#also splash arts are always so beautiful

[godofthestupid]

god I talk about r1999 so much

from their character design to the ingame illustrations,the ui,the backrounds,the storytelling??? so good

[blackpearlblast]

[ID: drawings of a golem animated by a palestinian flag painted on its forehead. it is seen: holding out its arms protectively in front of a crowd of children, the children also hold each other supportively; catching an air strike missile from the air and throwing it away or crushing it in its fist; turning its back so that a child can warm her hands by the earth oven built into its back, food in a pot is cooking on the fire and a boy holds a cup of steaming tea to his face and enjoys the aroma; clearing away rubble so a man can help up his wife who was buried underneath, she is clutching a baby to her chest; stooping down to look at a kitten a young boy is holding up to show it; and dissolving small flakes of clay from its finger into a glass of water, purifying it. end ID]

@fairuzfan asked people to create and share art for the strike. i wrote an artist statement and then set about trying to draw what i envisioned. artist statement below.

This golem is a protector that I wish I could gift to the children and adults in Gaza. The flag on its forehead is to show that love for the Palestinian people is an animating force for people fighting for a free Palestine all over the world, especially for those in Palestine who are trying to free themselves and their people. Love is the motivation for the call for a free Palestine, not hatred like people try to claim. It is very strong and fast and can catch air strikes out of midair and crush them to dust or throw them back in the direction they came from. It can lift all the rubble of a collapsed building very quickly so nobody can get trapped underneath. It has an earth oven in its back with an ever-burning flame that people can use to warm themselves and cook food and heat water to use to bathe themselves or make tea. Pieces of its clay can be crumbled up and mixed into water to make even the most brackish and unclean water pure and safe to drink.

The golem is always a bit of a tragic figure so I don't imagine it staying around forever once Palestine is free and it is no longer needed. I think it would use its great strength to help rebuild the destroyed houses, churches, schools, universities, hospitals, and mosques and then dive into the Jordan river and dissolve. It would clean the river of all pollution and make the water splash up over all the newly replanted fruit trees, causing them to grow big and strong. Its love for Palestine and its people can be tasted in the fruit they grow for generations.

I choose a specifically Jewish icon of protection because of how it feels to witness such horrors done in the supposed name of Judaism and the Jewish people. For many anti-zionist Jews, we feel like we are acting directly within the teachings of our stories and communities by opposing this genocide. It is difficult to understand how the very people and institutions who taught us these values now fight against them so fiercely. While obviously I would still oppose Israel were I not Jewish, the way I oppose Israel is directly informed by my Jewishness. I hope that someday, somehow, Judaism can bring as much joy and support to the Palestinian people as it has brought grief and destruction. That Jewish symbols used in the name of love and justice will bear more significance than the ones used in shows of hatred. Knowing the depth of the harm caused, I do not know if this is possible. But this artwork and everything I have dedicated myself to these past few months and continue to dedicate myself to in the future is born from this hope. I love you. Thank you for being on this planet with me. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free! And it will be beautiful.

[chow0w]

if it’s not too much trouble could you redesign either Cricket or Moon? I love your art it’s so beautiful!! Your glory was design was just chefs kiss. Have an amazing day!

Thank you so much! Here's my take:

(I saw that a lot of people loved the creepy Wasp design, and trust me I DID think about making Cricket look similar but like.. I can't. I can't do that to her. I'll do it to Lady Scarab.)

Cricket's redesign is definitely one of those where I kind of didn't really do anything to change it - I really like her current design, and so most of this was just changing little things I think would've made it better. The main adjustments I made were definitely to her proportions - Cricket's wiki description is slightly vague on her build (because she has book cover art, I assume) but I was honestly never a huge fan of how slender she appeared in some splash art since I always imagined her being a little bit shorter/more muscular. She isn't doing hardcore farm work at her agricultural school, but she still probably knows a thing or two about hauling massive plants from room to room for class. That might just be me, though.

I also made her glasses way thicker and bigger, and really tried to lean into the octagonal shape they have - although I might have made that a little bit unclear. I really like to think that she's like those characters whose eyes turn into little dots when she takes her glasses off. The rest of her design is relatively the same - aside from her orange tinted wings and additional black/mustard splotches. Finally, I thought it would be cute to change the bag around her chest into a smaller satchel that rests at her side and wraps around her neck. I think I can safely say Cricket's book was my favorite from all of the arc 3 books - from the presentation and exploration of Jewel hive to the temple of clearsight, and most importantly how Cricket interacts with these events as they come and go. I seriously think it's the gem of the arc (but you guys can probably tell that based on how much I talk about its content in my other posts.)

To all of you who have been following for a while (or those who just stopped by,) thank you so much for your support! If you're interested in requesting a WoF character to be redesigned, head to my inbox or check out my pinned post and see if they're already on the waitlist! And to any fellow artists who are interested, I am running an art contest until the end of june! The challenge is to draw a scene from any WoF book or graphic novel, and there are more details below:

This link will take you to my discord server!

Thanks for reading this far! See you later ♡(>ᴗ•)

[corroded-hellfire]

AYW req if you'd like: while Reader is pregnant with Eliza, she starts getting more prominent stretch marks on her stomach & boobs & stops letting Eddie see her naked. Eddie rectifies that situation hehehehe

This was honestly so fun to write! Love featuring the kiddos but these two also need some alone time hehe 💜 @munson-blurbs and I hope you like what we've come up with

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (she's already pregnant but you should still wrap it up), semi-public sex, pregnant!reader, oral, f!receiving, breeding kink, body image issues, older!eddie, dad!eddie

Words: 3.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The late June day is sweltering as you step out of the Harrington’s house and into their backyard. The placid blue water of the pool looks refreshing and calm—or it will, until the kids get in. Luke quickly jumps in alongside Theo and Danny, the three rowdy boys immediately splashing each other and then whining about being splashed. Ryan and Natalie are decidedly less hyperactive, taking care to watch baby Amelia where she kicks herself around in her purple mermaid floaties. 

Nancy makes herself comfortable on a lounge chair a few feet away from the one you’re making your way towards. Normally you can keep up with everyone else, still being in your second trimester, but this heat has you moving slower and feeling crankier than usual. 

You can’t help but notice the way Nancy looks in her bathing suit compared to how you feel in yours. Nancy’s had four children and looks stunning as always as she lays back in her black one piece. You feel shoved into your navy suit, like every little stretch mark that mars your skin is on full display for the world to see. 

Trying to shrug it off and enjoy the invitation from the Harrington’s to have a pool day, you make yourself comfortable on your lounge chair and adjust the pale pink coverup you have on. Eddie stands near the foot of your lounge chair, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks out at the children in the water. Your eyes feel glued to his lithe frame as he strips his shirt off. The pale skin that’s left on display practically has your mouth watering. It doesn’t matter that you’ve seen him naked countless times, your eyes still roam over his torso and the beautiful works of art he has inked on his skin. 

As Eddie rids himself of the Black Sabbath shirt, he notices the way you’re gawking at him. A smirk quirks up his handsome features and he playfully tosses his shirt at your face. Your hormones this second trimester have been no joke. The moment Eddie walks through the door after work you’re jumping on him. Your husband swore you were going to wear him out before this baby was born. Not the last week or so though, now that Eddie thinks about it. Maybe those particular horny hormones have been fading to make room for whatever new batch comes in for the third trimester. 

The sound of little feet kicking too hard beneath the water of the pool approaches you and Eddie, and you look up to see Luke swimming over towards the edge. He grins up at the pair of you, shaking the water from his curls like a dog just out of the bath. Bright blue eyes land on you and they’re doing a pretty damn good impersonation of the puppy dog look that Eddie gives you when he wants something. You know what Luke is going to ask before he even opens his mouth. 

“Wanna plaaaay with us? Please?”

Giving him a frown as you squint beneath the blazing sunlight, you shake your head. “I’m super tired, bud. Growing a baby is hard work,” you tease. You’re not technically lying—when you’re not jumping Eddie’s bones or concocting weird new food combinations, you’re sleeping— but no one needs to know that’s not the reason you don’t want to get in the pool. 

“I can play with you,” Eddie offers his son. He takes a step towards the pool and is ready to dive in when Luke wrinkles his nose up in disgust.

“Nah, I’m good,” the little Munson boy says. 

As you bring your hands up to your mouth to cover up your laughter at your son’s remark, Steve claps a hand on Eddie’s bare back.

“Gonna need some ice for that burn?” Steve whoops. 

“Shut up, Harrington,” your husband grumbles in response. Eddie takes a seat near your legs at the edge of the lounge chair. His hand finds your leg and he rubs up and down your calf, always needing to be touching you in some way. Physical comfort is something you both love to give and receive from one another, which calls for a lot of soft rubbing or absent-mindedly drawing patterns on one another’s skin. Now, Eddie’s touch is having a calming effect on you, though he didn’t even realize there was something you’re uneasy about. Your body language must change as he relaxes you though, because he tilts his head to the side as he gazes at your face.

“You feeling alright, baby?” he asks.

“Yeah, just tired.” 

If Eddie had any follow up for that, he doesn’t get the chance because Amelia kicks her way over towards Luke in the pool and hangs onto his shoulder when she’s close enough. Her hand almost slips from his wet skin, but Luke manages to catch the little girl before she can float too far away. 

“Uncla’ Eddie!” Amelia calls once she’s clinging to Luke again. 

“What’s up, Little Red?” he asks his favorite ginger niece. 

“Come in, come in!” Amelia cheers. 

“At least somebody wants me in the water,” Eddie says with a pointed look at Luke. “Anything for you, my darling Mia.”

A few minutes after Eddie’s joined the kids in the pool—who also convince Steve to come in—Nancy comes over to you, noticing how everyone else is in just their bathing suits and you’re seemingly putting on more articles of clothing. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answer too quickly, nervously tucking your lips into your mouth. 

“Bullshit,” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have four kids; I can smell a lie a mile away.”

“Seriously, Nance, I’m fine.” You muster up a small smile, but she sees right through it, and you know it. 

You have your nose buried in a book, unaware that Nancy is reaching over the side of the pool to give Eddie’s ear a tug. 

“Jesus H. Christ!” he yelps, rubbing the affected lobe. “What was that for?”

“Go talk to your wife,” Nancy says through gritted teeth, obviously irritated at having to spell it out for him. “Marco Polo can wait.”

As Eddie attempts to get out of the pool, Amelia grabs his leg and tugs. Your husband lets out a soft chuckle and picks the small girl up.

“I’ll be back, Mia.” He presses a few kisses to the top of her wet, red hair and sets her back in the water. 

Over the top of your book, you see Eddie sauntering towards you. You slip the book back into your bag and tug your cover up tighter across your body. 

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he asks with a smirk. “Besides that bun in the oven.”

“Just relaxing,” you say. 

“If you’re just relaxing, why did Lady Harrington threaten my life to come over here? And why aren’t you in the pool?”

The only answer you have you don’t want to tell him. And you’re not going to make up some lie to get him off your back. Eddie deserves better than that and you would never treat him with anything less than the utmost respect. That doesn’t mean you want to tell him the truth, though. You swallow embarrassment as you mutter, “I gotta pee.”

Eddie doesn’t let you get far without him though, he’s hot on your tail as you walk through the back door into the house.

“Can you please tell me what the problem is so I can at least try to fix it?” he asks once the screen door is securely closed behind him.

Silence is his only reply as you walk up the stairs to the second floor. You’re obviously upset, and your husband can’t relax until he knows what’s bothering you.

“Sweetheart, what’s the problem?” he asks again.

You stop short and spin on your heel to face him. As Eddie tries to read your face, he’s not sure if there’s more sadness or anger there. Either way, he wants to make it go away. He’d do anything. 

“This is the problem!” you say, gesturing towards your boobs and stomach. 

Eddie looks at you for a moment, brain trying to comprehend whatever it is you’re talking about. He shakes his head and gives you his response. “If I keep looking at them, this is gonna be a problem, too.” He motions to his crotch.

“I’m serious!” you yell in frustration. 

“I am, too!” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t forget how I got you pregnant in the first place.”

“Oh, so I can blame you for this mess?”

Eddie wrinkles his brows. “What mess?” He knows you would never refer to your baby that way, so he’s even more confused as to what you could mean.

“The stretch marks, Eds!” you lament, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “They look like an angry toddler drew lines all over my body.”

Understanding clicks inside Eddie’s brain. Why you’re so covered up. Why you didn’t want to go into the pool. But how could you ever think anything about your body wasn’t absolutely beautiful to him?

“That’s why you haven’t been all over me the past few days,” Eddie says as the realization hits him. “I thought maybe it was those horny hormones, or whatever they’re called, fading. But you…you think there’s something wrong with having stretch marks? Baby, no. It’s just your body making more room for our little sweet pea to grow. They’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

Believing him is easier said than done. You want to believe him, but battling the insecurities in your head is not something you’ve conquered yet. Now you just stand there and fiddle with the hem of your coverup, not knowing what else to say or do.

Eddie sighs and gently takes your hand into his. 

“Come with me. I wanna show you something.” 

Eddie leads you into the upstairs bathroom and shuts the door. He positions you directly in front of the mirror above the sink and stands behind you. Slowly, he moves your cover up out of the way to reveal your growing bump, stretch marks dotting the sides. 

“How on earth could you think anything about this is a problem?” he asks, his hands barely grazing your skin as he admires your tummy. “Look at you. Gorgeous bump. Cute little stretch marks from where our baby is making herself comfortable inside of you. It’s incredible, princess. Your body is literally growing a person and you’re mad at it because there are a few lines appearing on your skin?” He gives an incredulous laugh as he turns you around to face him. “Jesus, I mean, see what just talking about it does to me.” One large hand dwarfs your smaller one to press your palm to the hardening bulge in his swim trunks. 

You roll your eyes. “Please. The wind blows the wrong way and you get a boner,” you rebut. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a small groan. “Don’t say blows when I’m hard like this.”

“Can you be serious for two seconds?” Your temper is already short from the heat and the pregnancy, and his blasé attitude only makes it worse. 

Eddie cradles your cheeks in his hands. “I love you. And I love your body. I loved it before you were pregnant, and I’ll love it after, but watching you carrying our baby…fuckin’ does it for me.” He bites his lower lip as he drinks in the sight of you. “Goddamn, you look fuckin’ gorgeous like this.”

You think back to when the two of you first got together, when he’d made what you’d assumed was an offhand remark about knocking you up. Maybe it wasn’t as out of left field as you’d thought. 

As if he can read your mind, Eddie’s lips press soft kisses down your neck as he murmurs, “always dreamed about getting you pregnant. Would’ve done it a lot sooner if I’d known you’d be this sexy.” He runs a finger along a stretch mark that curves down your stomach. 

“H-How much sooner?” Curiosity asks the question for you as your back arches slightly from his touch. 

“That night,” he confirms, knowing he doesn’t have to elaborate further on what night he means, “but your stupid birth control pills ruined all my fun,” he adds with a teasing smirk. 

“They were so stupid. Sh-Should’ve stopped taking them the second I saw you.” Your voice is still timid from the emotions coursing through you, but Eddie can tell you’re finally letting him in.

Eddie throws his head back. “Fuck, baby. You got me all worked up.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you tease, hands sliding up his wet chest and over the sparse hair. “What should we do about that?”

Eddie whines and leans in, nipping at your neck. 

“You know, I wasn’t a big fan of this bathing suit anyway,” you tell him. “The faster you get it on the floor, the faster you can be inside of me.”

Eddie gets your coverup and bathing suit off in record time. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so turned on. His swim trunks go next and then Eddie is lifting you up onto the bathroom counter. There’s not much time to admire his fully naked body before he gets down on his knees in front of you. You wind your fingers through the hair on the top of his head and he looks up at you with wide, hungry eyes. That look alone has you practically dripping for him. 

Eddie keeps that eye contact with you as his hands force your legs further apart and he licks a broad stripe up your folds. You’re the one to end the staring contest when the pleasure overwhelms you and your eyes flutter closed, throwing your head back. It knocks against the mirror, but you’re too caught up to notice if it hurt or not. 

On the next swipe of Eddie’s tongue, he keeps going up so his tongue is trailing the swell of your belly as well. He presses hot kisses against your bump as he works his way back down again. He repeats the motion, next time taking time to either kiss or run his tongue along the stretch marks. The physical sensation feels amazing, but paired with the way Eddie is making you feel emotionally with his tender touch is making your heart thump even faster. 

Every little movement of his makes you feel more cared for, more cherished, and sexy. He’s built you up so high that you have to give a little tug on his curls so he pulls his mouth away from your pussy.

“Need you inside. Now.”

“Anything for the woman carrying my baby.”

You pull his mouth to yours and moan against his tongue as you feel his hands roam your body. His touch soothes over the areas of your breasts where you’ve memorized the stretch marks before moving down and caressing the ones on your stomach again. 

Eddie’s hands slide up to your hips and give a quick squeeze. He gently lifts you down from the counter and spins you around to face the mirror. You brace your hands on the counter as Eddie trails soft kisses up the side of your neck.

“Want you to see how fucking hot is when I fuck you like this,” he whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver throughout your body. 

You spread your legs, but Eddie wants them farther apart. He nudges them with his knee while he rubs a hand up and down your spine. He fists his cock a few times, making eye contact with you in the mirror as he does so. The way he’s looking at you has you whimpering and whining in anticipation.

Your noises make Eddie smirk, and he lines himself up with your entrance. As he pushes in, one hand snakes around your body and rests firmly on your baby bump. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. “I’ll never get over how fucking perfectly we fit together.” He punctuates his statement by tilting your chin slightly upwards so you have no choice but to see yourself in the mirror. You watch as he disappears inside you, your body obeying his every command. 

When you rock your hips back against his, Eddie slips his other hand around you to rub circles on your clit. His middle finger finds it easily, slipping through your soaked folds and pressing against the sensitive bud. The feeling is too much; you have to bite your lip to keep from screaming out—the last thing you need is the Harringtons hearing your pathetic whines. 

“God, I wanna fill you up so bad, baby,” Eddie hisses, snapping into you furiously as he takes in the view of your body; the view of you watching your body. “Shit, I’d make you pregnant twice over right now if I could.” 

“W-Would you always keep me pregnant if you could?” you manage to ask between gasps and whimpers—both yours and Eddie’s. 

“Fuck,” Eddie growls. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. “I’ll go buy a damn farm right now to raise all the babies I want to put in you.”

His words make you laugh, which has you squeezing around Eddie’s cock. He moans, drawing you impossibly close against his bare chest. 

“They’re babies, not sheep, Eddie.”

“Still need the space to run around,” he muses, making you laugh again.

“I love you so—-oh! So, so much, Eddie.”

 He’s ridiculously hard inside of you, fucking into you like his life depends on it. “Shit, I love you too, princess.” His middle finger makes more frantic circles around your clit, throwing you over the edge. “You’ve got a fuckin’ vice grip today, holy shit,” he breathes, willing himself not to finish too early while still being acutely aware of his surroundings. 

Your fingers dig into the countertop as each thrust brings you closer to your orgasm. “Right—right there,” you pant, fighting back a moan. “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop.” You come, aided by his magic fingers and your raging hormones, with a soft whine of his name. 

“‘M right there, shit, you’re the best little fucktoy,” he grunts. The hint of degradation has you clenching around him again; of course, he immediately takes notice of it. “Y’like that? Y’like being my pregnant little fucktoy? Knocked up with my baby and still beggin’ for more?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you stutter, smiling at the reaction your response brings. 

Eddie’s pistoning his hips into you, whispering directly in your ear, “So good, so fucking good f’me. Gonna come so deep in this little pussy, mkay? Gonna keep you pregnant, just like you want.” 

With a guttural groan, he spills into you. His breath is hot on your shoulder blade as he stays inside, not wanting to withdraw right away. You’re not complaining either, until—

“Are you two finished in there?” Steve’s irritated voice beckons from the other side of the door. Your already sweaty body heats up even more, realizing you’ve been found out. Something about it is also oddly hot, but it’s not the best time to think about that with Eddie still inside of you and Steve on the other side of the door. 

“Just a sec!” Eddie calls back, giving your earlobe a gentle nibble as he pulls out, scooping up the cum that’s dripping down your bare leg and stuffing it back into your pussy. “Had to clean you up,” he murmurs with a salacious grin. 

The two of you put your swimsuits back on and fix yourselves as best as you can before Eddie opens up the bathroom door. 

Steve just rolls his eyes, barreling past you as he mutters, “Dammit Munson; you already got her pregnant. Relax.”

[2b4st4r]

Hello~! Spot here :3

I was wondering if you could do a Whitebeard pirates x idol/model reader? It's just Reader being introduced to the crew by Ace (I wanted to spice things up a little, but I couldn't bear not including one of the ASL ówò')

It still has the same premise of Reader being 'apart' of the ASL when they were younger, but she soon figured out that being a pirate wasn't for her. Which she then became a famous idol/model. I'd think it be really fun if Reader's 'on-stage'/niche is the rude 'player'/'heartbreaker' catagory but in actuality she's just a sweetheart and can even be easily flustered just by simple compliments.

(I just love the ASL so much, they have me and my heart in a chokehold)

As always thank you for reading my request, take care of yourself, and have fun writing :D

A Pirate’s Heart, an Singing Soul 

White beard pirates[ace] x reader

Words:6,679

Warnings: use of y/n,undermining based off appearance.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Growing up in the rugged embrace of the mountains, you found family in the most unlikely of places. There was Ace, fiery and protective; Sabo, the thoughtful and ambitious one; and Luffy, a whirlwind of rubbery chaos and unwavering dreams. Entrusted to the care of Dadan by the formidable Garp, your days were a blur of wild adventures. You chased down fearsome beasts, stood shoulder-to-shoulder against rogue pirates, and even engaged in spirited, if not slightly chaotic, competitions amongst yourselves. While your friends’ hearts beat with an undeniable rhythm for the pirate life, you often declared your own grand ambitions, promising to join them on the high seas as the captain of your own formidable crew. Even as a child, your spirit was as untamed as the wilderness around you, your strength undeniable.

Yet, there was another world that called to you, a vibrant realm where words danced and melodies soared. You loved the sensation of lyrics unfurling from your lips, your voice a beautiful instrument resonating with soft, clear tones. In solitary moments, you would lose yourself in movement, your body flowing through graceful yet joyously bubbly dances. Sometimes, you’d share this hidden passion with Ace, delighting in his rare smiles as you showcased your talent. You also reveled in the ritual of doing your makeup and choosing the perfect outfit, each choice a brushstroke in the masterpiece of your own unique identity. This was the true essence of you—a girl with a thirst for adventure, yes, but also with a soul deeply moved by the expressive beauty of art.

