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thebunnednun · 1 day ago

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Birds and Fish

★Pairing:

Pro Hero! And soon to be ex Husband!Keigo Takami x Pro Hero!Still legal Wife!Reader

Synopsis: It's Valentines Day and your estranged husband shows up to your apartment to... take you out?

Warning: Extreme angst and fluff, suggestive themes, drinking, heartbreak, mutual pinning, touching and kissing, bad mental health, broken vases, broken dishes, preditor and prey, teasing, not really unfrequented love, heartbreak, hoping, depression, intimacy.

Wc: long, No ageless blogs! MDNI!!!

More info at the end. Use song: Of Monsters And Men - Little Talks

Slight spoiler: I wrote the flashback two different ways to represent how our brains twist painful memories.

This is the 3rd installment of my Valentines day series.

(Check my mha master list for more characters.)

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry,

@valscodblog, @willnetries

The morning is cold, but Keigo barely feels it as he stands outside your condo, wings tucked tight against his back, fingers flexing at his sides. He’s been here for ten minutes already, gathering his courage, trying to find the right words, the right tone. Something easy, something smooth, something that won’t make you him out of your head.

He raps his knuckles against the door, but it isn’t you who answers.

"Sorry birdie," Rumi drawls, leaning against the frame like she’s been expecting him all day. Her ears flick lazily before she leans aside just enough to let him see inside.

"Kitty cat doesn’t want to play today."

Keigo opens his mouth to argue, but the twitch of her ears is all the warning he gets before she sidesteps, and a vase comes flying straight for his face.

Glass explodes against the doorframe as he dodges, shards embedding themselves in the wood and skittering across the ground. He exhales slowly, resisting the urge to shake out his wings, and instead, he just tilts his head toward the room beyond.

"That any way to treat an old friend, sweetheart?"

His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something beneath it—

Something raw, something desperate.

He sees the flick of your tail's shadow before he sees you, a lazy sway from where you’re perched on the arm of your couch, one leg crossed over the other. You’ve got your claws out, the tips of your nails clicking idly against the glass of another— intact —vase on the side table.

Your pupils are blown, slitted eyes reflecting the light in that eerily beautiful way that always makes his breath catch. Smoke curls from your lips, disappearing into the dim lighting.

Rumi huffs, stepping back inside. "I’m not cleaning that up."

"Don’t have to," you reply smoothly, voice like silk dragged over velvet. Your lashes flutter as you finally, finally turn your gaze to him.

"Keigo will do it, won’t you, baby?"

That shouldn’t do as much to him as it does. He knows you’re being cruel—playing with him the way you always have, even before everything went to hell. But his fingers still twitch at his sides, still aching to reach for you.

"Anything for you, dove."

His voice is softer now, almost a whisper.

Rumi looks between the two of you and groans. "Alright, I’m out. But if you kill him, I’m not helping you hide the body." She grabs her purse and coat before leaving out the door, white trainers making crunchy noises against the floor.

Rude , she’d have helped you hide any other body.

You hum noncommittally as she heads for the elevator. The second it shuts, the air between you thickens.

Keigo takes a step forward, and you don’t move—don’t stiffen, don’t react, just keep watching him with those unblinking, inhumanly sharp eyes. He has to remind himself to breathe.

"Can we talk?"

A beat of silence. Then, you lift your chin slightly, lashes lowering.

"Inside."

He barely hears the words over the sound of his own heartbeat. But he follows you in without hesitation.

Your condo is nothing like the home you once shared with Keigo. It’s clinical, sleek, too neat. There’s no clutter, no misplaced shoes by the door, no feathers caught between couch cushions.

No warmth.

The air inside is still, save for the faint scent of something citrusy and sharp—one of the only things that covers the trace of venom in your breath. The furniture is modern, leather and glass, not a single soft edge in sight.

Even the throw pillows on the couch are pristine, arranged just so. Keigo’s eyes flick to the sink, the pipes lined with that special metal finish to prevent your venom from eating through them, the custom silverware drying in a dish rack, a reminder of all the precautions you have to take just to exist in the same space as other people.

But there aren’t any other people here. Just you. Just him.

You saunter toward the bar cart in the corner, tail flicking as you reach for a bottle, pouring yourself a drink with slow, deliberate movements. You don’t offer him one.

Keigo watches, silent for once. He’s been in too many rooms like this. He knows the signs. You haven’t made this place a home—you’ve made it a hideout. A place to exist, not to live. And that realization makes something inside him twist so violently he has to clench his fists to keep from reaching for you.

"You gonna speak, or just stand there lookin' pretty?"

Your voice is a purr, lazy, amused. But he knows you too well. That’s just how you hide the venom.

He swallows, stepping further inside, ignoring the broken glass from your little greeting still scattered near the door.

"What happened to us?"

You sigh dramatically, swirling the liquid in your glass.

"We got divorced, birdie. Try to keep up."

"That’s not an answer."

"Sure it is."

You finally turn to face him fully, your tail curling loosely around your leg, those slit pupils of yours narrowing as they catch the light. Your gaze flicks to the faint cuts on his hands from the glass, and Keigo thinks—hopes—for a second that you might care. But then you take another slow sip, and whatever softness he thought he saw disappears.

"You think I don’t know what you’re doing?" His voice is quieter now, rougher. Your lips curl slightly.

"Enlighten me."

"You’re trying to make me hate you."

You don’t react. Not at first. But he sees the way your fingers tighten around the glass, the way your ears twitch, betraying you.

"Is it working?" you murmur.

Keigo exhales sharply, shaking his head.

"No."

You click your tongue, setting your drink down on the bar cart with a little more force than necessary.

"Shame."

There’s a long pause, tension stretched between you so tight it might snap at any second. Then, finally, you lean back against the cart, crossing your arms over your chest, nails tapping idly against the fabric of your sleeve.

"Why are you here, Keigo?"

"You know why."

"You should be getting ready for your fancy gala, smiling for the cameras, being Japan’s golden boy."

"Not in the mood."

You hum, tilting your head. "They’ll notice you’re gone."

"Let them."

That catches you off guard. He sees it in the flicker of surprise that crosses your face, quick as a heartbeat before it’s buried under something unreadable. You exhale, reaching up to push your hair back.

"You make everything so difficult."

Keigo steps closer.

"And you make everything so damn lonely."

That—finally—makes you falter. Just a little.

But it’s enough.

"Why, love?" His voice is softer now, breaking at the edges.

"Why’d you really leave?"

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Because he deserves the truth, doesn’t he? After everything, after all the years spent in each other’s arms, in each other’s shadows.

But the truth is ugly. And you’ve never been the type to hand Keigo something he can’t handle. Even now, after everything, after you left.

So instead, you force a smirk, stepping forward to slide your fingers under the knot of his tie, tugging him just close enough to feel the heat of your breath against his lips.

"I left," you whisper, "Because I knew you’d chase me."

Keigo’s breath stutters. His hands twitch.

And then you let go, stepping back, putting a wall between you again.

"Now," you sigh, picking up your drink, "If you’re done being sentimental, you can see yourself out."

But Keigo doesn’t move.

Doesn’t turn, doesn’t back away.

Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. Something velvet. Something with your name on it.

Your breath catches.

His voice is barely a whisper.

"Not without an answer."

The morning light filters through the sheer curtains as you pull them back, casting a pale glow across the pristine walls of your condo. The city hums softly beyond the glass, an orchestra of distant sirens and traffic, a constant reminder that the world moves on regardless of your choices.

You lift your glass to your lips, savoring the last bitter sip before setting it down with a deliberate click. Behind you, Keigo still stands in the center of the room, that damn velvet box in his hands.

Your fingers twitch, but you don’t reach for it. Not yet.

Instead, you exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as you stare out over the skyline. Being a Pro Hero should mean something, but for you, it’s always been more of a balancing act.

The media has never truly trusted you—not with the kind of power you wield, not with a quirk as inherently dangerous as yours. You’ve spent your career fighting for a place at the table, only to be met with suspicion. The public adores their heroes, but they only ever tolerate you.

And now, post-separation, they don’t even do that.

The headlines were merciless when the news first broke.

Pro Heroes Hawks and Nightfang’s scandalous divorce.

'Nightfang’s betrayal.'

Every news outlet framed you as the villain, the gold digger, the attention seeker. They spewed theories, spun tales of infidelity or deceit, but none of them knew the truth. Not a single one of them understood the slow unraveling of something that once felt indestructible.

And Keigo—damn him—never defended himself.

Only you.

He stood in front of cameras and brushed off questions with a shrug, a lazy smile, a tilt of his head. He called you an incredible woman. He said he would always support you. He told the world that love is complicated, but that you weren’t the villain in this story.

But when the cameras were off, when the interviews ended, when he came home to an empty penthouse that still carried the ghost of your laughter, Keigo had to face the truth.

You weren’t coming back.

Legally, the two of you are still married. You filed for divorce, but he never signed the papers. He refuses. You’ve been separated for a year now, and once the two-year mark hits, you’ll be dragging him back to court to finalize it whether he likes it or not. That’s the plan. But Keigo—stubborn, maddening, infuriating Keigo—isn’t going to let you go so easily.

He tried. At first.

But then Endeavor and Touya got involved. And when two of the most emotionally constipated men in Japan actually agreed on something for once, Keigo started listening.

“You’re insane if you think you’ll ever find something like that again,” Touya had scoffed, tossing a cigarette off the balcony of Keigo’s penthouse. “You’ve had the real thing, and you’re just gonna let her walk? That’s weak.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Endeavor had muttered, arms crossed.

“You’re a hero, but you’re still a man. Fight for her.”

So Keigo fought.

He scared off every court-mandated counselor assigned to help mediate the separation. He dodged meetings, refused legal summons, and ensured that nothing about his life changed.

Your clothes were still in the closet. Your favorite mug is still sitting by the coffee machine. Hell, your toothbrush—your damn toothbrush—remains untouched in the holder beside his.

And yet, the scent of you is gone.

Late at night, when sleep refused to come, he would reach for your pillow, hoping for something— anything —that still carried your warmth. But it was just fabric. Cold. Empty. The absence of you felt like a weight in his chest, like hunger gnawing at his ribs, an ache that wouldn’t fade.

It terrified him, that feeling.

Because it wasn’t just loneliness.

It was abandonment.

Keigo swallows hard, shaking himself from his thoughts as you finally turn, your gaze landing on the small velvet box in his hands. Your expression remains unreadable, but he catches the flicker of something in your eyes—recognition, hesitation, something softer before it’s buried beneath layers of indifference.

"You kept them." Your voice is quiet, but not surprised.

"Of course I did." His grip tightens slightly. "What did you think? That I’d toss them like some old trinket?"

You say nothing.

He steps closer, the distance between you shrinking.

"Open it."

You don’t move.

Keigo exhales sharply, bringing the box to his own hands, flicking it open with his thumb. Inside, nestled against the plush lining, are the rings—your rings. Your wedding band, sleek and elegant, gleams under the morning light. And beside it, his own.

Unworn, untouched. Still yours.

"Tell me," his voice drops, rough and raw,

"Do you still want this to be over?"

You look at him—the man you came to love so deeply, so wholly, that it still aches in places you thought had long gone numb. Keigo Takami. Hawks. The man who once had nothing, just a lonely kid with clipped wings, and somehow, against all odds, became your everything.

