neck, his other hand coming around to tangle in the back of your hair. He’s looking at you so intently that you feel your bravado start to waiver. Your bottom lip quivers, and your eyes begin to well up. A drop runs down your cheek, and the dam breaks.

He’s never seen you get upset like this. You’re trying to stay stoic, but the tears are falling freely, dripping down your face.

This is the moment Joel realises that he’s a changed man. He’s known for years that his morals aren’t what they used to be. They can’t be, not in this world. He’s murdered, robbed, tortured, kidnapped. His moral compass was broken a long time ago. But the change has never dawned on him, until now. He’s holding you roughly, watching you try not to sob, and he doesn’t feel sad. He doesn’t feel sympathy, or regret, or remorse. No. He feels a sick sense of arousal. He’s turned on.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, looking at you carefully. Your lip quivers again, and his resolve breaks completely. He’s surprised he doesn’t hear it shatter.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you cry.”

With that, he’s surging forward, dipping his head to lick at your tear stained cheeks. Your sadness is salty and sweet and real. He’s hooked.

Joel presses forward and kisses you harshly. His hand tightens in your hair, yanking you closer to him. He presses your bodies together, and the warmth of him makes your head spin.

You’re still crying as you moan into his mouth. He’s rough and careless and you want more. He groans, and presses you backwards into the wall, the brick scratching up your back. Everything is blurry for the both of you. He’s grabbing at you, groping anything he can find. He’s searching for skin, hands making their way up and under your shirt. You know how risky it is, making out with Joel in a back alley in the middle of the QZ. You don’t care. Neither of you do. You’re drunk on each other and it’s clouding your judgment.

“You like it when I’m mean to you, honey?” he murmurs, voice jagged and low. He’s kissing at your neck, nipping the skin and leaving purple bruises in his wake. 

“Yeah, Joel, fuck. I love it,” you whine. “I love you.”

The both of you freeze at your confession. You’re honestly not sure if you mean it, or if it’s just the heat of the moment. It doesn’t matter now. You’ve said it, and you can’t take it back.

“You think you do,” he mutters against your throat. “But love doesn’t exist in this world. Not anymore.”

You both pause, heavy breaths filling the air. After a while, you break the silence.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”

You’re not sure whether you’re apologising for loving him, or admitting it, or for the events of the evening. You’re just sorry.

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs gently against your mouth as he kisses you again. “Don’t be sorry.”

He takes you up against the red brick wall, legs wrapped around his waist and arms tangled around his neck. Your back is cut and bleeding, throat sore and pulsing where he’s bitten you. He makes you come twice before he finishes himself, teeth sinking into your shoulder, hands leaving prints on your hips.

Joel says that love doesn’t exist anymore. You think he’s wrong.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Reader being a vigilante or criminal and Batman sees him and is determined to make him part of his family but reader is very confused

Batman/fam and reader (platonic)

Headcanon

I feel like one of the very best ways to catch Bruce’s attention is to steal something of his. Like passing him when he’s out as Brucie Wayne and stealing his watch right off his wrist or something like that.

Or if you’re feeling really bold, go Jason’s way and steal the tires right off the batmobile. But unlike Jason you actually succeed and make off with the wheels. Jason would have such a field day with this fact, and make the first comment about adopting you into the family.

Depending on your age it would take some more for Bruce to decide you needed to be part of the family. If you are a minor, he would immediately be more likely to just pick you up like a stray kitten and bring you home. This is especially true if you don’t have a very happy homelife.

If you are older, he does some more background checking, especially if you’ve done other crimes. To his joy you don’t deal with the rogues and mainly run solo, this has placed you in some hot water with some of the gangs and other criminals though.

He goes out of his way to keep an eye on you, and he’s honestly really impressed with how skilled you are without training. You are able to sneak under most people’s noses, even his own at times if he wants actively keeping an eye on you.

You are honestly so confused when Batman starts popping up near you, and at first you think hes gonna rearrange your ribcage like he does other criminals, but he’s actually? Asking if your, okay?? And offering you first aid???

You are even more confused when you get hurt during one of your attempts to steal from one of the rogues, and Batman brings you to a doctor? Just like that?? He even stays until you’re good to go, and you’re pretty sure he followed you home just to make sure you got home safe.

You probably end up going the vigilante way all on your own without batman’s help, because you are already on most of the gangs shitlist, so why not actually get them caught right?

Little did you know, Bruce was waiting for this very moment to swoop in and play great teacher and moral compass.

You honestly can’t say what happened. Because from one day to the next you have bats hanging around you when you go out as your own vigilante title.

Nightwings pretty cool, Red Hood tells you to just get used to Batman being like that, Red Robin is chill to be around, Robin definitely does not like you whatsoever, at least in the beginning.

After getting extremely hurt during one of your stakeouts, you aren’t brought to the doctor you have been brought to in the past. You pass out from blood loss and wake up in a medical ward, in a,,,cave???

Batman is there and he actually seems worried for you, and it honestly means something as the Bat has just somehow wormed his way into your heart and you into his. The whole Batclan piles around you as you have woken up, and one thing leads to the other and you learn their identities and move into the Manor

Congrats you’ve been adopted by Bruce Wayne and have become one of his many crime fighting children. He will definitely make sure you are better trained and have better gear when you go out form now on though.

