#i cried while writing these

[fairydrowning]

Quote to Owner / Somewhere, There's a Party by Holly Warburton / "The Prophet" Book by Khalil Gibran / Quote to Owner / Spirit Hold by Holly Warburton / "Freak" Book by Jonathan Harnisch

[amirasainz]

Hey can you make one where Lewis and Readers mom are in a relationship and Reader kind of grows up with Lewis ad her stepdad. Over time she stops calling him Lewis and instead calls him Dad.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💜

The greatest title of them all

The sound of laughter echoed through the house as Marry stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. It was a cozy Saturday afternoon, with the warm sun casting a soft glow through the windows. In the living room, a ballet video played on the TV. It was a recording of Yn’s recent performance, and even though it wasn’t perfect in her eyes, she loved watching herself dance, especially with her mom and Lew nearby.

“Mom, can we watch it again?” Yn’s voice, small and tentative, broke through the quiet.

Marry looked up with a warm smile. “Of course, sweetie. Go ahead.” She set down the spoon and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

Lewis, who had been sitting on the couch, looked over at Yn. His heart swelled with affection every time she called him by his name—‘Lew’—a title he hadn’t even dreamed of when they first met. It wasn’t always this way. In the beginning, Yn was shy, cautious of him, unsure of his place in their home. But now, as she was snuggled up with him on the couch, her tiny frame leaning into his side, Lewis felt like the luckiest man in the world.

“Are you sure about the soup? You don’t need any help?” he asked, his voice gentle, watching her stir the pot. He didn’t want to pull her away from her task, but he also wanted her to know he was there if she needed him.

She chuckled softly. “I’m good, honey. Just enjoy your time with Yn. I’ll be right here.”

And he did enjoy it. Every single moment. Because Yn had become his little girl in so many ways, and he had become the father figure she never thought she needed.

---

Two years ago, when he first started dating Marry, things had been complicated. Yn was only five at the time, and she didn’t know how to process the idea of another man being in the house. Her dad had left when she was three, and for the past two years, her only family was her mom.

At first, she had called him “Lewis.” It had been strange for her, especially when he would show up to spend time with Marry. But over time, he began to do little things for Yn, making sure she felt included, loved, and heard.

Lewis had been there for her first ballet recital, sitting proudly in the front row with a bouquet of flowers, cheering her on just like a real dad would. He didn’t need to be asked—he wanted to be there.

“Good job, sweetheart!” he had shouted excitedly when she took her final bow.

Yn had smiled shyly, but the connection between them had deepened after that day. It wasn’t just that he showed up—it was that he cared. When she wanted to go to the waterpark for her birthday, Lewis had taken her. He had watched her face light up as she slid down the water slides and played in the wave pool.

At night, when they sat down to watch movies, he’d let her pick the movie—even if it was a Barbie movie she watched for the hundredth time. It didn’t matter to him. What mattered was the smile on her face.

“Let’s have a picnic, just the three of us!” Lewis had suggested one Saturday afternoon. He laid out a blanket in the living room, and they ate sandwiches, laughing as Roscoe tried to steal a piece of ham.

But more than the big moments, it was the small ones that cemented his place in Yn’s heart.

The nights he spent waiting for her to fall asleep on the couch so they could decorate her room together.

Or when they baked cookies in the kitchen, and Lewis taught her how to mix the dough just right, making a mess and laughing the entire time.

That's when 'Lewis' turned into 'Lew'.

Sometimes, it was the quiet moments that meant the most and change everything. Like the night Yn came to him after a bad dream.

---

The night had been quiet, the house wrapped in a blanket of calm. Marry was asleep beside Lewis, but a small sound stirred him from his slumber. He heard it again—soft, a hesitant knock.

“Mom?” Yn’s voice was faint.

Lewis heart leaped in his chest. He turned toward her voice. “Hey, Yn, you okay?”

Yn’s small figure appeared in the doorway, her face tight with worry. Her eyes, wide with fear, met his. “Lew… I had a bad dream,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

Marry stirred in bed but didn’t fully wake up. Lew gently pulled back the covers, his heart aching at the sight of Yn standing there, so small and vulnerable.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he whispered, patting the empty spot beside him.

Yn climbed into the bed, curling up next to him. Her head rested on his chest as he wrapped an arm around her protectively.

“You’re safe here, okay?” Lewis whispered, his fingers running through her soft hair. “Bad dreams don’t stand a chance when you’re with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Thanks, Lew,” she mumbled, already beginning to relax in his arms.

He smiled down at her. And then, in that moment, something he never expected to hear passed her lips. “Dad?”

Lew’s heart skipped a beat. He held his breath, unsure of whether he had heard her right.

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here.”

It didn’t take long for Yn to fall back asleep, her hand still gripping his, but from that night on, everything had changed. The way Yn looked at him, the way she started calling him Dad instead of Lew, felt like the most sacred gift he could ever receive. It wasn’t just a title. It was the confirmation of the bond they had formed together.

He had been there for her, in every way a father could be—attending her recitals, helping her with homework, making her laugh, teaching her how to ride a bike, taking care of her when she was sick. But it wasn’t until that night, when she whispered ‘Dad’ into the quiet of the night, that he knew he had become something much more than just her mom’s boyfriend.

---

As the days passed, the bond between Lew and Yn deepened. They were inseparable—Yn seeking comfort in him when the world felt a little too big and scary. When her dad stopped picking up the phone calls, when she felt abandoned, Lewis was there. He was her constant, her rock.

One evening, as they sat down to dinner, Yn hesitated, her little hands resting on the table, fiddling nervously with her napkin. She looked up at Lewis, her eyes big with a question she wasn’t sure how to ask.

Lew met her gaze with a smile, noticing her uncertainty. “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”

Yn bit her lip, then asked softly, “Do you think my papa will ever come back?”

The question hit Lewis hard, but he knew better than to lie to her. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “But what I do know is that I’m here for you. Always.”

Yn nodded, her shoulders relaxing a little as she reached out and took his hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Dad.”

That was all Lewis needed to hear. He squeezed her hand, his heart full.

“I’ll always be here, baby,” he promised, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. “And no matter what happens, you’ll never be alone.”

Yn smiled, her trust in him unwavering. For her, Lewis was more than just a stepdad. He was her dad, the man who loved her, protected her, and gave her a sense of security that she had never known.

And for Lewis, there was no greater joy than knowing he had earned that place in her heart. He would always cherish the title of ‘Dad’—because it meant more than anything he could have ever imagined.

As they sat there, together at the dinner table, the sound of Marry’s laughter filled the room. And in that moment, Lewis knew that this—this family—was exactly where he belonged.

[donut251155]

Kou's death

He died as the selfless idiot he is, but most of the fandom is missing a part. I've seen so many people talk about Teru and Akane seeing his dead body down the well, but nobody who said this:

He looks comforted by the lightning, some kind of wicked comfort.

"My brother's lightning…" he doesn't look like he feels betrayed, at all.

He was trying to kill Nene, one of his best friends, and he never would've been able to forgive himself if he succeeded. He's glad his BROTHER stopped him, that he was the one to wipe him away from the living world, even tho it was an accident

He finally understands what Hanako and Mitsuba meant by saying they want HIM, someone they trust, to exorcise them. It's hard to imagine as a living person, but as a dangerous supernatural it's as clear as day

What was Kou's best departure, was Teru's worst goodbye

[plagalkey]

my lovely talented friend wrote an F1 AU fic focused on oikage's time at red bull racing!!!

