#the yellow and purple itches my brain

[koukaaa-descent]

Ajhsajzu Ik her design is quite default (except colors and high boots yeah)

But I hope you'll enjoy drawing her 👉👈

driven mad with visions because I am tired ,, I decided to color entirely with one of the water paint tools which. Was a mistake in hindsight but I think it looks okay. I may or may not have taken small liberties with the yellow. the image on the right was there for emotional support while I tried to figure out how the water paint tool worked . I hjope it's alright 😵‍💫

[halo-desert-rose]

Brits with a shit ton of eyes just itches my brain idk

Inspo and image description under cut

[ID:

A traditional drawing of Grian from Hermitcraft, and Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives, referencing a comic panel from Steven Universe.

On the left is Grian, a dirty blond man, crossing his arms and tilting his head slightly upwards and to the right to address Jon. His hair is pulled back into a bun. He has dark purple eyes. In place of his ears is a pair of small purple wings that transition to a pinkish colour at the tips of the primary and secondary feathers. The gradient is created with a combination of hatching and stippling. He wears a red jumper with baggy sleeves, with the white collar of a shirt showing. The wings in his back are folded, and are of similar colouration as his ear-wings. The purple layer at the base of the primary feathers of the larger wings are stippled over a hatched layer of pink. Grian’s nails are sharp and talon-like.

On the right is Jon, who is slightly taller than Grian and is hunched over, like he is tired. His dark brown eyes are cast slightly downwards. His hair, black streaked with white, is half-up, half-down, with half up in a bun. He wears an emerald green cardigan, a grey ‘What The Ghost’ shirt, where the ‘o’ is ‘Ghost’ is replaced with a cute and simple graphic of a ghost, and a medium brown skirt. In his left hand, he holds a black walking cane that has a loop tied to it, so that one could hang it from their wrist, and an asexual flag sticker. In his right hand is a grey tape recorder, and a black ring on the middle finger.

Above Grian is a speech bubble that says, “I think we’re gonna have to kill this guy, Jon.”

Next to Jon is a smaller speech bubble that implies a small voice, says, “Damn.”

Grian’s hair is composed of a layer of light brown with some yellow added in. His wings have a layer of pink and purple.

Jon’s cardigan is composed of a layer of light green and another of dark green. His shirt is light grey with some black. His skirt is a layer of light brown and dark brown.

Everything that is coloured in, except for Grian’s primary and secondary feathers, are coloured in by hatching.

END ID]

[quarantineddreamer]

Jyn Week Day 1: Home

I wasn't sure I was gonna post this, because it's really not my best work. But then again, with the way my brain has been lately not much is! And I wanted to participate and show our girl some love so. Fighting through the perfectionist in me and here's this little thing <3

Though the Rebels had breathed new life into the cave upon their arrival, the network of tight tunnels and sprawling caverns that made up Echo Base had a history that stretched back to a time long before the war. There were stars younger than the stone walls that surrounded them, buried beneath layers of ice so thick, it was unlikely the galaxy would ever uncover the secrets they contained.

It had not taken Jyn long to begin exploring the area, seeking hidden nooks and crannies to which she might escape. Within a week, she had formed a sprawling mental map, memorized the quickest routes to every exit, marked the nearest spaces to duck to when Draven was after her about her latest display of ‘irresponsible/reckless/unacceptable’ behavior–or, when she simply needed quiet. (Which seemed to happen more and more with each passing day spent trapped in this hellhole.)

Tonight, she was bundled in her warmest gear: every thermal layer she possessed, two sweaters, one parka, her hat and scarf, gloves, and four socks pulled one after the other till she could barely squeeze her feet into her boots, much less feel them. 

Clumsiness was the price to pay when you wanted to be up and about at this hour on Hoth–that, or frostbite. It was why, for the most part, no one on Echo Base left their beds after sundown unless they absolutely had to. In temperatures this cold, you’d have to be out of your mind to willingly leave the relative comfort and warmth of your room without very good reason.

Apparently, Jyn was out of her mind, because she’d woken from a dream–the one where the fires of Scarif blinded her one minute, and she was trapped in the cold bunker all alone the next–and crawled out from beneath her blankets. She’d dressed in the dark, moving by instinct more than anything, her skin itching and heart racing as the walls seemed to press closer and closer. Before she’d fully realized what she was doing, she had found herself fumbling by the dim yellow cast of a lantern to a place well-beyond the boundaries of Echo Base.

It would have been all too easy to take a wrong turn–and subsequently freeze to death trying to find her way back–but her body had taken care of her when her mind could not. Before too long she had arrived at a vaguely familiar antechamber, small and circular, with smooth, curving walls.

As she sat and leaned her back into their hard surface, it felt as though she were being held in the palm of some ancient, mysterious being. She took in her surroundings like someone waking up from a dream. Why had her instincts guided her here? 

Then she felt it: air, fresh air; the barest of hints of it brushing across the tip of her nose and suddenly it all made sense. She closed her eyes and drew it deep into her lungs–holding it for a moment with the gratitude of someone reuniting with a long lost friend–before releasing a slow, careful breath. It lingered in the air before her–the ghost of a scared and lonely girl—a swirling cloud of mist, glowing purple. 

Heart in her throat, Jyn lifted her eyes, seeking the source of the strange light. High above her, the chamber’s ceiling of ice and rock gave way, revealing an incredible sweep of night sky, dancing with color. Wind whistled across the opening of the cave…waves whispered upon a black-sanded shore…

“What are they, Mama?”

Her mother’s amused hum tickled at her back. “The Force paints a path home for those that are lost, my love.”

Jyn squirmed beneath the blanket, trying to find her father’s face amidst the orange, flickering shadows of the bonfire. “What are they really, Papa?” 

Mama’s head rested beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around them both, a shield from the wind. He gave her a smile; her favorite kind, the kind he gave her when he asked if she could keep a secret. “You don’t believe your mother?”

Jyn didn’t think her question had anything to do with belief, she simply wanted to know. Mama often told her stories about the Force; stories about love and anger, light and dark, and the threads that tied the world together–just like the ones her favorite blanket was made of. But Papa told her stories too; stories like what kind of soil made the plants on the farm grow, or why her skin turned red after too much time in the sun, or how to fix Stormy when his arm fell off. Mama’s stories were stories she saw and felt on the inside, while Papa’s were ones she held in her hands. But they were both a part of her, pieces she carried with her wherever she went. 

She studied the sky again, following the splashes of purple and green and blue as they wove their way between clusters of stars. She wondered what it would feel like to stand on one of the rippling bands of light; tried to imagine stepping one foot after the other across the horizon as her mother had described. Maybe it would be warm, like sand in the sun, or maybe it would be more like waves lapping at her feet, cold and tingly. 

“A scientist’s daughter through and through,” Mama laughed. “I recognize that look in her eyes…”

Jyn wasn’t sure what exactly she meant by that, but she tore her gaze away from the lights in the sky and turned towards her father instead, ready for his answer.

His skin shimmered green, then blue, and back again, the same colors as the ones that hung in the air above them. “The path your mother spoke of is made of particles, shed by our planet’s suns.”

Jyn frowned at this. “But it’s nighttime.”

“Just because we cannot see something, does not mean it is no longer there,” Papa explained, reaching over to tug the blanket back over her shoulders. “Tonight, the aurora reminds us that the suns have not left us, and they will rise again tomorrow.”

She twisted to face Mama again. “So the suns are the Force?”

“The Force is the suns,” her mother murmured reverently, “and the wind, and the waves, and the sand beneath you. It’s the salt on your tongue when you breathe in and…” she smiled as she poked Jyn’s nose with the tip of her finger, “that means it’s a part of you, and me, and your Papa too.”

Jyn settled into her parent’s arms again and shut her eyes, feeling for the Force her mother spoke of. She wasn’t sure what it was supposed to feel like. 

But she thought there might be some truth to her parents’ words, because though she could not see them anymore, she could sense them there beside her. The comfort of her mother’s heartbeat under her ear, the warmth of her father’s breath as he bent to press a kiss to the top of her head. 

And if she were to find herself lost and standing amidst the aurora, she felt certain this was where they would bring her.

The colors of the sky began to blur and run together. Jyn wiped roughly at her eyes, urging tears away before they could turn to frost upon her cheek. Hoth was more than a far cry from the beaches of Lah’mu, yet she felt closer to it now than she had in a long time.

“Beautiful,” a voice murmured, echoing quietly off the stone around her. 

Jyn started, turning towards the rasp of footsteps. “Cassian…” Leave it to the spy to find her in the middle of a labyrinth in the dead of night.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked warily, taking one last self-conscious swipe at her face with the sleeve of her coat. 

“Not long,” he answered, lingering at the entrance to the cavern.

But long enough… Jyn figured. She heaved a short sigh and returned her gaze to the aurora, an ache in her chest. “There were lights like this on Lah’mu,” she murmured, an explanation of sorts–though Cassian had not asked for one. 

He ducked past the icicle that hung in from the tunnel’s opening and silently came to sit beside her, his shoulder brushing against her own. Though it barely made a difference in a cold this numbing, Jyn found herself drawing comfort from the warmth of his body beside her. 

