#I WILL say I will count Human as an animal. but I’d like to keep the human forms at a minimum. alpha and beta only imo

[ozcarma]

If all the AI fragments could each take an animal form what animals do you think they’d take?

furries of the fandom help me

[reidmarieprentiss]

Unauthorized Documentary 0.5

Summary: Matthew Gray Gubler is filming his untitled documentary, you hate it (not really).

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: fake arguing, fake fighting, mean reader (it's fake)

Word count: 1.6k

a/n: i am rewatching the documentaries right now and i need this man so bad

main masterlist

“I am not Matthew’s girlfriend,” you sighed heavily, rolling your eyes in exasperation. “I have no idea why he keeps telling people that.”

The camera panned slightly, focusing on your expression as the cameraman shrugged nonchalantly. His lack of input only seemed to fuel your irritation.

Turning sharply to face the lens, you stared directly into it with a deadly serious expression. With an intense tone, you declared, “Let me make this absolutely clear for anyone dumb enough to be watching anything about Matthew Garbler — I have never, and will never, date that pathetic freak.”

The silence that followed hung in the air, your words ringing with unapologetic finality.

The camera pulled back slightly, catching more of the chaotic surroundings: a cluttered dressing room filled with mismatched furniture, half-empty coffee cups, and a life-size cardboard cutout of Matthew Gray Gubler in a pirate hat.

From behind the camera, a voice asked, dripping with sarcasm, “So you’re saying there’s no chance for a romantic subplot?”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Romantic subplot? This isn’t some trashy rom-com. This is real life! And in real life, I wouldn’t date Matthew if he was the last human being on this planet. I’d rather marry the cardboard cutout.” You gestured dramatically at the pirate Matthew, who seemed to smirk mockingly at you.

The cameraman snorted. “Right. But you’re still his assistant?”

“I’m his manager,” you snapped, your eyes narrowing. “And don’t you dare forget it. I keep that lunatic’s life from imploding every single day. And what do I get in return? A stupid title on this dumb documentary and people thinking I’m his girlfriend? Unbelievable.”

—

Later, the camera turns on Matthew, his brow furrowed and his expression caught somewhere between confusion and mild panic. “She said what?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

From behind the camera, a voice awkwardly clarified, “Uh, she said she’s not your girlfriend.���

Matthew’s eyes widened for a moment before narrowing slightly. He made a quick hand motion, his tone turning sharp. “Show me the footage.”

The screen jumps back to Matthew as he watches the clip. He forces an uncomfortable laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s so funny,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “That’s just how Y/N is… she likes to joke around like that.”

The camera slowly pans away, catching you in the background, deep in conversation with one of the producers. Your body language is animated, your irritation still evident as you gestured emphatically.

“Fuck,” Matthew mutters under his breath, the nervousness in his voice escalating. He whirls around, shouting over his shoulder, “Cut that, cut all that!”

Before anyone can respond, he bolts from the set, his hurried footsteps fading as the shot lingers awkwardly on the empty doorway he’s just fled through.

—

While you were giving another uncomfortable interview for the cameraman, the door burst open, and Matthew himself waltzed in, juggling three cups of coffee. “Guess what, everyone! I’ve decided to legally change my name to ‘Gublé,’ like the singer, but with pizzazz. Thoughts? Be honest but supportive.”

You turned to the camera, your mouth slightly agape as if asking the audience for strength. “This is my life.”

“Wait,” Matthew cut in, setting the coffee cups precariously on a stack of scripts. “Did you tell them about us?” His eyes sparkled mischievously.

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of your head. “For the hundredth time, there is no ‘us.’ There never was and never will be!”

“Ah, denial,” Matthew said wistfully, draping himself across the nearest chair like a Victorian maiden. “It’s the first stage of acceptance, you know.”

The cameraman’s voice chimed in again, amused. “That’s grief.”

“Well, I’m grieving her lack of enthusiasm for our undeniable chemistry!” Matthew quipped, pointing dramatically at you before turning to the camera. “Did you catch that? That’s good TV, folks. Make sure you zoom in on her frustration—it’s practically Shakespearean.”

You threw up your hands in defeat. “I’m quitting,” you declared, marching toward the door. “I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back.”

“Wait!” Matthew leaped up, his tin foil cape trailing behind him. “Before you go, do you want one of these coffees? I got your favorite!”

You stopped, turning slowly. “No.”

—

You stormed into Matthew’s trailer, not bothering to knock. He was sitting on the edge of a couch, exaggeratedly flipping through a script as he was recorded, but the moment he saw your expression, his face fell.

“Stop,” you said sharply, pointing a finger at him. “Stop telling people I’m your girlfriend. It’s weird as fuck, Matthew.”

He blinked, momentarily stunned, before awkwardly laughing and setting the script aside. “Oh, come on, Y/N. It’s just for the bit—it makes the show more, you know, engaging.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “Engaging for who? Because I don’t think the fake audience gives a shit about your fake relationship narrative. And I’m certainly not here for it.”

Matthew shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your gaze. “I mean, technically, it’s not really fake—”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, “we’ve spent a lot of time together. People see that and, you know, assume things. I just… lean into it.”

“You lean into it?” you repeated incredulously. “Matthew, no one is assuming anything. You’re making it up and then selling it like a damn tabloid story!”

He held up his hands defensively. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I’ll stop. I swear. I’ll—” He paused, his eyes darting to the camera peeking through the crack in the door. “Is this… are we filming right now?”

You turned your head sharply to catch the lens disappearing behind the door frame. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Matthew grimaced. “It’s for the show?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Matthew. Fix it. Now.”

“I will!” he promised, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll tell them it was all a misunderstanding. Like, tomorrow. Maybe.”

“Today,” you snapped, pointing at him one last time before turning on your heel to leave. “Or I’m moving to another continent, got it?”

Matthew sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. I promise. No more telling people we’re together.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your arms still crossed. “You’d better,” you said firmly. “Because if I hear one more person ask me what our anniversary is or how you proposed, I’m going to lose it.”

“Got it,” he said quickly, nodding like a chastised child. “No more fake girlfriend stories. Swear on my vintage ghost-hunting equipment.”

“Good,” you said, heading for the door. But just as you reached for the handle, you turned back one last time. “And for the record? If you ever pull this stunt again, I’ll leak the footage of you crying at craft services over them being out of grape soda.”

Matthew gasped, clutching his chest in mock horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” you deadpanned before slamming the door behind you.

Inside the trailer, Matthew let out a long, defeated sigh before muttering under his breath, “She totally loves me.”

—

After the cameras had been packed up for the day and the set was finally quiet, you made your way to Matthew’s trailer. The door was slightly ajar, and you knocked softly before stepping inside. He was mid-way through changing out of his Spencer Reid clothes, tugging off the familiar cardigan with his back turned to you.

“Hey,” you greeted, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

Matthew spun around quickly, his face lighting up with a matching smile the moment he saw you. “Hi, love,” he said warmly, walking over to you without hesitation. His hands found your waist as he pulled you closer. His expression softened as he asked, “Are we okay?” There was a hint of hesitation in his voice, like he was bracing for a blow.

You tilted your head, confusion flickering across your face. “Of course, baby,” you replied, your hand instinctively reaching up to cup his cheek. Your thumb brushed against the slight stubble there as you searched his eyes. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Matthew let out an awkward laugh, his grip tightening slightly as if to ground himself. “You were just... really convincing today,” he admitted, his words tumbling out with a sheepish smile.

“Oh, that?” you chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. “Matthew, you know I have to sell it, or the bit doesn’t land. That’s the whole point, right? It’s supposed to be funny.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, though the nervous edge in his laugh hadn’t quite disappeared. “But for a second there, I thought you actually hated me.”

Your expression softened at his words, and you leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I could never hate you,” you murmured against his mouth. “You’re ridiculous, sure. Annoying sometimes? Definitely. But I love you, even when you make up insane fake-girlfriend narratives.”

A relieved grin spread across his face as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I really don’t want to get in trouble with my real girlfriend.”

You laughed, your fingers threading through his hair. “Well, you’re not off the hook just yet,” you teased, a mischievous glint in your eye. “You owe me dinner for all the grief you caused today.”

“Done,” Matthew replied instantly, his smile turning playful. “But only if you promise not to leak that grape soda footage. My reputation depends on it.”

“Depends on how good the dinner is,” you shot back with a smirk.

“Challenge accepted,” he said, his lips capturing yours again in a kiss that promised he’d make it up to you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[ino-takumas-baggy-sweater]

The Blessing to Your Curse - Part 1 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

Hey y’all I’m back again so soon with another fic, Sukuna’s lover reincarnation (whatever you call it) has me in a chokehold right now and I thought I’d share this with the world. Would like to warn you there is a lot of strange jumping around/pov changes which are indicated by the change in pronouns, I would mark each change but it would get a bit messy after a while so I hope it’s not too hard to follow! ^-^

Reader’s powers involve something I like to call ‘blessed energy’ which is the opposite to cursed energy and is mostly used for healing (reverse blessed energy is used to harm in the same way reverse CE is used to heal) and it’s something I created to use with my writings in the JJK universe. (sometimes I write it a little op because im a self-indulgent piece of shit so for most of what I post I’ll probably dial it back if I use it hehe) The reader has a similar situation to Maki/Mai (MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD) where one twin is restricted and the other has all the energy, and when the one with the energy dies the living twin gains all the power, so I hope that makes sense in context of the story

(PLEASE DON'T HESITATE TO SEND A REQUEST!!!! I'M ALWAYS IN NEED OF NEW PROMPTS AND CHARACTERS TO GO WITH THEM ❤)(I have a post which outlines characters I mostly write for but I'm open to adding to that list!!)

Warnings: mild description of mutilation (sukuna’s transformation), main character death (not described), fluff

Word count: 2.4k

“Ryomen!” You laugh, trying to keep a few steps ahead of the young man who chases after you. Your legs tire easily, body frail and sick despite the immense power flowing through your veins. “I’m coming for you!” He growls playfully, “Better run!” He’s holding back from his top speed, this you know well, but you refuse to let that stop you from trying to keep up with his childish play. Still young, 16 and 17 with him being the older one, you insist that you would rather spend the rest of your life here with him than being shepherded around in the village like a priestess.

This is your only escape from the temple on the hill, only solitude, your time with Ryomen Sukuna is precious and you treat it as such, thinking only of him and his rare smiles. You refuse to let the village’s words taint your view of him, as powerful as he is with his cursed energy there is good in him and you seek to nurture it, for both simple selfish gain and so he doesn’t turn on everyone like they did him. You reach the treeline and race out into the meadow, the grass tall and soft around your waist having stripped down from your daily ceremonial robes into just modest loose undergarments.

He does eventually catch up near the middle of the meadow, springing out of the grass and tackling you to the ground, making sure to roll so you land on top of him and he takes the full force of the fall. The last time you returned to the village after a long day of simple play with bruises and scrapes you weren’t allowed to leave the village for a few weeks.

He’s grown quite a lot larger than you during his time in exile, to be expected when you have to fend for yourself against wild animals and build your own shelter, “You’re getting stronger every day,” You smile, pushing yourself off him and laying in the grass, staring up at the beautiful pink of the sunset. “Well I have to, to be able protect you, I’m not the only thing out there you know,” He says, his tone almost too blasé for what he’s implying. You tilt your head and trace the lines of his tattoos with your eyes, “I know you’re not, but you’re not a thing to me Ryomen,” You murmur, “Please, you’re the closest thing I have to a friend, you’ve always been human to me,”

He meets your gaze, his eyes used to be brown, but the red no longer worries you like it used to, “One day I’ll get you out of that village,” He says softly, his words for your ears and the rustling grass only, “I will take you far away from here and we can live somewhere untouched by the rest of the world,” You sit up, looking down at him as you hug your knees to your chest, “I’d like that,” You say, smiling, “Just the two of us,” Nothing could touch you while you were together, the world stood still for you, not even the scathing remarks you sometimes got from the other young girls of the village could hurt you.

The world is volatile, things can change so quickly. Curses are still so new to the world of humans, sorcerers that act as protectors are only just starting to appear among humans and spread themselves between villages when the day finally comes. The wave of hatred and anguish that came with the curses suffocated everything in its path. You were outside the village when it happened, returning from a visit with Sukuna, and you returned to find nothing but death and destruction. More than half of the village had been killed with no discrimination towards age or gender, and it only soothed you a little to see your old family home empty when you wrenched the door open. No blood nor bodies of any kind. Your parents and sister had made it out alive, but the temple atop the hill that you resided in was completely engulfed.

You weren’t naïve, you did not attempt to return to the temple, but they came for you all the same because your energy was like a beacon for them, and they were programmed to destroy. Running with Ryomen had improved your strength over the time you spent together, you supposed that was one of the ways he took care of you in his silent brooding way, but it wasn’t enough to get you all the way to him. He must have sensed your fear as you grew nearer, your breaths shallow and your chest tight, his eyes are the last thing you remember seeing before your soul was harshly liberated from your flesh.

The smell of blood permeated through layers of warmth that held you in suspension beyond life, but you felt yourself being dragged back to the ground, standing over your own body as you watch the only person outside of your immediate family who ever truly cared for you cry. You had never seen him cry before, it was cathartic to know even he still felt human somewhere inside while holding your weak broken body to his bare tattooed chest.

You felt his cursed energy filling the air like smoke, almost able to see it in the purgatory state you’re trapped in, his body shaking and his muscles twitching. It was like watching someone turn themselves inside out when it finally happened, his body began changing before your eyes, an extra pair of arms sprout from the top of his ribcage just under the normal ones. His face contorts with an agonized cry and one half becomes unrecognisable, the flesh pink and hardened into some sort of twisted mask, and to finish the monstrous transformation a second pair of eyes open under his regular ones.

Drenched in sweat and breathing heavily as he cradles you, you hear him make one last promise, one that locks around what remains of your essence like chains and puts you into a deep sleep. “I will burn this world for taking you from me, I will become the King of Curses, and when you are reborn I shall make you remember, make you my Queen, I will bind myself to you to protect you,” It’s the final part that reassures you he isn’t losing himself as the darkness consumes you, “When I find you, the world will be right once again,”

Now it had been over a thousand years since the light in Sukuna’s life had gone out, reducing him to a killing machine that punished the world for snuffing it out, and he had returned once more in the body of a naive 15 year old boy with pink hair. Having been preserved as twenty separate cursed objects since his untimely death he was eager to resume his self-assigned purge, but the boy had more control over his body than Sukuna could break through, leaving him trapped within his innate domain watching through Yuji Itadori’s eyes like they’re windows.

“I had to do it at least once,” He grumbles to himself as the boy sits up, stark naked, on the morgue table, surprising the three sorcerers in the room with the formerly dead boy. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Yuji, come,” Gojo instructs as the boy slips on some clothes handed to him. “Another sorcerer?” He asks. “You’ll see when we get there,” The taller man beckons him and they make their way to a house on the furthest outskirts of the Jujutsu high campus, small in size and surrounded by forest on all sides except for the path leading up to the entrance.

A fire burns in the chimney and the house is warm when the pair steps inside, “L/n!” Gojo calls out. Sukuna’s attention is elsewhere as around the corner down the hall out walks a pure angel, her energy blinding and her form strong. “Gojo!” She smiles, “Who’s this?” “This is Yuji Itadori, Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel,” She bows politely, “Welcome to my home,” She looks back up into Yuji’s eyes as he smiles, “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Enchain!” Sukuna shouts, and suddenly he’s thrown violently to the forefront of Yuji’s mind. His trump card, wasted. He hadn’t considered the potential consequences, it had been instinctual and foolish of him. The girl didn’t know who he was, but he wanted to speak to her all the same. He would make her know. He cannot stumble, he cannot falter, not when she’s right there and all he has to do is show her, “Y/n,” He murmurs. “That’s not Yuji,” She frowns, her voice soft, “That’s-” Before the two can react Sukuna is on his knees before her, holding her hands in his and hiding against her soft clothing. “I’ve…” Gojo trails off, “I’ve never seen that before,” The girl doesn’t let him go, and he feels her power reach into him, feeling around in the darkest parts of his soul, “My Queen,” He mutters, feeling the metaphysical chains around his heart tighten, “Please, remember,”

A fast surge of energy from Gojo causes the man on his knees before you to react just as quickly, pulling you tighter against him and then seemingly teleporting out the open door into the clearing, “It’s rude to attack ROYALTY!” He roars as Gojo steps out the door after the pair of you. Sukuna has planted himself firmly between the two of you, “You sorcerers never learn manners!” Something happens when your skin next touches his, his hand shooting out to catch you by your wrist as you fail to keep your balance.

A flood of memories that don’t belong to you, in fact, ones that belong to him. You see yourself, weak and frail but smiling widely, Sukuna as he is in front of you now not as he is described in sorcerer texts. A regular human man with an abnormal amount of tattoos, fiercely protective and full of love for the only person who still sees him as human. You vaguely feel yourself fall to your knees as everything from the day he was exiled to the day you died returned to your mind. You knew that despite the life you had lived for twenty years, you were in fact over a thousand years old.

This wasn’t your life, this wasn’t your body, it was hers, but you are her. You can feel the chains, too, the ones he put there the day you died to ensure that you would return. “The world took her from me, and the world paid the price, now BACK OFF!” His words shake you out of your visions, his hand still clutching your wrist as your head hangs weakly.

“Come now, Sukuna, taking hostages isn’t your style, you know that,” Gojo bargains, “Let her go, and we can fight like men,” You shake your head, “No,” You murmur, “No, Gojo,” You finally look up into his eyes, slightly uncovered as he prepares to fight, “He’s right, I know who I am, I know where my clan comes from,” He doesn’t make a move towards you and you take the opportunity to speak again, “My mother was blessed, her child would calm the beast, but she had two and one was weak in body strong in energy, the other was lacking in energy but strong of body,” Your sister had been the one the clan records mentioned, nobody remembered the girl who died alone in Ryomen Sukuna’s arms.

“I am the Queen to Ryomen Sukuna’s King,” You breathe, feeling his grip on your wrist go lax. His energy dies away and he falls to his hands and knees, but the tattoos are gone. “Yuji!” Gojo’s shoulders finally relax and he recovers his eyes, “What happened? How did he get through?” “Don’t ignore me, Satoru,” You state firmly, “Sukuna will not be a threat while I am alive,” “Can you guarantee that?” He’s always been intimidating, but this man was a part of your training as a sorcerer, and he can be rational when he wants to be.

“You’re an imbecile if you think I’m going to go back on a binding vow,” Sukuna spits from Yuji’s cheek, the boy not even having a chance to get a word in, “She is the only thing in this forsaken world I care about and you’re not about to take that away from me just so you can pretend like you’re the saviour of humanity,” You don’t remember ever being as harsh as Sukuna is right now, but his rage fills you with confidence and admiration, “I can guarantee humans will not fall as long as I am alive, his vow makes sure of it, though I’m sure he would not need it either way,”

The secondary eye on Yuji’s cheek closest to you locks its gaze onto you, “Ever so cunning, I wish I’d had the chance to nurture your hatred towards the village, maybe you’d be more open to killing,” He sounds almost wistful, “But alas, I did make a promise, and I intend to keep it, no matter how idiotic I think you sorcerers are,” You finally move to stand back on your feet, helping Yuji up with a tentative smile, “It’s nice to meet you Itadori,” You murmur, “I’m sorry you have to listen to that punk, you come to me if he gives you trouble alright?” The boy nods, his previously cheery demeanour replaced with something mellower and he seems deep in thought as he looks into your eyes.

