#so happy i have a new version of hollow

[artofalassa]

The Black Materia

#cloud strife #ff7 #final fantasy vii rebirth #final fantasy 7 remake #las!art #heck yeah #finally can post this #so happy i have a new version of hollow #kept zack's blood on his bangs tho #bc i'll keep Zack everywhere i go

[an-ambivalent]

Reunited [Yandere! Miguel O’Hara]

Synopsis: Two souls who have once lost one another, find themselves reunited. It reignites the passion, the love, and the lust. For a moment, the longing and despair disappears and everything becomes okay again. You feel okay again. But like the stars that become supernova, the passion, the lust, and the facade of  love burns up. You realise all too late that your new Miguel is nothing like your old one. 

Warnings: As this is yandere fiction, this deals with behaviours  that can be uncomfortable and triggering to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional, I do not condone this behaviour irl. By clicking the ‘read more/keep reading’ you are consenting to read this at your discretion.

PSA: idk much about the multiverse or marvel  other than whatever is shown in ATSV. So if “interdimensional” stuff isn’t accurate, well, idrc.  Also, not really proof read. We die like men -  Happy reading!

It was a momentary glimpse through the an interdimensional portal when each person saw the other again. Like a typical day, you had saved your city from whatever disaster was happening once more. In the beginning, your heart was embedded in the work you did as a superhero; the thrill of chases and extraordinary powers were exhilarating, and the praise and feelings of accomplishing good things of saving people inspired you to keep doing what you were. But out of all the people you saved, there was one couldn’t - your fiancé, Miguel O'Hara. 

The agony of losing your closest person had been unbearable. The absence of his presence, reminiscing in your memories with him in everything: your shared home, his clothes, the lack of affection you now found yourself with - everything, it all continued to tighten that knot in your chest. And no matter how much time passed, you weren’t healing. You could not accept the reality. The grief felt like it was continuously swallowing you whole until there was going to be nothing left, until you were going to be nothing but a shell of your former self. And just before you were about to lose all hope, there was a small disturbance in the fabric of space near you, until it had morphed into an portal that showed you another place. There you saw him: your Miguel, who looked just as dead in the eyes, and a hollow shell like you, like he had gone through the same grief you had. 

But life is cruel because just before either of you could call out to the other, the portal had closed in an instant. You had been ripped away from his grasp for the second time, and Miguel was not going to have that. 

It wasn’t difficult for him to track you down. After all, he had access to the multiverses. He had already checked multiple versions of Earth where you had never existed in the first place. In the others that you had, you met the same tragic fate that his own [Name] had. So to find an you, who was perfectly safe and alive, and definitely an anomaly, he was going to have you. For the sake of multiverse, the best decision was to take you from your dimension, and keep you beside him, isolated from the world, so you were safe and he could maintain monitoring of your influence on the multiverse. 

Much to his pleasure, Miguel did not even have to try to get you to fall for him. You had lost a version of him, and were yearning and desperate for him just like how he was yearning and desperate for you. Immediately, both of you felt like you were restarting your relationship where it had been left off: the deep kisses and clutching onto each other until your nails dug in each other’s skin; gentle whispers of ‘I missed you’ and ‘I love you so much’ hushed over and over again in between the lip locking when oxygen was desperately needed and clothes would start to come off. 

But eventually, the reunion perceived through the rose tinted glasses came off and you finally noticed how you were never able to leave the place Miguel and you lived in. You hadn’t met anyone else, you only ever saw Miguel. You rationalised to yourself that he was just being protective and cautious of your safety because he had lost you; you may have been the same way if you hadn’t known that the current Miguel had his own powers and was capable of looking after himself. So, you just had to let him know that you also had powers and could look after yourself. Surely then, you would have your freedom? 

It was during the dark hours when you were once again engaged in intimacy with Miguel. Your room was dimply lit and you were both half bare. You withered on the cool bedsheets beneath you as Miguel gently nipped and sucked on that  perfect spot between the back of your ear and neck, toes curling, fingers pulling on his messed up hair, and breathy and sensual gasps leaving your lips. 

“Can we, ah, p-please talk?” You whispered, while you shifted one hand to naked chest, and half heartedly tried to push him to create some distance. 

“There’s nothing to say right now, mi amor. There’s only our love right now,” He responded easily, and went to kiss you on your lips. But, you moved your head away, and this time, pushed him away firmly to create the distance you wanted. You prepped yourself mentally to bring up your concerns, and in doing so, failed to noticed the frown that Miguel now wore due to your rejection. 

“I just want to reassure you that nothing is going to happen to me, just like I know you’ll be safe too because you’re Spiderman.” You said softly, and affectionately swept his hair back with your fingers. Miguel grabbed and kissed the palm of your other hand, while raising an eyebrow. 

“I know nothing is going to happen to you, not again. I’m going to keep you safe. If anyone tries to hurt you, I will kill them.” He stated plainly. Then, he leaned down to kiss you once more, but you moved your head again so he kissed your cheek instead. 

His words had made your stomach churn, but nonetheless, you tried to remain optimistic. You smiled at him weakly. “No I meant that unlike my first Miguel, you have powers, so I know you are capable and strong. And unlike your original [Name], I have powers so you don’t need to worry-” 

“I am not going to worry. It doesn’t matter that you powers, you’re not going to go anywhere else. You will remain here, where I know where you are all the time.” He said, and your eyes widened in surprise. Just when he was about to try to kiss you for the third time, feeling like he was near the end of his wits, you started to use your strength to pull away. 

“What do you mean I’m going to remain here?! You’re not the boss of me! Let me go!” You shrieked. 

Miguel growled in displeasure. “Stop your idiocy before I make you regret it.” He hissed, and his claws dug into your skin, and drew blood as a warning. Although it hurt, it wasn’t painful as his words were. He had threatened you. The Miguel you knew would have never threatened you. 

“Make me regret it?! Who the hell do you think you are?! You’re not my Miguel.” You responded indignantly. As you tried to pull away once again, Miguel didn’t let you. Instead, his grip tightened to the point where you finally cried out in pain. 

The sclera of his eyes was starting to red and he leaned down just inches away from your face, baring his fangs threateningly at you. 

“I was never your Miguel and you were never my [Name]. But we’re all that’s left of each other, and I’d damn the whole world before I lose you again. I’ll show you exactly the Miguel I am. And I’ll continue to show you who I am, until you finally understand that you now belong to me.” 

#yandere x reader #miguel x reader #yandere atsv #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderverse x reader #yandere miguel #ambivalent writes #yandere spiderman

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 27 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-“I have a surprise for you.”

Hearing this fills you with what is perhaps a disproportionate amount of trepidation.

However…consider the source.

“Oh?”

“I wasn’t going to give it to you yet, but…I think I’d better.”

You are not sure what to think about this, so you remain silent.

He takes your hand, leading you up the stairs.

As you walk down the hallway you are filled with more and more apprehension, convincing yourself that there is some trick he’s pulling around the corner. He has been disappearing on and off, refusing to tell you where he was going, but vaguely hinting that he was cooking something up for you.

You fear it’s something you don’t want at all, like a red room fully fitted with racks and restraints and hooks hanging from the ceiling. If he frames that as a gift you swear you will pull a Bertha, and burn this personal version of Thornfield Hall to the ground.

You do not like it, when he insists on covering your eyes as he walks you through a door close to your bedroom upstairs. By the time you take three steps into the room you have damn near worked yourself into a lather, a fine trembling running through your limbs.

“Shh, baby, you’re going to like this,” he assures you, which is no real assurance at all.

Five more steps before he stops you, removing his hands with a flourish.

Your heart leaps to your throat.

Floor to ceiling windows let in a flood of morning light to the room. There is a big table, and copious shelves, and…an easel.

You realize he has made you an art studio.

Your feet move forward of their own volition, taking in the various boxes stacked on the table and the shelves. They’re art supplies, and you recognize brand names that you could hardly afford on your barista’s salary. Sennelier. Windsor and Newton pigments, top tier. Fine brushes from France and Germany that cost fifty dollars a piece. Tablets in every size and every tooth of Canson paper.

“Oh. My. God.”

“You…like it?”

He almost sounds vulnerable in that moment, which is entirely ridiculous.

You imagine how you would have reacted, if your relationship had been normal. You would have thrown your arms around his neck, showered him with kisses.

This studio is everything you’ve ever dreamed of having, as an artist.

As it is…he is buying your complacency, if not your love, trying to distract you from your situation with expensive trappings and let’s face it—adult arts and crafts.  

It hurts.

And yet, you know you’d better fucking say something, or Mr. Nice Wick is going to flee the scene.

“How did you know?” you ask, fingering a box of brand-new oil pastels. “It’s perfect in every way.”

You are trying your best to sound happy about it, but your throat is tight, and you know he’s going to get mad about it any second now.

He couldn't have surprised you more, if he'd stood on tiptoe and performed a pirouette, as when he simply gathers you into his arms. 

“I had help from the owner of the art supply store,” he admits. “Pretty sure they'll be sending me a Christmas card for the rest of my life.” 

You laugh at that, settling into the hollow at the base of his throat. It feels so good, just to be held like this. A part of you cautions not to trust it—but most of you is so exhausted from living on edge, you just take the comfort at face value. 

“Did you go to Mr. Morton’s shop?” you ask, referring to the local art stop in town. You don’t know why this gives life to a glimmer of hope in you. It’s not like the kind old man would have any reason to suspect you’re here, with John Wick, just because the mysterious newcomer suddenly had a yen to buy out the store of all its art supplies.

“No, I went a little farther afield.”

Almost as though he was covering his tracks.

“Oh.” You cannot conceal the note of disappointment in your tone. “John…” You muster your courage for the next question, hoping you won’t blow the day all to shit, but you suddenly need to know. “Am I a missing person?”

He presses his lips to your forehead, and speaks quietly against your skin. “Technically, no. A friend of mine will ping your passport entry at JFK soon. You’ll tender your resignation with regrets at the coffee house. I’ll have your little apartment cleaned out. You don’t need it anymore.”

He really did think all this through. You digest the details of his Machiavellian plan rather distantly, as though you are on the outside watching from above. He has orchestrated your disappearance masterfully, but also in a way that won’t raise questions with authorities should you happen to resurface in his company. In a twisted way this gives you a sliver of hope, that maybe he doesn’t intend to keep you locked away forever.

A fool’s optimism, perhaps, but at the moment it’s all you have.

“Where’s my phone?”

“At the bottom of the Grand Canal, I’m afraid.”

“That’s littering.”

He just snorts in answer. You find that you regret the fact that all your photos are lost. You never did back them up on the cloud. How strange, that such a record of your life could be erased with the destruction of one electronic device.

Talking about this doesn’t seem to scuttle his mood, so it gives you the courage to ask, “Can I come in here whenever I want?”

You are so hopeful in your request that you sense him war with himself, in the end unable to outright say no. “If you're a good girl,” he qualifies with his lips still on your forehead. 

Hiding beneath his chin, you grind your teeth at this caveat, but don't voice aloud any of the pithy comebacks that come to mind. 

 Then you notice your sketchbook from Italy is sitting on the worktable, along with your custom bound copy of Jane Eyre.

After everything, you’re not sure why seeing it there, knowing it had been in his hands, makes your heart skitter in your chest. He follows your gaze, a dark eyebrow lifting. It is filled with sketches of him from before you met up in Venice. The whole fucking thing is practically a confession of the grinding longing you'd felt for him, in the first couple weeks after you left. You can’t deny it now, but you can choose not to acknowledge it aloud.

He stares you down, clearly hoping for…something. A confession, perhaps, or at least an admission. You feel like a bug under a magnifying glass in the sun, fixed with that gaze. But you hold fast, and in the end he sighs. “I’m going to go clean up breakfast,” he tells you. “Have fun with your new toys.”

He kisses your forehead before quitting the room, and once again you fancy that if one were to squint, you could almost mistake the two of you for a normal couple.

-He actually leaves you to your own devices until darkness begins to fill the trees beyond the window.   

By the time he comes to collect you he has changed into a black button down and dark jeans. It suits him to his bare toes, and inwardly you sigh. Why does this devil of a man have to be so goddamned handsome?

“So, what has my little artist made today?”

You are loathe to admit, the answer is nothing.

You opened every box, gazed at the pastels and paints and pencils longingly. And yet with charcoal in hand the fine white paper taunted you, inspiration an illusive thing.

You had no idea what you wanted to draw, or paint, or make. The past week has been so jarring, you would think you would be bursting with something, but all you draw is a blank. 

You shrug, curled up in the comfy chair by the easel, your drawing pad open in front of you. He takes the seat opposite, regarding you quizzically.

“You don’t like it in here?”

“I love it,” you assure him, and its no complacent lie. “I just…have been soaking it in.”

“Hmm.”

You can tell that he’s disappointed, and your treacherous heart skips a beat.

You failed to turn on any lights, as the sun is setting. John flicks on a single lamp on the side table, washing his one side in a dramatic glow. It is as though something clicks into place, as you look upon him. Your dark angel, your sinister lover, your obsessive captor, a man you should hate, but you are drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

Perhaps now, he shall also be your muse. Was ever there a man better suited to embody the mysteries of Caravaggian shadow?

“Don’t move,” you say softly, and begin to draw.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #bittersweet john wick imagine #john wick fic

[freedomfireflies]

iFall for Harry pt. 9

Summary: The ninth part to iFall for Harry

Turns out, destiny has other plans for you and Harry.

And you're taking a trip...back to the future.

Word Count: 2.2k

Grieving Harry is linear.

The moment the call goes dead, so does your connection to him.

Your heightened emotions dwindle down to nothingness. Your memories, your pain, your past. Every cheese pun, every sexy text, every word from his lips.

You erase them all.

You shut out a majority of the world. Revert back to a state of mind where you refuse to trust or engage with anyone. You protect yourself. Punish yourself for letting him get away. For being so broken. For being everything he doesn’t want.

And for making him everything you do.

You don’t work through the problem. You don’t even allow yourself to admit there is a problem. You simply tuck him away into the darkest corner of your mind…and you forget him.

Your friends are worried about you. They reach out, they plan dates, they arrange sleepovers. 

You decline them all.

You stay in your apartment, and you watch old reruns of The Big Bang Theory, and you pretend to laugh at the jokes you’ve heard a hundred times before. 

