#so it's just... both of them handling it bad

[demon-of-side-quest-hell]

by “Flawed” I'm gonna assume you mean a character with flaws addressed by the plot, and not flawed as in poorly handled by the plot for this, but I accept that I could still explode for misinterpreting it.

Anyways Rhyme Ortega, Rhyme Ortega was such a shocking character for me to find that I think is great, At least at the time, I encountered Rhyme right at the start of when I began making a concerted effort to give female characters in media more leeway than I have been conditioned to give them instinctively,

And because of that Rhyme was essentially the first female character that I put alot of brain power into, because she's incredible and when I allowed myself to think about her on the same level as male characters I understood that.

Rhyme is the daughter of the of the highest tier most politically powerful people, and she was raised from birth to one day carry on that legacy, so you can immediately see that she's got a lot of internalized classism, and a lack of understanding of life for people who aren't rich and powerful like her family.

Then she's been made to think that she's allowed to do anything if it's for the betterment of herself or her family including ruin the lives of 4 other people for no other reason than they stood in her way to higher power, and then because she messed up and accidentally got her mom locked in super coma jail, she developed anxieties about letting anyone else but her deal with problems, because she wants to help people so fucking bad, she really really does, so she thinks she's the only possible person to handle any situation and no one else can know what her plans are because everyone else will mess it up

And her dad doesn't even pick up that these are problems, when she steals his magic power he's just like “Fuck you for stealing my power but congrats on being such a girlboss!”

Anyways so because she's the only one allowed to deal with problems she's incredibly closed off to people about her emotions and shit, until when she meets Mini, who Rhyme as part of her own goals in becoming a powerful political figure like her dad expects of her, Rhyme has to bring Mini up from the lower class into the middle class.

I'm trying not to explain the CKC specific systems of society and approximate them to real world society so this is understandable, but the classes aren't based on Money they're essentially castes that once born into you can basically only go down in rank if you fuck up, like really really really badly, but the only way to move from the middle class to upper class is by somehow making someone of the lower class ascend to the middle class (Ascend is the actual term used in CKC)

[Warning the following is based mostly on my headcanon and personal interpretations of the lore and plot of CKC, I'll say when we're back to full canon.]

So to ascend Mini up it's implied by the game that she basically HAS to open up to Mini about herself, because she cannot ever understand how to help Mini if she doesn't allow herself to be vulnerable around Mini.

And so Mini is the first person Rhyme opens up to in YEARS, and she develops feelings for Mini, because Mini is the first person who has ever understood Rhyme, both because Rhyme is the first person Mini has let into her life, but also because they bond over their hatred of their respective parental figures, their distaste for various systems of society, and just general things like media and music and things of that nature.

[Back to 100% Bonafide Canon]

Eventually, Mini rises even further, and is able to be the same class level as Rhyme, and it's at this moment that Rhyme actually asks Mini out and they start dating, and during the time where we see this relationship, it's a very genuinely sweet and fun thing.

Eventually, Mini is "descended", aka, she fucked up big time and got her status in the hierarchy demoted all the way back to the bottom, and what do you think Rhyme does when she sees Mini in this state?

Mini who she personally helped ascend, Mini who she took the initiative to ask out, Mini who is the one who knows Rhyme the most deeply that anyone ever has

Rhyme dumps her ass!!!!!!

Rhyme ain't allowed to be seen dating someone of the lower class!!!!!!!!

But that's the thing

Seen is the operative word.

When we see Rhyme again, and the topic is pressed, she's angry, she tries to make sure people knew that she was the one to make the choice, that she thinks this was indeed the right choice, and it's a fucking lie! She's lying to herself! She's so upset about the loss she explodes, metaphorically, and then, when she sees that Mini has moved on and found someone who won't dump her for the classist bullshit of this society, explodes. literally.

Don't worry she gets better though, and when all is said and done, Rhyme is EVIDENTLY still not over it.

Rhyme hates the fuck out of hanging out with Mini's new friends.

Rhyme is so uncomfortable showing up to events where Mini is because she just wants to avoid it all, she doesn't want to think about Mini, she's content just knowing that Mini is happy and then wallowing alone in her room taking care of instruments, but the thing is, Mini actually understands that Rhyme has like 0 fucking social life, and so Mini invites Rhyme to these things because who else will? Who else is gonna stick their neck out for Rhyme, is vouch for Rhyme's better traits, will hype Rhyme up when she needs it?

[Another "this is my interpretation of canon, but isn't explicitly stated in the text" segment real quick]

Rhyme does her damnedest to try and help people, that's all she ever wants, is to be helpful, she wants to do the "right" thing. I believe in part, Rhyme tries so hard to do whatever is "right" because she wants to work back for every single harm she's done. I think for as confident, snarky, and holier-than-thou she presents herself as, she beats herself up for every single mistake, she knows in her head that it was morally wrong to dump her girlfriend on a whim because she can't be dating someone of low standing, but she thinks that she NEEDS to so she can keep the power she needs to, honestly, do fuck all with because who would've guessed it! The masters tools will never dismantle the masters house!

Rhyme messed up once, while she was a child. Caused her mother to banished away into a prison that no one would free her from. Could they free her if they wanted? Yes. Will they? No. Because Rhyme's mother spoke out, against the establishment, against the hierarchy, against the classism present in society, and covertly at that, and so when Rhyme innocently brought up some of these things to others, simply wanting to know about the situation, wanting people to explain to her why things are, they made an example of Rhyme's mother. Why yes, not even the highest of class people are safe if they pose even a shred of danger to society.

So Rhyme helps maintain society, stands to the side and glances away when she disagrees with how things are ran, firstly because Rhyme as a person of high standing has to uphold the status quo, especially as she has the power to do the opposite, and secondarily, if the system collapses, she will have no excuses for the actions she has already done, and there will no longer be any justifications she can tell herself every night.

And once Mini (and others) destroy the hierarchy, I think Rhyme understands all of that, if she didn't already.

[Personal readings of text over again, can you tell that Rhyme is one of my favorite characters in fiction?]

Thank you to anyone reading this, I have waited for a while to just gush about Rhyme, I think she's underutilized by the series, and that her one episode as the protagonist is the worst episode of the entire series (Not because of Rhyme, Rhyme's the highlight of the episode for me but that should be a given)

STOP this is the feminism checkpoint. you have to comment something you like about a flawed female character. or explode

[enwoso]

weight of the world | part two

alessia russo x baby!reader

-> based on this request | includes some upsetting themes throughout so read with caution.

grumpy masterlist | part one here

the phone rang twice before carol answered, a breathless. "hello?"

"hi, carol, it's ella," ella said quickly, her voice shaking. "i—i'm sorry to call so late. i- i just didn't know what else to do."

there was a beat of silence. carol's voice softened instantly as if she already knew. "it it alessia?"

ella swallowed hard. "yeah."

carol's tone sharpened a little, worry laced in her tone. "what's happened?"

"nothing—no, wait- it's not nothing—i just..." ella rubbed her hand over her face, forcing herself to say it. "it's not nothing actually. alessia's not okay, carol. she's— i don't think she's eating, or sleeping properly, she's snapping at everyone, she looks so tired and she keeps saying she's fine but it's so clear she's not. she's not even close."

carol didn't say anything for a second. ella could hear the faint sound of the to playing in the background along with the clink of a mug being set down.

it was home. it was safe. meanwhile alessia was out there drowning.

"i-i've tried to talk to her," ella whispered. "but she's- she just... she pushed me away. she's trying so hard to hold everything together and it's like she thinks asking for help makes her a bad mum."

carols breath hitched so faintly that ella almost missed it. "my poor girl," carol murmured. "you've done the right thing calling me, love. thank you."

"i didn't want to betray her, but i just—" ella broke off, tears stinging her eyes. "i just don't know how to help anymore."

"you have helped ella, you always do even if alessia's not always appreciative of it," carol said firmly. "but now it's my turn."

a pause. "i'll get the train up, i'll be there tomorrow morning."

ella exhaled, a sob catching in her throat. "thank you, carol."

"no thank you for loving her enough to fight for her when she couldn't fight for herself." the call ended, the silence thick with unspoken fear. and for the first time since you'd been born, ella felt the tiniest spark of hope.

⸻

the next morning, carol was already on a train from kent, sitting rigidly upright, the seat vibrating as it raced along the tracks beneath her, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

her fingers twisted together in her lap, and no matter how many deep breaths she tried to take, none of them reached past the fear lodged tight in her chest.

every mile closer to manchester, the worse the storm inside her grew.

when she finally made it to alessia's front door, she hesitated only a second before knocking — a firm, deliberate sound that echoed down the quiet street.

it took too long for the door to open.

when it finally swung inward, alessia stood there with you glued to her hip still asleep, alessia blinking blearily, like she had been woken from a half-sleep.

"mum?" alessia rasped, her voice hoarse from exhaustion—or maybe from crying, or both.

carol smiled tightly. "hello, darling." alessia just stared at her mum for a beat, confusion flashing across her face.

"mum, what are you doing here?" alessia said, forcing a brittle little laugh that cracked apart before it even fully formed. "i didn't—"

"ella called me," carol said gently, her voice even but not apologetic. "she's said she was worried about you. and,, now... so am i."

immediately, alessia's entire body tensed. her free hand that had been resting on the edge of the door curled into a tight fist at her side. alessia's mouth twisting into something ugly and defensive before she could stop herself.

"of course she did," alessia muttered bitterly under her breath. of course ella thought she couldn't handle it. of course everyone thought she was weak.

"well i’m sorry but you've wasted a journey here, i'm fine, mum," alessia said louder now, her voice snapping like brittle glass as if she was trying to convince herself more than her mum. "i don't need anyone swooping in like i'm some—some charity case."

carol stepped calmly into the narrow hallway of her apartment, ignoring the stiffness in alessia's shoulders.

"i'm not here because i think you're broken, less," carol said softly. "i'm here because i love you. and you look like you're drowning, like you need a bit of support."

"i'm not! i- i don't." alessia snapped, the words flying out, too sharp, too desperate. "i'm coping just fine! i'm training fine, lovie is fine and healthy, i'm paying the bills, keeping the house—"

but alessia's voice cracked mid-sentence. "i don't need help," alessia said again, quieter now, but no less fierce. "i can't need help."

the way alessia said it made her mum's heart twist painfully — like needing help would be a failure so deep alessia couldn't even bear to name it.

carol didn't argue. she didn't push. she just stood there, steady, quiet, a safe harbour waiting for the storm to burn itself out.

"you're allowed to need help, alessia," carol said after a long pause, her voice just above a whisper. "you're still strong. you're still y/n's mum. you're still you. just... tired. that's all. there's been a lot of changes for you in the past few months."

alessia shook her head violently, eyes shining, but she didn't move away. she stood there frozen, you fussing lightly against her chest, and for a moment, carol saw the full weight of it—how close alessia actually was to shattering.

slowly, carol opened her arms. and alessia stood stiffly for a second longer, jaw clenched, fighting it with everything she had—fighting the weakness, the vulnerability, the terror of letting go—

—and then, finally, she stumbled forward into her own mother's arms, her whole body trembling with the effort of holding herself together.

carol wrapping alessia up carefully, one hand cradling you between them, the other bracing alessia's shaking back.

"you're not failing, darling," carol murmured into her hair. "you're just human and you don't have to do this all by yourself anymore."

alessia didn't reply. her arms instead came up shakily to clutch at carol's coat, and though she stayed stiff and tense for a long, long moment, eventually her head tipped forward, resting against her mother's shoulder.

not surrendering. just... allowing. allowing herself, for the first time in a few weeks, to not be alone.

but within the first day, alessia barely let her mum help. alessia didn't shout. but her voice was always just one decibel too sharp.

like glass stretched too thin, seconds from splintering.

"no mum, i said i've got it," alessia hissed when carol reached out for your bottle. you were screaming, red-faced and writhing in alessia's arms. your little legs kicked as alessia juggled the formula with trembling fingers. carol's hands hovered instinctively.

