#no i shan't and you can't make me

[dimension-20-every-introduction]

Everyone Introduced in Dimension 20's Fantasy High: Junior Year episode 17

[deepfriedpaddymayne]

ok I have been thinking about this nonstop for like a month now so. just for my own curiosity.

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Why do we have Regina George next to Bayonetta.

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

i think you are very cool and i love hearing your opinions on stuff :)

Aw thank you so much! ^_^ This is you and me now btw

[radiogreen]

the number of people who, to this day, will say stuff like, "oh I could never do the Marie Kondo method, I love my books/antique pattern glass/novelty paper clips TOO much" with apparent complete sincerity...

best beloved, what do you think "sparks joy" even MEANS?

you know, the more i think about it, the angrier i get about how mainstream media and even people in general treated marie kondo when the life changing magic of tidying up got big. it's just so unnecessary and sad to me and i think the vast majority of people would love what she has to say if they just actually looked into it instead of maliciously memeing her to death? i'm not talking about the cutesy does it spark joy stuff but all the things portraying her as some bizarre evil cleaning dictator.

i actually read her book when i was about twelve years old, in the most shocking and probably only example of me ever being ahead of a trend, and even at twelve i really loved everything she said. at that point in time i lived in fear of my mother's threats that she would come and throw everything away while i was school, and my small and very adhd mind simply could not grasp the concept of "have less stuff". have less of WHICH stuff? how? i'd never actually been taught how to clean my room besides being told "pick up stuff" and "be organized", and as she points out multiple times, cleaning is not an intuitive thing. it's a learned behavior and skill.

anyways. her entire philosophy centers on surrounding yourself with things that you love, and only things that you love (or things that you absolutely need). she explicitly says over and over again that it is not about throwing things away, it is not about minimalism, it is not about "what is the smallest amount possible that you can survive on". she literally has a whole section where she talks about how hard it can be to throw things away when you've lived in poverty all your life and you don't have absolute confidence that you can replace something that you really needed if it gets thrown out, even though you're not likely to ever really need it--you've just been conditioned to think that because that's literally how you survive, when you're poor. she talks about how that mindset can serve and how it can damage. she talks about how minimalism is sort of a rich people thing, cause they can afford to throw everything away.

this woman really came out here and said "i want you to be surrounded by things you love and i'm going to validate your fears and your difficulties in getting to that place" and people somehow got mad at her. i don't understand it

[vessmar]

catch me typing up the longest shit and not proofreading a lick of it

[entitled-fangirl]

Luck. (P2)

Cregan Stark x reader; Robb Stark x reader

Summary: the reader finds herself back with Cregan, and she's beginning to feel something for the past Wolf of the North.

Warnings: unwanted advances, talk of gore, consensual kissing that leads to the start of... some other stuff

Part 1, Part 3

Masterlist

...................................................

Two weeks back with Robb, and it seemed that she was beginning to forget about the interactions with Cregan entirely.

She had hit her head, after all. Maybe her mind had simply messed with her. 

Robb had noted that something was amiss with her, but he knew better than to pry. When she was ready, perhaps she'd come to him.

"The History of the Wolf. That's an ancient book, that is." Robb mused with a grin as he entered the library.

She turned her head and snapped the book shut in surprise. "Oh… I… I had no idea."

Robb's smile grows and he walks to her, "Interested in Stark history, are you?"

Her face showed a look as if she'd been caught in a crime. "I… I just wish to know more about you and your house is all." 

"That's admirable," Robb said. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, his stubble scraping her as he did so.

"You must shave," she said instinctively with a laugh. "It is like rubbing sand across my face, Robb."

He chuckled. It was the first time in two weeks that she had jested with him like she had before that day in the Godswood. He loved her most like this. 

He brought at hand to his face, "Shave? Or perhaps I shall grow it into a great beard!"

She laughed and took his face in her hand, "Only when I am long gone will you have a beard, Stark."

He tilted his head playfully and a tint came to his eyes, "Or perhaps I will just make you watch the hairs grow by the day."

Her hands moved to his chest with a playful shove, "Don't torture me so!"

His smirk grew, "I will torture you how I see fit, my love."

"You shan't catch me then!"

Abandoning the book in her hands, she began to sprint from the library. 

Robb watched her go with a playful grin before willing his legs to run as well.

She held her skirt up in one hand, rounding each corridor half—hazardly. 

Robb had longer legs, but he had to admit she was a quick little thing.

She made the mistake of turning around once to see where he was, only to find him a few paces behind. 

She let out a surprised laugh, and quickly set herself on track again. 

Even as they ran passed the staff, the servants paid no heed.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell were much in love, and seeing such things were common. 

Finally down one corridor, she looked over her shoulder. 

She had managed just a bit of distance from Robb.

She grinned wickedly as she rounded the corner from him.

Into a stone wall it seemed.

She fell onto the ground from the force.

"Gods, my love," a voice commented.

Cregan Stark.

He knelt down and quickly brought a hand to the back of her head. He was holding back a chuckle, "That was quite a hit. Are you alright?"

She nodded quickly, "Fine." Her hand came up to her forehead, "Just fine."

"Let's get you up then," he chuckled. "I can't have the staff whispering of why the Lord and Lady were on the dirt ridden floor of the corridor." 

He helped her up, keeping a hand under one arm to guarantee her balance. When she was indeed balanced, he let go, "Running from Brandon, I assume? A game of some sorts?"

She took a few steps back to look down the corridor she had just run down.

Robb was gone. 

"Yes," she lied. "I'm to be hiding."

"Well," he smiled. "I can't have him catching you, can I?" He held out his arm for her to take.

With one last look to the place Robb had once stood, she took Cregan's arm.

…

After an hour or two of enjoying the other's company over a light lunch, Cregan gave a light sigh and stood from the chair. "I must attend to the people. I shall come collect you-"

She reached out and grabbed his hand, "May I accompany you?"

"You wish to… accompany me out?" He was a bit shocked from her request.

"Please, my lord. I truly wish to."

That seemed to make something wash over Cregan. He blinked suddenly and nodded, "Get in something warmer. There's quite a heavy chill out there."

…

The two had journeyed out of the Winterfell walls. 

Cregan had promised to help a farmer days before, and was now making true to his promise. 

A Stark never breaks an oath, after all.

So the two on his horse, as well as some ten men behind them set out to the man's farm. 

The man was welcoming and kind, beyond grateful for the help. He was an older man and held a deep regard for the younger Stark man.

As they entered his home, Cregan grimaced, "What exactly do you believe the problem to be?"

The man shrugged, "I wanted to believe wildlings, my lord. But… wildlings do not kill as viciously as these deaths have been. No man is willing to work for me because of it."

Cregan's eyes wandered over to her, who had distracted herself with the man's dog- a long haired shepherd dog who had no idea that one of the most influential woman in the North was the one scratching behind his ears.

"You said the East side of your land?" Cregan asked.

"Yes, my lord."

"Very well." Cregan turned to his men. "Go saddle up. Have your swords at the ready." He turned to the older man, "You'll lead us there."

The man nodded, "On my honor, my lord."

She stood now, her attention lost from the dog to Cregan.

"No," he began as soon as they made eye contact. "You'll stay here. I'll not have you out in that."

"Cregan," she sighed. "I'll be with you. That's as safe as-"

"-My lady," the older man began. "If I may. I found one of my men without a throat in that field. We shan't have that for our lady."

Cregan nodded along with him, "You're to stay, my love."

She nodded, "That's fine."

"If it helps, my older son should come around soon. He'll keep you company," the older man said. 

She nodded again with a forced smile, "That sounds lovely. I shall remain."

Cregan gave a soft sigh, "Just for a few hours." He pulled her to him and placed a kiss to the crown of her head. 

…

The man's son did come after an hour or two, walking into his home sweaty and tired.

It took him a while to notice the lady's presence. 

He immediately began to apologize, "Lady Stark. Forgive me… I did not-"

She laughed lightly, "-There is nothing to forgive. I am the stranger in your home, not the other way around."

He nodded. He then took a moment to see her in front of him. "Believe me or not, I've never seen the lady of Winterfell before. And now that I have, I've not seen a pretty lady in all of the North."

His words took her by surprise. "Oh. Those are quite flattering words."

He smiled and shrugged, "I would not lie to a lady. You're lovely. Lord Stark has been blessed by the gods to have you."

"How did you know it was I if you've never seen me?" She asked with a teasing smile.

"Your cloak, my lady." He pointed to it, "Stark sigil on it."

She looked down to indeed to the pin on it with the wolf of Stark on it. "Ah. I see."

"Tell me, my lady, why you are in our home unaccompanied?"

"My husband and his men are with your father dealing with your… problem. In the east field, I believe?"

The man's eyes lit with recognition, "Is he? I had no idea he'd be here today or I would have welcomed him. And accompanied him as well. I do apologize."

She shrugged, "Cregan does not care for propriety. Do not worry yourself."

"Perhaps I may just… keep you company here then until their return?"

She smiled, "I'd like that."

…

The man, who she had learned was named Johnathan Glover, was lovely at first. Easy to converse with, and not overbearing towards her. 

But it quickly shifted. 

He had slowly moved his chair closer to her. His hands would wander. His eyes grew sultry. 

And soon, she was becoming uncomfortable. 

"Something wrong, my lady?" He asked. 

"No. Worried for Cregan, is all."

"You seem so tense." He sighed. Johnathan stood up and rounded her chair to stand behind her. His hand moved to her shoulders and she immediately tensed more. 

"You need to relax," he whispered in her ear. He began to massage her shoulder, pushing a little too harshly into her shoulder blades. 

"He… he will return at any moment," she had tried to reason. 

The man smiled, "I know."

A kiss was placed on her neck. 

She froze in place for a moment. 

This man would die at Cregan's hand. 

Robb was a merciful man, but the man's payment would have been just the same under his watch.

