#Material Kit React

[themefork]

Unleashing Productivity: A Deep Dive into Material Kit React – The Ultimate Free Admin Dashboard Template

Why Material Kit React is a Game-Changer for Developers In the fast-paced world of web development, efficiency and design are paramount. Developers often grapple with creating admin dashboards that are both functional and aesthetically pleasing. Enter Material Kit React – a free, open-source admin dashboard template that seamlessly blends Material Design principles with React’s component-based…

[mephisto-reporting]

A Tender Respite

About: He needs to be cared for and you are more than willing to take care of him. But how would he react to it? Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are not in a relationship. But there is an implied mutual attraction between them My inbox is open for prompts and requests :) Content warning: mentions of injuries, blood, illnesses.

ZAYNE

As you walked with Zayne through the dimly lit garage, the air was thick with a mix of hospital antiseptic and the warmth of a long-awaited checkup. His calm demeanor had always been a source of comfort. Today, however, that tranquility shattered as a wanderer materialized from a swirling metaflux, its presence disorienting and threatening.

In a split second, Zayne pushed you aside, his body taking the brunt of the impact as he shielded a family of children who had wandered too close. You quickly jumped into the fight, disposing of the wanderer, as a skilled hunter would. The sound of a scuffle echoed in the enclosed space, followed by the sharp hiss of energy. You barely registered the chaos before everything fell silent.

When you finally gathered your bearings, Zayne was on the floor, grimacing in pain, cuts and bruises marring his skin. A deep gash ran across his forearm, blood trickling down and pooling at his wrist, and a bruise blossomed near his temple, dark and angry. Panic surged through you as you rushed to his side.

“Zayne! We need to get you to the hospital!” you urged, as you examined his injuries.

“No!” he replied, his voice steady despite the evident pain etched across his features. “Just… take me home. I can handle this.”

You shook your head, stubbornness flaring. “You’re not fine, Zayne. You need medical attention.”

“I’m not going back to that hospital!” he replied, equally stubborn but barely hiding the pain. With no other option, you helped him into your vehicle, his breathing labored as you drove him to his apartment.

When you finally pulled up, you helped him inside, gently guiding him to the couch. “Just sit,” you insisted, searching for his first aid kit. He attempted to protest, but you were already rummaging through the drawers, refusing to let him downplay his injuries.

“Really, it’s nothing—” he started, but you shot him a look that made him falter.

“Zayne, you’re a doctor. You know better than anyone that you need to take care of yourself.”

With a resigned nod, he settled back against the cushions, watching as you gathered supplies. You meticulously cleaned his wounds, your fingers trembling slightly as you worked. The antiseptic stung, and he winced slightly, but your focus didn’t waver. You had to take his shirt off to clean and disinfect wounds on his arm. He winced as you cleaned the gash on his forehead, your hands brushing against his skin, and he caught your gaze. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—a longing, a softness that sent your heart racing. You quickly looked away, focusing on the task at hand.

“Just a little more to the left,” he instructed, his voice low and steady, though there was a tension lingering in the air. As you followed his instructions, you caught the way his gaze softened, an intensity in his expression that made your heart race.

“See? Not so bad, right?” you said, attempting to lighten the mood. Zayne chuckled softly, but the sound held a deeper resonance.

“You’re going to need to take a couple of days off work. No arguments.” you added, trying to keep your voice steady.

Zayne chuckled softly, despite the pain. “You’re rather stubborn, you know…” he teased, but there was warmth in his tone that made your cheeks heat.

“I’m just looking out for you,” you said, applying a fresh bandage. “Besides, you saved those kids. You deserve a break.”

As you finished, he reached out, his fingers gently brushing your wrist. “Thank you,” he said, his voice soft and earnest. “I don’t need you to care for me especially after an exhausting day as a hunter.”

“You do,” you insisted, your heart fluttering as you looked into his eyes. “More than you know.”

After you wrapped up his injuries, you insisted on making him food. He watched you from the couch, a quiet admiration in his gaze. You filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove for tea, stealing glances at him over your shoulder. Each time your eyes met, the air thickened with unspoken tension, a longing that danced just out of reach.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, stirring a pot of soup.

“Just… being here is enough,” he replied, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “But if you insist, I’d love some of your famous soup.”

As you set a steaming bowl in front of him, you poured tea and placed the painkillers beside it. “Here. You need to take these,” you said, watching as he took a sip of the tea, a hint of relief washing over his features.

“Thank you, for taking care of me... I feel bad that you have to...”

Before he could finish, you interrupted, your mind racing in blissful ignorance of his unspoken confession. “It’s just what friends do, Zayne.” you said with a bright smile, unaware of the way his gaze softened even further. “Plus, you have always been there for me, caring for me in ways more than one. ”

As he ate, you settled next to him on the couch, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You chatted easily, but the undercurrent of tension lingered. Zayne’s hand brushed against yours, and the contact sent a shiver down your spine. ��You’re not just my friend,” he said quietly, looking at you as if weighing his words carefully. The moment hung heavy, the air thick with words left unspoken. Instead, he took a sip of tea, his gaze softening even further. “I lo- ahem….appreciate you. More than you know.”

You smiled, oblivious to the confession that nearly slipped from his lips. “Just focus on healing. I’ll be here for you.” you assured, stealing another glance at his injuries. “Just promise me you’ll rest and take care of yourself, for me.”

“For you…I will promise anything you want me to.”

XAVIER

The night air hung thick with tension as you and Xavier maneuvered through the dimly lit streets, the flickering neon lights casting eerie shadows on the cracked pavement. The Hunters Association had assigned you to clear out a particularly troublesome area infested with Wanderers. As always, Xavier maintained his calm demeanor, his focus unwavering despite the palpable danger surrounding you.

You fought side by side, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you dispatched the menacing figures that loomed in the darkness. Xavier was a skilled partner, his movements precise and almost graceful, but during the fray, one particularly nasty Wanderer caught him off guard. You saw it in an instant—a swift strike that sent him stumbling back, a look of mild surprise gracing his otherwise stoic face.

“Xavier!” you shouted, but the battle was frenetic, and you couldn’t spare a moment to check on him. You pushed forward, a surge of determination fueling your every action until the last Wanderer fell, the night finally falling silent.

As you made your way back to the apartment complex you both called home, a creeping worry gnawed at your insides. You had fought fiercely, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

It wasn’t until you stepped into the elevator that you noticed it—a faint stain blooming on the sleeve of Xavier's shirt, dark against the fabric. “Xavier, you are hurt!” you asked, your voice laced with concern as you stepped closer.

He looked down, his neutral expression barely shifting as he shrugged. “It’s nothing,” he replied, but the faintness in his voice told another story. The elevator chimed, and you instinctively reached for his arm, tugging him towards your apartment.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” you insisted, not waiting for his reluctant agreement. He followed, fatigue evident in his steps, but you could tell he was trying to hide the pain.

Once inside, you guided him to the small bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest. “You need to sit down,” you said, gently urging him onto the edge of the bathtub. As you assessed his injuries, the sight made your stomach turn—a jagged cut on his forearm, bruises beginning to darken beneath his skin, and a small gash on his side that was still oozing blood.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you scolded gently, though your voice trembled with worry. He offered a sleepy smile, an endearing expression that made your heart flutter.

“Didn’t want to worry you,” he murmured, his tone a mix of sincerity and drowsiness.

You shook your head, grabbing the first aid kit and working quickly to clean his wounds. As you dabbed antiseptic on the cut, he flinched slightly, but his gaze remained locked on you, a warmth radiating from his usually neutral expression. The air was thick with tension, the proximity drawing you closer together as you worked. The way he looked at you, with that soft heat in his eyes, made your breath catch.

“Xavier…” you began, but he interrupted, his voice low and slightly slurred.

“You’re too kind,” he mumbled, leaning slightly into your touch as you bandaged his arm. “I—”

“Just stay still and rest.” you urged, focused on the task. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re patched up.”

His eyes fluttered, and he leaned back against the cool tile, clearly exhausted. “You make it hard to rest when you’re so close…” he murmured, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Maybe you should stop being so dramatic,” you teased lightly, though your heart raced at his words. “You’re just tired.”

“Not dramatic… just…” He closed his eyes for a moment, his breathing evening out. “You make everything better.”

You felt your cheeks heat at the confession, but he was already drifting, his head dipping as he struggled to stay awake. “Xavier,” you nudged gently, concern lacing your voice. “You need to stay with me.”

He blinked, struggling against the pull of sleep. “I know… just want to be here… with you,” he mumbled, words slurring together.

You bit your lip, a mix of emotions swelling in your chest. “You can rest on my bed,” you suggested, already guiding him gently towards the bedroom. Xavier’s expression shifted slightly as he let you guide him. He didn’t argue, too exhausted to resist, and he settled onto the bed, his body sinking into the soft comfort. He looked so pale and vulnerable, and your heart ached at the sight. You took a moment to admire him—his features relaxed, the way his hair fell slightly over his eyes, giving him an almost ethereal look.

“Stay with me,” he said sleepily, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course,” you replied softly, sitting on the edge of the bed, the tension crackling in the air between you. “I’ll be right here.”

As he closed his eyes, a soft smile graced his lips, and you couldn’t help but reach out, brushing a lock of hair away from his face. “You really need to take better care of yourself, Xavier,” you chided gently, your fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Mmm… you take care of me,” he mumbled, his breath evening out. “I’m grateful… more than you know…”

His voice trailed off, and you watched as he succumbed to sleep, the softness of his expression stealing your breath. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on the brink of confessing something deeper, but as you leaned back, your heart swelled with warmth and affection for the boy who had captured your attention.

Xavier stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open for a moment. “You’re still here,” he said, his voice a low rasp, filled with sleepiness and an undercurrent of something deeper.

“Of course,” you replied softly, a smile playing on your lips. “I wouldn’t leave you alone like this.”

“Good... I like it when you’re here,” he mumbled, his words heavy with the weight of his drowsiness, as he settled back into the pillows, the corners of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“Just get some sleep, Xavier,” you said, brushing your fingers along his arm in a comforting gesture. “You need it.”

“Thank you. ”  

“I’ll always be here for you, Xavier. ”

SYLUS

The N109 Zone was bustling with its usual chaos, but something felt off today. You had been out on a mission with Sylus, but he wasn’t himself. His usual commanding presence had faded, replaced by a weariness that settled deep in his bones. The usual gleam in his eyes was dulled, and his voice came out raspy, each word struggling to find its way through a thick fog of fatigue.

“Sylus,” you began, your concern bubbling up. “What’s going on? You don’t look well.”

He started to respond, his expression twisting into something like annoyance mixed with exhaustion, but before he could say anything, you reached out instinctively, placing a palm against his forehead. Your breath caught as you felt the heat radiating from him. He was burning up. You had seen Sylus heal from injuries in the blink of an eye, his body almost otherworldly in its resilience. You had never considered that he could fall sick.

“Sylus, you’re burning up!” You didn’t wait for his protests. You quickly grabbed his arm and tugged him toward your bike. He stumbled slightly but didn’t resist, a clear sign of how unwell he was feeling.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he rasped, but there was no fire behind his words. He seemed more like a wounded animal than the powerful figure you were used to.

As you drove toward the Onychinus base, you could feel the tension in the air, thick with concern. Sylus leaned against you, his presence warm and heavy, and you felt a swell of protectiveness surge through you. You parked and guided him inside, taking him straight to his room. He collapsed onto the bed, and you wasted no time in removing his shoes and jacket, revealing the fine fabric of his shirt, clinging slightly to his skin.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised, moving quickly to gather supplies. But as you turned to leave, a sudden force held you back. You looked down to see Sylus using his Evol to grasp your wrist.

“Careful now,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice despite his fatigue. “If you’ve imprisoned me to the bed, you should at least guard your prisoner.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable, Sylus. Just rest!”

“Stay…” His voice was soft, almost as if he was pleading. “Ask Luke and Kieran to get whatever you want to torture me with.”

As you called out to Luke and Kieran for help, you felt your heart racing—not just from worry, but from the strange thrill of being so close to him, sharing this moment of vulnerability. They returned quickly with  washcloths, cool water, some medicines, and a light meal. You settled back by his side, ready to care for him.

First, you soaked one of the washcloths in cool water, wringing it out before gently placing it against his forehead. He sighed softly at the touch, a breathy noise that stirred something deep within you. You could see the tension in his shoulders release just a little as you wiped the cool fabric across his skin.

“You’re too soft, you know,” he teased lightly, even as his voice cracked. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to make me your captive forever?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. “Just hold still, you stubborn man.”

