#Cat's cradle!error

[atsumulogy]

WHO’S DADDY? PRANK WITH YOUR DAUGHTER. FEAT. DAD!ATSUMU

synopsis: dad!atsumu and uncle!osamu play a little harmless prank on yours and atsumu’s daughter, aki, what could go wrong? right?

featuring: dad!miya atsumu x AFAB! reader. miya osamu, hinata shoyo, sakusa kiyoomi, & bokuto koutaro.

cw: kids, mentions of pregnancy and labor, kids crying? um … yeah that’s all i think. LOL and maybe grammar errors

naia’s footnote: dad!atsumu fluff to make up for my last atsumu angst <3 this is an edited version of the one i posted in my old blog.

Soft coo’s and aww’s filled the room, as cute baby twins were laying in the crib together, looking at the people that surrounded them in curiosity as the two of them tilted their little heads in unison, consequently eliciting another batch of coo’s and aww’s from the people in the room.

“Aren't they just the cutest?” Atsumu gushed over the children that you two created, and you swore you heard him giggle like a school girl in love.

He’s beaming, pride blooming from his chest seeing the small features they inherited from him and, most importantly, you. You, who struggled every day during pregnancy with your morning sickness. You, who had to endure the pain of labor just so you could give him the privilege of loving two more new people for the rest of his life.

Osamu nods in agreement as he caresses his nephew's cheek with his knuckles, smiling at how he reminds him so much of his brother.

“Atsumu-san, what if you two do that thing where you and Osamu-san confuse one of the twins on who’s their dad?” Hinata excitedly suggested, jumping a little in his place while he looks at the twins, recalling a video on YouTube that went viral.

“Don’t plant any ideas in his head, Hinata.” Sakusa starts telling Hinata off before getting caught off guard by Bokuto backing up Hinata’s suggestion.

“Noo do it! I saw a video like that once on Twitter and it was so adorable and funny. C’mon, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“Mm, I mean, Bokkun’s right — what’s the worst thing that could happen, right?” Both Atsumu and Osamu agreed — but mostly Atsumu, curious about what would happen. While Osamu on the other hand, was dragged into the scheme.

“Come to Daddy, baby.” Osamu tries to mimic his brother’s voice, making you and the others snicker, while Atsumu scoffs in offense before rolling his eyes at his brother.

Aki, being the daddy’s girl that she is, did not hesitate to raise her arms out to Osamu after hearing what seemed to be her “daddy’s” voice, making Atsumu, once again, dramatically scoff and huff in slight offense and disbelief at his daughter’s betrayal.

“Daddy?” She tilted her head at Osamu. She looked at him with doe eyes as she furrowed her eyebrows, curious about her “daddy’s” new hair color. Lowkey making Atsumu jealous because he wasn’t the one that she was calling daddy.

“Noo baby, Aki, come here, I’m daddy.” She turned her head towards Atsumu, confused at how there were two daddies now.

Looking at Osamu again, and at Atsumu who had his arms out for her to reach for, was far too overwhelming for her and her little head to fully comprehend why there were two daddies at the same time.

And before you all know it, your baby girl was crying — fat tears running down her chubby cheeks as her lips wobbled in distress.

(And alas, curiosity killed the cat.)

“I told you,” Sakusa mutters.

“Oh shit,” Atsumu curses as Osamu cringes at the baby in his arms that was now crying with her snot and tears all over him. Both of them feeling awful that they made Aki cry, remorse setting in.

Aito, Aki’s little brother, heard his sister’s wails. And as if sensing that she was in distress, started crying too, as he empathized with whatever his sister was crying about.

“Aww, sweetheart,” you coo’d, taking him from the crib as you cradled him in your arms, rocking him back and forth, trying to ease his cries. Which, fortunately, worked as his cries died down soon after.

“I want my daddy.” Aki demanded in tears, and Atsumu was fast to grant his little girl her wish, hastily taking her from Osamu’s hold. His dad's instincts flipped a switch inside him that he didn’t know he even had.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, Daddy’s here now. Were you scared? Hm?” He slightly rocks her, whispering more apologies as he starts drying her salty tears with his free hand.

“Daddy is sorry, I’m here baby.” He assures her, making her nod her head and follow his soothing voice as she automatically wraps her little arms around his neck.

“Wow, I've never seen Atsumu-san look so distraught before, let alone this soft and gentle.” Hinata comments after he and Bokuto both apologized to you for bringing the idea up.

“I admit, Miya’s a lot more tolerable — I guess — when he's with his kids.” Sakusa hummed in agreement with Hinata, looking at Atsumu with a now merry Aki in his arms while they both beamed at each other.

As you looked at the baby boy in your arms, sleeping peacefully, and at the sight before you, you smiled. Despite the little mishap that happened just a minute ago, you were happy. You were in a state of content and tranquillity — secretly, you concluded to yourself that you wouldn’t trade these moments for anything in this world.

© ATSUMULOGY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. ANY FORM OF PLAGIARISM AND REPOSTING OF ANY OF MY CONTENT IS PROHIBITED AND WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #osamu x reader #osamu fluff #hinata x reader #hinata fluff #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #bokuto x reader #bokuto fluff #haikyuu x you #atsumu x you #hq fluff

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 1]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist

| mafia!Simon x fem!Reader - mild unwanted touching |

it wasn't easy living on borrowed time

wc: 4.9k

Six years later.

Sometimes, if you squeezed your eyes shut tight enough, you could pretend you were somewhere else.

The gentle hum of the dryers around you could be confused with the electrical whirring of the tube, and you could convince yourself you were traveling outside of London. Or maybe it was a spaceship taking you to some far off planet with strange plants that glowed as you weaved between their stems and leaves. The swishing of the washers could be mistaken for the sound of roaring waves of an ocean, and you could almost feel the water lapping at your feet while a small flock of seagulls played alongside you. 

But your escapism was fleeting, and you were always brought back to the cruel reality that you were nothing but a silly girl playing with string in a laundromat. Cat’s cradle was what it was called. It was a game no one wanted to play with you as a kid, because there was always something more interesting to do than play with string. But that was fine. It taught you the most important lesson you ever learned: keep your hands moving. If your hands were still, the humming of the washer and dryers around you might get overwhelming, or the buzzing of the cheap laundromat lights could drive you insane. If your hands were still, you might have thought too much about the unmarked envelope that sat in your lap and who would be coming to pick it up. 

However, the thing was, no matter how often you moved from the soldiers bed formation to the candles formation, every now and then you would end up with a knot in the center of the design. It was supposed to be a simple move, a gentle weaving of your fingers between the strings to get to the next section, but you always ended up ruining it somehow. Hands well versed in mistakes, no amount of practicing could erase the fact that errors were intertwined with your DNA. 

The noise of London suddenly grew to a thundering roar as the laundromat door opened to allow entrance to another patron. Eyes locked onto the string in your hands, you tried not to pay attention to the fact that this man entered without any clothes to wash. Of course you could assume he was there to pick something up, but you knew better than that. His footsteps were loud and overdramatic on the tile floor as he sauntered over to you and made his home on the bench next to you despite the fact that there were plenty of open spots elsewhere. 

Oddly enough, it wasn’t this man's close proximity to you that made you uncomfortable, though it certainly wasn’t pleasant, but it was the scent of him. It only got worse as he reached his arm behind you on the bench as if the two of you were friends, and it washed over you in a suffocating wave. It was his cologne. While it smelled expensive, he used it as if it was as cheap as water, and it burned your nose so fiercely your eyes nearly began to water. 

“You’ll have to show me how to play that sometime,” he said, disregarding any formal greeting. 

As you unwound the string from your fingers, you ignored the way his hand brushed against your thighs as he grabbed the unmarked envelope out of your lap. He was always touchy like that, as if the two of you had known one another your whole lives, and though he made your skin itch, you knew better than to say anything about it. Marco, your unwanted friend, was not known for his patience. 

“Maybe some other time,” you replied, which only made him chuckle. 

While you shoved your string into the pocket of your pants, Marco got to work on opening the envelope. A small wad of cash was stashed inside, and he eagerly pulled it out before counting it by hand. You dared a glance at him while he was occupied, though you didn’t find anything new about him that you didn’t already know. His style was just as simple and flashy as usual with acid washed jeans and several unnecessary decorative chains hanging from the belt loops. There were a few new scrapes on his knuckles, but that wasn’t anything surprising either. Though you didn’t know exactly what he did in his free time, you had a pretty good idea. 

“Perfect, as usual,” he quipped as he finished counting the notes. 

Marco stood from the bench as he shoved the envelope into the pocket of his jumper, stowing away all the money you had given him. You wanted him to leave. Wanted him to walk out of there without making a fuss and leave you be with your stupid game of string, but he didn’t. He always had something more to say. 

“Hey,” he said as he stood in front of you. 

He gently kicked your foot, prompting you to look up at him, which you reluctantly complied with. Marco wasn’t a bad looking man, though you still hated making eye contact with him all the same. Really, with a sharp jawline like that and eyes the same shade of grass, he could have been a model. Instead, he got caught up in the darker side of London, and unfortunately, so had you. 

“You’ve been pretty good at making full payments,” he commented. His eyes glanced up and down at you as if he could caress you with his gaze alone, and once again you found your skin tingling. No amount of good looks could erase the fact he was filthy and slimy just like usual. “My offer is still on the table if you find yourself having trouble, though.” 

He did it on purpose. Of course he did. It was a poorly kept secret that you weren’t really good at conversing with people, and eye contact never came easy for you. So of course he made you look at him before saying that to you. Maybe he thought it was funny. Maybe he just liked the fear that blossomed in your eyes. 

“No thanks,” you said, voice small. 

Shrugging, he took a step away from you while patting his pocket. “Alright. You know where to find me when your luck runs out, babe.” 

When he turned to leave you were finally free to cast your gaze back to the tile floor, and you found the grime there significantly easier to look at than Marco. Yet it did nothing to comfort the anxiety rising in your chest. Most days that feeling gripped your heart so tightly you swore one day it wouldn’t be able to pump at all, and still, you endured. As if you had any other choice. There was no flourishing in your life. There was no moment where you were able to sit and enjoy a cup of tea without something raging in your chest or mind. Because even in your laughter, even in your good moments, all you ever did was survive. 

It wasn’t easy living on borrowed time. 

Just when you had calmed your nerves, just when you were ready to leave that wretched place, your phone began to buzz in your pocket. In the process of fishing it out of your pocket, the string you had used to play cat’s cradle tumbled out with it and plopped on the floor. It stared up at you as if to make fun of you. As if to remind you that your only comfort was a stupid piece of string. Sighing, you reached down to grab it as you looked at the caller ID on your screen. 