The years, as they always do, marched onward. The sting of Sabo’s ‘death’ left an indelible mark, and then came the inevitable departures. Ace, true to his word, set sail at seventeen, forging his own path before finding a new home with Whitebeard’s crew. Luffy, equally determined, followed suit at seventeen, his boundless ambition propelling him to form his own crew and eventually claim the mantle of a Yonko. And you? You too embarked on your own journey, gathering a crew, your own nakama, ready to carve your legend into the waves. But something was missing. The grand adventure, the camaraderie—it never quite settled right in your heart. So, with a quiet resolve, you disbanded your crew before you could even truly set sail. Instead, you turned your gaze towards the path you were always meant to walk. You sang. You danced. You adorned yourself in outfits that brought you pure joy. And the world took notice, for you were extraordinarily good at it.

Fame, for you, wasn't a slow burn; it was an explosion. One moment you were a girl with a dream, the next you were a supernova, dazzling the entire Grand Line. Your voice, once a private joy, now echoed in packed concert halls and spilled from Transponder Snails across every island. You became an idol, your face splashed across newspapers and wanted posters (though for entirely different reasons than your former pirate friends). You were on billboards in Sabaody, your songs sung by children in the North Blue, your posters adorning the walls of Marine strongholds (much to their chagrin). From the calmest seas to the turbulent New World, everyone knew your name.

You weren't just a singer; you were a phenomenon. Your performances were legendary, a breathtaking fusion of your powerful vocals, ethereal dances, and dazzling outfits that became trends overnight. You modeled for the most prestigious fashion houses, your unique style setting new standards. Every outfit, every hairstyle, every subtle hint of makeup became an instant sensation. You were an icon, a superstar, undeniably successful in a way you never truly were as a burgeoning pirate captain.

Yet, with this dizzying ascent came a different kind of reputation, one whispered in hushed tones and plastered in the gossip columns alongside your glowing reviews. You became known as a heartbreaker, a player. And honestly? The rumors weren't entirely baseless.

There was that flamboyant Warlord who sent you an entire ship filled with exotic flowers, only for you to politely decline his extravagant dinner invitation, leaving him to mope dramatically on the front page of the next day's paper. Or the stoic Marine Admiral who, after one of your concerts, tried to subtly slip you a love letter written on official Marine stationery – a letter you read, chuckled at, and then accidentally (or perhaps not so accidentally) left on a public bench. Then there was the notorious pirate captain from the New World, infamous for his iron will, who you reportedly led on for weeks with flirtatious glances and playful banter, only to leave him stranded at a high-stakes poker game to catch a last-minute ferry to your next performance. He'd been utterly smitten, and utterly devastated. Even some of your own managers and crew members weren't immune to your charms, often finding themselves hopelessly smitten, only to be gently but firmly redirected back to professional matters. You weren’t malicious, not truly. It was more that your heart, still beating for artistic expression and freedom, simply hadn't found a single anchor. You cherished your independence above all else, and commitment felt like a cage you weren't ready to enter.

Ace knew that smile. He knew that playful wink, even from a grainy newspaper photo. He knew the way her eyes crinkled when she truly laughed, a sound he hadn't heard in years but still remembered like a favorite melody. Her face was everywhere, from the World Economic Journal to the tabloids speculating about her latest rumored conquest. Her songs, those incredible, soaring anthems, drifted from every port, every town, even occasionally reaching the decks of the Moby Dick. And Ace? He definitely saw it. All of it.

He sat on the deck, a crumpled newspaper in his hands, his usual scowl replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated awe. "Look at her!" he practically shouted, shoving the paper into Marco's face. "Isn't she incredible, yoi?" Marco, perched on the railing, barely spared it a glance. Ace ignored him, turning to Thatch, who was meticulously sharpening his knives. "See that? That's Y/N! The Grand Line's Siren! And I knew her! Knew her before any of you even heard her name!"

He puffed out his chest, a wide, proud grin splitting his face. "She grew up with me, with Sabo and Luffy! Dadan's place, up in the mountains! We fought beasts bigger than us, took on pirates, had races... Man, she was tough even back then. Said she'd be a captain, always did. But this... this is way cooler than being a pirate captain, even if she did say she'd be the best!" He gestured wildly at the paper. "She's famous across the whole damn Grand Line! Even in the New World! And she sings! You should hear her sing, it’s… it’s like nothing else, yoi!"

Thatch chuckled, wiping a knife clean. "We know, Ace. We hear her music everywhere. Hell, even Pops caught a few of her songs on the Transponder Snail last week. Said she had a good voice for someone who wasn't a pirate."

Ace faltered, his jaw dropping slightly. "Wait, you guys already knew about her?"

"Of course we do, yoi," Marco drawled, finally looking at the paper. "She’s practically a household name. My little sister's got all her albums."

"And she's quite the beauty, too," Jozu rumbled from nearby, polishing his diamond arm. "Heard she's broken more hearts than even Whitebeard's shattered ships."

Ace's proud grin tightened into a slight frown. "Heartbreaker? What are you talking about?" He looked down at the paper, noticing for the first time the smaller, bolder headlines tucked beneath the glamorous photos. " 'Y/N: The Grand Line's Most Eligible Player?' 'Another Marine Suitor Left in Her Wake?' What is all this?!" He looked up, bewildered, at his crewmates who merely shrugged or grinned knowingly.

Ace stared at the newspaper, then back at his crewmates, his expression a mixture of disbelief and genuine horror. "A player? A heartbreaker?!" His voice rose, incredulous. "You mean Y/N? My Y/N? The one who used to patch up our cuts when we fell out of trees, who shared her last piece of candy even when she was starving, who cried when Luffy accidentally squashed a beetle?!" He couldn't wrap his head around it. The sweet, kind, fiercely protective girl he knew, now a notorious heartbreaker? It just didn't compute.

"That's the one, yoi," Marco confirmed, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Word is, she's got a knack for charming just about anyone, then leaving 'em high and dry. No harm intended, usually, but a broken heart's still a broken heart."

"Remember that Marine Vice Admiral, 'Iron Fist' Garp's protégé?" Thatch chimed in, wiping down his counter with a rag. "He apparently spent months trying to get a private audience with her. Sent her a whole fleet of supply ships filled with rare teas and jewels. She sent 'em back with a thank-you note and a single, perfectly formed rose. The poor guy hasn't been the same since. They say he paces the deck muttering about 'the one that got away.'"

Jozu grunted, adding, "And then there was that Revolutionary Army commander. Heard he tried to recruit her for their cause, saying her voice could inspire millions. After a week of intense 'negotiations,' he ended up resigning his post to become her personal bodyguard for a month. Said he'd rather protect her 'divine melody' than fight tyrants. She eventually had to politely but firmly tell him she didn't need a bodyguard and sent him packing."

Ace's face crumpled further. "So, she just… breaks hearts for fun?" he mumbled, his pride in her newfound fame warring with his confusion.

"Nah, not for fun," Thatch corrected. "More like… she's got a big heart, but it's not looking for a permanent docking spot, if you catch my drift. She's focused on her music, on her freedom. Commitment seems to be a dirty word to her."

"Plus, with a voice like hers, and looks to match, men just flock to her, yoi," Marco added, shrugging. "Can't really blame her for being selective, or for not wanting to be tied down by all that attention. She's a performer, after all."

Ace looked back at the newspaper, the dazzling image of Y/N's smile now shadowed by the scandalous headlines. His Y/N, the sweet girl from the mountains, was now the Grand Line's most celebrated, and elusive, siren. It was a lot to take in.

Ace crumpled the newspaper in his hand, the image of Y/N's dazzling smile now a challenge, a mystery he needed to solve. His Y/N, the sweet, kind girl, a heartbreaker? It was impossible. Or was it? He wouldn't know unless he saw her, talked to her, really saw what she had become. A sudden, fierce determination lit his eyes.

"That's it!" Ace declared, his voice ringing with newfound resolve as he pushed himself to his feet. "I need to see her. I'm going to ask Pops to take us to her next concert!"

Before Marco or Thatch could even register his words, Ace was a blur, rocketing across the deck towards Whitebeard, who sat regally in his captain's chair, sipping sake.

"Pops!" Ace boomed, sliding to a halt before the massive pirate emperor. "Pops, I need to ask you something! There's this idol, Y/N – she’s one of us, from back home – and she's having a concert soon. Can we go? Please, Pops? It's really important!"

Whitebeard lowered his sake cup, his gaze, sharp despite his age, falling upon his son. He listened patiently as Ace, with uncharacteristic earnestness, explained his connection to Y/N and his burning desire to see her.

"Hmmph," Whitebeard rumbled, stroking his magnificent mustache. He took another sip of sake, his eyes twinkling. "So, my boy wants to see a concert, eh? An old friend from the mountains, you say?" He glanced over at Marco and Thatch, who were watching with amused expressions. "And this 'Y/N'... she's the one making all that racket across the Grand Line, is she?"

Ace nodded vigorously, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yeah, Pops! That's her! She's amazing! But... there are some things I need to confirm with her."

Whitebeard let out a deep, booming laugh that reverberated across the deck. "Gurarararara! Very well, my son. If it's so important to you, then we shall make a detour. A little music might do us all some good." He raised his cup. "Tell me, boy, where is this concert of hers?"

A wave of relief washed over Ace, and a triumphant grin spread across his face. "Thank you, Pops! Thank you! It's on Jaya! Next week!"

"Jaya, eh?" Whitebeard mused. "A fitting place for a reunion, perhaps. Alright, boys! Set a course for Jaya! My son wants to see his friend sing!"

The cheers from the crew were immediate, a mixture of genuine excitement for a break in their journey and amusement at Ace's obvious glee.

Marco landed beside Ace, shaking his head. "You really managed to pull that off, yoi. Jaya's not exactly on our direct route."

Thatch clapped Ace on the shoulder, a wide grin on his face. "Looks like someone's got a soft spot for the superstar! Just be careful, Ace. That 'heartbreaker' reputation isn't just for show, you know."

Ace just waved them off, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Nah, you guys don't get it. She's Y/N. She's not like that. I'm gonna find out what's really going on." He couldn't wait. He just had to see her.

Jaya's Dazzling Stage

The air in your dressing room on Jaya hummed with an almost electric energy. A week had flown by in a whirlwind of rehearsals, interviews, and final preparations for what promised to be your biggest concert yet. You sat before a brightly lit mirror, a faint, contented smile playing on your lips. This was your sanctuary, the quiet before the storm of adoring fans.

You picked up a fine-tipped brush, expertly tracing a delicate line of shimmering rose gold liquid eyeliner along your lash line, emphasizing the playful, almost mischievous tilt of your eyes. Next came a dusting of soft, peachy blush across your cheekbones, adding a youthful glow. You finished with a generous swipe of glossy, berry-stained lip tint, blotting it gently to achieve a natural, effortless look. Each stroke was practiced, almost meditative, a part of the ritual of transforming into the persona the world knew.

Your outfit, hanging meticulously on a stand, was a masterpiece of your own design: a flowing, iridescent gown that seemed to shift colors with every movement, catching the stage lights like captured starlight. It was daringly cut, showcasing your long legs, but flowed dramatically with a wide, ruffled skirt that would billow enchantingly during your dance numbers. The fabric was light, almost ethereal, allowing for complete freedom of movement. You slipped it on, the cool silk whispering against your skin as you adjusted the delicate straps.

With your makeup done and your gown perfectly settled, you moved to the final, crucial step: preparing your voice. You hummed a few scales, your vocal cords resonating with a rich, clear tone. You then launched into a series of complex vocal warm-ups, starting with soft hums and gradually building to powerful, sustained notes that filled the room. Your voice was a finely tuned instrument, and you treated it with the respect it deserved.

A gentle knock brought you out of your focused state. "Y/N! Five minutes!" your stage manager called.

You took a deep breath, the smile on your lips widening. This was it. You loved this feeling, this moment of anticipation. As the music swelled from beyond the stage, a wave of exhilarating energy washed over you.

You stepped out from the wings, the roar of the crowd hitting you like a physical force. Hundreds of thousands of voices screamed your name, a deafening, beautiful symphony of adoration. Spotlights bathed you in brilliant light, revealing a sea of waving hands and glowing light sticks. You threw your arms wide, a genuine, joyful laugh bubbling up from deep within you. This was your world. This was where you belonged.

The roar of the crowd was a tangible force, a wave of pure adoration that you rode with practiced ease. You grinned, your voice, amplified to reach every corner of the vast stadium, addressing the sea of faces. "Jaya! Are you ready to sing with me tonight?!" A deafening cheer answered you, thousands of voices uniting as one. You spent a few minutes bantering playfully, feeding off their energy, sharing a laugh here and a wink there, making each person feel like you were speaking directly to them.

Then, the lights dimmed, a single spotlight finding you center stage. The opening notes of your most recent hit, "Crimson Tide," swelled from the speakers. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over you, then opened them, a captivating intensity in their depths. Your voice, clear and powerful, filled the stadium:

"When the waves crash down, and the sky turns grey,

I’ll find my light, come what may.

Through the storm and strife, a silent prayer,

My spirit’s fire, burning in the air!"

You moved with the music, your iridescent gown shimmering, your every gesture imbued with emotion. The crowd was captivated, many singing along, their faces alight with joy. You were just reaching the crescendo of the chorus, your voice soaring:

"Oh, the crimson tide, it pulls me under,

But my heart's a drum, a rolling thunder!"

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash, a burst of heat, and an impossible amount of fire. It wasn't the controlled pyrotechnics of your stage show; this was raw, living flame. You didn't see what exactly happened, but in an instant, you were airborne, lifted from the stage, surrounded by the intense, orange glow of a roaring inferno. Yet, strangely, it didn't burn. It didn't hurt. It felt… familiar.

Instinct kicked in. Your years of training, of fighting alongside your brothers, surged to the forefront. You activated your Haki, a ripple of invisible force spreading from your body as you prepared to strike. This wasn't an accident; someone had grabbed you. You focused, intending to land a powerful, Haki-infused punch when a voice, incredibly familiar and laced with a hint of panic, rang out.

"Wait! Y/N, wait!"

Your arm froze mid-air. That voice... it couldn't be. Your eyes, now adjusted to the fiery haze, landed on the grinning, freckled face of your brother. Ace.

You hung suspended in the air, enveloped in Ace’s familiar, comforting flames, your Haki dissipating as the realization hit you. It was him. Your brother. After all these years. The confident stage persona, the one who effortlessly charmed thousands, crumbled in an instant. The adrenaline that had surged through you moments ago was replaced by a wave of dizzying nostalgia and an almost childlike shyness.

“Ace?!” The name spilled from your lips, barely a whisper, then louder, laced with incredulity and overwhelming relief. “Ace! What—what are you doing here? And why did you just… kidnap me mid-concert?!” Despite the chaos, a watery smile stretched across your face. It was the smile of the girl who used to tend his scrapes and share secrets under the starry mountain sky, not the siren who captivated the Grand Line.

Ace, still holding you effortlessly, grinned, a flash of his old, mischievous self. "Y/N! I knew it was you! Man, you're even cooler in person than in the papers! Look at you, all famous and shiny!" He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that pulled at forgotten heartstrings. "Didn't mean to mess up your show, but I just had to see you. Had to make sure you were okay, and... figure some things out." His eyes, so like Luffy's in their directness, searched yours.

He set you down gently, his fiery aura receding, but before you could fully ground yourself, he had you in a tight, bone-crushing hug. "It's been too long, Y/N! Way too long! Look at you, all grown up!"

You clung to him, the soft, sweet part of you taking over completely. "Ace! You idiot! I thought I was being attacked! You're still as reckless as ever!" But your voice was thick with emotion, and a genuine, unburdened laugh escaped you. "And you! You're a Whitebeard pirate! I heard... I heard all sorts of things! You look so strong!"

Aboard the Moby Dick

Moments later, you found yourself on the sprawling deck of the Moby Dick, the legendary Whitebeard pirates staring at you with a mixture of curiosity and thinly veiled anticipation. You could practically feel their expectations – they were ready for the confident, flirtatious idol, the 'player' they'd read about. They expected you to size them up, perhaps even fear them.

But as you stood there, the cool sea breeze rustling your iridescent gown, the shy, mountain-girl Y/N was firmly in control. Your eyes, usually bold and direct, darted around, taking in the immense ship and the formidable crew. Ace, beaming with pride, led you towards the giant figure seated in the captain's chair.

"Pops! This is her! This is Y/N!" Ace announced, his voice practically bursting with excitement.

You took a deep breath, your heart doing a strange flutter-kick in your chest. Before the mighty Emperor, the world's strongest man, the carefully constructed facade of the Grand Line's Siren vanished completely. You remembered the lessons Dadan had instilled, the respect for those who protected you. You curtsied deeply, a graceful, almost old-fashioned gesture.

"Sir," you murmured, your voice soft, devoid of any stage bravado. "Thank you. Thank you for allowing me to be brought aboard. It's an honor to meet you, Sir Whitebeard." You kept your head slightly bowed, a flush rising in your cheeks.

A ripple went through the gathered crew. Marco, who had been leaning against the mast with a knowing smirk, blinked. Thatch, who had been ready with a witty remark about heartbreakers, closed his mouth. Jozu, ever stoic, looked genuinely surprised. This wasn't the Y/N they had seen plastered across the newspapers.

Whitebeard's deep chuckle rumbled through the ship. "Gurarararara! No need for such formalities, child. Any friend of Ace's is welcome here. So, you're the one who caused such a fuss in the papers, eh?" He eyed you kindly. "My son here insisted we see you. Said he needed to 'confirm some things'."

You straightened slightly, meeting his gaze, a genuine, albeit still shy, smile on your lips. "Ace is still as impulsive as ever, Sir," you said with a light laugh, glancing at your brother who just grinned unapologetically. "But... it's truly wonderful to see him."

Thatch elbowed Marco, a whisper just loud enough to be heard. "Well, I'll be damned. She's actually... sweet."

Marco merely raised an eyebrow, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Indeed, yoi. Quite different from the rumors."

The Whitebeard pirates, initially expecting a flamboyant diva, found themselves charmed by your genuine warmth and surprising humility. You, in turn, found yourself drawn to their boisterous camaraderie and the unwavering loyalty they showed towards Whitebeard. It was like stepping into a ready-made family, a chaotic, loud, but undeniably loving one.

"So, you're a singer, eh?" Thatch asked, a grin spreading across his face as he offered you a skewer of grilled meat. "Heard you've got a voice that could make a grown man weep."

You laughed, accepting the skewer. "I try my best," you said, your cheeks flushing slightly under his scrutiny. "It's... it's my passion. It's what I always wanted to do."

"And a looker, too," Marco added, his usual sardonic tone softened with genuine curiosity. "Ace here practically had a heart attack when he saw you in the papers. Said you used to be a little hellion in the mountains."

"I was," you admitted, a mischievous glint returning to your eyes. "We all were. Ace, Luffy, Sabo... we were a handful."

"Wait," a young pirate with bright pink hair interrupted, his eyes wide. "You know Straw Hat Luffy? The Yonko?"

You nodded, a fond smile gracing your lips. "He's my brother. Annoying, reckless, but my brother."

A collective gasp went through the crew. "You're related to a Yonko?!" someone exclaimed.

"And Sabo?" another voice asked. "The Revolutionary Army's Chief of Staff?"

"Him too," you confirmed, your smile turning slightly bittersweet. "We were all raised together."

The pirates exchanged bewildered glances. This sweet, graceful woman was connected to some of the most powerful and notorious figures in the world.

"So, what made you decide to become a singer instead of a pirate?" a burly pirate with a braided beard asked, his voice genuinely curious.

You hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Actually," you said, your voice dropping slightly, "I... I used to be a pirate too."

The silence that followed was deafening. Every eye on deck was fixed on you.

"I had my own crew," you continued, a hint of sadness in your voice. "My own nakama. But... it never felt right. The fighting, the constant danger... it wasn't for me. My heart belonged to something else."

You looked around at the faces of the Whitebeard pirates, their expressions now a mixture of shock and understanding. "I disbanded my crew before we even made a name for ourselves. I wanted to sing, to dance, to express myself. And that's what I did."

A slow smile spread across Whitebeard's face. "Gurarararara! A pirate turned songbird! And a damn good one at that! You've got spirit, girl. And a voice that could calm the seas."

The tension on deck dissipated, replaced by a sense of camaraderie. You, the idol, the heartbreaker, the former pirate, had somehow found your place among the Whitebeard pirates. They weren't afraid of you; they were intrigued, impressed, and strangely, welcoming. You, in turn, felt a sense of belonging you hadn't expected.

The sun began to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues that mirrored Ace's own element. You found yourselves leaning against the Moby Dick's railing, watching the waves churn, a comfortable silence settling between you and Ace.

"So, the 'Grand Line's Siren,' huh?" Ace finally mused, nudging you playfully with his elbow. "Never thought I'd see your face on a newspaper for anything other than 'local nuisance eludes capture' or something."

You chuckled, nudging him back. "And you, 'Fire Fist Ace,' commander of the Second Division. Never thought I'd see you in uniform, taking orders from anyone."

He scoffed good-naturedly. "Pops is different. This crew... it's different. It's home." He paused, then his expression grew serious. "But about those papers, Y/N. All that 'heartbreaker,' 'player' stuff... is it true?"

You sighed, looking out at the endless ocean. "It's complicated, Ace. People see what they want to see. I value my independence, my freedom. And... when you're in the public eye like this, people make assumptions. They build narratives. Sometimes, it's just easier to let them." You turned to him, your gaze earnest. "I never intentionally hurt anyone, Ace. I just... I haven't found anyone worth giving up my freedom for, yet. Not in that way."

Ace studied your face, then a slow grin spread across his features. "Good. You better not have. If anyone messed with my sister, I'd burn their ships down." He punched your arm lightly. "But still, sounds like you've got them all wrapped around your little finger. Just like you always did with Sabo and Luffy."

"Hey!" you protested, but you couldn't help but smile. "We were just very... persuasive."

Later that evening, as the crew gathered for dinner, Marco and Thatch sidled up to your table.

"Still surprised, yoi," Marco drawled, taking a bite of fish. "The infamous Y/N, eating stew with us like any normal person. Ace here has been insufferable with pride all day, by the way."

Ace, from across the table, just puffed out his chest. "That's my sister! What did you expect?"

"We expected a diva who'd demand caviar and a private security detail," Thatch retorted, eyeing your empty bowl. "Not someone who'd ask for seconds of my stew."

You laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound. "Your stew is incredible, Thatch! And honestly, being a diva is exhausting. This is... nice. Normal." You looked at them, a warmth spreading through you. "I haven't had a proper family dinner like this in years."

"So, you really fought wild animals and pirates in the mountains?" Thatch asked, his eyes gleaming with fascination. "Tell us some stories! Ace is too busy bragging about how fast you were, he forgets the details."

