#like I know the circumstances aren’t quite the same but I still feel like he’d definitely be a lot more resentful and secluded all alone

[itsaflyingiraffe]

Like imagine being eight growing up in a world full of people who hurt you for no reason then finally having a dude who treats you like he’s known you his entire life come along and chuck a few authentic compliments your way only to find out he’s talking to you like that because you’re the shadow of a person that he loves. Imagine literally being face to face with the image of this person, this ‘you’ that you could never be and having to live with the fact that the only thing between you and that ‘you’ was him. You’re the you you are because he never came. You’re more ‘you’ than this hologram because you decided all alone who you were going to be. All the pain and suffering you endured, for all you tried to help he still can’t see how it’s all for nothing when he still chooses the ‘you’ who never felt it all in the first place over you like you were nothing more than a placeholder. When he’s the only him you’ve ever known. He’s the only him you ever needed, and he’s failing you again and refuses to see it.

and also you’re eight

starting S1 of Sonic Prime and laughing my ass off at the concept of ‘angsty’ tails only for nine to obliterate me physically and mentally for a season and a half moodboard ✌️✌️✌️ (🥲)

[lcriedlastnight]

Oscar confessing his feelings for reader early in the relationship

you and your great mind, anon! tysm.

tw: fem!reader, swears, not spell checked, lmk if anything else.

w/c: 1.9k

the side of oscar’s bed that had been dubbed yours was stone cold. in any other circumstance oscar would be laying there miserable - but tonight he’s got you nestled on top of him so closely it’s almost like you’re trying to get underneath his skin. he’s not complaining.

oscar would love for you to be on top of him more as you were kind of half on him half off. your elbow was digging into his hip bone as you gripped at his sleep shirt, your legs quite literally tangled up in his. he’s uncomfortable but he wouldn’t move for the world. the leg that you could move was running up and down his calf, a weird habit he’s just now found out about you.

your eyes are closed as you lay on oscar’s chest, not really tired just wanting to relax in this safe space. you couldn’t believe you hadn’t done this with him before. you both had what you would call a situationship more than a relationship but it was without all the doubting, dry messages and being left on open that came with a usual situationship. the only thing you guys hadn't really done was go out on a date together, seeing as oscar had been busy with a double header the past two weekends. this was finally his weekend off and he knew he wasn't spending it with anyone else besides you.

“you comfy pretty girl?” oscar asks, moving his hand that was resting on the leg you’d slung over his hips, up to run through your hair. you mumble out some sort of agreement that makes oscar’s heart burst into flames of adoration.

“are you?” you ask back, and although it was a basic question that he’s literally just asked you, oscar felt himself melt at the thought of you caring whether or not he was comfortable. your foot still stroking the skin on his calf. it distracts him.

“i am”. simple but it’s enough to stop you wondering. he feels you nod against him, showing him you were listening. in these moments he has the overwhelming urge to tell you he loves you. he can’t though, you guys have only been seeing each other for two weeks. you aren’t even official yet. if oscar found out you were going on other dates - he’d faint. not that you weren’t entitled to, like he said you weren’t official. you weren’t his girlfriend. he really has no right to love you. not yet anyway.

it scares the australian because you don’t seem to show that your going through the same internal struggles as him. to oscar it seemed like you were happy keeping this casual. keeping it ‘light and breezy’. oscar was not all about the ‘light and breezy’ lifestyle. he’s never done anything in his entire life ‘light and breezy’. but if it’s what will keep you in his life right now then he’ll take it. there’s no way he’s living with himself knowing he could be sitting with you, exactly how you are now , but chooses not to. oscar would brand himself himself insane and check himself into a mental hospital before that ever happened. and so what if you were seeing other guys right now? so what if they had you in this exact same position as he did; your cheek pressed against his chest, the harmonious mix of your perfume and shampoo filling up his senses until he feels drunk with it, his hand scratching against your scalp and your foot rubbing against his leg. fuck, there was no way he could be normal about this. about you.

“am i the only one you’re seeing?” oscar asks. he didn’t think before the words came slipping out but they were out now. no going back.

you shift your head up to look at him, neck straining a little at the position. the thing oscar noticed most though was your foot had stopped moving. oscar felt insecure now. why did his brain think it was okay to feel territorial over you? this was literally the first time you had been in his house. ever.

your brows are furrowed in confusion as your soft voice replies to him. “seeing?” you ask for clarification.

oscar gets angsty now. he feels the need to fidget but you were touching him everywhere and he couldn’t. this was so embarrassing. what happened to being casual?

“i was-uh. just wondering if you were going on dates with anyone else?” oscar phrases it different to how he had in his mind because he didn’t think asking you if you were laying on top of other guys would make you want to answer his question.

your face relaxes as he clears up your confusion and you lay your head back in it’s previous position. your food still laying still just under his knee. “oh. no i’m not seeing other guys.”

this sliver of reassurance sends oscar’s head reeling. you weren’t seeing other guys? he’s the only one who got to have you like this? this was doing wonders for his possessiveness. oscar hums, trying to act nonchalant as his hand returns to your hair again. that kickstarts your leg again. he hopes you don't ask any questions as he feels the inner peace from before his big mouth blurted out his biggest fears, come back in peaceful waves.

it's quiet before you speak up again. "why do you ask? y'want me all to yourself, hm?" you tease, your words as light as the late night breeze coming through the window oscar had left open this morning. oscar tenses, he knows your just joking but there's a part of him that thinks you're being serious. the brunette wills himself to relax again as he, not so subtly, shoves his nose in your hair, his nose replacing his hand.

the giggle you let out makes oscar's heart skip a beat. there's no way you didn't hear it, your ear pressed close against his chest. you don't say anything about it, if you do hear it (there's no way possible that you didn't hear it). oscar's mind is flooded with thoughts about how nice that is of you. he doesn't think that he's ever met someone as nice as you. he let's his mind fall down the rabbit hole, thoughts of you swirling around his mind. he thinks about laying with you, just like you both are right now, but in his head you've just come back from a mini golfing date. he's beaten you by a mile but he did the score sheet and lies to you, telling you that you must've gotten better than the last time because you've beaten him. you can tell by the smile on his face that he's lying but play along because you love him! the key thing in these fantasies is that you love him back. oscar is finally brought back to you by your voice. your head is straining back at him again.

"what?" you ask him, confused. eyes cloudy with it. the boy is equally confused as you. why were you asking him? as if he's got control over his tongue when you're around. he sends you a half grin, hoping that will make you forget about whatever he said (he's hoping it was just some stupid nonsense and nothing major like him telling you he loves you).

it makes you more confused. "you just said you loved me? i think."

oh. so he did tell you he loves you. how the fuck was he supposed to get out of this one. his brain races over the possibilities of how he could tell you that him saying i love you for the first time was an accident. there's no way you don't think he's a weirdo now. you're gonna untangle your legs from his, that weird foot thing you've since you both decided to lay in his room will stop and he'll feel cold again.

"i did? i did. i said that. i just told you that i loved you." oscar rambles, his mind breaking at the seams. he couldn't lose you. "i'm sorry. i was just thinking about you and it must've just come out. i do love though. i know it's way too early, this is the first time you've even been round and here i am scaring you away. i can't believe i've just done something this stupid.".

your legs do untangle from his and your arms lift yourself off of his own body. oscar knew you were going to search for your shoes in the hallway then you were going to leave him. here. alone.

"you love me? really." is what you say instead. it surprises him but he nods.

you look at oscar, your expression quite blank as he tries his best to read it, wanting - needing to know how you felt in reaction to his words. it seems that the only thing you can think about doing is kiss him because that's exactly what you do. you lean forward at the same time you throw your leg back over his middle to straddle his hips, your lips touching his soft and sweet. his hands jump to your waist, clinging on like he was still scared you'd leave even though this made it clear that you didn't think he was a weirdo.

your arms rest on their elbows at either side of oscar's head. the australian feels the urge to pull them off and let you lay down on top of him properly. he licks into your mouth like he's never going to kiss you again. you melt into it, your body slowly putting more weight onto oscar as the kiss continues. you eventually push yourself up for air. oscar's head thumps back onto the pillow as you sit back up.

"i think i love you too, osc." you tell him. oscar can see your putting on a brave face but he can still see a crack of the shyness shining through in you. it's just another thing to add to the very long list of thing the loves about you.

"i can't believe i told you and i didn't even know." oscar laughs a little, his hands resting on the small of your back, just underneath your oversized concert t-shirt. his hands rub along your soft skin, like your made of glass and he's waited his whole entire life to touch you.

"neither." you laugh back. "what were you thinking?".

"i was just thinking about you and how you were laying with me. i may have also been thinking about finally taking you out on a date where we go mini golfing." oscar lets you know a little about his fantasies but he plans to keep it mostly to himself. you grin with joy at his words.

"i'd love that. it sounds like great fun, i want to do things with you, like dates and stuff but i'm also fine just laying with you and watching tv after a race weekend." you tell him, hand coming to stroke the skin under his eye gently. oscar leans into the touch and his eyes close in bliss.

"i know, pretty girl. just wanna treat you like you should be treated. you don't deserve to be hidden away." it's a shame his eyes are shut because he misses the bright red blush that graces your cheeks at his words.

you start to stutter out some kind of pathetic reply but oscar beats you to it. "now lay back down the way you were before." he demands. "i need you to do that thing with you foot on my leg again, it was weirdly soothing."

you gasp out a breathy laugh. "right!?".

[lskisms]

eat my love, c. berzatto

syn. carmen berzatto is a childhood best friend, your protector in everything. when he leaves for new york, he leaves you behind and in his absence, you realize just how deep your love for him runs. his return to chicago is just what you need.

gen. romance, angst (if you squint).

warnings. none.

word count. 1.8k.

playlist. restless, bibi. love scene, baekhyun. seasons, wave to earth. asleep, the smiths. wasteland baby, hozier.

forget religion, forget deities, forget all of it; you have been a devout follower of carmen berzatto for years. he’s the childhood best friend with just a few years and even more inches on you, the one who protected you in the schoolyard in elementary school, the one who showed up to the movie theater after you’d been stood up in high school, the one who made sure your college mini fridge was stocked all the time with food you only had to eat up in your microwave.

he’s been everything to you, protector and savior all in one go. so while you’re not quite sure when your feelings shifted from platonic to romantic (though it was definitely between his time in new york and his return to chicago), you’re not surprised that they have. maybe it’s the “obscene amount” (richie’s words, not yours) of contemporary romance novels you read, plenty of titles with a friends to lovers arc, that put this in your head and maybe that constantly riled up man has a point, but still, something about it feels inevitable.

when carmy left for new york, you worried about him, more than was probably necessary. it was the first time in your whole life that you’d be away from him and it wasn’t that either of you needed one another to look out, but having grown up with him as a constant presence in your life made it difficult to adjust to life without him. where he used to be a phone call and a trip on the l away, now he was a phone call and a plane ride, too many miles to fathom.

but you waited: waited for him to come home, waited for him to notice you, waited for him to reciprocate. it feels like your entire life all you’ve done is wait for him and you’ve been content with that, even if it is your own personal brand of psychological torment. because you know him like it’s etched into your very genetics, the ability to know him for who he is in a way that you can’t know anyone else.

and so when he returns to chicago, to home, to you, it feels monumental, even if it is under less than desired circumstances. he starts working his ass off almost the very second he gets off his flight; you don’t see him for the first few weeks he’s back in chicago. it’s through no fault of your own, of course, because you text him plenty and he responds, but they aren’t hitting the same beats they used to, and you worry.

but here he stands now, flannel coat and baseball cap and all, at your doorstep unannounced. it surprises you, seeing him here like this, because he hadn’t so much as even suggested the idea, but you can’t complain, not when this is the first time you’re seeing him in what feels like a lifetime.

“carmy,” you practically exhale, not even hesitating to step forward, wrap your arms around his neck, press yourself close against him. your nose buries into the collar of his coat and when you inhale, the scent is so entirely carmen berzatto; you hadn’t realized you could miss a smell this much, let alone a person.

you’re elated when his arms wind their way around your waist, both hands warm against your lower back. you stand just like this for moments that feel like they stretch into hours, taking in the fact that he’s back, he’s home.

“i missed you, loser,” you say into the thick fabric of his coat.

he scoffs against your shoulder, patting your back and pulling away from you to look you dead in the eye. “yeah, yeah, i missed you too.”

you share a small laugh, an even gentler smile, and you step aside to let him in. it’s the first place of yours that he’s never experienced. sure, he’d seen it in photos and facetime calls, but he’s never been here in person, the first place that is wholly you: no family, no friends, no college roommates. the essence of the apartment belongs solely to you.

and he sees that, sees you everywhere he looks. it’s in the way your shoes are organized by the front door, in the way that you keep one of his old jackets (stolen months before he left for new york) hung up on the coat rack, in the way that the photograph centered on your endtable isn’t one of your family but one of you two; it was snapped on senior prom night, which he hadn’t been able to attend due to his bad grades, but he’d gotten dressed up all nice for you anyways, so that you’d have nice pictures of the two of you together, even if he couldn’t be your date like you’d planned.

“nice place,” he remarks, looking around and taking in the parts of you he doesn’t know; books lined up on the shelves of your tv console, record player next to it, the succulents on the window sill. “better than that shithole you were living in when i left.”

you let out a breathy laugh, roll your eyes, close the front door behind you. “you mean the dorms? anything is better than that.”

you follow him deeper into your space, watching the way he watches everything else, takes everything in, like he’s relearning you from scratch. almost every second of the day, carmen is on, burner cranked up to high, one of the most intense people you’ve ever met, but here, you can tell he’s set to simmer, introspective in a way he’s not when he’s at work. it’s nice to see him with his guard down like this, cerulean eyes wide and searching.

the silence stretches out between you, but it doesn’t snap like a rubber band like you thought it would. quiet used to be easy with him and you’d been worried that the distance and time apart would change that, but it hasn’t; it’s still just as comforting as it had been.

but you have to break it, clearing your throat and looking away out the window. the sun is setting behind tall buildings, casting the sky a burnt orange (terracotta, maybe, you think). and with your string lights that glow soft, flaxen gold over your equally as soft sheer curtains, quiet music playing from spotify on your tv, this could not be a more romantic moment, at least in your mind.