[joemama-2]

nanami kento has always been a patient man. he’s respectful and doesn’t talk to unless spoken to. he doesn’t like most people, might even hate some. but you’re not the type of person he would exactly hate, unlike a certain someone. he thinks you’re kind, polite, you always bow respectfully to your seniors, you diligently complete every task that’s asked of you. there’s also one more thing about you….he just cant put his finger on it. maybe you’re just tolerable, yeah that’s it.

you’re not a sorcerer, at least not a very good one. it’s why you’ve opted to be an auxiliary manager like ijichi and akari. “as long as i get to help the sorcerers in battle, i’m fine with whatever position i’ve been assigned.” you would say with a big and warm smile, innocently, naively. he thinks you’re too good for such a rotten society, something like that will get people killed. and he doesn’t want you on that list.

when he first met you back in high school, he didn’t think much of you. you weren’t a special grade, you didn’t have any awesome technique, you were just simply there. maybe you have connections, he thought. because there’s no way someone like you was admitted into tokyo jujutsu high. to this day, he doesn’t know how you did it. maybe you have some super cool talent that you didn’t like showing, maybe you just won over everyone’s hearts and they felt pity for you, he’ll never be able to find out. that’s one of his many regrets.

his other regrets are letting himself grow attached for no reason. no matter what, his eyes had a mind of his own, searching and scanning any room or environment for your figure. he chalks it up to protectiveness, you weren’t strong like he was and he didn’t want to see another comrade die. because thats all you were, a comrade. a comrade. a comrade. he chants this mantra into his mind every morning.

nanami didn’t know how it happened, but one thing led to another and he was always alone with you. comfortable silence was what he loved the most. you two could sit together for hours in a flower field you came across one day, just watching the sky and clouds form random shapes. you liked when they made hearts and little animals. although he always argued that they’re just clouds.

but, clouds almost reminded him of you. free, soft, floating around from place to place, and residing high in the sky. because he knew, no matter what, you were one of the few people who would go to heaven in this sick world, sick society. you belonged in heaven, you looked like an angel, acted like a goddess.

“let’s go to malaysia together.” you told him randomly one day, seeing an ad pop up about a beautiful vacation spot. kuantan. he didn’t take you too seriously. malaysia? out of all places? he didn’t see the hype.

all these thoughts flood his brain when he sees your body, looking lifeless and bloody, next to ijichi. you two have huge stab wounds in your mid-section. however, you have a bit more than your co-part, clear signs of your fight. even when you know you don’t have the upper hand, you won’t hesitate to fight back.

it’s hard as he carries you two, having to make sure ijichi doesn’t fall off his back while simultaneously holding you close to his chest. his heart twists and turns, stomach churning the entirety of the slow walk he does to bring you two back to ieiri. his mind is running rampant, constantly looking down at you. you can’t be dead, he thinks. neither of you two are dead, he can’t see more comrades die.

it’s almost weird to him how his throat tightens, tears stinging at his eyes. you don’t move, head lolling to the side as barely a sign of a breath is escaping your lips. your skin is pale and bruising. he hates it, hates how you look, hates how hurt you are, hates how he wasn’t there to stop it and protect you.

he sets you down first once he reaches shoko, handing the passed out ijichi to her. finally, he kneels down, taking in your appearance. nanami rarely gets mad, at least not seriously. but this time, he’s absolutely furious. silently seething as he breathing gets heavy. his fists clench by his side, nails drawing blood into the skin.

he gets up, no being able to stand how you look. but, he forgets you’re a fighter, forgets that no matter what, you look out for the sorcerers. out for him.

“kento….” you straggle out, hand weakly clutching onto his. you can barely keep your eyelids open. you mutter out the next few words. “…man….blonde……ponytail……s-sword….”

ah, he thinks. that’s his target.

he gulps, simply nodding. but your hand stays clutched onto his. using all your strength, you open your eyes wider, and he hates the tears that form in them. “….come back to me please…..”

he feels like crying with you. but he can’t, not now at least. he kneels down again, bringing the back of your hand up to his lips to press feather light kisses to each knuckle. his other hand gently uses his thumb to wipe your tears, treating you with utmost care. “kuantan,” he murmurs. “when this is all over, i’ll take you.”

you weakly chuckle, more tears falling at this point. “..p-promise..?”

he hesitates, but you notice. “promise.“ he says back, leaning down to give your forehead a kiss, sealing the promise. he places your hand back to your stomach before getting up to leave, not before sparing you one last glance.

and as you watch him leave, you don’t even know that it’s the last time you’ll ever see him, last time he’ll ever see you. because you trust his word, trusted that he’d come back to you.

nanami leaves with a heavy heart, staring death in the face and yet all he can think about is you. there’s many regrets he has.

he broke your guys’ promise, he hopes you won’t stay mad at him.

he won’t be able to take you to kuantan.

he won’t be able to see you, hold you, talk to you.

and finally, he wasn’t able to confess that he loved the simplicity. that he loved you.

he’ll see you again, in heaven and in another life. until then, he’ll watch over you. because nanami kento has always been a patient man.

[my-fancy-hat]

The process of creating is the active, constant question of the self, to question the extent of my capacities to convey a message worth of people's respect and admiration. To me, Look Back is a tale of self-reafirmation for Tatsuki Fujimoto. I'm aware it came out in the gap between part 1 and part 2 of the author's best seller, Chainsaw man, which makes this oneshot such an intimate soul-shaking story after what may be the pinnacle of his career. This made me question, why would he write this kind of story after CSM (and Fire Punch) anyways?

Through Fujino and Kyomoto's journey (which funnily, their names convined are Fuji-moto) we are put in the shoes of the stirring yet self-doubting mind of the creator: "why do you draw manga? why do you create?" is the question the protagonist has to find the answer for. Fujino navigate her life for her passion and pride as a talented story-teller artist, while Kyomoto does so for her love for art itself in a more reserved and personal way. Combined, I think they are the rope that pushes Fujimoto back and forth in his mind, the fear of the creator to tell a story worth of people's respect (Fujino) while being faithful to oneself (Kyomoto). Fujimoto knows there always will be an expectation, a mark above his head everytime someone is aware a new story has his signature, so it's understandable for anxiety to take the worst of you, the fear to be openly judged by the masses. So why do you even bother to get through that unpleasant thing? will I ever surpass what I made in my past projects? why do I keep creating? is this all I will ever be? the entire process is tiresome, boring, a never-ending task, I enjoy art better as a consumer anyways, so why?

If there's only one person who my art made their day better, made them smile or excited for what is coming next, then it was worth every single second I spend working on it.

It's a reafirmation to keep going. That I was born to live into this world for this sake, and I'm worthy to connect and receive this love. This is my place.

I deeply respect you for it, Tatsuki Fujimoto.

[welivetodream]

People thinking Atsushi is just a cute lil soft boy are so WRONG.

Atsushi is one of the best executed C-PTSD protagonists who are not just "kind" because they are the MC.

Atsushi is sassy, he is mean and says things like they are, even to his own mentor Dazai, he is not afraid of saying bad things. He doesn't hold back on his words. And he can be quite quick when it comes to using sass ("are you a landmower?" "Why are you dressed like a half-finished mummy, Dazai-san" "Akutagawa, fancy a cup of tea?" "That's why Dazai-san left you")

He's not just nice. He thinks he should be nice and kind because that's what someone like him should be like. Atsushi has such a low self esteem that he NEEDS to show kindness to everyone because he thinks just like he got a second chance at life, everyone else deserves it too.