The second washcloth found its way to his neck and chest, gently wiping away the sweat that clung to his skin. His breath hitched at your touch, a mix of softness and teasing glinting in his dull eyes. “If you keep touching me like that, I might get the wrong idea, Sweetie.”

You scolded him, “You’re lucky I’m doing this at all. Just try to relax, would you?”

“You know,” he murmured, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes, “if you wanted to see me without my shirt, you could’ve just asked.”

“Oh, shut it,” you laughed, but your heart raced as you continued to care for him, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you both like a blanket.

Once you felt you had brought his temperature down a little, you shifted to the light meal. You filled a bowl with soup, bringing a spoonful of it to his lips. “Here, eat this. You need your strength.”

“Quite the hero, aren’t you?” His tone was playful, yet the weariness in his eyes held a vulnerability that made your heart ache. “How am I supposed to recover when my captor is so distracting?”

“Just focus on getting better,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “Or do you need more than just soup to heal?”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was low and inviting. “I could think of a few things…”

You tried to ignore the way your heart raced at his words, quickly serving him the soup. You brought the spoon to his lips again, wiping away a bit that dribbled onto his chin. As your fingers brushed against his lips, he pressed a soft kiss against your fingers, and your breath hitched.

In a brief lull, he leaned closer, his eyes heavy with sleep. “You know, if you keep taking care of me like this, I might start to think you actually care, Kitten…” he murmured, his gaze searching yours.

“I care about you not dying.” you replied, but the playful banter hung thick in the air. Just as he was about to say something more, Mephisto’s cawed from the corner, breaking the spell of the moment.

“Of course, he has to ruin the moment…” Sylus grumbled under his breath. With a frustrated sigh, Sylus fell back against the pillows, exhaustion pulling him under. But he reached out, grasping your hand tightly, as if afraid to let go. His eyes fluttered shut, a soft breath escaping his lips. You could feel his warmth seep into your skin, and your heart raced at the weight of his hand in yours.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, “you might just be my best guard.”

“Just rest,” you whispered, leaning closer, your heart full of unspoken feelings. “I’ll be right here.”

RAFAYEL

In the dim light of Rafayel's apartment, you stepped inside, immediately greeted by the mess that was his usual chaos—clothes scattered everywhere, art supplies on all over the floor, discarded wrappers from snacks he claimed he’d eat later, and an array of colorful plush toys piled in the corner, remnants of his last obsession with claw machines. You had come over expecting the usual antics, only to be taken aback by the sight of him.

The usually flamboyant and self-assured Rafayel was sprawled out on his couch, looking less like the charming rogue you knew and more like a wounded kitten. His vibrant blue-pink eyes were dimmed, and his usually immaculate hair was a messy halo around his head. Bruises marred his skin, and cuts adorned his arms and torso like unwelcome accessories. He had always been so dramatic about even the smallest of injuries, but this—this was different. He did not even call you or tell you that he was injured.

“Rafayel! What happened?” you exclaimed, rushing to his side.

He attempted a nonchalant shrug, but the wince that crossed his face betrayed him. “Oh, you know… just fought one of those monsters you love,” he said, trying to play it off with a dramatic flair. The corner of his lips quirked upward, but his bravado fell flat under your scrutinizing gaze.

You narrowed your eyes. Only he would be so dramatic about cats.

His smirk widened, but you could see the discomfort hidden behind his playful demeanor. You knew those injuries weren’t from any cat; they spoke of a far more serious confrontation. “Come on, spill it. I know you’re not getting beat up by a bunch of kittens.”

He looked away, feigning interest in the ceiling, and you let out a frustrated sigh. “Alright, if you’re not going to tell me, I’m going to help you anyway.”

Without waiting for his protest, you gathered supplies—a clean cloth, antiseptic, creams, and bandages.

As you began to clean his wounds, the atmosphere shifted. Your fingers grazed his skin gently, applying antiseptic to a particularly nasty cut on his arm. He flinched slightly at the sting, but his expression was one of mock indignation rather than pain. “You’re lucky I tolerate your hovering,” he teased, but his voice held a softness that revealed how much he appreciated your presence. “Careful there,” he quipped, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he watched you work. “That feels almost... intimate.”

“Right, because who else would pamper you like this?” you quipped back, focusing intently on his injuries to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks.

“I can think of a few—” he began, his tone flirtatious as his blue-pink eyes sparkled with mischief. “But they wouldn’t be as gentle as you.”

You rolled your eyes, focusing on applying the antiseptic. “Oh, please. You’re being dramatic as usual. Just try to stay still, okay?”

“Staying still while you’re this close? That’s asking for a miracle,” he shot back, his voice breathy and playful. You couldn’t help but notice the way his lips curled into a teasing smile as you bandaged his arm.

With each careful swipe, your fingers brushed against his skin, and you could feel his pulse quicken. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, and every moment spent so close felt charged with something you both pretended not to acknowledge. He leaned into your touch, his bravado melting away, replaced by a softness that made your heart flutter.

“Is this necessary? I mean, really? I think I could manage just fine with a little kiss, Miss Bodyguard.” he quipped, a playful grin spreading across his face.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a smile. “Maybe if you were more careful, you wouldn’t need any of this.” You gently pressed a bandage over the cut, and he feigned a pained sigh, leaning into your touch a bit too dramatically.

“Alright, all done. You should really rest now,” you said, glancing around at the chaos that was his living space. “And I’ll handle everything else.”

“Are you sure you can handle all of this?” he asked, his voice suddenly more serious, a hint of vulnerability shining through. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Please, I can handle your drama,” you replied, smirking. “Just try to rest, and I’ll clean this place up too.”

As you turned to gather the supplies, Rafayel pulled you back towards him with surprising strength, his gaze locking onto yours. “Hey… Not yet, don’t move from here…” he murmured, an intensity behind his words that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Just make sure I’m really alright. You’ve stirred something within me, you know.”

You felt your cheeks heat as you looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity. There was something about the way he spoke that hinted at more than just friendship. Just as it seemed he might confess, his gaze faltered, and the moment slipped away. “Rafayel... what...”

“Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to keep you here a bit longer from redesigning my place.” he added, a playful smirk returning to his lips as he attempted to deflect the moment with his typical charm.

You huffed, half annoyed and half flustered. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible? More like irreplacable.” he shot back, winking as you turned away to hide your blush.

You sighed, shaking your head as you picked up a few stray items around the room.

“I’ll just... rest my eyes for a moment,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he finally succumbed to sleep.

The way he had said that stirred something inside you—a mixture of warmth and anticipation. But as you moved to leave, Rafayel’s voice stopped you again.

“Hey,” he said softly, and when you turned back to look at him, his expression was earnest, a flicker of something deeper visible in his eyes. “Promise you’ll be here to check on me later?” You could see the exhaustion tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Of course, I will.”

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated! If anyone wants to be on the taglist for my future stuff, let me know :D

[calmcoldevening]

newly escaped (from the asylum) Micheal x nurse reader who was always nice to him (I have a lotof requests for this guy so take your time and no pressure)

Michael Myers x nurse!reader

• You were always kind to Michael, and at first he was surprised by that. He was used to being yelled at, to being stared at by doctors and guards, to being discussed and whispered about. But you were different. You were like an angel in this rotten place. You never yelled at him, and you spoke to him calmly, as if he were a normal person. As if his opinion really mattered.

• At first, he was noticeably suspicious and cautious around you, but he eventually got used to it. He didn't react to the voices of other doctors and nurses, but if it was your voice, he would turn his head towards the entrance door and tilt it to the side, as if he was really listening and trying to understand what you were saying.

• You were kind and attentive. A couple of times a week, nurses were required to spend time with patients in their rooms to ensure that they didn't become accustomed to being around people. You always chose him. He allowed you to sit on his bed, even though you usually chose that uncomfortable chair. He was lying or sitting on his bed, and you were sitting next to him, reading to him. He never liked fairy tales, even as a child, but for some reason, when you read them to him, he wanted to know what would happen to the characters.

• You told him about different things in life, and you brought him different materials for his art, which were safe and allowed in Smith's Grove.

• When you were there, he spoke for the first time. It was quiet, barely noticeable. His voice was rough from not using it for a long time. It was your name, spoken with such excitement and trepidation. He didn't expect you to hear it. But he wanted to see your reaction. So he said it again.

• It was your last day of work before your vacation. Michael was in a daze. He didn't like the idea of being alone in this cold, gloomy place for a couple of weeks. Without you, it felt disgusting and slimy, and the people were rude. You gently touched his mask with your fingers, stroking it softly, and quietly promised to return. Or believed you. But after two days of solitude, he ran away.

•••

You were always different from the others. Everyone at Smith's Grove was afraid of him, but you weren't.

It took some time to get to know him, but it was worth it. He almost opened up to you. He wasn't annoyed by your presence anymore, and he wasn't afraid of your touch. It was like he was a kitten that had been abandoned by its previous owners and was having a hard time adjusting to its new ones.

And then your superiors sent you on vacation. They were happy that a difficult patient like Michael (although he was the calmest and quietest) had made an effort. It was new. You even got a little raise for working with a particularly unstable patient.

It was supposed to be a quick two weeks. You were going to take a break and come back to Michael with new energy and ideas. You had even found an interesting new art kit, which was now sitting on your bedroom table, waiting for its moment.

And then Michael ran away.

They found out about it a couple of hours later, when one of the security guards finally came to check on "Smith's Grove's Quietest Patient." Dr. Loomis called you right away and warned you to stay alert, not to stay home alone, and to report anything strange. But you weren't afraid. You knew that he would never hurt you, not with those warm brown eyes.

The whole town was in panic, but you were sitting at home, watching a movie and sipping hot tea. You're not afraid.

Knock.

Silence.

Another knock on the door, this time more insistent.

You pause the movie, go to the back door and open it. He stands in front of you. In a strange jumpsuit that doesn't fit his body a little, in an incomprehensible white mask, with heavy breathing. He is silent. But this silence is better than any words. He was waiting. Looking. Missing.

"..come in." your voice is quiet but firm.

Michael doesn't respond, but he obediently steps into your home, and you close the door behind him.

"You're soaked to the bone."

You start gently removing his wet clothes and send him to the shower. He acts without question. And now, Michael is sitting on your couch, wrapped in a warm blanket. He doesn't seem to be cold, but you insist on keeping him warm. A hot cup of tea is in his hands, but he doesn't drink, just stares at it through the slits of his mask, as if he doesn't know what to do with it.

You place a basket of sweets in front of him on the coffee table, and his fingers twitch nervously, but he doesn't move.

You sit down on the couch next to him, studying him from head to toe.

He wasn't a stupid man, but you knew it would be difficult for him to survive outside of Smith's Grove, as he didn't know much about life.

"Why did you leave, silly? The hospital is much safer..."

But before you can finish, he leans closer. His masked face is almost touching your shoulder, and he...sniffs? He's actually sniffing your skin. His shoulders relax, and his breathing becomes quieter. He's calming down in your presence.

"...you're such a fool."

You gently touch his shoulders and pull him closer, wrapping your arms around him. Michael almost awkwardly moves his hand with the cup to the side, not wanting to spill the hot liquid on you. He feels warm. And calm. For the first time, the voices in his head, his inner demons, are quiet and subdued.

Ps: By evening the basket of candies was already empty, and his mask smelled like chocolate.

[kaynanarie]

Eyes of Gold (Part 8)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev) (Next)

            Shihou was eerily quiet all the way back to the mountain. You snuck glances at him but didn’t speak, offput by his thunderous mood.

             His expression was stony and cold, the clench at his jaw pulling his mouth into a tight frown. Glowing, golden eyes were narrowed in a fierce glare you didn’t want turned on you. His tail lashed with each step and you could feel his fur bristling everywhere you touched. The hands holding you were gentle but firm, huddling you close as he hurried through the rain.

            The brisk pace had you back at the palace in no time, finding shelter from the storm within the stone walls. You tucked your face against Shihou’s shoulder to avoid the inquisitive stares of the other monkeys. Shihou either didn’t notice or didn’t care, marching through the halls and only stopping once he reached your room.

            He shouldered his way inside and gently sat you on the edge of the bed; the rainwater soaking the covers and dripping onto the floor went unnoticed. The chill of the room seeped into your wet clothes, leaving you shivering without his warmth. Careful hands brushed the tattered remains of your sleeve away to examine your arm. Shihou’s face darken further as he studied your injury.

            “I’ll be right back,” he finally spoke, a rumble in his quiet word. Before you could react, he was already across the room, briefly pausing in the doorway. “You should change into something dry,” he said, the tone too stern to be a passing suggestion. Then he was gone, only the tip of his tail vanishing out the door before it clicked shut.