“i worried about you, y’know… when you were in new york,” you say quietly, eyes trained on some point beyond the horizon. “i never really knew what you were up to over there and you were so far away… i don’t know, i guess i just missed being able to make sure you were taking care of yourself.”

his sneakers move gentle against the floorboards as he turns his whole body to face you. when you glance at him, he has an expectant look on his face like he knows you have more you want to say; whatever piece of you that knows him better than anything else, he has it too, he’s always been able to anticipate anything from you.

you shrug, look down at the floor. “i thought i’d be able to stop worrying when you came back ‘cause if you needed me, you’d be a train ride away again, but… carmy, you’ve been back for weeks and i think i’m worrying about you more than i did when you were gone.”

“you don’t gotta worry ‘bout me; sugar does enough of that for the both of ya,” he replies, voice soft in a way that he’s always reserved for you, special and one of a kind.

with a nod, you look back up at him, meet him with another shrug. “no, i know. just can’t help it, i guess… think i’ll always worry about you, one way or another.”

his hands fidget in the pockets of his coat, flexing and unflexing, rustling against the material. he lets out a sigh, looks out that same window, the sun lower than before. “i worried about you too. you can take care’a yourself, but… i was worried nobody’d have your back the way i do.”

“i mean… i have sugar and fak and them, i had mikey, but… they aren’t you. nobody could replace you.”

and when he looks back at you, you think he realizes that you mean it in more than one way. he’s not just your defender in everything, some self-appointed knight in shining armor; he’s the love of your life, has been for years probably. he stands here in the middle of your apartment that is every bit him as it is you and he sees you. his eyes lay you bare, roll out your psyche, understand you in a way that no potential romantic interest from the past few years has been able to because he has his own brand of knowing you, one that you’re so used to that it feels wrong coming from anyone else.

and he knows that just from staring at you. the inches between you feel like miles and your fingers twitch with unsnapped tension; you swear his do too because like clockwork, his feet scuff against your hardwood floor and he closes the distance, hands out of his pockets to cradle your face in them.

“you mean that?” he questions, his breath hot against your lips. his palms are calloused and warm, and you’re learning the feel of them in a way you’ve never had them before because this is new, but it’s what you’ve wanted for ages.

you nod, your eyelids fluttering and breath shallow. this close to him, you can make out all of the imperfections in his skin, the little dips and freckles. “wouldn’t lie about somethin’ like that, carmy. you know that.”

“just wanted to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

when he kisses you, it is unpracticed and unrefined but perfect in all the important ways: it’s him and he tastes like cigarettes covered up with spearmint gum and he is so warm. you kiss him back like you’re trying to make sure he knows the taste of your love, like a fine wine aged for years; you think he notices it.

“don’t worry about me no more,” he says against you without pulling away.

“that’s kinda my job,” you reply with a short, breathy laugh, your hands curling into the rough fabric of his coat.

“doesn’t need to be. i’ll take care of us.”

the words cut deep into a part of you that has gone untouched for years, something reserved for carmy and carmy alone. and he knows it’s there now, treats it with all the delicateness in the world as he kisses you again, apologizes for not realizing sooner, promises to make up for lost time. his touch, new and exciting, sets you alight everywhere and you are born again like phoenix out of ashes. to be loved like this by him is something you’ve dreamt of for years and now it’s yours and you don’t plan on letting go.

i’ll take care of us. you believe him.

© lskisms 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[angeart]

hunted hybrids au rambles

this is an au me and @linkito made for our scarian RP, so just beware it’s focused solely on these two and it’s self-indulgent. CWs, i suppose, are themes of violence and dehumanisation of hybrids, and mention of self harm (feather plucking).

the basic premise is that hermitcraft’s code got attacked. think season 8 moon big and ground deteriorating underneath their feet, but it’s all more rapid and out of the blue. they don’t get a chance to investigate or prepare. it’s just. happening. so obviously, confusion and panic.

and then the hermits get scattered, to other worlds, seemingly indiscriminately and at random, as hermitcraft implodes. 

grian and scar end up in the same world, but it takes them about a week to realise. (a very horrible week, mind you.) their comms don’t work quite right here. 

now, where they’ve ended up is a very, very hybrid-hostile world. think rough people and black markets and criminal societies. think hunters and bloodhounds and phantom-dragons that screech through the night. think traps and watchtowers and rotting forests without a bird-chirp in them.

this world considers hybrids to be something to hunt. something to take apart and sell and gloat about. vexes are disliked and killed for sport, for  bragging rights. there’s no mercy in that. avians, though? avian wings are seen as a commodity, a decoration. something to make money out of and claim a different kind of prestige from. 

... did i mention this world is permadeath?

yeah.

so here we have these two hermits, and i think it’s important to note that the life games aren’t a thing in this universe. they never experienced a situation where they have to fight for their life. they find themselves here, stranded and alone, not knowing if their home even still exists or what happened to the others and if there’s anyone left out there who will be looking for them. 

maybe they try to look for help, used to friendly communities and little to no consequences.

maybe they get glares and smirks and weapons pulled on them.

maybe they realise the error they’ve made. maybe they realise that this is no place to seek help.

and then they run.

and all they can do is keep on running.

(the wood is rotten. the animals are scarce, next to none - have they even seen any? besides the wailing hounds? they can’t remember. the resources are hidden, stashed away in the communities they are desperate to get as much distance from as possible. the land is dark, and eerie, and unfamiliar. it’s late autumn, toppling into winter, air chilly and frosty, and they are so, so very underprepared.)

i think this is a good time to note that i chose violet-backed starling as the bird-base for grian in this au. because the wings are brilliant and bright and vibrant. they’re rare. expensive. very, very much wanted. (very hard to hide in a drab late-autumn.) 

scar and grian meet under dire circumstances: a hunter de-routed from going after scar by a call for backup, to a violet-winged avian—an information scar overhears—a trophy too precious to walk away from. this is the moment scar has the startling, horrifying realisation that grian is also trapped in this world. (he hears  him before he sees him, and he’d know that voice anywhere.) (he never heard him scream like this before—)

long story short, grian gets hurt, scar goes a little feral, and together they escape, to seek out shelter and supplies in a world that seems determined to strip everything away from them. it’s getting colder, and they have nowhere to go but deeper into the forest, hoping that they’ll eventually go far enough that the hunters will give up. (a feeble, impossible hope.) 

please think about them being so confused and destabilised over the realisation that they’re no longer alone. the complicated feeling of relief of having someone familiar and safe there, and the absolutely nauseating terror of having them there, because it means they’re stuck in this nightmare, too. the struggle to keep each other alive and sane through it. the way how something so normal and taken for granted gets turned upside down—and gentle touch now feels so unfamiliar. (oh how they need that softness, in a world that is only ever harsh and cruel.)

the (so far) two drawings i made for this au are:

1. them curled up into each other, wrapped up in a blanket, trying to keep warm and survive the night. please note that scar is pressed against grian’s back, protecting the part of him that now feels the most vulnerable. (grian’s wings are a huge target. a beacon beckoning the hunters closer.) grian used to sleep (on those rare moments when he actually allowed himself to stop and nap) with his wings pressed against hard, rough, cold edges, just to hide them. just to make them less visible, just to make himself a little less vulnerable. (his feathers are a mess.)

2. on that note. the second drawing touches on grian’s complicated feelings about his wings that come from all this trauma. because all those pretty feathers do is drag danger to them. because he used to love them and they used to be his pride and joy and they let him feel free, but he can’t even fly anymore (the sky is too open; there are too many airborne hunters and watchtowers). and it’s these damned feathers that cause him and, more importantly, scar to get hurt and have to run and run and run even when they feel like they can’t anymore. 

grian is so upset with his feathers. they feel like a curse. they feel like a burden. they feel like he’ll never not be terrified as long as he has them. he’s tired and in pain and cornered and desperate, and he wants them gone. and so what if he cries. what if he starts plucking them out, urgent, frustrated, panicked sharp yanks, and—

and scar is there, and he’s shushing him and telling him to stop. telling him that his wings are beautiful, and they’re his, and scar won’t let anyone else touch them, ever. it’s okay. it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. (nothing is okay.)

//full drawings are linked so feel free to check them out if you're interested :3

------ @motherofplatypus a bit late but here you go! the requested au rambles

[starlightshadowsworld]

I got asked earlier what my thoughts are on the Mori is Atsushi’s dad theory. And personally I don’t buy into it (full breakdown is here incase anyone’s curious.)

But I find it an interesting idea and wanted to play around with it. So here’s my concept for what if Mori was Atsushi’s dad.

Mori knew he’d need a successor for when he took over the Port Mafia. It’d be easier for it to be his own heir. But he wasn’t exactly jazzed about having a baby to look after.

As time went on tho Mori did develop a bond with Atsushi. He wouldn’t call it love but he did feel some affection for him. A feeling that definitely grew when Atsushi manifested a powerful ability.

At first as far as Mori knew, it was simply to turn into a tiger. Which in enough itself was impressive. But that Atsushi got into an accident (as babies do) but miraculously his ability seemed to heal his wounds.

Upon closer inspection Mori realises it wasn’t quite regeneration. But reversion, bringing him back to his original state and thus no longer being injured (same analysis Yosano makes in season 1.)

Definitely does has a “of course he has a powerful ability, he is my son after all” moment. And things would’ve stayed mostly peaceful until the Great war. Mori ends up heading off and has enough sense not to bring his 4 year old with him (but bringing an 11 year old is clearly fine.)

And so Atsushi is left in the care of his mother. Mori and her aren’t together, they are amicable and only really interact if it concerns Atsushi. She’s even dating another man, a cute Russian man who offers to look after her son when an emergency comes up.

One he is directly responsible for because ✨surprise ✨ it’s Fyodor. He takes Atsushi to a far away orphanage, weaving a story about a poor child he found in a bin. Atsushi’s mum is horrified when she comes home, and turns out Fyodor was in disguise and using a fake name.

And because there was a whole thing about the northern lights in the Great War causing emp waves (or something), the phone service is shit and Mori doesn’t find out until he returns. He doesn’t exactly take the news well.

It’s then that Natsume reveals to him what the book is and Atsushi’s connection to it. Saying he didn’t say anything prior because he wanted to be completely sure. And had he known this man was after Atsushi he would have. Mori’s not exactly happy but he understands.

This whole thing only fuels his desire to be PM Boss. Knowing he’ll gain the resources to locate his son. Life carries on and Mori sits on the throne of the PM. The only people who knew of his son were Dazai and Chuuya, and Mori tells them at the same time.

When Chuuya is lashing out in Mori’s office about what he’s lost to the old Boss Mori says he understands. He understands how it feels to lose everything you hold dear, but also to rise above and take control. “I had a son. He was stolen from me, and I will rake this earth until I find him alive.”

When Chuuya joins he says something like “when the day comes you find a lead. I will do everything in my power to bring your son back to you.”

That lead would come 6 years later when a bounty for a tiger is given to the PM. And Mori freezes at the sight of its eyes, he’d know those eyes anywhere.

Everyone’s confused as to why the bounty isn’t being taken, except for Chuuya who puts two and two together. Akutagawa is instructed to bring the weretiger back.

But under no circumstances is he to hurt him. This goes out the window once Atsushi joins the Agency and Dazai, while captured purposefully riles up Akutagawa. Because he realised Atsushi’s identity and won’t let Mori take him.

Things carry on, Akutagawa’s on thin fucking ice as is Kouyou but things go on.

Atsushi and Mori still meet in Anne’s Room. Atsushi thinks he looks familiar and Mori pretends he doesn’t know him. And gives him advice, he’s curious to see what his son has grown into. And also doesn’t want their reunion to take place here.

Mori is also more open to a truce even if he doesn’t accept it right away, especially when learning it was Atsushi’s idea.

Atsushi doesn’t learn the truth until Dead Apple. He doesn’t take it well but learns to accept himself. Akutagawa gives him a good tongue lashing for not telling him and the Agency accepts Atsushi.

Atsushi and Mori don’t meet properly until the Cannibalism arc, truly wonderful timing. He feels guilty for worrying about Mori. Speaking of, Mori finally learns Fyodor’s the one who stole Atsushi, after being stabbed by him.

There’s really no easy way to break it to Atsushi that the Agency are going to kill his dad. He’s against it (even more so than in canon) and wants to try and find a different solution. But after the lead is a failure, all Atsushi asks is if he can at least say goodbye.

His friends grant him that at least.

Atsushi walks up to PM headquarters to Chuuya who stops the goons from trying to shoot him.

Atsushi: Do you know who I am?

Chuuya: The Agencies Weretiger?

Atsushi: Not that. It’s…About your Boss.

Chuuya: So you found out. Yeah, what about it?

Atsushi: I want to see him. I don’t know what’ll happen but, I know this might be my last chance.

Chuuya passes a message on, gets the okay and sends a goon with Atsushi to go up. “And kid, for what it’s worth. He’s missed ya.”

Mori is sat up in bed and sends Kouyou out. It’s awkward at first but Mori doesn’t seem phased by it. Asking how Atsushi is and sharing old stories.

Atsushi getting emotional because he was told he was abandoned. Mori firmly remarking that he wasn’t, that Mori scoured the country and than some for him.

That he was missed, dearly.

Atsushi saying that he wished they had more time. And that he’s trying to find a different solution, giving a teary smile when Mori comments he truly did take after him. Mori has no doubt he’ll survive this but simply says he has faith in Atsushi.

If he says theres a solution where everyone survives then there will be. And that when it comes they should get dinner, whatever he likes.

“Do you still love chazuke?”

“It’s my favourite.”

“Mine too. Chazuke it is then.”

Atsushi leaves with hesitation and the assassination plot kicks off and fails. The rest of the plan is carried out and the end has Atsushi and Mori eating chazuke together at a restaurant.

Atsushi knows what kind of man Mori is, but he’s also his dad. He knows he cares in his own way and wouldn’t hurt him. And they are allies currently.

Chuuya goes back for Atsushi during the rescue and finds he’s missing. Which gives Mori a heart attack until he realises Atsushi snuck out with Kyouka and made a deal with Fitzgerald.

Does he wish Atsushi came to him? Yes, though he does understand Atsushi’s reasoning and touched he didn’t want to drag the PM into this (oh dear boy we were involved when you got dragged into it.)

