#is this what my life will be.. driven to insanity by the simple beat of a song?

[jeongyeon]

who has heard shooting star by xg.. please tell me what song it reminds u of im going crazy 

[lkgmediaproductions]

Redemption Over Obsession (A Helluva Boss Fan Fiction)

"You're the one who's going to save me, baby," Blitzø cooed into the microphone, his eyes gleaming with hope and desperation. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the flickering candles on the floor. The shadows danced across his face, painting him as both the hero and the villain of his own tragic love story.

Stolas looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at the sudden outburst. "Could you keep it down?" he murmured, not looking away from the page. "Some of us are trying to read here."

Ignoring the sarcasm, Blitzø took a deep breath, his chest swelling with determination. "You're mine, Stolas," he declared, voice echoing through the room. "And I'll do whatever it takes to get you back."

The air grew thick with tension as Blitzø's obsession took a darker turn. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the book in Stolas's hand, which had become a symbol of their fractured relationship. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his tone shifting from desperate to menacing.

Stolas sighed, closing the book with a thud. He'd heard this before—the same old lines, the same old promises. But this time, something in Blitzø's voice sent a shiver down his spine. He placed the book on the nightstand and turned to face him, his eyes cold and calculating. "What's your plan, Blitz?"

Blitzø expresses his obsession with Stolas after the post-breakup, speaking into a microphone in a dramatically lit room. Stolas, reading, is unimpressed by the display. Blitzø insists on their connection and hints at extreme measures, causing Stolas to feel a new level of unease.

Blitzø stepped closer, a wild grin spreading across his features. "Oh, it's simple," he said, his eyes gleaming with a madness that had been brewing for weeks. "We're going to run away together. Just you, me, and our little baby."

Stolas's heart skipped a beat. "Baby?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you talking about?"

Blitzø leaned in, his breath hot on Stolas's neck. "Our love child," he murmured, his hand stroking Stolas's stomach. "The perfect little demon that will seal our bond forever."

Stolas's eyes widened in horror. "That's insane," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm not having a baby with you."

Blitzø's smile grew even more manic. "Oh, but you will," he whispered, his hand sliding to Stolas's wrist, his grip tightening like a vice. "You'll love it. You'll love me again."

Stolas tried to pull away, his eyes searching for an escape route. But the room seemed to close in around him, the shadows whispering his fears back to him. "Let go of me," he demanded, his voice firm despite the panic rising in his chest.

"Or what?" Blitzø challenged, his grip tightening. "You'll leave me again? For him?" His gaze flickered to the picture frame on the dresser—a snapshot of Stolas with his new boyfriend, the one who had so easily filled the void Blitzø had left behind.

Blitzø reveals his plan to kidnap Stolas and have a child together, believing it will mend their relationship. Stolas is horrified, rejecting the idea and demanding Blitzø to release him, but the latter's grip tightens, driven by madness and anger towards Stolas's new partner.

Stolas's eyes narrowed, his resolve hardening. "I won't be forced into anything," he stated, jerking his hand free. He stepped back, creating a space between them that felt as vast as the abyss. "You're not thinking straight."

"Thinking straight?" Blitzø echoed, his laughter sharp and brittle. "I've never been more clear-headed in my life. This is what we need to fix us, Stolas. A family."

Stolas backed away, his wings fluttering anxiously. "That's not how this works," he said, his voice rising. "You can't just decide for us both."

Blitzø's smile fell, and in its place grew a cold, determined look. "I've seen the way you look at him," he spat, pointing at the picture. "The way you laugh with him, the way you touch him. It's like you've forgotten what we had."

Stolas's eyes never left the photo, his heart aching at the sight of the happiness he had once shared with Blitzø. But he knew it was gone, shattered beyond repair. "I've moved on," he said softly, meeting Blitzø's gaze. "You need to do the same."

The room fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the candles. Blitzø's eyes searched Stolas's, looking for any hint of love or longing, but all he found was resolve. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and his expression crumpled. "You don't love me anymore," he murmured, his voice cracking.

Stolas took a deep breath, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored the one in his heart. "I care for you, Blitz," he said gently. "But what we had... it's not there anymore."

Stolas rejects Blitzø's plan, asserts his autonomy, and confirms that he has moved on. Blitzø, seeing the finality in Stolas's eyes, realizes that their love is irrevocably lost, leaving him devastated.

Blitzø's grip on reality slipped further, the room spinning around him. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Care?" he scoffed, his voice filled with pain. "That's not enough for me. I want love. I need love."

Stolas's expression softened, his voice tinged with regret. "I know you do, Blitz," he said. "But you're not going to find it by forcing me to stay."

Blitzø's eyes searched Stolas's, desperation pooling in the depths of his soul. "What if I can't live without you?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

Stolas's wings drooped, the weight of Blitzø's pain settling heavily on his shoulders. "Then you need to find a way to live with it," he said firmly. "You can't just take what you want because you can't handle the alternative."

Blitzø's eyes flashed with anger, the flames of his obsession flickering higher. "You think I'm weak?" he snarled, taking a step forward. "I'll show you what I'm capable of."

Stolas held his ground, his own anger rising to meet Blitzø's. "You're not going to win me back with threats," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "If you can't accept that we're over, then you need to leave."

Blitzø's grip on the microphone tightened until his knuckles turned white. "I won't let you go," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "Not to him. Not to anyone."

Blitzø's desperation leads to anger as Stolas refuses to be forced into a relationship, advising Blitzø to find a way to live without him. Stolas maintains his stance, prompting a darker, more intense obsession from Blitzø, who vows to never let Stolas go.

Stolas's eyes narrowed, his own anger now a living, breathing entity in the room. "You don't get to decide that," he said, his voice icy. "I'm not a possession, Blitz. I'm a person. And I won't be treated like I'm something you can just claim."

The silence stretched between them, thick and tense. Then, with a roar of fury, Blitzø threw the microphone across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. Stolas didn't flinch. He'd seen this side of Blitz before, the one that lurked beneath the charm and the jokes, the one that had driven him away in the first place.

"You think you can just walk away?" Blitzø yelled, his eyes burning with a fiery rage. "After everything we've been through? After everything I've done for you?"

Stolas stood his ground, his wings spread slightly in a show of his own power. "I'm not walking away from anything," he said calmly. "I'm walking away from you, and the toxic mess you've made of us."

Blitzø's laugh was hollow, filled with a desperation that made Stolas's stomach churn. "Toxic?" he repeated. "You think that's what we had? That's a lie you've been telling yourself to justify leaving me."

Stolas's wings snapped taut, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not the one who's lost their mind," he retorted, gesturing to the candles and the chaotic scene Blitzø had created. "This isn't love. This is obsession."

The confrontation escalates as Stolas asserts his autonomy and refuses to be controlled. Blitzø's anger boils over, leading to the destruction of the microphone. Stolas maintains his resolve, calling out Blitzø's behavior as obsession rather than love.

Blitzø's madness deepens from the post-breakup, revealing a twisted plan to kidnap Stolas for marriage and a child. Stolas, horrified, confirms their relationship's end and refuses to be controlled. Their confrontation escalates, with Stolas calling out Blitzø's obsession. Blitzø, devastated and enraged, vows never to release Stolas.

Blitzø's expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists. "Fine," he spat. "If you won't come back to me willingly, I'll just have to make you." He lunged for Stolas, but the latter was quicker, darting to the side and out of reach.

The room erupted into a chaotic dance of flailing limbs and snarled curses as Stolas tried to evade Blitzø's grasp. The candles toppled, setting fire to the curtains, the flames licking the walls with a hungry ferocity.

"You can't do this, Blitz," Stolas panted, his wings beating a frantic rhythm against the smoke-filled air. "You can't just kidnap me and expect me to love you again."

But Blitzø was beyond listening. His eyes gleamed with a crazed determination that was both terrifying and heartbreaking. He cornered Stolas, his hands outstretched, the flaming curtains casting a hellish glow on his features. "You're mine," he growled, his voice low and guttural. "And I'll never let you go."

Stolas's wings flared, knocking over a lamp and sending it crashing to the floor. The light flickered and went out, leaving them in the flickering embrace of the fire's light. "You're not thinking clearly," he pleaded, his voice strained with fear and sadness. "Please, Blitz, stop this."

But Blitzø was beyond reason. His eyes burned with an intensity that was almost tangible, his mind clouded by a desperate love that had turned toxic. "I'll do whatever it takes," he snarled, his hand shooting out to grab Stolas.

Blitzø's obsession leads to a violent confrontation where he attempts to force Stolas to stay, culminating in the apartment catching fire and Stolas's desperate pleas for Blitzø to let him go.

Stolas managed to dodge, the fabric of his shirt tearing away in Blitzø's grasp. He stumbled backward, his wings fluttering wildly to keep him upright. The heat from the fire was intense, the smoke thick and choking. "This isn't love," he gasped, his eyes watering. "This is madness."

Blitzø's smile was cold, his eyes never leaving Stolas's. "Maybe it is," he conceded, his voice low and dangerous. "But it's the only way I know how to show you what you mean to me."

The fire grew louder, the heat more intense, as the room became a prison of flaming rage. Stolas searched for an exit, his eyes darting around the room, but every path was blocked by the inferno that had once been their shared space. "You're going to get us both killed," he choked out, the smoke filling his lungs.

Blitzø stepped closer, the flames casting an eerie light on his face, making him look like a demon from Stolas's worst nightmares. "I'd rather burn with you than live without you," he murmured, his hand reaching out again.

Stolas's eyes darted around the room, searching for anything that could serve as a weapon or a means of escape. His eyes fell on the nightstand drawer, slightly ajar. He knew what was inside—his own personal knife collection, a macabre assortment of sharp instruments that had been gifts from various admirers over the centuries. Without a second thought, he reached in and pulled out the nearest one, the cool metal giving him a small sense of comfort in the face of the overwhelming heat.

Stolas evades Blitzø's grasp in the burning apartment, with the latter admitting his actions are driven by madness. Stolas sees his knife collection as a potential escape tool.

Blitzø's eyes followed the movement, his smile faltering for a moment before it grew wider, more twisted. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice low and deadly.

Stolas's grip on the knife was firm, his wings fluttering to keep the smoke at bay. "Let me go," he said, his voice steady despite the fear that clawed at his insides.

Blitzø's smile never wavered, but his eyes flickered to the knife with a hint of concern. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, taking a step closer. "We're going to be fine. Just come with me."

Stolas's heart raced as he backed away, the flames now dangerously close. "I'm not going anywhere with you," he said, raising the knife. The fire reflected off the blade, casting a crimson glow across the room.

Blitzø's eyes narrowed, his smile fading to a snarl. "You'd really hurt me?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of anger and disbelief.

Stolas's hand holding the knife didn't waver. "If it means my freedom," he said, his voice cold and firm, "yes, I would."

Blitzø's expression twisted, the reality of the situation crashing down on him. He took a step back, the flames reflected in his eyes. "You'd choose him over me?" he roared, his fists clenching.

Stolas's grip on the knife tightened. "I'm not choosing anyone," he said firmly. "I'm choosing myself."

Stolas finds a knife for defense and stands firm against Blitzø, willing to fight for his freedom. The confrontation escalates as Blitzø questions Stolas's loyalty, and Stolas asserts his right to choose himself.

The words hit Blitzø like a sledgehammer, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled back, the fire's heat now a reflection of the pain searing through his chest. "How could you?" he choked out, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Stolas's own eyes were wet, a sheen of sadness reflecting the flickering flames. "This isn't about choosing," he said, his voice breaking. "It's about letting go of what's toxic."

The room grew quieter, the crackling fire seeming to muffle Blitzø's sobs. Stolas's wings drooped, the weight of his words heavy on his shoulders. He took a deep breath, tasting the acrid smoke in the air. "You need help, Blitz," he said softly. "Real help."

Blitzø's eyes searched Stolas's, looking for any sign of relenting, but all he found was sadness and resolve. He turned away, the firelight playing off his horns as he sank to his knees. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the flames. "I never wanted it to come to this."

Stolas felt a pang of pity, his hand dropping slightly. "I know," he said, his voice gentle. "But you need to accept that we're over. For both our sakes."

Stolas maintains his stance, clarifying that his decision isn't about choosing someone else but about self-preservation. Blitzø is struck by the finality, breaks down, and apologizes, with Stolas expressing pity and reinforcing the need for their separation.

The room was a maelstrom of fire and shadow, the heat suffocating. Blitzø's shoulders heaved with the weight of his sobs, his form outlined by the flaming curtains behind him. The fire had spread, engulfing the room in a fiery embrace that mirrored the chaos of their relationship. Stolas knew he had to get out, to save himself from the madness that was consuming them both.

He took a tentative step towards Blitzø, the knife lowering slightly. "Let's go," he said, his voice softer now. "We can get out of here. We can get you help."

But Blitzø was lost in his own world of pain and anger. He looked up, his eyes wild and unfocused. "Help?" he spat. "You think you can fix me?"

Stolas took a deep breath, the smoke making his eyes water. "I don't know if I can," he admitted. "But I know you can't do this alone."

The fire grew louder, the heat becoming almost unbearable. Blitzø's form was now nothing but a silhouette against the blaze, his eyes burning with a fury that seemed to fuel the flames. "You're just like everyone else," he screamed, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "You want to control me, to change me."

Stolas's own wings were singeing, the pain a stark reminder of the reality of their situation. "This isn't about control," he yelled back, the knife still clutched in his hand. "This is about saving you from yourself."

The fire spreads, creating a dire escape situation. Stolas tries to reason with Blitzø, offering help and understanding, but Blitzø's madness remains entrenched, seeing Stolas's concern as controlling and rejects it, trapping them both in the burning apartment.

Blitzø's expression grew feral, his eyes glowing with a fiery intensity. "You think you can save me?" He laughed, a sound that was more a sob than anything else. "You're the one who broke me."

The words were a knife to Stolas's heart, but he knew he couldn't let Blitzø's madness consume them both. He took a step forward, the knife now held firmly in his grasp. "Please," he begged, his voice thick with smoke. "Let's go."

But Blitzø was beyond reasoning. He lunged at Stolas, his eyes wild with rage and despair. Stolas reacted instinctively, the knife flashing in the firelight as he swung it in an arc to keep the other demon at bay. The blade sliced through the air, a silent scream in the chaos of the burning room.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, the fury in Blitzø's gaze freezing Stolas's blood. Then, with a roar of pain, Blitzø stumbled back, clutching at his chest where the knife had found its mark. His wings crumpled, and he collapsed to the floor, the flames closing in around him.

Stolas's heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. "No," he whispered, dropping the knife and rushing to Blitzø's side. The fire had spread too quickly, leaving them with only moments to escape. He reached out to his ex-lover, desperation and regret mixing in his eyes. "I didn't mean to..."

Stolas's pleas for escape are met with accusation and madness from Blitzø, resulting in a violent lunge. Stolas defends himself, accidentally wounding Blitzø, who falls to the ground as the fire surrounds them. Stolas, overwhelmed with regret, tries to help despite the imminent danger.

In a fiery confrontation, Blitzø attempts to force Stolas into marriage and parenthood, but Stolas resists, finding a knife for defense. Blitzø, though broken by regret, is too consumed by madness to leave, trapping them both in the fire.

But Blitzø was already gone, his eyes lifeless, his body swallowed by the hungry flames. Stolas watched in horror as the man he once loved was consumed by the very madness that had driven them apart. The room was now an inferno, the heat unbearable, the smoke choking. The knife lay forgotten on the floor, a tragic symbol of the love that had turned to ash.

With a strength born of desperation, Stolas pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the window, the only escape route left. His wings were seared, his skin burned, but the thought of leaving Blitzø behind was unbearable. He reached the window, the glass shattering under his touch, and threw himself through it, the cold night air a stark contrast to the hellish scene he left behind.

He hovered outside for a moment, watching the flames lick the sky, his heart racing. The pain in his chest was nothing compared to the anguish in his soul. He had tried to save Blitzø, but in the end, his love had only brought them both to ruin. The fire trucks were already on their way, their sirens piercing the night, but it was too late for the apartment—and possibly too late for the man he had once cherished.

With a heavy heart, Stolas flew away, leaving the burning building and the shattered remnants of their love behind. The wind stung his burned wings, but he didn't care. The agony was a reminder that he was still alive, that he had escaped the madness.

Blitzø succumbs to the fire, leaving Stolas distraught. Despite his injuries, Stolas escapes through the window, watching the apartment burn as he flies away, painfully aware of his failure to save Blitzø and the end of their love.

He found refuge in an alley, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His eyes were haunted, the image of Blitzø's fiery end seared into his mind. He had never wanted it to come to this, but he had been backed into a corner, forced to fight for his own freedom. The weight of his actions settled on him like a leaden cloak, suffocating him with guilt.

Stolas knew he couldn't stay. The fire would attract too much attention, and he had to get help for Blitzø. But as he took to the skies again, the wind carrying the acrid scent of burning demon flesh, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

He flew straight to the new love's apartment, his mind racing with a plan to save Blitzø. He had to tell someone, had to get help before it was too late. He pounded on the door, his heart hammering in his chest.

The door swung open to reveal the "Better than Blitzo" guy, eyes wide with shock. "Stolas?" he gasped, taking in the sight of the injured demon before him.

Stolas didn't have the strength for pleasantries. "Blitz," he panted, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "He's hurt. We have to help him."

The new boyfriend, whose name Stolas had never bothered to learn, took in the frantic state of the demon before him. "What happened?"

"He's lost it," Stolas choked out, his wings trembling from the exertion. "The apartment's on fire. We have to get him out."

After escaping the fire, Stolas is overwhelmed by guilt and seeks refuge in an alley. Determined to save Blitzø, he flies to the new boyfriend's apartment, revealing the dire situation and begging for assistance to rescue Blitzø from the burning apartment.

The human's expression shifted from shock to concern, his eyes flickering to the fiery skyline. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "We'll call the fire department, and I'll grab the first aid kit."

Stolas nodded, his breathing shallow and pained. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper.

The human's apartment was a blur of movement as he rushed to the phone, his panic palpable as he dialed emergency services. Stolas hovered by the door, his wings useless at his side. The pain was intense, but his concern for Blitz was even greater. He could feel the burns deep in his muscles, but he pushed aside the agony, focusing solely on the task at hand.

"You need to get to a hospital," the human said, returning with a first aid kit in hand. His eyes were filled with a mix of fear and pity as he took in Stolas's injuries. "You can't stay here."

Stolas nodded, his thoughts a tumultuous storm. "I know," he murmured. "But Blitz..."

The human looked at him, his expression a mix of anger and understanding. "I'll call for him too," he said firmly. "But you can't go back in there. You'll only make it worse."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving the flaming horizon. He knew the human was right, but the urge to rush back into the inferno was overwhelming. The sirens grew louder, a cacophony of despair echoing through the streets.

The human took Stolas's hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. "We'll get him help," he assured, his voice steady. "But we have to do it together."

Stolas is met with concern and aid from his ex-boyfriend's new partner, who helps him contact emergency services. Despite his injuries, Stolas's main concern remains for Blitzø, and the human agrees to help. They form an uneasy alliance as the sirens grow closer, with the shared goal of saving Blitzø from the burning apartment.

Stolas nodded, the reality of the situation finally setting in. His love for Blitz had led them both to this point, and now he had to trust in someone else to save him. The sirens grew closer, the wailing a stark contrast to the silence of the alley.

The human helped him to the nearest hospital, the journey a blur of pain and guilt. Stolas could feel the burns on his wings and skin, but the emotional agony was far worse. As they approached the emergency room, the human spoke firmly. "I'll stay with you," he said, his grip tight on Stolas's hand. "We'll figure this out."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving the burning apartment in the distance. "Thank you," he murmured, the words feeling inadequate.

The human's grip tightened. "You don't have to thank me," he said, his voice gruff. "We're in this together now."

The emergency room was a blur of white lights and concerned faces as they rushed Stolas through the doors. Nurses and doctors flitted around him, their movements a frenetic dance of care and concern. Stolas felt detached from it all, his mind replaying the events of the night over and over. The smell of antiseptic and the sound of beeping machines did little to soothe his frayed nerves.

As the medical staff tended to his burns, the human remained by his side, his hand never leaving Stolas's. "What's your name?" Stolas managed to ask, his voice hoarse from the smoke.

"It's Brandon," the human said, his grip firm but gentle. "Yours is Stolas, right?"

Stolas and Brandon, driven by the urgency of saving Blitzø, head to the hospital. The pain of his injuries is overshadowed by his emotional turmoil. Upon arriving, Stolas expresses his gratitude to Brandon, who reassures him of their shared commitment to help Blitzø. They stand together in the chaotic emergency room, a bond forming amidst the tragedy.

Stolas escapes the burning apartment and seeks help from his new boyfriend, forming an alliance to save Blitzø. Despite his own distress, he is consumed by guilt and a desire to rescue Blitzø, leading them to the hospital.

Stolas nodded, the sound of his name on Brandon's lips strange yet comforting. As the medical staff worked on him, he couldn't shake the image of Blitzø's lifeless body in the fire. The flames had been a symbol of the fiery passion that had once bound them, now a destructive force that had torn them apart.

"We have to save him," Stolas murmured, his voice barely audible above the medical chatter.

Brandon's grip tightened around his hand. "They're doing all they can," he assured, his eyes reflecting the same fear and urgency. "But you have to focus on yourself now."

Stolas nodded weakly, the pain from his burns becoming more pronounced as the adrenaline started to wear off. The world around him spun, the walls closing in with every shallow breath he took. He could feel the weight of his failure pressing down on him, a crushing burden that seemed to grow heavier with every passing moment.

The doctor's voice pierced through the fog of his thoughts. "You're lucky to be alive," he said, his tone a mix of amazement and concern. "Those burns are severe, but we'll do everything we can to help you heal."

Stolas nodded, his eyes glazed over with pain and regret. The room was spinning, the antiseptic smell making him nauseous. The reality of what had happened was setting in, the gravity of his actions weighing on him like a mountain. "What about Blitz?" he croaked, his voice a mere whisper.

In the hospital, Stolas is overwhelmed by the reality of the situation, his thoughts consumed by Blitzø's fate. Despite his severe burns, he remains focused on saving Blitzø. Brandon, also concerned, reminds Stolas to prioritize his own health. The doctor informs them of the seriousness of Stolas's condition, but Stolas is desperate for news about Blitzø's rescue.

Brandon squeezed his hand. "They're on their way to the apartment," he said, his own voice tight with tension. "We have to trust they'll find him."

The words were like a knife to Stolas's heart. He had hoped, prayed, that Blitz had somehow escaped. But deep down, he knew the truth. The fire had been too intense, the smoke too thick. "I have to go to him," he rasped, trying to sit up.

Brandon's grip on his hand tightened. "You can't," he said firmly. "You're in no condition to leave."

Stolas's eyes filled with tears, the guilt threatening to consume him. "But I can't just stay here," he choked out, the pain in his voice raw and palpable. "He needs me."

Brandon's gaze was steady, his voice calm despite the chaos in his own heart. "You're no good to him dead," he said, his grip unyielding. "Let them do their job. We'll find out what happened as soon as we can."

The doctor's voice grew more insistent, the urgency in his tone cutting through the fog of pain and guilt. "Sir, you need to stay still," he said, his eyes focused on Stolas's injuries. "We have to get these burns treated before they get worse."

Stolas nodded, his body feeling like it was made of lead. He watched as the doctor and nurses worked tirelessly, their movements a blur of white coats and medical equipment. The pain was a living, breathing entity, wrapping around him like the very flames that had engulfed the apartment. Each touch was a reminder of his failure, of the love that had burned out of control.

Brandon informs Stolas that rescue efforts are underway at the apartment. Despite his desperation to join them, Stolas is held back due to his injuries. The doctor emphasizes the need for immediate treatment, and Stolas, though filled with guilt, submits to the medical care, haunted by the fear of his failure to save Blitzø.

Brandon remained a steadfast presence beside him, his hand never leaving Stolas's. He spoke in hushed tones, updating him on the fire department's progress and the state of the building. The words barely registered, lost in the symphony of beeping machines and the hiss of oxygen tanks.

"They're saying the fire's under control," Brandon said, his voice strained. "They're searching the building now."

Stolas nodded, his eyes squeezed shut against the tears that threatened to fall. The pain in his wings was a constant reminder of the horror he had just escaped. "I have to see him," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"We will," Brandon promised, his voice soothing despite the chaos around them. "As soon as you're stable, we'll go."

The hours ticked by in a blur of pain and anxiety. Stolas felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up or escape the crushing weight of his guilt. The sounds of the hospital—beeping machines, the murmur of nurses, the occasional wail of a siren—were a stark contrast to the fiery hell he had just left behind. Each moment that passed without news of Blitz was an eternity, the silence echoing louder than any scream.

Finally, a doctor approached, her face a mask of professionalism but her eyes filled with a gentle concern. "The fire has been extinguished," she said, her voice a lifeline in the sea of despair. "The search and rescue team is still inside."

Stolas, unable to leave his hospital bed due to his injuries, is updated by Brandon on the fire's status and the ongoing search for Blitzø. Despite the pain from his burns, his focus remains on finding Blitzø, and Brandon offers comfort and reassurance as they await news amidst the hospital's chaotic backdrop.

Stolas's chest tightened, his breath shallow and painful. "Is he...?" he couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

Brandon's grip on his hand grew stronger, his own eyes reflecting the hope and fear that danced in Stolas's. "They haven't found anyone yet," the doctor said, her tone carefully measured. "But the search is ongoing."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread. Stolas closed his eyes, his breathing ragged. The pain in his chest was a constant throb, a dull ache that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. He knew what it meant if Blitz wasn't found. He had killed him, not with the knife, but with his own obsession.

Brandon's hand remained a firm presence, a lifeline in the storm of emotions threatening to drown him. "You need to stay strong," he murmured, his voice a gentle reminder of the world outside their shared tragedy. "For Blitz, for all of us."

Stolas nodded, his eyes still closed, the image of Blitz's charred form playing in his mind's eye. The doctor and nurses moved around them, their movements efficient and practiced. They had seen tragedies before, had patched up lives shattered by events beyond their control. But Stolas couldn't shake the feeling that he was the one who had lost control, that he was the one who had brought this horror upon them all.

Stolas agonizes over Blitzø's fate, unable to voice his fears. The doctor delivers an ambiguous update on the search, leaving Stolas and Brandon in suspense. Stolas grapples with guilt and despair, while Brandon urges him to stay strong, emphasizing the need for hope and resilience as the hospital staff tends to his injuries.