"i'm just trying to—"

"i said i've got it!" alessia's voice cracked mid-sentence, fraying around the edges.

alessia screwed the bottle lid on too tight. shoot the bottle too hard. spilled it anyway. your cries kept going, louder now, sharper. a crescendo of sound that made alessia’s whole body stiffen.

carol didn't flinch. but inside, alessia was already bleeding. her mum watched alessia cradle you against her chest, one hand pressed to her temple like alessia was trying to hold her skull together.

there were deep dark circles beneath her eyes. alessia's skin, pale and waxen, hung over her cheekbones like it didn't fit anymore. alessia's hands, so used to the delicate touch of a football—twitched now with nerves she couldn't suppress.

when you finally took the bottle, alessia's shoulders dropped—but only slightly. relief never came. just the next thing. always the next thing.

carol tried again after lunch. "why don't you rest for a bit? have a nap, time to yourself. i'll keep an eye on her."

"i am resting," alessia muttered as she began scrubbing a perfectly clean counter. alessia hadn't touched the soup her mum made. instead just moved the spoon around for twenty minutes and pretended to chew.

"but you've been on your feet all day."

"i don't need a break. i'm fine." the words came out like barbed wire—sharp, defensive, tired of being questioned.

carol said nothing, she knew nothing she could say would change alessia's mind, alessia needed to make the realisation herself. so instead she watched as alessia started scrubbing harder, her hands red-raw from overwashing, her movements tight with fury. or fear. maybe both.

later on the day, carol began to fold some of baby clothes which had been lying around in the laundry basket. trying to do something small. something helpful.

"i keep her sleep suits in the top drawer," alessia said from across the room, her voice too calm. too clipped.

carol paused. "sorry, less, i-"

"and then her vests go underneath. no- that's not where they go." there was venom in it. but no heat. just cold exhaustion.

carol slowly laid the folded onesie down. alessia snatching it up the second her mum turned her back and refolded it, perfectly square, as if her whole sanity depended on it.

and maybe it did.

that same night, carol sat at the edge of the bed in the spare room, staring at the dark. she could hear you fussing through the thin wall. could hear alessia pacing around again. over and over.

floorboards creaking like clockwork. alessia's footsteps, heavy and urgent. alessia hadn't stopped moving all day.

hadn't sat still long enough to breathe. cause if she sat down—if she stopped even just for a second—maybe it would all catch up to her. maybe the weight of it would bury her alive.

carol brought a hand to her chest, where her heart ached in the kind of deep, maternal way that didn't come with instruction manuals or easy fixes. she as watching her daughter disappear in real time, and there was nothing she could do but wait. wait and stay.

as what alessia was fighting wasn't just tiredness.

it was guilt. shame. a bone-deep fear that she wasn't enough. that she was failing you, her baby.

that if alessia didn't do everything perfectly, something terrible would happen—and it would be her fault.

that was the real cruelty of postnatal depression. it didn't scream. it whispered. it told her that she wasn't a good mum. that her baby deserved better. that she was just holding on—only because no one had noticed yet that she wasn't capable.

and alessia had always been capable. on the pitch. in life. everyone expected it from her. even now.

but carol knew better. her daughter was breaking—quietly, invisibly, in plain sight. and she just prayed that tomorrow... the mask might slip enough for her to reach her. because carol could survive being pushed away.

but carol didn't know if alessia could survive being left alone in this.

—

by the second day, it all fell apart.

carol had noticed the signs earlier that morning—the way alessia didn't meet her eyes, how her hands trembled even when you weren't in them, how alessia stood at the sink long after the bottle was washed, just staring down the drain like it might swallow her whole.

but her mum didn't ask questions. she just waited. waited for the moment alessia couldn't carry it anymore as it was bound to come sooner or later.

it came mid-afternoon. the house was too quiet. no television on in the background. no soft lullabies from the speaker that sat on the shelf in your room. just silence. dense and suffocating.

carol moved quietly down the hall. the nursery door was open. and there she was.

alessia, curled on the floor in the corner of the room, her knees drawn up, you tucked on her chest, wrapped in a blanket which had started to unravel.

alessia was rocking her. but not gently. it was a little erratic—almost desperate—like she was trying to calm herself as much as she was you..

alessia's lips were moving rapidly, her voice cracked and uneven. "i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry."

over and over. each repetition cut deeper than the last. alessia's body shuddered with it. not just exhaustion—no, this was grief. guilt. panic.

a mother apologising to a baby who didn't yet understand what pain was. but alessia did. and she carried it like it was stitched onto her skin.

carol dropped to her knees beside her, her hands trembling as she reached out. "shh, baby. shh," carol whispered, and she didn't know if she was talking to alessia or you. maybe both.

carol wrapped her arms around the alessia and you—her grown daughter and her tiny granddaughter—and held them like she used to when alessia was four years old and crying over scraped knees she'd gotten while playing football with her two older brothers.

but this was so much worse.

"i don't know what i'm doing," alessia choked, her voice hoarse and hollow.

"i can't sleep. i can't think. i feel like i'm failing every second—every time she cries, i feel like i'm doing something wrong. i don't know what she wants. i don't know what she needs. and then—then i look at her and i just... i love her so much it hurts. but I'm terrified, mum. terrified i'm gonna ruin her. that i already have."

alessia hiccupped through a sob, clutching you tighter, her grip almost too strong, like letting go would break your tiny body into tiny pieces.

"what if i fall asleep and sh-she stops breathing? what if i don't hear her? what if she hates me when she's older and knows how fucked up i was?"

alessia's voice cracked on the word hate. it came out like a wound.

carol's own breath hitched. tears burned behind her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. because this wasn't about her pain. this was about the little girl in her arms who had grown up into a woman that the world expected to be so strong, so capable, so perfect—and who was now drowning beneath that impossible weight of everything.

"oh, alessia," carol murmured, pressing a kiss into her hair, damp with sweat and tears. "this isn't your fault. none of this is. this is postnatal depression, lessi. your body... your brain... it's in a funny place at this minute like it's lying to you. making you think you're not enough when you're already doing everything you can."

"but i'm not enough," alessia whispered, broken. "she deserves more. a mum who doesn't cry every day. who doesn't stare at the wall and forget what day it is. i haven't showered in three days, mum. i scream into my pillow just to stop myself screaming out loud. and then—" alessia wallowed hard. "i yelled at ella. she tried to help and i pushed her away. i pushed everyone away."

carol's hand cradled the back of alessia's head as she sobbed into her mum's shoulder, hot tears soaking through the fabric of her jumper.

"then maybe it's time to say sorry," carol said gently. "say sorry, and forgive yourself too, darling. you're not a bad mum. you're a tired one. you're human. and the people who love you? they aren't keeping score. they just want you back. the real you. not the one who's trying to do it all without asking for help."

alessia nodded, barely, her body still wracked with shaking sobs. she clung to her mum like she was afraid she'd disappear if she let go.

still shaking. still exhausted. still cracked wide open. but for the first time in weeks, she wasn't pretending.

for the first time in weeks, someone was holding her—and she wasn't apologising for needing it.

"okay," alessia whispered, the word thin and raw, but real.

and in that fragile, aching moment, something inside her shifted.

not fixed. not healed. not yet. but no longer alone. and that was a start.

[kunasthiast]

wagyu nights

you had exactly three things on your to-do-list that monday morning. yes, a monday. satan’s favorite day. the kind of monday where you wake up already annoyed, already hot, already feral. 

number 1. drink your overpriced espresso from starbucks that makes your heart do backflips and your soul exit your body. you only ordered it because that goddamn espresso song’s been living in your head rent-free for weeks. 

number 2. avoid signing another one of gojo’s illegal, morally questionable, legally actionable birthday cards. last time you did, his lawyer called you personally.

number 3. get a tattoo right above your ass crack and surprise your husband like the loving, stable wife you pretend to be in public.

because why the fuck not? 

you were thirty. rich. hot. emotionally stable (depending on the hour). married to that pink-haired demon of a man for five goddamn years – willingly and obsessively. no kids, yet. no regrets. just an unhinged, borderline feral, mutually destructive love story and an ever-growing collection of in-laws and nosy strangers asking, “so when are the babies coming?”

to which you always replied, smiling sweetly, creepily, and with too much eye contact: “we’re practicing really hard.”

and if there’s one thing sukuna adored even more than your face, your attitude, or your uncanny ability to outdrink him at every celebratory orgies of capitalism, it was –

“your fuckin’ back dimples,” he growled that morning, voice still hoarse, from where he lay starfished across your bed. shirtless. legs splayed. tattoos on full display like a fucking warning sign.

you stood in front of the full-length mirror, shirt lifted just enough to peek at your lower back, contemplating the most deranged monday decision possible: a sternum piece? an underboob tat? nah. a fucking tramp stamp.   

“what about them?” you asked absently, twisting for a better view, ass poked out, looking like a possessed girl in an exorcism movie.

his eyes raked over you like you were his personal religion (yes, you are), “they’re my favorite handles.”

“for what?”

“sin. more specifically, you bent over the bathroom counter-sin. five-star tasting menu kinda shit, babe.”

“romantic,” you deadpanned, still deciding between a cybersigilism tat, a cute hello kitty tramp stamp, or that fucking succubus design you’ve been manifesting since last month’s hormonal spiral.

but by the time your fourth sip of espresso kicked in and your third brain cell screamed YOLO – you were already texting yuki for a walk-in.  

because nothing says married life like getting a surprise ass tattoo and flashing it at dinner like a goddamn crackerjack prize. 

by noon, you were half in your sweatpants, wearing his hoodie over a crop top, sunglasses indoors, phone in one hand, car keys in the other. you looked like a rich housewife fleeing a crime scene. 

then, of course, sukuna came out of his office room, voice still scratchy from some hellish meeting (and yes, you definitely heard the phrase “who the fuck approved this?” echoed through the door). tattoos peeked out from under his rolled-up sleeves. he looked good. he always does. dangerously so. and he definitely came out because he sensed the chaos radiating off you like a sixth sense.

“where the fuck you going today, baby?”

you froze mid-sprint at the door.

“uhh… nowhere,” you lied, immediately. “just… errands, love.”

he stared at you.

you smiled.

he squinted harder, “… you only say ‘errands’ when you’re gonna make a dramatic and irreversible decision.”

“what?! noooo! do i look like i make bad decisions?” 

“baby. last time you said ‘errands’ you came home with a cat and a navel piercing. so yes. yes, you do.”

“well, you love both,” you shrugged, opening the door.

he cocked a brow. “i do. but if you come back with a fucking dog, a nipple ring, or another limited-edition cursed item from that thrift store you claim ain’t haunted, we’re gonna have a serious talk, baby.”

“fine,” you grinned, blowing him a kiss.

he narrowed his eyes like a man who knew his wife was about to commit arson, metaphorical or otherwise. “wait. hold up –”

ding.

his phone lit up. followed by another. and another.

“fucking hell,” he muttered, reading whatever fresh corporate nightmare just got dumped on him (his own company = his own chaos = karma’s kiss on the forehead). and just like that – fate (and capitalism) intervened.

“baby, i gotta take this. don’t do anything –”

click.

door’s already closed. too late. 

you were gone. off into the wild, espresso-fueled unknown with a dream, a credit card, and the dangerous confidence of a woman who pays her own bills and gets off on impulsive decisions. 

—

thirty-two minutes later.

yuki took one look at you from her desk and said, “okay, what are we permanently etching into your flesh today?”

“i need something that says crazily in love but also i know where the bodies are buried,” you said, peeling off your hoodie. “thinking tramp stamp. succubus, cybersigilism style. red ink.‘kuna’s initials. maybe a heart in the middle. definitely unholy.”

“hmm, classic monday,” she nodded, already grabbing her ipad to draw it on the spot. “want some glitter drips?”

“yes,” you grinned, too excited for this.

“he’s gonna lose his mind,” you grinned, high off espresso, reckless affection, and the promise of delightful spousal torment.

“in a good way or a divorce way?”

“yes.”

forty-five minutes later.

you were face down, ass-up on yuki’s table, hair in a messy bun, chewing gum like it owed you money.

“‘kay, hold real still,” yuki said, gloves snapping on. “‘bout to tattoo the most feral love note of all time on your ass.”

