#the only reason I don't rot in bed all day is because I have things to do and also because it makes me feel very guilty

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

I have actual fucking brain rot.

I can not stop thinking about how soft Bucky is looking in Thunderbolts trailer, particularly this moment with the dishwasher, like... his sides. That little bit of delicious muffin top. His waistband. That little tummy. His pecs. The soft point of his nipple up against the stark black arm. His nonprosthetic arm, too! He looks thick.

Now, all I can picture is Steve waking up earlier than his boyfriend, barely managing to crawl out of bed away from the sleepy, soft shape of Bucky in their bed, hogging all the blankets and heating up faster than an oven. He looks good enough to eat, though, so his bed-hogging is acceptable. He really does look edible - his boxers are slung low on his pinchable, wide hips and his wife beater has rolled up in his sleep to fully expose the morning-soft, empty slope of his tummy. Probably the only reason he hasn't stripped his beater off is because the stretched fabric has caught around his puffy pecs. His nipples - seemingly pinker and softer by the day - jut through the white fabric. But, they can't just stay in bed all day, so Steve wanders out of the bedroom into the kitchen to get his morning routine going (including making something to eat that isn't his mouthwatering boyfriend).

After a bathroom break, Steve starts on his routine, and they ran the dishwasher overnight, so he starts there.

But, the usually simple morning task has become increasingly more complex and time-consuming, illustrated by how Bucky's arm is far from the only thing in the dishwasher this morning. Thanks to his boyfriend's expanding appetite (and expanding waistline) they're running the washer more often all the time. Plates, bowls, cups, and cutlery fly off their shelves and drawers. Their tableware is getting used. Because, as Steve is rapidly learning, with a bigger appetite comes the need for more types of food with every meal. No longer when they get takeout can they have just two mains to share between themselves, rather they get appetizers, entrees, sides, and desserts. Plus, between meals, Bucky's snacks grow and grow. He's using extra plates, bowls, and cutlery just for a little something-something to keep him going. And that isn't even to mention how when they're cooking from scratch, Bucky will prepare so much food that he needs way more crockery than he used to. He can't store the pile of stirfry he plans to devour in one sitting on a single dinner plate! Don't be ridiculous!

So, more kinds of dishes, frequent snacks, and bigger portions make Stevie a boy with a heavily loaded dishwasher. But... Ultimately, Steve can't complain about how his morning chore is evolving.

He's just finished touring around their kitchen, putting everything back in its place, when Bucky finally comes stumbling out to the land of the living. With every step, his little starter belly jiggles enough to make a growl of hunger rise inside of Steve - the growl isn't from the kind of hunger that has Bucky pressing his organic hand to his butter-soft belly, sinking his hand in with a frown etched into his handsome face, finding just how deep his pit of hunger is. It's been a whole 8 hours since he's had something to eat, after all, and that just won't do.

Steve hand delivers (ha) his freshly washed prosthetic to his grumpy, rumbled morning boyfriend, kissing the red, pillow-lines on his cheek. As Bucky mumbles something of a "thank you" Steve can't stop himself from doing more than just kissing his cheek, his lips slide down his face to nip and bite at the hinge of his softening jaw. He is counting down the days until Bucky develops an honest to God double chin. There's just something about the way that Bucky's face is built that Steve knows will compliment a pudgy chin so perfectly. He'll be rounder and softer and look so... healthy.

Steve just wants to see him put some meat on his bones. He deserves to be well-rested and well-fed.

His arm clicks into place, Bucky shivers with the adjustment, and his belly rumbles again. Steve bites at him a little harder, debating if it's worth the faux grief he'll get from Bucky from trying something so early in the morning (yeah, 10:00 AM, Buck, soooo early) if he sucks a love bite into that bit of softness under his jaw. It probably wouldn't last through breakfast anyway, so what's the harm?

Just as Steve starts to mark his husky boyfriend up, his plans are foiled by the wonderful fucking distraction of said chunky, chubby, grumpy cat boyfriend trying to button the pants he somehow slid his thick thighs and bubble-butt into (they are painted on, Steve swears). Steve's mouth falls away from his jaw with a breathy moan, looking down with the best seat in the house to see Bucky struggle with both arms, trying to make the loop and button of his jeans meet in the middle. The only slight problem? This soft cushion of fat over his once rock-hard abs is so in the way.

He isn't even close to making his pants button, struggling literally around his belly and hips that are pooching out over his waistband. Steve hasn't had a muffin in a long time but, suddenly, he could go for a muffin. Although, no baked good would hit the spot like Bucky can. Bucky and his muffin top giving Steve the worst kind of craving.

Eagerly, Steve plasters himself to his chunky boyfriend's side, staring down, entranced, by how Bucky tries to suck in, not to make it easier to button his pants, Steve realizes quickly, but to try and see what he's working with. He's too fat for his pants, scratch that, he's too fat to see the button on his pants. That's different. There's a fucking difference between outgrowing your pants, gaining enough that you can't make them button anymore, and outgrowing your pants to the point that you can't find the button. That's -

Steve doesn't know how to react other than stifle back a hearty groan and instead, hoarsely comment, "I think you need new pants, Buck."

Bucky lets his head hang against his chest, making his chin double for real.

Steve bites his tongue hard to keep himself from making an embarrassing sound. He looks so soft.

"I think I'm gonna need another arm, too," Bucky murmurs after a beat of silence, talking almost to himself - maybe talking to his belly, looking down the way he is.

Steve can't help but shiver. He's not cool, but he tries to play it cool, shrugging, "eh, I think you should hold off, big boy," Steve can't help the endearment, it just slips out. Big. He is. He's big. Steve wants him bigger so bad that he wants to crawl out of his skin. Steve has a super metabolism, he wakes up voraciously hungry, but right now he could feed purely off of cooking for Bucky and watching him crush a full-course breakfast in his too-tight pants and rolling-up wife beater. "Because there are enough dishes in the dishwasher to tell me you're not done with your growth spurt yet. And you wouldn't wanna bother Shuri too much, making her re-size you twice." Steve is compelled to pat his tummy when it growls again, so he does. There is no stopping him.

He's exactly as soft and jiggly as he looks.

Surprisingly, though, for this being the first time they're talking about this out in the open, Bucky leans into his daring comment. Literally. He rocks back on his heels, pressing his belly into Steve's hand, "fine," he sighs, chuckling to himself, "guess you're right, Rogers. For once."

Steve doesn't take the bait, he just... squeezes Bucky's belly. He's obsessed with this.

[lilowoof]

ngl gamers, I think I'm gonna inevitably lose to the hormones and depression in the near future XD

Can't bring myself to be active cause I'm using a lot of energy to not vent post all the time. But fuck it, into the tags I go!

[starpros-sunshine]

I miss when being tired was still kind of fun and made you feel all woozy and silly now i just want to sleep and go to bed and stay down for the next twelve hours or even more

[parfaitblogs]

peace ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you self isolate, and spencer knows better than to let it get too bad. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. suicide ideation? ("i want it to end"). depression. lots of stuff that coincides with that. brief mention of reader not eating/having no food. please be aware of your triggers. i think i mention reader as a girl somewhere? word count: 1.9k a/n: i finished this then relistened to peace (taylor swift) which was the og inspo for this, and added a section in the middle so if it feels weird its because i failed at integrating it! this was supposed to be out two days ago. all my relationship insecurities in a fic. lol how embarrassing here's my heart tumblr dot com!! anyways enjoy ily all

also posted here on my ao3 !

