#the orb pondered him instead

[fragonreal]

Sneo enjoying a cheeseburger

i think he'll definitely enjoye it

#deltarune #deltarune fanart #spamton #spamton g spamton #spamton neo #sneo #bigass burger wtf!!! #i didnt exactly draw him eating it but instead made him look like he is pondering his magical glass orb #i hope this too is to your liking #have a nice day :^3

[mukumukunomi]

Head Empty. Only You.

OPLA Luffy x Fem!Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

cw: tooth-rotting fluff, no smut, implied relationship, kissing (smooch smooch), no spoilers

wc: 1,110k

a/n: It's been a long time since I've written or been on tumblr. But the new OPLA has got me wanting to share again.

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

There’s a subtle crinkle in the corner of his mouth that indicates when he’s in deep thought. It makes itself known when he’s not smiling, which is as rare as it is concerning. 

He sits so still at the figurehead of the ship. A stark black silhouette sitting against a canvas of oranges and reds. It almost seems to set him ablaze in their glory, as if he’s the ember and the sky burns only when he’s under it. 

Monkey D. Luffy in a contemplative state is unpredictable. What does a man who fears little to nothing contemplate about? 

“Y/N?” He asks quietly, softly. He says it with a hint of cheekiness like your name holds a meaning only he’s privy to. You realize you’ve been staring at him long enough for the sun to completely dip beyond the horizon. 

You clamber up to where he sits, plopping down as he moves to make room. You stare into a watery void of dark waters. The ocean is completely opposite to its usual appearance. Deep blues and purples replace the turquoise and aquamarines of daylight. It's somehow eerie.

His knee bumps against yours, the subtle contact of skin enough to break the trance of silence you find yourself in. It brands your own skin with its warmth. 

“Are you okay?”

He ponders the question, picking at the fibers that stick out of the straw hat on his head. “I’m thinking.”

You roll your eyes, propping your head up with a hand against your knee. He says it like it isn’t obvious.  “Whatcha thinking about?”

He squints into the void. You almost think he’s looking for the answer out there beneath the waves. Searching for an answer in the one place he can’t physically look.

“You.”

Your heart stutters as you answer without thinking. “Why?”

You can’t fathom being the forethought of his thoughts. That someone like him spends hours in the quietness thinking about you. Your existence feels minuscule in comparison. 

He cocks his head to the side. “There have to be a reason? I just like thinkin’ ‘bout ya.”

He’s effortless, you think. For how grand the trajectory of his destiny seems to be, he’s effortless in being simple. Luffy is a man who’s complicatedly simple. 

You clear your throat and try to resist the flush that rises in your body. You hope he can’t see the blush that’s dusting your cheeks when his dark orbs finally meet yours. “What-what about me do you think about?”

A different kind of line creases his face as his gaze smolders. You’re familiar with this crinkle. It’s the dimple of his cheeks when he smirks. It jars you how much of a difference one dimple makes. He’s like starlight in the darkness.

Confidence is not something Luffy lacks. But when he’s especially sure about something, there’s nothing anyone can do to change his mind.

“Everything!” He says, grabbing your hand and squeezing it, “I like when we sneak into the kitchen at night. Oh! Or when we pranked Sanji by replacing the potatoes with tangerines! Or how about the time we convinced Usopp to paint Zoro’s face with ink and it wouldn’t wash off for days!”

He taps your entwined hands against his knee in excitement. You can’t help but be infected by his joy as he babbles on.

“And remember when Nami got so mad when we spent half her berry on that weird fortune teller? They turned out to be fake! But then you smiled and said…”

He trails off then, staring at you. You’re not sure where his mind is heading as the silence stretches longer than you anticipate. 

“...you said as long as we’re together it doesn’t matter what the future holds.”

Suddenly, you’re no longer sitting beside him. A tug on your hand invites you to settle for straddling his lap instead. You can’t help but melt into the hug he gives, returning it as your hands settle just at his shoulder blades. His hands around your waist and nose brushing against your neck sends a flutter of butterflies to your stomach. 

He inhales you like you’re the oxygen he breathes. “I’m always thinking about ya' when you’re not beside me.”

A torrent of emotion whirls inside. Luffy is always physical. He has a touch-starved obsession. He craves closeness with others and doesn’t discriminate in who that applies to. But here with just you two, you suddenly feel the full brunt of his affection. You don’t know what else to do but hold him tighter and bury your face in his shoulder.

“Hey, look at me.” He demands. He pulls away slightly to hold you a hair's breadth away, noses almost touching, as he searches your face. “Talk to me.”

He’s always so jealous of your attention. You squish the hollows of his cheeks together as you grasp his chin. Your eyes rove over his facial features and trace the contour of his brow. You follow it to the scar under his eye and down his jaw until you finally land on his lips. He looks like a blow fish, utterly ridiculous in your grasp, but there’s a glint in his dark orbs. It's as dangerous as the glint of a knife in the dark.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. 

“You know what I think about?”

“Whaf-?” He tries to ask. The words don’t quite form in their current state puckered between your fingers. His eyebrows raise dramatically to emphasize his curiosity instead.

“How much I like kissing you…and when I’m going to kiss you again.” You smile deviously when that glint of his seems to sparkle. 

He giggles at you. It’s boyish compared to the look on his face. He pulls himself from your grasp. “How about now?”

You feign a look of surprise, looking around in mock confusion. “Now? Here? Are you sure now’s a good time? I thought you were too busy thinking about me alone in the dark.”

Your teasing earns you a pout. He whines as you give a hearty laugh.

“You’re such a big baby-” You begin, but Luffy surprises you by grasping your chin and slamming your lips together. 

His kiss is electrifying despite the fact his rubber constitution should make it impossible. It sends tingles up and down your spine and you hum as he traces the outline of your lips with his tongue. He sighs when you open your mouth. Your heart is open and tender in this moment, and he cradles you like you’re as important as the hat on his head. You are. He reminds you everyday.

Eventually, the cold spray of the ocean’s waves is forgotten.

#luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #one piece #one piece fanfiction #monkey d. luffy x reader #luffy x you #muku'sfics #opla

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 1 : Forbidden Bond

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: Language, violence, physical abuse, traumatic childhood, Gojo being a jerk

Next Chapter ->

His usual so unbothered eyes grow wider and wider with each passing second, watch in slow motion how this tiny human being he’s never seen before draws closer to him. Step by step, not paying attention to the stinging fact that she’ll run straight into him. He couldn’t care less, though.

That smile.

Has he seen you before? No, he would have remembered for sure. There wasn’t a single moment in his still young life that made Gojo Satoru gaze at a smile twice, that made him wonder about the name and voice behind it. But seeing you like this, laughing to yourself so unmoved by your surroundings leaves him pondering.

Who is this girl?

He doesn’t get the chance to think about it any further. Like in slow motion, you trip over his feet first before dragging him along with you onto the hot tarmac, tiny stones digging themselves into the palms of his hands.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even look out, I…I’m so clumsy!”

“It’s okay...”

No, it’s not. Why weren’t you paying attention to where you’re walking, how dare you to run him over – him, the pride of the Gojo clan? Now he’s all dirty, his pants probably sliced open.

But instead of complaining, he simply watches how you lift yourself off the ground so awkward that you almost trip right back on top of him, brushing the dirt off the dark blue kimono you’re wearing.

“Now you’re all dirty because of me”, you sigh with a pout.

Your voice. It matches your appearance perfectly, the innocent gleam in your eyes, the way your laughter sounded earlier. Angelic, hypnotizing, so melodious that he urges to hear you talk again.

“Let me help you back up!”

You stretch out your tiny hand in front of his and out of instinct, he grabs it. How is it possible that his palm seems to swallow yours whole? You have to be around his age, an inch or two smaller. But his hands…

Your hands…

You let go way too early.

“I was actually on my way home and got distracted by that dog over there. It got so happy when I laughed so I couldn’t stop and then you came and-“

“Do you ever stop talking?”

His cold interruption catches you off guard while he shoves both hands in the pocket of his hoodie. That boy…You’ve never seen him before around here. Sure, you would have remembered those bright blue eyes and white hair. Where does he come from? Why does he look so different? All those questions piling up inside your head.

Where were you even going?

“(y/n)?”

Her cold voice makes your blood freeze in an instant, widened eyes not daring to look behind you. Why is she here? You aren’t late, did nothing wrong…did you?

“Who’s that?”, the boy in front of you questions.

“(Y/N) ZENIN!”

You swallow hard, the tone in your nanny’s voice making you realize what will happen next. Suddenly you don’t care about the boy with the bright blue eyes or the happy dog anymore.

“You…You’re a Zenin?”

He can’t believe his ears, orbs studying you up and down. Of course, he heard about your family, about the stinging fact that he should keep a safe distance from you. Out of all big jujutsu families, the Zenin clan is the worst with its members being as cold as ice. His teachers warned him, parents literally begged him to keep himself away from anything that comes from this family. And that includes you as well, apparently.

“A Zenin…”, he mumbles under his breath.

You look nothing like their description, though.

His voice fades into the back of your mind. All you feel is thick fear crawling up your veins, the dark foreshadowing making your limbs ache already.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing here with this brat!?”

Her cold hand grabs your tiny arm roughly and forces you backwards so harsh that you almost fall over again.

“I ran into him-”, you desperately try to explain yourself.

“You…You are that Gojo kid, aren’t you? The honoured one…”

“And you’re a nobody.”

Gojo.

Your eyes widen in sheer horror. If there’s one thing your father told you over and over, it was staying away from members of the Gojo clan.

“Especially Gojo Satoru. Don’t you dare to even talk to him or you’ll feel my anger.”

“I didn’t know it was him, I was on my way home when I-“

“Quiet.”

A ruthless slap right in your face sends you onto the ground all over again, blood squinting out your tiny nose immediately. You…You did something unforgivable, something your father will punish you for. Shivers haunt your whole body, thick fear almost taking your sight. One last time your glossy eyes dart towards the boy with the unbothered blue orbs that now show a hint of disturbance.

-8 years later-  

“Look what we have here, Suguru! There’s that dirty brat from the Zenin clan!”

“I don’t think you should call her like that…”

“I smelled your arrogance miles away, douchebag”, you mutter under your breath.

There he stands. Probably a few inches taller than the last time you saw him but still with the same dumb smirk plastered on his dirty face. He looks horribly good, arrogance dripping from every pore of his body. Oh, words can’t describe how much hatred you hold for that boy, how much willpower it costs you to not wipe him from the surface of this earth in an instant.

“Be nice to me, (y/n). After all I’m a special grade while you’re a lousy grade 1”, he bites back at you.

“Don’t make me launch another bit of Phobia Projection your way. I’ll never forget the way you cried like a baby.”

A cursed technique rooted in the dark arts of Jujutsu, a technique you learned by your grandfather by the age of 12. Those who wield this technique have the ability to delve into the depths of their target's psyche, extracting and manifesting their worst fears into reality. Through manipulation of spectral energy, the user projects vivid illusions that evoke intense sensations of terror and anxiety, effectively trapping their victim in a nightmarish realm tailored to their deepest fears. This technique not only inflicts psychological torment but can also paralyze the victim with fear, rendering them vulnerable to further attacks. It is a formidable and sinister ability that exploits the vulnerabilities of the human mind, leaving a lasting impression of dread long after the encounter has ended.

And made none other than Gojo Satoru break down in front of your feet.

