#we know that he loved his mother

[toobusybeingdelulu]

something something about billy teaching little kids how to swim, and being good at it (otherwise their parents would have not let him); something something about his tendency to keep throwing good advice at people even while being a dick about it (max and steve, for example) something something about him apparently having a natural predisposition for helping people out and-

#we know so much and yet so little about him #we have been kinda lucky if we think about it tho #we know more about him than some of the actual main characters #we know that he used to read when he was a child #maybe he still liked it as a teen #we know that he loved his mother #that he used to wear shirts with little flower patterns on them #that he surfed #that he hated baseball and his father for making him do things he did not want to do #we know that he puts cologne on his dick before a date #and that he loves to look at himself in the mirror #we know how his room looks like #and what kind of music he likes #we also know about the lock Neil put on the outside of his door #and the kind of different earrings he owns #now we also know that he teaches little kids #that he has a strong connection with water #that he was a brave kid who managed to break the monster’s control on him multiple times on his own #oh how I love billy hargrove #and how I mourn him and the rest of the things we could have still known about it it this were a different show #billy hargrove #stranger things

[chloesimaginationthings]

Michael Afton let his FNAF trauma slip again…

#myart #chloesimagination #comic #michael afton #mike schmidt #ballora #fnaf #fnaf movie #sister location #fnaf fanart #five nights at freddy's #I’m so sorry to Michael Afton once again #my boy just misses his mom #TBH he must have mixed feelings on Ballora #similar to with baby Fredbear and spring Bonnie #it just reminds him too much of his mother despite her not being his mom #Ballora is just based off her from what we know #Mike can actually sympathize here though he also misses his mom #Mikes just get mommy issues it comes with the title #Ballora at least is also sympathetic to this #love you dearly Ballora 🩵 really wanted to draw her again

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but... #the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good. #listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

[amethysttribble]

Father had personally asked Feanor to stand for this portrait, so he was. Father had quietly suggested that perhaps this could be a painless exercise, which did not actually mean ‘painless’ but rather ‘silent’ for Feanor, but he agreed. Father told him this painting did not symbolize anything but his own desire to have a record of all his available loved ones around him, and Feanor was trying to see it that way- for the sake of his own sanity.

Because his stomach was roiling, and there was a heaviness in his chest, a great emptiness which his heart was pounding against, echoing, echoing, echoing.

Father had one hand on Feanor’s shoulder and the other was upon Indis’s. She was sat in front of them, smiling beautifully, little golden-haired Arafinwe in her lap. Around them, her three dark-haired children were gathered. Findis on Father’s other side, Nolofinwe with her, and Lalwen in front of Feanor.

To the unaware eye, Feanor knew, they must all look like they matched. Like they went together correctly. Like a family.

When the portrait was complete and those dark haired children were gathered around the mother and father, who would guess that one child was out of place? Who might glance at all that paint representing their faces and think anything but-

You could almost be her son, Feanor thought, and then his mind replied, But you’re not.

He was so still and he dared not move, because if he did, he’d never get back in place. If Feanor flinched once, the sharp, jagged pieces of him that never fit right in this puzzle would scratch one of them. They’d be annoyed and that would be it: he’d combust in anger, he’d shatter across the floor, snapping and snarling at everyone unnecessarily until he ruined their perfect little scene. Father said this might be a painless exercise. No, no; this was to be a silent, still exercise.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

How good a painter was this person Father hired? How varied his faces? Would he capture that Feanor’s nose resembled that of none of the people here? Could he represent that his frame was already different from his father and little half-brother’s?

Would he lie and throw a pleased smile on Feanor’s face? Not even Father had asked him to smile.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s presence made them fit together so symmetrically, maybe that was pleasing enough to hide the wrongness of this scene. Maybe that’s why Father made him come here today, the pretty scene. Why he asked him to suffer, even as the longer he stood here, the more and more Feanor felt like he was about to be sick all over the floor.

A ghost, a ghost, there was a ghost looming over their shoulders ruining this perfectly symmetrical scene. Couldn’t they feel her breathing down their necks, icy chill against sweat? Didn’t their perfectly posed heads feel her long, clever fingers wrapped lovingly around their necks?

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s gaze slipped down to the back of Indis’s head. Her beautiful golden hair. She didn’t wear a crown, this was a family portrait, and that felt worse. So much worse.

