#my weakness strikes again

[missd476]

*PSABR voice* HERE COMES A NEW CHALLENGER...

So if TUGS is the sister series to Thomas, does that make Theodore the Canadian cousin?

[cringefail-clown]

hey remember the post i made that brodad in turnabout would be absolutely hilarious? because i remember. and i cannot forget. and now im thinking about it constantly

please send help

[okjii]

yknow what i actually DO understand Neil on a spiritual level. my type is also short blond men who look like they’d be absolutely no good for me. hell yeah man. hell yeah

[outerjersey]

i am not immune to This Fucking Guy

[vosling]

Head full of stars.

I listened to Sinkhole S1 two days in a row, and then S2 today. The way it depicted physical disability, ableism, and institutional betrayal - it meant a lot.

[wingspiked]

me: I wonder what interesting sunday takes twitter has come up with today!

me: *immediately sees thread paralleling sundays ideologies to real world eugenics*

me: 💀

[greaseonmymouth]

not be all I Don’t Need No Man but every time I have to ask a random dude to help me open a bottle of water I die a little inside

[diamondnokouzai]

this yuri is so bad. And Yet...

[probayern]

love everyone agreeing w my albärt post because my mom and i are literally both heart eyes whenever he comes out. we've decided we're going to buy the stuffed animal

[shalpilot]

sorry caesar is so silly goofy to me. we all make mistakes <3 some of them just involve drugging children

[bimbocreature]

Okay i am officially too-drunk-don't-care-posting buT:

God Rubén Albarrán is hot

God. i wanna make that handsome man scream my name Anyway my thirsting ends as i seek more beer byebye <3

[carrot-felisidad]

Imagine being so unlucky majority of your life that you have to distance yourself from others, that you just accepted your fate, that you just keep smiling despite the pain so nobody actually knows you're in pain. Then there comes this guy who is the physical embodiment of luck and he can even lend you some luck. This guy knows you're in pain, and he stays even when your presence burned his property.

It's just... After so so long of being alone and unlucky, finally, somebody wants to hear you talk.

Xie Lian my baby 🥺🥺🥺

[multific]

Blood and Honor

Yautja x Reader (Teen!Version)

Summary: Your half-Yautja son, now fourteen, has grown restless, his defiance turning to violence.

The tension in your home had been brewing for months, thick and stifling like the heat before a storm.

Your son, fourteen years old and strong beyond his years, had begun to reject your authority.

His Yautja blood demanded dominance, yet he was still so young, so lost between two worlds, too human for the clans, too Yautja for the human life.

And he took it out on you.

“Do not test me,” you warned, voice firm yet calm, as you stood between him and the entrance to your home. He had been pushing, lashing out, knocking things over when anger overtook him.

The child who once clung to you with gentle claws now stared at you with defiance burning in his golden eyes.

“You are weak,” he snarled, his mandibles twitching, muscles coiled with restrained rage. “You do not command me.”

The words cut deeper than you expected.

Your chest ached, not with fear, but with heartbreak.

He didn’t understand.

You weren’t trying to control him, you were trying to protect him. From himself, from the world that would not see him as either human or Yautja.

Before you could respond, his patience snapped.

With a roar, he lunged.

The impact sent you stumbling backwards. Clawed hands found your arms, squeezing too hard, too rough.

Pain seared up your side as you struck the stone wall, your breath knocked from your lungs. And then, before he could strike again, your mate was there.

With terrifying speed, the massive Yautja tore his son away from you, the sheer force of his grip making the boy yelp.

He slammed him against the ground, one knee pressing down hard against his chest, and his own mandibles flared in warning.

“You dare raise your hands against your mother?” his voice was a deep, rough growl, shaking with barely restrained fury. “You disgrace yourself.”

Your son thrashed, but he was no match for his father’s strength.

“She is weak,” the boy spat again, struggling beneath his father's weight. “She does not deserve my submission.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before your mate struck him, not in anger, but with the force of a teacher delivering a harsh lesson.

A sharp cuff to the side of the head, enough to disorient, enough to humble.

“Then you are not worthy of her.”

A stillness fell over the room, suffocating in its weight. Your mate remained crouched over your son, his claws pressing down against the boy’s heaving chest.

“She carried you,” he growled. “She bled for you. She has tended to your wounds, fed you when you were too weak to hunt. She has taught you more than your own kind would ever allow.”

The boy’s breath hitched.

His golden eyes darted to you, still pressed against the wall, a hand clutching your bruised side.

His hands trembled as if he were only now realising what he had done. The scent of your pain filled the air.