“You’ll cry as well when I’m done with you, little bitch.”

Gojo builds himself up in front of you before Geto is able to stop him, glimmering eyes staring at you filled with nothing but hatred.

“Want applause for using a dark art on me? You’re nothing but a pathetic little girl that got slapped by her parents a little too often. And even though they trained you like there’s no tomorrow, your still not good enough to face me.”

His words hit you with full force, flood your mind with memories you tried to avoid so desperately. Out of instinct, you grab him by his throat and thrust him into the grass underneath, dig his flawless white hair into the dirt. If there’s one thing your family was right about, it was Gojo Satoru.

“I fucking hate you, Gojo. You’re nothing but a waste of space, just like your whole pathetic clan”, you hiss through gritted teeth, voice dripping in venom.

“My pathetic clan? Your family roams around and kills innocent people, (y/n). Who the hell are you to judge, huh? You’re not even strong enough to even talk to me”, he barks in reverse.

“Why does it always have to end like this between you two? Get off him, (y/n).”

Geto’s firm hands grab your shoulders and yank you backwards in order to create distance between Gojo and yourself while you can’t catch your breath.

Your deadly orbs still glare at him, blood pulsates through your veins so rapidly that you feel like exploding any given minute. He has some fucking nerve, talking about your past like that. Him, who’s nothing but a spoiled brat. Him, who’s gifting just by being born. Him, with nothing but immense powers and a pretty face.

“Next time you’re getting so close to me, I’ll kill your ass without thinking twice”, you spit at him from afar, Geto holding you back with all his strength.

“I love to see ya try little girl!”

“Come on, (y/n). Just turn around and leave, this is senseless. You’re just hurting each other.”

Suguru’s calm voice has always been the only thing that kept you from scratching those bright blue orbs out of his eyeballs. You allow your eyes to rest for a brief second, your heartbeat to calm down. Your family told you to stay away from him, to be better than him and forced you to attend Jujutsu High. Why does it have so damn hard to make them happy, to show your father that you’re worthy? How are you supposed to stay away from him when he’s around you all the time?

Without gifting him a single look, you turn on your heel and simply walk away.

Training. A training session is exactly what you need right now.

“Don’t you dare to shout after her, Satoru”, Geto warns his best friend right when he takes a deep breath in.

“I really don’t get it. All that hate just because your families don’t get along?”

“You don’t get it, Suguru.”

“What makes you hate (y/n) so much?”

Satoru can’t believe his ears, the sheer question of his best friend seeming like an insult. Why would he even like you? You with your stupid pretty face, you with those remarkable eyes that shook him to his core when he first saw you, you with that laugh…When was the last time he heard you laugh?

He shakes his head violently. Why would he even care about something so stupid?

“Cause she’s a Zenin brat”, Satoru replies monotone.

You are his enemy, the biggest threat of his family, hunting after his future. You deserve nothing but his hatred, nothing but disinterest. You are the devil himself. Yes, your sheer presence on this earth is enough reason to hate you.

“Didn’t you tell me she was quite nice when you met her as a child?”

“I never said that”, Satoru mumbles under his breath immediately.

Enough of all that bullshit, all that talking about your dumbass. It’s not like you deserve his attention anyway.

“C’mon, let’s grab something to eat.”

That was the first chapter babes, hope you enjoyed! It would mean the world if you take your time to tell me what you think and how you liked it so far! 🤍

Tags: @whereismysane @risuola @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @livmarauder @sapphireandange @madaqueue

#opposites attract #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo saturo #satoru gojo #gojo x you #jjk fanfic #jujutsu fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fandom #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #enemies to lovers #jjk enemies to lovers #jjk slow burn #slow burn #jjk writing #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo satorou

[evilminji]

I Ponder The Humble Blob Ghost!

You think they are what happens when you ALMOST but not quite A Ghost(tm)? Like, you have the ectoplasm and the will to continue... but you didn't really have A Thing in life? No Final Crystalizing Thought that brings focus? Just "ow! Ah! I'm scared. Don't wanna die!" And theeeeen.... *poof!*

Why am I Orb? Am squish? No bones.

Like? Remove any one piece of the Critical Formula and you get Blob instead of Ghost? Different KINDS, mind you, but blobs none the less.

Like Skulker! Not enough Ectoplasm. Ended up Blob. He CLEARLY had the Will, the Obsession, the gory end and unfinished business... buuuut? No green goo to power the creation of a full body. He clearly knows what he's supposed to LOOK like? But it's not something FIXABLE? Even with his now unlimited access to Ectoplasm.

Like in utero damage that permanently stunted his growth. HE is fine. All his facilities are on-line and checking in as they should, for the level of sentience expected of a ghost of his people. He just... smol. Same strength, intelligence, and power as he would have always HAD...

He just got handed a really, REALLY crap "customize your eternal meatsuit" option screen. Like for real guys. Basicly NO options. His salt is eternal and entirely justified. He could have had his tattoos. He paid a LOT of credits for those! Sat for DAYS! Had to track down this One(1) artist on this SHITTY little trading hub, that BARELY QUALIFIED as one, to sit in on uncomfortable overturned crate... IN A GAS MASK because the AIR SUPPORT KEPT KICKING IT... for hoooours!

It was a WORK OF ART. You would have CRIED.

This is BULLSHIT.

But wait, I hear you say, staring at the Blob ghost chewing on a lamp post. The one that has wii music playing behind the eyes. No thoughts, head jello, one might say. What about THEM?

Good point! Remember that formula?

LOT of Ecto! But THAT... might be either an animal or a fungus. We'd have to check. ANYTHING can and DOES die. If it's alive? It can die and potentially leave a ghost. But! Consider the noble Ghost Rabbit! *holds up squirming rabbit that is ABSOLUTELY trying to both bite me and kick me in the face* A noble and friendly creature!

THIS is what happens when an animal: has sufficient Ectoplasm at the death site, a reason to continue living (fairly common. It's usually their offspring, escape, the instinctual drive to survive itself or other understandable base drives. Like love, loyalty, or hunger.), and that all important High Emotions End.

Miss any of these? You get Blobbertson over there! He's clearly a hungry boy! But! Not very DRIVEN is he? Just floating along, chewing on whatever seems interesting, looking for a snack. He's food motivated. But not MOTIVATED motivated.

Blobbertson over there? A peaceful death. Too much Ectoplasm too leave, too food motivated in life NOT to carry over, but? No DRIVE. To DEFINE and DEMAND the Ectoplasm in his little body become sharp and active. No highly emotional state to stir it into action.

Is Blobbertson INCAPABLE of higher emotions? No. He is every bit as capable as the Ghost Rabbit that has savaged my hands and escaped while you were reading. It was, in fact, NOT as friendly as originally assumed. I may be bleeding. Unimportant. Blobbertson is PERFECTLY capable of getting attached. Being trained.

Whatever level of intelligence Blobbertson had in life, still remains. And WITH that? Comes the ability to improve and grow in death! IF (and this is the big one) he ever finds MOTIVATION to do so.

Because you see, Blobbertson is quite happy. No thoughts, brain jello. Drifting along in a happy green ocean like a jellyfish. Only concerned about his next snack. It's comforting. His food obsession filled, his tiny motivation barely enough to move him place to place.

He would GLADLY sit in one place and eat for the rest of eternity. Head blissfully silent.

And that's OKAY! It truly, honestly, is. Not everyone has to be conquers and kings, crafters and cosmonauts. Sometimes you just want to spend the rest of time playing in the sand. Resting on a sunshine-y hill. Not EVERY soul is a loud one.

This is the INFINITE Realms.

And there are places like Amity Park out there. THICK as cold honey with Ectoplasm in the air, gently infusing all the life that grows there with greater and greater chance of Ghost-hood. Even the peaceful blinking awake after that final rest to look down and... little nubby green paws.

Congratulations on becoming a Blob, grandma! Yes, I imagine you ARE furious it is inordinately difficult to knit like this. No, I don't think complaining to the king will help, MeMa.

That said? I can not tell you if Blob Ghost all belong to the same Family or the same Order, but they are NOT the same species! The WAY in which you fuck up that ever vital Fomula results in WILDLY different Blobs! Was it an animal? A sentient species? A sentient PLANET? A complexe interlocking colony of fungi? What was the EXACT Ectoplasm concentration at the death site? Was that the historical levels or the At Death levels? Was the individual under sedation?

Yes! All of this IS in fact, VERY relevant!

And you think it ends THERE? HA! The SKIES are FILLED with Fighty Mother Fuckers! Ghosts LOVE to fight! It's built into their social dynamics and hierarchy! Good ol brawls to get the Ecto pumping!

......Local Blob Farmer would like to take this moment to say "GET OF HIS GHOST PEONIES, YOU HEATHENS."

No they would NOT like to join your 24/7 thunder dome in the sky, THANKS! Martha here is trying to compose some Atlantian Shell Poetry. Blobby Jr of Blobbington and Blobbington Incorporated is TRYING to study! You've DESTROYED THE COMMUNAL ZEN GARDEN!!

Get! GET!!! *swings broom*

And THEN you look not even a mile east? And it's the floating island of Blobs. They LIKE that rock. It's just an ever shifting, accidentally rolling off the edge, falling slightly, making an offended squeek, and floating back to the top of the pile to repeate the process, MOOSH of thousands of blobs. No one's certain if they used to be seals or some sort of cat.

Apparently THAT island is Warm(tm).

So there they sit. Making contented noises, chirping and shoving for the best spots. They never leave. You can literally just... float up and sit on them. It's amazing. You gotta be careful not to get buried, but it's So Soft and bouncy? And they are ALL making that soft happy Blob vibrate noise. It's like a giant, island sized, warm and almost fuzzy but not, water bed that massages you.

Just DON'T start anything there! Holy SHIT are they territorial. You Will Die. They SWARM.

And THATS not even getting into the Blobs that are? Literally brainless. Some people eat those. Which? I guess? They ARE basicly Ectoplasm jello. But SOME of them are NOT? Like... it's a debate. Hot button issue, ya know?

Some fungus turns into Ecto Jello with negative IQ and delicious insides. Is this food? But OTHER fungus was SENTIENT in life and become a whole RANGE of Fungus ghosts, from Blob right on up to complexe dryad like ghosts! Clearly NOT food unless you are a MONSTER. But THEY argue the FIRST group are ALSO not food?

Plant Ghosts have strong opinions and are willing to Gruesome Violence about it.

Which brings us back to the Humble Blob Ghost! Check before you pet! That might be grandma! Or planning to eat your hand! Just as Mammal tells you little to nothing about what animal you are looking at, so too does Blob and Ghost! Stay safe out there! And if anyone sees a glowing green rabbit? I want my blood back! That's supposed to be in MY body! Rude!

This has been, the daily ghost!

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dp x dc #danny phantom #blob ghosts #blob lore #i like to PONDER the lore #get my grabby little racoon hands on the set dressings #gib me your SECRETS #gib to the racoon #minji's writing

[katiefrog217]

Crowley wasn't good at doing it himself, but Aziraphale was more than happy to preen his wings for him.

-----------------------------------------------------

Crowley wasn't very good at taking care of his feathers.

Aziraphale's were always so immaculately groomed. Rarely was a feather out of place, unless he was going through a particularly ill-timed molt. Some called it vanity, Aziraphale called it "looking presentable".