But most importantly, you pretend like Harry didn’t mention this was one of his comfort shows and that that’s why you’re watching it.

Two weeks go by. Nothing changes for you. You’re still a hollow version of yourself. Dedicating each day to wondering why you couldn’t have just…gotten over your fear. Gotten over what happened to you. And just…let him in.

Your therapist tries to tell you that healing takes time. Trauma lives within the body and no amount of cute boys and perfect scenarios will change that. Until you learn to forgive yourself, you will always be stuck.

 She might be right. But unsticking yourself now doesn’t bring him back.

Occasionally you’ll hear that he’s doing well. He’s on tour. He’s booked a new movie. He’s been caught making out with a model.

But it falls on deaf ears. Passes right through you like air. You’re indifferent now. Choosing to pretend as if he never existed to you.

Now he’s just that famous guy nobody will shut up about.

But on those late nights, when the fragility of your heart slips the crack of your apathetic persona…you pull up his contact.

You have it blocked. Nearly deleted it countless times so you’d lose the temptation to memorize his number and find a way to reach him.

Still, you can’t resist typing out a message. You’ll pour out your heart, write him paragraphs of apologies and explanations. You’ll wish for things to go back. Wish for his happiness. Wish for everything.

And then, you’ll hit the delete button.

Erase everything you want to say, exit out of his information, and turn your phone off.

You almost don’t see the email.

You’re going through your inbox, cleaning it out, responding here and there. But mostly rifling through all the ads so you can delete them and create a bit more space.

The name Marty McFly is what catches your eye. And despite yourself…you click.

Back to the Future! One Night Only! Buy your tickets now!

Your local theater is doing a triple feature, one movie each night for the next three days. You almost don’t consider it. Almost click out of the advertisement and move on.

But then you think of Harry. Think of how you promised to take him, and your heart sinks a little as you stare at the painted poster of Michael J. Fox standing in front of the time traveling car while staring at his watch.

You decide to go. It’ll be nice to watch something that fills you with so much joy. It’ll be good to laugh again. And to revel in the opportunity to forget, at least for a couple of hours.

You think about it for the rest of the week. Countdown the days until you can finally make your way for the theater. 

It feels good to go out again. Feels good to have the sunshine on your face and the promise of a good time ahead of you.

When you slide up to the booth, you’re wearing a smile. A real, genuine smile.

“Hi! Can I get one ticket to the five o’clock showing?” you ask the ticket taker, who nods and accepts your cash.

With that, you’re waved through the doors, and your heart begins to pound. The smell of popcorn and promise washes over each sense as you grab your snacks, and look for your specific door.

After slipping your way inside, you take a look around the darkened theater.

However, the room is empty. At least a hundred seats without a single soul to use them.

Your brows furrow. “The hell is everyone?”

You walk along the aisle, looking for the best seat until you decide on the middle chair about halfway back. 

Snuggling down with your popcorn, you settle in, and wait for the opening credits. Truth be told, you feel a bit odd to be taking up a whole theater by yourself, and you have to wonder if perhaps you got the date wrong. Or maybe the time? Maybe you’re early? Although according to your clock, the movie should be starting any second now.

And then…someone else walks in.

You release a relieved breath as the dark shadow strides along the aisle similar to how you had, looking for a seat as well. Selfishly, you hope they don’t get too close.

Then, they turn down your row.

Shit.

Returning your focus to the dark screen, you pretend not to notice, instead studying the velvet red curtain that’s draping on either side.

The stranger stops right beside you.

Assuming that they’d like to pass by, you glance over, and begin to pull your legs in.

You make the mistake of looking up.

And your heart instantly sinks to the soles of your shoes.

Harry.

“Hi. S’this seat taken?”

The sound of his voice makes your stomach drop to your toes. Even in the dark, you can make out the familiar slope of his nose and sharp curve of his jaw.

You don’t know what to say. Don’t know if he recognizes you or if he knows what he’s even doing.

Either way, you swallow thickly, and nod once.

He smiles.

After settling down into the chair beside you, he sighs, and wiggles back into his seat to get comfortable.

You try not to look at him. Try to pretend like you can’t smell his expensive cologne wafting toward you. Try to pretend as though his hand isn’t right there, dangling over the armrest as if taunting you.

And then, the movie begins.

You try to get lost into the world of Marty and Doc. A world you’re already so familiar with.

But it’s nearly impossible with the way he continues to shift, or laugh, or snort beside you. As if trying to distract you.

You have half a mind to turn to him and hiss, “Shhhh.” 

Somehow…you resist.

“Doc…are you telling me…that you built a time machine…out of a DeLorean?”

Harry laughs beside you, chin resting in the palm of his hand, and for some reason…your chest swells with pride. 

You want him to enjoy this movie. Enjoy the lines you used to memorize as a kid. Want to be able to talk about it with him after and exchange favorite moments.

But the second you start to indulge in this fantasy…you remember.

And your smile quickly slips.

The rest of the movie is spent with your focus glued to the screen. You don’t sneak any extra glances. You don’t listen for his sounds. You don’t allow your peripheral to catch him. 

And when the infamous car flies toward the camera before disappearing in a flash as the title card explodes across the screen, you jump to your feet.

You don’t waste another goddamn second. You get up, you turn on your heel, and you book it toward the middle aisle.

“Wait…wait,” you hear Harry murmur as the dramatic score carries you out of the theater. “Ladybug, wait.”

The nickname nearly makes you flinch as you slip through the door and rush for the lobby. You can tell he’s following after you, the sound of the seats flipping up as he pushes by following you out.

You nearly reach the double doors before his large hand wraps around your upper arm and yanks you back. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, brows furrowed as your eyes meet his chest.

You can’t look at him.

“Listen, I know you wanna go, but I just need to talk to you for one second,” he continues, but his fingers won’t leave you. “Please.”

Your heart is hammering inside your ears. You can’t seem to look anywhere else but the buttons on his shirt.

It’s quiet for a long time.

Then, you nod.

He takes a deep breath. “Listen, I know…I know why this shouldn’t work. I understand the mechanics, and the difficulties, and the issues. I get it. It shouldn’t work.”

A beat of silences settles between you as you apprehensively allow yourself to travel your gaze up.

“…but it does,” he whispers, and your mouth goes dry. “It works, and I don’t know how, and I don’t know why. But I can’t fucking let you go and it’s driving me up the goddamn wall.”

You don’t know what to do. What to say, what to think.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he continues. “I don’t want to block you or remove you. I don’t want to miss you. Or have to remember you as just some fucking thing that happened. I want to talk to you. Wanna send you pictures of the sky and play games with you. Wanna watch TV and bitch about Sheldon with you. Wanna beg you to let me come just to have you do that little smirky thing you do that makes my fucking stomach flip.”

You take a deep breath. And then another. And then another, but nothing helps. Nothing seems to unwind this knot that’s growing tighter with each confession. 

“I can’t wrap my head around you,” he says, and his voice is heavy. And confused. Almost as lost as his expression. “I can’t wrap my head around this—us. I just…I fucking try to think about anything else and it always comes back to you. Every goddamn time.”

You know there are tears in your eyes. You wish there weren’t but they’re coming faster than you can stop them.

“And I know why you’re nervous,” he sighs, squeezing your arm once. “I know. And I can’t fix it, and I really fucking wish I could, but I…god, I’ll do anything to make your future better than your past. I will do anything…to keep you, Cheese Girl. Whatever it takes, whatever you want. Name it, and it's yours.”

“I don’t want you to do anything, Har,” you nearly whimper, head shaking quickly. “I never wanted you to feel responsible for my shit—”

“I don’t. I don’t, I just…you can’t carry this alone. And I can help you—”

“But why should you? You have your own life, and your own trauma, and you deserve the fairytale ending—”

“Ladybug,” he breathes, cutting you short. “We met over text and now we’re here in a movie theater while I profess my adoration for you. Tell me how this isn’t a fairytale.”

Despite yourself…you smile. “Yeah, how…how did you even know I’d be here?”

He releases you now, but only so he can grimace and run a hand through his curls. “Okay, don’t…don’t judge me, but I just…I paid them a shit ton of money to let me rent out the building for…a day or two.”

“A day or two?”

“Well…I wasn’t sure if you’d see the email in time, so I had to keep sending it until you came—”

You rear back. “You sent the email?”

His nose scrunches. “I was desperate, all right? You had me blocked, and I figured you wouldn’t agree to meeting.”

Your lashes flutter as you work in this new information. “Shit, Har. That’s…that’s a lot of work to go through just for one person you barely know.”

He suddenly surges forward, palms pressing to your cheeks until he can take hold of your face and tilt it up. “You’re worth it. My god, Cheesy, are you worth it.”

“Cheesy?” you repeat incredulously, but your smile is big. “God that’s…”

“…cheesy?” he finishes for you. “About as cheesy as renting out a theater in hopes that the girl I like will show up and take me back?”

You nod quickly, lip between your teeth. “Yeah, but…cheese is kind of our thing.”

“It is,” he agrees, chuckling to himself as he pulls you closer, your chest brushing with his. “Listen, I can’t…I know this isn’t some sort of magic fix. But please…please let me try. Just…just let me keep you. For a little bit at least. Let me make all those puns worth it.”

Maybe you know better. Maybe this is a horrible idea. Maybe every red flag is waving wildly in your face.

And maybe…you just don’t care.

“What if I’m your destiny?” he finishes, and your heart just about breaks. “Or…density.”

You both laugh as he catches a stray tear that travels down your cheek, eyes pleading with yours. 

And when you offer the subtlest of nods…everything changes.

He kisses you before you can take a breath, his lips warm and full of promise.

You stand there in the middle of the lobby, trapped in his arms as the soft sounds of Back to the Future play on in the background.

Maybe he is your destiny after all.

One more part 🥹 Will be sobbing violently

Dedicated to @nof0odallowed for the original ask! 💞

Next Part:

~iFall for Harry pt. 10* (Final)

Previous Part:

~ iFall for Harry pt. 8

~ Full iFall for Harry Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist:

@walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @cherryshouse @lydiarry @justlemmeadoreyou @tiaamberxx @yoruse

#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fan #harry edward styles #harry styles request #harry styles one shot #ifall for Harry #harry and cheese girl

[chocochipjewel]

Yapping about Belos and his ending excessively while also analysing him to the best of my ability under the cut

So given how much art of him I've reblogged by now, it really shouldn't come as a surprise that Belos is my favourite character from the Owl House.

I could talk about him for HOURSS but I just want to talk about 2 of my favourite moments of him to highlight the parts of him I love the most.

This moment in Hollow Mind, when he gets the key in his hand and you can see the light in his eyes. It's the only time his eyes have the distinct shine in them like every other character has all the time, and it's cause of the key he's holding. The key to the human realm is the only thing that gives him that shine cause it's the only thing he genuinely cares about. Everything he's doing is to go back home and revel in glory, which, while selfish, adds so much to his character. He's not doing this JUST for power, he became an Emperor just to tear his own creations down. I just find something extremely poetic about that.

And the second moment -

THIS MOMENT. THIS MOMENT IN KING'S TIDE AJDHSJSHSJS

I'm still mad these flashbacks were never brought up in any big way cause THEY REALLY SHOULD HAVE BUT AHSKSJS I'M GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF.

Belos reliving his worst memories was always a concept that was going to be interesting because it's an insight into what really gets into the head of our main antagonist. What does the guy who is everyone else's worst fear have to fear. And the answer is himself.

The 3 memories he sees are him approaching Caleb with the knife, the actual murder as pictured above, and the creation of the grimwalkers.

What really gets me is that his eyes are wide when he recalls the first memory, but they look smaller in the second memory (in the screenshot). Maybe it's just the angle but I always interpreted it as his expression shifting to be one of genuine sadness for this particular memory. Because the mere fact that his most personal crime is also his worst memory is such an interesting concept. How does he live with that sort of guilt and worse, keep doing those same crimes but WORSE?

All of Hollow Mind could just be here really and I wouldn't complain. It's THE episode for Belos fans that really allowed us to dig into him, and the mere fact that he's consciously scratched off Caleb from all the happy memories as if to justify his own fratricide is a level of desperate coping that I just find so very interesting ajdjhsjjs

Not to mention that his inner self is a child, which, while a pretence by him, could still say something about how in his head, he still has not grown up and is still playing pretend, still playing witch hunter with every version of Caleb he creates, still playing god to finally achieve a fantasy so very childish and so frankly basic that it makes anyone watching from the outside think "wait, that's it? That's all this is for?" AND THAT'S THE POINT

Cause none of this needed to happen. None of this has a greater value than Philip trying to chase after lost dreams. All the plans he made, all his great power and his great empire amounts to nothing because he himself plans to destroy all of it to chase that childhood dream. Just like Luz, he entered the Boiling Isles to find a home, only his home was Caleb and he was never willing to love new things in the Isles, while Luz loved so much she literally changed the lives of everyone she met by loving them. And unlike Luz, Philip never grew out of that mindset, only burying it in layers and layers of lies and half truths.

In general, his relationship with Caleb is for sure the most interesting part of his character to me. The fact that he both repeatedly murders and repeatedly creates new grimwalkers in an endless cycle and then hallucinates Caleb looking at him with disdain implies so much about his dependancy on Caleb and the deepest parts of himself that know what he's doing is wrong. The parts that have broken free from the layers and layers of cognitive dissonance and have accepted that he was wrong, without any more justifications.

And now, to 'briefly' rant about him in season 3

Thanks to Them was juicy for character exploration, but I wish we actually got to see him react to the human realm properly. It's everything he's wanted, it's the one thing that still brings light into his life but the world he returned to would absolutely hate him. He's done all this for nothing. I wanted so badly to see how he copes with his guilt then, but they were short on time so I get it.

For the Future's hallucination scene makes this even more interesting cause of the depiction of him actually seriously suffering from something like hallucinations. It was dark as hell, and it was really interesting.

And then... WaD. All in all, a great finale. The only real big problem I had with it was Belos' ending.

After so much buildup to his depth and his motivations and his guilt and all his lies slowly collapsing around him, after everything he did to so many people, he deserved a better death. I don't think he didn't deserve death, I just think it happened too quick. Where was the final cathartsis from all his victims shunning him (Luz staring was perfect don't get me wrong, but the whole Hexsquad deserved to be there). Where was the moment he would finally no longer be able to lie to himself and he would be forced to accept that he did EVERYTHING he did, made all those great sacrifices, tortured so many people, just to fail and be at his victims' mercy after accomplishing nothing?

