#but go figure it got 9 volumes

[littleeyesofpallas]

87CLOCKERS

[koka-mi]

Oh my gosh whyyyy am I so obsessed with numbers I don't like it at all this is driving me INSANEEEE😭😭IT'S GETTING WORSE AND WORSE AS THE DAYS GO BY AAAA

[urcoolgf]

WHAT’S YOUR DEAL? PT. 2

pairing. childhood bsf¡rafe && childhood bsf¡reader

content. fluff. suggestive content/thoughts.

summary. once you get to the bahamas rafe is determined to keep you from meeting anyone new—especially a guy—but his plan is foiled when a stranger approaches you on the beach

SERIES MASTERLIST

the next morning, you woke up around 8 just to make sure you had plenty of time to get everything together and help your dad ready the boat for your trip today. you opened your eyes, the faint sound of your alarm playing in the background—you turned the volume down the night before so you didn’t wake rafe. your eyes drifted to the boy, currently sleeping on the futon in your room.

you quietly crept around your room trying not to wake him, you gathered the last of your things just to take them into the living room so that everything would be ready when your dad was ready. he was currently moving about the kitchen, tidying before you guys left for the next two weeks. he always liked to come back to a clean house, and—even though he had the money for it—he never hired a maid. he said cleaning was his 'therapy'.

"hey dad, need any help getting the boat ready?," you asked him while he was wiping down the marble countertops.

"nope. got it all ready last night, woke up early this morning for final adjustments. we're set to go whenever you guys are ready, pumpkin," he said without stopping his cleaning, "and hey i cut up some fruit in the fridge, i can make eggs if you want?"

"fruit is fine. thanks," you walked over to the refrigerator, grabbing the bowl of mixed fruit out, taking it back up to your room. the plan was to just chill until about 9:30am when you would wake up rafe, but once you opened the door of your bedroom, he was already sat up on the futon, scrolling on his phone.

"oh, hey. morning," you said while taking a seat next to him, offering the fruit bowl to him. he picked a few pieces out, throwing them into his mouth as he placed his phone down.

"when are we leaving," he said with a mouth full of mushy fruit.

"whenever you're ready, and sarah and wheezie get here," you laughed, moving your hand over his mouth to get him to close it.

"oh, i'm ready. i was born ready," he said jokingly, having finally swallowed the last of his fruit. you guys decided to just wait downstairs in the living room until sarah and wheezie showed up—which was sooner than you expected. a knock on your front door startled you out of the conversation you and rafe were having. you made your way over and opened the door—met by a smiling wheezie and a sympathetic sarah. you opened the door wider to let them walk in.

"sorry! i know we're early, but wheezie was just so excited, she wanted to get here early," sarah said, dragging her suitcase behind her.

“it’s no problem at all! we’re all ready to leave anyways,” you laughed at wheezie’s evident excitement and sarah’s obvious exhaustion from dealing with it all morning.

they two of them made their way to your living room only to be greeted by your dad.

“hey, girls! how’s it goin’?” he asked with a big smile.

“good,” they answered in unison. sarah loved your dad, he was kind of like her second dad, but really she saw him as more of a father figure than ward—for obvious reasons.

“alright well, the boat’s all ready whenever you guys are,” he said, heading into the living room to grab your bags, rafe following behind him to help.

—

the boat ride there was uneventful. you all talked, tanned, ate, and even slept a little—rafe even offered to take the wheel for a bit so your dad could get some sleep.

the real fun began once you docked the boat, and got to take everything into your beach house.

“okay, so… beach? right?,” you said, once you had all settled in your rooms, and congregated in yours.

“obviously!,” sarah said enthusiastically as wheezie just ran back off into her room to change. you just laughed before grabbing your suitcase, placing it on top of your bed, and opening it. rafe just sat there on your bed.

“aren’t you coming to the beach? you should change,” you pouted slightly, worried that he wasn’t going to join you guys. you loved sarah and wheezie, but you knew they would do their own thing so you needed rafe with you.

“don’t need to. already wore mine on the boat,” he patted his thigh, covered by the fabric of his swim trunks.

“ah, smart guy,” you pointed at him with a smirk on your face.

“i try,” he said lifting his shoulders in a ‘what-can-i-say’ kind of way, “you go ahead though, i’ll just wait here,” he said with a smile, pulling out his phone. you didn’t need to be told twice, grabbing a bikini out of your suitcase before turning on your heels, and heading into the bathroom attached to your room.

you returned to your room in a tiny cheetah print bikini that barely covered your tits, and exposed essentially your entire ass. suddenly, rafe wasn’t sure he could go to the beach—a new problem arising in his pants. just the sight of you gave him a slight hard-on. he quickly grabbed a pillow from behind him and covered his lap. he figured you wouldn’t notice, but you did. that didn’t mean you would say anything about it, but the observation was definitely noted, and stored.

you grabbed a white knitted, see-through ‘cover-up’ knowing damn well it didn’t cover anything, and a tiny pair of white linen shorts in case you wanted to grab food, or walk around after the beach.

“that’s it?,” rafe said, almost baffled at your lack of clothing.

“that’s it,” you replied with a sly smile, “told you i gotta look good. i could meet the love of my life, who knows.”

“unlikely,” he mumbled under his breath, jealousy already building inside him. he hated how oblivious you were. you were his. no guy in the bahamas could give you what you wanted—not like he could.

“alright! you all set?,” you asked, grabbing your beach bag that was already packed with the essentials.

“yeah… i’ll uh– i’ll meet ya downstairs,” he replied, a hint of nervousness lingered behind his words, but you didn’t mention it. rafe needed a second to calm himself before he was back around you in that bikini.

he eventually joined the three of you downstairs, and you headed to the beach while your dad opted to relax on the back porch, drinking a beer.

—

a few hours later, you’re tanning with your chest on the warm towel as rafe, sarah, and wheezie cooled off in the ocean. you’re in your own blissful world until an unfamiliar voice draws you out of it, turning your head to see who it was.

“hey, sorry. totally didn’t mean to bother you,” the man said, standing above you. he was tall with brunette hair that fell perfectly above his dark eyes, and a great physique. he maintained a respectful distance between himself and your towel while he talked to you as if he didn’t want to worry you.

“just saw you laying here, and wanted to say i think you’re beautiful,” he said, a hint of shyness evident in his voice. it was cute. he was cute.

rafe stood in the ocean, talking with sarah, totally oblivious to the man flirting your ear off.

“aw, that’s so sweet! thank you,” you responded with a big smile, your hand rested on your eyebrows to keep the bright sun out of your eyes while you talked to the stranger.

“mind if i sit?,” he asked, pointing to the empty sand next to your towel.

“no, of course,” you moved to sit up on your towel, facing where he was now sitting.

“so, what’s your name?,” he asked with a slight smirk.

“y/n. yours?”

“pretty. i’m enzo,” he smiled, perfect white teeth lined his lips and you thought he would be the perfect vacation fling…

“i like that. ‘s it short for somethin’?,” you asked, taking in his bold features.

“lorenzo,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“ah… we have an italian on our hands,” you laughed. his accent wasn’t really there, but the features gave it away. you pulled your knees to your chest, resting your head on them while he talked.

“yes ma’am,” he laughed a little. his voice along with the crashing of the waves put you at peace, “could i get your number, y/n?”

“sure!,” you answered, trying not to sound too excited. in that same moment, rafe turned toward the beach to check on you only to find you laughing, and smiling at some guy sat next to you. his mood immediately flipped as he left sarah mid conversation to walk out of the water up to you.

“rafe! what the hell? i was talking to you!,” sarah shouted at him, but it was no use he was already back to ankle deep waters. he tried to keep his expression careless, but inside he was fuming. who is this douche? and why was he talking to you?

just as you finished typing your name and number into his contacts a familiar voice booms behind you causing you to lift your head from your knees.

“what’s goin’ on here?,” rafe asked with a fake smile on his face. the way enzo was subtly eyeing you all over—seeing you in that way too small bikini—it made rafe’s blood boil. he didn’t care what was going on, all he cared about was putting an end to it—like now.

“hey, rafe! jus’ made a friend,” you looked up at rafe innocently, watching the way his face exuded insincerity, “this is enzo,” you finished, pointing to the smiling man next to you.

“enzo?,” rafe repeated, eyes narrowing at the thought.

enzo stood to his feet, extending his hand, “hey man, how’s it going?,” rafe ignored his hand, but answered his question with evident sarcasm.

“real good, man. hey, do ya mind? we’re kinda tryna enjoy the beach… alone,”

“this your boyfriend?,” enzo asked, looking down at you.

“no! no, he’s just a friend. we’re here for a little ‘family vacation’ my dad owns the house up ther–,” you began to explain, pointing toward the beach house before rafe cuts you off.

“a friend, who would really like to spend some time with y/n here. get lost,” rafe was done being nice, and it almost embarrassed you.

“rafe! be nice, jeez. i’m sorry, enzo…,” you said, looking up at him apologetically.

“no problem. hey, i’ll text you, yeah?,” he smiled before giving rafe one last glance, and walking off.

“what a tool,” rafe huffed before taking his place on the sand. you turned toward him, astonishment on your face.

“what the hell, rafe?! what was that? we were having a conversation,” you were mad, he could tell. he didn’t care, as long as that guy was long gone.

“and now, you’re not. hey, did he say he would text you? as in he has your number?,” he asked, a certain jealousy clouding his tone.

“yes, rafe. i gave him my number. that a problem?,” sarcasm dripped from your tongue. what you didn’t realize was rafe actually thought it was a problem—one he would have to solve at a later time.

“nah, not a problem. he won’t be needed it anyway,” he responded as if it were obvious.

“and why’s that?,” your eyes narrowed at the audacity rafe had right now to tell you who you could and couldn’t hang out with.

“i told you. you’re not slumming it with some ‘fling’,” he responded. his voice was demanding, and that only made you angrier.

“i’m sorry– who are you, rafe? i’ll do whatever the hell i please!,” you retaliated. it didn’t phase rafe. at the end of the day, he believed he had way more power over you than you did over him—boy was he about to be proven wrong.

“okay, princess. whatever you say,” you wanted to wipe that know-it-all smirk right off his face. you were furious. in an instant, you were gathering your things, and heading back to the house—rafe turning his neck to sneak a glance at your ass as you walked away. he didn’t bother following you. he knew you just needed some time—by dinner time you would be fine, back to how you were before enzo.

after throwing your bag and towel on the chair in your room, and flopping onto your bed, a perfectly timed notification rang through your ears…

unknown: Hey y/n, it’s Enzo! Want to grab a bite to eat tonight? I can pick you up at 6? Just send me your address.

alright rafe, let’s see you try to stop this.

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© 𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐆𝐅. est. 2025

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[strawberryflavoredvenum]

Ticcijack fanfic

they fall asleep together watching movies.

All fluff🩷

Toby sighed in contentment as he leaned into Jack's chest. Jack's tail had found a spot resting on Toby's waist. Neither of them said anything. They just enjoyed each other's company while they watched the newest terrifier movie. It was so rare for them to be able to be close like this and watch movies.

It was their favorite kind of date. Neither of them had a TV in their room so they had to wait for the house to be empty so they could use the living room tv. It's not like the other proxies would give them too much trouble but toby figured it was best that the others are left in the dark about their relationship.

Moments like this are so precious. Especially as a proxy. Some proxies don't even try to be vulnerable with others anymore. It took a while for the two of them to even get to this level of trust with each other.

Jack ran his claws against Toby's back gently. It was getting late. This was usually the point in the night where they would go back to their rooms. Something about the way toby leaned in to Jack tells him that he was stuck here. He's not even paying attention to the movie at all. The rhythmic sound of their breathing was lulling them both to sleep.

The only light in the room was the TV glow. Jack had lowered the TV volume to a soft murmur when he noticed toby started to nod off. They were too caught up in the moment to worry about being caught. Toby fell asleep first on accident and when Jack noticed, he didn't even try to move him. He just held him tighter and closed his eyes.

Jack woke back up around 2am. He stretched out and yawned, taking care not to jostle toby much. His back and neck were sore from the position he fell asleep in. He looked around the living room. The TV was turned off and the plates they had out were gone. Some other proxy obviously knew. Jack didn't really care but he knew toby would. What he doesn't know won't kill him though. Jack sat up as he wondered which proxy/proxies were the ones to see them.

He gently shook toby to wake him up. Toby yawned and clung tighter to him. Jack chuckled and pushed toby away. "Get up. We can't sleep here all night." Toby sat up and rubbed his eyes. He had lines on his face from Jack's hoodie. "What time is it?" Toby asked. Jack wasn't one to lie. He was usually honest to a fault. But he would this time to keep toby at ease. "It's 9." Toby nodded. "We should get to bed." Jack agreed and helped toby stand.

He led toby to the hallway before deciding whether to go to toby or Jack's room. He decided on his own because his bed is bigger. He led toby in and sat him down on his bed. Toby immediately got under the covers. He was still half asleep and didn't plan on waking up more.

Toby gave Jack's tail a light tug, nonverbally telling him to come to bed. This was a gesture that would result in a beheading if it came from anyone else. Jack turned out his light and got under the covers. He leaned into toby and sighed. He never would have imagined he could find peace like this.

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 15

Hey guys this story is back! I feel like it's nearing the end, but we'll see. I'm hoping for another couple of chapters (than the two have backlogged anyway) at least, but I'm not sure. Steve and Eddie are already freewheeling toward each other and I have learned when that starts happening either one or both of them hit the gas and they go from zero to sixty faster than NASCAR on race day.

Steve tries to get a job, has a good cry about it, Robin is bestest and they try the mall.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10  Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

~

Steve sat at the desk, phone pressed to his ear, newspaper next to him, and paper and pen in hand.

“Hi, may I speak to the manager?” he asked in his best customer service voice. “Thank you.”

Once the manager was on the line, he began, “Hello, sir. I’m looking at your ad in the help want ads and was wondering if the position was still open?”

Steve shoulders slumped. “I see. No, of course. I’m sure your nephew will just be absolutely smashing at slinging those hamburgers. Thank you for your time.”