You glanced at Ace, who was already beaming, silently urging you on. "Oh, Ace was always getting into trouble. One time, Luffy thought he could wrestle a bear, and Ace jumped in without a second thought. Sabo and I had to rig a trap to get the bear off them. And then there was the time we tried to steal from the Goa Kingdom nobles..."

As you recounted tales of your childhood, the Whitebeard pirates listened, captivated. You shared stories of Luffy's absurd antics, Sabo's clever schemes, and Ace's fiery impulsiveness. You described the fierce joy of battling beasts, the thrill of outsmarting bandits, and the unbreakable bond you forged with your brothers. You weren't the distant idol anymore; you were Y/N, the girl from the mountains, a part of their brother's past, and now, unexpectedly, a fleeting but cherished part of their present.

The tales of your past, of battling beasts and outsmarting bandits, had captivated the crew. As the laughter from one of your stories died down, a thoughtful voice cut through the air. It was Vista, the elegant swordsman, who spoke. "So, Y/N, you said you were a captain once, before all this singing. Are you still strong? Do you still fight?"

Before you could even open your mouth to answer, a younger, brash pirate, who looked barely out of his teens, scoffed loudly from the back of the group. "Are you kidding? Strong? She looks like a porcelain doll! A princess, not a pirate! Probably couldn't even lift a sword now that she's prancing around in pretty dresses." He gestured dismissively at your flowing gown.

A dangerous glint entered your eyes, a spark of the old mountain spirit that had been lying dormant. The polite, sweet demeanor vanished, replaced by a steely resolve. You rose slowly from your seat, your iridescent gown shimmering under the ship's lanterns, a subtle smile playing on your lips.

"Wanna bet?" you challenged, your voice low, clear, and utterly devoid of the playful tone you'd used minutes before.

The young pirate, clearly emboldened by his perceived cleverness, puffed out his chest. "Yeah, I bet! You wouldn't last five seconds against a real pirate!"

From beside you, Ace let out a pained wince. He mumbled, almost to himself, "Oh, he's going to regret that. Big time."

Marco sighed, shaking his head. "Idiot, yoi."

Thatch, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward. "Hold on, kid. You really shouldn't pick a fight with a lady, especially not one that Ace here clearly looks up to."

"Yeah, man, she's Whitebeard's guest!" another pirate chimed in.

But the young pirate was too full of himself to listen. "Nah, I wanna see what this 'former captain' can really do! Let's see if she's all talk!"

You merely raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in your gaze. "Alright. Rules?"

Whitebeard, who had been observing the exchange with a keen interest, let out a deep chuckle. "Gurarararara! Let them have their fun, boys. A little spar won't hurt anyone. Just no killing blows, and no Haki beyond observation, unless absolutely necessary. A friendly match." His eyes twinkled as he looked from you to the cocky youngster.

The deck cleared quickly, creating a makeshift arena. The young pirate, whose name you learned was Finn, pulled out a rather well-used cutlass, striking a dramatic pose. He smirked. "Ready to get knocked back to your concert hall, princess?"

You simply smiled, a genuine, confident smile that spoke of battles long past. You kicked off your delicate slippers, letting your bare feet grip the wooden deck. Your iridescent gown, designed for graceful movement, was surprisingly unrestrictive. You tied a section of your long hair back with a quick, practiced hand, securing it out of your face. You didn't reach for a weapon. You didn't need one.

Ace watched, a mixture of apprehension and grim satisfaction on his face. "He really has no idea," he muttered to Marco, who merely nodded, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Absolutely no idea."

Finn lunged first, a wild, overconfident swing of his cutlass aimed at your head. He expected you to shriek, to flinch, to cower. Instead, you moved with a fluid grace that belied your flowing gown. Your bare foot pivoted, and you ducked under his clumsy attack, the blade whistling harmlessly over your hair. The scent of ozone filled the air as you briefly brushed past Ace, who leaned forward, intently watching every move.

Finn, surprised by your agility, stumbled. Before he could regain his footing, you spun, your iridescent dress flaring out like a vibrant, dangerous halo. Your leg shot out, a swift, precise kick to his elbow that made him yelp and momentarily lose his grip on the cutlass. It clattered to the deck.

"What the—?!" Finn stammered, his bravado quickly crumbling into confusion.

You didn't wait. As he reeled, you were already closing the distance. Your movements were a dance, a terrifyingly beautiful ballet of combat. You weaved around his flailing arms, a whirlwind of motion. A swift jab to his solar plexus left him gasping. A precisely aimed palm strike to his chin snapped his head back. You moved with an efficiency born from years of fighting not just pirates, but wild beasts whose very survival depended on their ferocity. Your strength wasn't just physical; it was a raw, primal energy, honed by the wilderness.

Finn, despite his bulk, was outmatched. He swung wildly, blindly, but you were always one step ahead, anticipating his every move. Your Haki, though kept internal and subtle, allowed you to sense his intentions before he even formed them. You dodged a clumsy punch, then, with unexpected power, grabbed his outstretched arm. With a practiced twist and a grunt, you flung him over your shoulder, sending him sprawling across the deck with a resounding thud.

He landed hard, winded and stunned. He scrambled to get up, but before he could, you were there, a foot planted lightly but firmly on his chest. You weren't exerting much pressure, but the message was clear. You were utterly, completely dominant. Your face, usually soft, held a cool, unwavering gaze that promised severe pain if he dared to move.

A stunned silence had fallen over the deck. The Whitebeard pirates, who had expected a quick, maybe even embarrassing, defeat for you, were now gaping.

"What in the...?" Thatch whispered, his jaw practically on the deck. "She just... dominated him!"

Marco let out a low whistle. "Well, yoi. So much for 'princess.' She moves like a beast. And with that dress on!"

Jozu grunted, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Impressive. Very impressive. That boy won't be underestimating a 'lady' again."

Ace, however, was beaming, a triumphant, almost smug look on his face. "Told you! I told you she was strong! You guys just wouldn't listen!" He shook his head. "Still got it, Y/N! Knew you would!"

Whitebeard let out another booming laugh, a sound of genuine amusement and admiration. "Gurarararara! It seems my son's friend is more than just a pretty voice! That was a display of true strength, child! Finn, perhaps you've learned a valuable lesson today?"

Finn, still gasping for air beneath your foot, could only manage a feeble nod. His face was pale, his earlier arrogance completely evaporated.

You finally removed your foot, offering him a small, almost apologetic smile. "Good fight," you said, your voice returning to its gentle tone. "Just... don't underestimate anyone based on how they look, okay?"

The deck erupted in cheers and laughter, most of it directed good-naturedly at Finn, but all of it laced with newfound respect for you. The Grand Line's Siren had just proven that her beauty and voice were far from her only weapons.

Finn, still a bit dazed, scrambled to his feet, rubbing his sore spots. He cast a wary glance at you, then bowed clumsily. "Yes, ma'am! Understood, ma'am! Never again!" The cockiness was gone, replaced by a healthy dose of fear and, surprisingly, admiration. He'd expected a gentle shove, maybe a scratch. He hadn't expected to be tossed like a rag doll by a woman in a flowing dress. From that day on, Finn became one of your most ardent, if slightly terrified, fans on the Moby Dick.

The atmosphere on deck shifted noticeably after your demonstration. The younger pirates, who might have initially been a bit star-struck or even dismissive, now looked at you with a mixture of awe and genuine respect. Even the hardened veterans of Whitebeard's crew, who rarely showed surprise, exchanged impressed nods.

Thatch approached you, a wide grin on his face. "Alright, Y/N, that was incredible! You've got some serious moves. Where'd you learn all that, besides the mountain wilderness?"

You shrugged modestly. "Mostly the wilderness. You learn quickly when your little brothers keep trying to fight bears and pick fights with grown men. And sometimes," you added, a glint in your eye, "you learn by having to outrun pissed-off pirates. You pick up a few tricks."

Marco, ever the observer, chimed in, "You've got good Haki, yoi. Subtle, but strong. It's not something you just pick up in the mountains."

You smiled faintly. "Garp taught us a few things, back when he thought he could 'discipline' us. And my brothers... well, they're pretty good at pushing you to your limits." You didn't elaborate on the specifics of your Haki training, preferring to keep some things close to your chest.

Ace slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug. "See? I told you she was amazing! She could probably take on half of you guys blindfolded!"

"Hold on, Ace, let's not get ahead of ourselves, yoi," Marco cautioned, though a smile played on his lips. "But she definitely held her own. More than held her own."

Dinner that night was even livelier than before. The tales you recounted about your childhood with Ace, Sabo, and Luffy now held an added layer of gravitas. The crew pictured not just mischievous children, but formidable young warriors honing their skills in a harsh environment. Questions about your past as a pirate captain came up again, but this time with genuine curiosity, not skepticism.

"So, what kind of crew did you have?" someone asked.

"Not a very big one," you admitted, a pang of sadness briefly clouding your eyes. "Just a few friends from a town I stayed in. We were trying to find our footing, make a name... but as I said, it just wasn't me." You paused, then added, "I didn't want to conquer islands, or amass treasure. I just wanted to see the world, and sing my way through it."

Whitebeard watched you, a rare, knowing smile on his face. He understood ambition, and he understood a heart’s true calling. He raised his sake cup. "To Y/N! The Grand Line's Siren, and a true warrior beneath the silks! May her journey be filled with music and endless adventure!"

The crew roared in agreement, raising their own cups. You felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the setting sun. For the first time in a long time, the weight of your public persona, the 'heartbreaker' reputation, felt lighter. Here, on the Moby Dick, among these rough but honorable pirates, you were just Y/N. Ace's sister. And that felt like coming home.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

(P.s haii spott! I hope you enjoyed, sorry it took a while I’ve been doing things irl recently so I’ve had less time for writing but I hope this is still enjoyable! also I was wondering if you’re OK with romance, I was debating lmfully going y/n x ace route, like romantically, but idk if your okay with that:/)

(Everyone else: one more request before I open them again! I just don’t wanna stress myself and give up— I tend to do that btw. Just so you yknow. And I have like 40 planned projects I’m working on rn that arnt req😭)

[eyesofbong]

Red Spider Lily ꕥ

art cred. @taak_CHOI on twitter/x

❀ pairing. Chrollo Lucilfer x Founding!Spider Reader

❁ warning. mention of death. Just pure angst ♡

✿ word count. 1.5k

✽ sypnosis. unrequited love, is still love isn't it just as beautiful?

A/N: This piece was inspired by the random red spider lily I found this morning, blooming in the middle of my yard right on time for September—its season. It was particularly strange since I’ve never had one grow before. (My dog tried to eat it.) Also, the chain I’ve had since I was a child randomly broke a couple of nights ago after being indestructible for years! I’m taking it all as a sign. side eye...

The crimson flowers danced in the wind, their delicate petals reaching out, as if grasping for something lost in the void. Red spider lilies—each bloom a splash of scarlet against the gray, lifeless earth. They thrived here, in this forsaken field, where death had long claimed dominion. You stood among them, feeling the chill of the breeze slip through the narrow spaces between the petals, carrying with it the faint, sweet scent of decay—a cruel reminder that beauty and death often walked hand in hand, inseparable, like lovers bound by some twisted fate.

For a long moment, there was only the wind and the rustle of flowers. You didn’t notice him at first. Not until his voice, soft as a whisper, cut through the silence, slicing into your thoughts like a blade you hadn’t seen coming.

“They say these flowers bloom along the Sanzu River,” Chrollo murmured, each word caressing the air like a secret. “Guiding souls to their next life. A fitting backdrop, don’t you think?”

You turned slowly, as if moving through water, your heart stumbling in your chest. And there he was—Chrollo, standing at the edge of the field. His dark cloak fluttered slightly in the wind, like a shadow with its own life. He looked almost like one of the flowers, swaying in the breeze, a figure easily lost among the shifting light and shadows. He gazed intently at the sea of red, a faint smile playing on his lips, yet it never reached his eyes. Eyes dark and deep, like an abyss that promised to swallow you whole.

His expression was unreadable and distant, as if he were looking at something far away, something only he could see.

“I always thought their beauty was wasted on something so fleeting as death,” he continued, his gaze never wavering. “But maybe that’s why they’re so beautiful... because they don’t try to hold on.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, yet they left you feeling hollow, like an echo of something you couldn’t quite grasp. There was a time when you knew that face so well, when every subtle shift in his expression, every flicker in his eyes, told you more than words ever could. But now, that face was a stranger’s—a mask you could no longer read, a portrait painted with shadows and cold light.

You longed for the warmth you once saw there, the softness that had made you believe in things you knew were impossible. His mind, once an open book, had become a locked room, the key stolen, leaving you stranded on the outside.

He stepped closer, and you felt the air shift around you, charged with something you couldn’t name. Your body tensed, muscles tightening as if preparing for a blow that never came. His fingers brushed against yours, so lightly it might have been a dream, as he handed you a single red spider lily. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, an electric jolt that numbed the ache you carried inside—the yearning you kept hidden, even from yourself.

The flower trembled in your hands, and you held it as if it were made of glass, fragile enough to shatter at the slightest pressure. It felt like a lifeline, a thread binding you to this world, to him. To everything you had ever wanted but knew you could never have. Because this was love to you. A quiet, desperate love with no place in words. A love that thrived in shadows, in stolen glances, in moments when his hand brushed yours and sent your heart racing.

You were content to hide it, to bury it deep where he would never see, because you knew he didn’t need to know. You’d rather pretend. Pretend that this was enough—that his presence, his breath mingling with yours in the cold night air, was all you needed.

You looked down at the flower in your hand. It was small and fragile, its petals a deep, crimson red, like drops of blood on bone. It was nothing compared to the treasures you had stolen for him, the riches you had laid at his feet, hoping for a smile, a word, a touch. And yet, it was everything. This single, fleeting gesture—a flower plucked from the earth, handed to you without thought or care—was worth more than anything. The fact that he had given it to you, even with such a cold, detached expression, made your heart flutter like the wings of a dying bird.

Your leader had given you a flower. You could survive on that alone, on the knowledge that, for one brief moment, he had seen you and thought of you.

This was love to you, and you were content with it. Hiding your heart from him because you didn’t need to tell him. You’d rather pretend. Because your love was different—silent, enduring, untouched by the light of day. A love that thrived in quiet spaces, where hope and heartache intertwined like the roots of a tree. You would rather pretend, because its purity was its own reward. It wasn’t about wanting something in return. You knew he would never love you back—not in the way you loved him. And that was fine. You had accepted it long ago.

Your love was about loving him so deeply that you were willing to feel everything, even the pain of knowing he would never feel the same. You had become accustomed to that pain; it had become part of you, a constant companion, a reminder that you were alive, that you could love, even if that love would never be returned.

Your love had survived against all odds, even after he had led the massacre of the Kurta. It was a love that filled the spaces between words left unsaid, in looks that lingered too long, in the silent longing that never truly faded. He had always been out of reach, even when you were children. Always slipping through your fingers like smoke, like a dream you couldn’t quite hold onto.

Perhaps that’s why you clung to him so tightly, why you adopted his ideas as your own, why you never questioned his decisions. You would do anything for him. Anything, if it meant you could stay by his side just a little longer, even if that light were cold and indifferent.

Your love was both a gift and a burden, a testament to the heart’s ability to love fiercely without the promise of anything in return. Pakunoda had seen it—the way your love consumed you, the way it burned like a slow, smoldering fire that refused to go out.

“Can you make these feelings go away?” You had whispered to her once, hiding your face in her shoulder, her arms the only sanctuary you knew. “Can you make it stop?”

The sharp pain of the chain cutting into your heart brought you back to the present, tearing you away from that memory. Blood warmed your lips, pooling at the corners of your mouth, and the world around you blurred into a mess of color and sound. You clung to the lily he had given you, cradling it close even as the chains tightened around you, threatening to crush it in your grasp.

You didn’t blame Chrollo. Not for your pain, not for your death. These were choices you had made willingly, with your eyes open and your heart laid bare. You would make them again, a thousand times over, if it meant you could have this—a flower, a moment, a breath in his presence.

The chain user was gone, and you felt the presence of the other Troupe members drawing nearer, their shouts growing fainter in your ears, echoes from a place you could no longer reach. You had seen all the signs. You had known. But still, you had chosen to believe. To pretend. Because it was easier than facing the truth.

Your vision blurred, but you felt him there, his arms around you, holding you close. For a moment, your heart surged with hope—a foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, he cared. That maybe, this time, he would say something—anything to make the pain go away.

Your fingers tightened around the withering red spider lily, its petals soft and fragile against your skin. Through blurry vision, your eyes searched his face, desperate for a sign. But all you found was the same unreadable mask, the same cold distance. The silence between you was suffocating, more painful than any wound.

In that silence, you finally understood—he would never love you the way you loved him. You were just another piece on his board, another pawn in his game.

“But maybe that’s why they’re so beautiful... because they don’t try to hold on.”

Your grip weakened, and the flower slipped from your fingers, its petals scattering like the remnants of your heart.

So, you let go. Not just of the flower, but of the love that had been your constant torment. You released it into the wind, into the void between you, accepting the truth you had fought so hard to deny.

Maybe, as you crossed the Sanzu River, you would see the cities he burned—for you.

© eyesofbong / Do not plagiarize my work. If you see this content on any account that is not mine, please report it.

[rosylix143]

artist hyunjin | h. hyunjin - skz in deepspace

pairing: hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: love and deepspace AU, fluff, suggestive

synopsis: an introduction to hyunjin in the LADS AU

cw: MDNI, obsessive behavior, mention of a bounty, he calls you master, it’s implied he gets into heat (oopsie), implied breeding kink (double oopsie), mention of pornographic paintings

let me know if i’m missing anything

other parts: chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | han | felix | seungmin | jeongin

———————————・❥・———————————

artist!hyunjin who is one of the most famous painters in all of linkon.

artist!hyunjin who keeps to himself in his studio and lets his mind wander as he drags the paintbrush across the canvas.

artist!hyunjin who can’t even be bothered to paint on most days if a deadline is attached to it. he’d rather paint at his own pace and let the inspiration flow in naturally.

artist!hyunjin who is very well-versed in all kinds of art that it’s impressive.

artist!hyunjin who you met on a whim while you were catching a goldfish with some random kid.

artist!hyunjin who you kept bumping into randomly that it was odd.

artist!hyunjin who you had to investigate because his painting casted some kind of spell on unsuspecting people allegedly.

artist!hyunjin whose paintings have so much high value that the richest of the rich would drop their whole bank account for his paintings at the auctions.

artist!hyunjin who creates his own pigments with seashells and coral.

artist!hyunjin who would paint you in a heartbeat if you asked. you’re just so beautiful that the mona lisa couldn’t ever compare.

artist!hyunjin who has a huge bounty on his head for some unknown reason.

artist!hyunjin who hired you as his bodyguard because you are so strong and he also wants an excuse to be close to you.

artist!hyunjin who has a great love for the sea. he talks about it like he belongs there.

artist!hyunjin who loves to yap about an ancient oceanic civilization called lemuria. he’ll tell you anything and everything about it. especially to you.

artist!hyunjin who gets seasick and motion sick.

artist!hyunjin who claims that he doesn’t like cats, but can’t help but get all soft when one decides to curl up next to him.

artist!hyunjin who is weak for strong fragrances, especially if they’re yours.

artist!hyunjin who would take any opportunity or excuse to spend time with you. he doesn’t even care if you’re busy. he will find a way to spend time with you.

artist!hyunjin who hates waiting for you. he always wants to know that you’re going to stay by his side forever and never leave him again. he had to live for over 800 years without you, so no way he’ll let you go so easily.

artist!hyunjin who once admitted himself to the hospital over a sprained ankle.

artist!hyunjin who can be exhaustively dramatic, but you couldn’t help but find it endearing.

artist!hyunjin who once dragged you into the rain to play in the puddles. you were freezing cold, but it quickly melted away when you saw how joyful he was just splashing his feet in the water. you couldn’t help but splash the puddles with him too.

artist!hyunjin who uses his fire evol sparingly but if it means he’ll protect you from harm, he will use it.

artist!hyunjin who becomes weirdly moody and sick once a year. you aren’t sure why, but he tends to self-isolate on that day. he couldn’t bear showing his true self to you so soon.

artist!hyunjin who randomly sees his scales come out whenever he’s in his weird moody day. his body temperature rises tremendously, and his urges get stronger than it would normally be. but what’s more devastating is that you plague his mind even more on that day. he craves your touch, he craves your lips, he craves you.

artist!hyunjin who keeps his deepest darkest secrets away from you because he fears you’d use that against him one way or another. you’re human after all, and humans are truly greedy. although, on the other hand, if hyunjin was going to get killed or used by a human, he’d rather it be you.

artist!hyunjin who calls you his master. you could never figure out why, but in his eyes, he knows that his life is now in your hands forever until the end of time.

artist!hyunjin who you once went on a vacation with to the desert to help him get more inspiration.

artist!hyunjin who struggled with the heatwaves of the desert that all he needed was to pin you down in his bed and take all of his frustrations out of his system.

artist!hyunjin who is so whiny and needy in bed. he begs you to give him some release, and he is so desperate to please you in whatever way he can.

artist!hyunjin who tries to control his lemurian urges when he’s fucking you, but sometimes the scales become a lot harder to hide, his blood runs cold, and the need to possess you gets stronger. sometimes, he could go for hours that he often gets the intrusive thought that maybe he could repopulate all of lemuria within a single night if he tried.

artist!hyunjin who whispers in your ear just how much he wants to paint you all sweaty and fucked out because there’s nothing more beautiful than that. he would have it on display in his home if he could.

artist!hyunjin who is absolutely obsessed with you, and he would trade his kingdom more than a thousand times if it meant staying with you.

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a/n: hellaur everyone!! here’s another skz x lads fic hehehehe. i just wanna say thank y’all for the support on this AU. i’m so happy you’re loving it as much as i am. if you want to be the first to see my posts, join my taglist, and ofc feel free to read everything else on my masterlist. reblog/like if you enjoyed this fic, and comment down your thoughts <3

masterlist | taglist

[cactusdrinkstea]

─ ‧ ִ ۫✭ Beautiful mess

Vil Schoenheit x Reader

Summary: You saved Vil from getting his looks messed up from a failed potion and now he feels conflicted about it.

Word count: 1105

I loved how I wrote this one. I may write a part 2 with Vil pampering the reader perhaps. I will see later on -w-

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Looking absolutely divine was second nature to Vil. An art cultivated by him across the years to attract as many looks as possible. It could be described as a talent, but Vil also liked to think of it as his passion. Presentation was always the most important part, he always thought that way. 

