#Of all things I’ve become a crow

[rnm-magic-space-xsd]

[sexlapis]

# SALT AND PEPPER (but mostly salt)

ᝰ.ᐟ nanami x gn!reader

mini fic, fluff, suggestive, aging, reader and nanami are married, reader is a silver fox!

⤷ nanami was prepared for a lot of things when it came to getting older. what he wasn’t prepared for, was how hot his spouse would get…

a/n: thinking about how much i love grey/white/silver hair on a woman or man……..sorry….

masterlists

*

with growing up, getting old and becoming more seasoned, there came many life changes.

health scares, career adjustments, new found gratitude for the most simplest of things and for some reason, a sudden influx of more bills when you get a raise…and you are always due for an eye appointment.

but one thing that has changed is…you.

more specifically, how sexier you’ve become.

now, don’t nanami wrong, he has always found you sexy, beautiful, cute, attractive, pretty, all of the words underneath the sun.

a few years earlier is when he realised it.

the new, grey hairs peaking at your temples.

they were thin and hardly noticeable to an outsider. but nanami noticed everything about you.

he mentioned it one morning.

“do you know your greys are coming in?”

“ugh, i know.” you touch you temples, feeling where they are, like grey hairs felt different somehow. “you can’t really see them now, but i’ll have to dye them in, like, four years or something.”

“…or you could just…let them grow out…?”

you snort. “yeah, right. why don’t i bleach my eyebrows next?”

you leave it at that, and so does nanami and the discussion of your hair is put to an end.

until a few years later.

as of now, the hair of your head is a light grey colour, with slivers of silver and white that beamed, especially highlighted when you are underneath the sun.

your face has changed too.

crows feet now wrinkled the corners of your eyes, smile lines framed your lips, the dips of your jowls now replaced your streamlined jaw and darker, freckled spots were sprinkled over your cheeks and nose.

and, my gosh, did it drive nanami crazy.

the way the experience of life now appeared on your face, you body, your hands and your hair made him more attracted to you. more than he even thought he could be.

and that says a lot.

“your hair.” he starts. you both sit at the breakfast table, a newspaper in nanami’s hand and a cup in yours. “your hair is nice.”

“really?” you ask, surprised and slightly incredulous. you reach your hand up and ruffle your hair. “you know, i was thinking of dyeing it back-“”

“don’t dye it…please. never dye it.”

“oh? nanami…” you smirk at him. “do you think i’m a … fox?”

“you’re the sexiest fox i’ve ever seen, sweetheart.”

“it sounds kinda weird when you say it like that, but i’ll take it!”

nanami chuckles and shakes his head. he stares at you for a moment before speaking. “come here.” he pats his lap.

you place your cup down, strolling to where he sits and plopping yourself onto his lap.

his hands wrap around your hips and yours his neck.

“you’re growing up so wonderfully, baby.” he kisses your jaw. “being old suits you.”

you giggle. “you too, kenny.”

you don’t think he believes you based on the shake of his head, but you know that you’re correct and that’s all that matters.

after a few minutes of peaceful silence, you decide to break it.

“…so,” you sigh, resting you cheek on nanami’s shoulder, “you know how you like my new sexy silver fox hair?”

“yes?” nanami responds, grinning.

“how about we grow you a beard, nanami kento?”

“…”

a/n: short n sweet <3

[kjack89]

New year, same bullshit. I’m sorry I’ve been so MIA, friends, but I hope you accept this drabble as an explanation of sorts. Love you all ❤️

“Should I be worried?”

Grantaire’s eyes flicker up to Enjolras’s, his cereal spoon halfway to his mouth. “Do you mean, like, in general?” he asks. “Because I mean, like, it’s 2025. And we’re all fucked. So.”

He sticks his spoon in his mouth and shrugs. Enjolras doesn’t smile. “That’s on me for not being more specific, I guess,” he says, scrubbing a hand across his mouth before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re not painting.”

Grantaire swallows. “Well, no,” he allows, “mainly because I’m eating breakfast at the moment.”

“Be serious.”

Grantaire’s lips twitch. “It’s somewhat less funny when you know it’s coming.”

Enjolras arches an eyebrow. “And yet that’s never stopped you before.”

“Fair.” Grantaire twirls his spoon between his fingers before pronouncing, like the well-worn, inside joke it had become, “I am wild.”

Almost certainly despite himself, Enjolras smiles, just slightly. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees. “But you’re also not painting.”

Grantaire’s answering smile fades. “Could be,” he says, a little sullenly. “It’s not like you’re around enough to know.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, but Enjolras doesn’t flinch. “Maybe not but we live in a late capitalist surveillance state so I have my ways of finding out.”

“Well, well, well, typical white man, complaining about the system except for when it directly benefits you.”

“Yep,” Enjolras says. “Are you going to keep deflecting? Because I can do this all day.”

For a moment, Grantaire’s tempted to take him up on it, to see just how long he’ll actually allow this to drag on. It’d almost certainly be good fun, and it isn’t like Grantaire’s got anything better to do.

But he can also see that Enjolras is genuinely worried, can see it in the tightness of his shoulders and the lines at the corners of his eyes that he tries to claim aren’t crow’s feet because he’s not old enough to have crow’s feet. And considering Grantaire’s previous point about all of the other things that are almost certainly more worth Enjolras’s worry, he supposes he owes him at least a semblance of the truth.

“Yes, I haven’t been painting,” he says, dipping his spoon in his bowl of cereal and stirring it, mostly to give himself something to do with his hands. “No, you shouldn’t be worried.”

Enjolras nods like he didn’t really expect a different answer. “Are you depressed again?”

Enjolras’s bluntness, characteristic though it may be, still startles a laugh from Grantaire. He sighs and looks down at his cereal bowl. “There’s not really a way to say this that won’t worry you.”

When he sneaks a glance at him, Enjolras meets his eyes evenly. “Try me.”

Grantaire jerks a shrug. “I’ve never really not been depressed,” he admits, which isn’t really a dirty secret so he’s not entirely sure why he’s saying it like it is.

Maybe because he really doesn’t want Enjolras to worry. They don’t talk about this, really, other than for Enjolras to reiterate more times than Grantaire can count that he’s always there to listen if ever Grantaire wants or needs to talk.

He knows that Grantaire’s in therapy, and takes meds, and had some very low lows previously, but Grantaire’s never felt the need to fill him in on the specifics.

It was depressing enough living it the first time.

He made that joke, such as it was, to his therapist, who didn’t laugh. “Do you frequently feel like you’re a burden to your loved ones?” she asked in response.

Of course Grantaire does, but again, he won’t tell Enjolras that.

Enjolras taps his fingers on the table, the way he does when he’s deciding on the best plan of attack or how to most effectively dismantle whatever asinine argument Grantaire’s brought up. “I thought you were doing better,” he says hesitantly after a moment.

He doesn’t pitch it as a question but Grantaire still nods. “I was.”

“What happened?” Enjolras asks, before pausing and asking, “Did something happen?”

Grantaire sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It doesn’t always work that way,” he says. “It’s not always triggered by something happening.”

Enjolras’s brow furrows. “Right,” he says shortly, something like disappointment flitting across his expression.

It took Grantaire a very long time when they got together to realize that this kind of disappointment isn’t aimed at him, but at a problem Enjolras can’t fix, an enemy he can’t fight.

At least, not directly.

He clears his throat. “But in this case, I think probably everything over the past few months played at least a contributory role, shall we say.”

True though it is, he mostly says it for Enjolras’s sake. Enjolras just nods slowly. “Are you not painting because your depression is bad again?”

Grantaire exhales sharply. “I’ve painted a lot while depressed.”

Enjolras’s expression doesn’t shift. “Another excellent deflection.”

Grantaire barks a laugh and scrubs both hands across his face. “You know me too fucking well.”

“Or just well enough.”

Grantaire lowers his hands and sighs again. He doesn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes as he says, “Every time I go try to paint…it’s like I can’t see it anymore, you know?” Enjolras almost certainly doesn’t know, but he’s struggling to put it into words in a way he can understand. “Like I can’t picture it in my mind, how I want it to look, or how to get there. It’s– it’s like trying to paint in fog.”

It’s not an exact metaphor, but it’ll do.

Enjolras nods slowly. “But I don’t need to be worried.”

“No,” Grantaire says, before wrinkling his nose. “Yes? I never know what the correct response is.” Enjolras just gives him a look, and Grantaire tells him, “No, you don’t need to be worried.” He pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before telling Enjolras with an almost tired conviction, “It’ll come back. It always has.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire cracks a smile. “Then you can worry.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath. “Ok,” he says simply.

Grantaire eyes him resignedly. “You’re going to worry anyway, aren’t you?”

A smile twitches at the corners of Enjolras’s mouth. “Newsflash, asshole, I’ve been worried this whole time,” he says dryly, and Grantaire’s smile widens at the quote.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Enjolras’s smile disappears.

“What? Why?”

Grantaire shakes his head, mostly because he knows Enjolras won’t like his explanation. “Because you shouldn’t have to—”

Sure enough, Enjolras cuts him off with a scowl, though his voice is gentle as he tells him, “That ship I’m pretty sure sailed when I fell in love with you. Or, frankly, probably a good deal sooner than that.”

There are so many things that Grantaire wants to say that, but he can’t bring himself to. Instead, he stretches his hand across the table and tells Enjolras, sincerely, “I love you.”

Enjolras takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know,” he says softly. “I love you, too.” He squeezes Grantaire’s hand before adding, “I hope it comes back soon.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees. “So do I.”

[yanderenightmare]

more gojo with curse!darling please! i lobe this concept<3

Gojo Satoru

P1 & P3

TW: abduction and captivity, mild condescension, mild coercion, NSFW hints, some descriptions of darling, but nothing too specific, a joke dissing people with blue eyes and pale skin

gn reader - fem labels (drama queen) & fem accessories (jewelry: various)

He kept you like one would a stray cat. Leaving you be as you found places of comfort around his apartment, hiding when you wanted to be left alone – which was almost always.

You hadn’t warmed up to him yet. Understandably so.

He’d set out food for you, locking the door with seals when leaving – scoffing out a laugh after coming home only to find the dish still on the table. He keeps forgetting you don’t eat.

You may look it, but you’re not exactly human.

But you are getting thinner, unfortunately. Suppose his apartment isn’t ideal hunting ground for a curse. And as you’ve gotten weaker, you’ve become wilder – primitive in a way – hissing at him when he gets too close – feeling vulnerable. 

You’re very cute.

But, cute or not, he doesn’t want to starve you. He isn’t cruel. So he walks and wonders what it is that you would find appetizing. 

Watching your behavior – how you sneak around his apartment looting – like a crow – collecting shiny objects to deck yourself in. Stealing all his rings, chains, watches, belt buckles, manchets, any gold or silver-rimmed glasses, and anything else you can use as jewelry – old coins, can tabs, all the silverware – along with everything else you deem pretty – fabrics, flowers, decorations, all his silk shirts. 

You rob anything and everything of value, making a nest of it all in the tub. 

His theory is that the bathroom is the shiniest place in the house and, therefore, where you feel you most belong. You sleep there despite him having given you a room – coveting all your findings.

He’s never really thought about how a curse can have such behaviorism. It’s not too odd to keep tamed ones as pets, but still, he’s never thought about why one would aside from utilizing them in combat. But you weren’t made for such intents and purposes. You were… just fascinating to have. Not far off from being an exotic pet.

But even for a curse, you’re unusual.

It’s not fear or death you thrive on. It’s… something a lot more innocent, actually – which is probably why you have no malicious instincts to hurt him – not that you could if you tried. But he can tell… you don’t want to be a curse, do you? In fact, those few times he has nicknamed you curse, you’ve scowled at him a little more than usual. 

No, what you desire is devotion – to be worshipped. 

What you want is to be a god.

Quite like him, actually. You like having your ego stroked. 

It’s your pride that needs feeding, and he can only asses that it feasts on people’s mad desire for you – of which he has plenty to give.

But you reject it.

“I won’t rely on the pity of a filthy jujutsu sorcerer. I’d rather starve.” You tell him with a sneer, curling yourself up with folded arms upon your chest – pouting with eyes closed, drowned in your treasure bath as though everything wasn’t nicking your skin, trying to ignore him.

He slants his head to the side, crouched down beside you with his arms resting on the tub, a smirk on his face – playing cute as he reaches a slim finger out to touch your cheek.

“Won’t you let a filthy jujutsu sorcerer worship you a bit? Trust me, a curse has never made me feel so weak before. Don’t you think I’d make for the best beggar?” 

You grimace, brows deepening into a vexed frown without opening your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. “I won’t be patronized. You keep playing with me like I’m your toy.”

“Maybe a little,” He chuckles softly. You’re such an honest and expressive little curse. “But I do think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen~”

“Naturally.” You reply simply, the furrow in your brow softening, but you don’t offer much more.

“Come on, pretty curse.” He drawls. “Let me help you before you waste away.”

You scoff. “Tch- foolish, selfish human… you really are such an ugly thing to behold.” The furl returns, but still, you keep your eyes closed. “Do you honestly think that your rancid touch is going to save me?” Then you laugh – harshly and mockingly. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. A god requires offerings left at their shrine, not the filthy touch of the peasants that leave them.” Your nose scrunches suggestively. “You should consider it a blessing to even be allowed to look at me.”

Vain and stubborn, he thinks. You are the curse of beauty. But still, he's never experienced rejection before.

Suppose he has to try a little harder…

He soon finds himself courting you. Trying to make you comfortable.

He starts giving you gifts – first, silver silk bedsheets that lure you into sleeping in your bed instead of the bathtub, along with other changes that make your room more appealing – ornate wallpaper, canopy drapes surrounding the bed, and a smaller chandelier for the ceiling. Happy to see you abandon your former treasure in the tub in favor of your new dwelling.

Then he gifts you other pretty articles – clothes and such that actually fit you – patterned silks and lace. He attempts to give you clothes you can use to cover up more of yourself, but you seem partial to wearing less – most comfortable in just an elegant kimono you can easily discard on the floor.

You’re confusing like that – walking around his apartment half-naked but hissing and scowling at him when he stares.

It’s more the jewelry you enjoy wearing – crowns, earrings, necklaces, body chains, rings for your fingers and toes, bracelets for your wrists and ankles – everything in abundance. Jingling when you step about.

You seem healthier after receiving his presents. Also, a bit less skeptical – now engaging in conversation with him – although often about what his next gifts will be and if he can buy you diamonds and rubies for you to bead your hair.

“Sorry, but the banks closed. I’m not giving you a single dime, your highness.” He laughs one day, eyes bright and smiling, watching the puzzlement befall your face before the spread of horror that soon followed after hearing his next words. “In fact, I’m gonna start taking things away.”

“You wouldn’t-” Your voice had dropped into something so weak it was adorable, no longer having that strident overconfidence you’d built up.

It makes him feel almost bad watching your face drain and become so distressed like a spoiled little brat who’d just been told no for the first time.

