#not that I want the people I cared about to be miserable

[softness-and-shattering]

If we're talking a out resale value yeah a lot of craft is crap. But thats not the point of it. The point is we are people and we like to make stuff. I worry that by saying "raw materials are worth more than what people make from it", people will be discouraged from making things.

We at the end of the chain of production are not individually responsible for all the exploitation going on, we benefit from it, but we cant just decide to stop it, we dont have that power.

I dont make things to add economic value. I make things because I like making things. It would be more wasteful to me to never make anything in case I devalue the materials, what bullshit way of thinking is that? And yeah Im not making immaculate high quality anything because I dont have that level of skill or speed, and that doesnt matter to me.

What are we alive for if not to look after each other and make things? To express ourselves and convey what we can of our human experience.

I could withdraw from all unethical consumptiom, by doing so kill myself, and it wouldnt make any difference whatsoever to all the people being exploited. I dont want them to be exploited of course, and theres also nothing I can do about it, and avoiding creating, using materials, would only increase my misery and add nothing useful to the world.

Im so tired of all these posts trying to guilt us into not using resources, not needing resources, as if we can make a difference individually to the global supply train, as if we all have money to throw at slow fashion - which "isnt even slow anymore" - at more ethical fashion, as if if we never ever enjoy anything about our lives or value anything we do or anything we need, that might stop the exploitation.

Misery does not improve anything for anyone. It makes everything worse. It makes us less resilient. Is not the rent we pay to live under capitalism like if you say enough hail marys youre absolved from the harm caused by your life that is not your fault.

Youre allowed to enjoy life. Youre allowed to enjoy making things. There is value in expressing yourself through the cheapest plastickest materials available just as there is with the sheep you sheared yourself and grass fed from the moment it was born. There is value in your life and your existence.

Of course exploitation is awful and everyone should be paid a good living wage whoever and wherever they are. We dont live in a perfect world. If youre reading this and youre a ceo or a supplier or someone with the power to make a change to the system, do it. Everyone else, carry on. Also watch The Good Place. Youre not obligated to be miserable to 'make up for' whatever scraps of privilege you have, thats absurd. Dont be afraid to use materials. Life is for living, things are for using, materials are for transforming. If its sits on your shelf forever than its just a decorative ball of yarn. If you make something with it, thats *yours* and no one can take it from you. Who cares if its crap, its your crap and im proud of you for making it. I hope it brought intrinsic value to you. I hopr you had fun and or learned something and or had relaxation/catharsis in the process. Not everything is about the end product.

I feel like something that doesnt get talked about enough is how fast fashion is coming to hobbies as well. Sure, you can sew, knit, and crochet something better than youd buy in store, but good luck finding quality materials

Want a fabric that doesnt fray from being gently caressed? Want yarn thats not 100% plastic and splits if you touch it wrong? Good luck finding that if you dont have a genuinely good crafts store near you.

Go on any thread where people are trying to figure out where to buy fabric. 50% of it is people saying big stores are servicable, online stores work, or the like, and the other 50% are talking about how bad the quality is or how the quality of a website dropped because it was bought out

Were running into a problem where fast fashiob is so integrated into society that even the ability to make your own, comfortable and long lasting, clothes is being threatened by capitalism

[steddieas-shegoes]

spiderman kiss

for @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up event for Valentine's Day

rated t | 896 words | no cw | tags: fake dating au, fake wedding date, strangers to lovers, fast burn of the century, getting together, first kiss, modern au

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️🕸️

“I cannot believe you fell for this guy,” Robin hisses through her teeth as she gestures to Eddie, who is doing his best impression of a bat by hanging upside down from a tree branch. “You were supposed to bring him to the wedding, not want to marry him.”

“Woah. I said I liked him, not that I wanted to marry him,” Steve whispers.

“For you, that’s basically the same thing.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but she’s right. He may not fall for people often, but when he does, it’s all or nothing. Head over heels. Madly, deeply in love.

Eddie was supposed to be his date for this wedding to appease all the kids, to get them to just shut up already about how single he is and how miserable he is when he comes to events alone. He’s Dustin’s friend, apparently someone just as miserably single as Steve.

He’s weird. Steve likes weird.

He’s loud. Steve likes…his loud.

He’s exciting. Steve needs excitement.

He’s also hot. In a metalhead who didn’t get the memo that the 80s are over, wore jeans and a button-up to a formal event, played air guitar in his seat during the bridal march kind of way.

“He’s fun,” Steve settles on, shrugging. “Aren’t you the one who said I need more fun in my life?”

“I meant, like, a new hobby!”

“He could be my new hobby.”

“Ew,” Robin groans. “Okay. Alright, fine. You wanna be involved with him, be my guest. Dustin says he’s never once seen him in a committed relationship.”

Steve knows. They spent most of yesterday together talking, getting to know each other, making sure they could pass as boyfriends and not people who just met. Steve didn’t care about being single at a wedding, but apparently all of his friends had told Dustin’s mom they were dating behind their backs and now-

“Stevie!” Eddie yells when he notices him talking to Robin at the table. “We could Spiderman kiss!”

Steve glances at Robin, who rolls her eyes and throws her hands up. “Oh my god, just go.”

He stands and walks over to Eddie, who is hanging much lower than he should be for a proper Spiderman kiss. He’s grinning, and his hair has started to fall from its messy bun. Steve cannot believe he’s doing this.

He stands with his hands on his hips, smirking at Eddie trying to hold himself up higher, but not having the strength to do it.

“It would be a lot easier to kiss you if you got down,” Steve says.

Everyone goes silent.

Because everyone who is standing by Eddie– Max, Dustin, Will, and Mike– are all very aware that this was nothing more than a fake date for the wedding. Steve doesn’t need to kiss Eddie when no one is watching; He doesn’t need to kiss even when someone is watching.

Eddie stops trying to lift himself, eyes widening as Steve takes another step closer.

“You’d have to be on that branch to pull it off,” Steve says as he points at the branch about two feet above the one he’s currently on. “Unless I get on my knees.”

Everyone pretends they don’t hear the strangled noise that escapes Eddie.

“You’d get dirty, though. Those are nice pants,” Eddie says, still upside down, face bright red from embarrassment and blood rushing to his head.

“They are,” Steve agrees, laughing as he squats so he’s barely higher than Eddie’s face. “But I have to dry clean them anyway. Might as well get what I’m paying for.”

Steve places his hand on the back of Eddie’s neck and leans in, brushing their lips together softly. It’s awkward because Eddie’s upside down and Steve has no idea how they made it looks so hot in the movie, but-

“This is a turn of events I did not see coming!” Dustin’s new wife, Suzie, claps. “You were so right, Dusty Buns. They’re perfect for each other.”

Steve does what he does best and ignores them, focusing on Eddie, who looks unstable now.

“Do you need help getting down?” Steve asks.

Eddie nods, and Steve moves as quickly as he can to help get him upright so he can climb down. He’s surprised Dustin agreed to an outdoor wedding in the spring with his allergies, but Suzie insisted on having fresh flowers everywhere and would not accept store bought. He’s even more surprised that Eddie, who admitted to having seasonal allergies while they talked at dinner last night, is hanging in trees.

When Eddie’s back on the ground, Steve kisses him for real. A hard press to his lips, tongue brushing against him, teasing.

“Did you climb a tree for attention?” Steve asks him when he pulls away.

“It worked. I can’t be blamed for doing something drastic for you to kiss me.”

“You could’ve just kissed me,” Steve laughs.

Eddie does.

“Still fake? Or can we admit that there’s way more chemistry here than we expected there to be and kiss some more?” He asks.

“I regret doing this. I regret it so much,” Dustin groans as he walks away.

Steve rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t. He’s gonna go do his happy dance where we can’t see him.”

“He has a happy dance?” Eddie asks, smile growing as he leans into Steve’s side.

“Yeah, it’s embarrassing. Let’s go watch.”

[archangeldyke-all]

hii angel! can you write more of the young lovers sevika x butch reader againnn? hihihi

fuck yes, this might be my fave little story we've got going right now

men and minors dni

it's a hot, humid day in the undercity. heat rises, sure, but sometimes the smog gets so bad the heat gets trapped. today is one of those miserable days.

it's horrible. you're sticky and stinky and sweaty no matter what you do. you've considered shaving your head clean bald, but sevika says you'd look like a thumb, so you've shelved that idea for the time being.

the only upside to this heat is having an excuse to strip down to your undies with sevika.

you're trying not to pass out but the combination of the heat, sevika's boobs in one of her old, very outgrown training bras, and the joint you've been passing back and forth are all making you dizzy.

and then, sevika tries to kill you.

"will you give me a hickey?" she asks.

you choke on the smoke you'd just inhaled, sputtering on your spit as you sit up from the couch. sevika snorts and smacks your back a few times as you cough. eventually, you gasp for air and glare at her. "a little heads up would be nice!"