“How’d you find this place?” he asked softly. 

She glanced at him, but he was looking at the lights above, granting her a reprieve from the weight of his stare. “How’d you find me?” she countered. 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but his eyes were serious when they landed on her again. “I went to your room and you weren’t there. For a moment I thought…” he shook his head and took a sudden interest in his boots.

“You thought I’d left?” 

“I didn’t know what to think. I checked the infirmary next.” There was an odd strain to his voice, something she couldn’t quite place. “No one had seen you there either, so I headed towards the perimeter,” a small smile crossed his lips, “I’ve noticed you wander to the edges of Base when you’re trying to avoid Draven.”

“Of course you did,” Jyn remarked. “Then what?”

“I followed the light…” 

“And it led you here…” The memory of her mother’s story–still fresh in Jyn’s mind–began to mingle with words Cassian had once spoken to her. The kyber crystal she wore seemed suddenly heavier than it had a moment ago, a hand resting over her heart. 

She thought of Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, even K2. Of all the people who she had gotten to know because of the Rebellion. People who had her back. People who might not understand all of her, but who accepted her nonetheless.

“Hoth is the first time we’ve really slowed down since Scarif,” Cassian said, ignoring her sudden glance at the mention. “I know it can be hard to adjust to life in the Rebellion.”

A tentative smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Yeah,” she replied, catching a ripple of light and shadow as it wandered across his face. “I've been feeling lost…but I think I��m beginning to find my way.”

[merakiliving]

7/6/24

Testing out a fresh digicam over the weekend with my partner. Playing with purple and yellow tones gives me SO much satisfaction. It's like scratching an itch except the itch is somewhere between my brain and eye.

Harry Potter / The Little Prince / Starbucks / Instant Ramen / Eyelash Wishes / Journey - Open Arms / Lucky Pocket Gnomes

[slytherinboysappreciation]

For the pretty asks galaxy, diamond, valentine and 1975💞

Thank you so much for the ask!! 🥰

galaxy; what fascinates you?

*giggles wickedly* Oh, what do I answer for this?

I guess I’d go with psychology. I LOVE how the human mind works. Especially when it comes to mental illness and cognitive disorders. Like UGH! It just scratches this little itch in my brain that hungers to understand myself

Anyway, psychology and video game lore are my two biggest interests at any given moment, so talk to me about either of those things and I’ll probably adore you forever

diamond; favorite color?

Golden yellow or lavender purple, specifically because I love yellows and because I read somewhere that lavender is the gayest color

valentine; best gift you’ve ever received?

Errrr… Damn this is a hard question. Um, the one that’s coming to mind is my ex-best friend made me some hand drawn anime pins for an anime I was obsessed with years ago

1975; if you could time travel to any time period, what would it be and why?

I’m fully convinced that despite all the problems it would entail, I was fully supposed to live in a small farmhouse in the 1800s. Like, free from high societal expectations, born to daydream while doing manual labor, and dying at a young age after raising like, four to six small children. Idk it just makes sense to me

[wild-dagon]

I have lots of thoughts on a dragon!link color scheme but I think my favorite is to make their color purple in order to match with the master sword or maybe the green from the master sword. Yes blue is Link’s color in these games, but the idea of Link merging with the master sword just hit that right but in my mind.

Doesn’t it just itch the right parts of your brain.

I really do love the idea of Spirit Dragon Link having the colors of the master sword. I always saw it as purple and blue (like Fi)

Fi’s blue is pretty close to the champion blue so it works.

The only question is should I do the back spikes in blue? Gold (like the details on the master sword) or do I make them yellow, green, red, and blue for the champions? Like they change with the light like and Aurora borealis?

I just really love Link having the colors of the master sword

[liliallowed]

I have some questions on how Crimson's unusual body works cause they make my brain itch.

Do they have nerves? Do their nerves just not work? Can they be influenced by poison or alcohol? If their brain would become damaged from blunt force or anything of the sort, would they have the certain senses that work for them be effected? (Sight) Could you blind them? How does level and magic and determination effect their organic mass?

Sorry for all the questions I just want to rip open this demon and study them.

Lab Coat Anon

well, their soul pumps determination throughout their whole body. instead of blood it's pure condensed manifestation of will power.

they DO bleed but it's more of a pleasantry or a mocking gimmick of what sans would pull off with ketchup bottles.

their body does have blood but after a certain amount of cuts they'll just stop bleeding and run out of blood... but has no affect on their movement or health. blood is more like a decorative fluid that's just there sometimes and other times it isn't.

there ARE particular things that they CAN physically feel despite their lack of nerves. how? let's just say it has more to do with how their mind works rather than their body.

as for how much magic affects them? well they're practically a walking zombie. even without an arm or leg they can still run around and crawl over the place if they have ONE hp left. like... it's difficult to even consider their body biologically bound... then again it still functions like organic mass.

possession shenanigans and determination, undying soul blah blah blah. that stuff.

healing food literally allows them to plop back lost limbs back in place or just glitch back to their default. EVEN THEIR CLOTHES REGENERATE with their DEF.

light blue magic causes harm to their soul but not their organic body. the body will get chilly if they move through the attack though.

the body does take DIRECT damage from RED attacks. (not that sans can canonically use red attacks but still. if Asgore faced them? they'd need to worry about both their vessel AND themself)

orange attacks give them faint burn marks if their soul stays still.

yellow shocks their body AND SOUL. it stuns them for a few seconds.

purple restricts the movement of their soul but their body can move independently based on their will to act fight or spare.

dark blue affects BOTH their body and their soul at the same time. it physically and spiritually YEETS them.

as for senses... no you can't blind them or make the deaf. they don't need physical "eyes" to see... they CAN be gagged and lose their speaking privileges though.

so if you plan on on playing hide and seek they'll find you even if you're in a concrete box :3

[chocobothis]

Jila Fic Excerpt

Notes: My brain’s been itching with writing Jila and combining it with where season three of The Mandalorian ended this happened. The longer fic gets into more with how Jila’s feeling after being pushed further into the spotlight while navigating fraught politic relations between different factions. It also gets into her feelings about her dead father and how she hopes he would view her.

Mando’a Dictionary:

cyar’ika: Darling, Sweetheart

buire: Parents (lit. plural of mother & father; in this case it’s Bo-Katan Kryze & Solus Ve’tra)

jang’eyayah: Clones (lit. Jango Echo)

---

Tarre dropped onto the makeshift bench in a sprawl of too long limbs. Through their helmet, and even without the Force, Jila knew they were brimming with annoyance. “Moving to a forest and cutting all contact with the Galaxy. Wanna come?”

“We staying in system or what?”

The indignant scoff barely sent her into a fit of laughter. “We’re staying. Didn’t take the fucking thing back to just leave.”

Her twin was one of the few people she was truthful with about why she hung out atop the left wing of the former royal palace. Within the city proper it was one of the highest places that offered near complete solitude. Everywhere else was too low, had too many people, or was a mixture of both. Up high, alone, and in view of the stars was where her center was found. Maybe in the coming years she would be able to see the stars from here too. But, it did the job well enough.

The others were fed lies in the most sincere of tones. She picked the best vantage points to help document the city’s progress. Between her rangefinder, macrobinoculars, and her advanced HUD it took nothing to record data. Her scans were transmitted to their current headquarters where they were assembled into updates and passed on. It saved on both jetpack and ship fuel. 

Air hissed from a depressurizing helmet before the clank of beskar to beskar. A glance to her right had her eyes rolling. Of course their shorter, white hair still looked perfect. Over eight hours in a helmet meant nothing. Her own hair was frizzed to Concordia and back even with her cyar’ika’s careful braids. 

“Where did they have you today?” She hadn’t seen their name around the in-city crews.

“More underground scouting. Main objective was to check stability but to the shock of no one we had to exterminate some nests.” Their battered canteen came to their purple lips for a deep drink before passing it over. “The work itself was fine. But the group? I wanted to cave myself in by the four hour mark.”

The water bore a hint of metallic and purification tablet. They definitely refilled while under ground. “That was you? I thought the urge to collapse a building on myself came from my wiring crew.”

No effort was made to suppress an undignified snort of laughter. “You’re too dramatic to just hang yourself with cables.”

“Damn right.” Her smile was all fangs, “I wanna go out with a memorable bang.”

Beyond the busted railing they spied clusters of Mandalorians moving on about their lives. Their Buire’s Nite Owls traveled in clumps of blue beskar’gam, the color of their childhood. A stray Wren with gold trimmed black darted between clusters in a rush. Spotting the little clump of Skirata was easy even if they didn’t have a clan theme. Helmets off showed many of them as jang’eyayah children or adoptions. One of the only other clans with jang’eyayah was Ve’tra. Just behind them was the heavy, blue beskar’gam of Journeyman Protectors intermingled with some yellow Rooks. They looked happy.