Also doesn’t appreciate Fitzgerald manipulating his son.

Things go on, worlds saved until it isn’t and Mori gets up to greet Atsushi. And for the first time, hugs him. Atsushi breaks down and Mori tells him this will all be fixed.

That damn rat had taken too much from Atsushi, he wouldn’t take anymore. Ability or not, Mori would find a way to kill him if he tried. He couldn’t even be happy at having his son in his rightful home.

Fyodor was going to pay dearly.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentine’s Day! More of wy as female mxy married to lz please!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Jin Guangyao isn't expecting his sister to seek him out for tea, because she's mostly been treating him as if he isn't here, but when she comes knocking at his door - or, well, Xichen's - he doesn't have any reason to deny her.

She fidgets as she sits across from him and he takes the opportunity to look her over as he pours the tea.

Xuanyu – as she insists everyone call her, regardless of propriety – looks much the same as she had before. She wears the pale cream and gold underrobes of the Jin still, but he’s pretty sure it’s just so she has something to get dirty while she’s studying or training. Her Lan overrobe always managed to escape unscathed from her worse disasters.

Her hair is a mess, held in a barely presentable ponytail, and she doesn’t bother with any makeup even though she’d been sent to Cloud Recesses with a whole case of it. She follows the Lan rules of subtlety and minimalism of appearance well, even if she can’t quite make her actions do the same.

Everyone is talking about her spars, and her form, and how the weak, pathetic wife that had been forced on Hanguang Jun might be a match for him after all.

Jin Guangyao finds it very suspicious. Xichen tells him that he finds everyone suspicious and so it’s not a useful assessment.

Xichen had slept on the floor that night. In the morning he’d thanked him for his concern in realigning his spine. Lans could be so infuriating.

“What do you think of Jin Guangshan?” Xuanyu asks abruptly.

That hadn’t been what he was expecting.

“Our father?” he asks.

She makes a face, realizes part way through that she shouldn’t do that, and reaches up to rub her nose in an attempt to hide the reaction. “Yeah.”

“Why do you ask?” Is his father getting suspicious of him? Is that why he blocked his marriage to Xichen and pulled Xuanyu into this at the last second?

She shrugs. “I just don’t know him very well, is all. But you’d know better than me, right?”

“What relevance does our father have in Cloud Recesses?” He’s not going to say anything until he understands her motive.

Xuanyu snorts. “He’s the only reason I’m in Cloud Recesses.”

This is true, and something in her tone rings true. “You seem to be settling in well.”

Technically he’s supposed to have been helping her do that, as its the justification of his many months away from Koi Tower, but she’s hardly seemed interested. She’s never asked for anything.

He supposes she’s asking now.

“I was settled where I was,” she points out, then winces, obviously knowing that’s not quite true.

He’d asked around. The Mo family had not treated the bastard daughter of an out of favor sister as anything but exactly like she was.

He feels the first stirrings of sympathy that he doesn’t quite manage to suppress. Their circumstances aren’t all that different. Her mother hadn’t been a whore, but she’d been treated like one. “Why do you think Father picked you?”

She’s not the only bastard daughter he has. Claiming Qin Su would be problematic, but there are others even still.

“Because of you, I guess,” she says, but it doesn’t come out as accusing. “I don’t understand why he didn’t just use you for the alliance.”

“I suppose he decided I was someone he couldn’t control,” he says, both because it’s true and to check her reaction.

Xuanyu throws her head back and lets out a bark of laughter. He blinks, but she meets his gaze head on and her grin is wide and sharp and oddly familiar. “And he decided that I was controllable instead? That’s not the decision of a smart man.”

“No,” Jin Guangyao says slowly, looking her over in a new light, “I suppose it isn’t.”

[tenderlywicked]

I got so impatient that I started filling my own prompt. Wild Blue Yonder AU: the Doctor and the Master get stuck with the Not-Things :)

It’s not like the Master has something against eldritch beings per se. Arms that are too long or a dropping jaw—it’s not as disturbing for him as it clearly is for the Doctor. He’s been an eldritch horror himself, not just once, so he can sympathize. Moreover, appreciate the ability to adapt and survive at any cost. It’s a matter for envy rather than scorn or dread. He’s not even that shocked to see his own face on someone else: after all, there had been six billions of him once.

But it’s plain ridiculous that one of these not-things is able to imitate his speech patterns almost perfectly, and yet gets it wrong how many hearts and knees he has. It’s a sign of hackwork, and he despises that. On the other hand, in the current circumstances such incompetence is in his favor. It means the creatures aren’t unbeatable, they tend to miss the most obvious things.

He’d be more content and optimistic about it, though, if the Doctor hadn’t been clumsy enough to get separated from him, ending up on some other level of technical corridors. It’s nothing but irritating because without the Doctor there’s no way out: the TARDIS will come back for him. He isn’t to blame for the spaceship’s baffling reconfigurations of course, but still, he should have been more careful.

To the Doctor’s credit, he’s now probably rushing about, trying to find his missing companion, despite the row they’d had before the TARDIS had run off on them both. (The Master is still of opinion that this time the Doctor’s indignation had been apropos of nothing. Yes, he’d summoned the Toymaker into the universe, so what? He’d played his final game and won, he’s alive thanks to that, and the blasted universe is fine too, more or less, despite a few tiny time paradoxes all of this had caused. Should he have just died from a stab in the back instead? No, thank you very much.) Anyway, no matter their disagreements, the Doctor will be looking for him, desperately, the Master is sure of that. Instead of doing the same, he unhurriedly goes searching for something else.

They’d discovered the bridge and the control rooms, but surely, there must be living quarters somewhere on the spaceship. It’s not as big as the Mondasian one, so it doesn’t take the Master much time to locate them, along with what he’d been hoping to find—another set of surveillance equipment. He turns it on, and there it is, the second dot on the screen, the Doctor still braving the labyrinthine corridors on his own.

The Master fumbles with settings and finally finds the right camera in the hall the Doctor is about to pass…right in time to see him stumble across the false Master. And is it really that surprising what happens next? There’s no sound, but the Doctor’s face is quite expressive—it’s easy to see when wariness turns into wavering. Then, sequentially, come incredulity, hurt…and hope?

“Oh for fuck’s sake, still falling for sweet talk,” the Master mutters aloud as the Doctor takes a timorous step towards not-him, only for what he must expect to be a reunion hug to turn into a chokehold.

The creatures won’t kill him, they know he might regenerate, the Master tells himself, switching between the cameras as he follows the Doctor being dragged back to the bridge. They are more likely to keep him for further research.

What had his doppelgänger told the Doctor to earn his trust so quickly? Theta, I missed you so much? The Master tries to persuade himself it’s just curiosity, but also, deep inside, he knows there’s a bitter feeling too, akin to jealously: he never seems to say the right words that would convert the Doctor to his side so easily. One of his silly regenerations had wanted to stand with the Doctor, but would the Doctor ever stand with him?

Maybe he’s not entirely fair, maybe that’s just his old resentment speaking. In his place, the Doctor would undoubtedly rush to rescue at once. In his own place, the Master chooses to see what happens next. He just has to find out how to turn on the sound.

That's the first part, more horrors are to come ;)

[thisfairytalegonebad]

Cold Compress - Whumptober day 13

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Character: Gladiolus Amicitia Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Read below the cut or on AO3 here.

Gladio may think he’s being sneaky in hiding his injury, and maybe it would even work on someone less observant, but if Ignis prides himself in one thing, it’s his ability to notice even small things other people wouldn’t bother taking note of.

He didn’t actually see how Gladio got hurt, but he sees the way he’s favouring his right leg a little. He sees the faint sheen of sweat on Gladio’s forehead and the slightly paler-than-usual colour of his face.

The question is just, how badly is he injured?

Ignis doesn’t want to call him out in front of Prompto and Noct - he trusts Gladio, knows the man has got to have a good reason for not mentioning whatever is troubling him to them.

For now, he’d wait and keep a close eye on him while he waits for an opportunity to talk to him in private.

It’s a miserable day. They’ve been running around the Vesperpool for hours and it’s been raining since yesterday evening. They’re all soaked and caked in mud and Ignis would just about sell his soul for a hot cup of coffee right now.

The others aren’t faring much better. Noct hasn’t said a word in nearly an hour, marching around the mud with quiet determination. Under normal circumstances, Ignis feels nothing but pride whenever his charge offers his aid to someone in need, but in this particular instance, well. Sania could probably have lived without her frogs for a little while longer.

Prompto has long stopped singing, now simply trudging after them with his head down to keep the rain from getting in his eyes. He’s shivering quite noticeably, and Ignis is torn between feeling sympathy for him and fighting the urge to point out that he’d told him to perhaps consider putting on a jacket this morning instead of opting for his sleeveless shirt again.

And Gladio, ever the wilderness enthusiast, seemed to be quite content for a considerable while, but at one point between fighting sahagins, an entire family of overgrown poultry, a swarm of angry killer wasps and sahagins again, he was injured and his mood has dropped a good bit since then.

“Noct,” Ignis tries cautiously. “Perhaps we ought to postpone this search for another day. I’m sure the hunters would be willing to rent the caravan to us for another night, and then we can continue looking tomorrow. According to the forecast, the weather should be better tomorrow.”

“But I saw it earlier,” Noct insists. “I swear I saw it hopping around over here! Besides, Sania said they’re more likely to come out during rainy weather.”

With their luck, the damn frog has probably been eaten by a sahagin in the meantime, but Ignis doesn’t say that. Instead, he holds back a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, both to keep himself from snapping at Noct and to try and stave off the headache that’s starting to set in. He’s taken off his glasses hours ago, unable to see properly with the rain droplets covering the lenses, and now he’s paying the price for that.

----

After nearly another hour, it’s slowly getting dark and even Noct is forced to admit that they’ll have to continue their frog search some other time.

Prompto is shivering nearly uncontrollably now despite the fact that he’s wearing Ignis' jacket - yes, Ignis may have told him to put on his own jacket this morning, but he still couldn’t stand watching the boy suffer any longer - and Gladio…

Ignis stops, realising he’s no longer hearing Gladio’s heavy footsteps behind him.

He quickly turns and spots Gladio leaning against a tree a few paces behind him, looking more than slightly pale.

“Gladio?” he asks, quietly so as to not alert the other two, but alarmed all the same. “Are you quite alright?”

“Fine,” Gladio grunts, even though Ignis can see that he really isn’t. “Sagahin got me in the leg earlier. Not that bad earlier, but I guess walking around on it didn’t do me any favours.”

“Did you take a potion?” Ignis asks, although he already knows the answer.

Just like he suspected, Gladio shakes his head. “Nah. Like I said, wasn’t that bad and we’re running low as it is. I’ll be fine, just gotta get out of this damn swamp.”

“That we can agree on,” Ignis sighs. “Alright, but you’ll take one if you feel it’s getting worse, no arguments. Are you alright to continue on for now?”

“Sure.” Gladio pushes himself off the tree and goes to catch up with the other two who are still marching on, and Ignis notes with concern that his limp has grown more pronounced.

----

They’ve barely been walking for another five minutes when Gladio suddenly staggers to the side and throws up, supporting himself against a tree so he doesn’t fall face-first into the mud.

Immediately, Ignis is at his side - he’s well aware that he’s been hovering, and now it looks like that wasn’t all that wrong of a thing to do.

“Gladio, you’re taking that potion now.”

He already has it in hand, crushing it against Gladio’s leg before he can protest.

“Thanks.” Gladio’s voice is raspy and his cheeks flushed.

“Change of plan,” Ignis says as soon as Prompto and Noct have joined them, staring wide-eyed at Gladio. “We get back to the car as soon as possible and try to make it back to Meldacio before it grows fully dark.

He’s not sure what’s wrong with Gladio. He doesn’t look all that much better after the potion, but the cut wasn’t bad enough for him to have lost a lot of blood or anything similar. Perhaps it’s just exhaustion catching up with him.

Either way, Gladio doesn’t look like he’s going to get far on his own, so Ignis slips his arm around his waist to support him. They can’t afford to lose any more daylight if they want to make it back to Meldacio for the night.

As they make their way back to the car, Gladio leans on Ignis more and more heavily until Ignis is almost bearing his full weight, and he has never been so glad to see the Regalia than at this moment.

They quickly load Gladio into the backseat, leaving him to lean his head against the window with his eyes closed, and then Ignis floors it towards Meldacio.

Luckily, no one has handed out speeding tickets in the countryside of Lucis for a long time, so they make it to the hunters’ headquarters with a fair share of traffic violations and barely any daylight to spare.

Prompto jumps out of the car to rent the caravan for the night, Noct goes to find a doctor or at least someone with some medical knowledge and the equipment to go with it, and Ignis is left to help Gladio out of the car.

“How are you holding up?” he asks as he lets Gladio lean on him for support again.

“Been better,” Gladio mutters and Ignis is inclined to believe him - even through the thick leather of Gladio’s jacket, he can feel heat radiating off him.

Noct joins them with a face like a storm cloud, announcing that apparently, the only medic at the outpost has recently left for the gas station near Greyshire Glacial Grotto to tend to an employee who has fallen ill. He did however manage to get them to sell some medical supplies to him.

At least Prompto comes bearing better news and the key to the caravan - they’re allowed to stay for as long as they need as long as they pay up before they leave.

----

By the time Gladio is out of his wet clothes and in bed, and Ignis actually gets to take a look him over, Gladio is trembling and burning up with fever.

Ignis checks the leg first, but the skin is smooth and uninjured, knitted back together perfectly by the potion.

There’s nothing else wrong with his legs, so Ignis works his way up to Gladio’s torso and back, and then he spots it - a rather small, shallow wound on the back of his neck. It’s puffy and swollen and while it should have healed with the potion, the fact that it didn’t means that there’s something else causing Gladio’s illness.

Poison.

“Gladio, did the mushussu hit you?” Ignis asks, running his hand over the cut. It’s warm to the touch and likely tender from the way Gladio flinches away from his fingers.

Gladio frowns, but then simply shrugs. “I dunno. If it did, I didn’t notice.”

Ignis eyes him warily for a moment but lets it go. Gladio sounds genuine enough, and he’s not one to hide injuries just for the fun of it. If he says he didn’t notice, Ignis believes him.

