#like cold filters are fine but you have to balance it

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

Lollapalooza Photoshoot by Dispatch

220812 BTS j-hope

#bts #jung hoseok #j-hope #bts j-hope #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #official #dispatch #I think about this shoot a lot #he’s so beautiful #they washed him out a little tho which sucks #like cold filters are fine but you have to balance it #togs these days man

[beneathashadytree]

SLOW MORNINGS - NANAMI KENTO X READER

Warnings : none I think, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : domestic fluff for daysss <3

Word count : 1.2K words

Additional notes : This was fully inspired by this gorgeous, gorgeous Nanami art I saw on X by @3-aem. I dedicate this piece to my bff Mona (she’s the best ever btw!!!) and to the man himself whom I miss an awful lot.

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Masterlist

Most weekdays, they’d wake up to a gentle kiss to their forehead, almost fleeting. With bleary eyes and still feeling quite groggy, they’d barely make out the figure of their husband, buttoning up his suit jacket as he made his way out of their bedroom. He’d glance back, and the corner of his lips would curl upward ever-so-slightly at seeing them lazily paw at the sheets to pull themself up.

With a quiet, “Good morning. I’ve made you breakfast,” Nanami would quickly set their heart pounding so early in the morning. It didn’t matter how late he was running (he almost never was, anyways, being such a man of routine), he’d always make sure to make enough breakfast for the two of them. It wasn’t anything too fancy by any means, but they were both content by the gesture itself more than anything.

When they’d first started living together, he’d been hesitant to wake them up every morning, but their insistence to see him off to work, and his desire to see them blink up at him so endearingly, won out in the end. And so that’s how their routine was born—out of a gentle love and the little habits that came with it and they built their lives upon.

When their body slowly dragged itself out of a deep slumber and they began to rub the sleep out of their eyes, it took them a bit to register the sun filtering through the slits between the airy bedroom curtains. They danced in the slight breeze, teasing pretty little shadows across the dresser and causing the mirror by the end of the bed to glint a little with each shift of the fabric.

Ah, it must be late morning.

With just a little more difficulty than usual (after all, they had to pay a hefty price for getting to sleep in), they began to shuffle out of bed and across the hall, where they could smell the bittersweetness of roasted coffee beans and fresh cream. It lingered in the air longer than it did on most days, and that was how they knew that their husband had—finally—the time to indulge in his morning cup.

It wasn’t a half-bad sight to wake up to, really. There he was, leaning against the couch’s armrest while his other arm balanced his slumped head, a slightly-weathered book in hand. It seemed that leisurely position was all he could do to stop himself from dozing off, the week’s exhaustion clearly leaving him barely able to stay awake regardless of how engrossed he was by what he was reading.

Though Nanami wore nothing remarkable—just his favorite t-shirt and pants, a little crumpled from the position he sat in—he somehow still managed to look like the picture of elegance. Perhaps it was the doing of the thin-framed glasses perched on his nose; something they’d long egged him on to get prescribed, after having caught him squinting at small-lettered fonts one too many times.

All half-consciousness considered, he seemed to be pretty immersed in what he was reading, and the slow turn of a page despite them having walked in meant that he hadn’t even noticed their presence. A small amused smile came on their face, and they pattered up to him, the cold of the floorboards a little sobering.

“I don’t know how you manage to do it.” Their voice sounded a little scratchy, but that was fine. A slight flicker of his hazel eyes was the only indication that he’d been startled by them, before his face melted into an expression of contentment. His freckles stretched across his fair skin, and with each wrinkle that marked a year of growth, they think they fell in love a little deeper.

They suspected that part of the reason why they found the sight of him so mesmerizing was the knowledge that they get to see him grow old beside them. A fanciful thought, admittedly, but no less true.

“Do what?” Nanami softly asked, shifting his position and setting his legs down on the floor. He didn’t even have to do more than just leave his arms open a little for them to take the invitation and crawl into his lap.

As soon as they settled with their back against the armrest, his free hand began to absentmindedly stroke at their calf, while the other set the book down (a Victorian classic he was currently enamored with, though he regretfully had little time for) in place of the cast aside—and fully drained—coffee cup. Every single object he touched, he seemed to breathe a little life into.

Sometimes, it felt like that was the case with the entire house. Sometimes, it even felt like he did that to themself too.

“Not sleep in on weekends. How you still wake up at a decent hour is beyond me.” They shook their head in mild disbelief, reaching out to push back a strand of blond hair that fell in front of his face. He looked so much more at ease like this; hair just tucked back and not styled to perfection as it usually was. Hell; even his features had softened and the sharp lines and edges of his face had dulled into the familiar warmth they liked to feel underneath their fingertips.

He hummed, partially to voice agreement and partially as he reveled in their touch grazing his cheek. “Force of habit.” It was only when he began to lean in with eyes brimming with affection that they had to put a finger to his lips, causing him to grunt.

“Haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Nanami huffed out a half-laugh, gently pushing their finger down. “Doesn’t really matter,” he mumbled against their lips, before stealing a short but no less sweet kiss. Still, he gave into their wishes, choosing a chaste peck over the slow, all-consuming kisses he liked to indulge them in. He could never say no to whatever they wished.

A quick glance at the empty table brought another thing to their attention. “You haven’t had breakfast yet?”

“No. I thought I’d wait and cook breakfast with you.” His deft strokes against the skin of their leg were almost as distracting as his silken voice. “We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Surely you haven’t missed the mess I end up making,” they said, arching an eyebrow at him, to which he chuckled.

“Not the clean-up part, no,” he agrees, a smile dancing across his lips. “But messy as your methods might be, it’s more efficient that way.”

“And more fun.” They began to begrudgingly slide off his lap, knowing that they would have to get up sooner or later for food before they could laze around for the rest of the day.

“And more fun,” their husband agreed, fondness lacing his softly-spoken words as crow’s feet appeared by his eyes. Like it was merely second nature to him, a large palm rested against the small of their back as they walked to the kitchen, marking the start of a slow, laidback day at home. “Eggs benedict and fruits?”

“Hmm… I’m feeling more like an omelette and sausages today, honestly…”

Taglist : @blondeboyfriend @mrsgiovanna @sherlockscumslut @the-foreigner @thispersoniscrazy @em-3456 @angry-and-yandere @avvsfs

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#imagine #oneshot #anime #fluff #domestic #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento oneshot #nanami kento fluff #nanami #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami oneshot #nanami jjk #nanami jujutsu kaisen #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanamin #husband nanami

[reimewykaze]

Sk8r boi.

Featuring. Kanata Yatonokami x Fem! Reader.

Your skateboarding lesson ended up being more than just that.

Tags: romantic fluff, Kanata is soft and protective.

🛹 - Dedicated to my dear Kanata lovers @koumeowkami @ahskp and @kanyata 💜 I hope you guys like this.

Light dyed in a myriad of lilac and mauve follows you around as you rush towards the beaten up sofa of his apartment.

Had this been anyone else, he would have rolled around and kept sleeping.

But the lavender infinity in his gaze found its horizon always in you.

No matter how much he pouted or grumbled, “no” wasn’t a word that existed in his vocabulary when it came to you.

Your hand reaches out, gently shaking his shoulder, his worn skateboard rattling against the floor as you try to wake your boyfriend.

A groan escapes his lips.

You giggle, expression tender as you observe his frown and scrunched up nose.

Lashes seemingly threaded of moonlight rest against his pale cheekbones.

To you, he had always been an angel, troubled by the gravity that mercilessly made him plummet on this cold, twisted world.

But you were always there to break his fall.

“Kanata!” You call, kneeling beside his sleeping figure. “Wake up, it’s evening already!”

Another groan, followed by his arm unconsciously wrapping around your shoulders.

“ ‘S too early…” He mumbles, tightening his hold on you.

You chuckle. Your boyfriend was always too adorable when he was sleepy. His clinginess for you showed, and you loved it a little too much.

“Kanata… You’re squishing me…” You laugh, muffled by his hold. “It’s evening now, look, look, the sun is already setting!”

“It’s too cold.” He replies, curling up closer by your side.

“Please?” You pout, playfully, resting your forehead against his, your hand finding his own.

You can hear him sigh, those violet eyes you loved so much finally catching the rosy daylight of sundown.

“You want something, don’t you?” Kanata questions, knowingly, resting his hand on top of your head, softly ruffling your hair.

“Pretty please?” You confirm, showing him his skateboard.

“You want to go skateboarding now? You don’t even know how…” Kanata’s voice is slightly hoarse from sleep, hair tousled as he rests his cheek on his palm.

“That’s the point! I want to learn and I want you to teach me.” You insist.

Despite the determination in your tone, your lover purses his lips.

He remembers the bruises that used to litter his body when he got on a skateboard for the first time.

Black and blue is not a combination he’d like to see imprinted on your skin.

“You’ll fall.” Comes Kanata’s deadpan expression.

I can’t bear to see you get hurt. Are the words he made his heart keep silent.

You whine, tugging on his hand, an indication you want him to get up.

“I’ll be okay! Kanata, you’ll be with me…”

He finally sits up, and there’s nothing but adoration in his eyes when he next lays them on you.

To you, having him by your side equals being safe. How could someone like him be so lucky to find your light when his world was dimming?

“Tsk, fine…” Your boyfriend agrees, finally, as you squeal and wrap your arms around him.

It’s worth it, if you are going to look this happy, he supposes.

—

“D-don’t let go…” You utter, trembling, as you attempt to keep your balance, body stiff, arms stretched out.

Faint beams of sun filter in between the old buildings, akin to strings holding you together as you try not to fall.

“Don’t be silly, of course I’m not letting you go.” Kanata assures you, while his hands are positioned on your waist.

Gaze averted, his face burns; he’s cuddled with you endless times, why is holding you like this flustering him so much?

He sighs, extending a hand towards you instead.

“Let’s try it from another side.” He suggests.

Both of his hands clutch yours firmly, yet with enough gentleness that if you wanted so, you could easily pull away.

With him, it feels safe. And even if you were to topple over, you know you’d find his arms already stretched out to catch you.

“O-okay… I think I got this…”

As much as you’re struggling to only propel yourself a few centimeters and with his help, Kanata can’t help but linger for a little on the thought of how cute you look right now.

Your hands grab onto his tightly, as if he was your lifeline, which right now, (and always) he pretty much is.

“Alright, good, now, push against the floor with your other foot and then put it back up on the board.” Your boyfriend instructs, one of his hands still in yours, while the other hovers nearby.

“Like this- Woah!” Is everything you have time to articulate before you’re bracing yourself for impact, your balance lost in an instant.

Except you land against something softer than you had expected.

Someone.

“I got you.” The voice you loved to hear in angsty lyrics or in the gilded first light of a new day reassures. “I told you I wouldn’t let you go.”

From your position, leaning on his chest, you stare up at him, the relief of finding his embrace instead of harsh concrete, palpable in your features.

You know you’re staring.

You can’t look away.

Your eyes are fixated on Kanata, and yet, you could swear you’re looking at a piece of twilight skies descended just for you.

Strands of silver hair mirroring the purple heaven above sway with the dusk breeze around his shoulders, eyelashes of the same color framing eyes that look at you with equal parts affection and concern.

That gaze of his.

It had always been your weakness; hyacinth petals aflutter amidst a snowy night. So many words hidden in it. He was always better at actions, after all.

Suddenly, his grip tightens around your arms, pulling you upright.

In the silence shared between you and the setting sun, Kanata’s focus is solely on you. A wave of relief washes over him when he makes sure no bruises marr your exposed knees.

“Why did you decide to wear that to come skateboarding?” He grumbles, glancing in the direction of your plaid skirt. “I mean it’s cute- No that’s-“ He lets out a sigh. “You could have easily gotten hurt.” He finally manages, cheeks the same shade dried rose petals stained the pages of a priced diary.

Your hands reach out to cradle his cheeks, gently brushing a few stray lilac locks away from his eyes.

“I knew I’d be safe with you here, Kanata.” Is the soft utterance you confess to reassure him, right as your lips softly brush his.

When you part, you feel a force pulling you against your lover’s chest again, the lips you had just grazed now chasing after you fervently.

