#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

[sumeragi-hokuto]

Set 4 of chapter 3, volume 4 of the Tokyo Babylon manga. 9th chapter overall.

Cleaning/typesetting done by me, official Dark Horse translation used.

Select/open the images to view in higher quality.

Previous, Next

[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.”

[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".

[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.

[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?

-

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!!!

-

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!

-

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.

-

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

[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:

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[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: Things are out of whack. So I'm writing ☺(smol-ey = smol smiley). This song has been on 100% repeat for the last several hours of my life and heavily inspired what is below. This is only Part I and I don't know how many there will be. But I've taken quite a few notes on it. I would just say be ready for more.

SFW ::: C/W ::: A-n-g-s-t & language. (aged up) ProHero!Katsuki x F!reader, things didn't turn out like either of them thought and they're doing their best to move on. But can they? Do they really even want to?

WC ::: Just under 700

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

He called you at 8:04 that morning. And while you didn't answer, you did do him the courtesy of listening to his voicemail.

Katsuki's voice was gruff and rough around all of the edges. He didn't like that you probably looked at the phone when it began to ring and you either flipped it over or pushed the volume button to silence the ringtone that you two had so sweetly picked out together when you first got together 3 1/2 years ago.

The sound took you back to that time when everything was new and fun and so simple that you thought it would be like that forever. But you were harshly reminded that if things don't change, they will most likely die. It would take a miracle to figure out where, along the way, did you both change so much that you couldn't live together anymore.

"Oi, I know you're sitting there looking at your phone, listening to that fuckin' stupid little song we picked out on our 11th date. Yeah, course I remember. Anyway, uh, whatever. I mean, you needa come by and get the rest of your stuff outta here. I -” You heard a muffled sound as he tucked the phone away and yelled at someone. “- hold the fuck on, can you not see that I'm on the fuckin' phone? Jesus. Uh, um, oh. Get the rest of your shi- uh, stuff today. P-please. I'm off today and won't be home between 9 this morning to about 6 or 7 tomorrow morning. That should give you more than enough time to get everything. Ok? O-ok. Leave your ... key, too, I s'pose. Well, that's it. I lo- fuck! Bye, y/n."

The tears welled up in your eyes like they had everyday this week. As soon as you opened them to take in the empty space around you, in your bed, your bleak little apartment was a fucking joke compared to the place you two once lived together. And while you're the one who, for all intents and purposes, asked for this, you couldn't lie to yourself any longer: You did not want to be without him.

You did not want to be away from the man you loved with every cell of your stupid body. Every breath. Every heartbeat was the beating of a drum sounding out his praise. Every smile and every flutter of your eyelashes was because of him. God, you miss him.

But to just leave it at this? To let go completely? That would be an admission that it's how things will be from here on out. And you're just not ready for that to be your final answer.

Texting him back, in response to his call, you said as little as you could, still getting the point across. "Yeah, thanks for the heads-up. I'll take care of everything and leave my key on the kitchen counter by the coffee maker." You choked back a sob as you thought about all the times he set up the coffee the night before and climbed into bed with you. Wrapping his arms around you. Snuggling his face into your neck and telling you that he made it extra strong, just how you like it. And that he picked up your favorite creamer flavor - it was 2 for $7, so obviously he got you 2 of them because it would be fuckin' stupid not to. 

It hurts to breathe. It hurts to walk. It hurts to be awake. You have all day and all night to get over there and clear out whatever is left of your lives together. To leave the one thing behind that could get you to him at any moment in time. 

So, you threw on a pair of his old sweats, an old favorite shirt of his, and a hoodie with his Pro Hero name on it. Fixed your face. Put your hair back. Grabbed your purse and headed to your favorite coffee place to get something to appease this godforsaken headache you had brewing in the core of your brain and drove to his place.

You drove home. 

Taglist ::: @darkstarlight82 @millennialmagicalgirl @arlerts-angel

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 26

Hello, and we have got to the end of the massive arc that culminated the last four chapters.

I also wrote this part before 24 and 25 because I couldn't figure out how to write Eddie having a hard time on tour, but the aftermath flowed from my fingers.

Also as a reminder this story is finished, I'm just posting on a regular schedule. This story is the longest fanfic I've ever written. Topping out at 58165 it's definitely longer than 50K fic I wrote for NaNoWriMo last year (Sandman, never finished or published.)