Three consistent raps against your front door was the only sound that got you up that day, pyjamas that you had not shed from your body in a week hanging off a frame that could probably be described as lifeless — with the nearly dead-looking face to match.

In fact, the only thing to prove you were still a living human being aside from your movement, was the pink hue around your eyes, on your nose, and above your lips, indicating how much you had cried recently. 

Usually, it isn't this bad. You just need a day or two of rotting in your apartment and doing nothing but scrolling on your phone until it died, staring at the wall, or — on the better days — watching reruns of a 90s sitcom that you don't really watch. 

But it was exceptionally bad this time around, for some odd reason, and not one part of you actually wanted to get up and out of bed for long enough to be productive about your day. Your phone had died again, after charging it two days ago, which meant you were on day six of no communication with anybody. Which might partly be why it was so bad now. 

You had a blanket wrapped around your body, dragging against the floor as you wiped your eyes and let out a small sigh, unlocking your front door and opening it, completely unsurprised by the person standing on the other side. 

He was the only one who ever paid enough attention to your disappearing act when you were like this. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you — which is kind of amusing, considering you thought you looked like death reincarnate currently. 

Neither of you said anything as you stepped aside to allow him in, the door clicking shut behind him as he placed down the leather bag he had slung over his body, turning back to you as he finally allowed the frown to appear — one you knew he would've had the entire way here.

"Have you eaten today?" was the first thing to break the silence — the question coming out so gentle you were sure you'd break down again at some point in the next few seconds. 

You wordlessly shook your head, and he nodded his own, saying nothing else as he walked into your kitchen, knowing you'd trail behind him no matter what. 

He opened your fridge first, before closing it when he was greeted with the alarming sight of nothing. Doing the same with your pantry, at which he turned around to look at you.

"Angel, you have no food," he said. And while it held no malice in the tone of his voice, you could tell he was slightly annoyed at the fact. Your heart ached. 

"I know. I'm sorry," you mumbled, and his eyebrows creased inwards. 

He didn't mention your apology — arguing with you about your vast use of 'sorry's' is futile. "Do you want a pizza?" he asked instead, and even though you, mentally, did not, you knew he wasn't actually asking. So you only nodded your head, and found a place at your countertop, the blanket falling from your body and pooling to the ground in a heap.

He ordered a pizza, and then he was nudging your knees apart, standing between them while you stayed sat on a stool, his chin atop your head, that was buried into his chest. 

And he said nothing, as he held you like that until the pizza arrived. And then he ensured you had at least eaten two slices, the remainders going in your fridge for the next meal you needed to eat. 

He was so kind to you, with his every movement, as he dragged you into the bathroom to help you shower. 

It was heartbreaking, the love you could see in his eyes. The tenderness in every stroke of his fingers against your scalp as he washed your hair, the softness in his touch as he did the same to your body. He gently dried you, told you to stay there, disappeared, and returned with one of his many t-shirts left in your apartment drawers. 

That was when you cracked. When he pulled the shirt over your head, that smelled so painfully Spencer and you. The mix of his clean scent and your own laundry detergent that you were so accustomed to, triggering something in you.

So, you crumpled to the floor of your bathroom, and he followed soon after, his arms wrapped around your body once more, firm enough to keep you still as you sobbed into his chest. 

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that for. Long enough for your head to hurt, and your eyes to sting, and hideous snot bubbles to stain his cardigan. 

When your sobs subsided, he spoke. 

"You wanna talk about it?" he said, quietly, and you shook your head. 

"Don't know what to talk about," you mumbled, and he knew that all too well.

He nodded his own head. "Did something happen?"

"Lots of little things."

"Yeah? You wanna tell me about them?"

You hesitated, because you didn't know where to begin. But then you nodded your head wordlessly, swallowing the lump — and, by extension, the sob — in your throat. "I fell down on the stairs at the train station in front of everybody. And then I missed my stop, and I was late to work. And I had a huge project due, but I didn't finish it, and I forgot I hadn't finished it, and I was anxious about it all day. And I think my friends are just pretending to be my friends, because I keep trying to make plans with one of them, and she keeps blowing me off for her boyfriend. And I'm just really sick of being sad all the time, Spencer. I want it to end."

With the onslaught of your bad vignettes throughout the past month coming back up, you broke down, again. Another sob escaping your lips as you pushed your fists down into the tops of his thighs.

If it hurt, he didn't say anything; simply continued to hold you against his chest, on the floor of your bathroom, that, if it were any other time, he would be having a field day rambling about the germs you both were currently sitting on. 

He also didn't say anything for a while as you sobbed, instead his fingers entangled gently in your hair, and he peppered kisses along the top of your head. 

"I don't want it to end for you," he finally said. His hands slid down from your scalp to your face, holding your cheeks with such tender, pulling you back so he could look at you. 

You sniffled. "I'm so exhausted."

"I know, my love. I know," he sighed, thumbs caressing over your cheekbones. "Ending it won't fix that. You know, logically, however you die is the state you'll be in, in the afterlife. So if you die while you're exhausted..."

"You don't believe in the afterlife," you answer, but his words still cracked through your tearful expression, and your lips twitched with a small smile. 

He returned the small smile, nodding his head. "That's true. But I also don't know anything about post-death. I could be wrong."

"How terrible," you mutter, and he laughed, quietly. 

"I know," he mused, falling silent for a few moments longer, with only both of your quiet breathing to break the silence. 

His fingers ran through your hair once more, and you sniffled audibly, your brain wandering away from the small content you had felt in that exchange, and back to one of the many reasons why you had isolated in the first place. 

"Why are you still with me?" you said, slicing through the silence all at once. 

You watched the smile fall, and his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips part as he went — and hesitated — to say something. "What do you mean?"

"I'm difficult." Your voice is impossibly small, and it breaks a crack in his heart as his eyes soften. 

"No. You're not," he reassured. 

"Yes I am," you breathed out — and then the tears came back. "I get sad and then I stop responding and stop seeing you, and you don't get any warning even though I know you should, and I feel so awful every time but then that makes me feel worse. And I'm sad all the fucking time, Spencer. I mean, I get upset when you aren't at home and you have to deal with all those messages and calls even though you hate texting, but then you get home and I'm isolating myself because I'm sad, on top of all the other things that make me sad, and you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you their all and—and—"

"Hey," he cut you off, as did the sob that was ripped from your throat. "No. That's not what we're going to do. Do not sit there and tell me what I do and don't deserve." 

"But you do deserve better."

"No," he sighed, resting his forehead on your own, warm breath fanning across your face that usually made you scrunch your face up and pull away, now comforting you. "Do you love me?"

"What? Yes, of course I do. Why would you even—"

"—That is the only requirement I have for you," he said, oh so simply. When you didn't reply, he pressed, "Okay?"

"Okay," you murmured, and he relaxes a little.

More silence fell between you, your tears subsiding and your shaking body relaxing a little more. 

Then, "Did you hurt yourself when you fell down?"

You nodded your head, reluctantly pulling back from him so you could show him. You pointed to a yellowing bruise just below your knee, and the grazes on the bottom halves of your palms. 

"Oh, wow. Look at these," Spencer said, running a thumb gently over the grazes on your hands. "You're braver than me. These would've taken me out."

You laughed, and you saw his face light up at the progress he was making with you, and your mood. 

He then pulled you back into his chest. More silence, but less anxiety, and you sat comfortably in his arms for a few moments longer. 

"Did I worry you?" you say. "Not responding?"

You were so close to him you could hear his breath hitch, and you prepared yourself for a lie about how he wasn't worried at all. Except; "Honestly? Yes."

