#manhattan piercing

[plantedplanty]

btw the writing is the bee movie script <3

[sydxox]

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Some points:

the tech in Baron Strucker's Hydra base is largely original. (The faceplate of the Ultron suit is either the same or very similar to the one seen beside the Hydra guns that Steve discovered in A1. Arnim Zola was the one who invented AI and mecha suits; not Tony.) The reason that tech looks exactly like Tony's creations is because... Tony and Hydra think the same way.

Baron Strucker was doing exactly what Tony is doing: creating an AI using the Mind Stone, to then create a Project Ultron under the AI's control to 'save' the world (but Hydra would probably call it Zola 2.0 or similar; only the name Ultron was Tony's).

When Ultron wanted to find a place with tech just like Stark Tower... he fled to Baron Strucker's base. The fact that that tech was still there for him to use is proof that Tony didn't tell the Avengers about it. If he had, they would have confiscated it all, and Ultron would've had nowhere to run.

Ultron's first move was to murder Baron Strucker, while he was in custody (having got the location of vibranium out of him; like father like son). Had he lived, Strucker would've been able to tell the Avengers what Tony's baby was planning... because it's exactly what Hydra would do.

Tony sees he and Hydra have exactly the same methodology and goal and instead of thinking about the implications of that his only response is 'great now I get to do Ultron.'

And he knows it's wrong because he goes out of his way to keep it a secret from everyone but Bruce Banner, whose help he needs. (Which he gets by emotionally manipulating him, playing the friendship card... which is kind of sad when you consider Bruce's backstory. IIRC Bruce is the only one Tony tells about the tech in Strucker's base.)

The Avengers are stumped as to where Ultron has gone when Tony really should've been able to guess... if he had bothered to share with the group. Think how much better the outcome would've been if he had told them!

Even after Ultron tries to kill everyone on the planet, and despite pretending to admit he was wrong, Tony keeps thinking his and Hydra's idea was fine. As proven by the above 👆 and by the fact that he made E.D.I.T.H. so he could keep doing Insight 2.0 and being a disastrous mass-murdering egomaniac even after he was dead. Just like Arnim Zola too, now I think about it.

His own future-wife Pepper compares Tony's company dealings with the military-industrial complex to NASA's employment of Wernher Von Braun, the SS Officer.

Bucky wasn't brainwashed, he was mind-controlled. (There's an argument to be made that he was also brainwashed... but it didn't take; it wasn't brainwashing that made him do what TWS did. As shown in CATWS, Hydra trying to reason with him to do as he's told didn't work -- as it would on a brainwashed person. They had to use full blown mind-control.) Sidenote: Clint Barton tried to kill Tony himself while he was mind-controlled, but was welcomed onto the same team as him within a day, without any drama!

OH MY GOD CAN WE TALK ABOUT TONY STARK JUST STRAIGHT UP SPEWING HYDRA RHETORIC IN ENDGAME

[bixels]

Give it up for the New York Wonderbolts!

Siobhan "Spitfire" Pierce-Evans, Irish immigrant. Got her start as a aeroplane mechanic's apprentice before becoming the first female pilot in WW1, flying reconnaissance for the UK. After the war, she went on to fly competitively, winning third place in the 1924 Italian Schneider Cup. After that, she immigrated to the US, where she began her baseball career with the New York Wonderbolts and quickly rose the ranks to become team captain. Pitcher, killer curveball. [Inspired by Dorothy Arzner]

Soren "Baby Face" Christensen, Scandinavian-English American. Lives in Brooklyn near the Fifth Avenue Line. Competitive pie eater. Slugger, with a 0.340 batting average. Mama's boy. Used to work on an airstrip and fly in the airmail service in the early 1920s. [Inspired by Babe Ruth, Superman, and the human form of the tanukis from Pom Poko]

Faizah "Fleetfoot" Farraj, 2nd-gen Syrian American. Lives in Little Syria, Manhattan with her family. Has been playing baseball all her life. Fastest sprinter on the team, infamous base-stealer. Despite being one of the youngest on the team, she has a head of grey hair due to a magical incident from her childhood. Speaks with a lisp. [No inspiration]

[glosackmd]

NYC100871 by a Psychiatrist's view Via Flickr: body painting in ManHatTan Photography’s new conscience linktr.ee/GlennLosack

[kaleldobrev]

From Russia With Love

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: You’re the first person Ben goes to see after escaping from Russia

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing (5x), Fluff

Authors Note: The sequel to Memories Are All I Have | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

Forty years. Forty Goddamn fucking years without you. Forty years of not being able to kiss you or hold you in his arms. Forty years without being able to tell you how much he loved you; or hear you saying it in return.

But there was a part of him that started to wonder if you had moved on from him because of how long it has been. There was a part of him that wouldn't have blamed you if you did, but he dreaded the thought of you being with anyone but him. You were the only person he ever dreamt of being with, settling down with. You were the first person to ever tell him, "I love you," and it wasn't just empty words — you had actually meant it.

Despite it being almost forty years without you, he still loved you just as much as he did the last time he had saw you back in 1984.

As he walked along the Manhattan streets, memories of the two of you walking along these very streets started to flood him. He could hear the sweet, sweet sounds of your laughter. He could feel the softness of your hands in his calloused ones. He could hear you faintly saying "I love you" to him in his ear.

But that very brief memory he had of you was quickly started to fade away, as he heard music playing — a song that was all too familiar to him and not in a good way. It was a Russian pop song that the scientists would often play when they would experiment on him. When they would pierce his skin with various knives and force feed him chemical mixtures.

He dropped his bag that he had slung over his shoulders onto the sidewalk; and he could faintly hear someone asking him if he was okay, but their words sounded so muffled like he was under water. Hunched over, everything went pitch black.

19 dead and 12 injured — read the news banner in big, bold, black letters across the bottom of the screen. "Holy shit," you mumbled to yourself, watching the news footage in absolute horror. One second the building in front of you was standing tall and proud; the next second, the sounds of glass shattering and floors collapsing in on itself. Scorch marks could be seen distinctly.

As you watched the news footage, a part of you wondered what Supe could have caused that immense amount of damage. But for the life of you, there was no Supe that you could think of. Homelander briefly entered your brain, but his beams wouldn't be able to cause that kind of damage. Yes, Homelander was powerful, but there was no way he would be able to do something like that, not unless Vought somehow found a way to give him more power than he already had.

"We were able to get the CCTV Footage of who could have caused this terrible tragedy. Unfortunately, due to the angle of the camera, the face could not be seen. But if you think you may know the terrorist reasonable, please contact Vought immediately," the news anchor stated; Vought's number flashing across the screen quickly.

As you watched the footage, it was grainy, black and white, and hard to tell who the terrorist could have been. But from what you could see, it just looked like some guy with an unkempt beard wearing a tracksuit that you hadn't seen since about the 1980s.

The man was standing there holding some kind of bag, and all of sudden the bag just dropped to his feet and he hunched over, kind of like he was having some kind of stomach pain, and a large beam of light just exploded from his body. "Holy shit..." you mumbled.

When Ben arrived at his — your apartment — he couldn't help but have a small sense of nervousness, like there was some kind of knot in the pit of his stomach. This kind of knot was something that he always experienced whenever he was about to get tortured by the Russians, as he never knew what kind of cruel experiments they were going to do on him.

He eyed the door and sighed, hoping that you were still living here, as this was the last known address that he had for you. It was the only place that he had hoped that you would be, as this was the only place he had pictured starting and having a family with you. It was a cozy penthouse about a few blocks away from Vought Tower; and it was a place that you and him had bought together as a home away from home away from Payback.

With a deep sigh, he knocked on the door, praying quietly to himself that you would be the one to answer the door and not someone else.

As you were in the kitchen making yourself some coffee, you heard a knock at your apartment door and raised a brow as you weren't expecting anyone or anything today; not even a package.

As the coffee started pouring into the mug, you started making your way to the front door, and yet there was another knock; but this time, the knock was quicker, almost impatient sounding. You rolled your eyes, and let out a small groan. "Christ on a Cross," you mumbled quietly to yourself. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" You called out, hoping that the impatient knocking would cease.

Ben heard the pads of your bare feet walking toward the apartment door, and he could hear you slightly groaning on the other side of the door, cursing every so often. But one of the phrases you said had caught him slightly by surprise. "Christ on a Cross," he heard you mumble; and a smirk tugged the corners of his lips.

He heard the chain come off the door, and within seconds the door was open before him, and there you were looking exactly the same way you had the last time he had seen you forty years ago. "Fuck, you haven't aged a day Sugar," he said, his voice sounding more gruff than he had expected it to sound.

"Fuck, you haven't aged a day Sugar," a man that strongly resembled and sounded exactly like Ben said before you. But there was no possible way that this could of been him, as you were told by not only Payback, but by Vought and Legend that he had been killed by the Russians, and that his body was taken behind the Iron Curtain. But he had just called you Sugar; and Sugar was a nickname that Ben and Ben alone had called you, and tended to only call you when it was just the two of you alone together.

But the way he was looking at you was the exact same way Ben had always looked at you. It was the look of pure adoration and joy; the look of 'you are the most gorgeous person in the world to me.' And those eyes...those distinctive hazel-green eyes that only Ben had had were staring directly at you.