[whimsyswastry]

Get to know the Blogger

<3 <3 Thank you  @greypetrel​ for the tag. Sorry it’s taken me a bit...that ADHD urge to rearrange in the middle of the night on a work day hit on earlier this week and my loft has been a disaster area since.

I think I filled out something similar not too long ago, but as I’m pretty sure most of my answers have changed since then, I shall fill it out again. Plus, I love being tagged :D

Share your wallpaper: I’m rocking the Dragon Age love. A beautiful and complicated piece you can find here, by @lethendralis-paints

Last song you listened to: Feeling nostalgic for being 18 so I’m listening to Here (In Your Arms) by Hellogoodbye

Currently reading: Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo for the second time. The entrire grishaverse gripped me in a way I hadn’t felt since H*P* when I was like 9 years old. Plus, who doesn’t love Wesper?

Last movie: Quasi on Hulu by the people who made Super Troopers. Surprisingly funny, but definitely one of those dumb improv movies you need to be in the mood for.

Last show: lol also Supernatural. I missed Cas, so I���m re-watching some of my favorite episodes while I design a digital planner.

Craving: Sleep. I gave in to my recent craving of homemade brownies and now just need to sugar crash.

What are you wearing right now: A loose 2-piece pj set, blank spaghetti straps and black shorts.

How tall are you: I converted my height from imperial and apparently I am also around 166 cm.

Piercings: Two in each ears that usually has tiny hoops in it. I also had a triple forward helix which was SO AWESOME, but itched like mad so I took them out and let it close.

Tattoos: One on each wrist and a handful of others that I plan on getting if I ever commit the time and money.

Glasses? Contacts? Glasses. I used to wear contacts on special occasions, but I’ve embraced the glasses 24/7 lifestyle.

Last drink: Water

Last thing you ate: The aforementioned brownies

Favorite color: It changes pretty regularly. As far as clothing goes, I really like dark reddish purple, that orange-y yellow, olive green, and eggplant. Any jewel tone really. But I’m also a fan of those sickly sweet pastels when I’m doodling.

Current obsession: I’m between obsessions honestly. I guess the closest thing would be the digital planner I’m designing. Can’t wait until the DA or ME bug bites me again, though. Particularly because I’m *so* close to having completed my second draft of Operation Leviathan, but my brain just won’t do the thing.

Any pets: One adorable, stubborn, sassy basset mix.

Favorite fictional character: Only one? Umm....Castiel comes to mind immediately. But he’s just the current one, not my all time favorite…all-time favorite is probably…. Kaidan Alenko.

Tagging || I tagged a bunch of people last time and am feeling shy...so please consider yourself tagged and don’t forget to tag me if you do it! <3

[clementinefight]

(toy’s version)

Many lawn chairs circle the kidney bean shaped pool, but I’m the only person stranded in one. Beg yourself to be normal don’t you, on evenings like this, when loneliness is a leash, and it makes you a fence, and nobody, nobody, nobody can come inside. Go inside, I wish I would. Go inside, maybe I will in a minute.

Have been out in the backyard for over an hour, under swelling tree shadows, waiting on Immi to arrive. I’m always waiting on Immi to arrive, and always wanting to wait on Immi’s arrival. Nothing better than that. Only, thinking about her showing up now, the bells in my chest teeter over into an excruciating anxiety. I exhale roughly, sit up and then hunch over with aims of crushing the pain away. It stays, but this does feel better. Contorted, I spot a few beautiful white blossoms on the vivid blue-green surface of the pool. Blood vibrates like mathematics in my forehead. The thoughts, my thoughts, aren’t enough of a kaleidoscope; everything is clearly screaming. My thoughts hurtle me into rooms that spell pain in every corner.

My pain transmutes, and for a minute, I can stomach it. I sit normally again, with my shades shielding me from a bit of the saturated colour around here. Pink plastic flamingos in the garden, and gnomes with red hats punctuating soil and high weeds.

Something else has been happening today, something aside from thinking about her, and pain. On Squid Street, where I live too, nobody else seems to notice the trembling sentience of the leaves in Bruce Mau’s backyard. No comment so far has been commented on that there is more electric singing from the trees this lavender dusk than usual; none about how each green leaf seems energetic and physical in its hanging expectantly there, like they’re not just hanging but lifting, launching; like each leaf is a hand with a brain that operates it, like each brain has a lettuce domination agenda and that agenda is to get close to human skin and, once close enough, to eat it.

That tree wants to smell me, touch me, be a part of me, I think.

My gaze rolls up the trunk of the tree closest to me. Maybe life as the object that is pushed down the throat of Warm and into the stomach rivers of Acid wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it would be good and nice, and I would be just like a bare foot slipping into its perfect satin heel; found and held by the blue-black-green enclosure like I’ve never felt held by anything else before, not childhood, not people, nothing else. That tree is so beautiful, slanting down over this suburban backyard like a swan neck, that for a minute or two I think we’re in love. I let my body relax, and because everybody else is inside, I push my hips upwards towards it. The tree reacts. Bony white blossoms erupt from its branches like silent, soft and fuzzy bombs. One tiny petal, loose like a broken wing, falls down onto my lip and sticks to the gloss there.

My shiny lips, my purple eyeshadow, my hair wild as—

I did all this to attract her, to walk her into my net again.

A branch is like textured brown vertebrae. A branch is an itch I can’t scratch. If Immi were here already, she’d tell me what else a branch is like. Maybe she would say something that would get me thinking about her all night. Something suggestive. Whip, pencil, road of many forks. She doesn’t need to stoke it. All nights, I already think about her.

Still the tree is too big. That tree is so big it’s going to eclipse me, not even eclipse me but bury, put me down.  Suddenly, we’re not lovers; I cool towards the whole thing. I envision my soggy eyeballs like silvery flower-heads growing on stalks up, up and through a barrage of green density to wave like pink flags of birth upon a whole new world. At that thought, I’m warm again. I will be queen of the conquered land, the fallen humans, the scratching yellow woods that have overcome, brother to time, the shopping malls, the movie theatres, the diners, personal kitchens and bathrooms and cars, the gas stations, the wooden gymnasiums, the funeral homes, the pale hospitals, the polka dot dressing rooms, the amusement parks, the baseball diamonds, my body self. 

And with no body, the fallen petals of my hands will flutter in a cold wind after Immi’s ankles.

Last time I was here in Bruce Mau’s backyard, the trees just weren’t this important; they weren’t like a frustrated ceiling pulsing to an inward peak over my head. Maybe the way I look at the world automatically suffocates, but it’s like I’m in a closed lime-room rather than outdoors. It’s like I’m in a house of leaves, and the house is breathing, the house is hungry.

I want you, too, maybe, I think, low from in my lawn chair. But only because you’re preferable to tonight and tomorrow.

All that proves I’m still outside and not locked away at the bottom of a wizard’s jar is the balmy, pushing air. I look up again, up at the trees. Yes, they are getting closer. They arch over my head like a dark green canopy and, as I stare, a kelp-smelling wind rustles through the thick enchanted broccoli treetops, coming from the sea at the bottom of town, way down at the end of Squid Street. The wind lifts my curly hair, tossing the dark strands wildly around my head.

“You want me?” I whisper. “Say you want me.” Do you ever practice intimate things with empty air? But it is her eye at the end of each leaf.

It’s all real. Can’t get out of it. It’s all real. Can’t get out of it. 

The light isn’t tricking me, the light just is, and while bright it can still exist in the dark minutes.

I’m not sad because of the gigantic trees that hunger for me, but because last night feels like the furthest night of my life when it should feel the closest; I couldn’t take a boat to reach it, those hours with her in my bed — coconut nectar skin, her hair on me like multiple collapsing breezes. I’m sad because she’s not here yet, hours after she said she’d be, I’m sad because this makes last night slide further and further off; until last night is an white island I spot in the black distance when I was just right there. A fear cold as moon scale lands in the divide between now and then, and though maybe I look business as usual on my outside screen, where my face pokes up unmoved, inside my body-house it is dark with a clawing dark, my nerves feel hole-punched and knuckle-clenched, my eyes are hot and watery behind my sunglasses, and I don’t know anybody. Everybody’s been to a party like that, where they sit in a individual court and don’t know anybody.

So take me, treacherous court of leaves, take me.

I was last here in the winter, here in Bruce’s backyard. That was when Immi was dating Bruce and from that alone I nearly died, but somehow I lived and laughed in the meantime; the war-town backyards were bare still and white still and piled window high still with crystal mattresses of snow still. Even the brightly striped lawn chairs all appeared pale and salted and dim then. Things take up more space in August than they do in December, don’t they? Sure they do. People, oh, people do. Immi especially lifts like a neon balloonist in the summertime, a July giant, she is a strange hot plasticine that seeps and takes, with the power of eight pitch-black octopus arms, over my heart’s deserted beaches.

