#How to Prevent Constipation

[rsg-energya]

Constipation Causes

Here learn about, Constipation Causes. Symptoms of Constipation. Know, Where is Constipation Pain Felt? How to Prevent Constipation? Learn about, Constipation Treatment & Constipation Medicine….Also know how Energya Pankrase is the best constipation medicine.

[thecattitudecentral]

Is Your Cat Secretly Thirsty? 10 Critical Signs of Dehydration in Cats You Can’t Ignore

As a cat parent, you know your feline friend is a master at hiding discomfort. Cats are stoic creatures, often masking health issues until they become serious. One of the most common yet overlooked conditions in cats is dehydration—a potentially life-threatening issue if left untreated. Dehydration occurs when your cat loses more fluids than they take in, disrupting their body’s ability to…

[drravirams]

Say Goodbye to the Pain: Practical Tips for Reducing Your Risk of Piles

Piles, or hemorrhoids, are a common yet painful condition affecting many individuals. They occur due to swollen veins in the rectal or anal area, often caused by constipation, prolonged sitting, or straining during bowel movements. While piles can disrupt daily life with discomfort and bleeding, the good news is that they are preventable with simple lifestyle changes. Adopting a fiber-rich diet, staying hydrated, and exercising regularly are key steps to maintaining healthy digestion and avoiding piles. Practicing good toilet habits, such as avoiding straining and prolonged sitting, also plays a crucial role in prevention.

If home remedies don’t help, don’t suffer silently. For those in Kerala, consulting a trusted piles specialist in Thrissur, Kerala like Dr. Raviram S. at Thrissur Piles Clinic ensures quick relief with modern treatments like painless laser surgery. Early action and expert care can save you from severe pain and costly procedures. Stay proactive, follow these practical tips for managing piles of pain, and reclaim your comfort!

What Causes Piles?

Piles can develop due to various reasons, including:

Chronic constipation or diarrhea

Straining during bowel movements

Sitting for long periods

Obesity

Poor dietary habits

Understanding these causes is the first step in preventing piles.

Practical Tips for Reducing Your Risk of Piles:

Eat a Fibre-Rich Diet:

A fiber-rich diet helps soften stools and promotes smooth bowel movements, reducing strain on rectal veins. Include foods such as:

Fruits (apples, bananas, kiwis)

Vegetables (spinach, broccoli, tomatoes)

Whole grains (brown rice, oats)

Legumes (lentils, chickpeas)

Fibre not only prevents constipation but also improves overall digestive health.

Stay Hydrated:

Drinking plenty of water (at least 3–4 liters daily) helps keep stools soft and easy to pass. Dehydration can lead to hard stools, increasing the risk of piles.

Exercise Regularly:

Physical activity improves blood circulation and prevents constipation. Activities like walking, yoga, and swimming are beneficial for maintaining healthy digestion and reducing pressure on rectal veins.

Practice Good Toilet Habits:

Avoid straining during bowel movements and respond promptly to the urge to defecate. Sitting for extended periods on the toilet increases pressure on the anal region. Use a footrest to maintain a natural squatting position for easier bowel movements.

Avoid Prolonged Sitting or Standing:

Long hours of sitting or standing can increase pressure on the anal veins. If your work involves sitting for extended periods, take short breaks to walk around or stretch.

Maintain a Healthy Weight:

Excess weight puts additional pressure on the abdomen and rectal veins, increasing the risk of piles. To manage your weight effectively, combine a balanced diet with regular exercise.

Keep Good Anal Hygiene:

Use unscented wipes or warm water to clean the anal area gently after bowel movements. Avoid excessive wiping or using high-pressure toilet jets that can irritate sensitive skin.

Myths and Misconceptions About Piles:

Understanding the facts helps in effective management:

Myth: Only older adults get piles.

Fact: While more common with age, piles can affect individuals of all ages.

Myth: Spicy foods cause hemorrhoids.

Fact: Spicy foods may irritate existing hemorrhoids but don’t directly cause them.

When to Seek Professional Help:

If home remedies don’t provide relief or if symptoms worsen, it’s essential to consult a specialist:

Persistent Pain or Bleeding: Continuous discomfort or significant bleeding requires medical evaluation.

Prolapsed Hemorrhoids: Hemorrhoids that protrude and don’t retract may need professional treatment.

Thrombosed Hemorrhoids: If you experience severe pain and swelling, it could indicate a clot in the hemorrhoid.

Conclusion:

Preventing piles is probable with simple lifestyle changes like eating fiber-rich foods, staying hydrated, exercising regularly, and practicing good toilet habits. If symptoms persist or worsen, consult a trusted proctologist in Thrissur, Kerala such as Dr. Raviram S., who provides effective laser treatment options for piles at Thrissur Piles Clinic.

Take proactive steps today to say goodbye to piles of pain and enjoy better digestive health!

[gateway-2000]

severely disabled trans person needs help preventing their electricity from being disconnected

hello there, i am a severely disabled trans person who is currently developing crohn's disease who also deals with arthritis, schizophrenia, and hypermobile ehlers danlos syndrome. i have been very sick for the past 6 months, dealing with unhealthy rapid weight loss, nausea, vomiting, diahrrea, constipation, dehydration, exhaustion, brain fog, and malnutrition. i have barely been making any money lately because of how sick i've been, so i have fallen behind on electric bill payments due to having to prioritize rent.

i am too sick to get a conventional job at this time, i currently make my living with my online shop where i sell handmade jewelry, accessories, zines, and paintings. i also offer traditional illustrations on card stock, and custom jewelry and keychains! :) you are more than welcome to ask about requests for custom jewelry and keychains and i will see if i'm able to fulfill your request! i also have a gofundme for saving up for my rent & bills

$0/$134.16

if you're interested in helping me, you can do so in the following ways:

cash app: $glitterGraphix venmo: $Equinoxian pay pal: glittergraphicnightmare @ gmail .com chime: $Equinoxian

[hex800020]

Non-negotiable HCs I have (Super and Bat edition):

Jon gets ridiculously excited every time Damian says something in Arabic (it can be something sweet or an insult, literally anything). He’ll probably start mumbling nonsense to keep Damian from noticing, but it’s so obvious that even Jon knows his attempts are pathetic.

-•-

Lois fully supports the (unconscious) bromance between Bruce and Clark. She constantly makes jokes about it, like calling Bruce “my husband’s husband,” and it never fails to make Clark flustered.

-•-

The Batkids are all in on Lois’s jokes and even supply her with material to make Bruce feel “emotionally constipated.”

-•-

Dick thinks he’s the sibling the younger ones trust the most, but when it comes to big problems they really don’t want Bruce to find out about, they go straight to Jason.

For example, Tim needs to hide the president’s body? No problem, call Jason, and they’ll sort it out.

Dick never finds out about any of it, and that’s how it needs to stay.

-•-

Batman laughs like a rich guy, and Superman laughs like a farmer.

-•-

Whenever a member of the Batfam starts talking in a seriously dark way near a Super, the Super in question will try to defuse (escape) the situation by blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

Example:

Tim, seriously, and maybe a little too casuall: “I’ve been storing genetic material from my entire family, just in case anyone dies again. I could modify it to make them more ‘agreeable’ or easier to deal with.”

Kon listening, panicking, and trying to prevent Tim from fully leaning into his supervillain potential: “One time I ate a beetle.”

Tim shockingly not surprised: “What did it taste like?”

Kon full panic mode because he totally made that up: “…Like a beetle.”

Part 1 | Part 2 >>

[mononijikayu]

merry–go–round–of life — ryomen sukuna.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.” Your reply is instant. 🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’” 👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.” He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words. 👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babes.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Lovers, Marriage, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Long Distance Relationship, Frustration, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Husband! Sukuna, Wife! Reader;

Words: 9k words.

Note: i wrote this in a rush while im constipated and suffering in bed about it. and honestly, im glad i did because this is going to be a happy one, i know a rare treat. but there will be quite a lot of heartache here soon enough. also, yes, the signatures were created by me. i write like that irl. and yes, they both have autographs (reader gets asked by little kids who are interested in science for her signature). anyway, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do. i love you all so much!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

lovesick playlist

THIS WAS WHAT YOU WERE WORRIED ABOUT. It was fulfilling to be able to go and pursue your passions in your respected fields, that was true enough. But you knew this would happen. Your schedules aren’t overlapping the way you need it to be, and you hate it.

You hate how you and Ryomen Sukuna, your famous Olympic volleyball fiancé are like two stars in separate galaxies, orbiting each other from too far away to touch. You both were wanting to meet each other but the thousands of light years prevented you from even finding each other. 

It wasn’t always like this. Back when his training was domestic and your research wasn't demanding 80–hour weeks, you used to cook dinner together at least twice a week.

He’d lift you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, kiss you until the pasta boiled over, and say things like “We’re gonna have the loudest wedding in Japan.”

But now it’s missed calls, unsent voice notes, messages like “call me when you wake up.” followed by hours of silence because time zones are ruthless and the Olympics don’t wait for love. You’re lucky if you catch his voice once a week, muffled through tired laughter and stadium noise. 

And it’s bad that you were the same as him too.

You weren’t just the one being left behind you were running too, just in the opposite direction. You hated that about yourself. Hated how the very ambition that had once made him fall in love with you was now the same thing keeping you from each other.

The worst part?

Missing ten missed calls.

Sometimes more than that.

Seeing his name flash on your phone hours after he tried to reach you — each notification a little wound that you picked at without meaning to. Not because you ignored him. Never.

But because sometimes, you genuinely didn’t hear the phone ring over the sounds of your team discussing propulsion flow models or thermal regulation equations.

You’d come home and find the lunch he packed still untouched in your work bag. Rice cold, vegetables a little soggy from condensation. A sticky note on the lid with his handwriting which was messy and fast, like he was rushing out the door but still thinking about you: “Eat well, genius.”

You didn’t. Not because you didn’t want to. But because you forgot. Or because you were calibrating simulations past lunchtime. Or because you were sitting in some dark conference room answering questions from engineers twenty years your senior.

And the coffee, the one he brewed at 5:30 a.m. with the beans you like, poured into your favorite thermos? You’d leave it on the kitchen counter by mistake, still warm when you got home twelve hours later. That’s how you realized how bad it had gotten. You weren’t just missing him, you were starting to miss yourself too.

Ever since they assigned you to the development of a new rocket mechanism system, this new revolutionary propulsion array meant to change the trajectory of long–range space travel—you knew, in your gut, that this would take everything.

And it did. Your time. Your sleep. Your calendar. Him.

He was lucky to see you after 10:00 p.m — not in the romantic way, but in the “quick, I have five minutes before I pass out on this couch” kind of way. You'd sit side by side, half in your work clothes, his shirt still damp with sweat from training. 

You’d hold pinkies like kids and talk like strangers trying to remember the rhythm of your old conversations. Sometimes you’d fall asleep mid–sentence. Sometimes he would. Everything about it has just been rough.

It’s been a year and a half since he proposed to you. A year and a half since you said yes with tears on your cheeks and his forehead pressed to yours in a moment so still, so real, you swore nothing could ever pull you apart. And yet here you were. Not even a date set. No dress. No venue. No plans.

Not because you didn’t want it. Hell, you’d marry him in your scorched lab coat with grease stains and ink on your fingers if it meant being next to him when you woke up. If it meant not having to count days between kisses. You knew that. He knew that.

But life doesn’t care about how much two people love each other.

Every time you tried to plan, something got in the way. A training camp for the upcoming FIVB league, where he was captain and poster boy and MVP all rolled into one.

Then a week later it was the National League games or in the International Qualifiers. Or a media appearance. A charity match. A recovery period he had to take seriously or risk injury.

And for you, it was just the same. A last–minute research grant that couldn’t be passed up, not when it would fund your entire next project. A call from the head of the department asking you to lecture at an aerospace symposium.

Sometimes it was a request to mentor new hires or new interns. A sudden data spike that cracked open a new theory, one that would require late nights, recalibrations, endless documentation.

It always felt like one step forward, two steps away from each other.

No one was to blame — not him, not you. But that didn’t make it hurt less.

Because when he told you “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

And you told him “Then let’s do it, babe.”

The world said, “Not yet.”

And you both obeyed silently, painfully, hoping one day it would stop asking so much of you.

You’re sitting in the corner of the office lab today, shoulders slumped over your desk, staring at an untouched to-do list. You’re not crying, not really. But certainly, there’s a tiredness in your bones that not even coffee can fix.

Maryu Hana notices first. She always does. She walks over quietly, sits next to you, and just wraps her arms around your side like she's trying to hold the pieces of you together. Her hair smells like cherry lip balm and lavender softener. She doesn’t say anything yet, just rests her cheek against your shoulder.

“You okay?” Hana asks after a moment, voice soft and small, like she’s afraid that being too loud might break you further.

“No….not at all.” you admit. You don’t bother sugarcoating it. There’s no energy left to pretend you’re fine. “I miss him. We’re supposed to be planning our wedding right now, Hana. I don’t even know when he’s going to get home from his match abroad.”

Your voice cracks slightly on that last word. You hate the way it does. You hate that your chest feels heavy every time you think of him, of Sukuna with his duffle bags, his passport tucked into his pocket like a lifeline, his voicemail always full. 

You used to tease him for being impossible to reach. Now it just feels like the universe is playing keep–away with the one person you’re trying so desperately to hold onto. You could only sigh into your hands and feel the devastation.

Kenji, ever the loyal office goblin and chaotic gremlin of the lab, rolls over on his squeaky stool like a knight on wheels. His hoodie is inside-out, and he’s clutching an energy drink like it’s a sword.

“You need me to hack into the work calendar and ‘accidentally’ reschedule his matches?” he says, completely serious.

You let out a breathy laugh, weak but real. “That would start an international incident.”

