#Violet Rage AU

[zebarius]

This is for my Violet Rage AU I'm writing on A03. I've never been good at comic strips though and I actually imagined this as an animation, but I also suck at that so . . . this is what I made instead. It's not full effort but it's something.

(Any good comic artists/animators are welcome to redo this as long as they direct credit back to me. I would literally sing with joy if someone made something good out of this messy sketch-work.)

(Read from left to right, top to bottom.)

I had it in my head that the two panels, the ones where Martyn's cloak (that is purely symbolic and not physically present) would shift colors, would be a moment of dead silence as things seemed to go into slow motion as Martyn lunges for Scott, and then there would be a cloth snapping noise, his cloak would flare and change color and Martyn's lung would be complete, his sword embedding itself into Martyn's stomach. Along with the cloak change the sky would change color as well and the green would leach itself from the world.

My comic-making skills don't really do the concept justice, but this is the closest thing I got to what I had imagined in my head. If it was an animatic, I feel like Heilung music would definitely be playing in the background.

[bucknastysbabe]

hello hello lovely

saw that your requests were still open, and I’m craving Aegon. need your precious writing to revamp my love for him 💓

could I request chubby!Aegon where the reader becomes jealous and he makes it up to her? don’t have anything specific in mind just along those lines. I need that big boy to grovel 🫠

thank you, appreciate you 💋

- @lovelykhaleesiii xo

Anything for you my helina🥰🥰loved writing this

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW: mention of overeating, mentioned weight gain, chubby!aegon, au!no war, northern reader, pwp, Aegon being aegon, breeding kink, pnv!sex, certified boob man aeg ii, lactation kink mentioned, creampie

Taglist: @arcielee @aemonds-holy-milk @lovelykhaleesiii @dr-aegon @starogeorgina @jamespotterismydaddy @elaratyrell @zaldritzosrose @sugarpoppss2 @saintaegon @fairysluna @targaryen-madness

Aegon could put on a farce with the best of the mummers. He was all smiles and drunken japes at dinner. Talking, eating, talking, eating, and his favorite— drinking. Your husband’s abilities appeared to grow along with his new titles. He was a king now and certainly filled the part.

You sat next to him with a pinched face, carefully sipping your wine. Aemond looked on with barely concealed disgust, sharp features twitching. He raised a brow at you, jerking his sharp chin toward your husband. Aemond’s need for control might be worse than your own. The king was the king, there was not much you could do outside the bedroom. Aegon was chatting with Lord Jason Lannister. You despised the Westerman and what he represented, the Northron blood in you appalled at the South’s materialism.

Jason snorted, “Well, you’ve heard of the petulant princess down in Dorne hm? Fashions herself the new Nymeria. Heard she’s quite beautiful.”

Aegon replied around a gulp of wine, “Is it them or the Iron Islanders that take on all those wives? She can join my harem. I do know the Dornish are easy, much easier than mine own wife.” He leaned forward on thick arms to jest, “Pray tell, what’s this Martell’s name? Mayhaps I’ll send a letter.”

The pair guffawed. You quietly put your cup down and excused yourself. Aegon called after you between his giggles, “My love! Come on! Take a damn joke, yeah?”

You seethed, blood icy at his embarrassing behavior. He knew better than to insult you, his queen, the one he came crying to when times got hard. Your kingsguard filtered in behind you, scrambling to catch up. Ser Darklyn’s questions were ignored.

Safe in your chambers, you pulled down the kady bar. Rage unfurled beneath your skin— you would not show it to him. You never did unless it was a slap to his full cheeks. A tear fell, the droplet smacked away like a pest. You’d go to sleep, Aegon could wait until you’d calmed.

“Fucker. Southron cock-gargler.”

As expected, his familiar presence came to crawling. Well, flopping onto your bed with his weight, the ropes creaking as he cursed lowly. Aegon cursed, “Fuckin’ damn- beds!” You jerked up your legs, sitting upright to light a candle, blinking the little sleep out of your eyes.

The blonde frowned at the dim light, chubby cheeks pooching at the movement. He wore a simple linen shirt and breeches, white hair all mussed. You frowned at your thoughts turning soft, as your lord husband looked handsome in the gentle lighting.

Aegon murmured, thick fingers circling your ankle, “Are you upset? I was merely joking.”

“No, go on, take a mistress from every great house if you so desire, my king.”

His violet eyes rolled at your acrid reply, the man coming closer to your position. He sighed, “I don’t plan on it, why would I do that?” Narrowing your eyes, you threw a pillow at his head to escape further across the bed. Aegon grunted as he was pelted, the blonde casted a bewildered look your way, brows pinched.

“I don’t want to hear it, that was shameful to speak as if I were not there, go away Aegon,” you hissed.

He groaned loudly, hand running through his wild waves. The king asked, face dead serious “Do I need to beg? Hm? My frozen queen of the north is the only one I’m fucking. Sweetling wants to see me grovel?”

Your stomach fluttered at the thought, eyes flicking to his earnest expression across the bed. You sniffed quietly, holding out a hand, “Yes. I want you to beg for me. Then maybe I’ll forget the slight. You talk like such a whore at the table yet you forget who rules your cock.”

He moaned, eyes rolling at the words before taking your hand and lowering himself with a grunt. Aegon looked up through his lashes, plump lips pink and perfect. He murmured, “Can’t believe you. Lady wants me to grovel. All I do is think about my wife day and night.”

You stared him down, pleased so far.

“I’m not seeing anyone, nor do I care to. I’m not some young little slip anymore. Too busy eating your cunt than diving into every hole up the street of silk, yeah? Maybe that’s why I can’t close my belt?”

You moaned, “I didn’t make you, ah, you do that Aegon.”

“Mhm, that’s why you slide me extra cake. Now, what was I saying,” he was kissing an ankle now, carefully holding your leg, “Why would I go get some bratty Dornish nymphet, or any other lady for that matter? I’ve fucked a babe into you twice now. It’s a bit intoxicating watching you ripen up with my seed.”

You whined at that, resolved to break soon. Being pregnant with the children was some of your fondest moments. Some most erotic from your insatiable husband. His increased weight? Likely came from him drinking your tits up every night before each babe.

Aegon hummed, eyes blown with lust, lips at your knee. The king rasped, “I’d like to fuck more into you tonight if you’ll forgive me, I only love my queen. Always and truly ever you, sweeting. Mayhaps twins? Your teats will be quite ripe for me then.”

You gasped and pulled his shoulders, Aegon already knew the intention as he hiked up your shift and yanked it off. In a flurry of movement, you pulled at the strings on his breeches while he exposed his thickened body. He was stout, not necessarily a true softling. It made the king more intimidating, with wide hips and a sturdy midsection. You loved it.

“Uh-huh, you’re gonna fuck twins into me? That’s a way to make up for being an absolute t-twat.”

You tried to hiss but there was no real heat, especially with his soft lips against your neck, gluttonous hands on your tits. Aegon pressed your naked form into the bed, his flushed cock snug against your thigh. Delicate white hair tickled at your neck as you squirmed. The king’s bulk had you utterly pinned, stocky thighs keeping your legs open.

He nipped at thin skin, laughing, “Where’s all the cold anger hm? Needed to be coddled and warmed up? You’re no better than me, love.”

Another shiver ran up your spine, goosebumps erupting atop your skin. You hooked a leg around his cushy waist and gritted, “Kiss me dammit. You were the ass here.” He laughed again, lips searching your own, the familiar plush a balm to your stung pride.

You opened up for him, lips lazily caressing against Aegon’s more insistent kisses, tongue bullying its way in. He gripped at your waist, rutting a few times against your cunt. The bulbous tip catching your clit made you whine and cling to his fleshy sides.

The Targaryen breathed, “Never takes you long to get all nice and slick for me huh? Turn your nose up but your pussy gets wet. Every. Damn. Time.” He punctuated his words with jerks of his hips and grinned as you cursed his name, arching into his soft belly.

You rolled back against him, demanding, “Enough talk, you’re here to make it up. Ah, careful,” you chastised as he pulled one of your tits up to bite at your budded nipple, “Fuck me dammit! Breed me up then!”

Aegon grinned sharply, cooing, “Why didn’t you just say so, dearest? I’ll make sure you take it all.”

He shoved a pillow under your flared hips, pressing gentler kisses on any available skin. Aegon huffed as he jerked his hand under a heavy stomach to grab his cock, guiding it into your soaked cunt. Your knees tightened up around him, exhaling a shaky moan.

He never failed to fill you up perfectly, with a girthy cock that he well knew how to use. Aegon groaned, lashes fluttering as he bottomed out, “Mmm, fuck, always so godsdamn soaked for your king.” One of his big hands clapped down on your ass— you threw your head back as he began to fuck you in earnest.

Aegon was an…excitable lover. He was mouthy and rough, a true passion of his to empty his balls into cunt. Thankfully, it was yours and yours only for the past years. You panted against his soft jaw, nipping at the flesh as he stretched your walls out, tip dragging against the tender ridges and spongey spots.

He angled you further, allowing his lower tummy to rub and stifle your bundle of nerves. You cried out his name, heaving as Aegon paid no heed, single-minded determination across his face. Shivers wracked your spine, shooting down your spread legs.

“Mhm, that’s my baby, shaking all over, needed my cock to settle you down? You say I’m needy. Yet your body screams for more.”

“F-fuck Aegon, quit it, oh gods!”

He took your lips again, sweat building up between you two as passions grew frantic. You keened. “Breed me, love, want more babes, make me yours again and again- hnn- mm!” Blood suffused your face, irritably hot as you registered the wanton pleas.

Aegon doubled down, hands pressing your thighs up, bending your stimulated frame. His belly still sat heavily on your clit, sparks of pleasure muddling any sort of coherence. Aegon was panting now, hair damp with exertion. He growled, “Yeah, yeah, gonna keep you full mama, let the kingdom see how well my queen takes my seed. Gods, gods, fucking hell, gonna fill you up. Plug ya’ so you don’t leak.”

You whimpered as your belly was awash with intense sensation, bundling nerves ready to fire. Aegon’s rambling about you being his perfect queen and good mama throttled you to the precipice, pussy clamping down on his cock. You wanted it all, your cunt was milking him for it. Seeking that hot feeling of his spend coating your sore insides.

“Fucking others!,” came your howl— your delirious thoughts catapulting you into gushing all over Aegon with a squeal. The king stuttered and cursed, a broken moan leaving swollen lips. He surged forward, dragging his tip against your cervix, face cutely scrunching as he emptied, shaking and moaning your name.

His spend was molten hot and overfilling your cunt, Aegon selfishly feeling around the side of the bed, crushing your overwhelmed body. He whined, “Fuuh-uck, love, feel too good, hold on.” You furrowed your brows before surprise hit your features.

That motherfucker was going to plug you up.

His lidded eyes danced as he drawled, “I wanted twins, mama.”

You squirmed and mewled when his cock left and a cold wedge replaced it. He shushed and pet you, kissing you tenderly as you grew used to the foreign object. You could feel his seed stuffed inside— trying not to dwell on it so hard. Aegon flopped onto his back, pulling your body snugly against his soft, warm one. You murmured, “That was some hell of an apology. Bastard.”

He sleepily murmured, “M’sorry dove, was mean. I’ll do better,” he squeezed you tight and planted a kiss on the crown of your head, “Only for my queen. Mmh, pray to your old gods— papa wants twins.”

You snorted, biting back laughter at his outright silly statement.

“Mhm Papa, prayers coming up. Sot.”