But if people become gems in the summer, what happened to me? I’m statuesque, peanut-butter brittle, an icicle in an environment so beautiful and warm that it, in natural reaction to me, has now turned hostile. Out here alone on the lawn chair, I’m getting smaller, smaller. Nobody who saw me would even believe I’m thinking like this. To them I’m just somebody sitting  dumbly in a chair. I wonder if I even look like I’m waiting for confirmation? If my roaring bellyache emits a visual signal, or if this is all a whine that only the neighbourhood dogs can pick up. Miniature Toy. Couldn’t move if I wanted to. Do you ever think like that to yourself, that you’d like your body to be more liquid and play more to current events. But you can’t, you’re locked in yesterday, or in the last ten years. You’re down and out and nobody knows it, they only think you’ve got a bad, shy, or awkward attitude.

Put it plainly. I’m going to lose her. I’m an ant, anyway, an ant about to lose her queen. Because I showed my cards, and tomorrow I’m out of here on a plane to the other end of the country. There’s just not enough space now to let the strangeness loose, to let it roam. And there’s too much space to jump back to how it was before. Ordinary friendship, nothing hot, nothing hot. I can picture the dead end of our letters already. Cool like the splash on the fire makes.

It occurs to me; I have to go inside, I actually do. Into the party, amongst the shadow bodies, and have things there like Polite dish soap or Responsible toilet paper or Chaperone broom or Playful darts to capture and bring towards my being as props. I look towards the house; the red bricks are beginning to decline into block of shadow under the maroon belt of dusk, but two big window-boxes glow orange still, and pastel blue, pink, and gold streamers flutter against the glass. If Immi does look for me, I can’t be found out here, open, heart on the ground, defenceless; like that, our eyes and hearts will naturally meet in too exposed a meadow; everything will be obvious. If she has come with a hammer for me and my desire, then it will be too obvious, and I will have no props to stop me from appearing exactly as I am; crashed under the blow, and with a broken dream generator still dreaming of her knees.

Through little gaps in the tree-palace leaves, spots of orange sunset jump and flicker, excited cinders. Real evening already, and no my-girl, no gift-eyed Immi. I want to take those bars of slipping sun and break them over the knee. I don’t want another day. I want just last night, last night, capital L and N, L is the captain of lakes, locks and listening, N the controller of navigation and nickels. I want last night alone, and not the subtraction after.

[kaonarvna]

Getting to know people better

tagged by @matadorofheart ages ago (oops)

Last song: "party at club bug" by spellcasting. It's not the sort of thing I usually listen to (see: symphonic metal, power metal, etc) but it's,, it's itching the grooves in my brain in a very specific way. I like it.

Favorite color: red? green-blue? I have tritanomaly/I'm blue-yellow "colourweak" (as opposed to blind), so some colours are...messy! I'll call something green and people will tell me it's blue. I'll call something grey and people will tell me it's purple. There's a reason I have labelled colour palettes/wheels/etc to pick from as external references when I do art nonsense! The hiler system is my favourite tool atm, flawed as it is. (favourites in red)

Last movie/TV show: i think the last movie I watched was the new Barbie? It's good! I expected more from it, oddly enough. Any time Will Ferrell is in something I get a little concerned, but he wasn't that much of a distraction. I saw it in theatres with a colleague, as a Treat. We were the only pair of two grown men there.

Sweet/spicy/savory?: Savory! Crunchy!

Relationship status: Married! Technically a civil partnership, but my spouse and I went that route because it doesn't have any religious language tied up in it, legally speaking. The country we're in uses some religious-based (Christian) vows in its legal marriage ceremonies, and, well, I'm an atheist and he's Sikh/atheist (culturally Sikh, as it were). So, civil partnership it is!

Last thing I googled: "Heidegger ff7 original model" I refuse to explain myself.

Current obsession: FFVII! It's been a good decade and a bit of on and off fixation, particularly on Sephiroth and Genesis. Sephiroth currently has my gay ass in an absolute choke hold. 10/10 would let him skewer me in several ways.

Currently have a smaller but very real obsession with rainworld! It's so lovely and punishing and inspires a real atmospheric fear that makes my brain go "!!!". I've not played too much yet, but I do just love it, I'm "watching" stupid lore video after video (they're on in the background).

Tag People: no! If you want to do this, by all means, tell the world I told you to.

[hauntxd]

🎵, 🍪, 🎧, 🧡, 🦖

🎵 code mistake by corpse x bmth, it itches the best parts of my brain

🍪 a chocolate chip cookie without the chocolate chips

🎧 earbuds!!

🧡 orange, yellow, and purple make wanna vomit

🦖 megalodon!! i luv sharks

thank u!!! u are the sweetest

[moonbinscirera]

I'm back!! Sorry for not replying for a hot second 😭 yess let's get lost together 😂😍🤩

It definitely is so hard and I dislike it greatly 😕 pleaseee racism porn is such a good word 😩 so real that our experiences are not universal and it's weird to expect it as such!!

Angst 🫦🫦🫦🫦 and yess brain itching omg we got to love the feelings becoming real - that oh shit moment is so good + bonus points if there's more angst after that because you know - unnecessary feelings 🥵

Ooh a rare pair! Life is so hard for no reason for rare pair ships 😔 I feel like no ship should be too underrated and yet they are 💔 omg wonhao dynamics!! We need more 95z with their baby 97

Hehe jsjakakak you are so totally normal and super chill about hao I couldn't even tell 😗 hahaha don't worry I am very much the same with my own bias I believe 🫣

*gripping my armchair* no stress no stress no stress hahahahahahahaha -

So true that we're the harshest critics 😩 I will NOT allow you to be too hard on yourself though >:( but it really do be treacherous waters out here... I'm definitely grateful for the support I've received despite it all

Omg!! Health IT seems like a really cool field 💪🏼 wishing you so much luck, I know you got this 🥳🙌🏼��🏼

LMFAO AT THE JAY WHY PEE PIC I LOVE IT!! 🤣😂🤣😂

🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ I think I asked you what colors you like to work with BUT what about your favorite colors just in general? I'm gonna guess blue might be one you like 🤭 will you prove me wrong hehe?

omg u accidentally left me on read and then i accidentally left u on read 😭 so lets call it even 😭 i was even gonna say i dont mind but then we got busy tryna drive home and then i slept all yesterday 😮‍💨 so sorry

shsyshsss YES! because then homies all like "no theyd never like me back its all for the act theres no way it isnt" its so 😚😚 whats ur fave fanfic trope? ( im sorry if u already said 😔)

no because when ur a rare pair ho ur archive be less than a thousand deep spread out over 5 years your standards on what u wont read drop like a egg 😮‍💨 and i need more 95 the way cheol folds up into peak bby girl for hao??? joshua is always tryna smooth over his sulking 😭 jeonghan... idk i cant get over that hide n seek game they did for gose when hao was so mad at hannies cheating he hunted him down my mans put on his sonic shoes to get him 😭

well then i wont let u be harsh either!!! 😤😤😤

thank you 😭 its supposed to be a very flexible field that has alot of different types of places i can work for so i hope itll be a good move 😭 idk

i cannot prove you wrong~ blue is in my list of fave colors i like but green is my absolute favorite! it goes like 1. green 2. blue 3. purple 4. pink 5. black 6. Red 7. white 8. orange 9. yellow 10. brown 😌 how bout you 👀

[magician-hero]

WHY I HATE POKEMON SCARLET AND VIOLET’S 3D ART STYLE

So i hate the art style of the official games. I wasn’t able to put a finger on it for the longest time so fiddled around with an official screenshot until I got what I wanted. 

(this is all copy and pasted from my original twitter post) first of all 1. lack of contrast. i tried putting more contrast in my edit so parts of Iono's hair would stare out more and most of my stylization spurred out from there. i think making things having more contrast and making things flatter again might be a lot more appealing

second of all 2. lack of loyalty to the original design. i didn't edit parts of this too much but parts of iono are noooot the same from the 2d render and i think the stylization adds a little more character. as i heard in school some colors can look out-of-the tube. making iono's eyes pink and having white highlights makes sense but the purple-yellow contrast feels more creative and colorful. same with the untraditional color of her mouth. that's all, disclaimer i don't think im better than anyone working at Nintendo. these are just criticisms and suggestions that will hopefully itch someone else's brain as well.

btw my mom saw this and thought my edit was official so i win    

[angelicyoongie]

everything i brew, i brew it for you

⤷ 1.2k follower event request: Familiar!Seokjin x Witch!Reader + “I should’ve told you back then, but I didn’t want you to leave.” + Fluff/Angst ⤷ @softescapism​ said: seokjin x reader or OT7 x reader + prompt C8 + witch/familiar, fluff, sfw (hi! could you write a drabble/scenario/short fic for the follower event based on this, please? 💓) ⤷ word count: 2.1k ⤷ a/n: this is a little angsty in the beginning, but the ending is all fluff! i hope you like it!!

“There you are!” You grumble, snatching up a vial from the back of your cabinet. The little thing is covered with dust, the label yellowed with age and barely clinging on to the glass. But even then, there’s no mistaking the content. The shimmering pink powder inside makes you stomach flip uneasily, but you know it has to be done. You uncap the bottle before you can talk yourself out of it, carefully sprinkling the powder counter-clockwise into the boiling concoction in your pot. You can’t help but frown as it slowly turns from clear to bright pink, the stark colour mocking you as you throw in a pair of four leaf clovers with a little more force than necessary. The kitchen is quiet aside from the bubbling brew and the rhythmic tapping of your impatient fingers against the counter, your eyes resting nervously on the dark garden outside your window. You promised Seokjin years ago that you would never make this particular potion again, but you’ve run out of options.

