#blood cancer gift

[boyczar]

[robocop1906]

Someone, Somewhere would be more than grateful to receive this~~

It's always the right size

It's a gift that comes from the heart

It'll be just their type

You have more than enough to share

They have cookies here 😳

No post office!

They take care of the gift wrapping

Veronica and Julian are always awsome

Tis the season for sharing

And best of all:

*automatically added to the nice list!!!!

But seriously..... there is always a need...never enough and you would pray there is a supply if you or God forbid your family needed it.

This Christmas Season please share the Gift of Life.🙏

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No Love Lost Series Masterlist

Read on A03! - Listen to the Playlist!

Main Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for canon-typical violence, swearing, mental health issues, mentions of rape/non-con, and sexual content.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff.

Series Summary

Three years ago you were normal, the only demons you had to fight were your own, and you the most you knew of Vought and the Boys were what you saw on TV. But then you met Homelander at a stupid party, and woke up the next morning in a cell.

After almost two and a half years of you being Homelander's little project, Soldier Boy was woken up only go rouge and be put back under. Somewhere in there, you escaped. And before Queen Maeve went underground, she told William Butcher about the Anomaly, a powerful supe who recently escaped Vought captivity and may have an agenda against Homelander.

One month later, the Boys found you.

You spend the next five months helping them best you can, though your control over your powers is weak and your fear of Homelander makes you useless in combat. But you get an idea. A stupid, dangerous idea that turns you into Soldier Boy's keeper, giving him a second chance to take down Homelander, you hanging over his shoulder, a threat should he want to go nuclear again. It's exhausting and frustrating, and you might kill him and yourself as soon as this is over, but you said whatever it takes.

And this is what it takes.

Author's Note

This story is non-canon compliant, with the two main differences being;

1) Butcher doesn't have brain cancer, because I said so.

2) All of Gen V didn't take place, because I don't want to deal with the whole supe-plauge thing. Also that's too many characters to keep track of squad.

Because of this, the story will start in a similar setting as s4e5, but with different events leading up to it, and will deal with similar themes and have similar events to the rest of s4, but at an inconsistent rate. If you have any questions about other, smaller changes I have made, feel free to ask!

Navigation Key

❤️‍🔥 = Smut

🚩 = Additional Warnings

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - Where Winning Looks Like Losing Chapter 2 - A New Kind of Tension Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress 🚩 Chapter 4 - You Might Be The Same As Me Chapter 5 - Popped, Cool, and Ready to Go Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence 🚩 Chapter 8 - I Just Find My Way Back ❤️‍🔥🚩 Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 10 - Lead Me To The Ark ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing Chapter 14 - Choke on Sun Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 16 - Let It Flood ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir Chapter 18 - Something In The Static ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back 🚩 Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About ❤️‍🔥 🚩 Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 25 - All I Know ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 26 - I’ve Loved Everything About You That Hurts ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 27 - Just A Shot Away 🚩 Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be ❤️‍🔥 Chapter 29 - All My Bets On You Chapter 30 - Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh 🚩 Chapter 31 - I'd Do It All Again ❤️‍🔥

More Than You Could Ever Know - A No Love Lost Christmas Special

Part 1 - The Boys start Secret Santa, Ben pretends to do his job. ❤️‍🔥 Part 2 - Ben and Ryan go shopping, and you all try to find a tree. Part 3 - You and Ben have a Christmas Eve date. Many gifts are opened.

Bonus Footage (Standalone Chapters)

Dying’s Up to Me - A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩 They're Never Gonna Find You A Home - Request! Everyone adjusts to your life with the Boys. Takes place 5ish months before Chapter 1. 🚩 Back to Here - Request! They get horny at the dining table, and Butcher takes it personally. Takes place in Chapter 14. It's So Simple - You make Ben do icebreakers. He's a little bitch about it. Takes place in Chapter 14. Just Your Time - You give Ben internet lessons. Takes place in Chapter 14. As Much As I Do - Request! Ben finds you dancing, is immediately very normal about it. Takes place after Chapter 14 and around Chapter 15. Calling Your Name - Ben's first birthday awake isn't great. Takes place in Chapter 19. ❤️‍🔥 I Skip My Pride - You share some music with Ben over text. Takes place in Chapter 22. The Only Place That I Call Home - It's team game night, and everyone is sick of you and Ben's shit. Takes place in Chapter 24. ❤️‍🔥 Can't Help Myself - Request! Ben has a breeding kink, and you're incredibly horny, so it works. Takes place in around Chapter 24 and Chapter 25. ❤️‍🔥 Anywhere Else Is Hollow - A halloween special episode! Takes place in Chapter 25. It Was Smiling Down - A Ryan pov Chapter. Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27. A Call To Motion - Request! There's a lot of things you're good at. Sex with Ben is one of them. Takes places in Chapter 28.❤️‍🔥 I Want You Only - You and Ben go shopping. Takes place in Chapter 28 ❤️‍🔥 I’ll Hold Your Hand - Request! You get your period, and Ben has to do his job and take care of that. Takes place post series.

Found Footage (Post-Series Chapters)

Just Too Important - You and Ben head to Costco. Takes place about two months post-series. Dreams of Love - Request! You and Ben have to babysit. Takes place ten months post-series. Setting In A Honeymoon - You and Ben finally get a honeymoon. Takes place about a year post-series.

[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 2)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, Oral sex (f! recieving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, Wade breaks his nose so a bit of blood, Wade is an absolute pervert Logan is too, voyeurism, Logan puts his cigar out on his hand, Logan is also very emotionally stunted but we'll work on that Author's note: Holy shit guys?? This blew up in a way I totally didn't expect. I seriously thought this would just be something I uploaded and would get like five notes. You guys have been so sweet! Thank you so much! I hope you like this next installment. Things take a bit of a turn at the end and in the next chapter, but fear not besties, we will make it out of this and to a happy ending I swear! ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o

Early that Monday, I met with my supervisor. When I explained that I was becoming attached to Al’s roommates and it would most likely affect my working relationship, he just sighed. Apparently, Al had requested that I’m her only caretaker and said she would refuse anyone else. “So keep your head on straight around them. Don’t make me regret it.” 

When I walked into the apartment later that day, I knew Wade would make me fail. He instantly wrapped me in his arms, covering my face in slobbery kisses. But I was able to keep him at arm's length while I was on the clock for Al. He was allowed one kiss when I got there and nothing else. Despite his protests, he respected my boundaries. With Wade forced to behave, it allowed me to start talking to Logan more. There was some sort of tension between us that had eased. The crease between his eyebrows whenever he saw me had slowly faded. I saw him smile more often. He was surprisingly nice to be around once I got past his gruff exterior. I kept myself an open book, answering any questions he had, but he kept his life close to his chest. I didn’t expect him to spill his guts and I accepted the little crumbs he gave me. But sometimes he was broody and quiet, keeping his responses short, a distant look in his eyes. 

Nevertheless, it began to grow into something more. It started off small, little touches to the back, him forcing me to sit when I had been rearranging Al’s furniture. Then it was a gift of delicious chocolate when they came back from France and a home cooked meal when I was too busy to make it myself. I found his eyes tracing my body more often, lingering in certain places. He sometimes stood just a little too close to me while I did the dishes. He wore a shirt less often and I greedily drank in his body when I could. None of this escaped Wade’s notice. I knew he was scheming. 

It was a crisp autumn night when I climbed out on the fire escape to settle next to Logan. The cigar smoke was a comfort now, earthy and sweet. We sat in silence for a few moments. Sometimes that was enough for me, just to be in his presence, but not tonight. I shoved my chilly hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. I titled my head, watching his cheeks hollow around the cigar, the ash skittering across his forearm. He didn’t so much as flinch as the hot ash touched him. “Could I try?” I had tried smoking before but had just ended up coughing for a minute straight. He shook his head, watching a bike roll by. 

“Last thing you need is lung cancer.” I tentatively laid my head on his shoulder. He would still sometimes jerk away like I had burned him. This time, he allowed me to sink closer, our thighs pressed against each other. I could feel the heat of him sinking through my clothes.

“Mm, it smells good though.” He takes a long drag, letting the smoke linger in his lungs before letting it out in a puff. A long moment of silence passes. We’ve been slowly circling each other for weeks, all lingering touches and heavy glances. How would he react if I finally did something? Pull away? I knew he and Wade still slept together, Al complained about it enough that I couldn’t escape it. Wade and I hadn’t really gone beyond our kisses. Despite what he called himself on my phone, I didn’t want this to be a friends with benefits situation. He seemed to know that and hadn’t pushed for more. Wade made it very clear to the both of us that he has no qualms about sharing. If anything, I think he wants Logan and I to have sex more than he wants to have sex with me.

Steeling my resolve, I rest my chin on his shoulder. “Can I try a taste?” Logan glanced down at me, that crease reappearing between his eyebrows. 

“What?” His voice is dry, a touch on edge. I wanted to apologize for my flirting and run but I can’t allow myself to. My fingers trace the corner of his lip, the edge of his jaw. He turned just an inch closer to me and I’m able to take in his lined and handsome face. 

“Just one taste?” It comes out breathy, barely audible. But he hears it, he always does. There’s the faintest tick at the corner of his lips like he was going to smile. “I promise to be gentle,” now that got a smirk out of him. 

“You don’t scare me sweetheart,” his voice was a low rumble. 

“Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?” He pressed the still burning cigar onto his palm. The smell of burning flesh floated up to me and my nose twitched at it. “Why would you-“ but the words are cut off as his unburned palm cupped the back of my neck and dragged me closer, our lips pressing together. The kiss is chaste. My eyes fall shut, a surprised gasp leaving me. His beard scratches lightly at my face as we move our heads. But then he nudges my nose, tilting his head back. “No, please,” I whispered, chasing his lips. I felt his sigh ghost across my face before he cupped both cheeks and drew me back against his mouth. I moan against him, clutching at the front of his sweatshirt, wanting him closer, craving it. Then his lips are moving against mine. My hands slide into his hair and give the strands a tug. His mouth parts on a growl and I take the opportunity to lick my way in. I can taste the tang of whiskey, the sweetness of the cigar, a hint of mint. I want to crush myself against him, to feel his body against mine, to explore his skin. 

Just as I’m reaching under his sweatshirt, hungry for the feel of the torso that’s been haunting me, he withdraws. His breath still coasts across my face and my nose was full of the scent of him. My breath was ragged while his was perfectly even. Embarrassing. My eyes are slow to open. I found him only a few inches away, a smug expression on his handsome face.

