#its literally the same thing as back then

[vonbabbitt]

ojima loredump from a couple years back i wrote for my staff

i can finally post more of these now yay. tw for ojima things

so ojima, as you may recall, was one of the OTHER people who was abused by a parent! hes also the youngest of three boys with his two older brothers being four and eight years older than him respectively! his family was pretty well-off financially and his dad had a pretty prominent position in the business world, so from the outside looking in, all was pretty good! except that by the time ojima was born, his parents' marriage was already in a rapid downward spiral and his brothers were already regularly seeing the fallout from this in the form of physical and verbal abuse. ojima was supposed to be the sort of "patch" that was meant to fix their marriage because his mom thought that having another kid would force ojimas dad to be more responsible/caring/present etc, except obviously that did not happen because having a new baby in the house just made things way more stressful. his parents ended up staying together regardless, but their relationship was constantly in turmoil and for the first few years of his life ojima grew up in pretty much the same environment as his brothers: abusive and socially high-pressure

enter ojimas uncle, his dad's brother and another fairly relevant man in the world of business. hes super friendly and the boys love him and hes fun to be around and ojima in particular is attached to him because when hes out with uncle kenji, theres no fighting or yelling or hitting and everything is cool and hes only three so he has no concept of the fact that this dude is getting……..a little bit too comfortable around him! so things eventually get to the point where his uncle is taking ojima on outings without his brothers present, and from there, things escalate, and ojimas relationship with his uncle very quickly becomes sexually abusive. ojima is THREE of course so he has no idea how fucked up this is but understands that he does not like it and does not want to be around his uncle anymore except that things dont stop there and nobody really finds out about it for another two years despite it being ongoing.

so at age five ojima is talking to his oldest brother, who is now thirteen (his name is tetsuya!) and has a total meltdown. he knows hes not supposed to tell people about what he does with his uncle but hes completely losing it and he trusts his brother. tetsuya, who actually understands whats happening and is pissed, thinks it wise to go to their dad, which does not end well! dad is pissed that theyd make accusations like that about his brother and refuses to indulge the idea that ojima could be telling the truth in any way. what ensues is his dad doubling down on the psychological abuse that ojima is going through at home, and for lack of a better term, basically gaslighting him into thinking that hes lying and everything is fine, despite the fact that shit with his uncle is STILL ACTIVELY HAPPENING at this age!

so by around age six, ojima has his first experience with blacking out. between what his uncle is doing, what his dad is doing, the fact that he cant even trust his own mind anymore and the pressure of having to present all this as being totally fine because of his family's social status, something in him just snaps and he completely dissociates. hes suddenly in this world in his head where nobody can hurt him, nothing bad can happen, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, he is completely in control. of everything. ojima has never, ever been in control and its something he becomes practically addicted to because its the only way he can feel safe. it goes from dissociating once at a particularly bad moment to dissociating constantly to escape how shitty his life is. when ojima turns ten, his brother moves out and its absolutely devastating for him because thats one of the only two people in the world he can trust. from that point he pretty much never sees him again. tetsuya does literally everything in his power to get ojima and their middle brother (his name is toshiharu!) out of that environment, but hes eighteen and hes not their parent and their dad has a lot of sway, so it doesnt amount to anything meaningful. ojima is told that his brother left because hes a shitty person and he hates their family and eventually he learns to internalize that and blames his confession and his supposed destruction of their family for tetsuya leaving and never coming back. the many many attempts for tetsuya to contact ojima and toshiharu go interrupted by their dad and the two dont speak again.

things basically continue with ojima being abused at home and at his uncle's until he turns fourteen, at which point the next big milestone is that toshiharu moves out and reconnects with tetsuya, and now the two are full steam ahead on getting ojima out of that environment. except that its still basically useless because they have no legal say over him and their dad is really powerful so everything is still mostly the same except that ojima is completely alone. hes dissociated a good 90% of the time at this point because hes just incapable of handling the absolute shitstorm of things happening to him. hes in a living hell and maladaptive daydreaming is basically his only escape and the only thing that keeps him going. because of this, hes seen as weird and stupid by other kids at school and is treated like shit there too. theres pretty much nothing left in his life that could be considered good or redeeming except for the two things he enjoys: daydreaming and drawing.

contact with his uncle starts to break off around age fifteen when his uncle starts losing interest due to ojima being older now. ojima gets tremendously fucked up over this, and while hes relieved that its not happening, his brain is so torn at this point that he gets caught in a sort of spiral of wondering why hes no longer desirable and why people keep leaving him, even when they're bad people that ojima doesnt want in his life. in this time between age fifteen and age seventeen, things start to improve slightly because his uncle isnt touching him and his dad isnt constantly brainwashing him to get him to forget about his uncle touching him so for this brief gap of time, he can almost live comfortably. he starts doing some freelance illustration work because his dad wants him to get a job and it turns out hes pretty damn good at it, and he enjoys it a lot, so he spends a lot of his time illustrating. hes mainly motivated by the fact that he wants to give other kids like him a beautiful and vivid place to escape to, so he depicts all these fantastical and whimsical worlds in kids' books to give them that same sort of escape that he needed. his brothers are still desperately trying to get in contact with him/get him out of their old house, but its been years by this point and all he knows is that they both decided to completely abandon him one day and never look back, something that he entirely blames himself for.

despite things getting a bit better for him, ojima basically never grows out of the daydreaming and it takes over his life to some degree, which honestly? its debatable whether its good for him or not. on one hand, its extremely disruptive to his life and is not a healthy coping mechanism by any means. on the other hand, it was literally the only thing that got him through the past ten years alive and continues to be his only escape from the shitty life he has. anyway ojima is sixteen now! the physical and psychological torment from his dad starts to transition into a more familial/patriarchal pressure at this point - tetsuya and toshiharu are gone and severed, which means ojima is the son thats going to take over his business one day. suddenly his dad is treating him like a grown man when hes ever only been treated like a doll for his entire life - now hes being taught about business and social policy and world affairs and all these things he isnt interested in and doesnt understand. he really just wants to draw and dissociate and pretend nothing bad is happening to him. except even though hes not being tormented anymore, things are not good! because he has, obviously, absolutely massive amounts of trauma that he is not coping with. instead of ever dwelling on this or addressing it, which arent really options for him anyway, he goes deeper and deeper into his own headspace to escape it and pretty much locks himself away in this dissociative world to ignore everything that isnt his own art.

then ojima turns SEVENTEEN and the world flips. his brothers finally manage to get their case in front of a judge and the ojima family business SINKS LIKE A ROCK. his parents are in jail, and hes suddenly out on his ass. his brothers scoop him up pretty fast and do their best to piece him back together, but ojima is absolutely fucked in the head by this point. he lives with tetsuya and toshiharu and continues working because he loves to work, but he seriously struggles to rebuild the relationship he once had with them because in his understanding, they hate him. thats what hes been told for years. they live in this very tense situation where his brothers desperately want to help him, but they are also traumatized and they do not know what to do for him because hes just an absolute mess. ojima bounces around the idea of therapy for a while and frequently registers for therapy/drops out/registers/drops out repeat repeat repeat because he knows his broken and he knows he needs help, but going to therapy means actually thinking about his past and what happened to him and he cant do that. its terrifying and it hurts and he just wants to be in his own headspace. it leads to a lot of very emotional conversations with his brothers who still just dont know what to do but desperately want to get him help somehow.

and then the killing game starts

[yoiisa]

Helloo, I dont know if youre requests are open (Sorry!!!) but I wanted to request a Sae smut where is sweet and shy girlfriend (us) who never speaks and always hides behind Sae's back, at home is a slut for his attention and wants him all night long if you know what I mean 🤭IF YOU WANT TO IGNORE THE REQUEST!!!!! I understand if it leaves you uncomfortable!! Anyways, thank you in advance (im sorry if my english is bad, its not my first language)

oh girlie. Oh girlie . . . i gotchu don't worry about a thing (¬ ₃ ¬)

Tags: pwp ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ), slight dacryphilia, praise (dirty talk), afab reader, sex, finger sucking (idk what else to call it lol ToT), slutty reader

➜ when you tell people that you're dating the sae itoshi, you're always met with the exact same response: what? ➜ because genuinely how did this work out at all? he's so distant and cold, and you're so sweet and shy. people see the two of you together, your elbow linked with his, your hand on his bicep, and you staring up at him like he hung the stars in the sky and can't even piece together how the two of you even had a conversation, let alone started to date ➜ but here's the thing: sae adores how sweet and shy you are ➜ we see through sae as a little kid with rin, and then as an adult with shidou and a little bit with isagi that sae actually has a lot of capacity in him to care and nurture others around him. if he thinks you're worth it, then he'll for sure give you the time of day ➜ and he can't exactly explain why he was so drawn to you either, but all he knew is he'd give you all of the attention you needed. he's so down bad for you it's insane ➜ so unless soccer is preventing him from doing it, he'll drop everything he can and rush to your side whenever you call, he honestly gives doberman boyfriend vibes ➜ literally all it takes is a whisper of his name, at a volume a normal person would've never been able to hear, and he just materializes next to you, his hand on your cheek and his teal gaze trained on you

➜ but enough about him feining for you, let's talk about you feining for him ➜ because once the two of you are alone? oh god, it's like a switch flips in your brain ➜ pda and the likes are a bit off putting with you. you don't really enjoy things like kissing in public that much, the most you'll do is just hold hands or link arms ➜ but when it's just the two of you, you can't control yourself. you're attached at the hip with him, and he basks in the attention like a cat in the sun ➜ after a soccer game, you're especially needy. there's just something about sae in his prime element that has you squirming in your seat, and the two of you can't help it ➜ you're thinking entirely with your pussy, and your mind is trained on one thing. you want him inside of you, on top of you, just loving you. you want to be the apple of his eye, in the spotlight of his mind ➜ you want him. you want to be his

"Sae-uhhhh~!" you squeal as the tip of his cock brushes against your g-spot. Your lying flat on your stomach, his chest flush against his back as he ruts into your needy, wet, tight heat. You reach your arms up and back around his neck, a soft whine falling from your lips. He turns his head and places a kiss against your pulse point. Each roll of his hips sends his length deeper into you, and it takes everything in you to not buck yourself back into him. "I love you," you gasp. "I love you, I love this so much- ah!" "I know baby, I know. I love you too. Fuck." he groans. He nuzzles into your hair and brings his arm around to the front of your face. He cups the bottom of your face in his hand, and you greedily lick at the tips of his fingers. His slips his index and middle finger past your lips, muffling your moans as you greedily suck on his digits. Sae tosses his head back, his eyes screwed shut as he desperately tries to hold onto his sanity. Don't cum yet, don't cum yet, he repeats in his head. Fuck, don't think about it, you can't cum yet. It's too soon- shit! Your pussy clenches down on his length as he quickens his thrust in you. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and spit connects your lips to them stil. Loud, needy sounds spill from your mouth and tears spring at the corner of your eyes. Sae stares down at the debauched sight and can't help the smug smile that tugs at his mouth. He coos, "G-gonna come for me? Now? I- fuck me, holy shit . . . I can f-feel it . . . clenchin' around me so perfectly. C'mon Y/N, just give it to me." You nod frantically, your eyes squeezing shut as your body goes rigid with pleasure. You think you can hear him in the background of your peak saying, "Pretty, so pretty, my pretty girl," but it drowns out behind the high-pitched keens that claw up your throat. Eventually, your eyes manage to peel open and you become aware of two very distinct facts: firstly, Sae is still hard. Secondly, the clock on the wall is only showing that it's 11:15. You still have at least another two or three hours left. "Again?" Sae asks, pulling out from you and flipping you onto your back. You position your feet on either side of his waist and smile. "Again, please . . ."

➜ you will not walk properly tomorrow

a/n: i should write this again but for bakugo, eren, and geto . . . hmmm, ideas, ideas . . .

[heeseung64]

THAT MOMENT,

he knew he'd fallen deep.

enha drabbles catching the realisation that they fell in LOVE love with you. how did it get this far?

enhypen getting caught or having realisations. hashtag i think about this alot dot dot dot.. hashtag why am i writting scenarios like.. have i lost the plot dot dot dot..

when heeseung knew,

• "she called me by my full name." he would anxiously word out to his friends, "she never calls me that! she's mad at me and i-"

• 'since when did i began to care whether or not she's mad at me?'

• 'since when was i okay with you calling me hee?'

• heeseung knew a fear evolved towards you, it was a fear that involved you losing any interest you had in him, and it only hit him when you were distancing yourself- something you'd never usually do.