He could hardly blame Crowley for his lack of self-care though; his serpentine physique was hardly equipped with the tools to care for them. If it really got bad, he could always miracle them into shape, though he hardly even bothered to do that.

It had gotten to Aziraphale one day and he had set about fussing with the demon's wings, plucking out every errant feather and straightening the remaining ones. By the time he finished his task, the black feathers shone glossy and pristine in the lamp light. He puffed up with pride as he examined his handiwork, only to wither as realization doused him like a bucket of ice water.

He glanced nervously at the owner of the wings, realizing with a start just how many feathers lay strewn about them. He could make an entire second pair of wings with them, and just as well since he had dug deep and found feathers that should have fallen out 2 molts ago (really, how had Crowley managed to stand it? It must have itched like anything)! Crowley, for his part, lay beneath the carnage, coiled tightly around Aziraphale unmoving. His glasses had long been set side, and Aziraphale turned to find himself being watched by those beautiful golden orbs. He pondered for a moment if Crowley was asleep (hard to tell since serpents couldn't blink), but a small flick of a tongue when their gazes met proved him wrong. He wished he'd been right.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Apologies my dear, i-it seems I got quite carried away..." He mumbled awkwardly, embarrassment evident in his tone, his feathers puffing reflexively. It was practically the understatement of the century. 'Carried away'. Preening one's feathers was an inherently personal, bordering on intimate, thing. Crowley especially didn't seem to like anyone touching his wings and here he had spent Heaven only knew how long preening them himself, WITHOUT SO MUCH AS ASKING HIM FIRST--

He shifted uncomfortably when Crowley didn't reply immediately, choosing instead to leisurely inspect the angelic dove's handiwork. The silence was deafening, and Crowley seemed determined to stretch it out indefinitely as his slit pupils raked over each feather individually. Aziraphale desperately searched his gaze for anything he could discern, but only found concentrated scrutiny.

Then finally, finally Crowley turned his golden gaze back to him, his tongue flickering thoughtfully. Aziraphale's heart hammered with anxiety as he unknowingly held his breath, his wings shuffling awkwardly at his side. His fluttering heart nearly took off itself when he finally heard Crowley's low drawl.

"Mhm, thanks. They look... Better. Clean. Neat. It felt... Nice," Crowley said slowly, his s's elongating as he eeked out the rare compliment, the last part mumbled so quietly Aziraphale nearly thought he imagined it. Before he could muster a reply, Crowley dipped his head, laying it firmly beneath Aziraphale's feathery breast. His coils tightened as one came up to cover his face, shielding his eyes from view. Evidently, he was done talking.

Aziraphale stood there silently for a moment, letting his racing heart slow to a more normal rhythm before he thought of trying to extract himself from the demon's coils. He had bothered Crowley enough for one night, he thought. However, the moment he made to move, those newly preened wings stretched out on either side, trapping him in, he quietly resigned himself instead.

He would find later that preening Crowley's feathers would, as many other things between them had, become part of their routine. On nights when they look particularly egregious or found themselves with nothing better to do, they would settle in a warm corner of Aziraphale's bookshop, and allow themselves this quiet, yet delicate moment between them.

#katiefrog217 #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #my art #aziraphale #fanart #good omens fanart #art #snake crowley #dove aziraphale #azirabirb #good omens 2 #go art #crowley x aziraphale #crowley #preening #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #short writing #what the fuck is a beta read #no british slang because i pulled this outta nowhere #that ending is RUSHED #i read too many preeing headcanons and just had to #art rough because i rushed that too #late night post is late #the ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses

[kingconia]

Hello I js read ur MC who takes inspriration from the protag of their stories and if you're still taking requests, is it possible to do a part 2 for it?

A/N: You are welcome. I pondered a little about the continuation of this concept, and figured out that Leona & Vil had the most potential for the second part, since I left a cliffhanger in their stories. Others seemed quite cliche or obvious—Riddle has a crush, he can easily deal with, and same goes for Malleus, Azul & Idia. I hope, you don't mind.

The first part can be found here. Obviously, read it first for the context.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR & VIL SCHOENHEIT WITH THE READER, WHO IS INSPIRED BY THE PROTAGONIST OF THEIR STORIES.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Leona is bad at admitting aloud that he made a mistake, but it doesn't necessarily mean he has no realisation of it. He knows, he hurt you. That is obvious;

— He starts paying more attention to you in the school, since he hasn't figured out how to fix your relationship yet. And that is when he notices that... You are actually not as cheerful as he remembered you to be? Most of the time, you sit away from other students of Savanaclaw?

— When he asks Ruggie about that, he shrugs. He tells Leona that you were always like this, and they even call you ”the sombre heir” among themselves, since you are not quite fun to have around. Leona is surprised. You were so different with him...

— In the end, Leona simply decides to speak with you honestly. He has this feeling that you will accept him either way. You always did before. But, oh, seems like he is not on your good side anymore, isn't he?

•

”Oi, kittie, watcha doin'?” Leona plops in front of you, putting his elbows on the table.

He is nervous, he will not lie about. It is the first time he feels such an overcoming anxiety before someone alive, and that is strange. It is just you, after all. Right?

”Dunno,” you answer slowly, putting a slice of meat in your mouth. ”Thinking about my family, who died so yours could take our throne away. You, Leona?”

Well, you definitely are not planning to forgive him so easily.

Leona shifts uncomfortably as he tries to catch your gaze. Without a luck.

”I accept my fault,” he murmurs quietly, hardly audible. ”And if anything, I understand your pain. I, too—”

A sudden laugh from your lips makes him stop in the tracks. As you wipe your mouth with the napkin, you smile suddenly. And when you raise your eyes on him, Leona almost flinches. Because there is nothing kind or gentle in these orbs now. Instead, they are cold. They are cold, and at the same time, they are awfully mad.

”What would you know about it, golden boy?” Your voice shift in a condescending tone as you shake your head slightly. ”Kings like your brother, Leona, they have honour. And princes like you or your little nephew have a bravery and heart. But people like me, Leona, the fallen ones, we only have rage. So, excuse me, but I don't think we are at the same page, kittie.”

You are hissing your last words, hand coming to grab Leona by his chin, tip of claws scratching his skin. He wants to back away, he intends too, but he is suddenly strangely fascinated by you. Intimidated, even.

”If you want to apologise, Leona, then do it properly. With falling on your knees, at least,” your fangs flash in a carnivorous smirk. ”And until then, have your dreams. Sweet or not—we will see in which mood I am going to be today.”

Leona gulps as he watches you leaving, eyes fixated on your back.

Perhaps you ignored his existence until now, willing to forget his rudeness. But now, it seemed, he lost the last pieces of your mercy.

...And he needs to figure out how to have your forgiveness really quick.

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Vil is not surprised when headmaster warns him, that someone from his dorm attempts to take away his housewarden title. He already knows who it is, and he is not surprised to see your face, when he enters the main hall;

— He had a bad week already: his hair products worked awfully, your number of followers outnumbered his own, and Neige practically took the role that was his in the very last moment. It is only logical that in the same week you attempt to take his title;

— And, of course, you succeed. The poison you created can be only worth of the Pomefiore housewarden, and no one can deny that. Even Vil. In fact, he always acknowledged your brains and wilt, so of anything, he feels it is fair win;

— What makes him stop frozen, though, is the person you want to see as your vice. Originally, Vil thought that you will take Rook—he is quite aware of his attraction towards you—but then... You chose him? Why? Why would you do that?

•

”Well,” Vil says, when the two of your are left in the room alone, and there is no need to act as you were friends anymore. ”What else are you planning to do with me? You are the housewarden—you won. Why making me your vice?”

You turn on your heels to face him, a big and shiny smile plastered on your face as you step closer to him.

”Don't be so mean, Vil-sama. Why do you act as if I hate you? I don't,” you put yours hands on chair handles he is sitting at, invading his personal space gracefully. ”I cannot hate a person, who helped me to understand what my signature spell is.”

Vil furrows, pressing his back to the chair more firmly, not trusting you coming close to him. Yet, it hardly changes anything—the tips of your noses are practically touching.

”I apologise, but I cannot recall such a thing.”

He had never helped you with anything in your life. Now, Vil is ashamed that he didn't.

He remembers your first day in the dorm. How you clinged to his side, with stars shining in your eyes, asking him about this and that. How you attempted to befriend him. How you only originally started to speak with Rook to understand him better.

Vil failed the little student of his.

And the person in front of him didn't want his acceptance now.

”How come?” Your hands are suddenly on his head, fingers wrapped around his favourite diadem, taking it off slowly. ”After all, you were the first beast I spoke with.”

He flinches, and you carefully kiss him on the cheek before putting the diadem on your own hair. It looks nice.

Vil hates that.

”I miss the kid you were,” he murmurs against his best judgement.

You hum.

”Bear the monster you created, instead.”

You left him on the vice position so it could be a remind for his mistake. For his cruelty. For his arrogance. He realises it now. You don't need to do anything special to hurt him, if he does it to himself, working under your command on the daily basis, seeing you shine, when he burns out.

You are beautiful, Vil accepts that. Your revenge is a charming one, too.

”I heard Neige got that role?” You ask suddenly, when he reaches doors, unwilling to turn back. ”Such a shame. Something must happened.”

He grits his teeth.

Vil hates himself for making you like this. Yet, he can't help but feel proud. Whatever he created you as—you would take what is yours, with blood and sweat. He can admire that about you. And deep inside, Vil thinks you do that, too. Deep inside you enjoy it as much as you hate it.

”Yes. Something.”

After all, there is truly nothing Vil can do, but accept his defeat.

The king is dead. Long life to you.

A/N: Based on protagonists or not—they had some darkness in theirselves as well; just as Simba was quite ruthless, when the situation required of it, in many interpretations of the tale, Snow-white learned how to be cruel, too. I think it is enamoring how these said protagonists can be just as their villains, especially if they were growing up around them in one way or another.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader

[mountingpulisic]

wish you the best (mason m.)

summary : a mutual friend's wedding brings two past lovers together again.

word count : 1,054

a/n : highly suggest listening to wish you the best by lewis capaldi, *chef's kiss*

i miss knowing what you're thinking

and hearing how your day has been

do you think you could tell me everything, darling

but leave out every part about him?

he had caught sight of you first. 

his coffee-colored orbs analyzed every small detail of you, attempting to discover anything that had been reconstructed since the last time the two of you spoke. 

seeing you for the first time in ten months, a million questions arose within him but there was only one he gravely needed an answer to. 

right now you're probably by the ocean

while i'm still out here in the rain

with every day that passes, passes with focus

it's like glasgow gets farther from l.a

in the wake of the break-up with mason, you needed to get out of england. 

you needed to be able to breathe.

you disclosed to a mutual friend of yours that you settled into a home neighboring the sea, the ocean being a safe haven for you ever since you were young. 

it was only fitting to be drawn back to it after you left mason standing out in the rain. 

but, oh, my love

i wanna say, "i miss the green in your eyes"

and when i said we could be friends, guess i lied

i wanna say, "i wish that you never left"

oh, but i said, "i only wish you the best"

gravitating to where you stood alone in the ballroom, mason could hear his heart rate increase. 

he was nervous, nonetheless. 

he wanted to confine into you how much he had missed you.

he wanted to confess to you that he had lied when he meekly suggested that the two of you could remain friends during the aftermath of that heart-rending fight out in the rain. 