[hopeswriting]

was thinking about takeshi and how he's my favorite brand of unconditional devotion btw. the utter and absolute and all-consuming kind that runs so deep to the very core and is so intrinsic and fundamental to it, it can only express itself in the most casual and natural and certain way. without second thoughts, without any room for doubts or for any moral dilemma to be had over it, because of course he ought to always be breathing and living for his chosen person first and foremost. of course he ought to hang on their every word and make them true no matter what, no matter what he has to do to make it happen, no matter what he has to do to other people to make it happen, and no matter what it might turn him into in the process. because it's obviously the way the world should be for his chosen person. at their feet, ready to bend over backwards and break and build itself again to better answer to all their needs even if they don't ask it for it. it's the only right way it should be for them, and of course takeshi's going to do his utmost at all times to make it a reality as much as possible.

and his devotion comes out as naturally as breathing, comes out lighthearted and nonchalant like he might as well be talking about the weather, but it's not unaware of itself. it's not that takeshi doesn't know it's unhealthy and wrong and that he's willing to go entirely too far in its name for anyone's good. it's not that he wouldn't hear you out if you were to sit him down and explain to him just why he needs to tone it down a little (a lot). logically, he'd agree with you and know you're right. and then he'd tell you he's still not going to do anything whatsoever about it. that he's not bothered by it and doesn't feel the need to change anything to his attitude. makes it a point to never let anyone or anything sway him even an inch in the stand he took when it comes to that, no matter how many thousand of times you might go over the subject with him.

because the morality of his devotion isn't the point at all. is entirely irrelevant to it and doesn't affect the way he expresses it all. it's not the metric with which he draws a line in the sand to hold it accountable to. because the thing is, takeshi's entire world revolves around tsuna--tsuna is his entire world altogether, and it's just a matter of fact, that simple. to him it's a truth as unchanging as the sky being blue, and so being the way he is according to that truth is the only way he can imagine being that'd feel right to him. and so the actual and only metric that matters here is "would tsuna be happier if i were to do this?" and/or "is this something tsuna needs me to do?"

and like. i don't think takeshi ever stops being a kind person capable of compassion and understanding and mercy and forgiveness even ten years later once they became mafia through and through. and i don't think either he grows up to be feared and called a monster per se despite the things they inevitably had to do during those ten years (and the things they'll inevitably keep having to do as long as they keep being mafia), at least not in the way, for example, they'll never stop fearing and calling mukuro one. but i do think that among the tenth gen, he ends up being the one with the most ruthless, merciless and horrific blood on his hands of that particular and distinct loving kind. you know the one i mean, right? he comes to be the one most expected and the one first expected to be willing and to take it upon himself to go through with it when the need arises. and to think little of it after, if anything at all. all in the name of making tsuna's reign as easy on him as possible.

and it's to the point where it's the kind of blood that makes even mukuro pause at times. or, when takeshi is the one coming up with solutions himself during meetings, makes even reborn blink. not because it's unjustified or wouldn't be safe or efficient or anything of the sort, but because it is unwarrantedly thorough in its retaliation. and sometimes, at times like this, he's the one tsuna needs to step in for the most, because he's the only one who can reason with him that "yes, this would work in getting rid of our problem" but "no, please, don't do that takeshi". because if tsuna is the only thing that infers on just how much and in what ways he'll let himself be devoted to him, then of course, he's also the only one takeshi's willing to reign himself in for without second thoughts. because he'd hate to ever do something tsuna would disapprove of or wouldn't want him to do. or do something that'd make tsuna see him differently or love him back less even in the slightest.

and it's also like. his devotion isn't an undisciplined one. it's not one he doesn't have control over, the very opposite. it's a very purposeful and conscious choice he chooses to keep making over and over again every step of the way, and he taught himself to have control over it, to know when it's needed and/or wanted, and how much and in which ways it is when it happens, and to keep it down otherwise. and, yes, to also reign it back in at tsuna's request at times when it still slips past his control. because it's all about making tsuna's happiness easier and secure and long-lasting, and never about burdening him with just how committed he is to do that.

so it comes down to this: takeshi willing to go above and beyond and more for tsuna unless tsuna explicitly asks him not to. and to tsuna needing to ask him not to every now and then. and to other people pointing out to him how too many times tsuna's already needed to stop him, and that maybe there's a hint for him to take there. and to takeshi seeing the hint, looking it straight in the eye and recognizing it for what it is and just. deciding it doesn't apply to him because it's all perfectly normal behavior to him. because it's the only kind of behavior that makes sense to him and feels right.

and so—to circle back to my first point—he can only express his devotion as naturally as breathing, so casually, almost like it's something inconsequential and not worth talking about despite how unmistakably it couldn't be further away from being the truth. it's the only way he could have always known how to express it, because, after all, who has ever taken time to ponder about the details and the hows of the way they breathe?

and i, for one, absolutely eat that shit up every time, thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

[skayafair]

Hell Circles

Alright time for a soul-crashing post!