If he let his eyes unfocus and his mind wander, he could try to lie to himself that her hair was much lighter and the faces of the children around them more closely resembled his own. The woman in front of him loved him, and she fussed over his hair before they sat for this portrait, and he’d let her do it.

The worst part was Feanor did know that Indis would help him with the ties of his robes, if only he let her.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

She’s not, she’s not, she’s not. It was a simple statement of fact. It was scandal enough that the father replaced the wife, when one at least chose a wife, but what freak replaced his own mother?

What would the people who saw this portrait think? Would they see Finwe’s happy family or would they see Feanor’s blaring, uncomfortable intrusion upon what gods and men declared to be a better order of things? Father wanted him to belong here, but he didn’t.

He just didn’t.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

A painless exercise. Painless, painless, painless, for them. Silent, still Feanor, a happy accessory to the triumphant union of Finwe and Indis, a grateful stray dog permitted to drink from the bowls provided by Indis’s family.

This exercise was just meant to capture the image of all Finwe loved, nothing more. Don’t think too hard about it, Feanor. You might make the children unhappy.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

You should pretend you are, though. That’ll make them like you.

Because they did so disdain him, most of the time. They disliked how he glared at their mother and started fights at family dinners and ignored them in the hallways. Why shouldn’t they? Feanor would hate a person who did those things to his family, too.

He just couldn’t stop, though. He wanted to, sometimes, when the exhaustion and loneliness caught up, and then he remembered that he wasn’t Indis’s son and never would be, and remembering that made him angry. Wouldn’t it just be so damn convenient for them all if he was almost her son?

But he wasn’t.

He was Miriel’s son. That was her name. He had no portrait with her. He loved her.

He loved Miriel, but it was Indis he posed with and-

When the session was done, Feanor jerked away from his father and shoved his way past Lalwen. As he went, Indis looked up at him, caught his eye, and he couldn’t help the sneer that crossed his face.

He hoped that was painless enough for her.

When he returned to his chamber, he went to the wash room and heaved in the pot there. The gagging and retching made wetness prick his eyes, and the sudden tightness of throat made him choke all the harder. The sickness and heaving stayed long past when there was anything in his stomach to lose.

No one came. Feanor hoped maybe Father would, but really, why would he? Feanor had been mostly good, just a little rudeness wasn’t worth either reprimand or comfort.

No, they were together. Maybe admiring their portrait, happy and pleased, or complaining about his behavior again. Really, why couldnt that Curufinwe just accept nice things?

I need to get out of here, Feanor thought, face and body wet with both sweat and tears. I need to leave this place.

He was a good son, and he could do anything else his father wanted but betray his mother any more.

Feanor couldn’t pose as Indis’s son even a second longer. He would destroy himself, if he had to think one more time-

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

#I understand what it’s like to be surrounded by people all telling you that you belong and it’s okay and just /be nice/ #just play ball and settle and you can everything in the world #but you know you don’t belong #and you never will #and pretending is killing you #you won’t you can’t and you’re just so fucking sick of them pretending you can fit if you’re just /nice enough/ #because they’re lying to you and themselves #just don’t be angry?? omg why are you angry? stop being angry and enjoy what we say you should want teehee #anyway I love feanor and don’t think he should have just gotten over his mothers death #tolkien #the silmarillion #feanor #tribble post #fanfic

[birchlogz]

#hosea matthews #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #i could go into an unhinged rant abt this actuallt i will. fuck u #this started as like a jokey post but like #idk it lead down this whole rabbithole of arthur's emotional maturity #we know john clearly loved hosea but we only ever see arthurs side #and we see how much hoseas mentorship and wit and love influenced arthur #and although he had a similar influence on john and guided his moral compass i think john is much less mature about processing #and understanding his emotions... like he wouldnt have ran away if he had those skills. #and this idea of arthur figuring out that he thinks of dutch and hosea as parents. that its ok to have parental figures #that arent your biological ones and them being there in your life doesnt replace the connection he had with his mother #i just think john would struggle internally with that concept a lot #he wouldnt want to accept that. he is afraid of having a new family. #this boy needs therapy #anyways #my artz #someonewhos smarter than me should write a fic abt that noneed to credit me i just need to see that in the world #if it exists link it to me now i NEED to cry over it

[moderndaypandora]

I love every "Death set Dream up with Hob on purpose" headcanon, and I love "actually I was planning to throw Chaucer at you but I can wing it pretty damn well and, once I heard Hob call me stupid, I knew, yeah that's going to be Dream's boyfriend". It takes a village (or an older sister) to get Dream a boyfriend.

