#alone and palely loitering

[punkahudsonia]

Just to piggyback on this important post: don't believe certain YouTube 'experts' who say your knight will try to breed with high-born Ladies if you have them in the same enclosure. If your knight is exhibiting that kind of behavior you've been misled and what you actually have is a rough knave or possibly a varlet. And don't get me wrong, those are both great varieties with their own super interesting behaviors and narrative patterns! But their husbandry needs are completely different and you'll need to either adjust your expectations or re-home the scoundrel.

If you have other knights re-homing is the only humane option as the two classes WILL fight one another to injury most grievous, yea, even unto death. But well-born knights not only can share enclosures with ladies of most high and noble blood, it is in fact necessary if you want to meet their chivalric needs.

If you really have to do so you can use a quality image or relic of the Blessed Virgin to fulfill the same role but you will be missing out on some truly spectacular displays of subverted longing and chaste devotion, so it's really in your and your knight's best interests to provide both.

hey does anyone know the best size enclosure for my new medieval knight? i want him to have enough space to wander around and go on quests

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

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+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

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Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[vexcorvus]

𝘵𝘢𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱

[crispy-armpit]

✧ 𝒊 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕 ✧

yandere secret agent x reader

‧₊˚ ⋅ ‧ 🍸₊˚ ⋆｡ 𖦹 °

⭒ 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: after taking on your friend's offer to head downtown to a hidden bar, you find yourself in the middle of a covert operation. thankfully Messiah is there to hide you from danger. or did he just push you right into it?

⭒ 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵: gn reader, yandere, suggestive position & situation, slight violence, reader held at gunpoint, mentions of a firearm and getting shot, reader pressed against male crotch, sadism(?), auditory hallucination (you hear voices), hair pulling, swearing

⭒ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 1,153 words

⭒ a/n: it was my birthday last month and i had planned to post this by then but ofc i never learn my lesson and kept my drafts in tumblr (leading to it getting deleted) 😭!! so sorry for the wait everyone and happy late new years! :D hope u like the batman wannabe.. it goes from 0 to 100 rq because it's hilarious to me and i'm sleep deprived.. i can smell the hate comments already

will you venture down this path?

it was supposed to be another weekend night spent alone in your home; you, comfortably snuggling against your pillows while playing your favourite brain-rot game from night to morning.

but here you were— unfortunately not in your bed, and devastatingly not romancing your fictional game characters. your friend, Vern, had dragged convinced you to join him and try out some random jazz bar which recently opened.

he mentioned his band would be playing there... he's probably just trying to get more people to hype up his band.

the warm ambience of the bistro & bar, alongside the joyous laughter ringing all over the room, people bantering and simply enjoying each other's presence was enough to erase the thoughts of your usual weekend plans. it was the type of place where you couldn't bring up any negative emotions just because of how chill everyone and everything was. so that's one forgiveness point to your friend.

at some point, Vern had split off from you to meet up with the other Ares band members to go perform— leaving you to drink away your life at the bar.

you channeled your best resting bitch face to avoid any strangers trying to hit on you, which worked. you sat alone listening to the blue voice of the current performer, making small talk here and there with the bartender.

oh, the bartender—

you'd been eyeing him up all night.

he was the only other person at the bar. like all other bartenders, he was charismatic and attractive despite the two deep scars running down his left cheek.

maybe he noticed you looking at it, because he suddenly rasped out, "...animal attack" with a nonchalant smile. which is quite impressive, since your gaze never once lingered on the scars for too long. he must be observing me.

Logan (you read his name tag) was an exceptional conversationist. and he played the bartender role extremely well. he brought up topics like your ambitions, your dreams, and even your darkest passions effortlessly.

but his eyes never seemed to really focus on your figure when you talked.

it was always off to a specific direction in the distance. and when you turned to look at what he was looking at, there would only be the same wrinkly old man sitting on the sofa chair.

"can you see it?"

confused, you reply, "see what?"

do you see it? the eyes? his lack of mouth? with hair as white as his, and skin as dark as void, how can you not see me?

"what the hell are you sayi—" you grow pale when you turn back and see Logan had his back turned away from you the whole time, far from the counter.

who was talking to me?

and for the first time in 3 hours since you've arrived, the old man from the chair moves. he wanders aimlessly for a moment until setting his sights on the bar. multiple random people who were loitering in the room take notice of his sudden movement, and all briskly walk towards him.

you're petrified.

the world is spinning, people are blocking the old man's path from you. and you're so thankful for that because it gives you the time to be pulled on top of the bar counter and then underneath it by a pair of strong hands.

your consciousness recovers and you're met with Logan, body crouched down to your level. his shadowed face shows no semblance of the bright man you were talking to a while ago. now his own icy blue eyes pierced through yours, and the once attractive rasp of his voice is now chilling to the bone.

"Logan—"

"you better fucking shut up unless you want to die."

he pulls out a revolver and points it to your forehead.

profusely nodding your head in understanding, tears begin to prick your eyes; this is so fucking messed up, what is happening??

your brain tells you that this was just the alcohol getting to you, and maybe Logan has some kind of split personality and a murderer... that it's some kind of sick prank Vern is probably pulling on you. maybe my drink got spiked...

but your gut tells you that you are in great danger. alcohol has never made you experience that level of auditory hallucination... hell, you were probably being delusional right now— of course Logan's trying to kill you!!

you could hear the faint sounds of bodies thudding against other people as if they were thrown or pushed. but no screams, just grunts. the loudness of the approaching footsteps came to a halt in front of the counter.

you cover your cries as best as you can with your palms and with Logan's hidden weapon still pointed at you. you could so easily whack it away or dodge it. but you stop once you hear the most grotesque voice ever, the result of what sounded like flesh tearing apart and bones reconstructing.

"where... are... they.....?"

you are faced with two decisions:

scream for help and get shot in the head by Logan

scream for help and face whatever the fuck is out there

either way, you don't get to choose. because the stress of the situation is beginning to overwhelm you and soon your whimpers slip out a little. small enough to not be heard from in front of the counter, but big enough for whoever is on top of you— and that someone happened to be the psychopathic bartender.

you freeze.

but your strength alone is not enough to hold back against the veiny hands that grab the back of your hair and push you against the bulge of the man standing in front of you.

you push and thrash over his grasp, but your actions only lead to him digging the lower parts of your face further into his crotch. WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING??? IS HE TRYING TO SILENCE ME WITH HIS DICK?!

and it works...

you stay silent and limp, not because of fear. but because of the absurdity of this situation and the slow growth of whatever beast is hiding under those black waiter pants.

the heat of your muffled breath against his privates collects in your face, it's getting too much but you hold yourself together. your hands that were once pushing him off now lay on the top of his hardened thighs.

Logan shares a couple words with the old man before pointing him elsewhere. you catch a strange name falling off the old man's lips, Messiah. fuck, is this a cult? shortly afterwards, you hear the light sounds of evacuating feet. he's finally gone.

and with the speed of a middle-aged lady during black friday sales, you manage to push him off to the side and stand up across him, ready to give him a piece of your mind.

you were humiliated, violated, mentally tired and— and—

why the fuck is he blushing.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: Xavier had been acting cagey for weeks, a fact you hadn't had the heart to address since Maddie's disappearance. but with his dubious return to school and how he loitered in the periphery of Nicole and Simon's orbit, you thought it was about time to get answers. too bad one pale, cow-eyed jock had other plans.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.5

You felt foolish, dressed like a Parisian cat burglar, but you hadn't exactly spent your night strategizing how to avoid Wally Clark come morning. Instead, you'd pored over several small, ratty books that outlined possible explanations for human-ghost attraction.

Not the kind of attraction that makes your heart beat love songs, but the kind that draws elements together. The scientific kind that had nothing to do with what the shape of Wally's mouth might feel like against various pulse points.

Thankfully, the universe seemed to be on your side. You'd managed to slip from one class to the next unnoticed, only seeing the shy boy with the glasses and the spacey girl who roosted atop the library return bins. No towering athlete with big hands and bedroom eyes.

Jesus, girl, get a grip, you chided yourself in a voice that eerily resembled Mathilda's.

Mathilda, who you'd managed to waylay that morning by dragging her into the girls' bathroom and holding her hostage until Xavier had texted you the OK. Mathilda who'd spent the time before and after History barking insults at people who'd thought it'd been a good idea to share their opinions of Xavier aloud.

What she lacked in height, she sure as hell made up for in loyalty and intimidation. Qualities you admired and wished you could emulate. If Mathilda had chaotic, ancestral ghost powers, she wouldn't let herself be pushed around by the idea of a ghost getting the better of her.