mason wished you never left. 

he wished he never wished you the best.

i wanna say, "without you, everything's wrong"

qnd you were everything i need all along

i wanna say, "i wish that you never left"

ohh, but instead, "i only wish you the best”

mason by no means blamed you for anything that was going wrong in his life right now, however he did feel as if you caused the domino effect when you walked away from him. 

his words that night were rooted in anger when he shrieked that he didn’t need you, that he was better off without you and all the baggage that came along with.

he wanted to apologize.

but then his long strides turned into small footsteps when he noticed the male individual approach you, handing you a glass of champagne as you gave him a delicate smile, thanking him. 

mason felt like the wind had been knocked out of him watching the interaction. 

well i can't help but notice

you seem happier than ever now

and i guess i should tell you that i'm sorry

it seems i was the problem somehow

he was aware that he should’ve stopped staring, that for the sake of his heart he needed to rip his focus away from the scene.

but you looked happier. 

your smile reached your eyes now, showcasing your warm smile as you laughed at a joke your male companion cracked. 

the urge to apologize only grew deeper as mason pondered on the realization that he had been the problem. 

he was the one barely home. 

he was the one who hadn't defended you. 

he was the one who initially told you to leave. 

maybe i only brought you down

you weren’t meant for the life that mason had pursued. 

you didn’t enjoy all the glitz and glamor that came along with being a footballer’s girlfriend, you wanted it comfortable but mason’s life had only brought pain. 

your confidence being ripped apart daily by fans critiquing every detail about and harassing you on the fact that you didn’t deserve him. somewhere along the way you started to believe them, you let these strangers point a finger in your face and tell you you're no good. 

due to your lack of defense and mason's lack of empathy regarding the situation, caused for turmoil to subside in your relationship.

but, oh, my love

i wanna say, "i miss the green in your eyes"

and when i said we could be friends, guess i lied

i wanna say, "i wish that you never left"

oh, but i said, "i only wish you the best"

when he stopped in the middle of the ballroom is when you noticed him, standing only five feet away from you.  

you noticed how his shoulders had become broader by how his suit was hugging his new found muscles. 

you noticed how his hair had grown out from his spring of the moment buzzcut since the last time you saw him. 

you noticed how since the moment you two had gained eye contact, neither of you have looked away. 

you missed mason, you missed everything about him and more. 

when he suggested that the two of you would remain friends, something in you had scattered. 

you wanted him to fight for you, you wanted him to comfort you and tell you that he didn’t mean those nasty words he said.

you wanted him to scope down and rescue you

but he hadn’t and even without the grand gesture of trying to win you back

you wish you hadn’t left.

wish i could say it's something i really need

but i want you happy whether not it's with me

i wanna say, "i wish that you never left"

oh, but instead, "i only wish you the best"

in that moment mason realized he needed to let you go. 

you were happy and it wasn’t with him. 

giving you a small nod of acknowledgement, he raised his hand and softly waved at you, flashing you a timid smile as the male at your side tried to regain your attention. 

turning around, mason walked out onto the patio as he tried to regain composure. 

i wanna say, "without you, everything's wrong"

and you were everything i need all along

i wanna say, "i wish that you never left"

oh, but instead, "i only wish you the best"

you had followed him out there. 

the sight before your eyes made your heart contract tightly.

mason had his head in his hands as he tried to conceal his quiet sobs, lifting his head as he used the back of his hand to wipe off the tears that found home onto his cheeks.

staring up at you with glossy eyes, he couldn't help how his bottom lip quivered. you being there here only reminded him of how alone he felt, that how once he was on top of the world and now the world was on top of him.

taking the seat next to him, you timorously intertwined your hand through his, brushing your thumb back and forth against his palm. 

“i wish i never left.” 

#mason mount fanfic #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount

[lady-of-endless]

Helllloooo if requests are still open could I request reader taking care of RAMATTRA :3? There's alot of reader comfort out there but good gd this dude needs a nap.

Author's Note: Another request, I'm so happy! I agree with you 100%, let him get some rest. Thank you so much for requesting this ❤️ Hope you'll enjoy it

Taking care of Ramattra

Since he left the Shambali Monastery, Ramattra has become more of an overachiever. Humanity's continuous aggression towards omnics forced him to ignore his own needs just to work on plans, strategies, and new machines, all for a better future. He saw no problem with that but, he's not alone anymore, and you're worried for him.

When you propose taking a break for his own good, he simply replies with how he doesn't need it, changing the subject. Of course, he takes note of your worried expression from your face but does not want to bother explaining that you have no reason to be worried for him, at first.

"My system is running in optimal conditions. I do not require rest like humans do." He caved in and explained to you calmly, causing you to sigh in defeat. Even if you knew that it was true, it was his mind that needed rest more than his body. You understand that it will be complicated to get him to relax.

You noticed how he didn't even meditate the way he still used to even after leaving Shambali. It was a part of his routine but not anymore so it seemed. Instead of pointing it out, ask him if he can teach you how to do it. He will look at you over his shoulder in silence, pondering and analyzing your expression. It was his right to be suspicious as you never asked for this before. Right when you think he is going to refuse, the orb from his staff floats toward his right hand. "Follow me, and pay attention." He muttered. Somehow, this one trick to get him to rest went unnoticed.

Maybe you can try a straightforward approach as well. If he is working, walk to him, ask about what he's working on. As he talks, put a hand over his and gently pull him towards you by his hand. "And what is it you think you're doing?" He stops explaining and asks but still lets himself be guided by you. You tell him that you wish to read something to him and he refuses right away. This calls for desperate measures. "Just give it a chance. Like you did with me…" You say with a hopeful look in your eyes when looking at him. With that, consider it done. You knew that you got him with that one. "Fine, but it better not take long." He sighs in frustration as he lays down next to you.

In the first minutes, Ramattra just waits broodingly for this break to end. Gradually, as he listens to your voice and your breathing, he starts to lose track of time and forget about what he had to do later. He finds himself turning his body more towards yours, even maybe placing his head on your chest, hoping that you won't ask why.

That's the time he discovers another way of relaxing. It has even become his favorite. Laying his head on your chest, his sound sensor close to your heart. He is surprised by how pleasant the sound of it is. Listening to the steady beats makes him feel like every circuit from his body slows down and because he's alone with you, he allows it.

He cannot admit that he felt better afterward, but he surely won't let your thoughtful gesture pass without thanking you. "I am grateful for this moment of peace. Perhaps I can…find some time to repeat this in the days to come."

Even so, there's a long way to go if you expect him to take a break freely on his own. You will still have to keep an eye on him.

When he needed to think something over or find a solution to a problem, he usually traveled to Shambali where he watched the monastery alone, from afar. There is something in the scenery that brings him calmness every time. Plan a little trip to Shambali for him. Tell him that you need to go there for something and you need him to guide you. When his steps bring you two to his favorite spot, just stay silent and let him have a moment of peace. Watch how his shoulders drop and how his breathing becomes more deeply. He might remain silent or open up to you. If the latter happens, it usually leads to a deep conversation, and for him, this also counts as a way to relax.

#ramattra #overwatch #overwatch 2 #ramattra x reader #overwatch ramattra #ow2 ramattra #ramattra fanfic #overwatch scenario #overwatch x reader #overwatch requests #ramattra ow #ramattra x you #ramattra x oc #ow 2 #ow ramattra

[scorpiomoon-444]

Ma nìt’iluke (my forever) [prologue]

pairing: f!omatikaya!reader x neteyam (vs. ao’nung). soon.

Inspired by Jake Sully’s:

“Happiness is simple...                                                                                 The thing about happiness is that it can vanish in a heartbeat.”

summary: initially a human!reader falls for best friend!neteyam, but an unforeseen visit from the Sky People inevitably brings change, alas, introducing you to a foreign feeling every soul encounters inevitably at some point in their life time, heartbreak.

word count: 2.7k

warning(s): aged-up!neteyam, brief use of Y/N, mentions of character death, grief, almost friends-to-lovers trope, you have been warned there will be angst by the end of the series (and chapter) not this particular prologue though.

word bank: pup - short / sa’nok - mother / ‘evenge - child / nena (spanish) - baby / seykxel - strong (emotionally, spiritually) / siva ko - rise, courage, you can do it 

NOTE* this is not complete, i have only included ages 6 and 7 for this prologue and have yet to complete reader’s life (ages 8-19, as the characters will be aged up to 19 in my fic) leading up to a visit from the RDA. regardless, pls enjoy x

[6] seis

“Anyway, I think you’ll like his children just as much as him,” Your father tells you, his larger figure knelt beside your smaller frame.

You stand before the large metal door of the building. Your brows furrow in question, big, round eyes full of wonder and curiosity. “What if they don’t like me?” Your voice is small, weighed down by uncertainty, your brown orbs flicker with doubt for a moment.

Your father’s face softens and he offers you an encouraging smile. “What’s there not to like?” He taps your nose playfully as the words leave his mouth. “Come on, now.” He stands from position. “Spider is waiting for—”

“I don’t want Spider, I want Jake,” You interrupt, a pouty expression transforming your features.

Your father’s face almost instantly deadpans at the suggestion of bringing Jake instead, as he originally planned for Spider to introduce you. He sends you another encouraging smile upon hearing your whiny tone. “Nena...” He begins reluctantly, his hand scratching at the back of his head. The word, a term of endearment he adopted for you in remembrance of your mother and honor of her culture. Your father contemplates his next selection of words, a pondering expression displayed on his face before he takes a knee again to match your height.

“How about I take you instead?” He asks cautiously in a soft manner, well aware of how stubborn you can get when Jake isn’t in the picture. He can only pray to Eywa that the heartening smile he sends your way will have you agree to his suggestion.

Your cocoa-colored eyes light up in excitement at the idea for a fleeting moment, before there’s a pout tugging at your lips again.

“No, I want Jake!”

_

“Remember, you never take the mask off, okay?” Your father’s voice echoes in the hallway, scurrying to keep up, visibly distracted by several monitors and technological screens as you pass through the Bio-Lab.

“She’s stepped foot outside before, Norm.” You practically hear Jake’s voice in your ear, your small frame enveloped in his larger arms. His hand finds the handle to the exit.

“Maybe it’ll be better if I come with y—”

Jake swings the door open, turning on his heels with you still in his arms. “They need you here, Norm,” He persists with a shake of his head, to which your father simply deadpans with glaring eyes. “Besides, she’ll be right outside with me, and she’ll love meeting the kids.” Before your father could protest, you’re both out the door, no longer in his sight.

_

“She’s more pup than Spider.”

As a young, six-year-old human child, who is rarely exposed to other Na’vi, you are no fluent speaker of what you perceive to be a foreign language. Regardless, having a xenolinguist as a father, especially in that of the Na’vi language, is gratefully used to your advantage. You understand that pup translates to short in English. It isn’t much of a challenge to place the puzzle pieces of his statement together. You assume the Na’vi boy encircling you finds amusement in poking fun at your height. This is confirmed when the Na’vi girl before you hisses at the words that roll off his tongue mockingly, his naturally larger figure still slowly circling around you in delight.

“Lo’ak.” Her amber eyes shoot daggers at the boy, which you assume to be his name.

“Penis face.”