You were unsure if you were seeing a ghost or having one of your hallucinations, but you reached out your hand toward him and gently placed your hand on his cheek, feeling the caveman like beard underneath your palm. When your hand made contact with his cheek, he almost melted into your touch, and his free hand made contact with the one that was on his cheek; almost checking to see if you were real too.

When your hand touched his cheek, he had to hold back all of the feelings that he had slowly building up over the course of four decades without you; he had envisioned this reunion for so long. "Ben..." your voice was low, soft, almost slightly hesitant as if you were trying to make sure that it was actually him before you. "It's...it's really you isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's really me," he responded almost as low as your voice was.

Your hand released from his cheek, and you stared at him with such longing in your eyes; almost as if you were trying to hold back tears. Without anymore hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him, using that super strength of yours (practically squeezing him, and knocking the air slightly out of him), as your face buried a bit into his chest.

In that instant, Ben dropped the bag that was slung over his shoulder at this feet and wrapped his arms around you; giving you a similar type of embrace that you were currently giving him and rested his chin on the top of your head. "I've missed you so much," you told him; your face nuzzling even more into his chest.

He smiled into your hair and kissed the top of your head; an action that he didn't realize how much he missed doing until now. "I missed you too," he said. And for the first time in his life, he heard his voice breaking.

Tag List: @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @deans-daydream @midorimachisenpaii @rachiem4-blog @taraswifes @zepskies @jackles010378 @mrsjenniferwinchester @globetrotter28 @deans-spinster-witch @mrlonelycat @zombie-freak @waywardlatina @crystal555 @missscarlettangel @livingordeadwhoknows @79winchester @savagemickey03 @grx-deanslovr @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @the-achievementhunter If you’d like to be added to a tag list please follow this link

[makeyoumine69]

Flesh n' Bones | Hospital AU (INTRO)

PAIRING: Doctor!Patrick Bateman x gn!Nurse!Reader

SUMMARY: My name is Patrick Bateman. I'm 27 years old. I live in the American Gardens building on West 81st Street in New York City. I work as a surgeon at St. Pierce's Hospital—one of the most upscale medical centers in Manhattan—which happens to be owned by my father. And even though I hate my job, sometimes I can find a little bit of fun in making the experience of my patients in the hospital really unforgettable. Not to mention the dozens of missing nurses who definitely regretted crossing the threshold of St. Pierce's Hospital, but who cares—I was the best thing that ever happened to them.

CONTAINS: Swearing, medical procedures, evil plans, gaslighting, pain, blood and injury, interns & internships, power dynamics, flirting, perversion, pet names, Patrick Bateman's POV.

WORDS: 2.4k

A/N: Hello my dears! This story is based on Hospital AU by @peepoo79! Since the first day I saw her Hospital AU comic I was obsessed with this idea so I decided to write it! Since I am not a doctor myself, some things might not be that accurate to medical standards, but I am always open to critique. As always, I hope you enjoy it! Also, many thanks to @mothhmannn for the amazing Patrick art!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

October 28, 1987.

Today started so shitty that I didn't even want to go to work, but how could I? I was a fucking surgeon who was supposed to save lives, and when I finally arrived at St. Pierce's Hospital, several nurses crowded around me and started bitching about some shitty stuff I didn't even care about.

"Dr. Bateman, your intern has arrived and is waiting for you in your office," one of the nurses said, handing me a folder of papers. "They seem to be very shy, so please treat them right."

Scowling, I took the papers and nodded. "Uh…Thank you."

Without further ado, I walked past another nurse and down the long corridors, avoiding all of my coworkers as I tried to concentrate on the music blaring from my Walkman headphones. Stopping at the door to my office, I made sure my hair was neatly slicked back before opening the door and stepping inside to see a beautiful person sitting in the chair. The blue medical uniform fit them so well that I even wanted to compliment them, but I stopped myself and just offered them a handshake instead.

"Well, hello there, my name is Dr. Bateman," I smiled and continued to examine my new plaything. "It's...uh...nice to see some young blood in our hospital these days."

You were embarrassed so quickly, probably from such a warm welcome, which was more of an exception for me than a regular thing.

"Thank you, Dr. Bateman...it's an honor to be your intern," you replied politely, trying to hide your nervousness as your hands visibly shook. "This hospital is so...amazing! Literally everything I have seen so far is amazing...including this office!"

The office did look luxurious. Everything screamed wealth and prestige, including the wooden desk and a high-end clock on it, the way you looked at the white leather couch in the corner of the room probably sent shivers down your spine, and somehow I really hoped it did.

"So...when can we start?" You asked as you watched me flip through your portfolio, my face stoic, blank, and absolutely unreadable.

As I stopped flipping through the documents and frowned to add some tension between us, I looked at you stealthily out of the corners of my eyes, and when I saw you chewing on your lower lip, I smiled in wicked satisfaction, but that smile never reached my eyes.

"It's very inspiring that you're so eager to get started," I said, placing several pages on the desk, then picking up my Montblanc pen to make some notes. "I see you've been studying pretty well...considering your grades."

Another shy chuckle fell from your lips at my words. "Oh, I did my best," you replied, settling more comfortably in your chair. "Although I didn't really want to reflect on my college years."

"Why?" I asked, writing down all the personal information I could get from your file, including your address, phone number, blood type...

"It was..." your voice wavered and you paused, causing me to look up at you again. "...hard as hell."

"As it should be. Our jobs require hard work as we carry a huge responsibility on our shoulders," I grinned, closing the folder before I could see the name of the college.  "So where did you study exactly?"

Just as you were about to answer, a loud knock on the door rang through the office and I couldn't help but grumble in anger.

Can I have a break, for fuck's sake!

"Come in," I almost barked, my attention shifting away from you as I saw a nurse - one of the hottest hardbodies in our hospital - walk in. "Courtney? What happened?"

"Dr. Bateman..." She walked over to my desk, completely ignoring your presence. 

"Yes, Courtney?" My patience was about to explode if she didn't answer right away.

"I know you told us not to bother you with non-emergent cases, but other surgeons are busy," she stammered as our gazes met, her blue eyes seeming to brighten even more. "We have a girl whose hand is so full of broken glass, can you please examine her?"

I sighed before glancing quickly at you, a little impressed that you still hadn't said a word. "Does she have insurance? How old is she?"

"Uh," Courtney hiccuped, looking at the patient's medical card. "I checked her insurance, it's valid and... she's nineteen."

"Nineteen?" I replied, suddenly feeling excited. "Well, I think this can be a good start for your internship. What do you think?"

Courtney seemed to finally notice that we were not alone, her plump lips pursed back into a thin line, and I really wanted to laugh at her reaction, but I told myself to stay professional. 

"I'm ready when you are, Dr. Bateman," your suddenly confident voice sounded so challenging that it struck a chord in my chest and brought back a long forgotten feeling of thrill. "I'm sure we'd make a great team under your guidance."

How sweet.

I managed to hold back puke at such a silly, saccharine statement. It reminded me of the cliché every doctor used whenever someone asked them why they chose to work in a hospital.

'Oh, we want to save people's lives! And we're not doing it because doctors have almost the highest salaries in the country!'

I grinned insistently, reveling in my own sense of superiority.  "All right then," I stood up and put on my doctor's coat over my custom-made scrubs with my initials on them. "Courtney, give the medical card to the intern."

The woman froze in shock. "But...but I thought I would assist you..."

I rolled my eyes as I checked myself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of my scrubs and pulling up the sleeves a bit to reveal my Rolex. "I think I made it very clear that your help won't be needed this time.”

If we were alone, I would probably just boff her before doing my work and that would help me get rid of her until the next time, but hell no, now I had a pain in the ass. And why should I have to teach an intern when I didn't even ask for one?

Meanwhile, you were waiting for me at the door, holding a medical card to your chest as if Courtney or I were about to snatch it from your hands. After I was completely satisfied with my appearance, I pinned my ID badge to my chest and walked to the door, trying not to stare too much at Courtney's ass while she was doing something at my desk that I never really bothered to know.

"You know what," I stopped suddenly before leaving. "Wait for me here," the blonde nurse turned to look at me, still bent over the table. "We'll discuss your new assignment."

A few minutes later, we finally entered the Surgery Division, and since you were a newbie here, I had to guide you all the way, telling you some things from time to time, and at some point I realized that I didn't really hate it, because I could blather on about being a super professional surgeon, and this whole place being mine.

Just like the whole hospital.

"I think this is our ward," I muttered and opened the door to let you in. " C'mon, don't be shy." I pushed you forward a bit before closing the door behind you.

The patient—a young red-haired girl with big green eyes whose tight top stuck to her chest so that her nipples poked out—looked at us the moment we entered the ward. 

"Oh, finally," she mumbled in sheer annoyance, her right hand covered in blood-stained bandages. "I was beginning to think everyone had forgotten about me."

Still nervous, you cleared your throat and quickly looked down at the medical card. "Sorry for the long wait, Miss...Miss Ray," you managed to smile, even though you looked like a patient who was afraid to get treatment, but not her, "My name is (y/n) and this is Dr. Bateman, he's one of the best surgeons in this hospital."

One of the best?

Your slightly incorrect comment made me furrow my brow, but in the next second I was smiling seductively at the girl whose scrutinizing look I couldn't miss. She was pretty attractive, hell, just the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra made her attractive. 

