#literally do not look at me

[ofmermaidstories]

dancing (with the windows open)

(‼️📍18+/MDNI — content/trigger warnings for: dark/problematic content, yandere izuku (and all that being a yandere entails), smut but it’s dubious consent/non-consent, kidnapping, suicidal thoughts, vague horror themes—look, Reader is not having a good time in this, and that is the point!!! even through a mermcore filter, this is very much dead dove, babies!!! dead dove: do NOT eat!!!!!)

In your dreams you are fourteen years old again: riding your bike lazily through the summer heat, sweltering and wet. The cicadas scream around you and the sky expands before you, the road to your grandmother’s house rising up to meet it, like it could lead you to freedom—to the bright, bright blue of a sunlit world you will never see again.

“I love you,” Izuku whispers. In the low light of the room, his eyes glimmer—wide, flickering over your face, waiting.

Your heart twists. In another life, you might’ve laughed and tried to squirm away from him, tell him it was impolite to talk with his mouth full—instead you swallow, nod, watching as he sucks on his bottom lip, the glossy smear of you on his face shinning.

“I love you too,” you whisper. He breathes against your belly; hot and deeply against the give of it—grateful, his eyes closed like he’s savouring the words, like he believes them.

“I love you so much,” he says, lips trailing over your skin and your stomach twists, under them. He follows the curve of your body to the wet heat of you, pressing his kisses deeper when you gasp, unwillingly.

His hand curls in yours; pinning it down. You try to focus on that, on his grip, pressing down into the flesh of your palm to the bird-like bones underneath. The threat of that is better, more honest than the sloppy glide of his tongue—the press of his face against you, where he murmurs his I love yous, his you’re safes, his you’re okays.

In any other lifetime you could have done this: rolled with him, breathed in the saltiness of his skin, kissed him willingly—loved him, fiercely.

Instead you only have this lifetime. The one where you let him touch you as you tremble, let him spread you apart and devour you, his hot breath at your neck as you lay there and hope he’ll do you the favour of snapping your neck one day.

You’re alone, a lot of the time. Gulping in sleep like a cursed princess, ensnared in a tangle of briar thorns. Curling into yourself as you nest in the blankets and pillows Izuku surrounds you with, the warm glow of the little porcelain lamp he brought you—a flimsy fairy-ring of protection from the cold, empty space beyond it.

Izuku has tried, you think, in empty acknowledgement.

It’s a room of concrete. You think it might’ve been a bunker once, or a basement—somewhere deep underground, the concrete unable to hold back the mildewing rot of pooling water, dirt. Izuku’s tried to make it homey, in a clumsy, earnest way: trial and error in the early days, when you would rip out your own nails clawing at the walls. He’d bring you a rug, one day—thick and soft in bright colours the dankness of this place eventually sapped. New blankets, constantly. New pillowcases—frilled and soft, a picturesque girlishness you don’t feel. He brings you soft sweaters that feel like duckling down and flimsy little nightgowns and his own shirts, warm, still smelling of him. One day he even brings you paper stars.

“Kacchan and I visited a nursery class!” He tells you, excited and soft-eyed, like he’s come home to find you on the couch, waiting for him—instead of sequestered away in the dark, hoping you’ll die. “They’d been working on these all week—I thought you would love them.”

Your heart was a lump of rotting flesh in your mouth as you had watched him tac them up on the wall—stars of clumsily coloured purple and orange and green and yellow and gold glitter. A mockery of the real sky—a mockery of your excitement when you were still in the real world, pinning up the most earnest of the fan-letters that Dynamight’s offices received, pinning up scowling paper-cutouts of him. Crayon portraits where he’s flying through a field of orange stars. Painstakingly written notes on school paper, saying he was their hero. Every time Izuku had come into the agency, there had been something new—Izuku impressed, his eyes warm when you would laugh at him, pointing it out.

And now—

Now you turn your head from the wall, looking at the glow of the lamp instead as he moves over you, his breath hot and moist in your ear as his fingers dig into your hips, the strength of his Quirk threatening to snap you in half as he takes what he wants.

“I love you,” he whispers against your hair, afterwards. He likes you puddled in his arms—skin-to-skin, the both of you flushed and damp and breathing hard, cradled in a bed that will smell of sex; the overripe stink of salt and skin and the rot you emit, now—of blown-out, browning roses, left to languish in the dark.

Izuku breathes in deep, relaxing in it. “You smell so good,” he says, softly, and you wish and wish and wish that it could follow him out of here and into the daylight where it could out him to everyone he knows—the powdery, sickly decay of this trap.