Now, I'm picturing the entire Endless family blindsided when Dream comes to a family dinner like "I GOT MARRIED! LIKE TWO MINUTES AFTER THE LAST DINNER--" "That was a literal century ago?!"
 "-- YEAH. WE'RE DOING A VOW RENEWAL."

Not a single sibling clocked this. Not even Destiny.

Destiny, out loud: it was an unlikely path in my book, so I didn't give it much attention 
Destiny, in his head: honestly I started speed-reading/skimming through Dream's love life paragraphs because watching him crash and burn and cause massive body counts just seemed so... repetitive and predictable?

Death: knowing our brother, I was carefully managing my expectations and was just glad he was still doing the century meetups last time I'd checked. Good for him, managing to stay with somebody for a century, that outstrips his last relationship by ... like 7 decades.  Kind of offended I wasn't invited to this wedding, kind of not planning to say anything?

Desire: At this point, I stick my fingers in my ears and go "lalalalalala" whenever I hear anything about Dream and want, either him wanting or somebody wanting him, because Death said I had to stop making fun of him for how disproportionate his Yearn to Act Ratio was, and any ammunition I can't use is just ... irritating. I figured if anything really changed, my twin would tell me about his descent into misery.

Despair: He was less miserable, but I assumed it was a fluke and he'd return to his normal equilibrium eventually. And it's not like my twin let me know he'd managed to successfully want AND obtain something?

Destruction is Sir Not Appearing In This Picture.

And Delirium had more important things to think about than her brother's sad love life, like would flying fish fired out of confetti cannons be considered birds until they landed?

Meanwhile all denizens of the Dreaming are never not aware that Dream is happily married, because the weather has been perfect for years and the throne room stained glass is some variation of Hob and Dream being lovey-dovey.

Lucienne: If I see them necking in the stacks ever again I will be forced to take action, and Lord Morpheus is aware of that fact, but we haven’t had a library flood in 103 years, so overall we’re pleased.

#silly nonsense #the sandman #dreamling #dream's love life is a car accident that everybody sees coming and either goes 'AGAIN?' or prepares popcorn for #and he's very aware of that fact #which is why he's like 'can we keep this private for a little while? not ashamed of you #just very aware of how my siblings will react. a lot of wincing and bet placing' #hob: your family places bets? #dream: yeah. destiny keeps a record of all wagers but doesn't take part since he's omniscient #hob: so isn't he already aware we're married? #dream: he's the one who taught me snitches get stitches #dream: and he errs on the side of 'if you don't already know #i shouldn't tell you' #( #destiny: mother didn't raise us to snitch #desire: mother didn't raise us at alll #) #dream: so he'll keep quiet because it's not his business #hob: alright but we're wearing wedding rings and if anybody asks we're not denying we're married #dream: [touched that hob's so emphatic that they're married] #idek what century this is happening in #it'd be funny if it's 18th or 19th #therefore there'd be no quarrel in 1889 #but if dream got fishbowled hob would be out for blood

[lucky-slice]

low key i think to deny Riko's trauma is to deny his narrative importance in the story.

like Riko's trauma related to his father parallels neil's. His concept of brotherhood adds complexity to Andrew and Aaron's relationship. He acts not just as an antagonist but as a foil to other character's relationship to trauma and violence.

to solely view riko through the lense of his actions is to miss the point. He is a character in a story, not a real breathing human being.

#i don't know guys like i though we were having fun here #lets go back to making up literary motifs that are probably nonexistent in a self published book series thats basically a sports manga #i'll start #isn't it nifty that riko was abandoned by his father and then abused and ostracized by his guardian figure in a very similar way to neil #isn't it fun that riko was cast aside by his father for his brother just as andrew was cast aside by his mother for his brother #isnt it fun that aaron kills someone to protect his brother while riko's story ends with his brother killing him #love earned through death in both ways #isnt it fun that riko's hunt to be the best ends with his brother killing him in the same way he essentially 'killed' kevin #by smashing his hand #isnt it fun how riko is just as desperate for love and attention and belonging as everyone else #there is a story in which riko is saved and heals from his past in the same way every other character does #the fun part is that story exists yet it is not the story that is told #like come onnnnn #“riko is evil” #“rikos trauma isnt as bad as *insert character” #“riko did this - riko did that - bluh bluh bluh” #im boreeeeeeddd #gnat be quiet #riko moriyama