“I’ve started worse, bestie.” he deadpans to you. And he was not lying. You knew he had. That’s why they can’t fire him. “Just say the word.”

“I’d….rather not.”

Haruki looks up from his soldering station, holding a screwdriver like it’s the Holy Grail. “Wait. WAIT. I volunteer as a wedding planner.” He rises with the gravity of someone delivering life–altering news. “I’ve been watching Downton Abbey. I’m emotionally equipped.”

“Yeah, me and Haruki could help!” Hana says, looping her arm around yours with a bright, unbothered smile. “After all, it would be like me and Haruki planning our own wedding. Since we had a court wedding.”

You blink. You’d almost forgotten that. It happened so quietly. A lunch break turned into a courthouse appointment. A blurry photo of them holding hands and a paper certificate posted in your group chat with no caption. You remember being stunned, speechless. But not surprised. They made it work.

You found yourself envious of that. Not in a bitter way, not in the why them, not me way. But in the aching, quiet kind of way. The kind where you smile and congratulate them and then cry into your pillow later because it reminds you that love can happen right now if you let it. If life lets you.

And yet here you are. A year and a half into your engagement with Ryomen Sukuna, and still floating in that weird limbo where you’re so in love and so ready but so impossibly stuck with the needs to please the roles you were meant to play.

Your colleagues, they had trouble even getting a proposal out. Haruki couldn’t string a proper sentence together and Hana had to say, “Do you want to marry me or not?” with a pen already in her hand.

But they got married. Quick. Simple. Straight to the point. No ceremony. No guests. Just them and their decision. And it was beautiful in its own way. It was what suited them and their personalities and wants, after all.

But you and Sukuna wanted something different, however. Not necessarily bigger, but shared. You wanted time. The time to plan, to invite everyone you loved, to dance until the floor cracked beneath you.

You wanted him there to argue over cake flavors and sigh at venue tours. You wanted photos in a sun–drenched field and stupid wedding favors no one would keep but you.

But time has not been kind.

“I’m happy for you guys, really.” you say softly, glancing at Hana and Haruki. And you mean it. But your next words are a little quieter. “I just wish we’d had that chance too.”

Hana squeezes your hand. “You will. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you will.”

“Unless Sukuna gets abducted by aliens.” Kenji adds. “Then I’m legally your backup husband.”

Haruki gasps. “Unacceptable. I already wrote my vows.”

Hana raised a brow. “Um, I am right here, as the actual deserving title of wife?”

“Well, if he does show up, I promise you, the wedding would be perfect if I plan it with you.” Haruki says, winking at you.

You snort through the lump in your throat. “Yeah? You're gonna walk me down the aisle too?”

Haruki grins. “In full 1920s suit attire. Ruffles and everything.”

Kenji adds, snickering. “And I’ll build you a hologram of Sukuna to stand in until the real one gets back. Super realistic. Only mildly cursed.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. Really laugh out loud. and it spills out of you in a way that’s raw and grateful and a little watery around the edges. Like your ribs were too tight until now, and something cracked open.

“I just…” You tug the sleeves of your lab coat down over your hands, swallowing the knot in your throat. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard. Being in love with someone whose life is on a global clock.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Hana murmurs, pulling you in closer, her cheek resting against your shoulder. “It’s hard. But not impossible. You and Sukuna are like… built different. You’ve always made it work, even when it sucks. And you know he hates it just as much as you do.”

You nod slowly. “He texted me last night… paragraphs of it. He said if he could, he’d cancel everything. Just to eat instant ramen with me on the couch. No cameras. No schedules. Just us. In our socks. Watching the same dumb reruns we’ve already memorized.”

Hana lets out a soft sigh, like your pain settles into her chest too. “That’s love right there. Instant ramen and reruns.”

“Haruki doesn’t even like instant ramen,” she adds with a pout, throwing a side-eye at her husband, who glances up, blinking in defense.

Haruki frowns. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just make healthy options for us. Gotta keep you from living off potato chips and soda.”

Hana gasps dramatically, clutching her imaginary pearls. “Excuse me, sir, do you know how much junk I sneak when you’re not looking?”

“Yes!” he says, flinging his hands in the air. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about, babe!”

“You say that,” Hana points at him like she’s presenting Exhibit A, “as if you don’t drink an absurd amount of Asahi Dry every night.”

Haruki, affronted, gestures to himself with wide eyes. “That’s my only vice! And it’s cultural!”

“You’re such a hypocrite, aren’t you?” she groans, nudging him with her foot.

Kenji, never one to waste a perfectly chaotic moment, raises his energy drink like he’s toasting at a wedding. “Ah yes. Romantic, romantic ramen. Love brings you together!” he says sagely. “The cornerstone of any healthy relationship.”

You cover your mouth to muffle another laugh. “You guys are idiots.”

“Correct on that, captain.” Kenji says proudly.

“But you’re my idiots, to be sure.” you add, blinking away the dampness in your lashes. 

And for the first time in days, you feel… lighter. Maybe not fixed. Maybe not even okay. But held. In this tiny lab full of solder smoke, caffeine, and nerds with poor sleep schedules, you are loved. And that counts for something. Maybe everything.

You look down at your phone, Sukuna’s texts still sitting there, glowing softly against your palm like a heartbeat. Instant ramen, huh? You think you’ll message him back soon. Maybe you should even leave a voice mail.

Maybe even send him a picture of the lab gang yelling over takeout later.  Let him know you're not alone. Let him know you’re still here. Still his, still waiting for some time to just be together again and love each other again.

You tuck your phone into your pocket, your gentle fingers lingering against it like maybe….Just maybe. You could go on and press hard enough. Maybe, you might let him feel you from wherever in the world he is right now.

Hana gently nudges your side again. “You should text him. Or call, if he’s awake. You’ll feel better.”

You nod, already thinking about it. You’ll do it. After this moment. After sitting in the warmth of people who don’t ask you to be okay before you’re ready to be. “Yeah….I should….”

Kenji spins once on his stool, as if the energy drink has finally hit his bloodstream. “Alright, I’ve made an executive decision. Emergency wedding planning simulation. Just for morale.”

Haruki blinks. “What?”

Kenji claps his hands. “You’re going to hate this, but—boom. Picture this: rooftop wedding. At sunset. Hana officiates. Haruki cries.”

“I don’t cry!” Haruki objects.

“You absolutely do, a lot!” Hana says, smirking. “You sobbed at that ad with the puppy and the blind man.”

“It was emotional!”

Kenji continues like he’s narrating a movie trailer. “Reception at a space museum. Guests get party favors that are actually mini thrusters. There’s a robot bartender. And instead of a first dance, you and Sukuna spike a ceremonial volleyball at a target shaped like all your problems.”

“I can 3D print that target.” Haruki mutters as he opens his tablet. “Give me two days. I can reuse the program from the last rocket thrusters. Just need to edit them to smaller size, of course—”

You throw your head back and laugh again, tears still clinging to your lashes but now glinting with amusement instead of grief. “Stop, stop.” you groan, covering your face. “This is the dumbest thing—”

“—and yet you’re smiling,” Hana sings, pulling you closer. “Which was the point.”

You drop your hands and meet her eyes. “Thanks, everyone.” you whisper. “I’m grateful for all of you.”

Kenji gives you a goofy little salute. “Anything for our favorite overachiever–in–love.”

“You mean resident astrophysicist–in–love, no?” Haruki corrects, tossing a bolt across the table like a mic drop.

You shake your head, heart sore and full. There’s still that ache, that missing piece in your day-to-day rhythm that only Ryomen Sukuna fills. But tonight, for just a little while, it’s dulled by something soft and familiar. Love that stays close, even when your person is far.

Later, maybe after everyone’s gone home or dozed off at their stations, you’ll sneak into the break room and video call Sukuna. He might be in a different timezone, maybe halfway through his physio routine or brushing his teeth in some hotel room you can’t pronounce.

And when he picks up, and sees your face lit up under the sterile break room light, you’ll tell him: "Let’s eat ramen together this weekend. You, me, whatever city you’re in. I’ll bring the pocket Wi-Fi, baby. You bring the cup noodles. I love you."

Because if there’s one thing this moment reminds you, it’s that love like yours doesn’t disappear. It adapts. It lingers. It waits. And finds its way back. Always. Because love wins all in the end. It will always win in the end. 

IT HAS NEVER GOTTEN THIS BAD BEFORE. But now it has and there’s just really no way to stop it. Usually, there was a way to calm himself down. Yet, it's not working right now.

Since you are busy like him and you can’t call him often or spend time with him. Ryomen Sukuna is just as frustrated on the other side of the world. No, maybe not just frustrated. Since his spikes are getting everywhere.

The volleyball slams against the court floor with such vicious precision that it echoes like a gunshot, ricocheting off the walls in a wild blur of movement.

Coaches flinch. Teammates keep their distance. Balls aren’t just being served. It was like they’re being launched like warheads, and everyone knows better than to say anything about it now.

Everyone except Vice Captain Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru stands just beyond the service line, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses still on like he’s at a beachside photo shoot and not inside a national Olympic training gym. His expression is unreadable, but even he knows something’s off.

Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t talk.

He trains. He spikes. He glares. He barely sleeps.

And it’s getting bad. Because he misses you. Because he hasn’t held or seen you in over a month at the very least. Because he hasn’t heard her voice since three time zones ago. And it was obvious to everyone that he was just upset.

His chest is tight. His lungs feel too small. Every part of his body is coiled with an energy that doesn’t know where to go. Except into the ball, into the court, into whatever’s in front of him that isn’t her.

Another spike. Another blur of motion. Another dull ache in his wrist. But that didn’t matter. He doesn’t care about that right now. He cares about being able to air his feelings. And probably hearing your voice later, if you pick up.

“You’re gonna fracture something, Captain!” Satoru finally calls, breaking the silence.

Sukuna says nothing, panting through his nose. He’s drenched in sweat. Muscles straining. Every vein on his arm is a live wire right now. He huffs a breath as he goes on and picks up another ball.

“Y’know, Mr. Lover Boy….” Satoru continues casually as he fixes his jacket. “Most people go for a walk or write sad poetry when they miss their fiancée. You? You look like you’re trying to kill the floor.”

Sukuna turns his back on him, fists clenched, shoulders rigid. “I haven’t seen her in weeks, or spoken to her in days.” he mutters, so low Satoru barely catches it. “Didn’t even get to call last night. I fell asleep with my phone in my hand.”

His voice is rough. Like gravel dragged across asphalt. Like the exhaustion finally caught up to him. But that’s probably how it just is with his schedule.

He’s both in the National Team and in the V.League. Then there’s the training camps and the other stuff like the press. And it’s rinse and repeat, as always.

Satoru sighs and strolls over, dropping down into a squat like a coach babysitting a storm. “That’s rough, really.” he admits to him, still a bit playful. “Real tragic. Definitely calls for alcohol and sad jazz music.”

Sukuna’s jaw ticks. “We’re supposed to be planning our wedding, you know that?” he says after a long pause. “It’s been a year and a half. We haven’t even picked a damn date.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything. He knows better than to offer empty platitudes. “She’s got this new rocket system project. Her team’s finally getting funding, which is good. She deserves it.”

“Hm, you said that the other day.”

Sukuna’s voice is softer now, but bitter–edged. “But every time we try to plan anything….anything and absolutely anything, something comes up. Her lectures. Our training camp. Her research. The World Cup qualifiers. Another damn seminar or match or trip across the globe.”

He exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hate this.”

“I know you do.” Satoru says gently.

“She doesn’t say it, but I know it’s wearing on her too.” Sukuna looks down at his hands. The same hands that have sent balls flying like missiles, the same hands that haven’t been able to hold hers. “I don’t want her to feel like she’s putting everything on pause for me. Or that I’m putting her last.”

Satoru’s expression softens, sunglasses slipping down just enough for his eyes to show. “She wouldn’t stay if she felt that way.”

Sukuna finally meets his gaze. His voice is low, threaded with an ache he rarely lets show. “She’s the only thing I want more than this game.”

And that’s saying something, coming from Ryomen Sukuna, who loved volleyball with everything he was. Whose entire life has been volleyball since he was tall enough to touch the net. But he loved you more. He loved you more than volleyball. You were his life. You were his everything.

Satoru claps a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Then keep wanting her. But don’t burn the rest of your world down in the meantime. You’ll get back to her. Sooner than you think.”

But Sukuna’s heart is elsewhere. With you. Always with you. He dreams of the way you tug at your lab coat sleeves over your hands when you're tired.

The sound of your laugh through the phone when you’ve got your headset still on. The way you’d always try to make time, even when you couldn’t. Even when the world was pulling you in a thousand directions too.

He’d give up all of it in a heartbeat. He knew that. All the fame, the medals, the arenas, if it meant just waking up beside you every morning he has in this life, then he’d give it all up. No alarms. No training. Just you in his arms. Breathing soft against his chest. Home, in its purest form.

But he can’t. Not yet. So he breathes, barely.  And spikes another ball, like it’ll keep his heart from shattering. Sukuna’s next spike hits the far wall so hard it rattles the bleachers. It echoes loud and sharp, like the crack of something breaking. Satoru doesn’t flinch. He sighs, long and theatrical. 

“Well, that’s something.” he mutters, “He’s officially in full sad, long–distance lover mode. Talk–jutsu failed. We’re in phase two: Rage Despair.”

“Is that like a boss level, Gojo–san?” Itadori Yuuji asks, jogging over with a towel slung around his neck. His cheeks are pink from drills, hair stuck to his forehead, sweat still trailing down his temples. “Because he looks like he’s about to go feral.”

“Yuuji–kun.” Satoru turns to him, hands on hips. “It’s time.”

“Time for what?”