Your fingers tighten around the wine glass in your hands, not from anger, but from the weight of the memories pressing against your chest.

You remember it all so vividly—your wedding, if you could even call it that. No grand venue, no media coverage, no designer gowns or custom tuxedos. Just you, in a t-shirt and jeans, standing beside him in the city hall courthouse. Your closest friends, your grandfather, and a love so real it felt like the very foundation of the life you were building together. Back before the multimillion-dollar contracts, before either of you were B-list celebrities—hell, even before you were D-list heroes.

People had called you foolish. They’d whispered that it wouldn’t last, that Keigo would leave you someday.

Find someone younger, someone prettier, someone who wasn’t… you.

But Keigo never strayed. Never looked at another woman the way he looked at you.

Not once.

You knew the kind of childhood he had survived, the scars buried beneath his charm, the silent desperation in the way he clung to you when nightmares crept in. You were his family. And he was yours.

Maybe that’s why this hurts so much.

Because when the rest of the world turned its back on you, when the media vilified you, when complete strangers condemned you, Keigo had always been your safe place.

And now?

Now you were each other’s greatest source of pain.

At least there were no kids to get lost in this mess. No innocent lives tangled in the wreckage of what the two of you had built and lost. Just two people, bound by love and tragedy, trying to navigate the wreckage without losing themselves in the process.

And yet, even now, late at night, you still hear him.

That warm hum, soft as a whisper, waking you from the edge of sleep. It takes a moment before you recognize it—his voice, murmuring wedding vows in the quiet. The same ones he spoke to you five years ago in that tiny courthouse, when the only thing you had to your names was each other.

"I don’t have much, but everything I am, everything I have, it’s yours. It always will be."

Keigo has offered a vow renewal more times than you can count. And every time, you refuse. He doesn’t understand.

He thinks you deserve more, that he didn’t do right by you back then. That now, with money, status, and power, he can finally give you something extravagant—something worthy of you. But that courthouse wedding? That day, five years ago? It was perfect.

You’ve told him that before.

And Keigo, with that quiet, unreadable stare, had only shaken his head and whispered, “That was the bare minimum.”

He doesn’t get it.

And moments like this—when he stands in front of you, ring box in hand, eyes pleading even when he doesn’t say a word—it’s so damn hard to be mad at him.

Because Keigo Takami, for all his recklessness, for all his stubbornness, has never once stopped loving you.

The rings clink softly against the table, the weight of them heavier than it should be. Your sigh feels like it’s been building in your chest for years, clawing its way up your throat, but when it finally escapes, it doesn’t bring relief. It just leaves you empty.

You rub your face, fingertips pressing into your temples, before retreating into the corner like you always do when you’re overwhelmed. The space feels too small, too tight, but the pressure grounds you. Keigo shifts in your periphery, body tensing like he’s about to reach for you, and you know that if he gets too close, you’ll break.

Your mouth fills with saliva, hot and acrid, your body rejecting the wine and venom swirling in your stomach. Before Keigo can take another step, you bolt, vaulting over the table, sprinting to the kitchen sink just in time.

Everything comes up in sharp, burning waves—wine, acid, poison—and you grip the edges of the sink, gasping between shuddering breaths. You don’t even realize you’re crying until Keigo is there, gathering your hair into his hands, his fingers gentle against your scalp.

The silk press you got last week—because you didn’t have the energy to deal with your hair, because life has felt so heavy—slides smooth between his fingers. He holds it back carefully, rubbing your back in slow, familiar circles, keeping his touch light like he knows any more might send you over the edge.

He doesn’t say anything when you try to push him away, just turns on the water and helps you rinse your mouth. The sink is steaming, curling around your face like fog, and when you spit again, the heat clings to your skin. Your body feels drained, exhausted down to your bones, but Keigo stays close, watching you carefully.

You can see the concern in the way his eyes flicker over your frame, the way his jaw clenches. You know you look bad. You feel worse. The dark circles under your eyes are deeper than usual, your limbs too thin, your clothes hanging looser than they should.

And then his gaze shifts—past you, past the sink—to the countertop.

To the empty bottles.

You don’t even like wine like that.

Keigo’s expression doesn’t change, but you can feel something inside him shift.

He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. He just hands you a cup of water, watching like a hawk as you take small sips, as you swallow down the Tylenol he places in your palm. Then, without a word, he starts emptying the bottles. One by one, he pours them down the drain, his movements sharp, controlled. You don’t try to stop him.

You just watch.

When he’s done, he tosses the bottles into the trash with finality, dusting his hands off before turning to you. His shoulders drop, just slightly, before he nods to the kitchen table.

“Sit,” he murmurs.

You hesitate, but your body is too tired to fight him.

The smell hits you first—warm, savory, familiar. A bowl of noodles, steam curling from the surface, two soft-boiled eggs nestled in the broth. Light spice, mild enough for your stomach. Next to it, a glass of green tea.

Your favorite.

Keigo slides into the chair across from you, setting his own bowl down. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push—just eats with you, slow and steady, letting the weight of his presence do all the talking.

The food smells too good to ignore. And you don’t want to be alone right now.

So you eat.

He watches, not too obviously, but you can feel it. The tension in his shoulders eases when you take another bite, and by the time your bowl is empty, your eyelids are heavier, your body slumping against the chair.

You don’t protest when he leads you to the couch, wrapping you in soft blankets from God knows where. He pulls you against his chest, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself sink into the warmth of him.

Your couch is too hard, because you never bothered making this place comfortable. Most nights, you sleep on the hardwood floor because it’s easier than trying to rest in a bed that doesn’t have him in it.

Maybe you got married too young. Your frontal lobes weren’t even fully developed yet.

Or maybe this was always bound to happen.

You already know how this will go.

Keigo will stay until you make him leave. He’ll linger for a few days, maybe a few weeks, before finally stepping back. Then the gifts will start showing up at your door—never at your agency anymore, at least he learned that much.

And then, eventually, he’ll come back.

And when he does, you’ll scream as you push him away. Because his feathers will be scattered across your apartment, lingering on the floor, stuck to your clothes, hidden in the creases of your couch.

And no matter how much you tell yourself to, you won’t have the heart to throw them out.

Because you still love him.

“Hm.”

Your laugh is barely more than a breath, but it still surprises you. It rumbles against Keigo’s chest, and you feel the way he tenses beneath you, like he’s trying to commit the sound to memory.

When he glances down at you, you tell him it’s because noodles and green tea were all you guys could afford back then, before the fame, before the headlines, before everything got so complicated.

Keigo nods, his lips pressing into a firm line, but there’s something in his eyes—something distant, something almost mournful. “The food act you started is doing really well,” he says after a moment, his voice steady. “Lots of donations are coming in. People are getting at least two hot meals a day.”

You smile, a small, fleeting thing.

Of course, Keigo made sure of it. Whatever you wanted to do, he always fronted the money, always stepped in as the face of it. Not because he wanted credit, but because people were more willing to listen to him than a woman who looked like you.

You don’t even need to say it out loud. He already knows.

A snake.

That’s what they called you.

Strange, considering the soft curve of your cat-like ears atop your head, the way your tail flicks when you’re irritated, the sharp, clawed nails you keep polished and neat. Maybe it’s your eyes, slitted and gold lined, too predatory for their liking.

Maybe it’s your teeth, sharp enough to tear through flesh, or the venom you can spit through the gaps between them, burning hot as it hisses against the air.

Or maybe it’s just because they needed an easy way to hate you.

Whatever. You don’t care anymore.

You’re just so tired.

Waking up has been hard. Brushing your teeth feels like a chore. Standing too fast makes your head spin.

Maybe it’s just too many bad days, piled on top of each other, weighing you down.

Or maybe it’s something else.

It’s weird—the way you’ve started signing Keigo’s last name again without thinking. You mean to use your maiden name when handling business, but the moment the pen touches paper, it’s his that spills out in ink.

Because it doesn’t feel like your name anymore.

Not after the media found out about your marriage.

Not after they twisted it, stripped you of any identity outside of him.

It became his name. And you?

You weren’t even a partial owner.

You sigh, pressing your forehead against his collarbone, letting yourself drift for just a moment. You and Keigo go way back—back before the tabloids, back before the industry swallowed him whole, back when you had braids and he hadn’t yet fallen into the machine that chewed him up and spit him out as Hawks.

Back when it was just you and him, sitting on the floor of your first apartment, no furniture, barely making rent, sharing instant noodles and laughing like the world wasn’t out to break you.

Keigo sits up a little, his arms still around you but tense now, his golden eyes locked onto your face, searching for something.

Anything.

“Can I ask you something?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your gaze is fixed on the silver screen, but you’re not really watching anymore. The cartoon you grew up on plays like white noise in the background, a relic of a simpler time—back when the only thing you had to worry about was making ends meet, back when it was just you and him against the world.

Back before the lights got too bright. Before the whispers got too loud.

Before loving each other started to hurt.

You understand why he doesn’t want to go back to that apartment, why he hates the memories in those old walls. You do, but at the same time, you don’t. Because back then, you had each other. More than you do now, more than when you both became names with too much weight to carry.

Before the cameras, before the meetings and hushed conversations about his image with you. Before your interviews turned sharp-edged, laced with bitterness neither of you knew how to swallow.

Before there were meetings about your marriage. Before your image turned sour.

You know why he works so hard to give you a soft life, but you refuse his money, refuse to go half on anything. You both got married without a prenup, so as far as you’re concerned, he can keep his things, and you’ll keep yours.

But Keigo is a selfish man.

He wants everything.

Not the house, not the cars—those are just things, and he’s never cared much for things.

He wants you .

Not as a trophy wife, not as a possession, but as the one person who’s ever really seen him in a room full of people. The one who showed him what his heart was worth. And even though yours is torn to shreds, even though you’ve spent so long pushing him away, he wants to be there with a sewing kit and new fabric, trying to stitch you back together, piece by piece.

"Would you run away with me?"

Your head turns slowly, eyes meeting his. "Run away to where? America? Some place where they don’t know my face or name?" Your voice is flat, tired. "You’d never be able to leave, Keigo. You have a duty here."

Keigo takes a deep, almost steady breath, eyes flickering with something unreadable before he clarifies.

"Run away with me for today. For Valentine’s Day. "

Your playful smile vanishes. You frown, turning back toward the screen.

"I hate when you joke like that."

"It’s not a joke."

The way he spits it—low, urgent—makes something in your chest ache.

He isn’t talking about some grand escape. He isn’t asking you to drop everything, to disappear with him to some foreign country, to run from the weight of your names.

He’s asking for today.

One day where there are no cameras, no expectations, no headlines.

Just you and him, like it used to be.

"It’s not a joke," he repeats, softer this time.

"You can't breathe air into my lungs if I don't want it, Keigo."

"Then I'll be a vacuum cleaner and press reverse."

"There you go again—forcing me into what you think is best for me."

"Please, just come home."

"I'd rather be in hell than alone."

You haven't been back since the night you left. You packed a suitcase with the same clothes you arrived with, taking nothing more than your hero costume.

And now you were gone.

It killed Keigo to come home and see the place torn apart, to live in the wreckage of everything you left behind. For a while, he did. That’s why he moved into the penthouse—because the house, as beautiful as it was, hurt too much.

Acres of land, a guarded estate, a quiet escape in the countryside—it was supposed to be a dream. Now, it’s just a memory.