“god bless,” you whispered, as the buzz of the machine started.

two hours later, your phone buzzed like a possessed bee on the tray next to you. texts. missed calls. a voicemail that probably just said “baby” in ten different emotional tones.

but you ignored it, because sukuna would find out soon enough. and please, your marriage survived worse. like the time you accidentally sexted the family group chat (your side). 

or that time you thought it’d be romantic to surprise him with a homemade dinner, only to somehow set fire to the kitchen and set off the smoke detectors. sukuna waltzed in, unfazed, and ended up effortlessly whipping up a five-course meal in under an hour – leaving you sulking on the couch, watching him plate perfectly cooked dishes while you nursed a glass of wine (your only consolation being the fact that at least you hadn’t set the house on fire. this time). but then, just when you thought he was gonna give you the “i told you so” lecture, he kissed you on the cheek, gave you a hug, and murmured, “still love you, babe.”

anyway, at least the tattoo’s done. and it looks glorious as fuck.

you admired it in the mirror like it was renaissance art. well… satanic, slightly unhinged renaissance art.

a little heart with “R.S” in the middle. glowing red. framed by digital sigils and glittery hellfire drips. you looked like the cover of a cursed y2k CD and it was absolutely iconic. just what you loved.

“i’m never wearing any tops again,” you declared, pulling your sweatpants up.

“he’s either gonna fuck you into next tuesday or call a priest,” yuki said, proud of her work.

“either way, it’s a win.”

—

you didn’t go straight home after the tattoo, obviously. you were an emotionally stable adult woman with needs and responsibilities.

so after the pain and the buzz wore off a little (just for today, obvs), you stopped by paradise. ready for some retail therapy. with a necessary detour to just distract yourself from the inevitable chaos waiting for you at home.

a few hours and a few (more like 5) shopping bags later, you stopped by that place. the one with the overpriced wagyu and the mochi ice cream your husband pretends not to like but always, mysteriously, finishes. it was part guilt on not replying to his texts and calls (fine, maybe 30% avoidance), part instinct, part monday-night tradition. 

he cooks 90% of the time, but random weekdays? random weekdays like monday tonight is for takeout treaty nights.

so you picked up dinner and rolled into the driveway at exactly 9:47PM. full of caffeine, permanent ink, and deeply smug satisfaction. 

your phone buzzed with the energy of a hundred (okay, 50?) unread texts, but you had food in your hand and a hot husband waiting to yell at you (let him fucking try), so life was good.

the moment you stepped in, you immediately announced with maximum dramatic flair, “babyyy, i’m hooooome!” fully expecting to find him in his usual end-of-day poses: brooding in the kitchen, bossing someone around on the phone, or lounging on the couch with black mirror playing on the tv and whisky on hand. 

and, of course – there he was. shirtless, barefoot, and tattoos out, as usual. leaning against the kitchen island with a glass of whisky on his hand and a phone in the other (probs, terrorizing his assistant). his crimson eyes, sharp as ever, were already scanning you with that knowing look. 

“you’re late,” sukuna said as he ended the phone call, voice deceptively calm.

you just grinned, kicking the door closed behind you and waltzing in too happily. “told ya i had errands, baby.”

his eyes flicked to the five shopping bags hanging off your arms like battle trophies. “did you rob a boutique or black out in dior again?”

“bit of both,” you winked, dropped the bags on the floor, placed the takeout on the counter like peace offering, and kissed him on the lips. “got us dinner, daddy.”

he stared at the takeout bag like it was a peace offering from a war criminal he loved deeply, “sweetheart, what’d you do.”

“excuse me?!” you gasped, scandalized.

“you only bring home wagyu and mochi balls together when you’ve done something insane. or need to butter me up for something worse than a felony, sweetheart,” he said, already digging into the bag like wasn’t fully planning on giving you hell for ghosting him all day. “go ahead. confess.”

you just blinked at him. smiled. took the mochi ice cream container and hugged it like it was a baby kitten. “maybe i just missed my emotionally unavailable, incredibly stressed-for-today yet very hot husband and wanted to feed him like the loving wife i am.”

“uh-huh,” he muttered as he raised a brow, unimpressed. “i texted you fifty-two times. called you over twenty.”

“and i saw every single one of ‘em,” you said sweetly, pulling out plates and chopsticks. “and ignored all. with love.”

“obviously, given your non-existent replies.”

“i was processing,” you said solemnly, handing him a plate. “like a baby giraffe. learning how to walk.”

he gave you that look – one that said i both adore and fear you – and took the plate. “tell me you didn’t crash the car.”

“pfft, the car’s fine, babe.” you said.

“tell me you didn’t sign another one of gojo’s birthday cards.”

“why would i –”

he stared. you stared back. and then, just like clockwork, he reached forward and tugged at the hem of his (your) hoodie you were wearing, “baby. what is it.”

“nothing.”

“show me.”

“nope. absolutely not.”

“sweetheart.”

you bit into your mochi dramatically. chewing on it. and then very calmly turned around, lifted up your hoodie, and pulled down your sweatpants just enough to show off the new ink on the small of your back. that fucking succubus red-inked tattoo with his initials. all stylized. deadly cute. 

you didn’t need to look at him to know that he was staring.

sukuna blinked. put down his chopsticks. stared like you just pulled a gun on him. well, obvs  yeah, not literally. 

“oh, fuck,” he muttered after two seconds. 

you pulled your hoodie back down and faced him, still chewing. “like it? so freaking cute, right?”

his voice dropped. low.“you got my fuckin’ initials tattooed on your ass.”

“technically, above it.”

he exhaled like he’d seen god, “baby. what the fuck. ‘course i fuckin’ love it.”

“you’re welcome,” you said sweetly, stealing a piece of his wagyu like a menace.

he stared at you for a beat… then he started laughing. not chuckles. not that fake corporate laugh he does when he’s about to buy out someone’s soul. real, head-thrown-back, unhinged maniacal laughter your husband is capable of.

and then he said, still breathless: “fuck, baby, i love you. but the only position we’re doing for the next month is backshots.”

you picked up another mochi ball, chewed slowly, and said, like a woman casually signing a soul contract, “i mean, that’s all we can do right now anyway. tattoo aftercare, duh. can’t have friction. or—y’know—fluids.”

there was a pause.

“such a sacrifice. i’m selfless like that.”

—

which is how you found yourself bent over the fucking kitchen counter.

ass up. hoodie, crop top, and bra somewhere on the floor. tramp stamp fully on display. and your hot, undeniably feral husband was shoving his thick fucking cock in your pussy like this was his last day on earth. giving you that much deserved backshot. 

“fuck, baby. you’re so fuckin’ tight,” sukuna grunted, his teeth grazing your neck. his hands gripped your hips tightly as he pounded into you from behind, his cock stretching your tight pussy with each thrust. hitting deep and hard, so perfect. 

“mm, fuck yes, more baby more,” you moaned into the marble, eyes fluttering.

and sukuna – god, he was loud. and when he moans? he fucking moans it out. loud, unfiltered, guttural sounds right in your ear. “want more, baby?”

his words sent shivers down your spine, and you arched your back, pushing your ass against him, “mmm, harder, ‘kuna,” you nodded and begged, voice already wrecked.

he didn’t need telling twice. he slammed into you harder, relentless with forceful thrusts that had your tits bouncing with every stroke and making your toes curl. 

“shit, you’re taking me so fucking well, baby.” he growled, one hand found your clit, the other tightening around your hips. “gonna make you cum so fuckin’ hard tonight.”

your moans grew louder as he continued to hammer your pussy, the pleasure building with each powerful stroke, and very determined to make you cum hard on his cock. your moans filled the kitchen, each thrust sending you closer to the edge.

“oh god yes, yes, baby, just like that!” you cried out, feeling your climax approaching rapidly. “i’m cumming, i’m –”

sukuna shoved himself deeper, thick cock buried inside as your pussy clenched around him, milking his shaft for all it was worth. you screamed his name, back aching, and body shaking. 

“fuck baby, i love you!” he groaned, hips stuttering as he came with a loud, filthy growl. his hot seed spilling deep inside you.

you both stayed like that for a moment – breathless, trembling, and fucking grinning in the aftermath of your intense and sukuna’s selfless lovemaking. 

then he smacked your ass and said, with deep reverence, “i fucking love this pussy and that fucking tattoo.” 

“now that’s what i call romance, daddy” you said as you turn your face to look at him. his cock still very much inside you. 

yeah.

that was probably the night it happened.

the one that’d changed your life in about nine months.

but that was future you’s next challenge.

tonight, there was wagyu. mochi. your menacingly feral husband. your very smug tramp stamp. and a kitchen full of bad decisions marinated in love.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

a/n: this is me convincing myself that tramp stamps are fucking sexy and i’m getting them as my next piece of tat this year lol also fuck I need this sukuna in my fucking life – universe, gods, angels… PLEASE hear me out

[myntrose]

11:31 pm - just my kinda-not-so-dirty thoughts with sylus

Mdni - very suggestive work below

"Haah... is this good sweetie?"

"You're doing.. nghh.. so good over there baby"

"You've really got me working hard here darling"

Sweat clung unto Sylus' brow, a damp sheen covering his neck and muscles. His veins along his forearm were taut beneath his tight skin. With each movement, you could see them pulsing, with the rush of blood spreading through his body.

Sylus leaves from his spot towards you, moving like a predator trying to catch its prey. While you may be his kitten, your relationship always been always been a game of cat and mouse, him being the latter.

He hands you a water bottle, while wiping away at the sweat forming along your face. A small gesture, given the kind of endurance he just put you through.

It was a mistake for you to look straight into Sylus's eyes. Not for a negative reason, per se. But every time your gaze met you saw a flood of love and warmth from them. It wasn't just affection, no, it was pure and utter devotion. A hunger that only you could fill. To Sylus, you were the light in this dark world, the missing piece to his unsolved world.

Despite how far bad you were for him, you couldn't quite make known the kind of adoration he had for you. Even in moments like these, of course.

"Hey Sylus?"

"Yes sweetie?"

"I love you, so much, but please stop with all these... innuendos..."

You sit up from the bench you were sitting on, where you had just been doing your usual workout routine. Earlier that day Sylus had asked to accompany you, to which of course you said yes too. After all, what could be so bad about you and your boyfriend working out together? He's madly strong, would make a good spotter, and would keep you accountable during your workouts.

Of course, what you didn't factor in, was how downright erotic Sylus sounded while working out. Sure, you knew that he'd be throwing around heavy weights. But did he have to keep talking like.. that?? What's worse was he didn't seem to realize what he was doing, at least thats what he was trying to get you to believe.

"I don't know what you're talking about sweetie. I'm just trying to do my workout"

His smirk is downright sinful. Of course the bastard knows what he's doing. He feigning ignorance was just to get a ride out of you. But as usual, it worked. Sylus picks up the weights you had previously put down, and hands it over to you.

"Now, why don't you be a good girl and handle this for me, hm?"

Yeah, letting him join you on gym day was both a very good and bad idea .

hi guys I'm still kinda drowsy from getting sick but today I finally went back to the gym and all I can think about it the way that sylus would be moaning and groaning as your gym partner and nghhh the thoughts ran wild from there. This was pure down bad my b guys

[tangents-within-tangents]

Thank you! You're both putting so much into words about why the prevalence of this trend bothers me! And pointing out even more than I had considered.

Even if we put aside the military structure, the clones' in-universe social standing, and the real-world racial implications (which we shouldn't), it just does not make sense.

The Jedi are raised in a wholistic, supportive community; the clones are raised trained as child soldiers. The Jedi are taught to be mindful of their emotions; the clones are told they were "designed to withstand any stress." The Jedi's belief system is basically self-regulation and altruist compassion. The clones are conditioned to believe their sole purpose is to follow orders and give their lives to the war.

It's not rocket science to figure out which of those groups is more likely to be self-sacrificial and neglect their own needs! And yet the overwhelming trend in fic is the exact opposite?

I can also see how maybe the opposite, the Jedi taking care of the clones, could end up weird too if taken too far in the other direction. It could come off as infantilizing or ~white savior-esque (I recently wrote about something similar). But there are obviously ways to handle it without it going to that, too

(Side note, all of this also applies to Omega and the Bad Batch. She is a child, the mental well-being of her adult brothers should not be her responsibility, no matter how caring and insightful she is. The show had enough of that problem as it was)

I sometimes see this idea that the Jedi valuing compassion and service is where this stems from, but I disagree with that take. Like there is a way to be altruistic and selfless without ignoring your own needs, in fact that's the only sustainable way to do it, and therefore I think the Jedi would definitely have figured out that balance. I think it's odd too that often these fics will take meditation, which is literally a way to manage stress and be aware of yourself, and turn it into an avoidance behavior instead. Like idk about Jedi force meditation specifically, but that is the opposite of how meditation works lol

Anyway, I have some recommendations that came to mind along the topics of this discussion:

-imaginary root by electric_dreamer/@jaggerwockyy (799): as the tags say, 'Rex is Anakin's emotional punching bag.' This one shows a bit of the damage a 'clones babysitting their Jedi' dynamic could have, especially with a very volatile Anakin, closer to his prequels-canon characterization.