“Oh- I would.” He grinned like it was all only a cruel joke to him – something just for shits and giggles. “Satoru Gojo giveth and Satoru Gojo taketh away.”

“But-” Your lip wobbles, and he can spot the tears brimming in your eyes already.

He doesn’t let it bother him. Or at least he doesn’t let it show.

“I think I’ll start with all your jewelry- how about that necklace you’re wearing right now?” He threatens, pale hand reaching towards your neck to pull your pearls off – but you shrink into a ball on the floor before he has the chance to.

“No, no, no, don’t-” You start sobbing, and he thinks it’s the first time he’s seen a curse be so sad and desperate.

Not to mistake those countless curses he’d made cry and plead for their life, but that wasn’t what you were doing. You were grieving. 

You’re really such a simple thing, aren’t you?

His smile softens into something not so cruel. Crouching down to your level, placing his hand atop your head where you’re bowed and bawling, petting you soothingly. “Okay then, drama queen. Stop your crying. I’ll let you keep it.”

You raise your head, hopeful. Looking at him with terribly puffy eyes - cheeks streaked with teardrops hanging off your lashes. Looking so pained and vulnerable, it made his heart ache at the sight. 

You don’t say anything but he can tell there’s a question on your lips you’re unable to voice.

“Under one condition.” He answers. 

You flinch when his hand slides from your hair to cup your cheek, holding your chin as he rolls on his feet and places a kiss on your salty lips.

You gasp and allow it for a second but then abruptly push him off – falling back on your butt. “No- you’ll make me filthy.” You rush out. “Beauty is meant to be admired, not reaped. It’s not right. You can’t-”

He watches you blush and stutter and thinks it’s silly how he hasn’t thought about it before. But now it’s become clear. Curses spawn from human fears, after all. It’s not strange that they’re so similar. But still… he’d never think a curse would be afraid of losing their virginity.

“It’s okay,” He coos, setting his knees down softly – crawling forward to where you sit, hiding your face behind small hands decked in too many rings. “I’m not gonna stain you…” He promises, his breath warm on your skin. “I’m gonna make you feel like the most desired diety in the world.”

Your breath shivers as he takes your hands and uncovers your face – eyes wide looking at him.

“And after I’m done admiring you, I’ll get you more diamonds and rubies than you can count.”

You swallow – eyes skittering from one of his blue ones to the other.

“Really?” It’s below a whisper.

“You bet.” He answers with a smile, flashing you a smirk. “I’ll get you enough to swim in.”

Your nose does a little twitch like it usually does, but this time, it’s not to express disgust. “Do you promise?” You bite your lip – staring at him.

“Let’s make it a binding vow.”

And that’s the arrangement.

You let him admire you in ways you’ve never let anyone else before, but only if he fulfills all your greedy heart’s desires.

He doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have something to spend money on that’s worth it.

You’ll lie next to him and he’ll get to study you up close – finding things that betray you – model details that aren’t in line with human imperfections. Missing bone structure, flawless symmetry, hairless skin devoid of any and all accent of mark or spot – just smooth milky texture without a single fault.

He says it’s sad – that the standard for beauty isn’t even achievable, to which you reply that it’s only fair everyone should be subject to the same disappointment, never to achieve perfection like you.

He asks if you think he’s really that ugly. And you say yes.

“Liar.” He accuses. Head propped on his hand, his hair a tousled mess lying in the bed beside you.

You’re looking up at the ceiling but close your eyes insouciantly at his comment. You tip your chin a bit as you speak – lips pouty and proud. “Lies are an ugly trade- in which I don’t partake.”

“Oh, really?” He rolls on top of you and you give a whine. Looking up into his sparkling blues and how his pearly hair falls loose and wispy. “Then look me in my eyes and tell me I’m ugly.” He dares.

“Puh-” You scoff, folding your arms above your puffed chest, looking off to the side, still with eyes closed as though to dismiss him like you so often do. “Men with beady bright blue eyes and pink skin look like pigs.”

You sneak a peek with one eye when he doesn’t answer. He’s still looking down at you – still daring you. 

And you continue. Raising a finger to nudge his nose up. “Say oink-oink, piggy.”

He brushes your finger away as he leans in closer. Now with his nose rubbing yours.

“Tell me I’m ugly.” He repeats – his voice dipping low into that serious tone that makes your breath tight and your stomach flurry.

“You’re-” You try but it ends up swallowed, stifled beneath those big worldly blues. “You’re…” You try again but it’s worse than the first time, making you bite your lip. He’s not budging.

You look away. Feeling defeated and mopey because of it.

“You’re not as pretty as me.” You finally sulk.

So cutely grumpy with your pursed lips and vexed brow, he just has to laugh. “Tch- now that we can both agree on.”

And then he forces you to laugh too – beginning to snort like a boar into your ear, placing sloppy kisses to your neck while you scream out that it tickles.

P1 & P3

[auraxins]

notes: boothill x gn!reader, fluff, mutual yearning, affectionate teasing, kissing, mentions of canon-typical violence, ~1k words

happy pre-boothill day, i hope he comes home to us all!

No matter how many times you wipe them down your legs, your palms refuse to cease sweating. 

He’d sent you a text weeks ago, that he’d try to see you soon. In fact, his words were that he’d be home soon. 

And you know never to get your hopes up too high. The life of a Galaxy Ranger, especially such a loose cannon like Boothill, has no strict schedule. For all you know, he’s ass-deep undercover on a planet thousands of light-years away right now. 

But his contact status has been set to online for the past hour. 

Which should mean that he’s going to message you again. You can’t quite bring yourself to hope for the alternative; that you’ll actually see him, hold him. Life rarely turns in your favour like that. 

Nonetheless, you are wiping your hands and bouncing your leg as your body desperately attempts to keep all the nervous energy that has accumulated in the past sixty minutes within the confines of your skin. 

Anticipation is funny like that, the way it can take hold of your body and even usurp control of your mind. It builds and builds until it becomes all you can think about, all you can pay attention to. 

So much so that you barely even notice when a figure approaches on the horizon. A familiar silhouette, long hair and a statement hat; unmistakeable. 

Your heart pounds. 

Momentarily, you’re halfway to convinced that you’re seeing things. There’s no way you could be this lucky. Even as he reaches you, looks you up and down with a relieved and toothy grin, it feels more likely that you’re experiencing a hallucination. 

He pauses just far enough to give you some space, and cocks his head as he speaks. 

“With a frown like that I’d reckon you ain’t all that excited to see me, darlin’.” 

There are new scratches and scuffs on his torso. They’ve been very crudely cleaned out, small caked-on patches of dirt and other peoples’ blood still lining the ridges. You push away the urge to sit him down and pick them out. 

“You took a while,” you say quietly. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers sincerely. “Got caught up in somethin’ big.”  

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s finally in front of you, within arms’ reach. You shake any residual negativity from your mind and step closer, bringing your hands to Boothill’s waist. He leans into your touch instinctively, though you know he can’t feel it, and holds your shoulders gently in turn. 

“Well, at least you’re home now.” 

He hums in agreement, pressing his lips to your forehead. It’s warm in comparison to the metallic chill of his hands, part of the only stretch of flesh he has left. For a moment, he simply lingers there, basking in your presence. 

You wonder how he’s felt in the months you’ve spent apart. 

No matter how you’d missed him, at least you had the comfort of your home and friends. He’s been alone out there, in danger out there. The thought has you subconciously grasping onto him tighter, snaking your arms up to embrace him more completely, to anchor your hands into the hem of his cropped jacket. 

Boothill brings a hand to your chin to tilt your head up, before giving you the sweetest smile you think you’ve ever seen on him. It spills from his lips to the corners of his eyes, deep crow’s feet oozing with contentment. 

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted you right here like this,” he confesses earnestly, leaning in until your nose brushes against his. “Those fudgers kept me away far too long.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the censored profanity. Clearly he still hadn’t been able to fix his synesthesia beacon on his travels. 

“Those fudgers- ” you tease lightly, releasing one of your hands to trace along his abdomen- “can’t get to you anymore.” 

“Damn right they can’t,” Boothill laughs, pinching at your cheek in retaliation. “Not after I put a bullet in ‘em.” 

“Boy, you sure know how to flirt.” A giggle escapes you as you wriggle away from his hand, only to end up with him grasping your hips and pinning you against him. 

You bring your own hands to his chest, smoothing down the fabric of his jacket. Your thumb lingers along the little golden medallions pinned to the left breast, admiring the way they glitter in the light. 

“I must be good at it, if I’ve nabbed a sweet little thing like you,” Boothill simpers, emphasising his words with a gentle prod to your nose. You almost hate how effective it is, how if you had any less self-control it might have made you fall weak at the knees. 

His adornments clink as you twist your fist into his jacket, yanking him so that your chests bump together. 

“If you’re so good at it, how come you aren’t kissing me yet?” 

There’s no need to tell Boothill twice, as he closes the distance between you in an instant. 

Adrenaline spikes through your veins and you weave your fingers into his hair. It’s tangled and definitely hasn’t seen water for a few days, but you can’t care less in the moment. You simply need to hold him however you can, to ground yourself against his body. 

He’s on you like a man starved, sharp teeth grazing your lips with every feverish kiss. You find it hard to forget how far removed from humanity Boothill has become in moments like these, but it does little to deter you as he squeezes into your hips and you kiss him harder in response. 

All that matters is that he is here with you, and you are kissing him. 

That alone makes everything right with the world. 

[creatur3featur3]

ੈ✩Street Rat p3✩ੈ

word count: 5.4k

A/N: OKAY HEADS UP- THIS PART FOCUSES PURELY ON STREET RAT, THERE IS ONLY MENTION OF SEVIKA AT THE END MY APOLOGIES!! ANYWAYS- This series is actually becoming one of my biggest pieces of work, I never expected the amount of love this series had started to accumulate, with that being said- I am so grateful for all of the support and encouragement I have been receiving to continue writing and working on this series. thank you everyone for continuing to support me and my writing, I plan to continue to work on this series for as long as the creative juices keep flowing!

warnings: character death, mentions of alcoholism, child abuse, implications of PTSD

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

The scent of fresh bread and the faint hum of laughter filled the small but cozy home in Piltover. Your mother was at the kitchen table, rolling out dough with practiced hands while your two sisters—Nia, the youngest, and Sera, the middle child—sat nearby, squabbling over some silly game they’d made up. You sat at the edge of the table, carving tiny figures out of leftover wood scraps, the little knife in your hand wobbling slightly as you focused.

"Careful with that, sweetheart," your mother warned, her voice soft but firm. She glanced up from her dough, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Last thing we need is you losing a finger before supper.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “I’ve got it, Mama. Besides, look!” You held up the crudely shaped figurine of a bird, the wings lopsided but unmistakable.

Sera gasped, her eyes lighting up as she leaned over the table. “It’s a crow! Can I have it?”

“No way,” Nia cut in with a smirk, grabbing it first. “She made it for me. Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t make it for either of you!” you huffed, trying to snatch it back, but Nia was quicker.

“Girls,” your mother said, her voice calm but with a warning note that made all of you freeze. She shook her head with a small laugh, brushing flour from her hands. “Honestly, it’s like having three tornadoes in the house.”

You settled back into your chair, muttering something under your breath about Nia being a thief. She shot you a wink, and Sera stuck her tongue out at both of you, her childish laughter filling the room.

For a moment, everything felt perfect.

But perfection never lasted long.

The door creaked open, and the warm, lively air in the room seemed to cool instantly. Your father's heavy boots echoed against the floorboards, a sharp contrast to the light laughter that had just filled the space. His face was flushed, the smell of liquor faint but unmistakable as he stood in the doorway. His eyes, clouded by whatever weighed on him, flicked to each of you before landing on your mother.

She stiffened, the rolling pin in her hands faltering for just a moment before she straightened her posture and forced a smile. “You’re home early,” she said, her voice even but lacking its usual warmth.

Your father grunted, stepping further into the room. “Work ended early,” he said curtly, though his tone carried no satisfaction. His gaze landed on the table, and his brow furrowed at the scattered wood shavings and half-carved scraps. “What’s this mess?”

You flinched slightly but didn’t reply. Nia, ever the bold one, sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “She’s making things, that’s all. It’s not hurting anyone.”

His eyes snapped to her, sharp as a blade. “Did I ask you to speak, Nia?” The tension in the room thickened, and even Sera, usually oblivious to such moods, shrank back in her seat.

“Leave her alone,” your mother interjected softly, stepping between him and the table. Her hands rested on her hips, flour smudged across her apron. “The girls aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Your father’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching at his side as though grappling with some invisible force. He looked at you then, his expression unreadable. “And you,” he muttered, “sitting there wasting time on nonsense. You think those little carvings are going to put food on this table?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but no words came out. Your throat felt tight, your hands gripping the small knife and wooden bird as though they were your only anchor.

“Mama likes them,” Sera’s small voice piped up, breaking the silence. She sounded hesitant but defiant, her wide eyes darting between the two of you.

“Enough!” he barked, and she flinched, her little hands clutching the edge of the table. 

Your mother stepped closer to him, her voice lowering but steady. “That’s enough, Richard. You don’t talk to them like that.”

For a moment, the two of them locked eyes, a silent battle playing out in the space between them. Then, with a growl of frustration, he turned away, stomping toward the small sitting room without another word.

The silence he left behind was deafening. 

Your mother let out a slow breath, smoothing her apron as she turned back to the table. “Girls,” she said softly, her voice strained but kind. “Why don’t you take your things and go play in the other room?”

Sera slid out of her chair immediately, clutching her little game pieces. Nia hesitated, her defiant gaze lingering on the doorway where your father had disappeared. Then she grabbed your arm, pulling you up. “Come on,” she whispered, her voice a mix of annoyance and protectiveness.

You followed, clutching the bird tightly in your hand. As the three of you retreated to the small bedroom you shared, the faint sound of your mother’s voice could be heard again, calm and soothing as though trying to mend what had just unraveled.

Nia shut the door behind you, leaning against it with a scowl. “He’s such a—” She cut herself off, glancing at Sera, who was quietly settling on her cot. “...a grump,” she finished lamely.

You sat on your own cot, turning the wooden bird over in your hands. Its lopsided wings suddenly seemed so silly, so pointless. But then Sera crawled up beside you, her big eyes hopeful.

“Can I have it now?” she whispered. 

You hesitated, glancing at Nia, who shrugged with a small smile. “Go on,” she said. “Let her have it.”

With a sigh, you handed the bird to Sera. Her face lit up, and for a moment, the weight in your chest lifted. 

Outside, the muffled sound of raised voices carried through the thin walls, but here, in this tiny shared space, the three of you held onto each other and the fragile threads of something better.

“Why doesn't Mama do anything about Dad?” Nia asks, your stomach churning at the thought.

“Because dad is a big pile a shi-”

“Sera!-” you hiss softly, Sera throwing her hands up in defiance, “What?! it's true!”