“He really loves you,” He murmurs in disbelief, “I didn’t… I didn’t think he was truly capable of love, after what he did to me,” You shrug, “It’ll make sense one day, but I’ll let him be the one who opens up, it’s not my place to air out thousand year old dirty laundry with people who are long dead anyway,” Your words hang in the air as Gojo finally sighs. The discussion and conclusion are finalised when he leaves, Yuji will live with you and you will suppress Sukuna’s energy. You will keep the world safe by preserving your life, lest another binding vow come down upon your departing soul and the King of curses be forced to unleash his merciless fury once more.

Sukuna is a little shit and out of character because it’s my fic and I get to write the male love interest however I want (I tried besties :( I don’t like mean Sukuna but I do love “I hate everyone but you” so that’s what you get) also I wrote this instead of sleeping at 2am, the brainrot is real and this will probably end up being a series because I can’t control myself

Part 2 here!

Post dividers from @cafekitsune

[messiahzzz]

You’re one of the most annoying people on this site. And that really says A LOT because WOW! Shut the Fuck up about Gale wanting to be a father or not. He never says that he doesn’t want to be one. You projecting things onto him doesn’t make it Canon.

on a serious note: i’m certainly not the one that continuously brings up this topic unprompted. i personally really don’t understand the entire controversy around the topic or why fandom feels the need to rehash this conversation almost weekly. i truly believe that there’s nothing more of value to learn from it, to address, or add to it… yet fandom won’t let it rest.

to once again clarify: what i mean by “gale wanting to be a father isn’t canon” is that there is no evidence/neither hints anywhere in any of the dialogue that support the contrary. characters like h*lsin, w*ll and la*’zel have entire adoption subplots. all of them mention their children explicitly during the epilogue:

narrator: *your soul warms thinking of lily aurora ravengard, your adopted daughter. a treasure of a girl, found at the entrance of the open hand temple - one grey eye, one brown.* w*ll: ah, the girl could melt the staunchest heart. she might even have brought a smile to old withers' face! w*ll: but tonight is for us - and lily's only four months of age, besides. i promise, the temple will keep her in good care.

player: and our little hatchling? is he safe? la*'zel: of course. i have complete trust in our newest allies. xan is in fine hands tonight. la*'zel: what a wonder he is. he will be a fine warrior, if he chooses. or a poet, or an explorer, or a scholar.

h*lsin: being away from it... i cannot help but worry how they will fare in our absence. player: we'll be back before they know it. h*lsin: i hope so. the children shall miss their bedtime tale tonight - though perhaps i can glean a few new stories from our friends here, to make up for it.

even shad*wh*art has a line where she briefly mentions that children might be a possibility for her in the future.

shad*wh*art: and i get to see my parents almost every day - i need to make every moment with them count, after so much was stolen from us. but they're doing well, [...] shad*wh*art: who knows? perhaps they'll have grandchildren before long.

gale in comparison? he has none of that. he remains childfree during the entirety of the game + epilogue. in fact, his line in the epilogue that addresses the topic of grandkids is this one:

tara: this is why mrs. dekarios and i will be waiting an eternity more for grandchildren. nodecontext: self-pitying gale: psst! shoo, tara. nodecontext: shooing away tara like one would a naughty cat.

i already wrote a post about this entire discourse here [x] but to repeat myself once more: all of the dialogue that vaguely addresses the topic of children in any way in regards to gale are these snippets

player: gale… how would you feel about having another person in our relationship? gale: what, like a child? i’m not quite sure i’d consider myself father material, plus our current lifestyle isn’t exactly what i’d call settled…

gale, upon spotting oliver during their game of hide and seek: ah, i have you! just a shame i don’t want you.

gale treating the children the group comes across with respect isn’t an indicator either. this is a courtesy gale extends to everyone he meets. he’s a character that approves of a protagonist who systematically commits good deeds. whether it’s sparing animals, helping without compensation in mind, or aiding children. wanting children to be cared for… and you know… for them not to die is common etiquette that every adult should extend to a child in need. those are not “dad goals!!!” it’s quite literally just basic human decency. gale is genuinely kind and caring to everyone he meets, there is no reason why this also wouldn’t apply to children.

i often see fandom mention his encounter with mol at last light and how excited he is to talk to her. which i think greatly misinterprets the context of the scenario since he didn’t have much of a reaction to mol before either — gale is ecstatic about lanceboard. again evident by his reaction to the party finding the life-sized board during the wyrmway trials, and how he immediately offers to give tav pointers. explaining different approaches to them in enthusiastic detail if they allow him to. the man just really likes lanceboard… as well as being the smartest person in the room.

gale: ah, lanceboard! why, this might just be the highlight of our misadventures to date.

gale: lanceboard happens to be a game with which i have more than a passing familiarity. might i offer a suggestion? nodecontext: gale's a badass lanceboard player, anticipating showing off

if you want to headcanon your tav and gale raising a big family together that is more than fine and no one is stopping you. whatever you want to happen to these two after the storyline of the game is up to your respective fantasies. no one is policing you on what you should do with your own character. go wild and create whatever fan content you wish, no justification required.

yet once again, as there is no mention in canon anywhere — neither in the main game nor the epilogue — that this is something gale would ever want (whether that may mean immediately or somewhere down the line) gale wanting to be a father remains a headcanon. while gale being childfree is explicitly shown in the game, in strict comparison to other companions that either have children by the end of the game or voice the desire to (eventually) have them.

my personal preferences are of no relevance here whatsoever. i care about accurate and correct characterization and will point out inconsistencies/false information no matter the topic. i, for one, want to appreciate these characters in the way they're written, not how i ideally want them to be.

[thatanimeramenchick]

Yandere! Lucifer visits the Hazbin Hotel because his daughter called him, but there he meets a human! Innocent! reader and Yandere! Alastor... Where the two of them start fighting over the reader...

Yandere Alastor vs Lucifer and Human Reader

Ha ha ha, I live for the chaos that this would be.

---

“You mean, she’s alive? Not an official sinner?” Lucifer asked.

“Yep,” said Charlie, “Um… we’re not quite sure how she got down here, to be perfectly honest, but she definitely doesn’t fit the sinner criteria in looks or attitude.”

You hesitate before you give a small curtsy to the king of hell. You weren’t sure if the act was going to count against you when you actually died for real, but who knows, maybe he’d be as nice as Charlie was? Either way, Charlie was a good girl, and you wanted to help her out. Surely no one could blame you for being kind to someone, even if that someone is the King of Hell himself.

“Nice to meet you, your highness,” you say, voice timid.

“It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen a… living human,” Lucifer said, circling you, as if you were a rare exotic animal, “It’s been decades. Centuries even. And you don’t know how you got down here?”

“No, your highness,” you said, “I really don’t know what happened. I-I just ended up here somehow.”

“And no way to get back home either, I’m assuming?” he said, “How odd. Must find it terrifying down here, not to mention dangerous.”

Charlies chuckles a little, but you see a certain nervousness in her eyes. Your safety had been the talk of many stressful meetings.

“We do keep her as secure as we can,” she said, “Considering she’s so vulnerable down here she stays in the hotel pretty much all the time.”

“Ah, yes,” said Alastor, who seemed to be butting into every conversation poor Charlie was trying to hold with her father, “This little lady here, I assure you, she is under the strict protection of the hotel. The very best, as I tend to her safety personally.”

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders as he said it, pulling you closer to him. The touch startled you, as he wasn’t one for physical affection. In all honesty, you don’t recall him ever touching you in any way ever other than the brief handshake you had shared on meeting. You tense a little at the unexpected contact.

Lucifer’s eyes turn to Alastor and narrow. He looks at him like one would look at a spider crawling on the wall. A chill runs through you with the amount of malice in his eyes.

“… I’m sure you do,” he finally said.

His eyes return to you, a hint of curiosity in them, most of the malice gone.

“But! I’d be more than happy to assist in this matter,” he continued, “I’m not sure if there is anything we really can do as far as sending you back up to earth, but I can do my best to make sure you stay safe. Demons are fine and dandy, but there’s nothing like a royal seal of protection. You haven't made a deal, have you?”

As you shake your head, Alastor’s grip tightens, making your shoulder ache. You worry he’s going to claw through your blouse and into your skin if he’s not careful.

Saying you were uncomfortable would be the understatement of the year.

Lucifer Morningstar

Lucifer would have a clear upper hand in this situation, and oh, the nostalgia you would bring! He’s had plenty of experience getting innocent, naive human women to warm up to him, both in the romantic department and outside of it. While he is a bit out of practice, if he actually tried, I could see him using all of his experience, charm, and knowledge to seduce a shy girl out of her shell.

If you’re still a living human, he’s going to be quite protective of you. You want to leave the hotel? Have you gone straight mad? Honestly, if he had it his way, Charlie wouldn’t let you out of your bedroom with those nasty sinners crawling around the hotel. Do you want to end up as corrupt and filthy as the rest of hell? Perhaps he can talk to Charlie and convince her that you need to be taken somewhere more… secure.

Once he finally moves into the hotel, the real battle is going to begin. He'll be seeing you regularly and therefore make it impossible for him to push you out of his mind. And he has to put up with Alastor's antics now on a daily basis.

While he'd like to think he's levelheaded and mature, I can see arguments with Alastor quickly spinning out of control and getting very personal and very nasty fast. The only thing holding him back from just killing him after a certain point is the fact that Charlie likes him as much as she does.

Alastor

Part of me would wonder if he actually even likes you or if he just wants to mess with Lucifer tbh.

All jokes aside, Alastor would be pissed. He knows that Lucifer is more powerful in every sense of the word, and he can’t do a thing about it. Well, at least nothing that really matters. He’s simply going to have to be more charming than Lucifer is, to the point where you prefer him.

He’s going to pull out all the stops of being a suave southern gentleman. While Lucifer will try to wow you with bombastic displays that only he can provide, Alastor will offer himself as the sweet, traditional lover that has your back. He's a distinguished romantic compared to this circus leading clown. At least that's what he'll want you to think. When it comes down to it, Alastor has far less experience than Lucifer with women and romance.

Also I see him as being one of those people who’s like, “Since I know I can’t lift myself up more, I’m dragging this asshole down to my level.” Verbally throws barbs at Lucifer, both to piss him off and to try to make him look worse in your eyes. He’d have a real hayday if he can provoke Lucifer into saying or doing something that scares you.

Even when Lucifer’s not around though, he’s the type to plant ideas in your mind that the king of hell is simply not a good match for you. He’d use his verbal skills to make Lucifer look less attractive in your eyes or to make you feel like it would be unwise to get in a relationship with the literal Devil.

I’d like to think you’d turn them both down, but they’re both too polite towards women to be that forceful with you, so instead they just butt horns for what feels like eternity over who should have you. Clearly it’s the other guys fault that you don’t want him, not yours! Then when you finally die, you go to heaven, leaving them both quite upset about the whole situation.

But if things did get ugly and push came to shove, Lucifer would definitely win. At this point in the game, Alastor doesn't stand a chance. Hope you enjoy solitary confinement!

[anemonelovesfiction]

I (Don’t) Hate You

Spider Socorro x Fem! Human Reader

Warnings ⚠️: Eating out, Fingering, Penetration (P! In V!)

MDNI 🔞

Literally noticed the lack of Spider fics and decided to write one, it’s technically an “enemies” to lovers but I’m not sure exactly how that pans out

Not proofread I’m lazy… and once I finish writing I like to get this out to you guys as soon as possible.

Word Count: 5k

Max had asked me a question about potentially working with Spider for some kind of project that he and Norm had been wanting to test out, some kind of scientific hypothesis that if something then something- to be fair I wasn’t really the best at listening once someone was to mention Spider and I doing anything together. It wasn’t that I was willing- wait- it totally was. I just couldn’t see myself actually doing anything remotely scientific with him when all he cared about was chasing after the Sully children and pretending to be one of them, he didn’t think in a scientific way, meaning this project was dead from the beginning.

“Well, why not?” Max asks after I had told him no in a serious tone, having taken into account that he’d managed to drag Spider away from the Sully’s long enough to ask me this question, but I wasn’t really in the mood to have to explain everything to him, scoffing at his question before answering.

“Because I don’t do well with idiots around the lab all day,” I had a lot more to say than just that, but felt it was better to keep my answer short and simple, I held my nose up high not really wanting to listen to any reasoning Max might have had to proving that this was worth trying, I was also mentally exhausted from the back-and-forth Spider and I usually did and it wasn’t beneficial to anyone involved.

“And I don’t do stuck-up bitches, yet here I am.” Spider speaks up for the first time since being here and I was genuinely shocked, my mouth hanging open at his comment, to be fair this was expected of him, he never took anything serious and it was starting to show, I’d never even hung out with him and I was being proven right, his smirk was starting to make an appearance on his face and his arms crossed against his chest.

“Spider,” Max started off, the tone in his voice indicating he had been warning him to knock it off, but I’d had enough.

“You’re such a dick, you know that?”

“Y/n!” Max yelled before I crossed my own arms.

“You think that just because you put on some body paint you’ll be able to be one of them? News flash, you aren’t, you never will be, just because everyone in here didn’t want us when we were born doesn’t mean someone out there will, think with your brain and stop wasting everyones time.” I rolled my eyes as I spoke my heart out, seeing a certain look of disappointment flash on his face before it was replaced with one of anger.

“The only one wasting anyones time here is you, you think you’re one of them? You aren’t, you’re the annoying reject they had to train, at least the natives care about me, nobody cares about you.” Spider was quick to retaliate and I could feel anger bubbling within my body as he spoke, ready to strike back with hurtful words of my own, without thinking about anything I’d been saying and spewing the hate right back to him.

“At least my parents-”

“Thats enough!”

I gasped in sharply as I felt my arm getting yanked, a big blue hand had wrapped itself around my bicep and began quickly walking toward the opposite direction, my legs having no choice but to follow blindly at whoever had just stopped our conversation, sentence dying on my tongue before I was shoved inside a room, falling onto my bottom, the big blue face I’d come to recognize as Norm in his avatar state was the last thing I saw before the door closed.

I only stood and walked back over to the door and attempted to punch my security code on it to get out, eyebrows furrowed in anger at having been tossed in here like I was a wild animal, but to my surprise the keypad blinked red three times, signifying that my code was not validated.

“What-“ I stated before typing my code in again and watching the light blink red once more.

“Norm!” I yelled through the room I’d been tossed in.

“We’re tired of hearing the two of you squabble at one another like its a fucking world war, we’re going to be leaving the lab for an hour so you can get everything out of your system, you guys have better made up by then.” He yells through the door before I can hear receding footsteps, it wasn’t until I turned around at his words that I realized Spider had also been in here.

Time had gone by slowly, I could have sworn I had been stuck in here for the allotted time Norm had stated, but luckily I had been wearing an old wristwatch that still worked, the time on it reading fifteen minutes past when we’d first been placed in here. I could only count the tiles in front of me so many times.

My eyes land on Spider as I see he’d backed up against a wall, hands crossed over his chest, a leg propped up against the wall, I wanted to yell at him but I didn’t have it in me to start another fight.

It wasn’t my intention to have gotten him angry, but the fact that we’d both been seething from what we had said earlier kept the both of us quiet, every time I glanced up at him I could feel a sharp heat slicing through my stomach as I thought up of a quick witted response to whatever it was he’d decided to say.

“Are you going to keep staring at me or are you going to say something worth of my time?” He asks without so much as a glance in my direction, I scoffed but turned my face away from his.

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if you kept your mouth shut.” I stated as my anger begins to simmer in my vessels, attempting to hold back more of the nasty words I had to say.

“You’re joking, right?” He chuckles darkly as he turns to look at me, leaning against the wall with one foot up, arms crossed against his chest again.

“If you hadn’t called me an idiot I wouldn’t have had to call you a stuck-up bitch.”

“Are you really saying this is all my fault?” I ask as I start closing the distance between us, knowing better than to get close to him right now, but my anger was starting to rise to an all-time-high with him.

“If the fuckin’ shoe fits.”

“I can’t wait until we get out of here so I don’t have to see your stupid face.” I stated as I finally catch up to him, neck straining slightly at how tall he was, for being out with the natives he grew taller than any of us that stayed in here.

“My stupid face, what are you, three?” He asks as he looks down at me, smirk forming on his face, feeling helpless in this situation and wanting to throw a tantrum, but composing myself as much as I could.

“Wipe that stupid smirk off your stupid face.” Well, there goes my composure, straight out the metaphorical window, and I do admit my comebacks need some work, I did sound like a three year old.

“Or what?” He leans down with a scowl plastered on, his face centimeters away from mine, and I’d made the mistake of looking down at his lips, realizing how full they were, my own scowl dropping as I observed his lips, eyes meeting his and seeing he too had dropped his scowl.

I blinked before he’d closed the distance between us and his lips were on mine, I’d closed my eyes out of instinct, letting myself get lost in the kiss we’d shared, a lot of rage melting away as our lips moved against each other. His hands had been quick to be placed on my waist as he deepened the kiss, effortlessly pulling me closer toward his body, and the warmth radiating off of him had temporarily rid me of the goosebumps I’d gotten from being trapped inside this metal box.

He’s quick to switch our positions, my feet almost stumbling until the back of my waist was pushed against the wall he’d been leaning up against, he’d used his hands to guide themselves on my shirt, tugging on it from behind as I moved my hips out of the way for him to gain better access, accidentally grinding myself against his length.

He let out a hiss as he disconnected our lips, quickly redirecting his lips toward my jaw, inching toward my neck in a teasing manner as he untucked my shirt from the pants they’d been in. I raise my arms up almost instinctively and he begins bunching the shirt in his hands before lifting it off my body, he tosses the shirt back and places his hands on my breasts as he finds my pulse point and sucks.

“Spider~” I whine as his hand snakes underneath the bra I had been wearing and uses his thumbs to caress my nipples.

“I like you better when you have nothing else to say,” He mutters before reaching one hand around my back to unclasp my bra, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was quite a turn on to have witnessed him doing it one handed.

I’m quick to shrug the straps of my bra off and toss it toward one side, not giving him the satisfaction of having said anything else, my own hands reaching for his cheeks as I bring his mouth onto mine, feeling his tongue swipe against my bottom lip, I gasped and feel as he slides his tongue inside my mouth and finding mine before licking it.

“Mm,” I squeak out and feel his hands on my hips again, one hand snaking up to pinch my nipple, as the other caresses my hip lightly. His lips once again traveling off of my own and down toward my neck, skipping over the pulse point he’d suckled earlier and heading towards my collarbones.

I could anticipate his lips getting closer to my breasts and pushed my chest into his face, earning a chuckle from him as his other hand abandons my hip to pinch my other nipple, a low moan reverberating inside my throat.

“You like this, don’t you?” He asks rhetorically.

“Spider,” I whine as I crave his attention on my nipples once more, my face feeling flushed with his words, avoiding eye contact from him until one of his hands grasp my chin gently.

“Tell me what you want.” He mutters low enough for me to hear, but clear enough to have made it a demand, I could only whimper as I look into his eyes, already darkened with lust.

I whine again after a pause of silence, attempting to move my hips to grind against his, only to feel one of his hands coming down to press against my hip, making my ass touch the wall behind me.

“Don’t make me ask again.” He’s clear in his statement and I swallow another whimper, attempting to appear bold as I bite my lip with indecisiveness.

“I want you,” I admit, seeing a smile grace his features, I’ve just come to the realization that I’d enjoyed seeing his smile, his eyes bounce between mine before placing his hand on the babd of my pants, silently asking permission, my heart beats faster upon this action, nodding almost too quickly.

He grabs my pants full force and unbuttons them, pulling them down my legs and stopping once he reaches my knees, given they were khaki shorts I shimmied my legs, taking a step out of them, using my other leg to lick them off God know’s where.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” He responds and I can feel my lips curl into a smile, he gently places his hands on the waistband of my underwear, a look on his face telling me he’s silently asking for permission to pull them down, I could feel my face heating up at how much of a gentleman he was.