-approximate solution by electric_dreamer (750): all of their Cody & Obi-wan stuff in this series explores such an interesting dynamic between them (both bc it's so uncommon to see tense co-worker Cody and Obi-wan, and bc it's so layered and complex and mmm), often showing both of their very differing perspectives, which is really cool. This one in particular shows a good-intentioned but overstepping Obi-wan and how unhelpful help can be sometimes.

-The Value of a Life by mothweave/@myidealhousehaschickenfeet (953): delving into the clash between Jedi 'all life is sacred' and clone 'my life is for the Republic' viewpoints. Cody also expresses some frustration with Obi-wan "dispensing wisdom from on high" which I think is realistic to his pov and important to consider in this dynamic

-Food; A Reflection Thereon by mothweave (2k): a really cool (and sad) inversion of the trope, in which Cody concerning himself with Obi-wan's eating habits ends up reflecting on his own relationship with food and the clones' traumatic upbringing

-Remedial Resistance by MagicalStardust/@stardustloki (2k): speaking of traumatic upbringing... Cody has to give his new shinies interrogation resistance training, and Obi-wan understandably freaks out. I really love how they show the gap between Obi-wan and Cody's experiences and the contrast between their pov's, the confusion and hurt from both sides.

-Here we are, We've just begun by OnceUponADream_Cal (23k): Obi-wan and Cody are both de-aged as "the forces version of the get along shirt", eventually helping them to better understand each other. Again shows the contrast between their upbringings, and how it effects their communication and co-leadership. Also touches on an idea @coline7373 talked about above, of how the Jedi are responsible for their subordinates so their wellbeing affects the clones.

-In Good Company by Green_Heron_18 (80k): tackling what a more realistic idea of how the clones would turn out could look like (e.i. not well adjusted, poor mental health and even poorer views of it), with lots of interesting nuance and diversity amongst the clones. The Jedi clearly see themselves as responsible for the clones, and are currently trying to get more info about the clones' situation and figure out how to help them, also facing communication barriers. The series is ongoing (and underrated!) so idk how things will turn out, but it is a fix-it.

if anyone else has any recs I'd love to check them out!

I already wrote a similar posts on how fics of this nature annoy me, but I would like to push it further by saying that while I am fine reading it, I feel kind of weird about fics where the clones like Cody are constantly taking care of and basically babysitting their Jedi General or acting as a major emotional pillar for them.

I think the reason it makes me so uncomfortable is that not only are the clones already going through their own extremely horrific shit, but the Jedi are their superior officers and have a lot more systemic power over them. I will never stop saying that the clones are slaves, and while I don't see the Jedi as being their enslavers, I do think that they are essentially in a "master" position of power whether they like it or not. So it feels weird when the Jedi are more dependent on the clones and the clones need to basically take care of them and are always needing to look after them.

I'm a half-black American who is very passionate about African American history and anti-black systemic issues. And I can't help but be reminded of the tropes involving black characters whose are constantly forced into what is basically a caretaker role for white characters. Think of the Mammy, or the Black Best Friend, or the Magical Negro. The clones are already oppressed, already marginalized, and already forced to constantly back up and support the Jedi in charge of them. And then they are forced to be their Jedi's babysitter on top of all that.

Helping their Jedi out and generally caring about their wellbeing on places like the battlefield? Yes, that can be very sweet and often involves a lot of emotional care and trust.

Needing to force their Jedi to take care of themselves even off the battlefield and having a whole system/thing about how the Jedi "never take care of themselves and simply need the clones in order to do basic self care and not overwork themselves all the time while being oh so self-sacrificial"? Slightly weird and honestly seems to be the other way around based on both canon scenes and their respective circumstances.

I feel like perhaps part of this is just a general desire for angst and classic whump tropes, and sometimes it seems to be used as a way to showcase, "see! The Jedi do care about their troopers!" It seems like an example of the Jedi taking on the caretaker position and being the ones to protect the clones. But it almost always ends up resulting in the clones being forced into a support/caretaker role even when it seems like the Jedi is playing the role of caretaker.

Now, I don't think fics that follow this overall concept are super problematic or whatever. I also think some dynamics like this can work, such as with the Padawans and the clones (though that is for very specific reasons). I really don't want to spread too much negativity or say that anyone who writes this stuff is automatically racist or whatever. It's more of a personal discomfort/distaste than anything and people can write whatever they want, especially since I know the intent behind these tropes are often sweet in nature.

But I do think it's good for us to reflect on the parallels the clones have to real life issues and the way certain harmful tropes and mindsets can be perpetuated through metaphorical allegories (whether intentional or unintentional), and discuss the way we as a fandom treat the power dynamics between the clones and Jedi, especially in regards to things like shipping.

I don't know if I'm making any sense, but please tell me what you think, especially since I think it would be a good thing to talk about.

[porters-fangs]

i got some speaker headcanons. so listen up.

tw: my opinion ❤️

also probably not canon-compliant but see if i care

> morgan is almost entirely blind

he was born with cataracts, and the world has always looked to him like a watercolour painting that never dries, colour and light bleeding across his vision

seer obscura never commented when he squinted through the lenses of his glasses as they sat opposite him, or when he fumbled for the handle of his mug.

he can see. just… in a different way.

pry the blind seer trope from my cold dead hands i dare you

> sam has chronic migraines

he’s struggled with them ever since he was a kid. the throbbing pain behind his temples that never ceases, the burn of light creeping under his lashes and searing his nerves, the nausea that rises in his throat and the ringing in his ears whenever he moves his head too far in one direction.

he’s tried everything there is.

painkillers. herbal tea. lying in a dark room for hours on end. eventually, he has to grin and bear it when the responsibilities of life come knocking once more.

it’s only when darlin shifts and and curls up on his chest, every breath rumbling through his bones that he finds himself relaxing. the pain dulls. the sickness fades. he even falls asleep for the first time in days.

a furry tail thumps happily against the bedsheets.

> asher uses he/they pronouns

he started exploring his identity in college, when he kissed a guy for the first time and really didn’t hate it.

they discovered the label “demi boy” in the middle of a lecture when he was really supposed to be taking notes. it stuck.

they haven’t told anyone other than david and babe. not because he’s ashamed - he really doesn’t mind just “he” - but it’s something that feels personal to him.

a discovery that he keeps as his own.

> asher has six toes on one foot

yeah i can’t elaborate on this one

he just does

wiggles them in babe’s face sometimes

> milo used to have anxiety attacks - still does

they were bad when he was a kid. he used to collapse in his bedroom, slamming the door behind him as his throat closed up and his lungs failed every breath.

he had a childhood cat who would only ever come home through milo’s window and never explored the rest of his house. really, his parents never knew they did have a cat. it was his.

he’d keep pieces of chicken from his school lunch to leave on the windowsill. when he was having an anxiety attack, the cat ignored the food. it leaped down, prowling over to him and nudging his leg insistently, purring like an engine.

aggro does the same thing.

> milo still gets growing pains

and it pisses him off

because where is the GROWING

no growth. just an ache deep in his bones.

> vincent had epilepsy

he was never supposed to be at the theme park that night. they were a catalyst for disaster, the flashing lights and stress of the crowds the perfect breeding ground for his condition.

his friend had begged him to come - and then bailed last minute. something about a project deadline? whatever. vincent was going. he’d already convinced himself.

he’d taken his medication. avoided alcohol all night. he was very proud of himself as he stood in the queue for the “surge” rollercoaster. although, he felt himself getting fidgety at the prospect of getting on it.

the stranger next to him seemed just as nervous. so he grabbed their hand. it grounded them both.

> david lost his ring finger

he had an accident as a kid. it was stupid, really. he’d wanted to help his dad build the treehouse in their backyard. begged him to please let him cut the wood - he was strong too, wasn’t he?

reluctantly, gabe handed over the powersaw, holding his son’s hands in his own to keep them steady.

a noise from beyond the backyard. too close to the wards gabe had put up to protect what was left of his family, he glanced up for a second, loosening his hold. david was giddy with excitement.

very poor hand placement led to the crunch of bone and a very vulgar exclamation from his dad.

they had to take it at the hospital. david had never minded. he thought it looked badass - it was proof of the trust his dad had in him, the trust he’d fight to earn again. after all - he was strong too, wasn’t he?

around the time of his and angel’s wedding, he grew to hate the loss of his finger. what kind of husband would he be? unable to properly wear his ring, to let his mate stake their claim over him. they kissed his chest, and told him to go back to sleep.

david got a tattoo the next week. a wedding ring, on the knuckle of his missing finger.

and the real ring would always be threaded on the leather cord around his neck, pressed close to his heart.

> damien has a hip implant

he developed osteoarthritis in his hip at a very young age. even walking around became a chore.

his mother picked up on it very quickly, signing him up for the implant as soon as it was offered.

damien was terrified. he hated the idea of surgery - being unconscious while someone with a scalpel looms over you.

he couldn’t deny that it helped, though. finally, he didn’t wake up in pain, and he could stretch without being in agony.

when he told huxley, he made it part of his routine to drop to his knees and press loving kisses to the scar there while damien blushes and expresses his embarrassment.

he loves it really.

> gavin has a chipped horn

he coalesced with it.

now, gavin knows he looks good.

he’s never felt the need to change his appearance for people - if someone desires him, he’s all theirs

however, that small imperfection always draws his eyes when he admires himself in the mirror, and he feels his mouth tilt down, clicking his tongue

it’s just so… obvious

freelancer spent months working on their contra earth elemental abilities, struggling over each and every detail

until one day, they presented him with a small, gold cap, encrusted with little jewels, about the size of a thimble to sit atop his broken horn

they didn’t leave their room allll dayyyyy

> avior is nonbinary

yeah.

he uses he/they pronouns but the concept of gender has always baffled him.

boy? girl? uhhh… no thank you

demons have no need for such trivial things as “gender”

hilarious

also he has knee length hair and it’s long and silky and never tangles ever??

> guy has a prosthetic hand

it’s his right hand and he lost it a few years ago in a motorcycle accident.

lucky for him, he’s always been left handed.

still, he’s absolutely insufferable with the puns

“hey, honey… need a hand? ;)”

“oh my god guy.”

> camelopardalis has tremors

he’s just shaky. he doesn’t know where they come from.

maybe the memories he relieves from his clients and is haunted by every night .

maybe the coffee he can’t stop drinking.

maybe the fact that he’s somehow always cold, even in the height of summer.

they’ve never stopped him.

> porter used to have a hearing aid

he was only impaired in one ear, but still found comfort in turning his aid all the way down just to tune out the noise from one half of the world.

after he was turned, he no longer needed it, and there was a strange sense of melancholy in shutting the aid away in his bedside drawer.

his ear still rings sometimes.

> vega’s tail was clipped

when he was sent to prison, the tip of his tail was severed. not a catastrophic injury - just enough to make a statement.

i was caught.

he hides it under a cloak when he can, only sparing the blunt end a distasteful glance when he wraps it around the waist of his warden.

[pomegranatelifethis]

I love you brother

The night air in Gotham was thick with the scent of rain and rust, a city perpetually teetering on the edge of collapse. In the Wayne Manor, nestled among the sprawling grounds and gothic spires, the Batfamily moved like ghosts, each carrying their own burdens. But none carried a weight quite like Jason Todd—and you, his twin, the fragile shadow tethered to his side.

You sat on the edge of Jason’s bed in the dimly lit room, your thin fingers clutching a worn copy of *Pride and Prejudice*. The book was a comfort, its pages soft from years of handling, but it couldn’t drown out the ache in your chest—not the emotional one, though that was ever-present, but the physical one. Your heart condition made every beat a quiet rebellion, a reminder that you were a guest in your own body, always one misstep from collapse. The doctors had been clear: avoid stress, avoid exertion, avoid *life*. But how could you, when your twin was Jason Todd, the boy who burned brighter than a Molotov cocktail and loved fiercer than anyone you’d ever known?

