#battery mesh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godihatethiswebsite · 8 months ago

Text

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Four - Hamster ball

See? The last update wasn't a fluke! :) Bit of a more easygoing chapter compared to the hecticness I've been subjecting our poor omega to. Bit more background on our girl. Give her a bit of breathing room before hopping back into more chaos.

Also: I've added a change to the reader's physicality. There's a reference to being underweight for medical reasons so I'm sorry if that takes any of you out of the experience. I try to not mess with that aspect, but I just felt it necessary given everything I put this girl through.

Trigger warnings: angst, depression, customer service, malnourishment

The dog survived.

Life had apparently decided against throwing you any more curveballs on your way back to the apartment – slushy roads and bad drivers notwithstanding (honestly, how could this many people forget what front wheel drive did on black ice and wet pavement?).

Densely populated areas gave way to suburban life as you drove the twenty minutes it took to escape the city center and arrive back into a world a little less crowded.

The area you resided in could generously be considered lower middle class. The crime rate was on the lower end of the spectrum though still a tinge too high for most members of polite society. Nothing too terribly outlandish; juvenile gang violence typical of a sizable city and the occasional asshat who decided the stuff in your car now belonged to him. But there was a police station a few blocks down the road from you that ran frequent patrols and the low level violence kept the rent at a decent affordability.

There were less and less brownstones the further east you traveled, row house opulence giving way to multi level apartment buildings interspersed amongst a smattering of mid century moderns. Grass became a thing again, but only in long strips running parallel with the sidewalk – unless you were fortunate enough to own a modest front lawn on a small corner lot. Not that it was visible beneath the eight inches of snow that’d accumulated since it started falling late yesterday morning.

It was only late afternoon by the time you were back in familiar territory, but this close to the impending holiday the local residents left their Christmas lights on 24/7 it seemed. Most abodes were adorned with at least humble decorations.

Community members wrapped battery powered twinkle lights around the sparse barren elms, evergreen garland candy caning down metal street lamps, interlaced tinsel glimmering from passing headlights. Cheap vinyl stickers of cartoon snowmen and Santa's little helpers splattered across glass windows and sliding balcony doors in haphazard childish fashion. Mesh reindeer lawn ornaments and creepy animatronic statues recreating Saint Nick’s undertaking in kaleidoscopic – if not positively garish – displays.

Muddied coir welcome mats proclaiming ‘Blessed Yule!’. A giant inflatable dinosaur taking up way too much space and spinning an oversized dreidel. You even gave props to the guy with a grinch head popping out the top of his chimney, smirking deviously at the passersby down below as if they were in on the secret.

All walks of life celebrating the winter season in their own special ways.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you bothered to hang a simple wreath.

You were fortunate enough to find decently close street parking as you pulled up to the curve, grateful the black Kia behind had left space enough for more than just a clown car. A group of rowdy boys bundled snug in thick mittens and hand-knit toques called for a ceasefire, taking your nearby arrival as an excuse to catch their breaths and stockpile more ammunition for the fierce battle they waged. Childish insults flew from behind snowy barricades as you stepped out of your car and onto the icy sidewalk.

It was a more than usual hassle making the trudge inside your apartment building. Normally you kept your grocery list light; manageable for the haul up three flights of stairs despite the fully functioning elevator. But with the previous week’s illness eating into more of your food supply than normal you’d been forced to compensate for the barren cupboards.

Could you make multiple trips? Sure. Did you want to be outside in the blustery cold for longer than necessary? Nope. Hence the sight of you iron-manning your way through the building’s exterior entrance, clusters of bags biting into your arms even through your heavy winter coat, overstretched plastic really field testing its weight requirements and lumbering your already lethargic pace.

You were grateful that you’d remembered to double bag some of the heftier items, having almost made that same mistake the month prior if not for the shredding sound alerting you to the seam's fatal flaw. That’s all you needed was to be spending your evening on hands and knees mopping up shattered glass and pickle juice from grime-laden steps.

There's a sense of accomplishment as you haul the purchased goods over the threshold to your apartment, carefully depositing the burdensome load on the tile in front of your refrigerator, far too many to overwhelm your bite-sized kitchen table with. Doubling back to re-check the numerous door locks and deadbolts, you finally let loose a sigh as you kick off your snow boots and shuck the weighted material from your weary shoulders, hanging the ratty scarf on the hook next to it and giving your neck a chance to breathe again.

Rubbing the irritated skin hurt more than it helped. The damn thing was sensitive to abrasive material – only concealing it when absolutely necessary. Winter was easy; warmer months made the task trickier. Thankfully most people didn’t stare much at an omega with a patch of gauze taped over her neck. Newly bonded designations wore it as a badge of honor, proudly proclaiming to the world at large that they’d finally found their place amongst the upper echelons of packdom.

You, meanwhile, would have to be more careful in the future to wear turtlenecks if bombshell interactions were to become a normal occurrence. The last thing you needed were prying questions from nosy alphas.

A half gone tube of medicated ointment called your name from the bathroom counter, but the inflamed mating mark would have to wait until after you got the bulk of groceries put away. Canned items and other non perishables could be dealt with tomorrow. There was only so much strength left in your bones after a day like today.

The knock on your front door would have startled you worse if not for the preceding text message hailing the arrival.

‘Paranoid’ would be the appropriate term. Practically overnight you found yourself turning into one of those god awful annoying conspiracy theorists that hide in the dark cobwebs of the internet, spouting schizophrenic ravings of lunacy and government surveillance, too wrapped up in their straight jackets for oxygen to reach their corrupted brains.

It was hard not to be distrustful to any and all intruders of your dwelling, knowing full well the consequences that come from letting your guard down in a stunning display of naivety. The pinched tether on your bond reassured you of his distance, but he was far from being the only ill-intentioned alpha in a thousand mile radius.

Pulse fluttering like a baby bird and fingers flexing into trembling fists, you creep up to the peephole with all the finesse of a one-legged cat – despite knowing the face that would greet you on the other end. Per usual, the kind beta didn’t take it personally when you opened the door with barely enough space to let her inside, squeezing through the gap provided and scooting out of the way while you relatched your pacifying security measures.

All she offered was her usual glowing smile and a box of double stuf oreos.

“Hard day at therapy?”

Chloe had been an unexpected addition to the chaos of your life. For lack of in-unit appliances, the apartment complex housed a small laundry facility on the ground floor – free of charge, but awfully stifling come the summer months. Enough square footage that multiple people could use it at any given time, but not enough to hold even a quarter of the residents. On the weekdays, that damn thing could be packed tighter than a dented can of sardines (and smell just as fishy). It wasn’t unusual to find your neighbors making the trek of shame back to their rooms, hefting a still-soiled bag of clothing, waiting another hour or so in hopes of trying their hand at the laundry lottery all over again.

You were embarrassed to say you avoided the place like the plague for the first month after moving in. After all, what did it really matter?

You didn’t leave your apartment at the time. There was no need for decorum – no call to impress. And as an unpacked omega with disabling agoraphobia it sounded like the worst sort of torture porn experience. It had taken running out of febreze and being on the phone with your dads to finally venture down there at three o’clock in the morning on a random Tuesday in hopes the facility would be barren enough that your musky basket could stop reeking up your closet.

The scream you screamt upon turning the corner and finding another human being skulking around in the unlit void had you so sure your father’s were a hairs breadth away from calling down the fucking feds.

Turns out Chloe was a skittish thing a few years younger than you. A recent college graduate, this was her first real apartment outside of campus dorm life. But where you were up at the ass crack of dawn due to an anxiety-inducing aversion to civilization, she was down there to keep from running into the cute nerdy alpha across the hall and risking mortification at him peeping her dainty underthings.

Honestly you hadn’t been sure the smell of urine was coming from either laundry basket.

Once you’d calmed down enough to pull your fathers off the edge of booking the next flight down there to rough up some nonexistent predator, you’d managed to finish your chores on opposite sides of the room, neither engaging in any conversation beyond muffled apologies of humiliation.

What followed was an uneasy truce born out of necessity, a silent acknowledgement that this would be a weekly safe space free from judgment and criticism. Silence turned to whispered greetings, whispers became timid banter, until eventually you were confessing in therapy to eating homemade peanut butter cookies on the floor in front of the laundry machines.

Now she was the only other person in this whole entire city besides Dr. Miranda that you could go to for advice and needed companionship.

Originally you had no intention of exhausting any more of your social battery than had already been consumed. But therapy wasn’t for another week and you had too much bubbling inside to be contained by the cramped confines of your studio apartment. And Chloe was considerate enough that she knew not to overstay her welcome, her own introverted alarm clock ringing about the same time as yours.

“If only that had been the hard part,” you replied with a sigh, taking the parcel of outstretched goods and moseying on over to your butt shaped indent on the far end of the couch.

The sound of creaky hinges and clattering plastic informed you of Chloe’s detour to the kitchen. “Has that rust-bucket jalopy of yours finally gone to the great big scrap metal in the sky?”

Everyone’s a critic.

“How about we don’t put that out into the universe thank you very much.” Shoving a whole cookie in your mouth, you gratefully accept the cold glass of milk she passes over before taking up a spot on the cushion next to you, grabbing at her own treat from the open pack.

The mess of red curls atop her head and the loud pattern of her knit rainbow sweater deceptively implied a boisterous personality. Bright green eyes. A healthy dusting of freckles. Blue corduroy pants still smudged with gold leaf. One look at her 5 foot 11 stature and you’d think she was some sort of artistic fairy, flitting about from flower to flower like a social hummingbird. In truth she’d gone to school for fine arts, but in preparation for a career in conservation – something quiet and away from the harsh critics where she could help express someone else's ideas instead of her own.

Her soft hazelnut scent matches her sympathetic smile, always patient and warm with you. “Does it have something to do with why you smell like a latte? Oh dear–please tell me no one spilled hot coffee on you today!”

You duck your head from her doe eyed worry and concerned frown of dread, focusing on the cold bite of milk on your fingers as you plunge another sugary morsel into your clear plastic cup.

As toxic as it might have been, you couldn’t bring yourself to wash the scent of alpha from the pores of your skin.

“Chloe, I…” Here goes nothing. “I met someone yesterday…”

For the second time in less than four hours you found yourself spilling your heart to a friendly ear.

She heard all of it. The supermarket run-in. Tantalizing lemon. Silky coconut. Devastating chocolate. Therapy. The coffee shop mishap. Being gentled by a complete stranger.

The promise kept safe in your electronic device.

Where Dr. Miranda had broached the topic with a level-headed sense of therapeutic resolution, Chloe had all but clutched her pearls the longer your tantalizing tale was spun. She wore her expressions the way she wore her heart on her sleeve, squeezing the life out of a proffered couch pillow in a way that made you hope she didn’t have any pets at home.

“How could he possibly expect any of this to not come crashing down in a fiery hellscape of cataclysmic fury that would put Dante’s inferno to shame?”

Can you tell she went to catholic school?

“I mean… it's not like I caught him off guard technically,” you try to bargain. ��Like yeah, today’s meeting wasn’t exactly on purpose, but they would’ve had a whole night to discuss things amongst themselves. Maybe they just reached some sort of weird agreement with her?”

She bites her lip to hide the sympathetic frown. “Do you really believe that though?”

No. No you didn’t.

It wasn’t hard to put yourself in her shoes considering the thick iron cable anchoring you to another. If that bond came with passion... if you knew the cloying taste of devotion – the idolatry that comes from having your molecules grafted onto a lover’s DNA – you’d shred every muscle strand in your body, tear skin from bone with bloodied teeth to keep what was coveted.

And here you were. The other woman.

Suddenly the chocolate dessert didn’t taste so appetizing.

At your lack of a meaningful answer, she unknowingly goes for the throat.

“Perhaps you should tell them–”

“No.”

The ice in your tone brokers no room for argument, instantly regretting the bite behind it as you watch her flinch back into the cushions with a meek whine.

Your expression softens in guilt. Chloe is just trying her best to help you navigate an otherwise impossible scenario. Her suggestion doesn’t come from a place of cruelty, only one of care. Even if it does speak of ignorance.

Not that she didn't still try.

“Wouldn’t you want to know if the roles were reversed?”

