#go choke on a ball of yarn or something

[rollinouttahere-writes]

How about strawhats with a reader who didn’t realise they ate a devil fruit, and they and the crew only realise when either they discover their ability or they start to drown when they accidentally fall (or get thrown by an enemy) overboard? (Tried to leave the devil fruit ability either up to you, or have the ask in a way that you didn’t have to create a devil fruit ��)

I finally found a way to work this old ask into a request! Sorry to whoever sent it in originally, I just could not come up with a plot for it until I got this one. Apologies for there being little to no yandere content here.

You Are What You Eat

Straw Hats x GN!Reader

1.8k words

Loud growls echoed through the forest. Not the deafening roars of a predator about to rip you apart, no, but the rumbling of a deprived stomach demanding sustenance.

You really shouldn’t have taken off into the woods without grabbing a snack first, but you couldn’t help it. After days of being at sea, you were eager to explore the new island you’d stopped at. Robin said you all would need to split up to find the ruins she was looking for, so you took initiative and threw yourself into adventure the second the ship was close enough for you to be able to make the jump.

Thus far, you’d had no luck. You hadn’t even stumbled across an abandoned pathway or ancient tools. It’s hard to believe this island had ever been populated at some point. Maybe this wasn’t the right one?

At this point you weren’t even really looking for ruins, you just wanted something to eat. Unfortunately, this search was having similar results. Nothing. It appears all the fruit trees on this island are still in a flowering stage, and you didn’t know enough about foraging to be taking your chances on root vegetables in the ground. Restaurants were obviously out of the question, much to your chagrin.

There was some rustling in the tree above you. Your head snaps up to assess the situation, only for something to nail you right in the face. Your knees buckle and you fall on your ass, cradling your face after the blow. 

Cracking open an eye, you try to find who just assaulted you, but you were definitely here alone. Looking at the ground, you discover what your assailant really was. A fruit.

Pain is forgotten instantly as you snatch up the strange looking fruit. It’s a light blue color and reminds you of a ball of yarn with the way the skin is textured. You have zero clue as to what kind of fruit it’s supposed to be, but as your stomach growls even louder, you can’t find it in you to care.

Using your shirt to wipe it off to the best of your ability, you take a bite as you get back on your feet. Your face scrunches up instantly. The taste… isn’t great, but it’s not the worst either. If you had to describe it you would say it tastes like an uncooked spaghetti squash. The real problem is the texture. It’s completely stringy on the inside, making you feel like you’re eating a wet clump of yarn.

But… beggars can’t be choosers. You’re starving, and you don’t want to let it go to waste either, so you power through it. As you’re choking down the last bite, a chill runs down your spine, making every nerve light up in a tingling sensation. Then, as quickly as the feeling began, it disappeared.

Weird. Whatever.

“(Y/N)! Where are you?!” Luffy’s voice cut through the thick woods.

Finally! You were starting to wonder how you’d gone so long without running into anyone else. Running towards the sound of his voice, you call back to him, “Over here!”

It’s not long before he comes into view, along with the rest of the crew. Luffy grins and runs to meet you halfway, “Why’d you run off so quick? I wanted to go with you!” He lifts you up into his arms and spins you around gleefully.

“Did you? Sorry, I thought we were all gonna split up,” you scratch at the back of your head and wonder if you misheard.

“We were, but then we found the ruins Robin was looking for straight away, so we’ve just been looking for you this whole time!”

Mortification washes over you immediately and you hang your head in shame, “You’ve got to be kidding me! I ran right past it, didn’t I?”

“You sure did! Pretty dumb, huh? Zoro didn’t even get as lost as you did!” Luffy set you down, smiling the whole time while he mocked you.

“Watch it!” You swatted at him, not that he particularly cared or even reacted to it. 

“Now that you’re done being lost, we really need to get going before it gets any later,” Nami was tapping her foot impatiently, no doubt itching to find the treasure rumored to be hidden there.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! Let’s go!” You wanted to move on from this blunder as quickly as possible, thank you very much. There were a few chuckles from the group as you marched on ahead, but they mercifully didn’t tease you about it anymore.

“Are you hungry? You ran off before I could hand you your lunch,” Sanji sidled up next to you, offering a sweet smile while extending the masterfully packed bento towards you. The cook shot a dirty look over his shoulder to your captain, “Don’t worry, I made sure that he couldn’t get his hands on it.”

You’re sure you missed a battle of epic proportions over your unclaimed lunch. Happily taking it into your own hands, you waste no time cracking it open and digging in as you walk, “Thank you, Sanji! You’re the best!” He puffed up in pride at your compliment, assuring you that it was no problem.

It wasn’t long into the trek when you all came upon a wide but shallow river. It wasn’t so deep that you would need to swim to cross it, but it would be enough to pose a problem for your devil fruit possessing companions.

This wasn’t a big deal, everyone knew the drill. Those that couldn’t get in the water would pair off with someone who could to carry them across. Robin was perched up on one of Franky’s shoulders, much to Sanji’s heartbreak. Luffy latched onto Zoro and was telling him to hurry up and get going so they could all see the ruins.

That just left Chopper, who hurried over to you with his arms up. You were his preferred method of transportation in situations like this. Stuffing your now empty lunch box into your bag, you scoop up the reindeer and place him on your shoulders.

Without any additional fanfare, everyone starts wading through the water. At its deepest, it comes up to your waist. Trudging through waist deep water does naturally take a bit of effort, but this felt much harder than usual. Exhausting even. Your head was swimming and you didn’t even realize you’d stopped until Chopper spoke up.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” He leaned forward to try and see your face better, but you could hardly even register what he was saying to you, much less respond to it. Your silence must have bothered him, and he started to panic, “Guys wait! (Y/N) isn’t looking too good!”

That was the last thing you heard before collapsing into the rushing river. Logically, you knew you should be freaking out. You were underwater and had dropped Chopper in with you, you know you should be flying into action, but you weren’t. You felt listless. Like a puppet whose strings just got cut. The world around you was rapidly fading to black and you felt powerless to do anything about it.

Just before you could fully pass out, arms lock around your torso and wrench you out of the water. You coughed and gasped for breath. The relief of getting your head above water was palpable, but you still felt weak.

You were carried to the other side and gently sat down against a tree by a very concerned Sanji. His hands were clamped onto your upper arms and his eyes raked over your body looking for literally anything that could explain what just happened, “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Everyone else was crowding around you, too. Chopper wiggled his way to the front, fur still wet from his unplanned dive. Despite that, though, he was in doctor mode, “Give them some space, we need to figure out what happened!” 

While he was checking your pulse and breathing, you found it in you to speak again, “I’m sorry about that, didn’t mean to drop you. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“Were you already not feeling well? It’s not like you to just collapse like that.”

“I felt just fine until I got in the river. Did anyone else feel weird after getting in the water?” You asked. Maybe there was something in it that makes people sick?

Everyone shrugged off the question, saying that they all felt fine. Chopper wasn’t happy with the lack of any answer for why this happened. Making a quick decision, he stands up and announces that he’s going to take you back to the ship for now.

“No, I’m fine! Give me a minute, and I’ll be good to go, I swear!” You try to plead your case, but no one entertains it.

“You don’t need to force yourself to go on, I’ll help you and Chopper get back to the ship,” Sanji held out his hand to help you to your feet. Reluctantly, you accept the help and wait for him to pull. 

He does, but you don’t move. Your hands are still joined together, but your arm is… oh god.

Several things happen at once. Sanji looks down and sees a bunch of blue strings connecting your now disembodied hand to the rest of your arm. Sanji screams at the sight, Chopper faints, Usopp is just straight up gone, and you feel like you’re about to throw up.

“What is wrong with your arm?!” Nami shrieks, looking about as nauseated as you felt.

“I don’t know!”

“Did you eat a devil fruit recently and not tell us?” Robin was the most outwardly calm, but was still visibly disturbed by the turn of events.

“No? How would that- Wait. Hang on. I might have,” everything suddenly clicks in your mind. The out of place fruit, the weird feeling you had after eating it, the water, and now this. You absolutely ate a devil fruit and didn’t even realize it.

“What do you mean ‘you might have’?” Everyone shouts in unison.

“Well, you see, it’s a funny story. You’re gonna laugh,” the unamused expressions on their faces told you otherwise. You continued, “While I was off on my own, I got really hungry. Then I got hit in the head by a weird fruit, so I decided to eat it.”

“You ate a random weird looking fruit and didn’t think that MAYBE you should mention that to us???” Nami looked like she wanted to throttle you right about now.

“... Yes?”

Nami exploded and started laying into you for your transgression, and you were helpless and just had to take it. Until you felt a weird tugging sensation from your arm. Looking over, you see Luffy experimentally poking his hand through your strings with a look of wonder on his face.

“Luffy, get out of there!” Sanji yells while trying to kick him away. 

This devil fruit thing is going to take some getting used to.

[zablife]

Green Gloves (Part 1)

Ada Shelby & OC (Irene Robinson)

Summary: In the last months of 1917, a shy newcomer named Irene meets unruly Ada Shelby, forming a bond that only deepens with time.

Author's Note: I realized this would be too long to post as a one shot so I'll be posting 2-3 parts of this mini series.

WINTER 1917

The crowded church hall was quiet save for the clinking of knitting needles and a few scattered whispers. Ada quickly noted that every girl from school seemed to be in attendance and it was clear they’d all been kept away from home for the same purpose. That and, of course, the ever present need for socks and mittens for their fathers and brothers away at war. 

Losing interest in her project, Ada began to search for a diversion. Looking up from her work, her gaze drifted toward a ginger haired girl opposite her. She watched at the skillful way the girl’s hands worked, quickly looping over one another in a satisfying rhythm. It was a talent Ada sadly didn’t possess, a shortcoming she was well aware of thanks to Polly’s frequent complaints about leaving all the mending to her.

Head dropping toward the ball of yarn in her lap to pick at the tangled mess, Ada let out an heavy sigh. This would be surely be another wasted effort, she thought as she picked the strands apart to use them for a game of cat’s cradle. That too came to an abrupt halt when her clumsy fingers betrayed her once more, ring finger stuck tightly in the intricate web strung between her palms. 

“Bloody hell,” she exclaimed while tugging at the ends helplessly, a giggle erupting at her pathetic plight.

Several young women looked up from their knitting, needles poised in the air along with their eyebrows at her language. Only one girl at the table remained unphased by the disturbance, which intrigued Ada.

“Has your mum sent you to stay out trouble on baking day as well?" Ada whispered hoarsely, earning her a sharp hush from the corner.

“Something like that…” the shy girl noted with a giggle, missing a stitch as she stared into the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. 

“I’m Ada. What’s your name?” 

“Irene,” the girl mumbled as she diligently worked to repair her mistake. 

“That’s a lovely scarf,” Ada remarked, voice full of hushed awe at the intricate detail in the pattern which had obviously been crafted with a great deal of love.

Smiling to herself at her progress, Irene folded the scarf in her lap before glancing up slowly. Her face tilted at an angle which hid her blushing cheeks, making it obvious to Ada she wasn’t the kind of person who took a compliment easily. In fact, she wondered if the girl would even answer.

“Thank you,” Irene eventually acknowledged before turning the attention back to Ada. “What are you knitting?”

“A disaster,” Ada snorted, holding up the knotted yarn she’d balled in her fist.

The unexpected candor made Irene laugh out loud, clamping a hand over her mouth to stay out of trouble and spare Ada’s feelings. “I can help if you’d like,” she offered sweetly.

“Need all the help I can get, don’t I?” Ada remarked, mouth quirked in playful smile.

“I think you might,” Irene conceded with a giggle.

——————————

SPRING 1918

“Why are we here?” Ada asked as she fidgeted in her seat. She knew why. Her best friend’s interest in medicine and a desire to help those in need, but it didn’t make the time pass any more quickly.

“To help the war effort. Try and pay attention. Won’t you?” Irene urged, focusing her full attention to the first aid lecture. A humorless and frightfully boring woman was demonstrating how to stop someone from choking, a topic which didn’t interest Ada in the least. 

Besides, she simply couldn’t understand why Irene could be so attentive to a woman who’d humiliated her as they volunteered last month, calling Irene an “ignorant little fool” because she’d mixed up items in the care packages.

“But we’ve already spent hours rolling bandages. My fingers are going to fall off, do they want it to be our bloody ears next!” Ada whined, hoping Irene would be swayed by her suffering.

A swift jerk of her head indicated the dowdy looking nurse had heard the commotion at the back of the room and she fired a quick reprimand. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class Miss Shelby?”

“No ma’am” Ada mumbled, chewing her lip as she slid down into her chair. She crossed her arms, a sulky pout settling over her brow as the woman turned her back to address the other ladies.

“As I was saying, the next step is to check the airway…” she lectured, turning toward a small diagram to gesture in a wooden manner.

Moments later a long, low sigh echoed across the table.“Can’t we leave?” Ada begged. Without a response from Irene, she began tugging on her friend’s sleeve like an impatient child. “She’s putting me to sleep!” she argued.

“Then sleep!” Irene hissed, wishing her new friend would take a nap.

“I would, but she smells of anchovies! ” Ada protested before she began to giggle uncontrollably.

At that moment the nurse spun around on her heel, charging toward Irene, a deep V carved in her forehead as she bent down to confront her. “What did you say, girl?” The nurse fumed, the fact that she was unable to recall Irene’s name infuriating Ada.

“Nothing,” Irene denied with a quick shake of her head. “Sh-she was asking for my notes, that’s, erm…that’s all,” she stumbled, shuffling some papers as she avoided eye contact.

Grasping the blank page from Irene’s fingertips, the nurse exclaimed, “You little liar!”

“And you’re a stupid cunt!” Ada shouted, standing from her chair defiantly. “It was me who called you boring and smelly!” she confessed, hands on her hips.

Irene’s eyes shot to the nurse’s face which was rapidly turning a bright shade of red as she sputtered with indignation. Irene gulped as the woman swung toward her, face inches from her nose as she seethed, “Now I remember you! You’re that stupid, worthless girl who cost us two extra days of packing last month!” 

Irene’s body trembled, eyes flooding with unshed tears as the woman wagged her finger. “You should be ashamed of yourself wasting the precious time of professionals. Don’t you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

If Irene hadn’t stood up at that moment, Ada might have started swinging, her fierce protectiveness for gentle Irene always at the ready. However, she stopped herself as she watched her friend’s chest expand with a deep breath, her lips quivering slightly as she eeked out a brave, “Cunt!”

All the girls in the room gasped as they heard the quiet, mouse like girl defend herself. A brief moment of silence echoed like the calm before a mighty storm before they heard a thunderous roar of anger, “Out! I want both of you out!”

Irene despaired, tearfully gathering her belongings as Ada glared at the woman who had insulted her best friend. 

They soon found themselves standing in the alley behind the church, Ada smoking a cigarette as Irene looked on in disbelief.

“What do we do?” she panicked, fingertips tracing her forehead in thought. 