No. She'd probably browbeat the ghost into submission and get on with her day. No swarms or storms or ectoplasmic squalls; no mother eventually stepping in to fix her daughter's mistake, cursing I told you over and over again because, yeah, she had. Sadly, Mathilda didn't share your abilities and couldn't chase Wally away on your behalf.

Frustrated, you shoved the hood of your uncle's sweater over your head and yanked the drawstrings, encasing yourself in a void of soft fabric.

It sucked. You didn't want Wally chased away. You just wanted him never to figure out that you could see, hear, or wholly and completely interact with him...Which would result in him eventually giving up or losing interest and never seeking you out again, as he'd done in your sophomore year. And you wanted that even less.

When had 'don't tell anyone' become so complicated?

Naturally, you didn't want to get your mother involved. Were wholeheartedly determined to weather the storm alone. Had been doing a decent enough job of it until yesterday, despite some minor missteps here and there. But if Wally remained steadfast in his promise ("I'm not going anywhere until you admit it"), she'd find out—she always found out—and you'd never see him again. Poof. Gone. Disintegrated into the ether; his beautiful, summer-sun soul vanished from the earth as if he'd never existed.

You couldn't let that happen.

"How's the undercover operation?" Xavier's voice penetrated the dead air from somewhere above you.

You groaned in response, loosened your hood and pushed it off to stare up at him, likely making a pitiful picture with staticky hair and a pout.

He prompted you with a twitch of an eyebrow, you rolled your eyes; he grinned, you untucked your knees from your chest and opened yourself up to invite Xavier to sit with you on the library floor.

"Who are you hiding from, again?" He asked, making himself comfortable across from you between the shelves of autobiographies—the section furthest from the door.

You teased him with a delicate smile, "No questions, remember?"

"Normally, I'd respect the hell out of that, but I feel like I should be concerned." He regarded you carefully, eyes flitting between yours as if he could summon your secrets through them. "I don't have to kick the shit out of anyone, do I?"

"I love you, Zav, and, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the thought," You really did, "but, trust me, it's not that deep."

"Okay...and how many lunches do you plan to have in the back of the library?"

"As many as I need to." You replied vaguely. He bit his lip to stop a smile and nodded. "I'm good, Xavier, I swear. I just need some space right now." You weren't going to fabricate a lie for him. Anyone else, yeah, water off a duck's back, but Xavier? It toed a line you weren't comfortable crossing.

While not entirely placated by your statement, Xavier respected it, getting back to his feet and shouldering his backpack. As he was about to round the bookshelf and leave you to your business, he paused.

"You'd tell me, right?" He peered at you over his shoulder, "If things were bad...you'd tell me?"

Without hesitation, "Yes," you assured.

His expression relaxed, "Thanks."

Xavier didn't leave the library altogether, simply walked away to give you the space you'd said you needed.

For awhile, you occupied yourself with homework—notebook in your lap and Frankenstein open beside you—taking advantage of your free period to catch up on what you'd put aside last night. It would've been a good use of your time, except...your uncooperative brain kept ambling back to Wally. To his puppysoft brown eyes; his cocky, boyish grin. Then to how he'd glided his fingers up your spine and had made your blood surge.

Shit. God. No. Stop that!

Growling inwardly, you shifted to your knees, notebook sliding to the floor, and grabbed your backpack. Dragged it toward you so you could pack up and find another place to sequester yourself. A change of scenery might help prevent your brain from tap dancing into very bad no good territory.

The pen you'd been using had rolled away when you'd repositioned yourself, now sat at the end of the aisle. Standing, you went to retrieve it when you heard someone who sounded a lot like Nicole mutter an apology. Peeking around the bookshelf, you caught sight of her as she hurried out of the library, phone in hand.

What's that about?

Before you could apprehend it, you saw movement in the corner of your eye. Xavier reshelved the book he'd been flipping through and made a hasty exit, clearly intending to follow Nicole.

Well. Now you had to know. You swooped over to your backpack, double-checked that you hadn't forgetten anything, and strolled as fast as you dared after them.

Completely unaware that, beyond the school walls, the specter you'd cosplayed Sid Vicious to avoid was gleefully running amok.

💀___________________________

PART FOUR - PART SIX

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[kittyt-hexxed]

Bad Together

Sevika x Gang Leader!POC!Reader

*This is a scheduled post so it will not be linked on the main page immediately.*

Warning: Gang Leader! POC!Reader, Rivals to Lovers, Crazy Offer, You’re also a scary lady, Dom!Reader, Dom!Sevika, You’re equals, Sexual Tension, An idea inspired by Valentine’s Day, Taunting, Flirting hidden as threats, Throat Grabbing, reader dresses slutty, Cursing, horny from fist fighting your rival, Sevika womanhandles you, you get folded, Making Out, Sevika bites your tongue

Summary: You and Sevika have been rivals since you were in high school. That only worsened when you both became gang leaders and tensions rose when Sevika became Silco’s right hand. You were scary, but Sevika was scarier… you had an offer for her - what if you combined forces?

You knew this idea could blow up in your face in more ways than one. But, you wouldn’t have ended up in your position if you didn’t go for things that came with a substantial risk. If you were honest with yourself, this would be the riskiest out of all of them. One wrong move could find you losing your gang, your cred, your reputation, and your identity. In these fissures that was worse than death. You’d become a laughing stock or worse. That thought put a sour taste in your mouth that you wanted to spit out.

The Silver Dagger’s territory wasn’t hard to find. It covered the best parts of the Undercity which included the expensive side of the Red Light District. Your business involved the boss herself, so you were headed into the snake’s den. Contrary to belief, the Silver Dagger’s did not operate out of The Last Drop. That’s where Silco kept them for easy access, but they spent most of their time in an old townhouse they had completely renovated. You’d been there before - once, a long time ago. It was a day you didn’t know whether or not to look back on fondly or with disgust.

As you approach the townhouse, two guys playing blackjack at the gate stand up when they see you. One of them pulls out a gun while the other steps forward with a hand outstretched. The other people loitering around the area don’t even pretend they’re not paying attention. They blatantly stare at you, watching as you reach for your weapon and pull it from its holster.

“A bat?” The one with a gun snickers. You look at him and twist both parts of the handle away from each other. There is a click and nine-inch spikes pop out along the body.

“Do you want a demonstration?” You raise an eyebrow. The guy pales.

“Hand it over. You can’t go in with it or any other weapons you have on your body.” The other guy says, giving you a look-over as you retract the spikes.

“That’s all. I’m not stupid enough to walk into Sevika’s territory with more than necessary. I don’t have a death wish.” You scoff. “Can I go in now?”

“What about there?” He motions to your crotch. You glance down and realize your leather shorts make the bulge of your strap more prominent.

“I’m packing, but not a weapon.” You flash a smirk.

“You’d be surprised how many people still try to sneak in weapons there, too.” He exhales, crossing his arms. “Just have to be through. Head on in.” The door swings open and a third, larger guy stares down at you with an annoyed scowl. You raise an eyebrow at him, too. You knew a lot of the people who fell in with Sevika tended to be quite interesting. She was very picky with whom she accepted into her gang. They had to be smart, resourceful, and loyal. Not much unlike your criteria except you liked to accept the ones with a bit more personality.

You were guided through the hallway until you reached what used to be the living room. You recognized the people lounging on the couches as Sevika’s inner circle. It was rare for her to be somewhere without them. They stuck to her like glue unless she was out on an errand for Silco. You wondered if she ever cared that they did that. You didn’t when it came to your circle. If you needed to tell them to leave you alone, they were more than likely to oblige.

“When I was told the Puppeteer wanted a word with me, I thought you’d be on death’s door… but you don’t look half-dead to me, Y/n.” Sevika’s voice sends a thrill up your spine. You look up to see her leaning against the second-floor railing. It’s been some time since you’ve seen her instead of hearing the gossip about her. The smirk that crosses your face at the sight of your target is positively feral.

“I’m sure seeing me bloody and bruised would give you a hard-on, Sevika.” You respond, taking a step forward, “But I didn’t come here for you to get off.”

“Pity. I was looking forward to something to celebrate.” She says, then motions to the stairs, “Come up. Third door to your right.” She turns and moves out of your sight, likely into the room she just told you about. Grinning to yourself, you head up the stairs with a newfound pep to your step. Oh, she was a sight to behold. ‘How long has it been? Ten years? At least sometime before Silco took over.’ She’d cut her hair and put on more muscle than you remember. She was taller, too.

You swing the door open to see a decently sized office. It was decorated in the way you expected it to be - covered in trophies. There were items or weapons from other gangs hanging from the walls or displayed on shelves. What shows the gap between you and her are the items from Piltover. The sheer number of them showed Sevika’s strength as a leader and her cunning to have them in the first place. You couldn’t help but feel slightly awed by the sight. You have a few of your own but she had to have dozens. This is what it meant to be number one in the Undercity.