Jason was pacing, as he often did, his boots scuffing the hardwood floor. His leather jacket hung loose on his frame, the red bat emblem on his chest catching the faint glow of the lamp. He was eighteen, all sharp edges and barely contained fury, the first Robin to wear the mantle after Dick Grayson left to forge his own path as Nightwing. But to you, he wasn’t Robin or the Red Hood he’d one day become. He was just Jay—your brother, your anchor, the one who’d carried you home from the hospital when you were six and whispered stories of Gotham’s underbelly to keep you awake through the pain.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Jason muttered, glancing over his shoulder. His green eyes, so like yours, were stormy, but there was a softness there reserved only for you.

“Like what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You tilted your head, a habit that made you look younger than your years, like a lost duckling trailing after its mother.

“Like I’m gonna break something if I don’t sit still.” He stopped pacing, running a hand through his dark hair, the white streak at his temple glinting. “I’m fine, Y/N. You don’t need to worry.”

But you did worry. Always. Jason was your world, the only constant in a life that felt like it could slip away with one bad heartbeat. You’d followed him from the streets of Crime Alley to the grandeur of Wayne Manor, clinging to his shadow even when he donned the Robin cape and leapt into Gotham’s chaos. Bruce Wayne—Batman—had taken you both in, but while Jason thrived under the cowl, you remained the quiet twin, the one who flinched at loud noises and cried too easily. Sensitive, fragile, the family’s porcelain doll. Alfred had once called you “the heart of the manor,” but you felt more like a cracked vase, waiting to shatter.

“I’m not worrying,” you lied, setting the book down. Your hands trembled slightly, and you tucked them into the sleeves of your oversized sweater—Jason’s, stolen from his closet because it smelled like him, like gunpowder and cedar. “I just… don’t like it when you’re restless. It means something’s wrong.”

Jason sighed, crossing the room in three strides to sit beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he slung an arm around your shoulders, careful not to squeeze too hard. “Nothing’s wrong, kid,” he said, though the nickname was absurd—you were the same age, born six minutes apart. “Just… Bruce is being a pain. Wants me to follow his rules, play nice with the bad guys. You know how it is.”

You nodded, leaning into him. Bruce was a looming presence, a father figure who loved fiercely but demanded obedience. Jason chafed under his control, a wild thing caged by Batman’s code. You, on the other hand, adored Bruce, though you’d never say it aloud. He’d given you a home, a family, even if you felt like an outsider among the vigilantes. Dick was kind but distant, always off in Blüdhaven. Alfred was a steady hand, brewing tea and stitching wounds. And Tim, the new kid sniffing around, was too smart for his own good, already eyeing the Robin mantle Jason wore like a crown.

“You’ll be careful, right?” you asked, your voice small. “When you go out tonight?”

Jason’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Always am. Gotta keep my promise, don’t I?” He tapped your chest lightly, right over your heart. “Gotta come back for you.”

It was a promise he’d made years ago, after your first surgery, when you’d woken up sobbing and terrified. *I’ll always come back, Y/N. You’re stuck with me.* And he’d kept it, through every patrol, every fight, every close call. You were the reason he fought so hard, the tether that kept him from falling too far into the darkness.

The door creaked open, and Alfred appeared, his pristine suit a stark contrast to the chaos of Jason’s room. “Master Jason, Master Y/N,” he said, his British accent crisp. “Dinner is served. And, Master Jason, I trust you’ll refrain from bringing your… arsenal to the table this evening?”

Jason smirked, the first real smile you’d seen all day. “No promises, Alfie.” He stood, pulling you up with him, his grip gentle but firm. You swayed slightly, your vision spotting, and he steadied you without a word, like it was second nature.

Downstairs, the dining room was a rare gathering point. Bruce sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable, though his eyes softened when they landed on you. Dick was there, visiting from Blüdhaven, his easy grin a balm to the tension. Tim hovered at the edges, a skinny kid with too many questions, and you felt a pang of sympathy—he was as out of place as you were.

“Y/N, you feeling okay?” Dick asked, passing you a plate of roasted vegetables. His concern was genuine, but it always made you feel like a child.

“I’m fine,” you said, offering a shy smile. Jason snorted beside you, muttering something about “mother hens,” but he piled extra food on your plate anyway, knowing you’d barely eat otherwise.

The meal passed in a blur of conversation—Bruce and Jason arguing about tactics, Dick mediating with a roll of his eyes, Tim chiming in with some tech jargon that made your head spin. You stayed quiet, content to listen, your shoulder brushing Jason’s. He was your shield, your safe harbor, and as long as he was there, you could endure anything.

Later, when the manor was dark and the others had retired, you sat by the window in Jason’s room, watching the city’s skyline glitter like a broken promise. He was gearing up for patrol, his Robin suit a second skin, the domino mask dangling from his fingers.

“Don’t wait up,” he said, but it was a useless request. You always waited, counting the minutes until he slipped back through the window, bruised but alive.

“Be safe, Jay,” you whispered, your voice catching. He paused, then crossed the room to press a kiss to your forehead, quick and fierce.

“Always, Y/N. You’re my heart, remember that.”

And then he was gone, a shadow swallowed by the night. You curled up on his bed, clutching his pillow, your own heart stuttering in protest. Gotham was a cruel city, and Jason was its fiercest son. But you were his twin, his shadow, his fragile, sensitive other half. And no matter how dark the night, you’d follow him anywhere, a lost duckling bound to the boy who’d always come back.

@itsberrydreemurstuff @Welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

[sirxlla]

New Beginnings

------------------------------------------------

Warnings: 🌸 fluff

Prompt: meeting the 118 for the first time (requested by @camilaguayo6789-blog )

Notes: female reader, italics are actions and thoughts. (I know what happened to Bobby, but he will be in my stories forever ���🏻)

-With that said, it's all under the cut-

Everyone knows just how important the 118 is to Evan, so it took a long while before he was comfortable, and for sure, he wanted to bring you around there. He had had some bad luck in the past with his exes and bringing them around too early, like Taylor, so when the day came, he was incredibly nervous.

He helped you up into the Jeep after an injury you got at work, thankfully, though you had plenty of time now, while not working, to meet everyone. That had been an issue he'd been working out in his mind for months, timing. He'd rather not have you hurt, but you have time now. Evan knows you don't always wanna be home, so he asked Bobby. Bobby immediately said yes cause he's heard for nearly five months how amazing you are, and he trusts Evan like he's his own son.

Eddie watched Evan help you out of his Jeep and was surprised at how beautiful you were, not that all of Evan's exes were ugly, but your pretty seemed to match Buck. Like you two, look great together in a way none of his exes ever did.

Buck helped you get steady on your crutches; he knows you really don't need the help all the time, but it's just second nature to him. This entire relationship has been like second nature, you move, he moves. He moves, you move, Like you both learned each other so easily.

They whistle and cheer as you come in, they've learned a lot about you cause it's all Buck talks about.

"You didn't tell us she was a model." Hen compliments and teases Buck. Evan guides you to sit on the couch so you don't have to be stuck on your leg for an extended period of time.

"You should hear him gush about you; He doesn't even shut up about you." Hen continues.

"I wish she'd call me." Chim does an impression of Buck to tease him. "Like he wasn't on the phone with you an hour prior."

Bobby comes in the room to see what all the commotion is cause he didn't know when Buck would be bringing you in exactly. He sees you and greets you with a smile and extends his hand for you to shake, which of course you do.

They all treat you like family instantly, joking with you and teasing Buck, all Buck's worries had been for nothing cause you merged in like you'd known them forever.

After a while, Bobby has them disperse to get things done around the station, and he talks to you the way any parent would talk to their child's girlfriend. He really saw Buck as his son and wanted the best for him. He asks you stuff like 'Are you prepared to handle his recklessness, he gets sometimes, and how dedicated to the fire department he is?'

Of course, your responses are all yes when necessary and no when not. Bobby senses your attachment and the way you and Buck move around each other like you two had been together forever. Better than him and either of his wives. You seem to get Buck and his jokes, and both of you seem to flourish in each other's presence, which is something Bobby hadn't ever seen to this degree with Buck's exes.

Overall, it was great, you got the metaphorical stamp of approval from his coworkers, if you could call them that, with how close they are, more like a family. He's happy with you, and they are too.

-> Masterlist

-> Send me prompts if you'd like

[dissolvedprincess]

‘need papa frank so so bad him telling you you’re his good little baby 😢’

- Anon

• ┈ • ┈ • ┈• ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ • ┈ •

This was actually an anon req that i accidentally posted an unfinished version of and had to quickly take down. Didn’t know if anon wanted smut or comfort stuff, so i just went with the latter. Also dbf! Frank bcs i can. Enjoy!

Open Arms

✷ CW : angst, afab reader, hurt, plenty of comfort, dbf! Frank Castle, reader has an emotionally absent father, 20+ age gap, reader is in her early 20s

(Not proofread)

━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ✮✮✮ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━

The line rang exactly five times when he finally picked up the call.

“Hello?”

“Frank—“

You swiftly let out the breath you’ve been holding at the sound of his voice. As if on cue, the tension in your body instantly unfurls. Frank has always had that effect on you, ever since you were younger. Maybe the whole reasoning behind it was the fact that your father was never really there for his only daughter. No matter how many times you try to convince yourself with the lavish gifts he gets you, the big house he bought for the three of you, the expensive college he chose for you.

You’ve always lived with the fact that a good husband doesn’t always come hand in hand with being a good father. Even after losing his wife, your mother, the only good part about your messed up little family. He never stepped up to take any weight off your shoulders.

Even so, at least he brought one good thing into your life.

Frank.

The first time you met Frank was when he suddenly appeared at your doorstep. You had just arrived home from college to lounge out for spring break when a set of three knocks on your front door echoed through the house.

The first thought that crossed your mind when you opened the door was how handsome he was; tall and well built under the black hoodie he had on. You’ve never seen this man before, he looked to be around your father’s age.

“Hi. Sorry to bother ya.” He briefly paused to comb his fingers through his thick locks. “I wanted to know if uh- Richard still lives here?”

You were surprised to hear your father’s name. “Yeah, he still does. Don’t think we’ve ever met though— I’m his daughter.” You reached out to offer a hand. A smile crept up your face to mirror his, trying to be as nonchalant as possible when you looked into his eyes.

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, i’ve heard about you. I’m Frank.” Your heart stuttered when his hand clasped around yours. His touch was grounding and the way he smiled was so sweet, you were immediately smitten.

“Nice to meet you, Frank. Come in, please. He’s out right now but he should be back in 15.”

“Thanks sweetheart.” You ignored how your stomach flipped at the pet name. It felt like your were doing something innapropriate when you inhaled his cologne and burned the scent into memory as he moved past you.

The both of you sat at your dinner table when he starts to tell you about the friendship that him and your father used to have. They were childhood bestfriends that sadly lost touch when Frank moved away for a job opportunity and only recently moved back here for a different job. The last thing they talked about through the phone was the news of your arrival into the world and Frank couldn’t have been happier for him.

Though you found it hard to imagine them being anywhere near each other when they were such polar oposites. The stories he told seemed to have showed you a different side of your father, a side that you’ve never seen or experienced before.

You briefly wondered of the possibility that your life could’ve been entirely different if only Frank had stuck around. Maybe your father wouldn’t have been as absent. Maybe Frank would’ve been there to talk some sense into him when he was being a horrible parent. Maybe you could’ve had someone to run to when things got too much for you to handle.

In the following years, the two of you have grown quite attached to one another. He took the responsibility of helping you with things that your own father was too caught up to do. You like the fact that Frank was now a prominent fixture in your life, a person that is always steps ahead of you; hands always ready to catch you if you fall.

Even as the time read ‘02.37’, he still came to pick you up. Unbeknownst to you, he had rushed out of his house the moment he heard you sob quietly into the phone. Before you even had the chance to ask him to come pick you up, he had responded with a brief ‘Already on my way sweetheart.’

That’s how you found yourself in Frank’s living room. You weakly wrap your arms around your midrift as you sat sideways on the couch, facing Frank’s tired form that practically collapsed into it.

“Sorry if it’s not what you’re used to honey.” The exhaustion is apparent on the man’s face as he turned his head towards you, and the sight caused an anxious pit to form in your stomach. You felt helpless to stop the tears from welling up again.