Lo’ak’s face scrunches up in confusion with an instant tilt of his head, mirroring his sisters expression. He doesn’t have a chance to reply to what he perceives as random mumbles of sounds he fails to recognize, though your brassy tone sounds defensive enough to indicate to him you understood his previous comment. That’s when Jake—who initially was amused by the interaction, upon hearing your words, almost immediately takes your small frame into his arms, interrupting the conversation that would inevitably emerge. 

“Y/N,” Jake attempts to scold, but his stern demeanor fails to convince you of his disapproval when his facade crumbles with a very subtle, yet seemingly amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“That isn’t a nice thing to say,” He tells you, recomposing himself, and resumes with a look of disapproval. He remembers calling out to Norm and referring to your father as penis face, where you actually learned the term from Jake himself. The vivid memory betrays him when it prompts a stifled chuckle to rumble through his chest, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

And so, you meet Lo’ak and Kiri first, at the youthful age of six. They are only five at the time, a year younger, as you were born not too long after the Pandoran War. Despite this, your frame is much smaller compared to their naturally larger build.

Your introduction to the youngest Sully kids, at the time, presents you with few glimpses of the Pandoran forest as you often meet no further than past the withered fences that still slightly guard Hell’s Gate, the place you call home. 

Jake entrusts your father enough with the responsibility of looking after his young ones. The two youngest Sully children often spend their time with you in the lab for the first couple months of your newly formed friendships, finding entertainment in the little things you are far too familiar with and bored of. Though, you never take their company for granted, fully aware of how your life has truly evolved in the best way possible upon their presence in your life. You aren’t afraid to admit to them, and often if not, are very open to displaying your appreciation and fondness for them through small acts of physical affection, casually sharing hugs and cuddles, sometimes attacking them mostly Lo-ak from behind which ends with a piggyback ride most of the time. As smaller children, your linguistic differences with the Sullys doesn’t interfere with your horseplay or shenanigans in the lab. Which your father isn’t very fond of.

[7] siete

You stare at the large, what you understand to be lifeless, N’avi body encased in the great tank of water. It seems so large, evidently in comparison to your small, human frame. You mindlessly tap on the glass, intrigued by the sight in front of you.

“Kiri’s sa’nok?” You repeat your father’s words after he explains to you the complicated situation, that which involves Kiri and her biological mother. This is when Kiri is first introduced to her in the lab. As a scientist, and now leader of the RDA’s Avatar Program, your father prepares to introduce Grace’s encased Avatar form to Kiri. “Yes, ‘evenge.” Norm is too preoccupied with one of the monitors in the lab to notice the confusion that transforms your features.

“’Evenge?” You repeat after him once again with a small tilt of your head.

“Child,” He translates absentmindedly, still focusing his undivided attention to the monitor. If you weren’t so distracted by the newly introduced Na’vi word, your heart generally would have ached at the mention of a mother, a figure in your life you consistently wished for. You frown upon noticing your father’s behavior, much too occupied to pay any regard to you.

Lo’ak and Kiri should have arrived by now. Probably with Jake. Because for some time now, your father has heavily placed emphasis on the importance of today. Your father speaks to you about how maybe he could take you out to the forest tomorrow to introduce to you the foreign plants and life within the beautiful Pandoran forest you so desperately yearn to see.

“If there’s time.”

You’ve grown to dislike that phrase, utilized by him so often within the past couple of weeks. Your eyes wander around the lab, scanning every little object, screen, and monitor you haven’t already taken the time to observe before. You grow impatient as your father continues to speak, and abruptly tune his voice out, much too distracted by the view the window beside the exit offers you. Turning your head to catch a glimpse of your distracted father, who continues to ramble and give you his back as he does so, you silently slip past the window. Your eyes jump to your father from time to time, between him and  focusing on trying to take the encased mask from the clear compartment against the wall right beside the exit.

_

You somehow manage to make it to the fence successfully without your father taking notice of your absence. Still, you don’t waste any time in figuring out how far you can get before he eventually does as you embark on finding Kiri and Lo’ak on your own terms. They shouldn’t be too deep into the forest, probably nearing you.

Besides, you knew exactly where you would wait for them. A little further past the doddering fences that still slightly guard your home, there’s an open, visible area of higher ground with a very large tree. A spot at which you’ve greeted Kiri and Lo’ak from as they approached the labs. Their figures disappear into the unknown depths of the Pandoran forest trees for a mere ten seconds before you spot them again as they near your awaiting figure at the fence. 

Upon reaching the fences, you look over your shoulder once more, turning back to make sure your father isn’t following behind you. Upon realizing there’s no one in sight, absolutely no witness, you don’t hesitate to set foot in the foreign, forbidden forest. Your small feet take you only as far as a couple of meters before you go stumbling down from an area of higher ground, yelping in pain before a large tree halts your hurtling with a crash.

You huff and dust yourself off before standing on your feet again, disoriented for a moment. Too focused on, yet slightly careless with trying to slip away from Hell’s Gate in an attempt to escape without anyone noticing, you finally pay mind to your surroundings. Sounds of chirps and humming insects fill your ears. The familiar Pandoran trees, much too tall to inspect fully from where you stand at the base of the trunk, tower over foreign flora and plant life just as large. You listen intently to the noises of critters accompanied by the sounds of the breeze dancing through the large flora.

Small, enchanting species fly and pass you by, round eyes full of wander and awe as they follow the small creatures passing the life that garner your attention next. It’s an overwhelmingly large, deep-colored mauve mushroom. Probably about five times your size, and your eyes are quick to find more than one of them—numerous placed near the area that you tumbled into. Despite your father’s constant reminder of the dangers of Pandora, your delighted orbs, intrigued mind and curious hands don’t think twice about reaching out to touch one of the towering mushrooms.

Almost.

Your fascination at the immense, foreign mushroom is short-lived by the abrupt, blaring, almost shrieking sound. It’s deafening, and alerting, it precipitates you to cover your ears with your hands, panic now painting your features as terror begins to set in. Your frantic eyes pinpoint the source of the ugly, wailing sound that of which the wind elicits—a large, exotic looking herb, about seven meters in height twice the size of the mushrooms!!! with a curved, tubular plant body. The realization wipes the panic off your face as your hands fall back to your sides, uncovering your ears. To your inconvenience, and much to your dismay, your reflexes are far too protracted for you to register the ejection of very large spines coming from the massive herb flying directly in your direction, as if targeted.

That’s when a pair of arms instantaneously sweep you off your feet with one swift motion before you’re unexpectedly swinging through the forest for a fleeting moment. After gently being placed on your feet, you finally grasp the unfolding situation at hand upon finally noticing.

Before you stands a Na’vi boy.

Your eyes find his feet first as they travel up to meet his studying gaze. He looks at you intently, almost observing momentarily, his slightly taller figure engenders him to leer down at you, a frown very lightly tugging on the corners of his mouth. Almost peeved. Perhaps displeased, disturbed? 

Though upon noticing your gentle, confused expression, his features soften. Converts into one of patience. His golden orbs hold an understanding as they observe you with such lightness. A gentleness. He looks about your age, and note that he isn’t much taller or older looking than Lo’ak, who’s only a year younger than you, implying that the Na’vi boy scrutinizing you is around your age.

He blinks at you a couple of times, almost as if contemplating his next move, the brewing of ideas illustrated on his face and honey-coated eyes.

He doesn’t give you the chance to speak a word before he grabs you by the shoulders gently, twirling you around as his eyes examine your small frame for any injuries. He proceeds with pulling you by the wrist, instructing to follow right behind him.

It isn’t long before he has you reaching the proximity of your home, the area you initially planned to wait at earlier momentarily gives you access to view what you call home, before you’re back in the deep, towering unfamiliarity of the forest.

Passing through the original spot indicates your arrival at the fences of Hell’s gate should be any moment now, probably with a frantic father awaiting your safe return. A frantic Dad who will probably punish you.

“What’s your name?” Your eyes are glued to the grip he has on your wrist, but your voice holds benevolence, cautious in determining the correct approach to the unknown Na’vi boy whom rescued your reckless, little human life. He saved you. You assume he doesn’t understand your words when he disregards you and proceeds with leading the path, seemingly determined to return you home. Nevertheless, he spares you a glance and small smile when he looks back at you over his shoulder.

“Y/N,” He says, almost unknowingly as if in question, presuming with looking straight ahead to guide you properly with caution. 

He’s quick to notice the way your hand flies to your chest indicating his assumed interpretation of your foreign language is correct, further proved by your squeals of excitement. “Yes! That’s me!” You cheer at his response with so much enthusiasm, fascinated by his comprehension, and evidently delighted by his understanding in the topic of names. 

Before you can ask him how he knows yours, the doddering fences of your home come into view and a small frown upon realization paints your face. The very little time you’ve spent in the forest has been so much more exhilarating, more lively than your time in the lab combined. With the obvious exception of Lo’ak and Kiri’s company (you adore your besties). The Na’vi boy releases his hold on your wrist ahead of reaching your destination. He gives you a short-lived grin prior to the cognizance of your immediate switch in expression, his face slightly faltering to match yours. 

A little past the worn-down, withered fences, a small figure appears from behind the exit, followed by a crashing slam of the metal doors garnering the attention of both of you.

“Y/N, is that you?” You recognize you father’s voice, full of distress. He calls out to you from a distance as he squints his eyes for a clearer view.

You direct your attention back to the Na’vi boy who stands before you. “Seykxel siva ko,” He says gently and offers you a smile, his hand finding its way to pat your head, almost encouragingly. Upon noticing the way his golden eyes focus way past your figure, you turn back to glance over your shoulder to see what he gazes so intently at. Only to realize your father is scurrying in your direction, seemingly and understandably in a panic.

You whip your head to redirect your attention back to the Na’vi boy only to discover that he’s already gone, leaving you only with the rustling sounds of the forest trees accompanied by the scolds of your disgruntled father.

#neteyam #atwow neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam fic #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #avatar 2 #neteyam edit #loak x reader #loak sully #avatar loak #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak x y/n #lo'ak sully #loak edit #jake sully

[snowmist-hashira]

Idk if anyone has asked this yet but since Muichiro likes to do origami can you do short fic where reader learns to make origami flowers for him as a gift and muichiro really likes it and asks her to teach him how to make them?

Smth like these^ you dont have to ofc! I just think it’s super cute:)

[Chapter title: Hearts in Origami]

[Requested] Muichiro Tokitou x Reader

Wattpad:(One shots) Tokito Twins x Reader Archive:Kimetsu No Yaiba: Tokitou Twins x Reader Details: ♠ Information ♠ Master list: ♠ Muichirou Tokitou ♠ Word count: 758

Artist: Mos [Mosskmt]

Link: Twitter

I'd like to extend my apologies because I'm feeling a bit drained and unable to fulfill any requests at the moment. However, I plan to still stick to my schedule and aim to fulfill at least one request per week. Tags: @aeolia18 / @demonslayeranimex / @thornrosekaori / @xaeoism / @cascadingleaves / @mistymxxn / @unofficialmuilover / @sakurasunkiss / @yuichiroleftarm (Scheduled)

Y/n, always practical and conscious of spending, sat at her desk one sunny afternoon, pondering over the idea of gifting Muichiro something special. She knew he loved origami, and she wanted to show her affection in a way that resonated with his interests.

She stared at the vibrant blossoms blooming in her neighbor's garden through the window, she couldn't help but think about the ephemeral nature of flowers. They were undeniably beautiful and a quintessential symbol of love and romance, but Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that they were a fleeting luxury. She believed in making investments that lasted, that could be cherished for years to come.