“There,” he whispers, “got your taste.”

“Asshole.” Now he smiles, perfect teeth glinting in the streetlight. 

“Yeah, get that in your pretty head now.” His calloused fingers tapped at my temple. “I’m not someone to get attached to.” 

“Well she’s sticking around me and I’m about as much boyfriend material as sandpaper.” I jumped nearly out of my skin at the sound of Wade’s voice. Logan just smirked and circled his hands around my wrists, squeezed once to make me let go of his sweatshirt. I had half a mind to refuse, crawl into his lap and kiss every inch of skin I could find. But I let my hands fall weakly to my lap. “When you two fuck, can you record it? I’ve tried finding look-alikes on pornhub, but it’s just not the same.” I huffed, glancing down at where Wade’s head was, a spark of annoyance at him interrupting Logan and I. He’s half laying on the metal grate, his legs dangling off the couch beneath the window. 

“Ain’t gonna happen dickwad.” I can hear Logan’s lighter flicking before the smell of the cigar is back. I hoped he had just meant recording and that gruff tone wasn’t for the idea of us having sex. But he let me remain close so I took that as a good sign. 

“Don’t listen to him, baby bunny. Look, he literally tried killing me and we ended up fucking in the end.” 

“Was still trying to kill you,” Logan growls. Wade gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like Logan actually succeeded.

“Don’t lie peanut! What’s more romantic than stabbing me in the neck? That Honda Odyssey was shaking all night.” 

“I hope that’s not how you plan on being romantic with me,” I laughed, reaching down to tug at Wade’s cheek. “I can’t snap back like you two.” 

“Of course not darling,” he covered my hand in sloppy kisses, sucking a hickey on my wrist. “I’ll let you stab me in the neck while you fuck me. Would never want to hurt that sexy face.” 

“Ugh, get a room you two,” Logan snapped, nudging my knee with his. I glanced back at him but found his face reserved again. As much as I wanted to linger and force my time on Logan, I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it.

“We should take Mary Puppins out, yeah?” Wade nodded, wiggling free of his awkward position. The decrepit dog came bounding around the corner. She wiggled her naked butt as Wade grabbed her leash. I looked back at Logan. He was determinately ignoring me, eyes locked onto the dark apartment across the way. “I’ll probably head home once that’s done.” He nodded and brought the cigar back to his lips. “Why did you put it out on your hand?”

“Didn’t want to drop it on you. It’s a nasty burn.” There was something fleeting and tender that passed over his averted face. A little smile spread across my face. 

“Thank you, you’re my hero.” I pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek, lingering just a beat too long, before I pulled away. “Goodnight Logan.” I didn’t wait for his reply, if he even intended to give one. 

Wade was happy with the progress me and Logan had made. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Which is how I found myself locked in their shared cramped bathroom, Wade’s head buried between my legs, while two of his fingers plunged inside me. My legs were shaking, my heel pressed against his shoulder to spread me open more. “Wade,” I whimpered as tears pricked my eyes. He had already drawn one orgasm from me with his rough and agile fingers before he dropped to his knees. “I c-can’t.” 

“I know you can honey bun.” His breath was hot against my tender skin and I gasped. “Just one more for me, yeah?” I nodded, hips grinding against him. “There you go. You’re close again aren’t you?” I nodded again, eyes rolling back. He kitten licked across my overly sensitive clit. I knew I was making a mess of his face but he seemed to revel in it. He left a trail of sticky kisses along my bruised and bitten thigh. “Do you hear yourself? Got that WAP.” I smacked his head before pushing him deeper to keep him from running his mouth more. He latched back onto my clit, sucking harshly, and a third finger wedged into me. My back arched and I had to bite my lip hard to stay quiet. My eyes fell closed. His spare hand moved from my hip where it had been holding me. 

The sudden sound of the door opening made me freeze. Al had laid down for a nap which was the only reason I allowed Wade to drag me in here. But instead I found Logan framed in the doorway. He had the look of a deer in headlights. “Now peanut,” Wade cooed, his head laid against my thigh. to look at the other man. He didn’t stop fingering me, the squelching sounds suddenly too loud. “Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop.” 

“I wasn’t, you two are too fucking loud.” Logan’s nostrils were flared, heaving chest straining against his thin tank top. 

“Uh huh,” Wade teased, his tongue swirling around my clit. My hand clamped over my mouth as a sob caught in my chest. “That massive tent in your pants has nothing to do with you hovering.” Logan growled, palming at himself, seemingly angry at his body. “Come on handsome, look at her.” Wade pushed my thighs farther apart, his free hand spreading me. 

“Oh god,” I mumbled, embarrassment making me cover my face. I couldn’t hear Logan’s steps, he was always so light on his feet, but I could feel him examining me. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. 

“Don’t hide from us gorgeous,” Wade chides. “Logan Ioves to watch orgasm faces. I can feel you fluttering, I know you're close.” When I don’t remove my hands, Wade sighs, the exhale of air making my hips jerk. “Come on, you can be brave for us.” I take a shaky breath and remove my hands, curling them around the edge of the counter. Wade smiled while Logan’s dialated eyes were glued to my pussy. I watched his Adam's apple bob and he shifted from one foot to the other. “Good job,” he kissed my clit, popping obscenely. “Now make a mess on my face.”

He dove back between my legs. With Logan there, Wade seemed determined to force me to come as hard and as fast as he could. His fingers drove into me with firm thrusts, tongue flicking cruelly at my clit. My leg was trembling so much it slipped from Wade’s shoulder, only to be caught by Logan. I struggled to focus on him, my vision blurry from prickling tears of overstimulation. His calloused palm traced up my ankle and calf before notching behind my knee. With my pussy covered by Wade’s head, Logan could only look at my face. I wanted him closer, to feel his mouth against mine again, that scrape of his beard. His eyes fastened to my neck, watching my erratic pulse. 

“Logan,” my voice tilts up at the end, hands reaching for him. Before I was able to even breathe, just as the orgasm was rushing through me, Logan’s lips crashed against mine. I clung to him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and locking both of my shuddering legs around his waist, moaning wildly into his mouth. Wade groaned as his head was pinned between our hips and the vibrations made me cry out. Logan was kissing me like a man starved, biting at my lips, grunting like he was the one coming. A combination of our spit collected at the corner of my mouth and he licked at it hungrily. His blunt nails dug into the tender skin behind my knees as he clutched me closer. Tears streaked down my cheeks as Wade kept working me into near painful overstimulation. 

Logan separated first, his forehead pressed to mine. My breath was ragged, sweat collecting along my hairline. I wanted more, to lose myself between their touches, their bodies. Wade finally stilled, his fingers still buried deep. His mouth released me and I gasped as his harsh breaths coasted across me. “You okay down there?” My voice shook. I reached down and ran my nails across his scalp. 

“Broke my nose, but it’s okay.” I bolted up straight and Logan stumbled back to avoid my head cracking against his. Blood and my slick was smeared across his face, staining his white teeth as he beamed up at me. The tip of his nose was bent at an odd angle. 

“I’m so sorry,” I cupped his face, panic rushing through me. “Are you okay?” 

“He’s fine,” Logan said. One of his big hands braced on Wade’s head before he grabbed the broken nose with two fingers. With a pop and a grunt from Wade, the nose slid back into place. “There,” he tapped Wade’s sticky face, “good as new.” 

“You’re always so nice to me,” Wade grumbled, itching the rapidly healing bump. His drenched fingers slid from me, glistening in the harsh bathroom light. Logan glanced between Wade and I, one finger twirling in the drawstring of his black sweatpants. I wish I could read his mind, be able to tell his emotions from one glance, or a touch. I wanted to understand this unsure look on his face. He almost seemed nervous to be in here now that the haze of lust had passed. He swallowed thickly before he pressed a kiss to my cheek. 

“See you tomorrow sweetheart.” My arms, which were about to latch around his neck to keep him close, hung limply in the air. I blinked as he walked away, disappearing into their dark bedroom. Wade shook his head as he stood and closed the bathroom door. 

“Did I do something?” I whispered, knowing Logan would hear me anyway. Wade’s hands went to my thighs, kneading at the tight muscles, leaving behind wet handprints with his right one. 

“No, he’s just a fucking idiot who doesn’t think he deserves happiness. I’ve been trying to ease him into this but he’s stubborn.” He turned his head, “and he’s stupid!” I heard their bedroom door snap shut. “He’s worried he’ll scare you off. Just give him time. He’s just…just had a lot happen to him.” I nodded. “Don’t take it personally, okay?” 

“Okay,” I mumbled. 

“Are you two done in there?!” A cane hit the door. “She needs to read me my mail!” 

Never more in my life have I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Only compounded by Wade wiping the door open, cocking his hip to glare at his roommate. I knew she was blind, that she had completely lost vision almost twenty years ago. But that didn’t stop me from stretching my shirt down to try and cover myself, crossing my legs. “I see Miss sleepy granny pants is awake. What do you need? A diaper change?” Al scoffed, her cane clicking along the floorboards of the hallway as she moved to the kitchen. Once she was out of our sight, Wade plucked my panties from the floor. 

“Why?” He shrugged, an evil glint in his eyes. 

“Maybe I need to get him used to your scent, like a dog.” I rolled my eyes but bit back a hiss as he dragged the coarse material through my wet folds. “Need a lot of it I think, yeah, nice and soaked.” I shoved his hand away and he tucked my panties into his pocket. Wade helped me off the counter, his hands braced on my waist to keep me steady. My jeans had been tossed carelessly to the side and I dreaded putting them back on without the barrier of my underwear. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear those pesky jeans, even if they do make your ass look so good I want to rip them off you every time you wear them.” He passed through the bathroom and into his and Logan’s room. I peeked around the edge of the door frame and nearly fainted at the sight. 

Logan was splayed across their dark sheets, body bare, hard cock in his hand. While the room was dim, the beams of light from the hallway were able to reach in. The shadows played over his muscles and I watched as they flexed. I wasn’t able to see his cock well, both his hand and the poor lighting limited my vision. But I was able to see a long, thick vein along the underside. My face heated at the sight of him. “Knock, asshole,” his voice was husky. The sound of him made my toes curl. If I hadn’t just had a mind melting orgasm, I would have been striding into that room, ready to do anything he wanted me to. His stomach fluttered as his strokes became more rapid. 