You don’t hesitate to kiss him back, the desperation spelled in his every touch known by heart to you at this point.

You’d need way more skateboarding lessons, Kanata thinks, as one of his hands cups the back of your head, his sharper canines slightly nibbling on your lower lip.

And if this is how all of them end up, he’ll take his time teaching you.

For now, though, he’ll just let himself smile into the sweetness of you.

#paradox live #paradox live x reader #paradox live imagines #paralive #paralive x reader #kanata yatonokami #kanata yatonokami x reader #pararai #paralive imagines #paradox live cozmez #paradox live headcanons #cozmez #paradox live kanata #kanata x reader #paradox live the animation #anime imagines #fluff #hailey writes

[torhues]

kageyama tobio.

kageyama doesn't have a high alcohol tolerance.

in fact, he doesn't have any— maybe a little bit— but mostly no, and yet still, he doesn't refuse whenever someone offers him a drink. you've been over this many times, telling him that drinking is not volleyball and continuing to drink probably won't improve his tolerance, though your effort is of no avail.

because if it were, you wouldn't have been standing inside a restaurant-bar at eleven pm, watching the alder's trying to get a hold of an almost-passed-out kageyama tobio, who, for some reason, smiles the moment you enter his currently blurry field of vision.

"we're sorry you had to come here this late," ushijima apologises while you throw kageyama's arms over your shoulder, making sure he doesn't fall because of the lack of sense of balance. "i could've dropped him home but he insisted on going with you,"

which is another reason why you want him to stop drinking.

while being your best friend makes him one of your top priorities, it absolutely doesn't mean he can call you at the most ungodly hours and have you pick him up after heavy drinking sessions. and even if he does, he can at least try to be a little decent and cooperate instead of saying that you're the one who's drunk and he will drive you back to your place and even look after you for the rest of the night.

"tobio, i don't think i'm the one who needs supervision today," a sigh escapes your lips as you manage to get him on the back seat of your car.

"i will look after you so, don't worry," he replies in a chanting tone.

it's quiet now.

you steal a glance at him through the front-view mirror. kageyama is busy basking in the city noise and street lights. cold winds brush past the rosy dust on his cheeks, his blueberry eyes telling a story of a million stars under the crescent moon, as if they're communicating in a language so foreign for the humankind to comprehend.

these are the moments when you realise that one could ask why you like kageyama, and you could give a thousand reasons why you're actually in love with him.

"do you know, we lost today," he speaks above the blaring horns of vehicles. kageyama sounds sober, or maybe it's just the mood that has gotten him in such tones.

"is that why you drank too much?" while your works keep up with his', your mind is busy focusing on driving as your filter through the traffics. on other days, the roads would've been quieter, a little emptier. though, the weekends are not.

kageyama exhales heavily. "maybe,"

and it gets quiet once again.

kageyama isn't a talkative person in the first place. he has always been the quieter one, the person who succeeds in silence, finds solace in lack of noise, but having him stay quiet next to you feels out of place. the reason is far away from the usual 'he talks a lot when he warms up to the people,' because in most cases, it's not true, and it wasn't for you either.

none of you talked properly until a year or two ago, and just when you had started getting to know each other, you had to move to veinna for an exchange student programme you applied to; and ironically enough, you bumped into each other at a bar a few months earlier. turns out, kageyama only ever talks if he has a lot on his mind. he distracts himself by striking conversations, but when he's quiet, his mind is empty, and he ends up overthinking, blaming himself for things that weren't his fault.

but, you realise you can't do anything, so you let the rest of the ride pass by in heavy silence.

"are you still thinking about the match?" the question leaves your mouth the moment you park in front of his flat, holding the door open for him to get out the car. "it's fine, winning and losing are by products. what matters is that you gave your best,"

it's funny because you're in no position to say that when you frown upon the exact same things. winning and losing, despite being secondary to effort and hard work, mean more to people. no one cares what you've gone through, or what you are going through. no one cares about the process, they care about the product. it's one of the new things that make you feel that you and kageyama aren't so different, after all, despite being polar opposites.

kageyama and you have been on opposite tracks ever since the day you met, and it doesn't even have to do with your zodiacs and personality— you don't like sports, while he earns off them— and, you don't know how you both got to a point where he's the person you trust blindly and you're the one he seeks for in the dead of the nights. it's something that comforts you while reminding you how you both have completely different worlds. perhaps, it's in the habits and insecurities that follow, or the simple realisation that kageyama is a star while you're just a planet revolving around.

there's a line between him and you that's stopping you from entering his world, and vice-versa.

"tobio," you call him again, putting an extra emphasis to get his head out of the pool of self-depreciating thoughts he's drowning into.

"i'm thinking about something else," you unluck his door, he turns around to face you, "i'm thinking about you,"

he settles his eyes on you, fixating them there for a better look as if he has never seen you before. kageyama doesn't get out of the car and instead, spends the next five minutes staring at you as you stare back at him with the same interest, or perhaps more, before he breaks into a soft chuckle. "you're cute,"

and his words leave you speechless.

you don't want to overthink and assume a complete different meaning of his words, changing the trajectory of your relationship— which is actually what you want but, not this way— you decide to play along. "well, i believe i'm more than just cute for being the one to pick you up whenever you're wasted—"

"and pretty," a pause follows, one that makes you forget how to breathe. "you're beautiful, and smart— maybe not smart, or a little bit smart— and you always listen to me despite having your own problems, you have a good alcohol tolerance which balances us out— i don't know what i'm saying," your heart skips a beat, "i think i'm in love with you,"

"you're drunk, tobio,"

"no, no— listen," but he insists, taking a step towards you with the most troubled expression because you are not getting him— it's makes complete sense in his head. "you're like a perfect set, like, like the one that makes my heart skip a beat and makes me so nervous but also puts me at ease and is the reason— no wait, fuck, i mean—"

"you don't know what you're saying," you interject with a chuckle, trying to put up a normal front while in reality, you're losing sense of everything because kageyama is confessing to you; and, it's both an honour and a shame because he is intoxicated at the moment.

"i don't," he exhales.

kageyama falls quiet once again. there's dejection on his face along with hints of desperation to voice his exact feelings, to make sure you understand how he feels about you, and you know his words couldn't me clearer, but he is drunk. you know better than trusting saccharine words laced with smell of alcohol, although you would've already kissed him if you were braver and he was sober.

"but i really love you," he speaks up again, chanting the same words as a mantra, "i really do love you,"

"you should g—"

"more than volleyball," it's serious, he wants you to know, because kageyama told you that volleyball was his first love, and now he puts you above it.

another step towards, his hands brush against yours before he links he index finger with yours. you almost give in, almost, finding it hard to control yourself through the close proximity between him and you. it feels like the time has stopped when his eyes settle on your lips. you find yourself getting drunk on the alcohol in the breathe, or the way his lips are barely centimeters away from yours. "i love you,"

your hands rake up his chest, a moment of regret floods over your mind, you push kageyama away. "say that again when you're sober,"

#♡ hues'. #♡ handmade. #haikyuu x reader #kageyama x reader #haikyuu fic #kageyama fic #haikyuu fluff #kageyama fluff #haikyuu drabbles #kageyama drabble #haikyuu headcanons #kageyama headcanons #haikyuu kageyama #kageyama tobio #man what even is this ...... #like this isnt how it sounded in my head 🧍‍♀️ #ignore the typos btw help ;;;

[majorietaylorsversion]

monday mornings, with sirius

you need to go grocery shopping, and you drag sirius with you.

That Monday, you wake up to an almost empty fridge. In the hazy blue of the fridge light and the early morning sun, you peer through your drooping eyes to find half a bottle of milk, one egg, no bacon, and a sore scarcity of fresh fruit. You sigh. 

Your fluffy socks drag against the cold wooden floor as you head back to the bedroom. Even from the hallway, you can hear your boyfriend’s unusually loud breathing (bordering on full-on snoring, but Sirius insists he is only breathing noisily), and you peek around the door frame, eyeing the tangle of limbs that rest there. You bury a smile behind the back of your wrist. You can’t help it, it’s a Monday morning, and all you have to do today is go grocery shopping with your lovely boyfriend who Definitely Does Not Snore. 

You dodge the clothes dumped haphazardly on the floor as you make your way over to him, almost slipping, thanks to your very fluffy but slightly impractical socks. The light filters in through the curtains. You approach Sirius, his arms sprawling (elegantly, he would argue) above his head, the open window letting in enough of a breeze to gently whisk some locks of hair across his face. You’ve always liked his hair. Sirius puts a lot of time and effort into it, and the result is soft, luxurious curls you always want to run your hands through. 

You don’t resist the urge now, tenderly brushing some curls behind his ear and out of his face. In response, he (not so gently, but still tenderly) grabs your wrist, yanking you into his chest. You let out a yelp as you lose your balance and shoot forward into Sirius’ waiting arms. 

“Hey! That wasn’t very nice,” you tease, though you end up mumbling it into his neck as Sirius wraps his arms around you, firmly anchoring you to him. 

“You left me, pup, I don’t have to be nice to you.” His voice is still thick with sleep. It makes you smile even more. 

“I wanted to get up and make breakfast. I was being a good-” 

“If you were a proper good girl, you would’ve just stayed in bed with me. It’s only like, 8:30. Too early,” Sirius argues, and you roll your eyes. ‘Scuse you for being hungry. 

His hand moves to the back of your head, and you roll your eyes again, you know what move he’s going to pull next, you’ve been in this position too many times before. Very predictably, Sirius rolls both of you over, placing you in his haven of duvets and pillows, with his warm and abnormally large hands now cradling your face. He’s grinning at you, the early morning softening his signature smirk into one more tender, just for you. Sirius has a very lovely smile. 

“We’re out of food. We need to go grocery shopping.”  

“Sweetheart, you know I love you, but it’s too early.” 

“It is not too early! And even if you don’t like it, we still need food, and I’m not gonna wait around until it's ‘late enough’ for you to get out of bed. Besides, what are we gonna do? Order in? For breakfa-” You’re rudely cut off by Sirius’s hand clamping over your mouth. He’s laughing now, at you, at your silly too early morning rant, and you feel your cheeks heat. You try to hide your face in his hands. And fail. 

“Fine, fine, you’re right. We can’t order in on a Monday morning. We’ll go grocery shopping. You win, pretty girl.” He’s still looking at you, his hand still over your mouth. Still smiling his million dollar smile.  

-

After finally dragging your annoyingly lazy boyfriend out of bed and out of your apartment, you stand in the supermarket, peering at the different breakfast foods on display. Said boyfriend is being entirely unhelpful, his arms over your shoulders, his weight draping over you like a warm but heavy blanket. His curls tickle the skin of your neck, as he rests his head on his shoulders, next to yours. Sirius presses his cheek against yours, and you want to turn your head and kiss him. 

You really want to, but you don’t, because you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. Sirius doesn’t mind, he’s told you a million times, but still, it's just one of those things you can’t get over. You sigh instead. 

“What’s wrong, bunny,” he asks, “don’t you like Fruit Loops?” 

“Maybe I could get, like eggs and stuff, make pancakes? Or something.” You trail off, thinking, thinking what would feel better this morning. It's so nice and ordinary, you don’t want to waste it. 

Sirius tightens his arms around you. 

“We can do that, bub, but you make terrible pancakes. I suppose I’ll have to make them.” You’re shrugging out of his hold before he finishes speaking, his laughter trailing you as you walk down the aisle, away from him. You head the eggs without waiting for him to catch up. 

“I’m kidding, puppy, I’m kidding,” Sirius says as he catches up to you. You pretend not to hear him, but he’s impossible to ignore as he wraps a steady arm around you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

“I know, you're joking, because there’s absolutely no way you think you make better pancakes than me. I can’t believe you went there.” You keep your eyes forward as he stands next to you, his embrace warm, but you're smiling. You know he’s smiling too. 

“It’s alright, love, you can admit you make below average pancakes. You can admit mine are better, I won’t make fun of you.” Sirius reaches forward and grabs the eggs off the shelf for you, just as you go to move. “Maybe I can even give you some pointers? Y’know, so maybe one day you might actually make some good ones.” 