With practiced ease, I put on medical gloves after washing my hands very meticulously. Then I glanced at the patient's medical card, not taking it in my hands, but letting you hold it for me.

"Can I take a look?" I finally asked, taking a seat next to the examination table and putting the mask on. Carefully I began to unfold the bandages, the little whimpering the girl made gave me undeniable pleasure. "Well, that doesn't look too bad," I said when I could finally see the wound, and several pieces of glass had sunk quite deep into her flesh. "How did you manage that?"

The girl blushed as I began to examine her forearm, moving higher up to her shoulder, though it wasn't really necessary. I just loved how soft her skin was, as much as I could tell by feeling it through the elastic material of my gloves.

"I...I accidentally broke the mirror." She replied, her breathing uneven and her pulse quickening as I took a moment to check her. "My name is Liza, by the way."

I chuckled charmingly before turning to look at you, as you stood behind my back, watching my work very intently. "Can you bring me forceps? And...a scalpel?"

"Scalpel?" You replied a little confused.

"Yes," I confirmed and repositioned Liza's arm for better access. "And I'll also need a suture kit."

The girl tensed at my words that I would need a scalpel. "Is it...necessary?"

"Hmm?" I hummed, asking her a silent question while you busied yourself with preparing the instruments. 

"A scalpel...are you going to make an incision?" Liza asked, giving me a pleading glare, her fear was palpable in the air and I couldn't help but savor it.

"I just want all the instruments to be close by in case I have a need for them, that's all. Now please relax." I murmured this with fake sympathy before resuming the examination, pressing down on one of the shards and making Liza whimper. "Shh, it's okay."

The redhead frowned in pain. "It hurts...doctor...it hurts so much!"

When I heard you return, I removed my fingers from the wound. "All right, no nerve damage and that's good." I smiled, obviously lying, my hand was already extended, ready to take the forceps.

"Your forceps, doctor," the way you said 'doctor' made my eyes glow with a mischievous spark. "Clean and sterilized, just like the scalpel and suture kit."

"Very well," I replied, feeling a chill in the metal in my hand. "Put them here," I tapped the spot on the examination table, wondering how you would do that. "And where's your mask?"

Confused, you stuttered. "Oh...yeah...sorry," you mumbled in embarrassment before putting on a mask. "I'm still a little nervous."

Liza knitted her eyebrows in a skeptical way that almost made me burst out laughing.

Okay, now I'm really starting to like this.

"Don't worry, my pill fairy," I watched you place a metal tray with instruments on the spot I showed you. "It's your first day in the hospital...it's...always a little nerve wracking."

As soon as I said it, you stopped in your tracks, and even though your face was covered by the mask, I was pretty sure you were so damn embarrassed that I was going to burn my finger off your cheek. You didn't make any comments though, which made me a little frustrated, but I didn't show it, I took the forceps more comfortably in my hand and began to remove the broken glass from Liza's shaky arm. The way I used the instruments was always mesmerizing - a work of art - as some nurses said, including Courtney, but today I was trying my best because I wanted to impress you. Shard by shard, I took them all out without causing any pain, something I usually couldn't find anything to be proud of.

"Done," I muttered, throwing the last piece of glass into the steel bow. "You took it so bravely."

The redhead smiled tiredly, trying not to look down at her hand. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," I allowed you to clean the wound with the antiseptic and dab it with a swab. "It's my job, after all. Now, (y/n), can you please show me how you were taught to make stitches?"

"Of course, Dr. Bateman," you replied without hesitation, and this kind of obedience seemed to become my personal drug.

Standing up, I took a moment to admire how your uniform accentuated all of your curves, especially the roundness of your ass and the arch of your hips.

Shit, maybe I shouldn't have let Courtney stay in my office?

With these thoughts I leaned against the white wall and took off my mask as I suddenly felt a strong urge to smoke, luckily I still had the box of cigars my father had brought me from Cuba. I imagined inhaling the sharp scent of snuff when Liza's sudden whimper pulled me out of my trance.

"Can I have an anesthetic?" She asked, squirming in her place as she watched you prepare a suture kit.

"Just a local one," I muttered, a bit annoyed. "That will be enough. (Y/n), what should you do before using anesthesia?"

My question made you freeze. "Ask the patient about any allergies?"

"Right, but in this case you can find all the information on the medical card," I took off the gloves and took the card in my hands. "Well, I don't see anything that would prevent us from using bupivacaine."

As Liza sighed with relief and I watched you take a syringe, I had to admit that I was amazed at how carefully and attentively you worked.

Maybe you're not gonna get kicked out of the hospital as fast as I thought.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[muzansfangs]

hii ogm!! i'm loving the drink event and can't wait to see more stories! i wanted to request a manhattan with muzan (fem reader) where muzan is a politican, similar to in Kimetsu Academia where hes a politican!

sorry if i wasn't being to direct!

feel free to deny the request etc and have a great day! <3

The grass is greener on the other side.

Starring: Muzan Kibutsuji x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, age gap between Muzan and the reader but the reader is 21, corruption kink, anal sex, modern au, unprotected sex, mention to reader stretching herself out before the encounter, pet names, slight degradation, use of handcuffs;

Plot: You knew only one thing for sure and thus was that Muzan Kibutsuji was your father’s rival. With the incoming election day, you were busy running errands for your father, when you found yourself face to face with the devil himself. From that infamous night, you always found yourself tangled into the silky bedsheets of Muzan’s bed, allowing him to strip you off of your sense of self-preservation, dignity and purity with every secret meeting.

Drink chosen: MANHATTAN (anal sex, corruption kink, handcuffs, shy reader);

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT | RULES FOR THE EVENT

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"Dad, I can't make it to the conference in time. My flight got cancelled. I'll take the next one in the morning" you blatantly lied to your father, eyes staring at the golden number decorating the white door of the hotel room you were supposed to meet the reason of your little defection at.

It was not the first time you abandoned your duty as the daughter of a man running for becoming the next Prime Minister to follow your lecherous whims. You felt ashamed of yourself, when this started. You were not that kind of girl, but this man had clearly brought out the worst in you, convincing you it was perfectly fine to fight for what you wanted. To be a little selfish was essential to live without regrets.

Even if your choices would have hurt and disappointed the ones you loved.

But if they did not know about your whereabous, they would have not suffered, right? Therefore, here you were, telling lies to the man who raised you, spoiled you and treated you like a princess since the day you were born. All of this for the sake of a secret affair with his younger rival, the very man he was competing with to conquer the hearts of the electors.

“Don’t worry, honey! You have already done so much for me. — your father reassured you from the other side of the phone, causing your stomach to clench as the remorse ate you from the inside out — You will attend the next one” he exclaimed confidently, while you fluttered your eyes close and nodded your head mournfully. If only he knew where you were, if only he saw you now, wearing that scanty dress to please Kibutsuji, he would have undoubtedly watched his perfect little girl turn into a stranger, a backstabber deserving nothing but vituperation.

“I’m sorry, dad. For real. I’ll be rooting for you anyway” you said with a tinge of sorrow in your voice, right before knocking on the door and hearing the sound of footsteps approaching it from the other side.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you will. I really have to go now! Take care” your father said then, right when two piercing red eyes locked with yours on the threshold of the hotel room you deemed as nothing more than the Gates of Hell.

Your breath was suddenly stuck in your throat and you barely forced yourself to end the call with a “Bye, dad” before Muzan snorted and stepped aside to invite you in. He was visibly displeased at the sweet way you had whispered the epithet rightfully reserved to the man you shared the same blood with.

He hated the fact that you were his daughter and, if he had to be honest with himself, he had decided to lure you in his den to get back at him. At least, at first. Horrified at the idea of growing attached to you, something that had inevitably already happened, he tried to act distant, but you constantly made it hard to let him consider you nothing more than a cheap harlot. Why? Those eyes of yours, your shyness, were endearing to say the least.

“You can’t stay away from me, can you?” he mocked you, closing the door behind you and watching as you kept your eyes transfixed on the polished marble floor under your shoes.

“I wish I could. It’s not that simple” you whispered, shrugging your coat off of your shoulders and abent-mindedly hooking it on the clothes hanger.

The moment your voluptuary curves were exposed to his gaze, you felt it. Shivers ran down your spine, while you did not dare to turn around and face him. It was unncessary, anyway. He walked stauntered towards you like a predator, his hands searching for yours as he pressed you against the wall. His cologne intoxicated you, while his hot breath fanned the shell of your ear in a scandalous way that made your thighs squeeze together. Planting your palms to the wall before you, he intertwined yours fingrs and nuzzled your cheek with his pointy nose.

“I think it’s true what they say. The things we love are frequently the ones that destroy us” he murmured in your ear, his lips tracing your jawline hazardously.

No matter how many times you had crumbled at his feet, granted him the chance to break you down and build you up again, his touch left you always in a haze. Your cheeks heated up, a knot between your eyebrows, as you tried to hide your face from him. If only you could understand how much that tender trait of your personality drove him nuts.

“Don’t hide from me” he stated, surprisingly tenderly as he reached his hand up to wrap it on the back of your neck.