That's why he saved Kyouka and Lucy, he recognised that want for bettering themselves in them. He wanted them to get a second chance like he did. Because to him, people are not good or bad, but they have the ability to change no matter how far they have gone.

This is why Atsushi is the only one who can recognise and understand Dazai's true personality. Whenever Dazai says something self depreciating Atsushi ALWAYS corrects him. In Dead Apple when Dazai is visiting Oda's grave, Atsushi understands whoever this person was, they were very dear to Dazai. At the end of Dead Apple when Dazai says he thinks he's not a good person, Atsushi tells him he has never thought of Dazai not being a good person. Atsushi knows Dazai was in the Port Mafia, but he STILL confirms he sees Dazai as a good person regardless of his past. Because Atsushi believes in second chances, and HE gave the second chance to Dazai that Oda must have wanted Dazai to get, even if the ADA accepted Dazai, no one has ever reassured him being a good person before. (Also in BSD wan, when Dazai says "I want to go out beautifully" during the fireworks scene, in the end-credits Atsushi sits near the river the entire day because he was sad that Dazai was suicidal. And in BSD mayoi, Dazai makes a snowman of Atsushi along with Oda, Ango and Chuuya, showing how much he adored Atsushi)

It's the same with Akutagawa; Atsushi doesn't understand why Akutagawa hates him and he's mean to Akutagawa at times but it never crossed a line. Akutagawa had done so many bad things to Atsushi but at the end they still worked together. Because Dazai understood the only person who will make Akutagawa use his powers to "protect" instead of "attack" is Atsushi. During the ending fight in S3, Akutagawa makes an armour for Atsushi as they combine their powers. And in the end credit scene of S5, we see Akutagawa protecting Atsushi AGAIN. This time Akutagawa isn't wearing the same coat Dazai gave him and for the first time shows true loyalty to Atsushi. ("Just the two of us?" "Do we need more?" *SCREAMS*)

Atsushi's relationship with the headmaster of the orphanage shows how much the trauma affected him as a child. When he can't forgive the headmaster at his death, he hates himself for not being able to give a second chance. And that's when Dazai steps in and tells him, "we cry when our father dies" something Atsushi really needs to hear and he finally cries.

Atsushi reassures Dazai all the time and Dazai snaps Atsushi out of his self depreciation all the time. Their solidarity throughout the story, shows why that day when Dazai chose Atsushi for the ADA; he recognised not Atsushi's powerful ability but his true ability in choosing to believe in people when no one can.

[itsallgoodmann]

I'm going to act like I did not sob throughout the entirety of writing this story holy shit.

"Charles Knew that Love Existed Because Arthur was Love"

Desc: Arthur tells Charles about his condition and they both slowly realize they care a lot more about each other than they originally thought. Apparently loss can really strengthen emotions, especially unresolved ones.

(Heavily implied Charthur, comfort, angst, death, grief, mutual confession of love...You get the idea. Inspired by the fanart above (not mine obvs!))

"Hey Charles," Arthur sat down on the crate next to Charles, overlooking the main campfire. Charles gently rubbed gun oil on his sawed-off shotgun, thinking quietly to himself, like he always did.

"Arthur." Charles nodded at Arthur, glancing at him quickly before looking back at his gun. Arthur put his hands in his lap, clasped together tightly. He closed his eyes briefly, trying his best to gather his thoughts. He had known Charles for less than a year, but somehow Arthur felt more connected to him than Dutch.

Arthur didn't want to tell him. In fact, Arthur couldn't think of a thing he wanted to do less than tell Charles the truth...

Because he was dying. Famous gunslinger Arthur Morgan, taken by a goddamn lung disease. How ironic. Charles deserved to know, he had been so kind to Arthur. Arthur remembered the weeks after the O'Driscolls had kidnapped and shot him, and who stayed by his wagon the longest.

Not Dutch, not John, not even Hosea.

Charles.

"You shouldn't get up," Charles said bluntly, staring into Arthur's blue eyes, glazed over in a Morphine-filled daze. Arthur shook his head like he did every time someone told him not to do something. It didn't stop him from hoisting himself up so his head rested on the back of the wagon. Charles just shook his head, a small smile on his face.

"Swanson's Morphine is certainly doing its job," Charles muttered, mostly to himself, Arthur scoffed in return.

"Why you here anyways?" Arthur took a deep breath and tried not to wince at the stitches from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Charles chuckled, a lighthearted noise that made Arthur smile...Even if it was mostly because of the Morphine.

"Just, watching... Got nothing better to do." Charles shrugged his shoulders and continued sharpening his knife next to Arthur's wagon.

"I think in the time you've been with us-" Arthur took a moment to think about what he was going to say, his words slightly slurred from the drugs.

"I've never heard you speak more than two sentences to anyone." Arthur shook his head, smiling. Charles rolled his eyes.

"I just don't have much to say, I guess." Charles shook his head, but couldn't help the smile that graced his face.

"Charles...Smith... The lone wolf... A man of few words." Arthur put his hands up and made a gesture like he was reading a newspaper headline.

"If I knew you were going to act like an idiot I wouldn't have given you the Morphine." Charles shot back, but he didn't take any offense. How could someone take offense to the ramblings of a Morphine drunk Arthur? Arthur acted like he had been shot (very fitting), giving Charles an exasperated look.

"The lone wolf does speak!" He said dramatically, drawling out the 'does' to annoy Charles even more.

"You should sleep Arthur," Charles finally said, putting away the knife and other sharpening materials.

"Y'know..." Arthur yawned, the euphoric sensation of the Morphine and the drowsiness that healing cost was really getting to him.

"I'm quite fond of you, Mr.Serious." Arthur slurred, moving his head down to the pillow and looking up. Charles studied Arthur's expression, trying to read his true emotions. Arthur's eyebrows were relaxed, his lips upturned in a lazy smile. He could see the crow's feet that appeared next to his eyes, and the scar that was on the bottom of his chin. Charles meant to ask about it, but never did.

"You've always been the hardest worker in camp," Arthur yawned again, and Charles shushed him.

"Go to sleep Arthur, for god's sake."

"Somethin' on your mind?" Charles' deep voice brought Arthur out of his thoughts, and Arthur nodded. Charles looked at him, narrowing his eyes a little bit. Charles must have had an inkling of what Arthur wanted to speak about. He was quiet, but he wasn't stupid. At this point, no one could deny Arthur looked sick...Real sick. His collarbones were sticking out from his pale splotchy skin, his clothes were now bagged around him. His eyes were bloodshot, and when he ate there was a large coughing fit that followed.

The cough. It made Charles' ears ring, the violent shake of his chest, the crackled wheezes that followed. Charles saw the bloodstains on the inside of Arthur's sleeve.

"You wanna ride with me?" Arthur blurted out, Charles took a second but nodded.

"Always." He said curtly. Charles walked with Arthur over to his horse, before he mounted Taima. Arthur led the way to the outskirts of Annesburg, before riding aimlessly towards the mountains surrounding the Wapiti Indian Reservation.

"Yer a smart man Charles," Arthur started, taking in short breaths, thinking hard about how to word things. This did nothing but make Charles nervous.

"Arthur," Charles said in almost a warning, like he was afraid Arthur was going to beat around the bush and never get to the point. Charles didn't like it when people weren't straightforward. However, Arthur was the only exception to this rule. The only noises that accompanied them through the ride were the clopping of hooves on rock, and the rushing of water from the nearby Dakota River.