Satoru grins, wide and devious. “Operation Cheer–Up–Sukuna–With–Sheer–Stupidity.”

Yuuji blinks. Then lights up like a puppy who just got the go-ahead to fetch. “YES.”

Before anyone can stop him, Itadori Yuuji barrels toward Captain Ryomen Sukuna like a human golden retriever missile, arms open for a completely uninvited hug. Sukuna glared at him as he saw him coming towards him.

“RYOMEN SUKUNAAAAAA!” he yells mid-run. “YOUR SOULMATE WOULD WANT YOU TO SMILE!!!”

Sukuna turns just as Yuuji launches at him. His first instinct is to side-step and deck him. His second instinct is still to deck him. But he hesitates just long enough for Yuuji to latch on, full koala-style, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs bracing like he’s riding a moving train.

“You smell like rage and heartbreak!” Yuuji wheezes against his chest. “Let it out, Captain!”

“I will kill you, Itadori!” Sukuna growls, trying to shake him off. “You best be fucking ready to do dive serves, you punk!”

“You need love!” Yuuji cries.

At the same time, Satoru pulls out a Bluetooth speaker from absolutely nowhere, presses play — and suddenly “Hopelessly Devoted to You” from Grease begins blaring through the gym. All the staff and coaching team were either about to laugh or disappointed. The rest of the team looks like they were used to this. 

“Oi, are you actually serious right now?” Fushiguro Megumi barks from the sideline, dropping his water bottle.

Nanami Kento walks in from the hallway, pauses at the doorway, and squints at the scene. Ryomen Sukuna dragging Itadori Yuuji across the court like a furious god with a clingy barnacle.

Gojo Satoru dramatically sings into a protein shaker. The ridiculously loud Grease soundtrack echoing like it’s karaoke night in hell. It was just not something that anyone can see everyday. And yet, this was the normal of the Japan National Volleyball Team.

“No, no.” Nanami says flatly, “No. Absolutely not.”

He marches toward the chaos with his usual calm menace. “Itadori–kun, get off him. Satoru, turn that off. This is a place of discipline. Not a high school musical.”

“Aw, come on, man!” Satoru whines back at them.“It’s a classic!”

“Sukuna doesn’t need musical numbers, Vice–Captain.” Megumi deadpans as he drags Yuuji off the fuming captain. “He needs peace and a phone call with his fiancée, probably followed by a ten–hour nap too.”

Yuuji flails dramatically in Megumi’s grip. “He needs love! Let the man feel things!”

“I am feeling things, you punks!” Sukuna growls, voice low and dangerous. “Like the urge to end your entire career.”

“You see?” Nanami says out loud. “This is what happens when you let emotions run unchecked. He needs focus. Structure. Calm.”

Sukuna, despite himself, lets out a sharp breath. Almost a laugh. Almost. “I need her, right now.” he mutters instead, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. “That’s it.”

Everyone goes quiet for a beat.

Megumi, releasing Yuuji with a shove, glances at him sidelong. “Then call her.”

Satoru grins. “Yeah. Do that. And then I’ll serenade her on speakerphone so she remembers how charming we are.”

“Try it, Gojo. I’m telling you it will not end well.” Sukuna mutters, grabbing his towel. “See how fast I put you through a wall.”

But there’s less venom in his voice now. And maybe, just maybe…. a flicker of peace behind his eyes. Because even halfway across the world, in a gym where every breath feels like a battle, he can still hear her voice in his head. And maybe, if he hurries through the cooldown, he’ll get to hear the real thing.

Sukuna sits on the bench, finally. Shoulders hunched, towel draped over his head like a ghost of defeat. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers threading into his hair as he exhales sharp through his nose.

He’s not broken, he knows he’s not. But god, he’s tired. Of the distance. Of the ache. Of pretending it doesn’t chip away at him every day.

Megumi hands him a water bottle without a word. It’s cold. Reliable. Exactly what you’d expect from him. Sukuna takes it, mutters, “Thanks.”

Nearby, Yuuji’s still pouting on the floor with a bruise forming where Sukuna elbowed him. “I was trying to be supportive, you know!” he mumbles. “Hugs are powerful.”

“They are, Itadori. We know.” Megumi replies blandly. “But not when they come from a hyperactive golden retriever on suicide watch.”

Yuuji gasps. “I am a comfort animal, I’ll have you know.”

“More like a feral street dog, with Gojo around.” Nanami mutters, adjusting his glasses as he heads toward the exit. “You two make it too much when you’re together.”

Satoru lounges next to Sukuna now, tossing a volleyball from hand to hand like the whole near–homicide was just another Tuesday. “You know…..” he says casually at you. “You could surprise her. Hop a flight, spend a day with her before qualifiers start. No press, no entourage, no distractions. Just you and the astrophysicist hottie of your dreams.”

Sukuna gives him a side–eye like he’s grown a second head. “You do know how training schedules work, right?”

Satoru shrugs. “Yeah. But I also know how you work. If you don’t see her soon, you’re gonna combust and take the rest of us with you. God help us, we might even lose a game and miss international spots if this keeps up.”

“He’s not wrong, Captain. Stupid as he is.” Megumi adds, already back to stretching. “You’re like a ticking emotional bomb right now.”

“I could forge some documents, you know.” Yuuji pipes up from the floor. “Like a fake conference about biomechanics in volleyball and propulsion—”

“Absolutely not.” Nanami cuts in from across the court without even looking back. “We’re not being fined by the FIVB because of that, Itadori–kun.”

“But come on!”

“We’re abiding by propriety. No other words.”

Sukuna’s quiet now. Still. Because the idea’s in his head. You’re probably in her lab right now, probably up to your ears in data and test simulations. Probably hasn’t eaten since noon. Probably sipping cold coffee because you’re too focused to remember it’s there. 

You’ll have a blanket wrapped around her shoulders even with the heater on, hair in a bun you forgot to redo, typing with that deep furrow in your brows you always get when you’re close to a breakthrough.

God, he wants to see you. He wants to hear you mumble something scientific he won’t understand and then laugh when he repeats it wrong. He wants to lean against your chair, press a kiss to your temple and feel the tension in your shoulders melt. He wants to hold your hand. Fall asleep beside you all day in your comfortable bed, for once.

He stands. “Where are you going?” Satoru asks, though there’s a smirk forming already.

“To shower, you punks.” Sukuna mutters, already walking. “Then maybe check flights.”

Yuuji gasps. “IS THIS A ROM–COM AIRPORT MONTAGE IN THE MAKING?”

Sukuna points at him without turning. “You say one more word and I’m dumping you in baggage claim.”

“Don’t worry, you can come back in two days, one day at most.” Gojo Satoru says with a beaming smile. “We can say you needed the break. So, don’t worry too much. Plus, I’m sure Yuuji–kun here can cover your spikes while you’re out.”

“I’d be honored to do it in the name of love, Captain, Vice–Captain!” Yuuji beams at them, blush echoing in his face. “Let’s go, Fushiguro! I need to practice some spikes!”

“Itadori, wait! Fuck, you’re shoe laces are untied!”

For some reason, he didn’t hear that. What mattered to him right now was that his heart already feels lighter. And somewhere, even across time zones and orbit paths and Olympic demands, you’ll be surely feeling that too.

Steam still clings to his skin when Ryomen Sukuna steps out of the shower, towel slung low around his waist, hair wet and dripping onto the tile.

The exhaustion that weighed heavy on his shoulders during practice hasn’t disappeared, not completely, but it’s dulled now. It has softened at the edges like an ache he can almost bear.

He rubs the towel over his hair, muscles tense and jaw tight, still debating whether he should risk flying out or at least try to call again. And then his phone buzzes on the sink counter.

He doesn’t even bother drying his hands, just grabs it, breathless with the kind of hope that still manages to knock the air out of him.

It’s from you.

🧪🌌: “Just made instant ramen. No one to eat it with. Kinda dramatic of the universe, don’t you think?”

He stares at the screen. And for a long, quiet moment, his heart actually hurts. Not in the dramatic, movie-score way. In the real, gritty. It was like the ‘I’d give up gold medals and glory if it meant I could teleport into your kitchen right now’ kind of way.

Another buzz.

🧪🌌: “Don’t worry, I made two bowls. Yours is getting cold.”

He sinks down onto the bench, towel around his neck now, water still dripping down his back. For a man who could crush a ball at 130 km/h, his hands are shaking. It always is like that when it comes to you. 

👹: “I’ll eat it. Even if it’s cold.”

👹: “Save it for me.”

He stares at the screen for a second, then types again. This time slower, like the words are peeled straight from the ache inside his chest. In this moment, he feels like he could breathe again, even just a little bit.

👹: “I miss you so bad it’s leaking into my game. Satoru played Grease in the gym to cheer me up. It was terrible, babe.”

Your reply is instant.

🧪🌌: “Please tell me it was ‘Hopelessly Devoted.’”

👹: “Of course it was.”

🧪🌌: “God. I love that man.”

He lets out a laugh, short, breathy, wet with something he won’t name. He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at your texts like they’re the only thing grounding him to earth right now. He smiles as he types his next words.

👹: “I’ve got a window. A short one. I can maybe fly out tomorrow. Just for a day or two, babe.”

There’s a pause. You were taking your time to reply to him once again. He stares at the screen, every second dragging like an eternity until the typing bubble finally appears. He blinks at your reply.

 🧪🌌: “Come home, Ryomen Sukuna. Even just for a couple hours. Let me kiss you and love you. Please.”

He lets the phone drop onto the bench beside him, chest rising with something like relief, something like need. And then he stands. He felt renewed, unstoppable. It was like nothing could hold him down now that you're waiting with ramen in hand and love in your voice.

Because cold noodles and long-distance calls weren’t meant to be the shape of your future. You were. And he was going to get on the next flight home. Even if it was just to eat that cold bowl of ramen while holding your hand under the dim kitchen light.

YOU RUSHED AS SOON AS YOU GOT HIS TEXT. You barely told your lab mates where you were going. Just a rushed sentence was left in a haste: “Cover for me, I have to pick up my fiancé.”

And then you were out the door, heart pounding like a reactor core, goggles still pushed up on your head, lab coat half off one shoulder. You could feel everything in you alive for the first time in weeks.

Hana yelled something like “GO MARRY HIM ALREADY!!!” as you ran down the hallway, and you think you heard Kenji dramatically play wedding bells through his phone speaker. You didn’t care.

Not when you were already halfway to the airport, biting down the grin on your face like it might escape and take flight without you. And then you see him. He didn’t pack much. He just brought his so little with him. He had to leave in two days, after all.

Through the arrival gates, in sweats and a hoodie and still somehow the most magnetic thing in the entire terminal. Ryomen Sukuna, Olympic volleyball menace, shoulders hunched under the weight of sleep deprivation and a duffle bag, eyes locked on you like a man who’s been starved for years.

You drop your bag. He drops his. And when you run, you run. Straight into his arms, into the kind of kiss that knocks all the loneliness out of your lungs. You felt laughter bellow through your body, with him following.

“Hey, my love.” you murmur against his mouth. “You’re real.”

“I’d say pinch me, but I’ve been doing that all flight.” he mumbles into your hair. “You saved me some ramen?”

“Half of it.”

“Liar.”

You grin. “Okay, none of it.”

He laughs into your neck, voice low and raw, and holds you tighter like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored to this planet. And then, while you’re still pressed into his chest, flushed and breathless and so deeply in love it almost hurts, you murmur it.

“Let’s get married.”

He stills. Pulls back just enough to look at you. You meet his gaze, steady and sure, eyes bright even in the cold artificial airport light. “Not next month. Not next season. Not when everything settles. Now.”

His brows raise slightly. “Like… now now?”

You nod. “I don’t care if I’m in my lab clothes and you’re in flip-flops. I just want to be your wife already. We can do the big wedding later, during the off-season, when your training calms down. When I’m not deep in grant applications or papers. But right now, I just…” you breathe, “I want to marry you. Today.”

For a second, he just stares at you.

And then, he grins.

Big. Wide. Unbelieving.

“You really mean that?”

“Dead serious.”

He tilts his head. “Babe, you are so lucky I look this good in sweatpants.”

You laugh, swat his chest, then tug him closer with fingers curled in his hoodie. “So, my love? Is that a yes?”

“Hell yes, babe.” he says, already pulling out his phone. “Let’s find the fastest courthouse and the slowest cab.”

And just like that, as the world rushes by in blurry foot traffic and airport announcements, you and Ryomen Sukuna make a decision that was never really a question. You’re getting married. Right now. No frills. No formalities. Just love, loud and impulsive and completely yours.

You ended up in a government office less than two hours later, still in your lab coat, with Ryomen Sukuna beside you in his travel hoodie and scuffed–up sneakers.

Both of you were flushed with adrenaline, sleep-deprived, and radiating that wild, half–delirious joy that only comes when two people finally give in to the gravity between them.

It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense. The walls were horribly beige. The seats were squeaky and plastic. A toddler was crying somewhere in the background and the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, like a glitch in a simulation.

But your beloved Sukuna was holding your hand.

And that was all that mattered.

This was all you could ever want.

He kept sneaking glances at you while you filled out the paperwork, like he still couldn’t believe this was happening. Like at any second, you’d change your mind and vanish back into the lab, sucked up by equations and theories and spaceflight mechanisms.

But you didn’t. You squeezed his hand instead. “Are you sure about this?” he whispered, voice hoarse from flying and feeling too much.

You turned toward him, eyes glassy but steady. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, my love.”

His throat worked around a quiet swallow. Then: “I love you too.”

You signed your names.

Handed over your IDs.

And when the officiant finally called you up and asked, “Do you take each other—” you didn’t even wait for the full sentence. Your yeses overlapped, rushed and breathless, like neither of you could wait another second.

