#Unicorn Lashes

[zeibei]

spent an entire shift drawing elec man

[mezzyb0nb0n]

I was looking for Tally Hall photos on Pinterest and

WTF IS THIS😭

[ouniqueunicorn]

[azvainia]

I wake up, and I think about them. I eat food, I think about them. I go to work, I write their stories when no customers are around. I don’t believe in god, but I believe in them.

The Cosmic Daniel.

The one who consumed the whole universe like it was the size of a golfball, and fit it in the center of their chest just to hold us closer. A lifetime of unforgivable woes for them, and yet they ache for the happiness of us. Though they swallowed the unknown universe at first for selfish reasons, like humans often do, the force of life itself spoke to them and shared the rest of the worlds unspoken secrets, and they realized that life was the something that forms in between all those vast gaps of nothing.

You may think me the artist here, the weaver of tales, but alas. If I have a religion, it is Codan. Get it? Cosmic Daniel? Please tell me it isn’t taken. Codanish? hm.. Workshopping this. Anyways.

If I have a religion, it is [of the Cosmic Daniel variety]. I am merely a follower. I am a vessel for them and their values, a humble spreader of this life changing, sacred vision. May we all let their light flow through us.

[thecupcakekitty]

I get my lashes done and when I the barbie movie came out I got pink glitter lashes and this made me realize that the possibilities are endless. Also if I ever get white lashes I'm cosplaying the last unicorn

[katsukistofu]

peanut butter and jellyfish

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ h. shinsou x fem reader. 5k words — fluff. cursing. comforting insecurities. friends to secret lovers.

⭑ shenanigans with your not-so-secret boyfriend ft. sleepovers with eri, a cat eating pizza on you at 3am, your classmates being nosy, and an aquarium date.

note: your quirk is forensic sight! so ur gc name is the way it is bc ur eyes lol get it

You choke back a laugh as a very focused Eri puts yet another sticker on Hitoshi’s face. 

Snacks and pillows are strewn around the inside of the blanket fort the three of you finished building moments before. Stiller than a rock, your calm best friend sits there cross-legged so that Eri can give him a makeover of unicorns, stars, and rainbows. 

“Do you think he looks pretty yet?” Eri tilts her head at you.

“Like a real-life princess.” You giggle. “Good job, Eri!” 

“Yay!” She happily high fives the hand you hold up for her. “Do you feel pretty yet, Hito-nii?”

“I feel so bonita.” Hitoshi deadpans, sending you two into another fit of giggles.

“You were pretty already, Toshi,” you coo, rubbing a thumb over the sticker of a cat making sushi on his cheekbone. Mr. Aizawa must have bought that one for her.

Hitoshi pretends to shyly gaze at you from under his long lashes. “Aw, really?”

His lips curve into a lazy smile, and a heat that you’re all too familiar with rises up your neck, you turn away–a little too quickly, to Hitoshi’s amusement.

“Nevermind you’re ugly.”

He laughs and the heat creeps up to your cheeks.

Such a simple sound, yet that soft, husky voice of his always manages to make your insides a mushy mess, even when you had painfully tripped over his cat, Celery, when he transferred and first moved into the dorms with your class.

The normally stoic, reserved purple-haired boy had doubled over with an uncontrollable wheeze, supporting himself on the sofa as your groaning self was sprawled across the floor. 

God, they were lucky they were both cute.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile as he reached a hand out to help you up, the other still covering his mouth. 

That was the first time you made him laugh, and now, you’ve heard it so many times that you could finally stop counting on both your hands’ fingers but you still wanted more.

“Want me to paint your nails, Eri?” You ask, scooting over to your bedroom’s drawer. 

You open it, your own light blue nails painted a color that reminds you of the sea against the pastel pink of the treasure box you take out. It had a heart-shaped diamond on the latch. 

The heavy box was filled with a collection of nail polish the girls in your class usually used for their sleepovers as well, and new bottles, mostly varying shades of apple red, started mysteriously appearing the day after Eri said she had never gotten painted her nails before. 

“Yes!” Eri’s eyes sparkle. “Can I please have matchy nails with Hito-nii?”

“Of course, sweetie.” You smile. She was adorable. 

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “You sure you want yours black this time, Eri?”

“Yes!” She huffs stubbornly. “Like dad’s clothes and those things under your eyes!”

“Hey!” He protests. She shares a mischievous look with you and you both giggle, catching the pillow Hitoshi gently throws at you. 

“Oreo wouldn’t treat me like this.” Hitoshi reaches out to ruffle Eri’s hair and she squeals in protest, batting his hand away. 

Eri holds up the oversized panda plushie he was talking about. It was comically bigger than her, and you had to bite back a laugh.

The moment you two spotted it in the claw machine outside Shinsou’s favorite cat cafe near campus, you knew you had to win it to add to her ever growing collection of stuffed animals.

With a grin, you remember the huge sigh of relief Shinsou let out when it finally fell into the chute.

“Duh he wouldn’t ‘cause you’re his twin!”

Hitoshi mock gasps. “Take that back.” And tickles her neck, barely dodging as you throw the pillow he threw earlier back at him. 

“Woah!”

Except much, much harder.

“Don’t worry Eri, I'll protect you!” You grab another nearby pillow and throw it at him, which he easily catches in mid-air with one hand like it was a frisbee.

“Aw.” You pout. Mr. Aizawa was training him a little too good now.

Eri pats your arm to console you. “It’s okay I appre-shee—apree-shee—“

“Appreciate?” You offer, and her face brightens as she nods.

“Appree-shee-ate. You. For trying.” She finishes shyly.

“Aw, thank you Eri. I appreciate you too.” 

Hitoshi’s eyes soften at the sight of you two. 

“What about me?”

You scowl. “You can go duck yourself, Toshi.”

“Love you too.”

Eri suddenly gasps. 

“Dad says that to Uncle Zashi too!”

Despite already knowing the answer, Hitoshi and you turn to look at her suspiciously.

“…Which one?”

As if he knows you’re talking about him, Aizawa yells down the hallway.

“Eri, brats, pizza’s here!”

───────── 

“Can I have another hug?” Hitoshi asks coyly after class one day. 

The bell had just rung, and you roll your eyes at his leaning form on the wall of the almost empty hallway. 

Everyone was leaving for lunch.

Except you two, but that was Hitoshi’s fault.

“I just gave you one!”

“Oh no.” He places a dramatic palm to his forehead. “I think I’m going to pass out because of someone if I don’t get a hug in the next five seconds.”

“Greedy ass.” You sigh, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

He hides a grin, shuffling closer to close the gap between your bodies. 

Hitoshi smells like fresh linen with hints of sunshine, probably from his daily bike ride he took around campus before class started, and the coffee he brewed this morning. 

A sense of comfort settles into your bones as the familiar scent envelopes you, and you breathe it in. 

He softly tucks your head under his chin as you nuzzle your face deeper into his chest, your headache from taking the quiz in Ectoplasm’s class earlier now long gone.

“Did you know that when cats see that it's raining outside a window, they go to another window in the same room to check if it's still raining outside?” Hitoshi randomly whispers.

“I did not know that.” You giggle. His lips feel ticklish on your hair. “Does Celery do that too?”

“All the time.” Hitoshi grins. “I have a video from yesterday’s storm, I’ll show you in the cafeteria.”

“Ooh okay!”

He straightens, and takes your hand, your fingers easily lacing through his as you both start to head in the direction of the dining hall. 

When you trip over nothing, he snorts, already expecting it, and catches your waist before you take a fall that will be difficult for your ego and your knees to recover from.

“Careful,” he says as you clutch onto his school uniform in relief, and you swear that already deep, smooth voice of his drops an octave on purpose, almost sending you to the ground again.

Hitoshi’s thumb is still tracing small circles on the back of your hand as the both of you join the line for the traditional school lunch. You could try a different cuisine tomorrow. On today’s menu was miso seaweed soup with a side of grilled fish and a milk bread roll along with, of course, rice.

You feel a vibration on the side of your leg, and for the umpteenth time this school year you thank UA for adding pockets to the school uniform’s skirts as you slip your phone out. The jellyfish charm Hitoshi got for your birthday last year dangles from your case.

Surprise, surprise, it’s the class group chat.

-forklift uncertified -

it’s barbie bitch 

guysss guess what i sawwww

invisi-girl 

IS IT TODOROKI IN A PINK TUTU

 

pikachew

girl what 

invisi-girl 

u guys don’t get the vision

i saw it in a dream last night

the rock 

nah i get it dude

that would be so manly

ice spice 

I would not be completely opposed to the idea

invisi-girl 

SEE

it’s barbie bitch 

it’s even better >_<

it’s barbie bitch 

hitoshituckingyourhair

behindearwithasoftsmile.png

mochi cheeks

OHMYGOD!?1?2?2

SOCUTEEEEETES

airpods with wires

i saw that

airpods with wires 

can yall not flirt before lunch 

next time i’m gonna throw 

up before i get to eat

sue you 

AWWWW OUR LITTLE BABYS ALL GROWN UP

forensic balls [you]

FUCK U GUYS IM 17

yaomomo

exactly

a Baby :)

forensic balls [you]

yaoyao ur supposed

to be on my side </3

yaomomo 

sorry my love i cannot 

deny the facts </3

pikachew

Nahhh only shinsou can call her that guys ;))))

airpods with wires

wah wah wah

forensic balls [you]

one more word and i’m gonna change the gc name to fornite jiggle physics 

sue you

NO

yaomomo

No thank you

my chemical romance

what a mad banquet of darkness

it’s barbie bitch

babe look me in the

eyes this isn’t like you 

forensic balls [you]

try me. 

pikachew

DO ITTTTTTT

forensic balls [you]

ok just bc u told me to 

i won’t now 

scotch tape 

dayum rip denks

forensic balls [you]

also not my fault u guys 

have early ass birthdays smh

shirt guy

Senior citizen core fr

forensic balls [you]

ily midoriya

shirt guy

ilyt pookie xx 

kazoo-ki

Girl u aint slick

shirt guy

You’re so late omg

pikachew

bro has us on mute

kazoo-ki

shut up dunce face

kazoo-ki

How tf do I change my name

mochi cheeks

LMFAO

wiki-how

Bakugo it is fairly simple. 

wiki-how

First you click on your profile, then your personal settings. 

wiki-how

From there you press “Change Display Name” and you should be able to enter your name of preference. 

kazoo-ki 

K

better than you

Thanks glasses ig

wiki-how

You are very welcome.

kiri the rock

nice one dude!

sue you

wow egotistical much

better than you

You wish yours was as big as mine

pikachew

that’s what he said

it’s barbie bitch

omg it just hit me

it’s barbie bitch

the first person to 

finally get bitches in our class 

it’s barbie bitch

i’m so happy i could cry

pikachew

I GET BITCHES

sue you

yeah over the screen 

we're talking irl

pikachew

leave me and my otome games alone

forensic balls [you]

real 

forensic balls [you]

AND IM NOT DATING HITOSHI

it’s barbie bitch

HITOSHI????????

airpods with wires

first name basis is crazy

forensic balls [you]

fuck i mean *shinsou

scotch tape

y’all smell that

the rock

peeeyew

pikachew

smells like sum bullshiiii

kazoo-ki

Could’ve fooled me

yaomomo

You aren’t??? :(

yaomomo

But I wrote a reminder to wish 

you two happy anniversary and 

even bought tea to celebrate!

forensic balls [you]

….for what date

yaomomo

April 1st :(

forensic balls [you]

………………

airpods with wires  

@ it’s barbie bitch we can see u

across the cafeteria u are BAWLING

eyebags

what the fuck

Hitoshi bites back a laugh as your widened eyes meet his, glancing up from your phone.