“Here,” Wade said as he tossed my drenched panties on Logan’s face. His hips jerked, knuckles flashing white around himself. Wade searched through a drawer before pulling something from inside. “Now be good and keep those right there for when I come back.” Logan growled, removing the fabric from his face but kept it clutched in his fist. Wade blew him a kiss and a wave before closing the door again. He offered me a pair of sweatpants. I tugged them on with a mumbled thank you, having to roll the waistband down multiple times so I wasn’t swimming in them. Wade pinched my chin and our eyes locked. “I’ll get him to warm up, promise.” I nodded. “Now go take care of Miss Migoo. Remember to text me when you get home.” 

“Of course,” I stood on my toes to kiss his healed nose. “I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t worry babykins. If it makes you feel better, I was near suffocation. So a busted nose was the best case scenario.” He laughed at my horrified expression. “Hey, I’d much rather die from pussy smothering than my heart being ripped out.” 

“You know, that doesn’t make me feel much better.” He smirked and drew me closer, his lips connecting with mine. I could taste the tang of me coating him. But I pulled back first. I needed to keep my head on straight for the last hour of my time with Al. “Keep it down with him, please? It’ll be too distracting.” His expression turned wicked. 

“Trust me, I have a way I’ll shut him up.” His hands coasted down my hips, grabbing a handful of my ass. “I’ll send pictures of what happens to your cute little panties once we’re done with them.” My face flushed and I pressed my hands to his chest. 

“God, you’re such a pervert.” 

“Mhm, you like it though.” 

“Will you two stop! My vision isn’t coming back anytime soon.” We reluctantly broke apart. Wade slipped into the bedroom. I was only able to catch a brief glimpse of Logan’s back arched, heels dug deep into the mattress, before my sight was cut off. I grabbed my discarded jeans and stuffed them into the tote bag I had brought with me. The last bit of my shift ended in mostly silence, minus the occasional creak of the bed frame from the guy’s bedroom. I helped Al sign a few checks, read through her mail, and took out Mary Puppins. I said my good night and left the apartment. My mind conjured up thoughts on what could be happening behind that closed door all the way home on the train. Wade, clad only in my stolen underwear, bouncing on Logan. My panties stuffed into Logan’s mouth as Wade pounds him from behind. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop my imagination from getting too wild. It wouldn’t help anything to get turned on now. 

If my mind hadn’t been so filled with dirty thoughts, I would have noticed the man watching me from the other end of the train car.  

I made it to my apartment. The key fob scanner was broken again. “Advanced security my ass,” I groaned, trudging up to my apartment. It was Friday and I felt like ordering something in. I knew I shouldn’t, the delivery fees were astronomical, but I just wanted to relax. After placing my pizza order, I grabbed a fresh pair of underwear and a shirt stolen from Logan by Wade, then gifted to me. It always felt illegal to wear it, but it was easily the softest shirt I had. His scent lingered on it and it always soothed me. I had around an hour before my pizza was going to arrive. I made a little nest for myself on the couch and tucked in to watch some mindless reality tv. 

A knock woke me up. At first I was confused, rubbing at my eyes and looking around to locate the sound. Then my mind caught up. “Oh shit,” I mumbled, scrambling to the door as the poor delivery guy knocked again. “Sorry! Sorry!” I called. I unlocked the door and swung it open. 

I froze. 

A man, with no pizza box, stood before me. “Um, can I help you?” The man had ice chips for eyes, cold and lifeless. A tattoo peaked above his collar. He took me in, tracing each inch of me. I felt my skin break out in goosebumps at the cold calculation on his face. My arms curled over my chest, hiding it from him. “Can I help you?” My tone was stronger, a small snap to it. That horrible gaze found mine again. Then he said my full name. Fear oozed through me. 

I heard something from my bedroom, a little thump, but was too terrified to look away from the man in front of me. “Get the fuck out of here,” but the words lacked conviction, a slight tremble to them. “I don’t know who you are. Leave or I’m calling the cops.” 

“Why wouldn’t you call your boyfriends?” My heart stuttered in my chest. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” I heard the creak of my floorboard. I cast a wild glance behind me and found a wall of a man emerging from my bedroom. I went to scream but the man at my door latched his hand around my mouth. I kicked and thrashed, biting wildly. He didn’t react. There was a pinch in my neck. 

My elbows tried to find his face, but he was able to easily deflect them. The man in my apartment was searching for something. My eyes were blurring, limbs turned to lead. I saw him hold my phone up. 

Then I slumped to the ground.

[kylecrusoe-captions]

Hey man, if you're still doing some requests can you make a story of a dying father swapped with his jock son to continue their family legacy? thanks!

The hospital room reeked of bleach and despair. Victor Grayson, 58 and crumbling under cancer’s weight, stared at his trembling hands—once strong enough to forge a multimillion-dollar empire, now brittle as twigs. Tubes tethered him to machines, their beeps a countdown to oblivion. Across the room, his son Vincent slouched, 21 and built like a goddamn linebacker—six-foot-two, shoulders wide as a barn door, thighs thick from years of squats. He scrolled his phone, oblivious, his tousled hair catching the light. Victor seethed. That body—his blood—wasted on a ungrateful punk.

Vincent had always been a letdown. Victor had clawed his way up from nothing, pouring every dime into private schools, trainers, opportunities—all for a son who’d rather chug beer with frat boys and crash Victor’s gifted Mustang than carry the Grayson name forward. “You’re a disappointment,” Victor had spat during their last fight. Vincent just smirked—“Whatever, old man”—and stormed off to another party.

Now, Victor rasped, “I’m not done.” His voice rattled like loose bolts.

Vincent glanced up, mid-text. “Chill, Dad. Docs say—”

“Shut it.” Victor’s skeletal finger hit a concealed trigger on the bedframe. A hum vibrated the room, air snapping with static. Vincent clutched his chest—“What the hell?”—and then it was over. The xAI prototype, a black-market neural swap rig Victor had bankrolled, did its job. Victor blinked, and suddenly he was staring at his own dying husk from Vincent’s towering frame.

He flexed his son’s thick fingers, marveling at the power. Vincent, trapped in the frail shell, croaked, “Dad, no—give it back!” His voice was a ghost’s whisper.

Victor-in-Vincent stood, rolling his new neck. “You never deserved this body,” he growled, voice now a rich baritone. “I’ll make it worth something.” He left Vincent gasping on the bed and walked out, the hospital fading behind him.

At home, Victor locked himself in Vincent’s room. The full-length mirror beckoned. He stripped off the sweaty tee and gym shorts, letting them hit the floor. There he stood—his son’s body, now his. Broad pecs flexed under smooth skin, biceps bulged with every twitch, and a trail of dark hair led down from his navel to a cock that hung heavy, thicker than he’d ever been in his prime. He grinned, running a hand over the ridges of his abs, feeling the taut muscle jump. “Fuck, this is mine now.”

His pulse quickened as he gripped himself, tentative at first, then bolder. The sensation was electric—decades of atrophy erased, replaced by raw, youthful heat. He watched in the mirror, mesmerized by the sight: Vincent’s chiseled face staring back, lips parted, eyes dark with lust—but it was Victor’s mind driving it. His hand moved faster, rough and deliberate, the strength in his grip a revelation. Every stroke sent a jolt through him, thighs tensing, breath hitching. He braced a hand against the glass, smearing it, as his new body responded with a vigor he’d forgotten existed. When he came, it was a roar—a primal, shuddering release that splattered the mirror and left him panting, grinning like a conqueror.

Vincent’s death in the hospital went unnoticed by Victor. The flatline sounded hours later, a footnote. Victor didn’t care. He had a legacy to live—one he’d carve out in this stolen flesh, starting with every pleasure it could give him.

[s0fter-sin]

nik finding out ghost’s father is still alive

he teases out personal information from him over years of careful dedication; always knowing when to back off, always knowing when ghost needs him to push just that little more so he can free himself of his own memories

it’s not always important; sometimes it’s little things like preferring full fat milk for his tea or that he enjoys morning runs with his back to the sunrise. that he prefers to sit in an armchair than a couch and he hates the feel of cotton balls but endures it anyway

it takes a while before he gets to the deep things. the tragic things. broken plates. snake infested beds. dead prostitutes in toilet stalls

all with one man at the centre of them

ghost isn’t shy about his opinion of his old man; he knew he was a cowardly, addicted bastard who stood up for what he believed in only so long as the person he was standing against was weaker than him. he tells nik how close he came to killing him one night when he found him passed out on the couch; foaming spit and vomit all around him. he tells him how much he wished he knew then what he knows now; how he could’ve killed him with a toothpick if he just learned earlier

and he tells him that even unconscious, even when grew bigger than him, when he was stronger than him, ghost was still too afraid of him to try

he tells him around a shared cigarette that he got the call about his cancer just after he enlisted; how bitter he felt that he wouldn’t be around to watch him suffer and wither away. and it’s with a sour laugh that he tells him it was a few years after his first deployment that he got the call that he was in remission

“bastard couldn’t even give me that much,” he scoffs and stares at the smouldering butt long enough that nik takes it from him before he can snuff it out on his skin. “know the funny part of all this? i’ve killed hundreds of men. i know how to use more weapons than i can count- i’m the fuckin’ ghost…

“and i’m still fuckin’ scared of him.”

silence falls and nik sits in it; in the cruelty and discomfort of a man’s fear. he thinks of an old wooden home with its little chapel at the end of the yard. he thinks of silent dinner tables and repeated prayers over the crack of a belt. he thinks of the weight of a bible clutched in his hands and how it never eased the heat of his blood dripping down his back

he thinks and lights another cigarette and pretends ghost’s hand isn’t shaking when he offers it to him. because that’s all he can do

for now

-

months pass and nik does ghost a favour by acting like he’s forgotten their conversation on the roof despite them both knowing it’s bullshit. you don’t just forget sharing something like that; the shame of admitting and the hatred of knowing are too strong for something as merciful as forgetting

but they don’t talk about it again

months pass, missions blur together except for the ones that really don’t and it’s been a while since nik was in country when he slides up beside ghost as he oversees recruit training

he doesn’t say anything; just lets ghost feel his presence, conveniently from behind so he can slip something in his hands held behind his back before he steps up beside him. they watch the repetitive drills and the repetitive mistakes until ghost barks at them to fuck off or he’ll make them run until they puke then make them keep running

he waits for the last of them to huff and puff their way to the showers before bringing his hands to the front and unfolding the paper nik gave him

he doesn’t get past the first line before he stills

ghost forces his head to turn, eyes reluctantly dragging away from the paper to nik who stands waiting expectantly

“a gift,” nik says simply. “it does not bode well to have a haunted ghost, yes?”

he doesn’t let himself deflate the way his body wants; he keeps his back straight and shoulders wide and lets out a carefully controlled breath. “it last long?”