He set the phone down in its cradle and put his head in his hands. He had been on the phone for the last two hours calling up people for job interviews and he was utterly exhausted.

Everyone of them had turned him down. Not taking anymore applications at this time, the job has been filled, or in the cases he actually got far enough to tell them his name, they would straight up hang up on him.

He didn’t want to work in the mall, but it was looking less and less likely he’d get a job inside Hawkins.

Which meant that Joyce was going to be on his ass again. She had gotten so insistent in him finding a job, that he was forced to stop going over there, choosing to hang out with Will and Ellie at someone else’s house.

God, he got more peace at the Wheelers and Mike was openly hostile ninety percent of the time. So that was really something.

Steve picked up Eddie’s latest gift. It was a giant canary plushie. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. He loved it. He hugged it close.

“I miss Eddie, Kenny,” he murmured into its beak. “I know he’ll be home in a couple of weeks, but I miss being able to have him tell me I’m enough. That my worth isn’t dependent on what other people think of me.”

Steve stood up and carried Kenny over to the bed, where he fell asleep, tears falling into the soft material of Kenny’s neck.

~

He woke up slowly to soft music being played. He opened his eyes and blearily looked around. There on the sofa reading a magazine was Robin. She was listening to Blondie on his boombox but it was at a respectful volume so it wouldn’t wake him.

He had long since given her permission to just come in when she had a gift from Eddie or if she just want to hang out. As long as he wasn’t getting a shower or getting dressed, he really couldn’t care less.

Steve sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. Next to her on the sofa was a large box.

“Hey, dingus,” she said without looking up. “I took the opportunity to order us dinner.” She looked at her watch. “It should be here in about five minutes.”

Steve slid off the bed and padded over to the sofa where he flopped gracelessly next to her.

Robin set down the magazine and looked at him properly. “Still can’t find a job, huh?”

He shook his head and pulled his knees up to his chest. She gave him a big hug and just held him until the food arrived. She rolled the food cart over lifted the cloche with gusto.

“Tada!” she said triumphantly revealing the mountains of fries, mashed potatoes, pizza, onion rings. All of Steve’s favorite things. “I figured you’d want some pick me up food and I went all out.”

“If we weren’t both gayer than the day is long,” Steve sighed happily, “I’d marry you.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek pulling out a slice of cheese pizza. He munched, grinning around the slice.

“Gross,” Robin said grabbing a handful of fries. “I mean the pizza not the marrying thing, because I agree. No, your pizza tastes are abysmal. Plain cheese? No meat, not veggies, nothing?”

Steve swallowed and set the pizza down. “It’s all my mom would let me have. Even when I’d go to parties and shit, she’d insist on them having a cheese pizza for me.”

“Okay I take that back,” Robin said. “Eat your cheese pizza, dingus. It makes you happy. But if I ever see your mother, I might accidentally scratch her eyes out.”

Steve picked up the pizza again, but paused with it half way to his mouth. ‘How do you accidentally scratch someone’s eyes out?”

Robin batted her eyes prettily. “I wouldn’t know, officer, I blacked out. The next thing I knew I was washing the blood off my hands.”

Steve threw one of the throw pillows at her head. “Don’t quote musicals at me!”

“Ha!” Robin crowed in delight, clutching the pillow to her chest. “The fact that you recognize it makes you the chump, not me!”

Steve opened his mouth to protest but then his eyes went wide when he had no argument for that.

“I’d love to see proper theater, you know,” he said dreamily. “Like with a proper orchestra and not just a tinny tape that skips in places and actual actors instead of Old Mr. Abernathy trying to play Hamlet.”

Robin winced. “He couldn’t even remember ‘To be or not to be’ and that’s like the one line everyone knows.” She shoved more fries into her face.

“Maybe when I get out on my own,” he said, snagging one of her fries right off of her plate, “I’ll go see plays in Indy or Bloomington.”

“You’ve just got to take me with you,” she huffed, grabbing the half bitten fry right out of his mouth and shoving it in her face. “I’ve been saving up all the money I’ve been getting from this job so I can get driving lessons at school. I won’t be able to drive my parents’ care very much, but it would still be nice to say I have it.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something but she held up her hand. “I know what you’re going to say and the answer is no. No, you can’t pay for my drivers’ ed classes. Because I want to pay for that myself.”

Steve pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t treat my friends to a little thing like a new car or new bikes.”

The new bikes were still a point of contention between Joyce and Steve. He had bought all of them new bikes and gear with exception of Max where he bought her a new skateboard and gear. All in their favorite colors. But she refused to let Will take his. She said it wasn’t his to spend and therefore to take it back until he could buy it with his own hard earned money.

Will stopped talking to his mother for a couple of days after that.

And Steve hadn’t blamed him, so he told Will to leave it at Mike’s and ‘borrow’ it when ever they rode out places. Joyce couldn’t stop him from doing that.

“I’m not saying not buy me a new car,” Robin huffed a little laugh. “I’m just saying I want to pay for the lessons myself. It’s more of an accomplishment thing.”

Steve perked up and batted his eyelashes at her. “Really? I can buy you a car a gift for passing your test? You’ll really let me?”

Robin laughed and threw a fry at his head. “Yes, dingus, you can but me a car. I talked it over with my parents and I told them that Eddie wanted to get me a car for all my hard work and that you’d be the one helping me pick it out.”

He grabbed the fry and threw back at her, it landing in her hair. “Oh that’s smart. I bet they had all sorts of restrictions on it being sensible and shit.”

But Robin shook her head. “My parents were hippies, not stupid. They know that if they try and restrict me I will come home with the reddest, wildest hot rod they’ve every laid eyes on.”

Steve laughed. “God, can we introduce them to Joyce? Because it sounds like they could teach her a thing or two.”

“I know right?” Robin said rolling her eyes. “Eat your pizza, you heathen and the next time I come I’m bringing proper Domino’s pizza with all sorts of toppings and you can find you actually like. In the mean time, open this present that is digging into my side.”

Steve reached out for it with grabby hands. “Oooh, I really liked the plushie from yesterday. I named him Kenny. Kenny the Canary.”

“Because of course you did,” she said dryly, handing over the package to him.

He could tell it was clothes just from the shape of the box. There was just something about them that screamed ‘hey I’m clothes!’ Inside was the most beautiful yellow cardigan. It was soft and warm.

The note said, “It may be hotter than balls in Hawkins, but up here in Canada, the weather is pretty mild. Not quite sweater weather, but I saw this and just had to get it for you. Just ten more days, little Canary.”

Steve buried his face into the softness of the sweater and nearly squealed in delight. Eddie had sprayed it with his cologne. Oh this was exactly what he needed.

Robin took the card from him and smiled. “He seems to really like you. I know a lot of the people you hang out with give you shit about Eddie and the money running out on you, but Steve, the way he writes these notes sound like someone who genuinely likes you.”

Steve set down the sweater with a sigh. “I know. But it’s the imbalance I’m worried about. I’ve already been called a gold digger. I don’t want that.”

Robin frowned for a moment. “My mom is making me apply for jobs at the mall. She says I can still do this, but she wants me to know ‘what real work is’.” She put air quotes around the last part. “Which is bullshit, but I’ll do it so I can keep doing this.”

She scooted over to him and put her arm around him. “So come with me and maybe we can get a job together, shove it everyone else’s faces, yeah?”

Steve nodded and curled up into her side. She was the only one besides Hopper who knew who his benefactor was and could offer a different perspective than anyone else.

“But in the mean time,” Robin said softly, “maybe talk to Hopper about getting Joyce to knock it off.”

He shook his head. “He’s tried. She has straight up told him that until he tells her who it is who’s funding you, she won’t drop the job thing.”

Robin winced. “And if she finds out who it is, she going to be worse. I haven’t met someone who wasn’t an adult when he left other than Hopper who liked Eddie Munson. I mean the only reason my parents are letting me do this is that Uncle Justin vetted the job and that Corroded Coffin would be on tour, while I stayed here in Hawkins.”

Steve sighed and sat back up. “That’s not even the biggest problem with them knowing. It’s having to explain where I was that Eddie would have seen me to help me out.” He changed his voice so it was higher and clutched his hands to his chest. “Yes, Mrs. Byers I was underage drinking at a bar in the hopes of getting laid so I had a place to sleep!” He dropped back down to his normal tone. “Yeah, like that will go over well.”

“Ooh,” she said with a grimace, “yeah I could see how that might cause waves with the parents. Like tsunami level waves.”

“Pretty much!”

Steve flopped his head back on the back on the sofa. “God, what a fucking mess.”

“Maybe just tell them you were going to see your cousin, Monty,” she suggested, “and you were smoking outside when you met Eddie. See if that goes over better.”

He let out a shuddering sigh. “Maybe. I know Monty would back me up if that’s the case. But I would rather wait until Eddie got home and see what he says.”

Robin nodded sagely. “That’s fair.”

~

They had decided to let Robin get all the applications and bring them over to Steve in the food court. He had ordered them a couple of large Orange Juilus’s and two huge slices of pizza from Sbarros.

She handed him a pen and they got to work filling out all the applications, by the time they were done, Steve’s hand cramped and he worked his fingers open and closed to try to get the muscles to work again.

Robin rolled her eyes, but wisely said nothing as she gathered up their applications to return to their stores.

Robin got three call backs, but Steve only got one. Thankfully it was one that Robin had also got, but it was Scoops Ahoy, the ice cream shop with the little costumes and silly hats. They were both hired on the spot.

~

Sorry if you saw chapter sixteen on here, too. I'll post it later!

Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Tag List: SIX SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 18 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck’s hands trail down to your hands. He takes his in yours. “Do you love him?” “Buck.” “I know you love me,” Buck continues, playing with your fingers. “You know I love you. But I’m asking if you love him.” The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15 | Ch 16 | Ch 17

(Gif by me) Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: *are spoilers*, listed at the end

Adrenaline replaces your blood. An unpleasant sensation washes over you. The same three words keep bouncing between your ears.

Buck is dead.

Buck is dead.

Buck is…

“V-tach!” Someone shouts. “Everyone clear!”

Buck’s chest jolts upwards as the shock is administered.

“We got a pulse!”

You heave out a breath. You feel helpless as they wheel him away.

“H-he has a history of blood clots,” you eventually call out. “He’s not on any medications, but he’s allergic to naproxen.”

“Got it,” A doctor calls in response, “we’ll do our best.”

“Do more!” Eddie shouts as they turn the corner.

You turn to Eddie, limbs numb from shock. “What the hell happened?”

“It was so quick,” Eddie whispers, still staring straight ahead. “One second, he was up on the ladder, and the next, he was just… dangling. He was dead.”

You set a careful hand on Eddie’s shoulder, which prompts him to pull you into a hug.

“He’s gonna be okay,” you whisper.

You don’t know what you’ll do if he isn’t.

Buck awakens slowly, blinking a few times before fully opening his eyes.

“It’s about time,” you say softly.

Buck figures out quickly that he’s in a hospital; the air is stale, his usual pajamas are replaced by a gown, and the sheets beneath him are stiff instead of soft. The only problem is, he doesn’t know why he’s in the hospital. If anything, he should be there for you, since your due date is quickly approaching.

“What happened?” Buck asks, rubbing his forehead as he slowly comes to.

“You fell off a ladder, hit your head. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything too serious. Daniel will be back with your discharge papers.”

“...Daniel? My brother?”

You were there for Buck when he learned about his older brother. He has no clue why you’re talking about him now.

“...yeah?” you say with a confused smile. “I’m going to start packing stuff up.”

You stand up, and Buck’s eyes widen.

“You’re not pregnant,” he whispers.

“Thank god for that,” you laugh out, putting a few things into your purse.

“W-what happened?” Buck chokes out. “D-did you… oh, god…”

“What? Whoa, hey!” You spin around, quickly moving to Buck when you see how panicked he is. “Baby, I was pregnant. Two years ago.”

Buck lets out a sigh of relief. “Katie.”

You smile, setting your hands on his cheeks. “Yes, Katie, our daughter. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Buck has a daughter. He’s never been more okay in his life. He relaxes, running his hands up and down your arms.

“What about Eddie?”

Your smile turns into one of confusion. “What about Eddie?”

“How… How is he?” Buck asks dumbly.

You shrug, your hands falling to your sides. “No clue. I haven’t talked to him since be moved back to Texas.”

Buck’s head feels like it’s spinning. “...huh?”

“His parents got full custody of his kid, and he moved to Texas to be closer to them,” you explain casually. “You don’t remember that?”

How can you sound so calm about it? Eddie is a huge part of both of your lives. Hell, he’s one of Katie’s parents … isn’t he?

“We… we’re not… he didn’t…”

Buck cuts himself off with a few gasps. He tries to take a deep breath, but his lungs feel constricted. He’s panicking, and he has no idea how to stop it.

“We need a nurse!” Eddie shouts before you can.

You’re supposed to be one in a few months, but you’ve never felt so out of your depth. You had a single lecture about ventilators in nursing school, most of which you didn’t retain. All you see is that the top bar — the volume of air delivered — is alarming. You see Buck’s chest rapidly rising and falling.

“Buck, if you can hear me, you need to breathe, okay?” you whisper in his ear as you run a hand over his face. “Just breathe, baby.”

A few nurses rush in, and you step back before they have to push you out of the way.

“His sats are dropping,” one nurse notes while the other puts a stethoscope to Buck’s chest. “We need to take him off and a bag him.”

You keep backing up until you hit something. A pair of strong arms wrap around you, one resting across your chest while the other cradles your stomach. Eddie.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Eddie whispers in your ear.

All you can do is grip his arm like a lifeline.

“Buck, can you hear me? …Buck!”

Buck looks around, his eyes landing on you.

“Where’d you go, babe?” you chuckle.

“Sorry, I was… I don’t know. Sorry.”

The details come back to him slowly: his parents and Daniel came over for family dinner, along with Maddie, her daughter, and her husband. Her daughter and husband, Genevieve and Doug. A bitter taste fills Buck’s mouth.

“I can’t believe she stayed with him,” he says quietly. “He’s gonna kill her.”