When I saw Edwin curling down on the floor in that room in Hell, trying to be as quiet as possible and not even trying to run when Charles found him, my mind faltered.

We know Edwin escaped Hell. So why did he look like he gave up? He hasn't been there for as long as the first time, I think even with hell's no-time he should have been able to feel this.

I explained it to myself in 2 ways, they aren't mutually exclusive and are both pretty painful to think about.

It was just this devastating to end up in Hell for the second time, and Edwin clearly didn't expect for anyone to come for his rescue. So his resilience and resolve weren't as strong as the first time or, rather, he felt broken by this sudden developement and didn't manage to bounce back from it yet (again, it wasn't very long this time). The boiling point of "I WILL get out of here again, everything be damned" wasn't reached yet. (As you can clearly see, I have no doubts whatsoever that he WOULD HAVE done this eventually, just after much more trauma and suffering. I'm so glad Charles came before all that.)

This is a psychological cycle. I often go through a similar one so I couldn't help remembering it. When you run as fast as you can and try your best to no avail until you're out of all the resources to go on, and so you give up. Curl up in the corner and hope the outside world won't notice you, give you some respite. The future seems bleak or non-existent. You give. up. It won. And then over time the inner battery charges, or the desperation reaches its breaking point, so you grit your teeth and get up. And run and try again and again and again. "Impossible just means try again". I thought Edwin must have went through similar cycles time after time. The first time he was dragged into hell, then the second. After every couple of "deaths". The worst thing about it is that while real life has at least one escape (not recommended but as a last resort it's at least always there if everything becomes too unbearable), Edwin has none. His only choice is either to tremble in the corner forever (and who said the doll-spider won't notice him even so?) or to run and be torn to pieces. Forever is a very long time. Only with running there's still this very thin, very subtle hope to escape, so in a way this choice is unavoidable. Oh, right, Edwin actually has another possible escape - into madness can you tell I'm fond of loveraftian horror. Locking himself up in his own mind might help, although I'm not sure it would have been effective enough. And honestly I'm glad he wasn't this broken after all.

So yeah that was fun to realize :')

Also Edwin doesn't handle change well, as we know from Charles' words. How jarring (beside the obvious) was it to be tossed from one demon to another? I bet the "punishment" changed, too. It must have felt devastating to figure out the way of handling one and get more used to it, more mentally stable, however horrible it might be, - just to be thrown into a completely new situation.

Let's add insult to the injury, shall we? Look at the corridors Edwin was kept in. The greenish hue, the dim light that makes even the most spacious halls feel claustraphobic. It feels heavy, weights on your mind. There are no windows, no outside, forever. It's suffocating. This place is a pure torture on its own, even without demon doll head spiders.

All in all, I didn't like Edwin much when I first started watching, but after completing the series and rewatching on top of that, I admire him. To go through all these horrors and get out of them is worth that on its own. But Edwin retained his kindness, compassion, moral compass and a will to help others in need. He didn't grow callous, didn't lock himself away emotionally from the world fearing to be hurt again - at least not completely, not even close. I really didn't expect to come to respect and admire a teenage series character like that.

This show has a heart in it, it's living and beating and big and kind, and its characters reflect that in full.

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

My thoughts on that line

Spoilers below for "Flash Strike"

"I've changed." "Sure you have."

I'm not gonna lie, hearing Rampart's words with the close up and sinister music did unnerve me. Because why frame the shot like that? What's the implication of Rampart's words? Does this mean Crosshair is going to prove Rampart right? Honestly, I don't think so. If anything, he will prove him wrong.

Rampart hasn't seen Crosshair's journey. He didn't watch "The Outpost" or "Tipping Point." He certainly didn't watch the first half of S3. Time and time again, we've seen where Crosshair's loyalty lies. And it's to his family. Rampart has seen Crosshair at his worst and only knows that side to him. Rampart himself is incapable of changing. He went to prison for at least 5-6 months and learned nothing. Crosshair went to prison for 5-6 months and realized just how badly he messed up. My guess, Rampart is projecting on to him.

And maybe there is some truth to Rampart's words about how Crosshair is only loyal to himself. But consider the reason why Crosshair didn't say anything about Rampart knowing a way to get Tantiss' location. Crosshair is traumatized and his hand shakes as a result. He is going to do everything he can to protect himself from reliving that experience. I don't blame him. I'll use myself as an example. I have anxiety. Sometimes, it gets so bad that I'll go to extreme lengths to bring myself back into a state of feeling "safe." Mental health is a very difficult thing to deal with. For Crosshair, this means doing everything he can to keep himself and his family away from Tantiss.

However, when Omega gets taken back, Crosshair puts his own worries aside for her. He might say to Wrecker that he "owes her," but his actions show that their relationship is so much more than that. Crosshair clearly loves Omega, but he's not the kind of person to openly admit things. Heck, he didn't voice his concerns to his brothers til Ep. 12. If Crosshair had no care for Omega whatsoever, he wouldn't have gone back. We wouldn't have had that argument between him and Hunter in "The Return." Crosshair would do anything for her.