"If things go bad, you get yourself out of there, alright?" Arthur coughed but tried to stifle it, which only made it worse.

Charles wanted to get off his horse and punch Arthur in the face. Not because he was angry at Arthur...

But because he was scared. Charles Smith, the fearless lone wolf. It wasn't like Charles hadn't experienced loss before, hell, in the last few months it was constant... Davey, Sean, Kieran, Hosea, Lenny, Molly... Charles was sad, of course, but life went on. The sun still shone the next day, the coffee was still brewed like normal, and the songbirds still chirped their melodies.

"You got... More to lose." Arthur said, his voice softer, more vulnerable. Charles shook his head, immediately shooting back,

"No. Come on. Don't start talking like that." It was obvious though, even when Arthur explained it.

"I didn't tell you before," Arthur took in a wheezing breath.

"I saw a doctor."

Charles wanted to jump into the Dakota River and feel his entire body go numb from the cold. He wanted to push his hands to his ears and hum until he couldn't hear Arthur's words anymore because they cut like a knife. They made him bleed like no one had ever done before. Instead, Charles gripped the reins of Taima tighter, slowing down to a gentle trot.

"It's pretty bad, and it's gonna get worse."

Charles shook his head, but luckily Arthur didn't notice. He bit his lip and tried to make sense of it all.

"Take a left down this trail," Charles said softly, pointing to the slightly worn trail into the thick woods of the Cumberland forest. Charles led Arthur to a clearing, where a thick, lush layer of grass grew, and flowers erupted from the space.

"I don't remember much of my childhood," Charles said, dismounting his horse and motioning for Arthur to do the same. Arthur followed Charles into the clearing and they both sat down on a fallen log, covered in bright green moss.

"My mama though, she taught me all about the herbs..." Charles smiled gently, then motioned to the flowers. Arthur looked at him, confused.

"These are flowers..." Arthur corrected, Charles just shook his head and chuckled.

"She taught me about the flowers too, if you'd let me finish." Charles pointed to the flower with stems that held a few dozen tiny bundles of red flowers, with a bright yellow center.

"Blood flower," Charles said, Arthur nodded, listening intently. Charles then pointed at the other flower that covered the clearing, a stem that held a single, cupped, red flower.

"Field Poppy," Charles informed, Arthur could have probably guessed that, but just hearing Charles talk was enough. There were a few minutes of comfortable silence, the horses quietly grazing near them.

"Did the doctor say how long?" Charles was careful with his words, but he wanted...No, needed to know.

"A couple weeks, a couple months..." Arthur drawled, coughing again. This time the fit was so bad Arthur wheezed for breath afterward. Charles rubbed Arthur's back, hoping the contact would soothe something, even if it was just his soul.

"You're a good man, Arthur Morgan." Charles forced through gritted teeth, afraid if he said more he would have to wipe tears off his face. Arthur chuckled.

"I ain't a good man,"

Charles frowned, if only Arthur could see himself through Charles' gaze. The way he glowed, Arthur's soft smile and kind words. He acted tough, but he loved. Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, promising himself he wasn't going to break down.

"I'm only going to say this once, Arthur," Charles warned.

"You're one of the best men I know." Charles smiled bittersweetly like it should be obvious to Arthur.

"You're kind, hard-working, loyal, and smart." Charles removed his hand from Arthur's back, before resting it on his shoulder.

"Hell, you've probably saved my life countless times." Charles sighed, then made eye contact with Arthur. What a horrible choice. Icy blue eyes, bloodshot and tearstained, inflamed with the pain of the human condition. Charles stared back at Arthur with warm brown eyes, trying to keep his equanimity. He was normally very good at it, a skill he prided himself on, but this was different. At that moment, in the clearing, Charles realized something.

He was soft for Arthur Morgan. He wanted to see Arthur happy, he wanted to see him thrive. It took everything in Charles not to scream about how he loved Arthur Morgan... And, more importantly, how much he loved the way Arthur loved. Freely and fully. Arthur rarely shared by the campfire, but when he did it was always a story about saving a man who got bitten by a snake, or a woman who was stranded because her horse died.

"Yer' a good man Charles, one of the best." Arthur choked out, now trying to keep his own composure. Charles just smiled, it was all he could do. But Charles broke when Arthur made eye contact with him again, his face wet with the streams of hot tears that poured down his cheeks. It was instinct as he opened his arms for Arthur, hugging him tightly. In a useless wish, Charles thought about how he regretted not doing this earlier. Arthur clung to Charles and Charles clung just as much back. Arthur wrapped his arms around Charles, burying his head into Charles' chest. In a swift movement, Charles gently brought his hand up to the back of Arthur's head, his other arm wrapped securely around him. They both sat there for a good while, breathing in the scent of each other and trying to memorize the way their bodies fit so perfectly together.

"Shouldn't leave things unsaid, should I?" Arthur finally said, breaking the silence. Charles nodded, still holding Arthur close to his chest.

"Then I think I love you, Charles." Charles wasn't going to debate what exactly Arthur meant by this. Charles didn't care. He loved him back.

"I think I love you too, Arthur," Charles murmured, now gently carding his fingers through Arthur's hair.

"I always imagined you were a Bison," Arthur muttered softly, Charles nodded.

"Dutch told me I was like a buck... Unlikely friends." Arthur chuckled, but it ended in a painful cough that Charles tried his best to soothe.

"You think we'll meet in another life?" Arthur looked up at the sky, it was now dusk, and the stars were beginning to appear. Charles nodded,

"I hope so." Arthur smiled at the response, a real nice smile.

"Then I'll look forward to meeting you all over again." Arthur was always the best at bringing out even the most buried emotions. Charles froze, trying not to lose it. He didn't want Arthur to go. He can't let go. He was never able to let go, everything he ever lost is covered in claw marks from when he tried to make it stay. Charles choked back a sob, gently lifting Arthur's head to place a tender kiss on his forehead. Arthur's blue eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, every decision Arthur ever made had spun through his mind, all leading up to this one single exchange. Perhaps death wasn't going to be that bad. Charles brought both of his hands and cupped Arthur's jaw, looking at him, trying to memorize the face.

Charles knew that love existed because Arthur was love.

That's why, when Charles carried the limp, cold, body of Arthur Morgan down that mountain, one arm around his torso, the other around his leg, he made sure to stop by that clearing. He uprooted those flowers and planted them on his grave. It was the least he could do.

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for Righteousness."

A/N- Woah! First fanfic on this account! Last time I regularly wrote fanfiction was when I was sixteen (I am in my twenties now). Couldn't get Charthur out of my head so I created this (it got very out of hand very fast). Unfortunately, I do not apologize for the amount of heartbreak this may cause you.

If you would like to leave a request, go for it! I am a full time college student, and I do work two jobs, so there's no telling if I'll ever get to it, but if it's a good enough request I'm sure I'll make time. It's weird to be so familiar yet unfamiliar with creating a fanfic post, but alas, I'll stop yapping. Hope you enjoyed the fic!

Fanart used can be found here, credit to conconarts!

[creatur3featur3]

ੈ✩Street Rat p3✩ੈ

word count: 5.4k

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

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

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, everything felt perfect.

But perfection never lasted long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence he left behind was deafening. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I have it now?” she whispered. 

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

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

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

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

“Because dad is a big pile a shi-”

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

She- wasn't wrong…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

You hated it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, you saw them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you saw them.

