#let's see if it catches on!

[thegreatcanadianjackalope]

Hi!! Little prompt for Izzy/fang/frenchie— could we maybe get some Izzy comfort? It could be safeword comfort, things going too quickly and Izzy flipping out, anxious that he safeworded, or it can be comfort for anything! Just lots of Fang and Frenchie working together v well and in sync to take care of their scrungly little man <3

Summary: Frenchie and Fang notice Izzy isn't sleeping well. They want to do something about that.

Fluffy Hut/comfort with some mild discussion of trauma (canon typical)

Note: I love this! I'm going to save the safeword comfort for another story because this is the story that jumped out at me when I read your beautiful prompt.

This is unedited right now. I might come back and clean it up later but for the moment my focus is on getting the writing flowing.

Music inspo for this fic is Rosy Golan's It's Been a Long Day

Fang found Frenchie organizing goods in the hold. He knew it was still weird for Bonnets crew to see Frenchie and Jim doing so much work, but Fang was honestly pleased to see that neither of them were backsliding into laziness. If anything, their hard work was rubbing off on the others.

“Hey, man. How’re things going?” Fang asked.

Frenchie startled but settled into a smile when he realized it was only fang. “Good, yeah. Things are good. Just, you know, keepin’ busy.”

“And everything’s good with the mind box?” Fang asked, gesturing vaguely at his head.

“Yeah, good. It’s good. Everything is you know…” Frenchie trailed off as he looked into the distance.

“Good?”

“Yes. Yeah. Exactly.” Frenchie said, brightening back up.

Fang decided to leave that alone for now. “Listen, have you seen Izzy recently?”

“Saw him this morning, why?”

“Did you notice that he looked a little… unwell?” Fang asked.

Frenchie scoffed. “What do you mean? He looks loads better than he did before. He’s got his new leg on, he’s clean, and he doesn’t even have any visible bruises.”

“That is true,” Fang hedged. “It’s only, I don’t think he’s sleeping much. To me, it looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days.  

Frenchie looked considering. “Hmm, now that you mention it. I did see him practicing his sword fighting really early this morning, and Wee John said he was working real late last night.”

“I guess I’m just worried about him. The rest of us don’t sleep good at all, and we agreed he’s the most fucked up of all of us, so it must be worse for him.” Fang said, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

“Yeah, but its not so bad now that the crew is back because if one of us wakes up from a nightmare another crew person is always right there.” A moment of realization seemed to dawn on Frenchie. “Except Izzy doesn’t sleep in the crew pile. He sleeps alone. In the room where Blackbeard took his first toe. Oh shit, babes. Can’t say I blame him.”

Fang felt a blush creep up his neck at the nickname. He absolutely did not let himself giggle. Frenchie calls everyone that. He wasn’t flirting with fang. Besides, Fang was supposed to be solving the Izzy problem. “I wish we could just convince him to join us in the pile, but I don’t think he’d ever go for that.”

“I mean, he has loosened up a lot lately, but that might be a step to far. What if we brought the pile to him?” Frenchie asked.

“I don’t think that’s better. If anything, he’d be mad there was no one watching the deck.”

“No, I meant you and me. We could go to his room tonight and force him to sleep and tell him we’ll watch out for him,” Frenchie suggested.

Fang considered this. Actually, it made sense. Izzy wouldn’t really trust the rest of Bonnet’s crew, Archie and Jim had a particular energy about them. One that wasn’t conducive to a full night’s rest.

Fang agreed and they made plans to meet at Izzy’s room later.

….

Izzy sat heavily on his bed. He knew he needed to take off his hoof and check his leg, but he couldn’t make himself move. He was exhausted. Mentally, physically, emot—nope. Just mentally and physically. He was having trouble sleeping. That was all. He couldn’t sleep because they were heading into a new season and the sun cycles were changing. It was all to be expected. He’d adjust. He would.

Izzy was startled from his thoughts when he heard a knock at his door. Before he could respond, the door opened, and Fang and Frenchie spilled into the room.

“Oh, yes, please do come in. Thank you for knocking. It was very considerate of you,” Izzy said sarcastically. Though he knew that his words lacked their usual edge.

“Hi boss,” Fang said, brightly, “We were hoping to spend the night in here with you.” Frenchie was nodding in agreement.

Exhausted, Izzy asked, “Why? There are plenty of places on the ship if you’re too cold to sleep on deck.”