"we're just sitting here!" sevika giggles.

you try to ignore the butterflies raging in your stomach and the heat building up in your cheeks. be cool. you think. please, for the love of janna, be cool. you clear your throat one more time. "but... yeah. i can give you a hickey."

sevika's eyes sparkle, and your heart skips a beat. "really?"

you shrug. "how hard can it be?"

"i'll give you one once you give me mine, if you want." she offers, snatching the joint from your hands. she takes a puff then snuffs it, smirking at you the entire time.

fuck, be cool. "o-okay." you squeak, your voice cracking. sevika snorts and you cringe.

"you nervous?" she teases. you huff and cross your arms in front of your chest.

"no." you lie.

she grins. "you liar."

"you can't just spring a request like this on someone and expect them to be normal!" you squawk. sevika can't stop giggling. the sweet sound of it makes the mortification of this moment a little more bearable.

"s-sorry, sorry." she laughs. "i forget you're such a baby, baby."

you can't even be upset about her calling you a baby, because she called you baby. "i hate you." you lie. sevika grins.

"no you don't, dumbass." she lays down on the couch and stretches out like a cat. "come here." she whispers.

you scramble to lay on top of her. you're both sweaty and sticky and laying on top of her only makes the heat worse. you couldn't care less.

"why do you suddenly want a hickey?" you ask, tucking sevika's hair behind her ears. she blinks up at you dreamily.

"'cause i like making out with you and i wan' other people to know i make out with you." she says simply.

oh. now you feel hot for a completely different reason. "o-okay." you whisper. "so... i'm just gonna..."

"suck and bite, babe."

"ew, sevika, don't say that." you whine. sevika giggles and cups your face, pulling you down to her throat.

she squirms a little as you peck a line down her throat, giggling as you lick up a line of her sweat. but then her hands trail down to your hips, and her legs intertwine with yours and--

you bite her, gently. sevika gasps, then giggles softly. "mmh?" you ask. she understands you, even with her flesh between your teeth.

"i'm good. keep going." she whispers.

you gulp, biting a little harder, letting your mouth close around her skin. she keeps squirming underneath you, giggling and gasping; and she smells like sweat and weed, and you think you might be in heaven. "hmm." you moan against her, and sevika squeaks.

she laughs and smacks your shoulder "okay! okay--"

you pull back, something and proud blooms in your chest at the tiny little bruise forming on her neck. "oh. hot." you whisper. sevika cackles.

"your turn." she says, pushing at your shoulder. you nod excitedly, letting her flip you... only--

"oh, fuck!" you grunt as you and sevika fall off the couch.

the hard floor of your hideout knocks the wind out of you, but you're laughing so hard you wouldn't have had any breath anyways.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

[inseobts]

Kissing in the Rain

zoro x reader

words count: 773

tags: fluff, humor, soft zoro, sfw

masterlist || ko-fi

The rain starts slow. A light drizzle against the deck of the Sunny, cool and refreshing in the warm night air. You look outside the porthole, watching as the ocean melts into the sky in the distance, dark and endless. The sound of raindrops pattering against the wood is soothing, a soft lullaby for the restless.

But then your gaze drifts to Zoro, sitting cross-legged near you, swords resting beside him. He has his arms folded, eyes closed, probably meditating, or napping. With Zoro, it’s always hard to tell.

A memory flickers in your mind, something from a romance book you once read.

A passionate kiss. In the middle of the rain.

Something about the intensity of it, the way the rain mixed with the heat of two people in love, always stuck with you. And now, with the rain falling around you and your swordsman sitting there completely oblivious, an idea begins to form.

A ridiculous idea.

But you don’t care.

Grinning to yourself, you push off the window and go toward him.

“Oi, Zoro.”

He doesn’t open his eye “What?”

“Come with me.”

Now he cracks an eye open, giving you a suspicious look “Why?”

You grab his hand and yank.

Zoro startles, instinctively resisting, but you tug harder “Come on.”

“The hell are you doing?” He scowls, but he lets you pull him up. “What’s gotten into you?”

You don’t answer, just drag him toward the open deck. The rain is heavier now, soaking the floor, making the lantern lights shimmer.

“Y/N,” Zoro grumbles as the first few drops hit him “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

Zoro huffs, stopping in his tracks like an immovable boulder “Oi. He glares at you as the rain quickly soaks through his shirt “What the hell is this about?”

You grin up at him, shivering slightly as the cold water trickles down your skin “I read about this once. Kissing in the rain. It’s supposed to be really romantic.”

Zoro stares.

Dead silence.

You pout at him, looking up at him.

Then—

“…Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.” You step closer, ignoring the way your clothes cling to you. “I’ve always wanted to try it.”

Zoro runs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Y/N—”

You grab his collar, rising on your toes. “Just once?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, rain dripping down his face. His expression is torn—half exasperation, half something softer.

Then, slowly, his resistance crumbles.

“…Tch. Fine.”

Before you can respond, Zoro grabs your waist and pulls you in.

And then he kisses you.

Not the quick, flustered peck you were expecting—no, this is something deeper, slower, something that makes the world tilt under your feet. His lips are warm despite the cold rain, firm yet gentle, his grip on your waist steady like he’s anchoring you both.

The rain pours around you, soaking everything, but you barely notice. Your hands fist into his wet shirt, your heart hammering against your ribs as the kiss lingers, heat sparking between you.

When you finally pull away, breathless, Zoro exhales, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Happy now?” he mutters, voice lower than usual.

You laugh, dizzy from the kiss. “Very.”

Zoro clicks his tongue, but there’s a faint, barely-there smile tugging at his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it” you tease.

He huffs “Yeah, yeah” But his arms stay around you, rain and all.

The Next Morning...

“ACHOO!”

You groan, sniffling into your blanket. Your whole body feels sluggish, your nose stuffed, your throat scratchy. Across the room, Zoro is in the same miserable state, arms crossed as he leans back against the wall, looking pissed.

“Ugh,” you mumble “Why did we think that was a good idea?”

Zoro glares at you “YOU thought it was a good idea. I just went along with it.”

“You enjoyed the kiss” you counter, voice hoarse.

"You should stop reading actually" he says before sneezing.

Before you can retort, the door swings open.

Chopper marches in, doctor bag in hand, looking equal parts concerned and annoyed “You both caught a cold at the same time?”

Neither of you speak.

Chopper narrows his eyes “What exactly were you two doing last night?”

Silence.

A beat passes.

Then, Zoro looks away, scowling. You bury your face in your blanket.

Chopper gasps “You’re both blushing!”

Outside, you hear Usopp and Sanji cackling.

Luffy pops his head in “Ohhh, did you two do something weird?”

“SHUT UP, LUFFY!”

Zoro groans into his hand as your face burns hotter than a fever.

Maybe kissing in the rain wasn’t the smartest idea.

But, honestly?

You’d totally do it again.

[transificationbeem]

This assumes all trans men can detransition, too. T has permanent effects. Surgery has permenant effects. What exactly do you think they do to us when they cant "fix" us? Do you think they'll just shrug and let us go on being a threat to their Vulnerable Confused Female Population? No. And yes its not just trans womem painted as converting trans men. They dont give a shit which one you are when you're "corrupting the youth" and "transtrending" and "confusing their daughters." One of transphobes favorite cards is "they learned it from their friends to fit in. All these autistic girls SUDDENLY turned into men! Its spreading like a contagion!" They've written books on this. Prager U and JK Rowling wouldn't shut the fuck up about it, just to name a few well known transphobic mouthpieces on social platforms.

In the real world? Outside the fucking internet? I've literally been banned from the house of someone in my neighborhood for "confusing their daughter" [verbatim!] That guy didn't give a fuck what I called myself. I was just some freak transgender to him. Not all of us fucking pass, some of us never will or don't want to, and even those that pass—that shit isn't a guarentee. Some of us pass for fuckin' neither, but no-one wants to hear that.

And what do you think the consequences of barring trans men from life saving medical care related to pregnancy and reproduction ARE? Daisies and roses? It's bleeding out coz you were denied care by your insurance. It's dying in a back alley abortion. Its forcing you to die in childbirth because birth control is illegal, abortion is illegal, and the fuckin' gynocologist doesn't welcome people that don't pass as women. It's systemic medical malpractice and violence. It's your insurance denying coverage because you have "M" on your documents but its an "F" problem.

They don't just want to "save" us. That's the shit they say with their mouths, not with their actions. Why are you believing TERFs and radfems about how they treat trans men over our own damn words and experiences?

Society wants trans people either miserable and in the closet or dead no matter what gender they are. They're just a little more focused on making trans guys into their fucking baby machines, rather than outright violence, and I'm unsure why anyone is treating that as a plus and not horrifying in its own right. Are people really out here saying I'm privileged because my oppressor would rather rape a baby into me than murder me? (While they're criminilzing abortions and miscarriages?)

Whats not fucking clicking.

"Trans men aren't targeted by anti trans rhetoric and law."