"Oh."

He exhaled, shakily, and you were kind of glad he couldn't see your sadder expression, half-buried into his chest. 

"You've never gone that long without checking in," he then explained. "The first two days I got what was going on. By the fourth I figured you still needed space. Today I just had a gut feeling."

"Just a gut feeling?" you echoed, and you felt his head nod against your own. 

"Thought you might need someone."

You sighed. "I hate that you're a genius."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't."

His fingers entangled in your hair again. "I also didn't figure you needed me here because I'm a genius."

"No? Then how?" you asked.

"It's simple," he murmured, tugging your head back oh so gently so he could look at you again — puffy eyed, and tear-stained cheeks and all. "I just know."

"That's the most illogical sentence I've ever heard leave your mouth."

He laughed, and you smiled again.

"Come on," he then said, untangling your limbs and pulling the both of you up to your feet, hands ghosting your waist to hold you steady. "I am willing to sit through whatever awful movie you want me to watch."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[aeliuss]

warnings!: angst, mentions of self hate. hurt comfort.

on days when he cannot discern between his body and his shadow, chan tries to keep away from you for as long as possible.

it's not that he doesn't love you--the opposite actually. sometimes he thinks the dead thing in his chest beats only for you. beats and beats and beats, pumps blood into veins he feels he is unworthy of because how then would he be able to hold you? to kiss you?

but on days like this, he is ashamed.

his knees buckle under the weight of his own existence. how could he hold you, kiss you, when he felt like a mere shell of the man he once was? how could he offer you anything when he struggled to find value in his own existence?

it's crippling. this feeling. this weight. this him.

so when you find him sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, he winces. turns away. the dark circles stretch under his eyes like black holes and he's in the same shirt he'd pulled on four days ago and the light that comes in through the crack in the door you just opened is blinding him and he's ashamed.

"what're you doin' here?" it comes out as a croak. he cringes at the sound of it.

but all that comes out of your lips is a small, "baby.."

you say it with so much love but all it does is repulse him. how could you still have love for a rotting carcass? it's the reason he's opted to stay in the dorms rather than your apartment these past few days. he's almost certain the boys had something to do with your presence here now.

"m' fine," he says, turning on the bed, away from the light, from you. he can't really tell the difference.

you close the door behind you, bathing the room in darkness once more. you take a step closer, the floor creaking beneath your weight. chan flinches, his shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. he wants to disappear into the shadows, to fade away until he no longer exists in your world. to shield you from the festering ugliness inside of him

but when you step forward, towards him, his body reacts, legs opening so you can stand between them.

your hand hesitantly reaches out, fingers brushing against his tense shoulder. he catches it, pushing it away.

"i haven't showered," he mutters, head bowed, unable to meet your eyes.

"chris."

"you should probably leave. this happens all the time, i'm fine." he's telling you to leave but his fingers are clenching around the hem of your t-shirt so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i'm fine."

"chris," you say softly, your voice a tender caress in the dimness of the room. "look at me, baby, please."

he doesn't. can't bare to, so you have to nudge him gently with the palm of your hand, cupping his cheek. his eyes are dark, haunted, and they flick away as soon as they meet your gaze.

"you're not okay," you say, heart aching.

"i'm trying," his voice cracks. "i'm trying to be."

your finger grazes his jaw. "i love you."

and then he's clutching your hips, drawing you close to him, and the tears come like tidal waves. his face is smushed against your stomach, and you hold him, you feel the tremors coursing through his body, the weight of his anguish pressing against you. you don't flinch, don't pull away. instead, you hold him tighter, letting him know that you're there, that you're not going anywhere.

"i love you," you whisper again, your words a soothing melody in the darkness. "i'm here, chris. i'm not ever leaving you."

he clings to you desperately, as if you're the only anchor in a stormy sea. his sobs echo in the quiet room, mingling with the hushed sounds of your reassurances.

on days when he cannot discern between his body and his shadow, chan tries to keep away from you for as long as possible. he doesn't want you to see the ugly he knows is inside of him. but you do anyway. you see the ugly, the part of him he tries so desperatly to hide. you don't flinch. you don't turn away.

in your love, he discovers his own resilience, his capacity to rise from the depths of despair and embrace the light once more. and though the journey may be fraught with obstacles, uncertainties, and moments of darkness, he knows that as long as you're there, holding his hand, he'll never have to face it alone.

[donnas-dollface]

"Sharing is Caring"

pairing; Valeria Garza x Feminine reader

warnings; nothing just tooth rotting fluff and if you squint hard enough, me yearning (i miss my girlfriend) kinda short and i apologize 😿

summary; an eye for an eye, or in this case, some of your belongings for hers. actually, scratch that, what's yours is now hers.

EVER SINCE VALERIA HAD INVITED YOU TO MOVE INTO HER MANSION WITH HER, YOU NOTICED THE LITTLE THINGS. Your belongings, though subtly at first, began to disappear. It was the little things like pairs of your socks running out earlier in the week. Had you already worn that pair? You could've sworn you hadn't. Yet there it was, in the laundry hamper, ready to be washed and worn again. Or your hair ties vanishing into thin air. And no, it wasn't you simply losing them or misplacing them. You'd have an abundance of them, only for them to be gone after a few days. It didn't take a genius to piece together where all your stuff was going however. And it didn't bother you at all, however, catching her in the act sounded quite amusing.

But it was, and wasn't. Valeria wasn't one to be easily or noticeably flustered, and you knew this from the get go. She was always the one flirting or being blunt. Straight to the point, because she loved to gauge a reaction out of you, whether it was you being flustered, annoyed, or spitting her attitude right back at her. The first time you'd caught her in the act, she was using your hairbrush like it was any other Wednesday. Running it through her hair, and looking at you nonchalantly.

"So what're you doing?"

"Brushing my hair? You wouldn't want me to go to work looking like I just got out of bed no?"

"Just make sure you clean out the brush, I don't wanna get your head lice, yeah?"

"I'll think about it."

And that was that. The second time you'd confronted her, it was while you were cuddling with her. The day was rather slow, and neither of you had any interest in going out to socialize with the public. For a change, she'd actually talked YOU into staying in bed for the morning. And of course, it worked like a charm, her and her silver tongue. You were laying quietly, brushing your fingers through her hair absentmindedly, her on your chest. At some point, your nose began to register a faintly familiar scent, and you gave her a look.

"Have you been using my body lotion?"

"Ah ah, OUR body lotion. Sharing is caring like you love to say."

That made you immediately burst into a loud laugh, lightly smacking her shoulder. Whenever you retorted your reasoning for taking her things, like her turtlenecks or a piece of jewelry(you always asked of course), it was always backed up by "Sharing is caring." Oftentimes, she responded by rolling her eyes and smirking, or just going "Si, si, fine."

"I see you're taking my words now."

-Kaylee 2/24/2024

*REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED AND WELCOMED*

[frankiensteinsmonster]

Is it invalid to worry about your environmental impact as a person who lives on this planet (especially when loads of other people seem to live in ignorant bliss or openly just do not care)?

Not at all.

But as disabled people* I really think we should allow ourselves those accommodations we need/that would make our lives easier.

Bottled body wash lathers easier and saves you that tiny bit of energy while you're washing up? Can't seem take care of your bar of soap so it runs out fast because it's always wet and actively makes your bathroom harder to clean? You deserve to preserve your energy and keep yourself clean. Use it.