Frenchie said, “Yeah, but the thing is that Fang here has been having nightmares, and he said he hasn’t been feeling safe enough to sleep lately.”

Frenchie jabbed Fang with his elbow and Fang said, “Oh yeah! Everything that happened just keeps coming back to me. And I thought ‘hey what place is safer on this ship, than with Izzy Hands?’”

The crack of a cannon, a flash of lighting, the glint of light on a saw, and the smell of gunpowder flashed through Izzy’s mind in quick succession. His stomach rolled and he clenched his jaw.

“I’m a cripple now boys. You’re better off with just about anyone else on this ship. Hell, you’d be better off on your own. I’m a liability now.” Izzy didn’t like how truthful the words were, but he was just too tired to cover it up.

Fang frowned, “Boss, you literally saved our lives. You understand that, right? We would be dead without you. Lying at the bottom of sea.”

Izzy scoffed but didn’t argue he didn’t have the energy. He also really didn’t have the energy to watch over them tonight. It was on his tongue to say no when the image of a scene he walked into popped into his head. Fang crying into his cake and Frenchie staring blankly, emptily into the distance. And then, bizarrely, the feeling of Fang’s arms around him and Frenchie’s palm, warm in his.

“Okay, you can stay here. I’ll make sure you’re safe,” Izzy said. He couldn’t tell them that this room had long since been safe, but he thought he could probably make it safe for Fang just for tonight.

“Great!” Fang exclaimed and then immediately went over to Izzy’s dresser. “Frenchie help me with this.” The two began dragging the dresser across the floor.

“What the fuck?” Izzy asked incredulously.

Frenchie explained, “We’re blocking the door with the dresser, so no one can get in. This way, you don’t have to stay up all night.”

“I thought the whole point was that you needed me so you could feel safe,” Izzy said, suddenly feeling useless despite not wanting that responsibility only minutes before.

“This is just the first defence, boss. This way if Blac—Someone tries to come in, we’ll hear them and you’ll be ready to protect us,” Fang said.

“And if there’s a fire?”

Frenchie laughs, “A fire? We’re on the ocean. We’re literally surrounded by water.”

Izzy sighs deeply. “There are so many things wrong with that I don’t know where to start.” The thing was though. In Izzy’s 35 years at sea, he’d only really had to deal with one major fire. Fire wasn’t what kept him up at night. In fact, just seeing the door blocked by that heavy hunk of wood was settling something in him he didn’t care to examine. “Fine. If it makes you feel safer.”

Izzy began the arduous process of removing his peg leg. Before he could even get the straps undone, Fang was by his side.

“Let me help you with that, Izzy.”

Izzy growled, “I’m a cripple not an invalid.”

“He knows that,” Frenchie said. “Helping you will make him feel better, innit? Don’t you want Fang to feel better?”

Izzy huffed but didn’t move to stop Fang as he eased the false leg off and placed it to the side. Fang loosened the tie on Izzy’s pant leg and pulled the leg up his thigh. Izzy wished he had some semblance of embarrassment about this, but the four of them had seen Izzy in every stage of loosing his leg so it wasn’t like he could say it would be a shock for Fang.

Frenchie brought over Izzy’s water basin and said, “Here you go, babes.”

Abruptly, Izzy took in the scene before him. Fang, kneeling on the ground, about to wash Izzy’s stump, while Frenchie watched. Heat creeped up his neck and he felt a bit woozy. This was too intimate. He was too vulnerable. He needed to put a stop to this. He was about to do just that when Fang began gently dragging the cloth across the raw skin.

Izzy’s eyes fluttered shut. When he did this for himself, he was impatient and rough. It had always hurt. Now, with Fang being careful, it didn’t feel good exactly, but it was nothing like the pain he was used to.

“It’s looking better. Does the new leg fit better? You don’t have as many cuts and wounds.” Frenchie asked.

Izzy tamped down on the flare of emotion that burst in him at the mention of that fucking leg. He didn’t think he could speak without his voice cracking, so he just nodded in reply.

Fang smiled up at him and said, “That’s great, Izzy. Glad to hear.”

“You know,” Frenchie said frowning, “Your thigh muscles are looking really tense. Maybe I should just…” As he trailed off, he reached over to grasp at Izzy’s thigh.