She- wasn't wrong…

suddenly a loud crash out what sounded like a glass bottle being broken, and your father’s unmistakable booming slurred voice…

The sound of shattering glass tore through the thin walls like a gunshot, making all three of you jump. Sera scrambled closer to you, clutching the wooden bird like it was a talisman. Nia's face darkened, her jaw clenching as she moved instinctively toward the door, though you reached out to grab her arm.

"Don't," you whispered, your voice shaking. "Just stay here."

But it was too late. Your father's voice followed the crash, loud and venomous, each word landing like a blow.

"This house is a goddamn disaster!" he roared. "I work all day—all day—and this is what I come home to? Mess everywhere, screaming kids—" His words slurred slightly, the alcohol in his system making him stagger as he continued his tirade.

"Richard, lower your voice," your mother said sharply, her calm tone replaced by steel. It wasn’t a request; it was a warning.

"Oh, don’t start with me, Marie," he snapped back. "Don’t you dare. I told you, I never wanted this! Never wanted—" His words faltered as his frustration boiled over into a bitter laugh. "Three kids crawling underfoot, a house that looks like a pigsty, and you just standing there!"

There was a pause, and then your mother’s voice, quieter now but firm. "I’m doing the best I can, Richard. We all are."

"The best you can?" he mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The best you can is a filthy house and three brats who don’t know how to stay out of the way?"

Nia moved to the door again, her fists balled at her sides. "I’m not just gonna sit here and—"

You pulled her back, your stomach twisting painfully. "Please, Nia," you begged. "He’s drunk. You can’t reason with him when he’s like this."

Nia’s lip curled, but she stayed put, though you could feel the tension radiating off her.

"Why didn’t I listen to my gut?" your father continued, his voice rising. "I told you I wasn’t cut out for this. But no, you just had to have a family, didn’t you? And now look where we are. I’m breaking my back out there, and for what? To come home to this circus?"

You heard your mother take a step forward, her voice unwavering even as the air seemed to crackle with tension. "You don’t get to speak to me like that. Or them."

"Oh, don’t play the saint, Marie," he sneered. "You wanted this life. You wanted these kids. Don’t act surprised when I remind you that I didn’t."

Your stomach turned violently, his words cutting deeper than they should have. You weren’t even in the same room, but it felt like a punch to the chest. You glanced at Sera, who was curled into a ball on your cot, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.

Nia looked like she was ready to explode. "He’s such a coward," she hissed under her breath. "Blaming everyone else for his own damn choices."

The argument outside raged on, your mother standing firm against his drunken anger. But you couldn’t hear the words anymore. It was all just noise, a storm you’d heard too many times before.

You swallowed hard and turned to your sisters, your voice shaky but as steady as you could manage. "We just…we wait it out. Mama’s got this. She always does."

Though, even the hope that your thoughts were true always seemed to be smushed out by the your father as another glass bottle shattered downstairs followed by incoherent yelling.

You couldn't take it anymore, “Sera, Nia, I swear to the gods, stay here…” you commanded before slipping out of the room. What could a 7 year old do? Kick at your father's legs until he finally stopped?

As you carefully made your way down the stairs there you saw it- your mother's nose bleeding, fear , unmistakable in her eyes. Your father, his movements sluggish and messy as he leaned down close to her face, whispering something into her ear that you worried about as your mother's eyes widened.

“Dad, stop it!” You finally squeak out, stepping out near him as your body shakes slightly from the anxiety facing him caused.

Your father's head snapped toward you, his bloodshot eyes narrowing in disbelief at your audacity. His towering frame cast an imposing shadow across the dimly lit room as he stumbled toward you, the jagged neck of a broken bottle clutched in his hand.

"And what the hell do you think you're doing, huh?" he slurred, his voice booming as he waved the bottle in your direction. His steps were unsteady, but his anger burned clear as day. "Think you can just come down here and tell me what to do, little girl?"

You flinched as the sharp edges of the bottle caught the light, but you held your ground, even as your knees trembled and your breath came in shallow gasps. “Leave her alone!” you cried, your voice cracking but defiant. “Y-you’re scaring her! You’re scaring all of us!”

Your words seemed to strike a nerve. He sneered, his lips curling into something cruel and mocking. “Oh, so now I’m the bad guy, huh? That’s rich. Big man comes home to this wreck of a house, and I’m the one who’s scaring people?” He stepped closer, pointing the jagged bottle at you with every word, his anger unfocused but dangerous.

You instinctively backed up, your heart pounding so hard it drowned out the sound of your mother’s shallow breathing behind him. But you forced yourself to keep his attention on you. "It’s not her fault!" you blurted out, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “She’s doing everything, and you’re— you’re just making it worse!”

His expression darkened, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he might strike you. His grip on the bottle tightened, his knuckles white, and his face contorted into something almost inhuman.

"Don’t you dare talk to me like that," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous now. "You don’t know a damn thing about what I do for this family. You think it’s easy, huh? Keeping a roof over your ungrateful little heads? You don’t get to judge me, you—"

He took a wild step toward you, and you stumbled back, your hands outstretched as if that alone could keep him at bay. “I’m not judging you!” you yelled, your voice breaking. “I just— I just want you to stop! Please, Dad, just stop!”

For a split second, his expression faltered, a crack in the armor of his rage. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that all-consuming fury. He raised the bottle slightly, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Richard!” your mother’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding despite the tremble in her tone. She had risen to her knees, blood still dripping from her nose, her eyes blazing with defiance. “If you take one more step toward her, so help me, I’ll—”

Her threat was cut out by the sound of your cry- your father hitting your face with the already broken glass, ripping open your lip…

Your breath was shallow, hands dabbing at your lip, feeling if the blood was real- it was, warm, fresh blood…

The room seemed to hold its breath, and then, with a guttural growl, he turned and hurled the broken bottle against the far wall. The shattering sound was deafening, and you flinched again, your hands flying up to shield your already bleeding face.

“Worthless,” he spat, stumbling toward the door. “All of you. Worthless.”

And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. The silence he left in his wake was suffocating.

Your mother was on her feet in an instant, rushing to your side and pulling you into a trembling embrace. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” she whispered, her hands frantically checking you for injuries.

You shook your head covering your lip with your hand, shielding what he did to you from your poor mother, though your tears betrayed you. “Mama, your nose…”

She wiped at the blood with the back of her hand, shaking her head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Her voice wavered, but her arms around you tightened, as though she could shield you from the world with her embrace alone.

Nia appeared at the top of the stairs, her face pale and full of worry, with Sera peeking out from behind her. None of you said a word, but the unspoken understanding between you all was clear: this wasn’t the last storm you’d weather, but at least, for tonight, you had survived.

–

Your father had never come back after that, good riddance you had told yourself time after time you and your family were better off with him gone forever, but- it always made a strange sting shoot up your chest anytime you thought of your father.

You hated it.

Today was like any other day, Nia and Sera sleeping in per usual, they had always poked fun at you for waking up so early even on weekends but you enjoyed the quietness of Piltover when most of the city was still asleep, dreaming of great inventions, it was a sweet thought.

“Mouse, darling,” your mother called from the kitchen, making you perk up from your post on the couch, where you had been tinkering with a broken watch your father had. He never wore it, a present from you when you still saw him as a good man, when he was sane.

“Yes, Mama?” you called back, setting down the watch and walking into the kitchen where she was making breakfast for you and your sisters, “Could you run to Mrs.Namitte’s shop and grab me a fresh cut of sweetbread? You know how much your sisters love it.”

You nodded softly, grabbing her pouch of money and running out the house and down the street.

 The air of early morning in Piltover was crisp and cool, carrying the faint metallic tang that always seemed to linger in the city. The streets were still quiet, most of the noise coming from the distant hum of steam-powered machinery and the occasional clatter of hooves against cobblestone as a carriage rolled by. The sky above was a pale gray, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting soft golden light across the sprawling cityscape.

Your neighborhood was tucked in one of Piltover’s less glamorous corners, a place where the buildings leaned together like old friends whispering secrets. The houses were a mix of brick and wood, patched up with whatever materials people could find, giving them a mismatched charm. Laundry lines crisscrossed above the narrow streets, sagging slightly under the weight of damp clothes left to dry.

Despite the modest surroundings, there was a warmth to the area. You passed the Grelle family’s house, their windowsills overflowing with flowerpots that brought splashes of color to the otherwise muted street. Mrs. Grelle herself waved at you from her stoop, her ever-present knitting needles clicking away even this early in the day.

“Morning, Mouse!” she called, using the nickname everyone seemed to have adopted from your mother.

“Morning, Mrs. Grelle!” you replied, offering a quick wave as you hurried past.

As you moved closer to the heart of the district, the streets widened slightly, the humble homes giving way to small shops and stands. This part of Piltover always smelled like fresh bread and coal smoke, the two scents mingling oddly but not unpleasantly. The cobblestones here were worn smooth by countless footsteps, their surfaces gleaming faintly with morning dew.

You passed a blacksmith’s forge where the faint glow of embers illuminated a young apprentice already hard at work, his hammer ringing against hot metal. Across from him, a tinker’s shop displayed delicate clockwork creations in the window, the tiny gears inside the contraptions turning with almost hypnotic precision.

It wasn’t long before you reached Mrs. Namitte’s shop, a cozy bakery nestled between a fabric store and an apothecary. The front of the bakery was adorned with peeling paint and a crooked sign that read Namitte’s Sweetbreads and Pastries, but the smell wafting from the open door was enough to make anyone’s mouth water. The aroma of sugar and warm bread enveloped you as you stepped inside.

Mrs. Namitte herself was bustling around behind the counter, her gray hair tied back in a neat bun. Her round face lit up when she saw you. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite early bird!” she greeted, her voice warm and cheerful. “What can I get for you this morning, Mouse?”

You couldn’t help but smile as you handed her the pouch of coins. “Mama sent me for some sweetbread. She said to get it fresh.”

Mrs. Namitte laughed, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. “Fresh is all we’ve got here, darling. One loaf coming right up.”

While she wrapped up the loaf in parchment, you glanced around the shop. The shelves were lined with all kinds of baked goods—flaky pastries, golden-brown loaves, and rows of sweet buns dusted with powdered sugar. There was something comforting about the place, from the warmth of the ovens to the faint crackle of the firewood.

“Here you go,” Mrs. Namitte said, handing you the loaf with a wink. “Tell your mother I said hello.”

“Thank you!” you said, clutching the warm package to your chest as you stepped back out onto the street.

The city was beginning to wake now, the quiet hum growing louder as more people emerged from their homes. Shopkeepers were setting up their stands, calling out to passersby to come see their wares. Somewhere in the distance, the sharp whistle of a steam engine pierced the air, a reminder of the bustling innovation that Piltover was known for.

You hurried back toward home, weaving through the growing crowd, the warmth of the bread against your hands and the thought of your family waiting for breakfast spurring your steps. Despite everything, mornings like this made Piltover feel a little less overwhelming, a little more like home.

Though on your way home, something felt- off. The air wasn't as clear as you remembered, the smell of- sulfur filling the air.

Your pace quickened naturally, worry bubbling in your stomach as you broke into a sprint when you saw smoke rolling into the air- from your neighborhood.

The smell of sulfur grew thicker with every breath you took, the weight of it pressing down on your chest. Your feet pounded against the cobblestone streets, urgency pulsing through your veins. Something was wrong—deeply wrong. The usual hum of the city was overshadowed by something darker, the sounds of distant shouting blending into the eerie quiet of the morning.

As you turned the corner and saw the familiar stretch of houses, your heart dropped into your stomach. Smoke billowed into the sky, dark and choking, swirling in a heavy cloud that turned the morning light to an unnatural, sickly shade. The distant crackle of fire mixed with the angry yells, the harsh metallic clinking of enforcer armor, and the shouts of voices you couldn’t quite make out.

The panic in your chest rose with every step, the pressure of something terrible bearing down on you. Your eyes darted from side to side as you searched for any sign of your family, of your mother and sisters.

"Mom!" you screamed, voice hoarse as you ran faster, your heart thrumming painfully against your ribcage.

You reached the end of the street, but the sight before you made your blood run cold. Flames had already devoured much of the neighborhood, crackling hungrily, the heat enough to make the air shimmer. Buildings you’d passed countless times were now nothing more than burning husks. The fire had spread so quickly—too quickly.

And then, you saw them.

Your mother, her figure smaller than you remembered, clutching Sera to her chest, while Nia was pulling at your sister’s hand, urging her to run. They were running, your family running toward you—but the fire… the fire was so close. The flames were creeping toward them, licking at the edges of the houses, curling up the sides of the wooden beams like snakes eager to strike.

"Run!" you screamed again, desperation clawing at your throat. Your voice was barely audible over the roaring fire and chaos, but they heard you. They saw you.

Your mother’s eyes locked with yours. Her face was streaked with ash and dirt, her lips parted as though she were about to call your name, but no sound came out. It was as if time itself had slowed, the world around you muffled, like you were watching from underwater. She stumbled, clutching Sera tighter, her face stricken with fear, and then—then, the ground shook beneath you.

The house—your home—collapsed in a deafening crash. The roof caved in first, the thick beams splintering like matchsticks. The explosion of debris sent dust and ash into the air, blurring your vision. The shriek of wood splintering was followed by an unbearable silence that stretched on for what felt like hours.

For a moment, you thought you might’ve imagined it. Maybe you were still dreaming, or maybe, somehow, you could still reach them. But when the dust settled, there was nothing but the rising smoke, the blackened silhouette of the house that had been your home.

Your body went numb, your feet frozen to the ground as you stared at the place where your family had stood moments ago. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding so loud it was a drumbeat in your ears. You wanted to scream, to run to them, but you couldn’t. Your legs wouldn’t move, and the world seemed to stop spinning around you.

"Nia... Mama..." The words slipped out of your mouth, barely a whisper. You felt the sting of tears at the corner of your eyes, but they refused to fall.

The crackle of fire was the only sound now, louder and more ominous than ever. The flames had consumed everything in their path.

And then, the faintest flicker of movement caught your eye—an enforcer, their armor gleaming like a dark shadow, standing at the edge of the destruction. They had their back turned, focused on the chaos unfolding around them, the violence, the fire. They hadn’t seen the wreckage they’d left behind. They didn’t even notice you standing there.

But you saw them.

The anger and helplessness surged inside you, cold as ice. The world had taken everything from you—the life you knew, the people you loved. And in that moment, as the tears you had been holding back finally streamed down your face, the burning rage started to take root deep within you.

You woke with a sharp inhale, eyes wide and fearful, looking around your makeshift home as you panted, chest heaving, anxiety rising in your chest as you tried to calm down.

Just a dream, just a dream

It had felt more real than last time, the nightmares getting stronger each time. You groaned softly as you sat up in your cocoon of blankets and rugs, rubbing your temples as you tried to ease your mind.

You grab your bag, throwing it over your shoulder haphazardly as you make your way down the fire escape and down onto the dirty streets you had come to know. 