You love being a potions witch, but truth be told, it’s probably the worst financial decision you could have made. All witches have to choose their niche the day they turn eighteen, and you, driven by the long list of potions witches in your ancestry, wanted to follow in their footsteps. What you didn’t account for however, is just how drastically the times have changed. Larger covens have started selling their potions online, making them in big batches to cut down on the cost and shipping them all across the country. There’s no longer a need for a town to have their own potions witch, not when you can get them delivered to your doorstep for a cheaper price. The mass produced potions are definitely not as potent as a singularly brewed ones, but it seems people care more about price than efficiency these days. Well, at least most people don’t care. And considering business has been dwindling so alarmingly fast over the last four months that you’re barely scraping by, there’s not a chance that you can lower your prices anymore than you already have.

You shake your head, trying your best to ignore the tendrils of guilt wrapping around your chest. As long as your familiar doesn’t find out about this order, there will be nothing for him to worry about. That's why you’re hunkered over the stove in the first place; desperately hoping that it will be done in time before he comes home. Tonight is Seokjin’s monthly familiar night with Hoseok and Namjoon, and the only window of alone time you have to make something like this. You murmur a quick incantation under your breath as you give the potion one last stir, watching as the pink brew slowly darkens to red. The sickly sweet smell that whiffs up from the cauldron almost makes you gag, but at least it tells you that the potion is almost complete.

You take a step back, throwing another glance towards the window as you count down the seconds in your head. Five minutes. That’s all you need. It’ll be finished, and you can finally hand over the love potion to your customer tomorrow. Despite your reservations and Seokjin’s hatred for that particular brew, it’s actually not that bad. It can’t force someone to fall in love, but it does make them more .. loose-lipped around their crush if they happen to have one. If anything, it’s honestly more of a rebranded truth serum. It does make you want to confess your feelings, and that’s also where the dubious morality of the potion comes in. Even if the person is already in love with someone, it still forces the recipient to act on emotions that they might not be ready to, or even want to share with their crush. You’ve turned down requests for this potion numerous times in the past, but this time, you truly can’t afford to. Seokjin might be older, but he’s still your familiar. Your responsibility. It’s not his fault that he decided to create a bond with you – a witch who can hardly sell enough potions to keep food on the table. You have honestly no idea how you managed to end up with a familiar like him, one that’s so utterly selfless and helpful. Seokjin’s guidance and assistance feels a little wasted on you, and you can’t help but think that your familiar should’ve ended up with a different witch. One that would actually be able to repay him properly for everything he does. You let out a deep sigh. You’ll just have to do better. Maybe you can try to set up one of those witchgram accounts Taehyung is doing so well on, after all, the ritual witch’s sales has been increasing.

The brew suddenly releases a puff of red smoke, signaling its completion. You hastily grab an empty bottle, scooping up as much as possible as you fill the vial to the brim. ”Shit, not yet,” You can suddenly feel the familiar itch behind your right ear, a telltale sign that Seokjin will be home soon. You scramble to turn off the oven as you hear your familiar open the back door, just about managing to shove in a cork at the top of the bottle and hide it behind your back as Seokjin steps into the kitchen.

”Hey! How was your night out?” You lean awkwardly against the counter, bottle digging into your back as you press it flush against your body.

”It was good,” Your heart flutters as Seokjin comes closer, the handsome features never failing to make your heart skip a treacherous beat. ”How was your night?” Your familiar raises an eyebrow as he takes in your awkward posture, the lingering scent of magic in the air betraying what you’ve been up to while he was gone.

”Boring! You know, just very normal and .. boring,” You wince. You breath hitches as Seokjin stalks closer, the frown tugging on his lips causing another wave of guilt to crash through you. You brain shuts down as he cages you in against the counter, and you swear you only blink before you find yourself staring at a red vial in front of your face, your hand grasping around air.

”I see,” Seokjin huffs, ”It’s so very boring and normal to brew a potion we agreed we wouldn’t sell.” As Seokjin stares down at the bottle with disdain before he places it on the counter, you can’t help but shrink against the wood, wracking your brain to figure out a good excuse. You can’t explain why you did it without exposing Seokjin to yourfinancial issues, and you have no plans of doing it – but, then you catch your familiar’s gaze, his kind eyes filled with saddened disappointment as he says, ”Y/n, why would you do this behind my back?”

The reason bubbles up your throat before you can stop it, the words bitter on your tongue as you blurt out a panicked, ”I had to! Business isn’t going well and we need the money, I couldn’t turn the customer away.” You register the flash of shock in Seokjin’s eyes, the purple tint around his brown irises brightening before he gets it under control. Your familiar runs a hand through his hair, leaving the dark locks messy and disheveled as he let out a deep sigh.

”For how long has this been going on?” You slump against the counter, adverting your eyes down to the floor as you mumble, ”Four months. I should’ve told you back then, but I didn’t want you to leave. I thought I could fix it before it became too much of a problem .. I just didn’t want to make you regret choosing me.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, an exasperated huff of air leaving his lips as he places his fingers under your chin, tilting your head back up. ”Y/n, I would never regret choosing you as my witch,” Your familiar keeps his gaze locked with yours, his eyes urging you to understand the sincerity behind his words. "I just wish you had told me, we could have worked this out together much earlier.”

”I didn’t want you to worry,” You frown. "You already do so much by making deliveries and gathering ingredients, and I didn’t want to burden you more." You feel your breath hitch as Seokjin’s hand moves from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch gentle as he runs his thumb across your skin.

“That’s what I’m supposed to do as your familiar, Y/n. I’m here to help you and guide you, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me when something’s wrong.” You know that, you really do, but it’s still hard to accept sometimes – the fact that you can’t solve everything on your own.

“I’m sorry,” You pout.

”I know,” Seokjin nods, a faint smile on his lips as he moves his hands to your back, pulling you into a hug. ”Just talk to me next time, yeah?”

”I will, I promise,” Your voice is muffled by the thick material of his sweater, but you know your familiar hears you as his arms tighten around your waist in response.

”Good,” Seokjin’s voice is fond as his fingers draw small patterns against your back. You feel yourself relaxing into Seokjin’s hold, your body melting against his as he rests his head on top of yours. ”How are we going to fix it though? I’ve tried almost everything I can think of. There’s nothing that beats low prices and convenience,” You sigh.

”Of course there is,” You pull back at the affronted tone in Seokjin’s voice, your familiar looking down at you like you personally offended him. Seokjin releases you from his hold, his hands flying up to cup his face as he says, ”I can beat that. This–” He points wildly at his face, ”–is sure to bring business in again. No one can resist the opportunity to glance upon this handsome face.” You snort at the expectant expression on his face, rolling your eyes so hard it feels like they’re close to popping out. As much as you like teasing Seokjin for his confidence, he’s not wrong. There’s no one in this town that can come close to Seokjin’s handsomeness, and well, everyone knows it. That’s the biggest reason you have Seokjin running errands and making deliveries, because it means he won’t have to deal with being ogled by all the customers that stop by. For all the banter and smiles he would flash at your customers, you could tell it made your familiar uncomfortable. You could see the way he gently tried to pull away when touches lingered a little too long on his arms, his ears stained a permanent red the days he worked out in the shop.

”Making money isn’t worth it if means you’ll have to do something that makes you uncomfortable,” You shake your head, ignoring the flutter in your chest as you grasp Seokjin’s hands, pulling them away from his face.

”I’ll be fine,” Seokjin says. It’s your familiar’s turn to roll his eyes as he sees the doubtful look on your face. ”I mean it. Please trust me just this once? I’ll let you know the moment it gets too much.”

You hesitate, using the extra seconds to search his face for any uncertainty. ”Fine,” You grumble. You owe it to your familiar to at least extend the trust he has given you back to him.

”Don’t look so sad Y/n, you know you’re the only witch that gets unlimited access to my handsome face,” Seokjin grins.

”Shut up,” You groan, pushing lightly at his chest. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck as Seokjin looks down at you, and you find yourself thankful that familiars don’t have enhanced hearing, otherwise your heart would’ve surely given you away years ago. Something flickers in Seokjin’s eyes, and your familiar’s grin turns heart wrenchingly soft as he ducks his head down.

”I do mean it Y/n, you really are the only witch for me.” You freeze as Seokjin leans in, your blood rushing in your ears as you feel your familiar’s plush lips press against the corner of your mouth. As your brain finally catches up to what just happened, Seokjin has already pulled back. The spot he kissed is burning against your skin, and you barely manage to make sense of Seokjin’s warm gaze lingering on your lips before his eyes flicker behind your back, eyebrow quirking as he says, ”Now, what should we do about that potion?”  

Click here for the 1.2 follower event masterlist! Please leave a comment/reblog/like if you enjoyed :) If you enjoy my stories, you can support me here! 💖

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 4:

You’re paranoid. 