Izzy made it through approximately thirty seconds of Frenchie massaging his thigh before he felt a lance of heat in his groin. He jerked back and choked out, “That’s enough. Thank you. I think it’s time to sleep now.”

Frenchie gave him an odd look but didn’t argue. Izzy was honestly shocked that he had felt anything even approaching arousal. He wasn’t sure it was going to possible for him after the Kraken.

Frenchie took the spot next to the wall and Izzy waited for Fang to get in. When he didn’t, Izzy looked at him quizzically.

“If it’s okay with you, boss, I’d rather take the outside. I find it more comfortable, and I get hot easily,” Fang said.

Izzy wanted to argue. Wasn’t the whole point of being here to make fang feel safer? Shouldn’t Izzy be closest to the door so he could spring into action if necessary? Izzy wanted to argue. He really did. But he was so tired. He just didn’t have it in him. His body, without full permission from him, crawled in next to Frenchie.

The bed wasn’t that comfortable for one person, never mind three, but somehow, they made it work. Izzy didn’t protest when Fang’s arms slid around him. There wasn’t really another way to make it work. Frenchie’s head rested against his shoulder and Izzy found he couldn’t really complain about that either.

Izzy was warm, his body was pressed against on both sides, there was no way someone could barge through that door, and he could finally feel himself drifting off to sleep.

Just before he slipped off, he heard Fang’s gentle voice. “You know, Frenchie, that mind box won’t hold forever.”

Izzy felt Frenchie shift against him, could feel the protest coming. In a raspy, sleep filled voice, Izzy said, “He’s right. Just look at me. I thought I had everything locked up tight. Eventually, something has to give.”

Frenchie laid a hand against Izzy’s chest in acknowledgement.

In that same quiet voice, Fang said, “I’m here for you if you need to talk, Frenchie.” Then Fang gave Izzy a squeeze that felt a lot like ‘you too, Izzy’.

No more words were said that night. Instead, Izzy fell into a blissfully uninterrupted sleep.

#Fang/Frenchie/Izzy #A new ship name has been suggessted #Kitty bites #let's see if it catches on! #ouizzy #Frenchie/fang #Fang/Izzy #izzy hands

[bigfatbreak]

dad villain au: did emilie just. not consider at all that adrien was literally dying at the time. wow

she's in the habit of deciding when Adrien's suffering is acceptable, and if it is, she'll just fix it later.

#my art #adrien agreste #emelie agreste #gabriel agreste #dad villain au #mayura #as emelie faces zero consequences using the peacock she's more likely to utilize it in a way she didn't in the last timeline #last timeline she faced real problems. had to come to terms with her own eventual death. got to see action and reaction in process #in this timeline there was no consequences. so why shouldn't she make this as 'perfect' as possible? #before gabriel got his memories of the last timeline back he was actually pretty against her being weird abt adrien but eventually just #let her do whatever lmao. he was like. alright fine if it makes you happy dear #sure you can rearrange his genome so he cant catch chicken pox again whatver #as a result when things dont fit her delusions she gets upset moody or aggressive

[halorvic]

"Do not let anyone convince you that you need to get sick to be healthy."

#kristen panthagani #immunology #sars cov 2 #long post #i s2g if i see one more bullshit article/comment about IMmUNiTY deBT........................ #for the millionth billionth fucking time: IMMUNITY DEBT ISN'T REAL. there is NO SUCH THING as immunity debt caused by avoiding illness #and ANY dr/immunologist worth their salt in the year 2023 will tell you that #“but you have to train your immune system for it to get stronger!” nope doesn't work like that. the immune system is not a muscle #you might as well tell everyone that the reason they don't have skin like armoured steel is that they haven't been stabbed enough #tell all those drs treating tuberculosis patients that they're weakening their immunity by wearing respirators and NOT catching tb #let's all stop filtering the water while we're at it. have everyone get cholera - that'll fortify ppl's immune systems for sure #this world is a joke. #ppl buy into this shit and then wonder why the anti-vaxx/anti-science movement keeps growing

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

how deep is your devotion? ; satoru gojo

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank u to @softgirlgonehaywire for having the biggest brain in the world and infecting me w this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading u can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy. 

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work. 

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into. 

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears. 

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere. 

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever. 

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company. 

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone. 

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true. 

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house. 

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight. 

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying. 

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect. 

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue. 

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now. 

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes. 

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is. 

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. 

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl. 

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.” 

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time. 

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?” 