“oh yes,” he nods with a wide smile. “hell received quite a few pieces.”

ghost nods back and looks down at the paper in his hand, refusing to acknowledge the fine shake running through it. it isn’t enough to blur the cutout from a manchester local newspaper and reading it again makes his knees weak with 30 year old relief

missing: norman riley

[kumkaniudaku]

Peace and Quiet

Summary: Terry spends a summer day with Patrice.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Blood, and Injury

The worst had come for Deidra Richmond and the Richmond family. 

Months of doctor’s visits leading to long hospital stays full of machines that beeped incessantly to taunt any who found enough courage to visit Catherine Alexander slowly devolved into a grim diagnosis, rapidly declining health, hospice care, and, finally, the end. At 75 years old, Catherine transitioned to a realm beyond the physical to suffer no more from the pain of late stage breast cancer. She passed away with her loved ones standing beside her bed, oscilating between laughter and painful wailing until the sounds became one. 

Terry watched his mother crumple into a mess of tears from the doorframe before turning away to entertain his twin sisters who couldn’t quite piece together what was happening with grandma. He could though. He knew exactly what’d happened to grandma. He’d never hug her neck again and hear his nickname, Peanut, come in her wonderful high-pitched Southern drawl. She wouldn’t make him another double chocolate cake for Thanksgiving or gift him sneakers for Christmas. All of her birthday cards were no more. Monetary gifts for good grades became relics of a time before his first dose of grief nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. Grandma was gone. 

A full day of crying and consoling two ten year olds clinging to their big brother quickly became a dizzying week full of people parading in and out of the Richmond household. Routine condolences became like nails on Terry’s mental chalkboard. Yes, he knew how much his grandma loved him. No, he didn’t know where he mother wanted the follower. He didn’t want to be strong. He wouldn’t be okay. He just wanted to be left alone and released from walls closing in one him with every unwanted hug and request to help type the funeral program. 

Patrice offered to come over on day two. She could sense his heavy heart over the phone when he called to break the news and ask if her mom knew how to make a good potato salad because his aunt was still barred from making the dish for their family after the last debacle. 

“Yeah, she does,” Patrice answered, hoping he could hear the sympathy in her voice. “I could bring some by if you wanna taste.” 

Terry sighed and chewed the inside of his cheek. “Actually, can I come over there instead?”

He didn’t stay long for his first visit. Rosalyn offered the boy with a forlorn smile and tired eyes a healthy helping of her special dish and he picked his way through it, too sad to say anything but a quiet “thank you” and ask if she minded making more for the repast. 

“Of course, baby. Whatever you need.” Rosalyn didn’t need Patrice’s pleading to convince her. Terry was just as much one of her children as Patrice and Junior. 

Mournful silence followed the pair out to the driveway as they prepared to part ways and agree on the what time Patrice should meet at Terry’s house to accompany him to the funeral. 

He stopped short at his truck’s driver’s side and leaned against the door to face Patrice. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want, Treece. It just gonna be a bunch of people crying and actin’ like they ever came to see her when she was sick.” 

“Stop sayin’ that, TJ,” Patrice admonished. “If you’re going, I’m going. So I’ll have my mama drop me and the food off at 10, okay?” 

“Yeah.” Passing cars swept Terry’s murmured response into their cacophony of sounds. Eyes committed to counting the pebbles beneath his feet finally looked up to ask the question clawing at his throat, itching to break free. “Can I…come back tomorrow?” 

It was then, with the summer sun high in a cloudless sky, that Patrice could see the faint pink hue coloring the whites of his eyes. Tears shed in private and a burden far too heavy for a child brought to light without a word spoken between them. She didn’t draw attention to her discovery or reach out to pull his shoulders into a tight hug in the only window of unsupervised time they’d had all day. 

Instead she nodded and answered plainly. “Come here whenever you want.” 

Patrice didn’t ask either of her parents for their blessing. She didn’t consult them for permission or even alert them to Terry’s intention to use their home as his escape pod. When Rosalyn found him sulking at the kitchen table, a bowl of chips and half eaten sandwich in front of him while he stared absently into the distance, she didn’t disturb his moment of reflection. She didn’t scold Patrice for her lack of communication or tiptoe around as if she’d inherited an unwanted house guest. Leon didn’t ask questions when he found Terry dressed in all black and quietly watching Junior play video games with Patrice nowhere in sight instead of eating dinner with his extended family a neighborhood over. No one said anything when a week had passed and their bonus kid and extra sibling was still finding solace in a home free of death’s heaviness. 

Lunch had just wrapped when Terry trudged up the front steps, rang the doorbell twice to cue Patrice, and slipped into the ice cold confines of his safe space. 

“You look tired.” Patrice didn’t mince words and Terry couldn’t find it within himself to lie his way through an answer. 

He shrugged. “I was helping my mama clean up Granny’s house last night. Guess it got late.” 

“Did you sleep after that,” Patrice questioned over her shoulder as he followed her toward her bedroom.

“Kinda hard to get rest when you have two kids in your bed.” His attempt at a laugh sounded more like a bitter huff, dry and lacking the goofy joy only Patrice was privy to on a day to day. 

She followed his every move around the room while carefully propping the door open for when her mother eventually made her way back in from Mrs. Wright’s next door vegetable garden. 

The weary sigh escaping his lungs melded with slow moving, heavy legs easing his body into her favorite chair in the house. Patrice made herself comfortable at the head of her bed, allowing silence to blanket the room.

Terry let his eyes drift closed for a moment, only to open them and find a set etched with concern staring back at him. “I’m fine, Treece,” he asserted, hoping to quell any worry. “What’s the plan for today? Wanna take Junior to the skate park like we promised?” 

“I think my daddy wants y’all’s help finishing that bench swing on the back. Then maybe we get ice cream after that?” 

“Sure.” Terry’s thoughts had taken him to some far off land too secluded for even Patrice to accompany him on his journey, leaving her with a half-assed response and a friend staring blankly at the wall ahead. 

Patrice shifted in her cross-legged position before speaking. “Are you…okay, TJ?” The question felt incomplete and went entirely unanswered, but not unheard. Terry quickly glanced in Patrice’s direction but remained silent. She tried again. “If you aren’t we can talk. Or we can sit here and watch movies until my daddy gets back. It’s up to you.” 

Still nothing. Time passed painfully slow while Patrice waited for any sign that Terry might twist the lid on canned emotions and welcome her inside his head. But, he provided nothing and she didn’t press. 

Terry sat motionless, suspended in a state of paralysis, wanting to speak but not possessing an iota of strength to open his mouth and ask for help. He was drowning. Water from his tears and some of his mothers had long engulfed him a wrafthful, unyielding high tide slowly pulling him into water too deep for rescue. He wrestled with himself, desperately begging his tongue to move to no avail. 

A wavering breath steadied rising emotions as Patrice appeared to give up on any possibility of a conversation and searched her nightstand for the television remote. “No.” His voice paused Patrice’s shuffling to shift her attention across the room. Terry closed his eyes and sighed again to push the words out of his mouth. “All my days are bad. Unless I’m over here. Then it’s less bad. I know I have to be happy for Zanah and Zorah and mom and dad so they don’t have to worry about me too, but -” He paused to gather the anger bubbling inside his chest before starting a new thought. “I like being here. It’s peaceful. Cold as bitch, but still. It’s a good break.”

Patrice scooched closer to the edge of the bed to lay on her stomach and study Terry. He kept his gaze low to avoid eye contact he knew would make him cry in the presence of his own high school crush to stick past a few weeks.

“You’re dramatic about the cold. It’s hot as the Devil’s kneecaps and you worried about the cold,” she joked. Terry allowed himself the gift of laughter, chuckling along with Patrice before finding enough resolve to return her curious stare. She offered a smile that he mirrored without effort. “I can’t tell you what to do, but it might help for you to spend a little more time with your mom. I’m sure she misses having you around. Maybe y’all could figure out how to be happy together.”

An unreceptive heart and mind sorted Patrice’s lofty idea into the pile of advice Terry had labled nice but ultimately just a thing to say when someone dies. He shrugged in indifference then slid deeper into her beanbag that had all but molded itself into his body shape after days of being its only inhabitant. “Maybe. Can you find something to watch, though, Confucius?” 

Roller her eyes, Patrice mumbled a retort under her breath and turned on the TV to scroll through the channels list for something worth their while. A seemingly endless search yielded little results, leaving Terry to drift back to his private mental island. Already waning speech crept to a halt. Defenses lowered. Limbs became putty under the weight of crisp air conditioning blowing from the vent across the room.

“Wanna watch Bad Boys 2?” Patrice’s question fell on deaf ears for a spell before she looked in his direction. Her frown slowly loosened into a fond smile while she watched his chest rise and fall, mouth slightly ajar to release the beginnings of a deep snore. Tossing a pillow from her bed, Patrice sent a soft mound of down feathers to startle him awake. She snickered at the wild look on his face when he came to. “Movie or no movie TJ?” 

“Girl! Movie! I said that, right? I said movie,” he grumbled, placing the pillow behind his head and wiggling his long body until he was comfortable again. “You play so much, Treece.” 

She waved him away and selected their first feature of the afternoon. “Whatever.”

Martin Lawrence and Will Smith had at least one active viewer. The other, slumped on the floor with a bean bag chair and an orange satin pillow case as a makeshift bed, chose dreaming as the alternative to action packed comedy. Patrice resisted the jester on her shoulder recommending different ways to interrupt his rest and convince him to join her for hijinks and pointless conversation, preferring to quietly slip a throw blanket over his body, draw the curtains, and tip-toe out of the room.

Life in the Ellis household went on with Terry out cold on Patrice’s bedroom floor. Rosalyn put a snack to the side for when eventually emerged from slumber. Junior tried his hardest to keep his voice down in the bedroom just down the hall with threats on his summer freedom as a motivator. Leon, though worn ragged from a days work and ready to start his weekend with a cold beer in the backyard, delayed completing his wife’s porch swing project to allow Terry a little more time to nap. All in the home conspired together to allow the young boy with heavy burdens space and opportunity for needed rest. 