“And what good would that do?” you press far more gently this time, the acid of pain climbing up the back of your throat. “No matter what they say there’s no tangible future for us. That ship has well and truly sailed – I know that now. My destiny was signed with an iron pen and the deed says I belong to him.”

Your voice quivers on the last word, the sting of acceptance cutting into flesh with a rusty barbed wire. You never thought there could be a feeling worse than hopelessness.

“Telling them will only ensure that both parties suffer for another’s twisted scheme,” you continue past the lump in your throat, “and I won’t subject them to the burden that should be only mine to bear. I refuse to let them live with that guilt.”

Maybe it’s her beta upbringing that keeps her from fully understanding the colossal weight of putting your bonded through such inner turmoil. Chloe will never know what it means to share someone's emotions across an unwavering connection. Pack life isn’t barred from her, but the same primal urges that draw us towards our mates are nothing but strings of thread easily pruned.

Truthfully most betas never want it. To them, we all drew the short end of the straw; being forced into subjugation by ancient instincts that never shed their skin after the last ice age.

After the eternally looping rollercoaster that's been holding you prisoner the past four years, you can't say you disagree with them anymore.

“...maybe they chew with their mouths open.”

The huff she pulls from your chest is genuine, catching you off guard with the attempt at levity, the small roast doing its job of diffusing the atmosphere. Her extemporaneous remark reflects the giggles in her eyes begging you to play along.

“Bet they don’t wash their buttcracks either,” you add with a half-grin after a few moments of quiet, relishing in the way she covers her mouth to stifle a snort. Her energy is endearing, granting you leave to feed off the sunrays of her carefree aura, unblemished by the malice of a hateful underbelly, continuing for the next couple minutes that her presence lingers.

If only laughter was all it took to make everything better.

Consciousness greets you like a lifelong friend – one waiting to welcome you into outstretched arms, promising comfort and geniality with its disarming smile, swaddling you in a blanket so thick and plush it cradles you like a pregnant mother’s womb. It beckons with a silvery tongue, promising a joyful reunion as you give yourself over freely under the guise of a fresh start.

All the easier for it to slip a knife between your ribs.

You should’ve known better.

Sleep hasn’t been your ally since the night before the incident. Rest is not restful; it is a time where the walls between protection and abuse are at their thinnest. Where the toxic sludge of your connection oozes through the cracks like bubbling tar and coats your insides with its virulent adhesive. It chokes you with its noxious miasma, seeping into dreams and disturbing the regenerative process vital to your health.

Each day starts the same – dealing with the consequences of life on a strained leash.

Awareness comes into focus next like a camera in the exclusion zone, grainy and crackling under the effects of radioactivity while spreading like the beginnings of cancer through the pores of your skin. It clings around the edges, lethargic in its letting go, giving way only to the melodic chiming of your phone’s alarm that might as well be set to a booming fog horn.

Eyelashes crusty with dried salt crystals peel apart like fly paper, pupils fully dilated as the blackout curtains remove the need for constriction. The rumpled towel beneath you leaves tender spots on your back from where it bunched up in the night – a result of the fitful writhing when the nightmares your mind guards you from remembering leave your body feverful and drenched, soaking through the lightweight sheets and condensing in a thin layer of slimy moisture.

And the nausea.

God, the nausea.

The condition was a constant in your life, but its disruption was the worst during the early hours of the day.

Movement requires a delicate balance first thing in the morning. Jostle your body too much and the empty bin wedged between your bed and your nightstand gets reacquainted with the bile of your stomach (they’re apparently in an intimate relationship that you’re just sandwiched between like an awkward third wheel).

Problem is, barring the use of hefty restraints, it's impossible to know which side of the bed you’ll be waking up on. Literally.

Some days you find yourself facing the drab interior of your studio apartment rather than covered window panes, knowing the energy required to roll over towards the small nightstand will likely result in the emptying of your insides. Sleeping on your back had potential, but your form preferred to curl in on itself for lack of anything else to bring it comfort.

Lady Luck had apparently seen enough of your mental breakdowns the past forty eight hours to grant you a reprieve, taking pity on your string of misfortunes as the first thing your eyes take in upon blinking free from sand is the heavy satin of your window coverings keeping in the dark – some lavender pattern to help match the rest of your nesting materials. They’re still fresh out the box after all these years, though the accumulation of filth would tell you otherwise, dust bunnies taking up residence on the weighted linen.

Your furnishings haven’t been bathed in sunlight since the moving van.

The well-loved bottle of Zofran sits in its spot on the corner of your nightstand, next to your still ringing phone and a robin's egg stanley, a glass picture frame shoved in the far corner on the other side of your table lamp.

Still wrapped in a thick fog of drowsiness, leaden muscles flex and groan as your arm stretches the short distance, ears taking priority and fingers tapping at the illuminated screen until they locate the damn snooze button. Popping the small oval pill comes next, chasing it with lukewarm water before burrowing back down into the soft minky goodness of your comforter.

You're awake an hour before you need to be, but not to get anything done. No rejuvenating shower. No balanced breakfast and a half hour of yoga. Just adjusting to the abject misery your bond greets you with every day as a not so gentle reminder of the alpha you left behind.

It’s a constant struggle to remind yourself that the suffering is worth it for the lifetime of abuse from which you escaped. Better to be tormented by a path you chose than one unwillingly taken.

About forty minutes go by before the medication kicks in enough to allow you freedom of movement, pulling yourself from the tangles of your bedding with aching joints and low fuel reserves. Walking into the bathroom, you squint against the blinding overhead fluorescents, rubbing the spots from your eyes as you take in your frumpy reflection.

There’s a photograph next to your bed that you haven’t glanced at in a few months. Six familiar faces beaming into a camera lens somewhere high in the mountains. A family vacation from eight years ago; the best summer of your life.

That girl in the picture is nowhere to be found.

Spiritless eyes meet your gaze in the glass, early crows feet forming from periods of prolonged stress. A bone deep exhaustion reflected in your undereye bags, the dull pallor of your complexion. The frizziness of unmoisturized locks begging for a drink. Wind chapped lips and an eternal frown.

The oversized shirt hangs baggy on your form, once belonging to your brother but now in your possession. If you lifted up the garment you could practically count the ribs, a once healthy layer of fat and muscle cannibalized by famished cells and underutilization. It's hard to keep on weight when your stomach rejects the nourishment you try to provide.

If this is the empty shell you’ve become a full continent away from him then it’s hard to imagine what lifeless husk of a creature you might’ve deteriorated into under his brand of care.

There’s no more energy left by the time you do your business and finish brushing your teeth, knowing what few bolts remain will have to go towards the impending headache of customer service. Taming your unruly hair will just have to wait until later – if at all.

You flick the lights on as you pass, trudging on shaky legs to the cabinets above the microwave. There’s still too much unease in your tummy for your usual coffee order, opting for a mug of herbal tea to help settle the irritated organ, a spoonful of honey cutting through the mild bitterness. Settling on a sleeve of poptarts for a lazy breakfast, you lumber your way over towards the couch and the awaiting annoyances.

Opening shifts were always the worst.

Originally you’d approached the company with open availability in hopes of bettering your chances at landing a remote job. In those days, commuting to a location had been out of the question. It took months of submitting applications – relying solely on your family for all your expenses – before someone finally gave you an opportunity to rejoin the workforce.

(You wept the day you received the offer from HR. Having even a sliver of autonomy returned to you after a tumultuous period without it was as the first melting snow of a long envisioned spring).

Unfortunately it meant you were handed the hours no one else wanted to take. Most days that was the early shifts.

It’s not like you work a whole hell of a lot. The job itself is only part time after all and fairly easy; fourteen hours max per week. But you’d quickly learned that the later you were scheduled, the clearer your brain was to focus, the better you performed overall.

Now if only the big wigs at corporate would allow you to update your availability. When last you’d scrounged up enough courage to broach the topic to your immediate supervisor you were promptly informed that there was no current flexibility to your role and, when pressed, sent a look via Zoom that clearly said don't push it.

So much for ‘warm family environment’.

A small rolling side table acts as your makeshift desk, the apartment too cramped for something proper no matter how many attempts to tetris the layout. One of your fathers had come up with the brilliant solution while shopping at ikea for new end tables, spotting the piece of furniture and shipping it out to your location. You’d had to brave the awkward visit of the buff delivery man for a signature – hiding behind the door jamb like a sketchy criminal – but the purchase had been well worth it for how cluttered your poor kitchen table had previously looked, a jumbled mess of pens and wires, certifiably hazardous with its lengthy extension cord.

Armed with soothing chamomile and a warm knit blanket thrown over your lap, you boot up your laptop and log onto the program that would keep you chained to it for the next six hours.

Ask anyone that deals with customers directly: Christmas is the least wonderful time of the year.

Garbled phone calls over shitty receptions. The droning monotony of preplanned scripts. Old bitties recounting eight decades of family drama. Mass hysteria around shipping delays. ‘Happy Birthday Steve’ and the audible slick of his palm. Entitled socialites for whom the word ‘please’ never came preinstalled in their gold filigree hoity-toity dictionaries.

The fifteen minute break is almost insulting. As if anyone can decompress in such a meager timespan. It’s no wonder why people used to chainsmoke their way through the stress of their jobs.

You try to remind yourself of the before times – the trials and tribulations that came from previous employments. Long grueling hours spent pent up in bustling kitchens, the dinner rush on crab leg nights testing your arm strength and patience for slow steamers. Pushy roofing salesmen harping over impoverished neighborhoods. Car guys calling you toots and insisting on being assisted by a ‘real professional’.

This job was by far the most laid back. No fussing over business casual, no extroverted coworkers crowding your space, no bosses micromanaging for the sake of being assholes. You were living a cushy life by comparison.

But then your mind wanders to Jose on the third floor kitchen, busy doing prep work for the various departments; a kind man once he warmed up to you and found you competent enough to last. Always sneaking you tender bites of grilled meats and a bowl of creamy lobster bisque.

Nyle bringing you ladies in the office a round of Starbucks when he came in for mandatory meetings. Sharing music with Stacy and gabbing about just aired episodes of your favorite tv show. Heather bringing in fresh blueberry bear claws from the local bakery near her home.

Going to the irish pub across the street with the guys in finance that knew the owners, getting drunk off free whiskey and cider on Friday nights. All smiles and laughter as you twirl across the dance floor to a live band performing hits from musicians like Flogging Molly and Great Big Sea…

…and you realize just how much you took for granted. That there’s a palpable difference between surviving and living.

You don’t even notice you’re six minutes over break until your laptop pings from someone trying to get in touch with you, startling you out of melancholic reminiscence and bringing you back to a somber present that longs for the taste of livelihood.

That time has ended; those figures mere ghosts of a past better left forgotten in the vaults of your memory.

Now, you make a small but tidy living solving other people's problems a few hours a week. Enough to pay for personal bills, groceries, and the occasional indulgence while your fathers provide the bulk of your utilities and the sum of your rent. Your lost independence used to bother you more, but the thought of a homeless shelter quickly silenced your tongue.

Your cellphone reads one o’clock by the time you're freed from servitude, happy to be logging off as you push the rolling setup back out of the way. The air bubbles between the contours of your spine pop and crackle as you rise to your feet, ignoring the rush of lightheadedness from six hours remaining stationary. Resisting the urge to itch at the healing scab on the side of your neck, you pad into the kitchen to whip up a turkey sandwich – cautiously optimistic on the inclusion of juicy pickles – before plopping back down in your usual spot.

The acidity doesn’t seem to upset your stomach any further, allowing you to munch in peace on the simple scrapings of lunch, scrolling through the kindle app on your phone for something to occupy your time with.

There’s never much to do around here when the people in your life are busy living their own. Your family checks in on you every so often, catching you up on the goings-on in the quiet neighborhood, your father taking the opportunity to gush about his lego collection to someone other than his partner for a change. You miss the camaraderie that came with building the Death Star.

Despite living hundreds of miles away, their calls always made you feel as if you were gathered around the sectional in the warm lit interior of the sprawling living room, Christmas tree glowing by the light of the fire, a hot cup of cocoa and the merriment of family.

The same couldn’t be said for your younger brother Alex.