"Stop," she commanded.

"This is what I'm speaking of," the man continued with another kiss to her neck, "So tense."

She moved to stand, but he held her down by her shoulders.

The door swung open suddenly and Cregan stood in the doorway. 

Bloody and caked in dirt, Cregan Stark stood with a set jaw at the sight before him. 

She stood this time, managing to get away from the man's hands and goes to Cregan, "Are you hurt?"

But his eyes didn't move from Johnathan's. His voice was low, "I'm fine." His gloved hands covered in grime grabbed her wrist. "Let's go."

He pulled her from the home with no words uttered to anyone except a whisper to one of his men. The man nodded and moved into the house as the Starks left. 

…

"I leave you to slay wolves and yet I had left you in the jaws of one," Cregan huffed as he pulled off his boots. 

"It is alright. I am fine, Cregan." She tried to reason.

"No. No, do not give me pity. I left you alone there. I should have known better."

She sighed as she began to pull at her corset strings. "You could not have known that. You were tending to your people, as you should."

Cregan paused at her words, his hands gripping the bottom of his tunic. "I should be tending to you."

She pulled off her corset with a tug, "Then do so."

His eyes darkened as his eyes roamed over her body, "So I shall."

Cregan neared her, carefully and slowly pulling her various garments from her until she was left in nothing but her shift. 

He smiled and let his hands grip her waist, "You are a Stark." His thumbs traced lightly, "I can't have others believing otherwise."

She stepped a bit closer, nearing her face with his, "I will always be a Stark."

He leaned in the rest of the way, connecting their lips in a soft kiss.

But he paused for moment, "I'm filthy, my love. Perhaps we should wait-"

But she had pulled him to her, cutting him off with a kiss once more.

The kiss was everything that Cregan wasn't- soft, delicate, careful, and needy. 

He let out a soft groan when she pulled the hair at the back of his neck. 

Cregan led the two towards the bed, carefully placing her on the furs. Only then did their lips part, and his began to trace down her face. His voice was soft as he spoke, "I'll banish any trace of that man from you."

She hummed as he kissed down her neck, exactly where the man had kissed her only hours before. But unlike then, she was completely relaxed under Cregan's gaze. 

She could feel his smile against her neck. 

"May I have you tonight, my love?" He asked softly.

She paused her thoughts for a moment. 

She was stuck in time with Cregan. Her husband. 

Was it wrong to Robb?

He noted her hesitation and pushed himself up to look at her, "Don't fret about it. I won't be upset with you."

Her hesitation continued.

He nodded and one of his hands wandered down her body, "May I pleasure you, at least?"

He wanted to…

She felt herself nod before she could register why.

His smile was bright, "Thank you, my love."

Much like Cregan himself, his kisses became calculated and neat. He did nothing on a whim. The kisses began to trail down her body, over her clothing.

When they reached lower, he grabbed her thighs and pulled her legs up. 

A final look into her eyes, "You're sure?"

Another nod from her, "Please, Cregan."

His hand began to pull her thin shift up, "Of course, pretty."

With her shift stretched across her thighs, she couldn't see Cregan once he disappeared behind it. His touch on her thighs left for a moment.

She closed her eyes and waited for the feeling to begin.

But instead she felt a cold chill run down her. 

And the sound of the door opening. 

Her eyes shot open. 

Robb ran in, panting. She paused when he saw her and his jaw dropped a bit. 

His beautiful wife in nothing but her shift, legs open on the furs of their bed. 

"So, this is where you ran off to, is it?" He grinned. 

When she didn't answer from shock, he continued, "I don't know how you managed this so quickly, but you shall hear no complaint from me." He stepped toward her like a predator, "My wife just waiting for me to catch her? So eagerly waiting on me?"

Robb approached the foot of the bed. He grabbed the top of her thighs, "Well, guess what, my love?" He pulled her down the bed and to him. His voice lowered, "I've caught you."

"You have." She finally managed to pant out. 

His eyes roamed over her completely, "So pretty," he muttered. "And all mine." He caressed her face, "Who do you belong to?"

"I…" she paused, thrown off by his question. 

His voice became a heated growl, "Who do you belong to, love?"

"The… the Wolf of the North." She whispered to him.

He grinned, "Yes, you do."

But she couldn't help but remember the feeling of Cregan's hands on her not only moments ago.

...................................................................

A/N: I think I'm about to start doing some Aemond x reader stuff- comment if you want on that tag list! Or the tag list for this fic since I'm guessing I'll be doing a part 3

Taglist: @rlblackbarbie, @rebeccawinters

[luveline]

I LOVE YOUR WRITING IT'S SO ASDFJKFTICDHBDIGDGXSJOHCBCFG

so I wanted to request Sirius x reader where the reader is on veritaserum and has a banter/ tongue in cheek sorta relationship with Sirius. And then when she's on the truth serum she has to hold back witty comebacks because when she opens her mouth all she keeps saying is how disgustingly cute Sirius looks when he smiles, and how she just wants to snog his face off PLEASE IF YOU CAN 👉👈 🥺

REMINDER: YOU'RE AMAZING AND I'M HAPPY AND PROUD OF YOUR SERVICE TO THE FANFIC COMMUNITY

thank you ♡ —you can't hide the truth from sirius, and he doesn't want to try. 1.3k

cw spiked drink

"Why would someone put veritaserum in the pimms?" you ask James meekly. 

"Shortcake, I'm really not sure. Don't get upset about it, alright? Remus is going to tear them all a new one." He squeezes you by the shoulders. "Don't worry, Jamie's here." 

"You're very handsome, but I don't fancy you. Much." 

James smiles. "Good to know, lovely. I don't fancy you much either. I'll assume you're saving yourself for our mutual dark-haired friend and I shan't be offended." 

You slap a hand over your mouth and shake your head, but the truth comes out muffled into your palm anyways. "I really like him," you say, eyes wide with terror, "I don't want anyone else. Oh, James! You're such a dick!" 

"Do you mean that, or are you just angry with me?" James asks, helping you out into the garden away from the party and your peers, who can't be trusted to leave you alone when you're set to tell them any secret they want. 

"Both!" 

"What's wrong?" Sirius asks. 

Your neck almost snaps as you look up. James swears, trying to save it as your body instinctively answers. "Someone's spiked our girl," James says extremely loudly to mask your more honest confession, "I'm worried I'm going to tell you I like you," you say. 

Sirius, sitting on a low garden wall with a packet of cigarettes in his hand, is puzzled. "What?" 

"Someone's put veritaserum in her drink. Maybe in the pitcher. I've brought her outside so she doesn't accidentally tell everyone she's in love with me."

Sirius grins. "Don't be daft, Prongs, she's clearly team Black. Aren't you, sweetheart?" 

"You're the prettiest of your trio," you say, sincerity like a blade at the back of your throat, aching, "I'm definitely on your team." 

James squeezes your shoulder and helps you into a garden chair, the metal cool against your back. "I'll forgive you because I know you can't help it, and because I know you're dying of embarrassment," he murmurs. 

"Thank you. I love you." 

"I love you too, shortcake," James says easily, kicking out a chair for Sirius and flopping into his beside you. "Aren't feeling ill, are you?" 

"Just terrified I'll say something too honest," you say, holding your breath between words. 

Sirius sits in the chair that's been kicked out for him with a cigarette held between his lips, unlit. He lift a his hips to pull a lighter from his back pocket and you flush with heat at the motion, wondering if you're a pervert for looking, for thinking, but lately your flirty banter has your heart doing front flips, and every time you see him you're zoning in on his hands, his arms, the slip of skin at his navel when he stretches, the low sound he makes when something pops. 

"Stop ogling me," he says without looking from his cigarette, the end glowing orange in the flame of his clipper. 

"I don't mean to," you say. 

James shifts uncomfortably. Everyone knows you like Sirius, maybe even Sirius, but he hasn't said a thing about it and you've stopped yourself (so far) from telling him. Any truth has been said under the guise of a joke. 

Sirius takes a short drag and holds the cigarette out and away from you, smoke curling in the cold autumnal night. "Shall I go help defend your honour? I assume that's where Remus is. Being spiked isn't funny." 

"I'd like it if you stayed here," you say. 

James laughs. Sirius leans forward a touch. "Then I'll stay here. Do you need something to drink?"

"My mouth is really dry," you say. 

Sirius sends a saccharine smile James' way. It's the look of an older brother used to getting his way, to which James sighs and grumbles, standing from his chair, "Don't ask her anything cruel," he says severely, kissing the top of your head quickly. "I'm serious." 

"I won't. I quite like her, in case you forgot. I've no interest in torturing her." 

You believe him. James departs with a pat, leaving you and Sirius alone at the garden table, still but for the little motion he does every now and then to fleck ash onto the floor. 

"You sure you're okay?" Sirius asks.

"I feel fine. Warm, but that's probably because you're smiling at me." 

He raises his eyebrows. "Maybe we should talk about something else. I really don't want to ask you anything too personal while you can't keep a secret. James gave me veritaserum once, when we were kids." 

"He did?" you ask. 

"Too much of it. I was sick, and I couldn't stop telling him how much I wished we were real brothers. Which he knows now, but at the time it was, you know, very sincere." 

"You and James are real brothers," you say. 

"I'm glad you can say that. It must be true," he says. "I'm lucky, even if he has tried to poison me." 

"James is lucky too. We all are." 

"Yeah?" he asks. He's about to continue, but your mouth does the choosing for you, and you cut him off. 

"I love knowing you, Sirius, I feel lucky to be your friend, and I–" You bite your tongue hard enough for tears to catch in your eyes immediately. 

Sirius' blasé fades, falls away slowly, like a moving cloud unveiling a slice of light, "Don't hurt yourself," he says, alarmed at your wincing. He drops his cigarette and smashes it with his heel, shuffling his chair closer to yours. 

