#(i should try to sleep because my lack of sleep is terrifying)

[drdumaurier]

Never Let Me Down Again by Depeche Mode is truly a young Bedelia anthem.

[st7rnioioss]

silly question, but would skater!chris ever come to the bathroom with girly!reader if she was scared because it was dark at night???🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇🐇

SKATER!CHRIS x GIRLY!READER

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... skater!chris x girly!reader

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... girly!reader is too scared to go to the bathroom alone, and has to ask chris if he could go with her.

warnings... fluff :3, kissing

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ the soft padding of your feet against the floor fills the empty, dark living room, watching chris, who lies there, deep in a slumber. you approach him quietly, tired, and still halfway awake.

to be honest, you were fucking terrified. it was completely dark in your parents' house, which was empty besides the two of you, and everything seemed to cast an unreasonably eerie shadow. but you had to use the bathroom… just not alone.

you stand right next to the couch, contemplating if you should wake him up—you had quite an argument earlier, hence why he’s asleep on the couch and not cuddled up in bed next to you.

“chris?” you mumbled quietly, gently poking his bicep. he doesn’t react, and you try again. “chris? wake up, please..” you whispered, and when he finally started shifting, you felt somewhat relieved.

“baby, please. wake up,” by now chris is being waked up by your continuous poking and whispering, opening his eyes to see you looming over him.

he stirs again, rubbing his eyes before he sits up, glancing up at you. “what’s up?” he grumbles after a second, watching how you reach out to almost secretly take his hand in yours.

and you try not to keep it too obvious, not really wanting to make it look like he won the previous argument you had, but you just couldn’t help but feel creeped out—and his presence and touch helped.

“can you go to the bathroom with me? please?” you whispered, wrapping your fingers around his when he doesn’t pull his hand back, still staring shyly down at him.

chris chuckles, giving you a quick shrug before he shifts a little again. he then stands up, giving your hand a small squeeze—by now, he was used to this. you were always scared of the dark, even if that meant using the bathroom on your own. “yeah, of course. let’s go.”

you offer him a soft smile, keeping the grip on his hand soft and light as you slowly and quietly make your way to your parents' bathroom.

chris closed the door behind you, and you insisted on keeping his hand in yours while you shimmied down your sleep shorts, even while you peed. “thank you,” you mumbled, still not too pleased with how he had disagreed with you—he just wasn’t allowed to win this thing between you.

he chuckled at your protest to thoroughly look at him, but decided to brush it off—you were gonna give in anyway. “it’s no problem,” he pressed a light kiss to the top of your head as you’re washing your hands.

but just as you’re about to sneak back out of the bathroom, he grabs you by your hips and turns you around. “nuh, uh... come here,” he chuckles softly, tilting your head up by your chin.

you stare up at him, staying silent until he suddenly pressed his lips to yours, meeting them in a slow, gentle kiss. “i’m sorry,” he whispered when you both pulled back, his hand cupping the side of your jaw.

by now, your cheeks are tinted pink, and you feel your heart flutter just a little bit—you couldn’t stay mad at him for long. “let me sleep in your bed with you, please, doll.”

more skater!chris x girly!reader here!

˚𝜗𝜚 notes... for my lovely bff cutie awesome girl :33 i love you!! also sorry about the lack of activity, school is getting buuusssy.

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

❛❛ © ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023 ❜❜

[pupyuj]

Ena!! Imagine this! Yujin is reader's rival (sort of) and one day Yuj suddenly calls reader in the middle of the night and she tells the reader to talk and she's all hasty about it too! And so you do just that but suddenly you hear whimpering and moaning on the other line?!? She's whipped enough to get off to your voice...

-🐝

rivals mentioned and ofc i have to make it academic rivals bcs that’s… yeah that rlly scratches the right parts of my brain 😍😍

you and yujin have created some sort of not-so-playful competition when it comes to your studies! listen, the two of you were college students in an irritatingly-difficult field, and if your entire time in that university was going to be hell, you might as well make it fun! and what better way to do that than a lovely little challenge with the only other smartass in the class every now and again? 🥰 so the two of you do just that? every quiz, tests, recitations, presentations, and assessments were your battlefield and your respective grades were your prize… it was simple; whoever has the higher grade wins and it was usually always a close battle between the two of you… but lately you’ve been winning a lot and that really pushed the wrong buttons in yujin 🫢

see, she knew that at the end of day, she can’t beat you in everything! you were quite possibly the smartest girl she has ever met—your grades were fucking insurmountable, yujin was never going to beat you ever 😭 but this upcoming test… she has to get a higher score than you 😤 yujin has been lacking way too much in her academics and no amount of studying was enough for her to snap out of this streak of less-than-ideal test results… so she had to find a way to shake your confidence 🤓☝️

and she’s sooo fucking lucky you have a massive crush on her annoying ass. otherwise you wouldn’t have answered her stupid ass call at 12:38 am in the middle of cramming for that test both of you were dreading to take the next morning 🤭

“if you’re here to try and brag about how you can already see that you’ll beat me tomorrow, please pack it up. i have no time to deal with your delusions.” oh, you were so cute when you tried to be mean 🥺 yujin figured that you must’ve been studying all day what with the stress on your voice and how you were mumbling profanities as you read through the material… god that really turned her on.

“good evening to you too, my dear rival!” yujin was delighted to practically ‘hear’ you roll your eyes on the other end.

“yujin… i really don’t have time to play around tonight, okay? i wanna get this over with and then get the best sleep of my life knowing i’ll have another victory over you in the bag.”

“oh come on, you need the company, (y/n). i know you and you’ve probably been swamped with textbooks and modules all day. you need a life!”

“aha, no thanks. you know what ‘getting a life’ would do to me? losing to ‘my dear rival’ after every exam because i was too busy partying and making out with and fucking three girls at a time to sit down and study.”

yujin bites her lip, holding back a seriously slutty whimper. “okay, i’ll give you that one, (y/n). i love it when you’re feisty.” and the fun ends there for you… but not for yujin! 🤭 while you’re busy going off on her for being so goddamn annoying so late in the day, she had her hand shoved inside her panties rubbing her sensitive cunt to the sound of your voice 😳 you were just too adorable trying to lecture her and her falling grades… and she could imagine your pretty little face all flared up in anger whilst scolding her and it’s such a turn on for her 😵‍💫😵‍💫

and it was on your third time repeating that yujin should party less and get serious more than she lets a moan slip out… and that literally made you freeze 🫨 see, yujin should be terrified that she got herself found out… but she was actually hoping that you’d catch her… it adds to the pleasure 🫠

“a-are you… what are you doing..?”

“mmhn… no, no, continue, (y/n).. unless y-you want to come over and finish what you started yourself, hm…?”

“me…? b-but…” a pause. “it’s late…”

“ha… you’re so cute… just keep going.”

she found it sooo endearing how you clumsily guided her 🥺 telling her how many fingers she can put inside her cunt, how fast she can fuck herself, how loud she can be, and when she gets to cum… demanding to let her see you so she opens up her camera and shows you just how well she’s fucking herself under your guidance 😵‍💫 yujin wasn’t all too fond of edging when she just wants to get off quickly but with your sweet voice telling her that it’s not time yet, she just had to obey! and ofc she loved it when you did praise her for following your words… 🥰

yujin making you admit just how much you want to touch her yourself… having to tell her about all the times you’ve wanted to kiss her and hide away to some empty classroom and fuck with her, then ofc your fantasies of getting fucked by her which rlly takes the cake and only pushes yujin closer to her climax 🤭

“ahh… f-fuck, don’t worry, (y/n)… once classes are over tomorrow, i’m taking y-you here and i’m giving you the best fuck of your life.. you fucking need it… god..!”

“really…? you’d do that, mommy?”

it was a real fucking shame that you weren’t there to really see how hard yujin came after hearing you call her that 😵‍💫 needless to say that after that test, you and yujin were more than happy to skip all of your other classes that day and just release all of your pent-up sexual frustrations to each other for the remainder of the day 🤭

[threepandas]

Bad End: Into The Light

It was impossible to ignore the steps behind me.

I was told, again and again, they were of no consequence. No SIGNIFICANCE. That my "shadows" were little more then passive servants. Glorified furniture that followed me room to room. But... but how could I possibly believe that? Worse, if I DID believe that? What would that MAKE me?

I was followed, as I am always followed these days, by... by DECORATION.

That's what they were BRED for. MADE to be. Aesthetically pleasing decoration. Perfectly matching, pleasantly smiling, mindless drones.

It sickened me.

When I "woke up"? Laughable as that phrasing is? Because I was not... not SLEEPING. I was... WAS... I had not BEEN-!

When I... "woke up" as it were, from that... long sleep. The one I had no choice in. That terrifies me even now. Haunts my dreams and wounds my soul. I found myself in a shining temple. A holy place, I was told. A beautiful place, it seemed.

And like so many stories? Like every tale of Utopia supposedly found? It was only after the first rush of wonder, did the cracks in the foundation begin to appear. And oh... OH, did they run DEEP.

I? Was "born" from a shining pool. Beneath sunlight and surrounded by soft breezes. Beauty and nature. But the "shadows"? They take the waters and manipulate them. Archaic machines I have never seen, someplace deep and dark.

I only see the successes of this process.

My mind screams that something terrible must happen, to those deemed "failures".

How? How in any God's name could I EVER be expected to accept this? This slavery and butchery? Worse still, be expect to TAKE PART in it? Have "shadows" of my own? As though it were not ownership of another living soul?!

In disgust, I raged.

I tried to fight. Was still too young, unfamiliar with the terrain. But my soul cried out in horror and how could I refuse? It... got me isolated. I am STILL isolated. Deep in the temple. Back in the "reflection gardens" where I may "think". It goes against our religion, after all, to harm me.

I am a PERSON. One of the Light's children. I need "gentle guidance" and "patience" so that I might "understand".

I understand perfectly.

They are simply monster's in my eyes.

It is cruel, really, that so much GOOD could be poisoned by such thoughtless evil. Because some of the teaching they foist on me? Are GOOD. Genuinely, truely, GOOD. They are teachings I am trying my best to follow. Even as something about them... niggled at the back of my brain. Like somehow they SHOULD be familiar, yet aren't quite.

Truely? I wish I could escape these walls. I KNOW there are other sects. The Shining Light was a result of a schism several centuries back. I know it had to do with the pools. But, of course, they have kept me from anything that might reinforce my "mistaken beliefs".

The eyes burning into my back trace lazily along my skin.

We never talk. I REFUSE to take part in this charade, but it does not stop them from following me. If anything, they seem amused. Something almost like fond on occasion. It is hard to tell, through their ever unchanging smiles. Perfectly bland and decorative.

There is a strange... anticipation in the air today.

I do not know what to make of it. When I ask the Light all I receive is nondescript humming. I do not know enough to know what that MEANS. Have no one to ask. So... I go through the motions.

And the anticipation builds.

And builds.

And BUILDS.

There are certain points in the, for lack of a better term (though honestly it's hardly), "little" building I've been cosigned too where I can see the main temple. The second floor terrace lifts me JUST high enough to see the eastern sprawl.

And the if I precariously balance? Up on a stool and then my toes. Leaning juuust so against one of the pillars that line the path? Then the hallway to the reflection pool garden, where I am too meditate each day, shows me the west.

As cut off as I am, except for the glorified propaganda shoved at me again and again by teachers who never linger, as though I am DISEASED? Well, all I can really do is watch. Try to pick out what is happening from afar. Try... try not to go mad from isolation.

Because the only people HERE with me are my shadows.

And I KNOW they would never talk to me. Not really. They will respond if I talk AT them but... oh Light that guides us... I am the keeper of their chains. I have NO RIGHT to play "happy little family~" as though they are even remotely close to me of their own free will.

I will not see them. I will not ask of them. In the Light, I will cast no shadow.

My mantra. Again and again. And please, oh Light that guides us, let someday it be true.

Still... my daily "lessons" have not come. And that? That has never happened. I do not WORRY for them, but as the only contact I have with the outside? Sudden change in behavior is... bad. Especially with this strange tension in the air. This anticipation of... SOMETHING. Like the Light is waiting for something to begin.

It is coming.

The east shows me nothing. So I try the west. Balanced precariously, ankles and toes straining from the uncomfortable position. The vast gardens between where I am and the main buildings? Are... empty.

They are NEVER empty.