In conclusion, Crosshair has changed. He's realized what truly matters to him (his family) and will do anything he can to protect them. He's also become more comfortable being open around them. I said in one BB analysis of mine that he's not guided by some giant moral compass. He's guided by whoever he's loyal to. And that just so happens to be his family. But Rampart isn't like Crosshair; he truly is in it only for himself. Thus, he can't fathom someone going to extreme lengths for others. I have a feeling Rampart will realize that his statement was wrong and it's going to be a satisfying moment.

[starrylothcat]

If you’re still taking prompts, I’d love to see 12.) “Just lay back and let me take care of you” with Wolffe and an independent female reader who does things on her own and struggles to be vulnerable. I know that’s a lot, so please disregard if it’s too much :)

Look After You

Summary: The burdens of being a war medic are weighing you down, but Wolffe is here to comfort you.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader. No pronouns used.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+. PiV sex, cunnilingus, feelings of self-doubt / being overwhelmed / compassion fatigue. Mention of death. A lil’ angsty. Soft Wolffe. Established relationship.

Word Count: 2900

A/N: Ohh thank you for the ask, and it’s def not too much! This became a little personal to me, as compassion fatigue is a large issue in my field of work and something I have experience with. It was the first idea I had for this prompt, so sorry if it’s kind of angsty, haha. I hope this is kind of what you had in mind. I hope you enjoy~

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum: I will know you forever.

Ner ca’tra: My night sky

Wolffe let out a long sigh as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, watching you pour over reports that were splayed across your desk. Wolffe had been standing in your personal quarters for a few minutes now, and you hadn’t noticed.

“It’s time for a break.”

You mumbled something incomprehensible in return, continuing to shuffle through the piles of flimsiplast reports, not paying attention to Wolffe whatsoever.

Your elbow was on your desk, your palm keeping your head up as your tired eyes flicked back and forth between documents.

Wolffe could tell you were stressed, and you have been for the last couple of rotations. You were returning from a difficult campaign on an outer rim planet, and though it was a victory, heavy losses had been sustained. Morale was low on the ship, as it was whenever they returned to Coruscant with less men than they started with.

It hit you especially hard, being a medic for the 104th. You weren’t immune to stress or grief, but you worked efficiently under pressure, not letting your emotions compromise your top-tier medical care when it was needed most.

That’s why Wolffe fell for you in the first place - your endless compassion and sense of duty. Wolffe has watched you save the lives of his brothers, doing everything in your power to give them the chance to fight another day.

Sometimes you worked too hard, Wolffe needing to remind you to rest. You knew you struggled with it, but the thought of being idle meant lives could be at stake.

The war was not stopping, and if you stopped, what were you left with?

These thoughts were troubling you more and more, especially after this mission.

Death was part of the job, you knew that and have fully accepted it. But each death was starting to weigh heavier on your soul, wondering if you could have done more to save them.

You were beginning to doubt your skills, a heaviness on your chest that wouldn’t quite go away.

You wanted to tell Wolffe, but didn’t want to worry him.

He had enough on his plate and didn’t need to be reminded of the losses. At least that’s what you told yourself. You knew Wolffe would want to listen, but you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about it.

The only thing you could do was work, and hope that was enough of a distraction until you got back to Coruscant.

Wolffe cleared his throat, trying to get your attention again, but to no avail.

Wolffe knew something deep was troubling you, he’s noticed your change in behavior the last few rotations.

You've barely left your quarters on the Republic light cruiser you were currently stationed on, and your usual organized space was a mess. Half-filled cups of old caf were precariously pushed to the end of your desk, your bed was unmade, and plates from the mess hall stacked on the floor by your door.

Wolffe wished you would give him the chance to help you, or at least admit something was bothering you.

You were so caught up in making sure other’s needs were met, you often forgot about yourself.

Wolffe rolled his eye, having an idea of what was going on. He strode behind you, placing his gloved hands on your hunched shoulders.

You didn’t even flinch, murmuring to yourself and typing at hyperspace speeds on your datapad.

Wolffe gently squeezed and felt your tense muscles instantly relax under his fingertips.

Wolffe lowered his head toward yours, lips brushing against your temple.

“Can you take a break…for me?” He whispered, digging more into your shoulders, eliciting a small groan from you.

Finally, you broke free from your work, turning toward him, snapping out of your concentration.

“Wolffe, I have a lot to do…”

Wolffe grunted in response.

“So do I.”

You couldn’t help the small, pleasured exhale that left your lips as Wolffe continued to release the tension out of your stiff muscles, planting kisses down your neck.

“You need to rest. It’s an order from your Commander.”

You turned to him, and though his tone was stern his eyes held something deep, a glint of tenderness only reserved for you.

You let out a breath, pushing yourself away from your desk.

You stood up, stretching your aching back, feeling bad for ignoring him. You hadn’t even noticed he entered your room, thinking he was going to be busy with his own reports and meetings the rest of the night.

Wolffe wrapped himself around you, holding you close as he gently placed his finger and thumb under your chin, tilting your head up toward him.

“Ner ca’tra…”Wolffe touched his forehead against yours as you melted against him, only calling you that special name when you were truly alone and speaking heart to heart. “What’s on your mind?”

You were silent, biting your lip that was threatening to quiver.