If you presented yourself with good looks, everyone would listen to you and be at your whim, and even if they weren’t, your beauty would stand out more than anything else. That’s how he always thought. 

That day he was passing through the halls at NRC, it was no different than any other regular day. He had a book under his arm, heading outside from his history lesson. Usually his mind was focused, but that particular time he was thinking of something else. Thinking about his next possible photo shoot or if the beauty product he started to try was an improvement from the previous one. He could only hear faint muffled voices from some first years. 

“You messed it up! This is your fault! Now Crewel will fail us for real” 

“My fault? That furball poured the wrong quantities!” 

“Hey stop tugging it, you guys will drop it!” 

“How is ‘more’ a bad thing?! More is always better!”

Those were the rambles he blocked in his mind. Stuff he didn’t even want to get involved in. That was until he heard a warning that he didn’t pay attention to, and by the time he noticed he was being shoved to the side. He stumbled back at the unexpected motion, staring in surprise as his book fell out of his hands, the noise of glass shattering into pieces filled his ears. He fixed the strands of hair that went out of place and he stared back up. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” He snapped until he stared at the scene in front of him.

“Deuce, Ace, of course this involves you both, I can’t believe I am caught in the middle of—” He was about to rant until he saw the state of the last person in the trio. 

From head to toe, your body was covered in a weird substance. It looked like a potion gone wrong. From the texture to the color. A familiar potato covered in disgusting potion gunk. How could a potion be so runny and sticky at the same time?! It was like bubblegum mixed with water. Your usually plain looking face looked completely ruined, and if it was wearing any makeup before, he couldn’t even notice it anymore. 

"Lovely..."  You said sarcastically as the other two fools apologized over and over again when they stared at you. You told them it wasn't a big deal and then you looked at Vil

"You okay, housewarden?" You asked him, face still stained. Those eyes looking relieved to know it didn't get all over him, since instead you took the hit.

"I...What did you do that for? You just—" Vil didn’t even know how to feel. He seemed surprised, dumbfounded, and even angry, especially because he had been so careless not to notice the potion drop in the first place. It was the first time someone had jumped in front of him like this to avoid something bad happening to his looks. He was usually the one to be taking care of them, no one else did. 

"Ah, you are okay. It would have been a shame if it fell on you. I know how much you care about your looks” 

Now that truly shocked him, it felt as if the potion had fallen on him. No, it felt as if ten potions combined had just splashed onto his face. 

He felt a warm cozy feeling into his chest. Gratitude? Fondness? He couldn’t put his thoughts into words. Not only that but, since when did your face look so pretty? It didn’t make any sense. To any standard the way you looked was absolutely messy. Your usually clean hair looked sticky and the strands were stuck together. Your cheeks were covered in that slimy substance. That perfect uniform was stained and would probably need more than a singular wash. And yet with all of those things combined, he had never seen such a cute face before. No makeup needed, no fancy clothes or the most amazing hair. None of that. It only took a little kind potato protecting him to feel that way. 

Your eyes looking happily at him had never seemed so shiny and adorable. He snapped out of his thoughts and he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and started to walk up to you. 

"Yes, I am alright. I am more worried about you, that concoction looked like it was probably poorly made. Just look at what it did to your poor appearance” Vil softly wiped the sticky potion from your face. The last thing he wanted was for that cute skin to be left with any nasty spots, or your complexion would be ruined. He was even doing it more tenderly than usual. 

"What are you two doing creating any kind of potions anyway? With the looks of it this could easily be poison…” He said sternly to the first years, to which they only stepped back a little. 

“We were doing an assignment that went a little wrong. No harm done, right?” Ace said until he got elbowed by Deuce. 

“Clearly you guys don’t know how to make one!” Grim added but was promptly ignored.

“We messed it up in the process and then we all started to fight over it. We didn’t mean to drop it” Deuce sheepishly replied. Vil sighed and decided to focus all of his attention on his potato instead. 

“You’re not going to your room like this. You’re going to my dorm” He spoke firmly, already starting to drag you in the direction of Pomefiore’s mirror chamber. You were already trying to argue back, saying it wasn’t a big deal and that you would handle it, but whenever Vil had something in mind it had to be done. 

Right now he had to clean you up, give you a new wardrobe, the best skin and hair routine ever to fix that sticky mess and then maybe even try new makeup. He was going to take care of you just as much as you had taken care of him during that incident. Although deep down he was sure you wouldn't look as cute and beautiful as you had when you first saved him back in the halls. He had to keep that beautiful memory all to himself. 

─────────────── 

┆   ┆    ┆   ┆⋆

┆   ┆    ┆જ    ✾

┆    ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °             

┆彡   ✩               

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 16

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

best friend, baby by @ghosttotheparty*

“You— You make me feel so… good,” he finishes lamely, his head void of any words that could describe it, because how can Will describe the peace he finds in Nico’s presence, or the way he feels like he can finally breathe whenever Nico looks into his eyes? “You’re my favourite person,” he breathes. “My best friend.”

hooooooo boy the intimacy tag was NOT joking. i was gagged. yall tell me all the time how high u value will angst and like....this one DEVASTATED me for him??? like do yall ever think about how the first dialogue we hear from will in nico's perspective is self-loathing. yall ever think about how nico has always known him hating himself. well this author did. "i know you hate yourself but just because you hate yourself doesnt mean everyone else does too" hey what if we FOUGHT. also im going back in to all my FRFs to star my FAVE FAVE FAVE fics bc this is one of them LET ME TELL YOU.

2. just a dumb game by @ghosttotheparty

Nico di Angelo is not a party person. But Will Solace is going to be there. So.

they are SO FUCKING GAY and SO FUCKING IN LOVE and SO FUCKING STUPID. god i love them so fucking bad like they are inherently down bad obsessed with each other and this is how they should be. this is the way of the world.

3. even in the silver light by @ghosttotheparty

Nico is back. Will is still smitten.

first of all. latino and nb will. thank you. second of all. i am (obviously) obsessed with this author bc they KILLLLLL w burning intimacy. like you have no idea they write them like there is a twice burning fire only alive within them it's CRAZZZYYY. i also fckn LOVE that this is like. okay so the author says its plotless and it is kind of 45k of plotless, yes, but idk theres something to be said of love as a plot?? of learning and loving each other as a storyline.

4. splash by @ghosttotheparty

Annabeth is reading her favourite book. Someone walks directly into her.

yeah okay i think this is another one author week. sue me. this fic made me GRIN okay. it was so fucking cute and sweet and soft and autistic annabeth my beloved!! my love and light!! they are so in love in every universe fr and i fckn LOVE them dude i am OBSESSED. when this author writes people together it's as if you can hear them click.

5. isnt she lovely by @ghosttotheparty

Their eyes always meet in the halls. Her eyes are grey and shiny, and they make Percy think of stormy skies and marble sculptures. (She could be a marble sculpture, in the entrance of a museum, surrounded by scholars and artists and mesmerised passersby. Fucking beautiful in a way that only art ever is.) - - - Percy has had a crush on Annabeth since eighth grade. (He doesn’t know she likes him too.)

percy hitting the ground when annabeth kisses him 😭😭 HES SO REAL. i just recced this fic on instagram and i am here reccing it again bc it is EXCELLENT. i rly rly love to see pjotv percabeth in fic like i DO. theyre so fucking cute. and i LOVE how this author writes autistic annabeth!! it is so important to me!!! and this one is so CUTE like percy had such a huge crush on him.....like not just he liked her he had a CRUSH on her. god. i am melting.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[hwasoup]

Tale As Old As Time

playlist

art credit: marbipa hey guyyyss im backkk!! I had a great break and I even had fun with it as well, the loooonngg awaited Chapter 6 has finally arrived. Now to continue I also have created a discord server for us Miguel lovers out there, the only requirements are to simply be 18+ and that's it !!also you may get to chat with your favorite ff writers on the server !!

click on this and you'll be redirected to the server !

enjoy reading guyss !!

and dont forget to ask me to add you to the taglist !!

Warnings: some angst and lots of rotting fluff Words: 1.9k

Chapter 6: La Belle et La Bete

Later that night as the beast takes a bath…

“YOU SAID WHAT ?!” “I KNOW I KNOW…I well… we were sitting outside out at the rose garden and well.. I said that she made the world look more beautiful and if I could have a dance with her.. I NEVER expected she would say YES ?!” Miguel said as another bucket of warm water got doused over his body. He sputtered some of the water away from his lips as he wiped his face from the water. “What was I thinking Peter…” Peter chuckles “No, Miguel… It's perfect, you know that the rose has a few petals left which means that by the time the dance shall be held, you can confess your feelings for her”. Miguel gets up from the tub and looks over the curtain “I feel like an idiot…she won't ever love me anyways” Miguel shakes his body from all the water, splashing Peter in the process.

“You know she is the one”  “Oh quit it Peter..” Miguel said discouraged…”i shall see you in the morning” he said as he put on some clothes and retired for the night. Peter on the other hand smiled and left his bedroom to meet with the rest of the staff.

As Peter arrived at the kitchen,Jess was in the kitchen as always directing the dishes, forks, and knives to their respective drawers. Miles was simply watching over little Mayday, Gwen was dusting the shelves with her plumes, and Lyla was simply just chatting away with Pavitir

“Everyone, we have work to do, Miguel has finally and formally asked Y/N to a dance…. it's finally time to make this castle shine!” 

Miles cheers “and we’ll be human again !!” Jess sighed as she envisioned herself as her ladylike self “human again indeed…” Peter smiled, “When I’m human again, I’ll be good looking again, and I’ll be able to hug my baby in my arms again!” Miles cheers “when I’m human again, I’m going to run out into the garden just to feel the blood rush to my feet!” Jess chirps in “we’ll all get our chance to do what we miss when we’re human again, but for now…we have a dance to prepare!”

The entirety of the staff who lived in the castle cheered in excitement as they could finally tend and maintain their home. Pavitir, who was in the ballroom, started playing music on his keys to compose enough songs for Miguel and Y/N to dance to. Hobie, in y/n’s room, started picking and choosing fabrics in his cabinets and deciding which color suited Y/N the most as well. The brooms started sweeping, the mops and buckets started to work together to start cleaning the floor as well, the coat hangers helped pulling down the dilapidated curtains throughout the castle and replacing them with new curtains, the candles started organizing themselves onto the chandelier, and the cook had started picking and choosing courses for the dinner that will be eaten. 

______________________________________________________________

A week later…The day of the dance has arrived, and here Miguel is taking a huge bath in the tub. Soap is constantly lathered onto his fur, and dirt is removed each time until the water turns clear.

“I-I I’m not so sure I can do this…” Miguel says hesitantly. Peter scoffs “Oh please, Tonight is the night you’ll be able to confess to her, It’s now or nothing!” Miguel looks down as he has a bucket of water thrown over his body “b-but…what can I do?” Peter rolls his eyes “oh please, you have to be bold, daring, and smooth” Miguel nodded as he took note of what Peter was telling him. 

After his bath he was taken to his vanity and sat there as Peter kept on babbling in excitement “There will be romantic music, candlelight provided by Lyla and Miles and when the moment is right, you profess your love to her” Miguel sighed “oh please… how would I even know when the time is right?” Jess, who was standing on the vanity with Miles, Gwen, and Lyla all looked at him as they saw his nervousness. “Just some tips from a woman, all you gotta do is woo her with the music” Gwen pitches in “I think you’ll get nauseous when telling the truth...” Miles tries to encourage him “I think you’ll do fine sir…”

Peter looks at him and sighs “stop being so nervous and just tell Y/N how you feel because I swear you will be drinking cold tea for the rest of your life!”  Miguel gulped a little and nodded. The hairdresser finally arrived and immediately started working on Miguel’s fur, Others who worked in beauty polished his claws, brushed his teeth, cleaned his horns, and added perfumes onto him. Gwen used her feathers to add foundation onto his face and add his makeup. By the time they were all finished, they turned him around to look at the mirror and everyone’s face dropped .... clearly…the poodle looking updo and white makeup did not look great on his fur. “Ok…I-I can fix this" Peter says.

On the other hand, at the east wing, Hobie was helping Y/N getting into her golden gown. The two of them worked together as Y/N picked the design and Hobie used his magic to make the gown come to life. After Y/N got into the dress, Hobie looked at her and hummed “There sum missin ‘ere” He then looked into his drawers one more time and pulled out some gold accents. The wardrobe smiled at Y/N as it decorated her gown and added sparkle and shine “now yer ready Dovie” he says softly. Jess arrived at her door and cleared her throat “it is time...”

Y/N stepped out of her room and stood by her side of the stairs, on the other side she spotted Miguel, his mane was tied with a ribbon in the back and wore an extravagant blue suit. Y/N blushed a little at his appearance, seeing how his arms bulged out a bit from his suit and how tall and gentlemanly he stood. Miguel on the other side saw her and his heart melted, she was truly gorgeous and seemed extremely precious in his eyes. The two slowly descended from each side of the staircase and met in the middle. “Join me for dinner?” Adenira smiled and nodded as she held onto his arm and walked alongside him for dinner. The two sat beside each other and enjoyed a nice 3 course meal, the two laughed and dined and enjoyed a pleasant meal together. Eventually Pavitir arrived with a small ensemble and started playing music. Y/N heard it and smiled and got up and grabbed both of his arms “come, dance with me “she said excitedly. Miguel was just too enamored by her and got up with her to the ballroom. “Pero…no sé cómo bailar…”  Y/N smiled and brought his arm around her waist and held his hand on the other side “then learn with me” She then started waltzing with him. Miguel was a little awkward but eventually figured out how to dance with her and confidently led her and twirled her around the ballroom. Y/N was just so happy to be dancing with him and laid her head against his warm furry chest. The two waltzed and waltzed until both of their feet hurt. Once the two danced their hearts out, Miguel led her out onto the balcony and looked at the stars with her. He sat down on a ledge and nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he built some courage to speak to her.

“Y/N?” Miguel says tenderly. Y/N looked up at him and smiled as he got closer and held her hands. “Estás feliz conmigo ?” Y/N smiled at him and nodded “claro que si” she said softly but then she suddenly looked down. Miguel noticed and frowned “what’s wrong?” Y/N sighed... “Well…it’s just that…I wish I could just see my papa…por solo un momento…I miss him dearly...”  Miguel looked disheartened for her and thought about how to make her wish come true. Then he remembered…the magic mirror, He smiled at her and held her hands tightly “there is a way, come follow me!” 

He excitedly took her all the way to his room in the west wing and took her to where the rose was on the table. On the side there was the mirror. He took the mirror into his hands and handed it to her “this mirror can show you anything you wish to see” Y/N took the mirror into her hands and whispered, “I’d like to see mi papa…please” The mirror glowed yellow and revealed to her the current state of her father. In the mirror it showed Mauricio lying in bed weakly with what seemed to show that he was ill and with a fever. “No…papa…” she said worriedly “Esta Enfermo, h-he may be dying and he’s all alone” she said looking up at Miguel. Miguel looked at her with worry as well, he didn’t want Y/N to feel so anguished over her father’s current state. He took a look at the rose and looked at it with all the pain in his eyes…. he knew what to do…he knew the consequences…and he knew…that this could be goodbye... “Then...you must go to him.”

“Que?” Y/N looked at him surprised and approached him. “I release you… you’re no longer my prisoner...” Y/N looked at him with relief and with much empathy towards him “I’m free?” “Yes…” 

Y/N approached him to return the mirror to him. “No…keep it.. So you could at least have something to remember me by” Miguel looked at her lovingly and also with much hurt in his eyes. He had to take in her appearance one more time before she left, caressing her hair and watching as the locks fell from his paws. “Thank you for understanding how much he needs me now.” she said softly. Y/N’s eyes were filled with gratitude and with so much tenderness…she was afraid of never seeing him again, but at least the magic mirror would give her peace of mind if she wished to see him again. Y/N caressed his face one last time and left the room. Miguel reached towards her but stopped himself. His ears drooped and he sighed.

Jess noticed Y/N walking away from the room and she peeked in to talk to Miguel “I hope I can assume that everything went perfectly” she said with a smirk. “I let her go.” “What? But why? how could you do that Migs ?!” Jess said in shock. Peter walked in and his heart dropped as well watching the scene before him. “I had to Jessica…I did it because…I Love Her...”

Jess sighed and walked out of the room to break the news to the rest of the staff. Little Mayday sniffled “so I won't bwe a whittle girl again?” Miles hugged her tightly as he comforted her. Lyla sighed “but we were so close!” Peter chuckled to himself as he looked down dejected “After all of these years, He’s finally learned to love.”

Heartbroken, Miguel watches Y/N ride Felipe out the palace gardens and to the gates And he roared….

taglist:

@cupcakeinat0r , @miguelhugger2099, @mcmiracles,@xxsugarbonesxx,@codenameredkrystalmatrix,@deputy-videogamer,@lxverrings,@miguelzslvtz,@itsameclinicaldepression,,@ricekrisbris,@loser-alert , @thedevax, @uncle-eggy, @m4dyy, @freehentai, @synamonthy, @razertail18, @s0lm1n,

@badbishsblog, @faimmm, @texanadmirer, @stargirrls, @itzsab,@delectableworm,@jadeloverxd @pinkmistart, @kishimiest, @beabfleab

[chiyoso]

breaking the 4th wall: jing yuan

following content: insomnia, self conscious doubt, comfort, self aware au, something personal for those who have trouble with loneliness, insomnia and exhaustion.

author notes: im tired and its 3am, but jing yuan exists so have this comfort fic. also @ainescribe gift for your hardworking ass, ily aine feel better.

Your eyelids grew heavy, laid against the arm rest of the warm sofa, scrolling and tapping away at your phone for anything, any eventful thing that can spark a motivation, an inspiration to you.

It's eating you away. Death scrolling, letting the blue light affect your sleep instead of earning a sleep that your body desperately needs for tomorrow.

Yet, your fingers can't seem to stop moving, as if it had a mind on its own, causing further subconscious guilt and shame, a knowing voice gnawing and belittling behind your state of self, commenting on your disheveled, tired appearance, bags underneath your eyes, your flesh warning you of your stress and lack of self care that you couldn't find the time to do anymore. Shit, and the studying you have to do tomorrow.

All that, but your fingers never leave the glass screen.

3:25 AM Sun, Aug 6 ᯤ [▂] 22%

[Honkai: Star Rail] · PomPom: [Username]! Your trailblaz···

[Tumblr] · 16 new notes · [Your blog] ···

[Tumblr] · hiraethsdesires just posted a post...

[Weather] · 28° in [Place] Feels like 33° · Mostly Cloudy · S...

[Honkai Impact 3rd] · Captain! Your energy has replenishe...

⊗

“Finally.” You said, tapping the first notification.

You sighed, the notif reminding you of your shitty sleep schedule. It had originally updated you at the early mornings, gradually turning into afternoons, then the evening... night... and...

You were brought back to reality from the sound of the lobby theme, the Astral Express, traveling in your sight, wishing you would be reincarnated into such a life, meeting the ones who made this horrible, tedious lifespan bearable.

Once you hit tap, you were greeted with a loading screen that had Jing Yuan's fact along the bottom, earning a faint smile from you as the image of his splash art pops up in your mind.

Jing Yuan: The Divine Foresight, one of the Seven Arbiter-Generals of the Xianzhou Alliance, leads the Cloud Knights of the Xianzhou Luofu. A student of the Luofu's previous Sword Champion, though not known for his martial prowess.

You were greeted by the sight of Jing Yuan's pixels as always, greeting him bubbly and warmly as you spin him around to face you, zooming into his features, especially admiring his beauty mark under his eye.

“Pretty, so damn pretty,” You hum, moving onto other features, before resuming, checking your daily tasks.

Now what were you doing at this time of night?

You wouldn't know, you will never know, but he will always appreciate the way you greet him every day, but this day—being the observant, Arbiter General that he is, he notices your slurred, tired voice, but still coated with affection that he enjoyed quite a lot. He didn't quite like the bags underneath your pretty eyes that he will take glances of every chance he can get. He didn't like how you were feigning ignorance to your bodily needs, on how you were sacrificing sleep to play.

You led him to the cavern of corrosion; Path of the Holy Hymm once again, endlessly grinding the perfect relics for your main dps, wasting all your trailblaze powder for him. Bronya, Tingyun and Luocha snickered to themselves on how much you spoil the Arbiter General, on how much you baby him lovingly despite his commanding, superior status as the Xianzhou Luofu's face, causing his cheeks to grow hot in result of your affectionate words whenever you go to the character screen, setting and upgrading his relics.

“So strong my general...” His breath got caught to his throat upon hearing you, his blush deepening from the sudden suggestive tone in your voice.

The character screen was filled with the various people that you earned, and they were giggling and smirking slyly to your gestures, making his arms full of materials from the endless grind you did, all for him—a bonus as well, he didn't feel any shred of guilt as you do the same towards the others, but he was just your very, very favorite, and he knew all about it from your vocal prowess.

He would find your curses endearing when you get a shitty relic, but he would soon then join your annoyance as this body relic had stats befitting for a damn healer, might as well give it to Bailu since she's the same element, and fortunately a healer. (In which case you did.)

...

You worried him. Once you were done with your tasks and finishing off your remaining trailblaze powder, your eyelids threatened to shut, giving the Arbiter General a feeling that he hadn't felt in awhile, a certain dread, and a strong one at that towards the player who felt strongly about him.

Your consciousness was drifting, your lids weighing down, but the unthinkable happened.

On the top left corner under the map, a red exclamation mark appears on the chat logo, your tired eyes noticing the sudden mark, giving you a burst of little energy.

You blinked a few times, rubbing your lids gently before landing your irises upon the message again.

Was this a new message update?

A new trailblaze mission?

An event leak? Hoyoverse tease...?

You shook your head, regaining focus to check the patch notes in the game, seemingly finding nothing about any update, but your search doesn't stop there, you looked through the official website, hoyolabs, tumblr, youtube, heck even reddit—but none have mentioned a message regarding to this.

Deciding to remain quiet about this ordeal, you went back to the game to find another message, and another, his restlessness growing evident as the moonlight continues to dawn over your world.

3:38 AM Sun, Aug 6 ᯤ [▂] 19%

[Honkai: Star Rail] · 2 new messages from ▉▉▉▉ ▉▉▉▉ ···

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⊗

What- What the fuck?

Your throat lumped to the sight of the first notification, its whole box felt out of place from the others, yet you found your thumb nearing the glass towards the notif, accompanied with your growing blush and curiousity.

You were then met with the Hoyoverse screen once again, assessing the situation you were in as you stare into the blackness of the screen.

Was I... Imagining things? Surely not.

Fuck — I'll just... sleep all day tomorro—

...?