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Never Hijacked!Peeta Fics Masterlist (3)

Part 1 / Part 2 /

Created: April 25th, 2024

Checked:---

all the world's a stage-Abagail_Snow (ao3)

Summary: They'll never live down the stunt with the berries. They should probably just accept that. Peeta is rescued from the arena along with Katniss (post-Catching Fire/Mockingjay divergence)

Any Other Way-cozycoffee (ao3) Summary: Katniss and Peeta are both rescued from the Quarter Quell arena. Written for This Would Have Happened Anyway Summer 2023 prompt. ash and memory-songbirdheart (ao3) Summary: No. The very idea makes me want to cry. I could never have killed him. Never. I would sooner have died for him, with him. I still would. That’s what I wanted, that day. Not a rebellion. Just one man’s life. Katniss and Peeta walk the desolate remains of 12; a both rescued by 13 AU. I, and Love, and You-oh_so_loverly (ao3) Summary: Four snippets following Katniss and Peeta both having been rescued from the Arena and brought to District Thirteen. Peeta's Proposal-sillymarigolds (ao3) Summary: After being rescued from the 75th Hunger Games, the Victors find themselves yet again pawns, this time in the hands of the Rebels. Ever the Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee looks for ways to win an advantage in this new arena. A proposed solution by Peeta may just help in bringing about a happily ever after. roses love sunshine, violets love dew-adsofraser (ao3) Summary: Peeta is rescued along with Katniss from the Quarter Quell arena. They are able to grow together miles underground in District 13 as war in the districts rages on. "This Would Have Happened Anyway" Challenge for Summer 2023. Swan Upon Leda-FyreFlys (ao3) Summary: Katniss regrets that night 4 months ago during the victory tour, even if she doesn’t entirely wish it never happened. This part, however- the one where she’s being forced back into a death arena while four months pregnant- would be so much easier if it had never happened. Peeta isn’t supposed to know. So why is he telling Caesar, and all of Panem, on national television? OR: the fic where Everlark aren’t together yet, Katniss is pregnant during the Quarter Quell, Peeta isn’t supposed to know but then figures it out, Peeta never gets taken by the Capital and hijacked, and they try to live their “happily ever after”. The Brightest Timeline-Brown_Eyed_Devil (ao3) Summary: Peeta is rescued from the Capitol and brought to District 13 without having been hijacked. Katniss and Peeta reunite. You know the drill. The Things We Love Most Complete Us-geekymoviemom (ao3) Summary: “You love him,” Finnick told Katniss down in that bunker.  “Anyone paying attention could see it.” Anyone, apparently, except Katniss. Until it was too late.

This doesn’t hurt, does it?-endlessnightlock (tumblr)

Summary: Everlark in Thirteen featuring kidnapped but not hijacked Peeta.

[chococolte]

May i please request SAGAU with scaramouche, tighnari, cyno and kazuha "You have such beautifull hair. They would look stunning if you grew them out. I promise i would help you take care of it"

event closed!

word count. 1.2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, power dynamics, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. sorry i haven't posted in a hot minute, currently at my grandmothers & my brother has the flu, so i've had a hard time focusing on writing T_T

scaramouche

"You have such beautiful hair. It would look stunning if you grew it out. I promise I'll help you take care of it."

Your voice is soft like a lamb's fleece. His heart clenches from your tone, twisting as if pulled tight by an invisible string. You run your fingers through his hair, playing with it like it's something to be treasured. You touch him as if he's something precious; something to be nurtured and protected.

The thought hurts more than he thought it would. And Scaramouche detests the feeling building in his chest, hammering against his ribcage— burrowing deep within him, far enough he can no longer reach it. Far enough that he can't stop it, anymore.

Scaramouche shudders when your hands brush against the nape of his neck, warm against the cold of his skin. His heart pulls once again, teetering to the edge, and it takes all of his will not to slip deeper into your warmth. You tug at his dark violet hair, rubbing his strands in between your fingers as if his hair is the smooth petal of a sakura bloom.

I promise, you say. Scaramouche wants to believe you. He wants to throw everything away and entrust himself to you in his entirety. He wants to believe that you will be the singular god, the one person, to never betray him; he wants to think you will never throw him away. Your promise is small, but Scaramouche has lost so much. He has already shown you too much.

"If that is what you wish for," he says, voice weak. He doesn't bother to bite back, to snap at you with unkindness; instead, all he thinks is of your words.

As he closes his eyes, the back of his eyelids dance with stars in the shape of you. You braid his hair and paint the dull white world he's known for his entire life with color. You fill his world with laughter, and you don't ask for anything in return.

He hopes you keep your promise.

tighnari

Tighnari can't bear to meet your eyes.

Your hands are still running through his hair, pushing his bangs to the side. Your fingers glide over his forehead, and though your touch is faint, he feels the warmth radiating from your fingertips.

Tighnari vaguely realizes he should respond to you, but the words die on his tongue, stay frozen in his throat— his ears and tail still twitch and wag, his shoulders still shake and flitter. He tries to swallow it down, but finds himself suffocating.

He has never been brought to his knees like this before. He has never been speechless, nor thoughtless— his mind only a jumble of words and meaningless phrases. His only coherent thought is of you; you, dressed in your light and suffused with your kindness. You, bright and effervescent, the ineffable and infallible god. You, his god, his creator— you, loved by his soul and tangled within.

You don't rush him, continuing to play with the blue of his hair. You're gentle, soft like dewdrops on his skin. Tighnari wonders if you're being patient, or if you threw the words carelessly enough that you did not care for his response. Even if thought nothing of him, Tighnari wouldn't mind, he'd barely feel the course of rage; he would be saddened, but to worship you alone is enough.

Tighnari still clings to his pride, to the shame he would feel if you saw him so desperate— he resists the urge to fall deeper into you with every one of your lingering brushes against his skin, reminding himself that you have no use of a worshiper tainted by greed.

"I…" The rock in Tighnari's throat finally lets up, allowing him to breathe. He hopes you don't notice the softness in his tone, the slight creek of his voice. "For you, Your Grace… anything."

cyno

Your fingers thread through Cyno's white hair uninterrupted, even despite his sudden stillness.

A scorching heat envelops his cheeks like the desert sun, searing and almost cruel. Cyno feels like a fire has been lit underneath his skin, burning and contorting to the form of his face. He wonders if you've noticed. He wonders if you care, though the thought only lasts for a brief moment before he rips it apart.

You softly twirl some of his hair, rolling it around your finger. Cyno tries to keep himself composed, attempting to face the roaring of his heart with equanimity. His hands still lightly tremble in his lap, reeling from your compliment, small as it might've been.

He hopes you've noticed. But Cyno wouldn't blame you if you hadn't, or if you didn't care. Your will is sacred, meant to be revered and venerated; to force his own on yours is sacrilegious. To expect you to do anything for him is foolish. That you like one aspect of him should be enough.

Yet, Cyno can't help himself from leaning into your words. To be special to you, to hold a place in your heart— to be the one who you love. Cyno would never imagine himself worthy enough to stand beside you, never have the gall to think himself deserving of it— but his heart still sings, still drones in his chest from the implication of your words.

You care, minute as it may be. That is enough for him. Even if you can't keep your promise to him, he will keep it for you.

"Your will is my command," Cyno replies, eyes hard and resolute.

kazuha

Your fingers are tangled in Kazuha’s hair.

He doesn't dare to complain, even when you accidentally pull too hard. Even when you latch onto a small knot and tug, he keeps his lips pursed tight, unwilling to make even a small noise.

Your promise is a small one. It would be easy for you to forget. It would be easy for you to take it back. Kazuha wouldn't blame you; only feel the dull ache in his chest that rumbles whenever he is without you. Still, he latches onto your words, onto what he knows you only uttered without thinking.

Kazuha wants you to stay. He likes it when you're near. Your presence is soft. You feel like home. Your touch is love itself, despite how his skin burns every time you brush against it.

If he closes his eyes tight enough, breathes in your scent well enough, Kazuha begins to find the pain almost pleasurable— accidental as it may be, it stops being a jolt or a groan. Only more of you, of your warmth, your comfort.

It's not as painful anymore. It's just you, after all; and you could do nothing to him to make him stop loving you. Rip his hair, or stab his heart— if it is from you, the maker of his everything, the owner of his soul; who is he to deny you?

You take his hair and braid it, one lock over another. Despite the moment of silence, you continue unimpeded, a soft smile on your face. It is with this that Kazuha is thankful you can't see his expression.

His eyes crinkle at the corners, a glimmer of fervor and quiet adoration dancing within.

“Whatever you wish,” Kazuha eyes, smile audible in his voice.

[scaranation]

Hi there dear

I stumbled upon ur blog and ahh love ur writting i wad thinking maybe if ur requests are open that u could write a lil smth IF UR FREE OFCI

was thinking scaramouche x reader argument (angst to fluff :the ansgt shouldnt be brutal bc i dont hsndle it well)

Or if ur not comfy writting that u could doo

Scaramouche x reader scara accidentally confesses to reader??

Dont overwork urself and remember to eat <3

Ofc! Literally giggling and kicking my feet as i wrote this anyway I hope it’s what you had in mind <33

༊*·˚ 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊

Pairing: Scaramouche x GN!reader (Scaramouche is referred to as Kunikuzushi)

Content: Modern AU, angst to fluff, comfort

In which Kunikuzushi’s trust issues lead him to grow apprehensive of your recent actions - although the argument he instigates leaves him in dire need for your reassurance.

“Fuck, why are you keeping things from me?” Kunikuzushi stood glowering on the other side of the kitchen counter, violet eyes flaring with unbridled frustration.

“Kuni, I told you, I was preparing-” You began, your voice barely able to remain level, but your fiancé cut you off.

“Bullshit! I’ve been betrayed so many times, I know the signs when I see it. Buying men’s products? Sneaking out? Hiding your phone? You might as well just tell me the name of your other man.”

Kunikuzushi had flown into a rage after discovering expensive men’s cologne in your room, and you were now left floundering in the wrath he usually saved for his subordinates. Usually, you matched his explosive energy, impulsively making snarky remarks in return - but now, you were just so, so tired.

Tired of this stupid argument.

Tired of Kunikuzushi.

Maybe you were even tired of your engagement.

“You’re just like the rest of them. How stupid I was, to think you’d be any different. Pathetic.” Kunikuzushi seethed, and that was it. The tears that’d threatened to spill for the past few minutes finally flowed as you felt your eyes heat up, the droplets staining your cheeks as you could only feel helpless.

Kunikuzushi’s gaze flickered at your crying, his lips sealing quickly as you finally took your turn to speak.

“The cologne was for you. Happy anniversary, Kuni.”

Without a second glance, you turned and strode off. In the arguments you usually had with Kunikuzushi, you’d storm off in a blind rage - but somehow, it was even more heartbreaking for him to see you shuffle away in fatigued defeat.

You’d been planning a surprise for your anniversary with Kunikuzushi for weeks. You’d treat him to a nice dinner, present him with expensive cologne and a new hat to add to his prized designer collection. But when you’d returned home on the evening of the anniversary, excited to have everything in order, you’d been greeted with the sight of your fiancé at the counter - holding the present you’d bought for him.

At first, you were surprised, but that was quickly overcome with excitement as you anticipated how he would react. Would he be happy, that you prepared a gift just for him?

What you didn’t expect however, was for him to explode into a violently personal spiel - accusing you of cheating, and hiding things from him, and purchasing gifts for another man. You knew he was busy with his work, which could leave him tense, and that he was quick to catch on to signs of betrayal, given his past. You knew he was prone to spewing harsh words he didn’t mean, but this time simply left you worn out.