There were no rings. No music. No fancy outfits or curated vows. Just the sound of your heart thudding in your chest and the feeling of Sukuna’s hand trembling ever so slightly as he slid a makeshift band, his silver thumb ring, onto your finger until you got something more permanent.

It was messy. It was spontaneous.

It was perfect.

You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Afterward, he kissed you outside the courthouse under gray city clouds, holding your cheeks in his hands like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. You were just laughing, happily against the tenderness of his warm skin.

“We’re married, my love.” you said, stunned.

“We’re married.” he echoed, forehead resting against yours, breath caught between laughter and awe. “Wow.”

You ended up eating convenience store ramen in the backseat of a rideshare, legs tangled together, laughing with your mouths full like you were teenagers again. You fed him from your cup. He pretended not to burn his tongue. 

And when he leaned back and looked at you, really looked at you. It wasn’t the Olympic athlete who stared at you. It was Ryomen Sukuna. Your husband. The one you knew was the love of your life. Your beloved one and only.

“Okay, okay.” he said, mouth tugging up in that crooked grin. “Big wedding after the league. Deal?”

You nodded, cheeks hot and full of stars. “Yeah. With a venue and guests and upgraded rings this time.”

“And cake.”

“And fireworks.”

“And you in a real dress this time.”

You reached for another bite of ramen and grinned. “I dunno. You kinda like the lab coat.”

He groaned, collapsing dramatically into the seat. “God, I married a nerd.”

You turned toward him, your heart finally quiet, finally full. 

“Yeah.” you said. “You did.”

He laughs for a moment. When he calms down, he finds himself leaning close to you and kisses you with all his heart. This time as your husband, right there in a cab filled with instant noodles and laughter and the quiet, steady hum of forever.

IT WAS INSANE. The crowd is deafening. The overseas lights are blinding, white-hot and cinematic as the announcer calls Ryomen Sukuna’s name and the stadium roars like it’s shaking the foundation of the earth. 

He walks out of the tunnel with his signature swagger, jaw tight, warm-up jacket half-zipped, the captain’s patch sharp against his arm. He’s calm. Focused. Unshakeable. More than usual. Something’s different. Very different.

The people in the crowd began to notice it before the cameras did. Before the commentators do. Before even Vice Captain Gojo Satoru, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a lollipop between his teeth, leans forward slightly and mutters with a grin. “Oh, look at that.”

It’s small. Just a glint.

But unmistakable.

It was a bright shining ring.

Plain, silver, worn on his left hand.

For a second, the crowd is silent. It’s like the whole stadium collectively holds its breath, squinting as Ryomen Sukuna stretches out his fingers, flexing them as he preps his stance. There it is again. It was a shimmer of metal against calloused skin, just below his knuckles.

“Is that…?” someone whispers from the VIP box.

“No way fucking way—"

The commentator nearly chokes on his mic. “Wait—wait, do we have confirmation that that’s—?”

He doesn’t say it. But everyone’s thinking the same thing. Ryomen Sukuna was married. And as he takes his place by the net, tossing the ball with deadly precision, his eyes flick up, not at the court, not at the crowd but at you.

Seated just behind the bench in a crisp jacket, your hair pinned back lazily, badge still clipped to your belt like you came here straight from the lab. Which, in a way, you did.

You flew in two hours before the match started, thanks to a miraculous two–day leave and Haruki nearly forging an emergency form just to make it happen.

Ryomen Sukuna catches your bright eyes and grins, subtle but real. Then, as casually as if it were part of his routine, he walks toward you during warmups, slipping the ring from his finger. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t explain. 

He just approaches the barrier separating the court from the sidelines, hand outstretched. You stand up, breath caught in your throat. And when he places the ring in your palm, his fingers linger over yours like a promise.

“Hold this for me, yeah?” he murmurs low, so only you can hear.

You nod, fingers curling around the warmth of his wedding band. “Always.”

He smirks. “If I lose this match, it’s your fault.”

You smile, teasing, “If you win, I get the credit.”

“Deal, babe.” he breathes, leaning in close just enough to brush his forehead to yours. “....My wife.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Go do your thing, my love. My husband.”

And then he’s gone, with a grin that could never be wiped from his face ever again. 

Back on the court. Back in his element. The game starts, and it’s brutal. Fast. Electric. Ryomen Sukuna spikes like he’s got fire in his veins and gravity’s got nothing on him. Every serve is a message. Every point, a love letter sent from across oceans and time zones.

But that ring, that ring is safe with you. Pressed to your heart, warm in your hand like the echo of his pulse. And every time he scores, every time the crowd loses its mind over the King of the Court.

Your husband giddily glances at you, just for a second. Because the whole world might be watching him now, but he only ever plays for one. And you know who it was.

The final whistle blows, and the stadium erupts. The crowd is a storm of cheers, roars, and flashing lights, but amidst it all, the most intense sound Sukuna hears is the pounding of his own heart.

The adrenaline is still rushing through him, every muscle humming with energy as he pulls off his jersey and throws it to the side. He’s sweaty, bruised, and panting but the grin on his face says everything.

They’ve won. They’re in the semi–finals of the World Cup. He stands at the edge of the court, fists raised to the sky, basking in the electric atmosphere. His team is all around him, celebrating, high–fives and back slaps, but Sukuna’s eyes? 

They’re already searching for you. He doesn’t need to look long. You’re there, right in the front row of the stands, looking at him with that warm, steady gaze that’s always been his home.

His heart shifts. The crowd might be screaming his name, but there’s only one person he’s looking at. A reporter catches his attention as they move in for the first interview.

“Sukuna, congratulations on the victory! Amazing performance tonight! You’ve led your team into the semi-finals — how does that feel?” the interviewer asks, microphone outstretched, camera flashing.

He grins again, though it’s different this time. Not the typical cocky. ‘I’m untouchable’ grin. This one’s softer. Real.

“Feels like we’re one step closer to the real prize.” he answers, voice cool, collected. “But you know…” He pauses, glancing over at the crowd, catching your eye again. “It’s always worth more when the right person is watching.”

The interviewer blinks, confused, and the camera operator swivels to follow his line of sight. “Ah….” the interviewer says with a raised brow. “Is that—? That’s your wife?”

Sukuna’s smirk returns, a devilish edge creeping back into it. He nods, a single motion that sends the reporters scrambling to adjust. The camera zooms in on you as you wave back at him, smiling.

Your hand still holding his ring like a token, your face a picture of pride. In that same hand, your own wedding band was present with your engagement ring.

“That’s her, everyone.” he says, the words surprisingly quiet, but they carry more weight than the roar of the stadium. “I promised her I’d be back for her ramen. So I did come back.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, then the crowd catches on. Laughter and gasps ripple through the reporters, murmurs and shock sweeping through the air. Sukuna, the ever–intense, world-renowned athlete, has just casually dropped that he’s married.

“You’re married?” the interviewer asks, genuinely taken aback. “Since when? How did we miss that?”

Sukuna shrugs nonchalantly, “Two days ago. A bit spontaneous, but when you know, you know.” He’s almost too cool about it, though there’s a softness to his voice that gives away how much it really means to him. “This game… this whole journey? The merry go round of life, of everything, doesn’t matter without her.”

The crowd’s whispers grow louder. “And the ring?” the reporter asks, now genuinely curious. “Why wear it in the match? You took it off before the main bout, but you still wore it. Why?”

“I wear it because she holds the game for me,” he says quietly, though the words carry in the microphone, clear and true. “She’s my anchor. Keeps me grounded, keeps me sane. So yeah, I’ll wear it every time I step onto this court. She’s got my back. Always.”

The camera pans to you in the crowd once more, this time catching your reaction. You blushed hard, clearly overwhelmed by the attention, but you hold up his ring in your hand like a silent promise.

Sukuna catches your gaze again and, for just a moment, the world quiets down. The noise of the stadium, the flashing cameras, the cheers of the fans. Everything fades. It’s just him. And you. The way it’s always been. And then the interview continues, but his focus is only on you.

When it’s finally over, and he’s walking off the court, his teammates high-fiving him and calling out congratulations, he spots you at the exits to the back stage rooms.

You’re already standing, pushing through the crowd, and he’s there in an instant, his steps purposeful and quick. He’s still sweating from the match, still in his jersey, but nothing’s more important right now than getting to you.

You barely have time to meet him halfway before he’s pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing against your temple, his breath fast and heated, still catching up with the victory and the emotions all swirling around him.

“We’re in the semi-finals, wife of mine.” he whispers, grinning. “It’s gonna be amazing!”

You smile, gazing up at him. “And I’m so proud of you.”

“You better be, babe.” he says, his tone playful but genuine, eyes sparkling. “Next stop, finals. Then we’ll get that celebration.”

You laugh, bright eyes softening as you glance at the ring still safely cradled in your palm. “And then we can plan our real wedding. Just the way we want it.”

Sukuna leans in, pressing his forehead against yours for a brief, quiet moment. “I think the ‘real wedding’ has already started, don’t you think?”

You nod, your fingers curling around his hand, where the ring once rested. It’s just the beginning. The semi-finals are just a step on the way. But you and him? You’re already winners. And that, above all else, is the prize.

epilogue 

The day the statement went live, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. It was carefully calculated, perfectly timed. The World Cup season had come to a close, and the volleyball world was already moving on to the next tournament, the next match. 

But for Ryomen Sukuna and you, it was a different story. You both knew that the media storm was coming. The moment was too significant to let slip by.

So, you’d crafted a statement and not just a post, but something real. Something that would speak to everyone about the choices you’d made, the life you were choosing to live together.

It had taken a little longer than expected. Between the match finals and the whirlwind of excitement after Sukuna’s performance, you both finally found a quiet moment to put it together. The statement would go live at the same time, both on your accounts — a simultaneous declaration that would make waves.

[ Sukuna's Instagram Post : ]

The caption was simple, a few words that carried so much weight. He posted it with a picture of the two of you from the day after the World Cup finals.

The two of you standing side by side, laughing, relaxed, far from the intensity of the courts and the public eye. Your smile was soft, his grin was wild and carefree.

“Hello, this is the Japan National Volleyball Team Captain, Ryomen Sukuna.

For the past several years, my life has been defined by training, by competition, and by a relentless drive to be the best.

But none of that means anything without the people who support you. Without the person who truly makes the journey worth it. 

My incredible and loving wife, who’s been my backbone, my partner, and my everything for almost all of our lives.

Today, I’m announcing the effectivity of my break from the Volleyball field in order to have some adequate rest and focus on my personal life.

A break from the national team, from the spotlight, and from the game I love, to focus on what truly matters — her and us. Our marriage. And of course, our beloved dog.

I’ll be back, stronger than ever. But for now, I’m going to be the husband I promised to be all those years ago.

Thank you for all your support, not only for me but also for my beloved wife. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for respecting this decision.”

[ Your Instagram Post : ]

You followed the post up almost immediately, a little more formal, but still deeply personal. The photo you chose was one taken earlier that morning, the two of you wrapped up in each other’s arms.

You both were leaning against the window in your shared apartment. The light from the early morning sun illuminated both of your faces, your eyes soft, your hearts content in each other’s company.

“Hello, this is astrophysicist of the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan, Ryomen [name].

After supporting my husband at the World Cup, it became more than clear that my work, my research, and everything else I’ve dedicated my life to doesn’t matter nearly as much as the person standing next to me.

I’ve spent countless hours in the lab, in meetings, in papers, all for the sake of progress. Doing what I can for our country and continuing my passions.

But today, I’m choosing progress of a different kind in my life. Ryomen Sukuna, my husband, my partner, the love of my life, have decided that we deserve some time for us to build something beautiful with this time.

I will be stepping away from my research and academic work for the foreseeable future to focus on resting and enjoying the beginning of our beautiful marriage.

This is a break I’ve been waiting for, and one I’m so grateful to take. Thank you for supporting me in this decision.”

As soon as you both posted, the world’s attention shifted. The responses came flooding in, and it didn’t take long for the media to catch up to the news. Headlines erupted from every corner of the internet.

“Olympic Star Ryomen Sukuna Steps Away From National Team for Personal Time”

“Breaking: Award–Winning Astrophysicist Ryomen [name] Takes Hiatus to Focus on Marriage” 

“Ryomen Sukuna and Ryomen [name]: Power Couple Taking a Break from Their Respective Careers”

It was unprecedented. No one had expected it. No one had ever seen athletes or academics alike step away from their careers at the peak of their success, especially after such a massive season.

Fans were stunned, others were supportive, and some were even more curious than ever about the couple who had kept their relationship so private, so guarded, up until now.

And then the follow–up began. Interviews with close friends and teammates started popping up. The bright eyed Gojo Satoru, ever the wise and eccentric vice–captain, was the first to speak out about the happy news.

“I can’t blame him. The man’s been running on fumes for years. And [name]? She’s been working like a machine, too. It’s about time they take a breath, enjoy life a little. I told him after the finals to take a damn break, and I’m glad our beloved Captain finally listened!” Gojo Satoru laughed in an interview with a sports outlet.

“Yeah, everyone’s talking about how he’s taking a break from the sport, but… he’s been juggling this whole marriage thing for a while.” Itadori Yuuji added when he was asked by a local news outlet. “He’s been way more chill lately. I think it’s the wife effect. Everyone needs balance in their life.”

Meanwhile when the Astrophysics department of the NAOJ were interviewed about this situation at a recent project you had finished together by the press, Keiji was the one who stepped in and spoke for everyone.

"It's important that Ryomen–sensei gets some time to just enjoy being married right now." Keiji smiled, leaning into the microphone. "Ryomen–sensei's worked incredibly for the past few years without any break whatsoever. This is the only time she's asked. Someone with such incredible contributions to the field like herself should get the chance to just relax too. Congratulations to Ryomen–sensei and her husband!"