You were met with a slightly glitchy screen of the normal sequence of Jing Yuan's back, but he was... already in his phone. The sprite of his pixels, typing away, seeing the red exclamation mark on top of the speech bubble under the map, earning him a slight breathy inhale from you.

You click the link, losing your shit at the messages that fell before your eyes.

“Ha?”

“What the fuck? I-”

I've lost it.

Oh.

I haven't lost it?

You find yourself staring in silence, re-reading repeatedly the words that only instilled a slight fear yet wonder that was visible on your reddening face.

“But I-... How?” You spoke gently, softly. Something the General wished to hear again, and on cue, his sprite in the game chuckled, as if he was truly listening to you.

'I am only fiction to you' it rings through your head, aching your heart slightly.

You were about to speak, but another message popped up, leaving your body with disappointment and longing, gripping your phone as your eyes gloss over the phenomenon.

“W- Wait! Ji-... Jing Yu...”

You gulp down a lump, bringing your phone closer to your face, your eyes glistening, your whole senses overwhelmed with intensifying longing, warmth — yet accompanied with a growing heartache from the fleeting interaction and him excusing himself abruptly in this otherworldly situation.

...Wait.

Everythi—?

“General...” You muttered out softly, your reddening face from the embarrassing memories that flooded you, his words greatly reminding you of the times where you acted with full on eccentricity, degenerative behavior, lustful tendencies and so on. It made you wonder if other characters such as Blade, Welt — or perhaps even the Aeons heard and witnessed you all this time. It made you shiver with embaunable feelings of humiliation and continuous embarassment, making you unable to think clearly, and the way you threw away your phone onto the couch lightly to cover your heated face? Still being witnessed by the General, and a few other silent spectators of course.

Jing Yuan couldn't believe this situation as well.

This was somehow the work of Silverwolf, a wanted enemy of the Xianzhou, Destiny's Slave, but he felt the most warmth and joy since being summoned by you — no, especially this unforseen interaction with the mortal whose been taking care of everything in the universe within your phone, for taking great care of the Xianzhou especially.

... An endearing mortal at that.

The General and the rest of the game couldn't see as you apparently let go of your device, but your wails and silent squeals were still audible, as the General comes to a conclusion that you perhaps needed to calm down, but in reality, he quite enjoyed this spectacle of yours, even by only listening — in which he was once again very greatful for his grand, and sensitive sense of hearing as he listens to you.

After another, final deep breath, your hand reaches to your phone again, before beginning to press your fingers onto your screen in a frantic haze, but the joystick button was... unresponsive, as well as the others—except for the message button in this moment.

BZZT

Another messaged popped up, quickening your heartrate immediately.

“WH—” Your heart only fluttered and dropped at the same time.

He can do that?

It's... It's probably a bluff.

...

He's the Arbiter General, who am I kidding.

With a warm sigh of content, you find yourself smiling at your phone, hugging it onto your chest with the game still open unknowingly.

“...I love you all. You are all my calm and peace.”

You said quietly, sniffling and accompanied with sounds of your light breathing, drifting off your exhaustions away to fulfill your body's needs.

Finally in your slumber, your phone switches off within a few minutes, thus the floating screen on their end disappears, earning a content sigh from the General as he makes his way towards his office in the Exalting Sanctum, each step felt heavy without your sight now that you were aware he can — or his world can access yours in this small, yet impactful way, but his form grows with confidence, determination setting in his soul as his sights land upon the Cloud Knight whom guarded the way to his office.

Jing Yuan sought out to Welt Yang and Silverwolf immediately in secret after his satisfying interactions with you, informing them of what happened in full detail (though he left out the parts where you cosplayed a squealing tomato, sparing you from further humiliation) and the whole ordeal as it was successful. His subtle praises earned him multiple cheeky and cocky remarks from the criminal hacker, along with a few teasing about him being smitten by you (and to Welt as well), but what can he really do to retaliate back? She was a main source of intelligence and control who provided a connection to you in the first place.

Inevitable, but he was willing to cooperate either way, all for this world, for the Xianzhou — for you.

The three continue to dive into their conversations, planning on how he or others who are interested, can continue to interact with you further more without raising suspicion from their creators upon breaking a few bits of code and data. It was no doubt in mind risky, that was apparent, but so was their endearment and affection towards their human, their player.

In all honesty, Welt and Silverwolf also found themselves wanting to interact with you as well from Jing Yuan's stories of the first ever interaction you had to their world, but of course, if they did it consecutively, it would most definitely be noticable if a few more characters began to act on their own accord, threatening the programmed codes as numbers shift and modify suspiciously.

Though unfortunately, only resorting to using the message system for now, but Silverwolf was confident with her abilities, making use of the way she was made, using the descriptions laid for her against her own creators.

After all, Hoyoverse made her annoyingly cunning, intelligent and skilled. A mistake on their part, or rather, an intended choice of character building for players like us to create, indulge and enjoy? We'll never know.

Unless Hoyoverse put out a stream that specifies the matter, until then Silverwolf remains focused and unyielding to her program, heeding Jing Yuan's call if need be and taking Welt Yang's advices about his own knowledge when it came to multiverses and other worlds from his prior experiences. All this planning, the risk, the longing for more interactions with you — it was a motivation to the three, as well as for the others that greatly wished to converse with you.

An aloof and lazy, the general he may be, but he's a living legacy of dreams and determination for a reason.

A wielder of a great glaive with materials dropped from the remants of the Reignbow Arbiter's Lux Arrow — and tonight, as you slept peacefully, this felt like a moment of miracle once again, the fleeting moment of grace that made their world reach a state of serenity, all from the possibility of having to finally, finally interact with you.

reblogs help ppl discover me thank you <3

[sirxaibs]

Hizashi Yamada / Present Mic X Reader

↻ Off The Record ↺

Masterlist

So like….. this one I really thought of a Batman/ Jason Todd reader…. Also its been a while! whoopie! also this is a lot of tension without resolve. Someone asked for a angst one but then wanted comfort and by the time I was done this I realized it was too late for that. So youll be getting a double angst fic soon for some more comfort.

Synopsis: You and Hizashi had a family. Until one day you didn’t. When is it a point that you can avenge your family.

The camera focuses in on a patch of green where a blanket is spread out. Sitting cross legged in the middle of it is a young woman hair tied up messily, sleeves rolled past her elbows, and wearing an old, oversized band shirt that’s clearly been through more than one laundry battle. She’s got something smudged on her cheek maybe mashed banana and she doesn’t seem to notice or care. Just in front of her, a baby with soft blond hair and a gummy smile is trying to crawl with intense determination. Their chubby little arms slap against the blanket as they inch forward, letting out squeals of delight every time they gain a few inches. From behind the camera, Hizashi’s voice comes through, a little breathless from laughter.

“You’re getting this, right?” the reader calls, glancing up with a grin.

“I never stopped,” Hizashi replies, his voice warm. “I always catch the moments of my beautiful girls”

“You said that last time and then forgot to hit record,” she teases, catching the baby just as they topple forward with a squeak. She lifts them into the air with practiced ease, blowing a raspberry on their tummy that makes them shriek with laughter.

“That was one time,” he defends, shifting the camera a bit to frame her better. “And anyway, you’re the one covered in banana. If anything, I’m preserving art right now.”

The reader sticks her tongue out at him, still holding the baby against her chest. “bleh bleh bleh.” The baby reaches up, curious fingers poking at her face before pressing against her nose. She goes still, cross eyed, then bursts into laughter.

“Oh no. That was a critical hit. Guess I’m down for the count,” she groans playfully, flopping back into the grass and pulling the baby down with her. The baby giggles again, burying their face against her collarbone. Her hand comes up to gently support the back of their head, and her laughter softens into something quieter, more content. The camera zooms in just a little. The sunlight catches the edges of her hair, and even from behind the lens, it’s obvious how peaceful she looks. Hizashi’s voice lowers, more to himself than anything.

“My beautiful beautiful girls”

The camera lingers on the moment the baby nestled against her, her hand cradling them gently, her eyes half closed as she sways slightly in the grass. The wind moves through the trees, and for a moment, everything is still.

[END RECORDING 1]

There’s a small inflatable pool in the center of the yard. The water sloshes gently as a toddler barely old enough to speak in full sentences sits inside, smacking the surface with open palms and laughing at the splash. The reader crouches at the edge of the pool, sleeves rolled up and jeans cuffed just above the ankle. She’s holding a little plastic cup, pretending to sip from it before handing it back to the toddler with exaggerated delight. “Mmm! That’s the best pool water tea I’ve ever had,” she says, wiping fake tears from her eyes. “You really outdid yourself this time.” The toddler giggles and claps, delighted, before refilling the cup by dunking it haphazardly back into the pool. Most of it spills over their arm.

“You want more!” they declare proudly.

“Oh, absolutely. A whole round, chef,” she grins, holding out her hands with mock anticipation. “Let me savor this deluxe pool water blend.”

From behind the camera, Hizashi’s voice breaks in. “You two openin’ a café back there or just giving away five star service to VIPs?”

“You wish you were invited,” the reader calls, not looking back. The camera jerks a little clearly Hizashi’s picking it up now. The view bobs as he walks closer, eventually settling in on the reader and the toddler who’s now attempting to pour the ‘tea’ onto her head. She shrieks and leans back just in time.

“No! We don’t serve it like that! That’s assault!” she laughs. The toddler dissolves into giggles, proud of the reaction. Hizashi kneels beside the pool, one arm visible as he reaches in to push a floating rubber duck toward the baby.

“You’re teachin’ them all your bad habits,” he teases, looking over at her with a crooked grin.

“Oh, yeah?” she says, nudging him with her shoulder. “She got your hair and your voice. you have cursed her.”

“extremely cool and amazing style, you mean,” Hizashi corrects with a wink, then turns the camera back to the toddler who’s now taken the duck and is trying to make it “fly” through the water. There’s a long pause no talking, just the soft splash of water, the toddler’s happy babbling, the creak of a tree branch above them. The camera dips a little, and Hizashi exhales slowly through his nose. His voice is quieter when he speaks again.

“Man… she’s getting so big.”

The reader leans back on her hands, watching the child with that same soft look from the last video. “I know,” she says. “I keep thinking if I blink too long, I’ll miss something.”

The toddler looks up, eyes shining, and yells, “Dada! Look!” holding up a soggy duck triumphantly. Hizashi laughs, hand coming into frame to gently ruffle the baby’s wet hair. “I see ya, little rocker. Ten outta ten splash style.” The screen slowly starts to fade as the camera slips back into the grass, forgotten in favor of joining the moment.

[END RECORDING 2]

The room is dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of a laptop screen. Everything else is still. The walls are lined with old posters and shelves cluttered with memories records, photos, little things that once felt important. But right now, all of that fades into the background. Hizashi sits hunched in front of the desk, elbows on his knees, head bowed low. He’s still in his clothes from the day, shoes kicked off and forgotten beside the chair. The laptop screen flickers as a video ends static for half a second and then begins again.

The reader is sitting in the grass, wind in her hair, laughing as their baby crawls toward her. Her voice echoes faintly from the speakers. “C’mon, c’mon ! You can do it, little storm!”

Hizashi doesn’t speak. He barely blinks. His fingers, curled tight around the laptop’s edges, twitch. He rewinds the video ten seconds. Plays it again. Rewinds. Again. Over and over. The sound of her laugh becomes a loop warm, full of life, a sound that feels so distant now it may as well be from another lifetime. His chest rises with a shallow breath then another. A shaking exhale escapes his throat, and he bites the inside of his cheek as if that might hold something in. His eyes stay locked on the screen.

“C’mon, little storm,” she says again, softer this time.

The baby giggles. He presses pause. The image freezes on her face smiling, eyes glowing with joy. The baby is half lunging forward, caught mid motion. Hizashi swallows hard, jaw tight, knuckles white. He presses play again. Then rewind. Again. Again. There’s no sound in the room now except for the looping of her voice and the faint whir of the laptop fan. His breathing grows uneven, but he doesn’t let himself cry. Not yet. He just sits there, stuck in time with her rewinding the only piece of her that he still had.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 Hizashi’s sprawled on the couch, one leg kicked up over the armrest. He’s wearing his tinted glasses, though they’ve slipped slightly down his nose. In his hands is a sleek, beat up notebook with audio notes scrawled in the margins and ideas circled three times. Across from him, Aizawa sits in a chair, arms crossed, hair pulled back just enough to look like he tried. He’s sipping something that probably started as coffee but has long since gone cold.

“so I was thinking,” Hizashi says, flipping the notebook toward Aizawa with a grin, “for the next episode, I bring in a retired pro hero who’s been doing underground rescue work. You know, off the grid, totally unofficial, but still out there saving people. The guy’s voice is all gravel and chain smoke it’ll sound awesome in post.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re going to platform someone who’s technically breaking the law?”

“It’s inspiring, not incriminating. I’ll edit carefully.” Hizashi grins, waggling his brows. “And I’m not naming names. Just telling stories.”

“You said that last time and still ended up with Nezu calling you in for a ‘polite conversation’ that lasted an hour and a half.”

“He understands.”

Aizawa sighs into his cup. “If it were me, they’d shut the whole thing down.”

“That’s because you sound like dead puppies or something. total buzzkill” A faint twitch tugs at Aizawa’s mouth full of amusement.Hizashi laughs, stretching his arms behind his head. “Hey, what can I say? People like when I talk. It’s either the podcast or every event this place has. If i was bad at what I do they would not ask me to do the things I dooooooo.”

“ew stop.”

Hizashi leans forward, smirking. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a fan club of sleepy office workers who listen to you while folding laundry.”

“Correct,” Aizawa deadpans. “I want none of that.”

Before Hizashi can fire back, the intercom crackles to life, breaking the moment. “Yamada, Aizawa please report to my office at your earliest convenience,” Nezu’s cheerful voice chirps through the speakers. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble!.”

The intercom clicks off. A beat of silence. Hizashi squints up at the ceiling. “I feel like im in highschool again”

Aizawa sets down his mug with a quiet sigh and stands, already reaching for his capture weapon. “He calls you like this all the time”

“Yeah so exactly like highschool” Hizashi follows, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch.

“I just want to go home.”

“Come on, Shota, don’t be like that,” Hizashi grins, catching up as they head for the door. “Our fearless leader is calling.” “ugggggggh.” And with that, the lounge door swings shut behind them.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The door to Nezu’s office swings open with a faint creak, the familiar scent of tea and paper drifting out to meet them. Nezu sits perched behind his desk, paws folded neatly, tail swishing slowly as he watches them enter with that ever pleasant smile that somehow always makes people nervous.

“Ah, thank you for coming so quickly!” he chirps. Aizawa steps in first, quiet and unreadable, hands shoved in his pockets. Hizashi follows, a little slower, his usual swagger dialed down into something more neutral though he still offers Nezu a quick two finger salute. Nezu gestures to the chairs across from him. “Please, have a seat. I won’t keep you long.”

The two settle in, Hizashi lounging back while Aizawa sits forward slightly, eyes already narrowed in suspicion. Nezu picks up a folder from his desk and slides it open with practiced ease. “I received a request this morning from a pro hero agency one you both are familiar with.” He lifts his gaze, tone still light. “Lumine’s (Y/n hero Name) agency.”

Aizawa’s eyes flick to Hizashi before Nezu even finishes the sentence. Hizashi goes still. Nezu continues, unaware or simply unbothered by the sudden tension in the air. “They’ve taken on a delicate undercover case. They need more pro heroes involved enough to form the appearance of a cooperative task force, but discreet enough that it doesn’t draw too much attention. They specifically asked if I had any heroes in mind.”

Hizashi’s fingers curl around the arm of the chair. Aizawa’s voice cuts in, cool and even. “Send someone else.”

Nezu blinks, tilting his head. “Oh?”

Aizawa doesn’t look at Hizashi. “There are plenty of capable pros who could play the part. You don’t need us.”

“I’m aware,” Nezu replies calmly, clasping his paws again. “But your teamwork history with her is one of the strongest among U.A. affiliated heroes. There’s a unique rhythm there. And in this case, familiarity might be more useful than sheer numbers.”

“Still,” Aizawa starts again, firmer this time, “it’s a mistake.”

But before he can say more, Hizashi leans forward. “I’ll do it.”

Aizawa finally looks at him. “Yamada ”

“I’ll do it,” Hizashi repeats, more certain now, even though his jaw’s tight. His voice is steady, but his eyes aren’t quite meeting Aizawa’s. “She asked for help. I’m not gonna sit back and pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Aizawa studies him for a long, silent moment. There’s something sharp behind his gaze, something protective. He doesn’t speak again not yet. Nezu nods, pleased. “I knew I could count on you.”

He turns to Aizawa next. “And what about you?”

Aizawa doesn’t answer right away. He looks at Hizashi again, then slowly exhales through his nose. “…Fine,” he mutters, rubbing at the corner of his eye. “But I’m not playing backup if this gets personal.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Hizashi says quietly.

Nezu claps his paws together. “Wonderful! I’ll forward you the brief. You’ll both head out in two days.”

As they stand to leave, Hizashi lingers for a moment, staring down at the folder still resting on Nezu’s desk. His eyes trace the corner of your name just barely peeking from a report inside. His hand tightens once before he forces it to relax. And then he turns, following Aizawa out of the room.

The door shuts behind them with a soft click, sealing off Nezu’s office and all the weight it carried. The hallway is quiet. Hizashi walks a step ahead, hands shoved deep in his pockets, mouth set in a line. His usual energy is gone no humming, no idle chatter, no light bounce in his step. Just silence. Aizawa follows beside him, eyeing the tension in his shoulders, the way he hasn’t said a word since they left the office. They pass a group of first years who pause to wave, but Hizashi doesn’t even notice.

“What was that?”

Hizashi glances sideways. “What?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Aizawa says, voice low.

Hizashi doesn’t answer right away. They keep walking past empty classrooms, the echoes of their steps filling the space between them. Finally, he exhales, slow and shaky. “It’s just been a while,” he says, too quickly.

Aizawa stops walking. Hizashi slows but doesn’t turn. he he “I’m serious,” Aizawa says. “If this is going to get in your head, I need to know now. You’re not the only one going in. I’m not dragging you out of something you weren’t ready for.”

Hizashi finally stops, his back still to Aizawa. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it more than usual, then turns halfway just enough to speak over his shoulder. “She asked for help, Shota,” he says quietly. “Whether she meant to or not, she did. I’m not gonna ignore that.”

Aizawa’s gaze narrows. “This isn’t about obligation. Don’t pretend it is.”

Hizashi chuckles once, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s not. But… I need to do this. Maybe for her. Maybe for me. I don’t know yet.”

Aizawa steps closer, voice dropping lower. “You haven’t talked to her since…”

“Yeah,” Hizashi cuts in. He finally turns fully, arms crossed, leaning back against the wall like he’s trying to hold himself up with it.

“I miss her every single day,” he murmurs. “Whether I understand it or not Im going to be there for her”

Aizawa watches him in silence, the faint crease between his brows softening just a little. “Alright,” he says. “If you’re in, I’m in.”

Hizashi gives a weak smile. “Thanks, man.”

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 Hizashi and Aizawa step in, both dressed In their hero gear. Hizashi scans the place, mouth a thin line. Aizawa just yawns behind his scarf. “Can I help you?” the receptionist asks, eyeing them both before recognition softens her tone. “Oh Present Mic, Eraserhead. Lumine said to expect you.”

“She mention what this was about?” Aizawa asks, voice low.

“She said she’d brief you personally,” the receptionist replies with a tight smile. “She’s just ”

FWUMP.

A faint rush of wind and a shimmer of light drift in through the skylight above and then you land lightly in the center of the room, boots clicking softly as you straighten. Hair tousled by the wind you offer a nod to the others in the room before your gaze lands on the newcomers.

Your breath catches for a beat. Hizashi. You weren’t expecting him. But you recover quickly. A smile curls at your lips professional, measured, but undeniably a great thing. You brush your hair back and take a few steps forward.

“Thanks for coming,” you say to the room, your voice smooth and sure. “I’ll keep this quick. The mission’s simple. There’s a formal pro hero gala tonight big guest list, all high ranking heroes and agency leaders. Somewhere in that crowd is a contact I need to extract information from.”

You pause and glance around. “Problem is, I can’t make a direct move. Too many eyes. So I need all of you trusted faces to act as cover. Draw attention, start conversations, keep the spotlight off me.”

One of the pros a tall woman with a flame patterned cape raises a brow. “You brought this many people just to run interference?”

The others murmur similar questions. Your smile doesn’t waver. “Sometimes the most valuable thing in a room full of pros isn’t strength. It’s distraction. And trust.”

Still, a few of them exchange skeptical looks. Then, from your left “…Why us?” The voice was one you knew all too well. Hizashi steps forward just a little, arms crossed. He’s not challenging you but his gaze is steady, careful. “Why me?”

The room goes quiet. You meet his eyes those same eyes that used to crinkle when he laughed too hard. Your heart stutters, but your smile remains. “Because Nezu has a good memory,” you say lightly. “he knows what works best.” Hizashi tilts his head, lips parting like he might say something else but you turn toward the rest of the team before he can. “Everyone, get your formal gear ready. The gala starts at eight. I’ll brief you again in the transport. No costumes. No weapons. just please kiss some ass.”

As the others disperse, still murmuring to each other, you linger where you stand eyes trailing Hizashi just a little longer than necessary before turning away. He watches you, silent, that same tension in his shoulders he had in Nezu’s office.

Aizawa quietly steps up beside him and mutters, “This was a bad idea.” But Hizashi doesn’t answer. He just keeps watching you. The corridor glows with warm light from the sunset bleeding through the floor to ceiling windows, streaking gold across polished floors and glass panels. It’s quiet up here. Peaceful. A break from the constant motion of the agency below. You stand near the railing, clipboard in hand, eyes trained on the city skyline but you’re not really looking at it. Your smile is soft, just enough to pass, just enough to say: I’m fine. This is fine. Behind you, footsteps approach. Light, familiar. You don’t turn.

“You always did like ahen things were quiet,” Hizashi says casually, his voice easy, light. “Something poetic about it.”

You turn your head just a little, enough to see him in your peripheral. “Poetic? Did you pick up a new hobby? must have been something I missed while you were off being a radio star?” You make it a joke. You even add a small laugh that feels practiced now.

Hizashi steps up beside you, resting his elbows on the railing, looking out. “Nah. Still can’t write poetry for anything. But I can still recognize when you are hiding.”

Your smile twitches, just slightly. But it doesn’t drop. “If I was hiding, this would be the worst place to do it. Big windows.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you from the side. “I didn’t come up here for the mission,” he says finally.

You nod slowly, still staring straight ahead. “Yeah. I figured.”

“You gonna ask why I did?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” You keep your voice airy. “Everyone missed me. I’m the star attraction around here.”