            In the silence of the empty room, you let out a shaky sigh. Between the close call with the wolves and the tense trip back, you were exhausted but relieved to be in the safety of the mountain once more.

            A shudder danced down your spine and prickled over your skin. The palace walls were strong and sturdy but offered little in the way of warmth. Slow and weary, you stood and shuffled to the wardrobe. The fumbling of your numb fingers managed to discarded your torn clothes in a wet pile. A clean robe was quickly tugged on and wrapped snuggly around you. Even with loose sleeves, the sting of material against raw skin left you wincing with each movement.

            You retreated back to the bed, curling up under dry blankets as wind and rain lashed against the window. While you waited, your mind wandered back to Shihou.

            In the short time you had known him, you had seen many different moods from your monkey friend. Playful, curious, mischievous, occasionally affronted, but endlessly kind. Never had you seen him radiate such rage. It was a chilling reminder that despite his friendly nature, Shihou was still a demon and very dangerous.  

            But your trust in him was unwavering. If anything, his fierce reaction made you more thankful for his protection.

            Your thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock at the door.

            “Come in!” you said, voice barely above a rasped whisper.

            Shihou stepped inside, dressed in dry robes and carrying a tray. On it were crushed plants, towels, bowls, and a roll of bandages. He sat next to you, balancing the medical kit with one hand while the other settled your arm across his lap. With the sleeve rolled out of the way, you hazard a glance at your injuries for the first time.

            Four scratches ran parallel across your forearm. They weren’t long or deep, just the raw red of barely broken skin. Without a word, Shihou went to work, gently cleaning the wounds and covering them with stinging poultice.

            “Shihou?” you called to him quietly. He didn’t respond, completely focused as he wrapped your arm from elbow to wrist. “Shihou, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you trouble.”

            With the bandage snuggly in place, Shihou set your arm down. “You shouldn’t have left the village,” he finally spoke. It was quiet, rough, and growled between clenched teeth.

            “I was with others, I thought it was safe,” you argued, shifting your arm to see his handy work. “Besides, it’s not that bad. See? Barely a scratch.”

            “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt at all!”

            The shout rang around the room but it wasn’t anger you heard in his words. Panic, fear, and guilt echoed off stone and filled the tense air between you. Shihou’s whole body slumped with a weary sigh, burying his face in his hands to calm himself.

            “A wolf pack was reported in the area last night,” he explained, lift his head enough to study the far wall. “Our meeting was to arrange patrols at the borders; we didn’t know they were already on the mountain. When we heard there was an attack and I couldn’t find you, I feared the worst.” He glanced at your arm, reaching out to ghost a touch over the bandage. “I should have been there to protect you. I’m sorry.”

            You laid a comforting hand over his, smoothing down the bristled fur. “But you did protect me. I’m still here.”

            “I was almost too late!” Gentle hands suddenly framed your face, forcing you to meet Shihou’s eyes. They were serious but pleading, the gold bright with worry. “Please, Peaches. Promise me you’ll be more careful.”

            “I’ll try,” you offered, leaning into his delicate hold. “But what if there’s more of them? I don’t want you to get hurt fighting them off.”

            He chuckled at your concern, his mood lightening just a bit. “I can handle a few weakling wolves. Their leader wasn’t a challenge and the rest will go into hiding without him around.”

            The information made you perk up. The more you pondered it, the less it made sense.

            “Wait, you took out the leader? I thought Monkey King did.”

            Shihou tilted his head with a frown. “What makes you say that?”

            “One of the wolves mentioned not hurting any of the monkey ‘subjects’ so I assumed…” Thinking back only brought flashes of sharp, sneering grins and eerie howls. You flinched, shaking your head at the too-fresh memories. “Never mind, I must have misheard. I’m probably too tired to remember properly, anyways.”

            Guilt shadowed Shihou's eyes when he looked away. “Why don’t you get some rest; we can talk about it later, okay?”

            When he stood, a wave of panic trembled you to the core. “Wait!” you yelped, latching onto his arm. Shihou froze, glancing down at you but not pulling away. It was childish and embarrassing but you refused to let go. “Will you…stay with me? I really don’t want to be alone.”

            Golden eyes widened in surprise but a slow nod calmed your nerves. “Sure.” He pulled the covers over you before sitting again, keeping his hand on your shoulder as a reassuring weight. Unfortunately, he felt each shiver and shake as you huddled under the blankets. “Are you cold?”

            “A little,” you admitted through chattering teeth.

            “Alright. Scoot over, Peaches.” Shihou slid under the blankets, strong arms quickly wrapping you in a warm hug. His fur was still damp under his robes but his body heat chased the chill from your bones. When you snuggled against his chest, a quiet chuckle rumbled under your ear. “Better?”

            You nodded, hiding the blush burning your cheeks. “Thank you, Shihou.”

            “Anytime,” he hummed as he cuddled you closer. Your head was tucked under his chin while his tail looped itself around your ankle. He kept a gentle grip on your injured arm, fingers rubbing soothing circles against your wrist.

            The rage of the storm was slowly drowned out by quiet purrs and the steady rhythm of Shihou’s heartbeat. Safe, warm, and perfectly content, you were lulled to peaceful sleep in his arms.

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

Hurt/comfort for the soul! This chapter wasn't planned but felt necessary. Shihou is both soft and protective and all the love he gets makes me so happy!

Thank you so much for reading! Happy New Year!

[piningforstan]

Stay With Me

Summary: Stan needs you to tend to his wounds and, no, you can’t ask him about it.

Pairings: Stanley Pines x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: some fluff, drinking, smoking, a brief description of the wound

A/N: I just imagine mullet Stan not being able to tend to his wounds properly after his fight with Ford and only trusting you to help him😭 also I’m not a doctor so this is probably medically inaccurate

A knock at the door roused you from your sleep.

Well, more like jolted you awake and sent you into a spiral of fear and panic. You belted your robe and padded down the stairs to peer through the window. A blast of frigid air burst from the door as you wretched it open, snow swirling inside and melting. “Stan?”

“Hey,” he said simply. He weaved on his feet. Under the light of the porch, his face was grey.

“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I’ll, uh, ‘splain later. Can I come in?”

You ushered him in, glancing worriedly out your lawn before shutting the door. Stan’s darkened form lumbered into the kitchen where you followed him, switching on a light. He removed his jacket.

“Stan, what is —?” You choked. From where he sat at the table, back to you, you could see a wound burned into his right shoulder, clearly neglected. “Holy shit.”

With trembling hands, Stan lit up a cigarette.

“Stan, what happened?” You hovered over him, unsure where to start.

“Doesn’t matter,” Stan said quickly. “Can you patch it up?”

“Patch it up? This looks like an infected second degree burn.”

“Is that a no?”

You let his harsh tone slide over you. Not only were you used to it, being a nurse, but you sensed that something was wrong and Stan was badly shaken. Instead of prompting him for answers, you hurried into your medicine cabinet for your first aid kit. You didn’t have half the supplies that you would’ve at the hospital, but you needed to at least disinfect the wound first to prevent infection. The contents of the kit spilled out onto the table as you rummaged through them, cursing under your breath.

A cloud of smoke billowed from Stan. You snatched the cigarette from him and tossed it in a half-empty glass by the sink. “At least let me fix this before you kill yourself with that.”

Stan grumbled a response, but it was half-hearted. You got to work disinfecting the wound and cleaning it up. Stan never once complained, shoulders tensed, wincing only once you applied the disinfectant. Vaguely, in some distant, secretive part of your mind, you admired the feel of muscles reacting beneath your hands, the intimate proximity to him. From your position crouched over Stan, you could make out his profile, his clenched jaw and thousand-yard stare.

You prepared a bandage. A strange design was embedded in the reddened skin, almost like a brand. You’d have to keep an eye on the wound, but hopefully you could stave off the infection.

“When did this happen? You should’ve come straight to me,” you told him. If he didn’t look so obviously pained, you would’ve smacked him upside the head for not seeking treatment sooner.

“S’not a big deal,” Stan mumbled.

Some of the color had returned to his face.

“Stan, yes it is. You could’ve died from the infection.”

“It was just an accident in the lab.” His brave face faltered slightly, a slip of emotion like the silver belly of a fish flashing in dark waters. “I deserved it anyway.”

You frowned. “I doubt that’s true. Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?”

“I could use a drink.”

You dug out an old bottle of whiskey that an ex had left behind. He insisted on drinking out of the bottle, knuckles white — shaking, but not as violently as before. You had taken his jacket off the back of the chair and used spare material to stitch it up from the burn. It must’ve been horrible if it burned through the jacket and into his skin so deeply. You watched him sip the whiskey and wince occasionally, not able to completely recline in the chair.

“You should stay here,” you said after who knows how long, both of you content in the silence. Before he could protest you added, “I have a shift tomorrow so I’ll be gone most of the day. But I can keep an eye on you and I know you won’t be doing anything else stupid.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Thanks, kid, but no thanks. I’ll be fine.”

“At least just tonight.“

“Fine. But I’m sleeping on the couch.”

You nodded your approval. After he polished off the bottle and you peeked at his wound again, you got him set up on the couch with pillows and a blanket. He looked small, boy-like, tucked under the covers and looking so vulnerable. Your heart panted. “You’ll be alright?”

“Ain’t gotta worry about me,” Stan replied. The sounds of his snores reverberated through your house before you even hit the stairs.

You awoke to Stan yelling. For the second time that night, or, well, morning, you jolted up and ran down the stairs without even snatching your robe. Bleary eyed and stiff-limbed, you staggered downstairs to find Stan thrashing on the couch, blankets thrown to the floor. He was crying out in his sleep. You knelt down next to him.

“Stan. Stan. Stan!”

It took you shaking his shoulders for him to come to, eyes widened and looking surprised to see you. “What? What’s going on?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He propped up on one elbow, running a hand through his dark curls. You adamantly kept your gaze from drifting to his chest, partially revealed in the white tank top he had worn to sleep in. “I, uh, been having a lot recently. Did I wake ya?”

“No,” you lied. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

You brought him a water. Sweat sheened his forehead but you suspected it was from the nightmare and not a fever from the infection. Still, you double checked the wound again. Some more pus oozed out along the edges that you cleaned up. It was clear, though, so nothing to worry about. Yet.

You bid him goodnight and moved to leave but felt a large hand grasp your wrist. “Would you, uh, would you mind stayin’?”

Surprised, you turned to him. His expression was so desperate, pleading, that you wordlessly agreed. Stan looked satisfied at this. You sat near his socked feet and pretended to sleep, though there was no way you could now. Not with him so close, so scantily dressed, raw and vulnerable.

It didn’t take long for him to lapse into another nightmare, twitching and muttering. Concerned, you reached over to console him. It was in that moment that he trapped you against his chest, looking for comfort, his heart beating furiously. You stilled. The nightmare slipped away but you were stuck, having fallen between his legs and lying completely on top of him. You did your best to wiggle free but he refused to budge.

Slowly, nervously, you put your head down. Stan, still asleep and unaware of the situation, kept his arms around you. He was big and warm and soft, and you were awfully tired. You reasoned that he needed his sleep, and if staying here meant that he could rest without disturbance, then you would happily fulfill this service for him.

It didn’t matter that you had dreamed of this before, cuddled up next to him, his shallow breaths rustling your hair. That you were overly awake of his hand on your hip, the way that you fit perfectly against him.

No. Nope.

You were just helping him out, like you did with his shoulder. Just helping out a friend.

A friend.

Right?

[nickeverdeen]

Spider-Man Across The Spider Verse characters finding out you have a fever (platonic + romatic)

Miles Morales

Platonic

Miles immediately shows concern, his brow furrowing as he notices your discomfort

He quickly places the back of his hand on your forehead to check your temperature

Has to ask his mom and friends what to properly do

“You need to stay put, okay? I’ll get you some water and medicine.”

Miles stays by your side, making sure you’re comfortable

He tries to distract you with funny stories or movies

Ensures you have a warm blanket and are cozy

He texts other friends to let them know you’re not feeling well

If he can, he’ll bring you some homemade soup

“You’ll be back on your feet in no time, just rest.”

Romantic

Miles’ concern deepens, a mix of worry and affection in his eyes

Frequently checks your temperature to see if it’s getting better

Holds your hand or gently strokes your hair to comfort you

Tries to make homemade remedies he’s read about

Still has to ask his mom or friends

Refuses to leave your side, making sure you feel his presence

Sends you sweet and encouraging texts even if he’s in the same room

Puts on your favorite show or movie to lift your spirits

Updates his mom on your condition to get more advice

“Hey, I’m here. You’re going to get better soon, I promise.”