• so when he saw you leave, distance yourself away, call him by his government name? god. he realised he was so madly in love and dependent on you. he was willing to throw away his pride.

• what he didn't expect himself to do, was show up at your door in the middle of night, after subconsciously driving to your place in the fleeting thought of thinking about you.

• what he didn't expect either, was to see you eagerly waiting for him, loose clothes, messy hair and a soft frown- pulling him in before the cold gets in.

•"y/n," he'd call, tugging at your sleeves as you try to leave another conversation he'd force to have with you. he'd frown and pout, apologising until you called him by his only nickname again.

• only, did he admit that there was no going back, was when he crashed his lips into yours, pleading to stay the night.

when sunghoon knew,

• he'd find himself giggling at EVERYTHING you'd do. its not even funny but he'd start smiling at you picking lint from your sweaters, or even humming at random times.

• "you really like that song huh?" sunghoon would smile at you, getting close to your face until you'd pry away from the proximity. "i like it.." you'd answer, and your small voice would stab literal wounds into his heart. god, you're the cutest, divine thing to ever step onto this earth and it gives him giddy feels.

• he often recorded you too, taking photos and posting on his story with captions only you would know- everyone practically believed he was taken.

• so when jake borrows his phone, sunghoon meets an epiphany of sorts.

• "dude, you need to free up your storage. its almost full of photos of your girlfriend."

• 'girlfriend?' "she's not my-" "she's not? well she is super pret-" "she is." "oh well she texted y-"

• sunghoon would clear his throat, stumbling on his words as he snatches his phone out of his friends reach. "don't look on my phone anymore, or at my.. girlfriend."

• you clearly weren't aware of this, but since then, he became shameless, labelling you as his- even as boldly as him announcing it in-front of you- to which, made him so in love with your blushed reaction.

when jay knew,

• when you pointed out his habit of buying duplicates of the same thing.

• two perfumes, two bags, two shirts.. they didn't need to be matching, but he always bought it in suspiciously sized you specifically..

• "i have a toothbrush.. jay.." you remind him, as he retracts the toothbrushes he offers back, shoving it back into the grocery bag- "i have that already." "i have that already-" "this one you gave me yesterday!" you would talk back to a wall as he just stands there, quiet as he just continues to stuff your hands with countless necessities (and useless expensive things).

• and when he found you doing the same thing when we was gone- did he realise how BAD he subconsciously does it, to the point you even picked it up.

• "i bought you-" you both say at the same time, retracting the statement while awkward silence hung as the cafe music played. you both exchanged matching keychains- and jay broke a smile- something he'd rarely do if you were looking.

• "for me?" he'd chuckle, holding back the biggest grin. "of course jay!" you'd smile, and all he could do was watch you cuddle the keychain, grinning like a maniac.

• 'fuck. i'm such an idiot for you.'

• he'd be wearing the things you got him, using them proudly like he's showing off his medals. "that's cute, where'd you get it from?" someone would ask, and he'd shut it downz

• "the place burnt down."

• "this item is the last ever produced."

• he's running out of excuses- not up until "his girlfriend got it for her." jungwon had to step in, frustrated at his act.

when jake knew,

• when you're constantly over at his place, not because he lets you- because he wants you.

• big and needy, he's always picking quality time and physical affection as his love language- and the fact that you're never saying no to his plea? best thing ever.

• layla pretty much sees you everyday- even prefers you over jake, and as much as he hates to admit it- he loves the fact that you have some sort of belonging in his home.

• he just didn't realise he loved you this much, not up until-

• "jake.." jay sits down jake, clearing his throat. "are you..? perhaps.. seeing someone?"

• "why?" and jake could only choke as jay had explained the amount of hair ties, women's clothing, makeup, skincare and all even bags would be seen organised at some places in his house - like you owned a portion of it.

• "that's just y/n's stuff." he'd casually say, acting it off cooly, only when jay would sneer, "y/n... right. does she know she has it here?" like he's some creep who would steal your belongings- and, he probably has totally done that. "w-we're not like that-"

• "i'm home-" you casually interrupt shutting the door behind you. you pause at the table, catching a red-eared jake and smirked up jay- only for him to clap- pointing at you. "yeah fucking right." chuckling to himself before leaving.

•"i figured i'd come chill for the night, if that's okay jakey?" you'd ask, and he abruptly stands, taking you to his room "y-yeah.. good. g-great even." he stammers, feeling his heart thump when you'd instantly lay on his lap. falling asleep instantly.

when sunoo knew,

• when small trips for coffee eventually became late night walks.

• small hangouts here and there became mini picnics every saturday, talking about life and updating each-other on nothing special.

• everything was a date even if he denied that it was. sunoo loved the idea of dates with you- but maybe you being so casual and outgoing was what made him think he wasn't special.

• wrong. he realised these hangouts were the only thing you looked forward to when he noticed your flustered face, slipping up on a sentence you were supposed to keep a secret.

• "yeah, we can try that pottery activity some other time, don't wanna bother you this month." sunoo hazily replies on facetime. he's nervous, waiting for a reaction even. he's watching your face in the corner of his screen subtly, catching you as you pout, frowning.

• "bother me? but i clear out all my schedules just to see you.."

• "i'm not just saying yes because you always chose me to hang with.. i want to be with.." you mumble the rest as if he didn't catch on, his eyes creasing into a little smile, as if you didn't just crash his heart into a wave of epiphany.

• sunoo FOLDS immediately.

• "okay how about tomorrow?"

• "what about today in fact? dinner..? stay there. i'll get you."

• now that you said you'd even ditch priorities for him- he's not backing out on any opportunity to be with you.

when jungwon knew,

• you would never this man's real intentions or feelings. neither would he. a real suppressor of emotion.

• not until you broke his facade, and he realised that he'd been denying that tug in his heart for way too long.

• jungwon, unaware, always held a face towards you that you can distinctly tell apart from the other, bubblier- friendlier faces he gives others.

• intense, he would look at you seriously all the time! it's like he holds his breath whenever you speak, looking dead into your eyes, brows stoic and angled. don't even get started on the way he MAULS the inside of his cheek, biting at it like he's holding his tongue from breathing near you.

• he's unaware of how he devours you under his eyes.

• AND OBVIOUSLY he doesn't mean to look mean! :( he just loves looking at you. a little too much. but only now did he realise how intense it was.

• "jungwon do you hate her?" heeseung- noticing every time- would talk quietly to jungwon, as if you didn't pick it up. jungwon's eyebrows twitched, whispering to heeseung who only chuckled in response. this fueled you to only doubt your closeness- and so instead,

• you put down your cute, doe-y and expressive attitude- just, once. experimenting if anything would change.

•so when jungwon talks to you, all you could do was stare, hum. mirroring whenever he looks at you.

• GOD HE PICKED UP YOUR BEHAVIOUR FIRST THING. ITs like he stammered his words.

• you see it in the way brows twitch, eyes shaking, the corner of his lips tilt in the slightest. and he's TRYING SO HARD not to show it. "yeah. but it's nothing special, so." you reply so shortly, petty, mad - like you're no longer interested. like you're no longer interested in him at all.

• 'shit.' 'what have i done?'

• IMMEDIATELY he finds himself around you, deciphering you like you were a puzzle he was meant to code. he looks at you with glossy eyes with every chance and interaction.

• "you look like you're scared of me." you confess your notice, and he gulps- "it's more than that.." he replies, and you instantly snap. "i don't like it when you look at me like.." "like what?"

• "like you hate me."

• face FALLEN. this man is crushed. he shakes his head- "nonono-" stuttering. "i'm sorry i just really looking at you a lot imsosososorry-"

• and he knows he can't lie. the truth is right there. his hands finding a way to snake around yours.

when niki knew,

• THIS MAN IS NOTTTT NONCHALANT

• this guy thinks he has it altogether. THINKS.

• that reality came crushing down when you gave him your scarf.

• "i'm not a fucking doll. stop dressing me up." he mumbles into your scarf as you wrap him up, giggling as his mouth gets covered by your scent.

• "whatever, if you didn't like it you would've had it off by now." you'd reply and niki would huff, sighing as if you were annoying. "i will." he'd LIE.

• "yeah right you baby. get home safe, stay warm." you say, cooing to him as you shut the door, watching from your bedroom window as you watch him walk down the street.

• instinctively you pulled out your phone to record, knowing at one point he'd BREAK.

• and there he was, running around poles in the street, skipping, dancing his feet across the pavement as his hands smeared your fluffy scented wool into his airways. his eyes squinting so hard as he smiles through your scarf, giggling and twirling like he's never had a bone of serious in his LIFE.

• "SHE CALLED ME BABY." "HOLY FUCK SHE SMELLS SO GOOD."

• this took you off guard, laughing off as you KNEW it had to be sent to the gc.

• riki did not give two damns about his phone blowing up, until the next day where the boys enter his room, bright and early in the morning.

• "of course you slept with it." sunghoon would laugh, clapping as the others join in.

• riki -confused and sleepy eyed- takes a hard long look at the video, his jaw unable to close, his ears red and steaming. his first instinct was to hide that damned scarf- only to be teased.

• niki knew he had it for you. the hots. the everything. the personality. everyone believed that you fell first, the way your bubbly personality was so effortlessly displayed with your crushing towards him.

• but deep down, he knew he fell to his knees the moment he met you.

• this was just the tipping point- he never knew he was this down bad..

• "we're never gonna let this moment die, sorry.." jake would chuckle, replaying the seconds where he'd sprint out of frame, tightening your scarf around his neck.

• 'you can keep it :3' you text him in the morning.

• '.. if that's okay with you.' he'd be trembling to text, stomach churning in hopes you'd act normally to him this morning.

____________________________________________________

perm:

@nikiswifiee @ancnymcnzjy @ja4hyvn @17ericas @hoonieyun @jellyluv4eva @wheretheheckis-ssaki @hyukabean

[with-my-calamitous-love]

i’ll be in denial for at least a little while / what about the plans we made?

ya! k. bakugou x reader

after a month with radio silence and encouragement from concerned friends and family, you end up at katsuki’s doorstep. themes of depression/isolation, mentions of death (katsuki failed to protect a family on a mission), angst with some comfort at the end.

one of those ones i just needed to write. special tag for @crushmeeren <3

song: tv

11:03 pm.

"he doesn't normally do this." you have eijirou on speaker phone while you look for your keys. you can't see him, but you know already the worried look in his red eyes as he speaks. its the same worry he's had for katsuki back when they were still in UA. its the worry you'd expect from a best friend.

he can't see you, but he knows you're worried, too. because anyone who gets thoroughly ghosted by their boyfriend with no warning would also have shaky hands as they drive over to check on them. anyone who cares about someone else, worries.

"you said he's still coming to work, though?" you know the answer. yes, you've heard from shouto that he's still heading to the agency regularly, going on patrol and field missions as normal. but what you don't know, what you aren't able to confirm from what people are seeing, is what scares you: what if he's dragging himself out of bed, exhausted because he didn't sleep? what if he's skipping meals? what if he's going on missions, secretly hoping that something goes wrong?

"yeah, but he barely talks to anyone. i mean, i know he doesn't care for small talk, or whatever, but... somethings wrong. i can feel it."

your stomach churns, making the turn onto his street. for a while, you sit in the driveway, trying to see into the windows. maybe he's asleep. maybe he's perfectly fine. but most of that is just hope.

"what if he doesn't let me in?"

literally, because theres always a chance he's asleep and doesn't answer his door- though he's always been a light sleeper since going pro. but theres also the chance that he lets you inside his home but not into the walls he's built around him this past month.

"he will. he has to. he loves you." eijirou's voice feels like refuge, even over the phone.

you take a deep breath, hands clutching the sweater your wearing. its his, and you almost feel a little bad that you've taken it from him. does he have other things keeping warm? he has other sweaters, or blankets, hot showers and even his own explosions, but is he still feeling cold? alone?

eijirou drones on a little more. he's not the one sitting in his abesent best-friends driveway, but like you, he's stalling. "what happened was... it was terrible. but no ones blaming katsuki for that."

"yeah. except katsuki probably is."

he's silent over the phone. you both knew it, but didn't want to say it.

"i'm going in."

the redhead nods, though you can't see him. "i'm here if you need me."

"alright, by eiji."

"bye, [y/n.]"

your heart is pounding, bracing yourself for whatever may happen. but part of you knows that whatever you're feeling, your boyfriend is probably feeling tenfold and alone. its why you need to do this.

tentatively, you raise your knuckles to the door, knocking.

theres silence for a moment. you hear some footsteps that pause just before the door, like he knows its you.

on the inside? he feels pathetic for trying to hide, hoping you'll go away. he knows you won't, you both know it.