“Hello?” you answered as you pressed the phone to your ear. 

“Hey! I just wanted to check in to see if you still planned on coming tonight?” the chipper voice of your friend, Row, hummed through the line. 

Row was probably your closest and only friend, and even through the phone you could imagine her sweet smile and the slight tilt of her head as she spoke. You had known her since you were a kid, and she had grown to become more of your sister than anything else. She always doted on you like a sibling, called you weekly, insisted that she saw you at least monthly; sometimes it was as if she was more of your mother than anything else. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you replied with a soft chuckle. 

“Good. Do you need a ride? John should be leaving work any minute if you want him to pick you up,” Row suggested. 

“No, that’s alright,” you insisted. “I’ve got a few things I need to finish up, so I’ll just take the bus over.” 

“Alright, but if you change your mind just let me know. I’ll make him turn around if you need,” she added humorously before pausing. “What’s that sound?” 

Confused, you glanced around the area until you remembered where you were at. The simple drone of the washers and dryers were just as loud as ever, and one of the various machines had just announced their finished cycle with a lovely little chime. 

“Oh, I’m at the laundromat,” you explained simply. 

“Well, alright. I’ll let you go so you can finish your chores,” Row said with a sigh. “I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?” 

The smallest of smiles overtook your lips at her tone, and you nodded your head despite the fact she couldn’t see you. “See you in a bit.” 

When the line died, all the tension in your body seemed to melt away, but the strain in your mind only grew. All your social energy had already been expended after dealing with Marco, and you still had a dinner to go to. Usually your dinners with Row and her husband, John, were fine, but she informed you some of John’s work associates would be tagging along which meant more people to meet. Maybe you should have said no, or made up some excuse. If it had been any other day except that day, it would have been easier, but you never wanted to draw suspicion. Row could sniff out a problem like it was a bad wound. 

So you stood from that uncomfortable metal bench and slid your phone back into your pocket. The glass doors of the laundromat showed the hoards of pedestrians mingling about outside, and you found yourself swallowing at the sight. With a final glance around the area, you swiftly exited the building empty handed. It felt odd leaving a laundromat without any clothes to take home, but you never did laundry on the 25th of the month anyway. 

After a short stop by your apartment for a change of clothes, you found yourself on an uncomfortably crowded bus during the busiest time of the day. It would take you the better part of half an hour to make it to Row’s house, but that was alright with you. Despite the mass of fleshy bodies around you, all you had to do was stick your earbuds in, listen to music, and watch the scenery pass you by. It was grounding being the observer. Stuck in some sort of in between, only being able to watch, unable to be touched. It was safer that way. Usually. 

Eventually the concrete and glass buildings softened into something more colorful and natural. Golden trees waved in the chilly October breeze and you watched their leaves fall like raindrops where they covered the ground in a saffron blanket. When the bus finally reached your stop, you exited where you were greeted by the soft scent of old rain and wet leaves. That aroma continued to follow you as you walked down the cracked pavement towards Row’s house. Her and her husband were very well off and lived in a neighborhood that represented that fact well. Perfectly manicured lawns, pristine paneling, and fresh paint were the trademark features on every home you passed, which was loads different than you were used to in the city with chipped brick and peeling wallpaper. 

By the time you reached the house the sun had just started to dip below the horizon, and you could clearly make out the warm glow of the kitchen lights bleed through the sheer curtains that covered the windows. Several unfamiliar vehicles parked in an odd pile in the driveway, which consisted of rather pricey looking cars and even a motorcycle. Belonged to John’s work partners, no doubt. Even though you had showed up ten minutes early, it looked like everyone else had already arrived. Perhaps you should have taken that ride from John after all because the thought of walking into a crowded home with all eyes on you had you grimacing. But you couldn’t face him while your anxiety was still high from dealing with Marco. You would just have to grit your teeth and bear it.

After steadying yourself with a deep breath, you approached the door with as much faux confidence as you could muster before knocking. Over the years, you had gotten quite good at concealing the anxiety that often wracked your brain, and even when your thoughts got the better of you, it rarely ever showed on your face. When living with an untamable beast for so long, you had at least gotten good at yanking back on the leash. 

Moments later the door opened with a click and you were greeted by Row’s beaming smile. Boisterous laughter boomed behind her as she reached her arms out to embrace you. You fell into her hug with a slight giggle before she pulled you inside the warmth of the house. 

“I’m so glad you could make it!” she exclaimed as she led you through the entrance. “I know you’ve been really busy with work and all.” 

“I traded shifts with one of the other hostesses, so it’s not a big deal,” you politely excused. 

“Of course. God forbid they give you a proper day off,” Row chuckled. “But you came just in time! John and I just finished cooking, and the boys are all already here if you wanna grab a seat in the dining room.” 

You had been over at Row’s house plenty of times that you didn’t exactly need to be coddled anymore, and yet she still insisted on leading you through the kitchen and to where the others waited. Several dishes of food adorned the rectangular table, and it looked like the only thing that was missing was the main course which could be noted by a large, empty spot toward the center. Plates, cutlery, and glasses of water awaited at all six spots, three of which were already occupied by unfamiliar faces. 

Row made introductions simple and quick as the two of you took your seats. First, there was a man named Johnny. You vaguely recognized his voice as one of the louder ones you first heard when you entered the house, and he was just as smiley as his laughter would have you believe. A messy, flattened mohawk sat on his head, and several piercings adorned his ears with a silver glint. Then there was Kyle, a handsome man with an easy smile, he greeted you with a kind nod of his head. You couldn’t help but think about what a good complexion he had, but you opted to keep that thought to yourself. 

Then there was Riley. He was easily the largest, and frankly the most intimidating out of all of John’s other guests. Slight hints of tattoos poked out underneath his sleeves by his wrists, and there were a few faint scars on his face that lined up with the unnatural curve of his nose. There was an aura about him that you couldn’t quite place, but all you knew for sure was that when he looked at you with eyes so piercing and dark, your stomach felt odd. 

“Boys, this is Chip,” Row introduced

The ceremonious use of your nickname nearly made you cringe, and yet you kept an even face despite it. Really, you should have been used to it by that point. That name followed you around everywhere, even the cooks at work called you that. But that could most likely be attributed to the fact that they probably forgot what your name actually was. Either way, none of the men got the chance to ask you about it before John entered the dining room, ready to serve the main course. 

Dinner went just as you expected it to go. Everyone conversed around you while you kept your eyes on the food in front of you. Your reasoning for staying so quiet wasn’t because you were bad at talking, or didn’t want to participate; it was because your mind was still restless over the day's events. You would speak when someone asked you a question, or maybe give your input when prompted, but otherwise your mind always wandered back to Marco and that stupid laundromat. You could still feel his hand graze against your thigh, feel his arm around your back, still smell him. If it wasn’t looked down upon, you would have taken the string out of your pocket to distract yourself. 

The conversation was entertaining, at least. There was friendly banter between the men, inside jokes you didn’t quite understand, and several Scottish expressions from Johnny that were quickly met by Riley jokingly telling him to speak English. Even Row chipped in with her own fiery humor that left the boys poking fun at one another. Yet your attention kept returning to the large figure on your right. Perhaps it was the scars on his face that had intrigued you so much, or the small hint of tattoos that played peek-a-boo by his wrists, but there was something about him that drew you to him. So much so that you stared at him, something that he quickly caught on to. His eyes met yours for only a split moment before you quickly glanced back to your empty plate, embarrassed. 

“Price,” Johnny said just as everyone had finished their meal, “I heard you got a new pool table.” 

John wiped his mouth off on his napkin before he haphazardly tossed it onto his plate. “This your way of askin’ to play a round?” 

“Might be,” Johnny grinned. 

Chuckling, John stood from his seat and began to gather everyone’s plate, balancing them as best as he could on his forearm. “Alright. But I don’t want any of you muppets scratching up the felt, yeah?”

“Tell that to Garrick,” Johnny quipped as he nodded to the man sitting next to him. 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” Kyle mumbled. 

“What about you, Chip?” Johnny then asked. 

Surprised to hear your name, your ears perked up at the sound as you glanced at the men at the table. Clearing your throat, you offered them a sheepish smile. “Oh, I’ve never really played before.” 

“That’s alright. Riley’s a good teacher,” he insisted as he nodded to the man next to you. 

It was impossible to say no with so many eyes on you, looking at you so expectantly, hoping you would say yes. Even Row seemed a little interested in your answer, and you knew that if you denied their request she would just find some way to rope you into it anyways. You spared a glance towards Riley, who busied himself by taking a sip of his water, yet you were certain you saw his gaze flicker to you as he set his glass back on the table. 

Bashfully, you agreed, and you found yourself in the dim lighting of the garage with a pool stick in your hand. While Row and John cleaned up the mess left from dinner, Kyle set up the table where he racked all of the balls in a perfect triangle. Riley, who apparently was the master at pool, was the one invited to make the first shot. The crisp sound of the cue ball whacking against the others echoed off the dull garage walls, and the tight triangle had dispersed like buckshot across the table. 

One by one the boys took turns making their shots. Just like Johnny had teased previously, you learned Kyle really wasn’t all that great at pool, and you had to do your best to stifle your giggles at their teasing, because you knew that you would do significantly worse when your turn came around. In order to prepare yourself, you watched the others like a hawk as they took their turns. You noted hand placement, how they leaned across the table, how they eyed up their shots; all of it. 

Yet when your turn came, you didn’t feel any more confident than you had previously. You were on Riley’s team, which meant you were stripes, and your only saving grace was that the cue ball seemed perfectly lined up with one for easy pocketing. But when you attempted to position yourself everything fell out of place. The stick position felt awkward, and you couldn’t get it stable enough to make a clean shot. You were about to make a fool of yourself, you were sure of it. 

“Here,” Riley said as he leaned his cue stick against the table. 

His warmth suddenly engulfed you as he stood behind you, chest brushing against your back. It took everything in you not to boil alive under his touch as he guided your hands into position so that you could strike efficiently. Your guiding hand rested firmly against the table, and your grip on the stick was significantly more secure. Eventually everything felt more stable; everything except your mind. Riley’s close proximity had your diaphragm freezing, and you tried your best to ignore the way his breath fanned across your ear as he spoke. 

“Steady, yeah? Strike right here in the center, angle a little bit to the left,” he guided. 