Wolffe had noticed your odd behavior, and knew you couldn’t keep it from him forever.

“It’s just my reports…” You mumbled, not finding the courage to admit what you were really thinking.

Wolffe grunted as you leaned your head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat. He wasn’t wearing the top half of his armor, so his body heat radiated onto you, a comforting feeling.

Wolffe sighed. “I know that’s not what’s bothering you. You can talk to me. If you’re not ready, I understand. But I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Wolffe felt you tremble against him as you gripped the front of his blacks.

You wanted to tell him how tired you were, how burnt out you felt, how you were doubting your skills as a medic and every soldier that died under you care was a failure on your part.

You couldn’t speak, a small sob leaving your lips as you pressed yourself into Wolffe’s chest, gripping the front of his blacks harder.

The hidden emotion was threatening to spill out, the nagging thoughts you usually tried to keep at bay, tucked deep down where it couldn’t affect your work.

Wolffe stayed silent, rubbing your back as you let out another sob, falling apart in his arms. Though Wollfe wasn’t speaking, his silence was loud and clear.

Tell me, it’s okay.

“I…I’m just…tired. Tired of the fighting. Tired of death. Tired of seeing good men die for no reason.” Your words were muffled as you wept, fully crying into his chest. Wolffe rested his chin on your head, still quietly rubbing your back. “I…don’t feel like I’m doing enough. No matter how many lives I save, it doesn’t matter…”

Your voice trailed off, trying to catch your breath as more sobs waited in your throat, hot tears spilling down your cheeks and soaking the front of his blacks.

“I didn’t want to add to your burdens, you’ve already lost so much -

“Never think of your burdens as less than mine.” Wolffe cut you off, speaking finally. He pulled you from his chest, his thumb tracing beneath your now puffy eye, wiping away the tears.

“How many times have you helped me through my weakest moments?”

You had soothed Wolffe through many periods of grief, times where he was so angry, so devestated, he couldn’t speak, only quietly weep in your arms as you held him, just as he was holding you now.

Wolffe was eyeing you intensely, his brows furrowed.

“You’re always helping others. It’s okay to let others help you. You’re worthy of that, ner ca’tra.”

The stoic and battle-hardened Commander then kissed you so tenderly and held you so reverently, you couldn't stop the tears from welling in your eyes once again.

“I am always here for you. You know that.”

You nodded, leaning into his large, warm hand.

“I know, Wolffe. I’m…sorry I kept it from you.”

Wolffe traced his thumb over your lips. “You never need to apologize, not for this.”

Wolffe kissed you again, this time more passionately, his tongue tracing over your lower lip as you released his blacks and brought your arms around his solid neck.

You opened your mouth fully for his tongue to caress your own, both of you emitting a small groan as your mouths danced.

“You always take such good care of me…” Wolffe rumbled against you, desire now bubbling in his good eye, his hands ghosting at the hem of your tunic.

“Just lay back and let me take care of you. Is that okay?”

Wolffe kissed your neck, lightly grazing his canines on your skin. His gloved hands now fully under your tunic, delicately roaming up your torso.

“Yes.”

Wolffe wasted no time walking you backward to your bed. Your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and Wolffe laid you down onto the plush blankets.

Wolffe’s tight blacks highlighted his wide chest and rippling muscle underneath, his biceps flexing as he quickly removed his lower armor.

To anyone else, he would look immensely intimidating as he peered down at you, his cybernetic eye almost glowing as he drank in your form. Though his expression was as serious as a lothwolf, you caught that tender look again as he climbed on top of you. That look that said I’m here, I’m yours.

Wolffe made quick work of removing your tunic and breast band, kissing down your chest, leaving small marks to remind you of him later.

“Relax.” He mumbled into your skin, still feeling how tense you were. “I have you.”

Wolffe’s lips trailed up the side of your breast and he took one of your nipples in his mouth. He gently sucked and rolled your sensitive bud on his tongue, feeling it harden under his careful ministrations.

You whined, breathing out his name, letting him take full control over you.

Wolffe released your nipple with a pop and looked up at you, his singular eye once again filled with such gentleness you blinked back tears.

You moaned softly as Wolffe took your other breast in his mouth, giving it the same lavish attention as the other, alternating between using his teeth and tongue, gently sucking and pulling at the sensitive flesh.

Wolffe could hear your labored breathing quicken as he worked your nipple, one of your hands grasping his cropped hair, warmth spreading between your legs.

Once Wolffe decided both of your breasts received proper treatment, he continued kissing down your stomach, moving down your body as he did so. Wolffe slipped off the bed, kneeling as he carefully pulled your body to the edge of the mattress.

He didn't say anything as he removed your pants and underwear, taking off his gloves and stroking a finger through your slick pussy. You keened and whimpered his name as Wolffe kneaded and massaged your thighs, staring at you intently.

“You've saved the lives of my brothers, and mine, more times than I can count. Never doubt your abilities, cyare.” Wolffe murmured, still caressing your thighs.

“I know it feels like it’s never enough. Wolffe kissed your inner leg, tracing his tongue over the sensitive flesh. “But it is. I promise.”