"katsuki?" your voice is quiet, afraid of disturbing any ghosts. "c'mon, i know you're in there."

he tenses. he wants to make up an excuse, tell himself that he's fine, that he doesn't have the time, that leaving everyone behind suddenly isn't a sign that something is wrong. but he's a liar and a bad one.

"go away."

he winces to himself, knowing he sounds like a child. but truthfully, its what he wishes he were, right now. a child who didn't have to feel the weight of failure pressing down on his ribs.

"i'm not going away until you let me inside." you say, firmly. "please."

its the first time you're hearing his voice in weeks, and its enough to bring you to your knees. he's been doing this for a month, but you wonder if he's felt lonely or scared or confused for longer than that.

"...i don't want you to see me like this."

you fight back tears. "maybe i do. maybe i wanna see you."

he's leaning his forehead against the door, knowing it's gone on too long. he knows he can't keep this up forever, and that at one point, you'd come to his front door. he expected more anger, anger for being a shitty neglectful boyfriend that never opens up about his feelings.

but he doesn't hear any anger in your voice, at all. and that makes him feel worse.

"please." you plead again, ringing the doorbell, hoping it'll annoy him enough to open the door. you'd rather have him pissed off, annoyed or angry than have none of him at all.

he shakes hid head, hand on the doorknob. its already unlocked.

"you're fucking stubborn, aren't you?" a sentence that comes out with something like a laugh. your chest tightens, worried he's about to tell you off. for a minute in the silence, it seems like it.

but then he opens the door, letting you see him.

you want to run towards him, feeling his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you into his home and back into his life. but the fear of him rejecting that holds you back as he lets you inside, closing the door behind you.

you first note how dark it is. obviously, because its near midnight. but he's never been one to go without at least a window open, to let some moonlight in. he can't stand artificial light, anyway. he's always bitched that it messes up his sleep.

"you mind if i open some curtains?" you ask him, softly gaging his reactions.

he scoffs quietly, but reels in his attitude- most of it, anyway. "i don't care, do whatever."

you ignore his spite, walking over to the living room window and drawing the fabric. it's a perfectly clear night, a sky so full of stars you could swim in it. its something so beautiful, something he hasn't let himself experience in weeks.

you presence in his home is felt like that of a ghost. you take more time to look at his surroundings. you can hear his voice before this: "i like shit clean. and you're bad at that."

but now, he doesn't seem to care. theres dirty mugs and unwashed laundry. you're not saying anything, but he's expecting it. he's expecting you to call out his hypocrisy, or just how shitty he's let his place become. the thought makes his anxiety skyrocket, and following that, shame.

but instead, he watches as you collect a few of the cups and rinse them off in the sink. somehow, that makes him feel worse. what the hell did he do to deserve that?

"what are you doing?" he asks. you notice one of the mugs he got as a gag gift for his 20th birthday, though he took it seriously. a world's greatest hero mug, now dusty and forgotten.

"don't worry about it." you say, turning back to face him.

neither of you know where to start. he's hoped that if he stayed alone, drowning in his own depression, he wouldn't have to watch when you inevitably leave him.

"you know it's been a month?" you gently approach him. he's not moving away from your presence, which should be a good sign.

"i know." he says fast, cold. you know his tell that he's angry- short replies, pissed off red eyes and distance. he's not even mad at you, though. just himself.

"eijirou called, said he was worried. we all were, i mean."

his eyes dart up to meet your for a brief moment. the mention of him makes his chest tighten up more, knowing you're not the only person he's disappointed. he feels like a true, honest coward. he's not getting along with anyone. maybe he's the problem.

his silence makes you panic, wondering if he's listening. "i wanted to give you space. you're my boyfriend, i care and i-i didn't wanna push you."

he nods, arms crossed, looking at the floor.

"i'm just sorry it took me so long to get here."

his eyes meet yours again, this time holding your gaze. he wants to cup your face and tell you that you have nothing to apologize for. that he's hard to approach and hard to love, even though he knows you'd disagree with that. but the words get caught in his throat, and filtered by unresolved anger.

"yeah, well... you're here now, aren't you?"

you just nod, grateful that you're both, at least, talking. thats more than anything else in the past month.

you think back to the articles of what happened. how two young parents with kids even younger were tragically injured during a bank robbery. how pro-hero dynamight successfully captured the criminals but couldn't prevent what happened to the innocent.

whats worse is how neatly packaged and sanitized it became. "a physical altercation." "an unforeseen criminal event." "and unfortunate and untimely demise." he hated the way they tried to save his name, to not pin any blame him or his failures. he was blaming himself. why wasn't anyone else?

"you know no one blames you for what happened, right?"

because no one does. but for katsuki, thats the worst part. he should have bee faster, better. if he had been seconds earlier, maybe they could have gotten to the hospital faster. maybe he could have prevented it, all of it. if he was just a few seconds faster.

but he wasn't, and it'll haunt him forever. "they should be blaming me." he says solemnly.

you shake your head, stepping closer to him, hands itching to reach out. you want to take his blame and guilt away, even just for a moment. you wanna be able to touch him again. you wanna feel your boyfriend and everything he is.

theres tears in his red eyes as he recounts everything, breaking down. he once swore to himself he'd never cry in front of you, or anyone. now, he's starting to see that you're the only person he could cry around.

"how many people are grieving because i fucked up?" his voice raises slightly, but you hear through it.

"they know you tried."

"yeah well, not hard enough!"

he takes a deep breath, the thing he always tells you to do when you sprial. he lets the air sit in his lungs before finally pulling you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your head as he holds you. he's tired of being alone.

"has it really been a month?" he asks, quietly.

you just nod into his chest, speechless. he's letting you in again, letting you touch him, feel him. its the closest you've been in what feels like decades.

you pull away just a little, hands cupping his face, looking into his teary eyes. its the first time in a while he's let himself cry, feel. and it makes his chest ache. his bones are exhausted from pushing down his feelings, of saying that he's fine, that he deserves the exile he's placed upon himself the past month.

"i'm sorry i'm shitty a boyfriend." he sobs. "and a shitty person. you deseve so much fucking better, they all did."

you shake your head, hushing him compassionately, wiping his tears. "i don't want better. i want you." he pulls you in tighter, and for a moment, time stops, the way he's wanted it to for the past few hours.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.*

2 am.

you both sit on the living room floor, backs against the couch. you're pressed against him, holding his hand while he rests it against your thigh, his thumb gently stroking over your skin. he's been exhausted as of late, but he doesn't want to close his eyes and miss this moment with you.

but when he looks over at you, your head on his shoulder, he feels more and more that he's allowed to let his guard down. you're still very much awake, but it's the first night in a while you can sleep without aimlessly worrying about him.

"you know idiot, for what its worth, i haven't been completely alone." he says looking over at you.

your eyes perk up. if there was anyone else who made sure he wasn't suffering in silence, its someone you wanted to know. "really? who?"

he pauses for a moment, like he's recalling a conversation in his head. one thats been buried by guilt and anxiety for the past month. but with you, he's letting himself admit things.

"...i spoke with a member of the victims family. she was the sister to the mother of the family. she was at the hospital the day it happened."

his answer took you off guard. in your head, he boarded himself up in his house, isolated and alone. you're not completely wrong, but you do feel a pang of guilt for not thinking better of him.

"how did that go?" you push gently.

"i expected them to be angry. to blame me for it. hell, i blame me." he starts, reminiscing the event. "but she was kinder than i deserved. said she didn't blame me."

you can tell he doesn't believe her words, or anyone's. that he still replays it in his head, living the guilt, the guilt that he survived and others didn't, eating at him.

"she sounds really sweet." you squeeze his hand.

he nods. "yeah, she was."

"you know," you start, trying to give his mind a brief holiday from the turmoil. "if everyone is saying it, it kind of has to be true."

his lips twitch into a reluctant smile. "whatever, idiot."

you sit up, facing him as you piece together your next words. he pulls your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles, wanting to hear your voice. right now, its the only thing keeping him afloat.

"the hardest part about this job is that you can't save everyone. you can't change that."

what you say isn't new, its a reminder. that no matter how many things he blows up, how many villains he handles and how many times he climbs to the top, he'll have to endure the pain of loss. he's seen it in every teacher and every hero who came before him, and all the up and coming heroes who still have lessons to learn. and deep down, he knows that its no reason give up. he's determined to be the best, to be everything he said he'd be.

he nods, hearing the truth in your words, knowing that he'll need to make peace with it. he has no witty remarks or curses to add. just a drive to do better.

"but knowing you? you'll probably still try."

he brings his face to yours and then your lips to his, kissing you. his hand comes up to your cheek as he lingers for a few moments before pulling away.

"of course i will."

[fushigogo]

† yo no te voy a decir que me lo gané con mi trabajo honrado. yo me lo gané a base de cogidas y no me da pena decirlo, pueblo — nanami kento

synopsis: despite people don’t have the best perception about you, since rumors’ been spreading throughout your career, fucking president kento has its benefits and it’s not your fault people can’t fuck their way up to the top.

content warning: reporter reader x president kento, reader says dumb shit you cannot even believe kento’s fucking her, but let’s pretend it makes sense, slutshaming, manhandling, degradation, spanking.

“well, recent rumors have been said about me and i want to use our program to clarify some stuff.” the papers in which your most juicy gossip was written down, now remain on the table. your forced smile showed your neat teeth, almost ready to rant. your co-workers, geto and satoru, were paying full attention of what you had to say. “there’s been recent rumors about how i got my house in the hamptons and i need to clarify that i bought it with the sweat and hard work this program has given me!”

“exactly,” geto agreed.

“yeah, if you could buy that house it was thanks to your hard work.” satoru added.

“it’s just not my fault you couldn’t get the same things as me. i’ve never stolen from anyone. i’m not ashamed to admit that if right now, my dear viewers, that if i’m where i am right now, was thanks to all the dicks i had to suck.” you stated proudly and geto and satoru agreed with every word you said.

after having talked shit about famous people, passing on reports that you asked the interns to modify them to be exaggerated in order to make the stars look bad, the program was finally out of air.

“that was fucked up, y/n.” geto said, rubbing pads around his temples, trying to assimilate what just had happened.

“yeah, i know, but fucking show is what this bitches want.” you argued, lighting a cigarette as you turned your back to your friends and added: “see you guys tomorrow.” you waved.

“going to your hamptons house, dear?” gojo teased playfully. fuck you wish they weren’t like this, and geto giggled, since the three of you knew what they meant.

“tsk, you’re literally the worst.”

you close the door behind you. he was already waiting, like a carnivore waiting for its prey, but this one is more civilized and he’s sitting on your couch (not to mention it rules the fucking country). even from afar, even with the dim light, you could see his already stiffen cock, making a bulge inside his pants. his legs are spread.

his grin, you can tell it’s wicked, whimsical. you understand that, you made him wait for so long, giving him enough time to think about all the things he can do to you.

“i’m so sorry, babe, traffic was a nightmare.” you soften your voice and give little hops with your shoes to get closer to him.

“how’s my lady doing?” as you accommodate yourself in one of his thighs, you rock your body and your hip can feel his engorged cock, gnawing and waiting to be released.

“fine, thank you, mr. president.” you tantalize him, arms around his neck. his aroma is mesmerizing, that expensive cologne that drove you crazy and then impregnated in your clothes.

his big hands surround your thigh, and your clit is starting to palpitate, knowing what’s going to happen next. you bite your lip and he notices right away.

“is it true that all of this house you buy it by yourself?” he asks, playing with the flesh of your legs, wanting to go further. however, he wanders in the same places, as if something holds him back.

“well, baby, you know that i cannot let everyone know you bought it. besides, it has taken me a lot of work.” you whisper to his ear and latch onto him.

your legs manage to open up, of course, he knows your dark intentions: open the legs so he can roam around into your crotch. nevertheless, he’s mad. despite how badly you wanted to save your “reputation” it hurts his ego being denied. he knows he can’t take revenge in public.

so he does it here, privately.