Hana sent you a message in the middle of all the press: “You two are seriously the most chaotic but adorable couple ever. You deserve this break more than anyone I know. Have fun with it! You earned it. Me, Haruki and Keiji are cheering you on!”

The reporters were relentless, asking about future plans. Was Sukuna leaving for good? Would you ever return to the lab full–time? But you and Sukuna, in your quiet way, just smiled at the chaos from your apartment, reading the headlines side by side.

It wasn’t about what the world expected. It wasn’t about making any more headlines. It was about what you both had decided. To take the time to truly be together.

A few days later, as the media storm began to settle, Sukuna took your hand as you sat together on the couch, flipping through TV channels.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and whispered, “You know, babe, we’ve got all the time in the world now. So... when should we take our honeymoon?”

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair. “When you’re ready to let the press calm down a bit. I think we’ve given them enough for now.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, my lovely wife.” He smirked, his scarlet eyes glinting mischievously. “I’m just happy to spend everyday with you.”

And in that moment, as the world calmed down around you, you realized that this was the true victory. It was not the World Cup, not the research papers, not the games or the acclaim. It was simply being together. And for the first time in a long while, you felt at peace.

You looked up at Sukuna, catching his gaze. “Let’s take it one day at a time. Together, my love.”

He smiled, leaning in for a kiss. “Deal, wife. Let’s take it all in.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was exactly where it should be.

[lunarfleur]

how aboutttt something with katsuki and him doing acts of service as his love language ?

Acts Of Service Bf Katsuki

Warnings: Mention of mental health! Not proofread!

A/N: Katsuki Bakugo they could never make me hate you

GN reader

Bro is NOT going to be lovey dovey and call you teddy bear.

And you’re most likely in the hero course because I can’t see him with someone who’s not.

Katsuki is emotionally constipated, so affection is rare

Most people don’t realize you guys are dating, actually

You just have to learn to read between the lines!

More than most things, he cares about his diet.

He skips out on “sometimes foods”, as he calls them, and prefers foods that are high in protein

He’s typically the one who makes your guys’ food and always makes things that are good for you

He doesn’t necessarily control what you eat, but a lot of his food is added into your diet so!

He’ll make you tea over coffee, and is always reminding you to drink water!

But aside from food, he normally does things that just makes your life more comfortable.

He’ll tidy up your shelves or fold laundry you haven’t gotten to (he’ll scold you for letting your room get messy because he’s a bit of a neat freak)

He’ll change your sheets or refill your water bottle

He irons your school uniform for you!!

And also just the tiniest things like untangling your headphone wires (if your have them) or charging your phone when it gets low

If you tease him about it, he’ll just tell you he’s doing you a favor (because he is)

Which is also why he’s good at dealing with bad mental health

He knows. Better than anyone.

So he never lets it get bad

When times are hardest for you, he goes out of his way a little more.

He’ll clean up the big messes he normally lets you take care of in order to prevent a depression room (he knows it can be overwhelming)

He’ll create a copy of the notes from your classes for you in case you didn’t feel like it

And even though he knows you might hate it, he always has you up at a decent time

On school days, it’s so you have enough time to get ready and eat (looking good can help you feel good)

On weekends it’s to go on runs and/or train

And if you complain?

“I’m doing you a favor.”

He really is.

[libbyfandom]

Mizu Touch-Starved Head-canons

The way this women is probably so touch starved yet emotionally constipated. She just wants to touch you, but I think she’d rather get into another fight with an army than admit that.

You feel your braid shifting on your collarbone and you startle, your face jerking down as you instinctively take a half step back. You see familiar, slim fingers rubbing the end tail between fingers. Your eyes trail up the arm to see Mizu’s gaze on where she’s holding your hair. Blue eyes meet yours over the rim of her glasses. Her expression is unreadable, face blank. She turns and continues down the path, unaware of how your heart is beating faster at how she just… helped herself to touching you more intimately.

Mizu will grab your wrist to lead you through crowded streets filled with merchants and locals so you don’t get lost. Over time and instances her grip ends up lower and lower until she’s leading you around with your hand in hers. You ask why she doesn’t do this to Ringo, he’s the one more likely to run off. She tells you she’ll just listen for the bell, and dryly asks if you’re trying to get one too.

She walks so close her shoulder constantly brushes up against yours. You try to sidestep to widen the gap to prevent accidentally stepping on her foot. She always sways closer immediately, fast enough you start to realize it’s on purpose.

Brushing of shoulders turns into brushing of hands, and hers twitch each time like they do when they’re ready to rip her sword out and cut down her enemies. But they twitch closer to your fingers than to the sheath.

Brushing also turns into leaning. In the inns, next to the campfire, when she’s stitching herself up. Her weight leans into you and you in turn lean back to keep her upright. Her eyes flick toward you, glancing out of the corner, before going back to her needle.

When guards come through the inns looking for the onryo rumored to have swept into town, her head tilts down, using her kasa to conceal her face. She definitely did not need to also tilt it to the side to the point that you can feel her warm breath tickle your neck. Goosebumps rise on your skin, hand spasming at the sensation. Your opposite hand comes up to rub at the raised skin, and you hear a huff of amusement. Cool fingertips press against your neck, the lightest touch, before her hand is back at her side. Only Ringo catches her fist clenching, and then forcibly unclench before you can see.

[sukunas-wife]

the Dadkuna series is great!!! Sukuna isn’t my main character that I like in jjk but this series has me SAT and WAITING for the next upload! I’ve always wondered though what momkuna and dadkuna’s relationship dynamic is. We get that sort of in how they met but what about when their relationship is established? I get the sense that obviously dadkuna would quite literally do anything for her but what exactly goes through his mind when he thinks about her?

Oh? Guess whose back 😎🤧

Me- I’m sickly too 🤭 but! The blog is picking up 🥺 and I’ve been working on this for a good time so here you go 🤍🤍🤍

(Indentions are thoughts, things he didn’t actively say out loud 🥺🤍)

Lord Ryomen Sukuna, though emotionally stunted and constipated, loves his wife. Would level cities and kill men easily if she didn’t have such a strong hold in him.

But he’s a misogynist at heart to an extent. He wants you at home with his kids being his cute little wife that he knows he can always come home to. It was your overwhelming passion for helping women who couldn’t bear children that convinced him he could let you live your life, as long as he knew he had people there to look over you when he couldn’t.

He appreciates the fact that when he’s tired, covered in blood that’s not his own, and carrying the exhaustion of his war ridden day, there you are rushing to him when he enters his temple. Disregarding your fine silk robes and the blood partly way on his body. The way you cling to him, always so happy and relieved to see him come home.

The first time he came home after being gone for so long, he remembers how you cried and held on to him, your anguished filled cries when you cried about how you thought he was never coming back, how you were scared he’d left you alone. He remembers how his hands found your waits holding you a bit away, another hand coming to cup your face, thumb wiping away your tears when he looked at you with tired eyes, “It would take the militia of this land's greatest sorcerers to even consider preventing my way back to your embrace.” Your teary eyes softened before you buried your face in his chest again hugging him and clinging to him.

He longed for that feeling of your embrace whenever he would leave you behind, he could deny it but on his way home to you, his heart ached and longed to feel your embrace and hear your praises of how he had returned. You cried no more because you were filled with that confidence he would always return.

——————

He’s a traditional man with his one form of values, not once did he long for sexual pleasure or was he consumed with lust. Misery, pain and the screams of his victims fueled him and filled him with an immense pleasure no woman’s body could ever possibly offer him.

They were all the same, sultry, scandalous, attention seeking harlots, prostitutes and women. Thinking they could better their lives if they could slip into his bed. They were wrong, every woman who he allowed to enter his bed chamber under these pretences had walked in with starry eyes and ambition. Only to cry and scream for their life while he slowly dug his nails into their flesh tearing them all apart, slowly and agonisingly. That was until he saw you that one day, any girl of age would’ve started to present themselves to him in shy or subtle ways hoping to catch his eyes. There you were kneeling out of respect in his presence, scared you had offended your lord.

‘Oh? Is this little morsel afraid?’ Fear filled and humbling yourself before him. You couldn’t look at him, there wasn’t an ounce of “I want to sleep with this man.” And yet these feelings caused a sentiment in the depths of his chest, something stirred inside him, you head captured his interest (non sexual at this point). ‘Hmm?, this will be a fine pet to break.’

You were a phenomenon in the temple, one he wanted to study, to take into his clawed hands and mould, twist, stretch and push to the edge and then just over the point of breaking to see what would become of you. Yet, once he had you in hands reach, once you were close enough for him to graze your skin with his nails… he didn’t treat you like a common daisy or water Lilly, no he took you into his hands like a Lotus floating on the water's surface. Making elegant work and taking care of your delicate bloom. You would be his delicate lotus that no one else would ever take the joy in having.

——————

“My gratifying queen, My delicate lotus, My benevolent wife.” Words he doesn’t speak so freely, he whispers them against your skin whenever you’d sleep by his side.

Delicate words and honeyed names had never once crossed his mind in his existence. Yet here he was, allowing himself to indulge in the smallest amount of vulnerability with these words. The press of his feverish kisses against your neck and cheeks between every word.

‘My little beloved pet, so tired, sleeping away the wares of today. How could something so small and insignificant like you cause this shift in my existence hm?’

The back of his hand brushing hair away from your face, nails grazing the side of your face lightly, he held you in his embrace watching you. Two arms securely around you, one supporting his head, the other kept grazing your skin. You’d stir in your sleep when he shifted slightly away from you to lay on his back. You’d become so used to his body heat even on the hottest days you’d search him out half awake.

‘My little lotus,’ he closed the space between you, pulling you into his side again, ‘rest your weary head without worries of tomorrow, I’m here to hold you now.’

He wouldn’t admit it, he didn’t even know it at that moment, but he was absolutely smitten with you in ways he had yet to comprehend. But it showed in his subconscious movements. A hand on your lower back or waist guiding you, knowing you’re close and safe.

Bringing home little jewels and trinkets he’d usually never spare a second glance . That is until a stone sparkles in the light of his flames and he stops briefly to take a close look.

My queen would look Devine with these adorning her neck. These stones would make fine pieces for my wife.

It was a shock when he came home one night waking you when he sat on the bed. You sat up sleepily while he handed you a bag of precious stones and jewels telling you he had brought you a gift, a free hand of his brushing your hair back and bringing you closer by the back of your head so he could kiss your lips.

——————

It was your wedding, there you were standing beside him in the Ceremonial Robes. You stood on his right, his eyes looking down at you.

Hmm, What an enticing display, to have my little pet dressed up so exquisitely for all to see and admire.

Even more enticing to know soon you’ll be round with my child, what an ethereal sight you will be laid out in silk robes and swollen carrying my legacy

My delicate little lotus, my malevolent queen, my gratifying and honourable wife. Perhaps these thoughts never be spoken aloud with heavy sentiment. But I vow myself to you in this instant, that I will do all to assure our future, our health, our children and our endless lives.

I will assure your hand never be left cold nor alone as long as I can take it. nor will it ever be lifted in vain or to labour. Your stomach is never empty as I will assure you have the finest wine and a feast every night if it’s what your little human heart desires, your head will always have a place to rest even if it is only on my chest. Your nights will never be cold, your days will never be short, your loneliness will exist no longer, and your heart will be mine, and mine will be yours.

It wasn’t all he told himself, but it was in the moment you felt a warm sensation against your skin, on your chest below the centre of your collar bone but above your breast was the same mark you’d seen on his tongue very few times.

Ryomen Sukuna DID NOT enjoy the thought of staining your teeth black, instead he took your hand, as if vowing and brains you, the ring finger of your left hand, the base faded to a black band, above it a snark mark matching your chest and another thin black bank, just below your nail was another black band. That’s how your little husband decided to present you as his.

Tag List: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks

@bofadeezs

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira

Broken :( @simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @ilovemybabies378 @anyaswlrd @cyder-puff

[n-i-m-u-e]

Lucemond bodyswap!AU

This plot was quite popular when I was a teenager (before the dinosaurs), but I've hardly ever seen it in this fandom. And a few days ago I literally had this dream (yes, I resumed taking antidepressants this month and usually when you start taking them, you have very vivid, detailed and interesting dreams at first) I couldn't let go of the idea.

Let's imagine that Rhaenyra and her family stay in KL until Viserys' death to prevent the usurper from taking her throne, and then just stay there because she's now queen. And so, with the help of some bizarre Valyrian magic really don't care the causes, only the effects, Luke and Aemond swap bodies and, according to the classic of the genre, cannot tell anyone about it (although Helaena knows anyway). And of coooourse, they have to work together to get everything back to the way it was.

-----------------------∞----------------------

for me, this is such an inexhaustible endless source of dramedy:

Aemond’s first thought when he looks in the mirror and sees his nephew's reflection is 'What can I do with this horribly messy hair?'

Luke wakes up in Aemond’s chambers and struggles with his new size, bumping into and tripping over everything until he finally reaches the room he’d fallen asleep in the night before, already covered in bruises. There, he sees himself—or is it his body?—turning the room upside down, searching for something. Luke timidly asks what Aemond is looking for, and with a look of wild madness in his eye, Aemond barks: “A comb!”

Luke, on the other hand, doesn't care about Aemond’s hair at all. It annoyed him how long it is, although he's mesmerized by its softness and color. Especially the color, since he’s imagined countless times what it would be like if he’d been born with Targaryen hair. But he can’t deal with the long strands and just ties them into a messy… something. Aemond nearly has a stroke when he sees this vandalism for the first time.