He has the boys run back to the shop to buy an antidote, but he knows the poison has already been in Gladio’s system for too long for an antidote to cure him. He’s going to have to ride out the fever on his own.

“I do wish we had noticed this sooner,” Ignis sighs as he gently places the cold compress on Gladio’s forehead.

Gladio blinks up at him and says with a crooked smile, “Yeah, me too.”

His eyes are glassy with fever, his face pale except for his flushed cheeks, and he’s shivering despite the blanket they covered him with. It’s unsettling to see him like that, their physically strongest fighter reduced to a trembling lump of misery by a small cut like that.

He’s clearly fighting to stay awake, and Ignis wants nothing more than to let him sleep, but he wants to at least get some water into him before he does so. But giving him water while he’s still poisoned would be futile, he’d likely throw it back up within minutes.

Soon, the caravan door opens and the other two hurry inside, handing Ignis the antidote. Ignis quickly gives it to Gladio who crushes it in his hand.

“Here, drink this,” Ignis instructs, helping Gladio sit up a bit more so he can sip from the offered bottle. “Slowly, or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Yes, Mom,” Gladio says, but the teasing effect is somewhat lost due to how weak and pitiful it comes out, so Ignis lets it slide. Instead, he guides Gladio to lie back down, and pulls the blanket up to cover all of him.

“Get some rest,” he says gently, smoothing his hand over Gladio’s hair for a moment before he stands.

“’Kay,” Gladio says, drowsy and not all there, and then he’s out like a light.

----

Read all of my Whumptober prompt fills here.

[silentcartoonist2018]

CU Epilogue AU Chapter 3 and 3 1/2

Chapter 3-The Clown

*drip*…….*drip*

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like hours. Krupp was lying down on something hard, like the tiles of his office. 

*drip*………..*drip*……..

His vision slowly began to regain focus. He didn’t quite remember lying face down on the floor.

*drip*………..*drip*……..

He didn’t quite remember his office having a leak. 

*drip*………..*drip*……..*drip*………..*drip*……..

In fact, he didn’t even remember there being three doors in his office.

Three?

Krupp raised his head and looked around. “This isn’t my office….”

The doors he saw belonged to three small structures around him, no bigger than the size of a large phone booth. There were two booths in front of him. One was titled “SUPEREGO”, and the other had “I” and “D” on it. The dripping sound seemed to come from one of the booths, most likely the I-D one with water leaking out the sides. And behind him was a booth labeled “EGO”.

The rest of the area was surrounded by water and a bunch of nothing. The air was neither too hot nor too cold. The sky looked like it was splashed with some kind of oily substance.

This place isn’t even Earth.

Krupp reached to scratch his scalp only to feel that his toupee was firmly attached to his head. No, it was more than that. He could feel each follicle being firmly attached to his scalp. His toupee felt like real hair! 

“Wh-what is this!?” He exclaimed only to feel that his clothes felt different. “W-where are my clothes??”

A rather unfortunate question he asked out loud on multiple occasions once upon a time he’d rather not remember. Though this time, his clothes were different and his shoes and socks were missing. Instead of wearing his usual green work pants, buttoned white shirt, striped brown tie, and his brown loafers, he was wearing something to the equivalent of…pajamas. Just a simple perfectly sized green shirt and loose fitting green pants, both of which actually fit him perfectly and felt incredibly comfortable. 

In light of his current circumstances, he couldn’t help asking, “Where the heck am I?”

At first there was silence. But it was cut by a rather jovial voice. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

Krupp turned around, but saw no one. It was until he was urged to look down did he see a rather dwarfish red clown in plain looking clothes, and a 5 o’ clock shadow. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you wandering this place again!”

The last thing Krupp wanted was to be near a washed up circus clown. Why is he here? How did he get here? Krupp doesn’t know and doesn’t even want to know.

“EYYY, It’s your favorite clown mascot in this unimaginative wasteland! Haven’t seen ya in like, what? 4 years? How’ve you been, buddy?”

Krupp pretended to ignore him and proceeded to open one of the doors.

“Ok, sure, go about your business,” the clown continued. “Dreamland is that way. Just leave me alone to wallow in the dark as usual.”

While the clown was rambling on his own, Krupp was busy trying to open one of the doors. 

The first one he tried to open, The EGO door, was unfortunately out of service. 

Ugh..they really are Porta-Potties… He thought. 

Surrounded by Porta-Potties, Krupp figured that the exit may very well be off the platform somewhere. 

He crept up to the edge of the platform and dipped one of his toes into the water. Oddly enough the surface seemed solid enough to walk on. So he made a beeline towards a random direction away from the platform. It was a bit strange that he’s able to dash miles in such a short time without getting tired. 

As the platform disappeared from the horizon, Krupp found another platform straight ahead. But as he got closer, he saw the same three porta-potties, same clown. “I-I’m back where I started??”

“Whaddya expect? It’s a closed space.” The clown replied.

Krupp continued to ignore the clown and ran in another direction only to yield the same result. He ran again and it was still the same. 

Maybe the clown knows something after all. He thought to himself.

“Of course I know something! I’ve been in here watching your soul wander this dreamscape for the past four years!”

Krupp changed his mind, he didn’t expect the clown to actually read his thoughts. 

“Of course I can read your thoughts! I can read the narration too!”

“Will you just SHUT UP??” Krupp roared.

Krupp looked around and there was no clown in sight. 

Finally. 

Krupp decided to go back to opening the doors again. Maybe one of the Porta-Potties are actually vacant.

“Hey, wait a minute!”

“GYAAAHH!!” Krupp was taken aback and found the clown floating in front of his head…too close.

“HA! You actually heard me! This is a first! No more spectating for me, anymore!” The clown exclaimed as he zipped this way, that way, and all around Krupp.

Krupp was at his wit’s end. “Look, I don’t know who the heck you are, but I’d rather find an exit out of wherever this place is than stick around for a circus!”

“Ooooh, that burn would actually hurt if only I were a REAL clown.”

“I don’t care.” Said Krupp coldly. “Where’s the exit?”

“Since you asked nicely,” the clown adjusted his trousers. “It’s through one of these porta-potties of course!”

Krupp dashed over to the SUPEREGO door, still occupied. He tried the I-D Door, Vacant.

“That’s the ID door. Sounds like ‘lid’ but minus the ‘L’. It’s flooded, by the way.”

“I didn’t need to hear that!” Krupp yelled.

“Also, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you unless you wanna get deeper into this mess.”

“Then which one’s the exit?”

“The one you fell out of, the EGO door.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT EARLIER??”

“I’m sorry,” Said the clown sarcastically “I thought you were ignoring me!”

“I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!” Having lost all his patience, Mr. Krupp grabbed the handle of the EGO door. 

*SNAP*

Suddenly a resonant finger snap echoed everywhere and rang loudly in Mr. Krupp’s ears, which made him wince. Everything started to warp and melt around him until he could barely recognize the door. Sadly the handle to what he’d hoped to be the exit twisted and turned out of his hand. 

“What’s happening?” Krupp had one hand on his head as it started to spin. His thoughts turned into such a jumbled mess that he couldn’t make sense out of it. 

The clown examined his melting surroundings. “Looks like your real body has been staring at the ring for well over an hour now.”

“Ring? Real Body?”

“When that happens, it’s gonna automatically put you to sleep.”

“Wait, what?”

*SNAP*

Another snap echoed in the air and Krupp winced again, but this time, he was feeling weaker. He looked around to see where the snap came from only to follow it back to the clown. “You’ve been the one snapping?” He said. 

“The ring’s making me do it. It’s a trigger from the last time you were hypnotized that’s supposed to put you in a trance. Or in this case, asleep. But so what? No big deal.”

“SO WHAT?? I got work to do! Got paper slips to fill, meetings to go to, s-students to punish, taxes….bills…and tonight…..…tonight….I….”

Krupp suddenly started to feel strange. His mind was spinning fast but his thoughts started to slow down. He tried to shake it away, but it seemed to make him dizzier and dizzier. 

“Sounds like an awful lot of work” said the clown, his tone starting to change. “But you don’t really want to do them, do you?”

Krupp was taken aback. “What do you mean by that?”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if all that went away?”

*SNAP*

All at once, Krupp felt a huge weight lift away. It was a relief but he felt as if something had been shoved out of his head.

“Huh…? What was I…?” He tried to recall something. Anything.

“Don’t think too hard about it.” The clown continued “You’ll remember when you wake up. For now, just breathe slowly….in…..and out….In….and out…nice and slow….”

Krupp’s breathing became slower and heavier. 

“Now focus on my voice…and let yourself relax…” The clown started speaking at a much slower pace and started to sound like an echoing drone in the back of Krupp’s head.

Gradually, Krupp began to feel a vague tingling sensation spreading out from the back of his neck and moving throughout his body. It didn’t feel uncomfortable but it didn’t feel bad either. In fact, it felt like a massage.

“Good, that’s it….While you’re breathing like that, notice how you’re gradually becoming more and more relaxed….relaxed to the point where you’re becoming drowsy.”

“Wha…? No I’m…”Krupp protested, but before he could finish, his voice trailed into a big yawn and all of a sudden, his body began to feel heavier, even more relaxed. 

“Drowsier…..and drowsier..…”

Bit by bit, both of Krupp’s arms fell to his side, dangling lazily from his shoulders.

“That’s it…feel the rest of your body falling asleep…”

Krupp felt his awareness drifting away. The world around him, along with the clown seemed to fade away into the background. Everything to him felt so tranquil his eyelids drifted halfway closed and eventually, he was left standing in a deep trance….

“Now, how about a place to lie down?” The clown continued to snap his fingers again and this time, the landscape began to change. It was as if he were transported to a vibrant night sky.  

“You’re surrounded by a large field of soft and drowsy clouds. Some are trying to billow up high, but they keep falling down, barely able to stand up anymore…and staring at them makes you feel even more sleepy too, doesn’t it?”

Krupp’s blank stare sluggishly turned his attention towards a dense patch of clouds forming by his feet.

“Before you is a cloudy bed for you to sleep on,” said the clown. “It’s so soft and comfortable that once you sink into it, all the rest of your worries and stress will drain away and disappear…Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Krupp’s posture began to sway and tilt towards the cloud, only to be held back by the collar of his shirt.

“Not yet…not until I count from 10,” the clown said. “By the time I reach zero, you’ll be fast asleep, and you can relax on that cloud for as long as you want.”

The clown began to count down slowly, and with each passing number, Krupp’s sleepy eyes began to droop even further. 

“10…..more and more relaxed with each number…..9……8……too tired to move……7……6……..5……..sleepier and sleepier……4…….3…….you don’t want to think anymore……2……almost there…..1…..so tired, so sleepy…….zero.”

*SNAP*

The clown let go of Krupp’s collar, finally allowing Krupp to fall into the cloud, eyes fully closed like heavy doors. 

It was more comfortable than his bed at home. It felt like he was sleeping on top of a big, giant pillow. More than that, it was gently cradling him and hugging all of his insecurities away. Full of thoughts of falling even deeper and deeper into a peaceful slumber, he felt his mind gradually shutting down. 

“There we go…Don’t you feel so much better now?” The clown asked.

“Yesssss……” Krupp replied in a sleepy whisper. 

“Perfectly relaxed and sleepy….?”

“…..s-sooo…..s-sleepyyyy…..”

“That’s right….Let your mind drift away…..”

In one last push of effort, Krupp just barely managed to open one eye and saw something in the clouds. A shadow of some sort. Something or someone familiar. But he couldn’t quite make it out. 

Unable to recognize anything, he finally closed his eye and passed out, drifting in his mind, embraced by a soft cloud of sleep.

……………………………………………………..

Chapter 3 1/2—A Dream Within A Dream

He remembered falling. 

Slowly as if He were sinking to the bottom of a body of water. 

Everything was black.

But there was air around Him.

Something that He thought was air.

After a gentle hover… 

He landed on what He felt was the ground.

Everything was quiet.

Dead Quiet

At least at first.

In the inky darkness

He could hear a distant rustle 

And a gentle wind 

Starting to pick up speed. 

When He turned, He saw a large white leaf rolling by His feet. 

Upon picking it up…

He realized that it wasn’t a leaf…

But a sheet of paper… 

With a picture on it. 

There was a pair of hands ripping up a comic book.

Another sheet rolled by.

It was His school building.

And another.

A pair of students with blotted out faces.

And another.

The faces of the people who worked with Him, 

With only one person smiling.

He instinctively knew that these were His memories, without question.

Just His ordinary life. 

The wind blew stronger and this time a sheet of paper blew right into His face.

He pulled it off.

It was an amorphous monster with metallic arms.

He could feel a tinge of fear as the sheet began to turn red.

The wind was blowing a bit stronger and more sheets of red paper blew by.

One sheet had a pair of hands pulling a robot in half. 

He didn’t recognize this one.

Another blew by.

There was a purple lady with multiple green arms.

And another.

A cranky old man who piloted a robot. 

And another.

A giant angry hamster.

They all looked familiar, but He didn’t recognize them.

He could hear the wind starting to howl.

“Make it stop……make it stop…..make it stop….”

His instincts told Him to run. 

Suddenly the papers that blew towards Him started blowing in the opposite direction.

It was a mix of red and white sheets of paper.

Accumulating into something large. 

A tornado.

It was coming after Him.

And so He ran.

He ran.

But He couldn’t move.

He was practically running on a treadmill.

The wind was screaming in His ears.

It would only be a matter of time before the tornado would catch up to Him.

And it did.

It lifted Him up into the air. 

Paper was flying everywhere.

Depicting all sorts of monsters He didn’t recognize.

The monsters started to jump off the pages.

They were all after Him.

He covered Himself with His arms 

As they started closing in.

He couldn’t escape from this.

He was trapped.

He was scared.

“MAKE IT STOP!!!”

All of a sudden, a red light started glowing inside His chest.

His heart started pounding.

But it wasn’t His heart. 

It was pounding from the inside.

Something was inside His chest.

Trying to get out.

The light pulsed even brighter

And forced the monsters to retreat.

Before long the tornado began to dissipate.

And He was on the ground again.

He thought the turmoil was over.

But the light was still pounding in His chest. 

Harder and harder.

It made Him turn in a specific direction

Where He saw a shadowy figure

Walking through the paper that fell like snow.