[biblicalhorror]

Aroace Riz real but also Fabian is SO clearly in love with him and Riz has no idea

#honestly fabian might not even fully know yet #a core part of fabians character is that he is so deeply afraid of rejection that he is never going to pursue the people he actually wants #i do think he likes Maezy a lot but i think he only knows how to pursue hot toxic women that will discard him at a moments notice #which in a way protects him from ever actually dealing with heartbreak #is he a gay man dealing with comphet? ehh maybe #i could see that #but I think the vibe i get is more about how he has these platonic friends he completely adores and is fully devoted to #and then in another category he has the people that he does not have any actual attachment to that he will allow himself to pursue #and crossing the boundaries in between those two categories or allowing himself to pursue someone he really cares for #would require a level of vulnerability he is in no way prepared for #in his home life he has an emotionally detached mother who is well liked but kind of floats through interactions on a surface level #and a father who is extremely concerned with fame and glory and attention but doesnt seem to have ever stopped moving in his life #genuinely fabian does not know what a safe loving partnership would look like #and we see him constantly oscillating between emulating his mother and his father in relationships #but just beneath the surface is a little boy who wants so badly to cling to his loved ones so tight and be squeezed right back #with no way of knowing how to even ask for that if he wanted #and riz is his best friend in the world and he knows on some level that riz is simply not interested in having that kind of relationship #not on the level fabian needs #but that also makes riz a safe target for these feelings of devotion #theyre just friends! just besties! fabian never has to reckon with his own loneliness or harmful patterns #if he channels all of his yearning for closeness onto his best friend #anyway! this boy needs therapy #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #fabriz

[freakurodani]

The parallel between Sokka and Tenzin as their fathers' sons.

Sokka, left at 13 as his father and all the other men head off to war. Hakoda tells him "being a man is knowing where he's needed the most" and he needs to protect his sister, his home.

Tenzin is the second airbender. He is also half water tribe, he's a man. When Aang dies, he will be the last airbender. He understands what he needs to do.

Untold amount of pressure and responsibility have been thrust upon them by their fathers. Though, I believe it is not all intentional, but the unfortunate circumstance of being the fathers of sons who take responsibility incredibly seriously.

In Sokka's case, "protect your sister" is a vague instruction. It was meant to give him purpose, to help him feel okay about being left behind, He is too young for war, his father does not want to bring his child to slaughter. But Sokka will die with purpose. He will train the children of his tribe so they will be protected, he will face a fire nation ship until his last breath. He cannot go to war, but Hakoda did not see that war was all around them. In trying to give Sokka purpose, Hakoda put their world on his shoulders.

We do not get to see Aang be a father (in the TV shows), but we know he had hopes for the future. All his children were air nomads, and the air acolytes brought his culture back, but Tenzin could bend. This part of their culture is one ONLY they share. I do not think Aang would hide this, he is joyous that he gets to share his culture. When he feels respected, he always is, he taught the air acolytes after all. Off handedly, he could say, "I'm hopeful for a future where there are lots more air benders," and that, which feels mostly innocuous to him, is the nail in the coffin of Tenzin's fate. He is Avatar Aang's son, and the future of the air benders. It would not matter that Aang meant a future in generations. Tenzin sees the responsibility and it's his. He is his father's only air bending child, he knows what he needs to do.

Being a parent is not understanding the way the things you say harm your children. Even those things that feel innocuous in the moment can be life altering. Especially the more the child respects the parent. Purpose and Hope for those with a broader perspective, can be death sentences to a life that could have been when expressed to those who idolize the former.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar the legend of korra #atla sokka #sokka #tenzin #lok tenzin #aang #avatar aang #hakoda #atla #conspiracy lvl: text #i thought about talking about how my own mothers expectations for me broke me #they just felt like facts of life for her #just as like anecdotal evidence for my thought process #bc like we only know aang as a father from his frustrated adult children #but i REALLY REALLY dislike the takes that are like 'aang kept having kids until he got an airbender' #bc THAT doesnt feel like aang #like #if that were the case dont you think aang and katara would have had like A LOT more kids???? #like if the goal was make airbender babies why stop at one??? #but its because bumi kya and tenzin are reflections of sokka katara and aang #ive made a post about that #its about AANGS FAMILY #and he loves them #i think the favoritism is reasonable #makes me sad but thats cause my mom had obvious favorites (it wasnt me lmao) #another reason why i didnt wanna bring her up <- is doing it anyway how embarrassing #i ALSO thought about my dad though #but i cant talk about that here bc APPARENTLY tumblr only lets you add 30 tags now rip