I give him a small nod before feeling him start to slide my underwear down with a sense of desperation, only managing to bring it down past my knee’s before he’s back up again, I take it as my cue to kick off my underwear the same way I’d done with my pants, not really caring where it had gone.

I feel him dip down slightly, face coming toward my chest as he places his hands behind my thighs, I immediately jump and feel his strong arms wrap themselves around my thighs, but he doesn’t stop lifting me up to wrap my legs around his waist, but rather settling me up so high, my back is leaning against the wall and my legs were placed along his shoulders.

“Spider,” I stated uncertainly, the cool metal starting to cool me down and bring me back to my senses.

“It’s okay, I got you,” He gives my thigh a comforting squeeze.

“Aren’t I too heavy?” I asked as the uncertainty had started creeping through my mind.

He only keeps his eyes on me as his face comes close to my cunt, the heat that had started dwindling with the coolness of the metal on my back was starting to come back, and the moment his tongue comes out to lick a fat stripe against my pussy has me gasping lightly, immediately biting my lip in an attempt to control my hips from thrusting in his face.

The second lick he does has a moan tickling the back of your throat, his tongue flattening to cover more of the surface area, I was tempted to toss my head back, but the hold his dark chocolate eyes held on me kept me locked into place.

The third lick was starting to drive me wild as he finally delved his tongue in, tasting my juices and allowing the tip to flick against my clit, a moan I’d cut off had slipped out as I shifted my weight slightly, lifting my hips up a bit and watching his eyes crinkle as he smiles.

“Spider,” I breathe out, unsure of what it was I was even asking for, until he finally dips his tongue back on me, honing in on my clit, circling his tongue around it.

I allowed myself to throw my head back, feeling as my hand lifts up and grabs a fistful of his dreadlocks.

“Oh fuck,” I whined, rolling my hips against his tongue as I closed my eyes, losing myself in the pleasure, the grip on my thighs getting stronger as he attempts to hold my hips still.

He doesn’t waste any time in moving his muscle faster, my hips fighting against his hands, a growl dripping from my lips as I squeeze my eyes tightly.

“I’m coming-“ I grasp his dreads tightly as I feel my walls closing over nothing as he continues to bring me pleasure by continuing to lick me, holding me steadily as he allows me to ride out my orgasm.

Once I’d felt like I had enough I loosened my hold on his hair and paw at his forehead to get him to stop, he brings his own face back and I felt spent, dropping my hips in a slumped position and noticing the shiny cum on Spiders mouth and chin.

Taking a second to catch my breath I continue staring between his eyes and shiny mouth, a smile forming on my own lips as a thought came to my head, It wasn’t my intention to piss him off but I could have a little fun teasing him.

“Enjoy your meal?” I stated and watch him smirk, affectively letting go of my thighs, I yelp and jump slightly at the feeling if my security being gone before he places his hands on my waist, carefully setting me down.

“Spider!” I angrily stated while playfully hitting his shoulder.

“I like it better when you’re moaning it out instead,” He corners me against the wall before planting a quick kiss on my lips, hands finding my waist, thumbs rubbing against my skin deliciously.

“Why don’t you,” I trailed my hand down his abs and place my finger on the band of his loincloth, watching as my eyes trailed down alongside my hand, linking my finger in it in and tugging at it slightly before my eyes meet his.

“Take this off,” I began as I use my other hand to repeat the action, now gently tugging on his loincloth, practically begging it to come off.

“So I can please you.” I ended my comment by taking both fingers out from the band, and using one hand to cup his hardened length, eyes coming up again to meet his, only to find him looking down at my hand, lips caught between his teeth.

“I have a better idea.” He mumbles as he settles his body to sit flush against mine, he didn’t seem too concerned with discarding his loincloth as he brings his lips on mine once more, igniting the fire in my core.

His hands aren’t gentlemanly as they roam around my body, greedily mapping out my body as his tongue dances with mine, his knee digs itself between my legs and I’m forced to spread myself just so he can fit in, not minding this situation one bit as one of his hands dive deeper.

He manages to slide his index finger between my slick folds, brushing up against the clit he’d abused earlier, a muffled moan coming from me while his lips were on mine, his hand working its way further down until he shoves his finger in without warning.

My gasp gives him a second to shove his tongue back down my throat, my legs spreading further to allow his hand enough space to work its magic, another muffled moan slipping past my lips.

“Spider~” I moaned again as I move my head toward the side with his kisses leading to my neck once more.

A second finger finds itself shoved inside my pussy and a long moan follows after, the way he’s allowing me to adjust to the sheer size of his fingers was more than generous, slowly inserting both fingers and feeling the delicious stretch filling my senses, his mouth connecting with my nipple had fueled the fire stirring in my belly.

“Spider please,” I whine as his fingers are moving terribly slow, I could take his fingers moving faster as I usually did this to myself, but having someone else do it felt so much better.

“Yeah, What do you want?” He asks as his fingers start going faster but even then it wasn’t enough, my knees still buckle under the pleasure and I was having a hard time concentrating on standing, but I was craving more.

“I want you to fuck me-“ I stated, feeling my face growing hotter at my own words, not caring at the moment as I knew what I wanted.

He doesn’t say anything but curls his fingers inside me, hitting a delicious spot that made me see stars, I could only throw my head back.

“Spider!” I moan again, letting a longer one roll out of my mouth as I desperately attempt to scratch the itch of my growing orgasm, my own hips snapping against his hand to meet his thrusts and feeling as though something was missing.

“I like when you say my name like that,” He speaks rather huskily, taking his fingers out of my cunt, bringing his fingers toward his mouth and letting a moan of his own sneak past him.

“You taste divine,” He mumbles as if he hadn’t just ate me out earlier.

“Please take this off,” I whine as my fingers sneak into the waistband of his loincloth, tugging rather harshly just to hear him chuckle at my desperation, I only found my eyes drifting up to meet his.

“Please,” I find myself begging silently, my voice barely above a whisper, seeing his eyes soften as he brings his hand toward my cheek.

“Lie down,” He seems to accept what I’d been wanting as his other hand reaches where his loincloth is tied, nodding at his command as I bring myself down to the cold floor, lying down and watching as he settles onto his knees on the floor, pulling on the string and watching as his loincloth finally slides off his body.

I watch as his cock springs up, slapping him in the belly, precome coating the tip and my breath being dragged out as I stared. The tip of his cock was rather big and he was thick all around, sure he wasn’t as big as my forearm, but staring at him made me question if it was going to fit.

“Like what you see?” He asks cockily, his own hand coming down to squeeze his balls and the base of his cock all together.

I could feel the saliva coating my mouth as I desperately wanted to taste him, feeling myself gulp rather loudly before my eyes go up toward his again.

“Is it going to fit?” I asked with uncertainty, feeling my legs closing subconsciously, I watch as his eyes trail down toward my legs, then back up toward my eyes before he crawls up toward me, his body hovering over mine as he leans down to kiss my forehead gently.

“We can stop if you’d like,” He begins but I shake my head.

“N-no, I want to, I’m just nervous.” I was quick to answer, not wanting to ruin what we had going on at the moment, placing my hands on either of his cheeks and using my thumb to caress his face.

“I trust you,” I stated and feel him nod, his dreads forming themselves around his face so perfectly, I smiled while spreading my legs wider to fit him in.

“This might hurt at first,” He begins as he grasps his cock with one hand, placing it close to my cunt and pushing his cock between the lips of my slick, the head of him rubbing against my clit.

“That feels good,” I moan and feel him continue to stimulate my clit, my legs spreading wider, my eyes closing softly as I focus on the pleasure.

“You ready?” His husky voice breaks me out of my happy place but I nod.

He slides his cock down and I feel it catch as he slowly pushes the tip inside, the stretch feeling wider than that of his fingers, but the feeling was incredible.

“More-“ I shimmy my hips down closer, feeling more of his cock sliding in, the stretch starting to feel like a lot but my desperation to fill all of him was consuming me.

“This feels so good,” I hear him strain, his hands coming to grasp my hips rather harshly, he squeezes harsh too but refuses to move.

“Spider more,” I beg as I attempt to shimmy myself further but feel him holding me into place.

“I need a second,” He groans, my eyes open as I see him struggling to take a decent deep breath, his dreads threaten to tickle my nipples as his head is hanging low.

“Don’t hold back!” I whine as I attempt to move my hips for more stimulation and feeling frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

I can hear him growl as he slides himself the rest of the way in, the breath that had been in my lungs suddenly leaves as I feel his entire length inside me.

A low groan leaves his lips as he ruts ever so gently into me, his hands still holding into my hips harshly, his grunts coming out rhythmically before taking his entire length out and shoving it back inside.

I moan louder than I had in previous attempts as his entire cock stretches me out deliciously, a bit of pain bringing a stinging sensation, but it was all welcomed as he begins to set his own pace.

I find myself wrapping my legs around his waist, he suddenly picks up the pace, causing an obscene sound to come from my pussy, a warmth filling me up as he continues his thrusts.

“You feel so good, so tight, fuck!” He exclaims as he plants his knee’s down, hand trailing from from my thigh, down the swell of my ass and trailing past my leg, tugging at it to get me to unhook myself from him.

I take my legs off his lower back to appease him, but watch as he grabs my legs by my ankles, pushing them up toward my face and essentially folding me in half. The feeling of the tip of his cock kissing my cervix is the only feeling I could focus on.

He tightens his hands on my ankles and begins to drag himself out of me, and smirk as he slams himself back into me.

“Spider!” I whine as I feel him reaching my cervix, my special spot, and places I had no idea existed inside of me.

“You gonna stop being a brat to me from now on?” He asks me loud enough to bring my attention towards him, moaning out as he thrusts back into my half bent body, unable to think properly.

“Give me an answer, pretty girl,” His hips still and a rage settles inside me, his hands loosen around my ankles as he runs his hands down my calves, now placing his hold on the back of my thighs.

“N-no,” I mumble, seeing him smile, his grip on my thighs tighten and he starts thrusting into me almost primally, his growls being heard in my ears as his cock assaults my cervix, the feeling of it being hit continuously starting to draw my orgasm near.

“I’m close,” I squeezed my eyes tightly to focus on the pleasure, feeling as they roll back into my skull as I see starts forming in my vision.

“Thats it, baby, squeeze my cock dry.” His words drive me closer to the edge as I feel it begin to flutter around him, his thrusts never ceasing to bring me pleasure.

“I’m coming,” I cry out as he thrusts in one last time, feeling my walls contracting against his cock, stuck in a state of ecstasy, a high pitched whine leaving my lips as I’d came.

A sudden warmth entering my cunt as Spider empties his cock inside me, a drawn out moan escaping him as he attempts to thrust deeper into me.

It hadn’t taken long for us to untangle our limbs and put our clothes back on, but I did feel slightly dirty knowing there was no possible way for me to clean myself up, feeling as his cum slid out of my cunt and into my underwear, a lovely stain I’d have to deal with cleaning out later.

“How long do you think it’ll take for either one of them to come back?” I asked as I finally find the courage to look past my hands and up to him.

He only shrugs and it appears he’s been biting his lip, unsure of what to say or how else to keep the conversation going, but the quiet we’d marinated in had been welcoming, there was nothing awkward about it.

Just then my ears jerk slightly at the slightest sound of someones footsteps making its way in the lab room we’d been in.

“Wanna know how I know you learned your lesson?” Norms voice is heard from the other side of the door, a rhetorical question since he never expected the same answer to come out our mouths, so he answered his own question aloud.

“Because I don’t hear you yelling at each other,” He mutters and just then a beep is heard, the door opens up automatically to show us a human Norm standing on the other side.

“Can we go now?” Spider asks with an attitude lacing his tone, I nervously look over at him before my eyes shift to Norm exhaling loudly, had everything we’d done just been a one time thing?

“Promise not to put up a fight the next time we ask you a simple question?” Is his sassy reply and I felt my eyes rolling as I walk over toward the exit, arms crossed as soon as I stand close to Norm, seeing Max behind him.

“The next time you lock us in here without a toilet or running water I’ll make sure to castrate your Avatar.” I threatened before pushing past him and walking out.

I didn’t bother turning around to know that the footsteps behind me were Spiders.

“Hey, you okay?” Spider asks once we’re within an earshot from Max and Norm, I could feel him grasping my arm gently, and I turned my body to look at him, seeing genuine concern from his eyes.

“I’m fine,” I sigh out and feel him wrap his arms around me in a hug.

“I hate you,” I mumbled into the hug.

“I don’t hate you.” He replies and I smile.

__________

“So what do the results yielded from the study conclude for our hypothesis?” Max asks from behind Norm,who turns toward Max with a smile gracing his features.

“It would prove it correct,”Norm couldn’t fight the small laugh that had decided to come through his lips, his face slightly brightening as his cheeks reddened, the two of them now smiling.

“It smells like sex in there, do you know how hard it was to keep a straight face the whole time, I was literally dying!” Max mentions as he comes close to his colleague, hand coming up to clap his shoulder twice, the two of them turning around to document their findings, opening a folder on the tablet, the hypothesis in bold.

If two people who quarrel with one another over stupid things are trapped together in a room with no way to track time, then they are more than likely to sleep with one another in said room after realizing there is no way out.

[fried-peaches00]

“Neteyam Standards”

Neteyam Sully x Human!reader

Ratings: SFW, Fluff

Word Count: 800

Notes: Man wtf why do I gotta indulge like this. This is me dipping my toes into the world of posting fan fiction, let me know what you think. Also I can’t figure out how to add a read more option help.

“You must’ve been the most beautiful creature on earth.” Neteyam murmurs into the crown of your head, his hand slipping into your considerably smaller one playing in the grass. You always admired the contrast of your skin tones next to each other. You scoff, “Hardly, but I appreciate the sentiment Teyam.” You left your voice drift off into the forest sounds, you prefer to let them speak for themselves but Neteyam has a different idea,

“I don’t think I could imagine anything more beautiful than you, Navi or human,” He ponders for a moment, “I wouldn't be surprised if you would rival the personified beauty of Eywa herself.” You laugh at this, sitting up to face him behind you only to be met with a drowsy, lovesick smile painted on Neteyam’s face as he listens to you with undivided attention, ”Do not say these things!” He catches your hand as you lightly shove him in the chest,

“ I can’t have Eywa upset at me, can I now? It’s hard enough just surviving on this planet without an ethereal deity out for me.” He laughs heartily, pulling you down to rest against his chest looking up into the canopy and at the sun shining through. It’s nearing eclipse, just close enough to see the first sliver of Polyphemus through the trees but not enough to worry about your return yet. Either way, you know that Neteyam could protect you against anything you may find in the dark. Out of the corner of your eye you see Neteyam’s ears twitch. Picking up all the chirps, hoots and howls of the forest. Two Atokirina dance between each other, floating down just far enough to tickle the finger tips of your outstretched hand.

“And besides, Eywa is much too beautiful. I don’t think I’d want to rival her. Nothing would seem beautiful to me if I was the most beautiful.” You add, only for your lover to squeeze your shoulder, his hand reaching out to join yours against the backdrop of the sky,

“I would like to believe Eywa thinks we are beautiful…” He murmurs before rolling on top of you, deciding he would much rather look at you than the leaves of the trees,

“Either way, you must be the most stunning creature on earth at least.” His bright eyes gaze up into yours. You can’t seem to find any hint of playfulness or doubt, he's fully sincere. So sincere it almost makes you tear up,

“Not particularly, I’m not exactly conventionally Earth beautiful either.” You give him a shaky smile, But he perseveres, cupping your face in his large hand, pressing his forehead to yours,

“I don’t buy it, my love. The way you speak of earth, burnt and devoid of life. I can’t imagine the people must be any better. All of the Humans I see here on Pandora are destructive and violent.” You hum, feeling the light rumbling of a purr in his chest against yours. You think for a moment, it might be nice for Neteyam to keep thinking that you are so beautiful that the Earth should weep for forgiveness for ever letting you leave, but you feel like you should tell the truth. That for earth standards, you were really, quite below average. Even though you don’t have to feel the pressure to look the way everyone wants you to look anymore, you would like to be able to be vulnerable with Neteyam, your mate,

“Earth… Has a very steadfast expectation on how you should look. So many humans would do anything to look that way,” You smile for a moment but it fades fast. “We would kill our planet for it. The plants and animals,” Neteyams huffs, pulling back for a moment,

“They did. Not you. This is not a matter of we.” He pouts. You will not bear this guilt alone, not on his watch. This makes you smile again,

“Whatever,” You roll your eyes. Never have you met anyone so stubborn to let you know how cared for you were, “I don’t meet that standard, Teyam, I think you would be stunned by those who do.”

Neteyam’s face softens. He can’t even fathom how you perceive yourself. To him you were the most empathetic, intelligent, caring person he’s ever met, not to mention the very love of his life. He moves to sit on your outstretched thighs,

“I don’t care about ‘Earth standards’.” He creates bunny ears with his fingers,

“In Nettayam standards, You are the most stunning being in the whole galaxy.”

[iwasntstable]

𝗡.𝗦. | 𝗡𝗢𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗚𝗢 | 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗪𝗢 (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ)

🗀 C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/SERIES/NOWHERETOGO [projects] ﹂ [my-work] | in-progress | favourites 　﹂ all | [series] | one-shot | blurb | head-cannons 　　﹂ [nowhere-to-go]

Series Summary: You knew the decision to follow your father into the so-called 'most dangerous Ward' was a dangerous one, but you had to do anything and everything possible to keep him alive. He's the only family you have left. Growing evermore reckless after the death of your mother and blinded by his lust for retribution, this decision is one that will alter the course of your life forever. And the life of a half-ghoul half-human who never thought he'd find himself entangled with the daughter of a former CCG Investigator.

NOWHERE TO GO is a multi-chapter story set in the Tokyo Ghoul universe, centring around Half-Ghoul!Noah and Human!Reader.

Chapter Content Tags: Graphic depictions of gore including: treatment of wounds, administration of stitches, blood, mentions of bruising, mentions of an attack. Depictions of anxiety.

Word Count: 6k.

Note: please be aware this story is set in the universe of Tokyo Ghoul, before the events of the manga and anime. it will, however, contain references to content found in the source material. specific content warnings will always be applied at the beginning of each chapter.

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CREDIT › image — 'Tokyo Ghoul:re - Chapter 54' - 石田 スイ (Sui Ishida). › number divider — @saradika-graphics. › image edit — @iwasntstable (me). › star divider — @saradika-graphics. › short grey divider — @saradika-graphics. › Tokyo Ghoul — created by 石田 スイ (Sui Ishida).

“We just keep running into each other,” he smiles that same smile that made your heart skip a beat in the café, but instead of giving you butterflies, this time it fills you with dread.

You say nothing, words failing you entirely. All you can do is stare. His wide brown eyes inspect you back just as closely. How could it be him? The kind man from the bookstore café that encouraged you and asked your name—the same man who was now stained with blood and tried to kill your father twice. Noah.

His eyes flit to your arm, then back to your face. “You’re injured,” he states calmly. The reminder of the wound causing it to sting and throb under your clothes. You press your hand to it defensively, a weak spot you wanted to defend. “Let me help?” He offers, hands raised with palms facing you.

“Why would you do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Once again, you’re lost for words. The answer to that question was so glaringly obvious, you almost couldn’t believe he asked it. “Look, I’ll call a friend here who’s better at stitching wounds than I am, and then you can leave. But in exchange, I’d like you to answer some of my questions.”

“Leave? You’re not… keeping me here?”

Confusion crosses his features. “What? No. I’m not kidnapping you or anything. You can leave whenever you want,” his expression softens. “You’re injured. I wasn’t just going to leave you bleeding in the street. I want to help, and I want to talk.” 

You mull over your options in your mind. There’s no way you could run, not with your current injuries, and fighting your way out without a weapon is out of the question too. He said you could leave, but you’re not sure if you believe that. What could a ghoul possibly stand to gain from letting a human live?