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable. 

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself. awfully amused.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise your brow. unimpressed.

satoru steps back. inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own. 

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little. 

his knight. his favourite knight.

“.. fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate. 

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily.

his chest is heaving. lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting. 

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still. 

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air. 

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller. 

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.” 

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby. 

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.” 

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.” 

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand. 

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip. 

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years. 

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire.

”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then; 

“i’d do it, you know.”

a questioning hum. “do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows. 

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing.

enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze. 

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?” 

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse. 

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light. 

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.���

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else. 

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from the faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear. 

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

#u both catch a cold the next day <33 #anyway i am normal about the devotion of a loyal knight paired w the devotion of a man who’s only ever loved one single person in his life #shoutout to knight x royalty dynamics for inventing romance #i wanted to get a good balance on prince!gojo’s twisted side and soft side so i hope i did ok!! :’3 #hes a kind man at heart he rly is but i think being born at the peak of the class pyramid does smth to a person lmao #i didn't touch on it in the fic but he would have turned out a lotttt more twisted if he hadnt met reader as a child … #what if i was ur knight..;;; and u were my prince….;;;;; and we changed the trajectory of each other’s lives 😳😳 👉👈 #mickey if u see this!!! tysm for letting me write abt this concept i had so much fun!!! this fic is for u <33 #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen

[sleepwalkersqueen]

Healthy Birb >:3

He's very kitten shaped ur honor

#hes a lil healthy birb very fluffee very well mannered! (<- lies) #just let him catch insects smh #What if Baby Keigo actually got the childhood he deserves and was raised by a loving and gentle father figure??? HUH??? HUHH?? Thats right #make the fluff you wanna see in the world #<3 #mha #bnha #bnha keigo #bnha hawks #mha keigo #bnha keigo takami #takami keigo #mha hawks #bnha heroes #keigo takami #keigo tamaki #the takami thief #shinyo takami #fear of you #my hero academia #bnha fic #bnha oc #takami shinyo #my hero academia hawks #boku no hero academia #my hero acedamia #bnha kids #mha kids #mha fanart #mha au

[potahun]

I did say I would lose it if hakuba took kaito as his plus one to any of his fancy functions...so I decided to do it to myself and draw it.

god the rituals...they are so intricate....

#hakuba saguru #kaitou kid #kuroba kaito #dcmk #magic kaito #mk1412 #they are not even dating in this #my doodles #hakukai #sagukai #i love them so much #hakuba's way of flirting includes 'let's each think about how you would steal this jewel and see if our theories match on the night #of the heist when i go full on out to catch you!' #he also has no idea that its flirting

[hrrystylesbookclub]

we all know the snows’ infamous catchphrase “snow lands on top”

i’m currently rereading catching fire and i came across this part where katniss is making up a lie about hearing a forcefield, and one of the examples she uses of enhanced hearing since the capitol reconstructed her ear:

when i came back across this part i almost SCREAMED, this right here is so symbolic because it is the first instance within the 75th hunger games where katniss is taking a real instance in using the capitol, thereby also snow, against itself. she turns a skill she learned from fellow tributes into a conspiracy that can be used to turn suspicions on capitol doctors. and this THIS!!!! is the start of the sound of snow falling for the first time since dean highbottom 65 years ago. after years of a torturous reign of snow landing on top, katniss is able to plant that seed of snow hitting the ground

#i don’t know if i’m just crazy and seeing nonexistent parallels but this seems too perfect to be a coincidence #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #catching fire #katniss everdeen #coriolanus snow #president snow #quarter quell #dean casca highbottom #suzanne collins let me shake your hand #just absolutely brilliant

[maomango-doodle]

