#it's umbrella speckle-having

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Mushbrella Snoom

#snail #mushroom #my art #doodle #wenn regen flegen sehr neiderchlag #schnecke fliegenpliz underhalb #zufrieden und schleppen #schirm ganz beflecken #na ja #ich mag einen tag <3 #forgive the franken german #i know only the vague vibes of it from mom -w-; #when flying rain verily down pour #snail it's toadstool huddles under #contented and dragging #it's umbrella speckle-having #ah yes #this day i love more

[maehemthemisfit]

𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖, 𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔

pairing: manjiro sano x gn!reader

synopsis/prompt: "despite your aching heart, you continue to see him. an ocean of words left unsaid, how long before you drown? tomorrow, you promise, you'll tell him tomorrow" + ❄️ cold, 🌃 night, and 🧣 them giving you an article of clothing

warnings: pinning, fluff, sprinkled angst, comfort, reader being cold, proofread partially, op running on 3 hours of sleep, it's 1am, help, should i make a part 2?

wc: 1.8k | taglist: @youatemylollipop

Japan had always looked beautiful in winter, even though it was a time that withered life. Plants darkened and shriveled, animals curled away in their dens, and sickness became a common factor. Despite the season being a high time for death and diminish, many good things flourished from it as well.

For starters, the low temperatures seemed to bring people closer together; hands locking in a small exchange of heat, shops switching their menus to warmer delicacies and enticing couples, and people shared their umbrellas to shield them from the elusive flakes of snow that descended upon them. 

Your boots crunched beneath the powdered flakes that blanketed the ground, obscenities being expelled from you in protests of the cold.  Internally, you mocked yourself for making the awful decision of not wearing something more heavy on your shoulders, but by now you couldn't turn back.

Being more than halfway to the shrine, you continued on your trek and swallowed down your discomforts, though it wouldn't take a scientist to discern you were pretty much fighting for your life at this point.

The cold was merciless as it caressed your face, its unyielding breeze spawning goosebumps over your skin and made your lungs blister from each breath you heaved. It hurts, you bit back a whimper, second guessing all your life choices that led up until now.

Some gloves would of been nice as well.

You felt like hell frozen over as every exposed part of you ached, especially your ears, and at one point it felt as though you were breathing from your head. Your mind became a fuzzy blizzard of uncertainty and regrets yet your body moved on, not ready to give out yet.

"Almost there", you'd whisper, urging yourself through the night.

It was a miracle when his voice finally graced your ears, granted everything ached but still his presence managed to warm your heart, albeit figuratively.

"Hah, [Name]-chan? You're here?" The middle school gang leader questioned, looking over his shoulder. His smile widened as soon as the two of you locked eyes, and before you knew it, his hurried footsteps were drawing near. "Weren't you planning on staying home?"

Your brain lagged for a second as his hand lightly touched your shoulder, and your eyes took this moment to admire the way his skin soaked in the city lights, in a way that perfectly framed his dimples. He looked so warm and cozy, his neck tucked beneath a scarf while the rest of him was layered in winter clothing, unlike you who garnered nothing but a sweater and a thin jacket.

His cheeks were slightly tinted red from the cold and a few droplets of snow were sprinkled over his blonde locks. You had to resist the urge to reach out and comb the speckles of frost from his hair and also restrain yourself from cupping his cheek, even if it was only to keep him warm, though you're sure you had little warmth to offer.

"I was but..." You mumbled, thinking back on the real reason you were here while Mikey quirked a brow.

'I wanted to see you'

Truly, you couldn't help yourself, not when he smiled so sweetly and sung your name like it's been on replay for hours in his head. It hasn't, you'd have to remind yourself, but there were some days that left you questioning reality. Days where he felt so close, yet every time he was near his name never rolled off your tongue as fear ebbed your voice away at the prospect of being more than what you were to him and how unlikely it was that he saw you as such.

That never stopped you from hoping though.

Tomorrow, you'll talk about it tomorrow.

To your dismay, the temperature took a dive and your words died in your throat as a pout twisted your face. Why now of all times? You were already freezing your ass off, what next? An internal organ? You held back a groan.

Your eyes slightly watered from the cold, threatening to become a stream of tears. With the hiss of the wind you quickly turned away, huffing as you tried your best not to sniffle or sneeze in front of him. Discretely, you tried to wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your poorly insulated jacket.

Mikey could be dense sometimes, damn near oblivious, but when it came to you it was a completely different story. From the moment you spoke he could instantly tell something was off. Judging from your lack of winter attire and trembling self, it wasn't rocket science to figure out what was wrong, yet there seemed to be something eating away at you, something he only caught a glimpse of but never dared to comment on.

He saw it in your fleeting gaze, the frown you'd wear whenever he bid goodbye, and the way you brushed others off whenever they mentioned his name. He'd have to ask Emma about it when he gets the chance.

You tried to offer him the bag, an easy distraction from your struggling self, but of course your plans were foiled as Mikey grabbed your wrist instead, pivoting your towards him as a new set of fresh tears dripped from your lash line. 'No, wait!' You panicked, trying to escape his grasp but he only pulled you closer.

"M-Mikey," You stammered, lightly tugging at your wrist. The bag of taiyaki slipped from your hand, long forgotten over the snow.

It hurts seeing you like this. Was this how you felt all the other times you scolded him about taking care and prioritizing his health? His stomach tied itself in knots and his chest ached for reasons he had yet to understand. You were sure to catch a cold if you already didn't have one, but that just means he'd have to take care of you instead, and who was he to refuse?

Your breath caught in your chest as Mikey's hands cupped yours, his thumbs caressing warm mesmerizing circles into your aching knuckles. It felt... good, almost mind numbing you had to admit. It was ironic to think, one of the most strong and feared kid was here lovingly tracing your bruises. Your heart just might stop.

Something festered beneath his pout, flickering like a golden flame behind his charcoal eyes. Concern? Sadness was it? 

"You're cold," He stated, almost matter-of-factly, and you shuddered from how... distant his voice sounded, like he was far in the depths of his mind. 

You sniffled, looking away and taking interest in a nearby streetlight, which did little to help your eyes. Your lip curled in guilt and you almost wanted to laugh from how pathetic you probably looked.

His expression visibly softened, a faint smile soon painting his features as he wiped your tears, the pads of his fingers running gently across your skin. You blinked as the wind blew harshly, blinding you for a few moments. When you finally came to, you found something heavy being tugged over your head.

"What, h-hey!" You struggled against whatever was over you, only to be stopped by Mikey.

"Shh, be still!" He warned, attempting to curb your movements but you didn't relent, scurrying away from whatever force was over you.

"I can't see!"

"I'm almost, ah- stop moving before you-"

You muffled a few more protests before your thrashing around gave you a date with gravity along with a ticket that sent you both tumbling towards the ground. Mikey's arms instinctively snaked around your waist, his chest successfully breaking your fall when he landed in the snow.

He sighed and you groaned, the hoodie- his hoodie- you found yourself in finally slipping past your head.

"The hell was that!?" You let out an exasperated huff.

"Oh, so I'm to blame?" Mikey deadpanned, puffing out his cheeks. If he could cross his arms he would.

"You're the reason we're on the ground."

"You're the one on top of me."

Oh.

You tried to move.

Oh no...

It appears your hands unfortunately didn't make it into the sleeves, leaving you tangled in the thick fabric of your best friend's hoodie.

At the sight of this new revelation, Mikey couldn't help but crack a smile. "Ah! [Name]-chan~ don't tell me you're-"

"Shut up," Your face burned and you buried yourself in his scarf, embarrassment pooling in your stomach. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

You were engulfed in his laughter, his chest rising up and down with erratic breaths. You couldn't escape it, not that you wanted to leave. Mikey was thankful you couldn't see him, his face sprouting a deeper red that he would blame on the cold given the opportunity. He held you closer, supporting you so you wouldn't fall off since you couldn't hold yourself up. A part of him didn't want you to slip away so soon.

It was then you became hyper aware of your surroundings. His arms were tightly wrapped around you and your face was nestled in the crook of his neck. He was warm and soft and you couldn't help but relax and melt into him, cocooned in his hoodie that smelt of rose vanilla and pine. You breathed him in and it made you sick with nostalgic dreams of him and you, together and close like this. Those days where you were younger, sleeping over and waking up to tangled limbs and drool that wasn't yours on your neck.

You missed it.

You missed him.

But no matter how far you strayed from Mikey, he always brought you back into his arms, safe and secure. Just like this.

His hum brought you to the surface as one of his hands traced the small of your back.

"Hey," He called, urging you to look up.

"Hi," You greeted back, more weakly than you intended.

"Somethin's on your mind," Mikey spoke without question, sincerity in his eyes. A beat, then another passed by as you watched him. Silence. "You can... you can tell me anything, y'know? Whenever you're ready that is. Just," His hand went up to hold your cheek before moving to your head and hugging you back into his chest. "Don't let it tear you apart, away from me, okay?"

Seconds slipped passed as you registered what he said. Words bubbled in your chest, a confession on the tip of your tongue, ready to be poured out into the open snow. Your noses were nearly touching, your breath condensing into a small streams of mist and mixing with each others, dancing away into the night air and fading like a distant dream. 

You remembered some phrase about actions speaking louder than words, and you had the golden opportunity. His eyes, his attention, his lips inches from yours.

You leaned in, swallowing everything down.

And then, you hesitated.

That split second of vulnerability was easily snatched away by doubt, whispering fears into your head and sealing your lips from doing and saying anything further. All that courage down the drain.

Instead, you hummed, falling back into his chest to calm your racing heart. You had to tell him eventually. Your heart just wasn't ready. For now, you'll lay in his warm embrace and pray he couldn't tell, holding onto him for as long as you could without ripping at the seams. He was right though, this feeling was tearing you apart.

Tomorrow, you'll tell him tomorrow.

#mikey x reader #mikey fluff #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano #manjiro sano x reader #sano manjiro #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers #manjirou x reader #mikey imagines #mikey tokyo revengers #tr x reader #mikey fanfic #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #toman #toman mikey #sano manjiro x reader #mikey x y/n #manjiro x y/n #tokyo rev fluff #tokrev manjiro #mikey sano #sano mikey manjiro #fanfic #tr fanfic #tr fluff #tokyo revengers x gender neutral reader

[writefightandflightclub]

Hi Luna, I hope you're doing well! 🤍 Do you have any soft or romantic headcannons for Jake? I'd love to hear your take on him

Hi lovely!

Thanks for this ask! 🧡☺️ Hope you are having a good week!

This is the one time I’ve written Jake. Should give a good sense of where I’m at with him and his characterisation, if you’d like to have a look! (Though it’s a little angsty! 🥲)

Soft or romantic headcanons? I’ve given it a try, though I only have a few for now! He still proves somewhat elusive to me, though I’d love to get to know him better!

Jake likes to keep his mouth busy. That means he loves to pepper you with idle kisses, wherever you are. If you’re out playing pool with him, he’ll take your hand in his, drawing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it like some gallant prince. If you’re helping him in his garage as he works on his latest restoration, he’ll ease you down on to the bonnet to plant sweet, pecked kisses all over your face. You’ll giggle as his hands find you, complaining of the oil stains, but he’s always so careful with you. Only ever careful with you. If he does smudge some oil on your skin by mistake he’ll take your hand and lead you to the sink, taking a clean rag (he bought a set special for you when you started coming down here regular so it would be softer on your skin). He’ll gently clean the spot for you before softly smiling at you, and he can never resist kissing the spot once it’s all cleaned off. He always has some old-timey music playing over his speaker when he’s in there too, and he loves to draw you into his arms and sweep you across the sad concrete floor, spinning and twirling you. Swaying you slow in his arms and making the cluttered, dismal garage feel like a ballroom. You never feel safer than when he’s swaying you in his arms like this, and you love the way his beautiful, warm voice filters into the shell of your ear as he inevitably sings or hums along. Plus, you love to feel the gentle rhythm and sway of his body pressed all warm and sturdy and reassuring next to yours.

He’s chivalrous. Traditional in many ways, which takes some getting used to. He’ll open the door for you to walk through first. He’ll always walk you on the inside of the pavement so you are never at risk of being splashed by a big ol’ London puddle as the cars skim by. He’ll hold his umbrella over you if it’s raining. And, if you get cold, he’s going to slip off his overcoat, his driving gloves, and his flatcap, offering them to you. He’ll slip his jacket smoothly around your shoulders. He’ll tenderly clasp your hands and slip his gloves on, blowing on your fingers and rubbing them between his palms to warm them first. And finally, he’ll settle his flat cap on the top of your head, his eyes skimming over you like you’re the most beautiful person in the world when he does that, his eyes shining for you. Tongue skimming out over his lips. He likes to grip the point of your chin, tenderly, between his thumb and forefinger. “Mi corazon,” he whispers as he leans in for a kiss, his face wet with speckled drizzle from the dismal London weather, and his lips impossibly soft, moustache tickling your skin in a way you have come to love. Sometimes, when you head out and declare “oh, I need my coat!” he’ll say no, with a cheeky, gummy grin. That’s because he loves to take care of you like this - in any way he can - and enjoys the sight of you looking like you’re “his”.

Jake is an incredible cook. He’ll whip up a storm in the kitchen, and loves to treat you to romantic meals. One time, you head up to the flat and he has set up a dining table under the eaves, by the window. All white table cloth and shiny silverware and everything. He’s hung strings of fairy lights all over the place and set a vase of your favourite flowers int he centre of the table. He’s passionate with his cooking, and you can always taste the love with which he makes every meal. You watch him, as he continues to labour over the stove in his apron, getting everything perfect for you. “Mi amor. Ven aquí.” He scoops up a spoonful from the pan, wanting you to taste it, always blowing on the spoonful so it isn’t too hot for you.