Worst of all, it never occurred to him once that today was your anniversary. Were you foolish, to hope that he too would be counting down the days?

Perhaps you simply weren’t meant for each other - after all, you weren’t sure if you could continue putting up with his attitude.

And so, you decided to pack your things - not eliminate your relationship, but just stay in a nearby hotel to cool down. You figured that both you and Kunikuzushi needed the break.

The more clothing you shoved into your suitcase, the more convinced you became that this was the right decision. Overcome by the fatigue and mental drain however, you paused your rushed packing briefly.

You told yourself you’d close your eyes for just a moment as you propped your elbows on the pile of shirts in the case, laying your head down.

You’d just take a small rest.

-

As you lapsed in and out of consciousness, at some point you became vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps.

Kunikuzushi’s, unmistakably.

They shuffled hesitantly to the door, before pausing - the room dropping back into silence as the steps stopped in their tracks. A silence that was shortly broken by the quickening breaths of Kunikuzushi, indistinguishably muttering barely audible.

Was he relieved, to see you go?

You were vaguely aware of Kunikuzushi’s smooth, cold hands around your legs and the small of your back. They were tentative, shy - deeply contrasting his usual prickly nature. After another hesitant pause, you felt yourself being lifted into the air and set with utter care onto your bed, the man lowering you down slowly. Tracing the shape of your face affectionately, you felt his fingers cautiously slide across the planes of your face before pulling away in quiet resolve.

You heard the sound of your suitcase being unpacked, with a little too much force - your clothes placed in the wardrobe once again with a rigorous energy. A small smile crept to your face at the gesture. Kunikuzushi could be cute at times, although you’d never say that to his face. As he shoved the last of your clothes back and shut the suitcase with a vehement finality, you let out a sigh - feigning mumbling in your sleep.

The reaction was immediate as Kunikuzushi stepped over to your side, gently grasping your hands in his and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Too stunned by the out of character gesture, your breathing stopped - although it went unnoticed by your fiancé as he delicately placed his lips against your hand, cradling your arm close to him in a grip that was just tight enough not to hurt. Just as you felt your eye begin twitching from feigning sleep, Kunikuzushi gently pulled away with a reluctant sigh - placing your arm slowly back on the mattress and carefully tucking the blanket around your body.

-

A while later - following the sound of the shower - the other side of your shared bed dipped as Kunikuzushi crawled into it. You felt lithe hands wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you closer into Kunikuzushi as he pressed fluttering kisses down your neck and back.

“I don’t know if you’re awake… But I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I know I can be quick to misunderstand things and assume the worst of people, and I’m sorry for lashing out and forgetting about our anniversary. But… If you’d like, we can have a date tomorrow, and maybe…” Kunikuzushi’s voice was rough and gravelly, faltering at your lack of response. His arms tightened around you. Maybe, in his heart, he wanted you to be awake - to respond to him, and offer him the forgiveness he sought.

“If you… Still want to be with me, of course.” He added, voice trembling lightly. He dipped his head back into the crook of your neck, and you felt something damp on your skin.

Was he… crying?

You rolled over at once, to see Kunikuzushi staring at you with teary eyes - face flushed, and eyebrows raised in an expression of vulnerability you’d rarely ever seen from him. You weren’t sure if it was the dark, but it looked as though his lower lip was shaking.

“Kuni, why would I leave you?” You thumbed away his tears as he melted into your touch, closing his eyes.

“You were packing your things… You know I don’t like it when people leave.”

“I was just planning to take a small break.”

You felt your fiancé’s arms hug you closer at that, his eyes widening.

“Are you going to call me a liar?” You chuckled, as Kunikuzushi closed his mouth. His face flushed with embarassment.

“Listen. I won’t leave you, and you need to believe that. I won’t lie, neither of us are great with words, so I’ll just say it as it is - the only thing that has the smallest chance of driving me away is your inability to believe that I’ll stay.” You murmured, before realising that your delivery of words had significant room for improvement.

“… Okay, I believe you. Because that’s what silly mortal love is, isn’t it? A risk.” Kunikuzushi muttered, although his arms relaxed.

“Good thing we’re both taking that risk.” You smiled, as Kunikuzushi’s usual demeanour returned. Typically, he couldn’t handle apologising and cracking his infallible ego.

Kunikuzushi supposed that since he’d already been vulnerable, he might as well continue to be. Curling into your form, he held you tightly - pecking light kisses wherever his lips could reach.

“You know, you’re not as insufferable when you’re desperate.” You laughed.

“… Are you still okay with a date tomorrow, though…?” Kunikuzushi ignored your comment.

“Yes, of course.” You replied, lacing your fingers with his. He turned red, stuttering in his movements at the simple gesture. His eyes however switched to relief at your acceptance - mouth curving into a smile despite the flush across his pale cheeks.

“Good night.” You pressed a lazy kiss against Kunikuzushi’s cheek, preparing to close your eyes.

“Can I have one… here?” Kunikuzushi grabbed you before you could fall asleep, pointing to his lips with a guarded expression.

You obliged, chastely kissing his lips before pulling away and laughing at his embarrassment.

“I hate you.” Kunikuzushi scowled at your deriding chuckles, closing his eyes and nestling into the blankets.

“I love you.” You responded quickly, letting your eyelids droop sleepily.

Then, a few minutes later, in the slumbering silence of the bedroom, came one last comment.

“… I love you too.”

[lampochkaart]

DRV3 Exlibrium AU

A few examples of how infection can happen

Most often, ink infection happens when a person is attacked by a character. When a character escapes, they begin to go crazy quite quickly, and because of the pain and panic of what is happening to them, they can start attacking those around them. Often characters try to fulfill their plot in the real world, hoping that then the book will let them go, which can also provoke an attack in some cases. But this is typical not only of negative/aggressive characters, but even of harmless ones if they spend long enough outside the book.

This is the most common cause of infection. Here are some examples.

Gonta, who noticed something strange in the behavior of insects, but was attacked when he tried to examine them.

Maki, who was suddenly attacked by a crazy old-fashioned man during one of her night missions.

(Not so) fun fact, she killed this crazy guy, so he had to be re-written into the book.

Kokichi, who was chased (and caught) by a huge horrifying wolf with clearly more mouths and eyes than he should have had.

Or Shuichi who was ​​attacked by a scary dog, when he was returning home one evening.

However, in rare cases, people can be infected without being attacked. Any contact of a character's ink, be it blood, saliva, tears, or even food (from a book), into the human body starts the infection. Here are some examples of this.

Kirumi, who tasted tea with cookies from a sweet grandma, who asked her to try it and see if it was delicious.

Kaede, who grew up in a violet family, therefore was sterile and carefully infected when she reaches a certain age in order to also receieve this color.

(Ink does not always stay where it enters the body; sometimes it can travel to the heart.)

Kaito, who in a fit of rage, smashed both the character's face and his own knuckles.

In his defense, it was absolutely the worst day of his life, so meeting a strange psycho who began (seemingly) to parody and ridicule him and his ideals ​​was the last straw.

As I said in the post with all the information about the AU, I am always happy to answer questions about this AU and the characters!

[wordy-little-witch]

Not me looking at your Polycrossguild convenience marriage au thinking about the wedding vows and how fun it would be if trough the entire “convenience to lovers” pipeline, that’s the thing they just can’t seem to get right while they all sit together and practice them like one would do trying to remember lines for a nativity play. None of them are into it, it all looks incredibly forced no matter what they do. No matter what they change or how much they practice it’s just…. Awful. Stiff. So obviously a marriage of convenience thing it hurts.

But after a whole lot of confusing feelings and low key romcom shenanigans the wedding happens and they are all so done they go off script… and it works… kinda. Because if you read their vows on paper they would read like the most horrid vows you ever seen. Mihawk only speaks a few words, Buggy’s stutters out his and it seems like a weird tangent and Crocodile…. Basically straight up passive aggressively insults his husband’s through the entire thing…. But it’s by far the most genuine “performance” of their vows these three have given.

Hawkeye doesn’t say much, he rarely does, but when he squeezes his soon to be husbands hands it’s clear to say anything more would be unnecessary . Buggy is flustered and in love and is trying his damndest to get over himself trying to express that, using a metaphor only the three of them would get because Mihawk used it as a snippy commentary about this shit show when they first started practicing together. And nobody has ever seen Sir Crocodile smile so fondly at anything that wasn’t a Bananawani, even as he expresses annoyance at the men in front of him.

Iiiii dunno if I’m even making sense here, just got struck with the mental image of Crocodile smiling at Buggy and calling him “My beloved little pest of a clown.” And Buggy looking up at him, smiling just as happily while trying to blink away the tears from his eyes.

OKAY LITERALLY THIS

Like. They're Idiots, Your Honor. They absolutely try EVRYTHING to make it seem "authentic", and so Mihawk's papers are written in calligraphy, with verbose prose that boios down to some Gonez Adams Level of simpage but lowkey because he has a reputation.

Crocodile's is written like a damn business agreement, with clauses and edited areas to update and revamp it. He cannot for the life of him find that middle ground of Decently Organized and Genuine.

Buggy's filled no less than three full journals in WIPs of it, and almost all are scribbled on, torn out and crumpled up, or nearly burned bc he raged and threw it into a bon fire.

Finally, day of, they're scrambling and losing their MINDS and suddenly Nobody Can Find The Vows. Everyone is panicking. Something may be on fire.

Ritchie is found with glitter gel pen on his muzzle.

They're gonna have to wind it.

They're all McLosing It.

At least, they were.

Then they catch sight of one another, and suddenly.... the world has stopped.

None of them are exactly traditional, but they make it work. Mihawk is in ruffles and frills, accenting the sleek lines of his body in black and ruby, with slim cut pants and high boots which only serve to make his figure that much more imposingly ethereal. Crocodile opts for suits on a normal day, but this one is different in the cut and style, muted but bold, glimmering but softer, a much more subtle display of wealth and poise which makes him ooze charisma like snake oil. And Buggy has forgone a suit all together, opting instead for a gown, a mermaid cut dress which hugged his curves perfectly, fabric shimmering between violet and red depending on the light with a silvery blazer openly draped and held across his shoulders via a rainbow of beads which matched the colorful hair pins holding his curls from his face and neck.

All three are breathless when they see one another, and suddenly the words are there - odd to an outsider, certainly, but true to the heart in a way visible to all.

Mihawk's short vow is met with a bark of laughter from Crocodile, a silvery giggle from Buggy.

Buggy's rambling stuttered mess becomes teary and he's suddenly bitching about his eyeliner running. Mihawk and Crocodile both crack smiles, even as Mihawk wordlessly passes over a handkerchief and Crocodile makes a comment on looking into waterproof liner later on together - mascara too, he mentions casually, because the brand Buggy likes released a new line a exile back, they'll look into it.

Crocodile's is bemoaning his taste in men, but it's oozing warmth, and when he catches himself getting a little too mushy in public, he actually blushes and scoffs. Mihawk and Buggy look delightfully on with impish smiles.

It's weird and off and anything but typical, but it feels so incredibly real to those involved.

Maybe a little too real to some...

Of course the shenanigans that ensue during their "honeymoon" are another thing entirely.... 👀

[kiraman]

Killing Strangers PART II, must read PART I. first. Read them back to back if you can for the full experience.