He couldn’t see who It was.

But something about It felt VERY familiar.

It reached out a hand towards Him

As if It wanted something. 

He felt Himself being pulled towards the figure.

He tried to pull Himself back.

But He kept moving forward.

The gap between Him and the figure was closing by yards.

Feet.

Inches.

The pounding and pulling finally stopped.

Along with the paper that fell around them. 

Everything was still for a while.

The figure motioned Its hand again. 

He had nothing to give. 

It motioned again.

He still had nothing. 

At long last the figure pressed Its finger against His chest.

Above the spot where the light was.

Everything glowed red.

And faded to white.

[bagelbun333]

Writing WIP

I've never done this before but thanks for the tag @tanaleth

Idk who to tag but anyone can feel free to join in ^-^

I happened to have this Wrightdot fic WIP that’s just been collecting dust for more than a year, so I might as well use this as an opportunity to share what I have so far c:

Major spoilers for aa3, minor spoilers for aa4, aa5, and aa6.

For context, this takes place after aa6.

Diego Armando is a man who had far from an ordinary life. From being poisoned in a courthouse cafeteria, to being comatose, to waking up alone, to taking a life of another person, then to rotting in jail… alone. But his life didn’t end there — no, far from it. His sentence was lessened down to 10 years due to his circumstances. But that’s not to say it wasn’t a long time, it’s still a whole decade out of his life after all. Five years in a coma and ten years in prison, a third of his life just… gone.

He was a broken shell of the man he used to be — he still is to be honest — but there was one man who saved him, a certain spiky headed idiot, who goes by the name of Phoenix Wright. He’s the one who put him in prison in the first place, but that didn’t matter to him. Phoenix saved him from further descending into madness, into Hell. Even though he still killed a person, he deserved to be saved. He had to be saved from the vengeful persona that was ‘Godot’, because he wasn’t the man that he truly was — Godot was an inner demon that was slowly but surely taking over his mind and body, something that Mia would’ve hated to see.

Once his prison sentence was finally over, he actually had someone waiting for him… several people in fact. More than he ever had in his life. Some people he recognised and others he had never even seen before. Of course, there was Phoenix, Maya and Pearl… but who was the little magician, the horn headed boy and the futuristic space girl? Turns out, they were Phoenix’s subordinates and family. It was strange to be welcomed back with open arms. He never thought he would have anyone waiting for him ever again, especially not after that unforgettable crime he’d committed.

He eventually settled into the Wright Anything Agency as an assistant — and with Phoenix and Edgeworth pulling a few strings, he was actually allowed to be a prosecutor again. If Blackquill was allowed to prosecute while serving his sentence, so could he. Phoenix even let Diego live in the same house with him, because he had nowhere else to go.

After months of taking cases, Diego was slowly getting his swing back. He often took cases against his colleagues — including Phoenix himself. Diego was so good at handling cases that he even gave Phoenix a hard time, he was a tough guy to beat. Even though they’re not enemies anymore, Diego still loved making Phoenix fall apart like a house of cards — but not in a vengeful way, more like in a playful way. He was happy that he still had that fire in him and could still embarrass Phoenix in a tease.

His new life wasn’t 100% perfect though, he still has his drawbacks. His health was far from stable. He still relies on his visor for vision of course. Not only that, but he needs to take a concerning amount of medicine every day. Medicine such as blood pressure control, cardiac pills, pain relief, antidepressants, and anti hallucination pills — his hallucinations worsened during his time in prison. Only Phoenix knows about the amount of medicine he needs to take, and it does concern him quite a bit. Diego doesn’t want anybody else to know about it so Phoenix promised to keep quiet. Maya and Pearl already know about his broken down body because of the poisoning incident and why he had to wear a mask, but they didn’t know the extent of how bad his health actually was — especially not his hallucination problems.

He also has a lot of trouble remembering things sometimes. Like random memory lapses that just hit him out of nowhere. Most of the time they aren’t too bad, like sometimes he just loses his train of thought. But other times he forgets too much. Trucy witnesses this at home every now and then. She notices Diego stressing out, forgetting where he puts things, and even forgetting things that happened five minutes prior. Sometimes Trucy would ask her dad about it. “What’s wrong with him? Is he okay?” She would ask, but Phoenix could only respond with “We all have days like these, it happens…” then later he said “It’s a long story…” Trucy was just left confused and a little worried, but she decided not to question it further.

While living with Phoenix and his daughter, Diego felt like he was part of a new family. It felt like he belonged somewhere. When he first found out that Phoenix had a daughter, he couldn’t believe it. He was so shocked. People younger than himself were already moving on with life much faster than he was. Everyone else was moving forward while he was just frozen in time. He was like a human artefact, for everyone to gawk at. It made him feel much more inferior to everyone else.

But even so, Trucy treated Diego as if he were her other dad, she even started calling him Papa. This wasn’t a position that he thought he would ever experience, but he greatly appreciated it nonetheless. Trucy loves showing Diego her magic tricks. He was genuinely entertained each time he watched, although he was very confused and concerned when she first showed him her magic panties — he wondered if Phoenix raised her right.

Eventually, one day, during a trial… a scary and unforgettable event took place. Phoenix and Diego were working on a case against each other. Diego had the upper hand on this case as usual, he was making compelling arguments and had hard evidence… but something unexpected happened while he was in the middle of explaining something.

The judge banged his gavel. “Prosecutor Armando, please explain to the court the significance of this evidence.”

“The footprints left at the crime scene only belonged to the defendant and the victim. There were no other traces found at the-” Suddenly Diego went completely out of it and lost his train of thought. He stared blankly at his desk for a solid minute until someone snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Prosecutor Armando? Your evidence?” The Judge asked with a confused expression on his face.

Phoenix looked across at him and immediately knew that something was wrong. Diego was clearly becoming more and more stressed. “Your Honour! I humbly request for a recess! Just for ten minutes. I think… he needs a quick break.”

The Judge nodded. “Very well. The court will now take a ten minute recess.” He banged his gavel.

Diego sat in the prosecutor’s lobby, still clearly out of it. Phoenix and Trucy decided to check up on him while they had the time. Phoenix sat next to him on the sofa. “Hey, are you alright?” He asked, holding his hand.

Diego was rapidly losing his memory. He was so confused when Phoenix sat so close to him. In his head he thought “Why… why is he sitting so close to me?” Then when he suddenly felt Phoenix’s hand on his own, he flinched and hissed at him aggressively. “Don’t fucking touch me, Trite!”

Phoenix gasped at his sudden bitter remark. He covered Trucy’s ears because his fatherly instincts told him to. “Diego… what’s wrong? Why are you acting like this?”

“H-How…?”

“Huh?”

“How do you know my name…?”

Phoenix looked heavily concerned. “W-What?”

“I never told you about- Why do you know this??”

“Arman- Godot! Calm down…”

Trucy moved Phoenix’s hands away from her ears. “Daddy? Papa? Is everything alright?” She asked as she looked at Phoenix and Diego.

The prosecutor was completely baffled by Trucy’s question. It felt like she was referring to him as her “papa”, but how could that be? He had no idea who she was, at least that’s what he thought at the moment anyway.

Phoenix got up and whispered to her. “Ah… I think he’s having another one of those brain farts again. Let me handle this.” Trucy nodded and stepped back while Phoenix tried to sort this problem out.

Diego was looking around the lobby being completely confused. Himself, Phoenix and Trucy were the only ones in the room so that could only mean that Phoenix and himself were Daddy and Papa. “I… I don’t understand… what did you just call me?”

“Papa?” Trucy tilted her head with a bit of worry.

“I-I’m not your Papa…”

“Well… I guess not… but…”

“Godot…” Phoenix interrupted. “Don’t you remember? It’s been six months since you and Trucy met…”

“What are you talking about? Who’s Trucy?”

Phoenix stared at him for a second and then sighed. “Okay, this is worse than I thought…”

Suddenly Gumshoe entered the room, wondering if everything is okay. Unfortunately it wasn’t, so Phoenix asked Gumshoe to ask the Judge for another trial day. Diego wasn’t in any state to prosecute in this trial and a ten minute recess just wasn’t enough time to sort this out.

“Alright, we have an extra trial day. So let’s head home, you need some rest.” Phoenix said, holding his hand out for Diego.

The prosecutor just slapped his hand away as he kept getting more and more confused. “You… But you don’t know where I live??”

“You live with us, Papa…” Trucy said, becoming more concerned.

Diego’s heart sank. He felt ill. He felt like he was in a completely different world. The only familiar face he recognised was Phoenix, but he wasn’t someone he wanted to be on friendly terms with — not to his knowledge anyway. Diego hates him, he wants to humiliate him. So why is Phoenix being so friendly and openly concerned about him? Why is there suddenly a little girl who sees him as a father? So many unanswered questions. It’s making his head spin.

Suddenly, Diego stood up and tried leaving the room. His mind was racing with thoughts and he didn’t know what to do about it. Phoenix followed behind him. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“I’m going home! I don’t want you near me!” He hissed.

“But… you live with us now…”

“In what world would I live with you? I hate your guts!”

“Godot, just please listen to me! This is serious.” Phoenix shut the door before Diego could leave.

“And why should I listen to a lowly, worthless scum of a lawyer like you?”

“Because… you’re a different person now. You have a new life.”

“What?”

Trucy took out her phone and showed Diego her lock screen. It was a picture of the three of them at a zoo together. It also pictured Diego carrying her on his shoulders. Once Diego saw this image, he was at a loss for words.

“I…I don’t understand… When did this happen?”

“Just last week, Papa…”

“Huh…?”

“Diego… let us take you home. You’re clearly not well. We’ll try explain everything once we’re there.” Phoenix explained and led the way. Diego sighed and slowly nodded and then followed behind them until Phoenix remembered something. “Ah! Actually, I left some things back at my office. We should go there first before I forget again.”

The three of them headed back to Phoenix’s office, or as it’s now known as The Wright Anything Agency. Once Phoenix opened the door, they were greeted by none other than Apollo and Athena.

“Oh hey, you guys are back early!” Apollo said as he was watering Charley.

“So, who won the case? I’m placing my bet on Mr. Godot!” Athena said in her usual high-spirited attitude.

Diego just became more and more confused as they continued talking. He felt so uncomfortable by everyone acting overfamiliar with him. He’s never seen these people in his life. Why are there so many people being so friendly and close to him? He was becoming overwhelmed. Not only does he not know who these people are, he is also far from used to talking to this many people at once. He’s so adapted to his crippling loneliness, he has no idea how to react to this kind of attention.

Phoenix could tell that Diego was quickly getting stressed. He kept giving confused glances around the room and was nervously sweating. “Not now guys, he’s not feeling too good…” The blue lawyer said as he dragged Diego into the other room and switched the lights off before he quickly shut the door behind him.

Apollo and Athena just gave each other worried glances as they watched their boss pull Godot into the other room. They could hear him breathing heavily, almost as if he was about to have a nervous breakdown. Trucy understands what was going on, but she had never seen it get this bad.

“Ehh… what’s going on?” Athena asked with obvious concern all over her face.

“Papa is… having one of those… hard times again…” Trucy suddenly said.

“Again? This isn’t the first time?” Apollo asked.

“No… well… not exactly. You see, he has these… memory lapses from time to time. Although it’s over small things like forgetting where he puts things and where he was going. And in the trial today, he was in the middle of talking until he suddenly stopped. I thought he lost his train of thought like he usually does but… it got much worse than that.” Trucy obviously didn’t like talking about this particular subject.

“Wait! Don’t tell me…” Athena gasped.

Trucy nodded. “He forgot who I was. He forgot what happened during these past six months. He forgot a lot of things. And I guess seeing you two made him lose it even more…”

“I see. That’s very… unfortunate. That would explain the overwhelming shock and sadness I heard inside his heart.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do?” Apollo asked, determined to help.

Trucy just averted her eyes, looking concerned. “I think… we just have to hope that this will all pass soon.”

“I know! When Boss lets him out of the room, I can give him a quick therapy session with Widget!”

“Of course! That little toy has worked wonders in the past!”

Athena pouted. “It’s not a toy, Apollo! It’s my trusty partner!”

Eventually, Phoenix and Godot came back out of the room. Both of them looked exhausted. “Okay, this isn’t working…” Phoenix sighed.

“Is everything alright?” Apollo asked.

“Simply put… no. Everything is not alright.” Phoenix said bluntly.

“What isn’t working, Boss?”

“This is hard to explain… but Mr. Godot isn’t well today. He needs to go home.”

“I sense a lot of discord in his heart. How about I try using Widget on him?”

“Widget…?” Diego mumbled.

“Well, no harm in trying I guess. Go ahead.”

“Wait… what are you doing…?” Diego nervously asked, still trembling.

“I’m going to give you a little therapy session, Mr. Godot.”

“Therapy? I don’t need therapy! Leave me alone!”

“I-It’s okay! It will only take a moment.”

“No! I refuse!”

“We’re only trying to help you…”

“Please! Leave me alone! I don’t know who any of you are!” He yelled desperately.

Phoenix sighed. “Perhaps we should do this another time. He’s being very uncooperative right now.”

“Alright… fine.” Athena sighed and put away Widget.

Phoenix grabbed the case file that was left on the desk and headed for the door with Diego.

Apollo tilted his head. “Mr. Wright? Where are you going?”

“Well I said we’re going home, didn’t I? We came back here because I left one of the files behind. I wasn’t planning on staying long.”

“So you’re staying home for the rest of the day too? What about the trial?” Apollo asked.

“The trial will resume tomorrow. I’m going to prepare for it of course. You two stay here and take care of the office and other errands.” Phoenix said. “Oh, and Trucy? Are you coming with us or are you staying here?”

“Oh! I’ll stay here actually. I can help Polly and Athena out with stuff. You go on ahead with Mr. Godot and sort his problems out.”

Phoenix smiled softly. “Alright, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

The esteemed lawyer waved goodbye to his little family as he left the premises with his confused and agitated adversary. The three youths were still very concerned about the unusual man’s circumstances, so they hoped that things will blow over without any dire consequences.