Ever since moving out at eighteen he'd become quite a prick, a beta complex a mile wide that only got worse when he surrounded himself with the wrong kinda crowd. The loss of his once fervent companionship had devastated you. After the accident that brought your parents to an early grave, you’d kept each other afloat through turbulent waves of depression, tidal waves of grief. Six became four, but – even though that wound would never fully heal – you still had the strength of their love to turn to when forgone memories played like black and white film.

But after that last argument…

Four became three.

It's been years since you last had any type of contact outside the occasional cheap greeting card – just another notch added to your mile long grinchmas belt come the holidays.

Fuck him.

Shaking yourself out of that spiraling rabbit hole, you turned back to the task of entertainment at hand. Since you didn’t feel like spending any more time on the phone listening to idle chatter than you already had today, you settled for choosing a book at random from your extensive TBR, diving into a medieval fantasy where brave warriors slayed evil dragons and an honorable knight could still save a princess.

The minute hand goes round and round.

Dinner is as simple an affair as lunch; a cheap frozen pizza popped in the oven adding an extra layer of warmth to the already balmy interior. There’s no need for a plate as you pull it off the wire rack onto the cardboard box it came in, gooey cheese bubbling hot and steamy, sizzling toppings shiny with bright orange grease, savory aromas wafting as they ride the circulation of the antiquated heating system.

Years of battling chronic fatigue have made you crafty, cutting corners on labor with gathered tips and tricks accumulated over hours of lengthy research. There’s no need to add to your pile of dishes; no plates or utensils to scrub free of dried food particles. Just you and your fingers tearing through the saucy meal chunk by chunk.

Dr. Miranda tells you it's all about the little victories. The moments of accomplishment no matter how insignificant. Doesn’t matter how you get the job done so long as it happens. Roll out of bed? That’s a win. A sleeve of ritz crackers for a meal? Glad you got sustenance. Just because you weren’t claiming a nobel prize didn’t mean your triumphs were any less important.

Didn’t leave much in the way of riveting stimulation though. Just acclimatizing you to existing in a hamster ball where the difference between day and night is as little as the am or pm on the clock.

After all, it wasn’t like your body signaled a change in energy levels. There’s no ‘getting tired’ when you never wake up.

The only time you ever felt a sense of normalcy was when you started the process of getting ready for bed, pinpoint focus narrowing in on the task of fixing your nest. Logic shuts down and gut feeling takes the reins. You lose yourself in the fussing over placement of plush fleece and textured sherpa, jersey knit sheets and squishmallow plushies. Weighted quilt blankets and cloud-fluffy pillows of various shapes and sizes, the assortment of pastel pinks and lush earthy greens giving off the enchanted forest vibes held dear to your heart.

It wasn’t large or luxurious by any means, but the few modest pieces you did have were plenty enough for the cozy space, strewn across the full sized bed in an organized haphazard chaos understood only by the omega instincts that dictate your actions.

Only, there’s something wrong…

You lament the smell of mildew as your nose breathes in the cloth of your pillowcase, whining in dejection at the offense to your delicate olfactory senses and pawing at the material in shame.

An omega’s nest is a vital part of the care and keeping of their fragile emotional state. Oftentimes they’re seen as a reflection of their owner's inner consciousness and a handy tool to monitor their anxiety levels on a day to day basis. An unkempt nest can not only signal deeper depression, but if neglected for too long may result in bodily dysregulation that can affect them even right down to a molecular level, throwing hormones out of whack and causing real physical illness.

Your nest hasn’t been properly cleaned in far too many months – no doubt adding to the high levels of stress that already permeate your everyday life. The sacred space that’s supposed to be your safe haven acts as just another graphic reminder that he’s taken everything from you. There's no true relaxation in your life because of it.

For what was the point of washing the sweat-stained fabric if there’s no stopping it getting soiled again the following night?

Pulling the musky sheets up to just below your chin, you stare blankly at the evidence of what happens when you get your hopes up, sitting plugged into the charger on the corner of your nightstand.

The phone hasn’t rang once.

You’ve been religiously checking the screen all day. Turned the volume from vibrate to blaring. Unclicked ‘do not disturb’ mode (turns out even telemarketers think you’re a waste of time). The device went everywhere with you, whether it was ten feet to the bathroom or six inches across the couch. Your desperation might have been otherwise embarrassing, but there was no worry of judgment besides your own in the guarded solitude of your apartment.

He'd given you a thimble of hope, and you were clinging to it like the last drop of water.

Whether it be a call or text; you didn’t know. But he promised you... promised you… that you’d be hearing from him soon. Threatened you against inaction on your part. And you’d just believed him. Believed that even for a moment – some tiny fraction of oblivion – there could exist a world where you didn’t have to feel quite so fucking alone.

What exactly has he been up to? Some prior commitment that pulled him from his phone? Maybe he’s just stuck at work all day? But then surely he doesn’t pull twelve hour shifts. Not like you found out their given occupations yet. Which means he’s gotta be sick, right? The weather’s been atrocious and you hadn’t physically seen him get in a car when he left.

Shit! He went home smelling like you. How did the pack react?

How did she react?

They didn’t get into a fight did they? She probably forced him to delete your contact info. God, you were so selfish putting them through this mess. But hadn't John been selfish too in wanting to keep you around? Was that really a pack decision?

The tears culminating in your eyes were pathetic. Acid rain bleaching your pillowcase in big caustic globules, seeping into the fabric and burning through the thin membrane of your cheeks. Bitter rage tainted the half formed excuses, corrupting like malware into personal betrayal.

How could you be so foolish? What part of ‘you’re not allowed to be happy’ did you not comprehend? Hadn’t you already learned not to shoot for the stars, much less the occupants of unit 2B?!

Poor, stupid omega.

You grasped your chest as if that could stop whatever clawed beast was burrowing its way past your ribcage to dig out a hole and lay its clutch. Flicking the bedside lamp off brought you as much darkness outside as there was feasting on your entrails and gorging itself for a long unforgiving winter.

Curling up in your repugnant nest, you couldn’t keep your heart from shattering as each teardrop extinguished the sputtering flame of hope.

You never got around to fixing your hair.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ << ✽ >> ✿ Next ✿ >>

340 notes · View notes

lou-struck · 1 month ago

Text

A Warm Rescue

Katsuki Bakugo x reader

~ While out Bar Hopping with your friends, a long line and a lost jacket has you wishing the night would come to an early end.

W.C. 2.8k

Warnings: Alcohol use, Bar Hopping, Being Cold, use of y/n for reader.

a/n: I saw something like this happen the other day so this is a bit self indulgent. But for all you readers who are of legal drinking age, remember to dress accordingly. Inside the bar may be warm but outside is still going to be freezing.

Your bedside clock flashes the time in your direction as you walk about the bedroom with your toothbrush in your mouth. It’s almost eight thirty which means your friends should be picking you up for your long-awaited night out, checking out some of the cooler bars your city has to offer.

Your phone rests on Katsuki’s nightstand plugged into his much more efficient charger as you stuff your ID and Credit Card into the large front pockets of your pants. Normally you would try to bring a bag with you, but you decided against it for purely aesthetic reasons.

From across the room, you see your phone light up with a message from Mina, the one who invited you on this fun little night out.

‘Hey Y/n, the Uber is outside ur place!’

‘No Rush but hurry so we can get to the first bar before the kitchen closes!!!!’

“Momo wants fries.’

The little explosion of text messages brings a smile to your face as you grab your device off the nightstand in such a hurry, that you nearly take the whole charging cord with you.

It’s only at 38% so that will have to do for tonight.

Just as you are about to leave the bedroom you take a peek at yourself in the mirror. Your arms are practically bare underneath your mesh sleeves and you wonder if you need to bring another layer with you that is a bit more wintery.

You grab a thin jacket and slip it on before heading towards the door. Your hand is on the handle as you shoot a glance back to the shut door of Katsuki’s office.

Your pro hero boyfriend has been on a Zoom call with someone from his agency for the past two hours and you would hate to interrupt him while he’s working. He may not be a night owl himself, but you know he worries about you when you go out.

Your phone's battery may be low, but it’s still enough for you to send him a little goodbye text. It’s short and sweet but you deem it appropriate enough as you press send and walk out the front door into the chilly early spring air.

As you run towards the waiting Uber, you can’t help but think that this pathetic excuse for a jacket you have on may not be enough to keep you warm as the temperature drops lower and lower.

By the time your little group makes it to your first bar of the night, you are half frozen. But it is packed and the compressed body heat around you makes the air almost too warm for you.

“Woah, it looks like it’s standing room only,” you murmur to absolutely no one. The loud thumping of the base drowns out your words before you even speak them.

Not bothering to try to have a conversation with you, Mina’s pink arm links with your own, and she expertly drags you through the crowd to the only open booth in the whole place.

You gawk at her in amazement as you slide across the kinda sticky, black leather seats next to her as Momo buys the first round as well as some fries for the table. Because as she said in the Uber, “It is irresponsible to drink on an empty stomach.”

As you begin to sway along to the music, the heat from the bar’s seltzer-scented air gets to be too much for you. To cool down, you shrug the useless jacket down your arms, letting it rest on the booth behind you for later.

“We look so cute,” Mina practically yells into your ear as there is a pause in the music. “What did Bakugo say when he saw you leaving?”

“Nothing.” you frown “He was working so I didn't get to say goodbye.”

“Sucks for him,” she grins, pulling out her phone. Her fully charged battery mocks your practically dead one in your pocket as he turns it sideways. “I’ll send him a picture of you so he knows what he’s missing out on.”

You smile as her camera flash blinds you. She tries to show you how the picture turned out but it just looks like a bunch of black and white dots on her screen as your eyes readjust to the darkened room.

You may have been there too long.

One drink turned to four and your head feels slightly fuzzy from your good-natured buzz.

Between trips to and from the bathroom, the dance floor, and the bartop you feel you have thoroughly explored every inch of the small, overcrowded bar.

The fry baskets are empty and your drinks are nothing but ice and twisted lemon garnishes when your group gets up to leave. You pull yourself up from the booth and link arms with your friends laughing as you make your way through the crowd towards the exit so you can walk down the block.

As you walk past the bouncer towards the door your slightly tipsy brain can’t help but feel like you're forgetting something.

The shift from the loud cramped bar to the outside air is quite the sensation. Your ears feel like they have been stuffed with cotton as they readjust away from the loud music and even louder laughter that filled the bar.

With your friends pulling you along the slightly frosty pavement to the next bar, the ‘alcohol blanket’ around you begins to wear off and you find yourself a little cold.

Okay, maybe a lot-

You’re visibly shivering as your once floaty brain crashes down to earth in full sobriety. Why are you so cold?

You wrap your bare arms around yourself, your poor skin too cold to make goosebumps. And then you realize…

“Oh shoot, I left my coat in the other bar.” you realize bitterly. But even if you had your jacket with you, it wouldn't do much to keep you warm.

The group stops in their tracks and looks at poor, chilly you. “Should we go back and get it?”

“No worries,” you reply, shooting a glance back at the bar you had been at despite the freezing temperatures the line is out the door practically wrapping around the building. “Let’s just get to the next bar.”

“Are you sure?” Momo asks with concern “I could make you a blanket.”

You defiantly shake your head. The Pro could make you a blanket or something, but if something were to happen you would be wasting her quirk. “No thank you, it’s really not that bad.”

The two Pro Heroes look between themselves but know that you are just like your boyfriend. Stubborn to a fault.

You pick up your pace, the movement helping you feel a bit warmer as you lead your little group down the block. The taller building acts as a much-appreciated windshield for you.

“There it is.” Ashido squeals pointing to the next bar on your list. Since you guys spent way longer at the first bar you think that this may be your last stop of the night.

“The line looks short too”

“Thank god,” you mutter quietly as you guys approach the bouncer who shakes his head at the three of you and stops you with a meaty palm. His shaved head and designer sunglasses glisten under the urban lighting making him look twice as large and three times as mean.

“We're full,” he growls. “Move to the side and wait until someone leaves.”

“At least he didn't turn us away,” You murmur, watching as the bouncer waves away groups of younger adults with a mere twitch of his lip. The line thins, but never quite disappears. The lack of warm bodies around you makes you even more painfully aware of just how cold you are. ow

Your muscles ache, and as your buzz wears off you realize just how worn out you are feeling. The week was long, tedious, and although you would never complain of the hardships of your civilian job to two Pro Heroes, you are beginning to yearn for the comforts of your bed.