(13 pages) Forlorn

#trigun #trigun stampede #millions knives #on an episode of “how much can i woobify knives :D” #his character is interesting to explore. so much loneliness mixed with strong emotions repressed behind a cold facade #i wondered how he would react to the realization that he misses vash #if he brings his plans to fruition then they'll be reunited -- that's what he tells himself #maybe to keep the loneliness at bay but sometimes it catches up to him #i thought maybe this cold and perfect facade knives parades would shatter and the “ugly” emotions hidden behind would spill out #which would be smth out of his control. and knives hates it. or deep down is terrified of it #smth smth knives seeing vash in his reflection on a stolen red plant #and oh #oh he's PISSED #he let a part of himself break. he showed weakness. and over what? over vash?? but hes doing everything for HIM #he thinks -- so it's vash's fault he's losing his composure right? #it's vash's fault he's distracted from what could reunite them. his fault knives is doing all of this. feeling all of this #using vash as a scape goat for his own emotional turmoil #and that piano be damned. it's a monolith of his loneliness #if only it could all disappear-- the piano-- the cold-- the memories-- the weight on his heart-- the FEAR #there's smth about his rage being rooted in fear that intrigues me #fear of remaining alone-- fear of the hurricane of his own emotions-- fear of time passing and loss of control #then his hood falls off and he's left vulnerable and exposed #also i like the idea of knives looking pretty when he's composed but when he shows strong emotions he turns ugly and wrinkly #comic #i forgot it was in my drafts lol also not kv btw ^^ #Thank you for reading! :3 #shinxo art #shinxo comic

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell)

#discworld #sam vimes #discworld au #nightwatch au #i literally drafted this post in December 2021 #and i know it was living in my head for years already at that point #i have more somewhere aging like cheese in the back of my mind #discworld fanfic #night watch #Let this be free from my mind #Perhaps someone else will write it #BE FREE ANCIENT AU OF MY SOUL #For all my obsession with discworld I have but this one (1) AU though it tears at me like the seam of a pair of pants #The songs I have permanently associated with this au are slightly bonkers by the way #My au #Seriously there's like two full novels worth of content up here. Sybyll running away from home and living as a commoner #To mirror Sam joining upper class in original timeline you see? #Some early discworld murder Wizard nonsense when they try to poke at the temporal anomaly and the universe goes brrrr #Eventually catching up with color of Magic city burning bs and vimes is mad as fuck #Weird year that never was protecting people during sourcery #And when we start catching up with where he left #Oh ho ho you can't to forward to something that doesn't exist but maybe you can go sideways to a place that's got a tear in it #A sam vimes shaped tear #And his pregnant wife from 30 years ago in the other trouser leg #AND that's not even mentioning how carcers trial got taken to a...higher court

[junniieesbby]

Where The Fuck Are They? |Choi Yeonjun

Pairing: Idol Yeonjun x F!reader

Genre: Established Relationship, Smut, Kind of Fluff. 

WC:  1.6K 

Rating: 18+ MDNI 

Summary: You try to tease your idol boyfriend at a music Festival by leaving your panties in his pocket. Only he gets angry when he finds out and your plan backfires on you and he does all the teasing. 

Warning: Mentions of alcohol, and food. Smut with a plot.  Lots of pet names (baby, good girl, princess, pretty), slight Brat/Brat-tamer. Calling Yeonjun Sir. Ass grabbing.Female getting fingered. Slight Edging. Hickies, somewhat of agoraphilia except its just fingering in a public place. Mentions of fucking.Degradation. Mentions of oral (Female receiving). I think that is about it. I don't know if I missed any. Let me know if I did!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Nothing mentioned in this fiction represents any of the characters.

A/N: Have had this thought written down since the Lollapalooza and finally got around to writing it and posting it. This is also part of @majestyjun's 24 days with yeonjun birthday event! 💗I hope you guys enjoy reading this and thank you to all who were interested in it prior I made sure to tag you. 🫶🏼

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Music festivals were always something you looked forward to attending. This year was extra special because your boyfriend would be performing as a headliner at one of the biggest music festivals, Lollapalooza. To say you were proud was an understatement; you were so happy to see him achieve all his goals and reach his dreams one day at a time. To watch him perform at Lollapalooza last year and to see that he would be headlining this year really made you the proudest girlfriend.

The festival grounds were alive with all the excitement, vibrant colors, the aroma of festival food, and, of course, the smell of booze. Yeonjun and you have decided to enjoy the festival and see Kendrick Lamar's performance. You were wearing a short skirt with a white crop top, your red heart chucks converse, black choker, and jewelry. Underneath all of that, you had put on Yeonjun’s favorite lingerie set.