The streets of the Undercity had a familiar hum to them, the constant murmur of distant voices, clanging metal, and the occasional shout or crash. The air was thick with the smell of burning coal, stale sweat, and something far less pleasant that you couldn’t quite name. It felt like the UnderCity’s grime had seeped into your skin and never really left. Even now, as you walked among the wreckage of your life, it was all too familiar.

You rubbed at your eyes, trying to shake the vivid nightmare from your mind, but it clung to you like the oppressive fog that hung over the slums. The tightness in your chest wouldn’t loosen, no matter how many times you breathed in deeply. They weren’t real. Your family wasn’t gone. The fire hadn’t happened. It was just a haunting memory, a shadow of something that almost was.

But it felt real. And that was the worst part of it. It had always been the worst part of the nightmares—how everything felt so tangible, so vivid. You could hear Nia’s laugh. You could smell your mother’s perfume. The way your father’s hands had felt around your throat when he was angry. The weight of the grief that pressed into your chest when you realized they were all gone. All gone—and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

It was enough to make you want to curl up in a corner and block it all out. But you couldn’t. Not today. You didn’t have the luxury of slowing down and feeling sorry for yourself.

The undercity didn’t wait for anyone.

You adjusted your bag, the weight of the various trinkets and scraps that filled it dragging at your shoulders as you walked. Your hands fidgeted, feeling the bruises that had yet to fade, the remnants of a life spent scraping by, of fights you’d won and lost. At least I’m still here. That was the only consolation you had left. Even if everything else felt wrong. Even if you felt broken inside, even if you were more scared than you let anyone see, you were still breathing.

You wandered through the streets, passing by familiar faces, the other street rats that wandered the same alleys you did. Some ignored you. Others gave you a glance that was too sharp to be friendly. Keep your head down. Don’t make waves. Stay small.

You didn’t really know where you were going; your feet carried you through the maze of metal and trash, through forgotten corners of the UnderCity that no one cared about. Places like these held their own kind of loneliness—like a pocket of emptiness that even the brightest fire couldn’t warm.

Your stomach growled—loudly, obnoxiously. That was the problem with skipping meals, trying to scrape by on what you could find, or what you could steal. Your pride didn’t let you ask for help. 

You groaned under your breath, reaching for your pouch to see how much you had left. A couple of cogs, a piece of broken glass you’d picked up somewhere, and some scraps of fabric that you had meant to sell, but hadn’t found a buyer for yet. Not exactly what you would call a hearty meal.

And that’s when you saw him.

A figure, hunched over in the alley ahead, fiddling with something. At first, you didn’t think much of it—another one of the city’s forgotten wandering souls. But something about the way he was moving caught your eye. It was the faint glint of metal against his hands, the way he seemed to be... repairing something?

You slowed, instinctively drawn to him, curiosity beating out caution for once. Your gaze locked onto the object in his hands, a small but delicate mechanical piece, a gear. You had seen something like it before—a few times, in fact. Was this... another tinker?

You took another step closer, and that’s when he noticed you. The stranger’s eyes flashed up, meeting yours for the briefest of moments before he quickly looked back at the gears in his hands.

Something about his demeanor made you pause, an unease settling in your gut. He's watching me too closely. But you couldn't place why, or even if you should care.

The silence between you two lingered for a beat, before he spoke in a voice rough with disuse. "You need something, kid?"

You hesitated for a moment, still unsure of what to make of him, before you nodded slowly. “I could use a meal.”

The man scoffed, flicking the gear in his hands one last time before tossing it to the ground, where it clattered against the pavement. He dusted off his hands before standing up fully, revealing his thin frame beneath a worn-out coat. His hair was messy, unkempt, his face haggard with the years of life lived under these same grimy skies. "Ain't no charity here, kid. You gotta earn your keep."

You winced at his words, but something in his tone stirred a defensive response in you, but- you bit your tongue.

Keep your head down, stay out of trouble

Those were the rules.

You fucking hated those rules.

You just turn away and walk off, you don't need to get into another fight, didn't need Sevika telling you off for not being careful enough.

Speaking off Sevika, you hadn't seen her in awhile, a week or two now. Where was she?

You found yourself searching for her, not really sure why you were, why bubbles of worry formed in your stomach. You checked her usual spots, the alleys where she played cards, the food booths where you two got food from time to time, you asked a few regulars if they had seen her, to no avail.

You shouldn't care, she was only a asset to you, a small help when you were at your lowest and yet-

You felt like you had found something.

Something that felt real, or at least as real as it gets in the Undercity.

You needed to find Sevika.

[sitepathos]

hey, I wanted to ask a couple of obvious or non-obvious things about the so-called "mold" because the very idea of it the first time I read it seemed very strange to me and I read it constantly interrupting myself to think whether it was really good or bad, BUT, the further it went, the more I started to like it terribly and as a result I had questions about this... thing.

Abilities and knowledge are good, but what about the other side of all this? Are there any side effects, so to speak? And what about weaknesses, both obvious and perhaps not obvious? Can this somehow greatly affect ordinary life? And if there are weaknesses and they can be used well in general, then could the BatFamily use them to their advantage?

(Sorry if it’s not coherent, I’m writing in a rush of questions and feelings...)

I’ve thought about doing a detailed report on how the Megamycete affects you, so thank you for asking this!

Powers

Mycokinesis: with the Megamycete in your body, you can call upon its mold from within and create weapons like tendrils and armor composed of hardened mold. You can also control the roots that are all around Gotham and use them however you see fit.

Quorum Sensing: the roots of the Megamycete have spread all throughout Gotham for over four-hundred years, serving as its eyes and ears. You can tap into the roots and see anywhere you wish just by thinking of it, even if you’re far from the city. This is also seen when you turned into a murder of crows; while you were composed of multiple birds, they shared a single consciousness and you were able to see from all their perspectives all at once.

Record Access: the Megamycete has absorbed countless corpses over the centuries, both man and beast, and assimilating their memories, knowledge, and even DNA into its archives. Thanks to this, you can call upon this living repository and use it as if it were your own. Because of this, you technically have the knowledge and qualifications for many kinds of occupations and diplomas that would take years to obtain.

Shapeshifting: thanks to the Megamycete bonding with you at the genetic level and its vase records, you can call change into any form you desire, be it a bird, a beast, or a long-dead human (and you have even assume their voice if you desire). You can also make modifications to your real body, such as making a pair of functioning wings without assuming a bird form.

Regeneration: thanks to the Megamycete’s mold, you can heal from even the most serious wounds, such as gunshot wounds. You can lose a limb and you can just stick it back on your body and you’ll be as good as new (or just grow another one if the old limb can’t be recovered).

Superhuman Stamina: as stated in Chapter 6, the Megamycete gives you incredible stamina, reducing your need for food or rest (though you can still feel mentally fatigued as stated in Chapter 4). You still consume food and sleep because you actually enjoy these, but they don’t sustain you like they did before. The Megamycete’s all you need.

Superhuman Strength: the Megamycete makes you far stronger than you ever were before and gives you more strength than any normal human could ever have. Don’t misunderstand, you’re not Superman, but you could throw Bane around like a rag doll.

Benefits

In conclusion, the Megamycete makes you far faster, stronger, and smarter than any normal human.

Weaknesses

Unsurprisingly, the Megamycete’s mold has a vulnerability to fire. If we go by video game logic, it makes sense that a “plant-type” monster like the Megamycete could easily be hurt by.

Following the same video game logic, the Megamycete’s also vulnerable to the cold. Mold (normal, non-sentient mold) can still be found in cold environments, but it becomes dormant in freezing temperatures. While the Megamycete is more powerful than regular mold, it went into a kind of hibernation when it still resided in Gotham as it gets very cold in winter.

And while this is a bit of a spoiler, the Megamycete can be vulnerable to forms of toxins/poisons. While it can metabolize any hazardous substances and survive, if a specially designed toxin is designed to target its strain of mold, it could pose a very serious risk to the Megamycete. But, it would require special equipment, extensive knowledge in mycology and toxicology, and lots of money. Know anyone that fits that description?

[burymagdalene]

Rocket Fuel - S. Reid x Reader

After a week apart, Spencer and reader have a day tucked away from society together. Resulting in stolen coffee, Spencer tries to make it up to you with his own trial of coffee making. pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Good old fashioned fluff tags: established relationship, sharing (stealing) coffee, season 6 Spencer, lots of kisses– PURITAN REALLY wc: 2.3k a/n:  Based on my little headcanon here, I expanded my idea a bit for you guys! Kisses, I hope you enjoy!

You hadn’t seen Spencer in a painfully long time. With a quick departure from work to Louisiana, it had been a week since you’d last seen him. Of course, you have gone longer, but something about this case dragged out how eternal it felt, each day becoming more drawn out like the beginning of the summer solstice. That being said, your copious hours apart have finally ended as Spencer calls you once you’re off work.

“Baby, I just landed. Are you busy? Can I see you?” He quickly rushes out, combining all the words into one jumbled, excited mess. You can hear the chatter in the background and the wind blowing as he’s stepping off the plane.

Resting your phone on your shoulder as you wiggle your key into your apartment, you smile at his voice. “Hi. Yeah, I’m just getting home from work. I can get pretty and we can go out?” You shut the door behind you. 

“Hmm. Can I just come over and stay with you? After this week I kind of feel like seeing you and nobody else again.” Spencer’s voice tapers off to a whisper at the end, not wanting to risk the BAU hearing and getting offended. Which they heard anyway, earning him a soft slap upside the head. 

“If you won’t feel stir crazy, yeah I’d love that. You can help me with a new braid I want to try, I’ve been practicing and it’s killing me…” Spencer is very much used to these calls of help. When you wanted to learn how to do a french braid, you made him watch a video and come over to do it himself since he retains what you’re supposed to do so easily. 

“Perfect. Do you want me to pick you up? Coffee? Are you tired?” Not being able to hold it back, you chuckle a bit. Spencer’s frantically trying to supply you with anything he might’ve missed while he was gone. He’s always like this, desperate to bring you little treats after a case, like a crow leaving shiny gifts on the doorstep of those who feed them. 

“I’d love a coffee Spence. I have this incurable sweet tooth I’ve adapted since you’ve been gone,” you tease while letting out a dramatic sigh “not enough sweetness in my life.” Spencer whines out a sorry on the other side of the line and asks what you want. 

“Okay, a raspberry mocha with an extra shot for the beautiful girlfriend. Sounds… interesting.” Spencer replies and after quick goodbyes he slides into his car to drop off his luggage at his apartment, feed his fish (that you had won during a carnival date and gave to him) and is off walking to get you your artificially flavored coffee that will make your dentist cry. 

Spencer loiters around the aggressively hipster coffee shop you frequent because of its good prices (uncommon in D.C.) waiting for your drink while smiling softly at himself at the idea of smelling you again, shoving his head in the nape of your neck while embracing you, touching your hair, being in your apartment surrounded by your things.

He’s at a point of hazy daydreaming where he doesn’t hear the “mocha for Spencer!” shouted by the barista until minutes later when they make eye contact and he sheepishly realizes he needs to get himself in gear.

Taking your drink he texts you letting you know he’s on the way and starts heading towards your apartment. The past week Spencer has been crammed inside offices, cars, the plane, so walking over and stretching his legs is making him bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Just bright eyed enough that the chocolate-y sweet aroma wafting from your coffee peaks his interest. Spencer brings it closer for a better sniff and makes a little “hm, not so bad” sound. Spencer and you share a similar taste in sweet coffee, though Spencer usually goes for a mountain of sugar added, not really any of the different kinds of flavoring you typically order. He takes a curious sip.

Before he knows it Spencer is on sip number two and is offhandedly thinking about the rise of modernist architecture as he walks past the corporate apartments downtown, devoid of individualism and expression. In fact, he thinks, 420,000 apartment buildings were built in America this year, a world record. With how quickly apartments are popping up, 200,000-300,000 are being destroyed because of the cheaper and less expensive materials that are being implemented currently- 

The cup feels significantly lighter than it did when Spencer first bought it. He gives it a few swishes to gauge his damage and winces a bit. That’s okay! You’re the most understanding and sweet person he knows. He doubts you’ll bat an eye that he stole some sips. Sharing is caring after all. 

The neighborhood finally starts to become more homely and familiar as he makes his way towards your complex. He’s already consumed his fair share of airplane and office coffee today, now with your sugary double shot, Spencer is bouncing with every step knowing he’s about to see you momentarily.

Spencer understands the energizer bunny to his full extent right now. Bounding up your front steps and knocking to the tune of “doot doola doot doo” and reflecting on a memory of an energizer bunny commercial he had seen as a kid. He was terrified of it.  

And right before his eyes his angel finally appears. 

You swing the door open and hug him tightly in the doorway, immediately shoving your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. The laundry detergent on his clothes was not holding up while he was gone to how he actually smells in person. 

“Hi, my baby,” Spencer mutters into the top of your head. He pulls you back gently by the back of your neck so he can get a good look at your face. “I missed this face so much.” He giggles, he can’t believe how badly he’s been longing for you this week. Pulling Spencer to your living room, you’re still embraced in a hug.

“You don’t even understand. I’m coming jammed in your suitcase next time you have to leave.” You smile back at him, softly running your thumb along his jaw. Spencer blushes sweetly and breaks eye contact.

“Anddd your rocket fuel.” In his bliss he’s forgotten all prior sips of your coffee and hands you the drink. 

You take his offering, smile dropping when you’re holding it yourself. “What the hell?”

Spencer remembers immediately. “I was checking for poison.”

“What the hell?”

“You know, so that if there was poison I’d be the one-”

“This is almost gone?” You can’t help but laugh a little bit at the absurdity.

Spencer pulls his best guilty face. “I’m so sorry. It smelled so good so I had to try it, you know scent accounts for around 75 to 95 percent of the impact a flavor can have. So, I could’ve been doing an experiment to attest to how it tastes in regards to how it was smelling. But I wasn’t actually, I just got carried away. Did you know that if you tried plugging your nose while eating a potato and an onion that without smelling them, they would taste essentially the same? We have to try that some time.” He’s nervously rambling.

You laugh and hand him back the cup. “It’s all yours, Spence.” You turn and walk into your kitchen, knowing he’s going to be following at your tail. 

“I am sorry. Are you sure?” Spencer scratches the back of his neck nervously. Though he stops feeling bad once you turn around and lean against your kitchen counter with a grin. 

“Yes, I’m sure. However, you’re about to sift through my kitchen and whip me up the most delicious coffee that my cabinets have to offer. Okay?”

Spencer nods with a bashful smile, sipping the coffee again. “Okay. Truce?”

“Hmm. Not so fast, it’ll be a truce if and when the coffee you make knocks my socks off.” You tease. 

Spencer kisses your shoulder and gives another kiss under your ear like this second chance has a life changing outcome. A queen giving her jester another chance at entertainment before his beheading.

Conversation flows sweetly as you stand together in your kitchen. You have new flowers on a small table that he comments the origins on. “Why am I jealous that you got yourself flowers and I didn’t?” Spencer half jokes as he rummages through your options of crappy instant coffee.

“Hmm. But you did go out of your way to buy me that coffee I wanted… oh wait.” You poke back at him lightly. Spencer sighs good naturedly and asks you to turn around. 

“I want the drink to be a surprise, don’t look at what I’m pulling out.”

Turning around, you roll your eyes. “Yes, chef.”

Spencer starts concocting his masterpiece and puts away the ingredients after they’re combined. He turns around, moving your hair to the side, away from your neck and places a kiss on the back of your neck. He hums against your skin and places another kiss. “Okay, you can look again.”

You spin on your heels and wrap your arms around his waist, against his back, chin resting on one of his shoulders as you watch him stir together a warm and milky mix of God knows what. You’re a little bit scared.

Pouring the mixture into the mug he gave you on your last birthday with your first name initial across the front, Spencer hands it to you with a ginormous, proud smile. 

Pulling it up to your nose you give it a sniff to see what you’re about to get yourself into, though you guess this could be an onion and potato scenario, or whatever Spencer was saying to save his ass. You take a sip.

It’s not very good. You can taste each ingredient separately and together simultaneously. Way too milky that it drowns out the already weak coffee grounds you have. Spencer definitely makes coffee in a unique way, you’ve tried it once or twice. 

“Mmm, this is so good, baby. Perfect.” You smile against the rim of the cup anyway. 

“Really?” Spencer grins, taking a sip of your coffee again, one that you’re mourning more than ever now.

“Yeah! Thank you!” You lean over and kiss the side of his mouth. Spencer shifts to the side to catch you in a proper kiss. He overzealously pulls you in closer, hands cupping your cheeks, the coffee he made you spills a bit with his movement. 

“Mm- babe,” you pull away to wipe the rim of your cup with a napkin. Spencer just hums in response, that he is not sorry for.

“Let me try?” Spencer asks sweetly after watching you take another sip, curious to know what he did to make it taste so good.

“Uhh, yeah. Sure.” You give a tight-lipped smile, your facade slowly breaking.

Taking the cup from you, Spencer takes another one of his greedy sips. He gulps it quickly, offendedly, and looks at you with a crazed expression. You burst out laughing. 

“What?” You choke out through giggles. 

“This is awful.” Spencer deadpans. 

“Nooo, it's good!” You remedy. You don’t really care how it tastes, it’s just nice to be drinking something he’s made you after all this time. You don’t even care anymore he has your sweet drink either, he deserves it. Sweet thing.

Spencer starts laughing along with you, pulling you in by your wrist and peppering your face with kisses as you try to boost his confidence. “Seriously. I couldn’t have made it better myself.”

“You couldn’t possibly have made this yourself. That’s just awful. I was confident too.” He shakes his head with a smile. Spencer pours out half of what he made you and lifts the top of the remainder of what you actually wanted, and pours it in. He mixes it with his finger, pops it in his mouth to taste. No poison. And hands it to you.

The mixture was pleasant actually, a lot of the flavoring from the coffee shop fell to the bottom, so it made his milky coffee flavorful. You hum in genuine pleasure this time. 

“I can’t believe you tried to lie to me about that coffee. You never have to grin and bear anything for my sake.” Spencer responds seriously as he watches you drink his combination.

You can’t help but feel like when a parent turns a funny story into a life lesson, but you suppose he’s right.

“You looked so proud! I didn’t want you to feel disappointed. I don’t really care about you drinking my coffee. I just care that you’re here.”

Spencer laughs and rolls up his sleeves as he talks, “I swear tomorrow your socks will officially be knocked off with the delectable coffee you’re about to receive.” He picks back up a joking tone.

“Oh I bet.” You kiss his cheek.

The rest of your evening together was full of caffeinated updates either of you may have missed in the past week, Spencer filling you in on a prank he was particularly proud of devising against Derek.

Spencer held up his end of the bargain as well. You woke up from the first good rest you’ve had all week since Spencer left to a raspberry mocha by your bedside table. You hadn’t even heard him leave. 

You skip into your living room to find an empty cup of the same coffee Spencer picked up for himself this time to find him hunched over your coffee table fixing a bouquet of flowers into a vase. 

He looks up at you and walks over, giving you a warm hug, slipping an arm up the back of your hoodie and traces your skin. “I was supposed to wake you up, angel.” He mumbles into your shoulder. 

Pulling away, you walk over to inspect the new vase of flowers he got you. You put your hands on your hips and smile over at where he’s standing. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Truce.” 

[noneorother]

All the music you didn’t hear: The Good Omens soundtrack is lying to you. *Part 1*

The Bonkers Meta Series part 2: Electric Boogaloo.

I so rarely get a chance to misuse my experience in classical music, but here we are. When I realized on my most recent watch-through of the series that the David Arnold score was brilliant, but also really wonky in some parts and I couldn’t put my finger on why, @embracing-the-ineffable suggested I listen to the album soundtrack to compare.

And when I tell you what I found hidden in there, you’re going to need Eccles cakes...

1) The Song is the Clue

So right up top we have this banger. The 12th track on the album is the orchestral backdrop to the scene in the Job minisode where Aziraphale reveals Crowley’s crow/goats. The duration is 2:22 (the only track with multiples on the album), and if you look at the track by itself it doesn’t mean much. But the song just before it is actually from this fucking scene:

You know, the one where there’s a song that’s a clue to a mystery. Except Clue is capitalised, and Aziraphale pronounces it. I’ve seen guesses that this is a reference to the movie Clue, but I would put a lot of money on the fact that we are supposed to read the title of the song currently playing at that moment in the show *as a Clue*, which is super convenient, because the word Clue is capitalized in the track listing. 

Seems like the overlords of Good Omens have a message for us : The song is the Clue. It’s what God wants. Cool cool cool. WHAT SONG?

2) Symmetry in all things 

Before I straight up tell you, we have to go back and look at season 1.

Now I’m far from the first to notice tons of parallels between the story, details and even lines in both seasons. It got me thinking that maybe there are some fun synch-up parallels between the two season’s soundtracks, seeing as they are both 6 episodes long. Here’s the end of S1 and then S2

Oh that’s a bummer, I thought to myself. 

They don’t even add up to the same number, or playtime, and neither of them is exactly 60 tracks. But do you want to hear a secret? S2 is actually missing 3 tracks on the album. And because there are 2 discs in S2 (cute), the numbers of the tracks start over again from 1. Remember how much God likes sevens? Check out where all the weirdness is happening in disc 2 (I’ve added the missing track listings in red to add context):

After checking each track with the show and listening side by side (for reasons that will become clear in another post) I can definitively say that there is something *very weird* going on at the end of episode 4. 

First is track 7, Zombie dressing room, which seems to actually reach over two distinct scenes of the photo evidence in the dressing room and then Shax in hell even though it only has one title.

But *between* these two scenes we get an eerily silent wine date with Aziraphale & Crowley.

There’s really no music or even sound here besides the dialogue and room tone (until after the cheers), and it seems like a very intentionally silent version of a ritz date from season 1.

My best guess is that we are supposed to divide that track into two tracks of 7, before and after the date to get a second track 7. Or maybe the silent one is missing music? The third track number 7 is the weirdest one. It’s this scene here, when Nina parks her bike, and Aziraphale parks the car at the end of S2E4.

If you take a close listen to the music, it’s a jaunty little piece, with an oom-pah base in 3 ⁄ 4 time. The thing is, this music does not exist in any Good Omens album. Please feel free to correct me, but I’ve tried to find any part of any song that this could even be a reprise of, and I Shazammed it to be sure it wasn’t anything else. This song does not exist anywhere except in this scene. (It quickly morphs into a reprise of the original theme once Nina leaves Aziraphale). It’s an invisible song.

So we have 3 tracks at the end of S2E4: a long one, a silent one and an invisible one. Only one of which is numbered 7, but that all fit into that place in the track listing.

Which, when we add the two extras to the original total of fifty-nine we get... sixty-one! Hey wait a minute.

How are we going to get to 62?

3) The real missing track. 

So the real reason we had to go back to the S1 album was because it contains the missing track that God is talking about. Let’s compare the last tracks on each album.

I’ve highlighted the mismatch between the in-show music and the album in S2, which means I had to add A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square back into the S2 album because guess what, it’s not in the S2 album. Even though it plays in the show. 

You want to know how not in the album it is? Amazon had to track it in the show as a season 1 song. They had to give Tori Amos credit for her song on Good Omens in the X-ray bonus features because that’s how not in the album this song is.

So my fellow beings, if the song is the Clue, then It’s what God Wants.

And if God wants a happily ever after with Aziraphale and Crowley on their own side, then by Job, I think Neil is going to give it to her.

-----------

And there's more where that came from! Part 2 coming shortly.

[fanficsbysteve]

Jeremy Crow

Note: When I write my BuckTommy stuff, I always draw on my own personal experiences when writing stuff for Tommy. He’s a 40 year old gay man, I’m a 40 year old gay man. His Dad was abusive as shit growing up. My Dad was abusive as shit growing up. So, I feel we could have some very similar stuff happen in our lives. So, I had this thought and figured that in my head this was true. So, enjoy another of my silly little headcanons.

Also available on AO3 if you want to leave Kudos.

***

Tommy took Evan up to his bedroom to get ready for bed, and some other things beforehand but Tommy was not going to push for that. It had been two weeks since they had spoken and realized they were both idiots and decided to try again, just not going at light speed that Evan had been going at. Tommy was going to talk about how things made him feel and wasn’t just ‘trying to keep up’ with Evan’s pace. They were also going to go at Tommy’s pace as well.

     Going into the room, Tommy looked at the bed and spotted something sitting in the middle of the bed. Tommy froze. Oh god he had forgotten to put that away. Evan went past Tommy into the room and his eyes also fell onto the bed, “Oh what’s that?” he asked, looking at the bed as well.

     Sitting in the middle of the pillows was a stuffed crow. It looked like it had seen better days, its better days being three decades ago. The black fuzz that had been its torso had all but worn away, the paint on its eyes had been rubbed off and was just the white of the eyes now. The only part that seemed to have withstood the test of time was the beak of the crow, “Um…” Tommy started, “That would be Jeremy. Jeremy Crow.”

 Tommy looked at the crow sitting on his bed, named after a character from a movie he had watched as a child. He had gotten it when he was around five years old and had been sleeping with him every night since. There was something comforting about having Jeremy with him. He slept better. Tommy sometimes thought that Jeremy kept the bad dreams away. He never had them when he had Jeremy in his arms. He had been trying to hide Jeremy away, not wanting Evan to see him because he was scared of what Evan would think about him. A grown man still sleeping with a stuffed animal from his childhood.

     Evan did something that shocked Tommy. Something he hadn’t expected. Evan walked over to the bed, got in, motioned for Tommy to join him, and handed Jeremy over to Tommy, “So tell me about Jeremy,” Evan asked as he lie down.

     Tommy took Jeremy and held him close, feeling the comfort that Jeremy brought to him, “I’ve had him for years,” Tommy started, “My Mom had seen him at a Garage sale and bought him for me. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up so things like this were rare. My mom did enjoy going to garage sales though. She could always find the most interesting treasures at those,” Tommy went to lay down fully in bed, “She passed away about a year after she gave me Jeremy. It’s the only thing I have left that reminds me of her.”

     Evan pulled Tommy into a cuddle. Wrapping his arms around the both of them, “I’m sorry that happened,” Evan said. Tommy had told him about how his mother had died when he was about 6 years old, and how his home life had gone downhill after that as his father had become an alcoholic, “I’m glad you still have something that reminds you of her.”

     Tommy let Evan hold him, feeling his warmth, Jeremy tucked in close to his chest, “I might not have it for long anyways,” Tommy said, “You saw what he looked like. He’s seen better days. I think his best days were back when I was a child. Soon he’s just going to fall apart like most things in my life and I’ll lose the last shred of my Mom.”

     Tommy felt tears welling up, but he refused to let them fall. He would not cry over this. He would remain strong, “You won’t lose the last shred of your Mom though,” Evan gave Tommy a squeeze, “She lives inside you. And you will always have her memory. Jeremy is a reminder of those memories but he’s just a thing.”

     “I know,” Tommy said, “Doesn’t make it less painful that I’ll lose him. Did you know that he’s the reason I don’t have nightmares all the time?”

     “You believe that your stuffed crow stops nightmares?” Evan sounded, “But my belief that I was cursed by a dead cowboy was silly?”

     “Oh, leave me alone,” Tommy playfully elbowed Evan, “I have my own beliefs just like you. I don’t believe in curses, but I’ve never had a nightmare so long as I have Jeremy with me. You’ve experienced my nightmares.”

     Tommy remembered when he was staying over at Evan’s place a few months ago. He felt he had his nightmares under control. He was very wrong. He had been having a flashback to his time in Iraq, he had joined the military and was working as a helicopter pilot, one of those big troop carrier types. They were flying over the desert when out of nowhere, someone fired a missile at them. Tommy saw it coming but not in time and the back of the chopper had been hit. He did everything he could to get them down safely, but they ended up crashing no matter what Tommy did. Six men died on impact. They were nowhere near a city or town. It took them 3 days to find their way back. Tommy had woken up screaming that night. Evan was freaking out about what was happening. He had no idea the PTSD that Tommy was suppressing every day, “I know,” Evan replied, continuing to hold him.

     “Lets just get some sleep,” Tommy said. He was exhausted from having to remember so many things he’s been trying so hard to keep down.

***

     Tommy was at Evan’s loft, laying in bed, waiting for Evan to finish up in the bathroom. He was ready for bed, laying in just his boxers, nothing else on. He preferred to sleep like this when at Evan’s loft. Evan kept the temperature up higher than Tommy did at his house, so it was always far too warm for him in the loft. Hot air rising and all that. Evan came out of the bathroom, dressed only in his underwear as well, and crawled into bed, “I got you something,” Evan said as he leaned over the bed to grab something from the side. Tommy was confused, “Since you don’t have Jeremy Crow while over here, I wanted you to have something to hold, maybe to keep the dreams at bay,” Evan pulled up a penguin, the size of Jeremy.

     Tommy reached out to take it from Evan. He had tears in his eyes. This was the first time someone had actually not mocked him for having Jeremy. The fact that Evan had taken the time to go out, find this penguin, just for Tommy to sleep with so he didn’t wake up screaming, which meant something to Tommy, “Evan,” was all he could manage to get out as his throat constricted as he wanted to cry.

     “He doesn’t have a name yet,” Evan replied, “I figured that you would want to name him yourself. I don’t know any good penguin movies besides Happy Feet. So, I will leave naming him to you,” Evan continued, “And if he works, would you allow me to take Jeremy to someone I found? After you showed me Jeremy, I started falling down a research hole.”

     Tommy was just staring at the penguin while Evan spoke, barely hearing what he was saying. Tommy at this moment knew that Evan was the one. The one to spend the rest of his life with. He just didn’t know how to broach the subject now. They had only been back together for three weeks, “Sorry what?”