[cryptid-killjoy]

One random night while nosing around Feral and rooting around Bastien decided to go check out his old building he’d been so proud of buying. It still had some of the instruments in it Willem had brought over for his video that Maddy helped sing in. He hadn’t had time to come back for everything before the Horned King take over. It was also one of the handful of places Delta left as was pre-Feral. Everything was just as Bastien left it. He knew when he saw it he should consider that a gift. This was still his and would be. All his horses were still strewn about, his tools, his collection of metal, wood, and fiberglass. 

He sat down at the drum kit that was left there. He picked up the sticks. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but he tried, fiddled, and gave it a little go. He didn’t turn world class over night, but it wasn’t so bad. There was something about Jetsam being in him, sharing minds even when they aren’t always completely conscious of one it that was leaving traces behind, leaving wires and synapses of muscle memory still inside him. Every now and again memories were getting crossed. There were effects on a person being when used on a regular basis and while in New Zealand he’d started to be quite often. 

He might not have been stage worthy, but he was still impressing himself. He’d look up after at his wife with more surprise in his eyes than pride though. It was and ‘I didn’t know I could do that’ sort of look. 

Then he leaned back and swiveled on the stool and looked around. He used to salvage around this whole hood looking for parts and pieces. “Salvaging for parts won’t feel the same without the threat of someone catching you.” 

That was the funny thing about being down and out. It started out for such sad reasons and then it became a rebellion of it’s own kind because society bullied you for your own sad circumstances that you couldn’t control. They dehumanize you and give you pity or hate and all you ever want is respect. So, being homeless became a lifestyle. Even once he got a home at the castle there was a way to keep a rebellion by being where he didn’t belong and wasn’t wanted. Now that Delta had everything he and everything felt so safe inside this empty bubble dome of a world he wondered who would even ride his carousel if he finished it. 

It was meant for the children of the forgotten neighborhoods. He didn’t think there were any children left. It felt like a lot of work if no one lived here to ride it anymore. 

“I think I’ll just light it on fire.” 

[suzyq31]

Hi , I have a request for you since you've written fics with harry and Hermione as parents for iris,teddy, jane and ellie, and you have read all harry Potter books so take a quote from any books and describe the characteristics the kids share with harry and Hermione

Hi anon, this is a very interesting ask. I’ve thought of it all day and still feel a bit stumped! I’ve read all the books multiple times, but very few quotes come to mind in terms of how I came up with my characterization of the children. It’s been a few years since I’ve read most of the books , and fanfic has probably been more influential on my interpretation of Harry and Hermione. Along with my own Headcanons I’ve developed over the twenty plus years I’ve been in the fandom. 

While Harry and Hermione’s traits influenced how I wrote the children in my stories, what was of even greater influence was the children in my own life. Particularly with Iris, Jane and Ellie, they share a lot of traits from two of them who I spent the most time with, and whom I love deeply. 

Funny enough I was nannying two boys at the time that I wrote Maybe Tomorrow, and originally planned for Ellie and Jane to be boys. But when I sat down to write, little girls took form instead. Although, Ellie shares a certain amount in common with my 3 year old boy H in terms of intensity 😂. Also Iris’s line ‘real life life’ is a direct quote from my other boy J. 

I also go a lot by the age of the character. Three year old's are quite different then six year old's, hence some of the behaviors you see in Jane versus Ellie. Or young Teddy versus teen Teddy. Same with Iris.

I have a degree that focuses on child development and it’s a huge part of my role at work, so there was no way that wouldn’t influence how I thought of the characters. 

Okay now getting into spoilers for specific fics.

For Iris, I wanted her to take after Harry more strongly in personality. Yet being raised with Hermione she would have developed some of her traits like a love for reading. I wanted her to be funny, strong willed, curious and kind hearted. She is heavily influenced by another child I know who was wise beyond her years, and always asking questions.

In the story ‘Iris’ she’s younger, more confident, outgoing when comfortable. I’ll also say that I’ve been reading a lot of James and Lily/Marauders fanfic. I wanted her to have a bit of his parents in her too (in all their children really). I also think Harry would have been more outgoing and confident if he’d been raised by them. I also think she has a similar dry humor like her father.

When Iris gets older, she’s in those hard growing up years where you aren’t quite as confident in yourself, and anxiety usually flares up more. Hence why she makes some of the choices she makes in Found. She can be impulsive while also is often an overthinker like her Mum, which can make for a messy combination. See any event in canon when the kids should tell an adult and don’t. 

For Teddy, I’ve written him twice now. Or well three times (He’s around 9 in It Had To Be You). His age and circumstances have always influenced how I write him. In Maybe Tomorrow, he’s been an orphan, lost his grandmother and is raised by Harry and Hermione from a young age. He’s also a big brother and he’s the oldest I’ve written him at nearly 14. This all plays a huge part in his maturity level and how he reacts to circumstances. I think he is a mix of all five of his “parents.” He’s got that mischievous streak from Tonks, compassion from Remus, humor, boldness and some mannerisms from Harry, curiosity from Hermione, kindness from Andromeda. In Found and Iris he’s raised by his dad and grandmother, has had different life experiences, and has always been an only child which influences some of his jealousy of Iris (and reminder he’s younger too!)

Now for Jane and Ellie. A quote I loved writing was this one: “What are you talking about?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up. “They're like your clones, Hermione. Have you heard Jane explain anything, or Ellie’s laugh?”

I think both girls, while looking a lot like Hermione, are a mix of both parents and also just themselves. 

Jane, ah I have such a soft spot for her. I wanted her to feel different then Iris even though they share some of the same qualities and physical characteristics. I also think her personality is affected by the events that happened prior to H/Hr arriving in that scenario. I wanted more of her personality to match Hermione with some of her eagerness to do well. She’s also a character I wanted to connect more to Lily Potter. So I passed on some of my Headcanons about her, to Jane. 

Like all their children she has a stubborn streak, but she’s a bit more eager to please then Iris or Ellie. I think of Hermione in third year being scared of failing at school. She is probably the most sensitive of their kids, which is why the events in the fic have such a profound influence. I’ve worked with a few kiddos dealing with separation anxiety and trauma, which also influence my portrayal of her. 

This was my favorite back and forth about Jane, and highlights the core ways she’s like Harry. 

“Janie. She does look like me a bit but there’s so much of you in her. Her eyes of course, but that’s not it. I—I think it’s in how she is at her core. She sees people—really sees them. There’s a kindness to her that reminds me of you.” 

He didn’t know what to say as she paused before smiling wider. “Also her knees.”

“Her knees?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I remember when I met you. You had such thin legs and knobby knees. You were small but with these long, graceful and skinny limbs. Jane’s built like you. Also the colour of your skin—like cream.”

“It sounds much better when you describe it. Not scrawny, pale child, with strangely long limbs.”

Ellie is just fully a three year old. Maddening, but adorable. She does what she wants, when she wants. I think a lot of kids that age do this. She is a force, like many in her family. Also, her silliness and giddiness, I see her getting from the Marauders DNA. She’s also a bit of a mirror for Hermione, who was likely also an intense kid, part of why she adores her, but also makes her the most batty (something I've had experience with myself). She is also the youngest (for now), which I think influences some of her behavior. And now my favorite quote about Ellie:

“Yes, but she’s got your smile. It pulls up at the side like yours does,” she countered. “Also rather fearless as well, and she’s quite strong willed.”

He shook his head. “That’s on you.” At her incredulous look, he relented. “Fine. Both of us.”

She fought with her smile. “Quite cheeky too. I think it’s a tie between her and Teddy for the lead on that—which is all your doing.”

Which I think is the most important thing of all, I can’t imagine any child of Harry’s not being at least the littlest bit cheeky! Also all of their children would have wild hair and be strong forces.

Alright, I’ve rambled enough. If you read through all of this nonsense, you are the best!

[freedomfireflies]

hi! i know you mostly do harry, but is there any chance you'd do a dylan o'brien imagine? i'll take anything you wanna write 😭 (especially smut 👀)

Smut it is 😏

“Quiet—hey. Quiet. All right? Be my good girl and be fucking quiet.”

His palm, cemented firmly to your lips, tightens as he dips down, forcing your eyes on him and him only.

You do your best, truly. Your back taut to the wall he has you up against, your hands secured by the tie you tore off his neck, and your thighs absolutely soaked and dripping in anticipation.

Still, his resolve prevails, showcasing his profile now as he glances toward the hallway where the voices were first heard.

“Easy,” he murmurs, other hand finding its way back to your leg as he begins to find his way back up. “Yeah? You’ll be good, won’t you?”

Not really a question. An order. One that you’re not quite sure you can agree to given the circumstances.

His compulsive need to have you at the worst possible times is typically one of your favorite things about him but now?

Now you’re gonna fucking kill him.

He’s been teasing you all damn day. In the car on the way to dinner. At the table. With his parents. His fingers underneath the napkin on your lap, pushing your dress higher until you were crossing your legs and sending him a very pointed look.

And even now, keeping you firmly against the small coat closet door as he does his very best to ruin you just with his words alone before he even thinks about fucking you.

Asshole.

You aren’t surprised, truly. How can you be? After all, you can’t really be anything right now except needy and desperate as the hours and hours of anticipation come to a point.

The same point where his fingers now meet. Where they press and smooth. Where they flick and curl. And fuck—he’s way too proud of himself right now.

And for some reason…you love it.

He shifts, cocky grin widening as he nods his chin at you. “Fucking look at you.”

As if encouraged to do just that, you let your head drop, eyes following the movement of his wrist as he feels you out, the sounds like sinful music to your ears, forcing you to exhale deeply against his hand.

You swallow another throaty groan, the gentle but practiced pressure he applies almost too overpowering to think straight. To stand. 

You can feel the way you’re drawn to the high. Yanked. Forced to take every ounce of pleasure as he curses through gritted teeth.

“Shit.” His forehead meets yours, eyes focused on the way you drip for him. The way his fingers look when they disappear inside. When they come out, coated in you. “Fuck, angel—”

His chest is heaving, much like yours, and you whimper against the skin of his hand as he pulls you closer to the edge. 

The pressure of his thumb against your clit is almost unbearable. The precision of rubbing and flicking as if he knows your body better than you do, and honestly, you don’t doubt he does.

You are, however, curious about his sadistic need to drag this out when there clearly isn’t enough time. His parents will be curious to know where you’ve both gone and you’re not sure you’ll be able to look them in the eye when you return.

You attempt to mumble a plea, although it becomes lost in a whine as he begins to smirk.

“I know, angel, I know,” he coos, the dangerous cadence of his voice luring you closer. “S’good, yeah? Shit, feel so fucking good for me—”

His hand begins to slip, falling down to your throat as he squeezes once to reassure you.

“Dyl…please.” Your request comes out broken. Hoarse. Desperate beyond doubt and his eyes lift to yours.

And while you’re sure if it were any other time, he’d devote himself to feeling you come around him at least three separate times, he spares you tonight.

He waits until you’re just about to find your relief. Waits until your legs are shaking and you’re beginning to slide down the closet door.

His fingers find your lips. Coated and dripping as he stares, mesmerized. As he watches you extend your tongue until you can taste what he’s offering. Thumb swiping across the bottom lip in pure astonishment as he watches you suck him into his mouth.

After a moment, he’s quick to replace his hand with his tongue. Kissing you hard as your eyes flutter shut in bliss. As he groans into you with fervor. As he murmurs, “Fuck, taste so fucking good, angel—”

He’s gone before you realize it. Crouching down as he forces your thighs further apart. Until he can lick a stripe up your inner thigh and collect you on his taste buds. 

You steel yourself. Body pressed tight to the door as he teases you just a bit further. As he flattens his tongue along each sensitive nerve until you’re gasping and attempting to twist away.

You feel the fucker smirk between your legs. Can see him do it. See him look so damn pleased with himself as he finally stands and pulls his zipper down.

Finally.

You imagine you’d likely drool if afforded the chance, but he’s bringing himself closer just as your body is beginning to ache for the feel before you can.

“Easy,” he instructs, his tone rather gentle despite the forceful feel of his fingertips along your leg as he hikes it up around his hip. “You all right?”

You nod quickly, watching with wonder. “Yeah, m’fine. Just…hurry—”

“I know. I know, angel—”

For a moment, you feel weightless. That first stretch. The first sensation as he buries himself so deep, your eyes roll back and your jaw drops. 

Again, his forehead presses tight to yours. Another attempt at encouragement as you scratch at your palm, still tight behind your back.

“Shit—” He stills, finger rubbing comforting patterns into your cheek as he tugs your head higher. “You okay?”

Another nod, unable to speak until he moves. Until you feel.

He’s quick to accommodate. Bruises finding a place in your skin as he finally lets himself have you. As he finally pulls back just to drive himself forward once more until you clench. Until you gasp his name in ecstasy.

“Yeah?” Another sharp thrust before he stills, just to prolong the feeling. “Shit—so fucking tight, angel. Fucking missed this—”

“Dyl—”

“Easy.” His teeth scrape together as he attempts to restrain himself, although you watch him fail miserably as the veins in his neck strain against his skin. “Be my good girl, yeah? Take me like the fucking angel you are—”

His rhythm becomes unforgiving and determined. The sounds filling the small space as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. So overcome with the feel of you that you wish more than anything you could run your fingers through his hair.

“Please.” The whimper is small, nearly lost between his grunts, but he hears it nonetheless. His fingertips finding your clit to pinch a bawdy whine from your lips as you attempt to squirm away. 

“Uh uh,” he tuts, tugging you back down with his other hand. “That’s not being good, is it? Be fucking quiet and take it.”

And you do your best. Do your best to take each second of salacious desire that builds deep in your stomach as he completely consumes your senses in more ways than one. As you practically give yourself to him.

And you can’t resist watching him. Watching that face you’ve grown to love. So beautiful and familiar. The curve of his nose. The little moles scattered around his face. The sweat along his hairline that you’re still desperate to touch. Pink, swollen lips.

You could stay here forever with him. Feeling him inside you. Filling you. Ushering you closer with each decadent praise. 

He’s close. And you realize then that you’ve never wanted to have him come inside you more than right now. To have him. To drip with him. To be fully claimed by him. And you just…you need.