“So, what does the famous Puppeteer want with me?” Sevika asks, leaning back in her chair. You could tell it was custom-made, glossy with the telltale sign of being cared for with a linseed oil tincture. ‘I wonder how cocky she’d be if she was the one being fucked in that chair.’

“Me? Famous? You must be thinking of yourself.” You scoff, sitting down and resting your ankle on your knee. You make a show of checking her out, slowly dragging your eyes over her body. “From all the talk I’ve heard about you, I’d expected to find that you’d turned into an Oni. Color me disappointed to see that you’re normal.”

“An Oni?” Sevika snorts, “That’s a new one. Are you sure you didn’t make that one up?”

“A normal person can’t tank a fucking explosion and only get out missing an arm.” You point to the cloak hiding her metal arm. “And, I didn’t make it up. You’re not that lucky to have been on my mind all these years.”

“I could say the same.” She responds and the two of you intensely stare at each other trying to spot a glimpse of a lie. ‘Always so annoyingly attractive. Her makeup is always done so nicely. It used to piss me off that when it was smudged after a fight she still looked hot.’

“Anyway,” You direct the topic to where you want it, “I’m here to make you an offer that you won’t be able to refuse.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “And what delusional thought have you brought to me?”

“Get in a relationship with me,” You start, taking note that Sevika’s eyes widen, “and we can run the Undercity together.”

“You walk into my territory after years of not seeing each other to say… that?” She spits out the word as if it refused to leave her tongue. “You’re being serious? This isn’t some stupid joke because it’s Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m serious.” You nod, smirking. She’s clearly startled by what you said and it makes you gleeful to be able to knock her emotionless mask. “Let’s be honest, we can’t stand each other. You and I go together like gasoline and fire to a fucking explosion,” Her jaw clenches, eyes narrowing as you continue to talk. You knew that expression too well. One she’d give you over and over again while you were in school and competing for top dog. The one that made your rivalry all the sweeter. “but I know you better than anyone else. You’re a fucking powerhouse on your own. Imagine what we can do together.”

“You’ve been so horny for me that your fantasies have convinced you I want you in real life.” Sevika says bluntly, “You should take my spot at Babette’s for the day. Consider it a gesture of goodwill.”

“Why would I go to a brothel when I want to touch you, Sevika?” You purr, reaching out to caress her shoulder. She grabs your wrist, constricting her grip tight enough for the bones in your wrist to creak.

“What makes you think you can touch me, Y/n?” Her voice comes out low in a warning. You grin at her, your heart pounding harder with adrenaline as she glares at you with wild eyes. She didn’t scare you. She never did. Watching Sevika slip into her authoritative mode brought you nothing but a thrill. That’s what she was for you—a thrill.

“I’m the only one who has touched you.” You retort. A moment passes and she lets you go. You glance down at your wrist. There was nothing there but you knew there would be a bruise eventually.

“You’re wasting my time with this shit.” She deflects, taking a cigarillo out of a wooden box. “That’s nothing new with you though. You’ve always liked to waste my precious time.” You roll your eyes and stand up. She follows you with her eyes, tucking the cigarillo between her lips as you walk around her desk. You grip the back of her chair and push it away from the desk, taking up the space between the two. You lean against the desk, crossing your arms as you give her a disapproving stare. She looks up at you, trying to show that she’s disinterested in what you’re saying but the stormy look in her eyes says differently.

“While you continue running errands for Mr.Pink Eye over there, you will be left in my dust, Sevika. And I know how much you hate that. I’ll be number one in the Undercity and you’ll be racing to catch up to me.” You taunt her.

“If that’s what you want to believe.” She chuckles, flicking the lighter in her hand open. A soft green flame flares to life. She lights her cigarillo and you watch as she inhales, exhaling the smoke through her nose.

“Believe? I already see it.” You take the cigarillo from her lips, extinguishing it between your fingers, “You’ll fail without me. But, go ahead and continue being Silco’s bitch, all you have left to do is bark.”

Sevika’s metal fist connects with your stomach and you hunch over gasping for breath. She grabs your hair and throws you into the wall, your shoulder taking the brunt of the hit. You’re quick to shake off the stun and dodge out of the way from her next attack, bringing your leg up to kick her in the side and launch her away from you. She stumbles and you lunge at her, landing a punch across her jaw. A gleeful laugh leaves your lips as you and Sevika brawl around the office. She had a permanent smirk on her face and she laughed as you narrowly dodged her sword slash. The weapons around the office were used and Sevika had to roll out of the way when you got your hand on a mace. She got a good hit to your leg that knocked you off balance and you staggered but caught yourself in time. You wipe the blood off your arm, wearily eying that metal arm of hers. You’d heard people talking about it, but to fight her with it was a whole different process. You were bruised and bleeding but you were having a lot of fun. Sevika was standing in front of the door breathing heavily and wiping blood from a cut on her face. It was a delicious sight to see.

“Is that all you’ve got? I’m still standing.” You taunt her, gesturing to your body. Sevika looks at you silently, standing up straight as she catches her breath. “Well?” You continue. Her hand is closing around your throat before you can blink. A grunt is forced from you as you’re slammed onto the desk. Your hips are pressed into the wood, pinned in place by Sevika’s as she leans over you. A shiver goes through you as you realize she’s furious with you. Eyes of molten metal glaring down at you as if she wants you to burst into flames.

“It’s funny how you call me a bitch, but you’ve been barking at me since you’ve walked in here. If anyone is a bitch, it’s you.” Sevika says lowly, her face inches away from yours. “My bitch.” You can feel her strap pressing up against yours, forcing the base of it to your body and sending a tingling feeling through your clit.

“Prove it.” You smirk, purposefully pushing back with your hips.

“You’re so fucking frustrating.” She exhales sharply. You reach up and wrap your hand around her throat, pulling her face closer to hers.

“I said prove it, Sev.” You goad her with the nickname you gave her. She hated any form of nickname for her name. It was Sevika or nothing. So naturally you didn’t listen to that.

“If you insist, Y/n/n.” She responds with the nickname she had given you. Your eyebrow twitches. You make a noise in the back of your throat as she lifts you off of the desk by your throat. You let go of her neck to grab at her wrist. You don’t have to look to know that your feet are nowhere near the ground. Her lips curve up into a wicked smirk before the world around you blurs. You cry out in pain as your back is slammed against what you assume to be the desk once more. Her hand vanishes from your throat and the next thing you know she’s kissing you.

Sevika’s arms hold your legs to her body and you can feel her strap press against you due to the position you’re in. You feel yourself blush as she leans down, her hair brushing against your cheeks before her lips touch yours. Like your fight moments before, your kiss is anything but gentle. You’re rough, trying to be the one in charge and take the lead. Sevika’s tongue is in your mouth and you’re enjoying it until you want to put yours in hers. It takes a bit but you’re successful and get a low moan from her. You can’t help but feel smug about it, and almost as if she knows that Sevika bites your tongue. You yelp and jerk away from her, breaking the kiss and glaring at her.

“Seriously? You bit me?”

“Don’t be so smug about it.” Sevika shrugs. “You’re not in the position to be.”

“Would you like a redo of what happened the last time I was here? Then I will be.”

“If you call me your girlfriend in front of anyone, I’ll run you through with my sword.” She ignores what you said in favor of addressing the offer you made her.

“We’re partners. Nothing more. Nothing less.” You tuck your arms under your head, “I told you you wouldn’t be able to refuse my offer.” You smirk up at her.

“Shut the fuck up before I shove my dick in your mouth.” She says seriously.

[x-blue-spring-x]

I SAW U HAVE REQS ON BESTIE AND I HAVE THIS IDEA FLOATING IN MY HEAD

ITS SOFT

SO FUCKING SWEET OMGGGGG

AND THE SONG STRAWBERRY MENTOS

P P P PLEASE GIVE IT A LISTEN

IT CAN BE ANYONE U THINK FITS😗😗 I JUST NEED LIKE A QUICK RAMBLE IM

im dying

I love this so much pookie!

I’ve finally written a lil angsty thing for the king of angst Satoru who is the love of my JJK life. I hope you like it 💘

“Do you want a candy?”

Suguru blinks at you, violet eyes faintly surprised.

“I’m sorry?”

You hold out a little packet of pale pink sweets, squeezed tightly into a foil wrapper. Glossy and saccharine, they glint up at him from your palm.

Suguru had been desperately swilling a crumpled and warm bottle of water into his mouth, following a particularly nasty exorcism. The truly abysmal taste of the curse is so potent, it’s nearly made him dry heave twice on the walk back to the subway station. Usually he can tolerate it without complaint, he’s probably one of the only people to know what swallowing a curse is like, but today was difficult.