You sigh sadly as you gather some plates. “I think I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve told her that. I mean, hell, we work in an ER together, for god’s sake. She’s seen what men are capable of. I know leaving is easier said than done, but…”

Buck’s memories are hazy, only occasionally coming into focus. As you turn on the sink, he studies you.

“You’re a nurse,” he says.

“Sure am,” you return. “It’s not like that’s how we met, or anything.”

Oh, yeah. Buck stopped by after school let out to check up on a student he had to call EMS for. The poor girl had a seizure, scared the crap out of her classmates. She had already transferred to the pediatric floor for monitoring by the time he got there, but in the ER, he ran into you. He asked Maddie for your number, and the rest was history.

A student… Buck’s a teacher. 5th…? No, 6th grade. On his first date with you, he explained that 6th grade is the best because you get to see children growing into their personalities before the awkward teenage years. God, he loves his job. He knows you love yours, too, and though they aren’t in the same profession, it’s something you both quickly bonded over.

“Just testing you,” Buck jokes.

You face him with a hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. His brows knit closer together ever so slightly. You pick up on it.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly.

“Something feels… off,” Buck replies, unsure of how else to phrase it. “It’s like all the pieces of a puzzle are falling into place, but one is missing.”

“Poetic,” you remark.

“I’m serious,” Buck insists. “...Why did he move away?”

You sigh as you move your hands down to Buck’s shoulders. “We’re not seriously talking about Eddie again, are we?”

“It just… feels like it never really ended, right? Like he’s a loose end.”

“Oh, he’s something alright,” you scoff as you turn back towards the sink and start washing dishes.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You set down a plate with a clatter. “You remember what he did, Evan: he almost destroyed us.”

A little while after Eddie’s shooting, the three of you sat down and wrote your Advanced Directives and assigned each other as Power of Attorneys in case of… well, something exactly like this. So when Dr. Becker asks to speak to you and Eddie privately, you know it’s to discuss further treatment options.

Turns out, there aren’t very many. They already have him on a paralytic drip to keep him compliant with the ventilator, but his lungs still aren’t pulling good tidal volumes. She says that proning— or laying him on his stomach — could maybe improve things, but considering the cause of his respiratory failure, it’s unlikely.

“...which leaves us with Extracorporeal Membrane Oxygenation as our best option.”

“ECMO?” you ask.

ECMO is another topic you had a singular lecture on, but you know enough to know it’s not good. You also know it’s not good because you, Eddie, Dr. Becker, and Buck’s nurse are all sitting in a secluded conference room. You don’t get good news in a hospital conference room.

Dr. Becker nods. “It would be Veno-Venous, meaning it bypasses the lungs instead of the lungs and the heart.”

Eddie nods a little. “Well, that’s… good, right? I mean, bypassing one organ sounds better than bypassing two.”

You keep staring at Dr. Becker. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

Eddie frowns, glancing between the two of you. “What? What aren’t you saying?”

Dr. Becker sighs. “ECMO is known as a ‘Hail Mary’ in the world of medicine.”

That’s how you remember your instructor phrasing it — ECMO is an absolute last-ditch effort. It’s only considered when every other option has been explored.

“It’s not a cure: it’s a bridge,” you say, trying (and failing) to keep your voice level.

“It can give him the time his lungs need to heal,” Dr. Becker explains.

“And if it doesn’t, he’d need a transplant,” you continue. “And if he can’t get a transplant…”

“...he would stay on ECMO indefinitely.”

“...Or he would…” you start but cut yourself off with a sob. You clasp a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to take a breath. “...or he would die.”

The words don’t sit right on your tongue. Your lips twist as they make their way out, like you ate something sour.

Dr. Becker’s face stays even, but you catch a glimpse of something in her eyes: pity. “Yes.”

You scoot back in your chair, making a break for the door. The protests of Dr. Becker and Eddie make it to your ears but not your brain. All you can focus on is the bile that’s climbing to the back of your throat.

You slam open the door of a single-stall bathroom, barely able to lock it before you collapse to your knees in front of the toilet. You gag several times, only spit and stomach acid eventually making their way up. Now that you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you ate something.

You eventually sit on the floor, resting your head against the tile wall. You take a few breaths, rubbing your palm over your chest. Then, you feel a sudden gush between your legs. Against your better judgment, you stay seated, eyes wide and heart pounding.

No. No, no, no. Not now. Not with everything going on.

Not without him.

Eddie said he was in love with you, and you said you were dating Buck. Buck’s pretty sure that’s part of why he moved to Texas: to get away from you. Something about it doesn’t sit right in his stomach.

“That’s not how it was supposed to happen,” Buck murmurs, setting his hands on the counter and leaning into it.

“How exactly was it supposed to happen?” you counter, placing your left hand close to his.

Buck sees a ring. It’s a diamond, probably not a real one, but it looks convincing enough. His eyes move to his own left hand, and sure enough, a gold band is wrapped around his fourth finger.

“We’re married,” he says, almost inaudibly.

“You proposed after a year,” you recall fondly. “I thought you were crazy, but… it’s our five-year anniversary next week.”

Buck should be happy. He should be overjoyed, really — he has everything he’s ever wanted. He has a beautiful wife, an amazing daughter, and a fulfilling career. Still, his gut twists and turns.

“He was in love with you,” Buck eventually says.

“And I’m in love with you,” you state, “so nothing else matters.”

“But it does,” Buck argues, pushing against the counter until he’s standing up straight. “It does matter.”

“Why?” you frown. “Eddie is long gone, Buck. That chapter of our lives has been closed for a while.”

“It’s not supposed to happen like this!” Buck shouts.

You go still, swallowing. “What does that mean?”

“It’s… it’s supposed to be the five of us!” Buck says as he starts to pace. “It’s supposed to be me, you, and him, raising Katie and Chris.”

You look at him like he’s speaking French. “What the hell are you talking about, Buck?”

Buck halts his pacing and turns to you. “Are you in love with him?”

You snort. “What?”

“Are you in love with him?” He repeats.

“Buck, I love you,” you counter.

“I know you do, and you know I love you,” Buck says, a sense of deja vu washing over him, “but I’m asking if you love him.”

You and Eddie ultimately consent to the ECMO cannulation. Buck’s struggled his whole life, and he’s always taken it in stride. He deserves the chance to walk away from this.

That being said, he drew some strong lines in the sand in his Advanced Directives, and you and Eddie have no intentions of erasing them. Buck specifically refused the placement of a tracheostomy and gave a general timeline of two weeks for his status to improve before medical efforts should be ceased. He also said that if at any point it’s suspected he won’t make a meaningful recovery, care should be withdrawn. You’re not at that point yet, but with each hour, you can feel it getting closer.

You went home after agreeing to the cannulation, too emotionally and physically exhausted to stick around. Besides, Chris should have at least one of his parents send him off to school that morning. You briefly explained Buck’s condition and that children aren’t allowed to visit in the ICU before kissing his cheek and seeing him off for the day.

When you finally get a chance to change, you notice the gush you felt earlier; it’s the ‘bloody show’ your OB warned you about. It’s a mix of the mucus plug and some frank blood, normally passed anywhere from days to hours before active labor. You still have time.

Then, as if the universe is playing a trick on you, you feel a contraction.

You lean against the dresser, inhaling slowly. Braxton Hicks are noticeable, but they’re short, normally lasting only a few seconds. By the time you’re done exhaling, it’s over. Or… it should be over. This one continues.

“Come on, Katie,” you mumble, rubbing up and down your tight belly, “not now.”

You count to twenty before the contraction ceases. The paramedic part of your brain screams, but the overly tired part takes over. You don’t panic. You don’t call Eddie. You don’t call anyone.

You go to sleep.

“It… it doesn’t matter,” you repeat, tripping over the words.

“It doesn’t?” Buck challenges. “Because I love him.”

“Why are you doing this?” you whisper.

The look on your face hurts Buck’s heart. Still, he persists.

“This isn’t how this is supposed to happen,” Buck says softly. “This… it isn’t real.”

“Buck, I love you,” you cry. “We have a family.”

“This isn’t real,” Buck repeats, mostly to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his hands in his hair.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t —

When he opens his eyes, there’s nothing. Quite literally, nothing. All Buck can see is black. He takes a step forward, almost expecting the ground to ripple beneath him. It doesn’t.

He starts running. He doesn’t know if he’s running away from something or towards something, but either way, he’s running. Normally, he’d run until he was out of breath. That doesn’t seem to happen, though, so he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other.

“You figured it out,” a voice cuts into his head.

Buck spins around. There’s no one there.

“You were always too smart for your own good.”

The voice is familiar, and not in a comforting way, like the softness of an overworn hoodie. It’s more like being haunted by a ghost.

“You could’ve been happy.”

“It wasn’t real!” Buck shouts into the void.

“It could’ve been,” the voice counters. “If only you’d let it.”

You get back to the hospital later that evening. You plan on switching out with Eddie. What you don’t plan on is seeing Christopher in the waiting room.

“Buddy, what are you doing here?” You ask.

Hen shoots you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but he insisted on coming.”

“I need to see Buck,” Chris replies. “I have to talk to him.”

“They don’t let kids in the ICU, Chris,” you say softly.

“I don’t care!”

You sigh, running a hand down your face.

“...Maybe we can find a workaround,” Hen offers.

By some miracle, Hen distracts the nurse long enough for you to sneak Christopher into Buck’s room. Eddie’s eyes widen as he stands up, approaching you both.

“I couldn’t say no,” you say weakly with a shrug.

You both watch as Christopher takes a few steps forward, looking at all the devices.

“Is he sleeping?” He asks.

“Something like that,” Eddie responds, voice thick.

“He’s resting, so the machines can do all the work to make him feel better,” you explain.

Chris nods. “Can he hear me?”

You look over at Eddie, who’s wiping away a few tears.

“I bet he can,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay level.

“Hey, Buck. It’s Christopher. I know you’re sick, but it’s only temporary. You’re going to be okay,” Chris says, reaching out to touch Buck’s arm. “Wherever you are, you have to come back.”

Wherever you are right now, you have to come back.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Buck says. He doesn’t know if he’s talking to the voice or to himself.

“You can’t go back,” the voice says. “It’s too late.”

“I’m running out of time,” Buck says quietly.

He catches something in the corner of his eye. He turns around to face a mirror. It has to be a mirror — he’s staring at himself.

“You’re dying,” the voice says. Only, it isn’t a voice; it’s his reflection. “Turns out, your parents were right: you aren’t invincible. Weren’t, I guess.”

“This isn’t how it ends,” Buck argues weakly. “I have a family out there.”

“What, your parents?” His reflection scoffs. “The people so caught up in grieving their son that they forgot they still had one left? Or your sister, who’s so busy with her own kid that she won’t even notice you’re gone?”

Buck doesn’t like this version of himself. It’s probably who he’d become had he never joined the 118. It isn’t even Buck… it’s Evan.

“My family,” Buck argues. “My partners. My son. My daughter.”

“It’s sad she’ll never get to meet you,” Evan says, tilting his head. “It’s probably easier that way, though. The other three… that one’s gonna hurt.”

In a mere twelve hours, Buck turns a corner. The ECMO is already titrated down to a level that could warrant decannulation. They discontinued the paralytic and are currently running a spontaneous breathing trial, which involves Buck doing all the work of breathing. He’s an hour in and doing great.

You sit in an armchair beside his bed, picking at a sandwich Eddie got you from the cafeteria. You feel Eddie set his hands on your shoulders.

“You have to eat something, mi amor,” He murmurs as he kneads your neck muscles.

You let out a sigh, setting the sandwich aside and leaning into his touch. Then, you hiss out a breath and grab your stomach involuntarily.

Eddie’s hands stall. “Is that a contraction?”

You close your eyes as you focus on your breathing. You feel Eddie brush past your arm, and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling in front of you.

“Don’t worry, they’re still 15 minutes apart.”

“...You’ve been having them regularly?!”

“15 minutes means I’m still in latent labor, not active.”

“You’re in labor, ” Eddie parrots, standing back up.

“Yeah, and I’m not having her until we know Buck is okay,” you say definitively.

Eddie runs his hands down his face. “How long have you been in labor?”

“...15 hours, I think.”

Eddie’s eyes widen.

“People can be in latent labor for days , Eddie,” you argue. “Besides, I checked myself earlier, and I’m only like, three centimeters dilated.”

“You…” Eddie cuts himself off with a heavy sigh.

“This is not a big deal!”

“How is this not a big deal?!”

“Because I’m not having her until Buck is okay,” you repeat.

It doesn’t make sense. The rational part of your brain knows that. However, the rational part of your brain is taking a hiatus. In its place is an irrational, scared shitless pregnant woman running rampant with hormones. You simply cannot fathom Buck not being there for his daughter’s birth. And so, you don’t.

“Babe…” Eddie says, exasperated.

“What?” you say, standing up. “We probably have days before we need to worry about this. Lets focus on Buck for now.”

Eddie’s eyes trail from your face down to your legs. “Babe.”

“What?” you huff.

“Your water just broke.”

You look down. Your pants are stained with an obvious wet spot, and you can feel something cold trickling down your leg.

“...Fuck.”

Warnings: mild depictions of early child labor/childbirth

[avonne-writes]

Nuzzle for Bucky to Buck!

Thank you 😊 This snippet is set in my friends with benefits au. Edit: I'm only just realizing you asked for Bucky to Buck... 🙈

[ NUZZLE ] sender presses their face into receiver’s neck

It's a lively tune mixed with the sounds of fake birdsong that wakes Bucky up. Feeling groggy from a night spent with anything but sleeping in his best friend's bed, he’s determined to ignore it but its volume rises until the entire room seems to resonate with it. He grunts and swings an arm to his left. His hand connects with Gale's clothed back, but gets no response whatsoever. Gale's breathing doesn’t change.

"Fuuuuck." Bucky groans with feeling. "Shut it off, for fuck's sake."

To his immense annoyance, Gale just rolls over, slides his arm around Bucky's chest and pushes his face into the crook of Bucky's neck. The embrace makes Bucky freeze. Cuddling isn’t included in their deal. Sure, they always spend a few minutes making out and stroking each other after a round, but that still counts as sex, same as foreplay. This, though - He’s not sure what this is. Is Gale still asleep?