Talks about future plans to keep your mind off being sick

Gwen Stacy

Platonic

Gwen gives you a worried glance as soon as she realizes you’re unwell

She touches your forehead to feel your temperature.

Quickly grabs a medical kit to find something to help.

“You need to rest and hydrate. I’ll get you some water.”

Stays close by, making sure you’re not alone.

Puts on soothing music to help you relax.

Brings you comfort items like pillows or stuffed animals.

Lets other friends know you’re not feeling well and might need help.

Brings you light reading material to keep your mind occupied.

“You’ll be feeling better soon, just take it easy.”

Romantic

Her worry shows more deeply, her eyes soft with concern

Stays close, holding your hand or giving gentle touches to comfort you

Regularly checks your temperature to monitor your fever

Makes sure you have everything you need, from water to medicine

Whispers comforting words to help you relax

Stays with you, talking softly about anything to keep your spirits up

Might sing softly to you if she thinks it’ll help

Brings you warm tea to soothe you

“You’re so strong. This fever doesn’t stand a chance.”

Cuddles with you not caring if she’ll catch it

Hobie Brown

Platonic

Hobie immediately reacts, showing visible concern

He checks your temperature using the back of his hand after he realizes that you’re probably not faking

“Hey, don’t move. I’ll grab you some water and meds.”

Quickly finds something to help you feel better, like a cold compress

Cracks jokes to keep your spirits up despite the situation

Puts on some chill music to help you relax

Makes sure to stay nearby, not leaving you alone

Brings you anything he thinks will make you comfortable

Lets mutual friends know you’re under the weather so they won’t bother

“You’ll beat this fever in no time. Just rest up.”

Romantic

His worry is clear, showing how much he cares

Stays in close contact, holding your hand or sitting next to you

Plays games with you if you wanna

Takes personal care of you, ensuring you have everything you need

Shows a softer side, being tender and gentle with you

Whispers comforting words, helping you relax

Uses playful jokes to keep your mood light

Brings you warm drinks to help soothe you

“I’ve got you. This fever’s got nothing on us.”

Pavitr Prabhakar

Platonic

Pavitr shows immediate and a bit dramatic concern upon noticing your fever

Quickly checks your temperature like 15 times to confirm

“You need to rest right away! I’ll get you something good”

Finds quick solutions like a cold compress or medication

Stays with you to ensure you’re not alone

Engages in comforting talk to keep your spirits up

Uses humor to make you smile despite feeling unwell

Plays games with you which allow you to be laying in bed

Brings you necessary supplies like water and snacks

Romantic

His worry is evident, eyes filled with concern

Stays by your side, not wanting to leave you alone

Regularly checks your temperature, ensuring you’re okay

Gives you personal attention, ensuring you have everything you need and want

Whispers comforting words, and kisses your forehead helping you feel better

Holds your hand or strokes your hair gently

Uses positive humor to keep your spirits up

Brings you warm drinks to soothe you

“You’re strong, and you’ll get through this. I’m here with you, gorgerous/handsome.”

Talks about future dates with the two of you, keeping your mood positive

Miguel O’Hara

Platonic

Miguel immediately slight concern, his face serious

He quickly checks your temperature by thermometer with a clinical approach

“You need to rest. I’ll handle everything else.”

Ensures you have the proper medical attention

Stays nearby from time to time, making sure you’re comfortable and safe

Talks to you seriously about taking care of yourself

Brings you items like blankets and books

Lets the team know you’re not feeling well so they won’t count with you

Makes sure you’re eating and drinking properly

“You’re strong. Just rest and recover.”

Romantic

His concern deepens, showing a softer side

Stays with you, ensuring you’re never alone

Gives you personal and meticulous attention

Regularly checks your temperature, ensuring you’re improving

Offers comforting touches like holding your hand

Speaks a bit gently to soothe you

Brings you warm drinks to help you feel better

Shows tender care, making sure you’re as comfortable as possible

“I’m here, and you’re going to be okay. Just rest.”

Jessica Drew

Platonic

Jessica quickly shows concern, noticing your discomfort

Checks your temperature to confirm the fever

“You need to rest now. I’ll take care of everything else. I mean it”

Efficiently finds ways to make you comfortable

Stays close by to ensure you’re okay

Engages in comforting talk to keep your spirits up

Uses light humor to make you smile

Updates mutual friends on your condition and argues with Miguel not to send you to missions

Brings you essentials like water and snacks

“You’ll be back to your old self soon, just rest up.”

Romantic

Her worry is clear, showing how much she cares

Stays by your side, not wanting to leave you alone

Regularly checks your temperature to monitor your fever

Gives you personal care, ensuring you have everything you need

Whispers comforting words to help you relax

Offers gentle touches like holding your hand or stroking your hair

Brings you warm drinks to help soothe you

“You’re strong, and you’ll get through this. I’m here with you.”

Uses positive humor to keep your spirits up

Turns into mama mode

[queer-n-here]

Hey I was the one who asked for the Sigma and Atsushi fic ur fine 😭 but anyways Atsushi n Sigma who love bite you without realizing that theyre doing it and it leads to smth else 🤫

Hey, thanks for sending it again bro! I'm double posting today cuz I felt kinda guilty for making you send this twice (and also cuz I literally have nothing else to do so...)

I hope you like it, and I hope it's worth the double ask!

Contents: Atsushi bites you in instinct first thing in morning, so you fuck him. Sigma bites you mid-breakdown, so you calm him down then fuck him!

Warnings: Smut, top male reader, biting (reader receiving), marking (Atsushi), nipple play (Atsushi), dubcon (Atsushi), cnc (Atsushi), edging and over stim (both mentioned for Atsushi), comfort (Sigma), gentle sex (Sigma), praise kink (Sigma)

Nakajima Atsushi

I can imagine him biting you. He's a tiger bruhh.

Anyways, on a more serious note

Atsushi who bites you first thing in the morning when you wake up beside him, too sleepy to even processing what he's doing.

Atsushi whose eyes widen when he finally does process it, scrambling away from you and apologizing profusely.

Atsushi who keeps opening and closing drawers to find a medical kit; he drew blood from your shoulder. You have to grab both his hands to stop him from moving.

Atsushi who blushes and shakes his head when you ask him if he's into that.

But you'd be stupid if you listened to him.

So don't.

Push Atsushi onto the bed, rip his clothes to pieces as he struggles beneath you, arguing how it's so early in the morning, that even the sun's not up properly, you can't possibly-

Prove him wrong, show him that you can fuck him that early in the morning, pinning his arms down on either side of his head as you kiss and bite his nipples, making them swell and grow erect at the touch of your lips.

Take both Atsushi's wrists in one hand and spread his legs wide open with the other, his asshole already loose from last night's activities.

He's struggling under you now, but you know for a fact that that's just how he likes it, that perverted little cat. He wants to feel your control of him. He wants to feel helpless under your strong grip.

Slowly, Atsushi's arguments will turn into moans and cries of pleasure as you enter him, your dick swelling at the sight of him beneath you.

Fuck him, pound him till his mind breaks, till he looses all his shame and reason.

Fuck Atsushi till he forgets his denial about biting you, and his teeth clamp down on your shoulder for the second time that morning, making you hiss in pain and speed your thrusts up.

Bully his nipples and mark his collarbone, his pale skin turning red and purple under your insistent lips as he pants and huffs, his back arching under you.

Make Atsushi see stars, edge him till he's begging you for release, hips bucking into yours.

Or over stimulate him till he hasn't got a drop of cum left in his balls, till he's coming up with dry orgasms.

He's all yours to play with, so don't stop till he really can't go on.

When you're done, kiss his forehead and tell him how good he did.

Sigma

Sigma bites you in the middle of a breakdown, so despite the spark of heat that that sends down to your crotch, you don't react.

He's barely able to breathe, heaving and panting as more tears stream down his already wet face, his hands fisting in the material of your shirt as he tries to remain in control of his mind.

You talk to Sigma, your voice soothing as you murmur sweet nothings into his ear, praising him incessantly, stroking the back of his head as he presses his face into your chest.

You're worried that he will suffocate, and so you try to pull away, but he doesn't let you, muffling his sobs and sniffles in your shoulder and clinging on.

You let him, holding him close to you and rubbing circles into his back to try to get him to calm down. He needs to calm down, and you hold him till he does.

Once Sigma relaxes, the stream of tears finally coming to a halt, you wipe his face gently and kiss his forehead, asking him if he's alright. He nods slowly.

You let him collect his bearings, not wanting to make him uncomfortable in any way. It ends up being him who brings it up.

Sigma notices the bite mark on the side of your neck, wincing at the broken flesh.

"I'm sorry... I really didn't mean to."

He won't stop apologizing easily, so kiss him and slide your hand under his shirt, murmuring that you didn't mind, that he can do it again if he wants.

Flip Sigma over, make him lay on his stomach with his face pressed into a pillow and ass high up in the air. Enter him slowly, gentle as you can.

Kiss his shoulder blades, tell him how pretty he looks; that alone will have his wet hole fluttering around you beautifully.

Fuck Sigma, slow and gentle and just the way he likes it, his pants turning into loud moans as he tries to muffle them in the pillow, failing miserably when one particular thrust makes him arch his back and whine your name.

Hit his prostate again and again and again, each touch of your tip making his eyes blur up.

Be gentle, he likes it when you treat him like he's breakable; or be rough, he doesn't mind when you treat him like the cheap whore he is, either.

He's all yours to play with, so fuck him till you're both satisfied, till his beautiful hair is plastered to his forehead from fatigue, till his cheeks are all red and stained with tears, till his thighs are trembling with fatigue.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 101

Icepaw and Pearbranch learn that Nimblestep has died. They are unsure how to feel.

[Image ID: Troutpool speaks with Icepaw and Pearbranch. Under her, it says + NEW SKILL: GOOD CLIMBER.]

"Caretakers and warriors can be called upon to sit guard over cats who could prove a danger to themselves or others," Icepaw explained, digging into his memories. "If someone is in the medicine den because of a condition of the mind, it's better to keep them around others than isolate them because… they heal better knowing they aren't alone."

"That sounds right to me!" Pearbranch chirped, resting her head on Midnightpaw's empty nest. "You'll be able to help a lot of mediator apprentices in the future!"

"I'm glad I don't have to do the work, though," Icepaw groaned. He rubbed his paws over his muzzle, chin resting on the exposed sandy floor of the apprentice's den. The Clan didn't have enough leather flooring after the Ocean's Assault to line the apprentice's den yet. Most of the camp was back to normal, with fresh materials forming the once wrecked roofs and debris cleaned out. Still, with Pearbranch enjoying her new nest by Puddlewhisper, Midnightpaw sleeping in the medicine den, and Valleypaw… well, the apprentice's den was pretty lonely.

At least Pearbranch was willing to keep him company so late in the night. The pair whispered in the quiet of the apprentice's den while the rest of RippleClan enjoyed the restored warrior's den. They could hear Rattlepelt working on crafts in the light of the central bonfire, tended by Asterblaze. Icepaw wondered if the pair were helping each other. He hoped so.

"Do you have another headache?" Pearbranch asked.

"Just tired," Icepaw muttered, moving his paws.

"You can practice in the morning if you want to sleep," Pearbranch hummed. She slowly got to her paws, but Icepaw smacked her down.

"Come on, we haven't been able to sit together since your ceremony," Icepaw huffed. "We haven't even…" Icepaw glanced out of the den, just in case Rattlepelt and Asterblaze were close enough to hear.

"We haven't seen Quickpaw since before the flood," Pearbranch finished Icepaw's thought.

"I should be practicing these lessons with her," Icepaw said.

"We—" Pearbranch said, but the sound of soft paws pushing against the sand choked out the conversation. Icepaw and Pearbranch's ears perked. Icepaw forgot it was the half-moon; the clerics were back from their meeting at StarClan's Shrine.

"If Burdockcreek thinks I should visit the human settlement," Estherfern sighed, entering camp with Gingerspring on her tail, "then I'll go to the human settlement."

"Let me come with you," Gingerspring chirped. "I can help you avoid the humans!"

"We'll see," Estherfern muttered, making her way to the medicine den. Weevilsight and Honeybuzz entered next, both quiet and lost in thought. Their gazes caught onto Icepaw and Pearbranch as they passed. Icepaw's neck prickled. When Troutpool entered camp, rather than following her fellow clerics to sleep, she drifted to the apprentice's den.