Eventually his hands slid off of you and his chest was no longer at your back, but his scent still lingered. It was pleasant. There was a hint of some sort of cologne, but it wasn’t overwhelming, unlike Marco’s. There was the scent of tobacco mixed with the earthiness, though it was stale, and you noticed a slight hint of what you thought was leather. But you didn’t have the time to think about how pleasant it was, or how you could still feel the ghost of his hand on yours. Staying as steady as you could manage, you made your shot, and though it was wonky you still managed to pocket it. A series of celebratory whoops escaped the boys at your shot, and you found yourself smiling half with relief, half with triumph. Riley went for a more tame reaction, and he rested his hand on your shoulder to give it a tight squeeze. 

“Nice shot,” he murmured. 

Heat rose in your face at his touch, and you tried to swallow the warmth back into your stomach as you tapped your cue against the tip of your shoe. "All thanks to you, Riley."

For a moment, he was silent as he leaned over the table for his turn where thick fingers guided his cue along the table. Pudgy skin and muscles forced his shirt to tighten along his shoulders, and you stood there speechless as he hit his shot. He easily pocketed yet another ball before he straightened back up and turned his attention to you. His dark eyes, the ones that had caught you sneaking glances at him all night long, gave you a quick once over before he tilted his head slightly. 

"It's just Simon to you, sweetheart."

The rest of the evening went just as well as it could have. You and Simon ended up winning the game, no thanks to you, and it wasn’t long after that everyone began to pack up to leave for the night. It was strange. That buzzing heat that ignited underneath your skin after Simon helped you with your technique didn’t seem to waver at all. It was still just as strong when he left as it was when it first began to burn. Kind. Maybe that’s what it was. His touch was gentle and kind, unlike the insidiousness Marco usually tainted you with when the two of you saw one another for your monthly meetings. 

“You feeling alright?” Row asked.

The gentle hum of the car had nearly lulled you to sleep in the passenger's seat, and you found yourself humming in confusion at your friend’s question. It didn’t take long for the words to eventually register in your mind, and you nodded as you leaned back against the seat as you looked at the passing view. It had gotten well past dark by the time you were ready to go home, and Row refused to let you take the bus back to your apartment, especially with how cold it got during autumn nights. 

“Yeah, sorry. Meeting new people just gets a little exhausting for me,” you explained, though it was only half the truth. 

“I know, my sweet little introvert,” she teased. “But you seemed to get along with them alright. I don’t see much of Kyle, but he’s sweet enough. And Johnny, well, he can be a bit much most of the time, but Riley’s a good man. He’s been working for John for about six years now.” 

“Yeah, they were all very friendly,” you concurred. “Though Kyle is a bit better at pool than Johnny tried to convince me he was.” 

Your comment got Row to laugh and you found it quite contagious. Though the two of you were close, it felt like it had been eons since the two of you really got any sort of alone time together, and that realization seemed to hang heavy in the air between the two of you. After a small stretch of silence, she leaned her head to the side but still kept her eyes on the road as the car came to a stoplight. 

“What are you doing Saturday night?” she then asked. 

“Working,” you replied simply.

“Per usual,” she muttered. “What time do you get off?”

“Midnight, if I’m lucky.”

“Wanna come to the Halloween party they’re putting on at John’s club?” 

Every cell in your body screamed at the very thought of stepping foot into that place. You had been there a few times before, and each time it was because Row had practically begged you to go with her, and you learned that clubs weren’t for you before you even entered one. Even then in that car you could smell the sour alcohol and sweat, along with the blistering heat of bodies much too close to your own. 

“I don’t know…” you started, unsure of what excuse to give her. 

“Awe, come on Chip,” Row whined. “It’s been forever since we’ve had a girls night with just the two of us. Really, it’s been forever since I’ve really gotten to see you at all. You’re worrying me a little with how much you’ve been working.” 

Worry. Of course she was worried, you had given her every right to be over the last few months. Work had all but consumed your life, and it wasn’t all that rare for you to pull all-nighters in the name of getting a few extra hours on your paycheck. The last time the two of you had seen one another you had mentioned wanting to get a part time job on top of your other job, and you swore you nearly gave her a heart attack. You hadn’t exactly done anything to ease her mind since, either. 

Sighing, you looked away from the window and over to your friend just as the light turned green and she sped off through the intersection. “Can you promise me we’ll be home by one?” 

“How about one thirty?” she countered. 

You dropped your head with a sigh but hid the slight smile on your face as you glanced out at the street. “Do you promise?” 

“You have my word,” she assured. “We can even sit in the VIP section where there’s less people and better booze.”

Even though her words weren’t particularly funny, the two of you still chuckled together as if it were some inside joke. And yet, despite the laughter, some sort of odd pit formed in your stomach that not even a deep breath could vanquish. Whatever warmth you had felt tingling under your skin minutes ago vanished the very moment Row admitted she was worried about you. 

Of course she had every right to be worried about you. She was your friend, your sister, and it only made sense that she noticed the odd changes in your habits and nature. But worry often brought a second feeling with it; the want to help. Perhaps her dragging you out to her husbands club was her own weird way of helping you, but you knew there were greater lengths she was willing to go if it meant ensuring your safety and happiness. Maybe you should have embraced it. Any real friend or family member would, but the last thing you needed was someone trying to help you again. 

You knew all too well what that brought.

taglist: @datlilwrench @xxkay15xx @cutelibrariangf @talooolaaloolla @stargirl411

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mafia!simon #mafia!ghost #mafia!141 #f!reader

[sisterdivinium]

Genetic engineering, DNA modification, tested it on herself... Why would Jillian go through all this trouble? Adoption would be easier, surrogacy wouldn't be an issue for a woman with so much money, so why this devotion to medical science, to gene manipulation?

This doesn't seem very logical unless we take one step further in examining her characterisation as a sort of Virgin Mary character implied by her clothing and framing during season one: a man is never mentioned in connection to Michael's conception, either as donor or father... Possibly because Michael has no father. Jillian has made him up from scratch or, at least, using only her own genetic material.

This would surely equate to an awesome "medical marvel" and it would accomplish two additional things: first, it would account for just how sick Michael needs to be so that an extremely rare substance that doesn't even belong to this world can be his sole hope in surviving (the result of a miscalculation, an unforeseen mutated gene, some error in Jillian's design, the absence of something); and second, reproduction without the aid of man ("sinless", sexless) not only ties Jillian's character more closely to the theme of the holy mother, it also more strongly makes a Jesus figure out of Michael.

This is significant because it makes him into a designated saviour: Michael, too, "dies", crossing to "the other side" and later returning with the mission of saving humanity, which is the role he is sure he will play during all of season two. This story has been told before, the structure is the same and we all know it. He mirrors Christ in his being born of a woman untouched by man, in going beyond life and back, in being tasked by a higher power to act for others in his sacrifice. It is a destiny clearly written out for him, a classic narrative, a hero's journey neatly set up for Michael to accomplish and all he has to do is follow the script.

And yet, doing everything right, by the book, Michael ultimately fails.

If, according to all of the doubts awakened by the developments in Warrior Nun (is Adriel's realm not Heaven? Is he not an angel? Is Reya God? Is Jesus just as alien as Adriel? Etcetera), the Catholic church's teachings are all twisted, incomplete, when not simply ignorant of all that is true in spiritual, metaphysical matters, then this saviour narrative that constitutes the foundation of the institution itself is doomed — as well as whatever guidance it could supply.

I was discussing with @halobearerhavoc earlier about (among many other intriguing things) how myth informs the show and how it might predict Reya's fall, but also how that event would necessarily depart from how it plays out in the original myth. That is due to the fact that our protagonist here is Ava, a woman, and that this tiny little fact of sex alone forces a shift in how things are presented, in which values are prioritised, in how conflict is treated, escalated or resolved — this applies here as well.

Michael was the textbook redeemer, he was made for this, brought up by Reya with this explicit purpose and with the acquired conviction that he was the key to it all.

Ava, on the other hand, is a product of coincidence, of accident, of the unfathomable. She is already a rupture in tradition — dead and brought back, unknowingly, unwillingly the "usurper" of the halo, inserting herself in the line of bearers at random when she doesn't even seem to have any belief... Ava exists outside of tradition. To Michael's determined "Destiny", she is the one imbued with free will (it isn't out of guilt or duty that she returns to the Cat's Cradle, but through Mary's sympathy, through her own understanding and action). Ava is the unplanned factor, contrasted with Michael who was so planned that his life might have begun inside a Petri dish.

It isn't determinism that will save us, a mantle of glory woven by someone else wanting to place it upon our shoulders regardless of our own wishes; it isn't a decrepit institution or some despotic deity that will define us or what we do; it isn't the heavy, malodorous layers of ancient mould gathered over the endless tomes of Established Tradition or the carefully made calculations of arrogant scientists who think they can predict and explain and control everything.

Salvation cannot be through what Michael represents: an imposed duty, a stagnant, hackneyed story.

A story, we would do well to remember, which was already used to subjugate others, whatever its initial intentions might have been; Jillian certainly didn't predict what would be of her son and surely the primitive Christians didn't see into the future to understand what their devotion and their modes of its transmission would cause, yet it came to happen. The extermination of the Cathars, the persecution of pagans, the burning of "witches", the suppression of indigenous beliefs, activities and lives, to name but a few of the atrocities committed in the name of this one story...

So it cannot be Michael, embodying this narrative so well, that will bring about a fortunate ending to humanity's troubles.

Instead, salvation comes through Ava. She herself might be inhabited by a number of parallels with Christ, but she also carries freedom, an outsider's view which makes the inside so see-through, love, an ability to move outside of what had been previously set for her by someone else (one might even argue that these are the traits that made Christ before the story surrounding him came about)...

The walls built around her needn't contain her — and, phasing as she does, they do not.

Moreover, what would have been the real ending to Reya's plan, had it been followed exactly as it should have? The divinium bomb did hit Ava in the end, but wouldn't it have been worse had she not been interrupted in running up to Michael while he immobilised Adriel during the televised freak circus?

Ava's unpredictability, her impulse, her innate need to act with free will rather than constricted by what others dictate — Ava is the foil to fate itself, the foil to a structure, to a hierarchy that has been festering and rotting from the beginning of time, it should seem.

The hero of this story could only ever be her.

#warrior nun #jillian salvius #michael salvius #ava silva #i had been sitting on this for days #mostly because the initial post was like WAIT IS JILLIAN REALLY LIKE THE VIRGIN MARY and not much more #but i decided to make it into a more organised little essay #COULD you argue that the halo reaching ava was “fate”? yes of course you could #but this reminds me of a post by winterlorn if i'm not mistaken in which the #idea of vincent being the driver who caused the accident ava was in caused displeasure rather than satisfaction #why? because this erodes the very basis of what ava seems to represent #which is being an agent of change unchained to Something Else #so COULD you interpret all that i have exposed in the contrary and say it WAS ava's fate to defy fate? #you could. but in the process you destroy the very nucleus of what ava is #you would also have to almost automatically admit that there is a higher force at play than reya #some more powerful god or whatever #that manipulates everyone (including reya) as puppets #(and his name would be simon HAHA) #analysis and similar #exercises in observation

[citruslullabies]

idea 13

catnap x fox smiling critter reader

reader is a new smiling critter and has a fascination with catnap

catnap hates reader and avoids them at all cost

So... A regular cat

Trigger warnings: minor mention of blood

Romantic/platonic: unspecified, neither I guess?