Noah notices your hesitation, opens the front door, and steps aside. “Go. This isn’t a trick. I’m not going to chase you down. I only want to help and ask you my questions. I’m sure you must have questions for me too.”

He was right. A million questions raced in your mind—so many you didn’t even know which to prioritise. And you didn’t know how much longer you could stay on your feet before your legs buckled again. “Okay,” you concede.

Noah nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to text my friend, okay? He’ll be able to take a look at your arm. His name is Nick.” He pulls his phone from his pocket, no idea how it survived the skirmish in the alley. You eye it cautiously, that uneasy feeling in your bruised stomach telling you this was still some kind of trap. “Just one person,” Noah reassures. “Nobody else.”

You nod, though you have no way of knowing you could trust him, and he types out a message, slipping his phone away again once he’d hit send. He closes the front door again, leaving it unlocked, then crosses the room towards the couch with wide strides, pulling the plastic sheet from the furniture and screwing it into a ball to toss it into the corner. “Sit, if you’d like.”

You didn’t trust him, but you had to take your weight off your feet. You allow yourself to hold onto the back of the couch for support as you move around the couch, lowering yourself carefully, every fibre of your body protesting every miniscule movement. With the strain finally off your body, you feel immediate relief, but though you were sitting, your breath still felt laboured. Fatigue moved in like a dense fog.

“There’s no food here, but can I get you some water?” Noah asks, standing several paces away from you. You nod, too tired to speak and knowing refusing his offer would only serve to worsen your condition.

He moves to the kitchen, shedding his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair, those tattooed arms you’d noticed in the café on full display in his t-shirt. He opens a couple of cupboards before finally finding one with a glass inside. The kitchen was just as empty as the front room, a basic wooden table with two chairs, and a couple of appliances on the counters. He rinses the glass in the sink, then brings it full of water over to you, handing it over carefully. You try to stifle the tremor in your hand when you reach out to take it.

“Do you mind if I sit too?” He asked as you took a large mouthful.

His politeness confused you. Why was a creature so violent and dangerous being so courteous and respectful? You didn’t understand his motivations; what could he possibly stand to gain? Despite your doubts, you nod again, gesturing to the space beside you.

He takes the spot next to you, angled to face you. “Can I see your arm?” He asks.

With nothing to lose—except probably your life—you take another sip of the water, place the glass on the ground, and pop the buttons of your jacket with your good hand, shrugging the garment off and cautiously pulling it down your injured arm. As the fabric descends, it reveals your entire arm is stained red with blood right down to your fingertips. You’d assumed that was from the wounds on your hands.

The cut itself was long; you couldn’t see exactly how long from the angle, but it appeared to be around four inches in length, starting towards the front of your bicep and twisting downwards around the side towards your elbow. The deepest part was definitely at the centre of the wound; your arm did nothing to block the path of the ukaku ghouls’s shards as it sliced right through you like a hot knife to butter.

“It’s quite deep,” Noah said as he peered closer without touching. “I’d say I’m surprised you’re not more injured, but I’ve seen you fight,” he said, looking up, and his eyes met yours, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You ask, dumbfounded. 

“Something like that,” he chuckled to himself, lowering his head. When he looks back up, his gaze lingers on your neck. “I’m sorry I let that guy grab you. I didn’t think he had anything left in him. That was my mistake.” He reaches out like he’s going to brush your hair away from your shoulder and get a closer look, but hesitates before he can touch you, pulling his hand back to his lap.

He seemed almost shy. A far cry from the monster that tore a man’s throat out with his teeth right in front of your eyes. You couldn’t deny the urge to trust him was growing. His tousled brown hair and respectful demeanour brought you right back to when you served him in the café, his soft laugh when you thanked him for ordering an easy coffee—the kind of person you’d be happy spending time with, someone you wanted to get to know better. But that image in your mind was swiftly replaced by the figure from your nightmare. His silhouette looming over you before he chooses whether you live or die. Despite his mask, he was still covered in blood.

A rapid knock on the door breaks your train of thought. Turning to look over your shoulder, a man with long, wavy, dark hair carrying a duffle bag steps into the apartment. Noah stands, approaching the man and patting him on the shoulder in a half embrace. “This is Nick. You have both met before,” Noah introduces his friend, stepping behind him to close the door.

“I don’t think I could forget,” he laughed. “You really carved me up on the bridge. I was limping all the way back.” The bikaku ghoul. 

You followed him with your eyes as he walked further into the room, rounding the couch to sit next to you in the place Noah was, resting the bag between his feet. “That looks nasty... Ukaku, yeah?” he remarks as he gets a look at the laceration. You nod while he inspects the area. “Deep too. Any other injuries?” He asks as he leans down to unzip the bag.

“No,” you say quietly as he rummages, pulling out a pristine white case and several packages of gauze pads, resting them on his knees.

“I can stitch this for you. Luckily, it’s a clean cut. It should heal well if you look after it,” he says, meeting your intense gaze with softness, offering a smile. You couldn’t understand how this was the same man that struck you in the middle and sent you skidding across the bridge.

“Why would you help me?” you ask, unable to contain the disbelief.

“Because you need it. Or, can you stitch this yourself?” He smirks with a joking tone. You laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Two ghouls that want to help you and not kill you. With a shake of your head, you hold your arm out for Nick to work on. “Okay,” he pats the objects on his lap. “I’ll wash my hands, sterilise the area, then get started. I have some pain relief medication that might make it easier.” You shake your head ‘no’, still not trusting the pair and definitely not trusting any medication they claim would help.

“Consider it,” Noah says from the kitchen, where he was crouched down rummaging through the cupboards. “You did get pretty beat up last night too.”

“Sorry about that, by the way,” Nick says, pushing his hair out of his face as he stands and heads for the sink. “What are you looking for?” He asks Noah, scraping his hair all the way back and securing it into a bun.

“I swear we had coffee in this place. Did Folio take it again?”

“It’s right there by the microwave,” Nick nods in the direction from the sink, and Noah takes the tin, grasping it firmly in hand with a wide smile on his face. 

“What would I do without you?” He claps Nick on the shoulder as he passes him in the small space to retrieve a saucepan, filling it with water after Nick steps away from the sink to come back to you. Through the tear in the bottom of Noah’s shirt made by his kagune, you notice a hint of ink on his lower back too.

“That packet there, can you tear it open?” he asks, nodding again towards his bag, hands dripping water on his knees. The package was a sterile towel. You rip the plastic, careful not to touch the cloth with your bloodied and dirtied hands, and hold it out for Nick to take and dry his hands with. Once dry, he reaches into the bag and pulls out a pair of blue latex gloves, snapping them on securely. “Alright, I’ll clean the area a little first. It’s gonna sting,” he warns, the conversation ringing eerily similar to the one you had with your father when he crashed in through the front door two nights ago. He unscrews the cap on the bottle and soaks a gauze pad with the brown liquid. “Let us know if you change your mind about the meds,” he says before dabbing the pad lightly onto the wound. 

He was right; the sting was bad. Gritting your teeth against the burn, you try not to move or flinch away from the pain. As a welcome distraction, the warm aroma of coffee fills the air. You look over to Noah in the kitchen, pouring the water boiled from the stove into three mugs. He brings them over carefully and sets them down on the empty floor, sitting cross-legged opposite the couch.

“So, what are your questions?” You ask him, anxious to get this over with.

His eyes move from where Nick is working on your wound to your face. He takes one of the mugs, leaning forward to place it by Nick’s feet, then takes the third and holds it out, the handle facing you. You hesitate for a moment, but decide against your better judgement. The fatigue was worsening, and you needed to try to stay as alert as possible.

“Why is the CCG moving in on this area?” He asks when he settles back down, taking his own cup and resting it in his lap.

You blink rapidly in confusion, “I didn’t know they were.”

“You’ve been assigned to this area, though?”

“No,” you clarify. “I don’t work for the CCG, and neither does my dad. Not anymore at least.” You take a sip of the black coffee, relishing in the way the liquid warms your aching insides. The flavourful bitterness is a welcome taste on your tongue.

“How do you have quinque weapons if you’re not Investigators?” A crease was prominent in his brow.

“My dad stole them. One is his, the other was my mother’s.”

The sting intensified in your arm as Nick cleaned the deepest part of the wound. You shifted uncomfortably in an attempt to distract yourself.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Almost done with this part.”

“What was the medication you had?” You ask as you scrunch your face up in pain. Maybe it would be a good idea to accept pain relief. Maybe it would work to soothe the rest of your body too.

“It’s just standard over-the-counter stuff from the pharmacy, right?” Noah asks Nick, kneeling forward to rummage through the bag.

“Yeah. Front pocket,” he replies without looking up.

Fishing through the material, Noah retrieves a familiar branded package of painkillers. He holds it up and nods towards you, asking silently if you wanted to take it. You nod and place the mug of coffee momentarily between your knees as Noah pulls a blister strip from the box. He pops two from the packaging and hands them over into your open palm.

“Your hands got fucked up too,” he mentions while you throw the pills into your mouth. Chasing them down with a sip of coffee.

“That happened yesterday,” you say, holding out your palm in front of you to inspect the damage. The reopened small abrasions were visible under a layer of dirt and blood.

“I can clean those up for you too after this,” Nick says, putting a gauze pad aside to click open the white case. He takes out a sterile needle from its packaging and threads it with the suture wire with ease. Nothing like your shaky hands. “Okay. Ready?” He asks. You nod, taking another mouthful of coffee, really wishing it were laced with a shot of something stronger.

The pull of the needle through your skin wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be. A slight scratchy-burning sensation as he weaved the needle in and out of your flesh, looping the thread around itself and pulling firmly to secure the two sides of the wound closed.

“How did your dad steal three quinques from the CCG?” Noah continued his line of questioning. You had to be honest; it was a welcome distraction. Even if the subject matter wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“He worked there for a decade. When my mother died and they forced him into retirement, he took a bunch of files along with the quinques. I think everyone respected him too much to argue with a grieving man.”

Noah nodded, deep in thought. He sipped his coffee before continuing. “Why are you here?”

“My father is looking for someone,” you bite the inside of your cheek.

“Who?”

“A ghoul.”

“Who?” Noah persists. You sigh, closing your eyes. How much information was too much information? “Look, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. We, my friends and I, keep track of all the ghouls in the 13th Ward and all the Doves. "When two doves move in, we want to know why, for the safety of everyone here.”

“Why?” Was your turn to ask. Was this guy some kind of mafia boss? You don’t miss the glance Nick takes from your arm towards Noah.

He takes another sip of coffee. “Innocents get hurt when the wrong people, or the wrong ghouls, are in charge.”

“And you’re the right people? Or, the right ghouls?” You question.

“I’d like to think we are.”

You nod thoughtfully, bringing your mug to your lips.

“Answer me this, at least,” he poses, “are we the ghouls your father is after?”

You shake your head; that face reappears in your mind. “No.”

The room falls silent, a surprisingly comfortable silence as Nick works diligently at your wound. He was almost halfway done now.

“So, what is this place anyway?” You ask, looking around the almost empty room.

“One of our safehouses. We have a lot spread out over the Ward,” Noah clarifies simply.

“One of? How many do you have?” Maybe this guy was a mafia boss after all...

He chuckles under his breath and fiddles with the mug in his hands. “A few. We let ghouls that have nowhere else to go live in them mostly. Or use them ourselves.”

“So, you’re housing the homeless when you’re not ripping people’s throats out with your teeth?” You question sarcastically.

“Did you really do that, dude?” Nick’s hands pause, and he looks up at Noah, amused disgust on his face.

“What was I supposed to do?” He gestures with one hand, eyebrows raised in defence, “just let that ghoul eat you? He wasn’t even supposed to be in this area, anyway.”

Nick shakes his head, a small piece of hair falling free from his bun by the side of his head, and continues stitching your arm. “Who was it?”

“The guy we caught like, four months ago, I think. Shame he didn’t take us up on our offer,” he sighs, sipping his coffee again.

“What offer?” You look between the two.

“We explained we’d be more than happy to get him the food he needs to survive, but in exchange, he couldn’t hunt around here anymore. He wasn’t a fan,” Noah explains.

“Yeah, flipped our table and smashed a window on the way out. Fuck that guy.”

“So housing and feeding the homeless, you’re real philanthropists,” you laugh, sipping from your mug. Until the realisation hits you exactly what kind of food these guys were talking about. This wasn’t a group of good samaritans cooking extra meals in their kitchens to hand out on the streets to those in need. They were feeding ghouls. They were ghouls. You had to remember where you were; remember not to get lulled into a false sense of security, no matter how easy and casual the conversation may be.

“So,” Noah breaks your train of thought, “if you don’t mind me asking, if it’s your father that’s looking for a ghoul here, why did you come too?”

You lower your eyes to your lap and pick at the rim of the ceramic mug. That’s a question you've been asking yourself a lot these past few days. “He’s my dad,” you say quietly with a shrug, regretting it when the cut in your arm stings. “I can’t just leave him alone. He’s all I have.”

Noah nods. “I understand that.”

“Last three, then this is done.” You look down at your arm, and in place of the gaping wound was a neat line of stitches, way neater than anything you’d ever done on your father and definitely neater than what you could’ve done on yourself.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “I really appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome,” Nick smiles up at you as he ties off the final stitch. “Noah, can you get out some more gauze pads so I can fix her hands?"

He wordlessly places his mug down and kneels in front of the bag, rummaging through to find what Nick needs. “These ones?” He asks, holding up some packages.

“Yeah, and can you get- Can I see your hands for a sec?” He asks as he takes a pair of scissors from the white case and snips the suture. You turn your hands over and get a good look at the state of your palms. Nick takes them gently and angles them this way and that. "Yeah, it’s just scrapes, not too bad. We can just clean and bandage them. Can you get the roll of white gauze, the bigger brown roll, and the tape? Oh, and a large plaster.”

Noah rummages for the items, tearing open the packages and setting them in the white case within arms reach for Nick. "Thanks, dude,” he says, reaching down for his mug of coffee that must be lukewarm by now. Regardless, he takes three big gulps, then sets it back on the floor. First, he applies the plaster over the freshly stitched wound, then he rips open a gauze pad, soaks it with antiseptic, and meets your eyes. “Ready?”

“Go for it,” you reply. He’ll probably do a better job cleaning the scrapes than you did in the shower earlier. The sting of the antiseptic makes your eyes water, but you grit your teeth and bear it.

Noah hadn’t moved from where he shuffled closer. Watching attentively as the dirt and blood are cleaned away. You can’t help but look at his tattoos now that he was so close. A red and black, Japanese traditional-style sleeve on one arm, waves and something that appeared to be a fish, and black and grey work on the other. From this angle, you could see a bird with arrows through it and leaves, all part of another larger sleeve that you couldn’t see because of his shirt. Then there were the ones you saw when you first met him—the intricate patterns on his hands and the snake on his neck. You realise the piece on his throat is a scene from Genesis. A hand reaching for the apple with the serpent coiled around. They were all beautiful, you thought, and they suited him well.

“How many of you are there?” You ask almost absentmindedly.

His eyes locked onto yours for a moment, his gaze making your heart race, and you desperately wished it would stop. He was a ghoul; he could probably hear it. “Four of us, mainly. There are others, but most of the work is us four.”

You nod at his answer—the four of them on the bridge. It made sense. You wondered if the others were just as friendly as these two. Or, if this was all still an act.

“You were limping before. Is your leg injured?” Noah asked, something that appeared to be genuine concern etched onto his features.

“Oh,” you say, looking down at the hip in question. “That happened last night too. It’s just bruised. It’s fine.” His concern was almost endearing, despite his group being responsible for the injuries. “Wait,” you frown, looking up at him. “When did you see me limping?”

“Followed you,” he says plainly, throwing back the last of his coffee. You stare at him with wide eyes, Nick continuing to clean up your hands. Apparently you’re the only one in the room that finds being followed weird. “What?” He says, equally shocked. “I thought you were a CCG Investigator on a mission to kill us all! Can you blame me?”

You shake your head in disbelief. You can’t blame him, really. If your dad could get out of bed, he’d probably be following some random ghouls around the Ward right now.

Nick tossed the gauze pad off to the side and wiped off his hands on the towel, then took a fresh pad and pressed it against your palm, tore off pieces of tape, and pressed them on securely to hold it tight to the wounded area. He takes the roll of white gauze and wraps it securely around the gauze pad, up your wrist and down towards your fingers, then does the same with the thicker brown dressing, wrapping it tight to protect the whole thing from the outside and keep it sterile. You flex your fingers when he’s done, finding your range of movement fine.

“Ready for the next one?” He asks. You simply nod and twist towards him in your seat to hold your other palm out.

“How is your father? If you don’t mind me asking,” Noah says softly.

“He’s alive,” you study his face, and he seems to genuinely care. “He’s pretty beat up, but I think he’ll be fine. If he gives himself time to heal, which I’m not sure he will.”

“He’s a hell of a fighter,” Nick comments.

“He’s retired. He should be on a beach somewhere drinking too much liquor.”

Noah chuckles under his breath and collects his cup, then looks at yours. “Do you want another?”

“No, I’m good, thank you,” you hold out the mug for him to take. He stands from the floor with ease and heads off into the kitchen to rinse them out in the sink. You can’t stop staring. A ghoul doing the washing up.

“We really are just trying to protect what we have here, you know,” Nick says as he wraps your hand. “We don’t usually go around picking fights.”

You turn your face to look at him. A ghoul tending to the wounds of a human. “Unlike my father,” you sigh. A moment of silence fills the room, filled only by the sound of running water and the occasional clinking of ceramic. “I’m sorry that he’s causing so much trouble. I keep trying to tell him, but he doesn’t listen. It’s like I can’t get through to him.”

“He’ll listen,” Nick reassures, taping down the last of the bandage. “You’re his daughter.”

You pull your hand back to your lap when he’s finished as he snaps off the latex gloves, flexing both hands and finding they immediately feel better.

Noah comes back into the front room, wiping his hands on his legs to dry them. “Are you sure you don’t have any other injuries? Anything else we can do to help?”

“No. No, I'm sure. I need to go back anyway. Check on my dad.”

“Of course. I’ll walk you there,” Noah says.

You stand on still shaky legs from the couch. “No, you don’t need to do that-”

“It’s late,” he interjects. “I know you might not believe it, but there are worse things out there than us.”

“Don’t forget this,” Nick says, standing to cross the room, opening the door, and picking up a plastic bag from the other side.

“Is that- my groceries?” You ask. Nick just smiles and hands the bag to Noah, who holds it out to you with an outstretched arm. Your hand twitches by your sides, but the movement hesitates; ever present in the back of your mind is the true nature of these men.

"Look, I know I look scary, but I wouldn't hurt a fly. You don't have to worry," Noah reassures.

Nick leans over with a whisper, "you literally killed a man like, an hour ago."

"I didn't say anything about hurting men. I said I wouldn't hurt a fly... That much is true."

“You almost killed me on the bridge,” you counter.

“But I didn’t,” he says with a cheeky smile. You couldn’t wrap your head around how this casual conversation was happening right now.

Nick looks between you and Noah and claps his hands. “Well, I’m gonna go! It was nice meeting you properly. You know, not trying to kill each other.” He collects the trash in a plastic bag, ties it off, and throws it into the duffle, along with the white case full of first aid supplies. Slinging it over his shoulder, he pats Noah on the shoulder and says, “See you later, dude.”

“Yeah, see you.”

“Thank you again,” you say quickly. “And it was nice to properly meet you too.”

He smiles, and with a wave, he was gone through the front door. Noah was right; it wasn’t a trap. They really did want to help. You take your jacket from the couch and cautiously slip it on, careful not to twist your arm in a way that would pull the fresh stitches.

“I’ll carry this for you,” Noah says, holding up the bag. “So you don’t mess up your hands.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, trying to hide the heat you could feel creeping up on your cheeks.