"I just don't want to tell you something," you say, shaking your head. 

Sirius touches your hand. "Okay, I won't ask you any more questions. I'm sorry. Everyone's allowed their secrets, lovely, I didn't mean to make you answer me. I thought it would be easier to skirt around the issue." 

But it's a big feeling, and it's in everything you do. You really, really like him. If you can't be honest about that, maybe you can be honest about something else..

There's no shame in finding a handsome man handsome. And maybe you can convince him that that's all it is. "I just want to kiss you stupid, Black," you say, "like, kiss you until I can't feel my mouth anymore. You look like you know how to really kiss someone." 

Sirius laughs suddenly, startled. "I want to kiss you stupid, doll. You're a fucking dime piece," he says through laughter, "and that's the truth."

"You look really nice when you laugh," you further, wondering if this is the wrong thing to do. 

"You look beautiful when you laugh," he says. 

"Joking with you about stuff is the best part of my week." 

"It's the best part of mine. I wish we saw each other more often," he says. 

"Did you drink the pimms, too?" you ask. 

"No. I'm stone cold sober, sweetheart." Sirius looks behind you and you follow his gaze to the patio doors, where James and Remus are arguing good-naturedly, a tall pint glass filled literally to the rim with water in James' hand.

"Has he left you alone?" Remus asks, quick down the short step to defend you. "I love you, Sirius, but I don't trust you to not ask her embarrassing questions." 

"I'm starting to get offended. No, she hasn't told me anything embarrassing. Only that she wants to snog my lips off, but I knew that already." Sirius smiles at you dopily while his friends seize up. "And that's hardly embarrassing, because I want to do it to her first." 

[frankendykez]

what annoys me about posts on the novel frankenstein in this site (besides the blatant ableism towards victor frankenstein from people who swear they "care" about disabled people) is the amount of readers that forget that the bride, had victor truly put her to life, would in fact have the same amount of autonomy & free will as the Creature does.

i talked about this in some reblog before but really it is incredibly annoying, seeing people who claim to be feminists and advocating for the rights of women saying that oh! victor should've just not given her ovaries/not given the Creature a cock and so that would fix everything! so they shan't be able to reproduce an dmake evil moster children! just in response to this one thing in that chapter:

"one of the first results of those sympathies for which the dæmon thirsted would be children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth, who might make the very existence of the species of man a condition precarious and full of terror."

it is true that victor worries about them reproducing, but how did they miss these lines from the first paragraph of the chapter?:

 "He had sworn to quit the neighbourhood of man, and hide himself in deserts; but she had not; and she, who in all probability was to become a thinking and reasoning animal, might refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation. They might even hate each other; the creature who already lived loathed his own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence for it when it came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turn with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him, and he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being deserted by one of his own species."

it's literally longer, reader can't have somehow accidently missed it? frankenstein thinks of her free will, that is so much more important. he worries of her consent in the matter. it is in my belief by ignoring this you are ignoring the voice of mary shelly, daughter of a world known feminist, who is against arranged maariages of which this situation very closely resembles.

even if we ignore the fact that people somehow managed to not read a significant amount of the text, why do people belive the victor owes the creature a wife? do you think men are owed wives? that women, without a say in what they want to do, must become a wife to some random man just because he wants her to?

people here woobify the creature so much that they literally act extremely ableist and anti-feminist on accident. i am not saying the creatture is pure evil and victor is pure good, i am very against black and white readings, but is this not common sense? and honestly, the way the creature speaks about the bride is gross anyways. here are two examples:

"one as deformed and horrible as myself [would not deny herself to me]" & "(…) of the same species and have the same /defects/".

is that not odd? how the creature Wants her to be miserable and ugly so she has no other choice but to be with him?

not to mention how the bride parallels elizabeth and the relationship between her and the creature would've probably parallels the relationship of alphonse and caroline frankenstein, how the creature would've (accidentally?) groomed her and how pedophillic it kind of is if you really think about it. but that's a whole different can of worms

i know you guys love adam and hes interesting but jesus fucking christ

[witchymadness]

☆-《 The Stakes 》-☆

[A/N: Workload has been a bitch and a half to get through, and I can't focus on writing my WIP abt Lilia, so here's a little drabble to feed the gays. I saw these (1, 2, 3) clips of Patti in her younger days, and it just did ✨️something✨️ to me. I hope ya'll enjoy it! I'll probably make a part 2 sometime soon.

UPDATE: PART 2 HERE!!!

]

Warning/s: Slight NSFW (?)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Lilia, darling." (Y/N) softly called out to her beloved. "Come to bed, would you?"

"I shall soon, amore. As soon as I finish my bath."

(Y/N), an immortal vampire, wasn't really that patient. After all, she'd been alive for a century before she'd meet Lilia. She blew a raspberry, a habit she'd picked up the more she frequented local pubs.

"Really, you seem to forget yourself, (Y/N). You are a countess, not a commoner."

"And I also should've been wedded to a count, yet here I am passing the nights in the quarters of a princess at her request. Tell me, darling, who is forgetting themselves, hm?"

(Y/N) could hear Lilia's eye roll, even from a room away. "Help me wash my hair, then. So you wouldn't bore yourself out of your mind, amore."

Tighterning her robe, (Y/N) quickly padded her way over to the grand bathroom attached to Lilia's quarter. Peeking inside, she saw the girl, her damp hair hanging off the tub as she relaxed, the suds barely shielding (Y/N)'s desires.

"Took you long enough to ask, darling."

She sat on the chair beside the tub, usually occupied by the royal's lady-in-waiting, but Lilia had already sent them off for the night in hopes to have more time with (Y/N) to herself.

A melody floated through the air as (Y/N) began scrubbing through Lilia's scalp, courtesy of the young princess herself.

(Y/N)'s heart swelled as she was rinsing the bubbles off of her beloved's auburn locks. She couldn't help but stare; and if the suds were thinning out, that was no one's concern but theirs.

Lilia's eyes fluttered open, meeting (Y/N)'s gaze. Her neck hung over the edge of the golden bathtub, careful not to wet (Y/N)'s lap.

Her long, slender fingers took (Y/N)'s young face -- despite being older than her for at least a hundred years, (Y/N)'s face remained its youth. She caressed the bloodless cheeks of her beloved, slowly bringing her lips to meet (Y/N) in a quiet, yet passionate kiss.

"The ball is in a month." Lilia whispered against her lips. "I do not wish to attend, amore. There'll be the roaming eyes of men and the chattering mouth of the maidens."

"Amore, we must. After that, we shall have the winter amongst ourselves, kindling fires by the library."

"Yes, but--" Lilia whined as (Y/N) stood up to get her robe.

"I want you."

(Y/N) softened at the suddeness of Lilia's words. "You already have me, darling."

"I want you. I want to be yours. I want to go to the ball with you. I do not want to pretend to be interested in whatever pompous suitor my father will find me. I just want you. I want to tell the whole world that I am yours, and you are mine."

By this time, Lilia had stood up, sopping wet from the bath, inching forward to the countess.

It wasn't the first time that (Y/N) had seen Lilia unclothed. But this time, (Y/N)'s mouth went dry, the need for blood clawing at her throat.

Still the ever wary countess, (Y/N) only raised an eyebrow at the display of her beloved. "Darling, you shan't forget yourself. You are -- after all -- a princess and not a commoner."

Young and brash, while Lilia was the epitome of grace, her emotions were still raw; impulses flowing through her veins.

"(Y/N)..." Her voice turned into a whisper. "I saw."

"Saw what, my love?" (Y/N) answered, wrapping the robe and her arms around Lilia's frail form. She placed a gentle kiss at the young girl's temple.

But only a whimper escaped Lilia's lips.

"There was a commotion," Lilia gripped (Y/N)'s arm, drawing it even tighter around her frame. She sobbed, pain emnant in her voice. "You... Amore, you were struck. I dreamt of it last night, and I do not wish for it to happen."

After her coven had disappeared, Lilia had tried to push away her powers. But there was something about (Y/N), something that caused sleepless nights for the princess. She saw glimpses of her future to come. She searched for her countess amongst the flashes of memories of tomorrow, yet her beloved's face never quite appeared. It wracked Lilia to her core, the thought of her beloved leaving her early.

"Shh... Do not fret, my love. I promise to stay close to you tomorrow. Would that be alright?"

Lilia ran her hand up and down (Y/N)'s arm, lip between her teeth, and lashes dampened with her tears. There was a pause before she nodded, not wanting to get into trouble with her father.

"Dont leave me, my love." Lilia whispered, whirring around to face the woman. She cupped her cheeks, searching for the sincerity in her eyes.

(Y/N) then brought up her own hand over Lilia's, nodding and kissing the hand in hers. "I promise, amore."

[usiel21]

The courting gift.

Thing: What about a diamond?

Wednesday: Don't be ridiculous Thing, Enid is worth more than any mere dia-

Thing: Oh no, i know that look.

Wednesday: Thing you are a genius.

Thing: ...This isn't going to end well.

1 Hour Later...

Wednesday: Enid, a family matter has arisen that i must attend to, I will be back by the end of the weekend.

Enid: Uh yeah sure, everything okay?

Wednesday: (Pause) Yes, it cannot wait. Don't wait up and if i shan't return, burn this school down and everyone inside.

Enid: Wow... you're such a psychopath! (Giggles)

Wednesday:

Wednesday: Flattery will... it won't... (Sigh) Los halagos no te llevarán a ninguna parte cuando ya me has capturado, en cuerpo, mente y alma.

Enid: (Smiling widely) I Love you too!

Wednesday: (Quietly) Do not jest with your words Mi loba.

Two Days Later...

Enid is stood in the common room of Ophelia Hall, watching the news with Yoko and Divinia.