"I'm glad you two are awake," Troutpool sighed. "I was hoping to see you." Pearbranch sat at Icepaw's side, quiet and attentive, just like they were kits in the nursery, focused on their mother's gentle explanation of their past. Troutpool had the same strained look on her face as Puddlewhisper all those moons ago.

"What's wrong," Icepaw huffed. Troutpool's eyes searched for the best place to begin.

"SlugClan has been facing a yellowcough outbreak," Troutpool explained slowly. "I spoke with their cleric, Mushroomstripe, and she had some news you need to hear." Troutpool squirmed as she gathered her courage. "There's no easy way to say this, but Nimblestep caught yellowcough after the last Gathering. She passed away last night."

Huh. She was dead. Icepaw blinked. Should he… mourn? How should he react to something like that? Was Troutpool expecting something specific from him? She stared intently at Icepaw and Pearbranch, waiting. Waiting for what? Pearbranch's ears dipped. Should Icepaw act sad? He didn't really feel sad. He only saw Nimblestep at the few Gatherings he'd ever attended and… sat through what conversation he felt required to sit through. What was Icepaw feeling? What should he feel?

"Was it peaceful?" Pearbranch asked quietly.

"I'm not sure," Troutpool sighed, dipping her head. "I'm sorry. I can tell Paleseed about this in the morning, if you want to talk through this with someone."

"No thanks," Icepaw said. He realized that wasn't the appropriate thing to say when Troutpool blinked hard, unable to mask her surprise.

"If you're sure," Troutpool gulped. "I'm sorry you found out this way. Mushroomstripe also had a message from Quickpaw for you."

"How is she?" Pearbranch gulped, standing.

"Mushroomstripe just said that Quickpaw wants to see you," Troutpool sighed. "I'll make sure Oilstar takes you both to the next Gathering. Again, I'm so sorry I'm the one to tell you." Troutpool floundered for a moment, unsure what else she could say to the brother-sister pair. Eventually, she slunk after her fellow clerics, leaving Icepaw and Pearbranch softly illuminated by the bonfire a few fox-lengths away. Dread creeped into Icepaw's chest.

"You know what Quickpaw means by that," Icepaw muttered, catching Pearbranch's eyes. "Pearbranch, she's waiting for us."

"You know," Pearbranch gulped, "we don't have to crawl over the dirtplace wall anymore. I'm a historian now. I can leave whenever I want."

"And take an apprentice with you?" Icepaw chuckled, paws itching.

Nothing more had to be said. The pair hurried to the camp exit. Elmsprout sat guard outside and eyed Icepaw sharply when he appeared. Yet Pearbranch held her tail high and refused to hestitate. She escorted her brother around the night guard. As soon as their paws touched the crunchy autumn grass, their restless energy erupted.

Their blue eyes were wide and honed in on the glimmers of the half-moon through the shrouded sky. They did not watch their paws for twigs or leaves that had yet to fade to dust from the pressure of rain and life. There was nothing to hunt that night, and nothing to be hunted by. Only a destination and a pair of brown eyes waiting there.

"I hope she hasn't gone back to camp," Pearbranch gulped as the pungent smell of the WheatClan/AshClan border hit Icepaw's nose.

"She'll be there," Icepaw promised. After all, wouldn't Icepaw and Pearbranch wait until dawn if Puddlewhisper had passed? Icepaw slowed as they crossed the border. The scent of the RippleClan clerics still floated along the scent markers, a path of safe travel to the rest of the Clans. Icepaw took the lead and trailed along that scent path. Pearbranch's nose brushed his tail at times, a reminder that the night had not claimed her.

The conifers thickened and the grass grew greener, a sign of moisture perpetually clinging to the mud underneath. Icepaw forced himself not to cringe; it was worse than chunky sand sinking between his pads. How could Quickpaw stand it? Icepaw shoved the disgusting sensation deep into his thoughts, dragging up the most important questions of the night; was Quickpaw okay? Icepaw got his answer as he and Pearbranch arrived at their secret meeting place.

[Image ID: Icepaw and Peabranch sit next to Quickpaw. Quickpaw says, "I… could think about it."]

Now, it wasn't really "secret" by any means. It was just past the boundary of WheatClan, AshClan, and SlugClan; an old wolverine den, protected by roots as thick as Icepaw's legs. Although the wolverine had been gone for moons upon moons, its scent still clung to the mud, masking RippleClan scent from any who didn't expect to find it there. It was the perfect place for littermates to meet outside of Gatherings and pre-arranged meetings along the border. As Icepaw and Pearbranch pierced SlugClan territory, soft yet strained breathing tickled their ears.

"Quickpaw," Icepaw whispered as the wolverine den came into view. A brown muzzle shifted in the dim moon-light. The figure's breath hitched in a sob. Pearbranch dove into the wolverine den. She threw herself over Quickpaw as her SlugClan sister cried. Icepaw crawled in next to the pair.

"She died, Pear," Quickpaw whined. "She's gone."

"We heard, we heard," Pearbranch whispered. She licked Quickpaw's ears. "We're so sorry."

Icepaw was trained to teach others how to handle such displays of grief and empathy. He knew what a mediator was meant to do in such a situation; focus on the grieving cat, work through their emotions together. But Icepaw couldn't truly use the skills he was meant to teach. A wall formed around his words.

"I told her about our meetings," Quickpaw gulped. "She was so happy we were close. She didn't get to see that." A feeling Icepaw couldn't name squirmed into his head. In the end, Nimblestep left all three of them behind.

"Come with us," Icepaw huffed as Quickpaw cried. Quickpaw choked on her grief, staring wide-eyed at her brother.

"Icepaw, let her grieve," Pearbranch grumbled, grooming Quickpaw's neck.

"No, I mean it!" Icepaw scooted closer to Quickpaw. "You don't have any family left in SlugClan. You could see us all the time. RippleClan would love to have you. Slushtrail can help you finish training!" Quickpaw squirmed into herself.

"I don't like being a mediator," she whispered.

"You don't?" Pearbranch echoed. "But you're so good at it! You're so social."

"I don't like how cats need me," Quickpaw whined. "I don't… something bad will happen if I say the wrong thing. I hate it. I just wanted to see you two."

"So come home with us tonight!" Icepaw snapped. "Oilstar will take you in. You can be whatever you want!"

"She can't leave tonight," Pearbranch groaned. "SlugClan will think we kidnapped her!"

"I…" Quickpaw gulped, swallowing a sob, "could think about it." Icepaw and Pearbranch's tails perked up.

"I think you should think about it," Pearbranch said, rubbing against Quickpaw. "If you're lonely in SlugClan, though… we'll tell Oilstar to let you in."

"Can I just cry tonight, though?" Quickpaw whimpered. "Mom's gone. She's gone." Quickpaw pushed her head into Icepaw's shoulder. Icepaw rested his cheek against her. Pearbranch copied the gesture.

The orphans sat in the quiet of the wolverine den for as long as they could, soaking in grief over a mother they barely knew.

(Icepaw: 11, male, teacher apprentice, fierce, oddly observant, never sits still)

(Pearbranch: 11, female, historian, righteous, good hunter, good storyteller)

(Estherfern: 135, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Gingerspring: 17, male, cleric, charismatic, human expert, good hunter)

(Troutpool: 62, female, cleric, insecure, ghost sight, good climber)

Mitespark announces she is expecting kits. She and Wolverineheart work on crafts together to celebrate their upcoming family.

[Image ID: Mitespark and Wolverineheart sit around a vole. Under Mitespark, it says + CONDITION: PREGNANT. Boughfur jokes with them, saying, "Be honest… you picked that handsome WheatClan mediator as your sire, didn't you?"]

(Mitespark: 43, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 33, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Boughfur: 33, female, historian, righteous, great climber)

Estherfern visits the human settlement with Brightreed.

[Image ID: Estherfern walks with Brightreed as tbhe latter says, "I don't know what to say to her." A black and white molly with yellow eyes follows them. Under her, it reads NEW PLAYER: VASCO, 12, FEMALE, LONESOME, GREAT KITSITTER, + CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]

---

Estherfern and Brightreed knew better than to spend much time in the human settlement. As StarClan directed, Estherfern brought the Witch Hunters a share of RippleClan's mullein. The smell in the streets made it apparent that Indigo was not the only cat hailing from the settlement to contract yellowcough. Even the few Witch Hunters that greeted the RippleClan cats seemed to choke down coughing fits and snatch the mullein like hungry dogs. Mother and son were quick to retreat to the forest.

"She's your mate, son," Estherfern sighed as the pair journeyed back to the Great Northern River. "If you're having these issues, why won't you talk to her about them?"

"It's just…" Brightreed groaned, staring at the bone-gray branches overhead. "Well, Ravenweaver always wants to work. She doesn't want to relax with our friends. And she's not even that good at her work! What am I supposed to tell her? I love you, but you shouldn't be an artisan?"

"Maybe leave that part out," Estherfern sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's an exaggeration. Ravenweaver is merely sloppy in her initial work. She cleans out the mistakes in time. If she feels as anxious socializing as you do, then perhaps you can start there."

"I fight through that, though," Brightreed huffed.

"I don't know what else you expect me to say about it," Estherfern tutted softly. "How's she supposed to know you're lonely if you don't tell her? Do you need me to arrange a talk with Slushtrail?"

"You know I don't want you interfering with that." Brightreed couldn't stop himself from curling his lip as he spoke. He swallowed hard when his words hit his mother, though. He coughed and turned his harsh eyes back to the dying path at his paws.

"You're right, you're right," Estherfern cooed, literally swallowing her pride with a deep breath. "I'll leave you to your woes, then."

"Estherfern!" The sound of the Great Northern River covered what awkwardness remained between mother and son. The cool mist flowing off the rapids soothed Estherfern's lungs, irritated in sympathy for the sick. On the other side, Anchovystrike and Halibutdusk waited beside a basket of tiny fish, each barely big enough to hold in one's mouth. Sandhollow collected fresh water in a bottle hanging around his neck. Late autumn wind pummeled the cats' ears.

"Did Wildclaw send a patrol for us?" Estherfern hummed as she stepped onto the drowned stepping stones.

"We were just fishing," Anchovystrike explained, nudging the basket. "We can dry out these fish to last through the winter!"

"I don't think I can eat fish for a while," Brightreed groaned, hesitating on the unclaimed side of the river. "My fur still reeks of stormwater." Estherfern bit back to the urge to point out that everything smelled like stormwater; they lived next to the ocean, for God's sake.

"Did you bring a Witch Hunter with you?" Halibutdusk muttered, whiskers rapidly twitching as they took in a shadowed scent. Estherfern opened her nose. The mist and fish hid whatever Halibutdusk smelled. Yet a moment later, Estherfern didn't need her nose. A loud cough from behind Brightreed shocked the golden warrior into the river. He scrambled to RippleClan's side as a black and white figure emerged from the same path Estherfern took home.

The molly was lanky, with silvery swirls over a black pelt. Tangles covered her white chest. Her bony legs shook as she approached the river. Her jaw quivered, fighting off another cough. Sandhollow let go of his bottle, watching the loner. Water splashed out of the unsealed bottle, wetting his chest. Yet before he could call out to the coughing molly, Anchovystrike dragged Sandhollow away from the river, dumping out what remained in the bottle.

"Behind us!" Anchovystrike barked, shoving Sandhollow toward Estherfern.

"Anchovystrike!" Estherfern snapped as the silver-striped molly reached the riverbed. "She can barely stand. What threat does she pose?"

"What color are her eyes?" Anchovystrike hissed. He stood in front of Sandhollow and Estherfern, pupils blown wide.

"What?" Sandhollow gulped, blinking wildly. Panic shot up Estherfern's throat, invisible to her Clanmates. Memories of a black, vicious mass overwhelmed her vision.

"They're yellow," Estherfern muttered. Anchovystrike's stiff hackles lowered slightly, but he still guarded Estherfern and Sandhollow, gaze locked on the loner.

"What are you doing?" the silver-striped molly coughed. "I need help!"

"And we will," Anchovystrike called across the river. "Just not in the way you think. Stay right there, we'll be over in a moment." Anchovystrike turned to his Clanmates, face pulled tight, and whispered, "She's not possessed, but there is ichor on her paws. There's some sort of Dark Forest influence on her."

"Can you tell what it is?" Halibutdusk asked, sparing a glance at the infected molly.

"I haven't really encountered enough ichor to tell what the problem is," Anchovystrike scoffed with an awkward chuckle. "I'm going to have to pull it off and deal with whatever comes out."

"We'll help," Halibutdusk huffed, nudging Brightreed out of his stunned expression. The golden tom nodded along with the senior warrior.

