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palmofafreezinghand · 5 months

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kitchen observations

Bella and Esme chat as Esme cooks dinner for her granddaughter, and Bella finds out Edward may have left out some relevant details about Carlisle and Esme's life stories. on ao3 here.

January, 2006.

Kitchens had always been Bella’s sanctuary. Even long after she no longer had a use for any of the devices in the room she found herself gravitating to the Cullen’s kitchen, spending most of her free time reading at the bar or inviting her husband to a game of chess in the breakfast nook.

It had taken time for that particular kitchen, and the house as a whole, to become the uniquely comforting space it now was. When Bella first met Edward’s family their kitchen was sterile and slightly incorrect, like an unused television set. As she spent more and more time in the Cullen house, the kitchen gradually came alive, more accurately Edward’s ‘mother,’ Esme, breathed life into the room.

Esme had approached cooking for Bella cautiously as if she were a frightened baby deer separated from its mother. The first time she offered Bella a baked good she used the flimsy excuse she had made too much for the PTA bake sale, Bella would only realize days later there was not a PTA bake sale. Then one evening when Bella stayed later than usual, Charlie was scheduled for the night shift and therefore her curfew was ignored for the night, Esme offered to make dinner, coincidentally having all the ingredients on hand. Again, Bella would only realize Alice foresaw this happening and that is why Esme had a stocked refrigerator days later. This trend continued, and one thing turned to another and soon Esme, with Edward’s ‘help,’ was spending hours cooking an entire Thanksgiving feast because Renee had, of course, bailed last minute. By the time Bella was one of the Cullen family in name and supernatural status, the refrigerator and pantry were always fully stocked, holding ingredients for the next half dozen meals.

At first, Bella would hover in the kitchen out of guilt, offering assistance that Esme would very rarely accept, instead only utilizing Bella as a taste tester. Esme, however, never refused the offer of company while she cooked. It soon turned out that the hours spent in the pristine kitchen were some of the few times the two women bonded. Esme was more withdrawn than many of her family members, at least while Bella was still a human, which meant the few times Bella could convince her to speak freely was when she was distracted by following the precise steps of a new recipe.

When the food was done, and Bella began to eat, Esme would half-heartedly begin to wash the dishes, using the location of the sink to watch Bella’s reaction out of the corner of her eye. After a few months, Edward off-handedly told Bella that Esme had to use all of her strength to restrain herself from asking Bella a thousand questions about the meal and her thoughts, instead controlling herself and only nonchalantly asking “Is it alright?” after a few minutes. Bella would always laugh when Esme asked this question, the food had never been just alright. Bella was unsure if it was due to her own basic cooking skills, the woman’s supernatural abilities, or the care Esme poured into every dish but she had yet to have a meal of Esme’s that was not wonderful.

As Bella became more comfortable with Esme she would offer suggestions on recipes to try, comment on what spices she did not care for, or ask for specific meals. In turn, Esme would go on and on about the newest cookbook she was working through or the latest recipe she saw on the Food Network.

The leftovers, of which there was always plenty, would be packed up in Rubbermaid in pre-portioned servings that Charlie would bring to work the next day. When he eventually realized — after far too long for being the town’s only detective — who was making the meals he became an even bigger fan of Mrs. Cullen, unfortunately still disliking her son quite a lot. Once he offered to pay Esme for a portion of groceries she had simply laughed.

Bella had told Esme countless times she, and her father, was grateful but there was no need to go through so much trouble on their behalf. After the twelfth time Esme responded, “Truthfully, it is more for me than for you. I have missed cooking, and I can not tell you how nice it is to do it for someone who appreciates it.” That had been the end of Bella’s protestations.

After Bella was no longer able to indulge in food, Esme still sent Charlie home with a week’s worth of meals each time he visited; but her main mission was attempting to convince her granddaughter that some food could be as enticing as blood. It had proved to be a much harder task than she previously anticipated.

That day, Esme was making beef bourguignon — one of Bella’s favorites as a human and a classic for a reason — after discovering Renesmee was far more willing to, at the very least, taste meat-based dishes.

Bella, keeping with tradition, was re-reading Little Women at the kitchen bar as Esme cooked. The sound of oil crackling, a well-sharpened Chef’s knife chopping carrots, and a tape of Julia Child’s television program playing quietly on the small television — despite the fact Esme had the recipe memorized — were comforting.

Most of the family had fled the house for the afternoon, finding the smell of sauteeing vegetables grating but understanding whose name was on the deed of the house they lived in. Bella could hear the muffled clicks of plastic building blocks upstairs, where her husband and daughter were in the library building with Legos, one of the few children’s toys Renesmee would tolerate.

“Have you read this?” Bella asked, holding the book cover up for Esme to see the title. This was how most of their conversations started. Bella asked a mundane question she had thought over dozens of times.

Esme glanced up from the stove at the kitchen island where her carrots and onions were almost done cooking. “Dozens of times. I have only read the sequels once or twice.”

“There are sequels?” Bella asked, placing her bookmark to hold her page.

“Two. Little Men, which is about Jo’s students, and then there’s Jo’s Boys which is about the students and her sons in their adulthood.”

“Do you have a copy of either?”

Esme nodded, placing the seared meat back in her pot. “I think they should be in Carlisle’s study, they might be in the library, feel free to borrow them whenever you wish.”

There must have been thousands of books in the house, Carlisle owning the most, Esme owning the second largest collection and the widest variety, and while Jasper’s collection was notable in page numbers it housed very few books. As a human Bella had been reluctant to borrow any, despite blatant permission, but now that she was facing an eternity she could not read through most of the collection fast enough.

“Which March sister do you think you are?” Bella asked.

Esme sighed, uncorking the bottle of red wine. “Now that’s a difficult question. My husband says I’m Jo, and I suppose he should know better than anyone, but I don’t believe anyone who calls themselves a Jo.”

“I can see hints of Meg too.”

“Your husband has told me that before,” Esme smiled, measuring out two cups of the Merlot. ‘Your husband’ in reference to Edward still made Bella smile months after their wedding. “You’re a Beth.”

“You think?” Bella asked.

“Absolutely. Do you know who I think is an Amy?”

“Rosalie?”

“Thank you! She fails to see it.”

“Really?” It seemed a quite obvious connection to Bella.

“Yes, I have tried relentlessly to convince her to no avail.”

“Who is Alice?”

Esme shrugged, throwing in bouillon and herbs and setting the stove to a simmer. “She believes Laurie and Jo should have gotten married so I no longer give weight to her opinions on literature.”

“She does not,” Bella gasped as Esme nodded.

They grew quiet again, as Esme started to clean up the counter while the pot simmered.

“Which Bennet sister do you think you are?” Bella asked after a minute or two.

“Jane,” Esme said immediately. “More accurately I dream of being Jane.”

Jane made a lot of sense. From what very little Edward had told her of the days playing matchmaker for Carlisle and Esme, Darcy’s influence on Bingley and Jane’s courtship seemed an apt comparison too.

“I like to think of myself as Lizzie if for nothing else but Mr. Darcy, but I think I am Mary most days,” Bella said.

Esme laughed kindly. “I must admit I had never understood the full appeal of Darcy until I watched the PBS series.”

“You don’t like Darcy?” Bella gasped, failing to understand how one could not like one of the best romantic interests of all time.

“I always thought he was awfully indifferent and I could never imagine spending my life with that man, even for all the money in the world. Especially when compared to Bingley, but that Colin Firth,” she grinned, looking like the twenty-something she was. Bella laughed, having watched the PBS mini-series until the VHS tape threatened to give out.

The back door swung open as Bella began to respond and she fell silent.

“Hi, Lover,” Esme said, not needing to look up from her task at the stove to know the person entering the room was her husband.

Despite having the same supernatural abilities, enhanced even, Bella found the infrequent glimpses of how inhuman the Cullens truly were, was still shocking at times.

“Hello, Love,” Carlisle said, closing the backdoor. He waved to Bella, who waved back, pointing at the bouquet he was carrying with a raised brow in question. He pointed towards his wife who still had her back to him. “Apologies for interrupting.”

“We were discussing what Bennet sisters we were,” Bella said, not revealing their shared crush on Mr. Darcy.

“Mary,” he said pointing at Bella, he turned to his wife, “Jane, unless you had an opportunity to court the PBS version of Darcy.”

“That is precisely what we had established,” Esme laughed, a lighter-sounding laugh than earlier. The differences in Esme’s behavior when her husband was around were often subtle but impactful, the two seemed to gravitate around one another when in the same room, the same could be said for Carlisle. Bella often wondered if anyone could notice if her behavior changed and if it did at all when Edward was in the room.

“Whatever that is smells awful,” he said, setting the flowers on the counter behind Esme. One of the few times Bella had heard Dr. Cullen express his distaste for anything was over his wife’s proclivity for cooking, and the smell of the hobby.

“It’s bœuf bourguignon,” Esme said, walking over to the pantry to put away the wine and stock.

“C’est répugnant,” he grinned, despite his wife not looking at him.

“Your French pronunciation has somehow only gotten worse with age,” she laughed, “and for what it’s worth, I have learned when it smells disgusting it turns out well.”

“Everything you do does.”

Esme glanced over her shoulder so he could see her roll her eyes. “Has Emmett been teaching you pickup lines again?”

Carlisle laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek, placing a hand on her lower back as he passed her.