At the hospital, Stolas is treated for burns but remains obsessed with Blitzø's fate. Brandon provides comfort and updates on the rescue, as they form a bond amidst the chaos, though Stolas is haunted by his failure to save Blitzø.

The minutes stretched into hours, each second an eternity of doubt and dread. The hospital's sterile embrace offered no comfort, the very air thick with the scent of burned flesh that clung to him like a haunting specter. The pain in his wings was a constant reminder of the fire that had torn through their lives, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

Finally, a firefighter burst through the doors, his gear singed and face smudged with soot. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto Stolas. "We found someone," he said, his voice gruff from the smoke. "A demon. He's alive, but barely."

Stolas's heart leaped into his throat, hope and fear warring within him. "Take me to him," he rasped, pushing himself up despite the pain.

Brandon's eyes widened. "You can't," he protested. "You're not stable."

But Stolas was beyond listening. He pulled free from the hospital bed, his wings unfurling with a painful crackle. "I have to," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the firefighter. "I have to see him."

Brandon nodded, his own fear and concern etched on his face. "Okay," he said, his voice tight. "But I'm coming with you."

A firefighter delivers hopeful news of Blitzø's survival, though barely. Overriding Brandon's protests, Stolas, driven by a mix of hope and fear, insists on seeing Blitzø despite his own unstable condition. Brandon, understanding his urgency, agrees to accompany him, their bond strengthened by the shared concern for Blitzø's fate.

The doctor's protests fell on deaf ears as Stolas stumbled out of the hospital bed, his wings flapping weakly. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain through him, but he couldn't ignore the hope that burned brighter than the fire that had tried to claim him. Together, they followed the firefighter through the chaotic halls, the smell of smoke and burned flesh a haunting reminder of the night's events.

As they approached the emergency bay, Stolas's heart sank at the sight of Blitz lying on a stretcher, his body covered in burns, his eyes closed. The medical staff worked feverishly around him, their faces a mix of determination and sadness. The firefighter nodded to the doctor, who immediately took charge.

"Is he...?" Stolas couldn't finish his question, his voice catching in his throat.

The doctor's eyes met his, filled with a solemn gravity that sent a cold shiver down his spine. "We're doing everything we can," she said, her voice tight with the tension of the situation. "He's in critical condition."

Stolas stumbled forward, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. He could see the extent of Blitz's injuries now, the burns covering almost every inch of his body, the smell of charred flesh making his stomach turn. The demon's eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, Stolas saw the pain and confusion in them before they fell shut again.

"What have I done?" Stolas whispered, his voice barely audible above the bustle of the hospital.

Despite his own precarious condition, Stolas insists on seeing Blitzø, who is found alive but critically injured. The doctor confirms Blitzø's critical state, and Stolas is overwhelmed by the sight of his ex-lover's severe burns. Struggling with his own pain, Stolas confronts the reality of his actions and the consequences they have wrought.

The doctor looked at him, her expression a mix of pity and understanding. "You did what you had to," she said, her voice gentle. "Now let us do our job."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz's still form. Brandon stepped up beside him, his hand on Stolas's shoulder. "We're here for you," he murmured.

The doctor's words echoed in Stolas's mind as he watched the medical team work tirelessly to save Blitz. The room was a symphony of beeps and murmured instructions, the rhythm of life-saving measures a stark contrast to the chaos that had brought them here. He knew he had pushed Blitz too far, had let his obsession drive him to madness. The love that had once been a beacon had become a destructive force that had ravaged everything in its path.

Brandon's hand remained a steady presence on his shoulder, grounding him in the present. Stolas felt the weight of his own actions pressing down on him, the guilt a heavy cloak that threatened to suffocate him. "This isn't your fault," Brandon said, his voice low and firm. "You tried to help him."

Stolas couldn't bring himself to look away from Blitz, his mind racing with a tornado of regret and pain. "But I hurt him," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I never wanted this."

Brandon's hand tightened on his shoulder. "You didn't do this," he said firmly. "His madness did."

The doctor reassures Stolas that he did what he could, as he watches the medical team treat Blitz. Despite his own guilt, Brandon provides comfort and clarity, reminding Stolas that Blitz's madness is to blame for the current situation, not his own desire to help. The gravity of the situation and the depth of Stolas's regret are palpable as they await news on Blitz's condition.

Against medical advice, Stolas, driven by hope and fear, insists on seeing the critically injured Blitzø. Brandon supports him, and together they face the reality of Blitz's condition, with Stolas beginning to understand the consequences of his actions.

After their breakup, Blitzø spirals into madness, vowing to marry and impregnate Stolas. Stolas resists, and in the ensuing fire, he escapes and joins his new boyfriend, Brandon. Despite his fear, Stolas feels guilty and insists on seeing the severely injured Blitzø at the hospital, where he confronts the grim reality of his situation.

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz's still form. The demon's chest rose and fell in shallow, erratic breaths, a testament to the battle for life raging within him. Each breath was a knife in Stolas's own chest, a reminder of the love that had gone so wrong. "I need to make it right," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the hospital's cacophony.

"You will," Brandon assured him, his voice a steady pillar of strength. "But first, let's get you both through this."

The doctor's voice grew more urgent as she called for a blood transfusion. Stolas watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as the medical staff worked tirelessly to save Blitz's life. His own injuries felt insignificant in comparison to the horror that had unfolded. The sight of Blitz, broken and burned, was a stark reminder of the love that had gone so wrong.

"Is there anything I can do?" Stolas asked, his voice shaking with fear and desperation.

The doctor looked at him, her expression a mix of pity and professionalism. "For now, just stay out of the way," she said, her eyes flicking to his own burned wings. "Your presence is enough."

Stolas nodded, stepping back to give them room. His heart felt like it was being torn apart as he watched the doctors and nurses fight for Blitz's life. The beeps of the machines grew louder, the rhythm of their work more frantic. Each second that passed was an eternity, a symphony of hope and despair that played out before his eyes.

Stolas remains fixated on Blitz's critical condition, feeling guilty for his part in the tragedy. Brandon continues to offer support, urging Stolas to focus on the present. The doctor advises Stolas to stay clear, emphasizing the severity of Blitz's condition and the importance of the medical team's work. The atmosphere is tense as the hospital staff fights to save Blitz's life, with Stolas powerless but hopeful.

As the medical staff worked, Brandon pulled him aside, his grip firm and reassuring. "You need to rest," he said, his voice a whisper amidst the chaos. "You're in no condition to help him."

Stolas nodded, his body trembling with the effort of standing. The pain in his wings was a constant throb, a stark reminder of the events that had led them here. He allowed Brandon to guide him to a chair, his eyes never leaving Blitz's prone form. The demon looked so small and fragile, a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had once burned between them.

As the hours ticked by, the hospital's lights grew dimmer, the sounds of the medical machinery a constant backdrop to their vigil. Stolas felt like he was drowning in guilt, the weight of his actions threatening to pull him under. He had never wanted to hurt Blitz, never wanted their love to end like this.

Brandon's hand was still in his, a silent testament to the bond that had formed between them in the face of tragedy. Stolas looked at him, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice cracking with pain.

Brandon's grip tightened. "You don't have to be," he said firmly. "You're not to blame for his madness."

Brandon insists Stolas rests, acknowledging his condition. The gravity of the situation weighs heavily on Stolas as he reflects on their tumultuous past. The bond between Stolas and Brandon grows stronger as they share the burden of the tragedy. Despite his guilt, Brandon reassures Stolas that he isn't responsible for Blitz's madness, offering much-needed support during the painful vigil.

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz. The demon's chest rose and fell in a shallow, erratic rhythm, each breath a miracle amidst the chaos. The doctor's voice grew more insistent, calling for a surgeon as the situation grew dire. The world around them faded away, leaving only the stark reality of the fight for life and the heavy silence of regret.

As the doctor stepped back, a surgeon took her place, his movements swift and precise. The room grew colder, the air thick with the scent of fear and anticipation. Stolas's hand tightened around Brandon's, his knuckles white with the effort of not giving in to his own pain. The human's eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between them. They were bound now by the horror they had witnessed, by the love they had lost.

The surgery seemed to stretch on forever, the tension in the room a living entity that grew more oppressive with each passing moment. Stolas felt as though he was trapped in a nightmare from which he could not wake, his thoughts a tumult of regret and sorrow. He had pushed Blitz to this point, had allowed his obsession to control him. The demon had been right all along; he had never truly loved Stolas.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the surgeon stepped back, his face etched with exhaustion. The doctor approached them, her eyes heavy with a burden she was about to lay upon Stolas. "He's stable," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion that might give away the outcome. "For now."

The doctor's urgent call for a surgeon underscores Blitz's precarious condition. The surgery's tension solidifies the bond between Stolas and Brandon. Despite the fear and regret, Stolas recognizes his obsession led to this tragedy. The doctor's update on Blitz's condition is grim but offers a glimmer of hope, leaving them in a state of suspended anxiety.

Stolas is plagued by guilt over Blitz's critical condition, while Brandon provides unwavering support. The doctor advises rest, but Stolas is consumed by his past with Blitz. Their bond deepens as they await surgery results, with Brandon reminding Stolas of his lack of culpability in the situation. The surgery's outcome remains uncertain, leaving them in a state of intense anxiety.

Stolas felt his chest tighten, the hope that had been flickering within him threatening to be snuffed out. "Can I see him?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor nodded, gesturing for them to follow. The ICU was a stark contrast to the chaos of the emergency bay, the beeping of machines a solemn reminder of the lives hanging in the balance. Blitz lay in a hospital bed, his body a patchwork of bandages, tubes, and wires. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and labored.

Stolas felt his heart shatter anew at the sight of him, the reality of the situation setting in like a cold, hard stone in his stomach. He took a tentative step forward, the pain in his wings a constant, throbbing reminder of what he had done. "Blitz," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke and the screams that still echoed in his mind.

Blitz's eyes fluttered open, the green irises clouded with pain and confusion. He looked around the room, his gaze finally settling on Stolas. For a moment, there was a flicker of recognition, but it quickly faded into a vacant stare. "What happened?" he croaked, his voice barely audible.

Stolas swallowed the lump in his throat, his hand reaching out to touch Blitz's bandaged arm. "There was a fire," he said, his voice trembling. "You're in the hospital."

Blitz's eyes searched Stolas's face, his brow furrowing as the fog of painkillers and trauma began to lift. "I remember," he murmured, his voice weak. "Why are you here?"

With trepidation, Stolas asks to see Blitz and is led to the ICU. Blitz's condition is critical, and Stolas is overwhelmed by guilt upon seeing him. When Blitz regains consciousness, he is confused but recognizes Stolas. Despite their painful history, Stolas is the first person he sees, illustrating the depth of their connection.

Stolas felt his heart stutter in his chest. "I... I'm here for you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Blitz. I never meant for any of this to happen."

Blitz's eyes searched his, the pain in them fading into something softer, something that looked a lot like regret. "I know," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper. "I pushed you too far."

Stolas felt the weight of his own guilt crushing him, the tears finally spilling over. "No," he choked out. "It was me. I should have seen the signs, should have stopped."

Brandon stepped forward, his voice firm. "You both need to rest," he said, cutting through the heavy silence. "The doctors have done all they can for now."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz's face. "I'll be back," he promised, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll be here for you."

The demon's eyes closed again, his breathing shallow and uneven. Brandon's hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him upright. "Come on," the human said gently, guiding him out of the ICU. "You need to get checked out too."

Stolas nodded, his legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. He allowed Brandon to lead him back to his own hospital room, his mind racing with the events of the night. The doctor checked his burns, applying fresh dressings and administering pain medication. His body was a canvas of agony, a stark reminder of the fire that had ravaged both him and Blitz.

In the ICU, Blitz acknowledges his part in the situation, sharing a moment of mutual regret with Stolas. Brandon intervenes, emphasizing the need for rest and medical attention. Stolas makes a heartfelt promise to be there for Blitz before reluctantly leaving. The doctor's care for Stolas highlights the physical toll of the ordeal, mirroring their emotional turmoil.

As the drugs began to take effect, Stolas felt his eyelids grow heavy. Despite the pain, he fought the urge to sleep, his mind racing with fear for Blitz. "I can't leave him," he murmured, his voice slurred.

Brandon's hand remained firm on his shoulder. "You have to," he said, his tone a mix of compassion and firmness. "You're no good to him if you collapse. Rest, and I'll stay with him."

The words were a balm to Stolas's soul, the exhaustion overwhelming him. He nodded, his eyes drifting closed. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

Brandon's reply was lost to the fog of sleep that descended upon him, the world fading into a sea of pain and regret. When he awoke, the room was dim, the sun's first rays peeking through the blinds. His wings, though wrapped in bandages, felt heavy and foreign. The pain was a constant companion, a grim reminder of the horror he had witnessed.

He pushed himself up, his body protesting with every movement. The hospital room was quiet, the beeping of the machines a gentle lullaby. His eyes searched for Blitz, fear gripping him that he had lost him during the night. But then he saw him, still in the same hospital bed, the same array of tubes and wires attached to his body.

Blitz's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. The sight of him brought a rush of relief, followed by a fresh wave of guilt. He had done this to him. His obsession had driven him to madness, had almost taken Blitz from him forever.

Despite his exhaustion and pain, Stolas is plagued by guilt and fear for Blitz. Brandon's assurance allows him to relent and rest. Upon waking, he finds Blitz still alive but heavily bandaged, and the reality of his actions sets in, amplifying his emotional distress.

Stolas's voice was barely above a whisper as he called out, "Blitz?"

Blitz's head turned slowly towards him, his eyes still clouded with pain. "You're okay," he murmured, the hint of a smile playing on his cracked lips.

Stolas nodded, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Barely," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "How are you feeling?"

Blitz took a shallow breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. "Like I've been to hell and back," he murmured, his voice raspy. "But I'm alive."

Stolas felt the weight of his guilt settle heavily on his shoulders. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his hand shaking as he reached for Blitz's. The demon's skin was warm, a stark contrast to the cold bandages that covered him.

Blitz's eyes searched his, the depths of his pain clear in their emerald depths. "It's okay," he said, his voice barely above a breath. "I know you didn't mean it."

Stolas nodded, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. "But I did it," he said, his voice cracking. "I hurt you."

Blitz's hand, bandaged and weak, reached out to cover Stolas's. "You didn't," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Stolas's. "You tried to save me."

Stolas felt a tear slip down his cheek, the warmth of Blitz's touch grounding him in the present. "But I didn't," he said, his voice trembling. "I should have seen how much I was hurting you."

Blitz squeezed his hand gently. "It's not your fault," he whispered. "I... I know I pushed you too far."

Stolas and Blitz share a poignant moment in the hospital, where Stolas expresses his guilt and regret. Despite his own condition, Blitz assures Stolas that he understands and forgives, creating a fragile bond of comfort between them.

In the ICU, Stolas is confronted with Blitz's critical condition, feeling immense guilt. They share a moment of mutual regret, and Stolas makes a promise of support. Brandon's intervention allows Stolas to rest, and upon waking, he finds Blitz alive but heavily bandaged. The two share a poignant conversation, with Blitz offering forgiveness, which deepens their complex emotional bond amidst the chaos.

The room was silent, the only sound the steady beep of the heart monitor. Stolas felt his chest tighten, his heart feeling as though it was being squeezed by a vice. "What happens now?" he asked, the words barely escaping his dry lips.

Blitz's gaze drifted to their joined hands, his own bandaged fingers twitching slightly. "Now," he murmured, "we heal."

The simplicity of the statement hit Stolas like a ton of bricks. He had been so focused on the horror of what had happened, on the guilt that threatened to consume him, that he had forgotten the possibility of healing. "How?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Blitz took a deep, pained breath. "We talk," he said, his eyes never leaving Stolas's. "We figure out what went wrong and we move forward."

Stolas nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of their shared history. "But what about us?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Can we ever be...?"

Blitz's gaze remained steadfast on their joined hands. "I don't know," he said, his voice raw with honesty. "But we can try."

The words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown into the abyss of doubt that had consumed Stolas. He nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz's. "We'll do it together," he murmured, hope flickering in his chest like a candle in the dark.

The doctor stepped into the room, her expression serious. "You both need to rest," she said, her eyes flicking between them. "But it's good to see you talking."

In the hospital, Blitz and Stolas tentatively discuss their future, acknowledging the need for healing and the possibility of rebuilding their relationship. Blitz suggests communication as the first step, and Stolas clings to the hope that they can move forward together. The doctor's intervention emphasizes the gravity of the situation and the importance of their recovery.

Stolas nodded, his gaze never leaving Blitz's. "We'll talk more," he promised, his voice filled with hope. "But first, I need to know that you're okay."

The doctor checked Blitz's vitals, her movements efficient and practiced. She spoke in a calm, professional tone, explaining the extent of his injuries and the long road to recovery ahead. Stolas felt his heart drop with each word, the reality of the situation setting in. "He'll need extensive care," she said, her eyes meeting Stolas's. "But he's a fighter."

"I'll be here," Stolas vowed, his grip on Blitz's hand tightening. "I won't leave his side."

The doctor nodded, a hint of understanding in her eyes. "That's what friends do," she said, her voice gentle. "But remember, Mr. Stolas, you need to heal too."

Stolas nodded, his gaze never leaving Blitz's face. "I will," he murmured. "For him."

The doctor finished her examination and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence was filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the sound of their own shallow breaths.

"I'm sorry," Stolas said again, the words feeling inadequate. "I never wanted this."

Blitz's hand squeezed his slightly, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold reality of their situation. "It's not your fault," he repeated, his voice hoarse from the tubes down his throat. "We both made mistakes."

Stolas felt a tear slip down his cheek, tracing a path through the soot and ash that still clung to his face. "But I'm the one who... who did this to you."

The doctor delivers a sobering assessment of Blitz's condition, emphasizing the need for care and recovery. Stolas promises to be by Blitz's side, but is reminded of his own need for healing. Blitz forgives Stolas and accepts shared responsibility for their tumultuous past, offering a glimmer of hope for reconciliation amidst the hospital's cold reality.

Blitz's eyes searched his, a hint of the fiery determination that had once fueled his obsession. "We're in this together," he rasped, his grip on Stolas's hand growing stronger. "We'll get through it."

The days in the hospital turned into a blur of pain, recovery, and tentative conversations. Blitz's condition gradually improved, though the burns that marred his body were a constant reminder of the fire that had almost claimed him. Stolas never left his side, his own injuries healing slowly as he focused on supporting the demon he had hurt.

They talked about everything that had led to that fateful night, their words raw and honest. Stolas spoke of his obsession, his fear of losing Blitz, and his desperation to hold onto what he thought was love. Blitz, in turn, confessed his own fears of abandonment, his desire for a family, and his own role in pushing Stolas to the brink.

Slowly, through the pain and the tears, they began to understand each other in a way they never had before. They spoke of their hopes, their regrets, and their love—twisted and broken as it was. They talked about the future, one that didn't involve marriage or a child, but one of friendship and support. A future where they could heal together.

Through their hospital stay, Blitz and Stolas engage in deep, honest discussions about their past. They confront their fears and mistakes, leading to a newfound understanding and acceptance of each other. The concept of a future friendship and mutual support arises, offering a path of healing beyond their romantic entanglement and its destructive end.

In the hospital, Blitz and Stolas consider the future of their relationship, agreeing on the need for communication and healing. Blitz forgives Stolas, and they share responsibility for their past. The doctor's serious prognosis underscores the gravity of the situation, prompting a commitment to support each other's recovery. Through candid discussions, they explore the possibility of a friendship beyond their tumultuous romance, fostering hope amidst the harsh hospital environment.

At the hospital, Stolas's guilt over Blitz's condition grows while Brandon comforts him. Despite surgery, Blitz's fate remains uncertain. Upon waking, Stolas sees the bandaged Blitz and receives his forgiveness. They contemplate a future friendship as Blitz acknowledges his own role in their tragic past.

The hospital room became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where the outside world didn't matter. Only the two of them, their shared past, and the fragile hope of a different kind of future. Brandon, ever the silent guardian, hovered in the background, offering gentle words of encouragement and a strong shoulder to lean on when the weight of their conversation grew too heavy.

As the days turned into weeks, the hospital's sterile walls began to feel less like a prison and more like a shelter. They had each other, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Stolas felt like he could breathe again. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and pain, but there was also a hint of something else—forgiveness.

Brandon had become a constant presence, his gentle nature a balm to their bruised souls. He listened without judgment, offered advice when asked, and held them both together when they thought they might fall apart. His love for Stolas had grown into a fierce protectiveness, a bond that had been forged in the fires of their shared trauma.

One evening, as the sun set over the city, painting the hospital room in shades of gold and pink, Brandon sat in the chair beside Stolas's bed, holding his hand. They had just finished another round of heart-wrenching confessions, their eyes red from crying. "You know," he said, his voice a soft whisper, "you guys might be able to fix this."

Stolas looked at him, hope sparkling in his eyes. "You think so?"

The hospital becomes a safe haven for Blitz and Stolas, with Brandon providing unconditional support. Through weeks of candid conversations and emotional catharsis, they begin to forgive each other. Brandon, evolving from new boyfriend to confidant, suggests that their friendship could be salvaged, igniting a spark of hope in Stolas that a different type of bond could emerge from the ashes of their love.

Brandon nodded, his gaze flicking to Blitz, who was asleep in the next bed. "If you both want it," he said, his voice earnest. "You have to be willing to work through the pain and the anger."

Stolas sighed, his eyes never leaving Blitz. "I do," he murmured. "More than anything."

Brandon gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Then you will," he said, his voice filled with certainty. "But it won't be easy."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz. "I know," he murmured. "But I'm willing to try."

Days turned into weeks, and the hospital became a second home for the three of them. The nurses grew accustomed to their constant vigil, the quiet support they offered each other, and the gentle way Brandon cared for Stolas. The burns on Stolas's wings slowly began to heal, the pain dulling to a constant ache that was a stark reminder of the fire that had brought them to this point. Blitz's condition improved, though the scars on his body were a stark reminder of the price he had paid for Stolas's obsession.

Their conversations grew less about the past and more about the future, a future that now included Brandon. He had become an integral part of their lives, a source of comfort and strength that neither of them could have anticipated. Stolas watched him with new eyes, his feelings for the human evolving from gratitude to something deeper, something that felt more like home than the fiery passion he had once felt for Blitz.

Brandon's unwavering support allows Stolas and Blitz to confront their pain and anger, suggesting reconciliation. Their hospital stay evolves into a shared experience of healing, with Brandon becoming a central figure in their lives. Stolas's feelings for Brandon deepen beyond gratitude, forming a new emotional foundation that contrasts with his tumultuous history with Blitz.

The doctor's words echoed in Stolas's mind—they both needed to heal. And so, they took it one day at a time, their bond shifting from one of obsession to one of friendship and mutual support. They shared stories, laughed at old memories, and even allowed themselves to grieve for what could have been.

One day, as the sun set, casting a warm glow over Blitz's bandaged form, Stolas took a deep breath and asked the question that had been haunting him. "Do you... do you still love me?"

Blitz's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, Stolas was afraid he had overstepped. But then the demon's expression softened, and he reached out a bandaged hand to cover Stolas's own. "In a way," he murmured. "But it's not the same love it was before."

Stolas nodded, understanding in his eyes. "It doesn't have to be," he said, his voice a whisper. "But I need to know if there's a chance for us."

Blitz took a deep, pained breath. "There's always a chance," he murmured. "But it's going to take time."

Stolas nodded, his heart racing in his chest. "I'm willing to wait," he said, his voice filled with determination. "For you, for us."

Blitz's eyes searched his, the depth of his feelings clear despite the pain. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we need to focus on healing first."

Stolas nodded, his hand trembling slightly beneath Blitz's touch. "I know," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll get there."

Stolas and Blitz confront their evolving feelings in the hospital, acknowledging the shift from passionate love to friendship. Despite the painful past, they express a willingness to rebuild their relationship with patience and understanding, with Stolas committing to waiting for Blitz's healing and growth before pursuing any romantic future.

The hospital environment allows for healing conversations between Blitz, Stolas, and Brandon, with Brandon acting as a catalyst for reconciliation. Stolas's feelings for Brandon grow, creating a new emotional dynamic. They all accept the shift from romantic love to friendship, with Stolas committing to patience and understanding as Blitz heals and grows, indicating a potential future together beyond their tumultuous past.

The days grew longer, the shadows of the past slowly receding as they focused on the present. The hospital walls, once suffocating, now felt like a cocoon, a place where they could heal and grow. Brandon was the glue that held them together, his unwavering support a beacon of light in the darkness.

One morning, the doctor entered with a more optimistic air than usual. "Blitz, we're going to start physical therapy soon," she said, her voice cheerful. "It's going to be painful, but it's crucial for your recovery."

Blitz nodded, his gaze drifting to Stolas. The demon looked so fragile, so broken, and it was all his doing. He had never meant to hurt him like this. The guilt was a heavy weight in his chest, but he knew he had to move forward, had to heal, not just for himself, but for Stolas and Brandon too.

The first day of physical therapy was a grueling ordeal. The therapist was kind but firm, pushing Blitz's body to its limits. Every movement sent shockwaves of pain through his burned muscles and tender skin. Stolas hovered nearby, his face a mask of anguish as he watched Blitz struggle. Brandon held Stolas's hand, whispering words of encouragement in his ear.

After hours of painstaking effort, Blitz lay back on the hospital bed, panting. His eyes, filled with a mix of pride and pain, searched for Stolas. "I'll get through this," he murmured, his voice laced with determination.

As hospital life becomes a routine, the trio finds strength in their newfound friendship. The doctor's announcement of physical therapy marks a significant step in Blitz's recovery process. Despite the pain, Blitz is motivated by his regret and the presence of Stolas and Brandon, who stand by him, symbolizing hope and growth amidst the difficult journey ahead.

Stolas nodded, his own eyes brimming with tears. "I know you will," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're the strongest person I know."

The therapy sessions became a daily ritual, a testament to Blitz's resilience and Stolas's unwavering support. Brandon was always there, his presence a gentle reminder that love didn't have to be destructive, that it could be a force for good. They watched as Blitz slowly regained his strength, the anger and obsession of their past replaced by a quiet resolve to move forward.

One afternoon, as Stolas helped Blitz sit up, the demon's eyes searched his face, a question lingering in the air. "Why are you still here?" he rasped, his voice still strained from the tubes that had been his constant companions.