“you like to despise me, don’t you, precious?” his eyes examined you, as he savored with his tongue what he was going to say, “didn’t you say that sucking cock got you in the place you are right now.”

he lifted your skirt, toying your ass, barely clothed with thongs. then, a slap caught your ass off guard, jiggling. your voice gasped and mewled. and your clit was throbbing, praying for him to lose control.

he stands up and unbuckles his belt, releasing his pulsating, gnawing girth, finally able to breath. after that, you kneeled down, because you wanted to savour his fat, veiny cock, which was already having droplets of pre-cum.

your hands barely fill the thick shaft and staring at him deadly at your eyes. he loosened the collar of his shirt, as if the soft touch of your lips on the tip of cock makes his body simmer.

you lips wrap around and introduce it in your mouth. fuck, the way you manage to do it slowly... he knows it’s not because you can’t take it, it is because you love to tease him. you’re mocking him, claiming, bragging about all of the dicks you had to gobble.

so, he grabs your hair and starts thrust your mouth. your eyes close as you loosen your jaw and feel him going in and out.

when you finally separate, he made you lift your leg at the edge of the table that was next to the sofa, having a good sight of your cunt wide spread. he was so starved, desperate to demonstrate who was the one in charge, he just put aside the cloth that was covering your pussy and started ramming his cock inside of you.

“this is how you bought the house, don’t you sweetheart? boss was generous, didn’t he?” he hoarse to your ear, breathing heavily. he spanked your ass as his thrust, delved into your soft spot.

you mewled at his touch, at the way he was sundering his shaft, taking him so well, feeling the stretching so good, hitting your sweet spot.

“yeah.” your voice trembled and it extended to make it almost high-pitched.

“such a good slut, never taking from people who’s below her.” he gritted teeth.

“yeah, i’m such a good person.”you gulped and kept moaning.

he came inside you and you knew that satoru and geto will make fun of you.

[ajastu]

ive been replaying da2 right. and it made me think about why datv feels a bit different to the previous games in the franchise in regards to, like, how messy it gets (different but not in a bad way this is not a crit post)

This is also not like, a deep analysis tm or anything, im literally just writing this bcs i cant fall asleep but LONG STORY SHORT.

1. Your PC is not someone Important

2. Your involvement with the Politics Tm is not as extensive

In origins, you have to go around n convince people to help you fight the blight, while ALSO dealing with the whole Loghain situation. the warden is literally one of TWO people who can get the job done. kind of integral!

da2, of course, deals with the mess that is Kirkwall, with its rising tensions and inevitable tragedy, with Hawke becoming Important to the city, with all the bullshit that entails. (and also it unfolds over the course of, like, what, 10 years?)

Dai... youre literally made to be the head of a religious organization with a lot of power and influence. You aren't given a choice, u have to be the chosen one now.

Datv? Rook isnt really all that imporrant. They aren't even high up in the ranks of whatever faction you choose for them. They werent even supposed to be in charge in the first place.

They also dont have to convince most of their allies to help with fighting the gods (aside from the wardens, ofc), because everyone understands the stakes. Of course, you help them out and all that, but they are Already your allies, they would be fighting this battle anyway.

Rook isn't a chosen one. theyre not a champion, they're not the only person who can do the job. They just.. happened to land in the role of the leader. Solas connection is a bonus, as is the dagger, but again. Not exactly irreplaceable. (the treviso/minrathous choice comes to mind here. it took me two playthrus to understand Why exactly Rooks presence made a difference, because like... theyre just a Guy. what does it matter where they go? but it wasnt Rook who made the difference. it was the dagger)

So, the focus is less on politics and more on building a reliable team, a community. Theyre not choosing stuff like who will become the new archon, or who is supposed to be the first talon, or whatever else. That just simply isn't their role.

Theyre just here to try to kill two blighted gods and not die in the process, ideally.

Theyre not important. The team is. And they are an integral part of that, but again, not THE chosen one. Their role could be fulfilled by different people, which cant exactly be said about the warden, or Hawke, or inquisitor.

and idk, i think thats fun. very stressed-employee-trying-to-meet-deadlines kind of vibes. someone please make them go take a nap

edit: ok ive been informed u Can choose the next archon if u save minrathous but my point still stands. rooks involvement in stuff like this is Minimal compared to the previous three protags

[mandalhoerian]

the shape of grief.

as far as rafayel is concerned, pygmalion's is a horror story, not a myth. guy decides all women are beneath him, quite literally designs and builds one for himself, and somehow his narcissistic prayers for her to live are granted. what humans define as love and the stories they tell about it are always so revealing of their selfish nature. he only ever gets the appeal of it when he looks at his faceless galatea unable to take shape in his clay-sodden hands, and thinks, what wouldn't i give for you to open your eyes so that i could remember their exact color.

♯ ⸻ pure angst, sfw, 3.7k, read on ao3

note: directly inspired by this post about rafayel trying to sculpt mc/reader but not remembering her face. a bit late to this but i was hit with the procrastination fairies LMAO . i wrote this in a feverish delirium without caring for any canon at all, i apologize if rafayel is ooc !! this work assumes he has his memories of his life as the god of tides, you can think it as an AU if you believe he has no memories of it in the main timeline (yet.) This also takes place before the Addictive Pain anectode (if you like nitpicking and think why he doesn't have a photo of her and that this could have been avoided HAHA)

but without further ado, i hope you enjoy, please let me know what you thought!

The gallery Thomas had to basically bribe him to attend was cold with intention. Whitewashed walls were almost blinding beneath the overhead lights, each fixture angled to make the sculptures glow faintly at the edges like relics, a violin track playing at a volume calibrated for reverent hush with the crowd adjusting its voice accordingly. Somehow, the worst of it was that they'd scented the room with something floral and expensive, and it clung to the back of Rafayel’s throat. 

The exhibit was titled Breathed to Life: The Divine Muse in Modern Form. He’d read the placard twice, though once would’ve been enough. Wherever he looked, Rafayel couldn't escape from the oozed hauteur for the attempts at capturing a miracle, sculptures of taxidermied epiphanies resting under glass that was tempered with more care in Rafayel's opinion, preserved with just enough light to make the delusion shine. Words like transcendence, revelation, and worship had been worked into the catalog copy, and even the bubbles of champagne he was swirling in the flute glass was more interesting as he moved through the space slowly.

He passed a piece labeled Galatea No. IV — a full-bodied woman in bronze, lips parted in awakening, arms half-lifted as if to greet the man who had imagined her, the texture of her skin smoothed to impossible precision, idealized down to the the pores with not a single wrinkle or mole.

One of the critics standing nearby called it sublime. Another said, "She looks so real I almost expect her to blink."

Rafayel said nothing. He kept walking.

A curator caught him between rooms. She was in something backless, dark green, dripping with confidence. “You must feel at home here,” she said, beaming. “Mr. Rafayel, you're the Pygmalion of our time."

He looked past her to one of his own works, mounted near the final archway. A man slouched on a low stone, arms folded, spine curved with a kind of refusal, turned away from something but looking up at it at the same time in criticism, his face gaunt with a pinch of displeasure, half-shielded by a fall of hair. No awe or supplication.

His was the only Pygmalion in the entire exhibit, and no one seemed to realize it. Rafayel had heard some talk about how progressive it was to genderbend Galatea for gay representation, or that this could be the moment Galatea came to life and rejected her maker in a plot twist. 

Rafayel had left it up to interpretation if his Pygmalion was looking at Galatea at all. He was staring past her — past all of them, really. Every woman he ever imagined beneath him, too dull or too much or too sharp to matter. A man convinced that the thing he made was a compromise, that he’d been forced to shape it because nothing real had measured up. Neither a lover, nor a muse. A reflection bent to fit him. And maybe resenting how much of himself had ended up in the marble anyway. Nothing of the yearning saint the myth preferred. 

The gallery had tried to soften this image of human ugliness within the divine benevolence of Galateas all around, projecting wind through bare branches beside the figure, trying to frame the posture as meditative. They titled the piece Invocation. Rafayel wasn't even asked before they changed the name and he was definitely having a talk about it with Thomas after.

He offered the curator a a dismissive hand. “A flattering comparison. Though I hear his success rate depended entirely on divine intervention.”

She laughed, unsure whether it was flirtation or rebuke. “Still, what an honor. So many of us see ourselves in the myth, don’t we? The ones who love so deeply we bring our muses to life.”

He excused himself with a nod that meant nothing. Her perfume followed him down the corridor.

The flowing hallway was a blur of marble, alabaster, glass, bronze, the women luminous and soft, the men always absent — except in the titles. The Sculptor’s Prayer. In the Hands of the Maker. Love Before Breath. One artist had suspended a torso in resin, veins threaded with copper, the heart cavity open and waiting with the accompanying quote that read: “She lives because I saw her clearly enough.”

Rafayel stopped in front of it. The figure inside was beautiful and fragile, designed to be admired.

He traced the edge of the plinth with one fingertip and thought: She lives because you needed her to. Not because she wanted to.

He left the gallery floor and stepped into the auxiliary corridor lined with donor plaques and black-and-white photographs. One showed a young couple posed beside a sculpture mid-process. The woman’s face was amicable, and the man looked directly into the camera, his hand on the small of her back. The caption read: The original Galatea — forever immortalized by love.

He looked at it until the focus dissolved, and the polished surface of the frame stopped reflecting anything but his own cold expression.

Pygmalion was granted his wish. That alone was enough to make Rafayel despise him. 

A man shapes greed with his hands, pulls at the skirts of heavens like a petulant child, and the gods — watching from a distance they rarely breach — clap their hands in glee and say yes.

The myth pretended that mercy could be earned by longing, that a body sculpted by a beholder who sees himself so above others is owed because he called it love. There was no weight in that kind of miracle, only cruelty dressed as grace, a prayer granted just to mock the millions that weren't. 

Pygmalion was the epitome of human selfishness, the final limit where want transformed into greed for more than the world could grant. Only his statue, made by his own greedy hands and given life through someone else's breath, was beautiful, because only she embodied perfection to him, not because she was worth desiring but because he desired her. Pygmalion's love didn't reach past his self, it served only to feed himself and satiate him with the sight of his narcissism, like any other creation brought to life by humans for their own benefit; machines built to kill, guns painted gold so they look like art when killing — all just tools made to feed men's hunger for more.

But he would have never cared about Pygmalion if it wasn't for the gods.

Because Rafayel envied those gods, all too human in their vanity, for the power and might they wielded to give so easily like that. Their ability to move mountains without ever being touched by grief, to pull strings that bind worlds without fearing losing something of theirs; it was unfathomable to someone so bound in mortal tethers such as he.

It must feel so freeing, living like that, he thought. Must feel so good, pulling at other lives like they are your playthings. So easy to get lost in those dreams.

The same way he did back then.

The disdain covering Rafayel in a second skin as if he was an oil-soaked seagull was fuel enough to get back to work after that travesty of a gallery.

He’d been developing a concept for a painting — a large-scale composition of a coral-devoured, bleeding cathedral submerged in the sea, its steeples fractured and stretching toward the surface in a gesture that evoked both surrender and yearning, an image meant to convey the contradictions of loss and reverence, a symbolic convergence of decay and devotion. At least that’s what the so-called critics were about to yammer on about. It in fact was the fate of a certain buyer Rafayel was targeting, and the message was meant for his people and his people only.

The draft lived on the sketchbook propped against his raised knees, his legs crossed on the high stool, charcoal gripped tightly in one hand and smudging downwards the length of a pillar as he added textures and shadows to create depth. It was a hasty thing, but effective at illustrating what he envisioned, complete with notes scribbled around the edges, jotted reminders for little details here and there he needed to add to truly flesh out the piece later on. Rafayel was so distracted by a couple more things to add to the sketch that the canvas already prepared beneath the dome skylight felt neglected despite the brushes sitting ready and dipped in paint atop a palette of bruised violet scraped from stormclouds, diluted ultramarine, blue fog, a soft grime green of oxidized copper, rotten ivory, a sliver of warm rust, a cold pink scraped from the underbelly of spent roses, and more.

And yet, when he finally got up to start for good, his gaze drifted elsewhere.

Toward the bust armature.

Rafayel stood beside it, hands in the pockets of his black suit pants, head tilted sideways with one hand playing with it in thought. He loosened the buttons of the white dress shirt he wore after flinging off that horrid tie, sleeves pushed to mid forearms as he dragged a stool and took a seat before the armature, right elbow propped atop the round table to the side holding supplies, chin resting on knuckles, now gazing up at the base of the clay cast while chewing the inside of his cheek.

He had always told himself he would return to it when he was ready, when time had softened the raw, exposed nerve endings of loss, when he could render your likeness with a steady hand instead of a shaking one.

But then months stretched into a year, days faded into seasons which blended together into a period of numbness broken occasionally by an intrusive thought here and there while he focused on Lemuria and Lemuria only, and then — nothing. Until it was easier not to think about it at all. He became absorbed in his mission, dedicated to getting revenge, and avoided thoughts of you, for all intents and purposes, until moments like these where he simply sat in silence looking up at a form without feature to remind him why exactly he did what he did.

Galatea, huh?