The air was significantly colder when you stepped outside. Wrapping your arms tight around you, you couldn’t help but glance around at your surroundings. The streets were just as empty as earlier, and you could feel the anxiety creeping up on you again at the idea of being completely alone with a ghoul.

“You ready?” Noah asks, standing a couple of paces ahead of you. You nod silently and catch up to him. You fall into step beside him as you walk; the only sound was the wind whistling through the streets and the grocery bag rustling by Noah’s side.

Your mind wouldn’t stop racing; one question that you didn’t ask him was bouncing around in your brain until you just had to speak. “You let us live. On the bridge.”

“I did.”

“Why?” You ask.

“We don’t kill innocent people.”

“But you kill humans.”

“Out of necessity. And only people that deserve it. There’s no shortage of bad types here.”

“Who are you to decide that?” Your words echo those of the ghoul’s from earlier in the night.

“So the man who was following you home with a knife in his pocket should’ve lived?”

“The- What?”

Noah stops in his tracks and takes a deep breath. “I recognised you at the bookstore cafe. I saw you move in and recognised your father’s scent on you from when he trespassed into our territory. So, I waited for you to leave after your shift. I intended on following you home that night to gather information on your father,” he speaks clearly and plainly. “Like I said before, I keep track of all the Doves in the Ward, and I wanted to know his intentions. Turns out someone else had the same idea. You didn’t even see him behind you, but he pulled a knife out of his pocket and picked up his pace when you reached the outskirts of town. And I stopped him.”

The crash down the alley. You thought it was cats. “You killed him.”

“I did.”

“You saved me.”

“I did.”

“Why would you save me?” The wind whipped around you both, causing you to shiver and wrap your arms around yourself tighter. You realised that Noah never put his own coat back on but showed no signs of being bothered by the cold. “If you recognised me then, you knew I had connections to a CCG Investigator, why would you save me?”

He’s quiet for a moment, deep in thought, before answering, “I don’t know,” then continuing to walk.

You’re both quiet for a while. The silence is comfortable despite the heavy subject matter. “Thank you,” you say quietly. He looks down at you expectantly. “Thank you for saving me. And thank you for letting us live on the bridge.”

Noah nods in understanding.

He’s helped you so far, hasn’t judged you or belittled you. Maybe you really could trust him. “My father, he’s… tracking the ghoul that killed my mother. He thinks he’s here, in the 13th.” You’re silent for a moment as you continue to walk. “I don’t know if he’s right.” You run a hand over your face. “I don’t know if it even matters to him. He’s hellbent on killing every ghoul he can get his weapon on.”

“What do you want?” Noah asks.

“I want my dad back,” you sigh.

You continue to walk. Passing quickly by the alleyway that you almost died in mere hours ago, the only evidence of the fight was the pool of blood left in the street and the mangled dumpster in the mouth of the alley.

“What does he have so far? On the ghoul that killed your mother,” Noah breaks the silence.

“A physical description. He was there, he watched it happen. He has sketches all over his fucking wall,” you spit with a bitter laugh.

“Can you get one for me?” He asks. You cock your head to the side, wondering why he would want an image of the ghoul your father was tracking. “I keep track of every ghoul in the Ward, remember? If he’s local, I’ll know him.”

“What, do you- do you want to help?”

“Maybe if we can find the right guy, let your father get his revenge, he’ll come to his senses again?”

“I don’t know,” you say with a weary sigh. “I don’t know if it’ll be enough for him.” The apartment building was in view, and from the street, you could see no lights were on on your floor. “I’ll get you a sketch. Wait here,” you say as you approach the front door.

Noah nods, hands over the plastic grocery bag, and waits several paces away from the front door. 

When you shove the door open and get inside, the first thing you see in the darkness were the covers you’d given your father from your bed to keep him warm enough in the night, left in a heap on the end of the couch. Immediately you’re irritated. He couldn’t even put them back in your room, the room next door to his.

You squeeze past the couch, leave the groceries on the couch, and crack open his bedroom door, finding him, still breathing, asleep on his side with his back to the door. An empty tin of soup sat on his bedside table. Most likely eaten unheated and straight out of the tin. You close your eyes and sigh deeply, shaking your head and closing the door on the way out.

Stopping off in his office, you stare at his investigation board. Articles and scrawled notes connected with red string pulled straight from the mind of a madman. You find a sketch of that face tacked off to the side and hope he won’t notice its absence. Squeezing past the couch on the way out and pulling the door closed again on its wonky hinges.

Noah is exactly where you left him, though he was standing with his back to the apartment entrance, looking out into the dimly lit empty streets.

“You’ve had dealings with him before, I think. I read a news report on my dad’s desk. Something about him trespassing into your area,” you take one last look at the grotesque face before handing the sketch over to Noah. “This is what he looks like.”

His brown eyes scan the paper before speaking, his tone laced with disdain. “Yeah. We know this guy.”

“Is he here then?”

“Yeah,” Noah nods. “We’ve had some leads on where he’s operating out of. We were going there tomorrow actually, to scope the place out,” he scans the page one more time before looking back at you. “Come with us.”

“Wait, You- Why would you want me there?”

“If you see him for yourself, you’ll know we aren’t lying,” he says sincerely. You hesitate, mulling over the idea of spending more time with this man- this ghoul. “We’ll just be watching from a distance. Besides, the sooner we track him down and deal with him, the sooner you can take your dad back home, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” you concede.

“You don’t have to come, but think about it. I’ll come by tomorrow around 10pm, and we can talk more then.”

“Okay,” you nod. Maybe you could get these ghouls to kill Malice; maybe then your father would decide to go back to the 2nd Ward.

Noah nods and turns, hands in his pockets, calling, “See you tomorrow,” over his shoulder.

“Noah!” You call after him as he walks away. “Do you really think you can kill this guy?”

“It doesn’t matter if your father kills him or I do. The ghoul that killed your mother is going to die.”

PREV　/　NEXT [coming soon..]

Ending Notes: I realised my taglist link was wrong so you might wanna check you've liked the correct post (linked at the top) if you want to be updated! 🖤 A glossary has also been added explaining terms if you need it!

➤ 𝗣𝗢𝗣𝗨𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 (34) :

⌞1𝗌𝗍 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖣 - 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖸𝖮𝖣𝖠⌝ ‣ @somebodyels3 ‣ @fadingangelwisp ‣ @english-fucker ‣ @missduffsblog ‣ @amelia-acero

⌞2𝗇𝖽 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖣 - 𝖢𝖧𝖴𝖮⌝ ‣ @fadingintothegrey ‣ @babygirlchuuya ‣ @bluebird19 ‣ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ‣ @lil-garbitch

⌞3𝗋𝖽 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖣 - 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖠𝖳𝖮⌝ ‣ @thisbicc ‣ @clingylittlebun-blog ‣ @queen-foraday ‣ @astridwesson ‣ @dethroneackerman

⌞4𝗍𝗁 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖣 - 𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖭𝖩𝖴𝖪𝖴⌝ ‣ @blairboo ‣ @themorticians-world ‣ @comforting-madness ‣ @savaneafricaine ‣ @tosoundlessdarkistare

⌞5𝗍𝗁 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖣 - 𝖡𝖴𝖭𝖪𝖸𝖮⌝ ‣ @aubrey-melinoe ‣ @badomensls ‣ @theaudraeymarie ‣ @psychomaniacmind ‣ @stardust-and-starlight

⌞6𝗍𝗁 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖣 - 𝖳𝖠𝖨𝖳𝖮⌝ ‣ @looney-goose ‣ @sadbitchenergy ‣ @friedchildblaze ‣ @touyas-princess ‣ @strltsaiuki

⌞7𝗍𝗁 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖣 - 𝖲𝖴𝖬𝖨𝖣𝖠⌝ ‣ @lovesick-evangelist ‣ @sanekiii ‣ @dravenskye ‣ @minah2020 ‣ @rumoured-whispers

⌞7𝗍𝗁 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖣 - 𝖪𝖮𝖳𝖮⌝ ‣ @1crushed1 ‣ @thewrstinme ‣ @theskyislonely

[tokyo-1842]

LIVE FOREVER <3

Zoro x GN!Scientist!Reader

GN!READER, ZORO X GN!!READER, READER IS GENIUS 😥

TW: Uhh reader not sleeping for days (Possibly weeks), READER PURRS😭 (I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CUTE), Pet rat, Zoro taking care of reader, fluffy fluuff that’s all folks, little suggestive in one sentence.

——————————————————————————

“Day…I’ve lost count…” You muttered to yourself as you wrote on the medium sized white board in your lab. The bags under your eyes becoming more visible day by day. The crew worries about you and both your mental and physical health. God…weeks it’s been since your last rest. But it’s not your fault! Science!

Yes science…all you need…you don’t even need sleep!

Ok well maybe a few screws in your head were a little lose during these past months. But it’s nothing to worry about! All the progress and research you’ve made was worth it!

*Squeak, Squeak*

Ah right that’s what this was all about.

So you see, you’ve loved animals your entire life! And one day you decided it’s not fair they don’t get to live as long as humans! The Sunny wasn’t going to be at another island for a long time too. So why not figure out a way too give longer life expectancy to animals.

And so you did but at what cost.

So this brings us here.

“(Name) Open up!” A gruff voice shouted on the other side of the door. “Yeah…give me a second..”

You opened the door to see a seemingly concerned Zoro. “What’s up? Need anything?” You look at him. Only if you could see how tired you looked. “The hell you mean “WhAtS uP”. What’s up is YOU for too long!” “I’m fine I swear…” You take a seat near a table where the mouse you were testing on was laying. (DONT WORRY THE MOUSE IS BEING TAKEN GPOD CARE OF :p)

“What could be so important that could have caused you to not sleep in WEEKS!?” Zoro grunted. “Oh man I’m glad you asked! I’d really like to drag out the years of my life and live past human expectancy. But I can’t.” You paused. “So I made a little buddy who could! This isss…hm (Mouse Name). I called him subject A I never gave a normal name, But anyways-“

Zoro watched as you babbled on about your experiment, he only payed attention to how you looked like you could fall over any moment now.

You pulled out a brush to groom the little critter, slowly stroking is fur.

“(Name)! Are you not seeing the problem here?” “What problem…? Hm are you talking about how I made (Mouse name) to look like me? oh yeah I forgot to mention! I did give him some of my DNA” “(Name)” “I extracted some of my blood and used the cells to form a similar genetic structure to mines” You slurred out while staring into space. “(NAME)! Can’t you see what this is doing to you! You’re clearly not even mentally stable” (That’s a drag) Zoro practically shouted. “Haha…what makes you say that…?”

…

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOUR BRUSHING AIR RIGHT NOW!” You look down to see a comical dotted outline on where (mouse name) should be. Your brain is so tired out you couldn’t even notice nothing was being brushed.

You let out a chuckle. “Funny I could’ve swore he was there…” You sweat dropped. “That’s it. Your putting that mouse to bed then your going to bed.” “But-“ “Do you understand?” The swordsman commanded.

…

“Ok…”

“Great.”

After wrapping up your lab equipment with the help of Zoro (because you would fall over) you changed out of your lab gear.

Roronoa let you borrow one of his T-Shirts. (Totally not just to watch the way the shirt hugs your curves)

“Alright finally let’s head to bed” He picked you up bridal style and you let out an adorable gasp he chuckles at.

…

Finally your curled up to him getting some well needed rest. You snuggled impossibly closer to his chest. Zoro massaged your scalp as he stared off into the moon lit ocean. Observing the way it glistened like a gem and listened to your soft snoring.

That was until he heard a…PURR?

Purring…you were..

The shock wore off as he found it adorable. There were many things about you he never knew but this one is new. It provoked him to keep on petting you as the cat like noises you made were like music to him.

——————————————————————————

BONUS:

- When ever the strawhats have a lil sleepover (idk) when you fall asleep Zoro likes to rub your back until you purr to show it to everyone. You always wonder why your throat is sore in the morning..

THIS WAS INSPIRED BY THAT ONE SCENE FROM ADVENTURE TIME LOL.

THATS ALL GUYS THANK YOU FOR READINF

SOME COOL GIFS:

HAVE A GOOD DAY :p

[willardsrestwidow]

❝We hold it in our eyes, the answer to it all❞ - Molly O'Shea x Fem!Reader

Pairings: Molly O'Shea x Fem!Reader, Molly O'Shea x (if-you-squint-your-eyes)OC!Reader.

Synopsis: After years of living as a hermit in a secluded hut in the woods, you finally find freedom, only to stumble into a life of crime. Stealing was nothing new to you, but joining a gang of outlaws changes everything. For the first time, the allure of shimmering gold pales in comparison to the captivating gaze of a certain pair of Irish green eyes.

Word Count: 5,3k

Warnings: Dutch, toxic-relationship, couple arguing but no physical violence, Dutch again, and eventual smut - oral, fingering; wlw sex basically.

Please only read if you're +18!

A/N: girlies and pals, I'm down bad for this woman, and that's that ig. I never wrote for rdr buuuuuut ive been a reader for a long time now. And speaking of long things, it's 5k words yall.... the thirst was IMMENSE!!!

Eyes were the windows to one’s soul.

It was what you were taught still as a youngster living out in the woods with your Pa.

When hunting, you just had to look into the animal’s eyes to know what sort of prey they would be. The slight convulsing of the irises, he’d say, was an indication of weakness. A fixed gaze on something else or complete disregard for human presence meant you’d need more bullets and more air in your lungs to chase the creature through the difficult terrain. And, of course, there were the eerie stares that seemed to pierce your soul — slit pupils or fully dilated ones — creatures you would encounter only three times in your life. Pa would mention bears and alligators, foul beings not to be trifled with, and a secret third one he would take to his humble grave, never to be revealed.

Well, regardless, the hunt had grown in you over time until Pa’s death, coinciding with when your needs began to grow beyond nature’s boundaries. Like a fish drawn by the shimmery light in the ocean, you took the first step out of the small shack, not knowing it’d would be the last time you set foot there.

In civilization, you found the same types of stares in store clerks, rich folk, and equally petty thieves. For once, a bullet between their eyes was not the ideal route for most encounters, if what you faced could even be called that. You began small—a poacher with a weakness for beautiful women, using the night and darkness to act upon your urges. There was no need to grow in what became your dark habit, to seek fame or further luxuries. You were content with sleeping in a different place every night until a late-night robbery got the entire sheriff’s ‘cavalry’ tailing after your sorry-ass. In the end, you rode your stolen horse off a cliff, resulting in multiple mild injuries, including a sharp stick in your thigh that rendered you bedridden for an entire week.

Bedridden, that is, because fate granted you a chance by sending a group of broad-shouldered figures mounted on horses your way. Or perhaps it was the other way around. It was while being spoon-fed by a lovely girl with dark features that you learned to whom you owed your gratitude, and the name rang a bell, if not several.

“I ain’t cut for washing clothes by the riverbank like they do. I mean, I can, but…” you recalled saying one sunny morning, the sunlight shining upon Clemens Point, to the only person you’d seen listening to others: Arthur Morgan. His hooded, blue eyes seemed to be everywhere around camp as he listened to you, even on Mary-Something, who was mindlessly reading a novel on her break. You couldn’t tell for sure because the man wouldn’t stay in one place, forcing you to keep chasing after him. Your lungs cried for help as you continued, “I just… hah, I can be useful outside camp too!”

“What they been feedin’ you and Miss Adler, huh? Look, if Dutch ain’t lettin’ you out, maybe you should try winning his trust,” Morgan mumbled over his shoulder. “Now, if I were you, I’d start with that laundry basket.”

“Did you start with laundry too? Uh… Morgan?”

Thus, your first, real week was marked by incessant running after dirty laundry and helping Pearson with cooking — which, in hindsight, was as tiring and demanding as any other job. Oddly enough, you couldn’t catch sight of Dutch or even enter his luxurious tent, the same being kept with its flaps down at all times as a high-pitched opera always emanated from within.

Like a trapped hummingbird, your patience began to wear thin. Dangerous thoughts of returning to the woods plagued your mind for a full night, but a warm morning opened your eyes to a bigger catch.

“Can I smoke in silence, woman? In God’s name, be quiet!” was the first human sound to be heard from a tent far from where you were, early on, gathering the rags sprawled around a sleeping Uncle. The gravelly tone with a slight crack in some words made you perk your head up and forget your duties. You couldn’t understand the stance your body took, as if you were young again, with a gun bigger than your body, which could just as well have been the damned laundry basket, and back out in the silent woods. You allowed the memory to take over, and careful steps to take you just about as close as a hunter could get to a creature.

An irked Dutch, deep creases carving his forehead and squinted eyes barely visible, tried to light the fat cigar hanging from his lips in front of his tent. A few feet away, Hosea sharpened his knife, and a determined Grimshaw marched across camp, though neither seemed to be part, or concerned about what soon followed.

From behind one of his shoulders, a flash of red, curly hair appeared and then disappeared. You figured it was his woman — the name failed you at the moment, but the intriguing freckled face, often marred with sadness, did not. “Charles saw it too, y’know?” she sounded from behind him, surely standing on her tiptoes for you saw another glimpse of her hair. “Charles, and Tilly, and John — bleedin’ John who’s never here has seen it. Everybody saw how you ate her with your eyes!”

“You’ve been on it since yesterday,” Dutch answered, his face showing neither sympathy nor worry about her tone. “Go get some rest. Lord knows you need it.”

“Ah, it would be easy for ya, wouldn’t it? Surely if I slept, if I disappeared, if I died, you’d be free to roam this earth after each pair of legs that may captivate ya.”

The vainglorious leader, now with a successfully lit cigar between his fingers, turned his back to you to direct his next words to the afflicted woman. “Die you shall if you spend another night wide-awake, thinking absurdities like the one you speak of.” Being met with an audible groan, he continued, “Rest, Miss O’Shea. Hopefully you oughta wake up more elucidated.”

Perhaps it was for the better that the broad-shouldered man kept her reaction veiled behind his physique and muffled her muttered response with an audible exhale. No, no 'perhaps'—it was meant to be, for it built the perfect suspense, pushing you just a tad closer to the scene in order to experience the long-awaited climax in the first row.

And, boy, did that also serve to wake the entire camp up.

Your ears caught the words, “You will know I didn’t cross the Atlantic to be your gimcrack,” before a satisfactory crack pierced the air. Angling your curious body, you were blessed with the view of the Irishwoman’s heels stomping on Dutch’s opera shellac record, straight out of his gramophone. His reaction was as expected; he let out a roar, dropped his cigar—which dangerously disappeared between his tent’s loose floorboards—and lunged at the redhead. At that very moment, you too dropped what you’re holding and charged forward to her aid, only to be rooted in place by a firm grasp on your upper arm. You turned to confront the new target of your rage, but upon facing a huffing Arthur Morgan, the grumbles emanating from within your chest ceased.

“I wanted you to feel it for yourself, but I don’t think you even have a heart to love a ting in the first place,” O’Shea continued, sounding ten paces farther away. “I’ll break whatever you own, and hope one day your pain will come near mine!”

A glance behind your shoulder was enough to spark another fire in you; the man’s big hands were then wrapped firmly around her arms. And you were sure to have convulsed under Morgan’s grasp. Alas, the sight wouldn’t come near as infuriating as the hushed threats against her ear, and ultimately the release of her as if she wasn’t worth his time. Before gathering with a somber Matthews, who was drawn in by the fight, Dutch turned to the disheveled one to let out a last hiss, “I dare you embark on the first ship back to your land,” and riveted his warning gaze towards you.

