#so that you avoid being remembered for your disease

[everysongineverykey]

honestly it bugs me a little how 99% of the comments on the these are the days of our lives music video, one of my personal favorite queen mvs for pure aesthetics and mood, are people calling it "heartbreaking" and hand-wringing about how SICK and PALE and CLOSE TO DEATH freddie mercury looks. like. wooow the dying man looks like he's dying? really? well done, nancy drew! have a gold star! yes aids is an awful fucking disease and yes hiv positive people shouldn't be reduced to washed-out portraits of the words "inspirational" and "strong" by the media and they should have their pain acknowledged but guys. freddie, by all accounts, very much Did Not Want To Dwell On It. he told his friends he had aids and then immediately was like but i don't want to talk about it. i just want to spend the rest of my time making as much music as i can. and his bandmates accepted that and supported him! he wanted to spend the time he had doing what he loved with people he loved and who loved him and he did. he had, by all accounts, a great last year. that one person who took the days of our lives bts color footage and edited Sad Piano Music TM over the entire thing and intercut interviews with the rest of the band also with Sad Piano Music TM and made it so we could barely hear freddie even say anything... it makes my blood boil like he's literally just. like it's literally just footage of him walking and discussing a take with the director and standing waiting for the take to start like. normal video filming stuff. and all anyone can see is a tragedy because he's walking stiffly or whatever

[katsukikitten]

You've been writing to inmates in prison for almost two years now and have helped many feel more at ease with their current situations and possible futures. So it should come to no surprise when the warden of the most notorious prison seeks out your help with a difficult inmate they can hardly contain. The task proves difficult after you receive your first letter back from Bakugou Katsuki. More infamously known as Ground Zero, and you're not so sure you can help a man this far gone.

wc 6.8k warnings: dunno but he's mean and a villain so read at your own risk. MDNI 18+ content

Congratulations!

You've been selected for a special project due to your credentials with previous inmates. Letters exchanged between you and other inmates have had a positive effect on their rehabilitation which is one step closer to getting them assimilated back to the normalcy of society. 

We ask that you help us by reaching out to inmate B-001174 Bakugou, Katsuki. He has not had mail correspondence nor a visitor due to his self isolation since his incarceration. We are hoping that a letter from the most well received correspondent begins to pave the way for a brighter future for B-001174. Please see the below instructions on what topics to avoid for inmate B-001174

Family members of any relation to inmate

Previous crimes by inmate or inmate's affiliates. 

Current crimes by inmate's affiliates or any such nature of crime 

Current events of any kind including natural disasters, diseases, political elections or anything of relation. 

Current hero rankings, change of status or death of any hero since incarceration December 18th 2XXX

Any mention of hero(es) who captured inmate listed as follows : Aizawa, Shouta - Eraserhead, Todoroki, Enji - Endeavor, Toshinori, Yagi - Allmight, Usagiyama, Rumi - Mirko 

Current known affiliates are listed as follows : Kirishima, Eijirou, Midoriya, Izuku, Shigaraki, Tomura and Todoroki, Touya. 

We appreciate your efforts in brightening the dull lives of inmates and hope you pick up your pen and do what you do best, change lives for the better! Please see the following attachments for instructions on how to address the letter and seal inside the pre-paid postage envelope before dropping it off at any post office.

Remember each letter will be opened and read for any sort of criminal activity before being passed along to the inmate. 

Sincerely, 

Warden of Tartarus Maximum Prison Facility

You flip the letter over and skim the instructions, the same as they always are expect this time there is an extra line to add, maximum security level ten, as if you had to notate some sort of alert to the mailroom for an extra thorough check of this particular piece of mail. You bite the inside of your lip, toeing off your kitten heels before padding over to your computer with letter in tow.  

The request comes as a surprise, mostly because they listed a specific inmate instead of your usual list of inmates who wished to receive mail but had ties cut from their own families or needed some semblance of someone on the outside to speak with. Never asking you to address some sort of conversation with someone who sounded like they didn't want to have one at all. 

Snarling your lip when you read the affiliates that you needed to avoid as if their government names gave you any idea of who they were, some of them anyway. 

Two with whom you were already exchanging letters with weekly. 

Your usual routine to wind down from work is lost to your undying hunger of who this person was. Although you had to admit Bakugou sounded eerily familiar. 

A quick search brings up his villain name,  Ground Zero, captured during a raid of some sort and he alone needed several heroes for his capture. His quirk was dangerous, explosions detonated by sparks along his forearms and palms from his sweat that contained nitroglycerin and it seemed as if his mental health was just as stable as the fuel to his quirk. 

Looking at him wrong set him off and he was powerful enough to level buildings from just a few juls of output from his intense explosions. Still curiosity killed the cat and you delved deeper. 

Wondering how Izuku, aka Deku, who was quirkless and Eijirou, aka Blood Riot who could harden his skin, which you knew from their letters, got caught up with a living, breathing nuke. 

Thankfully most of the documentation and footage involving Katsuki's arrest was released to the public with redactions and edits of course but what you needed was the raw data. 

Finding unofficially released footage from Mirko's body cam, the only surviving body cam between the pursuing heroes. It starts right in the midst of the action, sirens wailing  and people screaming in the background as the scene unfolds. Ground Zero and Mirko exchange blows evenly while Endevor tries to ambush him from behind. The hulking blonde smirks, as if he had no blind spot, swinging his large arm backward hitting Endeavor right in the mouth, hard enough it sends him flying.  Katsuki's bromine eyes flicker to what must be vantage points off camera as if searching for something. 

"Got that pesky ass four eyes on me huh? I'm hurt ya don't wanna play with me properly, hops." He dodges a kick to the chest, sliding back and it's obvious his prowess as a fighter is unmatched, even with his quirk silenced.

"Shut the fuck up. Ya talk too much."  Shifting her weight to fein a kick that he catches, pinning her thick leg between his sturdy ribs and strong arm as he wears the nastiest smile. One that Mirko wipes off quickly with a swift kick from her free foot straight to his handsome face. Turning his cheek and blood arcs from his mouth, still he does not stagger nor falter. 

He even still has her leg pinned as she stands awkwardly, back arched to him and her bunny tail twitches. The viewer can only see the ground and her free leg but the mic still very much catches what he says next and you're sure the smile he was wearing earlier comes back tenfold. 

"Careful hops, ya get any rougher with me and I'll cum." 

His laugh echoes shortly after and the sound should not cause your stomach to flip the way it does before the footage abruptly ends. 

Taking the time to scroll through a few more pictures and articles, trying to find where it all went wrong when really none of that was your business, still it killed you to know. 

And when you fail to find anything, fail to find that butterfly effect that puts his whole life askew, it does little to quell the uneasy feeling that gnaws at the pit of your stomach. If anything it fuels it yet still you rummage your desk for stationary and a pen. 

Sealing away the envelope once you were done and setting it by your purse to grab in the morning when you think you'll be braver. 

Or maybe less brave as you hesitate by the mail drop off box, your train fast approaching the outside terminal before you shove it into the slot quickly. 

Too late to take it back now. 

Besides what were the odds he'd even send one back?

"B-001174, got mail." The guard grunts as he slips the already open letter under the cell door, finishing his rounds before the doors would open and the inmates could roam about the pod as they saw fit. 

Katsuki snarls, he didn't get mail, letters or pictures or even the cult following he once had he'd scared 'em all off. Tired of all the stupid bullshit they spewed at him, the ideals they placed on him or the words they shoved into his mouth. Worst yet were how they justified their actions, their own wrong doings in the name of Ground Zero, too pussy to even own up to their own actions. Katsuki hated that as much as he hated liars. 

Besides he didn't ask for all that shit, didn't care. He just wanted to watch the world burn. 

Wanted to set it on fire and Katsuki's philosophy was that anything was kindling. 

That everything is kindling. 

And he thinks he should just ignite the smallest spark despite the quirk "silencing" cuffs and let the letter be devoured by the heat of his palms. 

But the return address catches his eye, the name does. It's familiar in a way he can't quite place yet. Pulling the paper out of the envelope in the meantime. The first thing he notices is the faint almost perfumey smell of coconut from the paper, not from spraying the stationary but as if it were lotion rubbing across the parchment as you wrote in long looping letters, for a moment he finds the smell pleasant. His poisonous bromine eyes slide over the letter with ease. 

Dear Bakugou, 

I heard you don't get letters very often, if any, so I hope this one finds you well. The weather is warming up quickly, the cicadas are starting to scream even though it's barely June, we'll all be sweltering come August. Summer is my favorite season, do you have a favorite? Work slows down around this time and they usually grant us extra leave so we can enjoy the weather, which is quite nice. I hope you're getting to enjoy the sun as well. 

I know cooking is one of your favorite things, I can see why. It can be relaxing or make you feel good to nourish someone else. What other hobbies do you have aside from cooking? Any favorite books or authors? Maybe I can send your favorite one in! Just let me know. 

Do you have everything you need? Do you need any money for commissary? Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything at all, I'm only a letter away. 

Hope to hear from you and maybe soon I can call you Katsuki. 

Much Love

He snorts as he reads the last line and it finally dawns on him from where he knows your name. Lifting himself out of his prison cot with ease, the cheap thing groaning from his bulk as he exits his cell. Heading towards the neighboring cell that holds Deku and Riot, shoving his way into the too cramped space for the bulking men. 

"Ka-kaachan!" Izuku chirps, surprised to see the hot headed blonde out of his cell and especially surprised to see Bakugou in his own. Lingering by Izuku's half with a quirked brow, his eyes roaming until they found the hidden stack of papers. 

"Gonna grab breakfast with us?" Kirishima asks as he watches large hands snatch at the pile. Instantly Izuku stands, eyes darkening as he steps towards Katsuki.

"Put those down, Kaachan." It's that fake polite smile Izuku wears before a fight, the kind that never reaches his eyes and Bakugou doesn't heed the warning, "Please."

It's clipped and now Kirishima thinks to rise, doesn't want either of them to do solitary or to deal with the month long bickering if they do get into a physical fight. 

Katsuki looks over the letters, reading them quickly and appreciating that Izuku is meticulous enough to keep them in chronological order, each one signed off the same way. Much love. 

Such bullshit. 

Izuku shoves Bakugou when he still scowls down at the papers that also smell like coconut. Katsuki drops the letters unceremoniously and Izuku scrambles to keep them from hitting the concrete floor. Bakugou already on Kirishima's side who watches with a confused glare. 

"What are you-" But Kirishima doesn't get to say much else as Katsuki lifts the thin mattress from the metal frame to find the hidden letters. Tucked away safely as if the battle worn villain took comfort in the false words in shiny black ink. 

Same return address, same name, same bull shit sign off. 

"Katsuki!" Kirishima shoves him and the blonde hardly moves, Eijirou's skin half hardening out of habit before he tries to shove again. Katsuki hits his forearm harshly, a soft pop in warning although neither could do too much with the amount of sedation and silencing that came from the collar from around their thick throats. Izuku sans silencing cuffs, has no worries about a part of him being dulled. He was built like an ox with the metabolism of a pubescent teen despite being in his late twenties so sedatives or mood stabilizers hardly have any effect. 

Bakugou tosses the letters onto Kirishima's scratchy blanket before he scoffs. 

"Tsk, believe that bullshit?" He's rolling his eyes as he leaves the cell with nothing but the rustle of paper as they try to rehide what they act like is their dirty little secret. 

God weak hearted fools were so fucking annoying. 

Post through the prison system could take some time, especially when it came to newer exchanges. It could be anywhere between two weeks to two months before you saw a reply from Katsuki. If you got one at all. 

But the thought of his phantom reply slips to the back of your head what with your current workload and the other correspondents so when you see a sealed envelope the prison's return address you think nothing of it. 

Not until you open it to see an open envelope with your address but instead of your name is spelled out Fake Bitch. 

Blinking furiously you pull out the letter, unfolding it quickly to let your eyes scan over the page, each word burning into your retinas.

Piece of shit, 

Such a pathetic fuckin slut, writing any and every desperate man behind bars you think is hot, hopin you'll get a conjugal visit. Already fucked everyone at surface level ya gotta try prison dick? 

Or is it worst than that?  Mommy and daddy didn't love ya enough? Didn't give ya enough attention so you look for it in anyone that'll give ya the time of day? Prey on those with no one to talk to knowing you'd get a reply out of desperation. 

Lickin knives all ya know sweetheart? Pretty fuckin scummy if ya ask me. 

Fuck off and die, 

Bakugou Katsuki 

Now you've received your fair share of mean and asshole letters but this? This was different. 

This felt personal. 

It was rule number one you'd given yourself when you were asked to start penning letters while in a shitty place yourself. 

And yet here you were breaking it for some asshat who thought the cityscape was his to destroy. 

Heart ringing in your ears as you try to calm yourself, counting your breaths until you finally could see straight. Penning up something simple yet effective telling yourself that even if he didn't reply it didn't matter. 

You drop it into the mail the next day, two weeks later the same guard is slipping another opened letter under Bakugou's cell door. A snarl to his lip, he didn't expect you to reply and if he was being honest he may have forgotten about you, still the envelope was addressed to his inmate number and no longer is his name written in your cute script. 

While you may think you know everything there is to know about life and me, I'd like to point out your position over mine. 

Last I checked I'm not miles and miles in the ground, under heavy security, among other things a civilian wouldn't be privy to. However I will put it into lame man's terms as it seems your cognitive abilities have declined. 

I'm not the one behind bars, asshole. 

Much Hate

Bakugou clicks his tongue, he was used to the insult, wore it proudly most days but he knew his first letter would go one of two ways.

One, you'd cry when you read it and never replied to him again, which was his hope or two there was a very slim chance he'd get under your skin enough you'd feel the innate need to respond and defend yourself. 

Bakugou does what he does best and burrows further under your pretty skin twirling the pen he finds in the library with ease as he takes to writing out a delicious reply. 

Mail from Tartarus normally came on Wednesday or Thursday as if someone at the facility always forgot to send it out at the beginning of the week. So it became a part of your routine to check your PO Box you set up in a prefecture over in order to preserve your safety should something ever go awry with any of your pen pals or to receive online purchases. Mail day used to be a day you looked forward to, something to help you get through the remainder of your work week but today it was a day you dreaded. 

The excitement from seeing the others' responses in the mail is overshadowed by one particular envelope that slips out of the Manila folder that all of the letters to the same correspondent were sent in to save postage. 

You should be reading Touya's letter or hell anyone else's for that matter, yet here you stood, going for that obnoxious scrawl as he still refused to spell out your name and instead gave you some horrible insult. 

Pathetic Slut

If lying to yourself by writing half ass disingenuine letters to prisoners out of pity makes ya feel like yer changing the world then by all fucking means write away sweetheart. 

Just don't be surprised when you get an asshole response from an asshole behind bars. 

Cause we both know that's what you think of all of us don'tchya? 

Die, 

Bakugou Katsuki 

It shouldn't bother you, it shouldn't burrow so deep into your skin that his inky words scratch at your bones. Like his fingers could dig around in the marrow like maggots yet still it makes your cheeks heat. Makes your eyes burn from frustration and lack of blinking as your palms sweat. 

Soles of your feet burning as you walk further into your apartment to rummage through the drawers of your desk.  Uncaring how things topple over as you furiously grab for a permanent marker, pens and books scattering over the hardwood floors. 

Heart pounding as it resounds through your body like metal striking a bell. Each beat faster, harder than the last until you think your vision starts to ehb at the edges from how much hatred burns away at any of the kindness you built up over the last decade. 

Snapping the marker in half by the time you're done writing your final letter to the asshole. 