Trumps executive order to ban gender affirming care mainly fearmongers about trans boys not being able to give birth or breast feed and calls transitional surgery "female genital mutilation".

When we say we are invisible, it's not that we are invisible to the people who hate us. It's that our struggles are invisible to the people who should be advocating for us.

[ohnoitsnoma]

here’s something

[goodlucktai]

tossing pennies in the pool

rottmnt word count: 4k pairing: mikey & OC, mikey & woody title borrowed from the 1 by taylor swift part of the archer au  i had initially started to write this for someone who requested mikey & gio in the good timeline. but i managed to completely miss that they had specifically requested the good timeline and wrote this in the true neutral timeline instead. 'what is the true neutral timeline?' good question :)

He was ready. The sooner he left, the sooner he could come back. Mikey on the other hand looked so pale and miserable that Gio couldn’t help but tell him, “If you really don’t want me to go, I’ll stay.” 

in the true neutral timeline, Mikey asks Gio to stay.

x

Gio’s late. 

Mikey’s trying not to be an insane person about his little brother missing an unofficial curfew. Teenagers do that sort of thing all the time. Especially fiercely independent teenagers who practically raised themselves, who chafe at structure because at the wrong angle those supportive struts and load-bearing beams probably look a lot like a cage. 

It’s just. His fiercely independent teenager doesn’t do that sort of thing at all. 

Gio is a lot of things, and somewhere at the very top of that list is ‘traumatized’ in bold, italic, underlined, all caps, size twenty font. Mikey doesn’t know the details, but he knows that Giorgio is terrified of breaking rules that don’t exist. He’s always searching for that line he can’t cross, that step too far that will put him in that dangerous familiar territory where the unwanted end up. He is certain that the line exists. 

When Gio says he’ll be home by ten, he’s home by ten. He’ll make it home like his life depends on it. 

Mikey heroically manages not to look at the clock for a full three minutes. A spiteful 10:43 stares back at him from the stove range when he does look. He refocuses on the pan he’s scrubbing, and doesn’t think about the calls and texts that have gone unanswered, because then he really will lose what’s left of his composure. 

It’s hard. Mikey’s trying to find the line, too. How much attention is too much? When does Mikey go from supportive to overbearing? He wants Gio to know that there’s someone thinking about him, someone who worries about him when he’s late, but he never wants the little spotted turtle to feel smothered or dread walking through the door. 

Gio was looking forward to dinner. He didn’t say it, but Mikey’s gotten pretty good at reading his microexpressions. The kitchen smells like baked mostaccioli and garlic bread and all of it’s untouched and going cold because Mikey’s stomach is in knots. 

Footsteps down the hall announce Raph a few seconds before he leans through the doorway. His eyes slide from Mikey to the empty seat at the island Gio usually occupies and he blinks. 

“Where’s the kid?” he asks. 

Mikey jerks one shoulder in a shrug, buried elbow-deep in soapy water. He doesn’t want to talk about it to someone who doesn’t care. The thought instantly feels mean and unfair, an ugly shape where it sits in his head, but at least it’s ugly where only Mikey can see it. 

In his periphery, he sees Raph frown. Whatever he might have said is cut off by the sound of a call coming through on Mikey’s phone. This dream isn't feeling sweet, we're reeling through the midnight streets—

Gio’s ringtone. Mikey looks urgently at Raph as he wrestles his wet rubber gloves off. After half a second of trepidation, his older brother picks up the phone and accepts the call. 

“Hey,” he says, uncertainty evident to anyone who knows him. To anyone who doesn’t, he just sounds largely disinterested, like he’s greeting someone he’s familiar with but not close to. It’s not the way Raphie, of all people, is supposed to sound while talking with his baby brother. Then his tone changes abruptly, brow furrowing. “Who is this?” he rumbles. 

A wailing klaxon and spinning red lights are going off in Mikey’s brain. That’s Gio’s ringtone, that’s Gio’s phone calling, who has his phone?

“Put it on speaker,” he manages to say normally.  

“—in pretty rough shape,” a stranger’s voice is in the middle of saying, audibly nervous. Mikey’s heart is pounding in his ears. “It was supposed to be an easy job, a simple delivery—building supplies for the festival next month—but no one told us the lumberyard was cursed. We strolled right in like a troupe of clowns.”

There’s a lot to absorb here. Apparently when Gio isn’t home, he’s working in the Hidden City. Which—fine. He’s allowed to do that, if that’s what he wants to do. Nevermind that he doesn’t need to, that his needs will all be provided for from now on, that he doesn’t have to scrape survival together all by himself anymore, because that’s what his family is for. 

He’s eighteen—or so he says. Mikey would never call the kid a liar to his face, but he has never shaken his first impression of Gio, which was that he looked like an underfed fifteen year old.  

Any kid passing through foster care in the yokai world, whatever that looked like, would have plenty of reasons to lie about plenty of things. Trying to pass himself off as older to age out faster is not beyond the realm of possibility. It even makes an unfortunate amount of sense. But if that’s the truth, Mikey hasn’t earned the right to hear it yet. 

All of that goes on a shelf in the back of his mind for the time being. The more pressing matter is—

“Cursed?” Mikey demands. Something rattles in the kitchen and Raph looks at him sidelong. “Gio?”

“Oh, hey, are you Mike?” the stranger says, apparently hearing something in his tone that they didn’t hear in Raph’s. “His emergency contact is saved as a Mike. He didn’t want us calling anyone for him, but, uh, I don’t make a habit of leaving teenagers passing out on the side of the road? So I stole his phone. Temporarily.” 

The rattling gets louder, and Raph’s sidelong look turns into a head-on stare, but all Mikey can think about is his kid. His Georgie. Vulnerable and unwell and at the mercy of people he doesn’t really know. Too stubborn and far too careful to trust the goodness of anyone’s heart, to let them close enough to help. He’d rather crawl home. 

It’s not Gio’s fault. That unkind world he got shunted off to when he was a baby chewed him up and spit him out and left him in the shape it left him in. What’s left of him is what survived. 

“He’s in and out of it, but I’ll tell him you’re coming next time he wakes up?” the voice says. “You, uh, you’re coming, right?”

Another Krang invasion couldn’t keep Mikey away. 

Several things clatter to the counters and the floor all at once and Mikey barely notices. He steps on a loose rolling pin and lurches gracelessly, saved by the huge hand that catches him by the back of his shirt. Raph lets him go, only to snatch the keys he’d been beelining for off their hook before he can get to them. 

He passes Mikey his phone, but not the keys, and leads the way to the garage. 

The good samaritan promises to stay on the phone until they arrive, agreeable and unbothered by losing a good chunk of the rest of their evening after a pretty shitty day at work. Gio rallies once or twice, but not for very long, and he sounds very grumpy when he does. His pissed-off turtle noises in the background are adorable, and do more to soothe Mikey’s worries than anything else. 

The curse was temporary and largely harmless, according to the representative from Witch Town who arrived on the scene to put out metaphorical fires. The sawyers had incidentally cut down a copse of trees they shouldn’t have, and the spirits who lived in it took issue with being soundly and unfairly evicted. They put a mean-spirited spell on the timber that caused disorientation like the kind they had felt when their homes had suddenly collapsed—but, the voice on the phone reports to Mikey, the spirits did feel bad about it when they saw a kid was involved. They coughed up the remedy pretty quick after Gio hit the ground. 

The whole thing is so typical of the chaotic, quasi-lawlessness of the Hidden City that Mikey almost wishes it had been a nefarious scheme just so he could feel something constructive, like anger with somewhere to go, instead of just dizzying, directionless panic. 

“But he’s okay? He’s fine?” he presses for probably the fifth time. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s one tough little turtle,” the stranger says at once.“I thought he was gonna take my whole arm off when I tried to help him up. Like, genuinely, it scared the hell out of me.” Somewhat distantly, the tough little turtle in question grumbles something Mikey can’t make out, and the stranger replies, in a tone that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on April teasing Donnie a lifetime ago, “Yes, you. You’re scary. All five feet of you.”

In his periphery, Mikey sees Raph lose to a reluctant smile. 

They’re in Hidden City limits within twenty minutes, following both S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s pin on the GPS and the stranger’s somewhat unhelpful attempts at directions. The road they’re on ends in a gravel lot, vehicles blocked from going further by a traffic barrier. Mikey’s out of the van before Raph has a chance to put it in park, off like a shot, looking for landmarks. 

“You—uh, I think—I’m not trying to make assumptions, I know families come in all shapes and sizes, but I just saw a turtle with a ponytail, like, fly past me, was that you?”

Mikey backtracks, taking the left he initially skipped over. Down a narrow, winding city street, past closed shops and open bars, all the lit windows creating a checkerboard pattern on the street, blocks of yellow light that Mikey moves through one after another, only slowing when he’s right in front of a miserable pile of spotted turtle curled on the bottommost step of an employees-only entrance. 