Two hours later, once the sun had started to cast orange and pink hues on the city and turned the backyard into a golden paradise, Terry appeared in the living room feeling emotionally lighter and ready to work. Patrice saw him first and offered a small wave and smile that he returned with more visible happiness than before. She was right about the nap, and when she wasn’t so hellbent on gloating in her wins one day, he’d tell her she was right about him being tired.

He gave his thanks to Mrs. Ellis for saving a sandwich for him, playfully wrestled with Junior to satisfy his need for a little boyish horseplay, then dutifully follow Mr. Ellis outside to see his joint work through to completion. 

Patrice played supervisor as she stood with her arms folded and eyes darting between Terry’s muscles contracting from the effort and various blunders from the motley crew of handymen trying and failing to hoist the bench onto its metal chain.

“Alright, lift one more time, boys. I think I got it now,” Leon instructed Terry from the top rung on his ladder. 

Terry and Junior signaled their understanding then counted down from three to brace themselves for their fourth attempt. 

Counting down from three was inexplicably confused with counting to three in Junior’s mind. Somewhere in the middle, wires were crossed, yelps of pain rang out loud enough to disturb a flock of birds perched on the nearby wooden fence, and blood from a deep gash in Terry’s hand trickled down his aching, bruised fingers. 

He hopped around the back porch grimmacing and holding his hand while Junior apologized profusely. “It’s okay,” Terry gritted through clinched teeth. “Can I get a bandaid?” 

“Oh my God,” Patrice gawked. “Terry! Come inside and sit down. Mama!”

“Son, you gon’ need more than a bandaid. Ros! Grab the kit! The boy damn near lost his hand!” 

Leon’s exaggeration nearly sent Terry into shock as he wobbled his way into the kitchen. He finally understood where Patrice got her flare for the dramatic once Rosalyn had carefully cleared away all the blood and debris to reveal an ugly but totally normal cut running the width of his palm. 

While she worked to heal his wound with gentle care, Terry’s mind drifted to his mother a few neighborhoods over and what she might do to make him feel better. He knew she’d go to great lengths to kiss away his pain and mend his body until hurt passed and all that was left was her love. She deserved as much from him. They deserved as much from each other. He had to get home. 

Down one unharmed hand and up an almost full roll of gauze wrapped around his palm, Terry walked in front of Patrice on the way to his truck, laughing at the spectacle from before. 

Terry took a gander at his new accessory and chuckled. “At least I get a couple days out of conditioning. Shoutout to Junior for that.” 

“I don’t even know why Daddy had him out there. The boy gets out of school and forgets how to count every summer. Now I can’t get any ice cream!” Their shared laughter rang out on the empty street, floating into the sunset intertwined like two pieces of a whole. “When you come back tomorrow, I’ll have some cupcakes or something for you. By then, Daddy oughta had somebody by here to hang that thing and we can sit outside.” 

Terry chewed his bottom lip before responding. “Uh…I think I’m gonna hang out with my mama tomorrow, actually. Probably go get lunch or something. You can come too, if you want.” 

“No, that’s okay. Don’t even think about me. Spend some time with your mom. It’ll be good for you two.” Patrice didn’t hesitate to quell Terry’s anxiety with a tight squeeze around his shoulders. “Drive safe, Terry. Let me know when you get home.”

Terry brought his uninjured hand to the small of Patrice’s back and pressed her closer. “I will. Love you.” 

“Yeah. Love you, too.”

Quick bursts of electric energy passed between them before becoming the very energy to repel their bodies for good. 

Terry flashed a final smile at Patrice, putting all 32 teeth on display, then climbed into the front seat to make sense of driving without his dominant hand. The loud roar of his engine and two quick honks sent signaled his departure. Patrice chose to stand in the driveway until his was out of sight, giving Terry a mental picture to cherish forever as she grew smaller in his rear view mirror. 

He smiled when she finally seemed to go inside, unaware of the heart string spooling its way into existence.

------

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[hexb0nes]

Reaffirmation - Vows to You

word count: 1.6k

warnings: mentions of dying/death, illness complications, hospitals, violence, parental loss, gen neutral!reader / afab!reader

summary: one night, in your shared bed, viktor reflects on his journey from the depths of zaun to the skyscrapers of piltover, his relationship with you, and the future.

a/n: trying out a new format for my fics!! hope they like them <3

There’s something funny about knowing when you’ll die. 

Viktor’s fingers trace over your sleeping body. The pads of his nimble appendages brush softly, as he memorizes every nook and cranny you have to offer. He admires your curves and dips, your hips plush and fit the grasp of his hands like a missing puzzle piece. Your facial features, the barely audible snores that escape your oh-so kissable lips. You stir in your sleep and grimace, murmuring something under your breath. Viktor presses a kiss against your temple and pulls you closer into his frail arms. You relax and snuggle into his bony chest, as if he was the world’s most comfortable pillow.

Viktor’s hands move from your hips to your hair, entangling his fingers into the locks and combing them quietly. Your hair is silky, smooth to the touch. He remembers your various hair styles over the years; long braids, then a bob, followed by shaving it all off when one of your friends began their battle with cancer. Your hair is an extension of your energy, your soul. It reflects your journey and carries memories. Each time a person cuts their hair, they cut off the old memories with it and begin anew. Viktor hopes you cut your hair after he passes on. 

I should tell them.

Viktor rests his chin on top of your head and exhales. Behind the curtains in your shared bedroom, the dazzling lights of Piltover dimmed by the thick fabric. You rub your face against Viktor’s chest and sigh, a deep but content sigh. Viktor’s lips quirk up into a miniscule smile.

But they would try to stop me.

On his nightstand, an assortment of opened mail lay still; medical bills, electricity bills, HVAC bills, and so on, these are the costs of staying alive. A calendar is pinned on the wall closest to the balcony, scribbles of appointment dates and work events present. 

If there is a God out there, damn you. Damn you for this, damn you for–

You squirm in your sleep. Viktor strokes your hair and gives you another peck on the head, you simmer down and continue to peacefully snooze.

Oh, little dove. You have a knack for sensing my distress, huh?

His chest rattles with an impending cough and Viktor stifles it back. He reaches for his nightstand and grabs his handkerchief, a belated birthday from his colleague Sky Young. Viktor muffles his coughing with the handkerchief, praying that his attack didn’t disturb your slumber. 

Damn you, God. 

The coughing soon subsides and Viktor pulls the handkerchief from his mouth. Splatters of crimson blood stain the handkerchief. It’s wash friendly! Sky reassures him upon gifting the embodied cloth, Just add some soap to hot water and scrub, then it will be good as new.

Miss. Young is a thoughtful woman.

Viktor sets the handkerchief and makes a mental note to wash it in the morning. He lowers his hand down your back, feeling each vertebrae. Your back is smooth, untouched by bolts and screws implanted deep within. His hand reaches the small of your back, your pajama top somewhat lifted and exposing your skin. Viktor brushes his thumb against your back and lets out a low hum.

What a marvel you are, my darling; it’s as if the Heavens forged you of holy light and pure, unabashed love for humanity.

Viktor recalls the day you two met; it was an act of total coincidence that you and he touched that book at the same time, Thus Spoke Zarathustra. At the time, Viktor never met someone who enjoyed such literature, not even Jayce, who preferred science fiction and mystery over anything philosophical or classical. It sparked a conversation on Friedrich Nietzsche’s characterization and the various elements introduced. The conversation led to a friendship, a friendship led to a spark of romantic feelings, and a spark of romantic feelings led to you confessing to him during a terrible thunderstorm.

No matter the weather, you promised to show up for me.

You had spoken from the deepest depths of your heart and soul, proclaiming your love for Viktor while thunder roared and lightning crackled above. In soaked clothes, you cried out to Viktor how you couldn’t keep hiding your feelings from him, that you loved him with every fiber of your being. You held your head low after your confession, your face hot with embarrassment and fear. Viktor extended his hand out to you and pulled you inside his apartment.

You were drenched to the bone, I couldn’t let you catch a cold.

Viktor remembers how his lips connected with yours that day, how foreign but exciting the sensation was. He kissed you, mustering up each ounce of energy and willpower to express his reciprocation of love. You grabbed at his hair and tugged on it to stabilize yourself, inciting a muffled moan from Viktor. 

I could have kissed you for eternity, if my lungs allowed for such a gift.

From that day onward, you were no longer just you and Viktor–friends and nothing more–but you and Viktor, two souls intertwined. You said so yourself at the altar during your vows, how you and him were one and the same. In the present, Viktor chuckles to himself at how teary-eyed he was at seeing you beside him at that altar. 

I vowed to stay alive for as long as I could, to spend every day and every moment left in my weary bones with you by my side.

The milestones you two went through–the move to more spacious living quarters, your first ever wedding anniversary, and so on–were done so with the utmost glee. Soon, your friends followed suit, some getting married and having babies while others relished in the single life and their roles as aunts, uncles, and such. Even Jayce, Piltover’s most eligible bachelor, finally settled down and married Councilor Mel Medara, having three adorable kids.

What a spectacular life I have lived with you, my little dove.

You push yourself off Viktor and spread your limbs out, tussling the linen sheets for a new position. Viktor lays back against the bed and faces you, entranced by your beauty. He lifts a hand and puts it on your stomach, a small bump protruding outward. 

I don’t have much time left.

The pregnancy was unplanned, a flunk. Viktor was unsure if he could pass down his conditions to the hypothetical child, so it was better to be safe than sorry. Yet, the day you held up that pink stick and showed him the two lines was the day Viktor reaffirmed his vows to you.

I vowed to stay alive for as long as I could, to spend every day and every moment left in my weary bones with you by my side.

The idea of fatherhood terrifies Viktor. He has no recollection of his own father, nothing more than a patron at the brothel where his mother slaved away to raise enough money to make a better future for herself. A child complicated things; sometimes, Viktor wonders if he cost his mother such a bright future. However, whenever those doubts would arise, his mother would shut them down with a wave and smile, You’re my new future, Viktor. You’re my winner.

Yes, winner. My name means so. I strive every day to be a winner.

An act of senseless violence stole his mother’s life. She switched to working the counter, collecting and maintaining the bills, something better for herself and her son. A robber came for the money and the women, she stalled as long as she could for the workers to evacuate. She played hero, saving at least ten lives that day. Yet, for every heroic act, someone had to pay the price. The robber shot her straight in the head, brain matter and blood splattering and coating the wall behind her, as she crumbled lifelessly on the floor.

I vowed to make the Undercity, Zaun, a better place.