Katsuckis warm body pressed against yours can put you to sleep in no time.

He’s probably at home, warm in bed without you.

Jerk

A man slips out of the bar’s door, his cell phone pressed to his ear as he walks impatiently towards a rideshare.

Mina bats her eyelashes at the bouncer and nudges you forward. “It’s freezing out here, is there any way our friend could go inside first? That guy over there just walked out.”

He lowers the glasses to the bridge of his nose and shoots you a look of disgust, that if you weren't living with the King of Scowls, would’ve terrified you.

“Are you a Pro Hero?” he sighs glancing briefly at his clipboard.

“N-no.” you shiver as another brutal gust of wind cuts through the air.

“Are you famous?”

“Not at all.”

“Rich?”

“I wish,” you chuckle.

“Then why would I let you in all by yourself?”

“Because they are cold and you have the space inside?” Mina says stepping between you and the bouncer who seems to have a raging god complex.

Momo cuts “Because they are in a relationship with D~”

“I don’t care if they are All Might’s secret love child.” the man scoffs. “They are not getting inside without a VIP escort.”

“Guys it’s fine.” you huff trying to sound encouraging, your fake smile pinches your cheeks. “A few more minutes out here won't kill me, and then we can get back to having fun.”

Three pairs of eyes land on you. “Are you sure y/n you look pretty cold?”

“I’m fine,” you grin. “I could stay out here for hours.”

Before anyone can call your bluff, a car screeches to a stop in the pickup area next to the line, its headlights reflect off the asphalt, blinding you and everyone else in the line. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to readjust, blinking away the weird dark spots until you can make out a figure sliding out of the driver's seat. Their hands are shoved deep into their pockets as they stomp in your direction. Blinking the figure into clarity you manage to make out the deep scowl of your boyfriend standing just feet away from you.

“Wow, someone is certainly out past his bedtime,” Momo comments, earning a snicker from her pink-haired friend.

“Katsuki.” you shiver, you don't know if it's the lingering alcohol in your system, but you feel as if the Blond's heated gaze of irritation is warming the air around you.

“It’s freezing out here, what the Hell do you think you are doing going out dressed like it's the Summer?"

“I had a jacket.” You say defensively, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide some of your cold skin. But your facade crumbles and you step closer to him for some much-needed comfort. “But I left it at the last place and now I’m really cold.”

He narrows his eyes as he takes in your shivering form. “No shit. You’re gonna catch pneumonia out here.” He unzips his black jacket and drapes it around your bare shoulders. Immediately you nuzzle into the warm, burnt sugar-scented garment.

“Feels good,” you murmur, “Thank you.”

“Dynamite?” the bouncer's voice cracks as he looks up at your boyfriend with wide eyes. “I would’ve let them inside if I knew that~”

Your boyfriend's head snaps toward the bouncer. “YOU KEPT THEM OUT HERE IN THE COLD?”

“I-it’s policy,” he blubbers.

“IT’S A SHIT POLICY,” he spits back his warm arm snaking protectively around your waist. You lean into his warmth and watch as a woman steps out of the bar and rushes towards the bouncer.

“What are you doing here Shawn?” she asks, and you can tell by her tone of voice that she is definitely the Bar's Manager. Katsuki and the others lock eyes as they realize that they are about to watch some top-tier drama unfold. “You were fired…Last week.”

Momo’s hand flies to her chest in shock as she drinks up this piping hot tea. “Oh my…”

The ‘bouncer’ decides to bounce, disappearing around the corner. To save face, the Manager turns to face your group and smiles. “So sorry about this you guys, please come on inside while I deal with this crowd, and find another bouncer.”

“You know, I don’t think those pajama pants fit the dress code.” Mina jokes pointing to your boyfriend's blue flannel pants. “Did you leave your bunny slippers in the car?”

His face turns a furious crimson as his grip tightens around your waist. “Shut Up Raccoon Eyes, clearly I’m going home to get some sleep.”

His warmth pulls away and your body instinctively follows. “You’re not coming with us?”

His eyes soften as he fiddles with the jacket around your shoulders. “It’s late, you should keep that with you and stay warm in there. And charge yer damn phone.”

“I don’t have a…” you feel the pockets and notice that he has slid a portable charger and one of your favorite snack bars in the pocket.

Such a small gesture has you grinning like an idiot as you look up at the man in front of you.

God… he is such a simp for you.

You could tease him, but why on earth would you bite the hand that literally feeds you?

“Stay warm, okay?”

“I will,” you murmur, looking between your friends and your boyfriend. You want to go home, but you would hate to leave your friends since you hardly get to spend time together.

“I know that look,” Momo says, giving you a smile, “You should get home and warm up. We’ll be done in a bit so how about we get brunch together tomorrow?”

“You can come too Bakugou,” Mina laughs, slinging an arm around Momo’s shoulders and receiving a scowl from your Boyfriend.

“You guys really don't mind if I call it a night?” you ask worriedly.

“I mean, we love spending time with you, but you look like you’re freezing,” Mina says, her dark eyes full of concern.

“Now go warm up before I pull a space heater out of my chest.”

“And trust me, she’s done it before.” They go into the bar gigging as you are now alone with your boyfriend, who miraculously isn't shivering now without his jacket. “Thank you for coming.”

“I wasn't just gonna let you freeze,” he says, his cheeks turning a tad pink from embarrassment. I saw that message from Raccoon eyes and you looked cold. I tried to lay down but I couldn't sleep thinkin of you freezing your ass off out here. And yer phone was dead so I couldn't~”

“You’re amazing,” you breathe and your poor heart can’t take it any longer. You practically pounce on him, pressing your cold lips to his much warmer ones. You pull away, far too soon for his liking, and give him your most innocent expression. “It’s cold out here, can we go?”

“Yeah, let's get out of here.” Clinging to his arm, he walks you over to his artistically parked car. Even in the dark, you notice the three outsline parking spots his vehicle is covering. “Nice parking job,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he growls trying his best to glare at you as he opens the passenger door for you. “Clearly I had other things on my mind.”

The warm air from the heated car warms your air-chilled skin, and it doesn't escape your notice that Katsuki had turned on the passenger seat warmer for you before you had even planned on calling it a night.

He knows you too well.

“This is nice,” you sigh, allowing the warm air to stream in through the vents as he drives off into the night.

“I bet,” he hums, sliding one of his hands off the steering wheel and placing it softly on your exposed kneecap. “You still feel like ice, are you trying to catch a cold?”

“Of course not,” you object, “but, having you look after me wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.”

“You are such a pain,” he smiles, attention still on the road.

“But you love me.”

“Well no shit,” he scoffs, giving your knee an affectionate squeeze. “I wouldn't get out of bed in the middle of the night for anyone else.”

True love right there…

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network

#bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #bnha fluff #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #x reader

65 notes · View notes

siawritez · 17 days ago

Text

Episode 3 – Flash, Focus, and a Dream in the Lobby

The morning after wasn’t quiet.

It never was with Wonyoung.

“Water,” she croaked into the pillow. “Please tell me I died last night and this is purgatory.”

“Close,” Liz said, tossing a cold bottle toward her head. “You begged us to let you FaceTime your girlfriend while naked, cried when we said no, tried to fuck a pillow, and passed out halfway through your abs monologue.”

Wonyoung groaned.

Yuna pulled open the blinds, flooding the hotel room with Parisian morning light. “Up. Shower. We’re shooting in the Marais in one hour. I already scheduled the models and lighting team.”

To anyone watching, Wonyoung looked like hell—her hair a nest of guilt, her face puffy from sleep and dehydration. But inside, she was already moving.

She had to. Work didn’t wait for hangovers or heartbreak.

“Where’s my bag?” she muttered, sitting up slowly. “Camera gear. Cards. Batteries.”

“On the dresser,” Yuna said, already in a blazer and boots. “Let’s go, lover girl.”

---

The studio setup in the Marais was tucked in a narrow alley that opened into a perfect courtyard of limestone and shadows. The models were already waiting—diverse faces, strong cheekbones, bold looks styled in Parisian layers. The crew was moving fast: tripods, gels, reflectors, backdrops.

Yeonjun stood near the lighting rig, directing a tech with ease.

“Too warm,” he said. “Bring the fill light down and add a cool gel to balance the gold bounce. We’re not doing magazine romance—we want edge.”

Beomgyu was at the monitor, syncing memory cards and organizing the drive folders. “Every shot goes into the RAW folder, nothing in the compressed sub. We’ll color correct after. No filters, no bullshit.”

Yuna passed behind them with a clipboard, marking frame compositions and checking lens ranges. “If we’re doing close crops, switch to the 85mm. I want the sharpest possible bokeh.”

Wonyoung didn’t speak.

She was already moving through the space, camera in hand, eyes sharpened to a predator’s focus. Her hangover was gone. What remained was the hunger.

The first model stepped forward—tall, androgynous, draped in black mesh and silver chains.

Wonyoung narrowed her eyes. “Tilt your chin. Right there. Don’t smile. Look through the lens like you’ve got something to say but won’t say it.”

The shutter clicked.

And clicked.

She moved like wind, always circling, crouching low, leaning in close, backpedaling to widen the frame.

She forgot the night. She forgot the months. She forgot the ache in her chest that whispered abs, voice, hands, lips.

It was all aperture and light.

It was the hum of her camera, the snap of timing, the slow bloom of a perfect moment captured forever.

“You’re killing it,” Liz murmured from behind, watching Wonyoung spin through shots. “Proud of you.”

Wonyoung’s smile was small. Focused.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “Let’s keep going.”

---

They shot for nine hours.

From golden hour to dusk, across narrow streets and rooftops, changing models and outfits, capturing motion, stillness, raw emotion, and quiet poise. They ate baguettes on the move, coffee in paper cups, and swapped out gear like a NASCAR pit stop.

They worked like artists. Like family.

And Wonyoung—though quieter than usual, and never without that faraway look—never once broke down. She didn’t say your name. She didn’t cry.

Until dinner.

---

The restaurant was a cozy spot near the Seine, modern lighting and high-ceilinged warmth. They sat around a long table, menus scattered, laughing softly under candlelight.

Wonyoung had showered and pulled herself together. Her eyeliner was soft, her lips glossed. She looked… calm. Present.

“I still can’t believe the last rooftop shot,” Yeonjun said. “The way the wind hit her coat? That shit looked like a fashion movie.”

“Wonyoung caught it mid-twirl,” Liz added. “One second later and the angle would've been off.”

Beomgyu raised his glass. “To competent friends with actual talent. And Wonyoung, for not humping a pillow on set.”

“Cheers to that,” Yuna laughed, clinking her glass.

Wonyoung flushed, but she smiled.

Her heart still ached. Quietly. Like a bruise under perfect makeup.

But she was okay.

For now.

---

They returned to the hotel around midnight.

Wonyoung was tipsy but soft this time—no tears, no dramatic FaceTime threats, just a quiet warmth in her cheeks and a little lazy smile as she leaned on Yuna’s arm in the elevator.

Her voice was barely a whisper as they stepped into the lobby. “You guys are good friends.”

Liz nudged her. “Don’t get emotional again. We’re only nice once a day.”

The lobby was still.

Not empty—people sat by the bar, the front desk was manned, jazz music played faintly—but it was slow and late and gentle.

Which made what happened next feel like a dream.

Because there you were.

Standing near the wall by the elevators, hands in the pockets of your bomber jacket, hair soft under the golden lobby light. Brown layers fell across your cheekbones, curtain bangs just a bit messy from travel.

And your eyes?

Locked only on her.

Wonyoung blinked.

She stumbled a little.

Liz caught her elbow. “Whoa—”

“I’m dreaming,” Wonyoung whispered.

You walked toward them slowly. Your steps were quiet, hesitant, but sure. You bowed slightly as you approached, and your voice—oh god, your voice—was so soft it made Liz inhale.

“Hi,” you said gently. “Are you okay?”

Wonyoung gasped.

Then she burst into tears.

“Holy shit,” Beomgyu muttered. “It’s her.”

“The abs,” Yeonjun whispered. “The voice. She’s real.”

You looked panicked for a moment, but you kept your tone even.

