#YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO StOp mE??!!

[sageyxbabey]

Whiskers & Wishes - Gaz x Reader

jesus christ, i can't believe i'm doing this...

two of the images used are renders done by loneghostwolf88 and BettyBRenders3D

Gaz x F!Reader, eventual smut (final chapter only).

this is: Chapter 1

Summary:

Gaz knows you very well - he's been in love with you for the better part of a year. So when he jilts the wrong woman and ends up being turned into a cat for his troubles, surely the person who knows him best will recognise him, even like this... right?

You know Gaz very well - you've been pining over him for the past year. So when he disappears without a trace and a strange cat appears at your apartment, the little coincidences that remind you of Kyle are just your anxious mind making false connections... right?

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Kyle kept his head down as he made his way to the pub near your apartment, rain slipping down the slope of his nose. 

This was his last night of leave, and he had spent the entire day with you, the same way he had for each time off he’d had for the past year of his life. Outside of his task force, you had become his closest friend. To his heart, you had become something more. You were the lightness in his chest, threatening to float away with his heart in tow every time you smiled. You were the warmth that settled over his skin when you hugged him hello and laughed at his quips. You were safety and peace. You were still and mundane compared to his working life. And with a job like his, God only knows how magical the mundane could be.

But he could never tell you this. He couldn’t tell you this because you were his best friend, and you had been for a year now. A year spent spinning in your orbit and eclipsing you in sweet, soft moments. He had flirted, he had touched, he had watched. And now, in this dance of yours, he had spun you out and waited for you to keep the waltz going, but the longer he stood with arms outstretched, the less likely it seemed you would spin back into him. Being with you but not being with you was the sweetest torture. Your blade was carving him up, but all he wanted was to kiss the hand that held it. 

Sergeant Garrick was trained to hold up under pressure, but Kyle was about to crack. He knew he had to move on for his and your sakes. For better or for worse, Kyle needed you in his life now, and if the only way he’d get to keep you was as a friend, so be it. So, he pushed open the door of the Crossroads Hotel and bought himself a goddamned drink. 

And when he finished that one, he bought another.

And another. 

A hand grazed his wrist when he raised the bottle to his full lips for one last swig. 

“You’re drinking awfully quickly there, handsome.” Kyle turned to find the owner of the voice. She was nothing like you.

Maybe that would make it easier.

He leaned one hip against the bar and grinned, “Is this you offering to get my next one?” 

“Maybe, what are you offering me in return?” The woman purred.

“Hmm… Where to start? I have several talents, you know.” Kyle moved in closer as the stranger laughed. This was why he was here. He needed to try to shift his attention to people who would want him back. This bout of flirting went back and forth like a tennis match, and felt like one, too. It was performative, a hollow game. When she excused herself to the bathroom, Kyle was on his sixth drink and still just as drunk on thoughts of you. 

When he turned to scan the bar (hypervigilance was a serious work hazard), he spotted someone else who looked so similar to you… How could he resist? It was a terrible idea, but he was already feeling terrible. He approached this new player and started the same kind of game as he had before. His only prize was frustration at himself.

“Well, you don’t waste time,” a sharp voice groused – the woman from earlier.

In his self-pity and irritation, he said the words that he would both curse and praise himself for later. “No offence, but I don’t exactly owe you anything, do I?”

The woman cocked her head to the side, her smile just on the wrong side of inhuman. When her grey eyes locked onto his, he felt a shiver down his spine. “Fine. Since you’re so concerned with getting pussy, maybe you’d enjoy being one instead.” 

Gaz let out a grunt as the woman’s palm smacked into the centre of his chest, an odd sensation spreading out from his heart to the tips of his fingers and toes. By the time he collected himself, both women he’d been speaking to were gone.

He was alone. Wonderful…

With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, he closed his tab for the evening.

Shuffling back out into the cold and biting night air, Kyle made his way towards the end of the block. Nausea was setting in. God, how hard did that woman hit him? ‘ Clearly, the alcohol isn’t helping ,’ he thought, as an aching started in his head and joints.

Then, there was nothing but excruciating pain. If Gaz could’ve screamed, he would. But he could not breathe. He could not think. He felt like his bones were being pushed to breaking, like his skin was tightening in on itself.

Snap.

Now he screamed.

Crack, snap.

Holy shit, his bones were breaking. They must be because he knew that sound all too well. What the bloody hell was going on? Gaz moaned out in pain, shaky breaths getting smaller and tighter as he closed his eyes to try and brace through it.

As suddenly as it had started, it was over. 

When he opened his eyes, everything looked… wrong. Colours were not what they should be, and things were too clear for this time of night. That streetlamp was also… a lot bigger than it had been a moment ago. Kyle went to stand before freezing when he caught a glimpse of himself.