Requested by: you know who already.

Category: I.. don't know?? Very light angst?

Ship (romantic or platonic): catnap x fox smiling critter!reader

Word count: 336

Hissing and Scratching

You were a brand new addition to the smiling critters, a sneaky fox who was already so quickly loved and adored by everyone. Well… almost everyone.

A certain feline wasn't a big fan of you, honestly he didn't seem to be a big fan of anyone. But you seemed to be set on gaining that cat's favor and affections so it became your mission. Day after day, you'd leave gifts for him or you'd follow him around while rambling with no response besides a few grumbles.

He was a tough nut to crack, and actually, he started to avoid you. Seems like all the pestering made him hate you rather than just having a mere dislike for you.

You slowly walked up behind him, keeping some distance but just enough to where you could still see him close enough and he could hear you. You slowly held one paw out and leaned over a bit. “Pspspsps…” You had attempted to lure him over, getting a glance from Catnap. A rather annoyed glance as his tail started to give warning thumps against the ground.

You slowly approached, paw still out and your body still fucked forward as your fluffy tail swayed and your large ears twitched. Medallion hanging from your neck and off your chest. “C'mere kitty kitty…” You cooed, getting even closer. His ears fell flat as he let out a low growl before he hissed at you, which should've been your first warning. But you kept trying.

“Come here kitty ki- OW!” You hissed and yanked your body up, cradling your arm to your chest. You slowly pulled it away and looked at the fresh scratch on your arm that blood was slowly trickling out from Catnap, shocked that he had actually scratched you. You slowly look at Catnap after a few minutes, only to see him do a stretch before walking off with his tail swaying behind him as if he had done no wrong.

Just a bit of trial and error, is all.

Thanks for requesting!

#poppy playtime #smiling critters #poppy playtime x reader #poppy’s playtime x reader #catnap #catnap poppy playtime #poppys playtime #poppy playtime catnap #poppy playtime chapter three #poppy playtime chapter 3 #catnap x you #catnap x y/n

[forusomimiya]

Hi! Hello! Love your work btw, hope you doing well.

Just wanted to ask if you could do a digital artist!vtuber!reader x Timeskip!Suna? It's totally k if you don't want to. And the plot is that reader is doing a 'draw with me' stream and Suna comes in and the fans go crazy over it?

Please and thank you. Oh! And if possible can I be tagged?

No, being an artist does not imply having to sell your life to work. You didn't want a life like that, full of obligations, commitments or a life that depended only on your followers. You wanted a healthy, strong, familiar community, where you were at ease and where your work was positively valued by all those who followed you.

Your first job spread like wildfire on social networks, hence your number of followers went up weekly, including followed by artists you really admired, something that helped you design more often and inspire you better. Later and without much thought, you decided to open an account on a digital platform where your content could help you receive income. Income that would help you with your future studies and material improvement.

<<What if you do weekly streams?>>

<<What?>> his words surprised you.

<<Yes, this way you can be closer to your followers and you can draw with them or talk about whatever you want. Like a closer get-together>>

<<Hmm, I hadn't even thought about that….>>

<<Well>> Suna turned to you after putting his phone on the bedside table and looked at you. <<I'm sorry to tell you that even though I'm hooked to my cell phone like a complete idiot most of the day, I'm still thinking about you and how to make you happier>>

<<Aww that´s so sweet Rinnie!>>

<<Yeah yeah go to sleep>> your pouting earned you a kiss on the forehead, with happiness welling up in your chest. The next day, you were already proposing the idea on twitter, and three months later you were still there, another morning meeting with your followers.

"So…" you remained silent, concentrated, going over the silhouette with a thicker pencil, changing colors, textures, adding light to the design… "This would be more or less the result, although some things need to be polished. You like it?" you explained showing the tablet to the camera and stopping to read the chat. You couldn't help but smile as you read comments from people complimenting your design or thanking you for being able to share it with them. "I'm so glad" you danced in your chair and rolling up your arms again, you went back to the task.

A sound outside the room startled you. Thinking nothing of it, you went back to your work until you heard a second knock closer to the door.

"Sorry guys, maybe it's my cat having one of his schizophrenic attacks" self convinced you were distracted again until the creak of the door opening caught you again. That "cat" almost six feet tall, holding a cup of what appeared to be tea by the smell, with tousled locks sticking out of his head and hooded eyes from possible lack of sleep after the previous night's game, wearing greyish old sweatpants shorts, and no shirt (error), entered the room almost stumbling until he approached you and appeared in the camera.

You didn't have time to slow down what was going to happen next.

"morning everyone" you should to ask him to leave because you didn't want anyone to see him, but you were lost in how beautiful he was even just waking up, thus remembering how much you loved him and shrinking him into a little man you wanted to cradle and care for in your arms right then and there.

Stupefied not knowing what to do, he smiled at you half asleep offering you the cup of tea, followed by a kiss on the forehead and a "don't forget to eat something" before turning back to the camera. "Be nice with her" he pointed his finger at the screen and promptly disappeared.

The chat was completely on fire.

12:56 👑teird0ll: EHAT WAS THAT 😳😳

12:56 edkillz: WHAT THE FJDKEDKLWSN

12:56 ⚜️alongthestar: EXCYSE ME!!??!

12:56 🔹👑yucutie_: nice cat

12:56 bluberriepies: RINTARO FUCKING SUNA AAAAAHHHHHHHH

12:56 m!lktea: think I’m gonna die for a while 🫠

12:56 ⚜️🔹melozy: oh

12:56 ⚜️🔹melozy: my

12:56 ⚜️🔹melozy: godness

12:56 dark__sun: NO WSY GUYS 😱

12:56 bbyitsyurs: I KNEW IT

12:56 👑dab4deeim: you two are so cute IM GONNA CRY 😭💕

12:56 ⚜️🔹okaaayletsgo: I think you have something to tell us 🤨

12:56 🔹yodel-ay-hee-hoo: I screamed and my mother came running into my room 👍🏻

The situation was so uncontrollable, you could only allow yourself to laugh and watch your boyfriend vacate the room as he disappeared down the hallway in the distance leaving you there, dumbfounded and with hundreds of fans demanding explanations.

An exception was made that morning: putting aside the tablet to make way for the story of how you and Rintaro Suna met, by an absolute majority vote.

Okay I’m just like AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

Freaking out thinking of Suna standing there next to you, bare torso, slightly marked abs, (because he is thin and not a very muscular man), the long veins marked from his forearm to the back of his hands, disheveled hair, marks from the sheets on his back, just AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Thanks to @hannenomi for this idea, and I'm sorry it took me so long to write it. The best thing is that here it is!!! Hope you like it cutie 🥺🩵

#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x imagines #haikyuu suna #artist reader #digital artist reader #suna rintarou imagine #suna imagines #suna x reader #suna rintarō #suna rintarou #suna rintaro x reader #hq suna #suna rintaro imagine #suna rintaro scenarios #suna rintaro oneshot #suna oneshot #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x y/n #suna x y/n #suna x you #suna fluff #suna rintaro fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! #suna rintaro fic #suna rintaro haikyuu

[simplyavatrice]

You bring up a really great point that it would truly be a fatal error on Simon / whichever streaming service to not being back Alba and Kristina as their characters since they’re definitely the biggest draw of the show. Like you said, it would be foolish to not bring them back and whatever this revival looks like, whether it’s another season or a movie, the backlash from the fandom would be huge. Especially when it was the fandom being loud as hell about wanting to see how Ava’s story ends is what made it possible to begin with. I can’t imagine that Simon doesn’t recognize this and would accept anything short of Alba and Kristina reprising their roles, regardless of the medium.

All that to say, thank you for the reality check. It was much needed. And thank you for the wonderful fics you write, they 100% helped me stay sane and gave a much needed mental break while I was finish up a project proposal for my Masters 💙

i've always been of the belief that, no disrespect to the rest of the show, but if ava had been waiting for beatrice when she left cat's cradle at the end of season 2 and they had gotten back together even for just a single line of dialogue and a short second kiss, then this is a whole different story.

I don't think the fight to save the show is as big, i think it's still there, but not at the level it was. people want to see these two get back together - there's a reason this is being reported as such a huge win for wlw ships and shows centering on those ships

so it has to come back for them - they have to be at the center of it because that's what people were trying to save. yes we love the world as a whole and yes we want to see mary back and see all the other characters again and find out more about the world and the war and all of that - but at the end of the day, we fought this war for ava and beatrice and them getting their happy ending

anything less than that is a flop and it would be crazy if the people putting all this together didn't know that

[mellybabbles]

(Falls from the roof.)

I think you need a new Roof. *GUESS WHO-*

I have a lot of headcannons, and since your the only one who replied, you get more >:)

-If Kustard happened in the past, Murder time trio would remember it. So BASICALLY, I PROPOSE BAD SANSES POLY + FELL, BECAUSE THEU WOULD REMEMBER FELL AND LOVE HIM AND FELL WOULD BE SO CONFUSED-

-Papyrus has the Habit of calling people “Comrade”.

-Lust is good at baking! He really likes making Brownies :3

-CChino would be in a poly with Epic, Anxiety sans, and Maybe even Doc *by Tehrouge*

-Error taught Blue and Fresh *Fresh unwillingly, he wouldn’t leave-* How to play Cats cradle. Both solo and With others.

-Error, Blue, Dream, Lust, and Fresh all go shopping together and talk about drama. Fresh goes along because he knows a lot of drama.

- @dustsansm1 ‘s Eyes change to match his emotions. Like inks! *Only if he has the Void face with the white dots to better show emotion :]*

-Ink has actually gotten to the point where he and error can hold hands.

AWW THESE ARE SO SWEET also omg papyrus and me both I call my closest friends/partner comrade it's a title to hold in HONOR, cause I rarely ever call people it unless you're like bestest of friends with me ALSO CCINO X EPIC X ANX X DOC IS SUCH A CUTE POLY OMGMGMGTRM

#melly's silly talks #anon ask

[rossellini-tyrell]

Nothing’s Gonna Change My World

Ch. 5 - But If I Seem To Act Unkind (it's only me, it's not my mind)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Word Count: 4,255

Warnings: MINORS, PROCEED WITH CAUTION! Pav and Reader are getting steamier, but there’s no smut here (or even implied), nothing happens that you wouldn’t see in a given MCU movie. A reminder that these characters are in their early 20s.