Jake loves kittens! 🥹

Jake loves to sing to you. If ever you’re stressed or worried he will scoop you up. Take you to bed and wrap himself around you until you feel all safe and held. He will stroke you and shush you and he will sing gentle songs for you until you feel calm or ready to talk things through with him. “What’s that song, Jake?” It’s beautiful. “It’s a love song. For you.”

You know Jake can be intimidating. That he has needed to be the protector for Marc and Steven, and now, he takes care of you too. He will never let any harm or woe befall you, if he can help it. To others he may be scary or menacing, but to you he’s faithful, constant, passionate, and dedicated, and you want to protect him too.

“Thank you,” Jake says one evening as he’s holding you. “What for?” “For loving me. I always wanted to know what that felt like. Always dreamed of it.” Your heart fractures for him. “And is it what you dreamed?” “No, my love. It’s even sweeter.”

#Jake Lockley x reader #Oscar Isaac

[mukumukunomi]

From: Your Heart To: Mine

cw: Luffy x fem!reader, romantic pining, long-distance relationship, Wano arc spoilers?, loose cannon compliance (follows cannon loosely).

wc: 2,394k

a/n: Last fic of the year! Mainly just me putting a bunch of ideas into a quick story and will probably have a few more parts in the future. I had several hc's of Luffy being in a relationship with someone far away and someone who he didn't ask to join his crew, and why that might be. And then I had the idea of long-distance penpals and protective!Luffy reunions so it just spiraled from there. Hope you enjoy it, Happy New Year! :)

Part 1

Part 2 (TBD)

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Luffy shifts in anticipation. “Where is it?”

Dark orbs scan the horizon, mouth chewing loudly on a sandwich as his legs swing over the side of the crow’s nest. It’s a relatively calm day on the Grand Line. The Thousand Sunny’s hull breaks the azure waves as they crest, leaving a wake of churned water behind. Their trail is swiftly swept away by the tides into a stretch of blue on blue. A blurred line where the sea meets the sky. It is only broken by the speckle of fluffy white clouds that lazily trek above him.

In other words, the perfect day for a News Coo to appear.

The bird’s last appearance is fuzzy in his memory. Was it last week? Last month? When was the last time his bounty had gone up? The fact he doesn’t remember concerns him because it means there’s been no news from you in a long while. He only pays attention when there’s something from you.

He yawns, staring up at the sun currently hidden behind a large cloud. The days seem to stretch longer without you. Your island may be far away now, but he can almost feel your presence as if right beside him. What were you doing? What was the last tasty thing you ate? Did you spill three or four bottles of ink today?

Not knowing is its own form of torture. It’s hard to not miss you in the moments where something strikes him with your familiarity. Blue skies remind him of your little blue house on the island. The stars remind him of the lake. The patch of grass that spans Sunny’s deck reminds him of your garden. And Robin’s books remind him of the papers and ink littered across your kitchen table. 

There was no way of knowing then how those small letters in your handwriting would become such a crucial part of his life. In a way, they became points of time where his adventure reconnected to yours. Snippets of your life he would have never known about if you hadn’t logged it for him to see. 

Flapping wings catches his attention as a beak snatches the sandwich from his hand.

“Hey!”

The large gull swoops downwards, landing awkwardly on deck. It narrowly misses hitting Brook, who’s tuning his violin strings, and swerves over to where Nami’s lounging on the deck under an umbrella with Sanji serving beverages. It swallows the half-eaten sandwich whole just as Luffy lands with a thud next to it.

“Give it back!” He yells, grabbing the bird by the neck and shaking it. It doesn’t discourage the creature to hack it up in the slightest.

Nami’s annoyed gaze meets his as she fans herself in the heat. She fishes into her pocket for a moment before extending her hands towards them in a gesturing motion. The flash of something shiny focuses the bird’s attention. “Bring it here, Luffy.”

He grumbles, but obliges. Nami slots the berry into the bag around the News Coo’s neck, then holds her hand out expectantly. The gull drops the newspaper into her open palm. Nami doesn’t retract, leveling a stare at the bird. “Anything else?”

It shakes its head.

The redhead’s frown deepens as she sets the newspaper in her lap. She sits up, flicking another golden coin into the air almost threateningly. “Are you sure? Those letters with the star symbol on them? You didn’t drop it, did you?”

The bird reaffirms its previous gesture with a vigorous shake of its head under her intense glare. It takes Luffy a moment to realize what exactly it means.

No letter.

He drops the bird abruptly as disappointment bubbles inside him. The avian lets out a yelp as Luffy turns to walk dejectedly away, missing the way his navigator’s face falls as he does so. 

“Listen here,” Nami’s voice echoes behind him, now shaking the bird in the same way Luffy had, “You’re going to deliver this letter to Starcleaved Island. Expedited. And don’t return until you bring back news about our friend.”

Luffy registers the sound of several coins before the bird takes off above him again. He feels limbless as he climbs up the stairs towards the back of the boat, drifting his way into the library filled with dusty books and laid out sketches of archeological sites. Robin smiles gently at him as he sinks into a chair next to her. “Can I help you, captain?”

“Oi, Robin, can I see Y/N’s letters again?”

Robin clearly wants to say something, but at the last moment turns to grab a familiar blue leather tome from the shelf behind her. He gently thumbs to the most recent entry, earmarked and already worn from how many times he’s turned to it. Luffy takes a moment to appreciate the way the letter is adhered to the page of the book, obviously done with care in the experienced hands of his archeologist. Without Robin, these letters would have probably ended up lost. It had been her idea to keep them in something more sustainable. 

But the thought is fleeting as his eyes are once again drawn to the top of the last entry:

Luffy, It’s been a long while since you and the crew left. How is everyone? Are they still eating well? You haven’t eaten all of the food I gave you already have you? What adventures have you had since we last spoke?  I’m doing much better now that I’ve gotten over that nasty cold I caught right at the start of the season. Please thank Chopper for the medicinal recipe he sent with your letter last time. Oh! And Sanji’s soup recipe! They were lifesavers! Though, I do wish I were eating it with you. Like when you were here. We had so much fun. We couldn’t keep Zoro and Franky from the alcohol. And Usopp did that weird dance to Brook’s song. Do you remember that? Hopefully, Nami was able to use that note I made. Forgery is all fun and games until you actually have to convince people the documents you write are real. But we know Nami is sneaky, and I’m the best forger there is. There’s no way my handiwork is discernible. You can’t tell the real from my fakes. I thought a lot about what you said. I think maybe you’re right.  I’ve heard Dressarosa has become a really beautiful place after all the unrest there. (Although, I wonder who’s responsible for that?) Maybe I can extend my business further out into the world. Smuggled goods receipt, fake invitations, not-so-deceased wills…my hand itches just thinking about it. Sincerely yours, Y/N P.S Your handwriting has gotten better. Robin must be really patient to get you to sit for more than five minutes. P.P.S You know, I still haven’t been able to get that stain out from where you spilled the red ink. You owe me a new rug.

He notes the date, questioning eyes meeting Robin’s. “How long has it been since we got this letter?”

Robin hums in thought. “About three months.”

No letter from you in almost three months. It wasn’t like you at all. Not with all the previous letters filling up more than half the book already. 

“We’re all worried.” Robin says gently, comfortingly.

 He speaks slowly, eyes not leaving the page. “Y/N can take care of herself. She’s strong.”

He’d already accepted the risks when parting separate ways. He was on his own adventure, and you were on yours. That fact doesn’t stop the ache you leave behind. 

“She would have loved to come with us.” The raven-haired woman muses, flipping to the page of her text where she had left off. It’s both a statement and a question that’s left unanswered as the room goes quiet. 

But Robin's words stick like glue to his mind in the silence. It’s rare for him to reflect on past decisions. He’s not the type to regret. “I know.”

He knew not extending an offer to you had hurt you. Knew how much you would have loved to come. But it hadn’t felt right at the time. Joining his crew wasn’t something you needed. Not in the same way as the rest of the crew. They had been nobodies to the rest of the world. Adrift with no sense of purpose. He had seen their potential and felt their worth through their grit. Each of his current shipmates needed this crew, and this crew only, to realize that. Luffy sensed you already had determined your purpose long ago without them. 

Still, he did need you. In what capacity, he didn’t know. He vowed that once he became the King of the Pirates, he’d circle back down the Grand Line to see you. Perhaps, he’d figure out this feeling in his chest that he hadn’t been able to shake since leaving Starcleaved Island.

***

Well, this was splendid.

You huff in annoyance as you sit in the dingy cell, footsteps loudly clanging from the deck above. It was damp and dark here. You didn't know how long you hadn't showered, nor the last time you saw the sun. The only light source came from the gaps between the floorboards. A slit beam of it shone directly on you, and you savor the sun’s warm comfort as you muse about your predicament.

Starcleaved Island was a peaceful respite on the Grand Line, famed mainly for its phenomena of meteor showers. Boats would go out into the middle of a large lake, which spanned nearly a quarter of the center of the island’s mass, to sight see the recurring celestial objects that streaked across the sky. It was told that once, long ago, a meteor fell and 'cleaved' a hole in the center of the island, which eventually became the lake. You had grown up standing next to that body of water, wishing on those shooting stars, for as long as you could remember. You and your little blue house next to it.

Everything changed when they came. When he came. When Luffy appeared on the shores of the lake next to your house. Half-drowned and soaking to the bone on that brisk morning. You had gotten your first look of one of the most infamous pirates of the sea, besides the ones on wanted posters.

He had been adorable. Was still adorable to you.

You feel yourself flush as the thought permeates your reminiscing. Goosebumps unrelated to the dampness in the air radiate along your skin as you recall his smile and boyish charm. You miss him. There wasn’t a moment since his departure that you didn’t. There was something gravitating to his existence, as if the entire world centered itself on him. He was frightening, quite frankly. All that power and influence in the hands of an idiot. 

Of course each new wanted poster of that adorable idiot went on your fridge for you to ogle. You couldn't resist.

But how in the world did you get such rotten luck? You had just saved up a month’s worth of expenses for travel for a new business venture to Dressarosa when these pirates raided your hometown. And taken you, unfortunately.

The wayward thoughts are broken up by the sound of something clanging against the metal bars of your cell. Narrow eyes glance at you from the other side, a sneer on the pirate’s lips as he spits a wad of chewing tobacco onto the floor. “Girlie, you feel like talkin’ yet?”

You frown, crossing your arms.

The pirate grumbles something under his breath. “Two months of silence isn’t going to bring you back to that shoddy little island we found you at.”

You feel the emotion bubble in your chest, just managing to swallow the sob that wants to tear its way from your throat. That was your shoddy little island. How dare he take you from it?

The man sticks his pinkie-finger in his ear and wiggles it. “Perhaps you’ll talk when we tell ya where we are. Ever heard of Wano, girlie?”

You blink. Wano? The samurai country? From what you understand, they were mostly closed off from the rest of the world. It was at least a three month's travel away from home!

“We’ve got our weapon materials to sell. And unless you want to join the fishes, you’ll forge those documents to say we’re a spice ship.”

You felt your lip curl in disgust. Weapons for what? “How do you even know I-”

“Your bag’s filled with all kinds of unfinished notes for entry into Dressarosa. Quite good.”

You curse. Discretion was gone, it seemed. “I don’t extend my services to scum.”

The brute simply smiles at the rasp of your voice. “I-”

“Captain!”

The man turns at the sound of the voice coming from the deck above. He cranes his neck upwards at the helmsman. Sucking air through the gap in his teeth, the captain calls wearily. “Whaddya’ want!?”

The helmsman’s voice echoes down loudly over the sound of the waves against the hull. “The barrelman spotted a pirate ship crashed on the shore where we were to drop anchor.”

“So what?!”

“The Jolly Roger…it’s the flag of the Strawhats, sir!” 

Your heart skips a beat. The Sunny was here?

The captain blinks with mouth agape as he processes the information. “We…” The man scratches at the scruff on his chin, “We’ll go around it. We’ll pull into port instead.”

“But, sir, without the documents there will be suspicion…”

Your voice comes out louder than you intend. “I’ll do it.”

The captain turns to you quizzically. You clear your throat. “You have example documents, right? I can do it in an hour…unless you broke the inks in my bag.”

There’s suspicion in the man’s gaze. “Really?”

“I don’t work for free. I have one condition: You let me walk away once we dock.”

A laugh that sounds like a pitiful cough erupts from him. “Ha! You know what you’re asking for? If you stay here you won’t be able to leave! You’ll never leave Wano’s borders alive!”

It takes all your strength not to shake anxiously. “Do we have a deal?”

The captain shakes his head as he walks away, chuckling. “Your funeral, girlie.”

You watch him ascend to the deck, letting out a sigh of relief once the trapdoor is shut. Your palms press gently onto your eyeballs as you try to fight the wave of nausea rolling over you.

Sunny was here. Luffy was here.

You had to get away from these people quickly and find him. No matter what it took.

#luffy x reader #one piece fanfic #luffy x female reader #wano arc spoilers #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #muku'sfics

[comatosebunny09]

It began as a steady trickle.

Little specks of precipitation patterned the asphalt in the parking lot. You held your hands out to capture them. Smiled youthfully at the inky sky, sticking out your tongue to see if they truly tasted like lemon drops and gumdrops.

Rain was a rarity these days, staved off by the sweltering temperatures of the city.

As Leon ushered you into the passenger seat of his Jeep—a gentle hand at the small of your back and a fond quirk to his lips—a sudden clap of thunder snatched you both from your reveries and piloted in the downpour.

Leon’s apologetic eyes found yours. Neither of you thought of bringing an umbrella. You didn’t complain, considering it a treasure to be caught in the rain. And in the company of your charming bodyguard, no less. You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect conclusion to your evening.