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24 Pt 25

****

“You’ve been sitting on that sofa for an entire week,” Wayne growled. “Steve has called three times, your bandmates at least a dozen times each. Hell, boy Miranda has been calling concerned. So want to tell me what’s fucking got you so twisted?”

“I was given a choice out there on the road,” Eddie said, twisting his rings around his fingers. “Stay in Indy and play small time gigs for the rest of my adult life or go to LA and get an album and the chance at super stardom.”

Wayne sat down next him. “Sounds like a big decision to make.”

Eddie leapt to his feet. “That’s the problem. That’s what makes me so angry how fucking easy the choice is.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate again, boy. Start talking.”

Eddie started pacing back and forth. “As much as I loved playing for so many people, I didn’t like that I could only connect with a handful of them and not even the good kind.” He rubbed his chin angrily. “I didn’t like how tired we all were. It was set up, sound check, play, break down and move on to the next fucking town. And that wasn’t including all the parties, interviews, and all that other shit.”

“That does sound exhausting, Ed.”

“I didn’t like how easy it was for them to tell me to drop Gareth as drummer just because he had trouble adjusting to the increased volume. The price of fame they said. Like it was so simple to throw away almost two decades of friendship for the sake of adoring crowds and hearing our music on the radio.”

“Oh, darlin’,” Wayne said softly. “They didn’t...”

“Oh they absolutely did,” Eddie raged. “I didn’t like how they thought that because me and Steve’s relationship was new that I would be able to find someone better. Someone who liked metal, someone who would be down for the ride.”

Wayne furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t sound like good advice.”

Eddie grabbed his hair pulled at it frustration. “The last straw was when they offered to let their tattooist to finish my back tattoo, because while my artist was good, theirs was better.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face Wayne. “I picked Steve to do my tattoo on my back because he was the only one I trusted to make it meaningful. To understand the symbolism of making something of yourself when everyone is rooting against you. I made the decision before I fell in love with him and now that we’re a couple– and for them to just dismiss him like that? It made me so angry.”

“So what’s the problem? What’s got you so twisted around the bend?”

Eddie took a deep breath and let it out slow. “I’m fucking furious because I always thought that when fame and fortune came knocking I would throw open that door and march right through it. But now? Given the choice? I’m slamming the door in its face and walking away.”

Hot tears ran down his face. “And I don’t know why.”

He dropped to his knees and began to sob.

Wayne stood up and put his arms around his nephew’s shoulders, gently pulling him to his chest.

“Did that band you were traveling with say that?” he whispered into Eddie’s curls. “Because if they did, I swear to god I will burn every record and CD you have of theirs. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll delete them off your phone too.”

Eddie chuckled weakly. “No, no. They were kind. It was everyone else we met. Agents, managers, roadies, groupies, the people around Metallica every day.”

Wayne nodded.

“I was just constantly bombarded with hateful messages and the constant running at one hundred percent...” he whimpered. “I don’t want to do it.”

“Have you told your band that?” Wayne asked.

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t dare to. I was the one that was gung ho about the touring and everything. How do I tell them I don’t want to leave the comfort of Indianapolis and home?”

“Kinda like that,” Jeff said from the doorway. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the frame. Peaking around him was Miranda with a concerned look on her face.

Eddie scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m sorry I’ve been a brat.”

Jeff took three giant steps forward and hugged him fiercely. “You’re not being a brat. You’re scared and trying to figure it all out on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? We’ve all been worried sick about you. But Steve especially. I’ll call all the boys down for a chat and you call Steve, okay?”

Eddie nodded.

He dialed the number he knew by heart.

“Baby?” he asked, unsure of the reaction he was going to get. He deserved to be yelled at. Cursed at. Broken up with. He’d hurt Steve the most with this little temper tantrum he’d been having.

“Eds?” Steve breathed. “Sunshine, are you okay? Wayne said you hadn’t been eating well or sleeping much. Say the word and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

Eddie’s lip began to quiver and tears spilled out of his eyes. “I need you. More than anything.”

“I’m on my way,” Steve said fiercely.

Eddie looked over at Jeff.

“Tell Steve Brian will swing by and pick him up.”

Eddie nodded and relayed the message back to Steve.

“I’ll be at my apartment,” Steve said. “I’ll have Robin arrange my schedule, don’t you worry about thing, baby.”

“Mm’k.”

“I love you, Eds.”