Ada took another drag and Irene began to pace, silence lingering between them until she suddenly stopped face to face with her friend. “Now you’re quiet,” she observed in annoyance. “Why couldn’t you have just done what she asked?” 

Ada gulped, an uncomfortable pit forming in her stomach as she watched her friend’s large hazel eyes turn from their usual honeyed brown to cool emerald. It was only a trick of the light, but that was difficult to remember as she endured a wave of anxiety fueled by dread. 

Dropping the cigarette from her fingertips, she watched it tumble onto the cobblestones and toed it half heartedly with the tip of her boot. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“What am I going to tell my mum?” Irene asked, her voice quivering slightly. 

Ada’s eyes rose to meet Irene’s, recognizing the note of fear she was so desperately trying to conceal. Then an idea came to her, the certainty of it allowing her insides to slowly unclench.

“We’ll go to the pictures,” Ada declared brightly. “If we stay until supper, your mum won’t know,” she reasoned, hooking her arm over Irene’s. 

“What about that awful nurse? What if she visits my house?” Irene despaired, dropping her head to her chest.

Ada waited and wondered if she could betray family confidence. She’d known all afternoon that a certain gambling debt would be settled by Shelby Company Limited, Scudboat sent to drive husband and wife from town before nightfall. Irene didn’t need to hear all of this though.

“She won’t be here tonight to talk to anyone,” Ada said confidently.

“H-how do you know?” Irene sniffed.

Pursing her lips for a moment of careful thought, Ada decided a simple explanation best. “Because her husband’s in a lot of trouble and they have to leave town. My aunt told me so.”

She tugged at her friend as she whispered enticingly, “I think we should see the new Rudolph Valentino.” Giving Irene a nudge with her elbow she added, “Come on, he’s your favorite!”

Irene sighed in defeat as she allowed Ada to pull her along. “Why are you always the one getting us into trouble, but you want me to thank you for it?” she shook her head as though she were still trying to unravel the mystery of Ada’s charm. 

“Because you love it,” Ada said, casting a mischievous glance at Irene, blue eyes twinkling with glee.

“Maybe too much,” Irene conceded with a little smile. 

Cont reading Part 2

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[littleacebee]

Day 2 + Day 3 of Podcast Girls Week: This too is yuri... + WIP Wednesday

(It was supposed to be for Day 2, then Day 3, but I finally finished it today, so let's pretend it's definitely not late)

Gwen anxiously waits for Dai’s and Perry return, then Morgan breaks the news to her and they face them together | Camlann (1,184 words) Read on AO3

Gwen fiddled with the yarn in her hands and looked up at the clock for the third time in the last five minutes.

They should come back by now, she thought, or at least call us. 

It’s been almost an hour since Dai and Perry left. Perry called once on walkie talkie to say they’re okay but have to get closer and they will call then. For the last forty five minutes it was complete radio silence and to say Gwen was starting to worry would be a slight understatement. 

At first she had Gwaine to look after. He would taunt and yell at knights left outside their cabin but after some time they stopped responding unless he went far outside the safe bubble and Gwen managed to convince him that he shouldn’t put himself in more danger. She took a look at his injuries but thankfully he had only few bruises and some scratches on his hand so taking care of them didn’t take long. Then she went to check on Morgan who was holding the walkie talkie in her hands like her life depended on it. Gwen checked her bandages and said that Dai and Perry can take care of themselves and are definitely okay. Morgan seemed calmed a little by her words but she didn’t loosen her grip on the walkie talkie.

Since then Gwen made everyone some tea and sandwiches, washed the dishes, added wood into the fire, took a walk along the shield barrier to check if it is still working and changed water in Galert’s bowl. Now she was sitting in the kitchen with half made sweater and ball of yarn on her lap. She managed to do whole three stitches before the nerves got to her and she started fiddling with the yarn instead of knitting. 

They are okay, she reminded herself. They are okay, Perry took their spear, Dai isn’t defenceless either, they are okay.

Of course, unless something happened to them, Arthur and knights captured them or the fire was actually a trap, said something in the back of her mind but she tried hard to ignore it.

Gwen straighten the yarn she tied around her finger. She wanted the most to go to Morgan, check all her bandages one more time and then sit next to her bed and calm herself down by looking at woman’s rising and falling chest. But she couldn’t do it. Her anxiety would only pass onto Morgan and she should be resting. So Gwen was left to fiddle with her yarn in the kitchen and to look up at the clock and then outside the window and back at the clock and so on.

And then she heard the scream. It wasn’t loud and sounded distorted but she definitely heard something. She immediately jumped on her feet and run upstairs. The door to Morgan’s room were left open and Gwen stopped at the entrance breathing heavily. 

“Everything’s all right?” she choked out looking at Morgan. She was sitting in her bed, holding the walkie talkie close to her. “Did they call?”

Morgan was looking at the device in her hands, her mouth hang slightly open. She looked up at her with shining eyes. She moved her lips as if she wanted to say something but there was no sound.

“Morgan?” Gwen walked up to her concerned. Morgan seemed fine, blood didn’t seeped through bandages, there was no fresh wounds she could see. The only reason she could think of that might have caused woman’s distress was call on the walkie talkie and her heart stopped in her chest at the mere thought of what could have happened. She kneeled next to the bed, gently reached out towards Morgan and held her hands. She looked straight into her eyes and from so close Gwen could see a smile forming on her lips. 

A smile.

“There are people, Gwen.” She whispered as if she was sharing secret of the universe. “There are people out there!”

Her smile grew, her eyes shone with joy. She threw her head back and laughed with relief Gwen never seen in her before. She would do anything to see Morgan like that everyday, to hear her laugh more often. It suited her so well. She deserved to laugh so freely.

“There are survivors! There are people! It’s not just us and them, there are other people!” Morgan voice raised and raised, laughter still audible in it. “It wasn’t one fire, there are hundreds of them!”

She started to repeat everything that Dai told her. Her smile didn’t get smaller even for a second. One of her hands let go of the walkie talkie, only to grab Gwen’s hand tightly. Gwen didn’t mind. Strong hold on her palm finally made Morgan’s words burst through fog of anxiety and shock and their meaning hit her with full force. They were not alone. There were people out there. 

She thought about all the people she lost. Her friends that died in front of her. People she met during Cataclysm that were also killed one by one leaving her alone in new wilderness. All her relatives an ocean away that she had no idea what happened to them and which she probably will never see again. Her dad that she mourned and hoped he was still alive. 

Despite all this loss and death there were still people out there. There was hope shining on the horizon. Her family might be alive somewhere. She haven’t killed everyone and maybe wasn’t doomed to kill Morgan, Dai, Perry and Gwaine. Maybe she will not be left alone again.

„There are people out there…” She murmured and locked her eyes with Morgan’s gaze. Woman smiled at her widely nodding frantically. „There are people alive.”

Broken laugh escaped her mouth. Then another and another and another until she was fully laughing alongside Morgan. Her laughter sounded a little wrong, like she needed to remember how to laugh with her full chest, without a worry some monster was waiting around the corner to snatch every bit of happiness she had. She laughed openly for all the people she lost, for ones that she might never see again but now there was actual chance they were alive. She laughed for herself - hiding in a forest or an abandoned building, with blood of yet another person she couldn’t save on her hands, alone, alone, so awfully alone.

They laughed together, uneven and broken, but together nevertheless. At some point Gwen moved forward and embraced Morgan with her free arm. Woman leaned on her putting her face in the crook of her neck, their laugh slowly ceasing. 

“We are not alone, Gwen.” She said quietly and hesitantly moved her hand still holding the walkie talkie around Gwen. 

“We are not.” She repeated feeling Morgan’s hand on her back. She hid her face in woman’s hair and closed her eyes. 

They were not alone. There were people out there, there were survivors. There was hope. They weren’t doomed from beginning. Despite everything there was hope for all of them. 

[elysianhades]

Rage Inside

This is the first ever fanfiction I wrote and once again, I had no idea how tumblr worked so now that I actually have a better idea of what I am doing, I decided to repost it here since I'm making a masterlist! This may come as a surprise but Lucifer isn't my first favorite brother despite me writing about him more than the others ha.

Lucifer x Reader

Hurt/ comfort

!Content Warning!

Self hating thoughts, depressive thoughts, past mention of s/h,

Reader is having a break down in this one and is really self induglent for myself, but if this has the chance to comfort others I'm glad!

‘Being bored and being empty is not the same thing’ They hiss, their knuckles digging into their forehead. The overwhelming ache and dullness of their own body screaming. Their mom’s voice echoing over in their mind, taunting and sneering. They need the numbness to stop. Sitting on their desk are the books that they need to read, something that in any other time, they would love to start. The yarn bucket tucked neatly on the shelf, their computer was resting on their desk. So many things that they could do, their mind supplied but, nothing that they could do at the moment. Through the nothingness they felt the start of their anger come back. Something that they could never escape for long, but something that they never did anything with.

Their anger has been with them for years, starting in their young pre-teen years and slowly building and getting more potent as they grew up. Showing an emotion that wasn’t a positive one was not acceptable in their house growing up. Whenever they would go get comfort from their mom after a mentally bad day, they were always met with the same thing. Shame and guilt. ‘If they were unhappy then their parents failed at raising them, right?’ After so many attempts at trying to go to people for help, only for them to compare and remind them how insignificant their problems were, they stopped trying to show that they were having a hard time. Years of swallowed anger and silent resentment followed them into their adult years. Slowly as time went on, that anger has turned and would attack and belittle them.

 At that thought, they choke up a sob as they feel their anger start festering in their heart and fingers. Although their eyes were closed, they felt angry tears trail down their face. Years of practice has made them almost a master at not showing people what was wrong with them. ‘Numbness isn’t boredom’ they sob. Anger they are used to handling, they know how to use that as a ground but they also know that after the fresh anger gets used, the numbness comes back and swallows them whole. Their self-control is what they pride themselves on. The ability to work through the problems people throw on them is what makes this pain worth it. 

The spite and pettiness that seeps through their core is what they use to keep going. The tall and reinforced walls that they spent years, tears and sweat on building, have one weakness. The one thing that has always been able to get under their skin, their parents. No matter how hard they worked with their brain, no matter how they tried to build up thicker walls for those three in particular, a few words from any one of them will shut them down. While they are down, that’s when their anger takes hold and drowns them. Curling into a tighter ball, they lay down and shake in their emotions, trying and failing to pull themselves back together.

When they woke up that morning, they knew it would be one of those days. The sleep they awoke from was restless, making them feel more exhausted than before they went to bed the previous night. They were always an early riser, more because of them being a light sleeper and needing to wake up and hide at a moment's notice. Something else that they have carried from their childhood. They should have stayed in bed, their muscles ached that morning and a migraine had settled in the front of their head pounding with their heart.

All at once, all the should and shouldn’t haves pours into their mind. Each thought making the heat in their chest and fingertips flare and spark. They shouldn’t have picked up the phone, they shouldn’t have brought their human world phone, they should have left those contacts blocked, they should have known better than to expect anything else than a therapy session with their parents, they should have…. They should have-

A knock on their door is what breaks that spiral. They whip their head up and over at the door. They can see two small shadows underneath the door from their spot on the floor, someone’s feet. The cold feeling of panic is enough to yank the emotions back into themselves enough to get up on shaky and weak legs to answer the door. They took too long to answer, as the person knocked again just as soft. Feeling their hand shake as they reach out to turn the handle, they take a deep breath.

The door opens to Lucifer, whose hand was up in the air like he was about to knock again. The air around him was the same as it always was, put together and self assured. Not a stray hair was out of place and not a wrinkle was seen on his clothes. Really the only ‘imperfection’ was the bags under his eyes, evidence of all the late nights he would stay up doing work. Seeing him here and seeing him now makes your stomach twist in fear. Since there was a knock, you knew that being on the other side wouldn’t be Mammon, Asmo, or Beel but, you hoped that it wouldn’t be the one who you had the most problems keeping up your facade with. 

“My dear, I couldn’t help but notice that you left the library quite briskly and you looked upset. Is there anything I can do to help?” His smooth and deep voice eased some of the angry scratching in the back of your mind. His crimson eyes slowly look between yours, trying to find a clue to how he can help. 

Being around Lucifer was a blessing and a curse. His pride is something you could relate to in a sense, having to do things on your own, having people depend on you and looking up to you giving you no chance to show how weak or how tired you were. You both found ways around both of your pride to help and be around each other, that is what started your relationship. The trade off however, is that he knows when something knocks you off your feet. You knew you couldn’t hide this from an eldritch being who has been alive longer than you can even comprehend. That made you happy in a sense but, it also stung and stabbed at your own pride.

In the beginning, it was laughable how much you two didn’t get along. Both of you tried to assert dominance over the other. You didn’t care that he could probably kill you by looking at you if he wanted, you refused to roll over and he refused to let up. As suddenly as this tiny ‘rivalry’ started though, it ended and if it was brought up again, both would shrug and go on. 

“Yeah, but it’s over now.” You say quietly, not trusting your voice to be much louder and trying to swallow the rage that started gnawing on your bones. The resentment towards yourself was flowing through your blood, locking up your limbs and making your eyes burn as more tears started to build. The already poor handle you had on your emotions was cracking and just the thought of losing composure made a dagger of rage stab your heart.

As if sensing the feelings going through you, Lucifer slowly puts his hand on your chin, making you meet his gaze. That soft action made you break, the tears rolling down your face uncontrollably. You scoff at yourself irritation at the action, not being able to stem the flow and bringing your hand up to scrub at your eye, making the male in front of you frown.

“Can I come in, dearheart?” He asks softly, holding your hand so you wouldn’t scratch your eye accidentally. You sob, nodding your head. When you move to pull him into your dark room, your knees give out. His firm grip on your hand is what saves you from falling and hurting yourself. Picking you up, Lucifer gently closes the door and navigates the room to your bed. 

“I’m sor-sorry.” You sob, grabbing his shirt tightly as you try to swallow the hatred rising up. Lucifer resists the urge to interrupt, combing his still gloved hands through your hair after he gets situated on the bed. He remembers late night conversations about how to best interact and show care when anything could set you off and make you isolate in spite. He hums softly, so you could feel the vibrations from your place cuddled into his chest. 

“I.. I know that answering tha-that call would set, set-set me off.” You try to say, the lump in your throat making the words get stuck. “Make it-it-it stop plea-please I don’t want to feel this.” You can feel yourself get pulled into the storm of your emotions. Trying to breathe through it is awakening the loathing in you and your brain starts spitting insults, trying to get you to shut Lucifer out, telling you that after seeing this, he is going to see how weak you are. He is going to leave, he is going to leave, he is going to leave.

“Love. I need you to breathe. That’s it. Keep going, remember the box.” Lucifer hums, rubbing the base of your neck. You nod shakily drawing a box on Lucifer's chest. Up, breathe in, side, breathe out, down, breathe in, side, breathe out. 

The anger in your blood is rushing, bubbling, boiling. The audacity to make him worry. When he already has so much to deal with here you come, throwing your problems onto him in an attempt to make yourself feel better. You always have to be the center of attention don’t you? You’re so selfish.