He crossed the room with the same distracted focus he used to summon bruyous, hands rummaging through the storage shelves until he found the sealed bag of clay, not expecting it to be heavier than he remembered, dense with neglect. Dumping it unceremoniously beside the armature, he sliced it open, letting the block fall onto the slab table with a dull, resistant thud, finding it cold to the touch, too stiff to yield immediately, so he pressed it between his palms, wetting them, working the material slowly until the top layer lost its brittleness.

He didn't sit right away, hovering over the lump with furrowed brows, kneading it down into something usable, folding in water from the bowl on the side, rotating it as he moved, pushing and turning until the tension bled out. Once softened, he dunked the mass onto the metal plate mounted over the dented and sluggish, old man of a banding wheel. Only then did he sit, lowering himself onto a battered wooden stool, one bare foot braced against the leg of the wheel’s base while the other nudged gently to angle it.

All done. He reached for the wire loop tool without thinking or looking over, fingers already coated in the dull slip of moisture and clay.

The first lines came quick and confident. Indents for the eyes. The line of a nose. Just scaffolding, clearing a space where you might return to him, the only sound in the room the soft grind of his tools and his breathing. 

He narrowed the chin, adjusted the brow. Then sat back, frowning.

Too young. This was closer to the child at the beach who had hooked pinkies with him. 

He scraped the forehead flat again, thumb dragging clay down like peeling skin. The smoothed face stared up at him in blank reprieve, a temporary erasure before he tried again, less baby fat on the cheeks, sharper cheekbones this time, a more adult curve to the jaw, something more defined around the eyes, though he wasn’t sure what. A firmer mouth, perhaps. A stronger line. He reworked the nose — it ended up being too straight the first time and he chided himself for the mistake, then he decided it was too narrow, crooked it just slightly at the bridge, something he'd sworn felt right.

It wasn't long before the moment slipped from his fingers, and all the revisions felt more like mistakes than anything, tilting the whole balance of the face into something uncanny. He could pretend it was nearly familiar, but only in the way dreams pretended to be memory.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, Rafayel tilted the wheel. Leaning in with an emotion-tense strain in his spine, he angled the bust toward the overhead light until the shadows shifted and spilled away from the features he’d laid out like a confession.

He stood up for a burning stretch to contemplate, stepped back, squinted with his head tilted, and stepped forward again.

Was it just him? The angle? The lighting? The fatigue of the gallery distorting everything?

After he sat back down with more determination to get over whatever this slump was that made him get you wrong over and over again, one adjustment in the temple led to a collapse in the jawline, and the later correction to the mouth made the chin too long.

The realization that the eyes looked distant now and he couldn’t tell if it was him failing the depth or the absence of something deeper was particularly worrying. Rafayel had always trusted the process, but this didn’t feel like a detour into arriving at the same destination, the clay was actually resisting him in a non-art block way and it was starting to actually bother him. 

He scraped again, set the brow differently, ignoring the thing niggling at him at the back of his head and brushing against some the internal nerve. Was it ever really that shape? Or had he once wanted it to be, and kept telling you about how doing your brows that way would compliment your features better when Algie had sat you down before the vanity in your room to try out some dresses for the ceremony and work on make-up to go along with each one of them?

The clay warped gently beneath his fingers as he tried to trust the sensation, but every stroke seemed to subtract rather than add. The frustration Rafayel hadn't sensed had made its way into his hands like fire following the path of a wick, making the cheekbone dip under the tool, and he had to sit back straighter with a huff from his nose. 

His eyes flew all over the features of the bust, the whole incomplete face. Rafayel couldn't even call it yours. One mistake or two could be expected, even pictures could be unflattering. But it was worse than that — he couldn’t figure out where it had gone wrong. The structure was exactly the same, proportions were what he remembered. The surface was close to reality enough to breathe, but the person who would come to life if they did wasn’t you, and he didn't know where he had gone wrong. 

Rafayel stared longer. A pressure grew behind his ribs, and it was beginning to feel like trying to hum a melody he hadn’t heard in years. The more he reached for it, the more the silence beneath it yawned open.

He reached up and pressed his palm against the clay, not to shape, just to feel if it might suddenly remember for him.

It didn’t.

This was someone else. Too much of him.

He looked down at his hands, coated in slip and streaked with fine dust, and flexed the fingers slowly as though wondering how long they’d been disobeying him.

He pressed the backs of the base knuckles of his thumbs into the inner corners of his eyes, pressing at the tear ducts.

Where was the scar you used to trace absently while thinking? He tried to recall the way your mouth moved when you were amused but trying not to smile. Was it one side that curled first? Or both? He had drawn it once, years ago, sketched it from memory with absolute certainty. But when he reached for it now, he found only doubt.

The chair scraped backwards and nearly toppled as he sprang to his feet, crossing to the small cabinet beside the canvas where he kept what little he dared to revisit. He almost flung the drawer halfway through the room when he yanked it open, pulled the first sketchpad he could reach, pages flipping too and frenzied to register until he paused and kept going through them slower to make sense of it. 

Eyes, alone. Dozens of them. Glancing sideways, gazing directly, lowered in thought, every single one of them slightly different in expression, none of them quite right. A nose rendered in three-quarter view with a soft crease that might have been tension. The arch of a brow, mid-expression — concern, maybe? Hair texture studies in every style you wore it that he remembers. A mouth caught in a smile with no cause. Hands more frequently than anything else — folded gently, held in motion, reaching out. The gesture of a wrist mid-turn, the curve of a knuckle mid-thought. A sketch of a nape that vanished into the shadows of the page’s lower edge.

None of them carried your name. But they were you. Bits of you. Shards. And every one of them had been committed to the page when he hadn’t even meant to — absentminded, between tasks, in the margins of other projects. A fragmented archive of heartbreak he’d been too cowardly to complete. As if assembling you would demand an answer to where you had gone, as if seeing it finished would require confronting what it meant for him to have stayed, inviting something too vast and unhealed to fit back inside him without breaking something else a lie in full.

Rafayel had underestimated the sheer amount of notebooks he'd gone through for years now, like paper towels one would wipe away their tears with. The grudges he'd immortalized left to collect dust and avoided religiously.

He could only look through a draft of your eyes and hold on to the sketchbook for dear life when his vision blurred and something trickled down his cheek. One by one, the tears solidified into pearls, striking the floor and rolling away into obscurity among the chaos of his studio.

Dropped right into the throes of a realization far bigger than he could accept.

Like a dream that slipped away upon waking, your face had receded to the place where Lemuria had sunk — unable to be grasped fully or played back clearly unless he called them forth, the rest reduced to snippets and gestures instead, images that flickered through his mind like slides projected on a screen, ephemeral and fading faster the harder he fought to keep hold of them. What remained was abstraction — softness that used to be hair, the dimple of an incisor tooth, a tilt of the mouth that belonged to laughter. Those fragments still possessed color. What they lacked were definitions that would allow him to shape the clay in your image.

He went through more sketchbooks until the last of it joined the pile around him and he was left standing motionless in the wreckage of graphite and paper spilling open across the floor like overturned reliquaries, pages fluttering mockingly gentle under the breeze nudging through the half-cracked windows, reflecting back a half-you, or an almost-you. He stared at them for a long time without moving, eyes dragging from shape to shape, as if willing one to speak with your voice.

What answered was a notification pinging in his pocket, a sound so mundane amid the shambles of his misery. He pulled his phone out in a detached daze, swiping at it with no thought.

Thomas: Pygmalion and Galatea gallery photos are up on their page! Your attendance was well publicized and people are talking about your piece, so I expect requests for interviews soon. Just letting you know 😃

 His knees gave out before the grief did, he caught the armrest at the very last possible second, and slid down the length of the sofa's side.

She lives because I saw her clearly enough. Those words barricaded his mind like blood rushing to fill a bruise.

Rafayel was a creature built from ripples, shaped by a lineage of memory so ancient it existed without written record, a primordial awareness of past pains and future sufferings alike, generations upon generations worth of invisible scar tissues patching him up like a rag doll. Cities had fallen and crumbled behind him, yet he could name their street corners and the songs sung during their funerals.

So why — how — had you slipped from him this way?

The thought unspooled inside him slowly, a wet thread tugged from a wound so raw that Rafayel didn’t dare touch it. He had thought, in some arrogant, buried part of him, that if he ever tried, truly allowed himself to miss you more than he mourned his people, and stopped tormenting himself by creating puzzle pieces of you out of scraps in his refusal to obtain a photo of you living your new life, he would be able to rebuild you perfectly. Even the gods who breathed life into Galatea would turn green with envy.

His gaze crawled back to the Frankenstein's monster of a bust, all unrelated bits and pieces that had looked like you when isolated but made no sense when he put them together, taking the shape of grief itself.

She lives because I saw her clearly enough.

He tossed the phone aside without giving Thomas an answer, threw his head back to lean on the lip of the couch, and covered his face with a forearm.

And at last, bitterly, he realized he was no different than Pygmalion: longing for the memory of a woman to etch itself into life.

[kxsagi]

YAYAYAYA ITS MAY !!! HAPPY MAY POOKIE

I'm obsessed with blue lock and your post. need dad!husband!nagi and Bachira ! you can add any other characters too 😝

Thank you!

“𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬”

a/n: HIII HAPPY MAY (i'm 5 days late help 💔)

had to include my man in there too (the biased favoritism ik i’m so sorry)

ft. nagi seishiro, bachira meguru, isagi yoichi

𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 – “𝐩𝐚𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐬”

your son’s wailing echoes down the hallway. 

nagi doesn’t move. 

you elbow him. “sei, it’s your turn.” 

“ehh…” he grumbles, burying his face into your neck like he thinks that’ll protect him from reality. “rock paper scissors?” 

“you’re literally a professional athlete. go get your child.” 

with a pitiful sigh, he rolls out of bed like a man going to war. it’s 2:38 AM. he trudges into the nursery half-asleep, white hair a fluffy mess, dragging his feet like a cartoon ghost. you hear the creak of the door, then the silence that follows when your son is scooped up into his dad's arms. 

five minutes pass. then ten. 

you get up to check, only to find both of them passed out on the nursery floor. nagi’s legs are splayed across the alphabet rug, your baby boy fast asleep on his chest, one of nagi’s large hands resting protectively on the tiny back. he’s whispering nonsense, dream-talking again. 

“donuts… jelly-filled…” 

you stifle a laugh and grab your phone to take a picture. 

the next morning, you wake up to find the boys still asleep on the floor, powdered donut crumbs in your son’s hair, and nagi holding an empty snack wrapper like he’s claiming it in his will. 

“what happened?” you blink. 

he rubs his eyes groggily. “… he wanted one. couldn’t let him eat alone. that’s bad parenting.” 

“sei, he’s six months old. he doesn’t even have teeth yet.” 

“exactly. can’t even hold the donut. i had to help.” 

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 – “𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫”

you don’t know who’s more nervous, you or your daughter. 

her little legs swing under her chair backstage, ballet slippers tapping a restless rhythm as she keeps whispering “what if i mess up?” over and over like it’s a spell. 

“you won’t,” you tell her, squeezing her hand. “you’ve practiced so hard, sweetie. remember what papa said?” 

she looks up at you with wide eyes. “to bite the nerves and spit them out?” 

“okay well, maybe not that one. the other thing he said.” 

“to dance like i’m a jelly bean that came to life!” 

“that one.” 

bachira, your ever-eccentric husband, shows up fifteen minutes late with glitter on his face and a camera around his neck, already doing pirouettes in the lobby. “i made it! i got the confetti! and the snack bag! and also, uh oh, i think i glued my finger to the camera button–” 

your daughter lights up the second she sees him. 

“papa!!” 

“that’s my little jelly bean!” he cheers, crouching to hug her. “you ready to dance their eyeballs off?” 

“i think so…” 

“listen.” he cups her face with both hands. “if you fall, just pretend you did it on purpose. throw in a somersault. finish with jazz hands.” 

“like this?” she flails dramatically. 

“exactly like that.” 

and she does fall. five seconds into her solo, she trips. 

but your daughter remembers. she somersaults. she jazz-hands. the audience claps. and bachira? he’s crying and standing on his chair like she just won a world cup. 

“that’s my kid!!” he yells. “we’re getting ice cream after this!!” 

𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢 – “𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬”

“love,” you whisper, poking your head into the living room, “it’s your turn.” 

isagi looks up from his laptop with that same wide-eyed panic he gets when someone passes him the ball in reverse. “for what?” 

“bedtime.” 

you both go silent, listening to the ominous sound of giggles and things crashing upstairs. 

“… i already did bedtime yesterday,” he tries. 

“you brushed her teeth and then helped her do a backflip off the bed.” 