Stolas paused, the cloth in his hands hovering over Blitz's bandages. "Because I love you," he said simply, his voice filled with conviction. "But not in the way I did before."

Blitz's eyes searched his, the pain in them now mixed with something else—understanding. "I know," he murmured. "It's different now."

The days grew into a rhythm of pain and progress. Blitz pushed through the therapy with a stubbornness that surprised even the most seasoned of the hospital staff, his eyes never straying from Stolas's face. Stolas, in turn, grew stronger alongside him, the bond between them reforming into something new—a friendship that was steadfast and true.

Through the rigorous therapy sessions, the bond between Stolas and Blitz evolves into a deep friendship. Stolas's love transforms from obsession to a steadfast support, and Blitz recognizes the change. Their shared experiences in the hospital strengthen their connection, allowing them to move forward from their tumultuous past into a new phase of their relationship.

One evening, as the light outside grew dim, Brandon approached the hospital room, his eyes filled with a gentle excitement. "Guys, I've got something to tell you," he said, his voice carrying a hopeful lilt.

Stolas looked up from his book, his wings still heavily bandaged, and Blitz's eyes fluttered open, the pain etched into his features despite his attempt to hide it. "What is it?" Stolas asked, setting the book aside.

Brandon took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly. "I've found a place for us," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "A place where we can all live together and help each other heal."

Stolas's eyes widened, hope sparking in his chest. "Really?" he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

Blitz's gaze met Brandon's, a silent question passing between them. The human nodded, his smile warm and reassuring. "It's a safe place," he said. "A place where we can all start over."

The idea of a fresh start was tempting, a beacon of light in the dark tunnel they had been navigating. "What kind of place?" Stolas asked, his voice tentative.

"A house," Brandon said, his eyes shining. "It's a bit of a fixer-upper, but it's got plenty of room for all of us."

Stolas's heart skipped a beat. A home, together. It was more than he had dared to hope for. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice tentative.

Brandon nodded, his smile widening. "I've seen it," he said. "It's not much, but it's a start."

Brandon surprises Stolas and Blitz with the news of a potential new home, a symbol of their newfound friendship and a place to collectively heal from their past. Despite the challenges ahead, the offer of a "fixer-upper" house represents a fresh start, a shared space where they can all recover and build a future together.

The thought of leaving the hospital, of stepping into a new life, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Stolas felt his heart race at the prospect of creating a future that didn't involve the constant ache of guilt and regret. He looked to Blitz, searching for a sign of what he was feeling.

Blitz's expression was unreadable, his eyes flicking between Stolas and Brandon. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Okay," he murmured, his voice still weak. "Let's do it."

The decision was made, and the wheels were set in motion. Over the next few days, Brandon handled the logistics while Stolas focused on helping Blitz with his therapy. The doctor agreed to release Blitz under their combined care, trusting that the three of them had formed a strong support system.

On the day of their discharge, the hospital room was a flurry of activity. Nurses and orderlies bustled in and out, preparing Blitz for the transition to his new life. Stolas hovered anxiously, his eyes never leaving the demon's face. Despite the pain and exhaustion, Blitz managed a weak smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made Stolas's heart ache.

The trio decides to leave the hospital and move into the new house Brandon found, symbolizing their commitment to a shared future. Blitz, though weak, agrees to the plan, and the three prepare for discharge. The doctor trusts their bond as a support system for Blitz's ongoing recovery, and Stolas remains attentive and hopeful for their life together outside the hospital walls.

The trio forms a strong friendship during Blitz's hospital stay, with Brandon offering a new home as a symbol of their commitment to healing. The doctor supports their plan to move in together post-discharge, recognizing their bond as crucial to Blitz's recovery. Through physical therapy and shared experiences, Stolas's love for Blitz transitions from obsession to support, and they all look forward to starting anew in their "fixer-upper" house.

Brandon, ever the organizer, had packed their meager belongings and arranged for a car to take them to their new home. He hovered near the door, his excitement palpable. The house was a modest two-story building in a quiet neighborhood, the kind of place where the most exciting thing that happened was someone finally mowing their lawn. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic world they had known, but it was exactly what they needed.

As they stepped out of the hospital into the fresh air, the three of them took a moment to breathe in the scent of freedom. Stolas's wings, though still weak and bound, fluttered slightly with the excitement of a new beginning. Blitz leaned heavily on his crutches, his body a testament to the fire that had almost claimed him, but his eyes were bright with hope.

The drive to the house was quiet, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts, the weight of their past heavy on their shoulders. But as the car pulled up to the small, unassuming house, Brandon's excitement was infectious. "Welcome home," he murmured, his eyes shining with happiness.

Brandon organizes their move to the new house, which stands as a symbol of their newfound freedom and a stark contrast to their past lives. The trio leaves the hospital, with Stolas's weak but fluttering wings signifying hope and Blitz's recovery. Upon arrival, Brandon's excitement for their new home spreads among them, offering a glimpse of happiness amidst their heavy contemplations of the future.

Stolas helped Blitz out of the car, his own steps unsure. The house looked welcoming, the lights in the windows a warm beacon of hope. They made their way up the cracked sidewalk, the sound of their shoes echoing in the quiet evening. The door creaked open, revealing a living room that was sparsely furnished but clean. The scent of fresh paint and possibility filled the air.

Brandon led the way, his eyes alight with excitement. "This is it," he said, his voice a mix of nerves and anticipation. "Our fresh start."

Stolas and Blitz exchanged a look, the weight of their shared history heavy between them. But there was also a spark of something new—a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find peace here.

The house was a mess, a far cry from the luxurious penthouse they had once shared. The walls were bare, the floors uncarpeted, and the furniture second-hand at best. But as they moved through the space, their eyes fell on the small touches Brandon had added—fresh flowers in a vase, a hand-painted "Welcome Home" sign above the fireplace, and a fridge stocked with food that wasn't hospital fare.

"It's perfect," Stolas murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Blitz managed a weak chuckle. "It's a dump," he said, his voice hoarse. "But it's our dump."

The trio arrives at their new house, which is a stark contrast to their past life. Despite its unassuming and imperfect exterior, the interior holds a promise of a new beginning with Brandon's personal touches. Stolas and Blitz share a moment of hope, acknowledging the potential for peace and growth in their new shared space.

The three of them stood in the middle of the living room, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between them. Then, slowly, they began to laugh—a sound that was both painful and freeing. It was the first genuine laughter they had shared in what felt like forever, a balm to their weary souls.

Brandon took charge, showing them around the house with an enthusiasm that was contagious. Each room held the promise of a new beginning, a place where they could leave the ashes of their past behind. Stolas helped Blitz up the stairs, his heart swelling with a mix of guilt and gratitude as he saw the effort it took for the demon to ascend.

They reached a small, sunlit room with a view of the overgrown backyard. "This will be your room, Blitz," Brandon said, his voice gentle. "We can work on making it more comfortable."

Blitz nodded, his eyes scanning the bare walls. "It's a good start," he murmured, his voice filled with a tired resignation.

Stolas helped him into the room, his own guilt heavy in the air. "We'll make it better," he promised, his wings brushing against the doorframe as he moved to the window. The sun cast a warm glow across the space, highlighting the dust motes that danced in the air.

"We'll all work on it together," Brandon said firmly, his eyes meeting Stolas's in the mirror of his resolve. "We're a team now."

The trio shares a moment of laughter in their new home, symbolizing the start of their new life together. Brandon shows them around, assigning Blitz a room to recover in. Despite its initial state, they are optimistic about improving it and their lives together. Their unity is emphasized as they make plans to transform the house, signifying their commitment to each other and their shared future.

The trio leaves the hospital for their new "fixer-upper" home, which Brandon has made more welcoming. The house represents a new chapter, and their optimism grows as they plan renovations together. Stolas's wings hint at a brighter future, and their unity is reinforced as they envision the home's potential, signifying their dedication to a shared life.

During Blitz's hospitalization, a strong friendship forms between the three. Stolas's love evolves from obsession to support, and they decide to live together post-discharge. The doctor approves, recognizing their bond's importance in Blitz's recovery. They move into a "fixer-upper" home, symbolizing their commitment to a new life and shared growth.

Stolas nodded, his gaze lingering on Blitz's reflection. The demon looked so small, so fragile in the hospital gown, his once proud posture now stooped with pain. But there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before—a spark of life, of hope.

They spent the next few weeks settling into their new home, each day a mix of hard work and gentle care. Brandon proved to be a surprisingly adept nurse, his dedication to Blitz's recovery unwavering. He helped with the wound care, the exercises, and even the more mundane tasks like cooking and cleaning. Stolas watched him with a mix of admiration and something else—something that felt suspiciously like love.

The house slowly began to take shape, the bare walls filling with art and the empty spaces with furniture that had been scavenged from garage sales and donated by friends. They worked together, the three of them, creating a space that felt less like a hospital and more like a home.

Blitz's recovery was slow, each day a battle against the pain that threatened to consume him. But every small victory—his first step without crutches, the day he could shower by himself—was celebrated with quiet cheer. Stolas was there every step of the way, his gentle touch and soft encouragement a constant in the sea of pain.

As they adjust to their new life, the trio's bond strengthens. Brandon acts as a dedicated caretaker for Blitz, whose recovery is depicted in a series of small victories. The house transforms into a home under their collective efforts, symbolizing their progress from a hospital setting to a place of comfort and belonging. Stolas's love for Brandon grows, and his nurturing nature towards Blitz remains constant, contributing to the latter's healing process.

As the weeks turned into months, the scars on Blitz's body began to fade, but the ones on their hearts remained. They danced around their feelings, unsure of the new dynamic that had formed between them. They were friends, yes, but the love that had once burned so brightly had transformed into something more complex, a tapestry of regret, hope, and a newfound respect.

Stolas found solace in the quiet moments, the gentle brushing of Blitz's horns, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his dreams for the future. He watched Blitz regain his strength, his fiery spirit slowly returning, and felt a sense of pride that was as unexpected as it was profound. Their conversations grew longer, the silences between them no longer filled with the echoes of their tumultuous past but with the quiet understanding of shared experiences.

Brandon, ever the peacemaker, noticed the change in their relationship. He knew that the love between Stolas and Blitz was something he could never fully understand, but he saw the way they leaned on each other, the way they found comfort in their shared pain. And so, he stepped back, giving them the space they needed to navigate the complexities of their healing.

One evening, as they sat in the backyard watching the sunset, Stolas spoke up, his voice tentative. "Blitz, I know we've talked about this before, but I just want to make sure you're okay with all of this." He gestured to the house, to Brandon, to the life they were building together.

Over time, the trio's relationship evolves, with the emotional scars of their past persisting. Stolas and Blitz find comfort in each other's company, sharing moments of tenderness and understanding as Blitz regains his strength. Brandon, aware of the intricacies of their bond, provides them space to heal. A pivotal conversation arises when Stolas expresses his concern for Blitz's feelings about their new life together, indicating the depth of their friendship and shared experiences.

Blitz looked at him, his eyes a mix of pain and something softer. "I'm okay," he said finally. "I mean, it's not what I ever expected, but... it's not so bad."

Stolas reached out, his hand hovering over Blitz's. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "For everything."

Blitz's eyes searched his, and for a moment, Stolas saw the flicker of the demon he had once known—the fiery passion and intensity that had been the cornerstone of their love. But it was followed by a tired smile, one that spoke of acceptance and growth. "You don't have to be," Blitz said, his voice gruff. "We're here now, aren't we?"

Stolas nodded, his heart swelling with a mix of relief and love. He looked over at Brandon, who was busy tending to the small garden they had started. The human looked up and met his gaze, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He had become the anchor in their storm, the constant that held them together when the waves of their past threatened to pull them apart.

As the days grew longer and the nights shorter, the house took on a life of its own. The garden grew lush and green, and the walls of their new home were adorned with memories of their past, both good and bad. It served as a reminder of how far they had come, and the distance they still had to travel.

In a heartfelt conversation, Stolas and Blitz acknowledge their past and the unexpected nature of their current friendship. Blitz accepts their new life together, and their shared growth is reflected in their interactions. Brandon emerges as a stabilizing force, and the house evolves into a sanctuary filled with memories, symbolizing their collective journey toward healing and acceptance.

The trio's relationships deepen as they turn the house into a home. Brandon's care and Stolas's love contribute to Blitz's recovery. Stolas and Blitz share tender moments of understanding, acknowledging their past. Their friendship grows stronger, and the house becomes a sanctuary symbolizing their journey toward healing, with Brandon acting as a stabilizing force in their lives.

The three of them had developed a routine that was both comfortable and strange. Stolas would help Blitz with his physical therapy in the mornings, pushing him to his limits, while Brandon took care of the household chores. In the afternoons, they would sit together in the living room, sharing stories and laughter, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

One afternoon, as Blitz worked on a painting that had been left untouched for months, a knock echoed through the house. Stolas answered the door to find a delivery man holding a large, nondescript box. "It's for you," he said, nodding towards Blitz.

Curiosity piqued, they brought the box into the living room. Blitz looked at it warily, his hand hovering over the cardboard. "What is it?" he asked, his voice a mix of suspicion and hope.

Stolas carefully opened the flaps, revealing a sleek, professional camera. "It's from your art school," he said, his eyes wide with excitement. "They want you to come back and finish your degree."

Blitz's hand trembled as he reached for the letter that accompanied the camera. The words swam before his eyes, but the gist was clear—his teachers had seen his potential, had faith in his recovery. "I can't," he murmured, his voice thick with disbelief. "Not after what I've done."

Stolas took the letter from his hand, scanning the words with a frown. "They understand," he said gently. "They want to help you, Blitz. They believe in you."

The trio establishes a routine of care and companionship, with each member contributing to the household and supporting Blitz's recovery. A surprise delivery brings a lifeline from Blitz's past: an invitation to return to art school. Despite his initial doubt, the gesture from his teachers, who offer understanding and belief in his potential, marks a significant step in Blitz's healing journey and opens new possibilities for his future.

Blitz stared at the camera, his heart racing. He had always loved art, had dreamed of a life where he could create without the burden of his family's expectations or the chaos of his own emotions. The thought of returning to school, of being around people again, was both thrilling and terrifying.

"You should go," Stolas said, his voice gentle. "It's what you've always wanted."

Blitz looked up, his eyes searching Stolas's face. He knew the demon was right—this was the chance he had been dreaming of. But the fear of failure, of letting everyone down again, was a heavy burden. "What if I can't do it?" he whispered.

Stolas took his hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of it. "You're stronger than you think," he said, his voice firm. "We're all here for you."

Brandon nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with encouragement. "You've come so far," he said. "And we'll be right here, supporting you every step of the way."

With a deep breath, Blitz made his decision. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "I'll do it."

Their excitement was palpable as they helped him set up the camera, the clicking of the shutter a metaphorical leap into the future. Stolas couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the idea of Blitz leaving them for school, but he pushed it aside. This was what Blitz needed, what he deserved.

Despite his fears, Blitz decides to accept the offer to return to art school, driven by the encouragement of Stolas and Brandon. The camera delivery represents a beacon of hope and a chance to pursue his lifelong passion, prompting a significant decision to move forward. The support from his newfound family underscores the depth of their friendship and shared desire for his success.

As the days grew closer to the start of the semester, the house buzzed with a new energy. Blitz was a whirlwind of nerves and excitement, pouring his soul into his art as if it were a lifeline back to the world he had almost lost. Stolas watched him work, marveling at the way the light danced across the canvas, bringing to life the emotions that lay dormant in the demon's heart.

The night before his first day of classes, they gathered around the kitchen table, a map of the school sprawled out before them. Brandon's finger traced the path from their house to the art building, pointing out the quickest routes and the best places to grab coffee. "You've got this," he said, his eyes shining with belief.

Stolas felt his heart clench at the thought of Blitz leaving. "I'll miss you," he admitted, his voice thick with unshed tears.

Blitz looked at him, his expression softening. "I'll miss you too, Stoli," he said, using the old pet name that sent a shiver down Stolas's spine. "But this is a good thing. For all of us."

The first day of school was a blur of nervous excitement. Stolas and Brandon saw Blitz off, their words of encouragement hanging in the air like a protective shield. They watched as he disappeared into the sea of students, his crutches a stark reminder of the journey he had endured. Stolas felt a pang of regret, his wings tightening around his chest.

The trio prepares for Blitz's return to art school, filling the house with excitement and anticipation. Stolas, while feeling a sense of loss, recognizes the importance of this opportunity for Blitz. The moment of departure underscores their growth as a supportive family, with Stolas's use of the pet name "Stoli" hinting at their evolving relationship. The scene at the door captures the tension between fear and hope as they each face the new chapter ahead.

A delivery from Blitz's art school with an invitation to return marks a turning point in his healing. Despite fears, the support from Stolas and Brandon encourages Blitz to accept the offer. The house becomes a flurry of activity as they prepare for this significant step in his life, with Stolas calling him "Stoli," revealing the depth of their bond. Their shared excitement and fear highlight their growth as a family unit.

The house felt eerily quiet without Blitz's boisterous presence, and Stolas found himself wandering the halls, lost in thought. He picked up a paintbrush, the bristles still damp with Blitz's determination, and traced the contours of a forgotten canvas. It was as if he could feel the echoes of their shared past, the love and anger that had once consumed them.

In the kitchen, Brandon brewed a pot of coffee, the aroma a comforting embrace in the stillness. He looked over at Stolas, his eyes filled with understanding. "You know he's going to be okay," he said, his voice soothing.

Stolas nodded, but the doubt lingered. "I know," he murmured, his grip on the paintbrush tight. "But it's hard to let go."

Brandon stepped closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. "You've been his rock through all of this," he said. "He'll be fine. And we'll be here for each other."

Stolas leaned into the warmth of Brandon's embrace, his eyes still on the canvas. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's just... different."

Brandon nodded, his hand coming up to rest on Stolas's shoulder. "It is," he agreed. "But different doesn't have to be bad."

In Blitz's absence, the house feels empty, prompting introspection from Stolas. Brandon's comfort highlights the changing dynamics within their relationship. The moment of shared vulnerability and support acknowledges the challenges of change, while also affirming the strength of their bond as they navigate the new landscape of their lives without Blitz's constant presence. The conversation emphasizes growth and the acceptance of the new normal.

The next few months were a whirlwind of change. Blitz threw himself into his art, his passion for creation consuming him in a way that was both exhilarating and exhausting to watch. Stolas and Brandon supported him from the sidelines, attending his art shows and offering gentle criticism and encouragement. The house remained a bastion of their newfound peace, a place where they could be themselves without fear of judgment or repercussion.

But as the days grew shorter and the nights grew colder, the tension between Stolas and Brandon began to simmer beneath the surface. They had always known their feelings for each other were complicated, but with Blitz's departure, the unspoken truth grew louder. They were in love, and it was a love that transcended the boundaries of friendship.

One evening, as they sat in the living room with the warm glow of the fireplace casting shadows on the walls, Brandon took a deep breath. "Stoli," he began, his voice tentative. "I need to talk to you about something."

Stolas looked up from his book, his eyes meeting Brandon's with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "What's up?"

Brandon fidgeted, his hand tracing the edge of the couch cushion. "I've been thinking a lot about us," he began, his voice low. "And I know we've talked about taking things slow, but I... I can't help how I feel."

As Blitz immerses himself in school, the house remains a haven of support and growth. Stolas and Brandon's relationship evolves, with the unspoken truth of their love becoming more apparent. The conversation by the fireplace marks a pivotal moment where Brandon confesses his feelings, pushing the boundaries of their friendship and setting the stage for potential romantic developments within the trio's dynamic.

Stolas set his book aside, his heart racing. He knew what Brandon was trying to say, had felt the same unspoken tension coiling around them like a tightly wound spring. "What are you saying?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

Brandon took a deep breath, his eyes searching Stolas's face. "I'm saying that I love you," he said finally. "And I want us to be more than just friends."

Stolas felt his breath catch in his throat. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He knew that this moment had been a long time coming, but hearing it out loud was like a punch to the gut. He had been so focused on helping Blitz that he had pushed his own feelings aside, afraid of what they might mean.

He looked into Brandon's eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all he saw was sincerity, a raw vulnerability that made his heart ache. "I love you too," he finally said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. "More than I thought I could love anyone."

Brandon's smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. He leaned in, his hand cupping Stolas's cheek, and kissed him softly. It was a kiss filled with promise, with the sweetness of a future that had once seemed so far out of reach. Stolas melted into it, his body responding to the touch of the man he had come to love.

Brandon confesses his love for Stolas, desiring a romantic relationship beyond friendship. Stolas, initially caught off guard, admits his own love. Their mutual confession leads to a tender kiss, signaling a shift in their relationship dynamics and a newfound hope for a future together.

The kiss deepened, their tongues dancing together as they explored the new landscape of their relationship. Stolas felt his wings unfurling, the feathers brushing against Brandon's skin, sending sparks of desire through his body. They pulled away, breathless, their eyes locked.

"We should tell Blitz," Stolas murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "He deserves to know."

Brandon nodded, his thumb tracing the line of Stolas's jaw. "Yeah," he agreed. "But let's give him some time to focus on school first."

Stolas nodded, his hand sliding into Brandon's. "You're right," he said, his voice a gentle whisper. "We don't want to overwhelm him."

The next few weeks were a blur of stolen moments and whispered confessions. They learned each other's rhythms, the way their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle that had always been meant to be solved. Stolas had never felt this way before, a fierce love that burned in his chest like a star. And with every touch, every shared glance, he knew that Brandon felt it too.

But the looming shadow of their secret grew heavier with each passing day. They knew they couldn't keep it from Blitz forever, but the timing never felt right. They didn't want to distract him from his studies, from the new life he was building outside the confines of their tumultuous past. So, they waited, their love a quiet flame that grew brighter with every shared smile, every gentle touch.

After confessing their love, Stolas and Brandon share intimate moments, yet decide to keep their new relationship a secret from Blitz to avoid distracting him from his studies. Their bond deepens, but the secret weighs heavily, illustrating the complexities of their evolving family dynamic.

Blitz, for his part, seemed oblivious to the change in the air. His focus was solely on his art, his eyes alight with a passion that had been dulled by their tumultuous history. He talked about his classes, his newfound friends, and the freedom that came with being out from under his family's thumb. Stolas and Brandon listened with pride, their hearts swelling with every victory he shared.

But as the winter months grew closer, the tension between them grew tauter. Stolas knew they couldn't keep their relationship a secret much longer. The guilt of hiding their love from Blitz was eating away at him, especially as they grew closer as friends. They had to tell him, to lay their hearts bare and hope that he would understand.

One night, after Blitz had returned from a particularly grueling day at school, they sat him down in the warmth of the living room. Stolas's wings fluttered nervously, and Brandon's hand found his, offering a silent gesture of support. They took deep breaths, their eyes locked on Blitz's face, which was a canvas of confusion and curiosity.

"What's going on, you guys?" Blitz asked, his voice tinged with weariness.

Stolas took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. "We have something to tell you," he began, his voice shaky. "It's about us. Brandon and me."

Blitz's eyes widened, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. "What is it?" he asked, his gaze flicking between them.

Brandon took the lead, his voice steady. "We've fallen in love," he said, his thumb caressing the back of Stolas's hand. "It's been happening slowly, over the past few months, as we've all been healing and finding our way."

Blitz stared at them, his eyes unblinking. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. "Well, fuck me sideways," he murmured, his eyes shining with something that looked suspiciously like happiness. "I never saw that coming."

Stolas felt his shoulders relax, a weight lifting from his chest. "You're okay with it?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

Blitz leaned back into the couch, a smirk playing on his lips. "Why wouldn't I be?" He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. "You two are perfect for each other. I could see it from the start."

Stolas's eyes widened in shock. "You... you knew?"

Blitz shrugged, his grin growing wider. "I'm not blind, Stoli. Plus, the way you two look at each other, it's like you're sharing a secret the universe is dying to know." He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving them. "But you guys are happy, right?"

Stolas nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "More than we've ever been," he admitted.

Brandon leaned in, his voice earnest. "We never wanted to hurt you, Blitz. We just didn't know how to tell you."

Blitz's smile softened, and he reached out to pat Stolas's knee. "I know that," he said, his voice gentle. "And I'm happy for you. Really."

The tension in the room dissipated like smoke, replaced by a warmth that made Stolas's wings flutter with relief. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Blitz leaned forward, his expression serious. "But I need you to promise me one thing," he said, his eyes piercing through the haze of their confession.

Stolas and Brandon exchanged a nervous glance. "What's that?" Brandon asked, his voice a soft murmur.

Blitz's eyes searched their faces, his expression earnest. "Promise me that you'll never forget what we had," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "The good, the bad, it's all a part of who we are. And I don't want any of us to lose that."

Stolas and Brandon nodded in unison, the gravity of Blitz's words settling in their hearts. They knew that their past was a tangled web of love, anger, and regret, but it had shaped them into the beings they were today. They had all suffered, grown, and learned from their experiences, and their friendship was the strongest it had ever been.

"We promise," Stolas said, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll always cherish the memories we've shared, good and bad. They've made us who we are."

Brandon squeezed Stolas's hand, and the demon felt the truth of his words resonate within him. Their past had been a tumultuous rollercoaster, but it had led them to this moment—to a place of healing and growth.

"But what about us?" Stolas asked, his voice tentative. "Where do we go from here?"

Blitz's smile remained, but his eyes grew thoughtful. "Well, we're still friends, right?" He took a deep breath. "I think we need to figure out what that looks like now. We can't go back to the way things were, but we can move forward. Together."

They sat in silence for a moment, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. Then, as if a dam had broken, words began to spill from their lips—memories of the past, hopes for the future, fears and insecurities laid bare. They talked until the early hours of the morning, their hearts open and raw with the weight of their confessions.

As the embers of the fire began to die down, Brandon spoke up, his voice filled with a newfound resolve. "We can make this work," he said, his eyes shining with determination. "We're stronger together than we ever were apart."

Stolas nodded, his gaze moving between Blitz and Brandon. "We're a family," he said firmly. "No matter what happens, we're in this together."

Blitz's eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "Alright," he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A family it is."

The weeks that followed were a delicate dance of redefining their dynamics. They were no longer just roommates, but a trio bound by love, friendship, and a shared history that was as complex as it was painful. Stolas and Brandon grew more open with their affection, their touches and gestures a silent declaration of their newfound relationship status. Yet, they remained acutely aware of Blitz's feelings, ensuring that their love didn't overshadow the friendship that had been the foundation of their unconventional bond.