I understand the finale was juggling many MANY characters and plotpoints, but that's not stopping me from wishing for a better ending.

I wish I had had the motivation to draw something for this like I'd hoped, but a brief description about what kind of ending I'd have wanted will have to do.

I wish Luz saw his memories in the place in between with Papa Titan. It would reinforce her arc of feeling like they come from the same place too, if she saw Caleb leaving Philip and Philip's original goal of just wanting to get his brother back. I wish Luz saw all his "sad" memories and really started to question herself.

And then I would have wanted Papa Titan to shoot that down regardless, and then explain that while Belos may have started out a victim of his circumstances as an orphaned child in a cult, the Isles gave him chances to change. Memories of Philip in the Isles seeing Caleb happy, being given chances by witches, being given so many chances to change, and rejecting them accompanying this scene would be ideal. Really hammer in that he aas responsible for his own suffering and that he has absolutely no excuse for what he did to all his victims.

And then, in the final death scene, as he claims that as humans they are better than witches one last time, I wish the ghosts of all his victims showed up to prove him wrong. Every witch and grimwalker who choose to be better than him before they fell. Every member of the Hexsquad who believed in him and his regime at one point. Every single one of them a reminder of how his lies can't even convince himself anymore.

And finally, his own brother, a fellow human, who appears before him. I imagine Caleb looking at him with pity, almost sympathy, before a quiet acceptance comes onto his face and he turns away from him. He walks towards the crowd and chooses their side, next to Evelyn. Neither Caleb nor Luz say a single word. There is nothing left to be said to him anymore. Every single person on the Isles, human or witch, has turned against him now.

If anything could break his will, I think this would be it. I imagine him phasing through his different forms, trying to find a way to justify himself in each one, gradually desolving into desparate screams, before the boiling rain melts him away like in canon (except without the stomping please).

Aaaand that's it, no more notes. Thanks so much to all the Wittebane fans in the community who have kept his fanbase fed when the show didn't meet our standards and who prompted the line of thought that led to this post.

There are so many of you all who inspired and made my fandom experience fun and created so much out of just Philip, Caleb, and Evelyn (and all your OCs of course!!) so I'm just going to shoutout the ones I remember off the top of my head -

@talisman975

@jess-the-vampire

@calebsrottingcorpse

@owlyhouse

@anona1-mous

@captainmera

@moonmeg

@azure-blaze92

@a-magpie-in-the-bi

@a-magpie-in-gravesfield

This is no particular order and I'm surely missing more so this is by no means exhaustive, but this is just a shoutout for those who kept this fandom going. Y'all are the real troopers for sure.

That's all I got, but I'm posting some old Belos art soon! Cheers all, and may the terrible awful no good goo babygirl keep inspiring us for all the great art <3

#toh #the owl house #belosfanstakeover #emperor belos #philip wittebane #jewel talks about stuff #character analysis #watching and dreaming

[zanarkandskylines]

Hollow Heart { chapter 3 - choke }

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ ♡ katsuki bakugo masterlist ♡

summary: you have zero clue where you are after your abduction. white walls, medical instruments, the smell of rust, and hazy memories are all that keep you company during your time in the mystery lab. the horrors that lurk between these steel walls are going to give you nightmares for an eternity. all you can think about is getting home to your best friends and family, back to the life you sorely missed. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: To all of you who have stopped to read this fic, thank you so much! This was my jump back into writing after almost a decade. I appreciate every single one of you!! ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 13,885k as of ch.3 ꒱ Main Post Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5,092k] Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4,799k] Chapter 3 | Choke [3,995k] Chapter 4 | The Grey Chapter 5 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 6 | Tourniquet Chapter 7 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

CHAPTER THREE: CHOKE

Day One (?)

Metallic rust.

That's all you could taste when you awoke from your drugged slumber, the world stuck in a haze as you hummed in discontent. 

Where the hell am I?

The thought muddled in your head as you attempted to gauge your surroundings. The numbness in your limbs from earlier had been replaced with a new sensation - your body feeling too heavy for your bones to carry. 

Did someone strap a weight to your shoulders and ankles? 

You rotate your head sluggishly to see an all white and gray room, one singular door directly ahead of where you sat. There's a metal table in the corner with a few machines - you can't seem to determine what their purposes are. On your left, a surgical instruments table sits ominously, a few bloody bandages and an empty syringe splayed across it.

There's a sudden pulse in your head that rattles your brain, the train of thought you had derailing instantly. Glimpses of memories begin to spark in your mind - Bakugo's anguished expression as you drifted out of consciousness, an unknown number of hands removing your hero suit and belongings, cold steel of an operating table touching your bare skin, the ungodly amount of poking and prodding of your delicate skin with needles of all shapes and sizes, and a glass enclosure.

How are you remembering all of this if you weren't even conscious for the majority of it?

As if to answer your silent question, a doctor enters the room - what you presume is a doctor, anyways, by the looks of his white surgeon coat and stethoscope around his neck. 

"Good morning. Would you prefer the use of your hero name or first name?" He asks, paging through the file on his clipboard.

What the fuck?

"Uhh...hero name?" you slur as you answer, voice cracking with exhaustion. You're not able to think straight in the moment and have zero adrenaline to be combative. 

"Noted. How are you feeling?" His tone is dry, like every other doctor you've met in your life.

"Shitty."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Can you elaborate?"

God, this is so annoying. Why the hell are you being interrogated?

"M'everything feels...funny. Heavy but also...fuzzy?"

He scribbles down notes on a few different pages, flipping back and forth through the stack on his clipboard. 

"Is it my turn t'ask a question?" you quip, snickering at your own request. 

He approaches you hastily and slaps the ever-loving shit out of you. You let out a sharp yelp, the sting of his palm radiating on your cheek. 

"Subjects only speak when spoken to."

A chill runs down your spine when he uses the term "subjects." Just how many of you are there?

"Return her to containment," he orders, signaling to someone behind you before turning to exit the room. Another man enters as the doctor leaves, dressed in white scrubs with mint green latex gloves. He approaches you, latching a pair of handcuffs around your wrists while turning off a device nearby.

"C'mon, move it," he scolds as he yanks on the chain of the handcuffs. You stumble forward to your feet, wobbling on jelly legs as he's dragging you behind him. Looking down, your wrists were littered with bruises in varying shades of yellow, purple and green. Had they cuffed you earlier and roughhoused you? A few raw spots on your arm lead you to believe they had taken blood from you at some point, too. You have zero inclination to how long you've even been wherever the hell you are - anything is possible.

The mystery worker drags you down multiple corridors of dimly lit metal hallways and various steel lacing the walls. There were no windows in sight as you maneuvered your way around the labyrinth of never-ending laboratories, holding cells and various medical exam rooms. He stops in front of a frosted glass cell, swiping a keycard in front of the mechanism on the door. It opens with a high pitched beep and he pushes you inside, whipping you around by the shoulders to face him. He undoes your restraints before slamming the glass door shut, locking it with another beep of the keycard. 

With the silence comes the realization of your current predicament, crashing down around you like a tidal wave. It's intense, the surge of emotion that cascades through your entire body as if someone flipped a switch inside you. 

One lingering thought pulls at your heartstrings - Bakugo's face as you slipped away from him, his panic and desperation as he failed to save you.

And to top it all off, you told him you loved him. 

In the heat of the moment, it felt right. But now? It feels selfish. You admitted your feelings just in time for them to be ripped away from him. You don't even know if you're going to see him ever again. What if you die down here?

Oh. 

What if you die down here?

Alone and scared.

Away from your family, friends...Katsuki, your best friend - the secret love of your life. 

You never got to kiss him, properly express your affection for him - the experience was stolen away from you.

You're left to your own devices inside an unknown cell, blubbering on the tiny cot in the corner, frustration burning in your chest as you're heaving sob after sob. It triggers something in you never felt before - an unfamiliar violent rage. Launching up from the cot, you snivel as you face the wall and punch it with all the energy you can gather. 

"Fuck!" You wail, failing to recollect the memory that your still under the effect of the quirk suppressant. The sound of your knuckles smashing against the steel wall reverbs as it sends lightning bolts of pain up your arm, dissolving as the adrenaline makes its way through your entire being.

And then something terrifying stirs in your guts as the blood drips from your knuckles onto the floor.

The pain was satisfying.

Day Nine

Days have passed, that much you knew, but how many? That answer remained unclear, no matter how many times you begged various workers around the compound. No one ever answered you with words, just violence. You’ve lost count how many times you’ve been slapped, kicked, and pushed around for engaging in minimal conversation. There’s other prisoners here, too, but no one is allowed to communicate. You see each other sometimes in the hallways but never long enough to speak, even if you wanted to. It was like everyone was a ghost, all haunting the same burial ground.

Shockingly enough, they keep you fed and allowed one shower per day. It's a confusing system, considering how inhumane things have proven to be, but you're convinced it's to keep their subjects "healthy" for their fucked up experiments. 

Your schedule consisted of a hellish rotation of broken sleep and taking whatever drugs they forced upon you. The amount of times you were pulled from your cell varied for their trials that they had planned for the day. Whether it be once, or four times, you never knew how many hours you'd be stuck under surveillance in a catatonic state. 

You desperately tried to turn your emotions off to protect your psyche at any chance you could. As much as you hated to admit defeat, the endless stress and over dosage of unknown substances was more than enough to keep you underwater, sinking further toward rock bottom with each passing moment.

A guard stalks up to your cell and bangs on the glass to grab your attention.

“Y/H/N, your cooperation is needed for test 15. Up and at ‘em.” 

Your body is burdened with all the medical trauma you've endured over the last few days, slowing your pace to a sluggish limp as you make your way toward the cell door. 

"Hurry it up, subject. We ain't got all day!" he shouts, startling you with his sudden command.

Fuck this place.

Day Fourteen

"Test 23, Y/H/N - Forced kinetic energy release. Begin testing."

You don't have time to react before the IVs hooked to you begin to force various fluids into your veins. The competing sensations flood through you in rough currents - hot, cold, burning, stinging in cycles. A well-known tunnel vision begins to cloud your sight as you squirm in the steel throne you've been restrained to. You're body is on the verge of passing out when an intrusive illusion appears before you.

"Hello? Sweetie?" 

Your mother appears in front of you, outstretching a phantom hand to touch your shoulder. 

What the fuck...mom? How is she here right now?

"Are you coming home?" she asks, her face settled in a deadpan expression. Her voice resembles a computerized AI, as if someone is programming her dialog.

"Mom?" you speak aloud, frightened by how real this looks and feels.

"Honey? Are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need you."

"Mom, I'm right here. What do you mean?" You're becoming more and more disturbed as she continues to drone on the same question.

"When are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need help."

She's not real.

She's not really here - this shadow knows nothing. 

Snap the fuck out of it, they must have drugged you with a hallucinogenic. 

But why? What the hell does this have to do with quirk suppressants? 

"You're not here," you growl, screwing your eyes shut, refusing to entertain anymore of this apparition of your mother. 

"Oh, but honey, I am!"

What?

A force squeezes at your throat, cutting off an anxious breath as it leaves your lips. You scramble to grasp at the hallucination, forgetting you're trapped in the testing chamber and can't move. Your hands are flexing repeatedly under the shackles as energy is collecting in your palms, unable to control the emotional response racing through every nerve in your body.

They must have not given you the suppressant...or mixed it with something more deadly. 

"No!" You croak, your scream choked out by the pressure on your neck. 

Your vision turns white, a sudden surge of energy expelling from your palms, pulsing intensely over and over again. You can feel the impact against the chair beneath you, the sound of shredding metal filling your ears as kinetic energy is forcibly pouring out of you in succession.

"Cease testing, inject sedation."

The pain in your hands dissipates immediately upon hearing the doctor's orders, followed by the prick of a thick needle penetrating the crook of your neck. The white cast in your vision fades, reality returning to you as your eyes glass over. One of the scientist walks around the chair and stands before you with another goddamn clipboard. 

"Y/H/N, please describe how you feel and what you saw."

That familiar fire returns in your chest from your first night here - the aggressive urge to lash out. Was this a side-effect of whatever serum they've been loading you up with?

"Fuck you," you snarl, lip quivering as you're attempting to bury the ferocity thrashing inside you, begging to be set free.

He approaches you and snatches your cheeks in a rough hold. His grip tightens around your jaw as he repeats his question. 

"One more time - Y/H/N, describe how you feel and what you saw."

The flame burns hotter as your fists are trembling, the emotion becoming overbearing.

Before you can stop yourself, your palms shoot up into an offensive position, sparking with the remaining collective of kinetic energy as it bursts forward, striking the scientist and sending him tumbling backward. The bonds on the arms of the chair must have broken and freed your hands during the test - you didn't even notice until you attacked the guard. 

Shit.

"Quirk handcuffs and solitary - stat," orders the doctor over the surround system. 

The door to the room slams open and three more scientists scramble inside as they're rushing to surround you. One shoves you down harshly into the metal chair, bouncing your head off the back of it. 

Black…everything goes black.

When you come to, you’re in a new room that you don’t recognize. It’s different from the one you’ve called “home” since your arrival. There’s a mirror in the cell they’ve thrown you in and you catch a glimpse of yourself for the first time in...you don't know how long. The reflection shows you someone you don’t recognize - the girl staring back at you isn’t you. It looks like you, but her vicious predatory grin is bone chilling. This doppelgänger glares daggers at you, tilting her head menacingly as she mouths, “get out of me.”

You throw a punch at the mirror and shatter it as a blood curdling scream erupts from deep in your gut. Stumbling to the floor, you lay on the cold concrete and stare into the blank space of the solitary prison cell. You can’t even will yourself to cry.

I wanna go home…I wanna go home… 

The thought recycled on loop, taunting the strength of your mental state.

I want to go home to mom, to Izuku, to Katsuki…anywhere but here. 

You need to survive...

No. You will survive. 

This will not kill you. 

Day Twenty Five

"Y/H/N, we are going to proceed with a psychological evaluation."

Like you had a choice in the matter.

“Can you describe your experience from test 23?”

“Horrible,” you groan, the vision of your mother flowing to the forefront of your memory. “I saw a hallucination of someone that could physically touch me.”