You shudder a sob as your thoughts get louder. The fire of rage burning through your skin. You feel like you are bursting at the seams, the anger oozing out of you and corrupting anything it touches. Which sends yet another wave of resentment through you. As far as the brothers know, you are this innocent sweet thing, not capable of hurting anything. If only they knew how wrong they were.

“Stop thinking things like that, you know it’s not true.” Lucifer says calmly, his voice carefully constructed to avoid offending you. You latch onto his voice willing your heart to slow the flood of poison through your veins. If taking deep breaths aren’t helping then the next best thing is to find somewhere else for that energy to go. Reaching for Lucifer’s hand, he puts his big hand in yours. You take off the glove slowly, giving him time to resist if he wanted to.

 His hands are pale and nimble, his perfect manicured nails (courtesy of Asmo) are a deep red. You run your fingers along his hand, feeling the skin and using the texture to ground yourself. You smile softly when you make note of just how much larger his hand is compared to yours. It could very easily engulf yours. You intertwine your fingers with his and squeeze in a pattern.

“I know your anger isn’t gone, but is it quieter now?” His voice is soft, as he plays with your hair with his free hand. You nod again, taking a deep breath as you look up at him. Your eyes lock and he gives you a small smile free of the usual smugness. 

“I got a call. From my parents.” You start, feeling his arm tighten around your shoulders and the smile freeze for a moment. “I don’t know why I even picked it up.” 

Now that the anger is in the back of your head, you can feel the urge to slip away, to shut down and let someone else handle this. That isn’t who you are now though. He would make this worse in the long run anyway. You let out a deep breath through your nose, glaring at the floor. Lucifer is still rubbing your back in gentle circles. When you open your mouth to talk again you feel a lump in your throat, one that blocks any words from leaving. Growling at yourself, you hunch your shoulders. A wave of rage flows over you at your inability to get this off your chest.

As if sensing your problem, Lucifer starts humming a soft tune. Not saying anything but letting his presence be known while you wrestle with your emotions. He rocked you slowly as you held his hand and battled with yourself.

“‘You don’t have to have perfect sentences when you need to get things off your chest you know’” Lucifer smiles softly as he looks out the window. You remember saying that to him a long time ago. He wouldn’t tell you what he was thinking because he couldn’t find the right words or the right way to say them to make them sound distant enough that he didn’t have to offer up any more information than he could handle at the moment.

Chuckling softly, you look at him and playfully roll your eyes. He snorts and shakes his head, his chest shaking as he quietly laughs. You sigh for what felt like the millionth time. Starting to feel the corners of your conscious fade. Yawning softly you look back at Lucifer, he meets your gaze.

“I… I know I have to get this out of my head but, could we sleep and talk it through tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to really think about what I want to say?” You ask softly, feeling another yawn take over.

“Of course, my love.”

[jheselbraum]

"No! Extrajudicial killing is only cool when I'm immune to it!" I cry, as MegaMandia, a particularly strong but otherwise average man from Mandia, India, socks me in the jaw. He was originally just here in New Cityopolis on vacation when an accident at his hotel's fitness center gave him super strength. When he tried to board his return flight home, he accidentally crushed the buckle on his seat belt so he just said 'fuck it' and decided to stay here. He kept working out, he plans on swimming back home later this year, the superheroes held a big party about it. He says something in Assamiya that I don't understand.

"We are not fucking cops," Metallurgie, an ancient woman said to be a bronze statue come to life translates, before impaling me on her holy blade. I taste silver on my tongue.

"When the state reserves the right to kill people it deems are criminals, the definition of criminals becomes a group of people whose interests are contrary to that of the upper class," Marxman, the reanimated corpse of Karl Marx wearing a domino mask but otherwise dressed exactly the same as he is in that one photo, whose identity we all pretend we don't know, says, as he hits me with his Workers of the World Attack. I don't stand a chance against a giant laserbeam, and unlike when he faces the actual criminals of this world, when he aims at me, he's aiming to kill.

"What people like Mothjaw and Freezeman need are access to adequate dental care and therapy! With proper rehabilitation they could be fit to reenter society within just a few years! No one dresses as a giant ball of yarn and invents a gun that turns people into chickens because their life is going great!" Metallurgie says, but I can barely hear her. The only thing prolonging my death is the sword she has yet to pull from my gut.

Darkwyrm, the one the public knows the least about, hasn't said anything. His cloak envelops my waning vision as he leans down to stare at me with those literally smokey eyes of his: he doesn't have a solid body, he's gaseous. No one is even sure what he does, he's never fought anyone. He just stands around, in the back, whenever the group is all together. "Do you know how many times we've died? How many times we've come back?"

Metallurgie doesn't give me the time to contemplate an answer, as she pulls her sword from my gut and I collapse to the ground.

For a moment, there's nothing. But I'm still conscious, still present, screaming out into the empty void as the last bits of me snuff out like candlelight.

Then I'm pulled back.

Coughing, choking on my blood as I try to stand, my skin is as fresh as a newborn's and just as sensitive to the rough concrete below.

Darkwyrm pulls his smokey hand away from my chest.

"Maybe now, you'll have a little more to think about, before you call for someone's death."

The public’s hate for super heroes has grown. The reason: They don’t kill villains, which gives them a chance to escape. You are the leader of the biggest anti-super hero groups. You are going from a rally you get stopped by some of the greatest heroes. They say they’re here to kill you.

[callialire]

A Comprehensive (But Not Exhaustive) Lists of All My Flaws

It's like there has always been too much of me.

I have too many clothes that I definitely don't wear, but how can anybody expect to give up my sophomore yearbook shirt, it's a fundamental part of my history, it's fibers have practically molded themselves to my bones. No, I don't care that I haven't worn it since 2019, what if I wake up in 2025 and that t-shirt is the only thing I want to wear, but instead, it's rotting in a Goodwill bin, because nobody else cares that much about high school year book t-shirts. What do I wear then?

I talk too much and too loud about things that people don't care about but if I don't say it right now, I'll choke on it, I swear. What if I die and those words are stuck in my throat and I can never change your mind and you never think of me when somebody tells that same joke? (Also I'm one of literally 40 people that crush and bend and fold ourselves into a single dining room every major holiday, if I don't yell, I may as well not speak, and as previously mentioned, that would do some serious damage to my ego.)

And speaking of ego, it's just another thing in me that has overgrown and like my front lawn, I have neglected to cut away the dead parts. So, it's wild and untamed and untended, probably full of bugs and weeds. I am the most important, I am the smartest in the room, I am the funniest, the best dressed. (False.) I do try the hardest, I can't stop, God knows I've tried. I care about other people and I tell myself it's for them, but I know the truth of it all. It's for me, I have to water the grass, I don't care that it's reaching my knees and the HOA keeps sending letters threatening to fine me over it. I don't care that it's dying and it's starting to smell like death too.

Moving away from the metaphorical (and incredibly tangled) ball of yarn I have become, I cannot stop buying things I don't need. I tell myself I will get organized, I just need another clear plastic bin to place on another bookshelf. If my dresser matches the frame of my mirror, I'm more likely to put my clothes away, right? If my desk has little porcelain cups for all my pens and paper clips, I'm definitely not going to avoid working for 6 days straight. I don't fold my laundry right away so I lose my socks all the time, and I don't even wear socks like 9 months out of the year, but I definitely need more before it's winter because the ones I wore last year all have holes in them because I wear shoes less than I wear socks and I'm outside all the time. If there's a special event, I need a pair of high heels, perhaps a dress to go with them, because all of the dresses I buy eventually end up in a bag that sits in the back of my car because I never wear dresses except when there's somewhere to go, and these tend to be one off occasions so I really don't need that pastel mini dress or the bright pink heels I bought to go with it, until I do and it turns out, I sold the dress at a garage sale last summer and I only made 6 bucks off it, even though it cost me 50.

Which brings us back into the metaphor of it all, because Net Loss of 44 Dollars Made with Good Intentions should really be the title of my autobiography. I won't elaborate on that right now, but you should know that it makes perfect sense.

It's never quiet enough, but in the same breath, it's too quiet and I'm too nervous that something is wrong. I have forgotten how to exist outside of myself and I am worried, deeply, that something in me is fundamentally wrong. Because there has always been too much of me and it has never been enough.

[inkyquince]

Anyways paimon hatred aside, Childe supremacy. I'd let that man do unspeakable things to me.

I honestly... Want that jokey relationship where he nudges you, and you elbow him, and he pinches you and you shove him and he stabs you and you just smash him into the ground.

He's my funny lil good time pal but I'm also gonna throw him around.

I love him but I will instill the fact that I managed to easily thrash his ass in combat and he should be afraid of me.

Also lol, after we fought, I tried to be as bitchy as I could to him with genshins failure of dialogue trees.

Legitimately, fully denounced him as my friend, told him he sucked and I never wanna see him again and the next time we met, he was trotting up and giving me kissies and calling me his super close bestie. I love him and my god, he is such a shit

[arachine]

– 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

+ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x hybrid! fem! reader

+ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: mature

+ 𝐜𝐰: dark content, hybrid!reader, reader w/ oral fixation, oral sex (m receiving), very tame face fucking, mentions of gagging & choking, female masturbation, cum swallowing, dacryphilia (kinda), biting, bunting (basically when cats mark you with their scent), explicit language, a little angsty but i swear i didn’t mean to !!

+ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was a request for kitty!reader having an oral fixation and how’d they prevent it but i got carried away and did my own thing…sorry (not really) + everyone pls thank my sweet baby angel @cocoamoonmalfoy for beta’ing this for me !! this shit was hot garbage before lol :3

+ 𝐰𝐜: 3.5k 

+ 𝐝𝐭: my lovelies @snowflakeicicles @ringpop-poppy

trying to control your oral fixation was probably the most difficult thing they ever had to endure in their lives—apart from, you know, saving the world from man-eating monsters, battling evil scientists, and fighting crazy russians—but they still somehow managed to lessen the severity of it. 

at first, when it was really bad, you’d nip at almost everything. clothes, shoes, the legs of a table, hands—fingers, especially fingers. those were your favorite to play with. it had gotten to the point where their hands would be absolutely littered in cuts and scratches, and it had become quite troublesome having to explain to their parents how they had gotten them. 

so, that’s when they took it upon themselves to invest in some toys. they tried feathers, stuffed animals, fake mice, lasers, balls of yarn—but nothing seemed to ever work. eventually, they’d settle on just indulging you, coming up with more lies, more excuses, more nonsense to silence their parents’ ever-growing curiosity. 

“you’re trouble, you know that?” mike scolds, running his fingers over your silky coat. you merely purr in response, the tip of your tail swaying side to side as you continue to suck, bite, and rough up his digits. 

“thank god it’s steve’s turn tonight,” he throws his head back against the couch, “because i don’t think my hands can take anymore of this torture.” 

“yeah, my mom thinks i’m getting into fights,” dustin pipes, “i mean come on, look at this face. does this look like the kinda face to be getting into fights?” 

that’s right, it was steve’s turn today. your favorite chew toy, how could you forget? your mind wanders back to the last time you stayed at his house. how you’d played, slept, cuddled—kissed…and how he’d let you nip and suck on other places, too. just thinking about it was enough to trigger your human form, skin and flesh appearing in mike’s lap. 

“mike, mike, when will steve be here!?” you beam, pouncing on his chest. unintentionally, you pierces him with the tip of your claws, the excitement of seeing steve rendering your brain to complete and utter mush. 

“jesus, you just poked me,” the boy rubs his chest, “and why are you so excited to see him anyway?” there’s a beat. silence. it was a simple question, actually. could be answered with a ‘no reason’ or a ‘just excited ’s all’—but you choke, and mike finds this strange. odd. he takes notice of the way you avoid meeting his eyes, a tell-tale sign that you were hiding something, but before he can ask about it, heavy feet make their way down the stairs. 

“hey, guys.” everyone averts their attention to where the voice is coming from, a chorus of tepid ‘hey’s filling the room. 

there it was, that familiar scent. the one that belonged to…

“steve!” you leap from mike’s lap to embrace the brunet, wrapping the length of your legs around his torso. his hands settle on the curve of your lower back, and he smooths over the area soothingly, a soft expression gracing his face. 

“ready to go?” you nod enthusiastically, ears shooting up with a quick flutter.

“alright, you know the drill,” steve points to his backpack, gesturing for you to transform and slip inside. 

the drive to steve’s is quiet. and it’s even quieter as the two of you trek and traverse through the house and up the stairs to his room. the only time there’s anything but silence is when steve utters a ‘watch your step’, followed by the eerie sound of the wooden floorboards creaking and cracking under weight. 

“just us?” you query, falling into step behind him as you enter his bedroom. the door creates a faint draft, and immediately, your nose is flooded with his scent—it’s strong, intense, pleasant. you can smell him everywhere. 

“yeahhh, just us.” 

nobody’s home, just like all the other times. you never really poked or prodded, but kind of gathered that this wasn’t unusual for him growing up. coming to his house was always a drastic change in environment, it was just so much different than all the others—which was probably because they were kids, and had siblings of their own, and parents who liked them. silence and tranquility was not something they had the privilege of knowing. 

steve didn’t mind it, though. actually, he preferred it. with his dad frequently away for work, and his mother accompanying him, it more often than not, left him with an empty house—an empty house that provided him ample opportunity to do whatever the hell he wanted…which sometimes allowed for drinking, throwing parties, and well, bringing home girls. but more specifically, bringing home you. 

“blew out the main light, so it’s a little dark in here, sorry about that,” his fingers point up. he ambles over to his desk to turn on the lamp sitting atop it. it’s tiny and only illuminates a portion of the room, but it’s enough to just barely make out the wanes and curves of his face. 

your eyes follow him intently as he moves from one corner of the room to another, a piece of his uniform falling to the floor with every step, creating a trail towards his dresser. he’d always changed in front of you, never thought anything about it. and you never thought anything about it either—that is, until recently. 

steve had always been just steve. the one who doted on you, the one who tended to your wounds, the one who dedicated almost (if not all) of his time to ensure that you were well and taken care of. but now? now it was different, and you couldn’t quite articulate why. 

bare skin was just skin, and limbs were just limbs, but the sight of steve’s chest and abdomen perfectly outlined by the golden dim of the light, was making your stomach all knotted up. it felt like the feeling you got when you played with the others; when you laughed, and cuddled, and kissed them—but it was more intense, scary. in the way that you’d hoped he only ever did this with you—and no one else. 

“what is it?” he raises a suspicious brow. you don’t answer. instead, you let your feet trudge across the carpeted floor until you stand in front of him, until you’re so close, he can feel the heat of your breath fan his face.

you stand there, studying him, trailing your claws lightly over the places his abs concave and dip. he doesn’t know what you’re doing at first, just gazes down to where you stand before him, a look of perplexity etched into the crinkles between his brows. 

your hand wanders lower, and the boy releases a deep exhale through his nose. you can hear the pace of his heart quicken as you run your fingers through the trail of hair that starts at his navel and disappears under his briefs. experimentally, you ghost your hand over the bulge in his underwear, looking up to him with inquisitive eyes before placing a firm palm on his front. 

he swallows thickly this time, holds the spit in the cavity of his throat, and it burns as it trickles down. you had not the slightest clue what you did to him—the effect you had on people. he wonders if you think this is a game, if the things you do when you’re alone are fully of your own volition—if you actually feel the way he does. and you have to, right? a part of him wants to believe it, that your heart beats for him the way his does for you. 

