@cowboyvamplikeme @oldgodssuggestion

i love being both severely mentally unwell and hideously self aware it's like a free completely useless bonus feature that enhances the experience in all the worst and most mortifying ways possible

vi and jinx.

on siblings and loss.

[ electra - sophocles | the archive of alternative endings - lindsey drager | lisa see | i'll give you the sun - jandy nelson | antigone - jean anouilh | my sister's keeper - jodi picoult | it - stephen king ]

When I was little, probably 7 or 8, I spent a summer working in the library at our church helping out the elderly woman who ran it. It was no bigger than a large broom closet but we had a notable amount of religious books for all age ranges as well as an extensive collection of cassette recordings of every Sunday sermon going back a decade or two. I'd sit in there all day helping her catalog the index cards and keep record of who had borrowed what. We wrote on index cards all day long and listened to the recorded sermons, which included the choir's worship service at the beginning. "Nearer, My God, To Thee" was always my favorite hymn by a long shot. I wanted to emulate listening to it on the tiny tape player in that little library for Perverts. It's a fond memory of mine, just wanted to share :)

bakugou katsuki feels like vulnerability is something stolen, a secret meant to be kept by tight lips and heartfelt promises.

the way he drags himself to your shared living space, the hero persona he so carefully crafted slowly melting away just as his gear is replaced with his human clothes, baggy to let him breathe; then he allows himself to be.

you see him shift, turn into his less polished and sharp around the edges self, lovely and unguarded as he busies himself with the comfort pans and pots. a low rant under his breath about some rookie sidekick that has him on his nerves; expert hands swiftly cutting vegetables into perfect bites and throwing them into a sizzling pan.

he sighs. heavily, with the weight of the safety of a whole city digging on his shoulders, surely thinking the sizzle could cover the exhaustion seeping through his bones.

something in your chest clenches, urging you to comfort him; to help him carry the weight of the burden that comes with his lifelong dream. sadly you aren't a hero, so instead you decide to reassure him with your little mundane ways.

with light steps you do your very best to sneak up on him and he lets you, pretending his cooking and ranting prevents him from hearing you approach but god knows he needs it.

bakugo needs the normalcy of your loving touch against his skin, tender hands sneaking around his waist and under his shirt, comforting and curious when they meet skin, looking for fresh injuries to fuss over; you rest your cheek on his back.

wanting him closer but allowing him to shield his face, giving him the grace to close his eyes and melt into your touch. "stop messing around, dumbass" but your hands keep moving, tracing the well worked crevices of his body just like an expert cartographer draws a shoreline none. he asks you to stop but his voice lacks the usual bite, more tired than annoyed you try to relieve some tension rubbing his muscles; first the waist and moving north.

bakugo feels your warm open palms resting on his chest, he genuinely hopes you don't feel his heart skip when you press a kiss on his spine but god he needed that.

because, as strong as his hero persona was bakugo katsuki was only human. one that hurts and breaks and struggles with asking for help to put back the pieces; luckily your love and compassion are just the right glue.

a little artist :)

frog figurines by CreationsbyChrisNoel

< m᤻᤻u᤻s᤻᤻i᤻c᤻ 3

The circular island that rotates in Argentina