You pat Leon on his shoulder, shaking your head to dismiss his worry.

“It’s alright,” you offered, your voice wistful and gaze soft. “Should get home before it gets worse, though. I spent way too much time on my makeup.”

He snorted in response, coupled with an eye roll as he shut the door behind you.

The iron-wrought gates of your home had long since slid into view. And the rain beat harshly against the windowpane, signaling you to get inside as quickly as possible.

Leon throws the passenger door open, offering his forearm to escort you out. You giggle as you take it, peeling yourself from the sticky leather of the seat. Leap down from the sidestep of his Jeep, splashing into a puddle steadily gathering in the gravel. 

He finds your mirth infectious. Chuckles alongside you, the sound of it permeating through the swell of rainfall, setting your nerves afire along with the alcohol coloring your veins. 

Leon cautiously grasps the bend of your elbow. A gesture you’re typically accustomed to. A meaningless exchange between a man and his charge. Yet tonight, it feels different. More intimate.

Everything has, from his warm and heavy jacket around your shoulders to how he clasps your arm, tucking you into his side to ward off the chill. Leon holds his free hand out overhead to shield you from the rain. Forever a gentleman despite being soaked to the bone himself. 

You chance a glance at him as you both trek up the path to your home. Feel like a grade-schooler shyly eyeing her crush, pushing her bashfulness beneath the collar of his jacket.

Eyes the color of steel regard you before quickly veering off. And it’s impossible to miss the subtle skyward twitch of his mouth. A surge of warmth spills into your neck and cheeks at that, and you allow a quiet smile to overtake your lips as you turn away from him. 

He’d been like this for most of the night. Gaze flighty and emotions shrouded. Quietly melded into the background, hovering and staving off any potential threats. Stone-faced and imposing, though he lowered his defenses only for you. Offered a smile, a brief exchange of words, a hand brushing yours on the bar’s countertop every so often.  

The notion makes you smile wider. Makes giddiness rush through your bones, suddenly replaced by disappointment when you reach your front door.

The dream doesn’t have to end yet, does it?

Swathed beneath the soft glow of your porchlight, you both stand. Leon towers above you, radiating heat and the scent of oakwood and muted strength. And then there is you, lost in the idle stir of his irises, resisting the urge to stand on the balls of your feet to caress the stubble speckling his jaw. To wipe away the stream of water coasting down his neck into the cut of his dress shirt.

He briefly studies you with equal interest as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. Glances off to the side with his mouth canted with a smirk. In an attempt to dispel the awkwardness, he clears his throat. His voice crackles like the thunder brewing on the horizon, gently drawing you from your trance.

“You gonna stare at me all night, or…” There’s no harm behind it. Teasing in nature, but you find yourself scrambling for words, nonetheless.

“Y-Yeah! Sorry.”

Remembering yourself, you tear your eyes away from the object of your pining. Take to riffling through your clutch for your keys, your hands shaky, and your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath the surface of your skin. How he smells—the sensations he invokes in you—makes you feel heady. Stupid. Childish—

Leon’s hands suddenly cover yours. Blisteringly hot yet tender as they steady your trembling ones. You peek at him, and the sight above steals the breath from your lungs.

“Hey,” he murmurs, angling himself towards you until his gaze is level with your own. “You alright?”

You can make out the details of his features from your vantage point. His wiry brows knit with concern. The unfair curl of his pretty lashes, curtaining hues of ocean blue. The faint blemishes marring his skin, doing nothing to detract from his allure. The minute twitch of his rose-red lips and the divot taking residence in the middle of his chin.

You don’t really know what compels you. What powers you forward like a train lazily trekking over its tracks. But, then you…

Well, you see…

As if moving on autopilot, you kind of conquer what little space remains between your mouths and you kiss him.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy drabble #idk I wanted some cliche in the rain romance #bodyguard!leon

[underaverageheight]

Dancing With Death

Death!KSM x sick!gn!reader Genre: ANGST with bits of fluff Warning(s): mentions of death, joking once about not dying in peace, if I missed anything, let me know!

Summary: After finding out you have 2 months left to live, Death comes to visit. He finds moving between realms to be bothersome, shamelessly asking to live with you. Eventually, Death warms up to you, confessing how much he hates bringing things to an end.

Masterlist | DWD Masterlist

Hi it's me, Death word count: 0.7 k

“You can see me, can't you?” A man in a black suit sat near you in the cafe, next to the window speckled with the falling rain.

“Am I not supposed to?” You looked at the man, confused. He was beautiful but he seemed to have a cold air around him despite the heater warming those seeking refuge from the storm in the cafe. The man shook his head with a slight smile containing no happiness in it and sat across from you. “Who are you?”

“Who am I? My dear, I am Death.” The stranger held his arms out with a big grin.

You laughed, confused. “Death? What are you here for? Gonna come and collect me?” You decided to indulge in the stranger's words, bored.

“Not yet my dear, you still have two months left,” As of a sudden, he crossed his legs, sipping a drink in his hand which wasn't there earlier. You stopped smiling, your blood running cold at the mention of those two months. “Do you believe me now?”

“How…how do you know? I never—”

“Like I've said before, I am Death. I know when you die.”

You decided to accept the nonsense spewing from this handsome stranger. “So am I being babysat until I die? Is that it?”

“Absolutely not. I have better things to do. I'll be staying around you since you're the longest contract I have currently… Can I stay at your place so I can continue to work without moving between worlds?” Death had a nonchalant look on his face. You were taken aback by how shameless he seems, asking you if he can live with you for two months, disturbing the time you had left to sort things out.

You scoffed in his face, unable to contain the laughter tumbling from your lips. “So you're gonna ruin my remaining time? Wow, I can't even die in peace. Also, how am I supposed to believe you're Death? You just randomly showed up and started talking to me.”

“Watch.” He reached out toward a rose in the cafe. As his hand grew close, the rose shriveled and dried up, some petals falling onto the floor. The dead rose stood out from the rest as an ugly blob of brown. He looked at you and winked. His body shimmered and he looked nearly transparent. Walking over to a man sitting nearby, he began moving things, scaring the customers. Eventually returning to the seat across from you, his body shimmered again, returning back to a solid state. “If you're wondering, only the contracts I have can see me when I'm in that state. But,” You blinked and he disappeared, “I can completely disappear from everyone's eyes.” You blinked twice and he was sitting back in the chair, smirking. “Believe me now?”

“Okay… Mr. Death or whatever you call yourself. I believe you. I guess. But I won’t let you move in or whatever. Because I work a job to pay for rent and food and I doubt you’d help out either.” You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes.

The man chuckled in his seat, the noise riling the bit of fear that’s started to grow. “Call me… Seungmin. That’s the name I was given when I became one with Death, a collective group of other…well Grim Reapers. You’ll never see the others because they have their own contracts to fulfill. Anyways, for your concern, I don’t eat nor sleep. I just need a temporary place of stay rather than returning to my realm every single day because of my many contracts. Live with you or not, I will be grounding myself near you.”

“Um no thank you. In fact I will be going home so please do not follow me,” You stood up and grabbed your umbrella, leaving Seungmin sitting in the chair. The rain was pouring hard and you stood outside, struggling to open your umbrella. When you finally succeeded, a gust of wind ripped it from your aching hands. Giving up, you began walking, drenched to the bone.

All of a sudden you felt the rain stop. Seungmin was next to you, holding an umbrella. He grinned, looking straight.

“My dear, I have no need to follow you home when I’ve already been there multiple times.”

next chapter ->

a/n: it's finally out~ i wasn't sure how to end this first chapter but i do hope you've enjoyed and are willing to stick around for the next few chapters! if you've enjoyed, feel free to let me know here or here at my main account, or reblog this post! I enjoy reading what you guys think, whether it's positive or constructive feedback!

#underaverageheight #stray kids #skz #skz fluff #skz imagines #스트레이키즈 #DancingWithDeath #kim seungmin x reader #skz seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #seungmin #kim seungmin angst #kim seungmin #skz seungmin angst #skz angst #seungmin angst

[kairiscorner]

5. from the dialogue with noir!! !

HELLO ANON, YES PLEASEEEEE ok so i didn't lie, i am a poet (self-proclaimed at least) this shall be an excuse to show y'all my poems too :D I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS !!!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

he sees you in all the lines – spider noir x reader

peter had stumbled across a book of poems one day, and though he was never really one to fully comprehend the meaning behind the lines and stanzas, he ought to have given it a try because he knew how much you liked poems, why not make an effort to try and see what you see in these literary tidbits?

he flipped through the pages and ran his eyes over the lines, rereading them every now and then when he thinks he's understood the meaning behind it, only to get even more lost in the words literal meanings as opposed to what they symbolize. though peter found himself slowing down his reading and absorbing the words of this one poem he happened upon entitled, "thread".

he read the stanzas aloud as a murmur, then, he soon reread it several times with his voice getting a little more audible as he allowed the words to sink in.

"i watched under the parade of umbrellas, the rain speckling, my thread's color as it's fading. i stare as you catch my gaze-- you must've thought the same, amidst this world and all its haze, you found me, i found you-- neither of us knew, but under this spectacle of mundanity, i've been woven into you."

and there, there in that final line, was everything peter had ever wanted to tell you. ever since you entered his life, you changed how he sees even the most minute of details and things. the way you held him in such intimate ways that, even after a long while, remains with him every second of every day. his palms and arms still tingle with the feeling of your fingers on every patch of his skin; his mind has retained all the memories of you that it could grasp, and refuses to let go of every bit of you it can keep, that he can keep.

when you get home, you're greeted to peter awkwardly clutching the poem book in his hands, with him mumbling a 'welcome home' to you as he tries to keep his sweet smile in. you greet him back and ask him what the book he's got with him's about, and peter finally confesses what's been on his mind ever since he read that line in the poem. "love, i... you know how hard it is for me to understand the hidden meanings in songs and poems, but i think this one's really something, this one really... really spoke to me." he said with a bashful grin as he met your gaze.

"never really understood poetry, but when i read a few lines from this... you were the image that came out of the words." he said as he handed you the book and you opened it to where peter left a bookmark in it. you read the highlighted line at the very bottom. "you've really left an impression on me, ever since i met you. and now that we're each other's... i can never begin to describe how much i you in everything in my life." he said with a slight chuckle as his voice softened from sheepishness. he blushed deeply as he held your hands that clasped the book's ends. "thank you for being in my life, darling. i could never ask for anyone better than you, no one else can weave their way into my life the way you can."

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @sabcandoit @binibinileonara @k4tsu3 @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @fiannee @fictarian @yuridopted0 @arachnoia @ophanimgold @thee-fantastic-mrfox

#spider noir #spider noir x reader #spider noir x you #spider noir x y/n #spider noir fluff #spider man noir #atsv #atsv fluff #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff

[razzekart]

Quick thing of my dragon alter ego that I haven’t drawn in at least a decade. 

Description: Spinning out of a vaguely spacey, rainbow nebula background, is a grinning dragon head. They have a long pointed snout with a tremendous overbite. A few teeth show against blue gums and tongue. The visible left eye is a bit manic as it looks both up and down at the viewer. The dragon has a bright yellow crest flaring out like an umbrella from a green neck and long ears. The crest wraps around to the top of their skull. They’re speckled with blue spots on face, yellow spots where body and frill meet, and green spots at the bottom of the frill. 

#dragon art #lindwyrm

[sabraeal]

Brewed With Intent, Part 1

[Read on AO3]

Sequel to Practical Charms

It’s been three days since Shirayuki sat across from the boys on the 49, accordion seats contracting around every corner, and glowered a confession out of them. Three days since her unwitting participation in this ridiculous underground love potion scam was revealed, not only to her but to the most talented artificer in the city. And three days since Garrack has gone to ground, abandoning her shop-- and answering her texts, or phone calls-- to do city knows what. Probably wouldn’t even come to the front door either, if Obi even let her try.

Ah, now now, Miss. It’s impossible to make herself look straight at him, but she tried in that moment, only catching a glimpse of a grin. I think that might be, er, unrelated. Give it a couple days.

So she does. Three whole days of it, imagining every possible permutation of this discussion, breaking each argument down to its diction so that every word conveys the depth of her disappointment, and yet--

Yet, it could be going better.

“We went over this before you even brewed the first batch.” Garrack stretches her legs out under the table, sending her own scurrying back beneath her chair to make room. “The only active charm in the whole bottle is a perfectly legal infusion of Come-Hither. Everything else was just to fix the aftertaste.”

“I understand that.” What she doesn’t understand is how this whole conversation keeps slipping from her grip when she is the one who was wronged to begin with. “But rosehips are an amplifier of intent and a strengthener of will, which makes--”

“The whole shebang stronger, I know.” The frizzy mass of Garrack’s hair shakes with her head, like a wind rippling through autumn trees. “The whole point was to counteract the loss of potency from infusing rather than casting. At least, that was your explanation when you came up with it.”

“W-well, yes.” It’s not fair that all her pointed turns of phrase are being turned back on her, but there’s no way to say that without having to admit she’s losing ground. “But that was for a specific client, made to order.”

The girl had blown through the door soaked to the bone, umbrella turned so far inside out it looked like a crab on its back, and, well, if anyone in the shop was going to be sympathetic to the plight of a young woman with a distracted boyfriend, it was going to be Shirayuki. Especially that day.

“There’s a difference between making something like that for a person I can trust to use it on another consenting adult--” even if he was a bit preoccupied at the time “--and just...selling it to whoever walks into the shop!”

Garrack presses a hand to her sweater, fabric shifting to bare a shoulder speckled with thumbprint-sized bruises. “Now, I don’t think that’s quite fair. I’m sure plenty of those girls were also in established, consenting relationships.”