Eddie closed his eyes and breathed in the warmth of that simple phrase. “Love you, too, pretty boy. Come quick.”

“I promise.”

*

Steve piled into Brian’s car. It was the newest, having bought it right before they got picked up by Metallica. He had finally saved up enough money to replace his beater.

Gareth and Gethin in the backseat. Gethin had come up to Indy to watch his twin’s apartment while he was gone and just ended up staying. He was currently looking for a job so that he could move in with Gareth full time.

At least that what they said on the trip down. The twins and Brian were intent on filling the air with talk and Steve let them. He let them fill him in on the tour and everything that had been going on since they’d left.

Steve couldn’t be for certain, but it sounded like that touring hadn’t been fun for anyone. Even after a week of rest, he could still make out the circles under their eyes and how hunched over they were with just sheer exhaustion.

A feeling Steve felt all too well.

Gethin was pressed against his twin’s side and was rubbing his neck soothingly.

Steve looked at Brian.

His face was set, hard and unflinching. He was going to make the drive to Hawkins as fast as he could and still avoid the cops.

Steve was grateful Brian was driving because he didn’t think he would have made the distinction to avoid breaking the law. He would have gunned it and flipped off any cop that tried to catch him.

After awhile, Steve was getting the oddest feeling that Brian was used to speeding down this stretch of highway because there were points where he would slow down for a few miles and then speed right back up.

Soon enough they were pulling up to Wayne’s trailer and piling out the car.

*

Eddie sat on the sofa with Jeff and Miranda on either side of him, just hugging him.

Wayne was busying himself in the kitchen, getting ready to feed the hoard that was about to descend on his home.

The door opened up and Brian, Gareth, and Gethin all stumbled through the entryway. Eddie was on his feet in an instant, Jeff and Miranda not far behind.

And then the trio at the door parted and there stood Steve. Looking just as tired and worn as Eddie felt.

“Stevie?” Eddie asked, taking a step toward him uncertainly.

Steve threw open his arms and Eddie ran straight into them. They wrapped their arms around each other and just sobbed.

“I’m here, Eds,” Steve murmured into Eddie’s neck. “I’m here. I love you so much.”

Eddie lifted his head and kissed him hard. “I love you, too. I regret leaving you behind, sweetheart. It nearly killed me. Every song I wrote was about you. About missing you. I don’t even want to leave you ever again, I can’t.”

The silence that followed that statement was deafening.

Steve led Eddie back over to couch and sat them both down. “Tell us everything, babe.”

And so Eddie did. He told them everything. Everything he had told Wayne, everything that had been weighing on his mind since they started touring. It all just came out in a flood.

They all listened patiently.

“Why didn’t you tell us you felt like that while we were on the road?” Gareth asked. “I knew what they were saying about me, but I also knew you guys wouldn’t drop me. If you had me about that I would have been able to reassure you that I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Eddie flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t know how to bring it up, it was so vile, man.”

Jeff gave his hand a squeeze. “Well, I think that you did a bang up job telling us now and that’s what really matters.”

“Someone offered to ship me out to LA and record an album,” Eddie finally admitted. “Not the band, just me. I told him that I wouldn’t go without you guys and he laughed in my face. Told me to cut the dead weight and be a star.” He dragged his hands over his face.

“But there were other offers. Good ones. Ones that included the band, well most of it, anyway. Always under the proviso that Gareth be replaced either on tour or all together. They didn’t want to make any accommodations for him even though there is a drummer with one god damn arm!”

“So the options are,” Brian said, “stay in Indy doing what we’ve been doing, only better because of the money we got for doing this tour. Go to LA without Gareth. Go to LA with Gareth but only as a studio musician and take some person we don’t know on tour with us. Does that sound about right?”

Just then Gareth’s phone went off. He looked at it with a frown. It wasn’t a number recognized so he let it go to voicemail. He pulled it up after the notification popped up.

He listened to message with wide eyes. “Hey guys, I think we have another option.” And he played the message so everyone could hear.

“Hey, Mr Hughes,” the tinny voice said through the speaker. “This is Murray Bauman, I’m music producer, we spoke in Las Vegas. I think I have the perfect deal for you boys. You were telling me that touring was really hard on you and that if there was an option you wouldn’t do that. I know you weren’t speaking for all your band, but I could tell that they would do anything for you, all four of you being such good friends.