FUCK 

YOU 

You don't read it, don't care if it makes it past screening and he never sees it at all. Shoving it into one of your personal envelopes on your desk slapping on a floral postage stamp before stomping down to the express box that sat just outside of your apartment complex. 

It takes a full week for you to calm down, another week to stop thinking about it daily, and one more week to even reply to the letters you got almost a month ago. 

An email comes in from the post office, alerting you to something being placed in your box. You hope it's the new sun dress you bought as retail therapy after a long week and an even bigger bottle of booze that you'd drained. Spending quite a pretty penny on something you didn't even really have an occasion to wear it to. 

More like a nice date, the type of dress you could dress up or down depending on what sorts of accessories you paired with it. 

Taking the train three stops past your own to head into the post office. Turning the key to your decent sized box finding within the metal your promised package. 

And on top of that a familiar manila folder with the return address to Tartarus. 

You grit your teeth, holding onto the mail harder than you should as you take those three long stops back home. Swallowing thickly as you climb your steps, the folder and plastic bag package punctured from your sharp nails as you quickly press in your seven digit key code to get into your apartment and out of the sweltering mid August air.

When your door shuts it closed off the sound of the screaming cicadas and the few crickets that lie in the green space beside your apartment as you try to force yourself to follow your nightly routine. 

Remove shoes, take off makeup, eat, shower, sleep. 

But that damn folder was burning a hole into your fingers as you go to your desk, rocking your chair side to side before you just rip it open like you'd rip off a bandaid. 

This time the letter addresses you in a new way. 

Sweetheart, 

I dare you to come say that shit to my face. You fuckin better show up Saturday other wise I'll let your precious Izu and Eiji know just how much of a fake bitch ya really are. Imagine what it would do to them? Break their hearts I'm sure.  

Ya'd hate to mess with their progress wouldn't ya? 

Don't forget to wear something cute, it'd be nice to see some fat tits in my face at the very least. If a shitty woman like you even owns anything relatively sexy.

Fuck off 

Bakugou Katsuki 

You see red, breathing deeply as you re-read the letter again, who the fuck was this asshole? Black mailing you into visiting him so it wouldn't hurt your other correspondents because Bakugou was so fucking selfish. 

So black out angry you don't seem to wake up, not when you put yourself in that sleek summer sun dress that went to your mid thigh, not when you stare at your angry scowl as you apply light make up, and especially not on the hour drive and then two hour ferry ride to Tartarus. Especially not during the twenty minute descent in a cramped elevator box with a guard in front and behind you with AKs clipped to their chests, the sweltering heat seeping down this low in the ground due to body heat and poor ventilation of the prison. 

Not until the buzzer of the barred door in front of you screams its demands, that the handle was "live" and could be opened by the guard standing in the cage between the hallway that led back to freedom and the other where you could already see toxic bromine burning into your skin. 

This was a bad idea. This was a really fucking bad idea.  

You swallow thickly, it was too late to turn back now wasn't it? The door had already swung shut as the guard came closer to you for one final inspection.

"Dress is kinda short." Katsuki can overhear the guard mumble to you, can see how the guard's fingers twitch and for some reason his own do too. He watches how the guard lingers, how the man's hand press against your body and bunches up your dress as he pats you down a little too roughly. How you bite your lip when the man squeezes your ribs and under the weight of your breasts a little too roughly. 

Katsuki is starting to see red, sweat begins to collect on his brow. He hasn't even fully seen you at least not without an obstructed view but already he can tell he likes what he sees. 

Likes how the dress clings to parts of you you'd favor, the parts you want to really highlight. How the hem flusters higher with each step of your strappy flat shoes.

Loves the scowl that pinches up your cute face when the door buzzes to allow you into the room with him and another six guards. Likes how you straighten your spine as if you've gotten fresh resolve when you come in. 

Looking at him like he was trash and he smirks, like how you don't recoil from him despite how he looks now.  

Plexiglass spit guard with metal framing afixed to his face to keep more than his salvia to himself, more so to keep his gnashing teeth away from people's skin. How his throat is encircled with a thick black collar with a red light set far past stun and closer to kill that would send an electric pulse if he misbehaved but only if they could reach their remote fast enough. 

How the silver cuffs around his thick wrists chain him to the table top, thick forearms exposed from him rolling up his bright orange suit that was harsh on the eyes thanks to the flickering fluorescent lighting overhead. Soft ash blonde hair messy at the top with a self given undercut beneath, iris so bloody red it was as if he was born straight from the calf of Ares himself. 

"Hey Sweetheart." He purrs and his voice is pure sin. 

Pure fucking sin. 

Sending a jolt straight to your clit as his pretty lips curl up into a deadly smirk, showing his sharp canines. 

Bakugou can't contain the feeling of triumph that dances in his veins, purposely egging you on in his letter with the closest Saturday knowing you'd be allowed to come on such short notice. See, most visitors needed to have thorough background checks and intensive mental testing before coming to meet anyone in maximum security five hundred meters below sea level. 

But the conniving blonde knew you were special. 

Knew the warden of Tartarus favored you and would allow you to skip these precautions, especially after what that dumbass thinks you've done. In less than a month of writing to him, that damn Deku finally added Inko-san back to his visiting list, actually came to the visit and cupped her hands. Murmuring on and on that her baby boy with the wavy emerald curls was okay. Inko cried and returned every month since.

No different for Kirishima either, adding Fat Gum, who was like a father figure to him during their shared time at UA, to his visitor list. Surprisingly Taishiro came, still comes, him and Inko car pool together. 

Not even a few heartbeats pass between the two of you before you feel your tongue slicing up the sensitive skin of the roof of your mouth. Of the hard bone of your teeth. 

"Fuck. You." The words drip with sticky poison that even one of the guards behind him flinches but not Bakugou. 

No never Bakugou Katsuki, the Ground Zero himself who leveled a city for the fucking fun of it 

He smiles, both sides of his mouth curling up and it should be disturbing how much he obviously gets off on your frustration, on your hate. But it isn't, it's almost mesmerizing how he looks at you. Like you're something to triumph and conquer, something he wants to keep for himself. 

With that you turn to leave, skirt fluttering from the movement and Katsuki can see the tattoo on your upper thigh, the ink making his mouth salivate as he wonders if he can find any more you've got hidden on that fine body. 

He lunges despite the rattling chains that keep him close to the table, still he has enough leeway to grab onto your arm in one giant hand. Foolishly you try to pull free. 

"Oh come on sweetheart. I've got a whole hour of play time for this. Yer not leaving, sit down." 

His grip on you is tight, his hand big enough to engulf half of your forearm and it gets tighter still. Hot palm making your bones creak from the pressure as he smiles up at you cruelly. All you can do is glare down at him, bore all of your hate where the two of you are connected, his skin feels electric against yours. 

"Ya know, I could probably still blow your arm off." He doesn't bother to say it quietly, chuckles when you look at the quirk silencing cuffs and collar he dons, "They ain't shit against strong quirks." 

Your eyes flash, anger spiking your blood and stupidly you strike. Hand stinging as badly as the tears that come to your eyes and threaten to fall past your lash line. Clawed fingers met with the metal framing of the glass spit guard mask that covers his mouth. Still one of your claws cuts his cheeks and he howls with laughter. 

"Like I said-" He yanks you down harshly, playful tone from his voice gone as your ribs smack into the edge of the metal table, puffs of hot breath fogging the glass of his spit guard, "Sit." 

The awkward angle forces your knees to bend, settling on to the cold metal stool while his warm fingers leave blossoms of black and blue on the skin. As if returning the favor for the cut. 

"I can feel your heart pounding princess,yer pussy throbin this hard too?" He licks his lips, laughs when you lean away from him in disgust, "Ya like it. All sluts play hard to get at first." 

Your eyes flicker to the guards behind him, all six pretend not to notice, panic shoots through your veins and the realization of just how bad of a fucking idea this was settles over you harshly. Like ice water flowing from the nape of your neck.  

He follows your gaze, even cranes his head like he didn't know who was behind him and exactly where they stood. 

"Oh them? They ain't gonna do shit. They're too scared of me. Blew a guy's head off last week." He smiles and one of the guards suddenly finds the floor interesting, "Do ya know how drugged up I am right now baby? How much force these cuffs have to use to bring my quirk down to half power?" 

Choosing not to respond you let your eyes fall back on his handsome face watching it snarl as you ignore him. 

Oh he'd make you see him. 

"What cat got yer tongue now ya scared cause I'm so strong? Invincible?" Your eyes narrow as he speaks the arrogance of this man is far beyond your comprehension. 

"You bleed like every other man." He loves the way you speak, how you wield that sharp tongue. How he wants it pressed and slashing over his own as he's two fingers deep into your tight cunt, moaning into his mouth. 

He brings the thick digits of his free hand parting gift you bestowed upon him. The long thin slash as rough pads bring smeared blood into view so he can lick away the dark red beads. 

"Bloody men are usually the most dangerous, you never know if it's his or that of another's." He lets his hot thumb roll over the cut, cauterizing the small wound hoping it scars. 

Eyes widening as he blatantly uses his quirk as if there weren't armed guards behind him. You're watching his eyes closely as he does and finally you realize what he said is true. There is a dullness to them that was lacking in the raw footage you saw all those months ago. 

Then his eyes were vibrant, sharp and slicing, much more intense then the hazy glare he gives you now. It didn't make him any less of an apex predator. 

Still watching you, recording your small movements and committing your soft skin to his memory as he studies you. 

"Got a quirk?" He grunts out after a moment, after he collects whatever information he was looking for, "I wanna guess first. Manipulation?" 

He smirks at his own joke and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore how his thumb swipes at the underside of your forearm idly. How the motion twists your stomach violently with dizzying emotions. 

Rolling your eyes before you scoff an answer, "No. Besides you expect me to manipulate through what? Ink?" 

"Ya never know. Went to school with some asshole whose quirk was comic book sound effects." He leans back never letting go but now his hand is around your wrist. His fingers twitch when he looks at yours, fights the urge to roughly lace them with his own. 

"Well I don't. Manipulate I mean." You adjust in your seat, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, "And I won't disclose whether I have a quirk or not." 

"Haaah? Worried I'll like it?" When you don't answer he adds, "Is it compatible with mine?" 

Slowly blinking at him trying not to read into what you think he means. He groans at your silence, the higher dosage of his morning meds finally catching up making him a little lethargic. Taking his edge off when all he wants to do is rise over the crashing wave of the pending high he can barely keep at bay and whisk you out of the depths of hell the two of you currently sit in. 

"So then what? You just used regular words to manipulate them?" He fights back a yawn. 

"Who?" Your ribs still ache from his actions earlier, it doesn't warn you like it should. 

"Don't play fuckin stupid, Sweetheart." He's lurching into your space again, hand moving back over your bruise. It makes your stomach clench when it shouldn't, especially not as the chains rattle against the metal table top, serving as a heavy reminder of the setting of this conversation. 

Still his breath comes in quick puffs as it fogs up the glass again, "Shitty hair. Deku." 

Your brows furrow for a moment, another groan from him. 

"For fucks sake." Light squeeze of your arm as he spits their names, "Fuckin nerdy ass Izuku. Eijirou."

"I can't talk about them." Looking away from his darkened eyes that flash with a fury of emotion.

"Who's stoppin ya? Them?" He tilts his head towards the guards, "I told ya-" 

"B-001174, you have five minutes left for visitation." A voice crackled over an old speaker in the visitation cell, "Please remove your hands from the guest or we will apply force." 

The small light on his collar flashes red and he just smirks, looking up, well above your head. Staring directly at the warden like he knows exactly where he stood behind the two way mirror. 

"Yea? You'll apply force? Go ahead. Nothin but a little shock t' me but t' her? She'll die warden." There is no mirth in his smirk, lips twitching as his eyes are shrouded in dark warning, "And we wouldn't want that would we?" 

The way he speaks sends a chill down your spine, the haze of whatever sedative they had him on is now gone and you're left sitting across from those vibrant radioactive eyes. Burning through the mirror to sear the warden's skin in a threat, a promise. 

A buzz rings out as the seventh guard comes in, he scrunches his nose and it makes his oddly shaped mustache twitch. 

"Miss." He grunts holding out his hand for you to take too close in your personal space for your liking. Slapping it out of your face before following your right arm down to where Katsuki held fast. Peeling off his thick digits with your finely manicured claws. 

He hisses at the loss of contact, glaring at the guard when his hands hover close and the older man is smart enough not to antagonize a literal monster. Katsuki stands suddenly, a scream comes from the bolts securing metal to metal as he rips the table out of the ground, unable to break the chains for now. 

Everyone but Bakugou in the room freezes, guns cocked and aimed at the bulking villain who rose to his full height, sticking his prison issued white shoe onto the seat he just sat on to push down roughly. Thick thigh muscles straining against the fabric of the bright orange pants. A smile to his face when the chains finally snap and he can move his hands more freely before ripping off the plexiglass spit guard letting it clink on to the ground. His large hands run through his hair as if to fix it. 

"I'm entitled to a proper fuckin good bye." He hisses at everyone in the room, they keep their guns aimed at him but make no move to pull any trigger. 

Katsuki stalks closer, a wall of muscle, broad chest and shoulders, slim waist that leads down to powerful legs and you try not to let your breath catch in your throat. 

Try not to let the big bad wolf win by letting him know just how scared you were. Over how impressive it was that he snapped reinforced titanium chains so easily. 

He's well within your arms reach now, so close heat radiates from his chest. 

"I'll see ya soon, Sweetheart." He bids you a final goodbye, waving his fingers that pop with burning caramel explosions. You're not sure why it sets you off, maybe it was the way he wore that stupid smirk on his face, maybe it was the way he demonstrated his power or his dominance in an attempt to intimidate you one last time. 

Maybe it's the way he was arrogant enough to think you'd waste six hours round trip on his ass ever again. 

Either way it makes your temper flair, burrows deep into your subdermis to scarpe at your bones one final time before you unknowingly seal your own fate. Not knowing how his body would react to your parting words. 

"There won't be a next time. I came here for one thing and that was to say fuck you." Delivered with just as much clotting venom as it was before, middle finger held high.

His smirk turns deadly, blowing out a snort as he leans closer as if to share a secret. You can smell the cheap commissary soap that clings to his skin that's starting to lose out to the rapidly building nimbus of smoking caramel that clouds the air as his lips press to your ear.  

"Don't have t'. I'll come to you." He pulls back and winks as you're guided out of the room, glare fixed on him as he stands unbothered. 

He's lying, prisoners lie all the time especially if they think they can get the upper hand. He couldn't come to you. He couldn't escape prison for starters and lastly there was no way in hell he'd ever find out where you lived.  The prison made sure of that by always including a fresh envelope with their own return address in the top left corner, you should know. You only triple checked each time you sealed away the letter, even a fourth time at the post box staring down at the address on the envelope making sure both were correct.

So fuck Bakugou Katsuki for being a dirty liar, fucking hypocrite.

Shoving yourself into an oversized shirt after your body shower you finally get to plop down into bed. Relishing the feel of fresh sheets and blankets as you sigh deeply. It had been a long, long day and no amount of self care could get his toxic blood red eyes out of your head.

Switching on the TV to pull up some show to numb your mind with familiarity when the channel cuts out. Breaking news flashing across the screen makes your body go rigid. 

A prison break from Tartarus has occurred in the late evening hours, several high profile villains are believed to have escaped such as Shigaraki Tomura, Todoroki Touya, aka Dabi, Kirishima Eijirou aka Blood Riot,  Midoriya Izuku aka Deku and Bakugou Katsuki better known as Ground Zero. Please do not approach suspected escapees, please report any suspicious person or activities immediately. Most importantly keep all doors and windows locked at all times. I repeat do not engage with the inmates. 