He shivers when he feels Gale’s nose pressed to his pulse point, warm air rushing out between Gale’s lips as he mumbles, "It’s for you."

"What?" Bucky says faintly, dizzy. His hand hovers above Gale's on his chest. He wants to hold it so much, but God, that would make everything so fucking weird, wouldn’t it? It’s not like Gale wants him to act like a smitten loser of a boyfriend, he’s probably just half-asleep and still a little turned on from how they got off just a few hours ago.

"Alarm." Gale says. "Lecture at 9."

That’s when Bucky’s brain finally detaches its focus from the way Gale’s nuzzling his neck to the facts at hand. It’s Friday morning, and he has to give a presentation in front of a hundred-something freshmen from 9. A presentation he hasn’t reread since he made it months ago, because he was too busy rejecting his Tinder matches in favour of fucking his best friend.

"Shit!" Bucky hisses and pulls himself out of Gale's embrace and his warm, comfy bed to fumble with Gale's stupid alarm and then rush around to find his clothes.

Gale ignores him. He seems to have no problem going right back to sleep. Bucky glares at his back, then nearly recoils when the ripe club-smell of his t-shirt hits him. Yeah, right, that won't do. He opens Gale's closet and pulls out a simple white tee, then throws a maroon button-up on over it. It smells like Gale, which already makes the outfit infinitely better than anything Bucky owns.

He gathers his keys and wallet, stuffs them into his pocket and figures he’s as ready to go as he’ll ever be. But something pulls his gaze back to Gale. To his messy, fluffy hair and the slope of his back where he lies curled up among the rumpled sheets. He gets the weird urge to give him a kiss goodbye. Or good morning. Can't even pinpoint the reason why, he just wants to kiss him.

It's so not in their deal.

"Phone." Gale says drowsily out of the blue, and Bucky covers his face for a second when he realizes he almost left it behind. He can’t remember how it ended up in Gale's back pocket, but that’s where he finds it, in the jeans discarded by the bed.

When it’s in his hand, he stops and looks at Gale again. Gale's apartment doesn’t have any blinds, only curtains, but they don’t block out the light completely. A strip of the morning sunshine paints the back of Gale's head, warming the blond locks of his hair. Bucky doesn’t really think about what he's doing - his hand reaches out automatically to tug the gap in the fabric closed.

Suddenly, he feels uncomfortable again. He needs to get out of here before he does something that will ruin his friendship with Gale forever.

"See you later, Buck!" He says with fake cheer, but his smile does turn genuine when his reply is a dismissive grunt. He shakes his head and exits Gale's room grinning. Time to give himself a crash course in whatever the fuck he has to present this morning.

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 9)

Vol 1 Vol 2 Vol 3 Vol 4 Vol 5 Vol 6 Vol 7 Vol 8 (Not Required)

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader

When Nanami accidentally rolls onto you in your sleep...

Word Count: 1.1k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, fem!Reader, reader wears a nightgown, Nanami is worried, very slightly suggestive.

A/n: This started as Nanami bringing you flowers and ended up as whatever this is?... (I'll do that next volume instead!)

Nanami sat at the dining room table, staring down at the few hours worth of paperwork before him. As per usual he was already burnt out from his work at the office, but of course it didn’t stop there. One of the joys of getting married was making quite a few large purchases, especially since the two of you didn’t live together beforehand. It had you very grateful he already had a car in good condition, as to not add another thing to the list. 

Unfortunately for Nanami, this wasn’t the kind of work he could get done with prior to coming home to you. Instead, he had to piece every budgeting document and report from various companies at home, and you had offered to join him in doing so. It went a lot faster thanks to your help, but seeing you all tired was not something he wanted to come from such menial tasks in his opinion. But the work was almost done, and most of the documents would finalize the purchases and regular payments that the two of you would need to make.

You were well accustomed to handling the household finances, keeping track of how much you spent each week at the grocery store, and trying to cut back on costs through growing vegetables and eating at home as much as possible. The two of you tried to run everything by each other whenever something was purchased, so your insight was very much appreciated by him. 

In between your yawns, Nanami let out a soft chuckle as he flipped through some pages and sat them to the side. After a few hours of jotting down figures, it was quite satisfying to watch them get slid into an envelope, placed into a box, and sealed away to not be touched for (hopefully) the next decade at least, assuming everything was done correctly.

You laid your head gently down onto the table, as Nanami moved his hand to cup your cheek and act as a pillow. Dinner was already cooking in the oven, a simple one-pan dish of vegetables and protein to be paired with fresh fruit you had purchased from the market earlier that day and ice cream as dessert. The scent flowed throughout the house, making you especially hungry, but it mostly lulled you closer to sleep.

Watching his cute little wife so tired and sweet, Nanami wouldn’t have been able to stop a smile from overcoming his face if he tried. In fact it was another thing that he loved about you, how despite being ready sleep in until noon the next day, you still got up and served the two of you dinner, making sure that everything was in place to make the next day go as smoothly as possible. 

The dishes were washed and set out to dry, and both of you changed into your clothes for the night. A pair of simple pajama pants and a loose fitting shirt for Nanami, and a cream colored nightgown for you. After brushing your teeth, you slid into bed with your husband following behind. 

If you weren’t so tired, Nanami would have acted on his urge to smother you with kisses. Instead he settled for just one, right on the lips held there for a couple seconds. To that you protested, “Kento I’m not that tired, you don’t have to go to sleep-,” but he cut you off. “I’m serious you need rest, goodnight my love,” he slipped under the covers, gently spooning you close as you drifted off to sleep. 

However, those urges didn’t seem to subside. Though usually still throughout the night, acting as a cage as you squirmed around, while deep into his own dreams he managed to turn onto his stomach… with you underneath him. Absolutely smooshed into your pillow, you woke up quickly and turned your head to the side to keep your ability to breath well. 

Your husband was large, that you knew, but for that to become a problem was quite rare when it was usually appreciated. It was that and the fact that he was gripping you so tightly, arms crossed over your torso like you would to a stuffed animal, an inescapable hold that still wasn’t yet uncomfortable. You thought about waking Nanami up for a bit, trying to wriggle out of his arms or push him off of you. Breathing wasn’t a problem and you didn’t exactly mind the closeness, though he was a bit heavy… so it took a good half hour for you to finally build up the will to ask him as you started to overheat. 

Ignoring your lack of sleep, by that time you were giggling at the look on his face when he finally woke up and moved. Nanami sat up on the bed, a slight flush to his cheeks and his lips had curled into a frown. “My love, don’t feel bad to wake me up,” he stated sternly, checking to make sure you were okay in a slightly frantic manner. “I’m sorry, Kento, but I’m okay, I promise,” you reasoned with him, to which he shook his head. “Either way I apologize, I’ll try to make sure this doesn’t happen again,” you snuggled back into the blankets, pulling Nanami by the hand so he laid down as well. 

“Are you sure you don’t want water or something? It must have been uncomfortable,” Nanami tried to get up to go grab some, but you remained clinging onto his arm. “I’m okay, it wasn’t bad,” you yawned with a smile, “In fact… I rather liked being so close.” In all your nights of sleeping in the same bed together, now nearing your fourth month of doing so, you never had encountered him doing such a thing. Something to note about what happens when you, his wife, the love of his life, looks a bit too irresistible and he cannot indulge as usual. 

Nanami hummed, letting out a yawn himself. He turned you around to face him, as you closed your eyes. “Like this?” he asked, admiring your face that was tucked into his chest. He breathing slowed down, worry leaving his mind as he relaxed with you. “It’s perfect,” you smiled, “Goodnight, darling.”

[castillon02]

Wade was on the couch, shoveling frito pie into his facehole, when Spidey crawled through the window, paused, cocked his head, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. 

Not Spidey’s usual M.O. 

Then Spidey made a lip-zipping motion at him and dropped from the wall to the floor. His shoulders and calves had tightened, and his movements jerked instead of slinked, his body ready to spring into motion. 

Hot. Mildly alarming, but hot. Spidey had sensed something.    

Wade moved over to the front door to secure their exit. Katanas: check. Guns: check. Frito pie: check. He kept eating. 

Spider-Man did a slow three-sixty, peering around the room, and froze with his eyes narrowed in the direction of Wade’s newest purchase: a Deadpool-themed boombox that Wade had found on Etsy. It had arrived just that morning. 

Wade was going to leave such a negative review if it turned out that his boombox was actually a bomb. Not one star—it had a tape deck, a CD player, and an AUX hook-up, and Wade was all about that retro shit—but definitely negative. Maybe two stars; who couldn’t appreciate the pun of a boombox that went boom? 

Spidey advanced on the boombox and ran his fingers over its surface like a snob testing the furniture for dust. Attached to his fingertip on the upswing lay a red square about the thinness of a gum wrapper and the breadth and height of a motherfucking electronic bug. 

“Christ on a pogostick dildo,” Wade muttered, setting his frito pie on the Javelin anti-tank missile launcher that had been delivered along with the boombox. 

He’d used his last bug detector as a bludgeon, and he kept going out to get a new one only to be distracted by one of the Big Apple’s tempting offerings: people to shoot, Spideys to please, tacos to eat, Spideys to please… Actually, maybe it was kind of appropriate that Spidey was the one helping him out here, given that he’d been so distracting. 

And given that… 

Heh. 

His name was Spider-Man. 

And he’d found a—

Found a b—

Wade made desperate crab pinching motions at Spidey. 

Spidey interpreted his hand signals like a boss and crushed the bug into itsy bits between his freakishly strong spider-digits. 

Wade squealed. “Holy exterminator, Spider-Man! You caught an actual-fact bug in your not-so-actual-fact web! Fly swatter, more like spy swatter!” 

“See, this is why I don’t tell people.” Spidey scratched at the back of his neck. 

Wade put his hand to his chest and batted his eyes even though only the bottom half of his face was visible. “Awww, and you told little old me?” It always made Wade’s heart grow three sizes when Spidey showed him one of his spidery secrets.  

Spidey shrugged. “I figured you’d want your ‘Workin’ 9 to 5’ serenades to be private.” 

Wade settled one hand on his cocked hip and put on a country accent. “I ain’t never got no shame over Ms. Parton, Websy.” 

“I was also trying to avoid mentioning the Nickelback.” Spidey gestured at the CD organizer next to the boombox, which was open to Now That’s What I Call Music! Volume 10. 

Now That’s What I Call Music! Volume 10 had Nickelback’s “How You Remind Me” on it, and after the Britney Spears and JLo songs, Wade had definitely planned on belting out the “I SAID I LOVE YOU AND I SWEAR I STILL DO” and “SCREAM ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?” lines extremely loudly and emotionally, possibly before shooting himself. Not his ideal recording to have in the hands of his enemies. 

“Your sacrifice is appreciated, Spidey.”  

Spidey gave a sloppy salute. 

Wade narrowed his eyes. “Hang on. How do you know which songs are on that CD?” 

“Oh wow, some frito pie! And what’s that? I think my spider senses are tingling…” As he darted towards the window, Spidey webbed Wade’s bowl from the missile launcher to his hand. 

Wade wouldn’t be fast enough to catch him; instead, he lunged for the boombox and frantically inserted the CD. “Don’t think I don’t know what your 2002 jam is!” He mashed the skip button.  

Spidey hovered near the window, about to be hoisted by his own curiosity. “No way,” he said. “There’s twenty songs on that CD. No way you guess right.” 

“Oh, yeah? Well, listen TO THIS!” Wade stopped the disc on song 15. 

A piano melody started to play. 

“Oh my god,” Spidey said. He dropped the bowl onto the counter and his face into his hand.   

“Makin’ my way downtown, walkin’ fast, faces pass, and I’m homebound!” Wade sang along with Vanessa Carlton. He pointed at Spidey and walked over. “Starin’ blankly ahead, blankly ahead, making my way through the crowd…Take it, Spidey! Dun-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh—”  

“And I need you!” Spidey stifled a laugh. 

“Dun-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh—” Wade shoved the frito pie spoon, microphone-like, into Spidey’s hand. 

“And I miss you!” Spidey sang into the spoon. 

“Dun-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh— chorus time, go!” 

Spidey leaned into the spoon. “AND NOW I WONNNDER…IF I COULD FALL…INTO THE SKY…” He tilted the spoon at Wade. 

“DO YOU THINK TIME…WOULD PASS ME BY…” 

They sang the rest together: “CAUSE YOU KNOW I’D WALK A THOUSAND MILES IF I COULD JUST SEE YOU…TONIGHT.” 

“Hey,” Wade said after their duet ended. The dulcet sounds of Celine Dion (song number 16) faded into the background, helped by his hand on the volume knob. “Could you check my bedroom for bugs, too?” 

Spidey sighed. “For electronic surveillance, Pool. Don’t get any ideas.” 

Wade crossed his heart (and his fingers behind his back). 

“But,” Spidey said, “even if the rest of the place is clean, maybe we should check the Switch for bugs too. You know. With the very advanced spider technique of playing it.” Spidey fidgeted. 

“Going once, going twice, SOLD, to the Deadpool with the color-coordinated boombox!” Wade mimed banging a gavel. 

Pretty good for a day in which Wade had been considering shooting himself to a Nickelback soundtrack. And Spidey ate all his frito pie, so he didn’t even have to deal with any gross leftovers! 

The next day, Wade did some investigating and posted his Etsy review: This seller attached an electronic monitoring device to the product, BUT someone threatened their family to get them to do it, so, what can you do, ammirite? Took out that trash for you btw, np. The CD player, tape deck, and AUX all work great, the speakers are nice and loud, and the design is chef-kiss. 5 stars for immaculate engineering, 0 stars for being unwilling to sacrifice the lives of your friends and loved ones for a faceless customer with a poop emoji in their username, 5 stars again for being bribed into letting me be a repeat client despite all the bloodstains. Looking forward to the Spider-Man-themed iPod with webby wired earbuds!  

Author's note: for those who don't know what frito pie is, it's basically corn chips with ground beef and cheese (and assorted miscellaneous) on top, kind of like nachos. Regardless of its status as a family dish, it is an absolutely bachelor kind of meal.

[yourname-exee]

Chapter Twelve: A Place to Call Home?