“Not dating, huh?” He grins.

You groan and pinch his arm. “I panicked okay! I didn’t know what to tell them.”

“Hmm, do you want me to?”

“I mean, only if you want to.” You shyly play with his fingers. 

“I kind of like us being a secret from them for a little longer. It feels… nice.”

Hitoshi smiles. “I know what you mean.” He wrinkles his nose. “Though they’re so nosy it looks like they figured it out already.”

“Pffft, yeah.” Mina could definitely sniff out a relationship from miles away, no matter how much PDA you tried to sneakily do in empty hallways.

Hitoshi squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“I like it too.” He leans over, and your eyes are forced to meet the dark violet of his.

The side of Hitoshi’s soft-looking lips, courtesy of the strawberry chapstick he stole from you before class this morning, quirk up as he looks down at you with soft eyes, the ones he reserves for you and random cats he sees on the road.

“Chapstick thief,” you mutter.

“Oh, you want it back?” Hitoshi grins. “Kiss it off me then.”

Your cheeks grown warm. “Not here!”

“Good,” He smirks.

“I prefer keeping you all to myself, anyway.”

   ───────── 

“What’s wrong?” 

He’s crouching down so that your eyes have no choice but to meet his from your spot on the bean bag.

He gently pushes the switch in your hands down to your lap and pokes your thigh. You squirm away ticklishly. 

“Tell me.”

“No.” You huff, picking your switch back up. “I just wanna play Stardew, leave me alone.”

“Darling.”

Your face flushes at the pet name, and he smirks. His secret weapon still works without fail. Hitoshi didn’t even need to activate his quirk to have you under his thumb. 

“You’re not going to feel better if you keep it in. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His nails are still pink, you faintly notice, trying to distract yourself from your very attractive, very insistent boyfriend in front of you with his comforting hands placed on your thighs.

You painted his left hand, and Eri painted his right at the last sleepover you had together. She had insisted that he should match nails with her this time, since she matched with him last week.

It was already terrible and impressive that Hitoshi was a people-reader, even worse that he knew what to do to make you fold so easily and open up.

Curse you Hitoshi, you and your disposition for healthy communication.

You should have never recommended that therapist to him.

“I don’t know,” you finally mumble. He tilts his head, showing you that he’s listening. 

“I just feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“Deserve what, sweetheart?” He asks. The softness in his voice is unbearable and what you've been bottling up for weeks finally spills out.

“I feel like I don’t deserve it when good things happen to me.”

Hitoshi blinks, then lets out a snort. Which turns into a full blown laugh coming from his chest.

You shove his face away and he falls on his butt, still chuckling. 

“You’re making fun of me!” You say indignantly.

“Sorry, sorry, I just–” He coughs, and takes a breath to recollect himself. 

“You say a lot of dumb shit and I think that's the worst thing I’ve heard you say.”

You pout. “I’m feeling very invalidated right now.” Hitoshi rolls his eyes, and his hands reclaim their spot on your skin, except this time he’s gently cupping your face in his hands. 

He’s not used to comforting people, but you can see that he’s trying.  

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and you inhale sharply. “You’re kind, you’re intelligent, and I see you try so hard everyday. You always do a good job when you set your sights on something. Why don’t you deserve good things?”

“I don’t know.” Your gaze is numbly pinned to the silver chain around his neck, the one with a little crescent moon on it that he wears everyday, not even taking it off when he goes to sleep. The one you gave to him. 

“That’s okay.”

His thumbs caress your cheeks, and you think you can breathe a little easier. 

“Let's think of it this way,” Hitoshi says, still cupping your cheeks, grounding you. “It’s not about whether you deserve it or not. Do you want it?”

You finally meet his eyes, and answer with a voice shakier than you’d like it to be. 

“I do. I want good things for myself.”

“Atta girl,” Hitoshi says with a proud quirk of his lips. 

You stare at him, your heart suspended in your chest, feeling better but still looking a bit unsure.

Hitoshi notices this from the way you start biting the inside of your cheek, and he leans his forehead against yours. You freeze. 

He smells like fruit, like freshly washed blueberries and those ripe strawberries in the kitchen in the dorm’s fridge. “That’s more than enough. We can work from there.”

There’s still a worried furrow between your eyebrows.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can go to the aquarium you love this weekend.”

He smirks as you perk up at that, drinking up the rare, shy expression suddenly on your face again, and leans down to your ear. 

“You’re so easy,” Hitoshi whispers. 

You grumble, you could hear that stupid grin in his voice.

“Sorry, I can't hear you with your face in my chest.”

You raise your head to glare at him and his heart soars. There was his girl.

God, his smug face was starting to irritate you more and more. "I said that if you were my husband I'd poison your tea!" 

“If you were my wife, I'd drink it."

   ───────── 

-thot pockets -

it's barbie bitch

omg guess who i just saw 

cuddling in front of the tv

it's barbie bitch

youwrappedlikeaburritoinhitoshisarms.png

dating allegation #1 

MINA WTF DELETE THAT

dating allegation #1 

WHY R U STALKING US

[dating allegation #2 saved an image]

dating allegation #1 

BRO WHOS SIDE ARE YOU ON

dating allegation #1 

PURPLE MINION LOOKING BITCH

dating allegation #2

ok forensic penis

dating allegation #2

who changed my user

pikachew

me

cuz u guys are NOT beating 

them :laughcry::laughcry:

ice spice

I am just confused as to why 

you two are sitting on each other 

ice spice

When the rest of the couch 

appears to be unoccupied

ice spice

Perhaps this is a new 

procreation method?

mochi cheeks

TODORKIWHATHAHVDHSHA

pikachew

LMDFAOOOOOOOOO

ice spice

? 

dating allegation #1 

WHATTHEFUKC

the rock

never change bro 

sue you

IACTAULKYLCANT BREATHE HELP

it’s barbie bitch

ME NEITEHHR

dating allegation #2

Whenever my eyebags get darker

dating allegation #2

Just know I blame it on all of you

   ───────── 

“Celery?” You mutter, rubbing your bleary eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Mrow.” The cat continues eating the slice of… pizza? On your chest.

It looks like the one that you and Hitoshi ordered earlier after quizzing each other for Present Mic’s exam.

 

“I love you so much but I am so confused.”

You reach for your phone to text Hitoshi, your still-asleep hands fumbling a bit on the nightstand.

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

us 

you [12 hrs ago]

literally us <3

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

want to order takeout and 

watch ouran highschool after

we study for tmrws exam

you [12 hrs ago]

yes please omg

you [now – 03:24]

hey

can u explain why ur daughter

is eating pizza on my boobs

at 3am

toshi [03:30]

whar

?

toshi [03:31]

OHfMGOD

CELERU

Not even five minutes later, he’s knocking on the door to your room. You open it, and the sight of a very sleepy looking Hitoshi greets you. His already unruly bedhead is even messier than usual and you’re pretty sure he’s wearing his shirt backwards. Did he put it on before coming over? 

Wait.

You blink, long and hard, banishing the thoughts of a groggy, very shirtless Hitoshi lying in his bed, with the light of his phone screen illuminating his handsome features as he replies to your text. Those four hours of sleep must finally be hitting you.

Hitoshi sees you blinking, and takes it as a sign you’re still in shock at the pizza monster in your lap.

He gives an awkward pat to your shoulder in reassurance.

“I think this is just how she shows affection.” Hitoshi stares down at Celery fondly.

The way you stroke her fur so softly makes his chest feel warm and tingly.

“Does she eat leftover pizza off your chest at three in the morning?”

“...No.”

“Hah. She said she likes me better. ” You smirk victoriously. “Isn’t that right sweetie?”

The calico cat purrs as you scratch her ears, a bit of tomato sauce under her chin. Hitoshi exaggeratedly puts his hand over his heart at this scene of betrayal.

“Seriously? Celery, I took you off those streets and raised you like I was the one pregnant with you for nine months.”

“Mrow.” She bumps her head against your hand.

“Pfft, give it up Toshi. It’s time for you to hand over the adoption papers.”

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “Or we could just share custody.”

“What?” Your cheeks grow warm. “You want me to be her mom?”

“I mean you kind of already are. Look at her,” he says, eyes softening as he looks at the two of you. 

Celery has her paw on your arm. After eating until her little tummy was full, she was already starting to doze off.

“She takes after me.”

You let out a derisive snort.

“Yeah you looked just like that after our binge marathon today too."

“Not in that way.”

He smirks at your confused reaction.

“Then what do you mean–”

At that moment, Celery decides it’s the perfect time to snuggle into your tank top, smearing what’s left of the pizza on her face all over it.

Hitoshi’s eyes widen. He laughs, covering his mouth.

You’ve never been so glad you chose to wear black to sleep.

   ───────── 

“Trouble child, you’re here.”

“Hi Mr. Aizawa.” You roll your eyes. “When are you going to stop calling me that, it’s getting old.”

“When you stop getting into trouble.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“The kid’s almost ready.” He snorts. “About damn time. Been up since six.”

“He has?” Your eyes widen. “For what?”

Your teacher smirks. “Nerves. Isn’t this his, what, tenth time taking you out though?”

A flustered Hitoshi suddenly appears from behind him with a light pink dusting his cheeks and steers Aizawa back to the door. “O-okay dad that’s enough.” 

He’s cutely dressed in a soft-looking grey cardigan over a white shirt and black wide-legged pants. 

This had to be the most boyfriend he’s looked, ever, and he looked very boyfriend all of the time. 

“Hitoshi?” You do a little twirl for him in your own outfit. “Fire or nah?”

He looks up from his phone, where he’s googling the bus route to the aquarium, except his eyes linger. Without skipping a beat, he responds.

 “Fire.”

“Toshi, you’re staring.”

“Of course I’m staring.” He says it with a tone like 'what else would I be doing?'

You shyly fidget with the edge of your shorts. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Hitoshi reaches out a hand, like he hasn't just casually left you breathless, and his own eyes soften as he notices your starry-eyed look. 

“Let’s go, you crybaby.”

“Damn. I was going to say you look handsome too, but I don’t remember being the one who sobbed my eyes out watching Your Name last night.”

The tips of his ears turn red.

“Shut up.”

“Was like our fifth rewatch too.”

“Shut up before I kiss you.”

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both."

‧₊˚ 🐚 ✩ ₊˚ 🌊 ⊹ 𓇼

Hitoshi’s lips twitch as he sees your eyes light up at the sight of the sign pointing in the jellyfish exhibit’s direction. “You’re adorable.”

“Thanks.” You grin. “You’re slow.”

You take him by the arm, your brain faintly registering how muscular his bicep is despite holding it so many times, and drag him along. 

In their tanks, the glow of the moon jellies fills the darkness in front of them as other visitors murmur around you two in awe. Blue light reflects off the water and through the glass, illuminating your boyfriend’s dreamy features and you can’t help but admire how pretty he looks.

Hitoshi turns from watching the jellyfish to face you, fingers now lacing through yours. You don’t look away. 

A soft smile flickers across his face when he catches you staring at him.

“This reminds me of when we first met.”

You smile. You remember. He was the one Mina relentlessly teased you for staring at, which you completely denied at the time.

“Why’re you so thirsty?” You remember her whispering into your ear at the Sports Festival in your first year. The both of you were sitting in your class’s designated spots in the stands.

Your eyes had widened, scandalized. 

“I am not!”

“Please. You’re totally staring at him.”

“Who?”

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” She grinned. “Cute, right?”

Of course she paid attention when they announced his name specifically. 

You could never remember anyone’s, and she probably saw you looking at his picture for a little too long when it appeared on the Jumbotron’s screen, announcing that his match with Oijiro was about to begin. 

“Not really,” you lied, a bad attempt at feigning disinterest. 