But that night stays with him. The night you begged— fucking begged —him, his wife, who should never have had to beg for anything in her life. And yet, you did. Standing there in your designer black dress, glittering under the dim lights, mascara running like an unchecked faucet, pooling at the base of your throat as if your own tears were branding you, drowning out your voice.

Begging him to stay. To choose you over the public. Because you needed him.

And he didn’t.

—————

Keigo doesn’t notice the way your hands start to shake as the commotion around you grows louder. He doesn’t notice how the weight of the room feels like it’s pressing into your skull, the voices, the shuffling, the endless chatter about the schedule and the press and the fucking charity event drowning you like a tidal wave.

He doesn’t notice the way you break.

Not at first.

You're already on your knees, sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor in your black designer gown, the shimmer of it making the streaks of makeup down your cheeks look even darker. Your chest is rising and falling too quickly, your breathing uneven, like the oxygen in the room is running out. Your nails are digging into the fabric around your arms, and you’re begging him, voice hoarse from holding everything in for years.

"Please."

That’s all you can manage at first. You don’t know what else to say, how else to convince him, how else to make him see you.

"Please don’t go."

Keigo exhales slowly, standing tall in his gilded tux, his hands adjusting the cuffs like he’s getting ready for war, and in a way, he is. The hero industry is a battlefield, and he’s always been a soldier. Always been good at following orders, at knowing when and where to strike, when to play the game.

You’re not part of the game.

You never were.

"You know I can’t just not go," he says, like he’s trying to be reasonable, like this is an explanation instead of an excuse. "This event is important."

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

Important.

"What about me ?" you whisper, gripping your dress tighter.

His jaw tightens. "Don’t do that."

"Do what , Keigo?"

He sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck, his wings fluttering once in irritation. The movement sends a loose feather drifting to the floor between you, and you hate how that simple sight makes something in your chest ache .

" This ," he gestures at you vaguely. "Acting like I don’t—"

"Like you don’t what ?" You cut him off, eyes locking onto his. "See me? Hear me? Like you haven’t left me behind over and over again?"

He stiffens at that.

"You always have somewhere else to be, Keigo," you whisper, your hands releasing your dress to clutch at your chest instead, like you can physically hold yourself together.

"Always someone else to be with. Always something more important than me."

"That's not fair," he snaps. "You know that’s not true."

"Do I?" Your voice cracks, and you shake your head, laughing wetly, eyes burning. " Tell me , Keigo—when was the last time you chose me ?" He looks at you, but he doesn’t say anything. Not even one word.

Because he knows.

He fucking knows .

And for not the first time tonight, you feel empty.

Because what’s the point of screaming at a wall? What’s the point of pouring your heart out into hands that are too full to hold it?

Your voice is quieter now. Depleted.

"I’m done."

That makes his entire body tense, golden eyes snapping to yours, lips parting slightly in disbelief.

"What?"

"I don’t wanna fight anymore." You sniff hard, wiping your eyes, smearing the mess on your face further.

"I just wanted love and comfort. That’s it."

Keigo moves forward, like he’s about to kneel in front of you, but before he can, there’s a loud knock on the door, followed by frantic voices calling his name.

They need him.

You don’t say anything. You don’t move. He hesitates, but only for a second. Then he sighs, leans down, and presses a quick kiss to your ruined cheek.

"We’ll talk about this when I get home, okay?"

Your breath catches in your throat.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The door closes behind him, and the noise follows, his footsteps fading down the hall as the staff and managers rush after him.

You don’t move.

You just sit there, staring at the empty space he left behind, blinking slowly as another hot tear slips past your lashes, burning as it carves a path down your cheek. It drips from your chin, landing against the fabric of your dress. And in the silence of the house you once called home , you whisper,

"I need you."

But he’s already gone.

You don’t move at first when you hear all the cars drive away.

Because your mental state was just that bad —so bad that the thought of standing under a thousand flashing lights, surrounded by cameras and whispers, made your stomach turn. Because you knew how it would go. You’d smile, pose, play the part, and by morning, they’d have spun some new evil story about you. As if you craved attention so desperately that you needed everyone’s eyes on you—even at a charity ball.

And Keigo stood there, dressed in gold, the picture of perfection, while the staff bustled around you, stepping over your crumpled form on the floor of your own home. As if you weren’t there. As if you were just a nuisance, inconveniencing a man who had far better things to do.

Honestly, what did he ever see in you?

The rumors never stopped. That he must have been tricked, roped into this marriage. That Hawks, the patron saint of the hero world, hadn’t just cleaned up the streets—he’d done an act of charity by taking in a disaster of a woman like you.

And maybe, tonight, he believed it.

He dismissed the staff. His managers. But it was too late.

The damage was already done.

He tried to explain earlier. Tried to tell you why he couldn’t just not go. That you needed to pull yourself together. And that’s when something inside you snapped.

"I’ve been pulling myself together for you for seven years, Keigo. Seven."

From the very beginning, people told you that you’d never measure up. That you needed to hold on tight to him before he came to his senses. And now, standing in the middle of this too big, too cold house, you finally hit your breaking point.

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. The world spun too fast, too violently, and he—he couldn’t even take a moment to comfort you?

Really?

He’d rather stand there and watch you unravel?

The two of you were screaming now, voices ricocheting off the high ceilings. But you weren’t even angry anymore. Not really.

"I don’t want to fight, Keigo. I just wanted love. I just wanted comfort."

His phone wouldn’t stop ringing. People were banging on the door, reminding him that he needed to go. And you—you just stood there. Silent. Watching.

"We’ll talk about this when I get home," he told you, pressing a kiss to your tear-streaked cheek before walking out the bedroom door.

And you let him go.

The moment the door clicked shut, a single, burning tear slipped down your cheek, curving along your jaw as you whispered, "I need you."

But there was no one left to hear it.

The house was empty. Silent.

No one called. No one checked in—except Rumi and Taishiro, asking where you were, saying Keigo mentioned you weren’t feeling well.

Oh.

So that’s what he told them?

The ring on your finger feels heavier than it ever has.

The same ring he slipped onto your finger with that cocky, love-drunk grin, promising you forever. The same ring he kissed every morning before slipping out the door, murmuring, see you later, babe . The same ring that sat between your fingers as you traced the grooves absentmindedly, convincing yourself that he was worth waiting for.

Now, all you can think about is how much you regret ever putting it on.

Because what did it mean ?

Nothing.

It was just another thing in your life that Keigo Takami had made you believe was sacred—only for him to turn around and treat it like an afterthought.

Defends you to the death one moment but can’t even put the world on hold for you the next.

Talk about mixed fucking signals.

Even the lights in your bedroom feel too bright, burning into your retinas as if the whole house is mocking you, exposing you, watching you break apart piece by piece. You stumble toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment to breathe, to clear your face, to wipe away the evidence of how thoroughly you’ve lost .

But then you make the mistake of looking into the mirror.

And you don’t even recognize yourself.

The woman staring back at you is a ghost, her makeup smeared down her cheeks like war paint, her lips trembling with unshed rage and despair. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot, her cheeks raw from the heat of her tears.

Smoke curls from her lips with every breath.

You open your mouth, and your venom pools there, thick and acrid, sliding over your tongue like a warning. You could spit it into the sink, watch it swirl down the drain like all the other things you’ve had to swallow in this marriage.

But why should you?

What’s the point of restraint? What’s the point of trying to be good ?

Keigo abandoned you tonight. Just like he always does.

So instead of spitting into the sink, you turn and head straight for the bed.

One spit-take is all it takes to watch the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets dissolve into nothing.

Oh.

That feels good.

Something clicks into place inside you, something sharp and reckless and angry.

Your fingers curl into tight fists as you storm through your walk-in closet, scanning the racks and shelves until your eyes land on something perfect.

An old baseball bat.

The weight of it feels right in your hands, the smooth grip grounding you.

And then you swing.

The bedroom window shatters on impact, the sound ringing through the house, glass raining onto the floor like diamonds. You turn on your heel and move to the next target—the kitchen cabinets, the overpriced mahogany that Keigo’s designer picked out. You slam the bat into them again and again, the wood splintering, the doors hanging off their hinges.

Then it’s the TVs.

Every. Single. One.

Because why the fuck does every room need a television ?

You swing at the first one, watching the screen crack and flicker, glass shards scattering across the hardwood floor. Then the next, and the next, until there’s nothing left but broken plastic and shattered screens.

But that’s still not enough.

The sinks.

You crank the faucets on full blast, watching the water spill over before you spit into them, the pipes sizzling and corroding instantly.

Keigo’s favorite car sits in the driveway, gleaming under the moonlight, freshly purchased, still smelling like new leather and money.

Too bad about the broken windshield.

Your bat swings once, then twice, then three times for good measure, before you shove the damn thing into neutral and push it over the edge of the property’s cliffside driveway.

It tumbles down the rocky slope, scraping against jagged edges, until it lands with a loud splash in the saltwater below.

Huh.

Guess he’ll find it there later.

You step back, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, but you’re not done. Not yet.

The wedding china.

The plates, the dishes, the goddamn gravy boat.

You hurl them at the wall, watching them shatter into pieces, and for the first time, your hands shake —because that hurt. That was a gift from your grandfather. That was yours .

You swallow hard, eyes burning, but you don’t stop.

Your wedding dress is in the attic, stuffed away in a box that smells like dust and memories. It was a short thing, gifted by Nemuri from her first failed attempt down the aisle, something borrowed, something meant to be special.

Keigo’s tux is there too. An old rental, something he nearly threw away.

You whisper a quiet, sorry, to the dress before setting it ablaze.

Better for it to burn than to live in that dingy old box forever.

But Keigo’s tux? That, you take downstairs.

You nail it to the front steps.

For when he gets married again.

And then, finally, you slide the ring off your finger. It’s lighter now.

You don’t look at it as you place it on the nightstand, as you go back upstairs and pull out an old suitcase. You pack only what you came into this house with. The clothes from your old life. And your hero costume.

For good measure, you slice up Keigo’s expensive jackets, the ones he always threw over your shoulders in public when people were watching, but never when you actually needed them. All this money can’t buy you the arms that you wish would hold you more than just at night when you’re falling apart and can’t feel anything. Then you flood the bathtub with them.

And spit.

The fire crackles, eating through the fabric, the flames licking up the ruined cloth, filling the air with the acrid scent of burnt leather and regret.

Do you feel better?

No.

But it helps .

And then you leave.

You step out of the house barefoot, your pretty dress stained with smoke and dust, your expensive heels clicking against the pavement as you walk . And you don’t stop. Not until you reach your grandfather’s old house. The porch steps creak under your weight as you sink down, too exhausted to even push open the door.

Your body is spent. Your soul is empty.

So you just curl up on the steps, resting your head against the worn wood. And for the first time that night—

You close your eyes in peace.

—————

Keigo watches you from across the room, his golden eyes tracing every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. He sees it all. The hurt. The betrayal. The night he can never take back.

And the worst part?

He knows—knows deep down in his bones—that there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he rewinds the memory in his head, searching for the moment where he could have done anything differently.

Because he did come home that night.

Heart pounding. Mind racing.

At first, he thought someone had attacked you, that some villain had stormed the house, tearing it apart, leaving nothing but chaos and destruction in their wake. But then he saw it.

The tux.

Nailed to the front steps like a goddamn headstone.