You’ve learned in your time here not to ask further questions - answer as plainly as possible and move on. 

The scientist clacked the keys on her laptop obnoxiously. “And it felt real?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“Yes.” You turn your eyes to the floor as she proceeds to type whatever nonsense into the database. She retrieves a clipboard from the bag slung on the back of her chair, sliding it across the table to you. 

"Can you confirm this report is accurate from your initial intake?"

You begin to scan over the form when the words "if you want to get out of here" catch your attention.

Y/N

Y/H/N

Subject 57 - Kinetic Energy

Do not speak or react this note, until specified, if you want to get out of here.

...What?

I'm an undercover hero from the United States. I've been here for six months, waiting for an officially ranked hero to come through the facility. I haven't been able to leave since my arrival and communication has been cut off from my agency. You're the first non-civilian they've captured. 

Blink four times if you had a cellphone on you when you were taken. 

You look up at her and blink four times - she shoots her eyes back down to the form, signaling you to continue reading. 

Can you contact outside help? Could be the agency you belong to or co-workers.

Tap the table twice for yes and three times for no.

You tap the table twice, pretending to point to specific information on the page your reading. If you could get access to your cellphone, you might just be able to send your location to initiate a rescue mission.

"Thank you, Y/H/N," she says, grabbing the clipboard and returning it to her bag. "I'll take you back to your cell, follow me."

Following the standard protocol that you're used to, she slaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists before exiting the room. Once you reach your cell, she steps inside with you, removing the cuffs and motioning for you to come closer.

"I can look in the evidence chamber for your phone, more than likely it's in there with the other belongings after your decontamination process. Workers aren't allowed any communication devices, but they keep all of the captor's personal items guarded in one place." 

You don't have time to ask her all the questions you're dying to know the answers to - how'd she get here, how did the USA know of the lab, what her undercover work consisted of, why no  one came to find her...a plethora of unknowns. 

But right now? She's willing to help you, that's all that matters.

"If you can conjure up enough energy with your quirk, can you charge it?" she asks faintly. 

You nod in response, confirming the answer silently. Similarly to your classmate from UA, Kaminari, you were able to charge devices by converting kinetic energy into an electronic wavelength - a trick Eraserhead taught you back in Junior year. 

"Here's the plan - In five days, I'll be the guard on night shift. I'll give you an empty shot of the suppressant to make it look like a realistic dosage. Once the others have dissipated to their quarters, I can lead you to the evidence stash and let you rummage through the bins while I keep watch. You grab the phone, I'll hide it in my uniform, bring you back to your cell and toss it to the floor. I'll patrol the hall while you get things set up and make contact with another hero or your agency."

She peers out of the glass cell and sees another guard making his way down the hall. 

"Don't say a word. I'll be back in 5 days, and I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," she apologizes as she cracks you on the jaw with a hearty slap.

You know she had to fake it in front of the other guard to keep her cover - it still hurt like hell.

She shuts the door with a noisy clang of the door's mechanism, a high pitched beep locking it in place. 

And thus, the countdown to freedom begins.

Five days until you finally make contact with the outside world - with someone.

Someone? No, you already knew who you were sending the information to - like it wasn't obvious who you'd choose to signal for help.

Day Twenty Nine

You've come this far, you can't back down now. 

All you had to do was make your way back to the evidence room with the undercover hero lady, find your phone, and sneak back to your holding cell. 

And force your quirk to activate. 

...and not get caught.

The suspense of the plan succeeding was enough to keep you on edge as the nightly sedations were distributed. She appeared, just like she promised, and administered a fake injection to your arm. You put on a front for the other guards, fooling them into thinking you were properly medicated. 

The plan's been set in motion - she'll be back in a few hours.

Day Thirty

You could feel the liberation in your grasp - the victory of sneaking your phone back to your cell filling you with exhilaration. All you had to do was wait for lights out to attempt your escape plan. You have no idea how deep the lab sits under Sector 42 and if you'll even be able to obtain a signal in your cell.

Focusing all of your willpower into the tip of your pointer finger, you hold it closely as sparks of energy softly crackle into the charging port of the phone. 

Just a minute to charge, that's all I need. Enough battery to turn it on, send a call and a text and turn it back off.

You're beginning to feel lightheaded as your phone successfully powers on with a soft vibration and the logo appearing on screen. 

Holy shit, it worked!

Hurriedly, you flip the silent switch before notifications begin to pour into the device, catching up on all the missed communications over the last month. Multiple calls, text messages, e-mails, the standard amount that you expected. The battery hovered at 7% and the time read 3:05AM. You glance at the date underneath the time - it's been an entire month since you disappeared. 

A whole goddamn month.

There's no time to spiral over that right now!

Hunched over behind your cot, you proceed to open your messages to keep your plan on track. You're not shocked by the amount of missed texts from everyone; Midoriya, Jiro, Uraraka, Kirishima, Mina...and Bakugo.

You had 127 unread texts from him, the last coming in less than ten minutes ago.

One hundred and twenty seven.

You freeze, a mixture of guilt, excitement, and panic surging through you. Shoving all that down - you've gotten too good at doing that - you clicked on the thread, catching the last dozen or so of his messages.

[2:45AM] i don’t want to say this in a fucking text of all things [2:45AM] especially under these circumstances  [2:46AM] but i’m scared i’ll never get to say it to you [2:46AM] i’m a fucking idiot for not telling you sooner [2:47AM] god dammit [2:48AM] i love you [2:48AM] like a stupid fucking amount [2:49AM] i convinced myself i didn’t and that you wouldn’t feel the same [2:50AM] and when you come home [2:50AM] i’ll tell you every damn day to make up for all the times i didn’t [2:51AM] that’s a promise [2:52AM] i love you lite-brite

Tears are silently falling from your eyes, wide with astonishment at the words you're reading from him. There's no way this is real - you've got to be strung out from the quirk-drugs they've forced upon you. A delayed side effect of some sort? They've given you delusions in the past, it's not that farfetched. 

He convinced himself not to love you? He's always loved you?! 

He said 'I love you,' twice.

Twice!

You don't have time to read the rest as much as you're dying to catch up on all the potential sweet nothings he's sent to you over the last few weeks, but you do have time for one thing.

Before you chicken out, you click the "Call" button next to his name. The phone suddenly feels like a cinderblock in your hand as you shakily hold it to your ear. You think he's not going to answer until you hear faint rustling sounds on the other end of the line.

"H-hello?! Y/N!?" You can't say anything - your body straightens, goosebumps covering you from head to toe. All of the misery you were holding on to, the trauma and terror, evaporated at the sound of those two words. Those two measly words wrapped around you and offered a warmth you haven't known in weeks.

You click the "End Call" button, hating that you probably gave him a heart attack, but you selfishly needed to hear his voice. 

Before you forget your initial plan, you send a pinned location to Bakugo. You know he'll come running - blasting, rather - as soon as he can pinpoint exactly how to break into the lab. You have zero doubts that he can't figure it out.

[3:11AM] *location sent*

One last thing for good measure? You send an orange heart emoji. 

Right as you're about to scroll up and read his past messages, your phone powers down with the empty battery symbol displaying on screen.

Your heart is racing, threatening to beat out of your chest as his words reverberate in your mind. 

I love you like a stupid fucking amount.

You can't help but chuckle at the sentiment - that's so Bakugo of him to say. 

At least your plan was a success and you were able to accomplish the small goal. Now all you have to do is play the waiting game - knowing Bakugo, and presumably Midoriya? That won't be long at all.

You lay back in your cot, smiling for the first time in ages, relishing in your triumph. 

And for the first night since you've arrived, a peaceful rest welcomes you with open arms. You dream of home, running in the park under the glow of the sun and finding Bakugo under the shade of a nearby tree, waiting patiently for you in the summer breeze. 

next up, we wrap back to the boys as they plan their rescue mission! and they're not going alone as they recruit their closest friends in their crazy plan to get you back. and don't worry, it won't be easy. tags: @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr ✩ if you’d like to be tagged when updates are posted, message/comment to be added! ✩

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #☆.rei writes #✩.hollowheart

[wispscribbles]

Mw3 spoilers (just a long personal ramble)

Hiii. So

As soon as the pre-release came out on, I hunted down spoilers, because I know myself and knew that if someone died and I got that information out of the blue, I wouldn’t take it well. Jokes on me, because I still haven’t been taking it well lol

I won’t talk about how Soap’s death was handled or the quality of the game. Plenty of smarter people are doing so.

I try not to talk a lot about myself and irl stuff on here, but will just say: I am very unwell, mentally. (Cue silence because that’s not surprising at all) Something I am very aware that I do, is that I latch onto fiction with my whole being, usually one specific character. For some reason, I always latch onto the character that ends up dead, usually in a way that make them only exist to further the motivations of other characters. It sucks.

So my hope for Soap has never been great, but for some reason I was still so shocked?? I don’t know, I tricked myself into thinking this time was different. Such an iconic character with so much good setup for great character development. I knew someone would die, but ow. To me, he was the element that made 141 seem more like family than coworkers. Soap’s interactions with the rest just livened up the games so much and made them all shine. Especially Ghost. Their dynamic, man.

Soap was the character that intrigued me enough to jump into the cod rabbit hole. It feels very hollow without him.

I keep telling myself that it’s silly to be so hurt over something fictional, and that I can just treat it as a mcd fanfic and move on, but nope. Brain’s stuck in the bad stuff. It’s a bad habit of mine to let something like this affect me so much, but well. Logic vs feeling and all that.

I really did find so much comfort in Soap this last year, that I severely needed. It feels a little like losing someone I know, someone who helped me through a rough time. I related to something in him and felt inspired. I only started writing after getting into ghostsoap, I started working out and I got back into art after a very long burnout. It may be fiction, but the impact is not.

So that was pretty much the worst case scenario of what mw3 could be to me. I always knew the risk, but, once again, ow. But there also seems to be plenty of good stuff in the game that I enjoy. I’m happy with the Ghost and Soap dialogue, the whole team working together and seeing Laswell and Farah and Alex and Nik. I hope I can be inspired by some of the new content once I’m calmer.

And I was worried they would ignore Ghost and Soap’s relationship after their development in mw2, but they genuinely seem to have gotten real close. It’s nice. I thought the shipping might scare the game devs into never having them appear in a scene together again, so that’s a plus.

Bottom line to all this is: I probably need a little break to get my head sorted. The grief is surprisingly real, it’s triggered some old stuff for me (haven’t been sleeping or eating, been stuck in some old thoughts). I’ll need to calm down and become a bit more normal about this again. Part of the grief isn’t so much about Soap himself, but also just the safe space that this account has been. The very nature of how the fandom is going to interact with Soap and Ghostsoap is going to change now, and man… I liked how it was, y’know? Could’ve used a little longer in that bubble. There’s going to be plenty of new fics and art, lovely stuff as always, but many of them will be tinged with grief, and I’m not in a place where that won’t break me a little.

I will hopefully come back to posting and making stuff once my brain settles down. I have so many drafts for fics and ideas that I hope I can return to. I’ve gotten so used to drawing these lads that I doubt I can stop tbh

The version of Soap that we love is already evolved from the games due to all the time and care the community has put into the character. The games may have killed him, but luckily, he’s fictional. We can do what we want, same as before.

I’m not even saying that I wish they hadn’t killed him. The games are crafting a story that fits their audience. It makes sense.

But I will choose to live in one of the many universes we���ve created for Soap, where he is alive and cared for, with a found family and a spooky lieutenant with a soft spot for him. Good for him.

Hope you’re all taking care of yourselves. RIP canon Soap (again). Thanks to Neil for a wonderful portrayal. And no matter where we go from here, thanks for a wonderful year of creating with you lovely folks. Seriously, some of the kindest people I’ve met in fandom. <3

Lastly: fuck you Kevin O’Reilly, but more importantly, sincerely thank you. (CallMeKevin video about mw2 got me into this mess. Otherwise I was keeping cod at an arm’s length, but he’s my fav youtuber, so I watched it. And here we are!)

#if u don’t wanna read: I’ll be taking a small break for mental health reasons but expect to be back and creating for this fandom again <3 #mw3 #mw3 spoilers #cod mwiii #mwiii spoilers #call of duty mwiii #ghostsoap #wispy update #always feel anxious posting anything emotional but feel like this one deserved a proper update #you’re all wonderful ppl ily #hopefully see you soon !

[gojoidyll]

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 4 | my life

Warnings | death , gojo starts to get a bit delusional , yandere gojo , gojo being salty about y/n's new life , mentions of su!c!de by poison , murder , grammatical errors , etc.

Notes | this fic will be using she/her pronouns for y/n. Also this is a reincarnation fic, so Gojo's name will not be "Satoru" in this part. And please let me know if you want to be in a taglist for this series !! ^-^

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Infinity Masterlist

year 1120 AD

GOJO SHIRO, at the somewhat middle age of 30, couldn't believe his eyes. His six eyes, dulled a bit due to age, seemed to ignite with a sort of happiness as he looked down at a newborn that his dear daughter wanted him to meet. (As he got older, he was practically forced to marry someone from the clan elders despite him being the lord of the land and head of the clan now. He honestly didn't want to as he saw it as him betraying y/n, but alas, life must go on for the Gojo clan.)

"Her name is Y/n Gojo, isn't she cute?"

Life sure was cruel. Here he was still not dead from his second life and here y/n was already in her third, her second reincarnation. A sort of dark pit settled within him. A seed of pure rage entangled him and took root.

"She is cute," he muttered, but she wasn't supposed to start her second life without me. And she's a Gojo no less, so even if I reincarnated we wouldn't be able to be married together, we would be related to each other for God's sake!

He had to right the wrong.

So, he made a quick decision. A just decision.

"However, she's been cursed."

His daughter paled, "w- what?! Cursed?! But father-"

He held up his hand as y/n laid gently in his arms, "you know the rules as much as I do. That husband must of done something to you during childbirth, or when she was being conceived. You know better than anyone else that the Gojo clan has enemies lurking in the shadows."

"Minako would never hurt her! He loves our little girl!"

"And how can you be sure? You nor anyone else has the six eyes, you nor anyone else can see what I see, and this child is cursed. She'll bring the Gojo clan to ruin if she exists a second longer."

"But father-"

"Enough! If you do not have the will to end this cursed child's life, then I will take it upon myself."

"You can't father! You can't! There must be another way! We can save her!"