“I didn’t mean to—surprise, I guess,” you said, your hands awkwardly at your sides. “I flew in. I just… missed her.”

“Wonyoung,” Liz said gently. “Babe. That’s her. That’s your girl.”

Wonyoung didn’t answer. She was shaking.

She reached forward and touched your face—tentatively, like one might pet a ghost. Her fingers brushed your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips. She was whispering.

“You’re warm,” she murmured. “Real? Are you real?”

You nodded. “I’m here.”

Then her fingers grabbed your shirt.

And she yanked.

“Fuck me before you disappear,” she mumbled.

Your whole face went scarlet.

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to your chest. “If this is a dream, I want your dick inside me before I wake up. I’ll take fake warmth. I’ll take anything. Please. You’re so pretty. You smell like I imagined.”

Your heart pounded so loud it hurt. The others stood frozen, jaws slightly open.

Wonyoung started unbuttoning your jacket with trembling fingers. “Lemme see your abs. If you’re a dream, I need proof.”

You sputtered. “W-Wonyoung, we’re in the lobby—”

“I don’t care. I’ll blow you in the elevator.”

She looked up, eyes glassy. “Please. Just touch me. Before you fade.”

You blushed so violently your ears turned red.

“I’m not a dream,” you whispered. “I came here for you.”

Wonyoung let out a sound between a sob and a laugh.

Then she leaned forward and licked your abs through your shirt.

“Oh my god,” Beomgyu whispered.

“She’s unhinged,” Liz muttered.

Yuna pulled her phone out and started filming. “This is history.”

You gently cupped Wonyoung’s face, heart breaking at the way her body trembled.

“I’m real,” you said, low and firm. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

She looked up at you, finally seeing. Finally believing.

“You came.”

“I always will,” you whispered.

Her lips wobbled.

Then she collapsed into your arms and sobbed into your chest, clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in the world.

You held her.

Tight.

The others stood there, silent, watching.

And for once?

No one had anything sarcastic to say.

#ive x reader #wonyoung x fem reader #jang wonyoung #ive #wonyoung x reader #wonyoung smut #jang wonyoung x reader #wonyoung #wonyoung x you #jang wonyoung x fem reader #ive imagines #ive smut

67 notes · View notes

gunsandspaceships · 10 months ago

Text

Tony's surgeries in the cave: Part 3. Second Surgery

Why the second surgery was necessary: Part 1, Arrhythmia, Reactor, Part 2

What was done:

Removal of the electromagnet.

Sternectomy - partial removal of Tony's sternum.

Removal of some chest and abdominal muscles (some partially, some completely).

Removal of parts of at least 4 ribs on both sides together with parts of attached muscles.

Yinsen may or may not have removed the thymus.

Tony's heart was slightly shifted back in his chest cavity.

Implantation of pacemaker-ICD electrodes running from the bottom of the reactor housing to the heart (This could be done either directly through the chest cavity outside the heart, or through the subclavian vein into the heart).

Removal of parts of Tony's lungs/lungs moved to the sides.

Displacement of blood vessels in Tony's chest.

Displacement or removal of lymph nodes in the chest. In case of removal - replacement with an artificial system connected to the reactor housing.

Implantation of the titanium reactor housing, its attachment to the parts of the sternum that were not removed.

Connecting the housing to the ribs using rib clamps.

Attaching the reactor with the pacemaker to the housing.

Suturing muscles and tendons to the reactor using surgical/biological mesh.

Closing the wound with polyester cuff around the housing where it meets the skin.

Suturing the sternectomy incision.

How do we know this actually happened?

In addition to the reasons stated in Part 1:

After the first surgery, we don't see the reactor housing in Tony's chest. The electromagnet is bolted to the sternum and, unlike the reactor, cannot simply be temporarily removed from the chest.

As you can see below, unlike the electromagnet, the reactor housing is complex, clean, made of titanium and designed specifically for the arc reactor.

Remember about internal organs - you can't just make a hole and put anything in there, no matter how deep it is. You'll need to remove or displace something.

In the scenes below we can see a fresh sternectomy scar after the reactor was implanted. The scar looks different every time, and sometimes it disappears completely thanks to makeup artists. There is not a single scene with this scar before the reactor.

As I mentioned in The Cave timeline (March 1 - April 12), several weeks passed between the successive scenes: Tony finished working on the reactor and showed Yinsen the armor blueprint > the security camera scene and the backgammon scene.

The two weeks between the first surgery and Tony waking up would not have been enough time to recover from the trauma of the reactor implantation. Tony instantly jumps to his feet and is able to raise his arms above his head and hold a car battery - nope, that's absolutely unrealistic.

The Ten Rings would not allow them not to work, but we see them playing board games. Post-op recovery explains it.

#marvel #mcu #tony stark #iron man #the avengers #medicine #arc reactor #tony's heart #cardiothoracic surgery #biomedical engineering

156 notes · View notes

ratatouillewastakendammit · 5 months ago

Text

This is actually the first rough draft teaser chapter for a Bill Cipher/reader fic I’m possibly thinking of making, but I’m just gonna post this to see if it’s smth people would be interested in!

A Human’s Touch

Pairing: Bill Cipher/Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Colors.

The world was a flurry of colors.

Blues and browns and a flurry of greens collided with one another, meshing the woods behind your campus into a collage of different hues. It was funny how a place fuming with boredom could become such a mix of beauty and chaos under the right circumstances.

Before this, you would’ve said that your stomach was fairly durable. It had survived skirmishes against clearance section frozen meals and a hoard of cup noodles. However, it seemed to be no match for end-of-semester party frat food.

If only you had stayed where you had for most of the other parties this year, on the bed with a bag of Smartfood popcorn, but the FOMO of letting your final bash as a junior slip through your fingers was much too strong. So whether it had been the homemade potato salad or the peppermint fudge brownies you were ninety percent sure had been cooked in a microwave, you had left the dorm with an unfortunate case of food poisoning.

Of course, the symptoms hadn’t begun to show up until hours later, deceptively lying in wait until you were helping your upperclassman with a personal research project.

You had stumbled out of the building, the embarrassment only slightly overcome by the absolute battle rumbling in your stomach, and tried your best to run toward the nearest secluded area.

It was surprising that even after two years at Pineridge University, you had completely forgotten about the extensive forest fencing the Northern side of campus.

This little factoid, along with the dizzying headache that made your vision spin, left you far enough in the forest to obscure any view of the civilization left behind.

Thankfully, you couldn’t have gone that far and if you could just walk back the way you came, it would’ve been just fine.

That is not what happened.

Apparently, aimlessly wandering around in a haze for a place to suffer in peace left you horribly turned around. It had been at least thirty five minutes since your last ‘I’m almost there’ thought, and a good ten since the ‘if I just keep walking straight I’ll find something.’

At this point, a pit of nerves had replaced the ache in your stomach and the sun had passed its peak in the sky, painting the horizon with blues, purples, and pinks. An army of trees surrounded you, an endless array of different greens creating your prison.

You had tried calling someone half an hour ago, but the internet at your campus had been atrocious, so it wasn’t at all surprising that the connection out here was basically nonexistent. It would’ve felt more productive to just walk around with your phone in the air until a bar showed up, but with the battery under ten percent the last time you checked, you had made the decision to leave it off until there was an actual emergency.

What constituted an actual emergency, however, you weren’t exactly sure.

Being stuck out in the woods with nothing but books and some leftover papers seemed to at least come close. Regardless, thinking of it like that made you feel sick, again, so you tried your best to stay positive.

But no matter how many uplifting thoughts you forced into your mind, the impending doom and anxiety somehow wormed its way back in. Those worst case scenarios, bear attacks, ticks, or serial killers posing as hikers, began to cloud over any positive ray you attempted to bring in.

Dryness tickled your throat and an emptiness rumbled through your stomach. The evening only grew colder, wind grasping at your thin lab coat with its invisible fingers.

So it only made sense that when your eyes finally fell upon the clearing of space that spilled from the ocean of endless trees, you heaved a sigh of relief and ran forward, the throbbing in your legs momentarily forgotten as you trudged toward the promise land.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

It was turning out to be a particularly shitty day.

The clearing was almost completely empty and surrounded by foliage, save for a small stream and dilapidated statue in the middle of the area.

Tears of anger and exhaustion nipped your eyes as you let out a whine of frustration, tossing your bag to the ground.

Aching shoulders free, you forced in a deep breath, after one more mandatory string of curses, and moved to sit down in front of a nearby tree. Unfortunately, the adrenaline had leaked from your limbs, leaving them sore and sloppy. A tiny divet in the forest floor had your ankle tipping to the side, gravity yanking you down to the floor with a groan.

With your back on the grass, you took a moment to let the pain subside and wallow in your misery, vision fixed on the sky above. The moon was almost visible now, its luminous beauty your only distraction from the sting. It hung in the sky, lonesome allure offering soft comfort as you gathered your courage and looked down at your leg.

It definitely wasn’t sprained, but dammit, that hurt.

Alternatively, it was also been a reminder of how absolutely abysmal it would be to walk all the way back with a broken ankle.

Surprisingly, the thought was able to simultaneously bring you some hope and piss you off.

The “it could always be worse” strategy never was very helpful.

You would know.

On the other hand, the fall had actually given you a chance to really take in your surroundings without a vail of emotions covering your senses.

It was peaceful.

That seemed to be the only kind way to describe it.

The wind seemed to subside slightly here, the only sound coming from your own haggard breathing and the small stream to your right. Come to think of it, you hadn’t heard any animals here either.

It was almost like the life had been sucked out of the picturesque clearing, leaving only the traces of whatever existence had once thrived here behind.

So, yes, it was peacefully unsettling, but peaceful nonetheless.

Sunlight filtered through the ever-moving leaves, shadows whirling around the forgotten thicket in their sorrowful dance, mourning whatever audience they may have once had.

You craned your neck over your shoulder, eyes catching on the statue that you had nearly cracked your occipital lobe on. You had yet to really take in its presence, much less take in how odd it was.

The statue might’ve once been gray, but was now overrun by the nature surrounding it. Moss snuck up its sides like an infection, grass sprouting from the cracks and crevices.

But that was the least of your confusion.

It was the statue itself, or the shape in particular, that was surprising. It was a simple triangle, with a large, reptilian-like eye right in its middle. The thin arm outstretched from the shape and small top hat above it made your eyebrows furrow.

Then again, there were quite a few pieces of modern art that you were unable to understand the appeal of.

Actually, the more you looked at it, the more interesting it seemed. You wondered if whoever made it knew where it was, knew that their creation was lost to the hands of nature and time.

You’d heard people say that life is short but art lives forever.

Apparently not.

Did it die if there was no one there to see it? No one to understand whatever philosophical message the sculptor had been trying to portray, words written with precise brushstrokes and chisels upon stone.

“Stuck here too?” You sighed, cradling your face in an open palm. “Yeah, I thought so.”

The rhythmic lull of the rolling brook tugged at your eyelids, the lethargy in your body slowly trailing up to infest your mind. You shook the fatigue off, quickly stretching your neck before reaching toward the statue.

“Well, wish me luck, I suppose,” your hand curled around its own, cragged rock scraping against your fingers as you used the leverage to pull yourself up. Pain shot through your legs as you stood, but it slowly ebbed away after a few seconds. You steadied yourself, brushing your dirty palms off on your jeans before turning to grab your bag.

It was just as you grasped the strap that you noticed how completely and utterly silent it was.

The stream, once bubbling and lively had come to a dull stop, the wind that once nipped at your skin wholly still.

That’s when you heard a crack.

Your first thought was that an animal had come for you, giant paws crushing a nearby stick. However, as you spun on your heels, you noticed that it was not a branch, but the statue.

It had cracked right down the middle, a soft yellow glow emanating from the decaying stone. If you held your breath, you could almost imagine a soft hum coming from inside.

The ground almost seemed to shake from underneath you, a presence somewhere below digging its way out. Your bag slipped from your fingers as the statue cracked once more, the golden rays glowing brighter with each second. Time came to a slow as you watch in horror as the sculpture continued to fracture, small pieces beginning to fall off entirely.

That’s when it exploded.

The first, panicked thought that entered your head was that you had somehow stepped onto a land mine while trying to run away, its incessant ring bringing you to your knees.