Nagging thoughts loiter at the back of his mind, ones without the usual honour or ambition others have come to expect from him. Plaintively he wonders what life would be like without having to consume the worst of humanity every day, whether he’d still feel fulfilled by reading his favourite novels or skipping stones on a sunny autumn afternoon spent on the banks of a river. Suguru doubts it.

He’s alone in this quest and for now it’s a noble one. But you’ve noticed something is wrong, seen the way his throat bobbed uncomfortably with each passing step, while his stomach churned. It’s rare to for Suguru to allow a chink in his armour, even less common for another person to be around to spot it. It warms the ice cold negativity in his chest, heals some deep wound festering from the inside out.

Suguru accepts the little candy, his long lashes curling over his gaze as he smiles in thanks. Strawberry flavour, soft and delicate just like you are. You don’t make a fuss of it, carrying on to the subway like nothing’s happened. In reality you’ve brightened his entire day with just one small gesture. But the artificial sweetness is enough to disguise the foulness of the spirt he absorbed.

Suguru sees you in a new light that day, one painted with perfect pink bathed clarity. On the way back to his apartment he buys three packets of strawberry mentos, making a mental note to distract Gojo with one of them before engaging your attention again.

While the candy rests on his tongue, the world is back to shinning simplicity, good versus bad righted as they should be.

Also, the scent reminds him of you, bringing a dazed look to his features from time to time.

That, will be more difficult to hide from Gojo.

[star2fishmeg]

Hello! I’m the Romeo fujio anon from earlier and I just saw the post you made about accepting other high & low characters. If that’s still true then how do you feel about a shoji sameoka request? It would be a reader who’s new to town and doesn’t really know any of the gangs so shoji takes it upon himself to keep an eye on her and gradually becomes so soft and simp like for her. Readers kinda dense so shoji has to become much more obvious with his flirting. Feel free to ignore if it’s too specific

ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇɴɪᴇɴᴄ�� sᴛᴏʀᴇ sᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀ

Pairing: Sameoka Shoji x afab!reader

Summary: out of all the people Shoji had met in his life, y/n was, in fact, the biggest threat to him. Specifically the biggest threat to his heart

Warnings: fluff, Shoji being painfully smitten, ooc shoji, swearing

Authors note: Hi anon, while I appreciate the request, I’ve seen that this one was quite similar to a request a mutual of mine received. If it was coincidental, that’s completely fine, no biggie. I should’ve stated before that I usually don’t do requests that have been requested to someone else as they make me feel inadequate and I worry about the other writer’s feelings too, but since this is my error and slightly different to the other request, I still went through with it. I hope you enjoy😊

Authors note II: ooc = out of character, this is my first time writing him

Request: above!

Fucking Ebara hooligans

All she wanted was to grab a few snacks and flavourings for her mum, but of course the local Ebara delinquents loitered outside the doors, firing a million unnecessary questions about who she was, where she came from, what school she went to, all that babble. And while she got through their herd, trying to find the right seasoning under the flickering light, two Ebara students’ hawk-like glares stabbed the back of her head like daggers. She kept her breathing steady, slow breaths, lax posture, eyes straight in front of her on the labels.

“Oi, d’you know where the fuck you think you are?” one hissed, hands stuffed into his pockets and approaching with a sick smirk. She watched him get closer from the corner of her eyes, pulling the ingredient she needed off the shelf and into her basket. Turning away from him, she was instantly met with the other boy’s figure scowling down at her.

“He asked you a question.”

Her head craned to the boy behind her, “The convenient store, where the fuck d’you think you are?” Neither of them responded to her, the three just stared each other in the eyes, as if waiting for someone to make the first strike. All that tension and all she wanted was food. Any anxiety that once rattled through her had morphed into bubbling anger, heart practically pounding in her ears. Her foot stepped to the side slightly, if to gesture that she was to leave, but the man glaring her down’s hand gripped her arm and she knew fleeing wasn’t going to come easy.

“Just let her go, not worth the hassle.” She turned her head towards the voice; another tall Ebara student with a thick chain and padlock around his neck, and two braids pulling his hair out his face. The two stepped away, letting her arm go and she scoffed, walking towards the braided man, eyes fixed on his as she turned the corner, mumbling a ‘thanks’ on her way to the checkout.

“The fuck was that for, Sameoka?” the guy growled.

Sameoka cocked an eyebrow, “She’s not a threat and besides,” his eyes glanced back to her paying, “I don’t think she’s been here long.”

--

Turning the corner of the street, she waved her goodbyes to the friends she made a week ago. With transferring schools so late in the year, she thought she’d spend most of it alone but apparently, she was more approachable than she thought. The skies were still pale, evening still another couple hours to fall. Yet, the strong presence that taunted her mind still lingered even as she walked further towards her house, the clicking of shoes becoming irritating, especially as they matched her rhythm.

She stopped. They stopped. “If you’re going to stalk me, at least be less obvious about it.” She put her weight onto her hip and turned around, face almost unimpressed to find Braids from the previous week standing with his hands in his pockets, looking directly back at her, also unimpressed.

“Wasn’t stalking you, I have my own stalker thanks.” He scoffed smirking, almost humorously.

“Oh really? A delinquent with a fangirl stalker? Funny.” She mused.

He casually walked closer, looming over her figure, “I’m serious, but she also follows the Kamasaka bastards too so m’not really worried about it.”

“Why are you following me anyway? If you’re gonna jump me like your boys were just do it.” She shrugged, standing up straight as if surrendering.

Sameoka ruffled her hair, “Actually just making sure you don’t get jumped. You’re new here and naïve to what goes on.” Y/n struggled his large hand off her head, fumbling with her hair to make it presentable again. Sameoka started strolling again, loosely taking her wrist as if to say, ‘walk with me’ and ultimately followed her lead.

“Okay, so then tell me why you feel the need to follow me?”

“In short, gang culture is high and the convenient store you were at the other day? Ebara’s hang out spot. We usually don’t like outsiders there but since you looked so stupid, there was no point in threatening you. You’ll know they’re from Ebara by their plaid trousers.” He pointed to his trousers, y/n nodding.

“Well, what if I am a threat, huh?” She jabbed his arm teasingly. On a normal day, Shoji would’ve punched back twice as hard, but since she was, in fact, naïve and in his eyes, kind of cute, he let it slide, not hating it as much as he thought.

“You’re right,” he began and held the arm she jabbed as if he were in extreme pain, “Ow, my arm is in soooo much pain! You’re just too strong.” His voice reeked of sarcasm, but she laughed either way.

“I’m here, but please don’t break in, uh-“ she stopped outside her house, an average family home but with an extraordinarily clean front garden.

“-Shoji. Sameoka Shoji. See ya around, y/n.”

She smiled, waddling to her front door, halting when the realisation struck her that he knew her name when she never told him. She swung around to protest, but he had vanished. Nothing she could do now.

--

Thank god it was Friday, y/n practically burst out the classroom door upon the final bell, no hesitation, waiting for no-one. Months passed and she still aimed to be the first to leave the room every time, just to show how much she really did not want to be there anymore.

But what she didn’t need was the sun blinding her as she left the front doors of the school, almost making her walk into three different people before her eyes adjusted to see Shoji leaning against the wall just outside the campus grounds. Students alike whispered amongst each other about Ebara having business with their regular school, or wondering if they were looking for someone. And he was.

“Shoji? What’re you doing here?” y/n called, walking closer to him. He stood straight, lips quirking into a small smile at her.

“Came to pick a pretty girl up.”

“Woah, she’s lucky.” Shoji’s brain short-circuited briefly, and he blinked a couple times before shaking his head.

“Start walking, I have a fight later.” He ushered her, taking her bag and carrying himself.

“Wait but what about the pretty girl-“

“-she’s walking, dumbarse.”

Y/n talked the entire way home, about school mainly, but branching off on tangents that Shoji hadn’t asked for but didn’t complain about as she seemed happy to tell him about it. Even standing outside her house, she continued to talk to him, like she was stalling. When she did stop to take a breath, she grinned up at him, fumbling with something in her hand. His chest tightened, heart beating faster when her eyes lit up under the sun and how even with his unapproachable appearance, she still held no hesitation in running up to him.

Her smaller hand took his palm, twisting it to face the sky before placing the item. He closed his palm and inspected it closer. A handmade bracelet, woven by hand and adjustable, in blue, grey and white. He slipped it onto his wrist and pulled his arm further away to check it out,

“It’s a good luck bracelet for later, you know, your fight. I don’t want you to lose.” His brain genuinely could not fathom why someone with a normal life, a future would be so okay with him. Or yet, condone his barbaric lifestyle. His heart swelled, no one had ever made him something before, let alone a girl who was pretty, and accepting, and that he was growing to like, maybe more than he wanted to.