And then he stepped inside.

The walkway, the living room— empty.

Not in the way that an unfinished house is empty, but in the way that something once full of life had been stripped bare, gutted from the inside out. The only things left were the shards of glass scattered across the floor, catching the moonlight like cruel little stars.

His stomach had twisted at the sight, his fingers tightening around the doorframe as he forced himself to move forward, to climb the broken staircase, to look .

And when he did—When he stepped into your bedroom—His knees nearly buckled beneath him.

Black stains marred the pristine white carpet. It took him a second to understand what they were.

And then it hit him like a freight train.

Your tears.

You had knelt there, crying so hard and so long that the venom from your mouth had dripped onto the floor, burning into the fibers. His gaze had swept the room, taking in the smoldering remains of your shared mattress, the burned sheets, the shattered windows. His jackets—shredded beyond recognition.

And there—on the bedside table—

The ring.

The one thing he never thought he’d see off your finger.

And then he checked the closet. Your clothes—all the ones he had ever bought you—were still there. Neatly folded, untouched. The only things missing were the clothes you brought with you the day he gave you the keys and you moved in together.

The same keys he now kept locked in a safety deposit box. Along with the keys to your first apartment. Because some part of him had always held onto the hope that maybe—just maybe —you’d come home.

But that hope had been a fool’s dream, hadn’t it?

He hates the person he was then. Because even if people needed him, he took vows to you.

And he broke them.

Maybe there was no adultery, no scandal, nothing that would make the tabloids scream betrayal. But what does that even matter?

He still failed you.

And he doesn’t blame you for wanting out. For wanting away from him.

But fuck —he’d been an idiot.

An idiot to not try harder. To not fight tooth and nail until his last dying breath to make it right. To not chase after you, to not choose you the way he should have from the very beginning.

And now, standing here, watching you—

He wonders if maybe the right thing to do is to finally let you go.

To stop being selfish.

To give you the space you deserve to heal , to move on, to find someone who truly understands you. Someone who isn’t afraid to tell the world no for you, who will always put you first.

Someone who will love you better than he ever did.

And God—

He hopes that whoever it is, they love you more than anyone in the world.

Because you deserve it.

You always did.

"Okay."

Keigo blinks at you, his golden eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. Okay? That’s it?

"Okay?" he echoes, like he needs confirmation, like he hadn’t just spent the past few minutes bracing himself for another argument, another rejection, another reminder of how much he fucked up.

" Yes, okay," you say with a yawn, stretching your arms over your head as your hair flattens slightly against the pillow. "That's what I just said, right?"

He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you, still half-buried in sleep, your voice groggy, your body warm beside his. He doesn’t know what he was expecting— screaming? A shattered vase? —but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

"I don't see the point in wasting a beautiful day," you add, voice softer now, as if admitting something you’re not sure you should. "But I'm tired. I need a nap."

And so you do.

Just like that.

You turn over, curl up under the blanket, and drift off. Keigo watches you for a moment longer before finally settling in beside you. His wings fold close, the weight of everything still lingering heavy on his chest, but for the first time in a long time, he lets it be. He lets you be.

And maybe it’s not forgiveness. Maybe it’s not even healing.

But it’s something.

The sun is well into the afternoon sky by the time he stirs, rousing you gently with a touch to your arm, murmuring your name in that low, familiar voice.

You wake slowly, stretching again before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

"Five more minutes," you grumble. Keigo chuckles.

"That’s what you said an hour ago."

You throw a weak punch at his arm before shuffling to your bedroom. At first, you tug on a plain tee and jeans, running a brush through your hair before stopping. Your eyes flick to the back of the closet, to something you haven’t worn in a long time.

A soft pink dress. Short and flowing. One you used to wear on dates before you got married.

You hesitate for only a second before pulling it out. It feels almost foreign in your hands, but when you slip it on, it fits just the same. A little piece of the past, like muscle memory. Your hands move on their own—pulling your hair into a high ponytail, swiping on a light cat eye, painting your lips a deep maroon before adding a slick gloss over it.

Your eyes flicker to your feet next. Heels? No, too much. Sandals? Maybe.

Instead, you grab a pair of flat tennis shoes, white, and slip them on over your hot chili pepper socks. A tiny smirk tugs at your lips. You used to wear them all the time, and Keigo always teased you for it.

When you finally step outside, the sunlight kisses your skin, and Keigo—

Keigo is already waiting.

He stands there, casual as ever, golden eyes sweeping over you in quiet admiration before his hand disappears behind his back and reemerges holding a large bouquet of flowers.

You stop short, eyes flicking between him and the bouquet.

"Where did you get those?"

He grins, his classic, cocky smirk making its first real return in what feels like ages. "I have my ways."

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. You take the bouquet from him, inhaling the soft, floral scent before carefully opening the sliding glass door and placing them in a vase with fresh water. But before you turn away, you pluck a single sweet pink rose, tucking it between your fingers.

When you step back toward him, his arms are already open, waiting—

And without hesitation, you wrap yourself around him.

His arms tighten around your waist, lifting you with ease like he used to, like it’s routine , like it’s muscle memory .

And for a moment—just a moment—everything feels familiar again.

Keigo lifts you into the air with ease, the wind rushing past as you hold onto him, your heart steady against his. His wings beat strong and sure, carrying you higher, away from everything—the city, the noise, the expectations.

For once, there is no mission. No duty. No answering to anyone.

Just this. Just you.

The sun is warm against your skin, golden and high, as he finally descends upon a quiet field nestled between rolling hills. A place untouched by the rush of the world. He lands effortlessly, his boots meeting the soft earth with a quiet thud before setting you gently down beside him.

There’s a small rental station tucked under the shade of a willow tree, and Keigo pulls out his wallet before handing over a few crisp bills. In return, he’s given two sleek bicycles, their frames shining in the midday sun.

"Hope you still like bike rides," he muses, smirking as he swings a leg over his.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your own smirk as you do the same.

And then you’re off—pedaling down winding dirt paths, the wind catching your hair, the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers filling your lungs.

The river beside you glistens, its waters clear and cool, flowing endlessly along the curves of the land. Keigo rides ahead at times, turning back to call out teasing remarks, daring you to keep up, but other times he slows just enough to let you ride beside him, your hands brushing every so often as your laughter fills the air.

At a small wooden stand along the path, an old mountain man greets you with a weathered smile, his hands rough but steady as he hands you fresh fruit and skewers of grilled meat. Keigo pays him generously, thanking him before leading you to a shaded spot where you both eat, savoring the simple flavors.

Then, with a sly grin, Keigo wipes a stray drop of juice from the corner of your lips with his thumb. His touch lingers, eyes golden and soft, and for a moment, he swears you both are younger again—two reckless souls, dressing up for each other just for fun, holding hands simply because you wanted to, not caring if anyone else saw, because you see each other, and that was all that ever mattered.

He never thought he’d get to have this again.

After the meal, he takes your hand and leads you somewhere even more breathtaking—a secluded stretch of Japan’s most beautiful flower fields. Endless waves of color spread before you, vibrant reds, soft lilacs, golden yellows, and blushing pinks painting the earth in an explosion of life.

"A private tour," he murmurs, nudging your side as he watches your expression, drinking in the way your eyes widen with wonder. "Just for you."

And it is just for you.

No cameras. No reporters. No agency calls.

He left his phone at home on purpose—no tracking, no interruptions.

Just this.

Just you.

As the day winds down, the sky begins to shift, trading its bright blues for something softer, richer—deep oranges and soft pinks flood the heavens, painting the clouds in their warm embrace.

You both lay stretched out on a picnic blanket, the fabric worn but comfortable against the cool grass. The scent of flowers drifts through the air, mingling with the fading heat of the sun. Your head rests in his lap, your body relaxed, skin kissed by the sun, glowing beneath its last golden rays. His fingers move gently, threading delicate stems together, weaving a flower crown with practiced ease.

You hum quietly, running your fingers through the soft grass, feeling the earth beneath your touch, the moment settling deep into your bones.

"Hold still," Keigo murmurs, placing the finished crown atop your head. You glance up at him, catching the way his golden eyes soften, the way his lips twitch into a barely-there smile.

"Perfect," he whispers.

And for the first time in a long time, he truly believes that this moment —just this —is all he’s ever needed.

You move suddenly, shifting up in his lap so quickly that his wings ruffle in surprise.

"Hey, dove, what are you—"

"Shut up, birb brain," you mutter, licking your lips before grabbing his face.

Keigo lets you, just like he always does. It’s something that used to unnerve him when you first met, when you started dating, but he’s long since grown used to it—the way you inspect him like a cat, your sharp eyes scanning every inch of him as if you’re searching for something out of place.

Your fingers thread through his hair, combing through the strands, checking for anything you don’t approve of. He doesn’t move, barely even breathes, just lets you do what you need to.

Your pupils dilate, then shrink, then dilate again as you stare into his golden eyes. He’s watched this before, felt it before, how your scrutiny is never cruel, never careless—it’s careful, meticulous. Like you’re cataloging him, making sure he’s still here, still whole.

Then, without a word, you turn him slightly, brushing your fingers over his back, plucking loose pin feathers and laying them out in your lap like little trophies. Keigo exhales through his nose, resigned, watching as you note each one with silent judgment.

"You need to moisturize," you murmur, rubbing one of the smaller feathers between your fingers. "And let Touya help you if you're gonna be a bitch about it." Keigo gawks at you, wings twitching.

"I haven’t seen him in forever—"

"Don't lie to me." Your nose wrinkles, and he knows there’s no fooling you. "Tell him a man who's died twice doesn’t need to kick the bucket to a cigarette addiction." He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, yeah, I’ll pass it along."

You let him go suddenly, like you’re done with your little assessment, and flop back onto the blanket without another word. Keigo blinks down at you, rubbing at his jaw where your fingers had gripped him, before shaking his head with a huff.

"Y’know, sometimes I think you might love my feathers more than you love me," he teases. You smirk, closing your eyes.

"Hate to break it to you, birdie, but they were my first love."

Keigo snorts, leaning over you, his shadow stretching over your sun-kissed skin. "Guess that makes me your side piece then, huh?" You hum, cracking one eye open.

"Mm. Keep up the good behavior, and I might just promote you."

He grins.

"Guess I better work hard then."

You burst into laughter, the sound spilling out of you uncontrollably, catching you both off guard. It startles Keigo for a second before he starts laughing too, that boyish, unrestrained laugh you used to hear all the time—before everything.

And it keeps going, your laughter feeding off each other, bubbling over until your stomach aches and your cheeks are warm.

You can't help but smile when you see him like this. Keigo—he feels ten feet off the ground, weightless in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

Your hands find his, holding onto them from where you’re lying between his legs, your head resting in his lap. The flower crown in your hair fights to stay in place, petals shifting gently as the wind plays with the strands of your hair.

It’s such a perfect moment—the flowers around you, the sky melting into brilliant hues, the way your skin glows, alive and healthy.

The setting sun casts a golden glow over Keigo’s face, catching in his windswept hair and making his eyes burn with a warmth that melts straight into you. The wind hums through the open land, rustling the flowers around you, making them bow gently as if nature itself recognizes the weight of this moment. But none of it matters—not the sky, not the wind, not the fading light.

Right now, it’s just you and him, existing in a perfect kind of stillness.