Your mate leaned in close near his son’s face, his voice dangerous and unwavering. “You are Yautja. You are human. But you are not a beast. And if you ever dishonour your mother again, you will know the true weight of my wrath.”

The boy stilled beneath him. His breathing came faster, uneven.

You could see the conflict in his young face. He was so much like his father, too much.

And then, he let out a choked sound.

He had never cried before. Not once. Even as a small child, he had held his pain close, refusing to cry as his Yautja blood demanded restraint.

But now, with his father towering above him, with you still clutching your bruised ribs, shame broke him.

“I-” His voice cracked. He turned his head, his claws digging into the floor. “I did not mean-”

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.

The hurt sat too heavy in your chest, not just from the bruises but from the knowledge that he had truly tried to harm you.

Your mate stood, towering over his son as he motioned toward you. “It is not me you must answer to.”

Slowly, painfully, the boy sat up.

He glanced at his father, then at you.

He was still just a child beneath all that defiance, beneath the fangs and claws.

He dragged himself forward on his knees, head bowed, a sign of submission, of shame.

“I hurt you.” His voice was quiet now, hoarse. “I did not mean it. I…” His hands clenched against his thighs. “I only wanted to prove myself. But that is no reason to hurt you.”

Your fingers twitched at your side. He looked so small then, despite his size.

Despite his strength.

Your mate did not interfere. This was between the two of you.

“I don’t like being hurt,” you said at last, voice softer now, but firm. “I don’t like when you look at me and see weakness instead of love.”

The boy flinched.

His claws scraped against the stone floor. “I do not think you are weak,” he admitted, eyes still lowered. “I think… I do not know what I am.”

Your chest tightened. You moved forward, ignoring the sharp sting in your ribs, and reached out. Your fingers cupped his cheek, pulling his gaze to yours. His golden eyes were wide, uncertain, still glassy with held-back tears.

“You are mine,” you whispered. “You always will be.”

A sound escaped him, raw and aching.

He surged forward before you could say anything else, arms wrapping around you, claws trembling against your back.

He buried his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he used to when he was small.

Your mate let out a deep, approving hum from behind you, watching as his son desired your comfort. A lesson learned, a bond reforged.

As you stroked your son’s back, his body shaking from the weight of everything, you knew this moment had changed him.

For the better.

And for the first time in months, peace settled over your home once more.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[drgnflyteabox]

ghost x fem!reader

simon finds a reason to live // stalking, depression, disassociation, simons past child abuse, body horror imagery, you're a single mom, minor sexism-kindaish

Simon's humanity is an external thing, amorphous and disconnected. He might've had a tether as a child, a distinct human softness necessary for survival, but it's since been deadened.

It's not so much a lack as it is a shrinkage. Empathy, emotional intelligence, they come natural at first but terrorize someone, neglect them? They'll turn black and rot as any limb without oxygen.

His father is long dead, he knows this, has read the obituary (full of lies) and pissed on his grave (twice).

And yet his father has the power to strike lightening through the only soft part of him left on any given day, at any given time, at any given place–

His father lives in the way that his heart nearly stops at the shop when the child beside him knocks down a full display of four cheese tomato sauce, glass and red slop crashing to the floor.

Run.

He freezes but his eyes snap to the sound, startlingly loud, mind racing and yet thinking of nothing at all as he feels the fear of god race through him.

Dad's gonna fucking kill you, Tommy laughs raucously.

Simon's never really blamed Tommy, but his voice echoes in his head sometimes too. It does again now, dad's got two tickets for the weekend.

The child takes two steps back, shocked at themselves and the mess and the loud loud sound that has quieted the rest of the store.

He thinks of all the ways he'll step in when the father rounds the corner. Then it's you and his breath goes thin.

"Awe, honey," you say softly. Kindly.

"Oops," the kid says, not a trace of fear in their face.

"Did'ja knock these over, Bram?" you crouch down, careful of the glass, and gently move the boy to the side, "that's okay. Do you remember what we do when we break a glass?"

Simon is still frozen– dumfounded, really. Your patience throws him off.

Fucking moron, his father screams in his head, useless! before he hurts Simon so bad the memory loops and loops, restarting just to torture him.

Fucking moron, fucking moron, useless, fucking moron–

And then you smile sheepishly up at him, eyes crinkling in the corners, and that soft human part of him eternally drifting sticks back to his skin and spreads like a rash.

They don't make you pay for any of the jars, nor do they make you clean up the mess. Still, you crouch again beside your son and explain to him again what to do when he breaks a glass.

Make sure you have shoes on. Don't use your bare hands. Call a grownup.