Pairing: Pavitr x F!Reader also found on AO3 and Wattpad. ----- You stand on your fire escape, watching Spider-Man dance across a noontime sky. Every now and then, when the bug bites him, Pavitr likes to bust out the suit and show off for the locals. Today, some children are gathered round a domed building nearby, with your boyfriend (your boyfriend!!) perched at the dome's apex, balanced elegantly on one leg, not unlike a wading bird hunting in a brackish lagoon. Children of assorted sizes whoop and holler as Spider-Man puts on an impromptu performance atop the glittering dome, flows through an arabesque, a jete, an aerial in place, a handstand on just two fingers. He wheels into a straddle lever, the sunlight striping in thick ribbons across the thick black waves flowing with him atop his head. Your breath hitches as you watch Pavitr's well-toned muscles flex and release, quads tightening, scapula retracting, feet arching. Your eyes are glued to his little show, because in what world would you have expected that you'd get to date this. Not only that, this wants to date you just as much. A bangle glimmers as it's tossed into the air, becoming a diabolo of sorts that cycles upon a gossamer strand of web, surprisingly strong despite its appearance. Pavitr deftly twists the web into a bridge, does a J-whip, a C-whip, a cat's cradle. Hops, stops, and bounces, everything in between. The gaggle of kids gasp in delight as he launches a second bangle, aces seemingly impossible tricks, impossible for anyone but him. The crowd goes wild as he leaps to catch both bangles on his wrists in the air, and takes a bow with a flourish and wink. And then he's gone, slinking behind the dome of the building. You need to fan yourself after catching that view. You step back inside to escape the oppressive midday heat, only to be immediately confronted with a sight that nearly gives you heatstroke on the spot: Spider-Man, who is now your boyfriend (dreamy sigh goes here), is standing unmasked in your kitchen, and he's stripping off his suit top. You freeze, rooted to the spot as he flexes his arms in front of him and ahead to cleanly peel off the top. The top rides up along his back, treating you to a reveal of a well-developed, incredibly powerful torso. He's all lats, obliques, traps, deltoids, all the power you'd expect of a gymnast, yet compact and lithe enough to remain nimble and catlike. A fine sheen of sweat clings to a rich expanse of smooth, chestnut toned skin, with only whispers of scars dappled across him thanks to his enhanced healing factor. You can't help but profusely thank whichever past life iteration of you that did whatever it was they needed to do for you to see this today, this is your first time seeing Pavitr shirtless, and damn he doesn't disappoint. Your boyfriend grabs a sport-top water bottle off the counter (when that got there, you have no idea), upends it to take a huge swig, eyes closed in relief. It's then he notices you, statue-still where you stand, seconds away from spouting a nosebleed. Pavitr's eyes light up in acknowledgement, he spins on his heel to face you, treating you to deliciously sculpted pecs and abs, with a bonus hint of the crest of his hips peeking out of the rest of his suit. "Enjoying the view, darling?" he slyly asks, his lips pulling off the bottle with a pop. "I have...a lot of questions for you right now," you stammer, mind still in a blue screen of death. Error 404: sweaty shirtless superhero boyfriend in my house right now. "Like, how did you get in my apartment, and where did that water bottle come from?" "Bathroom window, and I put it in the fridge before I left," Pavitr answers in order, nonchalantly, as if he were being asked which way to the nearest ATM. "Nobody's paying attention to that side of the building so I can just slide in like it's the DMs." "...How—and why—in the fuck did you get in and out of my apartment twice without me noticing?" you demand, exasperated and still processing how confusing, surprising, and glorious this all is. Pavitr chugs the rest of the bottle, a rivulet of water escapes the corner of his mouth and trails along the cut of his jawline and his neck. He plops the bottle down and wipes it off with the back of his hand. "I'm Spider-Man, I'm sneaky," he pans. He advances towards you, walks you back against the counter, before caging you in with his toned arms. There's nothing aggressive about it, only a little playful banter, you know you'd have your freedom if you so wanted it in an instant. "And I thought you might appreciate a little surprise, dove," he purrs, nose only inches from yours now. His locks are extra shiny from the sweat, sepia-toned eyes sparkling with mirth, affection, a hint of...want? You can feel yourself flushing, burning up all over again because what you would have given to be looked at like that sooner. "Oh it's...appreciated," you say, wetly. You could swear a few beads of sweat are popping up on your own brow. Pavitr's eyes flicker from yours, to your lips. You watch his tongue subtly dart out to wet his own, before he meets your eyes again. And then you're floating, shrieking, legs dangling off the ground as he's snatched you up into a bridal carry, strong, so strong arms holding you against that smooth, sweaty, delicious chest of his. Your boyfriend snickers lowly at your shocked expression, eyes now glimmering with mischief. "You're not limited to appreciating with just your eyes, sweet girl," he huskily implies. The deep, slow kiss he melts on your surprised mouth doesn't help things, sends a shudder to all ten fingers and all ten toes, his tongue swiping the ridges of flesh behind your top teeth setting your nerve endings ablaze. Hesitantly, you splay your hand across his bare chest, the context so different from the first time you got to. The skin beneath is damp, supple, electric, instantly enrapturing you with the velvety feel. Looking at and touching the sweaty shirtless superhero boyfriend? You could kiss the past life version of you on the mouth right now. "'Yanno what the best part of getting to hold you like this is, dove?" Pavitr breaks you out of your trance, the question winding between your ears like oil added to a diffuser. You arch your eyebrow in query, your cheek pressed against one of his pecs. "I get to kiss you to death!" he beams. He's on you like white on rice, smacking kisses anywhere he can reach by pulling you close to him, some land on your hairline while others are mashed into the apples of your cheeks, the swell of your nose, one or two catch the hollows where your eyes sit. The ridiculous display of affection makes you giggle, kicking your feet like a child. "Pav! Pav, no, that tickl-mph!" you protest, a squeal stifles as he peppers kisses to your plush mouth. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that," he smirks against your lips, gently tugging your top lip between his. Fuck, he's an amazing kisser, something he's shown you progressively more of as you've warmed up to the idea that a relationship could be like this, unfailingly affectionate for the sole reason of getting to revel in it. "I think I'm gonna keep kissing you to death somewhere else now." Pavitr near-runs with you to the couch, you're still squealing and kicking the whole way down, not letting up through the solid five minutes of making out he spoils you with after, until he delicately cups your face and silences you for good with a press of lips so tender and sweet, you think you'd have felt it in a past life. ---- "Mmm, I'm gonna be thinking about that dessert on my deathbed," you muse as you enter his apartment. You've just arrived back from your dinner date with Pavitr, all dolled up in that green dress he'd picked out, complemented by the new pair of shoes he'd surprised you with before leaving. I'm Spider-Man, I'm observant, he'd said when you asked him about how he knew what shoe size you were, and then he'd fastened up the buckles before kissing the inside of your ankle, lips finding purchase on the bony point there. "Agreed, that was divine," he concurs. "I've never understood what people meant when they said 'better than sex'...until I learned you could grate cured egg yolk onto ice cream. I would kiss whoever came up with that on the mouth if they asked." You could think of a lot of things that were "better than sex", in your opinion. Maybe a sign that you need to raise your expectations, a tall order after the lackluster experiences you've had in the past. Not that you were going to debate that point with your boyfriend. "Seems like it's asking a lot to get a kiss on the mouth from you these days," you snark. Pavitr doesn't hesitate to angle your chin towards him, swallows up your mouth with his in a kiss that damn near sucks your soul out "Sonu, I truly hope you've learned by now, you never have to ask for that," he murmurs. The way he looks at you is sweet, like the chocolate hue of his irides. It never fails to make you want to melt, like the ice cream you'd enjoyed tonight. He kisses you again, and then once more, his lips taking the lead in a slow dance you're finally mastering. Pavitr starts to veer off the choreography and moves to kiss at the corner of your mouth instead. "You keep calling me that one, sonu," you wonder aloud. "I hope it's a good thing." "It's Marathi for 'gold', or 'precious'," he clarifies, his warm breath tickling your cheek. "So yes, a very good thing for a very sweet girl." "Hmm, and what about—oh!" you yelp delightfully as your boyfriend mouths on your jawline, you can tell he's relishing in the sound. "About that other one, the one I can't remember." "Ahava?" he supplies, the word spilling perfectly from his lips in a way that makes your heart flutter. "Yes, that's the one," you confirm. You don't miss the subtle pause, the falter of his breath. "Mmm, I'll tell you later," Pavitr says. He immediately distracts you with a light nip on your earlobe, smears a kiss on the skin he finds just below. "Stop—ah! Stop avoiding the question!" you protest, your heart floating up to your throat as the sweet torture your boyfriend administers to you sends your heart racing. "Not avoiding it, darling, just want to kiss you a little," he dismisses, trailing down your neck, now. "We gotta crack open that Malbec I've been saving too." "Well, will you tell me after?" you ask impatiently. Pavitr grins into the skin of your neck, lathes it delicately with the blade of his tongue in a way that makes everything muzzy and warm. "Sure I will," he half-answers. "Just let me enjoy this a bit longer." "Incorrigible," you mutter under your breath. Pavitr chuffs at that, starts dotting kisses up and down your neck so ticklish you can't help but squirm in his hold. Kissing's nice with him, both playful and comforting. He could thrill you with a kiss on the forehead, shut your unquiet mind off with a press of his mouth to yours. It's almost as if he uses his lips to pour out the overflowing fondness he's got into your very soul, trying to fill the void spots others have left behind with his brand of syrupy-sweet heartsong. A potent sap to glue the seams of old claw marks together, you drink it down greedily. The little attentions he's gracing you with are sensual, yes, but you know by now that Pavitr never asks a question he doesn't know the answer to. Kissing's nice, yes, but you're meant to enjoy it here and now, as an answer and not a question, the tiny dots his soft lips make on your neck are punctuation, not ellipses. Here and now is disrupted by the gentle tug, an itch in Pavitr's countenance. You recognize it now as the way Spider-Man knows, knows to follow, to to find, to protect, save. The pulling of a thread between your souls one night that led to this moment, cocooned in each other's embrace. It pulls on him now, thick eyebrows knitting together, laugh lines deepening at the crease of his mouth. "Pav, you should go," you assure, your