[tricoufamily]

visiting the hometown

(want everyone to know this edit came to me in a dream and i changed the lore just to do it)

#in the dream i was like editing it but i was also there? it was weird. it started as a dream about lawson in a zombie apocalypse #ok important tags first so i can write an essay #ts4 #ts4 render #ts4 edit #the sims 4 #beckett #lawson #blood sports #but yeah if you haven't been here before beckett and lawson never knew each other as kids #if they did it would be a butterfly effect and mess w a bunch of other plot details. so i decided to work around it #also if ur new they've had a friends with benefits thing going on for a long time but lawson is in love with him. beck doesn't know #originally beckett was put in foster care as a baby bc of neglect and was bounced around foster homes for years #he was a troubled child always getting in fights a kleptomaniac undiagnosed autism etc etc foster families tried and just didn't want him #then when he was around 12 a very nice old lady named cora got him and they ended up forming a great bond they loved each other #she was going to adopt him then when beckett was around 15 or 16 his birth mother reentered the picture and wanted him back #it started a really nasty legal battle and cora died. we can't say for sure it was the stress of this fight but beckett certainly thinks so #anyway he did go back with his birth mother and things got really bad for him. he dropped out of school started doing worse crimes and so o #but none of that is what even changed #now LAWSON is also from west virigina like beckett. it's a small town lawson was new he had no friends #he was a very clingy possessive child who cried and threw tantrums so much #he met beckett and the rest is history. beckett didn't really mind how lawson acted he didn't really find him annoying like everyone elsedi #besides he didn't have friends either #lawson has wealthy parents they were welcoming to beckett at first if a little apprehensive. then he stole something from their house #and lawson wasn't allowed to hang out with him anymore. but he still did in secret. they still have no idea that beckett's even still aroun #or just how involved lawson is with him and his. activities 😬 they just think he's their good little college boy #in the original beckett moved to Not Gotham City when his mother got him back but in this version lawson is going to college there #and beckett's been distant from him for a while things are awful for him and lawson says hey. what if you gave the city a try. and he did #so really you could say the events of blood sports are all lawson's fault the end

[chidoroki]

December 30th - Happy Birthday Nozel - ft: his tvtropes

#black clover #nozel silva #bc manga #my edits #last edit of the year and i could not have chosen a more handsome man. i absolutely love him and desperately hope he gets more #time to shine during the current fight with acier. like yeah good for noelle for powering up once again but can this man PLEASE show #his mother how much stronger he's become not only as a mage but as a captain/brother/head of house as well? he deserves so #much praise okay? i want the best for him. he's fantastic. and i know chapters are real slow now but i hope we see him again soon.

[jeanmoreaue]

I agree!! *an incoherent rant incoming* Jean imo def moved on from Kevin (in a romantic way; i think he’s not moved on from the whole ‘Kevin left me’ thing ofc but I think he obviously knows and accepts that he and Kevin won’t ever happen lol). And that scene with Renee was obviously a closure/farewell and they’ve moved on to being friends now (also imo while i like their dynamic i feel like they’d never work bc of the whole victim saviour complex, that’d be really uncomfortable and hard to overcome). Jeremy seems like he’s able to handle Jean’s crazy baggage without placating him too much or pushing him too hard. He definitely needs to work on his own shit first (i feel like the way he went all in on helping Jean is kind of giving ‘I am avoiding my problems by getting too involved in others’ problems’) but I think Jean will be the perfect person to help him with that! As you said he’s super perceptive and honestly very empathetic even if he doesn’t show it in the most obvious way. Jeremy would probably really appreciate Jean’s brutally honest approach lol. They’re lowkey perfect for each other ☹️ TSC2 can’t come soon enough