“stevie…” his heart squeezes, and his eyes soften. god, you were the very incarnation of calamity, the thing that started wars and killed many a men. 

“yeah?” his voice is breathy, wanting. his eyes flicker across the expanse of your face, stopping briefly to glance down at your lips, then back up to your eyes. 

letting your impatience guide you, you pull him down by the shoulders and kiss him. it’s unrhythmic, inexperienced, and wet but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he melts into it. lets you explore his mouth, and peck at the plush of his lips. lets you taste him with your tongue, and run your teeth over the crevice of his neck, watching with bated breath as you go down, down, down…

“slow down there, kitty,” steve jests, “what’s the rush?”

what’s the rush? doesn’t he know that you waited all day for him? to play with him, touch him—taste him? to see him twitch and writhe as you work him with your hands, tongue, and mouth? to hear him call you a good girl—his pretty girl?

“been waiting for you all day, stevie,” you confess, rubbing your cheek against his crotch. it’s so warm, you can practically feel the heat seeping through the fabric of his briefs, and the groan that emits from his throat makes your ears flutter. you wanna hear it again, and again, and...

“all day, hm?” 

“all day, everyday. you’re all i think about,” your hands find the elastic of his briefs, “my favorite chew toy.”

steve scoffs at this, because of fucking course. how could he ever be so stupid to believe that you felt the same way he did? he has half a mind to pull you off of him and let all of this, whatever this was, end here. but the other half wants to continue, wants to see the tears stream from your eyes and coalesce at the base of your chin because he’s too big—too much. he wants to be selfish, wants to hear the sounds you make when you choke and gag around the thickness of his cock, feelings be damned. 

“figured as much…hey, we should—you should stop,” his hand reaches to push you away but your tail wraps around his wrist, halting his movements.

“no!” a beat. a transient silence that feels almost deafening, just eyes staring back into eyes, hearts thumping unruly. he’s taken aback by your outburst, doesn’t seem to catch the glass-like droplet ribboning down the fat of your cheek. 

your eyes depart from his face and fix themselves on the floor, ears following not too far behind with a sad flop. he only picks up on your dejection when you open your mouth to speak and the words come out in a tremble.

“’s not like that…you…you’re different. this is different,” you confess, “you make my stomach feel fuzzy and my head all dizzy! ’s not like that with the others…” the brunet doesn’t know what to say; actually, he does, he’d been fantasizing about this day for as long as he could remember, but the words leave him the second you tilt your head up jut those pretty little lips. he wants to kiss the pout off of you.

“really?”

“mhm, you’re special t’me, stevie. i wanna show you.” your fingers hook under the elastic of his underwear, and you pull it down teasingly, eyeing him as you take the flesh into your hand. “can i…?”

“fuck, yeah, yeah. ’s all yours.”

with a purr, you lean forward and leave a soft kiss on the tip of his cock, flicking your tongue over the spot before taking him into the heat of your mouth. you love this, you think. love seeing the expressions you can pull from him, love seeing how pliant he becomes in the palm of your hand, and the honey sweet praises he mutters only for you. it makes you feel useful, to be able to make him feel good, and take care of him like all the countless times he’s taken care of you. 

you’d been waiting to hear these sounds all week, the sharp intakes of breath, the heavy breathing, the drawn groans and expletives. so much so, that you’d find your hands wandering down into your pajama shorts many a nights, thoughts of the boy before you, and how it’d feel for his hands, mouth, fingers to be on you—and how it’d feel for his fingers to stuff your little cunt full. 

yeah, you’d spent many nights like that in the dark of mike’s basement, sweaty and fucked out as you brought yourself to climax over, and over, and over. the thought alone had your panties sodden with slick, and you could feel it begin to pool and settle. you were so unbearably wet, so touch-starved, you needed to feel some sort of relief. and right now, your hand was the closest thing to provide that.

steve watches with wide eyes as your fingers dip down the waistband of your skirt, and into the confines of your panties. the tips of your digits roll the nub of flesh first, then gather at your core before sheathing themselves inside. a series of moans vacate your throat and vibrate around him, coaxing him to press a firm hand to the back of your head. teasingly, you do it again, humming beguilingly to get him to replicate the reaction. 

“shit,” he drawls, placing emphasis on the ’t’, “feels so good, kitty.” your tail wiggles in response to the honest adulation, and so, you take him deeper, using the back of his thighs to force yourself down. 

he’s big. thick. and the stretch that comes along with taking him in your mouth is always a plaguing reminder. but you don’t mind it too much, you like when he’s all deep down there, and you can feel the tip of him hot and heavy in the back of your throat. it always makes you gag, and choke, and sometimes your eyes get too cloudy with tears to the point you can’t see, but it’s worth it. it’s worth it because every time, without fail, he calls you—

“good girl.” that. he calls you that. his ‘good girl’, not ‘kitty’ or ‘good kitty’—but girl. makes you feel all high and mighty, like you’re one of the others, like he sees you as something else other than just a hybrid that he’s been saddled with the burden of caring for. you know he loves you, at least you think he does. he hasn’t right out said it, but judging by his disposition earlier, you couldn’t be too far off. 

you keep your nose pressed into the skin of his pelvis until you physically can’t, pulling off of him with a loud pop. your cheek is wet with tears, and your chin is slick with spit, the two coalescing at the apex into a sticky mess. 

the sight makes him twitch in your hand, because this is what he’s been thinking about all day. this was his selfish wish, to see you below him with this expression. eyes all doe-eyed and desperate, hands still working yourself to orgasm. he can’t help but to reach out and rub the callused pad of his thumb over your parting lips, pressing the salty digit flat against your tongue, and retreating it in the same breath to hook it around your cheek. he adores you. 

“i lo—“ a pause, hesitance. your ears perk up. “you’re so pretty, y'know that?” 

oh. you feel like a dagger dipped in poison just punctured your heart and cut it into smithereens. it hurts, terribly so, but you brush the disappointment off of your face before he can notice and reacquaint yourself with his cock, stroking the length of him languidly, then increasing your pace, going back and forth between the two speeds. 

even if he doesn’t say it, those three silly words, the ones you so desperately want him to say—to you and no one else—you think you’ll be fine. all you care about in the moment is making him feel good, making sure that your spot as his girl, his good girl, is solidified and impenetrable. that when another girl goes down on him, they taste you. smell you.

“wanna taste you, mmf. gimme something, stevie.” your eyes flicker up to his, hand  still pumping slowly inside your kitten cunt, jaw slack and waiting. fuck, you were so unbelievable. such a sweet little thing, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were one of those high school sluts he brought in and out of here during his ‘king of hawkins’ phase. 

“jesus, lemme use ya,” he hisses, hands already coming down to rest on the sides of your head. “can i?” you nod your head, relaxing the column of your throat so that he can slip in and out with ease. the first thrust is experimental, slow. like he’s testing the waters. then, he does it again, pulls all the way out until only the mushroomy head of his cock is sheathed inside. 

all you can do is kneel there, breathe in and out through your nose while he builds up a steady rhythm. he decides now that he’s never gonna fuck another girl after you. because how could he? you were his, mouth molded only for him. heart beating only for him. 

nothing or nobody could ever compare after you, and he wishes he could boast to the world about how good you are for him, and how much he loves you, but he could never do that, not without consequences. he wants to keep you all to himself, away from evil, and anyone who’d ever inflict harm onto you. 

a string of profanities leave his lips. he’s close, and you can tell by the way he begins to fuck into your face with unparalleled ferocity. to guide him there, you begin to hollow your cheeks and narrow your throat, using a single hand to massage and pet his balls. 

yeah, he was gonna cum, could practically feel the white hot liquid traveling up from his balls and to his shaft. he can feel you start to get antsy, and when you start to scratch and claw at his thighs for air, that does it for him. with a final, lazy thrust, he releases the entirety of his load down your throat, keeping you pressed down on him until he’s sure every last drop has been emptied into your mouth. 

you push off of him so that you can swallow it down properly. it’s thick, and much warmer than what you can remember from last time, but swallow it. and when you do, a proud, cheshire grin creeps onto your face. before you stand up, you kiss the inside of his thigh, then bite down onto it, leaving a mark. a reminder. 

“i love you.” steve’s mouth moves on its own accord. and at first, he’s not even sure if he said it, but then he sees your little ears flutter, signaling that you did, in fact, hear his untimely confession of love. panic starts to set in, but then you rise from your knees and pounce on him, the two of you stumbling back into his unmade bed. 

“say it again, stevie,” the pupils of your eyes widen into saucers, tail swaying side to side as you hold your breath in pure, unfettered anticipation. 

“i love you, kitty. and not in that way.” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “…in the way that nance and jonathan love each other, and hopper and joyce. understand?”

your lips part to speak, to reciprocate his feelings, but your excitement is so uncontrollable that you end up biting down into his shoulder. the boy soothes the affliction and mouths an ow before breaking into a fit of laughter. 

“not sure what to make of that, is it something good?” steve smirks coyly.

“yeah, ’s good,” your head finds solace in the barrow of his neck. “i…i love you, too. always have. meant it when i said you’re special to me, stevie.” 

for a brief second, time seems to stand still, and the only way steve knows how to respond is with a kiss. a slow, passionate, sweet kiss that he pours the pining, desperation and patience of two years into, just hoping that you receive the message. 

and you do. loud and clear. you rub the skin of your neck against his, and you do it until every last pore on body is touched by your scent. until you can’t smell him from you, and you from him. 

“what’re you doing,” he chuckles, encasing you into a bear hug. 

“’s nothing, don’t worry about it!” you lie, but he knows. you left your mark. he was yours, and you were his. 

© all content belongs to arachine 2022. no reposts, modifications, plagiarizing, or remaking of any form without proper credit. 

[holykillercake]

Tap Dancer Fish

word count: 1.5k

summary: Zoro´s haramaki is falling apart and he can´t find another one to buy. You decide to crochet him one before he kills someone. 

highlight: ¨You must be tired... stupid marimo.¨

notes: This was an anon request for a fluff where they have a s/o that made them a thing with crochet and how they would react. This is 1/3 of the request, we´re starting with Zoro <3 

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

¨Any luck?¨ you asked without taking your eyes from the city guide, even with the rowdy sound of the metal chair scratching the brick sidewalk. 

¨No.¨ 

¨Need any help?¨ you tried to hide your smirk by sipping your coffee. 

¨No.¨

¨Well,¨ you closed the map and placed it on the table ¨I still have some errands to run. I´ll take a look around, see if I can find it. ¨ 

¨Thank you.¨

You placed a hand on his chest and gave him a quick peck on the lips before making your way back to your tasks. 

The Strawhats had docked on a Spring Island called Gardenia. It reminded you of Dressrosa, but without the talking toys and mad king. The houses and stores were all painted a shade of green or brown, but what made it extraordinary to the eyes - and nose - was the number of flowers. All kinds of all sizes and colors decorating everything around you. 

However, while you felt like an enchanted character from a fairy tale, your boyfriend felt trapped in a nightmare. For starters, everything smelled like flowers; Sanji would not stop bumping into him, saying that he mistook him for a moss tree, and the flowers made every corner look the same, so he got lost all the time. 

But what was really making him grumpier than usual was his haramaki, the green garment he wore religiously around his belly - well, not religiously. 

He has been procrastinating to get a new one for a long time, and despite you offering to purchase it whenever you ran errands, he would always turn the offer down. The problem was that it was not keeping itself anymore. After all the battles he fought and opponents he defeated, his haramaki was falling into pieces. 

In the beginning, you were able to patch it up with some simple sewing, but now he needed to get a new one. And here´s where problem number two arises, you have entered a chain of summer and spring islands where they don´t usually sell this stuff. As a result, Zoro was mad at everyone - you were an exception, though. 

It pained you to see him bothered like this, despite all of your previous warnings. Everyone has their own thing, Luffy has the straw hat, Chopper always carries his blue backpack, Sanji never stops smoking, and Zoro wears his haramaki. Anyone would be bothered, although anyone would listen to your advice. 

So you came up with a plan. Since you could not find one to buy, you were going to crochet one. That was an interesting fact that no one knew so far, your ability of crocheting. You would do it whenever you were in charge of the night watch, and when you presented someone with a piece of clothing that matched their personality or traits, you would say you found it in town. Reason being that you didn´t want to be swamped with sweaters and beanies to do. You knew the crew would go crazy if they didn´t have to pay for winter clothes anymore. 

¨Yosh, now I just have to make it.¨ you looked at the green ball of yarn in your hands before hiding it at the bottom of your bags. 

~

¨Oi, Luffy! Don´t steal her food!¨

¨But she´s not even eating it, Sanji!¨

¨Y/N, are you ok?¨

¨Y/N?¨

¨Y/N!¨ you almost fell off the chair when you woke up from your zombie state. 

¨What?¨ 

¨You look tired. Are you getting sick?¨ Robin asked, placing a hand on your forehead. ¨I hope you didn´t get some deadly poison from a plant.¨

¨Oi, Robin! Don´t say these scary things!¨ Usopp cried and walked away from you.

¨I couldn´t sleep last night.¨ the girls stared at you with a malicious smirk, and Sanji stormed out on flames ¨Yeah, uhum, I wish! I couldn´t sleep because Zoro kept rolling on the bed, it felt like I was sharing a bed with a tap dancer fish!¨ you shouted grumpily.

The longer he stayed without a decent haramaki, the more jittery he got. So throughout the night, he rolled on the bed, got up to train, went back to bed because he was too frustrated to train, mumbled and grumbled, and made you go through his insanity with him. At some point, you were planning on throwing him off the ship or choke him with that stupid belly warmer. 

After you finished your third cup of coffee, you decided to head to the deck. Your green-haired tap dancer fish was napping on the grass with furrowed brows and arms crossed. Suddenly, the irritation you felt was gone. 

¨You must be tired... stupid marimo.¨ you whispered and made your way to your room. 

He never bothered you before. Even when the other guys made him go crazy, he would always lay down, hold you close to his body, and sleep. On the days you were not so tired, pillow talks would last hours and hours, and he would tell you things he hasn´t told anyone; he would show interest in the stupid things you like and be the Zoro the other guys would never get to know. 

So you fought your will to go to sleep and grabbed the wool and a hook, determined to put an end to both of your miseries as soon as possible. 

With Zoro napping all day, Robin in charge of the ship, and the rest of the guys exploring the Island, you would have all the peace in the world to work. 

And that was exactly what you did. You were definitely going to hear from Chopper for going the entire day without a sip of water or bathroom break. Your fingers were red and hurting, and your shoulders were stiff and sore. But it was worth it. 