It wasn’t until moments later that you realized that you hadn’t been hurt, much less killed, in the initial detonation of light and sound.

You must have gone mad, though, because the first noise that ripped through the silence was-

“Boy, oh, boy, is it good to be back!”

The voice was grating and loud, and most definitely not your own.

Slowly, you cracked your eyes open, pupils dilating in surprise as you took in the sight before you.

The statue was now completely gone, small pebbles and broken blades of grass the only whispers of its presence left.

Instead, a life sized replica was floating above it.

A soft golden glow emanated from the triangle, or, you supposed it looked more like a pyramid now that it was colored in a bright yellow. A once stationary eye was now shifting constantly, taking in its surroundings before stopping.

On you.

“Heya, toots!” The thing flew closer, its immediate proximity enough to shock you into falling back. “I’m guessing you’re the one who let me out?”

The only noise that came out of your throat seemed to be a gargled line of stupor, the pyramid rolling its eye in exasperation before sticking out a hand. “Name’s Bill Cipher! It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

You blinked at the greeting, throat closing up as you awkwardly shuffled backward. The creature didn’t seem to mind, though, it buzzing around you in hurried interest.

“Wow, times have changed! Definitely don’t remember you guys having technology this advanced the last time I was here.” It nudged your phone with a foot, the device apparently having fallen out of your backpack in the commotion.

You watched in awe while it shuffled through your things, breaking out of that stuporous enchant as the thing, Bill, flit over to you and took a strand of hair between his fingers.

With a gasp, you smacked his hand away, blinking in surprise as you actually made contact.

“I’m…” you swallowed “I’m not really sure what’s going on. I-uh, what are you?”

I’m gonna puke again

Am I hallucinating?

Am I dead?

The creature floated in a lazed position, hand poised outward as he inspected nonexistent nails. “Take your time, doc, it’ll wear off.”

“Wha-“ you looked down, realization dawning in your eyes as you remembered the lab coat you were still wearing. “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I mean, I’m trying to be one someday, but I was just helping a friend and I’m just a student right-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you feel better.” Bill rolled his eyes once more. “But to answer your question, I’m a dream demon! And a pretty great one too, if I do say so myself.”

A gaped expression tugged as your jaw as he adjusted a small black bow tie. “Excuse me?”

“Exactly!” Although you couldn’t see any expression, the smile lacing his tone was evident. “So whatever your little heart desires, I can have done! Any more questions, toots?”

Like, a million.

“Yeah… and my name is-“

“I know what your name is,” he waved you off. “So what’ll it be? Riches? Power? Universal knowledge?”

“I’m, umm…” you swallowed, slowly getting to your feet. “I’m not really… interested in all of this if it makes sense? I’m sorry to disturb your…” pondering the correct term for a moment, you took a breath in before grabbing your belongings and continuing. “land, or whatever, but I really should be going.”

And with that, you quickly began walking away as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the feeling of a giant eye on your figure and the pit of fear in your stomach.

You had only made it a few feet before Bill zoomed in front of your vision, fingers perched upon would you would’ve guessed was a temple equivalent if he had a face. “You’re serious? You don’t want anything?”

“Not really?” You dipped around him, holding in a sigh of displeasure as he followed. “And I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but this whole thing is creeping me out and I would rather just go home honestly.”

And I’ve seen more than enough horror movies to know that this is an absolutely awful idea.

Still, outrightly running away felt like an unnecessary evil, almost like it might anger whatever figment your delirium-soaked mind had conjured up. The being didn’t seem to particularly mind, however, hovering next to your shoulder as he blabbered on about things you honestly didn’t have the mental capacity to wholeheartedly pay attention to.

Regardless, the constant blabber wormed its way into your mind, that grating voice bouncing around your skull like a jumping bean.

It was a wonder you lasted over ten minutes before cracking.

“Look,” you started, taking a breath and hoping it would soften the vexation coating your inner monologue. “I’ve been wandering around out here, lost, for what feels like hours, I just got through a sick case of food poisoning, my legs hurt, my head is killing me, and I’m 90% sure that I’m hallucinating right now, so if you could please just leave me alone with a few minutes that would be great.”

The silence that followed weighed your heart down in your chest, a boulder of nerves tethered to the organ as you pondered if the, completely acceptable, outburst had angered the creature.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so!”

“Wait, what?”

An arm slung around your shoulder and the world collapsed for the second time today.

The forest, once your solemn captor, melted in on itself for a split second before changing completely. Trees and grass fazed into one another, emerald greens quickly melding into the sky blues and concrete gray of a cityscape.

You fell to your knees, surroundings still spinning. Whatever had just happened left you reeling as well, mental state sucked into the world your senses still perceived to be twisting and turning.

“What the fuck…” you coughed, breath sucked out of your lungs and sticking to the edges of your esophagus. “what the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?”

“Oops! I forgot you humans are sensitive to that sort of thing. Oh, well.” He shrugged, watching you slowly gain your footing before making a dash for your building.

Final bouts of energy leaking away onto the pavement with each step, you heaved open the door, thankful, for once that you lived on the first floor. You nearly rammed into your apartment, slamming the door behind you. Shock and fatigue shivered through your hands, the lock slipping from your fingers before you finally got it shut, slumping back onto the wood and crumpling to a seated position with a sigh.

“Wow, not even a thank you?”

A shriek echoed off your dorm room walls as you scuttled backwards, away from the entity that had somehow wormed his way past your walls. Back hitting a coffee table, your hand blindly wandered upward for a weapon, finding home around a Bath and Body Works candle. You brandished the, thankfully oversized and quite substantial, object and vaulted to your feet.

“What the hell are you?”

“Pretty disappointed, that’s what I am,” Bill huffed, hands crossed over one another. “I take you home out of goodness of my heart and that’s what I get? I’ll let it slide just this once, but don’t get me wrong, do it again and we’re gonna have a probably. Got it, toots?”

He watched as you shifted your feet, the offensive position a disgustingly pathetic attempt to hide your fear. Actually, he could practically smell it.

Not that he was complaining.

“I feel like we got off to a bad start.” His form shifted, melting into something akin to a human.

Still, there was something completely not.

One of his eyes was completely black, the other a bright yellow with a slitted pupil, strikingly similar to that of his original form. Sharp canines poked out from a devilishly charming grin, the tie and top hat still present, but now sporting a matching golden suit. He stick out a gloved hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The pleasure was obviously unreciprocated.

“Ah, come on! I figured the new look would help. Almost always does… you guys are so jumpy,” he huffed.

“What-“ you swallowed the fear lacing your voice. “What do you want from me?”

“From you?” Bill snapped a finger and you felt the weight in your hand disappear, cookie-scented candle morphing into a house finch. The pure shock written across your features had him snickering as the small bird flit around the room, searching for escape. “You should be asking what I can do for you.”

You paused.

“For me?”

“Sure! But everything has a price! Probably isn’t worth it if you didn’t give something up in the first place, am I right?”

Tossing you a wink, he drew closer, the close proximity forcing you backward until your back hit the wall. From the corner of your eye you spotted the small finch tapping against your closed window with its beak.

“So,” With another snap of his fingers, the bird morphed back into the festive candle with a heart wrenching squeak, smashing against your floor. “Wanna make a deal?”

#bill cipher #bill cipher x reader #bill cipher x you #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #yandere #enemies to lovers #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls fanfiction

62 notes · View notes

rozzingit · 22 days ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

i was fucking bullied into this

"—a surprise trade today by the East City Royals. It's no secret the Royals have been in need of new catcher to fill the hole left behind by Renso's retirement."

"That one was a long time coming, Brett, but still tough to see him go; it's gonna be a different team next season, I'll tell you that much."

"You've got that right. The rumors have been swirling for months now, but we've finally gotten the news: it looks like the Royals have been in negotiation with the South City Dragons for a while now. The Royals are letting go of Designated Hitter Broly—"

"Which, I gotta say, is a surprise to let go of someone of his calibre, especially for a team like the Royals that doesn't play much small ball, but there's been friction there between him and management for a while now—"

"—to secure up and coming catcher Son Goten. Goten, of course, famously a legacy player on the Dragons following in the footsteps of his legendary father, shortstop Son Goku."

"Nobody expected Goten to leave the Dragons anytime soon! Everybody always loves seeing a father and son playing on the same team together, and Goku may be in great condition, still, but he can't have that many years left in him."

"I dunno, Cal, would you want to go to work every day with your dad?"

"Hah! Fair enough, fair enough. Goten will be slotting into an impressive lineup over in East City, and I expect he'll do well. Of course, the real test is going to be how he meshes with the pitching lineup. It's always interesting to see new batteries. I mean, the great players work well with everyone, of course—"

"But you never know when you're gonna get a powerhouse pair like they've got over in Red City."

"The real question is gonna be how Goten matches up with everybody's favorite ace—"

#wip wednesday #roz fic #roz fic: baseball au #truten #trunks #goten #trunks briefs #son goten #dragon ball

38 notes · View notes

ranchstoryblog · 2 days ago

Text

Ranch Story's PC Review for Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma

Hello everyone! Welcome to Ranch Story’s review for the Steam release of Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma! Here we will go through the graphical settings, how the game runs on the devices I ran the game on (including the Steam Deck), My personal thoughts about the game, and finally a list of Steam features that are included for this release!

Graphical Settings

The graphical settings to the Steam release of Guardians of Azuma are extremely customizable, and I was very surprised to see the Super Resolution and Frame Generation options. I have not seen those options on previous pc versions of previous Rune Factory or Story of Season games!

Specifically, the bottom half of the Graphical Settings menu are the settings that are changed depending on what Graphical preset you use.

High Preset

* This was captured with a machine using a NVIDIA GPU. AMD GPU users will have FSR instead of DLSS.

Medium Preset

Low Preset

While playing on the medium preset on the Steam Deck, I noticed some detail pop-in specifically with the LOD of 3D models. When I was testing on other devices, I noticed it was specifically happening with the Medium and Low presets.

I found out that it was the Mesh Quality setting and turning that from medium to high disables the pop-in if that bothers you, but that may cause performance issues depending on your hardware, but for me the performance decline was not too noticeable! I will go into more detail in a later section but this game is very optimized!

Devices

Desktop: CPU: AMD Ryzen 7-Series 3700X

GPU: NVIDIA GeForce RTX 3060

Memory: 16 GB

Operating System: Windows 10 Home

I decided that I wanted to see this game in the best possible way I could. So I used my main machine. I am very glad I did because I was amazed at everything shown! Everything impressed me; from the textures, 3D models, and even how smooth and snappy the animations were. These are amazing features in general, but it even furthered the gaming experience seeing it all come together at max graphics with no visibly noticeable slowdowns!

Steam Deck:

Model: LED 512 GB

Operating System: SteamOS

I was very happy when I tried out Guardians of Azuma on my Steam Deck. I chose to keep the settings on the default Medium and the game is just as pretty as it was on my desktop. I had no issues with Proton running this game, and there was nothing special I had to do to get the game to run. One thing I did have some issues with was during some demanding cutscenes, the game’s framerate would drop noticeably lower, but it does not happen for all cutscenes, and honestly on a handheld computer I expect these things to happen, other than the demanding cutscenes, the frame rate stays around 50~60 fps. Personally, I would not notice if I didn't have the fps overlay on while playing! Another thing I would like to say is that the battery while playing lasts 1:30~2:00 hours with the fps uncapped and/or capped at 60 fps, using the in game settings to cap at 30 fps or setting the frame limit to 40 fps using SteamOS’s performance settings. I ended up being very happy with how Steam Deck ran the game on medium plus the convenience of laying down while playing means that for the majority of my playthrough I ended up playing mostly on the Steam Deck.

Laptop:

CPU: AMD Ryzen 7-Series 3750

GPU: NVIDIA GeForce GTX 1650

Memory: 8 GB

Operating System: Windows 10

I went back and forth on trying Guardians of Azuma on my laptop, but ended up trying it out for a bit and was pleasantly surprised? The laptop is slightly below the minimum requirements with the “GeForce GTX 1650 SUPER” being the minimum requirement for GPU but it was such a small difference that I might as well try it out! I noticed boot up and post load would get really laggy and models would take a second to pop up, but once things loaded the game was mostly smooth at a 40-50 but sometimes when the character was still and nothing really going on at 60 FPS. The performance was almost the same when unplugged, which I couldn't really say the same for some games previously.