Bottled water means your executive dysfunction won't get in the way of you getting hydrated? Means you can keep water by your bed so you don't have to endure the physical pain of walking to the kitchen? Means your OCD symptoms won't prevent you from drinking water for hours-days at a time? You deserve to drink water without stressing. Drink it.

Paper plates and plastic utensils mean you get to eat without having to worry about dishes + prevents you from having an overwhelming sink full of every dish you own covered in rotting, smelly food that may even attract bugs and cause them to breed in your sink? You deserve to eat freely and live in a clean and safe environment. Use them.

Can't wash clothes on the regular let alone cleaning rags due to energy/executive function, ability, finances, ect.? Use paper towels. For whatever reason you need them. Spills so you don't take up your only clean towel and risk it sitting + developing mold and mildew. Wiping off your counters. Dusting. Drying your dishes. Drying your hands. I literally do not give a fuck. Use them!

Use frozen vegetables that come in plastic bags and frozen meals that come in single use plastic and floss sticks and plastic cups and precut fruit and veg and whatever little necessary 'convenience' you can think of that makes your life easier. Just because you Technically, Physically can pull it off doesn't mean you should and it's important we think about the consequences of our actions even if we're the only ones really impacted by them. You're important. And for a lot of us, these things are what makes the difference between Getting Things Done At All and sitting in shame because we can't bring ourselves to make our own everything and do everything the long or right way. We put too much pressure on ourselves to make up for what abled people aren't doing themselves. If Anybody deserves a break it's us.

Don't misconstrue this as discouragement from doing what you can or whatever, but I need all of us to be a lot more realistic about what impacts our lives and which trade offs are worth it for our own sake.

It's unfortunate that we don't have options for more sustainable resources when it comes to taking care of ourselves, but it shouldn't fall on us to choose between a significantly more difficult life or feeling guilt free. Advocate where you can for better treatment of the planet, and until that can happen-- non-disabled people can and should pick up the slack for us. They literally have that option and the impact they face is an infinitesimal inconvenience compared to the real health/quality of life consequences that build up in such a severe way over time. We deserve that little bit of leeway.

*disabled includes both physical and mental ailments on this post btw

[m1sa-w1sa]

HELLO! Loving your writing ♡ and you're having a BEST day and taking care ◔ ⌣ ◔ Jean, Eula, and Furina having their S/O just sadly died and years later they see S/O reincarnation in next different body but still same face and S/O don't remember past life they have. How they will react to that?

(Eee!!! Ty for the request!!! I love that so much!)

A Never ending flame

Jean

•When Jean first lost you she was devastated, she didnt know what to do, seeing your body under a destroyed house, only your arm visible with the bracelet she gave you covered in blood

•You met while you were a KoF as you trained non stop together..now thats all gone she wasnt fast enough..

•She became sloppy on her work and she because more depressed by losing what means most to her

•When she finds you again she immediately gets the motivation to try again, to befriend you, fall in love again, be happy again

•When you both meet you instantly click she knows what you like, not like, foods, drinks, animals

•She always checks up on you and offers for you to be her roommate!

•When she develops a whole new crush she’s hesitant, what if you die again? What if she loses you again?

•Finally after asking lisa on what to do she finally speaks up confessing to you again

•If you say yes she would be so happy hugging you tightly, not ever wanting to let go she loves you dearly and is more protective of you to not lose you

•but if you said NO then she would understand nodding sadly walking away tears swelling in her eyes but not daring for them to go down her face, maybe in the next life you two will meet again

Eula

•You dying was like she was getting split apart, no..no no no! This cant be! You cant be dying..your in your arms…lifeless..and bleeding

•You two met when she ran away from home sticking by her side the only person that kept her going on if she was there if she could’ve went in front of you it should’ve been her WHY WASNT IT HER INSTEAD??!

•She got vengeance on the person no THING that took you away she was violent to anyone she became distant she was so different without you and it was torture for her

•Once she saw you walking down the busy streets in Mondstat she was in awe falling in love all over again she needed to make things right..

•She came up to you while you were in the tavern striking up a conversation with you making you to close just how you were before

•She soon confessed with flowers, chocolates, and a bracelet like the one you had before you died as she confessed she was shy about it trying to be professional and not break down

•If you said yes she would smile happily giving you the gifts kissing your forehead inviting you to a dance as the sunset go down hugging you closer than ever kissing your face for hours on end

•If you said no, tears just tears bursting out like a water fall as she would nod understanding still giving you the gifts pushing away any kind of help you tried to offer it was foolish to think the gods would bless someone like her

Furina

•You were accused for something you didnt do, getting the death sentence she could hear your scared screams screaming, BEGGING that you didnt do it

•The last thing she remember herself running to your lifeless body on stage crying, screaming, begging for you to wake up, comfort her screaming at Neuvillettefor not hearing her out, her people for laughing and cheering at your death the guards and Wriothesley for falsely accusing you, her beloved.. onoy then you would get proven innocent

•Furina would sulk in her room bed rotting, you were the reason why she was functioning if you werent there then you will be? No one could get to her without her yelling at them

•When she saw you again, your beautiful face again she was on cloud 9 putting on her usual behavior introducing herself to you again

•She would take you to theaters, cafes, walks anything that made you smile before as she would fall in love all over again smiling, maybe she could finally be happy again

•She brought you to a hill top with your favorite foods, drinks and sweets making it as it could ever be trying to make it to be that your happy enough

•When she confessing shes flustered, embarrassed and also shy aswell, if you said yes she would jump over to you hugging you, kissing your face, hand everywhere staying on your lap feeding you the food she brought to you

•If you said No? Oh dear your funny! Thats not a option Furina refuses she threatens you she WILL make your life a living hell she doesnt care you WILL be her significant other, there is not a NO option silly you..

(Finished!! Hope you enjoyed!!^^ tags: @jadestone2 )

[elizzsush]

I love you Helplessly. | Tim Drake X Reader

Angst No comfort.

AU: None Rating: SFW

Note: This one if meant to hurt. I hope it does but if it feels devoid of something please tell me. I tried to make it, so you'd be teary eyed at the end, and I am sorry if I didn't do that. I am not the best at writing this stuff, I'm an avid reader of angst but writer? Well, I can try. __________________________________

They say that when you're drowning there is a moment of peace.

When you wake up, you take a minute to adjust. Maybe it's like that? The peace... It might just be you adjusting to the water in your lunges? A moment of peace, when the light shines in through the curtains and you don't squint and shoo it away, but instead choose to bask in its warmth, its light.

Your drowning, basking. You think you can adjust to this light. Because he made you feel helpless. It felt amazing, like you didn't know what to do and he'd hold you so softly.

When he kissed you, it tasted like coffee. You didn't like the flavor before him.

Tim Drake was a perfect lover.

It felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself. But the best part? Well, that was when he held you.

His soft touch, holding your close. His palms felt like the sun, warm and oh so so comforting. You told him it was because he was always holding a hot cup of coffee, but you didn't think that was true either. Because even if he hadn't had coffee yet, his touch still felt like the world.

"I love you."

You said it first. You always did It first- You messed it all up. Because he didn't look at you after that. Instead, he froze, his eyes zeroing in on his laptop. "I'm sorry- I don't know-"

"No, its fine." Tim interrupted you. A conflicted look on his face. "No- Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me"

You nodded as he kissed you, his bitter coffee taste weighted heavy on your tongue.

Were kisses meant to be this bitter?

No, that thought was just a distraction. A distraction from what your mind really didn't want to focus on. Why didn't he say it back...?

That thought kept you awake.