JOHN WICK AU. death/blood/violence cw / Mizu x female oc

wordcount: 3,905 / soundtrack

People don't understand the word ruthless. They think it means 'mean.' It's not about being mean. It's about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It's about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution. Not caring about anything else but the pure, absolute, unbridled perfection of it.

No one's expecting the girl who burned to rise from her ashes. She is not her; she is neither here nor there, she's a ghost, he's smoke smoke smoke, it slips through your fingers; ashes and embers; consuming and resuming herself. They do not know they have been promised death by her hand. But she does. Smoke does. And a promise made, Must be honored.

She does try to stay in the shadows at first. There are 10 million dollars hanging heavy over her head, and she will not fill anyone's hands with them; blood money. Stained by fear; weakness; desperation. She does not care that the world is hot on her trail, death dogging her every step. Like smoke, she slips through the cracks, filling their lungs with her death; a pistol cold in her hand, silencer on, bullets flying; precision; effectiveness. No witnesses left. They come for her, and she takes down five men in a back alley, stitches half torn open, snarling fiercely, growling her rage; she does not shed blood with her knife this time, only with her gun. She does not stop to watch who's chasing after her shadow.

She knows where to find him now; and that is all that matters to her.

It's New Year's Eve and the Cellar, (what they call the obscenely large space Violet uses to throw sinfully lavish parties at his mansion where he lives with his wife and daughter, half way across New York where the core of his group operates. ) is thrumming with life, packed full of people,  all flushed, decadent exuberance and loud techno music blaring through the night, filling the air with its hollowness.

Mizu stares through the windows, letting the flickering strob-lights blind her until it's time to move.

With swift, controlled movements she pulls her jacket on, black, slick, bulletproof. She readjusts the holster of her dagger, strapped at her hip. Neon light glints off her sunglasses, neatly arranged onto her nose as she moves.

Like a shadow, she delves into the depths of his lair, unassuming, swift, like smoke, like the wind, unfathomably quick, unerringly, expertly infallible in her calculations.

Crowds throng her way, pulsing with music, swelling, swaying in the rhythm, the low, droning sound of it. She pushes her way through the throng, the grimy light of the club casting her in silhouette as she ascends the stairs to the second level. Unarmed, no guns are allowed here, in the club; still, she takes down the man guarding the door to the second floor; he grunts, a vicious, wounded sound torn from his throat as she wraps her arm around his throat and squeezes the life out of him; he thrashes violently against her, but she calmly covers his mouth with her other hand and squeezes viciously against his nose, not giving way, until he slumps over, heavy with death. She tosses him aside, and reaches for his gun, frowns when she notices it doesn't have a silencer.

Fuck it. So be it. Loud it is.

When she shoves her way onto the second floor, she sees him; sitting across from her. The strobe lights overhead cast his face in strange half-light. He is here, alive; throbbing darkly, darkly; she cannot see past his hand, curled around some young girl's waist; that same hand, stroking her hair; Mother dead in the bathtub, drowning in her blood; she cannot see past his face, dark, head thrown back in laughter, and everything around her fades away.

Smoke— ?

a man snarls somewhere near her, surprised. She looks his way, hand on her gun; his eyes fall to her hand. — You working?

Everything around her freezes, becomes smoke, fades away with her breath.

No. Not tonight... You?

Yes.

They stand, like this, motionless, stiff, breath thick in their throats, something dark trembling at the very edge of the room, and for a moment, the whole world seems to stop spinning, comes to violent halt to stand right in front of her.

She is faster than him, gun flashing under the lights as she lifts it and fires, shot after shot piercing the air, cold, metallic. Glass shatters, an explosion of metal and light as she shoots at the glass ceiling overhead, bullets riddling the mirrors flashing under the strobe lights, smashing them onto the floor and onto the bodyguards guarding the stairs leading to the third floor. Pure adrenaline washes over Mizu, and she is at her feet, growling as they hurriedly carry Violet away; his name poison in her mouth as she calls out to him, amd he looks back, pure terror in those dark eyes before he's ushered away to safety. There are throngs of people screaming around her, scrambling for the exits, but she does not even see them, her eyes, dark and terrible and dark, honed in on him; she kicks out powerfully at a man running towards her, swings and disarms him, ferociously snapping his wrist and twisting his hand towards himself, emptying his own gun into his stomach, then with a sharp, sudden twist of her torso, plunges the last of its bullets into the head of a second guard launching himself towards her.

The rasp of a door breaking open on its hinges crackles in the air, and metal floors squeaking from the men rushing in. Mizu quickly stands and turns, viciously collars the woman running by her, Violet's daughter, with her left hand and lifts her out of the grasp of her bodyguard clean into the air, unhesitatingly shooting him in the face. Snarling breathlessly, she hoists her in front of her body and turns towards the door, kicking out and ducking, shooting at another man at her left, kicking him back down and crashing his skull with her boot, and then the men from downstairs are flooding in, their rifles pointed in at her and the first man pauses as he comes through the hysterical crowds around them to take in the sight of the girl hanging in the air in front of Smoke and in the moment of his hesitation Mizu, unflinchingly, shoots him dead. She uses her body as a shield, relentlessly firing round after round until the dance floor is littered with bodies, sticky with their blood.

Another one she recognizes as one of Violet's right hands rushes in, and she throws her dagger at his chest, unerringly piercing it open. The man’s legs collapse from under him and Mizu drops the girl into a swing and launches her into the air at the other man taking aim with his gun and the man recoils in horror as the daughter of his boss flies towards him, drops the weapon to catch her as she crashes into him and Mizu is already on top of him as they fall to the ground and she smiles into the man’s eyes and fires the last round left into his head. She looks up towards the stairs leading to the third floor, and takes the man’s rifle, swings it smoothly upwards on the ball of her foot and then she is out the door and after Violet, leaving his daughter behind, unconscious but alive.

It's dark in the hallway, the low drone of the music coming from underneath, vibrating through the floor. She holds her gun tighter, loaded and cocked. It is so quiet she can only hear her own heartbeat, a distant humming, static, electric, the fan overhead, whirring in the smoky air. The walls that line the hallway are made of glass,  reflecting the light pouring in through the windows back onto one another, a narrow strip of low-light. She walks, noiselessly, ears pricked, until the slightest motion pierces the dam of the silence surrounding her, and she is furiously ducking, flying onto the floor as she expertly fires a bullet through two of the men laying in wait for her around the corner, sending them smashing through a glass wall. Glass shatters all around her, and she groans, blood streaming down her face and into her mouth, but she does not feel it, she can't feel anything past the rage in her blood. She is angry.

She cocks her rifle and empties it into the vague shape of a figure that she can see running along the hallway on the other side through the glass, and the wall shatters, shards of glass exploding, raining down onto her head; she tosses the empty rifle aside and quickly, too quickly, turns around, gathering a fistful of glass, sharp shards of it that she unerringly throws into the throat and neck of a second guard running down the stairs towards her, shooting blindly. With a cry derived far more from anger than pain, she head butts the other bodyguard that comes pouncing towards her from the shadows -shattering his nose, his face instantly crimson with blood- before slashing the last of the shard of glass in her hand wide, severing the bodyguard's artery. She reaches for the gun of the first man and loads it; she is angry; she can't see past the blood trickling down her cheek, beading at her neck. She throws herself onto another man, swings her legs around and wraps them around his throat, squeezing until his spine breaks as she uses his body as a shield, expertly shooting another five men dead with no more than six bullets; shot after shot after shot, she sends them all crashing into the glass walls, each with a neat bullet hole through their spines and the arteries lining their thighs. Spitting out blood, she is on her feet and ducking behind a marble statue just as she hears more men running up and down the stairs; she is angry; she reloads another gun she took from one of the dead men while running over their bodies, and stills her breathing to near motionless, laying in wait, blood pounding at her temples; silence. Shards of glass crashed under the heel of a boot; her breath, slow, tight in her throat; pulse beating in her neck;

This is death hanging on an infinite number of miniscule mischances.

Anything could tip the world around her, here. Someone coughing in the dark, a distraction. A variation in the low light filtered through the glass, a deceptive shadow.

She is angry. She lifts her gun and waits, silent, invisible, unseeable; they round the corner and with a twist of her body she powerfully, flawlessly swings onto her feet around the marble statue and riddles their backs with her bullets; blood sputters and stains the glass, streaming down the walls; one of the men, growls, furious, and pounces, throws himself at her from the dark, she had not seen him, and Mizu, gasps, shocked, ripping her shoulder away from his hand and furiously punching her elbow into the side of his throat.

Having already thrown her empty gun aside, her hands are free and her fingers, extended in a leap, dig into the edge of his jacket. The man loses his balance; the tug bends him backwards, forcing him to totter back. He struggles furiously, violently rips the jacket off his shoulders and frees himself. Too late. Mizu spins him round by hitting him in the shoulder with her right hand, then immediately strikes him in the neck under the ear with her left. The man - Violet's highest ranking assassin, she realizes; the Jackal- reels but does not fall. She is furious; her eyes, flash, a low growl of pure, uncontrolled rage thrumming in her throat; Jackal digs his fists low into her ribcage where her stitches have torn and she groans, anger flaring up inside her like a flame that explodes, shattering the world around her. Mizu grabs him by the front of his shirt, spins him violently and throws him to the ground. She clenches her fist and thumps him from above. Straight in the mouth. His lips split like blackcurrants, blood filling his jaw and chin, teeth smashing. She growls, moans against the sting of his fingers still digging into her side; one of her hands holds him down by the throat, viciously, like a hammer, like a knife, the other one breathlessly reaching for the gun thrown near them, spinning around and shooting another five, six, seven men down, a bullet through two lungs, a bullet to the side of a neck, then right through a skull, one, two, three shots, a bullet to a thigh, then chest, ripping it open; blood spatters, splashing her face. She reels around, draws her hand back from his throat and punches him again.

She is punching him, over and over, her hands a flurry, a black blur. His face is hot and stinging as boiling water. She is angry; she sees him, black suit, black coat, black sunglasses, a black tiger tattooed on his wrist, emerging from the fire. Mother dead in the bathtub, drowning in her blood.

She punches his face into a pulp, then draws back, groaning, clutching her side. She wastes no time; with an almost frustrated groan she pulls herself to her feet, and staggers down the hallway.

The shattered glass walls shake, vibrating with the distant music coming from down below. She bends and picks up the dagger she had thrown to a man's throat, cutting it open, finds a gun amongst the guts and blood.

She walks slowly down the hall; her face is covered with blood, and her lower lip is split open. Blood is spilling through her shirt where her wound has been ripped open. She does not care; she does not feel the pain.

She's close so close; her hands are cold, precise, calmly, furiously, ruthlessly holding her gun.

And then, she sees him, there, black suit on, immaculately pressed, sat at his desk under a glass ceiling, and she is sunk for a few seconds in the strangest calm of her life. There, within her reach, sits him; him who has violently ripped her life away from her; he, who has plunged her into that fire that still burns inside of her with a rage that nothing could ever snuff out.

His eyes are open and stare back at her with something frighteningly calm in them. Except for the irises, which are of flecked grey so that they seem smokey like the hoar mist on a winter's morning, his eyes are dark. Black. It takes Mizu a few seconds to realise that they have no expression at all.

She steps forward, her boots, slick with blood, making soft, strange noises as she walks towards him slowly, her mouth twisting into a terrifying snarl. Blood trickles down her chin. She licks it away, eyes unblinking, piercing him through with their rage.

"you won't make it out alive... kill me, and then what? you think you'll somehow walk away from this unharmed?"

Mizu does not answer. She cocks her gun.

"there is more coming..."