News Presenter: ...We have some upsetting breaking news, The Tower of London was broken into last night where thieves took the Koh i noor, a diamond that was set in the crown of the Queen Mother. With an estimated value of Three Hundred Million Pounds, the jewel is said to be priceless. The Metropolitan Police in conjunction with Palace officials have confirmed that currently there are no suspects, this is without doubt one of the greatest heists in history, although authorities are baffled that only one item was taken.

Enid: Wow... what kind of person would steal from a dead woman's crown. (Shaking her head) Anyway laters, Wednesday is due back at any moment!

Yoko: (Grinning) Like a puppy eagerly awaiting their owners return at the door.

Enid: (Blushing) Shut up. Anyway i'll see you later!

Enid rushes up a flight of stairs, two steps at a time, a bounce in her step. She had missed Wednesday. She had missed her so much. She pushes open the door making Wednesday flinch.

Enid: Wends!

Wednesday: (Turning around sharply, hiding something behind her back) Mi loba.

Enid: (Narrowing her eyes.) What's behind your back?

Wednesday: ...Nothing.

Enid folds her arms with a pointed glare and tilt of her head.

Wednesday sighs, knowing she can't lie to Enid, not anymore, brings the item in front of her.

Enid: Wednesday... please tell me you have a really, really good reason for having the fucking Koh-i-noor in our dorm room???

Wednesday: (Weakly) I stole it for you. I planned to give it to you this coming full Moon. To court you.

Enid:

Enid: Wends... all you had to do was ask me out for a coffee or something, not commit the greatest heist in living history! (Tearily) But oh em gee, you did this? for me?

Wednesday: I would do anything for you, my fierce, fluorescent wolf.

Enid: (Preening and blushing) Oh my gosh... I'm going to have to get used to that huh?

Wednesday: (Striding forwards) As long as I breathe every breath will be spent making sure you never feel unloved ever again.

Enid: (Squeaking as Wednesday gets within several inches of Enid's face)

Enid: You...I...uh... you love me?

Thing:

Thing: Oh fer fuck sake, just propose already!

45 Mins later...

Thing: These lesbians, i can't anymore. They keep making googly eyes at each other from across the room and smiling, a hand can only stand to watch so much you know?

Weems: Wait... Wednesday AND Enid???

Thing: YES!

Weems: Wednesday smiling?

Thing: YES!

Weems: (Muttering) God help us all...

(The Koh-i-noor is never found)

[realcube]

WRATH & LUST . t.kei / y.tadashi

synopsis ✧ you hate tsukishima kei. you do everything in your power to make his life miserable but nothing works. now you have no choice but to fuck his best friend

cws/tags ✧ college au , enemies to enemies who screw, cursing, slut-shaming (both ways)

parts ✧ i. ii. iii. iv.

your friends call it 'inexplicable hatred', 'misdirected anger' and 'envy' but they couldn't be more wrong.

your feelings towards tsukishima kei were completely rational in your mind. he carried himself as though he was better than everyone and treated those around him like filth, yet he's still tolerated and his shitty attitude is even deemed charming by some self-loathing girls at your college.

it irritates you to no end how he behaves. too cocksure and too sassy; no dignified man should never act in such a manner, you believe. you could go on about other reasons you dislike him — his style atrocities and his punchable face, to name a couple — but you shan't.

you intended on going about your life, simply hating him from afar as you didn't see the need to stir up petty drama. but he made it impossible for you to do so.

one day he was sat behind you in a maths lecture. the seats are tiered so he is slightly higher up than you are. while making notes, his pen slips out of his hand and tumbles forward, landing somewhere under your desk.

you do the polite thing by making an attempt to search for it, but it is dark under the table you can't seem to find it.

a couple moments pass, and he remarks lowly, "are you just going to stare it?"

white hot rage courses through you at his comment. what ever happened to 'please'? to 'would you mind'? you were about to do him a favour by fetching his pencil and he still has the audacity to be snarky.

fuck that, he can pick up his own damn pen. you leave it alone and try to focus on the lecture.

you make it through the whole thing without him bothering you again, probably using a spare or borrowed pen. once the class has been dismissed, you gather your things and wait for the people in your row to start filtering out so you can leave, that is when you feel a gentle tap on the shoulder.

you turn around and lock eyes with a tan, freckled boy with mousy brown hair, he wears an awkward smile and point to your desk, "excuse me, my friend dropped his pencil and i think it landed under your desk. could you get it, please?"

his voice is meek and demeanour similar to that of a shy puppy, which is why it almost pained you to scoff at him and say, "tell your friend to stop being such a cunt, then maybe."

you rush out of the door, keen to get as far away from those two boys as you can. yet as you leave you hear the blonde's voice mutter in your wake, "what a moron."

after marinating on the situation during the retelling to your friend group, and a group vote, you came to the conclusion that perhaps your response to yamaguchi — you learned his name from one your friends — might have been a bit severe. but in your defence, you were peeved by the comment tsukishima had made prior.

it's as though manners and etiquette are totally lost on him.

ೃ⁀➷

two weeks passed since your last little altercation with tsukishima, and you were proud to say you haven't been involved in any conflict with him since then. mostly making snide remarks in passing or exchanging dirty looks in the hall.

however, that all changed when your professor was late to one of your classes. they expressed in the past that they prefer students to wait outside the lecture theatre when they aren't present, so naturally this caused many people to be clogging the hallways.

there was a long queue of people waiting to enter, you stood far away from the door, while tsukishima and yamaguchi happened to be standing opposite. you couldn't help but notice the outfit tsukishima had on: skinny light brown trousers with a black belt, and a pressed short-sleeve white shirt, that was a bit see-through.

you didn't know much about this guy but from his slightly toned figure, which was made apparent by his choice in clothes, you could tell he does some sort of sport. probably basketball, considering how tall he is, but maybe golf. he acts like a golf player.

lost in thought for too long, your finally yanked out of your own internal monologue by a familiar voice snapping, "what are you staring at?"

you blink, and before you even have time to process what he just accused you of, you blurt out, "has anyone told you that you're dressed like a slut today?"

yamaguchi must slap a hand over his mouth to suppress his burgeoning laughter. tsukishima's eyes narrow at his friend's offensive display, before they snap back to you and he argues, "really? me? i'm dressed appropriately. take a look at what you're wearing."

he motions to your outfit: jorts and a tank top. maybe not the most stylish choice but definitely not as whorish as his attire. "it might be more revealing but still not as slutty as you."

he rolls his eyes like what you said was contradictory, wearing smug smile. he wants you to believe what you said is nonsensical and 'proved his point' but all it does it anger you to no end.

not fond of his facial expressions, you retort, "don't pull stupid faces and play dumb. you're already dumb enough as is, so it isn't a very becoming look on you."

with furrowed brows, he opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, "and i can see your chest through your shirt. no one wants to see that!"

"you say that while your tits are out, have some self-respect."

"at least i have tits. you're wearing a short sleeve to show off the muscles you don't even have!"

yamaguchi is thoroughly entertained by this squabble, which is why it pains him to chime in, "uh, tsukki. the lecturer is here, let's go."

as much as he wanted to get the last word in, tsukishima glances between tadashi and the empty halls before he decides his education is actually kinda important and begins to make his way inside the theatre. it was good timing because he didn't have a witty response anyway.

your heart is beating rapidly, though you're unsure why. you gaze at the empty walls for a minute to collect yourself before heading into class as well. you totally won that fight, is what you tell yourself.

ೃ⁀➷

ever since the disagreement you had with tsukishima in hallways of the maths building, what was once comments and glares has escalated to threats and insults being made boldly in each other's face.

despite the fact you ate him up the first time, you've been on a losing streak since then. you feel as though nothing you say gets under his skin anymore.

you've tried belittling his face, his smarts, his personality, his mother but nothing seems to work. you even tried to ridicule his glasses but that didn't work either!

"hey, four eyes!"

"hey, five guys."

what the fuck? you weren't sure if that was a dig at your diet, your weight or your quantity of sexual partners but regardless, you could not let that slide.

verbal abuse wasn't working so naturally the next option was physical. you attempted to trip him in the halls but his legs were so long he stepped over you without even noticing. you attempted to pour milk over him but tadashi noticed and pulled him out of the way. you considered pushing his knees while he was standing in front of you but you realised that if he fell backwards his weight would crush you and you'd probably die.

all of that was so elementary and childish though; high school bullying at best. you need college level bullying. you thought about planting weed in his bag and calling the campus police on him but your friends said that was 'too far'. you thought about leaking his nudes but firstly you don't have them and secondly, he's already walking around college half naked anyway so he likely wouldn't be phased by it.

the hard thing about trying to torture a boy like tsukishima is you don't know enough about him to know what will truly drive him insane. you know he cares about his grades but sabotaging his test scores is beyond your means. he doesn't have any dignity so you can't humiliate him. even if you tried, his little gremlin of a best friend would probably catch onto you anyway.

that green haired boy was just as bad as his handler. always gawking at you to make sure you don't try anything; literally glued to tsukishima's ass at all times — it's so gross. and it gave you the most disgustingly perfect idea.

[blingblong55]

Think I'm pretty -John Price NSFW

Hello, I would like to make a request, please? Court AU/ Lawyer AU Lawyer!Fem!Reader x Lawyer!Price (both as opposition) - they both in court debating over a minor case (gaz+ Soap vs neighbour) - reader representing neighbour whilst price representing soap, debating about noise policies Sorry if this idea is a bit jumble up / difficult. 😅 But tqsm!!! 🫡🫡🫡✊✊🥺 ---- F!Reader, 18+, MDNI, smut, lawyer!Price, Lawyer!Reader, oral!sex, cheating ----

A/N: I know there was no smut requested but my mind immediately needed it..sorry<3

The room is silent. Everyone in the room standing up. Both sides do not dare to look at the other. You sigh as everyone gets ordered to sit down. You, a successful lawyer and your opponent John Price have always had trouble getting along, not just because he always disagrees with you, even outside of court but also because of how cocky he is. Today, as you see him back in court, he gives you a smirk. Oh, how you wish to win this case.