“Oh, definitely not. You insult my cooking and I’m not making another thing for you. Ever. I hope you starve.” 

“Aw, babe, you wound me.” 

“Good.” 

-

Sirius makes both of you pancakes. While you may slightly prefer the way you do them, he comes a close second. A very close second. You sit in bed together and eat them, trying not to get crumbs on the blankets while you cuddle up next to each other. He manages to kiss you before you can brush your teeth. 

It’s a Monday morning, and you’ve got all the time in the world.

-

i have officially discovered a new hobby!! writing fanfic!! go me!!

#sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black fanfiction #the marauders #marauders era #marauders #fanfiction #fanfic #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #marauders fanfiction

[andypantsx3]

incendiary | 4 | bakugou x reader

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

length: 4.5k of ~23k / 4th of 8 chapters

summary: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort

warnings: themes of discrimination (please see note in fic masterpost), canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters

notes: Please see my notes in the fic masterpost.

The next thing you registered was a strange warmth on the side of your face, the rasp of someone’s breath across your cheekbone.

“Oi—brat, you’re fine, just breathe.” A rough voice filtered into your consciousness.

Your eyes fluttered open, only to be encountered with a handsome face far too close to yours. Bakugou was crouched over you, and you’d somehow been shifted more fully over one of his arms, balanced against a thigh, so that one of his hands could cup your face.

Behind him, the yellow light of the hallway limned the spikes of his hair in a rusty gold, casting his face in shadow. Your legs were crumpled uselessly between his body and the floor, numb.

“What—?” You demanded blearily.

“Look at me, princess,” Bakugou said, gently turning your face more fully towards his. His mouth had thinned to a grim line.

“Now take a deep breath,” he ordered. He breathed in deeply as if in demonstration.

It took you a couple seconds to process what he was saying, and then a few more to follow orders, almost as if you’d forgotten how to operate your own lungs. Air punched into your chest like a blow to the sternum. Bakugou took another breath, ordering you to do the same.

It took a couple seconds more, but eventually you took another one, and then another and another. The two of you sat like that for a few long minutes, Bakguou scrutinizing your every breath closely, eyes flicking between your face and your chest as you heaved air in. Once he was satisfied that you’d fallen into the familiar rhythm of breathing again, he shifted you back into his arms.

“Gonna get you back inside, princess. You need to lay down.” His voice was gruff but he didn’t sound as angry as he usually did. His imperious, assertive tone didn’t even annoy you—you had the wild thought that you were grateful for once, that he might know what he was doing.

The realization that you’d lost a minute or two disturbed you more than you’d ever understood it would, watching movies where somebody passed out, reading stories where maidens swooned in the company of handsome gentlemen. You didn’t know why more people didn’t talk about how unnerving the experience was.

Despite yourself, you huddled a little bit closer to Bakugou, relieved you were in the company of a pro hero. You didn’t want to think about what might have happened if you’d needed to stumble back to the safehouse on your own.

Your gut shifted as Bakugou picked you up again, and you had trouble focusing on the doors as you passed them, the hall a strange kind of yellowed blur. But soon enough Bakugou was kicking in a door, crossing a kitchen, and laying you out on a familiar couch.

He pulled up a blanket over you, and it occurred to you once the warmth settled over you that you had been cold—and that you were giving tiny, almost imperceptible little shivers. You had the vague impression that this annoyed you.

“Breathe, idiot,” Bakugou said again, and you startled, not realizing he’d rounded behind the couch. You heard his boots stomp into the kitchen, the clatter of cabinets and clank of some kitchenware.

You did as he said, heaving in another breath, and then another. You focused on the feeling, the even flow of air in and out, fresh and clear in your lungs. You must have zoned out, because the next thing you knew, Bakugou’s face was filling up your entire vision. His eyebrows were knit, mouth tight, and eyes burning into yours—but he didn’t look angry, exactly. He got a hand under your below, helping you sit up.

Then something warm was being shoved against your hand, a leafy, almost floral scent meeting your nose, and you looked down to see a mug of tea being pressed into your palm.

“Drink it, brat, you’re still shivering,” Bakugou commanded.

You couldn’t dredge up the will to argue, too wrung out, and you took an obedient sip. A shiver went down your spine as the heat flooded onto your tongue. It was so strangely warm, in a way that you had never appreciated before, like every single one of your nerve endings were instantly concentrated in your mouth.

Then the strange feeling shifted, and all of a sudden, some strange, nameless emotion welled up in your chest. Tears pricked the corner of your vision.

You blinked rapidly, horrified you were about to start crying in front of Bakugou. You struggled to free your other hand from your blanket, but he caught it before you could raise it to wipe your face.

Your eyes darted to his, startled.

Bakugou’s brows drew together. “It’s….you’re fine, princess. ‘S normal.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “W–what?”

He looked uncomfortable.

“Fucking everyone is a crybaby with shit like this. You’re not special. It’s fine,” he said again, gruffly. You watched the minute shift of his expression, the downward pull at the corner of his mouth. You’d have said he looked almost concerned, if you didn’t know better.

You shifted in embarrassment, not fully understanding why this was such a big deal for you. You’d handled assholes like this before—though no one had outright attacked you since you were kids, taking out their parents’ prejudices on you in the sandbox, before any of you really understood what you were struggling in the dirt for. Maybe that was it.

Outside the window, you could hear the shift of wind in the scraggly trees, the loud chatter of a group passing by. Tears kept pooling in your vision, turning the room into a blur. You took a few deliberate, calming breaths.

“Those guys,” you finally managed. “I don’t know why I’m so…It’s not the first time something like that has happened, but….I don’t know why I’m being so dramatic.”

Bakugou scoffed, startlingly loud in the quiet of the safehouse. “Whatever. Those guys are fucking assholes.”

The baldness of his observation startled a bitter laugh out of you.

You’d assumed he was the same, before he’d come for you.

You hadn’t had a second to really think it through yet, but now that you did—Bakugou had interfered at the convenience store. You’d assumed he had it out for you, but he’d come charging in, figurative guns blazing, and gotten those two douchebags up against the shelving in five seconds flat.

He saved your life as far as you could tell.

But…that didn’t explain why he had been such an asshole to you this whole time, too. He might have saved your life but there was something significant underlying all those weeks of judgment, those sulky silences.

“You’d probably know,” you muttered uncharitably, unable to keep the exasperation out of your tone. The way he’d spoken to you earlier still smarted, and you could still feel a little of your previous anger hot in your veins.

“Oi—” Bakugou said. He leaned down to try to catch your eye again but you jerked your face away quickly.

The couch dipped down next to you, and then Bakugou was kneeling in front of you, shoving his face right into yours again. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, brat?” He demanded.

Your heart rate kicked up with his proximity, blood bubbling into a simmer. He was wearing that pissy little expression again, and your jaw suddenly ached with the familiar need to bite him.

“You know exactly what it means, Bakugou,” you said tightly.

Bakugou made a noise of disbelief. “I just saved your ass, you shitty fucking brat, what the hell is wrong with you!” His expression twisted again into something ugly and angry.

“You want to know what it means?” You demanded. “It means you’ve been an asshole the entire time we’ve been here, Bakugou! You might have saved me but I am abundantly clear that you hate me too. That's all I'm saying.”

Bakugou’s expression clouded over. “I don’t hate you, you overdramatic little shit. You’ve been up my ass about that since we got here and you still don’t fucking know anything.”

You threw your hands up, sloshing your tea around violently as you did. Some spilled down your hand and over your wrist, scorching hot, and you bit down a swear.

“So you keep telling me,” you said. “I don’t know what I’m talking about, I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know anything! If that’s so true then why don’t you explain it to me, huh? You’ve hated me since the second you laid eyes on me, you refused to take on this assignment to protect me, you’ve been giving me nothing but attitude since we got here, and you even blamed me for what happened in the first place!”

Your mind was jerked back to those sandboxes, sidewalks, rough hands and scraped knees. A calm, almost callously amused teacher, echoing, “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, sweetheart.” Another, asking, “Well, did you provoke him?”

Bakugou’s eyes burned blood red in the center of your vision, and you realized your voice had risen to a screech. “You don’t even know me, and as far as I can tell, this has everything to do with my quirklessness. Doesn’t it? Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong!”

Bakugou’s face went almost mottled purple, and there were several moments where it looked like the pin had been yanked from the grenade of his temper—like he was seconds from exploding in your face. His hands clenched and unclenched in the corner of your vision, opening and closing like he was thinking of using his quirk.

Finally, he managed to grit out, “It’s not a problem with your quirklessness, asshole.”

You stared at him, uncomprehending.

It was so obviously a problem with your quirklessness, so what the hell did he mean?

Bakugou’s gaze was so heated it felt like fire on your face. “It’s not a problem with your stupid fucking quirklessness. It’s not a problem with you either, you goddamn brat. It’s a problem—” He seemed to struggle with the words for a moment, his throat working. You watched him, unnerved.

“It’s a problem—it’s a problem,” he finally managed. “It’s a problem with me, okay?” He spat the words out in some disgust, like they were a bug he’d accidentally ingested.

It took a second for the words to actually register with you. When they did, you couldn’t do anything but gawk at him.

A problem with him? What the hell did that mean, a problem with him? He obviously had plenty of problems, but you couldn’t begin to imagine what he was talking about, if it didn’t have anything to do with your quirklessness.

Bakugou’s hands clenched and unclenched in the fabric of his pants, and he looked like he was milliseconds away from leaping up and kicking the coffee table across the room. It took several long minutes of this for him to work himself back into a state where he might say anything.

Finally, he pronounced tightly, “My problem with you isn’t that you don’t have a quirk. It’s that you remind me of some little fucking asshole I used to pick on in school.”

The swarm of swirling thoughts slammed to a sudden halt in your brain.

This—the past was not quite where you had expected this conversation to go. You watched him as he heaved out a gusty sigh, strong shoulders rising and falling.

“Some little shit-faced nerd, who wanted to be a hero even though he didn’t have a quirk,” Bakugou’s voice was like gravel, rough and rasping. “He wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it, no matter how many times I kicked his ass.”

He swallowed, and then swallowed again, like he was having trouble getting his throat to work right. “No matter how many times people gave him shit for it. He’d always get back up and keep fucking yapping, couldn’t shut his mouth like he knew what was good for him. And I kept fucking coming after him for it—I beat the snot out of him, told him some really fucked up stuff. Told him he should give up and wish for a quirk in his next life.”

The words sounded like a gunshot in the air, and your mouth fell open in shock.

“But just like you, he couldn’t mind his own fucking business, and he kept chasing after whatever he damn well pleased. And you know fucking what?” Bakugou demanded. “He was right. That absolute fucking shitstick was right, and I was wrong about it, just like all of these fucking douchebags giving you shit about your own quirklessness. And while I’ve done some apologizing, and he’s forgiven me, I don’t see how I should be the one trusted with shit like this again.”

Bakugou took a heavy breath through his nose. “So my problem with you, is that you’re exactly the fucking same. No,” he quickly corrected himself. “You’re even worse, so fucking mouthy and demanding and up in everyone’s fucking business like the you’re the goddamn princess of quirklessness—They should have trusted anyone else with you instead of me.”

The room descended into a ringing silence.

You sat there, stunned.

You couldn’t have found the words to say, even if you could have dredged up the brainpower to say anything at all. You just watched Bakugou’s fingers twisting in the fabric of his pants. His knuckles were white against the tan of his skin, and scars crisscrossed the skin, a long one leading up the side of his wrist, disappearing behind his elbow.

This was not what you had expected from him at all. Nothing even close to what you had been imagining had been going on in his brain this entire time. Nothing could have prepared you for the turn this argument had suddenly taken.

“What do you mean,” you finally asked, “that they should have trusted anyone else with me instead of you?”

Bakugou’s face stilled into an impassive mask. It seemed to take him a few moments to find the words. “Jeanist knows, the fucking asshole. Knows what I did, and he gave you to me on purpose. Called the police right the fuck up when he heard and asked to get me involved. When I should be the last person babysitting your mouthy little ass.”

His scarlet eyes flicked over your face. You watched him back, thoughts churning.