"—let them." she snarls, calmly, a dark edge to her voice.

She is furious. Her pulse shatters in her throat.

He blinks, and she can see the fear rising in those eyes; he looks behind her, into the hallway, the floor littered with bodies. There's no other coming.

He huffs, reaches for the bottle of whiskey set somewhere near him on the desk, pours himself a drink, then another one, presumably, for her.

Pathetic.

He gulps thickly, his left hand twitching.

She is furious; her blood is pounding at her ears, each beat bringing her closer to that fire, that flame that burns everything inside of her to ashes and from it, rises only smoke, smoke, smoke.

Silence; the clink of a glass against the bottle; his breath, hard, riven with fear. Her heartbeat, furious, dark, thrums in her throat.

Mother dead in her blood. Fireworks lighting up the sky, exploding into flames.

"no one, not even you, can kill everyone. you are not God." he sneers, a hideous glint in his eyes. His fingers twitch.

"I am your God." she coolly drawls.

Silence. Her breathing stilled to near motionlessness. She hears him swallow and the sound makes her sick.

He reaches for the whiskey, his ring clinking against the bottle.

Mizu pulls the trigger.

His head jerks back violently, splattering the desk with blood.

Mizu stands in the blackness that surrounds her and watches his head loll to the side, the glass of whiskey slipping from his hand, crashing onto the floor.

Blood from her nose spatters the floor nearby.

Outside, fireworks explode, lighting up the sky.

The year must have changed.

Silently, she turns around, and walks away.

She does not look back; she does not look back again until she's at the door, reaching for the knob;

A bullet comes whizzing right past her left ear, and she turns around, furiously, hand on her gun, cocking;

There is a boy stood at a door, near her. He can't be more than seven. His hands, tremble as it raises a gun he's taken from one of the dead guards upstairs, no doubt, and aims it towards Mizu.

Shock floods her system; she did not know Violet has a son; had a son.

Mizu's hand curls, twitches. She hesitates; she hears his little breath, sharp in his throat; hears his feet scuffle against the floor. She feigns a smile, says, it's alright... it is alright, then pounces, easily removing the gun from his hand. She calmly, too calmly, pulls back the slide, locking it all the way to the rear, and empties the chamber, pouring the rounds out onto her open hand, before tossing the magazine aside. She lets the boy watch her, lets him look into her eyes as she loads her gun. Lets him memorize the shape of her face, sharp and horrible in the shadows; she blinks at him for a moment, blankly, silent, not seeing him but his father in those small, dark eyes of his, and, then, without so much as a second glance, walks away and into the night.

Into the cold night air, the wound in her side is continuously sending sharp jolts of pain right through her. She clutches at it, hissing, walking away swiftly, in control, slick, dark jacket soaked with blood. Distant sirens pierce the silence, and there is police crawling all over the streets around her. She turns a corner, heaving for breath; her steps are calm, measured, but quick, hurrying away. There’s an unmarked car idling in the alley—there always is, she doesn’t know where she gets them—

Mizu blinks and suddenly she’s beside her, a warm shape in the dark. 

"Took you long enough." Geraldine says, breathless, her cheeks scarlet with rouge, cold from the wind lashing against her as she stands in the night, waiting for Smoke, and then, "come on- hurry..."

Mizu pours herself into the backseat, groaning. When Geraldine leans over to click her seatbelt into place, her hair—loose and spilling over her shoulders—falls against Mizu's torn cheek. She shuts her eyes, a pained sound dying off in her throat, breathing in the faint smell of warm skin and her perfume, something sour and sweet; smoke and lilacs.

When she opens her eyes again, Geraldine is sitting in the front, furiously driving away. The light of the GPS casts her face in strange half-light, occasionally sliced-through by the flash of the streetlamps through the window. She could be carved from marble, impossible and cold under her hands.

Not that she has ever touched her.

“I thought I defrauded more money for you than this,” Mizu says archly, feeling the car speed up dangerously. “No, Smoke." Geraldine sighs theatrically, exasperation in her voice. “No. You did not. shame on you. Hold on.” she shifts gear, and the car flies down the street, like a bullet, piercing the night.

“Right,” Mizu says, and lets her head loll back against the leather. She can feel the beginning of an ache, behind her eyes— her blood is hot in her veins, it's lava; live coals; she is still burning. “Yes.”

She stares out the window, letting the flickering street-lights blind her until she falls back into uneasy sleep.

Her phone rings, tearing her from her sleep.

She blindly reaches for it and answers, but does not speak.

She blinks through the pounding in her head; she is still in the car, it's still night outside; Geraldine is still driving.

She can't have been out of it for more than, what? Half an hour?

This isn't over. a cold, sharp voice on the other side of the line growls low in her ear.

Mizu does not answer. Geraldine flicks her eyes over to her, watches her through the rearview mirror. Her eyes are so bright; burning with something furious; fierce beauty and hunger,

Mizu does not know why she notices right then; she stares right back at her through the mirror, blindly, listens to the man on the other side of the line breathe, waiting for her answer;

when she does not give it to him, he says, fury in his throat, you think I'll let you walk away from this? you think we won't come after you with everything that we've got?

As she listens to the voice on the other end, Mizu remains still... stoic.

Yeah. Yes... I would not know how to respond to this either.

Mizu does not react. Geraldine's eyes in the mirror reflect the light; like flames, dark, carnelian; she blinks, a frown lining her face.

The man on the line is cut off by an intercom which squawks to life in the distance, a screaming voice reduced to panicked static. He laughs, and there is nothing in that voice; it's dead, cold. Empty.

Fowler. Can't be anyone but him.

But you betrayed him-

...and she betrayed us.

They are not our friends - Geraldine had said, laughter in her voice; silk; smooth, tickling her ear; no one is our friend.... everyone is our friend.

Why? What could we have possibly —

Realization washes over like a tidal flood, adrenaline bursting through her veins, ears ringing. Mizu cuts him short, hanging up; the line goes dead.

There is fury in her eyes now; and she says, move over, and Geraldine screams, says what the fuck, Smoke? as Mizu climbs her way into the front and hurriedly makes her switch seats with her so that she can drive down the harbor, furious, enraged, a hurricane, tearing the veins of the city open.

When they park outside the Cabinet, the flames have already consumed it whole, floor to ceilings, and Geraldine pours out of the car in shock, screaming her throat raw, sinking to her knees amidst the ashes. Her father looks down on them blindly, throat sliced open, hanging, dead and heavy, from the rooftop, swaying in the air.

And for a moment, only for a moment— Mizu forgets how to breathe.

[zebarius]

Lore for Violet Rage AU

Dropping some facts relevant to this Limited Life AU I'm writing. (An AU story revolving around the concept of Corrupt!Martyn.)

-

To create another Listener, someone who is already a Listener must hug a regular player and the hug must be willingly reciprocated. (Of course, this won't work for any random hug. The Listener has to have intent and to be purposeful in their desire to turn the other person into one of them.)

I like this idea because it's a complete antithesis to the Watcher's controlling and cruel nature. They feed off the despair and suffering of players, while Listeners actively encourage player prosperity and happiness.

A hug felt like a fitting way to do a power transfer.

Violet Rage AU on A03

[bucknastysbabe]

I can have an aegon ii crying and whining (love to see that man cry) because he knows you're going to break up with him....

I hope this is alright, thanks for the request. Xoxo

Rating: Mature

Tags: TW//Alcohol abuse, addiction, verbal and emotional abuse, alcoholic/addict Aegon, codependency, description of DTs, break-up, man tears, modern!au, sorry I projected my alcoholism on this, man tears whiny pathetic babykins

A/N: Sorry Anon if I took some liberties, I felt this as a good reason for him to be crybaby. Alcoholic projection gets me ass sometimes

“No-nononono!,” Aegon cried from behind you.

You poured the last of his bottle out of the sink. The fucker had hidden the booze in your boots. Your boots. After boldly claiming he was sober, clean, and going to meetings. Alas, here you were again, Aegon whining and begging once again. Cycle of insanity as that blue book he owned said. Fat tears leaked from his wide orbs, lips trembling, face blotchy and red.

“You lied to me!,” you barked.

He tugged at his hair, big violet eyes fixated on that precious liquid going down the drain. Aegon whimpered, “Stop. Stop it! I’m sorry, I- I- I won’t do it anymore! I hid it for an emergency!” He sobbed as you placed the now empty bottle onto the counter.

This was on and off for what felt like the entirety of the relationship. It was fun at first— party Prince Aegon Targaryen. You two would go all night. You began to grow tired of the non-stop celebration. He’d keep going, snorting in the bathroom, taking something to sleep, leaving to hang out with the ‘bros’. Always had a reason to have something in his system.

You didn’t know if he had ever cheated. It felt he cheated on you with the bottle— ‘his baby’ he so fondly referred to alcohol one time. He had to take an extra semester only to land on academic probation. You graduated and got a job, got a place with Aegon. Upon moving in you expressed your feelings about his habits, the blonde apologizing and swearing he’d be on the straight and narrow.

Your stupid simple heart thought he would change, the little oath he made would settle Aeg some. He did at first, snuggling down for movies, grandiose gifts, and dinner for two with one cup of wine. Looking back on Aegon’s behavior he was too settled— a little hazy, forgetful, coming in and out of the world. Checking his bedside drawer that night explained the situation. Bars upon bars of Xanax in a bag. Something to quell the annoyance of being a real boyfriend.

That was a big fight. You ‘broke up’ with him on the spot. Aegon immediately burst into sobs, crying and promising to do better. No more pills. You believed him, again, the fucker even charmed you back into bed. ‘Making love’, holding hands as he filled you up, promising and apologizing. Sorry sorry sorry.

It’s about all he could muster anymore with you. Sorry.

You swallowed a sob and warbled, “You keep saying you’re going to change Aegon! It never happens! Here were are again, finding your little lies all over the place. You need help! Sorry doesn’t change shit baby. I’m done, I’m done with this. Do you even think about my feelings?”

He whined in distress, walking over and dropping to his knees. You let your sick baby cry into your stomach, arms wrapped tight around you. Sighing heavily you pet his white hair, nose wrinkling at the booze coming off his skin, the sink, everywhere.

He looked up with reddened eyes, pretty lips trembling as he begged, “You’ve got to help me, please, I can’t stop. I don’t want to lose you. Don’t leave me alone, I-I’m scared.” Every part of your body wanted to believe him. The trust had been long shattered like the bottle he threw at the wall one time— smashing it in a drunken rage.

“Why can’t you just piss off and let me do my thing? Fucking ball and chain!”

Aegon whined your name some more, gripping harder. He whimpered, “You won’t leave me right? Right my love?” You looked away and wiped a tear. He clung harder, sobbing, “No, please love, puh-please, no.” Wrenching free from the grip you shook your head. He tried to grab again, you stepping backward with a hand up.

“No Aegon. You need to seek help. For yourself, not me. I’m done. You’ve hurt me enough,” softening your tone you added, “Baby, you’re very very sick. You’ll die. Make a choice.”

He looked disgustingly sad and pathetic on his knees, hands wrenching at whatever was available. Aegon’s brow furrowed as he hissed, “So you’re like the rest— just leaving me.” You sighed in pity, running a hand over your brow. This was getting harder by the second, the damn man wearing you down to a nub.

“No Aegon. You made them leave. Pushed all of us away on your pursuit for, for, whatever you’re seeking inside.”

He warbled, “Don’t say that.”

“Just go look in the mirror. Call your mother.”