Like your eyes hadn’t been trailing down his lean figure the moment his next match started. 

Or noticing how attractive it was the way he casually folded his arms when he taunted Midoriya, or wondering in your mind if his perpetual bed-head was as soft as it looks. 

Mina turned to you, smirking at your slightly dazed expression.

“Really? Then you wouldn’t mind if I told him you had some questions about his quirk and wanted to talk about it after this, riiight?”

“What?” You shake your head furiously. “I mean his quirk is really interesting but–ugh Mina, no!” 

“For the plot!” She waggled her eyebrows.

You nudged her knee with a huff. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“Nooo, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Mina eyed you cheekily. “I won’t call him over.”

“Oh thank god.”

“But only if you admit he’s your type.”

You groan. “Okay fine. I think he’s hot, happy?”

“Very.” Your best friend laughs, pure happiness indeed written all over her face. You can see the matchmaking gears already turning in her head. “I just know you too well, babe.”

You roll your eyes. “Sometimes I really wish you didn’t.”

“Come on, you guys would be so cute together though.” She sighs dreamily. “Forensic sight and mind-control? Plus you’re both hot as fuck? Talk about a power couple.”

“....I think I’m going to go sit with Yaomomo instead.”

Recalling the memory, you laugh. “I know, we kept accidentally making eye contact after your second match because our seats were right across from each other.”

“That awkward prolonged eye contact in the stands might’ve been how I started crushing on you.”

You smirk. “You had a crush on me? That's so embarrassing.”

“I know.” He rolls his eyes, softly tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Worst decision of my life.”

You hold Hitoshi’s hand tighter as you step closer to his side to get a better view of the tank. 

“Glad the feeling is mutual.” 

You spot it before he does.

“Oh my god Toshi. We need to get this for Eri.”

He spins around from the collection of the aquarium’s official shirts for sale, a shirt with a print of a whale shark in his hands. 

“Wha–oh my god.”

Hitoshi stares at the giant penguin plushie you’re holding in front of you. 

It was bigger than you–no, bigger than him even.

“Not sure if it’s going to fit on the train home, but we’ll make it work.”

   ───────── 

"Can you teach me how to draw a unicorn too, Eri?" Hitoshi asks.

You had already asked Eri before him seconds ago so you stick your tongue out at Hitoshi, mouthing ‘copycat,’ and he tilts his head down to quickly kiss your neck, making you giggle. 

He still has a pink bow wrapped around his bicep from when you three played dress up an hour ago, and you fight the urge to laugh again at how silly he looks.

Eri is too focused on her drawings to care about either of you, and after she scribbles around a little more, she turns to face her older brother.

“Yeah!” She hands him a red crayon. “Okay, so first you draw half of a circle.”

Hitoshi follows Eri’s instructions.

He lifts his hand, which nearly covers the paper, to reveal a red ‘C’ that looks like it got run over by a truck.

“No, no not like that! Erase it.” She frowns disapprovingly, hands on her hips. “You’re really bad at this Hito-nii.”

“Please Eri-sensei. I'm trying my best.”

“Try harder!” She turns away with a huff, then peers over at your paper. 

“Ooh yours looks so good!” Eri claps, and you smile proudly. 

“It’s all thanks to you, Eri.” You reach out to fix her pigtail that was starting to slip out of the cat-patterned scrunchie, and she giggles, holding still for you. 

Hitoshi grumbles. “This smells like favoritism.”

“That’s ‘cause your unicorn looks Celery’s poop!” Eri chirps. Then she runs away to the kitchen right before you double over in laughter at Hitoshi’s extremely offended face, clutching onto his broad shoulders for support. 

“She said your drawing looks like shit!” You snort, and he groans.

Celery’s ears perk up in Hitoshi’s lap and she meows, looking in your direction. You hold out your arms. “Celery, you want uppies?”

She ignores them and decides to sit in your lap instead, purring softly.

“Mrow.”

“Yeah? And then what?” You coo, gently rubbing her fuzzy forehead, and her eyes close in contentment.

She mewls again, pawing at your sock and you laugh.

“Okay, okay I’ll tell him.” 

Looking up at Hitoshi, he tilts his head the same way Celery does when you talk to her. 

You bite back a laugh, you’re not sure who’s the cat in the room at this point.

“What did she say?” He asks you curiously.

All you do is blink slowly at him in response.

Hitoshi’s brows knit in confusion.

Then his eyes widen, a soft pink starting to color his cheeks.

Shyly, he slowly blinks back.

Suddenly, the gray-haired girl comes back from the kitchen, apples Aizawa sliced like rabbits for her on a plate in her hands. 

You’re still slowly blinking at each other as she walks through the door.

Eri looks at the both of you weirdly.

“What are you two doing?”

“Mrow.”

teehee hitoshi’s the pb to ur jelly(fish) get it

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

lesson in words | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

for some reason today, annabeth was not in the mood for her princess dresses or jelly shoes. she raised her voice when you were shuffling around her room, trying to find something appropriate for the aquarium. she didn’t want her sage green pants, or her lavender plaid shorts, not even her scratchy sparkling pink skirt.

“i want these!” kicking her legs in the air to indicate her unicorn pajama pants. you just sighed, not wanting to indulge her antics, “honey, those are house clothes. you sleep in those for a long time, they’re not appropriate for a day out. now, what’s our second choice?” leaning against her dresser with a fist beside your growing bump.

“unicorn! i want unicorn!” she jumped her body against her mattress, the springs creaking. a headache brewing behind your eyes, “annabeth diana reid,” you kept your voice stern and level, “if you can’t pick out day clothes then we can’t go to the aquarium. that means you can’t see the stingrays for another month.”

she pouted as she crossed her small arms over her chest, her hectic bed head another part you’ll have to deal with. “i hate you,” she said it mostly quiet, probably meant to be a whisper but doesn’t understand how that works yet.

you pursed your lips while diverting your eyes to the floor, “well i’m sorry you feel that way, but if you can’t fix your attitude and change your clothes then you can stay in your room for the day.” leaving your daughter behind as you headed to your shared bedroom where your husband was tidying the space.

he turned when you stepped on a specific creaky spot, he greeted you with a smile that dropped when you assumed he saw your upset pout and wet eyes. “what’s wrong?” quick to hurry at your side with his hands caressing your elbows.

“hormones mostly,” sniffling, “and annabeth has decided to be stubborn today and says she hates me cause i won’t allow her to wear her pjs out the house.” spilling what happen in the last five minutes as fat tears collected on your lash line, one blink and they slid down your pregnancy cheeks.

“oh honey,” spencer leaned your head into his chest, neglected nails curling into his navy polo. one of his hands slid along the back of your head to keep you hidden while his other rubbed soothing circles between your shoulder blades. “she doesn’t actually mean it.”

“i know i know,” you sniffled as you moved to place your ear to his heart, “just hurts having her say those words. she probably doesn’t understand the extent of its meaning.” taking a deep sigh as you gathered yourself to lean away from spencer.

“why don’t i go talk to her? try from a different perspective.” his warm palms rubbed at your upper arms as he stared softly into your wet eyes.

you sniffled, “she is a daddy’s girl. listens to you more no matter what.” chuckling wetly when spencer just shrugged. he pecked a kiss to your forehead and guided you to the made bed, telling you to rest for now as he went to talk with your four year old.

spencer knocked gentle on her cracked door, “can i come in?” both of you were making sure to teach the importance of knocking before entering a room. she almost caught the act of making her new siblings.

“yes,” she replied quietly. spencer slowly pushed open her decorated door, his head peaking in first before completely entering and closing them in.

his daughter lay in her bed, her flower comforter swallowing her. only a small lump shifting gave away her hiding spot, spencer took a seat at the foot of her twin.

he gave what felt like her calf a loving squeeze, “wanna come out and talk?” her small heel nudged into his knee, “no.” spencer could hear her pout.

“why not?” “cause i-i-i was a meanie to-to mommy,” annabeth began to hiccup through her words. spencer quickly pulled her sheets back and frowned at her rosy wet cheeks, along with a line of snot leaving her tiny nose.

“oh honey, come here.” spencer wrapped his arms behind her back as she threw hers around his neck. she crawled into his lap, her small legs stopping at his hips. “do we feel bad about our earlier emotions?” spencer rubbed a large palm in soothing circles.

“ye- yes. i-i want to see sti- stingrays, and i-i want to match with mo- my mommy.” her words a blubbering mess as she panicked over something small for the adults but other worldly for her child mind.

spencer cooed in her ear, “why don’t we go apologize first. see if she’ll accept.” he felt annabeth nod in agreement. he carried her the short distance to the master bedroom where you were laying on your back as your palms rubbed your stomach and you stared at the ceiling.

you turned your head at a small knock, your face softening at the sight before you. “someone has something to say,” spencer said as he let annabeth’s feet sit on the bed.

the young girl untangled from her father’s hold and slowly walked to sit beside you. you could hear her ragged inhales and frowned at her flushed face. “i- i- i am sorry for ye- yelling. i want to go to aquarium and you- you can help dress me, mo- mommy.” her tiny hands pulled at the helm of her sleep shirt.

you let a palm caress her warm cheek, “i was a little hurt when you said you hate me,” wanting to be truthful to your brilliant child.

her lip wobbled, “i- i didn’t mean it. i lo- love you with my whole body.” something you say to her to show your complete extent of affections. “i heard that it was an unkind word, i- i re- regret saying it.”

“i know you do, honey.” pulling her into your chest for an awkward side hug. “let’s be mindful of our words, alright? they’re very powerful.” petting down her hair, you felt her nod on your shoulder.

“are my two girls friends again?” spencer spoke up during the moment. he stayed near the edge of the room to give the both of you space.

you pressed a kiss into annabeth’s temple, “i think so. what about you bethie, do you want to wear matching overalls today?”

her eyes peeked at your through clumped lashes, “can- can we also do bows?”

you squeezed her side, “of course, bethie-boo.”

-

a/n: i took this idea from @khxna that they left on a post of mine. thank you for sharing💗

[honeytonedhottie]

HOW I MANIFESTED MY DESIRED APPEARANCE (success story)⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎐

so manifesting my desired appearance in full took roughly 2 weeks, also this post is pretty long bcuz im not gatekeeping anything, im giving u guys the full story, the full scoop on how i did it so here we go...

some things that i remember doing was, before going to bed i'd either read what my desired appearance looks like (i wrote a list bcuz me as a person, i LOVE writing things down) and i'd read that list before bed like it was fact.

or if i didn't have the list with me, when i was the state akin to sleep i'd talk to myself (ik it sounds weird but its natural for me so it worked) and i'd be like "ik for a fact that i am (fill in the blank)" or "ik for a fact that i have (fill in the blank)"

and i'd just say it to myself, or sometimes when i'd shower, for every part of my body that i'd wash (i separated it into sections) and for each section i'd talk about an aspect of my appearance as though it was from someone else's POV. for example, part of my desired appearance was a difference in hair texture so i'd say "omg honey's hair is SO long and glossy". like i'd talk thru someone else's pov ABOUT my appearance in either a tone of admiration, envy, or indifference.

even if i didn't see movement a couple times or got discouraged, i went back to what feels RIGHT and thats affirming for me.

some key statements i used :

i know for a fact

i have my exact desired appearance bcuz im god and i said so

another thing that rly helped me was visualization, i was living PURELY in my imagination, completely in my head. i was REAL delulu. i have a vision board on pinterest that was SO helpful for me.

when i saw things in the 3d that didn't please me i completely disregarded it, and when i tell u COMPLETELY, i completely dismissed anything that i didn't like, or that didn't sit right with me.

another little exercise that i liked to do was actually bcuz of a bad habit. so i have a RLY bad habit of checking the 3d but i used it to my advantage. my habit was that every morning the first thing i'd do is go and look in the mirror. when i manifested my desired appearance what i'd do, is i would go to the bathroom mirror and tell my subconscious what i see. so my logic behind this was that since the subconscious didn't have any eyes i could tell my subconscious that i had the head of a unicorn and it'd believe me 💀. so i would talk to my subconscious and tell it what i saw. "i see an angel skull" "i see rly rly long lashes" "i see waist-length hair" etc etc.

i went to the end and i BASKED in it. moral of this manifestation story :

persist regardless of what u experience with ur 5 senses

time is an illusion so forget about it

dont settle for less than what u seek

go straight to the end and bathe in it bcuz u can't try and be something that u already are 

failure doesn't exist

apply

[aaronsguccitie]

about aaron and baby prompts… how about him holding him telling his baby girl the story of how him and reader met and how they fell in love?