His grip was secure, when he forced you to crane your neck to meet his gaze. His lips captured yours shamelessly, hungrily, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lap at your parted lips and enter your mouth with the same confidence he held when he walked on a stage. Arrogant and unhinged, demanding and never coy he snaked his arm around your waist to make sure your back was flattened against his firm body. Timid moans fell from your lips, sounds he galdly swallowed, whilst leading you towards the king-sized bed at his back.

Lifting your lids to peer up at him, you hesitantly turned around to be face to face with him and your hand cupped his smooth cheek to run your thumb over his cheekbone. Theoughout the time you two had spent together, you had learned to read his body language. He never gave you the chance to be the master of your sea, but he did not disdain small attentions that oulked the strings of his heart. He had almost given you the impression he was touch-starved, as a dog who had been forced to just bark and growl all of his life and showing off his sharp fangs to keep potential threats at bay.

Muzan had barely opened up with you about his past and personal life. All that he asked of you was someone to keep his bed warm at night, even if you had to crawl into the darkness with him to quench his thirst for you.

You kissed him again, slowly, making sure your bodies were pressed up, that not an inch stood between you two. He reciprocated your attention, careful to remark how you were merely able to take the initiative because he had reluctantly allowed you to. You would have never forgotten it anyway. Not when his hands unceremoniously tugged the straps of your dress down your shoulders and proceeded in ripping it apart. You gasped, the sound of the garment coming apart at the seams making you knee buckle.

Muzan flicked his gaze up, tugging the ruined item down your curves to expose your body to him. The way you bit onto your lower lip nervously, still striving to avoid his plum red eyes made him want to ruin you over and over again. Every single time you two met, Muzan stripped you off of things he had yet to touch. Today was not an exception.

“What? Are you sulking over that dress? – he taunted you, quirking a dark eyebrow up before unbuckling his belt hastily – Ask your dad to buy you a new one. After all, he would be ecstatic to shower you in gifts” he bitterly commented, discarding the leather item onto the floor and shoving you down onto the bed by pushing onto your midriff.

His cold touch made your skin sizzle and your mouth went dry, when you lifted yourself up on your elbows, watching him stride to his suitcase and delving his hand into it, rummaging to draw something out.

“Or you wish it was me the one who sent gifts to you, huh? I bet you do. But, mon chéri, you know your dad would toss them into the bin. Therefore, I am forced to give you something else. Something your dad cannot see” he bantered again, his words sounding like a dagger in your heart, words representing the lyrics to the melody played by some metallic object clinking in his hands.

With your heart thrumming into your chest, you let your eyes wander to figure out the source of the chiming only to feel your breath hitch in your throat, when you found out they were shiny handcuffs. The look on your face spoke volumes, your body shuddering in anticipation as you kept on switching your focus from the object dangling from his index and his face.

Mischief twinkled in his eyes, watching in delight as you shifted your position on the bed in sheer desire and pure terror of exploring your tastes, terrorized to find out that you were probably as deranged as he was.

“You are noxious to me. You’ve poisoned me. I should not be here and let you mess me up” you uttered, sitting in a kneeling position on the snow-white sheets of the bed.

Muzan grinned and grasped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, face dangerously close to yours as he grinned at your face “Then why are you here? Why are you not in the crowd rooting for you daddy, huh? You’re royally screwing up, darling” he cooed, forcing you to lay face down on the bed.

With your cheek pressed against the rose-scented blankets, you chewed on the inside of your cheeks in a spiral of self-deprecation. He was right. You had deliberately chosen to follow him that infamous night and, much to your dismay, the following ones. It was all on you and your greedy heart, hypothetically assuming you still had one in your chest.

Muzan climbed on the bed behind you, his hands reaching for your wrists and pinning them togther behind your bed as he slapped the cuffs around them, factually preventing you from moving your arms freely.

“Have you done what I had asked of you?” he then inquired, hands already slipping underneath the waistband of your thong and dragging the thin item down your thigh.

“Yes, I did” you whispered, ashamed of yourself as he hummed in return.

The things you had done for him, things that had not even crossed your still innocent mind made you want to rip yourself apart. But how? How could you blame yourself for wanting him?

“Splendid. — Muzan chimed, reaching for something behind him on nightstand — Just relax. Look, I’ll let you see your beloved daddy while I fuck you up, alright?” he sarcastically taunted you, as you began to put the dots together. The remoter, he had grabbed the remoter. He remembered the exact hour your dad was supposed to speak to the Country.

Sweat beaded your forehead as you squirmed underneath him, a hoarse chuckle rambling from somewhere deep into his chest as the screen of the tv projected the smiling, proud face of your father. His eyes seemed to bore right into yours as Muzan fumbled behind you with his pants and grasped your hips into his calloused hands.

“Ah, look at him. My rival has a good taste in neckties. Where does he buy them? Marinella? Those are surely italian-coded” the raven-haired man behind you noted, deliviring another unfathomable kick in your guts.

“You are a bastard” you whispered, eyes widening as he pressed the girthy tip of his cock against your puckered hole. The stretch left you breathless, eyes watering in the process. Frankly, seeing the face of your father partially blurry was far way better than having a clear vision.

While Muzan grunted, makinf sure you could feel every inch of his cock dilating you, the words your dad said made you choke out an uncontrollable sob.

“My sweet daughter could not be by my side today. Her presence is a blessing. Hopefully, she’s now somewhere out there to bless someone else’s day. I love you, sweetheart!” your father said and there was a burst of applause to echo throughout the room.

Wincing softly in pain, hips rotating to accomodate to the intrusion in your most private area, you had to endure the way Muzan sneered and began to rhythmically thrust into you, a crazed expression on his face as he pounded into you without much care of your condition “Oh, you have no idea. Her ass is a fucking blessing, sir” he mocked your father, earning a stifle moan from you.

You wished you could space out, but it was impossible. The stimulation you were receiving was driving you mad. The pain gradually subsided, causing a series of unbridled moans to erupt from your throat. Drool was running down the angle of your mouth, back arching convulsively, as you heard every words your father said and felt every comment Muzan made.

“Fuck… Nah, I’m going to have to send my regards to your father, kitten. — he rasped out, giving you one last thrust, before pulling out with a groan and releasing onto the small of your back — After all, I’m going to steal his lucky charm from him, once I beat him” he whispered after a few seconds.

Trembling, astonished, you closed your eyes and laid there with a drained expression on your face. Muzan Kibutsuji was going to be the death of you.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! The third request for my event is done! Honestly, I hope you’ve enjoyed this one as much as I did. Why? Guys, come on, it reflects my main story “Guilty pleasure”. I felt like I had deprived you of ‘Politician Muzan’ for way too long not to write this one as soon as possible. Now, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @doumadono @axesfordays @tomorika-pura @cursetopia @the-dark-creature @yazzzmints

[jadegretz]

Elisa Maza: Champion of the Gargoyle Clan by Jade Gretz

A guttural groan echoed through the labyrinthine tunnels below Manhattan, a sound that crawled up Elisa Maza's spine like a spider weaving a web of terror. The air hung heavy with the stench of damp earth and decay, a stark contrast to the cool, fragrant night air she'd just left behind.

Elisa, clad in her sleek, black gargoyle form, cautiously navigated the darkness. Her keen night vision usually painted the world in shades of grey and blue, but down here, in this forgotten network of abandoned subway tunnels, even her exceptional eyesight struggled to pierce the oppressive gloom.

The source of the groan came further down the tunnel, a pulsating red glow emanating from a gaping hole in the wall. As Elisa drew closer, a wave of nausea washed over her. The stench intensified, revealing a macabre tableau – a twisted mass of writhing tentacles, pulsating veins, and an eyeless head that swung back and forth like a grotesque pendulum.

It wasn't a monster out of a gargoyle legend; it was something far worse, a creature born from the darkness itself formed by the city's ever-growing pollution and despair. This was a Shadowspawn, a being that thrived in the absence of light.

Elisa's heart pounded against her ribs. This wasn't a rogue werewolf or a deranged Xanatos scheme. This was something new, something terrifying that threatened the very fabric of the city.

Before she could formulate a plan, the Shadowspawn lunged, its tentacles lashing out with a sickening wet thwack. Elisa barely dodged the attack, leaping back with a snarl. The creature screeched, a sound that resonated within her very bones.

A fierce battle ensued. Elisa, agile and quick, used the cramped space of the tunnel to her advantage. Her claws and fangs, honed by centuries of night-time vigilance, ripped and tore at the pulsating flesh of the Shadowspawn.

But the creature was relentless. Its tentacles, oozing with a sickly green slime, were surprisingly resilient. Each time Elisa landed a blow, it seemed to only enrage the Shadowspawn further, its red glow intensifying with its …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[oldguardleatherdog]

The Night Before the Tribute In Light

September 10, 2003

I.

One month ago today, this long-forgotten photo suddenly popped up in the photo app on my laptop. I took this photo with my Sanyo clamshell phone on September 10, 2003, 21 years ago tonight, from Hudson River Park in Manhattan.

Don't ask me how it survived all these years or where it's been stored all this time or how in the world it could have found its way to me from the long-dead storage servers of a long-defunct cell phone carrier. We're in the penumbra of The Anniversary, and time is out of joint.