Blitz, for his part, threw himself into his art with renewed vigor. The scent of fresh paint and the scraping of palette knives against canvas filled the house, a constant reminder of the healing power of creation. He painted with a frenzy that both Stolas and Brandon found mesmerizing, his brushstrokes speaking volumes about his tumultuous journey. His pieces grew bolder, more vivid, and the pain that had once been so palpable in his work began to give way to something more profound—a sense of rebirth.

Stolas watched from the sidelines, his heart swelling with pride. He knew that Blitz was still navigating the choppy waters of his emotions, but he saw the growth, the way the demon was slowly letting go of the anger and hurt that had defined him for so long. And as he watched Blitz, he felt a newfound sense of purpose. He had always loved the idea of a family, but now, with Brandon by his side, he saw the possibility of it becoming a reality.

One evening, as Blitz worked on a particularly intense piece, Stolas approached him, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey," he said softly, not wanting to disturb the artist's flow. "Can I see?"

Blitz stepped back, his expression a mix of pride and vulnerability. "It's not finished," he warned, but the way his eyes searched Stolas's face told the demon he was eager for feedback.

Stolas nodded, his wings fluttering with excitement as he stepped closer. The painting was a whirlwind of color and emotion, a stark contrast to the darkness that had once dominated Blitz's work. It was a self-portrait, but instead of the usual snarling, feral demon, there was a softness to the features, a hint of peace in the eyes that hadn't been there before. "It's beautiful," Stolas murmured, the truth of his words resonating through him.

Blitz looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Thanks," he said, his voice gruff. "It's... different."

Stolas reached out, his hand hovering over the canvas. "It's a reflection of where you are now," he said, his eyes never leaving Blitz's. "You're growing, Blitz. We all are."

Blitz nodded, his eyes never leaving the painting. "I know," he murmured. "It's just... scary. Change is scary."

Stolas took a deep breath, his hand landing gently on Blitz's shoulder. "We're all here for you," he said. "We're in this together."

Brandon, who had been quietly observing from the doorway, stepped into the room, his presence a comforting warmth. "And we're not going anywhere," he added, his voice firm.

Blitz's gaze flicked to Brandon, and for a moment, Stolas saw the ghost of their past, the hurt and betrayal that had once driven them apart. But then Blitz took a deep breath, and the moment passed. "Thanks, guys," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The three of them stood there, their eyes locked in a silent understanding. They had come so far, endured so much, and yet here they were—still standing, still fighting for a future filled with hope and love.

As the nights grew colder and the days shorter, the house grew more alive with the warmth of their shared experiences. They laughed together, cried together, and supported each other's dreams. Stolas watched as Brandon and Blitz grew closer, not as lovers, but as brothers. It was a bond he had never thought possible, but now it was as solid as the foundation of their home.

One particularly dreary afternoon, Stolas found Blitz sitting by the window, his eyes distant. "What's up?" Stolas asked, his voice soft.

Blitz sighed, his gaze still out the window. "Just thinking," he murmured. "I got an email from the school today. They're having an exhibition, and they want me to submit some of my work."

Stolas's heart swelled with excitement. "That's amazing, Blitz!" He knew how much art meant to the demon, how it was his lifeblood, his way of making sense of the chaos inside him. "You should totally do it."

Blitz's eyes searched Stolas's face, looking for reassurance. "Do you think I'm ready?"

Stolas's smile was unwavering. "You're more than ready. Your art is... it's incredible. The world deserves to see it."

The room was filled with the sound of Blitz's shaky exhale. "Okay," he said finally, turning back to the canvas before him. "I'll do it."

Stolas felt a surge of pride. "That's the spirit," he said, clapping Blitz on the back. "We'll all go to the exhibition together. It'll be a celebration of how far you've come."

The days leading up to the exhibition were a flurry of activity. Blitz worked tirelessly on his pieces, fueled by a mix of excitement and nerves. Stolas and Brandon did their part, offering help where they could and giving Blitz the space he needed to create. The house was a symphony of creativity, with paint splattered on the floor and canvas strewn across every available surface.

On the night of the exhibition, the trio stood before the mirror, each dressed to the nines. Stolas's tail swished anxiously as he straightened Brandon's tie, while Brandon checked Blitz's attire. They looked like a well-oiled machine, each one playing their role in the grand performance of their newfound life together.

The gallery was a cacophony of voices and color when they arrived. Stolas felt his heart race as he took in the sea of unfamiliar faces, each one a potential critic of Blitz's soul-baring art. But as they approached the section dedicated to Blitz's work, the chatter grew quieter, replaced by a sense of reverence.

The paintings on the wall were a testament to his growth, each one a snapshot of his journey from anger to acceptance. The vibrant colors and powerful brushstrokes spoke louder than any words could. Stolas felt his chest swell with pride as he watched Blitz's eyes dart around the room, searching for their reactions.

Brandon's hand found Stolas's, their fingers intertwining as they moved closer to the first piece. It was a portrait of the two of them, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the fireplace, a scene from one of their many quiet nights together. Stolas felt his heart clench at the raw emotion in every detail—the love in Brandon's eyes, the understanding in his own.

As they moved through the exhibition, they saw their lives reflected back at them through Blitz's art. The pain, the anger, the love—it was all there, a visual diary of their journey from hell to something that resembled a home. Each piece was a story, a testament to their resilience and the bonds that had formed between them.

The attendees whispered, their eyes drawn to the raw emotion that poured from the canvases. Stolas felt his cheeks heat up as he heard snippets of their conversations, praising the honesty and depth of Blitz's work. They talked about the transformation, the way the art spoke to them, and for the first time in his life, Stolas felt truly seen.

As they reached the final piece, a sculpture of all three of them standing together, Stolas couldn't hold back his tears. It was perfect, a tangible representation of their journey from hell to this moment of hope. Blitz had captured the strength in Brandon's arms as he held them both, the love in Stolas's eyes as he looked up at him, and the newfound peace in his own expression.

"It's... it's us," Stolas managed to choke out, his voice thick with emotion.

Brandon's hand tightened around his, and Stolas knew that he was feeling the same overwhelming wave of pride and awe. The sculpture was a masterpiece, a three-dimensional representation of their tumultuous journey that somehow managed to encapsulate the love and hope that had emerged from the ashes.

The night of the exhibition was a blur of handshakes, compliments, and questions about their unusual living situation. Blitz fielded them with a mix of his trademark sarcasm and a surprising openness, his cheeks flushing with pleasure at the genuine praise for his art. Stolas and Brandon hovered nearby, a silent support system that seemed to bolster Blitz's confidence with every shared smile and gentle touch.

As the evening drew to a close, the three of them found themselves standing before the sculpture once again. Blitz's hand hovered over the outstretched wing of the Stolas figure, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "This," he said, his voice choked with emotion, "this is what I want to remember."

Stolas stepped closer, his own eyes misty. "We'll always be here for you," he promised, his hand covering Blitz's. "No matter what."

Brandon wrapped an arm around both of them, his eyes shining with love. "We're in this together," he said, his voice firm. "Always."

The exhibition was a success, the three of them leaving the gallery with a sense of accomplishment and a newfound understanding of their place in the world. They had faced their demons, both literally and figuratively, and come out the other side stronger. The art had not only been a reflection of their past but a beacon of hope for their future.

[astrxlfinale]

when does a God become a God? what defines a God? are deities born out of a sum of collective faith, or are they simply complex organisms evolved past the admittedly frustratingly limited understanding of humanity? where does this answer lie? how can she find it? how can she unravel it?

seeker of the flower that withers not permits for this strange indulgence existing only for one. of course, who else would it be, if not her dear assistant? she permits for him to stand close, to explore depths of her concealed to the sight of others. build her altars in your heart, and discover the heart that beats still within. ( from Mei, please go absolutely insane, we love to witness it )

Here they were, surrounded by a touch of the whimsical technology of the station, in many ways, these sterile walls managed to be correlated with a sense of a home away from home. Familiar faces, many events that found themselves, not to mention, it was these same stomping grounds that coalesced a shining thread in his eyes. One to grasp, promising a realm of life never before considered, seen and touched upon to the scale that the one known as Ruan Mei could compose it. Subtle as it'd be to many, countless practically developing a form of worship due to what her mind can compose upon the universe, something between them changed.

He'd be a damn big fool to never see the scale of how much the boons of time and experience forged for them. In that same vein, how his selfishness , the brazen crossing of so many borders have managed to unearth a particularly priceless 'gem.' Humanity, one that shall not be shared to the world with anyone else. (Never in this way.) For the way how her curious eyes battled and fell into ease the current of boundless emotion, it reflected perfectly a heaven of turquoise jade within stellar gold.

What transpires in this moment could be argued as a 'reward', a controlled variable, many ways that the measure of language could offer a lens. Yet to Caelus the reality was much more tender, much more simple as the current experiment found itself freshly finished, proof being found in the way healed scratches and a singed jacket had proven.

Delving into the World of Ruan Mei requires an incredible sense of potential, resolve.

If power gathered was the price to cross each border, to walk a road that needs them to constantly evolve in terms of the soul? He'd wear his pride seamlessly if it meant the sight of this smile, a treasure in it's own would be in his graces.

"Mei. You've been thinkin' about it too?" There's a blunt directness that's practiced, simply their style, often shared to the most amusing, passion filled instances that are forged into new stars. Being able to witness the way her complexion brightens (does she realize how it rivals her other passions?), to catch her curt response, part of him could imagine that fervor filled drive of her's would equally commit to venues that capture the might of her gaze.

This is why they've found themselves stationed underneath the hum of machinery, privacy freely offered due to the wealth of strings they carry and can pulled at anytime.

Make this god in formation before him shine. That was the trailing thought as he'd allow the distance between them to close. "Been on my mind all damn day, one way or another." Shameless words, a sign meant only for her to understand, to remember.

She was the very life that his hands intend to cradle as the Answer. An origin of what was truly important.

This is why the distance was soon driven to nil. The legendary researcher and her assistant to the world, Caelus and Ruan Mei to their bare essence. This is what fueled the tidal wave of passion that collided with the press of their lips, charging him with a wealth of invigoration, of starlit power that rushes through his vein in hand with this delight. With his pace dictating the rhythm, the press would be firm and full, a cosmic pull that aches in revealing how much she needs to be valued by HIS own means.

Hearing the way she gave him a blissful sigh to drink in only stirred that joy deep down. Delicious, and the exact reason to let each and every action be a sign of reverence. Angling his head in order to deepen the embrace of lips, letting those broad hands draw across the divine currents of her body, smoothing both the rich fabric and across her skin all the same, matting that broad touch into holding her hip and another to brace at the slight crescent of her back.

That request of a hot tongue grazing across those pink peach lips was both a request and a promise of what's to come.

@scrtilegii

[fasa-umich]

Nicole Manalac || FASA's 2023-2024 Secretary

“You’re Filipino, I’m Filipino, let's be friends.” 

Those were my thoughts as I approached FASA’s table in Festifal. There I met my future ate, Ashley, who then invited me to the Buwan ng Wika Picnic. Later this week, I attended an athletics event, where my future kuya, Colin, would be sitting behind me. And on the way to the Picnic from Bursley, my future ate, Krystelle sat across from me.

Crazy how life works.

I can’t thank FASA enough for the unforgettable memories and the close knit community that it has given me. From being part of the best lineage ever, to having an amazing intern class, and working with such a driven board, it has been a great 2 years. 

Highlights: 

Meeting my fellow 4th floor Burlodger Angelica at the Picnic and realizing we were right down the hall from each other

Taking a photo in front of Angelica’s door every morning at 6 am as I went to practice

Falling into a lake and showing up at Amanda’s house right before a football game

Having Amanda and Christian be my “Parents” for a day as they watched my rowing meet

Dressing up as Vector and meeting Alexa who coincidentally dressed up as a minion

Going absolutely insane while cooking for the intern project

Presentation night with Darago at NYPD 

Using the same Vector costume to then dress up as the Lorax (what will I be next year?)

So anywhoosies, let's talk about being Secretary. 

When I first became Secretary, I honestly was not as confident as I should have been, but as I talked to more people like Justine, Prezzies, Core 4, and board, I started taking more initiative and being less worried about things. Deciding that it was easier to ask for forgiveness rather than permission also really helped me, but I wouldn’t really recommend that strat for everyone. 

Being Secretary had its ups, like finally getting a big room for an event, ordering merch, or being able to organize everything using spreadsheets. But it also had its downs, like scrambling for a room because everything on that day was booked, waking up and booking mason hall classrooms to try to beat the other clubs from getting to them, or not being able to even get rooms at all. But if you asked me, I’d do it again - oh wait I am…  😼

So for the next next Secretary, here are my notes to you:

OMG Congrats! The role may be intimidating at first, but know that if you were elected, it is because people believe in you and want to succeed. Take initiative, and take risks. 

Frontload all the room bookings - it takes so much stress off your mind when you know that the room bookings are done, invest now so that you don’t have to sacrifice later (I myself could have done a better job of this)

Inventory… don’t forget about it. 

Have a plan A, B, and C

Spreadsheets - Use them, they’re amazing

Be vocal - if someone looks like they have something on their mind, they probably do and ask them to share. 

I (as well as all of board) will always be here if you need it. 

There’s honestly so much that I can say about Secretary, like how it developed my ability to anticipate needs and problem solve, how it was the perfect outlet to develop my administrative and excel skills, or simply just gave me a great group of friends to yap with. I’m keeping it short, sweet, and simple here because at the end of the day, maybe the real testimonial was the friends we made along the way. 

[bkdkology]

A Katsuki Meta

Howdy, I am back on my shit again after Atsushi’s twitter post of Horikoshi’s drafts made me cry for two hours and sleep for three.

Let’s get to it!

While there is obvious symbolism in this draft of Katsuki letting go of his past self, you have to appreciate just how much planning has been dedicated to this series, and how Horikoshi has managed to take a character that could’ve strictly followed a checklist of stereotypes for a hot headed, short tempered deuteragonist and build him to become just as complex and important as the protagonist.

He kept true to the promise he made when the chapter releases were still in the single digits:

Katsuki’s character is one of the easiest to mishandle. He was introduced as a bully, and maintained an explosively vile personality throughout a good chunk of the series. His most obvious traits are the marks of a FOIL to Deku, and he could have well stayed that way and still ended up becoming a good pro, with the usual AHA moment that a deuteragonist like him experiences: a moment where he learns that power isn’t everything.

Except he didn’t have a moment, he had several. He was kidnapped, tossed around, ripped to shreds, challenged, loved, trusted, admired, understood and practically reborn. The fact that he’s managed to stay true to himself after everything means he always had the makings of a great hero in him.

I wouldn’t say I’m a person who’s particularly capable of insane and correct deep level thinking, and on top of that I’m INCREDIBLY EASY to impress. For me it’s like:

You know how Earth needed to be at the exact distance it is from the sun and have the perfect atmosphere to create life? Katsuki’s story is much like that.

If anyone else but Deku had been telling the story, if Deku hadn’t been as persistent, strong willed, and caring as he is, and if everything that happened to Katsuki didn’t happen in the exact order and manner it did, he wouldn’t have been as great as he is now. And while that’s simple enough to say, it’s truly such a beautiful thing to bear witness to.

We’re 300 chapters and nearly 6 years into MHA and we’ve seen.

Katsuki go from refusing to work with others to becoming a great team leader.

His focus has always been on one thing: victory. In almost every situation, he’s had his eye on the win. It wasn’t always the case when Deku was involved, because Deku was so different from him in a way that made him feel threatened. And it’s something that has most likely been on his mind for a long time.

He’s become more comfortable with his vision since his fight with Deku, and it was probably liberating in an emotional sense too. His fight with Deku didn’t just realign and solidify his own views on life, but made him more accepting of himself and absolved him of some of his heaviest insecurities.

Katsuki letting go of his superiority complex to better himself.

In the days leading up to his fight with Deku, he was also fighting an internal battle for “being the reason behind All Might’s end.”

I wouldn’t argue that he was feeling guilty. While it was surely part of it, it shouldn’t be minimized to only guilt. The expressions on his face throughout the fight were incredible, he was angry, frustrated, confused, scared, quite clearly as he claimed, he just didn’t know what the hell he should do, so he fought.

By the time he interned at Endeavor’s agency, he was already well aware that he had faults, which is a huge step for him, and he was beginning the process of pinpointing those faults.

His unwillingness to work with Deku dissolves

After reaching a certain point in the manga, it’s become hard for me to imagine a time when Katsuki full on rejected Deku. In the first few volumes Katsuki got worse before he got better. He was in a comfortable position bullying Deku in middle school, but when he started to experience failure, when he witnessed Deku becoming stronger at a faster rate than him, he couldn’t even enjoy the fact that he was going to school where his favorite role model was teaching.

Now, after everything, Katsuki was opening up to Deku. They started training together to help Deku gain control of OFA. And not just that, Katsuki was invested in the long term. While he shared the secret of OFA with Deku long before anyone else found out about it, he later started to shoulder some of the weight too, and he was good at it.

He called small might out for keeping secrets from Deku, claiming Deku trusted him with his life, but he wasn’t as easily convinced, pointing out a detail in the descriptions of the past users that might’ve gone over Deku’s head. He’s always been brilliant, but now he’s using that brilliance to actively try to become involved with Deku’s burden.

He’s changed in obvious ways, but in subtle ones too.

After so much time, this panel is still really hard to look at. If you’ve ever suffered at the hands of bullies, you probably feel like there’s little satisfaction in their story even though so much has changed between them, there’s still a long way to go, there’s still a huge piece missing. Deku is way too forgiving, I don’t think he ever held anything against Katsuki for the way he treated him in the past. Katsuki is still hard with words, since the last time he bullied Deku, he has never said anything he doesn’t mean.

Katsuki has never been the type to lie. He doesn’t beat around the bush, he doesn’t pretend to be somebody he’s not, and while that part of him hasn’t changed, the way in which he delivers has. His heart has changed, and while I don’t recall a moment where he hasn’t been able to live up to his big claims, his confidence has changed from being used to mask his insecurity, to a healthier confidence that can lead, support, protect, and save.

To think that this moment is the moment that solidified Katsuki’s path to greatness, the fact that his capabilities and brilliance have always made his future bright, he’s gone above and beyond his own expectations of the world and how it works. In the world of scientific journals, there is always a gap in the knowledge of the scientific community, a gap in the understanding of how the world works. When you find that gap, something incredible happens.

He let go of the past. Katsuki, who envisioned a life where he made it big because he knew he could. Katsuki, who was always self driven. Katsuki, who loves the taste of victory. Katsuki, who categorized the world and people around him in terms of power. Katsuki, who believed only the powerful could become strong.

Deku was the one thing in his life that didn’t fit in his picture of the world. To him, his understanding of how the world worked was defined by the strong, the weak, the good and the bad. He couldn’t understand how empathy and vulnerability could make someone strong.

I’m really excited to see where Katsuki goes from here. There’s still so much for him to discover, and he’s so, so close to the end stage of his metamorphosis.

[apocalypseornaw]

Hunters & Marshal Stars- Part Nine

The hunt turns into a race against time when Dean and Raylan discover you're missing.

The first two places were completely abandoned. You were calmed down and second thinking the whole storming out thing. Yeah you could've handled it better but so could've Dean. How could he be so blind? Friends? Friends don't act like you and Dean.

It had been so long since either of you had so much as looked at another person in a sexual or romantic way. Not only that but if either of you couldn't sleep the other was there. It was something that seemed so simple but more than once morning had found the two of you curled up together from simply holding each other the night before. After hell, Purgatory and everything in between the two of you had always been the shoulder each other leaned on. 

Yeah losing Sam had hurt both of you enough that a wedge had been driven there for a while but even then even with him being with Lisa and you being in Miami the two of you kept in touch regularly.You trusted Dean in every way possible and thought he trusted you that way. 

--------

You pulled Boyd's truck to a stop at the third place, running a hand over your face at the thought of having to face Dean after admitting you were in love with him. Christ the last few days had been insane even by your life's standards.

You killed the engine then climbed out grabbing the flashlight you'd found under the seat in case the electricity was turned off. You could feel your phone vibrating in your jacket but didn't bother looking at it. You knew it was one of them. Apparently Dean hadn't realized you'd figure out a number with a Kentucky area code would be Boyd, Ava or Tim. Raylan still had his same cell number.

You headed for the porch being careful of any loose boards. Maybe you should answer, at the very least you could meet up with Tim and Sam which would make checking places go quicker and safer. 

The door opened easily in your hand and that alone gave you a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something was off about this place that hadn't been off about the others.  You reached for your gun at your lower back feeling the cool metal in your hand as you moved through the house checking room by room.

You hesitated at the door leading down into the cellar. You should call Sam, tell them to come meet you. You started to turn around and head outside but a muffled noise from the cellar caught your attention. You took a deep breath before saying "Fuck it" hopefully it would just be a possum.

You groaned when consciousness started to slowly return to you. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a bus and as for the scar on your left leg? It felt like it was on fire.

You startled awake when you realized there was someone or something in the room with you. You tried to move but realized your legs and arms were chained to the wall. "Son of a bitch" you cursed hearing a growl in response.

Your head flew towards the sound and felt your heart threaten to stop beating in your chest when you saw two of the creatures sitting not six feet away watching you. You snatched uselessly at the chains. They weren't giving and you had no means to protect yourself. The only question that remained was why weren't you dead yet?

You kept them in your sight trying to think around the pain flowing through your system "What are you waiting for?" You wondered aloud but never expected a response "They're waiting on my command dear" 

You looked towards the sound and couldn't believe your eyes "Celeste?" She stepped from the shadows, her pale blonde hair tied up intricately on the top of her head and her violet eyes watching you carefully "You're behind them?"

She ran a hand across the head of the nearest creature "Behind them? I created them. What better way to lure hunters to their death" "I don't understand. You worked with Helena. You helped me" you shook your head trying and failing to keep your vision from going blurry as you realized there was blood on your arm. Had one of these things bit you?

"I couldn't let you die in front of her but if you die due to the negligence of other hunters? The Winchesters nonetheless what better way than to get her on my side" "How? Have you tracked Raylan?" You asked and she smiled "I placed Tommy Bucks in his path. I planned all of this just to get to this moment" 

You scoffed not being able to bite back the urge to say "Oh my. Didn't realize I had a whole ass fanclub. Party of one" "You and that humor of yours" She laughed and you forced yourself to get up to your knees at least as you said "Well honey we got two hunters, two Deputy Marshals and a man that half the criminals in this county work for looking for me. So take your chances, kill me but you'll see what happens"

She stormed over grabbing a handful of your hair forcing you to your feet despite the strain it caused from the chains snatching both your arms backward and the fact that even had you been free you weren't sure you could stand on your own "You'll be long dead before they ever find you. I manipulated the situation this far it won't take a lot to turn your hunter and your cowboy against each other"

"Raylan, we gotta find her" Dean didn't care if he sounded broken or weak. For the first time in longer than he could remember he was panicking. You had been radio silent for far too long. Even Sam's calls had gone unanswered.

"We will. Look, the list was only so long. Tim said the places they checked were a bust so there's only two more on the list. We're closest to the one off Morrison road so let's check it out then we'll see where they're at" Dean chanced a glance at the other man and could see no matter his calm demeanor that he was worried as well. Neither of them could lose you,not like this.

------

Dean pulled to a stop behind Boyd's truck that was parked just outside the abandoned house. He cut his eyes at Raylan as they both climbed out of the impala. "Why hasn't she answered her phone?" Raylan was the first one to give voice to the question.

Dean pulled his gun quickly as he checked the hood of Boyd's truck. "It's cold" Raylan drew his gun at that discovery "So there's a chance she's hurt" "Or worse" Dean added feeling his heart drop at the mere thought of it.

------

The door of the house flew off the hinges when both men landed a boot solidly to the middle of it. They walked in shoulder to shoulder "We clear it room by room. Watch your back. Y/N said these things move fast and will bite at any given chance" Dean warned and Raylan nodded.

------

The house had nearly been cleared when the two men met up at the door leading down into the cellar. "Y/N said these things like dens" Raylan offered and Dean nodded "I go in first though" at the look Raylan gave him he clarified "I don't give a damn that you're a Marshal. This is my territory. I'd be a shit hunter to let you down those stairs first. Besides she cares about you, that means if you're hurt it's gonna hurt her" 

"And if you get hurt when she's in love with you?" Raylan countered with his hand on the door. Dean sighed in defeat "Count of three?"

------

Blood, a body and more blood...Dean felt his stomach churn looking at the mess in front of them. He spotted something amidst the carnage and squatted down to investigate when he found your leather bracelet. It took everything in him to not break down. "Givens" he barely choked out. 

Raylan turned and froze when he saw the bloody piece of jewelry "That's Y/N's" "There's a lot of blood but no body. She's hurt but she's not dead" Dean's voice sounded a lot more certain than his heart felt at the moment. If only he'd told you how he truly felt. If only he'd stopped being a stubborn asshole for two seconds you would've been with him not alone. He didn't have time to beat himself up though. Finding you was top priority.

"So she's taken by whatever caused this?" Raylan asked, shoving the body with the toe of his boot. "We can find her with her bracelet. Sam can do a tracking spell Rowena taught him" Dean replied standing up straight and already reaching for his phone "and if we're too late?" Raylan asked, giving voice to the dread lying in wait at the back of both their minds.

"We won't be" Dean bit back heading up the stairs without so much as looking back to see if Raylan was following, your bracelet clutched tightly in his hand. "We won't be" he repeated hoping if he said it enough maybe he'd believe it too.

@universallyraylangivens

[itsbenedict]

Earlier I started posting about the games I played this year, and now here's the rest of them!

Rogue Legacy 2

This one's still in early access, but I've seen most of what it has to offer so far. If you played the first Rogue Legacy, it's more of that- bigger, with more classes and spells and locations, and a new Relics system that gives a little bit of upgrade progression-type stuff to each run. I like it!

If you haven't played the first Rogue Legacy- it's a roguelite platformer! You go through a spooky castle fighting enemies and also smashing every single piece of furniture you see just in case gold coins are hiding inside. When you die, your descendant picks up where you left off, and can use your inherited gold coins to buy upgrades and unlock more stuff. Also, this time it appears to have a story! The ending's not in yet, but it's reasonably interesting so far.

Psycholonials

Jegus fucking christ. What a thing this was! It sure... was a thing!

If you don't know, Psycholonials is a visual novel created by Andrew Hussie, creator of Homestuck- the first properly non-Homestuck thing he's done in ages. I was excited to find out what he'd been sitting on for so long, and...