The girl dad Aaron parasites are persistent...also I was thinking of @/aalxrose the whole time while writing this lol <3

Bedtime stories

Cw: fem!mom!reader, fluff, girl dad Aaron, no use of yn, pls brush your teeth after reading, this is just nothing but fluff

Word count: 1k

----

He hears the soft thuds of bare-footed steps on the floor. Soon his daughter pops up next to his knee, a grin on her face as she places one small hand on his thigh and the other on the couch. 

“I’m bored, Daddy.”

Aaron sighs. “Willow, go to sleep.” He’d been trying with her for over an hour; her hair is mussed from tossing and turning and her unicorn pajamas are thoroughly wrinkled, yet her eyes remain somewhat alert. Still, he leans over and grabs her from under her arms, hauling her into his lap.

“But I’m not sleepy,” she giggles as she curls into him, her head cushioned on his shoulder.

“I know you’re sleepy. It’s past your bedtime.” Aaron gently swipes the messy hair away from her forehead. Willow’s lashes flutter—only further proving his words, but she’s your daughter, so she persists.

“Tell me a story.” She says. One of her socked feet forces its way between his thighs. The other one soon joins, and Aaron has to fight back a smile when he feels tiny toes wriggle against his sweatpants.

“I already told you a story.” Many, in fact, in an attempt to lull her to sleep. All effective for about—he looks at the time—twenty minutes.

“Tell me a special story.”

Aaron’s brows pull together. “A special story? Like what?”

Thoughtfulness draws Willow’s own eyebrows together, and in an instant her face changes from yours to his as the all powerful frown takes over. The way her lips purse together is all you, though, and this time Aaron can’t hold back a smile as he taps the tip of her nose.

Willow looks up and smiles, her eyes bright. “How did you know Mommy?” Her toes wiggle excitedly in their socks. “Did you meet her at your wedding?”

She’s endlessly obsessed with the wedding; constantly fawning over the framed pictures on the wall, a huge grin on her face as she tells you that you look like a princess and you fluster, taken with the charm she’s inherited from her father. Willow has more than once expressed her jealousy that you were all there except for her, even going so far as saying you should get married again so she could be there.

Something Aaron isn’t exactly opposed to—it has been nearly six years.

He laughs, the sound prompting gentle giggles from Willow as his body shakes under her. “I didn’t meet her at the wedding, silly.” Gently, he pokes her cheek and sends her into another fit of laughter; his heart swells. “By then she’d already agreed to marry me.”

And he’s lucky you did, because even though he’s sitting on the couch on a Wednesday night with mind numbing reality TV playing on mute, he’s got a piece of the world in his arms, the other two chips of it sleeping down the hall and humming in the kitchen. 

Willow pokes his dimple, her small finger sinking into the crevice. Aaron smiles wider and her finger goes in deeper. “Where did you meet her then?” She pulls her feet from between his thighs and shifts to face him properly. Her other hand goes to his opposite cheek, her finger slotting into the spare dimple. Their eyes meet—against your eyes, he stands no chance, really—and he feels his resolve crumble.

Aaron’s hands cup her own small cheeks. “If I tell you this story, will you promise to go to sleep?” He asks quietly, deathly serious even though he doesn’t want her to go.

Two of his dimples press gently against her cheeks as she beams at him. “Pinky promise!” Her hands leave his face and she sticks out her pinky.

Dutifully, Aaron sticks his out, too. When Willow’s small finger wraps around his and her face lights up with a smile, he thinks it’s not that big of a deal to let her stay up for a little while longer. She’s usually compliant when it comes to bedtime, but he’s been away for almost a month with too-brief days at home before leaving again, so he lets her curl up and get comfortable against his chest, both for her and for him.

His arm is snug around her as she settles in, throwing her legs over his lap and looking up at him while he gathers the words. But it’s easy enough, and soon Aaron looks down at her, a soft smile already on his lips as he tells his daughter how the two of you met. 

The words flow in a smooth stream as Aaron toys with Willow’s hair, the action along with his low cadence bringing her closer to sleep. Her eyes, wide and curious at first, start to grow glassy, her eyelids drooping as Aaron carries her further into the story. The small weight of her grows heavier in his arms by the time he’s telling her about your first date, just as you walk into the living room.

You look between your daughter in Aaron’s arms and the clock on the wall. “Willow! Why aren’t you in bed?” You frown as you sit down next to them on the couch.

“Daddy’s tellin’ me a story.” She says, her voice significantly drowsy as she turns to bury her face in his chest. Aaron’s eyes meet yours as he tucks the wild hair behind her ear, the smile spreading across his face prompting one of your own. 

“What about?” You ask, softer now as you peer at her over Aaron’s shoulder.

“About you.” He says. 

You turn to him, brows lifting up in surprise. “How we met, more specifically. And how I became lucky enough to marry you.” He’s laying the sappiness on thick, he knows—you know, too, what with the way you roll your eyes—but he can’t help it.

Aaron looks down at his drowsy daughter. “Maybe Mommy can continue from here, princess? She knows the story just as well as I do.” 

Willow hums sleepily, “’Kay.”

You and Aaron both smile. Settling in properly next to him, you cross your legs and intertwine your fingers together. “Okay, where did you stop?”

His smile turns wistful. “The part where I wanted to ask you out but couldn’t, so you—”

“So I did it myself,” you interrupt, grinning at the memory. It’s one fresh in your mind even after all these years, so you don’t need to ready yourself before launching into the story, picking up where Aaron left off.

Willow falls asleep before you even get to the proposal.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Unsurprisingly, a lot of the commentary I'm seeing about this has been of the "But--but--I would do the same thing because I don't want anything bad to happen to the deer!"

Look. I love wildlife, and I love getting to see deer, coyotes, and even the occasional black bear in my neighborhood. But they are here because there is good habitat nearby with lots of natural food sources, not because I deliberately put out food for them to eat. I respect them as wild animals with whom my relationship is very different compared to the domesticated animals I take care of every day. A deer is not a sheep or a horse; a coyote is not a dog.

People who do things like try to tame deer or, worse yet, try to raise a fawn or other young wildlife like pets are robbing those wild animals of their natural existences. We've already wrought our own preferences on the landscape to a severe degree, tearing the wildness out of it to create lawns and farms and subdivisions and strip malls. When we then dismiss the wildness of these animals and impress our own desire for connection on our terms on them, we are harming them.

I've already written elsewhere about the difference between "tame" and "domesticated". No matter how docile that deer seems, it is never going to be as (relatively) safe and tractable as a domesticated sheep or goat. It will always be more unpredictable, and more likely to lash out suddenly at a person due to fear, or hormones, or protection of young.

These animals need their wild instincts to be intact if they are going to survive without being dependent on us. They need those instincts in order to find mates and keep the gene pool stirred up. Their instincts keep them safe from danger, including humans. And their instincts never totally go away, no matter how much we may try to tame them otherwise.

This is why a good wildlife rehab is going to minimize handling of the wild animals they care for, especially those that are going to be able to be released back into the wild. The less comfortable these animals are with humans, the better their chances of surviving in the wild and having fulfilling, natural lives. Wildlife that retain their wariness of humans are less likely to end up falling prey to hunting, or being killed as nuisance animals when they get too aggressive in seeking food or otherwise coming into conflict with people.

The person who painted "pet" on a fully grown white-tailed buck and put a collar around his neck may have felt like they were doing that deer a kindness, but they have likely robbed him of the chance to just live a natural life as his own, independent being out in the woods and fields. He might be out there, sure, but perhaps he won't mate because he imprinted on humans. Or maybe he will end up shot by a hunter in spite of the precautions because he's just too friendly and those antlers are worth taking the shot.

There will always be something missing from this deer's life because of the arrogance of someone who thought they could own and keep and control a wild-born animal for their own enjoyment, instead of allowing him to come and go as he pleased. Honestly, it reminds me of King Haggard from Peter S. Beagle's The Last Unicorn, whose response to seeing something beautiful was to capture it and keep it rather than simply enjoying and remembering that magical moment:

"I like to watch them. They fill me with joy. The first I felt it I thought I was going to die. I said to the Red Bull I must have them, all of them, all there are. For nothing makes me happy but their shining and their grace. So the Red Bull caught them. Each time I see the unicorns, my unicorns, it is like that morning in the woods and I am truly young, in spite of myself."

That's how I feel about people who are willing to drastically alter a wild animal's behavior for their own selfish benefit, even if they think they're being kind. I know I'm fighting a bit of an uphill battle in this, but I'm rather stubborn that way.

[elioslover]

Routines (Harry Styles x reader) dadrry!

Premise: Harry is stirred from his sleep by the best little surprise.

[I could not help myself!]

Word count: 1.4k.

Warnings: . Other writing / More dad!harry

🧸

The sun is bright-even brighter than the curtains shielding it from the sleepy owners tucked away under soft and fluffy white sheets. Speaking of, Harry has been in a deep sleep, swimming across dreamland with gills and a tail. An extremely enticing activity that only has him lulling further into unconsciousness. 

But it doesn’t take long for his dreams to start turning foggy, a soft and cute voice cooing out to him, coming from the sky above him, demanding his attention. He knows the voice well- knows he will be awake in a few moments. And how could he resist when the voice is so loving, a mumble of half-formed words and little giggles. 

He can feel someone starts to stir beside him, a soft grumble threatening to roll over and tend to the little voice calling for your attention from the other side of the bed. Harry needs to stop you before you are fully awake and can't convince yourself to fall asleep, well aware that letting you rest will be one of the only graces he can still give you. 

Blindingly reaching his arm out, Harry gently rubs his palm along your back, swirling circles along your skin, signalling your nearing return to slumber. Sighing out with relief, you shift and snuggle back into the plush sheets. 

The giggling goes on, closer to his face now and Harry can't stop the sleepy smile that creeps along his feature, excitement for his eyes to flutter open so he can greet the needy little one who is only moments away from wrapping their chubby little fingers around his nearest curls, threatening to tug if he waits much longer. 

This is a guarantee after a repeat of the same wake-up routine for weeks in a row- a tiny tot, reaching no taller than his knees, the perfect place to wrap around him to stay as close as humanly possible. A little baby, well rested, waking up with the sun and ready to sing their little songs for mummy and daddy. 

She had stayed snuggled beneath her lilac and unicorn duvet for as long as her little thoughts could keep her company, but after a good moment of fiddling with her fingers- raised above her and aimed for the ceiling, creating wonky hand puppets- she is determined for only one thing; the company of the tall, all-knowing parent. 

Her soft feet, devoid of creases, new to the whole living thing, pad along the hardwood floor, navigating from the safety of her bed in search of the main bedroom. The journey from one room to another is hardly existent- less than five footsteps away, and with the door already slanted, she is welcome to wander and waddle along to the king-sized mattress. 