hardcore agree on every single point you made!! i feel exactly the same about Jean and Renee, as much as their dynamic is sweet, i think it would be really difficult to overcome Jean feeling indebted to her (whereas Jean and Jeremy are both growing together) + ya i think Jean has very complicated feelings toward Kevin but i don’t think he’s actively yearning over Kevin anymore

and exactlyy i definitely imagine Jean quietly picking up on whatever Jeremy’s going through and expressing concern only for Jeremy to try and pull a “my problems aren’t that bad and therefore don’t matter” which i don’t see Jean accepting. especially since Jean has an ‘older brother who cares more about other people’s well-being more than his own well-being’ vibe (underneath his slightly prickly attitude lol) i think Jeremy and Jean are really good for each other, Kevin subconsciously knew what he was doing by having Jean transfer to USC 🤨

#anon i love you #that was absolutely not incoherent we’re on the same wavelength here #def craving that next book lol #feel like it’s still only the very beginning of jean’s story #would not be surprised if we got two more books to make another trilogy #side note but i’m still so obsessed w the characterization of Jean as being so perceptive and attuned to other people’s feelings #logically i know it’s bc he had to read riko’s mood to appease him and probably also his parents #since even tho he barely will talk about it he’s confirmed that at the very least his mother beat him #and i honestly just can’t imagine his father who literally sold him treated jean any better #but even tho it’s partially due to abuse i still think it says something about jean #bc riko underwent horrible abuse too and was raised by similarly horrible people too #and yet riko turned out the way he did #and jean became perceptive and caring so #… anyways sorry to pop off in the tags lmao #aftg #tsc #the sunshine court #jean moreau #i just love him so #jerejean #ask tag

[aspiringnexu]

Okay, so, Alastor theory. As far as I know nobody's discussed why Alastor ever made such an apparently disadvantageous deal.

I mean, his power is apparently leashed. He cannot access his true strength. He essentially handicapped himself in Hell. Alastor detests not being in control, he craves power because it nets him control and therefore nets him safety and security, a very rare commodity for a demon. Even an Overlord.

So why the hell would Alastor make such a shitty deal? He's a dealmaker, he knows how this works, it can't just be the result of tricky wording, there must have been something else at play.

Additionally, I'm in the camp that its Eve that has something to do with it. Lilith makes sense of a sort but why would she leash Alastor and then have him help Charlie with a project that would piss off Heaven? She's Lilith, she knows that trying to bypass the initial judgement and redeeming yourself would upset the bigwigs in Heaven. She knows they don't like having their rules bent and twisted. She gains nothing from pissing off the Heavenly Host by indirectly helping her daughter. She made a mysterious deal with Adam to get into Heaven, why would she knowingly jeopardise that?

But why would Eve care? Simple. She feels like Lucifer and Lilith betrayed her by gifting her the apple from the Tree of Knowledge. They betrayed her and she was forced into a life of pain and suffering with a husband who she realised didn't truly love her and children who started to turn on each other the moment they could. And then that same husband (or ex-husband by that point) turns around millennia later and gets Lilith into Heaven.

What the fuck?

So Eve decides that the best way to sort this out is to do what Lilith supposedly did. Betrayal disguised as assistance. Charlie is a well-known bleeding heart by now, all Eve need do is find a way to stoke that altruism until it becomes a Problem that Heaven needs to solve. Poke the altruistic bear enough and that Problem will blossom into a Shitstorm that'll drag Lilith off of her cosy perch in Heaven to sort out her wayward daughter and try to avoid Heaven deciding to exterminate every demon in Hell. Plus it'll give Adam a headache which is only a plus in Eve's eyes. And what better way to help the Princess than gift-wrapping Hell's most powerful Overlord and depositing him on her doorstep?

Her ultimate goal might be provoking an all-out war or simply petty-revenge that'll eventually get out of hand but I digress.

How does she persuade Alastor to accept such a shitty, hampering, restricting joke of a deal?

Again, simple. She's in Heaven and as such has access to angelic steel and a plethora of souls. Including Alastor's mother. The only person he ever truly loved in his life.

I'm willing to bet Alastor would do anything to safeguard his mother. Even selling his own soul.

Of course there's still the seven-year gap to tackle but who says Alastor didn't spend those seven years in Heaven? Maybe Eve managed to smuggle him up there and disguise him, let him enjoy seven years of bliss by his mother's side before blindsiding him with her ultimatum. Makes the clipped wings comment more literal.