It was almost dark when you finished, part of you wanted to wrap it with laces or some sort of crap, but you passed out as soon as you heard the snap of the scissor cutting the yarn. You didn´t even know you had passed out until you woke up the next day, sunlight hitting your eyes. 

You were alone in bed, but not the way you imagined. You expected cramps and spasms to take over your body, but all you got was a slight soreness. You were in your pajamas and tucked like a baby. 

¨What the-¨ you sat and searched over the blanket looking for the crochet garment, but found no sign of it ¨Did I dream about that?¨

You threw yourself off the bed and marched - more like crawled - to the kitchen, craving for coffee. 

¨Morning, Y/N!¨ everyone was already up, although Luffy was sleep eating again. 

¨Morning, guys.¨ your voice came out sleepy. You grabbed a cup of coffee and sat beside Zoro ¨Good morning, you.¨ You smiled.

¨Morning, sleepyhead.¨ He kissed your temple.  

¨I´m so happy you found it, Y/N. I don´t think we would be able to handle his mood anymore.¨ Nami said relieved, and Zoro yelled something when everyone agreed. You gave her a confused look, and she pointed at your boyfriend.

Your eyes scanned him, oblivious for a moment, but when you noticed him wearing the haramaki you made, a big smile grew on your face. That also explains why you slept comfortably in your pajamas, he must have gone to check on you and saw your pitiful state alongside his present.

¨Yeah, I was lucky, I guess.¨ He held your hand tighter under the table.

After breakfast, the two of you decided to stay on deck, enjoying the gentle sun and the fresh breeze before it was time to set sail again. You were sitting between his legs, against his chest, and his hands rested on your lap while you played with each other´s fingers. 

¨Thank you... for making it for me.¨ You forgot about sore muscles. You forgot about raw fingers. Listen to him sounding so relaxed and peaceful made you forget about everything. 

¨Thanks for not telling the guys I made it. Besides that, how are you going to protect my ass if you can´t focus without this stupid belly wrap?¨ he let out a lazy laugh, and you felt his body vibrating against yours. 

¨Well, thank you again. I really liked it, and I won´t ruin it.¨

¨I know.¨ you whispered, closing your eyes and seizing the moment. 

You knew he would eventually destroy it, but that was fine. You didn´t have the emotional connection to it like he had. What mattered to you was his well-being. You were not strong enough to protect him - not that he needed - so keeping him warm and loved was your internal mission. Because that´s how he made you feel. 

[prickly-bulbasaur]

The Price of Hobbies

It had to be next week dammit!!

Katsuki Bakugou was lost for the 5th time at yet again another different mall, frantically searching for a particular store. Surprisingly, all of them only had a small, non-important store or did not have a store at all.

“How the living hell are there no craft stores in all of Japan?? The only things I see is fucking yarn balls, but they are only one color, too thick, or made for cats!!”

Katsuki sat down on the bench in the food court, trying to figure out the next place to go. He had asked the Hag and Pops about the best location to find the elusive store but so far everything just came up empty.

“Dammit, Eve, for someone who loves to crochet, finding the yarns for you is like a torturous manhunt.” The blonde grumbled and looked up to the sky. Eevee loves arts and crafts, it has always made her smile with the creations she makes. She had made a few Heroes with various yet perfect colors and even made him with his Hero Costume. She kept them safe, or gave them away, or in one particular case, burned one at the stake. Katsuki shuddered as he remembered the Eevette cackling like a psychopath. Hot though.

“I have no choice, I have to ask the Serpentine where she gets them. Otherwise I will be hunting them until Christmas!”

Katsuki makes a quick text first to Izuku, asking him if Eevee is still with him at the training facility before calling the fennec’s mother. He did not want her to detect anything is wrong, though he is sure she senses something as this was day two of him missing training together. 

“Aight, let's get this over with.” He mumbled before dialing the number, and his throat knotted once she picked up.

“Hello, Katsuki. Everything alright?” Ophelia asked, and he gulped in nervousness. “Why aren’t you at training? Dear Eevee was asking for you? Izuku mentioned you had something to do.”

Katsuki grumbled a bit before stealing his nerves a bit. “Hey, those yarns Eevee has, where did you get them?”

Silence ensued for several moments and Katsuki thought he was losing his mind before…

“Please tell me you didn’t search every single mall for those…” Ophelia deadpanned, and that triggered the blonde teen.

“NO I HAVEN’T BEEN SEARCHING AT FIVE DIFFERENT MALLS, GETTING LOST 5 DIFFERENT TIMES, JUST TO LOOK FOR SOME STUPID YARN!!”

“...That is a yes…” She sighed, before going back to her future son-in-law. “I had them specially ordered, since knitting and crocheting is technically dead in this era not many stores have them now.”

“That explains why so many people I asked looked at me like I was talking out of my ass…Ok, where can I order them? Do you have a number?”

“I actually have a location. Are you near Verdant Lake? There is a cottage along the east side of the lake called Cuddle-Ewe’s Cottage, you will need to speak to Aries.” Ophelia said and she chuckled as she could hear him choking from the overly cutesy name.

“For the love of-Who the hell has a disgustingly cute name like that??” Katsuki scoffed and became silent at the serpentine's next sentence.

“One that can save you months of crying from your Fennec.” She warned and she could mentally see him panicking. “Aries is actually her Hero Name, and her Quirk allows her to create yarn of colors. There is a catch, you will need an item of that color for the desired look, otherwise they will be plain white.”

“What if…in this case there is no item that can match a certain color? Like for example, my hair color?” Katsuki asked, not wanting to give a lot of information. His was a two-part gift, and one of them required certain finesse. “Also, will it also take in the scent of the person?”

“I see what is going on. Yes, you can use your hair. Just let Aries know that this will be a Nesting Gift. She specializes in those.”

Katsuki sighed in massive relief, finally getting somewhere for his girl’s birthday gift. “Thanks, Ophi. This means a lot. This was actually a pain to support her hobbies.”

“I know, Katsuki. Just don’t forget to go to training tomorrow, otherwise Eevee will get suspicious. I already have an excuse that you were with Daredevil for office re-filing. It is about this time he reorganizes them anyways.” 

“Heh, you and the Hag are loving this too much.”

“Very much, just make sure you bring condoms when you give her the gifts.” Ophelia teased and she heard him choke again, heat starting to come out of her headset.

“WHAT IS IT WITH YOU AND THE HAG ABOUT OUR SEX LIFE!!”

“I wouldn’t mind having a fiery baby fox as a Grandchild.” “...Ok, I’ll have to admit, that would be cool.” 

[ahatintimepieces]

Threading Moonlight

Here is the drabble I wrote for @smieska! It’s a prequel in which Luka makes a deal with a mysterious puppeteer in order to escape the frozen cellar his wife trapped him in, with the intent to freeze him solid, and to save their daughter from the encroaching cold. The puppeteer requires that Luka give up something important, but Luka is more than willing when that something seems broken beyond repair...

Content Warnings: Body horror, child neglect/abuse (check end of tags for more detail on both)

Total word count: 3,045

Something shifted inside the cardboard box and Luka jolted awake. The ice seeping into his wrists sharpened at his squirming and he let out a gasp that drifted from his lips in a frosted spiral. He settled back against the stone wall. He metered his breathing to keep it shallow and his movement scarce.

Glancing through the frosted tips of his chestnut curls, he peered up at his raised arms. If he tried to flex his fingers, they didn’t even twitch. But from what he could tell, they didn’t look frostbitten, but rather, it was like the chains of ice had melded with his wrists, turning flesh and bone into cold crystals. The edges of his palms seemed blue like lakes frozen from within as cold crept towards his pale fingers.

Vanessa had warned that she would make him stay. That she would keep him always. Was this how she would accomplish it, then? If he was a statue of snow and ice, would she be satisfied that he would never leave her?

Something wet dripped down his cheek and he flinched back, thinking there was a leak from the ceiling. But when he looked up, all he saw were dry stones and wooden beams. More droplets dripped down his chin and he glanced down as his breath hitched. Salt water pooled on the ground between his crossed legs.

He sniffed as the tears trickled. Each sudden gasp threatening to swell into sobs jostled his aching wrists. But the sharpness of the ice was minute compared to the heartbreak that cleaved through his chest.

How many more tears would he have to shed before he froze solid? How long until he was numb to even the feeling of his torn heart? He stared at the beam of pale moonlight that trailed through the window across from him in the cramped cellar, which was filled with storage boxes bulging with items he and Vanessa had collected over the years. Counting the particles of dust waltzing back and forth through the moonbeam, he nearly drifted back into his blank stupor when, again, something thumped inside the cardboard box.

Luka’s heart skipped a beat as his head snapped towards the box. With silent tears still streaming down his cheeks, he watched as the cardboard box tilted back and forth. The folded flaps suddenly burst open the same time that the box tilted too far and dropped to its side.

Hattie’s favorite toys—all the ones Luka had made for her—tumbled out in waves.

Pinning himself further against the wall, Luka eyed the mound of plushies and wooden figures with apprehension as he waited for a rat or something to appear. A bouncy ball shifted as a shadowy object emerged from within the cardboard. As the rubber ball plunked against the stone and skipped over before rolling against his shoe, the shadowy object stepped into the moonlight and waved its mitten hand.

Luka’s heart flew into his throat as he stared into the black button eyes of a doll that he had made to look like a prince in one of Hattie’s favorite picture books. The doll prince had hair made of chestnut colored yarn and wore a felt crown on his head. Two yarn strands stood out through the crown like a cowlick and his puffy striped sleeves and rounded purple boots added to his princely attire. His round nose and the rosy blush on his cheeks were his only other features, leaving him primarily expressionless as his head flopped down. His mitten hand kept waving.

While Luka stared at the prince plush, the air around it shimmered as spindly, blue fingers appeared around the doll, revealing the one making it stand tall and wave in the first place.

“Good morning, my weeping friend,” a hollow voice as faint as mist greeted from the forming apparition. “Or, good evening, I suppose. Whichever!” A crystalline giggle like the plinking of marbles came from behind a toothy grin painted onto a crescent mask.

Luka blinked through his tears, examining the floating creature who stretched out close to the ground, but hovered just inches above. He had no legs, but rather a ghostly tail the same color as the golden-orange harvest moon. It nearly looked like strings of the pale moonlight kept the humanoid creature suspended. When the creature shifted, the sound of clacking wood trickled through the cellar. His movements were rigid.

“What’s the matter?” he wondered, dropping the plush prince and letting it fall limp against the pile of toys before gliding over to Luka and causing him to jolt. “Your mouth isn’t frozen, is it?”

Stiff fingers pinched Luka’s cheeks and he winced back with a gasp. Fresh tears continued to spill out and dribbled onto the creature’s joints, which creaked.

“Wh-who are you?” Luka stuttered out as he shivered. His breath turned milky white, and the creature tilted his head back to watch the wisps trail upward.

“Call me Moonjumper.” The creature jumped away. His chest jerked back, and an arm folded in front of his chest while the other remained at his side. As he swayed, his jointed body, not unlike that of a puppet, clacked quietly. “And you, my weeping friend?” His voice was airy with laughter, though it was unnerving how the painted, patterned eyes and wide grin on his mask did not move with his bouncing cadence.

“Luka.” He leaned back against the stone with a sigh. A sharpness pressed deeper into his wrist and palm. The ice spread and his tears streamed down his cheeks, staining the collar of his pale dress shirt that was already soiled with sweat and dirt.

“You seem to be in quite the predicament, Luka friend,” Moonjumper made a sound similar to a tongue clicking against the roof of a mouth. “And that won’t do. I can’t play with you if you’re frozen. So, I’m here to make a deal.” He waved his hand and yellowed parchment appeared with a flash of moonlight.

Luka’s eyes narrowed at the parchment as it was flown over to him. He briefly scanned it but didn’t register anything beyond words and phrases about a kingdom and magic. Something about the horizon. And an invitation. While Moonjumper hovered over him, Luka vaguely wondered if he had finally perished in the cellar.

But he didn’t think ghosts could cry or see their breath.

“I’m sure you’d like to be released, would you not?” Moonjumper offered, tilting his head to the side. “Would like to walk free, unburdened by chains.”

If he wasn’t dead, perhaps he was hallucinating. Luka glanced away from Moonjumper and stared at the tumbled box of Hattie’s things. His chest tightened as he thought about Hattie. His breath hitched. He forgot himself for a moment and tried to bring his hand to his cheek to wipe at the swell of tears, but he only managed to cut the ice deeper into his skin. He winced with a gasp, but he did not take his eyes off of the box.

Moonjumper turned his head to follow Luka’s gaze. There was a pause before Moonjumper shifted stiffly between Luka and the box. He bent down, leaning his grinning mask towards Luka’s sniffling features. Luka edged back, avoiding the apparition’s gaze.

“Or perhaps you simply wish to be reunited with your daughter again?” Moonjumper asked.

Luka snapped his head up and looked into Moonjumper’s painted red eyes. A chuckle came from behind the mask as his whole body jostled as awkwardly as a puppet suspended from strings.

“There we go,” Moonjumper twittered before straightening and motioning the contract over. “Of course, when you’re free, you can rescue the little one and leave together. She cried you know, when you weren’t there to tuck her in.”

“Hattie.” Luka scrambled to shift his legs underneath himself. He ignored the burning in his wrists and pleaded as tears blurred his vision, “is she safe? Pl-please tell me she’s safe.” His voice cracked with desperation.

“Safer than you, at the moment,” Moonjumper shrugged his shoulders and caused his lithe arms to clack. “But if you make a deal with me, I can give you magic that can melt your chains and allow you and your little one to go free.”

“I’ll do anything,” Luka swore, leaning forward and towards the contract. Whether this creature was a hallucination or not, he’d make any bargain to ensure his daughter was safe.

“My price is steep, I’ll admit.” Moonjumper’s voice softened. “After ten years, I’ll come to collect you and so many of my toys forget that. Oh, and you’ll have to give up your heart.”

“Take it,” Luka said quickly as tears spilled out. He coughed out a ragged gasp before continuing in a voice as broken as his chest. “Take it, please. I don’t—” he sniffed as sobs structured his voice, “—I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“Really?” Moonjumper’s head tilted. “Usually that’s considered too high a price to pay.”

“Are you going to let me help Hattie or not?” Luka tried to scowl but his features crumbled as another sob bled from his chest. “Please,” he choked out. “Please take it away.”

“Very well!” Moonjumper said lightly as the contract drifted underneath Luka’s chin. Tears dribbled onto the dotted line and that must have been enough to count as his signature because shortly after, the contract glowed.

Strands of moonlight laced around the contract like chains and then disappeared in a curtain of light. Before Luka could react, Moonjumper tore through the curtain and pressed his hand against his chest.

Luka gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt a pressure over his ribs. A brief flicker of regret caused him to press against the stone wall, to recoil from Moonjumper’s touch.

Was he truly alright with this? With losing his heart?