“I won’t lose as long as I have you.” He smiled, a genuine one. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he abruptly pulled her into his chest, being careful that his padlock necklace didn’t smack her head. A foreign warmth spread through his veins and the pressure of her body against his was a comfort he’d want forever. Her arms snaking around his waist set off a chain reaction, his arms tightening around her and his face burying into her hair as he’d never been held like that before.

--

He'd never been in that situation before. Hell, he’d never been in a girl’s bedroom before. Months of walking her home, keeping an eye on her whenever he caught her outside, back and forth bantering and texting seemed to fly before his eyes like a roll of film.

Y/n sat at her desk, grinding through her homework while he lay on her bed in a comfortable silence. Her space reflected her personality, filled with the things she loved and the new additions of photobooth pictures she made them take one weekend. He remembered being so embarrassed at the time, but the more he looked at the photos, the more he found them endearing and if it meant he could be with her, he was shameless about it. Who cared what his boys thought anyway, his life was his business.

“You can leave, if you’re bored.” She stated, eyes still focused on the notebook in front of her, voice flat with disappointment. It was that moment when he realised that she hadn’t smiled once since they met up, but every time he wanted to ask, a lump formed in his throat.

“M’not bored, you’re just cute when concentrating. Don’t wanna disturb ya.” He rolled onto his side, propped up on his elbow. She glanced in his direction, hoping he couldn’t see how pink her cheeks were as he lay there in his tank top and chain, a sight she thought only existed in her dreams.

“Oh, okay.” She nodded, continuing. He smirked at the way she pulled her lip between her teeth, struggling to get comfortable in her chair. Oh, something was on her mind, and she was just not ready to confess it to him. Shoji stood up, taking a deep breath and made his way behind her chair. His flingers slid around her head, pulling the hairs that hung down her face and tucked them behind her ears before leaning over her, hands placing onto her desk while his breath on her neck made the hairs on her neck stand on end. Y/n’s breath hitched, he was directly behind her, so unbelievably close her mind short circuited, throat dry and stomach protruding to her throat.

“What’s on your mind, pretty girl. You haven’t smiled all day, beginning to think I did something.” He mumbled, his voice deep and gravelly as it rattled through her bones. The grip on her pen loosened and she slowly turned her head to face his, lips inches away.

“You could never upset me, Shoji,” her eyes glistened, piercing into his as they flickered between his eyes and lips, “Just some guys today said some things and I cried so much I missed my class. Got told that if I don’t catch up, I’ll be on cleaning duty for two weeks. But it’s not a big deal, it’s fine.”

“I’d be damned if I didn’t see you smile at least once today,” he reassured, his arms wrapping around her shoulders, “Would make sure you’re happy and beat the fuck outta those guys. Would be with you all the time if you’d let me?”

They stared at each other for what felt like ages, gulping and the eye contact igniting adrenaline in veins that surged through them. Shoji’s head span at the lack of response, watching her mouth open just to close again.

“Why wouldn’t I let you?”

“Oh my god,” he chuckled, shaking his head, pulling away and crouching in front of her to meet her eye level, “I’m trying to tell you that I wanna be your boyfriend.” Y/n’s brows knitted, scanning his face, and fully turning to face him where his hands took hers. She felt stupid, was there something she was missing? Why would he say something like that when they’ve been close for so long, he was in her room for christ’s sake!

Y/n shook her head lightly, “Wait- I thought you already were?”

Shoji’s world froze, nothing but a dreaded ringing in his ears as his smile dropped entirely, giving her nothing but a blank expression. His head dropped into her lap, hands still holding hers as she tilted her head. He groaned in frustration – all that time he spent flirting, showing her, he was so desperately trying to communicate he was interested, and she just assumed he could read her mind the entire time. He exhaled, looking back up at her and lips morphing into the biggest grin he’d ever given anyone. In return, she grinned back, giving his head a pat.

“You look super hot without your jacket, by the way.”

H&L harem (if you wanna be tagged/removed in future H&L content, comment or lemme know via ‘chat to me bbygorl’ :D);

@straysugzhpe @airbendertendou @strxwberrychocolate @rouzuchan @yuken-gf @rinwhore @simpforchuchu @thatpointdexterpixy @rainisawriter @cheshirecatuniverse @certainbananacollectionblr

[Masterlist]

[Requests CLOSED]

2023 © STAR2FISHMEG All rights reserved - do not plagiarise, translate, repost, copy any of my works. If you notice that any of these have been done to my work, please let me know.

[saintsenara]

More ships! (I can't even find the original prompt you reblogged that's how many you must've gotten by now)

Albus Dumbledore/Nicolas Flamel

Snape/Filch

McGonagall/Sprout

Hermione/Grindelwald

thank you very much for the ask, anon! we are now almost a full calendar year into these ship asks - and i hope they continue for a very long time to come.

albus dumbledore/nicholas flamel

ok, so we've all thought about just how bonkers it is that dumbledore straight-up tells flamel to kill himself, right?

like, he's told flamel that he will keep the philosopher's stone under impregnable protection at hogwarts, and then he turns up at his house one day and says "yeah, so the obstacle course guarding the thing which has made you immortal was low-effort for an eleven-year-old... and - btw - the stone has been destroyed for a reason i have no intention of elaborating on"... i know he tells us that flamel is unafraid of death, but:

a. we only have his word for it.

b. the very fact that flamel takes the elixir actually suggests to me that he's probably got a slightly... voldemort-ish view of the whole dying lark...

which is to say, i actually really like the idea of a pretty dark dynamic between dumbledore and flamel - especially one which is, in essence, a reversal of the dynamic between dumbledore and grindelwald, in which dumbledore becomes the bored cynic with the desire to push the boundaries of magic and flamel becomes the innocent scholar who is delighted to have met someone on the same intellectual level...

which is why i was recently delighted to stumble across alone and palely loitering by @squibstress... an absolute banger!

argus filch/severus snape

i have been very taken with the way this pairing is written by delphi - especially because of the way they play with the shared grubbiness which contributes to snape and filch's respective outsider statuses within hogwarts.

but i do, generally, think it's probably flopping. snape's vibe with filch is very "even i look down on you", and i suspect that the idea of doing it with a squib is something which makes the death eater in him jump out, even when he's on the path towards reformation...

minerva mcgonagall/pomona sprout

yes.

not only because i really like the mismatch potential of mcgonagall's rather buttoned-up vibe having to come undone as she gets into the funky way in a greenhouse, but because i really like the hints we get in canon of them being comrades-in-arms [especially against the male teachers].

i think they're falling into bed the first time while they split a bottle of firewhisky and complain about umbridge. i think it's turning into something more as they help each other endure through the horrible year in which snape's headmaster.

hermione granger/gellert grindelwald

do you know what... we're going with... yes.

my unpopular view is that - in contrast to fandom slander which portrays ron as someone who can't wait to put the mudbloods in their place - hermione is the member of the trio who'd make the best death eater, on account of her tendency towards people-pleasing and her general deference to authority.

so if she finds herself yeeted back in time to the 1940s? sorry lads, she's not fixing tom riddle through the force of her intellect [he would - with my apologies to tomione nation - think her a narrow-minded bluestocking who wouldn't recognise magical creativity if it punched her in the face]...

she's becoming a fascist.

[beaft]

october 14th

today's spooky poem is "la belle dame sans merci" by keats. what can i say. it's a classic. it's got dream-ghosts, faery women (well, one), and an ambiguous ending - what more could anyone ask for? read more about it here.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,        Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has withered from the lake,        And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,        So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full,        And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,        With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose        Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,        Full beautiful—a faery’s child, Her hair was long, her foot was light,        And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,        And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love,        And made sweet moan

I set her on my pacing steed,        And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing        A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,        And honey wild, and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said—        ‘I love thee true’.

She took me to her Elfin grot,        And there she wept and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes        With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,        And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!— The latest dream I ever dreamt        On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,        Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci  Thee hath in thrall!’

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,        With horrid warning gapèd wide, And I awoke and found me here,        On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,        Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake,        And no birds sing.

—John Keats

[banjjakz]

notes: major character death; gojo satoru is not a good person (we know this); direct continuation of geto suguru's route; if you have not completed the good end may you rest in pieces.

➡ Sneak out of the fire escape.

The thought of trying to navigate your way even further through the deep, dark bowels of this strange place fills you with a fearful repulsion – and not the good kind. While you got off quite lucky with such a faithful encounter with Geto, you shouldn’t get cocky. After all, the security guard from earlier could still be lurking around…imagine if he caught you in such a state of obvious erotic disarray: hair mussed, knees scraped and bruised, face flushed, lipstick smudged…you can’t imagine that would go over well.