So, Bakugou had been some kind of quirkist, that was frankly no surprise. Obviously you had assumed as much, with the way he’d been avoiding you, and shitting all over you when he couldn’t do that. But to hear it was rooted in something more complex than that—not because he still thought he was a quirkist, but because you dredged up the memory of what he had been—

—It was…unexpected.

“I was wrong about it, just like all of these fucking douchebags giving you shit about your own quirklessness,” he’d just said. Wrong about your quirklessness making you somehow inferior, wrong about intimidating you into silence, wrong about everything that had put you in this situation in the first place.

You ran through every interaction with Bakugou, reframing it all under this new lens. All that barely-contained frustration, the clipped words, the “you don’t know anythings” suddenly made so much more sense.

“And that means you can’t be trusted?” You asked suddenly.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “Did you not hear what I just fucking said?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Do you still have a problem with quirkless people?” You asked.

Bakugou scoffed. “Fucking—no. Just you and your goddamn attitude.”

This startled a laugh out of you. It was a wretched, hiccuping little thing, but it was still a laugh, the smallest, strangest little moment of relief. Exhaustion chased after it instantly, like it had just been waiting for the smallest sign of weakness to sweep back in. You leaned against the back of the couch for support.

Bakugou pressed forward, looking concerned. “Oi—you’re not gonna faint like a fucking princess again, are you?” He demanded.

You huffed another tiny laugh. “No. I’m just…..taking it all in.”

It really was a lot to process.

He said he shouldn’t have been trusted with you. Except that he had saved you just now, hadn’t he? He had come barrelling into the convenience store after you—even though you’d just been fighting with him, had accused him of being a quirkist asshole—and he had still come running in. And then he had carried you all the way back here, let you pass out on him mid-transit, covered you in a blanket, and made you tea.

If what he was saying was true, that he’d moved past that line of thinking and didn’t begrudge you your quirklessness, and he had proved in the moment of your need, much as you hated to admit it, that he would save you…then, well why wasn’t he to be trusted?

If he’d changed, in the way that he was hinting he had, then why wasn’t he to be trusted?

Your mind was too muddled with everything to settle on any solid feeling, and you would have to think things over when you hadn’t been about to get basically force-choked by some rando in a 7-Eleven. But there was some shift of feeling. Some small sliver of conviction, that Bakugou was maybe not a quirk supremacist.

Maybe.

He was still a tool, way too salty and loud-mouthed and rude as hell.

But maybe, at least, not a quirk supremacist tool.

“And,” Bakugou said loudly, so loudly that you jumped, spilling half your tea all over your blankets. Your head whipped up again and you watched him warily as he shifted, even more visibly uncomfortable now.

He seemed to struggle with the words. He kept opening and closing his mouth, looking angrier the more he did so. Finally he managed to choke out, “I’m fucking—sorry. Or whatever.”

This floored you even more than his admission about his school years. You watched him in shock, unable to even begin to formulate the question you wanted to ask.

The tips of Bakugou’s ears were rapidly going red, and his look almost dared you to say something, but he continued. “I shouldn't be taking it out on you,” he said. “The stupid thing with Jeanist. He’s a fucking meddler and it’s not—it’s not your fault. You didn’t ask for this shit.”

You thought this over, for a long time until the room was almost dark with the onset of evening. Street lights flickered on, one by one, illuminating the plant by the window in an orange glow.

“Thank you,” you said into the silence of the room. It surprised even you that you’d spoken, and that this was the set of words you’d chosen. But now that they were out there, they felt fairly right.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked up to yours.

“I don’t—I’m not sure how I—I mean, that’s a lot to think about right now,” you said. “But thank you for saving me back there. And thank you for the—um, for carrying me back, and the tea.”

Bakugou’s face twisted like he wanted to deny it.

“I’m too tired to settle on how to feel,” you said, lingering thoughtfully on the words for a minute. “I think you can be trusted. Just, based on what happened there. I’m not sure about all the rest yet, but…I’ll think about it.”

Bakugou nodded slowly. His quiet was almost disturbing in its unusualness, and his focus was laserlike, nerve-wracking in its intensity.

He was quiet long enough that you fully gave up on supporting yourself and leaned all the way back against the couch, just watching him think. Eventually his expression evened out, and he heaved himself off the couch, getting to his feet. “Drink the rest of your tea, brat.”

You were too tired to argue. You obediently raised the mug to your mouth, taking a warm sip. Bakugou looked on approvingly, red eyes picking over you closely. You finished the rest of the tea under his watch, the two of you sitting in a strange, contemplative silence.

As you were finishing up, his phone rang. He shoved a hand in his pocket, face twisting as he read the contact name.

“Dynamight,” he answered briskly.

On the other end of the line, you heard the familiar tones of Best Jeanist—clear, crisp, and disappointed. “What happened?”

Bakugou’s mouth flattened. “She ran out,” he said, his voice gravelly but even. “I started shit with her.”

His honesty surprised you, the complete lack of excuses on his part.

Best Jeanist heaved an audible sigh. “I really believed you could handle this, Katsuki.”

Bakugou’s face twisted, and your eyes dropped to the ground, wanting to give him the dignity of some small privacy in this moment.

“Yeah, I know you did,” he said.

Something about the flatness of his tone pulled at your heartstrings just a little. You fiddled with your tea mug nervously, frowning down into your lap.

Best Jeanist didn’t say much more on that, just left it at a long moment of silence before launching into a bunch of follow up questions. Bakugou walked him through the events from his perspective, tracking you to the convenience store, seeing two men corner you and the cashier cower behind you, watching you panic as you realized you couldn’t draw in any breath.

The description he provided of the two men surprised you in its observancy—he noted many different characteristics and mannerisms you hadn’t picked up on your own, and though everything was almost a blur in your own memory, he recounted everyone’s movements down to the most minute detail like it was a set of choreography he’d spent weeks memorizing.

He detailed your reaction, your shock and momentary loss of consciousness, and the observation he was currently following up with. And then he circled back to the fight that had caused it all. “We….talked or whatever. It won’t happen again,” Bakugou said finally.

Best Jeanist paused, then said something quietly enough that you couldn’t hear.

Bakugou scoffed. “I fucking said it, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t tell whether Best Jeanist’s silence was thoughtful or judgmental. Eventually he answered, just as quietly as the previous comment. Bakugou grunted, and then hung up.

When he turned to you, he eyed you thoughtfully. “You still hungry, brat?”

You startled at being addressed again so suddenly. “I—uh…”

Bakugou didn’t wait for your answer, padding back over to the kitchen. You heard the clank of various kitchen equipment, the clatter of cupboard doors and the sticky sound of the fridge opening. You listened for a long time, to the thump of a knife on a cutting board, the hiss of butter in a pan.

You were almost asleep against the side of the couch by the time Bakugou came over, bearing two plates laden down with two small mountains of food.

He shoved one under your nose, and you stared down at it, eventually registering some kind of dressed chicken, a small pile of asparagus, and—you let out another shocked laugh—a baked potato, with a neat little pat of butter, and a distinct lack of the cheese you’d shaken over your own earlier.

“If you’re gonna eat that shit you need to balance it out with actual food,” Bakugou pronounced judgmentally, sinking onto the couch with his own plate. “Sick of you fucking scarfing down absolute garbage.”

You didn’t deign this with a response.

You accepted silverware from him, balancing your plate on your lap and carefully cutting into your food. It was disturbingly good, perfectly balanced, everything cooked and seasoned to high perfection. It irritated you, vaguely, that Bakugou was so good at cooking, which you had long suspected but had never had the opportunity to confirm. It meant he’d been eating like this the entire time you’d been subsisting on old granola bars.

The two of you ate in companionable silence, the kind that you hadn’t had since you’d been yanked unceremoniously from your dorm. Bakugou was surprisingly good company, when he wasn’t screaming or scoffing or staring you down judgmentally.

The food satiated a hunger you hadn’t realized was eating away at you underneath everything else. Filled with food and hot tea, and safely ensconced in your covers on the couch, your exhaustion fully caught up with you. You managed to get your plate onto the coffee table before slumping down between the back of the couch and an arm.

“Oi—you still think I’m your maid service?” Bakugou demanded, but he didn’t sound as mad as usual. You just watched him from beneath your blanket until he eventually sighed, collecting your plate on top of his.

“Just, get some rest, brat,” he said. “You’ll feel better after you sleep.”

You nodded, only half-registering his words.

You heard the clink of your two plates together, the metallic slide of silverware across them as Bakugou rose to his feet.

Dimly, you noted the sound of the sink running in the kitchen, the clatter of plates in the basin. Exhaustion pulled on your eyelids and a strange feeling of safety wrapped around you like a thick blanket.

And then, for the second time in as many hours—you slipped into sleep.

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x you

[foxys-fantasy-tales]

OC Kiss Week Day One - Almost

I'm going to do eight days instead of seven because I want one kiss for EVERY ship in Arigale! This is going to be tough lol. Also, these are canon events and will likely be slotted into the books to come in various places whether that be as flashbacks or present day events, so you have been warned. So excited to take part in @ockissweek again! Word Count: 2.3k Characters: Rita and Blue TW: asthma attack, terminal illness mention, blood, and memory loss (sorry these are my trauma babies)

Cold air blew Rita and all her layers of winter dress about like she still weighed little more than the morning paper, though she knew she’d managed to gain a little heft lately. Still, the few pounds from Blue’s cooking weren’t going to do much against such voracious winds trying to consume her. With his hand at her back, each step was grueling but bearable enough. 

Again. She had pushed too far again. Even so, those at the shelter he took such a shine to had some of their own protection against the elements and a few distractions now. The many thanks, the smiles, the scene they’d left played over and over in her mind as she tried to understand. The gift was so small to her, but to them it was everything. 

Yet, her family had never offered such assistance, though it was well in their means even with her constant health concerns. 

Recollections of a look on a young girl’s face, no more than five, as she passed a stuffed animal shaped like a floppy dog to her was a warm spot against the brisk cold that made her smile. Still, the children of the shelter scrambled around the toys, and not all were kind with sharing. Having enough for all and seeing the girl lost her dog already during dinner service, she’d plucked a pink ribbon from one side of her braided hair and tied it around the neck of the dog. Now, it was hers, marked and sealed. A friend just for her to hold. 

Rita groaned as the win picked up. The more it blew cold into her face the more it felt as though she were breathing through ice. Struggling for each short breath, she tugged the scarf tight over her mouth to filter the air somewhat, but it was already in her lungs. A few harsh coughs caught Blue’s attention. The push of his hand on her back turned to a pull as she felt herself brought out of the worst of the wind. She blinked and found they were both tucked behind a pillar holding up the front of a closed diner. 

“Ri? Are you alright?” 

“Fine.” Keeping it short and sweet saved her breath, but she felt them dwindling like sand through an hourglass. Her eyes shut tight as she leaned into him. His warmth helped, if only to keep her short of panicking and making it worse. “We need to get home. My medicine’s there.” 

“I thought it was with-” His fox-like ears rose high, prompted by a harsh wheeze from her. Having been hired by her as an unqualified caretaker months prior, he knew the signs all too well. “You should have brought it!” 

“Didn’t… want to… be late.” 

She looked up into the burning orange of his eyes and imagined her fireplace at home. Braving the wind again sounded like a fool’s errand, but she had to get home. Step by step, Rita rounded the pillar and ended up back on the path home. Blue easily walked alongside, not only for her slowed pace, but because his height was enough to dwarf her. 

“Not fast enough,” he said in a gravelly growl. Rita didn’t get a chance to rebuke him for chiding her at her best pace, as she felt her feet leave the ground and tucked her body in defensively. What she thought may be her balance failing was really a swift scoop into Blue’s arms. The air rushed past her even harder in his sprint, thus she was breathless. That had to be the reason. He’d carried her before after all. 

The door was opened before she could manage more than three breaths. The rush of warmth was soothing and irritating at once. With a yelp, her back hit the soft couch near the door. Drawers slammed in her bedroom across the way beside the fireplace. Papers fell to the floor with the harder thump of books and the jingle of some of her jewelry before he found the medicine and ran back to her. 