A knock comes from your left, making you jump out of your skin as you fist the sheets. A cold sweat breaking out over your skin in goose flesh as your hearing rings in your ears. Unable to bring yourself to look at the sliding glass door to your balcony just yet as if you could ignore it and the cause of the sound would simply go away.

Another rapt of knuckles pulls your attention once more before you finally dare to peek to see glowing red eyes peering in. The devil himself at your door and you knew better than to let him in. 

Knew better that a locked door couldn't keep him out. 

Bromine burning in the night like ever fanned flames, orange jumpsuit obnoxiously out of place against the night sky, stained in deep burgundy red and ash grays, the same colors streaking his face before he knocks again. But this time it's in warning, hard enough to rattle the door that you both know he could rip off the track with ease.

"How- how did you?" Teeth chattering that you grit closed still refusing to give in to his tactics until he presses a small envelope against the glass. Your personal envelope with your real home address listed for return. 

Panic bubbles up your throat in a scream that dies at the back of your teeth as you sit frozen a minute longer while he gives a predatory grin, large hands pressing against the glass before his palms glow bright orange. Brighter than his jumpsuit before the glass shatters and your scream finally escapes your lungs. 

In an instant he's towering over you, palms pressing into biting shards as he cages you against the plush comforter dipping his head low so he can nose at your throat, hot palm at your ribs. Leave a searing bite pulling a strangled yelp from your soft lips that makes him laugh before his mouth is at your ear for the second time today. Finally speaking dangerously low.

"Told ya I'd see ya soon, Sweetheart."

[reareaotaku]

so I had a though what if the Barbies and the Kens actually had private parts but actively avoided them (think, using etc)?

Like Barbies do have boobs and you can see that the Kens have nipples. Also dolls - as far as I remember - had panties, craved in, panties.

I believe in the movie they talk about how they don't have genitals. Though, let's say that they do have privates, what would happen? Also ignoring the second part

Pleasurable Sin [Headcanons]

Yandere! Ryan! Ken x Fem! Reader Tw: Smut/Nsfw, Masturbation/Jerking Off, Ken has a dick! 🔞18+ Content due to dark and adult themes. Read at your own risk

The Barbies are more sexually aware/have a sexual education

The only reason the Kens don't ALSO have a sexual education is because they don't take it seriously [Also, they're not really getting laid]

There are no diseases, STD & STIs, because there's nothing to give it to them if that makes sense?

They are humanized versions of their doll personas, meaning they have human bodies and need food, water, air, etc

The Kens are very sexual

Your Ken, Ryan, is always touching you and humping you, quite literally

The first time Ken jerked off he had no idea what he was doing

He grabbed the base/shaft and slowly moves up towards the tip. He slowly picks up the pace, which causes him to groan. He really liked the feeling and speeds up. He quickly speeds up when feeling his lower intestine tighten up and then cums all over his hand

He's out of breath and excited with this newfound pleasure

It makes him wonder if you also feel like this

He's completely clueless and thinks you also have a penis

"Well, don't you pull on it too?"

You look at him confused, before laughing at him. He blushes, embarrassed, feeling like a fool."

"We don't have the same genitalia, you know that right, Ken?"

"Of course I do... So what does it look like?"

Once he does figure out what jerking off and how good it is, he does it a lot

When you rub against him, it's like seeing stars

It feels better when you rub him than when he rubs himself

Man will do anything for you to touch him

He's very loud and cries during sex

He'll cover his mouth when your mouth is wrapped around him, because he doesn't want anyone to hear him

Suck him like a lolipop, it's like a treat for him

Barbie Dreamhouse Ken would care about your pleasure

Ken is so excited and sometimes forgets to please you

He moves so fast and energetically

Though, if you tell him, he'll be more cautious, because his biggest fear is you not loving him. So, when he does realize that he's been upsetting/displeasing you, he's scared

While he does enjoy the feeling of being inside you, if you show any discomfort, now that he has eagle eyes on you, he'll be quick to ask what's wrong

He's willing to do whatever you're up for

He's also really easy to turn on

If Boner Alerts existed, his would go off anytime you're near

You don't even have to do anything; You just talk a certain way/Lean into him just a little to far/ You look at him a certain way... Well, it all works and he gets excited

He gets really sad when you say no, but is willing to do it by himself. He'd rather you help him, but it's okay, he'll just use his imagination

Oh boy, does his imagination run wild

Good thing Porn doesn't exist in Barbie Land, because he'd be wanting to do it all with you

While he does love 'Love-making', he doesn't think about it constantly. Sometimes he loves the way you look in the sunlight. You look beautiful when you smile. Your laugh makes his heart beat and his skin gets those goosebumps. A shiver runs up his back when you look at him like he's the only man in the world

There's no one else like you. Yeah, the Barbies are pretty, but you are one of a kind and you're the only person who owns Ken's mind

[crystals-cave]

PAC: Your Hidden Talents

Happy Holidays! Here’s a reading on your hidden talents before the December reading 🖤

Pick a pile that sparks a memory in you - it could be a person/place/music/ object etc. If more than 1 pile sparks a memory in you, pick the pile that evokes the strongest emotions in you. However, if you feel strongly for both, you may go ahead and read more than 1 pile.

As this is a general reading, do take what resonates for you and take the rest with a pinch of salt.

Warning: This reading will be rather blunt and honest. Do proceed with caution❗️

Note: all pictures used in this reading are taken by me

Pile 1

The Fool (rx)

The World

6 of Pentacles

10 of Cups

7 of Cups (rx)

Hi Pile 1👑

At a glance, I see that your hidden talent lies in your ability to manifest material abundance. I would not say that this talent will bring you wealth or make you a billionaire, but you’ll be able to live in comfort.

Another talent I see is the ability to know what people actually need. You have no trouble reading between the lines of what people are saying. And you also know what people truly desire - even when they do not say it.

Overall, I would say that you are happy with what you have but you also constantly desire for more. The desire for more is a fine line to being greedy. At times, you may be a little vain and ignorant of others. Maybe you are so comfortable that you often forget that there are others out there struggling to feed themselves. Remember to be thankful for the abundance you have and be more sensitive to people less fortunate out there.

Summary

Your hidden talents: manifest abundance, read between the lines, know what people trule desire

To take note: be less ignorant, be more sensitive to others

Pile 2

6 of Wands

Ace of Swords (rx)

Wheel of Fortune (rx)

The Star (rx)

Death

Page of Swords

Hello Pile 2 ☁️

Welcome to your reading.

Your hidden talent lies in your luck. You are who is quite lucky in general. Even if you’re not, you somehow always get what you want - especially if it’s something you care about.

You are likely somebody who thinks you’re just an ordinary guy/girl-next-door, but I would say that you often avoid the worst of outcomes. There are people who are lucky in material abundance, or lucky with people, but you are someone who is lucky in situations. You are likely to come out unharmed during a disease outbreak (covid, perhaps?). And you are likely to have experienced multiple “blessings in disguise” where you thought you lost a job offer - but in reality you avoided being a victim of a job scam.

Despite your lucky talent, I feel that you tend to act without deliberation. Sometimes, you just want instant results but do not care to read and think through properly. I advice you to calm down and think through before following through what you do. Your luck may bring you to greater heights when it does not need to save you from your carelessness.

Summary

Your hiddent talent: luck, able to avoid unfortunate situations

To take note: think before acting, be less impulsive

Pile 3

Queen of Pentacles

7 of Wands (rx)

Judgement (rx)

Queen of Swords

4 of Pentacles

Hey Pile 3 🌸

Your hidden talents are stability and intelligence. You are someone grounded who prefers simple stability than risky wealth. You are someone who gains more living honestly than taking big gambles. You have likely felt the burn when you took a risk in the past. Feeling comfortable and stable is a talent that many do not have, given how numerous people may have acquired wealth but feel like they can topple over like a house of cards.

Pile 3, you are also someone deeply intelligent. You are often able to make sound and wise decisions to protect your stability. Even if you think otherwise of your smarts, people around you have definitely noticed it.

Something to note will be your high chance of singlehood. Your talent for stability and intelligence will likely bring you wealth, however, potential partners may feel threatened by it. They likely feel inadequate or out of your league when they compare themselves to you - although you have never said anything to make them feel this way. My advice will be to expand your social circle and befriend those who would not feel threatened by your accomplishments.

Summary

Your hidden talent: stability, intelligence

To take note: singlehood, people feeling threatened by your wealth/accomplishments, expand your social network

Pile 4

2 of Swords

Judgement

The Empress

The Fool

3 of Wands (rx)

Hi Pile 4 🌹

Right off the bat, I see that you’re a multi-talented pile.

You have a natural talent of seeing through people. You do not let appearances fool you and you’re able to hear the bullshit from people’s words. You are able to see people for what they are and will not let others convince you otherwise.

Another talent you have is related to beauty or the arts. Some of you in this pile have the gift of beauty - you may be blessed with good physical appearance. For others, beauty means having a knack for fashion or makeup. For those blessed with the arts, you could be an artist if any form - visual arts, handicrafts, music, perfumery etc. I see that you have at least 3 forms of talent mentioned above.

One more talent you carry is not fearing the unknown. Humans are usually afraid to venture into places that others have not set foot into. However, that does not apply for you. Instead, you welcome the unknown and whatever else it brings along. This can make people steer away from you as it can make you seem unpredictable and volatile.

With so many talents, people tend to be wary of you and some may even try to talk you down. Do not let the negativity affect you. My advice is to filter through who you befriend as those who are accepting of you will not be threatened by your many talents.

Summary

Your hidden talent: ability to see through people, beauty, the arts, not fearing the unknown

To take note: may appear volatile to people when you welcome the unknown too much, do not let what others think weigh you down

[albuuqer]

Home, at last.

manga spoilers! chapter 237 included.

Megumi Fushiguro reunites with his family, finally.

The water that surrounded him stilled to a stop, making him float between the tides. His eyes were squeezed shut until an arm shook him whole, awaking him from a dream that felt way too long.

“Megumi,” The voice kept on calling, still shaking him, “Megumi, wake up!”

He knew who it was. That voice was Tsumiki’s. But that was impossible. He remembers. She was dead. He was the one who did it.

“Megumi,” She beamed, forcing him to open his eyes, “Megumi!”

Megumi couldn’t move. It wasn’t like before, when Sukuna trapped him inside his own body, and he couldn’t move. This time, he just didn’t want to move in fear of making it all disappear. This had to be a dream, right? If he lifted a finger, it could all dissolve into his mind. And he’d have to face reality. Wait, what reality? Where was he before? In Shinjuku, where he…

“Come on, Dad’s making pancakes!” Tsumiki slapped his arm one more time before bolting out of the room, a bounce in her steps.

Dad? Who, Toji Fushiguro? That is impossible. What kind of nightmare was this?

Megumi carefully lifted the blanket from his body, only to freeze once again. He was tiny. Incredibly, absurdly tiny. Avoiding his suspicions, he stood up and opened the door. The corridor was familiar, everything was.

And it was all confirmed to him when a voice exclaimed, “Satoru!”

Megumi froze again, dread creeping up his spine like a disease. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t possibly be.

“I got this!” Gojo assured dismissively, very much not getting it albeit his words.

He was there. Alive. Smiling and joking as always. Like nothing had changed. Megumi never felt so relieved in seeing Gojo, the same Gojo that used to annoy him endlessly, but that brought so much comfort as of now.

Beside the man, stood you. You from his memories, the one that he kept safe in his heart. Not the you from the real world. The you that he killed a few days ago.

You rolled your eyes like you always did. In a way that shows love.

“You got a burning pancake, that’s what. Even our neighbors can tell,” You smacked his hands away from the pan, handling it with caution before smoothing the surface with butter, “Set the table instead, will you?”

“You can’t kick the chef out of the kitchen! It’s like,” He bit his lip in contemplation, searching for an analogy that would leave you tongue-tied, “Kicking the musician from the stage!”

“Alright, Michael Jackson, my bad,” You laughed wholeheartedly when Gojo sticks out his tongue to you, “Go and wake up the–”

“Good morning!” Tsumiki interjected, waving her hand to you.

“Tsumiki,” You smiled immediately, you always did when you saw him or Tsumiki. For some reason, that made Megumi feel worse, “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes!” His sister sat in a stool that used to be too high for him to reach, “Megumi must’ve slept even better, I couldn’t wake him up!”

“Is that so?” You chuckled lightly, but then frowned at the silhouette standing in the corridor. Tilting your head, Megumi tensed up when your eyes focused on him, a smile adorning the corners of your lips, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Megumi!” Tsumiki turned to face him, smiling too.

He walked up slowly to the counter, climbing into the stool on Tsumiki's left. Your eyes were no longer on him, which gave him time to regain his composure.

What was going on? Is this a dream, an illusion? Or is this the “life” that flashes before your eyes just before you die?

“Show off,” Someone scoffed beside him and Megumi almost forgot that Gojo was there. The man was leaning on the counter, admiring–no, scratch that, worshiping you flip the pancakes in the air.

“You’re just jealous,” You humored him, flexing your arm that held the pan as if being able to flip pancakes was a medal, “Now, which shape should I make?”

Tsumiki’s face lit up when you looked at her, awaiting her reply, “A heart!”

Megumi’s mouth moved on its own, “A dog!”

“A dog is too hard,” Tsumiki countered matter-of-factly, “A heart is simple!”

“A heart is too corny!” He argued childishly. Well, he was a child, technically.

“You’re too corny!”

A gasp ripped out of his throat, eyes bulging out of his tiny head to glare at his sister as if she had uttered the most heinous profanity at him.

Gojo laughed, his hand trying to muffle the sound, while you let out a breath that resembled a chuckle. He and Tsumiki only stopped bickering when you pushed two plates across the counter.

A heart-shaped pancake with strawberries and rose syrup drawn into a smiley face, banana slices framing the heart with raspberries in between the circles, on the rightmost plate. That one was Tsumiki’s, for sure.

And an oddly shaped pancake that, if you squint hard enough, could bear a resemblance to a canine creature–but Megumi knew what it was; three blueberries connected by thin lines of chocolate syrup, forming a triangle that was identical to the one on his Divine Dogs’ foreheads. That was his.

“Ta-dah!” And you smiled like you hadn’t made the sweetest thing for them just now.

Tsumiki’s eyes started to sparkle, “Thank you!” And she dug into her plate, munching the soft batter with an unwavering smile.

Megumi, on the other hand, wouldn’t budge.

“What’s wrong, Megs?” Gojo asked him curiously when he did nothing but stare at his plate, his lanky figure leaning on his shoulder. Fingers wiggling towards his plate, a mocking grin on his lips, “If you don’t eat, I’m sure someone–”

A spatula smacked his hand away, “Don’t pick on someone half your age, Satoru,” You chastised, but couldn't hide the endearment in your voice when you said his name, “What are you, a bully?”

Gojo held onto his hand as if a curse had just bit it off, “When did you get so violent? To get physically attacked under my own roof,” He deflated into a stool, throwing his head back while he lamented his situation, “What a cruel world!”

“Shut up and eat your pancakes,” You nagged, handing him a plate full of your failed attempts of doing Megumi’s dog-shaped ones.

“Do you even love me?” Gojo asked, utterly offended by the food that was given to him.

Megumi usually muted the squabble between the two of you in his head, unless you were insulting Gojo and needed backup (he’d gang up on him with no hesitation). But this time, he could but stare at the couple of idiots that picked up a pair of strays and raised them. Before Megumi could stop it, his eyes were pricked up with tears.

You took notice of it first, ignoring Gojo’s whining and turning to him, “What’s wrong, Gumi?”

The pure softness of your voice made him want to cry harder. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what was happening, or where he was and what it meant.

But he knew that he missed it.