“Brown bears; damn fools, they is! If you drop on the ground and hold yer breath, you’s fine. Just never run away from one,” your old Pa said to a younger you one fine morning, while you’re out on the porch, cleaning his rifle, as he rocked on the creaky chair. “And then there’s alligators, who’s cleverer… Yer old Pa has a few scars with a bunch o’ stories along, uhum. Those ones will test yer body—have you runnin’ from side to side, jumpin’ on trees and all that good stuff. Thing is, ya can live from an encounter. Butcha won’t be runnin’ from the third one, I’ll tell ya. Ah, better yet... Heh, let time teach ya this lesson.”

And it did. For now, the third creature, the deadliest of all, was staring right back at you, its eyes reflecting a darkness you had never known.

It felt like ages had gone by when Linde broke the intense eye contact to march away from the troubles he created, a sigh of relief exiting your lungs as he did so. O’Shea remained silent after the entire ordeal. Still having to reclaim your freedom from Morgan, you watched her kick one of the record’s pieces and wander in circles inside her tent, finally resorting to sitting on her shared cot and burying her face in her hands.

“Grimshaw’s in need of more hands to clean them rifles,” Arthur finally said, oddly softly, as if he spoke with a child. Though you’d never heard him talk to Jack like that before. “Go on, then, girl.”

To say you were willing to risk your position in the gang to go running toward the weeping woman was an understatement. You were willing to risk your life, even! But… then what? You grew up around the silence of the woods, the teachings of your father that only served for hunting, and the bloodshed of innocent creatures — gallons after gallons of blood. Trivial aspects of life, like comforting one another or curling your lips around sweet words, were beyond your reach. So what if you ran toward her? So what if you took her freckled face out of her hands into your roughened ones? Could you muster the correct words to soothe her ache?

Thus, for a second time, you followed Morgan’s advice and stomped your way toward Susan Grimshaw and the many rifles on the table. The smell of gun oil and grease that would define your afternoon was never strong enough to erase the memory of the woman’s pale-green eyes, or how they danced nervously when she looked at her man.

✤ ✤ ✤

Tilly had come to you when the sun was setting in the plains’ horizon with a pleading look to her kind features. Her gaze would fall on the black grease coating your numb fingers, for a second thinking through on her request, but surrendering to her hidden urges.

You were to resume the laundry you left behind.

“’Course, anythin’,” you mumbled when wiping the sweat of your forehead with your wrist.

Your legs took you close to where the damned laundry basket was, curiously outside Dutch and O’Shea’s tent. You swallowed dryly, and without realizing it, you were tiptoeing toward the flaps-down tent.

For the first time since you joined the outlaws, an obnoxiously loud opera wasn’t resounding from the infamous gramophone. In fact, nothing was sounding from within—not even the muffled whimpers of a heartbroken and awfully tired woman. But it was the glow of a lamp seeping under the tarp that kept you on edge, enticing you to approach and press a curious eye to a single hole in the fabric separating you from…

…no one.

The stage for the early, rather disturbing event was lacking its main protagonists—whether for the worst or the better. You knew the leader had fled camp to trail trouble in some corner of the heartlands. Now, the whereabouts of the red-haired lady were truly unknown.

You knew how to look for tracks, traces of wandering life, and you did your best to find those in her tent, snooping through her belongings with a special focus on her clothes poking out of her bag and how flowery they all smelled… yes, all of them. Nevertheless, your time spent rummaging through her trinkets and personal items gave not a single clue about where she could be hiding.

For the bleak moment in hands, you found yourself fond of a golden necklace you’d seen around her neck that morning, the very same one with the oval red stone that hung tantalizingly near her freckled bosoms, calling curious eyes to ogle. Without much ceremony, you swooped the necklace into the old pouch strapped around your waist and headed north, toward the riverbank.

Arriving near the flowing stream, which served that night as a mirror for the stars above, you set the wash tubs, basket, an oil lamp, and your numb behind on the gravel, mentally preparing yourself for the pile of worn undergarments before you. You cussed under your breath; your fingers ached, and your hands bore light scars from the week of rough washing. The weight of leaving Pa’s shack to pursue what had become a living hell felt tenfold heavier upon your shoulders. Your posture sagged, you sighed, and you felt as though the cries of distant coyotes were the ones your lips wouldn’t dare utter, but were tempted to.

Your hands reached for the necklace again, bringing it before the faint glow of the crescent moon and the lamp you had brought along. You watched the gold chain dance between your fingers, the red stone resting in your palm, passing on the warmth you needed at that instant. And how odd it was that upon bringing it to your lips, you could hear its owner’s voice engulfing the open space around you.

“I bought it back in Galway while waitin’ to board the ship to America. An old gentleman was selling his families remainin’ heirlooms to pay for his daughter’s treatment. I thought it was in good condition, so I bought it.”

“Mhmm,” you replied, half-lidded eyes following the hypnotic dance you forced the necklace to make. From side to side, front and back.

“It’s true,” O’Shea’s voice resurfaced from somewhere, carrying frustration at your indifference. “That purchase was the best, and single good choice I made in my entire life. Needless to say, I want it back.”

The third time you heard that outlandish accent, it began to dawn on you that perhaps it wasn’t just a figment of your imagination driven by the guilt of stealing the woman’s necklace, but rather her real presence nearby. You whipped your head over your shoulder and saw a very real O’Shea leaning against a tree, a cigarette nestled between her fingers. Just how had you not seen her before was beyond your mortal comprehension, but there she was, enshrouded in a thick curtain of mystery.

“What’s your name, hm? I don’t believe even he knows your name.” You weren’t sure if by ‘he’ she meant Dutch or God himself… both options couldn’t be far from the truth.

“It’s… It’s…”

“I saw you earlier today,” she interrupted, saving you from the struggle of letting your name roll off your tongue, which on normal days was as easy as breathing. But the woman seemed too engrossed in her own battles to notice the unpleasantry. She then took a long drag from her cigarette and placed a supporting arm over her stomach. “What would’ve you done if Arthur hadn’t stopped you?”

Long gone were the days of washing, you thought to yourself. It was high time to seek after what truly mattered to a low-life like you. So, taking the rickety lamp, you set sail over to where she was standing, letting the crickets and hoots fill the night air while ideas blossomed in your mind. One of them was stopping just an arm’s length from her and motioning for the cigarette in her hold. You proudly watched as she guided the tobacco-filled roll to your lips, and soon enough, felt the bitter smoke fill your lungs.

“No good, that’s for sure,” you replied huskily.

“Well, I must know. Should’ve I been the object of your anger, that is.”

“I would make him learn and remember my name for centuries to come. Not the other way around.”

The shadow your body casted over O’Shea’s was not enough to hide the raise of her eyebrows, like she wanted to believe it did. Had you just then impressed or utterly disappointed her continued a mystery, for she took on the duty of raising her walls even higher — a delectable challenge for you to indulge in.

“Hmph,” she shrugged lightly, busying herself with extinguishing her cigarette. It wasn’t until her perfectly pointy nose was breathing hot air against your exposed clavicle that you saw fit to place an arm on the tree above her head, in an effort to stop leaning onto her petite self. Though she didn’t seem to mind at all once she continued, “Can’t say gracing him with the knowledge of your name would be a good offensive. Other than terribly tamed, is quite… unfair, no?”

“Right,” you chuckled, taking a deep breath in anticipation of what was about to happen. First, you took the same hand that held the cigarette — soft to the touch, as you’d imagined — and placed the valuable necklace in it. Once your gaze returned to hers, your name slipped past your lips without further hesitation.

“Right,” she echoed, her tongue sliding across her bottom lip as she watched you step back, providing more space between your bodies. Suddenly, the cold air was unbearable to the Irishwoman. “You, erm…. You don’t have to meddle in mine and Dutch’s affairs anymore. I’m sure one day we’ll be back to normal again, and all shall be fine. I’m tempted, even, to say you shouldn’t have interfered in the first place.”

A chuckle paved the path for your tease, “I see a perfectly normal woman standin’ before me.”

“I bet me honor if somebody were to demand you to point at Molly, you wouldn’t know it is I, sweetheart.”

“Aha! That’s ‘cause I’d never raise a finger at yo’self! Now, if we’re talking about the high-and-mighty Dutch —"

"He loves me!" Molly yelled, her fists curling defensively in front of her torso. To you, this seemed like a stance ready to strike or flee. But instead of running, as her posture suggested, she marched toward you and used her fists to shove you. Though not hard enough to make you fall, you stumbled backward, feeling the pain her hands inflicted on your chest soon after. "You have no idea how I crossed the Atlantic for him, how I left everything in Ireland to follow him. I’ve shed who I was, who I could even become, just to fit here with him. Go ahead, join the others as they laugh at the fool I am! Surely that's what they’re all doin' now!”

Her body trembled like the tiny flame inside the lamp swaying in your hands. Just as you had once wished as a child, you wanted to reach out and touch it, despite all the evident warning signs. You remembered watching Pa extinguish a candle with his thumb and index finger while you soothed your own burned fingers. Back then, you attributed that ability, and that alone, to men — to control fire — and how you envied them to have touched what you could only dream of.

Luckily, the world seemed on your side for once when a distinguishable crunch sounded beneath your boot. You looked down to find the necklace which had been sacrificed during her outburst. Before she took notice of it, you snatched and carefully placed in her hold again, oddly welcoming. “Indeed, buyin’ this necklace is worth the title you gave it,” was your final comment on the matter, a prolonged silence being the deserving answer. “Well,” you sighed, “why don’t ya stop by my tent one of these days while you wait to become normal again? I ain’t got much to offer, but…”

“What, am I supposed to greet Tilly on me way in? Isn’t she the one you share your tent with?”

It wasn’t coarse or unpleasant in the least. The comment was, by all means, very ‘Molly’, and was met with nothing except an affectioned smile.

“Yer sayin’ the offer interested the likes of ya?”

O’Shea’s eyes wandered over the plain’s surroundings, blinking at every tree as if they were her audience, darting from the starry sky to the plain river behind you. She wasn’t pondering the question, no; she was grounding herself. When her gaze returned to you, her gentle green eyes flickered slightly, a maddened waltz not from fear of you but from the turmoil within her. You could only watch as she reached a personal conclusion, her nostrils flaring as she took a determined gulp of breath.

“What I am saying is mine’s far less crowded.”

✤

Much like a drunk bastard forced to go a minute without a drop of alcohol, you found yourself weak in the minutes it took to wash your face in the communal bucket of water and change into something less worn out. Your mind had come to terms with “Molly” being the only name that mattered, and from the vast knowledge about nature and hunting that once occupied your thoughts, now, nothing outside the realm of 'her' held any importance. Obviously, the feeble state of your mind was kept a secret as you marched towards Molly’s tent. The strength with which your boots left several holes in the patch of grass made most onlookers think a fight was brewing.

But all that energy died out once you stopped by the quiet tent.

What if it was a trap? Your primal instincts questioned as you crossed your arms and bit your bottom lip. What if Dutch were standing behind those closed flaps, his 5'11" frame proud and undoubtedly satisfied with his recent catch?

You began to taste blood.

Oh, but what if she was alone, after all? What if you came all this way, bent over backwards, only to be denied what you've been craving? Would you bite the bullet or would you die with it lodged in your head?

The inner dispute, loudly resonating across every corner of your mind, left almost no space for the muffled voice coming from within the tent.

“Didn’t take you for a quitter,” Molly said, her tone mirroring the one in your head — ardently desperate. Surely, the big shadow your body cast over the white canvas gave away your presence, not to mention the questions of several gang members about your incessant pacing, for she quickly continued, making it clear she was speaking to you, “Call me old-fashioned, but whatever you came here to do, you must to do facing me. Otherwise, be on your way.”

“Damn, you seem set on the idea that folks laughin’ at ya. Hell, do ya think I’m too? ‘Cause if so…”

“I can guarantee the only ting I’ve got me mind set on is that I don’t want to be lonely any longer than I’ve been.”

“Why, ain’t that…” you began, yet much like the chaos previously flooding your head, it watered down into pure hollowness. The sadness inflicted through her words carving unbearable holes in your insides. “I’m heading in.”

For once, the cluttered interior with its woodsy scent and Linde’s riches on display did not capture your attention. Instead, it was O'Shea who was quietly sitting on a stool, her back turned to you, holding a small pocket mirror angled to reflect your entire figure as you entered.

It took you a moment to fully take in her appearance: her delicate frame clad only in white undergarments, her hair braided to the side to showcase the golden necklace resting around her neck, and her bare shoulders rising and falling with the slow, hypnotic rhythm of her breathing.

The steps you took towards her had caused cracks from the loose floorboards, but even then, even if a gunshot sounded from within the tent, you wouldn’t have taken your eyes off the figure before you.

“For your information,” she began with a tilt in her tone, “he never hurt me. Physically, that is. He never made me regret me choices, either. I love him. I painstakingly love him; with all my heart, in every breath I take.”

Sacrificing your knees, you leveled your face with the back of her head, fingers aching to touch the crook of her neck and her soft hair but instead choosing to play along with her game. “That sounds like a big ordeal.”

Once again, she used her mirror to gaze at you, but you could only see her parted, red lips reflected in the tiny surface. You watched them exhale a shaky breath, if not for the sudden lack of oxygen felt inside the tent. “That it is.”

“Then you must be tired of lovin’ too much and receivin’ nothin’ in return...”

Whether it was from the drunken haze her scent indulged you in, or from the deep-seated urge in your heart to make her forget about Dutch, you wasted no further time and pressed your lips to her bare back, prompting a short melody to slip past her lips. Her skin, as expected, was on fire, as if each freckle was an ember in the bonfire that Molly O’Shea has become. And of course, it drove you crazy, urging you to plant more kisses across the small region until she graced you with a proper answer.

“Tired? I — Ah — am nothin’ of the kind. All this lovin’, all this sacrifice will eventually pay off.”

You grinned against her skin, teasing a small area with the tip of your tongue and finishing with a light bite. “You know, lovin’ someone shouldn’t involve sacrifice. You're puttin’ in overtime, honey. Maybe it's time to find some shade under someone else's tree,” you rasped out.

The pocket mirror shook, and in the exact second your eyes poked out from behind her shoulder you saw a glimpse of her closed eyes, “What do you suggest, then?”

“I think the woman ‘fore me was promised many things already, hm?”

“It pains me to say this,” Molly mumbled with a single nod, dropping the mirror to reach out for your compliant hands, intertwining them with hers in front of her. “But you do know me so well.”

Never before had you tasked your lips with such a delicate mission as trailing kisses from her shoulder to her neck. It was a challenging endeavor, especially since with each touch, the Irishwoman would gasp and lean further back into you, igniting the flames of what had once been an innocent and rather controlled fire between the two of you. When you reached her ear and playfully bit her earlobe, she had surrendered completely — squirming, moaning, and despite her efforts, unable to conceal the squeezing of her thighs from your hungry gaze. And you ventured to the edge of boundaries, indulging in the pleasure of sliding the straps of her nightgown down, unaware that gravity would reveal more than just the skin of her shoulders.

As for Molly, she loved how the realization that her breasts were bare had you scrambling to your feet and circling her body. Finally, driving someone crazy wasn’t met with dire consequences; instead, it brought a familiar blush to her cheeks and made the remaining clothes draped over her curves feel too tight.

“Damn me,” you choked as you sunk to your knees again, throat bobbing several times with the moans you successfully strangled.

O’Shea smiled for the first time before your eyes, leaning forward just to tease what had your mouth rapidly watering. “Someone definitely will, sweetheart. Perhaps even God himself. But I honestly couldn’t give a bleedin’ damn.”

“And to me? What’ll you give?”

Her hands suddenly flew to your hair, fingers getting tangled in the mess of knots, adding to the delicious pain as she pulled them against the roots. Soon, you understood her message and leveled your face with hers, closing any distance as she pressed her lips to yours, inviting your body closer with the opening of her legs. When her lips parted between kisses, not for air like you had thought, she blurted her answer…

“Everything.”

You had no exact answer, but you figured that the second you began flicking her nipples, to outright tugging on them, Molly had to internally scream at each of her bones to support the weight of her flesh as it seemed to feel tenfold heavier. Needless to say, the second your mouth left hers to envelop one of her hardened nubs, the woman couldn't hold her tongue any longer. A loud moan tore itself from her throat, echoing throughout the room. The sensation was overwhelming, causing every nerve ending in her body to spark alive with pleasure. The grip she had on your hair tightened, pulling slightly as if trying to force your head down even further onto her nipple.

Feeling emboldened by Molly's pleas, you slowly ventured your fingers downward, past the hem of her nightgown. Your fingertips brushed against the delicate fabric, teasing her further before finally dipping below into the wet mess she had been housing between her legs. Your fingers slid easily through her slick folds, the warmth and wetness enveloping them almost immediately. Molly's breath hitched, her body stiffening beneath yours as you explored her most intimate area. Her inner walls clenched around nothing, desperately seeking something — someone — to fill them.

You could practically hear the desperation in Molly's ragged breaths, her body writhing beneath yours as you continued to tease her clit with your fingers. “You're makin’ me crazy,” you gasped, though the swell of her breasts, which your face had been wantonly buried in, muffled each of your words. Regardless, every brush of your fingers against her sensitive clit sent shocks of pleasure coursing through her body, causing her to buck and writhe beneath you. The feeling, you came to understand, was more than mutual.

“You’re wasting your breath on something useless as words,” was all Molly managed to get out. Her hips jerked upwards involuntarily, seeking friction from your wandering hand.

Taking advantage of her exposed position, you shifted down, trailing kisses along the valley between her breasts, to her stomach, down to her mound. With deliberate slowness, you replaced your fingers with your mouth, swirling your tongue over her swollen clit.

Molly's reaction was immediate and visceral. Her hands sought support at the edge of her stool, her knuckles turning white.

Your tongue worked tirelessly over her clit, lapping at the throbbing bundle of nerves with relentless determination, releasing sinful sounds into the warm air. With each flick and suckle, Molly’s breathing grew heavier, her moans louder. Then, without warning, her entire world narrowed down to the point where your mouth was touching her. Every worry, every heartache seemed to fade into the background, allowing her the rare moment to exist outside of thoughts about Dutch, her family back in Ireland, and the love she had longed to experience. Her back arched off the stool, her core clenching and releasing in rhythmic spasms as she came hard. And hard she came.

You couldn't control yourself either. The same whirlwind that had clearly swept through the Irishwoman had also affected you, though the chaos it caused within you wasn't as visibly exposed as it was on her. In other words, even the sweat coating her freckled skin deserved your appreciation, as it added a glow to the already god-like figure looking down upon you with something akin to adoration.

“Will you stay the night?” Molly purred tiredly as you took on the duty of securing her weakened body into her shared cot. Your eyes glimmered with lust as she wrapped her arms around your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses on your skin. Alas, even that seemed to wear her down completely. Gently, you laid her bare body down on the cot, unable to resist giving her one last kiss, though you kept it brief.

“Ah, don’t go playing games now,” she chuckled upon seeing you fix your clothing and ready yourself to leave. “Stay.”

“I’m gonna take ya outta this sorry life…”

“Mhmm.”

It was your turn to chuckle at the utter beauty of her sleepy face. “I’ll try with all my might to give Molly O’Shea the life she deserves.”

Her face suddenly grew grim, though her tiredness limited the severity of the grimace she meant to flash you. “Promises…” she breathed out, her eyelids growing heavier. “Promises,” she murmured before surrendering to the strong force pulling her into the depths of slumber, but not before a final, “promises,” slipped past her lipstick-smudged lips.

On the nightstand beside the now-sleeping figure, along with an oil lamp, was a forgotten glass of whiskey with a residual liquid resting at the bottom. There were no traces of red lipstick on its round edges, so you figured, as you brought the glass closer to your face, that it belonged to Van der Linde. Not that it gave you any pleasure or — God forbid — played into any fantasy you might’ve had for him, but taking the glass to your lips, feeling the bitter liquid burn down your throat, and later placing it back next to Molly’s spent figure felt like fulfilling a duty.

With that in mind, you tucked the woman in, giving her forehead one last kiss before making your way out.