“Better be,” Obi snorts, sprawled across the sill like he’s the neighborhood cat. There’s too much of him for it to be comfortable; one leg dangles out the window to make room for the other to brace. On anyone else it would look unnatural, but on him-- well, it’s hard to look bad in black leather and dark denim. At least the way he wears it. “Don’t think any of them were looking to spend a whole Benjamin on a nice bottle.”

Shirayuki’s jaw hangs so low it might well catch flies. “You charged them a hundred dollars? For a Come Hither?”

“Oh, what are they going to do? Report me to the Better Business Bureau?” Garrack huffs, hiking her sweater over her shoulders. The little bruises dip beneath the line of her collar, tracing down past where Shirayuki thinks it’s polite to speculate. “Bought love potion from this vendor but turned out there was just tea inside. Extremely sane sounding. I’m sure they’ll follow up on that one right away.”

“The Emerald Lady might!”

It’s the sort of threat that would have had a whole room catch its breath where she came from; an audit from the Rose Court might well mean the end of a business at best, and at worse-- well, she’d lived it. But here, in Garrack’s cozy little holdout against the mundane, no one even bats an eyelash.

No, instead Garrack snorts, tossing her head like the world’s most stubborn pony. “Haki Arleon comes from a long line of charlatans and scoundrels. Her great grandfather is still cheating half-penny hacks out of their life savings, and he’s dead.”

She doesn’t so much see Obi’s mouth twitch as feel it. “Maybe it’ll keep this time.”

“Never does,” Garrack mutters. “Anyway, the City Mistress has a lot more pressing problems than pinning our ass to the cork board over some mundies spending their pocket money.”

The last time she checked, a hundred dollars was closer to her life savings than pocket money, but Shirayuki knows better than to haggle over dollar signs with someone who can still pay property taxes in Belltown. “Altogether the material components hardly cost twenty dollars. Why would you even think to--?”

“Labor.” Long fingers wrap around the handle of Garrack’s mug, thumb resting right over a honeybee as she takes a long drag from her cup. “Expertise. Time is money, Shirayuki, and the knowledge you gained during it makes it all the more dear. Charge just for components and you’re not even breaking even. Especially not with a talent like yours.”

It’s terrible how her cheeks heat, how even as she tries to tamp down on her satisfaction it just keeps crawling under the door, sending its little tendrils licking up her neck. “That’s four hundred percent profit, isn’t it? On a potion that won’t even work--”

“So you admit it.” Her eyebrows twitch up in victory. “It won’t work. So there’s no danger in selling it.”

“That’s not--” she should have known better than to get into this with Garrack; not even Obi tries to bargain with her, not after the first time “--there’s still a chance, if the recipient is inclined toward the, er, caster--”

“Exactly.” A smirk unfurls across her face the way red carpets do for royalty. “Both parties have to consent.”

Her fingers curl so tight the bones ache. “Attraction is hardly the same thing as consent.”

Garrack waves a hand, as if simple denial could dispel the dire moral implications of her actions the way she could a charm. “There’s no harm in giving a little push now and then.��

“A push.” The word leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

“And that’s assuming any of it worked in the first place,” she sighs airily. “Which I doubt. What’s more likely is that a bunch of silly little girls wasted some of daddy’s money finding out the hard way that the school quarterback is into blondes or whatever.”

“Not so sure about that one, Chief.” Obi splits each word like a typewriter hits a period. “Sold too much not to have at least a few happy endings.”

Garrack shifts again, sweater slumping with her, and it’s not until she mutters, “In more ways that one,” that Shirayuki realizes those dark marks aren’t bruises, but-- but--

Bites. Bites because Shidan--

“In any case,” she sighs, “all’s well that ends well. Either they got what they wanted or they walked away disappointed, but either way, it was all legally above board.”

Shirayuki frowns. “That’s a very generous interpretation.”

“What can I say?” She shrugs, a cluster of those little love bites trailing down her collar bone, and ahh, Shirayuki could have survived not knowing how personally effective it had been for her boss. “I’m a generous person.”

Anyone else might actually provide an excuse to be excused, but Garrack simply unfurls herself just a hair shy of six feet and stalks from the room with the same level of satisfaction of a cat sashaying away from an empty birdcage. There’s nothing for it but to stare after her, wondering just how it all went wrong.

Obi cocks his head, threading himself through the sill. “All right there, Miss?”

“Yes. No.” She sighs, letting her palms relax against the tabletop. “I just...I really thought that would go better. Or...anywhere, I guess.”

The scent of sulfur snakes its way through the air; she’s so used to it now it’s almost comfortable. “That’s the problem with old goats like the Chief. They’ve been at it so long the goal posts change.”

She shakes her head, catching a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. Even that much sends her eyes skittering across the table, looking for something more knowable. “That’s not really how morals are supposed to work, Obi.”

He blinks the way human eyes don’t. Too many eyelids, for one. “Maybe.”

Shirayuki collapses onto the window seat the way so many of her potions do in the last leg of their boil: with a sigh and a tangibly foul taste in her mouth. “I get that some people might want for something to happen, or even hope it would, all out of their control, but...just because you do, doesn’t mean you’re ready for it to happen now. For her to act like all’s well that ends well...”

Obi slips from the sill to the seat, long legs stretching across the floorboards. “Doesn’t quite jive with your experience, huh?”

Even at the other end of the cushion, his heat rolls over her; not the way an open fire does, so hot that you never forget it can burn, but more like a wood-burning stove, gently radiating warmth in a way that tempts her to scoot closer. “Yeah, something like that.”

A corner of his mouth twitches; if only she could look long enough to see if it was a smirk or a smile. “It’s heavy burden to be so cute when you’re unconscious.”

“If it just happened once, I could understand!” she huffs, crossing her arms. “But twice is just weird.”

“And different guys too,” he says, like she could somehow forget. “Guess you’re just that irresistible.”

“Don’t start.” He’s lucky mortal eyes can’t bear his aura, otherwise she’d give him such a glare. “I’m half convinced it’s a spell. Raj I can understand, but Zen is an entirely reasonable person, and still he--”

The thump is so quick, so sudden, that’s she’s on her feet before her words stop, heart pounding so loud she can’t hear Obi until he repeats, louder and slower, “You alright, Miss?”

He’s half out of his seat too, body twisted to put himself between her and the window, but--

The tension huffs from him on a sigh. “Ah.”

“O-obi?” She takes one shuffling step forward, reaching out but not quite daring to touch as she peers around him, into his cupped hands. “Oh!”

There’s a pigeon in his hands-- or a dove, maybe; she’d never quite known the difference besides color-- its wings flopping limply over his fingers, head hanging at an unnatural angle. Broken, she’d guess, probably from colliding with the window.

Her fingers bury themselves into fists. The last thing she needs is her magic to go wild with sympathy. “The poor thing. It must have just missed the opening...”

Obi shakes his head. “It’s cold.”

“Cold?” She leans closer, frowning. “But it only just--?”

Its whole body shivers, and with a blink of its glassy eyes, its neck swivels. “Shirayuki?”

She doesn’t scream, but whatever strangled noise escapes from her isn’t much better. “Is that...?”

“Suzu says this should work.” Yuzuri’s voice pours from its beak, as clear as if they were face to face. “Even though it’s weird. Anyway, Shidan’s finished your order. You should swing by and get it. It looks pretty dope or fly or whatever word Obi’s using for cool today.”

“Huh.” Obi lifts the thing, poking and prodding at its feather like the charm might pop out if he tries hard enough. “That’s sick.”

“It’s...something,” she agrees, willing her stomach not to turn. “Not what I--”

“End message!” the bird shrills. “Is that how you finish this thing off? Suzu--?”

It’s a clean cut that severs the sound from its beak. The body falls limp again, as if it had never moved.

“You don’t think...?” Shirayuki peers down at the grotesque display cradled in his palm, desperately trying not to think too hard about...any of it. “They didn’t...?”

“Ah, don’t worry, Miss.” Only Obi could sound positively jaunty in the face of questionably legal-- let alone moral-- magicks. “Pretty sure it was already dead.”

It’s a strange mental exercise, trying to decide whether reanimation is better than body borrowing, but she’s saved from having to think any further by Garrack sweeping in, Ryuu following resignedly in her wake. “Oh, is that one of Shidan’s creepy little messengers? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them” 

Shirayuki blinks, trying to sweep frizzy blonde from her vision. “Oh, is he, ah, known for this?”

“No.” Garrack rocks back on her heels. “At least, not until recently. But one of his students has a talent for them, and it saves him having to dig in his pockets to put a charm on a dime or something.”

“On a dime?” She can see it now, Roosevelt’s profile turning to face her, serious as he says, the time is now. “Did it...talk?”

“I wish,” she huffs. “It would just glow, and do you know how easy it is to lose those things? Half the time I’d just go swing by myself just so I didn’t have to keep track of it. And he tells me that I need to learn responsibility and--”

“Couldn’t he just...text?” Shirayuki suggests, strained. “Or, er, call, I guess?”

Garrack frowns. “Where’s the drama in that?”

“Is this for the glamour?” Ryuu asks, pitched just loud enough to hear. “That’s...”

“Good?” Shirayuki supplies, when he doesn’t.

He nods. “Quick. I would have expected a week, at least. A month even, for his advanced charms.”

Obi’s brows hike toward his hairline. “It’s only been three days.”

Garrack grins, insufferable. “You’re welcome.”

It’s not until Shirayuki tugs her jacket off the hook, pulling the denim taut across her shoulders, that she dares to ask, “You don’t really think that, er...?”

Obi doesn’t answer so much as look attentive, all of his baleful gaze bent on her.

“It’s just...I know he’s the best artificer in the city.” She tugs the jacket tight over her chest, more from nerves than chill. “But not everyone wants to make the hike up to Capitol Hill and have to deal with, ah, mundanes. So surely...?”

He hums, a token display of support.

“He was probably already working on it.” She glances at him, as much as she can bear. “So it’s probably not that she...I mean, you don’t really think...?”

“Oh!” A wide flash of white hints at a grin. “That Garrack fucked us up the list? Absolutely.”

“Ahhh!” She claps her hands to her face. “You don’t have to say it that way. Maybe--?”

“Oh, my my. Is my favorite apprentice and her hellish escort on their way out?” Garrack turns the corner, a smile flanked by two ceramic cups. “Going to go reap the fruits of my labor?”

It’s no use, Shirayuki slumps. “Please don’t call it that.”

Her mouth sharps to a smirk. “A spade’s a spade, sweetheart.”

“Well, we’re not just doing that.” She infuses her tone with a sharp edge of officiousness, as if that might go some way in reminding anyone in this front hall that this is all supposed to be business, not-- not--

“Miss is gonna take us on our rounds too.” Shirayuki may not be able to bear his unholy aura long enough to see his expression, but she knows it must be a jaunty one from the way he kicks one leg over another and leans. “Put Shidan’s work through its paces, you know how it is.”

Garrack’s thick brows twitch, too suggestive for what amounts to a work meeting. “Mm, don’t I.”

Shirayuki fails stifle her sigh.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Garrack clucks, and if she’s the one disappointed with the turn of this conversation. “Here, I know things got a little heated today. Have an olive branch.”

Shirayuki stares as the cup fits into her grip, Garrack giving her knuckles a small pat for good measure. The smell of something sweet and floral wafts up from the lid’s vent. “You made...tea?”

“Hey!” she huffs. “I know how to boil water!”

Obi snorts. “Experience says different.”

Garrack may fold her arms over her chest, may tilt her chin, all high-handed and cool, it only takes a single quirked brow for her to admit, “At least the electric kettle does.”

“Ah,” Obi sighs, flipping open the lid. “There it is.”

“All right, all right, if you’re quite done, why don’t you two head out already.” She watches him take sip, mouth curling. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she catches the twitch of Obi’s eyebrows. “That’s a short list.”

It’s with a strange satisfaction that Garrack says, “It sure is.”

The door closes behind them, close enough that the displaced air shoots up her jacket, sending her shivering.

“Huh.” Obi takes another sip. “Well, that’s ominous.”

#obiyukibingo23 #obiyuki #snow white with the red hair #akagami no shirayukihime #urban fantasy AU #my fic #ans #i have been dying to flesh out this world for YEARS and finally I have an excuse 🤣 #for those who are wondering Obi was a demon Haruka summoned to harass Shirayuki #and then he had gone through a series of contract changes #Zen used to hold it but now I believe Shirayuki does #I MIGHT CHANGE MY MIND ON THAT LATER we'll see

[lemony-snickers]

helloo, i hope i'm not bothering you! i just saw your recent april showers do spring lem flowers posts and was wondering if you could write something about gai and the reader dancing in the rain? your writing is just too beautiful to resist to ask, so i hope i'm not asking for too much! i'm sending you loads of love and the best wishes <3

not a bother at all; thanks for your patience. <3

You almost trip your way down the stairs when your shift is over, so delighted to finally be finished with your work week that you all but skip from the stairwell to the front door.

You're about to tumble out into the street, mouth stretched in a delighted smile when a sharp crack of thunder pulls you from your daydreams of how you'll spend the rest of your evening and weekend.

Looking out the doors to the mud-spattered walkway, you groan. Apparently, the lovely sunshine-filled day you'd left behind when you entered your windowless workspace this morning has since clouded over.

Sometimes, you think, life truly is unfair.

Defeated, deflated, and very much regretting your choice of footwear, you step out into the rain without a coat or boots or umbrella, resigning yourself to a soggy deommute.

Maybe you'll just order food and stay in tonight, you think, because a cursory glance overhead makes it very clear very quickly that the weather is not likely to improve any time soon. You curse internally that you worked through your lunchbreak--when the weather might still have been nice!--so you could leave a little early.

What a waste.