Hizashi’s laugh is quiet. “You always were in my eyes”

You turn to face him with a too sunny smile. “Anyways Present Mic, what can I do for you?”

That earns a grin from him, but there’s something searching in his eyes like he’s not buying it. Like he never really did. “Just wanted to see you,” he says, voice quieter now. “Cant say that Ive seen you in a while”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the clipboard. “Well, lucky for you, this is it. Ta da.”

But it doesn’t come out with the same flair as usual. The exhaustion slips through the cracks. He catches it. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y’know,” he says gently. “You never did.”

then you laugh small, hollow, just barely a sound. “You say that like it’s easy.”

He tilts his head. “Isn’t it easier than bottling it up?”

You look away again. “Bottling it up got me this far.”

Another silence. You hear him shift closer, just a little. Still not touching, but close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him. “I missed you,” he says.

You blink. Slowly. The weight of those words settle over your shoulders like a coat you forgot belonged to you. “I missed a lot of things,” you murmur. “Doesn’t mean I know what to do with them now.”

“You don’t have to,” Hizashi replies. “Just… don’t shut the door all the way, okay?”

Your smile fades, softens into something tired and unsure. But you nod. “…Okay.”

He leans a little closer, voice gentle. “And for the record? I didn’t come up here for closure. I came up here because the door’s still open. Even if it’s just a crack.”

You let out a slow breath. Then quietly, more vulnerable than you’d like you say, “Don’t make promises you don’t plan to keep.”

Hizashi smiles “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The room is quiet except for the soft clink of a makeup brush against a ceramic palette and the low hum of distant city traffic. Golden light from the setting sun filters through the tall windows, catching on your vanity mirror. You sit in front of it, barely blinking as you apply a dark line of eyeliner with practiced ease. Your reflection stares back at you. Polished. Perfect. Controlled. Like you haven’t broken a hundred times over. Your hand pauses mid swipe. Lips slightly parted, mascara wand hovering. The image in the mirror doesn’t look like you. Not the version of you who’s been slipping through alleyways in the dead of night. Not the version who helps the desperate and the voiceless when the system turns away. This version? She’s a performance. She’s what the hero system still expects you to be. You press the wand down and exhale shakily. And then your mind drifts to him.

Hizashi.

Of all the people Nezu could’ve sent, of all the names that could’ve landed on that list it had to be his. You grit your teeth, swallowing the rise of emotion burning in your throat. Of course you still love him. You always have. From his dumb jokes to his reckless optimism. From the way he held your baby like the world might fall if he didn’t… to the way he shattered when it actually did. But that love lives under the ash of everything you lost. The system said you couldn’t move your child. Protocol. Civilians were to shelter in place while pros handled the threat. And what happened? He escaped again. Again. Again.

How many people did it take before they actually locked him away? Too late. Always too late. Your hand trembles against the vanity. They told you to trust the law. To wait. They said justice would come. It did but only after blood. So you stopped trusting them. You still wear the hero name, still hold the title because it’s useful. But when the uniform comes off, you become you. The one who helps where the law won’t go. The one who tracks the ones the system forgets. The one who avenges. You sacrificed everything to live that life. Even him. Even love. Because the hero system let you bury your child. And now… now you’re here again, curling your lashes, dabbing soft shimmer onto your eyelids, pretending you’re whole. Pretending you’re going to a party. Pretending you’re just another hero at a gala with a mission.

You click the lipstick shut, the final touch complete. The woman in the mirror stares back beautiful, unreadable, deadly. No one in that room tonight will see anything else. You rise slowly, smoothing out the fabric of your dress midnight blue, sleek and elegant, with a slit that hides your knives and your scars. Another mask. You glance once more at your reflection.

“…Let’s get this over with,” you whisper.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The gala glows beneath chandeliers and camera flashes, a swirl of polished shoes, clinking glasses, and hero agency logos gilded in gold along the walls. Music hums soft and jazzy beneath the polite roar of conversation, laughter.

Hizashi Yamada is in the center of it all, exactly where he knows you need him to be. His suit is sharp dark green with golden accents, the kind of color that catches the light just enough to make him pop. His hair’s tied back neatly, but the grin on his face is pure Present Mic: loud, magnificent , effortless.

“C’mon, c’mon!” he says, waving his drink with a flourish as a small circle of heroes gathers around him. “You haven’t lived until you’ve been in a karaoke bar in Osaka with Gang Orca and Fat Gum. I swear Orca screamed ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ like his life depended on it!”

The circle bursts into laughter, even the stiffer heroes cracking smiles. A few paparazzi hover near the edge of the group, lenses trained on him, capturing every animated gesture and flashy grin. Exactly as planned. If he was going to do this help you with this mission he was going to do it right. Draw the spotlight. Drown out the background. Let you move like a shadow behind the scenes.

“You’re really working this room,” comes Aizawa’s voice, low and unimpressed, as he appears beside him with a glass of water in hand and his long coat thrown over the more traditional black suit.

“Course I am,” Hizashi says through a grin, only just glancing at him. “Isn’t that the job?”

“You’re being loud even for you.”

“People like loud,” Hizashi replies, motioning around the room. “Loud means attention babygirl”

Aizawa physically recoils at the nickname ans follows his gaze. Your figure is barely visible, cutting clean through the crowd in a sleek dress, slipping between clusters of distracted pros with silent precision. You’re already at the far end of the room, unnoticed. Unbothered. Just like you wanted.

Aizawa hums, eyes flicking back to Hizashi. “So, what happens if they start looking for you when the lights go down?”

Hizashi’s grin softens, just a little.

“Then I keep being the one people hear.”

And with that, he throws an arm around a nearby hero, dragging them into the conversation, voice booming again like nothing’s changed. But behind the volume, behind the show, his eyes keep darting toward the edges of the room where he knows you are. And he prays they keep looking at him, just a little longer.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The room spins in soft gold and velvet shadows as the band shifts into something slower strings and piano, romantic and dangerously timed. Laughter hushes to murmurs as couples begin to gather at the polished dance floor, gliding in practiced steps.

He sees you. You step out from the fringe of the crowd, no longer a shadow. No longer just the woman on a mission. You’re standing beneath a chandelier, its light bathing you in soft firelight. Midnight blue silk wraps around you like the night itself, slit high enough to whisper of the weapons hidden beneath, and yet all he sees is you. like the memory he’s never been able to rewrite. Hizashi’s mouth parts, breath catching in his throat. For a second just a second he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. He forgets the crowd, the mission, the weight of years between you.

All he sees is the love of his life.

You’re scanning the room, eyes sharp but you feel it the burn of a gaze that cuts deeper than the others. When you meet it, your chest tightens. Of course he’s looking at you like that. Like it’s the first time. Like it’s the last time. Like it’s always been you. Your jaw ticks slightly, but before you can move away.

He’s already in front of you. You feel it before you see him. His hand on your waist. Warm, firm. Familiar. His other hand gently, reverently, slides into yours. Your breath stutters. “Dance with me,” he says, voice low, the wild energy of his public persona stripped away.

You look up, annoyed just a little. “This isn’t part of the plan.” But there’s no venom in your tone. There never is, not with him.

His thumb brushes your hip, soft. “Maybe not. But I’ve waited years for five minutes with you that weren’t shadowed in grief.” He leans down, hand still clasping yours, and presses a kiss to your wrist. Then another, up your arm. Slow. Like he’s memorizing the pieces of you he thought he’d never touch again. You say nothing. You don’t pull away. Because your heart is screaming. He leads you gently toward the floor. The crowd shifts, moving out of your path, and the room seems to hush, the music rising as the two of you step into its rhythm. You dance. Bodies close, breath shared. His touch is careful, not possessive never possessive but like he’s holding something fragile. You’re stiff at first, guarded, but then your fingers curl tighter in his hand, your other hand brushing his shoulder. It feels like coming home and stepping into a fire, all at once.

Neither of you speaks. You don’t need to. His hand squeezes yours. you let yourself rest your cheek against his shoulder for just a moment. One song. That’s all he asked for. And for the first time in what feels like forever… You let him have it.

The music wraps around you like silk smooth and slow, the kind of song that sways rather than marches. You move with him, step for step, breath for breath. But your posture is rigid. Not cold, not cruel just closed. Hizashi doesn’t push. His hand remains at your waist, guiding you gently across the floor, fingers warm against your lower back. You’re dancing, but your eyes keep flicking away over his shoulder, past the crowd, toward your objective. He doesn’t mind. He’s just watching you. Fully. Softly. Like he doesn’t care who sees.

“Its been so long,” he murmurs, his voice low enough only for you. “you still look like a rockstar as much as the last time i've seen you”

You glance at him, unamused.

“Don’t start.”

He grins. “Just sayin’. It’s cute.”

Your brows tighten, your gaze cutting to the side. The rhythm doesn’t falter, but your walls stay up. You keep moving like a soldier dressed as a socialite. He chuckles softly, not deterred. “This dress, though…” His fingers graze the silk at your hip, reverent. “Do you know how beautiful you look”

You say nothing. You just breathe in through your nose, shoulders sharp.

“I mean it,” he goes on, shameless. “You look like a star. Like the kind that burns out entire galaxies”

You roll your eyes, lips twitching into a ghost of a smile. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well. I’m allowed to be,” he says, eyes on you like you’re a masterpiece. “Haven’t seen you like this in forever. Let me be ridiculous.”

You stare straight ahead, chin tilted just slightly higher. “I’m working,” you say softly.

“I know,” he replies, no protest in his tone. “I’m just dancing. With the woman I love.”

Your chest tightens. You hate the way that lands. The way it splits you open with something soft and aching. But you don’t reply. You just keep dancing. His thumb brushes circles against your spine.

“You’ve always been good at this,” he says suddenly, quieter now. “Ive always liked things loud and fast. But I think… I think I always liked you best when you stayed still. Just for a minute. Just long enough to look at me.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Not yet. He smiles anyway. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… needed to tell you.”

The song fades into its last few notes, and you step back from him, just a little. The space between you isn’t wide but it feels like miles. Still, his hand never drops yours.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The sun barely filters through the blinds of the teachers’ lounge, casting long stripes across the floor. The coffee in Hizashi’s mug has gone lukewarm. He doesn’t seem to notice. Slouched on the couch in his yellow hoodie and black joggers, he’s staring blankly at the muted TV screen as the early news drones on in the background. Aizawa stands near the counter, dark hair tied back, arms folded across his chest, his cup untouched. The room feels heavy like something is waiting to drop. Then the news breaks.

“We interrupt your regular programming with breaking news. Last night, the body of Daigo Nishida was discovered in a private lounge of the Pro Hero Gala. Authorities report the man had been dead for several hours before staff discovered the scene.”

Both men turn their heads.

Hizashi’s eyebrows pull together. “Wait what?”

Aizawa is already narrowing his eyes, moving toward the remote to turn the volume up.

“Initial speculation assumed it was a heart attack, but the situation has taken a drastic turn. Investigators have confirmed that Daigo Nishida had been under covert surveillance for months. Allegations include child trafficking, harassment, and laundering funds through hero support firms. Authorities are now treating the death as a possible homicide.”

A still photo of Nishida appears on the screen, taken at some formal event. He’s smiling. Glass raised in a toast.

Aizawa’s jaw clenches. “He was at the gala.”

Hizashi blinks slowly, sitting forward. “He was there. We were there. We were what, fifteen feet away the whole damn night?” They sit in stunned silence as the anchor continues listing charges, connections to known black market labs, even a supposed deal that fell through with a hero firm overseas. Hizashi scrubs a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me all that was happening and we were out there charming sponsors and spinning small talk?”

“I didn’t even see him in the crowd,” Aizawa mutters.

“Same.” Hizashi leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’d think I’d catch a guy like that. Especially at that kind of event.” A beat of silence. He stares at the screen, face unreadable. “Can’t say I’m shedding tears over it, though.” Aizawa gives him a look but doesn’t disagree. Hizashi shakes his head, muttering, “Guy like that getting away with that much, that long… Makes you wonder who else was looking the other way.”

But he isn’t angry about that. Not really. His mind is already somewhere else circling you. He remembers the tension in your shoulders. The way you never quite softened, even when you danced with him. The way your eyes kept drifting always watching, always calculating. You’d known something. Or someone. And if you were close to it if you were even near whatever happened in that room Hizashi’s jaw tightens. I should check in on her, he thinks, quietly.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 Your fingers move fast, scribbling notes, signing documents, flipping pages without hesitation. There’s always more to do. There always has to be more to do. A knock breaks through the silence. You don’t look up. “Come in,” you call, already bracing yourself. Another pro. Another secretary. Another bright eyed intern wanting advice. Your voice shifts instinctively preparing the familiar bubbly tone, the one people expect from you now. But when the door opens, and you finally glance up Your heart stutters. Hizashi stands in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, the other tucked into his jacket pocket. His usual energy is dulled still him, still tall, still magnetic in the way only he is but quieter. He’s in his casual wear again: yellow hoodie layered under his bomber jacket, hair loose and a bit windswept from being outside. Your throat tightens. You immediately look back down at your papers, flipping to the next sheet like it’s more interesting than the man you once shared a life with. He steps inside slowly and closes the door behind him. You speak first, flat but polite. “Need something for the report?”

Hizashi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies you. The way your jaw clenches. The way your pen stills just slightly before moving again. The way you’re not looking at him really refusing to. “…Are you okay?”

The question hangs there, heavier than it should be. You don’t flinch, but your fingers tense around the pen. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, still not meeting his eyes.

“Because,” he says softly, stepping closer, “a man was killed at the gala last night. You were off on your own when it happened. who wouldnt be scared after that?.”

You finally stop writing. The silence stretches. He waits. You take a breath shallow, careful. Then say, “I’m fine.” And maybe if it were anyone else, they’d believe it. You’ve made a second career out of pretending to be fine.

But Hizashi isn’t anyone else. He watches you for another beat before quietly asking, “Can I sit?”

You finally look up at him again, reluctant. Just tired of trying to guard things he already knows. You gesture to the chair across from your desk. The air between you both feels thinner now. Hizashi leans forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, hands loosely folded, eyes never leaving you. His voice cuts through the quiet, softer than usual. No booming theatrics. No playful edge.

“…I miss you,” he says.

You blink, your chest tightening.

“I miss us.” He smiles faintly, almost bitterly. “There’s not a single day I don’t think about the life we had. About ” His voice catches for half a second. “ about our baby.” That word still feels sacred. Shattering. Whole. Your hand stiffens where it rests on the desk. But you don’t speak. “I still hear her laugh sometimes,” Hizashi says, his voice rougher now. “In my dreams. The little squeal she used to do when she saw you. The way she’d hold my finger with that tiny hand like she thought I could protect her from the whole damn world.”

You still say nothing. But you move. You get up slowly, walk across the room without a word, and turn the lock on the door with a soft click. Then, instead of sitting back behind the desk you perch on top of it. Facing him. Closer. A little more honest.

“I miss you too,” you say quietly and tiptoeing around the edges. “God, Hizashi… of course I miss you.” He looks up at you, eyes aching. You exhale a long, shaky breath. “But I couldn’t do it anymore. Not when the same system that asked us to stand for justice told me I wasn’t allowed to take my daughter to safety. Told me to wait. Told me it wasn’t protocol. Told me he’d be caught eventually.” Your voice wavers. “I needed to protect her. That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

“I know,” Hizashi whispers. There’s a beat. Then, he sits up straighter, eyes searching yours, like he’s stepping to the edge of a cliff. “…Come back,” he says. Your heart lurches. “Come back to me. Please.”

You look at him and the ache in his voice, the longing behind his words, it shreds through every wall you’ve tried to rebuild. Your gaze softens. “It’s too late,” you whisper. And yet your feet move before your mind can stop them. You slide off the desk, stepping between his legs, and lower yourself slowly into his lap. His hands hover at your sides, unsure, until your arms slide around his neck and your face finds the crook of his shoulder. Hizashi exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath for years. His arms curl around your waist, firm but reverent, pulling you impossibly closer. One hand presses flat against your back while the other slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair like he needs to remind himself this is real. You’re here. You’re his again, even if only for this moment. He buries his face against your shoulder, and you can feel it his breath catching, the way his chest rises like he’s trying not to break down.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he murmurs into your skin, voice barely holding steady. “What I’d say… what I’d do if I ever got to hold you again.” Your grip around his neck tightens, and your eyes sting, but no tears fall. Not yet. You’ve cried enough behind closed doors. You’ve mourned in silence long after the world moved on. “I thought letting you go would be what you needed,” he continues. “But I never stopped waiting. I never stopped hoping you’d come back. Or… or maybe you’d let me come to you.”

You stay quiet, your nose brushing the side of his neck, breath warming his skin.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 The city hummed beyond the cracked walls of the abandoned parking structure, its sound dulled by distance and the encroaching dark. Sunset spilled its last rays through broken slats, casting jagged lines of orange across the concrete. The air was heavy with dust and the ghosts of burned rubber. Years of neglect stained the ground with oil and time, and now it bore the tension of a battleground. Hizashi’s boots struck the floor in rhythmic strides as he entered, his silhouette framed by the last bit of daylight. His voice rang out, echoing between the pillars with confident bravado, that trademark flair he never quite dropped. “C’mon, man,” he called, scanning the shadows. “You’ve got a good quirk, slick moves, and bad taste in timing! But you picked the wrong night to stir the pot.”

He could’ve waited for the rest of the team outside. Could’ve played it safe. But something in the reports had itched at the back of his brain, and he wanted to see this vigilante for himself. A sharp motion sliced through his peripheral. He pivoted instinctively, ducking just as a metal pipe came sailing through the air and smashed against a pillar with a shriek of impact. Hizashi spun on his heel, already shouting. “YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The Voice Pulse detonated like a cannon. A wave of sound surged forward, cracking the air and hammering into the attacker. They flew backward, slammed into the ground with a sickening thud that echoed like thunder. The impact threw up a cloud of dust and debris, choking the air in a fog of grit. Hizashi didn’t wait. He launched forward, every muscle braced, boots skidding as he weaved between the pillars. Another attack came this one closer. The vigilante had recovered faster than he expected. A shockwave burst from their palm, hurling a chunk of concrete at him with kinetic force. Hizashi ducked, rolled, and came up swinging his voice again, a controlled blast meant to knock them off balance without killing. The two clashed in rapid bursts strike, dodge, counter, repeat. Sparks flared as a baton scraped metal. Energy hissed against sonic force. It was messy, fierce, personal. The vigilante moved like someone who didn’t care about pain, only results. Hizashi fought like someone who had to win but didn’t want to destroy the person in front of him. Eventually, a low kick swept the vigilante’s legs out. Hizashi lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into their chest, sending them sprawling. They hit the ground hard, a choked gasp escaping as they slid across the cement and into a low wall.

Dust swirled again. Silence returned. A groan followed. Breath ragged, Hizashi jogged over, eyes narrowed behind his visor. The vigilante was pushing themselves up on one elbow. Their mask stark black with jagged red lines was cracked along the edge. Their body was wrapped in mismatched, tactical gear, not a hint of official regulation in sight. No hero would wear that. But the way they moved the way they flinched when he approached it twisted something in his gut, something he couldn’t quite name.

“You talk a big game,” he muttered, crouching beside them, keeping a cautious distance. “But your moves? yeah I can just guess thats all it is. All talk.”

The vigilante laughed, low and bitter, blood at the corner of their mouth. “You heroes,” they rasped, “you think you’re saving people by playing by the rules. But all you’re doing is running alongside the tracks, hoping the train’ll stop before it kills someone.”

Hizashi’s eyes darkened. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know the trolley problem?” they asked, spitting blood to the side. “If one life saves ten, you pull the lever. If it saves a hundred, you run to pull it. But heroes?” They coughed, the sound dry and broken. “You wait for backup. For clearance. For someone to sign the damn form. You’re not saving anyone. You’re just dragging it out while more people get hurt.”

“Funny way to justify hurting people,” Hizashi said, quieter now. There was something about that voice. The cadence. The way they spoke like they’d already lost something they couldn’t get back. It echoed too close to home.

They didn’t answer. Didn’t move. He hesitated, then reached forward with a slow, steady hand. “You’re done,” he murmured. Fingers curled around the edge of the mask. A tug. It slipped free. Time stopped. The mask fell from his hand and hit the ground with a hollow clatter, echoing louder than it should’ve. His eyes widened. His breath caught halfway through his throat and never made it out. His heart slammed against his ribs like a prison break.

“No…” You were staring up at him. Your face was streaked with dirt, blood dried at your temple, lips cracked and trembling. But your eyes your eyes were the same. Hizashi staggered back a step, almost tripping over himself. “You?”

The word barely left his mouth. His voice, always so loud, now a broken whisper. Everything around him dust, darkness, the mission blurred into nothing. His hands shook. And then, you smiled. Faint. Wounded. Soft in a way that felt like the end of the world.

“Hello,” you whispered, voice hoarse but steady. Your eyes didn’t waver from his. “Hello, my love.” And just like that, Hizashi’s heart split clean down the middle.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. The walls are sterile, lined with gray panels. A single metal table sits in the center, bolts securing it to the floor. Across from the table is you handcuffed, ankles crossed, posture relaxed like you’re waiting for a friend at a café. You’re smiling. The interrogator across from you flips a page in their file, eyes narrowed.

“You’re a pro hero. Top ten, even,” he says, frustration threading through his voice. “What made you throw all of that away?”

You lean forward a little, a glint of amusement in your eye. “I didn’t throw anything away,” you say cheerfully. “I just started picking up where everyone else left off.”

“Don’t play games. We’ve connected your movements to multiple incidents. Incidents where people wound up dead. Or disappeared.” His voice is harder now. “You were supposed to protect the system, not act like you’re above it.”

You rest your chin in your palm, smile deepening like it’s painted on. “And who exactly is the system protecting?” you ask softly, tone still sugar sweet. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t my kid.” The interrogator falters. You sit back, stretching your shoulders as much as the cuffs allow. “It’s funny,” you continue. “People love heroes until it’s inconvenient. Until they need someone to really fix things. But no one wants to get their hands dirty. No one wants to do anything. Just wait for the paperwork to clear, hope the next press conference goes well.” You laugh light, like a bell. Like none of this matters. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Being the good guy while watching people fall through the cracks.”

You tilt your head, still smiling. “Is it really a crime to protect the people I love?” Then your eyes shift slowly toward the mirrored glass. Behind the glass, Hizashi stands frozen. Shoulders rigid. Jaw clenched. You’re looking straight at him. i… he doesn’t look away. Not from the woman he still loves. Not from the woman he failed to protect. Not from the woman who’s trying to save others the only way she knows how. Hizashi hasn’t moved.