A smile turns to a little grin, baby teeth peaking past her gums as she makes her way over before coming to a clumsy halt at the foot of the bed. Both parents are buried between a mountain of sheets, heads pressed into the pillows, soft snores emitted in intervals, and she frowns with little furrowed brows, longing for them to wake up and smother her with lovies. 

Harry obliges with another little smile, sending it her way from behind closed lids, taking a last second to enjoy the feeling of darkness before slowly squinting his eyes to open, slowly separating and embracing the harsh shining of the sun, peaking through a sliver of the crumpled curtain, bouncing along and illuminating the bedroom. 

With one eye more open than the other, his vision blurs to clarity, he is met with the wide and gleeful gaze of his favourite little gremlin. She has him grinning from her mere presence, partially satisfied that she has managed to persuade Harry to escape slumber, giddy for the gush of greetings she is guaranteed to receive. 

His voice is gravelly as a toothy grin spreads along his cheeks, shiny teeth cheesing up at the little lady looking over at him with the widest most innocent green eyes, thick black lashes fanning and framing her stark, fiery gaze,

“Good morning princess.” 

He can hear you shuffle with surety and satisfaction, digging deep into the mattress and delving back to sleep with the reassurance that your little one is taken care of- for the moment, at least. Satisfied with his success, Harry turns all of his attention to the little girl currently clapping her hands together with anticipation as she answers, 

“Hello, dada.” 

Each time she chooses to verbalise her thoughts, Harry feels like it’s the first time- the first time he’s heard her little voice. Even if she’s only been absent for a couple hours, he cannot help the surprise that stirs in his heart, butterflies batting against the walls of his stomach, filled with excitement over his little creation beaming up at him with such pure adoration. 

Harry rolls over fully, resting on his hip, one arm raising to cradle his head and the other reaching out in an attempt to reel her in closer. She obliges in an instant, bouncing up and down on the balls of her chubby little feet, bounding over to him, her hand wrapping around his own extended palm. 

With her hand in his, Harry is always amused at how tiny she really is- with such a rambunctious and animated personality, it's hard to believe her third birthday is yet to pass- fitting in his palm like that of a petit flower, her half-scrunched fist sitting right in the middle of his hand like blooming petals. 

“Did you have a nice sleep?” Harry ponders, a warm feeling melting his heart as she begins nodding avidly. She had no dreams, despondent to the world, wholesomely welcoming the darkness, and Harry longs for the days when his sleep was the same. 

She is inching closer, clambering over in an attempt to settle into his custody, and Harry is more than willing to comply as he gently guides her closer with his grip, encouraging her to continue her climb up onto the mattress, 

“Wanna snuggle with mummy and daddy for a little?” He already knows the answer, but he loves the way her eyes light up with excitement. 

“Absolutely.” That’s a new one for her, replacing the repetitive answer of yes, Harry is reeling with amusement, in awe of her apparent skill in picking up and copying the words she has heard both you and Harry saying at some point or another. This is absolutely his contribution- he had said it a couple times just the day before. 

“C’mere, clever little one.” He helps her crawl up, the mattress dipping so minimally as she cuddles closer into his hold. 

Harry shifts further back, careful not to bump your body, but soothed as one of your hands sluggishly holds onto his shoulder, your own body squeezing closer to his until there is no space and Harry is being spooned by his sweetest companion, back slotted between your chest. 

He provides enough space for his little one to snuggle over into him, her entirety curled into a half-moon, legs curled up and little arms scrunched against her chest. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she is starting to settle, little eyes struggling to keep from swelling shut with the promise of extra sleep. Harry knows it will be mere moments until she slips away with melatonin, leaving him with the promise that he will soon join her. 

His eyes flutter shut as she snuggles in even closer- if possible- and his arms curls around her with comfort and security, making certain she knows she is always safe in his company. And it seems like seconds before her body stills, and relaxes into the bundle of sheets, little breaths evening out until Harry is sure she is asleep. 

With sleepy eyes and a wholesomely swollen heart, Harry is wrapped up and warm, surrounded by the most important loves in his life, wondering how he got so lucky as slumber slowly seduces him back into darkness.  

[aureum-cordis]

Lost & Found, Part 5

A/N: Midterms rolled around and took me out of the fringe for a bit, but I’m back! It’s amazing how much attention Lost & Found has received, thank you all so much! I really do appreciate the follows, likes, and reblogs! I do have a CatNap story and a story with Kissy Missy and Poppy in the works too! If you’re interested in being added to my taglist for Lost & Found or any other potential stories I plan on writing, feel free to let me know! Check out the other parts here: Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

_________________________________________________

It wasn’t very long until the other Smiling Critters had followed your lead and fell asleep, the leader being the only one to remain awake. He was relaxed, feeling the warmth from the others as they leaned against him and listened to the soft snores that left you as you slept. He couldn’t remember a time when he had seen the bear or the unicorn as tranquil as they were in this moment.

Despite the positivity in the room they sought refuge in, there was danger lurking within the building. DogDay had studied the routes that CatNap patrolled, his rounds being mostly consistent to the point that he was able to notice a pattern and decide where they would shelter accordingly. His sense of time may have been poor, but his sense of smell was what he relied on in moments like this. They had time, not forever, but enough for the others to get some rest.

His gaze fell down to your small body, still resting in his lap and clinging to his arm like a lifeline. He was careful to not move suddenly to keep from disturbing any of those that laid against him, but a small sigh left him as he looked down at your malnourished form. Food was a scarcity as is in this place, something they had witnessed firsthand.

PickyPiggy had been one of the first to be driven mad by hunger, lashing out at the others in a frenzied state. As horrible as it was, DogDay couldn’t have faulted her for it. It was out of her control, the hunger was something vile and demented that warped any rational thoughts, instincts of neither that of a human nor an animal took over in those moments.

He closed his eyes in an instant, trying to rid himself of those memories and the bloodied outcome that followed. When he opened them, he looked down at you, forcing his mind to return to what he had originally been thinking of before his thoughts took a dark path of their own. It was a miracle you hadn’t starved or expired from a lack of water, something that DogDay was greatly concerned by.

You shouldn’t be alive, not for as long as you must’ve been in the building. But you were, something that he couldn't understand but he refused to question it, he knew better than that. He would accept what was given to him without hesitation, when it meant that what he was being given was you.

This decrepit orphanage was never a home, not for you or any of the children. Those that ran it treated the youth as nothing more than lab rats, willing to run more than a few tests on something other than themselves. The thought alone was enough to cause his hackles to raise of their own accord, a growl threatening to leave his perpetually smiling mouth with enough hostility to make anything with sense cower.

Yet, he stopped himself before a sound even escaped him, noticing the way CraftyCorn shifted slightly as they rested against him in her unconscious state. It was grounding, even if unintentional, and assisted in causing his anger to lessen.

Instead, he turned his gaze to you as he listened to your ragged breathing. His softening gaze traced your small form, finally noticing the bruises that you had upon your arms and legs. Some were near the point of fading as shown by their green and brown coloration, while others were a glaring hue of purple.

There was no telling what you had been forced to endure at the hands of men and women that viewed you as nothing more than a test subject. Some part of him was grateful that you weren’t like them, an abomination or organic and inorganic matter strewn together like a poorly made automaton. He hated what they had all become, but not who they were. That was a thought that never crossed his mind.

As surprising as it was, he didn’t even hate CatNap. Not really, not when he knew that he was just a child following the guidance of what he deemed as a friend. He was misguided and demanded others to follow The Prototype as if his word was law, dispatching those that dared to oppose his deity. DogDay wished that this had never happened to any of them, but sorrow and hypothetical situations were pointless now.

The orange dog was optimistic but he also knew that he needed to be realistic. This wasn’t some cartoon that would have a happy ending, where friendship prevailed. This was a dark and demented tale that would end poorly for one, if not all of those involved in it.

A small sigh left him at the negative swarm of thoughts that plagued him like pests as he remained awake, feeling Bobby BearHug nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck as she slept. He was still for several moments afterward, not wanting to risk waking her. Her breathing settled back down into a slow and steady rhythm, which he was relieved to hear.

In moments like this, he was grateful for the company he had. Even though only three, four in reality, of the Smiling Critters remained and you had joined the bunch, he was still thankful. There hadn’t been time to properly mourn any of those that they had lost, not when they constantly needed to remain on the move and the threat of running into CatNap was high.

There was no true soil to bury any bodies, everything in the Playcare was synthetic to some extent. Aside from the buildings, those were made of true materials. The lights were artificial, even the span of day and night was a projection or perhaps a rotating dome. He didn’t know, he hadn’t ever asked to find out and he doubted that he would get a true answer if he had.

There were plenty of workers that were once in the same situation that they now found themselves in. Trapped, unable to break free from this hellish place of bright colors that hid the horror of what happened underground. Truthfully, he understood CatNap’s desire to latch onto a savior and obey their every word, hoping to be led out from this bleak wasteland of shattered dreams and broken souls. It was a childlike hope, but it was one he understood.

They had nearly lost that hope themselves. As their numbers dwindled, Smiling Critters picked off as if they were nothing more than prey animals, he saw the change in those that remained. Especially because he was unable to do anything about it. He couldn’t bring those back that they’d lost nor could he shake the sound of their screams.

DogDay felt powerless in this situation, even if he tried his best to keep from showing that to the others. He was meant to be the leader, but he felt as if he were restrained. As if the only thing he could do was peer out through the metaphorical bars that stood for his guilt and shame. It felt as though something was tearing him apart from the inside every time he dared to think of the others.

But then, he found you. And that had changed everything. You brought back a side of him that he had all but thought he’d lost. Even with as small as you were, you managed to instill hope in CraftyCorn and Bobby BearHug. He could see it in the way they came alive as soon as you entered the room.

It was obvious even now, as you rested in the center of the trio of remaining Smiling Critters. Even as you slept alongside the other two, it was a clear sign that you would be protected. DogDay would make sure of that and he was more than sure that the unicorn and bear at his side would as well.

You were more than just a child that they had taken in. You stood for far more than that, something you would never be able to comprehend at such a young age. The dog knew that you had never had a true family before, it was obvious. Normal children didn’t have scars along their arms from injections nor were they as pale as you were from living under artificial lights for the short amount of time you’d been alive.

They were certainly no replacement for true parents, as unorthodox as they were. But you would be loved, they would provide that along with as much stability as they could. The leader of the Smiling Critters already felt as much and he was almost certain that the feeling was shared amongst those that remained.

He knew that they needed to be wary of how long they stayed in one place. But it wasn’t a dire need to move at this moment in time, CatNap’s patrols were like clockwork and they all knew that it would be a short while before he made his rounds to this wing of the building. DogDay looked down at you one final time as your grip tightened on his arm, before he rested his head against the red bear’s and allowed his eyes to close if for only a few moments.

_________________________________________________

Taglist: @star-the-rabid-dog @urminebutidontwantyou

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Unicorn who’s actually super snobby and hates everyone besides their darling

[unicorn is a centaur to make things clearer]

It's said those with the purest souls gain the beast's favor-

You weren't so sure you fit the bill. You told your fair share of white lies, stole - though nothing more criminal than sweets before dinner. You've lashed out at people who've upset you. Had thoughts of causing said individuals downfall - all in all not exactly fairest of heart material...

And yet..

"You pushed your brother down the steps when you were five years old. Leave."

Another rejected traveler. They scarcely had the chance to plead their case before your lover shooed them all away. From one look - you judged their characters better than your own. Noble figures, speakers of faith, the weak and weary at the end of their rope - all belittled and banished by the unicorn's known eyes. You came across the mythical creature by pure coincidence following a hitching trip with a friend. They drive away within five minutes of initial contact while you were urged to stay for reasons the unicorn refused to confess. It's been about a week since then and you've been staying with it in a cozy cabin behind the waterfall you found them at.