Steeling your nerves to do something truly unhinged, you begin to search for the fire escape.

At least you aren’t jumping out of the window, or something insane like that – albeit, sneaking out of the fire escape is a little out there, even for you.

But you no longer inhabit the normal and upright world. It is almost as though you are now floating through reality, your soul wandering through life in an ambiguously disparate state, hopping from absurd situation to absurd situation, motivated by little more than the capricious nature of your arbitrary whims.

It's not like you have much left to lose, after all. The most important thing to you – perhaps the only important thing to you – in your life is ShinShow. And you’ve just achieved the highest goal of any dedicated fan: ultimate recognition.

The eventful evening’s erotic high and the delusional adrenaline coursing through your veins gives you the courage not only to locate the fire escape, but also to slip through the dingy, rusting door and shimmy down the rickety, narrow steps. Even by Japanese standards, the contraption is quite small. Several times, you almost lose your footing and go tumbling down over the railing. Instead of instilling you with healthy fear, the near-accidents only serve to propel you forward with renewed vigor each time you brush closer and closer to impending mortal injury.

As soon as your chunky platforms hit the worn concrete, now back on solid, stable ground, you find it difficult not to deflate a little bit. What a night! What an experience! And you have Geto Suguru’s personal LINE ID to show for all of it…how are you supposed to return to your ordinary, mundane life after such an experience?

The thought depresses you. Work, school, family, friends…it all pales in comparison to the evening you and Geto shared together. Oh, if only every night could be that way!

But that would be selfish of you. Geto is a leader, after all; an inspiration to many, and an idol to all. To usurp him for your personal pleasure and only yours alone would be doing a disservice to his life’s work. You recognize that you must share Geto-sama, as much as it might pain you to do so.

“I don’t wanna share him,” you mumble to yourself, aimlessly launching the decrepit corpse of a crumpled beer can across the alley with a limp, half-hearted kick. “Geto-sama should be all mine…”

In the desolate boughs of this seedy in-between limbo sandwiched between towering buildings of various questionable services and wares, your pathetic utterances should be private, unheard by only your own self-pitying ears.

Operative word: should.

“Haha. That’s a funny joke!”

Your heart drops faster than you can turn around. By the time your body processes the shock at not being alone (seriously, when the hell did someone else get here? You’ve been loitering for several minutes, at this point!) the owner of the unfamiliar voice is already entirely too close for comfort. One moment, the snarky quip bounced off of the aged reinforcements of a residential building several paces away – but now, as you pivot on your heel to confront the stranger, your nose is but a hair’s breadth away from painfully colliding with a wide, solid chest clad in nondescript black cloth.

When you finally glimpse his face, the first thing that comes to your mind is that he’s definitely a douchebag. If the bleached platinum faded undercut weren’t bad enough, this asshole is wearing sunglasses at night. His over-six-foot stature is worn with a sort of self-reverential pride; he carries himself like he knows he’s probably the hottest guy in any room at any given point in time.

How annoying.

This is why, outside of ShinShow, you don’t really care to interact with the male species. They’re all cocky, self-assured, greedy, immature, uncaring, inconsiderate morons! Nothing like your hard-working and self-made idols…ugh.

Just being around this dude makes your skin crawl. Not in the sexy way.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, cutting him a sharp glare with wide, whaling eyes as if to actually convey the more sincere message you hold for him within your heart: get the fuck lost, creep.

But when you go to rush past him, his body moves – again with that mind-numbing, preternatural speed – and you run straight into his annoying firm and solid abs.

Oh God, is this it? Is this really how you are meant to depart from this world? You would’ve preferred to be sent to hell by Geto’s hand over anyone else’s…

Despondent and kind of over it, you direct a firm stare upwards at this asshole’s infuriatingly unbothered smirk. “What’s your problem?”

“You,” says the stranger, simply, distracting you with his blindly white smile so that it is far, far too late by the time you realize that both your wrists are now incapacitated by one of his large, strong hands. “Don’t struggle. It won’t make a difference. Or do! It would actually be kinda funny to watch.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You demand, instinctively jerking away and finding his grip to be even more iron-solid that it had initially seemed – if that was even possible. “Let me go!!”

When you go to kick him, you find that your perception of reality shatters apart like glass skittering across kitchen tile in a million, tiny, irreparably disparate fractured pieces.

Your foot cannot connect with his body.

The more force you put behind your futile defense against your assailant, the more frustrated and exhausted you become. How can this even be possible? It’s like there’s an invisible paper-thin shield dividing you and him – and yet, despite the thinness of the protective layer, the intimate proximity of your limb and his infuriatingly chiseled torso, there is an endless ocean of space that separates you. No matter how hard you try, you cannot touch him.

You cannot win.

How this is even possible, you haven’t the faintest idea. Some sort of illusion? An advanced kind of electromagnetic technology?

Horror dawns upon you like a red sun on the horizon: there’s no way you can escape this.

The stranger is a seasoned and well-trained predator, that much is for sure. He senses the fight leaking out of your body as a shark might follow the intoxicating scent of blood in the water. He pursues your misery with a keen appetite, one that threatens to devour you whole.

“You’re almost cute,” breaths the strange white-haired man, crowding you up against the brick wall with little more than the oppressive force of his presence. “I can see why he thought you’d be easy.”

A stab of familiarity pierces clear and true through your thundering innards. Surely, he couldn’t be talking about… “Do you know Geto-sama?”

The bastard has the audacity to laugh in your face. His breath is annoyingly minty fresh.

“Oh, wow. You actually call him that? I thought it was just an inside joke between him and the fans, or something. Hah! That’s really good. That’s just too good…” He, honest-to-God, wipes a tear from his eye, underneath his sunglasses.

Even the precarity of your dangerous situation is not enough to cow the bullish indignancy that flushes through you, hot and temperamental, at the suggestion of a perceived slight against your (new?) oshi.

“Hey,” you grunt, chin checking up towards the sky, “you shouldn’t talk that way about Geto-sama. He’s really hard working, and such a good leader…the best there ever was or could be.”

“The best,” mulls the stranger, one large hand descending to stroke his jaw. You can’t tell if the gesture is more a mockery than it is a genuine display of sincere pensive contemplation.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

And then he leans down, easy and natural as breathing, as blinking, lips coming to ghost along the crest of your quivering, hypersensitive ears:

“I already know that.”

With viper-like speed, his fist shoots up to close around your throat. “You don’t think I know that?” You’d sputter out a response if you could breathe. Or think.  “Sweetheart, I’ve been here before that statement could even be said to be true. You could say we’re high school sweethearts. My one and only, he is.”  

Oh, fuck.

Oh, God, oh, fuck.

Did you just mess with an OG fan?

Crap, this is bad. This is really, really bad. Never did you think you’d fall victim to the string of violent, sometimes deadly assaults that ravaged the streets of Kabukichou. But pissing off a dedicated wota by getting caught fucking around with their ultimate oshi is one of the fastest ways to find out!

S-sorry, you try to mouth as your weak, floundering hands doing nothing to persuade his grip into loosening, even just the tiniest bit. Didn’t know!!

“Don’t care~,” sing-songs the stranger, strangely cheerful given the circumstances. He’s not normal. It hits you quite belatedly. Even for a superfan, he isn’t normal. “No one told you to go around playing with other people’s toys~”

You don’t stand a chance. This is the end.

His next retort slips out as a simpering purr: “Good girl. You’ve accepted your fate.”

Can he read your mind, or something? This is seriously a scene out of some horror movie…

“For that, I’ll spare you. Quick and painless death it is! Simply deleted from existence. All your icky atoms and particles will end up somewhere in Timbuktu, probably. Hopefully. How does that sound? For a masochist like you, that’s almost a worse fate, I suppose.”

Huh?

“Huh?”

“Bye-bye~”

The last glimpse your poor, foolish mortal eyes catch of this cruel world are the slight peek of his startlingly blue over the rim of those opaque, black sunglasses. As you lose consciousness, in the split second before your existence is entirely wiped out from this chapter of reality, your vision blurs, doubling, then tripling, his bright, cerulean eyes appearing to you not as two, but six. They are everywhere, all-seeing, surrounding you, bearing down as the heavens might itself upon the woeful frame of a mortal slated for smiting. Soon enough, the six double, then triple, then multiply so fast that all you can see are rows and rows and rows of wide, unblinking, omniscient eyes. Staring. Judging. Tracking.

Why does it feel familiar, this sight?

[MAY YOU REST IN PEACE.]

ENDING ACHIEVED: GETO SUGURU BAD END 2

SECRET ROUTE UNLOCKED: RYOMEN SUKUNA.