You stay awake in his arms, even when he sleeps. Palming over the scars on his arm, his body. Wanting to claw them open and crawl into him, tear him apart. He’d probably be able to pull himself together, afterwards—the golden gift of his Quirk, his life, pulling him into a constant cycle of rebirth no matter his failings. But at least then you’d be carried out of here—at least then he would have to take you with him out into the fresh air, the sunshine. You would take feeling the sun again—the open sky—even if it was secondhand.

Sometimes when he comes to you he still smells like the open air—like the waiting world and you will snuffle into his neck, against his shoulders, hungry for it, tears absorbing into his uniform.

He will croon to you, then, a big hand on the back of your head—holding you close, peppering you with kisses, whispering, “I love you, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

(He likes you like this—sad, clingy. His eyes will reflect your tears and he will kiss your face, kiss your mouth, kiss down your neck and your breasts even as you gulp back sobs.)

And then one day he doesn’t come back.

“Kacchan’s suspicious,” he tells you, hushed, his brows knitting together. “He hasn’t let the investigation close—he’s been turning everything upside down. He won’t understand.”

You try not to let your hope show, the kindling of it glowing in your chest as he kisses you goodbye, promises you you’ll be safe. You let him go and try not to think of Kacchan, out there somewhere, refusing to believe you had just quit and walked out, walked away from the wall of letters and drawings. Hope tasted a lot like fear, these days—stale in your mouth and you do what you can, you sleep the day away, the curled up princess in her nest.

Izuku has odd hours; you’re used to waking up to his hands on you, gently bringing you back tot he world of the living. But you wake up on your own, drink some water, sleep again—wake up again. The cycle continues and you realise, after awhile, that it’s been too long. Where is he?

Where is he?

You wait, and you wait, and you wait. Locked into the fairy-ring glow—afraid of the dark beyond it. Your bed becomes a casket. I love you, Izuku had said, soft-eyed and gentle—but his love was bloody, came with chains, had buried you alive. You curl into yourself and cry. You stay like that and sleep—sometimes you dream of being fourteen again, the day before you. Sometimes you dream of Izuku, his hand on your face as he whispers you’re safe, that you’re okay, that he loves you. You’re going to die in this place—with nothing to witness it, to witness you, but your dreams.

Your tears are hot against your face and you close your eyes.

(When you open them again, you’re in a room with wide, open windows—the curtains moving with the breeze. It’s daylight; a bird is singing, somewhere outside. You shift, stretching out in cool bedlinens that smell of sunshine and detergent and there’s a warm chuckle behind you, a strong arm tightening around your waist as someone presses their face into the curve of your neck and murmurs, “You okay?”

You feel sick with the lightness inside you, like you’ve swallowed the sun. “We’re okay,” you whisper, and the tears on your face are cool)

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[flagellant]

yeah we might be brothers in christ but so were cain and abel so shut the fuck up before i decide to find a rock about it

[doctorsiren]

The books reveal that Ford is actually a secret partier

(Available as a print on my Etsy Shop)

(wips under cut)

[joshuamj]

Hero.

[skitskatdacat63]

2024 Belgian Grand Prix - Mark Webber clapping for his boy (FINALLY!)

[egophiliac]

queen of diamonds, upright + reversed 💎

I've redone this like eighty times, I have to just be done with it now and stop staring at all my mistakes oh no 🫠

[frosted-co0kies]

I was rewatching But I’m a Cheerleader . Love the set design of that movie so much. Also rupaul in a straight is great t shirt

[ash-and-starlight]

Sokka baulked. "I'm not getting on that." "That," said Zuko, "is my baby." Zuko's baby, a fifty foot dragon, huffed. Great white plumes of smoke issued out of his nostrils and buffeted around Sokka. "Play nice, Druk," said Zuko, laughing

for The Mercy of Magpies chapter 2!

as always written by thee wonderful showstopping incredible @ranilla-bean ✨

chapter post || cover || map and characters

[arttsuka]

Another comic inspired by real life

Oh to go to hide behind youn grunkle only to discover it's actually his twin brother and now they're laughing at you

[whoseblogisitanyways]

tag yourself: intrepid heroes' alter emos as ppl who went to my public high school

[turtletoria]

the krampus incident from the book of bill if it was out of character and stupid

[hinamie]

alongside someone like you

[puppyeared]

horrible truth bomb dropped on my head 20 min ago

[merrigel]

I want it back = I drag its dead weight forward

[koobiie]

i love boys in a car simulator

the first pic is a redraw of an in-game selfie! here's the original: