#and having no one to share this burden with

[butchizuku]

Limerence ᥫ᭡; Midoriya Izuku + Bakugō Katsuki

ᨳ Synop. Getting hit by some hentai-esque wasn't on your thursday afternoon agenda but fate had a cruel, yet funny way of working. Finding yourself the damsel to two heroes, you struggle between giving into want and remaining level headed.

໋𓈒 Details. 18+ minors dni, gn afab, they/them pronouns used to refer to reader,extremely dubious consent, sex pollen quirk,threesomes, love confessions, oral (reader/katsuki receiving), fingering, anal (izuku), unprotected sex, creampies, no lube, no prep, unrealistic sex implied past relationship between izuku and katsuki, post manga timeskip, izuku is a teacher, katsui is a pro-hero, mild manga spoilers run time; 7.2k ৎ

(՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) Director's Note. This spiralled into something even I couldn't fathom but please, enjoy <3

Every Thursday, Izuku walks you to the train station. The two of you work late most days but on Thursday you find yourself staying until the custodians shooed you out of the building with a mildly annoyed look. It was his first year teaching and your first year teaching at a hero school. U.A, was unprecedented in its unconventionality and unique approach, it left you and Izuku constantly crushed beneath a mountain of half graded homework and lesson plans neither of you had time for. 

It surprised you more than it probably should have, that Izuku was struggling. He was an alumni, he knew exactly how the system operated at a far deeper level than you did, but he was drowning. He wore a smile on his face nonetheless, he may have been drowning but he was doing it happily. You weren't sure if it was for his students sake or for his own, you’d assume it was the latter. Everyone needs something to keep themselves tethered and sewed together. You didn’t judge. There was something to knowing that a great hero like Izuku needed something to keep himself a float.

That’s why you stayed late every day after work to lend him a helping hand. The first years could use all the extra help they could get and so could he. Their English grades had been abysmal, apparently the worst Principal Nezu had seen in years. As their homeroom teacher, it was Izuku’s job to get to the bottom of things. That leads him to you, again and again. In search of an answer, you weren’t sure but you didn’t mind shouldering the burden. You learned in the first few years of your career, much of teaching meant relying on those around you for support. You leant on your mentor teacher and shared resources with the other newbies who filled the staff room early in the mornings. Izuku didn’t like to lean, he’d shoulder it all alone if he could help it. That’s how hero training shaped him, you think, you couldn’t be too sure.

“I appreciate the company,” you say, finally cutting the silence that sat in the air between you, “But, I don’t want to inconvenience you since you live on campus.”

The slowly setting sun rays prick at your irises forcing you to squint as you peered at Izuku over your shoulder. His neatly styled suit that he wore to work everyday was half crumpled, missing his blazer and bright red tie. They were slung over the back of his chair in his office, never lasting more than half the work day.

Izuku’s lips quirk up slightly, the glint in his eyes is the same one he uses to teases his childhood friends who stop by U.A, “Haven’t I told enough you that you’re never an inconvenience to me,” he grins, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s a few inches shorter than you, even shorter when you wear your platform oxfords, he has to stretch himself to reach your height, “Besides, it isn’t safe for you to walk home this late in the day.”

You roll your eyes, your face warm. It was one stop to the studio apartment you were renting in the heart of Musutafu. You were certain if he didn’t have to check up on the students in their dorms he’d likely walk all the way home with you. But, as a homeroom teacher, it was his job to ensure class 1.A didn’t burn down the dormitories before the tenth anniversary of them being added to the campus.

“Still, you have enough work on your plate, I don’t want to add to it.”

Stuttering out the last few words made the very tips of your pointed ears burn. Under the warm, golden glow that bathed the city sky, you hoped your blush wasn’t too apparent to the naked eye. Something akin to butterflies fluttered in and out of your ribcage, tickling your chest until you were squirming for reprieve. Though he was now quirkless, Izuku was still as strong as he was during the war. He easily kept you pinned against his side as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk.

“Walks are good for the body and soul!” He chirps, chuckling at your petulant frown, “If anything, I should be thanking you for letting me accompany you.”

Squinting at him, you heave a sigh, “So if I said no, you wouldn’t walk me to the station?”

Izuku paused for a moment as though he were thinking before a sheepish expression bled onto features. Colour filled his round, freckled cheeks as he chuckled.

“Well, no!”

The exasperated breath of air that passed your lips was melodramatic and half dramatized as if to cover your tracks. But, you liked this cat and mouse game that you and he played each time he walked you home. You liked him.

You weren’t supposed to like him, not in the way you currently did but your heart was weak to his kind eyes and the soft way he regarded you and his students.

“See! So, why would I even bother,” you murmur, turning your face away to hide the growing smile that played at your lips, “I know you, Izuku and I know how persistent you are!”

“I’m just trying to do my civic duty and keep you safe.”

You aren’t a hero, the words almost rolled off your tongue. As if the crushing reminder of all that was lost to him was some playful foible for you to tease out when the mood was right.

“I can keep myself safe just as well,” you say instead, “And, I carry that taser I confiscated from one of Gang Orca’s students at lunch.”

Izuku stares at you, long and hard. You wonder what he’s thinking about, if your lack of quirk or desire to be a hero worries him. Most had pipe dreams of the glory that came with the title hero. There were fewer people who didn’t care for heroics than those who were quirkless. 

“Really?”

His eyebrows dart into his hairline as he openly gapes at you, shock marring his features.

“You know those are illegal, right?” He asks, his tone climbing higher and higher, “Isn’t that why you confiscated it in the first place?”

Letting out a nervous chuckle you blanched, “It is?” You question, biting the corner of your lip, “I confiscated it because it’s dangerous for kids to be in possession of, even when they’re super powered heroes in training.”

“Yes!”

The two of you pause in front of the subway station, silence washing over you for a moment.

“Why don’t I stop by your place and pick it up,” Izuku offers, his calloused fingertips brushing your elbow, “I can take it off your hands and get rid of it, no one has to know that you kept it.”

His hands are scarred, much more than yours could ever be. It’s a sobering reminder of the life he used to have, the life he could one day have. The two of you were so different, sometimes it was easy to forget that. You and he wanted different things, and your commonalities could one day disappear. The thought made your stomach churn in discomfort. 

You liked his presence and his friendship. But, you knew if he still had his quirk he wouldn’t be teaching. It was a hard pill to swallow.

“Yeah, alright,” you mutter, forcing a smile to your lips, “If you’re coming all this way then at least let me treat you to dinner.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Izuku turns a deep shade of red, “No, it’s alright, I want to help you out!”

Before you’re able to protest, the air is stolen from your lungs as a stranger's body barrels into yours and you’re knocked to the ground. Your palms are skinned from the pavement, blood blotting along the surface as you groan in pain. A strange scent fills the air, it's nauseatingly sweet and forces a choked gasp from your lungs.

“Are you alright?” Izuku coughs, crouching down to help you off the ground, “Did you hit your head?”

You shake your head, lips tightly pursed as your face scrunches up. Warmth melts through your body, every hair standing on end as a shiver trickles down your spine. Try as you might, no words can pass through your lips. They get stuck somewhere in the back of your throat, leaving only the slightest of whimpers to slip through. Your cheeks burn even hotter with embarrassment as Izuku helps you to your feet, but you can hardly stand. Your knees threaten to buckle and your thighs shake.

“Let me… Let me call someone,” Izuku stutters, his body flush against yours.

You can feel his heart racing and the muscles in his arms trembling as he holds you. He was so strong. His muscles practically bulge out of his crisp white button up shirt.

“I feel fine,” you murmur, blinking nervously, “Just let me go home, Izuku.”

Your ribs rattle out a wheeze as you press your fingers into the meat of his well toned shoulders. Izuku smells good, really good. The hint of cologne that's melted into his skin and mingled with his sweat and musk lights your body aflame with desire. The urge to reach out and lick the throbbing vein on the side of his neck, getting a closer taste of him and his sweat crosses your mind. It’s frightening how commonplace it feels within your discombobulated thoughts, as if it were meant to be there.

“You’re burning up.”

Whatever else Izuku might have said falls on deaf ears as your brain zeroes in on the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Your lashes flutter and your nails dig into his flesh as you will yourself to calm down. But, he’s hot, dangerously so. Izuku worsens the heat that laps at your belly and your cheeks. You feel as though you cannot breathe, each breath heavy and ragged as he speaks to some far away person over the phone. 

“Izuku,” you whine, whatever was to come next spills off of your tongue in a needy little whimper as he presses the palm of his hand to your forehead.

Smoothing his rough hand over the curve of your cheek, he shushes you like a mother does a child, “Shh, you’re alright,” he coos, offering you a soothing caress, “Just remember to breathe, okay?”

Your eyes grow lidded as you lean into his touch. Each soft coo sends your mind deeper and deeper into the hole it's fallen in. The feel of him against you is almost too much for your quickly fading willpower. If not for the tiny, logical voice in the back of your skull screaming to remind you that the two of you were in public, you might’ve reached out to take a bite.

“Okay.”

You can’t remember what you were agreeing to, but the sigh of relief Izuku heaved made the pleasure centre of your brain light up in delight. It’s that measly, weak willed part of your brain that keeps you preoccupied with fantasies as heroes move all around you. Some of their voices are familiar, you think they must have stopped by to speak with your students but they’re not speaking to you. Everything is directed to Izuku who speaks in a harried manner, the worry evident in his tone. It doesn’t match the way he paws at your body or that thing poking at your thighs.

But, it’s his touch that grounds you and keeps you from losing it completely as the two of you are shoved in the back of an ambulance. The blaring sirens do little to keep this situation discreet, like you heard one of the heroes had requested. They’re sitting in the bay with you, their body a sea of orange, black, and green. Their rough, scraggly voice barks out frustrations to Izuku, to the paramedic, to the distant voice who rambles over speakerphone. 

You squint at them and their jagged, pointy attire in vague recognition. They must have visited U.A. at some point, heroes were always brought in for some lesson or another.

“Kacchan, I’m fine!” Izuku’s voice squeals, you crane your neck just in time to catch him slapping the hero's hand away, “Their quirk didn’t hit me.”

“You know that's not how emitter quirks work, Deku,” ‘Kacchan’ gruffly barks out, “You’re getting looked at when we get to the hospital, end of discussion.”

“But-”

“End of discussion.”

Izuku wears a sheepish expression, his wide green eyes darting between you and the hero, “I was going to say, they’re quirkless and a civilian,” he says, “I’m worried.”

‘Kacchan’ barks out a laugh, “So are you, Deku.”

“It’s different.”

“Right you’re a special little boy, I forgot,” he sarcastically mutters, “Who somehow is immune to others' quirks, I almost forgot.”

You don’t have to look at Izuku to know he’s rolling his eyes, you could tell by the tone of his voice and the small huff that passes his lips. When his students asked for extensions an hour before the assignment was due, he’d roll his eyes and huff, but he always said yes.

“Yup, that's totally what I meant,” Izuku snips with a frown.

Your languid gaze settles onto his pink, freckled cheeks. His eyes are pointedly fixed to his shoes, shirking away from ‘Kacchan’s’ intense stare. The oxygen mask pinches uncomfortably at the bridge of your nose but your arm is strapped to the gurney, keeping you firmly in place. Izuku spares a quick flit of his eyes over your body before he returns to his avoidance. ‘Kacchan’ leers almost menacingly.

“Stop bein’ such a damn brat,” he barks, gripping Izuku by the chin, “Your face is all red and you’re sweating, this isn’t normal.” 

Izuku’s cheeks are a ruddy red and puffed into a pout. His freckles spill out from between the other man's rough, calloused hands. A beat of silence passes between the two of them. It’s suffocating, the tensed air that fills the cramped ambulance bay. You should look away from them but they’re so wrapped up in this silent exchange that they wouldn’t even notice your intrusion. They weren’t noticing your long, tiresome stare or your wide eyes that flit between them.

“Fine.”

Izuku concedes surprisingly quickly.

He squirms in his seat, he must be embarrassed to be bossed around like that. You miss the quiver of his upper lip and the nervous sweat that breaks out on his brow. A low whisper is hissed between the two men, your hazed mind can’t even begin to make out what might’ve been said but it stirs a whimper like sound from your colleague. Wrenching the heroes hand from his face, Izuku sulks with a flush melting down his neck. The other man wears a smug, satisfied smirk— one where the corners of his lips curl upwards 

The ambulance halts to a stop, hardly jostling them but it sends your head spinning. You have to squish your eyes shut to keep the ringing in your ears at bay. Somewhere between being pulled into the emergency room and being rushed into a private room, your consciousness fades. When it returns to you, you’re not in the sterile hospital room you imagined you’d be in. 

You’re splayed across a plush couch, there’s a chunky knit throw wrapped around your legs and tucked up beneath your chin. The air is musky, filled with something warm and welcoming. It worsens the burn that itches your skin. 

“Where am-”

“You’re awake, good,” a familiar voice chirps.

Izuku’s freckled face fills your vision, he wears a strained smile. His cheeks are ruddy and his skin is glistening with sweat. Perching himself on the arm of the sofa, he reaches forward to rest his hand on your ankle. His hand is scarred with rough skin that trailed up to his elbow, a memory of a past lifetime sealed within the confines of his youth. The feel of his skin against yours makes you jolt, skittering away from the explosion of heat that travels up your calf and snakes its way up your thigh.

“Izuku,” you pant, blinking at him as if he were some mirage that might soon disappear, “What happened? Where are we? Why aren’t we at the hospital, I remember being in an ambulance.”

Slinking into the plush cushion beside you, Izuku raises a hand, “Woah, slow down, I can explain.”

“The two of you got hit with a sex pollen quirk,” a gruff voice chimes in, heavy footfalls accompanying them, “End of story.”

“What?”

The hero from before materializes behind Izuku, no longer clad in his hero suit but instead a pair of soft grey sweatpants and a thin black muscle tank top. It’s a stark contrast to the messy suit that hangs off Izuku’s frame and the rumpled sundress you excitedly picked out to wear this morning. The spiked blonde hair and sharp, ruby eyes lined in smudged black were familiar but you couldn’t quite place where you knew him from.

“Kacchan do you always have to be so crass?” Izuku shrieks, “This is why you’re number fifteen because you refuse to use any of the media training we did in school!”

“Is that why I feel so … Funny?”

Your face burns with shame and embarrassment. While ‘Kacchan’ was reticent, the picture of nonchalance as he leaned against the sofa, his chest flush to Izuku’s spine.

“But, why are we here? Why aren’t we at the hospital?”

“There’s nothing they could do to reverse the effect of the quirks,” Izuku murmurs, gently caressing your ankle, “Kacchan offered a private place for us to wait it out.”

“I figured if you were going to fuck to get it out of your system, here was better than your lodgings at U.A.”

A shiver trickles down your spine, forcing you to curl into the corner of the sofa as confusion muddied your mind. ‘Kacchan’ snorted a laugh as you stared off in a mix of horror and confusion, “A sex pollen quirk?” You echoed, speaking to no one but yourself, “I thought those were just a trope in those bodice rippers to sell to lonely moms.”

“Apparently not,” Izuku winced, lightly elbowing his friend, “So now we’re here.”

“We’re here.”

You look around the room like a trapped animal in need of an escape. 

“Sorry but, what is your name?” You question, your lips dipping into a frown, “If I’m going to be staying in your home until the quirk wears off, I should know your name.”

“If it wears off,” he mutters, eliciting another elbow to the gut and a shrill call of his name, “Whatever, the name’s Bakugō Katsuki or as you may know me, Great Explosion Murder God: Dynamight.”

You nod to show you’ve retained what he just said but the ripple of his muscles as he leaned over to shake your hand distracted you. Izuku bounces anxiously between you, chewing on his lip until the skin cracks and ichor tinges his tongue. The urge to lap it up swirls in your belly and you find yourself reaching forward and grasping at his slacks.

“Get it out of our systems,” you whisper, your mind stuck on Bakugō’s earlier words.

That damned smug smirk creeps onto his face once more, almost as if he was pleased by the situation before him. You had heard in passing of heroes wearing righteousness as a facade and enjoyed certain unsavory situations and chaos just as much as some villains did. You didn't think Izuke would have remained with someone who had such little honour but you could feel the smug satisfaction roll off  Bakugō in waves. It was as though he wanted this to happen.

“Mhm,” Izuku all but purred as he leaned closer to you.

Bakugō knotted his fingers into Izuku’s sweat dabbled, unruly curls pushing his head closer to yours until you felt his warm breath fanning across your lips. The hair on the back of your neck stands and your breathing grows laboured. All you could think about since joining the faculty back in April was him, what his tongue may taste like, and if he would moan in your mouth like he did in your dreams. It was wrong of you to want him so bad but your wanton, lust filled mind was begging you to take this chance to have him with no repercussions, and no regrets.

Your rumination came to an end as Bakugō pressed Izuku’s mouth to yours. A puppeteer relishing in his work, he snorts as you eagerly lap at Izuku’s mouth, pawing at his torso with wanton lust. His fingers are quick to tangle in your hair and grip the back of your neck. The feel of his rough, scarred skin against your tender, flush neck makes your body burst out into goosebumps which drives you closer to him in search of warmth in spite of the burning balm that’s settled over you.

Lucidity melts your mind further. The longer you’re awake, shaking off the fog and allowing the adrenaline to settle in, the more your desire grows. It’s spiralled out of control and your body acts without your mind's permission.

“Izuku,” you whimper into his lips, wrinkling his dress shirt between your fists, “Please… Give me more.”

Bakugō roughly pats your head, tussling your hair around as if he were trying to give you a noogie, “Don’t you worry, Deku here is a good boy, he’ll give you what you need.”

Izuku moans into your mouth, his body reacting to his friend's words. His hands tremble as they curl into the nape of your neck. You take the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth, lapping at his molars and gums to memorize every inch of his kiss and the way he tastes, if gum or some other thing might cling to his teeth. 

“Oh that’s it, atta boy,” Bakugō barks, his rough fingers tug at the roots of your hair as if to guide your tongue further into Izuku’s mouth.

Your eyes flit open on their own accord, perhaps to peer into Bakugō’s. They’re a dark shade of red, his pupils large and imposing as they peer, fixated on the sloppy slip and slide of your tongue against Izuku’s. They press close soon after they meet Bakugō’s for but a moment, forced by the nervous thrum of your heart that rises when he notices your staring. 

Izuku notices the stall in your movements and the sloppy slip of your tongue, “Hey,” he coos against your lips, “Are you okay?”

You nod a bit, not minding the way your head knocks into his. You’re all but about to crawl out of your skin. Discomfort and discontent with being watched like a bug pinned beneath a microscope, sharp and calculating eyes dissecting your every move as if they determine your worthiness for his best friend. Oh, but the haze that clouded your mind and soaked through your panties kept you glued to the soft sofa and Izuku’s warm embrace, searching for something to quell the overwhelming, wanton need that choked your delicate throat.

Izuku tosses a spare glance over his shoulder to Bakugō, calculating and sizing the man up, “Kacchan do you mind?” He murmurs, it's less of a request and more of a statement but you’re unsure what it’s meant to mean.

Their eyes catch for a moment, a million words silently pass between them. They speak a language you can’t understand but the incessant throbbing in your cunt keeps the insecurity from eating away at you.

“He can stay if you want,” you whisper, your voice a stranger to your ears.

“Kacchan’s gonna leave,” Izuku’s voice is clipped as his emerald green eyes slide back to gaze into yours, “Isn’t that right?”

The two pause for a moment, a beat passing between them. The weight of their history is heavy in the air, tension palpable. You attempt to squirm away, to put some space between you and Izuku but his calloused hands keep you pinned firmly between him and the sofa. Your clit throbs with need, no amount of discomfort could cloud the fact that you found his strength immensely attractive.

“I was?”

The heat that emanates from between their exchanges burns you. Lapping at the tops of your thighs and licking your belly. You feel it deep within you, the staunch, growing need that’s driving you half mad. Whatever history laid between them, however complicated and rich, mattered not. How could it, when heady desire so thick laid itself over your feeble body?

“You wanna kiss him?” You murmur to neither man in particular, squishing your thighs together to quell the throb.

“No, angel,” Bakugō says, shoving his face over Izuku’s shoulder, “I want to kiss you, to know what you taste like.”

He leers at you in spite of the nervous glance his friend gives him but you pay it no mind. Your ego triples in its size, as does your fervent lust. You may not have cared enough to pay attention to the current hero ranks or the thriving celebrity culture, but you knew well enough to be flattered. Not just because anyone would want to be vied after by an affluent pro hero, but because Bakugō was stunning in his own right. Somewhere in the back of your mind, exists the pieces of him you’ve come across. Though mystified and shrouded by confusion, somewhere, he existed beyond the stretch of this one meeting.

“I know all about Izuku already.”

“Me?” You dumbly point to yourself, as if there were a fourth person in the room that he might have been conversing with.

He nods his head and the glint in his eyes feels predatory. You wither under his stare, fawning to him like a prey animal.

“Okay.”

The word is whispered and you have a feeling no matter what you said in that moment, it’d end with your mouth on his.

Bakugō’s body all but engulf’s Izuku’s frame. You had thought before that Izuku was large with well cared for muscles and thigh shoulders but his friend made him look small in comparison. With only a few extra inches of height to his name, Bakugō was big and burly, with muscles that tapered off into a surprisingly trim waist.

Izuku pouted as he was pressed in between the two of you, his neck bared as he cocked his head to the side to allow Bakugō some room, “Don’t be like that Deku,” he rasps against the shell of his ear, “You knew how I felt about them.”

The confession hangs heavily in the air but it doesn’t linger long. Bakugō presses a balmy, open mouthed kiss to Izuku’s jugular, the light highlighting the glint of his teeth as the nip at his freckled skin. A moan melts off Izuku’s tongue and that seems to satisfy both men. Bakugō crowds into your space, his nudge nudging yours.

You languidly blink at him, waiting for him to take what he wants. His rough, calloused fingers grasp the tip of your chin, his warm breath fanning across your lips. You find yourself leaning in, your lips brushing his, a small coquettish whimper sticking to the back of your throat.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to know what you taste like,” his voice is surprisingly soft, it makes your heart skip a beat.

Bakugō takes his time with kissing you, as if he knows the moment this quirk wears off the only pieces of you he’d get to have are short glimpses in the halls of U.A. He smells of sweat and ash, tastes like a hot cinnamon heart candy. That must have been the flavour of gum he was chewing on in the ambulance. His tongue laps at your gums and flick over your molars as if searching for all the hidden pieces of yourself. If intimacy lay in the knowledge of one's body, Bakugō was skipping all the pretext that comes before such closeness. He kissed you like the two of you had been simmering on low for years, a shared heat enveloping you. Maybe those months felt like years for him as you only had eyes for Izuku.

You’re unsure who you touch as your hands explore the expanse of clothed shoulders and biceps. The tickle of hair brushes your skin but the dizzying warmth shrouds your ability to discern the who and the wear. Both men were all over you, all at once. Izuku, nuzzling himself into you, sweet kisses pressed to your collarbones and sternum. He stroked the side of your abdomen, sneaking his fingers beneath your dress shirt. This morning, you had woken up extra early to iron your shirt in the hopes of looking nice. The fabric was now crumpled and soaked with sweat, the cuffs dabbled with blood from when you fell. 

Bakugō’s lips are red and kiss bitten when he pulls away, swiping his thumb along the length of his bottom lip, he grins at you, satisfied with himself.

With a whine, you roll your hips against Izuku, searching for stimulation.

“What’s wrong?” He coos, his brow furrowed as he cups his cheek.

A haggard breath leaves your chest, “I’m so hot,” you all but squeal, “And needy it, I need you Izuku please.”

“You heard them, they need you, Deku.”

Izuku freeze’s for a moment, his face flush and hot. If he had some sort of emitter quirk you’re sure he’d be spitting flames from his cheeks, “Need me where, sweetheart?” 

Cupping his hand with your own, you guide it between your legs. The thick tweed fabric of your slacks is uncomfortably wet with your arousal. The press of his hand to your cunt feels near euphoric, you can’t help the wanton moan you release. Izuku needs no further instruction as he flicks open the top button of your pants and begins to peel them down your hips. Your underwear is pulled down your thighs and bunched up, tossed somewhere in the living room with your socks and shoes. 

Izuku moans when your spread your legs to give him space, his bottom lip squished between his teeth, “Fuck, your so…” He trails off, blinking a bit.

“Your cunt is perfect,” Bakugō finishes for him, sprawling across Izuku’s shoulders.

Bakugō roughly gropes Izuku’s erection through his dress pants, his free hand threads itself in his unruly green hair and pushes his head towards your throbbing cunt. Your eyes roll into your skull when the tip of his nose brushes against your aching clit. Your fingers tangle with Bakugō’s as you grip the roots of Izuku’s hair.

“Please,” you beg, twitching your hips upwards, “Lick my pussy, please Izu’.”

Izuku makes for an obedient puppy. In another life, one without such ambition, he might’ve made a good soldier with how well he took orders from you. His tongue lolled out to kitten lick your cunt, his green eyes peering up at you in concern. They shut quickly as he loses himself in your taste, groaning into you as he slurps up every last drop of your thick, sticky arousal that gushes from your cunt. 

Bakugō wastes no time in unbuckling Izuku’s belt, pushing his pants and briefs down his thigh. Your mouth grows dry at the sight of his cock, heavy, hairy, and twitching with need. Precum drips from the ruddy tip onto the fuzzy carpet but neither man pays no mind. His wrist snaps as he gives Izuku’s cock a languid stroke. The groans of pleasure are swallowed up by your pussy, the vibrations from his vocal chords making your head spin. The muscles in your tummy are pulled taunt as they’re wound up. The tension that settles in your shoulders threatens to tear you apart. 

Your orgasm washes over you with a startling quickness but it isn’t enough. Your nails dig into Izuku’s scalp as you keep his mouth pressed to your cunt even if he’s choking on your squirt. It drips down the leather cushions of the sofa and it squeaks obnoxiously as your skin slides against it. Bakugō pulls Izuku closer to him by the hips, bringing you with him. His sweatpants are bunched around his hips, pulled down just enough for dick to sit over the waist band. Unlike Izuku’s thick, curly bush and freckled pelvis, Bakugō’s pale blond pubes blend in with his skin but you can tell that he’s kept it trim. Trickling from beneath his belly button, his sparse happy trail guides your eyes to his cock. It’s thin and long with a bruised bulbous tip that leaks when he gives it a firm squeeze at the base.

With lidded eyes, you watch with intrigue when Bakugō spits on Izuku’s ass, rubbing it around his asshole with his thumb.

“Katsuki…” Izuku murmurs from between your thighs, “Are you gonna…?”

Bakugō silences him by pushing his mouth back into your cunt and like the obedient little runt he is, he latches his lips to your clit. Pressing the tip of his dick to Izuku’s eager hole, Bakugō stifles a grunt behind a wicked grin. It’s difficult to focus on one thing and how can you, when Izuku’s thick fingers prod at your weeping hole and he’s moaning like a whore with tears in his eyes as Bakugō splits him in half with not a moment of reprieve. It's sloppy, the way Izuku fingers your cunt, slick and squirt squelching loudly like an erotic symphony. 

“Come on now, don’t slow down now” Bakugō chides, the hem of his muscle tank inching up his stomach as he snaps his hips into Izuku, “Be good now and put your mouth to use.”

Somewhere in the alphabet soup of your pleasure addled mind, you manage to string together a sentence, “You’re so mean to him,” you whine, writhing in Izuku’s hold, “Izu is so nice an’ he smells like sage.”

“He likes it,” he chuckles, leaning over Izuku’s back to peck your lips, “Would you rather I be mean to you?”

You try to shake your head but another orgasm hits you and you’re forced to gulp down a few breaths before you can attempt to speak. The two men call your name in synchronized echoes like hymns of worship bouncing off stone temple walls.

“No, just play nice with us.”

Izuku’s nails bite into the fat of your hips as he uses you for stability, his head bobbing like he’s brainless, “Shh, it’s okay sweetheart,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on your hip, “Kacchan is all bark.”

His chin is shiny with your spend, it’s dripped down his neck to soak into the collar of his shirt. Your body prickles with shame but it’s nothing in comparison to the snarly beast of want that claws at your chest, begging for more than just fingers and tongue. 

“I wish he’d bite me instead.”

The two laugh, there’s a knowing look again, that look in the eye that makes your eyes flit away from the intensity, “I do if asked nicely.”

Blood prickles at the surface of your skin when Bakugō picks up the pace, roughly slamming his cock into Izuku’s poor battered hole. You’re almost mesmerized how his cock flops uselessly against his tummy with each deep thrust. His nails leave raised streaks in your skin that stirs something exciting in your chest. Your name is said like a prayer as Izuku cums, his cock twitching as his cum pools atop the carpet.

Somehow, Izuku’s cock becomes even stiffer, standing to attention in search of the warmth of human touch. Bakugō kisses the nape of his neck, whispering something to Izuku as he buries his cock into his ass.

“Sweetheart, can I…. I want to… no,” Izuku starts and stops himself like he’s talking to his boss. Beating around the push, unsure of how to make his request palatable, “Can I please fuck you?”

The soft, nervous lilt of his voice makes your cunt throb, you nod before you can choke out a “Yes,” breathed and painted with excitement, “Yes please, please I need you inside of me.”

Untangling himself from Bakugō’s reach, Izuku pushes you deep into the plush of the sofa. He wears a timid smile that threatens on wild. The apples of his cheeks are flush, you can’t help but reach up to pinch them, your thumb smoothing along his scar dappled skin. Pushing some of your sweat damp hair away from your forehead, Izuku settles between your thighs.

“You’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he whispers to you like he��s confessing a secret, giddy and drunk off the feeling, “How are you so pretty, so perfect?”

His question goes unanswered because he presses the slick tip of his cock to your cunt, sliding it between your sticky folds, “Hurry up!” You bark, simpering when you realize the tone of your voice is scarily demanding and petulant, “I can’t wait any longer, please.”

Caressing the side of your face, Izuku coos at you a soft apology with a kiss to placate your nerves. He’s far slower than Bakugō, who paid no mind to taking his time in stretching Izuku out. The fat head of his cock presses inside your pulsing hole and sits there for a moment as your chest heaves from the mind numbing stretch. Bakugō saunters around the other side of the sofa standing where your head hangs off the arm. His dick stares directly at you, a taunting treat that is just begging for you to take a bite.

Your jaw falls slack and your tongue follows suit. Izuku takes it as an invitation to kiss you, clumsily like it was his first. He’s eager and all over you, the snap of his hips jaggad and haggard.

“So pretty,” he whispers into your waiting lips, “I can’t believe I get to fuck you, I like you so much.”

You think you hear Bakugō chuckle. If he does, it's hidden but the wet squelch of his cock as he fists it over your faces. Either way, you’re too distracted by the operative word Izuku uses, “like”, you wanted it to be love. It’d only been a few months since you met him but you think you might’ve loved him the moment you laid eyes on him. You wanted him to love you too, to want more than just fevered kisses in the midst of an aphrodisiac fueled bacchanal. But that was asking too much, you wanted too much. You were greedy and wrought with selfish desire. And you couldn’t breathe. 

Pulling at the buttons of your dress shirt, your pluck at the fabric until it gives way. The tepid air feels heavenly on your sweat slick skin for but a moment before you’re shrouded by the heat of two bodies. Bakugō slots his cock between your two open mouths and you suckle on the long throbbing vein to pacify your bleeding heart. Izuku’s tongue slides against yours, laving over Bakugō’s length as he pumps into you.

Warmth spreads in your abdomen and spills down your thighs. It bites at the edge of your vision, stars and bits of black swimming along until your consciousness fades. Sleep greets you like an old friend. It cradles your head and swaddles you in a cocoon of comfort. Your anxieties and that horrid pit in your stomach fade away with the sweet dreams that visit you.

You’re unsure how long you slumbered for but when you awake, the room was bathed in the golden glow of morning. There’s a grey duvet tucked up to your chin, it smells of laundry detergent and musk. Your bare body is battered, sore to the bone with bruises littering your thighs and hips. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you survey the room. It’s barren and hardly lived in, if it weren’t for the pile of clothes hanging off the wicker basket hamper in the corner of the room.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Izuku’s cheerful voice rings out, he peers around the doorway with a tray of food, “How are you feeling?”

Your throat is dry, the words stick to the sides of your esophagus, “I feel…” You rasp, shaking your head, “Fine, how are you?”

Izuku offers you a smile, “I’m alright,” he offers you the tray, there’s a glass of water and a bottle of Advil, “Here, you should drink up.” 

When you make no movement to grab the glass, Izuku plucks two pills from the bottle and brings the water towards your lips. Pressing the medication to your mouth, you swallow it down with his quiet instruction. He coos small praises into your ear, the way he does with his students. Your stomach flips with nerves as flashes of yesterday come rushing back.

Before you can speak the ensuite door flies open, a plume of steam coming with it. Bakugō stands in the doorway in nothing but a pair of loose gym shorts, toweling off his short spiky hair.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Kacchan!”

Silence fills the space uncomfortably.

“Did you tell them yet?” Bakugō says, nodding towards you.

“Tell me what?” Your kiss bitten lips ache but you chew on them anyways.

Izuku shakes his head, “No,” he mutters, “They just woke up.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

Bakugō huffs through his nose, his gaze cutting through you as he pins down Izuku with his eyes,“They deserve to know.”

“To know what?”  Anxiety bubbles in your belly. The pills that sit at the back of your throat threaten to make a reappearance. Blood coats your tongue as you split the skin of your lips. You think you know what they might say. It was all a mistake, likened to a drunken affair between a married man and a spring flower, decades younger, still in bloom.

“That we both have feelings for you.”

Oh.

And suddenly, those pesky wants of yours didn’t feel so far away. You didn’t feel so hard to love or desire. But, the thought of it stole your breath. It prickled you with anxiety and fears akin to not enough. 

All you could say was, “Oh.”

Because whatever you felt for Izuku had no name and if it did, you weren’t sure such a word existed in Japanese nor English. And Bakugō, the guilt crept up for all the things you didn’t feel or couldn’t. Maybe you did feel something, not flattery but something concrete that pushed its way through the thick heat of desire that made you act so foolishly. You thought maybe he was just stroking your ego, that wanton lust to know the taste if another could be just that, lust. No feelings that were any deeper than a kiddy pool.

One of them calls your name, but it all sounds like static.

“And here I thought it was all in my head.”

And maybe it was. Maybe you were still dreaming.

You think that might be it until Izuku surges forward to kiss you long and hard. Your head is filled with the same intoxicating rush. The quirk must not have been as strong as you thought after all.

© All content belongs to butchizuku. You are not allowed to modify, translate, redistribute, or plagiarize in anyway. Do not recommend outside of tumblr (tiktok, wattpad, twitter etc).

[beloveds-embrace]

more angst dukedom i beseech you🙏

I gotchu 🫡 cw: implied suicide attempt

John Price had always carried burdens- command, the lives of his men, expectations he never wanted but accepted nonetheless. He bore them all without complaint, because that was what men like him did. They wore their regrets like scars and moved forward, no matter the pain.

But this was different.

There was no strategy, no enemy, no path forward that didn’t feel like wading through a graveyard of his own making.

The enemy was himself. And he had already lost.

The room was too quiet.

You lay in the massive bed, fragile and still, as though the sheets would swallow you whole. Candlelight flickered over your face, highlighting the hollows beneath your eyes, the unnatural stillness of your features. You weren’t asleep, but you weren’t here, not in any meaningful way.

John had seen death before, had buried men with his own hands. But he’d never felt a loss like this. Because you were still breathing. And yet, you were gone.

A part of him had known you were suffering. He had seen the signs, felt the shift in the house, in the way the light had dimmed in your eyes long before your body followed. But he had ignored it. Too busy. Too distracted by his duties. Too used to the idea that you, as a noblewoman, were meant to endure.

He had never stopped to see you.

And now, looking at you- this hollow shell of the woman he had legally sworn to protect- he knew with crushing certainty that he might never be able to bring you back.

His fists clenched at his sides.

The guilt weighed on him, suffocating him, pressing against his ribs. How had he let it come to this?

The doctors said you’d recover. But what was survival if there was nothing left to live for?

He sat beside you, careful, as though one wrong move might shatter what little remained of you. His hand hovered over yours before finally touching it, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin.

You didn’t react. Not even the slightest twitch.

He closed his eyes briefly, whispering, hoarse and broken

“I’m so sorry, Duchess.”

The words were too small, too late, too inadequate for what had been done. But he said them anyway. And he would keep saying them, even if you never heard them.

The manor is silent.

Not the comfortable hush of a home at rest, nor the solemn quiet of a place draped in dignity. No, this silence is heavy, suffocating, thick with something that clings to the skin like damp earth after a burial.

It is a mausoleum now. A grand, gilded coffin filled with ghosts that still breathe, still walk, still whisper their regrets into the very walls, as if stone and wood can grant them absolution.

But the dead do not listen.

And you are dead.

Not in the way the world recognizes, not in the way the priests preach about with their incense and hollow comforts, but in the way that matters. The way that leaves the soul hollowed out and emptied, a once-beating heart now reduced to something that merely functions. The way that makes a woman rise from her sickbed not because she wants to, but because the weight of stillness is unbearable, because even nothingness is preferable to lingering.

So you move.

Because what else is there to do?

The doctor tells you that you can begin walking again, so you do. You do not celebrate this, nor acknowledge the hesitance in his voice, the way he measures his words as though afraid one wrong syllable might shatter you further. He is the family doctor. He had ignored your aches and pains before, but he is still perfect for everyone else, so there is no reason for him to leave.

You simply nod, and then you leave.

No fanfare, no grand proclamation, no shared relief with the servants who dare not meet your eyes, nor the men who have spent too many sleepless nights outside your door, drowning in their own grief.

You pass them all without pause.

Johnny, standing near the stairwell, his mouth parting as if to say something, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure whether to reach for you or let you pass. He says nothing. He does nothing.

Kyle, leaning against the corridor wall, eyes shadowed, his usual confidence stripped raw, his lips pressed into a tight, remorseful line. You do not look at him.

Simon, silent as ever, standing at the threshold of the hall, watching, watching, watching. Always watching. But what good were his eyes when they had never seen you before?

John, waiting at the foot of the stairs, as if he expected you to stop, to say something, to acknowledge him.

You do not.

You step past them as if they are furniture, as if they are just another part of the grand, empty estate that holds no warmth for you. You feel like an unwelcome guest in this house.

Thankfully, they do not follow you.

Perhaps they should. Perhaps once, a long time ago, they would have. But now, there is something in the way you carry yourself- a frigid, unyielding nothingness- that warns them against it.

You do not stop until you reach your office.

It is the one place in this house that still belongs to you, still exists outside of their guilt, their whispered apologies, their feeble, desperate attempts to undo the irreversible.

The papers on your desk are still neatly stacked, left undisturbed as if the very walls themselves had been mourning your absence. The ink in your inkwell has dried, a stark reminder of how much time has passed, how much has been lost.

You sit, you pick up the first document, and then you begin to work.

It is not a statement. It is not an act of rebellion, nor is it an attempt to prove anything to anyone.

It is simply something to do.

A way to fill the hours, to keep your hands moving, to avoid the empty spaces where grief might creep in, where thoughts might fester.

The servants try, at first. They hover, unsure whether to acknowledge you, whether to speak. They bring tea that grows cold on the desk, untouched. They set down meals that go ignored, waiting until you are gone to take them away in silent defeat. They do not try to talk to you anymore.

They understand now; you are done with them.

You are done with all of it.

You are not cruel. You do not snap at them, nor raise your voice, nor offer even a fraction of the coldness they once gave you.

But you don’t speak to them at all.

And in some ways, that is worse.

Because there is nothing they can do to thaw the ice that has settled into your bones, nothing they can say that will undo what has been broken.

There is no… warmth left to give.

[serpentface]

Wardin provincial tax magistrate on the annual Apomalo Tlinya (phrase close in meaning to 'journey of the late (autumn) sun'), which is a tax collection tour.

His station is marked by his white cloak, royal blue belt, gullfeather khattanocuy, the ability to bear a sword, and a scroll containing documents stamped with the Usoma's seal confirming his identity and authority. He does not travel alone, but is accompanied by a large retinue of scribes, soldiers, advisors, and servants.

All citizens have tax obligations regardless of class, and these are owed primarily in grain and livestock. This is based in this internal economy being predominantly a barter system (with its coin currency having direct value as precious metals and serving as a means of establishing fixed values for various trade goods) and heavily reliant on agricultural goods. It is significantly more difficult to evade or cheat on taxes when what you owe can be established by sight, measured in hard to miss livestock and fields of crops.

As such, taxes are collected via annual tours in which these magistrates (personally appointed by the Usoma and collecting in his name) tour their lands in person. The Apomalo Tlinya serves multiple purposes. It is primarily a method of collecting tax, but also doubles as a way to assess a province's agricultural wealth and well-being as a whole and to take an official census of the population.

This routine act of taxation has been integrated into official religious practice, being looped in with the bounty of the harvest season and thanksgiving to the face Inyamache for having provided the necessary long summer sunlight as the days grow shorter. The actual Apomalo Tlinya begins upon the official celebrations of the New Maize day in each capital city (usually observed on a separate day at the actual end of the harvest for each village), where the festival ends with the tax party leaving the city in procession. The magistrate always ceremonially rides a red bull khait, bearing a solar disk framed by royal dual-viper insignia on its horns. The bull's journey is compared to the ideal seasonal behavior of the sun, generating new life out of rain-fertile earth and then 'dying' after the harvest to allow for the rains to come. Villages who host the Apomalo Tlinya entourage each night experience a fringe benefit via permission to introduce any receptive mares to the bull and possibly get some (very valuable) calves out of it. The bull will be sacrificed at the end of the journey in a final act of thanksgiving, in hopes this offering will help ensure the next year is bountiful.

The attempted veneer of solar thanksgiving and harvest cheer aside, the Apomalo Tlinya visit is enjoyed by just about no one (except for perhaps the people lucky enough to get a pretty khait calf out of it), as it entails the personal loss of some of this aforementioned harvest. Nobility owe SUBSTANTIALLY higher taxes than commoners (given that they are considered to Own the majority of the crops/livestock, which is only Tended by their land's peasants), though the actual tax burden is proportionately steeper on the peasantry (whose tax obligations will come primarily out of their allotted share of the harvest, and/or any livestock they raise on the side). Taxes don't tend to be outright devastating in years with average crop yields, but an already bad year can be made ruinous by this visit. The timing also coincides with seasonal harvest festivities. A few unlucky villages every year may have their New Maize feast day interrupted by the sound of horns and a small legion of white-clad taxmen bearing down to collect.

Each province has only one tax magistrate, making this a lengthy and logistically complicated undertaking. It begins at the end of the harvest season (late summer), and the rounds may not finish until early winter. While it might be easier to divide these duties among a greater number of less-powerful officials, this allows taxation to remain Relatively centralized and performed by trusted appointees (often friends or relatives of the Usoma himself). This has had side effects of these officials becoming especially powerful individuals within each province, with very little checks in place to prevent corruption (beyond hope for sustained loyalty, often reinforced with special privileges and favors). Flagrant abuse of this system is rare, but more unpopular magistrates are commonly suspected to leverage additional off-the-books taxes for their own personal gain.

[aquared46]

Happy ao3 downtime. Have a little andreil fic. As a treat.

It was only because Neil recognized the cadence of the footsteps downstairs that his pounding heart calmed. He untangled his legs from the blankets, but didn’t rise from the bed. He listened as Andrew locked the front door, the pounding in his head and the sickness swirling in his stomach indicating he only managed about an hour of sleep. Vague images clung to the backs of Neil’s eyelids, a nightmare that slipped from his waking mind. Something Andrew had saved him from before he was even in the room.

Andrew wasn’t supposed to be back in South Carolina for another two weeks, obligated to spend time training with his team between games. Neil himself should’ve been on campus, ready for practice in the morning. Instead, Coach took one look at him yesterday afternoon and sent him away with orders to get some sleep. To give his vice captain a chance to practice for the real thing once Neil graduated in a few short months.

Neil couldn’t get any sleep at the dorms, but his and Andrew’s bed in Columbia called to him. Neil made the trip and collapsed into it, his mind wandering to the countless firsts they shared there rather than the onslaught of memories March brought.

Neil had survived three Marches since the riot, since his father’s people had delivered him to the basement in Baltimore. His fourth March should’ve been no different.

Except there was one thing Neil hadn’t accounted for: Andrew wasn’t there.

Neil was in his final year, Andrew was playing on a professional team states away, and Neil had never realized exactly how much he leaned on him in times like this. How the shared cigarettes steadied his hands, how Andrew’s palm on the back of his neck halted the crawling beneath his skin.

Objectively, he knew Andrew helped, but it was also something Neil should’ve been able to do on his own. It wasn’t something he wanted to burden Andrew with, something that pulled him away from his responsibilities because Neil couldn’t manage to get through just a few fucking days without nearly falling apart.

And now Andrew was standing in the doorway of their bedroom in Columbia, the light from the hall flooding into the room and illuminating Neil in all his disgrace. The sweaty skin, the greasy hair, the circles under his eyes, the t-shirt Neil had bundled under his head.

Neil had found it wedged between the nightstand and the bedframe, undoubtedly tossed aside carelessly on a good day that involved lots of kissing and touching. It smelled a bit like old sweat, but Andrew’s scent also clung to it, and Neil was far beyond denying himself such a simple comfort.

Andrew kicked the bedroom door closed, and Neil listened to his footsteps as he approached in the dark. There was a click as Andrew tugged the chain of the small lamp on the nightstand. Andrew always hated how bright the overhead light was.

Andrew gestured to Neil’s entirety. “This is not fine.” He snagged the shirt from under Neil’s head, wrinkling his nose before tossing it aside.

Andrew had called him just two days earlier. They’d talked as they always did, exchanging stories and sometimes just sitting in silence, knowing the other was there and listening. Except this time Andrew had explicitly asked how Neil was holding up, and Neil had said he was fine.

“I meant what I said.” Neil mourned the loss of the shirt, but tucked his face closer to the pillow, where some of the smell had transferred.

Andrew’s jaw tensed. “I thought you weren’t going to lie to me anymore.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re lying to yourself.” Something settled in Andrew’s gaze as he examined Neil, the tension in his shoulders easing. “And you’re an idiot if you think I’d make you bear this on your own.”

Andrew emptied his pockets on the nightstand, and Neil felt something loosen in him as well. As Andrew peeled off his jeans, Neil scooched over to make enough room on the bed.

“There were no games scheduled, so I got cleared for this time off weeks ago,” Andrew said as he slipped under the covers.

The relief Neil felt from his proximity didn’t lessen the weight of his glare. “And you’re telling me this now?”

“You should’ve known I’d be here for your yearly mental breakdown. At least you keep a consistent schedule. I was curious whether you’d be honest with me, but now I have to ask: Was it a lack of self-awareness or sheer bullheaded stubbornness that kept you from telling the truth?” Andrew was close enough Neil could feel the warmth radiating off him. “I didn’t believe you then, and your current appearance only validates that assessment. If I asked again what would your answer be now?”

Neil ignored his first impulse, which was to say he was fine. Not only was it the answer Andrew didn’t want, but it certainly wasn’t true. Frustratingly, everything Andrew said was right. The way Andrew could peel back his layers and see what was underneath used to be unsettling, but nowadays Neil found it reassuring. Even if it pissed him off. Even if Andrew told him things he didn’t want to hear.

“That I can’t sleep,” Neil said through gritted teeth. “That he’s the only thing I see when I close my eyes, and that I wish you were here.”

“That’s better,” Andrew said. “Certainly more believable.”

Andrew reached for Neil, settling his arm over his waist and tugging him closer. Neil sagged into the contact, shuddering with relief as he tucked his head under Andrew’s.

Neil breathed him in. “I should be able to bear this on my own.”

“You don’t have to. I’d rather be here when you don’t need me than be away when you do.” Andrew tightened his arm, tangling Neil’s legs with his.

Neil had been holding himself together by threads for the past few days. In Andrew’s arms, he was safe enough to let himself fall apart. His chest was tight, and he gradually lost the steady breaths he forcibly maintained.

Andrew held him through it, his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm on Neil’s spine. It was something Neil could focus on, something he could latch onto to draw himself back into his own body. Exhaustion crashed into him as soon as he did, but not before he made Andrew a promise.

“I’ll do better next time.”

“I know.”

[trashcakery]

fadelstyle headcanons bc why tf not

Style has already apologized (wholeheartedly and with tears) for ambushing Fadel’s support group sessions.

Every Saturday, they make breakfast together, trying new recipes, flavors, etc. They also almost always fuck it all up, because Style is too distracting in an apron.

Style listens to heavy metal now.

Fadel often naps with his head on Style’s lap, and Style plays with his hair while he sleeps.

Fadel and Style’s dad watch 70s/80s shows together, leaving Style completely left out. They actually have nearly identical 80s rock CD collections too.

Style asks Fadel about his ex often. His personality, their time together, what Fadel loved about him. He’s even suggested they take flowers and visit his grave together. When you’re ready.

Fadel has yet to win an argument.

Saying no to Style is literally impossible for him. He’ll frown, sulk, look pissed, but never actually say no.

Fadel has bad days, lows that become debilitating. His past crashes down on him, but Style is always there. Gentle. Quiet. Giving him space, but also taking care of him. Helps him in the shower. Brings him food. Takes it away when Fadel refuses to eat. Brings it back. Holds him while he sleeps.

They love shopping together. Fadel loves the way Style glows when he tries on new clothes.

Yes, they’re both freaks. Yes, it excites them to do it in public, grabbing at each other’s necks, indulging in chest play, roleplay, you name it. But their biggest turn-on, especially for Fadel, is actually being domestic. Being soft and vanilla, even. No, because think about it— Style has probably had his fair share of sleeping around, experimenting, partying, going wild. Fadel, on the other hand, has always felt burdened by his body and its needs. His teenage years, his early adulthood, none of it was normal. He never got to experience sweetness. Never got to take his time, to feel wanted, to feel loved. To him, sex was always transactional, until his ex, who 'left' the moment Fadel showed vulnerability. So yeah, they love being wild. But what they love more is being at home—lazy morning sex, showering together, taking it slow, looking into each other’s eyes. It’s actually so sweet and heartbreaking.

After months of nagging, Fadel finally folds and teaches Style how to use a gun.

Style knows how to use a knife very well. (Don’t ask how they found out.)

Fadel practically lives at Style’s house, spends 80% of his time there.

Style’s dad is teaching Fadel how to fix his car. “What do you mean you’re marrying into our family without knowing these basics???”

Fadel whimpers. :)

Style has proudly stolen and cut up at least ten of Fadel’s t-shirts, including a vintage 1970s Led Zeppelin Rules America tee that he spent half his savings on when he was 16.

Style loves taking Fadel’s fingers into his mouth when they have sex, because it drives Fadel insane. :)

One time, while they were just hanging out in Fadel’s room, Style asked, “So when did you start finding me attractive?” Fadel’s face went beet red. Style, being the menace that he is, kept pushing, until Fadel finally blurted: “Yes, I found you attractive the moment I saw you. Yes, I thought about you while I was alone. Yes, of course I fucking did. And yes, it happened here—where else would it happen?” A smirk. “So you liked it when I lay on my stomach for you in the sauna… like this?” Style rolls onto his stomach, looks up at Fadel exactly like he did that day. “Tell me, what did you think about? Did you imagine my face?” “Shut up." “Did you imagine they were my hands or mouth?” “Style.” “Did you call my name?”

They both smell amazing. Fadel wears deep, earthy colognes. Style wears fruity, flowery ones. He also goes crazy for lip balms so Fadel buys him a new one every time he goes to the grocery store.

“Hey, you really need to stop being so trusting.” “He said his cat was dying.” “Style, he was literally trying to steal your wallet.” “But he showed me a photo. :( He had one leg missing.” “…Jesus fucking christ.”

[pianokantzart]

How long after the original mario movie do you want the second movie to be set? Eg 5 years and heaps of things had changed, 1 year and nothing has changed at all??? What are your thoughts/hopes for the time difference?

My hope is that it's set three to six months after the first movie, and the main cast are in the thick of a transition period where a lot of things are changing at once.

Mario and Luigi's plumbing business is booming. They have their own house in The Mushroom Kingdom where they're trying to get used to a new lifestyle, a new social culture, and an entire new ecosystem, all while balancing having a job and a family in Brooklyn.

Meanwhile, Princess Peach is getting used to having actual friends she can share her burdens with rather than a large, vulnerable family she needs to protect all on her own. She's probably also doing a small amount of soul searching now that she has access to a world filled entirely with humans like herself.

Toad is pretty much the only one not reeling from some sort of major change– he's got cool new friends and slightly higher social status amongst his fellow toads, but otherwise it's life as normal, just with a bit more adventuring.

And right when everyone's finally getting their feet underneath them and establishing some sort of rhythm, that's when Bowser gets busted out of prison and everything goes haywire again.

[kraangdroidz]

I really enjoy looking at Donatello's characterisation - especially the 2012 version of Donnie.

I don't know why, but something specifically about the 2012 iteration of our favourite brothers draws me to them. Maybe it's because I think they have the most interesting and unhealthy brother dynamic to explore out of any version of the Turtles. But just to say right off the bat, I don't agree with the statement that Raphael is abusive toward Mikey in this version. I don't think this to be true at all.

But in the 2012 version of Donnie, I think it's the obsessional aspect of his character that I find interesting. People flame him hard for it - which is very valid - the way he treated April was very creepy, and some of the things he did April had no knowledge of, (Like Donnie taking a photo of her and having it as his laptop wallpaper). But I like doing a little more when it comes to characters' less-than-ideal traits. Yeah, what they're doing is bad, creepy, etc. But why exactly might they be acting that way?

For Donnie, I think his problem is how he looks.

In the 2012 iteration, we never really see the turtles have a strong desire to be human. Mikey sometimes doesn't understand that humans will be scared of him, but he never lashes out and has a big moment like, 'I want to be a human so I can make more friends!' We see Mikey wonder what he'd look like as a human in an episode after Donnie creates retromutagen - with Mikey assuming if he used retromutagen on himself he'd turn human and not back into a regular turtle.

It is played as a joke, though, and he doesn't seem genuinely upset by the fact he's stuck as a turtle, as he is seen smiling after saying he wondered what he'd look like.

Interestingly enough, Donnie is the one to be portrayed as having a negative view attached to being a mutant more than any of his brothers.

Outside of being a mutant, it is implied that Donnie already has a fragile self-image anyway.

Remember the episode Turtle Temper? I think it's the third episode of the first season. But at one point, the other turtles are instructed to shoot arrows at Raph, while Raph has to try and avoid the arrows. Splinter makes it clear, however, that Mikey, Leo, and Donnie are allowed to insult Raphael during the exercise.

I've seen another content creator say that the insults they throw at Raphael could be more them self-projecting views they have on themselves rather than them actually thinking these things about their brother. Leo says, 'And you're always whining, poor me, nobody understands me.'

While this is easily applicable to Raph as an insult from Leo - Leo does have his own fair share of moments where he has gone to Splinter complaining that the others aren't listening to him or respecting him, that they don't understand the burden he has to hold as leader.

Mikey tells Raph he moves like a bloated buffalo - which, although never hinted at in the show, could imply that maybe Mikey is insecure about how much he eats. Maybe his brothers have made comments about his greediness.

Donnie says, 'Oh! You can't keep your back straight during Omote kote Gyaku! And you're ugly!'

I think the first part is interesting as Donnie is the tallest out of his brothers - gangly limbs could mean Donnie has more difficulty knowing how to stand, how to sit, so on so forth. A lot of tall people can feel really awkward as a result of their height.

Donnie most likely is sat over a desk all day, and again, being tall, Donnie has more of a slouched posture out of his brothers. I think it was Karai that also insults Donnie in an episode by calling him scrawny, in which he responds, 'And I'm not scrawny! I'm svelte!' Svelte meaning slender and elegant.

Raph has also insulted Donnie's looks before in an episode, and again, it is unclear if this is a common occurrence, but knowing 2012 Raph's character, it's probably happened on more than one occasion.

Donnie : And why do you keep grabbing me by the face? What is wrong with my face?!

Raph: Do you want me to list the reasons alphabetically or in descending order of grossness?

So regardless of being mutated or not, it seems Donnie just has a generalised lack of confidence and some issues surrounding how tall he is.

But to his issues regarding being mutated.

Donnie might've previously not had any issues with being a mutant. Before, it might've been just a general lack of confidence, as I have already said. But in society, looks are always seen as a good trait to possess if you want to have any shot at a love life. You need to fit into the beauty standards and be attractive if you want a partner.

Before April, his brothers would've been the only thing to compare himself to. He lived in a home with only mutants for fifteen years of his life - so had normal teenager issues of going through puberty and insecurities. A lot of people can feel odd/uncomfortable and dislike their growth spurts, which is why Donnie's issues at first might seem like normal things for a teenager to worry about. Donnie's biggest issue would've been how scrawny and lanky he saw himself.

But when they meet April, there is a glaring difference.

Suddenly, there is somebody in his life who isn't a mutant like him. It becomes abundantly clear to Donnie that from somebody else's standpoint, their biggest issue with him wouldn't be his tooth gap or his height, but just the plain fact that he's so different. Inhuman. Out of the ordinary. A mutant.

When he's rambling to Timothy (Mutagen Man at this point) about why April might be on a date with some punk kid (Casey) the conclusion he resorts to is, 'Because he's human, that's why.'

At the end of the episode A Foot Too Big, when Donnie apologises to April, he says, 'I'm just... a mutant.' Again, this shows Donnie jumps to the conclusion that this is why April doesn't want to be with him, not his overbearing nature or the fact that she just genuinely might not be interested. The problem in Donnie's mind is that he's mutated.

The fact that Donnie used the word 'just' implies that being a mutant is all that Donnie has boiled himself down to. He thinks that his other traits aren't worthwhile or good - like him being funny, smart, inventive - because he thinks that nobody would pay attention to those aspects of his personality. At the end of the day, he thinks nobody will be able to see him outside of being a monster.

In Fungus Humungous, the hallucination of April that Donnie experiences calls him an 'ugly mutant freak'. It is unlikely April actually thinks this of Donnie, but it's what Donnie thinks she does because it's his biggest fear. I'd like to split Donnie's hallucination into two parts. April insulting Donnie about being a mutant, and Donnie's hallucination of April kissing Casey.

We see April kissing Casey. I think the fact that this part of the hallucination comes second is meant to represent this fear of rejection and insecurity surrounding being a mutant are two sides of the same coin. His fear of April choosing Casey is a by-product of his main insecurity. We are shown April calling Donnie an 'ugly mutant freak' first. Donnie isn't afraid to lose April as a person to Casey. He's afraid of losing his only hope at feeling confident to Casey.

In the first half of the hallucination, it shows that April uses a sharp tongue like a whip.

This tongue is shown to go through Donnie's heart and subsequently breaks it.

"To have a sharp tongue" means to be quick to criticize, speak harshly, or make cutting remarks; essentially, someone who is often unkind or sarcastic with their words.

I think this represents that, over anything, it is April's words that break his heart more than her actions. It is her disgust at him being a mutant that shatters him. It's what makes him crack in the episode. He starts screaming, runs away, and shouts that he, 'doesn't want to hear anymore.' This is Donnie's breaking point. Her sharp tongue and words, over her actions like kissing Casey, that is Donnie's true biggest fear.

Donnie doesn't want to be with April purely because he loves her. To Donnie, it would be more than April simply making a choice on who to partner up with. It would be confirmation for Donnie that the issue all along was because he's a mutant.

The point I'm trying to make is that Donnie is more obsessed with trying to improve his own self-image than he is obsessed with April as a person.

He wants to use April as a means to prove someone could love him despite appearances because, as I said earlier, looks are important to a lot of people. Gaining a romantic partner would most likely grant Donnie the confidence, the consolidation that he 'isn't ugly after all' because someone managed to fall in love with him. That is why he so desperately chases after April.

He chases after the feeling of confidence.

His character kills me.

[michanvalentine]

Some of my favorite lines—among the saddest—that Astarion has ever said. Every time I hear them, delivered so perfectly by Neil, my heart aches. I'm sharing them with you because my husband can't take hearing me talk about Astarion and Baldur's Gate anymore!

"It’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me." There’s an entire world behind this line: the expression on his face, the tone of his voice. There’s sadness and resignation. This is how things work—this is who he is. The person in front of him is no different from the others, just another one who wants to lose themselves in him, use him for their own pleasure, and then move on as if nothing happened. Not only that, but it's also the same old charade used to deliver unsuspecting victims to the slaughter. The same old script, one he’s tired of, one that causes him pain. His eyes grow sad as he says it, his shoulders sink, his lips curve downward, and everything about him exudes bitterness. In that moment, amidst sweet words and sensual movements, the real Astarion comes out, carrying all the heavy baggage he’s been burdened with.

"Maybe, but did he take it." Cazador is dead, Astarion won, he’s alive, and he’s free. But the death of his tormentor didn’t turn back time, the death of the monster didn’t undo the damage or return what was stolen. It’s a powerful, terrifying, and painful realization, especially when you think about how these things—these parts of Astarion—were taken and erased. Because what is gone wasn’t just lost—it was replaced with suffering, shame, anger, hatred, and horrific experiences. These are memories that will stay with him for the rest of his un-life, memories he’ll have to battle every single day.

"All right, I’ll do it." The way he says it, after Tav/Durge delves into his mind and uses his greatest fear against him, is utterly heartbreaking. Once again, there’s resignation, but there’s also fear and, worst of all, a hint of submission. In that moment, Tav/Durge is the embodiment of Cazador. They bring back his most horrifying experience, fill him with pure terror, and remind him of how useless, weak, and pathetic he is—unable to defend himself. It makes him feel small again, lost, and willing to do anything just to feel safe. And this is coming from the very person who, up until that moment (unless the player is a complete sociopath xP), had been helping him regain a shred of self-worth and independence. It’s truly a low blow, a betrayal—especially because Astarion depends on Tav/Durge, much like he depended on Cazador, but in a positive way instead of a negative one. They force him, against his will, to do something he doesn’t want to do, and with that statement, Astarion seems to be saying, “Yes, master.”

"I didn’t know how to say no." This one is heartbreaking too, it hits right in the heart. It really hurts, especially in context, but also in general. Saying "no" is a fundamental right of every free individual. But Astarion doesn’t say that he can’t say no—he says he doesn’t know how to say it. And that’s truly sad, because at this point, it’s no longer just an external imposition; it’s something internalized. And of course, it goes without saying that here too, Tav/Durge took advantage of Astarion—of his inability to defend himself, to immediately recognize and stop behavior that should be shut down at the first sign because it’s harmful to him. Once again, Tav/Durge betrays him in the worst way, right after an agonizing confession, no less—Astarion opens up and admits to having very real struggles with sex.

Do you have any favorite lines too? Obviously, there are a billion more funny ones, but I’m afraid I’d need an entire day to write down all my favorites. I just love this little shit too much. xD

[nepenthe-den]

First Touch

Hazard x Gn/reader. SFW

Word count: 1.3k

I'm sorry I've been gone for weeks :( I've been touching on this every now and then and I still love Hazard and have many ideas. Work and school have been a big burden this month, but I've managed to finish this to a way I like it.

I hope you all like it ♥️ I have more planned

The party with the Phreaks was long, but felt quite short. There was alcohol but you had only taken a few sips. You still had to walk home after all.

The bustling laughter of Hazard, Jackdaw, and Boomslang was beginning to slow down. Touch-Up had discreetly begun gathering empty glasses and plates to place in the sink.

You were beginning to grow quite drowsy as well, but you really really didn't want to leave. You felt so at home with these people. Suzy was right when she told you it was like a family.

You didn't know how to "family" very well, but tonight felt really natural.

"Ey, Jackdaw, sit back yer face is 'bout to smack intae the table." Hazard smacked Jackdaw's shoulder lightly. They grobbled a laugh and swayed before Revel grabbed their shoulders and shoved their torso back against the chair.

"Actually, I miss my bed.." Jackdaw hummed, leaning their head to hang off the chair before gagging and jerking back up, "Oh nevermind I'm not doing that."

"I think Jackdaw needs their nappies." Boomslang laughed, taking one last swig of her drink. Jackdaw was too wasted to even respond to her, but their un-synced blinking was a good enough answer.

Revel sighed with amusement before standing up, "I'll get them some water and help them get to bed."

"Goodnight Jackdaw," You snickered, smiling at their own wobbly smile and lazy wave, "Are you going to come back out, Revel?"

"Nah, I think I've had enough socializing for the night." Revel helped Jackdaw to their feet.

"Well, Goodnight to you too, Revel." You said as he nodded at you, helping Jackdaw down the hallway.

"Are any of you getting tired, too?" Suzy asked.

"Only a bit." Boomslang responded.

"My usual sleep schedule has me going to bed in almost 2 hours." Touch-Up sighed, "I'll be the last one asleep, I think."

"Nah," Hazard yawned and leaned back to stretch, his shirt riding up just a bit- and oh fuck you were staring. You quickly looked away praying your face wasn't red. You hadn't noticed the glance Boomslang and Touch-up shared.

"I am," You sighed, "and I should leave before I get too tired."

"Eh? Yer leaving?" Hazard stopped stretching and looked at you.

You laughed gently, "Yeah, I have to go home."

"You don't- er, want t'spend the night?" Hazard cleared his throat.

Boomslang narrowed her eyes and looked at Touch-up, who had her brows raised. Hazard quickly glanced at them, trying to ask without speaking.

"Well I didn't exactly bring my toothbrush." You say, turning away to get out of the chair and hide your flushed cheeks.

'You're bad at this' Boomslang mouthed at Hazard, leaning back in her chair.

'Help me out here' Hazard mouthed back, glancing at you to see if you were still turned away before looking back at Boomslang. She only smirked in return, turning her gaze to Touch-up, who was no longer amused.

You turned back around once you had gathered your things. You barely saw Hazard snap his head back around to you, his face uncharacteristically you flushed. You suddenly felt very hot from awkwardness. A moment or two of silence left you and Hazard blinking at each other.

"Well! Me and Touch-up are gonna head to bed." Boomslang announced, resting her hand on Touch-up's shoulder.

"Wha-? I told you I don't go to be-"

"Yeah, she's really tired." Boomslang shushed her, turning her away by her shoulders. She leaned forward to whisper something in her ear. Touch-Up sighed begrudgingly before waving you goodnight and walking off.

"Goodnight you two! Have a safe walk home, Y/n." Boomslang said, following Touch-up.

You turned to Hazard before bursting out laughing. His face changed from quite worried to relieved.

"That was weird, why'd she do that?" You snorted, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"I dunnae, Jackdaws shenanigans are rubbin' off on Boomslang."

You sighed, "Well, goodnight Haz, I had a lot of fun tonight."

"Wait," Hazard stopped you, standing from his chair. He cleared his throat, "Lemme, eh, walk ye home. It's nearly midnight."

"Really? You don't mind?"

"Nah, I like spendin' more time wi' ye." His voice became very gentle, and your face flushed deeply.

"It's cold out, and the walk is almost half an hour."

"I don't care, I want ye to get home safe." Hazard reassured you, making your heart thump in your chest.

Ugh, you were so head over heels. If you weren't standing in front of him you would have fallen to your knees.

He opened the door for you and walked beside you. At nearly midnight. In cold as fuck weather. The next 5 minutes were awkward and silent. You couldn't think of anything to say, and neither could Hazard.

"Why didn't you drink anything?" You suddenly spoke up. You turned your gaze from the sidewalk to look up at him.

"Oh, ah, I don't like it. Ma old man was an alcoholic... I like tae stay away from it." Hazard sighed softly.

Your brows furrowed, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, I donnae mind telling you." He smiled at you, and you returned a smile of your own.

A couple more beats of silence. And then you- just- started speaking and you don't know where you got the confidence.

"I had a lot of fun tonight. I liked being with you all. I felt- I felt so at home. I felt so natural." Your throat began to tighten, and you took a deep breath to calm yourself. "I like being around you." You made eye contact with him again.

Hazard swallowed nervously, and you could barely see his flushed face in the dark. He was surprised, and very nervous. Gosh, what should he say? The more he remained silent the more you regretted speaking.

You felt the prickles and heat of embarrassment, despite that, the cold wind chilled your hands. "Hah- ah, I should have brought gloves." Attempting to change the subject, you looked away quickly and rubbed your hands together to warm them up.

Hazard laughed quietly before taking one of your hands in his, making you jerk your head at him. He intertwined his fingers with yours and looked you directly in the eyes.

"I like being aroond ye, too," He finally said, "I want to spend more time wi'ye. Just the two o' us. I was thinking.. maybe, uh, dinner?"

Your smile widened and Hazard laughed again. You nodded quickly and tightened your hold on his hand.

"I'd like that."

"Yeah?" Hazard looked like an excited puppy. "How 'bout tomorrow? I can pick ye up from work?"

"Well I'd like to go home first and make myself look nice."

"Oh! Right, well ah think ye look nice all the time but- I can pick ye up at 6 then? Or 7?" Hazard's excitement was amusing you to no end.

"7 is fine you big goof." You giggled.

The rest of the walk back to your house wasn't as quiet. The two of you talked about your job, about Hazard's next mission with the Phreaks, and even Maisie. You found it endearing how Hazard always found a way to mention his dog.

Soon enough, you reached your front door. You really didn't want to let go of his hand, but you knew he couldn't spend the night.

Slowly and gently, you untangle your fingers from his and stand in front of your door.

"Thank you for walking me home."

In yet another flash of confidence, you leaned up to kiss his cheek. Hazard froze for a moment, his hands nearly coming up to hold you. He was speechless for a moment.

"Wow, hah! Do ah git a kiss every time I walk ye home?" He exhaled.

Gosh, your cheeks were going to hurt with how much you were smiling.

"If you ask me on a date every time." You hummed, "Goodnight, Haz, I'll see you tomorrow."

You slipped inside the house, leaving Hazard to cheer silently and take a few deep breaths before walking back home.

[ogtarotreader]

🍀🦈 energy update. so I pulled these cards yesterday and made some notes. I’m going to break it down by cards I pulled for each of them, but mainly focus on the similar cards that showed up in both of their pulls. I asked what was going on with their current dynamic.

Here are the cards I pulled for each of them:

🦈-Ten of wands, empress, 7 of cups, 4 of wands above-below-the tower, the lovers, 2 of pentacles, page of pentacles-below that-9 of swords, 2 of cups, 3 of cups, 4 of cups 9 of cups, and the sun

🍀-9 of cups, 3 of cups, the moon,page of wands, 7 of swords, six of swords, the magician, five of pentacles, the empress, 9 of swords, death, hermit, 9 of wands, 7 of wands, knight of swords, 7 of cups, and the lovers

Let me start by sharing the quick notes I made Wednesday:

They have been in contact with each other. (I saw they had been connecting via phone or text)

🦈 is eager, worried, and nervous to see her again.  (this is before I saw they would meet at the awards)

🦈 does not give a shit he wants what he wants, and is tempted to shake shit up, but is respecting boundaries and being cool about it, though he is feeling choices have to be made. He wants the burden to end/or will make it end.

He’s still in love and he feels free. His energy feels lighter because he is single. Ya’ll that relationship with M was a shit show. He tried tomake it work but was so unhappy.  He wants to prioritize their friendship and dynamic but has learned a valuable lesson in how he approaches love. He knows they’ll be alright.

🍀is releasing old energy that no longer serves her. She is moving out that hermit “I need space” energy with death next to it. She is in her empress energy. Full of confidence. Comfortable with emotion. She has matured.

She is grateful to see him again. She is feeling the magic. She feels relieved that things don’t feel weird. She still has her boundaries up, stronger ones because well….she has recognized her feelings for him, and wants to be wiser and have self-control. (look at how he’s leaning in and she…isn’t lol) Still, she misses her friend. Wants to be there for him in some way. Is relying on her intuition more to navigate this.  She too, was worried to see him. She feels braver and more prepared and more strategic with how she engages with him. Strategic meaning mentally because he can be tricky to her, and she won’t be caught unawares again. She also knows decisions have to be made concerning them eventually.  She knows they’ll be alright.

Let’s take a look at the same cards that both came up in their individual readings

🍀🦈 7 of cups, 9 of cups, the empress, 9 of swords, 3 of cups, the lovers: first of all, let me just saw these pretty powerful cards. One. They’re in love. The lovers is there. This is about decision and choice with both the 7 of cups and the lovers. The 7 of cups is being discerning in your choices. Being careful not to be delusional. Being realistic about what you should do. I feel before when things were good, and they were touchy feely. They were in their own bubble until shit got real and people started noticing. The energy is still there between them. The lovers is there. There is a deep connection they both know they cannot ignore, but are simply living and being friends for now. However, the lovers tarot demand that an important decision be made.  The empress talks of long term connection. Whatever happens between these two (though I know they will get together eventually since the energy is saying the same for now) they will always be in each other’s lives. This was a non-verbal agreement they made with each other, and I sense with the two of them seeing each other it has reignited that agreement. 9 of cups speaks to the gratitude they feel for each other’s presence, friendship, support, and contentedness. Even the love. Things feel less heavy and more harmonious here between them. There is still work to be done though. They're tentative around one another. The 9 of swords  speaks to the worry they both feel about interacting after so much time apart but that’s fine . It’s a small part. 3 of cups Is them celebrating their reunion. Supporting each other, but I feel it also represents a love triangle. 👀

[bradleysass]

merlin microfic challenge - Feb 9th - @aemelia

The flicker in Arthur’s eyes was gone as quickly as it had appeared, buried beneath the weight of duty and the sharp edges of his pride. “I have everything I need,” he said, his voice steady, almost convincing. But the great hall felt too vast, the throne too cold, and the crown too heavy when there was no one beside him to share the burden. Loneliness was not a weakness he could afford—not as king, not as a Pendragon. And yet, as the night stretched on and the echoes of laughter faded into silence, he found himself reaching for a ghost that wasn’t there.

[mysticinsightstarot]

☀️Was SEVENTEEN’s Formation Written in the Stars?☀️

✨ A deep-dive into their soul contracts, past-life bonds & divine purpose ✨

So, bestie, buckle up because we’re about to unlock the cosmic archives of SEVENTEEN and why these 13 souls literally HAD to come together in this lifetime. I shuffled the deck, asked the universe some hard-hitting questions, and let the cards spill all the divine tea. And oh boy, it’s giving past-life contracts, karmic debts, and higher spiritual missions. ☕✨

💫 Their Collective Soul Archetype – Prayer

First off, the very core of SEVENTEEN is wrapped in PRAYER energy. This isn’t just about making music for fun—this group is a divinely orchestrated answer to a call. Maybe it was their own souls that prayed for this union across lifetimes, or maybe a higher force (yep, the universe itself) manifested their bond. They were MEANT to come together. No coincidences, just straight-up cosmic alignment. 🔮💜

⏳ Their Past-Life Connection – Temple

Now, this is where it gets spicy. Temple suggests SEVENTEEN’s souls were together before in a setting deeply tied to spiritual devotion, discipline, and sacred bonds. Were they monks? A brotherhood? A group of divine scholars?? 👀 Whatever it was, their past lives were ALL about dedication to a higher cause. And guess what? That same devotion translates into their teamwork, their discipline, and their unity now.

🔥 Their Karmic Debt or Shared Mission – Thanatos & Aletheia

Whew. These two cards together are SCREAMING transformation and truth. Thanatos is death, rebirth, and letting go of the past, while Aletheia is raw, undeniable truth. SEVENTEEN isn’t here just to make music; they’re here to break illusions and redefine what unity looks like in an industry known for its cutthroat energy. Maybe in past lives, they struggled with separation, ego, or loss—but in this lifetime, they’re here to show that true connection is unbreakable. 💀✨

🌙 Soul Family Energy – Crone

Ooof, the Crone card tells me these boys have old souls and have been doing this soul contract thing for eons. They’re like a soul guild—an ancient, wise energy that came back together for a higher purpose. Their dynamic is almost psychic; they understand each other without words, and their growth as a group is deeply spiritual. It’s not just talent—it’s destiny.

💖 The Divine Force That Brought Them Together – Agape & Eternal Child

HOLD UP. Agape is unconditional, divine love, and Eternal Child is pure, untamed spirit. SEVENTEEN was formed out of pure cosmic love. They are souls that thrive in joy, freedom, and genuine connection. They bring a childlike wonder to the industry, reminding everyone that passion > profit, and real artistry is soulful and authentic. This group is here to heal others simply by existing and radiating their energy. 🌈

👑 S.Coups’ Soul Role – Maiden, Cave & Dead End

Wow, wow, wow. As leader, S.Coups embodies the Maiden—open-hearted, intuitive, and protective over the group's energy. But the Cave & Dead End? That’s heavy. His past-life role might have been the one who lost everything, the one who carried burdens alone, the one who sacrificed for the collective. In this lifetime, his soul is healing that karma by leading with wisdom instead of fear. He’s their spiritual protector, even when things feel impossible. 🛡️

💞 The Core Emotional Connector – Siren & Mother

Okay, let’s talk about the emotional glue of the group. The person who holds the deepest connection to everyone, emotionally and spiritually, is symbolized by Siren & Mother. This means they have a hypnotic energy—someone who pulls people in, creates harmony, and nurtures the group's spirit. My guess? Jeonghan. 👀

🛤️ Soul Contract Pairs – Thread & Bridge

Two members share a Thread & Bridge connection, meaning one pulls the other forward, and the other holds them steady. It’s an unbreakable past-life tie. One of them might’ve been the other’s protector, guide, or karmic mentor before. DK & Woozi energy? Possibly.

💘 Another Soulmate Pair – Lover

We’ve got another divine soul bond here. This isn’t necessarily romantic (unless you want to interpret it that way 👀), but it’s deeply spiritual and magnetic. This pair knows each other on a soul level. Their bond has existed across lifetimes. Hmm… Joshua & Jeonghan, anyone? 👀

🔥 The Shadow Energy – Flame, Gnosis & Vessel

Not everything is sunshine and rainbows. The Flame represents raw passion and fire, Gnosis is hidden knowledge, and Vessel is the physical form. This means their biggest spiritual challenge is staying grounded despite their massive spiritual intensity. The group has to balance their divine purpose with their human experience.

🌊 Their Higher Calling – Ocean

They’re meant to be fluid, ever-expanding, and limitless. SEVENTEEN’s energy is like the ocean—depths unknown, constantly moving, and impossible to contain. Their legacy will ripple through generations. 🌊

🔮 Their Future Evolution – Kiss, Castle & Shapeshifter

Hold up—Kiss, Castle & Shapeshifter?? This tells me SEVENTEEN’s final evolution is something unimaginable right now. The Kiss means they’ll always be bonded, no matter what. The Castle? They’re building something huge—legacy level. And Shapeshifter? Expect them to completely transform into something new and unexpected in the future.

👀 Bottom of the Deck – Mask

One last little secret… there’s more to SEVENTEEN’s destiny than meets the eye. Their public image is only a fraction of the real story. The universe isn’t showing all its cards yet.

Final Thoughts

🔥 SEVENTEEN isn’t just a group—they’re a cosmic soul family. 🔥 They were destined to reunite after lifetimes of devotion. 🔥 Their energy is divinely protected and meant to inspire the world. 🔥 They will transform into something even greater.

So yeah… they were 100% written in the stars. 🌟💜

✨ That’s all for now, besties! Drop your thoughts, theories, and biases in the comments because this reading unlocked a whole dimension. 💓🫠💙💛✨️

[blackcleo7]

Farewell's Journal

1st Entry - Revolutionshipping: a bond beyond time.

Few relationships in Yu-Gi-Oh! carry as much unspoken depth as that between Atem and Anzu.

From the earliest chapters of the manga, Kazuki Takahashi wove a connection between them that was complex, layered, and undeniably magnetic.

Though it never materialized into romance, the chemistry was always there—lingering in stolen glances, quiet moments, and the weight of unspoken words.

Why is Revolutionshipping so special

The dynamic between Atem and Anzu is one of contrasts and complements.

Atem carries the weight of his past and destiny, while Anzu embodies dreams, the future, and the pursuit of something beyond the known. She is drawn to his strength, wisdom, and mystery, while he finds in her a grounding presence—someone who sees him as more than just a ruler or a spirit bound to a puzzle.

There’s an undeniable chemistry in their interactions. Unlike Yugi, Anzu instinctively responds to Atem’s confidence and presence. She challenges him in ways others don’t, and he respects her not just out of gratitude but as an equal. She doesn’t idolize him, nor does she depend on him for protection—she simply sees him for who he is, both as a king and as a person. In turn, Atem brings out a different side of her. With him, she is both challenged and inspired.