General Thoughts

Alright alright, enough with the technical for now!

I could go on and on about it for quite a bit of time, but there is so much more to the game than how it runs and it deserves to be spoken about too! It’s a spin-off from the mainline Rune Factory titles, and honestly as someone who grew up with only playing Frontier and Tides of Destiny before getting into the numbered titles, it feels faithful to its preceding spin-offs. I am so happy this is the case. Spin-offs are wonderful, and I really love it when they experiment with new concepts and try new things but in such a familiar way. Farming is a bit different and can even be a bit more hands off with the town management sim part of the game, but also its bare mechanics are very familiar where you do not have to learn a whole new system just to make sure your plants grow. Another thing I really love about Guardians of Azuma is the cast of characters.

To put it straight to the point, I love how human they are. (Even the non-humans) They all have things that they love and hate, things that they are scared of, and their own personal things they have to go through. And this all affects how the social interaction choices work too, you have to think “would they actually like this topic” or “is this a place they would enjoy visiting” and each interaction could be positive or negative, depending on the character.

And if I may get a little technical again to tie things off here, I really really love that no matter which device I ran this game off of, it worked. Of course there will be limits and you should probably pay attention to the minimum requirements, but the game itself runs rock solid and the settings allow you to tweak things if you would like things to be more easy to run on your hardware. I feel like it's very important that games are able to run natively on all sorts of hardware old and new, weak or powerful in the current era of very expensive hardware, and I am glad that Marvelous thought about this when developing the game.

Fun Steam Stuff

The Steam release of Rune Factory includes various classic Steam features like

Cloud Saves

Controller Support

81 Achievements (Holy Moly 👀)

7 Badges

15 Trading Cards

Final Thoughts

Rune Factory: Guardians of Azuma has been a very pleasant and fun adventure, and the Steam release has been such a great experience that I can recommend with all my heart. Even with all of the unique features, I feel like with this title Rune Factory is returning to its roots and everything feels like such a nice change of pace but yet so familiar. It was my pleasure to be able to make this review, and I am excited to see what the future holds.

#story of seasons #rune factory #guardians of azuma #rf goa #rf: goa #goa #rune factory: guardians of azuma #review #PC #Steam #Steamdeck #steam deck

33 notes · View notes

ihavethedreamiesx · 1 year ago

Text

Watermelon | Juicy Fruit | Mark [NSFW]

Mark Lee - NCT Dream

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~1.5k

Pairing: Mark x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Established Relationship, Porn without Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Quickie, Sex in the Bathroom, Unprotected Sex (Don’t!!)

Summary: You end up making a bit of a mess with the watermelon…

Author's Note: This series was supposed to be of drabbles, and this is the second shortest one…sorry.

This is only vaguely based off of Smoothie…I say this because I got the idea for a fruit theme, but past that its unrelated.

🍇 Renjun 🍇

🍌 Jeno 🍌

🍒 Haechan 🍒

🍑 Jaemin 🍑

🍓 Chenle 🍓

🍍 Jisung 🍍

Revised (1/31/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

It’s hot. For you, too hot. And it’s just your luck that the boys want to dick around outside because the weather is nice. Nice? No, it’s hot as balls. While they run around screaming, playing games and throwing stuff, you sit on a canvas camping chair. Your electric fan's batteries have died so you’re futilely fanning yourself with a paper plate. Your thighs are sticking together, and your shorts are no help against the chafing. You shuffle again, grunting in discomfort, adjusting your sunglasses since they’ve slid down your nose from the sweat. Even in the shade of the tree and a slight breeze, it’s still much too hot. Mark had offered to run to the convenience store down the road from your rental house and get something to cool you off. Glancing at your phone for the time, you wonder what the hell is taking so long, you’re about to melt away.

"Noona~" Chenle calls but you can’t see him. Finally, he and Mark appear from around the house as they get to the backyard where the rest of your group is. The second youngest has several bags of snacks, but what really catches your attention is what your boyfriend has in his arms. It’s to no one's surprise he’s somehow acquired a watermelon.

"Finally!" You exhale harshly and Chenle dashes over to you, digging a cold bottle of water out and you yoink it from him eagerly, chugging it down and he laughs.

"Slow done, babe." Mark huffs, letting the watermelon wrapped in a mesh settle on the grass near your feet. He watches as a bit of water slips past your mouth and down your throat, landing on your white tank top, making the fabric darken. Swallowing, he shakes his head to focus his attention elsewhere and kneels near the melon so he can start cutting it.

"Uh, no." You shake your head, taking the knife from Mark that Renjun brings out.

"I can do it!" He whines and you give him a deadpan look and he just grumbles. Mark scoots over and you sit next to him, wrapping your legs around the big fruit to hold it in place. That looks even more dangerous than what he was planning, but you don’t keep it like that for long. Once you have dramatically stabbed the knife into the end of the rind, you adjust and easily and evenly slice it in half. Everyone watches in amazement as you deftly cut up the melon, laying each quarter of a slice into the big bowl Renjun also brought out.

"Wow, she actually cut it evenly." Jaemin points out, giving Mark a very pointed look. The eldest looks back at him, slightly confused, then offended.

"Hey!" He grumbles again and you grab a few slices with Mark and put them on a plate. While the rest of them continue to do whatever nonsense they were doing before, you and your boyfriend sit on the grass under the tree to eat the watermelon. Not thinking anything of it - because who would- you start to eat. It’s very juicy, and the man's attention keeps going back to your collarbone. After a big bite of the fruit, the juice spills over your bottom lip and runs down your chin, your throat, pools on your collar bone, then continues down to run into your cleavage. When you take another bite and even more juice spills out you cringe, sucking in to try and keep it in your mouth.

"Geez." You mumble, looking for a paper towel or napkin, something, to dry the juice. The pink liquid is already soaking into the white of your tank and luckily your bra is nude. Not only is your face and chest a mess, but your hands have gotten sticky. Mark watches your tongue lick furiously along your bottom lip, trying to get some of the juice off your chin.

"Let's get you cleaned up." You’re shocked at the speed of your boyfriend, who stands, hauling you up with him, and into the rental house. You both barely slip your sandals off upon entering and you’re a bit surprised that he drags you toward the bathroom and not the nearby kitchen to get to a sink.

"Where are we going?" you question, blinking in shock as he pulls you into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. As you stand near the vanity, hands in the air to avoid getting things stuck to them, you watch in surprise as he pins you against the sink, his face getting very close. Even though he’s your boyfriend, the proximity and intense look on his face makes your own warm up red. His tongue flicks out, lapping at the drying juice on your face that’s just as sticky as the stuff on your hands. He groans as you shiver, his lips sealing over your own. Immediately you forget about your sticky hands, going to the back of his shirt to hold on as he lifts you to rest on the bathroom vanity. You do at least have the subconscious thought to not touch his hair. His own sticky hands meet your waist, sneaking under your flimsy white tank, running his thumb over your smooth skin, stuttering a bit from the juice. When his tongue enters your mouth, you both taste the sweet watermelon on each other. A trail of saliva connects your lips when he finally pulls away, both of you panting.

"Fuck." He loves the dazed look that’s spread across your face, and his smirks when his lips meet your neck, and you whine. His tongue runs along the path he’d watched the juice flow over the skin, cleaning you off and at the same time heating your skin and core. Your hips jump up from the counter, your denim covered mound grinding against his cock tenting his swim trunks. Mark continues to suck and nibble at you as he moves to follow that path of the watermelon juice, before your shirt covers the final destination. He pulls back just enough to get it off of you, the white material sticking briefly to his fingers. Yours sticks even more to his shirt as you haul it off of him. Mark's mouth and tongue trace and nuzzle your breasts as he gets your bra unhooked and off. Using his tongue to follow the trail of juice, he diverts at your sternum, sealing his lips over your nipple. You sigh, resting back on the counter so your bare back touches the cold mirror. As your boyfriend focuses on the other side, he helps you wiggle your shorts off. You don’t have any panties on since your shorts are so tight, and it’s so hot out anyway.

"Fuck… (Y/N)~" You’ll never gets used to way he moans your name.

"Mark, hurry." You furrow your brow in playful frustration, trying to reach the waist band of his swim trunks to get them off. He huffs in amusement, having a better reach to do it himself.

"Hurry, hurry~" You nearly bounce in anticipation and his chuckle turns to a groan as he starts to sink his cock inside of you. Your body shivers, your hand going to your mouth to try and muffle the pitiful moan you let out as he bottoms out. Like usual, you’re soaked for him, making the entry easy.

"Try and stay quiet, baby." He rests his forehead on your shoulder, hands on your hips. You hiccup when he gives a short but hard thrust, keeping up that pace, rapidly bringing you close to your orgasm already. His pelvis grinds against your clit every time he fills you fully, and your breath hitches each time. He gives a breathless chuckle at how cute you are, not noticing that his thrusts are strong enough to shake the vanity. The ceramic cup holding some toothbrushes rattles each time, growing closer and closer to the edge.

"Damn-" Mark groans as quietly as he can, pulling your hips to the very edge of the vanity, your back sliding down the mirror before landing on the marble. You wrap your legs around his waist, hand pressed hard over your mouth, the other gripping the bar on the wall that holds up the hand towel. Your boyfriend runs his tongue over his smirking bottom lip, enjoying watching you try desperately to stay quiet as he fucks you. He only slightly pauses when the cup finally falls over, landing on the tile floor and shattering. It’s out of the way, so his hips stutter a bit, but he continues with a huff when you whine in desperation at the halt.

"Shit, babe-" He groans, and you moan as well, feeling your own climax getting closer. You both fall over when he does a final grind against your clit, as deep as he can go, spilling inside of you. The heat of his cum brings you over as well, and you pull your hand from your mouth, panting quietly.

"S-sorry." Mark suddenly feels guilty for hauling you into the bathroom to fuck while all of your friends are possibly in ear shot.

"Th…that's okay." You give him a tired smile and he kisses you softly with a giggle. After cleaning up a bit and straightening clothes and hair back up, you slip back outside, and it seems like no one had even noticed you two had been gone. Later, when you’re inside to eat supper, you hear a loud shout from the bathroom.

"Who broke the toothbrush mug?!"

Master-List

291 notes · View notes

twst-drabbles · 1 year ago

Text

Malleus 15

Summary: A way home was finally found a year after you rejected Malleus's advances. Once you got home and were settled in, an invitation made it's way to you, written to you by Malleus Draconia, King of Briar Valley. How many years have passed?

(I've been on an odd writing spree, but for my original writings. It's weird, but I'll take it! Anyways, have a what-if situation of a King Malleus still yearning for the Prefect! Might continue it if people are interested enough in this what-if scenario.)

"Then would it be possible," Malleus reaching out to you as you faced the star-filled sky, "for you and I to share in each others lives?"

…and so the day finally came. When Malleus would gather up his courage and confess in the way all faeries do, in sentences layered over passionate feelings.

Honestly, the thought of being in a relationship with Malleus didn't sound all that bad. He's a sweet man, if a bit air headed with how easily lost in.

You do feel bad, honestly, for the fact that your feelings never ran deeper than general interest. You don't yearn for him, you can't. Especially not when you know that he's a prince. If you want to love him properly, if you want to build upon this general interest, you'd have to accept that specific part of him.

However, when you imagine the future laying before you, you see that it has nothing to do royalty.

Malleus has done nothing wrong. It's just unfortunate that he's a prince. His future was simply not one that will mesh well with your own.

"My life in my own," you said, "I don't intent to share it anymore than I already have. I'm… simply not interested."

You knew him too well. You can't pretend to be ignorant and go through hoops just to convince yourself that surely he didn't mean that, that he meant something different and that it's all platonic. Because, to you, that's just an excuse to not be blunt and say no. To avoid hurting the other party.

But avoiding what needs to be said is worse.

So, you had to reject him and leave it at that. You didn't like hurting him, but you also can't delude yourself and think that everything will somehow work out, especially since your feelings don't match his own.

Malleus didn't push and you didn't make him leave. And so you both stayed, continuing on as you always have, two people with positions too unique to truly be ignored.