You stepped out of the wretched apartment, Aegon’s wailing filling your ears. ‘Don’t leave me!’ You’d break down later. It felt like a gaping wound settled in your chest. You idly wondered if Aegon felt like that— needing to fill the pocket with anything that didn’t make the blonde feel like himself.

Aegon stared in the mirror, puking after a short gaze. He hated what stared back at him. Hated everything really. Now he had nothing to suck on to take the pain away. No baby to coddle him, his baby, who he used and abused like everything else. Aegon sniffled and wiped his mouth. Leaning on the wall in front of the toilet he dialed his mother's number. Straight to voicemail.

“Hey Mom. I need help. Like, put me somewhere help.”

He frowned at how worn down and whiny his voice sounded. Whatever. What did he have left anyway? A future? Maybe. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling the inevitable shakes begin. There might be a hidden spot up in the fake fireplace. The prince would get it when he’d start shaking enough to lose the ability to walk.

[symphonic-scream]

It's me the fool back again with another au this time it's

Actual Criminals Au for P5

Where. They're real criminals.

The metaverse isn't real, and all of them grew up with qualms about how some people get away with everything. And, eventually, they all get the push they need to stop being a bystander and become Phantom Thieves

They all live in the same building, and have a secret lair under it. They pose as normal people with jobs and lives and then at night they're plastering evidence of assaulters all over Shibuya, or leaking videos of insider trading or what's on someone's hardrive

Sometimes they do normal crime like stealing from the rich to fund their bigger operations. Just for fun

Okay let's go down the list

Akira works as a bartender in a fancy hotel bar, and goes home to his "wife", Haru, each night. That's how it appears, at least. As a fresh graduate from secondary school, he ended up coming together with some friends to expose a shitty pervert for who he was, and thus began their lives as the Phantom Thieves. Joker is the ringleader, and known publicly to always be listening from the shadows

Then there's Ryuji, a middle school phys Ed teacher, married to Makoto. It's perceived to be a functioning marriage. He was a founding Thief, and is their Rough'em'up guy. Between Skull and Queen, they get their answers when they want them

Ann is next, wed to Yusuke, working as a model. Mysteriously, the guest room at their place seems to always be occupied by former top athlete Shiho. Ann's love for her best friend was one of the main flames behind the beginning of the Thieves, and Panther is key at tricking their enemies into drinking a spiked drink or spilling secrets for a moment with the attractive blonde

Okay now, Yusuke, he came later. Yeah married to Ann blah blah. He's an artist, paints in a studio all day. His former mentor drove him to the brink, but luckily the Thieves found him there, and gave him the power to drag himself back to his feet. Fox is very feared, as his harsh words and quick moves remind his enemies of an old samurai

Makoto was once looking like she would be another young officer on the streets, doomed to being beat down by the system. Now, she owns a gym a block from where she lives with her husband Ryuji, and moonlights as the fast driving, hard hitting Thief Queen. The only thing that burns brighter than her rage at the failing society around her is her homosexuality.

Software engineer Futaba lives alone, and she likes it that way, supposedly. She's gotten her act together, again, supposedly, and is no longer hacking. Yeah right. After taking down the false shepherd Medjed, Oracle does the computer work for the Thieves, keeping them in the know during missions

The final standard member of the Thieves, Haru, didn't exist until recently. Well, under the name Haru. She used to live as the sole son of the CEO of Okumura Foods, and has found a life that suits her much better. As Haru, she runs a bakery just outside the entrance of her apartment building, and lives with her husband, Akira. As Noir, she's more than willing to show that actions have consequences, though she's often aware enough to keep her act to just frightening rather than deadly

Then it's the half members, Goro and Sumire. They're legally married. One is a top tier detective, the other teaches youth gymnastics. Crow and Violet appear maybe once every other month at most, filling the roles the teams those nights need

--

Okay so this is a Polythieves au, so the married couples above are mostly for cover. Below is a simplified web of the poly workings of the group

Akira -> Goro, Sumire, Ryuji, Ann, Yusuke, Shiho, Haru

Ryuji -> Akira, Ann, Yusuke, Haru

Ann -> Shiho, Akira, Ryuji, Yusuke, Makoto, Haru

Yusuke -> Akira, Goro, Ryuji, Ann

Makoto -> Haru, Ann, Shiho

Futaba -> Sumire

Haru -> Makoto, Akira, Ryuji, Ann, Shiho

Goro -> Akira, Yusuke, Sumire

Sumire -> Akira, Futaba, Goro

I have lots more for this but this is just the like outline post. SEND ME ASKS IF YOU WANNA KNOW ANYTHINF OR HAVE QUESTIONS

[pass1onepr1ncess]

Hi! Could you please tell us more about your Homestuck AU please? (Or any of them if you prefer, but I’m really curious about your rendition on JJBA(GW) x HS since it’s mixing my two specific interests)

Anyway, good luck!

Funny enough, the HS AU is one that covers multiple Jojo Parts!! Specifically parts 1-6! Lemme go copy and paste the info for it from Google Docs because oh boy sjcbfjf

Phantom Blood

Jonathan - Page of Space, Prospit

Dio - Witch of Time, Derse

Will - Heir of Light, Prospit

Speedwagon - Page Blood, Derse

Erina - Maid of Life, Prospit

Battle Tendency

Joseph - Seer of Mind, Derse

Caesar - Knight of Heart, Prospit

Lisa Lisa - Knight of Rage, Derse

(The pillarmen are trolls who made their way to Earth from Alternia to conquer the planet. There's no time shenanigans, they're just there to take over and add to the Alternian Empire)

Kars - Fuschia, Heir of Life, Derse

Esidisi - Violet, Prince of Blood, Prospit

Wamuu - Indigo, Rogue of Heart, Prospit

Santana - Teal, Mage of Mind, Prospit

Joseph being Mind and Caesar being Heart, being two sides of the same coin while also picking up where the other lacks. Joseph, despite being a mind player, starts off by being more driven by his emotions and heart and being reckless, but because during their session and as he trains with Lisa Lisa and Caesar he learns to be in tune with his Mind aspect and he begins to make more rational, strategic decisions. This leads him to choose not to go rushing into battle to beat the Pillarmen. Caesar, on the other hand, is his complete opposite. He starts off thinking much more logically and decisively, and though he had already started to align with his aspect it's not until he trains with and grows closer to Joseph that he fully realizes what it means to be a Heart player. However, because of his growth it causes him to be more emotionally driven and he runs off to beat the Pillarmen only to be defeated by Wamuu.

Stardust Crusaders

Jotaro - Witch of Time, Derse

Kakyoin - Page of Space, Prospit

Polnareff - Knight of Hope, Prospit

Avdol - Seer of Heart, Derse

Iggy - Sprite, Prototyped with a handful of sand by Polnareff

Stardust Crusaders takes place in the universe created by Dio and Jonathan when they won their session in Phantom Blood! The reason why it's not in a Universe created by Joseph is because he didn't actually end up winning his session in Battle Tendency. Instead, Joseph uses his Seer of Mind abilities to figure out hos to pull a Scratch out his ass somehow even without a Time or Space player. He uses Caesar's bandana to protect his soul (because Caesar was a Heart player) and is able to stay alive and keep his memories post-scratch. The reason Dio is also still alive after the Scratch is because of Enya.

In the Stardust Crusaders session, Dio steals the black queen's ring and becomes the Main Enemy the Crusaders have to beat in order to win the game. Jotaro does so after godtiering and gaining access to his Witch of Time powers (which are ofc the same as Dio's) and he clutches it for Polnareff and Joseph in order to win their game and claim the Ultimate Reward.

Diamond is Unbreakable

Josuke - Maid of Time, Prospit

Okuyasu - Prince of Space, Derse

Koichi - Page of Blood, Prospit

Yukako - Knight of Rage, Derse

Yoshikage Kira - Lord of Void, Derse

Reimi Sugimoto - Muse of Hope, Prospit

For some reason I imagine Reimi and Kira somehow ended up in a two-player session where Kira killed Reimi and abandoned his own session and made it to Josuke’s timeline by traversing the Void. He wanted to simply live his life until he realized that Josuke and his friends had started a new session and again used his Void powers to survive and now trying to get to another timeline so he can live a peaceful life. However, Reimi’s dream self is still alive and she talks to Josuke and his friends when they sleep and tells them about Kira. They then try to find Kira in order to stop him from going to another timeline and killing innocent girls.

They also don't win their game, but Josuke teams up with Jotaro and they use their Time powers to transport the group to a timeline of Morioh where none of them played the game!

Vento Aureo

Giorno - Sylph of Life, Derse

Bruno - Knight of Space, Prospit

Leone - Seer of Time, Derse

Fugo - Bard of Rage, Derse

Mista - Knight of Light, Prospit

Narancia - Rogue of Doom, Prospit

Trish - Witch of Space, Derse

Diavolo - Prince of Time, Derse

Doppio - Seer of Time, Prospit

Ironically, I don't have many thoughts on how the Vento Aureo session would go! Sorry about that.

Stone Ocean

Jolyne - Maid of Doom, Prospit

Ermes -  Knight of Blood, Derse

Foo - Maid of Heart, Prospit

Anasui - Thief of Space, Derse

Weather - Heir of Breath, Derse

Emporio - Page of Hope, Prospit

Pucci - Page of Time, Derse

I also haven't thought much about the Stone Ocean session, but I know for sure that Pucci's Made in Heaven would be him just Scratching the universe. Emporio would be the only one to retain his memories through his Page of Hope powers, and because he also wished for all of his friends to still be in the scratched universe it leads to Irene and Anakiss and all the alternate versions if them!

idk if I'll ever include SBR, Jojolion, or Jojolands but I'll reblog this post with those additions if I do!

[phantomskeep]

Okay, but real fast Scourge / Bloodclan AU.

Tiny still gets the absolute shit beat out of him by Tigerpaw, ends up running into the city. No change there. BUT what if while he's in the city the first cat he meets is Barley's and Violet's mom, who just had her kittens. Tiny, being the nice cat he is (and don't you even start, mans legit became angry BECAUSE of the city and BECAUSE he was treated like shit when he first got there) gives the weak mama cat his food.

Mama cat thanks him and takes him under her wing because she can see that Tiny's just a hurt lil barely-not-baby kittypet. Tiny helps her out by bringing her food, she helps him out by teaching him the ways of the city and being a second mom to him.

Then, one day, when Mom(tm) is just chilling with her now eye-open kittens a jack russell attacks her and her babies. Tiny had just gotten back from scavenging for food, sees the dog attacking her, and has an epic main character moment when he just takes all his Tigerpaw PTSD and throws it at the dog. Mans kills the dog in his rage-mode and gets pulled out of it by Mama Cat(tm).

Because of this the rumors that go around about a dog-killing cat are true, and the now-named Scourge becomes the leader of Bloodclan not through killing cats, but figuring out the best way to kill the packs of dogs roaming the city.

I have more about this and I want to make animatics about it, but have no idea on how to even start that. I have like 4 scripts written and all the songs picked out. So far it's going to be at least 54 minutes worth of animatic content, I just need to actually do it haha.

[innytoes]

uhm... 👉👈 Ray hitman AU? maybe? if you were up for it? pretty pretty please? 🙏

-For those who don't know I made a shitpost about Ray being a hitman because I looked up housing prices in Los Feliz (and how medical debt works) and SIR HOW THE HELL DO YOU AFFORD THAT HOUSE ON A PHOTOGRAPHER'S SALARY.