Your laughter lingers in the air, soft and unrestrained, a sound Keigo would bottle up and keep forever if he could. He watches you, completely enthralled, because he’s seeing something sacred, something only he has the privilege of knowing.

And when you smile at him—genuine and unguarded—his heart stirs, light as air, as if it’s grown wings of its own.

Being with Keigo feels almost like freedom, like the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future can't touch you here. Like for once, you are both untethered, just two souls caught in each other’s orbit, unburdened by the world beyond.

His hand finds yours, his thumb grazing the back of your knuckles in a quiet kind of devotion, and you squeeze back, grounding yourself in him.

The wind carries the scent of wildflowers, the last of the sun’s rays spilling over the horizon, but you don’t care.

You only care about this—him, you, together.

And in this fleeting, fragile moment, it feels like nothing could ever take that away.

Then you wipe a tear from your eye, and Keigo watches the way your little teeth poke out from behind your soft lips, a detail he never stopped loving.

"It’s moments like this," you say, voice quiet, almost hesitant,

"When I believe I can fall in love with you again."

Keigo swallows hard, his throat working against the lump forming there. He tries not to blink, not to close his eyes, terrified you’ll disappear in the fraction of a second he does. Instead, he leans down, his hands tightening around yours.

"Would you?"

The laughter dies.

The warmth in your face fades, your expression sobering as you hold his hands back. Silence stretches between you both, heavy and aching. Keigo feels it settle in his bones, a sharp contrast to the golden, fleeting happiness you’d just shared.

And then you finally answer.

"I could…" you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"But I won’t."

Keigo tries not to react, tries not to let it show. But there’s too much history between you, too much weight in the air. You both know each other too well for him to pretend.

"Keigo, I’m—"

"Don't."

You pause, mouth slightly open, but you let him speak.

"Don't," he repeats, softer this time. "You have every right. I just…"

His eyes flick over your face like he’s memorizing it all over again. Then, slowly, his hands rise, cupping your cheeks, his touch impossibly gentle. His thumbs glide beneath your eyes, collecting the tears that had started to gather, his warmth sinking into your skin.

The breeze whispers through the field, making the flowers sway, bending in reverence to the moment passing between you both.

"You just wish things were different, right?"

He nods, dipping his head closer, his throat betraying him when he swallows hard.

"I do."

"Me too."

Keigo opens his eyes again, and for a second—just a second—he sees you. The real you. The earnest girl he fell in love with, the girl he thought he’d grow old with, the one he’d everything for.

And you see him. The boy who made his dreams come true, the only man you could ever love like this.

There will be no others. Not for you. Not for him.

"A bird cannot love a fish," you murmur, your voice barely carried by the wind.

Keigo flinches. His wings shudder, and a soft, wounded noise escapes the back of his throat.

"Please, don’t…" he whispers. "Not that saying again."

So you don’t.

You just stare into his golden eyes, and he stares into yours—where he finds himself lost, and where you find yourself found.

The sky above is vast and endless.

And you know you shouldn’t.

You both know you shouldn’t.

There’s too much pain here. Too much time lost.

But Keigo leans in anyway, until your noses touch, your foreheads press together, and you stay like that, frozen in something between longing and regret.

Your hands move slowly, framing his face, nails skimming his skin just enough to make him shiver. He breathes you in, your scent hitting him like a memory too vivid to be anything but real. His favorite drug. You feel his warmth seep into you, melting the cold hollowness that has lived inside your chest for too long. You both feel it.

How could something so right feel so wrong?

As promised here is more info:

You and Keigo were once the hottest couple of the hero world—until, without warning, you filed for divorce.

The media spun the story every way they could, branding you as an opportunist, a traitor, a villain who played the long game. But Keigo? He never once spoke against you. If anything, all he’s done is defend you—both in the public eye and from it.

Now, months later, he’s supposed to be at a high-profile Valentine’s Day event, flashing that easy smile for the cameras.

Instead, he’s at your doorstep, dodging vases and sharp words from Rumi, who seems more than happy to keep him from getting too close. But Keigo’s never been one to back down. No matter how many times you evade him—setting fire to his car, disappearing behind locked doors—he keeps showing up, keeps reminding you of what once was. Because no matter how much you try to push him away, there’s one thing neither of you can deny:

You still love each other.

Your history is tangled, your wounds are still fresh and raw, but fate has a cruel sense of humor. You may no longer wear his ring, but in the eyes of the public, you’re still bound together. Keigo is still holding out hope that you don’t actually want to let him go.

And maybe you don't really want to...

I do NOT own the images!!

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more fic's and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too. I haven't posted the story yet because I need to Finish my Katsuki one first at least, but all the support and comments I receive help give me the motivation to finish!

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and likes, really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

Stay tuned for the rest!! If you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!! <33

-Angie (✿^‿^)

I do not own My Hero Academia or its characters. However, the original plot, storylines, and any original characters in this work are my own creation. Please do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own. Respect the effort and creativity that went into this story—thank you!

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karda · 2 days ago

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primrose update she is doing fantastic

#rambling #doing wonders for my mental health tbh

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etoilesombre · 2 days ago

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yes! ok hi as a resident dark content enjoyer and sometimes-creator, and also a mental health professional (i have a license and everything! i know it seems like i spend all my time writing fucked up porn, but i actually get paid to talk to people about how to deal with being a person. kind of the best day job ever) i am here to make a serious case. a fucking plea.

STORIES ARE A GOOD AND NATURAL PLACE FOR HUMANS TO EXPERIMENT WITH DARK CONTENT.

stop interpreting people's taste in media as an indication of their morals, or trauma, or psychological state.

one of the most amazing, unique, wonderful things about being human, probably the thing in which all the other amazing wonderful things are rooted, is that in addition to understanding our own internal lives (which other very big brain mammals probably also do) we are uniquely able to imagine ourselves behaving in ways other than we do. making different choices, experiencing different consequences, living whole other lives. this is essential not only for empathy, but for the development of moral systems, both as a society and as individuals. at the most basic level we need stories about doing things that we should not in fact probably do, unless we want to have to learn that lesson first hand every time.

and! that is not to say stories have to be cautionary tales about what happens if you actually do dark things. another amazing thing about humans is that we are curious. we like stimulation and novelty, we like to push limits, test out situations and experiences. most of us are drawn to thinking about things that are outside of our own comfort zones to some extent. stories are a fantastic, safe, harmless way to play with the potential range of human experiences. and that IS a great way to cope with trauma, actually, but it's also just fun! enjoy your amazing big brain and the weird shit it can get off on! and for what it is worth, i do not have actual data on this, but in a world in which i was given good research funding i am very sure that i could prove that, at a population level, 'reads fucked up shit on ao3' would actually be strongly negatively correlated with 'has been a perpetrator of violence' for a whole variety of reasons.

a talking point i often see when defending the consumption of dark content is that it’s a coping mechanism for those with trauma which is very valid and true but i also want to make this abundantly clear: you can like dark content for no reason. you can enjoy fucked up shit in fiction because it’s enjoyable and entertaining. trauma is not required as a ticket for entry. enjoy your dark content bc it’s fun and sexy and don’t let anyone take that away from you

#hi op sorry to hijack your post #I needed to rant apparently #thought crime is not real thought crime is not real thought crime is not-

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wtftaylr · 10 hours ago

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I MAKE MY TRIMPHANT RETURN with a bunch of outfits. I'm very happy they're finally done!! Click for higher quality!

A few notes under the cut bc i did not work on this since October to not yap about my thought process /silly (i say with peace and love)

Bounty Hunter's Duster: Her first love. She liked being able to shoot that guy right in front of Gomorrah on behalf of Francine Garret. She was loathe to part with the cool hat, but anything for Francine fr.

Daniel Sadie's Outfit: Sadie is the founder of the He-Man Daniel Hater's Club (most of the companions are part of it despite not knowing who Daniel is. It's difficult to get anything more than a sneer and, "a fucking asshole," from Sadie when asked, but for some reason we trust Sadie's opinion). Anyway, despite Daniel being Daniel, we like his outfit. I like to think she stole it off his back in the night before leaving Zion.

Dr. Mobius' Scrubs (+ Glasses): Something she wears a lot post-game while researching the Tunnelers. I just love this outfit. Also the glasses are, through some miracle, her exact prescription. She's never seen clearer.

Vera's Outfit Redux: I redesigned Vera's Outfit bc Sadie would not be caught dead with a giant flower on her hip, respectfully. I referenced a few of Marilyn Monroe's dresses! The jewelry is designed after the Tops logos, gifted by Benny. Sadie doesn't wear much jewelry but, unfortunately, she likes Benny enough to make an exception.

Courier's Duster + Wasteland Designs: Sadie sews and assembles clothing! Expanded on here, but tldr: she's 5'0" so she has to adjust a lot of things to fit her. The only outfit that's ever fit her without her needing to adjust it was the Courier's Duster that Ulysses made for her. She was both surprised and just a little creeped out. Anyway, she'll take parts and pieces from some outfits and combine them together, as seen in the last two designs.

She also made the other two New Vegas outfits from scratch, using fabric and clothing she found throughout New Vegas. A lot of clothing from the Ultra Luxe conspicuously went missing, but don't worry about it. If you tell on her she'll tell you on Benny (not the biggest threat in the world but if you piss off Benny, you piss off Sadie by extension so... not worth it.)

#my art #fallout new vegas #fnv #fallout fanart #fallout #courier six #courier 6 #fnv courier #courier fnv #artists on tumblr #sadie knox #in case you were wondering why i was so quiet: this was it #in my mind this was required preparation before making much more new vegas content. why you ask? i do not have a fitting answer #i am just.... i dont even know what acronym (mental health diagnosis) to blame it on /silly #one of em for sure but anyway. hope u enjoy

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happyheidi · 3 days ago

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If you're comfortable, could you give more details on how you lost weight? Im around the same weight and would love any tips you or any followers have.

Absolutely! Glad you asked because I have a lot to say on the matter. I’ve been very thin my whole life (I was 5’ 9 when I was like 10) but when I entered my twenties a lot of traumatic things happened in my life that I won’t go into but I am 100% sure they were a reason to the quick weight gain. Looking back on it I am sure that I as a result was very destructive with my drinking and eating. And I have Depersonalization disorder (DPD) so I didn’t “see” me go from like 60 kilos to 130. The day I had to stop to catch my breath after a short hill was the day it truly clicked for me that something’s wrong, so I weighed myself and it said 136 kilos (around 300 pounds). That day I said OK, this has to change on a radical scale! So I got real militant with changing what I eat. I dropped bread entirely. So I started eating ‘knekkebrød (google translate says it’s ‘crispbread’ lol idk) w/o butter, and I stopped drinking, started eating healthy and wrote everything down using a calorie counter.

Diets are not the way to go. You just gain weight when you get of it. You have to start eating in a way u feel you can continue eating in the long run!

I didn’t goto the gym a single day during this (I don’t recommend that tho cus I wish I did it. I think it would’ve helped with excess skin. I’ve started working out now tho and I love it. It’s for strength and better mental health not really weight loss.

But yeah. Nutrition is where it’s at. And why are people so anti cheese? lol. I’m a major cheese girl so I asked a nutritionist about it and she said it’s no problem. It has calcium and protein after all. I know it’s best to eat small portions throughout the day. It’s a myth that eating many times during the day is somehow bad, it’s the very opposite as it helps boost your metabolism, which in turn helps you loose weight, so if it you eat smaller portions 5-7 times a day, that’s apparently the best (adjust it to your life tho). That’s what I did

You have to burn more calories than you gain. That’s the whole about weight loss!