Satosugu!reader

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7 - chapter 8 - chapter 9 - chapter 10 - chapter 11

The walk back was quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas. Suguru took the lead, his pace unhurried, giving you time to catch up if you wanted, but never pulling too far ahead. Satoru stayed at your side, a presence both comforting and unnervingly intense, as if afraid you might vanish if he stepped too far away.

Despite the confusion swirling in your mind, there was an odd sense of ease in following them. Your feet moved without thought, guided by something instinctual like you had done this before.

As you approached the temple grounds, Suguru glanced back, his expression softened, but his eyes remained cautious. “Are you alright?” he asked gently, voice low enough to be soothing.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure of the answer. “Yeah just.. trying to make sense of all this.”

Satoru gave a lazy shrug, though his gaze never left you. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he said with a grin. “We’ve got time to figure things out.”

The temple was serene, stone steps leading to a courtyard surrounded by trees that whispered with winds. You paused at the entrance, uncertain, but Suguru placed a hand on your shoulder, just briefly.

“You don’t have to go inside if you’re not ready,” he murmured. “But this place is safe. It’s.. home.”

Home.

The word tasted foreign on your tongue, heavy with an unspoken longing. You glanced at Satoru, who gave you a reassuring nod, before stepping through the entrance.

The inside was spacious, filled with the scent of old wood and incense. A few of Suguru’s followers passed by, eyes widening at the sight of you, but none dared question their leader. He gave them a brief look that spoke volumes, and they hurried on with murmured greetings.

Suguru led you to a small room with tatami mats and a low table, offering you a place to sit. “If you’d like, I can introduce you to everyone later,” he offered. “But it’s your choice.”

You hesitated, fidgeting with your sleeves. “Maybe.. some other time,” you replied, unsure how to handle so many unfamiliar faces.

Satoru plopped down beside you, sprawling like he owned the place. “We’ll take it slow,” he promised. “No need to overwhelm you.”

For a couple of beats, the three of you sat in companionable silence, the tension from earlier slowly easing. Suguru busied himself with lighting a few candles, their glow casting soft shadows along the walls. You found yourself relaxing, muscles uncoiling as the tranquility settled over you.

It wasn’t lost on you how Satoru and Suguru seemed to fall into a strange, unspoken rhythm, like old gears finding their way back into sync. There was something almost hesitant in the way they glanced at each other, as if trying to relearn an old dance. Yet, despite the time and distance that had clearly pulled them apart, the air around them felt.. warmer.

For them, it wasn’t just about you. It was about rediscovering that familiar comfort they hadn’t felt in years, like something long broken was quietly stitching itself back together.

Satoru had left a couple of hours ago. That time passed in a quiet peace, until his unmistakable energy flared at the entrance again. He strode in, holding a bag of takeout containers with a triumphant grin.

“Brought dinner,” he declared, tossing a box to Suguru, who caught it effortlessly. “Hope you’re hungry.”

He set another container in front of you, lingering a moment longer than necessary, his fingers brushing yours before he pulled away. You looked up at him, catching a flash of something almost vulnerable in his eyes before he covered it with a cocky smirk.

You picked at the food, your appetite small despite how good it smelled. Suguru seemed to notice, nudging the plate closer to you. “Eat,” he insisted softly. “You need your strength.”

You take a few bites.

Satoru leaned back, chewing thoughtfully. “You like it?” he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes were fixed on you almost intensely.

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “It's good. Thank you.”

A moment of silence passed before Satoru spoke again, softer this time. “You don’t have to keep thanking me, y’know. I’d do a lot more than bring food if it meant seeing you smile.”

The admission was quiet, almost too soft to catch, and Suguru shot him a look, somewhere between exasperation and understanding.

You looked down at your food, unsure how to respond, but something warm settled in your chest despite the confusion still clouding your thoughts.

The meal passed without incident, and as the evening stretched on, Satoru’s endless chatter filled the room, his stories half boastful, half ridiculous, but effortlessly charming. Suguru would throw in a few dry remarks, keeping Satoru from getting too carried away, and you found yourself almost laughing more than once.

It felt.. nice.

Something about the easy bickering between them, the way they both seemed just a little more at ease in each other’s presence, made the space feel warmer than any place you’d been in years. Like it wasn’t just you that needed to remember something lost, but them, too.

By the time the moonlight began to spill through the windows, the tension had faded entirely. You felt safe here, surrounded by two men whose presence swirled something unnamed and bittersweet in your heart.

When Suguru suggested you get some rest in a gentle tone, you didn’t argue, too worn out from the emotional whirlwind of the day. As he led you to a separate room, you glanced back over your shoulder before stepping into the room, you found Satoru watching you, his gaze soft and unreadable.

Before Suguru shut the door to the cozy room he offered a thin, comforting smile. “Sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

As you lay down on the simple futon, you couldn’t help but wonder..

Why did being here feel so achingly familiar?

Tags: @perqbeth @sleepykittyenergy @sarcasticbitchsblog @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni

[merthurians-prat-and-idiot]

9-1-1 Buddie 8x06 coda (major spoilers!)

The spirit of Eddie Diaz possessed me and here this is! V unedited as its almost 4am for me but enjoy!

Also on Ao3

🚒💫

"Did you shave your moustache?"

Its not the first thing Eddie had been expecting Buck to mention, when he'd waited him out to hear what was going on.

But, another part of Eddie sparks just a little. Something saying 'he noticed'.

Eddie shaved his trauma based facial hair, put on a song and danced around like he was a kid again. Like he was stealing the mixtape Adriana's boyfriend made her, blasting it full volume while everyone was at church and he blagged a pulled muscle from baseball practice (he only got away with that because the only thing worse to Ramon Diaz than a son, 'a man of the house' being taken down by a sore leg, was his son ditching the match and embarassing them). He would jump the stairs in twos or sometimes threes in time with the music, slide down the bannister, knee slide across the kitchen floor- playing every song on a loop (ignoring the way his heart flopped in his chest when Adri's boyfriend whispered his dedications between songs).

He'd let loose in his own house this time, joy bursting within him and then his door had been knocked on, his best friend came in, sat beside him and noticed it all.

Or, at least the moustache.

And probably the shirt, underpants and socks look.

Plus he was pretty sure Buck was sitting on the fly swatter air guitar right now.

Eddie grins unabashedly, feeling his smooth upper lip tug.

"Yeah I did, what'd you think?"

He gives his best pout just for-

Buck exhales a laugh, his head ducking with a just there smile.

There it is.

"Suits you- not that uh- not that the whole, what did Chim call it?"

"Magnum"

"Right! Magnum look didn't- but it was kinda getting a bit too similar to Gerrard and that is not a mix up I want to be part of"

Eddie snorts.

"Were you actually worried about accidentally greeting him as me? He'd sure learn a hell of a lot about racoons if you did"

"Hey- racoons are adorable and they're super intelligent!"

Eddie raised his hands in acquiesce.

"I'm not saying anything against racoons Buck, you've pleaded their case already and besides, Christopher-"

He cuts himself off and watches Buck suck in a small breath.

"Christopher loves them too"

It doesn't hurt quite so much. He finds himself smiling again.

"So, the moustache the only thing you noticed?" he sinks further into the couch, shoulder brushing Buck's.

"I figured you'd just put all your other clothes in the wash" Buck gestures up and down at him with a smirk.

He gets an eyeroll in return.

"What about you?" Eddie asks.

The question is light, but Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn't getting curious, watching the way Buck seems to curl back into himself, a halligan settling back across his shoulders.

He lets the silence linger for a moment the way he knows Buck needs.

Finally there's a sigh.

"Tommy broke up with me".

[perfectwitchcrown]

Make the Exorcist Fall in Love Vol 8 & 9 Covers

I previously mentioned in the tags of a separate post on literary references in ekuoto that I was curious about the boat in the background of the joint covers of volume 8 and 9. For context, here's what I'm talking about:

Like there's just a boat there. The rest seems to make sense: there's a stream of salt in the background of Dante's cover, which is a stream of sugar in Vergilius's cover. But like, what's the deal with the boat?

So it turns out that looking up the key phrase "Dante boat" was all I needed to do lmao. It's been long enough since I read Dante's Inferno that I completely forgot that Dante and Virgil travel by boat in Canto 8, and that there's actually a lot of art depicting it. In this canto Dante and Virgil travel in a boat ferried by a figure from Greek mythology, Phlegyas, across the river Styx from circle 5 of Hell (Wrath) to the city of Dis, behind which they will enter into circle 6 (heresy).

Here's one example by Eugène Delacroix:

Here's another by Gustave Doré:

So, my best guess for now is that the boat in the background is a reference to this boat! As to why the boat is important, your guess is as good as mine.

Possible reasons

Dante in the Inferno has many different moments where he's fairly sympathetic to the sinners he comes across. Not always though, and according to notes in the Hollander translation, this scene depicts "the first time in the poem that we hear an angry debate between the protagonist and one of the sinners," who he name drops as a real guy that real life Dante disliked for political reasons (Dante was a part of the White Guelph political faction whereas this guy was a member of the Black Guelph political faction. This was factionalism between what was originally a singular political group over support of the papacy. Also apparently his brother may have taken Dante's stuff when Dante got exiled) -> unsure what role this could play in Ekuoto, but this is a pretty big deal in the text and I could see it indicating some sort of later development with these characters. I could see the idea of who Dante is willing to sympathize with as being significant, both in terms of ideas of sin and factions, since we've already seen some factions in the church in Ekuoto (and I could see with some of the recent developments this only growing more prominent)

Dante and Virgil kiss on the boat -> I don't know what to say other than they kiss on the boat. You can go check Canto 8 of Inferno if you want to be sure, but I promise it happens. It's lines 43-45. In the Hollander translation: "Then my master put his arms around my neck,/kissed my face and said: 'indignant soul,/blessed is she that bore you in her womb'" (Hollander 151). I'm not super familiar with the bible but apparently (at least according to wikipedia and a quick check of an online bible) Virgil's line to Dante here is a direct quote of Luke 11:27. Now, the kiss in Dante's Inferno is platonic, medieval people were just like that. They were kissing all over the place. But I think for obvious reasons this could be significant, especially since a kiss (between Char and Vergilius w direct eye contact btw Vergilius and Dante) was part of their first "onscreen" shared scene.

Boat <3 -> honestly, this could be no deeper than the boat is a part of important art pieces and so is visually being referenced. Maybe the real boat was the friends we made along the way :)

That's all! The boat could be a reference to something else but I feel more confident that it's specifically a reference to Canto 8. I'm still unsure what the mirror is about though haha, although I may have just forgotten something, so if anyone has any thought's I'd be glad to hear them!

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 9 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 6.5k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Intimacy, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

Y/N lay on the infirmary bed, her body aching as Dr. Remington tended to her infected stab wound. The sting of the antiseptic made her wince, but it was nothing compared to the emotional storm swirling inside her. Her thoughts were split between the infection in her body and the knowledge that she had missed out on the escape. She had told Michael to leave her behind, and now, as the minutes dragged on, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret.

            Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N spotted movement in the next room. Lincoln was crouched in the corner, hidden from most of the guards’ view, his eyes darting around as he tried to quietly pry open the vent with the mop. Y/N’s heart sank. She recognised the desperation in his movements – it wasn’t part of the plan.

            The pipe had been replaced.

            The escape had failed.

            A part of her felt relieved – at least Michael was still here, safe for now – but another part of her was angry. She had stayed behind, telling herself it was for the best, but what good had it done? The plan had fallen apart, and now they were still trapped.

            Lincoln looked up briefly, his eyes locking with Y/N’s and he was frazzled. What was she doing here? However, she saw the frustration etched on his face, the same frustration that mirrored her own. He quickly turned back to the vent, still working at it, but Y/N knew it was hopeless. There would be no escape tonight.

            Dr. Remington didn’t seem to notice Lincoln’s actions as he continued working on Y/N. His voice was a steady hum, asking about the pain, checking her wound, but Y/N was barely paying attention. Her mind was already on the next step.

            She knew Michael would not stop. The failure was only temporary, a bump in the road. If she could hold on, if she could heal, there would be another chance. And next time, she wouldn’t let herself get left behind.

            She needed to get out.

-

Y/N was told to stay overnight in the infirmary to see if the infection dies down with the antibiotics. Y/N laid on the same bed, staring at the ceiling as she waited for Dr. Remington to return to tell her she could go. She had been in the infirmary for what felt like forever, and all she wanted now was to get out and figure out what came next.

            She wanted to see Michael.

            Her thoughts were interrupted when the door to the infirmary opened, and Michael walked in, escorted by a guard for his insulin shot. He glanced at her immediately, his gaze lingering on her as he was led to the room next door. There was no smile, no words exchanged, just that intense look that spoke volumes.

            He stood there for a moment, watching her. The connection between them was palpable – like there was so much he wanted to say but couldn’t. But before he could do anything, his focus shifted to his brother in the other room. Y/N could see the weight of worry in his expression as the door closed behind him.

            Moments later, Dr. Remington returned. He gave her a small smile, carrying a clipboard. “A few things, I am willing to discharge you if you do not do any extraneous activity including PI work. I am asking to get you transferred to laundry–“

            “–No,” she barked.

            Dr. Remington glanced up from the clipboard to look at her. “No? You enjoy labour?”

            Y/N bit her lip. “Pays the best, plus I like fixing things, and its different every day. Laundry…I am not a maid and if the men in here find out I’m doing laundry, I will be a punching bag due to the patriarchy. Please,” she begged.

            “Light activity,” Dr. Remington lectured. “Now,” he said, sitting down and getting his glasses from his pocket and looking at her chart. “I want you to take antibiotics for ten days. Additionally, I got your test results back for your pregnancy test and it was negative. I think if its annoying you that much, we can change the birth control–“

            “What if I paid for the IUD?” she asked.

            He shook his head. “Not an option. However, I know it’s been a few tough days, and I know you mentioned your concerns with your birth control so I am ok with prescribing a different one that can help with the cramps, mood swings, fatigue and tenderness. It’ll take some time to see a change, though. You’ll have to stick with it.”

            Y/N nodded, her mind half-focused on the conversation. She appreciated that Dr. Remington was trying, but the gnawing thought of the failed escape was hard to shake.