The camp, much to your relief, was still buzzing with life. No one seemed to have any idea of what had transpired inside the tent, including the newcomers who had just arrived.

Yes.

Just as you stepped outside the tent, Dutch and four other men rode into camp on their horses. Some people welcomed them, while others, like you, stood their ground. It was dangerous, and you knew it: standing there in the predator’s den, bearing nothing but a victorious smile on your weary face as he made his way to his resting place. But old Pa didn’t know — and how could he? — that the deadliest creature was, in fact, an easy kill.

Only, it wouldn’t take a bullet or an arrow.

It would take some cunning and the golden necklace tangled around your fingers.

[forwhump]

a/n; some belated robin backstory 🥲 for doughnut, who I promised this to months ago & then FORGOT IM SO SORRY IM JUST AN AIRHEAD I WASNT INTENTIONALLY BEING A DOUCHE I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING (I remembered out of nowhere within like ten minutes of finding out liam died so that’s why it took even longer)(I loved 1d 💔)(& bleach finally animated my WORST CHARACTER DEATH so I’ve had a really hard week)(if I was still 13 I’d be institutionalized)

word count: 4k (I only feel like I need to add a word count when these are especially long so idk why everything I’ve posted recently has been especially long that’s my bad 😔)

tw/cw: kidnapping, captivity, implied rape/noncon, drug use, misgendering, transphobia, dehumanization, medical torture, lobotomies, mentions of the military, passing threats of violence against pregnant women, implied human experiments

When Robin’s a kid, just a couple weeks after his dad dies, his mom brings home a new baby. A girl.

She’s really little but she shrieks at a pitch so loud and so shrill that sometimes it gives him headaches. Other times, it puts him in such a bad mood he has to rip all the sheets off his bed or all the posters down from his walls. She doesn’t really do anything but scream or sleep and still, his mother dotes on her, treats her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

Robin doesn’t get it. He doesn’t even really like her. He’d wanted a brother, anyway.

The baby’s first word is mama, which Robin doesn’t think is all that impressive. Her second word, however, is Rob, and he doesn’t know until he gets home from school and she squeals so loudly it makes his ears ring, clapping her little hands together.

“Rob!” She squeals. “Rob!”

“She’s been waiting all day for you,” his mother says with a smile.

He drops his backpack so he can pick her up, and she squeals again as she clings to him. “Rob!”

He doesn’t even try not to cry because he doesn’t realize he’s started crying until his mother wipes away his tears. After, of course, she takes a picture that she later has framed. A picture that he takes down and hides.

When Robin’s old enough, care of the farm falls pretty solely on his shoulders. He’d been expecting it — man of the house, all that. His sister’s very much a girl, all blonde and giggly, pink and frills, and their mother gets her into pageants when she’s still really small and pageantry comes with a pretty intense base level of maintenance. When mom washes her hair, it’s a whole day event. It’s kind of absurd.

When she first starts trying to follow him out onto the farm, he thinks it’s just to bother him. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s chosen to do something for the sake of being annoying. She asks, then she begs, then she just puts on her boots and tries to follow. When he ends up locking her in the basement to keep her inside, she tries tantrums, then she stomps to their mother and pouts.

“Take your sister with you,” she chastises.

Robin groans loudly. “She’s just gonna get in the way!”

She stomps a small foot and cries, “I can help!”

“No, you can’t!” Robin tells her. “You’re just a baby! And you’re scared of the horses!”

“You can’t tell me what I can’t do!” She shrieks. “I can help!”

“You can’t help!”

“Stop screaming,” their mother says, “both of you.”

“I can help, mama,” she whines.

“She’ll break a nail and throw a fit,” Robin groans.

“I don’t care!”

“You’d better care,” Mom says. “Be careful.”

She brightens, immediately done crying. “So I can go?”

“No,” Robin says, and her face falls again.

“I can help,” she whines. “Let me show you!”

“Let her show you,” Mom says.

Robin groans the whole way out. She skips beside him.

He eats his words, in the end. Even if it’s just to prove Robin wrong, she ends up being a big help. Not with the horses, not at all, but with almost everything else.

Turns out it’s because her motives aren’t to prove Robin wrong at all — she just wanted to get out to the cows. As soon as she’s finished, once Robin’s back is turned, he’s saying something like, “I can’t believe you weren’t totally useless,” and he looks back around and she’s gone, out to pasture. He finds her frolicking with the cows, laughing delightedly.

It’s like that for a few months. She follows him out, helps with actual farm work as quickly as she can, then disappears out to pasture to hang out with the cows. For the rest of their lives there together, in their childhood home, their jobs change; she tends to her cows, and Robin does everything else. It isn’t exactly fair, but Robin had grown up fully expecting to have to do all of it himself.

They settle into their routine, and they stick to it for years.

As soon as Robin’s eighteen, he enlists. He doesn’t hesitate. He’d always known he was going to.

His mom knows. She’s proud of him. He doesn’t tell his sister, because she won’t be.

When she finds out, she throws every plate in the house at him. Breaks every one.

The moon hangs low above the farm, casting everything in watery silver light. She sits on the fence in her boots and a pageant dress, this one so white and sparkly it kind of glows in the moonlight and it makes her look, frankly, like a ghost. She’d taken the pins out of her hair and it looks spectral, a cloud around her.

They’ve been passing a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — she’d won a world title tonight, something that warranted a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — and her ghost is really starting to crack him up.

“You’re being a dick,” she says, but she’s giggling helplessly. “I look so beautiful.”

“I can’t even look at you,” Robin says, and he isn’t lying, turned away as he laughs. “It’s making me mourn.”

She laughs so loudly she almost falls backwards off the fence, and that sets Robin off again.

He leaves next week. Six days exactly, the day after his very last high school exam. He hasn’t told her yet, and he doesn’t want to, especially not now, but he’s running out of time. He can’t leave without saying something, anything, but he’s tempted.

It’s almost like she’s read his mind. “Can I talk to you about something?” She asks carefully, and something in her tone makes Robin’s shoulders tense.

“If you’re pregnant you’re getting thrown down the stairs, girl,” he says. She snorts. “Mom’s gonna be pissed.”

“I’m not pregnant,” she says.

“I’m leaving on Friday,” Robin responds. He doesn’t mean to.

Uncomfortably quick, her face goes blank. “What?”

“Fuck,” Robin says. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

“What do you mean, you leave next week?” She asks slowly.

Robin looks away, out at her cows. “I fly out,” he says, “after exams.”

“Fly where?” She asks, now completely flat.

He doesn’t look at her, but he tries to smile. “My first tour.”

She doesn’t say anything for such a long time that he finally turns again, he looks at her.

She swings, and her fist gets him hard between the eyes. She doesn’t say another word to him as she leaves, and she doesn’t say goodbye to him before he goes. After that, he didn’t really expect her to.

War is hell.

Men are monsters.

The first time Robin gets to come home, it’s so good to be home. It’s the most unbelievably light thing he’s ever experienced, like taking his first, clean breath. He almost starts to understand the military appeal; the comedown after is the high.

When he gets home, his sister is trying not to be weird around him but she is, very blatantly. He thinks it’s because of how they left things; he’s wrong.

“Can we talk?” She asks, and there’s something so severe in her face that he thinks she’s probably cutting contact with him. It’s kind of a low blow. It stings.

He sits across from her, anyway. Waits.

For a long time, she doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t lift her head.

“Okay, what’s going on?” He asks finally. “Are you okay?”

She exhales loudly, but her voice is so small he can barely hear her when she says, “yes.”

“Then what’s up?” He probes. “What’s going on? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No,” she says into her hands, “I’m not always pregnant,” and takes another deep breath. Robin waits. He gives her the time she needs, watches the way her shoulders move as she takes deep breaths, watches the way her hands tremble, hiding her face. Robin keeps his voice level and his hands steady and he waits, but he’s waiting for the worst. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s expecting, but he’s expecting it to be bad. He isn’t expecting, “I’m trans, Rob.”

She still doesn’t look at him. She still doesn’t lift her head. Robin says, “what?”

“I’m trans,” she tells her hands.

“Trans what?” Robin asks, and she does lift her head, then.

“What?” She says, like she can’t tell if he’s serious. “Gender?”

“What?” Robin repeats.

“Oh my god,” she says. “I’m a boy, Robin.”

“What?” He says, because he still doesn’t get it. Then, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she says, and — well, he says, actually. He says it, and he drops his head again, covering his face with his hands and the sheet of his hair. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“What?” Robin repeats. He’s gotten himself stuck in a weird loop. He’s thinking faster and a lot more than he usually does. “What’s — why are you sorry?”

“I don’t know,” she says. He says. He’ll get better at that. He’s an adaptable guy.

“Gonna have to stop overthinking,” Robin tells him. “Guys don’t do that.”

His back stiffens. He doesn’t lift his head. “What?”

“It’s why we sleep better,” he explains.

Reluctantly, he lifts his head. He’s always had a deceptively sweet face, kind of doe eyed, but when he looks at Robin he looks so scared, genuinely scared, that it kind of hurts Robin’s feelings. “Rob,” he croaks.

“Can’t doubt yourself like that,” Robin tells him, trying to shrug off the tension, and when he still can’t quite meet his eye Robin stretches a foot out across the carpet to kick him in the ankle. “Guys don’t do that.”

He barely looks at him from beneath his eyelashes, but he looks at him, and that’s progress. “This isn’t a joke,” he says.

“I know,” Robin agrees.

“I’m serious,” he says. “I’m seriously coming out to you right now.”

“I know,” Robin agrees again.

She covers her face again, and — he covers his face again, and it isn’t until Robin really looks that he realizes his shoulders are shaking. That he realizes — “do you have a…name? A new one?”

He hesitates for a long time before finally pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. With a sniffle, he says, “Wren, I think.”

“Wren,” Robin considers. He looks across their mother’s favourite gaudy rug at Wren, tries it on for size. “It suits you,” he decides, and Wren chokes out a sound that’s obviously a sob but that he had tried hard enough to hide that Robin lets it go. “All the names in the world, though,” he says. “You still picked a bird.”

He sniffles again. “We still had to match.”

Robin feels that really low in his chest, a lot warmer than he would’ve expected. “I’ve always wanted a brother,” he says.

When he finally comes home for good, none of the colours are as bright as he remembers them being.

Wren had moved out while he’d been away, and the house is a lot bigger than he remembers it being. It’s too quiet. He can hear too much when it’s quiet.

Wren comes to stay for a few nights, to welcome Robin home, and he brings his girlfriend with him, introduces her. Julie. She’d probably be very beautiful if Robin’s type were outrageously scary people.

All tattoos, everywhere, and piercings studded with diamonds that catch the light whenever she moves. Her hair is like ink and all her tattoos are thick, black, and she looks a lot like Wren’s opposite in a way that’s endearing for a long time. He likes Julie in the beginning; she’s cordial to him.

She’s less cordial over time, slowly but surely. Then comes a time she’s rude, that she’ll snatch Wren’s phone out of his hands to tell Robin to get fucked on the other end. Once, Wren shows up in the middle of the night to post his bail and take him home. He spends that night, then the next few on their couch, and Julie doesn’t say a word to him once. Doesn’t even look at him.

It comes to a head at his mom’s house. He’s there because Wren is supposed to be there, but he never even gets to see him; he only sees his bitch girlfriend, sneering down the doorstep at him.

“I don’t think you like me very much,” he accuses.

“I don’t,” she says.

“Oh.” He already lnew she didn’t, so he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. That she’s so fuckin’ blunt about it, maybe. “Fuck you, too.”

“You’re a loser,” she tells him, and folds her arms. Robin’s quite a bit bigger than she is, but it doesn’t feel like it then. She’s an imposing little thing. “What’s there to like?”

“Okay,” he says tightly, “you suck, and —“

“You’re a cancer,” she says, “and I want you to leave Wren alone.”

That one hits Robin like a punch in the chest. He almost takes a step back, then pivots, because who the fuck does she think she is? Why should Robin cower? “Fuck you,” he says again. She just raises her eyebrows, smirks, and it’s so smug that it actually makes Robin hot all over. “Fuck you. He’s my brother.”

“Yeah?” She asks, and he doesn’t like her fuckin’ tone. “Because, from where I’m standing, it really seems like that didn’t matter to you all that much until Wren started making a lot of money.”

It makes all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You have no idea —“

“Did he tell you we had to move?” She asks.

He’s still fuming and it crackles in his ears. “What?”

“Do you remember his apartment?” Julie says. “How excited he was? How much he loved it? But we had to move,” she tells him, “because we couldn’t keep up with it anymore, because such a substantial chunk of your brother’s income goes to funding his junkie brother’s crack habit.”

He tenses his jaw so tightly his teeth click. “You’re a bitch.”

“I’m not kidding,” she says, “and I’m telling you as gently as I think you deserve. You’re ruining his life. Leave him alone.”

Robin tries.

Really, he tries. He does what’s best for everyone and clears out his mother’s purse before making a home for himself in the gutter. He sleeps in the street and sits in the sun during the day, usually high. High if he can help it, anyway.

He sustains it for as long as it takes Wren to find him. He isn’t quite sure how long that is. He thinks he might have lost a lot of time.

Wren looks different. This Wren still has his Wren’s hair, his Wren’s abnormally large eyes. He’s still a pretty boy, but he’s a pretty boy, right? His jaw is a bit more defined. He’s got more angles, sharper angles, less softness and curve. He wouldn’t look out of place in an eighties hair band. How long has Robin been gone? How long has he been sleeping?

“You look good,” he says.

“You look like shit,” Wren tells him blandly.

“Yeah,” Robin agrees, scratching his neck. He accidentally opens a sore he didn’t know was there and scratches a little harder. “Where’s Julie?”

“Left me,” Wren answers.

“Oh,” Robin says, and stops scratching. “Why?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Why do you think?”

He flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Well, y’know,” he says, scratching his forearm, “there’s other fish in the sea.”

Wren’s face falls. Sighing, he looks away, half hidden by his hair. Robin has half a mind to wonder if that’s why he hasn’t cut it. “I can’t do this shit with you anymore,” he says.

“What shit?” Robin says.

“All of this,” he says, but he turns back to reach out towards Robin and forcefully pry his hands away from the sides of his face. “And stop fuckin’ pickin’ your face.”

Contrarily, Robin’s skin doesn’t stop itching so he doesn’t stop scratching.

Wren doesn’t stop taking care of him, either.

For a while, Robin has a really good thing going, honestly, and there’s something comforting about being at home again with his mom and his brother. He doesn’t notice, for a long time, how much it eats away at Wren, because it eats away at him so slowly. He gets quieter.

Five months after Wren decides he’s done taking care of him — and takes care of him, still — Robin clears all of the big bills out of his wallet before he wanders out onto the farm to grovel and ask to borrow a measly fifty bucks. He never quite makes it that far.

The cows are out, so it isn’t hard to track Wren down, but Robin never quite makes it over to him. He’s sitting in the grass, back against a fence post. Daisy has her head in his lap, and he’s got a hand between her ears, but it’s still. He’s staring off into nothing. It looks like he might be crying.

And that makes Robin so dreadfully uncomfortable he turns right back around and goes inside. Because that’s probably a little bit his fault, right?

He doesn’t leave then, but he notices it more. Wren stares off into space a lot. Cries when he doesn’t think anybody else is around. Never mentions to Robin all the money that vanished from his wallet.

Robin leaves a week later.

It takes Wren three months, this time, to track him down.

Robin’s been sleeping on the floor of an abandoned apartment building, and it’s kind of surreal, waking up to Wren, cross legged on the floor with him. It’s a relief to see him. “Can I b-borrow a c-couple bucks?”

The way Wren looks at him makes him miserable. He tells Wren it’s their mother, it’s the way mom looks at him, and it is, to a degree. His mother still looks at him like she’s proud of him, her son the soldier, her son the patriot, but the way Wren looks at him is worse. Wren’s disappointed in him, and that could almost make him throw up.

He’s trying to get Robin to come home, to get clean, and Robin’s trying to get some money out of him. He’s having a hard time focusing, he’s shivering, but not with cold, with a sort of fever that makes his skin crawl too tightly over his restless bones. When the door explodes open, Robin registers it a second after it’s already happened. The soldiers he doesn’t even see until they’ve already swarmed the room, covered every exit, pulled Robin to his knees by his arms and his hair. They knock his blanket loose, and he shivers until one of them grabs Wren by his braided hair, wrenches his head back, points his gun.

Not everything comes into focus, but it tries. This is really happening and this is really bad.

Their captain is a big guy that looks more like the Hollywood movie version of a soldier than a soldier. He has an arrogance to him that puts Robin on edge, that he’s only ever seen in very dangerous, very powerful men. The way he looks at Wren makes Robin sick.

When he knocks Wren unconscious, it’s with a wet cloth and a gloved hand over his mouth.

Robin begs. He hasn’t been above begging for a long time. The way the captain is looking at Wren — he’s seen what happens to people who get looked at like that.

And this is Robin’s fault.

This is all his fault.

It makes him think of Julie. He can’t remember the last time he saw her, or even the last time he really thought about her, but he thinks of her now. You’re ruining his life, she’d told him once.

She was right.

For a long time, he’d been ruining. Now, it’s in ruins at his feet. And it’s all Robin’s fault.

They try to make him watch, but he struggles and vomits himself into unconsciousness.

They take him to a weird, grey place tens of minutes below ground. They give him weird, grey clothes and they throw him into a weird, grey prison.

Wren isn’t there.

He meets Hal, and he meets June, and he begs them, too. They have to know something, anything. Maybe they heard one of the soldiers say something, even in passing.

They look at him like he’s crazy. They don’t even believe him.

Robin spends his first week in his weird, grey prison completely hysterical. Then a couple of men, dressed almost liked orderlies but masked, all in black, come to haul him away, kicking and screaming. They drag him through this weird, grey hellscape to a surgical room from a nightmare, entirely black. They strap him down to a black surgical table. The surgeons that hover around him wear black masks and caps and gloves.

One of them takes a long, black needle. He holds it up, into Robin’s field of vision, before he turns the point into the inner corner of his eye. “This will probably hurt,” he explains, “but you won’t think to complain.”

“What the fuck?” Robin shouts. He thrashes, but he’s restrained to that table so tightly he can’t turn his face away, not even an inch. “What the fuck! Get the fuck away from me!”

“This will make your development easier,” another says. He speaks with the slow, flat voice of an old movie mad scientist and Robin’s heart physically aches in his chest. Never, not once in his life, has he been so scared it’s made his heart ache. “It’s in your best interest.”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Robin screams.

But he’s still. He tries to thrash, to turn away, and he can’t. He can only watch that needle close in on his eye, and scream as it pierces it.

He screams until he can’t.

[firstdivisiongirl]

@sabo-has-my-heart asked:

Hey, you mentioned you're taking requests now but haven't gotten any, do I thought I'd send one in. 😉 I was hoping you could share some Ace and Sabo headcanons you have. Please and thank you. 

Hi friend! Thanks for the advice earlier and now this submission. I’m so happy that you turned in my first request. I don’t know if this is that good but, I hope it is. I love Ace and Sabo so much! They are in my top five favorite anime characters of all time!

Warnings: just a little angst; too much fluff

Word count: 698

Ace and Sabo Boyfriend Headcanons:

Sabo:

Would 100% put his top hat on you when you were upset or worried about him.  He’d think you were the cutest.

Lots of head pats if you are shorter than him.

And lots of hugs all the time

Lots of kisses too but usually not in public

He’s just one big softy for you.

I feel like he would be that boyfriend who would never get jealous.  Boys got confidence for days.

He would be so clueless at the start.  And probably go to Koala or Hack for advice.

After about maybe 6-7 times asking for advice, he’d try to do something romantic on his own.

It’d be a success and he’d come up with ideas on his own.