There’s a tall yokai standing guard from a careful arm’s length away, but he may as well be a part of the scenery at the moment. All of Mikey’s attention belongs elsewhere. 

Gio’s forehead is pressed into the side of the handrail, spotted brow furrowed. Given that his resting expression gives the impression that he’s perpetually ticked off, Mikey can understand why a stranger might think he looks mean. But all Mikey can see is a sick kid who didn’t quite make it home before his legs gave out beneath him. 

Every molecule in his body is compelled urgently to scoop Gio up off the ground. He knows better.

“Hey, Georgie,” he says, cramming his phone into his pocket. “Are you with me, buddy? Can you hear me?”

When there isn’t an immediate response from his little brother, the stranger pipes up, “He comes out of it every few minutes. Here’s, uh, his phone?”

Remembering the other yokai exists, Mikey turns without standing, putting a protective shoulder firmly between his brother and the stranger, and takes stock of them. 

They’re tall and broad, with a distinctive square head, canine snout and floppy ears sticking out of a haphazard mass of yellow curls. Later, Mikey will know the coloring of their fur is called orange belton, common in setters. For now, he just thinks the warm brown and white splotches competing for space across their face are cute. Like an enthusiastic painting project. 

Most disarmingly, they’re wearing a vintage orange and blue Knicks hoodie. 

“Oh, shit,” Mikey says without thinking, accepting Gio’s phone from their outstretched hand. “You’re a New Yorker.”

Their uncertain smile slackens a bit in shock, then widens. “Yeah, man! Queens, born and raised.”

Now that Gio is safe in front of him and he has an iota of brainpower free to think of anything else, Mikey can hear the accent loud and clear. It’s stupid, but it causes a big chunk of his guard to go right down. This guy’s practically his neighbor. 

Since they aren’t going anywhere until Gio rouses enough to give anyone permission to touch him, Mikey settles in. To his surprise, the dog mutant settles in on his free side. 

His name is Woodrow Dirkins, he’s a year older than Mikey, and he mutated when he was fifteen. 

“I used to walk dogs around my neighborhood for extra cash,” he says with a remarkable amount of good humor about the whole thing. “Something stung me, and the next thing I know—well, getting Daisy back home to my neighbor without getting the cops called on me was, uh, not easy.”

“That must have been scary,” Mikey says softly, what’s left of his heart going out to that poor kid whose life got turned upside down without warning all those years ago.

“Definitely wasn’t how I’d have chosen to spend my summer,” Woody admits. “But it would’ve been a lot worse if I didn’t have my sister.”

He’d gone home eventually, because he was fifteen and he had to go home. His sister caught him climbing through the window, furious at his disappearing act first, and then horrified at the state of him. But his frightened, tearful stammering restructured her initial panic into older sibling caretaking mode that superseded everything else. She dragged him into her arms and locked him in a hug until his shuddering breaths evened out. 

Her first words about it had been “That goddamned Daisy.” And it surprised Woody into laughing. And they had figured it out together. 

“Finished high school online, got my bachelors in English the same way. Virtual tutoring helps in a pinch, you know, when there’s too much month at the end of the money, but gigwork in the Hidden City is what really pays my bills,” the dog mutant says, folding his gangly legs so that a passerby doesn’t have to step over them. “So no judgement, genuinely, I’m literally in the same boat. It’s just—Gio here is, uh—he works a lot, huh?”

Mikey’s mouth firms into a thin line. “Which is news to me.”

At that point, a deer yokai trying to leave the building they’re loitering at shuffles down the employee steps and then hovers awkwardly behind them. Mikey looks up at her and she immediately clambers over the railing and goes around them. 

“You’re kind of intense, huh,” Woody says. He’s smiling as he says it, curls falling into his eyes. 

In another life, they probably could have been friends. 

A quiet noise next to him steals all of Mikey’s focus. Gio lifts his head from where his forehead was braced on the railing. It takes him a minute to find Mikey’s face. His eyes are dark and muddy, slow to focus. When they do, his mouth turns down a little more in the corners. 

He looks the way Mikey looks when he’s trying not to cry. That’s how Mikey knows for certain that the poor kid isn’t feeling like himself. Curse remedies tend to cling like a bad hangover. 

“Sounds like you had a big night, Clementine,” Mikey goes on, his voice low and calm. “Ready to go home?”

“Didn’t want him to call,” Gio says, matching Mikey’s volume. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

Mikey’s little brother, everyone. He got cursed and didn’t think that was worth a phone call. Painfully self-conscious and overly cautious, lingering on the fringes of belonging because he wouldn’t know the first thing about barging right in and demanding his brothers’ time and attention, the way all of them grew up doing. 

It’s yours, Mikey wishes he could make Gio understand. You’re supposed to have it. We’re supposed to take care of you. 

“You never bother me,” Mikey says instead. Leo used to have a specific tone for wheedling Mikey out of a funk, a sternness that was so absolute it looped back around into silliness. It always made grumpy box turtles laugh despite themselves. Mikey tries to sound like Leo as he adds, “And even if you did, even if you were the most grumpy, annoying, high-maintenance little brother on the planet, I would still break a million laws and burn down the entire Hidden City and become the yokai’s most wanted just to get to you two minutes faster.”

Woody snorts. Gio doesn’t look convinced, because of course he doesn’t—but he untucks his fists from his tightly folded arms and takes Mikey’s hands when they’re offered. 

“Don’t burn it down,” he says seriously. “I work here.”

“So I’ve heard,” Mikey replies. “And we’re gonna have to have a fun talk about that once I’m a hundred percent certain all your insides are where they’re supposed to be. But for now, how ‘bout we blow this popsicle stand? There’s baked pasta at home with your name all over it.”

Gio blinks, eyelids heavy and sticking, and follows his hands toward the ones holding them, leaning until his big brother is the only one responsible for keeping him upright. Task assigned, Gio’s eyes slip closed and the tense line in his shoulders go lax and the whole of him gets abruptly heavier as he falls asleep. 

Sometimes Mikey is forcefully reminded of how much Gio trusts him, even though he’s done laughably little to deserve it. He didn’t not call because he didn’t think Mikey would come for him—just the opposite. And that’s not ideal, it’s something they still need to work on, but—

Mikey wraps his arms around the smaller turtle the way he’s wanted to since the second he first laid eyes on him, snug and tight and safe. 

It’s not ideal, but it matters so much. 

“The witch had us all put down our phone numbers so she could contact us about side effects to look out for,” Woody said quietly, “but that tough guy of yours took off as soon as we got the all-clear.”

“Of course he did,” Mikey said with exhausted affection. 

“I could forward the text to you when I get it?” Woody offers. He manages to look flustered through all that silky fur. It’s so easy for him to be kind, to take the risk and reach out. He’s painfully likable, the way Mikey used to be likable. 

Mikey presses his cheek to the top of Gio’s head and holds onto what sometimes feels like the only person he has left to hold onto and tries not to think about used-to-bes. Tries not to think about all the ways he falls short anymore. Tries not to think about all the people he’s let down. He failed once when he was a teenager in such a big way that he got stuck in the rut of it and never stopped. 

He already wishes for a hundred impossible things in a day, so what’s one more? 

“That’d be great,” he manages. “Thanks.”

He senses Raph before he hears him—even if he hadn’t, Woody’s faint “holy cats” would have been enough of a cue. Mikey doesn’t know how long his big brother has been hanging back, waiting for the right moment to approach, but if he had to guess he’d say probably since about ten seconds after Mikey got here. 

His silent offer to take Gio while Mikey exchanges numbers with Woody is perhaps the most surprising thing that’s happened all night. He cranes his head back to stare up at him, trying to remember one—even one—instance of Raph willingly reaching out to their formerly-estranged little brother. 

Raph’s expression is complicated, too many things going on for Mikey to parse before it smooths out again. “I got ‘im, Ange,” he says, more rueful than anything. “I know a thing or two about relocating sleeping turtles.”

Words notwithstanding, it’s been a long, long time since Raph has carried a smaller turtle anywhere, and he’s remembering how to do it in real time as Mikey passes Gio over. One big thumb brushes over a spotted shoulder. Raph at twenty-seven is a giant of a mutant, and Gio is next to nothing next to him, and holding him probably feels like being slingshot back in time. The slim curve of his black shell fits in Raph’s arm perfectly. 

“Don’t drop him,” Mikey orders. 

“Hey,” Raph says, only slightly too brittle to pass as playful, and Mikey doesn’t know which one of them he’s trying to convince when he goes on, “Raph would never.” 

And he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. They make it back to the van without incident, Mikey’s phone feeling oddly heavy in his pocket, weighed down with one new contact. Raph doesn’t speak up again until they’re halfway home. 

“He seemed nice,” Raph comments.

“Do not,” Mikey shuts it down. 

“Okay, okay.” A blissful fifteen seconds of some Top 40s song on the radio goes by, and they stop for a crosswalk light, and Raph says, “He did, though. Seem nice.”