"John Mactavish and Kyle Garrick versus George Allen and others." The woman so softly speaks. "Neighbourhood guidelines about noise policies in a private community, this case will be dealt with by Lord Edward." You prepare your files in hand and when the time begins, you speak up. "Judge and jury, today, we are here for the case these young and immature men have caused. The community in which both live in has already received calls upon calls for the disturbance of these two young men," you begin.

For nearly 20 minutes after your and Price's opening statements, the problem became worse. Both MacTavish and Garrick began to get louder, pointing fingers at your client. You would occasionally roll your eyes and cover your smile when you'd see Price get frustrated over his client's words.

Maybe, after all, you'd win this one.

"No, what I'm saying is, if this absolute fookin' idiot understood how speakers and parties work, we wouldn't be here!" Kyle stands up and Price has to force him to sit back down.

Your client keeping calm, just like you had ordered them to. It's easy. These two guys are showing the court how bad of neighbours they can be and before you knew it, the men whom you stood upon, sighed as once again MacTavish cussed your client.

"Here's what we'll do, and Price, keep your clients shut or they will hurt themselves more," a deep sigh, "Y/N, your client is in the right. The papers and signatures are on file. Price, your clients are meant to keep quiet, not have a rave in their backyard. If there is one more complaint, the community in which both parties are a part of, can and will have the right to hand MacTavish and Garrick an eviction notice. Y/N, your client shan't step into their yard and if it does happen, MacTavish and Garrick can receive a restraining order against Mr. Allen."

It was clear this was a long one for the court to hear.

After the trial though, the two men Price represented were told to leave before your client saw them again. It was better this way.

You shook Price's hand, and he nodded at you and smiled. "You look rather beautiful today," he says in such a soft tone that makes him appear as if he was a completely different man from the one you argued against. "You look…okay for a shit lawyer," you smile back. "Oh darling," he laughs.

You don't have time for any proper conversation and as soon as you receive all files, you leave the room. Price knows where he can find you. After all, it's always been the number one spot for you to hang out after trials and long arguments.

The small pub that welcomes you also welcomes John. "Care to tell me why you're following me?" You turn to him and he gives you a cocky grin. "What, can't I come here to just relax?" "You? No."

"Still hurt over what happened years ago?" "You stole my case, of course I am. And you knew I was asking for it so I have no idea why the hell you'd go for it."

It was a known story. After all, it's how John and you became such rivals in court. But, it never has to end like that, right?

"It's called business darling," his hand snakes over yours and before anything else can happen, you pull away.

He sighs. "What, too good for me now?" His lips touching your ear. You shift away, trying to not yell at him here. It just isn't right, especially in front of so many others who respect you. "I'm not here to be annoyed by some-" You get cut off when he places his hand around your neck. "What, darling? Say it. Hmm, am I mediocre? incompetent? don't act like you weren't fucking moaning my name years ago. You and I know well that you liked me like I did you," his voice deep and in a whisper. Your hand on his wrist.

"You and I both know that was a mistake," you answer back and he shakes his head. "Tsk, tsk, mistakes are a one-time thing. You know you slept in my bed longer than anyone else. What? Did you forget you used to fuck those pretty fingers of yours to my voice?" he chuckles, almost mocking the nights you two spend together.

He sees that you aren't budging to his questions or comments, it's frustrating. He wants you, you know he does. His body and yours are like a puzzle, the one you both know all too well about.

"Look, I know…i know I'm a selfish son of a bitch but you also have your flaws and-"

"And what are they? hm? Because at least a cheating wife or a stupid fucking face like yours is not a problem I have to face."

Oh does he love it when you bite back.

It was true, which is why he nods. "I do have a cheating wife, the face part though…that is false. You should know. I mean you rode my face almost every night, darling" A smirk grows on him.

He notices your silence.

"What, did you not enjoy how i ate that pretty pussy of yours? Or was it too good that the orgasms made you forget?" he chuckles once more.

Is it bad he needs you again? That he wishes you laid on his bed and not the mistake of a girl he married? Sure she was funny but you…oh fuck. You are smart, gorgeous, funny, sexy…fuck..you're perfect.

"My flat is just a ten-minute drive from here, you can always come…maybe pay me a visit…or two..maybe a whole holiday."

You look at him and then at the drink in your hands. You did want him, yearned for his love again.

"The guy you're talking to is no good. Now, me…I'm handsome, funny, good with my hands and mouth and…well…you know the rest."

Was it a risk? yes. Did you both want it? Yes. So…is this why now after practically thirty minutes of asking you are in his car and on the way to his place?

Once inside his flat, he doesn't waste a second and in a matter of moments, he has you on the couch, his mouth to your neck. His calloused hands take your clothes off. His cock is needy to have you again.

His lips move up, embracing you in a kiss. A much-needed one. "Fuck did I miss you, Y/N," he groans. It was more than a need for sex, but for all the other fun and good emotions, you two brought to each other. His fingers teased your folds as he removed your panties. "Hm, already wet for me? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Need to do something about this, huh love," he slowly goes down on you. His lips are attached to your precious body. From your neck to your hips, his lips ran from. Your aching cunt begging for his tongue.

Once his fingers have enough slick covering them, he pushes them deep inside. A small moan escapes your lips. Eager thing, aren't you?

His tongue lapping at your folds all as his thumb rubs your clit over and over. This is what you always needed after a long day at court.

The sensation is so good. Feels like mythical waves of pleasure but it all stops abruptly. One stupid phone call and he leaves you there. "Stay, I'll come back later tonight, love," he kisses your forehead and walks out.

If only he didn't think his wife was pretty, his hands would be all over you

Tags:

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[zylusmusings]

"my star, that's not what i had meant." xavier's voice, as always, is as gentle as can be. she's over-consumed with anger, grasping at straws in attempts to validate her desperate want to scream at him, so she tries to think of a time when he'd raised his voice at her, and she can't. not even by a singular decibel.

xavier, a man so fitting of his angel-like features, was the kindest and gentlest soul she's ever known. even during their biggest fights, (she wonders if he'd even consider them fights, because he never fights back) he'd only ever gently explains his thoughts as she snaps and throws her arms up in frustration. this time, it's no different.

"oh come on, xavier. you meant exactly what you said - you don't think i can do it!" she speaks accusingly, deep lines of upset drawn in between her brows as she frowns. "you said "i don't think it's a good idea to involve yourself in this mission," did you not?" xavier opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it soon after. because she was right, she had quoted him verbatim.

she scoffs, shaking her head as she glares at her lover. "and yet, your name was the first one i saw when they released the list of hunter confirmed for the mission! do you see me as less, xavier? i know i'm not as experienced as you are, but i'm still a good hunter!"

xavier has his head hung low, blonde strands covering his guilt ridden blue orbs. he feels guilty, there's no question about it. yet, the small selfish part of him, ruled by the memory of his dying lover's body turning cold in his own arms, makes no way for regret to reside in his body. till this day, though a long time since the memory was birthed, there isn't a day where the feeling of his legs growing numb from staying frozen in place, fearful of any minuscule movement that will reinforce the fact that she has died, doesn't haunt him.

it was not as though he isn't aware of her capabilities as a hunter. she was talented beyond words. the way she moved and danced with the swords and weapons against the wanderers like the battlefield was a stage for her very own recital - her skills captivates him every time he had the honour of sharing the battlefield with her.

but he won't lie, ever since doctor zayne himself had pulled him aside secretly after he had accompanied her to her monthly appointment to advise him to be cautious of her overexerting herself physically at work due to her heart condition (and though neither doctor zayne nor she has given him much clue about the true urgency of her condition, he cannot help but be haunted by the fear and frustration in the cardiac surgeon's eyes), the fear has kept him up on more nights than he thought possible.

he's still silent, unsure how he'd like to go about this. as worried as he is, he bets it's an even more difficult experience for her to go through. her condition was something they barely talked about, she often shrugs off the topic every time it was brought up. xavier understands that she fears it too - almost to the point that she overcompensates for it by being too fearless. xavier wishes they could just simply talk about their fears together, but he doesn't know how to.

"so? nothing else to say now?" she almost challenges him, scoffing yet again in disbelief as she finally pulls her glare away and crosses her arms. xavier actually has a million and one things that he wishes to say, the bulk of it being apologies and the truth that's been weighing so heavily in his heart.

xavier is soft spoken, his body often the pen that writes the words he wishes to speak. "i.." he begins, then shakes his head as he steps in front of her, and so naturally, gets on his knees. an arm wraps around the back of her knees, and his free hand captures one of her own. he finds strength in the warmth of her skin, a reminder and reassurance that she was still alive and well - and he shan't squander this chance.

"i apologise, my heart." he sighs, grateful when she doesn't pull away. there is still stiffness and hesitance in her body and he doesn't blame her for that, understands that she's upset. nervously, he looks up at her, a little desolate when he sees her purposefully looking away. he takes her hand to his lips, where they press a soft kisses on each of her fingers. he doesn't know the intent is to comfort her, or himself. though he enjoys the imprints of her skin against his own, would tattoo the art lines of her fingerprints onto every inch of his body if he could.

"without a doubt in my heart, i know you're the bravest woman alive. enthrals me to no end how you're so beautiful, so talented and so intelligent all at the same time. all the marvels in the world stored in you." his eyes never once strayed away from her face, and you could see the twinkling in his eyes as he continues to watch her like she was the embodiment of the flowers that bloom in spring - and this garden was a place he'd be the most devoted pilgrim for. and with the honour of being the one she loves, how could this soldier not want protect his beloved treasure?