Viktor rose from the bottom to the top, climbing up the rusty rungs of Zaun to the shiny rungs of Piltover. He studied by day, worked odd jobs at night. He worked and worked until a Yoddle named Cecil D. Hemingdinger found him and took him under his wing. Every day, Viktor fought to be a winner. Soon, Jayce came along with his grandiose plan to revolutionize magic for the common man. He was Viktor’s ticket to promotion, life as an assistant was never in the cards for him, Viktor was a scientist.

We made the world better.

Hextech became a reality and shot Piltover into the stratosphere as an epicenter for trade, the arts, invention, and progress. A few years after the invention of Hextech, a slow day in the lab with no Jayce in sight led Viktor to visit the nearby library. A colleague had recommended Thus Spoke Zarathustra for him to read.

Yet, it was you that made my world better.

Exhaustion weighs Viktor down, his body demanding sleep. He tries to remain awake, but his need for sleep overtakes his desire for introspection. His eyes flutter, as he falls deeper and deeper into sleep.

Goodnight, my darling.

Viktor falls asleep, his hand wrapped around your arm. The entrance to the balcony near your bed creaks open just a bit for some wind to blow inside. The wind knocks some mail off Viktor’s nightstand and reveals a letter underneath.

Dear Mr. Reveck,

I write this letter to you with my deepest apologies and condolences. Your recent lab work has shown concerning results, despite your ongoing treatment. I fear that your prognosis has diminished from five years to two years. Yet, there is hope! A clinical trial has opened up, testing a new treatment that may extend your life for another decade. The researchers have informed me that they’re willing to offer you a spot in the trial if you desire so.

Please contact me at your soonest convenience to express your acceptance or refusal.

Dr. Kuwayama, MD 

Pulmonologist – West Piltover Hospital

[reality-detective]

When the wise men brought gifts to Jesus... Do you think they were telling us something much deeper? 🤔

Dr. Josh Axe dives into the incredible cancer-fighting properties of "Frankincense Oil"

A recent UK study shows that this natural remedy is effective against ovarian, colon, breast, and even brain cancer—thanks to its tiny molecules that can pass through the blood-brain barrier. 🤔

[astro-rainbow777]

🌙 ✨Cancer Through The Houses✨🐚

🌀Preface: Cancer rules over the mother archetype, it is important to note that genders are excluded here. The word mother will be used interchangeably throughout this text, but this just means someone who stepped into their feminine energy in your life, or how you display mother like qualities. The mother pertains to anything that requires a soft, nurturing, emotional, protective and instinctive approach. A man can have these as well, but gender is not important here.

☆

🌝 Cancer in the First House ~ Soft and moon like features, this can show skin sensitivities. This native cannot hide their feelings even if they try, they may be prone to passive aggression. They are know to have a round moon like face, or a crescent shaped face, man of the moon qualities with a prominent chin & bone structure. Whatever moon sign the native has & what house it’s in will show more about the native’s physical features. They enjoy their creature comforts and the maternal figure plays a significant importance in their lives. Family is super important to them, probably raised siblings, cousins or parents to a degree, from a younger age. Resting sad face. Very sweet and kind, people. Strangers often feel comforted by them easily because of their softness and empathetic demeanor.

🤱Cancer in the Second House ~ When Cancer falls into the house of values, money, and possessions, in can indicate a person who values their family and close loved ones deeply. They may spend a lot of money of home goods, property, things for their loved ones. Having a stable home life can be very important for them, as well as having all their creature comforts met. If this person doesn’t get their basic needs met, it can lead them to be very moody and unpredictable in terms of emotional reactions. An important maternal figure could have shown their love by good food, material possessions, gifts, shopping, etc. This is a very good mothering placement, as it’s very grounded, practical and realistic in matters of the heart.

🍪 Cancer in the Third House ~ Shy, soft and gentle speakers, they aren’t too concerned with other people’s business and prefer to keep to themselves. Here the house of communication prefers to stay more in its shell. Their emotions may cloud their thoughts from time to time, but this does make a very colorful communicator. They can be very kind, sweet and sensitive once you get to know them, however, they have a tendency towards defensive communication. They don’t say anymore than needs to be said because of this, to them “no” is a complete sentence. They are very private individuals, and prefer intimate close bonds. They may act as a mother to their siblings and cousins- or perhaps they are the mom friend. These are deeply sentimental and nostalgic individuals, and think a lot about their childhood.

🏡 Cancer in the Fourth House ~ Very sensitive and family oriented individuals. These natives have a deep desire to be apart of a family, raise children and be somewhat of an influence to the younger generations. Emotions are important to them and they are very protective over people that they love. This is a very primal response for them, think of a mother duck attacking anyone that even goes near their babies. They will whoop somebodies a** if they mess with their loved ones. They do not play about family and to them blood is everything. They operate off of pure emotional reaction and instincts. They will enjoy spending time at home to recharge their emotions and don’t get emotionally drained easily because they don’t mask how they are feeling. When they need to flow, they flow.

🛋 Cancer in the Fifth House ~ Known for their cozy and emotional disposition, when Cancer falls in the house of hobbies, fun, and children it can make for a family oriented personality. The native probably spends their spare time with their loved ones, In the comfort of their own home, with children, cooking or connecting to their childhood. They may have a very gentle and soft way of expressing themselves, and can be highly introverted. If the native does have kids, their will be a huge focus on parenthood, spending time with their kids, and will participate in a lot of activities that are nurturing to their spirit. This is the stay at home over going out type. Their idea of fun consists of hanging out with their closest friends in familiar, safe locations. They may enjoy creating emotional art or listening to music that makes you FEEL.

🛀 Cancer in the Sixth House ~ The sixth house rules over health, routines and service; that being said Cancer can bring a lot of sensitivities to this area of the natives lives. They can be very protective over their daily routines and habits. This is usually due to the fact that they make take care of someone in their family or have food sensitivities or their own health issues. They can work on the night shift or just start their day later than most. Coworkers can be like family to them, it's possible they work from home as well. They could do jobs home Healthcare, IT jobs or work with their family.

🫂 Cancer in the Seventh House ~ When Cancer falls over the seventh house of close relationships, business partners & contracts, this can manifest as being really close to your family or being attracted to sensitive, nurturing personalities. They look for a home in their spouse and they could be close to their maternal figure. They could be attract introverts and prefer intimate bonds over superficial connections. They could go into business with family members, take on the family business or work from home. They pick up on their partners feelings intuitively and may engage in passive aggressive behavior when there is conflict in their personal relationships. These guys definitely have a rough exterior, but don't let them fool you, they are extremely sentimental at heart.

🌑 Cancer in Eighth House ~ This house rules over all things taboo, mysterious, and sometimes scary. That being said, this cusp can have some serious family trauma. These natives are known to come off spontaneous and free, but don't let them fool you, they have a lot they are protecting. The maternal figure can play a huge role in this natives psychology and may have easy access to a lot of the family secrets. Their could be alienated from their family. Their child hood was intense, their could have been s*xual ab*se, witch craft and cults in the family. They can feel vengeful towards their family. It's hard for them to find security in the world, may move a lot and find it difficult to feel at home no matter where they go.

🦀 Cancer in Ninth House ~ When Cancer falls over the cusp of the ninth house, the house of philosophy, higher learning and travel, the native could have developed their beliefs from their family. It's possible these natives don't know their family or are adopted. Perhaps one or both parents live overseas or are always traveling for work. They could move out of the country or have family orgins in a place different from where they were born. Their family could be religious, teachers or free spirited. Perhaps the native frequently travels with their family and enjoys broadening their horizon. May not be the traveling type, or enjoys homey, safety stays and might not go out of their comfort zone to explore a new destination.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Cancer in the Tenth House ~ This is the work from home/stay at home parent type. When Cancer falls over the tenth house of career and reputation, these individuals are known for their sensitivity and inner circle. They could spend a good amount of time at home, post on social media about their family and children or just look at family as a highest form of success. It's possible that the paternal figure is absent and the maternal figure takes over. Perhaps the father figure is very sweet, supportive and kind- but this is rare. This cusp is known for being in touch with their feelings and could work in fields that allow them to care and intuivley pick up on people's needs.

🧿 Cancer in Eleventh House ~ These natives are huge humanitarian and may even identify with the phrase global citizen. They could be find family in their communities, and be very protective over their social causes and political beliefs. They are likely the black sheep of their family or maybe their family inspired their passion for humanity. Their is likely a cause that they fight for, this could be related to domestic violence, child abuse or foster care- to name a few. The native can rebuild a family, may rebel against familial norms or just strive to better their themselves for their family. This is likely to be the most unique and innovative one in the their family unit. They could live in area that allows them to be close to their community and friends; they could have a unique living situation or live with a lot of people.

🛌 Cancer in the Twelfth House ~ This native may be hidden to a lot of their family members true motives, they can be blind to their own emotions or be very sensitive towards their families needs. Their home is likely an escape for them, having decor that is highly artist or reminds them of a dream land. The native may have dreams of their family members, have a psychic like awareness of their family's emotions and personal issues. Family life can be confusing for them, the mother figure can be a hidden enemy, or they can have a lot of hidden enemies in the family. May also have a tendency to self sacrifice for their family or maternal figure.

☆ I just want to make a quick note here that wherever Cancer is at in your chart can rule over where you are the most sentimental, sensitive and caring. This is the area of life you nature, hold space for and can get emotional about. This may also be an area of life where you are protective and secretive over. So- if I don't properly interpret your house, and that's common because astrology is so vast, there are so many different ways to interpret things, maybe you can find something I can't! Let me know in the comments anything you find. Thanks you guys!

I really appreciate you for giving my work your time and attention. I hope you and enjoyed ♡

As always I love hearing your feedback and knowing what resonates and what doesn't resonate. At the end of the day, my goal is to become the best Astrologer I can be! As much as I love to share and teach you, the best teachers know how to be students.

Can you guess my Cancer House placement?

I'm a Cancer Stellium btw!

Thanks again,

Kya ♡

[gunsandspaceships]

Tony was disabled and suffered from chronic pain

Tony may not have looked like a disabled person, but not all disabled people need wheelchairs, canes, or hearing aids. Some simply live in constant pain, cannot breathe properly, cannot sleep due to nightmares, or may die without medication or a medical device. All this applies to him.

Tony has suffered from many conditions, many physical and mental traumas. I will describe the most important here (in chronological order), but some things like broken bones, cuts, bruises, etc. happened to him regularly and their impact on his health is unknown.