-It starts when one of the Petal Pushers has a very abusive, stalker ex. She had tried everything, but even with a restraining order, it isn't enough. Law enforcement just shrugs and suggests she moves (again) after 'someone' breaks into her house, ransacks it and kills her cat.

-It's not like Rose and Ray meant to kill him. But it's what happens. They manage to make it look like an accident. They never tell Violet, but deep down she knows.

-Somehow word gets around and they suddenly have a booming side hustle of taking out abusive spouses, partners, exes, stalkers, etc.

-Ray starts to take on the most of the wet work, with Rose doing the research and being his alibi.

-He's always been a great shot. He won Rose so many stuffed animals at carnival shooting games that they had to start donating them to shelters.

-They do have very strict rules on who they work with and who their targets are. Ray gets very good at stalking people with a giant long distance tele-lens. Both the people who hire them (to make sure they're telling the truth) and the targets.

-The prices they charge vary, and they even have perfected the scheme of 'take out life insurance on him and we get half of the pay out' for people who are in a bad financial situation. Those are trickier because he has to make the deaths look like an accident.

-Listen I'm not saying a few of the plants in Rose's Plant Wall in the studio are toxic. Of course they aren't, they have children running around in there.

-The ones under the grow-light in the attic though....

-He tells everyone he's a photographer but really, he only knows how to work the tele-lens. Rose jokes he could become the world's greatest paparazzi if he wanted to.

-Rarely does he get up close and personal with the targets, but he did made an exception once when 'My Ex Is An Abusive Scumbag number 87' really, really wanted Ray to know the client was right by going after his kid from his first marriage, because his favourite target (their client) wasn't there to take his rage out on.

-He starts hitting the gym after that because it was a liiiiittle too close for comfort.

-As spoken by @floating-in-the-blue: THAT'S WHY HE'S SO FIRM.

-They buy a big house and have money to send the kids to summer camp and fancy music school and the likes. When people ask he just smiles and shrugs and said he signed an NDA so he can't talk about most of his Big Photography Clients.

-Carlos and Julie think their dad is the biggest goober and he totally is. He forgets where he put his phone because he's too busy with the 700 other details of his job. He can tell if any of the parts of his work-toolbox have been moved even a millimeter.

-Just imagine Reggie like: wow Ray really does a lot of research about his photography clients, I wonder if it's like an engagement shoot or something.

-IT WAS NOT AN ENGAGEMENT SHOOT. There was a shooting, though.

-He's a little shell-shocked but still follows Ray down to where he meets the client to promise her it's done, and she cries and tells him thank you and mentions some of the awful things the guy has done or threatened to do, and then he gets it.

-They stage it to look like a break-in gone wrong. Reggie helps knock some shit over when they're distracted like: he's a ghost there are no finger prints. He stays after Ray leaves and watches the woman 'come home' and call the cops. She's either a really good actress, or the tears are just more tears of relief.

-He's really, really glad the abusive guy didn't come back as a ghost though, that would have been so awkward.

-Reggie decides that Julie can never, ever know.

[ms-fandomgirl]

Violet Petrichor

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

Words: 5,245 total (oneshot + epilogue)

Summary: When Shinsou Hitoshi was first born, his world was filled with magic and fantasy. When Shinsou Hitoshi was born a second time, he was plunged into a society of heroes, villains, and quirks. Now, on a hot summer’s day in a modern and very mundane world, Shinsou Hitoshi only had one goal in his third life: To meet you once again.

Genre: Modern AU (mentions of Fantasy AU and Pro Hero AU), Reincarnation AU, fluff, meet cute, Shinsou being in love, just a tiny bit of angst

Links: Epilogue | Masterlist | Ao3

People said time was linear. Shinsou scoffed at the thought. 

Time was a comforting blanket, a suffocating cloth, a living and breathing fiber interwoven with the threads of lives, hours, and minutes being layered one on top of another until it made a beautiful, messy tapestry. However, Shinsou didn’t consider himself a thread, or even a stitch, crafted with care.

 No, Shinsou was a snag, a small yet persistent imperfection in this tapestry of time, no matter how hard it tugged and pulled to close the gap. His eyes glinted with wisdom beyond his years, the edges of his smile flashed a little too sharp, but that’s what happens when you remember everything in this life and the ones before. At this point, his lives tied together to create one long string of memories and emotions, coarse and unyielding to the touch, but his all the same.

In this life, he was the owner of a quaint bookshop and cafe in the middle of Tokyo, a small bit of quiet in the raging storm of everyday life. However, if he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of old parchment stained with ink and the earthy soil from the potted plants in the windowsill, he was back in the castle, pouring over volumes written in archaic languages as a disciple of the Royal Mage. Young, ambitious, and cunning, he could feel the hopes and dreams of his first life pass through his mind like specs of dust drifting in a patch of sunlight. He had wanted so much more than the hand he was dealt with, and he was determined to get it by any means necessary. 

  A chime rang through the shop, and Shinsou opened his eyes, squinting against the rush of hot summer air as it blew in with the customer. He raised his hand, a further greeting unnecessary as he took in the disgruntled man before him. A hunched figure with a permanent scowl on his face, Shinsou smiled to himself as he wandered over to where the man had collapsed on a worn sofa, extending an iced coffee with extra cream as a peace offering. The man grunted in thanks, swiping the drink and downing half of it in two gulps. 

Few things remained constant for Shinsou besides change, especially when it came to people. Yes, he often saw shadows of the past, friends and enemies alike, but they were different, always changed: A trusted companion turned cashier clerk, the village spinster turned loving grandmother. All achingly similar, yet far too different to put any real weight in them. 

However, there were some, a select few, who always seemed to come back, caught up on the snag he had created and refusing to let go. Shouta Aizawa was one of these people. Mentor through and through, he had taught Shinsou the intricacies of the magical arts, the perils of Pro-Heroes, and now, the ins-and-outs of prose and literature. 

Known as the harshest critic on campus, Professor Aizawa had the highest drop-rate out of any other teacher at U.A. University and often reduced his students to tears with his merciless grading. When Shinsou had announced that he wanted to double-major in Literature and Psychology, many had protested. His friends had warned him of all-nighters and crushed dreams, while random upperclassmen had sagely advised him to pick another area of study immediately. Shinsou was unperturbed. In fact, he was excited. The second he saw Aizawa’s gloomy face on the local news for the annual U.A. University charity gala, he knew he had to attend as though his life depended on it.   

It was rough at first; it always was. No matter the timeline, Aizawa was a master of tough love, and in this current world where frustrations couldn’t be taken out through hexes or quirk training, he was borderline sadistic. Failing grades, harsh words, and bitter coffee greeted Shinsou for his first class with the infamous Professor, but Shinsou did what he did best and persisted. He persisted because he knew that behind the vitriol lay a mentor with a guarded heart too big for one person who would support Shinsou no matter the circumstance, and because he thought that for fleeting moments, Aizawa knew this too.

He had never spoken about his pasts to his mentor, or anyone else, for that matter. Shinsou knew the fine line between being considered a dreamer and being considered for a mental hospital, and he tread it with practiced ease. Despite this, there were times that Aizawa seemed to know a little too much, even repeating familiar phrases and recalling minute details, almost daring Shinsou to ask, daring him to remember. 

Now was one of those times. Aizawa was waxing monologues about the shortcomings of his current class, laying particularly hard into a student named Kaminari who refused to acknowledge anything besides manga as “true literature.” Shinsou snickered to himself. Perhaps more things stayed the same than he had previously thought.  

“As much as I’m loathe to admit it, he has guts, and a surprisingly solid plan, for someone whose brain is otherwise as developed as a jellyfish,” Aizawa commented. His expression turned sour at the thought of having just praised one of his most idiotic students. Shinsou let him ruminate in his misery, knowing that he would have more to say. 

Aizawa sighed, expression clearing as he delivered the final blow. “There’s nothing crueler than letting someone chase their half-baked dreams.” His tired eyes cut to Shinsou, a ghost of a smile fluttering across his lips. “You of all people would know that.” 

And suddenly, Shinsou was lying face down in the dirt. A crisp autumn breeze whipped around the clearing, but it did nothing to cool the perspiration which covered his whole body in a thick sheen nor dry the frustrated tears which threatened to fall from his eyes. It was hopeless, he was hopeless. Writhing on the ground, he was tangled up in a capture weapon that had, so far, only served to capture himself - over, and over, and over.

  ‘Why had I even wanted to be a hero anyway?’ he thought before a tidal wave of guilt washed over him. Of course he knew why, but what if he actually couldn’t become a hero? What if this was the one timeline where he couldn’t meet - 

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Get up, I still have twenty minutes before I have to leave for my shift.” 

Shinsou remained motionless on the ground. The thought of getting up again just to fall was too much to bear. If that was the case, he might as well stay down here in the dirt, battered and bruised, where he belonged. 

Aizawa, the bane of his existence, didn’t let it happen. Hand fisting in his shirt, he hauled Shinsou up like a sack of potatoes, carrying him over to a nearby tree and dropping him in an ungraceful heap at the base.  

“What’s gotten into you? Don’t you want to be a hero?” he groused, prodding Shinsou with his shoe. 

“Of course I do,” Shinsou snapped. “I’m tired. Can’t a hero be tired for a day?” Tired was an understatement, he was exhausted, exhausted of this endless training, exhausted of being stuck on this endless plateau that just kept going and going and going. 

Aizawa squatted down next to him, and Shinsou let out a breath of relief at the apparent respite. However, his happiness was short-lived as Aizawa reached down to grab at the end of the capture weapon. Yanking it rough enough to spin Shinsou around several times, he again ended up face-first in the dirt as he was released from his bindings. 

“Listen here,” Aizawa began, voice so low that Shinsou had to strain to catch his words, “I’m not training you out of obligation or pity. I’m here because when I saw you in the sports festival, what I saw was potential. You’re young and ambitious, wanting to change a world that will resist you every step of the way. Someone with those dreams can’t afford to be ‘tired,’ to give up, unless you’ve changed your mind.” 

Shinsou was too stunned to speak, unused to his mentor’s praise, hidden as it was. He looked up at Aizawa who now stood, offering him a hand. 

“There’s nothing crueler than letting someone chase their half-baked dreams, so get up and prove me wrong.” Reaching out a shaky hand of his own, Shinsou grasped the offer of help. Standing once again, he reached for the capture weapon, and if his watering eyes were from more than the dirt he was covered in, neither man mentioned it. 

The ice rattled in Aizawa’s cup as he set it on a knitted coaster beside the couch, reclining like a king on his own personal throne. He turned his head to face Shinsou, expression losing all mirth until only steady determination remained. 

“That’s why I think you should apply for the open position at the University. You see things for how they are, like I do. Your mind and experience are unparalleled when you decide to put them to use, if you finally want to, that is.” 

As if the heavens agreed, a loud clap of thunder startled Shinsou out of whatever quip he was going to say, now distracted by the soft patter of water droplets falling onto the awning. 

“I’ll think about it,” he dismissed. “Rain?”  

Aizawa nodded in response. “Oboro cleaned behind his ears today.”

Oboro, the gigantic, fluffy cat who ruined Aizawa’s otherwise flawless dark aesthetic by leaving white hairs all over his pants. While the cat’s grooming habits would never be broadcasted on the weather channel, this explanation made as much sense to Shinsou as if someone gave him an in-depth meteorology lesson. 

Superstitions were hard to forget, especially when there was once a time when they weren’t superstitions at all. Therefore, he could hardly blame himself for noticing the little magics and signs left in an otherwise mundane world. Thankfully for him, Aizawa noticed them too, which made conversations like this commonplace between them. 