The light-hearted quarrels between you and Gojo, the tranquility that mornings brought along with them, the easy-going atmosphere that always engulfed the Fushiguro-Gojo household when the four of you were together.

When did all that go away? Was it when Tsumiki got cursed? Or maybe when Gojo was sealed and everything in Shibuya turned the world upside down? Was it all gone the moment you left this world?

“Gumi,” The nickname snapped him out of it, reminding him of where he was, “Are you okay?” He was with you, with his family.

You, Tsumiki, and Gojo were staring at him worriedly. You had circled around the counter, facing and cupping his face onto your hands, holding him with so much care that he could do nothing but lean into your touch.

“I–I’m,” His mouth felt suddenly dry, no matter how much he licked his lips, “Can I hug you?”

Your eyes melted into a puddle of love and adoration, your arms wrapping around his tiny frame that trembled and quivered like a leaf in a thunderstorm.

“Shh, you’re okay,” Your quiet, sweet voice only made him sob louder, “We’re here, Gumi, you’re here.”

Megumi felt another pair of arms pressing up against him, Gojo hid his face in the crook of your neck but he somehow knew the kind of expression that the sorcerer was wearing. The kind of face that made curses and humans alike to tremble in fear. The sort of emotion that always appeared when someone dared to hurt his family.

Tsumiki nestled into your arms too, shielding her little brother from the world with her tiny arms. And you held them both in your own, with Gojo.

Megumi grabbed a chunk of your shirt, clenching his fist around the cloth. Gripping into you as if you were going to fade and slip through his fingers.

“You’re here,” You caressed his back, making little patterns with your finger. Megumi sniffled harshly, trying to just stop crying but he couldn’t. You pressed a kiss on the crown of his head, “We’re all here, sweetheart.”

Gojo ruffled his hair like he used to do when they met, and Tsumiki held his hand in the same way she did back when he was scared.

And, for a moment, Megumi forgot.

He forgot that this wasn’t real. And that Tsumiki was gone, that you were killed and Gojo defeated. He forgot that he was in Shinjuku, staring in the backseat of his own body at Hajime Kashimo, who challenged him–no, not him, Sukuna. He forgot that he had died.

But, for once in his life, he got what he wanted.

He was home. With his family.

my son :(

[luna-rainbow]

On Steve Rogers, loss, and loneliness

Unlike some of the other characters, Steve's hurt isn't as plain to the eye. His demeanour is usually one of stoicism and optimism, and it is easy to forget that his story is steeped in loss and loneliness.

Steve's introduction highlighted how alone he was - an orphan, armed with a list of ailments, and hiding behind a newspaper to avoid small chat with other recruits. When rejected by the recruitment centre, Steve shrugs and heads to watch a movie - alone.

Steve is a loner, we are shown, and then just as abruptly - perhaps just like the way it had happened many years ago - Bucky crashes into Steve's world and hooks an arm around his shoulders and noisily talks about an expo and dispels all of Steve's melancholic air. Steve is a loner, except for Bucky.

But Bucky is now leaving to go to war.

Steve is used to being stoic, because there were no adults around him to spoil him. He is used to being buoyant, because Sarah taught him how to pick himself up and carry on. Steve is used facing the empty house and lonely silence -- except for Bucky, who filled his room with chatter, "We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids."

So when we hear the anxious strain in his voice as he is informed by Bucky that he is leaving -- it also becomes plain that Steve is also used to loss, or the threat of loss shadowing him, everyday.

In his short life, he has already lost so much. He has lost his health (my thought is he was probably healthier in his early childhood until he caught scarlet fever, and then his health got a lot worse after that). He has lost his father, and all the security of having a family breadwinner. He has lost his mother - to long hours of work and eventually to the disease she was battling against.

What he dreads would happen, does happen. Life seems to have a way of chasing him down like that. Sarah gets sick, and his fear of coming home to find her gone...one day inevitably comes true.

At his darkest moment, Bucky squeezes his shoulder and promises, "You don't have to do it (alone). I'm with you to the end of the line."

It's just enough for Steve to square his shoulders and push on, as Sarah had always taught him to do. Deep inside - possibly buried so deep that he can barely put it into words, he knows that he pulled through because "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."

I'm going to pause here and emphasise how deeply lonely (and young) Steve was, and how, naturally, the only stable presence — ie Bucky — in his life, through periods of terrible grief and uncertainty, is going to be such a deep-rooted emotional foundation for him (regardless of how you ship).

When the draft does come for Bucky, it's not just Bucky who's unhappy, it's Steve who's also aghast. Suddenly, the possibility of losing his last bastion looms over him, and he remembers the fear and anxiety and the devastating grief of losing Sarah. But it is also a war that needs fighting - so he comes up with a solution: sign himself up. He can't keep Bucky from the war, but he wants to fight alongside him. Besides Bucky, what else does he have to lose?

"Men are laying down their lives, I have no right to do any less. That's what you don't understand, Bucky."

He says this angrily, because the words he can't say aloud are, "You are laying down your life, Bucky, and I might never see you again, and I can't go through all that again, not by myself."

When he hears about the 107th being captured, he has to go. He is saving Bucky, sure, but he is also saving himself, because the pillar, the lifebuoy, the harness that has kept him afloat all those years is Bucky, and he's terrified of sinking.

The serum makes him taller and more women pause to smile at him, but he is still incredibly alone. He sits alone during break, he draws alone in his book, he runs off alone and none of the USO girls even notices until it's his turn on stage.

But Bucky notices him immediately, and says, "I thought you were smaller," and, "Did it hurt?"

Steve doesn't really believe in miracles. His whole life feels like one bad luck after another, even if he forces one foot in front of another and keeps marching on. But maybe at that moment, he feels like Bucky is his miracle. Bucky, who always seems to notice when he's alone and pulls him into his social circle. Bucky, who had seen him lose his dad and Sarah and promised him the end of the line. Bucky, who he - and all the commanders - thought was dead, pulls through and gives him another promise - that he would follow the little guy back into war.

When Steve is finally thrust into the frontline, the losses keeps mounting, man after man are falling, condolence letter after letter is being written. And then towards the end of 1944, the tides seem to finally turn. German forces are waning, the Allied forces are advancing, and quietly, secretly, Steve dreams of home.

And that dream dies with Bucky.

"Honour the dignity of his choice," he is told, but he can't shake off the guilt.

He pushes himself forward, step by dragging step. Nazi Germany is falling. He is taking down Hydra with his own hands…and at the end, he buries them all in the ocean with himself.

His is sinking, but he isn’t afraid, because he is going where all the people who mattered are waiting.

And he is denied even that.

He opens his eyes to a world he doesn’t recognise. They tell him they had won the war.

But no one wants to speak with him about what was lost.

A folder of old photos, the museum of unmoving murals, the silent movies of a smile he would never see again.

He thought he had lost all there was to lose, but somehow life always seem to find something else to take.

What we see of off-duty Steve in the modern world is once again a figure of loneliness. He goes to the gym alone, he goes for a ride on the train alone, he sits at the cafe alone, he goes for runs alone, he goes to the museum alone.

Only during those solitary moments he could truly be Steve Rogers, instead of trying to meet everyone's expectations of Captain America. He is just shy of 27 years old, but suddenly, he can no longer lay claim to youth. Only a dream ago he was "just a kid from Brooklyn", and now he's an "old-fashioned" (as per Coulson) "older fellow" (as per Tony).

He's in the history books, he's on the television, he's in the classrooms; everyone knows of Captain America, but Steve Rogers is lost.

He had been willing to lose his life on the Valkyrie, but what he lost was every living connection and his own identity.

"Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing," the friendly man says to him on their first meeting, but Sam only knows half of it.

The too soft bed and the too quiet room is one thing, the unshakeable nightmares another, but the worst of it is -- this isn't home.

He is marooned in a place that bears eerie resemblance to the world he knew, without being familiar.

Until the moment Bucky's mask comes off.

It's like the anchor dropping. He's now got a connection tethering him to this strange place, someone with "shared experience" that means he is no longer alone, and he is no longer a ghost forgotten by the seventy years of lost time.

"He doesn't know you."

"He will."

He has to believe that Bucky will, because Bucky is proof that Steve Rogers exists.

And once again, Bucky is his miracle. On the brink of killing them both, Bucky reels back from his brainwashing and hauls them both to safety.

Even if Bucky leaves after that, he's left behind something Steve hasn't had for a long time -- hope, and belonging.

"Family, stability. The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago," he says to Tony as he prepares to meet the ragged team of enhanced people that is to become the Avengers. "I'm home."

Stoic and buoyant as he has always been, Steve sets to work building that home for himself. Gradually, we see Steve open up. He forms new connections and new friendships, he talks about his vulnerabilities with people he trusts, and he reclaims his own identity. He looks for Bucky, and waits until Bucky is ready to build that home for himself.

Until it is once again blown apart by the end of Infinity War - he loses not just Bucky, the anchor to his past, but the new family he has made apart from Natasha.

That's why it makes sense that Steve, not Tony, is the one working so hard to reverse the Snap. His family was 5 years ago, Tony's family is now. The people who rallied behind Steve and not Captain America, the people who followed him after he dropped the shield, the people with whom he no longer needed to be endlessly lonely and tirelessly stoic and who loved him for who Steve Rogers was, they all vanished in the Snap.

So even if there was only a small hope, Steve wants them back.

And that's why his decision to leave everything he had built, the sacrifices he had made to bring them back, in order to go into a life of incredibly loneliness and deception is still the dumbest narrative faux pas in the MCU.

[rainswept]

counting backwards — throwing muses. 0.8k words.

Fog has found a comfortable residence nestled in Aventurine’s brain—a bustling one, strangling clear thoughts and fond reminiscence and expertly avoiding those gnawing memories he wished it would swallow.

He looks into the mirror, he shows his teeth. He hopes, to others, it looks like a smile and not a snarl—though, to him, he still looks afraid, and he swears he can still see the yellowing he had earned after so long of not being able to care for them (despite how the gold of his wealth had cancelled it out long ago and chased it off).

It was voracious, clamoring like a starved man, armed with an achingly empty stomach at all times; it was nimble, and it trembled whenever he did—with hunger, sickness, the cold, or fear, he didn’t know, it was a toss up—skin melded to bone. Yet, as much as it ate at his clairvoyance, it didn’t grow—it just… lingered, in the corner of his cluttered head, emaciated and shaking. It stared at him. It had his eyes, and the same blond hair.

He keeps practicing. He wants his expression to be bright like a future that is looking up, like the sun during the first glimpse of it after rain, and infectious—but it was bright like a warning sign, like the sun beating down on an arid and drought-stricken desert, and diseased. That wouldn’t do. His sight was bleary, and his hair was a mess, and he fell asleep in last night’s clothes; nothing about him screamed refined or expensive or high quality or worth anything at all.

It felt fearful, in a way, but it cared for its host just as the weather outside did. Maybe even less. It rained for Kakavasha, but this? This didn’t change for a thing. All it did was fast forward the time on the clock. All it did was steal from him, little by little, thread by thread, coin by coin, unraveling, rusting, wasting. But that was fine. He had money and memories to give now. He had the means to feed both himself and it. He was generous—he always was, but now he could truly afford to be without sacrifice.

For as long and well as he had played the role of carefully crafted, embellished with gold and beholding bones of wrought iron, every rotting rope making him up was one rainstorm away from snapping.

Speaking of Kakavasha, he didn’t remember much of him. All that lingered was the fear, because as much as he washed the blood—his kin, his kills—off of himself, that little frayed part of him, wide-eyed and with no more tears to cry, remained playing dead under its current.

He combs out any tangles sleep had imparted in the strands of his hair. He washes it out—the scent of the soap doesn’t take long to leave him with a headache, so he rinses and replaces it with equally migraine-inducing conditioner. He combs through it until he no longer looks unkempt or unwell.

That fog is still here. He should remind himself to grab his keys, just in case.

He hooks his finger in the corner of his mouth, pulls it back a bit further to check for any plaque or pieces of food left on his molars. There is none. He keeps looking. He straightens out his clothes, stares and bores holes into every last crevice that could hide a tell. He stares and stares. He remembers a time when he had no reflection, only sand and kin, only a guess at what he looked like. That was long ago.

In the mirror, when he still only saw himself in the faces of his family, mauve hair fell, and her voice still echoes: “What’s worth more to you, Kakavasha—the life in your veins, or the gaze you share with those incinerated bodies?”

What is more important to you, Kakavasha, the blood that keeps your heart that deserves nothing but death beating, or the blood that makes you Avgin, that ties you by something indisputable to the only thing you ever learned how to cherish?

That was what she meant. It was a stupid question.

He fixes his shirt one last time. He grabs his keys.

He knew how to answer, then, and he still does now, because he would drain his arteries of every last drop if it meant seeing them unpainted with theirs again—for the color to return to their faces, the life to their dull eyes—

He closes the door behind him with a soft click.

But that can’t happen. So he will continue to dress his wounds, cut his losses, and survive, until he inevitably joins them.

(He will never join them. They are dust, scattered in fragments across space. He will be buried in a lavish coffin.)

[anemonelovesfiction]

Kinktober 12- Fingering

Ao’nung x Human Fem Reader

Warnings ⚠️: The title gives it away, soulmate AU (matching tattoo’s)

Honestly just happy you guys enjoy my writing ❤️ thank you for your likes, comments, and reblogs, they make me incredibly happy and I look forward to seeing them☺️

I can’t remember if I proofread it but don’t be afraid to call out any mistakes :)

Word Count: 2.1K

I was born on Pandora like the rest of the kids here, scientists got horny and decided to have children, there was no effective birth control they could create and a new generation of humans had been born. Spider was the first of us, I was the second, and with us being born came a new wave of soulmate tattoo’s permanently imbedded in all our wrists. Something so special to the Na’Vi had started showing up on all of us, meaning the all mother must have had special plans for us or even saw us as her children.

I have no idea if Neytiri’s tattoo of Jake’s name had been in English or in Na’vi and at this point, knowing how she had been toward Spider, I had been afraid to ask but I couldn’t help and wonder if this had been something she often kept covered as a teenager, believing she had been rejected by the all mother due to the incomprehensible symbols on her wrist, and therefore believing she did not having a soulmate?

They did, however, keep their children’s wrists covered from the moment of their birth up until the moment they passed their iknimaya. Sure every kid had their curiosity and peeked under the band, but the name had been something kept a secret, some parents wouldn’t even take a look as they did not want to influence themselves to play matchmaker with their friends, it had been something they took seriously, a blessing from Eywa that their perfect match had been out there.

To be completely honest I hadn’t even known they wrote things down, or that they had a written vocabulary as they often spoke of their history, used the song chord to keep track of their lives, it wasn’t new to me that the tattoo on either wrist meant it was the name of your soulmate. Had this meant that the letters of my name littered themselves across a Na’vi’s wrist in English, or was it written in their language so they could understand it, did that specific Na’vi think they had been cursed had the letters been in symbols they had yet to understand? I’d purposely avoided wanting anything to do with learning the Na’vi written language due to the fear of rejection, had the specific person known it was their name they could decide what my fate would be.

There were three options. They could reject me flat out and reveal themselves as my soulmate, they could ignore me completely without having told me a thing and I’d die alone, and the highly unlikely scenario in which they’d want to have me for themselves and actually go through with being with me their entire lives. But all of that had been thrown out the window the moment Spider and I had been captured by his reincarnated father- which threw the both of us in a loop after he’d shared who he was- all of that shit had been left field, and we’d finally ended up with the Metkayina.