What you didn't know was Tim was thinking the same thing. He had been thinking about it. Within the last week there had been three times he wished he said he loved you.

It was the beginning of the week, and he was having a rough day. When he got back to his room, he found... you, a fresh mug of coffee and a pile of blankets all laid out- one even was hung up like a canopy above you.

You giggled and requested he join you in bed and he did, hugging you so tightly, he breathed in your scent and sighed stress leaving him like you repealed it.

When he was with you his brain stopped working. he didn't need to think- he only needed to be there and hold you.

He reasoned with himself, if he could kiss you like he loved you that made up for it. And he kissed you and touched you and- you were his world. He made it feel like you were and he was happy with that.

So why can't you get your mind off those three words?

Your insecurities ate at you as you began to cater to him just a bit more- hoping he'd say those words you longed needed to hear.

They say that when you're drowning there is a moment of peace.

When you wake up, you take a minute to adjust. Maybe it's like that? The peace... It might just be you adjusting to the water in your lunges? A moment of peace, when the light shines in through the curtains and you don't squint and shoo it away, but instead choose to bask in its warmth, its light.

You were drowning and sadly that moment of peace wasn't coming.

The rotting feeling inside your chest felt horrible as he yanked your head from out of the water. Your eyes burned from the tears. You voice broke and sobs wrecked your body, your chest heaving for air- because if you had air, you can plead correctly. "Please-" You couldn't catch your breath, "Please, no more, please no more- Tim- I-"

"Tsk Tsk Tsk." He shook his head with a pout. Pulling your head by its hair harshly so you'd see his waving finger. "No no no, that just won't do." He said before his laughter- that terrible sound.

A scream like none ever left your body. Your throat ached but you couldn't stop. The water muddied your tears as he shoved your face back into the all too hot water. Boiling... No one heard your screams. no one ever would. Not a single soul... accept... Him, the man doing this too you was the only one that could stop this, he was the only one to hear your screams. Muffled by the water.

He eventually left. The game ended and he left you in the corner, a ball as you laid there. Your lip quivering, eyes watering, that pain in your chest- the horrible pain you couldn't explain. Your body shook as you finally let yourself sob into the floor. Ugly, like a wet dog. You didn't know why you felt your heart break the way it did.

No one would ever find you.

Because you were dead to them.

It was your fault.

Maybe if you reached out more often, they would have realized something strange was at play with your death.

If you had been a better girlfriend Tim would have found, you by now.

Maybe if they- if he knew you better?

Why had you been such a failure? Maybe if you where more well-known people would look into it.

Why?

Why did you end up here?

Why was the only thing you could hear that maniacs laugh?

That horrible cracker, filled with nothing but joy as he watched you squirm on the floor pinning you down and yelling at you as you screamed. "Calm down! Calm down!" He'd shout over and over like it was a fun game and those were just fun words!

Your only retreat was the small corner of the room. "Mom." You'd sob over and over again. "Mom please- I- help momma please."

She was the only one you can beg too.

It didn't matter that she would never be able to help you.

Your eyes burned, why did crying do that? Your chest felt empty, like someone scrapped away everything in it, scratching and cutting the sides of your heart. Gripping it and gripping it till it would pop.

The burning in your throats hurt but the only thing you could do was sob and shout.

You shouted till your throat felt like your heart. Scratched, empty yet full at the same time.

"Momma... Tim..." You sobbed, the only two names you could. "Why?" was the only thing you could cry.

"Now now, Why so serious?"

The clown crackled and laughed, that was the last thing you heard before something began beating at your back.

You'd die helplessly. It was strange, the only time you felt helpless… it was with him.

So you only smiled as the light around you- what little was let in faded.

"I... love you...Tim.”

[seiya-starsniper]

I don't know if you're still doing the flower language prompts, but I wanted to send about twelve and narrowed it down to two lol.

So for Dreamling: Sunflower, dwarf ("How many ways do I have to confess for you to believe me?") and/or Tarragon ("Here's all the reasons why you shouldn't like me")

🤘 five-and-dimes

@five-and-dimes my beloved, so happy to hear from you!!! <3 I did my best to combine these two because they’re SUCH GOOD PROMPTS and they also fit the @monsterfucktoberbingo theme so well. Hope you enjoy!!!

Square: Cryptid

Flower Prompt Game!

----------

When Roderick Burgess unveils his circus’s latest spectacle, Hob is one of the only spectators who doesn’t gasp or recoil in abject horror at what he reveals.

“Behold! I have captured the omen of Death himself!” Roderick declares loudly. “Many have decried his existence, but here he stands before you!” he gestures to the chained being. “Look upon his horrid form. Does he not strike fear even in the bravest of men?”

Well, he certainly struck something in Hob, but he wasn’t sure that the feeling was fear.

The creature on display was absolutely stunning, if Hob were honest, but he can understand why his appearance would seem a horror at first. The thing certainly wore the basic shape of a man, with pale white skin that seemed to glow under the harsh din of the spotlight, and messy black hair that fell down to his shoulders. But where his feet would be, there were instead large, golden talons with long obsidian nails that dug deep into the dirt below them as the creature struggled to keep his balance.

And his hands. They were barely hands at all, with only four fingers on each, and white nails so long they were practically claws. The skin too, from finger to elbow was ashen black as if burnt, but when Hob looked closer, he could see the skin there shimmered like the rest of him in the light. 

The most significant part of the creature, though, was his wings. They were what Hob expected an angel’s wings to appear like, large and spanning the length of his body. Except, instead of white, these wings were pitch black, with the very tips of them colored a deep red, as if dipped in blood during war. Hob so badly wanted to see the full wingspan of the creature, certain that it would outdo even an albatross, but, understandably, Burgess had completely bound the creature’s wings in both rope and chains in a measure to keep him from escaping.

Burgess cracks his whip near the creature’s feet and he snarls at the crowd, who jeer and yell in response. Burgess cracks the whip twice more but the creature has gone silent, glaring defiantly now at all its unwanted audience. 

When its eyes land on the area Hob is seated in, he swears it is his eyes the creature locks his gaze onto. And oh, even from as high up as he is, Hob can feel the ice forming in those cold blue eyes. It pierces through him like a hot knife through butter, and Hob finds himself willingly drawn in, wanting to move closer, wanting to reach out and touch this magnificent being—

The lights cut out shortly after, ending the show for the night. Hob goes to bed that night and dreams of the creature on the stage, dreams of talons and feathers, and drowning in an ice cold lake the color of the being’s eyes. 

When he wakes in the morning, Hob is resolute. A creature as magnificent as that does not belong in chains. He sets fire to Burgess’s circus arena later that night, and he and the creature (Dream, he called himself) steal away into the night.

—-

“Why are you helping me?” Dream asks him one afternoon after they’ve been on the run for three days.

“Would you rather I left you to rot in Burgess’s circus?” Hob shoots back as he’s skinning the stag Dream hunted and caught them for dinner.

“You had a life in that village, did you not?” Dream says, refusing to let go of the subject and stomping his talons into the forest floor. “Why throw it away for something like me?”

Hob shrugs. “I’m a widower with a dead son,” he replies. “Not much of a life by anyone’s definition. Besides,” he adds, “You looked like you needed saving.”

“So it’s pity then?” Dream snarls, unfurling his wings to their full length. They brush against the nearby trees and the sheer strength of their muscles snap a few branches clean off. Hob realizes he had been right about Dream’s wingspan. It was wider than that of an albatross, and they were absolutely gorgeous. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” Hob says before he can stop himself.