The interesting thing, to me at least, is that I was at my healthiest when I was deemed ‘sickly obese’. The reason I know that is because I had a problem with my body (won’t do into detail but it had nothing to do with weight, and so I had bloodwork etc etc done for months and they came back as healthy as all hell .

That has always been really interesting to me. That when I was deemed “sickly obese” my body was the healthiest it’s ever been. Oh well.. just wanted to share that.

try not to get too fixated on the weight tho. it’s how you feel that’s actually important!

Let me know if there’s anything else ur wondering about ;) hope this helped a little 😌❤️

#ask #weight loss #sorry if there’s any spelling mistakes #I’m on the buss just talking about my weight gain and loss #oh well #nothing wrong with that #it’s a human experience #and hello to stretch marks haha #I’m the stretch mark queen!#(was gonna write SM queen for short but uhm…that doesn’t quite work)#long post #text

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cinnamontoastcrunch-15 · 1 day ago

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I have NO CLUE what this is and I couldn't think of a title for it lol

"There's no way!"

"I can't believe it!

"Oh, this is the best day of my life!"

Remus listens to his roommates and their excited chatter for a few moments before pushing the door open. Lily, Mary and Marlene don't even turn around at his arrival, not able to stop their celebration over... something?

"Um... hi?" He tries with an amused smile.

"Hi," they all say in unison, before immediately turning and carrying on with their conversation.

"I wonder what he's doing here!"

"He hasn't been back in years!"

"Sorry, who are we talking about?" Remus asks, dropping his bag onto the counter and starting to root through it for his water.

"Sirius Black! Rumour has it he's in town!" Mary says excitedly, and every inch of Remus freezes. His heart stops beating, his lungs stop working, his hair stands on end as he does his level best to act casual.

Sirius fucking Black. Biggest star of their generation, with every album he's released hitting number one and staying there for a scary amount of time. Five years of fame, fortune, interviews and tours. Five years of being everybody's favourite person, of being admired, of being featured everywhere.

Five years since him and Remus broke up.

Remus has spent the past five years trapped in limbo. Everywhere he goes he hears Sirius' voice, with his songs played in every shop, in every cafe, on every radio station. He tries his level best to avoid it, to try to protect his mental health, but he can't help himself sometimes. He's had countless sleepless nights, going through his old pictures and videos that he told Peter he'd deleted and crying his eyes out. He knows every word to every song Sirius has released, just from listening to them in his car when he's feeling really sentimental. He can't keep himself from recognising lyrics, hooks and little chord progressions that Sirius created while they were together.

He moved away the moment he got signed, and Remus hasn't seen him since. He's done two world tours and a fair few one off concerts, but he's never once come back. They haven't spoken once in those five years, but Remus doesn't have the heart to delete Sirius' number. He's pretty sure he has it memorised anyway, so it wouldn't do him any good to delete it.

"He'd better do a concert!" Marlene's voice pulls Remus out of his daze, as he tries his best to level his breathing, rooting through his bag and refusing to look up. "I've been waiting for us to finally get one!"

"Yeah, he dodges us like the plague!"

"Well... he did grow up here," Lily starts explaining. "He wouldn't have to come back at all."

No, he wouldn't.

Why the hell is he back?

"D'you really think he's going to do a concert?" Mary asks, clasping their hands together.

"This is how all of his one night only concerts have gone! He shows up, then a few hours later his tickets go on sale!" Marlene smiles triumphantly, and Remus shuts his eyes, back to them, trying to keep his head from spinning.

"Right, so we're going to have to be careful to make sure we get them," Lily says with a nod. "Someone stick his music on."

Remus turns around, then, eyes wide.

"Why?"

The three of them look at him a little like he's grown three heads.

"Manifesting?" Marlene says, as Mary starts tapping on their phone.

The next thing Remus knows, Sirius' most popular song is playing, A Pearl in the Darkened Sea.

Oh, fuck.

Remus feels sick.

The song he knows better than he knows himself is playing in his living room like it's nothing. The memory of Sirius writing it comes back into his head, why he wrote it, what the song really means.

"Hey, Remus?" Lily starts. Remus tries to fix his face. "If it's a concert, want to try to get a ticket with us?"

"Oh, er..." he starts, cringing a little at the hesitation in his voice. "No thanks."

"No thanks?" Marlene asks, stunned.

"Are you insane? This is the Sirius Black!"

"I know. I'm all good, thanks." He hopes that'll be enough for them, but they don't seem satisfied with that answer.

"He's literally taken the world by storm! He's stolen the hearts of the nation!" Mary says, and Remus almost wants to confess everything right then and there. He knows all about Sirius' ability to steal hearts, and he also knows how painfully that can end.

He's not going to say anything, though. Sirius is happy, Remus doesn't need to dig up the past and ruin it for him.

"Are you sure you don't want to try?"

"I'm sure." He looks at the three of them, feeling really fucking suffocated. "I've actually, er... I've got a headache, I'm going to go lay down."

"Need anything?" Lily asks him gently. He shakes his head, before making a beeline for his room.

The moment the door closes behind him, he takes to pacing around his cramped room.

"It's been five years, Remus," he mutters to himself. "Fucking pull yourself together; it's just weird now!" He stops in his tracks, pressing a palm to his growing migraine. Sure, the days have gotten easier, he spends a lot less time crying over Sirius, but surely he should be over him entirely by now! He shouldn't be freaking out over rumours of him being back in town!

Rumours.

Fuck, that's literally all they are.

There's no confirmation, Sirius hasn't said anything himself. Even if he had, how does that affect Remus? It shouldn't matter that they're in the same place. It shouldn't be important that he's back in the spaces that they used to share.

He vaguely hears a knock at the door as he tries to force himself to stop thinking. The music stops as he gets back to pacing, trying to walk off the anxious energy he's stuck with.

"Oh my god. Oh, my god!" Lily's voice is loud enough, startled enough, to catch Remus' attention. "You're..."

"Uhm... hi."

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Remus knows that voice.

He knows that voice better than he knows his own voice.

"You're Sirius Black!" Mary exclaims, stunned.

"I am." His voice is muffled, but it's him. Unmistakably, undeniably him. "I also... may have the wrong flat." Remus doesn't even realise that he's scrambling to his bedroom door until he's fumbling with the handle. "Does Remus Lupin live here? Or... anywhere near here?"

Hearing his name in Sirius' perfect fucking voice has him practically shoving the door open, bursting into the living room just in time for all of his roommates to turn and look at him.

He can barely see them, though.

Sirius is here.

Standing in his doorway, beautiful silver eyes on Remus like he's stunned to see him. As if he hasn't just shown up at Remus' flat.

"Sirius," he breathes.

"Rem." The nickname seems to slip out, snapping Sirius out of his daze. "Remus. Hi."

He has so many questions. Too many questions. Why he's here, how he's still so perfect, why he hasn't been able to get Sirius out of his head.

"...how did you know where I live?" He asks instead.

"James told me," he admits sheepishly.

"Of course he did," Remus says with a fond shake of his head. "He was probably falling over himself to tell you." He walks over to the doorway, keeping a careful distance so his resolve doesn't crack and he doesn't burst into tears, holding onto the man he hasn't seen in five years and begging him to stay forever.

"How'd you know?" Sirius asks sarcastically, and Remus can't help the smile that creeps onto his face. "I... I just wanted... could we talk?"

Talk.

Just talk.

Five years, and Sirius shows up acting like he wants to ask him about the English essay that he definitely could have done by himself.

At whatever look is on Remus' face, Sirius suddenly turns hesitant. Remus hasn't seen him like this in years. Sirius for the public is nothing but confident; all big smiles, standing tall and speaking without a single stumble.

"If- you can say no. I'll go. I just- I didn't want- I thought it was worth-"

"I'd really like to talk," Remus says softly.

"Oh, thank fuck," Sirius exhales, drawing a laugh out of Remus before he can help himself. Remus steps aside, gesturing for Sirius to come inside. When he turns to lead both of them over to the kitchen, he realises that his roommates are all standing and staring at them, wide eyed.

"Could, er... could you guys give us some time alone?" Remus asks, as Sirius situates himself on one of the kitchen counter stools. Christ, it's alien, seeing Sirius here, as glamorous and perfect as always and looking really bloody anxious. When his roommates don't move, he walks over to them. "Guys. Please."

"You- you're-" Marlene gestures, clearly in shock.

"Please?"

Lily seems to snap out of it, then.

"Right, yeah. Yes, of course." She grabs Mary and Marlene by the elbows, pulling the three of them into her room and shutting the door behind her.

Thank God.

He turns to Sirius with an uncertain smile.

"D'you want something to drink?" Remus asks, flicking the kettle on.

They end up with a mug of tea each, Remus sliding into the seat beside Sirius.

"Can't believe you take your tea exactly the same," Remus says with a smile.

"What can I say? I'm a creature of habit," Sirius says back. "You do the same too, thank you very much!"

"Alright, alright, I'm a hypocrite." They lapse into silence for a second, Remus at a loss for words. He still can't believe that this is real.

"Sorry. I know this probably came out of nowhere," Sirius says softly.

"Just a bit," Remus answers back.

"How did the English degree go?" He asks with a smile.

"Graduated with a first," Remus answers. "I finish my masters this year."

"'Course. You've always been a genius."

"Shut up, I have not."

"You have! Why d'you think I always came to you for essay help?"

"Because you fancied the pants off me and that was the easiest way to get me alone?" He asks with the arch of an eyebrow. Sirius smiles, caught.

"Okay, yeah, that sounds about right. Doesn't mean I don't think you're a genius, though." After a second, Sirius takes a deep breath, letting his eyes slide closed for half a second. "Do you ever think about us?" Sirius watches Remus anxiously, and Remus nods once. He's not quite ready to admit how much he thinks about them. About Sirius. "About... how it all ended?"

How could he forget?

It was one of the worst nights of Remus' life. A lot of shouting and tears, all ending with Remus telling Sirius to "just fucking go then!" immediately followed by Sirius storming out.

"Yeah," he admits quietly.

"I... fuck it. Rem, I replay that night in my head far too often. I- I don't really recognise us in it, d'you know what I mean?" Remus huffs an empty laugh.

"Yeah, I don't either. We... I don't really recognise us at all, towards the end." He starts playing with his fingers.

"What happened, Rem?"

"We were both a bit traumatised," Remus starts, and Sirius nods in agreement. "And we were both stubborn gits who wouldn't go to therapy about it."

"I think I just thought you didn't want me anymore," Sirius confesses quietly. "So I started trying to... I don't know, test the waters? Pull away, see if it did anything?" Remus shoots him a bit of a disbelieving look, and Sirius buries his head in his hands with a groan. It's a gesture so unbelievably Sirius-like that Remus wants to rake his fingers through his hair and bring him back out of his shell in the same way he did when they were a kid. "I know! It was fucking stupid! I just figured... I don't even know what I figured. I think I just didn't want to have to ask, y'know? Hear you say that you weren't interested in me anymore."

"I was into you. Christ, Sirius, you were my whole bloody world. I was just..." He sighs, not sure if he really wants to admit this. "You weren't going to move."