“I apologize for calling you so late Frank. I just- i needed to get out of there. I can’t be around him anymore, for just one night. I promise i’ll go back home tomorrow, just— please let me stay for one night. I promise i’ll be good, i’ll just sleep on the couch and—“

Your frantic and panicked rambling is put to an abrupt stop as Frank wrapped his hand around your arm. Anything that resembles fear or doubt is swiftly wiped away from your mind with every stroke of his thumb on your bare skin. You missed his touch as soon as he lets your arm go.

“Come here.” You see his arms open for you to climb into his lap. On shaky legs, you hesitantly waddle on your knees and straddled his waist. Hugs have always been often between the two of you, but this one felt too— intimate.

He gently pulled your head to lay on his chest and more tears escape you as he lovingly stroke the back of it while the other one wraps around your back. You felt your body relax as you wrap your arms around his while nuzzling your face on his chest.

You lift your head as you felt a kiss on the top of it, taking in how dark eyes scan your face. His hand leaving your back to push stray strands of hair out of your face and smooth them out.

“I hate to see you cry sweetheart.” He mumbled, swiping away a tear, you leaned on his palm and kissed it.

Frank hesitantly leaned in and trailed kisses all over your heated face. From your cheeks, your nose, your still wet eyelids, to your forehead. All while whispering little praises, ‘my good girl’, ‘you’re the best thing in my life sweetheart’, ‘sweet girl’, ‘you’re so easy to love’.

Emotions were high, and you understand that completely. You weren’t in the best position to do anything impulsive, but you couldn’t deny yourself of this anymore; not when all you could’ve done was yearn for years.

Without letting yourself think any longer, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. It felt like the right thing to do. Frank gasped at the feeling, but he eagerly returned it. His lips were much softer against yours than you expected. The way he moved was careful and sweet but you wanted more. You wound your fingers through his hair, tugged him deeper into your mouth and licked at his lips against yours.

But the kisses ended as quickly as it started and you attempted to chase his lips again, even as he put a gentle hand between the two of you, pressing lightly against your chest. “Why’d you stop.” you whined.

Frank closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the couch. He let out a staggering breath, seemingly struggling to hold himself together.

“Sweetheart i— i can’t take advantage of you like this. It’s not right.” He looked sincere and honest, all of the things that he’s always been for you.

Sadly, the only word that came to mind was ‘Rejection’. Your mind ran to do what it does best, to sabotage and quiet down any external voices, be it positive or negative ones. The only focus was on you, you, you and what you think.

“Do you not want me?” You let out quietly, almost a whisper.

“No, no, no honey don’t— please don’t say that. You know i do.” His hands went up to envelop your cheeks, not giving you the chance to look away.

“I just…i don’t think we should be doing this right now. You’re vulnerable and you might think that it’s what you need, but trust me..it’s not.”

You were quiet and intently listened.

“I love you and fuck i’d do anything to take the pain away, like i always do. But i would never. You hear me? Never let you do anything you might regret, not when you’re all up in your head like this.”

The flood of emotions felt different this time. You openly sobbed as you buried your face in his neck.

“Shh…It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here for you sweetheart, i’m here.”

Frank nuzzled into your hair as he held on to you like you were going to slip away from his arms, like he always does. You’ve always liked that about him, you’re never too heavy for his hands to hold. He’s good at taking whatever pain you have to turn it into something else entirely.

“I got you baby. I got you.” He whispered.

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Sheesh! I know anon’s request was very short and to the point, sorry that i had to ramble on and on before we actually got to the point of the request lmao…Dbf! Frank is such a delicate topic that should be handled with care and i needed to build up the relationship between reader and Frank first to fully delve into it.

Still, hope you guys had a blast, and please do stay tuned for the next Dbf! Frank fic! We’ll fuck the dilf in the next one don’t worry.

Love u guys.

-Z

P.S

Thinking of making a taglist for my Frank Castle fics. Let me know if you want to be added into it!

[oddballwriter]

Dream BBQ ENA Intimacy Headcannon (SFW & NSFW)

Summary: Some personal headcanons I have about Dream BBQ ENA regarding physical and some emotional intimacy with you and some NSFW/smut headcanons too. Don’t worry I’ve broken up both sfw and nsfw into their own sections so you don’t have to read the nsfw if you don’t want to.

Warnings: in general, gender neutral reader. For the SFW: nothing really, just my thoughts on how I think kissing, holding hands, cuddling, and let aspects of physical affection and intimacy would work. A bit of angst regarding ENA having issues opening up and being vulnerable emotionally but nothing too angsty. For the NSFW: I ramble way too much about all the possibilities of how you could possibly get sexually intimate with ENA and the idea that sky might actually be the limit, so prepare for that. Mentions of dirty talk, dom/sub and top/bottom dynamics, pegging/penetration, fingering, degradation, some talk about possible impact play and hair pulling, scratching, name calling, and manhandling/getting handled roughly. If I’m missing anything, feel free to tell me.

Author’s Snip: Eat up, babes ♥️

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

(SFW)

Kissing is kinda weird. For her regular appearance at least.

To me it just looks like her face is completely flat and that it’s just the center down the middle that makes up her head and the point that makes up her nose and that her face is just plastered on the flat surface so she doesn’t actually have real lips

Not of course there’s her hungover and corrupted form which either are humanoid and thus have lips or at least have an actual mouth-like part of her face. So if you really wanted to you could just kiss that

But for her regular form, you just kinda gotta kiss where her mouth would be and just let the gesture be a sign of a kiss

You’re free to kiss other things like her cheek, forehead, and head though, it’s just the lips situation that’s a bit funny and also the dilemma of her kissing you when she wants to do it. Meanie just doesn’t really attempt to kiss you since there’s no point, but her salesperson has come to the solution of going “mwah” or a kiss noise whenever she kisses you anywhere like your hand, head, or cheek. Your lips, not so much since you get it there

But don’t worry, she’s got two perfectly good hands for hand holding

That’s a bit interesting too though. Not too bad but her hands are very different from each other

Her red hand and arm are the only part of her that’s actually soft and “fleshy” where the rest of her is hard and jagged. But the softness is nice because it feels nice. Through, that hand is a mitten and lacks proper fingers other than her thumb, so you can’t intertwine fingers with that one. But it’s not a big deal or anything, your still very able to hold hands in a joined position and she occasionally strokes the back of you hand with her thumb. So it can still be very nice and sweet

As for her pale side’s hand, there is the fact that that one has actual fingers, but it’s a bit less comfy because it’s hard and more jagged. It’s not too bad other than it doesn’t have give to it like the red one but it’s no big deal too

I also personally bc that that side’s hand is a bit cold unless your holding it and the warmth of your hands transfers to it

As for general intimacy, in the context of the physical kind,

Salesperson likes being “professional” and keeps it to hand holding at most when in the public eye but is definitely okay with physical affection and intimacy like kissing and other things in private or at the very least away from where someone might interrupt your moment together. She be so down to cuddle at the end of the day

Meanie isn’t a huge fan and doesn’t really like PDA other than occasionally taking a hold of your hand possessively if someone’s looking at you in a way she doesn’t like. But lowkey? She’s touch-starved as hell. Her salesperson side satisfies that for them because they’re more open to physical affection in private but Meanie… struggles a bit. And by that I mean she struggles to admit that she wants to be held because she’s always trying to defend and look out for herself and so that shuts her up against being vulnerable enough to melt into touch even though you’re safe to be vulnerable like that with.

She learns eventually but it’s still a bit hard for her at times to accept some love

Her love and security mostly lives in your level of emotional intimacy together, in general, for both sides, but when it’s Meanie it’s all about you and her knowing that you two understand or are able to understand each other emotionally and mentally

She likes being big spoon/holding you but will occasionally ask to be little spoon/held if she’s going through some shit when you guys are cuddling. Hungover 100% hold her, both because she needs it and also so she doesn’t fall off the bed/couch because she’s… her main body can be a bit too limp and not so well coordinated

(NSFW)

How the fuck does one go about getting sexually intimate with ENA? In general. How does that work? That’s just a group of polygons. That is the schooler’s and philosopher’s question. Because it’s definitely more complicated than the simple “put part A into part B” that we see with… physical people composed of flesh…

Or maybe it can be?? Someone brought on the great point that maybe she can just summon something for herself to get the job done if that’s what you want? Anything can be used in pegging and as a dildo/dick if you’re open enough. I mean, she summoned that little boss egg out of nothing and she quite literally can manifest her megaphone anytime she wants out of thin air. Who says she can’t summon anything she wants? Get experimental.

Also, it’s not all about penetration. Sometimes it’s just whatever gets you off and she’s got things to grind up on and two perfectly good hands that can still be used despite any quirks they might have

Idk maybe the sharpness of her clawed hand can do something for you. People are into feeling pointy things and getting pricked during sex. Maybe she can even get rid of the points of her fingers too if you want her to get up in there with her finders

Literally who the fuck said she can’t change things about her body? Maybe that’s just her regular base form but she can change any part of her body into something else like tentacles if you’re down for it. Like, she can literally change parts of her at will in some cutscenes. I don’t think there is any limits in that world. I am yet to see any real limits or laws of nature in this world, maybe there are none

She can canonically detach her limbs and have them move around freely…

…

Now hear me out-

She could hypothetically detach her head from her body and eat you out if she wanted

Or detach her hand and tease you with it

You could actually do so much with the fact that she can do that.

The question is not “how do we do it?”, my friend.

It’s “how creative can we get?”.

Anyways enough philosophy about the laws of nature and limits when it comes to sex

Top…

Dom… even

…

I said what I said

She gives top energy. She looks like she likes being the woman in charge and I’d let her. She looks like she knows what she’s doing once she understands how you “function” if you catch my drift

I think it’s the hat and outfit. I’m not saying she looks like she’s in kink gear. I’m saying that a lot of top/dom kink gear looks like what she wears

Also, her personalities could definitely be in charge in their own rights

Don’t lie to me, I know you little freaks (/affectionate) want Meanie to yell at you like that in bed. I’ve been on the internet and certain parts of it to get the appeal, coupled with the way I see you guys fawning over how charming her salesperson side is

Salesperson can talk you out of things other than your money

But yeah. I can definitely imagine salesperson practically talking you out of your clothes and telling you what they want you to do and also talking you through it

Also might be a bit of a service top too. She likes being your top rate holder of “customer satisfaction”

She uses business and sales buzz words when she’s flirting with you and in her dirty talk, which is fun because she makes “private meetings” and “added bonuses” sound so sexy but but at the same time sometimes she just says it to you in front of others because she knows damn well that only you are going to know what she’s actually saying while everyone else thinks she’s trying to sell some bullshit scheme. And she knows what she’s doing too. She’s gives you that shit eating grin and looks you right in the eyes as she walks away, meanwhile you’re red in the face

Meanie… you already know

She’s a bit rough and can get really rough if she wants to be and she knows that you want her to be

Salesperson will guide you through it and actually be quite gentle. But Meanie knows what you’re here for when you do it with her

Insults you and degrades you. Calls you all the names in the book and a whole mix and hybrid of them

I hope you like getting manhandled… because you’re getting manhandled

You hear “I bet you’d like that” and “Shut up! You know you like it”

I also hope you’re okay with coming out with some scratches and mild bruises… because coming out with some scratches and bruises

Honestly, any type of degrading/controlling stuff you want like impact, hair pulling, slapping, scratching, grabbing, etc you want. She’s got it. Shes got some anger to let out and this is great to let it all out

Whether it’s Salesperson or Meanie, you’re screaming either way

[frownyalfred]

When Jason is about to do something dangerous and stupid and Roy gives a little annoyed growl but holds himself back from arguing because he knows Jason can take care of himself and he doesn’t want to be Too much, lex turning to Jason and just casually saying “see, even your alpha doesn’t agree with this. And yet he’s being so reasonable. You don’t want to upset him by getting hurt again, right?” And Jason getting annoyed but giving up because lex is RIGHT and Roy is RIGHT.

Roy jumping in front of Jason and growling to defend him from the slightest moment of danger at a gala or in public and immediately feeling like a shameful idiot for acting on that, and once the situation is handled he gets a few quick scents from the rest of the pack and lots of little “great job, alpha. You did good, protecting Jay like that” praises reminding him that that protective instinct is a GOOD thing.