I had been back in New York for about a month (after getting violently run out of the place I was staying by a fellow who is now one of my closest friends), homeless and living in that roach-infested HIV crack-house shelter at 96th and Broadway that I describe in "The One Decent Thing I Ever Did" (it’s archived on this blog), and you can imagine my state of head and spirit at this moment, the night before the 2nd anniversary of the terror attacks on the World Trade Center that drove me from my home in Lower Manhattan, four blocks east of the site.

I was sitting on a bench in Hudson River Park on the West Side of Manhattan, somewhere near Houston Street, maybe ten or fifteen blocks north of World Trade. I hadn't noticed these beams of light as I walked, and I think they might have just been activated while I was sitting there. As I recall, it was a full moon in Virgo, and I was positioned just right to snap this shot. I had *no* idea what this was all about, as I recall, but I thought the image was so striking and affecting that I wanted to capture it.

As it turns out, this was the tech run-through for the first September 11th installation of the “Tribute In Light”. Here’s Google’s AI summary of this remarkable memorial:

So there I was, just two years after the blast, stunned by this sudden, mysterious apparition rising from just south of what was still a giant, messy hole in the ground. I was still not fully myself at that time and would not regain my full memory or sense of who I was until the following January (therein lies a tale!), and as I recall I was just numbly stunned, not knowing what to make of it.

As I write, I’m getting the physical sense memory of that moment: the dog in me (my medulla oblongata speaking) feels his hackles rise, it’s not what I expect to see filling the hole in the sky, is it another attack? Do I bark at it, sound an alarm, run towards it, away from it, why is there light there, is this some unholy ruse, another trick being played on me from that big smoky hole where nothing but poison has spilled out for the longest time?

My phone rang. It was a fellow that I had met and hung out with in San Francisco while I was stranded there, and I was stunned to hear from him, especially at that moment. “Hi Dave… well, right now I’m on the riverfront looking at the damnedest thing… [I just wanted to make sure you were ok] hey, thanks for checking in… yeah, take care bud.” I closed the phone and started walking south along the riverfront, toward the light beams.

When I got there, I saw the massive banks of klieg lights assembled in their arrays, a strange and unfamiliar (unwelcome) echo of the shapes and the placement and the footprints of the place I loved so well.

The faces of the artists who surrounded the lights were intense, focused, sober. I still didn’t quite know what was going on, but there was profound reverence in the air, on those faces, at that place, as the beams of pure white light soared upwards, past the point of naked-eye discernment, unending, likely petering out tens of thousands of feet off that spoiled piece of ground, perhaps piercing the ionosphere, did they get clearance from the Federal Aviation Administration for this? Are pilots being disoriented by these columns at 45,000 feet? Do they touch the feet of God?

II.

And I kept walking south, my back to the light,

Down to the oldest part of the civilized island,

Past the Battery, the bronze bull, the buttonwood tree,

The Port of New York dead ahead,

The Staten Island Ferry terminal, ramshackle, ancient,

Entry restricted by terror tape and armed sentinels

No two uniforms alike, a panoply of enforcement,

Heavy weapons at the ready, so jarring in my neighborhood,

And the working dogs with the keen snouts, the trained muzzles,

Jumping up to paw at the brown bag in the soldier’s hand

Is that peanut butter? Apple? Hunk of cheese?

Let’s play! You’ve been so serious, so worried,

You smell sad and scared, are you lost? Let’s play!

Even Cerberus needs break time, belly rubs, treats!

For the first time in weeks, I smile to myself

As I round past the ferry, those strange lights at my back.

Hope I can sneak past the turnstile downstairs,

I won’t have to hike back up three hundred blocks

To that awful low place. Did you know roaches bite?

They shit on you too. Try to sleep, fully dressed,

Watch cap pulled low on my head, long sleeved shirt

Buttoned up to the collar, heavy pants tucked in boots,

Gloves on my hands, one more night without food

Half-bag of speed takes my mind off the pain

Sleep comes in fits if at all. – On the train

Dreading the stop: ninety-sixth street and Broadway.

Tomorrow, this city will jack itself off

In performative weeping and gnashing and cursing

Oh, how we loved them! I snort in derision,

You didn’t lose nothin', you pieces of shit!

Let the dead bury the dead. Beams of light

Don’t feed this refugee reeking of ashes -

What, do I smell bad? So sorry to stink up

The place where you’ve laid out the feast for your friends

Who still have their jobs, their high homes in the towers

Behind the glass doors where your larders are stocked

With the food that you bought with your government money

That flooded your midtown Manhattan apartment

With all the new clothes, electronics, the sausages

Fresh from Enrico’s, Zabar’s, D’agostino’s,

Bought with the Victim’s Fund money you stole

When you filed your claim. “OMG, it was awful!

“I couldn’t get up to the fifty-fourth floor,

“I had to find shelter on Upper Park Avenue.

“Power was out. I was homeless that night!

“So glad that my friend who was shopping in Gramercy

“Gave me the number to call for my claim

“September 11th was horrid! I told them

“I couldn’t go home for two nights! Oh, thank God

“The claim got approved with a wink and a nod

“And no one’s the wiser – I’ve never been south

“Of the Plaza Hotel! That all happened on Wall Street,

“Who goes down there? Jesus Christ, are you kidding?

“That’s four miles away! Christopher, are you coming

“Or what? Reservations at Nobu won’t wait

“For you or for me, so quit primping!”

The pain

In my stomach, relentless. My gorge won’t stop heaving.

Am I gonna make it? Damn, *ouch!* What the fuck…

The tooth that I hoped would hold out just gave way,

Fuck me. Another huge hole in my grille.

When I made six figures and lived in a high-rise,

Fuck buddies laughing on Saturday night,

Nobody told me that one hundred minutes

And two hijacked jet planes would make such a difference.

No one will laugh with me now – my best friends

Are yelling and angry, how dare I show up

Sweaty and toothless, a walking reminder

Of September tenth. No, I’m not gonna feed you.

III.

Now, twenty years later, they’ve retooled their memory:

“Animal! Damn, dog! We’ve missed you, you know,

“Wow, you’re alive! You look fabulous! Listen,

“I never gave up on you. Give a call

“When you come to the City. I want you to meet

“My beautiful husband – he remembers you too!”

IV.

Twin beams of light where the Towers were anchored,

Okay, not exactly precisely those spots,

But who’s gonna criticize? Look and recall

How majestic they were. Yeah, the new One World Trade

Is cool, I suppose – no one mentions the absence

Of Two World Trade Center. Insurance, you know.

Not enough money or civic ambition,

And Bloomberg discouraged it. Why add a target?

“Don’t you think sixty or seventy stories

“Are more than enough? Hell, let’s just get it done.

“The sooner we finish construction, the better.”

V.

*There will never be lumens of adequate volume

Sufficient to seal that hole in the sky,

But the hole in my heart I will finish, I tell you.

Walk with me as I go forward. Tomorrow

I’m back in the studio. Tonight, we can play!

You smell like apples and – damn, is that chocolate?

(our light beams shine upward forever)

"Good boy!"

Animal J. Smith

San Francisco, California

September 10, 2024

[philokaliist]

'Fragments Of A Broken Heart'

Clarisse La Rue x DaughterOfApollo!Reader

WARNINGS!!:Angst,mentions of death,actual death,sad ending,r!dies.

Basically reader dies during the battle of Manhattan and Clarisse tries - but can't cope with it.

A/N:For the record,Idk what gave me the impression I can write angst but here we are.Another quick drabble for you <3

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting warm hues across Camp Half-Blood as Clarisse La Rue and you,a daughter of Apollo, strolled hand in hand. The air was filled with the joyous laughter of demigods and the distant sounds of swordplay. The serene moment was a rare refuge from the constant battles and impending prophecies.

As you and Clarisse enjoyed a quiet spot near the edge of the camp, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it a sense of tranquility that belied the turmoil within the hearts of the campers. Little did you both know that this tranquility was but a fleeting respite before the storm.

Days later, the foreboding shadows of war darkened the camp. The Battle of Manhattan loomed,and demigods prepared for the ultimate clash against the forces of darkness.You and Clarisse stood side by side, determined to face whatever came your way.

The battle raged on, and the clash of celestial bronze echoed through the streets. Clarisse fought with the fierce strength bestowed upon her by Ares, while you,guided by Apollo's grace,wielded your weapons with a precision that spoke of years of training.

In the midst of the chaos,you and Clarisse briefly locked eyes,a silent promise passing between you.Little did either of you know that it would be a promise that fate had no intention of keeping.

As the battle reached its climax,a monstrous force emerged, threatening to overwhelm the demigods. The odds seemed insurmountable, and yet the campers fought with a tenacity borne of desperation and hope.

Then, as the tide of battle shifted, Clarisse's heart sank. A gut-wrenching scream pierced the air, cutting through the chaos. Her eyes widened with horror as she saw Percy and Annabeth cradling your lifeless form, the color drained from your face.

Time seemed to freeze as Clarisse sprinted towards the scene, her mind unable to comprehend the devastation before her. A wave of disbelief crashed over her, the battlefield turning into a surreal nightmare. Her steps grew heavier with every stride, the weight of impending grief settling upon her shoulders.

Percy and Annabeth looked up, their eyes filled with sorrow, and Clarisse's heart shattered into a million pieces.The world blurred as she dropped to her knees beside you, her hands trembling as they reached out to touch your cold skin. The reality of your absence washed over her like a relentless storm, leaving her breathless.