Still, she understood the sentimental value behind giving and receiving flowers. There was something undeniably romantic about a bouquet, the way it spoke volumes without a single word. But Y/n was determined to find a compromise that aligned with her practical nature.

With a soft smile, she remembered Muichiro's passion for origami. He was an artist when it came to folding paper into intricate shapes and patterns. That's when inspiration struck. She decided that instead of buying a traditional bouquet, she would create one herself out of colorful paper.

Y/n was determined to create a meaningful and lasting gift for Muichiro. She spent hours watching online tutorials and practicing her paper-folding skills, slowly but surely improving her origami techniques.

Y/n carefully selected a variety of vibrant, high-quality origami paper. Each sheet held the promise of turning into a beautiful flower. She set up her workspace, folding and shaping each piece of paper with precision and care.

As she continued to fold and shape the paper, her thoughts were filled with the joy she imagined Muichiro would feel when he received her handmade bouquet.

The bouquet slowly took shape, with delicate paper roses, lilies, and daisies blooming before her. Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in her creation, knowing that every fold represented her love and dedication to Muichiro.

Finally, after hours of meticulous work, Y/n completed her origami bouquet. It was a stunning masterpiece, a vibrant and delicate collection of paper flowers, each petal and leaf intricately folded and assembled that radiated beauty and love.

Y/n knew that her handmade gift might not last forever like real flowers, but it held a different kind of longevity. With a smile that radiated both pride and anticipation, Y/n approached Muichiro.

"Here!" She said, extending the origami bouquet towards him. The paper flowers, each crafted with a different color that represented the diversity of petals in a garden, were neatly arranged. She had put her heart and soul into making it, and she hoped that Muichiro would see the love and effort she had poured into every fold.

Muichiro's eyes widened in surprise as he accepted the bouquet from her. He held it delicately in his hands, as if it were the most fragile and precious thing in the world. His minty orbs, usually calm and composed, were filled with wonder as they examined the intricate origami creation.

Y/n couldn't help but feel a surge of nervousness as she watched him. She had poured her heart into this gift, and she wanted it to mean as much to him as it did to her. Her words tumbled out in a rush; her voice filled with anxious excitement. "Do you like it? I'm sorry, I wanted to give you something memorable, and I just didn't want to buy something and give it to you like that, I-"

Before Y/n could continue her rambling, Muichiro interrupted her with a soft, heartfelt response. "I love it," he said, his fingers gently tracing the intricate paper folds of the bouquet.

“Thank you, Y/n.” His fond expression conveyed more than words ever could. It was a look of appreciation, of understanding, and of deep affection.

Muichiro's curiosity was piqued, and he couldn't help but be fascinated by the intricate origami bouquet that Y/n had created. The colorful paper flowers had captured his attention, but what intrigued him even more was the person behind this thoughtful gift.

"Can you teach me how you created it?" Muichiro asked, his gaze transitioning from the masterpiece in his hands to Y/n, who stood before him with a mix of excitement and surprise.

Y/n's eyes lit up with delight at his request. She hadn't expected Muichiro to show such a keen interest in her craft, and the idea of sharing her passion with him filled her with joy.

"Of course!" she replied enthusiastically. "I'd be more than happy to teach you."

#muichiro x y/n #demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba #fanfiction #muichiro x reader #muichiro tokito #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #one shot #female reader #x reader #requested #fluff #heartwarming #kny x reader #kny x you #anime x reader #demon slayer x reader #anime x y/n #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #kny muichiro #muichiro x you #kimetsu muichiro #kny x y/n #mist hashira #kimetsu no yaiba hashira #kny hashira #request

[doggirling]

weird little puffball freak. i literally don't think i've ever seen anyone draw nightmare if he were a puffball which is insane to me because i thought the physical contrast between a massive gangly ass wizard and a round sphere would be Very funny.

extra thing. thank you to my dear oomf gala (who's off-site atm) for giving me the idea to give him floaty hands + this. he uses his power orb form as a shield by encircling himself within it and floating about. he's also probably very obnoxious when using it.

summarized notes below just in case my handwriting is hard to read ⬇️

has the same pointy glasses. for his face. if you were wondering where they're supposed to go.

has actual horns instead of having horns attached to a helmet like the ones in his original design.

probably very big for a puffball.

idk how to translate 'this' (ie: the tornado body he has) into puffball form. i initially pondered on him sorta going tornado mode and hiding in it if he got potentially spooked or something. gala however also recommended him having the ability to do a mach tornado move like meta knight does which i think is a VERY good idea so i think that'd be it. #likefatherlikeson (sorry for metaknightmaring on main i'll probably do it again)

he has floating disembodied hands like morpho knight. and they are just as sharp and pointy as they originally are.

this isn't noted on the page but i want to give him raven wings. yes i know bat wings would probably be more better suited thematically but IDGAF i'm a raven nightmare truther till i die. i know his cape is just as if not more magical than meta knight's so i think he probably does the same thing where he can magically hide/shift his wings into his cape.

#@ the 10 other real nightmare fans come in here and get yalls juice #my art #kirby #nightmare #i might actually be able to draw him more often now since its significantly easier than my humanoid design for him. LOL

[thatmooncake]

I've been obsessed with the idea of somniphobia orb moon being used by someone who is in love with him and instead of studying or memories they have fantastical daydreams with him.

Or a moondrop orb being the one to be obsessed with his owner and manipulates whatever they are trying to use the orb for to make them fall for him too and willingly enter the dreamscape much more quickly and excitedly.

But once your soul is in the dreamscape what actually happens to it? Is it stuck there forever or just...cease to exist?

Absolutely LOVE the idea of a reader fic with Somniphobia Moon! 🥺💗 Moon using the dreamscape as a space to trap the reader and try to lure them in deeper because Moon is insanely lonely in his little bubble with no one to interact with and has actually grown to like this person whose dreams he visits, and eventually comes to hope that they might like him in return (or at the very least, what he can do for them). The reader becoming obsessed with Moon because when they enter the dreamscape (whether he has good or bad intentions) he takes their problems away.

What about a universe with a reader who is at first trying to study or look into a memory, but inside the dreamscape just as they’re starting to explore they suddenly see Moon? And what if Moon has never been seen before from within the dreamscape, so this is all new to him? He’s helped people, he’s lured people, but it’s all been from behind the scenes. Making them see what they want to see. What if he’s never been perceived by a single soul before this moment and now he’s faced with this whole new situation, and a whole new set of feelings? What if when they leave the dreamscape he’s afraid they’ll think the sphere is faulty and that he gave them a nightmare and then they won’t come back? But then they do come back, and they see him again, and that’s almost even scarier for him to navigate because he’s never directly interacted with a person before …

(Dammit Moon, now you’ve got all of us pondering your orb asdhhscs)

As for what happens when your soul gets sucked into the dream sphere, I think canonically you leave your body and become trapped there. You at first have a vague awareness of what’s going on outside (like an out of body experience) before disconnecting from your body completely. Moon takes the protagonist of the book by the hand and they walk off together at the end. It’s left open-ended after that, so there are a million directions that could take as well.

#fableasks #fnaf #moondrop #somniphobia spoilers #fnaf daycare attendant #aaaaa now I want a dream sphere #the playlist choices for these fics are endless too #sweet dreams #sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare #etc etc etc #asdjdvds #fablethoughts

[pokeheadcannons97]

I think i speak for most scarlet and violet players when i say finding out about arvens dog so maybe arven with somebody who cried when they found out his dog was sick

"It's okay buddy... small bites. There ya go."

You watched silently, breath stilled when Mabosstiff gently chewed at the portioned sandwich from Arvens outstretched palm. Taking the time to do as his trainer instructed, and chew ever so slowly. Gently swallowing that bite and he took another one right after.

The dark type was so weak, so close to deaths door, you didn't understand how Arven had the mental strength to go through this.

Though the longer you pondered this, the clearer as the reason why he tried so hard became.

It's no wonder he's trying so hard to find these herba mysticas. That pokemon was his only family that stuck around. The only family member that didn't stay in their research lab instead of raising their son.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest at the realization, almost too sad to bear. You could feel your eyes begin to fill themselves with tears and you took in a shaky breath.

Raidon murmured emphathetically at your discomfort and nuzzled their head against your head to provide you with some kind of comfort.

Arven made sure Mabosstiff had eaten his share of his food before returning his pokemon to his pokeball for rest. His familiar eyes that were now opened a wonderful sign.

He came to his knees before propping himself back onto a standing position, wiping the dirt off his hands from where he was on the ground.

A small hiccup echoed through out the small cave.

This caught Arvens' attention and he peered down at you. His questioning expression quickly contorting into a worried one laced with surprise.

"Hey, are you okay? Why... why're you crying little buddy?" He asked as he looked your form over, making his way quickly over to you and Raidon. "Wait, did you hurt yourself?" He asked, alarm causing his face to turn to panic as the overthinking began.

You shook your head, tears cascading down your face even more. "No... I'm not hurt. It's just..."

Your hands mindlessly stroked Raidons neck as they laid their head against your shoulder, chattering quietly. Trying to from proper sentences when you were crying was hard.

"I feel so bad for you and for Mabosstiff..." you cried pathetically, your voice coming out small and meek. "I couldn't imagine if my pokemon got so hurt... and Mabosstiff is your family." You added and peered up at his cerulean orbs with your own. "I can't imagine how much pain this is for you. I'm so sorry."

Arven tried several times to from his reply but each time got stuck in his throat as he listened to your display of empathy to him.

Of all people he couldn't wrap his head around. We're you crying over him and Mabosstiff? This was his problem, you shouldn't be crying over him.

You were the one who so graciously accepted his offer to hunt down these herbs and now that they were working, he knew there was a chance. But the display of emotions unnerved him somewhat. He wasn't used to seeing someone get concerned over his behalf. It felt alien, felt off...but.

"Y/N... I..." He spoke quietly.

It also felt like for the first time in his life someone cared. Cared about himself, and about Mabosstiff. And if he was selfish to admit it...it felt comforting.

He carefully placed his larger hand on your shoulder and you looked up at him. "Thank you for worrying about me, and Mabosstiff, but please. Don't be upset, the herbs are working, we know that now." He began with a small smile on his face, eyes kind. "Were so close, do you think we can stick this out together, little buddy?"

Your eyes filled up with even more tears threatening to fall as you nodded. "Absolutely, for both you," you brought your hand and placed it on top of Mabosstiffs pokeball in Arvens hand. "And Mabosstiff."

Arven's eyes pricked slightly at the display but he quickly blinked it away as not to cause you more concern.

"Thank you so much, Y/N."

#pokemon x reader #pokemon arven x reader #pokemon arven

[punchratt]

Indulging in my brainrot again, heres that longer bg3 character design post i was talking about! (@dragonageshitpostingelves, i didnt forget you <3) Also, Spoiler Warning, i talk a lot about the companions backstory and quests, so don't read if you haven't finished those. Or do, I don't care.

Im gonna be honest and admit right now that I am sadly NOT a professional character designer, but instead just a nerd who likes to draw. I think the bg3 designs are amazing as they are and deserve a hell of a lot more praise then their already getting. That being said, i have many opinions about these funny little tadpole people. The first of them being that Gale, Wyll, and Astarion should not look like that. I mean, they all literally have the same body model, just give or take few scars and some hair, then swap the head. Which i think is a little shocking considering that the girls have much more diverse body types. Normally its the other way around.