> PROCEED TO ROUTE [coming soon!]

[stray-tickles]

Passing Through

Read on AO3

Eiffel tried to act nonchalant. He was back on the Hephaestus now, there was nothing to worry about. He was safe. “I’ll uh, see you guys in the morning, I guess.” He muttered, quickly leaving before he did something stupid.

Every inch of his body ached with fatigue, but the thought of sleeping was terrifying. He’d had dreams that he was back before, only to wake up alone on that tiny shuttle. This wasn’t a dream, he knew that, but still…

Minkowski stared at the closed door for a long time after it closed. Probably too long. She’d wanted to stop him. A weak, scared part of her had wanted to call out, to grab Eiffel and not let go, because she knew now how easily he could just disappear, and she knew she couldn’t handle that happening again. She didn’t stop him because that would be childish. Eiffel was the one who’d just been through hell, and what he needed was rest.

She could keep a lid on it. She had to.

She couldn’t sleep. And she couldn’t even pretend it was because of their new crew members lurking around doing who-knows-what with her station. It was the thought of her Communications Officer, too skinny and too pale, his eyes sunken, looking like the universe itself had chewed him up and spat him out. In a way, it had.

Hera would tell her if anything was wrong. Especially if anything was wrong with Eiffel. She could ask Hera if he was okay right now and she would tell her.

Minkowski got up anyway, floating to the door in her standard issue pyjamas and feeling quite foolish. Maybe just seeing his door would be enough to set her mind at ease.

She did a double take when she floated down the corridor and found someone else already outside Eiffel’s room.

“Captain.” She said, as casually as she could manage given that they were both outside of Eiffel’s room in their pyjamas. “Imagine seeing you here.”

Lovelace covered her surprise well. That or she wasn’t terribly surprised. “Minkowski. Come here often?”

No. She’d barely looked in the direction of Eiffel’s quarters in months. “Just passing through.”

Lovelace nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

Neither of them moved.

Minkowski hummed. “You’re passing through very slowly.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“You were here first.”

“I was, wasn’t I?”

--

There were voices, Eiffel was sure of it. He’d already grabbed every spare blanket he could and wrapped himself up like a hibernating animal, and now he was hearing voices. He swallowed nervously. “Hey, Hera?”

“Yes, Officer Eiffel?” She responded gently.

“I-is- is there someone there? Outside?” He hoped there was. Even if it was Kepler or Jacobi. Better than more hallucinations.

“Oh.” Hera sounded… amused? “Yes, there is.”

Eiffel relaxed. “Oh. Good.”

Hera made a sound that made him think she was trying not to laugh. “Do you want me to patch the audio through?”

--

“Where are you even going that you’d be passing through at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same thing!”

Minkowski growled. “I am… I needed some air.”

“Oh yeah.” Lovelace scoffed, “Sure.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Please, you’re not fooling anyone.”

“And you are?!”

She shrugged. “I’m a free spirit. Sometimes I like to loiter.”

Minkowski rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. You could loiter anywhere and you’re outside Eiffel’s room in the middle of the night?”

“Is that where we are?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not worried about him!”

Lovelace raised an eyebrow at her. “You first.”

Minkowski glared at her fiercely, but before she could respond, Eiffel’s door whooshed open, making them both jump.

Eiffel was giving them a sappy, tired smile from his disaster of a bed. “You guys are so sweet.”

Her face burned. “You- Hera!”

Hera laughed. “What? A crew member just wanted to know what was going on.”

Eiffel gave them his best puppy eyes. “You coming in or what?”

Slowly, awkwardly, Minkowski moved to go in. It seemed that Lovelace had no qualms, almost barrelling into Eiffel after launching off the wall, somersaulting into one of the spots and giving him a quick hug. It took a lot of restraint not to tell her to be more careful.

Eiffel didn’t look like… Eiffel. It was him, she knew that, but he was quieter and too skinny and pale. Not much at all like the man who had left. She sat beside him quietly, regretting the decision to come until that too skinny arm slung itself casually around her shoulders and his pale head knocked against hers. All the tension and regret left her in a shaky sigh.

Eiffel hummed, feeling very happy and peaceful sandwiched between them with Hera’s presence floating over them. “I really missed you guys.”

“We missed you too.” Lovelace murmured.

Minkowski was silent. ‘Missed’ didn’t feel like enough to express the hole that Eiffel had left behind, and she couldn’t even say that. She returned the hug and hoped that was enough.

The lost look on Minkowski’s face wasn’t exactly hard to spot. “Hey.” Eiffel chided quietly. “Sleepovers are meant to be fun, stop looking so sad.”

The words did help a bit. He was teasing her like he used to. “Sorry.” She muttered, smiling weakly.

He grinned and squeezed her tightly. “Better.” Hmm… “Still room for improvement though.” And the next thing she knew, Eiffel’s cold, bony hand was poking and squeezing up her ribs, making her jump and yelp.

“Eiffel!” She tried to squirm away, fighting not to smile, but couldn’t bring herself to actually stop him with how skinny and weak he was.

He chuckled and brought his other hand into play, which was enough to break her resolve. “Sorry Commander.” He teased, wiggling his fingers over her sides as she giggled into her hands. “You were given an order to cheer up.”

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t so bad. The last time she’d laughed at all was before Eiffel had left, and him being kind of a menace and tormenting her… she’d missed that. But that didn’t make it any more bearable. “Eiffel!” She yelped again, managing to squirm out of his grasp and onto her side, trying to guard her weak spots.

Did he really have to do this in front of Lovelace? She didn’t need her argumentative smartass second in command knowing about this particular weakness. It was embarrassing enough without her giggling like a little kid.

Eiffel smiled down at her, continuing to poke and tickle. He’d missed his crew. Especially missed seeing them happy, and his commander seemed like she needed a cheer up.

Minkowski was starting to feel light-headed and giddy. She batted half-heartedly at his mischievous hands. “C-cut it out!” She said with a snort, and was somewhat surprised that the hands were withdrawn.

She was less surprised when she opened her eyes and saw that Lovelace had pulled Eiffel into a tight bear hug. She grinned at him wolfishly. “I’d call that insubordination, wouldn’t you, Officer Eiffel?”

Eiffel bit his lip around a smile. “I mean, technically…”

That was as far as he got, dissolving into bubbly giggles as Lovelace scrubbed her fingers back and forth over his stomach.

Minkowski sat up, on the brink of telling Lovelace to stop for risk of hurting him when their eyes met, and Lovelace winked. Then her gaze moved to Eiffel’s face and something inside her melted. His hair was gone, and he was pale and skinny, but that smile and that goofy laugh were exactly the same.

He also wasn’t fighting her off even a little bit. Just hanging there in Lovelace’s arms and giggling himself silly. Huh.

It was hard for Eiffel to worry about reality or hallucinations or sleep or his crew when he could barely form a thought. All he could feel was a warm body pressed against his back, arms around him, and hands setting his nerves alight and drawing out laughter he couldn’t contain if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. He’d spent months convinced he’d never see another person again, and nothing else in his life had made him crave affection quite that much.

All that to say, the thought of escape wasn’t one that held much value to him.

His chest was just starting to hurt when Lovelace’s hands stilled, letting him heave in breaths between residual giggles. He felt buzzy. He felt happy. He opened his eyes and saw the fond look Minkowski was giving him and couldn’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed. Even though he apparently wasn’t above pouting and making grabby hands at his commanding officer.

Minkowski rolled her eyes. “I know your game.” She said playfully. “You’re just waiting for me to get close enough.”

“Who, me?” Eiffel grinned, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I would never.”

“You weren’t gone for so long that I forgot about your scheming, you know.”

He put on his best puppy eyes. “Please?”

Minkowski scoffed, looking away and trying to bury her smile.

Lovelace smirked. “Wow, Minkowski, never thought you’d be scared of Eiffel.”

Their eyes met and Minkowski levelled her with the best glare she could manage. Based on Lovelace’s lack of reaction, it wasn’t very effective. She gave an exaggerated sigh and surrendered. “Fine.”

“Yay!” Eiffel said quietly. Easier to make light of it then admit how desperately he needed the closeness right now. He was grateful that they didn’t mention it, or God forbid, leave. Minkowski crawled that bit closer to them and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was the tallest of them but felt very small sandwiched between them. Very small and very safe.

Eiffel’s eyes had just about fluttered shut when a finger wiggled against Minkowski’s side, making her twist away and let out a shaky laugh. Lovelace smirked at her and she glared back, face flushing.

A cold hand caught Lovelace’s mischievous one and pulled it away. “Ssshh.” Eiffel whispered, his head resting comfortably on her shoulder. “Time for the sleepy part of the sleepover.”