“Fuck.” His teeth tug at your skin, tracing his name with his tongue as his thrusts begin to falter. “Shit, angel. You gonna come with me? Please…please, baby, please—”

“Yes,” you murmur quietly, muscles burning as you’re forced to take everything he’s giving you. “Need to feel you so bad—”

He groans. Loud and with vehemence as his palm slams into the door beside your head. His eyes squeeze shut as his other hold continues to tug you down onto his cock.

And you’re both so close. So close to what you really want, and you’ll die if you don’t feel him soon. It’s so perfect. So complete and you’ve never—

A knock. A knock on the door behind you.

You both still, expression horrified and confused as you hear the familiar sound of Dylan’s name being called.

Your eyes meet and there’s really only one thing either of you can say.

“Shit.”

~ Other Dylan Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

[beneathashadytree]

Hello! I saw your request is open and I would like to ask if you can make about a person who can read mind unconsciously when they have a contact with a person and have a bit of clairvoyance (where they could see a bit of the person's future?) I don't know how many character limits that you have but if you can, maybe for Mikey (TR), Izuku (MHA) and Gojo (JJK)? Either way, you can simplify the ask if you want! Thank you so much! And I'm sorry if it's a lot- ☕🍄

YOUR MIND’S EYE - MIKEY/MANJIRO SANO, IZUKU MIDORIYA, GOJO SATORU X READER

Warnings : a little blood but nothing too descriptive, mentions of death, a few allusions to depression, this is not proof-read, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff to angst ig??? I mean these guys surely aren’t the picture of happiness and mental health😭

Word count : 1.6K words

Additional notes : Thank you for requesting! I haven’t yet set a character limit since I’d never received a request with several characters before. I was a little unsure of some of the details and how to format this since I don’t often get to write headcanons, but I tried to understand this to the best of my abilities! Hope you enjoy this 💗

Requests : Are open! Check my rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

It would take quite a bit for someone to get that close to Mikey to see him for who he truly is, past his appearances and seeming simple-mindedness

To be able to stand by his side (given the circumstances), and to be able to actually have a deep bond based on implicit trust with him, isn’t something easy to achieve

But nothing was more surprising and alarming than the soft voice that spoke into their ear when no one was remotely in the vicinity

It didn’t take long for them to recognize this as being their boyfriend’s voice, and it sounded like he was quietly muttering into their ear, the words resounding in their head

Though he was nowhere nearby, they could hear his words, and they were quite… interesting to say the least

12 AM: They could hear the utter despair clawing at his heart, words of desperation and at the same time void of any inflection of voice to indicate how he was feeling. Simply emotionless and yet so horribly depressed, they couldn’t help but swallow thickly.

8 AM: They could hear his annoyed grumblings as he was forced to wake up and get himself ready for school (not without a certain exasperated 15 year old’s aid, of course). Rolling their eyes, they felt that perhaps some of his thoughts were as childish as he sometimes acted.

9 AM: Upon meeting up with him, a soft smile on his face preceded the overwhelmingly gentle thoughts that flooded their mind. Words he might never actually say had them blushing to the tips of their ears, earning a fond chuckle from him.

2 PM: Satisfied thoughts of wanting to perserve what he had; wanting to cherish the moment forever. Their heart lurched in their chest, wondering just why he didn’t think he believed he earned and deserved this.

7 PM: Bitter aggression laced venomous words. If blood could’ve taken verbal form, they would’ve done the job. Gruesome scenes painted in threats that had them wishing, for the first time, that they could burn this connection away.

Though the silence was a solace, sometimes it spoke too loudly of the numbness he sometimes enveloped himself in

The discovery of just how deeply he felt things—both brilliant and horrifying—he’d never express wasn’t something they’d predicted

Not when they’d been taking their time to get to know him and still somehow failed to see the cues

With a worried heart weighing heavily in their chest, they were quick to come to the decision to meet up with him and explain the situation

Partially out of concern for his mental state, and partially because it somehow didn’t feel right that they were privy to his every thought when he wasn’t aware of it

It felt like an invasion of privacy

Their heart only plummeted even further to their feet as they made their way up to him and had rapid imagery flashing through their mind

The shock slammed into them like a freight-train, eyes widening at the realization that they’d just glimpsed snippets of his future

So much blood staining the scenes, so much grief swallowing him whole, so little light left in his eyes, so little remained of him

They had to work on fixing this, even if it would take every ounce of them left

Now

The fact that Izuku was such a lovely person that was incredibly easy to befriend was both a blessing and a curse

A blessing, because they found themselves falling more and more hopelessly in love with him on the daily, and thankfully found themselves on the receiving end of his stuttering-but-otherwise-ridiculously-endearing confession

A curse, because the stronger their bond grew, the more relentless their quirk became

Having the ability to read the minds of those they’re close to wasn’t the most pleasing thing ever, exactly

Especially now that every single one of Izuku’s thoughts relayed into their mind

Seeing as they were classmates who frequently trained together, he wasn’t exactly in the dark about what was currently happening; he already knew every minute detail about their quirk

However, with how busy he was and how often his mind was preoccupied with more urgent matters, it probably slipped his mind more often than not

They could hear the steely determination in his voice; his unmatched willpower behind every announcement he makes, and they feel their heart swell with pride

Even his trailing thoughts of academia and his elaborate plans were endearing to them (though they had to admit, it was sometimes a little draining to hear someone’s thoughts race non-stop for an hour straight)

And they couldn’t fight the grin from making its way on their face every time they heard a barrage of compliments flooding their mind; all the words he’d never have the courage to say

(Though that isn’t to say his actually voiced words were anything short of heartwarming; he always somehow knew what to say, even if it took every ounce of his bravery)

Sometimes his sheer selflessness and kindness where a little overwhelming, and they were in awe of how he so earnestly saw the best in everyone that even his innermost thoughts said the same

Though they did, however, completely still in their place when a few certain thoughts betrayed just how little he viewed his life

Perhaps he wasn’t even aware of it, but for whatever reason it seemed that his own safety was the least of his concerns when push comes to shove—and perhaps that’s where his self-sacrificial nature comes from

The mere concept broke their heart and shattered it into smithereens, all while their boyfriend looked on with that deceivingly brave look on his face as he defied his destiny over and over again, toying with fate with no regard at all for his life

And if the visions they’d suddenly started having every other week were anything to go by, he’d only grow to become even more reckless as the situations grow more dire

They caught glimpses of how his martyrdom would slowly eat at him; chip away at his blindingly bright soul until nothing would remain but a hollow husk

A shadow of his former self—reduced to nothingness by his immense love for others that opposed his disregard for himself and left him so alone

Chest heaving after every time they’d have these visions, they’d almost collapse to the floor as their knees grew weak with the dizzying emotions they’d feel

It was high time they brought it up to Izuku, before he began to wither away right in front of their eyes, and young love became just a distant memory

As someone who’d almost always kept everyone at an arm’s length, it wasn’t easy becoming Gojo’s lover

Perhaps not so in the physical sense; the man wasn’t exactly opposed to seeking pleasure and companionship every now and then—no, it was far clearer in the way he put all his relationships with people into tiny little boxes

Boxes he’d carefully stuck labels and rules on, before retreating and locking himself away in a box of his own

And though it had been taxing and even draining at times to have tried to push past the walled fort he built around himself, they’d been able to slowly chip away at the cement and wiggle into every nook and cranny in his heart

(Theirs had long been captured by him; after all, once one saw past his ridiculous front and the sheer power he pretended was all he possessed to his name, it was near impossible not to fall for him)

And the longer the time passed in their relationship, the heavier the weight of that unconditional trust he put in them felt

Not because he’d personally done anything to burden them, but their ability had them taking it upon themselves to personally bear the weight of his every thought

They could practically hear the smirk in his mumblings as he devised entire plans all on his own, his sheer brilliance seeping through every detail he would never admit to taking into consideration

His cocky reminders to himself were nothing more but empty words, no actual pride behind them, spoken almost as though one would state a fact that they’d gotten bored of hearing so many times that the words twisted themselves into something foreign

And every time that hollow, empty feeling reverberated in his words, they could feel helplessness creep onto them—after all, how would one feel after knowing the strongest man alive merely saw himself as a tool defined by its kill count?

And in incredible contrast to that, they’d also hear the wheezing laugh he’d give as he thought of more elaborate pranks and foolish shenanigans to get up to (most of which Nanami would become an unwilling victim of), and they’d find themselves torn between wanting to sigh in exasperation and chuckling helplessly

At rare times, when the sunset colors streaming through the window would imbue the room in a heavenly light, and when moments of comfortable silence blanketed their tiny world in its four walls, his thoughts would cause their breath to catch in their throat

An almost imperceptible smile would make its way on his face, as he’d think of how grateful he is to have them in that small world of his—their own, now, he supposed he would call it

And how sweet the moment would’ve been, had their brain not received an onslaught of scenes that had their heart stuttering in an inexplicable mixture of fear, panic, and grief

His light would be snuffed out too quickly if he were to go on that way, giving away pieces of himself with every heroic act he’d willingly do

So much misery he’d wallow in; so much heartache ripping him apart from the inside, but nothing more than nonchalance displayed on the outside

He’d crumble from the inside out; die ten times over before he could actually cease breathing, and he would still carry on with the pretense that nothing needed more than a flick of his wrist

It was almost more than one could bear

Almost, because they were there right beside him now

They’d re-shape the future they’d seen, sculpt it into an entirely different one—even if it meant that their hands blistered and cracked

With bleeding palms, they’d cradle his heart, and they’d start by reaching out now

Taglist: @blondeboyfriend @mrsgiovanna @sherlockscumslut @thispersoniscrazy @wifeofkyojuro @cloroxisadelectabletreat @the-foreigner

[angry-geese]

Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: nsfw. Fingering, tender sex, morning sex, praise kink (sort of), unprotected sex/breeding kink, mention of pregnancy (its like one sentence). Established relationship, some fluff, mostly smut. Afab reader.

Notes: domsetic fluff turned morning sex

Days where you wake up in his arms are rather rare.

Usually, he's ready for work by the time you get up. His day starts earlier than yours. You still make it a point to give him a kiss before he leaves. He'd often have something for breakfast ready, and make you lunch if he had the time. Nanami was always a better cook- you were a bit of a terror in the kitchen. When he arrived home he'd tell you little about his work. You knew of it, although he had little to say. He only actively spoke of it if he had overtime, and only to complain.

That didn't mean you weren't curious. There were a million questions you had for him; if he answered one, it would only add to the growing pile of other ones.

Married life wasn't what you expected.

It took a year to convince him to date you. Prior to that, the two of you had been roommates for nearly the same time. Over time you had gotten used to having him around. He was the one constant in life. People came and went, jobs you started and quit, but he was always there.

Things weren't all that different from the way they were before. Switching to married life felt natural. So much so that it was a bit frightening. It makes you wonder if this is all there is to it. If that's the case, then you could live with it.

You're not quite sure what wakes you up, but you're surprised to feel his body still beside you. Early morning light streams in through the cracks in the curtains. His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush to his chest. The faint scent of his cologne—something woody mixed with something sweet, like vanilla—still hangs onto him. Uncertain if he's still awake, you call out his name. To no response.

Slowly his hand creeps up your thigh, resting on your stomach for a moment before he's pressing his thumb under the waistband of your shorts. Nanami's touches are feather-light as his fingers just barely ghost over your skin. The soft feeling of his thumb grazing your clit makes you jump. He smooths a hand over your hair, cooing words of praise as he leans forward to nip at your ear. Goosebumps raise along your shoulder.

Nanami presses a quick kiss to your neck, going back to suck a dark mark into the skin. It'll be hard to cover up tomorrow. Gently he drags his thumb across your slit through the thin fabric of your panties. You part your legs just a bit to give him more room. He shoves down your shorts—along with your panties—baring your sex. You lift your hips for just a moment to kick them off, throwing them to the side. Your shirt quickly goes the same way. Then his. Nanami pulls you in for a quick kiss, nibbling at your bottom lip until you let his tongue into your mouth. The feeling of the slick muscle is intoxicating. You're already half drunk off the scent of his cologne.

He knows just how to make you melt under his touch. He has a way of pressing your buttons, leaving you crawling back for more. Part of you is embarrassed at how quickly you turn to putty in his hands.

When he pulls away, there's an audible pop! as your lips part. He leans back down to kiss you again. It's only a peck this time, but the same amount of fire is behind it.

A low laugh escapes him when he feels the slick that's collected between your legs. In any other circumstance you'd be a bit embarrassed at how quickly he riles you up. He hooks his arm under your knee, forcing your legs further apart. His thumb brushes over your clit, working in soft, teasing motions. When you try to grind down onto his hand, he simply huffs and pulls his hand away, leaving you aching with need.

"Ken, please-"

"Please what?" He asks. "Use your words..."

"Fuck me!"

To that, he cruelly laughs. The noise comes from low in his chest. You're almost ashamed at the throb it sends right to your cunt. Almost.

He mutters a soft "good" as he eyes you up and down, sizing you up like you're some sort of opponent.

He works you open with his fingers. Just the one at first—then adding a second—rubbing against your g-spot. His fingers are thin, but long, and know just where to prod in a way that makes you whimper. Your eyes roll back when he strokes a particularly sensitive spot. Nanami takes notice of this, and proceeds to add a third. His thumb rubs small circles against your clit. A familiar heat pools low in your stomach. His touches only make you more needy. When your pussy clamps around his fingers—you're close to your own release—he realizes his own need, pressing against your back. Grinding against your thigh only does so much.

Typically he isn't the type to tease. It makes you wonder what's gotten him so worked up.

He pinches your clit between two of his fingers before resuming their circles. His movements are skilled—he's had practice—making you melt under his touch. The wetness that collects between your thighs nearly drips down his hand, making it glisten in the low light.

He finds the squeal you make when you cum endearing, using the moment to kiss you, right on the corner of your lips.

You ride out your orgasm on his hand; shaky, but nearly ready for another round. It won't take you long- he's seen it happen before. Soon you're sitting up, facing him, your cheeks red and your lips bitten pink. He commits the look of your flushed form to memory.

He'd have to tease you more often.

Nanami palms himself through his boxers. He frees his leaking cock. The head is a ruddy color, and rather angry looking, swollen with need. His spare hand moves to knead the soft flesh of your breasts, working your nipples into stiff peaks. He guides your hand to his cock, closing your fist around his member. It's long—a little over six inches—but not too thick. The weight of it is heavy in your hands. You give him a few teasing pumps, making sure your touches are achingly slow. Instantly he notices, giving one of your nipples a harsh pinch, though not hard enough to hurt. When you squeak and mumble a weak: "I'm sorry" he only nips at your ear and chuckles. Any attempt you make to regain control of the situation only digs your grave deeper.