As you trudge toward home, the rain and wind seem to pick up in intensity out of spite, and soon you're grumbling under your breath at the injustice of it all. A bit dramatic, perhaps, but so is this damn weather. If you didn't know you'd be teased mercilessly by the first person who saw you, you think you might even stop to shake an irritated fist at the storm-clouded heavens for good measure.

You're only halfway home, hair plastered in a sopping mess and feet squelching in the thick muck of Konoha's streets with every step, when you're finally granted a respite from the downpour.

Confused, you peel your gaze away from the ground to look up and see if maybe the clouds are finally beiginning to disperse. What you find instead is the underside of a bright green umbrella.

"It appears you neglected to check the weather when choosing your attire for today!"

Gai Maito's deep, smooth voice cuts through the noise of the storm without any trouble and he's smiling brightly despite the copious mud speckled over his leggings and bodysuit. You're not sure how someone can be so cheerful in the face of such dreadful surroundings, but then, you don't think you've ever seen him wear any other expression, so perhaps that isn't as strange as it seems at first.

You offer Gai a grateful smile, blinking raindrops from your eyelashes as you thank him for providing a little protection from the storm. "I think I just got too excited about the sunshine this morning, I didn't think to check whether it was permanent."

Gai chuckles, the sound rumbling like the thunder overhead, only you find it much more pleasant to listen to.

You think if anyone can understand blind optimism, it must be Gai. You've ever met anyone so completely capable of finding the good in all things, all people.

"This morning certainly was lovely," he agrees as he falls into step beside you, holding the umbrella as much over both of you as you can.

You grimace when you realize his opposite shoulder is now quite exposed to the elements and so you tell him, "It's okay, I'm soaked anyway, no reason for you to get wet, too."

He frowns, almost as if he doesn't understand what you're saying.

"I just mean you don't have to waste the umbrella on me, since I'm already drenched."

Gai smiles at you again, but it isn't the usual beaming, gleaming grin. It's something much softer, his dark eyes gazing at you fondly from beneath his thick eyebrows.

You yelp when the umbrella retracts, leaving you both standing, unprotected, in the downpour.

"What are you doing?!" you ask, gawking at the way Gai's vest and jumpsuit immediately begin to darken as the rain seeps into them. His hair plasters itself to his forehead and he sweeps his fingers thorugh it, pushing it away from his face in a way you have to admit suits him quite well.

You've always thought he was handsome, but there's something about Gai a little disheveled that's even more enticing than usual.

He tilts his head back, letting the rain slick over his face, droplets tracing down between the taut tendons of his neck to disappear beneath his flak vest. "There is nothing more youthful than seizing the moment!" he proclaims, then adds when he looks at you again, "Wouldn't you agree?"

You don't have time to answer before Gai grasps both your hands in his. If it weren't for him holding you upright as he yanks you off course, you certainly would have face-planted in the thick mud at your feet.

"Gai!" you yell over the din of the storm, "What are you doing?"

But his only response is another laugh as he begins to twirl you around. You have no idea where his umbrella has gone and you find quickly that you don't really care. His enthusiasm is infectious as always and soon you're laughing right along with him as the two of you prance and splash in the mud. When he wraps one strong aroumd around the small of your back to pull you closer, you feel the vibration of his happiness in his chest.

Suddenly, the rain and the mud and the wind no longer matter. That you had hoped for sunshine and got grey skies instead doesn't feel like the betrayal it did a short while ago.

Because Gai Maito is dancing with you without a care for how silly you both look in the middle of the village, or whether his leg warmers are ruined, and you know in your heart that no amount of sunshine could ever compare with Gai's radiant energy.

You hardly notice when you make it to your front door, breathless and dizzy from your rainstorm promenade. Gai's sharp cheekbones stand out as he grins at you, his eyes sparkling far more than the dewdrop-like rain gathered on his lashes should make possible.

"Would you like to come in?" you ask between bouts of laughter and catching your breath, "A cup of hot tea seems the least I can offer for your trouble."

"Trouble?" he asks. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean?"

You gesture to all of him--his mud-caked toes and sopping wet uniform. In a rare moment of courage, your reach up and pluck a wet leaf from his tussled black hair and hand it to him.

Gai chuckles. "While I'd love a cup of tea," he says, "I feel it's important I make it clear that spending time with you has never been and will never be troublesome."

Your smile falters just a little, heart beating rapidly in the wake of his admission, hoping it means what you think it does.

"Come in," you say, smile growing wider again by the moment, "I don't think I'd like to stop dancing quite yet."

Gai follows easily and suddenly your weekend seems a lot less dreary than it had only a little while ago.

#gai x reader #gai x you #gai x y/n #gn!reader #lemony scribbles #april 🌧️ lem 💐

[ashxketchum]

"a kiss pressed to their neck" + "coming back for another kiss" for TyHil, requested by @rainbow-pearls & @tum-tigger 💖

Thank you for sending in the prompts!

Here's some TyHil living their best lives as a married couple. [For those who don't know, I hc the two as having four kids: eldest son, twin sons, youngest daughter]

💙~~💙

She cupped the warm mug in her hands and lifted it towards her lips, taking a whiff of the pleasing, freshly brewed coffee scent before she took a slow sip. Hilary sat alone at the kitchen counter, basking in the silence surrounding her this early morning hour. From the small window above the sink, blue light flitted in signalling the peak of dawn, making the otherwise dimly lit space slightly brighter. This was slowly becoming her favourite time of the day, those few minutes of calm and quiet she had to herself before her day started for real when her husband returned from his morning run and the kids woke up. Usually, she used this time for self-reflection, or sometimes there would be work left from the previous day but mostly, Hilary spent this time spacing out, not thinking too much and just enjoying the moment.

Today was one of those days where Hilary didn’t have anything on her mind. She sipped her coffee carefully with her eyes closed so she didn’t end up paying attention to the time the kitchen clock was displaying. All was going well until she heard a rumbling sound coming from outside. She opened her eyes and craned her neck to look outside the kitchen window, the blue daylight had disappeared and the sky was speckled grey by dark clouds. Immediately her hand reached for her phone lying on the table face down, she needed to call and check in with Tyson. She hoped he hadn’t gone up his usual slope route yet, especially if he hadn’t carried a raincoat or an umbrella with him. Just as she unlocked the phone with a swipe of her finger, the door to the kitchen slid open and to her relief, Tyson, although looking disgruntled, entered stifling a tired yawn.

“I was about to call you.”

“Yeah, I didn’t get too far before I realised it was better to skip today.”

“I see, I’m glad.”

He didn’t mirror her sentiments as he walked up to the refrigerator and pulled out some chilled water for himself. She could understand his frustration, just like Hilary enjoyed spending her mornings sitting quietly by herself, Tyson liked to spend them running, feeling limitless and free with his thoughts, like the wind. Having to give that up because of a change in weather would obviously put him in a bad mood, so she passed him a comforting smile when their eyes met from across the countertop. She felt like she had accomplished her goal when his shoulders relaxed and he shrugged casually when he put the water bottle back into the refrigerator. He made his way back to the door silently, almost exiting the kitchen without looking back at her. It was when he’d crossed into the hallway did he seem to realise that Hilary hadn’t followed him, so he poked his head back in with a confused expression on his face.

“Aren’t you coming back to bed?”

“I have to start cooking breakfast soon.” Hilary pointed at the clock, setting her coffee mug down on the table, “Still have to pack the kids’ lunches-”

“Just hand them some money today, they can fend for themselves once in a while.” Tyson interrupted her as he leaned against the doorframe, already figuring out that this conversation might not go his way.

“Tyson, do you really think that your sons will not starve themselves to use that money to play games in an arcade instead?” Hilary raised a questioning eyebrow in his direction.

He held her gaze for a moment, contemplating a response before he sighed and shook his head, “Can’t defend them there.”

Hilary chuckled and rested her elbows on the countertop, smiling at him she said, “It’s okay, you can head back without me. Get some more rest while you can, I’ll come wake you in some time.”

Tyson frowned at her, it didn’t look like he was going to take no for an answer so easily. His running plans had already been foiled because of the weather, so if he couldn’t even convince Hilary to come back with him and laze around for a while, he’d spend the rest of the day acting grumpy. She could see all these thoughts forming in his head as he stared her down from the doorway, but Hilary decided to stay seated. Logically it was the right thing to do. If she followed Tyson back to bed, then neither of them would feel like getting up for another hour or so and their kids would be very loudly displeased. At least one of them had to be up and about with the kids to make sure they got ready for school on time, today she’d let Tyson get some extra rest for a change and maybe tomorrow she’d allow herself to sleep in instead. In her head, it seemed like a perfect plan, but before she could explain this to Tyson, he’d already made up his mind to make her bend to his will.

In the time Hilary had spent lost in her trajectory of thoughts, Tyson had walked up behind her and was now wrapping his arms around her waist. She tried her best to not get distracted by his musky scent that now surrounded her and quickly picked up the mug to chug some coffee to keep her mind busy. Tyson wouldn’t let her ignore him so easily however, so he rested his chin on her shoulder and nuzzled his nose against her cheek. She felt his hot breath brush against her chin and it took Hilary all her energy to keep her hands steady as she tried to keep the coffee mug down and not spill any of it on herself while doing so.

“Hils, come back to bed.” Tyson whispered in her ear, “I swear I’ll make it worth your time.”

Her grip on the mug tightened as she bit her lips to keep a whimper from escaping. She wasn’t at that age anymore where she could be so easily swayed by Tyson whispering sweetly to her, she had to do better than this.

“You know the kids could wake up any minute right?” Hilary cleared her throat loudly, swatting lightly at Tyson’s arms around her waist to get him to let go of her.

“So?” He strengthened his hold on her, moving his nose down to her neck with his lips grazing against her collarbone, making her toes curl with pleasure.

“So? Do you want them to see us like this? Let go of me, now.” She didn’t like how squeaky her voice sounded but it had taken her all to get the words out as Tyson began to plant a flurry of kisses across her neck.

“I think they’ll be happy to see that their parents are still very much in love.”

She felt him smile against her skin as he uttered the word love, pressing his lips tightly against the most sensitive part of her neck. Hilary wanted to respond to him but she knew that her strong words would prove nothing now when her skin was already hot from his touch, the colour red rising from her neck to her face. Tyson must’ve felt her internally admit defeat as well, because he lifted his lips from her neck and then without a warning, his teeth sunk into her skin. Hilary couldn’t have stopped the loud gasp that she let out under any circumstance, of course after all these years of togetherness, Tyson knew which buttons to press and how to press them well.

He leaned back and let go of her waist, with one free hand he cupped her chin and turned her face towards him, claiming her lips with his before she even had the chance to meet his eyes. Hilary too reached out with her hand, resting it on his cheek as he leaned into her, deepening the kiss. She didn’t need to keep her eyes on him to know what was coming next. With his other hand slipping under her thighs, Hilary realised that he was getting ready to scoop her into his arms and carry her back to their room. She didn’t have any fight left in her however, in fact, if she was being honest, she was looking forward to being lifted off her feet with Tyson’s strong arms holding her close.

Only a miracle could break them apart now, or a disaster as Tyson would prefer to call it, and it arrived in the form of a loud thud that reverberated through the wooden hallways of their house. Immediately Hilary pulled herself away from Tyson’s grasp, her eyes darting to the kitchen door to check if one of their kids had caught them, but thankfully the two were still alone. She wished she could just see through the walls because that would mean not having to leave Tyson’s warmth behind as she went to check where that noise had come from.

When she faced Tyson again, Hilary almost let out a surprised gasp. A dark shadow was cast upon his brown eyes as he stared at her, his face filled with a burning urgency as if to say that it wasn’t yet time for him to give her up, that he could still have her all to himself for a little while more, that he didn’t need to share her with anyone, not even their kids until the sun began to rise from the east.

Hilary would have considered herself too cruel to deny him the pleasure after looking at that face. So without a second thought, she leaned towards him, eyes fluttering to a close as both her hands found his cheeks and grasped them, pulling his face closer so he could meet her halfway as she went back in for another kiss. This time there was no resistance from either side, no test to see who will triumph in making the other’s heart sway. They gave themselves to each other without inhibitions, without a doubt, without any care for right or wrong.

Once she allowed herself to melt in Tyson’s arms, Hilary lost all control over her surroundings. She didn’t realise when Tyson carried her back to their room, when he settled her comfortably in bed or when she fell asleep. All she remembered was his lips grazing against her skin, his hands caressing her face, and his body pressed tightly against hers as he lifted the covers above their heads...

By the time she came to her senses, Hilary was sitting alone in their bed with sunlight pouring into their room in full force. Her groggy eyes looked around the room for signs of Tyson but she found none, instead, she caught sight of their bedside clock where the time displayed sent her into a frenzy. It was already half past noon, just how long had she slept off for?

She jumped out of bed and ran out of their room but once she was in the hallway, she realised that the house was too quiet. She walked around slowly, peeking into the rooms of her kids on the way to the living room, only to find them empty, however, their beds were made perfectly. The living room was empty too, though a careful observation showed her that the mess of toys and books her kids had left around the couch the previous night had been tidied and the floor had been vacuumed. Hilary quickly moved onto the kitchen, now understanding that the kids must have already left for school. When she slid open the door, the first thing that caught her eye was a plate left on the countertop. She walked up to it and saw that some oddly shaped pancakes were placed on it, securely covered by cling film. On top of the plastic was a post-it note which read, ‘Rest well, Mom’ and was signed by all four of her kids.

Hilary placed a hand on her chest, smiling widely to herself as she carefully removed the note and unwrapped the plate to get a taste of the breakfast her family had probably cooked for her together.

To think that she’d planned to give Tyson the day off, instead, he’d managed to beat her at her own game.

Once a champion, always a champion.