"but in all honesty, i'd been a bit worried since your last appointment. you've never truly told me what happened, so i don't know how to gauge things." he continues his explanation, still on his knees as he continues to press his kisses against her skin. this part of the explanation though, sends a shiver down his own spine as he recollects the reality of the situation. his star might not be okay, and he doesn't know what to do to cure her, except to just protect her. pulling his eyes away from her, he whimpers and presses his forehead against her abdomen. "i'm just scared."

the prince of philos is on his knees. a man with enough power to rule a planet, but in his eyes, that will all go to shame - rendered useless - if he can't find a way to save her.

"i understand that you don't feel comfortable with telling me what's going on.. but i know that it's not good. i don't know how to make you feel better, so i figured at least, i could do my best to keep you from harms away." he feels her fingers comb through his blonde locks, and he impossibly nuzzles closer to her, his arms tightening around her torso. "if you tell me what i can do, my love, i'll do it."

"i swear to you. tell me what i can do. tell me what you need, and i'll travel a million times around the world for it."

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

OmfffffGGGG the fun I had writing this chapter GUYS—

I mean start to finish, I've been giggling like an idiot the entire mfing TIME

Well, alternating between giggling like an idiot and snickering deviously like a witch huddled over a cauldron but that's neither here nor there

Of course we have banter between Garp's dippy ass and Bogard's far more poised and reasonable demeanor, but also

BUT ALSO—

No

i cannot

I can't spoil it I cannot I will not I must not I shan't it would be positively rude in all honesty i will not—

Just———muffled screaming

Look I'm sorry in advance I had way too much fun with this

even mihawk is done with my shit at this point

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 4 of who even fcking knows at this point honestly, five? Six? Fifty? Whatever just let me vibe

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. Your first recon mission, while more or less a success, left you wounded and your commanding officers more divided than ever over the operation at hand. You have since arrived at Marineford to complete your training for the mission, and gods only know where things might go from here....

Previous chapter, First chapter, Next chapter

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later Word Count: 4,832

Taglist: @i-am-vita thank you so much you have no idea how much this means to me

♫♬Halloween Blues - The Fratellis♬♫

Well, I'm gonna make ya love me, gonna make ya wish that you'd never been born

Now ya wish you'd never met me, I could be the joker that you couldn't shake off

It was agreed upon by all parties involved that not a word would be spoken of your ill-advised “test” at Kuraigana Island to anyone but Fleet Admiral Sengoku. The brunt of the chastisement fell upon Garp and Bogard, as the commanding officers overseeing the mission; and while you were scolded yourself for getting far closer than your orders had suggested you should, you were still commended for providing valuable new information.

The Marines were now aware that Kuraigana Island was home to a population of large primates, of undetermined size or intelligence but with enough intellect to use basic weaponry.

The Marines were also now aware that the presence of Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk on the otherwise abandoned island was confirmed, and that the volatile pirate had most likely set up at least a temporary base amid the desolate castle ruins.

You were permitted to keep in contact with your mother over the following months of your training as promised, with the stipulation that your letters would be screened to ensure you didn’t relay any confidential information to outside parties. As such, you wrote your final letter aboard a small unmarked vessel bound to pass by Kuraigana Island perhaps four months after the first, and had handed it over to Bogard to scan over.

Hi, Mom!

I’m still doing great, I promise. Training has been exhausting but I’ve learned a lot, and it’s been a breath of fresh air to be among people that actually seem to like me. My commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay. I trust them.

This will be the last letter for a while since I’m being deployed. You don’t have to worry, it’s nothing serious and I’ll be fine, I just won’t be somewhere that I can receive any mail. You can still write me though, and I’ll be able to reply the second I get back to my base. I don’t know exactly how long that will be, but the tentative estimate is two months. It could be sooner, but it could be a little longer.

Love you, and give my love to all our feathery friends.

“Ten minutes out,” said Garp, sitting against the railing with a doughnut hanging out of his mouth as he finished filling out the remainder of the paperwork he had put off until the very last minute.

“‘Commanding officers are a little annoying, but I guess they’re okay,’” Bogard read aloud, lowering your letter to glance down at you with a wry look.

“She’s not wrong, you’re pretty damned irritating,” said Garp. Bogard lowered his eyes to the vice admiral sitting on the deck of the ship, lifting an eyebrow.

Garp only raised his doughnut with a nod and took another bite before returning to his report. Bogard huffed out a sigh and folded the letter, turning his gaze to you as you paced back and forth across the small deck. The vessel was little more than a sloop, designed for no more than one or two people to sail on their own, sturdy enough to withstand the unpredictable weather patterns of the Grand Line but far less advanced than the standard Marine vessel. You barely noticed his gaze upon you, staring down at your feet as you paced, counting the nails in the deck boards in a futile attempt to keep your mind clear from the quickly approaching start of your mission.

You stopped in your tracks the moment Bogard cleared his throat to get your attention, lifting your head sharply and standing at attention.

“A…at ease,” he said slowly, watching you shuffle your feet and fold your hands behind your back. “Your letter will be sent once Garp and myself return to Marineford,” he assured you. “Once you have left this ship, your own contact with the Marines will cease for a period of no less than two months, unless you are forced to make emergency contact. Emergecy contact will only be employed—”

“Under the circumstance that my own life is in immediate and unquestionable danger,” you responded immediately, to which Bogard gave a curt nod.

“Correct,” he agreed. “There will be a covert Marine presence at every island neighboring Kuraigana. Should you require rescue, the closest vessel will be able to arrive within twenty-four hours.”

“She won’t need it,” Garp chimed in through the last bite of his doughnut, and in a rare break of his iron composure, Bogard reached into one of his overcoat pockets and threw a pen at him in response. You watched as Garp caught it and used the implement to sign his name at the bottom of his paperwork before flicking it across the deck of the ship. “Have a little faith, Bogard. We have at our disposal a trained weapon of subterfuge.”

Garp wrapped his hand around the railing behind him and pulled himself to his feet, strolling over to your side and clapping you on the shoulder.

“Trained under our own supervision,” he went on proudly, while Bogard closed his eyes and heaved a slow, impatient sigh, waiting for him to go on. “Who has already provided us with more up-to-date information on the target than anyone else in our ranks—”

“—I’m still not saying your impulsive little test was anything but idiotic—”

“—and humbly declined to take credit for any of it,” Garp went on , ignoring his partner. You jolted as he gave you a sharp pat on the back. “She’ll be just fine. Won’t ya, kid?”

“I’ll—perform my duties as expected of…” You trailed off into a sigh yourself when Garp rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” you said stiffly. “I’ll be fine.”

“See? She’ll be fine.”

Garp gave a firm nod, as if your word was more than enough to affirm your fate as solid fact.

And then his brow furrowed as he stared across the deck.

His eyes narrowed into a squint, and he turned his head the slightest bit, his hand lowering from your shoulder and back to his side,

“No…that’s not…”

By the time Bogard turned his head, Garp was already striding across the deck, extending a spyglass as he leaned over the railing and stared through the scope. He gave a growl of annoyance as he held the scope out behind him for Bogard to take. Your heart raced as you slowly crossed the deck to join them, your already thin resolve faltering when Bogard slowly lowered the scope to glance at Garp.

“This changes—”

“It changes nothing,” said Garp, jerking his head to look at Bogard.

You didn’t need the spyglass to see the foggy haze around Kuraigana Island past the railing, no more than you needed it to see the small ship docked near its southern banks. You couldn’t make out much about it, but you could see the one thing that mattered—it flew a black flag.

“Red-Hair,” said Garp. “I knew he’d be trouble. I told Sengoku, I told him—”

“Why the hell would he be here?” Bogard said slowly, looking back out toward the island. He glanced behind him, and held out the spyglass for you to take. You moved to the railing between them, holding it to one eye and shutting the other to look through it at the distant ship. “There’s no chance any information has—”

“No, there isn’t,” agreed Garp, as your vision adjusted against the magnification of the lenses. You scanned over the small ship, which appeared to be empty, before lifting your head to focus on its flag—a jolly roger, decorated with a pair of crossed cutlasses and a skull with three slashes across one eye.

“Red-Haired Shanks…?” you said slowly, lowering the scope, glancing between Garp and Bogard as they stared out at the ship. “Ah—three hundred million, two hundred sixty-two thousand berry bounty.”

“Sixty-three,” corrected Bogard absently, glancing at Garp. Garp remained focused, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the ship, his grip tight around the deck railing. “Vice-Admiral.” He glanced over sharply when Bogard spoke up. “This does change—”

“It changes nothing,” Garp growled firmly.

You didn’t particularly like the way Bogard leaned over the railing, holding his hat in place as he shook his head, staring at Garp with no small degree of trepidation. Your eyes shifted to Garp when he turned around to face you, frowning down at you thoughtfully,

“Or it could change things for the better,” he said slowly, letting out a small chuckle. “Well, lass. This is your call. Seems more than just Mihawk might be docked at the island ahead of us.” You nodded shortly to show you were following, waiting for him to continued. “Not much is known about Shanks as yet…to the masses.”

“Garp—”

Garp held up a hand when Bogard tossed a warning look at him.

“—but I have on good authority that he trained under Gold Roger himself.” Your eyes widened, flickering back toward the ship in question, as Bogard let out a growl of annoyance and stormed back toward the opposite side of the deck. “This is an unexpected turn.” Your gaze shot back toward Garp as he straightened out, folding his hands behind his back and staring down at you. “We can head back toward Marineford and go through all the meticulous to-do’s of officially changing our plans, spend a few more months buried in paperwork, or—”

“I’m going.” He raised his eyebrows, his lips already twitching toward a smile at the firmness of your words. “The Red-Hair pirates would be no more aware of who I am than Mihawk. There’s no point wasting any more time.”

“No, I guess there isn’t,” he agreed, grinning. He cleared his throat, cupping a hand around his mouth and making a show of calling across the small expanse of the deck to Bogard. “You might just be able to gather us a little more intel than we expeced. Hear that, Bogard? No need to delay!”