He’s barely breathing. Your words echo in his head “Is it really a crime to protect the people I love?” and they cut deeper than any blast or wound he’s ever taken. The interrogator beside him keeps talking into the mic, flipping pages, preparing more questions. But Hizashi doesn’t hear a word. His eyes are glued to you through the glass. That smile that isn’t really a smile. The light in your eyes that no longer warms. His hands are curled into fists. Then he speaks, voice low and uncharacteristically quiet.

“Let me talk to her.”

The interrogator glances at him. “Mic, she’s in the middle of an official ”

“I said,” Hizashi cuts in, sharper this time, “let me talk to her.”

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it’s heavy. Eventually, the man sighs and gives a short nod. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

Hizashi doesn’t wait. He’s already moving.

The door hisses open. Your eyes flick lazily toward it, the grin on your face sharp and bright an obvious performance, polished to perfection. But the moment you see who steps in, it falters for half a second. Hizashi. Of course. You straighten in your seat, smile shifting into something thinner, more barbed. “Well, if it isn’t Present Mic himself. Come to yell me into a confession?”

He says nothing at first, just closes the door gently behind him. His shoulders are rigid, but his eyes his eyes are soft. Too soft. You hate that. He takes a step toward the table. You don’t let him get close.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, voice low.

“Like you still can love me.” That silence is the kind that suffocates. He takes another step, and you narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t need your pity, Present Mic,” you bite, spitting out the name like it burns your mouth. “I’ve made my bed.”

Hizashi flinches at the name. You’ve never had called him that before, opting for zashi even before dating. “Stop acting like you’re surprised,” you continue, leaning back in your chair, chains of the cuffs clinking against the table. “What did you think I was doing when I disappeared? Yoga retreats? This was always coming.”

“I’m not here to judge you,” he says, quietly. “I’m here because I needed to see you.”

“Well. You’ve seen me.” You motion dramatically with your cuffed wrists. “Hope the visual lives up to whatever fantasy you had in your head.”

His jaw tightens. You expect him to argue, to raise his voice, to be the loud, animated man everyone knows. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you achingly quiet. “I’m not here as Present Mic,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’m here as Hizashi. The man who inderstands this more than probably anyone else.”

Your face twitches, the hostility cracking like glass hit with a stone. You look away, blinking hard, gripping the edge of the table like it’ll keep you grounded. “You don’t get to say that,” you whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because you got to move on. You still get to be the hero. You didn’t have to become this.” You gesture to yourself worn down, tired, a mask made of bright smiles that hide nothing.

Hizashi takes the seat across from you, slow and careful like he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast. “I didn’t move on,” he says. “I just survived. Without you. Without our kid. Every damn day I woke up and wished everything played out different. Wished I’d fought harder. For both of you.”

You grit your teeth, eyes stinging. You won’t cry. You won’t cry in front of him. “You think this was easy for me?” you murmur. “You think I wanted this?”

“Then why didn’t you let me help?” he asks, and his voice breaks just a little. “Why did you shut me out?”

You finally meet his eyes. They’re glassy now. He’s holding everything in by a thread. “I didn’t want you to have to choose,” you say. “Between me and a normal life”

He leans forward. “I would’ve chosen you. Every time.”

You laugh once, sharp and bitter. “Yeah? Even if it meant losing your hero license? Even if it meant turning your back on everything you fought for?”

“If it meant protecting you?” Hizashi swallows hard. “If it meant protecting our kid?”

“There was never even a question.”

Your breath catches, chest tightening painfully. You blink down at your hands.

Hizashi: I miss you.

Reader: That’s unfortunate.

Hizashi: …I deserved that.

Reader: You really didn’t. I just have unresolved feelings and sarcasm is easier than tears.

[ayukaze]

MY DEPRESSION HAS BEEN CURED MY SKIN IS CLEAR MY CROPS ARE FLOURISHING ALL BECAUSE OF THIS ONE IMAGE THIS IS THE YEAR OF ADVENTURE PANDERING LETS FUCKIN GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Let's break this down one by one ~

This is such a good Sora fit I don't even know how to explain how very much OG Sora this is, the pink tones of the overall sporty outfit perfectly capture all levels of her personality. To top it off she's sharing flower themed cream sandwiches with Piyomon AAAHHH the subtle reference okay merch team you can take a w. Not to mention Sora is perfectly matching with Taichi and the fruit in her sandwich is orange stoooopppp itttt!!!!!

TAICHI OMG who is dressing this boy because that's the most he's ever jocked as a 11 year old. The sweatshirt, cargo pants, matching wristband and the sense to put his goggles down, he is winning the sporty casual fashion show for sure. And of course him and Agumon are enjoying some chicken popcorn, love how they weren't even subtle with the packaging art we all know Japan's favourite fried chicken brand anyway 🤣

Yamato. YAMATO. Y A M A T O. You're 11 can you tone down the cool guy heartthrob behaviour for a minute because I am losing my mind THE DOGTAG CHAIN IM GONNA SCREEAAAMMM ACTUALLY I AM SCREAAAMING AAAAHHHHHHH. He looks so good, there is absolutely no wrong element in his entire outfit, everything is perfectly paired up, a fashionista is among us. The little thumbs up over the onigiri that Gabumon is offering him?? Is he telling Gabumon that he's okay with having one and Gabumon can have the rest because that's the sweet, protective, kind, caring baby he is at heart???🥹🥹🥹The blue and green gradient in the background tho?? Mimato math is mathing bestiesss 🤣

Takeru is just a lil guy, but such a perfect lil guy!!! I like how his outfit has the similar green shade as his anime outfit but they still chose to gave him a new beanie instead which doesn't really match the colour tone of the rest of the fit but it's Takeru so we know that he can pull any hat off and that's what he does!!! Him and Patamon sharing burgers, okay mood, but why is he looking so surprised? I need to know what happened, did he spill some sauce on his overalls? Was the burger too hot to bite? WHAT HAPPENED TAKERU????? 😢

Jou, I see you paired up the plaid pants with a nice long, muted, warm toned jacket BUT I SEE THAT PURPLE SHIRT POKING IN FROM INSIDE and excuse me sir but why that purple with the plaid 😭 I need to see a version where Jou isn't wearing the jacket so I can make an informed rating on this outfit but may I add that in the full merch pic he has paired this look with green and white sneakers...I cannot defend you I am sorry Jou, please try brown loafers next time 😭 But outfit aside, Jou eating a taiyaki with Gomamon is lowkey funny I just know that Gomamon cracked a Marching Fishes joke at least once.

Koushiro...I will not go into detail but I will say it's cute that you have a sweater with a little K on it, it's also very cute that there is a splash of orange in your outfit, who's attention are you vying for it isn't subtle at all bby boy and I am grateful you matched your shoes to your sweater even if the socks are definitely a choice and that blue with orange is also definitely another choice. Good to see your are making choices. I like that him and Tentomon are sharing dango, it's always nice to see Koushiro's fondness towards Japanese traditional snacks hinted at in some way.

MIMI. QUEEN. SLAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!!!! YOU NEVER EVER MISS MY SWEET BEAUTIFUL BABY GIRL. The pastel tones matched with the grey stockings for contrast, that beret and the fuzzy hem boots, you just know she shops at Takashimaya and Isetan and anything below it will just not do 👏🏻 Plus Sora and Mimi are wearing the same tones, which probably means that they pre-planned the outfits together, cuties!!! Also Crepe is such a Mimi™️ choice of dessert but I always get teary eyes when I see Palmon mimic Mimi's gestures, there is just so much love and admiration between them for each other, pure childish wonder 💚 And the crepe even has a cutesy character face on it, which kinda looks like Monzaemon, though I can't be sure but if it is then another win for a subtle reference. Not to mention both Yamato and Mimi look like they've dressed in a more cool and elegant style than the rest like they might be on their way to a date THE MIMAT MATH IS MATHING YALLL!!!

Hikari looks super cute, I think there isn't much official art of her in casual clothing for OG stuff so it's nice to see her in a more cutesy fit suited to her age. The hairband matching the cardigan is such a nice touch!! I can't recall any other casual outfit for OG design Hikari except the War Game and Memorial Party dress, so I think this would be the first time we see Hikari with a hairband and it just looks adorable. Of course she is sharing an ice cream with Tailmon, it's kinda their brand now but like Takeru she's making a surprised expression, perhaps she wasn't expecting Tailmon to offer her a bite of her ice cream?

To conclude, this is probably the best OG artwork we've gotten since Idk maybe the Rainy Day stationery series. This will be sold in advance at the Kamio Store booth at Anime Japan 2024. No other details were mentioned, but the event booth sale feels like a pre-sale before the goods become available more widely at other outlets, hopefully, at some stores that international fans have access too as well.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk.

Ayushi out.

[elilelibeli]

slight nsfw: Reg just has some filthy realizations about James

Sirius nagged and nagged “Regulus you have to hang out with my friends” and “Reggie come out with us” and “go with us to the party” and the answer was always an eye roll and a firm no, until Sirius put his foot down (he literally physically thumped his foot like a toddler) and forced Regulus to go with him to the lake.

This is how Regulus found himself on a big rock, under the sun surrounded by trees on a warm Saturday afternoon. It started with fishing, he obviously did not participate (he would rather die than touch those sluggy bait warms thank you very much) but Sirius and his usually very, very loud friends kept quiet to not scare the fish away so at least that was a nice start of the day.

Fishing lasted all morning until it was unbearable to stay under the sun without evaporating, so James declared that section of the day done and quickly jumped into the lake. Soon enough boys all joined James in the water and the quiet portion of the day was unfortunately done. There was lots of splashing, lots of yelling, jumping and water wrestling after that.

Regulus continued to bask under the sun, switching from listening to music, reading or sketching in his notebook. He only went under water when boys went to try jumping from the further away cliff. The nap after cooling down at the lake was one of the more incredible ones Regulus had taken, so he wasn’t too happy with being woken up.

The boys had returned and brought all the buzzing noise with them, laughing while rustling through the picnic baskets and bags.

When Regulus opened his eyes he saw James with a plate full of fruit between his legs. James was laughing at Peter and Sirius trying to find something in the bag, until he grabbed a peach and took a bite.

Now Regulus had seen art, he had visited world’s best museums, he had been to galleries, exhibitions. He had seen ballets, operas, performances. He had seen them all but what he was seeing now was beyond any artistic ability to express.

Biting of a fruit shouldn’t have been as beautiful, it was something so ordinary something everyone did, however the way James’s fingers curved around that peach or how his lips plumped around the fruit was so far from the ordinary it would be a disrespect to hang it even in the Louvre.

Regulus had also seen porn, he had read it too. Obscene descriptions, filthy scenes. He thought he had encountered the most lustfully attractive moments before, but the way the sweet, sticky drop of the perfectly ripe peach rolled down from James’s lips to his jaw was the most profane and knee buckling thing he had ever seen.

His eyes stuck on that drop, transfixed as he watched it slowly, oh so slowly travel down on James’s neck, slide from his collarbone to his nipple. Oh what wouldn’t Regulus give if he could just follow that drop with his tongue. Now, that was the path he would happily follow everyday. The drop was almost mocking him now, touching James everywhere Regulus realized he wanted to touch, his toned, beautifully, beautifully sun kissed stomach. And when the drop neared the line of James’s hips, at that divine curve Regulus’s stares became so intense James’s probably felt them burn holes through him and looked at Regulus.

“Hey Reggie want some?” He asked waving a peach with a big chunk bitten out of it and smiling that big shiny smile of his.

And Regulus did, oh how he wanted not just some but everything. The droplet of peach now forgotten but forever highlighting the desires of poor, breathtaken Regulus.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

The Heart of Your Home Pt 7

Summary: Arthur comes across a woman in need. What he thought was a simple good deed would take him down a much further path than anticipated.

Warnings: Cursing, use of guns, more and more tension

Word Count: 6,323

A/N: I powered through the chapter really quick after spending so many months on the former LMAO anyway enjoy as you, the reader, goes through some inner turmoil :)

Sweat cooled against your damp skin, a slight chill settling replacing the heady warmth from just moments earlier. You sat up slowly, feeling a familiar, dull ache below your navel and in your hips. 

Arthur wiped the evidence off your belly with a black handkerchief before stepping out, saying he’d be right back. If he weren’t naked, you’d think he was leaving, until the splash of water from the basin in the spare bedroom told you otherwise. 

The bedsheets were mussed, and you wrapped the topmost around you to ward the prominent chill. 

Your mind was whirling, replaying those tumultuous moments that led the two of you here. Arthur, Arthur Morgan, a wanted man. An outlaw, a murderer. 

A man that also showed you kindness and never gave you any indication to think he had other plans. 

A man that prevented the piercing claws of loneliness dragging you to the dark recesses of your mind. 

Those hands that killed also caressed, brought you to pleasure, handled you like you were delicate China. 

A voice that undoubtedly struck fear in others, also asked for your permission before things got serious. 

You’d fallen for this man before you ever found out the truth, and that hasn’t changed, but the conflict... 

Your thumb idly ran across the ring on your left hand, its weight suddenly more prominent. You couldn’t bring yourself to look down at it. 

Instead, something else caught your eye. A dull glint on the floor from the sun peering through the gossamer curtains. It was Arthur’s gun belt, and the weapon lay there discarded as if it were a piece of clothing and not a tool of destruction. 

You knew he always carried a gun on him, and it only made sense after what he’s told you. It made even more sense after... 

Curiosity grew, and you leaned over, gripping the black iron gun by its handle and pulling it from its holster. It was surprisingly heavy, and you could remember the way he wielded it that day with the wolves, as if it were light as a feather. 

You laid it across your palm. It was a six-shooter with golden art nouveau engravings in the metal, along the long part—the barrel? The handle was a lovely ivory with the carving of a head of a doe on it. 

It was a beautiful weapon, and you’d never thought something that could kill would be described in that manner. 

...How many lives were ended with the very same gun? 

You ran your fingers along the cool metal, against the revolving cylinder that you could easily see housed a few bullets, thinking what stories this gun could tell. 

“Know how to use one o’ those?” Arthur’s voice startled you so bad that you nearly dropped the damn thing, but your hand closed around it awkwardly at the last second as you looked up at him. 

He stood in the doorway, arms folded, wet rag in one hand and still gloriously naked. Your eyes ventured along every dip and plain of muscle, the faint pink healing line along his upper arm you knew held sutures recently, before honing in to below his waistline, to that very appendage nestled in sandy brown curls that brought you pleasure. 

Arthur told you it’d been a while for him, but he’d made you come to your release twice. Frederick...could do it once, on a good day. 

You swallowed hard as a mixture of arousal and confliction arose, and you finally met his expectant and slightly amused gaze. “No,” you finally answered, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear sheepishly. “Don’t be absurd.” 

He let out a soft chuckle and approached you, leaning over to gently pry it from your fingers. He then gestured you to lay back, and you did without argument, releasing the blanket to expose yourself to him again, which surprisingly felt rather benign. It was as if...no, that was a silly thought. 

His other hand with the rag came forward, gently swiping the cool cloth across your belly. It wasn’t really necessary since he’d wiped away his spend a few minutes earlier, but you weren’t going to argue the finer details. The rag moved along your inner thighs, and then— 

You tensed slightly, wincing as the cold water grazed against the most heated part of you. Arthur seemed to notice and pulled his hand back immediately. Had he thought he’d accidentally hurt you? 

Before you could mention it, he said, “Figured not, since you coulda easily snuck up on me and shot me,” he stated as if it were a simple fact. 

Now you laughed, shaking your head and sitting back up. “You know well enough I couldn’t, since my ignorance almost led me to be eaten by wolves.” 

His mouth tightened at the memory as he straightened to his full height. “That’s gonna change,” he said, and before you asked how, he continued with, “Get dressed, I’ll show ya. Your husband’s a damn fool for leavin’ ya alone for this long with no sort o’ protection.” 

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. 

--- 

Fifteen minutes later, you were dressed and outside. You and Arthur stood in a small clearing just a stone’s throw from the house, an old rock wall lined with empty bottles serving for targets. Instead of the gun from his gun belt, Arthur dug out an extra one from one of his saddlebags. It was similar, though smaller and weighed less in your hands. It also didn’t have the customization, the silver metal dull and faintly nicked from use, but that was fine with you. 

Truly, you weren’t sure how you went from the tension of his reveal as a criminal, to sex, to being taught how to shoot. It was opposite everything in your life thus far and what you’d come to expect. 

“Y’ aim down these,” he stood beside you and pointed to the top of the barrel. “The sights.” 

You raised your arms, the weight of the gun so unfamiliar, your focus in between the two raised metal pieces he called the sights. A green bottle sat center. 

“Good,” he said with a nod, and you felt his hand against your back, which you hadn’t realize was arched awkwardly. You straightened, though you were unsure even how to stand for this. “You’re too tense,” he observed. 

You sighed at that, lowering the gun to look at him. “How can I not be?” 

“It ain’t complicated,” he assured, to which you arched a brow at him. 

“You just handed me a weapon that could hurt, even kill,” you pointed out. “That’s pretty complicated.” 

“I gave you somethin’ to protect yourself with,” he corrected, resting his hands on his gun belt in such a carefree manner it almost made you jealous. “It’s a damn miracle you’ve been livin’ out here this long without runnin’ into anything nastier than a pack o’ wolves.” 

Yeah, you had to admit, luck was on your side, but all luck runs out eventually. Hell, if Arthur didn’t kill all those O’Driscolls that day so close to your own home— 

The memory made you flinch. He did that. He killed at least a dozen men and only escaped with superficial wounds, reminding you just how dangerous he could be...he was. 

Those beautiful blue eyes shot to your face and his expression tensed, as if he could read your thoughts. “Uh...maybe I’ll—” 

“No,” you said automatically. Arthur was right. If Frederick wasn’t going to attempt any protection in favor of what seemed like an endless pursuit, you might as well learn to defend yourself. Although shooting at one person or a random predator was different than a pack of either. You swallowed that thought and, taking a deep breath, you said, “You’re right, I need this.” 

His eyes searched yours for a long moment, just as he had before he’d buried himself inside you a half hour ago, as if looking for any lingering uncertainty. Finally, he nodded. “Okay.” 

You smiled then, raising the gun to look down the sights again, right on that green bottle. 

Arthur’s hand rested lightly on your back, reminding you to not arch again. “Finger off the trigger,” he instructed. “Not ‘til you’re ready to fire.” 

Following his instructions, you took your finger that hovered a fraction of an inch above the trigger and rested it along the barrel. 

“Good,” he praised. “Now, this piece—” he pointed to the lever-looking contraption just above your hands. “—is the hammer. Cock that back with your thumb, that’ll load a bullet into the chamber.” 

Doing so, you watched the cylinder revolve, a full slot disappearing into the barrel. 

You knew what was next. 

“Take your aim, and when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger.” 

You took another deep breath, keeping your hands as steady as possible while your finger moved to hover over the trigger again. The cool metal met your skin and you squeezed. 

With an earsplitting shot and your arms immediately recoiling from the power, the bullet met the wall a half-foot below the bottle. Ears ringing, you grumbled in frustration. 

“S’alright,” Arthur assured you. “Most folk don’t get it first time. Try again.” 

You did so, but hit the tree behind the bottle. Twice. 

“Can I see you do it?” you asked, annoyance spiking and wondering what you did wrong. You had that bottle in your sights, you were standing okay, your aim didn’t waver. 

Arthur drew out his pistol, aimed and fired in one fluid motion, one-handed, perfectly nailing three bottles all sitting a foot from each other in rapid succession before holstering it. 

You blinked, partly in awe and partly annoyed. That had to be less than five seconds overall. Why was that so easy for him? 

Well, you knew, but still. 

“Twenty years o’ practice,” he answered your unasked question. 

Twenty years...you shook your head. Two whole decades of committing crimes. What the hell were you doing? 

That was a question for an hour ago, not now. You cocked the hammer back and aimed again. 

“Can’t let frustration get to ya,” he murmured, his hand coming to the underside of your forearms to adjust your position slightly. The graze of his calloused palms against your bare skin was a reminder of exactly how skilled those hands were, in more ways than one. “Breathe, n’ focus.” 

You nodded, and mentally pushed away the bubbling frustration and slight envy you knew was useless in this moment. The aim was slightly higher; the sights encompassing the neck of the bottle instead of the base. You squeezed the trigger— 

And was rewarded with the sight and sound of shattering glass. A grin split your lips. 

Arthur’s smile matched yours. “See? Not so hard, jus’ gotta get used to it.” 

While it felt good to learn to shoot, you truly hoped you’d never have to get used to it. The thought of that made you shudder internally. 

After another half hour or so of practice, you’d managed to destroy multiple bottles, even being able to fire one after the other, but not as fast as Arthur. He let you keep the pistol, which he called a Cattleman Revolver, and a box of bullets that you decidedly stored in the back of your herb cabinet, somewhere you knew where your husband wouldn’t stumble upon accidentally. 

Your stomach churned at the thought. How would you explain suddenly receiving a gun, if he did manage to find it? He always left you some money for whatever you needed from Valentine, but that was under the assumption of home necessities. 

…Well, a weapon was a home necessity now, wasn’t it? With the way Arthur put it… 

A spike of anxiety pulsed in your chest as you stood over the boiling pot of stew on the stove. 

Arthur was sitting behind you at the table as usual, just like any other time he’d come into your home. It was mid-afternoon and you’d invited him to stay for a late lunch. He accepted without pause, this time with a softness in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. 

And that slight ache in your core reminded you that you were underneath him earlier. 

You were waiting for that pang of regret, the festering knowledge of having committed infidelity.  

But there was none to be found, which both calmed you and befuddled you. Perhaps it’ll appear later, after Arthur leaves and you were left to your thoughts again. 

And there was that roiling pain again. The thought of Arthur leaving was too much for you to handle. You were sweet on him, even after the ugly truth was revealed. 

Truthfully, you couldn’t fathom him being as dangerous as he was perceived. He admitted to doing bad things, and you’ve all but seen it, yet… 

You pursed your lips in thought as the wooden spoon in your hand spasmed in the stew. 

“You okay?” 

Glancing at him over your shoulder, you noticed him watching you carefully with an expression of unease, almost as if he’d bolt if you gave him the wrong answer. 

He was still waiting for you to push him away. 

But could you, after this? 

You sighed and faced him completely. “It’s been a day,” you said. And really, it has. The emotions you’d felt in the past few hours alone would send any normal person spiraling. 

He nodded, head dipping low as he murmured, “Sorry.” 

A frown pulled at your lips. “For what?” 

“Take your pick,” he answered without looking at you, offering a slight shrug. “I ain’t exactly the best person to have around right now.” 

Those words squeezed your heart, and you stepped toward the table, planting your hands on the surface. It was then when he peered up at you. 