Unable to stop himself, Shinsou cracked open the window, letting the sound of rain and the smell of petrichor mingle with the warm tones of the shop. Aizawa curled up onto the couch, producing a thick anthology of fairy tales and ending all conversation. Days were often spent like this between them; Aizawa setting up camp in Serendipity Bookshop and Shinsou letting him, helping customers when needed and basking in the silent communion between two old souls.

Minutes passed into hours, and still the rain continued, veiling them to the outside and encasing them in a world all their own. It was nearing evening, and Shinsou was debating whether to close the shop early when a slight tinkle of the door chime alerted him to a new customer. He looked up, and his breath caught in his throat. Finally, it was you.

You, in a glittering gown of splendor, standing next to your father in the throne room, beauty shining brighter than the sunlight which poured through the stained glass windows above your head, making Shinsou squint up at you as he pledged his fealty to the kingdom as an apprentice warlock. 

You, hovering above his head and grinning with triumph as you apprehended villain after villain, looking like an angel of vengeance as you danced a deadly tango with your best friend, knowing that no one could stand a chance against the both of you.

You, slightly damp from the rain, eyes wide as you took in the cluttered shop with interest and growing even wider as they landed on the lavender-haired man before you. 

Shinsou knew without a doubt that he must look like a complete fool as he stared back at you, but he couldn’t help it, he never could. The sight of you after so long felt like the release of a long slow breath after an eternity of tension. 

He had been patient, meticulously biding his time until he could once again meet you, because he knew it would happen. You were the other constant, the other thread wound so tightly around Shinsou’s life that he couldn’t escape if he tried, not that he would ever want to. He didn’t know what kept you coming back. You never showed signs of remembrance, unlike Aizawa, although your personality and resemblance remained unchanged. He had gone on a brief stint of mad research after meeting you a second time, desperately trying to understand how you were here and how he could make you stay. Unsurprisingly, there were no books or articles which could advise him on the technicalities of befriending a past lover from your previous life.

  At this point, Shinsou merely assumed it was a byproduct of a time when magic was real. Between heavy breaths and stolen kisses in the cool of the night, some ancient oath must have been uttered up to the heavens, leaving the magic to work its blessing, or curse. 

Right now, Shinsou considered it a blessing, both that you were once again standing before him and that you didn’t remember the times before. While there might have been solace in knowing he wasn’t bearing the burden of time alone, there were things which he was glad you would never have to remember.

“Welcome to Serendipity Bookshop,” Shinsou said, leaning casually against the counter. “Is there something I can help you with?”

You squirmed under his gaze, obviously caught by surprise. 

“I was just trying to get out of the rain.” Wincing, you gave him an apologetic grin as you realized the harshness of your words. “I would love to look around, though! This is a charming shop. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it on my way home.” 

Shinsou smiled, inwardly preening at the knowledge that you enjoyed this cozy little nook he had carved out for himself. Moving over to a set of tall cabinets above the small sink, he reached up, pulling down a black ceramic mug with two cat ears poking above the rim. 

“What would you like to drink?” he asked, motioning to the menu. 

You took a minute to contemplate the choices before walking in front of the counter yourself, leaning in to give your response like you were telling him a well-kept secret. “I’m awful at picking new things, and everything on this menu looks delicious. Make your favorite, and I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.” 

A challenge, to be sure, but one that Shinsou accepted with glee. Thankfully for him, he had years of experience aiding him in creating your perfect drink. In fact, the recipe for this particular concoction was one the two of you had created on a different rainy afternoon a lifetime ago: one medium roast latte with lavender syrup and two extra pumps of vanilla, because he knew you had a sweet tooth. 

Gently sliding the steaming mug over the counter, Shinsou watched as you took the first sip. Despite your best efforts, a small sigh of contentment escaped your lips, your eyelashes fluttering as you basked in the sweet-smelling steam wafting into your face and up to the rafters. 

“I love it,” you managed to say after taking two more sips. “Which one is it, and how much do I owe you?” 

You made to reach into your bag, but Shinsou stopped you with a quick shake of his head. “That one is the Violet Petrichor, and it’s on the house.” 

“Are you sure?” you asked, still clutching your bag uncertainty. 

“Positive,” Shinsou replied, “although if you insist on giving me something, your name would work quite well.”

You laughed at his attempts at flirting, giving your name with a sparkle in your eye, and Shinsou felt as though he were floating. He had forgotten how much he had missed that laugh. 

“Mine’s Shinsou Hitoshi,” he responded, answering your unspoken question. 

A moment of silence passed, then two, and then Shinsou began to get anxious. He always faltered here, knowing so much yet nothing at all. Should he speak first, or would you? You had told him in the past that you liked it when he took charge, but is that the case, especially right now? At last, the silence was broken by neither you, nor him, but Aizawa, who slowly stood from the couch, cracking his back before turning to the couple in front of him. 

A mystery to the general public, Aizawa was mostly considered a closed book, unable to be read. However, Shinsou had known the man long enough to understand every microexpression he tried to keep hidden, and he knew that the small, upward twitch of his eyebrow meant nothing but pure, unadulterated trouble. 

“Well,” Aizawa began, bringing his cup over to Shinsou, “it was good to see you Shinsou. Consider my offer.” 

That was fine, good even, and Shinsou thought he was almost off of the hook. Almost. Giving a small nod to you, the Professor pushed the door open, the sound of rain competing with his final words, but they were still easily distinguishable in the quiet bookshop. “I’ll leave you two love birds in peace now.”

A rosy blush bloomed on your cheeks, and Shinsou wondered if he had enough muscle memory left to strangle his mentor on the spot, capture weapon be damned. The door closed with a deafening click, and then it was only the two of you.

Shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, trying to fight off the blush he felt rising to his own cheeks. “Sorry. I would say he was having a bad day today, but I’m pretty sure that’s just every day of his life.”

You waved off his comment, and the tension dissolved. “No worries. That was Professor Aizawa, right?” 

Shinsou nodded. The surprise must have shown on his face because you continued, brows furrowed as though you were solving an extremely difficult puzzle. “I thought I recognized him. I took one of his classes as a Freshman, but it’s been a while now.”

That was news. “You went to U.A. University?” 

“Yeah, I graduated about three years ago. And you?” you responded, nodding to his right hand where the school signet glinted in the lamplight. 

Shinsou held up his hand, counting back the years on his fingers, “Coming up on six years now.”   

“We must have just missed each other. What are the odds that we’re meeting now?” Considering you had met him in every life previously, the odds were very good. Shinsou felt lucky at having such a stacked deck in his favor, at least when it came to you, although he was a little bitter about having missed you during his school years. He was a selfish man, and any moment without you in his life when you could have been there was time wasted.

“Guess it was Serendipity,” Shinsou said. He tried to keep the teasing lilt in his voice, it was a rather good pun afterall, but the words came out a bit too earnestly as he stared at you across the counter. 

“Lucky me then,” you replied, unaware of his inner struggle. You glanced out the window, frowning at the rain which was still pouring down. 

Shinsou followed your gaze. “I don’t think it’s going to stop anytime soon.”

You hummed in agreement, and a brilliant idea struck Shinsou like a lightning bolt. “You said you were headed home, right? I was about to close up shop, so I could walk you there if you’d like me to. I have an umbrella here in case of emergencies, and it’s big enough for two.” 

Shinsou sincerely hoped you would like him to walk you home, and he was rewarded with a beaming smile at the idea. 

“That’s so nice of you!” You faltered for a second, looking up at him bashfully. “I don’t want to cause you too much trouble though. My apartment is about two blocks East from here. Is that on your way?” 

Shinsou, in fact, lived three blocks West from the bookshop, but he would rather die than admit it right now. “Yeah, that’s no problem at all. Give me a couple of minutes to close up, and then we can head out.”

You nodded, asking if he needed any help. Shinsou declined, more than thrilled to simply have you in his presence as he did the chores which had now become second nature to him. Although the idea of being a professor himself did interest him, he was hesitant to leave the shop, especially now that it was the backdrop for your first encounter. He watched you idly skim your fingers across the spines of the books, pausing to greet your favorites like you were catching up with old friends. No, he wouldn’t be giving up Serenity Bookshop any time soon. 

Grabbing his keys from a drawer behind the counter, he hovered by the door, preparing himself for the onslaught of rain. “You ready?”

Your head popped out from the romance bookshelves, a sheepish grin on your face. “Yep!” 

Walking over to him, you forwent the umbrella handle he had extended to you, instead wrapping your hands around the crook of his arm. “This way we can both stay dry.”

Shinsou supposed your reasoning made logical sense, but that didn’t stop his heart from picking up tempo at your sudden proximity. “Of course.”

Locking the door and turning toward the direction you were pointing, Shinsou took up a leisurely pace, wanting to milk the moment for all it was worth. 

“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “there’s a really good izakaya near my place that has the best yakisoba I’ve ever had. Maybe we could stop by there on our way home? My treat of course, as gratitude for the help and the drink.” 

There was a slight stutter in your words, but Shinsou quickly put any worries you had to rest, a wide smile stretching across his face. “I’d love that. It sounds perfect for a day like today.” 

And it did, truly. Shinsou couldn’t think of a more perfect way to end his day: You on his arm, laughing and speaking in a way that old friends would instead of newly acquainted strangers, headed to a restaurant where more stories and teasing looks could be exchanged like currency. Of course, this was closer to the truth than you would ever realize, but Shinsou knew, and he relished in it. In this moment, there were no knights and heroes, no villains and kings, just two people walking down a rainy sidewalk with the hovering prospect of something more and all the time in the world.   

A/N: Thanks for reading! Its style was a bit of an experiment for me, so any constructive comments are more than welcome. I'm working on links/formatting, so the Epilogue will be posted later tonight. Reblogs are appreciated, but please do not repost!

[greyzanticz]

Steven Universe AU I made!!

Basically the entire diamond order is switched, meaning black diamond is the highest, followed by red and violet, and white diamond being the newest/lowest

White diamond is cheerful and optimistic but has awful mood swings. Since she’s every color of the light, she tends to have emotions that can change within an instant, causing awful outbursts. Has the power to heal gems, but typically the regenerations sometimes look off colored from the rest of the gem.

Violet diamond is extremely quiet and rarely speaks unless she feels extreme emotion. Typically isolates herself from others in an attempt to not hurt them, but this causes her stress and makes her more likely to harm others anyway. Her power instead of making people cry is to make other gems have black ooze spill from their mouth and sometimes eyes. When this ooze spills from her, it can “shatter” gems from the sheer strength of it.

Red diamond is extremely calculated and bases things off of logic, and discards any and all emotion when it comes to decisions. Typically only expresses rage, and when shes angry, hundreds of gems can get shattered. Otherwise, she expresses no emotion and only does this based on the benefit for herself and her colony. Her power causes chains that burn at degrees even gems can’t stand to wrap around the person affected and paralyze them, before destroying (but not shattering) them.

Black diamond is extremely condescending and tends to point out the flaws in everything, especially in violet and red. Is extremely insecure, especially due to how much praise white got for being every color of the light. She felt imperfect and wanted others to feel how she did. Her power is to take control of gems physical forms (the same way white does in su) but instead of them being puppets that mimic her movements, they’re basically mannequins. She poses them to show off every one of their flaws and make herself look better, and is known to have a collection of gems that she believed were too good and needed to be corrupted. Tells others she does it for their own good. Over time, the gems under her control melt away and disintegrate, becoming shattered.

i hope this makes sense 💀