"Are you going to be good?" His lips press against your temple.

Weakly you nod.

"Good." He coos. "You're always so good for me."

He shifts so you're left lying on your stomach underneath him, hips lifted slightly and pulled flush to his. Your body is tacky with sweat—maybe a bit of saliva too—he drags you in closer. Nanami leans forward to mumble into your ear. Sometime during this his teeth find your shoulder, your flesh sporting a crescent shaped mark to show. You're not quite sure if it'll bruise. Probably.

"Had to work overtime." He says, the slightest bit of venom in his tone. "Again. Not happy."

At this you let out a small giggle. That's the second time this week. That must be why he came home so late last night. He never tried to hide his dislike for it. Instead of chatting with you, he simply went to bed.

The head of his cock presses against your entrance, slick with his own need. There's no resistance as he presses right into you, although he still gives you a moment to adjust. Nanami fits right in you, your pussy so tight and warm around him. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to how good you feel. He's had his fair share of partners, but they all pale in comparison to you.

His large hands knead at the flesh of your ass and thighs. He's always admired how soft you are; the curve of your breasts, your stomach, your hips. Even the harsh angles of your face, the way it twists and contorts in pleasure. To him, you were truly the most beautiful thing in existence. There's not much he wouldn't do for you.

He's always preferred to fuck you slow and deep. He could watch you squirm and writhe under him for hours if you'd let him. Nanami has never been one for quickies. Sometimes they're nice, but he always prefers to take his time with you.

Slowly he rolls his hips against yours. You inhale sharply, gripping at the sheets. His pace starts out a bit slow, but he leaves none of your sweet spots untouched.

The second you start to get a bit loud he pulls out, making you whine in frustration.

"Needy today, aren't we, love?"

You grovel at the pet name, hardly amused. "Just touch me dammit."

Nanami's relatively collected demeanor falters when you clench around him, pulling him back in. His fingers dig into your hips, his nails leaving little crescent-shaped indents in your skin.

"Oh fuck-" his thrusts grow erratic, "fuck! I love you I love you I-"

"I love you too!"

His fingers lace with yours. Momentarily he brings your hand to his lips, planting a kiss on your knuckles. The action is so slow and soft you're not quite sure if you feel it.

"I'm so happy I married you."

His free hand goes back to toying with your clit, harshly pinching the bud between two fingers before tracing circles around it. The movements are a bit erratic. He must be close. To stifle a groan, he leans forward, sinking his teeth into the junction of flesh where your shoulder and neck meet. Not hard enough to hurt, although it may leave a bruise. Some possessive feeling deep within him made him proud of the marks he left.

It's enough to send you over the edge. The dam has broken, the floodgates have opened. You cum around him hard, your entire body shuddering as you cry out. The neighbors certainly can hear. Noise complaints happen a bit too often for your liking. He groans as his own release paints your walls white. You feel so full.

Nanami pulls out slowly as to not spill any of his cum, taking a moment to admire his work, and the look of your fucked-out form; the red handprints on your ass, the nail marks in your soft flesh, the way your neck and chest blush along with your face. It makes him wonder how you'd look with your belly swollen with his child.

He'd have to do this more often.

Dramatically you flop down on the bed, chest heaving. A single drop of cum spills onto the sheets. He lays down beside you, taking a moment to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You'd be sore tomorrow. Your neck already sports red teeth marks, and half-faded hickeys. He presses a kiss to the mark, rather proud of his work. His arms snake around your body, holding you close to him.

Nanami has never been this much in love.

You're half asleep when he pulls away. It's almost time for him to head to work. Gojo needs his help with something, he's not quite sure what.

Gojo can wait.

He's tucking himself back into his boxers and getting out of bed by the time you turn around. If he notices you staring, he says nothing about it.

"Where are you going?" You ask.

"I'm making breakfast."

[boytouya]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈 𝘚𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦

words:2.3k

WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, blood, angst, open ended/ambiguous ending, descriptions of death.

request: “Can i request sukuna x male reader. Where reader keeps reincarnating with each lifetime for a curse and every time he remembers sukuna, he dies after gaining memories back. You can choose if theres a good ending or angst. Thank you king! I fell in love with him especially after reading that one shot i had to watch jjk and hes hot! Thank you for turning me into a sukuna simp! Much love”

a/n: i went,,,overboard with this request 🗿 BUT IT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITESSIJEHSHE i’m honored to have introduced you to such a foine man

When you were five, only then had you understood the curse deemed ‘Ryoumen Sukuna.’ A rather tall man with two heads, one of which had splattered blood onto your sneakers. You understood the concept of death, of course, but could never truly comprehend the feeling of nothingness after watching your life flash before your eyes until nineteen. But there you stood, clutching the loop of your shorts when you witnessed the murder of your entire village. You didn’t know evil could have a moral compass, but the tall curse seemed to exclude half of the women and children. After the widening of youthful eyes and curdling screams you learned the monster took likings to things too. Women, with shaking forms and broken spirits. He’d stop before them, stare at them with eyes that could- in fact- kill, if they truly wanted to. But then he stopped in front of you.

“Close your eyes, Brat.” Death's hands were just as large as your family painted them out to be, if not larger. Calloused and riddled with blood as they are placed over your ears. You do as he- it says, squeezing your eyes shut and enclosing your eyes behind the meat of your palms just to be extra careful. You can see stars behind your eyelids, just as you can feel the sickening twang of death lingering in the air. You were aware it would happen at some point, Death would find its place for you over and over and over again, you’d been told since the day you were born.

There’s another sound, only muted under large palms. You don’t need your sense of sight or hearing to know what it was, the warm chunks splattering onto your skin was enough. Immediately, you flinched. When you opened your eyes, there were piercing eyes staring straight into your own. It looked so human, but something was off. Uncanny, as if it took years to manipulate its flesh and bone to emulate humans to a T. But there was nothing human behind those eyes, instead a void of nothingness. Death itself. If Death could express interest, you’d have thought that was the expression it was imitating. It offers a hand, one of four. Larger than your face, with sharp claws that could almost be described as talons. Darkened by dirt and remains of your loved ones, if it truly wanted to kill you, it could. It could tear you limb from limb with the wave of a finger. And it knew that.

So you took the hand, and he became your second home.

When you were ten, you learned about the red string of fate. It could never be broken, and those connected by it would always reunite, no matter the circumstances. You often had nightmares, those of which filled with blurred faces and sharp pain that reached you in your lucid state. Dreams of talons, piercing eyes, and double headed monsters. You dreamt under the stars, tasted metal on your tongue, and choked on smoke that wasn’t actually there. You dreamt of facial markings, details that you couldn’t exactly place, a name that you couldn’t quite remember. It left your tongue feeling thick in your mouth, racked tremors through your body, and caused premature dark circles to accumulate under your eyes.

When you were nineteen, you experienced your last breath. The air was stolen from your lungs, crushed under years of heartbreak and terror, and snatched from you in the dead of night. Your eyes glazed over, and nothingness overtook you. It left you for someone else to find, cold and lifeless. A void, similar to the eyes you had finally placed. But that didn’t matter much then, you had already drifted away from your body.

And that was that.

Thus, the cycle repeated. Under different names, different ages, different genders. There was always something gnawing away at your conscience, you felt as though you were forgetting something. But when you finally remembered, it was too late. And there was nothing you could do about it.

It was almost like deja vu, stepping outside your home to find blood splattered on the concrete floor. It made your blood run cold, sent a tremor through your body and made you feel like you were five again. Small and defenseless. You take it as your best interest to go back inside before you pass out, but the second you whip your body around you meet something- someone?- large and sturdy.

“Sukuna.” That was it, the sour taste at the tip of your tongue, the lingering sensation at the back of your brain. Him. He didn’t look the same, no, much smaller with tufts of pink hair. There’s something behind his eyes this time, something almost irrevocably human. For some reason that’s much scarier than what you remember. What you think you remember. He’s much more human, but the way he looks at you is everything but humane. He looks frustrated, angry at something, as if he’ll implode any second and go on a rampage. Dread bubbles up in your stomach, nearly erupting through your mouth as bile. It felt as though something should be happening, like something usually happened when the itch went away. He chuckles, low in his throat as he cranes his neck to put his face uncomfortably close to your own. His hands, still large, find their way to your wrist, gripping your right hand uncomfortably tight. For a moment, you consider how long a trip to the hospital would be if he shattered the bone beneath his fingers. But instead there’s a jolt of electricity that would’ve had you yanking your hand back if he weren’t holding it.

“What? You look different.” He all but purrs, inspecting your palm with long nails. Not long enough to be talons, but longer than those of a claw. It was true, you did look different. He wondered if you spent your lifetimes looking exactly the same. That couldn’t have been possible, he would’ve found you much easier, then. Still quite boyish, as if the body you were in didn’t originally belong to you. Clearly grown out of cargo shorts and polos, much taller than you were before. There was no way he could have forgotten you, the way you jumped when the remains of your loved one splattered across your legs. The way you stared back at him with a look of acceptance, the way you grabbed his hand and allowed him to lead you out of the village. It explained the body memories perfectly, the feeling of large palms on your head and remnants of a brain splattering onto your knees.

“Last time I saw you,” He let’s go of your wrist with a bored expression, then replaces its spot with the top of your head. He shoves you down, and you make an effort to ignore the crack your knees make when they smack against the concrete. Then, he crouches down to stare you directly in the eye, just like he had the first time you met. His eyes were no longer dark, instead a deep shade of red that caught light from the moon. They reminded you of vials of blood. “You were this tall. Much cuter in this century.”

“And you were bigger.” Sukuna laughs as if hearing that was the funniest thing in the world. He leans his weight into you and uses you as a support beam, laughing until his ribs burn and beg for a break. But how could he laugh at a time like this? He didn’t think it was weird? He’s existed for centuries, murdered for millennias and only now has he seen you. That wasn’t how it worked, when you died, you died. But Sukuna was a walking oxymoron to that statement. When he died, if he died, he would return. He’d return through you, the last fragments of his soul would stay bound to yours until the end of time. Perhaps that’s how he knew, how he remembered. Perhaps that’s why he still took the time to find you, even after countless years of failure. It was peculiar, but not as much as being bound to Death himself. It was a sick game of turning the phrase ‘Til’ death do you part,’ because in your case it was literal.

“You’re still a brat.” His voice is closest to something fond, as if he’s reminiscing sweet memories. It was much different on your account, and part of you wondered if Sukuna understood that. He makes no effort to help you up (he explains that you’re “a big boy now”) as he invites himself into your apartment. Nothing special, he doesn’t care much for family photos or if you have them, but the stacks of letters and books on your table peak his interest. He tears apart envelopes as if he owns them, reads through the contents and discards them to the floor if he deems them useless. The way he sits nearly breaks your chair, and, honestly, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

So you sit beside him.

“You were so scared,” He says, almost as if he were bragging. But he was known to be arrogant and cocky, that was just his nature. He didn’t truly mean it like that, in fact, he looked quite reverent after letting the thought drift into the air. It was kind of funny, such a powerful thing fawning over past memories. But that wasn’t how this should go, you had your memory back, so why hasn’t anything happened? “When you grabbed my hand you stopped shaking.”

“...”

“It’s a shame I couldn’t keep you long,” He visibly frowns, the skin around his lips worry, but you can't tell if it’s genuine or not. He looks at you with something knowing the second the thought enters your head. “I looked for you, at first. You died young, for a human.”

Ninteen. ‘I should have been there,” he wants to add.

“Why aren’t I dying now?” You interrupt and let the panic sink in, the thought of impending doom sits on your shoulders because, really, it could happen at any moment. But this time, you don’t want it to. You remember accepting death when it came to your door at the young age of five, nineteen, countless times over and over. You had only ever gotten this far, you weren’t ready yet. You couldn’t start over, not now. “Sukuna?”

The question sours his mood in the blink of an eye, and instead of looking through your things, he raises himself from his seat to rest his palms on the table. It seemed he had a thing for staring down at people, making them cower under his stone cold gaze. You note the way his jaw clenches. You open your mouth to speak again, but he seems to have other plans. He squeezes your cheeks, making your lips purse together under the pressure of his large fingers. The movement feels familiar, like he’s done it before. The five years you spent with him were still a bit of a blur, but you remembered holding his hand quite often. He’d tell you to close your eyes if there was something he didn’t want you to see, he’d ruffle your hair a bit too hard, let you sleep on his back if he was out in the town. But that was all you remembered. He remembered it all.

“Respect your elders,” He lets go and sits back down as if he hadn’t just thrown a tantrum over you interrupting him. Sukuna was centuries old, but even then, he’d exhibit immature behavior sometimes. Living for so long had to get boring (and lonely) at some point, perhaps that was why he looked for you. He did consider you something close to family, after all. In truth, there were some lifetimes where you met. Some when you were friends, something more than that, and something inseparable. And that’s why you hadn’t died yet, you didn’t remember it all. “It’s rude to interrupt someone when they’re talking.”

“You’re much more handsome in this life.” His smile is much more intimidating than sweet, the sinister curl to his lips would only ever be associated with bloodshed in your eyes. But it was much more than that. Nights of sleeping together, days of laughter and flirtatious comments, soft moments that only you had seen. And it was bittersweet, because he knew the second he’d jog your memory you’d be gone. It wasn’t just a curse for you, but for him. Maybe it was his punishment for hurting so many people, dragging an innocent soul down with him and hanging them by the red string of fate. The comment makes your skin prickle with heat. Sukuna was quite the charmer when he wanted to be, easily picking at your weak spots with whatever you wanted to hear. But the comment was much more for the sake of his own, instead of yours.

Sukuna stands, hot on his heels as he holds out his hand one last time. If something were to happen to you tonight he’d make the most out of it, just as he did countless times over and over. So many years of starting over, getting to know you in various different bodies, realizing that being trapped away was the only way you’d get to live a full life, it was always on his mind. You were always on his mind.

So you take his hand. And for the millionth time, he’d become your second home.

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