Minkowski leaned against him as gently as she could, still weary of hurting him. “Good to have you back.” She said in a low voice.

“Good to be back.” He mumbled, squeezing her shoulders.

It was. It really was.

[darknessdrops]

And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing.

John Keats: La Belle Dame sans Merci

[nonexistentbees]

o what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, alone and palely loitering?

this started as a silly little ren faire costumes thing but accidentally turned into a whole au the longer i worked on it. i feel i should include this doodle of its origins anyway

[shiningqueen]

silvertongue, hawk eyes. / mihawk x fem!oc

genre: slice of life, relationship growth, slow burn. rating: sfw / e for everyone warnings: none for this part. characters: dracule mihawk + fay (a female oc) summary: a storm brings a castaway to kuraigana and with his interest midly piqued, mihawk allows fay to stay with him temporarily.

author's note: the start of my multi-part series that ive been slowly chipping at for months. this is my attempt to make a coherent series to explore fay as a character, and to share her relationship growth with mihawk.

Two days have passed since the storm finally abated.

Two days since Dracule "Hawkeye" Mihawk found himself with unexpected company in the form of a dark haired woman simply named Fay.

At the time, he'd been watching the storm rage over Kuraigana when his haki picked up on some distant human signature a midst the raging waves and boiling gray skies. There had been the occasional passerby to his island home but none had ever landed on his shores. He'd been expecting to sense the presence fade or be completely wiped out by the maelstrom.

Except it hadnt. The presence edged closer and closer, until it stopped and was idle for an hour. Mihawk had been intrigued but not enough to go investigating personally. He figured any unfortunate soul to wash up on his shore would succumb to the dangers of the wildlife and that was perfectly acceptable to him. He did not care for unexpected company even on his good days.

When it had become evident the intruder was heading in his general direction, he'd paid a sliver of more attention to it. To them. The Warlord couldn't determine gender on haki alone, but what he could determine was they were likely some stray pirate or sailor. Nobody really worth the effort of killing himself. Probably.

Yet how intriguing that they evaded the prowling humandrills and was eventually lingering outside on his very doorstep. That was when Mihawk decided to try and waylay the intruder and send them off accordingly, or just dispatch them to save himself whatever trouble they might possibly bring. Part of him sort of hoped they were a pirate, if only for the faux challenge it could become.

Contrary to the inclination of wanting even a mockery of a fight, the swordsman found himself loitering in the foyer as the grand doors creaked open just slightly and in slipped a sodden, exhausted woman. She slumped back against the entryway almost immediately and he'd assessed her in seconds. Sea damp sailors clothing of loose deck trousers, plain shoes and a bell-sleeved shirt over a black long sleeved undershirt. She wore a wide leather belt weighed by a few pouches and - oh- a knife?

Purely for utility, he determined, not truly a weapon. His discerning stare ended on her face, which was pale and shadowed from days without proper rest. Ah. She was looking at him too. He'd caught the flicker of recognition in those tense seconds of silence, and yet she held his gaze as if he weren't one of the most infamous people in the world. Alright, maybe he was curious now. Her eyes had been the color of storm clouds and her hair a wild tangle of dark brown, she looked a few years younger than him if he cared to guess.

"Did you think to slip in without notice, little mouse? Where's your bravado?" He'd drawled tonelessly, arms crossed over his chest and the weight of Yoru comfortable at his back.

He expected to see some flicker of fear or stuttered anxiety but instead, she'd quirked a tired smile and shook her head at him. "It drowns in the sea, will fish it out later." The lilt of a foreign accent curled her rasping voice, and the glib retort was almost amusing. Either she was too worn out to recognize the risk of being rude to him, or she was foolishly without caution. It could have been both.

Mihawk kept his scowling indifference in place, "You might join it in short order, what do you want? You are intruding in my home." She seemed just an unfortunate castaway, his senses told him there was nothing even remotely dangerous to her. Pity that.

Her face creased with perplexity and she'd mumbled something he didnt catch, then followed the incomprehensible words with, "Sorry, words hard. Do you know hand-speak?" He'd watched as her hands lifted to make a series of gestures in tandem. It was Sign language. Mihawk recognized it from having learned the workings of it in his youth. It had been awhile since he'd come across the need to utilize such a skill.

"Yes," he replied tersely, using one hand to make the accompanying affirmative gesture, battling his exasperation with some sliver of patient interest. He might as well humor her preferred method of communication for a brief time.

She smiled again with gratitude and with slightly shaky hands, Signed efficiently to explain herself. 'Sorry to intrude, my boat was attacked and then sank. I swam here.' A pause before she went on, 'I hoped to rest, I did not know this was your home.' The stranger then clasped her palms together and gave him a very shallow bow, a sincere gesture of deference. Mihawk thought it at odds with her first impression; a mercurial sort, wasnt she?

He considered her for a long moment and then decided, given that she was just some castaway and neither pirate or marine, he could deign to be hospitable. "You have strange fortune," he said plainly and turned, "follow me." He left for the stairwell and heard the soft shuffle of her following him.

Mihawk figured he would lend her a spare room, there was at least one other in his castle with a bed and furnishings not yet tossed out, then send her along in the dinghy stowed in the west wing. Nothing more than a passing stranger he'd not likely to see again.

"It is just you here?" The silence between them broken by her speaking again, he titled his head to peer at her from the corner of his eye. She kept stride a respectful distance behind him, but the tremor in her shoulders told him she was fighting to stay conscious every step.

"It was."

An audible huff, no, a laugh. She laughed at his sarcastic retort. Mihawk hadn't met anyone aside from perhaps Akagami that expressed mirth at his sardonic tendencies. That this complete stranger showed no wariness towards him was certainly novel.

"What is your name?" The swordsman redirected, turning down a hallway and slowing his pace slightly to walk adjacent with his guest. He watched as she wrinkled her brow a moment, "Fay," no surname attached but he did notice she provided a Sign-name as well. A simple gesture of combined nouns he couldnt place right away.

Mihawk did not feel compelled to introduce himself in turn and beckoned her to a door that led into what he sufficed as a 'guest room', "You may sleep in here, we will speak more when you wake."

Stormy eyes appraised him but he could not determine what crossed her mind, her exhaustion was a faint buzz along the edge of his own senses. Fay gave him another smile though, "Thank you." He supposed he could appreciate her courtesy now, but couldn't help the quirk of a brow when she Signed 'May your rest be peaceful too.'

He made a dismissive gesture and turned to leave, hearing the creak of the door as she slipped inside and out of the hallway.

At present she was still asleep at dusk of the second day, where he had taken detour to peer into the shadowed room to see her bundled under blankets and breathing deeply. The dormancy of her presence told him just how utterly drained she'd been when stumbling into his castle. Mihawk was admittedly a little impressed she had managed to stay alert and moving on sheer stubborn willpower after surviving the season's first true maelstrom. Let alone she had supposedly survived being attacked as well.

Her avoidance of the humandrills was likely pure luck, she was in no way a fighter from what he had gleamed initially. Still curious that a lone woman was sailing the Grand Line seemingly undefended.

Perhaps she had been part of some wayward crew as a miscellaneous member? Or a merchant? There were plenty of variables to consider - until he stopped himself from musing too long over Fay's origins. Why did it matter to him? Once she was strong enough to walk without stumbling, he would provide her the means to leave. Water Seven was a short distance along the edge of the Florian Triangle, he would point her in that direction and be done with it.

Mihawk roamed his gaze over the drape of her discarded belt on the bedframe and idly hoped she had retained her Log Pose, he hadn't seen it on her person. Another thing to brush aside and deal with when she woke.

He pulled the door softly shut and left to his own chambers, thinking she might sleep for a third day.

[missiont34]

La Belle Dame sans Mercy

John William Waterhouse, 1893

La Belle Dame sans Merci: A Ballad

BY JOHN KEATS

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

       Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has withered from the lake,

       And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

       So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel’s granary is full,

       And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,

       With anguish moist and fever-dew,

And on thy cheeks a fading rose

       Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,

       Full beautiful—a faery’s child,

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

       And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,

       And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;

She looked at me as she did love,

       And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,

       And nothing else saw all day long,

For sidelong would she bend, and sing

       A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,

       And honey wild, and manna-dew,

And sure in language strange she said—

       ‘I love thee true’.

She took me to her Elfin grot,

       And there she wept and sighed full sore,

And there I shut her wild wild eyes

       With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,

       And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—

The latest dream I ever dreamt

       On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,

       Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;

They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci

 Thee hath in thrall!’

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,

       With horrid warning gapèd wide,

And I awoke and found me here,

       On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,

       Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is withered from the lake,

       And no birds sing.