"What?"

"I overheard you talking to James. The record deal, moving to London? You were going to refuse it. I just... you're so fucking talented, and I didn't want you to have to gamble with the deal and risk losing it because of me. Sirius, look how far you've gotten. I couldn't be the one to get in the way of that, so I... I tried to make you see that you could live without me. Your dreams should come first."

"You..." Sirius' eyes scan across Remus' face, and he shakes his head to himself. "Trust you to be too bloody selfless." His affectionate smile fades, replaced by so much sincerity that Remus is a little taken aback by it. "Remus, all I wanted was you." He runs a hand through his hair. "I would have been happy in a cramped little flat in the middle of nowhere if it meant we could grow old together. I wrote songs for me. For you. Even now, they belong to us. Not everybody else. I still have so many that nobody else is going to get to see."

"Yeah, I remember every song you wrote."

"You do?"

"Course I do."

"I promise, I never wanted Pearl in the Darkened Sea to go out to the public. The label was going through my lyric book and found it. I... couldn't talk them out of it." He sounds surprisingly apologetic, and Remus wants to jump to reassure him.

"Hey, don't worry. I... it was actually really nice to be able to hear it."

"You still listen to it?"

"Don't tell my roommates." Sirius nods with a smile.

"Secret's safe with me." Remus watches Sirius consider his words carefully.

"You okay?" Remus asks softly.

"I miss you so much," he confesses in a rush. "I- I still want to talk to you about anything and everything, I can't write without thinking of you, and I spend an embarrassing amount of time thinking about us." He speaks quickly, not looking Remus in the eye.

"I miss you too. Fucking hell, Sirius, I miss you every day." Sirius' eyes meet his and, for a second, the two of them just look at each other. He watches as Sirius' face sets determinedly.

"I'm still in love with you."

Oh.

"You..."

"I never stopped loving you, Remus." This time, he doesn't look away from Remus, suddenly brave. "I know that might be a bit much, and I know you're probably over the breakup, and that's okay. I'll be okay. I just... I'd really like to have you back in my life, in any way that you're comfortable with. I just figure, if I want that, then I need to be as honest as I can. I spent a long time in love with you from a distance, I can do it as friends-"

He can't say anything else, because Remus is kissing him.

The impulse is an age old one, but he surprises himself a little by listening to his gut.

He's never been more grateful for his instincts in his life, as Sirius makes out a muffled noise of surprise, before throwing himself into the kiss earnestly. His lips are soft and familiar, bringing such a feeling of warmth and safety that Remus could cry.

The kiss is desperate, both trying to pull one another impossibly closer, limited by the distance of their chairs. Remus' hands go from his waist, to the nape of his neck, to his jaw, into his hair, trying to reach at every single piece of Sirius that he hadn't had in front of him for five fucking years. When Sirius reaches out, fingers hooking on the chain around Remus' neck and moving to pull him closer, Remus practically falls off his chair. It's enough of a stumble to break them apart, Remus having to get his bearings before their eyes meet.

"Hi," Sirius says quietly, eyes shining.

"Hi."

"I love you so much."

"I love you too," Remus says back, reaching out to lace their fingers together. Sirius lifts their connected hands, kissing all of Remus' knuckles one at a time. "So... we're trying again, yeah?" Sirius nods.

"With one hundred percent honesty, though." Remus nods, in fervent agreement.

"Guess I'm your groupie, now."

"Shut up," Sirius says, rolling his eyes affectionately as he connects their lips again. "You're my everything."

#fame au #rockstar sirius black #wolfstar #sirius black #wolfstar oneshot #marauders #remus lupin #remus x sirius #young marauders #moony x padfoot #atyd marauders #marauders oneshot

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slowburningechoes · 2 days ago

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rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better

aw, thank you for the tag, @way-too-indecisive!! this made my day!

Currently Reading: all the required reading for my doc program… and the audiobook for Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” when I have a moment to spare! plus any fic including James Wilson from House, MD

Last Song: “Dreams” by the Cranberries and any number of other songs I’m sorting into a playlist for my romance novel drafts

Last Movie: on my own time it was “Much Ado About Nothing” (1993), but the last thing I really watched was on the mental health crisis unit where I work, it was “Brother Bear” - one of my go-to’s for movie time

Last Series: on my second consecutive watch of House, MD - but before that it was Yellowjackets! Both scratch the psych loving part of my brain in a different way.

Sweet, savory, or spicy: Savory is what I go for most! If I have something sweet (which I do enjoy), I always have to eat something savory afterwards

Craving: similar to the creator that tagged me - motivation! I would really love to have the drive to do what I need to for grad school, including my dissertation draft. This hyperfixation has been holding me HOSTAGE

Tea or coffee: I like matcha most, but tea and coffee are tied honestly. I enjoy coffee if I need a quick hit of caffeine, but I like the taste of most tea better.

Currently working on: my smutty fic for Wilson from House, MD, some art that I will hopefully be able to give to RSL when I see “Betrayal” in March, and numerous other things for my doc program

Absolutely no pressure tags: @ridethecyanide, @deadpoetwilson, @allthistimeeee, @lino4ever , @toddsmind-neilssoul , @wilson-is-a-slut , @titojefie , @boy-wonder-oncologist-fan , @musimeme

rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better

Tagged by @indrid-hot - thanks a bunch!

Favorite Color: A nice, warm, sunny orange - but also honestly most other colors of the rainbow and then some.

Currently Reading: The Tevinter Nights Dragon Age short story collection.

Last Song: L'appuntamento - Ornella Vanoni

Last Movie: Ah, gosh. HM. I haven't watched anything that's not a TV show in a while. I semi-voluntarily caught the last fifteen minutes of Scrooged over the winter holidays I guess?

Last Series: Last series I watched any part of is, as always, "Emergency!" because I will never not be stuck in 70's paramedic hell. If we're talking new-to-me shows, a friend's making me watch Grey's Anatomy (early seasons) once a week, probably because observing my growing despair about the characters' poor life choices is fun. I don't even normally watch medical shows, and yet here we are lol

Sweet, Savoury, Spicy: Savory if I had to pick

Craving: Some good spaghetti with olive oil and obscene amounts of lightly toasted garlic.

Tea/Coffee: Yes please, lol

Currently working on: OH BOY WHAT A QUESTION.

Spinning: Gotland on my spindles (4-ply, one single per spindle, for funsies - except I accidentally mixed up which bits of fiber go with which single on which spindle, so that'll be fun to sort out...), 7oz/200g of red Merino on the wheel (for a crochet hat, followed by 9.5 oz of red and black Merino for a woven scarf). But also 24.5oz/700g of grey Merino. And cotton on the supported spindle. And I've got some laceweight viscose on the mini turkish spindle that I should really work on...

Crocheting: Half a dozen things, including a lacy collar that needs buttons and blocking, a gigantic star-shaped wrap-around shawl, an incredibly boring granny square top for my little sister, and too many others to count.

Art: The Emergency! tarot as the eternal never-ending WIP; I also have some Dragon Age Veilguard related plans revolving around the Grand Necropolis and irl Catacomb Saints and I'd love to get some DA-style tarot cards done for all my player characters.

Writing: I still have a couple unfinished fanfics that need another chapter, as well as two deeply self-indulgent OC/Emergency! crossovers that friends are making me write, and I also have some Dragon Age stuff in the works - though if anyone will ever see that is another question entirely.

Music: Practicing various stuff for LARP; also slowly chipping away at Hozier's Work Song because my partner asked nicely.

With no pressure, I will tag: @geminyde, @caseyscraftycorner, @swords-n-spindles, @alpacazappa, @rosesonneptune, @rose-of-pollux, @zooarchaeologyatdinner, @kalikatze aaaaand I can't decide on a 9th person to tag so whoever wants to do this: You're It!

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sergle · 15 hours ago

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Hello, I've been following you for many years now and as wonderful as it is to keep up with your art it has also been nice to just keep up with your posts about daily life. I remember when you started experimenting with henna hair dye and when you made informational posts about painting your nails. I've been painting my nails for over a year now and I still remember those posts fondly.

I also just got a breast reduction which is something I was really afraid to do. It took me over 4 years to finally take the leap, and seeing your posts about your reduction seriously helped me. Thank you for talking about your experiences.

It's sad to see that you are dealing with some really serious mental health issues right now. As someone who also struggles with those issues I can only wish you the best. I hope you get to rest and enjoy small comforts so that it may ease your suffering even a little.

I think it gets better. I mean you've done so much and grown so much and you even went under the knife to relieve pain and strain. You are doing your best. It will be okay. It has to be.

yeah okay I may have cried at this message a little bit

#sergle answers

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verdantwyrm · 3 days ago

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I miss him so I’m gonna ramble abt him

The way wrong organ gave us so much yet so little abt Curly’s mental health is making my gears all rusted cuz I wanna explore more abt that

As we know Curly is not mentally well, even before he started working at Pony Express. I like to play around with this theory that Curly has unhealthy attachment with Jimmy. Jimmy only staying friends with Curly for benefits, while Curly holding onto Jimmy because he doesn’t want to be alone in his head. That he uses Jimmy as anchor. Like unhealthy codependency

I do remember devs said that he spent his free times with family and friends, people who are exciting. I can’t help but wonder if he uses that as a way to cope, keeping his mind busy yk?

Curly is such an interesting character because we simultaneously know so little about him, but also so much. We know so much about his failures and his weaknesses, him being too trusting and his mental problems and exhaustion but he know so little about who he is as a person. Besides of course what we're told by the devs, we know so little.

And you're right about Jimmy being his anchor, it's a relationship of codependency where they both gain something awful out of it, both built on this irrational fear of being alone or without each other.

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing jimmy #anon

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roamingwildflower13 · 19 hours ago

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Gosh this is such a well thought out post, and reblog, not sure why it’s been reblogged, as I’ve not seen anyone ask or insinuate this but still.

I’ve never actually really seen anyone on here blogger wise say they wish for Jikook to ‘come out’, at least not recently, if anything it is always the complete opposite. A stance of they absolutely will not, never. Or always leaving room for doubt (which I find incredibly invalidating in a different way, but still). If it’s anons asking, as long as it’s a genuine ask, and is respectful, I’d say it’s just so someone can ‘learn’ or understand what might happen if…

And I say might because none of us actually know. We can assume, but we do not know.

Therefore I want to offer a middle ground. A neutral view if you will.

I will preface by saying I have no qualification for this other than being a sociology major and a gay man. (The sociologist in me knows as humans we love a good label, it helps to define and ‘understand’). I’m certainly not au fait enough to add anything research wise to the original post.