Fingers as stiff as wood sunk into his chest and wrapped around his splintered heart. A surge of the despair he’d been feeling since Vanessa first threw him into the wretched cellar drowned him and he whimpered as he struggled to breathe.

“Take it, please,” he begged. He felt a tug on his heartstrings and a whine pulled from his lips as a wave of tears pushed out.

“Almost done, Luka friend,” Moonjumper muttered. “Brace yourself.”

A snap resounded through the cellar and Luka slumped like a puppet with snipped strings. The pressure was extracted from his chest, and he exhaled as Moonjumper backed away.

Luka’s tears ceased.

A burning kindled in the cavity left behind in his ribs and he began to hyperventilate. Suddenly desperate for oxygen, the crackling flames pushed out and heat spread through his body with each gasped breath.

Water dripped from his frosted hair tips and his chestnut curls flared liquid hot until they grew.  His locks faded into cinders with a dark violet sheen that spiked out below his shoulders. Heat licked his teeth and he hissed before opening his mouth as his top canines lengthened into sharp, polished points.

Squirming against his restraints, Luka panted as whistling steam emanated from his wrists. His previously unresponsive fingers twitched into elongated claws. He gritted his teeth, piercing his lip with his fangs as a final pulse of flame pushed to his palms. Blue embers burned in his hands and the ice clinging to his wrists shattered before evaporating into steam.

His hands dropped and the embers flickered out as Luka slouched against the wall. His chest rose and fell rapidly with the flame still crackling in his chest. His heated exhales no longer turned to mist.

“There you go!” Moonjumper twittered as he cupped a pulsing, torn lump in one hand and scooped down to retrieve the prince doll in the other.

“What happened to me?” Luka held out his trembling hands before himself, flexing pale fingers that ended in claws.

“You gave up your heart,” Moonjumper answered simply. While floating in the air, he drifted into a sitting position and set the prince doll into his lap. He unbuttoned the prince’s tunic and placed the torn lump onto the doll’s chest.

A strand of moonlight drifted over to Moonjumper’s fingers. He snapped the graceful thread and the cut end bled scarlet. The red crept across the length of the thread as Moonjumper summoned a sewing needle. The string thrust through its eye and the needle dove towards the lump.

Luka jolted when the needle pierced the lump and then the doll. His heart, severed into two, was methodically embroidered into the doll’s chest. Though the scarlet string strung the two pieces into one, the stitches holding the heart together only highlight how terribly broken it was.

Once Luka’s heart was embedded into the doll, Moonjumper knotted the ends of the thread and buttoned the tunic closed, concealing the heart. Without warning, he tossed the prince doll towards Luka, who fumbled to catch it.

“I thought you wanted to keep it.” Luka wrinkled his nose, holding out the toy like it was some mangled catch a cat brought in.

“I just said you had to live without it,” Moonjumper corrected. “What you do with it is up to you. I thought that would be an easy way to carry it.”

“Why would I carry around a doll?” Luka furrowed his brows.

“It’s your daughter’s favorite toy, yes?” Moonjumper tilted his head, his painted smile unwavering.

“Hattie!” Luka bolted to his feet. He clutched the doll in his hand. A faint pulse against his palm urged him forward.

“And with that, I’ll take my leave. But don’t forget, Luka friend,” Moonjumper chuckled as his form began to waver and fade into moonlight, “I’ll come back in ten years’ time to collect my toy!” His laughter drifted on the shimmer he left behind. Strands of gentle light flittered back to the beam streaming from the window.

Luka scowled at the moonlight. He didn’t understand what Moonjumper meant about collecting his toy ten years later, but he didn’t care.

He had to leave. He had to leave with Hattie and escape.

Luka flew towards the stairs leading out of the cellar, but his gangly legs tripped on the box of toys, and he skidded against the ground. Grunting, his hand clenched around the doll as he scrambled back to his feet.

The manor was silent with Vanessa in bed. He easily crept around the squeaky floorboards and hurried to the nursery.

The flame in his chest flared when he saw the icicles jutting around the door to the nursery, sealing it off while emitting a frosty mist. Blue embers flared from his palms and though they licked the doll and the heart trembled, it did not catch fire.

But the ice did hiss as it melted from Luka’s touch.

Forgetting to be quiet in his ire, Luka shoved open the door with a grunt before seeing that the room was ice free. But his misted breath told him how cold it was.

“Kid!” Luka hurried over to the crib.

Hattie lay inside, shivering under her blanket with flushed, chubby cheeks and eyelids puffy from crying. Her features were scrunched with discomfort in her sleep.

“No, no, no.” Luka reached into the crib.

His embers flickered softly. In her sleep, she leaned towards the source of heat, but when her eyes popped open, she shrunk back in fear. She let out an ear-piercing screech and Luka jolted.

“Hattie, Hattie, it’s me,” Luka whispered, leaning over. His violet-black hair slipped from his shoulder and caught his eye. He ran his tongue across his fangs and remembered how much he had changed. Immediately he held out the prince doll to Hattie and danced it around to distract her from her tears.

“Papa looks different, but it’s still me,” he promised urgently as he listened for any sign of Vanessa.

Hattie continued wailing until a shriek came from his and Vanessa’s bedroom.

“Shut up already!” Vanessa’s muffled voice screamed. Ice jutted from the underneath the door and a brisk puff of air pushed into the room. Luka froze as fear spiked with the doll trembling in his hand.

Hattie whimpered and snatched the prince doll from Luka, startling him out of his petrified state. She hugged the doll and buried her face into the plush, hiccupping as she hushed her crying.

“That’s better!” Vanessa snapped from the other side of the door.

Luka’s flames burned as he sneered at the fresh ice. But all manner of threats and ire he wanted to lob at her perished when he remembered just how powerful she was and how his priority was keeping Hattie safe.

“Hattie,” he whispered in an even quieter voice after a stretch of silence. “Please, kiddo, it’s me.”

He stifled the cerulean flames in his hands, but his palms still radiated heat as he reached for Hattie’s cheek. She peeked at him from behind the prince doll. While she initially recoiled from his clawed hands, he slowly pressed his soft palm to her cheek. She relaxed.

“P-papa?” Her lip trembled.

“That’s right,” Luka managed a smile for her, unintentionally baring his fangs. “Papa’s here.”

She sniffled and he shushed her as softly as he could.

“It’s okay,” he whispered as he scooped her up. “We have to be silent, okay?”

Pressing into his chest, her eyelids grew heavy as his warmth lulled her. She still clutched the prince doll in one tiny fist and her other grabbed onto a strand of his dark violet hair. He winced when she tugged on his scalp.

“There we go, see?” he muttered as he rocked her in his arms. “It’s just me.”

The prince doll pulsed between them, urging him to be warm with more than just the flame in his chest.

With Vanessa back asleep, Luka hurried to pack a bag with supplies and money while Hattie slept in his arms, toasty and safe as she held the prince doll. When everything was packed and Hattie was bundled up in an extra blanket, they fled the manor and Luka never looked back.

But the prince doll, while Hattie slept and Luka ran with his eyes forward, waved goodbye to the manor without the assistance of any apparition. The stitches in its chest tightened.  

[greekbros]

"greek-Bros": Rat Tail

*Every god has their secrets....this is the tale of Ares's secret*

Dionysus, Apollo and Hermes: *chatting away about stuff*

Ares: *comes in sort of dancing after a long day of WAAAARRRHHHHH* do do do, de do *takes his helmet off, revealing a slightly long but thin braided rat tail just gently unravel down his shoulder*

Dionysus, Apollo and Hermes: *stop everything and just stare at the literal war crime against humanity that was hiding under Ares's helmet this whole time* (̲̅ ͡ಠ_ಠ)̲̅.......

Ares: *goes over to a fountain to wash up like some homeless dude.*

Dionysus: *raises arm and over dramatically points at Ares*......OH SHIT. A RAT!....tail.

Ares: *turns around nonchalantly* ugh....yeah....yeh guys didn't know?

Apollo: Oh really? Did you HONESTLY think we would even suspect the existence of that........THING?!?

Hermes: Yeah man, I mean... really? A rat tail????

Ares: Ugh...yeah...I mean, it's convenient.

Apollo: SO IS SLAVERY AND GENOCIDE BUT YOU DON'T SEE THOSE BEING PUBLICLY ACCEPTABLE!!!!

Ares: ok I'll bite, why do you guys have such a problem with my hair style?

Apollo: *deeply offended and disgusted by it* oh how do I put it.......ITS FUCKING HORRID.

Dionysus: *personally feeling like Ares could do better with a mullet or something* yeah ugh....looks a little out dated

Hermes: *actually having the insatiable craving to just pluck it right off* ugh...*sweats profusely* .......*does the grabby hand thing and just kinda is mesmerized at the possibility of just easily ripping that tantalizingly thin braided strand like an satisfying ASMR video* ....hhhhnnnnggggg.

Ares: .... First off, fuck off. I ain't getting rid of my "Leonidas's rope". Second, you guys don't understand how hard it is to maintain this look and third off Aphrodite braided it herself so ain't losing that too.

Apollo: Oh there's your accomplice.

Dionysus: I always knew she was an enabler how toxic of her to do so.

Hermes: ....*slowly sneaks closer*

Ares: *slowly backs away.* Screw you guys, I'm going to get a snack. *Covers his rat tail with his hand while he runs off*

Hermes: *like a predator who has been triggered by the running of his prey* must. yank. *

Apollo: *grabs Hermes's collar* no no. I have a plan.

Hermes: *whines* ....but...it would have been so....ﾟ.*･｡ﾟsatisfying ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

*later*

Ares: *eats his 3rd gryo*

Dionysus: *tries to lasso the rat tail*

Ares: *moves like 3 inches*

Dionysus: *lassos an amphora, pulls the lasso without realizing he has pulled the wrong thing and gets the whole bottle to the face*

Ares: *reaches for the amphora but he notices it's gone.*..........*shrugs and goes get another*

Dionysus: ow.

*later again, in Hephaestus's secret lab*

Apollo: So...do you have any suggestions?

Hermes: *playing with what looks like a stim toy because he got bored* c:

Hephaestus: hmm...yes.... Ares's unfortunate choice of hairstyle is a challenge...but...I do have an idea. *Pulls a rope and a overly complicated Rube Goldberg-esk guillotine the cuts a pumpkin in half* .....

Apollo and Hermes: *both feeling that was WAY too much* ....

Hephaestus: .....

Apollo: ...um... don't you have something a little less..... drastic?

Hephaestus: *lying through his teeth knowing the plan was to at least save his marriage by just killing Ares* ....I apologized dear half-brother...but I'm afraid that is beyond my capabilities.

Apollo and Hermes: *look at each other*

*later*

Ares: *standing in the middle of a platform with ropes and such tied to different places on his body and only the one tied to his rat tail actually does anything*.....are you sure this isn't going to emancipate me for my 'rope'

Hermes: Wut? Oh no of course not, me and Heracles just wanted to do...ugh...an experiment. *Holding on to one rope on a pulley system*

Heracles: *has been brought from his room to harass Ares, holding on to the other*

*later after that failed spectacularly*

Dionysus: *puts a raw steak on his face from earlier* ....so....no plan?

Hermes: no....and I've already satisfied my craving to yank that thing off. Honestly it probably wouldn't have been interesting anyway.

Apollo: *massages his temples* that disgusting, trashy and absolutely repulsive little yarn weff is getting to me.

Dionysus: guys let's be real here ....are we all really going to let Ares's braid really bother us?

Apollo: I REFUSE to relate to another god who wears THAT behind his occipital region of his head.

Ares: *comes in* alright that's it, I'm sick of you guys being so fucking weird about my 'rope' and honestly it's not like you guys have something to hate either! Apollo you and your stupid bowtie on your head makes you look like a poodle! Dionysus I don't know what the shit is going on with your hair so for fuck's sake get a haircut and Hermes.....ugh....YOUR HAT WINGS PISS ME OFF....sort of.

Apollo: *not actually bothered by that comment considering its removable*

Dionysus: *scoff* I see you're jealous of my mane dude.

Hermes: *wings droop* :c

Ares: See? Doesn't fucking suck for someone else t-*hears a snip* .....

Apollo, Dionysus and Hermes: 👁️👄👁️

Artemis: *with a pair of scissors, has just cut the rat tail*...wut?

Ares: *absolutely speechless*......

Apollo: *surprisingly thankful* ARTEMIS! What on earth was that act of mercy for? :D

Artemis: wut? You guys don't have the urge to cut the tails off of rats or anything? Just me? Ok.

Dionysus and Hermes: *wanting to laugh like crazy but slightly feels like Ares is going lose his shit so their just quite*

Ares: *turns around in disbelief* ..........you... little....

Artemis: *unloving gives Ares his rat tail back* whatever Ares, fucking gross looking thing anyways. *Walks away*

Ares: *kneels down in defeat*..........

Apollo: well well well it seems everything is back to normal.

Ares: *sees that Artemis left the scissors, sees only red* .....well....looks like we got to go *picks up the scissors, looks at the trio* BALD.

Apollo, Dionysus and Hermes: *suddenly happy feelings gone.

*later*

Zeus and Hera: *waiting for the Olympians to arrive at the meeting*

Ares: *walks in a fresh buzz cut sits down*

Apollo: *expressionless and with his hair sloppily chopped in various places, looking like it was a home job*....

Dionysus: *slightly similar but he's feeling like a sheered lamb* .....

Hermes: *has a slightly messy version of a buzz cut but there's a really sloppy fade*

Zeus and Hera: *honestly have no idea what happened and look at Ares*

Ares: *has the look of satisfaction on his face*

Apollo: *sits down and slumps over*

Ares: *doesn't even have to turn his head*

Apollo: I hope you choke on those brass balls of yours because I hope you enjoy retaliation.

Ares: Name a place and time and we'll trade hands you pansy.

Apollo: man slut.

Zeus: BOYS!

Apollo: I SEE YOU DO NOT SEE THE ATROCITY YOUR SON HAS COMMITTED!

[stiltonbasket]

can we have some nielan for the art thief au? author's choice :D

(this is more lxc-focused but there's still a dash of sweet nielan! (≧◡≦) ♡ click here for AO3 link)

__

Twenty years ago.

The last time we celebrated Muqin’s birthday with her, it was twenty years ago.

Upon later reflection, perhaps the realization ought not to have affected Lan Xichen as it did. But twenty years is long enough to be called a long time by any measure of reckoning; and Lan Xichen is thirty now, an orphan for fully twice the span that he had either of his parents, and sometimes it feels as if he no longer remembers how it was to call for A-Niang, and Fuqin instead of Shufu, or not have to explain to new acquaintances that his parents have been dead for nearly two decades.

What did he and Wangji do on Mother’s last birthday? Lan Xichen remembers their father making a cake—a flourless one, because Mother wanted to try a new recipe she found at the library—and Wangji lay down on his stomach in the living room and labored over a card for her all morning, squeaking in dismay when Mother pretended to peer over his shoulders to see what he was doing, and then he wrapped it up in silky tissue paper and presented it to her with such delight on his solemn little face that Muqin refused to let go of him for the next twenty minutes.