“So the reason for this call is that I own a small music company in Bloomington and boy do I have a deal for you all. You would make a record through us, we would sell and distribute the record, keeping a portion of the sales, of course. But you wouldn’t have to tour. You have a steady gig as I understand it. If your fans want to see you play, they’ll know where to find you.

“But give me a call, we’ll hash out the details. My phone number is 555-555-2080...” and then message beeped, signaling the end of the voicemail.

Eddie looked down at the phone and then back up at Gareth. “Oh.”

Gareth grinned. “We don’t even have to take his offer, but I vote we listen to it. Brian can bring Cecil.”

Brian nodded. “He’s only got a semester left of law school, but I’ll have him brush up on his contract law to be on the safe side.”

Jeff raised his hand. “All in favor of hearing Mr Bauman out raise your hand?”

Eddie, Brian, and Gareth’s hands shot up.

“Sounds good,” Jeff said. “You call him back and set it up and if it doesn’t work out we can vote again.”

Brian shook his head. “Nah. I think if it doesn’t work, we stick to Nightmare Holes. We took a swing at it and if it’s a miss then we tried. I thought I wanted the touring and everything that came with stardom, but like Eddie I learned I wanted the romanticized version of it. I’ll be happy playing in front of our friends for the rest of our lives.”

The rest of the band nodded.

Soon everyone getting up to go back to Indy, but Steve stayed behind, he would go back up with Eddie in the morning. They had things to discuss that went deeper then the band.

****

Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

I told you I would fix it.

Also a little BTS, the reason in my head for why things went wrong on tour but immediately righted itself when Eddie and Steve met up again? Steve still has Eddie's lucky pick. ;)

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[easy-revenge]

its been over 2 years since i read volume 9 of chainsaw man and it still apparently has the power to make me sob uncontrollably when i think about it so im going to talk a bit about aki and denji being shown as children during the snowball fight and why it's currently making me wanna rip my hair out :)

aki is already gone during this scene for all intents and purposes, having very little comprehension of the events his body is in and just waiting to be set free. his mind reverting back to the moment he lost his family is not surprising, since that's when his life permanently changed trajectory.

he's not to blame for being stuck in this moment, as it would make sense for any kid his age. however, he didn't put himself on the path towards revenge, which inevitably made him unable to let go. that was makima. she took him by the hand and gave him this "purpose", something she very well knew he was never going to achieve anyway. she trapped him in this predicament and made sure he stayed there till there were no options left for him.

to the very end, aki's life was never his own, but planned for him. aki never left that snowy forest. he wasn't allowed to.

as a result, the essence of aki that remained within the gun fiend after his death materialized as the last genuine version of aki that ever was. a kid playing in front of his house.

moving over to denji, who is the one that got me crying today. his appearance as a child in aki's mind is partly to parallel the bond they shared and the bond between aki and his little brother, whom he lost that day. of course. however i think there's a lot of significance to this choice for denji's character as well.

denji grew up remote and very disconnected from society. he never got the chance to learn how to navigate his feelings and relationships with other people. he had to figure it all out as he went, first with pochita, whom he got attached to and later with aki and power. even with makima.

makima was the first person to ever give him attention and affection, to give him the things he always wanted, but she never treated him like a person. she never helped him get any closer to learning how to be one. he was used, much like aki was, and was given a purpose that was never going to be for his own benefit.

as a result, denji took a while to go through the motions of being surrounded by humans and being taught by them. the first time we saw him face the concept of loss was with pochita, an event that didn't really give him much in terms of experience considering all the implications and how suddenly it changed his life. in its nature, it wasn't a type of loss he would've been able to navigate as a human.

im not going to go into the situation with his father since we saw very explicitly how incapable he was to handle it to the point of blocking it out and having it haunt him till the end of part one. he surely didn't get much data out of that experience either, or the abuse he went through before it.

the first real time he got to see loss occur very close to him was himeno's death. he had no emotional reaction to it, which confused him since he was able to observe its effect on aki and other people around him. he questioned his own humanity for the first time and it upset him, if only momentarily. it gave him a hint of perspective.

sadly, he was going to find out what loss meant the hard way.

with makima still treating him like an animal and the circumstances forcing him to still rely on his instincts, denji's emotional maturity wasn't really prioritized. he did inevitably grow closer to aki and power, without necessarily being able to recognize those feelings for what they were. again he just had to go through the motions.