Just my thoughts, of course, but I really can't see why else Alastor would sign his own soul away if not to protect the one person he lets himself love. He hardly made the deal for power if the deal restricted his powers and he was certainly in no danger from the other Overlords. So he made the deal, he saved his mother, but that doesn't mean he's not gonna try to find a way out of it.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin theory #the radio demon #I really just want Alastor's devotion to his mother to be a major plotpoint #The man is a cannibalistic serial killer but he loves his mother and that is too tempting a weakness not to exploit for angst #it'd also be the first time we know of where a deal is made to protect someone else instead of saving oneself or to try and get something #Great Alastor Altruist sold his soul to protect his maman and now he's paying the price #it's why he's so touchy about it #nothing else riles Alastor more than reminders of his own weakness #he's definitely being used to further someone's agenda but I don't think it's for Charlie's benefit #Those pesky feelings of friendship and family are gonna come and bite Alastor in the behind when it comes time to be forced to betray them

[biillys]

billiestevies: the question was “why does billy hate lucas so much?” - i think that really probably answers your question in more of a back-story sense, of why was he the way he was. because - his dad.

dacre @ stranger con, chicago (9th oct 22) bonus:

#!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #dacre: billy was SUFFERING okay billy was TRYING he was hurting he was sensitive he was FRAGILE he was scared he was a KID #and he was doing the BEST he COULD. #because he has a piece of SHIT for a FATHER and no fukcing MOTHER. #except dacre put it like. super eloquently. bless #dacremontgomeryedit #dacre montgomery #billy hargrove #camaro 67 #'torments billy everyday' neil hargrove i am killing u repeatedly every minute of every day #the WAY he says 'That PERSON is his father' like dacre is BEGGING ppl to fucking understand #the way billy is!!!!! is not billy!!!! its his FATHER!!!!! because he was raising with that upbringing!!!!!! #and he had to weather it!!!!! and survive it!!!!! and sometimes enduring is turning yourself into someone that you yourself dont recognise #just to survive!!!!! so that when you make it out the other side!!!!! you can finally grow!!! #and heal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and live!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and to figure out who you are!!!!! without that weight crushing you alive!!!!!!!!! #dacre: billy was sensitive and i tried to show that through my portrayal #all of us crying and screaming and scratching and biting and throwing up: we know this and we love you so much #m #gifs

[soullessjack]

spn was really like

“hey what if the spawn of Lucifer was a mama’s boy and loved his mother so much but also she died in childbirth because of what he is so he has this entire guilt complex about inadvertently killing her by existing for half his life, and so he decides to save his friend dad guys’ mom bc he’s projecting his own loss onto them so he rips the universe in half to go find her and then they bond together until she sees him as one of her sons and he sees her as a mother figure and she calls him sweetheart and he swears to always protect her and they both truly genuinely love each other, and then he’s gonna actually kill his mother for real this time and spiral into even more self hatred and guilt over it because for the second time in his life he’s killed his mother just by being what he is”

and you expect me to be normal about it.

#real jack and mary weeping hours #spn #supernatural #jack kline #mary winchester #jack and mary #kelly kline #jack and kelly #spn season 13 #spn season 14 #13x07 #the bad place #spn 14x17 #game night #eeuugghhhggg #Joe Swanson crying in the drunken clam for 40+ seconds dot mp4 #I know we’re all obsessed with his three silly dads and the unexpected queerness of him having a non traditional family #but can we talk about his moms for a minute #I swear Kelly gets left behind so much it’s insane. ‘why does he go by kline he’s a Winchester’ BECAUSE OF HIS FUCKING MOTHER WHOM HE LOVES #AND STRONGLY IDENTIFIES WITH #THATS WHY FUCKER #the way he asked Duma if he could see Mary in heaven to explain it was an accident and we never got that #we never got any fucking closure for them and I’m so mad about it every day of my life #god .

[foxstens]

i genuinely wonder how kevin feels about exy

#my posts #aftg #all for the game #kevin day #the foxhole court #like we know neil feels free on the court and enjoys playing #and we know jean used to love it but understandably doesnt anymore #does kevin? hopefully #i dont think he could have ever had a normal relationship with the sport #but does he still cling onto it bc its /his mothers/ sport #or because it's the only thing he knows or because he actually likes it #maybe all three #the saddest possibility is that he doesnt or /cant/ even enjoy it at this point #once again i am asking for a kevin book