Due to suffeirng from foot-in-fucking-mouth disease, Lo’ak had blurted out to the people they often hung out with, that I could not read in Na’Vi, and that my soulmate was also Na’Vi. I had been given a bracelet, decorated with traditional Omatikaya colors and pattern, that I had yet to take off of my wrist from the moment Neteyam had made one for me, knowing I would want nothing more than to hide it. Even if Tuk had been young, she’d known how sensitive the topic was for me, and slapped the back of Lo’ak’s head from being a loud mouthed bitch- her words, not mine.

I’d kept a close eye on the bracelet he’d made me and assured it was tied around my wrist as tightly as possible, while allowing room for circulation, which was tricky considering riding on an Ilu- especially with Lo’ak or Neteyam, that shit loosened up every time. But with my close observation it remained intact and on my wrist, effectively covering my tattoo.

Until we’d all been huddled around the cook fire, the same group of people who hung out together sitting closely to one another, Kiri’s gasp breaking us all out of the concentration we’d all been in while listening to one of the guys talking about whatever it was they felt like sharing. All eyes had followed hers and like every other time, I’d been the last one to follow what they’d been doing, noticing my wrist had been handing something to her, vulnerably showing everyone what my tattoo had said, my eyes widened as I immediately look on the sand to find my bracelet and feeling my arm being tugged in another direction.

_________

Big hands had currently been forcing my thighs to stay open even while I attempted to shut them on his face, I’d been feeling overstimulated at the moment but his tongue continued to dance around my clit as if it had choreographed an entire show, I was on the verge of yet another orgasm and weakly attempted to push his forehead away, all while my hips pushed closer to him. I suck in a breath and throw my head back in frustration at my failed attempt, the coil in my stomach had tightened even more and I knew I was closer to release, a chuckle coming out of the mouth of the bastard who was currently eating me out.

“Ao’nung!” I whisper-yelled at the teal man below me, another quiet moan slips past my lips without wanting to, compelled to stop fighting as soon as his eyes shoot up through his thick lashes to meet mine, my knee’s growing weak at the sight. I couldn’t see his mouth as he was keeping it busy, but from the look in his eyes I could tell he had been smirking, feeling his fingers prod at my entrance, not bothering to tease any longer and sliding them in. I’d had two orgasms previous and the third one was right at the cusp, his fingers working diligently, he was insatiable at this moment and seemed to be doing what he wanted- not that I could complain as my hips buck upward to meet the teasing thrusts of his fingers.

I could feel the coil in my lower belly just about to give in, but his mouth detaches from my already soaked cunt, biting his lip as he focuses on his fingers being swallowed, and yet all I could do was attempt to wiggle my hips further, upset at his fingers retracting. Another whine had built itself in my throat and I look down to see him looking through his lashes and into the depths of my soul, completely forgetting he’d attached his kuru to the base of my skull and that he could feel everything I was feeling at the moment. I clench around his fingers subconsciously at the thought of how close we were at this time, his eyes were hazed with lust and longing, I could only imagine what my face looked like.

“You look gorgeous on my fingers, yawntu.” In the time I’d gotten lost staring at his eyes, he’d managed to meet my face with his own, his fingers working me closer to the edge without allowing me the satisfaction of coming, fingers pushing up against a specific spot and I could feel the waves of euphoria getting stronger, but not enough to crash over me. I grunt right as his lips meet mine and effectively muting the sound, feeling his opposite hand lightly pushing my thigh apart as his other continued its ministrations.

“Don’t stop-“ I’d grunted as his thrusts pick up their speed, my eyes closing on instinct as I bite my lip to keep from making too much noise, marui’s were considered their homes, but nobody had to tell me it was obvious you could hear every sound -there are gaping holes everywhere- I didn’t need to be the one human ruining it for everyone. My own gasp brings me back to the present feeling his fingers pushing harder, he’d been squatting on his toes while attempting a third orgasm out of me -which wasn’t that far behind- but from the angle I was at I could see he was hard under his loincloth, but he’d been too busy focusing on my cunt to care about himself, and who was I to mess with his concentration?

I’d wanted nothing more than to allow myself to moan, but considering our circumstances and how close we were to everyone else, I settled for short and fast pants, it was near impossible to keep any noise down with how well he’d been treating me and the sting overstimulation had only been temporary, being drowned out by the pleasure I was feeling at the moment. I was starting to feel myself spiral in my own head and felt like I needed something to hold on to, previously I’d been holding on to his pretty hair and accidentally pressing my nails into his scalp, but with nothing in reach for me to hold on I’d started slightly thrashing in the floor of our marui, but I’d rather do this than be loud.

“I want to see you come on my fingers.” My eyes snapped open -barely- at how low his voice had sounded only to realize he’d been too focused on my pussy to realize he’d said anything. I’d taken note he’d often speak without realizing he’d said anything at the moment until someone- usually Tsireya- called him out on whatever bullshit he’d said, ironically most of it was usually aimed at Spider and me. A whine sneaks past my mouth and one of my hands comes up to reach just as one of his hands come to squeeze the sides of my neck, staring right at me, eyes begging me to come.

“M’coming-“ I struggle to whisper and stated quite breathless before feeling my eyes shut again, a blinding white vision coming behind them as his fingers rub against the spot he had been assaulting this entire time. I could feel an insane amount of energy flowing through my body as I orgasmed and was surprised at how quiet I’d been, biting my own lip and thankful enough to not draw blood, allowing the waves to crash over my body silently. It kind of felt like when someone stretches in the morning, their limbs are spread wide and are on the verge of getting a Charlie-horse, minus the loud groan accompanying it.

Slowly but surely my senses start coming back to me and I could feel my body had been run through the ringer, I felt exhausted and energized at the same time, although a feeling of shock was coursing through me and it had taken a bit to remember that I had been attached to my husband, opening my eyes and seeing his shocked expression fitting the emotion I felt through our bond. I look down toward where he had been staring and it takes a second for me to realize there were droplets of something wet running along the length of his arm and some on his knees, my own eyes widening slightly at the sight, slowly reaching his stare -as he had found it in himself to look up- and realizing I was sharing the same shocked expression.

“What was that?” He asked and the amusement was clear as day in his voice, feeling a million thoughts starting to run through my head, although I was certain most of them had been his own. I shake my head a bit to rid myself of the disorganized chaos that had started flooding my brain to try and understand the predicament we were in, distinctly remembering that I may have done this one other time, but not remembering what it had been or even felt like when it happened before, but this one had definitely made me feel like I needed twelve business days to recover from.

“I need to see you do that again.” His eyes darkened as he said that and I could feel myself start to squirm with excitement, but hissing slightly at the sting of overstimulation, I was definitely in for it tonight and it was already late as fuck, were we ever going to get the sleep we needed to keep up with our busy day tomorrow?

_________

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — wish you were sober

aeri uchinaga's mansion, gangnam-gu, seoul, korea. 2:14 am.

WARNINGS ; cheating, violence, intoxication, mentions of drug use, (kinda) driving under the influence, general angst, implied home life problems (4.0k)

confusion. dread. betrayal.

y/n knew this feeling, where wonyoung had stared into her eyes for what was supposed to be one last time, telling her - showing her - that she didn't love her anymore.

the soft whispers of 'it's me, not you', and the dark eyes that seemed to be trained on everything but y/n's. she remembered everything, like a nightmare (because who remembers a good dream over something so detrimentally heartbreaking).

heartbreak.

that's what y/n was feeling.

"y/n?"

despite the loud reprimanding of minjeong behind her, or the bass that seemed to shake her entire being, all y/n could hear was her breath, hushed and quiet like the cries she had heard the day she met jang wonyoung, and the day she met yoo jimin.

jimin was supposed to love her.

the ace stood up, fully clothed except for the lack of the jacket - the one y/n had gifted her for their one hundredth day anniversary - which lay crumpled on the floor. her eyes glazed over with tears, her throat caught in a knot.

any other day, y/n would consider it regret on jimin's face, remorse, or maybe even love.

but she knew, no... jimin knew better than anyone that this wasn't love.

at least, she should've.

"it's not what it looks like." jimin reasoned out, pleading with y/n. behind her, kazuha covered her body, face flushed with alcohol and embarrassment.

minjeong scoffed, a smirk on her face. "it looks like you were eating her out."

jimin's eyes shifted, and it was almost like her irises had been replaced with a void, where nothing but fire and fury burned inside of them.

"fuck you, kim minjeong!" jimin screamed, stomping towards the mentioned girl. "why don't you stay out of our business for once?"

wonyoung knew this scene like the back of her hand, and despite her hatred for yoo jimin, she didn't want to see anyone get hurt.

"what if your underwear stays on for once?"

but unlike lily marrow, or like choi jisu, or any of the situations that had involved a high/drunk yoo jimin or anyone in a similar fashion, kim minjeong was making it difficult to avoid conflict.

"i'm gonna fucking kill you!" jimin grabbed minjeong by the hair, the latter girl gritting her teeth in pain.

wonyoung, although not exactly in the jimin prevention committee (which consisted of haewon who was currently drunk out of her mind, gaeul who was probably getting laid, and yujin who was no where to be found), had dealt with enough incidents of similar fashion to know how to defuse the situation.

the middle blocker stepped in, grabbing jimin's wrist.

jimin's grip only strengthened, her anger being amplified due to wonyoung's presence.

"you're gonna let her hurt me, y/n?" minjeong asked, y/n unresponsive and face blank. minjeong's eyebrows furrowed. "i showed you how much of a piece of shit she is, and you're gonna let her hurt me?"

"you... showed her?"

jimin looked at y/n, and it felt as if she was back in yeji's grasp, staring at herself in the mirror wondering why she wasn't good enough. why she was never good enough.

y/n had seen everything, and it was all kim minjeong's fault.

jimin raised her fist. all she felt was anger, like a red filter had somehow covered her thoughts, and sent her into a fury-filled haze. never in her life had she wanted to hurt someone as badly as herself, yet in front of her was minjeong, who was proving her wrong.

wonyoung grabbed her fist, holding it in place with all the strength she could muster.

the middle blocker looked at y/n, watching as her mind raced with nothing and everything, trying to both process and block the situation in its entirety.

it was familiar, and familiarity was a disease that plagued almost everyone in the room.

"stay out of this, wonyoung." jimin said lowly.

wonyoung never liked minjeong, but that didn't mean she wanted her to get hurt (and she knew that y/n would tear into herself if her best friend came out blooded and bruised).

"we have a game against KU next week." wonyoung reasoned out, making jimin falter. "if you hit her, you'll be suspended for the game, maybe longer."

the ace clenched her jaw. she hated that wonyoung was right, and hated the minjeong managed to end up unscathed.

jimin's hand dropped, and she roughly shoved her hand off minjeong. wonyoung gladly let go of jimin as well, and the three girl's turned their attention to y/n.

kazuha had been watching the three argue as she had gotten dressed. though their presence seemed to encapsulate the room, it was y/n's that seemed to overtake her field of view.

the girl seemed so small next to the three, head low and eyes shiny, as if she was trying not to break that exact moment.

kazuha wondered is she could face yunjin after everything she had done.

"baby..." fear ran through jimin's body. "baby, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to."

wonyoung watched silently, and for a moment, y/n's eyes met hers.

it was familiar, the look, and wonyoung couldn't shake the feeling of dread that surrounded her. still, no matter how horrible the situation was, she wasn't going to get involved unless y/n told her to.

she wasn't going to ruin y/n's chance at happiness, she just hoped she would break up with jimin for someone better (wonyoung wished it was her, but it wasn't. she knew that deep down).

"you're really gonna believe her?" minjeong interrupted, seemingly getting angrier by the second.

"i love you." y/n had never heard jimin more sincere in her life, but she didn't know what to believe anymore. "please believe me. baby, please."

y/n met jimin's eyes, and she saw nothing.

"who are you calling baby?" she stared at jimin, eyes glazed over in disgust as her lips quivered. "we aren't together anymore."

for a moment, jimin felt like she couldn't breath.

this was all wrong. it wasn't supposed to be like this. jimin knew she had messed up, but it wasn't her fault. it couldn't be, especially after everything.

she couldn't lose the one good thing in her life. not again.

"i'm sorry. please." jimin could feel familiarity rising in her chest, her sobbing now becoming pathetic wailing. she gripped onto wonyoung's arm, trying not to fall over. the copious amount of weed and alcohol was starting to get to her. "i'll be better. i'll do anything."

jimin could feel vomit rising in her chest, and she covered her mouth, turning to the closest thing she could find.

yena was sure to owe another fifteen thousand usd in damages.

y/n could feel her fingers twitch toward jimin, and it took everything in her to not run to the girl's side. her insides were screaming to protect her, to hold her, and to tell her that everything was going okay.

how could she do that when she wasn't okay herself? when the person that hurt her was the person she was trying to save?

when was someone gonna save her?

she looked over to wonyoung, her eyes laced in worry as jimin spewed her insides out into an expensive vase that looked european.

y/n wondered when wonyoung was gonna save her, if the taller girl even wanted to save her.

the middle blocker looked at her with worry, and with all the love she could muster in her beautiful, dark, doe-like eyes that told y/n that she was safe. that she was loved.

y/n knew she was delusional, but it seemed to amplify whenever she was near her ex-girlfriend.

she looked once more at jimin, and an ugly emptiness settled in her chest.

"can you take me home?" y/n whispered, her irises shifting to wonyoung.

wonyoung, who kept her safe. wonyoung, who she would listen to, who would listen to her. wonyoung, who loved her before, who she wished still loved her.

her wonyoung.

why couldn't jimin just be like wonyoung?

"are you fucking serious, y/n?" minjeong yelled so loud that her voice could be heard over the music. wonyoung frowned, not only at the yelling, but the footsteps that seemed to be coming up the stairs. "how many times do i have to remind you that she's your ex?"

wonyoung felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned around to see alex baek and huh yunjin.

the volleyball player looked over to kazuha, marks on her neck on full display.

"what the fuck is going on here?" alex asked, looking over to jimin who seemed to be sporting the same marks as kazuha.

oh.

"kazuha?"

alex looked at yunjin, and her face morphed into something akin to one she had seen before at parties like this. the only difference was it was directed at jimin, and jimin never got caught.

the former defensive specialist looked over to jimin's girlfriend, and everything clicked. a sense of familiarity surrounded the room, as if she was relieving last year all over again.

yunjin launched herself at the girl, the former volleyball player holding her back but to no avail.

all she saw was red, and although her arms were held tightly by alex, she still had her feet. yunjin was gonna hurt jimin no matter what it took.

y/n looked over, kazuha joining alex as yunjin kicked the ace in the stomach.

y/n tried to rush over to the other girl, wonyoung hesitant, not wanting y/n to get hurt in the process. before the taller girl could stop her, minjeong grabbed her arm, now bruised from the girl's roughness from earlier.

"is your brain fucking broken?" y/n winced. minjeong's hold was like a vice grip.

wonyoung pushed minjeong back, shoving the girl harder than intended. she looked at y/n's arm, a red hand print wrapped around her wrist.

"are you okay?"

"wonnie," y/n spoke, her voice foreign to her. "jimin-"

"this is your fault!" minjeong yelled, eyes red as she pointed to wonyoung. wonyoung already knew deep down, she didn't need to be reminded. "if it weren't for you, none of this would've happened. everything would've been different."

wonyoung clenched her teeth, trying to shake off minjeong's words, trying to bite back the 'i know's and the 'i'm sorry's.

meanwhile, y/n rushed over to jimin as yunjin gave the ace one last kick to the side, mustering all the power that she could before she was pulled away by the other girl's.

y/n moved her hair from her face, examining jimin's tear-stained cheeks. there was something so angelic about the girl, even if everything jimin had done was akin to the devil himself.

