#I'm literally walking into the ocean and never coming back out if this happens

[chetney-pockopea]

Brandon I'm in your house sawing one quarter inch off of every other table leg don't do this to me I'm begging.

[captainofthedauntless]

Wants

Rise Leonardo x Reader imagine

Info + Warnings: Reader needs help wrapping gifts at the last second before a party. Leo's their hero. And a huge distraction. No gendered language, pronouns, or Y.N used for Reader. An attempt at Spanish by a very not Spanish speaking writer. Established relationship. Arguably steamy. Set a few years post movie.

Commentary: IDK what the fuck happened here.

See, here's the thing.

You are extremely, incredibly kissable.

He knows this. He knows this like he knows his swords are sharp. He knows it in his bones.

He also knows you have somewhere to be.

(Really, his motives were good. He came over just to help you finish wrapping your friend's birthday gifts (okay, and give you shit for only now getting around to it). He just wanted to be a supportive boyfriend and make sure you had time to get ready in peace.)

And yet, because he's either an idiot or an asshole, here he is, boxing you in at your table and kissing you.

See, the thing... you look really, really good. And you smiled at him when you walked out of your room, all dressed up and looking forward to the party you're going to and grateful for his help.

And he's only human- turtle- hm.

He's not immune, is his point.

So here you are, getting kissed, and his hands are on your waist and yours are grabbing handfuls of his shirt and he's very, very happy.

It's only when you gasp against him- his hand slipped, okay, he hadn't meant to squeeze your hip like that- and the sound makes his heart skip one beat and crash into another that he realizes- with all of the force of getting hit by a train- that he has to stop.

It's like cutting off his own arm.

But he does it, he pulls back- pushes back against every fiber of his being that wants to keep you close enough that he can almost hear your heartbeat- because you have places to be.

And you deserve much, much better than him being a desperate disaster against your dining table.

Now he's staring.

He's staring and his hands are still on your waist and your hip and he has to stop. Has to. Needs to. Like, muy rápido, right now, yesterday has to stop.

"...Hi," He says, voice all shaky and gooey through his grin.

"Hi," You repeat, a little dazed as you're still clinging to his shirt.

You're smiling at him again. He's not sure you ever stopped.

Shit. Fuck. He has to walk away.

He wants to keep you there for the rest of your natural lives.

"You gotta go," He mutters grimly, and he realizes how fucked it sounds immediately, and he throws himself into an uncharacteristically jumbled explanation because his brain is still offline. "It's late- you gotta- the thing- I'm- fuck I don't want to stop kissing you."

You cock your head as you process his messy babble, blinking twice, and then you're laughing.

And then he's laughing, because really it's that or take one of your butter knives and portal himself into the ocean, and if he does that he can't do this again.

"I gotta go," You confirm with a wry, bittersweet smile, not letting go of his shirt.

It's going to be so wrinkled.

He literally could not give less of a fuck.

"You gotta go," He repeats, more to himself than you, and you must know that because you're laughing again and you must really not care about... whatever urgent thing you have to go to... whatever that was, because you're not helping him stop like. At all.

You're gonna be the death of him one day.

"Maybe... you could come back by tonight? We could watch that stupid racing movie you've been talking about-"

"It's a heist movie, thank you-"

"-And, uh..."

"Don't say chill. I'll explode. I'll expire."

"I was trying to say cuddle," You say, bashful and exasperated at the same time, somehow. As though he'd ever say no. As if he knows how to say no to you. As though he ever, ever stood a chance.

It's beyond cute. It's enough to make him want to squish you and literally never let you go.

"You gotta go," He groans, his hands darting up to cup your cheeks and squeeze your face softly. "You're gonna drive me insane. What even is this again?"

"Birthday party."

"They'll have another-"

"Leo!" You laugh over his playful persuasion.

"You can send a card-"

"Leo."

"I'll pay for postage. I'll lick the stamp."

"Leonardo," You breathe, all fond exasperation, as though you'd ever let go of his shirt. As though you're any better than he is.

He almost wants to push just a little farther, see what else he can get you to call him.

He really wants to.

He wants a lot of things around you.

And even more when he's not around you.

And now, he's facing min-ee-mum four hours being not around you.

He hates it.

He takes the feeling and balls it up and three-point-shoots it into his mind's trashcan, because you deserve to go and have fun and be merry and all that jazz. He gets you to himself enough- never enough, literally never enough- that he can share.

Plus, he did a fantastic job wrapping those gifts.

And, as easily as he twists and leads and convinces other people, he's played himself right into a corner, because now it's both you deserve him being normal here AND his ego.

He'd be impressed by himself if it weren't for the fact that it means he loses.

He shakes his head a little, because he lost the plot minutes ago and you really gotta go and he's still got you against the table.

"Movie night?" He asks, just to hear you talk. He knows the answer.

"Movie night," You confirm happily, releasing his shirt.

He whines a little. He's barely even embarrassed at this point.

You laugh again and smooth the fabric out, hands warm on his plastron and making him a little insane again, before you press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for your help, honey."

"Thank me by making sure those are put front and center on the table, yeah?"

You glance at the boxes- done up in blue ribbon, you notice- and nod. "Art deserves to be displayed," You say seriously, and he's dangerously close to kissing you again because you're perfect.

"Yoooou-"

"Gotta go?" You finish with a knowing grin, eyes smug, head tilted playfully, perfect.

"Extremely, extremely yes. If you don't go I'm never gonna let you go. You gotta go."

"Hm..."

"Nope!" He says quickly, cutting off whatever tease is about to come out of your mouth, clinging to his sanity by half a thread. "Nope, nope, you are taking those boxes and you are going and you're going to have a great time and be safe and that is final."

"Are you telling me or yourself?"

Perfect. The death of him. Smug and clever and kissable and the worst and the best.

"Both, apparently."

"...I can be a few minutes late-"

"Baby, gorgeous, mi vida, if you don't get out of this apartment-"

You laugh bright and mischievous and delightful, and you press a quick kiss to his lips, and you scoop up the gifts and your keys ("You can port out, right?" "I think I'll manage.") and your phone and wallet and he grabs the door for you, because he's a gentleman (unwilling to be an inch farther from you than he has to).

"See you tonight," You promise, turning back to look him in the eye with more open affection than he was ready to see outside his own reflection.

"See you tonight," He agrees, knowing he sounds lovesick.

You leave, he closes the door, he slumps forwards to rest his forehead against it as he turns the lock and laughs breathlessly because his chest feels like it's going to explode from how much of it is just you.

[pigcowboys]

Hi I hope you're having a wonderful day <3

I was wondering if you could maybe do percy jackson with a daughter of nyx where they are basically the same person personality wise and have a lot of common interests ( sorry self indulging here🤭). They basically both kin each other lmao

THANK YOU <3

pairing: ꒰percy jackson x nyx! female! reader꒱⋆·˚

summary: general hcs for percy with a nyx! s/o

warning(s): mutual pining, nonsensical bickering, mentions of injuries & kisses

a/n: HIII OMG THIS REQUEST IS SO CUTE :)) i tried my best to do what you requested!! i hope you like it!!

request are closed!

literally off the bat i can see the two of you at each other's throats all the time.

you're just too alike there's no way there's not gonna be bickering man.

"i think we should use a different design."

"who put you in charge?"

"the voices in my head, actually"

"literally what."

i imagine percy kind of being put off by you when he'd first get to camp half-blood like

who are you.

i mean it isn't like he's TRYING to be mean, you're just so annoying sometimes yk.

then i feel like one night he'd sneak out of camp to go stargazing and find you near the shore in his spot.

lowkey annoyed by your presence at first but still proceeds to gaze with you silently. you'd strike up a conversation with him and it'd actually go a lot better than he expected it to go.

okay, maybe you're not that bad.

he'd start to approach you more at camp but like not for any reason at all yk. he just enjoys talking to you, i guess.

probably would be overjoyed when he finds out you have similar interests as him.

you two probably stay up all night talking about the most random stuff.

honestly, those talks are probably the moment when he realizes he..like likes you.

you're just chilling and talking about random shit and he laughs at one of your jokes and has to take a moment because he realized that you're honestly just the best person ever.

and then from that point on he's honestly kind of a mess.

you're so cool to him for some reason?? you'd just be living life and he'd probably just be in the background observing you with big ass heart eyes.

"is there something on my face, perce?"

"huh? uh no, what?"

he knows he likes you but just doesn't know how to say it?? i mean, do YOU even like him back..??

aghhhh it's honestly so draining to him.

he's not shy. just kind of stupid when it comes to feelings.

probably tried to "woo" you somehow by buying you ocean related stuff whenever you go out together.

played it off as him just having some change.

he is willing to go bankrupt for you.

i feel like one day he just got tired of dropping hits and just decided to go for it cause like, you've known each other for a minute.

he'd meet you at that star gazing spot and literally just spill all his feelings for you.

"don't say anything but what if i told you you're an amazing person and probably the coolest person i've ever met in my life and that i'm literally head over heels for you because you're smart and funny and pretty and you're just the best?"

"what?"

and you start dating!! woo!!

HES SO SWEET!!!

once you start dating he def gets a bit more of a confidence boost.

always boasting about the fact he's dating you like everyone else doesn't already now from the way he's always clinging to you.

and if you're not into physical touch no worries!! he's completely and totally fine with it!! probably asks permission to give you hugs and hold your hand.

beach dates.

you'd be that one sappy couple who interlocking hands and walks down the beach together UGHH

he would def be the type of guy to go to you after every quest so you can patch him up. do you even know how to patch him up?? probably not! can't he just use some ambrosia?? yes.

doesn't mean he won't stop.

"percy, what the fuck happened!?"

"what do you mean?? :)"

kind of scared of your mother but would never admit it to your face.

i feel like he'd make some kind of big plan to try and kiss you but it'd ultimately fail.

he'd pull up to you with some beautiful ass flowers with a big grin on his face.

would take you to some really secluded spot that he'd decorated with a bunch of different things and homemade food!! (sally helped him.)

things would be going good till it starts to rain.

not that it's a problem for him at all but it kills the freaking mood.

"i'm so sorry.."

"for what?"

"how this turned out, it was supposed to be this big and..romantic thing."

"it's okay, we can have other dates."

"no like..i wanted us to kiss."

"..."

"..."

"who says we can't right now..?"

"oh."

he's in heaven when you finally kiss for the first time!! you're literally so amazing like wtf he got so lucky.

from that point on you two are locked in for life.

he's everywhere you are, you're everywhere he is NO MATTER WHAT.

he's so in love.

[ollieink]

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃!

childe x fem!reader ( wc 4.8k)

inspired by 'pretty poison' written by the very talented vent1k1n on ao3, literally so good. never thought strip russian roulette could be so smeggsy wtf.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | dead dove: do not eat, non-con, rough sex, size difference, bit of gunplay, spitting, forced orgasm, corruption, yandere undertones, threats of murder, childe is a menace, reader has a petite body, dash of angst, russian roulette, mafia alternate universe, betrayal, please don't read if you're not comfy with these themes.

"Tartaglia is heartless."

That's what papa's soldiers said after he asked for your hand in marriage. It was a way for both ruling families to finally come to terms. Some were against it, others hopeful. And you had to admit, Tartaglia was hypnotizing. You saw him from afar one time, two times, a couple of times—from across the bridge that separated papa’s territory from his. He was the ocean come alive, all the good and all the bad. When he crossed that bridge to meet you, everything people warned you about him burnt to the ground.

Your chest fluttered on the wedding night, but it wasn't what you thought or hoped it would be. Tartaglia merely wished you a good rest before departing to his room. Of course, this wasn't a marriage of love ( you'd gotten carried away in your fantasies ), but rather a strategic move on both mafia families. Even then, the painful sprout of thorns in your chest didn't go unnoticed. Maybe it did for him. Or perhaps he did notice and just didn't care.

Papa didn't want you seeing all the bad things he did, so violence was a thing that happened from a distance. It was the same with Tartaglia. He'd tell you to go to your room when his men came in for a meeting, reassure you everything was okay—that you didn't need to worry your pretty head off. Perhaps he truly cared about you ( even if it wasn't the starstruck love you hoped it to be ), and that fleeting period in your life was the happiest. That is until you peeked into the basement of his manor, and a pair of dead blue eyes looked back.

You’re not supposed to cry over a stupid boy.

The sky has given way for a thunderous storm. Loud cracks of thunder light up the city, matching your heart's ferocious churning as you think over and over again: why, why, why? It pours rain as you pound on various doors for refuge, but everyone knows better than to open them at this hour. Crossing the bridge is a death sentence; Tartaglia’s men are stationed there, and they'd surely capture you on sight.

Afraid that he’ll catch up, you run into the city’s emptiest corner—an unsuspecting alleyway where the city lights can't reach. There’s nothing but rubbish here: overflowing dumpsters, shattered alcohol bottles someone must've thrown in a drunk daze, vulgar graffiti on the walls. Buildings tower overhead, placed so close together only a few people can walk through at the same time. The path winds 'round and 'round. You aren't sure where you're going, as long as you get away from here.

More lightning cuts through the pouring sky, and amidst it, a sweet voice calls out for you.

“Darling~”

All the hairs on your body stand, and you run faster than ever before. He's still using that sickening term, as if you really do hold a special place in his heart. Even if it wasn't real, you were content being something he felt obligated to take care of—because you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered when his hand tightened over yours, how he looked standing bare feet in the ocean shoreline. And you were happy being just an afterthought to him. But this is too cruel for you.

"Come back to me, darling. I'm sorry if I scared you."

His footsteps are getting closer and closer.

The alley takes a quick turn, and what you see next crushes all hope of getting away. A wall.

No, no no no no.

There must be another way out, but everywhere you look is a dead end. When the heavy footsteps finally stop a few meters away, you turn around. With a violent crackle of thunder, light briefly fills the alley; it barely makes a dent in Ajax's dark blue eyes. The electric crashes through the sky reflect off the taut muscles—wet with rain—on his arms. His black shirt, soaked all the way through, clings tightly to indents of hard flesh on his torso. And a smile haunts his face, kind like you remember.

"Why are you running away from me?" Ajax takes a step closer and reaches out a tempting hand. It's his left one, and the two rings on it are evidence of your weak union. "Let's go home, my love." He beckons in that familiar, gentle tone he only used with you. It made you feel special, but now you know it's just a trick.

“Bastard!” You scream with all the broken pieces of your heart. “You were just using me! I saw what you did to my father’s men in your basement, what you said about killing me! It’s a low move, you know—to murder someone in their sleep.”

Your words stir a devilish grin from him, and all traces of sweet, sweet Ajax disappear in an instant. "Ah, so you heard that too." He steps closer again, and the cobblestone wall hits your back. "It's a shame, ya know. If you weren't so nosy, I would've let you alive for a bit longer. Maybe we could've had our first kiss on the lips too, hmm? Bet you would've liked that. I know I would—you were always so kind to me. A bit too kind."

"Get away from me! If papa finds out about this, he'll kill you!" you scowl, hoping to get some leverage over this situation. But Tartgalia is a proud man. He simply laughs, as if you're a child throwing a silly tantrum.

"Well, he isn't here right now is he? It's just you and me." As his hand lifts, a flash of lightning exposes a revolver nestled against his palm.

"Ajax. . . ?"

Even his name sounds unfamiliar. The remaining bits and pieces of your heart break, not instantly, but in a way that hurts much more—slow and agonizing, holding onto hope that you know doesn't exist.

Blue eyes sweep up your body, savoring your disheveled appearance under this stormy night. Your plush thighs look so squeezable, and oh, that teeny tiny waist that's just begging to be held down.

“Let’s play a little game. It'll be fun."

Despite his voice sounding playful, the cold smile twisting his mouth wrecks shivers through you. He opens the gun to reveal six bullets settled ominously inside. “Each piece of clothing you take off, I’ll get rid one bullet. You have ten minutes before I pull the trigger, darling. Let's see if you're alive then. And if you are, I'll let you go. Promise." He chuckles at the way your eyes widen fearfully; it’s just too adorable. “Go on, I’m waiting.”

There's no way you're going to listen to him. He already messed with you enough—from the wedding vows, the delicate cheek kisses, and late-night strolls along the beach. All of it was just a pretend game for him, and the thought boils your blood just as much as it hurts.

“That game's stupid. I’m not doing anything for you."

“So, you’re gonna play tough, eh?” Tartaglia hums, unbothered by your disobliging attitude. In fact, the smirk on his face gives you the impression that he enjoys it. He points the revolver aside, and with a spark, fires it. A shrill noise reverberates through the cramped alleyway, and you jolt as the bullet whizzes past your cheek. “I won’t miss next time.”