Dream stumbles back and retracts his wings, clearly caught off guard by the revelation. 

“You don’t mean that,” Dream says, looking anywhere but at Hob. He’s got a furiously red blush that starts at his cheeks and seems to crawl all the way down to his chest. It makes him look even lovelier.

Hob smiles despite himself. “Maybe that’s why I saved you,” he chuckles. “Maybe I just wanted you all to myself.”

“Then you are an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Dream replies, before he stomps off. 

—-----------

On a particularly cold night, Hob wakes to find himself covered by one of Dream’s wings.

“This means nothing,” Dream mutters, even as he presses his chest to Hob’s back. 

Hob can’t help but grin like a fool. He reaches out to run a finger along the bend of the wing that���s currently serving as his blanket, and delights when he feels Dream shudder behind him.

“Your secret’s safe with me, you big softie,” Hob chuckles before he falls back asleep, feeling more content than he has in years.

—------------

They’ve been on the run for almost a year before Burgess and his men manage to catch up to them. They’re cornered at the bottom of a valley, and Hob knows if they can make it to the river and cross it, they’ll be all right. Burgess’s men are all on horses that wouldn’t dare cross the rushing waters. 

They’re almost to the clearing when Dream stops suddenly and says, “Leave me.”

“What?! No, I’m not leaving you!” Hob exclaims. “Come on, we’re almost at the river—”

“Burgess’s horses will cross the river,” Dream replies. “He’s desperate to get me back, alive or dead. And you are tired.”

“I’m fine,” Hob insists. 

“You’re not!” Dream argues. “You’re practically limping and you—you have done more than enough for me. If I leave you now and fly north, they’ll stop following you and come after me instead.”

“Sorry sweetheart, you’re stuck with me,” Hob replies, pulling out his sword and getting ready to fight as he hears Burgess’s men grow closer. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Dream yells. “Roderick Burgess had been hunting me long before we met, and he will continue to do so until one of us is dead. You cannot possibly want to be on the run forever.”

“And if I do?” Hob asks. “Dream—how many ways do I have to tell you I want this—want you—before you’ll believe me?”

Dream hisses, and before Hob can say anything else, he finds himself lifted high into the air as Dream takes off with the both of them, rushing at full speed towards the river. His long white claws dig into Hob’s skin and Hob holds on for dear life as he buries his face into Dream’s neck to avoid the whiplash of the wind.

When they finally land, Hob can no longer hear the neighing of the horses, or the yell of Burgess’s men. Dream practically drops him to the ground, and Hob realizes the other had used the last of his strength to get them to safety. Before he can collapse, Hob catches him, and after a quick look around, manages to find a small cave that they can use for shelter for the night. 

“That was bloody brilliant, love,” Hob sighs happily once they’re inside and lying side to side. “Think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Dream mumbles. “Love me, at all. I have caused you nothing but harm, and you will always be on the run so long as you stay with me. I cannot give you any of the comforts of a human life, not money, status, or a family.”

“I know,” Hob replies gently, taking Dream's dark hands in his. “I’m not asking you to. I told you before, all I want is you. You can give me all the reasons you want about why I shouldn’t, but I’ll still choosing you.”

“Idiot,” Dream says, but his tone is fond. He then wraps a wing around Hob and scoots closer, so their bodies are flush against each other. “Though I suppose you are my idiot.”

Hob smiles and presses his lips to Dream’s. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

[poetryandfluffycats]

Poker face

A/N: i wanna write a death note fic....

Pairing: Husband!Fyodor Dostoevsky x fem!reader

Content: You husband, Fyodor, doesn't tell you much about himself. He says that his stories will just bore you, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Warnings: toxic relationships, mentions of murder, fyodor is a warning in itself😭

Words: 521

Oneshot under cut!

Fyodors eyes met mine from across the table, his cold gaze never leaving me even as he reached for his glass of wine and took a long sip. I watched his adams apple bob up and down with each swallow, the red liquid slowly disappearing from the glass. Our staring contest continued as he placed the glass down, leaning back in his chair resting his hands comfortably in his lap.

"How was your day, dear?" There was a smirk in his voice, even if it didn't show on his face. He didn't need to ask, he knew. He always knew.

"Fine" I blinked, keeping my face as neutral as possible. If I showed any cracks in my facade, he would have the upper hand. He would win. "Yours?"

"A bore" Fyodor sighed, moving his chess piece forward on the board. "Don't worry yourself, a worried wife is a useless one"

His words used to hurt me, burrowing like maggots into my brain and rotting away. Now I understood that I shouldn't take it to heart. That our marriage was a loveless one to begin with. That there was no reason to care for insults from a husband who only married me to use me as a tool in his game.

"Same for a worried husband, no?" I quipped back, moving my own piece. "Checkmate"

"You're learning" He chuckled, the corners of his lips curling into the slightest smile. He didn't smile much, or at least, not a genuine smile. Whether this one was real or not, I had no idea. It looked more out of mockery than anything. "Shall we go to bed, or do you have more snarky comments for me?"

"It's only 9pm" I tilted my head to the side, eying up the old grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

"Is that an issue?"

"For a man who stays up all night working on something he won't tell me about, yes. Why so tired now?"

Fyodor sighed again, shaking his head and sending me a sharp glare. "Don't ask me questions you don't want the answer too"

A classic response. A warning, more like. Fuck around and find out, poke the bear and get eaten, or which ever cliché phrase you wanted to use. It was true, however. I didn't want to know what he got up too at his work-which he had told me was an office job that would 'simply bore me to death'.

But I had seen him leave late in the night, seen him return covered in blood, seen the headlines the next morning and heard the gossip from the woman in town.

A terrorist organization, the Rats they called it, revoking havoc all over the country. The leader had been spotted too many times to count, a sicky Russian man with a piercing purple gaze.

I wasn't stupid.

But I wouldn't pry, either. I had all the information I was going to get. Because if there was one thing Fyodor was best at, it was his poker face.

"Fine. Bed it is"

"That's a good girl, tuck me in, will you?"

[staarlight-snow]

Reflections in the Murky Waters

[Short sequel to Murky Waters - Island of the Slaughtered]

TW: panic attacks (??), nightmares, ig horror, mentioned death

"Well, hoping is the only thing we can do right now.. Why not make the most of it? Right Noah?"

-

Cody jumped up from where he lay in cold sweat, tightly gripping at his shirt. His breathing was heavy and he felt tears run down his cheeks. He softly groaned – covering his ears with both his hands, his surroundings were quiet but his mind was loud. He winced at every memory, every thought and every imagery that stayed in his mind

"Another nightmare again?" A soft voice spoke, shuffling in her side of the cabin. "S-sorry.. Did I wake you?" Cody asked, moving his hands away from where they were. "No.." Gwen whispered, moving closer to the other. "I'm having trouble sleeping.. It's like every time I close my eyes I can hear him call my name." She vented, staring at the rotting wooden floor beneath them.

"Yeah.. I get the feeling. I have this.. recurring dream." He confessed, picking at the seams of his jeans. "Yeah? Want to talk about it?" Gwen offered, tilting her head as she looked at the boy. Cody took a deep breath and closed his eyes, images flashing in his mind. "It starts out with me, I walk out of the cabin holding some stuff. And I look out in the forest and he's there.. He's alive." He dragged out that last part with pain in his voice.

"I make my way towards him but.." He stopped for a moment. He hated this part. "E-every damn time I could even get close to him.. He gets pulled into the forest.. A-and it's quick! I ran after him, as fast as I could. Every night I go to bed, I try to save him.. even if it's only in my dream.." He breathed out, his voice getting weaker by the second. He's never confided these dreams with anyone before. He never thought talking about them could be just as painful as having them.