            “You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. Just try to take it easy,” Dr. Remington said as he took her hand, squeezing it. “I’m always here.”

            She nodded and thanked him.

-

Y/N was in her cell when the guards announced it was yard time. It was a cold day and she was stuck with the overly large jacket and the scratchy hat, but she was fine with that. There were worse things. However, she spotted Michael sitting on the bench with Sucre when she wandered up.

            “Hey,” she muttered, rocking back and forth on her toes with her hands in her pockets. Michael looked up and saw her.

            “Hey,” he muttered, voice defeated.

            “Can we talk?” she asked.

            Michael nodded, patting the spot next to him as Sucre bid his farewells and left. Y/N settled next to him, their shoulders bumping as she put her hands on her knee. Michael put his hands on top on hers, intertwining them.

            “How’s the stitches?” he asked.

            Y/N looked over to see him looking at her and she smiled. “Fine, on antibiotics for ten days. However, the infection is slowly disappearing. I can’t do any extraneous activity which includes most PI work therefore, they want to switch me to laundry,” she told him. His brow furrowed and he was about to open his mouth. “I talked Remington out of that. So, it’s all good.”

            Silence happened before she looked over, her voice careful but direct. “Michael,” she started, watching his face for a reaction. “Do you…do you want me there? At Lincoln’s execution?”

            Michael’s head snapped to her; his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her. His expression softened almost immediately, a familiar blend of protectiveness and hesitation clashing across his features. He swallowed, glancing away toward the fence where the guards stood on patrol, his mind racing.

            A knot twisted in his chest. He had thought about this, probably more than he should have. The idea of sitting in that room, watching as Lincoln’s life was taken – it unsettled him deeply.

            “I’ve been thinking about that too,” he admitted, his voice low, almost a murmur against the distant sounds of the yard. He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, the weight of the decision visible in the tension of his shoulders.

            Y/N didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue. She knew him well enough by now to understand that Michael was someone who needed time to work through his thoughts. He wasn’t one to speak impulsively.

            “I don’t know if I can do it…without you there.” His voice cracked ever so slightly, the vulnerability of the statement hanging between them. “You’ve been my anchor through all of this. Every step. But…” he paused, shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to be there.”

            Her brow furrowed, a mix of confusion and concern. “Why not? You know I’ll be there for you, Michael. For Lincoln too.” She took his hand in hers and squeezed it.

            His gaze met hers, those piercing blue eyes full of conflict. “Because it’s different. It’s not like planning the escape or figuring out the next step. This is…final. Watching that – watching him die – it’s something I don’t want you to see. I can’t put that on you.”

            Y/N shifted, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She knew this side of Michael well – his instinct to protect everyone around him, especially her. But she was not fragile, and he needed to know that.

            “It’s not my first time witnessing death, Michael. I’m in here for a reason. Don’t shut me out just because you think I can’t handle it.”

            “It’s not that I think you can’t handle it,” Michael said quickly, his tone pleading. “It’s that I don’t want you to. You’ve been through enough. I don’t want to add something like that to the list. Seeing Linc…like that…I don’t even know if I can handle it.”

            Y/N looked at him, her chest tightening as she processed his words. He was scared – not just losing his brother, but of losing her too. Of breaking her spirit by dragging her into the darkest corner of the world.

            A quiet moment passed; the noise of the yard distant in the background. Finally, she brought his hand to her lips, kissing it.

            “I’m not going to pretend this isn’t terrifying,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But you don’t have to go through it alone. Even if you don’t want me in that room, I’ll be here. Waiting. Whatever happens with Lincoln, we’ll face together. I need you to know that.”

            Michael exhaled, the tension in his chest loosening ever so slightly at her words. He squeezed her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he got closer to her, his body touching hers.

            “I do know that,” he said, his voice low and tender. “You’ve been the one constant in all this chaos. But sometimes, protecting you means…keeping you away from things that could break you.”

            Y/N’s gaze softened, and she reached up, gently resting a hand against his cheek. “Maybe I don’t need protecting as much as you think I do.”

            Michael’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at her. He was torn, utterly conflicted but he couldn’t deny the strength he saw in her eyes – the same strength that had carried them through so many impossible moments.

            After a long pause, he nodded slowly. “I know,” he whispered. “But I need to protect you. Even if it means keeping you away from the execution.”

            Y/N didn’t argue. She understood Michael’s reasoning, even if it hurt. She could see the weight he carried, the burden of trying to save Lincoln while also trying to shield her from more pain. But a part of her felt reassured – he cared enough to want to protect her even if it wasn’t always what she wanted.

            “Ok,” she said softly, her hand still resting on his face. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when it’s over.”

            Michael leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a moment as he let the comfort of her presence wash over him. “Thank you,” he breathed.

            Michael pulled away and focused on front of them and Y/N had the aching question besides the one she just got an answer for.

            “How was the escape? You’re still here,” she whispered looking around to see who was around that could overhear.

            “Failed. We got to the vent by the infirmary but they fixed it so we could not go up,” he said. “Lincoln doesn’t even know what happened.”

            “He knows you tried. Knowing you, you tried,” she responded.

            “Do you think so?” Michael said unsure, voice low.

            “He’s your brother. He knows you,” Y/N stated, squeezing his hand. “I watched him try to get that vent open as well. You both tried.”

            Y/N looked at Michael

            “I promised I would get him out of here,” he whispered, looking down and licking his lips before looking back up to see T-Bag sauntering over.

            “You promised a lot of people, Pretty,” T-Bag taunted.

            “T-Bag, drop it,” Y/N muttered, letting go of Michael’s hand. Sucre came back, sitting next to them.

            “This don’t concern you, sweetheart,” T-Bag said to Y/N. “You don’t get a man’s hope up like that and then just–“

            “Back up or I’ll beat your skinny ass into the ground,” Sucre threatened, standing up and towering over T-Bag. “And it wouldn’t take much to do it.”

            T-Bag glanced between Michael, Sucre and Y/N before pointing to Michael. “You owe me a ticket out of here, Pretty.” He turned around, walked a few steps before turning around. “And I will collect.”

            Y/N left them and walked to the old payphone dangling by its metal cord as she stared at the numbers she had dialled. Her heart was pounding, hands trembling slightly as she waited for the voice on the other end. It had been years since she’d called her father. The Governor. Frank Tancredi. A man who was simply a sperm donor and nothing more.

            The phone rang once. Twice. On the third ring, a click.

            “Governor Tancredi,” a familiar, formal voice answered. Her father’s voice.

            Y/N’s breath hitched. For a moment, she almost hung up. But then she gripped the phone tightened, forcing the words out.

            She glanced over the field, seeing Michael looking at her. Curious who she was on the phone with.

            “Dad…” she winced, “Frank…it’s Y/N.”

            There was a pause. A long, awkward silence that felt heavier than all the years between them. Finally, his voice came back, colder than she had hoped.

            Y/N,” he said, curtly. No warmth. No surprises. Just…acknowledgment. “I didn’t expect to hear from you, especially since you got yourself locked up.”

            She swallowed hard, her throat tightening. “Yeah, well…me neither, but here we are.”

            Another pause. She could hear papers shuffling on his desk, the sound of his disinterest ringing louder than anything he could say.

            “Is this important? I’m busy. Do you need money again?” he said. Just like that. Dismissive.

            Y/N felt surge of anger rise in her chest, but she pushed it down. She couldn’t let it get to her – not now. Not with everything on the line.

            “No, I haven’t asked for money since I was sixteen. I wouldn’t be calling if this wasn’t important as I do not want to talk to you, but I do need a favour,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “This is about Lincoln Burrows.”

            Her father was silent for a beat, then his voice turned sharp. “Burrows? The man on death row? What are you getting yourself involved with, Y/N? First the mafia and now this…?”

            “Frank, listen to me – he’s innocent. You need to look at his file, the evidence. It doesn’t add up. Michael–“ she stopped, realising she shouldn’t bring Michael into this. “I know it sounds crazy, but if you just review the case, talk to his attorneys, you’ll see. Something’s not right.” Y/N sighed. “I will expose everything in the mafia if you get this man off death row,” she whispered.

            There was a long sigh on the other end. The kind that told her he wasn’t even considering her words. “Y/N, I’m not getting involved in this. The courts have made their decision. This is beyond you – beyond me.”

            The frustration bubbled up, tightening her throat. Y/N slammed her hand against the payphone booth. “It’s not beyond you! You’re the governor. You have power to look into this, to stop this from happening. He’s going to die for something he didn’t do.”

            “I don’t meddle in legal cases, Y/N. This isn’t how it works. You’re wasting your time,” he said, his tone cool and patronizing.

            She clenched her jaw, feeling the sting of his words, the way he dismissed her. Just like always. She had known this conversation would be different, but it didn’t stop the hurt from cutting deep.

            “I’m not asking for a miracle,” she snapped, her frustration spilling over. “I’m asking you to do one decent thing for once in your life. Just look at the file. Just consider that maybe – just maybe – an innocent man is about to be executed, and you could stop it. Imagine if it was me.”

            Her father sighed again, this time with more annoyance. “Y/N, this conversation is over. I’m not discussing this with you.”

            Y/N looked up to see Michael walking over to her. She pinched the bridge of her nose before covering her mouth with her hand. She let out a scoff. “No, you don’t get to just hang up and act like none of this matters. You’ve never been there for me. Never. You weren’t there when I needed you growing up. You didn’t even care. When mom died, you put me in the system. You refused any connection with ne. But if you do this, I will move on. I will put everything away. Just do this…not for me but for mom. You loved her once upon a time.”

            “I’m sorry you feel that way, Y/N. But I won’t be manipulated into something like this. Goodbye,” he spoke, voice measured.

            Click.

            The dial tone buzzed in her ear, sharp and relentless.

            Y/N stood frozen, the phone still clutched in her hand. Michael approached quietly, his presence calm but filled with concern, his voice low so as not to startle her. “Y/N.”

            She didn’t respond at first, too caught up in her own thoughts. Michael stepped closer, gently touching her arm, a silent gesture that he was there.

            “Who were you calling?” his voice was soft, careful, as though he didn’t want to pry but knew she needed to talk.

            Y/N clenched her jaw, the anger she’d tried to bury surfacing. She took a breath, trying to steady herself, but when she looked up to him, her eyes were filled with pain and frustration. “My father,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

            Michael raised a brow, knowing who exactly she was talking to.

            “He’s the governor,” Y/N continued, biting back the bitterness in her voice. “Frank Tancredi. I haven’t talked to him in years, but I thought…I thought maybe he could help. Maybe he’d actually care enough to do something about Lincoln’s case.” She scoffed, running a hand through her long hair, pacing again as the anger built. “But he didn’t even listen. I begged him to look into the case, to just consider the possibility that Lincoln’s innocent, and he didn’t care. He wouldn’t even hear me out.”

            Michael’s brow furrowed in concern, his eyes never leaving her. He stepped closer, his presence steady, unwavering. “He wouldn’t even consider it?”

            “No,” Y/N spat out, her voice cracking. “He doesn’t care. He’s always been like that. I was a mistake, a reminder of something he never wanted to deal with. He hated me for it, and he still does. And now…now that hatred for me outweighs any sympathy he could have for an innocent man on death row.”

            He squeezed her hand. “You tried. You did everything you could. That’s more than most people would do.”

            Her eyes met his, tears threatening to spill over, but she swallowed hard and quickly wiped them. “I’m sorry. I tried my best.”

-

In Bellick’s office, Tweener sat across from the CO, dipping his fries into his milkshake before eating them. A smirk danced across his face as Bellick watched him savour the junk food meal. The office was dimly lit, cold, and dark, but it felt like a slice of heaven to Tweener, who was used to prison food. This little taste of outside world was his one luxury.

            “So, you like doing that too?” Bellick asked, eyeing Tweener’s peculiar habit.

            “Dipping a fry in the shake? Hell yeah,” Tweener replied, stuffing his face with another dry drenched in choclate milkshake.

            “Good times, good times,” Bellick muttered, his tone casual but with a hint of urgency lurking beneath the surface. He wasn’t here for small talk. “Sp, what’s going on out there?” he finally asked, cutting through the pleasantries and getting straight to business.

            Tweener shrugged, trying to keep it light. “Nothin’, you know. Just staying out of trouble.”

            Bellick narrowed his eyes, leaning over his desk. “I meant in terms of any office gossip you might have for me,” he pressed with a knowing smirk.

            Tweener’s eyes darted around, trying to keep up the charade. “Yo, check it. This one fool’s been trying to cop a joint. So, I’ll keep ear-hustling on that.” He took another bite of his burger, thinking he had sufficiently deflected the conversation.

            But Bellick wasn’t in the mood for games. He snatched the burger right out of Tweener’s hands and tossed it into the trash. Leaning in close, his voice dropped to a low, menacing tone. “We had an agreement. You were supposed to bird-dog Scofield and get back to me.”

            Tweener’s posture stiffened. He swallowed hard realising Bellick wasn’t going to let him slide so easily this time. “I’ve been trying, man. I’ve been working the corners. Trust me, I aint’ got nothin’.”

            Bellick scoffed, his patience wearing thin. “You think I’m playin’ with you, kid? I don’t care about some food trying to score a joint. I want real dirt. Scofield’s got something going on, and you know it. Spill it.”

            Tweener shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the floor. He knew Bellick wouldn’t let him out of here without something. He let out a long breath, resigning himself to it. “A’ight, there’s been talk. Word on the block is Scofield and that chick, Y/N, are…you know, close. Real close.”

            Bellick raised an eyebrow, the intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Go on.”

            Tweener shrugged, playing it cool even though he knew this was juicy. “They’re always together, man. Touchy-feely, even. I heard Scofield clear the showers for her and him…alone. Some of the guys are sayin’ they’re like a couple. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but that’s what people are talkin’ about.”         

            Bellick leaned back in his chair, his mind already turning over the possibilities. “Interesting…very interesting,” he muttered, a sinister grin tugging at his lips. “Scofield’s got a girlfriend. Keep your ears open for more. And next time, don’t feed me this ‘nothing’ crap. You keep an eye on those two, you hear me?”