“In that case, I’m not either,” you countered softly. 

The look he gave you was utter confusion. “What—” 

“You just slept with a married woman, but I’m the one who allowed it,” you said, finally uttering the truth the two of you have been avoiding for the past few hours. “I could’ve said no and let you walk away, but I didn’t,” you straightened up but kept your gaze on his. “Because…even after everything I learned about you, I can’t imagine letting you go.” 

His gaze faltered and he leaned back, sighing heavily and running a hand down his face like he was carrying a few years’ worth of exhaustion. Maybe he was. “You know that’s a bad idea.” 

“I know,” you swallowed around the lump in your throat. “I know what this could mean.” 

His eyes flew back to yours. “I don’t think you do, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. To hear him speak like that was jarring but not condescending. That word caressed you in such a lovely way you wanted to hear it again, and again. 

“If Frederick came home and found us in your bed, what would’ve happened?” Arthur asked. 

You winced at the question. You loved Frederick, but the pain of his frequent absence made it difficult to not justify what just occurred. You desperately needed the warmth and comfort of another, and Arthur…well, he’d provided just that. 

You could pass it off as just a one-time thing, to blame it on a mutual lapse of judgement and let it go back to friendship, storing away today as a memory to be locked up tight. 

...Or let Arthur go, like he’d intended. 

But that didn’t feel right, either. You wanted more. 

In the silence, Arthur folded his arms. “Y’ gonna answer?” He prodded. “Cause I know it won’t be a good one.” 

“I…would be honest,” you started. 

“That a wanted man entered your home, had his way with you?” 

That made you let out an exasperated laugh. “No, I’d tell him that I could no longer stand being lonely, that’s the honest truth,” you clarified, mirroring his pose. 

His brows furrowed at that, and there was a brief, split-second expression—hurt? Oh no. 

“I didn’t mean it like that!” You quickly amended. “You’re more than just a way to appease my loneliness, Arthur. You told me you fell for me, and…” your gaze faltered, remembering those tense moments that led to your bedroom. “I’ll admit, I fell for you too.” 

There was an everlasting moment of silence as those words hung in the air between you and him. Slowly drawing your attention back up, you found he was staring at you expectantly. “Would you leave him?” He asked quietly. 

You opened your mouth for a ready answer, only to be followed by another moment of silence filled with...uncertainty. Frederick was an honest man, and it would destroy him to dismantle everything the two of you achieved so far. But you were tired of waiting, tired of the constant trips, wondering how long exactly it would take to live that dream. 

Could you leave everything behind to be with Arthur? 

“You wouldn’t, I know that,” he stated, leaning back in his chair and giving a sigh. “Wanted man. Outlaw. Gang-affiliated. We can’t stay anywhere long enough to live comfortably, n’ I know that’s what you want.” 

You pursed your lips and turned back around to tend to the stew again, which was almost forgotten about. It was close to boiling over, and you removed the pot from the heat. 

He was right, and that realization stung much more than when you came to your senses earlier. Quickly, you ladled two helpings of stew into bowls. 

“I ain’t selfish enough to ask that you change your ways n’ come back to Lemoyne with me, you’re barely used to livin’ out here as it is,” he continued just as you turned to face him again with the bowls. 

“Except you helped me start to acclimate,” you softly countered, leaning over to place his bowl in front of him before sitting down. “Since you just showed me how to shoot.” 

“Sure, but I’ll admit, it’s takin’ me everything in not jus’ steal you away,” he said. “Least you’d have more protection where I can keep my eyes on ya.” 

“And you just said that was a bad idea,” you reminded him, though the thought of Arthur whisking you away like a damsel kind of…made you feel some way. 

“It is,” he nodded before taking a spoonful into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before continuing his train of thought. “Protected, but more exposed all the same. If not the Pinkertons, but others...” he trailed off with a shake of his head. 

You held back a sigh, and decided to begin eating your stew instead of respond. But as you chewed on the savory chunks of meat and vegetables, your mind began to wander, allowing that little thought to manifest into what could be a daydream. 

The image of you living with the wind, traveling when necessary. Arthur at your side, strapped with every gun imaginable like you’d first seen him, expertly wielding each weapon to protect...you. 

But then your thoughts switched gears. What kind of gang did Arthur belong to? He adamantly declared he was nothing like the O’Driscolls, but what about the rest of them? 

Had Arthur truly been with them for twenty years? 

Were there any women? 

…What else have they done above the eyes of the law? What else would they do? 

The next spoonful tasted bitter. 

God, this was a mess. 

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. By the time the bowls were empty, you hadn’t sorted your thoughts and feelings out any better than earlier. Leaving or staying, having Arthur or having Frederick, or both…no matter which route it was, there would be heartache sooner or later. 

“I should go,” 

Your eyes snapped up to Arthur, that twist of panic wrenching your guts just as it had earlier. “Wait a minute,” you quickly said. 

He met your gaze evenly. “You know it ain’t a good idea. The longer I stay, the more—” 

“I know, I know,” you stood and rounded the table to his side. He tracked your movement, staring up to you with cautious curiosity. “I know you risked a lot, you said you’re in Lemoyne now?” 

He nodded. “I had a run-in with the Pinkertons, we had to leave after that. It weren’t a good idea bein’ back in New Hanover so soon after, but I had to see ya one last time.” 

One last time. You frowned at those words. “I don’t want it to be the last time,” you responded before you even comprehended those words. 

He slowly stood, so close his warmth radiated from him. “So you want me to keep comin’ back here, ‘til when? Frederick comes back? ‘Til you get that life you’d been dreamin’ about? Then y’ can toss me aside?” his voice was quiet, but you could hear the emotion within it. A touch of anger and exasperation. 

You stared up at him, pursing your lips in thought as your eyes burned with fresh emotion. Toss him aside? Never in a million years, but he had a good point. The future regarding him was incredibly uncertain that it was too foolish to even want anything else from him...WITH him. “I just want you here…I don’t know for how long, but…” you finally answered, swallowing hard. “It may be silly and selfish of me to ask that, but I’m not ready for you to walk away.” 

He blinked, staring at you with a stricken expression. A long moment passed before his hands raised, cupping your cheeks gently for the first time since leaving the bed. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to yours and took a breath. “Shit, maybe I’m the selfish one here…” his voice was heavy with defeat. 

Your hands covered his. “We both are,” you murmured to him, tilting your head slightly to brush your lips against his. 

Arthur reciprocated, capturing your mouth with his for a sweet, deep kiss. You leaned into him, every bit of that fire sparking again for him. Hell, you weren’t opposed to dragging him right back into that bedroom for a second round. But that would be asking for too much. 

You broke the kiss then, only pulling back an inch. “Stay the night.” 

His breath was audible, and despite his gentle grasp on your face, his body tensed. “You sure?” 

“Yes,” you breathed, squeezing his hands with your own. “You crossed the state line to get here, I’m sure you’re in need of a good night’s sleep.” 

Your suspicion was met with silence, which most likely meant it was true. And if you couldn’t have him truly, a night was all you allowed yourself. Sorting your emotions out could wait until tomorrow...when after he leaves. 

“Okay,” he finally ceded, a slight nod accompanying it. “One night.” 

Stepping back, you offered him a smile. 

--- 

The rest of the day was lost in a blur. You settled in to your domestic habits while Arthur busied himself outside, doing what, you weren’t sure. You glanced out the windows every once in a while, to make sure you didn’t catch him leaving on his horse, lest you grabbed your mare from the barn and headed right out after him. 

He never seemed to stray too far from your line of sight, between glimpses of him in the tree line to him wandering in and out of the barn, most likely to tend to the horses. It was something you’d never seen Frederick do, you realized, knowing your husband was every bit of a city man. He probably felt right at home in New York. 

You sighed at the thought, wondering whatever seed planted in Frederick’s mind to come out West. It’d been a popular choice amongst many over the years, and when you’d first met him, he never gave the inkling that he wanted to make such a move. 

That is until his colleagues started to do so. 

And your husband was one to follow the crowd. 

But Arthur? It seemed he forged his own path. And you supposed that’s simple how life was to be led out here, with civilization thinned and no urban jungle to be swallowed in. 

The more time he spent out there, the more questions were building. And you wondered how much of what he shared with you previously were either lies or just partial truths. 

You bit your lip in a silent reprimand. It made no sense to be angry about it now, he had every reason to hide his truth from you. But you still had to know what sort of disastrous deeds he’d done. 

Your cousin Rachel explained there was a massacre on a ferry in Blackwater, which is what earned Arthur and every other part of his gang a huge bounty. Other than learning they’d disappeared up into the mountains, and then later discovering their hideout in New Hanover, you didn’t know any other details. 

By the time you’d glanced outside the window again, the sky had grown steadily darker and you bustled to turn on the lamps, illuminating the house in a soft glow. You then moved to your front door, opening it and taking a step on the porch. What surprised you was to see Arthur there, leaning against the railing with a lit cigarette in his mouth, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. 

You smiled a little. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” he said back, offering you a half-smile of his own and exhaling a puff of smoke. 

“What were you doing out here?” you asked, gesturing to the woods. 

Rather than answer, Arthur glanced down at the satchel slung by his hip. He opened the flap and pulled out...bundles of herbs. 

You blinked in surprise, eyeing them as he held them out to you. “Where’d you find those?” 

“Around,” he replied, moving is other hand in a swooping motion. 

Taking them, you held them in the dim light shining through the window. Mint, oregano, and thyme. “You mean...just out here?” 

He nodded. “Course, didn’t go too far for ‘em.” 

You gawked, unsure what to say. Out of all places, you could’ve just strode fifty feet into the forest to harvest, instead of having to trek all the way to Valentine or even further right into wolf territory. “I’m an idiot,” you finally said with a scoff. 

Arthur chuckled. “Naw, you ain’t. Not your fault when you ain’t as familiar to these parts.” 

But it’d been months since you moved out here, and still...you shook your head in disbelief. “You’d think I’d know my own land,” you murmured, folding your arms not unlike a pouting child. 

He laughed again, crushing the butt of the cigarette against the railing before flicking it into the still dead garden. “Now you know.” 

You nodded, making a mental note to scour the woods another day. “Thank you,” you sighed, leaning against one of the porch pillars and facing him. “Arthur...may I ask you something?” 

He met your gaze then, the amusement vanishing to that of cautious curiosity. “What is it?” 

You fidgeted where you stood, suddenly embarrassed. Glancing down at the bundles of herbs for a moment, you thought of how to ask without sounding...accusatory. 

“What...happened in Blackwater, that you gained such a huge bounty?” you whispered, as if somehow, someone nearby was listening. 

Arthur blinked, his posture changing as he shifted from one foot to another. “A mess,” he answered with a shake of his head. “A poorly-planned mess.” 

You nodded once, urging him to continue. 

And then he launched into the story, giving you a quick rundown. There were names you recognized from other flyers: Dutch, Hosea, Micah.  From the sound of it, Arthur wasn’t too fond of Micah, expressing how the two of them argued about what seemed to be a safer, smarter route of acquiring a large amount of cash. Turns out Micah suggested the ferry heist and it went sideways, what should’ve been simple turned into a bloodbath and what led to throwing almost the entire town into chaos. 

You grimaced a little, thinking that Rachel must’ve witnessed part of it in real time. 

Arthur explained how they had essentially no time to recover, being chased so deep into the North they’d ended up in the snow, rooted in an abandoned mining town while mourning the loss of some of their members lost along the way, unintentionally rescuing a woman who’d been ambushed by the O’Driscolls while her dead husband lay out in the snow, to fighting those same O’Driscolls while still barely recovering from the events of Blackwater. 

Their trek south into New Hanover was next, though he didn’t get into further details following that, because you knew some of what happened following. 

Once he’d finished his tale, a quietness surrounded you, nothing but the faint rustle of bushes from the surrounding wildlife. The call of a coyote, or the squawk of a bird in the distance. You were replaying the story in your head, considering his words and actions. Arthur advocated for a less violent route, even if it didn’t go his way. His gang saved a stranded woman from certain death. He even had they had other women who’d been disadvantaged by society within their ranks. 

Surely, this rough flock of outlaws weren’t as awful as the law portrayed them to be, even if some lives were lost along the way. 

“I told you I ain’t a Saint,” Arthur said in the silence. “N’ if you don’t want nothin’ to do with me after tonight, I’d understand.” 

Your eyes snapped to him, noting the way his gaze was fixed on the ground. His body held tension despite the seemingly uncaring posture he kept himself in. Arms crossed and one ankle over the other. 

“You’re not a Saint,” you repeated. “But you don’t sound like an awful person, either.” 

He looked at you then, lines of tension framing his mouth. “Y’ sure ‘bout that?” 

“You told me earlier you’re nothing like an O’Driscoll, and everyone in this area knows what kind of trouble they pose. But you?” you stepped in front of him. “You’d rather not hurt people, and you saved someone from a much worse fate. You’re not as bad as you think you are.” 

He sighed heavily, shaking his head to refute your statement. “I told you, I ain’t—” 

“No,” your finger swept up to press against his lips. “You are. You and your gang. You could’ve left her, but you didn’t. You took her in even when your group was still suffering. That speaks a lot on your character.” 

Arthur’s lips thinned beneath your finger. He reached up to gently grasp your wrist. “I still done some unforgivable shit.” 

“I’m sure you have,” you quietly responded. “But no one is truly pure of sin, even a Saint,” you pointed out with a half-smile. 

He let out a small, humorless laugh. “You don’t know all o’ me, sweetheart.” 

There it was again. That little nickname that set you aflame, and your smile turned full. “Yet. I don’t know all of you yet.” 

Arthur sighed again and tilted his head back. “You asked for one night,” he reminded you. 

“I know, and it’s technically not night yet,” you glanced up at the slowly darkening sky, the last rays of sunlight disappearing beyond the trees. “Let me get to know the man I shared myself with, please.” 

He’s of course told you some of his adventures, but still wondered what was true, and what’s been redacted. 

He leveled a look at you that you could only describe as if you’d grown a second head. “You really wanna know?” 

“Yes,” you affirmed. “What else could you possibly think would scare me away?” 

He looked as if he had the perfect answer brewing, but then he stood to his full height, gave a slight shake of his head and flourished his arms in an “I give up” shrug. “Alright, then...” 

Your smile turned into an excited grin and, taking his hand, you led him back inside. 

And so it began, as the last of the day’s light extinguished and you served a dinner of leftover stew with a can of beans Arthur provided, he delved a little more into his life. 

Just as he said, twenty years. He’d been plucked off the streets after his mother died, and taught the ways of an outlaw. 

He’d traveled often, just as he said before, taking odd jobs and performing heists alike. Whatever would bring money and food to the table at the end of the day. You were glad that part was true, even if it meant some deeds gunfire and bloodshed. 

He’d mentioned he was almost married once, but never gave more detail about that part of his life. He only said that the woman wasn’t willing to leave her life of comfort behind to join him amongst the ranks of the gang, nor was he willing to leave the only life he knew that could provide well enough when he was only ever good at defying the law. 

A lump formed in your throat then, realizing how close to home that hit when you were thinking almost the same just a few hours ago. 

But that wasn’t the main topic of tonight’s discussion. 

When the meal finished and the talking quieted, both of you were tired as evidenced by the constant yawns and stretching. Today felt as if it lasted a year. 

It was you who first and reluctantly suggested turning in for the night, and Arthur agreed. He stood up from his chair and turned toward the spare bedroom, that to which your heart sunk. It only made sense for him to lie there and not with you, but it still felt...wrong. 

He paused in the doorway, turning to face you with a lingering stare for longer than a heartbeat. Bidding you a goodnight, he disappeared into the bedroom. 

An hour or so passed by after that, and despite how fatigue clung to your muscles and scraped beneath your eyelids, sleep would not come. Your mind was too restless and your heart hammered beneath your ribs no matter how you tried to calm down. 

Perhaps it was because you knew once morning hit, Arthur would slip away. You didn’t know for how long or if it was permanent, but the uncertainty settled like a rock in your guts. It was the one thing warring in your mind since you lay down, without anything else to occupy your attention. 

He sounded hesitant in his words when he’d admitted it was best for him to leave, and he had every chance to do so all day. But he was a true man of his word. That however didn’t mean he wouldn’t disappear once the sun rose, never to darken your doorstep again. 

You bit your lip, and slowly sat upright. He wasn’t even gone yet, and already the pain of missing him was too much. 

Swinging your legs over to the side of the bed, you stood up and crossed over to the door, opening it to face the darkened kitchen and living space. You turned to face his closed door just a few feet away. Slowly you crossed, one foot in front of the other, resting your hand on the cool brass doorknob. Your heartbeats quickened even more and a pulse of anxiety knotted your stomach, but you turned the knob and pushed the door open. 

The lamp was on but dim, giving only slight illumination to the room before you. Your eyes slowly scanned the space before landing on the bed, expecting him to be asleep, instead you met the curious blue eyes that were vibrant even in this low light. 

Your breath hitched. He was on his back, arms cross beneath his head, which was turned toward you. 

“S-sorry,” you stammered quietly. “Did I wake you?” 

He shook his head lightly. “No, can’t sleep.” 

Why did that make your heart wiggle excitedly? “Me neither,” you admitted, leaning on the door frame. 

He hummed lowly in response, turning his head to stare up at the ceiling. “Can’t stop myself from thinkin’,” he murmured. 

You nodded. “Me too,” you agreed. “I…” his eyes met yours again, and you bravely held his gaze. “I’d like to join you.” 

You could’ve sworn you saw his chest stop moving. And then his focus…it drifted down, taking in your body slowly. Your nightgown may as well be a tiny scrap of cloth from the way he drank in your figure. His muscles flexed when he moved his arms to rest his hands along his chest. “Sure,” he finally answered. 

The smile on your lips was grateful. You carefully closed the distance between the two of you. And instead of taking the space beside him, you placed your knees on the mattress... 

And straddled him. 

Arthur’s eyes flew impossibly wide then, going as still as stone beneath you. “What're you doin’?” He asked breathlessly, his hands moving as if to hold you, but they fisted at his sides. 

Your smile formed into a playful smirk. “If one night is really all I can have, then I'll make the most of it,” you admitted to him. 

He exhaled roughly, brow furrowing as his gaze once again roved every inch of you that was visible. “Is...is this a dream?” He rasped. 

That caused you to blink, momentarily distracted by his question. “No,” you answered, placing your hand upon his chest, just above where his union suit lay partially unbuttoned. “You're real, I'm real. We’re real together.” 

His heart hammered wildly beneath your fingers. Slowly, his fists uncurled and hovered over your hips for a minute before finally relaxing them against you. His touch was like fire even with the sheer fabric separating his skin from yours. Intense eyes met your gaze with a level, hungry expression. 

Words didn’t have to be exchanged for what was to come next.  

[quite-right-too]

Piece of Art

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: The Doctor sees your newest tattoo.

One year.

You had been travelling for an entire year.

Granted, time was subjective when you are in a literal time machine, but the point still stood. For your timeline, it had been three hundred and sixty-five days of adventures.

It seemed like the Doctor also knew. He was up before you — which was normal considering his “superior Time Lord biology” allowed him to have “a considerably altered circadian rhythm” and he didn’t need much sleep.

He was already up and running around the console by the time you were up, hair tousled like he had been running his hands through it. You admired him from the doorway as he checked the screens, putting on his glasses and analysing the data that was written in that beautiful circular language.

“So, what’s the plan today?” you asked with a smirk, arms crossed and leaning against the coral entrance to the console room. The Doctor jumped for a second as he was brought out of his focused state.

He gave you his signature Doctor grin and began to flip various switches. “Well,” he drawled, “I was thinking we could go to Dracea VII. They have a wonderful festival that comes around every ten years. The food is amazing.” Nimble fingers typed into his keyboard as he watched the Gallifreyan symbols change. “Just imagine it. The sky's the perfect shade of lavender while the various rivers that flow through the city are a shimmering gold. The grass is soft, almost like silk, and is a deep blue. The entire planet is gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help the matching smile that spread across your face. “Sounds wonderful.”

“Alright!” he exclaimed, pulling a lever down hard as the TARDIS began to groan and lurch through the vortex. “Allons-y!”

A final thud upon landing threw your balance off. As you were sent stumbling, the Doctor reached out and grabbed your arm, pulling him into you as you both fell to the floor. He caught you, just as he always did. Your shared laughs filled the console room as you savoured the moment.

“Come on, up you go,” he grunted as he helped you to your feet. “Off on another adventure, us!” He grinned as he grabbed his overcoat and pulled it over his shoulders, adjusting the collar as he put it on. Once satisfied with how the garment sat, the Doctor held out his hand. His fingers wiggled in invitation. Chestnut eyes sparkled with the excitement of being able to spend time with you.

You loved it.

Fingers now laced, the door to the TARDIS was thrown open. Instead of the beautiful grass and rivers the Doctor had described, you were greeted with what appeared to be a sewer system. A very dirty sewer system.

As the two of you stepped out of the doors, the Doctor looked around with a grimace on his face. “What the-” He was quickly cut off with a low rumble.

A rumble that came from directly above you.

Although you both moved away from the now-noticed pipe above your heads, it was too late. The putrid smell of hot garbage assaulted you as you felt yourself get splashed with the brown mysterious liquid.

“Fucking dammit!” you yelled, lurching away.

The Doctor grabbed your hand, pulling you back into the TARDIS. Your shirt seemed to have gotten the worst of it. Not wanting to continue the contact of the sewage against your skin, you pulled your shirt off and discarded it on the floor of the console room.

“Alright, that was not where I intended to land. Sorry about that.” As the Doctor looked up at you, he froze. Standing before him was your shirtless form, bearing a semi-new tattoo.

The vibrant blue phone box that took up the space on the right side of your torso was beautifully surrounded with a galaxy. In the background, the Earth was able to be made out. 

His feet moved of their own accord. Before either of you knew it, he was standing directly in front of you, staring down at your ribs. “When did you get this done?” the Doctor murmured quietly, his hand coming up to hover above the piece.

You moved your hand up to his, pressing his fingers against your skin. “You can touch, Doctor.” You smiled at how enraptured he was. “I got it the last time we were in America. Probably around three months ago? Did you know that Los Angeles has some pretty amazing tattoo artists?”

“This is brilliant.” The Doctor was in complete and utter awe. “Why haven’t you shown me this before?” He traced circular patterns over the tattoo with the pads of his fingers.

“I don’t know, just…” You trailed off, mind melting at the feel of the skin-to-skin contact. “Wanted to wait for the right time.”

“Well, I love it.” The Doctor wasn’t lying. His eyes were staring into your soul. He loved it.

“Good,” you breathed. He was so close to you — it made it so hard to think.

I love you.

The words caught in your throat.