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

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

Just a dream, just a dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

The undercity didn’t wait for anyone.

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when you saw him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep your head down, stay out of trouble

Those were the rules.

You fucking hated those rules.

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

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

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

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

You felt like you had found something.

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

You needed to find Sevika.

[uiuishii]

So I'm thinking about the debate "Agatha did it on purpose" vs "Agatha can't control herself" debate.

If you think about it, Agatha is cursed with a power of absorbing all form of magic until the death of the host. When she was young she probably killed someone because of that and her mother discovered the body. Meanwhile she took interest in the darkhold, maybe to control or to fix things. She probably killed her own son without even realizing it. I mean it does make sense that Nicolas told her to stop when she killed Alice. That is why she was so shocked, realizing she did it again. It was never about her staying with her mother to be punished, but about her curse being exposed to the coven in the most horrible way. Her true punishment is her lack of control. She brings death everywhere she goes.

Thus, it explains why Death is in love with her. They met countless time, Agatha trying to resist her curse, eventually accepting her fate and power. Death knows her struggle, her power and her pain. Agatha, the witch everbody hates, and Death, the ultimate source of fear, sorrow, hatred. Rejected by everyone but themselves.

Agatha embraces the villain everybody saw in her. She accepted this role. Because it is easier and nobody believes her anyway. She can be good. But it will never be enough. So she decided to stop.

When nobody loves you, the only thing left is power. Power to feel alive and complete while you are in fact attracted by Death herself, wanting to let go.

In the end, no one will mourn Agatha except Death.

[stere0typical]

Your best friend dies. Your best friend hasn't been your best friend for centuries, in fact they've been known to refer to you as an enemy.

But your best friend has died and wants their remains to be brought home. And you agree to bring them back to where you grew up together (as best friends) because that was your best friend.

And on the way your best friend comes back, as some unnatural version of themselves that isn't your best friend and you both crash. You get greviously injured, so bad in fact everything about you changes, not just your exterior but the very fibre of your being. You've changed before but now you're more unlike your best friend than ever.

And your best friend, no longer dead, decides to destroy the whole universe, everything anybody has ever known or loved or cherished, but you stop them at the last minute, because that's the waltz you and your best friend have been dancing to for decades.

And you see your best friend hurt people and you forgive them anyway because that's your best friend; how could you they ever be unforgivable?

And your best friend refuses to take your hand. Your best friend refuses to accept your forgiveness, rather dying than accepting your outstretched hand.

You're enemies, aren't you?

Your best friend dies. You bring them home.

[lupikekee]

Boothill x fem!reader

Warm golden rays peaks out from behind the curtains, birds chirped and sang, the windy air caused trees to howl throughout the early sunrise, causing Boothill to stir subtlety. He tries to blink out his drowsiness once, twice, thrice. The cold air nipping at his body, making him acutely aware of your absence in bed. Without you, the shared bedroom felt more like a ghost town— well, room.

He rises from his spot, despite his body being metallic, he still manages to stretch his arms out and let the tension wisp away out of his body from the various sleeping position for the whole night, causing relief to wash over his body. He lets out a yawn as he regains his consciousness, he looked back to the now empty bad and notes to search around your shared house to look for what you might've been up to this morning.

He peaks in to the kitchen, you're not there. But there seems to be breakfast prepared. Grits, biscuits and sausage. Though he's told you time and time again that he doesn't require human food, you still insist that you cook for him. When he did eventually admit defeat, he couldn't deny that your smile had made his mechanical heart pump faster. Causing his system to heat up and the loud sounds of fans blasted through. What came after? The sweet melody of your laughter, your pretty lashes fluttering and your smile exposed your pearly whites to the reaction of his system, realising that was his indication that he was blushing. Boothill thinks that your joy is the most beautiful expression that you can grace him with.

He smiles at the memory before continuing his search for you. He peaks at the living room, no sign of you. The toilet being the same. He then decides to check outside and finally catches you in his sight. With the golden rays casted over your figure, you looked enchanting. The field of crops surrounding your shared home, the single strand of wheat just barely hanging off the corner of your lips with you wearing your cowboy hat.

Boothill unconsciously grinned at the sight of you, then noticing that you were looking down at your shotgun, cleaning the hole with a cloth. He continues to admire you from afar until you noticed him standing in the doorway like an idiot. Your beautiful smile graces your lips at the sight of your husband gazing at you fondly.

You saunter over to him and cup his left cheek in your palm. "G'morning sunflower." You give him a peck on his lips. "How long have you been standing here like a stalker, darl?" You laugh, his face heats up as what you said was true. "Just wanted to see ya, sugar cube." He playfully pouted with his arms crossed. "And if I'm a sunflower, I'd say that you're a cruel woman, neglecting me of my needs." You giggle.

"And why's that?"

"Well, sunflowers face the sun ain't they?"

"Yeah? How's that related to us?"

"You are my sun, sugar cube."

Your eyes soften as you gaze up at him, his target shaped iris gazing back into yours. his hands placed over yours that was placed under his cheek. He flutters his eyes close and leans into your touch. Your vision slowly blurs with tears that eventually stream down from your lashes to your cheeks. You were truly moved.

Nobody has ever put as much effort as he does to make you feel like you're the woman in the world for him. Even throughout the choices of women in the entire galaxy, he chose you, he chose to settle down with you. You were his as much as he was yours and he has never let you spend a day thinking the opposite. You were his as much as he was yours.

"Boothill..."

" A'm 'ere, pretty." He muttered. Moving a strand of your hair that was blocking a small part of your face. It was clear that you were both as lovestruck as the day you got married all those years ago. He kisses the top of your head as if to seal an unspoken promise, a contract that'll last forever.

[flwrcyt]

in another life, nanami got the life he wanted. a quiet, peaceful life. living in a house beside the beach in kuantan, alone with his baby.

"papamin!!" yuji's voice echoed through his room as nanami entered. a soft smile graced his lips seeing baby yuji already awake in his crib. "good morning, yuji" he greeted softly as he picked up yuji, who immediately giggles and snuggles against his chest

[swordsmans]

your fics makes me want to kill myself!!!! 🫶🫶🫶

hi genuinely thank you for reading—i’m very grateful—and i’m sorry to use your message as an example but i’ve been sitting on this for a minute because it’s very succinct so it’s the easiest way to say this—

please stop sending me anon messages or leaving fic comments like this. i know im an “angst with a happy ending” type of writer so at a certain point im basically asking for it, but these type of comments are some of the worst to receive and ive gotten so many (along with “this fic ruined my life!!” and “i hate you!!!<3333 what the fuck” and “im sobbing pay for my emotional damages 😭😭” type asks, dms, and comments) over the last two years across all of my fics with a big burst recently that it’s just. it’s not fun, it’s never been fun but it’s especially not fun anymore. it was a pretty rough year and it does not make me happy to think that art i’ve spent months at a time working on is actively hurting people, even if it’s meant as a compliment. i recognize this is a sensitive response especially after i’ve done my best to laugh and brush these things off “publicly” (idk how else to word that) or just quietly delete these, but i dunno, maybe its after midnight and im jet-lagged or maybe im just not especially thick-skinned anymore.

thank you to everyone who has been very kind and effusive since my return to fanfic—truly, you are the beloved majority and you’ve made the last two years a gift and a miracle—but i’ll be finishing up a couple of projects throughout the spring so i can close the book (heh) on my wips and then focusing on, idk, touching grass for the foreseeable future. maybe it’ll be a few months or years again, maybe i’ll post things on anon for a while or just write for friends, maybe i’ll pivot entirely and write kindle unlimited hockey dark mafia dinosaur erotica novellas. i don’t know. i love writing, and i want to write in a way that builds connections with people by exploring deep emotional catharsis etc etc etc, but it’s very hard to feel like it’s worthwhile when the more stories i post, the more comments like this come around.