She wanted to scream,to deny the cruel fate that had torn you away from her.Tears welled up in Clarisse's eyes as she clung to the hope that this was just a nightmare,that she would wake up to find you safe and sound.But the battlefield remained, stained with the echoes of a battle won at a devastating cost.

Clarisse's grief erupted into anguished wails, her cries blending with the cacophony of the battlefield.The demigods around her paused in their mourning to acknowledge the loss, the weight of the tragedy sinking deep into their souls.

As the camp eventually celebrated their hard-fought victory,Clarisse remained at your side, a broken and inconsolable figure. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and the world around her blurred as grief threatened to drown her.

In the days that followed, Clarisse became a mere shadow of her former self. The once indomitable warrior now struggled to find purpose without you by her side. The camp, sensing her anguish, gave her space, allowing her to grieve in solitude.

As the days turned to weeks and weeks turned into months, Clarisse struggled to find a new normal.The wound remained open,a constant reminder of what she had lost.

One night, as the sun dipped below the horizon,Clarisse found herself in front of your grave.She clutched a pendant you had given her, a small token of your love, as if it could somehow bridge the gap between the living and the departed.

Clarisse stood in front of the weathered headstone, her gaze fixed on the etched words that spelled out a name she never thought she'd see on a gravestone - Y/N.The air was heavy with the weight of sorrow as she traced the letters with her fingertips, a desperate attempt to connect with the reality she wished was just a cruel nightmare.

"You always had this knack for getting under my skin, always pushing my buttons," Clarisse muttered, her voice barely audible above the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. "But damn it, you made me feel things I never thought I could." she traced her fingers along the name etched onto the grave,before speaking again.

"I miss you so damn much," she whispered, her voice barely audible.The weight of your absence pressed on her chest, and she longed to hear your voice, to feel your touch one more time.

In the quiet moments of solitude, Clarisse clung to the memories of your laughter, your touch, and the warmth of your love. The absence of your presence gnawed at her, a relentless ache that refused to be quelled.Nights became an unending stream of sleepless torment as she replayed the haunting image of your lifeless body over and over.

"I wanted to run to you, to scream your name, but the chaos of battle held me back. And then, just like that, you were gone," Clarisse's voice wavered, a sob escaping her lips. "I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye."

"...I can't do this without you,I can't," she whispered into the void, her voice a raw plea to the cosmos. The stars remained silent witnesses to her grief, offering no solace.

"I should've protected you. It's my fault," she whispered to the night sky, her words carried away by the wind.The guilt gnawed at her, consuming her from the inside. The realization that she couldn't save you haunted her every waking moment.Clarisse's once fiery spirit flickered like a dying flame.The camp, once vibrant with life, now bore the scars of a battle that extended beyond the physical realm.

"I miss you every damn day. I miss your annoying jokes, your stubbornness, and even your infuriating smiles. I miss the warmth of your presence, the way you made me feel alive," she admitted, her voice cracking.

In that moment of vulnerability, surrounded by the echoes of your love, Clarisse allowed herself to break. The raw anguish within her spilled out in heart-wrenching sobs, each cry carrying the weight of a love lost and a future stolen.

"...Why did you have to leave me? Why did you have to go and leave me behind?" she cried out, the anguish in her voice echoing through the empty graveyard.

But she was always wondering a single thing:Were you watching over her?

[xoxobuckybarnes]

Stucky Fic Recs

@gabulinkasposts asked for some Stucky High School, College, and Sports recs, so here are some of my favorites:

High School AU

Lost Boys and Broken Toys (Rated: E, Words: 204K) by KK_Banyu

Summary: When 17-year-old Steve Rogers moves from Brooklyn to Manhattan with his mother, he's eager to attend his new high school and meet new friends. He looks forward to trying out for the track team and involving himself in the visual arts. Although Steve is ready to face any challenge head-on, he still finds himself haunted by an incident from his past--when his childhood best friend disappeared under mysterious circumstances. If Steve leaves Brooklyn now, will they ever have a chance at reuniting? Jamie Pierce has been a resident of Manhattan for as long as he can remember, ever since being adopted at a young age. His memories of his life before then are fuzzy at best. Now 17, he's finding more and more that his home life and relationship with his father are not typical compared to other kids and is struggling to reconcile with these differences. When Steve and Jamie cross paths at school, their spark is immediate, but somehow, both boys share the inexplicable feeling the thing between them is different--more than just a horny, teenage crush, their connection feels deeper, more like coming home. But that's impossible--they've never met before...right?

Then I'd Be Another Memory (Rated: M, Words: 190K) by Kellyscams / @thebestpersonherelovesbucky

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Bucky Barnes has it all. He’s the captain of the basketball team, has a great social life, his choice of ivy league schools, and was just announced as his class’s valedictorian. Senior year is going perfectly. Until he gets assigned to be a peer mediator to Steve Rogers – one of their class’s biggest trouble makers who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut and goes around picking fights with everyone. The last thing Bucky needs is to get mixed up with Steve and his pretty blue eyes and soft blonde hair and heart-melting smile. Even if it turns out he’s not quite what Bucky’s thought all this time. Even if maybe someone just needs to listen to Steve’s side of the story. Even if Steve’s heart is so much bigger than Bucky could have ever imagined. Because Steve Rogers is so not worth becoming friends with. Again. Bucky learned that lesson years ago. Unfortunately, there are some things that Bucky just can’t control. Steve Rogers – and the way Bucky feels about him – is one of them.

Conundrum (Rated: M, Words: 45K) by this_wayward_life

Summary: Bucky Barnes is not popular in the slightest. He's overly sarcastic, has no interest in fashion, and everything about him screams "Do Not Approach". And Bucky is totally okay with that. It's his last year in school, anyway - and unless his entire year level turns out to be evil aliens, he doesn't care about any of them. Then Bucky meets Steve Rogers. Steve is handsome, friendly, sweet, funny and completely irrelevant to Bucky's life. Bucky is determined to ignore him, but Steve has a life of his own - and he's determined to have Bucky in it.

Tripping On Stars (Rated: M, Words: 32K) by goldheartedsky

Summary: When Bucky Barnes finds the school’s golden child, Steve Rogers, passed out and not breathing in the locker rooms from an apparent drug overdose, his world turns upside down. After performing CPR long enough for the ambulance to arrive, he struggles to understand how someone with everything going for him could throw his life away like that. Over the next few months, they grow closer and closer and Bucky starts to realize that maybe they’re both holding onto more secrets than either of them know.

Your Shadow Weighs a Ton (Rated: M, Words: 72K) by me (xoxobuckybarnes)

Summary: Steve Rogers is a little lost in the world right now. His mother is gone, he's about to be evicted, and he's just been arrested. Just when he's about to lose everything, George Barnes, his public defender, rescues him, taking him in, acting as his legal guardian. With a new temporary family, comes a new friend: George's son, Bucky. Bucky Barnes has had a bit of a rough go the past few years. But he's come out on the other side stronger than ever and ready to start his senior year of high school. Even better, he's got a new friend to battle high school with: Steve Rogers. Steve and Bucky have met each other exactly when they needed each other most. Each one is exactly the type of friend the other one needs. And perhaps, there might be something more than friendship on the horizon...

College Au

Alkynes of Trouble (Rated: E, Words: 11K) by yammz / @yammz

Summary: “Doing nothing would be helpful,” Bucky said before he could stop himself. He averted his eyes from what was sure to be another kicked puppy expression. “Look, I’m just gonna be real with you. I can’t fuck up this lab. Fury’s got open positions in his lab, and I need to look good for those, okay? This isn’t just a checked box on my requirements,” he told him honestly. “It’s nothing personal but--” “But you’re smarter,” Steve supplied, a sad smile on his lips. He ducked his head, a motion that simply would not work to make him seem small. He was way too big for that. “I get it.”

Not the Same River at my Fingertips (Rated: E, Words: 11K) by giselleslash / @gigi-gigi

Summary: Steve desperately needs a ride home for Christmas but the last person he wants to take help from is Bucky Barnes. There’s a one night stand gone badly and four years of hurt feelings and misunderstandings between them. Of course there's a road trip home that goes perfectly smoothly.

That Boy Is a Problem (Rated: E, Words: 10K) by 2bestfriends

Summary: In which a twinky little goth punk named Bucky puts a leash around Steve's dick and he's really into it. (The leash is a metaphor. For now.)

He's All That (Rated: T, Words: 88K) by crinklefries / @spacerenegades

Summary: “That one,” Tony says gleefully. “I pick him.” “Him?” Bucky hisses. “Steve Rogers?” “Bet’s a bet,” Tony says smugly. “Make Steve Rogers the class president by the end of the year.” “Motherfucker,” Bucky curses. Then he takes a fortifying breath. He can do this. He’s Bucky Son of A Senator Barnes. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in the front just the way he knows men and women like it. “Fine,” he says. “Okay. By the end of the year. Easy.” *** When Bucky Barnes--son of a state Senator, future president of his fraternity, and co-captain of his college’s soccer team--gets unceremoniously and very publicly dumped at a party, his entire reputation hangs on by the thinnest thread. Drunk and humiliated, he does the only thing that makes sense--he makes a bet with Tony Stark. Now Bucky has the length of the school year to take Steve Rogers--small, asthmatic, environmentally-conscious art nerd, political activist, and complete social disaster--and turn him into the student body president. How many misunderstandings, shenanigans, and college tropes will abound before Bucky realizes that Steve Rogers, well, he’s all that?