If it helps, I can tell my ‘coming out’ story, as fun as it is! You can skip it, but here goes….the cliff notes

I am 32, firstly, and came out when I was 27, so 6 ish years ago, before the pandemic. (Aside how has it been 5 years since the pandemic, time is truly flying). I had known I was into boys since I was little, I was always always attracted to the boys in my class, never the girls, but alas back then it was a insult to call someone gay, to say that to someone’s face just because you thought their mannerisms were a bit effeminate I guess, as mine were (stereotypical high voice, lisp, somewhat feminine features). Society was not accepting as a whole either back then. (It probably isn’t now. Gay marriage was only made legal in 2013, just over a decade ago. The year Bangtan debuted no less. We’re talking very close by history.) I was bullied, naturally, so by my teen years I tried my upmost to hide it. For example, I did art in high school and on my project folder I stuck pictures of girls (famous ones), like that would help me blend in. When I was 21 I met a girl in a coffee shop I worked at and dated her, my friends were all dating, so I did too. I did like her, she was nice, I did try, and we dated on and off for a few years. You can imagine on my part why this wasn’t working, but we tried and on the getting back together she got pregnant. It was about to change our lives, sadly though we lost the baby at 20 weeks, and if nothing else the grief tore us apart. I know we would have loved that little girl, we named her and buried her as tiny as she was. But hindsight is 20/20, and it was the catalyst that changed everything for me. Once we split I decided to move on, and firstly I acknowledged my own true feelings, that I was indeed gay. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to be honest with myself, finally. For me, living hidden, or living a lie with my ex, was not good for my mental health, and it wasn’t for my ex either. We weren’t happy, there was no intimacy there, and that’s no good for anyone. My family mostly accepted me once I finally told them. I was incredibly grateful for that, the ones who didn’t at this point are no loss. The biggest question I get and have to navigate is if I am bi, seeing I was with my ex for years, but no I am gay. That was six years ago, as I said, and I’m at a place where I am comfortable with my sexuality and gender expression more than ever, finding a community and interests helped with that too.

So that’s my ordinary story.

I realise of course I come from a place of privilege, a western country with mostly acceptance these days of queer folk, but not always. In fact what’s happening to many countries with a rise in right wing politics, including America is down right frightening.

I wish we all lived in a world where we just accepted one another for whoever we are, but sadly we do not. The energy of the planet is low, and they seek to keep it low.

What I wanted to say overall, is that although I know what it’s like to ‘come out’ as unfair as that is, it is not our place as individuals to decide what someone else should or should not do, or what is right or wrong for someone. We can educate ourselves for sure, be aware of things, but ultimately it’s not our decision to speak on matters that do not pertain to us. Reflections is right in that this process of coming out, or identity marking is not prevalent in every society, I tend to not make it my personality for example, but people do assume, and I’m okay with that. I certainly don’t explain to everyone, and will only do so if they ask nicely.

I know this is a blurred line in a ‘shipping’ space, but where I come down on this is I do not see myself as shipping two people, but supporting what I think is a very probable queer couple. All I ever want to do is support them, but I would never want to speak to their wants and needs, that’s not for me to say.

That is my neutral ground if you will.

I will coo till the cows come home, admire their beautiful love and bond, as frankly, it’s all I’ve ever wanted for myself, and for others. Love is everything. However, I will never impose my own view of what they should or should not do, coming down hard on either side is actually (in my opinion) incredibly invalidating.

To anyone who truly has thought about it in terms of winning, please don’t do that. That goes back to what I said in a reblog yesterday about dopamine and fighting online, that high, that win, would certainly only be for your own benefit, or likely to get one over on other ‘ships’. It’s different of course if they themselves chose to do something, but to want that is to only want that win for yourself, and that is not fair on them.

The part of the original anon ask, about how you would market such a relationship, is interesting in context of the show, given this ask is 3 ish years old. That and the documentary, the book, JKs solo documentary, and Jimins documentary, it all leads me to believe they want to be known together, their names synonymous. They want their bond to be seen. For what reason only they know, but it’s kinda smart, because whilst most of the fandom remains ignorant, meanwhile they can (mostly) be themselves. I will note that all of this came after the enlistment was applied for.

This does go hand in hand with another reblog re Jimin explaining Muse. The worst outcome of any of this is if they get ‘outed’, so in order not to do that, in my opinion, they use protective mechanisms. They don’t outright deny anything, not that it’s asked directly of them, but they indicate they are single, they sing love songs, female pronouns included, they (pretend) not to see each other, they say ‘bro’, and a plethora of other things. This is when people refer to the glass closet. They bang on it occasionally, see the show, test its limits so to speak, but (so far) remain protected mainly due to sheer ignorance, and homophobia. For the same reason they can be flirty on stage under the guise of ‘fan service’ , and apply to enlist together because the buddy system exists. They do, imo, use what they can in order to be themselves as much as they feel comfortable with. The band itself provides a shield so to speak, five other members whom they love to be amongst, hence why the solo era was somewhat different for them, the band was no longer there as group activities were suspended for the most part, especially in 2023. This meant they kept a low profile, as I’ve said I think it was a choice. I want to add that anyone who seeks to minimise any of their choices, especially the enlistment, is not a true fan. I’ve seen solos do this and laugh at the notion that one of the reasons they kept on the down low was the enlistment. I’d caution people because again we do not walk in their shoes, we do not know how they feel about anything, and it’s disrespectful to minimise or dismiss their relationship when the evidence is that they mean a great deal to one another.

I want to end by saying that at the end of the day, we do not know these men, I personally support what I see, and know in my heart to be true. I will always respect them and any choice they make, because it is their choice, and their right to make that for themselves despite the circumstances they find themselves in.

The only thing I truly want for them is peace, happiness and their safety.

Okay so, I came to this blog because I’m an Army and recently have been quite fond of Jikook’s bond. I always used to close myself off the shipping considering how toxic it gets on other platforms but I really love these two together it’s almost painful to resist. I come here in peace, and I’m asking you something. Can we open a topic about what would ACTUALLY happen if two idols of the caliber of Jimin and Jungkook confirmed having a relationship? Because so many Jikookers see the coming out as the final win, when actually it could be the contrary? Some people in the fandom are naive and don’t realize the impact, especially negative, it would have on their career. If you open this discussion I’m sure also other blogs will tune in. I beg you to view it on a much bigger scale than just the fandom shippers, let’s observe it from the point of view of their country, the industry, their reputation as a whole. And also if you were in their shoes, and your aim was to live your days with your loved one ultimately, what marketing procedures do you think would be necessary to take in order to keep your career going as well.

Thank you Anon for the question and I will try to be very careful in navigating such a topic. I've mentioned before that I will not talk about Jimin and Jungkook in regards to their private personal life, but what I can do is to focus on what is written in shipping spaces, as it's part of the fandom discourse. I will start by saying that you are asking some questions which are impossible for me to respond. I cannot put myself in their shoes as I am first of all a woman and second of all, not famous. My answer will be divided into two parts: how shippers talk about identity and more general, about sexual identity in SK, for which I will provide extensive references and I hope they can be useful in understanding the social context. I want this to be an open discussion, especially if there are people in this space who know more, who have more knowledge on this particular subject.

It seems that in general, those who ship Jimin and Jungkook do see a coming out, in the possibility that there's an actual romantic relationship, as the ultimate ''win'', just as you said. To me, that's complete ignorance and I can only situate it in the realms of problematic fantasy. As I've said before, I don't have any problems with the idea of shipping. Of course, I've noticed that a lot of jikookers call themselves supporters in order to differentiate themselves from your run of the mill shipping practice. ''You say tomato, I say tomato''. They say they will support Jimin and Jungkook no matter what, but anyone who becomes part of a community, makes connections or develops some emotional attachments towards their ship or subjects of the ship, will definitely have some strong feelings if they will encounter some ''evidence'' at some point that would disregard the way they see those people. I'm of course generalizing here, but I'm not saying this only in order to criticize them, but because it would be a normal reaction, something to be expected and each person has their own way in which they deal with those feelings. Just as I talked in my shipping post, there are positive outcomes here, such as people who gather more extensive knowledge on LGBTQ+ issues, in case they haven't done that before. But there's a shtick and of course I can only talk about what I see in international shipping spaces, which is the fact that despite doing research on this topic and trying to understand the SK political landscape, they still use a Western filter. What do I mean by that? Their understanding of sexual identity is in most cases Western and they apply that mindset when it comes to situations in countries that have a history that doesn't match the American one, which is the more prevalent. Sexual orientation has become part of someone's entire identity. It has developed over the course of the 20th century (Michel Foucault and Jeffrey Weeks have written about this) and today it's the norm. We do live in an era of globalization, but to take this idea and apply it to a context that not many of us actually know, results in a discourse that can have some colonization elements to it and leaves no room for specific Asian Queerness. It's unfortunate because all shippers could do is read more about it, if they actually call themselves supporters. Not to focus just on their ship but to actually try and understand how alternative meanings of identities work. If they had done it, in a bit more detail, perhaps they would know that one's sexual orientation does not become someone's entire identity everywhere. It's a difference between something that ''I am'' and ''I do''. The SK situation, when it comes to LGBTQ+, is influenced by Confucian values, the military service, the huge influence a family can have, but it's also about finding a community. Not everyone is the same and in this case generalization is dangerous. People can use western terminology, even fully embrace a ''coming out'' as we understand it and some of them don't, or they only do it with themselves or close friends while some engage in activism just as any part of this world. You can find more about this in a thesis written by Matthew David Arnold called Queer Korea: Identity, Tradition and Activism (2016) in which he interviewed 49 LGBTQ+ individuals over a period of time while he lived there. These are people who became his friends, acquaintances, and artists and each and every one of them has a story of their experience which has its own particularities. Arnold talks about the Social Compact which consists of the established communities in which these people live and the most important one is the family and the huge influence it can have. It also bothers me the fact that when shippers engage in such a topic, a lot of the times they are alienating, othering this entire culture and using their own Western frame as a system of reference.

To go back to your initial ask, about the jikook ship and coming out, it is ludicrous. How can shippers talk about such a thing when it comes to people whom they don't know? They observe a pattern of behavior and draw some conclusions, sometimes they have a more educated guess and other times not. But they should stick to that. They say they care about their biases, but by having this request and considering it as a win is disrespectful because a coming out is no one's business and especially not of some strangers on the internet.

I'm aware that I probably haven't given a specific response to your questions, but these are the limits in which I situate myself, but as I said in the beginning, I encourage other people to chime in.

For more insight into LGTBQ+ topics in South Korea from an academic perspective, I will leave some references here:

Song Pae Cho, Faceless Things: South Korean Gay Men, Internet, and Sexual Citizenship, 2011

Elias Alexander, Seoul's Gay Districts: Space, Place, and Identity, 2017

Joe Phillips, Joseph Yi, ''Queer Communities and Activism in South Korea: Periphery-Center Currents'', Journal of Homosexuality, 2019

Joseph Yi, Joe Phillips, ''Paths of Integration for Sexual Minorities in Korea'', Pacific Affairs, 2015

Todd A. Henry, Queer Korea, 2020

Thomas Chase, ''Problems of Publicity: Online Activism and Discussion of Same-Sex Sexuality in South Korea and China'', Asian Studies Review, 2012

Youngshik D. Bong, ''The Gay Rights Movement in Democratizing Korea'', Korean Studies, 2009

Robert Hamilton, ''Gaytrification and the re-orienting of Sexual Peripheries. The Displacement of Space and Place in South Korea's Queer Underground'', Contemporary Society and Multiculture, 2016

Tari Young-Jung Na, Ju Hui Judy and Se-Woong Koo, ''The South Korean Gender System: LGBTI in the Contexts of Family, Legal Identity and the Military'', The Journal of Korean Studies, 2014

Timothy Gitzen, The Promise of Gayness: Queers and Kin in South Korea, 2012

Jungmin Kwon, Spectacularizing the Homosexual Body: The Secret Rendezvous Among Global Gay Media, Local Straight Women, and the Media Industry in South Korea, 2014

#Jikook

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