As you are walking around holding hands with your boyfriend, you have a very risky and exciting idea, but you aren’t sure whether to go through with it. After some time, you decided to just do it and see where this crazy thought of yours would lead you. You went on your tippy toes to kiss Yeonjun on the cheek, letting him know you would be using the bathroom. His face kind of scrunched up in confusion because he knew you hated public restrooms, especially festival ones, but didn’t pay much attention to it. Little did he know that all you wanted to do was put your plan into action. You stepped into the bathroom and wanted to do this as quickly as possible. You took your lace panties off, scrunched them up, and left the bathroom to find him standing there waiting for you. You went close to him, and he put an arm around your shoulder to lead you through the crowd. You had a habit of placing your hand in his back pocket, and you did exactly that, ensuring your panties were safe in his pocket.

As the sun began to set, Yeonjun took you to the stage where Kenderick Lamar would be performing. "Are you excited to see his performance, baby?" He whispers in your ear while bringing his arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest, and resting his chin on your shoulder. "I am excited, but I’m more excited to see your performance. I know you will rock your performance like always." You tell him while turning your head and leaving a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, baby. I know I can do anything with you in the crowd." He squeezes the hold he has on you tighter, showing his affection through his touch.

The whole time you were watching the performance, you were playing with your shoe laces to get them to untie so you could move your plan along. Once it got really dark outside and everyone was too busy enjoying the performance and their alcohol, you knew it was now or never. Your shoelace was successfully untied. “Jjun, my shoelace is untied; could you tie it for me, please? My skirt is kind of short. Otherwise, I would do it myself." You whisper in his ear. “Sure, baby, anything for you." He moves in front of you and goes on his knee to tie your shoe. As he finishes and gets up, he glances over to see your pussy out in the open. The only thing covering it was your short skirt.

He didn’t want to make anything noticeable, so he got up and went into the same position he was in earlier, with his hands around your waist and his face buried in the crook of your neck. He left a kiss right below your earlobe and whispered "Where are they?" You knew exactly what he was referring to, but you wanted to play dumb. "Where is what, baby?" You asked him with an innocent tone. "Don’t fucking play dumb; where the fuck are your panties?" You loved to get on his nerves. “Oh, those things? Silly me, I think I lost them." You started grinding your ass on his half hard length.

He then held your hips in place so you would no longer grind your ass on him. To him, two could play this game, and he sure as hell wanted to win. "I will ask you one last time, where are your fucking  panties?" He tells you as he gets ahold of one of your cheeks and squeezes it until you let out a yelp. "In your back pocket, Jjunnie, in your back pocket," you quickly tell him. He reached in his pocket and grabbed your panties and gave them to you while whispering, "Put them back on." You could not believe him. "No," you cross your arms, pouting. "Stop being such a brat and put them on," he whispers once again. "No, I don’t feel like it." The moment those words left your mouth, he quickly shoved the panties in his back pocket again. "Alright, you want to act like a brat; prepare to be treated like one." He starts to roam his hands all over your body.

"Mmmh, what will you do about it, sir?" you asked him seductively. He felt his dick twitch in his pants at your name for him. He thought he would just show you what brats like you get and deserve. He knew in no time you would be begging for his cock, which he had every intention of keeping away from you for as long as possible.

He wrapped his left hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him, which earned him a soft moan from you. He looked around to see everyone paying attention to the artist before he brought his right hand under your skirt and separated your soaking wet folds. "My whore is really wet for me, isn’t she?" he says, inserting two fingers in while his thumb rubs at your clit. You wanted to say something so bad, but you knew once you spoke, a moan would come out instead, and you didn’t want random people to notice the naughty behavior going around them. To anyone else, you both looked like a couple being cozy together. You thanked alcohol for making everyone around you too buzzed to notice.

His fingers were going painfully slow, and he was sucking hickies into your neck. "Sir, fast- faster, please," you begged him as he continued his slow pace. "Only good girls get what they want." His husky voice makes your arousal expand. You slowly started to grind on his hand, but he knew your motive. He quickly pinches your clit causing you to stop your movement.

He dove his fingers inside of you, this time moving faster than before and you were in true bliss. "Don't make a fuckin sound okay; be my good girl and stay quiet," he continues finger-fucking you. All you did was nod as he increased his pace. You were biting your lip to stop yourself from becoming a moaning mess underneath his touch. You were so close that your walls started to clench around his fingers, and just as you were about to go into a euphoric state, he pulled his fingers out. He grabbed your chin, turned your head to look at him, and put his fingers in his mouth, licking your juices clean.