Uh. How do I describe Psycholonials? It's... it escalates. It does the thing Homestuck and Problem Sleuth do where it starts out simple, and then sort of unfolds fractally into this insane clusterfuck that's constantly upping the stakes and getting increasingly deranged in a way that technically follows entirely logically from what came before.

Where Psycholonials is interesting is in that it... doesn't use game mechanics or space magic or whatever to drive that escalation, for the most part. It is... I would not in a million years call it realistic, because the events of the story are a psychotic doomer fever dream with a tenuous grasp on human reality, but it at least purports to take place on Earth, with events driven by human action in our modern world. There's some weird plausibly-deniable meta space magic stuff in there, but it could be plausibly written off as a delusion.

I don't think I, like, agree with most of what it's saying, but it sure is saying some stuff! In a really unique way! It's worth experiencing, at least.

(soundtrack's kinda weak though. lot of very pretty piano compositions but the very pretty piano compositions really do not work as emotional backdrop for most of these moments. idk if the inappropriate musical accompaniment was supposed to be making a statement or what, but i don't think it worked.)

Monster Train

Eesh. Okay, so- it's a roguelike deckbuilder, all the rage these days. Very pretty art. Very fun, mostly very well-balanced except the DLC goes the "okay now pump the difficulty up insanely so that only one strategy actually works and fuck you if you want to have fun" route. Polished and enjoyable and...

...and I got seriously addicted and wasted way way way too much time on it. Like a month of my life doing nothing else with my free time. I don't know exactly what the special sauce is that makes it do that, but I had to uninstall- this one's dangerous.

The Witch & The 66 Mushrooms

A short and sweet retro-styled metroidvania platformer. Not too much to say about it- it's cute, it's fun, there's a handful of really annoying challenges you have to do for 100% completion and the good ending- but overall, a pretty breezy experience. Took me about 3 hours to beat 95% of and another 3 hours to beat the last 5% of.

Deltarune (chapter 2)

If you've been holding off on Deltarune because it's not complete: that's valid, but each chapter is a mostly contained story so far- they're more like individual short games, at least for the two chapters that are out. Chapter 2 is hysterical, featuring a new main antagonist who is an evil cyborg queen that learned about humanity Lightners from the internet, and who is just the best. There's also a second [𝙴𝚇𝙲𝙻𝚄𝚂𝙸𝚅𝙴! $𝟷𝟿.𝟿𝟿 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚞𝚎] antagonist who is apparently [𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫] lately, but he's not as good as the main attraction and very best cyber-tyrant.

-

That's everything I finished in 2021, but there's a few things I've sunk a lot of time into that are worthy of a mention, even though I'm not quite done with them yet.

Eastward

Holy damn, this game is gorgeous. It's like... every inch of this world is custom pixelart, made by someone who clearly loves doing pixelart, because there's no other reason there'd be this damn much of it. Every background NPC has a name and a character design, no reused generic townsfolk assets. Every building in every area- even if it's just there for decoration and the door is locked- is a custom piece packed with little details. You only see, like, tilesets and reused art in wilderness or dungeon areas where the terrain needs to be legible for combat and puzzle-solving- otherwise the whole game is just a work of art.

(the gameplay is very simplistic and the movement controls seem a little awkward considering how polished the rest of it is- it recommends a gamepad but the way aiming works I suspect it works better with mouse and keyboard. combat is serviceable but the art and story are the real draw.)

I'm only about halfway through it right now, so I don't know where the story is going exactly, but there sure is a lot of it- it's a very story-focused thing, following an old man and his surrogate daughter as they're forced to flee their lives in a Jiha Village-esque subterranean mining colony and adventure throughout a colorful world being menaced by some sort of ancient apocalyptic threat. I'm excited to see where it goes!

Trails to Azure

Trails from Zero and Trails to Azure (Zero no Kiseki and Ao no Kiseki) are a couple JRPGs in the Trails series that were never localized in the west- they skipped right from Trails in the Sky to Trails of Cold Steel. A fan organization called Geofront took it upon themselves to do full translation projects for the games, so I finally got to fill in that gap. (The fan translations have actually recently been taken down, though- because the Geofront actually got approached by NIS to partner in officially localizing the games, with the bulk of the work already being done- the fan translation patch is now going to be the official release, whenever that comes out.)

Anyway, the duology takes place in Crossbell this time- unlike the other Trails games, which have you journeying across a whole nation, Crossbell is a single city (plus a couple outlying villages), brought to life in exquisite detail. The Trails series is hard to localize because there's so much dialogue- every NPC in these games is a character with a name and face and little story arc of their own, developing over the course of a long story where each NPC has new dialogue every time the plot advances fractionally. Crossbell feels real- it makes me feel disappointed that I can't like, actually buy a plane ticket to go visit it. I can't ever visit Morges Bakery in real life! That feels so unjust!

I've finished Zero and I'm on the final chapter of Azure right now- and man, Azure is definitely the best of the second-entry Trails games. Usually the first game in a pair introduces a setting and characters, and then in the second game you stay in the same setting with the same characters while Mysterious Badguy Organization "Ouroboros" does an evil supermagic JRPG plot that makes no sense. Azure does keep the same setting and characters, but this time the plot feels properly foreshadowed and the big twists earned. (A lot of the weaker stuff in Cold Steel feels in retrospect like it was blindly aping a lot of the stuff that succeeded in the Crossbell games.)

Anyway, the fun combat, good writing, and great soundtrack mean it'll be a solid rec when it gets officially rereleased in, uh, 2023 apparently. Glad I got in early!

Raft

It's a survival-crafting game like so many others, except instead of a big empty asset flip wilderness, you're on a raft drifting through the wreckage of an apocalyptic flood that destroyed civilization. The basic loop of "reel in trash" -> "expand raft" is pretty satisfying, and the islands you can visit to progress the story have some pretty fun things going on. I'm waiting to play it in a group with some friends before I finish it.

Inscryption

It's a roguelike deckbuilder! ...At first. It's a horror game, too, where you're playing across a table from some sort of shadowy horror that has a sort of obsession with hunting and survivalism and kill-or-be-killed. If that were all it was, it'd be pretty good- the card game itself is strategically compelling and has a lot of fun synergies and unique challenges.

But it's by the same guy who made Pony Island and The Hex, so you know shit is gonna get weird and meta. I'm only like a third of the way through the game (I've reached "act 2", which is- like, cool for what it's doing, but less fun so far) and I don't know entirely where it's going, but it's definitely doing a lot of fun creepypasta shit. Zero is constantly on my ass to finish it already so he can talk spoilers with me, so I know it's good.

The Outer Wilds

You are a space alien who lives on a tiny planet. You have a spaceship that lets you fly around your solar system. The fucking sun keeps exploding and you have to timeloop back to 20 minutes before the sun explodes, to figure out why the sun keeps exploding and how to stop it from exploding so much.

It's a really unique experience- it's a spaceflight exploration game where you have to hunt down secrets and hints across an open world of planets with different gravity and exotic properties, many of which will kill you stone dead and send you back to the beginning. Your progress is measured in information gained, as you traverse the world and uncover ancient ruins and mysterious facilities and precursor aliens and quantum magic and all kinds of mind-blowing stuff.

I'm currently kind of stuck, having exhausted most of my leads and my best remaining lead probably being somewhere deep inside a horrifying MC Escher-ass nest of jumpscare space anglerfish, but I'm sure I'll work up the courage to go back in there and finish the game someday.

[book-o-scams]

Ed, Edd n Eddy Series Bible (1996) -Analysis-

You can all finally read/download Ed, Edd n Eddy's official Series Bible right here! Thanks again to Chuckletons for sharing this with me and to Joey/Kongiscool0518 for sharing it in the first place, the Holy Grail of lost Ed, Edd n Eddy trivia!

One of the first posts I made for this blog was the Series Bible page. It was a composite of every source we had ever seen reference the series bible so far-- storyboarders in interviews, CN's old character guides, and the biggest source, an old CN UK posting about the show. Well, I figure now that we have the official source, I better update the old page (so everyone knows it's out of date), and make this new Series Bible post using the official source! Not much new information, but I was intrigued to finally learn the true phrasings of some things we had only heard paraphrased, as well as at least one detail from the movie that I couldn't believe came up this early in conception...

Unfortunately, Tumblr has apparently updated its post system to only let me add 10 images? Gonna try and only use images for what I need since you can read the actual document above, I guess I'll transcribe it too for easier reference and so we don't ever lose some archive of this.

Quickly, let's review what a series bible is:

A series bible is how creators pitch shows to networks. They can be called “pitch bibles” as well. Bibles do not usually get posted publicly, because they are initially under a strict Non-Disclosure Agreement by the network; also the creator may simply not wish to share it because it reflects the earliest stages of development.

The pitch materials typically include early concepts for characters, locations and episodes. Sometimes it exposes secrets, in this case, Ed and Eddy’s home lives, and sometimes the stuff in it is completely abandoned because it’s so early in production, in this case, casual references to school and adults.

Alright, everybody, it's time to gather 'round and read the Ed, Edd n Eddy Bible!

THE YEAR IS 1996.

YOUR NAME IS LINDA SIMENSKY. YOU WORK AT CARTOON NETWORK. A FRIEND OF YOURS, DANNY ANTONUCCI, IS WRAPPING UP A SHOW ON MTV. YOU GET THIS FAX.

Linda Simensky immediately fell in love with this concept because as a child, she was best friends with 2 other Lindas for seemingly no reason other than the shared name.

I love how Danny decided last second to pencil in the correct names over each Ed, since they're arranged out of title-order.

"They're friends because they have the same name."

-the Logline for the series.

Fun fact: one storyboard artist for the movie observed that the movie is essentially all about challenging the series' original notion that the Eds are friends ONLY because of their name.

"A Danny Antonucci Cartuna"

-the label Danny used to use under announcements of new productions.

PAGE 1:

Ed, Edd n Eddy

They're best friends because they have the same name.

A gag laden, beat generated CARTOON bumper car ride of 3 misfit youths on a cul-de-sac in the suburbs of America.

Through summer vacation, part-time jobs, or just hang'n out at the corner mail box, they want to belong....but CAN'T.

From home chores, helping neighbors or eating jaw breakers, they want to fit in...but CAN'T.

Ed is into "B" monster movies, model kits and is quick to break out into rashes.

Lots of luck...

Edd is into chemistry, biology and prone to crushes.

Later...

Eddy is into pranks, is stylish and flaunts himself to the world.

Ya Right...

Ed, Edd n Eddy is a show about confusion and contradiction, that awkward part of youth, pimples, big feet, oily hair and... girls???.

Puberty is unforgiving.

I was fascinated by the lack of art on this page, it makes the pitch feel very focused. AKA logo in the corner, the title logo again up top, then the logline appears again below.

I really love the breakdown of Danny's vision of the show. "Gag-laden, beat-generated, CARTOON bumper ride." Very accurate, and I think "beat-generated" is the phrase that interests me the most. I typically think of "animation beats" as sort of a give-in-- technically all things fit a rhythm, so all stories are essentially just a montage of beats. But this does make me realize how important the strength of the beats and their rhythm are to the pacing of a cartoon and making you feel like "that was a good one." I feel like the "seasonal rot" viewers feel over the course of a show, and the way that perception differs from person to person, depends on the type of beats you want. Even though I am very into the experimental beats of a show in its later seasons, I can definitely see how season 1's beats are more typically appealing to a wide-audience, and how important a focus on that is to the longevity of a show.

I found it really interesting how the scams are initially conceived of here as "summer jobs." It adds to the sense that adults were originally meant to be present. Honestly a little surprised nobody with access to this bible had ever thought to mention that-- scams are not referenced ANYWHERE. Their image in the Series Bible is that they have summer jobs and help neighbors, which is certainly a much cleaner reputation than the Eds ended up with in the show. Makes me realize though, were some of the early scams, like Ed's Hive Bee Gone and their newspaper routes, supposed to be leaning into this early idea of them with almost legit jobs for unseen adults?

I was very amused by the repeated phrase that the Eds simply CAN'T fit in.

Loved to finally see the official phrasing for the confirmation that Peach Creek is in America. Not much different than I was led to believe, but still nice to have the true quote.

Also love Eddy being described as "stylish and flaunting himself to the world." The bold-print reactions to each micro-description is a cute idea too, I truly wonder who we were meant to picture saying those things in reaction. Each Ed? Kevin?

The "corner mail box" is an oddly specific phrase-- the Eds do hang around mailboxes throughout the series, especially seasons 1-3, and I believe the canon map does have a corner mailbox, but the idea that the Eds hang out at one specific mailbox went the way of Bro's supposed secret treehouses.

PAGE 2:

Ed, Edd n Eddy

Show Description

Gag laden. True cartoon style, inventive, non parody, fast paced, stretch and squash

Beat driven. (even when characters stop they hold with a bounce cycle. Adults never bounce. Music can play important part, not just fill.) But not a musical.

Cartoon surrealism. (viewers see the show as Ed, Edd n Eddy would, less important things tend to blend into the background, while objects of Ed, Edd n Eddy's desires are focused. Premise driven.)

The school year's over, (yeah!!!!) and the long HOT summer vacation begins (gulp). What to do?

Stuck on a cul-de-sac in the suburbs of America is the last place you want to spend summer break, especially when you find life confusing and contradicting.

Ed, Edd n Eddy is about friendship, and serves to remind us that they're no "good ole days," just smelly runners.

You can tackle anything, when your with your pals.

Their days are spent, for knowledge, acceptance and some cash for jaw breakers. Armed with pimples, big feet and oily hair the three amigos trek into the unknown.

Ed, Edd n Eddy are dying to be grown-ups, but they're kids, and attack adulthood as only kids would. Simple situations turn into a manic rollercoaster ride. (Don't forget your barf bag).

They just want to belong, and they're willing to pull off any insane stunt to prove it. First they need to figure out what it is they want to belong to.

Found it interesting that on this page, the show's logo is replaced with the title written in a jumbled font. Seems like the font from the show's end credits.

Hehe, the continued reactions to the descriptions. Allow me to be Double D for a moment and point out the increased use of parentheticals on this page, as well as one wrong "your".

I love Danny's insight that season 1 is framed by the context of how hyped everyone still is just to be out of school, but also the sense of pressure to make use of their break.

I really appreciate Danny getting further into the details of his summary of the show's style on the previous page. It only makes sense that he had this much of a vision that early.

A second confirmation of the cul-de-sac being in America! I'm also really into the repeated focus on the Eds finding the world "contradicting." I always loved how EEnE's inexplicable cartoon antics supported that sense that the Eds are highly aware of contradictions in both societal things and the actual characters.

WOW, so I'm fascinated by this dual reveal. Before the wiggling outlines, which Danny usually calls a "boiling line" and describes as a tribute to wiggling inking in early animation, the series bible instead refers to him wanting the characters to do the iconic Fleischer "bounce," which is a much more commonly recognized rubberhose animation technique. Very interesting that Danny decided not to stick to that. Did it feel too out of place? Or was the overseas team not willing to animate a weight-shifting for every single held pose? Haha, guess I can see why boiling was an easier compromise. I wonder if he had any other ideas for how to make it more of a 1930s cartoon.

The other reveal to me here is that the movie's choice, that adults don't always wiggle in the show, was an idea from the very beginning! I guess I can better understand now why it's just too difficult to communicate a stylistic choice like that overseas-- no point making Bro not wiggle, that'd just create confusion.

Also, really disappointed that my wish for a musical is officially squashed in the series bible itself. That's a tragedy. The show's over, ya couldn't let me dream, Danny!? Conversely, I love Danny's forethought to say "non parody," I definitely noticed and appreciated EEnE's avoidance of derivative parody humor.

My spouse had to point out to me that Danny probably means sneakers here, lol. Canadianisms!

The comments about the Eds wanting to grow up but needing to figure out what they want to belong to are so great and relate to the movie so well. I've heard those comments before, but the correct phrasing was cool to see.

PAGE 3:

Ed, Edd n Eddy (image of Ed in right corner)

Character Description

Ed

Attention deficiency syndrome.

He has trouble...

He can't....um...

OK, he draws all day in class.

When Eddy gets a bright idea...Ed's in.

Ed is easily talked into doing Eddy's "hard work". He has great physical strength.

Ed's happiest with his Model kits and B-monster movies. He draws his knowledge from his movies.

Ed smells. Flies are attracted to him.

Ed has sayings for all situations

ED: "you can change your shirt, and Bingo was his name..."

Ed's perpetually a slave to his younger sister's whims and whines.

Ed may have to baby-sit his sister, or let her watch whatever she wants on TV, or let her dress him up in mom's clothes.

Ed breaks out in Rashes. He's allergic to practically everything, especially Guinea Pigs.

Ed's Mom xerox's his sketches and doodles for her therapist.

Ed's Dad hopes to pass on to his son, his knowledge on "pre-owned" auto sales.

Very cute bit wasting the space at the top of the page. Danny seems very invested in Ed's personality already. The old sources we used to have definitely tried to condense these down to simpler blurbs.

Weird how Danny wants to essentially diagnose Ed with ADHD here (phrasing it very poorly, but it was the 90s and... Canada?). I don't know enough on the subject to debate it, but I still gotta point out Ed's canonical cracked skull!

Interested in the comment about Ed being most allergic to Guinea Pigs. I don't think that animal was ever even mentioned in the show. Eddy mentioned an old gerbil once....

Neat to finally have the real phrasing of the official word on Ed's parents! I saw someone comment earlier that this seems to be hinting Ed's Dad is selling stolen cars. I've never thought to question the legality of his apparent second-hand-car dealership (I imagined he works with Eddy's dad, who has received a legitimate award for his salesmanship), but those quotation marks are certainly making Mr. Ed's practices questionable! Best case scenario, Danny meant that more like italics or something, but maybe Ed's dad IS up to no good...

PAGES 4 & 5 (Ed's turn sheet and expression sheet)

PAGE 6:

Ed, Edd n Eddy (image of Edd in right corner)

Character Description

Edd

is really smart.

is really quiet.

Edd is unnaturally-- polite.

Edd hasn't been allowed to take gym ever since the Dodge ball incident. He's been excused to free study time in the library.

Edd doesn't like it when people touch his things.

EDD: "You may enter in my room, but don't touch my Lego robot. Thank you."

Edd's learning to play Peddle steel guitar. (his Mom makes him)

Edd's prone to "crushes". Girls in School, in his neighborhood, TV, anatomy books. He mails "true loves" his socks.

Edd is always ready for action, even though he can calculate the implications.

Edd constantly mumbles.

No one ever sees Edd's parents. They both work nights. They communicate to their son solely through Post-it notes. Edd's not allowed to touch anything in the house while they're gone. Anything.

Interesting how Danny slightly differentiates the barely-used space at the top here from Ed's description, to characterize Edd as more quiet and mumbly, adding an awkward "--" mid-sentence, perhaps to create the impression that Edd halts to choose words carefully.

Everything on this page feels familiar, from the character guides and other old sources. The most interesting thing to me here is that Edd's Mom forcing him to practice Pedal Steel Guitar is established this early, don't think I knew that, but I had noticed that it existed in his room from ep 1.

I love how the explanation in the beginning for why Edd goes along with their dumb schemes even though he's smart is basically just "he's always ready for action." ?!? I guess in a way???

That weirdly phrased Edd quote amuses me because it references Lego, just like the original concept background for his room before somebody nixed the copyright-namedrop.

Edd's prone to crushes thing has been reaffirmed over and over in character bios even though it really doesn't come up outside of the cupid magic in HPH and the pilot-episode heart eyes at Sarah that are barely canon. Still, I've always loved the truly disturbing statement that he mails "his true loves his socks" and how that managed to make it into canon with a comic book example, a cel animation example and a digital era example.

PAGES 7 & 8 (Edd's turn sheet and expression sheet)

PAGE 9:

Ed, Edd n Eddy (image of Eddy in right corner)

Character Description

Eddy

Exhibitionist.

Megalomaniac. (quote from his report card)

Eddy is the unofficial leader of the trio.

He's always got a plan, a stunt or a weird noise.

Eddy's the "class clown". He loves showing off. He loves being the centre of attention-- no matter how stupid the reason is.

Eddy is the only kid in his grade to have been expelled for aw hole week from school. It was his turn to set up the video for science class. He switched "Our Friend Yeast", for a video he "borrowed" from his parent's room.

Before Eddy's brother went....away, he enlightened Eddy with the "legends" of the neighbourhood. Eddy knows where all the abandoned tree houses are, which sewer pipers are safe to spelunk, and the secret recipe for the "El Mongo Stink Bomb" (it's been in the family for years).

He is the one who is most able to pretend that he knows it all... and doesn't care what anyone else thinks about him.

His genes are working the fastest.

Eddy's Dad is constantly concerned that Eddy may grow up to be a ...figure skater.

Eddy's Mom never believes his little darling was involved in such a heinous act.

Funny choice that Eddy's wasted-top-space is just two one-word descriptions, and allegedly lazily swiped from his negative report card.

Wow, we knew the report card quote and the "Our Friend Yeast" story from the UK show guide, but now we also know Ed's page says that Ed draws in class, and now I realize that Ed and Eddy have series bible school blurbs to match Edd's classic dodgeball incident blurb. Anyway, it's great that Eddy's showed his entire school some sort of sex video his parents have.

Very interested that the phrasing for the Bro/El Mongo Stink Bomb blurb even seems to suggest it's a family recipe. Eddy's Dad did have prankster stuff in his closet in JJJ... did Bro learn his prankster ways from Dad?? The neighborhood's secret tree houses have come up in other descriptions (at best, I'd say this could be related to that creepy shack the Eds found in the woods), but I think it's new info that Eddy personally learned the sewer routes from Bro. Interesting...

Thankfully, I had already heard about the Bible's awkward reference to Eddy being the most pubescent as "his genes are working the fastest," lmao.

Once again the Double D in me comes out to point out that the description of Eddy's Mom seems to switch to the Dad's pronouns.

PAGES 10 & 11 (Eddy's turn sheet and expression sheet)

PAGES 12-14 (Sarah, Jimmy, Rolf, Jonny, Nazz, and Kevin lineup of all 6, then 2 zoomed in lineups of the first 3 kids and last 3 kids)

(Funfact: the kids' designs were allegedly freelanced to an outside studio, hence why their refined later-season designs are so different from these lizardy starting places, lmao)

PAGE 15: (images of Sarah and Jimmy next to their blurbs)

SARAH

Ed's baby Sister.

It's her way or the Highway.

She has everything done for her, if NOT she'll "make" them do it.

She can be quick to judge.

Whinney.

A tatrum for every occasion.

More than a handful for Ed...or Edd and Eddy.

Thinks Edd is kinda cute.

Wants Eddy to MOVE...to another planet.

JIMMY

Sarah's best friend

He is always playing with girls, boys are just too tough.

He is accident prone, when ever we see him he has a different affliction, ie: band-aids, patches, casts, lumps...etc.

He is very clean.

The Ed's frighten him, "They're such brutes".

I'm surprised how much of the UK guide was accurate to what was really in the bible for them! Also surprised Danny misspelled "whiney" and "tantrum," one right after the other. Is this how Sarah spells them? ...Sorry, Danny, I yam what I yam.

PAGE 16: (images of Rolf and Jonny next to their blurbs)

ROLF

First generation of a landed immigrant family.

Nationality not important.

He's proud of his heritage.

He has peculiar traditions and/or customs.

He eats "weird" things.

He has hair on his back..... "yuck".

He confuses the Ed's to no end.

He confuses the other kids to no end.

JONNY 2x4

He is a wanderer and very inquisitive

From early morning to supper time, he is always outside playing, with his buddy, "Plank".

"Plank" is a wooden board that Jonny drew a face on with a crayon.

Jonny has wonderful conversations with Plank. ...Plank is a piece of wood.

Jonny makes himself very "accessible" to the Ed's.

Found it interesting that Rolf's bio is less clearly phrased than the UK bio set it up to be-- there they made it sound more like he mixes up who the Eds/kids are, here it's unclear whether it means that or (more likely) just means the obvious statement that everyone finds him confusing. If it's that, what a lame hollow bio Rolf got. This kid's based on you Danny, show some of that personal side!

Always loved Jonny's description, his life sounds so cute. Playing outside literally all day. Interesting to have it confirmed that Jonny drew Plank's face, I preferred to think the Eds drew him and sold him to Jonny, but whatever.

"Accessible" has always been an important vague description of Jonny to me. It really only applies to how chummy they could be with him in season 1, but it still sorta applies to his personality throughout the series as well.

PAGE 17: (images of Nazz and Kevin next to their blurbs)

NAZZ

She's cool, calm and assertive.

She is the most matured of the kids, or so she thinks.

She's into make-up and fashion magazines and Boys.

Sarah thinks she's awesome, wants to be just like her when she grows up.

When she enters a scene, all activity stops... boys freeze, they sweat, their hearts beat faster and faster. They lose their ability to talk. When she leaves, they recover and conclude it was something They ate.

She thinks the Ed's are funny.

KEVIN

He is cynical and sarcastic.

He thinks he knows the "routine". That's because he watches "60 Minutes".

It got a big laugh out of me that Kevin's description is only 2 sentences long. Nazz even has a more detailed character description from inception than Kevin. Love this for them.

Who's the Eds' rival? Well, he's cynical, sarcastic and he watches 60 Minutes, doesn't that tell you enough!?

I love the "mature... or so she thinks" remark about Nazz, a grounded flaw for her to have, being a little overcommitted to being mature like Eddy. It also perhaps suggests naiveté that makes it a little more reasonable that they didn't notice they were dumbing her down at the end of the series, but I do think the movie version of her better reflects the Bible's concept.

PAGE 18:

The Other Neighborhood Kids

Lineup of May, Lee and Marie.

The Kanker Sisters

These gals are tough. They bother, bully, provoke and bewilder everyone.

They live in a motor home park on the other side of the Cul-de-sac. The other kids have never been there.

They are proud of their Tammy Faye Baker memorabilia.

Their project "Cooking with Ketchup" closed down their school for a whole week.

No one likes them, especially the Eds.

They are determined to marry the Eds. They want them to do their dishes.

Amused that the Kankers are essentially being labeled backgrounds characters here, the role they mostly fell into in season 5. "Other" neighborhood kids...

I love that the Kankers have a school blurb to match each of the Eds', and that theirs has similar destructive-intentions to Eddy's video premiere story.

I believe all of this was all known from the UK guide as well, but still, neat stuff!