Woody was nice. He looked out for Mikey’s little brother, and stuck around to keep Mikey company when it would have made more sense for him to wash his hands of their whole situation the second he was free to. He didn’t question any of the things Mikey was halfway braced for him to—the black snaking marks on Mikey’s arms that he didn’t think to cover up on his mad dash out the door, the dozens of faded scars on Gio’s hands and arms that wouldn’t look out of place on a profession pit-fighter, the overly-cautious way Raph handled Gio, like he was a bomb that might go off any second. He just made light-hearted conversation and let Mikey exist beside him. He didn’t know who Mikey used to be, he didn’t need anything from the person Mikey was now. 

“The nicest thing I could do for him is stay far, far away,” Mikey says to the passenger seat window. “Since the only thing I know how to do for people is let them down.” 

“That has never been true,” Raph says immediately. The raw hurt in his voice makes Mikey feel wretched and small. “Everyone who knows you is so lucky, Mikey. And we all know it. We know how lucky we are, sunshine.”

Mikey curls his shoulders up to his ears and turns his face more firmly away. He’s too old to cry but the window won’t tell anyone.

Much, much later—after Gio has been herded into the living room and bundled onto the sofa, a big bowl of reheated pasta in his lap that he manages to soldier through—after he mumbles, halfway into the Lou Jitsu DVD Mikey put on, “I thought I heard Raphael. Was he here?” and then dozes off again before Mikey can come up with a good answer—after Donnie makes a frowning appearance in the doorway, observing the pile his two little brothers make on the sofa like he’s conducting the world’s easiest headcount before wordlessly taking himself away again—after all of that, Mikey’s phone chimes.

Woody🌼🐶 I told my sister about being literally cursed at work and she spiraled and ordered like ten dozen cookies as restitution???  <attachment> Woody🌼🐶 She says half of them are for your brother and i cant stress enough that she is the type of person who chooses violence at the earliest opportunity so like I need you to come get these before I eat the wrong one and take my life into my own hands

Against his will, and despite his better judgment, Mikey smiles.

[dolche-tejada]

"I respect shirakumosolos opinion because he's realistic"

Saying villains shouldn't get an happy ending because it's unfair isn't realistic, it's just moral. And claiming these villains deserved to die because "an eye for an eye" isn't either, it's the classic edgy teenager bs you can find everyday on the Punisher subreddit.

"and I also see what you're trying to convey but the world didn't work like that."

Yes and that's kinda the problem in MHA. The Hero Society is consistently framed as heavily fucked up but in the end, problems are either swept under the rug or superficially addressed. Yet Horikoshi treats this situation as if everything was fixed or soon to be when no, shit barely changed.

"You are disappointed with the ending of the manga because the Hero is alive and well after they save the world from the villains."

Nope, I'm actually disappointed by how villains are either dead or incarcerated for life in miserable conditions despite Horikoshi spending hundreds of chapters building up themes and a development for them which should have logically resulted with them being saved.

If a story promise its audience something only to do a 180° at the last minute and pretend it was the logical conclusion, it's perfectly legitimate to call out this bullshit for what it is.

And since this is the topic of this post, I'm also annoyed by how Horikoshi unfairly favored the heroes with a blatant lack of consequences for their actions and stakes overall while the villains suffered from them at every corner. Not by the heroes winning a conflict they were obviously going to win at the end...

"Villains who caused the mass destruction in Japan, which in turn cause harm to the public."

Which doesn't change anything to my point. Yes the LoV committed atrocious crimes across the plot, it's undeniable. But the thing is it isn't the point, the question wasn't about whether they should be forgiven or if they deserved a redemption. Hell Tomura, Toya or Toga never even asked for that to begin with, none of them seeked forgiveness (at least not for killing people).

Their entire point was about them being saved by Deku, Shoto and Toga, this was literally their arc but they weren't. Horikoshi can sugarcoat that with all the "Toga was truly happy thanks to Ochako", "Toya got to reunite with his family" or "Tomura got his soul saved by Deku", it's just narrative gaslighting.

Despite all his speeches about trying to understand and rescue Tomura, Deku didn't save him. Worst, he never made a proper plan to save Tomura or tried to talk with him despite this being literally his goal for weeks

The only thing Deku did during the final arc was beating the shit out of him so hard his body crumbled to dust. That and taking a look at his backstory...

Toya spending some time with his family is sweet but it would have been way more coherent if Horikoshi wrote an ending where he was actually saved by them like they textually intended to. Instead of painfully keeping him alive for a few years before passing out offscreen...

As for Toga, I'm pretty sure that suicide doesn't count as "being saved" either, even if it's to save someone you care about.

"I see your point and I truly wanted the Lov to live but they already redeemed themselves by saving the people they care about.

Except again, that was never the point, this story wasn't a redemption one about a group of "evil" characters trying to be better and actually doing so by sacrificing themselves at the end.

It was a story about a new generation of heroes learning from the mistakes of the previous one and improving society by saving villains instead of just beating them to a pulp (something textually framed as wrong many times) among other things.

But again, it just didn't happen. None of them were saved.

"Toga bleeding to death trying to save Ochako not because she scared of Tartarus"

Meanwhile Toga a few instants before sacrificing herself

"because she finally have someone who understands her and sees her. A friend."

And because from her own admission, she knew dying was still better than rotting her whole life in prison, even with Ochako for friend.

"Shigaraki is free from AFO control. Cool."

And he died like 15 seconds afterwards due to Deku beating him into dust so it may just be me but I don't get how he's supposed to be free now.

"No concrete proof that villaint will murder innocent people. Didn't Dabi confessed on the live TV that he killed 30 peoples include innocent people?"

This point concerned Twice, why are you switching the subject on Dabi ?

"The hero shouldn't kill the villain but the villain can kill the hero?"

When your job is literally neutralizing criminals without killing them, that you can effortlessly subdue them at any point and that they are trying to run away, yes stabbing them in the back is rationally not justified, in addition to being also outright fucked up.

"I can't take the logic because look at Batman and Joker."

Yes and Batman isn't in the wrong for not murdering him. I've already had this debate hundreds of times, I won't refute the same eternal bs arguments once again.

"Eye for an eye."

Believe it or not but most modern societies have evolved over the last few centuries beyond this childish and stupid approach of justice.

Also for someone who truly wanted the LoV to live, it's strange that you're reasoning exactly like the people who wanted them dead.

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[justaz]

Yeowch jumping from foot to foot as I throw a hot pan in the air then catch it again as my hands burn

Arthur knowing about Daegal’s importance and significance to Merlin as he watches Merlin cradle the boy’s head and cry silently when he dies protecting Arthur. Merlin insists that he will be the one to put Daegal to rest but it won’t be in Camelot, not under a Pendragon crest which is like a stab in the heart to Arthur’s already heavy guilt at someone dying for him, someone Merlin deeply cared for. But he understands. (Not really - can’t remember if the boy was a Druid or not but I’m gonna say he was because that makes the most sense bc Merlin was referring to the fact that he didn’t want to put another Druid to rest in a kingdom where so many of their kind has been hunted and slaughtered. Arthur thinks Merlin blames him. He doesn’t. Maybe a little but not really.)

Anyways, Merlin sets off into the woods to bury Daegal outside of Camelot, on the border of the kingdoms so he doesn’t belong to any one nation where his people have been killed. He thinks he goes it alone. Arthur follows far behind. Merlin puts Daegal to rest then kneels by his grave long into the night when magic grows stronger and Daegal’s spirit visits him before departing to the Otherworld. He thanks Merlin for giving him something he had not realized he needed - kindness, compassion, love. He thanks him for putting him to rest and says he is back with his mother now, so he’ll be alright. Merlin watches him go and spends the rest on the night still kneeling beside his grave.

When morning finally comes and he gets up to leave, he finds a horse a few yards down the path with a figure waiting for him. Its Arthur. He looks like he hasn’t slept a wink all night. Merlin slowly shuffles over and watches him for a moment before calling out his name. Arthur turns and takes in Merlin’s bedraggled appearance which Arthur mirrors, miserable and guilty - Arthur blaming himself, Merlin blaming himself, Arthur thinking Merlin blames him, Merlin tired from losing people.

Merlin stares for a moment before asking quietly, “You’ve been here all night?”

And Arthur just stares back and whispers, “I didn’t want you to feel that you were alone.”

[babylacedream]

I'll throw my heart out to the ocean tonight

pairing: merman!rafayel x f!thalassophile reader

warnings: suicidal attempt & ideation, mini panic attack, cancer patient, angsy

summary: recently, you were diagnosed with cancer in your heart that would soon take your life. you have been obsessed with the ocean ever since you were a child, and when all hope was lost, you decided to give your heart out to the ocean.

note: inspired by pinkpantheress unreleased song called ocean. i recommend listening, its a beautiful song.