Blast injuries

You can find details here.

This type of injury has happened to Tony many times, as explosions are not uncommon for superheroes. In his case (he's not an enhanced Homo sapiens, we remember that, right?) they were more harmful than for many others, like Thor, Hulk or Steve.

We can't say exactly how these injuries affected his health, but they couldn't disappear without a trace. What he could have been left with: damaged hearing, vision, brain damage, respiratory system and blood vessels and heart damage, damage to muscles, liver, spleen and intestines.

Shrapnel

And here comes chronic pain, and our first case of overt disability - shrapnel in Tony's chest and most likely right in the heart. Some shrapnel may have remained in other parts of his body, such as his arms and legs, but this was not mentioned in the movies.

Shrapnel can cause harm in two ways:

mechanical (cuts tissue - leads to scarring, puts pressure on nerves and blood vessels, causing pain and ischemia - reduces blood and oxygen flow to parts of the body);

chemical (metal ions can be released from the fragments and travel through the bloodstream, affecting other parts of the body). Many forms of shrapnel contain uranium, which is highly toxic and can lead to health problems, including kidney damage, liver cancer, and bone cancer. It may also cause high blood pressure, autoimmune disorders, and loss of reproductive function.

Other complications may include infections and chronic inflammation around the fragments.

In Tony's case, he received at least three unpleasant gifts from the shrapnel: chronic pain, heart damage, and the constant possibility of death if the medical device that literally keeps him alive stops working or is taken away from him.

So yes, guys, shrapnel is already enough to consider him disabled. But this is just the beginning of the list.

Arrhythmia

Here is a post entirely dedicated to Tony and his arrhythmia.

To summarize: Tony had a severe arrhythmia (most likely Sick Sinus Syndrome) that required a pacemaker and an ICD (implantable cardioverter defibrillator) powered by an arc reactor. Possible causes of this condition include the blast injury, electric damage from water torture with an electromagnet in chest, and heart damage.

This is the second case of disability and constant mortal danger for Tony - just like with the shrapnel, without the pacemaker he would have died, and even sooner than without the electromagnet that stops the shrapnel. And let's not forget the risk of sudden death associated with arrhythmias.

What Tony could experience on a daily basis due to his arrhythmia: exercise intolerance (he stopped running and surfing after Afghanistan), exhaustion, shortness of breath, chest pain, fainting (among all the Avengers, Tony lost consciousness most often), lightheadedness or dizziness, heart palpitations. Arrhythmia is a thing that usually gets worse over years.

Reactor

Hard stuff. Here you can see why.

The damage done to Tony's body in order to implant the reactor was enormous. With all things considered, it is not necessarily a deadly trauma, but certainly a debilitating one.

This case is the third obvious disability and the main source of chronic pain that Tony suffered from 2008 to 2014.

What he definitely experienced every minute of those years: pain, exhaustion and depression due to this, discomfort and pressure in the chest, difficulty breathing (for which his suits contained supplemental oxygen), limited upper body mobility and decreased muscle strength, sensitivity to ambient temperature (the metal would conduct the temperature of the environment and could become too hot or too cold. That's why he would prefer to stay in California until his surgery at the end of IM3 and not move to New York yet - because of the cold winters).

Potential complications that required Tony to constantly monitor his health included: collapsed lung, asthma, chest infections, chest trauma, thoracic lymphedema, blood clots.

He would also be prone to respiratory infections, which could easily lead to complications. For example, a common cold would most likely develop into bronchitis and/or pneumonia. That is why it is very dangerous for him to be around sick people.

The device could also pose a real danger if it encounters another strong magnet (no MRI for Tony!).

Tony always had to be on medications to help him breath (oxygen, asthma inhalers when he picks up a virus or his airway gets irritated, nebulizer treatment), antibiotics due to weakened immune system, painkillers as needed, regular beta blockers to reduce risk of arrhythmias and sudden death.

PTSD

In IM3, we were shown Tony suffering from this mental disorder. In CA:CW we also saw him using B.A.R.F. to ease his trauma over the death of his parents. This is one of the factors that makes me think he had complex PTSD since childhood, not just acute PTSD caused by the alien invasion.

The acute PTSD affected his quality of life, depriving him of sleep, causing nightmares, anxiety and panic attacks from 2012 to 2014. Although it couldn't go away just because Tony became a little more confident in himself by the end of the movie. It takes years of treatment to get rid of this condition, and the VA considers it a permanent disability.

Other things that could have long-term effects on his health:

Radiation (cancer, liver failure, infertility, and thickening and scarring of lung, liver, and kidney tissue)

Heavy metal poisoning (palladium is carcinogenic, may damage bone marrow, kidneys and liver)

Repeated concussions (one possible consequence is chronic traumatic encephalopathy, which often begins years or even decades after the last brain injury)

Use of B.A.R.F. (could be the cause of the migraine he experienced at the beginning of CA:CW)

Left arm/shoulder injury

Penetrating trauma (it is unknown whether Carol actually brought Tony the Xorrian elixir to cure him as she promised)

Conclusion: before the attack that changed his life forever, Tony was a healthy, strong man who ran canyons and surfed. Thanks to his health and high exercise tolerance, he was able to survive many serious and even critical injuries. However, he was not an enhanced super soldier, and the injuries that did not kill him left him physically weaker and with disabilities that could not help but affect his well-being. He became immunocompromised, could no longer endure strenuous exercise without his high-tech prosthesis, take a proper deep breath. He also became smaller due to loss of muscle mass (compare IM1 and IM3).

Tony also suffered from chronic pain due to the damage to his chest and the presence of shrapnel.

PTSD gives him another type of disability that affects his mental functions. Unlike the damage from the reactor and shrapnel, this damage was not fully healed in 2014 and remained with him until the end, although the symptoms subsided.

[theoutcastrogue]

"The majority of high-tech patent lawsuits are brought by patent trolls—companies that exist not to provide products or services, but primarily have a business using patents to threaten others’ work. Some politicians are proposing to make that bad situation worse. ...

The Patent Eligibility Restoration Act, S. 2140, (PERA), sponsored by Senators Thom Tillis (R-NC) and Chris Coons (D-DE) would be a huge gift to patent trolls, a few tech firms that aggressively license patents, and patent lawyers. For everyone else, it will be a huge loss. That’s why we’re opposing it, and asking our supporters to speak out as well. 

Patent trolling is still a huge, multi-billion dollar problem that’s especially painful for small businesses and everyday internet users. But, in the last decade, we’ve made modest progress placing limits on patent trolling. The Supreme Court’s 2014 decision in Alice v. CLS Bank barred patents that were nothing more than abstract ideas with computer jargon added in. Using the Alice test, federal courts have kicked out a rogue’s gallery of hundreds of the worst patents. 

Under Alice’s clear rules, courts threw out ridiculous patents on “matchmaking”, online picture menus, scavenger hunts, and online photo contests. The nation’s top patent court, the Federal Circuit, actually approved a patent on watching an ad online twice before the Alice rules finally made it clear that patents like that cannot be allowed. The patents on “bingo on a computer?” Gone under Alice. Patents on loyalty programs (on a computer)? Gone. Patents on upselling (with a computer)? All gone. ...

PERA’s attempt to roll back progress goes beyond computer technology. For almost 30 years, some biotech and pharmaceutical companies actually applied for, and were granted, patents on naturally occuring human genes. As a consequence, companies were able to monopolize diagnostic tests that relied on naturally occurring genes in order to help predict diseases such as breast cancer, making such testing far more expensive. The ACLU teamed up with doctors to confront this horrific practice, and sued. That lawsuit led to a historic victory in 2013 when the Supreme Court disallowed patents on human genes found in nature. 

If PERA passes, it will explicitly overturn that ruling, allowing human genes to be patented once again. ...

“To See Your Own Blood, Your Own Genes”

From the 1980s until the 2013 Myriad decision, the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office granted patents on human genomic sequences. If researchers “isolated” the gene—a necessary part of analysis—they would then get a patent that described isolating, or purified, as a human process, and insist they weren’t getting a patent on the natural world itself.

But this concept of patenting an “isolated” gene was simply a word game, and a distinction without a difference. With the genetic patent in hand, the patent-holder could demand royalty payments from any kind of test or treatment involving that gene. And that’s exactly what Myriad Genetic did when they patented the BRCA1 and BRCA2 gene sequences, which are important indicators for the prevalence of breast or ovarian cancer. 

Myriad’s patents significantly increased the cost of those tests to U.S. patients. The company even sent some doctors cease and desist letters, saying the doctors could not perform simple tests on their own patients—even looking at the gene sequences without Myriad’s permission would constitute patent infringement. 

This behavior caused pathologists, scientists, and patients to band together with ACLU lawyers and challenge Myriad’s patents. They litigated all the way to the Supreme Court, and won. “A naturally occurring DNA segment is a product of nature and not patent eligible merely because it has been isolated,” the Supreme Court stated in Association for Molecular Pathology v. Myriad Genetics. 

A practice like granting and enforcing patents on human genes should truly be left in the dustbin of history. It’s shocking that pro-patent lobbyists have convinced these Senators to introduce legislation seeking to reinstate such patents. Last month, the President of the College of American Pathologists published an op-ed reminding lawmakers and the public about the danger of patenting the human genome, calling gene patents “dangerous to the public welfare.”  

As Lisbeth Ceriani, a breast cancer survivor and a plaintiff in the Myriad case said, “It’s a basic human right to see your own blood, your own genes.” "

[knifknighted]

Danny is an ex-hitman and retired vigilante. He moves to Gotham with Jazz after they discover that she has cancer due to their parent's experiments.

After Jazz is gone, Danny finds comfort in the little dog that Jazz gifted to him. But that too is taken from him.

The Bats catch wind of Baba Yaga coming to town, out for blood.