Bella had always enjoyed people-watching but something about observing Carlisle and Esme in particular was uniquely entertaining. Listening to the way their conversation bounced from one to another felt like watching a professional tennis match. In moments like the current one, they operated as if others were not present. She presumed after living so many years with others who could hear every word spoken, no matter how quietly, and nearly every thought, the facade of privacy was no longer a concern.

Carlisle walked over to a cabinet, opening the door to reveal shelves of vases and decorative plates. Tablecloths and cloth napkins were color-coded and hung on velvet hangers. He rummaged around for a minute, Esme glanced over to inspect the source of the noise as she closed the pantry.

“Pick one, please,” he said, pulling two vases out of the cabinet. She looked over her choices, a white porcelain with hand-painted flowers, and a cut crystal.

She pointed to the porcelain vase and he carried it to the sink. “You like to put a splash of salt and vinegar in the water, right?” He asked, turning on the tap.

“Cold water, two teaspoons of sugar, and one tablespoon of white vinegar,” she said, lifting the pot lid to inspect how the dish was simmering. “And yes, those are two different tools of measurement.”

“I used baking powder instead of baking soda one time,” he said to Bella, akin to an aside in a Shakespeare play.

“They are very different things,” Bella muttered.

“Thank you!” Esme exclaimed. “We have been having this argument for the past thirty-seven years.”

Carlisle said nothing — having been outnumbered in an arena he was clearly not the expert in — but was smiling to himself as he cut the ends off the flower stems. Esme slid the pot into the oven, setting the timer for two hours and thirty minutes.

“Who are the flowers for?” Esme finally asked as she passed her husband to get to the freezer, where she retrieved a large Ziploc bag of frozen vegetable scraps.

“The most beautiful woman in the world,” he grinned, arranging the flowers in their vase.

“Gene Tierney is buried in Houston, Texas,” she said plainly as she scrapped the scraps on her cutting board into the freezer bag, saving them to eventually make a stock.

“The woman I think is the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Bella assumed by the couple’s similar smiles it was a well-worn inside joke, like so many of the things they said. Esme paused her task to glance at her husband, who was standing at the sink holding the vase out to her.

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” she said, walking to him, kissing him on the cheek, and then leaning down to smell the flowers. “What is the occasion?”

“Let’s see,” Carlisle sighed. “Happy eighty-sixth anniversary,” he pointed to a flower, one hand on her back, “Merry Christmas,” he pointed to another flower, “Happy New Year,” he continued picking a new flower for every holiday he prattled off. “Apologies for almost getting everyone we love murdered. Thank you for hosting everyone we know with such short notice. Hooray, we lived! Happy birthday. Happy baby’s birthday. My deepest condolences. And last but not least, thank you for not killing me when you awoke and learned what I had done to you.”

“Is that all? There’s one flower left,” Esme laughed, leaning into his side.

“I believe so, wait, Happy First Time We Met.”

“Is that this month?”

“January 29th,” Carlisle said with a soft, nostalgic, smile.

“I would have sworn that was in March,” she said quietly, with the faintest of frowns. “There was snow on the ground?”

“Very little. It had been unseasonably warm that month.”

“Are you sure you are not thinking of another woman you decided to turn into the bride of Dracula?” Esme teased.

“I am fairly certain there was only one of those,” he laughed, leaning closer to her despite their faces being mere inches apart.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Bella said and the couple both snapped their attention to her. “But wouldn’t you two have met the day Esme was turned?”

Their brows furrowed simultaneously. They glanced at each other and then back to her. From the confusion on their faces, one would think she had asked if they had seen hippos fly.

“No,” Carlisle said hesitantly, in that delicate tone she imagined he used with all his patients, “we met ten years prior.”

“What!” Bella exclaimed.

This reaction caused hearty laughter from the two standing across from her. Esme set the vase on the center of the island, to prevent dropping it while she laughed.

“Wouldn't that mean you met when you were a human?” She asked Esme, the one closest to her.

Esme laughed even harder, nodding. “Did Edward never mention this?”

“No!”

Esme glanced at her husband, who had stepped up beside her, leaning against the counter in a way that was shockingly human. “Your son is an idiot.”

“My son?”

“When he is being a fool, he is your son, yes.”

Carlisle laughed fondly, as Esme leaned down to mirror his posture, their shoulders bumping against one another.

“Okay, wait, so how did you two meet?” Bella asked, leaning forward.

Esme had spoken of her human life very seldom, much more infrequently than most of the others, besides Alice. Bella knew Esme had been married, at least she assumed, she knew she had a child that tragically passed, and she had died by her own hand. Had they dated during those ten years? Who was the father of her child? Why had Edward never mentioned any of this?

“Did you date for ten years? I mean Esme I thought you were marrie—”

“She was sixteen,” Carlisle said quickly. “She was a patient. Our meeting was purely professional.”

“He was my doctor,” Esme explained further. “I had broken my leg in a dignified and mature manner.”

“Tree climbing.”

“I was climbing trees in a dignified and mature manner,” she said pointedly, comically glaring at her husband. He bumped his shoulder against hers with a slight smirk. “It was not professional on my part, I thought he was quite charming, if not a tad arrogant.”

“Says the one who corrected my French,” he scoffed.

“Your French was, and still is, awful. You speak as if you’re on a French court in the 1700s.”

“Perhaps because that is where I learned.”

“Jay June,” Esme mocked.

“You knew French as a human?” Bella asked before Carlisle could respond to Esme’s comment, attempting to prevent them from launching into their typical banter that could last for hours.

From what little Esme had told her she presumed most of Esme’s impressive education had been postmortem. Bella had not been under the impression Esme as a teenager would have spoken French well enough to correct someone or be brave enough to correct a doctor.

“My grandmother and her family had immigrated from France when she was a child and she taught me,” Esme explained.

“Hence why a woman born in the middle of Ohio in 1895 is named Esme, improper spelling,” Carlisle teased.

“Are we remarking on odd names, Carlisle?”

He grinned at this but made no smart retort in response.

“I presume you have more questions,” Carlisle said, noticing Bella’s frown.

“So many. Like what did you think of each other? Did you remember him when you woke up? Did you think of changing her when you first met? Did you think of each other during the time that went by? Why were you climbing a tree?”

Esme’s head fell on her husband’s shoulder. “Would you like to begin?”

“It is your story,” he said politely.

Esme thought for a minute, presumably debating where to start. “I was attempting to avoid my mother and my chores so I retreated to our family’s orchard…”

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Two hours and thirty minutes later the oven timer went off as Carlisle was speaking, “I think the pastor thought we were up to something nefarious.”

“I always presumed he thought I was with child, and we were attempting to fool the public,” Esme laughed, standing to fetch the dish out of the oven.

“He did think that,” Edward said, walking into the kitchen, his daughter on his hip. “He did not mind that. He figured you two were going to get married either way, but he was quite puzzled about who I was.”

Carlisle and Esme laughed lightly. Esme pulled the pot out of the oven, sans oven mitts. Bella couldn’t help but shudder at the sight. Renesmee reached for her mother and Bella gladly took her, her daughter was almost too big for her lap so she gladly soaked in every moment.

“It’s still hot,” Esme said, placing a bowl in front of Renesmee.

Renesmee slightly grimaced at the smell of human food. “What do you say?” Bella coached.

“Thank you,” Renesmee said, still frowning at the food.

“I do not expect you to love it, but I would appreciate it if you took one bite before you decided you dislike it,” Esme said kindly.

“Okay,” Renesmee said, blowing on the food to cool it.

“Why didn’t you tell me they met when Esme was human?” Bella asked Edward, who had taken a seat on the barstool next to her.

“It did not seem relevant?” Edward smiled sheepishly.

“You thought the fact we met, I left, and she…” Carlisle realized his granddaughter was in the room, “her life turned out as it did, I felt the way I did about that, was not relevant to your situation?”

“No,” Edward said, looking down, that endearing lopsided grin on his face.

“Your son,” Esme told her husband, who only responded with a fond laugh.

#esme cullen #bella swan #carlisle cullen #renesmee cullen #edward cullen #my stories

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nix-writes-mcyt · 7 months

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Hello! I see that your requests are open. Could I request some Bdubs x gn!reader fluff headcanons for fall activities and/or Halloween stuff? thank youuuu

The start of a series! Please excuse the bad formatting as I'm on mobile, I'll fix it as soon as I can with PC, but that might not be until the end of the week (same for it going on the masterlist)

Autumn Headcanons

Bdubs x reader

Contains: Fluff

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Decorating for the season is done all year round with Bdubs

He makes most of the decor himself. Or he did until you came along

The two of you grow your own pumpkins, harvesting them is the biggest task of the season

He hand selects which will go home and which will be sold Although you find a way to sneak some in that you like He finds this cute

As the leaves change colour and start to fall, Bdubs makes a wreath for the front door

You help him choose the leaves

He even taught you how to preserve them so their colours wouldn't change

With this knowledge the two of you make Bdubs a new jacket since the moss one isn't great for camouflage against the reds and oranges of the leaves You might also happen to have a matching jacket

Once the wreath is up and the pumpkins decorating the property you're done... Not!