They agree to call a truce until they find out how it happened, but they constantly fight for various reasons. Mostly because Aemond is the one who panics dramatising overreacts about the situation. Luke, as an empathetic child without emotional constipation, even tries to calm him down. But, as expected, only encounters rudeness in return. The uncle says that he has never felt so defective before, even after he had lost an eye. He also says that he is very worried that Luke-in-his-body will now disgrace Aemond with ‘such idiotic expressions’ after Luke-in-his-body cannot hide the obvious resentment on his face.

Their attempts to behave like the other are rather clumsy. Mainly because Lucerys has never really hidden his emotions, while Aemond has never really shown his.

Aemond is shocked to find that in his sister’s family, displays of physical affection without any serious reason are perfectly normal. On the first dinner of being Luke, Aemond reflexively twists Jace’s arm when he tries to ruffle his hair unexpectedly. Later, when Rhaenyra, noticing something is off with "her sweet boy", pulls him close in a gentle hug to figure out what’s wrong, Aemond is beyond errored. And let’s not even talk about how the poor guy feels when Daemon slaps him on the back and asks for his opinion on something. Yes, used to being fairly distant from his own family, Aemond is really stunned by the intensity of the interconnectedness in his older sister's household.

After all this, he goes to complain to Luke, who is also in shock and distressed about 'Aemond's day', but it's more of a ‘Damn Bitch, You Live Like This?’. He hasn't seen any of his uncle's family all day and no one has even looked for him, except for Sir Christon (and it's a pretty enough nightmare). He tells Aemond that maybe understands why he's such a prick - because he hasn't ever been hugged enough.

Aemond, who can't come up with a plausible reason for not training with Jace, decides that he will quickly defeat his older nephew. But he is annoyed to realise that Luke's body is not as strong and trained as he is used to, and he cannot hold a sword of the weight that Aemond is used to. The fact that Jace is only gently encouraging his “brother” irritates him even more.

In the early morning, Aemond forces his nephew to train with him to learn how to use his new body—instead, Aemond cringes as watches Luke struggle to cope with his own. But after a little while, using each other's advice, they have a good sparring. Aemond is very excited about the possibility that having both eyes and the agility of a small body opens up—is triumphant at his victory. Luke look like he doesn't cares (he really doesn't, because he'd rather be in bed at this hour).

But the real hit for Aemond comes when Damon meets him later that morning and tells him that he saw the fight between him and Luke and is really proud of him because he has ‘unexpectedly good technique’. Aemond's fangirl-daddy-issues-emotions run high, and even the warning that ‘needs to be careful with this one-eyed Hightower cunt, because his extreme niceness is too alarming’ doesn't diminish them. By the end of the day, Aemond is mentally running around with the fact that ‘the Rogue Prince praised my fighting skills.’

Luke laughs for a very long time when hears about this conversation. Because ‘Daemon saw me beat you, and according to him, I fight only slightly better than Joff. Joff is six, uncle. Daemon thought "you" went easy on "me".’

They try to find some information on how to get back into their own bodies in Valyrian manuscripts, but Luke discovers just how terrible his uncle’s pronunciation is when he tries reading something aloud. The search is soon forgotten, as their impromptu speaking lesson stretches late into the evening.

The amount of time they’ve been spending together lately doesn’t go unnoticed and starts raising questions. So, the boys decide to split up for a while and conduct their searches separately.

Luke, who is unbearably bored being Aemond and lacking his discipline, decides to find some entertainment. He’d normally call Jace to fly or invite Rhaena for a walk, but obviously, that’s not an option now. So, he heads to see Helaena, who is delighted to have him visit. Luke confirms that his "quirky aunt" is really sweet, but freezes when she declares she’s 'so glad Aemond can see the underside’.

Later, Luke encounters Aegon too, who makes a comment about Aemond-Luke’s hairstyle. And boy, out of habit, reacts in much the same way as he would if something similar happened between him and Jace—he responds with some kind of small joke. Aegon stares at him as if he’s grown a second head—or at least regrown his second eye. Slowly, Lucerys realizes that his stoic, cold uncle is really just wearing a mask. After all, truly coldblooded people don’t flare up at every little remark.

Aemond, who’s genuinely trying to solve the problem, finds a reference to a book that might be in Dragonstone’s library. Without thinking twice, he decides to fly there. Based on who he looks like now, he thinks no one will find it odd if Lucerys Velaryon spends a few hours in the library at his own home. He heads to the dragonpit to ride Lucerys Velaryon dragon.

But dragons are not humans. Arrax is not at all pleased when some suspicious guy—no matter how much he looks like his rider (this no less suspicious point also needs to be clarified)—tries to approach him and decides to take a few bites out of the pretender. Aemond is rescued by Luke, who is on his way to visit his dragon. Unlike his uncle, he did not assume that Arrax could be fooled by appearances.

Luke angrily tells his uncle that he 'tried to steal someone else's dragon again and almost got hurt.' For the first time since they switched bodies, they get into a real fight, almost ending in blows. But when Aemond sweeps Luke off his feet with a well-placed strike from his “blind side” and and falls on top of him, they have some feelings that are… let's say not typical of a fight, which makes Aemond embarrassed and run away. What can you do—they still teenagers🤷‍♀️

And speaking of teenagers. If you wake up with morning wood while in someone else’s body, is jerking off in such a situation still considered masturbation or already sex? Just asking.

Aemond, isolated from his usual routine and still holding a grudge against Luke, decides to “gather some information on the enemy camp,” as he calls it. In reality, he's simply finding out how Luke is treated by his family. And this simultaneously makes him envious and angry on behalf of his nephew. Because he doesn't like the condescending attitude that thrives on Luke. Now it becomes clearer to him why he once thought the boy was weak and foolish, though in recent days, he’s realised that’s not the case at all. But this condescension causes Lucerys’ impostor syndrome to progress. It doesn't allow him to become stronger.

Also, unexpectedly for himself, Aemond finds that he actually likes his cousins, and even little Joffrey is “a decent kid.” Jacerys stops provoking a dull irritation as long as he’s either silent or far enough away that his words can’t be heard.

For a few days, Aemond and Luke avoid each other. But eventually, Luke comes to make peace and finally apologizes to his uncle, not just for the recent incident, but for everything.

They decide to fly to Dragonstone together because Luke knows how to sneak into the castle. After all, he has slipped out countless times with Jace, Rhaena, and on his own.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[rsg-energya]

Effects of Constipation On the Body

Here know about, Effects of Constipation On the Body. Learn, How to Cure Chronic Constipation Permanently? Symptoms of Constipation in Adults. Constipation Effects On Brain.

[moodymisty]

You know what I think? Since most of the primachs are emotionally constipated along with their legions except Vulkan. I headcanon that gestures ( like hugs or Emperor forbid kissing(on the cheek) that might be acceptable amongst friends. Your primach lover/husband probably won't like or think every male other primachs will try to take u away. If it's a baseline human then depending on the primarch they're getting unalived. Or Peter Turbo will most likely throwing them of a balcony. Sanguinius on the other hand I see him being more lenient... on the surface. The angel will probably be a little pissed off.

Bobby G I see him nipping it in the bud and Konrad will probably just eat them or send em to the next chew toy of the Night lords.

I think depending on the legion they'll be offended for the genefather if a human tried to flirt with their Legion Mother. Plus it aint like they're gonna get another one. Not in this lifetime at least. ex Blood Angel's and Salmanders

The night lords would deal with the homewrecker immediately to prevent Konrad from going off the deep end and repeat the flesh statue incident

Lorgar would probably see it as sacrilegious for quote 'Attempting to separate the bond of him and his love, his soul mate, and goddess. You must perish for that.'

Since most of the legion and primarchs see humans as expendable except the Salmanders. I wonder how it'll go over if reader was a human from Terra whose heart goes out for the common man. Or reader tries to save her friend by pleading for her primarch to forgive the 'transgression'

Ps. I see that afterwards reader won't have many friends at least outside of the space marines. Or any friends she does have will distant themselves to avoid triggering a jealous Primarch

Sorry this is so long. Just wanted to know your thoughts

I agree with this a lot. It's easy to see how they would misinterpret friendly gestures, or allow love to turn into possession. And as for the legion, they are vehemently programmed to protect their primarch and in their mind their primarch's beloved eventually in a way becomes part of them, and is wrapped in that vehement protection, but being a baseline it's ever worse. People just trying to talk to her and show her respect get threatened until she has no one but her primarch and his men.

also yeah... sorry i vomited some writing here real quick.

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

“Please, calm down!”

The Space wolf lieutenant largely ignores your plea, standing tall and intimidating the man who sits at the left end of the table. The other astartes of your retinue are similarly on guard, both in defense of their lieutenant. You are frozen in your seat thanks to a ceramite gauntlet holding you down, the marine attempting to push his body between you and their new target.

“Our Wolf Mother is betrothed to Primarch Russ. And you, some measly baseline, attempt to steal her?”

The man glances to you briefly as you try to argue on his behalf, standing up.

“Lieutenant! He was only being polite, stop this!”

Perhaps the man’s choice in words was a bit tackless, but he had clearly meant not much by it, however the Wolves take even the slightest thing so incredibly seriously.

"You are a beautiful and smart woman," His hand reached forward to gently touch yours over top of the papers you have stacked. "If only I had gotten to you before the Space Wolves did!"

Normally your men listen to you well; If Russ issues orders your husband will quite obviously rank above you, but they still take your opinion into a surprising amount of account. But for some reason during these past few months, as they've begun to call you Wolf Mother, they have shown their teeth and threatened anyone who so much as comes within grabbing distance of you.

"This is ridiculous, quit this!"

You look to the man who has lost all blood in his face, under the glare of a massive Space Wolf with braids decorating his hair. "I am so sorry, there's been a horrible misunderstanding and I-" You choke on your words as the instigating Space Wolf turns to you.

"There has been no misunderstanding, he-" You open your mouth and quickly speak, cutting him off. "No, there has been! The man was using hyperbole, he didn't actually mean what he said!"

The wolf looks down at you, and you see anger in his face slowly simmer down. You silently thank the Emperor and breath a sigh, putting your head in your hands.

This behavior keeps getting worse; You feel like you're stuck in a vice trap. So many people fallen from your life because they fear the snap of a Space Wolf's teeth, or worse, their Primarch's. You know Russ is instigating this behavior, encouraging it, is part of it, keeping you feeling so suffocated. You're so tired, you don't understand why they're acting like this.

Your head in your hands you let out a shaky breath, pressing down on the corners of your eyes so water doesn't leak from them. This is all too much. As you lean back up, the lieutenant sees the redness in your eyes and while stoic, is still noticeably concerned that you're about to cry.

"Wolf Mother… Are you well?" You take a deep breath and clear your throat.

"I'm fine. We should go." When you go to get up again, the gauntlet on your shoulder gives way and lets you rise up. You dip your head at the man who is starting to have color return to his face, now that he no longer is being threatened.

"I am so sorry, on behalf of everything. We'll be taking our leave."

You move to walk away, and your retinue follows close behind; Like a shadow.

[unfortunategenderfluxmushroom]

Sometimes I think about the batfam and the fact that they would sometimes genuinely forget that Bruce is an orphan.

Like obviously they intrinsically have this knowledge because it was the event that segwayed him into growing up into Batman.

But I wonder if they ever truly realise sometimes he wants his mom and dad too.

Like when it's just him in the batcave and for once there's nothing to do. They're all busy doing their own things on missions or schoolwork or training. And he's just left alone, staring at a dozen blinking computers. Alfred is there yes but it isn't always the same.

Or when things are getting particularly overwhelming or Bruce because so much is going on and he has to plan everything and try and take care of everyone and the one dull thought that echoes in his head is how much he just wishes he could have his mother hold his hand one last time to ground him while he thinks or have the chance to talk to at least have his dad to talk to so he doesn't feel like he's just one person trying to keep his family alive on his own. Even with Alfred there, there's only so much comfort he can give, especially to someone who's so emotionally constipated.

Or even earlier on when Jason died and Bruce has to go through that sickening, maddening feeling of losing family again when he had done everything in his power to prevent that sort of thing from every happening to him again.

[aritsukemo]

Invisible Scars | Multiple Characters

Summary: In which the night before leaves you traumatized and causes your emotionally constipated/emotionally reserved friend to seek you out.

Warnings: Purposely vague descriptions ahead ( no names are mentioned besides yours ). Reader killed someone and is negatively reeling from it. Blood is mentioned but nothing seriously descriptive. All that said, read at your own risk!

A/N: I got the idea to write this after scrolling through @creativepromptsforwriting's sideblog and finding this prompt. I plan to tag characters who come to mind, but this is really an open drabble so feel free to imagine whomever you see fits! :D

Tagging: @nursedflowers and @saioratral

The high-pitched screech that bounced off the walls was a sound one would typically associate with tea at it's boiling point or maybe a hotpot screaming to be eaten. One thing that certainly would not have come to mind was a running faucet—specifically one that ran water so hot that it made even the durable metal cry out in pain.

The incessant shrieking, as annoying as it was, didn't faze the girl who sat before the sink. It was as if the noise was never there...which actually wouldn't be that far off from the truth.

In reality, she couldn't hear a thing aside from the same bloodcurdling screams.

Her hands worked as if they were trying to create a fire. They slide together at blinding speed, rubbing against one another so hard that a few more minutes of it would surely cause a tear in the skin of her palms.

Part of her wished that would actually happen.

A knock on the door sounds followed by the mellow hum of her friend's voice as he called from the other side, "Y/n. Are you still in there? It's me."

Heavy silence replaces her much needed answer, and if it weren't for the faint sound of running water, he would've been none the wiser in assuming she wasn't in there. Since that wasn't the case, however, he had no other choice but to try again.

"Y/n," He calls only for the same result. He then tries a third time, "Y/n!"

Silence. He sighs. Guess he has no other choice.