The beeping sounds of your heart monitor and the occasional sounds of nurses passing by were starting to bother you. Even the stench from your hospital room gave you a headache. The bitter-like smell of chemicals made you feel nauseous.

You started feeling breathless, as your chest pain was too unbearable to handle. Tears streamed down your cheeks. You couldn't scream for help nor rid yourself of this ache.

You tried calming yourself by grounding yourself by looking around your room. Many seashells hung up on the white walls. Pictures of whales, dolphins, and turtles.

The throbbing pain in your heart stopped. You breathed with exhausted exhales and inhaled.

You weaky reached for your phone, playing your playlist you kept especially for moments like these. The sound of the waves of the sea, and the moans of the whales carried you as you soon fell asleep on your hospital bed.

The next day was like every other miserable day in this place, getting chemotherapy, having to join therapy groups, and occasional greetings from doctors who have failed you.

Your parents made sure that you were taken good care of and observed carefully after your recent attempt. Their influence reached even the deadliest parts of your life. The life you wanted control over.

You wanted to see the ocean before your inevitable end. You wanted to give the ocean, the most bruised part of your body that failed you. In hopes, that it would make a beautiful seashell that twinkled and basked under the moonlight and stars.

You would hope that it would live on for years and years to come to preserve the ocean.

"Wishful thinking."

One night when the night seemed too quiet and long, you ripped out the IV out of your inner elbow, and blood dripped down your arm. You placed your feet inside your slippers and changed out of your hospital gown to a pink-laced nightgown. Soon, the blood on your arm would stain your nightgown almost as if foreshadowing your doom.

These past few months, you've studied the nurse's scheduled time off making sure when they left, you timed it on your phone. You were able to easily slip by their suffocating watch.

The automatic doors opened as you reached the door of the hospital entrance. A relieving sigh escaped your lungs as you walked out of the place you called, purgatory.

The night sky was darker than the other nights. You requested beforehand a taxi. As you sat in the back looking out the window reminiscing about your life. You knew you would not have regrets.

Your parents? The one time you've ever asked them for anything, you even begged your parents to release you or see the ocean but they refused, deeming it idiotic and selfish.

But, instead of loving you, they used you to gain pity from their supporters to gain an upper hand as a candidate in their political standings. You left a note on your hospital bed, hoping that this would be your last and final way of getting your revenge against them.

Your friends? They became bored when they realized you lost your parent's favor after being diagnosed with heart cancer. Back then, you cried so much but now all your tears have dried out for those people.

"This is your stop."

The driver called out, slipping you out of your reminiscing. You stepped out of the taxi and closed the door.

You turned around to face the ocean, hearing the sound of the waves crashing felt liberating. As the wind was howling, it made your nightgown and hair move against the winds.

At this point, you were losing a lot of blood but you didn't let that stop you. You took off your slippers as if the sand were holy ground, stumbling in the progress as you stepped on the sand.

Your eyes trickled with tears as adrenaline pumped through your body erasing the throbbing pain in your heart. Your feet reach the cold ocean water, and you let your feet get used to the feeling as your toes shift under the sand.

You let out a breathy puff as you felt tears forming yet again. You weren't in tears for your miserable life but for your pass over to the ocean.

"I'll throw my heart out to the ocean tonight. I hope you'll accept me as I am, bruises and all."

You gloomily softly spoke into the wind before walking deeper into the water. Your nightgown became drenched in water as the waves splashed on you. Your nightgown became heavily engulfed by the water.

Your heartbeat pumped so loudly that the sound of the waves was too low to hear. Irritated, you drove under the water completely submerged under the water.

The water filling your ears felt good, for your heartbeat was silenced. Holding your breath, you swam further. You wanted to rest where not even the filthiest hands could ever reach you.

You ascend to breathe before weakly submerging again. When you were far from land, you ascended again to catch a glimpse of the moon and stars above the sky.

"How peaceful."

You thought the waves would be rough, but it was surprisingly calm. Could this be a sign? A sign that the ocean accepts you as you are?

The calm waters and the oceanic smell of salty air consumed you even more; it felt like something was pulling you in, like the current.

It felt alluring, almost like the deep sea lily that hypnotizes and captivates with a sweet smell to only drown its prey with its venomous blooms.

You were starting to cough up blood and grimace at the feeling; it was affecting your blood vessels and spreading to your lungs. Though you were violently coughing, the oceanic waves receded gently.

You had to hurry; you were running out of time. You swam even further in; the surrounding sea was dyed with bits of your blood. You took one last look at the moon and stars and drove underwater holding your breath.

Gravity usually pulls you up, but gravity seems to keep you down. When you were completely surrounded by nothing but your thoughts. You close your eyes, letting yourself float as you sink even deeper.

'Please, make my heart into a beautiful, pleasing seashell that can live on for days and days to come.'

Your nightgown and hair were floating with you as you descended. You hoped that the waters would carry you to a peaceful place. As water filled your lungs, you struggled underneath the hold death held on you.

You never wanted this, never wanted death, but if death meant ultimate peace, you would surely let it take you.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain merman heard you. You, a poor, sicky human, have been accepted by the Sea God himself.

You heard a siren-like voice sing in an ancient language. It was pleasing to hear. You opened your eyes, hoping to see a whale, but it was hard to see as your vision started getting blurry, but you could see the outline of a fish... or a tail? A merman...

You thought you were only hallucinating; how beautiful to see a merman at your approaching death. You closed your eyes again, letting yourself be consumed by the sea.

You felt a pair of hands cupping your cheeks; you wanted to look, but your eyes felt so heavy. The hands caressed your cheeks almost lovingly. Then, it went to your lips, rubbing them with its thumb. A kiss that felt soft and good gave you the gift of breathing underwater.

But you were still dying.

The hands slowly went to your neck, caressing it, and lowered down to your chest in the direction of your heart. You felt the string of fate mend your heart to perfection.

You opened your eyes to see a merman with dusky purple hair and bluish-pink eyes. The merman had iridescent light blue scales surrounding his skin and fish-like ears that you were sure would sting you if you touched them.

You looked down weakly to see an iridescent light blue tail that looked more beautiful than anything you'd seen in your life. You were sure, the merman was about 8 feet. The attracting tail swayed back and forth as you followed its movements.

The merman smiled, seeing how you gazed at his tail. He gently supported you in his arms, lifting your body and wrapping your legs around his waist. The merman didn't want to be apart from you.

His smooth fingers gently raised your chin to look at him. Then, he grabbed your wrists, placing them around his neck so you would feel more secure in his hold.

"I heard your cry. Oh, weary human." A melodious voice spoke with a lamentable expression cascading his ravishing face.

"I have accepted your heart, as is." The merman looked towards your now healed chest, gone from any scars on your body. It's almost like he knew of your suffering. Your miserable life.

"Now, won't you be my bride, mm?" He waited for your answer as he slowly glided his hand down your leg.

"Won't you be mine?" You were trembling; being affectionately cared for by an oceanic ancient creature was transcending.

You simply gave him a slow and unsure nod as you pulled him in for a hug, hiding your face away from him. You heard chuckling escape the merman.

The merman started rubbing your back in soothing motions. This merman saved your life, took your pain away, and mended it into something beautiful.

"This is your home now."

[rocketbaby]

Smoker!Adult Izuku x reader

Izuku is 22+

- chapter 1.

You'd think that Izuku Midorya would be a sweet little thing who always tries to be as healthy as possible but this man is a ball of stress. He started smoking not that long ago. He got forced to try out a cigarette once by some dumb friend of his and since then he kinda caught a liking for it.

He now uses smoking to release his stress. I mean,he had all the motives to do so, could you really blame him? He lost his quirk after the war and he ended up a teacher which is honestly exhausting.. dealing with teens is not easy at all.

Izuku would often go outside during the breaks between his classes and light up a cigarette (or two if he has enough time). He also became a cocky little shit because he knows damn well he looks good. Even if he no longer trains as a hero he still hits the gym regularly, growing in his physical appearance. He's aware that people find him attractive,that's what got him so cocky.

Obviously he knew that his habit was unhealthy but the poor thing went through so much that he got to a point where he didn't care too much about how this was affecting his health. He just needed a way to cope and the cigarettes are having a calming effect on him.

He sat down on a bench,just watching some students play football in the school's sports field. He looked so..worn out?? He probably didn't get a lot of sleep last night(he didn't).

Poor izuku is so tired,he really did try his best to fall asleep , promise ! But he just failed so miserably and he even noticed that he could barely focus on his lessons today.

He sighs as he places his cig back in between his lips, taking in a puff and then exhaling it. The smoke spreads around for a bit before disappearing quickly. Surprisingly,this man has some soft and pigmented lips. They were such a pretty shade of pink,who wouldn't stare at them all day?

Izuku slightly lifts his head up as he notices someone approaching. Were they approaching him? His eyes try to focus a little more, taking in your facial features and your physique. Oh yeah, he knew who you were! I mean..not really,he just saw you around the school a few times but he definitely knew your face.