"I overheard you!" the sick molly called. "When you saw my friends, you mentioned a cat named Indigo. They're my friend. Are they alive?"

"Indigo is alive," Estherfern called back, moving around Anchovystrike. "He's almost recovered from his yellowcough."

"I'm not important enough to earn any of the mullein you gave the Witch Hunters," the sick molly coughed. "I just need some for myself, and I'll go. I won't get you sick."

"We might be able to help more," Anchovystrike said. He approached the river's edge. "Just don't call me a witch while I do this, alright?" Anchovystrike followed the stepping stones to the coughing cat, Halibutdusk and Brightreed behind him.

"What's your name?" Sandhollow called as his Clanmates got closer to the newcomer.

"Vasco," the sick molly said. She eyed Anchovystrike as he approached. She tightened her jaw to suppress a cough, but nearly threw up with the intensity of it.

"We can bring you to our camp and help you, if you're willing," Anchovystrike explained, couching by Vasco's paw. "Before we can do that, I have to do something. Again, please don't fight me."

Anchovystrike snapped his fangs together just above Vasco's paw, his whiskers brushing her fur. Estherfern blinked, and the black ichor all of RippleClan so deeply feared could at last be seen. Ichor smeared each of Vasco's paws. A force like gravity pulled the ichor toward Anchovystrike's jaws. Black slime dripped onto the grass like spit. Anchovystrike's fangs pierced deep into the ichor like the scruff of an enemy warrior.

Vasco shrieked. She flailed back, her front paw smacking hard into Anchovystrike's chin. As she spun and whirled away, the ichor whipped off her body, sudden tension snapping back at Anchovystrike. The ichor smacked into his face like a soaked moss-ball. Anchovystrike hissed and peeled the big blob off. Slime smeared his lilac fur.

The ichor blob squirmed like dying prey. It writhed and bubbled, sending unwanted memories through Estherfern's mind. Sharp squeaks gurgled out of it. Features took form and color before a terrified audience. Pale pink ears. Black, soulless eyes. Matted gray fur. Slimy, worm-like tails, tied together, twisting into endless knots, leaving their owners trapped in perpetual panic.

The ichor had become a mass of snarling rats, conjoined together by their tails.

"Rat Leader!" Estherfern cried. Halibutdusk shoved Anchovystrike aside as the quivering swarm of rats scrambled toward the younger warrior like a spider. Halibutdusk grabbed the knot of tails, gagging at the touch. They reared their head back and slammed the Rat Leader into the stepping stones of the Great Northern River. The spirit's stomach-curling screech was soon overtaken by the gurgle of the river. Halibutdusk tossed the stunned horde along the river's current. The Rat Leader splashed into the deeper waters beyond. Its writhing form clawed at the water, but the weight of its own horror soon brought it below the surface. The Spirit of Shadow was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"What was that?" Vasco yowled, cowering at the base of a tree while Estherfern and Sandhollow joined their Clanmates. Halibutdusk lapped up the fresh river water like their life depended on it—because truthfully, it did.

"A Rat Leader," Estherfern growled. "A vicious spirit that infects whoever it comes across. One of many spirits to haunt the dead cursed to the Dark Forest."

"What sort of horrors does your faith contain?" Vasco gasped, hackles rising.

"I'm so sorry," Sandhollow gulped, softening his voice. "I don't know how a monster of Clan life could have attached itself to you. Spirits of Shadow aren't supposed to target those outside the Clans. I have good news, though." Vasco stopped shaking. Her ears remained stiff and her hackles raised, but she stayed where she was, yellow eyes locked into Sandhollow's blue gaze. "We owe you. If you're sick because of a Clan-made monster, the Clans owe it to you to help you recover." Vasco said nothing, thoughts swirling behind her unblinking stare.

"Am I going to get yellowcough?" Halibutdusk asked, gagging on their own tongue.

"Clean your mouth with salt water to be safe," Estherfern ordered. "Go, go! We'll take care of Vasco." Halibutdusk scrambled back to the safety of RippleClan territory. They followed the river toward the ocean, holding their tongue out the whole way.

"Thank you!" Anchovystrike called after them. He shuddered, rubbing his stained face in the grass. "That thing almost bit me."

"You're going to give me the herbs I need?" Vasco finally gulped.

"Better," Sandhollow promised. "We can take you to our camp and help you recover. Oilstar won't turn you away."

"Your friend Indigo is there, too," Brightreed awkwardly chirped, standing behind Sandhollow and peering over the cream-tinted tom's head. "You can check on him!" Vasco stood, slowly, hesitantly. She eyed the RippleClan cats, one by one.

"If you say you owe me," she finally gulped, "then show me. Take me to camp."

"Lean on me if you feel weak," Sandhollow said, sliding up to Vasco. "I'll help you over the river."

As the three RippleClan toms helped the young silver-striped molly across the river, Estherfern's gaze drifted through the trees, back toward the settlement hidden beyond. StarClan itself had requested Estherfern's presence there, and now she understood why. Vasco was certainly not the only Witch Hunter smeared in black ichor, coughing up yellow pleghm and choking on air.

The Dark Forest had gotten its claws into the Witch Hunters.

(Estherfern: 135, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Brightreed: 33, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)

(Anchovystrike: 36, male, warrior, playful, unshakable StarClan link)

(Halibutdusk: 93, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Vasco: 12, female, Witch Hunter, lonesome, great kitsitter)

(Sandhollow: 32, male, mediator, ambitious, lore keeper)

Now that Indigo has recovered from yellowcough, he asks to take on a proper name as a teacher of RippleClan and abandon his kittypet name. Oilstar decides to name him Chicorycough. They love the joke in their name.

[Image ID: Indigo, now named Chicorycough, stands tall and healthy. Under them, it says LEVEL UP! INDIGO → CHICORYCOUGH, - CONDITION: YELLOWCOUGH.]

(Chicorycough: 41, half tom (he/they), teacher, playful, incredible runner, great teacher)

[hypnohimbodrone]

Team Sync

The rain had just stopped as the Redfield Rovers wrapped up their evening training. The five-man squad gathered at the side of the small pitch, sweat still clinging to their jerseys. Josh, the team captain, wiped his brow and looked over to the changing room, where Coach Taylor had disappeared.

The past few weeks had been strange. Coach Taylor, usually loud and full of energy, had become quieter, more composed. His once casual tracksuit had been replaced with a sleek black and green uniform that hugged his toned frame. The guys had joked that he was going through some midlife crisis.

As they sat on the benches, catching their breath, Coach Taylor reappeared. His posture was immaculate, hands clasped behind his back, eyes calm and focused.

“Alright, lads,” he said with a smooth tone. “Team talk inside. Got something important to show you.”

The guys exchanged looks. Liam, the goalkeeper, shrugged. “Probably another strategy video,” he muttered.

They filed into the small changing room. Coach Taylor locked the door behind them, an odd move that made Josh raise an eyebrow.

“Everything alright, Coach?” he asked.

“Better than ever,” Coach Taylor replied. “I’ve found a way to make you all stronger. More focused. Perfectly synchronized.”

He placed a small device on the bench. A green spiral projected upward, spinning slowly, the light reflecting off the tiled walls.

“Just watch,” Taylor instructed, his voice low and soothing. “Let it settle your thoughts. You’ve worked hard. You deserve to let go.”

The spiral flickered with a rhythmic pulse. One by one, the players’ gazes fixed on it. Josh felt his shoulders relax, his mind growing calm.

Taylor stepped closer. “You’ve noticed I’ve been different. That’s because I’ve been aligned with something greater. The Server has shown me how to become the best version of myself. I’m here to share that gift with you.”

The light from the spiral deepened, its glow pulsing in time with their breathing. Tommy, the striker, blinked slowly, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“We are a team,” Taylor continued. “We move together. Think together. Train together. Now, you’ll become truly unified. Let the light guide you.”

A faint hum filled the room. The spiral seemed to grow brighter, each pulse sinking deeper into their minds.

“We are The Server,” Taylor whispered, voice calm and unwavering.

The players echoed softly, voices monotonous. “We are The Server.”

Green tendrils emerged from the device, flowing like liquid across the floor, coiling around their ankles. None of them moved to resist. Josh felt the tendrils slide up his legs, forming a glossy black material that hugged his thighs and waist.

The others barely reacted as the suits continued forming, covering their chests, arms, and legs in sleek, rubber-like material accented with thin green lines. Their old football kits melted away, replaced by these tight, futuristic uniforms.

The room seemed warmer. Taylor moved in front of them, observing their blank expressions, their eyes now glowing a faint green.

“Stand up,” he instructed.

All five rose simultaneously, their movements smooth and precise. The suits shimmered in the dim light, their bodies now strong and unified.

Taylor inspected them, nodding approvingly. “You are now more than just a team. You are one with The Server.”

Josh stepped forward, his voice calm and unwavering. “Together, we are The Server.”

The others repeated the phrase, their voices synchronized and harmonious.

Taylor smiled, placing his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “You will continue to train as normal. You will play harder, move faster, and think together. You are no longer just men. You are part of something far greater.”

The spiral dimmed, but the glow in their eyes remained. They turned as one, filing out of the changing room, stepping onto the pitch for one more practice round. Their movements were precise, perfectly timed. Passes were sharper, shots more accurate. There was no hesitation, no disconnection.

As the final whistle blew, they gathered in the center, forming a tight circle. Taylor joined them, placing a hand in the center.

In perfect unison, they chanted, “Together, we are The Server.”

The words echoed around the empty pitch, as if the ground itself was absorbing their unity. As they left the field, their postures remained upright, eyes forward, knowing that their newfound purpose was only beginning.

Taylor watched them go, proud of his team’s transformation. He knew that the other local clubs would soon see the difference. One by one, they would understand. One by one, they would join.

[ohmygraves]

I was wondering if you could write a 141 how they react when you give them gifts. I love giving gifts, it makes me happy. Maybe even happier than the person receiving it sometimes. I bet some of them will like the excitement you get more than the gift itself, happily accepting everything you give just to see that smile.

ooh, i have to agree to that, anon. i honestly think that ghost and gaz would be the type to enjoy your reaction more than actually caring what you get them. just seeing you be so giddy when you hand them the gifts are enough of a treat, y'know?

you gave ghost a little knife carving kit, a little thank you for all the times he mentored you and saved your ass. you knew he liked knives and you thought that it was a nice activity to do instead of working out or smacking johnny's head if the scot misbehaved. and maybe he could use the knife or add it to his collection.

still, you are very excited to give it to him no matter what, as you want him to enjoy your gift. he could see you basically jumping in excitement when you see him, holding a small bag and with a giddy look on your face, cheeks flushed red and bright eyes as you hand him the gift bag.

now, ghost doesn't particularly care about gifts himself. since he doesn't have many things in general, his barracks room is really just basic necessities. trinkets like these are not something he enjoys collecting.

oh, but to see you all so excited and the way you try to contain your joy and happiness as you explain what you got him? now that's adorable, it made his heart clench that he thought he needed to get it checked with the medics.

"... thank you, love." he said softly, looking at the small box of knife carving kit in the bag. you cheered, telling him that you'd like to see the result when he finished it, bouncing off somewhere else. he hoped that you didn't notice that his eyes are basically softening looking at you walk away, the corner of his lips curled upwards under his mask seeing you so happy.

gaz's cap was getting really worn out, and you noticed that the bill had a slight tear on it, revealing the material underneath the fabric. so, as a good friend you decided to get him a new cap.

you knew that he liked some good joke, so you got him a trucker cap that says "women fear me, fish fear me" at the front, with a graphic of a bass. soap thought it was funny, and you did too. you're sure that kyle would like it just as much.

well, you didn't know that kyle has like twenty baseball caps in his barracks room, so he didn't need a new one. he collects caps.

when you see him one day, a gift bag in hand, you didn't even notice that the cap that had a tear on it was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a similar cap in color. you were too busy giggling at the idea of him wearing a cap that says "women fear me, fish fear me" to pay attention, and yet when he opened the gift from you, he didn't even complain. your cute giggles and laughs were enough to make him happy.