            Tweener nodded, quickly regretting that he opened his mouth, but he didn’t have a choice.

-

Hours ago Michael was escorted to the Final Visitation room for Lincoln’s execution. Y/N stayed up, waiting for Michael to come back because she knew he would want to talk or not… However, she waited and when it hit 12:01am, she closed her eyes and sent a prayer she which she rarely did.

            The prison was eerily silent, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air like a thick fog. Michael walked back toward his cell, his face set in stone, but his eyes betrayed the storm swirling beneath the surface. He had just come from the failed execution, from witnessing his brother strapped to the electric chair, only to be saved by the last minute revelation of new evidence. The reprieve, though a relief, came at an emotional cost neither of them could fully process yet.

            As Michael approached his cell, Y/N’s figure came into view. She was pacing anxiously inside her cell, just a few feet away from his, her hands gripping the cold metal bars. Her heart raced the moment she saw him, desperate for answers. She hadn’t known what happened, only that Lincoln had been led to the execution room. The minutes had stretched into an eternity, and the fear gnawed at her, imaging the worst.

            “Michael,” she whispered, her voice laced with worry as she rushed to the bars. “Michael, are you ok?” Michael looked at her and there was nothing she could read off him. “Talk to me,” she begged.

            Michael’s eyes flickered to her, but his face remained stoic. He wanted nothing more than to talk to her, to reassure her, but right now, eight of the night clung to him like a shadow. He couldn’t – he wasn’t ready to unravel it all. Not yet.

            “Later,” he muttered, his voice low and heavy as he passed her cell.

            Y/N’s heart sank and she nodded.

            She was reading, glasses perched on her nose as she read 1984 by George Orwell. She was staying awake knowing that Michael would be thinking himself in circles and would soon talk to her.

            What had happened? Did Lincoln die? Survive? Michael had no tears in his eyes. She wouldn’t shake the image of Michael’s haunted eyes, how they seemed to hold everything inside while giving away nothing. She felt sick knowing he had to witness his brother’s death.

            Dead of night, when the world was quieted down, that she his voice on the other side. He was by the bars, sitting on the concrete while she scurried to the end of her bed.

            “Y/N?” he called out, his voice barely more than a whisper.

            “Michael, what happened? Are you ok?” she whispered back. “I’m so sorry,” her voice trembled.

            There was a brief silence before Michael spoke again. “It didn’t go through. New evidence came to light…at the last second,” he explained, his voice still low, but the strain of the night was evident in his tone. “The execution didn’t go through. They stopped it.”

            Y/N let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through her, but it was quickly replaced by guilt. “Thank God,” she muttered, but her heart ached knowing what Lincoln had gone through. “But Michael…he was in that room, wasn’t he? Strapped in, thinking it was the end?”

            Michael’s silence told her everything. She could hear the weight of it in his breathing, the way he seemed to hold back the pain that came with reliving it.

            “He was strapped in,” Michael finally said, his voice tight. “He thought it was over. So did I.”

            Y/N closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against the wall as a tear slid down her cheek. The thought of Lincoln – an innocent man – being moments away from his death, the fear and helplessness Michael must have felt…it was too much. “I’m so sorry, Michael. I wish I could hug you. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

            “It was…” Michael’s voice trailed off, and for the first time, it sounded like he might break. “It was worse than anything I could’ve prepared for. But it’s not over. We got more time. We still have a chance.”

            Y/N nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. She felt a small glimmer of hope, knowing that Lincoln still had a fighting chance, but the pain of what they’d all just gone through lingered. “I just…feel awful, Michael,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “That you had to watch your brother go through that and I couldn’t do anything to help.”

            “Just knowing you’re here…it helps more than you think,” Michael replied, his voice softer now. “But I didn’t want you to see that. I didn’t want you to know until it was over.”

            Y/N’s chest tightened at his words. He was always protecting her, even when he was the one going through hell.

            “I wish I could touch you,” she whispered.

            “Me too, but tomorrow’s another day,” he responded. “I will see you tomorrow. You should get some sleep and not stay up reading that book,” he mused with a chuckle. “I love you, Y/N.”

            She smiled. “I love you too.”

            “Goodnight,” he whispered moving to go back to bed, but she called his name again.

            “Michael?” she whispered. He moved back.

            “Yeah?”

            “I can’t wait for the day I can fall asleep in your arms,” she whispered.

            He smiled, imagining such a thing. “I would really like that.”

-

It was another cold day in Illinois. Snow covered the ground, and the frost air nipped at the skin. Y/N was layered up with her hat on as she shovelled rock salt on the ice. Its been a while since she was in the infirmary and now her wound was quite healed up. Michael was behind her.

            “We’re still going through the infirmary and we’re still gonna do it from the guards’ room. It’s just the in-between that’s gonna have to change,” Michael announced.

            They jumped right back into the escape and Y/N was excited, but getting exhausted and tedious from it all. She just wanted out of there.

            “Wait a minute, why are you changing the plan, man? We’re already through to that room beneath the infirmary. That’s all we gotta do is get through that pipe and we’re home free,” C-Note said, coming up to Michael.

            “There’s a reason they replaced it with a 12-inch pipe, Darwin – people can’t get thorugh it. The only way we’re getting into that infirmary is from beneath. We’re gonna have to find another way,” Michael stated, eyes landing on the title, ‘Fox River Asylum’.

            “The psych ward?” Y/N whispered.

            “It’s the only building that shares a sub-surface line with the infirmary.”

            “Are you telling me to get to the infirmary we gotta go through the whack shack?” T-Bag exclaimed, getting close to Michael, Y/N and C-Note.

            “Unless you got a better idea,” Michael hummed.

            “And there’s a sub-surface line that runs from the guards’ room to the psych ward?” Westmoreland asked.

            “Sort of.”

            “Whoa, whoa, what do you mean ‘sort of’?” C-Note scoffed.

            “We can go into that hole in the guards’ room. About 40 yards up Route 66, there’s a grate that’ll get us halfway there,” Michael explained.

            Michael explained how the plan was suicide as they would have to be above grounds. However, when he explained the grate was below them, people were not a fan. C-Note particularly thought the plan sucked.

-

The dull hum of the prison echoed around them as Y/N stood in the dimly lit corner of the communal showers, holding up a small mirror. She had her back to the wall, watching Michael as he carefully adjusted the mirror in her hand so he could see the intricate web of tattoos sprawled across his back. His focus on was intense, eyes darting to specific marks on his skin that represent the pipes and vents leading to the psych ward, his next target for the escape. She could watch him topless for days, just admiring.

            “You’re staring,” he whispered as his eyes focused on the mirror.

            “Can’t I stare at a masterpiece?” she piped. “Especially one as handsome as this.”

            Michael flickered his eyes to her and see her smirk. “If only I can return the favour, pretty girl,” he mused.

            However, Michael went back to focusing on the tattoo. “The pipe system beneath the psych ward is…well, it’s complex. It’d be real easy to get lost,” he stated as he examined his tattoo.

            “How complex?”

            “Very. When they built this place in 1858, the pipes were lead. A century later, they discovered lead was a health risk. So they went to copper,” he explained. “They never removed the lead pipes. Cost too much. There’s thousands of yards of the stuff still down there. And then a few years ago, they switched to industrial plastic.” Michael looked at her and seeing her watching him. “Again, it was cheaper just to lay it over the old stuff. If I make a wrong turn down there tonight, I won’t make it back by count,” he told her.

            “Michael, don’t give me that anxiety,” she whispered, taking the mirror down. “But, you got to do what you got to do.”

            Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer, pretending to be absorbed by his meticulous description of the escape plan. She knew how focused Michael could get, but there was something undeniably attractive about his intensity, his intelligence. As he continued speaking, her gaze flickered from the tattoos to the strong lines of his back, the way his muscles flexed as he moved. A sly smile spread across her lips.

            “This escape plan,” she started, her tone dropping to something a little more sultry, “as much as I love your devotion, it doesn’t sound as sexy as me being very naked in the shower in about…thirty seconds.”

            Michael paused, his lips twitching in the barest hint of a smirk, but he tried to stay focused. “Y/N…you promised to help me…”

            She took a step closer, her hand brushing lightly against his arm as she moved, tiliting her head with a playful glint in her eyes. “And I hate being alone,” she whispered, her voice dripping with mischief. She got on her toes and pressed a kiss to his jawline before moving to behind his ear. “I can imagine all the things we can do in the shower…all the positions…I’ve been thinking…”

            Michael’s resolve wavered for a second, the corner of his mouth curving up in amusement. He glanced at her, his blue eyes locking with hers, filled with that familiar intensity but now mixed with something deeper, something personal. “Is that so?” he asked, voice low.

            “Mmm-hmm,” Y/N replied, inching even closer. “Wouldn’t want to get all wet…by myself.”

            His gaze flickered over her, the tension between them unmistakable. He knew what she was doing – distracting him – but damn, it was working. And maybe, just maybe, he needed this distraction, too. A small break from the constant pressure of the escape, from the weight of everything they were fighting for.

            “I didn’t know you could have a dirty mouth on you,” he whispered, turning. A grin finally breaking through his serious exterior and closed the distance between them. His hand found her waist as she leaned into him, their lips hovering close. Y/N’s heart raced, anticipation building as she felt his breath against her skin.

            He was shirtless while she was clothed, but she felt him feel the hem of her sweater. Michael played it before dipping his hand under it and on her stomach, wrapping around and pulling her flush against her.

            “I can’t wait when I fuck you,” he whispered in her ear. “Make love or whatever you call it,” he chuckled. “I can just imagine the pretty noises come from you as I grant pleasure to you.”

            She smiled, kissing his lips as her hand drew circles on his tattoo. The kiss was heated, full of passion as they fought for dominance.

            But before they could lose themselves completely, the door to the shower creaked open. Footsteps echoed across the tiled floor, cutting through the tension like a knife.

            Y/N pulled away instantly, backing up to see Bellick.

            Michael’s body tensed immediately, his instincts kicking in as he shifted in front of Y/N, blocking her from view. His arms came up, shielding her in a protective, almost primal move as Bellick sauntered in the room with an obnoxious smirk already plastered on his face.

            “Well, well, well… What do we have here?” Bellick drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he strolled closer. “Caught you two lovebirds at just the right time, huh?”

            Y/N could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, not from embarrassment but from the rage bubbling inside her at the sight of Bellick’s leering expression. Michael, ever the calm under pressure, kept his gaze locked on Bellick, his body tense but controlled. He shifted slightly, keeping Y/N completely hidden behind him.

            “Bellick, back off,” Michael said, his tone measured but firm.

            Bellick let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You think I’m gonna let thise one slide, Scofield. Fraternising with another inmate…a woman too. This is the highlight of my day. I mean, I always knew you were clever, but this? Getting cozy in the showers? Bold move.” His eyes flickered toward where Y/N was tucked behind Michael, a slimy grin spreading across his face. “Who’d thought?”

            Michael took a step forward, head cocking but Y/N pulled him back. “Michael, its not worth it.”

            “The dog has a owner…getting pulled by your leash, Scofield? Got a master?” Bellick taunted

            Michael’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. “This isn’t what you think.”

            “Oh, sure,” Bellick replied, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Whatever you say, Scofield. But I don’t think the warden’s gonna be too happy about this. Also, do you know her crimes? Have you read her file?” he asked with a smirk, taunting tone. “She would seduce men and then murder them…”

            Michael knew that. Y/N told him. She told him a lot about her life with Sebastian. His protective stance only grew more rigid as Bellick’s smirk widened, the guard clearly enjoying every second of the uncomfortable situation. Y/N’s pulse raced with a mix of frustration and fury, her hands curling into fists at her sides. The way Bellick looked at her, the smugness in his voice – it was enough to make her blood boil.

            “Michael,” she whispered her hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. But she could see the tension rolling off him, feel the heat radiating from his taut muscles as he tried to hold himself back.

            Bellick’s eyes farted from Michael to Y/N, his grin widening as he titled his head mockingly. “Oh, come on now. You think you’re gonna get away with this? Fraternizing in the showers, playing house…it’s almost cute.” His gaze shifted to Y/N, lingering for a second too long. “Maybe if I came in a few minutes later, I’d get to see you naked. That would’ve made my day.”

            Before she could stop herself, a surge of anger took over and Y/N swung her arm toward Bellick. Her vision tunnelled, the only thought in her mind being wipe that digusting grin off his face. But before she could land the punch, Michael’s had shot out, catching her arm in mid-air.

            “Y/N, don’t,” Michael said firmly, pulling her back. His grip was strong, but his touch was gentle as he guided her behind him again. “You’ll be sent away, and I can’t have that.”

            Bellick’s laugh echoed through the showers, low and condescending. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Can’t take a joke?” He stepped closer, leaning in with that same infuriating grin. “I guess privacy is hard to come by in a place like this. But then again, you know that, don’t you? Clearing out the showers…smart.”

            Y/N clenched her jaw, barely containing the anger that bubbled up inside her. “I just want a moment to myself, without you breathing down my neck.”

            Bellick scoffed, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “Then don’t commit crimes, honey. This is prison. Privacy doesn’t exist here. Especially for people like you.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. People like you. He knew exactly what he was doing—picking at the scabs of her past, bringing up the things she wanted to forget, the things she was trying to survive. Her fists clenched tighter, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to swallow the bitterness rising in her throat.

Michael’s body remained tense, his gaze unwavering as he glared at Bellick. “You’ve had your fun. Now get out.”

Bellick chuckled again, taking a step back but not without a parting shot. “You two lovebirds should remember where you are. This ain’t some romantic getaway. It’s a cage. And I’ll be watching. Always.”

With that, he turned and swaggered out of the showers, leaving Y/N and Michael in the echo of his mocking laughter.

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her heart still pounding in her chest. She leaned her forehead against Michael’s shoulder, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body as he wrapped an arm around her.

“I hate him,” she muttered.

“I know,” Michael replied softly, running a hand through her hair. “But he’s not worth it. We can’t afford to draw any more attention.”

Y/N nodded, closing her eyes as she let herself be comforted by his presence, even if the weight of the prison walls never truly left her.