His daughter was in hysterics. All she wanted was for her father to finally meet her baby little girl. If she knew this was going to happen, then she would of run away with y/n and Minako in tow.

Urumei was summoned a moment later and had grabbed a tight hold of Gojo's daughter.

"Take her outside while I handle this."

"Of course, my lord."

His daughter could only kick and scream in Urumei's grip. Her wails being heard outside the door and down the hall as Gojo was left with y/n. His six eyes now focused onto the small baby in his arms.

"You're quite cruel for doing this to me, but don't worry y/n, my precious little y/n. I know you didn't have control over where you were born and who you were born too. But you must understand .. if I die and am reincarnated and you're not there, then how will I live? You're my world. And I'm your moon. You said so yourself. We made a deal. Its only fair that we be reincarnated at the same time so that we're together."

He activated hollow purple. And, for a moment, he was glad that she was still asleep. He doesn't think he would be able to go through with it if she were awake, and just as he was about to go through with it. She had opened her eyes. They were a brilliant, bright (color) and his breath faltered. Looking up at him, she smiled and giggled and held out her chubby, small hands up to him. Her fingers making grabbing motions.

He deactivated hollow purple and decided to just come up with the excuse to raise her himself and to "make sure she wasn't cursed anymore and didn't hurt anyone within the clan."

His daughter, when she was brought back in, could only weep and smile at the good news, grateful to her father for not killing her baby. Granted, since y/n was still "cursed" as she and everyone else within the clan were told to believe, then it meant she wouldn't be able to take care of her daughter and instead her father would look after her instead. But she was still happy nonetheless.

And that was how life went for the next fourteen years.

"Father, father, father!"

Now at the age of 44, Shiro could be found carrying y/n around on his back as she would point at the different food stalls, wanting to try all the different kinds of sweets they had.

Now, Shiro was, in fact, her grandfather of course, but he decided to blur the lines a bit on that since he was still young and because his daughter and her husband had passed away tragically in a cursed spirit attack when y/n was only two years old. Many found it odd how he didn't seem phased over their deaths but reckoned that he just needed to focus on caring for his newly made daughter instead.

And y/n simply didn't need to know. Besides, as he said, he was still relatively young so what was the harm in posing as her father figure instead? (Not to mention that he erased anything and everything related to his previous daughter and wife. Hell, he couldn't even remember their names!)

"You want to try that next?"

"Yes, please!"

Much to Shiro's delight, despite living under his doting care she still turned out the same as in her first two lives. Cute, shy, and super adorable. However, she was a bit chubby but that was only because he absolutely refused to see her in a sickly state as she was seen previously in her other lives. And it was nice seeing her so happy. He doesn't remember ever being so happy before with her first two families. Granted, in her second life her mother there was nice but y/n didn't have a father and her mother was always working. Not to mention those bullies were- he seethed a little, that's right. To y/n, this was the only life she lived, but to Gojo he was still in the life where those damn brats killed her.

He tried to clear his mind and focus on y/n instead.

The day went on and soon night fell which meant their usual routine. Y/n would wash up and immediately get dressed in her night clothes and come into his room. He would already be in bed and would pat the spot next to him as she would happily clamber in next to him.

But just before she would fall asleep, he would tap her on the nose.

"Forgetting something?"

She giggled a little as she turned towards him and lifted her head forward. Her lips gently pressing against his cheek as she gave him a tiny goodnight kiss.

"Goodnight, father! I love you!"

He kissed her forehead in return, and hugged her close, "goodnight my sweet angel."

And as she would fall into a deep sleep, he would find himself in discomfort. This was not the life he wanted with her. Not at all.

So he would find himself reaching into the cupboard next to his nightstand. His eyes glinting into the dark when he would find a dark vile. In it was a heavy poison. He knew what he had to do.

Uncorking the lid, he parted y/n's lips and let the liquid slip down her throat.

Now, this wasn't a rash decision, he's actually been thinking of this for quite some time. He couldn't wait any longer to die and to get reincarnated with y/n. He didn't want to be her father figure or even a father to her. He wanted to be her husband. But life was cruel.

It wasn't fair.

not fair

not fair

not fair

not fair

Thats what he always told himself, and he finally went through with it, and making sure that her heart stopped and she was truly dead. He, too, took a swig from the bottle and then promptly tossed the vile out the open window for someone to find while on patrol.

It wasn't fair. He deserved to have y/n as a wife, not a daughter, or as a granddaughter. It only made sense to finally start anew. Besides, she lived a decent life. A decent childhood. He could have killed her as a baby. Oh, he really could have. But he didn't. He let her live.

So, by doing that, he deserves to take that life away too and start again.

He knew they would be reincarnated together this time. Because they didn't end up together. This wasn't their happy ending.

Infinity taglist | @whore-for-hawks @esthelily @huicitawrites @flaming-vulpix

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #female reader #gojo satoru #gojo #yandere satoru gojo #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #gojo x reader

[tj-dragonblade]

hello hello, how about #6 for the spotify wrapped 👀

6 - Arwen's Vigil by The Piano Guys This is an instrumental piece evoking steadfast hope and sweeping passions, and I think it calls for a Knight!Hob AU. Visually, Hob will be a tidied-up version of 1389 and Dream will have Tom's Hollow Crown look.

(Synopsis bled into scene-drafting oops)

Dream, the ruler of wherever, has sent his best men on a dangerous quest of some sort. Including his unspoken favorite, his most faithful, the man who holds his heart, the man who will never know it. Dream cannot abuse his station; he is the king; Hob is his knight. They cannot be together. But nothing can stop him holding vigil each night as he waits for news, his thoughts circling on Hob, praying for his safe return.

The news when it comes is bittersweet; the quest was successful but at great price. Only three of the ten men remain to return home; the message does not tell who. Dream paces endlessly, frets endlessly, heart perpetually in his throat as he grapples with the not-knowing, the fear that his Hob has perished.

When the men return they are only two; the third fell to bandits on the road and the second is gravely injured. The first, Dream sees with a relief that threatens to overwhelm him, is his Hob.

The injured man is seen to, rushed to the medics; Hob is tired and dirty but unharmed, and Dream calls for a bath to be drawn in his private quarters. He will tend to Hob himself, with the viable excuse of debriefing him re: the quest.

So before long we wind up with Hob dozing quietly in the warm bath in Dream's quarters, Dream watching over him, letting him doze and making sure he doesn't slip underwater, keeping the fire roaring, etc. Ooh, ooh, there should be a hair washing scene first, Dream washing Hob's chest and shoulders and beard for him, gentle and intimate and Hob protesting his king serving him this way and Dream shushing him with something like 'My noble steadfast Hob, my most loyal and enduring friend (dangerous, so daring to admit aloud he considers him thus), let me take care of you for once' and so Hob quiets, and lets him, and Dream moves on to the proper hair washing and by the time he's finished Hob is drifting asleep.

So Dream lets him sleep, keeps watch, tends the fire etc, and after a bit he's sitting on a chair by the tub lost in thought when there's a wet touch to his hand and he looks up to find Hob's warm brown eyes fixed steadfastly on him.

"My liege," Hob says softly, gaze unwavering, and brings Dream's hand to his lips, lets them graze over the knuckles.

Dream sucks in a breath, shaken, filled with such ardent longing that he fears to speak, lest he give himself away. But Hob is still speaking.

"I have faced death many times, but none more certainly than this last."

"Hob—"

"And I'm alright with that." He sits up, leans forward, still holding Dream's hand. "I will go where you send me; I will serve you to my last breath and die gladly if it means you're safe. But having faced that possibility so starkly—" he turns Dream's hand, presses his lips soft to the cup of Dream's palm "—I have realized. There are things I do not wish to take to my grave." He arches Dream's hand back gently, places a softly-heartfelt kiss to the inside of his wrist, lifts his eyes back to Dream's.

"My lord Dream. It is not simply my sword and my service which are pledged to you, but my heart as well."

Dream cannot help the gasp that escapes him; neither can he manage words, which is just as well as Hob is still speaking.

"I know we can never be, and I do not expect any return of my feelings. I am happy to love you silently from afar, as I always have. This—" his lips brush the pulse beating furiously in Dream's wrist "—is more than enough, your care and consideration of me here, they are more than enough. If I am to die in some future endeavor, then I will die at peace knowing you are aware that you were loved by me. And that is enough."

"You dare." Dream finds his voice at last, though it trembles terribly. "You. Dare. To speak so carelessly of dying, when I have spent days sick with worry of your welfare, when I have not slept for fear I had lost you this time, when I have only just had those fears assuaged by your return—"

Hob is quite taken aback, but still he holds Dream's hand. "My liege—"

"Dream." The tremor in his voice matches the wavering of tears filling his vision, the way his fingers tremble in Hob's gentle hold. "You will call me Dream when it is only you and I, and you will not greet death so cavalierly should it come for you. You will exercise every caution, you will fight with your all to return to me, for I could not bear to lose you, not now, when you tell me that the heart I so long for is pledged to me in truth, I could not bear it—"

He is cut off by the soft touch of Hob's fingers to his lips, wet and wrinkled from the bath water, beseeching his silence. He meets Hob's eyes, tears spilling over soundlessly, and finds Hob's gaze wide, wondering, warm and hopeful and dark enough to drown in; when Hob's fingertips move gently from his lips to touch his tears, to reverently stroke a single droplet away, Dream shivers. And when Hob releases his hand, moves closer, when both of Hob's hands are gently framing his face, when Hob is gazing up at him with naked adoration, Dream knows he is lost. He does not fight the way Hob leans up and draws him down; he cannot fight his own desires any longer and he cannot deny this man any wish.

The kiss is tentative, soft, Hob's lips sliding across his, between, pressing gently until Dream gasps—

And Hob draws back, eyes searching Dream's, seeking permission, confirmation that his forwardness is welcome, and Dream can think of no better assurance than to kiss him again.

He lunges forward, mouth finding Hob's unerringly, and it is Hob this time who gasps, whereupon Dream brings his tongue into the kiss and then Hob moans. Dream touches him, as he has longed to do for years, strokes through his wet beard and wet hair, touches the wet curves of his shoulders and the glorious mat of wet hair on his chest, heedless of the drag of his own sleeves in the bathwater.

"My lord Dream—" Hob barely pulls away, lips brushing Dream's as he speaks.

"Not here," Dream interrupts. "Never here, think me not your lord when we are alone, I beg—let me be just a man, let me be but the one who would hold your heart dear and trust that you hold mine the same—"

"Dream," Hob says then, tremulous, wondering, and the blossoming familiarity of Dream's unadorned name on Hob's lips has him swooning back into a kiss.

It quickly grows desperately impassioned, fierce and frantic as emotions rise and inhibitions fall in their wake. Hob flounders about in the tub and stands, bringing Dream up with him, pulling Dream to him and picking him up, cradling Dream bridal-style as he steps out of the tub, naked and streaming wet and still kissing his king. Dream clings around his neck, lost in the ardent warmth of Hob's mouth, uncaring of how Hob's wet hirsute body makes an absolute ruin of his clothing.

He will not be wearing it much longer, regardless.

So I guess this will be going in the wip pile but there is no telling if or when I'll get back to it. The rest will just be smut; Hob carries Dream over to the furs spread on the stone floor in front of the fire, lays him down, strips him bare of his wet robes with reverence, tenderly fingers him open and then makes love to him over and over, ardent and adoring and attentive until tears of joy and pleasure are streaming from Dream's eyes, until his heart and body sing with the love Hob bears him, the love he bears Hob in turn. Or something equally purple-prosed and sappy. This will be smut to rot your teeth on I assure you.

Inevitably this art and the third one here ended up rotating in my mind even if they don't quite apply to what I scribbled down - they convey the same kind of mood.

Spotify Wrapped Askmeme Post

#Thank you Vi ❤️ #askmemes #TJs Fics #of a sort #SpotifyWrapped asks #Dreamling #Sandman

[gabessquishytum]

oh i'm feral about the recent Hob's Slutty Slutty Holes ask so allow me to run with that for a minute.

hob thinks he's gotten pretty good at accessorizing his holes by now, he's got a pretty good collection of nice heavy plugs for his ass and balls for his cunt, but once dream takes charge of his holes he realizes just how wrong he was. pretty soon hob's using the biggest of his old plugs only on rest days, when dream wants him focusing on work instead of whatever he's stuffed with that day (leaving him empty, of course, means hob will be utterly useless. dream learns that immediately).

dream likes alternating the plug in hob's ass -- some days hob gets a bigger version of the style he's used to, heavy and unyielding metal. sometimes it's an inflatable. the days dream plugs him with glass always end with hob bent over dream's desk while dream tells him how deep inside him he can see.

hob's pussy gets some of the same treatment, but dream has to hand it to hob, there's something special about stuffing hob's cunt full of balls and waiting to see if he can hold them in. some are lighter, hollow or soft and easy to hold. others are heavy enough that hob has to really work his inner muscles to keep them in place. the ones that are so heavy it's only a matter of time until hob loses grip are kept for private use, either at dream's home or when it's only them in the office.

at least, at first. because when this all started, dream had taken hob out to get his clit pierced, much to hob's delight. dream spends plenty of time playing with the piercing, tugging at it, sometimes attaching a delicate chain to it, and once he thinks hob's ready for it, he introduces a new toy -- a string of metal balls, big and heavy, and on a chain long enough to confuse hob for a moment. until dream demonstrates by clipping the end of the chain to hob's clit ring before starting to feed the balls into his cunt.

they're too heavy for hob to hold all day, he can tell that immediately. and he's right -- when he gets up from his desk to get lunch, the first of the balls slips out and makes hob realize just what he's dealing with. because dream had been very clear, hob's not allowed to touch the balls to reset any that slip out. and the one now dangling between his legs is weighing down the rest of the string.

when the last of them slips out, hob's just lucky he's alone, because the tug on his clit when they drop and to hang from the piercing makes him shriek. but less lucky, he's across the building and a few floors away from dream. the balls are hanging just about to his knees, his skirt barely comes to mid-thigh, every time he moves they tug on his clit, and if he wants any relief he'll have to walk through the building and hope no one sees him.

-🐈‍⬛

I'm so down bad for this. I mean you always deliver the goods, but a whole post about stuffing Hob's pretty pussy with pretty things? I'm drooling. Happy fuckin Holidays 🐈‍⬛❤❤ More slutty holes Hob here BTW.