"baby, please." jimin begged, her next words almost like her own proverb. "can you stay?"

y/n looked at wonyoung.

silently, she stood up, yunjin screaming and crying in the background as minjeong fumed silently. below y/n, jimin couldn't help but smirk at the shorter girl.

"wonyoung," y/n whispered. "can we go now?"

("yunjin, you need to calm down!"

"i'm gonna kill her!")

wonyoung? jimin could feel her head throbbing, maybe out of anger, maybe out of pain, but all she wanted to do was stand up and keep y/n here and away from wonyoung.

"if you leave with her, i swear to god." minjeong's voice was angry, and it held a disappointment that y/n had felt many times before.

"unnie..."

"i'm doing this to protect you!" minjeong screamed, her voice starting to get hoarse. "why don't you understand that? what did jimin do to you?"

wonyoung ushered y/n to go, guiding her gently into the hallway and out of minjeong's sight.

behind her, she could hear minjeong's cries, her words reverberating through her skull as she walked with wonyoung behind her, closing the door shut.

"you're leaving with her?" minjeong was muffled through the wooden door. "are you fucking kidding me, y/n?"

y/n wanted to stop, beg minjeong to forgive her just this once, but it part of her wondered if the older girl could even be reasoned with at this state.

the pair made it downstairs, a sea of people watching them in curiosity as y/n rubbed her wrist lightly. gently, wonyoung placed a hand on her midback, smiling down at her.

for a moment, everything was still.

upstairs, jimin sat on the bed, holding her side as she smugged. although ridden with anguish and rage - at herself, minjeong, and wonyoung - the girl couldn't help but laugh at yunjin pathetically struggling to fight her.

it was comedic, and jimin was enjoying the show.

"yunjin. go downstairs." alex shoved her out of the room, her eyes looking over to the ballerina beside her. "kazuha-ssi, please go with her."

looking at jimin as the girl left, alex spoke. "jimin... just, just stay here."

alex looked at the tearful minjeong, muttering curses about wonyoung and jimin under her breath, before going down to follow the two downstairs.

she left the door open, just incase jimin decided to start another fight.

wonyoung had found yujin in the basement, sitting in front of a room with only a beer bottle to nurse her back to sanity.

yujin wondered how much more she could take of this, but if it involved gaeul, then she would gladly do it for the rest of eternity.

"yujin-unnie." yujin looked up, giving a tired smile to her younger teammate. "can i borrow your keys?"

the older girl nodded, fishing her pocket for the keys to her black bmw i5. she handed it to wonyoung, her arms heavy with exhaustion.

wonyoung could feel her worry start to bubble up inside of her.

glancing up for a moment, she looked back down. "are you okay?"

"huh?" yujin closed her eyes slowly, the alcohol making her sorrow increase tenfold. "yeah, why?"

wonyoung bit her lip, the muffled moans from the room becoming more increasing. "where's gaeul-unnie?"

yujin opened one eye, and that told the middle blocker everything she needed to know.

"yeah..." yujin smile seemed sardonic, as if she was mocking herself for getting into a situation like this.

wonyoung looked at the girl in front of her, then to y/n, then back to yujin.

"do you want to come back with us?"

yujin looked at her for a moment.

"no." the captain shrugged, playing with the rim of her beer bottle. "i'm okay."

yujin wasn't okay, and she didn't know if that was going to end any time soon.

"unnie..."

"i'll be fine." wonyoung didn't believe her, and neither did yujin. "i need to make sure gaeul's safe. i'll see you later?"

wonyoung looked at yujin, sighing.

"okay."

yujin was never going to be okay.

the car ride to wonyoung's dorm was quiet, only the soft sniffling in the passenger's seat could be heard as the wind blew into the car, back windows rolled down slightly.

wonyoung had dealt with a drunk y/n before, she knew how nauseous the older girl got.

but there were no signs of y/n feeling that way, only the subtle movements of her wiping her cheeks, and the way that the car door seemed to have stray droplets of water on it (wonyoung was sure that yujin wouldn't mind, considering the captain had spilled a gallon of milk in the back at one point).

the two arrived twenty-three minutes later, and wonyoung pulled the car door open for the girl, guiding her to puke in the bushes before they made their way upstairs.

the entire place was empty, even the ra had gone to the uchinaga mansion. it was only them two, just like it was before.

it was an eerie feeling, like deja vu.

wonyoung opened her door, letting y/n sit comfortably before she turned on the ac. it blasted y/n's eyes dry, and any other time, y/n would've hated it. not this time, not when her eyes seemed to flow continously.

she was glad for the pain this time.

the taller girl sat beside her, though far enough to make it seem like a thousand miles away. wonyoung had decided y/n needed the space, to process everything.

y/n wanted anything but.

wonyoung looked at her. she was supposed to feel estatic, that the girl had broken up with yoo jimin, that wonyoung finally had a chance to get back with her. she was supposed to feel triumph.

she watched as y/n wiped her cheeks again, trying to get rid of a stray tear, and all wonyoung could feel was the burden of selfishness.

the taller girl played with her fingers.

"do you want to talk?"

y/n shook her head. "no."

wonyoung looked at her for a moment, noticing that y/n was rubbing the top of her knuckles again. quietly, she went to her desk, grabbing a spare blanket that laid upon her chair.

she wrapped it around y/n's shoulders.

"i'm sad." y/n muttered, feeling wonyoung's arms leave her shoulders.

wonyoung wanted to reach out, but not right now. not when y/n was hurting.

"i know." she said simply, cutting the conversation short.

she couldn't do this. wonyoung could have everything she's ever dreamed of, but not like this. she never wanted it to be like this. she just wanted it simple, she wanted it sweet.

she wanted to love y/n, the way that a person should love another.

y/n looked at her, wonyoung's eyes followed the sway of the curtains, the blinking of the fire alarm, and everything else imaginable. everything but her, just like then.

wonyoung looked everywhere but at her.

"did you ever love me?"

wonyoung looked at her, trying to understand why y/n had asked such a stupid question.

"i did." wonyoung smiled, her heart bursting at the thought of the girl beside her. "i loved you so much that i was scared of hurting you."

y/n went silent, and wonyoung wondered if she had seen right through the volleyball player.

"why did you hurt me then?"

wonyoung faced the girl, her eyes gleaming under the dimly lit room. it was like wonyoung couldn't breathe, like the first time she had messed up at practice, or the last time she had argued with her mom.

her biggest fears had come true.

"i hurt you?"

wonyoung watched as y/n smiled, wrapping herself in the middle blocker's scent. "you hurt me more than jimin had ever hurt me."

oh.

"i'm sorry." wonyoung wanted to hide in her closet back home, where the sounds of screaming and fighting were muffled, and where she'd stay until the light seeped through the cracks of the door. "i didn't know."

y/n shrugged, shivering under the blowing air. it was silent, and wonyoung hated it, the heavy atmosphere making way for all the worries that the co-captain seemed to carry with her.

y/n scanned her ex-girlfriend's features, and came to the realization that the ac wasn't enough to stop her tears this time.

"wonyoung?" y/n loved the feeling of her name on her tongue.

wonyoung hummed, head lost in her own forest of guilt.

"can you kiss me?"

wonyoung's heart leaped from her chest and into her throat, nearly choking the girl. part of her was worried that her delusions were starting to manifest into something more worrisome, but y/n stared at her, and that was enough to know it was real.

"i, i can't." wonyoung shook her head, tears falling down y/n's face. "you're drunk."

she needed wonyoung. "please."

"y/n." but wonyoung didn't know that. "you're drunk."

being drunk meant lowering her guard, and that meant there was a chance of wonyoung finally seeing her, of trying to understand her and how she truly felt.

y/n would always be jang wonyoung's, even if neither knew it.

"i know." y/n whispered, getting closer and closer to wonyoung.

this was exactly what wonyoung wanted, but not like this. she wanted every part of y/n, sober and awake, breathing and smiling.

"you're not gonna remember this." wonyoung murmured back. she could feel the older girl's breath against her face. the soft hints of mint and liquor filled up her senses.

everything was almost the same. everything was almost perfect.

"i know."

y/n deserved everything that wonyoung could offer, and if this was something wonyoung could do for her, she would provide, even if there was a sinking in her chest.

"okay."

y/n closed her eyes, feeling familiarity surround her. the taste of cherry - of memories - clouded her senses, and it was almost as if she could reach wonyoung again, like their story didn't end the way it ended.

familiarity was a disease, and it killed l/n y/n from the inside and out.

wonyoung pulled away upon feeling a dampness that fell upon her cheeks. it wasn't hers. she promised herself that she would never cry in front of y/n again, meaning...

"please don't cry." wonyoung felt heavy, like yujin who sat alone, waiting for a sign of hope. "i'm sorry."

y/n could feel wonyoung wipe her tears away, and a wave of nostalgia - of pain, suffering, happiness, and love - overtook her. she was scared that it felt right, and that she could never have it again.

wonyoung loved her.

"you taste like her." y/n sobbed, piercing wonyoung's heart.

right, wonyoung thought, her mind raced with thoughts of giving her delusions up. she loves jimin, even after everything.

wonyoung bit her tongue.

"jimin?"

she watched as y/n shook her head.

"wonyoung."

oh.

"you taste like wonyoung." y/n wanted to pull her throat out. she wanted to stop crying, to get rid of the lump that suffocated her. "i miss wonyoung."

it echoed in wonyoung, like a speaker at the end of a tournement, or the microphone at an award show, rough and loud, and full of dread.

i miss wonyoung.

"i'm sorry."

y/n cried harder, covering herself with the blanket. she wanted to hide. she wanted to feel safe, to pretend everything was okay until it was. she wanted to be protected from her feelings, to forget.

she wanted jimin.

wonyoung watched the girl, not sure what to do anymore. she stared and stared and stared, frozen, a part of her torn on what to do.

it was her fault. it had always been her fault.

jang wonyoung had always hated herself.

y/n's cries eventually faded into hiccups, her head wrapped nicely under the blanket that smelt like her ex-girlfriend. her eyes were swollen, and her cheeks red.

wonyoung stood up, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to the girl who yawned loudly.

the taller girl bit back a smile, her heart still fluttering despite her self-hatred.

"i don't know when jiwonnie's coming back, so you can just sleep on my bed." wonyoung said softly, like she was afraid to shatter the girl.

y/n looked at her, pleading, begging.

wonyoung could feel a lump in her throat.

"i don't wanna be alone." y/n said.

"y/n." wonyoung tried to reason. "you're drunk."

y/n wasn't going to remember this, and wonyoung wondered if that would break her or heal her (she knew what the answer was).

"just stay with me." y/n pleaded, her eyes closing as her head fell against the cushions. "just for a little bit."

y/n could pretend everything was fine after this, but she just wanted to let her guard down. just this once, just this fleeting moment.

"okay." wonyoung was selfish, but she would tear herself a new heart if it meant a smile to y/n. "whatever you want."

carefully, wonyoung slid into the bed, listening as the world faded away, y/n cooped up in her arms.

she knew this feeling, where she held y/n close at night, seemingly forever as the two the breathed the same breath, smiled the same smile, and loved the same love.

the soft whispers, planning the future together, and their dark eyes that seemed to find each other's despite the pitch black night. she remembered everything, like a dream, because who remembers a nightmare over something so detrimentally heartbreaking.

heartbreak.

that's what wonyoung was feeling.

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[theoisdaydreaming]

hi!! i loved your overlord angel dust/husk art and i commented about potentially turning it into a fic and adding your art, which you consented to. i was wondering if you had any additional ideas to make it more than a oneshot, maybe they open a casino together with mafia roots, collect souls together, etc…once again, your art was amazing!!

Thank you so much, I would love a fic about my AU (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Here are other ideas about the story:

In this AU Angel didn't worked with Valentino, he and Arackniss reconciled before Angel could sign a contract with him

That is not to say Angel wasn't doing sex work, he would take all kinds of offers, from stripping to singing gigs, just for the money

Regarding the backstory of the spider brothers I haven't really fleshed it out but here are some points of it:

They had kind of a strained relationship even though they cared for each other, because Arackniss (or Andrew as I like to think) used to put down Anthony's dreams of becoming a performer like the drag queens he liked to see (in secret) in the gay bars the Mafia used to own back in the 30s (real history btw)

He did this in hopes he would give up, leave it all behind and live a 'normal' life, out of fear their dad would disown him, or worse, kill him

It wouldn't matter anyway because both of them would die together while doing a shady work for the mob (who started the shots? They couldn't really remember)

At the beginning of their afterlife Arackniss avoided Angel with the guilt that (according to him) it was his fault his little brother got shot in the eye. (He was too far, too late, he couldn't protect his brother and now he's dead because of him)

Cause of this angel thinks his brother hates him, but they eventually encounter during a turf war that went wrong

Arackniss sees Angel surrounded and not wanting to repeat his brothers death again, he saves him this time.

They sort things out, and become closer than ever

When Arackniss figures out what angel has been doing for money they decide to start doing mob work again, they're good and people start giving their loyalty and doing contracts with them because the brothers actually care about the souls they own, deciding to learn from their father's mistakes, they respect all of their workers

furthermore, Angel gains more influence because he gave the people he met while being a sex worker, safe and living conditions; every stripper, actor, performer wanted to work with him, and with all the contracts he made, became an overlord

On the other hand, arackniss does all the shady work, sticking to the shadows, not wanting any attention. He is very prod of angel, and becomes his right hand man

Other ideas and dynamics:

Angel calls arackniss An, Andy or niss

Arackniss calls angel Angie, Anni, or Anth. (He never really liked tony, that's what his father called him)

They love each other very much but they're still siblings, they bicker and fight all the time (all their goons are used to it at this point, unimpressed by the brothers shenanigans)

Valentino develops some sort of obsession with Angel after meeting him (this brings problems)

Angel fell first, husk fell harder

They kind of had an enemies to lovers (but not really, more like a rivalry bc angel likes to annoy the cat overlord for fun)

Molly is still in heaven in this AU, arackniss was able to shield her from the family business (he couldn't with angel though, That's part of his guilt)

She died of heart disease before the brothers death

Angel is the spoilt younger sibling

I haven't really thought about how him and husk get together but they will definitely become a power couple

I like the idea Angel performs at the casino

He sings, does drag, etc. (Maybe some pornos too, just for fun)

What caught husk's attention is that Angel cared a lot for the souls he owned, he treated them like the humans they are

That's all I have for now, I will make more art about this AU later, you can use it if you like, whether as reference or inspiration for the fic (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

Ik this is more about Angel and Arackniss but I really like to focus on their story. So regarding the huskerdust you can have fun with that as I don't have a lot of ideas

[blues824]

Hi! May I request the housewardens with a Raven!like s/o from Teen Titans?

💜 She's the daughter of a human mother and demonic father

💜 She's an empath and able/can sense both pain and disease and can remove them, assimilating them to her own body and expunge them but at a cost of great physical pain. She can also read the emotions of others and control them, also granting her telepathic-like insight into their minds.

💜 Her weakness is strong emotions. She has the ability to feel other people's emotions. But if she comes into contact with an individual with strong emotions whether good or bad, it will overwhelm her and bring her pain.

💜 Her main power is the ability to channel her Soul Self, projecting her spirit outside of her body to scout, fight, or manipulate objects.

💜 She is quiet, troubled, brooding, grim, moody, seemingly emotionless, intelligent, studious and sarcastic. She can always come up with a smart remark.

Take your time with this ask, and don't rush to finish it :)

I apologize, but since I didn’t have any motivation I will be giving you three housewardens. Can’t believe I have over 700 requests-

Riddle Rosehearts

He is very intrigued since you were a demon-human hybrid. However, you used your powers for good rather than how your father originally intended, and that’s something that he looks up to. You don’t let your parentage define you, and he takes a page from your book in that aspect.