You're snapped from your thoughts as the braid you were weaving slips from your fingers - strong arms lifting you off the unicorn's back and into their lap."

"Forgive me for disrupting your work, but it seems you've stopped process and gotten lost in your head again. Has my little helper grown tired? Do you need another soak in the springs? Perhaps a massage?"

You mess the lace around your wrists as they adjust the flower crown atop your head. "No, just.. wondering why you reject everyone who stumbles across this place, but you let me in. Why am I different?"

They sigh, brushing fallen leaves off your clothes. "If I am to be honest for once I must admit I'm a liar when it comes to most of my reasons for disliking your kind, but I am being truthful when I say I can read you all like a book. Your inner self speaks to me in a way different from any mortal I've met in all my years. Your company has been the greatest by far and I intend to keep it for as long as able."

"....are you sure it wasn't because of those baked apples I was carrying?"

"That may have been a small part - yes, but better yet why don't we stop talking now and get you ready for a bath."

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Chapter one | echoes of the past.

masterlist

universe : reeves, the batman 2022.

pairing : battinson!bruce wayne x fem!oc.

words : +6k.

synopsis : “In the dark heart of Gotham City, Dr. Maryam Halimi, a medical examiner of now 2 years, navigates a life steeped in tragedy and secrets. Her routine of grim autopsies is disrupted when a notorious serial killer strikes, plunging the city into chaos. As bodies mount, Maryam’s world intersects with the enigmatic Batman, whose presence both unsettles and fascinates her. Struggling with her growing feelings for the vigilante and the mounting dangers of her work, Maryam must unravel a web of deceit and face her deepest fears. In a city where trust is a rare commodity, survival hinges on deciphering the truth behind the murders and the shadowy figure who haunts her nights.”

author’s note : I’ve had this story in my drafts for three years. It’s also my first time posting a fic, so please keep in mind that English isn’t my first language. I’ve had this idea for longer than I can remember, but I’m really excited to finally share it. Please don’t hesitate to leave comments or anonymous asks—I love reading them!

dedications : maryam is dedicated to my fellow avoidant attachment girlies 🫡 Seriously though, this chapter is dedicated to a few incredible authors who inspired and encouraged me to share this fic. Their work is truly amazing, and I highly recommend checking out their fics. Your support and creativity have been a driving force for me—thank you! @punchdrunkdoc @devilfic @hollandorks @zipperzoo @ellesthots @gilverrwrites @mostly-imagines and anyone I might have forgotten <3

cw : bruce is emotionally constipated, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, comedy, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

          THE CLOCK on the wall ticked steadily toward 10 PM, its sound a quiet metronome in the stillness of the hospital morgue. 

The sterile, cold room, where life was reduced to clinical examination, felt even more somber tonight. 

Inside, Dr. Maryam Halimi sat at her desk, surrounded by the stark white walls and stainless steel instruments, her head bent over a pale dead body. 

Her light brown hair, pulled into a French twist beneath a whimsical unicorn scrub cap, had a soft caramel sheen that complemented her naturally tanned skin—almost bronze. Beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the morgue, her almond-shaped hazel eyes shifted from a greenish tint to a gentle golden, giving a sharp contrast to her sun-kissed complexion. Her nose, straight with a slight, almost invisible bump, added a touch of character to her otherwise sharp, sculpted features.

Her high cheekbones framed a face that was both delicate and strong, her skin dotted with beauty marks like tiny constellations—under her eyes, just above her full lips, and trailing softly along her neck. Each mark was a reminder that her beauty was real, lived-in, and perfectly imperfect. She favored a classic red lipstick that added a pop of color to her naturally plump lips, making her shy smile all the more captivating.

Her eyebrows were gracefully arched, framing her eyes with a subtlety that highlighted their expressiveness. Long, dark lashes curled naturally, casting soft shadows over her cheeks.

Dr. Halimi was a stunning woman, someone possessing an undeniable and timeless beauty that could turn heads with a single glance. Yet, hers was also the kind of beauty that grew more striking the longer you looked, drawing you in with its quiet elegance and understated grace. It was the type of allure that left a lasting impression, a beauty that was both captivating and comforting in its subtlety.

She had just finished examining the latest tragic case: Fiona Harrinson.

A pale young girl of only nineteen, with fiery red hair and blue eyes that had turned a disquieting red—a common occurrence in deaths involving certain substances. A life that had barely begun, now extinguished by the scourge of "Drops," a drug as ubiquitous in Gotham as the rain. Fiona, like so many others, had sought solace in the chemical embrace of drugs, a brief escape from the harsh realities of living on the streets without support. 

With a heavy sigh, Maryam gently covered the girl's lifeless face, a ritual she never grew accustomed to, no matter how many times she performed it.

Each time, it felt like closing a chapter on a life story that ended too soon, and the sadness never fully dissipated. Fiona had no family to notify, no one to mourn her passing—just another casualty of Gotham's underworld, another soul lost in the shadows.

As Maryam turned to her desk, ready to tackle the inevitable paperwork, the door creaked open. Tamara Nguyen, known affectionately as Tammy, breezed in with her usual air of lateness and cheer, two steaming cups of coffee in hand.

Tammy was petite, with a delicate frame that belied her boundless energy. Her glossy black hair, cut into a sleek bob, framed a face that was all wide, warm brown eyes and a ready smile. She had a habit of wearing bright, colorful scrubs that matched her lively personality, reminding Maryam of her sister Rania.

Tam’s presence was like a burst of sunshine in the often somber atmosphere of the morgue, and despite her frequent tardiness, she had a way of making everything feel just a little bit lighter.

"Heeyyy, sorry I'm late, as always," Tammy said with a sheepish grin. "But I brought coffee!"

Maryam didn't look up immediately, her pen still dancing across the forms. "It's okay, Tammy," she replied, her voice tinged with a teasing warmth. Finally, she glanced up, a playful smile curving her lips. "I'm used to it."

She accepted the coffee, savoring the warmth as it flowed down her throat, offering a brief moment of comfort. Tammy leaned against the desk, peering curiously at the covered body on the examination table.

"So, what do we have?" Tammy asked, her eyes flicking between Maryam and the still form under the sheet.

Maryam sighed, setting her coffee down next to the papers, wincing as a few drops stained the corner of the form. She rubbed her temples, eyes closed briefly in weariness. "Another Drop case, as usual," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. Her hands dropped to her lap, her hazel eyes now open and glinting with a mix of concern and anger. "It's getting out of hand. Too many bodies, too many kids, dead because of those fucking drugs! If it's not Drops, it's some other damn substance. And nobody's listening! I tried talking to Commissioner Savage and the cops—"

Tammy interrupted, her voice soft but resigned. "As if the cops would listen. They're all bought up by you-know-who," she muttered, her breath fogging up her coffee cup.

Maryam leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms, rolling her eyes. "Yes, I know, Tam," she said, exasperation seeping into her tone. "But I thought they'd at least try to do something. For God's sake, it's mostly kids dying from this stuff!" She threw her hands up in frustration, her voice rising slightly at the end.

A tense silence fell over the room, the only sound the quiet hum of the air conditioning. The weight of the city's problems felt like an invisible fog, hanging thickly between them. 

Tammy, trying to lighten the mood, ventured with a teasing smile, "Maybe you should ask Gotham's vigilante. He might help you."

Maryam snorted, the tension breaking as she threw a pen at Tammy, who dodged it with a laugh. "Ha ha, very funny," Maryam said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll just pop over to his cave and have a nice little chat. Maybe he'll even offer me some bat-themed snacks."

Tammy chuckled, shaking her head. "You never know. He might surprise you."

Maryam stretched her legs and neck, sighing tiredly for what felt like the tenth time that day. She picked up her pen, refocusing on the paperwork in front of her. "Can you please put her in the fridge?" she asked, her voice softening. "I'm going to finish her paperwork. She has no family, no one to cover funeral expenses or claim the body, so I'll have to turn it over to a funeral home."

Tammy nodded, taking a final sip of her coffee before setting the empty cup on the desk. She moved to the body, her demeanor professional as she prepared to transfer Fiona to the cold storage. "Where did they find her?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"Under the Gotham Gate Bridge," Maryam replied, quickly adding, "Some kid going trick-or-treating found her and reported it to the police."

Tammy made an "oh" with her mouth, her face a picture of quiet sympathy. "Poor kid," she murmured, shaking her head as she pushed the rolling table away.

The television in the corner of the room played the nightly news on GC-1. The anchor's voice was a constant, soothing drone, providing background noise to their grim work. "It is Halloween night in Gotham," the anchor announced cheerfully. "Tourists are flocking to the city from all over the world to experience our unique festivities. But tonight also marks the anniversary of a tragic event in Gotham's history..."

The mention of the Waynes caught Maryam's attention. She glanced at the TV and turned up the volume, her eyes narrowing as images of Thomas and Martha Wayne appeared on the screen. The anchor's voice carried a somber tone, narrating the unfolding story.

"This week, we remember the tragic deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne, beloved billionaires and philanthropists, who were brutally murdered in front of their young son, Bruce Wayne. The Waynes were Gotham's first family, revered pillars of our community known for their immense generosity and tireless philanthropy. Their loss left a profound impact on the city, and their memory still resonates deeply with many. Their son, Bruce, now a reclusive billionaire, rarely leaves the confines of his family estate. The Waynes' legacy remains a significant chapter in Gotham's history..."

The camera lingered on old photos of the Wayne’s: Thomas, with his charismatic smile; Martha, radiant and elegant; and a young Bruce, holding his mother's hand. Maryam watched, transfixed, the light from the TV reflecting in her hazel eyes. Their family had always seemed like royalty to the people of Gotham—untouchable, revered. Their legacy was intertwined with the city's very foundation, their wealth and influence reaching every corner of Gotham.

Despite her disdain for the wealthy—or any billionaire, for that matter—Maryam couldn't forget Bruce Wayne.

Twenty years ago, every Thursday afternoon, she would take the subway to fetch food for her family. It was during these trips that she would catch glimpses of Bruce Wayne and his mother. Mrs. Wayne, with her striking blue eyes that mirrored her son's, would sit with a book in one hand, her other gently holding her son’s. Bruce, just a small boy back then, would clutch a tiny knight figurine, his face often illuminated by a shy, endearing smile. 

A security officer stood vigil a few meters away, his watchful gaze scanning the crowd with an intensity that always made Maryam feel uneasy.

Maryam, in her torn tights that clung to her slender legs and a light brown jacket that offered little solace against Gotham’s relentless chill, would sit nervously in the corner, her eyes fixed on the Wayne family.

Sometimes, Bruce would catch her gaze and offer a small, shy smile, maybe even a brave little wave. 

In those fleeting moments, Maryam's heart would race, and she would quickly look away, embarrassed by her uninvited curiosity.

This silent routine unfolded every Thursday until that fateful week. 

On that day, Bruce accidentally left his knight figurine behind. Maryam, noticing the abandoned toy on the seat, picked it up. It was clearly a cherished possession, expensive and well-loved. She resolved to return it to him the next week, gathering her courage to finally speak to him. 

But that meeting never came.

Indeed, the next day, the Waynes were tragically and brutally murdered.

Maryam remembered that night vividly. She was watching her favorite cartoon on the small TV in her aunt Meysa's cramped living room. Bruce’s figurine sat beside her, gleaming under the TV’s flickering light. Her head in her hands, she straightened up when the news interrupted her show.

“We regret to inform you that at 10:47 PM, Thomas and Martha Wayne were shot and killed. They were leaving the Monarch Theater when they were attacked. Thomas and Martha died at the scene. Their son, Bruce Wayne, witnessed the tragedy. The GCPD has yet to apprehend the alleged killer.”