Bdubs instead hands you the lead

Foraging for berries, mushrooms and other tasty things is where you come in, you and your handy book of all the plants that are edible

You and Bdubs make for not only yourselves, but for the Hermits Harvest Festival

You make all manner of treats, sweet and savoury

Bdubs is very good at designing the tops of pies

He's not great at making them though Let's just say a few have been burnt, or whatever comes after burnt

Bdubs' decorating skills are used at his booth, he even uses some of the other foraged foods for decor

All the things you've made together are up for sale, and are always a big hit with the hermits

Any leftover berries are always fed to the birds

You both make price tags out of leaf cutouts! They're super cute and 100% recyclable

Whatever Bdubs and you make you try and do it with as little waste as possible

As the days get shorter and nights creep in faster you keep Bdubs awake

You watch sunsets with him from an established safe place of course

Bdubs promises to protect you from the monsters

You both know who will be doing the protecting

#bdubs x reader #bdoubleO100 x reader #hermitcraft x reader #mcyt x reader #autumn headcanons #fall headcanons #bdubs #bdoubleo #bdoubleo100 #hermitcraft #hermitblr #mcyt #mcytblr #headcanons

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kiliinstinct · 3 months

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A Celestial Promise: For The Lucy Heartfilia Zine

I Can Finally Post the Piece I Wrote For @lucyheartfiliazine . Leftover Sales Released January 22nd - so pop on over if you'd like to snag one for yourself! This One-Shot Was Written as a Partner Piece to @phoenix-before-the-flame art submission for the Very Same Zine. I'll link to it here once I know it's been posted, so be on the look out for that! [Partner Piece]

The tick of the clock was louder than the sounds on the streets of Crocus. Lucy Heartfilia moved with the time, fingers tapping to a frustrated, staccato beat against the grain of her desk. The thud of her heel striking the floor soon joined in for an orchestra of thinly veiled desperation. The paper before her was a stark contrast from the dark wood, its white pages littered in red corrections. All things that were meant to clarify her errors, but only mocked Lucy as she struggled to understand her blunders. Jason, as goofy as most would think him to be while interviewing the many Guilds in Fiore, was a strict teacher.

Too Vague. He said on one line. Too descriptive on another. Too opinionated, not subjective? Without the guild to call her home, Lucy thought she could finally, finally, make one in Sorcerer Weekly, writing their articles and bettering her craft. But this made the fifth rejected article since she began her apprenticeship under Jason and a strange, empty hopelessness began to seep into her limbs.

“What am I doing wrong?” Downcast eyes tore themselves away from the offending parchment to meet the worried, small pupils of her current companion: Plue, her little Nikola. He sat on the edge of her desk, a half-eaten sucker dripped from his mouth as he tilted his large, bulbous head to blink curiously at her. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

Lacking an answer beyond the little dog Spirit’s general babble of ‘puhn, puhn!’, Lucy turned her gaze towards the large wall by her bedside. In time, it will be covered in papers and documents listing all the locations and going ons of all her friends, but now, it was half what it would be, with a few papers pinned against it. Not all of her previous family, her friends, her Guild, have been located, but the few that were held empty smiles along the vast amount of saved photographs.

None of them gave an answer either. What else was I expecting?

“Pu-puhn!” Plue, ever the optimist on a bad day, regained Lucy’s attention. His gentle, tiny paws patted her arm and directed her back to the papers before her. The sucker, left behind to stick to the wood grain, was a minor concern Lucy would clean later.

Plue was still directing her. Patting his soft head, Lucy thanked him and retrieved a fresh, clean sheet of parchment.

“You’re right. I can do this. Thanks Plue.”

Nothing was ever gained by wallowing, was it?

Rejected. Again. And Again. How many times now? The scrunched papers of her previous work littered the floor and Lucy sighed, biting back bitter, frustrated tears. How many days, weeks even, would she have to go through? “Am I just not cut out for this?”

Listless. Directionless. The night Plue had directed her was a moment of respite, but days later, Lucy found the thought of summoning the spirit a worthless pursuit. He would want to help, of course he would. The cuddles of a little dog spirit were nice, but she didn’t have the time to cuddle. How many more rejections until Jason gave up on her? Until she was pushed back to modeling in a line of work that didn’t interest her?

Was she… not good enough?

“Can I really do this?” She whispered, not for the last time, her gaze tilted to the wall again, eyeing the ever constant growing images of all her friends. They were moving on. They were making more of themselves than the life they previously had. A recent news clipping of Levy being accepted into the counsel burned into Lucy’s retinas. She remembered seeing Gajeel’s own acceptance in those clippings, and the hints of her previous family joining other guilds. They were moving forward.

The one blank space saved for her previous team stabbed Lucy’s heart and she struggled to breathe. There was no Wendy, no Gray, no Erza to calm her down; to chase her horrid thoughts away. And no Natsu to cheer her on and tell her she was over thinking.

“I was a low-grade wizard in a world full of superstars, and I’m silly enough to think I can write?” The laugh that escaped was a hollow, empty thing and Lucy wondered when her light had faded to a dull shine. Rather than a pen clinging to her hand, urging her to continue her pointless endeavor, Lucy looked to the keys on her hip, fingers gently brushing along the sleek metal. Her grip tightened on the jagged, broken reminder beside them.

Aquarius would have scolded me, Lucy reminisced, barely recognizing her own tears. She would have scolded and insulted me for sitting here, until I was so mad I’d finish an entire chapter out of spite, but she’s-

The water spirit wasn’t there. She wouldn’t be there. Never again. In the moments of her drowning emotions, Lucy buried her face into her arms, a sob wracking her shoulders against the desk.

Lucy truly was alone.

The clock ticking echoed with a steady, loud rhythm that slowed Lucy’s cries, lulling her to sleep. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders and off the table like a curtain. Lucy’s revised article for Jason would have to wait as Lucy succumbed to a sleep that muffled the sorrow chaining her.

The keys on her belt began to hum as a gentle glow surrounded them and one, silver key illuminated in light as a tiny little dog spirit opened his gate and joined the world. His gentle paws were unseen and unfelt, but the light of the keys grew stronger as Plue nuzzled his face into the depths of Lucy’s hair.

Lucy was floating in a blank space. Barely conscious of a soft weight against her head, but aware of the weightless air surrounding her. Her feet struck what felt like polished marble and a great staircase unfolded before her: ascending up and up into the clouds. She couldn’t see how far it rose, but with wide eyes, she began her ascent with soft, bare footsteps that echoed through the void.

She didn’t know how she arrived or where she was going, but with each step Lucy became aware of something new. Her clothes no longer constricted her body, but flowed into an inky blue. Her hair flowed gently behind like water and somewhere above, beyond the steps Lucy couldn’t see, a set of voices called her name.

“I’m,” She struggled to make a sound, mouth feeling like cotton as she croaked to the constant calling, “I’m coming!”

It takes a few moments, a few seconds of eternity, for Lucy to become rushed as recognition glints in her eyes. She knows these voices. She recognized the booming echoes that reverberated through the starry sky. These are her friends. Her dearest ones: Her spirits. The whisper of their voices become louder, beckoning her with the belief she can make it despite the climb. They coax her forward until the blistering pain in her lungs is forgotten. Lucy feels a burst of energy, gathering the dress in her hands to finish bounding up the last flight.

One voice, louder than the rest, represented a key that lay broken beside the others, called out, “Can you be any slower? Tch, hurry up already!”

Lucy knew her voice like it were a recording she listened to daily: Aquarius.

“I’m here!” She gasped, stumbling to the highest platform where she crumpled into a heap as she dragged air into her lungs with every gasp.

She made it; Floating just beyond her reach was the giant hand of the Celestial Spirit King hovering before her. His giant grin and mustache melded with the very sky as he watched from high above. His hand was huge, holding aloft the many faces of those she called friends. Those who had called for her.

“You made it.” Loke, her dearest friend and Guild Mate, called out from the tip of the King’s fingers, his own arm outstretched as he looked upon her with fond, endearing eyes. Beside him, the ever stoic Capricorn, nodded his head with pride. Virgo waved while Scorpio clung to the Celestial King’s Pinkie, dangling excitedly as Aries sat upon his rigid tail. They called to her, the twins of Gemini bouncing along in their excitement. And among the cacophony of their voices, Lucy met the eyes of the one she had missed the most in the passing months.

Aquarius lay against the King’s palm, propped by her own arm as she looked upon Lucy with a stern, warm gaze. It was familiar and cementing. Lucy knew it for what it was. She was there for a reason and ready to scold her if it were necessary. Lucy stopped breathing as she reached towards them all as if they could breach the distance with their arms alone.

“You made it up all those stairs? Excellent!” Scorpio exclaimed.

“S-sorry for the trouble.” Aries called, timidly.

“Piri Piri!”

“Miss Lucy, have you forgotten?” Capricorn interrupted, his gaze meeting Aquarius' for a moment as a silent understanding passed between them.

Lucy’s head tilted, blinking back the touched tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Forgot what?”

They looked upon each other in silence, eyebrows raised and shook their heads. “That we’re right here, of course.”

It was Aquarius who spoke next, voice the sharpest among them, “That we’re always here, dummy.”

“Yes,” Loke cut in, his concern obvious as he looked upon Lucy through the tops of his sunglasses, “You’re not alone, Lucy. We’re right beside you: just call us.”

There was no stopping the tears. They flowed down like rain as Lucy’s shoulders shook, only now registering Plue taking his place beside her with a paw against her legs. His small shudders grounded her. When she glanced back, her friends' faces were solemn, serious, but brimming with a hope that left her lungs feeling too full, set to burst with emotion.

Loke leaned forward as the King’s hand shifted just enough to bring them closer, “You don’t have to cry alone. Every one of us is here for you.”

With heart wrenching sobs, Lucy nodded, smiling through the tears, despite the teardrops that landed on her hands, her dress. Each second she cried, the pain and loneliness that sought to drown her in her waking hours, slipped off her shoulders like melted ice. The burden weighing so heavily grew lighter and lighter. With a small apology, her hands met Loke's, grasping them tight enough to feel the gap between her and her dear spirits disappear.