-

I hope you enjoyed! I had so much fun writing this.

Let me know your thoughts, opinions and comments! :)

Lots of love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars @wonuskie @believeinthefireflies95 @esposadomd @peachmartini

[worokapi]

after god observations

so I've read After God 6 months ago but recently in October it just absolutely out of nowhere FULLY seized my hyperfixation to a level so intense I'm genuinely so startled. I haven't felt this normal about a piece of media in YEARS holy moly.

the English fandom is so miniscule so hella I was SO happy to find there's an After God tumblr corner. anyway first post, hello anyone who stumbles across these ramblings... warning this gets kinda rambly but it's just me being gushy about the series.

abt me I don't actually frequent tumblr that much, I'm kinda new in terms of experience, although I just have some social anxiety over talking about things I like publicly so I hope this sideblog gives me a little bit of strength talking to the void. I need a place where I can go INSANE over this series anyway WAHOO!! maybe will also post fanart in the future also, maybe!

there seems to be a much larger fanbase in Japan (mangaplus/urasunday where the original Japanese is posted gets hundreds of comments as opposed to English's official publisher on comikey. albeit I don't think comikey's the best at making it accessible either). Mangaplus/urasunday do post the latest 1-2 After God chapters for free on the website btw for folks who like to read ahead. Unfortunately anything before the latest 2 chapters is region-locked to the app and I don't really want to bother trying to figure out how to get it but that's what I'm mostly aware of.

I've seen some mixed reviews in the English side, though there's only a handful really out there, but most times I feel people are missing the point!!!! AHHHHHH!!!

when I first read the series 6 months ago, I didn't think of it that much except it shared some similar ideas to my own existing original work I thought would be cool to draw some inspiration off of. I'm honestly not really sure what happened in october, but I think it started because I gave it a second reread. And SO MUCH suddenly clicked. I didn't skim the dialogue as much and began to reexamine scenes and panels with the foresight of the later chapter events. And I fell absolutely in love. preordered and got the first volume in english on release date yippee!!

the first volume or chapters 1-8 is admittedly pretty much an exposition dump, but I think that rough start is kinda to be expected for most series trying to get a reader hooked into a new world. chapters 9-20 are really where things start kicking. It leads you to think Kamikura Waka is shounen-type protagonist like one chosen hero vs the big threat, but then breaks down into a more raw, mature look at the complicated lives of normal people who're just trying to survive, find their own happiness, and fight threats they only somewhat comprehend.

are IPOs really that different from humans? But not in the sense "humans are worse and gods are better" or "humans are better and gods are worse", but in the sense that "we're all equally messy in the same way, just trying to exist because that's all we know what we want to do."

I feel it's a story that needs to be read with the attempt to understand the characters as people with layers of contradiction and their relationships with one another. That's where so much of the meat and the weight of After God comes from for me, and many of these "this was disappointing" reviews don't really seem to even notice that part at all or tend to be confused why the characters act the way they do.

/// spoilers ahead!! talking about some of my observations and thoughts

I can't really remember where it was if there was a more explicitly stated spot that Ahu'az takes the form of what people see as most beautiful (at this point I'm wondering if I'm hallucinating this up oh god). Closest thing with the implication this is the case is in Chapter 34 when Yako/Furuya asks "what form did the God Ahu'az take for you?"

if this is the case though and it changes from person to person's perspective... then oh all the more tragic when Shion went to see Ahu'az and saw Waka/Alu'la as her most beautiful person.... DOOMED YURI, FUCK

--

obikawa saying "wow it's cooler here than I expected" back in chapter 9 really gets a new perspective when you apply the later reveal how IPOs are basically born

--

silly thing to wonder about, did the florescent banana tee Obikawa gave Tokinaga somehow become the saving grace that stopped him from getting eaten lol?

he is such a loser (affectionate) though like TOKINAGA YOU'RE LITERALLY 10 STEPS AWAY FROM YOUR HOUSE YOU CAN GET CHANGED!!

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Tokinaga talks about being afraid of bathtubs chapter 17, and then on a reread I noticed he is standing in front of a bathtub in chapter 3. what kind of hell happened to you my guy omfg

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I know that damn Default CSP Rubble Asset when I see it!!!!

pattern recognition throws me out of the loop a lot I work on comics in CSP as well and now I don't read webcomics the same way anymore oops. right off here I think it's pretty safe to determine After God was drawn in CSP; assets can't really be converted to other programs.

more CSP assets I recognized:

this hatching brush for the outline of Tokinaga here is ベ��線新 from this set

Nayuu's tree branches are from this set

and I'm pretty sure the water here is from this blood set, which might appear elsewhere a few times (i see these shapes in my dreams. this blood set haunts me so bad)

to be clear this isn't a critique or "using assets is bad" at all. normal readers are not going to notice these things. (in which i'm not normal i study Eno's art so intensely because i admire it so much). when making comics or other repetitively drawn works, artists will take shortcuts and should absolutely take shortcuts. it's just neat to share what tools were used for those curious!

off topic on the topic of csp if anyone would like the link, she's shared the brush she made for drawing Vollof here too!

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I can't freaking imagine how it feels to have your beloved friend melt away on your lap between your fingers like that unholy

if you squint much, you can make out both Yoriko and Tokinaga overlaid in the speech bubble, though I'm not sure what the next one really says

but ahfjhfgifgh!!! the book being animal anatomy is such a stab in the leg cherry on top

(and it's probably an art error but tokinaga's pinky is back/weirdly has a solid shape there instead of it being flabby glove. wani asks how did tokinaga get there before he and yoriko so silly weird theory its tokinaga from a different time iterative loop? wonky. probably still an art error though)

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so how did Alu'la get "reincarnated" within a human? How does an IPO get reincarnated at all? We've seen orokapi needed to eat a human to become a specific human. Alu'la definitely didn't eat a human.

We hear from Orokapi he drank seawater mixed with sewage and gained the intelligence that way. Closest I could think of are the microbiota that make up an IPO and their abilities. Maybe Waka's parents or Waka drank shit water of the sort and got the microbiota inside her that way or idfk

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Thanks Tokinaga for the "uses chopsticks to eat everything" rep 🔥🔥

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i'll leave you on that this is getting too long AHHAAHAJF thanks for reading, hope you got something cool out of this post! :]

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/24/2024

you might be wondering “is my dear friend tumblr user girlfriendsofthegalaxy still unemployed?” the answer is yes. take this cat off my hands please i don’t think he’s causing the unemployment but he certainly isn’t helping

listening

via Wendy @dying-suffering-french-stalkers, Huoy Meas' ប្រគល់ក្ដីស្នេហ៍មកខ្ញុំវិញ. figuring out what this incredibly zippy Cambodian rock song is named and what it's about was really difficult bc spotify is a bane upon this earth and won't let you fucking copy-paste and OCR was not working on the Khmer script. i ended up listening to the first couple seconds of each of her songs on apple music, and finally figured out this roughly translates to Give Me Back My Love and is about begging a fuckboy for closure.

via the spotify discover weekly, Night Club's Pretty Girls Do Ugly Things. all Night Club's songs sound the same so if you like one, great news! i had this song on for a full gregorian hour bc, i am only a tiny bit ashamed to say, i was storyboarding a The Man With No Name fancam to this. i think it would go pretty hard.

Smoke you like a cigarette Choke you like a lariat Fatalistic tourniquet Do you want more?

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reading

thank you mackintosh.

i did not Adore any of these comics from the library. i sort of enjoyed Night of the Ghoul, a one-volume TPB by Scott Snyder and Francesco Francavilla. i think ive blogged about this before but every once in a while i'll get a bee in my bonnet to read some horror comics even though i am a giant baby about horror movies.

Night of the Ghoul is about how you can't save your dad from PTSD but also about a lost horror film and also about the extremely dad behavior of tracking down every scrap of info about an auteur. there's also a monster.

the subtle art changes from present day to the remains of the film to the non-film flashbacks are well done, imo. the cover screams mignola but the inside pages are really fun pulp nonsense. i love a piece of genre writing that rolls around and delights in being a piece of genre writing.

im doing my level best not to get sucked into tiktok but i DO love watching this lady revive antique nail polish and look for dupes for shades from like the 20s. she found an almost exact dupe for a shade produced during wwii which is crazy insane to me!!!

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watching

The Asphalt Jungle (1950, dir. Huston), it's a very painterly heist noir. i even like Sterling Hayden in one of the more prominent roles, even though i think he generally has the appeal of undercooked dough.

much like Fritz Lang's M, it presents the criminal element of the city as its own class with its own reputation and reference systems. it got in some trouble with the censors for having a VERY clearly laid out heist plan and execution. it's also got the babiest Marilyn Monroe in one of her earliest roles

this was such a gloriously messy movie. everyone is such a fucking mess. this woman only known as Doll is heartbreakingly, head over heels in love with Sterling Hayden's character. she's a little flighty and bumbling and silly, but determined! they're constantly orbiting the gravitational weight of her desire for this man and desire for a real life with this man. and that's just one subplot! she has maybe five minutes total screentime! she should have gotten a supporting actress oscar!!! everyone acted their fucking hearts out and it was so much fun to watch!

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playing

monument valley is in the netflix games library this month (i don't actually know what their liscencing agreements would even look like, they and the studios they worked with were very tightlipped about that when they were rolling this out three years ago) but i assume it's going to be on the service for a while. i have never played this game, which makes me feel a little bit like a bad gamer. you can tell it's ten years old from some of the color and texture choices, but WOW did literally everyone take inspiration from this game.

this is the platonic ideal of a phone game. i get why everyone went insane about it and there was a brief boom of geometry-based puzzle mobile games. it is MUCH much harder now to get people to pay money to play a game that has a planned endpoint and planned number of levels, so netflix is a good home for it.

i was often frustrated but always delighted. the level below involves making something happening that made me genuinely gasp out loud in glee. well worth the annoyance of downloading the netflix app and scrolling through the poorly labeled and poorly sorted carousel of games.

great retrospective, a bit about how you need to have tiny teams go off and just kind of fuck around and bring weird stuff back, and a lot about how they actually designed the levels

The end result had a pixel-perfect axonometric aesthetic that not only went hard on its references to Dutch master artist and printmaker Maurits Cornelis Escher, but also dug deep into classic video game design, going right back to early arcade machines and 8-bit titles. Each of the ten levels is like a piece of fine furniture, built with invisible dovetail joints and inlaid with marquetry, stuffed with secret compartments and little design flourishes. Gray cites the world of theatre and stage design, as well as graphics, as important keystones in the way the levels were constructed. ‘Ken would always talk about flower arranging, and how you frame a silhouette of a level on the screen,’ he says.

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making

update on the Phantom Menace fabric: pinked the raw edges and threw it in the laundry again with a very large quantity of vinegar. 50% poly was too high for it to really do anything, which is interesting. it didn’t lessen the seam edge effects either, which is a little annoying bc the seams were so gigantic and that’s a good chunk of fabric to lose. i am going to buy a camp shirt pattern at some point when i have money again but for now it goes in The Box

also! thrifted a pack of o-rings for jars for a dollar and finally put my grains etc in my pretty jars. they’re going to live in the pantry but today they live out on the countertop

[aroacedm]

here’s 12 pictures of my art! context after each and my references at the end

tgcf spoilers!

12th

redrawing of the official art from tgcf volume 4! shi qingxuan is my favourite character and he xuan is a close second

this took me a while until i liked it but i wanted to recreate how the original created the ominous feeling and had so much detail and contrast while being in greyscale

11th

from the tgcf manhua, fengqing! i think their my favourite ship, and i hadn’t drawn them before so i tried to give it a go. not a big fan of the proportions but i think it turned out ok.

10th

@oceantherat (this is their favourite character from rain code) showed me the reference picture and i decided to try drawing it as perspective practice. it ended up a little bigger than i though so i couldn’t fit the whole reference, and the mask doesn’t feel rounded, but overall i like it

9th

same guy again! i wanted to try drawing him again but i think the shadows got a bit messed up. my cheap pens smudged a bit but overall i like it

8th

also from the tgcf manhua, this was from a meme that’s become an bit with me and ocean, just felt like drawing something and saw this in my photos

7th

after a dnd session with ocean and some other friends, i drew a scene from ocean’s character’s (also called ocean because that’s not their irl name) flashback! this guy killed her family! he’s one of her relatives! but i really wanted to focus on how dark the scene was, with almost everything being pitch black. i wanted to recreate the scene that left my players going D:

6th

here’s a younger ocean and her cousin that’s more like a brother! i hope nothing bad happens to him… i wanted to draw a picture that helped me as a reference for the backstory, to help build the character relationships and motivations

5th

it’s another character from that dnd campaign when they were younger with their brother figure! except this one is an NPC helping them out! i wanted to try and make the effect of torn paper but didn’t want to risk anything, so i left a bit of uncoloured paper to imitate a layer of partially torn paper. this was also to help when i was writing backstories

4th

this is the npc from the last picture in present time, i wanted to make canon designs for all the characters to help me visualise everything. i hid a few lore elements in this but because ocean is going to see this i can’t explain

3rd

i tried to redraw a picture of me and a friend on a ride together but in a more simple style (no eyes and mouth, ect) i haven’t shown the friend yet but i will soon. i’m the person looking at the camera. i really loved the photo and wanted to try drawing it

2nd

i drew this a while ago, but i still really like it. i used my own hand as reference (for some reason i used the hand i was drawing with) i’ve always been fairly good at drawing hands and when i sent this on an art group chat i’m in, i was quickly accused of being a witch. i can only draw to a level i like when i have a reference, and i always have my hands so it’s the thing i’ve drawn the most. i didn’t have the colour for my hands, but i think it turned out good

and finally,

i’m really proud of this one, i was sick and really bored when i drew it. this is from tgcf vol 6, but i’ve always been really impressed by the tgcf official art and how they look hand drawn but also digital. (you can see brush strokes but they look too perfect). i didn’t have all the different shades of grey, but i think i did well.

thanks for looking at all my art, here are the references i used and where they’re from

i don’t have the reference for number 9 but i’ll reblog with it when i find it

also i plan on showing more of my art but i need to find the original authors of the references