Then, he’s literally an expert on romance.  He would write a book on it!

Like with Luffy, EVERYONE would hear about you all the time.

They’d get sick of hearing about you but happy that Sabo is happy.

Rarely fight, but if you do, he will apologize first

Even if it’s not his fault

Even though he’s busy, he’d make time for you.  Especially for cuddling.

He’d be very protective.  If something seemed shady or dangerous, he’d keep you behind him so you know he will protect you no matter what

But he would let you have some time to yourself.  You know if you needed him he’d be there but he would let you hang out with friends or go places without him.

Probably keeps a picture of you with him for when he goes on missions.

It calms him down and helps him to remember why he is doing what he is doing.  It’s all to make a better world for you and everyone else.

Ace:

I love Ace so much.  My sister says if he was real he would most definitely be my soulmate.

He’s 100% a golden retriever boyfriend.  You can’t convince me otherwise.

He’d be your biggest fan! Like always there for you cheering you on and being there to talk whenever you need it.

Would talk to Whitebeard about you all the time, maybe even more than Luffy.

He would be protective even more than Sabo.  He knows what people like Blackbeard (if I said what I wanted to say about this one I’d be banned from tumblr) are capable of and feels like his whole world would fall apart if he lost you.

Would be with you 98% of the time

He would be the most jealous boy ever. 

Literally, you could be talking to a female friend and he would get all pouty and insecure.

He’d think he’s not good enough and you’ll leave him

Poor Ace 😔

But you assure him that you only love him and would never leave him.

He would literally engulf you in a bear hug or kiss you all over your face.

Marco would make fun of him so much.

Lots of hugs and kisses

Has a least one arm around you at all times

He’s not the best with romantic stuff like Sabo but he tries without getting advice.

Then Marco and Thatch have to clean up his messes.

After a while, they plan it and he just has to pretend he came up with the idea.

You know he is playing along, but you are happy that he’s trying to be the perfect boyfriend.

He would probably get a tattoo for you (this was actually Ace’s ideas and not Marco’s or Thatch’s).  Something you picked out for him probably.

He would most definitely be your personal human space heater.  You’d never be cold when he’s around.

We all know he’s a little stubborn, so if you got into a fight, he’d wouldn’t apologize if it was your fault at first.

Then he’d panic and think you were going to leave him and apologize.

Marco and Thatch would again make fun of him.

They will not let this boy live any of this down. They will forever make fun of him.

When he dies (I’m definitely crying now and so are you!  Unless your Blackbeard, then you can leave), he mentions you and thanks you for loving him.

Please do not copy, modify, translate, repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs or likes are highly appreciated!

[mixedkid-matchup]

INTRODUCING THE MIXED KID MATCH UP!

tournament where you vote for your fav multiracial (or multispecies!) character(s)!

inspired by polls like: @blackandpinkbracket @blorbo-archers-tournament @blueandyellowbracket @ultimatepinkgirl @homoeroticbetrayal @adhdswagcompetition @autismswagsummit @beefy-babe-showdown (HIII) tagging @competition-list

twas not planning on taking submissions, BUT IF YOU HAVE SOMEONE I DONT ALREADY then send me an ask bc im too lazy to make a google form. (characters i have are below cut + rules)

Submissions will stop being taken on Thursday, March 9th @ 7PM MST Tonight at 7PM MST SUBMISSIONS CLOSED

Rules: 1. fictional characters only. i’d love to put myself on the poll for kicks but fr I don’t know how your fave youtuber would feel about being put on a tumblr poll lmao.   2. pjo characters do not count. their greek ancestry is not incorporated in dna (this is stated in the books, but there is evidence against it, like percy’s greek eyes, but this is a fantasy/mythology book so like whatever. also this is stated so the characters can date outside their cabin.) 3. you can submit more than one character but dont submit one more than once 4. my matches so far are color-coded based on anime character, cartoon character, comic/graphic novel character, live action character, and book character. so in the beginning i will match the anime ones together and so forth to keep it fair for at least the beginning. 5. dont submit the entire family in the poll. keep it to like a pair of siblings that are the focus or something. or the main character. 6. polls will last 24 hours because im impatient 7. you can campaign!!!!! TAG ME!!!!!! I’LL SHOW IT OFF!!!! 8. you do not have to be nice in the comments and tags idc!!! trash talk!!! have fun!! just dont like actually legit send death threats or slurs to people. in seriousness. and to people you dont know. Characters so far: - Tamaki Suoh (white-french/japanese) - Luz Noceda (afrolatine/black dominican) - Kipo (black/korean + mute/human) - Inuyasha (human/demon) - Miles Morales (afrolatine/puerto rican + black) - Hiro Hamada (white/japanese) - Glimmer (asian/??? whtever tf her mom is ig) - Damien Wayne (white/arabic) - Alex Russo (Wizards of Waverly Place) (white-italian/mexican) - Alina Starkov (white/asian) - Sabrina Spellman (mortal/witch) - Aquaman (atlantean/surface dweller LMAO WHY DID THE CREATOR SAY IT LIKE THAT) - Keith Kogane (galra/human) - Raven (human/demon) - Mark Grayson (human/vultrimite + white/asian) - Marceline (half human) - Scott Mccall (white/hispanic) - Steven (Steven Universe) (gem/human) - Marinette Dupain-Cheng (white/asian) - Cassandra Cain (white/chinese) - Alex (Totally Spies) (afrolatine + white) - Aster (The Witch Boy) (black/white) - Ginny (Ginny and Georgia) (black/white) - Wednesday (white/hispanic) - Mako and Bolin (LOK) (fire/earth bender) - Elisa Maza (black/indigenous) - Carter and Sadie Kane (black/white)

[nardo-headcanons]

I appreciate your art because you draw itachi and sasuke as japanese which is how they should be drawn. Something I've noticed amongst the popular anime artists on tumblr is how many of them refuse to draw anime characters as japanese. It's whitewashing itachi. I can't count how many artists whitewash anime to the point where the characters are unrecognizable. But your art is special to me because itachi still looks like japanese manga itachi. There was a huge controversy in the fandom over this a while back (in the sns fandom) and while I don't support bullying the popular artists still refuse to draw itachi sasuke and naruto in their normal japanese form. This is racism, plain and simple. Naruto has blond hair and blue eyes but he is still japanese. But I understand if that's their style of art. I also wanted to ask are you open to commissions? You're a gem in the fandom and your positivity is so refreshing ❤

You know, anon, that means a lot to me. When I got your request I had to let out a laugh because at this very moment, I was on one of my overthinking tirades, wondering if I do Itachi and Sasuke (and by extension Shisui) justice. When I draw them, my style is often a mix of my own and Kishimoto’s style, the “ratio” depends on whether I’m using a reference or not. Of course, there are other factors too, like my mood or even the time of the day.

So when your ask came in, it kinda made my day. I know I say that a lot, but I mean it every time.

and since hot bitches don’t gatekeep, I suggest you give this blog (@atoriv-art) a try. They draw the Naruto cast with Japanese/East Asian features, even more so than I do. And the way they draw hair is just 😘👌

As for drawing characters with their respective features, I don’t think it’s malicious. When I started out with drawing, I wasn’t very secure in my ability to draw ethnically diverse characters (apart from black characters) so while I did it, I never posted it. But I agree that ignorance isn’t really an excuse to exempt yourself from learning how to draw different ethnicities, there are resources available online.

This whole topic also shows the extent that white supremacy (hear me out on that) has on seemingly unpolitical things like art. “White” is seen as the (beauty) standard while POC are the exceptions, the exotics. When learning anatomy, most models are white, or have been modeled after white people. We should rethink how we learn and teach art, and not teach artists how to draw (white) anatomy and then how to draw POC but how to draw HUMAN anatomy.

And to answer your questions, I don’t do commissions (yet) because of my terrible time management skills (I once took three months to finish an art trade) but people keep asking me, so I have to go with the unsatisfying answer: Maybe in the future.

Well, I could go on and on about this topic but eventually I’d just end up repeating myself. So thank you for listening to my yapping.

[driedupeyeballs]

for the ask game!! 💯, 🖤, 🎮, or 🔱 for skye (yes i know as a half-mer they can swim... but is it like azul where they don't like doing so with people around or like the leeches where they're super chill about it???)

Yipppeee!!

💯-“ what are three random facts about your OC?”

Skye cannot stand sour food. They grew up eating Jamil’s cooking so they’re well acquainted with spice and love foods that would burn off most people’s tongues, but if anythings even slightly sour they won’t eat it. They also don’t like coffee, but other than that they’ll rlly eat anything. And I mean anything.

They have a cat! I mentioned that briefly but I’ll share the cat lore. When Skye was around 6 or 7 they saw a little kitten on the side of the road. They went to grab it bcuz they thought it was a mouse and wanted to eat it, but no longer wanted to eat it once discovering it isn’t a mouse. So they took it to Azul who freaked out bcuz this wasn’t long after the Guinea pig incident (more on that later), so he takes the cat to the vet and gets everything sorted then talks to Jamil about finding it a home, bcuz he’s anxious abt keeping it around w Skye. Skye then expresses that they want to keep the cat, so Jamil purposes they leave the cat with Treyjade for a few months to figure things out cuz they live nearby and already have animals. Azul agrees to this, so for abt 3 months of Skye begging to go to treyjades house and getting upset when they are denied permission to hold the kitten (they didn’t show interest in any of the other animals), Jamil and Azul decided it was probably fine, so they took the cat home. Her name is Mariana and she’s a Russian blue cat! She’s very much a lap cat but only for Skye, she will hiss and claw at anyone else who tries to pick her up lmao

And for the third fact, they became housewarden about a month into their time at nrc. Which is impressive by any standards, but not impressive enough, bcuz Shenzi (my younger kaliruggie kid who Skye despises), became Scarabia housewarden three days before Skye became Octavinelle housewarden. They initially didn’t wanna take the title super fast, but when Shenzi did, they got pissed and went for it. They’re still salty about this and will likely always be salty about this.

🖤 - “Has your OC killed or seriously wounded someone before? Have they broken someone’s heart and/or broken someone’s trust?”

God damn what a question- okay so idk if you’ve read my 2nd Skye post where I go more in detail abt their venom/hunting strategy but they do have some extremely powerful venom. No human/mer/beastman has ever been killed by it, tho a lot of animals have. Skye was very reckless as a child, a big difference from their collected and put-together appearance they hold. They bit everything as a kid, edible or not, and Jamil and Azul had their hands full trying to keep them from killing any animal they saw. I’d say the worst thing they ever killed was one of treyjade’s pet Guinea pigs when they were like 7-ish, but I don’t think they lost the trust of treyjade from that bcuz Jade being a mer himself and Trey being married to a mer/having mer kids understood some things couldn’t be helped. They’ve never fully envenomated a person as it stands, they bit Floyd once as a toddler cuz they were curious but he didn’t die or even get super hurt. He didn’t hold them for a while tho lmao

🎮- “what are three of your ocs favorite hobbies?”

Skye reads a lot, they were the kind of kid where you had to take their books away as punishment lmao, they’ll read anything and they’ll read it freakishly fast. They’re really good at board/video games but don’t really play them much outside of their club/with friends so I wouldn’t count that, so as for the other two- idk if tea counts as a hobby but I am counting it, they grew up very close with Jade, he’s always been their favorite uncle (the octatrio and their spouses + kids is a very tightly knit group they’re all family), so from a very young age Jade was teaching them a lot about tea, so into their high school years they experiment more with making tea blends and they have a huge tea collection in their dorm room (and an even bigger one at home). As for the last one- this may surprise you! So I’ve had this in some of their unpublished notes for a MINUTE, they do tarot cards! And they’re extremely good at it. This isn’t a lifelong hobby like the other two cuz no one in their family was ever into it, but they picked it up as a way to make money for the lounge like a true ashengrotto. their plan was to have a temporary psychic reading thing for Halloween, but they ended up getting weirdly interested in it and now they have at least 5 decks amongst all the tins of tea

🔱 - “can your OC swim? Does your OC enjoy swimming?”

Uhh yes and no? Well they can swim in both forms, Azul made sure of that after the incident with their brother (long story), but they really don’t like doing it in human form. They’re obviously great in their merform, idk if you’ve ever seen a video of a sea snake swim but it’s really cool so I’ll link one. But swimming with two legs instead of one long tail + without the security blanket of strong venom isn’t something they enjoy.

[moonlightdawn1102]

Arion's Angel - Part Five

Pairings: Reader x OMC (brief and only mentioned due to backstory)

Word Count: 1845 (sorry for the long chapter)

Warnings: Child Marriage, Child Loss, Abuse, Death and Suicidal Tendencies (I don't go to deep into detail, but wanted to leave the warnings just in case, please let me know if I missed anything)

Conference Room, Avengers Tower

Trying to find a starting point to explain your past and history was difficult and near enough impossible. You needed to make yourself seem human enough for them to like you, but they also needed to realise how powerful you are otherwise you wouldn’t be needed on the team. Not to mention the fact you’d have to leave out a good portion of the truth because you couldn’t tell them about Luca or Arion. You were really starting to feel like it would have been a good idea to practise this speech before now.

Steve had dragged Tony over to the table to sit down so that you were standing alone in front of everyone. You glance at each of them and see the curious look in their eyes which wasn’t surprising considering what they’d just witnessed you do to Steve. Your eyes eventually fall on Bucky and you swallow thickly, he was sitting on the edge of his seat with his brow furrowed. Once he saw you look at him though, he gave you a small but encouraging smile which was exactly what you needed. It gave you some confidence and pushed you to open your mouth and begin talking. 

“I was born in 1668 in a rural part of England. It was my parents, myself and my little sister. She was ten years younger than me but we were best friends. We lived on a farm and considering the period of time we lived in, we were happy and healthy. But then our farm animals started dying, our crops stopped growing and we had no income. My father managed to get a job in a nearby city, so we packed up and moved. Thankfully, my parents were able to keep my sister. My mother tailored clothing at home so she could still take care of my sister. My father worked as a blacksmith which gave the three of them just enough money to get by” you say softly.

You sigh gently and look down at the floor, “I was bought by a Lord. I was fourteen at the time. There were no rules regarding safety for children, he became my master and I slept in the basement of his house with seven other girls and women. We were required to do whatever he asked and in return we got to stay inside and be fed once a day. I rarely got to see my parents or sister after that until I got word that my father had fallen sick. I ran away and went back home"

"It only took four days for both of my parents to die from smallpox, it had been sweeping its way through England and the death rate was incredibly high. It was a miracle that my sister and I never caught it but I knew that we couldn’t stay there. We had to leave or she’d be taken away to another family and I’d be punished before being returned to the Lord I belonged to” you say gently before looking up to see some empathy on the team's faces.

“So I took what little belongings we had and made our way to the coast. I managed to..erm..bargain my way onto a ship that was heading for America. It was a long journey, but we made it and my sister was healthy which is all I could have asked for. We ended up in Salem. But with no money or possibility of a career, I had no choice but to get married. You have to understand that this was in a time where a woman couldn’t have any independence. I didn’t want to get married, but I did what had to be done. I don’t want to go into detail but I’m sure you can imagine that it wasn’t a joyful time for me"

"When I was seventeen, I got pregnant but lost the baby. At eighteen, I finally did have a child. A little girl, her name was Alice, she was so beautiful” you say with a slight smile, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling when talking about your children. You sigh softly, “My husband didn’t want a girl though, so at nineteen I had another baby, but we had another girl, Jane. He was..He wasn’t happy with me for having girls and he was going to throw me out if our next child wasn’t a boy. Thankfully, I gave birth to a little boy, Thomas. Things were good for a while after that, we were a family for the most part and I loved my children” you explain quietly.

You could see the shock on all of their faces when you told them about your children, Tony even looked like he regretted what he’d said earlier about you being a monster. 

“But then everything changed. One night I came home from going to the local market and everyone was gone. My husband, my children and my sister. I didn’t understand what had happened, I entered the house and called out for them but no one answered. Then out of nowhere..I got..I was attacked by a man, well a vampire but I didn’t know that at the time"

"He spent hours biting me and drinking from me, he was supposed to kill me but he turned me instead which was not a pleasant experience. That’s how I became a vampire. When I woke up the world was different for me, I felt like my head was going to explode from all the sounds I could hear and I had this overwhelming hunger. I knew that something was wrong and I didn’t want to hurt my children, so I fled into the nearby forest” you say sadly.

“I..erm..I fed on animals for a time to keep myself alive but two months after I’d been turned this woman found me in the forest. She was a witch and told me that she was part of a coven. I didn’t believe it at first but she told me that she could turn me back to normal and I jumped at the chance. I just wanted to go back to my children. I..I trusted her..And she betrayed me” you whisper. 

“I didn’t know that they’d been looking for someone to use as a beacon for their power due to the start of the witch trials. I thought they wanted to help, but the spell they told me would turn me back into a human was actually a transference spell. All of their power entered my veins, it nearly destroyed me. I think they underestimated how much that amount of power would mess with my brain, they couldn’t keep me in control and I broke free..Killing them all"

"Using that much power caused me to fall unconscious, I woke up two days later and felt like I was in better control of myself. I didn’t have this desire to drink or feed or kill, I learnt later that it was because I’d fed on human blood which is what I need to survive and to keep in control” you say while looking out at each member of the team, half looked disgusted and the other half looked horrified. Apart from Bucky, he didn’t really have any kind of emotion on his face.

“Now that I had control of myself all I could think about was seeing my children. I ran home expecting my husband and my children to welcome me back with open arms. But he..he had another woman, he’d gotten married again and told me that I should have been dead. Turns out he’d made a deal with the vampire that turned me, the vampire was supposed to kill me like my husband had requested but didn’t follow through with his end of the bargain. I never loved my husband but I was heartbroken regardless, I told him that I didn’t care but just wished to see my children and sister..” you explain while taking a soft breath to prepare yourself for the next part.

“But that’s when..He told me that Alice and Jane had died. My daughters died and I wasn’t there..They were only four and five and I never got to say goodbye. It broke me and I was never the same after that. I was grateful that my sister and my son were alive but I had a hole in my heart that would never be fixed” you say while wiping the tears from your eyes. It had been centuries and that still hurt to talk about. You look up and see the sorrow on everyone’s face, a few of them were even crying. 

You swallow gently, “With my sudden return, my husband kicked myself and my sister out onto the streets. But not before accusing us of witchcraft. He told everyone that I’d died and had been brought back by the devil. That my sister had conjured my soul back from the depths of hell. The whole town turned on us and hunted us down. I tried to protect my sister, I did everything I could but they managed to knock me unconscious. The next time I opened my eyes, it was before I got my head put through a noose. My sister was to my left, she was only a child and she was crying louder than she ever had. I tried to get to her but they held me back. I had to watch as they put a noose around my sister’s neck and hang her for something she’d never even done” 

“I gave up fighting after that, my daughters were dead, my sister was dead and I’d never see my son again. I let them put the noose around my neck and I didn’t try to stop them. I welcomed death with open arms. My neck snapped and everything went dark. I don’t remember too much about what that was like but eventually I opened my eyes again, I thought I’d be in heaven with my daughters and sister but I was wrong. I was being dragged towards a bonfire and suddenly my survival instincts kicked in. I was angry and psychotic which wasn’t a good combination. I killed everyone..I went into an uncontrollable rage and was led by nothing other than my desire to kill and thirst for blood” 

You hated yourself for what happened next and could barely get out the words, “S..Somehow I..I found my way home and I..I broke into what used to be my house. I slaughtered my husband and his new wife..But then my..my son came downstairs and I didn’t..I couldn’t..I wasn’t able to control myself and I..I killed him..I murdered my own son..” you say while crying silently. You couldn’t bring yourself to talk again due to the memories that came flooding back, “I can’t..I can’t do this right now..” you whisper before fleeing out of the room.