PAGES 19 & 20 (zoomed in Kanker lineup and their height chart with the Eds)

PAGES 21 & 22 (early promo art that used to be on CN's old Eds webpage, the art of the Eds eating jawbreakers at the end of ep 1 with the overhead text "Ed, Edd n Eddy love JAWBREAKERS!!!", and the art of the Eds all running with overhead text "Ed, Edd n Eddy see something shiny...."Jiggers." That weird "jiggers" statement at the end was normally edited out and I don't know what it means. Looked it up and it seems to be Chinook jargon (like when Ed said he was "skookum at X's and O's") usually said in the same sense as "CHEESE IT!")

PAGES 23+:

The rest of the pages in that bible download are from a 2004 storyboard test. The storyboard sample "It's Raining Eds," which we've seen some submitted samples of before, interpretations with Ed attempting to fly or chew gum and Edd making radioactive gum, I was surprised to find out the outline is just the original outline for the opening sequence to season 3's 'For Your Eds Only', seemingly Jonny was not written into the original outline (or was excised for easier testing purposes) but Kevin's brief cameo was. Now I wonder if they knew this would be used for a test when they wrote it, and if they would've come up with a less random way to include him if weren't forced to be a concise bit for testing's sake. (Your limit is typically 40 storyboard pages in my experience.)

I also noticed that in the included background references, the anonymous adult neighbor house next door to Ed's is officially just referred to as a "generic house."

My analysis ends here, but be sure to download that sometime and enjoy all the raw storyboard sketches at the end of the document!

[katsidhe]

Top 5 SPN relationships that aren't Dean&Sam

My top five actually all still include Sam, so first, here are some honorable mentions without him:

Kevin and Crowley: really fascinating combination of hatred and respect, and even trust, especially given Kevin and Crowley’s respective metamorphoses over the course of s8-9. They’re both in a way caught up in the machinations of Sam and Dean. Kevin of course loathes Crowley, but also kinda appreciates knowing where he stands with him. It was Crowley’s capture of him that pushed Kevin into becoming self-sufficient and paranoid and driven; it was Kevin’s escape and translation of the trials that pushed Crowley into being proactive in s8.

Jody and Alex: <3 their connection in 9.19 is so vital and real, based on shared loss and honesty.

Michael and Adam: Jake Abel has crazy chemistry with himself. And it’s endlessly interesting to speculate on how their relationship grew in the environment of the Cage.

Cas and Hannah: just, really nice to see Cas have a relationship with one of his siblings that is mostly positive and well-meaning (except when it’s not). Hannah represents all the good things about Heaven that Cas wants to preserve, both his complicated hopes and his frustrations with his native people. She offers him in return contrast and clarity.

5. Sam and Ruby

The hideous artistry of her manipulation! The insane chemistry! The ways that Sam’s victimhood here is tied up inextricably in his power, in moments of success and pride and trust and triumph! It’s so damn formative. The religious zeal in her love for him, the look in her eyes when she turned to him in 4.22 and fully believed that she had brought him to paradise, that she had helped him carry his cross and driven in the nails and together they would be rewarded—

4. Sam and Rowena

In a way, Sam and Rowena are an inversion of Sam and Ruby. Rowena’s transparently manipulative—she, too, uses Sam to set Lucifer free. She offers Sam power to beat impossible odds, in s10 and s11. But it’s so much less personal, for her: it’s not about using Sam, it’s about the ends she craves—her own power and freedom. So when she loses both in spectacular fashion, when she extends her vulnerability in s13 and Sam answers it with his own, it’s electrifying. It’s clear-eyed. Rowena is looking at someone she’s used and recognizing the hurt, and Sam sees a genuine need for connection in her. Their contrast is so good: she gives her wants and needs and pride an unfettered permission that Sam will not give his own, while Sam has lines in the sand that she does not. Drives me crazy, how much they trust one another by the end, although Sam knows how much she’s done, and Rowena knows Sam will be her death.

3. Sam and Jack

Sam as a father, oh, my heart. Sam and Jack are in some ways so simple, in the care and the regard they have for each other, in how Sam instantly adopted Jack and how Jack is instantly protective of him. But mostly they’re so complicated. The Lucifer thing is just the huge tip of the huge iceberg. Their relationship is founded on so many delicate lies and half-truths: Sam minimizes not just the extent of Lucifer’s nature, but also the extent of the danger Dean poses to Jack, and the practical need they have for Jack’s portal powers. They’re good for each other—better for each other than either of them realizes, I think—but the fundamental incompatibility of what they need from each other is heartbreaking.

2. Sam and Cas

Another relationship that is so simple and so complicated. The honest care and faith that they have in each other, the complexity of their orbit around Dean, the batshit insanity of their plans, their alien disregard for personal pain and danger when there’s a goal to meet: iconic. I really like the quiet internalism of their relationship, how it’s founded in a deep care and trust that, somewhat perversely, also enables their most reckless and self-destructive instincts. They like jumping off cliffs together/doing ill-advised soul experiments together.

1. Sam and Lucifer

If you think I wasn’t gonna rank this number one, you must be extremely new here. I live a Sam’n’Lucifer appreciation life. Everything about them drives me INSANE. Oh man, how do I sum it up: the horror! the trauma! to be alone for YEARS with someone who will not stop hurting you, the awful and inevitable intimacy of that! What Lucifer wants, what Sam wants, the dreadful asymmetry! The weird respect, the gaslighting, the abuse in every possible way, the years and years of fallout, the sheer enormity of their relationship offscreen that must be reconstructed forensically, by the huge and hideous shadow it casts. I am literally always thinking about them. I literally always crave the barest excuse to talk about them.

[helpinghanikan]

Sleeping arrangements

Avengers (and Matt Murdock x Reader)

Sum:  It's late and the bed is so nice. It's time to sleep and to bring your heroes along with you. (Fluffy little snippets of sleepy time with the Avengers)

Steve Rogers:

It’s the last train home and only one thing in this world is warm. The wall of Steve Rogers your head rested against was beating softly through the jacket and shirt he wore. Keeping your arms around his center to keep any of the heat from getting away. His own arm protects around your shoulders, keeping you in and gibing his hand something to do instead.

He could’ve driven, he should’ve driven, instead he wanted to take the train. He wanted to walk around like he did years and years before, but this time with your hands intertwined.

Although far away the train has started to shake the earth. Taking you out of the almost sleeping world and back into this cold one. The change in worlds brings out a yawn and lets the cold back in. It’s been a long day. With your eyes closed and clothes heavier than they could ever be Steve was the only thing keeping you up. His chin rests on your head after a while, thumb rubbing over your shoulder as the train finally pulled to a stop.

Inside it was the same story but in a seated position. Guided into his lap and landing with a groan as it was just so much work. The practically empty strain allowed your legs to stretched straight out over the seats.

Steve could stay awake longer than most, but he was tired. He was cold and annoyed and really wished he had driven instead of taking this stupid train. He took his frustration out on squeezing you tight, holding on as if you were liable to fall right out of the seat if he let go. At least it was warmer inside the train.

Tony Stark:

Someone staying up late, not getting enough sleep, and making exhaustion their personality trait is funny for maybe week. But After days of trying to coax him to come to bed, to try something other than just giving up on sleep or even talking to a doctor it gets concerning. After weeks of these same issues, it becomes frustrating.

Everyone, from Pepper to Peter have done their fair share of lecturing. Happy has gone out of his way in helping you get the dumbass to appointments. All of which he has walked right out because, unfortunately, he was still an adult who could make his own decisions.

It’s only after using the nuclear word that he pays attention.

“Anthony,” You say just before he leaves the room.

Although speaking to his back he does stop. His shoulders have tensed under the t-shirt and he’s listening in.

There’s an audio book’s worth of things you could say about this issue. But it would all be a repeat that he’s heard before, from many different mouths. Instead, you kept it simple, not even bothering to turn on the light.

“You didn’t even try.” It comes out from a tired partner just wanting the best for him. Yet Tony walks away from the advice, again.

Thor:

Power doesn’t stop for sleep. It’s still in the air when he’s laying sideways towards the window. Because of the whole nighttime thing it’s hard to tell if clouds are actually coming in or darkening. Maybe you’re just insane but Mr. Weatherman didn’t say anything about rain tonight, right?

It was a jolt that really woke you up. Looking over your shoulder at the expanse of muscular back. Thor movements were always a bit too…loud for this world. Whether running through a fight or moving in his sleep it calls attention to everyone. He doesn’t mean to, but it does wake you up enough to see your glass is dryer as a bone.

As if reading your mind, the rain has come down. It could almost be described as torrential how hard it was all coming down. Matching the dramatics of rain, a lightning strike coming straight down into some poor tree.

This wasn’t the first time Thor had a nightmare. Asgardians just seemed to be humans 2.0, making Thor just as a victim to horror as we humans are. At the same time, he was still another worldly being, translating to giving him a few feet when waking him up.

Another strike of lightening and another tree is taken out of this world. Without the lights on that blast was your only moment of lightening. The rest of the journey made to Thor’s side of the bed was done in darkness and pounding rain. Following the outlined Asgardian until reaching his shoulder. A gentle hand on his should does nothing. A little shake and a whispered “Thor,” finally does the trick.

The two strikes of lightening outside somehow reached his eyes. For the briefest of seconds blue, cracking energy is directed right at you. Stopping just as quickly as they appeared, replaced with Thor’s regular blue eyes that blink a few times.

“What is it?” he asks.

There’s no point in telling him the truth about his nightmares and their effect. Then again, there’s no point in lying either. Instead, it’s better to distract. “It’s still super early. Back to bed.” You say instead, kissing with until he takes the hit and holds you.

Bucky Barnes:

Sleep is a luxury that isn’t worth chasing. With the pillows and sheets there were nightmares and enemies that could sense his weakness. Trying to get at least six hours and all that guarantees is waking up sweaty and a call to doc, making sure to get everything back in order before you could ever notice.

Instead, he takes walks. Maps out the city at night, the changes and differences that happened without him. He recognizes the buildings, the structures and bricks that were too strong to be a victim to time.

Most of the time he does this alone. Watching a show about nothing until you were asleep before starting his walk. But there were times you catch him, calling out to him like the neighborhood cat trying to get away. Getting on your own shoes and jacket quickly. Then enforcing the handholding during the little adventure.

It’s only when passing by something important that words are shared. “One of my buddies worked here when this place was a mechanic. Broke his leg just before the draft, I still think it was on purpose.” He’d say then never bring it up again.

These walks are always shorter than most. After two times Bucky learned when to make the loop back home with you. When your building comes back into view the handholding has gotten sweaty. The walking had slowed to a crawl and you were dragging him down by the arm. Even less talking was done after getting through the door; just landing face down onto the bed without bothering about the shoes.

These kind of walks were Bucky’ favorite.

Natasha Romanoff:

The bed was used almost exclusively for sleeping. As the couch was both comfy and expensive. And, as Nat puts it, “Should we do it with the lights off too? Under the covers like grandparents?” Although it was probably another reason to use the overpriced couch more often.

Like any good, and overworked, soldier Nat could sleep anywhere. When a mission is done, and there’s nothing to worry about, a shower and a nap is the best in the world.

“I smell nice,” She says walking into the living after the shower. Steam still behind her, hair wrapped up and a sweater purposefully bought to be several sizes too big.

She stretches and lays over you like a cat. Resting as close as possible so you, too, can smell the expensive shampoo she uses. Making sure that the body wash isn’t ignored either as that, too, was expensive.

“Might as well spend this pay on something,” She says when asked about the prices.

Although she asks what you’re up to she won’t be awake for the answer. Already teetering into sleep land when you answer.

Natasha was as athletic as she was heavy. Only sometimes managing to carry her bridal style and most of the time having to walk/guide her into the bedroom. Either letting her drop onto the bed with the same weight you had carried in, or she holds fast and takes you down with her.

Just like a cat, Natasha gets to decide cuddle time.

T’challa:

Although the mattress was new, the bed’s size was traditional, and passed on through generations of rulers. Forget California king bed, A Wakanda king bed was that and a half. Ten feet length, twelve feet tall. Combined with blankets, pillows and more it was easy to disappear into the thing. But it was also easy to get lost in it all.

In the middle of the night, in the very center of this ocean of bed, you can reach out forever. Finding pillows (both the decorative and the usable kind), smaller blankets or stuffed animals that have managed to be added. But it’s a tiresome journey, one that doesn’t seem to have an end even as you stretched to pointed toes and fingers.

It’s only after touching body heat that you can relax. Finally finding your king that turns to your touch. Making his own journey through sheets and bedding. Using you as the trail into his love. Neither of you thinking about the absolute nightmare it will be to make this bed tomorrow.

Pietro Maximoff:

For most of his life Pietro is moving. Be it running or just running his mouth, he’s not the kind of guy to sit still. Unfortunately, this also applies to sleeping.

“He’s been sleep walking since we were children,” Wanda once said. “Our father once found him crying in a puddle. He had slipped and woken up in the street. He’ll deny crying, though.”

As an adult Pietro doesn’t actively get up and walk around anymore. The man made up of strong and lean muscle still moves quite a bit. Waking up from freezing feet finding yours or because he’s sat upright in bed again. Using soft, but firm, pressure to get him to lay back down or to guide him back to his side of the bed. If you weren’t careful his arms would find you, almost dragging you back to his side of the bed.

He'd deny it in the morning. Smiling with barely open eyes as you’re still pressed against him. No matter how much you’re going to insist this was his fault he’d still mock you. Nuzzling in since you insist on cuddling so much.

Peter Parker:

There’s a time limit next when sitting next to Peter. You have ten minutes before his head finds your shoulder. If you don’t shrug or lean away he’ll stay there, slowly leaning in until he’s all settled.

Although not completely asleep he does rest. If your hands are held in those moments you could probably feel his pulse slow down as his breathing slows. Maybe his eyes manage to stay open, but his eyes do get heavy. Someone could say his name, and he’d respond, but it be from his throat. An annoyed groan directed to whoever was ruining this moment. Even if it was usually a teacher or adult.

It’s only when traveling, and you’re sitting for a while, that he completely falls asleep. Progressing past just leaning his head and adding his arms. If you allow him, putting an arm around your back and the other over your center. With your own arm over his back, he sleeps in a position that, although sweet, always left a pain in his neck. Something he’d complain about until you ask if he want’s you to rub his shoulders.

Stephen Strange:

During aura projection Stephen’s body is dead weight. No muscles or bone working with the individual trying to help them. It’s just taken over by gravity and his entire weight wants to be on the floor. Sleep does the same thing.

Short of a bucket of water to his face he won’t wake up. Part of his experience in med school was taking every bit of use sleep could give him. Which leads to sleeping fast, and sleeping hard, usually opened mouth. No snoring yet, but the moment he does there’s an open target for shutting him up.

Matt Murdock:

It’s a mixture of meditation and caffeine that he is still functioning. Too busy, much too busy, as a lawyer for the two of you to share a bed most of the time. Making any comments you have about his sleep schedule mute.

Watching him doesn’t change give any information either. Coffee in the morning, some deep breathing and self-centering in the between moments at work, and sleep ins on days off were all you could gather. Between that it’s easier to just assume he’s fine.

Just laugh at his “not like I need to rest my eyes,” jokes and move on.

Carol Danvers:

After going through every time change known to man, alien and beyond Carol has developed a very specific still. Carol Danvers, woman with the power of a star and to sleep literally anywhere at any time. Be it a cleared-out corner of some ship, an open floor that keeps her hidden from passersby or on your lap. The latter being her personal favorite.

Like a massive golden retriever, she wants to be in the middle of your lap. Close as possible with a arm holding around your shoulder and the other on her toy, or phone.  A being of wiry muscle and heat keeping you pinned to the couch. Most of the time she’s out ten minutes into the movie, most of the time the remotes’ out of reach, and most of the time you gotta go pee.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Au thoughts: 

Since there are so many versions of comic book characters and their life stories, its kinda hard to figure out what i wanna mash into my au. I think it would be helpful to lay out some simple back ground beats. Plus, if anyone has seen any of my other writing, its easy to tell that Im addicted to world building and I have no self control. SO to keep this from being annoying and long if your just scrolling, Weather Master’s past Pre-Thundersnow is below the cut. (I’ll work on this kinda thing for the others especially if people are interested by this)

Escaped a prison truck and found his brother dead (Clyde Mardon)

Clyde was inventing the weather wand and was almost done when someone put out a hit, wanting to stop Clyde from achieving his research.

Mark finished the research, gaining the wand and swearing revenge.

He starts to commit crimes using the wand, often getting stopped by the flash.

He joins up with the Rogues a few months into his career finding more success with them

They also help him start looking into who had killed his brother

Mark finds that Hartley reminds him a lot of his brother and warms up to the teen faster than the others. ( Hartley is smart and driven, with ideas for how to create constantly pouring out) He also likes the teens music taste and what hartley composes

He finds out that a rival scientist (rudy younge) had put out the hit on his brother because the man had been jealous of his success. (this is dc this sorta thing happens)

When he finds the scientist, Mark loses control, with the weather going insane, sticking Central in a mix of blizzard, tornado, and lightning storm.

Rudy Younge is in a block of ice, alive but just barley

Flash tries to calm him down, but fails. So then he comes up with a plan with cold to get him and Piper into the middle of the storm (because flash is the only one fast enough to run past the winds)

Piper uses his amplifiers to call out to the weather wizard while cold creates a wall of ice to protect them from being blown away by the wind

Weather wizard slowly returns to himself with the storm dissipating into a light rainfall

Captain cold, who knows what it’s like to care about a sibling offers to have the rogues turn the other way for this one kill

Mark considers it. Takes a breath. And then shakes his head.

His brother is gone. And he misses him. But he has a new family. And they had a few rules.

He hands over all the evidence to the flash and then makes a promise that if the man ever hits the streets again, he would kill him.

He returns home with his family and they eat chicken quesadillas for dinner, his favorite food.

[rmg91]

Zoe Week; Day 6-A Night Off

AKA Comfort Zoe Night

So, this was the first prompt I actually wrote cause it spoke the most to me (the fluffy potential) but then the muses decided to be difficult and I struggled with it until like 2 days before Zoe Week began. I also wound up scrapping my partial first draft and re-writing the first bit to be slightly based off some wonderful Teny art because I realized it could still fic with my idea! (Gotta love great art that inspires) (The art in question is those wonderful pics of Zoe and Douxie as he meets her after a shift at Hextech and then precedes to be a little shit) Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this one and hopefully it doesn’t end too abruptly, like I said the muses wanted to be difficult with this one.

AO3

~*~*~*~*~*~

The night was clear and cool, something that would usually bring calm to the pink haired witch as she walked home from another busy day at Hex-Tech but not tonight. The day had been absolutely brutal. First she'd had the early shift, which was never fun, then she'd been assigned to the bar for almost the entirety of her shift which meant dealing with all sorts of customers. The irritable, the entitled, the ones that just wouldn't listen, it had almost driven her insane by the time her lunch break arrived. It was only after slurping down a cup of noodles and sending a curse heavy text on how crappy her day had been so far to Douxie that she got the wonderful news that she had to work a double shift. She was so going to curse Dave the next time she saw him, she always got his shifts whenever he didn't come in. And of course that extra shift came with, you guessed it, more bar duty! So Zoe had dealt with double the awful customers! Including two absolute Karen's. Why her managers kept putting her in the front when her talents lay better with the tech itself, she'd never understand.

At least she was finally off for the weekend...

Coming around the last corner before her apartment building, she spied her longtime partner and lover, Hisirdoux, leaning against the chain-link fence, waiting for her. She paused for a moment, taking in the rare relaxed air around him and admiring his bare biceps for a moment before sighing, knowing why he was waiting for her. And usually she'd be ready to go hunt Niffins and take on whatever else they might encounter on a Friday night, especially after the day she had, but she was too beat to do anything more. So shifting her bag in her grip, she made her way closer to the wizard, not looking forward to canceling their plans.

“Ah! The fair lady approaches!” He exclaimed, noticing her first with a smirk before his face soften, “Rough day, Love?”

“Uuugg!! You have no idea!!” She groaned, knowing her text had said as much but now she could rant in person about just how bad it actually was. Stopping next to him, she ran her fingers through her hair before rubbing at her temples, trying to push down the migraine that had been brewing since two o'clock, “Not only did fuckin' Dave not come in, we had two, Two, Karen's come in! I was almost certain we'd have a third but thankfully her husband calmed her down. Of course then that entitled Spanish teacher had to come in, again, who, of course, I had to deal with! Not to mention all the other sorts that came in today... And! Because the universe's law apparently decided to hate me today, someone calls right before closing!” She groaned again, feeling annoyed anew rather than relieved after her rant. “Anyway, as much as I'd like to go Niffin hunting, I'm just too beat-!”

Distracted as she was with her rant, the hedge-witch hadn't noticed Douxie's arm sneaking around her before he wrapped it around her shoulder and laid a kiss on her head. He hummed into her hair, nuzzling her softly, “I'm so sorry your day sucked, Darling.”

“Yeah, well...” Zoe felt her cheeks heat up, sinking into the hug he started to give her and feeling most of the fight leave her suddenly. You'd think after almost five hundred years of being together romantically this sap wouldn't cause such a reaction but you'd be wrong. “It's over now, I guess...And I have the weekend off thankfully.”

“That you do~” Douxie sang into her ear before suddenly rubbing his hand over her head vigorously and messing up her hair, “And I'm sure you'll feel much better after a good nights sleep!!”

“Aaarrgggg!!!” Zoe cried out in surprise and anger, “Hisirdoux!!” She pushed him away, glaring at his grin before marching away, “Jerk! Why do I like you again?!”

“Because without me and Arch your life would be dreadfully boring~?”

She huffed and flattened down her hair, “Hardly.” She then glared over her shoulder, “You are so sleeping on the couch tonight, or better yet, your own apartment when you get done.” She honestly wondered why she put up with his antics.

Douxie merely laughed some more, catching up to her and wrapping his arm around her waist, “Actually, Love, I've decided we're all taking the night off.” When she looked up at him with a disbelieving look he responded, “Really! Wards are already in place around town, so if there's any trouble, Arch and I can go take care of it but otherwise...” The wizard shrugged, “We're all off for the night and you have a little surprise waiting for you~”

“A surprise? Really?” She glared up at him, still annoyed, “I doubt whatever it is will make up for that stunt you just did...”

“I think it will~!” He sang.

Zoe huffed and crossed her arms, muttering a 'whatever' and allowing him to escort her to her apartment building and up to her home. Entering, she dropped her bag and kicked her shoes off by the door, striding over to where Archie was laying on the back of the couch and greeting the familiar with a chin scratch. Glancing around she saw nothing out of the ordinary with the exception that her sink was now empty of the few dishes she'd left there. If that was her so called 'surprise' than it was going to take a lot more than him doing her dishes for her to calm down from that surprise noogie. Lifting an eyebrow at the wizard, silently asking just what exactly he had planned, she watched him grin again before he offered up his arm to her.

“Come with me, Milady~ Your surprise awaits~”

Looking back down at Archie, the black cat merely stretched and stated, “I've been sworn to secrecy.”

Right, of course. Rolling her eyes, the pink hair witch allowed Douxie to guide her down her own hallway, stopping in front of the bathroom. Usually she could sniff out an idea on what he liked to surprise her with but tonight between her exhaustion and the fact that she was still a little annoyed with him, made her question just what he could've set up in the bathroom of all things.

Grinning down at her, Douxie gently pushed the door open and snapped his fingers. A dozen candles lit with the small pulse of magic, illuminating the simple space with a soft orange light and revealing the steaming, bubble filled bath. The light aura of blue magic indicated a warming spell, keeping it the perfect temperature for when she got home. Zoe let out a soft breath, feeling most of her annoyance leave, and leaned against him, letting him wrap his arms around her and nuzzle the top of her head. Trust this wonderful sap to fix her up something like this after she'd rough day at work. Sometimes Zoe wondered just what she did to have someone like Hisirdoux Casperan in her life but she certainly wasn't going to be ungrateful about it. She was even willing to let the whole noogie thing go...mostly.

“I want you to know I don't completely forgive you for that stunt outside but this...is a nice surprise.” She could even make out the light scents of tangerine and patchouli wafting from some of the candles. “And you can't always get away with something like that either.”

He chuckled low, placing a soft kiss on her head, “Of course, Love~” He carefully stepped back, bowing in an exaggerated manner as he gestured to the bathroom, “Now, do please enjoy, Milady, and once you're are done a meal will be ready for you.”

She snorted, “You can't cook.”

He clicked a pair of finger guns at her, “No but I can work an oven!” He then left her to her own devices with a final grin.

Zoe rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly. Gods he was a dork.

~*~*~*~

Twenty minutes later found Zoe happily relaxing in her bath, feeling better after the day she'd had, eyes closed as she listened the soft tunes playing from her small radio. She had to hand it to Douxie, he had thought of everything when setting all this up. The candles were the right amount of light, the radio was already set to play and the bath was filled with her favorite brand of bubble bath. There had even been a rolled up towel for behind her head as she leaned back in the tub. Humming along softly to the music, Zoe only wished for one last thing to make this perfect.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door opened slowly just enough to allow a wine glass surrounded by blue magic to float in. Laughing lightly, she grabbed it out of the air, taking a sip before calling out, “Thank you but you could've given me it in person.”

“A gentleman never intrudes on a lady.” Was her response before she was left alone again to enjoy her bath.

~*~*~*~

Zoe eventually emerged, having stayed long enough for her fingers to prune slightly and for the water to grow cold, plus her stomach kept protesting the lack of food. So she made her way into the living room wrapped in one of Douxie's old bad shirts and a hoodie she had stolen, breathing in the scent of a freshly cooked frozen pizza. She was passed a plate with two large slices of her favorite kind, three meat with extra mushrooms, and had her glass refilled before being pointed over to go recline on the couch. Shaking her head, she followed the silent order and sat down, digging in before her boys were settled. Archie was passed a plate of salmon and sardines before Douxie joined her, his own plate balanced in a hand.

“So, what does the lady wish to watch tonight?” He asked, reaching for the remote and flipping through channels.

“Hmm...” The pinkette hummed, tucking her knees under her before taking a large bite of her pizza, “Don't really care. Just find something we can zone out to or make fun of.”

“As you wish~”

“Oh gods, no! Do not put that movie on!” She exclaimed, “I will kick you out if you do!”

Douxie laughed, almost spilling his dinner, “Very well! Not in the mood for it tonight.” He continued to chuckle as he flipped through more choices before settling on another horribly inaccurate film of a time they've lived through.