Your heart swelled at his words, breathy gasps escaping your lips as he gently probed your pussy with his tongue, focused on licking and exploring, knowing exactly what you needed.

“Wolffe…oh…Wolffe…” He slowly licked a stripe up your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit, applying perfect pressure as a thick finger slipped into you.

You grasped the bedsheets and bucked your hips as he lazily fucked you with his finger, pressing to the top of your walls to maximize your pleasure.

He increased his pace as he focused his mouth on your soft labia and clit, bringing you to an explosive first orgasm that shook your body, causing more tears to stream down your face.

Wolffe worked you through it, kissing your inner legs again, leaving a warm trail of kisses back up your torso to wipe the tears away before going back down between your legs.

Wolffe continued to take his time warming you up with his fingers and mouth, bringing you to release too many times to count.

Every inch of your body was claimed by him, worshiped by him, your heart ready to burst with every touch.

Your lovemaking was usually intense, not knowing if it was the last time you had together before being apart on missions, but tonight was different.

Wolffe was touching you as if it was your first time, re-learning your curves and dips, slowly drawing ecstasy from your body and leaving you breathless.

Finally, when you were too tired to move, thoroughly blissed by his ministrations, Wolffe quickly stripped himself of his blacks, laying his body on yours. You felt his rigid cock against your thigh, knowing he was probably desperate for his own relief.

You reached down to grasp him, wanting to give him the same amount of attention as he just gave you, but he gently moved your hand away.

“Next time…” he murmured. “This is all about you.”

Wolffe rubbed his cock against your folds, which were thoroughly soaked. “We don’t have to if you’re not feeling-” Wolffe started. You grasped his hair and pulled him in for a kiss.

“I want to. I want you.” You looked up at him, your eyes begging to have this moment where it’s just the two of you, no one else.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in flush against you. “I'm yours.”

Wolffe was so deep inside you, your vision was blurred and you were delirious with euphoria.

You couldn’t speak, every thrust of his hips punching the breath out of your lungs.

Wolffe was talking to you, guttural saccharine murmurs between his own pleasured groans only meant for you to keep close to your heart.

The ever-strong, stalwart Commander, never showing weakness on the battlefield or in front of his brothers, opened his soul just for you in this powerfully private moment.

It almost overwhelmed you, how much he trusted you. You felt guilty for keeping your feelings from him the past few cycles, but as he ravaged your body so devoutly and thoughtfully you couldn’t linger those thoughts long.

Your final orgasm was quickly approaching, Wolffe’s brutal pace not slowing as he felt you clench around him, knowing you were close.

Your knees were pressed into his chest, his cock plunging impossibly further as his large arms caged you in, his fists digging into the sheets around your head.

Wolffe was watching you intently now, observing how your head was thrown back, your mouth open but unable to make a sound as Wolffe gave you everything he had. “Let go, cyare,” Wolffe grunted above you, his end nearing too, your sweet cries and velvety muscle milking his cock becoming too much.

“Let go. I’m here.”

Wolffe’s messily pressed his lips to yours as you fell over the precipice of pleasure, swallowing your cries as your body shook and toes curled at the unbridled pleasure that overtook your being.

Wolffe’s wild pace did not slow, your fingernails digging into his shoulder blades as every thrust of his hips sent shockwaves throughout your body.

Feeling and hearing your orgasm sent Wolffe over, growling your name against your swollen lips, his hips stuttering as his cock emptied inside you. His warmth filled you, leaking onto your sheets as he pumped into you with a few final, shallow thrusts, his back muscles tensing and quivering under your palms.

He pressed his face into the side of yours, his heavy breath tickling your skin as he stilled, laying on top of you, careful not to crush you under his weight.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.” Wolffe spoke it so quietly, you almost missed it over the sound of your own pounding heart and heavy breathes.

You smiled, repeating back the words, understanding their meaning. You were learning Mando’a from Wolffe, still trying to nail down the correct pronunciations.

Wolffe smirked softly. “Good effort, but you need more practice. I think you told me I was your loving idiot.”

You giggled, feeling lighter now, the burdens of war momentarily forgotten as you lay with Wolffe. “I guess I’ll have to keep saying it.”

Wolffe grunted, a ghost of a rare smile still on his face.

With some effort, Wolffe rolled off of you, your bodies slick with sweat. Leaving you on the bed, he went into your small refresher. You could hear the sound of water being turned on, and he emerged a few moments later, coming back to the bed.

You thought he was going to lay next to you again, but he slid his arms under your legs and torso, effortlessly lifting you up. “Wolffe, what are you…?” You gasped as he nestled you into his arms.

“I’m not done taking care of you, cyare.” He rumbled, striding to the bathroom where the tub was being filled up.

You smiled as he let you down from his arms, stepping onto the cool tile, your legs wobbly from your lovemaking.

“I thought you said you had a lot to do?” You teased as Wolffe stepped into the tub, sinking into the warm water.

“I do, but it can wait. You’re more important than reports and meetings, cyare. At least tonight.” Wolffe smirked, his cybernetic eye flashing, gesturing for you to join him.

You stepped into the tub, the hot water relaxing your sore muscles, your mind finally at ease. You faced him, the steam filling the room.