Oh, that chain attached to his clit is a special kind of torture. Hob spends a moment standing at his desk just trying to breathe. He's dripping slick down his thighs and the heavy metal balls are just swinging in the air, pulling on his clit. He takes 3 steps away from his desk before he cums. He just can't help it.

In the end he grabs a folder and desperately tries to hold it level with the dangling toys so no one can see... but its lunch time! When he gets into the elevator, there are other people there! He ends up squashed between other people and the sensation on his clit is raw, unbridled agony. He has to put his hand over his mouth to stop himself making loud, wanton noises. He's sure that everyone can smell him, or hear the slick that's dripping onto the metal floor.

At last he reaches Dream’s floor and stumbles out of the lift. He practically falls into the office but Dream!!! Isn't!!! There!!! Hob is ready to burst into tears. He grabs Dream’s coat and buries his face in the fabric while he sobs and moans and suffers through another spontaneous orgasm or two.

Dream finds him only a few minutes later (he'd actually run down to check on Hob only to find him gone). He's sitting in a puddle of his own fluids on the carpet, his little skirt is soaked, and he's holding Dream’s coat against his chest. Poor little slut. Dream scoops him up onto the desk and gives his poor, abused pussy a much needed kiss and some cool, soothing fingers inside. Hob looks so relieved to be filled up, he goes absolutely limp and his eyes just glaze over.

And then the chain is clipped back on, and the balls slide back into Hob’s (sloppy, loose) cunt. Time to get back down to his floor and get to work. And Dream wants him to use the stairs....

#🐈‍⬛ anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #trans hob

[the-engdyssey]

@hetaween-event

Prompt: Day 1 - Folklore

“In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black, and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.” ― Washington Irving, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

While I couldn't exactly call The Legend of Sleepy Hollow folklore exactly, I would say it's one of the oldest, most iconic, and certainly my favorite horror story from American literature.

So naturally I made an au where Alfred is the headless horseman. It's an idea I've been sharing in discord servers for years, but never did anything with. That's now changed, and it's something like this:

Arthur knows full well Alfred is going to win the revolutionary war. The knowledge smarts, but that's not what bothers him. He's irate that Alfred's grown a penchant for lopping off the heads of English soldiers. Alfred's going to win the war, but he's not stronger than Arthur. Not yet, and he'll never see his own victory. Arthur takes Alfred's head to remind the boy who exactly he's dealing with. Carving a face and performing an incantation on a pumpkin to give Alfred a new head? That was all spite. But the world has changed and so has Arthur. Anger and spite have given way to guilt, because without his brain....Alfred's kinda stupid. Exceptionally so. He doesn't have an ounce of malice in him. He's not interested in lopping off heads anymore, he just wants to race whoever ventures into his stretch of the woods. Sweet and stupid, and he still loves Arthur. So every Halloween, Arthur comes to visit until one fateful visit, with his wife in tow, Arthur comes to visit bearing a gift...

If you like the sound of this idea, stayed tuned becaus @phantom-wolf and I are writing a fic of this exact story.

Also check out under the cut for a few different versions of this piece! Thanks!

This one stays truer to the original colors of the piece, but wasn't dramatic enough for me.

And here's the original piece without any hue adjustments. It was a challenge on multiple fronts, but I'm super happy that I could create a very dark piece while varying in shades and tones. A struggle, but a worthy one!

#hetaween-event #alfred f. jones #hws america #aph america #headless horseman #headless horseman au #he's got pumpkin seeds for brains don't mind him

[markantonys]

I'm thinking about Rand's ending in the books and I hate both the bodyswap and that he abandons everyone but at the same time I get that his sacrifice has to mean something so the world forgets him/lets him fade into myth. And him actually dying would undermine the entire point of his arc. So I'm curious how you think the show might tackle this? I'm sure there's a few options

i hate it too! but yeah, rand needs to be forgotten by the world at large and needs to get a new face so he won't be recognized, or else he will never know peace. so the way i would do it is have him fade into myth among the general public, but still remain part of his loved ones' lives and they all just keep secret the fact that this guy is rand al'thor. his whole arc is about learning to stop self-isolating and to instead let himself lean on his loved ones for support, so i felt that him ending the series by fucking off into the mist all alone was totally contrary to that and did not make emotional sense as the endpoint of the journey we'd been on with him for 14 books. i can certainly understand if he needs to take a lil sabbatical and have some time to himself in the immediate aftermath, but that should not have been the very final concluding note of his whole arc! for my own sanity i have to imagine he just took a 2-week vacation and then went to caemlyn to be with his family (and told tam, nynaeve, and perrin that he's still alive, and rescued mat from the seanchan and incorporated him into the polycule, and bargained with the creator to bring egwene and gawyn back to life........okay i'm getting sidetracked)

as for what the show might do, i'll brace myself for them to adhere to the book version, but from what we've seen in the first 2 seasons, i think that ending would make even less sense for show!rand than it does for book!rand. in 1x08, we see that his greatest dream is to live a quiet, peaceful life with his family, and now we're going on a journey of watching him be forced to give up that dream for the rest of the series. what better way to end the show than by having rand finally get to live out that dream now that his duty to the world is done? the tears i would weep if the final scene of the show was similar to his 1x08 domestic AU, but real this time! plus, the s1 ending & s2 already did the whole thing of rand fucking off into the mist all alone, making his loved ones think he's dead, and trying to start over in a new town with a new life - AND HE LEARNS THAT THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE because he can't help but get attached to new people wherever he goes AND because he can't keep himself from remaining attached to the people from his old life and wanting to help them when he learns they're in trouble. and it also showed how his loved ones suffer because of him making them think he's dead and took a pretty hard stance in saying "no, no one is better off if rand fakes his death, not rand and not his loved ones." so i especially think rand's book epilogue scene would ring hollow in the show since s2 has specifically proven that that scenario doesn't work.

some people will harp on about happy endings being uNrEaLIsTIc, but i Do Not Give A Shit!!!! and so far the show has also shown that it's not interested in grimdark for grimdark's sake and that, like the books, it doesn't shy away from showing trauma and tragedy and yet still chooses hope & togetherness over cynicism & isolation at the end of the day, and so i think it feels very plausible for the show to give rand a bit more hopeful of an ending. (i guess the books TRIED to give him a hopeful ending what with him thinking happily about how he can travel around by himself and not be recognized, but it just felt false to me that that's the sort of thing that would make rand happy - in large part because show!rand was the first version i ever met, and i subconsciously carried his homebody caregiver stay-at-home dad-ness with me into the books even though he wasn't REALLY like that in the books in the way he is in the show. so that feels like further evidence that book!epilogue wouldn't work for show!rand.)

now as for the bodyswap, that's so tricky to imagine what the show might do. on the one hand, rand cannot fade into anonymity and be allowed to rest and set down his duties if he keeps his same body and will still be recognized wherever he goes. on the other hand, imagining rand's final moments in the whole show being portrayed by some random new actor instead of josha is so freaking sad! sad for us and sad for josha! it's fine in a book where we're in rand's head and can feel that he's still him even though he tells us he looks different, but in a visual medium, spending up to 8 seasons with josha as rand only to have his final moments be portrayed by a completely different person..........the emotions just wouldn't hit the same, it wouldn't feel like a proper sendoff for rand. granted, if moridin's actor had been in the show for several seasons already (and whether they would cast a new actor as moridin or bring fares fares back and just have the character still be called ishamael is another question i can't predict) then we'd be attached to him too by the finale, so maaaaaybe it could still feel emotional, but never as emotional as if it were josha doing that scene.

so i'm stuck here because story-wise it makes more sense for rand to get a new face, but TV-wise it's not sensible to have one of the main characters played by a different actor in their final scene(s). the potential solution to this would be, no bodyswap but have rand disguise his face with an illusion when in public so that he doesn't get recognized as the dragon reborn and get hassled.

so, okay, here's what i would do: rand wakes up in the healing tent still in his original body, but then he disguises himself and leaves the tent. he passes by his own funeral going on and slips away into the night, after exchanging a meaningful look with his partners who can sense that this stranger is him thanks to the bonds. then, cut to a proper epilogue scene of josha-as-rand undisguised in the privacy of his own home, watching his kids play with his partners by his side (and maybe all his friends and tam too if they REALLY feel like spoiling me haha) just like he told us in 1x01 he always dreamed of :')

#anonymous #answered #wot book spoilers

[killuintense]

i just got teeth fillings today and need more the day after tomorrow, i’m like— living in pain with a numb ass mouth lmao. if it’s alright, could i request headcanons or a one-shot of leon comforting his s/o after getting teeth fillings?

thank you!!

❝ i would die for you ❞

leon kennedy x fem reader.

summary: if it were because you were happy, Leon would die for you.

content: 1.k words, fluff, domestic life, cozy day, soft Leon.

note: i loved the idea of doing something domestic and cute, ♡ you didn't tell me if you wanted a particular version of Leon so it can be with anyone ;), i hope you like it and enjoy it!!

You snorted in anguish.

You were on the couch with an unbearable pain in your mouth. You were with the ice crushing your cheeks as the stupid TV show you seemed to be watching got more and more unbearable, louder and louder. Leon had gone out to get you ice cream.... God, you could really swear he was an angel because as soon as he found out that ice cream was the one thing that could more or less soothe your aches and pains, he ran out in spite of the rain that night to buy your favorite ice cream. And even though you insisted, he ignored your words and promised to come soon.

However, at that moment, you wanted nothing more than to have him by your side holding you in his strong and comforting arms, moaning in pain but at least somewhat restrained. That blond knew how to soothe you. You even smiled-despite the puffiness in your cheeks-when you thought of that morning. Both of you had gotten up and he had soon prepared breakfast for you, claiming that he would accompany you to the dentist that day, almost as if he knew the martyrdom that was coming your way. You laughed when you remembered how he encouraged you and massaged your shoulder when he noticed you were nervous, always being the light of your eyes. Even if it weren't for your wandering mood, you would have joked about how he pulled out his cell phone with games to pass the time while you were being attended to. Sometimes he acted like a child.

Before you could think any more about Leon, the door opened and he came in shaking his head to try to still the water droplets which had gently soaked his golden hair. A small sneeze was heard and you stood up, laughing as you showed him the towel you had taken from the bathroom minutes before imagining that scene "You're really stubborn" you said, passing the cloth through his hair while he smiled innocently and showed you the bag with the ice cream.

"It's waiting for you" he said, leaving you a small kiss on your forehead gently. You listened to him as your mouth was still sore and the swelling didn't seem to go down much. "How's it going?" asked Leon, he plopped down on the couch with a sigh and stretched out, opening his legs to let you settle between them. Actually his body covered yours in total comfort.

"I don't know, I really want to cry, it's unbearable" already with a small spoon in your hand you settled like a little kitten in that hollow that meant your safety, and Leon's strong arms covered you with a soft warmth. You scooped up a good amount of ice cream and scooped it into your mouth, savoring the sweetness of it and letting out a sigh of pleasure; you really needed the coldness of the ice cream. You kissed Leon's neck as you slowly felt the bad mood subside along with the discomfort in your mouth "Thank you, love, you really are the best" a small pout came to your lips, as he laughed.

"I really had a bad time today when you left the office and warned me that I couldn't kiss you for at least two days" he raised an eyebrow and you laughed as you remembered the scene. A disbelieving Leon as you broke the news to him 'What madman could I come up with such nonsense?' he reacted 'Did you really mean to kiss me, Leon?' you replied with the most irritated grimace possible, starting to feel the pain.

However, he would never be angry with you, you were his little girl and without thinking about it he accompanied you every second, making sure you were well. Going in the rain to your favorite ice cream store was nothing to him, because if it was about you he would leave his heart in your hands if it made you feel better.

That idea gave you tenderness, so you gently stretched your neck, staring at him. "Come, take your reward" he seemed to understand at once, and as if it were the best news of the day, he gently kissed your lips. Neither exaggerated, nor deep, a simple kiss like any you had ever given each other but for him it meant heaven itself; after all day holding back the desire to kiss you, this was the best reward for being a good boyfriend. You laughed to see him enthusiastic, to see that he spoke just enough and necessary and that during the whole day he avoided his bad jokes that you always made fun of, just to not bother you knowing how you were doing. And especially at that moment, when he let you sink your head on his chest (which you always joked that it was your favorite pillow) while you ate ice cream and felt the beating of his heart in your ear. His warm hands would roam your cheek, caressing and pampering every part of it, running up your hair and adorning it with soft touches. You would almost say you fell asleep, but the tranquility of being with Leon for another day made you not do it, you detailed every moment in your head, every sigh and caress, every soft touch in which you felt the delicacy of his fingers treating you as if you were going to break. You wanted to freeze that moment and stay there forever, to remember it and be able to live it as many times as necessary.

You wanted to sink into his body and be yourself so you would never have to leave him again.

#leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy resident evil #leon death island #leon kennedy #leon kennedy headcanons #leon re4 #leon resident evil #resident evil fluff #resident evil vendetta #resident evil death island fluff #drabble #leon kennedy comfort #resident evil fanfic #resident evil 4 #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil leon

[designing-frantically]

Okay but you don't understand, this BG3 epilogue party is KILLING me. Can't sleep, can only continue thinking about this party. Namely in regards to Astarion and Gale.

MAJOR EPILOGUE SPOILERS AHEAD

Thought 1: I've been to the party having romanced Astarion and got the little bit from living in the underdark with the other spawn and the bit of the narrator telling you how the night before he says the past six months of happiness have weighed equally against his 200 years of torment (ugh my heart). But that's not what wrecked me. What DESTROYED me was the party from a different run where I did not romance him..... This man talks about how when he ran from the sun he felt so ashamed that his lowest day of running back to the dark was our biggest day of victory. He then recounts how he has learned to not see the dark as a curse but a part of himself and has found a way to be happy and a bit of a hero (in his own twisted way). Seeing him find happiness for himself almost feels like a better ending for him than loving him and that is wrecking my soul and tormenting my mind because I only want the best for him (he deserves it and more).

Thought 2: Fucking Gale (I say with all the love and sweetness I'm the world). I have three different runs with three different endings for him and I romanced him in N0NE of them, but he is what is keeping me awake the most right now.