Terribly, terribly paranoid, and even if you’re aware of it, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing you can do to quell the anxiety that wells up every time another person enters your space. Every time their skin nearly brushes yours, even accidentally, just for a split second.

It’s maddening. Nearly debilitating the way you’re flinching away from people. You can see your co-workers notice too, fellow nurses suddenly giving you odd looks every time you reject a high five. Even when you’re wearing your gloves. It’s just a panic reaction at this point- a fixation on trying to keep your quirk as least exhaustive an experience as it can be. 

On one hand, you still really dislike Bakugou- nearly hate him for bringing it up to you- but, on the other hand, he did manage to figure it out. He somehow managed to figure out what you never could, and all in a matter of minutes from your relatively short interactions. It made you think that maybe he could be really smart- if he didn’t spend so much time killing his own brain-cells with every juvenile insult he spewed at you. 

You wondered if that was just him, or he really did hate you that much. Surely he couldn’t be that much of a monster to other people, right? Right? 

Wrong. 

You remember Kirishima, how he apologized for Bakugou nearly the second he walked through the door. It hits you then that you’re definitely not the first person he’d seemed to mercilessly terrorize- you’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

Actually, on second thought, maybe it makes you feel worse. No, it definitely makes you feel worse. So much worse, in fact, that just the sight of his face nearly sends you into an irrational rage. Even now, weeks after the last time he’d personally ruined your day, you were still mad. Still angry. Still cursing every time you saw those red eyes on every billboard, newspaper, and billboard in town.

Well, lucky for you, you didn’t have to look at those printed eyes anymore. Not when the real ones were right in front of you- scaring you shitless as you leave the hospital. 

You had left the hospital from the back exit, tired and crabby from your late shift, grumbling as you stepped out into the alleyway. You’d hardly seen him, just the slightest glimpse of movement behind the tall dumpsters, before he’s practically in your face.

“Jesus!” You gasp, curling your arms around your stomach. Your legs feel like jelly. “Don’t do that! Scared me half to death!”

“Oh, chill the hell out, ya fuckin’ baby. You’re fine.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, falling into step next to you.

He looks worse for the wear, just like every other time you’ve seen him, exhaustion coloring his complexion something sickly. There’s an angry purple bruise covering his cheek, a few cuts, and even more bruising dotting his scarred knuckles. A tiny, vindictive part of you thinks it serves him right, but you keep it to yourself. You’re better than that.

You want to be nice to him, truly you do, but he’s made it pretty hard. Concerning you, Bakugou’s pretty much dug his grave at this point, and he only makes it worse with his next works.

“You need to do something for me.” He orders suddenly. “Now.”

“A-are you asking me? For help? Is that what this is?”

“What? No- obviously fucking not.” He sneers, nostrils flaring. “Why the hell would I go and do something like that. That’s stupid. Weak.”

“Oh. Okay. So then two seconds ago, when you were telling me that I ‘need’ to do something for you, what was that?” You squint your eyes at him, eyebrow twitching with annoyance. “That wasn’t you asking for help?”

“No. ‘s an order.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay- an order. Because you’re totally in a position to make those.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.” You spin on your heels, nearly crashing into his chest since he followed so closely behind you. Still, you figure the promixity is all the better for gesturing, so you don’t miss a beat, waving your hands emphatically. “My shift just ended, alright? That means I’m not on the clock, and you’re not a patient. I don’t have to suck it up and help you unless I want to. Understand?”

Bakugou seems to bristle at your tone, eyes narrowing as his lip curls. You just try to shrug it off. If he wants to be mad in the middle of the alley, fine- but you’ve had a long day and you’re going home. You spin around again, walking briskly into the street, and it takes him a few moments to catch up.

“I told you, Bakugou, I’m not helping you just because you tried to order me to.”

“I know.”

“Then what’re you doing?”

“Walking.”

It’s his tone; that same needling, challenging edge to it that has your blood boiling. If anyone else said that, you’d probably believe it. But he’s not just walking and Bakugou’s smirk makes that very clear.

“No. You’re following me.”

“Same fuckin’ direction. Sue me, leech.”

The street lamps cast spots that yellow out his already pale skin, and the longer you walk the more withered he looks. Bakugou seems utterly burnt out, and when you look really close, all his features are slumped. It’s a stark contrast to Dynamite’s turbo-charged public persona, and it makes you wonder why he’d even let you see him like this at all. You figure whatever it is must be making him pretty desperate.

Suddenly that same, sinking, sympathetic feeling has you letting up a bit. You slow your pace, catching his gaze as you internally curse your own soft heart.

“Okay. Fine. What’s up. What can I help you with?”

Bakugou squints his eyes, almost like he doesn’t believe you. You think that’s a little fair- most times, even you can hardly believe all that you’re capable of forgiving.

“Sleep.” He finally says, bitten out tightly under his breath. 

“You want me to help you sleep?”

“Yes. Obviously.” 

“Not obvious.” 

“Would be if you weren’t such a shitty nurse.”

“If that’s supposed to be a dig- save it.” You roll your eyes, trying to tamper down the irritation. “I did notice. That you look tired. Just didn’t mention it out of kindness, so don’t think you can start bringing my skills into question.” 

You turn down another side street, and Bakugou follows. There’s less light so you miss the way his eyes scan the lurking shadows; intense and immediate, like a habit he can’t help himself from indulging in. 

“You really live around here?” He suddenly asks, voice low and gruff.

“Yep. In the apartment complexes just up there.” You point off into the distance. “Why-”

“And your shift always end this late?”

“Yes?”

“God,” He laughs something disbelieving under his breath, rolling his eyes at you. “I was fuckin’ right. You really are the stupidest goddamn person walking the planet.”

“That’s- Do you ever think about your words? Seriously!” You huff, curling your fists. You hope it’ll quell your sudden urge to hit him. “Just because you think it, doesn’t mean you should say it! And who the hell are you to judge anyway-”

“You’re fuckin’ asking to be attacked. That’s stupid. ”

“By who?”

“Weirdos, idiot.”

“You’re the weirdo! You’re the one following me home right now!”

“I’m not following you-”

“Really? You’re not? Because right now, the way you’re walking? Maybe all of two steps behind me? On a dark street? At night? Sort of seems like creepy following is exactly what you’re doing!”

“I told you, you need to do something for me. Not leaving till you do.” He grumbles, digging a bruised knuckle into his temples. “And keep it the fuck down. Your screaming sounds like a dying animal.”

“My-” You seethe for a moment, hardly able to stand his attitude. Then you take a breath because you prided yourself on being a kind person, and kind people do not kill national heroes- even when they’re being asses. “You know, it is almost unbelievable how bad you are at asking for help.”

“Told ya, already. ‘m not fuckin’ asking for help.” 

“Then why are you even here bothering me? Go bother someone else!”

“If fuckin’ anyone else could do anythin’, believe me, I’d go to them instead.”

“God, do you even understand how rude that is?” You ask him incredulously, hand grasping at the door to your apartment building. “No, seriously, are you even aware of what you sound like to other people?”

“Not my fuckin’ problem that other people are sensitive.” 

Your eyes bulge at that, mouth nearly dropping in disbelief. You couldn’t believe him. You just couldn’t believe that a single person could possibly go through life with that callous of a mentality. It was insanity. Pure insanity. 

“So, leech, you gonna put me to fuckin’ sleep or not?” 

Just kidding- that was insanity. That sentence alone was proof of just how ridiculous your life had gotten since he’d crash landed into it. 

Bakugou seems to realize his words simultaneously, his cheeks flushing red under the outdoor lights. You almost laugh, but then he’s glaring, eyes sternly set and murderous. For a moment, you really believe he was gonna blow you up right where you were standing. 

“Say a goddamn word. Do it. I fuckin’ dare you. Leech.” He sneers. “Try me.”

“At this hour? No, uh, no thanks.”

Bakugou does seem to relax at your joke, albeit begrudgingly. He drops his shoulders, rolling his eyes, and clears his throat. “Now, seriously, you gonna fuckin’ do it or not?”

A part of you wants to say no- to hold your gift over his head, to lord it just out of reach until he figures out how to not insult you with every breath. Then you think of your job, of all the civilians who come in swearing up and down that Dynamite was a hero. And you believe them, truly, but you think that Bakugou has a long way to go. An especially long way.

But, even so, your fingers are itching again in your gloves. There’s that urge coursing through your veins, your thoughts a constant loop of heal, help, save and so it’s decided. Quickly. Almost like it was never even a question in the first place- and, knowing yourself, you suppose it never really was.

“Fine. I will. On one condition.”

“Condition? When the fuck did I say it was a negotiation. It’s not.” 

“It is and I’ll tell you why.” You spin to face him completely, jumping back when you find him much closer than expected. Your retreat till your back hits the door, but you feel no less cramped than before. “You need me. You do. Don’t bother denying it because you wouldn’t be here otherwise. And the funny thing is, I would’ve done it! Would’ve done it entirely free of charge if you just asked nicely, and-”

“Will you get to the fuckin’ point already?”