Rita hadn’t seen him look so stricken in a while. It gave a fright when she realized how hard she was wheezing and how the fur on his ears and tail rose and fell with her breath. A hard cough surged a thick bunch of phlegm up her throat. She turned and found a mug she’d used for morning coffee to spit in, utilizing the untied side of her hair to hide her face from him. Her lips were cracked and chilled through. Her hand shook while setting the mug back down. There was no way for her to tell if it landed safely on the wood, as Blue barged into her blurred line of sight and popped a capsule the size of his thumb between her sore lips. 

Repetition and muscle memory kicked in. Rita bit the capsule between her teeth and breathed in deep of the thickened air in her mouth that contained her medicine. She coughed harder after as Blue waited for the effects to clear her up some. A few hard pats on her back dislodged more from her throat, but he didn’t mind catching it in the mug despite her blush. One hand cradled the back of her neck as he pushed another capsule in. This time she was able to breathe deeper and the wheezing stopped. After a moment holding her breath, she let it out between his fingers still holding the emptied capsule. They were calloused and rough against her dried lips, yet she couldn’t move away. Her arms had steadied, but some sort of weakness had taken her. At least, it had until he reached to the table for an ointment he’d brought along as well and started to spread it over her chapped lips. He moved slowly. The tingling medicine seeped in quickly, but his face was far too close. His eyes were far too focused, as if spotlights on her now trembling lips. 

“I-I can handle it,” Rita shouted. She swiped the container and covered her mouth with her hand as she sat up straighter. Blue’s ears fell back. His eyes were wide a moment before he nodded and stepped back. The sullied mug was retrieved and carted off to the kitchen with him. Before long, the medicine had softened her lips and she’d cleared any shedding with a handkerchief from her coat pocket. Her boots and outer layers were strewn across the floor nearby when he brought a clean mug full of mint tea to her. Without a word, he went to start a fire. Rita’s eyes were drawn to the quick strikes of flint that brought an orange glow to fill the room. To frame him, as he scooted back and sat on the floor to remove his coat and boots as well. Rita’s grip on the mug tightened until the heat near burned her. A more sensible way to hold was by the handle, and she adjusted fast before he noticed her slight when he looked back at her. 

“Are you better?” 

“Yes, much. Thank you.” She stared into the slightly yellowed drink. Months ago he’d only been capable of kitchen and basic tasks. He had most of his speech, albeit a touch simplified, but his memories were elusive. Only a year of his memories remained. She’d taken him to be examined as he was technically in her employ through their bargain to give him a spare room, but no one could find anything wrong. So why had he been scratching himself and howling of late? She could still see the marks on his ears as the weight of her gaze tugged them down. “Ri?” She snapped up with a soft gasp and shook her head. “It’s nothing.” By the time her tea was half done, Rita had to fight to keep her eyes from closing. The wave of fatigue after any of her different attacks was debilitating. Tomorrow she would be dragging her feet about the house. And… who was to say how many days she had of that? The same gentle touch caught her shoulder before she fell into the armrest. His voice was marred by her ears pinning down as he laid her out flat. The weight of her blanket followed, or so she assumed, though there was an extra heaviness over her waist. She couldn’t fight it much longer. 

“Sorry for causing such a scene.” 

“Just remember the medicine next time, or maybe I will.” “Usually carry… I was just so flustered the last few weeks getting this all together.” “Yeah, yeah. Rest now. You look like a talking corpse.” He couldn’t have known how that hit her. A bit of air was knocked from her chest. He didn’t know. There were things it was better he didn’t grasp fully. “Mind your business. You did well patching me up. Take the compliment and go to bed.” 

“Not yet. I want to make sure you fall asleep okay.” He paused and took the second ribbon from her hair. “Do you want me to carry you to your room?” 

“No. This was a…good idea. I can see the lights and boxes for the morning when I wake up.” She opened her eyes for a second to glimpse the holiday parcels they’d both brought in a few weeks ago. Blue was especially suspicious, as he came in with dirt all over the nice clothes she’d bought him when he brought his. Remembering the big grin he had on made her chuckle, relax, and drift to sleep. She couldn’t tell how long it had been when something woke her. A makeup brush on her cheek? No, but it was certainly hair. It tickled her nose. Her eyes were still too heavy to lift, but the weight finally registered as Blue’s arm when it wrapped around her back. Warm air touched her cheek, then creeped to the sensitive new skin on her lips. There was a lingering scent of mint again, fresher than her own breath from the tea. His hand gripped the couch and she listened to the fabric whine under his clutches. She wished she could do the same, but she was frozen. In…fear? No. She wasn’t fearful of him at all. Then in… anticipation? Having only kissed a couple times in one night with strangers a month prior, her brain was slow to recall the sensations prior to contact. Her heart hadn’t beat so fast at that dance. There hadn’t been the same warmth that now stirred in her from her limbs to in toward her belly. The worst realization was she might be able to pull away the slight space between them and startle him, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Any moment, if he really meant this, they’d touch. Once that thought crossed her mind, her tail flipped up over the blanket. The motion was enough to startle Blue whether she wanted to or not. His soft gasp turned to softer pants as his presence left her. She still wouldn’t open her eyes, not until she heard his door shut. Then, Rita sat up and placed a hand to her chest. Had he meant to…? She shook the thoughts from her head and tried to rest. In the early blue glow just before dawn, a scream awoke her. “Again? Not this morning…” She glanced at the gift wrapping lit up by several pale, pastel lanterns on the table to her right. Gathering her bearings took but a moment before she bolted to Blue’s room. She’d never forget the blood. Red tinged the blue coming in from the window. It stained the fluffy rug at the foot of his bed and most of the navy blanket carried the iron scent even if the color didn’t pop the same. His hands were crusted and wet from layers of his own blood. Teeth marks that could only be his own covered his arms where he must have tried to stifle himself. Yet, in the carnage, Blue sat with an utterly blank expression. Even after she brought bandages and ointments to dress the wounds, he hadn’t moved. Her lips trembled to ask, “Blue?” He stared in response. Her eyes began to sting and blue as she finished wrapping up his arm. The red already showed through layers of pure white. He seemed calm, so she let him be as she stumped to the main room to compose herself in front of the lights. Ever since he began to falter and bleed, since he mentioned forgetting before, she knew this could happen. She still never prepared for it. She turned her eyes from the problem, just as her parents had from her in her illness, sending her to live alone when she was of age to be done with her late night attacks and the turbulent emotions that came with her knowing she’d never grow old or get better. Her hand bumped into her present as she tried to steady herself on the table. The wrapping was little more than sticks and grass woven together, now yellowed by age and dried to be brittle enough they broke apart. A shine caught her eyes as she wiped them. So golden and bright, she couldn’t help but reach out and uncover a ring. How had he acquired gold? She turned it over in her palm before trying it on. It was like it was made for her, and as she removed and spun it in the low light, her inscribed name showed on the interior. A sob caught in her throat with a hot wave of tears as she heard steps from behind her. “Blue? Why would you say… I guess the morning is blue. Who… Who are you?” 

She turned and fought the lack of air, breathing deep as she could with a hand glittering in gold on her chest. “You’re Blue. Your name, that is, at least… the one I know. You can call me Ri. Short for Rita.” 

Tagging: @jezifster, @fracturedfable, and @wynters-writings If you would like to be added please fill this out: FORM LINK

#ockissweek #ockiss24 #writeblr #arigale #indie author

[yourfavoritebookclub]

WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 2

Violet turns on her heel and I watch as she follows her friend up to where a second year named Amber is taking tally. 

I can’t peel my eyes away from her back as I wave on the next candidate. 

My thoughts wrestle with each other. I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t pick out any singular emotion.

Amber is speaking animatedly to Violet now, but I can’t hear what they’re saying because my ears are ringing and my chest is threatening to cave in on itself. 

And I’m still staring.

I’m still watching her as she takes that step up onto the parapet.

Right as the wind begins whipping around us.

And dammit if she doesn’t confirm all of my suspicions when her small frame shakes with the force of that harsh, rain soaked wind.

Someone is speaking again, but I still can’t hear past the ringing in my ears.

I blink once.

Twice.

“-that kind of balance. I pity whatever wing you end up in.” The tone is unmistakably mocking, bordering on cruel.

My eyes turn from Violet's, and lock onto the man behind her.

“Name?”

“Jack Barlowe,” he points his index finger at Amber.

“Remember that name,” he takes that same pointer finger and aims it at his chest, “I’m going to be a wingleader one day.”

Like hell he is. I’ve had enough of Jack “The Future Wingleader” Barlowe already. 

“You’d better get going, Sorrengail,” I say irritably. 

Violet looks over her shoulder at me and takes in what I’m sure is the world’s most shit eating look, except this time it’s not because of her.

My glare turns into a grimace as Jack lunges towards Violet’s back, “Unless you need a little motivation?” He taunts.

She lurches forward and begins moving. 

I involuntarily step towards the parapet, my shadows pooling in between my knuckles.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and will my feet to stop moving.

But my eyes don’t leave Violet’s figure. 

Her steps are small, and though I can’t hear what she’s saying, she’s mumbling quickly to herself.

I continue filtering candidates through to the entrance but my body has gone on autopilot. 

My mind is filling up with half formed, incomprehensible thoughts. Logic is failing me.

My ears have gone back to ringing, and that torrent of emotions comes flooding back. 

I’m angry. 

And something else entirely.

I’m scared. 

I’m scared. And I think it’s because of the girl on the parapet, her figure getting hazier as she walks through the rain.

Behind her is Jack, and though I can only see his silhouette, I still notice when he stops in his tracks on the thin stretch of stone.

What is he doing?

He turns around in one graceful movement and is facing all of us at the entrance.

My stomach rolls as his intentions become clear.

As the candidate behind him comes face to face with Jack Barlowe. 

Jack’s hands fly forward, snatching the boy by the straps of his rucksack and tosses him over the edge.

Death happens.

And there will always be Jack Barlowes in the world. I’ve seen enough of them come through the war college. But it's still a grim reality to witness in action. 

Jack turns himself back around and continues along the parapet, finger pointed somewhere ahead of him.

Towards Violet.

It feels like something cold and bitter is coating the inside of my mouth. It’s hard to breathe.

I don’t know what’s happening inside my mind, but I know I need to get the fuck out of here.

Now.

I turn toward Garrick and give him the clipboard in my hands. He must see the torment on my face, because he takes the clipboard without question and gives me a subtle dip of his chin.

I make my way down the turret, head up and strides sure. 

My body is urging my legs to move faster, my mind rearing to a full on sprint. I clench my jaw and maintain my pace.

Violet is fine.

I don’t particularly care whether or not she makes it. 

“Yes you do.”

Of course Sgaeyl chooses now to finally reemerge.

“Thank you Sgaeyl. Very helpful.”

“You’re welcome.” She snorts.

“Do you think that this is–” I pause, focusing on my feet as I wind past people on the turret steps.

“Do I think that this is, what?” She asks gruffly.

I can hear the laugh she’s trying so hard to contain.

“Do you actually think that this is funny?” I snap. Sgaeyl starts to fully laugh now. A growling, breathy laugh. 

A deeper, throatier voice speaks into my mind, “I didn’t know your rider was so empathetic, Sgaeyl.”

And there’s Tairn.

I’m currently thanking Malek that I’ve spent the majority of my life keeping my thoughts and feelings locked up tightly inside my mind. Between the nausea that’s pulsing in my stomach and the pure annoyance I’m currently feeling at my dragon and her arrant mate, I’m way too close to snapping.

“Mind your manners Wingleader.” Tairn says darkly. I curse inwardly at the slip in my mental shield and tersely say, “goodbye lovebirds” before building a thick stone wall around my mind.

#fanfiction #fourth wing #violet and xaden #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #xadenviolet

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Six

I have Deja-vu when I return to the Tullamore stadium where I spent countless Sunday afternoons as a teenager, forced to sit at pitch side as Kelly roared her support for the players with a ferocity that always kind of pissed me off. She wasn’t into sports, not really, she just pretended that she was because she had this fantasy of one of the players spotting her by the barriers and coming over to ask for her number. Of course, none ever did, but eventually, when she was sixteen she talked her way into one of their after parties at the club house and kissed six of them one after the other with the same efficiency as a local politician handing out fliers at a shopping centre. She didn’t get any phone numbers either, just a crusty cold sore that hung around on her lip for two weeks.