“Thank you.” You muttered, reaching toward him and running your hand over his scar, tracing your fingers under his eye.

Wolffe turned and kissed your palm. “No need.”

You smiled, leaning back against the tub, sitting in comfortable silence. Your previous anxious notions evaporating with the steam rising from the water.

You knew there were tough days still yet to come for both of you, but at least right now, you could forget.

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[chrismcleaneatspants]

I honest to god believe DJ might be the worst character assassination TD ever had. Like, for two seasons up to that point, DJ's primary character trait was his strong moral compass and the show hammered that home every time, to the point where he flat out quit Total Drama Action due to it. Even in Celebrity Manhunt, his primary goal and the justification for bringing him back was so that he and his mom wouldn't have to live in a bus, which can be used to further explore his morals.

And what does World Tour do? Crank up very secondary traits like being an animal lover or being easily frightened (which were only prevalent in horror or fear based challenges I might add), resulting in him becoming a crybaby with no agency whatsoever. DJ never gets a proper W in World Tour. Tossed aside like the rest of his team because the show thinks fodder role characters can't be interesting.

Honestly the more I look at World Tour, the worse it gets

[kzele]

Unpopular TSSM Opinion

Sha-Shan was a better example of a serious moral compass love interest to Flash than Gwen was to, well, anybody.

The gal clearly has no problem turning a guy down until they've proven he isn't a too much of a douche. And she doesn't care how popular they are. If they make make the right, but hard choices, then they've got her interest.

Gwen, on the other hand, can’t seem to judge any of her friend’s moods or situations correctly and make an appropriate decision. For instance, whether as friends or love interests she and Harry are a dumpster fire. When the guy passes out in the courtyard and then avoids her, what does she do? Does she (a) tell her COP dad about it at home, (b) tell Harry’s father, (c) tell a teacher/coach/school counselor AKA any other figure in a position of actual authority? Nope. She tells Peter that something’s wrong with Harry, but doesn’t elaborate enough for him to take her concerns seriously, so he puts it among the lesser problems he has to deal with. Because if Peter was actually told the specifics, this would be MUCH higher on his problems list. There’s no way he’d have to be bullied into talking with Harry, otherwise. (Also, how is it possible that she couldn’t sense anything off about Eddie after he returned to the lab? He’s obviously creepy and fake and you’ve known him since you were both in single digits. If it was just Eddie this happened with, I wouldn’t be having my doubts about her judgement.)

This brings me to my next point about boundaries. Peter respects hers more than she respects his. Thus, she can only enforce her boundaries and/or will if someone already respects her. Harry and Gwen’s full-on couple status is proof. Harry’s shoved her against a locker, jumped over her during a villain attack (did he ever apologize for that?), and the first thing he does is ignore his new girlfriend in favor of calling his dad about having a girlfriend. Oh, and she’s ignoring all these red flags in an implied attempt to make Peter jealous. Nuff said about that ball of toxicity they got going on.

Flash saw Sha-Shan as a hot nerd/rebound, then as a challenge, and finally as someone whom he wants to be respected by. She didn’t let him get anywhere by being a jerk or overstepping. Granted, she had the benefit of not caring about Flash’s opinion of her, like Gwen would with long-time friends. And yet, despite being very judgy about him at the start, once they’re together she understands that Flash will say/do dumb things but it doesn’t take away from his good heart. Sha-Shan accepts him and his flaws. Ironically, despite Gwen being in love with Peter over Harry, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a time where she cuts Peter any slack for anything even when it’s not his fault. Including and up to not dying.(Not actually joking about that. See Christmas Tree aftermath s2ep3.) Maybe it’s just me, but I swear Harry and Eddie could be be kicking puppies off the Brooklynn Bridge in front of her and she’d be giving Peter the silent treatment for missing her calls trying to stop it.

I'm aware that Gwen isn't evil whatsoever but I find her immensely frustrating when TSSM has better female characters to choose from. And this post is for other people who agree with me. I'm not denying the flaws of anyone else here, be it Peter or Harry or whoever else, but I can't cover my thoughts on all the dynamics at play here without overloading my laptop and this site. I feel like Gwen's actions in the show get glossed over a lot. I've seen Peter and Harry get criticized for their actions and sympathy for their differently bad lives within the show, but Gwen. . .doesn't get that same scrutiny. She makes objectively horrible/stupid choices about how to go about things in her relationships but somehow she seems to get less spotlight shed on those things. Instead, the responsibility is often shoved the two guys for screwing up, despite either having far more on their plate or a bad home life. Anyways, I've rambled incoherently enough. Hope it brought you some food for thought even if you don't agree with everything.

[hatkuu]

actually criminal that @sydneys-stalker has me stuck thinking about step brother kylar. sigh. (afab reader x amab kylar.) (little sister and big brother used respectively for the two of you.)

You've always trusted your brother, despite everything. He's been the one to hold you as you cry, to wipe the tears from your face as you blubber about everything and nothing all at once. You'd never know that just by living in the same household as Kylar you'd receive the same awful treatment from his and your own peers.

You had one another. And it's always been like that.