Honestly, Riddle overwhelmed you a lot because he was always angry and in pain because of his past and how he is scared to disappoint his mother. When you told him, he realized that if he wanted to be with you then he needed to change his ways. So guess who started going to therapy!!!

Riddle doesn’t like your sarcasm, but you were very down-to-earth, which he appreciated. You both were quite the pair, only told of in old romantic but tragic novels. This most definitely showed in how you both liked to write letters to each other; a rather formal way of communication, reserved for the two of you.

When he overblotted, you were torn. However, you used your soul-self to battle him. He didn’t even see the raven before being easily taken down by it. The last thing he remembers before being taken to the infirmary was you rushing over and holding his body close. Even when he attacked you, your love for him was still there.

Leona Kingscholar

He was wary of you because you were a very powerful demon, but you often used it for the good of others rather than just yourself. He respects the fact that you are trying your hardest to not be like your dad, since he tries not to suck up to his older brother’s expectations as well.

Unfortunately, his anger became an overwhelming source of emotion and energy for you, and you had to write a short note saying so when you saw that he was getting increasingly upset at you avoiding him. Once he was informed of this, he started taking measures to relieve his anger, like exercising more.

He loved how feisty you could sometimes be, especially when you were sarcastic. You both could go back and forth for hours because you both didn’t like losing battles. Instead of calling you ‘herbivore’, he probably called you ‘Poe’ after Edgar Allen Poe.

When he overblotted, you took quick action and used your Soul-Self powers. You used your actual body as a diversion so that you had the element of surprise, and it worked. As he saw the raven go back inside your body, he couldn’t help but feel proud of you for making such a quick decision without hesitation.

Azul Ashengrotto 

He was intimidated by you. You were a powerful half-demon who couldn’t be kept under a contract because that’s not how this works. It’s like how he can’t steal the ears of a beastman because it was biologically instilled within them.

Azul doesn’t tend to show too many emotions, but you can sense his fear and insecurities and it makes you a bit anxious. You tell him this, and he just feels exposed. However, he has been taking active steps to getting to a place where he can look in the mirror and feel good about himself.

This cecaelia is the type to like your sarcasm when it’s directed towards someone who is doing something stupid (Ace). When it’s directed towards him, he is low-key kind of offended. Like, weren’t you supposed to be on his side?? You didn’t have to call him out on his shady business deals…

Anyways, when he overblotted, your speed wasn’t affected by being underwater. Someone might have thought you were descended from a sea animal because you actually moved faster. You used your Soul-Self and managed to defeat him while causing a distraction with your actual body (think scarecrow in a field). Last thing he saw was you running over and making sure he didn’t hit his head as he fell.

[ms-scarletwings]

Aberrant Fish

The first hint many an angler will get of the dark, insidious secrets these waters hold,

and yet, they are the first thing to be accepted as only another flavor of mundane.

The game text calls them grotesque. The fishmonger calls them corrupted. You get to call them a bonus. Rather than fear and revile them, tradesmen will pay a shiny extra penny to add them into their stock. They are gestured to and spoken of, but never truly elaborated on by the townsfolk. They have probably been here long before most of them, and so will be here long after they are gone. They were certainly here before you. Maybe you don’t need their answers, and yet if you are like me, you still witlessly question and keep dredging for more.

Like many things pulled from those cursed depths, they whisper flecks of madness from an impossible voice. What messages do they carry, and what forces do they play vessel to? Are they the lingering embers from a long-extinguished calamity, or are they harbingers of the next one to come?

I believe we have already seen signs of fire with our own eyes- impossible, great beasts that prowl the four (now five) coasts, the dying cult, gibbering fog…. That damned book. These tortured creatures are but another form of the same smoke.

To the question of where they came from, if your fisherman pokes around enough and braves the darkness, he may have already found a response in one of the many obelisks scattered around the map. Specifically, I refer to this.

This would suggest the aberrants themselves are what leaked in through the cracks that the largest of all monsters wants to rend apart? Not entirely, but in part. For the researcher at the Stellar Basin came to her own conclusion I want to factor in.

Her words give credence to the possibility that it is actually those greater beasts themselves at the heart of the corruption. I think she was half onto something, because what if these twisted forms, both large and small, were blooms along the same set of festering roots?

The more dark stones you disturb in the frenzy of your own madness, the more you learn about the age before your arrival, about the islands, and especially about their current guardians. The Mindsuckers- carrion puppet masters given a home, the Basin creature- a spore that miraculously survived its dive to the abyss, and the Serpent- lifeless stone made animate and malicious, all had their creation remembered in great detail by the obelisks. Some hints point that their emergence was rather recent, relative to even more powerful beings, such as the leviathan.

Maybe there are even more unseen horrors far below, blessedly out of our reach, for now. My view is that the malformed beasts are the aimless children of that unfathomable thing which waits beyond the veil. With them came its influence, and its corruption, and from them it continues to spread to all life surrounding. The smaller rifts were always a transformative disease upon the harbor’s fish, but with the rise of the new monsters, the sickness runs farther and less avoidably than ever. Whether these aberrant spawn are a gift to the worthy, or another deceptive evil that leads to madness remains left to be seen.

I will be giving a spotlight to each of these fascinating specimens at the back of Dredge’s encyclopedia, including those found in the Pale Reach, for further comment and appreciation. Updating the list below as we go along!

[#79-84]

[#85-90]

[#91-96]

[#97-102]

[#103-108]

[#109-114]

[#115-120]

[#121-126]

[#127-132]

[#133-138]

[#139-144]

[#145-150]

[#163-168]

[#169-174]

[Bonus I. Night Angler]

[Bonus II. Serpent]

[Bonus III. Basin Creature]

[Bonus IV. Mindsuckers]

[Bonus V. Unseeing Mother]

[Bonus VI. “Narwhal”]

[peachydarlingz]

-Memories of you- Finnick Odair

headers @attxnt and @plutism

Warnings: Major angst, implied character deaths.

Pairing: Finnick odair x f! reader

-

We were growing old together, of course we were dying.

We found time to talk about it, the sensitive stuff; And it always brought us closer.

Back in our twenties, we might’ve avoided the topic, finding time to ignore and argue about it instead. But when you’re old, wise and your days are spent mindlessly rocking back and forth holding hands, things become simpler, easier. Those harder conversations seem to flow naturally.

“Finn, when I die, can you hold my hand until I get to the other side?”

“How do you know I won’t go first?” Theres a jest in my voice, but I know she’s serious. Her health has been declining more and more recently. I just smile and squeeze her hand. “Of course, my blossom.”

And what a privilege it was to grow old by her side. After everything we had been through together, it was everything I wanted and more.

In my old age, years after my love died, I was often asked the question, “Will you remarry?” and I would always laugh, and it would always catch them off guard. But that’s a funny question to me; I couldn’t help but laugh, because when you’ve had everything, why would you want anything else?

But I loved that question too, because every time they’d ask, I get to talk about you.

“I remember how she could notice an arthritis flare up from the shift in the air, she knew me so well. It’s so rare that you’re connected with someone. So connected, that you can breathe their air and know what they’re feeling, exactly what they’re saying...” there’s a long pause.

“Anyways, when she would notice a flare up, she was always right by my side with a heating pad and a massage. “And I catch myself remembering what once was. “Someone who once soothed the deep pain she knew she could not heal… but would do anything to calm it. Any remedy or potion, because that’s love.” and those sentiments in our old life, and that silly question reminds me of a new memory my mind threatens to forget. but I know deep down, she is the last thing I’ll ever forget. That is something I’ll make sure of.

And every time, I am met with the same response to the same stupid question, silence.

I talk to the vision of you in my head, and I’ll often make that poor nurse pull out the photo album again. But I can’t help it, you look so beautiful in our wedding photo; Or the picture of you planting sage in the garden, just for me.

“Every morning when I’d get back from my morning swim, she would always have a fresh cup of sage tea and a hazelnut muffin waiting for me. Even on the days the bakery wasn’t open, and especially the holidays, she made sure to get extra.”

“That’s very sweet Mr. Odair, now let’s take your medicine.” And I’m pulled back into limbo again.

I seem to be rotting more and more after being the last one left. After you died, it seemed that old age and disease got our friends. You’ll be happy to know that the ‘Star-crossed lovers’ from district 12 died together from old age, just like we predicted they would. Suddenly I’m laughing to myself, remembering our conversations of the pair. Both of us agreeing that if one died, the other would soon follow from heartbreak, if they didn’t grow old together.

It seems like every little memory brings me back to her, even when I don’t mean to.

But maybe that’s my feeble mind’s attempt to keep its grasp on you.

I think the only reason I lived so long after you passed is because you’d be mad at me if I didn’t. And I would never want to upset my wife, even if it’s in the afterlife.

But once Johanna faded, it was just me left. Life just seemed a lot duller after that.

You would think being in the games, the war, all the death I’ve been through would make it easier, but somehow, it’s not. Each death just seemed to take more of the life out of me, and now, I’m the last one left. So, I lay here in this cold hospital bed drifting in and out of the labyrinth that is my mind.

From what I can gather when I’m conscious, I’m not doing too great. The doctors say I’ve forgotten how to do everything except drink water and mumble a few words. They say I can’t last long like this. But to be honest, I really don’t care. I just want to see you again.

“Pictures!!”

“Yes, Mr. Odair I’m getting the photo album, I promise.” That poor nurse, I hope she knows it’s appreciated.

When the nurse sits down next to me and starts flipping through the book, I feel grounded again. I’m looking at my favorite picture of you, how could I ever forget that memory?

We were on our honeymoon, and I just remember thinking, ‘Wow, that’s my wife.’.  I couldn’t help but snap a quick picture when you weren’t looking. Which, of course you didn’t like, but that’s exactly why I did it, and I’m so glad I did. I really do miss you.

I think the thing I miss the most about you is your smell. There was nothing else like it, because it was just so you. I could never replicate it even if I tried, and I did try.

It was the way she layered the complimenting scents after putting on her lotion. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like. I crave for the day I get to crossover and embrace that euphoric feeling again.

I’m not scared to die; I’ve been close to death more times than I can count. But in a way, maybe I am scared. I’m scared that I won’t see you again. And maybe I shouldn’t have based my idea of the afterlife on you, but to me everything is based off you. It’s how I keep myself sane. Well, as sane as I can be.

I may not know the date, or really what I even look like in my now bedridden state, but I feel an overwhelming sense of peace and I can’t help but close my eyes and reflect on my life. My body feels heavy, I can truly say I wouldn’t trade my life for the world. The wrinkles on my face remind me of every smile and laugh I experienced and for a moment I’m ethereal.

But I guess I’ve really lost it, because I swear, I can smell the essence of you…

[the-creative-lounge-blog]

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[ohbo-ohno]

“gets him fucking you harder, saying more and more in your ear about how they're never letting you even look at another person again, never letting you off their property.”

ugh this is just so 🫢 possessive serial killer ghoap and their pretty little innocent reader. They earned you the instant they killed your last friend.

Johnny is always growling in your ear about how you’re never going to look at another person again, constantly reminds you that it’s bad to look at anyone but him or Simon.

And then they use you as bait when they’re bored and want to kill again. As soon as you make eye contact with someone as they’re trying to figure out how to get you out safely (maybe you’re loose in the forest, but have chains between your ankles and wrists and connecting your wrists to your neck) and you’re trying to explain everything to them but it’s too late, johnny and Simon are already shooting, sending the group scattering while you’re left sobbing, begging them not to leave you. Your punishment after the victims are all dead is brutal that night because you don’t get it!! You’re supposed to participate in the game!! And you looked at every single one of those strangers, don’t you remember you’re not allowed to look at anyone but Simon or Johnny?

The next time they use you as bait, you cower and refuse to look anyone in the eye. Johnny praises you and lovingly bathes you that night for being such a good girl and doing as she was told.

🌚 anon (I have so many thoughts about serial killer ghoap and not enough brainpower to verbalize them all)

this is sick and twisted i love it

i also have so many thoughts about serial killer ghoap, it's a disease. will probably end up writing a most dangerous game au and plop some of these scenes/scenarios right in it

they EARNED YOU!!!!!

taking you into town, telling you anyone you look at is fair game for them to kill. makes you keep your head ducked real low, eyes wide and hands trembling as you fight every instinct screaming inside you to look up and beg for help. they tease you with it, too - you'll glance at something on a shelf and ghost will raise an eyebrow, go "him? whatever you say, doll." and it's a guy like 6 feet away who you barely saw in your peripheral. tortures him and turns to you, says "you picked a good one, don't you love the way he screams?" and relishes the way you sob. really helps beat it into your head that looking at anyone else ever is Bad.

sometimes they like to play the game with just you, no other distractions. if you try to avoid running, they'll force you. fuck with your flight instinct until you give into it and let them chase. shoot at the ground right near your feet, bit the air right near your ear, shout right behind you, all the kind of things that force you straight into adrenaline. you know they're making you run because they want to chase, know there's no universe in which you actually get away from them, but the fear drives you and you can't help but run.

being used as bait during the game and not tied up... oh my god

the chains are meant to hobble you, like you said. they're not risking you getting away under and circumstance. and maybe they lock the other prey into kink gear too (a la The Hunt, good movie pls go watch). you have to stay hunched a little bit not to hurt your joints, makes you real cautious and scared of everything like a real prey animal. any time anyone comes to help you you get so distressed, beg them to go and leave you alone. you try to tell them it's a trap, but they're dead/grabbed as soon as you manage to get the words out. get a nasty glare from johnny or simon in response, but they just wander back into the woods and leave you there to draw in more victims for them

"Your punishment after the victims are all dead is brutal that night because you don’t get it!! You’re supposed to participate in the game!! And you looked at every single one of those strangers, don’t you remember you’re not allowed to look at anyone but Simon or Johnny?" do you think it's funny to try and kill me, smirking moon???? you won't be laughing when im found dead from a heart attack after reading this i can tell you that!!!!

johnny in particular gets mad at you. he'll grab you by the shoulders, shake you and shout in your face. why are you being so fucking stupid? don't you get it? if you don't play along, the game isn't nearly as fun. why are you ruining this for them?

but simon gets it, he understands that your heart is near bursting from fear. uses that to his advantage, cows you into doing whatever he wants. it's easier when you're nearly pissing yourself in terror

johnny would be so happy once you finally gave in and played along, and simon would be horribly smug. johnny would be scooping you up with a big grin, telling you how proud he is of you, how glad he is you finally gave in, how hot it was to kill people with you watching. and simon is just right in your ear, purring about how good you are for doing what you're supposed to, for finally giving in to your urges (that you don't have, you don't, you hated seeing those people die, hated hearing their screams, feeling their blood-)

[tvseries-writings]

Heart Problems - Part II

Heart attack - Part I

Maya x Carina x reader

Platonic! Amelia shepard x reader

TW: heart disease, past drug addiction and alcol abuse, panic attacks

You hold the smoke for a few seconds before releasing it into the air around you. You couldn’t smoke, not after you had a heart attack about one and a half month ago that forced you to stay in the hospital for almost four endless weeks. To say that Carina and Maya had been overprotective is an understatement; you couldn’t even go to the bathroom by yourself, and if they saw you smoking…you would get an unparalleled lecture. In fact, you even think they might be watching you h72.

“Although you are very sexy when you smoke, you are an idiot because you know you shouldn’t do it.”

You blink, releasing a sigh as you hear a voice you know all too well. “Amelia, it’s not what it seems like…”

“Oh no? Because you seem to be smoking after being expressly forbidden since you had a heart attack for that reason.”

The neurosurgeon does not bother to hide her sarcastic tone as she snatches the cigarette from your hand and throws it on the ground, extinguishing it with her shoe.