"Forgive the intrusion," With that gentle request serving as a small warning, he takes his time to twist the knob, giving her more than enough time to make herself presentable if need be as he swung the door open at a turtle's pace and peered inside.

As he suspected, she was standing at the sink, her back facing the door and preventing him from seeing what she was doing—not that he needed to. The steam, the running water, the uncomfortable sound of her hands sloshing together and sounding like two blades clashing...it all gave him an inkling of what was happening.

But how long has she been doing this for? He was almost to scared to ask. Almost.

"You've been in here for a while now," He said, and unlike his usual tone, his voice was dipped in uncharacteristic gentleness and sounded rather withheld. It was as if he was being held at swordpoint, and even then, it was surprising to hear him sound that way.

Maybe if she was paying attention she would've heard it and teased him about it. Possibly cracked a joke or two about him finally growing soft enough to warm up to her after all these years.

But instead he received silence and that scared him more than any enemy he's has faced in his lifetime.

"Hey," He called out again, but this time more sternly. He also didn't give her nearly as much time to answer. Not that she likely would.

"You can stop now. I doubt your hands are that dirty.." He's slow with his steps, closing the distance bit by bit, "Hell, by now, your hands are probably cleaner than mine."

She doesn't move, flinch, or do anything that would acknowledge that his words had reached her. It was as if she was in a trance, put under a spell of some kind or was a victim to some hypnotism caused by unknown means.

In a sense, what was happening right now was kinda like that.

In the matter of a minute or so, he's close enough to reach out for her delicate wrist. He does just that, but not too long after he snatches his hand away. He then paused, looking at his hand before looking back up at her with horrid shock gleaming off his hues.

This water was hot. Really hot. Hotter than any water boiled for food or tea.. He's surprised that the droplets don't just evaporate as soon as they leave the faucet.

"You don't feel that?" He leans in, getting closer to her face as his brows furrow, "Does that not hurt?"

He already knew the answer—of course it did—but the fact that she wouldn't answer him struck a nerve and in the end he finds himself grabbing her roughly by the wrist and snatching her away from that molten lava altogether.

He shuts off the water quickly after that, putting the annoying whistling it produced to an abrupt end. It seemed only then that the trance she was put under was broken and she was finally able to think and move for herself again.

As he lets go of her wrist, she finds herself opening her palms and staring down at them. She stares for a long while. Just opening and closing her palms repeatedly and rubbing her fingertips together, as if she was examining a foreign object.

The skin of her palms looked as if she had ran them across a rough surface for an hour; puffy with an angry hue of red to them.

They were a deep shade, just like... She clenches her teeth. He's quick to notice.

"If this is about the other day.." He began, his words dying in his throat as he watched as she flinched away at his very words.

He knew this would happen in the end. He tried to warn them all but nobody wanted to listen to reason. They sent this fragile glasswork into that cage of knives and sharp fangs without a care in the world and left him with the job of mending anything that was broken back together.

It truly irked him. More than something like this usually would.

"If... If you were in my shoes yesterday.." She began slowly and quietly, and despite her voice sounding like a mouse's squeak and a part of his blood boiling at the sound of it, he bit his tongue and held back his snapping comment.

Right now was not the time to be reckless. Too hard of a hit—or any pressure at all really—would cause his dear friend to shatter into a million pieces and he can't have that. How would he be able to fix her up in that condition?

"If you were me last night, if... If you had your weapon to that person's throat. ...If they begged you through their sobs and reduced to a blubbering mess...going on and on about how they needed to live.." She pauses, whether that was because she noticed how her voice grew more and more unsteady with every word she spoke or the fact that her hands had begun to tremble was unknown to even her. It seemed that at this point she was unsure of, well, everything.

And at that point, her friend saw no better of a time than to take a risk and speak his mind.

"If you plan to continue on to ask me if I would've still killed them than let me spare us both the time; I would in a heartbeat."

She laughs at him, her giggle sounding like a sick bird trying to sing. It should be comforting to here despite it's raspiness. After all, despite it not sounding exactly like her usual laughter, it's a miracle she's able to laugh at all. He should be sighing out of relief that she still seems to be gripping onto her sanity enough to find humor in such a dank situation.

But he couldn't, and all because of the simple fact that he had grown used to her sounding so full of life. It was truly a pity.

"I suppose that was a silly question of me to ask you of all people."

In all this time, he's noticed she hasn't looked up from her hands once. It was unnerving to see her like this, but there was nothing he could truly do about it. He could direct her attention elsewhere, sure, but that wouldn't stop the swarming of her thoughts or reduce her heightened awareness of what was once staining her hands and forearms. And, it surely wouldn't halt the constant loop of that incident from playing in her mind—that moment of her taking a life with her own hands, in a quite grotesque way at that.

Her mind was stained just like her skin and just like how she couldn't truly rid herself of the grimy feeling of blood sticking to her skin no matter how hard she scrubbed, he couldn't wipe her mind of what happened. They were both truly powerless.

But he had to do something. Now that they've gotten her foot out of the door, she has to walk through it. There's no backing out of this, she knew this when she went on that mission yesterday. There was no way but forward. He knew that better than anyone.

"Nevermind what happened, come on," He slides his hand up her arm, over her shoulder, and dips down to the upper part of her back where he gently pushes her in the direction of the door, all as he tells her, "You should get off your feet and actually rest. You'll need it for tomorrow.."

For the first time that night, she glances up at him. It was for a mere moment, but that quick second was all he needed. Her eyes..were like a starless sky; completely devoid of it's usually glimmer of life. It was as if he was staring at a solider who's spent the last decade at war.

Truly astounding how such a look was formed just after a single night.

Wordlessly, she allows him to push her in the direction of the door as if she weighed nothing. She walked slowly, and as she did she looked back down at her clean, reddened hands. Her eyes sinking even more as she does.

She finds herself wondering if the blood she felt would ever go away—if it were possible that her palms would be capable of ever being truly clean again—and that led her to softly murmur to the only one she could think of turning to; her companion and partner in crime, him.

"Does it.. Does this ever get better?" She asks to which she receives probably the heaviest sigh she's ever heard in her life. It tells her all she needs to know but does little to quell the turmoil in her heart. It has her questioning if she'll be able to handle the path forward. If she'll reach the end or go insane halfway through.

Whatever happens, she finds herself praying that she'll be able to walk this path hand in hand with someone who's treaded this gravel before.

..And it so happens that a person like that is leading her to her bedroom right now. How convenient.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[catghoul31]

Best Present Ever

It's Wade's birthday, but he finds the one-year anniversary of meeting Logan far more important. Wolvie, however, isn't sure he needs to make a wish this time around...

(For @poolverine-week day 7: birthday!)

Content Warnings: exploration of worst!logan's past and the death and suffering that comes with it

Read it under the cut or on ao3!

Logan shot awake that morning, the blood of so, so many people still feeling fresh on his claws. It had been washed away years ago, but the memories still seemed to haunt him, no matter how many steps he took in this new world. Living still felt like a chore, and he still felt like a failure of a person no matter how many times Wade tried to convince him otherwise-

Wade. Wasn’t he in bed with me last night?

On mornings like this, his claws would normally wind up embedded inside of Wade. Logan was utterly distraught the first time it happened, but after months and months of sleeping together, he eventually grew numb to it with the knowledge that Wade had never gotten mad at him about it before, and for some reason, he never would. But there was none of his blood on his claws today, only shredded sheets and another pillow that needed to be replaced.

Where did he go?

—

In the back of his mind, Logan thought he knew a man named Wade once. Back before Weapon X, he probably would’ve fought alongside him in the secret forces, using his brutal nature for good just as Logan had been forced to do. There was a sort of peace in knowing someone as born for destruction as you were, so fucked over by fate that there was no way around your nature except through it.

At least he could control it. Fate seemed to have other plans for Wade, though- the head of Weapon X had somehow managed to find a way to rip that control away from him through forced mutation. When they saw each other once again, he couldn’t even speak, let alone think for himself. Logan’s claws had been the ones to end his misery after a long, horrible fight- at least, he hoped they had.

Those memories hadn’t been wiped- at least, not by Stryker. The only reason he remembered, in the wake of everything else, was that it marked the first time he’d heavily abused alcohol to drown out the memories of his muffled screams at his hands.

The first of many, many times to come.

—

“Wolvie!! Oh- good, you’re awake. You always sleep like a rock whenever I wake up before you- do you know how hard it is to get you off of me??”

Ah, there he was. Of course he hadn’t gone far, and neither had that mouth of his. Always having to talk about something… He’d take his droning on over his inner monologue any day, though. Ever since they’d finally stopped being emotionally constipated assholes and decided to get together, Logan kind of missed it when Wade wasn’t around. This world was too quiet and dull without him…

“Morning, Wade,” he responded, retracting his claws from the bed. Logan knew exactly what Wade was gonna ask based on that look in his eyes, so to prevent ruining his morning, he held a hand up and said, “I’m fine. Just… don’t worry about it.”

Unfortunately for Logan, this was Wade he was dealing with. “Too late for that. I will never not worry about you, babygirl- did you have another nightmare?? While I wasn’t around to hold you tenderly and tell you everything was okay… I have failed you, my dearest and one true love, and I am deeply sorry. How ever can I make this right by you?” he lamented as over-dramatically as possible, getting on his knees and everything.

Logan’s face scrunched up at Wade’s antics as he pretended to be annoyed- but fuck it all, he really couldn’t be. Those puppy eyes worked too well, and he hated it. Sure, he got nervous when Wade was gone for too long, but it wasn’t like he was some lost puppy when Wade was even just in a different room than he was for five minutes. He could handle himself.

“But you always miss me so much, don’t you~?”

“Stop reading my thoughts, Wade. Please.”

—

Logan was found by the professor not long after that. There, he’d discovered others just like him, with all sorts of different mutations- the X-Men. The family he’d found after he lost everything else. The defenders of mutantkind, the friends he could always rely on… that’s what he’d tried to believe, at least. Try as he might, Logan could never bring himself to feel comfortable around them… around anyone, really. 

Something deep within him had the sense that the greatest danger never came from those he expected, but from the people he thought he could trust- wanted, so badly, to trust. To love, and be loved in return, regardless of that love’s nature. Logan, though, never felt quite right around any of them. He never felt like he belonged- not even around… Scott. Jean. Kurt. 

(He hated those names now. Couldn’t fucking stand hearing them, in any context.)

Logan wasn’t a hero. At best, he was good muscle and an intimidating face to scare the bad guys with. Nobody had ever made him feel like he was anything more than that, try as they might. He’d had enough one night, when the cheap pot shots at his animalistic qualities were too much, scraping at his head when it was already sore from self-loathing and the few memories he’d retained of his past life…

They went on a mission that night. Logan went bar hopping instead.

He would never see them alive again.

–

“...Anyways!! Maybe these’ll help the horrors leave your head, peanut,” Wade chirped, holding a plate of… pancakes. Logan would know that smell anywhere- the agent of chaos he lived with always insisted on making them every other morning. 

Logam would be tired of them by now, if not for the infectious joy they always brought to their mornings. It was less about the food, and more about how much fun Wade always had making them… Fuck, it would’ve been nice if he woken up earlier. He could’ve helped out! Or maybe he’d just sit at the table, watching Wade hum a song he didn’t recognize, dance in place to the beat before he put some batter on the griddle. He’d ask for blueberries if prompted, mostly to hear another ramble about how chocolate chips were the only correct add-in-

“Hey! Earth to Wolvie?? These are only the special-est pancakes ever… c’mon, humor me here, will ya?” A light poke at his nose made Logan huff, snapping him out of his trance.

“Y-Yeah, sorry. I’m fine, just…” It always felt odd saying that when it… wasn’t entirely a lie anymore. “...Tired. I’ll get up soon, just… gimme a bit-”

“Ah-ah! Absolutely not, Logi-Bear!!” Wade set a hand on Logan’s shoulder, forcing him to sit still- he hadn’t even moved yet. “Today calls for only the most romantic things I could possibly treat my emotional support 2000s-era heartthrob to… and that means we’re having breakfast in bed. I don’t make the rules, babe!”

Immediately, the pancakes were set in Logan’s lap, complete with a fork and knife, and he had to move quickly to stop the plate from sliding around. “...Do you also think sticky sheets are romantic, bub?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them- mostly because of the way Wade’s face glowed with mirth upon hearing them.

“Of course I do! This bed’s gonna see a lot more sticky stuff tonight, though, and you know it…”

Logan hid his flushed face in his hands, cussing under his breath as Wade giggled uncontrollably. How immature was he…? The worst part was how right he was, of course. Taking a look at his pancakes… they seemed misshapen. No, not misshapen- it seemed like they were supposed to be shaped like his mask, with a few ‘snikt’ marks drawn into them with batter. They were even complete with blueberries, syrup, whipped cream, powdered sugar, and… a candle? Thank fuck it wasn’t lit yet!

“Well… we’re pulling all the stops today, aren’t we? I mean, thanks for the food, but- what’s all this about, babe?” As confused as he was, Logan couldn’t help but smile. Wade was always one for fun gifts and gestures, but this seemed like a lot, even for him.

When Wade pulled out a fucking lighter, Logan immediately flung the candle off of the pancakes. The sad look Wade gave him stung- but fuck if he was letting the house burn down over this!!

“…Happy anniversary? Damn, guess you didn’t want a wish after all…”

—

The mansion was burning down.

Logan was barely lucid as he staggered back to what was supposed to be his home. All at once, though, awareness flooded his mind again the moment he comprehended what he was looking at. His home was being destroyed right in front of him, and he instantly rushed over to try and help his comrades salvage what would be left.

As Logan got closer to the bonfire that was once his home, he heard shouting, chanting… cheering?? People were celebrating this vile display of hatred. Nothing he wasn’t used to. He’d just lop their heads off, and his family would-

…

They wouldn’t do anything.