He's addicted to the sound of your voice. The softness of it, how gently you make sure to speak so that the message is taken in without any kind of fear.

Simon follows your car like the sound of your voice is the warm smell of pie on the windowsill and he's Mickey Mouse floating after it.

Awe, honey, loops through his head. Awe, honey. Awe, honey.

He doesn't make himself known just yet. All he does is note down your address for the next time he's on leave, tells John he's met someone and she's a sweetheart.

When he's back on leave he watches you struggle, and it tears at the new growth of softness.

You work, dropping Bram at school and then spending the day at the office. Then, when Bram is asleep and you've cleaned the house, you open your laptop back up and work a second job.

That just won't do. It takes everything in him not to kick your door down at the weak spot and have you whisper in his ear for a living.

Not yet. Not yet. He tries to loop that, but all he can hear is your sweet voice pleading with the electricity company and it becomes harder and harder.

Please, you say through the bug, I just need four more days. Then I get my paycheck.

Simon thinks about putting his hands around the answering voice's neck when they deny you–

But that's a bandaid solution.

It'll be better to eliminate the problem altogether.

Not the piling bills on your kitchen table that you tuck away when the child goes to school, nor the boss who shouts at you 'til he's red in the face.

No, he'll eliminate the real problem. The way he's seen John do, the way he's seen Gaz take example.

He'll be the man in your life, soon.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Whenever Jason is not in the best of moods, the rest of the family knew just who to get to make this right; you.

So the moment dick pushed you into Jason’s room, closing the door behind you, knowing firsthand that Jason hates being bothered when he wasn’t in a great mood, much to you’re surprise but the moment Jason saw that it was you his mood lightens and his face becomes soft.

‘Hi. I heard you weren’t in a good mood.’ You said and within the blink of an eye you were within Jason’s arms as he cuddled you against him like a teddy bear.

He hummed deeply as he burrowed his head into your shoulder. It was cute to see Jason like this, one minute about to bite someone’s head, but the next he’s docile and acting like some overgrown cat. Purring and clinging onto you for emotional support as you rubbed his broad back soothingly.

You were the Jason whisperer amongst his family, only you could bring calm and quiet to his mind just by caressing his cheek and smiling at him while asking; ‘are you okay jay birdie?’

‘No.’ He huffs. ‘Family being a bunch of dicks.’

‘Isn’t that how family usually are? A bunch of dicks?’ You replied and Jason couldn’t help but smile as he brought you closer as he draped the covers of his bed over the both of you, getting ready for an impromptu nap.

‘This family is the biggest bunch of dicks to ever dick.’ Jason groaned sleepily as he tucked you under his chin, practically cocooning his body over yours in a protective manner.

‘Why?’ You asked, running your hand through his hair, making sure to mess with his white tuff at the front the most. ‘They know my weakness for you.’ He answers as he feel the need to sleep lull him along with your fingers through his hair easing him into a state of relaxation.

Even after Jason falls asleep and dick, Damian, Tim, Steph, cass and duke peaked their heads through the doorway to see you stroking the back of their behemoth of a brother as though he was as harmless as a puppy.

‘Jason whisperer strikes again.’ Steph said in a whisper.

You smiled at them before looking back at Jason, then back at them. ‘I’m going to be stuck here for a good while.’ You tell them and their faces changed. ‘Why?’ Duke asked, worried that something was wrong.

‘Watch.’ You tell them as you began to shuffle away from Jason, only for Jason to shove you back under his chin and his legs to latch onto yours, keeping your face pressed against his tiddies. ‘See, he won’t let me leave.’ You added, voice muffled from Joe close Jason was pressing you to his chest. Dick, Tim, Damian, cass, duke and Steph could only smile and find humour in your current situation and how sweet their brother was when it came to you.

‘All the more reason for you to move in.’ Damian said point blankly and you look at him oddly. Dick puts his hand on Damian’s shoulder, smiling reassuringly at you. ‘Damian only wishes you to be closer, for Jason’s sake and ours.’ You smiled at the pair of them from your position on Jason’s chest. ‘That’s sweet and all but i think it would be best if you guys left us alone for a couple hours, I can feel Jason shifting.’

With that being said dick, Tim, Damian, cass, Steph and duke were quick to shut the door and scatter across the manor, not knowing that they had fell for your trick so you could fall asleep with Jason without any interruptions. ‘You minx.’ He grumbles into your head as you kiss under his jaw.

‘Not my fault I want to spend time with my beautiful man.’ You replied as you got yourself comfortable and fell into a seamless sleep.