Later, once food was eaten and their movie had changed to something else, Zoe was snuggled against Douxie's side, on the verge of sleep. Archie was a ball of purring warmth on her lap and Douxie kept running soothing circles on her arm as she listened to his heartbeat. The witch was once again grateful to have these two in her life, not knowing just where she'd be without them. They made the bad days better. Wither it was helping her with a sprained ankle from running from goblins, helping her fight of a demon hellbent on kidnapping all the girls in a village or having to deal with crappy customers all day, they were always there beside her. Even if Douxie loved to take cheep shots that ultimately pissed her off even more. Zoe knew she'd always forgive him. And so, full, relaxed and loved, she fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Aaahhh, Zoe loves her dork~ And gotta love cheesy endings lol! Hope you enjoyed and aahh!! Zoe week is almost over!

[brelione]

Rafe Dating A Pogue

You worked for his dad,meaning that he had seen you around plenty of times

You pretty much ignored him everytime he tried to talk to you

He had managed to get you to listen to him for two minutes

He tried to fit everything he wanted to say in those two minutes,trying really hard to charm you

“Im not your bitch Rafe.”You rolled your eyes,walking away.He was too stoned to walk fast,instead shouting to you. “Is there any chance I could be your bitch?”He shouted.

He tried really hard to stay away from the pogues,thinking that if he didnt mess with your friends maybe it would make his chances better

The next time he approached you was when you were carrying shit from the docks and onto Ward’s boat

“So how are you doing today,beautiful?”He asked,leaning against the boat.You rolled your eyes,walking past him. “Go fuck some rich bitch,Cameron.”You snapped at him.

He tried working on himself as a person,trying to figure out what you didnt like about him

He went up to Kiara as she was on a walk,struggling to keep up

“So like,did you tell (Y/N) shit about me?”He asked.She turned,looking up at him. “What?”She asked.He sighed. “Why does she hate me so much?”He asked.Kiara scoffed. “Oh as if you didnt beat the shit out of JJ and Pope.Go fuck yourself.”She took a short cut down a hill.He cupped his hands over his mouth. “Can you not tell her about this?”He shouted.

He set alarms in his phone for when you were supposed to come around so he could make his hair look nice and wear more simple shirts

He basically just tried not to look stuck up

He sat inside the boat,waiting for you

You walked in,groaning when you saw him. “Jesus-what the fuck do you want?”You asked.He bit his lip,smiling and sitting up properly. “Um...you look pretty today.”He blushed.You leaned against the wall,raising an eyebrow. “Today?As in I looked hideous the last time you saw me but today I got lucky?”You asked.He gulped,shaking his head. “No,no,You look pretty all the time but like you also look pretty today and I thought you should know that you look pretty today.”He stammered.You let out a low,emotionless laugh. “I know.”You answered.

It took him eight months of not getting into fights and complimenting you every time he saw you to finally get your number

Well,you took his number and he waited for hours to get a text.

You texted him at 11:53 pm calling him an asshat

He got you to go on a date with him to a coffee shop,also bringing you a necklace with a turtle on it because he heard you say that it was your favorite animal once

“I got you this.”He held out his hand,showing you the necklace.You raised your eyebrows,looking between him and the necklace. “Why?”You asked.He shrugged. “Just because.”He answered.

He had waited for you to make a move,not wanting to mess things up

You kissed him after he had driven you back to your house after your fourth date

You had simply reached over,cupped his face and pecked his lips before grabbing your bag and hopping out of his car and into your house without another word

You really liked his bathroom and would just sit in the empty bath tub when you went over sometimes

He’d knock at the door,worried. “Hey,you okay?Its been twenty minutes.”He opened the door,seeing you laying in the tub.You turned red from embarrassment,sitting up. “I like your bath.”You told him.

So he turned on the water and took a bath with you

He accidentally called someone a “Filthy Pogue” in front of you

“Im a pogue,Rafe.” “No,no I dont see you as a pogue.” “Then you dont see me,Rafe!Im a fucking Pogue and you cant change that.”

You hadnt talk to him for three days after that until he bought you a cat to make up for it

“I know that you dont support turtles being sold in pet stores because they’re mistreated so I went to the shelter and got you a half deaf cat.”He told you,lifting up the large ginger cat.You sighed,yawning. “You got me a half deaf cat?”You asked.He nodded,still holding the cat out to you.

He would come over to your house with cat food and cat toys because he knew that you couldnt afford it

He took you to the golf course,trying to teach you

“You really do this all the time?This shit is boring as hell.” “Is it really?What would you rather do?”

That lead you to try teaching him how to surf

 “How do you find this fun?I keep almost drowning!”He exclaimed,holding onto his board tightly.You laughed,shaking your head. “You’re such a fucking kook,babe.”

He never tried to get you to change your style,understanding that it was pretty much your culture and way of life

“Is it true that kooks wipe their asses with ten dollar bills?” “No.” “Is it true that you guys are all part of the illuminati?” “No.”

You really loved his pool

“You know whats cool about pools?” “Hmm?” “I dont get sand up my ass.”

You had to call him once cause you got lost in his house

Ward had gotten used to you,a pogue,dating one of his kids so John.B and Sarah werent insane to think about

Speaking of Sarah her and Wheezie liked you a lot

Wheezie had a lot of questions about the cut and being a pogue,asking about why you all wore bracelets

Rafe’s style had changed since he met you,now keeping one of your bracelets and one of your bandanas around his wrist as all times

@sexytholland @28cnn @copper-boom @popcrone818 @fttayla @cherryobx @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @drewstarkeyobx @poguestyleskye @judayyyw @on-socks-off​

If you’d like to be tagged in all future JJ imagines/headcannons/series comment with a heart,if you’d like to be tagged in all future Pope imagines/headcannons/series comment with a smiling face,if you’d like to be tagged in all future Rafe imagines/headcannons/series comment with a frowning face,if you’d like to be tagged in all future Kiara imagines/headcannons/series comment with a question mark and if you’d like to be tagged in all future Sarah Cameron imagines/headcannons/series comment with a plus sign.Or if thats too complicated you can just comment whose name you’d like to be tagged in.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 54

Title: Unexpected

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip, @ocfairygodmother, @ocappreciation​

Link on Ao3

:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/80096629

He hears her as she comes in; the soft click of the front door opening, the tap of her heels against the hardwood floor, the jingle of the dogs’ tags as they hurry to greet her. That almost childlike voice speaking in a hushed whisper; praising them for being ‘good boys’ and for not barking and ‘waking the demons up’. The soft rustle as she slips out of her jacket, followed by a yawn and the shuffling of tiny feet approaching him.

Before he has the chance to turn away from the dishwasher and greet her, she’s wrapping her arms around him from behind; briefly squeezing him before her palms settle on his stomach and her forehead rests against his back. For several minutes neither of them speak; her eyes closed as his calloused fingertips repeatedly drift along her forearms and over the tops of her hands. Enjoying the simplicity of the moment; a quiet and innocent display of intimacy in the security of their still and silent home. She relaxes in the warmth that radiates from his body and the smell that clings to both clothes and skin; fresh and crisp and so utterly masculine. For years she’s enjoyed that scent; reminding her of the comforts of home and the beautiful things that exist in their lives and within their relationship. Using it as a comfort whenever they’re separated; sleeping with his pillow, wearing his tees or his dress shirts, wrapping her body up in one of his hoodies. It keeps him close when he’s so far away; easily managing to chase away even the worst of the loneliness, calm her when her patience has been tested, and bring her back from the edge when feels herself slipping into the dark, hopeless place.

His fingers push through hers; lightly squeezing her hands before raising one to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “What’s this all about? This kind of greeting?”

“What? I’m not allowed to hug my husband? Maybe I’m happy to see you. Maybe I appreciate you; taking care of the house, watching the hooligans, letting my sister borrow me for a night. And maybe...just maybe…” she playfully pinches his stomach. “...I find it sexy when you’re doing domestic shit.”

“You do, do ya?” He grins. “Just HOW sexy do you find it?”

“Incredibly sexy. Coming home to a spotless kitchen and all the kids fast asleep and every stitch of laundry folded AND packed? That makes me so hot for you.”

“Maybe that was my plan.” Placing a kiss on the top of her hand, he releases his hold and returns to putting the last of the clean dishes away. “Get all this shit done, make you all hot and bothered, have you at the point you can’t say no.”

“Like I would say no. I seem to be incapable of using that word when it comes to you for some reason. It’s why I’m in the predicament I am now; married to this insanely hot, muscly, tattooed Aussie who I let impregnate me with SEVEN spawn.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Definitely NOT a bad thing. A few more than I ever expected to have, but…” her hands glide along across his stomach and onto his sides. Running up and down his ribs before settling on his hips; playfully pinching the miniscule amount of fat that resides there. “...we do good work.”

“We do,” he agrees, and turns to face her; leaning back against the bottom cupboards with his palms flat against the countertop. “We do fucking amazing work, actually.”

Her hands slide to the small of his back and she leans her body against his; the bottom of her chin against his chest as she peers up at him. Cheeks slightly flushed; the lingering remnants of the powerful drink she’d finished just mere minutes before jumping in a cab and heading for home. “How did things go?”

“I was just going to ask you the same thing. You didn’t stick around long; after you called me.”

“I just wasn’t feeling it. That kind of place. Not really my scene anymore. Maybe when I was in my early twenties and looking for an easy pick up; a bar where the guys are so needy it’s like shooting fish in a barrel. It was like I was in this whole new, strange world that I didn’t even understand. Am I really getting that old?”

“You’re not getting old. You just make better choices now. You’re just wise. More mature.”

She groans.

“What?” he chuckles, and gently combs a hand through her hair; fingertips moving wayward strands from the side of her face and looping them behind her ear. “What did I say?”

“You said mature. Which is just a polite way of calling me old.”

“That is definitely NOT why I called you mature. You are NOT old. Far from it.”

“You’re saying that out loud, but inwardly you’re counting my gray hairs, aren’t you.”

“Maybe…”

Frowning, she slaps both palms against his ass and then pinches aggressively. “Jerk!”

“You really want to know what I was thinking?”

“I don’t know, do I? Are you actually brave enough to admit it? You may be Mister Big, Bad Mercenary, but you can’t deny you’re scared of little old me.”

“That’s because you hold all the power. Other people? They can’t hurt me the way you can.”

“I guess in your eyes, this is nothing scarier than the reality of sleeping on the couch for the rest of your naturally born life,” she chides, as her hands slip under his t-shirt. Her palms repeatedly skimming over his bare back; fingers able to find the smattering of scars by sheer memory. “Tell me,” she encourages. “What WERE you thinking?”

“You sure you can handle it?”

“I’m a big girl; I can take it.”

“Of there’s no doubt about that. And you take it very well.”

She gives a dramatic roll of her eyes, then lightly scraps her fingernails along his skin. “Considering what I’ve gone through in the past twelve and a half years, I think it’s safe to say that I can pretty much handle anything you throw at me.”

“I dunno…”

“Tyler, my husband is a mercenary. I have four sons. I have seen and heard it all. Nothing shocks me anymore.”

“All I was thinking was how you looked really beautiful tonight. I mean, you’re beautiful ALL the time, but tonight? Extra beautiful.”

A slow smile creeps across her face; dark eyes sparkling up at him in a mix of content and slight embarrassment. Still not entirely comfortable with compliments and praise; her childhood and eventual first marriage spent being constantly torn down and degraded. “That was an extremely good save.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Wasn’t bad, huh? You impressed by me?”

“Very. That was extremely quick thinking on your part. You may have just saved yourself a very long time of camping out in the living room.”

“Well, I actually would just go and stay in the pool house. Try not to cross your path until you’ve calmed down a bit. And honestly…” Both hands push through her hair now; fingers slowly combing through the loosening curls. “...it’s the truth. It WAS what I was thinking.”

“Husband, I don’t care what you say, you’re a big softie.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fingertips grazing over the smooth lines of her jaw; thumbs repeatedly brushing across the tops of her cheeks before leaning down to kiss her.

Long and soft and sweet; the slow and familiar movements of closed mouth upon closed mouth. A sigh escaping as she climbs onto the top of his feet; standing on the tips of her toes as she curls her arms around his neck. It’s a simple and innocent form of intimacy. Nothing hurried or rushed; bodies not driven by profound want and need. Just a gentle and languid mix of mouths and the tips of tongues. Calloused palms tenderly cradling her face

He gathers her in his embrace when the moment finally ends. Tucking her tightly into his chest. An arm wrapped securely around her waist and hand resting against the back of her head; fingers pushing through her hair and then gently kneading her scalp. She relishes in that physical connection; eyes closed and her arms wrapped around his torso. Enjoying the press of his cotton t-shirt against her cheek and the hard wall of muscle that lays behind it, the familiar scent that clings to skin and clothes, the warmth that radiates from his body, the sound of his heart beating deep within his chest.

The latter plays on her emotions; the realization of how close she’d come to never hearing that sound again. Remembering those first nights in Dhaka; when sleep managed to find him and she’d laid against the strong, beautiful body with her head on his chest or pressed against his back. This big, seemingly fearless man that was haunted by so many ghosts and plagued by so many demons; a troubled mind and a weary body somehow finding reprieve and comfort in HER presence. All the things he’d confessed to her; his guilt and his shame and his regret and how he’d been harbouring a death wish for years. She had lay there in that dirty hotel room marvelling at him; having gone through so much yet somehow managing to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The sound of his heart was the sound of potential and promise; he hadn’t given up and he’d admitted to finally finding something -someone- that could perhaps make him happy again and give him a sense of purpose.

It had come so close to being snatched away; both on the Sultana Kamal Bridge and during his return to Dhaka.

She tightly squeezes her eyes in an attempt to hold back a flood of tears; hands increasing their grip on the back of his shirt. He doesn’t question it; the trembling of her body or the hitch in her breathing or the desperate way in which she clings to him. Instead he drops a kiss on the top of her head and his palm slides to the middle of her back; rubbing in smooth, comforting circles.

It’s several minutes before he speaks. Both hands briefly settling on her shoulders, gently pushing her away before one hand rests on her hip and the knuckles of the other graze along her jaw. “You alright? You good?”

Nodding, she opens her eyes and looks up at him, managing a reassuring smile and a small nod.

“You sure? ‘Cause you don’t look alright. You want to tell me what’s going on? What’s got you looking like the waterworks are going to start any second?”

“It’s just been a hell of a couple weeks. And finding out about Mark and realizing that was actually him that got that close to me? It’s just unsettled me a bit. That’s all.”

“I am sorry that I kept it from you. If I’d had any other choice…”

Her hands slide down his back and onto his ribs. “You didn’t though. You did the right thing. You don’t need to be sorry. I don’t WANT you to be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. You made the right decision.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words. “Did you at least try and have a good time tonight? Was any of it decent at least?”

“Dinner was great. Conversation was awesome. I could have done without going to a bar mainly inhabited by frat boys whose balls haven’t probably even dropped yet. Do you want to know how many times I was propositioned tonight? How many times my ass was grabbed?”

“Not really, no.”

“A lot. A staggering amount, actually. Probably more times than you've grabbed my ass in the entire twelve years I’ve been married to you. But I enjoy when YOU grab it. Them? I feel like I need to bathe in a tub full of bleach.”

“You know, you could have called me. I would have come down there to bust some heads.”

“Which is exactly WHY I didn’t call you. Because you’re much more useful to me and the children than you are in jail. Let’s NOT catch any assault charges, okay?”

“I don’t know,” he chides. “Guys start sexually harassing my wife…”

“I handled them. Nothing good old fashioned public humiliation to set them straight. What about your night? Did it go okay? Have YOU been okay?”

“I’ve been good. Just been keeping to myself. Hung out with Desi and Shaena, kept the kids fed and entertained. No one broke any bones or blackened any eyes or shed any blood. That’s considered a successful night in our house.”

“That's considered a miracle,” she laughs. “You know, considering your children are feral and all.”

“You’re going to blame that on me, aren’t you?”

“Honey, you once lived in a shack in the outback with a chicken as a roommate. That’s pretty feral.”

“You fell in love with me. While I was living in that shack with that chicken. Knowing I was feral. What does that say about you?”

“It says that I have exceptional taste. That despite being feral, I thought you were insanely sexy. I saw that sparkle of a diamond under the rough. Didn’t take much for me to bring it right out in the open.”

“Comparing me to a diamond? I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered.”

“It’s a compliment, you jackass.”

“You have this uncanny ability of loving me up one second and shit talking me the next.”

“You act like that’s something new. I’ve only been like this for more than a decade. I notice you stick around. Put up with it. You haven’t told me to fuck off or packed your bags and hauled ass.”

“Well despite your downfalls, you have way more good qualities going for you.”

“Yeah? And what good qualities are those?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I mean, you can’t reach things on the high shelves, you can’t get clothes out of the bottom of the washing machine, you can’t cook for shit.”

“Go on,” she encourages, and pinches the sensitive areas below his ribs. “Get it all off your chest. I promise I won’t kill you in your sleep.”

“But, in spite of all of your many faults, I love you. And I can’t live without you.”

Smiling, she stands on her tip toes and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin. “We are so codependent.”

“A little. But I think it’s kinda of understandable, don’t you? I mean, both of us spent a lot of years not having anyone. Always had to fend for ourselves, didn’t trust anyone, didn’t let anyone in ‘cause we didn’t want to get hurt. And then we met and that all changed. I think it’s easy to see why we are the way we are; we’ve been through a lot of shit together. A lot of horrible, horrible shit.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, then squeezes his sides and smiles up at him. “But we’ve also been through a lot of really good times too.”

“We have,” he agrees. “Even in the midst of some of the really shitty stuff.”

“And we always get through things. No matter how bad they are. How many couples can say that? How many would just break and fold and not even fight for things? Probably a lot. I like to think we’re a different breed. That what we have is totally different from what they have.”

“I think it is. I mean, let’s face it; we’re both phenomenally resilient. And horrifyingly stubborn. I think you’re even worse than I am.”

“Please,” she laughs. “You are the king of stubborn people. No one comes close to you.”

“I don’t know, Me. Some of the things I’ve seen you do when you shouldn’t…”

“Tyler, you are way more stubborn than I am. Admit it.”

“You’re arguing like a stubborn person would,” he teases, and then laughs when she lands a playful, light punch to his stomach and tries to back away; a palm on the small of her back holding her in place. “How about we just call it a tie?”

“How about we say you have fifteen percent more stubbornness than I do?”

“Fifteen? I’ll go as high as five.”

“Five?” she scoffs. “You have to be shitting me. It is way more than five.”

“Seven?”

She stares pointedly up at him.

“Ten?”

“I’ll settle for ten. Even though it’s more like twelve, thirteen, but…” she squeals when he brings the palms of hands down on her ass in a ringing slap; fingers digging through the fabric of her dress and into the soft flesh. “...I’ll give it to you.”

“Good girl.”

“Where’s the littles? I expected to find you fast asleep with a couple of them on you.”

“Put them to bed.”

“You got all three of them upstairs? A couple trips?”

“I’m no two trip bitch, Esme. I got it done in one shot. Boom.” He flexes his right bicep. “Guns of fucking steel, baby.”

“So sexy,” she praises, and then tilts her face up towards him for another kiss. “I am going to and get out of this dress and take a shower. Want to come with?”

“I do, actually. You go do your thing and I’ll finish things down here and lock everything up.”

“Sounds good,” she chirps, and he presses a chaste peck to her lips. “Don’t be forever okay? I’ve kind of missed you. Even in the carnal way.”

“Isn’t that the best way?”

“Sometimes. The most fun way, that’s for sure.”

“Best way to spend any night of the week if you ask me.” His palm slides down her spine as she steps away; briefly lingering at the small of her back and then passing over her over ass.

“Don’t take too long,” she says, and reaches for his hand as she turns on her heel ; fingertips sliding over long, calloused digits and across the rough, work weary palm. And she shoots him a smile over her shoulder as she heads from the room; those big, dark eyes betraying the sadness, fear and confusion that plague her.

****

“You know what I want to do when we get home?” she asks, as he massages shampoo into her short, dark locks. “One of the first things I want?”

“Other than watching the sunset? And a long sleep in our bed?”

“I want a pink lemonade cupcake from Bitten. And maybe a key lime one too. I miss their cupcakes. If there’s anything in this world that even comes close to being better than sex, it’s their cupcakes.”

“Comes close to being better than sex? Excuse me?”

“Well maybe not sex with YOU. But sex with average lovers. Or just above average. You’re off the chart. In fact you’re so far off the chart, you’ve made an entire chart all of your own. Nothing comes even remotely close to your chart.”

“How many average or above average lovers have you had?”

“We have talked about this...many times...in the past twelve and a bit years. You’re only the fourth guy I’ve ever been with. Actually, you could be considered only the third because number two came before he got inside of me and then cried about it and instead of getting off, I had to console him and his fragile masculinity.”

“Jesus Christ,” he chuckles. “What kind of guys were you used to?”

“Mediocre ones. At best. And then you came along and I totally stepped up my game.”

“I don’t know, Me. I’m not exactly the best catch. I’m kinda...messy.”

“I will not tolerate any of this nonsense. You shit talking yourself. So you’ve got some issues…

“Some?”

“A few. But you’re not messy. Okay, maybe you were a TAD messy when we FIRST met, but you got your shit together quick. Cleaned yourself up.”

“Almost dying and being in a coma for a week and the hospital for three months will do that to you. Wean you off your vices.”

She tilts her head back and frowns up at him. “Here I was thinking you were going to say ‘it’s because I finally had a reason to clean myself up. Someone to get my shit together for.”

“I didn’t think that needed to be said. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Maybe I just like to hear it.”

“Baby…” He leans down and presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. “...you were the only reason I was even alive. Of course I got my shit together for you. I wouldn’t have; had you not been around.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “You know, you always come up with the most immaculate of saves at the most perfect time.”

“Only took me twelve and a half years. I guess I’m a slow learner, huh?”

“I don’t know. You seem to be pretty quick at learning all the right things. And by right things I mean all the sexiest ones.”

“If there’s one thing I DO excel at…”

“Despite what you think of yourself, you excel at MANY things. But you just happen to be a God at things that involve being naked.”

“Well technically, we’re not always COMPLETELY naked. When I get my best ideas.”

“Without pants,” she clarifies. “I mean, they have to come off no matter what.”

“How about we not talk about being without pants?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, husband, we’re not wearing any pants right now.”

“Oh I’ve noticed. I’m just trying not to think of the naughty things that can happen when we’re naked from the waist down. Because this shower…?”

“Not exactly the easiest place to have fun in,” she finishes. “Last time you almost dropped me.”

“In my defence, I slipped. The tiles were slippery. You used too much of that gel shit. The one that smells like watermelon.”

“It’s cucumber and cantaloupe, thank you very much.”

“Whatever it is, you’re not supposed to use the whole bottle at once. Now…” he pecks her lips. “...rinse.”

His hands move through her hair when she bows her head under the full stream of the shower; gently scrubbing at her scalp before his fingers slip through the wet, soapy tresses. Clearing them of any and all evidence of shampoo; enjoying that familiar honey and coconut scent that he first encountered and fallen in love with many years before.

“You know…” she says, as he reaches for the matching conditioner and squeezes some into his palm. “...we didn’t think the whole shower thing through. When we did the renos on this place.”

“I asked you if you wanted me to blow out that one wall. Totally get rid of the sewing room and make the bathroom bigger. Why the hell do we even need a sewing room anyway? I have never...EVER...seen you sew a single damn thing in twelve in a half years.”

“I sewed your arm back up,” she reminds him. “In Dhaka.”

“Honey, I’m not talking about doing patchwork on a human with a needle and dental floss. Have you ever fixed a hole in a pair of jeans? Hemmed a pair of pants? Put a button back on?”

“No,” she admits. “But it doesn’t mean I never will. I could pick up the hobby. And be very good at it.”

“Me, I love you, but you’re not THAT kind of wife. The whole making Halloween costumes and kids clothes? That’s not your thing.”

“I don’t cook well, I can’t reach things on the top shelves or the bottom of the washer, I don’t sew. Just what DO I bring to this whole gig as a wife?”

“Your body has carried SEVEN of my kids. You grew them and you brought them into this world safe and sound. You raise them. Keep them alive. Nurture them.”

“WE do those things. As a team. I’m not a single parent.”

“You’re an amazing mum. You have been right from the beginning. And you’re an awesome wife. You put up with my shit; the job, all my mental crap, my shitty past. I mean, you married a mercenary. A killer for hire. That says a lot right there.”

“Yeah,it says I’m a few bricks short of a load,” she teases, and tips her head back to grin up at him.

“You’ve loved me no matter what. When I had nothing to offer you. When I was fucking mess. You still stuck around. And you stuck around no matter how hard I’ve made things on you.”

“Of course I have. I love you.”

“And that…” he presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “...is exactly what you bring to the whole wife thing. It’s more than enough.”

“You’re a sap,” she declares, and winks at him. “I love this side of you. The sweet and sappy side. Even I do have to keep it a secret from the world.”

“One day, Me. One day I promise you that I will let you reveal all my secrets to the world. When I no longer have a rep to maintain.”

“All of them?”

“Every single one.”

“Even about all your sketch books at home? And the blankie you have to have covering your feet at night? Millie’s old receiving blanket?”

“Even those,” he promises.

“Maybe I will do it during your eulogy. That seems like as good a time as any.”

Grinning, he motions for her to step under the stream of water. “Planning my funeral already, are you?”

“Oh,I’ve had it planned for years,” she chides, and then gives a squeal when he lands a backhand on one of the cheeks of her ass. “For your information…” she dips her head under the water; eyes closing as his fingers once more massage at her scalp and clear her hair of the conditioner. “...I planned it for when you’re 99.”

“You couldn’t give me that extra year? That’s harsh.”

“You’re the one who said you didn’t want to make it to triple digits,” she points out, and turns to face him. “I thought I was just living up to your wishes.”

“That’s very kind of you. Very thoughtful.” His fingers move wet strands of hair away from the sides of her face, then clears the remaining suds of shampoo from around her eyes and off her cheeks and nose.

“I always have your best interests at heart,” she chides, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down to kiss her and then reaching for the shampoo. “My turn?” she asks hopefully, and shakes the bottle in front of his face.

“Didn’t we agree on this? I wash my own hair? Unless there’s a reason I can’t.”

“Don’t be so difficult. There’s nothing wrong with me doing these things for you. I WANT to do it. You take care of me, I take care of you. This marriage isn’t a one way street.”