You were in pure and utter shock that he did not just stop right before you were going to come. You wanted so badly to wipe that smug smile off his face, but you knew you were the reason you were in this state. All you could do was turn in his arms and kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. "Sir, why did you stop? I was being a good girl like you asked" you said, looking at him with puppy eyes. "Good girls don’t take their panties off mid-festival and place them in their boyfriend's pocket." He grabs both ass cheeks while looking down at you with a smirk. 

You wanted to tell him he could fuck off, but knowing him, he wouldn’t fuck you for the whole week if you did. "Jjun, please make me feel good again. Please fuck me. I need you so badly." You decided to plead with him. One thing about Yeonjun was that he couldn’t deny his princess anything. Whatever his princess wanted, she would get it. He especially couldn't tell her no when she looked at him with such pleading eyes that it made his cock harder than a rock. "How about this princess, You be good for the rest of the festival, and Sir will fuck your brains out how you like. I will fuck you so good that you might need me to carry you for the next few days. Maybe eat that sweet pussy of yours until you come all over my mouth. Just be my good, pretty girl for a little longer so I can reward you. Mmm, how does that sound? '' He started stroking your ass while looking at you with lust and hunger.

"I would love that very much, baby." You stand on your tippy toes to plant a kiss on his lips. With him being hard and impatient, it didn't take long for him to just grab you, take you back to the hotel room, and fuck you into next week.

Taglist: @hanniejie @boba-beom @lovejoshua @yo-yo-yeonjun @ttyunz @choistick @kazscara @love-be0m @xenkimmie @toiletfeet68 @txt-yaomi @mochijjunie @ariam-96 @hyukasbestie @takemehye @nightlytyuns and @robin-obsessed @baljinciaga (I thought you might want to see this) ♥︎

If you are interested in being in my permanent txt taglist please go here and fill the form out.

if you are reading this look at my last # for a little something!

#24 days with jjunie !! #yeonjun smut #yeonjun hard hours #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun hard thoughts #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun x fem reader #yeonjun one shot #yeonjun imagine #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt oneshots #txt imagines #txt scenarios #mdni #minors do not interact #pt.2 maybe tomorrow? lets see how many people catch this.

[bet-on-me-13]

Johnny 13 is the Black Racer

I like the idea that Danny would promote many of old rouges to higher positions once he became King, and this one seemed obvious to me

(I looked it up and apparently the Black Racer uses Ski's, not a motorcycle like I had thought he did. Either way, it works)

Johnny is promoted to be a representation of the Concept of Death. He uses a Motorcycle, and has Shadow make him look more intimidating when he is on the Job.

When Johnny complains to Danny that he isn't fast enough to catch any Speedsters, he has Ellie (the Speedforce) give him some of her Power so he can catch them.

So now Johnny 13 is the Black Flash.

Idk what to do with this, but I liked the idea too much to let it just go unsaid.

Thoughts?

#Dp x dc #Dpxdc #Dc x dp #Dcxdp #Danny Phantom #Dc #Dcu #The Black Racer #Johnny 13 #Black Flash #Ellie is the Speedforce #Ghost King Danny #The Flash when he realizes that the God of Death is some stoned Biker Guy who convinced the Speedforce Itself to give him powers: 😕 #And now he can actually catch him! #Why had his adoptive mother forsaken him!? #Ellie is the mom of all speedster #She doesn't see death as a bad thing cause 1. It brings her kids closer to her and 2. Death is literally drinking buddies with her brother #She is confused why he is so scared? #His uncle would definitely just let go back to be a Hero whenever he wanted #He spoils his nieces and nephews like that #Letting them come back to life whenever they want

[sirazaroff]

I have bees schnees stuck bouncing around my brain. Halp

💥💥💥 🔨 alright everyone come get your nightly gay idiots before Weiss strangles someone

#fooze #rwby #rwby fanart #yang xiao long #rwby yang #blake bellodona #rwby blake #weiss schnee #rwby weiss #beeschnees #weiss loves them don’t worry <3 she’s just love them a lot more if they let her go to bed <333 #gonna see if I can catch up on some asks. no promises lmao fr

[hoofpeet]

I know Gligar is supposed to be a vampire bat but uhm. What if it was a sugarglider

#hoof draws #submas #ingo seeing a very dangerous purple floaty thing like YOOO. I HAVE TO CATCH THAT THING RIGHT NOW #comes back to it's nest every day for a week straight and lets it eat his blood. much to everyone's confusion #eventually succeeds in catching a little meow meow :] #//also tangentially. i love scenarios where they reunite & emmet asks ingo to infodump abt something as an excuse to hear his voice again #it's a win win for everyone :] emmet gets to hear his brother talk for 2 hours straight and ingo gets to talk about little creatures