Today, for the first time there is no Kelly by my side, and I realise upon entry that it’s been almost four years since I’ve set foot in this place. I don’t know why I thought it’d look different, but everything is the same, from the sun bleached plastic seats to the mud, grass, and leather smell in the air. I’ve changed but all these old places, they stay exactly the same. Claire links her arm with mine and we head down the steps towards our seats near the front. She’s wearing a Tullamore jersey. Most people on our side are too, painting one whole side of the stadium in blue and white. I’m just wearing a grey jumper. I had a matching jersey years ago, in fact I even went to the trouble of digging it out of the bottom drawer of the chest in my childhood bedroom earlier, but it’s girls size 13-14. It won’t even go over my chest anymore. 

“Are you excited?” I say to Claire, who I expect to be beaming, but isn’t. 

“Yeah I suppose.” She says. 

“It’s a bit mad to be here together, isn’t it? Like, how many of these matches would you say you go to?”

“Oh God, like, probably all of them, I’m always stuck in these seats watching him.”

“You’re very supportive.”

“I’m a saint.”

My smile falters a bit, she doesn’t seem excited in the least. When I imagined her coming to these games I always had a picture in my mind of her cheering him on with voracious enthusiasm, hanging over the railings, chanting his name, but by the rather stoic expression on her face today I’m starting to doubt my own assumptions. “Not pushed about the match, no?” 

She sighs. “No, it’s fine, I just… this has been a touchy subject between us lately.”

“Football?”

“It’s how much he wants to play it.”

I frown. “But he’s made it onto the senior team, surely it’s normal that it’ll take up a lot of his time.”

“Yeah it’s just like,  he’s in fourth year in UCD now, I wish he’d just study or something, focus on his degree.”

“Oh.”

“There’s no future in football, like, he’ll never get paid for it and I just don’t want him to throw away his science degree because he’s too caught up with an amateur sport. There’s good money in pharmaceuticals if he works hard enough, and then we could start saving for a mortgage or a wedding, or I don’t know, kids or something.”

I nod, though it’s incredibly weird to hear her talk about such things now, at twenty one years old, when they seem lightyears away for me. A mortgage? I don’t even know how that works, never mind how I’d go about saving for one, but Claire has always been eager to settle. 

“Is he struggling to balance both things?”

“Well, he isn’t really trying to. He’s just not doing his college work.”

“At all?”

She shakes her head. Her mouth becomes a thin line as she stares out over the pitch where the players have begun to filter out, shaking the hands of the other team, and I spot Shane for the first time, dressed in a blue jersey with stripes across his shoulders. He is powerful looking, even amongst all of the others. Two men in Helly Hansen fleeces and caps walk straight through my line of vision and settle into the seats directly in front of us, blocking out the view momentarily. By the time I regain my view of the pitch the players have all settled into their starting positions. 

“I assume you’ve talked about this with him.” I say to Claire. 

“Yeah of course, but I might as well be speaking to a brick wall. You know how he is with talking about things. At all. Ever.”

I hesitate. “He can be a bit withholding, for sure.” 

“Never go out with an Irish man.” She declares. “They’ll only wreck your head.” I want to tell her that men from other countries haven’t been much more straightforward in my experience, but then the whistle blows and the match begins. 

It’s true what they say in the newspapers about Shane Healy. He’s like a bolt of lightning on that pitch. He’s big, he’s quick and he’s aggressive, and yet there is something about his style of play that I didn’t expect to see. He’s like a child out there. The way that he practically skips along with the ball, lobbing it up into his hands and kicking it up the pitch makes it seem like he’s mocking the players around him, the ones who can’t catch him, can’t stop him. 

I watch him possess the ball once again, drop it onto his right foot and neatly slot it through the goalposts for a perfect point. The crowd erupts into euphoric cheers, including me and Claire, who both laugh ourselves onto our feet and start yelling out for him. I’m not close enough to see him smiling, but I know he is, jogging around in a wide circle, clenching his fists in celebration. 

The two men in front of us are muttering about something when we sit back down, and the only reason I tune in is because I hear them say his name. “Healy. Number fifteen. ” I nudge Claire and mutter “They’re talking about your boyfriend there.”

“What are they saying?”

We try to listen in, but the stadium is too loud to catch anything but the odd word. “I can’t hear.” I admit. “Are they Australian? Hardly.” The idea of a person coming all the way from the continent of Oceania to find themselves in a shabby Tullamore stadium, of all places, would be markedly strange. 

“Oh, foreign men?” Claire drawls. “Maybe I should give one of them my number.” She slams her sunglasses onto her face, shielding her eyes from the sharp October sun, and we both put our focus back onto the pitch. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky girl part 3 #funnily enough this was one of my favourite chapters #it feels like a real bottle episode or something idk #even though it isn't #but i liked that it took place in just two distinct places and very little happened and yet so much was moving in the background #people who have finished the story already might notice things on a reread that they didn't the first time

[zorilleerrant]

Hi, just saw the word prompt thing? I don't know if you're still doing them or taking them, but if you are, would you mind something with either 25: Hair or 27: Sick with Bruce and/or Jason? Thank you so much! Love your writing ❤️❤️❤️

(absolutely still taking them! see this is the problem with reblogging everything in a row instead of in a queue because that post is like three hours old or something)

"I'm not sick," Jason says, once the coughing fit is over, trying to shove himself away from Bruce without stumbling over. If he falls while Bruce is watching, Bruce will know he's lying, and then he's done for. The thought only occurs to him when he's already leaning against Bruce's shoulder.

"I know you're not, Champ," Bruce says, and it's ridiculous hearing that tone of voice when he's full on Batman mode, the cowl on with smudges of greasepaint all across his eyelids, wrapping the cape around him like when he was small. It doesn't work. The cape back then was soft, quilted one patch at a time by Alfred's careful hand, and warm enough to keep at least the chill of Gotham's winds howling over rooftops at bay. Now it's the thinnest nanofiber metamaterial Jason's ever seen, soft as silk but not half as warm.

It's a nice night. He's only cold because he has the flu, but Jason always wears a mask, so why is that his fucking problem? Nothing's supposed to be able to get through the filters. Not even whatever has Bruce so wary, using dad voice even through his gas mask. "I'm fine. There's just a problem with the filters." Is there a problem with the filters? He was coughing earlier, and something smelled deep maroon and ominous. The people shuffling around the building - no one left inside, but not so far removed yet - are coughing, too. Speaking in strange voices, like they don't know what they're saying themselves. Their faces screw up when they try to talk.

"Jaylad? Are you with me?" Bruce says, pulling Jason's full weight against his chest, as if they're not in front of a crowd right now, cameras pointed at them from all sides. Jason barely refrains from shoving him away, feeling like a little kid trying not to get hugged at school again, and aware that most of the reason he's not pushing is that he doesn't have the energy, and he needs something to balance his weight on anyhow. "How much of that stuff did you breathe in? Here, list off your siblings, will you? I don't know who's behind this new toxin, but we'll find them."

"No one's behind it," Jason says, completely ignoring Bruce's instruction, and fuck him for trying to give it, anyway, Jason is fine. "Look around at the fucking building, B, it was a science fair. It was an accident. No one was behind - okay, actually, that's a lie, Black Mask is behind it, but it's not exactly like you can throw him off a roof over it, so." Jason can throw him off a roof. Maybe. Once he gets a good night's sleep, at least. Oh, fuck, sleep sounds good, right about now. If only Bruce would hurry up and get him to the Batmobile. Of course, if he says that, Batman's going to worry. Like an asshole.

"Black Mask?" Bruce says, in horror, finally moving them in the direction of the car, finally moving Jason out of the way of paramedics that he's absolutely certain would demand to take his temperature and then the jig would be up. "What the hell does he have to do with any of it? How long has he been running this plot?" Oh, sure, once you bring Roman up, Bruce is all invested again. Couldn't have just listened when Jason said the sprinkler systems needed to be double checked. 'Oh we just checked them last week' last week before the last villain siphoned toxins through them again, yeah. Some detective.

"Well, it's not about to help to fight crime at him, B, I assure you, all of his horrifying chemicals are perfectly legal," Jason says, climbing into the chair and reclining it so he can lie down and never get up again. He almost can't hear himself over the roar of the Batmobile's engine. "Some idiot posts a video about how you can hack the blush, soak it in alcohol and precipitate out the metallic component. You know the new bronze and silver ones? Yeah. Well, if you're not careful, you know. I was checking to see if it's made of Nth metal. Some precocious teens beat me to it, I guess."

"That can't possibly be legal," Bruce says, taking a curve a little bit slower than Jason would've expected him to, even on the drive home, even while they're having a totally civil conversation and Jason hasn't yet resorted to trying to bite him. "There are all sorts of regulations on strange metals. We voted on a referendum last week! And you're telling me he's doing this through his company? To, what, entice kids to accidentally cobble together bombs?"

"He doesn't fucking care about the kids, Bruce. I don't even know if he knows - like the advertising isn't even aiming at them, it's aiming at, fuck, celebrities and influencers and shit, he probably doesn't even know it can do this or he'd be selling the shit to Wall," Jason says, tiredly, words that would be mumbled through his hands if his helmet weren't beaming them straight to Bruce's earpiece. "He just found a way to pawn off his trash to the rest of his company, and told them to come up with profits. And they did! Like you always say, crime doesn't fucking pay, eh?"

"Okay. I very much do not want Amanda Waller to get her hands on this. You really think that's his long term plan?" Jason shuts his eyes, not that Bruce can tell under the mask. Because, like, did he fucking say that? Bruce never listens when Jason tries to explain in completely straightforward English - or any other fucking thing - what is going on in Gotham. He missed the limited edition pretzels, too. Asshole. A warm gust of wind blows across his face and Jason realizes that, at some point while he wasn't responding, Bruce pulled his helmet off. Undoing all the latches silently and everything. He's saying something soothing.

Jason ignores him. Wiggles his mouth a little; it's always easier talking when you don't have to aim directly at the mic. He's used to it enough it's reflexive by this point, but it still makes his jaw sore. "Yo, you know the mayor's get kickbacks, even the new one - I mean, I didn't ask him personally, so his kickback may be, like, his own head - there's no such thing as a regulation with no loopholes in Gotham." And then the kids try to mix it up and test out cool new properties, two projects get too close to each other, someone's baking soda volcano sets of a chain reaction or whatever happened in there. The sprinklers took a beat too long to set themselves in motion, Jason knows that part for sure.

"Jay, kiddo, you sound like you swallowed an entire sheep worth of steel wool," Bruce says, in that grudging way where he's trying to show emotion the way Leslie taught him to, but he sucks at it, because Alfie's British and never made proper expressions when he was a kid. Only the thing is he's turned the car to whisper mode and Jason can barely feel the rumble of the engines now, and Bruce's hand is stroking through his hair, and he could probably fall asleep, moving car or no. "Let's get you some of Alfred's soup."

"Yeah," Jason says, even though Bruce is right for once in his life, and Jason's voice does sound a thousand times more like sandpaper now that his voice modulator is gone. "Alfred is the one that misses me, sure thing old man." Actually, who Jason really needs to talk to is Lucius. Maybe over the phone, so as not to get him sick. Because if one thing will piss Roman off it's a fucking hostile takeover. Plus then they can hoard the metal to, whatever, build a Batspaceship or who knows what, like that part matters.

Bruce's hand stills, fingertips still cool against Jason's skull, and they just breathe like that for a few moments, in sync and slow, their heart rates slowing to rest, just the way he used to after a panic attack, even though Jason's pretty sure neither of them are panicking, unless Bruce cares a lot more than he assumed about a flu he's pretty sure he's mostly over anyway. Bruce squeezes his neck a little too hard, and hesitates before he opens the door. "Alfred does miss you."