Maryam’s aunt, Meysa, with her short bob of curly jet-black hair always tied in a slick bun, olive skin, and beauty marks, was also transfixed, frowning and barely understanding.

"What did he say?" she asked in Arabic.

"They died. They were killed," Maryam translated, mimicking a gun with her hand, whispering, "Pooh, pooh."

"Astaghfirullah, Maryam! Don’t do that!" Meysa exclaimed, gently slapping her hand away. Maryam frowned, her eyes returning to the TV.

"The kid, what is his name, I forgot—" Meysa started.

"Bruce," Maryam corrected.

"Yes, yes, Bryce—" Meysa continued, mispronouncing the name.

"It’s Bruce, not Bryce," Maryam corrected again, a slight smile tugging at her lips despite the gravity of the situation.

"Yes, is he dead too?" Meysa asked, her brows furrowing with concern.

"No. They say he's the only survivor. He watched them being killed," Maryam explained, her little fingers nervously fidgeting with the knight figurine.

"Lotf, lotf!" Aunt Meysa exclaimed, her hands flying to her mouth, covering it with her apron in horror.

"I feel bad for him," Maryam murmured, the figurine still a comforting presence in her hands.

"Don’t be. It is God's will. Everything is written, habibti," Meysa said after a moment of silence, the TV casting a flickering glow over them. She began gathering her things, preparing to leave for work. "Besides, he is still blessed with all his money and houses. He is not homeless and will have food on his table tonight."

At this, Maryam’s stomach grumbled loudly. Meysa raised an eyebrow, adding gently but firmly, "Unlike us." Maryam scoffed, feeling the weight of their reality pressing down on her.

"Don’t scoff at me, Mimi. Make sure your sisters are still asleep. I'm going to work," Meysa instructed.

She didn’t respond, clutching Bruce's figurine tightly as she listened to the door click shut behind her aunt, her gaze fixed on the TV as it continued its somber report.

Maryam shook her head, trying to dispel the flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm her. 

She refocused on her stack of papers, but before she could even continue, her phone buzzed, Gordon’s name flashing on the screen. With a sigh and a quick tap on the green button,  she answered and switched it to speaker.

“Hey, Jamie. What’s up?” she asked tiredly, trying to sound casual.

“Hey, Mar.” Gordon’s voice was clipped, urgent. “We need you at the Mayor’s house right now. Something’s happened. Police are on their way.” Then reluctantly adding, voice lowering “The Mayor’s wife called. Her husband was murdered.”

Maryam's breath caught in her throat for a split second, but she quickly steadied herself. “Okay, I’m on my way.” she said, not needing any more details.

“Thanks, Mar. I’ll see you soon.” Gordon hung up, his thanks echoed in her ear.

Maryam glanced at her phone, her mind racing with worry, primarily about George, the mayor’s son. Was he safe? Had he been hurt—or worse, killed? Shaking her head to dispel the gnawing anxiety, she abruptly stood up, her chair rolling backward with a loud squeak. Gathering the stacks of papers with determined urgency, she made her way to the room where the bodies were kept. As she entered, she found Tammy scrubbing the tools used for the autopsy, her movements methodical and focused. 

“Gordon needs me,” Maryam announced, her voice clipped with urgency. “I’ve done most of the paperwork. Can you finish up? It’s an emergency.”

Tammy looked up, eyes widening “No problem! Have fun!”

Despite the severity of the situation, Maryam snorted, “Yeah, I’ll be sure to send you a postcard from the crime scene.”

As Maryam stripped off her black scrubs and the scrub cap adorned with tiny unicorns, she quickly dressed in her civilian clothes. Despite the rush, her French twist updo remained perfectly styled. She stumbled through the empty hospital corridors in her black high-heeled boots, the click-clack of her heels echoing through the space as she balanced her medical kit and car keys.

The cold Gotham air enveloped her as she made her way to the parking lot. Just as she was about to reach her car, someone grabbed her arm, abruptly stopping her. Instinctively, her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, her expression already hardening into a glare. "What—"

“Where are you going like that, Miriam?” The voice was smooth, too smooth, belonging to none other than Dr. Thomas Elliot, the hospital’s head of neurology renowned for his surgical skills and handsome features, stood before her, his blonde hair meticulously combed back. His eyes, brown almost black eyes twinkled as he gave her a once-over gleamed with something unsettling, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Maryam huffed, yanking her arm back and adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “To a crime scene, Dr. Elliot.” Her tone was cold, her eyes narrowing. “And it’s Maryam, not Miriam.”

Dr. Elliot’s smirk widened, undeterred by her frosty demeanor. “Come on, I was just teasing, you know that,” he said smoothly. “And I’ve told you many times, call me Tommy.”

Maryam resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t particularly like him, despite his charms that seemed to win over everyone else at the hospital. He was a gifted surgeon, undeniably handsome, and came from a wealthy family with the charm to match. 

To many, he was the perfect man. But to Maryam, there was something deeply unsettling about him. Her sixth sense always cast an alarm whenever he was near, as if he was hiding something dark behind that charming facade.

At first, she had thought she was just being overly cautious. Dr. Elliot had seemed too nice, the perfect doctor who always listened to his patients. But there was a strange sense of superiority in him, a subtle way he diminished others just because he could. He used his charm and wit to manipulate people, often for personal gain—most often, it seemed, for sex. 

Maryam had seen the way he looked at people, as if they were puzzles to be solved or pieces on a chessboard to be maneuvered.

But what disturbed Maryam the most was his behavior when he had to deliver bad news to a patient’s family. He would play the role of the empathetic surgeon flawlessly, but as soon as he turned his back to the grieving family, a sardonic smile would spread across his face. It wasn’t a one-time thing; it happened too many times for her to ignore. Each time she witnessed it, it chilled her to the bone.

To the rest of the world, Dr. Elliot was friendly and outgoing, but to Maryam, it all felt like a carefully constructed ruse. 

Maybe she was too observant, too wary, or even too avoidant of people. Dr. Elliot’s influence at the hospital was undeniable, and she knew that voicing her concerns could lead to serious repercussions. So, she tried to be civil, keeping her distance as much as possible. But Dr. Elliot was relentless, always flirting, always trying to get under her skin, as if he enjoyed watching her squirm under his attention. 

“You look stressed, Maryam. Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, stepping closer, his voice oozing with false concern.

Maryam instinctively took a step back, determined to maintain her distance. “I’m fine, thank you. I deal with stress by actually doing my job.”

Dr. Elliot chuckled, clearly amused by her sarcasm. “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? I like that.”

Maryam gave him a tight-lipped smile, her patience wearing thin. “I’m glad you’re entertained, Dr. Elliot. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Tommy,” he corrected again, moving into her space again, his smirk never fading. “Like I said, you don’t have to be so formal. We’re colleagues, after all.”

Maryam sidestepped him, her eyes flashing with irritation. “And as colleagues, I’m sure you understand the importance of professionalism. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really have to go.”

As she turned on her heel and made a beeline for her car, she could feel his gaze lingering on her, a heavy weight that made her skin crawl. There was something unsettling about Dr. Elliot, something that set off alarm bells deep in her subconscious. He was too perfect, too polished, his charm a thin veneer over something far more sinister. 

He was a man who thrived on control, on bending others to his will, and his interest in her felt like a noose slowly tightening around her neck. But Maryam was not one to be easily swayed or intimidated. She had survived far worse than the likes of Thomas Elliot, and she had no intention of becoming another one of his conquests.

Sliding into the driver’s seat and tossing her tool bag onto the passenger side, Maryam took a deep breath, pushing away the lingering unease. As she turned the key in the ignition, she muttered, "Come on, you rusty old piece of junk, don’t fail me now." The engine sputtered to life with a reluctant growl. She exhaled deeply, her grip on the steering wheel tightening as she prepared to face the long road ahead.

The night was only beginning, a long road ahead and the crime scene awaited, and she couldn’t afford to let anyone—or anything—distract her from her duty.

────୨ৎ────

          Speeding through the streets, a cigarette dangling from her perfectly red-coated lips, Maryam navigated Gotham's chaos with a focused intensity. The radio blared in the background, blending with the city's constant hum as she wove through the traffic.

When she found herself stuck behind a slow-moving car, frustration bubbled up inside her. The driver behind her began shouting, their impatience palpable. Maryam rolled down her window, the cigarette hanging precariously from her lips, and shouted back, “What do you want me to do, run over his car, you imbecile?” Her hands flailed dramatically, and she rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

Mixing Arabic curses, she added, “Yallah, move it, you moron! What’s wrong with you, huh?”

As the traffic finally cleared, Maryam sped off, her car swerving slightly as she took another drag from her cigarette. 

Maryam arrived at the mayor's residence twenty-five minutes later, her patience frayed. Skidding to a halt outside the mayor’s grandiose home, she yanked open her car door and grabbed her ID card from the glove compartment. The harsh light from Gotham’s streetlamps stretched long, distorted shadows across the steps.

As she approached, a police officer moved to direct her away, but Maryam swiftly flashed her credentials and snapped, “I’m the Medical Examiner, not some nosy neighbor. Let me in.”

The officer huffed in exasperation but, recognizing her credentials, waved her through. Maryam slammed the car door behind her, crushing the cigarette under her heel and shouldering her kit with a determined stride.  As she looked up, she saw the Bat-Signal cutting through the Gotham night sky.

It casted a sinister glow across the city, like a dark omen etched into the heavens. Its stark, angular shape pierced through the fog and mist, its light a harsh beacon against the oppressive darkness. To the city's criminals, it was less a symbol of hope and more a harbinger of dread—a relentless reminder that their actions had consequences. It wasn’t just a call for help; it was an unyielding warning, a fearsome promise that retribution was on its way. 

Inside, the cacophony of the crime scene unfolded like a dissonant symphony: the hum of forensic equipment, the subdued murmur of conversation, and the occasional clatter of equipment.

Officer Martinez, ever the beacon of positivity amid the chaos—a trait that reminded Maryam of her cheerful assistant, Tammy—spotted her and made his way over, his face etched with concern. "Hey, Mar... Thanks for coming so quickly. It's a mess in there” he looked around, eyebrows furrowed, and I think we're all in for a long night." He added with a sight.

Maryam, her cheeks flushed with the urgency of the situation, gave him a terse nod. "No problem, Lucas. I’ll handle it from here.” A small pause, “What’s the rundown?"

Martinez scratched his head, his usual cheerfulness dimmed by the gravity of the scene. "So, the mayor's dead. Murdered. Found by his wife and kid. You’ll see the worst of it in the study. Bullock’s up there, but you know how he is—probably got a cigar stuck in his mouth and a scowl on his face."

Maryam managed a wry smile. "Of course he does. Thanks for the heads-up."

As Martinez led her through the throngs of officers and past the forensic team in their immaculate white suits, Maryam felt a knot of unease tighten in her chest. The crime scene was a carefully orchestrated mess: a tangle of evidence, forensic cameras flashing intermittently, and the low murmur of detectives piecing together the nightmare.

Bullock was leaning against the wall outside the study, puffing away on a cigar that left a trail of acrid smoke swirling in the air. His eyes were tired but sharp as they tracked Maryam’s approach.

"Dr. Halimi," Bullock greeted gruffly, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Glad you’re here. We could use a fresh set of eyes on this mess."

Maryam flashed him a sardonic grin as she stepped past him. "Just what I needed after a long day—a front-row seat to Gotham’s newest tragedy. You know me, always up for a good dose of horror."

Bullock smirked, shaking his head. "Always with the sass and jokes. You’d think by now you’d be used to it."

Maryam shrugged, her gaze drifting towards the study’s entrance. "If you’re not laughing, you’re crying, right?"