Was that a fucking paw ? Why was it moving when he tried to move his left arm? Kyle swung his head around to see not his torso and two legs but a cat's body and a full, long-haired tail. A glossy brown-black coat of thick fur.

‘I didn’t think I’d had that much to drink…’ Kyle thought. He was dreaming. He must be dreaming. But he felt very much awake, very much in pain, and he knew he had not made it home yet. Oh God, home. How the fuck was he supposed to get home? His clothes and belongings were not lying around after his… episode? Transformation? The half-an-hour taxi back to his place was now out of the question, and – assuming this was real and he wasn’t just having a fit in the gutter – he was not about to get very far on foot. On paw?  

“Shit…” Kyle tried to mutter.

“Meow…” was what he heard. 

Oh… you’ve got to be having a fucking laugh.

He was a soldier, a problem-solver. He just needed to think and find a way out of this. He needed help. He needed…

You. 

He’d come from your apartment, not two blocks away. Your building was pet-friendly, and he remembered the little dog door leading onto your balcony. Bless you – even when you didn’t know it, you were helping him. If he could get to your apartment, get inside, and figure out how to convince you who he really is, you could help him.

If this were all a dream, he would wake up in his bed tomorrow morning and laugh it off. 

If this was real, you were his only shot at getting out of this mess.

Moving was strange. Kyle’s brain was thinking about moving his limbs the same way he usually would, but the sensations he was getting back were all wrong: the strange tingling from the wind  moving in his fur and whiskers, the lightness of his body, and his shifted centre of gravity. 

He was grateful for how easily he could jump once he reached your block – scaling up the tree to your balcony with sharp claws. In one leap, he landed at the glass door. He ducked his head into the plastic dog door…

It did not budge. Locked. Shit . 

‘Hey!’ Kyle called out in his head. A loud ‘mrrow’ came out instead.

– – – – –

You startled at a strange flurry of taps and yowls as you tugged on your sleep shorts. You followed the noise with cautious steps out into your living room and breathed a sigh of relief when you spotted the culprit. The cutest little long-haired cat with wide hazel eyes stood on its hind legs, tail swishing eagerly with front paws pressed into your sliding balcony door. 

“Aww! Hi there, kitty!” you cooed. In response, you received a string of pathetic meows. 

“Do you live here? Did you get stuck outside, silly?” 

Your building was pet-friendly. You had a few neighbours with cats who liked to laze around outside on the warm pavement. The cat batted a paw at the small dog door. “Demanding little thing,” you laughed and reached down to unlock the flap. As soon as you did, your new guest darted through in a chocolate-coloured blur. The cat’s fur was shiny, and it looked well-fed. It was definitely not a street cat. ‘No collar…’ you thought, ‘Odd.’ You sent a quick message to your building tenants' group chat to see whose cat you’d accidentally acquired. 

In the meantime, your fluffy friend was mrow -ing up a storm as though you’d personally offended them. You knelt down on the carpet and offered your hand for a sniff. “Hi, baby,” you cooed. The cat stopped meowing and stared at you, blinking. You gently scratched behind their ears, watching how their eyes closed and head tilted in pleasure.

— — —

He knew you didn’t realise it was him, but hearing you call him ‘baby’ in that soft voice had floored him for a moment. 

He’d been chatting your ear off, hoping that something vaguely human-sounding would get through, to no avail. He was going to start thinking up Plan B, he swore, but then you’d kept cooing at him and scratching behind his ears – Oh, that feels very good, thank you – and before Kyle knew it, he’d leaned so far into your touch, he was flopped on his back, purring. You giggled sweetly, and Kyle felt his heart melting in his chest. 

“Oh, what a sweet baby! You’re such a pretty girl,” you fussed.

Kyle’s eyes opened, and he let out an indignant chirp. 

“Hang on, are you a girl?” He watched you lean forward with a surreptitious gaze before realising your intent. Kyle yowled and flailed away, but you had seen enough. “Oh, pretty boy. My mistake.”

You were completely unfazed. 

This was the most mortifying moment of Kyle’s life. 

In all the ways he’d imagined you seeing him naked for the first time, this was never one of them. Oh, God… was he technically walking around naked the whole time? No… ‘The fur counts as clothing! The fur counts as clothing! ’ he thought. That was the only way to stop himself from curling up into a ball and dying of embarrassment.

You’d gone back to patting him at some point during his existential crisis, complimenting his fluffy tail and chest. “What a handsome little man!” You praised, stroking a gentle finger down his nose. 

He was going into cardiac arrest. He just knew it. 

“Where do you live, little guy?”