hands gently flattening against his shoulders. Pavitr sighs, reluctance souring his expression. "Sonu, I don't want to interrupt the date," he protests. "You had your suit on when I kissed you, I was well aware of what I was doing," you assure, trying to show on your face that you're not unhappy. "Go get 'em, and we can continue this over a bottle of wine when you get back." Pavitr considers this, before planting a fond, grateful kiss upon the apple of one cheek. He scurries to climb into his suit, his second skin. Before you know it, one foot is out the kitchen window, and he turns to you on his way out, and says: "One for the road?" You roll your eyes, call him 'insatiable', peel up his mask to kiss him once, slow and sweet. You pat his cheek fondly, and he holds your hand there with his for a beat, savoring the feel. "If you die, I will google what that word-" Pavitr stops you, two gloved fingers against your lips. "Don't finish that sentence, darling," he smoothly replies. He slips you a wink, and you kiss the fingers against your lips before he melts into the evening sky. You watch him go, roll down the window when he's out of your sight. Alone in the low light of your boyfriend's apartment, you resolve to tidy up a bit, knowing he can be short on time for that. You clear up a few stray dishes he's got in the sink, pull that wine bottle he was after down from his wine rack (you wish you could afford to have a wine rack). You get the idea to start lighting a few candles to set the mood to unwind, you're rooting around in a drawer for a lighter when you hear the window roll up again, no more than fifteen minutes after your boyfriend had left. "(You), the dishrag in the drawer. Quickly," he orders, uncharacteristic worry in his voice. Unsettled, you locate the item in question swiftly, passing it over to his outstretched hand, surprised to hear high-pitched murmurs coming from his lips. "Pav, are you okay?" you inquire. In the back of your mind, you know his healing factor will do most of the work, but you have yet to see him actually hurt since you started dating him. "I'm fine, it's not for me," he hurriedly explains, climbing carefully through the windowframe. Your confusion peaks when he tucks the dishrag into the crook of his other arm, which suddenly emits a keening cry. "What on earth is that noise?" you ask, bewildered. "Oh, little love, shhhh, shh, shh, don't cry, don't cry," Pavitr coos at the source of the sound. You watch spellbound as he retrieves the bundle from the crook of his arm, delicately unfolding it to reveal a tiny, squalling kitten, its fur dirty and wet. It's but a button high, no more than 4 weeks old, and it looks famished. Pavitr gives it a scritch between the ears with one finger, the little ball of fur obviously appreciative given the way it arches into the touch. "You were all alone in that alley, bitty fidget, no mom cat to keep you from falling into that storm drain," he croons to the kitten, half comforting it, and half explaining the situation to you. "But I heard you calling, and I found you, and you're okay now, little love, you are okay, shhhh," he soothes. "The poor thing, it must be freezing," you respond, overwhelmed by how adorable this all is (both the kitten, and also your big, strong superhero boyfriend cuddling the tiny kitten). It's total cuteness overload, save for the fact that this kitten is clearly in bad shape. "Here, hold it for a minute—I know, fidget, I know—I have to get out of my suit," Pavitr directs, passing you the swaddled, wailing kitten. "There's a love, let her hold you, there you go," You accept the bundled ball of fur, it squirms weakly in your hold. You hear beneath the strong cries a wet, warbling quality, worrying you that the kitten might be sick. "Come on, kitty, come on," you encourage, giving the kitten a vigorous rub between your toweled hands to keep it warm. The kitten responds with a sneeze. Pavitr ducks back into the room, stripped down to a simple tee and sweats. He starts up the kitchen sink, checks the temperature on the inside of his wrist before beckoning you closer. "We have to get it cleaned up, it won't last long in that state if we don't get it warm and dry again," he urges. You hold the kitten in your cupped hands while he gently works a smidgen of dish soap through the kitten's soft fur, cooing to it as the dirt and grime lifts away, running through your fingers. "What a good fidget you are, yes!" he praises in response to the kitten's annoyed chirps. "Doing so good for us, little love, and look at that, what pretty golden fur you have under all that grime!" You're almost jealous of this tiny scrap of a thing, how much your boyfriend loves on it. He's right though, the water starts running clear, revealing a thick coat the color of a late dawn. You hold it still in the towel as Pavitr carefully cleans up its face with a damp cloth, freeing the kitten to open up dusky blue eyes, the color of a kitten too young to be without its mother. You borrow his blow dryer to dry the kitten off so it won't get sick, the fur fluffing up nicely under the heat. It's a pom-pom of dense goldenrod fluff by the time you're through with it, taking wobbly steps across the towel. "Do you think it's a male or a female?" you ask. "Beats me," Pavitr admits. "I don't know how to tell if it's healthy or if it needs milk or anything either." An idea comes to mind, you whip out your phone and start furiously googling. "Are you...googling how to tell the sex of the kitten?" he asks. "No, I'm looking for an emergency vet that's still open," you answer, face still buried in your phone's screen. "I mean, it fell down a drain, we should make sure it's not really sick or hurt or..." "That's...a good point. I'll grab the car keys, you grab a box to put the munchkin in," he concedes. ---- "A little boy, huh," Pavitr murmurs, the kitten in question mewling loudly from the carrier he's been placed in at the vet's office. The kitten received a mostly clean bill of health, but was given some medicine to help with the wet sounds coming from his chest. The poor thing has been through the wringer, loaded up on flea prevention, vaccines, a nail trim, he's scared and he wants his mother. "Yeah, a brave little boy." you remark, releasing him into the produce box you'd hastily grabbed from your apartment to serve as an impromptu playpen. Tomorrow, you'd have to find something better, but for now, you're sitting cross legged on the living room floor, watching the fluff ball with rapt attention. Pavitr gives you an appreciative once-over, you're still in the dress you went to dinner with him in, covered now by one of his heavier coats. "I'm sorry I ruined our date," he apologizes. "What...no, you didn't ruin anything," you refuse. "If anything, this was a pretty damn good way to end the evening, unexpected but still good." "Ah, but I was gonna pour you some wine, rizz you up, put on a movie so we could cuddle and make out on the couch—" he elucidates. "Let me stop you right there," you cut him off. "First of all, it is current year, there is no fucking way we are still saying 'rizz'". "Oh, come on," Pavitr whines. "Let me finish," you hold up your hand. "Secondly, yes, that would have been a great way to end the date. But so was getting to experience this with you, it's...it's nice getting to save a kitten's life together. I'm happy because it was with you, Pav. I don't care what it is we're doing, I'm just happy I got to share it with you. I wanna share all the things with you, someday." Pav's smile is relieved, impossibly fond. The kitten mewls in the background, clambering around on the blankets lining the box. There's words he wants to spit out, you can tell, but he swallows them back down. "Thank you, dove, I...hey, we should name him," he says. "You're keeping him?" you ask, surprised that he's up for this kind of responsibility with his...busy schedule. "Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I wanna keep him. There's gotta be a reason I was able to hear him, maybe this was it." "The cat distribution system's timing is always right," you chuckle. "The other reason I wanna keep him is because I found him with you," he states. You don't know how you should respond to that. But the sentiment is bubbly, full in your chest, like the tiny bubbles of the Prosecco you had over dinner. "I'm glad," you say. "I'm happy I could do this with you, and I hope that extends to helping you pick a name." "Oh it does, sonu," he replies. "I'm coming up with blanks right now, maybe you could help me think of something?" The kitten is screeching now, his squalling mighty, demanding your attention. His golden fur is puffed up around his chest, he'd be threatening if he weren't a little wisp of a thing. "He kinda reminds me of a lion," you ponder aloud. "Like that scene in The Lion King where baby Simba was trying to scare off the hyenas by trying to roar at them." "Sheru, then," Pavitr proclaims, gathering the kitten up in his arms. His voice wraps around the word in a way you know he wants to keep saying it. "Sheru?" you ask. "It's Hindi for lion," he explains, lifting the aforementioned kitten up to give him a kiss on his pink nose. "I thought you spoke Marathi, though," you wonder, confused. "Mmm, I can speak both," he extrapolates. "Marathi's my mother tongue, but I've learned Hindi as well, a little bit of some others too." Sheru nuzzles into his cheek. "Well I like it, it's a wonderful name," you affirm. "You're good at coming up with names for things...like me." "I wouldn't disagree with that assessment, darling," he quips with a sly wink that makes your heart skip a beat. "Hey, you should get to hold him too, you did half the work." "I thought you'd never ask," you say. Pavitr passes you the kitten, who settles into the curve of your hands. "Oh, hello, cutiepie!" you gush. "Welcome home, Sheru!" Pavitr watches you, besotted as you play with Sheru, how joyful you look nuzzling against the tiny ball of fur. You look so peaceful, the most peaceful you've been since he's met you, and it fills his heart complete in a way it hasn't felt in years. He knows now that he has to tell you. The word lodged in his throat comes floating, floating up, before it passes through his lips like a prayer. "Beloved," he says, simply. You freeze, putting Sheru in your lap as you turn to face him where he sits next to you. "In Marathi, Ahava means beloved," he tells you. The bubbles in your chest fizzle, pop, explode inside of you, almost choking you out as you process the implication. It feels unreal, your life feels unreal, but you know it's real because the way he's looking at you with the little kitten writhing in your lap wearing his coat and the dress he bought you is bright "Y-You mean...you really...?" you stutter, the first tears beginning to prickle. "Yes, I do," he breathes, the statement sure, steady. His own eyes, full of affection, full of want, full of love are misting over now. "Oh Pav, I—I love you too, I have for a while now," you admit, your voice warbling. "You've been calling me that since..." bright "Since you asked to be my girlfriend, yes," he reveals. "I always meant it, I told you that I've always been a bit of a softie," the tear tracks run down his full cheeks. You tearfully smile, knowing that it's been a couple months since that night. For all this time, he's been waiting for you, never asking you a question he couldn't answer. He's said the words a thousand times, but never making you listen before you were ready. "Pav, can I—" "A thousand times yes, Ahava," he exhales, gathers you up into his lap, furiously kisses your tears away where they stream on your face, pours his affection, his heart into yours from where it spills out of his lips. I love you I love you I love love love you I do I do I love you I do I love you my love my girl my perfect precious sweet girl my darling little love I love you— bright