First, Astarion. I love him, but i should not be able to grate cheese on his abs. Dude was a slave surviving off rats and living in the shadows for over 200 years, he's a rouge with 8 strength and no work out plan other then squatting so he can hide better. The last thing he should have is a six pack. I am a firm believer in scrawny Astarion, that man is wet noodle, he is malnourished and it should show. I should be able to see that mans ribs. Play that boy like a xylophone. This twink is not twinking right now and its driving me insane!

Im not saying he cant be sexy, in fact i think its very important that he is sexy. A big chunk of his story has to do with his relationship with sex and how he views romance as a whole. The whole point of his story is that he seems like the sexy vampier stereotype, but is actually a much more in depth character with a very complicated relationship to sex and romance. He needs to look sexy for that to work. But you don't gotta have a six pack to look sexy! Whenever i see him without a shirt all i can think of is that abs just don't look right on him. Everything else i think they've gotten perfect, he really does look like the character he's supposed to be and i can only applaud Larian for getting it so right, just.. lose the abs.

Second, Gale. I feel like I've already summed up how i feel about his design in my last post, but i like talking so i'm gonna say more! Gale should be chubby!! All he likes to do is ponder his orb, talk to his cat, and study magic. I firmly believe that he also has a side passion for food. After all, what is cooking if not potion brewing but different? Gale can appreciate a good meal and it should show! After all, eating and food is integral to his character with the whole arcane hunger thing he has going on. Give me my dad bod Gale and all wrongs in this world will be righted.

But to be a little more serious about this, i think his story becomes all the more poetic and tragic if you view him as someone who loves food. Because just imagine that you have three things you love, magic, food, and your goddess girlfriend. Now imagine that one day, to impress your goddess girlfriend, you do something kinda really stupid and end up with a magic nuke in your chest. But wait, it gets worse! Because of this failed grand gesture your goddess girlfriend breaks up with and banishes you. She leaves you to deal with this whole thing by yourself, all you have now is your cat and cooking. But wait, it gets even worse!! No matter how much you eat, yu arent ful, so you're constantly starvinng now, and thats how you find out that the bomb in your chest feeds on magic! Which means that now Gale has to ether find a way to keep it fed or he's gonna kamikaze half the swords coast. Meaning he has to eat any magical artifacts he gets his hands on while also dealing with the emotional damage of everything else. Food, one of the only things he had left, is now a stressful reminder of the fucked up situation he's in.

Now I don't think that means Gale starts to hate food, or resent it in some way, I still think he's the adorable little foodie goofball dork who insisted on being the camp cook. But i do think it makes his whole relationship with food something much more bittersweet, which is very interesting and something i feel could be reflected better in his already amazing design.

Third, Wyll. Wyll, I believe, is the most likely to be buff out of these three. Though, I don't think he'd show it as much as he does. We know he likes to dance, and that he enjoys a good sword fight more then anything! He used to fence with his father and overall is a very active guy. He is probably the character that most matches his body, there aren't many things I'd change. That being said, he is still a warlock with less strength then a hamster. He wouldn't be that muscly.

My dude is the son of a Grand Duke, he's had a relatively cushy life that didnt really get all that much harder after his dad gave him the boot (dick move btw). He's struggled, defiantly! But i don't think it'd be a reach to say that Wyll might have a little fat on him. I dont really have much to say other then i think he'd benefit from taking those abs away and putting that bulk somewhere else. When I imagine Wyll I imagine a man with some arm game and a pudgy belly. Maybe some calf muscle too, but overall nothing too defined since he doesn't really use strength in combat. I mean, why does Wyll have more defined abs then Lae'zel? Of all the origin characters she should have the most defined abs of the group. Not these three clowns(affectionate).

Wyll is a softie with a heart of gold, he should get to have a soft body to go with it. Plus it'd add more contrast between what parts are devil and what aren't. Sharp rough horns, a scarred face, and striking but intimidating eyes juxtaposed against a soft but somewhat built frame, quick whit, and a generally nice attitude make for a very interesting design! One that i think would be much more compelling then the kinda default muscly hero build he has now.

Now compare those to the secrete fourth option i didnt tell you about! Halsin! I think Halsin is designed perfectly and there is nothing i would change. He uses a unique body model from the other three and his design perfectly captures who he is as a character. He's big, appropriately buff, and looks kind. I look at that man and i think "yeah, thats a guy who occasionally turns into a bear", and he does! He looks like a natural born leader who knows how to make those tough decisions, he looks as inviting as he acts, and he looks like he gives amazing hugs. Bear hugs if you will! That man is a bear in every sense of the word, and whats more druid then that?

I only really brought him up to set him as sort of a standard for the designs of this game, because almost every single design is just as perfect and well thought out as his. I could go on for several more paragraphs about other characters and why their also perfect, or what other small little changes id make to their designs (cough cough, Lae'zel abs, cough) but this thing is getting long enough as is.

So to conclude. Fuck abs, and get them off my boys! If you've actually read this whole monstrosity, thank you. It took me over half a day to write and i still feel like i haven't touched on everything. Like, i didn't get to praise their designs nearly as much as i wanted to, but oh well. Maybe I'll make another post about the girls, maybe ill ramble about what i do like about the boys designs, i don't know. Depends on if anyone wants that, or if i still got gas left in the tank after this. Finally, please excuse any spelling errors and the inconsistent capitals. Its late, i have dyslexia, and i'll probably go back and fix it later. Thanks again for reading!

#rattrambles #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #astarion #wyll ravengard #halsin

[candied-boys]

Catboy Charles x F! Reader - Part 5

Tags: domestic fluff, showering together because bbg doesn't know how

Part 4

The way Charles perches in his seat at the table is adorable. You mentally applaud yourself for not having barstools, but instead for investing in proper dining chairs. Knees up and feet on the cushion, he sits just like he always has as a cat. He even keeps his hands in front on the edge of the chair. Even his pretty tail sways through the gaps in the back.

His unfamiliarity with using his hands only adds to his charm. After a few demonstrations, he figures out how to hold the fork, but every time he thinks you're not looking his pink tongue sticks out in concentration as he tries to stab things onto the utensil.

He refuses to eat his greens. He won't even try them, pouting and saying cats don't eat grass. Charles does drink three glasses of milk, eat all his sausages, and pick out the soft centre of his bread; but you also hear him snacking on his kibble when you leave the room. You'll have to put that stuff away, or at least check if it's safe for humans to eat.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

With lunch out of the way, you flop onto the sofa to try and figure out what to do about all this. Naturally, Charles takes his seat beside you and begins doing what he does at least half the day normally - grooming. It's such an unremarkable part of your life that you hardly register it anymore. That is until you're wrenched out of your pondering by much grunting and fussing.

“Can't… nnnn… reach!” Charles huffs as he tries to lick his tail.

As soon as you meet his gaze you can see how distressed he is from the helpless way he looks at you with those big blue eyes. Petting him consolingly you tell him, “I think you'll have to learn to groom the way humans do, Minou.”

He tilts his head in obvious confusion. Come to think of it, you've never let him in the washroom when you're showering. You didn't bother trying to give him a bath as a cat either because you know it's not necessary.

Hauling him up he trails obediently behind, standing next to you as you explain that you use the shower to get clean. From outside the booth, you turn on the faucet. The moment the water sprays the tile, he backs up against the bathroom wall.

“No rain,” he mewls in fear.

“It's not rain, Minou. It's a shower. It's nice. I promise!”

“I hate the rain! It's cold and it makes me feel sick and I get so dirty after it rains it ruins my coat and makes a mess of my tail!” he whimpers and clutches said fluffy accessory.

“This is warm and you'll feel great after! I'm sure you'll like it if you try,” you coo and scratch his ears again to calm him down.

“There's no such thing as warm rain…”

It seems the only way you can convince him it won't be that bad is by proving it to him.

“Here, give me your hand. We'll touch the water together and see if it's cold, okay?”

He nods warily and follows your lead but flinches at the sensation of the water hitting his palm.

“Don't like it…” he murmurs and quickly withdraws.

“I promise it's really nice when you're inside… I know you're scared, but if you can't groom like usual you won't be clean. I know you like to stay immaculate and this will help.”

Shaking his pretty mop of lavender hair back and forth he refuses again. “I don't want to be wet.”

“I'll dry your hair after for you?” you offer.

He looks at you with a suspicion like that isn't actually possible.

“I'll even wash your hair for you if you want?”

This is the only thing you've said that softens his frightened expression.

“You'll groom me?”

“Sure. If that'll make you feel better and help you get used to it.”

He agrees, but clings to your hand when you step into the shower booth together. You stand under the showerhead, blocking most of the water from hitting him until he adjusts. His pretty blue orbs flit to every corner of the little space. The more he takes in the weaker his grip becomes.

“Now what?” he eventually asks when he's satisfied his curiosity.

You show him your usual routine, and one step at a time do the same for him. You start slow, lathering up your hands and then giving him a chance to touch the bubbles. Rubbing the soap into his hands, in between his fingers, and up his wrist until he seems less wary. Gradually, you convince him to step out of the corner and into the spray with you so that you can help him suds up.

After washing his chest, you turn him around to wash his shoulders without much thought, but Charles hates the way his tail ends up soaked and heavy. Pouting and pleading with his moonstone eyes for you to fix it, you switch to shampoo. First demonstrating with your own hair, you then work the product into your hands and through his tail. Careful not to mat it, you make sure all of it is clean right down to the base.

Though you're sure owners shouldn't use conditioner on their cats - or any products not designed specifically for pets - you also know he can't care for it himself. With how fluffy it is, you don't want his tail to get tangled when you dry it. As you work the conditioner in gently you notice he's much more relaxed, to the point where you think you can hear a faint purr to over the pitter patter against the tiles.

With him finally at ease, you suggest he try shampooing his hair himself. Butterflies fill your stomach as you watch him step under the showerhead to wet his hair. It's not like you've never showered with a guy before, but you never had to teach them how to shower; how not to get soap in his eyes, what a washcloth is for, how to use a bar of soap without dropping it, not to lick his hands clean afterwards.

At length you finish and step out, wrapping him up in a big, soft towel. You swaddle his tail in another one and take him back to the bedroom so that he can sit while you blow-dry his hair. Though at first he hates the sound being so close to his sensitive ears, the way you play with his tresses as you dry the roots has him dozing off in minutes.

You debate getting him used to the device by asking him to do his tail, but he looks so peaceful curled up on the bed - ears twitching now and then in his sleep - that you can't resist drying it yourself. All fluffed out, you brush it until it's silky soft, just as you always do for him, then cover him up with the spare quilt.

Though it's not even dinner yet and you didn't get up until noon, it feels like a very long day. Feeding and bathing your cat-turned-boy is all you've done but you're exhausted and clearly Charles is too. You wonder how parents do it day after day for years on end.

When he eventually wakes up from his cat nap, he's very pleased with your work and enthusiastically thanks you by rubbing his head on your shoulder. With a gentle purr in the back of his sugary voice, he asks to pet his tail to see just how soft it is.

“I guess you like the conditioner then?” you comment when he flicks it back into your lap for you to touch again.

“Condi-what?” he responds, taking his tail back and enjoying its softness for himself.