“Thank you!” She sobbed, “All of you.”

When Lucy woke, she was startled to see the view of her apartment and not the stars above. Dizzy and thrown off, but safe and warm in the bed she doesn’t recall laying down in, but Plue’s paw grasped her hand hanging off the bed. He squeaked lightly when their eyes met and slowly faded back to his own realm. Lucy doesn’t know what his puhn’s often mean, but she can feel the relief they both shared and watched as he set her keys against the bedside table before his visage completely disappeared.

Perhaps… It was more than just a dream. And far more important at that. It took Lucy no time at all to dive towards her desk, fingers already grasping her quill to start writing her article once again.

“They’re right.” She said, eyes blazing, determined. “I’m not alone. I’m never alone. And I CAN do this.”

As the quick jots run across the parchment, Lucy thinks she heard Aquarius one last time, snorting derisively. ‘About time you realized that.’

For the first time in months, Lucy smiled.

#Lucy Heartfilia #FT Fanfiction #Fairy Tail Fanfiction #Lucy Fairy Tail #Lucy Heartfilia Fanzine #Celestial Spirits #Plue #Loke #Gemini #Aguarius #Scorpio #Aries #Taurus #all of em really #dreams #1 year time skip #my writing

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mackerelbones · 1 year

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posting what is already out there but gonna officially digitally post the cover image here! with the wonderful frames illustrated by @maskenjager

@daigyakutenzine leftover sales are happening now until 28th Dec. There are unfortunately only physical zines and/or digital bundles so please go give them a visit soon!

#dai gyakuten saiban #dai gyakuten saiban 2 #ace attorney #ace attorney fanart #tgaa #the great ace attoreny #ryunosuke naruhodo #susato mikotoba #herlock sholmes #iris wilson #my art #zines im in

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motherserieszine · 6 months

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Hello! In the interest of keeping everyone up-to-date with the production of the zine, here’s the latest newsletter update. As always, if you wish to subscribe to our newsletter, please email [email protected] so we can put your email down!

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

We apologize for the delay in our communication! Between messaging manufacturers for quotes, managing 50 contributors and making sure we still answer our three social media, email and personal accounts, it's been a busy time for us. The mods and I hope this is a good update for everyone!

PRODUCTION UPDATES:

★ All merch and packaging material has been ordered and is on its way to our shipping and fulfillment mod, Yurei! Pictures of all merch items will be posted to our social media as they come in!

★In addition to the items in each bundle, all physical orders will include holographic stickers with our cover artist @Cosmosully's shaker charm design! This was budgeted out as a thank you for everyone's support and patience with our project.

★Because our order quantities for some items (books, stickers, and sheets) are close to a whole number (300), extras have been ordered in order to receive a bulk quantity discount. This means there MAY be a few leftover sales (10 or less stock of each item). This would be after fulfillment is complete.

★Aya, our head mod, is currently working on pressing the holographic magnets for all Early Bird, Half and Full Bundle orders by hand. It will be either these or the prints that we show first!

★The PDF of the zine is on its final revision and will be completed within a few days. After this, the printing of the zine books will begin. The final page count of the zine is 174 pages, which is significantly higher than what we marketed and estimated for the zine (which was 130+). Several of our contributors provided more artwork and writing for the project than what they came on to do initially, which was added to the book.

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Many of you have reached out about shipping! As soon as we get all items, they will be shipped out accordingly. Our estimate for shipping completion is December, but some books may not arrive at your doorstep until January.

We know this is, again, not what our initial time frame was for the project. The mods and I are working as fast as we can, but we do all have lives outside of the zine. All of the mods are either in their final year of college, or are graduates with full-time jobs and shops to manage. We felt that rather than rush the book and merch out, we should focus on making sure they are works of art that both our contributors and fans of the series can look back on with fondness and take pride in having. You paid a lot to make this project happen, and therefore only the best work we can create should arrive at your doorstep! This is a passion project that we all want to see be successful, so we apologize for any inconvenience the change in schedule causes.

As always, feel free to reach out to us with any concerns or questions! Ask us anything. We want to be as transparent as possible, every question is a good question! And be sure to check out our contributor list if you haven't already, which can be found on our BigCartel and Carrd pages.

FAQ

Q: So wait, how does this work?

A: The only item we currently have in house are the magnets, as they are hand pressed, printed, and foiled by our head moderator. All other items are designed by our contributors and manufactured, then get shipped to our shipping moderator to be packaged into bundles.

Q: Oh gosh, I need to change my address now!

A: No worries, we will actually send an address confirmation email a week before we actually ship the items! Also, all physical orders come with USPS tracking; this way, there is no concern on where the package will go. This includes international orders!

Q: When will we receive the PDF?

A: PDFs will be emailed out in the same email as the address confirmation, or shortly after :)

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

That concludes this issue of MOTHER POWER! Stay tuned for our next issue, which is scheduled to be released later this month.

As always, fuzzy pickles!

#earthbound zine #mother zine

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tobegiggledat · 7 months

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The World Should be Cats

Ch. 1: The Mouse Caught Between Teeth

18+ CONTENT AHEAD MINORS DNI

✦pairing: Yandere!Tiger x afab!reader (no pronouns)

✦word count: 4.7k

✦summary: “It’s been a week since your friend reappeared after going missing, but whatever's returned, disguised in the suit of skin that was once her’s, is too woozy, too sweet—too overly-enthralled in daydreaming, to be the mellow woman you used to know.”

✦warnings: noncon, drugging, kidnapping, cults, orgasm control/denial, bondage, exhibitionism/voyeurism, humiliation, master/servant, aphrodisiacs, begging, fucking machines, fingering, mild pet play, lots of cat comparisons, AU where Kota lives with his grandparents instead (I forgot he existed while writing this)

✦a/n: Might write more parts, but eh it depends. What do you think?

Read Ch. 2 here!

It’s been a week since your friend reappeared after going missing, but whatever's returned, disguised in the suit of skin that was once her’s, is too woozy, too sweet—too overly-enthralled in daydreaming, to be the mellow woman you used to know.

Contact with her went cold over a month ago, leaving you to take on double the shifts at your shared jobs at a local convenience store. And while the extra workload may have taken your mind off her temporarily, when the hours ended and you were left alone in the stifling silence of your solo apartment complex, you soothed yourself to sleep with tears.

It was on day 46, she showed up for work as if nothing happened, brushing aside any concerns and instead fawning over her newfound obsession.

“Sorry, it’s Ryuko”, she’d shriek whenever she got a text, her hand cupping her phone as if a dying flame, her only source of warmth and vitality resting in her palms. It's as if nothing outside of it mattered to her, not even you.

When you gathered enough courage to ask about her whereabouts during that same month, she’d coo “Oh don't worry, Ryuko took care of me.” or “You’ll meet her soon. You’ll love her.”

Your first suspicion was that she was weaved into the sinister webs of some cult or pyramid scheme, but she’s yet to preach about her sudden change in faith, or give you a sales pitch on the benefits of using skincare products with essential oils. A month’s time away from friends and family is definitely enough to make one vulnerable, so who knows?

Either way, you meet the “Ryuko” in question later today. You’re annoyed, and not just because remnants of your year-long crush on your bestie still stir to life within you from time to time, but because Ryuko is giving you major red flags.

Beaming lights cut through the passenger window of your best friend’s sedan, casting a cool white glow over the newspaper you pocketed from a Juzo News vending machine. The number of disappearing people in this area has been on the rise recently. By a stroke of luck, your friend's disappearance only resulted in brief, mild disorientation and withdrawal, but it could've easily been more tragic.

Your head snaps to the front counter of the gas mart you’re parked outside of, observing your friend as her head bobs in agreement with the cashier. You glance over the face of the stranger she speaks with and look over any other customers beside her to imprint them in your memory. She finally leaves and your stare follows after her until she reaches you.

“Sorry about the wait”, she says upon entering, amusement evident in her frantic mannerisms. “The lady at the counter was asking about my mascara”, she turns to give you a few bags then straps herself to the driver's seat. “Now, off to Ryuko’s—”

“You won’t let her get between us, will you?” you ask abruptly.

She meets your eyes, searching along the weariness of your expression before she beams. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Kitty”, she swipes her fingers across your cheek in endearment, cold from the condensation of the drinks she brought. “Even when you get all jealous.”

Kitty. Even repeating it in a murmur makes you want to claw at your mouth until the leftover syllables dissolve from your tongue. She wasn't like this before, and she certainly didn't ooze enough sappiness to be palpable when she was around weeks ago. You can't say the change is terrible, but that won't get you to stop devising sinister theories about what could've caused it.

“Quit calling me that, it’s weird.” You turn toward the window, twitching with embarrassment.

“Why not? You’re cute like one”, you hear a smile creeping in her voice despite occupying your vision with the morphing landscape around you. “All you need is a pair of cute ears, and you’ve already got the territorial personality to match.

“Whatever. I’ll be sure to hiss at Ryuko when we meet her.” She laughs at the thought but you don't join her.

“You’re not upset, are you?” She shifts her gaze from the road for a moment, her warm eyes flickering over your unwavering profile.

“No, I’m glad you're back. You’re just…different”, the words scoop into the palm you use to rest your chin, muffling them into pointless vibrations.

She hears you anyway. “In a good way, right?”

“Sure, it just takes some getting used to.”