“which was… part of her routine.” 

you give him the look. 

with the dramatics of a man being asked to perform surgery with a spoon, isagi sets down his laptop, cracks his neck, and marches up the stairs like he's heading into battle. 

“alright, little monster,” he calls as he enters your daughter’s room, “bedtime means sleep. not turning into a jungle gym.” 

she’s hanging upside down from the headboard like a tiny spider. “but daddy, i’m not sleepy.” 

“you literally just did three cartwheels and then sang the national anthem for no reason.” 

“i needed to warm up.” 

“for what?” 

she grins. “bedtime olympics.” 

you watch from the doorway as isagi sighs, peels her off the furniture, and tucks her in like he’s folding laundry – gently, but with the exhausted speed of someone on a timer. 

he reads her a bedtime story. or at least, he tries. because she keeps interrupting every five seconds. 

“what’s a dragon?” 

“do dragons have moms?” 

“what if the dragon was a girl but wanted to be a boy?” 

“do you think i can be a dragon?” 

“do you think mommy could beat a dragon in a fight?” 

“… yes?” isagi says, halfway through losing his mind. “but she’d try to make friends with it first.” 

you stifle a laugh from the hallway. he shoots you a desperate look. 

finally, finally, your daughter yawns. her tiny hand finds his, and she mumbles, “you’re my favorite person, daddy.” 

his expression melts. “you’re mine too, baby girl.” 

you head back downstairs thinking that’s the end of it, but ten minutes later isagi comes down with marker on his face, a princess tiara tangled in his hair, and a plushie stuck in his hoodie. 

“she told me i had to dress like bedtime royalty,” he mutters, collapsing on the couch next to you. 

“well, you are king of the jungle gym.” 

“... do kings get ibuprofen?” 

you kiss his cheek. “only the cutest ones.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[rosenclaws]

Headcanons for what the first kiss with each version of Logan would be like 😳👉👈 ty for considering! ☺️

YESS so cute!!

First Kiss with each Logan!

Origins Logan -

So, you work at one of the shops in the small town closest to where Logan lives. He really only makes a trip there once a week but he always shows up on a day where you're working because well...he wants to see you. Its a lot of back and forth flirting until he asks you out to dinner. He makes you dinner in his cabin and you two eat outside and watch the sunset and he absolutely drives you home because he's a gentleman and before he can drive off you lean into the drivers side window and give him a soft peck on the lips before a hurried goodnight falls from your lips and you run to your house and hurry inside. It's like a movie where you close the door and lean back against it, your heart racing while Logan sits in his truck completely in shock but with a smile on his face as he drives off.

Trilogy Logan -

Your first kiss happens after a long mission. Things didn't go the way any of you expected and the confidence you all had going into it was completely drained. Just complete silence on the way home on the jet and even Scott can tell to push the debrief to the next day. Everyone just needed a nap. But sometimes after a mission like that you just can't sleep which is how you find yourself sitting on the kitchen counter eating cereal at 3am. That's where Logan finds you. He can't really sleep either. He would join you on the counter but he doesn't want to break it so he settles for leaning next to you. It starts with playful banter but it turns to something deeper when the mission comes up. You were scared of losing Logan and you know he can heal like crazy but you can't shake it and Logan feels the same way. It's like, he's standing between your legs and his hands are on your arms as he lets you see this vulnerability he rarely shows and you two kiss and it's fucking amazing.

DOFP Logan -

This is my vision alright. You're both professors and it's a totallll flirty will they won't they kind of thing. Classrooms are literally across from each other and everyone can see the two of you are crushing hard but you both enjoy playing this game to see who cracks first. You think Logan will and he thinks you will so it's just. Unbelievable tension that makes everyone so sick of it and wishing the two of you would just give it up and admit your feelings. Which is how a poor student who was just looking for the broom finds the two of you mid make out in the closet after those feelings have finally been spilled. You both argue who cracked first but the truth is it was both of you. Seriously just get a room.

Old Man Logan -

This is a much more intimate moment between the two of you. Probably after a fight about your place in his life. You want to help him, to carry some of the weight that's been forced on his shoulders and he doesn't want you to. He tells you he's fine and he doesn't need your damn help and his words hurt but you stay strong. You care deeply for him. You've fallen in love with him. He doesn't understand why the hell you're still here. You should be running far far away from him but you're still here. I see him collapsing into an old rundown plush chair. He's tired and he's afraid of letting you in but you're not scared of him. You crawl into his lap and its a gentle but needy kiss from both of you. His hands resting on your waist getting more and more desperate as he slowly starts to let you in.

Worst Logan -

It's messy and hot and very desperate but fuck is it a first kiss to remember. Logan has been fighting his feelings for you since the moment he saw you. He wants you but he can't have you and it's driving him crazy. You just won't quit it either. Constantly seeking him out, being nice to him. It's weird, its nice, and it's so not helping his feelings. The kiss comes after he kind of explodes, basically telling you to stay away from him because he can't control himself and he wants you so bad. He wants everything from you, the soft moments too. You basically just tell him to shut up and to kiss you. Which results him him pretty much pushing you against the wall and kissing you. It's really hot tbh

[bloodybreakupscene]

-> 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃.

robert (bob) reynolds x reader

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ [desc.] :: although he isn't aware it's even a thing, you're bob's comfort person, his safe space.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ [a/n] :: haaiii this is just fluff and cuteness i love bob he deserves the world,,, go watch thunderbolts* for this cutie 💔

bob has always struggled with his self confidence, from youth to the age he is now he's never felt really.. worth it. he always figured he was just there, no real purpose. however, after the whole, void-sentry thing, he's felt fine, content, basically, but there's some days where he feels as if he's better than he is, and most of those days are with you.

“your hair looks nice today.” you say, both of you at the kitchen sink together.

“wai- what? me?” he asks, pointing at himself as if there's anyone else in the room with you.

“mhm,” you nod, putting your washed plate on a rack so he can dry it with the small towel in his hands.

“i, wow, thanks, hehe,” he giggles, small smile on his face, “you look, nice too. well, you always do.. that was corny, sorry.”

he tilts his head back down, face flushing red as he rambled for a bit. “thanks for helping me by the way.”

“it's no problem, i really don't mind.” facing back to the plethora of utensils you've been washing. he faces his feet but all he can think about is you, which he finds stupid now because you're literally right there.

“since everyone's out right now… wanna go like, watch a movie?” you ask, walking up next to him, body nearly up against him.

you don't notice but he surely does.

“i.. uh .. yeah. yeah i would.” his hands fidget with a towel as he follows you into the watchtower living room, like a puppy trailing its owner.

you sit on the couch and grab the remote, bob sitting next to you, you ask if there's anything specific he wants to watch and he shakes his head, “no, no, i'm fine with whatever,” smiling in that goofy way he usually does.

he tries to disregard his pink dusty cheeks but it's hard when he physically feels his face heating up. he loves talking to you, he loves listening to you, just everything, he thinks.

this feels nice, being around someone, back when he left the vault, he was so consistently on edge, that there was danger around every corner. which granted, there was, but now its all a distant memory; something he can shove– “no, can't do that anymore”

“huh?” you turn your head away from the screen.

“oh, nothing, sorry,” his eyes looking at the screen instead of a blank spot on the wall. he feels so safe with you, also very sleepy. he swears he wasn't this tired when you were both doing dishes, what happened?

his head leans over to the side and he slouches down more. he's never felt so comfortable before. did we get a new couch? he thinks.

not even five minutes pass and he's leaning on your shoulder, legs nearly half off the couch like he's some sort of house cat. your body is so comfy, comfy and warm.

he must've been sleeping for at least an hour because when his eyes open again credits are rolling and his head is on your lap. if he was more awake he would've apologizes profusely but he couldn't really care less right now. not when your hands are in his hair and you're massaging his scalp.

your hands play with little parts of hair and he feels so relaxed. his arms are splayed over your legs as well and he shifts his own legs onto the rest of the unoccupied couch. he thinks you fell asleep too because the moving hand remains still but still intertwined in his locks.

“OUR TEAM BOND IS STRONGER THAN EVER!” alexei declares–loudly, as he always does when he sees his two favorite valued team members passed out on the couch.

the others pour in nearly a hundred times quieter than alexei and groan at the volume of his voice for what seemed the 34th time that day.

bob doesn't flinch or even stir in his sleep, the warmth and contentment being enough to keep him in slumber. however, the same could NOT be applied to you. eyes blinking open staring at the Thunderbolts*™ that just entered the tower.

“team bond? what? what the hell were you guys talking about?”

“nothing, nothing. go, continue with..” ava takes a swig of water from a cup, “your little cuddle sesh and whatnot.”

“were not..? like barely..” you roll your eyes, now feeling the weight of your friends eyes on you, “ok whatever.”

john snickers, “pfft, we all know where that'll go,” he leaves the room, the others pour into their respective rooms but yelena stays.

“i'm glad you two have each other,” her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“even if it's not like that,” she teases, “i give it two weeks– confession, heartfelt, whatever shit they do in the movies.”

“okay–thanks yelena, you can leave now.”

[lelengerine]

HERE FOR YOUR YOUTH LOVE SOME DRABBLE EVENT!!! I thought yushi + supercute would be a boring pairing but I love them both too much to not request it... supercute is just so yushi!!!!

͙͘͡★ ducking around with u !

song prompt. “you make fun of me for carrying around a keychain that looks like me, but i caught you buying the matching one, and now we’re in a silent stand-off about it”

pairing. highschool bff!yushi x reader

tags. mutual pining, fluffy fluff, i wrote this with a fem!reader but there aren’t any details explicitly stating so, ducks, both of them are a bit petty lmao (but its all fun and games), that's mostly it!

wc. 1.2k words

notes. THANK U FOR REQUESTING YUSHI WITH SUPERCUTE CAUSE I WAS WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT TO HAPPEN 😭😭 i hope u enjoy reading this as much as i loved writing this one rinaa <3 likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list | event m.list ꒱

it started, of all things, with a duck.

a soft, round, yellow duck, wearing a pretty, lilac bonnet that looked a little too big for its head. it sat by the bookstore’s counter, flopped over like it had given up on life, and somehow your friends decided it was you. “look at it!” they laughed, tugging at your sleeve, pushing the tiny plush into your hands. “it’s you. it’s literally you.” you rolled your eyes, but the longer you stared, the more you saw it—the same sleepy expression, the stubborn tilt of its head. 

maybe it was you. 

maybe you didn’t mind.

maybe that’s why you bought it on a whim and tucked it against your bag where it swung with every step you took. you thought no one would notice from the amount of keychains that were already dangling from the sole zipper of your bag that was hanging on for dear life, but you should’ve known better.

“you seriously paid money for that?” yushi’s voice drawled behind you the moment you slid into your seat beside him after class, casual like he had been waiting for an excuse to comment all afternoon. you glanced over, only to find him flicking the duck’s plump body so it spun dizzily in the air. his expression was unreadable, save for the slight curve of his mouth—mild amusement mixed with something smug. “looks kinda stupid.” he paused, eyes glinting as they flicked to you. “kinda like you.”

you gasped, grabbing your poor duck like it needed protection. “you’re unbelievable,” you muttered, though there wasn’t any real bite behind it. you were used to yushi’s teasing, the way he always looked a little too bored with everything, even while poking fun at you. 

you didn’t expect him to actually like the duck. you didn’t expect him to understand.

so you let it go, shaking your head as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, looking far too satisfied with himself.

you didn’t expect anything else either—until a few days later, when you wandered into the same bookstore after school. the scent of old paper and worn wood wrapped around you, warm and familiar, and you moved lazily between the aisles, half-looking for a new notebook, half just wasting time. yet the moment you turned a corner, there he was.

yushi, standing stiffly by the keychain rack like he had been caught doing something illegal. you ducked behind a display, heart leaping into your throat. through a gap in the shelves, you watched as he stared at the keychains—the same ridiculous ducks. you watched as he reached out, hesitated, then plucked one off the rack.

it wasn’t the same duck you had. not exactly. this one wore a tiny blue cap instead of a bonnet, slightly crooked, but still carried that slightly stupid-looking expression he once criticized. yushi stared at it for a beat longer than necessary, his face impassive, unreadable as always. then, with the smallest sigh—as if he were giving in to something deeply inconvenient—he tossed it into his basket and turned away.

you stood frozen for a good minute after he disappeared behind the shelves, blinking like you had imagined the whole thing. 

but you hadn’t. 

yushi had bought the matching duck.

for the next few days, you said nothing. you waited, pretending not to notice how a flash of yellow sometimes peeked from the side pocket of his backpack, how he adjusted it carelessly when it got caught on the zipper. he didn’t say a word about it, and neither did you, but the knowledge burned under your skin every time you saw him.

it became a quiet standoff: two keychains swinging in silent defiance, two people pretending not to notice what the other was hiding. well… it was a standoff until the afternoon you finally cracked.

the library was bathed in late sunlight, the windows casting soft gold across the floor. yushi was already there when you arrived, sprawled in his chair like he had nothing better to do, flipping lazily through a manga with one hand. you sat down across from him with a dramatic thud, letting your bag fall onto the table so the duck bounced visibly against the wood.

yushi barely glanced up. his cap duck swung in lazy circles from his bag, taunting you.

you pressed the attack, chin propped stubbornly on your palm. "i thought the duck looked stupid. 'kinda like me,' wasn't it?"

across the table, yushi stretched with a lazy sort of grace, arms reaching high above his head until his hoodie tugged slightly at his waist. he looked completely unbothered by your accusation, like he barely even remembered saying it. his mouth pulled into a half-smile as he shrugged.