Option 1: Blow up Gale... He has an astral projecting that shows up to give you a letter and when I tell you the look on Tav's face was devastating. When they tried to hug the projection only to pass thru him, their face had me in tears, you could SEE the hurt of them realizing AGAIN that Gale is truly gone. And the letter!? It's an unfinished last will and testament

Option 2: Gale becomes a god... And he is the worst version of himself. Ascended Astarion may be cruel and possessive, but there is still a sadness and insecurity underneath that drives his wicked nature. Gale is just.... So consumed by his new power that he truly feels like this is the best version of himself and feels so hollow. Not to mention, Raphael tells of the chaos he will bring and you just know that it would crush our Gale's heart to know he caused that when he thought he was inspiring people to follow their biggest ambitions.

Option 3: He's a teacher...... He teaches magic and it is perfect for him and he loves it and he loves the kids (even though he complains about them) and he wants to catch up over wine and have you as a guest lecturer and meet his mom. Just seeing him so perfectly happy after seeing those other options makes all of it hit that much harder.

I love Astarion, he will always be my favorite. But Gale is a close second, which is crazy to think about because when I first played I thought he was so annoying.

Astarion's story is so compelling and complicated and full of deep emotions... But Gale's is too. The perfect foils to each other and the best written characters (in my personal opinion).

Of all the endings I've seen so far (which I'm sure is not all of them) Gale has the most options for world shattering, devastating endings and his best ending is teaching magic... The two radical ends of this spectrum are killing me slowly by way of insomnia.

Send help

#bg3 spoilers #bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #astarion bg3 #gale bg3 #baldurs gate gale #astarion baldurs gate #astarion brainrot #gale baldurs gate 3 #fuck if i know #ficitonal men have be dying inside and it wont stop #how do i stop thinking about BG3 #i dont know how to live a normal life anymore

[zanarkandskylines]

Hollow Heart { chapter 2 - the ghost of you }

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ ♡ katsuki bakugo masterlist ♡

summary: A month's time has passed since your abduction and the boys have not given up on finding you by any means necessary. Between late night phone calls, midnight confessions, and endless breakdowns, they're struggling to go on with life as usual like everyone assumes they should. Bakugo in particular is struggling with your absence, cursing how he wasn't strong enough to save you and locking himself away. Midoriya has opted for the opposite, spending multiple sleepless nights searching for you on his own. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: Thank you to everyone for the support with this story!! I've gotten some of the nicest compliments and am so excited to continue. Enjoy the angst (and light at the end of the tunnel)! ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 9,891 as of ch.2 ꒱ Main Post Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5,092k] Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4,799k] Chapter 2.5 | Choke Chapter 3 | The Grey Chapter 4 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 5 | Tourniquet Chapter 6 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

CHAPTER TWO: THE GHOST OF YOU

The ride back into the city felt like an eternity, the silence between Bakugo and Midoriya excruciatingly heavily in the air. They hadn’t said a word to one another since their mutual breakdown in Sector 42’s field. The only thing on Bakugo’s mind was to go home, lock the door, and shut the whole fucking world out. Midoriya, however, was writing up the report on his phone while it was still fresh in his mind. Unfortunately for them, they were responsible for relaying all of the information from that night back to the agency, the details of your abduction included, no matter how emotionally wounded they were. 

Midoriya decided to be the first to initiate conversation. He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in the passenger seat. “I started the -,”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Izuku.” Bakugo’s voice was hoarse, strained by the combination of screaming and crying. 

Midoriya pursed his lips into a straight line. “Right…sorry.”

“Just sign my name on the report. I don’t want to look at it.” 

“Sure, Kacchan. No problem.” 

The silence resumed the entire way back to the agency. They parted ways without saying goodbye.

─── Bakugo’s footsteps were heavy up the stairs of his apartment complex, struggling to climb to the third floor and make it to his door. He stumbled inside while dropping the briefcase containing his hero suit to the floor and kicking off his shoes. Even though he lived alone, there was an entirely new sense of loneliness accompanying his apartment tonight. 

Turning on the water in the shower, he set the temperature as scalding hot as it could go. He tossed his phone on the counter, disregarding any messages demanding his attention. Once he stripped down to nothing, all of the cuts, bruises and blisters littering his body from the fight were visible and cast back to him in the mirror. 

He wanted to punch his own reflection for being weak.

Bakugo forced himself to stand under the scorching stream of water, the evidence of the night washing down the drain - blood, dirt, sweat and whatever else he tumbled through. He was a stickler for being clean, but that night, he didn't have the ability to give a shit. Once the water ran clear, he didn't bother to move. He stood under the water until it turned ice cold, his mind completely void of thought. 

Eventually, he turned the water off with the minimal energy he possessed. He dried himself haphazardly with a towel, water daintily dripping from his hair as he tossed on a pair of boxers and launched himself into bed. Bakugo felt detached as he stared into the void of his bedroom, growing listless as he studied his ceiling mindlessly. 

Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, he scrolled through his favorite contacts list and clicked on your name. 

Maybe she'd answer?

Big mistake.

Maybe he'd been dreaming - stuck in sleep paralysis or some crazy shit like that. 

The line rang... ...and rang... ...and rang... ...then proceeded to voicemail. 

What the fuck was he expecting? 

It didn't spare him the reflex of his heart cannonballing into his stomach, that familiar nausea returning from the moment she disappeared. The memory of you vanishing into the portal sparked in his mind as his stomach stirred, threatening to be sick. 

Oh no, that wasn't a threat - that was a promise. 

Bakugo shot up from the bed as the acidity rose in his throat, sprinted to the bathroom and slid in front of the toilet, losing every bit of the junk food buffet from their movie marathon from the previous day. 

His knees ached from the rough, bare contact of the cold bathroom tile. The taste of bile coated his mouth as his stomach continued to purge until there was nothing left. Eyes watering, nose running and panting frenziedly, he sank to the floor - an empty shell of himself. 

He yearned to go back in time. He'd give everything to rewind and make you stay home - safe and sound. Unfortunately for him, time-travel doesn't exist, nor was there an incantation, spell or charm to wave in the air to summon you back to his side.

You're a fucking coward. 

The thought pounded in his head, regret swirling in his gut over every moment he lost not telling you the truth. 

THREE DAYS LATER

Three days passed with no sign of you anywhere - not work, not home, and nowhere near Sector 42. The agency officially marked you as missing in action, silently, to avoid alerting the public of their failure to keep one of their heroes safeguarded. No one would even know you were gone via the news, they'd have to search the database of the agency to determine your status.

Y/H/N RANK 37 STATUS: MISSING IN ACTION LAST SEEN: SECTOR 42

Bakugo and Midoriya checked the database for an update hourly, just in case - somehow, someway - you'd re-appear magically before they’d get word of your return. 

To their dismay, the status never changed.

The hardest thing was informing your mother of your disappearance, to which Midoriya offered to do on behalf of the agency in place of some unknown board member. Him and Bakugo agreed to visit her together back home in Musutafu to tell her in person. What was the alternative, say "You're daughter is missing" over a phone call? They'd never forgive themselves. They called her together, asking when they could stop in for a visit. Your mother wasn’t naive - she knew immediately something was wrong. 

They had to return to Tokyo shortly after their arrival, leaving your mother with nothing more than a broken heart after their explanation of the situation. She tried her damndest to keep herself together but couldn’t keep her composure in front of the boys. You were her only daughter - her only child. There was no replacing you, no siblings to fill in the void of your absence. 

“Please, bring her home. That’s all I want,” she pleaded, over and over again. 

Midoriya cried himself to sleep on the way home as Bakugo drove them back to the city in complete silence. Your abduction was the equivalent of the weight of the world on their shoulders, a grueling mix of guilt and anger stirring between them. Neither of them talked about that night in the days that had past, not knowing how to approach the subject. Both of them tried to stay in an automated routine, using their work schedules to keep their minds busy. 

No surprise, feigning ignorance didn't work.

───

Midoriya tried to contact Bakugo multiple times over the next couple of days, only receiving sporadic one word responses outside of their drive from Tokyo and back. He expected nothing less, but that didn't mean he wasn't worried sick over his best friend's well-being. He didn't know how to help - did he need space, or did he need someone to comfort him? 

He continued to remind Bakugo that his phone is always on and he's only a call away, night or day. No matter what, he'd drop everything to talk with him or come keep him company. He pulled out his phone to send another reminder. He’s lost count how many times he’d sent the same sentiment, just rewording the text each time. 

(9:15PM) hey kacchan, hope you're doing okay. you don't have to respond, just reminding you if you need anything, call me. i'll be up tonight. (9:16PM) please remember you need to sleep, too. don't push yourself. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. He wasn't expecting a response so soon, let alone at all.

(9:18PM) thanks izuku, you too

Of course, Midoriya would not be taking his own advice. He planned to be up until he passed the fuck out from exhaustion, going until his body physically forced himself to recharge. He was busy taking matters into his own hands, and by that, he was spending endless hours gathering information from the night of the mission. He'd been back to Sector 42 countless times in the last couple days, retracing every single step step, looking for any clues to lead him in the direction of finding the lab - of finding you.

Midoriya monotonously stalked the empty field, frantically scribbling down everything he found:

-The dart canister has no fingerprints attached to it, but left enough of the serum inside to run tests (sample in the science lab - awaiting results) -The dirt in the area had no trace of anyone but us -The portal didn't leave any type of matter behind, no evidence to research -The agency database had no information on a quirk suppressant drug, the only incident linked back to Overhaul years prior (quirk suppressant lasted an hour and was not permanent)

Exhaustion began masking his normal perky expression as the bags under his eyes grew darker each passing day. On top of not sleeping, he was forcing himself to work his usual patrol schedule. Was that irresponsible of him? Other people counted on him, too, and he couldn't handle the thought of a civilian being subjected to another kidnapping - or any crime. 

As long as his eyes stayed open and his body would listen, he'd do the job. That's what it means to be a hero.

But who saves the hero when they need one themselves? 

The question haunted him in the middle of the night, but he mentally tucked away the unease to deal with another day.

No. There was no use perpetuating that mindset, it wouldn't help the current situation. 

He rejected the sentiment, turning his weary eyes up to the night sky as one thought crossed his mind.

She loves the stars. I wish she could see them tonight. ───

Bakugo begrudgingly got his ass to work each day, no matter how fatigued he was. By the sixth day, he was devoid of all energy and full of nothing but resentment for those around him. The color in his life had faded into grayscale, bland and soulless, in just under a week's time.

How could everyone continue on as normal? 

Why did time stop only for him, and no one else? 

No e-mails had gone out, no news updates - nothing - regarding your disappearance. It's as if you never existed. He began receiving endless calls and messages from friends as word spread, asking what happened that night and offering support. He didn't want to hear it - not from anyone, even if their intentions were pure. His phone was full of notifications that he refused to sort through.

Bakugo wanted to disappear, abandon his feelings and burn the world to the fucking ground. 

TWO WEEKS LATER

The agency had officially marked your case as unresolved, shifting the priority from "High" to "Low" status due to the heavy crime rate persisting in the city.  It wasn't that they didn't care, it's that they didn't have the staffing to hunt for a missing hero. They were too busy attempting to fill in your patrols for the month to even think about hosting a search party.

It's just how the business worked. Anyone below rank 10 wasn't deemed urgent by the board. They were replaceable. 

Bakugo and Midoriya vocalized their concerns, multiple times, for the past two weeks. No amount of explanations, yelling, cursing or threats to quit seemed to make the board budge on their decision. It floored them that they were willing to lose two of their top 10 heroes over the refusal of a search party. They didn't push the issue any further after that, unable to muster up the energy to fight more than they already were. They couldn’t rely on the agency to do anything at this time.

─── The clock taunted Bakugo as he tossed and turned in his bed, unable to find a sliver solace in his mind to sleep. No TV, no music, no lights - absolute darkness, with the exception being the florescence of the alarm clock blinking 1:17AM. He reluctantly grabbed for his phone, overwhelmed by the thought of just how many messages and missed awaited him. He'd been ignoring any avenue of communication for the past two weeks, no matter who it was.

Tapping the lock screen, he navigated to his messaging app, showing 32 unread messages. He scrolled through the list: 

Deku - 15 unread messages Red - 6 unread messages Pinky - 3 unread messages Cheeks - 2 unread messages Hag - 4 unread messages Pop - 1 unread message Ears - 1 unread message

Lite-Brite - no new messages

His heart stutters in his chest when he scrolls too far and ended up on your name. He scanned the letters in your nickname multiple times before clicking into the conversation.

What was the last thing you texted him?

"see ya in the morning for our run! :)"

The physical reaction Bakugo experienced while re-reading the message was foreign to him. His stomach lurched, head ached, and eyes twitched anxiously. 

What the fuck was happening to him?

Even though there was no way in hell you'd respond, he needed an outlet right now. His fingers moved faster than his brain could keep up with as he began texting you, spilling out his thoughts like word vomit.

[1:21AM] i bet you’ll never get these, even if your phone is on [1:21AM] there’s so much i want to tell you [1:22AM] like how some mom dropped off muffins for me at the agency cause i walked her kid across the street after a villain attack [1:23AM] or last week when deku was passed out on his desk and drooled all over his paperwork and had to redo it [1:23AM] and this dog i saw in the park on the way to patrol one morning wearing a fucking sweater [1:24AM] idiots don't realize it's summer? poor mutt had to be dying [1:24AM] i've called you out of habit so many times and forget your... [1:24AM] not here

He hated how he sounded like a lovesick dog, cowering with his tail between his legs. 

[1:26AM] i miss you lite-brite

Bakugo stared at the screen for minutes, unsure of what to do with himself. He could feel his heartbeat accelerating at an uncomfortable pace as he sat in the silence of his bedroom. Swiping back to his contacts list, he selects the call icon next to Midoriya’s name. The line rang twice before he answered.

“Hey Kacchan. What’s up?” Midoriya’s voice was littered with exhaustion. 

“Do you mind comin’ over?” Bakugo asked, somewhat ashamed to be asking Midoriya for help of any kind.

 “No, not at all. Everything okay?”

“…no. Not really.” 

He couldn’t mask the dread in his tone any longer. The last two weeks were catching up to him like a dam ready to burst. 

Midoriya paused, a soft hum vibrating through the phone. “…alright, I’ll be right over.”