[colealexart]

story time! i met the cr cast this past weekend at mcm london and they were the kindest people imaginable, but my interaction with laura and marisha was just. incomprehensibly sweet and the best thing to ever happen to me.

first up was laura. my friends izzy (@wvearp) and abby (@overnighttosunflowers) went before me in the queue and they got my art signed by her. when they did, she said “oh, best art” and they told her that they were here with the artist. she immediately was like “what?! where?!” and started looking around frantically. i was standing just to the side and i waved awkwardly and she was like “NO WAY! YOU!! i favourite this shit on twitter ALL THE TIME!” which i find hilarious because yeah, i freak out a little every time she does.

when it got to my turn, i said hello and asked her how she was doing. she did not answer my question and instead said “cole, are you kidding me? these are gorgeous” about the two prints i handed to her. (the one pictured and a different one i got signed.) she said she remembers seeing this after the episode aired and i was like “yeah, it airs at 3am here so i drew this in a frantic, sleep deprived stupor at 7am” and she said “you did it so fast, i remember! i sent it to marisha! people are SO QUICK with the fanart, you guys are insane.”

after she signed the print, she held onto it for a moment and just sat and admired it, before looking at me with the BIGGEST smile and saying “you are seriously the best. thank you.” and i don’t know how to handle sincerity so i handed her the dice i got for her. she was so excited about them and immediately rolled the d20 and got a 10 (edit: i misremembered, she got a 3 lol). i then asked if we could play rollies and she beat me. i got a 5 and laura got a 7. i said i’m sorry they’re not rolling well and she was like “it’s fine, they just need charging up!”

i also got a selfie too, but the guy helping her at the table took the photo for us instead of me trying to take it because i suck at taking selfies. she gave me a really tight side hug and when it was done, she thanked me again with the biggest smile.

i also didnt realize until afterwards but instead of writing a character quote, laura wrote “you are everything” on my autograph 😭

next was the group photo op. as we walked up i said hi again to laura and she immediately recognized me from before. she grabbed onto my shoulders and literally spun me around to marisha and was frantically saying “marisha marisha, this is the person that does the amazing imodna art!” but there was a lot going on and marisha was looking at me with the most bewildered expression, until she eventually understood what laura was saying but we had to rush to take the photo. laura held onto my arm and marisha leaned against me and i didn’t realize until afterwards but liam and tal also had their hands on my shoulders lol. it was A Lot. i told marisha i would probably be heading to her autograph queue next so i’d see her there and she was like “awesome, i cant wait!”

so after that, i met marisha. i was probably the most nervous to meet her because she’s just so cool and intimidating but in reality she is just so warm and has such a calming presence about her. she was like “cole, good to see you again!” and i handed her the same imodna print that i had laura sign. she said “ohh, aww this is amazing! this is what laura was talking about, i was so confused!”

then we talked a bit about the live show because her voice was hoarse and i asked her how she was feeling. she said it was just her voice that was gone, but we agreed that it was absolutely worth it because the live show was incredible. i also congratulated her on the how do you wanna do this, then gave her the dice i got for her and we played rollies too. we both got an 18 at first and when we rerolled, she beat me with another 18 to my 16. then she was like “oh these roll really well, i’m definitely gonna use these!”

we took our photo together and afterwards she said “thank you for your art and everything. seriously, you’re so talented” while rubbing my shoulder, and then i headed off to join ashley’s queue.

i’m probably gonna make a separate post about meeting ashley and sam. i just wanted to write this down mostly to immortalize on my blog. i expected them to be kind but i did NOT expect to feel so loved and appreciated. laura was about as excited as i was, and made me feel so special. (this is also a pretty small thing but i dont think i pass very well, so the fact that laura said ‘person’ and didn’t misgender me meant a hell of a lot too.)

i did bring extra prints to give to them as a gift but was overwhelmed and forgot lol

anyway, that’s it! for anyone wondering if the critical role cast are as kind in person as they seem online, they absolutely are and then some. i’ll never forget this past week.

[taesanluv3r]

mini me.

girl dad! taesan au <3

based on this taesan scenario i posted. u and taesan's daughter is a menace (just like her dad), her name is vivienne bcs i've always wanted to name a daughter vivienne, vivi for short!! HEHEHEH reader is taesan's wife n mother of the kid btw <3 vivi calls her parents mommy n daddy TT no warnings tbh i think there's just one cuss word in the opening, fluffy cuteness, taesan is soooooo girl dad ugh. lowercase intended, pls excuse any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors!! MWAHHH ENJOYYYY

wc: 3,739

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"oh for fuck's sake!"

han taesan laughs as his wife's loud voice echoes through the walls of their shared home, smiling softly when the little girl sat on his lap tilts her head in confusion at her mother's sudden exclamation coming from the other room. "what's up with mommy?" han vivienne wonders innocently, her tiny eyebrows furrowed as she looks up at her dad who was just as confused as she was. "i don't know but it looks like we are about to find out!" he whispers in response, the sound of footsteps emerging from the opening that lead into the living room where they sat.

a furious looking yn walks through the door. she's all dressed up in a matching all-black skirt and blazer set, her hair neatly tucked behind her ear, all ready to head to work. pretty, taesan thought, but he just couldn't ignore the fact that his wife looked like she was about to burn the building down. "what's wrong, darling?" the man's voice is soft and he begins to get up from his spot on the couch, telling his daughter to go play with her new toys while he talked to her mom. "everything! my meeting got pushed back further and now the new shipment for the store is delayed. and then my social media manager decided she can't come into work today because of some family issue and then on top of that, vivi's babysitter just quit! just like that! when she was supposed to come in and look after vivi today! it's just so...ugh!" the woman whines, slumping down on the couch as her hands made their way to cover her face in absolute stress. taesan's face softens at the sight, sitting himself down right beside her and rubbing little circles against the small of her back.

"hey, hey...don't stress too much okay? look at me..." he says sweetly, grabbing either side of her face to look at him. taesan shoots her an assuring smile, that same smile that never failed to send a swarm of butterflies to crowd inside of her tummy. "look, you just get to work and make the most out of it...i'll take vivi out today, okay? i don't have any work today so, i can take care of her, alright? don't worry, darling! you worry too much" he said, giggling when she leans into his chest and wrapping his long arms around her to pull her closer. "yeah mommy, you worry too much!" the squeaky voice of their one and only child interrupts their loving moment. the couple separated, watching as vivi climbs into her dad's lap once again before she turns to face her mother. "you know your hair will turn grey like a grandma if you worry so much!" her cheerful tone combined with her innocent grin makes her harsh words somewhat more bearable, a dramatic sigh escaping the woman's lips as she leans forward to attack the little girl in a ticklish set of kisses. "ah! mommy stop! daddy, save me!" vivi squeals in between giggles, crawling away from the woman's grasp to hide behind her father. the adult pair share a laugh and then a kiss before yn gets up to finally head out for the day.