You're hovering outside of Kylar's bedroom door, hand ghosting the cool brass doorknob. Is this normal? To want to sneak into his room and have him hold you? To toss and turn in your own sheets until the nausea makes your stomach squirl in agony? To only want Kylar of all people to lowly whisper in your ear that it's okay, that you're safe with him, and that with your big brother here, you don't have to worry about anything at all.

Your hand presses onward without thought.

Kylar's sat at his computer, lazily clicking through what looks to be twenty open tabs until he realises his door is open and you're standing there, thighs bare for him to gawk at as your sleep-shirt bunches up against the swells of your body. He blinks, once, twice, then a third time before he closes the webpage entirely, mumbling at you while he readjusts his clothing to look a bit more presentable at 2:34 am. He stands quickly, moving towards you instinctively.

"You can't sleep again...?" He asks softly, a hand rising to cup your cheek while his thumb slides repetitively against the smooth skin. You lean into the touch, sighing. The warmth of your breath makes his thumb cease it's movements - his own eyes growing wide at the sensation - he's always loved when you reciprocate like this. Even if it's always late when you do it.

You nod slowly, hands twitching at your side as the scent of Kylar hits you full force; overbearingly male, tangy and deep in a way that makes your thighs rub together. Your eyes sleepily blink back at him, and Kylar's breath hitches like he's just made the most obvious mistake ever.

"H-Here!" He says quickly, tugging you towards his bed and making it in a hurry, smoothing out the sheets and fluffing one of the pillows for your weary head. "I-I haven't, um, cleaned in a while so..." His eyes avoid your own, waiting for you to move.

You move.

You climb into Kylar's bed, lacking any grace whatsoever.

-

One of your legs wrap around Kylar's waist, your shirt riding up enough that Kylar can feel the drag of your pussy against his thigh. He shudders, groaning loudly against the skin of your neck as he hungrily laps at the skin of your collarbones.

You feel the hot press of his leaking tip prod against your entrance, demanding to be let inside. You whine at the stimulation, hips wiggling as Kylar's nails hold them firm. "J-Just let me-- Oh--" The head slips inside, you're wet enough that it doesn't hurt, wet enough that the sudden stretch makes your lower half zing in anticipation for more. For Kylar's cock to bash against your cervix, for the stretch to truly burn rather than be a dull ache.

"K-Kylar-- Just the tip, remember?" You beg, legs still clinging to his waist like you want more than just that - like you want to go the whole way but your stupid little moral compass won't let you.

"Hah-- Oh fuck," He curses as your walls spasm around his head, weakly trying to coax him deeper inside. He wants to - he wants to do so much more than just cuddle and barely stick his cock inside of you - claim you as his own, not just his little sister, but as his wife.

[whatisame]

bartylus headcanons if u got any to spare....[shaking my mug]

Oh my god I love this question!! 😍 Anything for you my friend

They became friends on accident. Barty was a kool aid kid (yk the ones with a red ring around their mouth that are always on a sugar high) who was always kicked out of class to run laps around the yard while Reg scoffed Walburga-style at him. The teacher probably paired them up as one does with the best behaved kid and the class demon, hoping some sense will rub into the latter.

I think they would make the best team. With Regulus' penchant for accounting for even the smallest variable and Barty's ability to amplify anything's extra-ness tenfold they would have BANGER science projects and, later in life, they'd just be two highly competent dudes without a proper moral compass to hold them back.

They are a little bit TOO mean. It is not a front they put up, they genuinly think most people are stupid (reg) and boring (barty) and they treat them as such. They aren't cruel for the sake of being cruel but they don't really care/don't realize they're wrong.

Each other's #1 enablers. There's very little they will be critical of the other for.

Regulus calls Barty at the worst imaginable times and Barty always picks up.

Reg's also the only one Barty wouldn't curse out for calling at 6 am on a post-bender-Saturday only to debate whether he should just give in and eat Sirius' half rotten vegetables on the fridge or leave them so his brother can finally learn his lesson.

Regulus will say the most offhanded comment like, "I've always wanted to try this," or "My back's aching,," and the next time he sees Barty there will be takeout carelessly shoved into his chest as a greeting or a bottle of pomade will suddenly appear inside his bathroom cabinet.

Regulus simps just as hard. After asking Barty a hundred times over whether he was sure he wansn't hungry, Barty will claim he is craving Thai food after all just as they're pulling into the driveway. Regulus will groan hard but turn the car around nonetheless.

Reg will be cooking and have the living shit scared out of him by a voice coming from behind him saying: "Will it be enough for the both of us?" and Regulus almost drops the pot because Barty lets himself into his house with absolutely no warning whatsoever (he never gave him a key). "How?!!" and "Wouldn't you like to know? ;)" are a daily occurrence.

On the rare ocassion that Reg goes to a family event he always brings Barty who raids the kitchen, makes politicians uncomfortable with highly intrusive questions and announces loudly to the whole room when he needs to go take a leak.

Quickfire hcs:

Each other's firsts-everything!!

Wouldn't know how to read a room if their lives depended on it.

Laugh at at the least appropriate moments (yes, im thinking funerals but also someone proposing with a flashmob and getting rejected).

Banter is on a whole other level.

More than friends, not quite lovers yada yada ... <3