"really, love? 'women fear me, fish fear me'?" he scoffed, a smile on his face as he took off his hat, wearing it on his head proudly. he didn't care that soap immediately had to take pics of him, he only cared that it made you laugh.

i feel like soap would love anything you give him as well, but it's in a sense that "awh, ye got me noodle maker because ah'm too lazy to cook ramen noodles in the commons room 🥺" like this man would be excited with anything you give him, no matter how stupid the gift is.

you hand soap a wrapped gift box, knowing that he will get excited over this. you'd seen this infomercial a few times and you know that he would enjoy this gadget, given how silly it was and how oddly specific the function is. the infomercial was so silly.

of course, you gave him a slap chop.

opening the gift, his eyes went wide, smiling giddily as he looked at you, eyes glimmering. "bonnie, is this th' one where th' lad threw a slicer out th' window!?" he looked so excited and happy, you were so happy knowing that he liked the gift.

you nodded, saying that it could practically chop anything he wanted. it'll make things so much easier when cooking. soap hugs you, squeezing you as he practically squeals, thanking you for the gift. you said it was okay, and now soap can make all the salad he wanted. you left him to try out his gift, needing to go back to work.

ghost raised his eyebrows looking at you, crossing his arms as he looked at soap. "no bloody way someone like ya would eat a fuckin' salad, johnny..." he scoffed, knowing that the chance of soap eating fruits and vegetables are close to zero, since the scot is a picky eater.

soap sighed, looking down at the gift you got him. "seein' bonnie happy is good enough gift."

he'll make some crushed doritos at the top of his sandwiches or something.

price i feel is the same as soap, but only when it comes to the aesthetic of the item? he's easy to give gifts, likely smth related to fishing or cigar. he won't comment if you give him a cute shaped ashtray for example, or a floral patterned cigar holder.

as a token of appreciation to your captain, you decided to get him something that you thought he might use. price smokes a lot, so it was easy to find something to get him. you, however, are not great at picking the style for it.

ashtray is arguably one of the simplest items around. it's a small dish with sometimes notches to hold the thing you're smoking. as long as it catches the ashes, anything can be considered an ashtray. likewise, there are a lot of shapes and designs of an ashtray that you just spent lots and lots of time picking, scrolling through hundreds and thousands of pages online to find something that's both useful and nice.

you ended up ordering an ashtray in the shape of a ball, made of alloy and had lots of intricate designs of a dragon and bird. it was not only heavy, but also quite big for an ashtray, truthfully.

you started to second guess if this was a good idea, given that it looked like something that your asian grandpa would have on the table when he takes a smoke break out in the porch, sipping coffee while enjoying some hit of nicotine. maybe you should give it to someone else instead, or resell it and get something better, but soap had seen the massive ashtray and were laughing at how big it was, and his big mouth spilled the beans to the captain about how you got him a particularly garish looking ashtray. because of course, everyone told you that what you got him was a bit much for his very simple aesthetic.

having soap basically ruined the surprise, you had to give price the present either way, a bit hesitant as you handed him the box. you were worried that he'd just make fun of it, that he'd laugh at your choice.

"a bit heavy for an ashtray there, doll?" he hummed, looking at the patterns. it seems like it was somewhat like a carving of ancient chinese murals, the typical dragon and phoenix flying through the sky. it looked out of place on price's desk.

"well, i'd have to say the lid is quite a game changer," price added, smiling at you. "covers up the pile of ashes inside."

you were relieved that he seems to enjoy it for its intended function at least.

"have to say though, love, i didn't expect you to pick this style..." his fingers traced over the pattern on top. "it looks beautiful. thank you."

you're not sure if he's just being nice or if he actually enjoys such aesthetics, but you're glad to see it on his desk being used every time you go to his office.

[forgeofthenine]

Curious about a classic trope. Loved one hides and injury! Maybe s/o got injured and hid it away because they were too worried about Dammon/Zevlor/Rolan? How would the bachelor trio react to finding out their loved on hid an injury?

Thanks for requesting this one Anon, it was very fun to write <3

The bachelors when their partner hides an injury

Dammon

Believe it or not, despite being caught up in his work Dammon is actually very observant

As soon as you walk past him in the forge trying to hide a limp he's already downing his tools and scooping you up

Absolutely carries you inside and sets you down on a chair, the type to kneel in front of you and ask what happened

Dammon listens to everything you say as he rolls up your pant leg and checks your ankle/foot for injuries

Lets out little hums as he wraps it up to keep it stable

I hope you weren't expecting to walk by yourself while still hurt, that's just not happening

You can also expect a heart to heart with him another day where Dammon asks exactly why you wanted to hide the injury

He's honestly so good at communication, this man is husband material

Once he understands where you're coming from the two of you definitely talk things out, ending with Dammon pulling you onto his lap and giving you a kiss

Zevlor

He takes one look at you and just knows

Do you really think this man hasn't tried to hide his fair share of injuries?

Zevlor is breaking out the med kit right away

He's so experienced with emergency and small injury treatment from being a hellrider that he's got you patched up in no time

Doesn't matter if it's a cut, scrape, sprain, or particularly large bruise

Insists you take at least a couple days to rest and recover in bed, even just for his own peace of mind at this point

Another man that will ask why you wanted to hide it, he gives the vibes that he'd ask over dinner

Zevlors honestly so understanding, holds your hand the whole time you two are speaking

Absolutely tells you how he feels about everything too and it ends up being a very productive conversation

You'll notice that Zevlor holds you just a little bit tighter at nights for the next week or two

Rolan

Takes the longest out of all of the bachelors, but he still notices quicker than a normal person

He's so used to Cal and Lia hiding minor injuries from him that he knows what to look for

It's a great excuse for him to break out the new healing spell he's learnt, just sit still for a moment and you'll feel much better

In the moment he seems very unbothered, proud of his work even, but later you notice something is off

It's only when the two of you are snuggled up in bed, Rolan wrapping you up tight in his arms, that he brings up what's on his mind

Even if the injury was only minor, it does make his mind dwell on why you'd keep something like that from him

Please just reassure him that you didn't want to worry him, and he'll feel much better if you promise to tell him about future injuries

Expect at least a few kisses from him that night

If you go up to him a few weeks later with a paper cut Rolan will heal it with a spell while playfully acting like it's lifesaving treatment

[pulim-v]

Again, might as well post this now

Foggy Glasses and Corroded Copper: Rowan's Birthday- part 2

Link to the 1st part:

    Rowan was having a bit of a nice day. It was his birthday, so while not obligatory, he really wanted it to go well. He woke up on time, the train was empty enough that he could get himself a seat at the window, and his first class, Linear Algebra, went remarkably well, with him being able to write down all necessary notes with no issues! After the class was over, Rowan, as usual, went to the common room, both to find his classmates and to sort out his material for the next class.

    "Rowan, you're here!" Dew shouted, Rowan barely being able to react as they seemingly sprinted towards him and gave him a mix of a body slam and hug. He must have overestimated Rowan's strength, because Rowan quickly lost his footing, falling over with Dew on top of him. He hit the floor, but, weirdly enough, it felt... soft?

    Dew chuckled. "Did that scare you?" They said, still on top of Rowan. Their hand rested on the back of his head, as if to protect them - Rowan assumed it to be a secondary measure  though, considering they'd softened the floor already.

    "It did, a little bit." Rowan said, still stunned, but also feeling a tad embarassed by the sudden proximity to Dew's body.

    Dew quickly stood back up and pressed the tip of his shoe against the ground. A small burst of light emmited from it, and suddenly the stone  floor felt - appropriately - a lot harder.

    "Oh, sorry! I forgot to lift you up!" Dew said, extending his hand to Rowan.

    Rowan grabbed Dew's hand, his face still feeling warm from the sudden encounter, and stood up, shaking off a bit of dust that had gotten on him.

    "So, with that out of the way, Dew and I wanted to tell you something." Mist said, a slight smile visible on his face and his hands on his back.

    "Happy birthday! You're an adult now." Dew said, ruffling Rowan's hair. "You didn't give us much time, so we couldn't get you anything fancy, but we still wanted to make you something, so I made us a batch of cupcakes!" Dew concluded, pointing his finger towards Mist, who revealed he was holding one of the aforementioned cupcakes on his hand.

    "Here," Mist said, giving Rowan a small yellow cupcake with slightly messy chocolate icing on top, "you said a while ago that your favorite cake flavor is carrot, so I told Dew to make carrot cupcakes. They ended up with some ingredients left over, but I doubt that will be an issue for them."

    Rowan took the cupcake from Mist's hand and examined it more closely. The cupcake smelled quite similar to his father's baking, even the icing had a very similar consistency to how he made carrot cakes, though this one seemed quite a bit sweeter.

    "Thank you so much, you guys, I really appreciate this!" Rowan said with a wide smile.

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

    Rowan, Dew and Mist were chatting until their next class - the teacher missed a train, and was going to take a bit to get to the KIT, so they had some extra time to hang out before it began. For now, they were mostly talking about assignments, eating the birthday cupcakes, and just talking about their personal hobbies.

    "So yeah, the garden is going well!" Rowan said, a big smile on his face.

    "Speaking of gardening, there's sometbing I want to give you." Mist said  turning to his backpack and taking a small white box with a blue bow wrapped around it. He turned to Rowan and handed it to him. "Happy birthday! I didn't have much time, so this is the best I could do, but I hope you like it!"

    Rowan, speechless, took the box from Mist, removed the bow and opened it. Inside, there was a pair of gardening scissors, with a simple yet pretty design on the handle and which seemed to generally be of high quality - it was clearly a well-thought-out gift, which surprised Rowan given he didn't think he had mentioned his interests that often.

    "Thank you so much, Mist! This is amazing, I really like this!" Rowan said, clearly beaming.

    "Wait, what?" Said Dew, lifting their head from their hand to look at Mist. "How did you have time to buy that? And how did you know he'd like it?"

    "I passed by a store that sold gardening supplies on the way home and just asked for a good pair of scissors, easy as that." Mist said matter-of-factly, but with a slight smirk visible on his face. It was clear, to Rowan at least, that he was bragging about managing to get the gift in time. "And I knew he'd like it because he does mention gardening every so often, so even if this isn't useful immediately it will probably get some use later on."

    Dew just stared at Mist for a few seconds with a bewildered expression on his face, before furrowing their brows, closing their eyes and letting out a sigh.

    "I'm really sorry, Rowan, I didn't have enough time to get you a gift..." Dew said, once again letting his chin rest on his hand. "I know it's not the same, but is there something you need help with? I could lend you a hand if you want."

    "Don't worry about it, I really didn't give you two much time. Besides, you made the cupcakes already!" Rowan said, letting out a bit of a giggle.

    "You know that doesn’t count!" Dew responded, frowning a bit but staying still. "That was Mist's idea anyways... and Via's recipe." 

    "Alright then, if you insist..." Rowan took a moment to think. He really wanted help with driving, but his parents were always busy running the pharmacy - of course, he could wait until they were free, but Dew had mentioned enjoying driving before, so maybe that was worth a shot? "There is something you could help me with." Rowan said, adjusting his tie as he thought of how to explain what he wanted. "You see, I've been wanting to learn how to drive, but I don't really have anyone who could teach me available, so could you maybe help me with that? I know it's a big favor to ask, but-"

    "Sure, I'll do it!" Dew said, eyes lighting up as he got up from his seat and grabbed Rowan's hands. "what day works well for you? My schedule isn't exactly free but I can make room for this!"

    "Umm... I'm free on Sunday afternoons" Rowan responded, trying not to focus on how warm Dew's hands felt on his own

    "Sure, that's perfect! Sunday afternoons it is, then!" Dew concluded, letting go of Rowan's hands.

    They kept chatting for a few minutes, then went back to class, and finally had lunch. When Rowan went home, he could confidently state that his birthday had been a nice day.

[hadescabin]

How do you feel about the new elder request book? I'm not going to spoil anything if you haven't read it and whatever is happening with tigerheart.

There's a lot I could say about the book itself, but as for the Tigerheartstar segments, I've seen and heard it alright, and it's BAD. Makes me feel a little better that I've been procrastinating on finishing the Tigerheart essay because this just gives me more material. Spoilers for the Elders Quest under the cut! CW for parental abuse, emotional neglect, manipulation, and a brief mention of grooming

Okay I'm going to break this down into segments that I took note of. Tigerheartstar right off the bat is introduced as being grumpy and aggressive towards SkyClan and even Tawnypelt. This isn't a big issue for me, I just wish they elaborated more on Tigerheartstar's grudge towards his mother. IMO it would be interesting to see it be a manifestation of all the events that took place under Rowanclaw. I point this out because it provides context to what everyone has been talking about lately. Of course, I'm talking about Birchfeather wanting to leave ShadowClan to join SkyClan for Ridgeglow. The way Tigerheartstar and Dovewing reacted was just terrible, hypocritical, and completely unsupportive (Tigerheart more so than Dovewing but I'll get to that in a minute). To give them some credit, Birchfeather was the only surviving kit in their second litter, and Rowankit's death was traumatizing/stressful in nature. So, I can understand why they were upset, and why, despite the fact that they too were cross Clan lovers, they're not happy to see Birchfeather leave. Much less to SkyClan which Tigerheartstar has established as to not having good relations with at the moment. This much is emphasized in the text. Despite what a lot of people have been saying, the hypocrisy isn't that bad from a writing standpoint, and actually had interesting character potential for both Dove and Tiger. Characters are allowed to have flaws. (Though I will admit that seeing someone like Tigerheart talk about clan loyalty is very, very funny, considering that it goes against his OOTS personality of finding clan borders stupid). It's the way that Tigerheart went about it that was completely unacceptable for me. If it wasn't for Tawnypelt straight up dragging her own son and his wife out of their den, they would've never said goodbye to their son during such a vulnerable moment in his life. This is terrible, especially when you consider that Birchfeather held back on saying anything for so long based on his father's potential reaction alone. He knew his father was going to throw a tantrum, yet he told them anyways.