#look i said something #my writing #batman #fanfic #jason todd #prompt game link in replies #this might be a little more Batdad than you were looking for but I see the word 'sick' and hey that's what happens #thank you for this ask I think this is the first time someone's sent a writing prompt for any of the ask games I collect #(btw all old ones are still open if anyone can find them but you'll definitely have to remind me of what they are) #(also I may have to learn to do shorter responses. I can write microfiction real good I swear)

[cpunkwitch]

Describing the feeling - anemia

being descriptive about what its like standing up and generally functioning with my severe anemic body.

i dont just stand up too quickly and lose my balance for a second, i dont just stand up and immediately sit down because the room started spinning.

when i stand up my vision goes hazy around the edges, a black vector around my vision creeps in, my VSS makes my vision look even more like a 1980's video recording, my head gets fuzzy and light, my vision shrinks to a small spot as the rest is blocked out by the dark, my body threatens to black out, drop passed out right where i am. i get nauseous and exhausted like i just saw something that grossed me out so bad it made me sick, i go pale and my face gets hot at the same time.

it only lasts a few minutes maybe, but its still scary and slows me down. i can pass out without even realizing it sometimes, without this kind of warning. i'll feel sick and pass out or i'll be fine and still suddenly wake up in a new position or entirely different room and someone will tell me they moved me.

my energy is constantly drained, leaving me breathless at even the most minimal of movements like a short flight of stars or just getting out of bed. all i can manage leaving the house is a brisk walk without my cane. i feel like i had taken a 5 hour hike when its still only 11am and im just getting over starting my day.

im always too tired to do many tasks, go places, i find myself taking a nap if it werent for coffee.

this would of course happen less if i was able to take my supplements more often, if i could eat enough food containing the needed iron more regularly/consistently. but theres complications with that too.

i get constant pounding headaches for several reasons and on days where my anemia literally makes me bedridden i am often laying there waiting on the medication i was able to take to finally kick in and calm the raging ache burning and rattling inside my head.

anemia is not just standing up and feeling dizzy or falling over, its chronic fatigue placing a hand on your shoulder, shaking you around and putting a white noise filter over your eyes before pushing you down to let you catch your breath. its feeling like a vampire stole half your entire body's amount of blood without even touching you. its being even more tired and slowed down after a nurse takes your blood more than you usually are and more than most people are for a longer amount of time, sitting there for almost 5 minutes or so with an orange juice box in your hand before you can get yourself to stand up and leave her office.

i originally got my cane to help with the dizzy spells and constant unbalance and exhaustion i felt, to help me walk up and down stairs easier and keep me from walking to fast and steady my pace more. then i realized how bad my back was and noticed how lessened my back pain was with it and i was even happier to have gotten my cane.

every day i think about how all my life i've missed out because ive been too tired to do something or go somewhere. every day i fear falling over, collapsing and passing out and it happens too frequently for me to say im okay any day.

i miss the days i used to have energy when i was much younger, i miss the days i didnt have to fear falling over, i miss the times i was able to do more with my body.

doesnt mean i live in constant misery, im just learning to live with it. this is my life, its a constant battle and struggle, but i make do, i push myself as far as my body lets me without letting myself overdo it too much.

knowing this, you can probably imagine how scared i often am about summer. i get uneasy and close to passing out if i just take a shower with the water too hot, the heat of summer does so much worse.

in summer my vision goes white, no matter how much water i drink the world goes brighter and brighter, i nearly passed out on the road once. i get heat stroke fairly often, even wearing light clothing and having a cold cloth on the back of my neck isnt enough at times. in summer im like a dried up plant, dehydrated and overheated, somehow hanging on while looking and feeling like im one step through death's door.

anemia's a dick guys, i never realized how serious it was for me when i first got diagnosed, but i learned. the hard way unfortunately, but i learned about it nonetheless.

[ID: banner reading "This blog is protected by De Rolo family and co." in all caps. It has an orange cloud background. On the left is the De Rolo coat of arms and on the right is the symbol of Vox Machina]

#cass rambles #anemia #anemic #severe anemia #severely anemic #actually disabled #disability blogging #cpunk #physical disability #physically disabled #cripple punk #disabled #cripplepunk blog #cpunk blog #cripplepunk #crip punk #cripple punk blog #cane user #disability #physical illness

[shadydreamerdonut]

Lovett drabble 2

Mrs. Lovett hadn’t meant for things to get so terrible, for the last few weeks the tiny baker had been waking up with her brain feeling like cotton. Her body felt heavy whenever she sat up in bed – To be fair, she had put up many red flags. Starting when she told Toby that they would be taking a short break from running the pie shop. On a gray-skied morning, she took the staircase with sluggish steps and when she arrived, tentative, she told Sweeney this – winding her lace-gloved hands in the fabric of her skirt. “Is that alright?” She tried, hesitant. “I mean, the judge won’t be coming round any time soon be it with him out of town on holiday and everything.”

Sweeney didn’t stray his gaze away from the razor cradled between his calloused fingers. He frowned, grunting in response. As if to say ‘fine.’

The lack of verbal response did little to raise her spirits, she gave a belated sigh and turned on her heel to retreat back to her room. As she had instructed Toby to take to whatever he fancied, be that playing in the park or walking the roads and window shopping, or even visiting old churches to bask in his good fortune. As he often felt that the good lord sent her for him. It was so unusual for the hardworking, non-stop moving woman to be unanimated.

But there she was laying stagnant, paralyzed by the molasses in her insides. And it seemed to only get worse, when with so much time of Sweeney having not checked on her at all, neither Toby much either, she considered whether or not life was worth living at all. She knew this wasn’t truth, that she was seeing life through this color-desaturating, filter, a warped lens. But that semi-awareness did little, and it was when she was woken up by a uniformed officer laying in a pew inside an empty church, around three in the morning that she realized that she may have actually made an attempt at her own life or at least had deeply considered it.

Knotted, unwashed hair and disheveled clothing, she tried to think of some sort of story so that she wouldn’t be arrested for trespassing nor be sent to a loony bin for insanity.

Closing her eyes, it occurred to her. “Some bloke on the street, a drunken was harassing me so I sought asylum here, you’ll have to forgive me for falling asleep. Didn’t want to go out only to be jumped, certainly you understand?” The petite redhead gave the officer her best enormous, puppy brown eyes. That sometimes even melted the dead inside, steel-faced demon barber.

“Of course,” The officer said, putting away his small legal pad where he had clearly been about to jot down her name based on her unkept state and loafing without a reason. But she did have one, and the tiny baker proceeded to tell him about her successful business and many accomplishments.

“I’ll take you down to the station then, and wait for your neighbor to come and fetch you.”

“…I’m sorry?” She squeaked, thinking that her cold blooded tenant would be less than pleased by a knock at his door in the middle of the night. Not that they would be interrupting his sleep but rather his quiet, his ritual pacing back and forth, his meditation. Especially only for the errand of coming for her.

“Yes,” The officer said. “Wouldn’t want you out on your own to be harassed.”

“Could you just please take me home, good sir?” She squirmed. “I’m not far, promise.”

He scoffed. “No, someone should know what happened tonight and be wary for you.”

Mrs. Lovett sighed, her shoulders sagging as she reluctantly followed the officer but finding it difficult to walk, she took their arm for balance and lolled her head against their shoulder. And while the man stiffened, he couldn’t find it in him to swat the small woman off. The depression, although she didn’t know that is what it was at the time, still made it hard to even sit and so as soon as they arrived at the station, she asked if she could sleep on one of the cots, either for over-night officers or prisoners, she wasn’t going to be picky.

Charmed, the chief there offered her a blanket spread that was in the back room that not even the beadle himself knew about where she rested until Sweeney arrived, a distant part of her was very anxious about Sweeney scolding her but most of the little redhead was just happy to be able to escape back into dreams again, dirty and a mess as she might be, she found comfort in the sheets that smelled heavy of ink, paper, sweat, and old spice cologne.

(this was my first time writing something entirely w/ a screen curtain on VoiceOver on my phone - vision impaired fic writer lets go.)

#mrs lovett #nellie lovett #depression

[demonprincezeldris]

When Meliodas and Zeldris are finally reunited, the issue with the storms comes up.

They're out hunting together, an attempt at bonding, since the air between them is still a little bit awkward. It had been Meliodas’s idea, and Zeldris was more than happy just to spend time with him.

Meliodas sees the storm clouds brewing on the horizon, and starts logging places to hunker down with a piece of his mind. Unfortunately, it comes in faster than he expected, so when the skies opened and it began to rain, he made a face and, rather abruptly, made a sharp turn into an opening in the rock face. He didn't THINK it would be dangerous, and he was pretty lucky when the small tunnel he'd been crawling through opened up into a cave. It wasn't huge, but if he could lay down across it if he so chose, and it was high enough to sit without hitting his head.

He glanced back at the opening, waiting for his brother.

And waiting.

And he was starting to get a little nervous. He was alone, in the dark. He bristled when thunder cracked, digging his fingers into the dirt beneath him. "Zeldris?" He called quietly, nervously peering forward. "Zeldris?" A little louder. "Where did you go?"

He didn't like this. He didn't like this one bit-!

"Hey, sorry." He heard whispered back over the sounds of clattering. "I was getting some dry wood. It took me a minute." He came in backwards a beat later, dragging a pile of sticks

"...Oh." Yeah, that was... That was smart. He felt a little embarrassed for not thinking of that, but he just darted into the cave as quick as he could. He did NOT want to be out there when the lightning started striking.

He jolted a little as, right on cue, another Crack sounded. Zeldris glanced at him as he set up the fire next to the entrance, so the smoke could filter out, and Meliodas gave him a big smile. Everything is fine, please don't ask questions, don't worry.

Zeldris gave him a little smile back and lit the pyre. Warmth began to seep into the cool stone almost immediately, and the elder sat back against it with a grunt.

Meliodas had pulled his legs up against his chest, and was resting his head on his knees. Zeldris glanced at him from where he was settled, half sprawled along the floor, his arm balancing on his one propped up leg. "Hey. You alright?"

"Oh, yeah, totally, I'm fine!" Meliodas said with a smile. "It's just a little cramped in here, but I wanted to get out of the rain, y'know?"

"That's fair. Do you want me to scoot over a little, or...?"

"Oh, no, no, no, you're completely fine!"

"Ok."

They lapsed into silence, Zeldris keeping an eye on the flame and occasionally tossing in another piece of wood. Then a particularly loud boom sounded, shaking the cave itself with how close it must have been. The little ball that Meliodas had become flinched and whimpered, curling tighter in on himself as he fought back tremors.

"Aw, kid, why didn't you just say you were scared of storms?"

"B-Because I'm no-ot!"

"Mel, you're shaking."

"...Sh-Shut up. I'm just a little cold, 's all."

"...You were scared of storms when you were little too, y'know?"

"..."

"They reminded you of our sire. You'd be apologizing to nothing, because you didn't want to be punished. I think that might be where your fear originates."

"...It's embarrassing..." He whisper mumbled. "It's just a storm."

Zeldris shuffled closer, not hard in the tight space, and pressed their sides together. Meliodas tensed a little but, when he didn't draw away after a moment, put an arm over his shoulders and drew him a little closer. Meliodas didn't fight it.

"Want to know a secret?" He whispered conspiratorially. Meliodas hummed quietly and peaked up at him. Zeldris gave him a little smile. "I'm scared of the dark."

He sat up, startled and aghast. "What? You?? The-"

"The literal prince of darkness and shadows, I know, I know." He laughed. "But... being in the dark, in the quiet... it's lonely, and I hate it. It makes me feel trapped and isolated and stuck. Like I can't escape."

"...Oh." Slowly, a little hesitantly, he settled back down, resting his head against his brothers chest. Zeldris shrugged. "Yeah. Gonna be honest, getting the firewood was more for the sake of the light than the heat. When you went into the very dark very claustrophobic hole, I... was a little nervous."

Meliodas jolted, moving to tear away from him. "I'm so sorry-" He didn't get very far before Zeldris was laughing and dragging him back, hugging him more securely against him. "It's FINE, Meliodas. It's not so bad when I'm not alone. And the fire helps. Don't worry about it."

He was still in a guilty, miserable little ball, even if he was curled against him, and Zeldris snorted. "Oh, you're ridiculous. Come here." Meliodas really only protested out of principal as Zeldris manhandled him to practically lay on top of him, bitching as he undid the ribbon holding his hair up for all of a minute before the fingers were against his skull, and Oh. Ok.