He takes out the cigarette from his mouth, holding it in between his two fingers as he takes notice of how close you're getting to him,how your eyes are fixated on him. So you are indeed approaching him. His mind started wandering a little,as it always does. What would you want from him anyway? He rarely talks to anyone around the school except for Aizawa, All Might and a few other colleagues of his that used to be his teachers. But you? Yeah he saw you around the school surely,but he didn't personally know you,so what business do you have with him?

As you get closer to him, you just stop in your tracks, standing in front of him. Your eyes wander down to his face, admiring his facial features for a bit. He looked so tough,you could easily tell that he went through a lot without even knowing about his past...but he also looked somewhat pretty? You shake away your thoughts, looking him in the eyes now.

"Izuku Midorya, right?" You asked

He raised an eyebrow as you talked, curious about you. So you knew who he was? I mean yeah he did indeed defeat shigaraki in the war and he became somewhat known.

"That's right" he replies back,his voice sounding slightly sore from all the smoke. He places his cigarette back between his lips and inhales once again.

"Alright well first of all, smoking is not good for you,at all. It's pretty shitty if you ask me,you should throw away the cig. Second of all I just wanna introduce myself" you hold out your hand "I'm [name]"

Izuku slightly frowns. Who do you think you are, telling him what's good for him and what's not? He gives you a weird glance but he eventually shakes your hand with a firm grip. His hands were strong,you could tell. You glanced down at his scars,they looked so cool..but izuku quickly let go of your hand. His back leans against the bench he was sitting on.

"Right..and you're here because?" He asked you bluntly, throwing his cigarette away,not because he cares about his health and what you said but because he thinks it's disrespectful to blow out smoke around people while having a conversation. He assumed that you might not like the smell of it.

You chuckle slightly at his blunt words,gotta admit you didn't expect him to be cheeky with you. "I see you smoking here every day and I'm just curious about you. I wanted to know why you're smoking. It's pretty shitty to do that,it's messing up your lungs,you know?

He gives you a mean look, raising an eyebrow at what you said. Really? That's your reason for approaching him? How sweet of you. He tries to hold back and not rolls his eyes at you.

If you were here to scold him on his smoking he's not interested in continuing this conversation. He sighs

"look..the reason I smoke shouldn't be any of your concern,I don't see how it's affecting you?"

He tells you,still looking at you with a weird glance. He didn't like you too much... thinking you can just jump in and comment on what he's doing. Who even are you? He doesn't know if you're also a teacher here or if you're just a hero sticking around for a bit? It's weird.

As you try to keep a conversation with him,you take notice that he's not interested in what you have to say to him. He's so mean! Why is he so mean,you just wanted to be friends! You eventually just let him be and leave, walking inside the school building.

The next time you two meet is pretty random. You were in a club not very far from your place and surprisingly izuku was there too.What the hell was a teacher doing in a club? You spot him just sitting down in a chair, sipping on his drink. You didn't know he drinks..but at the same time it's not that surprising taking in consideration he also smokes.

His green curls fall over his face, covering his eyes just a bit. You see his Adam apple moving slightly when he drinks,God he was so beautiful. Izuku could feel he was being watched,it made his stomach feel weird and it gave him an uneasy feeling. His eyes wander around the club for a bit, trying to spot who the hell is watching him.

Eventually his eyes meet yours. He stares at you for a bit, processing who you are. His face slightly frowns at the sight of you.

- chapter 2 coming soon, check out my master list

[kittendreaw]

Has Anyone Else Died For You? | Megumi Fushiguro

00: The Devil Within

Words: 1 k

Mainlist

I made myself at home In the cobwebs and the lies I'm learning all your tricks I can hurt you from inside.

Megumi was never a normal kid, and that was obvious to everyone. He didn’t grow up in a family like the other kids’, and he never bothered to adapt to them either.

He was who he was, and he didn’t care what anyone thought of him.

Megumi didn't know how to love, he didn't know how to be loved and he didn't want to learn it either.

He hated that godforsaken shithole of a town, hated the ignorant people who lived there.

To be fair, he’d always thought moving from Japan to America was a terrible idea, but Satoru insisted it was for the best—a quieter life, far from all the bad memories, blah, blah, blah. Megumi couldn’t change his mind, and now he was stuck there.

Maybe it was the day he broke another kid’s nose for making a xenophobic joke about him, or the time a girl called him satanic because of his style, and he threatened to sacrifice her, or maybe when he called his math teacher a bitch—but Satoru eventually realized Megumi was going to be trouble sooner rather than later.

But no matter how many child psychologists he took him to or how many times he tried to talk to him, Megumi never changed. He never even tried. And he was sure he never would.

He didn’t want to be nicer; he didn’t want to fit in; he didn’t want more friends. All he wanted was to get out of that place, which felt like a prison to him.

Even though his shitty attitude made him an outcast, Megumi was rich and good-looking. He stood out, even if it pissed him off. He was smart and mysterious, with that dark aura wrapped in leather and chains. Maybe he was a troublemaker, but he was also magnetic.

He’d always thought there was nothing interesting about that dump—until he saw you.

Soft and sweet, that’s how you looked. The prettiest girl he’d ever seen. But he immediately noticed there was something else beneath that layer of shyness and charm that had everyone eating out of your hand.

If he were as dumb as the rest of them, he probably would’ve fallen for it too. But he was determined to find out what was hiding underneath all that innocence and kindness that made his blood boil.

Maybe because you were a fake bitch, maybe because he couldn't take his eyes off you.

You were everything he hated, A little saint too good for that people, you were just like all the withered ones who lived there, a liar and a two-faced, but there was something about you that made it impossible for him to get you out of his mind.

You always loved lying—or well, you loved making everyone believe you were someone you weren’t. Some people call it a split personality, others an alter ego, but to you, it just felt like heaven. It’s not that you were a compulsive liar or anything like that; you just liked to sweeten the truth, showing a version of yourself that wasn’t entirely real but wasn’t completely fake either. Something innocent, something that made life easier. Little white lies, that’s what they’re called.

One of your favorite lies was saying you didn’t remember your childhood or your early teenage years. That way, people would stop asking questions. The truth? You remembered everything perfectly. But you were a locked vault, and nothing was ever coming out because now you were someone completely different.

Ignoring that small, miserable part of your life had worked perfectly for you so far. Because, really, was there a sweeter girl in that town? Of course not. You were pretty, sweet, and popular. Everyone’s eyes were on you, and you loved the attention.

It’s not like you were an attention seeker, but honestly, who doesn’t like being noticed? Especially after being completely ignored for so many years. You were finally getting what you’d always wanted, and you weren’t about to let it slip away.

You were shy when people complimented you, a total prude when a guy tried to flirt with you. Smart, always ready to help everyone. In a town so small, where gossip spread faster than wildfire, your reputation was solid. It was something you’d worked hard to build, and that effort had definitely paid off.

You gave everyone what they wanted, You showed them the face they wanted, the version they preferred. You wouldn't call yourself a peoples pleaser because you weren't doing it for them, you were doing it for yourself and the pleasure of knowing that you were the one in control of your own life, of your image, you were in control of saying something and that everyone believed it as the absolute reality.

But of course, nothing lasts forever.

For a couple of years, no one doubted you. You were like a little saint, someone everyone trusted, the good girl everyone wanted to be around.

To yourself, you weren’t a liar or a fraud. You were just someone who had built her own life. Whether it was fake or not, nobody needed to know but you.

You probably could’ve kept weaving your web of lies if it hadn’t been for one stupid fight with your so-called “friends.” One of them accused you of sleeping with her boyfriend, and suddenly, everyone was pointing fingers at you. God, he wasn’t even your type—you’d never do something like that. But all of them turned their backs on you, and the people who used to follow you started following them instead. Now you had a bad reputation.

Your lie had been broken by another lie, the same people who claimed to love you now hated you, the person you had created had been buried by those you had always longed to be with. You’d fallen from your pedestal, the one you’d built brick by brick. But you were determined to climb back up Because that was the place you deserved.

[santapacman]

Another superhero flies by our patio, so Grandpa Jenkins just has to start grumbling again. "Just wrong, I tell ya. He shouldn't be out here."

I'm young, but I'm not stupid. I keep playing with my truck as I respond. "Of course he should be here, Grandpa. Galaxitron blew up a town last week."

"He's not wrong fer helping, son. It's wrong that he's alone."

"What, you want the cops to babysit him? If superheroes had to wait up for the cops, the Earth would have exploded by now."

"Damn shame, too. Never go super, kiddo."

"I'll show you. I'll get all the superpowers and beat all the bad guys."

"Just find someone to hug after."

What? I was expecting him to chide me; to tell me off. Now his voice is all soft instead. I look up from my toy truck to see misty eyes. "Is everything okay, Grandpa Jenkins?"