Learn Me Hard Oh, Learn Me Right (Rated: E, Words: 60K) by AHM1121 / @love-ha-fge

Summary: “Have you always struggled with math, Steve?” Dr. Potts asked. The blush crept higher as the same shame that he had felt since the second grade crawled up his spine. “You’re not the only one.” She assured, handing the papers back to him. “Luckily, you can get one-on-one tutoring at the student center, your tuition covers two sessions per week.” “Thank you ma’am.” Steve accepted the paper and stood, sliding his backpack over his shoulders. Making his way out of her office he paused when she called his name. “Ma’am?” “Ask for Bucky Barnes.” Her lips turned up at the name. “He’s one of the math majors that I oversee, haven’t had a student work with him who hasn’t passed.” No pressure, Steve thought. “I’ll make sure to do that. Thank you Dr. Potts.” “Good luck Steve.” He didn’t need luck, he needed a miracle.

Home for the Summer (Rated: T, Words: 1K) by Ladyjaybird

Summary: Steve is really glad his best friend Bucky is back from college for the summer. And the little touches and sweet compliments Bucky keeps giving him aren't bad, either. But Bucky is just a naturally flirtatious guy, right? Or is something else happening here? (Spoiler: yes)

Sports AU

Citius, Altius, Fortius (Faster, Higher, Stronger) (Rared: M, Words: 50K) by MarcellaBianca

Summary: Steve Rogers. James Barnes. One, an NHL star with dreams of finally capturing an Olympic gold medal. The other, a former World champion and Olympic silver medalist, now a current coach and choreographer for the top flight figure skaters in the Russian Federation. But before all of that.. they were Steve and Bucky. Until they weren't.

Targeting (Rated: E, Words: 140K) by queenmabscherzo / @queenmabscherzo

Summary: Steve and Bucky end up playing for rival college football teams.

Fixed Links Circumnavigate (Rated: E, Words: 30K) by paperstorm

Summary: Steve’s eyes stay glued to Bucky on the television, and he tries to be happy for him. He tries, with everything he’s got in him, not to feel like in a split second, in 10 little words – the Pittsburgh Penguins are proud to select forward James Barnes – that he just lost Bucky forever. Bucky is drafted into the NHL. Steve loves him in secret, and from a distance. An accident ends Bucky's career when it's barely started, and Steve is left to pick up the pieces.

lane lines (Rated: M, Words: 132K) by sparkagrace / @sparkagrace

Summary: Steve Rogers has spent his entire life swimming and now is poised to take the Wakanda 2024 Olympics by storm. The only thing he’s missing is a friendly rival to help get him there. Enter Bucky Barnes, who doesn’t seem to take the sport quite as seriously despite his raw and enviable talent. Steve hates him. Bucky doesn’t care. That makes Steve hate him more. - aka: the Olympics swimming AU that nobody but me asked for

Okay, so he can play... (pretty's got nothing to do with it) (Rated: E, Words: 50K) by darter_blue

Summary: This is supposed to be Steve's year. He's meant to be taking his team to finals. He's meant to get signed to his dream club. He's meant to have it all. Until in walks the new kid, with his beautiful face and his tiny shoulders and his long hair and his graceful skating. Who doesn’t look anything like a proper hockey player. Who's going to ruin everything. Bucky Barnes is about to bring Steve Roger's world crashing down. And Steve is about to realise that's a good thing. Maybe the best thing that ever happened to him.

Howitzer (Rated: E, Words: 11K) by spacebuck / @spacebuck

Summary: Bucky Barnes, figure skating champion, is forced to switch his skates for hockey ones when he leaves for college. Problem is, he's never played hockey before, and now he has to be good enough to get the scholarship he needs. Enter Steve Rogers, Carter University Men's Hockey player, who's decided that he'd do anything to get this guy on his team. Cue five am runs, overwhelming classes, new friends, plenty of snow, and a sport that's fast becoming a way of life.

Full Count (Rated: M, Words: 50K) by Ink_Dancer

Summary: Full Count: a baseball term referring to a situation during a player’s at bat where there are three balls and two strikes on him. As this is the maximum one can have without either walking (base on balls) or striking out, this is generally expected to be a very stressful situation for both the pitcher and the batter. The pitch that is then thrown on this count is expected to be the one that decides the batter’s fate, and carries with it a certain expectation of change. It’s known as the payoff pitch: it’s the payoff for a long wait. or: a stucky au that takes place in the world of Major League Baseball, in which Bucky is a catcher, Steve is a closing pitcher, and their lives are stuck in a perpetual full count—until life throws the payoff pitch and they end up on the same Dodgers team.

Going Yard (Rated: E, Words: 41K) by Brenda / @brendaonao3

Summary: Going Yard: Baseball vernacular for hitting a home run. This is the love story of shortstop Steve Rogers and pitcher Bucky Barnes, estranged childhood best friends about to be reunited on the same team. This is a love story about New York's other baseball team, the Avengers, and their quest to claim the National League East division title. This is a love story about going home and new friends and team bonding and first loves and how the people you're the closest to can also drive you the craziest. But mostly, this is a love story about baseball and the boys of summer who play it.

Armbands & Bandwidth (Rated: E, Words: 61K) by sopdetly / @poedinson

Summary: Steve Rogers, captain of the Philadelphia Forge and the US Men’s Soccer National Team, keeps his head down and leads his teams quietly but effectively. Carol Danvers, captain of the Philadelphia Marvels and the US Women’s Soccer National Team, sports a pink-streaked fauxhawk, demands equal pay, and is anything but quiet. When Carol asks Steve to start a podcast with her to promote their teams and spread their love of the game, Steve thinks it’ll be a fun experiment and his agent thinks maybe he’ll start showing some personality. What Steve doesn’t expect is to meet a devastatingly hot producer. For his biggest secret to come to the surface. For this one offer to change his entire life.

wholesale change (Rated: M, Words: 83K) by biblionerd07

Summary: Steve Rogers, captain of a losing NHL team, has taken so many bad penalties this season he's worried he's going to get set down to the minors as punishment. His agent comes up with a plan to make Steve irreplaceable to the fans--a reality dating show. Where the contestants want to date Steve.

Lessons in Falling (Rated: M, Words: 28K) by lillupon / @lillupon

Summary: Bucky is a diver stuck in a rut. His synchro partner treats him like a deadweight and his coach keeps threatening to cut him from the team. After his spectacular failure in the FINA World Diving Championships, he’s ready to take a break from the sport. And then he meets Steve, a brilliant newcomer to the competitive diving scene in search of a synchro partner.

Going for Gold (Rated: E, Words: 58K) by me (xoxobuckybarnes) & art by heckalecki / @heckalecki

Summary: A long time ago, Bucky and Steve used to be friends. From the moment they met on the youth soccer field, they were inseparable, bonding over their love for the game and planning for a future together where they both got to do what they love. But Bucky hasn't seen Steve in four years. Not since their friendship ending fight. Bucky achieved his dream, became a professional soccer player, good enough to play for the U.S. Men's National Team. When Steve Rogers shows up to write a book about the Men's journey to the Olympics, Bucky's shocked. And a little angry. Can Bucky and Steve get over their fight? Can they ever have that friendship they once had?

[cranberryjuice-posts]

DARINGGGG GUESS WHO JUST ESCAPED THE ASYLUMMMM

IM BACK W ANOTHER REQUEST POOKIE (YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO IT JS TAKE UR TIME)

OK SO CLARISSE X PERSEPHONE!DAUGHTER (THIS IS ANGST ANGST ANGST) WHERE THEY'RE IN THE BATTLE OF MANHATTAN AND READER IS STABBED SO OBS CLARISSE RUSHED OVER TO LIKE TRY AND SAVE THEM. BUT READER ALR KNOWS THEYRE DYRING SO THEY'RE IKE "its ok it's ok. I'm ginna go see my mother, i'll be fine!

BAWLING

(clarisse is taking over my mid)

HAVE A GREAT DAY AND TAKE CARE OF YOUTSELF POOKIE

- I’ll be back -

Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x Fem! Persephone! Reader

An - just a heads up as I said in my Korra fic this will probably be my last clarisse fic For a while. The hyperfixation and excitement to write for her is slowly going away, I will be writing most all of the request that I do have for her eventually but other than that I will be taking a short break I hope you all understand!

The sky had a thick layer of grey over it. The destruction to manhattan causing cement and other forms of pollution to take over the air.

Swinging your weapon aimlessly you tried to fight off the growing hoard of monsters. It was hard, fighting for gods know how many hours, seeing people you loved and care for die in-front of you and slowly loosing your siblings.

What hurt the most was seeing kids you grew up and laughed with fighting against you. Fighting for a cause that would benefit no one, fighting for what seemed like a dream that was never going to be real.

Trudging into a hidden alley way you lifted up your shirt. Looking down you saw the poisoned arrow shot wound becoming purple; throbbing harder and harder by the second.

Muffling your scream you pulled the dirty bandages off your body, tossing them into a dumpster. Rummaging through the bag at your side you quickly tried to change the dressings.