The day came that you would leave. You said your goodbyes, you had your parties and feasts, and when all was said and done, you were relieved to be leaving. To finally go back home.

You waved to them all, to all the people you've met along the way, and passed through the mirror without a second glance back.

Time barely passed by when you got home. So little time, in fact, that your phone was still near to full battery. Dust didn't collect on your bed or dining table like you expected, and there wasn't a single voice message or text asking about your whereabouts.

It's as if you didn't vanish at all. Well, to be fair, you weren't the kind of person to keep in constant or close touch with anyone. You liked your alone time a little more than the average person, but it wasn't anything to make you feel guilty over.

In fact, you're relieved, that only a minimal amount of time has escaped you. You didn't have to go home to frantic worries, to people getting angry out of concern for your sudden disappearance. Everything was calm and level. It was easy enough to go back to the routine you had before.

You missed this, you will admit that. You missed the air and scent of your bed, the grocery store and all its busy chatting, the scent of baked or fried snacks surrounding the local flea market, and even the way the wind flows through the trees. Sure sure, the land you were previously in had all these things, but they weren't yours if that made sense.

Honestly, after a while, you were almost convinced that everything that went on back in Night Raven College was just a dream. If only because, like a dream, you can really only enter and exit such places once.

But then an invitation entered your hand.

Addressed to you, handwritten in such a way that can only be taught in professional calligraphy classes. It tells of a tour around the gardens in the abode of the King of Briar Valley.

King, huh? Has that much time really passed? Putting that aside for a moment, you can't say you were shocked that, out of all people to be able to send a letter right to you, you would place your bets on Malleus.

That being said, you couldn't say no. It's been a while but you're familiar with Malleus's language. A simple tour just for the sake of a tour? No, that's not it at all. He probably misses you. And, to an extent, you miss being over there. A visit is probably due right about now.

And, if things go the same way as they did last time, you'll be gone then back in the blink of an eye.

So, you wrote your reply and placed in on the nearest full body mirror.

You probably should've practiced your landing when it comes to mirror traveling. You fell right through, though you were lucky enough to grab the edge of the mirror before you could crack your knees.

Immediately, you were hit with the scent of cold and old magic, that sharp scent, not quite ozone, less metallic than that, less chemical-like than that. It was neutral magic, subdued in smell but overpowering enough to fill your sense anyway.

It's been a hot minute since you've been here. You're not quite to magic anymore, and you couldn't help but start coughing and clearing your throat.

Then, you were practically washed away with the smell of fresh rosemary.

"You…" And, as you expected, his voice stayed the same, and yet you can hear it, that small bit of quivering, as though he can't believe what's before him. "So, the invitation did make its way towards you, dear Child of Man. Are you alright? Are you sick?"

You held out your hand and coughed into your hand, trying to get this weird stickiness out.

"I'm, ugh, I'm fine, Hornton," Ah, should you really be calling him that now that he's king, apparently? Ah, who cares, you're the guest, you can be forgiven. "It's been a bit. Not all that used to magic anymore, is all."

And then, you looked up. Before, you wouldn't say his horns were malleable or soft, but there is a difference to them. Their color has darkened, and there these silver decorations about them that made those horns seem longer than they actually are.

There was a laugh. "Are my horns truly such a marvel? Well, if you so ask, I won't mind you touching them, if only to prove to you that they are no mere illusion."

"No, I'm good on that front," you sighed then finally looked to Malleus's face. "Huh. You look… older."

Older, and that's honestly kind of concerning for you. He isn't aged, not in the same way you've felt around Lilia. Yes yes, Lilia has a youthful face to him, but after a while, you can't help but notice the little things that betray his true age. Much like now, where you can see the slightest dips in his eyes, near his mouth.

Like most fae, they seem forever young, but the signs don't skip anyone no matter long they stay alive.

The fact is, enough time has passed that Malleus visibly aged.

Malleus, in all his kingly regalia, closed his eyes and took a deep breathe in. "It hasn't been that long. How many years…twenty? Perhaps thirty or less? Ah but, that's an age for children of men, isn't it? And yet, time hasn't so much as glanced at you. You look just the same as I remember, perhaps more youthful. But, that aside, I'm glad to know that this invitation made it you, before life has left your body."

…thirty years? Thirty years? So, time really does pass by differently in your home, huh? That's… you don't know what to think, honestly. Awful? Interesting? It certainly doesn't feel good.

"That long? How much did I miss?" Were there reunions? Letters written to you but could never be sent? And how is everyone else doing with their lives? Are they still alive? Did someone die an early death potentially? And what about families? Did they start some?

…ugh, you hate this feeling. You only have theories and questions and already you're feeling left out from it all.

Well, all you can do is take it one step at a time. Get to know what has happened, and move forward from there. You have no choice but to do so.

Malleus placed a gloved hand on his chin. "…it would take too much time to say right now. Perhaps I'll tell you all that I know as I walk you around the garden? You did accept the invitation, did you not?"

Your mind wasn't quite here, so you just nodded with a, "Right, right."

"Then," Malleus turned, his hair much longer now, perfectly groomed without a knot in there, "shall we be off?"

And you followed, feeling a bit awkward in the fact you were just wearing casual wear.

"…is that lipstick you're wearing, Hornton?" Probably not what you should be focusing on, but you couldn't help but notice. You're more used to his pallid lips than that luscious color.

"Hmm? Why, yes. It was shade recommended to me by one of my servants. If I remember right, this was something crafted by Schoenheit."

"Oh, so his stuff's world famous now, I take it?"

"World famous? Hmm, not quite sure what that entails, but the influence has made its place here. So, influential enough. Does it look odd on me?"

"Don't worry, it looks nice."

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #diasomnia #malleus draconia #reader insert #years later au #malleus

223 notes · View notes

thr0wnawayy · 10 months ago

Text

So I was looking at the 'Get It Done Chargebolt' Fight and realized how bullshit it is.

Your telling me the MLA. A militia ideological group with numerous connections, a major one being Denerat (A Tech Company!) cannot give one of it's higher ranking members anything more than a taser!

(god, this is so forced.)

His quirk (Ampivolt) seems to work by taking electricity from any source and releasing it back out from his body, much stronger than it once was. (No, I did not read the wiki when writing this)

His body acts like a power amplifier, taking the watts absorbed and imparting some of it's own energy into it before sending it back out.

In a fair scenario (not manipulated by Hori and his bullshit), our elektromaniac here should have won out.

So, in a bid to do the MLA one better, I present to you my own contraption:

(Not my best. I made it on my cell while on the move, also yes that's the Denerat logo)

I've effectively strapped a car battery to this guy's back.

It's outer chasis made of a lightweight non conductive mesh, as to not drag him down. The battery stays locked inside, needing to be opened to charge beforehand.

The gloves are attached to gold wires to ensure maximum output and lifespan (as gold doesn't tarnish) and are wrapped in a sturdy carbon mesh. The gloves themselves act as tasers for both long ranged and short ranged attacks, having holes in the front and back to allow for combos and continous fire.

You may point to the Tesla coils that sit on either the sides of the battery's chasis and wonder what their purpose is?

Simple, destruction. They also ensure that the battery doesn't overload.

When the battery has reached it's max capacity, it will send some of that energy to the coils and these in turn transfer it to the single spike located at the end of each coil.

The spike on the end acts as a reverse lightning rod. sending the excess electricity outwards in a devastating attack that destroys anything in it's path.

Both coils are positioned outwards as to not harm the user as well as to ensure the electricity does not arch between the coils.

The battery then uses advanced tech in it's chasis to reabsorb some of the linering electricity floating in the air and recycles it back into the battery.

I don't show it here but the backside (facing the users back) of the chassis is a very plush material, as to not leave the user in discomfort. It is also where the straps are hidden.

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

Test Drive (Or Denki's cooked, literally)

Ok we have the equipment, we have the MLA soldier. Now what?.

Well we speculate of course!

We know from OFA and the USJ Nomu that absorption and accumulation quirks usually have some upper limit.

We've also seen Denki fall victim to his own quirk numerous times (and quite severely at that), so it's not much of a stretch to say he could be burned by his own quirk.

Let's say Denki gets hit with Count Shock-ula while he's wearing the battery.

Above is the amount of electricity he normally expells when using his taser. Even now it could probably cause severe nerve damage or even death.

To save on length, we already know this man is a trained soldier, likely has been his whole life.

Given this, his fighting prowess and strategic mind should lend to him getting the upper hand in his fight with Denki, one of 1A's lowest ranking students in both academic and physical.

He hits Denki with a clean shot, maintaining a constant transfer of energy.

Even even as his muscles spasm and clench, Denki thinks he has the upper hand as does Jirou.

But now the battery is there providing a constant supply of electricity and Denki can only keep up so much, as Shock-ula's quirk does it's magic and increases the output.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Exposition Time:

Presuming that Denki's stockpile is located at his center of gravity, we can say that the focal point of the overload will start here.

The inside of human bodies typically sit at an average of 98.0 Fahrenheit or 36.64 Celsius, about the same as a 50w light bulb.

The maximum amount of heat a human can take before they begins to burn is around 140°F (60°C).

The human body temp can flare up to as high as 106°F (41°C) when in extremely stressful situations (though this is more in the regards of certain anxiety disorders)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

As Denki's stockpile begins reaching it's limits, he begins to stress slightly. He can begin to feel the effects of his body temperature climbing and his growing panick isn't helping.

Jirou may try and interfere, but is either hit when the tesla coils expell the excess energy being absorbed or she is unable to approach all together as electrical currents surround the two electricity weilders.

Either way this only contributes to Denki's stress. He begins feeling the heat build in his abdomen, just above his bellybutton. Soon his insides feels like the inside of a hotspring.

Any attempts to sweat are foiled by his own electricity's heat evaporating it as soon as it forms on his skin. His body has no real way to cool down.

The MLA member may feel guilt in killing a child, but chooses to look at the bigger picture and what's at stake if he fails. He tries not to dwell too hard.

A long, aching moment passes by.

Denki is actually burning now, his intellect increases with each passing second and with it comes the ability to truly comprehend the situation he is in.

Trapped.

Denki's blood feels like it's boiling as he struggles to shut his eyes, fearing they may melt out of their sockets. His head is pounding and his stomach is rolling with intense nausea, a sign of severe heatstroke.

Yet the heat continues.

Blood vessels burst in his nose, lungs and eyes as the heart goes overtime, the kidneys have long stopped functioning and by this point Denki can't even think coherently.

A few moments later.

His organs and muscle fibers are now becoming covered with burn scars, he can smell himself burning and is finally then that Denki passes out. Perhaps for the last time.

××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

So, pretty grim huh.

Had MHA been darker (and more thematically consistent) this could have been a possible scenario.

It really makes you wonder what the fuck the heroes were thinking sending teenagers to fight in an active war zone.

Really makes me question the competency of both UA and 1A's respective parents because lord almighty...

Sending them to raid the base of the biggest crime organization in the country is already bad, as mentioned in my Jaku Disaster Post, not knowing what your doing is even worse.

This isn't the first time we've seen this either, remember the Shie Hisakai?

Yeah they pulled that shit too, despite knowing the entire base was a death trap but I'll leave that dissection for later posting.

It's not just Midnight who could have died, we could have been looking at roughly 10-13 members of 1A being dead (Not counting Bakugo) and that's just off the top of my head.

You know if Hori wanted to add shock value, rather than pulling shit out of thin air he could've just tossed some excess weight by utilizing his threats properly.

Really his over reliance on surface level "shock"* value in the later seasons, doesn't exactly put me in high hopes that his horror Manga will do well.

(*Retconning Rei's family, AFO's constant returns, Stars and Stripes, The Mech suit, Vestiges, etc etc)

If Hori wants to write horror, he needs to reapproach how he writes. Simple as that.

===============================

Note: To the person that sent me the AFO ask. My apologies for not answering, I accidentally wiped it by mistake when trying to post, please feel free to resend the question to my inbox and I will glady give you an answer.

That was a wild one, so have a quick-sketch gag based off an MLA AU that's been floating around my notes for your troubles.

#mha critical #bnha critical #hero society critical #anti bakugo katsuki #anti aizawa #anti horikoshi #anti shota aizawa #horikoshi critical #mha ewe #mha rewrite #sort of #ua critical #it's there

89 notes · View notes