#spider-man: across the spider-verse #spiderman india #spiderverse x you #spiderverse x reader #across the spiderverse #Pavitr Prabhakar #pavitr x you #atsv pavitr #pavitr prabhakar x reader #Pavitr x reader #pavitr my beloved #astv fanfic #spiderman astv #spiderman astv imagines #astv #spider man: across the spider verse #x female reader #fanfiction #spiderverse headcanon

[phinix53]

Bruh I got a lot of questions but I'm gonna answer a few for ya I know your busy,

Wouldn't Dream be like the adoptive father/mother to the wolfdog pups and would be more aggressive per say since the gang isn't part of his pack and the fear and trauma of the pups being taken away next might not sit pretty for him it did successfully make him ease up but the problem has just only doubled when puppy's were brought in and that the thought of just sleeping and waking up to see one of them gone might be on his mind.

This is a very Interesting interaction for me if Calcium cat's Dream from OSD would somehow crossover with Feral Dream's wouldn't Feral see him as one of an adoptive pup or child since maternal instinct must be on the roof probably the reaction of pure regret and guilt is sky rocket of pure emotion now while the others would just be confused and soon in awe at the small baby Dream Cross would be very much happy and crying cradling Dream since this one has accepted him, Killer I'm pretty sure would be friendly but a little cautious than OSD Killer. Horror would be having the same interaction as like OSD Horror since he's like that Dust and Lust I'm pretty sure wouldn't change much.

I feel like I wanna make a request of you making art of Dream with the wolfdog pups and maybe add OSD Dream there coddling together in a pile we need that seratonin for what angst is coming next really (and so I can save it in my gallery)

Lol that’s quite alright. I enjoy answering questions when I get the chance to.

Basically yes Dream would become like a parent to the pups, and very territorial of them. He spends a lot of time with pups in general with his pack, kidda like a babysitter who can keep them super warm. A den keeper as some would call it. He would become extremely aggressive at even the act of picking one of the pups up. Granted Blue had told them multiple times that he didn’t think their whole ‘bribe the feral dude with puppies’ idea was going to work. He was right, obviously.

If one of them just happened to disappear under Dreams care he would go into a full frenzy trying to hunt them down.

That would be adorable to see little bebe osd Dream meeting the Feral Crew.

I think Feral would be suspicious at first, not really understanding his little version. But meeting little Dream might rekindle some memories. Who knows. But yes there would be many cuddles ^^

As for the gang, Cross would definitely be the more active one who’s ready to play and learn about this new little child. I think Killer would be the first to actually interact with little Dream. Killer is a lot more bold than you’d expect (though a lot of it is just wanting to push limits) but he would be more than happy to ‘entertain’ bebe Dream. Horror is a little more standoffish around kids, he’s just not used to them or how to interact with them. Probably a lot of sweets. Kids like sweets right? That’s what the how to book said…

Dust and Lust would probably enjoy having him around, Lust likes little kids, they are precious after all and need to be protected. Dust would agree. Find the Bean. Protect the Bean.

For the others, Blue very much would not interact with little Dream, he much more prefers his dogs and the loneliness of the snow. Error would very much not want to be involved because he is totally not knitting a blanket. Nope not at all. It definitely doesn’t have a sun on it with little purple vines. Nope not at all. Ink. Well. Ink isn’t allowed to meet the little one.

#undertale #ferine #feral au #osd Dream #I’m sorry it took so long #I can’t really do the social rn

[naavispider]

The Cat's in the Cradle update: As has been pointed out, there are a couple of errors in the timeline. That's my bad! 😬 It's only by one or two years here or there, but if that's an issue for you I understand. 😔 However, hopefully this timeline clears things up, from Spider's pov:

2 years old: Paz dies

5 years old: Quaritch is sent to jail, Spider officially goes into care

14 years old: Quaritch gets out of jail, Spider receives the first letter

16 years old: present day

If you notice any more mistakes...

#the cat's in the cradle #thank you if you don't care or didn't notice #yall are the real ones

[merakiui]

Hello!!! An ask game! If you’re comfortable with writing multiple answers… 1, 12, and 15? If not choose one! Thanks! :D

(ask game)

1. Favorite scene or line from (fic name)?

I have so many omg!!! To start, I love every line in Azul thought four, but my favorite would have to be the line in which Azul and Reader are discussing the nicknames he calls her and she asks if she can call him something and he says: "You may call me yours." Second place would have to go to the "lawnger ray" lines. It was such a silly joke, but it made me giggle while writing it.

The scene in Azul thought three in which he has a horrible meltdown when Reader calls him ugly and says she'll never love him. I loved writing it!

Any scene with Jade and Reader in DRU. They hate each other so much and it's so fun writing their snappy banter. I'm very excited for what's in store for their relationship. >:)

The murder scene in Bittersweet Secret. I think it's a very haunting scene made even more terrifying when you know what pushed Xiao to commit such a grisly crime. I also like the scene that follows when Xiao returns home and nearly strangles poor Reader in his murder-driven daze.

The scene in Cat's Cradle where Childe takes Reader out to lunch and reveals that he's known all about Reader's terrible crime from the beginning. The tension was so delicious.

This line from this Rollo fic: Surely you have a surname. Most often do. However, in the event that you are lacking one or are not too fond of the one you currently possess, you are welcome to take mine. It's unbelievably smooth for Mr. Rollo. orz how sly of you to weave a pseudo-marriage proposal into your words, Rollo.

12. The funniest comment someone has left on a fic of yours?

Aaaa there have been too many that have made me smile. I can't think of a specific one at the moment. >_< but I am grateful for every comment and ask I receive with kind and funny sentiments, even if it is only a keyboard smash. I hold it close to my heart.

15. Any changes that you've noticed in your writing since you started?

I think a recent change is that I have become more confident with writing smut and so for that reason I can write longer, more detailed sex scenes. Another change is my ability to describe settings! When I was very young, I always struggled with creating backdrops to place characters in. I would agonize over it all the time because I wanted to write pleasant sceneries that didn't feel bland or boring. Young Mera would be so happy to know that I have finally figured it out after many years of trial and error! :D

#chit chat #devintrinidad #thank you for asking!!!

[safyresky]

Crystal Springs Chapter 21: now on ao3!

It's one of my favourite chapters, to boot! Check out some funky Frosty (and fiery!) sibling shenanigans right hecking HERE

Chapter 21: Jacqueline's Cat (Two Weeks Later)

Sibling shenanigans ensue two weeks later when Jack writes a letter to Santa and Jacqueline is adopted by a cat. Fino has a lot of questions. Meanwhile up North, Santa and Bernard make a deal.

Chapter's been cleaned up! Fixed some spelling errors and removed some redundant saids. Yuck. Said is NOT dead but my GOD it doesn't need to be so repetitive! Ah well. We learn and grow. Here, have my favourite part of this chapter for today's excerpt (it's long so feel free to click "J" to jump past the rest of the post):

"I'd duck if I were you, by the way."

"You'd what now?" There was a nasty thwack; Fino's head flew forward, a hiss as something cold and wet landed on his hair, rapidly melting down his back. "ACK!" "FINO SERAFINO FROST!" The colour drained out of Fino's face. "I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO LET THE CAT IN THERE IT JUST. IT REALLY LIKED IT, DON'T TURN ME INTO A PILE OF ASHES!" He scrambled around Jack, hiding behind his back. "You're lucky I've had the day to cool off," Jacqueline said with a huff, dodging the six red poinsettias floating behind her brothers as she caught up to them. "More flowers?" "We went downtown. Made a day about it. Picked up some more since Fino felt that there wasn't enough fiery holiday décor." "You've been harbouring this fugitive all day?!" Jacqueline sounded appalled. "What is it you say?" Jack said, feigning forgetfulness. "Oh, yes! That's it. I do what I want, Jacqueline. Besides, it was mutually beneficial. I needed a tour guide." "And I delivered," Fino said proudly, the three siblings turning the corner onto Evergreen Lane. "I am sorry about the cat, Jacqueline. I've been trying to coax him out all month but he's very stubborn." "What's his deal?!" she asked, cradling a litter box full of cat related toys and things in her arms. "He likes the cold but doesn't like the outside. Your room is like, his preferred climate. I was trying to strike a deal with him, that if he left your room I'd take him to Aunt Spring's, because I think the chilly spring weather may be nice for him, but he was adamant on staying put." "You were trying to strike a deal with a cat?" Jack asked, perplexed. "I can talk to animals," Fino said proudly. "Did I know that?" Jack asked. Jacqueline shrugged. "I dunno. Can't remember mentioning it. Or it coming up. This month's been a blur. Does the cat have a name?" "I've been calling him Catto." "Catto?" "Catto!" "I hope he isn't attached to it because that sure as sleet isn't sticking." "I don't think he is. I figured if he did get stuck there when you came, you could name him! I know you're not too fond of cats but you'll like him. He's a big sweetheart! And he's cuddly." "And sharp and pointy, so we'll have to take baby steps before cuddles." Jacqueline said. "And we'll need to work on him stealing my stuff! Speaking of which, Jack, did you manage to—" A battle cry rang out from the forest alongside them, cutting Jacqueline off. The siblings stopped, watching as a sooty child tumbled out of the forest, beelining for Jacqueline. "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE HIM ALIVE!" the soot monster screamed, rushing for Jacqueline's knees. With an eyeroll, she stepped to the side. The soot monster ran right past her, Jacqueline's slight tap of her foot going unnoticed by everyone but Jack. The soot monster slipped, squealing, and slid, finally falling over. A snowbank met them halfway, the snow poofing up with some soot, the monster laughing delightedly now. "Hot girl soot went well today, then?" Fino asked, grinning down at the sooty child. "Heck yeah it did!" she replied, wiping her face off to reveal a very flushed Fiera. "I think I've almost got hovering with firepower totally down." "Without exploding us?" "That's still like a non zero chance," she replied, stepping out of the snowbank (carefully) and dusting off her mantle coat. "But I'm CLOSE!"

Sorry it's so long! The whole excerpt is gold and I couldn't bring myself to skip ANY bits. Wanna find out what preceded this moment? Read Chapter 21: Jacqueline's Cat HERE on ao3, and HERE on fanfic dot net!

Wanna take it from the top? Check out the Prologue: An Encounter, here on ao3 and here on fanfiction dot net (which will have a freshly edited Chapter 21 later today! Probably after work. I'll reblog when it's up:) donezo! ayo!

Summary is below the cut, as per the uzhe. Two more chapters before FRESH CONTENT 🥳🥳

It's been almost a year since Jack Frost thawed and things are looking...well, not so great. Jack's powers are seemingly gone. Without them, the Dome that keeps the North Pole safe from the cold and its magic controlled is melting, putting everything and everyone magical at risk. Unable to hide his power shortage any longer, Jack is forced to admit the truth. Thankfully, there is a solution: enacting the Legate Law, bringing Jack and the sister that he hurt so many centuries ago back together again. But when Jacqueline starts experiencing destructive blackouts, the pair are forced to head back home to Crystal Springs, bringing Jack face to face with the rest of the family. Needless to say, between getting his powers back, helping his sister figure out what in the FROST those blackouts even were, reconciling with his parents, meeting the two even younger siblings he didn't even KNOW he had, NOT TO MENTION the ancient threat that's had it out for the ENTIRE Frost family finally making a move? Saving Christmas (regrettably) is looking to be a little bit...complicated.