Angry tears sting the corner of your eyes. “You’re fucking disgusting."

"You have ten minutes, sweetie. Or would you rather just let me end it all for you right now? I promise it won't hurt." There's a slight pause, then Childe's grin widens even more. "Or perhaps you want to spend your last moments as husband and wife? I know we never got the chance to be really intimate."

He'll shoot you if you try to run. For a split second, you consider trying to reason with him. Maybe he really did feel something—even if it was the most empty-minded feeling that ever crossed his cold heart. But that hopeful thought quickly vanishes. Ajax doesn't exist. He never did.

Finally, with a long exhale, you hesitatingly begin to slip off one heel.

“Mmm, good girl.” He takes out one bullet, letting it clang against the floor and roll by your feet. His gaze feels sharp along, glued to every movement, every nook and cranny of your exposed skin. When you get the other heel off, Childe hums cheerfully and drops another bullet. Papa always told you to be brave, but you’re shaking uncontrollably under this heavy aura of death. Your fingers tremble as they loosen your dress, and when the ribbons slowly but surely come undone, all the silk cascades into a bundle of light pink. A slight sigh comes from Childe the moment your adorable, white undergarments are revealed—so untouched, so innocent. Your skin suddenly feels too uncomfortably tight under his heavily inspecting eyes.

Childe chuckles as you hug yourself ( to cover up and protect yourself from the stormy weather ). Seeing you like that—all vulnerable and small—it's just too cute. He lets go of another bullet, and it lands with a sharp ting.

"Come on, take it all off," he playfully orders.

It's a decision between pride or life—an easy option for most, but difficult when it ends up in your hands. "Go fuck yourself." When you make no effort to strip any more, merely scowling at him with dewy eyes, the blue-eyed man breaks into wild laughter.

“You’d rather die than let me see you naked? Ah, how cute, but. . .” He closes the metal cartridge, spins it, then lifts the gun back up to you. “I’d think twice if I were you.”

"If you lay a finger on me, papa won't let you get away!" you glare at him, but all it does is stir a snicker. Suddenly, Childe steps forward and kicks your knee out. You hit the floor coarse with wet dirt. “Hey—!” Tartaglia wastes no time listening to your protest. He carelessly turns you over with his shoe, then presses the underside of it onto your stomach—a sharp contrast to the way he always treated you like glass. It was that side of him you learned to love, not the heartless man everyone viewed him as. Perhaps if you'd been smarter, you would've seen right through him. How love is but a fool's game to him. And how it was always his plan to use you.

A flash of thunder lights up the sky behind him, and the rain falls harder.

Your face contorts with rage. “Fuck you!"

“Quite the dirty mouth for such a sweet girl," Childe coos, kneeling down to harshly grab your chin. "Haha, you look so cute when your cheeks are all pushed up like that."

He leans in, and suddenly, a pair of lips capture yours—sweet and creamy as if he just finished a glass of honey. His tongue breaks into the wet cavern of your mouth, exploring the darkest corners. You feel the metal of his piercing, how it presses against your tongue. Each groan he makes resonates deep within your chest. Determined to resist in any way you can, you bite down hard enough to split open his bottom lip.

Tartaglia jerks back with surprised laughter, dragging his pierced tongue over the blood. "I always expected you'd like it rough, darling. But it's fine—I like it too." As if taking your defiance as a challenge, he curls his hand into the back of your hair, and with a harsh tug, smashes your lips together in a desperate frenzy.

"Mmph!" The sheer force of his kiss muffles your voice. He forcefully pushes down your jaw, giving him enough room to shove his slithering tongue inside again. Saliva trickles down into your throat, and his mouth hums against yours; it urges you to amuse him more. You refuse at first, but as his disgusting saliva builds up from just how sloppy the kiss is, you're forced to take tiny gulps, and those gulps soon turn into hesitant swallows.

After a long moment, he finally pulls back. “That’s right. Drink it up, filthy little thing.” In a fit of rage, you spit on his face, and he recoils to wipe it off his cheek. Instead of seeing anger on his face, there's nothing but the flushed look of unhinged amusement. He suddenly jams his gun into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden intrusion. He hovers a finger over the trigger with a smirk on his face. “Wanna try that again?”

Tears blur your vision, but they're quickly blinked away. You won't let him win. You won't let this bastard get the better of you.

"That's what I thought." Childe moves the gun to the side of your head, showing exactly who's in charge. His other hand settles upon your pelvis; it nearly folds across the entire width. "So tiny. . ." You flinch as his touch moves lower, caressing all the subtle curves and dips of your flesh. "Ever been this intimate with anyone, darling?" He plays with the band of your panties, letting it smack against your hip after every tug. The ginger coos, as if your reaction was somehow an answer—the way you tremble, the way you glare at him with such lovely flushed cheeks. "Mmm, guess not. But that makes it more exciting, right?"

He suddenly turns you around, easily jerking your limbs until you're sitting on his lap. His hand falls from your neck, between the valley of your breasts, then to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Thorns sprout from the pit of your stomach. It's tingly, prickly, threatening to swallow you whole from the inside out.

"Don't touch there!"

Tartaglia lets out a low chuckle, pushing the barrel of the gun carelessly against your jaw. "Stupid girl, don't you see what position you're in? I'll show you what a man can do to someone so weak." The pads of his fingers are rough, so embarrassingly intimate as one traces your slit. "First, I'm gonna put my cock in here." He slips a gloved finger inside, and you keen at the unfamiliar disturbance. Tiny hands grip onto him tighter, desperately searching for purchase with each scarlet mark it leaves on his skin. You want to scream at him until your throat bled, but all you can muster are pathetic little whimpers.

His voice dips lower, husky with sweet poison. "Then, I'm gonna fuck you like this." His finger slowly drags in, out, in, and out. Each movement is earth-shattering, something you've never experienced before. It renders you completely useless. And despite how much you try to fight it off,fs you're losing yourself to him—body squirming, hips bucking disgracefully against his gloved hand.

"Think you can handle the real thing, sweetheart?" Childe's teasing remark reduces you to a mess of shame and boiling hot anger. You want to tell him to shut up, but your teeth are gritting together to prevent any more noises from coming out ( you don't want to feed his bloated ego any more than this ). However, as he curls his finger and hits a sensitive wall of flesh inside you, an embarrassing mewl chimes from your throat. "Heh, this wet already with just one of my fingers. Didn't realize my wife was so slutty."

"Ah!" You pitifully claw against his shirt, squeezing your legs together to make the electrifying feeling stop. But Childe doesn't give you time to rest. He holsters his gun and forcefully spreads your thighs—smeared with wet dirt, gravel, and slick—before shoving in another finger. The added friction makes you kick your feet in protest. "Nghhh! No, st-sthawp, Ajax!"

Childe's ears perk up at how his name sounds along your pretty tongue. It was something he shared with you after a night of heavy drinking. He never planned to reveal it, but the alcohol influenced him more than he thought. And perhaps it was also because of the way you looked while basked in silver moonlight.

"I hate you!" With an infuriated shriek, you pound against his chest, but that only seems to rile him up even more. His fingers hit even harder, deeper, faster. "Agh! Mmmf, n-no. . . I hate, nghh, h-hate you!"

Tartaglia lets out a snicker. "But you look like you're loving what I'm doing to you. It's not good to lie, you know that, right?" The repulsive, sopping noises of him toying with your cunt mortifies you. There's some pain, pleasure, and an exhausting sense of weakness as you're unable to do anything but lay there. "If you come on my hand, I'm gonna have to punish you for lying~"

Your stomach coils up into a wad of throbbing nerves. The lack of control is terrifying, but you still try to be defiant. "I'm not, ah, going to—!" After a harsh thrust of his fingers, with a loud cry, your body releases all that tension onto his glove. Everything goes blank for a second as your chest heaves up and down. It's so dizzy, the world is spinning.

"Mmm, looks like you need to be taught a lesson on how to be a good girl." His fingers pull out with a squelch, going to unbuckle his belt. There's a very noticeable bulge in his pants. And when he wrenches the restrictive garment down, releasing his hard, massive, swollen cock, new profound terror seeps into your guts. He's planning to put that disgusting thing in you; the thought is horrifying. You try to scurry away, only for his toned arms to push you back down. "Don't run from me." With a smirk, Childe turns your little body around to face him. His weight presses against you, slowly until you're both on the ground. The rain hits his back, droplets rolling down his sharp jaw and onto your face. "This might be a bit rough on your tiny body."

Before you can comprehend his warning, he pulls your soaking wet panties to the side and snaps his hips forward. The painful disturbance makes you wail, your cramped insides trying to resist Childe's member with all its might. It burns. White hot, like a metal rod dipped in lava. For a second, your body shuts down, vision blacking out before startling back awake.

"N-No, hurts. . . 'Jax!"

He jerks his hips, forcing his big cock deeper.

You're gonna die. He's going to kill you.

"Tight—" he hisses, then sucks in a breath that shifts into laughter. He's enjoying it; the cold sweat dripping down your face, how you kick, whimper, your sensitive insides gripping him so intensely. "Hahaha! I can't fuck you stupid if you're gonna keep clenching down me like that." He's smiling, like this is all some kind of joke. However, when you suddenly squeeze even tighter around him, that attitude breaks a little. Teeth gritting hard, Childe buries his head into the shallow dip of your shoulder. He's holding you so close with shivering arms—you can almost confuse it with love. The tender kind you prayed for, something that consumes you whole as if passing through a cloud heavy with rain.

After composing himself, he finally lifts himself back up to look you in the eyes. His face is contorted into a look of pleasure: red cheeks, eyes sharp with wicked amusement. "Ghh. . . W-What did I just say?"

You squeak as he rolls his hips, slipping in a few more inches you didn't realize existed ( it already feels so full ). When he makes a small pump to adjust to the wet heat, your eyes squeeze shut at the throbbing pain. It's too big—the tip feels like it's going to tear through your cervix. But just as you think it's pushed all the way to the hilt, your eyes go wide as he forces in a few more inches inside.

"Ahhh!" You glance down, horror flooding your veins at the sight of there being more to take in. His cock stretches past your limits, making your stomach protrude a little with its shape. The filthy sight burns hot shame throughout you. He's really inside. Not wanting to look at it anymore, your eyes wander elsewhere, but Childe isn't merciful enough to give you that salvation. He takes your chin and forces it forward.

"Look at me."

It's cold enough to see his heavy breaths come out as wisps.

The ginger flutters his eyes, taking a moment to savor the feeling before he fucks you loose. “Such a needy hole for me. So tight, and so fucking warm." When his member draws out slightly, the glossy sheen covering his hard, veiny skin makes you dizzy.

“Let go of me!” you command him, holding back the hot tears brewing in your eyes. In an attempt to relieve the pain, you lift your hips off the hideous thing, but a strong hand grips your waist and jerks you back onto it.

“Mm, now what did I say about not running away?”

Childe pulls himself out to the tip.

Knowing what's coming next, you shout, "W-Wait!" A screech claws out of your chest as he slams back inside with a heavy, wet squelch. Searing pain unfurls inside your weak body, the excruciating thrust of his thick cock too much to handle. You tremble as he withdraws again, agonizingly slow as if to see what other cute reactions you're capable of making. "No, stop—!" He doesn't listen, chuckling as you scratch the muscular jut of his shoulder blades.

“Haah, fffuckk, that’s good,” he admits, thrusting hard back inside with a grunt—so brutally you think for a moment that something split inside you. It’s his massive girth that stretches your insides uncomfortably, the way he’s so much bigger, how he didn’t bother being gentle. The tears you’ve been trying to hold back spill out, and you scream as he sets an unforgiving pace. His body is much bigger, stronger than yours. He easily rocks you back and forth—like you're just some fuckdoll for him to use whenever and however he pleased. All your cries and the way you slam your fists against him are ignored. “Aww, are you crying?” His voice drips with mockery.

You hate it. You hate it so much.

Your hands push against his chiseled stomach. "Get out of me!"

Tartaglia laughs in a way that makes your cheeks burn helplessly. "You're still fighting? Don't you see it's useless, stupid girl." He squeezes your wrists together and pins them above you. There's no way he can possibly hold you down with just one hand, so you struggle, and struggle, and struggle. But nothing budges him at all. His lips are back on yours: kissing hungrily, teeth biting, tongue not wasting any drop. The hot and slimy kisses trail to your collarbone, leaving thick trails of drool. It's like he's salivating at the thought, the feeling, the everything about you.

"I'm not your toy!" you scream at him.

The blue-eyed man lets out a stuttering breath, followed by a snicker. "But you're my wife, which means we're bonded together for the rest of eternity. Remember our vows? Until death do us part." He groans, shifting his weight back a little to get a full view of your adorable face—all red and tear-streaked. “Haaah, you’re so cute when you make that stupid face. That kind of expression would drive any man wild, so don't go showing anyone else." Childe lowers himself to whisper in your ear. "Or I'll get really mad.” He grabs the plush of your thigh, jerking it onto his shoulder to better fuck you into the concrete.

"Ah! Stop, Ajax!"

"That's right, say name name just like that. Go on, cry it all out," he grunts. The shameful wet noises of his hips pounding into your cunt—over and over—fill up the alley. You want to block it out and only listen to the crackles of thunder, the rain as it swallows you up in a bitter cold. But each thrust of his dick breaks your resolve little by little. You’re afraid of someone stumbling down this path and seeing you like this, but you also yearn to be saved.

"H-He. . . lp." It hurts to say anything; your throat is hoarse from all the screaming and pleas for him to stop. "Papa, help me. . ."

The moment you call out for your father, Childe's grip tightens into steel. A punishing thrust rips a cry from you, trembles wrecking through your lithe figure. "Pay attention to me." His voice comes out a low growl. Your vision that was starting to black out returns abruptly. "Who's fucking you right now? Who's making you their bitch? That's right, me. So just forget about everything else and only look. at. me."

There's something so harsh about his words and it confuses you. You've never him like this before—the way he's looking at you with those terrifying eyes.

He glances at the slick gathered between your hips. "We're making such a mess. Finally consummating our marriage after all this time, hm?" Childe takes your left hand, and in a surprising gesture of intimacy, kisses the rings on it. You watch in disbelief as he lifts your hand to his cheek, nuzzling against it—like your warmth is his only flame in the middle of a freezing winter. A strange look dawns his face; you can't pinpoint it no matter how hard you try.

You flinch from his touch despite how gentle it is. "N-No, stop. . . I can't do it anymore. I'm gonna die."

Something flickers across his face, but it's quickly covered up with a smirk.

"Mmmf, you're tightening up again," he heaves out. There's no smile on his face anymore, a concentrated expression taking its place. You feel every bit of his sweat on you, as well as the way your ribcage rattles with how resonating, deep and full his moans are. "I s-should've been, agh, doing this more often while I—ghh!—had the chance." Suddenly, his eyes narrow, cock quivering. "S-Shit, 'mm close. Gonna fill you up nice and good. You'd like that, yeah?"

When you shake your head frantically, he takes out the revolver again and aims it between your eyes, hand trembling slightly from the intense pressure wrapped around his cock. “I’ll blow your, nghhh, p-pretty brains out after I fill you up.” That dark promise widens your eyes in fear; the adorable reaction makes him bursts into wild laughter. But from the way he bites his lips soon after, eyes filled with desire, it's clear that he's struggling to keep himself composed. “Ah, that look on your face; it’s too good! There's still two bullets inside. I’ll do it, darling. I’ll really kill you.”

"Ajax," you plead with a cracking voice. The look on your face must've been priceless ( maybe it was the despair, the defeat, the betrayal, who knows ). His body suddenly shakes with hearty laughter.

"Ha, hahahah! You can be so, so, so cute when you want to be." Childe lets out a low groan. With one last violent thrust, he releases all his cum—in hot, sticky spurts that leave you shivering—deep deep into your womb.

Everything goes numb, the loud thunder and pouring sky becoming white noise.

You stare up at Childe as he spins the revolver's cylinder one more time. The bullets in their cartridge rotate with a clinking noise, metal on metal, beckoning death from its slumber. There's a chance you'll die, and a chance you may walk out of here alive. But your heart is broken, and no one can survive without a functioning heart.

Childe smiles; it isn't playful but rather weak. "Ha, don't look at me like that. It makes me feel kind of bad. But don't worry! If you survive this, I'll let you go like I promised earlier."

He presses the nozzle against your forehead slowly—perhaps to prolong your despair, or maybe it's because of something else. You think you see something change in his blue gaze, but those eyes are still dark—as heavy and cold as a thousand seas. Even then, you find yourself clinging to that tiny spark of light.

"I love you."

The words spill out from your mouth.

Tartaglia sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes widen, filling with some strange emotion you've never seen in them before. After a bit, he squeezes them shut, as if your words seared his flesh. "Don't say things like that either." He finally looks at you with an unclear expression, one that surely isn't warm but not cold either. "It makes me feel like I'm gonna do something I regret."

His finger moves to the trigger.

And you wait for what's to come.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

## 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 | thank you for reading! got sick and tired of proofreading, so you'll probably find grammatical errors or clunky sentences. but wow i actually managed to write something kek.

( 10.21.23 ) ( © ollieink | my box is always open ! )

[djarinslover]

Wanna Be Your Girlfriend

Hii, this is based off the ask *here*. I'm desperate for more Nami fic ideas, so feel free to send asks in. I mean, LOOK at her. She's beautiful and I would die for her. I tried to keep the scene recaps short bc I'm sure mostly everyone has watched the show and don't need to read what happens too. Happy reading!

Pairing; Nami x Fem!Reader (no y/n, no description)

Warnings; canon violence, swearing

Word Count; 2.2k

You're sitting with Zoro after Zeff helped patch him up. You're the surgeon of the crew but you never had to deal with wounds like the one Zoro was suffering with. It was your first time seeing a wound like that. You mainly dealt with bruises, cuts, scrapes and the occasional broken bone back home in your village. Nami wanders in, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Hey, how are you doing?" she asks.

"Me?" You turn to look at her. "I'm fine. It's Zoro we should be worrying about."

"I can worry about both of you."

You feel your face grow hot. Ever since you joined Luffy's crew, you've developed a crush on the redheaded navigator. You thought she was a badass, kind (when she wanted to be) and a cool person to be around. You wanted to know everything about her, wanted to be around her constantly. But to make sure you didn't come off as a lovesick puppy, you steered clear of spending too much time with Nami. She probably didn't even feel the same way and there was no sense in trying to encourage the crush when you had to spend weeks on a ship with no escape. Unless you wanted to take your chance with the ocean.

"Can I have a minute with him?" Nami interrupts your train of thought.

"Of course!"

You check over Zoro's bandages quickly before leaving the room in search of Luffy or Usopp. Zoro was the only one who knew about the crush you had. That was simply because he caught you rehearsing what you would say to Nami during literally any interaction. He was good at keeping his mouth shut, so if you had to wish one of them caught you, you were glad it was him. Luffy and Usopp wouldn't be able to make it past dinner before they let something slip.

You wander from the ship back onto the dock just to see Luffy being thrown through the door of the restaurant. In shock, you watch as Arlong stomps towards him. Fear gripped your limbs as you watched the two fight. You couldn't do anything - you were a doctor, not a fighter! As Arlong goes to sink his teeth into Luffy's neck, Nami's voice calls out.

"Arlong, wait!"

She marches past without even looking at you. You watch as she walks towards the fishman, map of the Grand Line in hand. "I have it. I have the map. I got it for you, just like I said I would."

"Nami. What are you doing?" Luffy pants out.

"I tried to tell you, Luffy. I was never on your crew. I only joined up with you so I could steal the map."

You feel like everything goes silent as her words hit your ear. The world spins around you, making you nauseous as Nami walks to Arlong's ship. Arlong throws Luffy into the ocean, casting you a glance before following the redhead to his ship. You're torn between going after Nami and jumping in to get Luffy. Both moments pass you by as the ship sets sail and Sanji jumps in to save your captain. He heaves him onto the dock as you snap out your stupor and rush to help.

Luffy lifts his head as he asks, "Where's Nami?"

"She's gone. She's a member of Arlong's crew," Usopp answers.

An hour later, after setting sail, you're sitting in the galley staring at your hands. You couldn't wrap your head around what had just happened. No way Nami went with Arlong. No way she betrayed you and the rest of the crew. No way she was only on the ship to just to steal a map. You didn't want to believe she had been lying the entire time you knew her, that she didn't care for you. For the crew.

Luffy comes in with Usopp, Sanji and Zoro followeing close behind, his usual grin on his face. You eye him skeptically, frown deepening as he walks to the table you're sitting at.

"What are you possibly smiling about? Nami left us!"

"Don't worry about that. We're going to get her back. We can't go to the Grand Line without all of our crew."

"What?" You shoot to your feet. "You mean it?"

"Of course. A good pirate captain never lets a member of his crew stay behind."

Your throat feels tight and your eyes burn with the threat of tears. Luffy was going to get Nami back. You couldn't ask for a better captain. Straightening up, you look him in the eye. "Thank you, Luffy."

"So, we're going after Nami. How are we going to find her?" Usopp asked.

"Yeah, we don't even know where she is," Zoro chimed in.

"I know someone who does." He slams a bag onto the table, causing whatever was in it to groan. He opened it, presenting Buggy the clown's head. You jolt back in disgust.

"Hello, boys!" the clown head cheers, giggling.

You end up in Coco Village to look for Nami, according to Buggy that's where Arlong and his crew lived. You follow Luffy to where Nami is talking to a villager, looking for the ransom money the fishman is owed for the month. When she turns around to find the five of you standing there, she hesitates. You feel your heart speed up - you were unsure if it was because of the betrayal you felt or the longing of wanting to be with Nami.

"Luffy? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"This is where I belong."

"I don't believe that," Luffy says. "This is not you."

"No. This isn't the me you want me to be," Nami spits out.

"Nami . . . if you need our help-"

"No. I don't need any of you."

Her eyes linger on you for a moment too long that makes you sick. You would've cut your heart out for her before if she asked. Now she's here saying she doesn't want you.

"I never want to see you again." Her eyes once more meet yours before she turns and walks away, taking your shattered heart with her.

You numbly follow Luffy to the house on the edge of the tangerine grove. You barely processed Nami leaving you in the first place, now you had to deal with her never wanting to see you again. Were all those little moments you had with her fake? Nothing more than an act? You didn't want to believe it, that your feelings were completely one-sided.

In the house at the end of the tangerine grove Nojiko, Nami's sister, invites you in after being promised a meal from Sanji. She told you what happened to their mother when they were young and why she, and the town, hated Nami. You began to understand why she betrayed you; you may have even done the same thing if you were in the same situation. Instead of staying angry at Nami, you directed that rage to Arlong and the rest of his crew for exploiting Nami's pain.

After helping Sanji do the dishes, everyone rushes outside when you heard commotion. Nami was stabbing herself in the arm before Luffy grabbed her arm. The two spoke for a while, you itching to bandage Nami's cuts. In front of you, the small town of Coco Village was on fire thanks to Arlong.

"Let's go," Luffy rasps.

"Right!" the four of you chime.

You run to Nami's side with bandages, cleaning the cuts before she even realizes what you're doing. She flinches when she finally notices you, trying to inch her arm out of your grasp. You grip her arm ever so slightly roughly to make sure she doesn't move it more.

"You shouldn't even be doing this for me."

"Why? You're injured. It's my job to help."

"But I was such an ass to all of you," Nami whispers. "Especially to you."

"None of that matters. Your sister told us what happened to your mother. I forgive you, Nami."

Fresh tears sparkle in her beautiful eyes. You brush them away with a soft touch to her cheek, finishing wrapping her arm with the gauze and then helping her stand. "Let's go kick some fish ass."

Storming the park as the sun rises, you help Zoro and Sanji fight the pirates trying to protect 'Arlong Park'. It was surprisingly satisfying to punch several of them in the face.

"Damn, Doc," Zoro whistles. "Remind me to never piss you off."

"For someone who swore she doesn't to hurt others, you're doing well," Sanji comments.

"Yeah, well . . . they hurt someone I care about. It becomes personal then."

You notice the smirk Zoro throws you but refuse to acknowledge it. When you see Nami speeding down the hill, your heart jumps to your throat. She crashes into Usopp and Zoro first, panting, "I'm so glad you're okay."

She lets them go, turning to you to smile her bright beautiful smile. "I'm glad you're okay, too."

"Me, too. Uh . . . I mean, you too. I mean-" You sigh, biting your tongue.

Suddenly, the ground rumbles. The building that Luffy was still in was falling down. With a gasp, Nami grabs your hand tightly, lacing your fingers together. You could barely enjoy the moment through fearing for Luffy's safety once more. But the fear wasn't needed; your rubbery captain was fine as per usual. You squeeze Nami's hand in relief.

Later, after the confrontation with Luffy's grandfather, you're sitting next to Nami by a fire. "Lots of excitement today, huh?" you say.

"Yeah. I'm going to sleep for a week after all this," she answers.

Swallowing, you decide it's now or never. "Nami, I wannabeyourgirlfriend," you rush out.

"I'm . . . sorry?"

"I want to be your girlfriend."

She looks at you in surprise, making your cheeks flare with heat. What if you just made an absolute fool of yourself in front of her and now you have to deal with the consequences for the rest of your life on that damned ship?

Nami must've known you were in your head because she places a hand on your cheek to bring your gaze back to hers. She has the bright smile on her face. "I thought you'd never say anything. Usopp owes me twenty Berry."

"You placed a bet on when I'd ask you? Wait, when did you even know?"

"I've liked you for a while now. I just didn't want to say anything because I knew what I was going to have to do." She shrugged. "I didn't want to hurt you. Then when Usopp asked when I thought you would confess, I figured it had to be obvious I liked you, too. Guess it just took a dickhead fishman to make you see, huh?"

You laugh, utterly overjoyed with the fact that Nami likes you too. She likes you and wants to be with you. "I guess so. But hey, at least I finally got there, right?"

She nudges you with a laugh. "Right." Nami's gaze softens as she looks at you. "Meet me in the morning? There's someone I want you to meet."

"Sure."

The next morning, you meet Nami outside the entrance of the hut you slept in. She took your hand with a grin, leading you to a part past the tangerine grove. There was a large tree with a stake next to it, the name Belle Mere carved into it. You look at your new girlfriend curiously. She blushes.

"This is my mom. I wanted to bring you here. Two of the most important women in my life."

Tears burn in the corner of your eyes as you look down at the grave. You take her hand, running your thumb softly over hers. "I'm so glad you wanted to introduce us." You direct your next sentence to Belle. "You raised an incredible, amazing daughter. I hope you're immensely proud of her."

Nami is staring at you with stars in her eyes, squeezing your hand. She brings you closer to her until you're standing pressed against one another. She cups your face with her free hand, eyes darting all over your face, brushing a stray tear off your cheek. You felt the tension swell, anxiety building up in your chest until you say -

"Kiss me."

Nami swoops in, leaning down to press her lips to yours. The bliss you feel is blinding as you finally get to kiss her. It's soft, sweet, everything you imagined it would be. When you part, you're both breathless. You meet her piercing gaze.

"You're not leaving again, are you?" you ask.

She brings your intwined hands up to her lips, kissing the back of your hand. "If I ever leave, you're coming with me. But no, I'm not leaving. Not until we find the One Piece."

The two of you share one more kiss, giddiness filling each step you take back to the ship.

[eirenical]

Mysterious Lotus Casebook | Lian Hua Lou | 莲花楼 | Episodes 3 & 9 - The Letter

There is so much we don't know about what happened ten years ago between Sigumen and Jinyuanmeng.  A lot of it gets unraveled as the show goes on, but one thing remains true: there is a hell of a lot of unreliable narration to pick through to get to the truth.  And when it comes to the particular truths of what happened between the individual people involved, that becomes even more true.

And one of the little mysteries that always bothered me was this letter that Qiao Wanmian wrote to Li Xiangyi to break up with him.  Because I absolutely could not figure out when he actually got that letter.  Anyway, I finally caught a few details that helped me to tease that apart and my first realization was that he fucking LEFT HER ON 'READ' for about a month (Li XIangyi, PLEASE OTZ) and the second realization was that we get two different versions of these events YET AGAIN, but this time both from Li Xiangyi's POV in flashbacks, and I'm CHEWING GLASS OVER IT, so naturally I have to share.

So the first time we get this particular flashback is in episode 3.  Li Lianhua is remembering the aftermath of the Donghai Battle, how he fell into the ocean and washed up on the shore... a husk of what he had once been.

He wakes up and makes his way into town and to Sigumen's steps, overhearing all this terrible news as he walks.  People injured, homes destroyed, people killed, and so much of the blame being placed on all the sects, and on Sigumen in particular.  And as he walks, you can see it all starting to weigh him down, until he's literally bent over from the weight of it on his back.

And then the final betrayal.  His people, his friends, want to disband the sect.  They want to walk away.  They blame him and his hubris for this disaster.  And the coup-de-grace is Xiao Zijin asking Qiao Wanmian... "You don't like this place either, right?"

And the sad look on Qiao Wanmian's face finally breaks Li XIangyi of his paralysis and he turns away, back to the scene unfolding on those steps and drifts back to the shore, where he ultimately collapses.

And that's all we get.

We know he returned to Sigumen.  We know he overheard them wanting to disband the sect.  We know he left without a word.  And that's the end of the story as far as Episode 3 is concerned.

But this makes sense.  Li LIanhua is mid-Bicha attack and has just left Fang Duobing on the side of the road when this flashback comes on.  He's fighting his own body in a desperate bid for survival to complete the one task he's set himself and Fang Duobing has just dredged up all this stuff and gone off on a tear about how he's Li Xiangyi's disciple.  A road Li Xiangyi never got a chance to walk.  Another person he failed along the way.  And so he's focused on all the ways in which he is a failure in that moment, all the ways he doesn't live up to Fang Duobing's hero, Li XIangyi, all the ways that he is no longer that man.  So he zeroes in on the moment he lost it all: his reputation, his sect, his health, his power.  So that's the part of the flashback that we get.

But in Episode 9, we have an entirely different set of circumstances.  He's just saved his A-mian.  He's focused on helping her let go of the man he thinks she still loves.  He's putting himself aside to focus solely on her (or so he thinks—that's honestly a question for later, but bear with me, we'll get there ;D) and what she needs.  And we get dumped into this flashback again.

Only this time it doesn't start on the beach.  It starts here:

It starts with Li Xiangyi seeing his sect disbanded again.  Only this time, he remembers the words that come from Xiao Zijin differently:

There's no speaking out load of "you hate it here too, don't you?" or any similar sentiment.  Because at this point, Li Lianhua knows this isn't true.  She can't hate it there.  She lives there.  She didn't leave.  And she doesn't hate him because she very obviously misses him and mourns him.  So in his mind, he gives this moment a little less abrasiveness.  A little less fierceness.  But because he's so focused on A-Mian in this memory, we finally find out that there is an entire piece to this incident that we haven't gotten until now.

A-Mian's grief.

A-Mian's recognition that he was there.

And the letter.

The letter she wrote a month ago.

A letter Li Xiangyi NEVER READ.

We get to see A-Mian's regret.  We get to see her grief: both for her own sense of shame at being unable to keep up with the man she loved, and her sense of loss over her own innocence and the opportunities that they'll never have now to make amends.  And we get to see her break from her grief for just a moment to rush down those stairs because some instinct in her just won't quit.

Li Xiangyi had returned.

And she knew.

But it was too late.  She no longer trusted herself.  And Li Xiangyi, having heard her outpouring of grief, had already decided that he owed it to her and to everyone else to just… walk out of their lives for good. 

And he did. 

But he owed her one last thing first.

He owed it to her to read the letter that she'd written him a month ago and he'd never opened.

So before he goes back to that beach, he returns to his rooms in Sigumen to retrieve that unopened letter and read it.

On first watch, I had assumed this was after his healing with Monk Wuliao.  That he was RE-reading that letter, not reading it for the first time.  But these are clearly his rooms in Sigumen.  The desk he conducts business from is at the bottom right and the table he confronts Shand Gudao from is on the left. But unlike when we usually see these rooms, brightly lit during the day, they're now mostly in darkness, the sun clearly setting given the angle of the light coming into the room. This is the sunset of Li Xiangyi. The last moments of his life, in a way.

And the letter is very VERY obviously unopened when he first takes it out:

And reading that letter is the final nail in Li Xiangyi's coffin, I think.  Final proof that he'd failed in every aspect of his life: being a brother, being a lover, being a sect leader, being a friend, being a student.  After this, he leaves Sigumen and goes back to that beach to lay down where he washed back up initially, ready to let the death he temporarily escaped take him away.  And when the monk saves his life anyway, he still manages to kill off the part of him that was Li Xiangyi.  Li Xiangyi is dead, he insists over and over and over again, until he believes it himself.

Because in that letter—a letter he left unread FOR A MONTH—Qiao Wanmian manages to show him that he never really saw her at all.  That he never saw one of his dearest loved ones in pain right in front of him—pain that he finally witnessed on the steps of Sigumen as she poured out her grief and regret in sending this letter to begin with.  How ironic then, that a letter she'd sent intending to set him free of her to fly up to the heights on his own, was the final arrow that brought him down.  I don't think that's what she would have wanted at all.

But I really feel for her.  I do.

Just imagine sending this letter and knowing that it's sitting in Li Xiangyi's mail pile somewhere… and assuming that he read it and that's what spurred him on to this last desperate fight.  Because in that outpouring on the steps that clearly what she thought she did.  She thought this letter sent him to his death.  And in that moment she's wrong, because HE NEVER READ IT.  Not until long after that.  Not until after this moment.  And fucking HELL, but that just hurts me.

Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything if he hadn't witnessed that moment.  Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything if he hadn't read that letter.  Maybe he still would have felt that he'd failed enough to warrant death of some kind.

But maybe not.

I guess we'll never know.

[the-guilty-writer]

What's in a Nickname?

Request: from @doctorsteeb

Okay okay one more in case the last one was too specific—

Rossi!daughter coming home from college or from traveling abroad?

David Rossi x daughter!reader

Summary: A stop by your dad’s office leaves the BAU with a few questions… Some of them are more sentimental than others.

A/N: I couldn’t not write this after the idea popped into my head and this request gave me free reign to work with. If you didn’t look up what the nickname was for the reader in my other recent rossi!daughter fic you will know by the end. And yes, this nickname will absolutely stick for rossi!daughter reader from here on out unless I get a specific request not to include it because we all know if Rossi had a daughter this nickname would be canon.

CW: lots of italian... like I went a bit overboard on this one so here are translations: rompere le scatole = literal translation is “to break boxes” but it is slang for getting on someone’s nerves. Non avere peli sulla lingua = literal translation is “not to have hair on the tongue” which is slang for tell the truth. la goccia che ha fatto traboccare il vaso = literal translation for “drop that made the vase overflow” equating to the straw that broke the camel's back. Ti voglio bene = “I love you” used for family and close friends. Mio passerotta… you’ve gotta read until the end to find this one out for yourself.

---

“I never thought I would actually miss sitting in traffic,” you said, a smile on your face.

You were finally home after a semester abroad in Jamaica. Having always lived in a city, it was nice to be close to the ocean and wildlife and small towns, but after five months you were ready to return to the concrete jungle that was Washington, DC.

Your dad, on the other hand, was rather grumpy about the back up on the highway. “I’ll remind you of that next week when you say that the traffic is rompere le scatole.” He looked down at his watch and hesitated. “Do you mind if I-”

“Stop by the office?” You finished for him. You didn’t hate the idea of stopping by work with your dad, but you would have much rather gone home to eat a nice warm meal.

“If it’s not okay I understand,” he said. “Non avere peli sulla lingua.”

For a second, you thought about his words. “It’s fine,” you told him, then held out a singular finger. “But only if you make pasta tonight.” David Rossi might have been a master at hostage negotiation, but you were a master at dinner negotiation.

“Certo, mio passerotta,” he said as he turned onto the exit towards Quantico.

---

“Hey,” Derek walked into the bullpen, a cup of coffee in his hands even though it was nearly 5 PM. “Anyone know who is in Rossi’s office?”

“Rossi, I assume,” Emily said. She glanced up at the open office door where you were sitting. “Well that’s definitely not Rossi.”

“Maybe she’s a groupie?” JJ suggested.

“I don’t think a groupie would have made it past security,” said Reid without looking up from his book.

“BAU team,” Hotch walked into the bullpen with a file in hand, Rossi in tow, and Garcia trailing closely behind. “We have a case.”

The rest of the team headed to the conference room, but Rossi walked to his office to deliver the news to you that pasta might not be happening that night.

---

“You’re sure this is okay with you?” Your dad asked. “I don't want this to be la goccia che ha fatto traboccare il vaso-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “I'm sure. Pasta can happen another night. Stopping a serial killer cannot.”

The team filed out of the conference room- the case was an emergency one, which meant the full briefing would be done on the jet, but they couldn’t help overhear the conversation you were having with your father.

“Ti voglio bene, papa.” You wrapped him in a hug.

He returned it, holding you tight. “Ti voglio bene, mio passerotta.”

You had to pry yourself out of your father’s arms to get him to let go. With a kiss on the forehead and a reminder not to drink his expensive wine, he sent you on your way home and went into his office to pack up his briefcase.

“Rossi has a daughter?” Emily smiled a bit and looked around at Morgan, Reid, JJ, and Garcia in confusion. “Did any of you know?”

“I had no idea,” JJ said as she and the rest of the team watched you leave.

“What’s everyone looking at?” Hotch said from behind them as he exited his office. They all startled at their boss’s sudden appearance.

“Rossi’s daughter that none of us knew existed,” Garcia admitted, still surprised.

“Oh yes, that’s (Y/N),” Hotch said. “She’s been studying abroad but decided to spend this summer with Dave instead of her mother.”

“Which wife?” Morgan joked.

“Actually, her mother is a close friend from college.” Rossi said. Once again, the team jumped in surprise. “We both wanted a kid, but she didn’t want to deal with too many lawyers and I didn’t want to deal with someone not understanding that I have an inflexible job. It worked out for both of us. Now if we’re done talking about my personal life, I think we have a murderer to catch.”

Rossi and Hotch walked out of the bullpen, leaving the team to stand around awkwardly for just a moment before remembering they had a flight to catch.

---

The case was fast and successful, but after being awake for nearly 24 hours straight most of the team was asleep- all except for Reid and Prentiss who were playing chess in the most quiet corner of the jet.

“How’d you know she was his daughter?” Reid asked as he moved his queen.

“It was a pretty easy inference,” said Emily as she calculated her next move, carefully watching how Reid had strategically placed his knights. She captured one. “She called him papa. I figured she had to be his daughter.”

“What does it mean?” Reid moved a bishop forward.

“What does what mean?” Emily moved one of her pieces without thinking.

Reid captured a pawn in her confusion. “He called her mio passerotta. You smiled when he said her nickname. What does it mean?”

Emily’s mouth twitched slightly up at one corner and moved a rook before leaning back in her seat. “My sparrow,” she said, a melancholy tone to her voice. “Mio passerotta means ‘my sparrow.’”

Reid looked down, a small smile gracing his face before going back to the board and putting Emily’s king in check with a move his mentor had used against him many years before.

[inanisomnia]

chishiya shuntaro headcanons. [chishiya x fem!reader]

idk if i'm late to post anything related to chishiya but nevertheless i'm still going to post this bc i wanna write something abt him because i need more content abt him sgakhs this man is taking over my life /sobs

anyway, here are some hcs !! i've been ia here on tumblr so pls bear with me ^^ if u enjoyed reading this kindly reblog it (?) if that's okay with u, it means a lot ilysm <;33

reqs are open <;33

oh and also this is my first time writing an hc tot

++ this might be connected to the drabble i plan to write/post

genre : fluff ?? gurl idek anymore

warning/s: none ?? not proofread kind of ungrammatical??-3#! sorry for that tot

chishiya meeting you (?)

chishiya shuntaro believes himself to be an apathetic human being - void shell of a human being. he does things and that's about it - until one night, at the beach, he saw you.

under the faint gleam of the celestial stars and crescent moon, amidst the crowds of people dancing their remaining lives away, dizzying lights that lit the dancefloor, there you are.

wearing a black puff sleeve bikini top paired with high waisted midnight-colored laced shorts - your hair gracefully danced along your swift movements as you danced and laughed with your new found friends in the borderland.

you caught his attention.

this doesn't really happen to him, but something about you was so enticing he can't even seem to look at anything else - until kuina taps his shoulder to talk about something.

after that night, he can't seem to shake you out of his head and best believe me that he's the most in denial person you'll ever know.

he'll convince himself with the silliest reasons like he might have just been hungry, or dizzy from the games, or maybe, sleepy. anything but acknowledge that he admires you.

you see, he might be an intelligent individual, academically and street smart, but there are times that he can't think straight when it comes to you.

most nights he subconsciously looks for you on the ocean of the crowds arriving after the games. he's aware that you're cunning, and physically strong to protect yourself, but there's this gnawing feeling whenever he can't spot you among the hundreds of people at the gate.

he'll never make the first move. never. unless of course you talk to him first which you did, one time because how could you ever ignore this pretty man and introduced yourself.

he can feel his heart hammer into his chest as you walk towards him but he'll never show it.

you offered your hands for him to shake as you ask for his name (of course you already know it, since he is one of the known executives at the beach. but you still shoot your shot.)

he's not the type to shake your hand if you introduce yourself, but he acknowledges your presence in his own way.

conflicted with the feelings he's experiencing but he doesn't like to overthink things so he just goes along with it.

until he can't. until he wants all of you – until he wants to know everything about you, to protect you.

as your boyfriend:

i really feel like he's not really into pda. he would want to keep your relationship in secret. there may have been lots of people in the borderlands who despise him and he's actually afraid that they will use you to get back at him.

he doesn't want that. he doesn't want you to get hurt at all. after settling his feelings that he does love you, genuinely, he swore to himself that he'll protect you.

(i've read this here before and i'll put it here but y'all are so right dgahshs) his love language is quality time. and physical touch.

at midnights, he'll sneak into your room and literally just play board games or just talk about everything.

he doesn't let others touch his hair nor his face but if its you, hell, that's more than fine.

he loves your warm touch, your tenderness as you braid or play with his hair, rambling about things you love and hate.

he's a great listener. he'll stare at you with full adoration in his eyes and slight smile.

he's fucking grateful for your existence. you're his solace in this hell you're both caught up wjth.

gurl he loves cuddles especially after a tough game, he craves your skin, your smile, your laugh, everything.

the first time you both kissed was you doing it impulsively because you got so happy on what he gave you (its up to your imagination to what it is gsajgd) and you're both caught off guard.

there was an awkward silence and a plethora of apologies, but he just smiled and cupped your face and kissed you tenderly.

everything seemed to melt away. it felt as if the borderland turned into a hazy cloud 9.

when you can't sleep, he'll play with your hair, both bodies entangled under the sheets, a wholesome intimacy between souls trying to survive this hell.

he's the type to kiss your scars and lull you to sleep.

sgakuss basically chishiya being head over heels in love with every bits of you - your flaws, your moles, your dimples, every little detail about you, he's here for it.

he doesn't realize it yet, but you did change the way he perceives himself.

[bloodiedrogue]

IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE, MAYBE (2)

SUMMARY: It's always been hard being the sibling of a superhero. Lately though, it feels next to impossible.

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,136

WARNINGS: Angst, enemies-to-lovers adjacent, descriptions of a panic attack/dissociate behaviours, inappropriate use of medication/alcohol consumption.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, first of all, the amount of love I've received from this fic has been insane??? Like, y'all really knocked it out of the park, both here and on AO3 and I'm absolutely astounded? Thank you so much! You guys have literally motivated me so much so hopefully this chapter lives up to the hype of the first? :)

CHAPTER LIST / LAST CHAPTER / MASTERLIST

-

“God, I am never drinking again.” 

You stumble into the living room with your hands against your eyes, palming the sockets roughly. It’s morning, maybe even early afternoon, and already the sun is pushing through the blinds, coating the apartment in enough light that it makes you squint. On the couch Miguel grumbles under the covers as you walk by, pulling the fabric over his head as he readjusts his position, directing himself away. 

You’re surprised to see him there but say nothing, opting to wander into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, noticing a fresh sticky note on the fridge: Call me when you’re up —Pete!

Hm, he must’ve gone over to MJ’s for the night.

Peeling the note away, you continue your trek for hydration, grabbing a glass that you fill and chug down twice before feeling satisfied enough to continue. Or at least, enough to survive considering just how sore you are. From your knees down you can feel the leftover aches from walking home; the many miles you’d managed to travel in your drunken state now heavy on your mind. There are at least one or two blisters on each foot thanks to your poor choice of footwear while the muscles surrounding your shins feel like they might actually be burning through your flesh.  

As you walk back through the living room you try not to groan at the pain, turning your attention to Miguel who’s now reluctantly awake. 

“Morning, grandpa.” 

You walk over and press the sticky note to his forehead, ignoring the way he swears under his breath and looks at you with narrowed eyes. 

“It’s not nice to assault people with sticky notes before they’ve had coffee.”

Shrugging in response, you walk back to your bedroom to grab your phone, listening to the creak of your couch as Miguel shifts out of place. 

It’s weird that he’s still here. After everything that happened last month, you were certain you’d never have to see him again. Being Peter’s boss and not much else, he’d become nothing more than a disdainful memory as time went on. A poor impression from the past that Peter never talked about. If you were honest, you weren’t expecting to hear about him so soon, much less see him, especially without his mask. 

So seeing him here, sitting so nonchalantly on your couch is a bit strange. Off-putting in a way that leaves you emotionally winded as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your notifications. 

There’s about half a dozen apologies from Peter alone, each variation more extreme than the last. Mixed between there’s a few memes and a picture of him pretending to cry on MJ’s floor with the caption sorry for being the worst brother, which you immediately save for future use. There’s also one from Harry asking you to send him a work email that you ignore and another from Gwen once again asking you to come for brunch. 

You glance at the time, noticing that it’s nearing eleven. She and Harry are probably already at their usual spot, munching away on overpriced, organic eggs and inhaling mimosas. (Something you'd normally enjoy but can’t quite fathom doing thanks to the pain currently rippling through your body.) 

Groaning, you curl further into the bed, feeling your head shift like an ocean wave that sends you flying across the room. In response, you shut your eyes as tight as possible, hoping that if you roll with the movements you’ll get used to them faster. 

Immunity through the power of will and all that. 

“I see you’re still alive.” 

You refuse to open your eyes. You need to focus on getting better —on pushing through the swirling motions that attack your brain because if you don’t you’ll be stuck here all day, helpless and in pain and way too dizzy. No longer will you be a person, but instead a shell. A fragile casing of sensitive flesh stretched over bruising bone that will slowly but surely deteriorate over time. 

“Are you always this dramatic?” 

The urge to argue persists, flowing through you just quick enough that you find yourself opening one eye, noticing his stance. 

He’s standing nonchalantly in the centre of your room; hands placed neatly on his hips. On his face, the tiniest of smirks pokes out of the corner of his mouth, prompting you to lift your head, blinking at what feels like a rare sight.

“Are you always this hostile?”

“Only in the morning.”

“Even towards complete strangers?”

“Especially to strangers.”

“Makes sense why you don’t have many friends.” 

“And how would you know that, stranger?”

He’s got that teasing tone that Harry always has. The one that sounds so condescending that it borders flirtation. Immediately it makes you roll your eyes and direct your attention back to your phone, realizing just how little you want to continue this conversation. You’re too hungover. Too sick and tired to do this whole back-and-forth thing, so instead you call Peter, putting the call on speakerphone with a sigh.

It rings twice before the other end clicks to life, a very joyful and awake Peter greeting the both of you. “Good morning friends, how are we doing on this beautiful morning?”

Almost in unison both of you grumble out a quiet fine that makes Peter laugh, prompting you to look at each other with shared disgust. 

“Are you hungover?”

“What do you think?”

“Gwen called me this morning,” he says, changing the subject. “She wants to go for brunch.”

“That’s nice, but I will not be attending on the account of the fact that I’d rather die.” 

“So dramatic,” Miguel chimes in.

Ignoring him, you place your phone onto the pillow next to you and tighten the covers around your throat.

Your head is still spinning but less so, the waves feeling more like lakeside tides than oceanic swells, leaving you thankful. There’s nothing worse than the spins after a night out. You can handle the stomach aches and even the vomiting but the second you can feel that mental drift you’re a goner. 

“Okay well, MJ and I are going to go if you change your mind. Miguel, you're welcome to come too.”

“No thanks,” he says, unsurprisingly. 

There’s a pause after that. One that lasts a solid five seconds but feels like a lifetime longer thanks to the way Miguel continues to stand there, staring at your pathetic frame tucked haphazardly beneath the covers. 

“You know staring is rude, right?”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, and weird too considering I barely know you.”

“You saying it’s weird for strangers to stare at strangers?” 

“A little, yeah, so knock it off.” 

He gives in, his eyes diverting towards the window before they move to the door, motivating his body to leave the room without another word. Once he’s gone you let out a sigh of relief and listen to his footsteps, hearing the way they move through the living room and into the kitchen. 

It makes you wonder why he’s even still here, taking up space in a home he isn’t really welcome in. You figured it was obvious from the beginning that he was nothing more than an overnight guest. A protective stand-in meant to slip away in the dead of night with no word or note. He was never meant to linger the way he is now and a part of you wonders if he already knows. If instead of picking up and applying said social cues, he’s opting to ignore them for some higher purpose. 

It wouldn’t make much sense but then again, you don’t really know Miguel so maybe he’s just a lingerer. Maybe he’s socially awkward and doesn’t understand that when you’re being mean to him it means you want him to leave your house so you can vomit in peace. 

“I see you guys are getting along.”

“Swimmingly.”

“Did you two have a good night?”

“Yes, oh my god it was amazing!”

“Really?”

You offer a fake laugh that Miguel walks in on, raising his brow in confusion. “No, we had a terrible time. Your boss is mean, Peter.” 

Offended, Miguel opens his mouth to speak but quickly closes it, watching the way you smirk beneath the covers, watching his brows knit together.

“How am I mean? I walked you home didn’t I?”

“Sure, begrudgingly.” 

He scoffs, his palms moving to encompass his hips again. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to enjoy walking you home. I’ll remember that next time.”

Next time?

You narrow your eyes and stare directly at him, noticing the way he mirrors your expression. It’s subtle at first, the way the crinkles of his eyes sort of deepen to match the lines across his forehead. His skin is rough —aged looking most likely due to the fact he probably slept terribly— and the bags beneath his eyes are the heaviest you’ve ever seen, even rivalling Peter’s on some of his rougher days. Like you, he looks more like a corpse than a person, his face devoid of anything other than the sickened frustration of having to deal with your attitude.

“I’m gonna be honest if you’re ever running late again, please call someone else.”

It’s obvious you’re talking to Peter but as you speak you continue staring at the man in front of you, glaring at the way his weight shifts beneath your gaze.

You hope he’s uncomfortable. You hope he’s embarrassed or at least feeling a little self-conscious for acting like such a child in a space that he hopefully never feels welcome in. If you were him you’d certainly be.

“Yeah, so, anyway, is that still a no to breakfast or…?”

-

You’re beginning to regret ever wanting to get involved in Peter’s double life. Or at least, its most recent developments. Up until last month, everything was fine. Simple and controlled and not at all hectic like it is now. Back then, everything was smooth sailing when it came to helping. Your only responsibilities being lie to May and make sure the window was always unlocked before you went to bed. Two very mundane tasks you could practically do in your sleep. 

Nowadays, it feels like an endless loop of stress. Kind of like when you were eighteen and just finding out that your brother was a superhero for the first time. Everything is complicated again. The stakes feel higher than ever before knowing the truth that there’s a world out there just like yours, endlessly repeating. That instead of just one Spider-Man there’s probably a million variations doing the same thing Peter’s doing. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you look at everything differently —intensively. With each new person you pass you wonder what their version is like somewhere else. Are they still male or female? Are they younger? Older?

As you walk into brunch alongside Peter and MJ, it’s all you can think about as you stare at Gwen, remembering her counterpart. How she looked so familiar but you couldn’t quite place it. 

You realize now that it’s because she’s your Gwen, but not. A direct copy but a good decade younger. They have the same hair colour and eyes and that little gap between their front teeth and upon seeing her it makes you wearily shift into your seat, putting on your fakest smile. 

She’s already a bit tipsy when you arrive, you can tell. Her eyes are half closed and the grin plastered across her face is hazardously wide. 

“Oh, my god, hi! I’m so glad you came!”

If it weren’t for the table between you she’d be pulling you in for a hug, tightening her grip around your shoulders until the air inside you was gone. You inhale nervously at the thought, wondering if other Gwen would do the same. 

It’s hard to tell what traits transfer over. Considering she’s a spider person in her universe it’s more than likely she’s completely different, right? Perhaps relating more to Peter. It’d make sense that all spider people kind of have the same vibe. Perhaps like your brother, they’re nerdy and into photography and have partners with nicknames that double as their initials. Like him they'd live double lives, trying their best to find the balance between being crime-fighting arachnids and regular civilians with the help of their sisters. 

Or brothers. You figure in other universes you’re probably a guy too. Hell, maybe even in some you're the spider person having to navigate through life with the help of your brother. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Pete grins, pulling out the chair beside you so that MJ can sit down. “Somebody had a bit too much to drink.”

You shoot him a look as he sits at the head of the table, sticking out his tongue for good measure. 

You hope in the universe where you have superpowers you give him a hard time. 

“It’s fine, we overdid it too,” Gwen says, looking at Harry who rolls his eyes and looks at Peter, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. 

“Hope you wore a condom,” you say, at which MJ and Gwen gasp, both of their mouths curling into cheeky grins that you can’t help but share. 

Its always been obvious that the two of them are together, even though neither of them would ever admit it. It’s weird but Gwen says it’s a part of the intrigue, having this unlabeled relationship that she can just ride without the responsibility of making it a bit deal. 

Both you and MJ think it’s because she secretly likes the drama of it all, but knowing how she’d react to such a claim, neither of you says that out loud. 

“Did you make it home okay?” Gwen changes the subject before anyone can even join in, making you sort of sad because you love to tease. 

“Relatively. Threw up on the walk home but that’s New York, baby.” 

“Walk home?” Harry questions.

You freeze, remembering Miguel. He doesn’t exist in this world. At least, not to anyone other than you and Pete and maybe MJ. You’re not entirely sure what he’s told her but you figure she knows in some capacity because he wouldn’t have called you otherwise. 

“I mean drive, sorry, drive home. I’m still hungover.” You try to laugh it off but Harry and Gwen share that look. The familiar one where they think you’re lying but know better than to actually bring it up. It’s the same look they give you sometimes when you’re covering for Peter and you hate it, feeling your chest tighten every time it’s shared right in front of your face. 

It reminds you of how you felt having Miguel around. Something about the way he looks at you every time you talk fills you with that familiar twang of insignificance. Like whatever you say isn’t good enough. 

With your friends you know it’s because you’re insecure about your lying capabilities. With Miguel though, it’s different. Yes, it feels the same physically but emotionally it’s an entirely new set of feelings. Ones that have you second-guessing their origins, remembering the way your stomach would twist each time he’d insult you. Each time he’d look at you with those dark eyes and pouting mouth. 

Thinking about it now, he reminds you very little of Peter. Aside from the moniker of Spider-Man the only similarities (so far) you can confidently say that they share is the art of sarcasm and deflection. The way their voices can become so monotonous at the drop of a hat is unparalleled, even with all the tension, and it’s frustrating. 

It makes you wish you didn’t wear your emotions on your sleeve. Like Peter and Miguel, you wish you could box it all up in the form of calm words so that nobody even got the chance to look at you the way Harry and Gwen still are. 

Secretly, you wish you were the spider person of this universe. Not because you want to save lives, selfishly. No, you mostly just wish you were stronger like them. Less like yourself and more like your brother who sits at the head of the table holding MJ’s hand with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. 

And not so secretly, you want what he has. You want to be confident and to have people look at you in a way that’s filled with adoration. To have them survey you and conclude that you’re decent rather than picking out your flaws. You want May to look at you with fondness. You want her to be proud of you in the same way she’s proud of Peter and to affirm your belief that you’re doing alright for yourself even without filling her desires for grandkids. 

You want Harry to look at you with respect. To stop looking through you just because you’re Parker’s sister who just so happens to be smart too. You want him to take him as seriously as he takes Gwen without the sex. Without the implication that to be valued, you need to provide him with something worthwhile. 

You want Gwen to appreciate everything you do for her. To stop taking advantage of you at work and in life —to provide you with the comfort of an actual friend. 

You want value, you decide. Whether that’s through the gain of superpowers or not. All you want is a little bit more than you’re given and you wish you could express that as you sit at the table, watching everyone talk and laugh as if you’re not really there.

Beside you, MJ leans into Peter as he talks, resting her chin on her hand in longing silence while the two across the table sit, completely engrossed. You try your best to listen in too, picking up that the story involves his boss over at the Bugle. Something about how his last few pictures of Spider-Man were so good he nearly fell off his chair. 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and pull out your phone, scanning the screen mindlessly, clicking on apps and profiles over and over again until the waitress shows up and asks for your order. You get a mimosa regardless of your hangover and a bagel breakfast sandwich with all the extra fixings, knowing you need it. Then you wait. Wordlessly exhausted, wishing that instead of deciding to tag along you’d stayed at home under the comfort of your covers.

-

Once you step over the threshold of your apartment you let out a sigh of relief and sink into the couch alongside Peter who rubs his face. By now your social battery is running at a negative ten, making your mind fill with nervous thoughts that have you frowning as you curl into yourself, clutching your knees to your chest.

You shouldn’t have gone, you decide then. Regardless of the extended invitation, it was obvious you were only invited because Gwen was drunk and felt bad. That’s usually how it went nowadays. 

“They’re a lot, aren’t they?”

Peter’s always known how much you struggle with people —how you overthink every interaction after it’s happened. It’s how it’s always been and he’s used to it. 

As you nod, you feel his hand against your shoulder, tightening. It’s a gesture of understanding but at the moment it feels like pity so you brush him off, frowning even harder. 

“You okay?”

You aren’t. You’re overstimulated from the amount of interacting you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours. From Harry and Gwen to Miguel and back you haven’t had a break all day and you can feel your mask slipping. Physically, your chest is aching for a breath you can’t quite get, the realization of your interactions pushing you over the edge and all you want to do is scream.

You were such an asshole today. Sure, you’re always kind of mean but this morning specifically felt like a step above the rest with the way you argued with Miguel as if you knew him. As if last night was just another night between you, adding to countless others. You were brash and unwelcoming and rude, and despite how you feel about him sometimes, you still feel pretty shit about it.

“Do you need anything?”

“No.” 

Your tone is stubborn, dripping with an arrogance that has Pete sighing because he knows he can’t do much. When you’re in these moods all he can really do is let you live through your anger —to explore the hate you feel inside in private. It’s how you’ve always done things. So when Peter looks at you with sympathy you can know that’s it. He won’t press the matter further. He’ll just get up and leave and go to MJ’s for the night. Check-in in the morning like he usually does.

As he stands you’re met with feelings of both relief and regret, watching the way he carefully pats your head and steps over your legs. Inside, your stomach drops as he wanders to the doorway, slipping on his shoes and coat without saying a word, knowing that it never solves anything —just makes it all messy. 

Again, like always, you wish you were like him in these instances. Because maybe then you could have a normal relationship that doesn’t rely on boundaries you wish didn’t exist. Instead of pushing everyone away you could sit with them —talk to them. Express instead of repress. Prove to them that the love you want is the love you deserve. 

If you were in any other universe you’re certain you could do it. In this one though? 

You’re too scared. 

-

When you’re alone, it happens, the calm before the storm. 

As the hours move and you lay exhausted on the couch staring at your phone, you find yourself scrolling. Distracting yourself from the inevitable breaking point by watching YouTube video after YouTube video. First, you start with your usual poison, simple documentaries about things like haunted houses or murder cases that remained unsolved. Lazily, you click thumbnail and thumbnail, half absorbing all the names and dates and details as you lie prone, trying not to think about it. 

It takes hours for you to fully accept your emotions and when you do it’s a mess. Now lying in bed, it’s nearing eight and your deep dive on unsolved mysteries has turned into videos discussing the topics of the multiverse. You’re not sure why you decided to delve into all that but regardless, as you do you’re in your head again, clutching a pillow tightly against your cheek as you try to steady your thoughts. 

You bet Miguel’s world has a version of you that’s nicer. One that treats him with respect. They’re probably a spider person too which is why he looks at you with such disdain every time you argue. You’re a lesser version of them —no comparison. They’re better and it drives you insane, thinking that the approval of a man you hardly know is important. 

Aside from Peter, there’s absolutely nothing connecting you. You’re from different worlds both literally and figuratively, so it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Except that it does, doesn’t it? Deep down, regardless of how well you know one another, this man has managed to find his way inside your skin. You’re not sure when or how or why but somehow he’s always there, lingering at the back of your mind like a memory. Like he’s absent until he’s not —until something reminds you that he exists and that he thinks you’re too inexperienced to understand that he doesn’t like you. 

You figure he doesn’t like you because you’re stubborn. You’re sure there are other reasons but that’s the only one that really jumps out. The way he speaks to you is a direct example of that. Changing subjects often, he doesn’t like when you push his pull. Doesn’t like when you defy his authority or pry. He wants complete and total control and when you’re around he knows he doesn’t have that. You don’t trust him enough to give it.

His version of you probably gives him whatever he wants. Probably spoils him by following him around like some lost fucking puppy. They’re probably older than you —experienced— and have the backbone of an earthworm. 

He probably loves it. 

Shoving your face into your pillow you let out a loud groan, letting the tears well and overflow against the fabric of your pillowcase.

It’s sudden, the storm. Erupting out of nowhere over something that shouldn’t matter. Quickly, there’s a rage that fills inside you, quietly creeping from the depths of your soul in the form of breathless gasps and shaky hands. 

You turn upwards to face the ceiling, the tears coating your eyes in a layer of disarray. You can’t see anything but the blurred beige above you. Everything moves like brushstrokes across the canvas, thick and liquidy and not quite good-looking. It makes you blink in annoyance and throw your forearms over your head, trying to stop the world from letting you see or shake or feel anything other than regret. 

It’s painful, the storm. It feels like a deep wound being opened back up again. All the build-up of scar tissue is there, shoved amongst the perfectly good parts. Usually, they linger there together but as the wound is peeled open by your own hand, you can feel the worst of it start to push. 

As it surfaces, you can feel the catalyst begin to wake. The rate at which the chemicals in your brain begin to increase, pushing you over the edge.

It fucking hurts. 

By now your wound is gaping, ripping at the base of your chest. It’s hard to breathe under all the pressure of the damaged flesh. Under all the memories of a life you once thought was good. Decent 

In another universe, you hope to god you feel just like this. Like the world is caving in and you’re the last survivor. At least then you wouldn’t feel so alone —so beside yourself while everyone else so carelessly continues moving. 

It helps calm the storm. Thinking of you —another you. Regardless of if they’re better or worse or completely equal to you, the thought of this feeling extending across the expanse of a place you don’t quite understand fills you with ease.

It closes the hole in your chest —pushes all the tainted flesh back inside for safekeeping. Slowly, it settles into something you can handle again, sewing up the edges that’ll inevitably leave a new scar. 

As you sit up from your bed, brushing past the tears to clear your vision, you feel your breath begin to steady. A slow one-through-five inhale, followed by another one-through-five exhale, each one becoming stronger than the last as you look towards the window, noticing the familiar blue and red spandex standing silently on your fire escape. 

He doesn’t move when you notice him. Doesn’t fly through the air or duck out of sight. Standing there, it’s as if instead of flesh he’s made of stone, unwavering in his attempts to watch you carefully through the window. It’s scary if you’re honest. The way he looks so detached from the world. Even without seeing his face, it’s as if there’s nothing behind the angered design that adorns his features below. His emotions feel completely blank underneath the fabric, making you wonder. 

What’s he thinking about?

As you inch toward the edge of the bed, you see him twitch. It’s subtle. The fingers of his right hand sort of jolt lightly in the air, and it’s over before you can even think about it, so you don’t. Instead choosing to forget as you move towards the window. 

Surprisingly, he still doesn’t move. All he does is breathe, letting the rise and fall of his chest ruin the image of his fixed stance. He’s nervous, like you, you determine. Scared, like you.

It motivates your movements, pushing you through the room until you’re standing in front of the window, reaching for it with shaky hands.

Why hasn’t he left yet?

You push open the window, slowly, watching his body begin to move towards it, his leg pushing through the moment you step away.

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t respond. At first, you assume it’s because he’s embarrassed and doesn’t know what to say but then he moves. Lifelessly, he brushes past you and wanders into the living room, forcing you to follow as he drops onto the couch with a groan. 

Seriously, why is he here?

You open your mouth to repeat your previous question but are interrupted by his mask. Almost instantly, it disintegrates before your very eyes, revealing fresh injuries that have you holding your tongue because laying there, he looks like Peter after a rough night. Maybe even worse thanks to the shiner that takes a good portion of his left eye. 

“Do you have any painkillers?” 

You don’t even respond before you leave the room, wandering into your bathroom to grab the usual meds you give Peter. They’re prescription, originally given to you for period cramps, but they do wonders on a battered body.