Their bond isn’t built on shared childhood memories like Anzu and Yugi’s, but on something more immediate and instinctual—an unspoken understanding that, in another life, in another time, could have been something more.

Their personalities complement each other naturally. Anzu is ambitious, determined, and unafraid to challenge authority—qualities that align with Atem’s own strength and leadership. Unlike Yugi, who is more hesitant, Atem meets her at her level, creating a connection built on mutual respect and attraction. At the same time, they balance each other’s weaknesses. Atem, despite his confidence, carries the burden of duty and isolation, struggling to express vulnerability. Anzu encourages him to see beyond obligation and embrace the idea of personal happiness. Conversely, she sometimes doubts her own path, torn between dreams and reality, and Atem, with his unwavering resolve, reminds her to believe in herself and move forward without fear.

They don’t just complement each other’s strengths; they uplift each other in moments of doubt, creating a bond that is as grounding as it is inspiring.

What Anzu and Atem share that Yugi does not

One of the most overlooked yet telling revo moments in the manga is chapter 41.

Anzu and Yugi make a love test with their lovely two, but it doesn’t beep. When Atem takes over however, the Tamagotchi reacts. While this may seem like a small detail, it almost feels as if Kazuki Takahashi himself is subtly suggesting their compatibility—after all, why include such a moment if not to highlight a contrast?

This isn’t the only time we see this dynamic. In the early chapters of the manga, when Takahashi had more creative freedom, there are numerous moments that highlight Anzu and Atem’s unique connection. As the series progresses, Atem becomes more distant, but this shift seems less like a natural evolution of his character and more like an editorial decision to reinforce his contrast with Yugi.

Evidence of this can be seen as early as Season 0, where several moments between them were removed, a trend that continued into the 2000s anime adaptation.

Why it can’t happen

Atem does not belong in Anzu’s world, just as she does not belong in his.

His very existence is tied to the past, to a destiny that was set in motion thousands of years ago. No matter how much either of them may wish otherwise, Atem’s journey was always leading him toward one inevitable conclusion—returning to the afterlife.

This is why their relationship remains forever in the realm of “what if.” Unlike other potential romances, this one is never given a real chance, not because of lack of feelings, but because it was never meant to be realized. The story itself does not allow it.

Anzu’s development: from attraction to love

Anzu’s feelings for Atem evolve gradually throughout the series. Initially, she sees him as a mysterious, confident version of Yugi—an aspect of him that had always been hidden. In the early manga and anime, she expresses fascination with this other Yugi, believing him to be just another side of Yugi himself. At this stage, her emotions remain tied to Yugi as a whole, rather than recognizing Atem as his own person.

This idea is reinforced in chapter 80 of the manga, where she states that it doesn’t matter which of the two she is with—because to her, they are both Yugi. However, this moment also marks a turning point. As the story progresses, she begins to understand the truth: Atem is not Yugi. He is someone else entirely, with his own thoughts, struggles, and destiny.

This realization shifts her feelings from an innocent crush to something deeper—marked by admiration, longing, and an undeniable chemistry. Though she deeply cares for Yugi, their bond is built on friendship and familiarity rather than passion and attraction.

Atem is the one who challenges her, who meets her intensity, who resonates with her in a way Yugi never quite does. Even if she never says it out loud, her heart had already chosen.

Atem’s development: from loneliness to the Duat

Atem’s journey isn’t just about regaining his memories—it’s about finding his place in the world and, ultimately, accepting his fate. And Anzu plays a pivotal role in this. She is the one who, perhaps more than anyone else, encourages him to follow his heart, even when it means facing the painful truth: his destiny lies beyond this world. Despite loving him, despite knowing what it will cost her, she chooses to support him. That selflessness is exactly what gives Atem the strength to walk forward.

But beyond the emotional support, Anzu also plays a crucial role in uncovering his past. Without her, Atem wouldn’t have remembered his true name—one of the most vital keys to his journey. It is through her that he bridges the gap between his forgotten past and his present self. The cartouche she gifts him, the name she helps him reclaim… these aren’t just symbolic gestures. They are tangible, irreplaceable moments that lead him to his ultimate resolution.

Through Anzu, Atem learns not just who he was, but who he is.

And when the moment comes for him to step into the Duat, Atem is already resolute in his choice. The unwavering belief she has always shown in him, the way she has pushed him forward throughout his journey, is part of what gave him the strength to make that decision in the first place. Even if she can no longer influence his path, her presence in his life has already shaped the person he has become.

And this is where Anzu plays a unique role. While Yugi cares for Atem, he never truly pushes him to focus on himself. Instead, he leaves that task to Anzu. She is the one who doesn’t just stand by his side in battle, but actively seeks out his well-being, making sure that, for once, someone is looking after him. In this way, Anzu gives Atem something no one else does—the space to be vulnerable, to be human, and to be loved.

Atem’s resolve: holding back.

Despite whatever feelings he may have, Atem is fully aware of his fate.

He is not meant to stay in the present, and he refuses to take anything away from Yugi—including the possibility of a relationship with Anzu. He values Yugi too much to ever interfere with his happiness.

This is another reason why Atem never openly acknowledges any feelings he may have for Anzu. He knows that if he allows himself to get too close, it will only make leaving harder—not just for him, but for her as well.

Despite his restraint, Atem is undeniably protective of Anzu. Time and time again, he is the first to step in when she is in danger, whether it’s during Duelist Kingdom, Battle City, or even small moments in between.

His concern for her safety goes beyond that of a simple friend—he takes responsibility for her well-being in a way that is deeply personal.

There’s also another subtle but important detail—Anzu never directly tells Atem about her feelings for him. This isn’t because she’s uncertain, but rather because she prioritizes Yugi’s feelings over her own. She knows that if she were to openly confess to Atem, it could deeply hurt Yugi, who has always been there for her. This hesitation isn’t about doubt; it’s about kindness.

Her silence speaks volumes. It shows her loyalty to Yugi, her unwillingness to be selfish at his expense.

Why Yugi supports them

One of the most fascinating aspects of this dynamic is Yugi’s own role in it. Despite his own feelings for Anzu, he actively encourages her to spend time with Atem, believing that it will help the Pharaoh feel more connected to their world. And he’s right—Atem does open up more when he’s with Anzu, becoming not just a king or a protector, but a person.

Yugi’s actions can be interpreted in multiple ways. On one hand, he may simply believe he doesn’t have a chance with Anzu and steps aside out of selflessness. On the other, Yugi is deeply empathetic—he understands people better than they understand themselves. Perhaps he sees something in Atem that isn’t explicitly stated: a growing attachment, an unspoken longing. It’s possible that Yugi recognizes Atem’s feelings before even Atem himself does, and rather than stand in the way, he allows things to unfold naturally.

What makes this even more compelling is that, while Atem and Yugi are opposites in many ways, they are ultimately two sides of the same person. This likely extends to their emotions as well. If Yugi harbors feelings for Anzu, it’s not unthinkable that Atem does too, even if he is less outwardly expressive about them.

Unlike Yugi, Atem is restrained—both by his nature and by his role. People often forget that he is a Pharaoh, a figure bound by duty, where personal attachments have no place.

Atem embodies the full weight of that responsibility, to the point where his entire existence is dedicated to protecting others, often at his own expense.

Why Revolutionshipping makes more sense

In the Yu-Gi-Oh! fandom, many fans explore different pairings and relationships between characters. Some of these relationships are clearly romantic, like Yugi’s feelings for Anzu or Jounouchi’s affection for Mai. Even Kaiba’s attachment to the Blue-Eyes White Dragon has romantic undertones, given his past life connection with Kisara. However, when it comes to Atem, there is no definitive indication in the series that he shares romantic feelings for anyone.

Atem’s connection with Yugi is unique and deeply emotional, but it is more akin to that of brothers or two souls bound by a shared destiny. Their bond transcends friendship, but it is not romantic. The connection between them is based on mutual respect and the understanding that they are two halves of the same soul. Their relationship is rooted in a deep, almost spiritual link, rather than any romantic tension.

When we consider Atem’s historical context, things become clearer. Atem is not only the spirit of a pharaoh, but also the reincarnation of Tutankhamun, who was married to Ankhesenamun. As a ruler in ancient Egypt, Atem’s life and role would have been defined by the expectations of his time—marriage and the need for heirs. This historical perspective further supports the idea that Atem’s connection is naturally inclined toward a romantic bond with a woman.

Given this, it makes more sense for Atem’s romantic potential to lie with someone like Anzu. While Atem never explicitly expresses his feelings in the series, their growing bond over time suggests a connection that could develop into something deeper. Anzu, with her unwavering support, helps Atem confront his past and come to terms with his destiny, making their relationship one that holds the potential for love.

A love that could never be

Revolutionshipping is a story of love that was never meant to happen. Not because there was no connection, but because fate simply did not allow it. Atem’s duty was always to return to the past, and Anzu’s future was already planned in the present.

But perhaps that’s what makes their bond so powerful. It is a love that exists between two people from different worlds—one that could have been, if only time had allowed it. And sometimes, the most unforgettable love stories are the ones that never truly had a chance.

[efa-solheim]

“Of course,” Efa consoled, the weight of her words sitting in her mouth. The decline in his tone saddened her, and she could easily tell of the impact this conversation had on him. She’d hoped to release him of as much sorrow as possible. “I know plenty about feeling like a burden. It’s a very hard kind of pain, and not easy to talk about. I understand you.”

It brought her relief to see his countenance lighten as he began to explain to her what sweet milk was, or so he tried. Even his makeshift description of the drink was enough to entice her. As she envisioned the drink, her mind went adrift to her childhood, trying to recall if she had ever had anything like it in her youth. There didn’t seem to be much of a spice culture in Freljord, at least none that her parents brought with them. Such a barren, lackluster place. Her parents were introduced to many spices in Piltover, however, even then, they shied away from experimenting with most of them. Realizing this, her intrigue to sweet milk grew more; there was nothing like it.

As her mind pulled away from her train of thought, she accepted his extended hand, rising to meet him. She sighed quietly to herself, preparing to walk again. “I’ll try to be helpful with the sweet milk,” she began, shifting her bag over her shoulder, “but you’ll probably be doing most of the work, you know. I won’t know what I’m doing.”

As the two of them resumed their path back to his room, with Viktor leading the way, she was pleasantly surprised by his idea of watching the stars. A new little light dawned on her heart. “I, uh… I actually watch the stars every night, if I can. Most nights. I’m usually alone, but it’s peaceful. I have a balcony in my room where I sit out to watch them. I’m borrowing one of the Academy’s telescopes, actually, but I’m pretty sure it’s cursed because I keep reading suspicious things through it. Or maybe it’s just the season.” As she rambled on, it fed her soul a few crumbs to discover another small commonality that the two of them shared. She kept her voice low, as it was late in the night.

when Efa agreed to go to dinner, viktor felt even more excited than he had before. ever since he was little, he’d dreaded endings, afraid they meant he’d never see the people he said goodbye to again. to know she still wanted to spend time with him made him thrilled.

grabbing his coat from the rack near the door, he led her out of the lab, locking it behind him before they made their way outside. it was cold, and when he noticed she had no scarf, he offered his own, unwilling to let a friend go cold.

“here we are,” he declared when they reached the diner, the bell jingling when they stepped inside. “it’s never too busy here, which i like. order whatever. i’ll pay.”

( @efa-solheim )

[hhhhleb]

based on this concept they got soul bond and sans can feel when smth wrong with papyrus

good thing that sans didn't see the actual injury.. grillby knew that would greatly upset sans, so that's why he pushed him away. it also could have trigger some really bad memories for Sans..so grillby did good job x2 (more thoughts in tags)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bonus 13: Beware the Grapes of Wrath.

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