He went limp pretty quickly, just as Zeldris knew he would when he started combing his fingers through his hair. "Does my heart rate SOUND like I'm scared, little one?"

"......No." He eventually managed to get out, speaking through the haze of liquid gold. Zeldris hummed. "That's because I'm not. The fire is keeping the darkness and the cold away, and your presence is keeping the fear away. I'm not alone right now. And neither are you."

Meliodas’s eyes were half open, but drooping more with each passing moment. He shuffled a little, arms going around his back as Zeldris rubbed his head. "...Thanks." He whispered, nuzzling into his chest. "It's- I'm not... Scared. When you're here." His voice was barely a rasp, and if it were any louder around them, Zeldris doubts he'd have heard. So he just smiled and brushed a kiss to his head.

Zeldris is internally grateful for the bonding moment betweent eh two. He reminisces on the past times when Meliodas was young, and he was scared of his sire. He dared not call the bastard a fatherly figure.

He would never forgive him for the trauma he ingrained into Meliodas' head. He remembers those times when Meliodas would accompany Zeldris into the throne room, only to cower behind Zeldris' form as their father's voice boomed through the emtpy room. His poor brother was terrified.

Zeldris had always vowed to protect Meliodas from their sire, reminding him that he did nothing wrong.

#Big Bro Zel AU #Meliodas #Zeldris

[essenx]

Elastic hearts - Chapter One

Chapter One

   She saw him standing on the balcony. All the Male alpha vibe, tall, strong, cold and dark... there’s nothing on him that screamed nor whispered a safe place for a broken soul but she fell never the less.

    It could be something about her gawking and drooling that made the guy look her way and we can’t even call it a look but a killer gaze. Even though it was just for a split second, he was the predator and she was just a teeny tiny helpless calculative prey living somebody else’s life and she could honestly swear that he saw it all in her. Her true self. He saw through her.

     She couldn’t believe her eyes and luck that night when he raised his glass in a silent toast and she couldn’t help the blush covering her face and ears. He got her. She knew and he knew it better.

     She couldn’t remember her mission that night, no, not after meeting him. She tried and tried in every way possible to get him for herself even if it would last for a second. He just had to hold her and all will be well.

     In a room where everything is dark with the only thing visible being her desperation and his glistening married band on his finger. She was ecstatic. Don’t get her wrong, she never wanted his love, hated the idea of romance... who needs the warmth when you can have a furnace building inside you just waiting to explode?.

     “Hush...!" She heard the man warn her amidst the pain and pleasure he was giving it to her,  a dangerous combo that he seemed to be pro at balancing. Never had she found a man worth her body and time like that day. He didn’t desire her nor was he gentle towards her. He took her for a chore and she liked it.

    Racing her to the edge only to denying her of the thrill. Driving her insane, making her mad as hell.

     “You are being a burden, darling...” Said the man sprawling her on the hard surface, she hoped was a table... All naked and sticky with her juices flowing from her holes while he was fully dressed. Smart to the T, leisurely smoking his cigar and pouring himself a glass of something she thought to be alcohol.

     She couldn’t have anticipated the coldness of the liquor glass touching her wet exposed cunt but her quivering  senses told her of how much she liked it and his mocking laughter satisfied her more.

     “Now, I get why the VC was sweating so much... you were eye fucking him" Said Nicole throwing the iPad on Gina’s lap.

    “Eew, pure disgust. Ick!” Said Maria emotionless standing up to get herself a glass of water when they heard Gina’s none apologising comment,“He’s just fine as hell..., it so ain’t my fault"

     “You know that he’s married, right?” Said Nicky with all seriousness she could come up with. “He said that like four times in a minute"

     “Do you think that’s just to remind himself or he was trying to remember the reason he got married in the first place?” Asked Gina curiously.

  “You didn’t think that he was kindly rejecting your aggressive advances, did you?” Nicky had to ask out loud.

   “Only if you think if he could resist all of this"

   “You are evil" Commented Maria placing down the glass looking at Gina as she walked to her room but, stopped midway the corridor to the room opposite hers. “Oh, that’s just me without the filters and if I may ask... why is this room open?”

      “Oh, I was waiting for the roommate to arrive and give you guys the happy surprise but....” Nicky trailed off when she saw just how much their faces were saying.

       “Are you finally admitting that you are sloppy in the surprising department?” Asked Maria sweetly with an amused expression

      “I just got caught up in that orientation thing” Excused Nicky in defense

    “So who’s this new family member?” Asked Gina looking at Nicky pointedly.

    “I hope I know" Replied Nicky with a sigh

     “You don’t know anything about them?” Asked Maria, alarmed. She hated things like that.

     “I regret renting here” Said Maria closing her bedroom door only to come back again with a laundry basket, “She could be a fugitive for all I know"

    But, before anyone can do anything the door bell rang and they all knew who it was but, just didn’t know exactly who.

#Friendship #Dreams #Trauma #Romance #Family

[jlbtuning]

The Basics of Car Tuning: A Comprehensive Guide for Beginners

Introduction Car tuning is an exhilarating and transformative journey that allows car enthusiasts to unlock the full potential of their vehicles. Whether you're looking to enhance performance, improve fuel efficiency, or simply personalise your ride, understanding the basics of car tuning is crucial. In this comprehensive guide for beginners, we'll delve into the fundamentals of car tuning, providing you with the knowledge needed to embark on your tuning adventure. Understanding Car Tuning Car tuning, in essence, is the process of modifying a vehicle's performance characteristics to meet specific preferences or goals. This can involve adjustments to the engine, suspension, transmission, and other critical components. Tuning can be geared towards various objectives, such as increasing horsepower, improving fuel efficiency, enhancing handling, or achieving a unique and personalised aesthetic. Engine Tuning The heart of car tuning lies in the engine, where modifications can significantly impact performance. Here are some key aspects of engine tuning: - Air Intake Systems: Upgrading the air intake system allows for increased airflow, enhancing combustion and boosting horsepower. Aftermarket air filters and cold air intakes are popular choices. - Exhaust Systems: Installing a performance exhaust system can improve exhaust flow, resulting in increased power and a more aggressive engine note. Exhaust upgrades can also contribute to better fuel efficiency. - Engine Control Unit (ECU) Tuning: The ECU is the brain of your car, controlling various parameters like fuel injection, ignition timing, and turbocharger boost. ECU tuning, through reprogramming or chip upgrades, can optimise these parameters for better performance. - Forced Induction: Turbochargers and superchargers force more air into the engine, increasing power output. This is a common method for achieving substantial horsepower gains. Suspension Tuning Optimising your car's suspension can enhance both handling and ride comfort. Suspension tuning involves adjusting components like springs, shocks, and sway bars. Here's what you need to know: - Lowering Springs: Lowering springs can improve handling by lowering the vehicle's centre of gravity. However, it's essential to strike a balance between performance and maintaining a comfortable ride. - Adjustable Shocks: Upgrading to adjustable shocks allows you to fine-tune your suspension's damping characteristics. This customization is particularly valuable for those who want a sportier feel on the road. - Sway Bars: Sway bars, or anti-roll bars, can reduce body roll during cornering, enhancing stability. Adjustable sway bars allow you to tailor your car's handling to your preferences. Transmission Tuning Improving the transmission's performance can have a significant impact on how power is delivered to the wheels.  Transmission tuning considerations include: - Shift Kits: Aftermarket shift kits can alter the timing and firmness of gear changes, improving acceleration and overall performance. - Torque Converters: Upgrading to a performance torque converter can enhance torque delivery, resulting in quicker acceleration. - Differential Upgrades: Upgrading the differential can improve traction and stability during acceleration and cornering. Tire and Wheel Upgrades Choosing the right tires and wheels can affect both performance and aesthetics. Considerations include: - Performance Tires: High-performance tires can provide better grip and handling, especially during spirited driving. - Wheel Upgrades: Upgrading to lightweight and larger diameter wheels can enhance both the appearance and performance of your car. However, it's crucial to consider the impact on ride quality. - Wheel Alignment: Proper wheel alignment ensures that your tires make optimal contact with the road, improving handling and tire longevity. Cosmetic Enhancements While not directly related to performance, cosmetic upgrades are an integral part of car tuning for many enthusiasts.  These can include: - Body Kits: Body kits can alter the appearance of your car, providing a more aggressive or customised look. - Paint and Vinyl Wraps: Changing the colour of your car or adding vinyl wraps allows for personalization without the permanence of a new paint job. - Interior Upgrades: Upgrading the interior with features like sportier seats, a new steering wheel, or customised trim can enhance the overall driving experience. Conclusion Car tuning is a dynamic and rewarding endeavour that allows enthusiasts to tailor their vehicles to their preferences. Whether you're seeking more power, better handling, or a unique look, understanding the basics of engine, suspension, transmission, and cosmetic tuning is crucial. As a beginner, take the time to research, plan, and approach each modification with a clear understanding of its potential impact on your car's performance and overall driving experience. With the right knowledge and a passion for improvement, you'll find car tuning to be a fulfilling journey that brings your automotive dreams to life. Read the full article

[veteran-owned-business]

Brewing the Perfect Cup: Tips for Those Who Buy Mexican Coffee

Mexican coffee, with its distinctive aroma and rich flavor profiles, is a testament to the country’s diverse landscapes and its deeply rooted coffee culture. If you've taken the plunge and invested in this Latin American treasure, you'll want to ensure that you're brewing it just right. This article will guide you through the nuances of bringing out the best in your Mexican coffee beans.

Understanding Mexican Coffee

Before you even think about brewing, it’s crucial to understand the uniqueness of buy mexican coffee. Typically grown in states such as Chiapas, Veracruz, and Oaxaca, Mexican coffee beans are often shade-grown, contributing to their mild flavor and good acidity. The beans often have undertones of chocolate, nuts, and spices, which can be highlighted or subdued depending on your brewing method.

1. Freshness First

The key to a perfect cup starts even before the brew. Ensure your beans are fresh – ideally, use them within a month of their roast date. Buy whole beans and grind them just before brewing to preserve the essential oils and flavors.

2. The Right Grind

The grind size plays a pivotal role in the extraction process. For a balanced cup of Mexican coffee:

Drip Method: Go for a medium grind, akin to sea salt.

French Press: A coarse grind, similar to breadcrumbs.

Espresso:* A fine grind, resembling table salt.

3. Water Quality

Since coffee is majorly water, the quality you use directly affects the taste. Always use fresh, cold, filtered water. Avoid distilled or softened water as they can negatively impact the extraction process.

4. The Ideal Temperature

Mexican coffee shines when brewed between 195°F to 205°F (90°C to 96°C). Too hot, and you risk over-extraction leading to bitterness. Too cold, and you might not extract enough, resulting in a weak, underwhelming cup.

5. Brew Time

The duration for which coffee grounds are in contact with water also determines flavor extraction:

Drip Method: 5 minutes

French Press: 4 minutes

Espresso: 20-30 seconds

Adjust these times based on your personal taste. If your coffee tastes too bitter, reduce the brew time; if it's too weak, increase it.

6. Ratio of Coffee to Water

A general starting point is 2 tablespoons of coffee for every 6 ounces of water. However, depending on how strong you like your coffee, you might need to adjust this ratio.

7. Experiment with Brewing Methods

Mexican coffee's complex profile means it can taste distinctly different depending on the brew method. Whether you prefer the clarity of a pour-over or the body of a French press, don't hesitate to experiment.

8. Enhancements

Mexican coffee is often enjoyed with spices like cinnamon or even a touch of brown sugar. If you want an authentic experience, consider adding a cinnamon stick during the brew or sprinkle some ground cinnamon on top.

In Conclusion

Buying Mexican coffee is an investment in a rich tapestry of flavors, culture, and tradition. With the right techniques, you can ensure that each cup you brew is a testament to the bean's origin, capturing the essence of Mexico in every sip. As with all coffee, experimentation is key. Trust your palate and adjust your brewing variables to craft your perfect cup. Enjoy the journey as much as the destination!

#mexican coffee