When you reenter, Miguel’s face is scrunched in pain, struggling to find comfort. Because of this, you practically run to the kitchen, grabbing all the usual items: water, ice packs, scotch, carrying it all in one go. 

“What’s the scotch for?”

You untuck a glass from the crook of your elbow and settle on the floor beside the couch, pouring it halfway to the top before downing it.

“None for me?”

You pour another one. “You’re not meant to take it with pills but Peter always says it makes him sleep better.”

“Okay.” 

You’re no doctor, but you’ve experienced this same formula countless times. If he takes one pill with one full glass of water then drinks the scotch, followed by another water he’ll be out like a light in no time.

“Pill, water, scotch, water,” you instruct, watching him closely as he follows suit, chugging back everything in under a minute.

After it’s done he settles into the couch again, tucking ice packs against his face and chest before glancing your way with a grin. “Stuff’s nice. Goes down good.”

He sounds like he’s been hit by a bus, his voice rubbed raw, scratching your brain in a way that makes you squint as you pour yourself another glass.

“Good cause it cost a pretty penny.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, opting to sip this one, still feeling the burn of the other radiating throughout your chest. “Ben bought it for me. A graduation present or something.” 

“Wasn’t that ages ago?”

“Your point?”

All he does is grin and close his eyes.

-

TAGGING: @fandxmslxt69 @buckysblondie @leucoratia @avatricu @rexxesgirl @hoe4fiction @erissco @dil3mma @ashjbu @mfrnchsk @sanjisluvbot @deputy-videogamer (if you'd like to be added fill out this form)

[holdmytesseract]

baby fever au

Loki comes back from a mission gone awry & he is just so pissed & all he wants to do is cuddle his girls to feel better

“Where’s Ella? I just need to hold her” *Y/N gives Loki baby Ella* *Loki instantly relaxes*

Little Mood Changer

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki & Ella feat. Y/N

Summary: After Loki comes home from a failed mission, all he wants to do is hold his baby daughter.

Warnings: none, actually... Fluff! Pissed/sad Loki?

Word Count: 955

a/n: Thank you for this lovely request @aagn360 ! ☺️ I hope you like this cute, little fic I wrote! 🥰

Baby Fever Crew: @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @eleniblue @loz-3 @vbecker10 @jennyggggrrr @lokisninerealms @peaches1958 @multifandom-worlds @fictive-sl0th @lovingchoices14 @simping-for-marvel @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lou12346789 @kimanne723 @lady-rose-moon @coldnique @mostclevermiss @aagn360 @acefeather2002 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @chennqingg @lokiforever @anukulee

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

You could already hear Loki miles away. His quick, powerful footsteps - coming undoubtedly from his heavy leather boots, echoed down the long, wide hallway of the floor you lived on. Mere seconds later got the main door literally ripped open, before it got slammed shut again. You feared for a moment, that the force would take it off its hinges. Frowning, you placed your book aside and got up from the sofa, in order to look after your husband. Peaking around the corner, you saw him taking almost aggressively off his shoes. Okay... Something was definitely wrong.

"Babe?" You called out for him cautiously, and stepped in the hallway. The raven-haired god looked up to face you. His facial features told you that, yes, he was very pissed and in a bad mood. Before you even knew what was happening, he was rushing towards you; bestowing a fleeting kiss on your lips on his way.

Too short for your liking, given the fact that he was almost two days gone. "Where's Ella? I just need to hold her." You were a bit taken aback by the whole situation happening in front of your eyes. No hello, no proper kiss? What was going on? "Um, she, um, is in her playpen." That being said, Loki walked past you - straight into the living room and Ella's playpen. The little girl had heard her daddy already from miles away as well. Therefore, she was standing inside her playpen, having herself pulled up on the wooden bars and holding onto them for dear life. She could stand already. But not yet alone.

"Dada!" She squealed with laughter, bobbing excitedly up and down. Her tiny raven curls were bouncing; oceanic blue eyes shining with pure happiness. You watched from where you stood in the door frame, how Loki leaned down to lift your daughter up in his arms. "Hi, baby girl," you heard him muttering under his breath, before he cuddled the little girl close to his armour-clad chest. The god's eyes fluttered shut, as he inhaled her scent - and you could see how he instantly relaxed. His bad mood, washed away within seconds, because of the sweet creature you and him had created. "Daddy missed you so much, princess." He continued to whisper against Ella's clothed skin, while she just continued to giggle and babble happily.

You watched the scenes from the side-line, smiling like the idiot in love you were. Whatever happened on the mission he was on, Ella was seemingly able to let him forget about it within seconds.

He carried Ella then over to the sofa and flopped down with her. A shimmer of green seiðr enveloped his body, changing his armour in more comfortable clothes. A black green hoodie and grey sweatpants. He sat Ella down on his chest, steadying her and keeping her upright with his hands around her waist. "Dada!" The little girl clapped her hands excitedly and reached for the cords of his hoodie, playing with them. Loki watched her with an amused smile, playing along with her.

You decided to join them as well, "You know... She's never that excited when I'm coming home." sitting down beside your husband and daughter. Loki scoffed, eyeing you critically. "That is absolutely not true, my love, and you know it." You giggled, shaking your head. "It is - and you know it, my love." Another scoff. "Ella's a daddy's girl. She always was, always will be. I accepted it." That caused a low chuckle to rumble through Loki's chest.

You leaned onto your side and buried a hand in his raven black curls, gently massaging his scalp. "What happened on the mission that got you so pissed, huh?" Your husband turned his head slowly; stunning oceanic blues meeting your eyes. "I am sensing my bad mood must've been very obviously?" "Mhh, yeah... Quite a bit, babe." You held his gaze and continued to run your hand through his hair. "So... What happened? Do you want to talk about it?" Loki sighed; slightly shaking his head. "It just went not how we planned... A lot of misunderstandings, the failing of communication and Stark blaming me for it." You frowned. "Why would Tony blame you for this?" The god shrugged his shoulders. "Because he like to blame me. And somebody has to be the culprit, right? It's easier to put the blame on the still untrustworthy war criminal, rather than seeking out the real problem."

Your heart ached at his words; facial expressions turning soft and gentle. "I'm sorry for that, my love. I don't understand why Tony acts how he acts sometimes." You sighed, but felt Loki's hand on yours. He gently untangled it from his hair to intertwine his fingers with yours. "Darling, you do not need to apologise for that. I am just going to accept it. Perhaps you are right and Stark has his reasons why he acts like that."

Loki brought your intertwined hands up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. "I'm sorry for the unproper greeting, my queen, but I just... I just had to hold our baby." He gestured towards Ella, who had dozed off on his chest by now; small limbs dangling off his sides. You squeezed your linked hands, "It's okay, babe. I understand." and started to smile cheekily. "As long as you're making it up to me..." A boyish smile grazed the god's lips, before he let go of your hand again, "Oh, with pleasure." and used both hands to cup your cheeks. He brought your face closer to his, and before you even knew what was happening, Loki's lips met yours; kissing you senseless.

[makoodles]

neteyam's reader understands me like no other just like the sex education reader being open about how na'vi are hot and we deserve to be railed by one !!

anyway love parallel of father and son being like. Please Just Ask Me I've Been Yearning hahah. no rest for that family just every generation dealing with a small human trying to sleep with other na'vi while they suffer in the background

LITERALLY ahahahahha

okay you know what i'm gonna post my snippet of the neteyam fic here

sneak peek!!

As you tend to the scratch on his shoulder, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now. 

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you in rather compromising positions. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by their future Olo’eyktan, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was the Olo’eyktan’s son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job. 

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time with the Metkayina, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell. 

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment. 

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations. 

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

[moongothic]

Many people have pointed out (in relation to Crocodad) how in Japanese the etymology of the word "wani" (crocodile) is a bit complicated to say the least and in mythology could mean a variety of things, including a shark, sea monster or a dragon

Which, of course, is quite an interesting coincidence. Crocodile does often get referred to as "wani" not just by Luffy but some other characters, and so it would be just a little funny if both of Luffy's dads were sorta kinda called dragons

There's also people pointing out how Zoro's mother was called "Tera", similar to terra (earth) and Sanji's mother was named Sora (sky). So if Luffy's birthing parent was named after a water-dwelling creature, well, it'd be cute and round out the monster trio's birthing parents in a funny way, since we'd have earth, sky and the sea

But what really is fucking me up about the whole wani-thing is the Myth of Toyotama-hime

So the TL:DR; of the myth is

The pregnant princess Toyotama came from the Ryuuguu Castle deep in the oceans onto land to give birth to her child, telling her husband that when she would give birth, she would revert back into her true form, requesting him to not look at her while she gave birth. But her husband could not keep that promise, so he peeked in on his wife, only to witness a giant wani giving birth. The sight of this horrified the husband so much he fled, while Toyotama princess was so hurt by what had happened that she returned to the sea, abandoning her child.

Indeed, this myth bringing up wani pregnancy is just. An interesting coincidence for Crocodad speculation

Of course, we know Oda borrows from mythology (fucking, Fishman Island's castle is literally the Ryuuguu Castle), so if Crocodad Real, it's genuinely plausible Oda could('ve) take(n) inspiration from that very myth

Thing about it is that though...

Like, if we're assuming Crocodile never fully realized he was trans until he got pregnant, then him transitioning either immidiately or as soon as he could after giving birth would make sense. Dude seeks out Iva-chan and gets the t-juice*, so on and so forth, but my question is like, would that have been before or after delivering the baby to Dragon (so he could then pass it onto Garp)

*(Or hell, maybe Iva-chan was there helping deliver the baby, helping Crocodile crack his own egg etc, maybe the secret Iva-chan is holding over Crocoboy's head isn't that they knew Crocodile is trans and could out them, but knowing Crocodile gave birth to god know whose child)

Because like

How did Dragon find out about his partner transitioning?

Did pre-T Crocodile tell him he was transitioning while handing over the baby? Or did he just leave without an explanation and allowed Dragon to just Take In The Change after it had happened whenever they saw each other again (if they ever did, for all we know he could've just walked away without talking to Dragon again and Dragon just found out either from Iva-chan directly or from seeing him on the news)

Or did Crocodile transition first and then deliver the baby to Dragon without any warning, again, just giving Dragon one hell pf a surprise

In any scenario, how did that even go down?

And we have to ask the sad question of... is Dragon a Bisexual King or not? And would Crocodile have been... afraid of Dragon's reaction? (This would've been a younger Crocodile mind you, who would literally have been just coming out of his shell, and that shit's scary man)

Because if Toyotama Princess is any indicator, this wani's relationship did not end well after her truth was revealed

Like, let's say Crocodile transitioned first and then showed up without warning as a man to Dragon to hand over the baby. Thing is, while we know VERY LITTLE about Dragon still, I can't imagine him being like violently transphobic or even lashing out at his partner when he'd come out. But I could imagine him being so shocked he'd be left utterly speechless.

And I'm not entirely sure which would be worse; Dragon outright but "kindly" telling Crocodile he's not into men and breaking the poor bastard's heart, or Bi!Dragon being too shocked to say anything, letting Crocodile to just jump to conclusions based on his reaction (and maybe then causing Dragon to jump into further conclusions (that Crocodile must actually be into women)), unintentionally causing a divorce out of sheer misunderstanding and literal lack of communication

And the sad part is, considdering Dragon is a very secretive man, who according to the Crocodad Theory can't even have told his partner his full name mind you... The miscommunication seems very plausible to me?? Does it not?

Or, maybe Crocodile delivered the baby to Dragon pre-T and told him he's going to Iva-chan without further explanation, jumping into conclusions, afraid to hear what Dragon would say. So he just leaves without explaining before Dragon gets to say a word. And Dragon just accepts it. Assuming he's the one getting dumped.

Either way, whatever might've happened can't have been good, can it

Also, considdering Garp is a fucking idiot (affectionate), and Luffy clearly inherited The Stupid from his grandfather, I would not be surprised if Dragon was also actually a bit of a himbo underneath that serious face he puts on (either that or Crocodile kept on smoking while pregnant)

Which could also turn what would otherwise be a tragic miscommunication into an absolute comedy if Crocodile and Dragon ever met again and the two realized that they're both idiots who jumped into conclusions and ruined their marriage by refusing to talk about their fucking feelings to each other. This is an absolute trainwreck of a family

But considdering the things Crocodile has done by this point*, would it ever even be possible for the two to reconcile?? Because, althought Dragon is pro-overthrowing corrupt governments especially if they're affiliated with the World Government, from what I can tell, he's still against unnececary violence (Vegapunk even comments that Dragon "hates war" in a flashback) and needless loss of life. And Crocodile caused just that.

*And I don't even mean the failed attempt at taking over Alabasta, I mean the drought Crocodile caused that caused countless people to starve to death and then caused the civil war which had already taken lives and permanently disabled people BEFORE the Strawhats ever even get to Alabasta. Like Crocodile's bomb may have been a dud but he still caused people to die for no reason, and I can't imagine Dragon being fine with that. But then again, Robin and other Baroque Works members also contributed to the loss of life and their sins have been neatly swept under the rug so IDK

And like. We don't know if Crocodile moonlighted as a Revolutionary for like 10+ years after Luffy was born and slowly went out of contact or if he just left immidiately. But theoretically, the two might not have even seen each other in like almost 20 years

That'd be a long time to carry a broken heart

How the fuck would you even heal from that

Also like

Crocodile did seem a little suicidal at Impel Down if I'm being honest

Like.

He had a dream of becoming Pirate King. But he lost to Whitebeard, and his dreams were ruined.

Dude had a master plan to take over a country that took him almost a decade to pull off, only for it to get wrecked in the final hour by a literal child.

His useless underlings then come and try to break him out of prison

And he chooses to stay

When we finally see his face for the first time in Impel Down... His mouth might be forming a smile, but those eyes aren't

And he even says it himself

"I didn't think there'd be anything for me to do if I were free"

Is it not like he has given up on life entirely..?

And sure, he does ask to be let out so he can get revenge on Whitebeard, but was it out of a genuine belief he could actually take down the old man or just a slightly more fun way to die than rotting away in prison for the next few decades?

You know the saying, "to be loved is to be changed"

Frankly, the same goes for the reverse. Being unloved, or believing yourself to be unloveable will change you. For the worse

[siconetribal]

Wishing You Were Here

Tag: @vbecker10, @harlequin-hangout

Pairing: Loki x Y/N

Warning: Fluff, angsty, Loki feels, all the feels, poor Y/N I'm always so mean to you

Author Note: So, I promised way back that I would do another Loki piece, and I've been working on this idea for a bit of a while. I hope you all like it, it's not as humorous as my last stuff, but I wanted to do something more serious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no denying that life was a force that was impossible to control. It was wild and free spirited, one moment and leisurely and demure the next, a wild stallion with a spirit that with an indomitable spirit, beautiful and exhilarating. An ocean with depths invisible to the eye, majestic and frightening. Life was many things, and at this moment it was unfathomable to Y/N’s mind. For almost one year now, she was living in the Avengers tower and sharing a flat within its walls with the Loki. Who knew a simple online ad was all it took to meet with people who were literally from out of this world?

Sighing for what felt like the umpteenth time, she glanced over the walls of her cubicle at the large analog clock on the wall. Only two minutes had passed since her last check. Leaning back into her computer chair, she slumped and silently groaned. This day was going to one of those long days that never end.

There’ve been a lot more of those recently. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took in a deep breath. I don’t get why it matters. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and it’s most certainly not going to be the last. It comes with the territory. Loki will be out on missions more often because he’s proven himself worthy of trust and that it was the mind stone that corrupted him. Though, with a tragic backstory like his, it’s no surprise. That all aside, this is a good thing for him. He needs this, and he finally gets a chance to be with his brother. I don’t care what he plays at, he’s a happy younger brother excited to be included with his big brother and his friends, finally. Sitting up properly in her seat again, she picked up a pen and began to slowly tap it against the desk. This was a great thing, and she was happy for him. She wanted him to grow and heal, he deserved this and then some. And yet…there were days like this.

The inky goop slowly rose up, cloying and clinging inside her as she sank deeper into its swampy depths. The thick strings wrapped around her heart, sharp thorns digging into her heart whenever it wrapped around tighter. This heavy guilt was never too far behind the emptiness that lingered at the lack of his presence. There was no denying it anymore, she missed Loki. She missed his witty remarks, his infuriating way of toying with her that left her spinning and dumbstruck, his posh way of speaking, his graceful motions that made her feel like a mole trying to walk on land-awkward and fumbling. She missed his laughter, his sarcasm, his silent companionship, and just everything about him.