💙~~💙

#tyhil #beyblade #bakuten shoot beyblade #tyson granger #hilary tachibana #takao kinomiya #hiromi tachibana #beyblade fanfiction #writealot #will tackle the pokeshipping prompt tomorrow! #tyson best husband award winner 100 years in a row #walking green flag material

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart - Chapter 4

Silco’s not exactly an uninvited guest, but your first sleepover together is still much more than you bargained for…

Everybody Lives AU | Pre-Act I | Silco x Reader | Female!Reader | Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Mild Angst || SFW | WC: 1.95k

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

taglist: @sherwood-forests @deny-the-issue @let-the-monster-out

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

Silco insists that he shouldn't impose on you repeatedly during the entire walk. You threaten him at umbrella-point, and he finally accepts.

The studio apartments of the Cliffside Promenade housing complex are modest by Topside standards. Their true appeal is in their location: smack dab in the middle of the Promenade. It’s prime real estate for Zaunites like you who have to make frequent trips to Piltover, but don’t want to stray too far from your roots. 

When you and Silco cross the threshold, he accidentally kicks over a jar full of paintbrushes. 

“Oops, sorry about that,” you wince. 

“The fault is all mine,” he says. He gropes for the brushes in the dark while you flip the lights on. 

Crap. Your apartment isn’t in the best state to be hosting guests.

It’s been a while since the last time you deep-cleaned. There are jars and mugs everywhere, mostly filled with paintbrushes. Some hold paint tubes, metal cylinders for pneumatic tube deliveries, or eating utensils. A pneumatic tube receptacle is mounted on the southern wall next to the front door. Your small single bed is shoved up against the western wall, and a large wardrobe stands at the foot of it. The door to the bathroom is on the northern wall. To the east is a bay window and all your secondhand appliances: a stove, dishwasher, small refrigerator, and a stacked washer-dryer. Instead of dining room furniture, you’ve made room for easels of multiple sizes and a drafting table. Too much space is being dominated by wooden crates filled with canvases. The only chairs you own are a pair of chipped wooden stools. 

Everything is covered in speckles and smears of paint, contributing to the feeling that there’s a slightly grubby patina over everything. 

You glance at Silco, wondering if he’ll comment on the shabbiness on display. He scans the room thoughtfully, as if taking the time to formulate a proper opinion. 

“Where would you like this?” he asks. He holds out the jar of paintbrushes.

“Thanks, I’ll take that,” you set it down on the floor again. “Can you wait here a second?”

Silco nods. You drop the umbrella, pull off your boots, and hurry to your bathroom. You return with a large towel and hand it to him. 

“Thank you,” he smiles. He starts drying his hair. “Your home is quite the epitome of coziness.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you say. “I got some ground rules for you.”

He stops rubbing his hair and drapes the towel around his neck. 

“Take off your clothes.”

He tilts his head. “Pardon?”

“Shit, sorry,” you say hastily. The excitement of the night is catching up to you. Weariness is starting to pull at your bones. You stifle a yawn before elaborating. “You’re dripping all over and I don’t want you to get anything wet. I’ll put your clothes in the dryer, and they’ll be ready by morning. I’ll find something for you to wear in the meantime.”

“Sounds reasonable enough.” 

“You should wash up too. Don’t want you catching a cold.” 

“That won’t be necessary. You’re being too generous as it is—”

“There’s no point in getting you dry if you’re still cold. Besides, the hot water is unlimited! It’s awesome.”

It’s such a mundane thing to enthuse about, but you’re trying to keep your energy up. 

“And shoes off, by the way,” you add as an afterthought. 

As Silco kneels down to unlace his boots, you put yours away in the wardrobe. He wraps the towel around his shoulders and strides into the bathroom. Discarding his backpack on the floor.

You use your stockinged feet to wipe up the trail of water behind him. 

At this point in the night, you’d toss your purse onto a stool. However, you're conscientious of its precious cargo and instead place it carefully underneath your table. 

He calls out your name from behind the bathroom door.

“What’s up?” you ask. 

“Would you like to take my clothes now or later?”

“I’ll take them right now, thanks.”

“Not at all.”

When he cracks open the door, you expect him to toss his clothing onto the floor. Instead, he holds them out for you to take. 

You’re reluctant to approach. 

Because you’re trying not to think about the fact that he’s naked. And in your home. 

Oops. 

You’re glad the door isn’t open enough for him to see your reddening face. After you take Silco’s clothes from him, he shuts the door and turns on the shower. With long exhale, you shove his clothes into your dryer and start a cycle.

You pull your bed drawers open and locate a pair of boxers. For outerwear you pull out your largest smock and sweatpants. After judging that they’re clean enough, you fold them and place them on a stool. Setting them outside the bathroom.

You don’t currently have a lover; you’d tell him if he asks, but would he believe you? The boxers belonged to an ex who couldn’t be bothered to pick them up. 

You shake your head at yourself. Why would it matter if he believes you or not? You’re not even friends.

What are you to him, then? Wouldn’t he consider you a friend after all the favors you’ve done for him?

Ugh. You’re letting your mind wander too much because you’re too tired. You slap your cheeks to stay awake. 

It’s with a sigh of relief that you undress and pull on your sleepwear. Shaking out your hair helps soothe some of your pent-up tension. Bedtime can’t come soon enough.

The shower shuts off. Silco opens the door to call out to you, but stops when he spots the clothing you’ve set out for him. He grabs them and shuts the door again.

When he finally comes out, he finds you staring at your bed where you’ve laid out the contents of your purse. The spoils of your heist. 

“How was the water?” you ask without looking up. 

When he doesn’t answer, you turn around. 

Some invisible force seems to be holding him in place. His eyes are wide and unblinking, and his mouth has fallen slightly open.

“Are you okay?” you ask, frowning. 

“I’m fine,” he chokes out. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down before. You look nice.”

“Oh… thanks,” you blush. 

It’s interesting when Silco uses simpler words to speak more candidly. That’s probably the closest he gets to carelessly blurting out what he’s really thinking. 

Now it’s your turn to give Silco a once-over. In all the occasions you’ve seen him, he’s demonstrated a preference for fitted clothes that show off his lithe but muscled frame. Right now, his outfit is just a little too loose, but it somehow smoothes out the sharp angles of his body into something softer. 

“The water was perfect,” he answers you belatedly. “I’m tempted to steal these clothes from you with how comfortable they are.”

“Go ahead,” you chuckle. “As if you don’t owe me enough favors already.”

“That’s very true,” he stands next to you and stares down at the documents.

To be more precise, they’re pictures of the documents you found in Salo’s office. Taking the original articles would have been too suspicious.

“Congratulations on a job well done,” Silco claps a hand on your shoulder, beaming with pride. “What would you say to joining me on my future ventures?”

“Piss off,” you groan and rub your eyes. “Just tell me exactly what tonight was all about.”

He moves his hand off your shoulder to hold his chin. As he scans the snapshots, he hums in thought. Lifting several photos and studying them carefully.

You already knew his hands were huge, but you notice for the first time how thick his fingers are. And yet he moves them so delicately—

“The councilor’s shipping manifests were the most critical,” he explains. “Then, visual confirmation of what the cargo looks like, and finally, the shift schedule of the warehouse staff. We need all of these to proceed with our schemes.” 

“Who’s ‘we’?” 

“Oh, I never mentioned it? The Children of Zaun,” he states grandly, puffing out his chest.

Your previous conversations with him are completely recontextualized. The rebel group is at the forefront of the Undercity independence movement. Only the loudest and proudest Zaunites are allowed to join. If Silco is one of them, then it makes sense that he would have taken personal offense at you mentioning Piltover in any kind of positive light. 

While you’ve always admired the Children from afar, you’re suddenly seized by concern— no, by fear.  

That he shares the Children’s reckless tendency to throw themselves into dangerous situations for the slightest opportunity to strike at Topside. At the risk of bodily injuries or death.

“Silco, what exactly are you planning?” you ask quietly. 

“We received reliable intelligence that a shipment of weapons— no, bullets— will be arriving very soon,” he says. He taps a photo with a knuckle. “The receiving party are the Enforcers. We plan to liberate the cargo in order to quite literally disempower them.”

You might not be a fan of Councilor Salo, but you know he’s smart enough to have all his ports staffed with armed guards. If the Children are only going to be equipped with the Undercity’s inferior firepower—

It’s too daunting to think about.

You squeeze Silco’s wrist. “I can’t let you have these.”

He stares at you, incredulous. His grip on the photos tightens. 

He wants to argue with you again. You try to summon all the determination you have, but—

Your vision goes watery. You rub furiously at your eyes. 

Silco’s face softens. He clears a space on the bed, taking a seat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly. 

“Nothing,” you mutter furiously. “Just— got something in my eye.”

He looks at you knowingly. Gesturing for you to sit. 

“Talk to me.”

You flop down next to him, fisting your hands in the blankets. There’s no way you’re going to admit the truth— that you’re scared. Maybe it’s exacerbated by your exhaustion, but the worst-case scenario is freaking you out: if their mission fails, Silco could die. If nobody knew to let you know, it could be ages before you found out for yourself.

Hell, if “Silco” isn’t his real name, then you’d have no real way to track him down. 

He’d become just another friend who left you. Alone.

You try to clear the lump in your throat. 

He waits patiently for you. As if he had all the time in the world.

“Aren’t you scared? You could get killed,” you finally manage to grunt out. 

“Every one of the Children is prepared for death. It’s something we all embrace, sweetheart,” he says. “Any one of us would be proud to die for the cause. If it happens it should be a cause for celebration, not mourning.” 

That his ideals are so extreme doesn’t surprise you, but it still takes a monumental effort to keep from flinching.  

If you weren’t so drained, you’d give him a piece of your mind. 

“I want to cash in a favor,” you declare. “Maybe two.”

“If it’s within my power, it’s all yours,” he vows.

You swallow hard. Determined to be as articulate as possible. There can’t be any room for doubt here. 

You turn to face him head on. 

“Promise me that no one will get hurt.”

He’s taken aback. His eyes tick wider, but he doesn’t break eye contact. He opens and closes his mouth, struck dumb for the third time that night.

You stubbornly hold your gaze, fighting the urge to blink. 

“I mean it. Please.”

That word breaks something in him. 

“Okay,” he replies. “I promise.”

Chapter 5

#Arcane #Arcane fanfic #Silco #Silco x Reader #Arcane Silco #Silco Arcane #my writing #The Art in the Heart #TAITH

[cyraclove]

I actually banged out like 800 words of Sad Thing™️ (not the actual title lmao) yesterday and I think it’s pretty close to being finished so please have a snippet:

Laura actually attends the service, having offered to take Chrissy to the cemetery herself. They’re the first ones there. She stands quietly next to her daughter at the gravesite, dressed tidily in black with her hair in a stiff updo.

Chrissy had always pictured funerals to be like the ones in movies, with people clutching black umbrellas as they stand solemnly in the rain.

There’s no rain, though. No umbrellas.

A gentle breeze whispers through the trees, sending lemony-green leaves drifting towards the earth. Young redbud blooms litter the grass, speckling it with pink.

It’s a beautiful day.

#writers on tumblr #cyraclove writes #hellcheer #fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #fanfic #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #chrissy cunningham #ao3

[kaibacorpintern]

[One Good Movie Kiss]

Summary: Kissing a bruise better doesn't really do anything to heal the bruise. Honda tries anyway.

Word count: ~6,700 | Rating: T

He turned left at the FamilyMart, glowing like a snowglobe through the night. His route to the bus stop took him past the coin lot, where lying between a battered Toyota and a squat little Daihatsu was a magnificent white sports car, holding itself with all the sleek menace of an eagle’s wing. Honda gave it an idle glance, admiring, savoring, lusting a little. His gaze swept up the rain-speckled windshield. He stopped. Staring at him was Kaiba - two low white eyes slicing through the gloam of his private cave. Honda stared back.  Just a guy, honestly. Just some guy, alone in his car... But he wasn’t, not really. Not to any of them. In three swift strides he went to the car, collapsing the umbrella; when he tried the door handle, it was unlocked; before Kaiba could hit the lock, he pulled it open and threw himself into the passenger seat. He slammed the door shut. Again a silence rushed in, followed by the crisp static of rain on the windshield. Kaiba was still staring at him, sitting tight and tense in the cool, dark shell of his car. Honda’s arrival had also, apparently, shaken his thoughts into static. “Hey. Can I get a ride?” Honda said.  “No,” Kaiba said.

A/N: once in college my friend brought a girl to this party and we were all teasing him about maybe having his very first kiss but he was so nervous that i said, as a joke, "i mean, do you want to practice first?!" and he looked at me like this 🥺🥺🥺 anyway i love stubbornshipping and this is a gift for @yuujoh <3

#intern memo #fanfiction #stubbornshipping #contains a side of pride #what's better than this? guys being dudes?

[starfinss]

Ashes and Embers - Ch. 1

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Genshin Impact

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Cyno + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: SFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 5,197

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 

You never used to believe in demons. Not until you were nearly possessed, and then subsequently stricken with the ability to see all things unholy and dead. You were woefully, horribly unequipped for what you saw. Now, your only chances of navigating your terrifying new reality lie with a certain by-the-books exorcist you just can’t seem to see eye to eye with.  

You were having that dream again, the one where you were being followed.

It always started the same. You were leaving work, wrapping up the closing shift, and it was pouring rain. For some reason, the umbrella holder beside the door was empty (it never was), and you were then forced to walk back to your apartment without cover. You walked towards the traffic light at the street corner, intending to duck beneath the nearby bus shelter to possibly buy yourself some time to wait for the rain to calm down a little bit. Then, you sat down on the rain speckled bench, and all at once, you felt a presence beside you.