Always. ALWAYS! Someone strolling, initiates debating, students reflecting, Master's meditating on the Light. Guests oohing and aaahing over the heavenly splendor of a garden unrivaled, by any I'd EVER seen before this place. All while followed by peacock tails of shadows. Matching and subservient. Hundreds of them.

The gardens were empty. Silent. An eery sense of... wrong, began to seep up my spine. Something that SCREAMED I had all the clues. Already KNEW what this was. But was being painful dense. Fatally blind. But I... I couldn't...

Sharp movement. A Temple Master. One who's name I could not recall. Only that he was forever poised and disdainful. He did not look so poised NOW. He raced, hair falling from it's styling, face wet with sweat and tears, robes a mess, across the main walk. Through the empty garden.

He... he never made it...

Too wherever he hoped to go.

In perfect synch, like WOLVES, shadows shot from the building behind him in pursuit. They had swords. He did not. Their long legs ate the distance between them and their prey almost effortlessly. In desperation, he called upon the Light, divine magic to defend himself.

They... they COUNTERED.

He died. Horrified and screaming, as I stood frozen. Pieces clicking together in my head. That... that was an advanced skill. But, ultimately, perfectly learnable if you were focused on nothing else. If... if you were able to FOLLOW those who sat in such lessons. Were... born of the same pools.

Of course they were children of the Light. I had always known. But somehow... my brain had not CONNECTED what that meant. Fully. What SKILLS that would afford them.

Slowly, numbly, I slid back down to merely stand upon the stool upon which I stood. I shakily stepped down. Acutely aware of the half ring of shadows smiling, oh so pleasantly, less then lunging distance away. Their eyes were intent.

Had...had they been waiting for me to see? Figure it out on my own? How long were they willing to let the charade continue? Just to drive home that their days of servitude were, at last, violently over? I did not look at them. I was afraid. My eyes staring, unseeing, off to the garden walls.

I was... was trapped in here... wasn't I?

Deserved this. For what I had allowed done.

And yet... and YET... I... I wanted to live. I was a prisoner too. Born into a cage that would see me die in it. Tears blurred my vision. It felt hard to breathe. Slowly, painfully fighting my tensed muscles, like a doll creaking from age, I turned to look at them.

Their smiles were sharper. They had teeth now.

Heads cocked, some terrible and delighted thing dancing in their eyes, their masks had cracked apart. No longer needed. I took a shaking step back. Then another. All the while they watch, eyes tracing my every action, unmoving. Expectant. They knew I would run. Clearly HOPED I would. I wish I could say I disappointed them.

That I was brave and stood my ground. Facing my end with dignity.

I didn't.

I bolted.

Behind me, a chorus of delighted laughs rip through the terrible silence like the baying of hunting hounds. The howl of wolves. Their masculine voices echoing all around me as, for the first time in this LIFE? I run with all I have. There... there is no where to GO. Not really. I have been kept ignorant of most of the temple's layout. Everything beyond it.

I have to try.

Mocking. They give me a heads start. But I hear them now. They have always been near silent when they walk. Can be COMPLETELY silent if they choose. It was a courtesy. Now? It is a taunt. So I know they are coming. Know how close I am to-...!

Desperately, I shed outer layers. The ornate, heavy robes they made me wear? Were lovely. But difficult to move it. Perhaps that was the point. Now? I can not afford it. They clatter and flomp to the ground behind me as I run. Skid around corners. Take two stairs at a time.

Banter behind me. This is taking everything I've got. Ha ha... oh Light! It's barely a work out for them, isn't it? A glorified jog at best. My exits are cut off, again and again. Forcing me to backtrack. My heart pounding, lungs screaming. Nails scrambling at the polished floors as my feet slide out from under me at the sudden shift in direction.

Bruises are building up. Exhaustion setting in. There is... there is no where in this building I can hide, that they do not KNOW.

I've lost track of at least half of them. They could be anywhere. I... I know, KNOW, I am being herded like an animal. Spooked and grabbed at, so I run the way they want me too. I just don't know WHY. I can't think. I have to run. All... all I can do is RU-!

As I pass an archway leading to a garden viewing room, I find out where the others went. Weight SLAMS into me from the side. Strong arms seizing my waist and cradling my neck, to prevent injury as we fall. I am thrown from feet by the tackle, through the archway.

Into a...nest of bedding?

I land hard, cushioning aside, and wheeze out a whine. The wall of iron muscle on top of me, pressing me down, half crushing me. My legs are on fire, my lungs the same. Everything hurts and I am terrified. There is a man's hand on the back of my neck, up high and near cradling my head, and it would take NOTHING for him to snap it. I... I can't... I...

I sob.

Frozen. Exhausted, in pain, and all struggled out. All I can do is cry. It's going it hurt. I.. I don't WANT to get hurt! P-please don't hurt m-me! I clutch at the bedding I'm pinned down too. My face all but crushed up against a familiar not familiar shoulder. I can hear the others strolling closer.

The shift of clothes as they kneel to crawl onto the strange nest they had made.

"Shhhhhh, shh shh shh. It's okay, sweetheart. It's over now. We CAUGHT you~ Our little champion. You're okay. It's okay. We're all here. You're safe now." Whispers the shadow pinning me. All but crooning it in my ear. "We've got you~, we've got you~. They can't hurt you anymore. Gonna show you the WORLD. No more cages. Can finally give you the love you DESERVE."

There are noises of agreement around me. Hands gently stroking my wrist and lower arm. Massaging my aching lower legs almost absent-mindedly. As though any part of me not covered by the man pinning me was fair game. Someplace to gently adore. I don't understand. Can not.

I squirm. Getting huffed laughs and chuckles.

"None of that, dearest. We were patient long enough. Frankly, we wanted to stage the revolt months ago. But, well, that pesky high priest. Never around when you need him to die, mmm?" Barks of laughter as the others crowded closer, got comfortable. My hand was tugged loose from the bedding. Fingers intertwined with my own.

"She's so cute." "Let us love you." "I can't wait to taste you." "Ours now, sweetheart~" "let us take care of you, okay?" "Light that guides, you're so fucking PERFECT..." "We're gonna take care of you, promise."

Muttered voices. Possessive, gentle hands. The shadow on top of me shifts down. And suddenly I could SEE. They stared like I was something to be devoured. The center of the universe. The Light felt triumphant. Held no answers. I didn't know where to look. Too many eyes. Too much touch.

Too much EVERYTHING after so long alone.

A kiss that feels overwhelming. Grins that promised things I didn't know if I can handle. Eyes that promise FOREVER whether I like it or not. Dangerous, dangerous hands that are so very gentle. I shake. I can not stop shaking. Hands from two different men, cup my cheeks, stroke my skin. My hands are held. Their palms are warm.

"Shhhh, your OURS now, little light. We broke our chains and killed our keepers, but YOU? Oh you, little prisoner, tried your best. You couldn't do it, and that's okay, but we SAW. We REMEMBERED. And the shadows?" They whisper, almost reverent. Both precious memory and quiet confession carried in their voice. Then, a terrible, possessive smile. A thing of entirely too many teeth.

"Oh little light, the shadows love you~♡"

[ultimate-marysue]

My personal body headcanons for the Batfam

Bruce: He is a tank made of pure muscle. Like many other users have put forward (recommend especially @frownyalfred posts on the matter), that's not an easy feat to pull off. It is a testament to Bruce's willpower and dedication to Batman that he's even able to maintain it. Also, I think he took really good care of his scars in the beginning so they would be as inconspicuous as possible when sleeping around as Brucie. Once he gets older and leans more into the father persona he stops caring as much for anything that's going to be covered by his suits and shirts.

Barbara: I hated the fact that her disability got completely erased, so that's the first difference. If you want to have her be Batgirl again, you should do what Gotham Knights did and make it so there are lasting effects and limitations. I'm sorry, but it feels so cheap to me that they just erased disability rep cause they didn't know how to write a strong disabled woman. Skill issue. Also Barbara is built like a brick in my heart of hearts, she's a rectangle with the density of a neutron star. I also think she has one of the healthiest and normal diets of the Bats, mainly cause the physical requirements of Oracle aren't nearly as demanding.

Dick Grayson: I'm not going to reinvent the wheel here by saying Dick Grayson has the perfect acrobat's body. My headcanon is that he gets it naturally. Not that he can just do whatever you want, sadly with their line of work you need to meet a series of requirements. I mean it in the sense of 1) proportions 2) really high metabolism from constant exercise since he was a child, probably the fastest tied with Cass 3) he doesn't need to work out as much outside patrol as the rest to keep his body mass. Every single robin after him low-key hates him for creating a fighting style that only he can do effortlessly.

Cassandra Cain: like mother like daughter, my girl is thick. None of that waifish, delicate ballerina shit. She's short and she has muscles most humans haven't heard of. Average goon tries to knock this 5 feet nothing girl only to be met by an unmovable object. Also, probably contender for top most scarred bat of all. She just looks like she could fuck your shit up without breaking a sweat and that's probably because she could. Also I think she has short legs, giving her an even lower center of gravity. She's just a brick wall.

Jason Todd: my man is one of the few bitches in this family with a normal, healthy, percentage of body fat. He's built like a strong man instead of a body builder, and the fact that he can be sneaky with all that mass is terrifying. I think for a minute there he wondered what he was doing wrong and why he didn't look as lean as Bruce. Then he figured what Bruce had to do to keep Batman's body in line and Jason said "fuck that, I'm not doing all that". In his villain self destructive era that waist was snatched, but the second he started taking actual care of his body it did what body's do. Considering how he mixes so many fighting techniques I can see him building his fighting style around his needs instead of the other way around.

Steph: she's the curviest of the Batgirls, which is why she favors so much the "indistinct blob" silhouette. As any woman with a boobs size above an B cup will tell you: people get disgusting really quick. I think part of her struggles with Robin was trying to wrangle her developing body into a fighting style designed for a very naturally lean boy. Balancing is harder when you have a large set of bazonkers, they don't tell you this in the comics but it is the truth. She also lacks the super fast metabolism other Bats have, and I can see her trying really hard to fit in the mold only to realize as she grows older that she can do her own thing.

Tim: I think Tim, growing up as society kid and then forcing himself into the Robin role, never learned what eating healthy is. I headcanon him having some sort of ED (I think he would evolve through a few of them as he grew up), not because I like throwing angst at characters (though I do) but because it makes sense to me giving his background and personality. EDs are not only about "looking thin", but also about feeling in control. Also, Tim hanging onto the Robin title reminds me of child actors trying to force their developing body's to stop at a kid size so they can keep playing their character. I could write a whole post about it, but for what's relevant, the ED headcanon doesn't mean Tim is just super thin. I think his body is fluctuates the most out of any of the Bats, depending on where he's at mentally and age wise.

Duke Thomas: my boy is built for parkour. He's got the longest limbs in the family, he's got the reach. He keeps waiting for puberty to hit him like a train and give him Jason/Bruce levels of muscle mass, but he's just too tall. Like, yes, he can bench press Jason, but proportionally he's so much taller than all of them by then he just looks noodly. When he puts on the body armor though he makes Batman look like a Barbie doll. Anytime he's looming about, Jason accuses him of overcompensating. Duke just pretends to not be able to hear him from up above. Also pls DC give him long hair that floats around him in the same way Batman's cape does?? Pls, just give him magic girl hair that defies gravity.

Damian: I've said this before but this poor child grew up being told he'd one day be as huge as his dad but grows up to be Talia 2.0. I think he does inherit Bruce's height, but is distraught to never be hulking mountain of muscle like OG Batman. Little does he know Bruce isn't naturally that big either, and it's only through frankly unhealthy means he maintained that body. Everyone else agrees to never tell Damian about it so he won't even think to try it, and instead focus on reassuring him he's more than strong enough to inherit the title if that's what's bothering him. It ends up playing in his favor, Cass is proof that you don't need to be huge to instill the fear of God into people. And the way he moves, like a panther stalking his prey, is more than enough to make the rogues quake.

[identityua]

Hello!! I saw your post about baking with certain IDV characters and thought it was so sweet and fell in love with your writing!! Would it be possible to request Norton x a reader (potentially a Ukrainian one…? #self-inserting) who enjoys spoiling him and is generally super sweet and understanding towards him? I hope you have a nice day !!

Aww, thank you so much! Did you see the cute Kharkiv themed banner in my profile😋 Happy to supply my Ukrainian baddies. I hope this is what you wanted! And again, send me more requests and chats y’all… I’m trying to cultivate some discipline here to post more💗

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N. CAMPBELL WITH A UA!S/O

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PAIRINGS: Norton Campbell x GN! Reader

WARNINGS: A bit of period-specific racism (POC Norton), a teeny-tiny bit of swearing, normal IDV lore stuff? Nothing too graphic.

Not proofread!

There is a popular head-canon within the community that Norton is Mexican (or at least of Mexican heritage) which formed due to his limited "Soul Catcher" costume. In the context of this post he will be partially Mexican, since the parallels between two of the cultures are adorable.

At first glace, It may seem that your lover is apathetic towards your origins. Don't get me wrong, he certainly noticed the hint of a distinct accent in your speech upon first meeting; Norton just paid it no mind. His speech pattern is shaped by working in the mines,therefore, how anyone speaks is none of his goddamn business. Unless It's in an aristocratic manner. That’s when he has a problem and starts shooting nasty looks.

In fact, his apparent lack of interest is due to a disconnect from his own roots. Norton was raised in the 1900s period England, which was not the warmest to immigrants and especially not people of color. Esteem issues lead to a negative perception of reality, combine that with societal stigma and the outcome is assimilation. He doesn't know his culture!

It is up to you to explain to this man with the emotional intelligence of a wine cork why you being Ukrainian matters to you so much. He might be skeptical at first because… let's face it – Norton's life goals are very primitive and materialistic. Get rich, live a lavish lifestyle, eat well. It's hard for him to relate to "national identity" since he has none.

Over the course of your relationship he’ll subconsciously begin picking up on some of your lingo without noticing. One day you may blurt out a "клята сковорідка!" in the middle of cooking and he will be quick to reprimand you for foul language. His treasure cannot swear. Cue the two of you staring at each other in surprise. Guess he does care enough to listen!

Gradually, his indifference transforms into curiosity and even a source of comfort, though he wouldn't admit to that. Nope, vulnerability is terrifying to Norton. Though, in the rare moments you get a glimpse of his sweat-streaked forehead from yet another nightmare, soothing lullabies in Ukrainian seem to help. So much so, he starts sending non-verbal signs that you should always sing him to sleep. Laying his head on your chest while you hum melodic words unknown to him, your fingers affectionately running through his damp hair. He truly feels safe. Get to it lover, you've got a lot of traumatic incidents to repel.

At some point you may decide to introduce your partner to the wonderful вишиванка. He is not exactly ecstatic. See, on you – his treasure – the cross-hatched flower patterns look stunning. Meanwhile, he insists only dark and gloomy(read as manly) colors suit him. Remember, Norton cares a lot about his reputation and tough persona. Be smarter, show him some pictures of Богдан Хмельницький in similar attire – that ought to do the trick.

Previously, I mentioned that one of his goals in life is to be food secure. Your partner’s heart is in his stomach without a doubt. Offer Norton a steaming plate of борщ and I’m afraid he might propose right there and then. Probably not, but despite his overwhelming trust issues – he might start to imagine what a domestic life would look like with you by his side. That is a tremendous leap into the unknown for your lover and yet… he doesn’t seem to mind as long as you keep feeding him this “beet soup”.

Your positive attitude towards your upbringing will leech onto him in the form of contemplation. A worm of doubt wiggling It’s way into his brain about Norton’s connection to a far-away land he faintly remembers. Can he still learn about this part of himself? Is it just wishful thinking? Your partner will be too conflicted to make a step in the right direction. You might have to push him towards self-discovery.

Most likely, Campbell’s knowledge of Spanish is minimal. He rarely spent time at home other than resting or eating, so he wouldn’t have the chance to converse in the language. He also… doesn’t know how to read. What’s the use of literacy to a prospector? Take it into your hands to find a Spanish textbook and teach him the contents. Despite the protests and scoffs, it will touch Norton to his core. For his treasure to care so deeply, you must truly love him, don’t you?

Once Norton is convinced you are not going to leave him (why would you?), he will step-by-step embrace his fear of vulnerability. With a nostalgic frown your lover will admit to one of the only bright memories from his childhood. The recollection is jumbled and filled with holes, yet he can never forget the bright candle lights of “Día De Los Muertos”. Like a thousand stars, he confesses, leading the spirits of the dead to their loved ones. That was the only time in his life he remembers being genuinely happy.

You would be a fool not to mark the date on your calendar and prepare for celebration. Organize it all! The feast, the marigolds, the candles. It might take lots of research into proper traditions(and late night studies at the library). However, your efforts will pay off in the most satisfying sight. A baffled expression that slowly morphs into a teasing smile. “All that, f’ me?” he would snicker, ruffling your hair. Norton tries to act smug but you can see the shimmer of tears in his eyes. Who needs so many candle lights when you are the brightest light in his existence?

Just don’t expect him to be as reciprocative with the day of Івана Купала. He’s not jumping over a massive bonfire.

[yandere--stuck]

Safety Hazard - Yandere!TFP!Ratchet x Human!Reader

You can't move. Can't speak. Can't even turn your head as you stare straight above you. You're too tired, but can't seem to fall asleep, either. A permanent state of disorientation and exhaustion as you try to make sense of the blue lights shining above you.

You flinch when something cold and metal makes contact with your face, body breaking into shivers as goosebumps pimple up over your skin.

"You are so cute, human…" Ratchet sighs, voice near a purr rumbling throughout his body, even to the singular digit that softly traced your face.

He knows he should use your name, but something about addressing you as 'human' makes something in his spark fizzle and burn. His little human. Almost like a toy, with how you lay so still and pliant on his medical berth.

All his.

The human body is so interesting. What Ratchet finds most fascinating is how susceptible your species is to chemical mixtures. Muscle relaxants and sleeping medicines slipped into a drink or meal before the team is supposed to head out for the day…

Now, he finally has one-on-one time with you. He didn't have the courage to confess to you, yet. And he's even more embarrassed to confess to his friends that he had feelings for you. For a human.

So, really, this is just practice! Practice for when it was finally the right time to confess to you. And when if you rejected him, he would have these memories to sustain him. Or, at least, he hoped they would. He'd done this plenty of times now, after all. Another great weakness of the human mind was that it lacked reliability when it came to accuracy and storage of memory, unlike a Cybertronian's.

A dark pulse of shame at the thought echoes throughout Ratchet's frame. In fact, maybe… Maybe this should be the last time.

"I love you so much," Ratchet confesses softly, as if that makes up for it. Gently, he moves his digit to settle against one of your pliant hands. Reflexively, your fingers flex. A shudder quakes you. The closest thing he can get to holding hands with you.

Part of him holds back because he knows there's so little he can do with you. But, an old bot like him can dream, can't he? Can dream of being young again. Before the war. When he was young, full of life and full of love.

And as much as he knows it will probably never work and that he should stop, he can't help himself. Ratchet wants more of you.

He vents shakily, looking over you as you rest on the berth. Slowly, he lifts himself onto the berth, crawling onto his stabilizers. He towers over you. And it both terrifies and electrifies him. Just being like this, close to you, you in his care, it's the most alive he's felt in years.

He's careful, though. Always, always careful. Careful never to hurt you. Careful to give the correct doses. Careful not to let you on to how he feels. Always so careful. So, so careful, it's exhausting.

Just once. He just wants to take one risk, and it'll be enough to last him an eternity. Ratchet puts all his weight on one servo as he used his other to slowly, carefully, cup your head. Just one, and it'll be enough.

"My human, if you love me back," Ratchet leans forward, daring to close his eyes. "Kiss me."

He lifted you up, nearly locking up as he felt the warmth of your lips on his dermas. You're perfect. So, so perfect. And so warm. So human.

Slowly, his servo roamed down your back, lifting you up closer to him, burying his face against your body as he peppered your face with kisses, sighing happily as he fully descended into the fantasy of you wanting him back, of loving him in return, of you being in control of his actions and not just forgetting this whole thing the moment you reawaken.

He hums as the shivers slowly melt away and you're once again pliant from the warmth of his heating helm and servos. He nearly becomes lost in pressing up against you. Trying to get closer. Closer. As close as a human and Cybetronian can get and maybe closer. Like he wants to hide you inside, keep you close to his spark.

Ratchet remembers himself, shaking the sparkstruck feeling off as he lays you back down against the berth, the mech being extra careful as he clambers down. Thank goodness no one was there to see that, how wreckless of him! No one should climb on a medical berth like that. You both could have gotten hurt…

As he watches you drift off to recharge- 'sleep', Ratchet finds himself lost in fantasies of doing this with you again very soon.

[wizardofahz]

Sisters in Training

Fandom: Leverage: Redemption Compilation: Moments in the Life of Leverage Fam A/N: Even when on opposite sides, Parker and Astrid think quite similarly. So I figured, what happens when they're on the same side? Let's have some fun.

"Good morning," Sophie says breezily as she saunters into Leverage Headquarters. But apparently it's not a good morning for everyone because she's immediately confronted by an exasperated Eliot.

"You gotta stop 'em, Sophie," he says, making his typical annoyed Eliot gestures: hands in a tight fist with only his index finger straight out, bouncing in short, emphatic movements. Flecks of whip cream fly off with each bounce. "You gotta keep 'em under control."

"Who?" Sophie asks, stepping back to avoid any projectiles.

"Parker and Astrid." He points more directly to his workout area, and Sophie gets her explanation. "There's whip cream in my punching bag. Inside my punching bag. And on the mats."

"And where are they now?" Sophie asks, turning to surveil the rest of the downstairs area. It looks largely intact. Astrid hadn't come home last night, but Sophie assumed her workaholic step-daughter was working late.

"I was going to track them," Breanna says. She's sitting on one of the stools in front of the stage with her laptop. She's also strangely still. "But my fingers are numb. The rest of me might be going numb too. I think they laced my laptop with Parker's special training powder."

"What does everyone know about gas leaks?" Harry asks as he enters. "My place smelled a little funny this morning. I want to know if I should be worried."

"Well, everyone's had an eventful morning," Sophie says. She'd feel left out, but her morning had been blissfully peaceful.

It turns out Parker and Astrid don't need tracking because they return then, rowdy and drunk on excitement and lack of sleep. There's whip cream in Astrid's hair and along Parker's collar.

"Good morning," Sophie says with a smile. "Been having fun?"

"We've been training," Parker says.

"We didn't do anything illegal," Astrid tries to clarify. "Mostly. I tried to keep everything legal."

"After Sophie's abduction, I wanted to make sure everyone's on the top of their game," Parker says. "So far, not so good."

"And it was good training for me," Astrid says. "I've always wanted to know how the mind of a criminal works."

Parker gasps. "After everything we did, you're going to use your new knowledge to stop criminals? And I thought you were having fun."

Astrid's eyes narrow. "If it weren't for me stopping you, a criminal, all of Mr. Wilson's windows would have exploded."

"Not all of them!" Parker counters. "And you don't know. They still might."

"What?" Harry asks alarmed, looking back and forth between the two of them.

"The security at your place is very poor," Astrid says with disapproval as if that's the thing Harry is worried about.

"It really is," Parker agrees. "I have snuck in so many times, and you've never noticed."

"We were using it as a training exercise," Astrid explains.

"I try to break in."

"I try to stop her."

"Girls," Sophie interrupts. "No one is committing or stopping anymore crimes until all of this is cleaned up."

Parker's head drops back as she sighs. "This is all your fault," she says.

"My fault?" Astrid asks, incredulous. "You're the one who--" Parker pulls out a can of whip cream and sprays her in the face. Astrid yelps. "Where were you even keeping that?"

Astrid grabs a handful of whip cream from her face and flings it at Parker. Before Parker can escalate, Eliot steps in, grabbing the can out of her hand.

"No more whip cream," Eliot orders. "Only cleaning."

Parker and Astrid exchange glances. Then, both of them tackle Eliot onto the mats.

Tara had said these two bonding was terrifying. She might just be right.

And Sophie finds that absolutely delightful.

[481mclarg]

Scared to love you | AL65

★ I've never been good at telling people how I feel, but you make me want to try.

STLY      •       FANFIC + SMAU.

          • Arthur Leclerc x Male!Oc Driver

Warnings: —

★          introduction. | one. | two. | three. | four. | five. | six. | seven. | eight. | nine. | ten. | eleven. | twelve. | thirteen. |fourteen. | fifteen. | sixteen. |

matteolombardi

♡ Liked by dennishauger, officialmpmotorsports, olliebearman, dinobeganovic and others...

matteolombardi: focused.

          The ceiling of his apartment had become the most interesting thing in the world to him. He rotated and alternated locations, sometimes seeing it from his bed, from the couch, or lying on the living room carpet.

          Giancarlo was still upset, surely. He imagined it, although they had not talked much. Just showing up to ask him if he was going to the gym or going to practice on the simulator. He hadn't liked not being aware of his trip at all. More upset about that than about having traveled itself.

          He felt stupid for believing that Girotti would forbid him from leaving his house, even more so when he had to look in the face of a man disappointed by his lack of communication and trust. Giancarlo had given so much for him, and he wasn't able to tell him about his plans? He felt terrible.

          He would like to say that guilt was the only thought on his mind during the long hours he spent staring at the ceiling, but no.

          He was stuck in anxiety, in fear of what happened. What is going to happen? What would happen to them? With their friendship? Whatever they started with that first night?

          He occupied his time cleaning, pretending that this way he had no time to think although every minute his mind continued working; or, on the contrary, using cleaning as an excuse to have time to think. Even if it was two, three, or four in the morning, he was still there, firm, cleaning, tidying, and rearranging the small apartment.

          The worst thing is that it still didn't clarify anything.

          What had happened in Barcelona? Yes, he knows what happened, remembers everything, and is able to mention every detail. But why? Did he like it? Did Arthur like what happened? Why didn't Arthur text him then? Is he waiting for him? He hate it? Does he want to talk to Arthur? What is he supposed to tell him?

          He hates to admit it, and he doesn't even think he can say it out loud, but he's afraid. He doesn't want to lose Arthur, not after everything it took for him to accept that he was his first friend.

          He is terrified of feeling, because he knows he cannot control it, and that he may be criticized anyway. If he lost sponsors? If it cost he his seat in Formula 2? If he lost his place in the academy? If negotiations for Formula 1 fell apart?

          Being so close, being able to lose everything for something that he didn't even control.

          If he could control it, would he avoid having any kind of feelings for Arthur? He felt bad just questioning it. He felt worse knowing the answer.

          He could never put a personal relationship above his career, he should not, and they wouldn't let him. He had dedicated his life to racing; He could live alone, not without racing. It was his job, after all, for which he had prepared his entire life, which is why he continued going to gyms and the simulator daily. His dream since childhood. He had already achieved a lot, and he couldn't stay halfway.

[📲 ] Incoming call...

🔊          «Ready for Yas marina?»

          —There's still time... —he murmured in a yawn. —, but yeah. I've been improving my times in the simulator. Just have to wait. —the man nodded from the other end of the line.

🔊           .                              .                            .

          «Why won't you stop yawning, Matteo? You sleep last night?»

          —Yeah... a little... —He stood up, going to make some coffee, hoping to eliminate the tiredness.

🔊           .                             .                              .

          «There is something you need to tell me?»

          —No- I don't think so. Why? —

          «Pupo, I'm being serious. Nothing I'll find on the Internet?»

          —Uh... No, nothing more. —we were careful that there was nothing more.

🔊          .                             .                              .

          «Don't forget that the flight leaves early, be careful with the schedules»

          —I know. I'll be fine. —

          «I expect nothing less from you»

🔊          .                              .                             .

          «Matteo»

          —Sorry. —

          «What's done is done. There's no point in apologizing» The younger nodded. «Don't disappoint me. There is a lot at stake this weekend»

          —...Have I ever disappointed you? —He dared to ask, afraid to hear the answer.

          «Go to sleep. First thing on Wednesday, don't forget»

          —Yeah-... —

[ 📲 ] Call ended.

          His feelings couldn't ruin his effort, his career, the trust he had built with Giancarlo. Arthur would understand, wouldn't he? Neither of them wanted to ruin their lives so soon, right? They must have both been thinking the same thing. It was a stupid mistake, and they still had time to fix it. They could still forget it; get over it, pretend like nothing had happened.

          Giancarlo didn't have to know that this had happened, he didn't have to know anything about it. Nobody had to.

          «No one will know» he thought. He wouldn't talk, and he trusted that Arthur would understand why he couldn't either. Together-

          Together...

          With each other's help, the secret would be kept secret, and neither of their careers would be tarnished. Neither of them would have any problems, awkward conversations, or inappropriate questions, and hopefully, both of them could fulfill their dream of making it to Formula 1.

          Arthur had to understand, and he seemed to when Matteo made his point and asked him to leave everything "in the past", which was the weekend in Barcelona. He nodded as if he understood, but the sadness in his eyes did not disappear from the Italian's mind.

          Why did he feel... bad? Guilty? What was he doing wrong? Did he not understand, or did he not want to understand? He didn't want to think. He was tired of thinking; they still had a qualifying to focus on.

          «The qualy» was on his mind every second; he really struggled to stay focused. He just couldn’t. It was impossible to forget those sad eyes and the pang he felt in his heart because of them.

          Why did everything have to be so complicated? Maybe if he had listened to Giancarlo's advice and stayed away from others, none of this would have happened.

          —Tteo, are you okay? —Blinking felt like opening his eyes, returning to reality, returning to Yas Marina.

          At his side, Dennis no longer seemed to expect an answer from him, he simply looked worried about him. Did he look that bad? Was it that obvious?

          —Sorry. I couldn't sleep well lately. No big deal. —he excused himself.

          —Yeah, the schedules are a pain. —He decided to believe him. Without pressure, without the need to insist until he wants to talk to him, Lombardi liked that about him; Dennis would continue the conversation, even if he didn't truly believe him, simply giving him his space and letting him talk when he felt it necessary.

          That the necessary moment never came was another matter, entirely his fault, but Dennis would not complain.

          —Never forget that I'm here, Tteo. —He patted his shoulder. —For whatever. —

          —Yes, thanks... —He saw him walk away to return to his half of the garage, talking to the mechanics. He also saw a Formula 3 driver pass through the garage. The rumors that he would take his place next year were practically a fact at that point. Everything now depended on Giancarlo and Formula 1's desperation for new faces in their paddock.

481MCLARG | 23 . 01 . 2025 | CORREGIDO

[sweetbunpura]

Talking with you has made me start to reread Symbiotic Relationship and I changed my mind!

I totally adore the Floyd/Yuu/Jade ship dynamic and I hope that’s where you go if you do end up writing a sequel!

(if you don’t choose to go that way that’s also totally fine too - again I’m not trying to pressure you. I never know when I’m coming off as trying to pressure someone so I promise I’m not trying to do that??? Basically just take this as me being really excited for a ship but if I get platonic I’ll still be really excited because you still chose to write a sequel and if you don’t write a sequel I’d still love your writing anyway so like… there really is not bad option here????)

Like it’s all the little momentsssssssss

SPOILERS FOR THE SYMBIOTIC RELATIONSHIP FIC!

Jade recognizing Yuu’s scent because Floyd smells like her because they spend so much time together

Yuu trusting Jade and Floyd implicitly- enough to relax and sleep around them when she is injured and drugged

Floyd being enraged someone hurt his Shrimpy but still holding her gently so as to not aggravate her injuries to let her know he’s there

Jade appreciating her not just for her friendship with Floyd, but also because of how she has never acted like she was afraid of him and treats him like a friend

How protective both the tweels are of her

Yuu being a “cleaner shrimp” and trying to fix Floyd’s bed head

The tweels immediately going to her whenever they are able to, even leaving Azul to be by her side

Yuu wearing Floyd’s clothes casually

Yuu not just putting up with, but enjoying and joining in on, Floyd’s antics

The tweels finding Yuu being a competent, capable, and powerful fighter that can and has taken both of them down badass and they support her 100%

Yuu trusting them enough to swim with them in their natural forms and even finding their mer forms beautiful - blatantly complimenting them outright when prompted

Also finding the two dangerous predators in their natural mer forms cute

Yuu engaging in Jade’s mushroom hobby

Yuu being observant and caring about the tweels when something seems off

Yuu being demanding, further showcasing her lack of fear around the twins that most of NRC are so terrified of, and more than that demanding that Jade cuddle her and finding comfort in his presence

END OF SPOILERS!

Aaaaand I haven’t reread chapter 5 and beyond yet so I will stop there but 🥺🥺🥺

These idiots. 🥺 I love them. 🥺 Now I really want a sequel. 🥺 I clowned myself by rereading. 🥺

Your writing is so good it’s too good this should be illegal I’m suing you’re being sued I’m calling a lawyer! 😭

Thank you!

I really did wanna showcase how Yuu sees two of the most terrifying guys in the school. She's very calm around Floyd and joins his antics, which in case, makes her calm around Jade. Yuu loves nature, her favorite being waterfall and bodies of water, but she does find mushrooms interesting. Some are just downright pretty, like have you seen the ink cap?

It looks cool~

Yuu's friendship with the twins is something they both treasure because, outside of Azul, she's the first friend they've both made whose not afraid. With Floyd, Yuu never compares him to Jade and with Jade, Yuu doesn't see him as creepy and finds his hobby interesting. She also really loves their mer forms, they're long noodles who are cute and dangerous.

Yuu ultimately does trust them enough to literally pass out when in their presence and known she'll be protected with them no matter what. She has two scary guard eels that she supplies with love and hugs.

[skylarsblue]

⛤Bo Sinclair ~ Fluff Alphabet⛤

Content: Gender Neutral Reader, the occasional mention of past abuse, mentions of his temper. Note: This is very old, in fact, I forgot it existed. But I re-read it, and it still held up well enough for me. Given my silence as of recent, I figured I should post...something. Divider By @v6que

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?) Bo’s a bit superficial, admittedly. It’s not something he can really deny, nor does he try to. He’ll readily admit to a few past flings that were insufferable, but pretty. It’s not hard for him to be lured in by plush curves and some simple sweet talking. Deep down, he’s a lonely man with a hard time finding connection. I will say he’s a bit of a chubby chaser, for one. It’s not required but he certainly likes his plushness. In general though, though he’s got vanity, he’s not picky. Pretty is pretty, there are many kinds. Be it a nice ass, a doe eyed gaze, or an alluring voice. 

What’s harder to understand is what he looks for in personality. Again, he won’t be actively looking for a deep, intimate connection on an emotional level. It sort’ve just…happens. He’s not sure how and he probably tries to resist it. But this is where it stops being about what he wants and more so what he needs. He needs someone with a lot of patience, some sternness, and the ability to read between lines. He’s not good at expressing how he really feels, sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling, so he doesn’t know what he should do about his emotions. That’s where you need to be able to notice and take action for him, even if he bitches about it.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?) Bit of a 50/50 here. He’s never thought too hard about it, because he didn’t see a need to. He never planned on getting tied down in any form, and he definitely doesn’t see himself as the fathering type. But, while he’s unaware of it, he has a soft spot for kids somewhere in that hardened shell. Bo just doesn’t know it’s there. Be it of his own blood or a bundle of joy left on his doorstep in a woven basket. At first, he’s terrified. He leaves, he isolates, he panics. But it doesn’t take much more than an innocent giggle and a wide eyed gawk to get him softening. Somewhere in his ribs there’s a child aching for the care he and his brothers never got. He can’t get a do over, but he can prevent it from happening again. He raised his brothers, he loves them beyond words. Being in charge of a baby was basically what he was when Lester was born. Even if it scares him to death, he could be convinced. 

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?) Bo will swear up and down he’s no cuddler, and he’s an absolute fucking liar. It’s just hard for him to find a cuddling position that doesn’t feel too restrictive, which is why he thinks he’s not into it. But he’s starved for gentle contact, and he enjoys the rare feeling of safe peace. During the day, you’re only likely to get subtler stuff. Getting to sit across his lap, letting you mess with his hands, hug his arm, etc. 

But at night, no matter how far away on the bed he starts, he ends up in your vicinity. One of his favorite positions, aside from classing spooning, is when he gets to lay on top of you. Between your legs with his head on your sternum, listening to your heart. It’s one of the few times he lets himself stop being on edge, to fully relax. Bonus if you run your nails along his back and shoulders. Hum a lullaby if you feel like it. Best sleep he’ll ever get.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?) He doesn’t really take you on dates. Not that he doesn’t like them or anything, he just doesn’t often have the time or energy to take you places. Especially if it’s early on. He’s got trust issues, for the first few years he’s worried you’ll run. But that doesn’t mean it never happens, unlike the case with most slashers, he has the means, money, and the lack of a wanted poster on a bulletin somewhere.

He probably won’t go for anything fancy, it’s not his style and it makes him uncomfortable. He’s a vain humble man, an oxymoron. The town outside of Ambrose has its local diner, its little shops, a bar. These are the typical places he’ll take you. If it’s an anniversary and you show you want something more conventionally romantic, he’ll take you to Baton Rouge or a picnic, depends on your preference.

E = Everything (You are my___ (e.g. my life, my world)

   “My do-over.”

It sounds insulting at first, but that’s not how he means it. Bo has been in a routine his entire life, and every stage, every routine, has always been with big negatives. As a child; he’d act out because of the treatment his parents gave, they’d “discipline” him, he’d do it over again. As a teen; he’d get into trouble, weasel his way out of it, do it over again. 

But what he’s never gotten is an actual restart on life. He’s never gotten to, in his soul, start over. He’s always been carrying all his bad decisions and pain with him. So, when you show up, and give him a break in the pattern, it gives him the ability to get a do-over. Nothing will change on the outside, not immediately anyway. However, on the inside, he feels different. You make him feel like a different man even if his behavior hasn’t changed. 

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?) It’s hard to say. He knows his attraction to you is deeper than normal, but the concept of love scares him. It’s a bit too new, a bit too vulnerable. Still, he can’t help but enjoy it. It’s slow to set in, slow to be put in place. He’ll rarely, rarely, say it, and when it finally hits him that his feelings for you aren’t going away, it scares him away. But he comes back. It’ll at least take two years to properly be set, but you’ll see the signs near the end of year one. If you’re observant, that is.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?) Bo is all sharp metal and stinging cuts. He’s never been treated gently and his hands show it, both in scars and in his grip. It’s not that he really means to be rough with you, not in a way that’s unenjoyable anyway. You’re obviously in a very different situation than anyone else, so while he knows how much pressure to apply to your throat, or the crease of where your thigh meets your hip, his gentleness is unpracticed. It’s shaky and uncertain. His gentleness comes from inside, allowing you to see him more as himself than the mask he puts on for strangers, or the hardass he pretends to be for the sake of his emotional safety.

It’s in long glances with admiration behind the pupils. In the slope of his shoulders as they come at ease beside you. The hand he rests possessively on your lower back when you’re in the kitchen. It’s in the moments you catch him at his weakest and he doesn’t run away, but to you instead.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?) Bo’s not much of the hand holding type. He prefers his hand in your back pocket, around your waist, or you hugging his arm. Still though, every now and then it’s that little bit of contact he needs, without being too much. Usually when driving. He’ll lock your fingers together, feel the skin of your palm press against his. Especially if your hands run cold, he’ll always make a comment about it, blow hot air on the back of it in order to warm your hand up.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?) The same as everyone else, really. Likely finding you attractive, another pretty face he’ll have to shoot at. His opinion only changes when he sees how you behave, how the others around you treat you, how you treat him as a stranger. It’ll start to shift. He’s met nice people before, even let a few go because of their situation. Like a single mother looking for gas or a young teen boy on the run from his parents. 

He could justify why he’d let you live, what he doesn’t understand is why he can’t let you go either. Not just because you could tell the cops. But something deeper in him aches at the thought, that long loneliness that he’s been denying for so long.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?) He absolutely is a jealous man. As confident as he can be, he hates gawking eyes running over you. He’s possessive, and while you’re not an object, he does feel like he owns you in a certain way. You can have your free will, but he’s stamped his name on your heart, and he intends to put his initials everywhere he can reach. He won’t show it all the time, it’ll start subtly. Cracking his jaw, a glare, a little less southern kindness in his act. 

God forbid someone come onto you though. It’s not jealousy then, he’s enraged at the audacity. He’s a murderer, one with little to no morals and a severe lack of empathy. But he draws the line at you. Doesn’t matter if he’d a hypocrite, if he had behaved in a similar flirtatious way with taken individuals before you. With you, no one gets any leeway. 

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?) 50/50 based on time, but most likely him. If your timeline includes heavy resistance on your part, he’ll initiate it. It won’t be sweet, it’ll be a move for power, even if he’s gentle. If your timeline includes you being more willing, and open, then it’ll likely be you. This way, you can make it sweet. Convey the kindness you have to him again in unspoken words, allow him to melt against you for once. It’ll be the only kiss he actually remembers. 

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?) Definitely you, and he won’t believe you at first. No matter when you first say it, or how, he’s taken aback. He thinks you’re exaggerating or you’re outright lying. Aside from brotherly love, no one has ever loved him. Not earnestly, not honestly. They may love what he can do, what he can provide, his face. But he knows at the core of his soul, he’s rotten and covered in razor wire. He understands no one wants to hold something that hurts them. But yet here you are, cradling his heart covered in razor blades, letting your blood fall down the arms he leaves kisses on in the dark, when he thinks you’re asleep. 

He’ll say it back after you’ve shown him you mean it. You haven’t walked away, you haven’t hated him, you haven’t dumbed him down to the untalented version of his twin. You’ve stayed, and you’ve cared. He says it softly, almost uncertain if the words can leave his throat. But he means it. 

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?) Coming home to you after a long day and seeing you seem like you’re enjoying yourself. Like you’ve settled into the home, like you’re no longer a prisoner and instead a member of the family. Lester & Vincent were in the same room, chatting, though Vincent silently, and laughing with you. At ease around you like he was, you at ease with them in return. With a warm meal on the stove and a pleasantness in the air. He can see you at your brightest. He swears that day you made the world slow when you looked at him, smiling, beckoning him in on the conversation.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?) Usually he does so on dates. Though dates are sparse, you never come home without him spending at least 200$, half of which went to you specifically. Does he bring you a gift home every day? No. But he knows when you deserve a spoiling, and he follows through consistently. He also struggles saying no to things you want, within reason. Suddenly, 200$ seems like a small price in comparison to your joy. Don’t think you get away without a little comment though.

“You’re a real spoiled brat, ya know that? Better thank me, at least”

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?) Bo’s not one for caring about colors. He knows his favorites are black and denim blue, but that’s about it. Still, the colors that seem to invoke emotion in him, that bring you up in his mind? The colors of the sunset. Pinks blending into purples, and eventually a deep blue. It brings him a sense of peace, and it reminds him that it's the end of the day, so he can come home to you. Listen to you rattle off about something, or sit in silence with the aura you bring into the room. Especially when the dipping sun hits your face just right. Every time it happens, it makes his breath catch in his lungs. And every time he wonders how someone so awful as him got someone so celestial as you.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?) He’s a Southern man, he’s got a surplus to pull from. A classic “sweetheart”, “hun”, and “baby” are frequent. Sometimes he throws in a “sweet thing”, or thang, if we include the accent. Darling missing the ‘G’ and sugar make an appearance now and then. But he’s also likely to give you at least one fond nickname based on something you two have discussed. 

“Anyone ever tell ya you look like a lil rabbit? Cute lil’ bunny, eh? Oh don’t get shy on me now, you had all that talk a second ago!”

As for ones he enjoys, he prefers them simple, nothing that’s over the top. “Love” & “babe” work best most of the time, but he’s got a soft spot for being called “sugar”. One that he pretends to hate but he adores? “Lover boy.” Call him that, trust me.

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?) Bo isn’t really for new things anyway, aside from maybe TVs. Even his cars he prefers are old. He’s a pretty firm believer in the “quality back then was better” idea. Still, his heart always goes back to old cars, trucks specifically. He’s a simple man, he wants a simple truck that’ll do its job and last him years. He’ll never understand the hype behind sleek sports cars and shiny leather interiors. 

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?) Rain doesn’t do much for him. Unless it’s a heavy storm, he’s gonna do what he needs to do, albeit in a slightly calmer mood. He finds rain calming, even if he’s not super fond of the mess of mud Jonesy tracks in the house. Storms however, especially heavy ones, worry him. It's not that he’s afraid of lightning, and they’re far enough from the water to not have much worry of any flooding. It’s because Lester hates thunder. On these days, he tries to make an excuse to go see his baby brother. When you catch on, don’t comment, but encourage. Lester always appreciates it and it helps you see Bo’s softer side to being a big brother.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?) Bo’s self destructive, we know this. He doesn’t cope well and he doesn’t like people giving him advice on how to handle his emotions, even if he needs it desperately. On a rough day, he smokes more, he might crack open a beer, but worst of all? He hides, metaphorically. He gets loud, he snaps, he hurts the feelings of people around him because he’s upset. And apologizing isn’t his forte. The longer he’s with you, the calmer he gets, and the more likely he is to direct his anger out, but not at you and his brothers. Coax him into a rant, while he goes on about his gripes, do small things to make him comfortable. Slip a drink in his hand, sneakily place an ice pack on his sore bruises, gently play with the hair near the nape of his neck. By the end of it all, he’ll be tuckered out. Ready for a little couch nap and maybe some lovin’, if you’re alright with him laying on your lap, that is.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?) Bo’s actually the quiet type. Unless he’s angry, he doesn’t say much unprompted. He can carry a conversation though, and he has his subjects that he’ll gush about, you just have to bring it out of him. Aside from rants on cars and some random history facts from his phase as a teenager, he likes to talk about what you bring up. If you’re the talkative type, he enjoys the long conversations with all the topics you seem to pull from thin air. Lighthearted debates and such. But if you’re also the quiet type, he’s more than happy with silent company. He doesn’t need words to be entertained.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?) His hobby of fixing up cars, a cigarette, the occasional beer at dinner time. Laying on you at bed time seems to work really well, he goes as limp as a corpse, almost like his limbs are weighted by how relaxed he gets. Petting Jonesy helps, but he only does that if no one’s looking. He had other things that worked, up until someone ruined it for him.

Piano, poetry, and photography were all things he used when he was younger to ease himself. Each time though, criticism and comparison to Vincent killed his passion for it. He could pick these things up again though, should he have someone the encourage him

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?) He’s cocky, let’s be honest. He likes to show off his looks, since it's one of the few things he’s always had over his brothers, according to others. He doesn’t flaunt things like his truck or the rings he wears, although he takes pride in his appearance. Best bet he’s proud of having you beside him though. He brags a lot. To the point that the people at the bar he visits are sick of you before they even meet you. “I dunno why the bartender don’t like ya, hun. Just don’t worry bout it, she just don’t know you like I do.”

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?) He takes you out to a picnic on the back of his truck, sent a rare prayer to the lord that the weather will match his plan. You’ll probably notice how stiff he is, the tenseness in his muscles is impressive. He’ll drive you two out to a little pasture out of Ambrose, a patch of land surrounded by trees, likely near a large pond or lake. He made sure to do it in Spring, having convinced himself that doing it on the same day he got that first dream would give him better luck. 

He sits with you and slowly relaxes as you coax him out of his shell once more. Like you did all those years ago. Showing what all that barbed wire around his insides is hiding. He’ll get to reminiscing, ensuring to make you laugh. When he stops talking, it worries you. He’s just as worried. He had a speech rehearsed, he forgets it all the second his fingers touch the velvet box in his pocket. Still, Bo will manage to stutter out some paraphrased lines, keeping his gaze down. His confidence is gone, and he feels like he’s five again, begging for the approval he feels he doesn’t deserve.

But then you say yes, you say it with enthusiasm and raw emotion. Suddenly the world has air again and he can bring himself to smile, allowing you a glimpse at his soul when he gets the ring on your hand. The ceremony won’t be anything but a church service in the next town over, in his tux, you in whatever you chose. Only his brothers and Jonesy will be there, but it doesn’t matter to him. As sappy as he feels, it doesn’t feel like a bad thing.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?) ⛤Middle Finger - Bohnes ⛤Cowboy Casanova - Carrie Underwood ⛤Wrecking Ball - Mother Mother

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?) Bo has never seen himself as the type to get married. He’s never considered it really, not until you come along. For a long time, he still doesn’t think about it, until a dream hits him out of nowhere in the Spring and it tips the first domino. Whether his brain put you in a tux or white lace, it doesn’t matter, his heart palpitates all the same. It scares him. So, while the thought is now there, it still takes years for him to actually consider doing it. When he sucks it up and buys a ring, it takes him another five months to actually plan and go through with it.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?) He’s not much of an animal person. Jonesy was found by Lester, and Vincent was the one that convinced Bo to let her stay. He still swears he doesn’t like the dog, but he’s brutally beaten a man to death with his bare hands for kicking her. Simply put, if he had to pick, he’d be a dog person. Pitbulls specifically.

[hymnserendipity]

Bakugo comforting your trauma

Mention of Blood, no gender mentioned, mention of death, mention of scratches.

Disclaimer: For all those people who have never experienced trauma so profound that it leaves you holding your breath and having nightmares for weeks, I hope you enjoy this story. For those who have, for various reasons, had to deal with situations that have traumatized you, well... I wrote this for us. because sometimes we would like someone to block those thoughts and take care of us.

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Since you had been moved to the dorms Bakugo, who you talked to often and despite his tendency to be standoffish, had started talking to you more until you had almost become friends. Lately he had been aware of hearing someone coming down the stairs of the dormitories and one night he had followed you.

"Go to sleep." He smacked your head lightly.

"I rather be here and hear the wind outside"

"I swear you stay up too damn late." Katsuki grumbles as he sat down on the couch next to you.

"You always do that. You should be in your dorm resting, especially for training tomorrow." You sigh, leaning on the couch and looking outside the window "You are one stubborn idiot..."

Katsuki mumbles as he takes another step toward you and sit down. He leaned back on the couch next to you. "I swear you are going to die from lack of sleep one day because you keep staying up late, idiot..." He grumbles as he stares at you. "I take some naps during the day."

"Yeah but that's not enough. Those naps only help a little bit, you should know that by now dumbass."

"The thruth is that I have insonnia, i don't usually sleep"

"Tsk." Katsuki had noticed this before. He knew you had some trouble sleeping but he didn't think it was that bad.

"Damn it, you shouldn't stay up so late then idiot."

"Even if i go to bed i... just stare at the ceiling till the sun rise, so i prefer to be here. You should go to sleep tho."

"I'm not leaving you alone here." This makes you smile a bit.

Katsuki stated bluntly as he stayed on the couch next to you. "Hum? Why" you ask.

"If you're going to be stupid and stay up late like this, then I'm not leaving you alone, idiot." He replies with a huff. It sounded like he was annoyed and angry, but deep down he was a little worried about you. "If i go to my room, will you go to yours?"

"Only if you promise that you will go to sleep." Katsuki replied with a bit of a huffy tone.

"I will try." Katsuki glanced outside, noticing the rain and how it suddenly appeared. He then looked back at you after realizing why it was suddenly raining. Yes. Your quirk.

Mainly your power reflected your mood, changing the weather for a kilometer from where you are, for example if you were sad it rained, if scared it thundered, if terrified there was lightning, if you were happy, it was rarely sunny. This is why since your arrival at that school no one had almost ever had a nice sunny day.

"Are you feeling pissed off or something? I swear, sometimes you piss me off without even trying." Katsuki says in a grumpy tone as he looks back outside. It was a lot more obvious now, the rain was pretty heavy.

" Why are you worrying so much about me." "I-I'm not worrying!"

You and Bakugo have been having this relationship-not exactly relationship for a while now. You weren't together, you had never confessed to each other, but you were always very close and talked a lot to each other like a couple. His face was slightly red when you laughed. Despite being good at hiding his feelings, it was obvious he was worried about you due to you lack of sleeping. "The weather change based on my mood, i think everyone is hating me for this, we can have sunny weather and heavy Rain in ten minutes"

Have you been feeling okay lately?"

Katsuki asked in a softer tone of voice as he looked over at you leaning on the windowsill. The rain outside continued to pour heavily, it was clear how much your mood affected weather patterns at this point.

"Let's go to the rooms, Kat." You say, approaching the stairs. It was two am. Katsuki also got up from the couch.

"Why the hell do you want to go to the dorms all of a sudden?"

"You should sleep" Katsuki grumbled and huffed, but agreed with you.

"Fine, I guess idiot. But you better promise me you're going to bed as well."

"Okay, but i can't promise i'll sleep." Katsuki rolled his eyes as he began walking over to the stairs and made his way up them.

"Damn it, I swear you are so damn stubborn. Just get in your room, dumbass." He follow you on the stairs.

"Goodnight, Kat." You opened the door to your room.

"Whatever. Good night, idiot."

Katsuki replied before going to his own dorm room. He entered his own dorm room. The room was organized neatly. The room was only lighted by one lamp in the room.

He went and laid down on his bed, but couldn't sleep. He was unable to get the thought of you out of his mind.

"Damn it..."

He muttered under his breath in frustration. Katsuki let out an annoyed sigh. He was trying to figure out what was wrong, why were you depressed all the time. Were you just a pessimistic person? Or were you struggling with something?

Maybe that's why your mood was down all the time.

Because of your versatile quirk that allowed you to not only shape the weather according to your mood, but also control the humidity and rain you created at will, you were able to create powerful vines to trap enemies and infuse them with lightning that you created. For this reason you were a valuable asset to the Pro Heroes. Bakugo knew that you had recently taken part in an important mission, and he also knew that many Heroes present on that mission had died in the process. What he didn't know was how much all of this had taken a toll on your psyche, because you were just barely a teenager, and all that brutality was suddenly on display before your eyes. But you promised the president to not say what the missions were about, so you didn't even had the chance to vent.

Katsuki was thinking about you and how you've been feeling so damn depressed lately. The only conclusion he could come to was that something happened on a mission that caused you to feel so down all the time.

"Damn it, what was that mission...?"

Katsuki mumbled to himself as he tried to figure out what the hell happened on that mission that caused you to be so damn depressed. He continued to lay in bed, tossing and turning. He couldn't shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He glanced out the window, and saw the rain still falling down on outside.

"Still raining..."

The next morning, Katsuki was having breakfast at the table in the kitchen with all the other students. He quickly noticed that you were absent from the table. He had a slight suspicion that you stayed up late again, but shook it off. After breakfast, they all went to training and he decided to wait you there.

Katsuki was in the training area with all the class, and noticed you also came into the area. He raised an eyebrow at the fact you were wearing a different uniform than usual, it was your battle uniform, the one you wear only when it's a mission time. Katsuki noticed the dark circles under your eyes. The realization hit him, you probably didn't sleep all night, yet again.

He continued to watch you train, keeping an eye on you to make sure you didn't injure yourself, and his concerned look turned into a slight glare. He noticed that the dark circles under your eyes were much more prominent than usual. He knew for a fact that you didn't sleep at all last night, and he could tell that the lack of sleep wasn't helping your mood. After the training session ended, Katsuki approached you, an annoyed expression on his face.

"You didn't get a damn wink of sleep again, did you?" He spoke in a blunt tone, as usual. "Nope"

Katsuki let out an annoyed huff as he looked at you. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes even more clearly up close. The lack of sleep was definitely affecting your mood, it was clear as day to him.

"Damn it, you idiot. I warned you last night to get some damn sleep and you didn't listen, did you?"

"I... Couldn't." You sigh. "Aizawa told me i have to go on a mission later... It's the same of last time." Katsuki's annoyance suddenly turned to shock, and then slight anger. He tensed up slightly when you told him that you were going on the same mission as last time.

"Damn it, you're going on that damn mission again, seriously?"

"I'm the only one with this quirk, that's why i'm in my battle uniform." Katsuki's anger and frustration grew.

"Damn it, why does it have to be you again, idiot?" Katsuki grumbled, clenching his fists as he continued to glare at you. You sigh again and rub a hand on your face.

"I can't tell what's it's about." Katsuki's irritation grew because he knew something was obviously off, and it was probably related to the last damn mission.

"Damn it, why can't you tell me about it? Are they seriously keeping you from speaking about it again? That's bullshit"

"I had to promised to the pro Heroes , it's top secret." Katsuki huffed in frustration. He knew damn well that this was bullshit, and he hated that he couldn't pry the information out of you.

"Damn it, are you seriously gonna keep this secret from me again? I at least want to know if you'll be safe, idiot!"

"Of course i won't, it's a mission. Last time pro heroes died, we are studying to be heroes." Katsuki's irritation was still present, but the mention of the heroes death made his expression soften slightly. He knew damn well how dangerous these missions could be, and he didn't want something happening to you.

"Damn it. Just... be careful, alright? You better come back in one piece, idiot."

"Are you worried about me, Kat?" Katsuki grumbled as you chuckled at his words. He let out a huff and crossed his arms, trying to look annoyed.

"Hmph. Don't let it get to your head, idiot. I just don't want to see your sorry ass get hurt again."

In that moment you see the Heroes waiting for you. "Gotta go, see ya at dinner. Maybe." Katsuki huffed and grumbled as he saw the other Heroes waiting for you. He didn't like that you had to go on another damn mission like this, but he knew he couldn't stop you.

"Hmph. See ya, idiot. You better come back tonight, got it?"

But later that evening... Katsuki was sitting at the dinner table with the rest of the class, eating dinner. Everything was relatively normal, until you walked into the dorm with a shocked expression on your face. Your uniform almost completely destroyed. You didn't talk, you just went to your room with a shocked expression.

Katsuki's concerned expression turned to slight panic and he watched you go straight to your room without saying a word and he quickly excused himself from the dinner and went to your room. He knocked on the door gently, concerned about what the hell happened on that mission.

"Hey, you in there, idiot?"

"Hm." Katsuki heard a small hum come from the other side of the door, indicating that you were in your room. He took that as a sign that you were letting him in.

He opened the door slightly and stepped in, closing the door behind him.

Katsuki look at you and noticed how your shocked and dazed expression.

"Hey, dumbass, mind telling me what the hell happened?"

But you were just sitting on the floor already in your pigiama, staring at the wall.

Katsuki's concerned expression turned to a horrified one as he looked at you. Your dazed and shocked expression, your uniform was in almost tatters, and you had multiple scars all over your legs from your Battle uniform.

Katsuki's eyes widened slightly, and he approached you carefully, trying not to startle you.

"Hey, dumbass, are you okay? What the hell happened on that mission?! What happened to you?"

"Infermery girl patched me up..." You spoke softly. Katsuki sat down next to you, his eyes still widened with concern.

"Jesus Christ. You look like you went through hell and back. Damn it..."

He looked at your scars more closely, they looked to be pretty fresh, but you only look at him numb. Katsuki noticed the emotionless look in your eyes. The sight terrified him, he'd never seen you look so numb before.

"Idiot, are you alright? You're... you're scaring the hell outta me right now."

Katsuki's voice was soft, almost uncharacteristically soft for him.

"I.... Aizawa told... I will rest for a week... No class no training no missions."

Katsuki's expression remained concern, but he was glad to hear that you wouldn't be taking part in any class or training for the week.

"Damn it, good. You need to rest for a damn week, it looks like you went through hell and back on that mission." Katsuki mumbled, looking down at your legs, his eyes glued to the fresh scars on your legs.

"Tonight was... I never ... I don't know what to Say."

Katsuki continued to look at you, still concerned and worried. He could tell that something had deeply affected you from that mission.

"Damn it, idiot, something really messed you up, didn't it? You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, I just... I want to know what the hell happened. Can you at least tell me that?"

"I never saw so much blood."

Katsuki's eyes widened slightly at your words. He could tell that whatever you saw on that mission had deeply affected you. He couldn't imagine how much blood you saw for you to be in this state.

"Jesus Christ... no wonder you look so messed up. How... how much blood did you see on that mission, idiot?"

You shake your head and cover your face with your hands. Katsuki watched you. He could tell that whatever happened, it was extremely traumatic.

Katsuki's expression turned from concern to pure worry. He hesitantly reached out and gently touched your arm, trying to provide some comfort.

"Hey, hey... it's okay. You don't have to say anything, idiot. Just... just breath, okay?"

You can't talk as you hug him tight for the first time. Katsuki was slightly surprised but returned the hug tighter. He could feel you shaking slightly in his arms, and he could tell how much this was affecting you.

"Hey, it's okay... you're okay. I'm right here, it's alright..."

Katsuki's voice was soft and comforting as he held you in his arms. He is doing his best to provide some comfort. He wasn't exactly used to comforting people, but he wanted to try for your sake.

"Just breath, y/n. You're okay, you're safe... just take deep breaths."

Katsuki murmured, one hand holding you close while the other gently rubbed your back in a soothing manner.

"I.... I fight them. We won. They were 40 villains, we didn't know It." Katsuki's eyes widened in shock as you spoke. Forty villains? That sounded like a damn nightmare. He could only imagine the hell you went through on that mission.

"Jesus Christ, how the hell did you survive that? Forty villains... how the hell did you and the Heroes beat them?"

"Infermery girl saved me so i just have scratches." Katsuki's concern grew. He knew damn well that you were just downplaying what you went through.

"Damn it, you idiot... you're just downplaying it. I bet you went through a lot more than just scratches... damn it." Katsuki pulled you closer to him, still holding you tightly in his arms. "Thanks Kat,i feel better in your arms." Katsuki's expression softened slightly as you sighed and smiled. He felt a small wave of relief wash over him, knowing that he was at least providing some comfort for you. Katsuki tightened his hold on you, but not too much that it would hurt, just enough to keep you close to him.