“Great. Now, drink some of that water I got you. I haven’t seen you touch a bottle all day.”

You look into the bag to find it. The bottle cap has been loosened and a few ounces of liquid are missing, but you shrug it off, suspecting your friend has already helped herself to some of it. Each sip moistens your palate and quells the jittering of your nerves.

“With the way you gush about Ryuko, she must be a supermodel”, you say between gulps. “What about her caught your eye? You're usually not one for romance, unless it's a hookup or something.”

“She sure looks like one, but it’s not about that. Her beauty is only a small part of her many qualities. She's lively. She’s confident, She’s…”, her voice trails into something wispy and desperate. “She’s powerful.”

“Look at you, you're a mess just thinking about her.”

“Everything about her is…”, she shifts in her seat as if suppressing a nagging ache. “Amazing, I mean everything.”

“Even the sex?”, you prod with impishness.

She takes a hand off the wheel to slap you playfully. “I knew you’d ask me that.”

“Well?”

“It’s great of course, but like I said it’s not as important as the other things.”

“Mhmm. Well, lucky you”, you do your best to hide the bitterness of your tone, secretly lamenting the idea that she could've been trying to hide this from you. Everyone always leaves you, romantic relations or otherwise. For a moment, it seemed that your friend was like the rest but you can't say that her return has put aside any doubts. The last month proves she can still leave at any second, so what makes you think she'll stay?

“But seriously, I’m glad you're back, and you're happy”, you say with a hint of distrust.

“You know I’d never really leave you, right”, your friend replies.

“I'm just saying, a heads up would've been nice.”

“I know, but things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to. I never expected to meet someone while trying to find myself.”

“If you felt lost you could’ve come to me about it. You never tell me anything these days.”

“It’s best to do soul searching alone.” She drops a hand into her lap, bracing herself with the fabric of her babydoll dress. “There've been many times in my life, before I met you, where I’ve gone off the grid to push myself away from distractions. I’m getting older, and it’s time for me to finally decide what I’m going to do for the rest of my life. Going on retreats never worked those other times, but working in general hasn't ever been for me, especially at that store. I want out, Kitty, and I’ll take any chance to get away from it.”

You'll never mean as much to her as she does to you.

“I always thought working there wasn’t so bad as long as I was with you”, you hold back a sigh. “It feels like I’ve known you far longer than a year.”

“I get that”, she briefly pulls her eyes from the road, a cheeky smile making its way onto her lips. “It was the same way with my Ryuko too.”

“Okay, now you’ve ruined it.”

Bubbles of laughter find their way out her chest. “You’ll understand when you find love, I promise.”

I've already found love, you wish to refute, but you can't gather the strength to argue as fatigue takes hold of you in a vice grip. You shut your eyes to welcome sleep.

Darkness, then bright, then bleary. Upon awakening, your throbbing eyelids flicker at the change in scenery, but something rough and tight pulls against your wrists as you move to rub them clear. Your hands are roped behind your back while your feet are strapped to the legs of a hospital bed at the center of what looks to be a repurposed doctor's office.

The room's scent of rubber and sterile substances intrudes your nostrils. The linoleum floor below your feet is patterned to look like authentic wood, but you can't walk along it. What was once a chilling, dense atmosphere, is penetrated by heat from intense gazes whisking you to turn about awkwardly to meet them.

Three women and a man, eccentrically dressed in cutesy, feline themed attire surround you a few feet away, sitting on stools and scanning your body as if you're about to go under the knife. Pink accents adorn their cheeks in faux whiskers, patterned in lines of three to give a questionable imitation of a cat that unnerves you.

Since when were you so tired? You couldn't have fainted and been brought to a hospital, because although the environment reeks of professionalism, there's a jarring display you catch notice of that says otherwise.

The one with a blonde updo and blue eyes has her skirt lifted and legs splayed open in the far left corner of the room, her exposed skin dimpled in red blotches as a nude, leashed woman nests her face between her legs, servicing her.

A sliver of her face can be seen between some of her movements but it’s difficult to make out as a blurry sheen coats your eyes, caked in what you assume is sleepiness.

As if sensing your intense concentration, the exhibitionist’s eyes snap up to you. “Did you enjoy your nap, kitten?”she smiles, her aura feasting hungrily upon you.

“Ya sure you don't need another one?” The one beside her shrieks. “You’ve got drool all over your lap!” She yelps with laughter and waves of emerald green strands whip freely when she tosses her head back from the force of it.

“W-Whaat’s going onn?” you slur as the vertiginous effects of fatigue continue to lay heavy on your tongue. Everything's too foggy. “Who are youuu?”

“I'm Ragdoll”, the giddy woman chirps. “This is Pixie-Bob”, she points to the blonde one. “Tiger”, the man to the right. “And that’s Mandalay”, the last one opposite of her. “These are technically our hero names, but It’s not like you’ll be needing them for much.”

“You still haven’t told me why I’ve been brought here.”

“You've been brought here because you're special”, says Mandalay. Her voice is a soft lull, urging you to return to your comatose slumber.

“You’ve been scouted, kit-kat!” Ragdoll agrees loudly, almost with a purpose to snap you out of your fading daze.

“What?”

“It means someone you know very well thinks you're worthy to be rescued from your unfulfilling past. It's an endorsement of sorts. You’ll spend the rest of your life serving us instead”, Pixie-Bob adds, but it does little to aid your confusion.

They can't think you'd agree to this, right?

“What?” you question again as if your mind has been wiped of any other vocabulary.

“Cat got your tongue?” Ragdoll screeches another grating giggle that sets your nerves alight. “You’ve been leashed now, kit, so you best put those claws away and submit to your new owner.”

“I've got no owner, freak”, you spill like a cup boiling over. “You must've taken too much catnip.”

Mandalay jerks in her seat. “What makes you think—”

Tiger places a hand across Mandalay as if to bring her back down. His domineering presence washes over the room in a volatile wave. “Stubbornness is nothing new to me”, he finally speaks and his stern tone unwillingly commands your body to full attention. “We’ve already had our fair share of spouting brats who don’t know a modicum of what's best for them, and the result is the same each time. They fold. They inevitably realize where they fall in the dichotomy of cat and owner, and they learn to accept the joys of submitting.”

“These aren't the actions of a hero”, you snap, meeting his dour stare with one of your own.

“A hero saves, and that's what we're attempting to do when we take in a helpless stray like you. We're only trying to create a family. The relationship between cat and owner is mutually beneficial. Your friend here is the perfect example.” He gestures to the far left end, at the woman curled up at Pixie-Bob’s feet and you gasp.

How have you not seen it this entire time?

Even with the striped cat ears and butt plug tail, you recognize that form and the scars and birthmarks along it. Your heart lurches beneath your ribs as your breathing escalates to ravenous panting.

Amidst the eerie silence, Tiger strikes a bizarre pose; his balled fists raised on both sides to rest at the top of his head as his wrists are bent slightly forward to make faux cat ears much like the pair already on his head.

“The World Should be Cats”, Tiger chants proudly. Your mind reels at the sudden nature of it.

As if the start of a domino chain, everyone else in the room follows suit. Pixie-Bob, then Ragdoll, then Mandalay, and finally your friend.

“The World Should be Cats”, they all repeat in unison.

Ragdoll laughs and laughs and laughs.Your friend smiles, a deep crescent moon—eyes blank and docile yet fulfilled.

What the fuck? Your hairs poke from your flesh like needles.

Their hands drop as if the ritual never occurred but your friend remains blissed as if high from the words emitted from her own lips.

“Kitty”, Pixie-Bob tugs at the chain leash in her palm.

“Yes, Mistress”, your friend looks toward the end of her collar with puppy-like adoration.

“Show your dear bestie what I own”, Pixie-Bob orders.

“Right away, Mistress”, your friend turns your direction and you gawk as she stands to pose, knees slightly bent and legs spread in all her humiliating glory. The lower half of her face still glistens with Pixie-Bob's juices while her cunt is stuffed and slicked with arousal.

Your head shakes on its own. “No, you're forcing her.” That isn’t her, it can’t be! “You’re full of shit! She’d never agree to something like this!”

An epiphany, piercing and unshakable, breaches the depths of your psyche, even in its disordered state; That water bottle from earlier must’ve had drugs in it—it’s the only sensible way I could’ve been brought here.

As if your thoughts were transcribed before her, Pixie-Bob smiles at your realization, and if it can grow any wider, she’d split her face in half. “Really?” she runs her hand over the inside of your friend’s thigh and her features scrunch together in bliss as her body chases Pixie-Bob’s touch. “I’m sure she’s told you all about her new girlfriend.”

A chill rolls over you. “You’re Ryuko?”

Pixie-Bob nods. “And I’m pleased to meet the darling mouse in the flesh”, her tongue pokes out to dampen her lips, ready to pounce at the sight of you before her focus goes back to your friend, shifting the dildo poking from her drooling hole. “That feels real good, doesn't it, slut? You must be so pent up from keeping it in all day, and not coming unless I ask you to.”

“Yes, Mistress”, your friend moans, thighs snapping around Ryuko’s wrist.

It's like nothing else matters to her.

Ragdoll begins to join in on the teasing, inspecting the damp trail between your friend’s legs. “Wow, Koko”, she taps her clit like a small, wet drum. “I think she deserves a reward for that.”

“Hmm, she did bring in some awfully interesting goods today”, Ryuko looks to her ‘kitten’ for the answer. “What do you think, kitten? Do you deserve to cum?”