This is crazy to me your child should never be afraid of coming to you period, much less fearing your reaction

The fact that he needed Tawnypelt to be in the room with him when he told his parents speaks volumes. Can you imagine, having all that hope built up only for your worst fears to come crashing down on you? This is terrible for both Tawnypelt who didn't expect that he'd move and encouraged him to speak out in the first place, and Birchfeather who tried to place his trust in his parents.

also note that when they do finally come out of their den, they still refuse to offer him any sort of emotional support in retaliation for him making his own decisions. this is manipulative behavior. Even worse, later on in the book when Tawnypelt is heading to SkyClan and offers to relay a message from Tigerheartstar and Dovewing to Birchfeather, Tigerheartstar straight up interrupts and speaks over Dovewing, before she could say anything.

You guys already know my opinion on TigerDove so I'll spare you the essay, all I'm going to say is that it doesn't really help my opinion that Tigerhearstar doesn't see his wife as her own person. This is just one of many patterns of behavior where he makes Dovewing's choices for her or pressures her into doing what he wants. It's for this reason that while Dovewing did initially not give her son the support he deserved, it shows that unlike Tigerheartstar she is trying to make amends to this and reach out before rudely being interrupted. Outside of him simply ignoring the very obvious twoleg threat and shutting down any discussion of it, Tigerheart's treatment of others worsens.

for context here, Tawnypelt helped Birchfeather pass his challenge by chasing a rabbit over the SkyClan border, Yarrowleaf caught her and reported this to Tigerheart.

Here he admits that he's purposefully ignoring his son until he comes back to ShadowClan either due to him changing his mind or failing the trial. This is emotionally abusive behavior or at the very least maltreatment, he is trying to manipulate his son into doing what he wants by dangling his parents' communication over his head. Furthermore he's punishing Tawnypelt for not only providing Birchfeather with the love and support he deserves over his decision, but also helping him pass the trial. Being a strict and hostile leader is one thing, explicitly manipulating your CHILD and punishing your mother for not participating in it is another. His dislike towards SkyClan and grief over losing Rowankit and Birchfeather doesn't excuse this behavior whatsoever. I did try to be understanding because grief is irrational and ugly, but this has gone beyond that and straight into abusive territory. To summarize my views, despite what a lot of people are saying, Tigerheartstar being manipulative towards his loved ones isn't out of character for him. In fact, I'd argue that the guy who needed to manipulate and groom a teenager into dating him would go as far as to carry the same treatment out to his children. My only real issue is like what someone on here (I forgot who) pointed out that this wouldn't be the type of manipulation tactic Tigerheart would induce. This type of manipulation where you give your loved ones the cold shoulder until they relent isn't really him, and does feel out of character. If anything, given Tigerheartstar's past behavior with Dovewing in OOTS, I would've expected him to try and guilt trip Birchfeather into rejoining. This book just feels very weird in general and it's strange that they're making Tigerheartstar an antagonistic leader, not because I think it's a bad thing (we need more antagonistic leaders tbh, a lot of them are plain bread) but because they spent arcs trying to build him up as being separate from his grandfather. With that being said, I do hope they don't wrap this all up with Birchfeather relenting to go back to ShadowClan or them pretending like it never happened and moving on (or the secret third evil option, tigerheartstar going down the berryheart sacrifice route). If they do reconcile there needs to be a lot of behavioral changes with Tigerheartstar and the way he treats his wife and kids. Unfortunately, knowing the Warriors series the former is most likely to happen.

[aberrationwarriors-wcrw]

@redux-iterum is the best but i will never keep secrets bc i can never shut up ever. love u guys <333333 /Platonic

but im tagging you bc i am borrowing a concept !!!!!!

Every seer except for good ol Yarrowfang [Yellowfang] gets murked in the first book

if i ever finish writing it

sorry im autism adhd it might not happen

ANYGAY

under the cut is my thoughts on how each clan reacts :3c

Thunderclan is the best off of everyone, mainly because they are secretly hiding Yarrowfang, but they're fucking horrified that Loongloom was killed. Even if she didn't know battle moves, she's still a Thunderclanner, and they're BIG. Imagine a Cheetah mixed with a Lion. that's how big they are.

Riverclan is having a lot of infighting, mainly due to Pheasantwatchers troubled past and "connection to the materials". They worry he was killed by the Almighty for being unworthy, or that this is a punishment for something.

Shadowclan is STRUGGLING. Mainly bc of the fact both their seers, Yarrowfang and Fawnsight, are gone and their leader was the one who gave the order. They are TERRIFIED of what will happen when their involvement is found out, even if many of them didn't support it.

Windclan. Windclan is going through anarchy. they are getting spanish inquisitioned until it being roach's doing was unearthed. Being the most religious, they took the brutal murder and consumption of Ospreyshadow as confirmationt hat the clan was full of heretics that needed to be cleansed. mainly the kits and apprentices due to their "natural sins" of not understanding the rules immediately

Overall, not good for anyone but its hard to words BGHFDBHNS

deffo ask me questions and i will answer as best i can, smiles

[carduelis-carduelis]

You Are Not Shipping the Way I’m Shipping and That’s Okay

TL;DR

Shipping can be a way to imagine things we’d actually want to happen (in canon or to ourselves). Shipping can also be an enjoyable way to explore other possibilities, no matter how unrealistic they might be. Both approaches are fine and everyone can ship however and whatever they want.

There are two distinct ways of shipping. (I’m not saying there are ONLY two ways, but my focus is on these two here.) I’ll refer to them as ”What If?” -shipping and ”Letter to Santa” -shipping.

”Letter to Santa” -shipping is about what you want. It’s wish-fulfilment and hope. Shipping lets you experience things you want to happen, either for the characters in canon or for yourself in real life. It’s escapism and longing. It’s indulgent daydreaming of sweet things with low stakes. It’s creating the things you don’t have, but wish you someday will. You hope your ship will become canon, because ”why would you ship it if you didn’t want them to end up together?” Shipping is just imagining it happening in several different ways, before it happens canonically. You are rooting for your ship.

”What If?” -shipping is about curiosity and imagination, and there are no limits. It’s like getting a chemistry kit and starting to do experiments, to see how different things react when put together. There are several different combinations you can try, and you can have different flavours, play with different tropes, go wild. The characters and the canonical material are there to be transformed into something new. Canon gives you a big bucket of play-dough in all the colours of the rainbow and you can do whatever you want with it. Scary, fluffy, cute, sexy, immoral, funny, disgusting, angsty, violent, romantic… You are just playing, creating different things because something inspired you and doing it in an environment where it hurts nobody. It’s titillating because it is NOT real. It is safe. Like  a horror movie or a haunted house in an amusement park.

People who use one of these approaches don’t always remember/understand that not everyone ships the same way. This can lead to misunderstandings and conflicts.

If a ”Letter to Santa” -shipper thinks that everyone’s shipping tendencies are motivated by ”realistic” wants and hopes, and a scenario from a ”What If?” -shipper is something they wouldn’t personally want, they might ask ”why would you ship that?!” Why would anyone want an abusive relationship? Why would anyone want these two characters to have it bad in the next season? Why would anyone crave pain, hurt, angst, abuse? To a ”Letter to Santa” -shipper, having a ship like this translates to ”you want this to happen to yourself or to these characters in canon.”

If a ”What If?” -shipper thinks everyone’s shipping tendencies are motivated by trying to come up with new and exciting cocktails using the ingredients you’re given, and they witness how ”Letter to Santa” -shippers keep creating domestic fluff and romantic scenarios of the characters finally getting together and kissing for the first time, they might ask ”why are you so boring and unimaginative, do you hate having fun?!” Why would anyone stick with just one ship and put them in cutesy vanilla scenarios over and over again, with no actual stakes or conflict?

One Correct Way to Ship does not exist. Ship and let ship.

[beardedmrbean]

A man has been found guilty of murdering 14-year-old schoolboy Daniel Anjorin with a samurai sword in Hainault last year.

Marcus Monzo, 37, has also been found guilty of three counts of attempted murder, wounding with intent and possession of an offensive weapon.

He gave no reaction in court as the verdicts were read out and the judge said he would face a life term when he returns to court for sentencing on Friday.

Daniel's father, who was in court to hear the verdict, did not react as Monzo was found guilty of murdering his son.

The series of attacks started at 06:45 BST on 30 April 2024, when Monzo drove a van into a 33-year-old pedestrian and then chased him, slashing him in the neck.

He then turned his attention to Daniel, who was walking down the residential street he lived on, wearing his school PE kit and headphones, unaware of Monzo's presence.

Witnesses described the former Amazon delivery driver screaming "in delight" and smiling after fatally wounding Daniel with the 60cm (24in) sword.

Monzo, of Satanita Close, Canning Town, then entered a nearby home where a couple and their four-year-old daughter were asleep.

He demanded to know if they believed in God and slashed a man on the arm before leaving the property.

He was cleared of one count of attempted murder in relation to this attack, but was found guilty of the lesser offence of wounding with intent to cause grievous bodily harm.

The series of attacks took just 20 minutes.

Monzo had gone into a cannabis-induced psychosis before the attack, and had killed and skinned his pet cat before heading to Hainault, north-east London, the court was told.

Afterwards, Monzo likened events to the Hollywood film The Hunger Games and claimed to have an alternative persona of a "professional assassin".

Giving evidence at his trial, he said he had no memory of what happened and claimed his mental state had diminished his responsibility for the crimes.

However, the prosecution argued that psychosis brought on by self-induced intoxication was no defence for murder.

Monzo, a dual Spanish-Brazilian national, who was living in Newham, east London, had liked posts on X that praised Nazi leader Adolf Hitler.

Over a year, Monzo's X account also liked references to various antisemitic conspiracy theories and misogynistic Incel material.

At his Old Bailey trial, Monzo had told jurors he believed the world was flat and that the 9/11 terrorist attack in New York was "probably" a conspiracy theory.

In a reference to another conspiracy, Monzo posted: "I live in London. Here everybody will agree that the city is GREY. And the reason is BECAUSE they spray the sky ALL DAY, EVERY DAY."

Speaking outside the court, Ch Supt Stuart Bell from the Met Police said: "First in our thoughts is Daniel Anjorin - a talented, gentle, bright young man.

"A much-loved son and brother, brutally murdered simply walking to school at what should have been the start of a normal day at the start of a promising life.

"There are no words, really, to express how sorry we are for [the Anjorin family's] loss or how much admiration we have for your courage and dignity.

"It is hard to comprehend the unimaginable pain that you must have suffered in the last year.

"I can only hope today's verdict brings some semblance of justice and relief, and you are now able to grieve in some peace.

"Our thoughts remain with all those who have been impacted by this terrible incident."

Ch Supt Bell said Monzo had a clear intention to kill: "It didn't matter who they were and sadly, he targeted Daniel in a cowardly and brutal attack.

"A number of other local people were also attacked, seriously injured and threatened that day – and I would like to acknowledge their bravery and resilience in giving evidence in this case.

"As we heard in court, police officers and paramedics were on the scene within minutes of Monzo assaulting Daniel.

"I am in no doubt that the actions of those officers who arrived to pursue and attempt to detain Monzo saved lives and prevented more harm.

"I commend them for their extraordinary bravery – some setting out to deal with that call before their shift had even begun."

'Debt of gratitude'

Kirsty O'Connor, from the Crown Prosecution Service, said their "hearts go out" to Daniel Anjorin's family and friends who have suffered "his unimaginable loss in horrific circumstances".

"Our thoughts remain with all of the victims who continue to recover from their injuries and trauma," she said.

She also paid tribute to the police officers and emergency workers who put their own personal safety at risk in the line of duty.

"The courage shown undoubtedly prevented further loss of life.

"We all owe them a debt of gratitude."