While waiting for Midoriya to show, Bakugo made the dreadful mistake of lingering through the photos on his phone. He wasn’t one to take pictures, but he’d save all the ones sent to him from friends. You were the exception. He loved taking pictures of and with you any chance he got. He started flipping through them like pages in a scrapbook, memories flooding back and threatening to drown him in despair. The longer he stared at your face in the photos, the more he felt his lip start to quiver and eyes well up with salty tears.

Bakugo’s limbs began to quake uncontrollably, dropping his phone onto his bed as he sprang up, clutching his chest. He could feel every pulse reverberating through his veins, his stomach on fire with anxiety as his breathing became shallow, oxygen no longer reaching his lungs.  

What the hell is this?  Was this…a panic attack?

“Kacchan?” Midoriya called out from the living room, not knowing where Bakugo was as he let himself into the apartment.

“You didn’t answer so I used my key..." his voice trailed off as he made his way down the hallway. He heard a faint sound...as if someone was gasping for air? He picked up the pace and slid into Bakugo's bedroom.

"Kacchan?!" Midoriya rushed to the bed, catapulting himself next to Bakugo as he grabbed hold of his shoulders. 

"Hey, hey, breathe! It's alright, I'm here. I've got you," he soothes, cupping Bakugo's face in his hands. "You're okay. Just look at me, I'm right here."

Bakugo can taste the saltiness of his tears streaming into his mouth as he's fighting to get his breath under control. The familiar bitterness of nausea is creeping up his throat as he smacks Midoriya's hands away from his cheeks, rocketing off the bed and bolting to the bathroom.

Deja vu, huh?

Midoriya wasn’t far behind, dropping beside him on the bathroom floor. All of Bakugo’s stress manifested into his sickness, heaving every ounce of turmoil from his guts. 

“I’ll be right back, Kacchan. I’ll go get you some water,” Midoriya whispers, placing a gentle hand on Bakugo’s back as he made his way to the kitchen. 

Confident that he’s now running on empty, Bakugo rocked back on his knees and flushed the evidence down the drain. He rested his head wearily against the cool ceramic bowl, finally able to catch his breath. 

Midoriya returns with a glass of water and a wash cloth, handing Bakugo the glass as he makes his way to the sink. He runs the cloth under cold water, wringing out the excess before finding a spot next to Bakugo on the floor. In those few moments, he’s chugged the entire glass of water. 

“Here, turn towards me,” Midoriya says, reaching for Bakugo’s face. 

Bakugo slaps his hand away, a last ditch effort to save the inkling of pride he has left. 

“Kacchan, let me help you.” Midoriya glares at him, silently pleading with Bakugo to let his guard down. They’re best friends, what good is that if he can’t help him in a time of need? 

Bakugo drops his hand out of the way, too exhausted to put up a fight. Midoriya runs his fingers through his bangs, tenderly pushing them out of the way of his forehead as he places the cool wash cloth against his skin. He continues gently patting his face to calm him with the cooling sensation, attempting to get his body regulated back to normal. 

“If you wanna talk about it, I’m all ears. If not, that’s okay.” Midoriya takes the wash cloth away from Bakugo’s face, tossing it onto the counter behind him.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice how upset you've been. I just thought you needed space."

The overwhelming uncertainty swirling around inside of Bakugo comes to a head, bursting through the cracks as he begins to sob violently. Head in his hands, no words are spoken as his heart bleeds from the grief of his current reality. 

Midoriya immediately pulls him into an embrace, awkwardly holding him on the freezing bathroom tile. 

One things for sure - he’s thankful that his phone caught his attention before he drifted off to sleep for the first time in days.  ─── The next morning, Bakugo called out sick for the first time in his pro-hero career. He felt worse than death, rotting away in bed as the sunlight came and went over the course of the day. By nightfall, he was roaming aimlessly around his apartment when an idea struck him. 

Before he could alter his course, Bakugo was on the way to your apartment with the spare key you’d given him years ago. Walking up to the door, he froze, key in the lock as he tried to shove aside the panic threatening to wrack his nerves for a third time. He pushed the door open successfully and stood in the entryway, unsure what to do with himself next.

Engaging into an autopilot-type trance, he began to walk around your apartment and clean up for you like he always had in the past. The leftover dishes in the sink from movie night that never got cleaned, organizing the blankets on the couch, vacuuming the living room from the crumbs from your movie night snacks, folding the pile of laundry in the corner of your room - every and any task he could get his hands on. 

Bakugo hadn’t realized how much time had passed by the time he folded your last shirt in the basket, pulling his phone from his pocket. The clock read 11:35PM. He’d been doing this for 6 hours, stalking around your apartment like it was his own. 

But you know what? It gave him hope - a sliver of something he had all but lost in the time you’ve been missing. 

It wasn’t long before he’d turned on the TV, stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and climbed under the covers of your bed that it hit him - he’s losing his shit. Your disappearance was driving him into madness. Your absence continuously haunted him wherever he went - at home, work, and in his nightmares. Bakugo didn’t know what to do with himself, let alone how to handle this influx of surging emotions running through him 24/7. 

He turned over to the wall to feel a soft lump under the covers. It was a plushie that he’d won for you years ago at an arcade in the city. The two of you had just moved to Tokyo a few days prior. Bakugo remembers fondly how ecstatic you were when he handed the plush to you, jumping for joy like a child. He wouldn’t admit that he spent over $20 on the crane game, determined to win it for you. Could he have bought you one online? Sure, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to take the easy route. 

The idea that you slept with it every night made his heart swell. 

It wasn’t long before the tears stung his eyes again as he cradled the stuffed animal against his chest, cocooned in your bed sheets. The sheets smelled like your body wash, a whisper of floral notes flooding his senses as he curled into a silk-covered ball. 

The bright side? 

Bakugo eventually slid into a deep slumber that he hasn’t had in weeks.

ONE MONTH LATER

Bakugo stared at his phone with fervor, focusing on your name in his contact list for the millionth time. He knew there was no use messaging you again - for fucks sake, you were missing. He’d been texting and calling you ever since that horrible night with no semblance of a response, not even a ‘read’ receipt. 

It’s been a month.   He was starting to lose his sanity, staying up all hours of the night and forcing himself to continue working as a distraction - just like Midoriya. He was running from his invasive thoughts and into a pit of oblivion. He couldn't accept you being…gone. For good. There was no way. He refused to believe some busted D-list villain with one lucky shot could take you out. 

The text conversation taunted him the longer he fixated on his phone screen, scrolling back and forth roughly through past messages. 

Fuck it. 

Bakugo clicked into the response bubble and furiously began typing, continuously sending message after message with no hesitation. His emotional vulnerability got the better of him in the moment as he poured his broken heart out into an electronic void.   [2:35AM] i can’t take this anymore  [2:35AM] i realize i'm basically talking to a damn ghost at this point, i don't care [2:35AM] it's fucking painful without you here [2:36AM] i'm losing my goddamn mind [2:36AM] i can't sleep or do anything without thinking of you [2:37AM] and i should have told you a long ass time ago about how important you are to me [2:38AM] i'm sorry [2:38AM] i'm so fucking sorry [2:39AM] i miss you [2:39AM] i miss your stupid laugh and your smile [2:40AM] fuck, i just miss being around you [2:41AM] i don't know who to talk to [2:41AM] izuku doesn't understand how shitty i feel [2:41AM] kirishima doesn't either [2:41AM] to be honest, i don't fucking understand it  [2:42AM] i feel so lost, i’m grieving someone who’s still alive [2:42AM] and i'm an ass for making your disappearance about my feelings

He’s about to click ‘send’ on his next message when he stalls, analyzing the letters one by one as his throat constricts at the feelings they force upon him.

‘I love you, please come home.’

He deletes the words. He can feel the panic weaving in his stomach and tightening into a knot.

[2:45AM] i don’t want to say this in a fucking text of all things [2:45AM] especially under these circumstances  [2:46AM] but i’m scared i’ll never get to say it to you [2:46AM] i’m a fucking idiot for not telling you sooner

He exhaled a shaky breath as his fingers trembled above the glass screen, his heartbeat deafening the world around him. 

[2:47AM] god dammit [2:48AM] i love you [2:48AM] like a stupid fucking amount [2:49AM] i convinced myself for years that i didn’t and that you wouldn’t feel the same [2:50AM] when you come home [2:50AM] i’ll tell you every damn day to make up for all the times i didn’t [2:51AM] that’s a promise [2:52AM] i love you lite-brite

Bakugo's heart and mind were coming apart at the seams, sinking into the never ending abyss of sorrow growing inside him. He threw his phone across the room, burying his face in his pillow as he bawled into the soft cotton. He was unable to stop the hot tears gushing from his bloodshot eyes, soaking through the fabric as his muffled sobs bounced off the walls in his bedroom. 

And then it happened.

His phone rang from the other side of the room, vibrating against the wooden floor. A wave of rage engulfed his depression as he flung himself off the bed, aggravated by the disturbance. Who the fuck would be calling at almost 3AM? Midoriya or Kirishima, maybe?

And then he saw it.

Your name appeared on the caller ID screen with a picture of you two together.

Is this a sick joke? Was he hallucinating? 

Had his psyche finally shattered?

He juggled the phone in his sweaty hands chaotically as he clicked on the "Accept Call" button.

"H-hello?! Y/N!?" Bakugo cried, distressed as he awaited a response. His whole body was quivering and his breathing was labored. 

The line was quiet before the call ended.

No. 

No no no. 

NO!

His fingers weren't cooperating with him as he hopelessly scrambled to call you again until his phone dinged twice.

Text Message: Lite-Brite

'No. Fucking. Way,' he cursed internally, unsure if he's even in the same reality.

There were only two messages from you - a pinned location and an orange heart emoji.

Bakugo blinked again and again at the screen, convinced his eyes were playing tricks on him. He must've hit a state of psychosis, no other explanation. Why would you have access to your phone...wherever you are? That's impossible. 

Or is it?

He worked up the nerve to click on the pinned location text and held his breath as the maps application loaded. The location dinged and showed on the screen where it was sent from.

"There's..." Bakugo grumbled out loud. "...no way in hell this it right."

Sector fourty-fucking-two. 

He placed a hand on the back of his neck when something clicked in his brain, a bolt of unanticipated adrenaline wracking his body.

He hurriedly swiped back to his contacts and clicked on Midoriya's name.

Come on, come on. Pick up, nerd. I know you're up.

"...Kacchan?" Midoriya answered groggily. 

"Izuku, I need you to come over. Now!” Bakugo demanded. He needed to get this adrenaline rush out of his body and use it to find a solution. 

There's a pause before Midoriya’s answer. 

"Mm, alright. Is everything -"

"Now!" Bakugo yelled as he clicked the "End Call" button, chucking his phone onto his bed. 

He figured it out. He knew where you were.

You’re under Sector 42. That’s gotta be where the lab is hidden. Midoriya never found an entrance because there isn’t one. The only way into this stupid place was through one of those portals.

For now.

His mind was formulating a plan as Midoriya’s knock startled him out of his train of thought. He sprinted to the front door, violently swinging it open and pulling him inside. 

“Kacchan! What is it?!” Midoriya was panting frantically, sweat glistening on his forehead and cheeks. “I ran as fast as I could.”

“I figured it out…I know where she is.”

Midoriya scrunched his brows together as Bakugo’s words hung in the air. 

“What?!” “She’s not above ground. She’s underground at Sector 42.”

Each chapter I have planned, so far, is named after a song title that could fit as a theme for the specific chapter. This one (obviously) had to be MCR - The Ghost of You is my fave and fits the narrative I was going for, even though the boys know Reader isn't dead, that doesn't mean their grief stops. tags: @bakugouswaif ✩ if you’d like to be tagged when updates are posted, message/comment to be added! ✩

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #dynamight #☆.rei writes #✩.hollowheart

[prikarin]

Hi, so I played the first demon version of Where winter crows go and then I played the full version and holy shit, what a great game! Serious! Both in the voice acting and the soundtrack, the backgrounds and Crowe's design (the first design was already cute, but the second? Cute and handsome!), this game of yours is incredible, I haven't played yours yet other games but I'm sure they'll be amazing too, but anyway, I have two questions, linked to the yandere ending of the game, what would Crowe's life be like with MC/snowflake after the yandere ending? Like, would Crowe leave MC trapped in his room or let them roam the cabin freely? It's just obvious with the doors and windows locked and such. And the second question is what would Crowe do if a tourist like MC ended up in that region because of a broken car or something like that? Would he help? Was he going to kill this person? Or was he going to pretend that he and MC were just a couple of researchers? Also, sorry for the long comment, I think I got a little carried away.

Hello! First of all, thank you so much for playing WWCG and for such a sweet comment! 😊💖 I'm happy you enjoyed it and like Crowe's new design! And the fact that you've been a fan since the demo, thank you!! 💞

As for your questions, a part of it I can't really answer, as addressed in my FAQ:

While the game gives the player the option to self-insert (or play as an OC), the protagonist of WWCG is Aspen Vale. Aspen is their own character with their own personality, past, thoughts and feelings, so I can't really answer how Crowe would react to an MC that I haven't pictured in my vision of the story.

Because of this, and because the question involves a hypothetical scenario, I don't really know how to answer. Sorry! 😖

I can still answer a few things, though!

(Spoiler warning for those who haven't gotten all the endings)

SPOILERS AHEAD

The reason why Crowe gets captivated by Aspen in the first place is because they're the only person from the ones who got stuck in Winter Hollow that asked for help and did whatever they could to survive (as referenced in the Twisted Ending). Crowe's been trapped in Winter Hollow for quite some time and all he was seeing were people who were either too prideful to ask for help or, if trapped with others, they either fought among themselves for petty reasons or tried to take advantage of each other. The ones that weren't so lucky to even get to that point merely died from the snowstorms.

Aspen was a breath of fresh air and, added to that, Crowe was pretty much reaching a limit with the blood pact too. Even if he said that he didn't mind entering the darkness himself, a person can be by themselves only for so long.

As for the yandere ending question, Crowe has already been deceived by Aspen once so he probably wouldn't take any chances and be pretty controlling of them. Aspen is a smart cookie, though, so they'd probably try to manipulate him into thinking they love him to have a better chance at escaping. They probably wouldn't get very far, though... or would they? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I feel like this would be a battle between two smart people to see who's more clever.

#wwcg: ask #where winter crows go #crowe lynn #aspen vale #wwcg spoilers