fast forward to the gun devil arc. he's told by makima on the phone to not think, to just fight aki without thinking about it. we see the progress that's been made in how clearly unable denji is to follow that order, aki being the closest thing to family he's ever had by this point.

he fights his best friend, not even thinking about himself, but of how aki would feel if he were conscious of how much destruction he was causing. still up to this point, denji doesn't know that he loves aki. it hasn't computed to him as a piece of info, only as an experience.

him being shown as a child in the snow, a contrast to the violent reality that his body is in, has as much significance as it does for aki.

denji never really grew up, he never got past his father's death or anything that happened to him before and after that. he was kept from it by his life and makima herself, once again. his ineptitude was weaponized and he was nowhere near being aware of it. he was also stuck.

in that scene, denji experiences real loss. he loses someone he loves and someone who loves him back. someone who thought himself unable to do so but was the first to love him like a human.

he was just a kid, losing his family by his own hand again, only this time he had been loved.

it's highlighted in the next chapter, where he appears unable to grieve and looks kind of numb instead. then we have the ice cream scene, where he thinks the words for the first time and throws up immediately.

his confusion after it happens, him being unable to fathom why his body would have such a reaction, breaks my heart almost more than the entirety of the snowball fight itself, from denji's pov.

im not going to talk about what happens directly after that and its implications bc im gonna end up talking forever, but his behavior throughout the next chapters very much shows how out of his depth he is when it comes to loss and grief and how lost and helpless he is in makima's hands.

my point is, both aki and denji were used, weaponised and kept from growing up while also having to deal with the world and its cruelty at the same time. even the closeness they achieved was planned and used against them both. this is only one of many angles of the snowball fight scene that can be looked at and interpreted in different ways. but it was the one that made me ugly cry today :)

[aliferousonyx]

Damn it… not this again. Why does it always come back to this?

Mabelverse AU

Volume 1: Back in Town

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 ||Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 || Part 11 || Part 12 ( soon )

Hiii, everyone. Yeah, I know, it’s been a while… and only one page, sorry about that. 😅 I recently got a job, and now I don’t have time for anything! I come home so tired that I can’t do much but sleep, eat, and work. These past two weeks have been a blur. Also, I’m kinda hating how the comic looks right now. I’ve been reading Over the Garden Wall comics, and I love the style, so I tried to take some inspiration from there, but honestly… I feel like I suck at it. I haven’t had time to practice drawing, and I’m so frustrated with trying to switch from anatomy to a more cartoony style. Like, how do I make that transition? It just looks like crap right now. 😩

Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m just really tired and frustrated. Updates are probably going to be really slow for a while, and I might even want to redraw some stuff, or just take more time to get it to where I like it. My brain is such a mess sometimes. I love sketchy comic styles, but I also love clean comic styles, and it’s driving me nuts trying to figure out what to do! 😖

But anyway, I promise the story is all figured out plot-wise. You haven’t even seen 0.001% of what I have planned! Just bear with me while I try to get it all out. Thanks for sticking around. 💙

[ultimate-chickennougat]

| Your Salaryman Husband | (Vol 8)

Vol 1 Vol 2 Vol 3 Vol 4 Vol 5 Vol 6 Vol 7 (Not Required) Vol 9

Salaryman!Kento x Housewife!Reader

You see your husband in his glasses for the first time...

Word Count: 1.3k

CW: SFW, domestic fluff, fem!Reader, reader wears a dress, Gojo is mentioned (a lot).

A/n: I haven't posted a new volume in weeks, my sincerest apologies! This one was a bit rushed, but I'll be back with regular installments.

Due to the nature of being a sorcerer, Nanami didn’t have many photos of his time at Jujutsu High. Most of the few that had been taken were stuffed into dusty boxes in storage rooms, that none of his former classmates and colleagues wanted to touch. 

That pattern continued into adulthood. His hatred of his work as a salaryman (a job he eventually came back to), and as a sorcerer, caused him to not appreciate having documentation of those moments. Other than from the unannounced snap of a camera from Gojo, or on a particularly important occasion, his face was rarely captured before he met you.

His stance on the matter didn’t change, but instead there were plenty of memories he wanted to have preserved. In fact he bought a camera just to bring on outings with you, taking pictures of the two of you together and the beautiful scenery of the parks and forests you visited. 

He quickly returned to his former job after meeting you, but during that short period in which he was a sorcerer, he made sure to take pictures of himself whenever he went to any place that was interesting and to let you know that he was safe while he was there.