In the middle of war a second of peace was rare, a moment to asses your injuries was non existent, a chance to mentally reflect on your surroundings ended in death.

Death that forever followed you.

Standing stiff you were almost to scared to look down. If you gas lighted yourself enough you couldn’t feel it, it wouldn’t be true. It was foolish to think that you could of hidden from war.

“Checkmate” a raspy voice behind you whispered. Tyla.. s a daughter of Tyche and a friend who you had always competed with. Simple childish competion that eventually ended in celestial bronze piercing through your gut.

You’ve never been the best fighter but receiving deadly wounds twice in one day was setting the bar low. Pulling her sword out you fell to your knees, a metallic sound swinging in the air and hitting you in the back of your throat.

Tylas rough combat boot pressed your face into the gravel, tears quickly falling out of your face. “See You in hell” sliding the rubber bottom off your cheek she spat on you. Walking away with the intent to kill another.

Laying in the dirty alley way your thoughts went from the pain slowly leaving your body to memories of her. Of clarisse.

Sitting on the doc together where you shared your first kiss at sun down.

The first argument which ended with you both apologizing and laying together.

Sneaking into the ares cabin just to get caught the following day because you accidentally grew dead roses outside her window.

The awkward confession and her asking you on a date.

… the promise you made to clarisse that you would come back alive.

You woke up laying on a mat, a few medics crowded around you and the crying face of the woman you loved above. You couldn’t help but smile, even in her worst clarisse still looked beautiful.

Will reached over and grabbed her arm squeezing it. “She doesn’t have long” he mumbled closing his eyes. “Be quick” he softly spoke, standing up and walking to another kid.

You tried to move but she quickly took your body into her arms. “Hey, hey don’t.. just rest” clarisse tried to stay strong but right now she couldn’t help but loose it all. “You gonna be fine” her voice broke.

Tears began falling from her eyes and hitting your face. Her weak expression destroyed your heart.

Grabbing her shirt as it was the closest you could Get to touching her. “I’m ok… everything’s ok” you whispered. Clafisse just shook her head, the color was quickly leaving your face. “I just have to visit my mom for a little while, it’ll just be for a few weeks ok”

Clarisse brought your body to hers, hiding her face in your neck. Your arms went lip and around you both dead flowers and weeds appeared. As a daughter of Persephone death followed you every where, even in your final moments.

It felt as though the world stopped. That the outside wasn’t real and this all was a bad dream but even the strongest warriors had to accept when the sun came up.

[visit-new-york]

Unveiling the Marvel: 10 Fascinating Facts About the Brooklyn Bridge

Step back in time to the bustling era of the late 19th century, where innovation and ambition converged in the heart of New York City. The Brooklyn Bridge, an iconic symbol of engineering prowess, stands as a testament to human ingenuity. As we embark on a journey to uncover its secrets, let's explore ten captivating facts that will transport you to the enchanting world of this architectural marvel.

When was the Brooklyn Bridge completed?

The Brooklyn Bridge, a testament to enduring craftsmanship, was completed on May 24, 1883. Imagine the excitement and awe that swept through the city as this colossal structure emerged, connecting the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn.

Who was the chief engineer of the Brooklyn Bridge?

The visionary behind this grand undertaking was none other than John A. Roebling, an engineer with a relentless passion for suspension bridges. Tragically, Roebling succumbed to an injury during the early stages of construction, leaving his son, Washington Roebling, to carry on his legacy and oversee the completion of the bridge.

How long is the Brooklyn Bridge?

Stretching majestically across the East River, the Brooklyn Bridge spans a total length of 5,989 feet. Its dual towers loom high above the water, a testament to the bridge's grandeur and endurance.

What are the main materials used in the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge?

The bridge's construction harnessed the power of steel and stone. The towers were built using limestone, granite, and cement, while the span itself relied on a combination of steel cables and iron. This blend of materials ensured both strength and aesthetic appeal.

How many towers does the Brooklyn Bridge have?

The Brooklyn Bridge proudly boasts two towering sentinels, each standing as a majestic guardian at the entrance of their respective boroughs. These granite-clad towers not only serve as structural anchors but also as enduring symbols of the bridge's resilience.

Can pedestrians walk across the Brooklyn Bridge?

Absolutely! The Brooklyn Bridge welcomes pedestrians with open arms. Take a stroll across its wooden-planked walkway and revel in the breathtaking panoramic views of the Manhattan skyline, the Statue of Liberty, and the bustling river below.

Is there a fee to walk or drive across the Brooklyn Bridge?

Fear not, adventurers! Walking across this historic bridge comes with no price tag. However, if you plan to drive, be prepared to pay a toll. But trust us, the pedestrian experience is unparalleled.

What is the purpose of the Brooklyn Bridge?

Beyond its functional role as a vehicular and pedestrian thoroughfare, the Brooklyn Bridge stands as a symbol of unity, linking two boroughs and transcending the waters that once divided them. Its purpose goes beyond transportation – it's a living testament to human ambition and the relentless pursuit of connection.

How tall are the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge?

Stand in awe as you gaze up at the towering giants of the Brooklyn Bridge. Each tower rises to a majestic height of 276 feet, piercing the sky and leaving an indelible mark on the city's skyline.

How many cables support the Brooklyn Bridge?

The strength of the Brooklyn Bridge lies in its cables, and there are a staggering 14,680 of them! These cables, meticulously woven and anchored, provide the bridge with the support it needs to withstand the test of time.

Conclusion:

The Brooklyn Bridge, a marvel of engineering and a testament to human resilience, continues to captivate hearts and minds. Whether you traverse its walkway, gaze at its towers from afar, or simply revel in its historical significance, the bridge remains a living testament to the spirit of innovation that defines New York City. As you navigate its storied path, remember that you're walking not just across a river but through the pages of history itself.

[the-barba-files]

Sweet Dreams (Rafael Barba x Reader)

I am OBSESSED with sweet dreams by Koe wetzel and I wanted to find anyway to bring that into something with Barba, I hope you like it. I have been firing out stories.. might be a little manic haha ___________________________________________________________

The night was painted in hues of deep blue and violet, the city lights flickering against the skyline like stars trying to pierce the urban haze. Rafael Barba sat in his office at the Manhattan District Attorney's office, the glow of his computer screen casting shadows across his furrowed brow. The case files were piled high, and the pressure of his responsibilities weighed heavily on his shoulders.

He had always prided himself on being a dedicated ADA, but lately, that dedication had come at a cost. His late nights were becoming routine, leaving little time for Y/N, the person who meant the world to him. They had shared countless sweet moments together, their laughter echoing through the quiet corners of their apartment, but now those moments felt like distant memories.

Y/N paced in their living room, staring out the window at the city below, a knot tightening in their chest. They understood the demands of Barba’s job, but the loneliness that crept in during his absence was starting to gnaw at them. Every time the clock ticked past midnight and Barba hadn’t come home yet, they felt a little more like an afterthought in his life.

As the haunting melody of Koe Wetzel’s “Sweet Dreams” played softly in the background, Y/N couldn’t help but feel the lyrics resonate deep within. The song spoke of heartache and longing, of sweet dreams tainted by the reality of life’s harsh truths. They thought of Barba—his charming smile, the warmth of his embrace, the way he made them feel like the most important person in the world. But lately, it felt like that world was shrinking, suffocated by his endless hours at work.

Just as Y/N was about to drown in a sea of self-pity, the sound of keys jiggling broke through the silence. The door opened, and Barba stepped inside, his tie loosened and his shirt slightly rumpled. He looked weary, but there was a flicker of relief in his eyes as he saw Y/N.

“Hey,” he said softly, crossing the room to pull them into a tight hug. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of the city air, momentarily easing Y/N’s heartache. But as Barba pulled back, they noticed the shadows under his eyes and the tired lines etched on his face.

“Another late night?” Y/N asked, trying to keep their voice steady.

Barba sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“Just what? Another case? Another reason to put work before us?” Y/N’s voice trembled slightly, unable to hold back the hurt.

“No, it’s not like that,” he protested, stepping closer, his eyes pleading for understanding. “I’m doing this for us, Y/N. You know that.”

“Do I?” Y/N felt the sting of tears threatening to spill. “Because sometimes it feels like I’m the last thing on your mind. I miss you, Rafael. I miss us.”

He closed his eyes, the weight of their words hitting him like a ton of bricks. Barba reached out to cup Y/N’s face, his thumb brushing away an errant tear. “I never wanted you to feel unimportant. You’re my priority, you always have been.”

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling the heat of his gaze steady them. “I just wish you were home more. I need you here, not just in spirit but in person.”

Barba nodded, his expression softening. “I get it. I really do. I promise I’ll try to do better. I want to make this work.”

As the city continued its rhythmic pulse outside, Y/N felt a flicker of hope ignite in their heart. They both knew that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy; there would still be late nights and overwhelming cases. But they also knew that love was worth fighting for, that they could find a way through the chaos.

Barba pulled Y/N into another embrace, their bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. In that moment, the world outside faded, and the only thing that mattered was each other.

“Sweet dreams,” Barba murmured against their hair, the warmth of his breath soothing the ache in Y/N’s heart.

“Sweet dreams,” they whispered back, feeling the bond between them strengthen even as they faced the challenges ahead. Together, they would find their way back to each other, one late night at a time.