Xichen was in the kitchen helping their father with the cake, he thinks. Fuqin handed him three little bottles of food coloring and told him to color the frosting, which Lan Xichen did with breathless care to ensure that the frosting turned out their mother’s favorite shade of buttery yellow.

None of them knew then that it was the last birthday they would celebrate together as a family. Mother died only two months later, quietly in her bed at Fuqin’s side, and a heart attack carried their father off six months after that.

Mother’s birthday has always been something of a private holiday within the family. When she was alive their father organized quiet celebrations for her, and Lan Xichen always spent time with Wangji that day after she passed on. But today his brother has been caught up with grading at the university where he works, so Lan Xichen is celebrating the bittersweet anniversary alone.

“You would have been fifty-six today, Mother,” he says, as he burns incense at the family memorial altar and puts a pair of red-bean buns on a platter in front of her photograph: one for her and one for Father, who loved mother’s sweet baozi so much that Shufu used to tease him about it at family dinners. “Shufu and Wangji are doing well, and so am I. And Jingyi is big enough to fit into that sweater A-Jue made from the yarn you were saving—do you remember when you took me and A-Zhan to help you pick it out?”

His mother’s smiling face looks down at him from her wedding picture, as silent and tender as she always is. Muqin is resplendent in the old qipao dress she wore that day, the only luxury she really had for her hasty wedding; Lan Xichen can almost feel its smooth embroidered flowers and pankou under his fingertips, since she often took the dress out to look at it and show it to her two sons. It was eventually put away in storage along with the rest of her belongings, but Lan Xichen found the qipao while he was preparing for his own wedding some fifteen years later, and he brought it to the house he moved into with his husband just after their son was born.

Prodded by some strange urgency, Lan Xichen makes his way to the bedroom and rifles through his closet, pulling out the long silk sleeve where the qipao dress has lain undisturbed for the past eighteen months. The dress, when he removes it from the sleeve, is mostly unchanged: only creased at the spots where it was folded, and a little dusty-smelling from being in the closet.

He shakes it out, breathing in the familiar scent of his mother’s perfume clinging to the collar, and then he walks over to the full-length mirror by the bed and holds the qipao up in front of him.

For a moment, it almost looks as if—

Lan Xichen stares at his reflection, bewildered.

“Oh,” he gasps, holding one of the bedposts in a vice grip. “Oh.”

_____

When Lan Xichen was in his teens, Shufu hired a family friend to teach him how to do makeup: mainly how to make his face more angular, and deepen the shadows around his nose and eyebrows, and render his eyes just a little narrower than they truly were with highlighting powder. But it was an art like any other, so Liang-popo showed him how to do different kinds of makeup, too: how to make his cheeks look rounder, and his chin smaller, and call more attention to his lips and eyes than natural light did on its own. Lan Xichen never expected to use that half of what Liang-popo taught him, but he still remembers the basics: and his own face, still smooth and unlined by the sun thanks to the skincare regimens Nie Huaisang keeps coaxing him into, accepts the blush-toned powders and creams like paper soaking up ink.

Moisturizer, primer. Foundation, and concealing cream under his eyes. He took off his glasses and replaced them with contacts earlier, and tied back his long hair while he smoothed on a pale red lip tint; and now, with most of his makeup finished, he paints a small, dark mole high on his forehead—one that his mother had, but neither he nor Wangji inherited—and mists his face with setting spray.

He yanks his hair elastic out with shaking fingers, groping in the vanity drawer for bobby pins before putting his hair up into a loose chignon, and then he finally lifts his eyes and looks into the mirror again.

If he were not sitting, Lan Xichen thinks dizzily, he would have fainted dead away.

With shaking fingers, he removes his pants and shirt (one of A-Jue’s thicker pajama tops, since the weather was chilly last night) and divests himself of his binder, tossing it onto the bed with the rest of his clothes before he unbuttons the qipao and pulls it on. The dress fits like a second skin despite being several inches too short, but the side slits are so high that it hardly matters, and the collar encloses Lan Xichen’s pale throat exactly like it did his mother’s in her wedding photograph: just lax enough that he can’t really feel it, but smooth enough not to bother him either way.

Lan Xichen pads back towards the mirror, his bare feet dragging over the carpet as he goes, and then he looks up and meets his mother’s eyes for the first time in twenty years.

The resemblance, so far as it goes, is astounding. Mother was shorter, but she seemed quite tall to the ten-year-old son she left behind; and she had the same eyes and brows and nose and even the same cheekbones, with slightly fuller lips which were never thinned by parenthood as Lan Xichen’s lips have been. But then again, Wen Mingyan was a schoolteacher and not a harried lawyer who doubled as a museum thief by night, and her children were not so accomplished at getting into trouble as Lan Xichen’s own tiny son is.

At the thought of his baby, Lan Xichen hurries into the next room where A-Yi is fast asleep in his crib, with his thumb in his mouth and his pudgy little legs sticking straight up in the air. He rolls into Lan Xichen’s arms without waking, like a ball rolling into a comfortable hollow in the ground, and nestles happily under his chin on the short trip back to the bedroom.

Lan Xichen pulls a chair up in front of the mirror and sits down with Jingyi yawning in his lap, gazing at what could have been a window opening onto the past: his mother, young and strong and still with the bridal blush on her cheeks, cradling a fluffy-haired toddler that could have been the Lan Xichen of twenty-eight years ago.

He presses his lips to A-Yi’s chubby nose; and in the mirror his mother, seemingly overwhelmed by some kind of great feeling, kisses him.

Lan Xichen’s lips quiver. “Muqin—”

Suddenly, a door bangs on the ground floor, and Lan Xichen jolts back to full awareness just in time to hear his husband and brother talking in the kitchen. Mingjue seems to have returned with armfuls of grocery bags, which crinkle so loudly that A-Yi blinks awake and starts to fuss, tugging at a lock of hair that slipped out of Xichen’s loose updo.

“A-Huan?” Mingjue calls, followed by the swift thuds of his feet and Wangji’s coming up the stairs. “A-Huan, is A-Yi…”

And then both of them screech to a halt on the landing, gawking through the open door at Lan Xichen’s soft hair and make-up and the red bridal qipao. For a moment, Lan Xichen wonders what the picture looks like—he hasn’t worn a dress since before Wangji was born, and he’s certainly never worn make-up like this, so for all he knows it might look like some strange woman broke into the house to kidnap baby A-Yi.

But then Mingjue lets out a quiet breath and comes over to kiss him, brushing aside the tangled curls A-Yi pulled down, and wraps him up in a tight hug that smells of soap and sawdust from Mingjue’s woodworking studio.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he breathes, pressing his cheek to Lan Xichen’s. “I stopped to pick up dinner and fetch Wangji from the university after I left work.”

“It’s fine,” Lan Xichen murmurs back, as Jingyi stares at the large buttons on Mingjue’s sleeve before testing his tiny white teeth on them. “I got some egg porridge ready, earlier. Do you want to eat a little before we get dinner started?”

Nie Mingjue opens his mouth, probably to declare that hot vegetable congee with pidan would be delicious after being outside in the cold; but he never manages to say so, because Wangji makes a choked noise from the hallway before taking a shaky step forward.

“Xiongzhang,” he says hoarsely. “You look, you look just like—”

Mingjue takes A-Yi into his arms, and Lan Xichen reaches out towards his brother. When Wangji staggers into his embrace, all Lan Xichen can think of is that their mother never had the chance to see A-Zhan grow up so well, or know what a name he would make for himself, or even how his face would grow into a perfect meld of hers and Fuqin’s after his baby fat melted away.

She would have had to wait many years to know that last, Lan Xichen smiles to himself. A-Zhan’s cheeks were as round as A-Yi’s until after he started college.

“Ge.”

Lan Xichen pats Wangji’s shoulder. “Mm, A-Zhan?”

Wangji hugs him impossibly tighter.

“Thank you.”

[pasteljeon]

where’s waldo (bts ver)

summary: in which your coworkers can’t distinguish between your seven boyfriends. “jin? oh! you mean jungkook?” ...”hah?”

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings: nothing. super fluffy!

length: 1.4k

notes: this is a blm commission from the lovely @/himbeaux-joon. thank you so much for contributing! i hope you find this to your liking ^^

.

.

.

The first time it happens, you don’t think much of it.

“Hi Yoongi!” Your boyfriend turns and flashes your co-worker a grin. “Hi Gia. How are you?”

They chat for a bit, but if he notices your visible confusion, he doesn’t address it, even as she waves goodbye to the two of you and disappears back into her office.

Your secretary comes flying over to drag you to the conference room the next minute, and it’s already forgotten. He grabs your wrist as you leave, hand cupping the back of your head as he kisses you deeply.

“See you tonight, baby,” he murmurs when he withdraws. You thumb his cheek, breathless, as he smiles down at you. “Mmm.”

“Okay, okay,” your assistant rolls her eyes as she pulls on your sleeve. “Break it up, lovebirds. Go home, Hoseok.”

“Hoseok? Wh—” He blows you a kiss, form fading as you round the corner.

“Boo,” you pout. “Party killer.”

“Oh hush,” she snaps, shoving the iPad into your hands as you reach the glass room. “We all know you’re going to rail him after this meeting.”

.

.

.

The second time it happens, you brush it off as coincidence.

“Oh, ___,” your coworker beams as she steps off the elevator. “That Taehyung is waiting for you at the lobby again. Date?”

“Lunch,” you smile, though you glace at your phone briefly, a little perplexed. You thought you were meeting Jimin?

“Well, have a good time. He’s such a sweet boy,” she gushes, squeezing your arm as she passes.

��Thanks,” you say honestly, waving as the elevator door closes.

You mean to ask, but the moment you reach the ground floor, Jimin is engulfing you in a tight hug, fussing over your health and suggesting a plethora of foods to cure that incessant headache you’ve been dealing with all week.

He’s so warm and smells like peaches and sunshine and you melt in his embrace. Jimin pulls away, eyes crinkling as he kisses your nose. “Come on. You need to drink something warm.”

Your question is long forgotten.

.

.

.

The third time has you floored.

It’s a disaster walking down the hall.

“Hi Jin! Missed you at the gym the other night!” One calls. He lives in your building, and you know he’s someone who’s sporadically met Jungkook at the many amenities your space offered. Jin, though? You distinctly remember the eldest remarking at how much he preferred their studio gym.

You eye him strangely. Your boyfriend shrugs it off easily, waving.

“Taehyung-ah! I caught that fish you told me about last week,” another one says excitedly. He swipes through his phone to show a picture of him proudly holding up a rather terrifying sample of seafood. “We let it go after, of course, but man, it was huge!”

Now you’re really about to ask him what was going on. Jin was the local fishing enthusiast. While it’s true the man beside you often ventured with him, he isn’t nearly as excitable at the thought as the former is.

“That’s awesome,” he answers warmly. “Wish I could’ve seen it.”

What the f—

Your boyfriend excuses himself for a quick bathroom detour before you can ask, and you wait outside impatiently.

“Hey, ___! I heard Namjoon was in today,” you turn to the newcomer, eyebrows knitting. After a beat, you nod, deciding to play along.

“Could you tell him I loved the book recommendations he sent me this week? Murakami’s really starting to grow on me,” he says happily. His phone buzzes just as you open your mouth. “Whoops, gotta run. Department meeting. See you later!”

That one was obvious. He could only mean –

“Hey. Ready for lunch?” Yoongi says, patting down his hands with the paper towel he grabbed on the way out of the bathroom. “Sorry to keep you.”

“Not at all,” you say slowly, smiling at him even as your lips twitch.

You start walking again. As the two of you wait for the elevator, you comment dryly, “Really? Jungkook?” Yoongi shrugs innocently, cat-shaped eyes gleaming mischievously.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Huh …,” you purse your lips.

“Lamb skewers?” He takes your hand. He has that adorable gummy smile on his face, the one he knows you can’t resist.

“Love you,” you say offhandedly instead, looping your arm through his.

Yoongi flushes, squeezing your palm. “Yeah. I love you too.”

.

.

.

Later

“Wait, you’re telling me you’ve all been doing this all on purpose?” You say, stunned. The skewer dangles from your limp hold.

“You’re telling me you didn’t know?” Seokjin starts laughing instead. He nearly chokes on his drink, and you offer no sympathy as Yoongi pounds his back helpfully.

“You were confusing me for months,” you wail. “And I thought I was just imagining things too, going crazy after working so much, but no …”

“It was the maknaes’ idea,” Namjoon explains, and you swivel around to see the three boys huddled together, unsure whether to be terrified or pleased. Taehyung’s grinning unabashedly though, caramel eyes twinkling in mirth.

Huffing, you turn back, viciously tugging another piece of lamb of your skewer.

They all watch you carefully, all smiles and laughter and warmth and you chew slowly, swallowing before admitted grudgingly, “Okay, maybe it was a little funny.”

Jungkook disentangles himself from the ball of youth and shoves an indignant Seokjin to the side, ignoring his squawk of anger at being treated like a ball of yarn, to take the place next to you.

“We just wanted to make you smile,” he says earnestly. “Like an inside joke, just between us.” He’s looking down at you shyly, from under those long lashes of his, cheeks pink and lips rolled between teeth. He’s all soft and sweet, decked in an oversized sweater and those tight-fitting jeans he hates but knows you love.

So you kiss him, smearing sauce all over his face and he returns your fervor eagerly, cupping your jaw and pulling you onto his lap.

You pull away reluctantly when Seokjin makes another faint noise of distress at being crushed in the tight corner he’s been squished into. Jungkook chases you, unwilling to let go of you just yet, and he ducks his head, blushing furiously, when he catches your knowing look.

I love you seems meager and so un-encompassing of all that you feel for them.

You settle with, “Thank you.”

They’re all glow-y again, beaming and crowding close. “I want kisses too,” Jimin complains playfully, reaching for you with grabby hands.

“Piss off,” Yoongi says matter-of-factly. “I was first.”

“Hello? Human meat grinder here,” Seokjin cries out, slowly sinking to the ground like he’s being pulled into quicksand.

“Oh, hyung,” Taehyung snickers, pulling him free, “You’re so dramatic.”

“You try getting squashed by this five-foot ten mass of muscles,” the eldest points out snarkily, tossing his head back as he humphs loudly.

“Hey, hey, leader privileges,” Namjoon calls, flashing a dimple as he swims through the throng of hormones.

“What about me?” Hoseok says, eyes wide as he sticks his lower lip out.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling. “Let’s go home, and you can all get your kisses.”

They all cheer, and you’re grateful the owner adores them just as much as you do, enough not to kick you all out with how rambunctious you always are.

“Jin-hyung is paying, right?” Jungkook chirps as he makes one last wrap for the road. Seokjin gapes at him in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? After the way you tried to mash me into the wood finish? Oh, hell no.”

As they’re arguing, you tap Yoongi’s shoulder and he leans in, nodding. He takes your card without another word, rising to his feet. Hoseok whistles. “Suuuuuuuga!”