“No need to pull a muscle patting yourself on the back, either,” Bogard grumbled, just loud enough to ensure Garp heard him.

“Alright, kid,” said Garp, happily ignoring him as he leaned against the side of the railing. “We’ve got under ten minutes, so here’s the rundown.” He turned his head, looking out toward the ship moored just off the edge of the island. “Shanks, as I said. Captain, pupil of Gold Roger himself. Primary weapon is a sabre. Straw hat, bright red hair, difficult to miss. There’s Yasopp, the first man to join his crew, at the time he was regarded as the sharpest shooter in the East Blue. Dark skin, dreadlocks, carries a pair of flintlock pistols.”

“So...that’s his first mate?”

“No.” Your brow furrowed. “That would be Beckman. Dark hair, ponytail, built like a brick shithouse. Carries a flintlock rifle. He’s a damn good shot himself but he’ll use the thing as a club in close quarters. Lucky Roux, the cook, bastard’s probably as wide as he is tall…”

You listened closely to Garp’s continued colorful descriptions of the crew officers of the Red Hair Pirates—and the potential dangers they could pose to your health should anyone discover what you really were.

“Red Hair isn’t the brightest match in the box,” he went on, “but there’s a great deal of evidence that he closely rivals Dracule Mihawk in swordsmanship. Should the two end up fighting, you keep your distance. Otherwise, be exceedingly careful around Benn Beckman. He’s the idiot’s first mate for a reason and probably accounts for ninety percent of the collective brain cells of the entire crew. You’ll have to keep a close eye on him while you keep up your act. There’s no telling why they’re docked here, and it would be in your best interest to figure it out. If they’re going to be around for a while, keep your distance.”

“I...sort of doubt any of them are ornithology experts,” you said, frowning.

“As much as one might doubt that a species of unknown primates could learn to use relatively modern weaponry.” You turned your head sharply at the sound of Bogard’s voice close behind you—you hadn’t heard him cross the deck. Your frown deepened as he gave a pointed glance at the scar spanning nearly the entire length of your right upper arm. Garp, gestured to the other Marine pointedly at his statement, and you couldn’t deny that he had a point either. “You’ll keep your distance. Fooling one pirate alone is going to be a great deal easier and safer than attempting to fool an entire crew of them.” He turned his head to Garp. “This is still the most ridiculous mission I’ve ever had the displeasure of being involved in.”

“Ah, girl’s got her act down fine,” he said dismissively—and Garp wasn’t wrong about that. Your favorite part of your training by far had been simply flying around the massive base at Marineford, taking tally of how many of the staff and officers you could fool. The only individuals privy to the exact nature of your mission were Garp and Bogard, a small selection of admirals and vice admirals, and Fleet Admiral Sengoku himself. Your performance had been enough to levy a unanimous vote to go forth with the mission. “Your persona, cadet?”

“Gray parrot, previously the pet of a pirate crew that perished in battle, therefore comfortable around pirates in general,” you said. “Able to repeat a number of sounds and phrases that might be heard aboard a ship, capable of learning new phrases and words faster than most other similar species of bird. Particular disdain for Marines and may fly into a frenzy at the sight of their vessels.”

“See?” said Garp, clapping you on the back hard enough that you flinched. “I’d say we’ve got this in the bag.”

Bogard stared between the two of you for a moment, frowning, before shaking his head. “God help us all,” he muttered under his breath, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

The final few minutes of the voyage were spent with Garp and Bogard grilling you about the small amount of information known by the Marines about Dracule Mihawk, about the quick briefing you had just received on the Red Hair pirates, about your memorization of the den den mushi numbers you were to contact in the event that your life was in immediate danger or that you found any information useful enough to wrap the operation up early. Garp gave a resolute nod as you neared your destination, around a mile and a half off the shore of Kuraigana Island, and Bogard gave a heavy sigh and a short nod in silent agreement—no matter how little he approved, you were as ready as you were going to be.

“Alright, then, cadet,” said Garp, his wide grin a direct contrast to his partner’s pessimism. “Bird mode, activate.”

“Must you call it that?” said Bogard, tossing a weary look at Garp as you gave a quick salute and immediately shrank down into your devil fruit form on the deck. You fluttered your wings enough to hop up onto the deck railing in front of them, and Bogard frowned down at you. “Best of luck,” he offered. “Should all go according to plan, we’ll see you again in no more than two months.”

He cringed the slightest bit when you raised your wing in another salute, squawking out over Garp’s snort of laughter, “Wind in your sails!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Garp, waving you off. “Now shoo, bird. And no getting yourself killed.”

And once more, you found yourself flying out toward Kuraigana Island.

You made a high pass over the Red Hair’s ship, squinting down toward it as you soared overhead, and the cause of their mooring near the island became quickly clear—it appeared that there was work being performed on a few sizable cannonball holes on the port side of the vessel. You were surprised to see a handful of the crew on the beach near the edge of the forest, seeming to be laughing among themselves and having a grand time, the primates that had attacked you nowhere in sight. Lucky Roux was easy enough to pick out, exactly as Garp had described him—striped shirt and tinted goggles, easily as wide as he was tall, sitting against a tree and taking a bite out of what looked like an entire leg of lamb while another crewmate assisted in bandaging his arm.

Perhaps they had had a run-in with the local apes.

You took that as enough reason to remain vigilant as you flew high over the forest, scanning the treetops below for any signs of movement. It was a relief that there seemed to be none—if the Red Hair pirates had come in contact with the violent creatures, it seemed they had managed to beat them into submission. You considered how Garp had told you that no one had ever entered the island on foot and lived to tell the tale, and it sent a shiver over your spine to think that the crew might be that formidable.

The first signs of movement you witnessed came only once you neared the castle itself, and you nearly faltered in your flight.

Your target was directly below you.

Sitting on a broken piece of stone wall in the courtyard, clad in a white shirt with a ruffled collar and a pair of black pants, his hat sitting to the side next to him, his massive sword lying across his lap as he polished the handle. You slowly, cautiously circled lower, keeping a fair distance, your eyes remaining on the pirate. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, his posture tense.

You cautiously landed in one of the castle windows several feet away, side-stepping until you were perched in the very corner of the indentation, your gray plumage a perfect camouflage against the rugged stone, and the reason for Mihawk’s clear irritation became immediately evident as the sound of a nonchalant voice tore your gaze away from him.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Hawk-Eye.”

Shanks.

Garp’s description had once again been right on the money—his stringy scarlet hair was capped by a straw-hat, his hands tucked behind his neck as he paced across a pile of rubble that might have once been a wall, a long sabre tucked into his red cloth belt at his right hip. He hopped down to the ground as you watched, resting his elbow on the hilt of the sword as he stared up at the castle. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”

He reached over with his left hand, wrapping it around the handle of the sword, and you tensed immediately, prepared to take flight as he grinned and glanced over at Mihawk.

“Divi—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, his sword extended out at arm’s length, the blade less than an inch away from Shanks’s neck, his sharp yellow eyes narrowing to threatening slits as Shanks lifted his hands up in mock-surrender, still grinning.

“Only kidding,” he said, taking a cautious step back from the edge of the black blade.

Mihawk eyed him with a venomous glare for a few seconds longer before pulling his blade back swiftly to his side and rolling his eyes, a growl of annoyance leaving him as he turned on his heel and stormed back over to the broken wall, sitting down once more. “Remind me of what the hell you’re doing here and precisely why you haven’t left yet?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my friends?” said Shanks, clutching at his chest dramatically in feigned offense. Mihawk ignored the redhead as he sat down heavily on the ground, grabbing a bottle of dark liquor propped up against the pile of rubble and working the cork loose. “Hey, it’s not my fault. This is where the Log pose pointed us. We needed to do a few repairs on the ship. Noticed your old rowboat moored nearby—”

“Rowboat,” Mihawk repeated under his breath, one of his eyes twitching the slightest bit.

“So what’s with the pissed off monkeys, anyway?” said Shanks, nodding toward the forest before taking a swig from the bottle and flicking the cork over his shoulder. “Few of them were damn near as good with a sword as you are.” Mihawk’s eyes shot toward him in a warning glare, and rolled away when Shanks gave a broad grin in response. “Train them yourself?”

“No,” he said shortly. “The humandrills were already quite capable with a variety of weapons when I arrived—”

“Aww, you named them?”

“I discovered the name among the historical documents in castle,” he said through his teeth. “It seems they learned to use weapons by watching their human neighbors before they managed to wipe themselves out. Perhaps,” he went on, before Shanks could speak up again, “your time would better be served overseeing the repairs on your ship so you can leave the moment they’re done.”

“Oh, the repairs are almost finished,” said Shanks, waving a dismissive hand. “Just waiting for the log pose to finish linking up.” He took a sip from his bottle, lifting his eyebrows. “Why? Aren’t you enjoying the company?”

“Oh, yes, immensely,” Mihawk responded dryly.

Your eyes darted between the pair of pirates amid their exchange, keeping yourself perfectly still in the stone windowsill. It was clear that Shanks, at least, was enjoying himself, and that they seemed to have some sort of history between them. It was equally clear that Mihawk would have very much preferred that his company take a long walk off the nearest short pier. He still kept his irritation in check, though whether it was out of any actual sense of camaraderie or he simply didn’t feel like wasting his energy fighting remained unclear.

Their exchange gave you an almost overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and you made a mental note to inform Garp and Bogard of it the next time you saw them.

“Oh, so grumpy,” Shanks commented, leaning back against the rubble behind him, stretching an arm out across one of his knees. “Why don’t you go take a nap, old man? I’m sure there are plenty of beds more than suited for someone of your positively regal manner.” Mihawk went on polishing the golden handle of his sword, not bothering to glance up. “Probably more than enough beds for any number of guests—”

“No,” said Mihawk coolly, still keeping his eyes turned down toward his sword.