Who am I kidding, I love him. She leaned forward, elbows on her desk, as she hid her face in her hands. I love Loki, and there’s no point in beating around the bush. Not like I can do or say anything, though. He’s a prince, an Asgardian god. I’m just some random human that just happened to be in need of a flatmate. He can have anyone. Who knows what sort of beautiful geniuses he’s dated on Asgard, but he’s gone to premiers and events with supermodels, A-list entertainers, and actual human nobles and royals. I’m some girl from a town where nothing amazing happens that landed in NYC with hard work. A huge bookish nerd that’s always falling for the guys in the pages who are as perfect as they can be. I went from spending all my time imagining what it’d be like if they’d existed to actually living with one, and now I know how impossible it is for me to pull them.

Her chest hurt. Her throat constricted and the corners of her eyes stung at the harsh reality that slapped her in the face. She inhaled sharply and cleared her throat. This was not going to happen. Not now at work, not today. “You’re fine, Y/N. You knew this would happen if you accepted these feelings.” She scolded herself. “Chin up, get to work. He’s busting his butt out there on some mission and you’re having a self-pity party? No way,” she sat up straighter. And what a fine booty it is. “He’s one of your best friends, that’s good enough.” Cracking her knuckles, she pushed her computer chair in and got back to researching the locations you were tasked with for potential Avengers intervention.

_______________________________________

Loki sat at the edge of a cliff, watching the blue sky burst into orange and purple as the sunset in the distant horizon. The gentle ocean breeze caressed his face. He took in the crisp salty air and let out a deep relaxing sigh. Why was he such a fool? There was nowhere in the nine realms that he could go that would get her out of his mind. The mission had ended almost a week ago, but he was unable to go back. Not yet. Like a shooting star, she came crashing into his life and he was never the same. The once aloof and independent second prince who had a need for nor no one was now stuck to some Midgardian? Preposterous.

No, she is not some comet. She is the ocean. Shapeless and all encompassing, he stared out at the water stretched before him. The waves lapped against the shore. Unassuming and everywhere, and yet I’m always searching for her.  How long had he been like this? So overwhelmed by her that it was getting harder to tread her waters? When did her waves that licked at her heels start to come crashing over his head. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath with his lips pressed thin. It’s not her fault. It is foolish of me to blame her. She did not come to drown me, and yet here I am tumbling in the depths. 

For many years he lived just beneath the surface, barely surviving was his only purpose. The sins of his past, the horrid and vile emotions of disgust, hatred, and shame hung over his head every day. His traumatic past and the consequences of his poor decisions haunted him every night. It was a routine he had grown accustomed to, and his existence was merely just that, an existence. Who was he? What was he? He needed to find himself once more. “And my overly eager brother was happy to assist me,” he mumbled as he opened his eyes to see the blackish-blue sky slowly begin to dot with stars. “Which led me to her.” He sighed.

When did the darkness turn to light? When did I, Loki of Asgard, begun to look forward for something? No, someone. The one who changed everything was her. It was a random afternoon in the tower when it was brought to the forefront of his mind. Y/N was out of town for some family reasons, and he had been alone in the flat for roughly three days at that point. His training was done for the day and there were no meetings until later in the evening when the recon would return with more data. He had the whole day free to do as he wished. A rare moment of peace, which he took and ran straight to their flat to read the book he was unable to finish because of work. 

Comfortably settled in his favorite leather chair, he picked up the leather-bound tome and opened it. Before he could focus on the words, a flat piece of wood slipped out from between the sheets and fell silently on his lap. There was a hint of sandalwood infused in it with intricate and delicate designs carved into the body with a green braided rope and tassel looped through the hole punched at the top. A birthday gift from Y/N. He had no need for a bookmark. His memory was excellent and there was no need to celebrate his birthday. There was nothing worth commemorating, and he told her as such. Her shoulders had dropped a smidgen at his words, but her smile never faltered. She pushed through with the same energy as she pulled out a small cake she had made for him. 

“Your birthday is important to celebrate because you were born. Had you not been born, I would have never met you, and I’m grateful you were!” Such simple words had struck him, the God of mischief with a silver tongue, silent. She was sincerely happy. His heart thumped rather uncomfortable at his ribs and his mouth felt dry. It was as if he was slowly drowning in a tub of lukewarm water. It was awkward and heartwarming, something he had forgotten long ago. His icy disposition was beginning to melt. He looked around at the well furnished apartment that suddenly felt larger and hollower than the royal halls of the Asgardian castle. He fidgeted in the deafening silence before grabbing the bookmark. Snapping his book shut, he stood from his seat and left. To where, he was not sure, but he could not stand being in there anymore.

He roamed the halls of the tower aimlessly before heading to the cafeteria to eat. He heard a female voice and quickened his pace. Y/N, he eagerly stepped into the kitchen area only to see it was a group of women and none of whom were her. He flashed them a perfect smile, earning a few squeals and giggles, before he excused himself. I should go to the library, that’s it. I need a change of scenery when reading. He straightened his back and turned on his heel. As per usual, there was scarcely anyone there. His favorite spot by a large bay window was empty, as per usual, which made him smile. Just how it he liked it. He walked towards it but stopped at the call of his name.

“Loki, look! Isn’t this cool?!” He turned at her voice, only to find no one there. When did he so desperately wanted to hear her voice call his name? To hear her laughter and ridiculous banter? When did the lack of her presence made his world seem so empty? He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists when he felt something dig into his palm. Glancing down, he saw the bookmark broken in half in his palm. He had not realized he was holding it this entire time, and it was now just like him, broken. Pocketing the pieces, he made his way out of the library and sought out Thor. He needed to get out of here before he lost it. 

So he took on the earliest and left before she returned. And now here he was, sitting under the star-studded sky of New Asgard, and he was still thinking about her. He knew he was infatuated with her, but it was so much more now. He wanted to possess her, keep her with him. She consumed his mind, burrowed a hole into his life and permanently occupied the spot. Even now, he knew she would have loved to have seen the blazing setting sun or quietly observe the great burning balls of gas burning millions and billions light-years away. She was always everywhere. He gently rubbed at his aching chest.

“Brother was right, this is not a simple passing phase. I,” he paused for a moment. Something about saying it seemed so final. As if putting it out into the ether would seal his fate. “I love her.” He sighed, the weight on his mind vanishing, but a new weight pressing on his heart. He wanted to see her again. Pulling out his phone, he looked at the many unread messages from Y/N. Each of them wishing him the best, success on the mission, praying for his safety, and anticipation of his return home. Home, he snorted at the thought and shook his head. He sat silent for a moment before he let out a small laugh. “She is home, what have I become? How much of a fool do you wish to make of me, Y/N?” He asked aloud, shaking his head at himself, unlocking the device and hitting the phone icon by her name. It rang a handful of times before she picked up, the sound of the phone tumbling and her fumbling greeting him.

“H-hello?! Loki?!” Her groggy voice came from the other side.

“Hello darling, were you sleeping?”

“Mmm, no, just sorta knocked out on the couch.” She mumbled, he could imagine it now, her slowly sitting up with her hair a bit of a mess and as she rubbed her eyes. He chuckled softly. “Are you done with your mission?”

I’ve been done for a while now, but I can’t tell you that. It would break your heart, but the worst of it is that you would never hold me accountable for my selfish whims. You would be understanding and supporting, as you always are. “Yes, we stopped by New Asgard along the way.”

“Oh? Hopefully not for work?”

“No, no, nothing like that. A simple little reprieve to clear the mind.”

“That’s nice, you deserve it.” Her sincerity stabbed at his heart.

“I’ve found a nice cliff where there is a perfect view of the setting sun over the ocean. I watched the cascading colors over the waters and sky transition from brilliant, bold colors to the dark night. It was breathtaking, much like you.” He smiled as he heard her cough from shock. She must have been drinking some water. “I know how much you love seeing these sorts of things, I wish you were here. And sitting here, watching it without you, just didn’t feel right without you. I had to call.” I wanted to hear your voice. “I wish you were here.”

“Aww, that’s really sweet of you. I wish I could be there too. It’s been really lonely here without you, but I know you’re busy, so I can wait. You’ll come back when you’re done”

Oh, how I miss you too. His chest swelled with such happiness at her confession. It was as if he was given the greatest new in all the nine realms. He wanted to run back to the tower right now and hold tightly in his arms. “Only a few more days until we will be reunited again.” He assured her. “I miss you too, my love.” He heard a hitch in her breath and some clattering and her muffled shock. She must have dropped the phone somewhere and is trying to fish it out. Little did he know, she had dropped it on her face and was currently rubbing her nose.

“My love, that’s a new one.” She finally answered.

“Yes, yes it is. Do you perhaps not like it?”

“What? No, no. no! Not at all! I mean it’s uhm, could be a little misleading.”

“Misleading, how so?” He smirked at how flustered she sounded.

“Uhm, well, you know, it could give someone ideas.”

“Someone ideas? Who is that someone and what are these ideas?” She fell silent on the other end, and he did his very best not to laugh, knowing she was probably dumbstruck and trying to gather the words to explain to him what she was implying. Did he know what she meant already? Of course, but where was the fun in that? Though he did miss seeing her expression for himself.

“Well, not just one someone…but one of them could be me.” She finally answered. “And uhm, the ideas, well, you know, love is a very strong word. Could make people think serious things.”

“Serious things? I suppose that would be concerning if that was wrong.”

“Exactly, so you shou-what?!”

“I said it would be concerning if it were wrong. But it’s not. This is not “giving ideas”, I’m being quite up front. But this is not something that should be discussed over the phone. I’ll make sure to make it very clear for you and everyone when I get back. I’ll see you soon, goodnight darling.” He hung up before she could respond, smiling with utter satisfaction as he got up from his spot and made his way back to the city to speak with Thor. They needed to prepare to leave as soon as possible, because poor Y/N will be an utter mess until they return.

[blondie20000]

SPN Season 14 Recs

Season 14, the season that had so much potential. As I am in an SPN mood, I'm going to recommend some season 14 fics that I love! Links are in the titles of the fics. Fics are from both Ao3 and FF.

I also added my fics because while I do have a masterlist in my pinned post if anyone is looking for a specific season, they can look here.

More fics may be added later on.

The Bringer of War by MadisonTheGeek

Summary:

"Now that the archangel Michael has made it to a new world and taken possession of Dean Winchester, he can begin to put his plans in motion for a new world order. Meanwhile, the rest of the Winchester group search restlessly for the missing Dean and slowly being to unravel Michael's plans."

Not All Good News by trevelies

Summary:

"Michael is caged inside Dean's mind for now. But there's grace leaking from the cracks, banging on the doors, and Dean knows what happens at the end of this story. With borrowed (and confusing) Archangel abilities, a group of mistrustful Apocalypse Universe Hunters, and too many Michael Monsters to deal with, Team Free Will 2.0 is ready to clean up the mess that Michael's left behind and stop another apocalypse. Not all the danger is locked inside a bar's walk-in freezer, though - and the Winchesters need to watch out for old and new enemies around every corner.

And at the end of it all, Dean needs to decide how far he'll go to get rid of Michael once and for all."

Gonna Leave a Scar by trevelies

Summary:

"Michael repossesses Dean in Kansas City, and Team Free Will 2.0 isn't exactly on board. It doesn't matter that their only weapon and chance at defeating Michael is currently broken into pieces - family never gets left behind. And that goes double for Winchesters. Sam does a deep dive into Dean's head because he's not letting Dean disappear on his watch, even if it means facing an Archangel on his own turf."

All On You by trevelies

Summary:

"The Spear" speculation. Dean's vision is swimming - literally. But Team Free Will 2.0 has much bigger problems. The angels have finally located Michael, and the Winchesters have Kaia's Spear, an angel and a half, and about three weeks of bad memories to take out on Michael's feathery ass."

The Abyss Gazes Back by Water_of_life

Summary:

"Dean was able to convince Sam to go along with his plan of locking Michael (and Dean) away in the ma'lak box and dumping it in the Pacific Ocean. Sam gave in to Dean then, but he never gave up searching for another way to save Dean and the rest of the world from Michael. Now that a group of deep sea researchers have stumbled upon the box, Sam is about to find out if he put the reprieve to good use, and if they are all ready to face what is coming."

Omission, Lies, and False Truths by GalaxyThreads, SpiritClusters

Summary:

"In the wake of Lucifer's death, with Dean missing, Sam falling apart, and Cas struggling to keep everyone together, Jack realizes there are a lot of things he doesn't know about the Winchesters and Cas. Things he should know. Things he's going to fight to learn."

10 Years Gone by cayuga

Summary:

"What if Nick had kidnapped Mary before she'd gone into Donna's workshop and saw the Ma'lak box in Damaged Goods? What might have happened if Dean had managed to go through with his trip to the bottom of the Pacific without telling Sam."

the lies I tell myself by randomfills (spnfanatic)

Summary:

"Alt. take on season 14, episode “Nihilism”. Sam and Cas have a plan to bring Dean, literally, out of his head, but Michael is ready for them and once they enter Dean’s mind, they quickly realize they’re in Michael’s playground and Dean has been hiding things...things that even Sam didn’t know. (mentions of abuse, flashbacks)."

The Room by Fantasticly_Anonymous

Summary:

"Sam learns what it is that Dean’s been doing up at Donna’s cabin and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it enough that he thinks up his own solution to their little Michael problem. A bit of a bottle episode, a ‘What If?’ scenario, and a character exploration between the different members of Team Free Will and the archangel thorn in Dean’s mind. In which, nobody, not even the entire world, needs to die."

Rather be the hunter than the prey by vrskaandrea (MalicMalic)

Summary:

"The story takes place in S14E15 Peace of Mind , only instead of Dean, Cas is the one to take Jack to Donatello to try and find out if he still has his soul. Sam and Dean take on a simple salt and burn where they meet up with Ketch. Upon their return, they are welcomed by a sight that has Sam experiencing Deja vu. Forgotten plotlines."

Match made in Heaven by vrskaandrea (MalicMalic)

Summary:

"Two people the world forgot about find each other by accident. Their love is so strong, so powerful when they run into an army of monsters, this unlikely couple ends up being a bigger threat their leader ever anticipated. Michael just couldn't let something as powerful slip thought his fingers and he will end up biting off more then he could chew. Set during season 14"

Roles Reversed by vrskaandrea (MalicMalic)

Summary:

"What if when Dean got hit in the head and the doors of Michael's cage opened, something happened that made them reverse their roles? That made Dean an archangel who could just snap his fingers and instantly kill demons? That made Michael nothing but a pitiful soul that kept drowning in his own nightmares? Come and see."

It's all in the blood by Becciehill1976

Summary:

"Faced with recurring fears about Michael returning as well as trying to fit back in to life in a busy bunker, Dean needs time away from everyone, so he can get his confidence back and find his place in the world Sadly, being a famous hunter has it’s draw back as Dean finds out the hard way when kidnapped whilst on a hunt. From there, Dean gets to find out that there are worse things than being the Archangel Michael’s vessel, as he battles powerful vampires. Will he be able to escape his new prison or will his family find him in time?"

One of a kind by MalicMalic

Summary:

"Someone told me that someone told them there aren't enough of Michael/Dean fics out there. Let's change that. While we're at it, why not add another Michael to the mix and see what happens."

Passenger by moonlightsdean

Summary:

"With Michael having escaped Dean's mind and caused destruction in the bunker, Jack took the initiative to end things once and for all with Michael. Now with Michael dead and Dean freed of having Michael trapped within his mind, he'll be able to relax and have time to deal with the aftermath of what happened with the AU hunters. But what if Michael's relinquish from Dean's mind wasn't as clear cut as it was made out to be? When things start going awry for Dean he's left to wonder what really happened during the time he was unconscious, and why he just can't catch a break."

The Price You Pay by Jadeys_World

Summary:

"It was a miracle that Sam survived taking on the Archangel Michael. Team Free Will is going to find out what it takes for a miracle like that to happen and what it costs when a Reaper and unreliable Rogue Angel each decide to help in their own way. There are secrets and betrayals, a world that needs saving once again, but at least they have each other."

An Alternative Ending by AnotherWriterWhoWrites

Summary:

"Michael isn't sure how long he's been in the cage, time is meaningless to him. But as his sanity slips further and further away, resentment to his father sets in. And once Lucifer takes Sam and Jack away a desperate Dean is more than willing to let what should've happened years ago, to happen now."

Of All The Burdens I Must Bear... by Jadeys_World

Summary:

"Chuck constructs the perfect punishment for Sam after the events of Moriah. Lucifer is given a new life to make amends for the burden his father placed on him when they defeated The Darkness. Sam is adrift and alone in his new life, left to find a new strength to cope without his new reality as the enemy."