#dani speaks #dani writes #crystal springs #cs on ao3 #cs updates #the santa clause #the santa clause 2 #the santa clause 3 #tsc #tsc1 #tsc2 #tsc3 #jack frost #ocs #hello jack frost tag it is i! back again to confuse all the rotg blogs in the tag with a tsc fic 🙃🙃 #this chapter is SO fun. jacqueline trying to hunt down fino. jack being like TWO WEEKS?!?! ALREADY?!?!? blinter being blinter. #fiera's hot girl soot. jacqueline's fucking CAT #i always knew she got a cat during cs but had never been able to include it until this version of the chapter went up! #deLIGHTFUL #anyway enjoy! we have two more chapters to repost and THEN #the fun REALLY BEGINS #WE'LL BE GOING THRU THE PLOT CLIMAX ALL NOVEMBER AND INTO DECEMBER #HELL YEAH!!! #current stats: wrapping up chapter 28! i've got two scenes left to write #maybe three. actually. and then we can move on to the SECOND LAST CHAPTER #AHHHHH

[reincarnival]

Error!Sans Care kit for pollyapollyon!

Bone stress toy / Windows error sticker / Fingerless gloves / Tangle / Switch cube / Cat's Cradle strings / Plush / Spine candle

#Note: I am unsure if the art I used is official or fanart! Let me know if it's the latter and I'll be sure to change it! #Request! #Care kit #otherkin #fictionkin #Undertale kin #Error sans kin

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Matty Kincaid Species: Vampire Occupation: Musician Age: 76 Years Old (Looks about 33) Played By: Gray Face Claim: Sam Claflin

“I don’t live with anything, man. Technically.”

They were supposed to be a forever kind of thing, Matty and the band. That’d been more than the idea, when they started out; it was a promise, stacked up on all the promises that came before. Like I’ve got your back, dickhead, and can’t get rid of me that easy, asshole, and always - so many alwayses, which everybody knows never, ever turn out that way. But you want to believe, yeah? Matty sure as hell did. 

And he believed in the music, too. In what they could make, together. It showed, and people noticed. Fast. Matty spent his twenty-first birthday touring the country to sold out shows, and by his twenty-fifth, it had all gone global. They were legends, and he was thriving on it. And on the fiercely tight-knit family he’d found, in his bandmates. They weren’t gonna be like the rest, falling out and apart. No way. Not that there weren’t highs and lows, of various kinds. But they made it through, for love of the music. And they always would, despite all the drama, and the distractions, and… yeah, the drugs. Hey, they were rock stars. Par for the course. 

Through it all, Matty didn’t just believe - he worked for it. Blood, sweat, tears, a throat sang hoarse, apologies tugged out like cactus spines, pride choked down, a heart laid bare, guts spilled. All that musical, creative stuff. All that human, growing up, figuring yourself out crap. All that real shit that none of the there-and-gone, stone-faced people in his army brat life gave a damn about. Not like the band did. They were worth it. Even on the bad days. Especially on the bad nights. 

The worst night, though - they were there for that, too. His best friend in this life - and the next, as it turned out - was there, wide-eyed, horrified, searching from the blood-soaked hotel room he’d died in to the dingy alleyway he’d stumbled to, neck still torn wide open but working, working, as he gnawed the life out of an unfortunate cat. Which was fucked up, man. He’d always loved cats. 

It should’ve gone worse. But it didn’t. The band, they’d read their comic books growing up; they could tell a vampire when they saw one, and Matty sure looked the part. There was a certain amount of trial and error from there - but it wasn’t like Warhorse could just go on without him. They’d figure his bloodsucker shit out. They had to. Matty was one of them, no matter what. 

For a while, a good while, it seemed like they’d managed it. Actually! Sure, rocking with a vampire frontman took some tricks. But a band of their caliber could be eccentric, if they wanted. Just added to the mystique, right? Yeah, it might’ve been nice if he hadn’t got drained and dumped with no idea what might come next. He didn’t need some deadbeat old vampires hanging around, though, telling him how to live his life. Unlife? Whatever, man. Matty and the band, they had this covered. Seemed like. 

Seemed less that way, as the years ticked by. Or didn’t, for him. There were weddings, and divorces, and weddings, and kids. Laugh lines. Gray hairs. Reunions he couldn’t go to. And accidents. And addictions. And, almost, a death - too goddamn soon, way too soon. Cradling his best friend in his arms, Matty did the only thing he could think to do: what’d been done to him. At least, he tried to. Too bad he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. How hard could it be, though? His “sires” had just abandoned him, and he’d turned out… fine. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because he screwed it up, and - then what? Well, shit, he’d find a way to make it right. There had to be a way. If things like him, like them, could exist at all, then… was it so crazy to hope there was some sort of fix? Matty could believe, again. Was desperate to, in fact. How couldn’t he be? His best intentions had gone so goddamn bloody. The band, the band they’d built, was dead. Dead like his best friend could’ve been. They were both still here, though, even if it was all fucked. Which meant he could keep trying. Yeah? 

So he has. For months, then years. Then decades. Matty’s tried, and, man… the things he’s done, to keep that fucked-over friend as safe as spawn can be. He’d do it all again, too. He would. He will, in Wicked’s Rest, he’s sure - the rumours said this place was different, but how different can a place be? A vampire’s a vampire, no matter where you go. After so long spent cleaning up the ongoing, ugly consequences of his own stupid hopes, his own selfishness, his own reckless, thoughtless mistakes - whatever you want to distill it on down to - Matty’s starting to run out of all that believing he used to do so well. Now, on bad days, he wonders if his friend’s still somewhere inside the monster he made at all. And on bad nights? He’s petrified by the thought that they are, that they’ve been there, all this time, fully present, knowing, feeling, howling to escape the hell of an unlife he’s put them through. That even if he does manage to save this best friend to the end, and beyond… they’ll never really be themselves again. Never be able to survive this strange world of theirs, still shadowy and mysterious even after all the time Matty’s spent in it. Never, ever forgive him. Yeah, that - that’s unbelievable.

Character Facts:

Personality: Passionate, creative, quick-thinking, affectionate, loyal defensive, conflicted, guilty, reckless, fixated

So far as the old fans, managers, record labels, lawyers, and so on know, Matty Kincaid just… retired, back when things went wrong. Warhorse hasn’t performed since, but their music never really disappeared - like with Journey, REO Speedwagon, ELO, Fleetwood Mac, and other headliners of their time, everything that’s old is new again. There’s usually a song of theirs on your average radio mix of standard summer tunes, and since the band’s gone official on Spotify, they’ve popped up on plenty of those “Essential 80s” and “Roadtrip Classics”-style playlists. A few of their big tracks have even made their way into blockbuster soundtracks lately. One of those bands that you’ve definitely heard, even if you don’t really know them. 

Matty has mostly moved with the times, fashion-wise. But the rockstar hair has stayed, unchanged - obviously - and his sense of style absolutely skews retro. Some of it is even vintage. Like really, really vintage. He hates to throw things out, honestly. We could psychoanalyze that, but he’d rather we don’t. The only thing that’s saved him from becoming a real hoarder, frankly, is how often he’s had to move around to keep his friend as safe as feral vampire spawn can be. 

On that note. His best friend, that one, is currently hidden away in a crypt in Eluria Cemetery. Specially paid for, for the purpose. Seemed the safest spot, given the cemetery’s haunting legends; who’ll notice a few more vampiric roars? Hopefully no one. Matty would rather have his friend closer, and usually does - he’ll find somewhere they can hang. For a given definition. Honestly, they’re a hell of a roommate. Well, basementmate. But he owes them better than a mausoleum. He is well aware - maybe over-aware - of the psychic connection between him and his spawn; it does feel like a kind of closeness, even if he's not exactly sure how it works.

Matty’s acquiring his first vampiric “upgrade” - a second set of fangs, beyond the usual canine set. Gnarly. This, like much of his experience of vampirism, is not something he’s at all aware is coming or prepared for. Man, couldn’t those asshats have left a pamphlet?

Though he spent most of his time with Warhorse at the front, singing, Matty is also very capable on the piano and guitar. The rest of his artistic side shone through in the work he did designing the band’s album covers and show sets - so, for some viewers, his art has seriously nostalgic vibes. Even if they’re not sure why…

#retired

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

Hi! Your profile says to read your about page before following, but I’m on mobile, and can’t seem to find it. Is there any chance you could share a link to it? Thanks!

This is a problem that's been brought to my attention two or three times since the user base's shift to mostly using mobile and that I do mean to solve. I'm feeling sluggish today and the about page isn't that long so I'll quote it in full:

Hi! I’m in my 20s, from New England, and male but not particularly attached to it. I’m a Catholic convert and cradle socialist. My academic background is in Japanese literature and theology.

This blog began life in the halcyon days of January 2012 and was originally supposed to be a writing blog, with a much more pretentious URL. However, it’s now a general-purposes Tumblr with a focus on fandom, religion, politics, and The Aesthetic. I cycle through fandoms but Tolkien is a constant. If you are a fascist Tolkien fan who thinks for some unaccountable reason that I will be sympathetic to your takes then you can hit the bricks.

The current URL is in reference to the giant, evil cats in the earliest surviving version of Tolkien’s story of Beren and Lúthien, as described by Christopher Tolkien in the critical apparatus to the recently published collation of the different versions of that story. The blog title is something that the text of the story itself says about these cats.

I don’t have any firm do-not-follow-if rules but I reserve the right to block people with whom I’m getting in unproductive arguments. If you believe that I’ve blocked you in error then send me an anon ask and I’ll hear you out.

99% SFW. All exceptions are either artistic nudity or off-color jokes. I do not post or reblog porn.

I don't really "enforce" the please-read-before, though, because that smacks of a DNI list, a practice I don't really support. Follow away!

#personal #housekeeping #anonymous

[marsalainxer]

If Ink and Error were friends.

What if they were friends? Ink would go to play with Error, but Error would get glitches at unexpected times and is almost blind. If Error were alone he would play cat's cradle, but what if he were with his friend? Maybe they would have a conversation and wait for the time to pass? The green speech bubble represents Ink's kindness.

Error belongs to CQ. @loverofpiggies Ink belongs to COMYET / Mye Bi. @comyet Sans from UNDERTALE created by Toby Fox.

#undertale au #ink sans #error sans