“I deserve whatever you think I deserve”, she squeals softly while tensing her fists.

You were never that important.

Ryuko mulls it over for a second, tapping her lip with her unoccupied hand before shaking her head. “Sweet, but lazy answer. Finish up down there and maybe I'll think about letting you cum this time.”

Your friend's head droops in defeat yet she falls obediently to her knees, still shuddering as she complies with what must be an agonizing request.

“What happened to you?” you can only whisper to yourself as you’re certain your friend is too far gone to hear it. What she's wrapped up in is worse than any cult you could've possibly imagined.

“She was just like you, y'know.” Ryuko says, snarkily. “I have a special touch. I made this one all by myself.”

The bolts keeping your peace of mind at bay are slowly lubed loose with Ryuko's words looping on repeat, slipping the final welds out of place until there's nothing left.

“I'll kill you!” Your limbs flail at your sides, powered by the strength of your vitriol until the ropes around you hiss from the friction. “What did you do to her!”

The two giddy women appear to be unaffected by your outburst as they continue to give condescending grins, and although the Mandalay was riled up earlier, she doesn't seem to take any offense to it either.

“You'll find out soon enough”, Mandalay watches you, her pupils blown as deep as wells with intrigue. She’s stone-faced as she views you with detached cruelty, like a photographer watching a lion maul a zebra through the lense of their camera.

“The yelling is totally ruining this for me. What a bore.” Ryuko fake yawns and you wish the ropes would loosen just a little so that at least the ghost of your fist can meet her face. “Tell her this is your place now so we can get going.”

“I love Ryuko and I love being here, so please don't be worried”, the ‘kitten’ says meekly and it's difficult not to be swayed by those eyes brimming with a contentment you can't understand. "The World Should be Cats, it is what people like you and I are made to do. You'll see this soon enough."

Cats? You abhor the thought. How can we be something we're not?

“You heard her, she's happy here”, Ryuko pulls the leash upward to bring your friend to her feet. “I'll see you later, have fun training your new toy”, she says to Tiger, making her way to the door as the others follow behind her.

“See ya, Tiger!” Ragdoll chimes on the way out. “Good luck with that.”

Mandalay only casts you a glare.

“I'll get you out of here!” you shout to the husk of your friend, hoping there’s a part of her still alive enough to acknowledge it.

“You should be more worried about yourself.” Tiger towers over you, a glower scrunching his face. “You don't even know what's in store for you.”

“I don't care, none of it will break me as long as she's here”, you spit. As silence instills, your prior contempt evolves into deep sorrow for your friend's circumstances, a growing hopelessness that maybe she actually wants this.

“Your determination is admirable, but if you were truly a good friend you'd realize she's never been more in her element. Soon you too will know the joys of such simplicity.”

“You think you're some kind of savior for capturing innocent people? You do it for your own pleasure.”

“Of course I do enjoy the process, but I also love to give. When I devote someone to me, I too am devoted to them. I free them from the cruel realities of hero society and allow them to occupy their mind with only love and servitude.” He grins at the sight of your body unconsciously cowering away. “You desire security, don't you? You want someone you know will never leave nor betray you. Am I correct?”

“How would you—”

“It's written all over your face. You're a wounded cat, trying to play lion. You bare your claws whenever someone tries to enter your heart because you're scared they're only using you.”

“As if I'd ever welcome someone like you.”

“We’ll see, pet.” He paces outside your vision. “Hina”, he makes a call to whatever or whoever's behind you.

A woman in a lab coat appears at his side, but before you could wonder how long she’s been there, you recoil at the sight of a syringe filled with a mysterious beige liquid.

“No-No!” you thrash, ignoring the burning of the ropes against your skin. “Get the fuck away from me!” you holler some more, although your squirming is useless as the pin prick of the needle strickens you with fear instantly. Once emptied, the woman leaves just as quickly as she appears.

Sharp pressure runs through the circuits of your right arm, a much warmer sensation soon takes it place—much like the unhinged flames of arousal.

At the strange feeling, you instinctually move your thighs only to realize Tiger has freed them while your attention was drawn to the needle.

This is your chance. You repeatedly shove your feet into his abdomen, sinking your heels deep into his gut, but he's an unwavering mass of muscle, enduring the brunt of each kick with not even a grimace contorting the zealous gleam of eyes.

“C’mon, is that all you've got!” Tiger yells with eerie encouragement. “You'll never make it out of here with those love taps”, he guffaws before putting an end to your struggle by grabbing your waist to lift you onto his lap as he moves into the reclining seat you were once laying on.

Despite his unrelenting grip on your thighs, you attempt to shift away from him, but what couples your movements is a whip of throttling pleasure as grinding against him stimulates you in a way you never want to feel before him.

“Save your energy for what comes next, pet”, he runs a thumb along your cheek and smirks when you pull away. “Or don't, I love pushing unruly kittens beyond their limits.”

“Fuck y—” you sink your teeth into your bottom lip before you can finish as a moan nearly escapes you. “W-What did you give me?”

“You won't be fighting for long.” He laughs airily against your neck, close enough for each breath to kiss every cell along it. “You'll be begging.” His lips part to take your throbbing skin between them, you hiss as his teeth poke and scrape across you bruisingly yet deliciously.

He suckles the expanse of your collarbones, his mouth singing unspoken praises into your flesh, each a persuasive croon dictating the sways of your body even though no words are formed between his teeth.

You hate him. You hate how your pliant form joins his hymns in a sickening, yet pleasurable duet you can’t imagine stopping. Your thoughts shun the symphony enchanting your every move but your body refuses an encore.

“Nothing to say?” He asks and you hear the faint traces of cockiness spoiling his tone. “Don’t hold back your fight, I can take it.”

“Oh, screw you”, your head tumbles to his neck to try to sink your jaws into him but he stops you. “Y-Youre the most pathetic fuuuck I've had in a while.”

“Is that so?” The rough pads of his fingers tickle your senses as they move to caress your breasts, only to tear the fabric off of them once he realizes he can’t feel them in their entirety.

“Mhmmm, I've gotten better lays from a…c-cucumber.”

“Your body says otherwise, even though I’ve yet to really take you.” He takes a nipple into his mouth and you choke on air. Your eyes weld shut as your limbs surrender to the warmth molding around them, reaching deep into your bones and settling over them in fiery passion.

Every sensation is enhanced, a string of hair could stroke your heightened flesh and it’d feel like a million ants traveled along the plane of your skin, stamping their feet with each step.

It’s smothering. Paralyzing. Maddening. You can't help but feel the war is over before it’s even begun.

He retreats from you and you can only stare, glassy-eyed and shivering with your mouth making small o’s of disbelief, too resistant to the idea of pleading for his hands again.

“Is there something you want?” He asks, exposing your sex to the cool air.

“N-No”, you whimper, falling into him to try to hide each wail that’s sucked out of you in his chest, but he pulls you back. Wafts of spicy wood cologne mix with his musk to form a dizzying concoction, spurring on the clamping of your thighs.

“Look”, he guides your chin so that you can view the sticky, dripping mess between your legs. “Watch how your cunt purrs for me even from the slightest brush of my fingers.” He rubs lightly along your folds, caressing them in tantalizing lines, and like clockwork, your hole flexes and flutters, begging for his entry in puckering morse code. He presses a thumb to your peeking nub, ripe to be picked and prodded. “Should I touch you here too?”

You shake your head, too weak to utter any more cracking syllables and shaky words. But—oh—that stimulation is exactly what you need to feel complete.

How much longer can you withstand being suspended at the pinnacle of orgasm, tethering between wanting him to stop and wanting more?

“I can give you what you desire.”, he coos directly into your ear, his index breaching your walls, and running over the ridges with a humbling familiarity as if a map of your body exists in his very DNA. “Ask nicely, pet. This is your last chance.”

“Don’t want anything.” You refuse, and you’ll continue to do so even if you forget what it is you’re refusing. It’s becoming torturous. The continued denial of your cravings makes you lose sight of what’s beyond the strumming and winding of your sex, you fear you won’t remember what it is you're fighting for.

It's not enough, but who cares, you shouldn't crave anything more because it would mean becoming another success of his wicked practices and abandoning your friend.

She doesn't love you anyways, no one does. You thrash your head in refusal of the thought. Save her. It's the only way.

Whatever toxin that’s invading your system nearly forces you to go against your better judgment as it makes each thrust so wonderfully sweet and intense, until the growing haze of pleasure can't be ignored.

The flexing muscles of his wrist are hypnotic, twirling about inside you, you’re enamored by the veins that run along them, up, up his forearm to meet his sculpted biceps. In any other scenario, you’d have jumped at the chance to worship them, but his pride sickens you.

It’s better to look there, at his hands, than at his eyes, you think as something primitive inside you warns that making contact with them would dwindle the lackluster resolve you have left.

A gasp leaves you slack-jawed as his thumb toys with your clit, despite your wishes. Nothing coherent can be made out between your cacophony of sobs and pants, your teeth carve cuts into your lips to hinder them.

The slow rocking of your hips to meet the rhythm of his strokes marks the beginning of defeat in hard fought but pointless battle. You were his the moment a mere kiss was enough to torment your flesh with tingles.

Tears pierce your eyes, cooling the unhinged flame roiling beneath your skin as they trail down your cheek. You're going to cum—and you're going to cum now at this rate.

“Such beautiful sounds”, he says, noting the squelching pop of your fluids rolling around his hands. You're close, so searingly close. “But…”, he removes his hand from your cunt. “You’ve had your fill.” He swiftly takes your limp form into his arms, strapping you back to the chair with little resistance.