"okay, mommy has to get to work and try to sort everything out in the office now. vivi..." yn drags out, her eyes narrowing as she looks down at her cheeky daughter who was the spitting image of the mischievous man she had married. "mhm...?" the girl replies, mimicking the way her mom prolonged her words. "you go bond with daddy for the day, okay? behave yourself, please?" instead of sounding like a command, the woman's words came out sort of like a plead. "hm..." vivienne begins, a tiny hand placed against her chin as she looks up in the air to think. "no promises! bye mommy! go now or you'll be late" she didn't even give her mom enough time to process the words before beginning to push at her legs to get her out the door. "bye darling! be safe, love you!" taesan calls out in between laughs, finding the mini version of himself's antics to be just...amusing.

"so...it's just me and you today, huh?" the man inquires, scooping the little girl up into his arms and pressing a happy peck onto her forehead. she squeals, playfully pushing his face away. she lets out a high-pitched giggle, the sound giving him slight cuteness aggression and it took every muscle in his body to not just stuff his daughter into his pockets at that very moment. "so what should we do today, hm? what do you want to do, love?" he asks, one of his large hands beginning to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her tiny little ears. "i know! i know!" vivi exclaims, her head that was leant against his chest shifting so that they were face to face.

"let's go to the mall!" she has this huge smile on her face, teeth showing and all, it was the kind of grin that you just could never say no to. not that han taesan would ever say no to his only child, his daughter, his little girl, the light of his life, his forever baby, his own clone, he would never! even if it meant spending all of his money on her every single time they stepped foot in the nearby mall...or any place that had things for sale for that matter...

a prayer for taesan's wallet, please.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"okay, so i watched a video on youtube...shouldn't be that hard, right?"

oh, but the ambitious dad was far too confident in his craft. as it turns out, doing a little girl's fishtail braid was far more complex than any kind of thing he's done before. he doubts himself for a second, she must've caught the way his eyes shook with worry from the mirror because in a second she had turned around to look up at the man, lifting her fists up in the air as she began to speak. "you can do this, daddy! i believe in you!" except the three year old could barely speak without stumbling over her words, her Ls turning into W sounds and the S in 'this' coming out with a lisp- but it's the thought that counts. taesan could almost feel the way his heart melted into a billion pieces, he began to wonder how on earth he got lucky enough to call this little menace his own child. then, with one deep breath and a newly found confidence, he separates a handful of his daughter's hair into four sections, saying a silent prayer before beginning to plait it just like the young woman in the tutorial did.

"is it done yet? i'm getting bored!" vivi whines, hands fiddling with the hem of her pink sweater. it's been nearly an hour since her father started working on her hair and it's safe to say that it was going nowhere! "um...hold on a minute...uh..." the man inhales all too loudly, staring at the entanglement of hair in front of him. "is it done? does it look cool?" the girl's eyes widen in excitement, staring into his own through their reflection. "well..." he trails off, biting his lip to stifle the laugh that was about to escape from it. "daddy, i wanna see!" her little arms were crossed over her chest in frustration and impatience. "i think...i think we should just leave your hair down today, love" her reaction to his suggestion was priceless, the excitement she previously displayed long gone and the most deadpan and uninterested look took it's place. taesan chuckles, "sorry, love. i'll try again next time, yeah?" he reasons, watching the way she nods in defeat and sighs as he began to unbraid (if you could even call that catastrophe a braid) his daughter's hair.

"can we go to the mall now? want ice cream!" vivienne says, tugging at her dad's vintage jeans. "mhm, go put on your shoes and we'll go" he watches as she runs over to the shoe rack towards the entrance of their home, an amused look plastered onto his face as his daughter struggles to put on her own shoes. if his wife were home right now, she would yell at him for standing still and not helping, but since she wasn't there at the moment the man took his time to laugh a little. "daddy...help me, please" vivi frowns, beginning to get annoyed by the footwear. taesan nods once, still giggling slightly as he bent down to sit on the floor with her. "watch closely i'll teach you to tie your laces now" he says, each end of the white laces in either one of his hands as he starts to demonstrate. "and then you loop this one over-" he was cut off by a baby-like scoff and a sassy eye roll from his kid. "daddy, can't you hurry up now?" he sighs, obliging and wondering where she had inherited the impatience from (ahem him ahem).

the car ride to the mall was peaceful for the most part. vivi insisted on sitting in the passenger seat, not wanting to be away from her dad for a second. taesan focused on driving, opening a bag of crackers for her to munch on so she wouldn't start whining about the rumbling in her tummy. "daddy what ice cream are you gonna get?" she asks, crumbs falling out of her mouth and her voice muffled by the half-chewed crackers. "me? hm..." he thought deeply about the answer, the car going dark as they entered the tunnel that lead to the basement parking area. "i don't know yet. what are you getting, love?" his hands graze the steering wheel, waiting for a response from the girl. "guess!" she exclaimed, hands in the air and a huge smile on her face. "maybe...mint chocolate?" taesan has a smirk on his face, knowing full well that was the wrong answer. "ew! no way daddy...that's gross! yuck!" he chuckled, parking the car as it came to a halt.

"c'mon" the man said, bending down to unlatch her seatbelt and lifting her out of the car before shutting the door and locking it. vivi grabbed onto his hand, tumbling slightly as she walked beside him in a zig-zag pattern. "ice cream time!" the girl squeals, the cool air-conditioning of the mall sending small goosebumps to appear on her tiny legs beneath her denim skort. taesan shook his head, "we gotta have some lunch before ice cream, love. or else your mommy would be very angry" he looked down for a moment just in time to catch her dramatic frown, chuckling at her sudden change in demeanor. "but i want ice cream" the man sighs, patting a hand against her head when she moves to hug his leg. "i know, love. and i will get you your ice cream after lunch, okay?" the tiny han girl nods in understanding, "now let go of daddy's leg so i can walk, please?" this time she shook her head, a playful and menacing smirk on her lips as she hugged him tighter. taesan clicks his tongue, beginning to waddle down the mall like an idiot.

"han vivienne...you will be the death of me"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"ice cream time!" vivienne repeats for the second time that day, shooting her dad a smile which he returned happily. "ice cream time!" he says as well, eyes widening slightly when she tugs him forward, walking so fast and pulling his arm with her. "okay, what flavour do you want, love?" taesan asks, his hands on his hips as he looked over all the options. "i can't see..." the girl mumbles, silently asking for her father to carry her up to his level. "oh, right, my bad" he panics, hastily bending down to lift her up. "um...i want...stawbelly!" her tiny voice breaks his heart into pieces, "you want strawberry? yeah? alright, one strawberry and one salted caramel, please" he's about to put her down but she refuses to let go of him (clingy baby TT). taesan laughs softly, "i gotta put you down so i can pay, love" he whispers, carefully bending down so that she could stand on her own.

"thank you, daddy" vivi says, smiling as she takes one large bite out of her strawberry ice cream. "you're welcome, love. is it yummy?" he asks, scooping up a spoonful of from his own cup. she nods joyfully, "mhm! it's delichuz!" the man furrows his eyebrows, "you mean, delicious?" he asks, trying to understand his daughter's baby talk. "yeah duh! that's what i said, silly" taesan laughs once again at his child's loud personality, grabbing a tissue to wipe away her dessert-stained cheeks as she messily slurped up the last of her sweet treat. "look here, i'm gonna send mommy a picture" he says, smiling when she strikes a silly pose. "mommy is gonna be so jelly!" she states and he nods, stacking up their empty cups to toss in the bin later.