Roy in his pre-rut when he’s at the manor for it for the first time (maybe the first or second time Jay and Roy are spending a rut of his together at all) and hes huffy and possessive and trying to keep it together and not be snappy and not tru to drag Jason back to the nest from the cave because they’re on an important cave, and Jay has been overworked lately and he doesn’t want to add on to more stress but he’s so overwhelmed and he WANTS JAY IN THE NEST and suddenly Clark just super speed carries a grumbly jay into the nest like “spend time with ur alpha and sleep for a few hours before me and ur carrier take your batcave privelages away” and Jason is able to give in to being benched for a few hours because his alpha needs him.

Just- in those first months or year where Roy isn’t ready or able to ask for things or be too pushy and protective with Jay, the older pack members just knowing exactly where to step in and push the two of them together into figuring things out. Because yeah, Jay is trying and he’s really good and attentive with Roy, but he’s also not used to the idea of an alpha who ISNT pushy and demanding, so he sometimes doesnt notice Roy is wanting something if he doesn’t ask for it. They’re working on it. 💜💜

Awww, Jason in pre-heat and Roy in pre-rut are probably two of the angstiest guys ever, huh? They've both got trauma and they're just pacing around the Manor in a bad mood pretending everything is fine.

I love the idea of Jason being like "why aren't you growling when you don't like something???" he's baffled when Roy just sits there and swallows it down.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

This is not a guideline on how to come out. I can’t write that for you - and in fact, I don’t think anyone can. 

That’s because „Coming out“ is not one specific thing but covers a wide range of social situations. Coming out to your best friend will be a different deal than coming out to your parents, and both of that is completely different from coming out at work. Coming out to someone who is vocal about being an ally or is even queer themselves will be a different story than coming out to someone who is deeply conservative. And so on! 

On top of that, coming out is such an incredibly personal path. Something that helps one person feel more confident could actually make it worse for another. A script that works well for one person could feel uncomfortable and awkward for another. A reaction that makes one person go „Wow, this coming out went well“ could hurt another. And… you get the picture, there are too many variables to write you a step by step guide. 

But a step by step guide is something that’s quite commonly requested. Understandably so! Deciding to come out - to anyone, in any circumstances - is always a big step, and every big step like that naturally comes with some uncertainty and fear. It’s normal to want some support. 

So, what I can do for you, is to give you some questions to think about. Importantly, there aren’t right or wrong, good or bad answers to any of them. There are just individual answers. This isn’t meant to be a test on coming out that you can fail or pass - these are just a bunch of potential things you may want to consider when deciding on how to come out in a way that feels safe, comfortable and fitting for you. 

Some considerations, in no particular order: 

How would a bad reaction look like? Would you be in any (physical or mental) danger and if so, which safety precautions can you take to bring yourself to safety quickly if things go south? 

Are you dependent on the person in any way (money, housing, caretaking etc.)? Do you need to take that into consideration re: safety measures? 

If the worst possible reaction wouldn’t be acutely dangerous but emotionally painful/distressing/embarrassing/frustrating: how would you deal with these feelings if they arise? How could you calm yourself down afterwards? 

How familiar are they with lgbt+ themes and terminology? How much explanation, if any, will they need? Would it be more helpful to provide the explanations right away or to wait which questions they ask? 

If there are multiple people you plan to come out to who belong to the same group (such as „parents and siblings“ or „boss and coworkers“), do you want to come out to everyone at once or to each person individually? 

If you want to come out to each person individually, is there a risk that the first one(s) will out you to the others before you get to come out to them? How would you handle that situation? 

If you want to come out in person: Would it help to write down exactly what you want to say beforehand? Or write down just a few keywords? Or does it feel more natural to keep it completely spontaneous? 

If you want to come out in a letter, text etc.: do you need to consider the possibility that something written could be shared around? 

Is there a definite next step you want the person to take (like calling you by a new name, meeting your partner for the first time etc.)? If so, do you want to bring that up right away or in a second conversation? 

If you’re (romantically or queerplatonically) interested in this person, do you want to bring that up right away or gauge their reaction first? How would you handle a rejection? 

Are there any specific things you do not want to share with them (you do not want to talk about your sex life, you do not want to disclose if you had bottom surgery etc.)? How would you handle it if they bring these things up? 

Do you need to keep any upcoming plans in mind regarding timing (either in your or their life)? Are there any times they’re especially likely to be in a good or bad mood? 

Do you want to do it alone or with someone supportive (a friend, your partner etc.) by your side? If the latter, do you want them to take on an active role (helping to explain etc.) or just be there as silent support? 

How will you celebrate yourself afterwards (no matter how it went)? How will you reward yourself for taking this brave step? 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[clairewritesfanfics]

A-Z Fluff Alphabet: Mohawk Mark Grayson

Author's note: The alphabet here is an amalgamation of fluff templates from the following writers: @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @snk-warrior, @queervibesmydude and @imagineimagineimagine, and my own personal additions.

Adoration: What does he can’t help but gush about you? 

Your brain. Your intellectual curiosity and passion for discussing various concepts, regardless of which field they originate; be it writing an essay about a random video game’s exploration of identity and the Ship of Theseus, drawing out an outline for the evolution of meme culture across generations, or borderline obsessive studying of his own alien physiology. The way your eyes light up and how confident you sound get him excited.

Baby: Does he want a family? 

No. You are his family, the only one he will ever need. 

Comfort: How does he help you when you’re down or stressed?

He tries to joke, hoping it would help you laugh and release some of the anxiety frying your nerves. But if that doesn’t work, he will seat you on the nearest counter and make you look at him. He’ll ask what’s wrong and when you don’t tell him he will kiss you until you feel better.

Dates: What are his ideal dates?

He likes taking you to concerts, can be anything as long as both of you enjoy it, from rock bands to Opera. Alternatively, he would surprise you with tickets to a museum involving your most recent hyperfixation. You two would hold hands and talk while you pass each display. He also flies you to different parts of the world at a moment's notice; "Oh, you suddenly want to collect volcanic rocks? I got you, babe."

Everything: You are his __________.

You are his inspiration, his muse. Your passions are his passions, not for some shallow reason like getting you to like him (he has his good looks and nice ass for that), but because your sincere drive to know more, to explore the world beyond what it is, encourages him to seek for more, too. 

Fight: How often do you argue? How does he handle the fight itself and its aftermath?

“Me and my girl don’t argue, she tells me to shut up and I do” kind of guy. But in all seriousness, he doesn’t like upsetting you, so unless it’s something serious, like your health, then he just goes along with what you want. 

Gifts: Does he spoil you?

I discussed this before in my husband headcanons for him, but he doesn’t actively seek out to buy you presents as often as one would think. It’s just that, when he sees something in a store window or on his phone that reminds him of you, without thinking, he buys it. 

Honesty: Does he keep a lot of secrets from you? Are they white lies or hide world-shattering truths?

He tends to hide his negative feelings, covering them up because he would rather push down all the bad than bother you with it. Otherwise, he’s an open book. You already know the password to all his accounts and he registered your fingerprint on his phone.

Injury: What’s his reaction when he finds you physically hurt?

Tries to alleviate the gravity of the situation with jokes as a way to keep you calm. Actually, if we’re being honest, the bad jokes are to keep his composure while he assesses your injuries and starts planning a murder. 

Jealousy: Is he a green-eyed monster?

He can be prone to jealous fits, but they’re rarely that deep and never last long enough to warrant violent responses. That being said, the one thing that can really grate him is when someone else manages to have you ramble about your most recent hyperfixation–only he gets the privilege of listening to your spiel.

Kiss: Describe the way he kisses you.

Lifts you up on kitchen counters, stands between your knees and has his hands over your thighs. Kisses you playfully.

Longing: Who fell first? How did you two get together?

He is a natural flirt, so you didn’t take him seriously at first. “That’s just how he is with everyone,” you used to say. Mark didn’t realize it himself, but he stopped hitting on others and unconsciously focused on you every time you were near. When he finally had that "oh shit" moment, he immediately tried to convince you that he wanted you.

Marriage: Does he want to be your husband?

Originally, no. He used to believe that marriages were pointless in that they were “merely labels” and if two individuals truly love each other then a piece of paper was meaningless. You then countered that if it was meaningless then it shouldn’t matter if he agreed to marry you. To this day, it was still his favorite loss.

Nightmare: What is his greatest fear?

That one day you would lose your wide-eyed curiosity.

On Cloud Nine: Is it obvious to tell when he is happy?

He’s already a pretty chill guy, but his underlings know he’s in a really good mood when he isn’t mocking everyone he comes across, and they all know it’s because of you.

PDA: Yes or no? If yes, to what degree?

Yes. He isn’t opposed to giving you a peck or having his arm around your shoulders while you’re out on a date, but he’s not going to make out with you in a park or a family restaurant. 

Quaint: What is his favourite non-modern thing?

Ink and paper books.

Rhythm: What’s his favorite song or genre of music?

Doesn’t have one. His rule is that if he hears a beat that he likes then he likes it. He’s an open-minded guy, so you would be hard-pressed to find him disliking anything. He’s no poser. 

Spa: What helps him relax?

Lying with you, on a bed or a couch or a picnic blanket, while he reads, shutting you up with kisses when you laugh at the stupid lines.

Tea: What do you two often converse about? 

Everything under the sun. The beauty of your relationship is that you two don’t feel restricted about the topics of your conversation, you’re not afraid of sharing your thoughts about the most niche topic and he knows you can keep up with his interests. Each of you has something to offer and nothing is off the table. 

Understanding: How well does he know you?

Enough to know what kinds of books you would definitely fall into obsession with. 

Value: How important is the relationship to him?

So much so that if he ever lost you, he would try to erase every trace of you, because if he didn’t how else was he supposed to breathe? He would turn to violence and parties and meaningless one night stands to forget about you, even if just for a moment. He wouldn’t be able to stand anyone who looks like you, so every single one of his flings would be the opposite of what you looked like. 

Wild Card: Random fluff headcanon

He’s a philosophy nerd. When he was younger he was interested in ethics, but right now, he’s really into existentialism and absurdism. He also dabbles in poetry. 

XOXO: How affectionate is he?

Super affectionate. He is never afraid to tell you and show you how much he adores you. 

Yearning: How does he cope when you two are apart?

Mark always preferred the epicureans, but you’re more of a stoic, and stoics believe that patience is a virtue, so he bites his tongue when you tell him that no, he can’t come with you to girls’ night. He distracts himself by reading so that he can complain to you about the garbage he had to read while you were away.

Zebra: If he wanted a pet, what would he get?

He wouldn’t call them pets, more like decoration, but he would like a whole bloom of Turritopsis dohrnii, a species of jellyfish. One of his favorite dates with you was scuba diving somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, and that was where you first saw one in person. “It’s functionally immortal,” you said when you two resurfaced. He hopes that, like this jellyfish, your time together will be everlasting. 

I'm thinking of taking requests again (last time I did it was for MHA back during The Plague, LOL), but until I sort out my rules, you guys can ask for Mark Grayson (and his variants) fluff for now. Also, I must say, after seeing that post about semicolons, I found myself using them a in my recent fics. Subliminal messaging at its finest LOLOLOL

[coolchickgigi]

Okay okay hear me out! I’m new at writing but would it be possible to just spit out the idea 💡

Let’s say we are in the omegaverse (the ABO where alpha O and beta A exist)

There are 2 omega reader bffs, one was an Omega A and the other an Omega O. Both friends have been very close throughout school as they looked after eachother. Especially Omega A who always stood up for Omega O. Their plan after school was to travel the world to study abroad, but they each wanted to go to different schools in other parts of the world. So they promised to keep in contact and support each other from far away. They both shared an interest in nursing and wanted to help in the military. Thankfully both schools are quite close to military bases.

As both omegas go to their chosen universities, they venture on into those fun college night outs. They seem to be attracted to the bars where soldiers go to unwind. As their each in different parts of the world, they still text each-other telling the other what their plan was for the night. Betting how many drinks they can get for free, how many people they can make hot and flustered, even comparing who had the hottest guys at their bar. Well coincidentally both omegas found themselves in the hungry eyes of their own future pack.