“Oh, come on,” Shanks groaned in complaint, laying his head back. His mouth turned down into a despondent sort of pout, tilting his head to look over at the castle—and you tensed immediately, holding your breath, remaining still as a statue. “I’ve never even been in a castle before—”

“No,” Mihawk said again, louder this time, his yellow eyes fixing on Shanks with a firm gaze this time.

“You’re absolutely no fun at all,” Shanks huffed, lifting a small piece of stone from the ground and tossing it in his direction in a half-hearted manner. “You know, you’re going to die sad and alone one day in your desolate castle.”

“And what a peaceful end it will be,” said Mihawk disinterestedly, rolling his eyes back down to the sword across his lap as he buffed a rag across the gleaming blue gem at the end of the hilt.

“But not friendless,” Shanks added, completely ignoring him. He offered another broad grin. “I’ll always be your frien—”

“Would you just go away already?” Mihawksighed wearily, lifting his head and tossing the rag aside. “It’s abundantly clear what you’re attempting to do, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, and just what am I trying to do?” said Shanks...and he seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, before adding in a cheeky tone, “...friend?”

“You’re fishing for a fight,” said Mihawk, gritting his teeth, briefly gripping the handle of his sword before releasing it from his grasp. “And I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh come. On,” Shanks groaned once more, leaning back heavily and pouting. “I’m bored. There’s literally nothing on this damned island except a pile of rocks and a bunch of trees and a particularly nice castle—”

“No.” Shanks gave a huff of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Mihawk. “Go off and play with the other monkeys if you’re so damned bored.”

“They’re already afraid of me,” he huffed, pouting like a child. He brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from his eyes, turning his gaze out toward the forest. “Stupid apes.” Mihawk only rolled his eyes, shook his head, and returned to the idle task of sword maintenance. “I’m frankly surprised you didn’t just slaughter all of them the moment you set foot here.”

“They make for a decent security system,” he said levelly.

“Or you’re secretly just a big softie—”

Shanks straightened out and gave another broad grin when Mihawk tossed a sharp glare at him...and then slumped back down in defeat when his supposed “friend” gave a heavy sigh and turned his attention back to his sword.

It went on this way for some time—Shanks continually poking and prodding, attempting to annoy Mihawk enough to coax him into a fight; and Mihawk persisting in the task of sword maintenance, running a whetstone across the already razor-sharp edge of the blade as he fought to keep his composure. The entire spectacle was rather like watching an excitable puppy yip at a surly cat.

You shifted your gaze to the edge of the nearby forest when Shanks looked over, the young captain waving once the rustling of the dense leaves gave way to a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black shirt, picking leaves out of his ponytail—no doubt Benn Beckman, from the description Garp had offered you. There was indeed a large rifle slung back across one of his shoulders, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He glanced toward Mihawk, before stopping just short of his captain, looking down at him.

“Repairs are finished and the Log Pose’s set,” he said, his brow furrowing when Shanks frowned in clear disappointment. “We getting off of this rock or are you still antagonizing the current inhabitants?”

“I am visiting with a dear old friend,” said Shanks, giving an indignant huff and crossing his arms. He rolled his eyes back over to Mihawk. “Isn’t that right, Hawkie—?”

“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving this island wearing your entrails as necklace,” said Mihawk coolly.

“See?” said Shanks, gesturing toward Mihawk. “We’re just catching up on old times.”

Beckman stared down at his captain for a long moment, frowning, his cigarette smoldering at the corner of his mouth. He finally shook his head and stepped back a couple paces, leaning back against a pile of stones and crossing his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I am,” Shanks assured him with a positively gleeful grin. He rolled his shoulders and took a drink from the bottle of liquor clenched in his hand, his eyes drifting back over to Mihawk. “Well, it seems our all too pleasant reunion may be drawing to a close, Hawkie—”

Shanks’s grin only widened when Mihawk lifted his gaze to glare at him, his hand gripping tighter around the whetstone.

Shanks seemed to bite his tongue for a moment, pursing his lips to suppress his growing amusement at Mihawk’s growing annoyance, before his expression spread back into a grin as he lifted his eyebrows.

“How about a little kiss goodbye—y’know, between friends and all—”

“That’s it—”

Mihawk was on his feet in a flash, tossing the whetstone away.

Shanks was on his feet just as quickly, a look of absolute glee brightening his features as he drew his sabre.

Beckman took a few casual steps off to the side, pulling his cigarette down from his lips to flick the ashes away, shaking his head, his hand tightening around the butt of his rifle almost imperceptibly.

And you, in spite of yourself, let out a tiny squawk of alarm at the entire spectacle...and quickly realized your mistake.

While Mihawk surged forward with his blade drawn, while Beckman kept his sharp eyes flickering between him and his captain, Shanks’s gaze flickered over toward the sound you had just let out.

And his eyes widened the slightest bit as his eyes met yours.

And he lifted his sword to block what would have been a deadly blow from Mihawk as he continued staring at you as you froze in the windowsill, your feathers ruffling out the slightest bit in response to the terror dawning over you.

Beckman also followed his captain’s gaze, lifting an eyebrow as he noticed your presence.

Shanks drew in a sharp breath, his eyes growing even wider, wide as the eyes of a child with a bottomless wallet in a candy shop. One single, almost breathless word left his lips as they spread into a delighted smile:

“Parrot.”

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

First chapter link again, for your convenience

[evilminji]

My WIP fairy hates me. But like... in that homoerotic Nemesis sorta way, I swear.

Cease an desist, woman! (I scream into the void, knowing damn well she, being my own brain, SHAN'T.)

Cause NOW? Now I CAN NOT stop Pondering, with a Capitol P, the life of a Sentient Quirk. The trials and tribulations. The indignities and sufferings. Countless micro-aggression and out right dismissal of sentience. The reduction to the EXTENSION of another.

You are not a person.

You are JUST a Quirk.

An organ that "thinks" itself separate, in the way knees spasm when struck just so. The child you are attached to just needs to get better CONTROL of you. Your words and actions are actually THEIRS. You are simultaneously an unruly animal and strange adult, not allowed near other peoples children.

Why are you trying to follow this four year old into their school? Why are you SITTING out side a pre-school? Are you stalking that child?

You are a grown adult. Connected to a random Japanese child.

The child is expected to "control" you.

Punished if they do not.

No one is listen to EITHER of you, as you try to explain the situation. The child is upset, scared, and does not have the emotional maturity to understand why you are not to blame. All they can understand is that you appeared and everything became stressful and "bad". They started getting punished. Have to share their room now.

Do you even have rights? If you get hurt, get MAIMED, what will happen to you? Can you hold a job? Own land? Open a bank account? Fuck it! Can you have a RELATIONSHIP?

If you went out RIGHT NOW and punched a purse thief, would the FOUR YEAR OLD be arrested?

If the kid grows up, becomes a hero, and you do secretarial work... does his license cover you? If YOU wanted to become a Hero, would he be your hero partner? Could he technically sit in a corner and let you work?

If no one could TELL, over an internet connection, then surely that should prove SOMETHING? Right?

And! The question NO ONE ever seems to ask!

Could..... could you LEAVE? Do people have the right to force you back? If you don't WANT to be some kid's Quirk? You're sentient. If, unlike Dark Shadow, you are not PHYSICALLY connected, but tethered by distance?

Could. You. Leave?

Just "Allright, I'm out. The way you're all treating me is unacceptable. See ya never." And walk out the door? You'd be able to gain distance as the kid grew older. As long as you hid? You be homeless, without papers, but free.

A sentient Quirk means free will. Means you don't HAVE to do shit. It's like being born with a twin, not a slave. And that Twin does NOT have to put up with your bullshit. YOU are the one asking THEM to work with you, after all.

This? Of course, ALSO just ABSOLUTELY BEGS the question? What if that four year old grew up to be a BASTARD? Just... NO self reflection or empathy. Everything is everyone else's fault, always. And they want a NEW Quirk. One that won't question them.

So they sell theirs, buy a new one. Probably die off screen trying to throw it around.

What happens to you THEN? Pain, obviously. Like... massive, massive amounts of pain. You ARE a Quirk. You're being ripped out by your metaphorical roots. By the NERVE ENDINGS. But? Do you... for lack of a better word, "reset"?

Are you back infront of "your" person? Or do you stay, safely, where you are? Both would be fascinating, honestly. Because I imagine All for One? Does NOT get sentient quirks often. If at all.

They'd sooner kill themselves.

After all, if your choice is "kill yourself and your beloved twin" or "be ripped apart and watch them die horribly, then be used to go against everything you both stood for"? You weep and promise to make it fast.

Then you make it fast.

It's... really annoying, I'd imagine, for All for One. It's not necessarily that he WANTS a sentient Quirk. But they are INTERESTING. And he likes interesting.

He also likes owning things that can't leave. Ever.

So of course he'll poke and prod at the Quirk. It will inevitably be a nightmare, either way. Because EVERY Sentient Quirk has some degree of communication aspect to it. Just because the original holder never figured it out, doesn't mean HE can't.

And while your range may now be much, MUCH bigger? Because the fucker is strong as hell? How useful is that... if he can talk to you when ever HE feels like it? Day or night. 24/7.

And that's assuming you don't reset. God help you if you reset. Because THEN your STANDING infront of, most likely, pre-face-smash All for One. Who's looking at you like he just won a Mildly Interesting Prize and you would PREFER HE NOT. But what are you gonna do?

Walk out again?

You think THAT'S an option here?!

I mean... you can and do TRY. But, obviously not. So like? Fuck ™.

THEN the question becomes? Would YOU go to Tarturaus. Are you a hostage? Or an accomplice? You have the same level of power and authority as a cat, deliberately knocking pages of tables and cups to the floor, but... like? Oooooh~ oh yeah! THATS gonna slow him down! His empire crumbles beneath the sheer MIGHT of your petty inconveniences!

*trips the doctor again*

Fffffuck you.