“See! That! That’s why there’s a condition! Because you’re needlessly rude! All the time from what I’ve seen. And that’s got to change. Especially if you’re gonna ask for my help more than just this one time.” 

“God- how many fuckin’ times do I need to make this clear to you? Hah?” Bakugou growls, leaning in even more. You can see it in his wild eyes- he’s trying to scare you, crowding you against the door. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you- You don’t make the fuckin’ rules here.” 

“In this I do.” You swallow nervously, trying not to let your intimidation show. “So you’re gonna listen. My condition is this- if you want me to help you, then you have to learn to play nice. That means no names, no insults, no threats, no complaints, and no attitude. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” 

Bakugou swears under his breath, eyes blazing as he holds his stare. Truthfully, it makes you nervous, but you’re not one to back down. At least, not when there’s no threat of job loss involved. So you just squint back at him, jutting your jaw out in defiance. There’s a tense few seconds of silence, his eyes searching, but then he backs off. Nostrils flaring like a bull, Bakugou relents. 

“Fuckin’ fine. Whatever. Jesus.” He swears, hand curling into a fist at his side. “If you’re gonna be such a bitc-”

“I said, no names, Bakugou.”

He just rolls his eyes, face so very pinched, and you briefly wonder if he’s going to explode. There’s anger as he suddenly shoves you away from the door, yanking it open and letting himself into the building. Then he’s stomping through the lobby, and you’re hardly able to catch up by the time Bakugou stops in front of the elevator. 

“What fuckin’ floor, leech?”

“Once again, I said no names. None. Especially not that one.” You tell him sternly, trying to keep your voice down. “And you didn’t agree. You’re not following me and I’m not helping you unless you agree.”

If possible, you think Bakugou’s expression grows even more irritated, his eyes widening as he sets his jaw. Another few seconds pass, and when he sees you won’t relent, Bakugou nods. It’s tight and strained, stunted like the acquiescence physically pains him. 

“God, you’re lucky I’m nice.” You tell him, nearly stabbing the elevator button as you press it. “Really lucky.”  

“And you’re lucky I don’t have enough energy to beat the shit out of you right now.” 

“No threats, Bakugou. You agreed.” You say easily, stepping into the elevator as it opens. 

“Had to. Because your fuckin’ terms are bullshit.” 

“Hey, no complaints. You agreed to that too.” 

You think you hear something strangled leave his mouth, but it’s swallowed up by the sound of the elevator ascending. 

Now that you’re standing in better lighting, you can see Bakugou’s face clearly. He looked bad before, but he looks worse now. There wasn’t just one bruise on his face, there was multiple- his jaw colored burgundy and his nose and lip split open. There was no blood, but there wasn’t a lot of scabbing either. It was new. These injuries were new.

You think back to that first visit- when he told you he never really got hurt. You wonder what’s been going so wrong for him lately. It seemed like all he’d done since you’d met him was get hurt. 

“Stop fuckin’ staring.”

“I-I’m not. Not like that.” You say. “I’m assessing. You’re gonna need a butterfly bandage, on your nose- skin moves too much. And a cold compress for your jaw. Maybe some disinfectant on your lip. Probably should get your knuckles wrapped too and-”

“Jesus, I fuckin’ get it.”

You roll your eyes, ready to retort, but then the elevator dings. You walk out into the hallway, Bakugou trailing behind you like a shadow. It’s not until you’re at your door, twisting your key into the lock, that you pause.

You’re about to enter your apartment, with Bakugou of all people. A guy you’re not even sure can tolerate you. And yet you’re doing it- because he needs help. Because he looks like walking death and you’ve got a first aid kit under your bathroom sink. Because he’s pretty much proved himself to be an irredeemable asshole, but yet you still can’t bring yourself to leave him out in the cold.

Because you’re an empath, and that, by default, makes you an idiot.

You turn the key. Bakugou, to his credit, looks a little uneasy, but then you’re waving him through the door, and pushing it shut behind him. 

“So, you wait here.” You gesture towards your couch, moving aside a few pillows to make him room to sit. “I’m gonna go get all that stuff I talked about.”

“So, what, you’re just like playing fuckin’ nice nurse again, now?”

“Bakugou. No attitude please- I am nice, okay? All the time. Or, at least when others are nice to me.” You say, levelling him with an unimpressed look. “And even if they’re not, I still don’t like seeing them hurt. Not if I can do something about it.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help.”

“No, but you need it. And since you’re too stubborn to ask for it, I’m just gonna have to force it on you.”

“Do you even fuckin’ hear yourself?” Bakugou prickles, voice rising. “Acting like a goddamn savior. Like you’re so fuckin’ good and holy. It’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You say flatly. Then you’re pivoting on your heels, leaving him behind and you grab the first aid kit. You open the bathroom door, calling over your shoulder. “And if you have such a problem with it, then leave. Nobody is keeping you here.”

You hear Bakugou swear again, so angry and seething that you almost believe he’ll take you up on your offer; but then you hear footsteps across the floor, the creaking of your couch.

You reach under your sink, pulling out the kit and a few extra rags for a compress. When you look in the mirror there’s exhaustion lacing your features, your eyes worn and dark with bags. The sight makes a part of you want to forget it all- makes you want to surrender to the ache in your bones and tell him to leave; but that’s just a small part. The larger part is telling you that you’re not spent until you’re unconscious, and that right now, Bakugou looks a whole lot worse than you feel. It’s telling you to hurry up and help him and you agree. 

When you walk back out, supplies in hand, Bakugou’s slumped on your couch. He’s got his head tilted over the back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other thrown over his eyes. He shifts at the sound of your approach, dropping his hand and as blinks blearily. You think his eyes look a little duller than before- less like raging wildfire and more like smothered embers. If you didn’t know any better it would look like begruding acceptance- but this was Bakugou, and you knew better.

“So,” You start, setting all of your things down on the couch next to him. “You wanna go to sleep now? Or wait until after I fix up pretty much the entirety of your face?” 

He looks at you unsurely, eyebrows creasing.

“Wait, actually- how are you planning to get home?” You continue, hands on your hips. “Where do you even live? Around here? Close? Because you were out in like, 10 minutes, maybe, the last time I touched you, so it’s gotta be close. You live close right? Because-”

“God, cool it with the fuckin’ word vomit. Shit’s annoying. Shut up.” He grumbles. “I’m sleeping here.”

“Who decided? You?”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Bakugou.” You balk, striding closer to the back of your couch. You lean over him, forcing him meet your eyes. “This is what I’m talking about! With the learning to play nice thing! I would’ve let you stay here, I would’ve, had you asked. You can’t just bulldoze your way into my house and refuse to leave!” 

“Yeah? ‘n just what the fuck are you gonna do about it if I do?” He scoffs, curling his lip as he snarls. “Nothing. Because you’re so fuckin’ nice, right?”

“Don’t say it like that. It’s not a bad trait and I won’t have you insulting it. I’m not embarrassed of who I am.” You try to work through your frustration, centering yourself with a deep breath. “Look, bottom line is, ask next time. Or I’m not helping you until you do.” 

“Fine. Whatever.”

You try to shrug off his petulant response, taking another calming breath as you shuck off your gloves. You replace them with latex ones from the kit, pulling the material over your fingers as you grab the antiseptic wipes. You decide to start around the cut on his nose. It’s the largest and widest, spanning over the entirety of his bridge and into his right cheek. It’s a nasty thing, deep and red, all exposed nerves beneath a thin scab and you can tell it hurts him. Bakugou fights to keep from wincing, eyes scrunching slightly as you wipe the remnants of dirt and oil from his skin. 

“This from another villan?” You ask calmly, finding an easy peace in performing familiar tasks. “One today?”

“Cuts are from today. Bruises were yesterday.”

Blinking down at him, you’re a little surprised by how easy his answer was. You expected him to fight, to be difficult just because he could, but Bakugou wasn’t doing that. He was lying relatively and still and sated under your fingertips, the only sign of any tension are his minutely pinched eyebrows. Briefly, you check your gloves- for a moment there you were sure you’d accidentally touched him.

“Oh. Okay.” You reply, taking a small butterfly bandage from your kit. You press it over the cut with gentle pressure. “How’s the other guy look?”

“Fuckin’ terrible. Beat ‘em to hell.”

“I’m sure you did.” You snort, moving on to clean the cut on his lip. “Hey, you wanna know something?”

Bakugou peeks a red eye open, studying your face above him. He nods.

“I actually end up treating a lot of your victims, you know.” 

“Criminals. Not victims.”

“Mhm. Sure. Well, either way, they’re always covered in burns. Mostly minor, but sometimes pretty nasty ones.” You try to keep your voice light, even and steady as you dab at his lip. “Honestly, at this point, I’m pretty sure you’re entirely responsible for the hospital’s chronic burn-cream shortage.”

Bakugou does seem to smile at that, exhaling through his nose as his eyes flutter briefly. “Wouldn’t be fuckin’ short if people just stopped tryin’ to pull stupid shit all the time. ‘s not my fault they’re so fuckin’ bad at running away.” 