At What Cost by Jadeys_World

Summary:

"Mary is gone, taken beyond any Winchester deal or pleading, but there's one option left to them. They can get her back, but it will come at a price, a price that might be too much for Dean to pay. A story of family, betrayal and the things you will do for the people you love."

Burned Away by AnotherWriterWhoWrites

Summary:

"In which Sam is the one with Jack at S14E17 Game Night and as a result, a different person dies."

Testing by AnotherWriterWhoWrites

Summary:

"Mary takes a pregnancy test. Post Episode 13 Lebanon."

Peace When You're Done by kittenofdoomage

Summary:

"Dean puts himself in the box in S14 when there’s no other way to defeat Michael. Canon divergent from the end of “Ouroboros”."

Dean in the Box by Secretwrittenword

Summary:

"The box came to a rest on the deepest floor of the ocean. The pressure pushing down on it caused the structure to creak and groan... Set in Season 14, with no other option, Dean seals himself into the Malák box and sinks to the furtherest depths of the ocean. Once there he has nothing but time to kill and an Archangel to annoy."

Dog Dean Afternoon by Secretwrittenword

Summary:

"Sam and Cas go on a hunt leaving Dean and Jack alone in the bunker to recuperate. After going for a walk Jack finds something that just might be the key to help Dean recover from his ordeal with Michael."

Escape of the Archangel by themodernteen

Summary:

"Adaptation of the 14x14 episode "Ouroboros" when Dean is unconscious after getting his head slammed into the wall by the demigod. My own interpretation of the episode, what goes through Dean's mind in his internal battle against Michael, and a worried Sam and Castiel watching him endure it."

Nemesis of the Mind by TiTivillus

Summary:

"In an attempt to save Dean from Michael, Sam delves into Dean's mind. Things don't go as expected."

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap by TiTivillus

Summary:

"Dean is back… or is he? Coda to 14x02 "Gods and Monsters".

Consequences by Jadeys_World

Summary:

"Season 14 AU. Sam is determined to free Dean from Michael and turns to Rowena and the Book of the Damned for help. She finds a spell that will work, but, of course, there will be consequences, and this time, Sam will be paying the ultimate price unless Dean can find a way to save him in return."

Consequences by Blondie2000

Summary:

"For some reason, Lisa found herself drawn to him. She reaches out and places her hand on his cheek. As soon as she touched him, she felt a jolt of electricity go through her. The touch it felt so familiar. The buzz it gave her felt familiar."

"Dean." She repeated his name. "Dean."

Black by Blondie2000

Summary:

"AU of Game Night. Jack wanted Mary to leave him alone. He gets what he wants and accidentally sends Mary to a place where no humans go. Now with Mary gone Jack has to get her back before the Winchesters and Castiel find out and Mary has to survive the dark forces that lurk in the Empty."

Snow Day by Blondie2000

Summary:

"Jack experiences his first ever snow day."

One Time Deal by Blondie2000

Summary:

"Sam and Jack have been kidnapped by Lucifer. Time is running out. What if Dean never said yes to Alternative Michael but instead says yes to our Michael. It is a risky deal but Dean will do whatever it takes to rescue his family and beat the devil once and for all."

The French Mistake 2: An Archangel Nightmare by Blondie2000

Summary:

Dean is gone, Michael has retaken control, and his army is outside, ready to come in and tear everyone apart. With no way out, Sam seeks out help that causes everyone to be sent to a world where their lives are a T.V show and they are actors. Not only do they have this world to worry about, but they still have Michael riding around in Dean's body on the set. Can TFW 2.0 get back home?

The Road to Hell by Blondie2000

Summary:

"The Winchesters find a way to save Dean from Michael. This results in Michael becoming the thing that he grew to hate. He ends up going on the road to Hell. Will he make it to the end? Read and find out."

Who is a Wee Cutie Pie? by Blondie2000

Summary:

"To stop Michael, Rowena puts an adorable curse on him. Set Season 14 Episode 14. AU where Michael never possessed Rowena but stays in Dean instead."

We are One by Blondie2000

Summary:

"Dean confronts Michael. It leads to unexpected results."

[sol-consort]

Can you imagine tho the aliens reactions when humans all start collectively singing the same song. Like it’s busy in the bar or something, everyone’s doing their own thing, and suddenly Bohemian Rhapsody comes on and every single human in the bar stops what they’re doing to sing along like we’re compelled by some unseen force to do it, maybe some try to pull in their non human friends and get them to join in

You know for a fact Joker and Shepard definitely sang to some stupid y2k songs while sitting on the helm together and roped EDI into joining them.

Especially the meme songs, what's better than a whole ship captain and their pilot singing along to "I LOVE IT!" By Icona pop and Joker really bringing out the vocal cords in the "I CRASHED MY CAR INTO THE BRIDGE. I WATCHED AND LET IT BURN" while in the lower engineering decks, they're not sure why Liara keeps pinging them all panicking and saying "check on joker pls" and "is element zero inflammable?" and "coordinates for the nearest bridge?"

Humans L O V E joint community behaviour. We would do so many things for the bit, walk slower if we hear a song we like in a nearby shop, sing along if it's in a bar or a concert, drum our fingers to the beat if we're in a car with a strangers, have a rhythm to our footsteps when listening to music through headphones.

There are so many different songs, so many different instruments! A vast ocean of potential with more than a 100k songs being uploaded per day based on Spotify.

Hell have you seen these videos of military marches where the soldiers have to sing along to something like "I'm a barbie girl" or "call me maybe" and not laugh as a way to build discipline?

I bet you alliance marines still use the same technique with humans, so all the alliance ships and personals have so many songs memorised back from their training days.

Captian Anderson taking the crew to after a successful mission to unwind and the bar just happened to play a tone familiar to the human ear? Of course the literal whole drunk crew of the Normandy will sing like their it's their last day alive. Some yelling, some quietly, some so offbeat but confident and others nailing the beat perfectly but don't wanna look like show offs.

Humans are so adorable omfg, they love doing things in groups and they'd join stranger humans in singing along to a song they like. Humans love playing even as adults and singing is just a form of play. So is poker, billiard and so many things.

Garrus would definitely be roped into it, give him a hard hitting song about being a winner and he's so on board with the rowdy humans tugging him along to join and commenting on how they've never heard a turian sing before.

Tali would be so shy about it but maybe if it's a nerdy song about something she loves? Some human must have wanted to fuck spaceships and wrote something about it.

Oh and parades and ceremonies too! World cup opening and closing songs! The fan cheers in matches and concerts! Humans invented being cheerleaders and each human has one inside them ready to come out the second their alien friend is hesitant about something and needs a bit of enabling from good old chaotic humans.

Dude, just imagine karaoke night with all human songs. In ME1 boring rover planet exploration, Shepard and Ashley definitely sing along to a playlist they had Kaidan install into the car and he snuck some of his favourite songs in their to join them with.

With time and cycling team members, at first, the aliens are weirded out, wtf is this some kind of cult.

But then they're like.

And it just becomes a tradition to sing along while on long car rides on planets. Sometimes, you catch Wrex humming the lyrics while on long elevator rides. Other times, Liara will have the song playing in the background while she works.

It's just so fun to introduce the aliens to how colorful life can be when you sing along, dance without knowing all the steps and being a silly little race.

On a less pop and enthusiast drunks note.

There are also the emotional songs, ones from sad movies or plays. The known songs people play in wedding slow dances or after a break up. A bunch of humans would sing it slowly, lovingly, emotions showing through the sheer importance this song ment for them.

[thespillwaysofyoursoul]

The Cove

AN: Please bear with me I literally haven't written fan fic in like 7 years but I cannot get this concept out of my mind.

Word Count: 1930

Dew enjoys being a fire ghoul, he does. But that doesn't mean he doesn't occasionally miss the water. When it starts to get to him Rain is there to help.

Dew keeps a small vial of water around his neck at all times.  It’s filled with water from a small saltwater cove in the woods behind the abbey. Terzo had the cove put in for Dew when he noticed how excited the ghoul was after a group trip to the beach. Technically water ghouls are connected to all water but Dew had always had an affinity for saltwater.

It’s been a few years since the ceremony and the transition but part of him still yearns for his former element. When he’s alone he remembers the peacefulness of floating aimlessly in the sea and his fingers drift to the slight bumps where his gills once were. You wouldn’t notice them if you didn’t know to look but to Dew, they were a constant reminder. A reminder of being called into Sister Imperator’s office, of being told what was going to happen, of how they chanted and he screamed as they burned his element from his body, of the months after spent in bed trying to breathe through the smoke suddenly coursing through his veins. 

He’s still unsure of why it needed to happen. Why they couldn’t just summon another fire ghoul from the pit when Ifrit left. The clergy rarely explained themselves and certainly not to the ghouls. 

Don’t get him wrong, he does love his newfound warmth and the boost of energy he gets when Papa calls for pyrotechnics during rituals. He loves how his packmates fight to be next to him when it gets cold on the bus. But he can’t help but feel like he lost a bit of himself that night in the abbey.  So he wears his little reminder no matter where he is, he looks longingly out the bus window when they drive past the ocean, and when all else fails he leans on Rain. 

Lucifer knows he doesn’t deserve Rain. He was terrible to him when he arrived. Jealous of the new ghoul who got to commune with his element while Dew lay in bed feverish, dehydrated, and struggling to come to terms with his situation. It took months before Dew warmed up to him but Rain had never held it against him.  Rain is his rock when it all gets too much. 

They had been back from the last leg of the tour for a day. It was a rough one for Dew, he had tweaked his back during one of the first nights and the dull ache had persisted for the next few weeks. The weather had been bad enough that they had to cut down on the fire in the shows, so he wasn’t even getting to commune with his new element. And if that wasn’t enough to make him feel off, they had spent most of the tour driving up the coast, which meant he had spent far too much time curled in a ball and staring out the window at his beloved ocean. His packmates tried their best to lift his spirits but it only helped so much. 

Everyone had split up to recharge in their own way upon their return to the abbey. Rain had stopped Dew to check in but Dew had assured him that he was just tired and gone to bed. Rain wasn’t sure he believed him but went to soak in the lake and recoup. 

The air ghoulettes are curled up in the common room watching a movie when Rain walks in 12 hours later, hair still dripping with water. “Has anyone seen Dew?” 

 “Aether was looking for him earlier but I don’t think he found him. Did you check his room?” Cumulus responds when Cirrus shakes her head.  

Rain makes his way to the ghoul hallway and knocks on Dew’s door. When he doesn’t get an answer he knocks again “Dewdrop I'm coming in.” He opens the door to an empty room. The bed still perfectly untouched, Dew’s tour bag sitting on top of it unopened. Now he’s worried. 

Dew is sitting on the grass by the cove with his knees pressed against his chest and his hands clawing into the messy bun he’s had his hair in since the last ritual. His tail wrapped around himself. Tears still occasionally run silently down his cheeks. Fire ghouls normally can’t cry, their body temperature warm enough to evaporate the tears but it’s one of the few remaining traits of his old life. He only allows himself to cry here. At his cove. Nobody uses it these days, lying forgotten by the clergy. It’s still his favorite spot on the grounds. He doesn’t go in anymore, scared of what will happen when it doesn’t feel like it used to. But he comes and sits by its banks when he can. Rain is the only one who knows about it. 

Rain, who’s probably in the lake right now. The flow of the water recharging him. Relaxing as he uses his gills for the first time since tour. Dew misses that feeling. Sure the excitement of fire is great but he misses the serenity of his beloved cove. His tears start back up in earnest when he thinks about it. He’s sobbing with his head between his legs before he can try to calm himself. He’s too in his own head to see Rain making his way over. 

Rain picks up the pace when he sees Dew curled up. Diving onto his knees once he’s close enough. “Oh, Dewdrop. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it was this bad.” He hugs Dew into him as he sobs. He knows Dew is in no shape to speak like this so he just holds him for as long as he needs. 

“Rain…  I miss it. I miss it so bad.” Dew eventually whispers.

 “I know Dewdrop. I’m so sorry.” Rain wipes the tears off Dew’s face. 

“I just- I want-“ he stops himself. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

 Dew shifts uncomfortably “Forget it. It's dumb.”

“It’s not dumb if you want it.” 

Dew’s quiet for a minute and Rain can feel the smaller ghoul steadying his breathing. “I mean… I just wish I could be swimming. Like I used to.”  

“That’s not dumb. And you know you can still swim. What’s stopping you?” 

There’s another moment of silence before Dew quietly answers “It won’t be like it used to be” 

Rain puts his hand under Dew’s chin and turns him to look at him. “It won’t be. But that doesn’t mean it won’t still be nice.” Dew still looks hesitant. “Want to start by dipping your toes in? That could be nice.” Dew nods and begins wordlessly struggling with his boots. Rain kicks off his sandals and helps Dew where his hands are shaking too hard to untie his shoes. 

Dew lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding the second his toes hit the water. Rain watches as his brow relaxes and does his best to pretend he can’t hear the quiet purrs coming from next to him. They sit quietly for a while with their feet in the cove. Eventually, Rain can sense the tension returning. “Dewdrop” 

“Hm?” 

“Do you want to go further in?”

 “… I don’t know”

“I’ll go in with you.” He stands and pulls Dew up with him. “Do you want to go first or should I? I’ve never swum in this cove before.” 

Dew looks at his reflection in the water “You should it's a good cove” 

Rain takes his hand “I wouldn’t want to without you.”  Dew watches Rain’s reflection, thinking about how good it would be to be swimming together. 

“What if I don’t remember how to swim?” Rain can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous notion. 

“You’ll remember. I promise. It's in your blood. Come on.” 

Rain takes off his shirt and pulls off his shorts. Dew stares at his gills and freezes. Rain has seen him shirtless before, he knows about Dew’s closed gills but for some reason, he has never felt more vulnerable. “I can help you. If you want.” Dew nods and Rain unbuttons his shirt before helping him shimmy out of his jeans. The second he’s undressed Dews's hands shoot around his body to cover the spot where his gills were. “It's ok Dewdrop. You’re ok.” He reaches to unclasp the chain holding the vial around Dew’s neck. Dew grasps what has become his security blanket and after a moment slowly takes it off himself, hands shaking. He gently puts it on top of his clothes. Rain gently takes his hands in his, kissing them. He puts his forehead to Dew’s and starts breathing deliberately to help calm the anxious ghoul. When Dew’s breathing has steadied, Rain finally speaks. “Do you want to walk in together?” Dew nods again and Rain slowly leads them into the water. 

Dew grips Rain’s hand tightly as they walk in. By the time the water hits his knees, his face has erupted into the purest smile Rain has ever seen. A tear runs down his cheek and the taller ghoul wipes it with his thumb. 

“Welcome back Dewdrop” Rain kisses him on the cheek. Dew pauses and lets go of Rain’s hand to let his hair down. Rain takes a step back so he can fuss with his long locks. Once he’s sufficiently shaken out his bun Dew looks Rain in the eye, smiles, and dives in. Rain waits for just long enough to be pulled under by Dew, who has decided he’s not moving fast enough. 

It may have been a few years but the cove is still Dew’s domain.  Sure he can’t see as well underwater and he did momentarily forget he would have to go to the surface to breathe, but he knows these waters like the back of his hand. Rain follows him around as he gets reacquainted, allowing Dew to show him around the rocks, plants, and fish that live there. It’s the most excited Rain has seen him in a long time. They swim around like that, taking trips up for Dew to breathe until Rain notices Dew’s swimming begins to slow. He leads Dew towards the shallow bank of the cove and they lay there blanketed by the water. 

“It’s our day off and we decided to go to the aquarium and there was this lovely little cowfish who clearly wasn’t being cared for properly and it was really pissing me off. So I ran and bought a small tank from the gift shop and got Aether to cause a distraction and I rescued him. And then I snuck him out of the aquarium and onto the bus and kept him hidden from Papa in my bunk for the rest of the tour. And that’s how I met Bubbles! I’m so glad he’s still doing ok.” They had been laying there for an hour, Dew spread across Rain’s chest telling him stories of the different creatures he had in the cove. 

“Of course, he’s doing ok, you take such great care of him. Of all of them.” 

Dew lifts his head up just enough to look at the ghoul beneath him “I try, I come out as often as I can. I get worried about them when we’re on the road.” Dew yawns and lays back down. 

“You know you can go to sleep, Dewdrop. The cove and I will still be here when you wake up.” 

Dew considers protesting but snuggles into Rain and for the first time in years falls asleep to the gentle lull of the waves.