Omega A found herself in the sight of the most strongest military pack, Task force 141. Her confidence in handling herself in public, despite being an omega, has intrigued the pack. They were both enthralled and concerned about your safety as you flirted and played with the poor soldiers heart strings, don’t worry love they’ll save you soon and fix that straight out of you. (heh try to)

It was Captain Price who brought attention to the rest of his boys to you. Price was an Alpha A with a level head unlike most alpha A’s who were known to be aggressive and overly dominant. He made sure to hold power over his men while being a good and protective alpha. Whereas he had his lieutenant, Ghost, who was also an alpha A, who had a deep strong loyalty to his pack and his captain. He is reserved most of the time but can become very aggressive when needed to be. (Oh don’t get me started on how bad his ruts can be, poor Johnny) Then the other pack members, Gaz who is a Beta A and Soap a Beta O. They worked together to bring a balance to the pack and being there for their alphas of the pack. However it was mostly Johnny who became the most helpful with the alphas ruts. Simon always calling the Scot a mutt in heat, since Johnnys ruts were more like heats as he became in tuned with the pack.

Thankfully, you were just what they were looking for. They needed an omega who could handle the demands of two powerful alphas, and the young energetic energy of the packs two betas. They just needed to find their ways into your bubble and court you properly dear. Don’t worry, their already marking you as their own in their heads as they challenge every other soldier with an icy glare and their strong scents already scaring off the poor alpha who left you with his tail tucked. Now you just needed to stomp your way to them and they’ll handle your pretty self just fine love.

As for Omega O, she found herself at the bar that was most frequented by the Kortac pack on rare occasions. Luckily for them, they came after a long mission and found you incredibly drunk and had a boost of confidence, despite being shy most of your life. You felt the need to prove yourself since you always felt like you were seen as weak for being an Omega O. So you stomped your small feet up to the biggest soldier you saw, pointing your much smaller finger up to his face, which really only reached his chest, demanding a staring contest. Unlucky for you, you challenged Konig, the Alpha A of the Kortac pack. He didn’t really like being challenged, his subordinates knew that better than anyone else. But to you, he could only smirk down thinking how cute you were being, and also wanted to see when would it be good to correct your behavior. He couldn’t get out of the challenge anyway, as you seemed to have started the contest already as you stare drunkenly into his deep blue eyes through his mask. Without knowing you started, he blinked as he looked to his pack to see if they see this. Hornagi, the beta A of the pack, snickered and couldn’t help but find the whole thing interesting. His other pack mate, Kreuger, an Alpha beta was more focused on how your eyes lit up as you declared you won. Konig who looked back down at you, speaking in a his deep accented voice, “don’t think that’s how it works, and don’t you know how to speak to your superiors”. Which all you could do was laugh with a challenging grin, “you’re just mad I won and you lost!”. But the alpha could only roll his eyes and let a small smirk slip under his mask. It was Hornagi who called out and told you to come challenge some real alphas, picking fun at the tall Austrian man who glared at him. You drunkingly turned and wobbled your way to the table to get every last drop worth of your strong buzz. But as you all play drinking games, they sneakily tell the bartender to just give you water. Which you still happily chugged in triumph unaware of the change in flavor. They just couldn’t believe such a small Omega O could be so energetic and even more so not afraid of them. But the more you let yourself get comfortable so did they, and after that night they needed to make sure you weren’t getting hurt by the wrong people. So they obviously made a pack decision to court you. Don’t worry little maus, they’ll keep you under their watch and hopefully under them soon. They’ll show you how good it is to be in a pack that can and will protect you, they have no doubt about that.

And when both friends, Omega O and Omega A, finally get back together after finishing schooling, they each have a pack mark to show off. Each sharing their stories of how it happened, and best believe these two won’t leave out any juicy details.

Okok sorry for long post but please tell me if I should dive more into this 👀

I can make separate stories of each of the omegas experiences, and even have it where the best friends work together. Like playing games with their pack and seeing what reaction they’d get. Ahhhh I’m sorry ok I’ll stop ✋ (not)

I’ve been wanting more fics of the cod omegaverse so I had to do it myself. Please lmk if you like this idea, if not I might still write it anyway

[rekino2114]

I’m missing the Nayuta daughter au posts… So celebrating Nayuta’s birthday request! Could be headcannons or a oneshot, it’s up to you! (it’s not my birthday btw, mines in November, but still, I had an idea!) how far would Makima and her husband go for their daughter? How many presents? Who would be invited? Anyone from public safety? (Would her aunts be invited <.< ? And if so what would Fami and Yoru bring?) Where do you think Nayuta would want to go for her birthday? Also, (this is a bit suggestive, so only add this if you want to) what if Nayuta asked for a sibling for her birthday, and then Y/n looks over and sees Makima giving him the look. And their both like “well… gotta give our daughter what she wants-“ sorry if school is bothering you, as a college student, I know its really tiring ;-;

…imagine if Yoru brings Nayuta a loaded shotgun or smth-

You and makima celebrating nayuta's birthday

A/n:the second request was sent literally today and it fit with the second part of yours so I added it here

From the moment nayuta understood what a birthday was she was very excited to celebrate them, she gets everything she wants for an entire day? She couldn't have been happier, just as you and makima couldn't have been happier to celebrate with her

She will get the day off no matter what and no one can tell otherwise. There are paperworks to do? Aki can handle them a devil is attacking a city? She'll just send someone else to take care of it without caring too much. Nothing can stop her from spending this day with her family

Makima will literally buy anything nayuta wants, she's rich anyway so money is definitely not a problem and she probably already knows most of the stuff her daughter wants even without asking her because she has a great memory when it comes to things like that but just to be sure she will ask her and buy everything she says.

She'll even give you a little gift. She knows it's not your birthday and you don't need it, but she just can't help but spoil you on any occasion she gets and she was shopping anyways and saw this and thought of you so just take it. She won't take no for an answer

"So nayuta do you like your gifts?"

"Yeah! They're amazing! It's exactly what I wanted"

"I'm glad to hear that, what about you darling?"

"W-well I love it too but you really didn't have to"

"But I wanted to, didn't you say you liked that?"

"Yeah I do but-"

"Then there's no problem, I love spoiling my two favorite people on any occasion and this was the perfect one, so please just accept it"

"........thanks you're the best makima"

"It's no problem darling"

Even if makima wanted this to be a party on the smaller and cozier side with only you three nayuta insisted on denji being invited which turned into power and aki coming too because the fiend didn't stop yelling until she was invited too and someone had to babysit the two of them

Makima told them to leave early though and no one dared defy her

Nayuta's aunts came too (and asa too technically who was very very embarrassed and uncomfortable the whole time even if she wasn't in control of the body for most of the party)

Yoru genuinely forgot she was invited until asa mentioned it to her on the day itself so she had no time to buy a gift so she just bought an actual shotgun that thankfully wasn't a former human at least

You and makima immediately told her to throw it away and almost banned her from the party because of that

".........why did you think bringing our daughter a loaded shotgun was a good idea?"

".......I mean I always wanted a shotgun as a gift when I was little"

".....you can literally make one whenever you want"

".......so?"

Fami had absolutely no idea what to bring and almost had a mental breakdown while deciding cause she thought her niece would hate her if she brought something bad

She ended up bringing the top 5 results that came up when she searched "things human children like" (and that her boyfriend helped her choose) which resulted in tons of toys that nayuta liked

Death brought a lot of food....like a lot way more than the people at the party could eat so she just brought the leftovers home for herself and her own bf (she also definitely had to stop herself from eating more than one slice of the cake)

Death was also the most comfortable around nayuta, even if she didn't talk much your daughter liked her and said that she was her favorite auntie....which might have resulted in fami crying a bit

The whole day was just amazing for all three of you but makima's favorite part was definitely at the end of the day when you three cuddled and watched nayuta's favorite movie together. Just hearing her laugh and smile at it made her heart melt even more than usual... she really loved this so much

"Hey, Mommy, daddy today was awesome!"

"Really? We're glad you think so"

"Yeah, thank you! It was super cool and....c-can we do it tomorrow too?"

"Sorry yuta, but birthdays are only once a year remember?"

"O-oh yeah sorry"

"It's fine"

"......but thank you again! You're the best mommy and daddy in the planet!'

"......thank you......you have no idea what that means to me"

After that you put her to bed and told her that she still had one birthday wish if she wanted

"I want a sister!"

"........w-what?"

"Yeah yesterday i saw two girls who looked the same and they were playing together and having so much fun and I want that too!"

"Well we have to give our daughter what she wants isn't that right darling?"

"....I suppose you're right, but it will take more than one day for the wish to come true.......a-and sleep a lot tonight ok?"

[multiheadcanons]

OKAY PART TWO. I GOT A PIERCING AND A TATTOO SCHEDULED FOR MONDAY I FEEL BETTER. MERCS TENDING TO YOUR WOUNDS!

scout: scout can do some basic first aid. he knows cpr pretty confidently, and knows what disinfectant is and how to apply a bandaid. scout, if he’s feeling really cocky, may even administer a shot. he doesn’t mind a little blood, and if you don’t want to deal with a nasty scrape he can do something for you to keep you from going to the doctor. he gets it, that guy’s a weirdo.

soldier: soldier will spit on it, rub dirt in the wound, like really massage it in to make sure you get every form of disease imaginable, then rinse it out with water and slap the wound. you’re good to go. if it’s a nasty wound you’ve managed to acquire, he might even put a ratty bandage on it that he keeps handy, just to make sure you don’t bleed out. otherwise, walk it off. you may want to make a stop to the infirmary after soldier leaves you be.

pyro: pyro keeps a disinfectant and bandaids on hand. as long as you’re not gravely injured, pyro can help, at least a little. always very gentle, they almost tend to you like a wild animal. and if pyro can’t help, pyro knows exactly where the infirmary is, and will sit with you in there if you don’t want to be alone with the doctor. they get it, he’s kinda weird!

demo: tavish is not the most prepared man in the world, but he will always have liquor strong enough to kill bacteria on hand. he will douse your wound in it, quickly blot off the excess, and get you both either to a first aid kit or the doctor, apologizing and reassuring you the whole way. it makes him feel so bad to see you in pain. it makes him feel worse to not be prepared. he forgets not everyone has a doctor on site. but he can do what he can, and that’s okay for now.

heavy: heavy is proficient in first aid. heavy can handle mostly everything up to a broken bone. he normally causes those, so he never bothered to learn how to fix them. normally when he breaks them he meant for that to happen, you know, but anything that is less severe he can handle with relative ease! it is not a skill he has to showcase any longer, but sometimes he likes to flex it, if only to impress his teammates… a little. or if the, or any doctor isn’t available. he’s pretty handy to have around!

engineer: engineer doesn’t consider himself a man of medicine. that’s not quite his field of science. he can get you a dispenser set up, or he can put some disinfectant and a bandaid on something and give it a little slap. he can even cauterize a wound before he does that but that’s about all he can do. he will also make the joke to slam your head into a wall, and you’ll think more about the headache than the prior pain. but there isn’t much he can do for anything past a bad boo-boo with his own hands. and he will, reluctantly, go with you to the infirmary if you ask him to. it’s cold down there. he doesn’t like it. and the doc’s an oddball. he likes him even less.

medic: the doctor really isn’t the one to approach for a little scrape. he has better to contend with. once you get into dislocations and sprains, you’ve got his attention. those are things he’s willing to spare a moment of time to. it really doesn’t take any time to push a nose, or a shoulder back into place. splints are fairly easy to create, even with rudimentary tools, but you can really get him going with a nasty case. he is a useful friend in emergencies. it may be a little spooky, he may be a little sloppy, but he can take care of you. and he’d never admit it publicly, but he hates losing patients. he will do his best to keep you alive. at least while you’re on the table.

sniper: sniper is proficient at first aid! he doesn’t step foot in the infirmary unless he’s missing limbs or it’s time for his physical. sniper can handle everything up to a broken bone, and has a penchant for field medicine. this isn’t to say he’s a super genius, he’s just picked up on what he needed to know from living in the outback. sometimes you just don’t have access to a doctor, or you can’t get to the hospital, and sniper is best for these moments. he can get and keep you clean of infection until you can get to someone with more knowledge than he’s got. in most recent times, the “person with more knowledge” is the doctor, and he’s learning to be okay with that.

spy: spy knows intermediate first aid, but he rarely ever wants to use it. the best he will do for you is different from the best he can do for you. this is a very important distinction to learn now. the best he will do is take you to the infirmary, or give you a heimlich if you’re choking and he happens to be in the room. he’s moreso the one you go to for… willing wounds. tattoos, piercings, the best he will do for you the aftercare and jewelry changing. but spy has lived many lives before this. and being stuck on an island with the man is not grounds for death, yet. the best he can do is never the best he’s willing to do.