You begin to sigh with relief that it's over yet disappointment that you're unfulfilled, but then he moves away to fetch something that makes you wish you'd have begged like you should.

A sex machine gun is applied to the base of your bed. He adjusts the angle of it, positioning the dildo inside your cunt as you tremble wildly on your back. With a flick of a switch, the machine begins to piston inside you deep, but languid.

“No, wait!”, you howl as he makes his way toward the exit, leaving you to the whims of the thrusting device. “P-Please, I need you!”, you bemoan to deaf ears as the shaft knicks your sweet spots without providing the relief you need. “Please-Please, I’ll be good, sir. I need you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s too late for that, my dear pet”, Tiger smiles madly, hand already reaching for the knob. “Besides, I don’t think you understand the implications of your actions just yet.” The sight of his back and the eventual slam of the door shutting behind has you screeching in an attempt to sway your captor’s return.

But no else can hear your hoarse cries except you, and it's evident things will remain this way for a while.

#Yawara Chatora x reader #tiger x reader #wwp x reader #wild wild pussycats #wild wild pussycats x reader #tiger mha #Chatora Yawara x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #mha tiger #bnha tiger #kinktober 2023

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chenziee · 1 year

Text

Corazon

Alternate summary: Tsuru is definitely not getting paid enough for this

First of the two pieces I did for @opwarlordzine!! Leftover sales are open right now, so do check it out for more deranged evil flamingo man & co. :D I also did a short Law-centric companion piece that I will post soon too so look forward to that~

[ Read on AO3 ]

—————

Waiting for the transponder snail to ring was agonising. Doflamingo had no idea what Law was thinking; he had wormed his way onto Punk Hazard, living in Caesar’s lab like a little rat, waiting for an opportunity to chew up the cables that connected the SAD tanks with Doflamingo himself—and Doflamingo let him.

After all, what could one brat going through his rebellious phase do?

But picking a fight like this, going so far as to put up such a ridiculous ultimatum… that was way past a little rebellion. Way past what Doflamingo was willing to forgive.

Two years ago, Doflamingo had thought Law was finally coming back to him. Two years ago, he had started building his deck of cards once more.

In two years… the hearts have crumbled into dust.

—————

Dressrosa, the country of passion. With a name like that, one would think there would be something exciting going on at all times, but reality often falls short of fantasies.

Not that it was necessarily a bad thing; if he wanted some action, or a show… there was nothing easier for Donquixote Doflamingo than to create it. Right now, however, he just wanted to sip on his cocktail and relax.

“Hey, hey! Doffy!”

“Hm?” Doflamingo hummed, turning his head slightly to look at Trebol as he slid towards the pool.

Trebol only stopped once he had reached the couch, leaning over the side of it to shove his face far into Doflamingo’s personal space—and covering Baby 5 next to him in slime. “Hey, Doffy, hey,” he rambled on, completely ignoring Baby 5’s disgusted protests.

“What is it? And you’re too close,” Doflamingo said, shooting his supreme officer a look.

At that, Trebol finally moved back a little, though not nearly far enough. “A carrier bat came for you,” he explained, waving the envelope with a government seal in front of Doflamingo’s face.

“Throw it out,” Doflamingo dismissed it immediately.

“You’re not even going to read it?!” Baby 5 asked in alarm.

Raising an eyebrow, Doflamingo took a long sip of his cocktail before responding, “Why should I care what those idiots want?”

“Your blood type is X! Bad things will happen if you’re not open to people’s requests this week!” the girl scolded while slapping the magazine on her lap.

“Baby 5, did you get another subscription?” Buffalo asked slowly, obviously struggling not to laugh.

“They needed me,” Baby 5 muttered while covering her face with the magazine; no doubt to hide her blush.

Doflamingo rolled his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. When would this kid learn?

“Hey, Doffy, hey. I think it could be interesting this time. It’s about the brats who have been rampaging in the first half of the Grand Line,” Trebol announced, shoving the letter back in his face.

Doflamingo paused at that. “Probably just that Straw Hat,” he said, but he reached for the paper anyway, his curiosity piqued.

As he read the words written in an entirely too fancy script, a chuckle bubbled out of his chest, the sound of his laughter soon echoing around the castle courtyard. This was honestly hilarious. As if it wasn’t enough they had allowed Crocodile to get beaten by Straw Hat, now they were basically admitting they were scared enough of him to call on the Seven Warlords.

And from their wording, it didn’t sound like it was just about him either. A few names that he imagined would make the government shit itself came to mind—Eustass Kid, Jewelry Bonney, X. Drake, and…

“The world is getting fun,” he mumbled to himself in between his bouts of laughter.

Getting up from the couch, he took the magazine out of Baby 5’s hands, tossing it at Trebol. “This place better not exist by the time I get back.”

“Aye aye, Doffy!” Trebol laughed.

Baby 5’s enraged scream was the last thing Doflamingo heard as he left the Dressrosa castle behind.

—————

A finger twitching, a smile widening, a sword swinging wildly; confused, terrified screams resounding around the spacious meeting room—puppets who didn't even realise they were just props for his amusement. Moving only as the puppet master commanded.

How Doflamingo enjoyed watching the despair take over once they realised they were powerless, only doomed to watch themselves slay their own friends. Granted, no pathetic navy soldier could be as entertaining as King Riku on the night Doflamingo had finally made it to Dressrosa but he would take it anyway.

“Doflamingo, I told you to be a good boy and behave,” Tsuru said, her voice quiet but stern, like a grandmother reprimanding her grandchild.

“Aw, but Tsuru, aren’t you bored of this pointless chatter?” Doflamingo replied, shooting her his best grin.

“Why did you come if you didn’t want to hear what we have to say anyway?”

Doflamingo paused at her words. Why was he there? All they’ve talked about was Straw Hat and this Blackbeard guy who had invited himself—or his crewmember—over. He had really thought there would be something more fun to be heard.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to regret coming.

And he couldn’t help but laugh. “I missed your loving scolding, Tsuru.”

Tsuru sighed but then shook her head and looked away. “Never mind.”

Doflamigo’s chuckle slowly grew into a full laugh. Ah, he really liked her. Was this the bond you get when you get chased by the same person for years and years?

Now if only she and Sengoku would talk about the people he really wanted to know about.

—————

"Well, this really is unusual," Tsuru noted, one eyebrow raised as she regarded Doflamingo. “This is the third Warlord meeting in a row that you’ve attended.”

Doflamingo chuckled. “Ah, but Tsuru, you didn’t give me much choice last time. Not to mention how fun the war was, you know I couldn’t have missed that one.”

“Don’t give me that, boy,” Tsuru said with a roll of her eyes.

“You don’t trust me, after all these years? That hurts,” Doflamingo said in his best mock-upset tone.

“I don’t trust you being so cooperative.” She made a face, distaste at what she was going to say clear in her expression. “But I do trust you thought the war was fun. You’ve always been like that.”

Loud laughter bubbled out of Doflamingo’s chest. Leave it to Tsuru to say things so bluntly—and to understand him so well. After all, he had always loved dramatic events that affected… everything. And if he got to play with a few pathetic bugs while at it, all the better. The war was perfect. He didn’t care about victors or losers; he didn’t care about Portgas, Whitebeard, or the navy. He didn’t care about any of it.

But watching history unfold before his very eyes… that was worth going out of his way to do what the idiots at Mariejois wanted.

And now…

“I hear the Warlord replacements have been decided?” Doflamingo asked.

Tsuru stayed silent, simply studying Doflamingo as he stared back at her, his usual grin not showing a single hint of his thoughts. She looked like she was trying to cut his brain open with her eyes and read his mind.

Doflamingo didn’t hate the look.

Honestly, it was fun.

Who would win? Tsuru and her calm, stoic gaze, or Doflamingo and his wide, ever-present grin? Her wise, experienced mind, or Doflamingo’s madness?

He couldn’t wait to see.

—————

Walking around the Pangea castle, Doflamingo couldn’t help but marvel at how different it felt now compared to when he was a kid. Back then, he was one of the people hiding behind the bubbles, behind the walls, behind CP0. Having every need satisfied without having to lift a finger—endless supply of slaves, unconditional protection from the navy headquarters below.

A little brat, he couldn’t see how weak and pathetic the Celestial Dragons really were.

How fragile that power was.

Now, however, watching Charlos waddle around like a toddler crying for his daddy… Doflamingo just had to laugh—quietly at first; but soon, he was cackling loudly without restraint.

What was the point of people like this ruling the world? They didn’t have what it took. They were so below him; if he didn’t have a use for them, they wouldn’t be worth a single spec of his attention. But luckily for them… even an otherwise worthless human served its purpose.

Like puppets on strings, simply dangling his knowledge in front of their noses had them dancing in Doflamingo’s palm, all their assumed power—gone.

He wondered, once he got bored of Dressrosa, how much effort would it really take to sit on the ‘Empty’ Throne?

“What’s so funny, Doflamingo? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“You don’t think the world is funny, Tsuru?” Doflamingo asked, shooting a wide grin at the Great Advisor.

“No,” Tsuru said coldly and her annoyed voice only made Doflamingo chuckle again.

Comfortable silence settled between them, one born of the bond between a mouse and a cat who’d been playing tag for a few years too long. Who was the mouse and who was the cat?

It didn’t really matter anymore.

But then Tsuru spoke up. “Trafalgar Law,” she said quietly and Doflamingo’s ever-present grin dropped.