     “I was asking if I could take Jeremy to a repair shop I found online,” Evan repeated. Tommy leaned into Evan, just staring at this new penguin, “He’s got a great online presence, lots of five star reviews on Google. I figured we could make Jeremy last awhile longer if we took him in for some repairs.”

     Tommy nodded his head absently at that, “Sounds good,” He said.

     “You seem a little out of it,” Evan asked, “Something wrong?”

     “Not really,” Tommy replied, “I’ve never had someone care about me so much. Usually, it was open mockery if anyone actually saw Jeremy. You are the first person who actually cared about me enough to not only not mock me about my crow that I sleep with, but you went out of your way to get something so that I could sleep well at your place as well.”

     “Well, you are important to me,” Evan said, “I wouldn’t have blurted out about moving in together all those months ago if I didn’t mean it. I want you to feel like you are at home here as well until the day we do decide to take the next steps.”

     Now it was Tommy’s turn to blurt things out. He shouldn’t have but he couldn’t help himself. He felt so complete now with Evan, knowing about his nightmares, how to help with them, “I love you,” Tommy said turning his head to face Evan, “I love you more than anything in this world. You are the first person who has ever taken the time to understand me. I want you to be my last.”

     Tommy watched as Evan was taken aback by his statement for a brief second, “I didn’t expect that,” a smile broke out over Evan’s face, “I love you too you fool. I figured that out months ago when I asked you to move in.”

     “We both agreed we were idiots,” Tommy said as he brought the penguin in for a tight hug. He felt similar to Jeremy, but softer, “But yes you can take Jeremy in for repairs, but only because I have Hubie here.”

     “Hubie?” Evan asked about the name.

     Tommy smiled, “Yes Hubie. I’m a child of the 80’s and 90’s. I watched a lot of Don Bluth movies. There was one about penguins and the main character is named Hubie. So, it fits.”

     “You’ll have to show me the movies that you get your names from one of these days,” Evan said, “But now lets get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

     Tommy turned on his side, letting Evan take the Big Spoon position, holding Hubie close. A content sigh left his body as he felt this soft penguin in his arms, and Evan’s arms pulling him close. This was the perfect ending to a wonderful day.

***

Note: So yeah, I admit that I still have stuffed animals. I have the stuffed Mickey Mouse I had since I as a child still in my bedroom. I also have a stuffed Penguin I sleep with named Mr. Pickles. Just something I need to sleep. If I don’t have one of them, I can’t sleep well. And yes, I am actually a 40 year old man who sleeps with a stuffed penguin. Hate all you want but you won’t change me. For the record, Jeremy Crow came from The Secret of NIMH, and Hubie the Penguin is from The Pebble and the Penguin. Both Don Bluth movies.

[cherri3berri3s]

When Today Comes ┃Ticci toby x Reader

Warning: possible relationship codependency, mentioned cannibalism + descriptive homicide

An officially unofficial part ii to "I Got Law" that could be read + interpreted separately. The synopsis is same as follows ↓

Synopsis: You're awakened one morning to see your boyfriend shaken with doubt. What's on his mind? (Toby's Perspective)

Word Count: 1.4k + words

Part I → "I Got Law"

And the morning was evil,

Doing all it could to steal her from me.

Killing the clock with much suppression as I'd felt when I looked at her face. The only thing between me and godliness was the sound of love dripping from her sorrowed voice. Not making me feel as clean as I'd hoped for the events to come.

How do you do this type of thing anyway? Turning yourself in;

Do you announce, 'Yeah, I murdered someone' with pride before ultimately waiting to get picked up by the speedy fuckers in robust cop cars.

Should I walk there myself? Take the long route?

It's not like I could hold back the inevitable any longer, it's already decided that I should go.

"Vogel," I prepared, "Can I get one more kiss before I go?"

"If I do, will you come back." She said dryly, accepting all that's become of the situation.

"Vogelchen," I uttered, softness meeting my voice and eyes, "Of course I'm not coming back. I'll probably be dead by tomorrow."

And for every part of me to think that felt so true. I'd been at this too long that death came to be second nature. Enjoyed by none but me each time, and all stares pointed back to me. 

I see them as they see me; the ones I've killed. Difference is, I'm the one with the audience.

I like the feeling as much as I hate it. It's almost as if I'm being judged for something I enjoy. Yet, I had the power to defy all the looks that wanted me as dead as them. I'd relish in that power all year if I could. And now I'm prepared to turn myself in, but between me and them, it's far from experiencing feelings of remorse.

For each time a victim cried I felt bolder. And each time they fought back, I fought back harder till their blood spilled. It was a job that I liked, and an unsubstantiated urge I'd love to fill. Undoubtedly, I guess I loved it as long as it meant it didn't reach her. Now I see I'd failed all too embarrassingly at preventing it. 

Easing into that car seat, I felt her presence. Feeding into my drive to speed off as I know I should've. All before my body told me not to, and before he tells me not to. 

Before I choose not to do it.

I’d remembered instead, when we first met. As our relationship had begun.

 I was a sleazy pawn to the operator. I would do all that he asked of me. And all that he asked of me was fine, even if it wasn’t as righteous as it felt.

“Y’know, I’ve definitely seen you somewhere.”

 “Where?“ 

“Some magazine or something at the store.“ She grinned. Laying on my lap tenderly as the breeze wafted past us, less gentle than the autumn sun.

Never mind my matter-of-fact tone when I answered, unfazed and sounding nonchalant in each reply. She looked up at me all the same. Those eyes killing sores rested within mine.

“I don’t model,”

“And if you did, that’s exactly where I’d find you.” The damp grass lazed beneath us. Little bugs crawling past my shoe in a fit of determination, racing to beat the setting sky.

“Here, lemme see-“ she said, grabbing my jaw to redirect her gaze into mine. Her eyes squinted and refocused as my hair had fallen past my shoulders. Relaxed as I looked down at her ever so closely. 

“Yeah… that’s a cover boy if I ever seen one”

“W-What about me screams cover boy?“

“You smile with your eyes,“

“Ew, I got crow's feet?”

“No,” she detest shockingly. Holding back a laugh as she props up just a bit “You never watched Tyra Banks? The ‘smize’ doesn’t ring any bells?”

“I barely had cable,” I said begrudgingly, shaking my head as I’d become amused with her peaked interest. “I watched p-public service Christian shows at best.”

“And never watched Tyra?!“

“I barely know who she is,” I smiled confusedly, lighthearted as I attempted to maintain seriousness. “My dad w-w-would force me to watch WWE if he thought I wasn’t being m-manly enough.”

“Boo,” she disagreed abruptly, holding out the ‘oo’ sound as she plopped back down on my lap.“You know more about Hulk Hogan and public service than the real important shit”

“Modeling’s important?”

“If I was blessed with your features, it most definitely would be.“ She claims. A chuckle escapes my throat and kisses the air, protest meeting my face as a result. Her eyes holding onto mine as I just couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

“I’m being serious,” she smiles, eyes widening to convince me otherwise. “I think you’re the hottest guy I know.” her hands raised in defense, standing by the words spewed from her lips.

“I think you’re crazy,” I say, my hands resting on her hips in content. Stroking lovingly as our eyes lay amongst one another the way they’ve always have.

“And you’re a train wreck,“ a stray hand reaches out to caress the edge of my face where my scar lies. Treating me far more delicately than I knew I deserved. Far more delicately than I knew I’d ever been. The open field we were in overcrowded my judgment, producing a warmth that embodied all I had been experiencing in the cool of that day.

 “Do you think that’d make me stop loving you?“ Her eyes wandered, searching for even a hint of how I felt given the secluded embrace of the moment.

“You should.”

– And now, foot pressed against the peddle, gripping the steering wheel as roughly as I was, I couldn’t find it in me to disagree.

I never told her about the reluctance I had felt when wanting to hold her, even though it resulted in a tight everlasting grip on her flesh. The pads of each of my fingers suckling into her skin. Nor did I admit to the readiness I felt for wanting to end her life; suspecting that she had found out about my beyond most dangerous endeavors.

For so long, I’d wanted to. I accepted coming to terms with what had to be done. What the whispers said was a job most notably left for me alone. What I suppose was his plan all along. 

I'd do anything the operator asked of me. The only moral code I’d bothered to stand by after life for me changed. I saw all I was willing to give up, making the fullest assumption that my mind was no longer my own. That I had to sacrifice to live.

It didn’t bother her witnessing that sacrifice firsthand. Blood trickling along the wooden slickness of the floor. Producing such a pretty sloshing sound, tickling the inside of my ears. My hands feverishly clasping on the meatiness of the person‘s neck below me. 

Each slam cascaded with a distinguished crack, the moment their head collided with the floor. Their face bloated, black and blue in contrast to the deep red seeping underneath.

I wasn’t ready to tell her it felt so damn good. Too good as I licked my fingers devilishly of the steaming hot liquid messily staining my hands. Eyes rolling with a moan indistinguishable from one of immense pleasure. 

Had I not blacked out into an ill-fitted rage, I would’ve remembered her being there.

She didn’t mind the object sight of cannibalism displayed before her. In fact, she was no fearful accomplice, helping me cover it all up until not even a blotch was left to see.

I wanted desperately for her to be next. To be the one I was indulging in; just as she would let me.

I sat awake understanding all it had meant for us. What I’ve done to a perfectly sane relationship as I wanted to keep it. I wanted her to ignore the signs, remaining blissfully ignorant to the extremities expressed by my sickness.

To want normalcy, and not me.

I drove closer to the precinct, hungering for a chance to go back. Pleading that, as once before, I’d misunderstood my own place. He needed me to rid myself of all distractions. That’s what she was- That’s what she is. 

She is.

I hadn’t seen it then, but I was back at her place shedding my skin, as today was finally here.

I've realized that I love writing for toby so goddamn much because I get to experiment with all his complexities. I just hate when it feels like there's a thousand times more shit I could add (or as if I'm not doing him enough justice).

You're free to reblog all you like!

© CHERRI3BERRI3S - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOUR OWN

[himbodruid]

In celebration of the Sylus banner releasing, here’s the first part to my Sylus fic!

Sylus x named!mc | Touch her and 💀 vibes | Possessive Sylus

Intended for 18+ readers, MINORS DNI

Read on Ao3

Part 2 | Part 3 (coming soon)

A Kitten and A Crow

His irritation was nearly palpable as negotiations dragged on and on. Sylus let his crimson gaze flick around the men sitting at the table around him, trying to bargain for their safety in his territory while they do some bogus business deal. Really, the whole thing was boring, and that itself is what irritated him the most.

His phone began to buzz in his pocket, which brought a welcomed distraction. A slight smirk played at the corner of his mouth as the name ‘kitten’ flashed across the screen as the incoming call. She always seemed to know when he was bored.

“Gentlemen, I am afraid we will have to continue these negotiations another time,” was all the explanation he gave before rising and walking from the table. He reached the other room, thumbing the answer button and holding the phone to his ear. Before he could even greet her, a scuffle sounded and the call disconnected.

“Mephisto,” was all he had to say before the crow flew through the window with a croaking call in the night. He tapped her name in the call log to dial her phone, pushing down the anxiety that threatened to crack the iron hold he had on his composure.

“Kitten?” He questioned when the call connected.

“S-Sy,” came her labored breathing. A pained whine escaped from her and he growled.

“Where are you?” His query came as a sharp demand, grateful that he had already sent Mephisto to find her.

“Sylus, d-don’t-“ her words ended in a cry as the sharp crack of flesh connecting with flesh came across the line. Rage pulsed through Sylus at the sound of a struggle, the phone being kicked away, before the line went dead.

The deep crimson-streaked shadows shrouded him without a second thought, transporting him to the rooftops for some sort of vantage point. He couldn’t feel her aether core anymore, the ever present hum that had become a source of comfort, but he somehow knew she was still within the N109 Zone. Within his territory.

There. A signal from Mephisto and the copper stench of fresh blood flooded his senses as he followed the crow’s direction in his signature shadowy cloak.

He arrived in the alleyway that Mephisto hovered over, mere blocks away from his own base. A man held her limp form by the throat, gloating to her unconscious figure.

“Once we get that Onychinus bastard out here, he’s done for!” Maniacal laughter followed his statement as he tossed her haphazardly to the side.

“Ah. So, you intended for a trap, then,” Sylus said with a deadly calm, dropping into the mouth of the alleyway from the cloud of darkness.

“Hah! It’s true! The hunter is your weakness after all,” said the man as he turned his wild gaze on the newcomer. Sylus didn’t recognize him, but figured the idiot must be from an opposing faction.

“Do you know what happens when you touch what is mine,” he said with a voice full of venom, striding into the alley. But the man only grinned, lifting a pistol to aim at Sylus. A threat that Sylus pointedly ignored as he continued forward.

Mephisto landed next to Helene, giving his observation. Bruised and battered, and a deep gash in her side that was cause for concern. She was alive, but didn’t have the luxury of time.

“Lets end this quickly,” Sylus said, disappearing into that crimson darkness and reappearing right before the man.

“Your evol is useless against me, crow,” the man cackled, aiming the pistol right for Sylus’ head. “I’ve been given a glorious chance to take down the biggest threat to our company. These bullets have been specially manufactured with your evol in mind.”

The man pulled the trigger, fully trusting that his employers had told him correct information. What they didn’t tell him, however, is the ethereal speed at with Sylus could use his evol. The bullet ripped through empty air while Sylus rematerialized behind him.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he growled into the man’s ear before an onyx blade appeared in his hand. His arm thrust forward. A strangled gurgle was the final sound the man made as Sylus plunged that blade into his heart from behind. He twisted it for good measure, lamenting that he couldn’t do what he really wanted to.

Sylus dropped to a knee by Helene’s side before the stranger’s corpse even hit the pavement. He brushed her blood-streaked hair from her frighteningly pale face before lifting her in his arms. It still amazed him how light she was, considering how much she ate at any given meal.

A vehicle pulled into the mouth of the alley, giving Sylus a brief pause before he realized it was his own car and the twins sat in the front.

Luke hopped out from the passenger seat and opened the door for him, Sylus carrying her frighteningly limp form forward. A hand reached out to help steady her as he shuffled into the back, but he felt a growl rumble in his chest and he clutched her tighter to himself. Luke backed off without a word, hands held up to placate the boss.

It had only taken minutes to find her, but each second that had ticked by since the call first disconnected felt like a lifetime.

[kaizokuniichan]

Attention Part 2 - Do Not Disturb

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro/AFAB Reader (referred to as she/her)/Trafalgar Law

Summary: Law ponders how he got hung up on you in the first place

CW: Dry humping

Note: I appreciate all of the positive responses on Part 1!

Next Chapters: Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Also I’ve been trying to look at blueprints of the Sunny Go to paint a more accurate description of the ship but then I said fuck it, so it is what it is lmfao

(Divider by @cafekitsune Banner by @/eelnoise)

Word Count: 3.7k

MDNI; 18+ readers please

Law knew you were into Zoro, and he shouldn’t have cared, but he did. It was inappropriate, this infatuation he had for you. He was the Captain of a rival pirate crew, and you were a Strawhat. None of this should’ve even been a concern.