“Esme…”

She drops her chin to chest and stares up at him. “Tyler…”

He’s unable to resist that long; those dark, seemingly innocent eyes surrounded by long, even darker lashes. “Fine,” he relents, and retreats to the lone built-in bench at the back of the shower. “You get your way. As usual.”

“Because you love me.” She uses a set of controls on the side wall to switch the water flow from the rain shower head at her end, to the one on his. “Because you can’t live without me. Admit it.”

“I’ve already admitted that MANY times.”

“We really ARE codependent as fuck.” She squeezes a helping of shampoo into her palm, then begins scrubbing it into his hair.

“We already talked about this. We have perfectly legitimate reasons to be the way we are. We could be worse things, you know. Than co-dependent. We could be serial cheaters.”

“Or serial killers.”

He chuckles. “That just popped into your head? You thought of that because…?”

“Because I have enough rage inside this little body to do some serious damage to a lot of people.”

“Should I sleep with one eye open, or…?”

“You’re not on my list. Why would you be?”

He shrugs in response; eyes closing and his body relaxing as her fingers press into his scalp; deeply and aggressively kneading.

“I can feel the scars,” she remarks. “I bet if you shaved your head right down, you’d have a pretty good road map up there.”

“Want me to do it? Shave it?”

“Nope. I like it this way.” Her nails lightly scratch against his scalp. “Longer version of my favourite haircut on you. Feel good?”

“Feels really good.” His head falls forward; brow resting against her and his hands finding her hips. “Might put me to sleep.”

“Now that I would be a waste of perfectly good nakedness. Rinse.”

Tilting his back, he lets the steady flow of water rid his hair of suds and uses his palms to scrub and clean his beard. When he opens his eyes, her back is towards him and she’s reaching out to place the bottle back on the metal shelves in the corner. And she gives a shriek -followed by giggle- when he curls an arm around her waist and yanks her into his lap. And she presses a kiss to his cheek and adjusts her position; turning sideways and perching herself on his left thigh while her legs dangle over the right.

Her eyes close as she nestles her face into her favourite spot; that warm, safe place between neck and shoulder. And for several minutes, neither of them speak. Both her arms wrapped around his neck; his head resting back against the tiles and a palm repeatedly smoothing up and down her thigh. And she gives a long, breathy sigh when his lips find her shoulder; light and feathery kisses peppered across her collarbone.

“Speaking of being naked…”

Grinning, she pulls back to look at him. “Promise you won’t drop me this time?”

“We can do it differently. You can ride me.”

Her eyes widen and she gives a dramatic gasp. “Twice in one night? Is this second Christmas? I usually don’t get to do that twice a month, never mind twice in one day!”

With a smirk, he tangles his fingers in her hair. His voice rumbling deep in his chest as he growls, “Come here,” and pulls her into a ravenous, aggressive kiss.

*****

He’s the first out of the bathroom. Peeling the towel from around his waist, he uses it to vigorously scrub at his hair and then tosses it in the nearby hamper. He snags a clean pair of sweats from the open suitcase lying in the corner of the room; every piece of clothing that has to return with them to Australia now packed away and ready for departure in four days. He’s anxious to get home; each minute leading him closer to the moment he can sleep in a more familiar bed and feel the sand beneath his feet and between his toes. To the sound of the waves rolling onto the shore and the smell of salt hanging in the hair; the slight rustle of the surrounding trees as a breeze blows through them and the calls and the ‘chatter’ of the wildlife that takes up residence in the woods and upon their stretch of land.

“You going to check on the kids?” Esme calls from the bathroom; her voice drowned out by the hairdryer. “Make sure no one has fallen out of bed. Or sneaking Ipad time when it’s supposed to be night-night time.”

“In a sec.” He rakes both hands through his hair, then reaches for a tube of pain relief cream that sits on the dresser; eyes falling on the plastic bag bearing the name of the bodega that Esme had sat down before stepping into the shower. His curiosity gets the better of him; eyes narrowing and confusion immediately setting in at what greets him when he peers into the bag.

“What did you say?” Esme asks, as she pads into the room; combing her fingers through her now dry hair, clad in an oversized bubblegum pink bathrobe. “I didn’t hear you. Did you check on them or…?”

“I said in a sec. Babe…” he turns to face her, bag in hand. “...what’s this?”

Eyes widening, she briefly -and nervously- chews on her bottom lip. “It’s a pregnancy test.”

"Yeah, I see that. But whose? Why’s it here? Why you’d bring it home? It can’t be yours.”

Her teeth dig even harder into her lip; hands anxiously fidget with the belt on her robe.

“It CAN’T be yours. There’s no way. It’s not possible. How could that even happen? Scientifically, it can’t.”

“Actually it can. Riley said one in two hundred women will get pregnant despite having their tubes tied.”

“Okay, but we doubled up on things. I got fixed too. I mean, there’s no way you got pregnant with both of us getting things done.”

“There’s something called recanalization. It’s where the vas deferens grows back and creates a new connection and causes the vasectomy to reverse itself.”

“Wait…” he gives an awkward, uncomfortable chuckle. “...that’s a thing?”

Esme nods. “And you usually don’t find out it happened until your partner gets pregnant. Years later.”

“THIS many later? We haven’t been using anything for almost five years. Why would it wait until now to happen? Why not before?”

“It’s probably just how long it took. For things to reverse. I mean, I googled it and there were stories of pregnancies happening a decade after a vasectomy, so…”

“Jesus…” He issues a long, heavy exhale of breath and leans back against the dresser; eyes fixated on the bag still in his hands.

Tears well in her eyes. “You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“That pulsing vein in your neck says you are.”

“I am NOT angry,” he stresses. “Shocked as hell? Confused as fuck? Yeah. But I am not angry. Why would I be angry? I’ve got nothing to be angry about. You really think you are?”

“I think it’s a strong possibility.” She cautiously moves closer to him, then sinks down on the edge of the bed in front of him. “I mean, there’s signs. Things that I’ve felt before. Five times.”

“Like?”

“I’ve been moody, more emotional than usual, hungry constantly. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Yeah, but there’s some good reasons...other reasons than a baby...for those things. I mean, stress will do it. You’ve been stressed. About me, about the holidays in general, your mother, the neighbour, now all this crap with Mark.”

“I was feeling them before all that. Before we even left Australia.”

“How long before?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “A few weeks.”

“A few weeks? You’ve felt like this for a few weeks? What the hell, Esme? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t connect it to maybe being pregnant. I didn’t think it was possible either. I thought maybe it was just peri-menopause. Or I was just feeling rundown and overwhelmed; things have been crazy busy with both businesses and the kids’ after school schedules. I chalked it up to that. And then when you said you were going to do a job, I figured the worry of that just added to everything.”

“You still should have said something. If you weren’t feeling well...for whatever reason…”

“You were caught up in things for the business. It’s been insane lately. There’s been a huge influx of new clients, new hires, big high profile jobs…”

“Yeah, there has been. But you know what? None of that matters. YOU matter. I would have found a way; to deal with that and take care of you.”

“I didn’t need you taking care of me.”

“That seems to be a real theme with you lately. Not needing me.”

“Tyler, don’t even go there. We already fought about that. About me calling Riley that night and not you. And I have apologized a million times. What more do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you, Esme. And apparently you don’t want or need anything from me.”

“That is so unfair. And so far from the truth. Don’t do that. Don’t take everything as a slight to you. I didn’t keep it from you to hurt you. I just didn’t think it was anything but stress and being busy and feeling rundown. That’s it. It had nothing to do with not wanting you or needing you. Because I need you in so many ways. And not just as my husband. You know that I want you. And that I need you. In every way.”

Sighing heavily, he tosses the box onto the top of the dresser, then crosses his arms over his chest.

“This has nothing to do with how I feel about you,” she insists. “And I know you taking everything as a personal slight is just part of your trauma and your response to it and…”

“Can we NOT do this?” he interjects. “Can we not go totally off the rails? That doesn’t need to be talked about. That…” he nods down at the box. “...THAT needs to be talked about.”

“You ARE angry.”

“I’m going to GET angry if you keep saying that. I am not angry. I am confused and I’m shocked and I’m wondering how the fuck this kind of thing can happen and…” he sighs, running his palms over his hand. “...do you really think you are?”

“It’s a strong possibility. I mean, I have skipped two periods.”

“Holy fuck…” he shakes his head incredulously. “...this just gets better.”

“You know things have never been normal when it comes to that. How many times have I skipped periods and not been pregnant?”

“How many times have you skipped them and BEEN pregnant?” he counters. “More times than not, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she sheepishly admits. “Look, I get you’re frazzled and you’re confused and you know what? So am I. But getting upset with me…”

“I am not…” he snaps, then briefly closes his eyes and gathers his composure. “...I am not upset with you. It’s just...wow.”

“Just two weeks ago you brought up wanting another one. You talked about how we should both get things reversed and…”

“And we talked about it and we came to the conclusion that I didn’t really want a baby, I was looking for a way to fill the fucking crater that my son left behind when he died. Did we not agree to that?”

She nods, then briefly looks away as she struggles to hold back a flood of tears. “You wouldn’t want it then? If I am?”

“I didn’t say that. I would NEVER say that.”

“I mean, if I am, there’s options. If we’re not in a good place, we don’t…”

“There’s no options. That’s our kid. A life we made together. Just ‘cause the timing sucks and it’s totally unexpected doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want it. Do you think that little of me?”

“No!" she exclaims. " Of course don’t! I love you. You’re the love of my life. You have no idea how I look at you. How I see you. I just assumed the way you’re reacting and the way you’re talking, that maybe you think it's a bad idea.”

“Do I think it’s a great idea? No. Would I want to get rid of a kid I helped make? No. Would I love the kid with everything I have? Yes. Why? You don’t want it?”

“It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s…” she struggles to find the words; hands increasing the intensity and speed at which they fidget with the belt on the bathrobe.

He drops to his knees in front of her; prying her hands away from the terry cloth sash and gripping them tightly. “Tell me. Please.”

She looks up at him. “I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I love our life together. I never want it to end. I love our family and what we’ve built. And I love being a mom. You know all that, right?”

“I do. I do know all of that.”

“I’m going to be forty two years old; there’s a greater risk of things going wrong as a mother ages. And we’ve had complications with every single one but Millie. Look at TJ and Tanner…”

“That was just a freaky thing that went wrong. It didn’t happen again; with Brookie and Takota. They were fine.”

“I’ve had problems with each pregnancy except for the first. Bleeding and cramping and scare after scare. How many times did we think we’d lose our babies? More times than you can count.”

“But we didn’t lose them.”

“We lost one. And I lost one with Mark.”

“And you had seven perfectly healthy babies. I mean, Tanner had his issues, but got better and now he’s great. He’s the healthiest out of them. Not to mention once you got past the first trimester, things went fine. For all of them. I mean the last two didn’t even want to come out; they liked it so much in there.”

She manages a laugh. “We almost had to forcibly evict them.”

“And look how well you did bringing them into the world. Totally natural. In the water. That was fucking incredible.”

“I guess I’m just worried about losing another one. Because I couldn’t take that, Tyler. And I know you couldn’t either.”

“So based on a totally small percentage of something going wrong, you wouldn’t want a baby? OUR baby?”

“I want it. I’m just scared. Of having one. Especially now. With so much shit going on. All this craziness. It’s not exactly the best time.”

“Have any of them been at the best time? Either when they were conceived or when they were born? They’ve all been tied to bad shit in some way. That seems to be our thing; making babies or having them when shit’s tough.”

“And I’m terrified something will go wrong. Remember with Declan? When they thought maybe he had Down Syndrome?”

“I do. And you know what else I remember? I remember that you and I talked about it...extensively...many times. And that we agreed that if there was something going on with him, it didn’t matter. Because it was our kid and we could handle anything thrown at us. I mean, we even researched the first steps into getting whatever he’d need to thrive and learn. Are you saying now you wouldn’t be able to handle it?”

“I know I’d be able to. And believe me, it doesn’t matter if there are problems. Because that’s my baby. No matter what.”

“But…”

“I just...I don’t know...I just…” she sighs heavily, then clamps her mouth shut.

“Esme, if there is ever a time you need to be one hundred percent completely honest with me, this is it. You need to tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. I can’t read your mind, babe. Tell me. Please.”

“Even if it might upset you?”

“Even then. You need to tell me. What’s going on? What’s got you so worried and so scared?”

“It’s a lot of work. ANY baby. Even the perfectly healthy ones.”

“I know. I’ve been through this seven times. Eight times if we count Austin. I know what it takes. And you know that I put everything I have into it; being a dad.”

“You do. And you’re awesome at it. The whole daddy thing.”

“So then what are you concerned about? What…?”

“Children with special needs bring a lot to the table. A lot of extra stuff.”

“I know that too. I’m prepared for that.”

“Are you? Prepared for all of that kind of stuff? The amount of time that will be devoted? The possible health issues? The therapies that we'll have to submit them to? The way the other kids will feel animosity towards their sibling? The stress it'll put on our marriage? Are you prepared for ALL that?" ”

“Are you? Are you saying you couldn’t handle it?”

She shakes her head.

“Esme, please. Just tell me.”

“I’m worried that if something is wrong, it’ll get to be too much.” The tears finally fall. “It will be too much to handle and you’ll leave.”

“Baby...hey…come here…”

Dropping her hands, he gathers her into his arms; a hand on the back of her head as she sobs into his shoulders. He knows it’s a mix of things; her battle with her own mental health, her worries surrounding his, the fact her relationship with her mother finally met its drastic and painful end. And now the emergence of her supposedly dead ex husband; a man who’d caused her so much pain and torment and she’d finally gotten rid of.

“It’s okay.” The fingers of one hand gently massage her scalp; the other palm moving in slow, smooth and comforting circles in the middle of her back. “You’re alright.”

“Promise me you won’t leave. If things get really hard. If something IS wrong. Promise me.”

“I’m not taking off. No matter how tough things get. You can’t get rid of me that easily. It’s going to take either you leaving, or death.”

“Well I know I’m not going anywhere and I hope that last one isn't for a very long time.”

Pulling away, he smooths her hair away from her face and then cradles her cheeks in his palms; thumbs brushing away the river of tears. “Esme, I’m not that guy anymore. The one that runs. I haven’t been him in a long time. Because of you. You changed that. You changed ME.”

“I need you. Not just because of this. Or because of Mark. Because of so many things. I can’t do this without you. This life. I just can’t.”

“You don’t have to. I am right here.” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, his lips linger against the soft, warm skin. “I’m not going anywhere, babe. I’m with you until the end. And I hope that’s a hell of a long time away, too.”

“I didn’t mean to accuse you of still being that way. The guy that runs. I didn’t mean…”

“You have every right to worry about that. I’d worry about it too. I totally get it.”

“I’m scared. Of so many things.”

“Well, me taking off shouldn’t be one of those. That’s not going to happen. Everything else? We’ll handle it. Our track record for getting through hard shit is pretty good. I don’t plan on ruining that. Do you?”

She shakes her head.

“You know what I think we should do? Before we have any more of these conversations? I think we should find out for sure. If there IS a baby. I think that’s where we need to start, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she sniffles, as gentle, calloused fingertips clean up the last of her tears. “I do. Will you stay with me? While I take it? And while I wait.”

“Like I said,” he places a soft, tender kiss on her lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[bakatenshii]

What about shigaraki’s character makes him most attractive to you, not regarding looks

okay I know you asked what specifically about him, besides physical appearances, that I liked & I ended up writing you a whole thesis so I’m... sorry. (cue the readmore)

I find him so interesting and layered, and his character development/growth is already so insane. I love his personality at the base of it, the cynicism, the apathy, the selfishness and the immaturity— all of it already makes my heart pump.

At the beginning of the story, he’s portrayed as nothing but an overgrown brat who’s petty and spiteful. His whole goal was just to destroy destroy destroy, and he treated it all like a video game. First off, that already is enough to do me in. There’s something about how spite-driven he is and how, tbh, his whole motivation is lackluster at most but so sinister? He’s so devoted to his cause and it just does something to me.

But then he develops; you can see it in his interactions with the League, the subtle ways he cares for them, how deadly protective he is of them, how much mutual trust and respect he’s built with them all. They’re no longer simple pawns to him, but friends with which he’s built important connections to, friends he’s overprotective of. I’m not one for fancy gestures, so tiny easter eggs of affection really steal my heart. It’s my type of love language that I like to receive, ones rooted in raw emotions and not expressed in grandiose actions. It’s subtle, but it speaks volumes.

And then comes the tragic backstory. I won’t go too much into it but it ripped my heart out and stomped on it before reversing over it in an 8-wheeler. It tugs on my inner softness and need to protect him, my need to shower him with the love and affection that’s so foreign to him & so absent in his whole life growing up.

Shigaraki isn’t innately evil, he had so much naive optimism and benevolence as a child, and we see glimpses of that still in the current arc. He’s not just some Big Bad Villain here to be the final boss of the show, his sob backstory isn’t one dimensional— there’s layers to it, just like how there’s layers to him.

Of course there’s the lewd aspect of it all; he’s feral, pent-up, unhinged, and a total shut-in. He’s canonically gross and I can only imagine how that bleeds into his sexual interests, and for the sake my own sanity and my meat I beat to death, that’s all I’ll say about that.

If I had to sum it up and separate them into categories: I love his personality, I love how spiteful and immature, yet quiet and calculated he is when it calls for it. The subtle way he shows his trust and respect and affection makes my heart pound.

He gives off ‘asshole to the world, sweetheart to my girl’ & his borderline yandere overprotectiveness over the League (see: Compress’ arm & Magne’s revenge) is the nail on the coffin. He’d burn the world down for you, and there’s no where I’d rather be than by his side as we watch the world light up in flames ♡

[blackssuunn-mandoandyodito]

Grip

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x reader

Rating: M

Words: 2k

A/N: this is only my second writing of this beautiful man and it's already smut. Damn.

Warnings: Dry humping, wet dreams, moaning, slight (very) hair pulling, SMUT, sexual frustration. If you think I should add anything let me know.

Summary: time is stretching the more you spend time with Mando on the Razor's Crest. What happens at night then?

The days are starting to blur together the more time you spend in the Razor's Crest, with no indication of what day it is, nothing but your own perception of time to keep track and try to stay sane. The silence, with a man who speaks two complete sentences on a good day, tends to become overwhelming if it stretches for too long, which happens more often than not.

With Mando flush against your left side at night though, time ceases to exist, much less matter. He always runs hot, probably because the beskar keeps his warmth inside, like a shiny envelope that he allows you to strip off every night with the only condition to have all lights turned off, sensitive to every single touch you give, intentional or accidental. 

He has a reputation to uphold, the big bad scary Mandalorian hunter, with no mercy to his bounties, getting the job done with no questions asked. Aggressive when needed, detached like he doesn't care about anything but the job. He's incredibly smart, which only makes him scarier. Nobody wants to get on his bad side, that's for sure. And getting on his good side is not an easy task, easier to avoid him altogether.

His upbringing had been a hard one, with his parents getting killed when he was still a kid and then being taken to The Mandalorians where there was no soft caress from a mother, no wise words from a father. Only training, fighting, The Creed, The Way. They showed love and affection in other forms, but definitely not in a touching style.

Not like he's complaining though, he owed everything to them.

But with the kid, his reputation stopped mattering. The kid was an exception to everything he was known for. Sometimes he wonders where he would be without that little womp rat, where would you be. He tries not to linger on that thought too much, hurts to think about it. 

You push him away from your body a little, the heat getting suffocating. Your arm is trapped between the cot and his torso, leaving your hand beside his head. The fact that he trusts you enough to hide his face in the space between your head and your shoulder forms a lump in your throat, knowing what would happen if you even so much as peeked at his face. You'd never do that, and that's exactly why he sleeps so easily around you. Instead, your eyes are fixed on the ceiling, your mind drifting off to places you don't allow in daylight.

Sometimes he looks at you and thanks the Maker that he wears a helmet because his facade would come crashing down if anyone realized how soft you've made him, how he melts when he's looking at you. You're beautiful, inside and outside. Once he tried to deny it to himself, and the feeling of stupidity that followed still haunts him to this day. And he knows it's not a great idea to allow himself to embrace it even a little bit under the helmet, but he doesn't know how to stop, doesn't know if he wants to.

His left arm wraps around your waist and pulls you to him, letting out a content sigh. You smile, moving your hand up to his hair, brushing it softly so as not to wake him. You can feel his lips moving against the skin of your neck, no sound coming out. His other arm is laying over the edge, hand dangling from the cot. 

Although him sleeping with you is very common, you're sure he doesn't know how cuddly he is, and he most likely doesn't know you know. He probably thinks he stays like a statue, far away from you. You're not an item, after all, you're just friends. And even that sounds too personal but too simple at the same time. Friends don't sleep together at night because the other's presence helps them sleep better, but friends can hold a conversation for more than 30 seconds without it getting awkward and that's not something that happens between you.

You let out a soft sigh, caressing his silky hair with your fingers while your other hand comes down to his forearm and brushes his skin lightly, the bumps of old scars clear under your tips. 

His lips kiss your neck softly, spreading heat all over your face. You tense, clenching your legs together as you stop your movements. He whines, still asleep.

After a few seconds, you relax against the cot, resuming your movements absentmindedly. He's never acted like this before, but now you realize that something is digging against your thigh and you're sure it's not his blaster. You move your leg, testing. A breathy moan leaves his lips as he pulls you closer to his chest, grinding lazily against you for a moment before stopping and moving his leg on top of yours.

Fuck, he's having a fucking wet dream.

You take a deep breath, willing your heart to calm down, and stop beating so fast. The heat from before suddenly feels worse, making your body hot from the tip of your toes to the top of your head, making you squirm.

The Mandalorian sneaks his hand down your sleeping shirt, hiking it up a fraction. His calloused fingers explore your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, closing your eyes.

Out of nowhere, his hips start rubbing against you, with such sluggishness that you're sure he's still asleep. Soft, sweet pants leave his mouth, his breath hitting against your skin, only making you hotter. You can feel him leaking pre-come, the worn pants wet rubbing against your own, getting them damp, making them stick to your body. The thought makes your core throb, blood rushing down as you clench your legs together seeking relief.

"Fuck" you bite out, careful not to wake him up as sweat starts to appear in your forehead.

He remained asleep, whining as he rocked his hips against your thigh, his erection just pressing harder and harder until you got soaking wet, desperation invading your senses as his own leg presses against your heat just enough to provide some friction but not enough to ease the ache, just riling you up even more, bringing tears of frustration to your eyes.

Your name leaves his lips in a breathy moan, desperately grinding against your body, driven by his hot dreams but completely unaware of his actions in real life. Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. He's thinking about you. You wonder briefly what is turning him on so much, what is he doing in his dream. Or what is he fantasizing about that makes him moan your name?

Your eyes flick down to his arm, muscles spasming as he uses it as leverage to hurry his movements. Without realizing it, you grip his forearm harder, about to go insane. Your skin feels overly sensitive at the lack of stimulation where you need it most, and you lift your hips up slightly, your clothed clit brushing against his calf. You moan, biting your lip and closing your eyes as relief floods you briefly before a new wave of frustration fills your body as he moves his leg down to your knees, taking away the only source of release you had found.

You grit your teeth together, breathing deeply to calm yourself down. You decide to take what you can get, enjoying his sounds, his touch. He doesn't stop, not even for a second. His hips start stuttering though, his rhythm growing irregular and his noises getting needier, whinier.

And just as you're sure he's about to come, just as you're about to do something incredibly stupid and let every effort to get close to him go to waste, he wakes up, and your breath hitches in your throat.

At first, you can practically feel the doubt and regret roll off of him like waves, despite his hips still moving involuntarily against your body. His grip at your waist eases a little bit, but he doesn't let go. There's a slight shake in him, his entire body. You're not sure if it's because he was about to come or the shock of what he woke up to.

What should you do? Feign sleep? He's too smart to fall for that, too sharp. Even barely awake, his reflexes are ten times yours on your best day. Your logic is telling you that the only other option is to flee from there, but you're not leaving him to drown in guilt, thinking that he abused you in some way when the dampness down the middle of your legs very much say that he didn't.

This is not something one can simply ignore, act as if nothing happened. Everything is going to change after this, so at least one of you should be able to get some sort of release out of it.

"It's okay, keep going" you finally say, threading your fingers through his locks, pulling gently, making him groan and returning his grip to the almost bruising one from before. "keep going"

Still sleep-heavy and hesitant at first, he obliges, moaning as he thrusts against your hip, his grip at your waist tightening. His rhythm becomes erratic, with his leg laying on top of yours as his clothed dick seeks for enough friction to make him come. His right hand grips the edge of the bed until his knuckles turn white, using it as an impulse to push harder against you.

He whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut again as he buries his face in the cot. The heat pooling in his belly grows, his muscles clenching as his orgasm runs through his entire body like a wave, making his toes curl and his fingers grip your body stronger, nails digging against the covers on the other side. You whisper sweet nothings to his ear through it, encouraging him to keep going. He lets put a choked moan as his cock keeps pulsing his release inside his clothes, chest heaving. The aftershocks hit his body harder than he's ever felt, making him jerk beside you like he's been electrocuted. He has to bite his lips to stop himself from screaming, opting instead for gripping you harder, pulling you closer as he rides out his orgasm. His hair is a mess by now, with all the tossing and your attention to it.

As he comes down from it, his body relaxing back into the cot, he moves his head back to his spot in the crease between your neck and your shoulder, breathing slowly. Your heart is beating wildly, and he can probably hear it but doesn't comment on it. You're not sure if he's aware that what just happened wasn't a dream, and there's a horrible ache between your legs that you won't be able to relieve right now for fear of his reaction. Maybe that would be too much at once for him. 

Taking deep breaths, your eyes begin to drop, the rush of adrenaline finally subsiding. His breath is now calm against you, and he moves his hand from your waist to hold yours and thread your fingers together.

"Is this the first time I do this?" He whispers, sleepy. His words are slurring together, bordering on the state of unconsciousness. You hope that, if he remembers this tomorrow, he won't regret it, won't act as if nothing ever happened. You certainly won't, and if he decides to, then everything will only be harder.

"Yes," you answer, gripping his hand. He sighs, shifts slightly to be closer to you, and falls asleep.

You follow shortly after, knowing that the next morning would be interesting for both of you. For a moment, your mind starts to create different scenarios of how this could go, going from spectacularly good to horribly wrong. Everything is possible.

But that's a worry for the future.