Without the intent of actively pursuing high grade curses, Nanami made many other lifestyle changes, including retiring his glasses. He still stumbled upon lower ones from time to time, but the absence of his glasses had no effect on exorcising them. At the beginning, he kept them tucked in his pocket just in case he might need them, but eventually they slipped into a box of old memorabilia and got stuffed into the bottom of his closet. 

Despite your rigorous cleaning routine, it was still by chance that you stumbled upon that box. Nanami always kept his closet neat and organized, and there was never anything wrong with it every morning when you picked out his tie for him. Instead it was Nanami who asked you to take some of them out and place them on the table, as Gojo was going to pick up some pictures to show his students.  

You pulled out the white file boxes, all uniform with the labels “Jujutsu High” on them. Each was brought to the living room and placed on the table, waiting for whenever Gojo was going to come by. 

A whole hour passed before you touched the boxes again. In that time you had made some tea and started on dinner, before curling up on the couch to finish your embroidery. But, Gojo hadn’t given a time and was notorious for being late. He was a busy man, after all, so there was no reason not to try and help him out a little. 

Instead of sifting through old boxes, you figured if you could grab the pictures and place them in a neat stack, it would save him some time (and your husband some stress from having Gojo go through his things). 

As you could expect with your husband, the insides of the boxes weren’t dusty at all. Other than a few marks on the sides, probably from moving things around, everything was perfectly in order. Along with that, all the photos were preserved in sleeves inside a book that you easily removed. 

Flipping through the pages, you couldn’t help but let out a giggle at the sight of Nanami’s old birthday photo with his classmates at Jujutsu High. You recognized Ieiri, who was your doctor as per Nanami’s recommendation, and Gojo of course, though the others were unfamiliar to you. 

For you it was also a trip down memory lane, seeing as some of the photos you had only glimpsed at in the past, and you remembered all the stories Nanami had told you about his time as a student and a sorcerer. You placed the book firmly in the middle of the table, about to close the lid as the clock hit 5:30 P.M, when Nanami got home. 

Just a few minutes later he was walking up the steps and into the house, being greeted by you just like every day. To him, it was the perfect way to come home. It had already been a few months since your marriage, and he couldn’t imagine getting bored of it decades away, let alone any time soon. 

Nanami held you in his arms, that were sore and tired from a long day of typing and flipping through papers at the office without much time to stretch. You could hear his heartbeat soften while he relaxed. 

“Welcome home, darling,” you smiled, trying to help him feel at ease. Of course, your presence was more than enough to do just that. “I’m glad to be home,” he mumbled, lowering his shoulders and letting you go freely. “Has Gojo come by yet?” you shook your head, to which he nodded. “Knowing him he’ll show up in the middle of the night,” Nanami groaned, rubbing his forehead. 

“I put the photobook on the table, is that what he wanted?” you asked. “Yes, thank you,” he joined you, where you were flipping through it. “I remember when you told me about this,” you showed him the picture of a birthday cake, baked just for him by Gojo. “I didn’t realized Gojo was the one who made it,” he could see the honest surprise on your face. “Hmm… I must have left that part out…” he frowned, recalling how embarrassing it was at the time, though it was a fond memory. Nanami pulled one of the unopened boxes towards him, taking the lid off as you continued looking through the photos. 

Nanami paused when he saw the glasses. It had been a while, but they were still familiar to him. So much so that he popped them right on, his eyes quickly adjusting to the new shade. “Kento?” you tilted you head at the sight, while he turned to look at you. “Yes, my love?” he pulled them off his face so you could see him properly. “Are those old? I never knew you wore glasses,” you pointed to them in his hand. “They’re for Jujutsu sorcery, to watch curses,” he brought them to his face.

“Ah, I see,” you hummed when he put them back on. “What do you think?” he asked, smirking as he saw you examine him. Your hands started fidgeting with the ribbon of your dress, as you stared right into his eyes though you couldn’t see them. “You look very handsome, darling,” you stated meekly. That was a true statement, but there was still something you felt was off. 

“I can’t see your eyes,” you continued, “Unless you’re really close, that is.” Nanami stepped a bit forward, lightly biting the inside of his lip. “And would you like to, my cute wife?” he asked, fully intending to have you blushing at his words. He bent forward, the lenses hitting the light at an angle so you could see through the dark glass. He was staring just as intently as you. 