“Oh? What about him?” Doflamingo finally asked after a beat of silence.

The old woman sighed, “From North Blue. Has the power of the stolen Op Op Fruit. Started making a name for himself around the same time Straw Hat Luffy had. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.” She paused, taking a deep breath, her eyes rising to look at the brilliant blue sky. Possibly wondering why she was even bringing this up herself. “What is your connection to him? To have you care enough to show up here of all places four times.”

The silence came back for a moment… but then Doflamingo’s lips stretched into his usual grin once more. And soon, his laughter was ringing around them.

“You’re really nosy. Aren’t you, Tsuru?” he asked, his hand coming to rest against his forehead, just above his glasses. Shielding them. He wasn’t sure why.

Tsuru still wasn’t looking at him when she replied, “You don’t have to tell me, I don’t really care that much.”

Doflamingo huffed at her words. “Now, that’s just mean.”

“What, you want a hot cocoa and a bedtime story?” Tsuru asked with a voice full of sarcasm.

“I’d certainly want to see you do that.” Doflamingo stopped laughing then. “Law is… the one that got away.”

At that, Tsuru finally looked at him; it was a look that Doflamingo could only describe as annoyed and completely, utterly done. Ah, what a great expression to put on that old face. Well worth coming to Mariejois just for this reaction.

“Do you have to always say things in the creepiest way possible?” she asked, exasperated. Before Doflamingo could so much as lick his lips, however, Tsuru sighed and shook her head. “Don’t answer that. Glad at least one of the kids you picked up had enough sense to run away while he could.”

“Now you’re just hurting me on purpose,” Doflamingo teased just before he turned to leave.

“As if you need me to baby you,” Tsuru shot back and Doflamingo could just hear her eyes rolling.

Doflamingo huffed, simply waving back at her lazilly as he walked away, not looking back.

—————

Outside Dressrosa’s royal palace, there was a crowd of people, shouting; they wanted answers, voiced their worry, demanded to see their king.

On the floor, an army of transponder snails was ringing incessantly, their owners in panic.

But Doflamingo didn’t care, not about a single one of them. He was waiting for a single person to speak up, a single snail to wake up.

At the centre of the room, four thrones sat empty without their Officers. The last time he had talked to Tsuru, all four of them had an owner. There was still a Corazon.

But now—

Purururu… Purururu…

Now, the Heart seat sat empty.

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frogs-in3-hills · 1 year

Text

Day 2 of the @domaystic prompt challenge: "A stash of…"

Hunter x Hunter | Gen | SFW | 1,362 words

Relationship: Killua & Gon

POV Gon Freecss

Summary: "…Chocolate. Killua has procured a very extensive snack collection."

Gon isn’t sure he’ll ever completely understand just how, exactly, Killua had apparently once managed to spend a full ten million dollars on only a year or two’s worth of snacks.

Even without the influence of Aunt Mito’s watchful eyes, Gon’s diet has remained fairly healthy during the course of their adventure. And Leorio could really only take, like, twenty percent responsibility for that. The only times he ever really indulged was when Killua was trying a particularly interesting new snack—which, to be fair, was pretty often—but the point still remains that he literally can’t wrap his head around how it’s even possible to spend that much money so quickly.

Killua once sat him down and tried to explain the logistics of it, recreating the specific budget plan and everything in his tight, messy scrawl. Something about inflation, scarcity bias, monopolies, and commodity investments. As soon as numbers started getting involved, though, Gon feared the whole thing might make his brain explode. It made him feel pretty bad, honestly. He was genuinely curious, and Killua was trying really hard to be patient and explain it all, dumbing his words down progressively further until his words sounded like some kind of jumble between caveman-speak and yet-undefined-technical jargon.

Well, it’s probably best that Gon sticks to more targeted problem-solving, anyways. The Greed Island stuff had made a lot more sense to him because they had such a specific goal in mind. He’s happy to let Killua take the reigns with the bigger-picture economic stuff; it’s just another cool product of his training, and Gon doesn’t see the point in trying to outclass his expertise like that.

Gon learns best through example, anyway. And in this case, he hopes he never gets an example to learn from.

~~~

They’re staying at a quaint little inn for the moment, one with a cute modern exterior and a surprisingly roomy two-bed. It’s erected right next to a candy shop, which is pretty exciting, too. Gon and Killua had a wonderful time pressing their faces against the glass display cases, admiring the eclectic assemblage of all sorts of treats from around the world. Gon had elected to purchase a pack of vanilla bean candies and one of those cool lollipops with a scorpion inside, but strangely enough, Killua hadn’t wanted anything. Maybe he was feeling naseous after Gon had spent a solid ten minutes trying to convince him to try a lick of his lollipop, employing the tried-and-true sales pitch of waving it around a mere two inches away from his face.

That was a few hours ago, now.

Gon wipes some sweat from his brow as he steps into their inn room without knocking, having just grown bored of chasing butterflies down the street (he’s never seen this species before!) He can see Killua slouched on the table next to the radio, possibly asleep. But Gon knows better than to expect that he’ll continue sleeping for long now that there’s another person in the room. He doesn’t take it personally, really, since he knows Killua has to be cautious like that. It’s just the way he is.

He’s a little hungry, so he heads into the kitchenette. It’s a tiny thing, furnished with only a minifridge and a hot plate on the counter, plugged into a slightly dangerous-looking exposed outlet. They should still have some leftovers stuffed into a styrofoam take-out container somewhere in there, some kind of noodle dish with tofu and bean sprouts. Gon isn’t sure what it’s called, but they had something similar back at home, and he remembers that it was always delicious cold.

The fridge hums loudly, almost like a sigh. Gon begins to open the door, and four things happen in very quick succession.

The little light inside flickers on with an annoyed, electric grumble, just as his hand overpowers the suction-like force holding the door closed.

Three boxes of mint chocolate cookies tumble out with three sequential thwacks, each one landing neatly atop the other on the floor.

Gon can hear and feel something falling against the inside of the door, so he rushes to slip his hand through the side and extracts two more boxes.

Now reasonably sure nothing horrible will happen, he opens the fridge door the rest of the way.

The inside is packed with a smorgasbord of all sorts of treats: at least ten more boxes of mint chocolate cookies, a section of packaged mooncakes and mochis stuffed so tightly together it kind of looks like a giant fungal growth, barricaded by an interlocked gummy bear fencing. There’s a layer of half-melted blackcurrant popsicles behatting a small tower of tupperwares jam-packed with assorted chocolate truffles. It’s all kind of formed a little ecosystem of precarious balance—almost grotesque, in a way, seeing the sheer amount of stuff that’s been tetrised into the tiny space, all organized like a little cityscape.

Gon blinks at the patchwork of commercial color, blinks again.

Closes it.

“Killua?” He calls.

“Mm?” Killua replies, having evidently just woken up. His voice is still sleepy and thick in a way it normally isn’t, and it’s kind of cute, in that kittycat way, like an I know exactly what I did wrong but you can’t be mad at me because I’m so cute kinda cute.

“What’s with the fridge?”

A silence follows before Killua says, “You think it’s too much…?”

It’s a dangerous tone. Not in the way that means Killua’s mad, but more in the way that means Killua’s embarrassed. Gon knows this means that there’s a correct and an incorrect answer, and he better not get it wrong.

“No,” he says slowly.

“M’kay,” Killua says. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

And, okay, it’s not a lie—sure, it seems a little excessive, but Gon knows Killua is just kind of like that sometimes, and he doesn’t actually mind. It’s not like they’re really struggling for money, and if they run out, there’s nothing stopping them from just returning to the Heavens Arena (Leorio had definitely been right to become a Hunter so he could make more money).

Killua also sometimes gets weirdly defensive about it, in that way where Gon knows it’s really about something else that he doesn’t want to talk about. So, since it’s not a problem, and since Killua doesn’t want to talk about it, Gon is fine with just letting it happen without too much pushback.

He heads to the small pantry instead, mildly hopeful that he won’t find it in similar shape.

Gon opens the pantry door.

…

Gon closes the pantry door.

Well, wait a minute—he opens it back up against his better judgment—there’s something interesting in here. Standing on the tips of his toes, he reaches into the depths of the pantry, sinking down to the elbow through bags of pickle-flavored chips, fizzy rock candy, and an assortment of Popin’Cookin’s, and dislodges a package from the back. The dim kitchen light reveals its contents: seaweed snacks, apparently. The package is illustrated with a few pieces of nori, glazed with almond slices and sesame seeds. Curious, Gon tears it open and pops one into his mouth.

“Hey, Killua?” he calls again, his mouth still half-full.

“What’s up?”

Gon pads into the little living room where Killua is still sitting, head cradled in his arms with that sleepy-alert look (he really is like a cat sometimes, isn’t he?).

“Let’s get some more of this seaweed stuff later! It’s really good.”

He blinks, then straightens up a little. “…Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gon confirms. “It’ll be fun! You always shop for this kind of stuff on your own.”

The expression that Killua makes next is, in Gon’s opinion, pretty rewarding. Really, being friends with Killua on its own is very rewarding, but Gon especially loves being able to notice how he’s really feeling in moments like this: gratitude, in a quiet sort of way. His face doesn’t change, but he definitely stares a little too long, taking his time to wrap his head around it.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Let’s go tomorrow.”

Even if he can be a little disarming at times, Gon seriously loves being friends with Killua.

#domaystic2023 #hxh #hunter x hunter #killugon #hxh fanfic #gon freecss #killua zoldyck #silly sully writing

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