"so...where to next, love?"

there's only one correct answer to that question. only one place in the whole mall, apart from the ice cream parlor, that feeds purpose to sweaty three year olds like han vivienne. a brightly lit store, rows and rows of all kinds of objects displayed clearly on shelves. every kid's dream, a place they would live in if they could, a place where all their parents end up spending the last of their monthly salaries in...

the toy store.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but han vivienne was no ordinary child. she was a menace, a spoiled brat, and had absolutely no shame. especially if it meant her loving father had to pay for it. and whatever happens at the toy store was no exception.

vivi squeals as she lets go of her father's hand to run into the store, the tall man following closely behind her. "hello there, what can i help you with?" one of the young ladies near the door asks, bending down to the kid's level to chat with her. "where are all the barbies?" she asks back sweetly, batting her eyelashes innocently as she spoke. "ah, right this way!" the lady energetically says, guiding the little menace over to where all the dolls were. "yay!" she cheers, her dad still walking behind her in a much slower pace. "ack!" she shouts, struggling to reach the beach-themed set that stood in a higher shelf, signaling for the employee to help her out a little. "oh, i got it, i'll help you hold it" the lady offers, earning a squeaky thank you in response. a few minutes go by and what was the one barbie doll in the worker's hand, had become a stack of five more similar toys.

"are you sure you want all of these?" the lady asks, her eyes widening when little vivienne hands her one final doll set. "mhm! don't worry, lady...daddy will pay for it! right, daddy?" the girl turns to grin widely at taesan. taesan who's cheeks were bright red from slight embarrassment, and eyebrows were tilted slightly so as to apologize to the poor employee his daughter had been dragging around. "okay, that's enough toys, vivi...now help the kind lady bring them to the register, please" his daughter nods, grabbing two out of the seven toys she had picked out and beginning to trot over to the counter to check out.

"yay!! thank you, daddy! i wuv you!" the little girl cheers, wrapping her tiny arms tightly around her father's leg. taesan chuckles, patting her head softly, "of course, love" the lady at the cash register smiles as she begins to pack away the toys into a paper bag. "her mom must be jealous..." she says, causing the man to furrow his eyebrows in confusion. "what do you mean?" he asks, putting his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans. "i mean, your daughter looks exactly like you...makes me wonder what her mother looks like, sorry if it came off rude or anything...that's not my intention" taesan shakes his head, "no, you're alright..." he trails off, "you're right though. my wife tells me everyday how similar vivi is to me..." he continues, turning to look at the miniature version of himself who seemed to have found a mirror to stare into. "she's a daddy's girl, huh?" the lady asks, making him laugh. "i guess so..."

the conversation ends there. "here you go!" the cashier says, handing the man the big bag of toys he had just paid for. "thank you so much. hey vivi, you wanna come hold your things?" taesan watches as vivienne twirls around and waddles over to him. "hm...that's okay daddy, you can hold it!" the cashier bursts into laughter at the conversation exchanged between the father and daughter. "that sass...that's all from her mother" he tells the lady, shaking his head in defeat as the little menace grabbed a hold of his large hand, the bag of toys in the other one. "come again soon!" the employee says, waving goodbye at the little girl and her parent. vivienne grins one last time,

"don't worry, lady. we will!"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

the father and daughter duo are back home now. the rest of the evening was spent happily bonding within the comfort of their home. he had listened to her endless yapping about all the new toys she got today, smiling sheepishly at the little chatterbox he contributed in creating as they sat together on the floor by the television in their living room. then he put on her favourite show on the tv, letting her sit in silence with her stuffed animals as he waltzed over to the kitchen to prepare their meal for dinner. it began to rain outside so he had his doubts on ordering in, not wanting to burden the poor delivery man who would have to travel in this kind of weather. so instead, taesan opted for some instant noodles for the night- with no objections from his mini me either, of course.

"daddy lookie! i can slurp the noodles like uncle woonhak!" vivi says, tapping at her dad's shoulders to grab his attention. "oh yeah?" the older one asks, watching closely as the girl practically inhaled a forkful of noodles, causing her to choke up a bit from the broth. "ahem" she coughed and taesan panicked for a second, getting up to fill her disney princess cup with some water for her to drink. once they had finished up their dinner, the man carried his daughter back over to the couch, turning the show back on to occupy her while he put away the dishes and cleaned up in the kitchen. he quickly took out the trash as well, knowing his wife was coming home late tonight and deciding to do all the housework so she didn't have to worry about it the way she tended to.

"vivi, my love" he called out, walking over to where she was playing with her dolls on the couch. "come on, let's take a shower and get ready for bed" he said, beginning to put away some of the toys that remained scattered on the carpeted floor. "but we can still wait for mommy later, right?" the kid mumbles, her voice quieting down from the tiredness that finally began to seep through her little body. he smiled, nodding as he stretched his arms out to carry her into his arms. the dad's heart melted and his face softened as his baby nuzzles deep into his chest. he leans down to press a soft kiss against the very top of her head, holding her tight as they made their way over to the master bathroom to run a bath.

the warm bath paired with the combinations of lavender scented baby oils were enough to get the sleepy kid into a state ready for slumber. however, the purple pajama-wearing child remained stubborn, insisting that she could stay awake long enough to greet her mother when she got home. all taesan could do was laugh, knowing her words were far from the truth. but he nods along anyways, following her into the master bedroom and laying down under the comfortable covers. "i want Tayo!" vivienne requests, watching happily as the man puts on the show on his tv. she sings along to the intro song silently, encouraging for her dad to do the same too. soon, the kid who swore she wasn't tired yet began to drift off to sleep. her head resting against his chest, his fingers softly stroking through her freshly washed hair.

taesan didn't care to change the channel on the television. honestly, he was beginning to like the show about the little bus far more than he'd admit. the soft snoring coming from his daughter sent a feeling of warmth to engulf his own body. the man's gaze moved from the tv screen over to his precious child, he pressed a loving peck on her forehead, smiling to himself as she shifted in her sleep. "i love you, my mini me" he whispers, just a decibel louder than his heartbeat. a minute more went by and the creak of the front door causes his ears to perk up.

"taesan? vivi? i'm home!" yn's familiar voice echoes through the walls, a smile unconsciously sneaking onto his lips. "we're in the bedroom!" the man yelled out as quietly as he could so he wouldn't wake the one snuggled against his chest. "hey, darling" he says when his wife finally enters the room, she looked exhausted, must've been a long day at work. "she asleep already?" the mother asks, leaning down to pat her daughter's slumberous head. her husband nods, sitting up carefully to catch her lips in his own. yn smiled into the kiss, as did he when they began to separate again. "so..." the woman begins, taking off her work clothes as she prepares herself for a shower. "what did you two do all day?" her question lingers in the air as she disappears into the bathroom, leaving taesan alone with the images of today replaying in his head.

"well, for starters..." he began, moving so that vivienne was fully laying on the bed. "we went to the mall today.." taesan gets up, following his wife into their shared bathroom. yn looked at him through the mirror, giggling when he wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed sweet kisses against her neck. "mhm...and then?" she asks, telling him to continue as she began to remove her makeup. "oh, and then that daughter of ours...she totally ran my wallet dry at the toy store..."

there was a pause for dramatic effect.

"again?!"

the end.

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HEHEH girl dad! taesan ☹️💘 i love him i love him i love him!!!!!! also han vivienne is such a cutesy name for a girl aw <3 anyways this fic made me kind of softy soft soft i might cryyyy 😭 hope u enjoyed, reblogs n feedbacks r so appreciated!! tysm for reading! love, kona.