You roll your eyes, avoiding protest because you know she is right.

She drags you inside the apartment, continuing to mumble a few insults and repeat over and over how stupid you are. She forcefully closes the window overlooking the balcony before sitting you down on the couch and looking at you with such a disapproving look that you almost feel guilty. Almost.

“Amelia, it’s not a big deal. Don’t make a big deal out of it, it was just a cigarette. My heart attack was due to that shit about my heart murmur that I didn’t control properly, you know and-”

“Fuck you y/n, even a cigarette would hurt you in your condition and don’t say bullshit to me because we both know that wasn’t the first one you were smoking. An adolescence of alcohol and avid smoking got you to this point, now you can’t drink or smoke because you risk another heart attack y/n and we won’t be able to bring you back again!”

You look away, looking anywhere but at the girl you now love like a sister.

You remember all too well; how quickly she had entered your hospital room a few weeks earlier, her eyes terrified and her chest heaving from the long run that had brought her there.

“…Are you going to tell Maya and Carina?”

The neurosurgeon distracts you from your thoughts. She releases a small sigh before sitting down on the couch, inches away from you.

“If I don’t do it, how can I trust that you won’t do it again? This is about your health and, unfortunately, you suck at taking care of yourself. I mean…we’ve had proof of that, it was so stupid not to get regular checkups for the last five years…damn y/n, you knew you had a heart murmur and yet you had the nerve to not care at all by continuing to drink and smoke…”

You can’t blame her, you’ve always been reckless with your health. A bad habit, if you can call it that, that was imposed on you from birth. Your father’s daughter could not be weak, she had to hide her bruises, split lips, black eyes and cracked ribs…you could not show your weaknesses, all emotions had to be stifled and you did, with smoking, alcohol and drugs. That was until your chemistry teacher had opened your eyes, paid for your rehabilitation, and the only vice you kept were cigarettes and alcohol, but never to the point of drunkenness. Your girlfriends, all your friends, and Amelia herself had only found out about it with the little mishap that landed you in a hospital bed.

Amelia sighs, gives you a heartbroken look, and circles your back with her arm.

“Honey, your problem is serious. You have had a heart attack y/n and the chances of you having another one are high, unfortunately. You need to be careful. You can’t-”

Amelia’s speech is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, followed immediately by a delightful Italian accent that you know very well.

“Bella, I’m home. Where are you?”

You open your eyes wide, aware that the smell of smoke is still firmly imprinted on your clothes.

Panic creeps into you. Carina cannot find out you were smoking; she would kill you. You cast a desperate glance at Amelia, panic beginning to close in on your lungs.

Amelia snaps to her feet, kneeling in front of you and undoing the first three buttons of your shirt as soon as she realizes you are on the verge of a panic attack.

“Y/n okay, you need to breathe” Amelia tries to take your hand but you shrug it off, shaking hard and burying your head between your knees.

Your lungs struggling to circulate some air; your chest barely rising and falling.

“Y/n you need to calm down, you’ll have a heart attack if you keep this up. You need to breathe.”

Amelia tries to take your hand but you shrug it off, shaking hard and hiding your head between your knees.

Amelia is practically screaming but you don’t hear her. You don’t even hear when she screams your girls’ name loudly nor her hurried footsteps on the marble floor. You barely notice her presence only when she forces your face away from the shelter between your knees, taking your face in her hands.

“Hey Bella, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, we’re okay. Just follow my breathing.”

You are distant, Carina sees. Your eyes are glassy and it’s as if you don’t hear your girlfriend’s voice or her touch at all.

Carina rests her right hand on your chest, your heart beating furiously against her palm, which fuels her concern more.

“Amelia, help me get her to the bathroom. We have to get her back, I can’t calm her down and if she keeps this up…”

She doesn’t need to finish the sentence for the neurosurgeon to understand.

Carina takes you in her arms, her heart aching to see you in this condition. Amelia opens the bathroom door, hurrying to the shower and turning the cold knob to maximum.

Carina steps into the shower, supporting your frail body as you are hit by the icy water.

You gasp, emerging from the panic attack in shock and chattering your teeth from the cold.

“It’s okay Bella, I’m here. It’s over, now breathe” Carina whispers in your ear, supporting your body to prevent you from hurting yourself in case you pass out from the exertion. It’s been a long time since you had such a panic attack.

Amelia mumbles something to Carina before leaving you alone. You don’t feel it, all your concentration is used in regulating your breathing and smoothing out the stabbing pain in your chest.

“How do you feel?”

The Italian shakes a strand of hair from your face, stroking your right cheek and turning a smile to you.

You blink slowly, nodding just barely. Carina sighs, rising from the cold shower floor and grabbing a towel before wrapping it around you.

She picks you up again, carrying you to your room. You do not object; you are too tired to do so.

The brunette leans you on the blankets, your wet hair dripping on them, but Carina doesn’t care.

She takes off your wet clothes and covers you with a pair of heavy blankets before changing. Fortunately, your hair is not very wet; you don’t think you would have had the strength or inclination to dry it.

The Italian slips under the covers with you, encircling your waist with her arms and resting two fingers on your right wrist to check your pulse.

“Car, I’m fine. You don’t need-”

“No Bella, this is important. I need to check. I’d like to take you to the hospital, I understand you don’t want to go back but it’s been a long time since you’ve had an attack like this and you have a slight tachycardia that could be due to the panic attack but I’d rather check that it’s not due to anything else.”

You shake your head, retracting your arm from her grip.

“I’m not going back to the hospital Carina, I’m fine.”

Carina turns you toward her, kissing your forehead before placing a hand on your chest.

“You smoked earlier, didn’t you? I smelled it as soon as I walked in.”

You bite your lip, looking away from those hazel eyes you love so much.

Carina sighs and shakes her head before snuggling closer to your body.

“You can’t do this Bella, you know. It hurts and maybe the tachycardia is due to that too. Teddy was very clear about that, no alcohol or smoking. You know that.”

“I know love ma-”

“No ‘buts’ y/n; this is about your health, your heart…you can’t play Russian roulette with your own life. If it doesn’t get better in ten minutes, let’s go to the hospital.”

Her tone does not allow for retort, and frankly, you are too tired to object. You barely nod and allow yourself to be lulled by the warmth emanating from his body in contact with yours. You fall asleep without even realizing it, abandoning yourself to the arms of Morpheus.

………………………………………………………………..

When you wake up, you realize that you and Carina are not the only ones in the bed. An adorable little blond head is nestled in the pillow by your side; her arm is around your waist, just below Carina’s.

You glance at the clock on the wall in front of you; it is only four o'clock in the morning and yet sleep has completely passed you by. You struggle to disentangle yourself from your girls’ grasp, being careful not to make too much noise or an abrupt movement to avoid waking them.

You hold back a yawn as you make your way to the kitchen. Your gaze focuses on the clock hanging on the wall. 4:50, great. Maya will be up any minute, if her morning run is not early in the morning, the blonde is not happy.

You sigh, turning on the stove and whisking two eggs onto the pan. You’re so focused on not burning what you’re cooking that when Maya wraps her arms around your waist, you freak out and gasp.

“Hey, it’s just me. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Maya places a kiss on your exposed neck, sending shivers up your spine.

“Are you okay? It’s early, how come you’re already awake?”

Maya whispers, turning off the stove before you can. You sigh again, leaning into her touch as if your life depended solely on it.

“I couldn’t fall asleep last night-”

“I know, Carina told me,” Maya interrupts you, turning you to face her before leaving a sweet kiss on your lips.

Your hands slip under the fireman’s shirt, but before you can even try to unhook her bra, Maya stops you.

Her fingers grip your wrists gently as she shakes her head firmly.

“No sex until Teddy gives us permission, you know that – and you’re grounded, you’ve been smoking.”

You pout, turning off the stove before patting her butt.

“You want to keep me from touching this beautiful ass?”

“Y/n! I have no words…I’m going for a run. Try to go back to sleep love, will you?”

You nod, and she leaves a kiss on your temple before slipping her headphones into her ears and walking out of your apartment.

You stay there in the kitchen for another ten minutes or so before you put the things you have prepared (eggs and bacon) on the table and get back into bed with Carina. As soon as you tuck yourself in, the Italian curls up next to your side, rubbing her nose against your cheek and resting a hand on your chest, just above your heart.

“Good morning, how are you feeling amore mio?”

“I’m fine Car, good morning to you too.”

You give her a small smile before turning to her and kissing the tip of her nose.

Carina crinkles her eyes, leaning her head against your shoulder.

“What time is it? I’m still very sleepy…”

“It’s almost 5:30-”

You don’t have time to finish the sentence when you see Carina open her eyes wide and give you a light slap on your right arm.

“Tu sei pazza!Che cosa stai facendo alzata a quest’ora?”

You didn’t understand a single word she just said but, knowing her, she probably called you a psychopath for waking up so early. With Maya she has lost hope by now but she didn’t believe that you were also turning to the dark side-this upsets her.

“Go back to sleep,” you chuckle, shaking your head with a glint of amusement in your eyes due to your girlfriend’s overdramatization.

Carina mumbles something in Italian before nodding with conviction and snuggling against your chest, closing her eyes. And it only takes five minutes to fall deeply asleep. Damn, you envy this girl for her sleeping skills; she could sleep just fine for 12 hours straight if you or Maya didn’t wake her up.

After half an hour passes, your hopes of falling back asleep magically disappear replaced by a lethal boredom. You’d like to reach out and grab the phone on the nightstand but, alas, doing so would wake Carina and you don’t want to upset the doctor before her morning coffee. You’re not that dumb.

At 6:20, the door of your apartment opens. It is Maya returning from her run. As soon as the blonde enters your bedroom, she immediately realizes that you are still awake.

“You should be asleep…” her tone is one of reproach but her love-filled gaze betrays her.

“I can’t,” you whisper, turning to face her. Damn it, you shouldn’t have done that. Maya is taking off her sweaty T-shirt and her sculpted abs enchant you.

A familiar warmth radiates from your lower abdomen.

“No, don’t even think about it; I already told you that-”

You stop her with a kiss. Not just a simple kiss, not one of those in-the-mold kisses you give when you’re in too much of a hurry…it’s definitely one of those kisses that makes you 'lift your leg’ like in the old movies.

Your hands slide under her sports bra, slipping it off. Maya lets out a moan as you lay her down on the bed, right next to her wife’s sleeping body. You slip off her pants, beginning to kiss her neck and going down to her navel. Her fingers grip your hair before frantically slipping off your T-shirt, tossing it to the floor.

You giggle, letting out a small scream as the blonde reverses your positions.

A mischievous smile ripples her lips, she leans over your breasts and brings her lips close to your left nipple before biting down hard. Hard enough to turn you on but not hard enough to hurt. A moan leaves your lips as the fireman slips her hand into your pants and begins to tease your clit. Your nails sink into her back as you capture her lips, carrying her into another kiss.

The blonde increases the pace, your clit is swollen and throbbing but that mere stimulation is not enough; you need more.

“Maya…Maya please” you whimper, rubbing yourself against her hand.

The fireman gives you a smile before pushing three fingers inside you.

“Fuck” you squeeze your eyes shut, arching your back and going along with her thrusts as you enjoy that pleasurable stretch.

Your fingers slide along her abs, stimulating her sensitive nipples. Maya gasps, going faster; the bed creaks, rocking again and again

A twinge in your chest makes you moan, not in pleasure though. Your breathing is heavy and your chest rises and falls far too fast for the blonde’s liking. Maya stops immediately, moving a few inches away to look into your eyes. An extremely worried look contours her face.

“Are you okay?”

You take a few seconds before realizing that the blonde has stopped.

“Heyy, why did you stop? Come on Maya, I was going to-”

Maya raises her left eyebrow, looking at you contritely before leaning over your chest. The smirk that had just reappeared on your face disappears as soon as you see her bow her head to put her ear over your chest and auscultate your pulse.

“It’s too fast, I knew it wasn’t a good idea…”

Maya shakes her head, biting her lip and looking away. She notices a slight panic invade her eyes and her mind begin to spin.

“Hey, hey, stop. Maya I’m fine love, I’m fine. Okay? Breathe with me, that’s it, good.”

You take her face in your hands forcing her to look at you and breathing noisily so she can follow your breathing. In a couple of minutes, the panic vanishes from the blue eyes you love so much.

“Are you okay?”

You whisper , stroking her cheeks. The firefighter nods just before hugging you.

“What are you doing?”

Carina yawns, covering her face with her right hand as she turns toward you.

“Just a little morning cuddle, good morning gorgeous.”

You smile, letting Maya recover as you lean over to kiss the Italian.

Despite her sleep, Carina is not buying it. And Maya is a too anxious person to not reveal her fears to her wife.

“Child, what is going on?” Carina turns completely toward Maya, and before you can even try to convince her not to say anything, the fireman speaks.

“Her pulse is really fast…can you please check her?”

“Car, I’m fine…Maya is on the verge of a panic attack and-”

Carina quickly sits up, now wide awake with worry etched on her face.

She takes your wrist in her right hand, resting two fingers over your vein to check your pulse and, at the same time, check the clock that sits on the wall opposite the bed in your room.

“Car, I’m fine, can we check Maya please?”

You whisper, not wanting the blonde to hear you; your chest hurts and you feel it getting harder and harder to breathe but you don’t care, not with Maya like this.

Carina turns to her wife and it doesn’t take long to realize that she is completely immersed in her head right now.

“You’re not well, you’re not well at all. Your heart is beating at 184 beats per minute…we need to lower it y/n.”

As Carina rummages through the drawers of the nightstand beside the bed, you don’t look away from Maya.

Carina takes your left arm and pulls up your sleeve, placing a tourniquet just below your shoulder, waiting to get a good look at the vein before suctioning 30 ml of Procainamide, which Teddy told you to use in such cases.

“Lie down, if in 5-6 minutes your pulse hasn’t dropped we’re going to the hospital y/n.”

You barely nod, looking away as soon as Carina sticks the needle in your arm, slowly diluting the drug in your blood. You take deep breaths, lying on the bed and at the same time observing the interaction between Maya and Carina.

“Bambina, bambina hey.”

Carina strokes Maya’s face gently, making her focus on herself. Maya seems to come back to herself, her feet on the ground.

“Car..y/n, she-?”

You sit up, ignoring Carina’s scowl, placing a hand on Maya’s back to make her notice your presence.

The blonde turns toward you and hugs you, leaving you momentarily stunned, as does Carina.

Maya does not extremely like physical contact after a panic attack or dissociation of this kind.

You stroke her back; your caresses alternate with Carina’s sweet words. The Italian is speaking her native language; neither you nor Maya can fully understand her but they always cause you great comfort. A feeling the same as when you are in front of a bonfire with your nearest and dearest surrounding you.

Ten minutes later, Maya is completely asleep in the arms of you and Carina.

“Bella, hey.”

Carina whispers, turning toward you and being quiet so as not to wake the fireman.

“Check your heart rate on the apple watch.”

You turn your right wrist with effort toward you, as it is weighed down by the blonde’s sleeping body.

“95 bpm.”

Carina releases a sigh that is probably a sigh of relief.

“Good, not ideal yet but definitely better than before…I think we should get some more sleep, Maya and I still don’t have to work and you are on forced bed rest.”

You barely nod, sighing at those conditions before closing your eyes. It’s a problem, you’ll have to talk about them being so overprotective but not now, maybe later…

Well, I know I haven’t updated in a while, really, I know. I’m sorry and I promise I’ll try to update more often, I really will. Requests are open (as always folks, you should know that by now) and one more time, thanks for reading. Have a great day!

Here the ko-fi link to support me, or share, like, comments…all those things are really appreciated.

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