"They're heroes, every one of 'em, but the weight of the world will break anyone's back in the end. And we're just the same as anyone else, watching from the side because we can't help. 'Cause I'm an old man and yer a kid. And the cops got no powers. Mark my words, you'll be all alone if you go super." It's the most animated I've seen him in years.

"But I'd be helping so many people. Doing AWESOME things. It'd be worth it."

"It is worth it, fer a while. Before you're tired and miserable."

There's a pause. "What about hero teams? They're not alone."

"That's even worse, y'hear me? You have to watch yer friends get beaten and bloodied and battered, over and over again. Not coworkers, not colleagues, friends. Family sometimes. You have to watch as they break and crack and crumble until they can't do it anymore. Their spirits snapped in two. Buncha used, tossed plastic spoons. But it doesn't matter that they're broken, that they can't enjoy life anymore, that they can't do anything anymore. We got another batch of superheroes coming in to take care of the next problem."

"Maybe it is awful. Maybe it is miserable and all superheroes are sad. When I get powers, I'll still go out and save the day. Every time. Whenever I'm called. No bellyaching, no grousing. Just good hero work."

"That's 'cause yer a good kid who doesn't know any better. You'll do what's right. Yer pa told me the same thing."

[kingmaxstatic]

Goodmorning, Goodbye and Goodnight: A Post About Farewells.

... How do you break away from something or a piece of yourself for so long? Or at the very least, do so in the public eye?

Let's not beat around the bush.

I'm not happy in the Sonic fandom at the moment.

(More below the post)

So let me make this PERFECTLY CLEAR I have not fallen out of love for Sonic. I still adore Sonic and I will more than continue to enjoy it!

But I'm unsure if that enjoyment can really be.. public.. for the time being.

For a while I've always couldn't help but notice that the fandom is a bundle of bickerers. Makes sense. Most of us here are ND and VERY opinionated!

But this all came to ahead when I was watching a video about Amy Rose. And as I watched, as interested as I was. A video dissecting her current writing I realized something...

I was fucking miserable!

Why do I CARE so much about other people's opinions about something I enjoy? Even if I cringe at that one bumblecast clip of Ian saying "he wishes he could redesign Amy".

Even IF I understand the concern.

I still LOVE Modern Amy! I was letting this video give me insight, yes but it also made me feel guilt for even LIKING IDW's take on Amy (and IDW in general).

Infact guilt is something I've felt A LOT in the fandom.

Shit man, Starline is my FAVORITE character in sonic, period. But it feels like both the fandom (and the writers, to an extent) want to guilt you into not liking him.

That liking him is some moral failing on YOUR part? (Literally Ignoring the fact we've literally had a few years to grow attached pre-imposter syndrome and that he didn't just magically appear post-Chao Race Arc)

Yes, Starline sucks. Yes, he (in canon) used two random mobians for cyborg stuff. I know this. He's still an enjoyable character and I don't excuse his canon actions. It's even why in my own canon of him Imposter syndrome isn't canon.

I'm tired of the stress, man. I'm tired of not enjoying Starline. I haven't been able to properly enjoy him in a wile.

For my birthday I actually bought a Bad Guys physical copy!

And I have not touched it at all.

The stress of keeping up with this fandom has actually caused me literal anxiety shivers. I don't have fun any more. There's just.. too much discourse.

And I think it's best for me if I take a step back from it. At least.

So.. What Happens Now?

Well! What happens now is that I take a public step back from the fandom! Like I said I still very much enjoy Sonic.. I just don't think that enjoyment will be AS public any more. Gush about it with friends! Play the games! Draw art.. For Myself!

This doesn't mean I won't be keeping a close eye on my sonic moots (you haven't gotten rid of me JUST yet!) but it does mean I'll probably start blocking tags. Taking some breathing room. Finding that love for Sonic again on my OWN time. Be a lil selfish with it!

I still love and adore my ocs (and they'll still be around on Toyhouse and Art Fight!) But their stories are mine to share.. and sometimes I can just.. not share them!

What happens to this Blog?

SHIT MAN! I'll still be around! I probably just won't be posting in the sonic tag any time soon. I'm in OTHER fandoms right now (Nicktoons, Crash, Etc) If you like my writing and my art In THIS fandom surely you'll enjoy it in others!/pos

Even if those fandoms are more.. obscure to say the least? This Blog, at it's core, has always been ABOUT multifandom stuff and It feels like it's finally returning to that!

Nature is healing! KingMaxStatic is finally posting about WEIRD fandoms only 3 people know about again!!

What Happens To Starvoltz?

Though not an as.. urgent question. It's one I feel has held a lot of weight, at least to me. I know people are GENUINELY such big fans of Starvoltz and I think it's been the ONE BIG THING keeping me back from making me step back from the fandom...

So... I'm killing both Starline and Voltz off..../j (I would never)

I still LOVE and ADORE Starline and Voltz! They mean the world to me (and even the MOON to me!) But over the course of the past few months I've felt a nagging GUILT about them.. and I don't want to feel that anymore. I want to ADORE Starvoltz like I used to...

and In order for me to do that I GOTTA step back.

If you wanna get a lil cute about it, you can think about it like the two going on a honey moon or a vacation!

If you've made it thus far.. thank you. Genuinely. Thank you for understanding! I hope you understand. I love sonic, I will always love sonic. But I need my own space to love Sonic.

I suppose maybe like the main character I need to be free.

Free like the wind.

[honorarystripes]

The amount of apologizing that was coming from Bucky just broke Steve completely. He knew he had been holding this great weight in his chest. This great burden of knowing who the blame really lied with. He knew that the tears on Bucky's face could break his heart faster than anything else.

The way Bucky yearned to be his former self for Steve made his heart just quiver and writhe. It was like he was physically being hurt in that moment. All the things that collected together to form a miserable Bucky sobbing into his shirt and begging to be someone he use to be made Steve want to hurl himself off a bridge.

He didn't want to see his best friend shattered like glass on the tile floor. Porcelain pieces even. He could watch him cling to him for only so long. He brought a hand to snake through the man's hair. He combed through it with his fingers as though to soothe them both.

"Breath." Was the only thing he could think to say in that moment certain that Bucky unraveled himself so far that he was almost deep into an anxiety attack or a dark sobbing fit that could be turned easily into hyperventilating.

He wanted to think. He needed to think. What was the best way to get through to him? What was the best way to get him to stop going deeper into that deep cavern of sorrow and misery.

"You need to calm before you get yourself into a fit. I understand that you feel broken. You don't feel like him anymore. Maybe you don't even feel like you know me as well anymore but the thing is....the thing about Bucky that you still have in you is he would never give up on the people he cares about. And neither do you."

Steve paused, considering his words carefully. "Don't be sorry. You have nothing to apologize for. This was my fault. I never went looking for you after you fell from the train. The responsibility is on my shoulders. You have done nothing but been forced to follow orders because I failed to look for my best friend and I had just written you off as dead from a fall that we could have survived. That you did survive."

Steve's tears spilled down his chin. He looked at Bucky knowing that his own tears were now soaking his curls. "If it wasn't for me you'd have a dame under your arms right now and a smile that would be so infectious. If it wasn't for me, you'd be whole and it ain't nothing I can do to change it because you feel like this....it's my fault. You were stolen from me because I was negligent. Because I was stupid. I didn't take care of you when I could have."

"I want to take care of you now. I'm so sorry."

I'm not him.

That whole sentence shattered Steve to his core. It left him feeling vulnerable and weak in his heart. He wasn't him. He wasn't the boy he grew up with. He wasn't the man that saved him numerous times. He didn't see the same person when he looked in the mirror as Steve did. He didn't see Bucky Barnes, Bucky didn't see the amazing person that he was. He saw the weapon, didn't he? He saw all the chaos and everything that he was forced to reckon.

Steve paused considering the situation. It wouldn't be right to agree and tell him it was Steve's fault that he was changed. That everything would have been the same if Steve would have looked. He could have had the best care given to Bucky and he could have been a disabled veteran home safe. He could have been resting and recovering while Steve fought the frontlines. But Bucky wouldn't have wanted that. Would he? He would have wanted to be by Steve's side just like Steve wanted to fight in the 107th the minute Bucky was drafted.

"You're not him." He agreed, understanding to some degree and bringing his hand to rest on Bucky's cheek that he could see exposed. That wasn't hiding in his shirt threatening to burrow deep inside.

"You're you. You've been changed by the events but they don't define you. You have the chance to remake yourself and be what you think you are now. Not what they made you. Not what I knew before. You can be a whole new person but the first step? Is coming out of the shade and telling me you're not afraid."

He wasn't even sure what he was doing now. He felt like he was grabbing at straws. "I deserve you. Because I deserve to be with someone that thinks I deserve more and would fight for me to have the best that I could possibly have even if they think it isn't them. Especially if they think it isn't them."

[lesbiansanemi]

My job is confusing me so fucking bad rn