Not with their bodies impaled in the middle of the crowd, paraded by masked individuals who were protected by a sea of people chanting, jeering, or screaming in outrage at the scene before them.

Many of those disgusted individuals… they’d left the mansion before this happened. 

But Logan didn’t care. Any shred of morality left his body in that moment, and his claws unsheathed so fast he thought he’d never be able to pull them back in again. 

It was a total bloodbath. Hundreds more people died that night- all of the perpetrators, sure, but not even those who were trying to fight against the X-Men’s killers were safe. Not even some of the very students he’d sworn to protect. In that moment, which went by in what felt like seconds to him, Logan had caused the greatest atrocity ever committed by mutantkind. No other mutant would ever be as notable as he was. 

How could they, if Logan was the only mutant the humans couldn’t kill?

—

“Oh, there’s lots of things I’ve got to wish for, bub. Burning this shitty apartment down ain’t one of them, though.”

Wade snorted at that comment, putting the lighter away safely and stepping closer to Logan. “Aw, c’mon, what’s a little arson between friends?” he asked, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder and shooting those puppy dog eyes at him, like a dog begging for a taste of water boiling on the stove. 

Logan laughed dryly at the thought. Wade was so ridiculous sometimes… did he still love his stupid ass? Of course he did. And he didn’t even feel stupid for it anymore, because honestly? He was being sweet this morning. Why kick the gift horse in the mouth? Or however Wade put it that one time… 

“I don’t want to celebrate our… anniversary? By becoming homeless, and I don’t think you want to, either.” Logan took a moment to think about what Wade meant by that. What was today an ‘anniversary’ of?? He had to glance back down at his pancakes to get the slightest idea of what that meant… and holy shit. “Has it really been that long since we’ve met each other?”

Wade, perking up instantly, nodded enthusiastically against him. “Of course I’d remember!! My phone started making those “1 year ago today” albums at 5 AM, and I- Logan, I almost cried. There’s so many cute pictures of us from back when you hated my guts…” 

Logan never hated him. He’d hated a lot of people in his time, but honestly, when his world came crumbling down, Logan lost the will to hate people, just as he’d lost the will to love, so he was just… mad at everyone, all the time. That was even true in that fucking car- he’d only called him all those nasty things because he was pissed. Mostly at himself, and- he still hadn’t fully forgiven himself for what he said. Or anything else, really. Forgiving Wade- hell, even choosing to love him- was way easier than that would ever be!

“…and OH MY GOD, the first picture I got of Dogpool!! Oh, Logan, you have to… are you even paying attention to me? Hey, don’t get all broody on me here, babycakes! This fic’s supposed to be fluffy, right? C’mon… hey-“ Wade guided Logan’s face to look at him, into that diseased-yet-kind soul of his.

“Eyes on me, now…” Logan’s nose scrunched up at the patronizing tone Wade took with him, but he obliged anyways. “Now. Look at this one,” The next picture on the album was Wade, after that “fight” of theirs, wrapped in seatbelts, covered in blood and making what looked like a kissy face at a passed-out Logan behind him, with the caption “noo don’t stab me you’re so sexy haha 😘.” “Doesn’t that make you feel better?”

Not really. But also… kinda. Yeah. “Maybe,” Logan shrugged, a slight smirk on his face. Even after a year, that was still the weirdest thing they’d done that Logan could accurately describe as “hot.” And they couldn’t ever recreate it!! No way for two people to have hot hate sex if they couldn’t even pretend to hate each other anymore…

Out of pure impulse, Logan moved his pancakes onto the nightstand, wrapped his arms around Wade, and rolled him over onto the bed with him. That squeak he always let out whenever Logan did this always made him laugh. Flustering Wade back was one of his favorite things in the world…

“If I’d known you were taking pictures, I would’ve grabbed that damn phone and taken some of my own that night,” Logan growled into his ear, grinning at how Wade shuddered in response.

“Mm… I don’t think you would’ve!” Wade whispered. “I think you would’ve been too busy f-wording me to focus on anything else, right?” he said, winking in… someone’s general direction- why’d he always do that? Some things about Wade were still completely lost on Logan…

“Well, you had time while you were trying to save the world, didn’t you?” he said, catching his album flipping to a selfie Wade took with Cassandra putting his fingers inside Logan’s face in the background- wait, what the fuck?

“Saving the world and saving you, peanut,” Wade corrected, a softer smile on his face now. “But… honestly, I think you might’ve saved me a bit more. I don’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t you I’d found…”

—

Logan deserved nothing. Not after what he did.

His fit of murderous rage had given the anti-mutes the ammo they needed to complete their genocide of every single mutant on the planet. They’d spent a while trying to kill him, but once Logan was the only mutant left alive, they figured it was punishment enough to let him live out the rest of his days in a world that hated him. 

And they were right. Logan was homeless and completely alone, obviously hated by the mutant killers, but especially loathed by everyone who’d fought against them, everyone who had lost a mutant loved one- especially at the Wolverine’s claws that night. Every single day, every moment he lived was a reminder of what he’d done, how he’d doomed his world.

He couldn’t bear to spend a second of his life sober. His alcoholism accelerated to a point where lethal levels of drinking barely affected him anymore, but it didn’t matter. It was better to relive his greatest crimes with a slightly foggy mind than to let the thoughts scream ceaselessly at him.

The obvious solution would be to let himself die, right? Just lie down in whatever shelter he could until his body finally starved to death… but Logan knew that would bring him peace. 

Something he would never have. Something he would never deserve.

Living was the only punishment fit for him.

—

Logan snorted, very much begging to differ. “At least you admit you saved me. I had nothing, Wade… Not until I met you.” Even after a year, Logan still meant those words. He no longer mourned the idea that there was nothing left for him in his old universe- at this point, it felt like a simple statement of fact. The memories of the events that ruined it still hurt, and he was far from healed… but Logan had no idea what he was thinking, wanting to go back after they’d defeated Cassandra. There wasn’t a life he could imagine living without Wade anymore…

As if he’d read his mind, Wade’s lips pressed against Logan’s in enthusiastic agreement. He returned the kiss softly, sighing in contentment. Much like the rest of him, Wade’s lips were scarred, textured with the physical manifestation of how much pain he’d suffered to get here. Every kiss he gave him reminded Logan how much pain Wade had experienced, and before, it’d felt like the tie that bound them. Now, though? After months of loving and being loved by Wade, thinking of their bond in terms of pain alone felt reductive. Maybe his existence in his old world was defined by how much he hurt… but not here. Not anymore.

When they parted, Wade leaned his forehead against him, staring at him with the softest eyes imaginable, a wordless declaration of love. Logan could only hope that the smile on his face conveyed the same sentiment.

Of course, the moment couldn’t last forever, and in true Wade fashion, he was the one to break it. “I think your pancakes are getting cold, sweetums… We can’t celebrate until you’ve had your breakfast!!” he insisted, dragging Logan up to sit again- as much as he stubbornly protested. He was very comfortable right there, why’d he have to ruin it? Over food?? He could always eat later.

But… sure. They could have pancakes. Logan had realized something very interesting about today, so… “You first,” Logan insisted, passing the fork to Wade, who seemed incredibly confused. 

“Nuh uh, Wolvie- it’s my turn to celebrate you right now!! Those were made specifically with you in mind-“

“Weren’t you having a party when you brought me home?”

It only took a few seconds for it to sink in. Logan watched with glee as Wade’s eyes widened, almost seeming devastated at the realization. He had to bite his tongue to keep from cackling when Wade yelled-

“I forgot my birthday again???”

[scientia-rex]

Best Things I Have Bought

I'm not sure how successful I will be in remembering all of it, but I'll try. These have all been game-changers for me, in a variety of ways. If teen me had had access to all of these, I would have been a vastly happier person.

This one is long, so I'll put in a cut.

-outlet timers. Not having to go around and manually turn off lamps at bedtime? Amazing. I bought these but you can and should get some that have a grounded outlet with three prongs so you can attach good extension cords to them.

-famotidine. aka Pepcid, it's the safest option I currently know of for managing acid reflux. I get nauseated when I get acid reflux, so this is a necessity for me.

-T-Gel shampoo. The only one that keeps my husband's insane dandruff under control. Coal tar shampoos smell peculiar, but are totally worth it if they work. For my hair, I like anti-dandruff conditioner--I apply it to my scalp and my other conditioners to the length of my hair. After bleaching my hair, I use Olaplex 3 to prevent more severe damage; the difference is very noticeable.

-white vinegar for a laundry rinse. I get horrendous contact dermatitis and adding this in the "fabric softener" cup in my washer keeps things from making my skin burn.

-on a similar note, all Oxy laundry booster. Doesn't make my skin burn but does make stains and smells noticeably better than detergent alone.

-Aquaphor. If you have eczema, nothing helps like Aquaphor, unless it's hydrocortisone ointment (the same white petrolatum base as Aquaphor but with hydrocortisone) or a prescribed steroid.

-Bissell Stomp 'N' Go pads. I have stomped. The stain goes.

-Prune puree. A packet a day keeps the chronic constipation at bay. Less volume to consume than prune juice and, in my opinion, slightly more palatable.

-Chinotto is a bitters-based beverage that I discovered by accident really helps my chronic nausea. I've tried other brands, and San Pellegrino is definitely my favorite. Tastes weird at first, but when heavy-duty ginger ale doesn't ease it, Chinotto can. And when that doesn't work, I have Zofran (ondansetron) my doctor prescribed me for the nausea I get with migraines, and that's an effective anti-nausea agent for more than just migraines.

-"You Just Need to Lose Weight (And 19 Others Myths About Fat People)" by Aubrey Gordon.

-rolling laundry cart. Doesn't have to be this one but if you CAN roll your laundry to and fro from the machines, do it.

-"Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men" by Lundy Bancroft. If you Google, you can usually find a free pdf floating around.

-"The Vagina Bible," by Dr. Jen Gunter.

-satin scrunchies. Wet Brush. Terry cloth lined shower cap. AOA terry cloth hair turban (way, way better than similar ones from drugstore).

-stretchy work pants.

-bra liners. For large-chested people who tend to get sweaty underboob, this is a life-saver.

-Goo Gone.

-Dr. Scholls medicated foot powder and the Earth Therapeutics tea tree oil foot spray. The foot powder works for super long days and the spray for lighter days.

-Reflective heat pad. I use this on my car seat in the winter and I am so happy for that every single chilly morning. I've repurchased it... once or twice? now.

-Retin-A. I used to use Differin, which is adapalene, the most potent retinoid available over the counter, but the switch to prescription-only Retin-A has been very noticeable. Decreased wrinkles, clearer skin. More inclined to flake and burn but it's worth it for me.

-Red LED therapy. Near-infrared stimulates collagen production in the skin. The only other thing that really does that is retinoids. I bought the Omnilux mask, which is certainly high-end, but HotandFlashy (a YouTube content creator) did a great comparison of different masks available by specs and this was the best at the time. The difference is noticeable within days. I've tried other, lower-powered masks, but what made me make the jump to high-end was that I got the Dennis Gross red LED eye mask for crows' feet off eBay and I was like "holy shit, this is better." And Omnilux is better still. It makes sense, since they were the OG of the models that have been in dermatology clinics for a couple of decades now.

-AOA foundation has been at least as good at my TooFaced foundation, and it's like 1-2 bucks instead of 40. There are light, medium, and deep shades, each on different pages; I'm linking to light because that's what I use. The lightest shade works for me, and I'm basically translucent.

-AOA VitaGlow tinted moisturizer is absolutely my go-to for lighter coverage days.

-AOA PawPaw blending sponges. Best out there and also the cheapest.

-(do not buy any of the AOA eyeshadows. Total waste of time, zero pigment. I've tried repeatedly and they're just garbage. The highlights are generally fine though.)

-Direct acid foot peels. The calluses come off. Just don't do it when you have ANY open wound on the feet, because it's acid and will sting like hell.

-blendercleanser solid cleanser for blending sponges and brushes. Actually a) gets them clean and b) rinses out.

-PureWine wine wands. I let these puppies sit for three minutes in a glass and suddenly I can drink red wine without migraines or hangovers. Fucking miraculous.

-Dustbuster. Holy shit it's amazing for ADHD peeps. Small thing bugging you? Can't get yourself to bust out the "real" vacuum? USE THIS.

-Crocs. Don't @ me. I wear a black pair around the house and for garden chores and they make my feet happy. Salonpas patches and/or BenGay for a topical when you're sore--topicals are great pain relief.

-Vibrating neck pillow. Don't need it right now? Wait until your next head cold. Vibration clears sinuses.

-PooPourri. I love not having to smell poop. This, and similar products, work pretty well by trapping scent particles in the oil layer instead of letting them evaporate into the air.

-Electric snow thrower. I can't manage a large, heavy snow blower and I don't want to deal with a gas engine. This little guy helped me clear my large driveway in 3-4 hours instead of 12.

-The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark, by Carl Sagan.

-Handheld home IPL for hair removal. I ordered this exact one and I like it. You can get these on eBay or Amazon for cheaper sometimes; just make sure you PROTECT YOUR EYES during flashes. Targets pigment in the hair bulb so lighter skin and darker hair work better, and deeper skin tones may burn.

-Lanolin chapstick. Makes all other chapsticks I've used look like garbage.

-Steam eye masks. ShopMissA sells these and you can find them on a lot sites; shouldn't cost more than about a dollar per mask. I ended up buying an electric eye mask because I wanted to treat my dry eye and that just felt more environmentally responsible, but I love falling asleep with these on and I can't do that with my plug-in mask.

I think this is where I'll leave it--I've gone back quite a ways in my shopping history across multiple sites and thought about my daily routines--but if any of these problems torture you, these are my suggestions.