"But no matter how I try and what I do.. I couldn't save him." Tears were streaming down his face and his voice was broken. It was a pain to hear it. "Heh.. There was this one time, I managed to get to him in time. I had his hand in mine. And I was pulling him out of the water but something was also pulling him down. He told me 'Let go because it'll hurt more if you keep dwelling on it' I-I don't know if that was my brain telling me to get over it or.. if it was actually Noah.." Cody finished, he opened his eyes and buried his face in his hands.

Gwen moved her hand to the others back to console him. "It takes time to heal and right now, everyone in this cabin needs it but I think our main focus right now is to survive.. There's no point in healing if you know you'll get hurt again the next day." She sighed in defeat. It was like every slither of hope they had was slowly drifting away and all they had left was their lives. "Surviving? What's the point! There's nothing to live for anymore." Cody cried. "Don't say that!" Gwen scolded, furrowing her eyebrows.

"We promised we'd get out together.. And that's what I had going for me.. It's not like someone's waiting for me at home anyway." He muttered in between sobs, moving his legs closer to his chest. Gwen looked at the other and sighed. "Can you atleast promise me we'll both get out of here? You and me.." She asked. Cody slumped over and rested his chin on top of his knees.

"It's what they would've wanted.." He answered. "You're right.. They're our friends, they only want what's best for us." Gwen smiled, to which Cody returned. They hadn't smiled in a while – they never found a reason to anyway.

Maybe this time the world will be fair.

--

i woke up and immediately thought, "man cody's brain chemistry must've been fucked lmao.. lemme write abt that" HUAHAUAHUA I CRAVE ANGST RAGHH 👺👺 *feral gremlin noises*

anyway this isnt me shipping gwen and cody, unless u wanna view it that way ig 🤨 i just think they'll hv a kind of bond and comfort in one another ngl 😔

[hypnoneghoul]

Things haven't been great and it's only Tuesday lol, I don't want to bother you at all so this ask is free to ignore but, can I have something comforting? Someone helping someone get through shit sort of stuff? Pairing is free ofc but no pressure

i had some thoughts earlier and so I used this to project a little bit onto rain, hope its okay

It just hits him sometimes.

He’s fine, but then he…isn’t. And he never knows how to fix it.

And so, again, Rain wakes up with an overwhelming feeling of dread suffocating him for no reason at all. Nothing happened, nothing that would be able to explain it.

He sighs and burrows himself in the bedding, nowhere near ready to face the day. At least it's Sunday and he doesn’t really have anything to do, he can rot the day away and that’s what he’ll do.

It’s hours before someone knocks on his door.

“Princess?” Swiss. Of course it’s Swiss.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Rain mumbles, just loud enough for the multi ghoul to hear. “You can come in.”

The if you want to remains unspoken. He doesn’t feel like a person nice to deal with at all, especially now.

Swiss does come in, though, because no matter what Rain’s brain is telling him, the multi ghoul would never give up on him. Not until his last breath.

“Hey, Bambi,” he smiles down at Rain and it feels like a wave of heat hitting him. The water ghoul doesn’t feel quite so…dead anymore. “Whatcha up to in here?”

Swiss sits by him and even though Rain has no energy left in him, he lifts the covers for the other to join him and warm him up. Literally and metaphorically. He grins at the invitation and the indication it carries; that Rain isn’t lost, that he hasn't wandered off too far in his head.

The multi ghoul crawls in and rests against the headboard, letting Rain choose what to do with himself, not pressuring him in the slightest. He’ll wait for him. He’ll do whatever he needs him to do.

Rain chooses to lay against Swiss’ chest—ear pressed right over his heart—and he takes it as the biggest compliment and show of trust and love. He throws an arm over his middle and it also has it’s meaning. It means I’ve got you, always and Swiss says as much out loud.

The water ghoul melts into the warmth of his body and the feeling of that thick void that’s been crushing him for the last few hours melts away.

He doesn’t have to say anything, he knows he doesn’t—Swiss understands him, anyway—but the words bead on the very tip of his tongue and he doesn’t have to want to choke on them if he can let them out in the open instead.

“Thank you, beam,” he whispers. “I love you so, so much. Thank you.”

“Nothin’ to thank me for, princess,” the multi ghoul sighs, squeezing his waist. “I’m always here with you, okay? I’m not going anywhere, ever. I love you, too."

“I know,” Rain says as he snuggles further into Swiss’ body and holds onto him a bit tighter. When he closes his eyes the darkness isn’t as scary as it has been earlier.

[the-bugs-under-ur-skin]

Hi (I don't know how to use tumblr very well), is there were I request writing? If so, could you write the cast of OMORI from most to least likely to try and kidnap you? How would they [try] pull it off? (If you don't wanna you don't gotta).

least to most likely to kidnap you in the yandere omori cast...

1.) Kel

not surprising, Kel has always been the most laid back. The only situation where he'd kidnap you is if there was a zombie apocalypse and for some reason you really wanted to get infected lol. He has gotten jealous and he has gotten possessive, but he's still very human. he'd feel way too bad if you were isolated- especially if you were to cry. the closest to kidnapping would be him hugging you too tightly and he falls asleep so you'd be stuck for 8-10 hours.

2). Basil

He's probably higher on the list than you'd think, but I think he's way too passive to actually do it. Just like Kel, he couldn't stand you being upset with him in any single way. Plus, he's canonically like 5'4 and 110 pounds, what is he gonna do? I hc that he's the most unstable so he's less likely to snap and kidnap you and more likely to snap and kill you. Still, he's like 5x as likely to kidnap you than Kel. he gets jealous all the time so if he could, he would. he just doesn't have the guts.

3.) Hero

He's very protective, but also he's very caring and that's why he's perfect for being right in the middle. There are many reasons why he might not kidnap you. He's a romantic who wants a fairytale romance, he's very caring and doesn't want you to be upset, he's a worshipper who bends to your will pretty easily. But, there are also many reasons why he would kidnap you. He's protective, he's clingy, he's possessive. All things that could push him to run off with you in the middle of the night. Although, even though he probably could just pick you up and take you, it'd be more of a situation where he subtly lures you to stay in his home or convinces you to run far away with him. Even if you were taken against your will, you could wear him down within a day since you're pretty much his princess.

4.) Aubrey

She's one of the strongest and most possessive, so this isn't too shocking. The only reason she isn't number one is because deep down she's still that cheerful little girl who just wants to make her friends happy. (ofc in this situation her 'friends' is just u) She just really hates seeing you around other people and is pretty insecure since she knows she isn't the best person to be around. She can be provoked super easily, too, so any of those loser kids that she hates messes with her about you, she'd just love to keep you to herself. to keep you away from punks and freaks who could get their grubby hands on you or turn you against her. Aubrey would also be a bit more physical with you. absolutely nothing that would hurt you but i could see he dragging you by the arm to keep you inside her home.

5.) Sunny

OK, OK HEAR ME OUT! Yes, he is like 5'4 and probably even skinnier than Basil, but he wouldn't be the type to drag you to his place. He'd block off the door so you would have no choice but to stay with him or keep you in his room with manipulation and probably lay on you too. He's not like the other's where he'd fold the moment you'd cry. he doesn't really know how to react to it since to him it isn't a big deal. He'd think it's awesome to be stuck in a room with you forever, so why are you crying and getting mad?? Plus, we already know he's not good with emotions in general. He's not cruel, though. He would try to calm you down but it's not like he's good at it. he'd just awkwardly stroke your hair. but i think out of these 5, he'd be the only one who'd actually be able to keep you without immediately bending to your will. he still cares about you, he just genuinely thinks this is what's best. what could be better than bed-rotting with your obsession?