“Bakugou.” You balk, unable to keep the laugh from bubbling out your lips. “You can’t say that!’ 

“Why the fuck not? Hah? It’s true.” 

“Because! You’re supposed to be playing nice, remember?”

“Yeah. To you.” He mumbles, voice rough and raspy. “Because you fuckin’ schemed your way into forcing me. They didn’t.” 

“Okay- First, I’m like, pretty sure schemed and forced are the same thing, so we definitely don’t need to say them both. It’s just overkill. Second, that’s a borderline insult, so I’m gonna need you to watch your mouth. And third,” You cradle his jaw in your fingers, turning it to the side. “How the hell did you manage to get a bruise behind your ear?”

“I don’t know- probably the same way you somehow managed to become a nurse; even with such shitty fuckin’ bedside manner. You suck, leech.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Bakugou!”

He cracks his eyes open, something small and pleased settling at the corner of his mouth. There’s almost as much venom in his voice as before but his eyes are softer now. They’re kinder, crinkling just slightly at the edges. 

He’s joking. You realize. He doesn’t actually mean it. Not this time.

“You dick.” You reprimand, flicking his hairline lightly. “You absolute dick.”

His eyes just seem to grow a little brighter at that, just for a second, and then he’s shutting them again. There’s still a smirk on his face though- one you’d swear you’d slap off if he wasn’t actually being somewhat pleasant right now. For once in his life, it seemed. 

“Alright,” You announce, rounding the couch quickly. “Your knuckles look just as bad so give ‘em.”

“No thanks.”

“It wasn’t really a suggestion.”

“I don’t need anymore of your pity help, leech.”

“It’s not pity. Not even a little bit.” You sigh. “Look, I know you’re not gonna understand this, but I seriously cannot chill the hell out without at least trying to take care of people. My quirk makes my fingers literally itch when I see injuries. They itch and they don’t stop itching until I do something about it. Helping people, healing people, is hard-wired into me- it’s as much something I do for me as it is something I do for others.” 

Bakugou’s eyes widen at that. He sits a little straighter, fists clenching as he presses them into the cushions. A few beats pass and then he’s grumbling, throwing himself back as he thrusts both of his injured knuckles forward.

“God, you’re so fucking irritating.” He gripes. “If you’re gonna be such a weirdo about it, then get the hell to it already.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead kneeling next to your coffee table and settling on the ground. You take his hands in yours, bending all his fingers to make sure nothing is broken. When nothing is, you look up at Bakugou, planning to tell him the good news, but he’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet, and he blinks, once, twice, before averting his eyes quickly. You think that maybe he blushes too, but he turns his head so sharply you’re almost convinced you imagined it.

You just try to shrug it off, focusing your attention back on his hands. You notice how warm they are again, nearly feverish and strangely unblemished. When you start rubbing bruise cream over knuckles, kneading the joints between your fingers, Bakugou sighs slumps back into the couch. He closes his eyes once more.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No. Can’t. Fuckin’ told ya already.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me why.” You set his hands back on the couch, moving instead to unravel a bandage. “Not that I won’t help you, but have you tried any other remedies? Melatonin? Or lavender? Maybe chamomile? Any of those?”

“Mhm. Falling asleep isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?” 

 He opens his eyes, squinting at you from above. “None of your fuckin’ business.” 

“Bakugou, I’m trying to help here.”

“I don’t want-”

“Yeah. I know. You don’t want it. Or you don’t want to rely on it. I get it. But you wouldn’t have even came here if you didn’t absolutely need it, right?” You insist, grabbing his hands into yours again. “God, you know, I’ve had toddlers who were more cooperative than you. Why’re you so difficult?”

“I’m not fuckin’ difficult.”

“No. You’re difficult. Very difficult.” 

“And you’re fuckin’ annoying. Do me a favor and go back to being nice.” 

“Nope. Sorry. Pretty sure you didn’t like me then either.” You start wrapping the bandage around his knuckles, taking extra care to apply the right pressure. “And I was only nice to you because I was working, you know. I’m only actually nice to the people who deserve it.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes at that.

You finish wrapping the bandage, securing it into place with a bit of medical adhesive. All things considered, Bakugou looks better than before. Or at least, better than the death incarnate he’d been portraying himself as.

“All done.” You smile, turning away to start packing up your supplies.

“Finally. Took ya fuckin’ long enough.” 

“God, you are literally devoid of manners, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah. ‘s part of not bein’ an absolute bitch.”

You gawk, spinning around to face him. Bakugou’s relaxed into your couch, arms laid across the back leisurely as he smiles. There’s that same softness to his eyes from before, the crinkling just at the edges.

“Wow.” You scoff, smiling sarcastically. “You really think you’re so funny don’t you?” 

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Yeah. Because you’re fuckin’ brainless.”

“Brainless? Me? Swear to god, you only know, like, three words and all of them are probably swears!” 

Bakugou just shrugs, looking abnormally pleased. Content even. You figure that’s probably right for someone like him- only happy when everyone around him is devolving into chaos.

“Actually, you know what, I think I’m done yelling for the night.” You say, shucking your gloves off. You wiggle your fingers at him, a smirk plastered across your face. “I think it’s time you’re euthanized, don’t you?”

Bakugou just blinks, minutely shrinking away from you.

“Because you said you wanted me to put you to sleep, right? To put you down. Like a dog.” You continue, nearing him, coming close even as his lip curls up. Bakugou is glaring fully now, fists clenched, and you stop just a few inches out of his reach. “Or, you know, in ruder terms- not a dog, but a bitch.”

Bakugou snarls, lunging at you as you duck away. He’s fast but you’re faster, vaulting behind your couch to create some distance. There’s fire in his eyes, blazing and hot in his irises, but it isn’t scary. If you look close enough, you’re almost sure it’s just warmth. That same rare amusement from earlier.

“You leech. Swear to fuck I’ll make you regret that. Say your goddamn prayers!” 

“Touch me and you’ll fall asleep!” You tease. “Or I’ll use my quirk and see into your brain. So I guess it’s more of a ‘pick your poison’ for you, really.” 

“It’ll be the same for you.” Bakugou growls, hands grasping the back of the couch as he leans in towards you. “Open casket or closed, it’s still gonna be your fuckin’ funeral.” 

“Really?”

“Really. Leech.”

“No thanks.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘no thanks’,” Bakugou mimics your voice, his features twisting. “I’m killing you. You’re dead. You don’t get a choice.” 

“No, I really think I do.”

“And just what the fuck makes you so goddamn confident?”

“This. You not attacking me.” You smile easily, voice daring as you stare right back at him. “If you really wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Isn’t that right, Dynamite?” 

The name sends Bakugou recoiling, shrinking backwards and scoffing in outright shock. You watch him stumble, legs hitting your coffee table and nearly causing him to fold. He recovers quickly though, albeit with his cheeks flushing wildly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Nah. Thanks for the offer though.” You smile brightly, before throwing your arms above your head and yawning widely. “As fun as that was, I’m pretty tired. You ready to fall asleep, yet?”

“Jesus fuck, yes. That’s the entire goddamn reason I’m even here. Idiot.”

“No name calling. You agreed.”

“I didn’t agree to shit.”

“You did.” You affirm. “Now, c’mon, like last time, hold your hand out.” 

With surprisingly little dramatics or resistance, Bakugou listens. He thrusts one of his bandaged hands forward as he sits on the couch again. When you touch his fingers, you feel that faint warmth again. Like fire and embers coursing through your bloodstream. It’s uncomfortable, a relentless sensation that has you cringing. You briefly wonder what it would be like to always live with it. Like Bakugou seems to. 

His eyes flutter shut just like last time, and you can see the way he staggers. It’s like the fight leaves him entirely, and then he’s falling boneless into the couch. You can hardly place a pillow onto the cushions before he’s driving his head into it.

“Jesus,” You mutter in disbelief. “How long has it been since you slept? You look dead.” 

“Weeks.” Bakugou mumbles.

“Since the last time?” 

“Mhm.”

If his words alone didn’t confirm the severity of his sleeplessness for you, his response time did. Bakugou answered quickly, without fight, like he’d been wanting to spill for the entire night. And, you suppose, maybe he did; or was trying to. In hindsight, you begin to realize a lot of his screaming could just as easily have read as cries for help- not that you’d ever tell him that. You’d probably have to prepare a will if you ever tried telling him that.

“You want a blanket?” You ask a little unsurely, not exactly confident in your approach to this entirely different Bakugou. “All you’re getting is the couch, but I could probably scrounge up a few blankets.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond. All you hear in response are tiny little snores and slow breathing. 

You find it reminds you of the last time- the way you’re reaching into a cupboard and grabbing out a blanket for him. Except this time, it’s a little bit different. Somehow you’re settling the blanket over him with a little bit of genuine kindness instead of begrudging sympathy.

After all, you can’t help but feel a little bit of pity- no one would ever fall asleep that fast unless they really needed it. Especially not in a stranger’s house. 

--/--

enjoy my lovelies :))

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