"it is stupid," he said simply, as if that was the end of it.

you narrowed your eyes, about to fire back something smart, but he moved before you could—reaching out with one hand to flick your forehead with a sharp snap. the touch was light but enough to make you scowl, swatting his hand away as heat prickled embarrassingly at your skin.

before you could gather yourself, he leaned in, elbow perched lazily on the desk, so close you could see the slow, amused tilt of his eyes. the sunlight hit the side of his face, softening the sharper lines of him, making him look almost unreal.

"but..." he added, and this time his voice dropped lower—softer, almost conspiratorial, like a secret tucked between syllables, "sometimes stupid things are cute."

your heart stumbled. you felt it like a skipped beat, a jolt that traveled all the way to your fingertips.

he didn’t move away. if anything, he tilted even closer, the small distance between you folding into nothing but breath and the soft hum of the library around you. his eyes found yours and held them there, like he was waiting for you to understand.

"like you," he added, easy as anything, a lazy grin ghosting his lips.

the words hit you like a pebble to still water, ripples spreading wide across your chest. you could barely think past the roaring in your ears—past the warmth blooming under your skin, threading through your ribs like light.

the tiny ducks on your bags swung gently with the breeze from the open windows, casting little dancing shadows over the table. everything—the gold of the afternoon, the slow sway of the library shelves, the creased paper of forgotten notebooks—seemed to hush around you, pressing this moment into something soft and real.

"idiot," you muttered under your breath, your voice cracking in the middle, more fond than furious.

you tried to hit him, a half-hearted swat at his shoulder, but he caught your hand with ridiculous ease, his fingers wrapping loosely around yours. his skin was warm where it touched yours, his grip relaxed, as if this, too, was no big deal. as if holding your hand was just another natural thing in a day full of natural things.

he didn’t let go right away.

and you didn’t pull back.

for a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow down to just that—your tangled fingers, the heavy sunlight, the two stupid matching ducks swinging between you.

and just like that, the silent standoff ended.

neither of you won.

or maybe, somehow, you both did.

after all, it wasn’t really about the ducks, was it?

[ohlawdthevoices]

HIII!! i just discovered your blog recently and I absolutely love your writing style 🫶🏻🫶🏻i was hoping we could get a bnha fic where the reader shaved her head a couple months ago because of hair damage and they feel self conscious about it?

If you can't its totally fine but Id be SO happy if you could

Byeee!!

Hiii !! tsym for your request i think this would be so cute so i tried my best ! :]

tags : bakugo , shoto, kirishima x reader (separately), fluff and comfort !

Bakugo notices the second you start acting different. you’re quieter, ducking your head more, tugging at your hoodie like it can hide you. and yeah, he might not be the most delicate guy in the world, but he’s not stupid.

“you been actin’ weird since the haircut,” he finally mutters one night, eyes flicking to you across the couch. you try to brush it off, say it’s nothing, big mistake. cue the aggressive affection.

next thing you know, he’s calling you “gorgeous” in the most pissed-off tone possible. glaring at you like it’s your fault he’s so in love. “I don’t care what your hair looks like. you think I’m with you ‘cause of that? tch dumbass.”

he’s not always good with soft stuff, but every now and then, when you’re half-asleep on his chest, he’ll grumble something like, “y’know, I actually like it,i can see your face better now s’cute.”

Shoto doesn’t say much when you first show up with your head shaved just tilts his head slightly, takes you in like a painting he’s trying to understand, and goes, “you look different. I like it.”

simple. honest. no fluff, no faking.

but he notices. the way your fingers linger on hats or how you suddenly start avoiding taking pics sometimes. he’s quiet, but not oblivious.

so he starts saying things. not often, and not loud, but always when it counts. like brushing your hair used to be a part of his routine with you, and now he just places his hand gently on the back of your head instead, thumb stroking soft circles.

“you’re beautiful,” he says one night, eyes fixed on yours while the glow of your phone screen lights the room. “you know that, right?” you try to deflect with a joke—he doesn’t laugh. just leans in and kisses your forehead like that’s enough to silence every thought in your head.

when you tell him you feel less than, he stares at you for a long second, then says, “you could shave it again tomorrow, or dye it green, or never grow it back at all. I’d still look at you the same.” there was a small silence as you could see him clearly thinking about something “okay maybe don’t do green…i don’t wanna feel like im kissing midoriya.”

Kirishima’s the type to be all “woah, that’s hot!” when he first sees your shaved head. his eyes light up, like you’ve just done the most badass thing in the world. he’s so hype about it, you almost forget why you’re self-conscious in the first place. almost.

but then he notices the way you start covering up more, or how you look away when he’s complimenting you, and he realizes—something’s up.

he’s not gonna let you slip under the radar, though. “hey, come on, you’re still the most awesome person I know,” he’ll say, making sure to keep his voice upbeat. “you’re literally the definition of sexy, so if anyone’s staring at you, they’re just jealous!”

and yea he’ll keep throwing in compliments like, “looking sharp as hell, babe,” and “can’t believe I’m dating someone as cool as you.” but when it seems like you’re still struggling, he gets a thoughtful look on his face.

the next day, you’re sitting on the couch, and Kirishima casually walks in with a freshly shaved head. “I thought I should join you,” he says with that signature grin. “we’re both gonna be rocking the bald look together.” he pats his head and laughs. “what’s the point of being the toughest guy around if you don’t support your partner?”

[familyagrestefanblog]

I finally got around to watch "The Ruler" and, man, when it comes to Nathaniel and Marc, this episode is simply PHENOMENAL. But it's honestly heartbreaking to see that the show is giving more and more plot lines we longed to see for the love square for over a decade now to side characters. Sure, the comic was a Ladynoir parallel, but it's an outdated one and has now been given to Nathaniel and Marc instead.

It can even be seen in the way Marinette and Adrien have no real reaction to the comic of which the story SHOULD have hit them very close to home because of their hero partner. But they don't. Especially Marinette who the episode wrote as so excited and invested in the story that she wanted to keep a printed test version of it and hang it up in her room.

As nice as the wishful thinking is that she did this because it reminded her of her partnership with Chat Noir, there is nothing in the episode to actually back that up. Marinette is emotionally invested in the story, but there is no real indication that this is anything else but her simply being an invested fan like everyone else.

But not just that. The episode also pretty much goes out of its way to reinforce how dead Ladynoir is by now by giving yet another prime example of how Marinette since season 4 has demanded and 100% established that she'll drag her entire civilian life into her hero work - and fully on Chat's expense bc for her to drag 100% of her life in she had to first forbid him from existing under the mask AT ALL in season 4 & 5 - cause she'll neither humour waiting for him and will just pick another main partner for her in any given battle she likes while still not letting Chat know anything about it. Chat Noir may as well not have shown up here at all, Marinette would have literally not noticed it. She already replaced him as her partner for the battle, she wouldn't have cared for a single second.

It used to be normal that they WAIT for each other, btw. But here in "The Ruler" the episode at least didn't hide that one of the two main reasons for why Chat Noir got immediately screwed over was because Ladybug just completely forgot about him again as leader and "partner" who still acts like she hasnt paid any attention yet in 5 seasons that leaving Chat Noir out of the plan, not waiting, and not informing him of what the plan is before going about executing it increases the likelihood of him getting hurt as well as him becoming reckless when he enters the field because of his insecurities which she has been made well WELL aware of by now. And this wasn't some city destroying akuma, so no excuse here (Same as Werepapas. There was no excuse for not taking your time to avoid risking to kill Adrien, the akuma was a non-threat to the city).

Say however you like that Adrien should be more careful and not act out on his insecurities like this (even though i know exactly that this is a standard you will NEVER apply to Marinette who's causing way more damage by taking her insecurities out on others), but this is on Maribug too. Shes the leader and DEMANDS that Chat Noir always shows up on his own bc she declared caring about the Black Cat Miraculous to not be a job a professional leader should ever be asked of to do.

Those were HER self-serving terms she set on Chat's expense in season 4, so now it still absolutely IS her obligation as leader to consider how things will affect him when he then later enters the battle field. She can't just write his existence off, pick another partner rooted in her civilian life, and already get into the real battle before he arrives when that has continously proven itself to screw him over. That's ABYSMAL leadership.

And if Marinette by now STILL doesn't know yet that this will put Chat in danger, then she's honestly just an awful leader to him, too. How many seasons, incidents, and bonding moments does this girl need to finally pay attention as leader and not forget about him the second she feels guilty about something from her civilian life and wants to solve it by giving her friends Miraculous powers? We've had this 500 times already, this is nothing new.

Again, at least this episode had it come with the appropriate consequences. Brainwashed Chat Noir chases Ladybug and tries cataclysming her, where she then continues writing him off, thinking he'll just not show up again after she got away, which then logically resulted in Chat pushing her into the brainwashing weapon too from which Caprikid then had to save them BOTH from and defeat the akuma by himself.

All of this wouldn't have happened if Ladybug still in any way acted like Chat Noir is her actual PARTNER like the comic said. But this girl will just pick someone else over him on a whim and writes off his entire existence, only to then continue acting surprised when that backfires. She literally does it TWICE in this very episode and it's the main reason for both of their brainwashings. Marinette, STOP WRITING OFF CHAT NOIR'S EXISTENCE!!!

And sure, that may sound like I'm contracting myself when I initially complained about this showcasing that Ladynoir is dead by now, because "clearly" this episode (as well as Daddycop for example or Revelator) acknowledges in its writing that Marinette's treatment of Chat Noir is bad and causes problems.

But here is the thing. Theoretically speaking, yes, that's how it COULD be used, but clearly isn't. Same as Adrinette ( and especially MARINETTE) not reacting to the Ladynoir coded comic story, Marinette is now for the third season in a row not written to acknowledge at any point that her ever-on-going problematic treatment of Chat Noir is something that she should STOP doing because it fundamentally puts him in danger and therefore causes problems.

You can absolutely watch this episode and not acknowledge that Marinette's leadership and her just randomly picking a new main partner for the battle on a whim is the primary reason for why Chat Noir got screwed over again (you know, the way the show always does. If you don't want Marinette to ever be at fault for anything, the writing will make sure that you won't be asked to face that). Season 4-6 writing are indeed writing in the logical consequences of her bad leadership decisions on his expense, but at no point is Marinette HERSELF written to then learn the lesson and stop it. She's right back to her Season 4 bullshit the way she still does it over and over and OVER again. But she NEVER actually learns. Quite the opposite, her problem-causing leadership only gets further cemented as the new status quo and she NEVER does anything about it for the third season in a row! That's why I'm saying it's the primary factor at fault here. Adrichat absolutely isn't blameless, but Maribug's faults and bad leadership decisions have remained unchallenged for over 2 seasons now while Adrien is always blamed and held accountable for anything awful that happens to him under her leadership. It's Maribug's side that is the root of it by now thanks to that development, so it's the one that has to be called out and held accountable to solve the problem for good.

But season 6 too seems to have no interest in finally asking Marinette to improve her leadership system she established fully on Chat's expense. She just keeps going, no matter what.

And that's how we end up with episodes like this where, yes, the Nathaniel and Marc comic is Ladynoir coded, but it's painfully outdated partnership wise and Marinette herself literally acts like Chat Noir is still non-existent in her head and barely means anything to her. She has hero (best) friends she can and will replace him with at any moment and she a devoted boyfriend who will worship and take care of her the way Chat was once set up to do.

Chat Noir is pretty much irrelevant in Marinette's head and life now, the way we already saw it in season 4 & 5, but especially Kwamis Choice. And this being episode 15 (so one of the mid-season finales) really tells you alot about what direction Ladynoir will still continue to go. And its one that was 100% predictable and most importantly AVOIDABLE ever since season God damn 4.