As she stepped into the study, the scene that greeted her was both grotesque and meticulously staged : Mayor Don Mitchell Jr. lay sprawled across a chair in his study, his body arranged in a macabre tableau. His head, mummified in duct tape, was covered in blood, and a chilling message in red read: “NO MORE LIES.” His thumb was severed, blood pooling around him, making the scene all the more haunting.

Maryam’s eyes swept over the room, taking in every detail—the way the blood spattered across the luxurious carpet, the silent witnesses of scattered papers, and the grim determination of the forensic team working to document every inch. 

She took a deep breath, pushing past her own discomfort to focus on the task at hand.

She approached the body with her medical kit, carefully extracting her tools: a pair of gloves, a scalpel, and a digital camera. The forensic team was busy capturing every angle, but Maryam’s job was to verify and document the specifics of the body’s condition.

She began by photographing the scene. The camera’s flash briefly illuminated the macabre scene: the mayor’s head was encased in duct tape, with the stark message "NO MORE LIES" scrawled across his mouth in red. The severed thumb, a grotesque testament to the brutality of the crime, was captured from multiple angles. Each image was carefully framed to preserve every detail, ensuring that nothing was lost in the documentation process.

Moving on, Maryam retrieved a ruler from her kit. She measured the depth and extent of the wounds with deliberate accuracy, noting the size of the blood pool around the mayor’s mouth, partly hidden by the duct tape. Her observations were meticulously recorded, providing a detailed account of the injuries that would be crucial for understanding the nature of the attack and the victim’s final moments.

Carefully, Maryam began collecting evidence. She bagged a bit of the strips of duct tape used to mummify the mayor’s head, handling them with gloved hands to avoid contamination. Fragments of the mayor’s clothing, stained with blood, were also placed into evidence bags. Each item was labeled and sealed, ensuring that potential evidence was preserved for further forensic analysis.

She then took a moment to examine the scene itself.

Making mental notes of the body’s positioning, the state of the room, and any items that might offer additional context. Her keen hazel eyes swept over the room, noting the arrangement of furniture and any disturbances. This meticulous observation was crucial for piecing together the circumstances surrounding the crime.

Finally, Maryam used a flashlight to explore less obvious areas of the room. She searched under furniture and in corners, her light revealing potential clues that might have been overlooked. Every corner was inspected with care, her flashlight beam dancing over surfaces as she sought out any detail that could shed more light on the murder.

Maryam’s concentration remained intense, her movements precise and deliberate. 

Just as she finished documenting the initial findings, she heard Gordon’s authoritative voice cutting through the room. She paused, her heart quickening as she prepared to brief him on what she had uncovered.

This was indeed going to be a very long night.

────୨ৎ────

      The oppressive atmosphere inside the mayor’s townhouse contrasted sharply with the vibrant city outside. 

This stifling tension only deepened with the arrival of the Bat—accompanied by Commissioner Gordon. The cops stationed at the entrance stared at him with a mix of confusion and disbelief, clearly unsettled by the sight of a man dressed in a bat-themed costume at a crime scene.

But Bruce Wayne paid them no mind, his focus solely on following Gordon through the house. The heavy thud of his boots on the polished wooden floors echoed through the lavishly decorated rooms, each step resonating with a sense of foreboding that seemed to deepen the already heavy air.

The room buzzed with murmured conversations, a chaotic blend of investigators piecing together the grim puzzle

Maryam, her light brown hair neatly secured in her signature French updo, and her hazel eyes sharp and focused, was still meticulously examining the body when Lieutenant James Gordon entered, followed closely by the imposing figure of Gotham's vigilante.

As they stepped into the room, the young officer guarding the door hesitated, his hand instinctively moving to block their path.

“Whoa-whoa-whoa—police action,” he stammered, his voice wavering with tension as he looked up at the vigilante imposing figure.

“He’s right, What the heck is he doing here, Jim?” Bullock grumbled, his irritation evident as he pushed himself off the wall. He shifted to a defensive stance, eyeing the Bat with barely concealed hostility. The sight of the vigilante only served to heighten the tension in the already fraught room.

Batman’s gaze fell upon the officer’s hand with a cold, silent warning. Gordon quickly intervened, his voice steady and authoritative.

“He’s with me, Officers,” Gordon said firmly.

Officer Martinez, visibly dismayed, reluctantly stepped aside, muttering under his breath, “...goddamn freak…”

Bullock shook his head in dismay, hands on his hips, the cigar still dangling from his mouth.

Inside, the room was permeated with the acrid scent of blood and the remnants of a Halloween celebration gone tragically awry. 

As investigators turned to look, Maryam, briefly distracted, spun around to greet Gordon. She nearly bumped into the imposing figure of the vigilante, whose presence felt both overwhelming and intense. In that split second, their eyes locked—her hazel meeting his dark, unreadable blue. Her eyes widened in surprise, while his remained inscrutable. Instinctively, Batman reached out, steadying her with a firm grip on her forearms. 

Maryam quickly stepped back, her fingers brushing against her throat as she composed herself. She cleared her throat and resumed her professional demeanor, though the encounter had left her slightly flustered.

Gordon, noticing the tension, broke the silence. “What do we know?” he asked, addressing the lead detective.

The lead detective, still rattled, glanced at Maryam for her initial findings. She nodded, stepping forward with her report. “The mayor suffered blunt-force trauma with multiple lacerations to the head,” Maryam began, her voice steady. “The fatal blow seems to have been from a heavy object. Most of the blood is from a deep wound in the hand.”

Gordon frowned, processing the information. “All this blood’s from his hand?”

Maryam nodded. “Yes. The thumb was severed postmortem, possibly as a trophy,” she explained, her tone clinical.

Batman, who had been silent, interjected. “He was alive when it was cut off,” he said, his voice low and gravely. He leaned closer to the body, his eyes narrowing as he pointed out a detail. “Ecchymosis around the wound... the bruising indicates he was still alive.”

The room fell silent as everyone processed the grim revelation. Maryam’s gaze met Batman’s again, a shared understanding passing between them. There was something about his presence—dark, intense, yet oddly reassuring—that intrigued her.

Gordon turned to the lead detective, seeking more information. “Security detail downstairs says the family was out trick-or-treating. The mayor was up here alone. Killer came through the skylight,” the detective explained, pointing upwards.

Batman’s attention was drawn to a small, fresh gash in the wooden floor—a detail overlooked by others. He knelt to examine it closely, his movements deliberate and precise. As he did, a photographer noticed and hurriedly snapped a shot, having missed the detail himself.

Gordon, observing the interaction, shifted gears. “There was a card,” he prompted, holding out an envelope.

The detective handed it over, and Gordon pulled out a Halloween-themed card. It featured a creepy skeleton behind a wide-eyed owl, tapping its shoulder. Gordon opened the card and read aloud the unsettling message: “What does a liar do when he’s dead?”

Inside, strange symbols were scrawled. Gordon unfolded another sheet from the envelope, revealing a cipher. “There’s a cipher too... Any of this... mean anything to you...?” he asked, turning to Batman, whose expression remained inscrutable.

Before Batman could respond, the door swung open again, and Commissioner Pete Savage stormed in. His face was a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

“I asked him to come, Pete,” Gordon said, attempting to defuse the situation.

“This is a crime scene—it’s Mitchell, for Chrissakes—I got press downstairs—!” Savage’s voice rose, barely containing his anger. “You know I cut you a lotta slack, Jim, ‘cuz we got history, but this is way over the line...!”

Gordon handed Savage the card, who read it with growing horror. When Savage saw the envelope addressed to “The Batman,” his expression darkened with suspicion.

“Wait—he’s involved in this—?” Savage demanded, his voice edged with accusation.

Gordon shook his head, maintaining a calm facade. “No, no—he’s not involved—”

Savage’s frustration was palpable. “How do you know? He’s a goddamn vigilante—he could be a suspect! What are you doing to me—he used to be my partner!”

As the argument escalated, Maryam, sensing the tension, decided it was time to leave. 

She pulled off her gloves, tossing them into a nearby bin. Her fingers trembled slightly as she made her way out of the room, her steps quickening as she sought to escape the stifling atmosphere.

In the hallway, Maryam paused, gathering herself before heading toward a nearby room where she knew Elliott, the mayor’s young son, was being questioned. The memories of seeing the little boy during her visits to her aunt’s house surfaced—Meysa had often babysat George, and Mar had developed a fondness for the quiet, sweet child.

As she approached the room, the door was slightly ajar, revealing George sitting on the bed, a detective trying to ask the usual questions to no avail. His small frame trembling with silent sobs.

Without hesitation, Maryam entered, and the boy’s eyes, red and swollen from crying, lit up with recognition. He bolted from the bed, running into her open arms. The doctor knelt, enveloping him in a protective embrace, her hand soothingly stroking his back.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. “You’re safe now.”

George buried his face in her neck, his small body shaking with suppressed sobs. “Maryam,” he choked out, “I’m so scared. I saw… I saw him…”

Maryam’s heart tightened, and she held him closer, her voice soft and comforting. “I know, sweetheart. I know. It’s all so scary right now, but you’re safe now, okay? You’re a brave boy, and everything’s going to be okay.”

He pulled back slightly, looking up at her with tear-filled eyes. “Why did this happen? Why did they hurt him?” he asked, his voice quivering.

Maryam gently wiped the tears from his cheeks, her expression pained but resolute. “I don’t know,” she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “But just know that you’re not alone, okay ? There are people who care about you and will protect you. I promise.”

As she spoke, Batman and Gordon made their way down the dimly lit hallway leading to the boy's room. Their faces were shrouded in shadow, the limited light casting long, ominous silhouettes on the walls.

Batman’s gaze fell upon the tender scene before him, and for a moment, his usually stern expression softened. A flicker of something—perhaps empathy, perhaps sorrow—crossed his face as he observed the small, traumatized boy clinging to Maryam.

The sight stirred something deep within him, evoking a haunting reminder of a night 20 years ago.

Gordon, noticing Batman’s reaction, spoke quietly. “We really need to go man,” he murmured, a subtle nudge back to the task at hand.

Turning to leave, Batman couldn’t shake the image of the boy’s tear-streaked face and Maryam’s comforting embrace… A poignant reminder of the innocence lost in the shadows of Gotham’s darkness.

Tu’burni (تقبرني) : Literally meaning, “bury me”. it means you hope that they put you in the ground before them because you couldn’t bear living without them.

[burnt-cheese-toastie]

nuts-n-bolts

a cyborg Pegasus, she used to be an engineer, trying her hardest to make grand machines, until she started re-engineering parts of herself to make her better. as she has very low self-esteem. turning her insecurities into lashing out at other ponies. bolt has a unicorn horn that can't do much as it is mechanical, it can be used as a flashlight though. she likes to keep to herself, in her lab. she technically doesn't have a cutie-mark as her flank is replaced with mech parts

lmao apparently shes interesting so i did some designing

[azuhrasims]

Okay, so @adelarsims put out a call (on accident or on purpose) for unicorn sims. Between that and @faaeish putting out a new unicorn horn, I had no choice. I'm late, but my goth unicorn boy and I are here!

Deets:

Skin by @miikocc | Ears and Tail (Pony Tail and Pony Ears) by GrimGuide | Horn by faaeish | Dun Factor Overlay by @occultradio | Stardust Body Blush by @gloomiegalaxie | Lashes by @ssspringroll | Face paint by @valhallansim | Eyelid and Lip gloss by @cosmimetic on TSR | Eyes (TSR) by @evilquinzel | Hair by @goamazons | Necklace by @strangegrapefruit | Shirt by @wotunciba | Trousers by @regina-raven | Hooves by @feralpoodles