You stiffened, as one does when they realize someone is there that they didn’t see before, your mouth curving into an awkward but polite half smile. You felt the rush of embarrassment, your mind running at top speed as you tried to decide if you’d accidentally sat too close to this person, or if any other various social faux-pas had been violated, and it was always at this point that you’d turn your head to see who was there.

But there never was anyone there, even while the presence of a person remained, pressing heavy against your side.

Cautiously, you looked around, searching for the unseen presence, but after not finding anything, you settled back into the uneasy silence, listening to the sound of the rain on the pavement. It was then, like clockwork, that the hair on the back of your neck stood up, and inexplicably, you felt the inescapable urge to get home as quickly as possible.

And so you stood, the presence shifting like ink in water, hard to place as you walked quickly towards the stoplight, staring up at the neon display of the red, outstretched palm telling you to stop. It flickered, and you grew more anxious as the presence shifted closer, the weight of it like tar against your rain chilled skin, every second that ticked by causing you to tighten like a coiled spring.

It was around here that you would realize you were dreaming. You were never sure what made you realize this, but that was when it clicked for you. Maybe it was the flickering neon sign, flicking between ‘stop’ and ‘walk’ like an old projector, or maybe it was the way the sound of the rain faded away to be replaced by slight, tentative footsteps, though the rain continued to fall.

The display switched to ‘walk,’ and you hurried across the crosswalk, head ducked low, trying to ignore the way you could hear those footsteps slipping perfectly into time with your own, but no matter where you looked, there was nothing there. You slowed down, so did it, and if you sped up, it did the same.

As you grew sick with dread, repeating over and over in your head that it was just a dream, you broke into a run, and so did whatever was following you. Your chest got tighter and tighter, and you had to stop as you coughed and hacked, struggling to breathe, and pitch black bile sprung past your lips, splattering the pavement. You could feel it grabbing you, feel its arctic breath on your skin as your vision dotted with black, and you knew you were dying, but you couldn’t move.

You didn’t think you were supposed to feel pain in dreams. Or at least, nothing like the real thing, just a cheap imitation conjured up by your brain, a memory of what pain felt like. But what you felt as you coughed harder and harder, inky liquid staining the front of your clothing, streaking your skin, it felt like the real thing.

Your vision dimmed.

And that was it. All you had to do then was wait to wake up.

. . .

It was a seamless transition, from the velvety black of death to the dark behind your eyelids, the sounds of the city streets outside your apartment alive with murmuring sound, sometimes made louder if you’d left your bedroom window cracked open.

You were on the couch this time. The television was on; you could hear it softly, set to a low volume. Your chest hurt, and so did your head.

You groaned as you shifted on the sofa, still heavy eyelids dragging open as you sat up, putting your heavy head in your hands. You had no idea how long you’d been asleep, just that every time you had that stupid dream, you felt like you hadn’t slept at all. Exhaustion tugged at the corners of your mind as you slid off the sofa and onto your feet, trudging to the bathroom, where you flicked on the light.

Your reflection was a disheveled echo of what you usually looked like, your hair a tangled halo around your head, your eyes ringed with dark circles. You knew without looking at any clock what time it was. Three in the morning. It always was, when you woke up from that dream, like a scripted event in some kind of video game.

Leaning forward, you clasped the edges of the sink basin with your hands, taking a deep, shaking breath. They had started off staggered, the dreams. It didn’t happen the first few nights you slept in the apartment after moving in roughly two weeks ago, and the first time you had the dream, you’d been so terrified that you slept with the lights on for the next few days. These days, you had the dream almost nightly. Sometimes it would start off as something else, and then it would slowly bleed into the rainy dreamscape you’d become familiar with.

You released the sink, moving back to finger comb your hair, shedding your pajamas before stepping into the shower, turning the water up as high as it would go. The hot water felt good on your aching muscles, and you relished in the temporary relief, resting your forehead against the cool tile wall. You felt sick. You’d felt sick all week, but nothing you did made it go away. You decided to see a doctor the next day, whenever available, as you looked down at your bare body, eyes scanning over the purpling bruises that patterned your skin.

With a tired sigh, you lathered your scalp, rinsing and repeating before smoothing conditioner over the ends of your hair. You didn’t spend much longer in the shower, turning off the water as soon as your hair was rinsed clean, toweling yourself off and brushing your hair out until it was free of tangles.

You really did feel sick. You stared at your appearance in the fogged over mirror, your skin reddened from the heat of the water, and you looked sick as you felt. Maybe you had the flu. Or some kind of weird stomach bug. That didn’t explain the nightmares, nor did it explain the bruises, but it explained some of the symptoms. Nausea rolled over you like a breaking wave, and you grimaced, pressing your palm against the mirror to pop open the medicine cabinet. After searching for a few moments with your eyes, you found what you were looking for, and you picked up the pink bottle, frowning at the lack of weight to it.

You were out of Pepto Bismol.

Fantastic.

You mentally ran over what you had in the house to alleviate nausea, and came up blank. You didn’t have any ginger ale, or anything with ginger in it besides a package of ginger cookies, but your appetite had been a fickle beast these past few weeks. Sometimes you were so ravenous that devouring everything in the house was all you could think about. Other times, the thought of eating so much as a slice of plain bread made your stomach roil.

There was a twenty-four hour grocery store around the corner. You’d been there before, during the daytime. You weren’t exactly keen on leaving your apartment at this hour, but you needed something to calm your upset stomach. Reluctantly, you trudged into your bedroom, quickly dressing in whatever sweats you could find before tugging on a pair of socks, as well as some sneakers. You grabbed a coat from the closet by the front door, grabbing your purse and keys from the side table.

You looked like hell, and you knew it as you stared at your reflection, displayed in the small mirror above the entry table. Your hair was untangled, but you still looked like you hadn’t slept in weeks. And, in a sense, you kind of hadn’t. At least, not well. You flipped the collar of your coat up in a half-assed effort to hide your face, and threw the deadbolt, locking the door behind you.

The hall was quiet, as was the elevator ride down, and you weren’t surprised by this, given the hour. It felt weird, seeing the deserted lobby, the front desk vacant. You checked your coat pocket for your keys, and after finding that they were, in fact, there, you took a deep breath, stepping out into the freezing October night.

It was clear outside, the sky smattered with faint stars, dimmed by the lights of Celestia City. The moon was a crescent, casting silvery light over the rooftops and threading through dark corners, the pass of wispy clouds over the moon making the light move like it was a living thing. A city like this had a heartbeat, one you could feel through the soles of your feet. It felt good to be outside, you decided, your head clearing with each deep breath.

On instinct, as one often does when leaving home, you turned, eyes searching for the balcony on the third floor, the one that opened into your living room. You didn’t know why you always did this, or why you saw others do it as well. Maybe it was just habitual. Maybe you liked to look up to where you lived, imagining yourself sitting on the balcony, overlooking the very street you were standing on. And you never saw anything there when you looked, not even at your old apartment, the one that got too expensive for you to keep, farther uptown.

There shouldn’t be anything there, sans the folding patio chairs you’d arranged on the balcony with the little glass-top table between them. And you could see those, through the slats of the balustrades supporting the balcony railing. But there was something else, too. The chairs and table belonged there. This didn’t.

You weren’t sure what made you see it. You shouldn’t have been able to. It was barely visible, a shadow silhouetted against shadow, and, in any logical situation, it wouldn’t be visible. But you could see it. A figure, standing just inside the sliding glass doors of the balcony. You stared at it, and you didn’t know why, but you knew it was staring back.

From what you could make out, it was very tall. Tall enough that it took up the entire right panel of glass that made up one half of the doors, but very, very thin. You had no idea what it was, but as you continued to look, a sense of wrongness overtook you, every cell in your body telling you that you were not supposed to see this. Fear thundered through your veins, more potent than anything you’d ever felt before, drownings out every other thought you may have been having before you laid eyes on that figure.

There’s someone in the house, there has to be.

You considered yourself to be a logical person. You’d always been a skeptic of anything paranormal or weird. You were always one to ignore the little, uneasy voice in the back of your head, asking what if when you heard a bump in the night, and you were always the first to reassure your anxious friends that it was just a leaky pipe or the house settling when they heard a sudden noise at a sleepover. ‘A good head on her shoulders,’ people said, when asked to describe you. You never believed in ghosts or monsters, all that had stopped when you were a kid.

But as you stared at the figure on your balcony, all you were was afraid, and nothing about the mess of thoughts running through your head was logical.

Intruder, you tried to tell yourself, but that little what if in the back of your head, the one you’d been so good at silencing before, was louder than your voice of reason.

No. No.

Get a grip.

You looked down at your shoes, watching your breath turn to mist in front of your face. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Exhaustion causes hallucinations. You knew it did. With careful precision, you tucked that worried part of yourself back into its corner, telling yourself that when you looked up, the figure would be gone. You rubbed your tired eyes, taking a few deep breaths before raising your head.

At first, you thought you’d been correct. It had disappeared from your balcony. You breathed a sigh of relief, mentally chiding yourself for immediately jumping to danger mode, and you half turned away to continue your walk to the store, but then, something caught your eye.

Your heart dropped into your stomach like an oversized anvil, and your mouth went dry.

It wasn’t gone. It had moved.

Fear blossomed in your chest, quickly spreading throughout your body as you stared at the doors leading into the lobby, where whatever had been upstairs was now standing.

That was not a person. You didn’t know what it was.

Everything about it was setting off alarm bells in your head, telling you that what you were looking at was wrong, that it shouldn’t exist. What you were looking at was something out of a nightmare.

Backlit by the dim lights of the lobby, you could see that it was built like a child’s drawing of a person, a living stick figure, its body the color of charcoal, like gathered shadows. It was as if someone had erased a space in the scenery in front of you, leaving a dark spot behind. The only thing you could liken the body to was old photos of famine victims, gaunt and emaciated, with each protruding bone visible. Its fingers were long and thin, tapering off into points. And its face.

Its eyes were like empty pits, somehow darker than its already pitch black body, like yawning voids of absolute nothingness. You could see no mouth, though you figured it was there, full of needle sharp teeth, set in jaws which were far too wide to fit its head. And finally, atop its head were a pair of horns. They were tall, extending far above, gnarled like old tree branches, fading off into transparency, dissipating like smoke.

One of its hands was flattened against the door, like it was going to push it open, those endless eyes fixed on you. It wasn’t just mere coincidence that whatever this thing was had been on your balcony. You could tell from the way that it was looking at you that it meant you harm, and as you stared back at it, terrified to look away or even blink, you felt like your feet had been cemented to the sidewalk.

And then, nothing.

You were still standing there, on the street, motionless, and you could still feel the pass of the late autumn air against your exposed skin, the sounds of the distant traffic and the whisper of the breeze filling your ears. You could still see, could still smell, could still touch. But you felt nothing. All the fear and anxiety and bone deep exhaustion had vanished without a trace, leaving you feeling like an endless pit had opened inside of you, taking the place of the emotions you should be feeling, but weren’t.

It should scare you. But it didn’t. You didn’t even realize you were moving, not until you saw your hand moving in your periphery, and you realized you were standing at the door back into the building. Something deep inside of you started at the realization, prickles of fear dancing up and along your spine, but whatever had taken root in your mind swatted them away like one would a pesky fly.

Your fingers wrapped around the push bar of the door, and you froze.

Stop it.

You shook your head, confused; disoriented. Your wrist flexed as you began to push the door, and then you realized. This wasn’t right.

Don’t see, something said, never see, never, never see, neverseeneverseeneverseeNEVERSEE—

You felt like your head was filled with television static, the volume dial stuck on maximum. It was a mess of fog and conflicting thoughts, all slamming against each other with enough force to make your head ache, their voices overlapping into nothingness. And then, through all of that, one single voice spoke up.

Open the door.

The voice was more disorienting than anything else you were feeling. It was both cold and warm, firm but gentle. It reminded you of several things; of a mother trying to coax a small child to do something, or of a teacher trying to encourage a wayward student. Patient, loving kindness, that seemed to know better than you. Your wrist twitched again, but you froze, your breath stuttering in your lungs.

THIS IS NOT RIGHT.

Another voice was screaming in your ears, at the top of its lungs, trying to drown out the other voice, which was now chanting the gentle command to please open those doors, over and over again, mixing with the other, frantic voice in a cacophony of confusing noise. Something in you was fighting so hard, screaming itself hoarse, and you still felt nothing.

Let me in, (Y/N).

You squeezed your eyes shut, blinking rapidly. A soft, gentle chuckle filled your head.

Let… In. Let me in.

The words were weird, you realized, all at once, the voice itself sounded wrong. It sounded like something was trying to imitate human speech, well practiced but still imperfect. Something about the cadence was just not quite right, the pitch too inconsistent. Your grip on the push bar loosened. Your head felt like it was about to explode, the coaxing voice erupting into screams of rage.

It was now shrieking at you with a voice that sounded like several people all speaking over each other, in a language you couldn’t understand, that you’d never learned or even heard, but somehow, you knew exactly what was being said.

God has left you.

The words were spoken in an unfamiliar tongue, but the meaning was being filtered into plain English.