Nanami let his hand cup your jaw to keep eye contact, as an unfortunate knock on the door from Gojo came at the wrong time. “What’s a few more minutes, hmm?” he let out a chuckle, ignoring the sound. “Answer my question,” he directed you. “Yes,” you nodded quietly. 

Nanami pulled off the glasses and tucked them back into the box, shutting the lid. “I agree they are quite cumbersome,” he let you go to the door. “You actually told me you liked my eyes on our first date, I would be surprised if you preferred them,” he smiled at you, letting out a sigh as the banging continued. “I enjoy looking at your eyes as well, just please don’t mention it to Gojo.”

[mlmxreader]

Sickness | Kenshi Takahashi x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Could you do prompts 1 and 9 with Kenshi? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Kenshi always worries about you, and although he'll never stop, he'll always be more worried when you're sick.

: ̗̀➛ sickness/illness, horror film mentions

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

It started out relatively small, a few little coughs here and there and a little bit of sluggish movements in the morning, but Kenshi just assumed that it was little more than the time of year.

That was until you stopped sleeping; he would hear you get out of the bed in the middle of the night and groan, coughing loudly as you headed downstairs.

He would hear you continue to cough and sniffle until you eventually returned to bed; he would feel the heat radiating off of your body despite the fact that you only ever wore boxers and socks to bed.

You were feverish, your temperature was through the roof. He was naturally worried. If there was one constant about your relationship with Kenshi, it was his constant and consistent worry.

His need to protect you from everything.

He did text Kung Lao about it, asking if Madam Bo had any recipes that he could use to help ease your sickly and ill demeanour.

You did seem mostly yourself, though, and as per usual, you snuggled up with him on the sofa during the dwindling hours of the evening; Kenshi didn't mind, if he got sick he trusted that you would look after him the way he was trying to do for you.

You put on one of your favourite films, watching it in silence as Kenshi slowly felt himself drop off to sleep; he could hear the screams and the squelches from the television, but took no notice.

He got used to the sounds of graphic and grim horror films a long time ago, if he was honest. He never took much of an interest, but you enjoyed them, so he didn't see any point in protesting.

He was sure that you never took any notice of or any interest in the rugby, but you never protested when he listened to the game on the radio.

But when you paused the film, getting up, Kenshi knew that something was wrong, and he frowned as he placed his hand on your forehead.

You were soaked in sweat, and boiling.

"Something about this doesn't feel right," he hummed, shaking his head. "Are you feeling alright?"

You swallowed thickly, leaning into him as you coughed softly. "Just tired... I figured I'd turn the telly off and sleep for a bit..."

That wasn't like you at all. Kenshi knew that, even though you tried to hide it from him, you would stay up all night to watch your films if they were on; he still remembered when he woke up to the noises of 'Train to Busan' at five in the morning because you forgot to turn the volume down.

He still remembered when you and Johnny sat down in the living room and watched all three Human Centipede films in one sitting, completely ignoring Kenshi for hours. You loved those films. It wasn't like you to ever turn them off.

"You're really not feeling well," he hummed softly, shaking his head. "Are you?"

You huffed, patting his chest gently as you shook your head. "I'm alright, I'll live."

"First thing in the morning," Kenshi started, "we're going to the shop, picking up everything on the list Kung Lao gave me, and we're getting you better."

"Kenshi-"

"You never turn off your films," he pointed out, maybe a little more forcefully and harshly than he meant to. "Something's wrong."

You wanted to smile, knowing that he knew you so well, better than anyone else in the world except maybe Johnny.

But that was only because you and Johnny had worked together since the start of his acting career, and you were content with being his agent-slash-best-friend.

You cleared your throat, grumbling as you snuggled up against him and sighed. You did feel like shit, but you didn't want him to worry even though you knew he always would. Kenshi would never stop worrying about you.

"Just relax," you told him gently. "I'll be fine. It's just a bit of a flu. Nothing too bad."

He huffed, not quite wanting to accept your answer but knowing that you could be stubborn when you really wanted to. He moved so that he could feel your head against his chest, your body pressed against his as he held you on top of him, swallowing thickly as he shook his head.

"Get some sleep," he told you, hoping you wouldn't hear the worry in his voice. "When you wake up, I'll make you something to eat."

You nodded against him, sighing heavily. "You always look after me the best, y'know."