[luck-of-the-drawings]

IM SO IN LOVE WITH VAMPIRES!! and boy do i love THE SUCKENING!! VERY excited to see the misadventures of sad wet cat, sharp angry cat, and the COOLEST cat i ever did see

#jrwi fanart #jrwi show #jrwi suckening #some of these were drawn with MOUSE and others were made with my COOL NEW TABLET OOOOHYEAH!! #I JUST FINISHED EP 3 AND OOOHHH MY GGOD. OHHH MY GOOOODD IM IN LOVE WITH EACH OF THESE CHARACTERS #LIKE ARTHUR OH MMY GOOODD ARTHUR FUCKIN BENNEEETTT #SO CONFIDENT SO COOL I FUCKIN LOVE THOSE JUST. UNBREAKABLY CONSTANTLY STOIC CHARACTERS #HIS LIKE CATCH PHRASE. HIS TO-THE-FUCKING-POINT BEHAVIOR #HES LIke a hard candy with TRAGIC GOO TRAPPED INSIIDEEE he is a mollusk to me and i wanna break opEN THAT SHHHEELLL BABYYYY #AND SPEAKIN OF SHELLLSS emizel oh mmy god little guy #i KNOW hes softer than he lets on. and yet i wanna see him bite and attack more people and set things ablaze #i wanna fund his research. and by research i mean arson #AND OOHH SHILLOOO lil prince shilo hes my small baby boy whos okay with death as long as he doesnt have to see #THERES SOMETHING RRRROTTEN AT THE CORE OF THIS BEAUTIFUL APPLE PIE #AND I CANT WWWAIT TO SEE WHAT COMES OF IT #ALSO FUNFACT!! im tryin to make emizel n shilo look more similar #so if u CLOSELY LOOK u will see that their hair is similar. noses n face shapes are the same. they have Heart shapes in their bangs #also unrelated but im a lil in love with deacon keller.... i just rly like cowboys.... like i just think hes neat.... yeehaww #I ALSO LOVE KITTIEESSS ALL THE LIL KITTY SOUNDS IN THIS SHOW ARE SO CUTE... #i heard 'gray cat with round orange eyes' n immediately thought of tama from jjba. yknow the stray cat? dies and becomes magic plant?yeaaaa #cant wait for more. ill scream abt what happened in ffUUUCUKKIGNG EPSIODE 3 LATER BC OH MMY GGOOODDDD!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!

[kineticallyanywhere]

@nicoforlifetrue‘s Rotten Relfections fic has carved out a space in my brain and just lives there now.

#tmnt #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #fanart #aus #tmnt 2012 #id never drawn 2012 mikey before he is so Shaped #doing his lineart in orange makes it look like hes glowing #a sherbet cup of a boy #donnie like 'ah yes this ones mine now excellent' #and 'a temporary boi? that's fine im a dope fisher watch this' #donnie you could make a harpoon for that 'yeah but the crunch tho' #this fic is like #donnies a softshell turtle and softshell turtles will FIGHT YOU #cant heckign WAIT to see where they go with Raph #and what Mikeys mystic stuff might look like when he's in full Instincts Mode #anyway thank you author for my regular bedtime story #kineticallyart #i would tag this for my friend to not look at but shes already seen the sketches so #let these spoilers catch you up

[drewsaturday]

She really saw Finch bring his trophy husband as his plus one and couldn't resist complimenting him on his arm candy the way a waiter would show approval of the meal you ordered, ft. Finch's little smile and eyebrow waggle of agreement.

For the @rinchfest Day 6 prompt, Outsider POV.

#person of interest #poiedit #rinch #rinchfest23 #harold finch #john reese #michael emerson #if you interpret this scene differently no you don't <3 #the way she looks between them like oh i see what's happening here #and the way she whispers to finch the way you would with ur friend when her new boy toy drops her off at brunch #to let em know they got a good catch #and the shared thirsty eyebrow raises #'i diagnose u with married' #which shaw also did earlier when finch was trying to help reese with his bowtie but i couldn't gif that one on #account of there being too many opening credits in the way #anyway sorry if these don't load easily the gif sizes were not playing nice w me and i don't have time to downsize anymore