Let me in, you st̸̘͖͉̟̾̅͒̕̚ͅu̴̩̠̼̞̐̑́ṕ̶̛̰̜̘̯̦̝̈́͗̓̏̉͜ͅị̴͍̣̤̬̫̬̅ḏ̶͓̗̲͓̥͓͍̥̫͎̗͈̥̏͋͗̆̐ ̶̢̡͖̂̐̐b̴̜̲͕̪̤̙̝̱̋̔̃̇̍̎̍i̵͕͇̮̗̩̰͚͓͎̝̟͍̦͋̊̊͗̈́̐͗́ț̷͕͎̫̫̺̙̖̞̅͊͆͊̑͛͛͑̈́̈́͜͜͠c̸̫̳̥̙̠̠̠̥͉̠̅̑͒̍͛̏̿͊̈͝h̸̢̛̤͈̪̮̪͖̱͒̓̇͠ͅ. Your putrid soul is mine. I will tear your f̴͙̞̝̺̳̙̮̫̔̍̎̂̒̇͐̀͒̀̎̐̑̾̉͜ͅi̷̜̤͙̓̀̒̃̄̍̕l̷̺̼͕̞̯̭̺̗̇̑̄̂̌͂̊͂͘t̵̗̩̠̏̏̉̈́̑̐͠͝ͅh̷̥̖͚͓̫̹̆̈́̾͌́̅̄͑͝y̵̮̥̲̩̙̥͆̍ͅ ̶̧̛͕̤̺͎͚̝̗͎͈̺̔͂̀̈̈́͐͌͂̈́͛̚͝c̵͓̄͊̿͂̌̿̀͘å̵̢̰̯͖̈́̏͒̓̉́͆͋ṙ̶͉̠̀̉c̵̝͖̤̰͓̳̆̽̽̔̂̏̌̂ą̶̲̤͈͔̼̻̮̲̖̦̔̀ş̸̱̠̪͖̕ś̷͍͑̍̃̍͒̀̇̽̈́̐̕apart and devour your heart.

There it was. There was that fear you’d been missing, trickling back in like an unblocked river, crashing forward when whatever was keeping your free will away was damaged. And among that fear, your will to fight came back, too.

But your hand was still wrapped around the push bar. You tried to speak, to bite back, but all that came out was slurred gibberish, tripping over your clumsy tongue, and your head filled with horrible laughter, taunting, and your wrist moved again, pushing, that artificial non-feeling wrestling against your own genuine feeling.

You swore you hadn’t opened the door. You hadn’t even felt yourself give the final push. But a single little inch was enough.

The creature rushed forward like the tide, a bony hand closing around your throat, and you got your first look at its horrible face up close. Its eyes were endless, and when you peered into them, you saw terrible things. You saw your loved ones dying in unimaginable ways, your life going wrong in any way possible, yourself getting sicker and sicker and dying alone and in the dark. You saw hell in those eyes, showing you all the things it knew you feared.

You are mine, the creature, the demon said in that strange language of overlapping voices.

Black spots swam across your vision, and even when you tried to scream, you found you were unable to. You were going to die, or get possessed, or whatever it was this thing had in store for you. Your mind was growing weaker, the cold of its reach ensnaring your struggling soul, pain radiating throughout your chest, making you cough hoarsely.

The demon’s other hand moved, claws scraping against your sternum, burning your flesh, trailing up to your chin to poise it between two claws, forcing you to meet its eyes.

Give in.

It was back to coaxing, and from the way it spoke, it made surrender sound so, so, sweet. Your head lolled forward, even when the other half of you, the half that was fighting, screamed at you to block it out. The demon got closer, the hand on your chin joining the other one around your throat, squeezing so tight you felt like your head would pop off. Your fingers lifted, clawing at the demon’s hands weakly, but your nails scrabbled uselessly as it dragged you closer.

Your hands dropped.

It’s no use.

You couldn’t tell which voice was yours and which one was the demon’s anymore. You didn’t want to give in, you wanted to fight, but you were so tired. Your shoulders sagged, tears streaking your frigid cheeks as your body convulsed, suffocating heat flooding your every pore. You felt like you were being invaded, like something was shoving aside your mind to replace it with something else, and it made your stomach twist. It was like when you go too deep in a pool, and water begins to fill your nostrils, burning your sinuses and your throat. All you could see was black, your vision overtaken by inky smoke, filtering into your body.

And then you felt something new.

Everything stopped, all at once. Your thoughts and non-thoughts crashed together like dominoes, all falling down and into disarray, even as something struggled to keep them upright.

You could hear another voice.

This one was real, outside your head. You struggled to understand the words, trying to kickstart your brain into working again, and you tried your hardest to listen.

“Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in battle…”

Your head was swimming, and you heard the demon shriek, in rage and pain, though you weren’t sure if it was inside your head or out.

“…be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil…”

Prayer. Someone… praying?

“May God rebuke him, we humbly pray…”

Deep inside yourself, you realized you knew this prayer; the prayer to Saint Michael.

“…and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.”

The words, that you thought you’d forgotten, rose to your lips like soda bubbles, and you prayed softly along, your breath slowly coming back to you as you whispered out…

“Amen.”

You were suddenly tumbling down, onto your knees, your palms making harsh contact with the sidewalk. Everything in your body was in utter agony, your head pounding and so, so loud. The praying continued, drowned out by the deafening shrieking that echoed in and outside of your skull. The voice of the demon was cursing the newcomer, calling him names and threatening horrifying violence, all in that language you shouldn’t be able to understand. But the newcomer was undeterred.

His hand touched your forehead and you shivered violently, your skin crawling, and when he splashed you with water, it both burned and felt like a relief. Your body was awash with bizarre, conflicting sensations, making you want to scream, but no sound came out. The voice of the demon switched between screaming and cursing you or the apparent exorcist, and all you wanted was to get it out.

He scooped you into his arms, and your limbs moved on their own and with an inhuman strength, shoving and hitting as he swung you over one shoulder. You barely registered the movement of his body as he ran, continuing to pray while whatever was inside of you used your mouth to snarl like an animal.

Your back hit metal, and you could hear shouting as something closed around your wrists, even as you struggled, eyes wide and rolling into the back of your skull. You could hear an engine coming to life, the sounds of tires, the wind picking up.

It was when he began to ask for the prayers of the Saints that your body began to convulse. Your own voice, though not spoken by you, exited your lips, pleading for help, for the exorcist to stop, and all the while, the hijacker was trying its best to sound helpless and small and weak.

“Be unto her, O lord, a fortress of strength…”

Your hands clenched into fists as something stirred inside of you, your jaw wrenching open in an inaudible scream.

“I command thee, unclean spirit, whosoever thou art, along with all thine associates who have taken possession of this handmaid of God, that, by the mysteries of the Incarnation, Passion, Resurrection and Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ—”

“Foolish exorcist,” came a voice, wrenched from the depths of your own chest, “I have already taken her worthless soul.”

No, no, you were here, you were still here, the voice was lying. You felt like you were trapped in a locked room, trying and failing to pry open the door. You felt trapped, helpless, and your only hope was this stranger succeeding in this battle for your very soul.

“There you are,” the exorcist said, and without missing another beat, he continued.

“…by the descent of the Holy Spirit, by the coming of our Lord unto judgment, thou shalt tell me by some sign or other thy name and the day and the hour of thy departure.”

The demon, so furious for being interrupted in its final stages of fully possessing you, shrieked in rage, but it was growing weaker, its hold on you slipping.

“I command thee, moreover, to obey me to the letter, I who, though unworthy, am a minister of God; neither shalt thou be emboldened to harm in any way this creature of God, nor the bystanders, nor any of their possessions.”

Your own voice finally broke through in a scream of pain and terror, a string of pleas and sobs on your tongue before the demon yanked you back under.

“She’s a fighter,” you heard a woman’s voice say, “come on, girl, don’t let the bastard win.”

Prayers flowed like water, washing over you, soothing you like someone applying salve to a burn. Holy water seared against your skin, making the unholy creature inside of you howl, and you convulsed, hissing and spitting when you felt the exorcist anointing your brow.

It all blurred together after that. Your own consciousness, your soul was beginning to grow stronger, and when the exorcist demanded a name once more, a name that felt unfamiliar and ancient slipped past your clumsy human tongue.

The name, pronounced back flawlessly by the exorcist, was like a jolt of lightning down your spine, and it was with that name that the exorcist commanded the unclean spirit back to Hell, his words reverberating through every fiber of your being. Your body lifted on its own, chest arched into the air, legs twitching, the voice that wasn’t yours screaming at the top of your lungs, and…

Everything… stopped. All at once, so abruptly that it made your breath catch in your throat. You could feel something struggling inside of you, yanking itself away from your soul in a frenzy, in a hurry to leave your now-blessed and battered body.

Your own thoughts flooded your mind like a tidal wave, hitting you all at once. You slumped forward, coughing violently, tears suddenly pouring down your cheeks. You felt the restraints on your wrists being loosened, then released, and you hugged your arms close to your chest. Nausea roiled, seizing in your stomach, and you suddenly found a bucket thrust into your hands as your body jolted forward. You coughed hard, pitch black liquid spilling from your mouth. You retched until your throat was raw and the bucket was half full of a reeking, inky substance. You gingerly set it beside your legs, your shaking hands threatening to drop it.

Sweat was sticky against your skin, making your hair flatten against your head, and you slumped back, eyes finally beginning to focus on your surroundings.

You were in a van. It had been redone and decorated, with shelving units on either wall, full of thick volumes and various bottles of liquid or herbs or something similar. The lighting was dim, being cast by a single camping lantern sitting on one of the seats, which were arranged in a row against the wall. The lantern was fastened in place with a seatbelt, which would have been kind of funny to you in any other circumstances. Beneath you was a carpeted floor, though you were currently sitting on a plastic tarp, probably with your demon-induced vomiting in mind. Finally, above the double doors leading out of the van, there hung a crucifix.

Two people were beside you, one on either side. A man and a woman.

The woman had messy, crimson red hair, styled in a choppy bob cut. Her skin was very pale, her eyes, ringed with dark circles, the color of mahogany. She was dressed in leather and studs, a motorcycle jacket hugging her body, which was long and limber. She was very beautiful, in a dark, gothic way. A silver cross hung on a chain around her neck.

And the man… His skin was a beautiful shade of tawny, contrasted sharply by the silvery white of his hair, which reached just below his shoulders, tied half back. His bangs fell across his forehead in a gentle swoop, partially covering his right eye but falling gracefully around his face. His face itself was a collection of sharp angles; high cheekbones and a strong jawline, a straight, very gently upturned nose, thin heart shaped lips, and narrow, fine brows that were turned ever so slightly downwards, giving him a mildly irritated look. His eyes, though, were the most striking part of him. They were upturned and angular, framed with pale lashes, with irises the color of polished bronze. He was dressed dark, like the woman, in dark jeans and a sweater, paired with heavy work boots.

He looked like…

”An… angel?”

You watched his brows press together at your comment, maybe more concerned about the hoarse quality of your voice, or the way everything seemed to be spinning. You fell backwards, the man and the woman doubling and tripling as they left your line of sight, your back hitting the floor. You were more tired than you’d ever been in your life, and you felt your eyelids beginning to flutter closed.

Everything went black in a matter of mere seconds.

#cyno x reader #Genshin #genshin impact #cyno genshin impact #reader insert #Female reader #demons #demonic posession #Multichapter #Lol I don't know why it took me so long to cross-post this to tumblr #cw: demons #catholocism #exorcism #modern au #fanfiction #fanfic #genshin fanfic #My writing #buckle up buttercup

[republictrooper]

Dealing with the magic in Stardew Valley must be strange as hell for a new farmer, but imagine it with a husband like, say, Harvey, who by all accounts only moved to Stardew Valley a few years ago and hasn’t made many friends or explored very far as a result of his natural introversion and a need to keep professional distance where possible, and so probably hasn’t seen much of that magic yet himself, if at all.

They’ve been married for a while. Harvey’s learned to accept a bit of magic, and he and the farmer are very happy together even if Harvey worries for them when they insist on going mining and isn’t sure what to make of the strange jet black chickens in the coop or the black and red speckled eggs in the fridge, and still has to rub his eyes every time he sees one of those tiny little green creatures out in the fields picking strawberries.

Then one day, in the middle of the day, the farmer just barges back into the farmhouse and starts making food.

“I know you asked me to take it easy while I’m pregnant, dear, but there’s a weird racoon tailed bear in the woods and its asking for spaghetti-”

....

“What? No, don’t worry babe, I’ve gotten like, real close to it. If it was going to eat me it would have already.

...

“Its less talking than weird pictures? It actually wanted a herring first, that was a PAIN, I had to wrack my brain to remember which fish it was like. picturing.  Good thing it was in season. Almost thought it was anchovy, that would have been embarrassing to lug the wrong fish all the way back to the forest from the beach. Anyway, I’m pretty sure this is gonna lead to something good. Last time a bear asked me to get it something, it taught me how to pick the CRAP out of some berries... Come to think of it, THAT bear could talk. Wonder why this one can’t? I mean, I wonder why ANY bear can talk. Or generate mental pictures of fish and food. But. You know. Stardew Valley, right? Aren’t you glad we moved here from Zuzu? I know I am!”

As soon as they have the spaghetti finished and packaged, they rush out the door again, with a kiss and a cup of coffee by way of apology. Within a couple hours, they’re back.

“So. Bear gets the Spaghetti, right? And you know how the cliffs over in the south of the forest are just trashed as hell? I shit you not, bear pulls out a set of frickin’ PANPIPES and just goes to town on em. pretty nice tune. Wish I had my miniharp with me, we could have jammed. Anyway, trash disappears, bunch of trees and bushes grow right before my eyes. Oh no, that isn’t even the weirdest part. Bear puts the panpipes away - I dunno, in his fur, Maybe? Panpipes were just gone, pulls out an umbrella, opens it, and JUMPS OFF THE CLIFF. But like, doesn’t even fall, it just up and flies away toward town! So I jumped on Epona and followed but it was like. GONE. Speed of sound. Town looks a little nicer. Dusty’s lil dog house is all fixed up too. So uh. Yeah. There’s a story to tell the kid. The time mommy helped out a magical trash bear while you were in their tummy.”

...

“Yes, dear. I promise. Back to taking it easy til the baby comes.”

...

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

#stardew valley #sdv harvey #mini fic