If / when Chrysalis gets her hands on Chat Noir, I honestly don't know how I'm supposed to feel bad for Marinette in this anymore. Maribug losing Chat Noir to the Butterfly is just painfully earned at this point. Just do it already.

[yandere-sins]

The Octopodes' Tale - Prologue

Yan-Poll #40 #MerMay 2025 Special Prev. Part

My, my! I was surprised to hear you were going to look after my 'pet'! Who would have thought that your next journey would lead you to us?

I, for one, am happy it did.

What, surprised? Well, I never said witches don't need help from humans. We just prefer not to, surely, you understand that, right? We are mostly independent, after all. It's our job to give you guidance, not the other way around. You didn't need my help much last time, but maybe this time you will? Let me know if you are unsure where to go, and I'll be willing to help you... for a smile fee. After all, you'll take care of my beloved mate for me, won't you? We are in a little predicament, so surely you won't abandon us, right?

I could tell you so much about my beloved. My Leo is the most pure-hearted, sweetest male in all of the ocean! He likes to dance for me and put up displays of color, catch me food while I work, and hug me for hours sometimes until I put him back in his place. So make sure to feed him his food directly by hand—that's how he likes it! I know his tongue can be sharp, but I promise he'd never bite off a finger. I would know; I trained him, after all. Oh! If you scratch his back, he will give you little hickies! It's the most adorable thing! I love him so much!

Of course, I'd prefer it if you'd return him to me... it's been so lonely without him. He can be quite a needy leech if he likes you, but he's the sweetest little male I have ever met. We spent so many years in harmonic togetherness, his absence has been truly sorrowful. Now that I can't reach him, I don't even know if he's keeping his tentacles at bay. Hopefully, no one has taken off his restraints; make sure to check that! As you know, we octopuses die easily upon mating, so you must always keep that in check. For you, he's just a test subject.

But he's my whole life.

If something were to happen to him, I wouldn't know what I would do. We are meant for each other, you understand? So whatever you do, try to keep him alive, alright? You don't often find a well-trained pet like him, so he can be quite valuable! And I need him like you need air to breathe.

Maybe you should think about returning him to me instead of doing your silly little experiments. We could both benefit from it. I may have what the facility wants you to find, and you have what I want. What do you say?

However you decide, I hope you know what you're doing. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you, right?

But I trust you, I know you'll make the right choice. You are a smart human, aren't you?

I can't wait for you.

And with that: welcome back to MerMay!!

Yes, my favorite month of the year, and well, I have two very interesting specimen for you this time, although it depends on your choices if you're meeting them both (which I truly hope!) or suffer at the hands of the facility like all the others. At least, you won't be alone (;

It'll be almost the same game as last time!

At the end of each chapter, you'll get to make a choice which can either progress the story or lead to a bad end. Mind you, there are no secret routes or choice combinations you need to make. One path goes forward, the others are more or less literally "game overs". So, choose wisely! However, as she has some personal agenda, this particular sea witch from above will help you reach the end of the story if you make a wrong choice, and sometimes, bad ends are still interesting and full of information! I wouldn't blame you for choosing them :D

At this point of time, I have not plotted the story to its fullest, so... length may vary. But I plan to just go as far as I possibly can to make a fulfilling story (:

One thing is different: Polls will only be three days (and I will post as soon as I have a new part). I want to make the most use of yan-polls, stories, and this month, so with the new option to shorten the length, I decided to reduce it to three days instead of seven. Hope everyone gets to vote even with the shortened timespan!

Warnings ahead:

This story revolves around heavy sexual themes (Non-/Dub-Con, Talking about Pregnancy, Mating, Breeding, Eggs/Ovipositor, Tentacles, Dom/Sub Themes, etc.) and violent themes (Possible Major and Minor Character Death, Blood, Biting, Murder, Fighting, Licking (yes that is an actual violent act this time), Guns & Shooting, etc.). Also: both love interests are yandere, meaning the following themes are included: Possessive/Obsessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Overall Crazyness, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Mental Breakdowns, etc. And the very last point: The mermaids are monsters, as such beware of Tentacles, Beaks, Sharp Teeth, Teethed Tongues, Animalistic Behaviors, Claws, Monster Anatomy, Monster Behavior, Toxin, and also Witchcraft.

Please always read the warnings on each individual post and stay away if they are not your cup of tea!

If you have questions, please feel free to ask. I appreciate comments, asks, and responses always ♥

I will have fun, and I hope you guys will, too! ♥

Happy MerMay and Happy Choosing! ♥

[ghostdrinkssoup]

Severance S2 spoilers, but I think innie!Mark running back to Helly is deeper than just him realising he doesn’t have feelings for Gemma. As we know, outie!Mark gets severed because he doesn’t know how to cope with Gemma’s passing, meaning he’s someone who struggles to accept death (and by extension change). We see this characterisation extend to innie!Mark when Petey’s disappearance forces him to re-experience grief. Notably, innie!Mark’s gut reaction is to hide the group photo of Petey so he won't be reminded of him, similar to how outie!Mark hides Gemma’s things in his basement because it’s “easier pretending she never existed”. Innie!Mark later shreds the map on the back of that same group photo when Helly presses him to question Petey’s death, again, very similar to how outie!Mark tears up the picture of Gemma. Despite differing contexts, both versions of Mark try to prove they don’t “give a shit” about someone they are very clearly mourning.

Innie!Mark isn’t just mourning his best friend, but also how things used to be. His attachment to Petey doubles as an attachment to the culture created by his coworkers, again, not so dissimilar to outie!Mark mourning his old life with Gemma. In both cases, he doesn’t want things to change. The idea that work culture is created “by the people” is established in the first episode, during a meeting between innie!Mark and Cobel:

Here, Cobel explicitly associates hell and heaven with the work environment, noting that hell is not reality but our perception of reality, influenced by our environment. Essentially, the people at work determine whether the workplace is worth being attached to. Although this philosophy isn’t universal (not everyone loves their coworkers), it aligns with innie!Mark’s values, as demonstrated in the shredding scene: 

Here, innie!Mark confirms that he isn’t loyal to Lumon, but to his colleagues. We also learn that in the face of uncertainty, he would rather lean on the support of his immediate community (his “family”) than become isolated, reframing the workplace as an intimate (and domestic) space. Considering that severance is meant to separate people’s work lives from their personal lives, this scene is particularly fascinating. Especially since Helly resists conflating the professional sphere with domesticity (“I could not, with a razor to my throat, be less interested in being your family”), viewing work as a prison that restricts her freedom (which, ironically, is likely the reality of Helena’s personal life). Interestingly, innie!Mark resents Helly’s constant disobedience until she tries to commit suicide. Again, when he’s confronted by death.

The show continuously reminds us that loss of intimate attachment, whether at work or home, is what both versions of Mark fear most. For example, innie!Mark is the only worker who hasn’t tried to quit. Helly repeatedly tries to quit in season one, even though she knows it’ll end her life; Irving is more than ready to quit after he learns Burt is married, and is ready to accept his death after outing Helena as a mole; Dylan also tries to quit when he’s separated from Gretchen and realises she won’t be coming back. Innie!Mark is the only severed worker (of the main cast) who can't accept death. Walking out that door terrifies him, and Lumon nurtures that fear. As Milchick says in season one, death isn’t something that happens at Lumon. The workers don’t even know what death looks like, as shown when MDR find the animal corpse in Woe’s Hollow:

Suddenly, the external world of the natural environment overwhelms the workplace, bringing death in its wake. Yet, the internal world of domesticity also brought loss in the form of Petey, Burt, and Irving’s “retirements”. Clearly, neither private nor public spaces are appropriate labels for the workplace, because the workplace is unnatural, monitored, and sealed off from reality. Lumon literally advertises this state of being, yet woe resulting from the loss or death of a loved one keeps threatening to invade this sequestered paradise. The personification of woe being a ghostly bride (AKA someone’s dead wife) also feels pretty pointed.

But let’s return to that point from earlier about work culture. As we have already established, innie!Mark is more than willing to work at Lumon if he becomes accustomed to the culture created by his colleagues. Helly contrasts him in this sense, as she is both independent and capable of rallying people to action without group support or approval (as we see during her speech to Choreography and Merriment). Innie!Mark, meanwhile, quelled his rebellious behaviour the moment he made friends with Petey. Under ordinary circumstances, innie!Mark is unlikely to be the kind of person to just up and leave his job because it’s exploitative. His decisions are not guided by morality, they’re guided by emotional attachment. We see this with outie!Mark in season one: his views on Lumon only begin to shift after he attends Petey’s funeral, and goes to his (Petey’s) daughter’s concert. Before this moment, outie!Mark is mostly apathetic about the inner workings of Lumon because severance is a convenient coping mechanism. It’s only when the peace is disturbed, and someone he’s grown to care for dies, that he changes gear. 

Innie!Mark behaves similarly when he demands to have his team back in the first episode of season two. It’s the most rebellious we’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t want his friends to disappear, and once they’re back, he doesn’t quit despite being given the option to leave. He wants to find Ms. Casey (who he knows is his outie’s wife), sure, but he’s also attached to Helly and his other colleagues. They’re his family, and he is very unlikely to abandon his family.

Outie!Mark is also very unlikely to abandon his family. The moment he learns Gemma is alive, he’s willing to risk everything (including his safety) to get her out. His stubbornness and loyalty are only rivalled by his innie’s, who is effectively himself. The problem isn’t that innie and outie Mark are different people; it’s that they’re the same person. If the roles were reversed, outie!Mark would never leave Lumon for Helly, not if it meant leaving Gemma behind. He would do the exact same thing innie!Mark does because neither version of him can accept loss, which is why he can’t leave. It’s not just Helly: it’s Dylan and all the other innies he would be abandoning. Not to mention that leaving would mean his certain death and Mark has never been able to deal with death, something Lumon promises to shield its workers from.

Why don’t people quit their jobs, even when they know it’s corrupt? Because people become complacent, conditioned, and attached to the status quo. Innie!Mark was always going to run back into the tender arms of hell. For a moment, it probably seemed a lot more like heaven to him.

This has been Mark’s consistent characterisation throughout the show. Do I view innie!Mark and outie!Mark as separate entities? Yes and no. I do think that innie!Mark is just as much a person as outie!Mark, and that they are different versions of the same person. However, that doesn’t mean they aren’t the same person. If innie!Mark was different from his outie, he probably would’ve gone with Gemma. But outie!Mark has never learned how to accept grief, and innie!Mark is a version of himself that hasn’t evolved past this worldview either. What we see at the end of Cold Harbour, then, is a very literal representation of self-sabotage. Because the type of person who would’ve gone with Gemma wouldn’t have severed himself to avoid grief in the first place. For Orpheus not to turn around, he would've had to be someone else.

[teddie-bear22]

Looking at dr odyssey tumblr and idk who needs to hear this but as a polyamorous person I get the feeling that some of you dont actually realize how much work a polyamorous relationship takes????

First of all even if polyamoury (in this case im personally hoping for a throuple, but there is several ways polyamoury can look) is established, if not everyone is totally ready or on the same page and communicating its just not going to work. Its going to end badly.

Secondly if even one of them (in this case all of them) has not previously considered the possibility of polyamory as an option for them and their relationships thats like. A whole lifetime of nuclear family/romantic monogamy idealisation (and/or baggage) to unlearn.

Thirdly a sexy threesome and a healthy and stable throuple are absolutely NOT the same thing. Both are 100% valid but they absolutely are not gonna just all fuck together once and immediately be prepared to be romantically involved in a non-monogamous setting (whether as a throuple or a V shaped relationship.)

Im seeing a little bit of catastrophizing and with the renewal being up in the air i can understand that but seriously. Give them time to work out themselves and what they want for themselves and from eachother and how they want it. Im actually enjoying this relationship progression personally! and I don't really get why people are panicking about it being walked back. Sure I'd like to see more max and tristan interaction but like. Just give it time guys.

Also, idk why people are mad at max for wanting a more traditional-style family kind of deal??? He can still have that and be in a throuple. Its really not that far-fetched for someone to want a whole stereotypical white picket fence lifestyle, just with three people instead of two. And its not like he came out as a Trad ManTM he literally just said hes "a bit more trad than he'd like to admit" (which considering how non-traditional that man is, isnt really saying that much.)

Also also, hes allowed to enjoy no-strings sex and still be uncomfortable with it being "no-strings" despite him communicating that he has feelings. God forbid a man have boundaries I guess???