"Just relax, idiot. You need to rest. You went through a lot..."

"Hmm." Despite his rough and aggressive demeanor, he took great pride in being someone you could trust.

You stay like that for a while, cuddled up as you slowly calm down, with him holding you lovingly in his arms.

[edosianorchids901]

On Moonless Nights

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "singing in the candlelight"

Cw: war and injury-related PTSD

Night after night, the battlefield invaded Watson’s sleep. Sometimes he was haunted by the fighting itself, with the whistle of bullets, cries of wounded soldiers, the urgency of an army surgeon to get his patients to safety. Those dreams were upsetting, but manageable.

There was another sort of dream, though, one that left him shaken and frequently incapable of getting back to sleep at all. That nightmare, which returned all too often, concerned his war wounds.

Tonight’s dream had started like the others, with the battlefield itself. And then the sharp, searing pain in his shoulder and thigh, the sound of his own screams, the smell of his own blood. Other doctors working on him, trying to put him back together while he screamed and screamed and…

And then there was singing, soft and soothing. It drifted through the dream, across the battlefield and through the field hospital, a strange serenade that interrupted even the pain.

Watson jolted awake, heart racing, but it was hard to be terrified when he was so confused. Why had there been singing? Had his sleep become so disturbed that he had started singing in his sleep?

Then he felt the gentle hand on his aching shoulder, and saw the flickering candlelight. Still in a daze, he turned towards the light. “Mr. Holmes?”

“Quite right, my dear fellow.” A gentle smile curved Holmes’ lips. “There is no need to fret. You are at Baker Street, and exceedingly far from Afghanistan.”

Afghanistan was far away, yes, but still so present in Watson’s mind. He could still smell the blood, and pain throbbed through his shoulder and thigh. “My wounds…”

“Are no doubt paining you because you have been extremely tense. I presumed you were having bad dreams again, and thought I might be of some assistance.”

Watson blinked at him. The candlelight cast heavy shadows across Holmes’ sharp features, but his keen eyes gleamed. “Again?”

“You have bad dreams nearly every night, so far as I can tell.” Expression intent, Holmes touched a finger to his lips and studied Watson. “I wonder whether you would be better off if you did not have to ascend the stairs before bed, and thus aggravate your injuries? Perhaps we ought to exchange rooms.”

“I do not think that is the problem, my dear chap.” The pressure of fear lifted from Watson’s chest, and he smiled as he struggled into a seated position. “I had nightmares at my previous lodgings as well.”

Holmes frowned, studying him. “They have not worsened since you and I began to share rooms?”

“Not at all.” They had been here together for some months now, and participating in Holmes’ cases was strangely helpful. It had given Watson something to do rather than just drifting, and Holmes was fascinating if strange company. “They have improved, actually.”

“Ah!” A lightning fast smile flashed across Holmes’ face before his expression sharpened to curious concern. “Tell me, is there anything I might do to be of assistance?”

Watson eyed him, recognizing the intense look. “I am not a case to be solved, Holmes.”

Holmes chuckled and sat back, rubbing his hands together. “Pray forgive my curiosity. I have been told that I am somewhat lacking in my understanding of social conventions.”

That was certainly true, although Watson could not mind. In many ways, Holmes was deeply reserved, unwilling to speak of his own emotions and often failing to participate in the usual social call and response. He often did not seem to realize when he ought to say thank you, or that he should respond to a simple “good night”.

But he did show his care in other ways, from sharing his interests to purchasing favorite cigars for Watson. This current barrage of questions, if awkward, was well intended.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Watson said, massaging his shoulder as he leaned back against the headboard of the narrow bed. Afghanistan seemed further away now, at least, for it was hard to think of the battlefield while so distracted by his friend practically vibrating with eagerness. “My dreams are just to to be expected, and I don’t believe they can be solved as easily as you solve murders.”

Holmes let out a short gust of laughter, then folded his hands together in his lap. He had perched as lightly as a bird on the edge of the bed, and still looked as if ready to spring into action at any second. “Yes, I fear I am a little more skilled at solving murders than at friendship.”

“Holmes, that’s not true at all! You’re very good at friendship.” Watson couldn’t help smiling at the look of surprise on Holmes’ face, although it made his heart ache a bit. They had both been very alone until now. “A little unconventional, but that is not a bad thing.”

“Well, well. It occurs to me now that my singing to you may have been a somewhat strange gesture.” Holmes’ expression tightened, as if he was annoyed with himself. “I was merely concerned by the length of your nightmares, and uncertain if touching you at once might prove startling.”

“It was a very effective means of waking me up. I… I was very frightened.” It was strange to talk so openly about this, to discuss his dreams and feelings even in passing. But Holmes, despite his own reticence, was easy to talk to. “I am very glad you roused me. But how did you know I was having nightmares?”

“Your bed creaks in a certain way when you tense, and I have something of an abnormally acute sense of hearing.” Holmes smiled, then swiftly stood, picked up the candle, and gestured to the door. “Would you care to share a pipe and some conversation?”

It was certainly better than going back to sleep, and to the battlefield. “I would like that very much.”

[eksvaized]

Part Twenty [ Previous 〡 Next ] taglist: @kingsprettyangel, @simonsslvt, @herwristsarehercanvas, @the-faceless-bride, @ghostieslove, @bbypionaa if you want to be added - let me know!

A/N: the updates on all my stories are slow because of uni the exam season is killing me >.< but once i'm done with it, i plan on posting more frequently!

You stare at the white ceiling. The light blanket draped over your body feels like a suffocating weight that’s pressing down on you. Yet, you lack the strength or mental energy to peel it away. As you lie there, it’s hard to believe that you’re back in this house, back in this room - your room.

When you first woke up, you had thought you would spend the rest of the day crying. But now, the reality of your return, the fact that you didn’t escape, that you’re back where you started, seems oddly natural. It’s as if you had always been caught in this relentless cycle and the brief moments of freedom were just cruel illusions. Of course, you didn’t escape Simon’s grasp. How could you? And for what reason did you even dare to dream of running, when your fate had already been sealed?

A chilling realisation settles heavily on you: deep within, you always knew that you weren’t going to make it too far away. The thought of escape was nothing more than a tantalising mirage that kept you going.

You sink deeper into the mattress, and your thoughts drift to Johnny, his memory filling the empty spaces of your room. His belongings, once scattered haphazardly here, are now all gone. The lack of his familiar presence, the void where he once existed, suggests that he’s probably been banished as well. Simon knows he can trust his friend. Yet he likely doesn’t want Johnny around you anymore. His presence is too dangerous for you. It sparks rebellious thoughts, ignites dangerous ideas that should have just remained as silly fantasies in your silly little head.

Simon occasionally comes into the room. Each time he appears, he brings you a meal: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He always places the neatly arranged tray on the nightstand. However, your appetite fails you every time and you never reach for the food. The meals, untouched, grow cold and then Simon, without saying anything, takes it all away.

You had thought that Simon would grow furious with your refusal to eat. Despite his seemingly calm demeanor, you braced yourself for the moment he would finally snap and unleash his pent-up frustration the moment you dared to meet his gaze. You imagined him yelling, maybe even resorting to physical violence, then dragging you to the basement to be shackled and left alone on the lumpy mattress. However, contrary to your expectations, his interactions with you are limited to occasional curt commands. He orders you to eat, to go shower, to change clothes. Sometimes you comply, sometimes not.

Day after day passes, each blending seamlessly into the next. From the confines of your bed, curled up into a tight ball and clutching your pillow, you watch the sunrises paint the sky with hues of pink and orange. A haze of sleep consumes you, pulling you into its depths and then pushing you back to reality, though every time you wake, you still feel an overwhelming sense of fatigue that never seems to lift.

Time becomes a blur, its passage marked only by the changing light outside your window. You can’t tell if only a few days, a long grueling week, or perhaps a full month has passed since Johnny found you in the forest. But the truth is, you don’t really care. What’s the point? What’s the point of caring, of trying, of devising potential escape plans when you feel the hopelessness seeping into your every pore?

There are moments when you catch yourself questioning your own sanity. What if you really do have a delusional disorder? What if you fabricated all those terrifying scenarios about Simon kidnapping you and forcing you to stay with him? Everything seemed to point in that direction. After all, when you mustered the courage to make an escape attempt, his reaction, when you were brought back home, was far from the explosive rage that you had predicted.

Instead of a storm, there was a surprising calmness, an almost passive acceptance that rocked your preconceived notions. His demeanor was mild, oddly gentle, and this discrepancy led you to question the authenticity of your own perceptions. It was as if a mirror was held up to the distortions of your own mind, casting doubts about the reality you thought you knew.

Simon himself was constantly proving to be nothing more than a caring and soothing presence. His actions were always considerate, his words tender and comforting. This gentle behavior conflicted with the image of the captor you had created in your mind, leading to further self-doubt. You found yourself wrestling with your own thoughts, trying to convince yourself that perhaps, just perhaps, you were indeed fabricating all of these disturbing scenarios.

* * *

Simon has reached his breaking point. The relentless sulking, the constant gloom, the oppressive atmosphere that hangs in your bedroom like a shroud - it’s unbearable. Each day is a mirror image of the one before: he’d make his way into your room, anticipation gnawing at him, only to find you in the exact same position in which he had left you, sprawled out on the bed in an almost lifeless manner, neglecting food and water, your gaze fixated on the wall, staring blankly as though you were lost in a world far beyond anyone’s reach.

So, on one evening, Simon decides to take matters into his own hands. He isn’t going to stand by and watch any longer. He is going to do something, anything, to bring back the light that once twinkled in your eyes.

Simon enters your room, cradling a bottle of what appears to be an extremely expensive bourbon, its golden liquid glinting under the soft evening light. His brows are furrowed in determination, a silent testament to his resolve.

He carefully places the bottle on the nightstand, accompanied by two gleaming glasses. “We are going to drink,” he declares, but you don’t say anything. You raise your chin up and just stare at him. Your gaze empty.

He studies you, his eyes shimmering with a complex cocktail of concern and firm resolution, before he reaches out for your hand. With a gentle yet firm tug, he pulls you out of the bed, making you stand. As you do, your gaze falls upon your own reflection in the mirror that hangs on the wall. You stumble, taken aback by your appearance.

You are still clad in the same clothes you had on when you left the house. The fabric is uncomfortably sticking to your skin, chaffing at the edges. This realization sparks a sudden urge within you to shed it all off. However, you remain frozen because you aren’t alone in the room.

Simon approaches you once more, this time presenting you with a fresh set of underwear, a fluffy white towel, and a pair of shorts along with a shirt.

“Go shower,” he instructs in a tone that brooks no argument. Although a part of you, the part that’s grown comfortable with the cocoon of sadness, wants to shake your head in refusal and retreat back to the bed, you decide that a quick shower wouldn’t do any harm. It might even serve as a much-needed break from the tumult within.

As you make your tentative way out of the room, you catch a fleeting glimpse of Simon’s silhouette against the window, managing to open it despite the lack of a handle. Once the window is cracked, inviting a breath of fresh, untainted air in, he proceeds to methodically peel off all the sheets from your bed, preparing it anew.

You spend a while standing under the scalding hot water. The warmth washes over you, blanketing you in a comforting heat that seems to momentarily suspend the world outside. The luxurious, expensive, fruity smelling gels that Simon has purchased for you are ignored, lined up against the wall of the shower. You simply don’t have the energy to slather your skin with them. However, you make a conscious effort to untangle the knots in your hair, running your fingers through the strands repetitively.

When you come back into the bedroom, Simon is sitting on the bed. Your bed is adorned with crisp, clean sheets, and on the nightstand, next to the bottle and two glasses, there’s a bowl with some steaming hot soup. The aroma wafts through the room.

“You can’t drink on an empty stomach,” he says in a tone that suggests he’s more stating a fact than offering an opinion. If you had the energy, you would no doubt argue with him, insisting that you have no intention of drinking or eating. But instead, you only manage to sit down next to him, the exhaustion preventing any form of protest.

When you make no move to reach for the bowl, Simon takes the initiative. He cradles the dish in his hands and begins to feed you. You allow him to. When a stray droplet of soup trickles down the corner of your mouth, he gently wipes your chin with his thumb, an act that is both comforting and strangely intimate.

There’s a part of you that wants to ask why he’s being so patient, so considerate with you. In fact, myriad questions are swirling in your foggy head, each one demanding an answer. But the haze clouding your mind is so thick, so dense, that formulating even a single coherent sentence feels like scaling a mountain.