[hinamie]

How the fuck do you draw so fast?? From chapter that dropped today?? And Yuuji is like. The final boss of characters to draw omg (I love it, I love your style so much ughhhhh)

cries ghjgj thank u :'>> ive gotten this question quite a bit lately so let me clear some things up as 2 how i am become speed pls do not attempt at home:

probably the overarching reason, i am currently between jobs so i have a lot of time on my hands

itafushi hyperfixation has taken over my entire brain it feels like i will rot if i don't draw them every waking hour. with where the manga/canon is ive been So motivated and inspired i that i genuinely dont know what to do with myself and all i can do to combat it is draw More. i wish i was exaggerating when i say it feels like a physical need it is a compulsion it is an incessant ITCH. i cannot stress enough the Need i feel to draw fr this series

also bc of where the manga is i feel like the fandom is very active so all the engagement puts coins into the content machine that is me n fans the flames bc i want to Participate i want to Share!!!!! maybe its a fomo thing maybe im a slave to the numbers probably both 2 a degree but above all im having fun sharing what i make with a community who likes the same thing i do <3

when im in the zone with a piece and hatsune miku is serenading me sweet computer sounds and everything is going Right i forget to take breaks eat stand up etc so i end up starting and finishing a draws in a single 6 hour session before remembering i have a body

sleep schedule is FUCKED fr when leaks dropped last night (around 7:30pm fr me) i saw The Yuuji Panel of all time and started the morning glory piece then and there; took no breaks and did not finish until after midnight. then i still had more in me and wanted a head start on baby yuuji panel redraws so i did sketches/lines/flats real quick and went to bed at 4am slept fr 4 hours woke up ate n back to work DO NOT DO THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

also since april i've been on a creative high that's only seemed to go up which is unprecedented but i Have been drawing nearly every day because of it so whatever the opposite of rusty is I'm that. ive had so much daily practice tht the speed came as a side effect fshjgf

[tujhse-raabta]

"I didn't even know you have a sister." Percy's voice is sharp - biting. It hurts, after all.

This was the man he'd left behind everything for. He'd lied and betrayed Lupa, let Annabeth lay broken on the wet ground, and forgiven him what he thought was their daughter's death.

Apollo's face is a cold mirage, not befitting the adoration that was displayed mere seconds ago. "You wish to know, do you, Perseus?"

He doesn't wait for a response, turning sharply and walking out of the room.

Percy feels a dull ache spread through his chest as he collapses onto their bed, covering his face with a muffled sob.

_____

Artemis snarls at him the next time she sees him. He ignores her.

_____

It's cold, in the dining room.

Percy doesn't really get it. If there's one thing about Apollo, it's that he hates the cold. He'd rather burn his own skin off, than feel the biting chill of a winter's day. Yet, for some reason, not even the flickering candles on the table can permeate through the freeze in the air.

His Python is smiling at him politely, though his eyes are an empty shell. The fucking person suit.

"Apollo... Hey, listen. This morning - I -" "Do not worry, Perseus."

Apollo's polite, polite, ever so polite, smile widens.

It doesn't look that polite anymore. It's... Predatory. Sharp. And, hidden deep within?

Desperate.

"Allow me to serve you dinner." With those words, his partner has disappeared into the kitchen.

_____

The sludge in front of him is, quite frankly, disgusting.

It's brownish grey, clumpy and burning hot. It looks like a weird mix of oatmeal and soup, and yet -

And yet.

When Apollo places the single dish on the table with a flourish, Percy feels his gut sink.

He silently pulls it closer, and waits for the other to take a seat before forcefully swallowing the thing.

It's horrifying. Bland, tasteless, and hot enough to burn through his tongue - but he doesn't mind. Because something tells him just how important this is, to Apollo.

Gods, he'd do anything for him. To swallow the soup past the bile collecting in his throat is hardly anything.

(He'd swallowed Meg's ear, hadn't he? Felt the loving caress at the base of his Adam's apple, as the pipe shoved it down his throat.)

"Do you like it?" The other's voice is deceptively light, and in a parody of the dinners they've spent together, his hand inches forward to curl around Percy's wrist.

"It's... telling." That's the only honest descriptor he can use.

(It is. It really is. The cold in the room, the conspicuously absent Artemis, and now, this dreadful thing that's reminiscent of war rations, so unlike the killer's usual, extravagant creations. How there's only one serving. How his partner looks only at his face, avoiding the food completely.

Percy feels a pendulum gain momentum in the back of his mind.)

"It's disgusting," Apollo corrects lightly, "And yet - that winter night in Greece, it was the most delicious thing I'd ever had."

Percy's gut sinks further.

He knows his Python's general background, of course - all that research into Il Mostro hadn't been for nothing.

Count Apollo Olympia, the third. Orphaned at a young age by bandits, found by relatives too late to be saved from the horrible foster system.

The bodies of his parents had never been found - presumably, rotted in their castle surrounded by the woods before the younger Apollo found help.

(The pendulum swings faster. There's a background hint of a synth, and Percy feels numb.)

"They had tied me up." Apollo continues to speak, voice as unbothered as ever. The person suit is stitched up tight, to ensure the monster's wounds don't show. "For days, I starved. I had seen my father's corpse, of course. They'd killed him in front of me. But my mother, and my sister? They were saving them. And regardless of what they intended to do, all I felt was relief. Hope, that the moment I was untied, I would return to my mother's embrace - perhaps cradle Artemis' head."

He smiles, then. Bland. Tasteless.

"They starved me for days, and when a seemingly compassionate captor offered me this soup? I glutted myself on it. It was warm as I had forgotten how to feel - it was sensation that my stomach had long lost hope for. It was, as I told you, the most delicious thing I'd ever had. And once I finished..."

(The pendulum in the back of his mind snaps off its string, careening through air to punch a hole in his heart.)

"They asked me, then, how my mother tasted."

Percy collapses in the chair, a visceral sound escaping him as he gags against the cold wood. In a second, Apollo is behind him - pulling him upright, hand clenched around his neck. If he tilts his head back, his eyes would meet the glittering gold of Apollo's.

"You will not throw up, Percy." The person suit is gone. His voice is taut with a grim satisfaction, and shuttered emotions - an everpresent grief, rising to flood his carefully constructed self.

"You will not throw up, no matter how you wish to. Because I didn't throw up, no matter how I wished to. You wanted to understand me, didn't you? You wished to know. Well, now you do. First hand, you know."

The hand leaves his throat, and instinctually, his body leans towards the threat that has become his comfort. Apollo doesn't relent - walking out of the room with a purposeful gait, hiding the tattered shreds of the man inside.

____

Percy finishes the soup. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to stand food again, but for Apollo?

To know Apollo? To know every part of him, broken and fixed and sharp and sweet?

Oh, he'd do so much more.

In some strange way, now, the soup has become delicious. The best thing he's ever had.

Oh, how he's Seen his Python. How he's Become.

By the time Artemis returns, he's thrown away the vessel.

He doesn't look her in the eyes as he passes her.

He does, however, curl into their bed and pull Apollo close to him, letting every part of their body touch in a desperate reminder.

Percy's here. He's never leaving. Never.

And Apollo - despite his flimsy pretence at being asleep - leans into the embrace.