He also had to keep reminding himself that this close proximity to you was temporary. He’d soon be reunited with his crew in Zou, they’d head to Wano, and then there would be no time for any of this after that. All of this extra fluff was unnecessary and should be pushed aside. The happenings of you and your fellow crew member were none of his concern. So why was it bothering him when he’d see how easily you unfurled yourself around him? How easy it was for you to lean on him? How it took nothing for you to allow him to share in your warmth? Zoro had such easy access to you, such a head start in forming a space for himself in your life. Why did that bother Law so much?

Overhearing your flirtatious, easygoing banter from below the crow’s nest had dropped an iceberg in his gut, and lit a fire under his feet. Of course Zoro was what you wanted. He was ruggedly handsome, fiercely loyal, and exhibited an ever-growing strength that made people question how and why he was only second in command. It’s not that Law was insecure; he was very sure of himself, both intellectually and physically. And not that he particularly cared about what he looked like, although he did want to look good to you and for you. He just wished he’d been presented with an even playing field. Every odd was stacked against him.

You’d been a beacon of comfort for him during his stay on the Sunny. A true companion. You knew how to give him his space, always following his lead in how to navigate each other. You listened intently, never steamrolling his thoughts or ideas with your own. You knew the right things to say to make him think introspectively, rather than feel the need to offhandedly throw a snarky remark. Whenever he felt overstimulated by the sheer volume and lunacy of everyone around him, you’d seek him out and guide him away to settle down somewhere more quiet. You were…so refreshing.

Law could tell he was peeling back your layers as well. Your initial neutral expression was one of practiced indifference, eyes glazing over him as if your mind swam elsewhere. You weren’t as uptight as he was, but he could tell there was a part of you that was still holding yourself back, like you were afraid of becoming too comfortable.

Law enjoyed feeling like he was one of the few people with whom you shared the truest parts of yourself with. Sometimes you’d sit beside him, offering little nuggets of inner dialogue that drew him in, intent on listening and absorbing. Things like how difficult it was for you to trust because of your upbringing. How you held back so much of your rage because you didn’t want to hurt those around you. How thankful you were for finding family within your crew, and learning how to accept their love. Every breadcrumb you fed him helped to lower his guard. You’d give a little bit of yourself to him, and he’d give a little bit of himself to you in return.

The problem was he’d given too much of himself, and now he’d grown attached. Maybe it was the absence of stress fueled by his revenge. Maybe it was your calm and wistful eyes as you exchanged little anecdotes about your lives. Maybe, it was the heat from your thigh, pressed against his during mealtime, or the brush of your arm against his when you’d pass each other. Whatever it was, it was making him weak.

Exasperated with his mutinous thoughts, he decided to take a late night stroll to the library to pour over some medical texts. Smiling to himself, he was brought back to a conversation he’d had with you where you’d applauded him for his resilience in studying medicine and his desire to help people. He’d been so elated by your praise that he’d spent an embarrassingly long 20 minutes bragging about how he’d developed a multi-use vaccine for several different viral mutations. But you’d sat there attentive as ever, head resting in your palm, humoring him as he prattled on about a new vaccine study. Your eyes never wavered for a second, not even when you admitted that you had no idea what he was talking about. But that was ok, he was willing to teach you things. Lots of things. Many things.

As he passed the aquarium bar, his ears perked at the sounds of soft melodic music seeping through the cracks of the door. He knew it was you; you were the only one who would be playing music this time of night. Quickly making the decision to take advantage of the moment (he had to do something; that fire was still lit beneath his feet after all) he diverted his focus to the bar.

He actually quite enjoyed the aquarium bar. It gave him a sense of familiarity, being in a room partially submerged and visible sea creatures swimming past the glass. It would be the perfect setting for him to comfortably test the waters with you. If you responded well to his advances, well. What else could he do?

As he pushed open the door his eyes met with yours as you curled up under a thin blanket in a corner of the cushioned bench, book in hand.

“Sorry, room’s already occupied, but you can join me if you like. I promise I won’t disturb you.”

You sat up with a sleepy smile, letting the blanket fall to your lap. Law steeled his features, fighting against the distraction that was your rarely-worn glasses perched upon your nose, accentuating your freshly cleansed face. He’d forgotten how much he liked seeing you like this, soft and cozy, almost as if you were meant to be swaddled in his oversized clothes. You always looked pretty, but this time of night was when Law hoped to bump into you the most.

He should’ve known he’d find you awake somewhere at this time of night. Your insomnia was unrivaled, even compared to his. The first time you’d had a real conversation with him, it was around the fifth night he’d been on the ship, sometime around 3am when you’d walked in on him in the infirmary. Without missing a beat, he’d bluntly stated that you looked like you hadn’t slept in a week, to which you’d replied with a cool rebuttal that that seemed like an improvement since most of the time it could be longer than that. Interest mildly piqued, he’d invited you to come in and join him while he searched for an article that detailed the study of sleep aids. You’d sat quietly on the infirmary bed, knees up to your chest. He’d spent about 10 minutes rifling through various books until you interrupted his thoughts to ask how long he’d studied medicine.

“Since I was a child,” he’d replied in a clipped tone, halting any further discussion. He waited for you to pry, but you inquired no more about it.

“Well if it’s going to take a while to find what you’re looking for don’t worry about it. I don’t want to interrupt your studies from earlier.”

Law was nothing else if not a perfectionist, so leaving a patient untreated went against his very nature.

“Just give me a couple of days, I’ll find something for you.”

“Ok.” You’d replied, taking your leave without so much as a glance back.

Law had been utterly dumbfounded by the sterile encounter, surprised that someone as curt as you affiliated yourself with a crew like the Strawhats. You didn’t fear him, didn’t distrust him, didn’t hate him. You didn’t invade his space by being overly comfortable. You didn’t give off anything that suggested you formed any opinion of him or spared any thought of him at all. You’d just sought his help without feeling entitled to it.

A few days later he’d come to you with a medical sleep aid that he’d whipped up, and explained that it wouldn’t be a miracle cure but it would shorten the amount of days you’d go without sleep. You’d accepted it with a small thanks and turned to walk away before turning back around to address him.

“Heads up, the boys set off one of Usopp’s stink bombs outside the infirmary, so if you’re looking for a quiet place to stay tonight I suggest the library. I’ll be up there too but I won’t disturb you.”

I won’t disturb you. That was always your go to response to him. He should’ve known then that it would be different with you. With Robin, whom he’d found a quiet kinship with, it always felt like he was being observed. Law liked to observe, not be observed. Pick apart too much and he’d crack, too open and tender underneath.

With you it was more like the to and fro of the sea. You’d give a little and then pull back. Adapting to his energy and retreating when he’d had enough. He’d humor you and volley back little trinkets of himself, and in turn you’d open up a little more for him, sharing bits of yourself in exchange for what he offered you. As more time passed, those exchanges grew more hearty, rich with more substance beyond idle small talk.

Bringing himself back to the playful banter he’d overheard between you and Zoro, he felt himself deflate as he realized he’d been craving a place for himself with you that had already been filled by someone else. He didn’t hold any ill feelings towards Zoro, he just hated the feeling of something slipping away. Any good that came into his life he tended to hold on tightly to. But the bit of good he’d found in you he couldn’t even have, whether there was someone else for you or not.

Feeling restless with his thoughts he focused his attention back to you, still staring at him expectantly, awaiting his next move. You were always so patient with him, always waiting for him to respond in his own time.

Fuck the logistics of what he should and shouldn’t have. The competition of it all was more appealing anyway.

“It’s fine, you don’t bother me,” he muttered, closing the door softly behind him.

You settled back into your nest, still watching as he took a seat on the bench across from you, leaning Kikoku to the side.

“Did you want to use my blanket? Since your skin’s always so cold, probably because of that iron deficiency of yours.”

Law chuckled, shaking his head. You were always poking fun at the temperature of his skin during the brief moments you touched.

“I’ve told you before my iron levels are normal, I just run cool.”

You hummed in response, sitting back up.

“Actually, do you mind if I sit over there next to you? This vent is blowing directly on me.”

It was bullshit and he knew it. You were offering another crumb and he was fighting not to accept it. It was too tempting. Too risky. Too inappropriate. Too-

“Sure.”

Well, that fire had started nipping at his ankles after all.

You squeaked as you got up, shuffling over to him with your blanket draped over your shoulders like a cape. Taking notice of your tank top and sleep shorts he tutted.

“You know, there’s these things called pants if you ever want to try them. I heard they keep your legs warm.”

Huffing down next to him, you pulled your knees up to cross your legs.

“Ok prude. Do my legs offend you?”

Feeling the back of his neck heat, he turned to the side to place his hat down next to him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He already felt like he’d said too much, giving you an opening to taunt him. He didn’t want you to think he was shaming you, but he also didn’t mean to make any reference to your body. No matter how alluring it was.

“Well lend me some of yours then. I’m sure I’d look good in them.”

Law stiffened, choking on his saliva as he forced the visual aside. Realizing you’d given him pause, you scooted back from his space and turned to your reading.

“I thought you favored a certain swordsman’s hoodie anyway,” he quipped, mouth curling into a playful smile.

Popping your head back up, a light gasp fell from your lips and you grinned, catching his lighthearted jab.

“Sometimes I require a variety of swordsmen clothes. Makes for an eclectic wardrobe.”

“Uh huh,” he quirked a brow, returning to his book.

Setting yours aside, you moved closer to him again, leaning on his un-bandaged arm.

“What are you reading about today, Doctor?”

The intoxicating scent of your hair, sweet and fruity from all of your oils and moisturizers, curled up into his nose and found purchase in his head. You were so close. It would take nothing for him to turn to you and-

“Flesh-eating bacteria.”

“Ew,” you recoiled, wrinkling your nose. Missing your warmth, Law spread his legs further so his thigh could press against yours.

“Nothing to worry about. I have a technique that can wipe out almost every one of those bacteria in an instant.”

Wrapping your hand around his arm, you looked up at him with mischief in your eyes.

“You know, I’d love to see all of your techniques,” you purred, leaning more against him.

This was it. You were toying with him now, and that settled it. Too much had been brewing between you, and you were both alone without any prying eyes so…

You startled at the snap of him shutting his book, shifting back again.

“I’m sorry, I took that too far. I said I wouldn’t disturb you-”

Leaning over you, he cut off your apologies with his hand cupping your cheek, easing into your space. So close he could see your pulse beat against your neck.

“What are you trying to do,” he murmured, the timber of his voice filled with smoke.

“Law I…I can’t help it. You make me feel like I’ve regained a part of myself. And you’ve helped me feel…more free.”

Free. Interesting choice of words considering he’d only just regained his own freedom.

“What about him?”

You nibbled your lip, searching for a response.

“Don’t worry about that right now. I’m here with you aren’t I?”

Law took note of the giant red flag waving in his face, but he was too drunk on you to care.

“Alright.”

Pulling your face closer, he clasped his lips with yours. A sigh settled in your chest as he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

You let the blanket slip from your shoulders to wrap your hands around the back of his neck.

The angle was odd since he was facing front and you were at his side, still cross-legged, so he moved his hand down to your waist, guiding you to straddle his lap. Taking off your glasses and placing them to the side, you fell more into the kiss as you tangled your fingers into his hair, whimpering as he gripped your waist tightly, molding you against him.

After savoring the softness of your lips, Law’s mouth journeyed down to your jaw, nibbling on the soft flesh. You chased his mouth to bring it back to yours, slipping your tongue into his mouth as you shifted to situate yourself more comfortably. He groaned as he entwined his tongue with yours, your breaths colliding. He soon parted from your lips to continue his journey down to your throat, giving you a possessive bite.

You rewarded him with a shameless moan, pressing your breasts against his chest as you rocked your hips against him. He slid his hands down to grip your ass, guiding you against his growing bulge.

”Mm. Just like that baby.”

“Law, fuck.”

He smirked, licking at the raw skin of where he’d just bitten you and began littering kisses along the other side of your throat.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,” he groaned, spreading his legs wider as you ground against him. The friction in his jeans became unbearable and you pouted as he shifted you back to unzip his pants, just enough to give his cock more room. And to minimize the layers of clothes between the two of you.

You straightened your back and stared between his legs, mouth hanging open. He tried to wipe the smirk from his face but failed. Law wasn’t really a humble man, though in this instance he did try to be. He knew what he was working with, and a sick satisfaction bloomed inside him knowing you were impressed.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he muttered, pulling you back to continue grinding on his clothed cock. Fuck, this was so much better. He could feel the heat from your core as you moved more firmly against him. Placing your arms on his shoulders, you dropped your head and whimpered, rolling your hips. Bringing one of his hands up from your waist, he tipped your head back to stare into your eyes.

“Keep your mouth on me too.”

Biting your lip, you crushed your mouth against his, winding your arms around his neck to press a palm onto the glass of the aquarium. The music you’d set still droned on, the melody of your moaning and whimpering accompanying it perfectly. Your pussy had grown wet enough that it now dampened his own underwear, and he knew he was going to lose his composure very soon. His arm wound around your middle tightened so fiercely he feared he might squeeze the life out of you. He couldn’t let you go even if he tried.

“Law, I think I-“

“Just use me, I’ll get you there.”

You placed both hands onto the glass, fully abandoning kissing him in lieu of rutting your hips against his, solely to get yourself off. He looked up to see your face, lips parted and a sheen of sweat dotting your forehead. You were beautiful. He slipped his hands beneath your shirt to cup your breasts, squeezing them and pinching your nipples to make you yelp.

“Shh, you’ve gotta be quiet. Just let go for me alright? Can you do that?”

You nosed your face into the crook of his neck, whining as you rocked your hips faster and clutched him tighter to your chest until you seized, stuttered gasps tumbling from your lips.

Law’s legs were spread impossibly wide as he used that last dregs of his energy to grip your thighs and buck against you, giving you everything he had until he grunted and spilled, pressing his face into your shoulder and groaning through his release.

As you both came down, the sounds of the music stopped. Drinking in thick gulps of air, you and him remained still, collapsed against each other. With every passing second it became more apparent that the hole he’d dug for himself crumbled deeper and deeper. He’d crossed the line. If anyone on either side found out what they’d just done it’d be tacked onto the ever growing list of bullshit he’d have to deal with. He wasn’t scared of a fight, he just hated unnecessary conflict. How was he going to face everyone tomorrow?

“You’re gonna overthink yourself into a coma aren’t you?”

You finally sat up to question him, eyebrows furrowed.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he sighed, still panting. Still wanting.

You fixed him with a hard stare, and he could see that you were fighting the urge to tell him off. He wilted as he fought the urge to pull you back as you removed yourself from his lap. Gathering up your blanket and book, you turned away and prepared to exit.

“Alright Law. Goodnight.”