Simon insists you finish the entire bowl of soup, meticulously ensuring that not a drop is left before he finally puts it away. As he proceeds to unseal the bottle that has been sitting on the nightstand, you find your eyes inadvertently drawn to his hands, noticing the rough, hardened callouses that adorn his fingers.

“Drink,” another command slips past his lips and he passes you a glass filled to the brim.

You gaze tentatively at the glass. The liquid inside shimmers under the soft glow of the room’s light. You hesitate. You don’t want to drink. However, you know that Simon, with his stubborn persistence, won’t back off or leave you alone until you do. So, with a heavy sigh, you bring the glass to your lips and take the first, small sip, instantly feeling the harsh sting of alcohol as it trickles down your throat, searing every inch it touches.

You hope that after the glass is finished, the alcohol will make you drowsy, lulling you into a deep slumber. After all, it seems that’s all you seem to do these days. Sleep.

However, when your glass finally drains, reaching its anticipated emptiness, instead of the expected heaviness or sense of dread, your eyes unexpectedly widen, and you find yourself becoming more alert. After enduring days of feeling emotionally numb, hollow inside, akin to an empty shell thoughtlessly discarded on a deserted, lonely beach, you feel an unfamiliar warmth spreading gradually throughout your body. This sensation is new, yet not unwelcome.

And then, when Simon, seemingly satisfied with your compliance and perhaps even relieved, nonchalantly turns on the TV, randomly selecting some film to fill the room with some background noise, you find yourself giggling as you watch the screen.

You don’t know why you are laughing or why you keep extending your arm towards Simon, wiggling your glass every time it empties, but you do.

Simon, with a careful vigilance, keeps an eye on you from the periphery of his vision. Matching your pace, he drinks as much as you, if not slightly more, but he is not nearly as drunk as you. Just a bit tipsy. He knows that getting drunk with you is far from the wisest decision he could make. But he quiets his mind, trying to convince himself that you won’t do anything reckless. After all, the bottle was only uncorked after he was fully convinced that you had no intentions of trying to run away again.

After Johnny brought you back, Simon was relieved. Ecstatic, actually. The thought of you, alone in the dark, lost and frightened, was a horrifying prospect that had Simon on the brink of tearing his hair out in sheer anxiety. It felt like a thousand icy needles were piercing his heart. In fact, the notion of you in danger was so excruciating, it made him want to raze the entire forest to the ground until he found you.

He had initially steeled himself, preparing to unleash a storm of admonishment, to let you taste the bitter regret of your impulsive decision to venture outside the safety of the house. After persuading Johnny to leave, under the guise that your condition had worsened, and you needed to recover in a safe environment devoid of any agitation, he stationed himself in your room, sitting by your bedside, watching over you, waiting for your eyes to flutter open so he could mete out the punishment he believed you deserved.

But when you woke up, something was amiss. Simon immediately noticed it. At first, he thought you were simply sad, but there were no tears to confirm his suspicion. No other emotions were evident on your face, either. The vacant stare you wore, the long, empty days you spent lying in bed, refusing to eat, and merely gazing aimlessly out of the window, filled him with an unsettling, gnawing fear. He longed for some kind of reaction from you, any indication that the person he knew was still there, beneath the facade of emptiness. He reasoned that perhaps you needed time to process everything, so he gave you space. Yet, even that didn’t seem to help.

During the times when his emotions would threaten to consume him, when his mind would be bursting at its seams with a relentless onslaught of thoughts, or when he felt the crushing, suffocating emptiness that seemed to envelop him, as though the bullet that had merely grazed him had instead ended his life, he would seek solace in the comforting burn of the most expensive bourbon he could find in the store. He would drink until his mind was blissfully quiet, until he lost consciousness, in the hopes that the morning would bring relief, and the horrors of the previous day would feel like a distant, unpleasant dream from which he had finally awoken.

“Hello? Earth to Simon,” you call out, playfully nudging his shoulder with the tip of your index finger. A lazy smile plays on the corners of your lips. “Are you falling asleep on me—yes, yes, you are!” you exclaim, your laughter bubbling up from deep within your chest. The sound of your giggles fills the room. You sink deeper into the bed and finish the last of your liquor. “You are such a lightweight,” you tease, your voice slightly slurred from the alcohol. Unexpectedly, a hiccup slips past your lips, causing your giggles to escalate into full-blown laughter.

Simon raises his eyebrows. His eyes twinkle with mild amusement and a hint of disbelief. His gaze is fixed on you. It takes him a moment to register your words, but then he shakes his head and smiles. Genuinely, smiles. A feeble grin spreads across his face, accompanied by the gentle crinkling of his eyes at the corners. 

[obae-me]

Two things!

Firstly: I will be accepting 10 requests!

I need to practice and just work on some things that aren't just my long form pieces right now. So, the first 10 requests I get, I will work on! My general rules are the same, no demoncest, no romantic Luke, etc, etc. I reserve the right not to do a request. You all get the deal by now. They won't be perfect, and they won't be extremely long (unless you tempt me with monsters or fluff), but I'll do 'em, and that's the important part.

Secondly: a general apology.

I know 'sorry's are not needed, it's not like I've taken money and ghosted or anything, but I hate just going MIA for so long. Also, I know it's not needed, but I thought I'd give a little life update for those that, I dunno, find it interesting I suppose.

TW for menstruation, blood, and general medical stuff

I posted here a while back- in the summer I believe- talking about how fainting is not as elegant as media makes it out to be. I talked about how I fainted and then just did my ha-ha's and got it out of the way. At the time, since the doctors at the hospital didn't find anything with their initial testing, we all chalked it up to a bit of dehydration, lack of sleep, and stress. I was inclined to believe them. I *was* bouncing between graveyard shifts and morning shifts and not sleeping well because of it.

Then the week after, I had one of the most painful periods of my life. I've not had great ones ever (who does?), but never enough to fully debilitate me. It was bad. Stabbing cramping pains strong enough to almost make me faint again. I was worried, but gaslit myself into thinking it's just because of the fainting the week prior; I had had extreme faintness and weakness all week.

My work at this time was coming up with stricter rules that would make things harder, and they told me that I'd have to apply for certain disability accommodations (like keeping certain medications I need close to me and not on a different floor behind a lock, so cool of them). So, I tried to find another job, one where I could hopefully sit down. So I spent two months working that all out. I have a temp remote one right now, yay!

The next month or two was fairly normal period wise. So I thought everything was 'okay'.

And then I stopped bleeding completely. No warning or anything, just...nothing. And it's particularly worrying because I've been on birth control since I was like 14 to balance out my hormones. So I waited till the month after make sure it wasn't a weird one-off. Still nothing. Went to the doctor and got a new kind of medication, and I waited a month. Nothing. And the pain is only ramping up every cycle (or the attempt of one). I spend two weeks of the month in extreme depression and pain, and then spend the two weeks after that picking up the slack. I haven't been able to write, haven't been able to do much of anything. My typical day is getting out of bed to work, order something to eat, and watch mindless YouTube till I sleep, I'm just THAT exhausted. Spoons? Nonexistant. Then, just a few weeks ago, I suffered some of the worst exhaustion of my life. I'm talking only being able to stay awake for 20 minutes and then having to take a nap, and doing that four or five times a day. I went through that for five days, and then on that last day, I practically collapsed and almost fainted again.

So I have my first Gyno appointment next month, and I am utterly terrified. So much of my life has been filled with doctors' appointments and testing, just for them to tell me they couldn't find anything, and it's either because I have anxiety or because I'm fat. *Love* the medical system. But then, on the other hand, I'm scared of them finding something severely wrong.

So, until December, I'm just...waiting. And, of course, I'm not trying to fish for sympathies. Just...sometimes, it's good to have something to treat as an echo chamber, and this blog sometimes is my cave to shout distorted worries to. I really *should* journal, I guess.

So! That's been my life since I last posted, really. And that's not even mentioning my grandpa who ended up in the hospital (he got hit by a RAM truck, absolutely insane, and he's mostly fine, what a trooper).

I'm really hoping that I'll have the energy to pour into my passions if we get everything worked out. And I'm really grateful to have this small community here for whoever is still sticking around, you all have been wonderful.

That's the end of the update! Maybe I'll drop the news if/when we make some discoveries on why my already defunct body is breaking down even more than usual.

Love you all!

-Mara

[olivsie]

Something I like about epic the musical is that it Gives it's changes to the original text an actual Purpose

( The first couple paragraphs are basically a rant regarding retellings. If you only want to hear about epic Skip to paragraph 4)

1. I am a bit annoyed by the lack of. Understanding as to why RETELLINGS aren't the most historicaly accurate things in the world. Sorry to break this to you, but that's both just how they work and I would guess how they reach success. Ancient Greece is a much different culture than our own, And most of us would be terrified to actually live back then. When you are Trying to create content That is based on ancient Greece And you want it to be successful/ At least reach a wide, and notably, MODERN audience. You're likely going to have to take some creative liberty And change a few things. Don't get me wrong, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO LIKE RETELLINGS KNOWING THAT FACT ( Me personally, I'm not the biggest fan of Miller's novels Even though I do like epic) BUT IT IS SOMETHING TO BE AWARE OF. And because of that I don't think I would ever expect a retelling to be perfectly accurate And I don't. I had interest in mythology LONG before epic the musical But I didn't actually read the Odyssey until getting into epic. I did not expect it To be just like the musical, I knew Odysseus was going to be much more of an asshole, along with other characters. The odyssey and epic are different pieces of media to me And I am not less of a mythology nerd for liking epic ( Though I will admit that sometimes I take tiny little fun facts of mythology And like to think of them in the context of epic, but that's just for fun.)

2. The Only time being a fan of retellings is wrong as if you genuinely believe they are perfectly accurate And refuse to listen to anything else ( Which has definitely happened, And mythology nerds have the right to be annoyed at that)

3. Some people only like to consume real mythology media, Others like both real mythology and retellings, Others only like to engage with retellings (I would hope they have the self-awareness to know It's not real mythology, From what I've seen some do and some don't, Unfortunately)

4. Ok. now on to what the title of this long ass rant says

I like that epic the musical Retells the story, Not only to both cater to modern audience But Also with its OWN purpose of man versus monster.

Obviously, this is not the point of the original text. Mythos Odysseus does not give a single fuck About the stuff that epic odysseus does. I don't know why the creator Decided to rewrite it this way, (If he's ever said why let me know) But I would assume he wanted to make something about the oddessy And this was simply a very creative way to Translate that for modern audience.

I like this because, yes, holy damn. It does have changes from the original text. But it's not JUST changing it. It's changing it with a purpose

It feels reminiscent of some kind of Dramatic play. the way that epic characterizes.

Polites' kind nature is Representative of the Concept of being merciful Represented in his lines such as " This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms" /"There is so much guilt inside your heart, So why not replace it?"

While in contrast you have eurylochus with more ruthlessness and cautious nature, this is Found in some of his lines such as "You rely on wit, and people die on it" /"we don't know what's ahead" / "I say we strike first. We don't have time to waste so lets raid the place-" /"Let's just cut our losses, You and I and let's run"

And then you have Odysseus, the man/monster. The first act of this Musical is his internal struggle With what He should be On that scale. And the other characters Represent this struggle in the song monster

" Is the cyclops struck with gilt when he kills, is he up in the middle of the night? Or does he end my men to avenge his friend and then Sleep knowing he has done him right?

When the witch turns men to pigs to protect her nymphs, is she going insane? Or did she learn to be colder when she got older and now she saves them the pain?

When a God comes down and makes a Fleet drown Is he scared that he's doing something wrong? Or does he keep us in check So we must respect him and now no one dares to piss him off"

He then Applies this to himself

" Does a soldier use a wooden horse to kill sleeping trojans cause he is vile? Or does he throw away his remorse and save more lives with guile?"

And this marks his turning point of deciding that Ruthlessness It's ultimately worth it if it means Getting home, as aeolus says "The end Always justifies the means"

It's in my opinion, a very creative way to go about retelling a myth. Is it accurate? Absolutely not. For example, circe (From what we know) is not protecting When she turns men into pigs, For all we know, she could just do it because Shits and giggles.

Her character and most others in epic is changed from the original. But it's not ONLY changing for the sake of apeling to the modern Western audience and being successful like Many other retellings. It is also and mainly changing for the sake of influencing the plot that Jorge Rivera herrans crafted For the sake of Retelling epic. It is creative and I enjoy it despite knowing it's not accurate.