Fic link

[silenttrxxs]

CRIMSON NIGHTS - a christmas desire

(dark romance, mafia/assassin... your idea..san x reader) a

nsfw! smut blood knifeplay

you was given this life, you opened your hands out and walked into this life without a single complaint why... you fell for him.

from the outside your life was normal. you woke up, the sun beating through the curtains you chose with him. you moved turning to your side as you felt the warmth of your lovers hand slide across the exposed skin under your night shirt, the cold silk a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his hands, the soft groan leaving his lips before placing his soft lips to your shoulder, the automatic movement between you too proved the existance that soulmates may just exist but this state of bliss would never last long, and when it was running a little later than you anticipated you was always told the problem at hand was fixed. no more questions. nothing left to dicuss.

you smiled, watching him follow your exact movements a smile spreading across his face, the dimples showing making your heart skip a beat. you was lucky to be the only one to ever see this side of this man, he held the most prestigous title. the city both feared and loved him, this balance was upheld by himself and his team. San. Choi San was the name, birthed into the Choi Clan was a gift, the family upheld the balance of the city with the crimes to charity..some would say they owned the city but... it simply was just how it is.

you took your time taking in his beauty, the cancer constellation adorning his face only shone more as he leaned towards you, capturing you lips with his own, his hands massaging your skin as he began to slide the clothing from your body. the clothes now strewn across your bed as you moved with him, his hands guiding your body against his own. you could feel his arousal poking through his boxers. you whined as he comtinued to tease you, applying just enough pressure to build the burning between your legs. the ache for his cock spreading through your body. you gasped as you felt the man above you groan his throbbing cock entering your hole with ease. you felt your body surge with pure desire. his movements always fluid and causing your mind to dissapate with any thoughts. the way your eyes would roll back with each snap of his hips. he revelled in this power. pinning your arms above your head, laughing as you whined, a sense being depraved from you making your need more evident as he felt you clench around his throbbing cock.

he groaned as you clenched around him harder, a silent plea for more.

"fuck your made for me beautiful. my perfect fucktoy" he groans as he pulls out your favourite toy. his blade. the handle adorned with your initails that he insisted he put on there as he would not allow your presence during missons. you life was his priority.

he smirked as he felt your core shudder as he grazed the blade along your arms, dragging the cold metal across your lips down your throat, along your chest. he groaned as he felt you clench again and again wanting more. he moved his aching cock inside you ever so slightly as he held the blade to your throat. the contrast of the cold blade and your burning skin was something beautiful to san. he watched as he bucked his hips into you faster, your mind slowly slipping into nothingness. the only thought was his cock inside your mind.

you drooled onto the pillow as he abused your hole tirelessly, loosing count of the amount of times he had made you cum. your wrist sore from the way he had restrained you. you looked up seeing the way his eyes grew darker. his irises glowing red with pure desire.

"merry christmas i love you" he spoke etching his own initails into your thigh with the blade watching tne crimson liquid trickle a little as he pumped your cunt full. his essence falling from your abused hole.

[rainswept]

꩜ . . AND STILL IT IS UNSATED. ⎯⎯ laced through his limbs, stuck in his throat, sewn into his sinew — from the moment he was born, crying instinctual tears of crystalline befitting of his future, kakavasha has always known hunger.

⎯ cw. talks of starvation, death, gore. 1k words.

Aventurine has never met the feeling of a full stomach. He has always known hunger.

First, it was starvation — it met him before he could hear or see, raised him, held him gently before greed could steal him away. Back then, all he craved was a meal, water, the next time rain would fall — nothing more, just survival, based on instinct nestled deep in any child’s mind; he learned to live with the ache, and callow, he thought he would outgrow it. But then, as he grew, it grew, with him, more and more, and it felt like it would swallow him whole if he couldn’t swallow it first — and it grew, and it grew, and it grew—

Then his family was gone, and so was he, and with him went starvation, and chasing it off was not food, but guilt — guilt, eating holes into the lining and the flesh, and suddenly Aventurine envied Kakavasha, when all he wanted was food and water. When all he wanted was only barely out of reach. Now, shed of his childhood and dressed to the nines in perfectly tailored clothes that he’s still not used to — everything he craved was so far, he was afraid his skin and muscle would peel from his bones if he tried to reach for it. 

“Tomorrow, we’ll try again,” and “maybe, tomorrow, we’ll get it” — tomorrow, tomorrow — “we’ll eat tomorrow, Kakavasha”, “it will rain tomorrow, Kakavasha” — back then, there was a tomorrow, because the hunger gnawed at the sides of his stomach but never ate through it — eventually he could manage to keep it at bay. But then it did, and it spread, and it squirmed beneath his skin, and it ate, and it ate, and it ate, and it ate him. The only food for the thing it became was his shattered soul, and it would continue to tear it apart limb from limb, swallow it down, sate itself on his famine, taunting.

Loser. Loser. Loser. Loser. Loser.

… And then the starvation was gone, but the hunger? It kept growing, cancerous, a tumor on his psyche. And he never did manage to climb from its maw, even now, even with a three course meal at his fingertips at all times — no, sometimes he is filled with fear and finds himself rationing his food, because somewhere within him it still lingers. He thinks it always will.

. . .

Loser.

. . .

There were two instances when Kakavasha was bathed in blood.

The first was on Sigonia IV. He held his sister tighter than he had anything else. The second was on a planet he doesn’t know of — all he remembers from it is the dark walls, the cold, the chains, the fighting.

Both times, everything was trying to kill him.

Both times, he was the last one standing. Because he is blessed, and he is lucky, and now he is afraid. And he will never shake that fear, and it will plague him like the hunger, and they will work together within him like he is unable to do with anyone else.

And when he tries to eat, he sees it, he tastes it. He was covered in it, head to toe, and it dripped in his mouth and nearly drowned him; the scent of iron in the air was so thick it seared his eyes and his nose and he choked on it — and, both times, he was trying desperately to save — first his family — he couldn’t do that — then himself.

Chosen one. Loser. Loser. Loser. Loser. Murderer.

Blood drowned the childlike light in his eyes and tears flushed it out, and they kept coming, over, and over, and over again. And when they were finally dried, they no longer gleamed the way they did when Sigonia IV’s sun hit them. They never would, because that sun was gone. And his sun was gone, too.

It was his instinct to cry, as is any child’s when they first breach the skin and meet the air — and he held onto it, desperate, because nothing else of his childhood was his to keep. Was this the gift of Gaiathra Triclops? A blessed child like him — Kakavasha — were his tears the rain?

Over and over, Kakavasha sobbed, until he couldn’t anymore, until his tears felt like crystals splitting his skull and skinning his cheeks on the way down, flesh careening like falling embers, like billowing fabric. He cried until it was no longer cathartic, instead painful and unneeded — until he was no longer a child of his mother — Kakavasha — but a pawn of Qlipoth — Aventurine.

Was this who he was, now? — Aventurine, Aventurine, he rolls the name over his tongue again and again until it feels like his — was this who he would always be?

(It never did feel like his. Then again, neither did Kakavasha.)

The blood. Loser. Winner. Murderer.

The entirety of his being and his body felt emptied, gutted, like he was never alive at all. Like he didn’t have a throat to swallow with, or a stomach to digest, or skin to cover his vulnerability; like it would all come tumbling out if he tried to eat now, just like the entrails of his kin, spilling forth and painting the sand in ropes before his wide eyes. Like his organs went along to be incinerated just like the rest of those that shared their make. Like he was a hollow shell masquerading as someone living. Like he’d begin to decompose as he walked and talked and tried to appear human still.

He didn’t deserve to be living. He didn’t deserve to be human.

Loser.

Eating wouldn’t fix that now.

Loser.

All the money in the world couldn’t buy a meal that would fix that now. 

[honeyhotteoks]

i genuinely can't stop thinking about yunho as a fallen angel... like...

yunho’s catholic confirmation name is stefano, which is i believe a reference to saint stephen. saint stephen is the patron saint of several different things, but the one that caught my eye was the patron saint of coffin makers. ive had that knowledge churning around in my brain for a long time, especially after watching the kdrama doom at your service, but after seeing these pictures my mind is absolutely spinning with fallen angel soulmate yunho brain rot……… so come along with me

•

fallen angel yunho. he's been wandering the earth for years, passing through life and people and history and he's never known the reason that he was cast out until he meets her, you. he hears you first, a distant voice in the back of his mind, a prayer to his saintly name, a name he hasn't heard in what feels like a millennia. a whisper to saint stephen, the man he used to be, many years and many bodies ago.

no one prays to him anymore, not really. certainly not a voice like yours, ringing clearly and angrily in his ear, a bitter request for a coffin to be ready in early spring. he thinks about the way it's almost winter now, the air turning crisp, and he wonders what in your life has you so angry and yet so practical about death.

he thinks of you for days, weeks, idlily waiting to hear the voice again. he dreams of it, sometimes wakes from a stone sleep to your bitter tenor, the clear catch of tears in your throat, but it's always a memory. he finds himself wandering the city for you, searching through churches, reverent houses of worship that you might be hiding away in. he doesn't expect to find your voice ringing out clear as day across the crowded room of a museum, full of life and joy and the picture of health.

he finds a way to speak to you, he's practiced in the art of conversation, of seduction even when the end goal isn't sex. he just wants to know you, to hear your pretty prayer in person, to understand your voice just a little and why in the world you were praying to him and not god himself like everyone else. in the midst of many, he makes a space for you both alone, the connection and the pull immediate and essential.

for a while, you make him smile, laugh, relax, he feels more at ease and more like a person than he ever would have expected. he doesn't understand you or your prayer though, not until you cough painfully, fitfully into your sleeve and he sees the bright kiss of blood at the corner of your lips. he never imagined you sick, but he supposes it makes sense. in all the versions of meeting you he imagined, this outcome wasn’t one he ever entertained.

he's never watched someone he's loved die before, at least not since his first life, and shamefully he barely remembers the names of his family from then. but somehow he knows he'll remember yours, the way he aches is altogether new and even though he knows it would be better to watch over you from afar, he just can't. and it doesn't help that you keeps finding your way to him around every corner of the city, coincidence after coincidence. so easy to joke about how it must be fate when it is in fact fate, pulling you tightly together and tying the knot tight.

he allows himself to love you then, and you allow yourself one last, good thing. he never lies about who and what he is, and you never really believe him, for all you know he's just a figment of your imagination. a hallucination from one of your tumors like the doctor warned you about. you think if cancer can give you one gift before dying, at least it's him.

for a little while yunho thinks his purpose in falling from grace was to love you, after all you prayed to him, no matter how bitterly. but he understands the truth the moment he meets your daughter, the moment he realizes his purpose for you is much more than momentary, final happiness.

and so he carries you forward through those final months, easing your pain and your giving you one last chance at real, lasting love. and he helps ease you into the other side, his promises whispered tearfully into your hair, that he'll see you again but only after he stays by her side. your child's own guardian angel, happy to watch over her and guide her until it's her time to come home too.

and of course, that means he has to wait. you both do, but he's already waited, even when he didn't know what he was waiting for.