Yoongi looks back, thoroughly embarrassed but still smiling that gummy smile of his.

You know he never really uses your card. But he also doesn’t know you paid for this meal in advance.

Taehyung notices your fond look as you gaze at your boys, and he brushes your hair back, nosing your temple.

“Love you, noona,” he murmurs huskily. The breathy, deep quality of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

“Yeah,” you reply softly. “I love you too.”

[elisajdb]

The Red Thread of Fate

A story for (CC) Carol Winner of the @the-gochi-awards Favorite Comic

 Goku stretched his arms over his head as he woke from his nap. He groaned when he heard the sounds of rain tapping the window. It was the rains’ fault for his nap. It rained all day so he couldn’t go outside to train. He could but his new wife wouldn’t allow it. The first time he came home after training in the rain, he spread mud all over the floor. It enraged ChiChi so much she forbid him to train when it rained. Goku, not wanting to anger his new bride oblige. When it rained, Goku stayed home. Sometimes he spent it with ChiChi and other times like now, he took a nap.

 “Goku!” He turned to see his wife come downstairs. The way she said his name told Goku ChiChi was in a really good mood. Despite her temper, Goku learned his wife was generally a happy person so whatever she was in the mood for, Goku figured it must be good for both of them. “Show me your little finger.”

 ChiChi held her hand up with her pinky finger extended to him. Goku thought her excitement meant she cooked a meal for him or she changed her mind about him training in the rain. He figured his new wife was keen to teach him many things. Some he really liked (kissing, sexy times), some confused him (shopping) and some he didn’t like (work). He hoped whatever she will teach him will be something he will like.

 “Okay.” Goku extended his pinky to ChiChi. “Now what?”

 “Have you heard of the ‘Red Thread of Fate’?”

No. ChiChi looked so happy about it. If ChiChi was this happy, Goku tried to guess. He wondered if it was food. He hoped so. He wouldn’t mind having a meal now. “No. Is it something about food?”

 “NO!” ChiChi groaned exasperated. “Why do you always make everything about food?”

 “Sorry,” Goku apologized, “but you know I don’t know a lot of stuff, ChiChi. What is it?”

 “It’s an invisible line that links people to their true love. See?” ChiChi wrapped a red thread around her pinky finger and she wrapped another around Goku’s little finger. “Like this. It will connect us our whole life… until we die.”

 Goku pulled the string linking his finger with ChiChi’s. He was skeptical to believe this red string could connect them. He wanted to believe ChiChi but the string felt thin and weak. “Are you sure? It’s just a regular string. Won’t we need a stronger one? I can ask Kami for a stronger one.”

 “No,” ChiChi flexed her finger to show the string was strong enough for them. “This red string is a symbol to reflect our connection and dedication to each other. We don’t need anything else.”

 If ChiChi was sure this string was strong enough, Goku believed her. She knew more about love and marriage than him. “Okay. If you say so.”

 Five Years Later

 “What’s the matter with you, Goku?” King Kai noticed his pupil in a down mood. As upbeat and jovial Goku acted, there were times Goku was depressed. It was rare and something Goku tried to hide from the wise Kai of the North but he knew and gently tried to pursue Goku to share his thoughts. “Is my cooking that bad?” He thought the joke would crack a smile but the dead warrior merely sighed and

looked away. He must be in a sour mood to not comment about his food. Goku never held back how the meals King Kai cooked were bland.

 “King Kai,” Goku suddenly spoke, “are connections to people broken when they die?”

 So, that’s what going on. Goku missed his family. “Connections are never broken if you don’t forget about them, Goku. The connection is severed now because you are dead, but you’ll be back with them and your connection to them will be stronger than ever.”

 “Really?” Goku brightened hopeful the Kai of the North was correct. “I’ll be reconnected to ChiChi again?”

 “Of course, Goku.” King Kai assured him. “After this mess with the Saiyans, you’ll go home and be with your family for a very long time. I’m sure of it.”

 Four Years Later

 King Kai knew when Goku died again, he couldn’t leave Goku in the afterlife alone. For all his innocent, happiness and his ability to handle things alone, he had another side and learning of Goku’s time on Earth, King Kai knew Goku would be lonely. He didn’t want Goku, after making many friends in his life, to retract to that little boy left alone after his Grandpa Gohan died.

 King Kai expected growing pains from Goku this time because he knew he wasn’t returning to the living in a year. He will be dead forever and separated from his family for many years. So far, their time on the Grand Kai’s planet has been very enjoyable. Goku was happy and got along with all the fighters. He was eager to spar with them and study all the new fighting techniques they possessed. The newness of the situation took Goku’s mind off his decision to stay dead but King Kai knew the crash will come when it hits Goku on what he did.

 Which was now.

 Time passed differently in the afterlife and Goku spent several days from Grand Kai’s palace. Some fighters hadn’t noticed; some had and suspected but King Kai knew why. In Earth’s time, Goku was gone for a week. King Kai thought that was too long for Goku to dwell in his own thoughts.

 He found Goku sitting on one of the high peaks of a mountain staring at the sky. King Kai settled beside him. He knew now was not the time for his terrible jokes. He saw the sadness in the warrior’s eyes and knew he was thinking of his family and their severed connection. Being a God in his own right, the Kai of the North never needed strong ties like family. He had a connection to Bubbles and Gregory and his precious car but it wasn’t like the feelings Goku shared for his family. Spending time with Goku he understood the human emotions to it and why humans (some) cherish it.

 “King Kai, can connections be established again if it’s severed for a long time like years?”

 “Of course, Goku. You know no matter how many years you are apart, you will never lose that connection to your family. Just keep remembering them and know the next time you see them, you won’t be apart again.” He had a wife and son he thought about but King Kai knew his current feelings were for his wife. He said goodbye to his son but not to her. “Your wife, ChiChi, will be so happy to see you again.”

 Goku looked away to briefly rub his eyes. “Really?”

 King Kai patted Goku’s back again. Sometimes he really was an innocent child who needed reassurance. “I’m sure of it, Goku.”

 Seven Years Later

 It was raining again but Goku didn’t think the day was boring. Nope. Not anymore. After being dead for seven years, every day was fun and exciting even the dreary rainy ones. It sure was quiet. With Gohan at school and Goten in his room doing schoolwork, the day was very quiet but Goku didn’t mind. ChiChi was with him, sewing and talking of their precious, youngest son. Yesterday, during a hike with Goku, he ripped his shirt off a tree branch. That was the story Goten told her but ChiChi knew her son was sparring with his Daddy.

 ChiChi sorted her knitting basket pulling out balls of yarns and spools. “Oh, dear. I think I ran out of orange.” ChiChi pulled a red spool from her knitting basket. “But I think this red thread will match nicely with Goten’s shirt.”

 Red thread? It was as if a clap of thunder struck him. He has been home for nearly two months and he forgot again. He snatched the spool from ChiChi. Yup. Yup. This was it. Goku unfurled a short string and wrapped it around his left pinky. Hmm not enough he decided. Goku extended it to wrap around his ring finger. Nope. Still not enough. He wrapped it around his middle, forefinger and thumb. He looped a red thread around his wrist. The more the better Goku thought but to be sure, he wrapped string around the pinky of his right hand and ChiChi’s left pinky.

 “Goku,” ChiChi looked at the thread linking her and Goku’s hands, “what are you doing?” She was deeply appreciative Goku was back and loved enjoying his company again but there were times like now he truly confused her and she wasn’t in the mood for any games. “You suddenly took my thread. I’m fixing Goten’s cloth.”

 “ChiChi, you remember this?” The red spool of thread she bought at the market? Not really. “‘The Red Thread of Fate’?” Oh. That. It had been so long but ChiChi remembered sharing the story when they were newlyweds. Goku didn’t understand then and ChiChi didn’t think Goku really cared or remembered but he did.

 “You…..” ChiChi was awed and so happy to be wrong, “you remembered.”

 Goku confirmed with a nod. “You said this will connect us until we die….. but I died already before. I forgot to do this when I came back from Yardrat.” He felt a little silly now as he stared at his hands. Perhaps, he did go too far wrapping it. “So I used this thread to link us again. It’ll work, right?” He was optimistic it will work but he needed ChiChi’s assurance. “See? Not only the little finger but I tied my whole hand.” ChiChi didn’t speak but the tears in her eyes and her beautiful smile told him all he needed to know. It will work. “Yes, it sure will.”

 “Yes, it will work,” ChiChi choked overwhelmed with tears. He remembered. He understood. “Oh, Goku,” ChiChi grabbed Goku’s hands and linked them with hers. “Thank you. You don’t know how much it means you remember.”

 “Ah, ChiChi,” ChiChi being so happy always warmed his heart. “Don’t cry. You know what that does to me.”

 “I can’t help it. You’ve made me so happy. We’ll always be together,” ChiChi promised. “No matter what.” A silly tale or a story with seeds of truth, ChiChi knew she and Goku will always be together.

[dresupi]

Fred Weasley/Hermione Granger - The Sweater Song

1,283 words Rated T The Sweater Song - Weezer

~~~~~~~~~~

The yarn was stuck down in the carpet. Royal blue. It stood out against the crimson carpet in the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione frowned when she saw it, bending at the waist and pinching it between her forefinger and thumb.

“What’s that?” Ron asked, squinting. “It’s blue.”

“Well done, Ron,” Harry exclaimed, clapping him on the back. “Dunno what we’d do without you, mate.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the two of them before visually following the blue yarn as far as she could, and then when she couldn’t do that anymore, she did what any responsible and curious girl would do.

She began to wind it into a ball, following the trail it left.

“Hey, Hermione,” Ron called. “If you’re going to ball up yarn, can me and Harry meet you in the courtyard later for Herbology?”

“Harry and I,” she said absently.

“What?”

“You said me and Harry, it’s Harry and I.”

Ron sighed. “Can we meet you later?”

“Of course, go,” she said, rolling the yarn as it went down the stairs.  The boys left, which mean she was on her own to wind up the yarn as she pleased. And as it happened, the yarn led her over both of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, weaving in and out of all the chair legs, sometimes wrapped around them once or twice over.  After that, it led up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, but it was bunched up in a wad outside one of the doors, so she stood there, rolling it before she kept going.

Along the wall this time, and out the Fat Lady’s portrait.

As she walked, she wondered what in the world could be at the other end of it, but it was as likely as not, someone’s jumper unravelling. But this was infinitely more interesting than listening to Ron and Harry talk Quidditch.

She liked it well enough, but it was all they bloody well talked about.

Perhaps mum was right. Maybe she needed girlfriends.

Well, there was Luna. She certainly wasn’t talking about Quidditch, was she? Wasn’t talking about much that existed in the realm of reality either, but no Quidditch, so that was a plus, wasn’t it?

By the time she got to the trophy room, she had a rather large ball of yarn, which would at least, in lieu of anything else, be a nice toy for Crookshanks.

She found the end of it in front of of one of the shelves along the north wall of the room, looking down at the ball in her hand and the place where she’d ended up.  It was sort of anticlimactic. But she supposed this could just be a side effect of being friends with the Boy Who Lived. Everything else looked boring in comparison.

But even though she was too close to the situation to be an accurate judge, she didn’t think finding nothing at the end of a line of yarn was very interesting regardless.

“You look almost disappointed, love.”

She glanced up and into the twinkling eyes of Fred Weasley. It was likely the yarn from one of his jumpers. Mrs. Weasley always made the twins blue jumpers for the holidays.

And she’d grown rather fond of Fred’s kind eyes, and that’s how she knew exactly which twin was standing before her. Not that George didn’t have kind eyes, but...

“I found it in the common room,” she said, “and on the floor... leading here... what was it? A prank?”

“What sort of prank would it be?”

“Is this going to unravel and choke me or something?”

“What kind of a prank would choke someone to death, Granger?” He sounded almost offended. Almost.

“Not to death, obviously,” she scoffed. “One can choke without dying.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t do that.” He crossed both arms over his chest, noticeably sans jumper.

“I know you didn’t lose it,” she replied. “It was wound around table legs and the ike. Unless you were slithering on the floor like a serpent.”

He chuckled. “Correct again. I didn’t lose it. It was intentional.”

“Why then?” she asked. “I’m certain I have no idea.”

“Just to see who would roll it up. You know it’s been there for hours. It’s a bloody shame, it is. Not a single one of those Gryffindors tried to help.”

“And what? The person who rolls it up is pure of heart?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

She shrugged and handed him the yarn ball. “Have fun wearing that to class.”

“I think it’s lovely. You shouldn’t be so disparaging about my mum’s work, you know. Just in case she’s enchanted the yarn to report back to her or something.”

She laughed. “Have a good day, Fred.”

“You too, Granger... say... can George and I get your ideas on a few things?”

Ah, so that was it. It had been a test. And she’d passed. And now they wanted to pick her brain.

“That depends,” she replied.

“Upon?”

“My payment,” she said, sniffing.

“Payment?” he asked laughing.

“Yes. I see you two making money. I’d like a cut. And if so, you can have all you’d like of my brain,” she replied with a smirk.

One Fred returned. “You’ve got it, Granger. I’m holding you to it though.” He held out his hand and she shook it. “All of your brain that I want.”

She grinned. “And George as well.”

“He’s not here, though...” he said, looking around. “It’s just me here. And you shook my hand.”

“Fine. Just for you, then,” she said, grinning.

Fred smiled too and jammed his free hand in his pocket, bouncing the yarn ball in his hand. “Just for me, huh? Whatever will I do with the cleverest witch in the Wizarding World?”

Hermione wasn’t great at this, but she didn’t have Harry and Ron here to make her feel self-conscious or poke fun at her responses, so she attempted a bit of bravery.

“I suppose you’ll do whatever you want with her,” she said slowly.’

“Within reason,” he replied quickly.

“Oh of course, Fred. That’s what you’re known for. Your reason.” She winked and he blushed again, stammering a bit as he dropped the yarn ball. It rolled across the floor, unravelling a bit as it went.

“Say, ummm Granger... next weekend’s a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“It is,” she replied, watching the yarn ball unravel a bit more.

“You and I, we could meet at the Three Broomsticks and uh...”

“Talk about my ideas on some things?” she filled in for him, giving him an out because he looked so very discomforted by their conversation.

“No,” he said softly. “Figured we could have lunch.”

“You and I?” she asked.

“Yeah, is that okay? Or would you rather George were there too?”

“You know I don’t mind George...” she began.

“I’ll be sure to tell him. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about him.”

“I don’t mind him,” she continued, “But if given the choice between you alone or both of you, I’d have to choose you alone.”

He smiled and bent to retrieve the ball of yarn. “I’ll meet you there around one, then?”

“I’d like that,” she confirmed.

“Brilliant,” he exclaimed, turning to leave, boucning the yarn ball in his hand as he left.

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to stop beaming as she waited for him to clear off before she left as well, she had to run back to the common room and gather her books for herbology. And hopefully not give away what she hoped to keep secret for a while at least.

She supposed what she’d found at the end of the yarn wasn’t so anticlimactic after all.