“The creamy one I massaged into your tail after shampoo. It's what makes your hair smooth. You can try it yourself next time.”

Tilting his head he asks, “How do I remember which is which? They all look the same…”

With your fingers combing through the silken fluff at his third request, you answer, “Just read the label. Oh… wait… You can't read, can you?”

He shakes his head and looks terribly sorry as he curls up into himself and wraps his tail around his ankles.

Your to-do list for tomorrow just became a lot longer.

Part 6

#charles route release campaign #ikevamp #ikevam charles #ikemen vampire charles #charles henri sanson #ikevamp charles #ikevamp fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire x reader

[poly-thot-one-piece-edition]

Between the Three of Us

Marco x afab!Reader x Shanks

CW: omegaverse elements (it is such a small part of the story I almost hesitate to mention it), violence, group sex, sex, swearing, it's a noir detective AU I'm sorry I really don't know what else to say.

Chapter 2: Ponderance

You’re in another room with no windows, a level down from the office itself. This room is sterile to the point that even the door leading in has a heavy seal on it to help keep it that way. You’re sat up on an operating table, your shoulder bag in your lap, and your shirt pulled up over your head so it’s in front of your chest.

The straps and accessories of your bank job were already long removed during your run, and your shoes were off in a corner.

“You sure you don’t want to lay down?” Marco asks for the third time. You learned the two men’s names before coming down into this lower level.

Marco D’Edward was a doctor, and the feathery side of Feathered Talon as far as you could tell. He certainly had a softer aura than the one-armed red-head, Shanks MacKenna.

“I’m sure.” You reiterate.

“It’ll be easier on the doc if you do.” Shanks says. He looks relaxed, but you’re not sure he actually knows what it is to relax.

“We’re not going to confiscate what’s in your bag.” Marco assures you.

“It’s what you were hired to steal, isn’t it?” Shanks asks, his eyes shifting down to the bag and back up to you. Your grip on the satchel tightens for a second, as though his gaze was enough to pull the bag from your hands on its own.

“… It is.”

“We’re going to know what it is then anyway,” Shanks asserts. “Since you need to pay for this patch job with a good story.”

You sigh. Honestly, if these two wanted to know what was in your bag you had no way to stop them. You didn’t have any viable defenses for yourself no matter what they might decide to do. A little give and take could go a long way, and you needed the bullet out of your shoulder regardless.

“It’s…” You relax a little and reach into the bag, pulling out the orb. “Supposed to be the map to the One Piece.”

You aren’t sure if Shanks relaxes after seeing it, or not. You could feel Marco flinch behind you, and he lets out a low whistle after a second.

“Stole from the museum.” You can hear the grin in Marco’s voice. “I can’t imagine how long the prep for that took.”

“Long enough.” You put the orb back into the bag, and then lower it to the floor, and adjust so you’re laying down on the table. “Arm up or at my side, doc?”

“Side’s fine.” Marco says. “I’m going to give you a shot, I promise, it’s not anything that’s going to knock you out. It’s just going to numb your shoulder so it won’t hurt as bad.”

“Sure. S’not much I could do even if you did put me under.” You say it a little more defeatedly than you mean to, but after the brief sting of the needle poke, Shanks clears his throat.

“So – you prepped for this job for however long, it goes well enough you have the orb, but poorly enough you get shot in the shoulder. What happened?”

“I was betrayed, in a sense.” You grumble. Talking let you focus on something that wasn’t Marco working on your shoulder, so you leaned into it. “The job went fine. Smooth as silk. Probably one of the best practiced, best executed jobs I’d been on with a team in years.”

“We have an expert thief in our midst.” Shanks teases. It’s a jab, but it doesn’t actually hit like a low blow.

“Treasure hunter, if I could’ve gotten off this damned island.” You grunt, moving your hand just enough to flip him off. “But sure, thief. We can go with that. Even thieves need to eat and pay rent.” You’re quiet for a moment, but no one says anything. Marco pulls the slug from your shoulder and it hurts, feels surreal to have a piece of metal pulled out like that, but it doesn’t hurt so much you can’t take it.

“They decided I was the key to the map, or at least the key to deciphering it, and instead of letting me be on my way, they seemed intent on me going back with them.” You grin despite it all. “They insisted I come with them, I insisted that I wouldn’t. It was a bit of an impasse.”

Shanks snorts, and then just full-on laughs. “Bit of an impasse!” He repeats, and you can hear a soft chuckle escape Marco. “So, how’d it resolve? Sure, you got here, but how?”

“Two broken noses and a dislocated knee.” You say flatly. “I took the orb and ran.”

“You got the drop on mafia?”

“No one expects a little thief to be able to fight, and I don’t – when I can avoid it.” You sigh again. “That secret’s out now though, and I’m not that good of a fighter, I needed that element of surprise.”

“Hmph. So, two broken noses and a dislocated knee bought you enough space to get the orb and run. How long?”

“Not sure. Three hours at least, maybe a little longer. What time was it when I got here?”

“3:42.” Marco says flatly as he cleans the wound. “Twenty minutes later and I would’ve been up on my own.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t wake me up.” Marco admits. “You’re impressively quiet, ladrona.”

“It’s (Y/N).” You say. You hadn’t shared your name earlier when the other two had introduced themselves. You had still been trying to think of a way you could leave, and you weren’t giving two gumshoes any free information.

“Don’t apologize, (Y/N),” Marco reiterates. “Shanks sent me a text, and that’s what woke me up.”

“A text?” You look over at Shanks as realization dawns on you. “You saw me!”

He smiles and shrugs, the most genuinely relaxed actions you’d seen from him all evening. “Lucky timing. I was on my way here from the pub and noticed you coming into the courtyard in a mess.”

“A mess? I was exceptionally composed for someone with a bullet in their shoulder.” You nearly growl. His earlier jab didn’t feel low, but for some reason this one did.

He grins and you realize that he’s enjoying riling you up. “Back to the story. It was 3:42 when you got here, how long were you on the move?”

“We started at 11:33.” You admit. “Guard patterns and all that fun stuff. It was a 13 minute and 47 second plan. The conversation went south as soon as we finished, and couldn’t have lasted more than three minutes.” You hiss a little as Marco starts stitching the bullet wound. “We’ll call it 11:50 to 3:40 then? Just shy of 4 hours.”

“That’s quite the merry little chase, to end up barely a dozen blocks away from the museum.” Shanks seems completely amused.

“I shed most of my gear. Stole the bag.” You admit. “And before you give me any kind of lecture, I have every intention of returning it, but I didn’t see anything like a wallet or even money in there.”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that.” Shanks is laughing and you can hear Marco laughing too. “We already know who this belongs to. He’ll be home in another hour when his shift ends.”

“Probably hot under the collar.” Marco adds.

“Bah, cranky cause his bus snacks are missing, but he’ll survive.” Shanks grins.

“… Are you telling me out of all the bags in this city, I stole one belonging to an employee here?” The statistical improbability of that was already starting to melt your brain.

“A-yup.” Shanks answers with a wide grin. “It’ll be a good lesson for him. You wouldn’t have nicked it if it wasn’t an easy target, right?”

You make a bit of a face, but he’s not wrong. You couldn’t risk any sort of commotion, so everything you’d taken had been easy pickings.

“All done.” Marco says, and you can feel him pressing a bandage over your shoulder. “We’ll get you set up in a spare room, get some breakfast in you before the hot head gets home, and once you two finish arguing about the bag, you can get some rest.”

You sit up, putting your shirt back on, surprised at how little your shoulder hurts and only vaguely remembering that Marco had numbed it earlier. “Rest? I can’t stay here. You’ve both already-.” You stepped onto the floor and vertigo hit you like a bag of bricks. Shanks was already by your side steadying you.

“You lost a lot of blood.” Marco says evenly as Shanks helps you keep your feet. “Between the wound, all your running around and what you lost while I was patching you up, you need food and rest. Even if I had blood on hand for a transfusion, I don’t know what your type is.”

“I don’t know it either.” You admit, trying not to hurl on Shanks. You were trying not to think about how rock solid this guy was. For someone who moved so fast and quiet he felt like he was made of metal.

He smelled really good too. You expected him to smell like stale booze and sweat honestly, but there was a sweet, cinnamon scent, and something warm and soothing, like bourbon-soaked butter.

“F-food then, thank you.” You manage to get your feet steadied underneath yourself and take a couple steps under your own power. “We’re heading back upstairs then?”

“Grab her stuff.” Marco says, pulling off his gloves and pulling off the mask and apron he’d put on. “I’ll get her upstairs.”

“Sure thing, doc.” Shanks grabs your shoes and the shoulder bag with one hand and heads upstairs.

“Help me up?” You question groggily. Your head feels a little fuzzy, and you’re certain that it’s a mix of the numbing agent, blood loss, and your own exhaustion. Running about town for nearly four hours wasn’t easy under the best of circumstances.

“Aye.” Marco crouches down and scoops you up in his arm in an easy motion. It jostles your shoulder a little, but not much. By the time you have sense enough to tense from the action you’re already well-secured, and Marco’s opening the door to head upstairs with you.

“I – I’m – I can walk!” You nearly cry the words. Relying on others isn’t high up on your general priorities list, and they’ve already hid you, mended you, and are going to feed and shelter you. Being carried is a step one too many.

“Not easily. This is more efficient.” Marco assures you. “If you topple going up the stairs there’s no safe way to catch you without risking your stitches.”

“… I’m accepting under protest.” You grumble, trying to relax and resting your head on his shoulder.

“Noted.”

“You smell nice too.”

Marco pauses halfway up the stairs. “… huh?”

“The smarmy drunk smelled nice – like cinnamon and boozy butter.” You explain matter-of-factly. “You smell like…” You stop for a second, breathing in without thinking. “Pineapple and honey, and something smokey.”

“… I… see.”

“Oi, Marco we’ve got -.” Shanks stops, looking up as Marco walks into the kitchen with you. “Are you-.”

“What do we have for breakfast?” Marco interrupts. He’s knelt down and steadied you on your feet before helping you sit.

“Eggs, bacon, and enough buttermilk to make pancakes if you want.” Shanks answers. There’s a grin on his face that catches your attention and you turn to look at Marco, but whatever has Shanks amused, you miss it.

Marco considering for a second. “Bacon and eggs. Black pudding would be better if we had any.”

“Little bit, enough for our guest, at least.” Shanks admits, pulling items from the fridge. “Can I leave the cooking up to you?”

“Sure.”

Marco and Shanks trade places, and Shanks sits down next to you at the dining table. “So, your story’s not over yet. What made them think you could decipher the orb?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I’m good at puzzles, and… stuff, but there’s no reason for them to think I can use that orb.” Lying was harder when you were groggy, but you’d worry about dodging the red head after you’d had some sleep. Giving half-answers and being vague was all you had in you right now.

“Should’ve just left it where it belonged.” Shanks says, and you give him a funny look, but you aren’t sure what to say.

“Technically it belongs to the W.G.” Marco says. He’s busy cooking and his back is to both of you. Something about their tone and words is irritating you.

“It belonged to Roger.” You nearly snap the words.

Shanks gives you a look you can’t sort out. “You his kid or something?”

You relax a little, sitting back in your chair. “No.” You answer flatly, eyes on the satchel that has the orb in it. “But he’s dead, and I’m alive, and I’m keeping it.”

#Between the Three of Us #x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #red haired shanks #portgas d ace #benn beckman