There was that same curt tone you’d given him the first time you spoke. He hadn’t heard you speak to him like that in ages and it made him sink further. Your ability to give him his space, the thing he liked most about you, was the very thing that killed him in this very moment.

Buttoning his jeans back up and ignoring the mess he’d made in his boxers, he focused on your book and held out his hand.

“Room.”

As you turned back around, he’d already swapped places with your book, blocking your way to the door.

“Please.” he whispered, taking your face into his hands. When was the last time he’d said please for anything?

“Please, just be patient with me.”

Your eyes shined as you looked up at him, swirling with confusion and frustration.

“Law, I know this is fucked up,” you said, wrapping one of your hands around his, “and I know this puts you in a difficult position. I just. I just don’t care.”

He snorted as you shrugged nonchalantly, thumb rubbing against your lips as he turned you around and backed you against the door. You really were a pirate, carelessly moving to the beat of your own drum. You smiled against his thumb and gave it a peck.

“Just let me figure things out alright?”

“Ok.”

You gave him a wink and he stepped back to allow you to turn around and exit the room. He popped his head out into the hallway, watching you walk back to the women’s quarters. Just as you’d made it to the end of the hallway you collided into Zoro’s hard body, falling back from the force of the impact. He caught you around the waist, pulling you back up to hold you close to his chest. You stared at each other for a few beats before you burst into laughter, wrapping your arms around his middle and turning him around to continue walking with you. Your laughter could still be heard as the two of you rounded the corner, his arm still tightly around your waist.

Law’s mind was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. He was so fucked.

[ihareyhis]

Spideys as incorrect quotes pt2

Hobie: *Kicks the door down*

Pavitr: What did you do?

Hobie: Nobody died.

Pavitr: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!

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Miguel: What do you call disobeying the law?

The Squad: A hobby.

Miguel: *crosses their arms*

The Squad: That we do not engage in

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Pavitr: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this?

Hobie: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

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Pavitr, pointing at Hobie: Are they a Freak (derogatory)?

Pavitr, pointing at Gwen: Or a Freak (affectionate)?

Miles: Why not both?

Pavitr, to Miles: You’re so right, Freak

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Pavitr: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective?

Hobie: *crouches down*

Gwen: *kneels down*

Miles: *sits on the floor*

Pavitr: I hate you all

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Miles: How do Hobie and Pavitr usually get out of these messes?

Gwen: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out.

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Gwen: Hey Pavitr.

Pavitr: *punches Gwen in the stomach*

Gwen: What the fuck?

Pavitr: You are one of my very best friends. And I cannot stand by and watch you throw away your life like this. You're too young....YOU'RE TOO BEAUTIFUL!

Gwen: What the fuck are you talking about?

Pavitr: I'm talking about the baby that's growing inside of your belly right now.

Gwen: I'm not pregnant!

Pavitr: Well, not after that punch you're not. I've been taking muay thai classes.

Gwen: I was never pregnant, Pavitr!

Pavitr: Are... you sure?

Gwen: Yes I'm fucking sure!

Hobie: I'm sorry, but why the fuck is everybody yelling over here?

Pavitr: Oh, I found this positive pregnancy test and—

Hobie: *punches Gwen in the stomach*

Gwen: AW, MOTHERFU–

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Gwen: Today at 7 am, Pavitr poured a Monster energy drink in his coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing.

Hobie: I watched him brew his coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think he ascended into the astral realm.

Miles: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me

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Miles: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no idea what to put in them. Any suggestions?

Pavitr: Put spaghetti in it.

Miles: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you.

Hobie: Put spaghetti in it.

Miles: I am currently taking suggestions from everyone but you two.

Gwen: Put spaghetti in it.

Miles: I am no longer taking suggestions.

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Pavitr: What’s up with Gwen? she’s been laying on the floor for like….an hour now?

Hobie: She’s just a little overwhelmed.

Pavitr: Why?

Hobie: Miles smiled at her.

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Hobie, Gwen & Miles: *screaming*

Pavitr: *runs into the room* Miles whats wrong?!

Hobie: Wait, why are you asking Miles that when Gwen and I are also here?

Pavitr: Because Miles wouldn't scream unless it's an emergency. You two scream whenever you have the chance.

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Hobie: What’s your biggest fear?

Gwen: That I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

Miles: Everyone hates me and talks about me behind my back.

Pavitr: Zombies.

Gwen: ...

Miles: ...

Pavitr: BUT they can open doors.

[xoxoxkisses]

“I’m not yours.”

Warnings: small angst, slight sanemi x reader, not proofread (sorry im too lazy)

————————————————————————

You have liked Tokito for a few months now. He had saved you in a previous battle and ever since you’ve fallen for him more and more. You were finally able to apply to be someone Tsuguko, so obviously you applied to become Tokito’s.

You had sent him a letter applying to become his Tsuguko and now you were waiting for his response. As you were washing up from a training session, Tokito’s crow brought a letter to you. As you reached for it you told her thank you and opened the letter.

“I apologize for taking a while to write back, I have been thinking about your application for a while now. I accept you as my Tsuguko. Meet me at my estate at dawn and bring all of your belongings as you will stay with me from now on. -Tokito”

You jumped with joy. You didn’t hesitate to go pack for the next day.

————————————————————————

As you walked to the Mist Hashira’s estate, your heart was beating fast. You were nervous you would disappoint him. As you entered the courtyard of the estate you could see Tokito waiting at the stairs for you. As you walked further he saw you and offered to help you with your bags.

Once you got your stuff settled, Tokito told you it was time for your first training session. As the two of you walked to the training area, he spoke up. “I’ve heard many good things about you which is why it took me a while to answer your letter. You are my first Tsuguko after all.” You were shocked when he said the last sentence. How could you be his first Tsuguko?

The two of you began to train. He had requested you to strike at the tree in front of you. He complimented you on your skills, but also told you a lot of things you need to work on. You were very appreciative for his help and advice. You both trained hard until the end of the day.

The two of you had went inside now. Your stomach growled, you were hungry. You haven’t ate since lunch and it was now dusk. “Master Tokito, would you like me to make dinner?” He looked at you and tilted his head, “I suppose that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Go ahead, i don’t care what you cook.” You smiled at him and started cooking. You had made some ramen as you were too tired to make anything big.

As you sat down to eat, Tokito ate with you. You two didn’t really talk much, just a few thanks and compliments on the food. Once you both were done, you cleaned the table and Tokito washed the dishes. When you were done, you told him goodnight and started towards your room. “Y/N.” You turned around confused. “Yes Master Tokito?” You looked at him with a confused look on your face. “I just wanted to say you did good today.” You smiled at him and said thank you. You turned and carried on to your room. ————————————————————————

It has been a few weeks since you have been training under Tokito, and it seems as your relationship with each other has grown. The two of you talked more and went everywhere together.

Tokito was sent on a mission a few days ago. You trained hard and took care of things around the estate. As you were making lunch, you heard the door opened and there Tokito stood. “Welcome back!” You said smiling. “Y/N, I have to tell you something.” You were nervous with the tone of his voice. He sounded serious. “Okay Master Tokito.” You stopped what you were doing and went to him. The two of you sat down and stared at each other.

“When I was gone on my mission I met a girl. And I need your help.” His face lit up with red. The blood drained from your face, you felt your chest get tight and you felt yourself shaking. “..Oh wow..! I’m happy for you, what can I do to help..?” You were trying to hold yourself up, you couldn’t break down in front of him. “Well I’d like advice to make a move on her.” He was looking at the ground now smiling. He’s never smiled like that at you.

“Well maybe you can ask her on a date and take her to one of your favorite spots.” Tears were threatening to come now. “That’s a good idea. Thanks Y/N, you’re the best Tsuguko I could ask for.” He smiled at you, and your heart fluttered. You excused yourself and went to your room.

Tokito noticed you haven’t been your outgoing self lately. You always brushed it off as you were tired. He started talking about her more and more. He talked about her at every chance he could, at dinner, lunch, training. You couldn’t take it anymore. As he was talking about her at dinner, you interrupted him and excused yourself. You washed your dishes and went to your room.

In your room you wrote a letter to your best friend, Mitsuri. The two of you became friends after seeing each other a lot once you became Tokito’s Tsuguko. After you sent the letter you started crying. You suppose Tokito heard you as his knocked on the door asking if you were okay. With muffled sniffles, you told him you were and he walked away.

He was confused on why you left. He noticed you had been acting different but he didn’t know why. Once he finished his food and washed his dishes, he went to his room. But on his way he heard sniffles coming from your room. When you said you were fine he knew you weren’t but didn’t want to bother you.

Mitsuri answered you back the next day. She asked for you to come hang out with her. You accepted and told Tokito about it and he let you go. As the two of you walked around, you saw Tokito and the girl he liked. The way they looked at each other was making you upset. You wanted him to look at you that way, not her. Mitsuri noticed and gasped, she looked at you to turn you away, but you were already crying. Tokito looked over and saw the two of you, and you crying. You ran off before he could come over.

He saw you run and he was concerned. He excused himself from the girl and went to Mitsuri. “What is wrong with Y/N?” He looked worried. “Well Tokito..Y/N likes you, and they have for a while.” His eyes went wide. “What?” He couldn’t believe it at all.

He knew where you were, without thinking he and the girl he was with went there. Once they arrived, he saw you sitting in the field of daisies crying. “Y/N?” You heard him call. You turned around and saw her. “Master Tokito, what is she doing here.” There was a hint of anger in your voice. Why would he bring her to your spot? “It would have been rude if I didn’t Y/N.” He tried to justify himself. “No, it’s rude you did bring her. This place is my secret, you know that.” You turned away from him. Both of them walked up to you he sat down next to you as the girl sat on the other side. “I’m sorry Y/N.” He said looking at you. You didn’t say anything. That’s when she spoke up. “Did you not hear him? He said he’s sorry. I’m sorry he likes me and not you, im just better.” Something inside you snapped. You slapped her and walked off, Tokito trying to stop you.

You arrived at his estate and packed your belongings. You were going back to your estate. You didn’t regret anything you did. In your eyes she deserved it. ————————————————————————

It had been a few days since you spoke to Tokito. You had been sent on a mission. As you arrived, you were instantly surrounded by demons. You tried to fight back but there was too many and just one of you. You held them off as long as you could but they were all attacking you. You couldn’t take it anymore. That’s when the Wind Hashira showed up. He couldn’t even belittle you as he could tell you tried your best. Once he finished the rest of them, he picked you up and ran you back to the Butterfly Mansion.

Shinobu had told him your injuries were severe and you may not make it. Sanemi stayed with you, hoping you’d wake up. It had been a month and there was still no signs of you waking up. Until one day you hand twitched. Sanemi saw and ran to get Shinobu. You woke up not too long after and she did a check up on you.

You stayed there for a few weeks. Sanemi was always there for you. When you were able to leave, you went to your estate. Sanemi went with you to make sure you made it safely. At your estate, you saw Tokito. When he saw you his face lit up and he ran to you. “Y/N, you’re alive! I thought I lost you!” He hugged you. You tried pushing him away but you were too weak. Sanemi noticed this and pushed him away for you. “You aren’t needed here Tokito. Go home.” Tokito looked at you guys. “But shes mine.” He said with a glare. “I’m not yours. I never was.” You looked at him with tears in your eyes. He looked at you and started crying. After that he left.

Sanemi stayed with you for a few days. Although you were better and got sent home, you were coming down with a fever. He tried helping you but you continued to get worse. Shinobu would come to you to try to treat you, but nothing worked.

A few days later Sanemi was at your side holding your hand. You looked at him. “Sanemi, thank you for being there for me when I needed it. But I think it’s time.” You had tears in your eyes. “Y/N, you’re going to be fine, I’ll call Shinobu.” He tried to get up to call her. “No Sanemi. She wont make it in time. Please just stay here and hold me.” And so he did. He picked you up and held you. That’s when you took your last breath.

Sanemi always blamed Tokito for your death. If it wasn’t for him you would’ve been ready to fight those demons. Sanemi would always see you in his dreams, he missed you dearly. And so did you. ————————————————————————

a/n: I know I said I only write for Muichiro, but I couldn’t help but add a small Sanemi x reader 😖

[usuallydyinginside]

Dragon Age Veilgard Spoilers 👇

TLDR: I never want to hear anyone criticize Neve about “the choice” in Act 1 ever again.

I’m on my second play through for DAV, and one of the things I was most curious about was how the Act 1 choice changes the game. I’ve seen endless hate for Neve and the way she acts if you don’t save her city, and was curious if Lucanis is like weirdly graceful and forgiving about it by comparison.

lol, NOPE.

Here’s the thing, friends. Yes, Neve’s upset when you don’t go to her city, but Lucanis is so much worse about it AND HAS SO MUCH LESS JUSTIFICATION?!?

If you save Treviso:

You’re told upfront that the Venatori will take over if you don’t save Neve’s home. What you aren’t told is that their first order of business before you can even show up post-dragon is to immediately find and wipe out the Shadow Dragons. When you next visit the city, you’ll find a bit of damage from the dragon but there are literally corpses and gallows littering every street—many wearing Shadow Dragon uniforms. Every NPC that you meet at the Shadow Dragon headquarters is either dead or only shows up very occasionally for quests. The entire SD base is deserted, and they basically tell you that everyone but like four people have been killed. Keeping in mind, of course, that this is an org made up primarily of regular and poor people who are fighting against a corrupt regime to end slavery. That was their crime.

Oh, and to top it all off, Neve tells you that her own m little apartment was destroyed too. She has a whole conversation about how the Lighthouse is her only home and your team is most of her remaining family.

Even with all of this, even with how angry and grieving and hurt Neve is, she still forgives you. You can still fully romance her or raise her friendship high. You just have to work for it.

MEANWHILE…

If you save Minrathos:

To me, it sounded like it would be way worse. They put up a big show of how it’ll be mostly civilians who are harmed and how the water will be poisoned. Hence, the first time I did it, I went the other route and saved Treviso.

Except it’s comparatively not nearly as bad?!? The Crow headquarters is, by my count so far, missing only 3 people (Fletcher, Heir, and guy I am suddenly blanking on name who gives a couple quests). All the important Crows are not only still alive—they’re still exactly where you expect. They talk about how empty it is, but it’s really not very and outside in the courtyard it’s downright crowded with crows. Illario is alive and well (haven’t gotten to other surprise family member but I will be shocked if they aren’t also just fine). Teia and Viago are fine. Even Jacobus is so far just fine.

Lucanis still has a giant ass mansion, a fortune, his family, and the majority of the Crows. The Blight is presumably fixable by the end of the game (unlike the Venatori taking over), and the city shows a lot of signs it’ll recover just fine. The only corpses are from the dragon attack which would have really been there anyway despite what the game shows cause either way a big ass dragon attacked.

However, Lucanis becomes immediately dropped as a romance option if you don’t save his city. He reacts objectively more severely after losing far less.

To be clear, I don’t even mind him reacting that wqy! It makes sense if either of them do. What I mind is how many fans are channeling their internalized sexism into dissing my girl Neve.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.