Your question snapped Kyle back into action. With a chirp, he was up and running across your living room.

— — — 

You watched the cat bound past your couch to sit in front of your TV console, right next to the framed picture of you and Kyle from the day you’d helped him move into his apartment. The cat just flicked his tail, looking at you almost expectantly. 

“What?” 

“Meow!”

“What!?”

He sniffed at the picture before turning back to you.

“That still doesn’t answer my question, mister.”

This time, the cat turned to paw at the photo of you and Kyle, and you jolted upright.

“No, no, no, we don’t touch that!” You took him into your arms and carried him back to your couch. He meowed in protest the entire time. “That’s a very special picture, pretty baby, so you leave that alone.” He flopped onto his side, the image of dejection at being denied the chance to cause chaos. You checked your phone to see responses from most of your neighbours; no one recognised the cat. “Well buddy,” you sigh, “Looks like you’re stuck with me for the moment. How do you feel about chicken for dinner?”

“Mrrp!” His tail twitched. 

You narrated your cooking process to him, picking him up to show him the pans on the stove. Your little sous chef sniffed the air before giving his approval, but complained the second you put him back down. “What’s the matter?” you whispered. His pleading eyes bore into yours as he pawed at your calf. “You wanna come back up? Okay, you big baby.” You supported his weight with one arm, his front legs resting on your shoulder while he watched you cook, tail swishing lazily. Now and then, you pulled a strip of chicken off the grilled fillets and fed it to him, laughing as he licked your fingers clean. You ate your dinner on the couch as he sat beside you, staring at your face the whole time – strange cat…

You may as well enjoy this little fluffball before sending him on his way. 

Your new friend gave a quiet chirp and nudged your hand where you had been absentmindedly scratching his chin. He rolled over to show you his belly when you looked down, blinking up at you expectantly. 

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “I see how it is. You’re just using me for cuddles, huh?” You hesitantly ran your hand down his tummy, barely brushing the soft fur. You’ve had one too many cats lure you in with this trick, only to scratch and bite you when you give in and pat the sensitive spot. You pulled your hand away from his belly, not wanting to risk a finger. He wiggled and meowed at you – almost petulant in tone – and you returned your hand to his stomach, feeling a purr vibrate against your fingertips. 

This odd fellow was changing your perception of the typical cat. “You are such a weird little guy!” He mrrped back at you and stretched out lazily, presenting more of his belly to you. You couldn't  help but laugh. “Cheeky little bugger,” you muttered before pressing your face into the long fur of his chest, dropping obnoxiously loud kisses there whilst you scratched his sides. You reached up to rub behind his ears before sitting up to grab your phone. 

“I’ve got to tell Kyle about you; he’s never going to believe this!” You starte dtyping out a message, but soon, a chocolate-coloured tail obscured your vision. Your new friend frantically meowed, demanding your attention. 

You hushed him, stroking his back with a soothing hand until his cries ceased. You briefly re-read your texts with Kyle. Normally, he’d have told you he was home by now and maybe sent you a meme or two before heading to sleep. You hope he’s just knocked out after packing his bags to leave tomorrow morning. This deployment wasn’t supposed to be a long one, thank God. 

You’d already started missing him before he left your apartment earlier today. You used his goodbye visits as an excuse to hold him tighter, like you could press him into your chest and keep him there if you tried hard enough. 

Your eyes flicked to the time. It was getting late.

“Alright, pretty baby, I think it’s time for you to go home.” You picked up the cat and walked towards your balcony door, but he wriggles out of your grasp for the first time tonight, darting back to the couch. You kneeled next to the small cat flap, holding it open. 

“Come on,” you coaxed. “You need to go home, little kitty. Your people will miss you!” The cat kept staring, unmoved, even as you pspsps to try and get him closer. You sighed, resigning yourself to leave the little plastic covering unlocked. “Fine, I guess you’ll leave on your own at some point.” You stand and make your way towards your bedroom before freezing in your tracks. You turned back to point a stern finger at your feline friend. “Do not. Shit. In my apartment.” You stared each other down in silence. Satisfied with your quiet agreement, you turned and crawled into bed. 

Half an hour later, you were fast asleep when silent paws padded into your room and leapt onto your bed. You didn't feel it when a gentle weight sank into the pillow next to you, one paw stretched out towards your face.

[lazylittledragon]

can't believe we're all adults being forced into the club penguin level of censorship in 2024

[thevioletcaptain]

i genuinely don't care how good a piece of ai generated art or writing looks on the surface. i don't care if it emulates brush strokes and metaphor in a way indistinguishable from those created by a person.

it is not the product of thoughtful creation. it offers no insights into the creator's life or viewpoint. it has no connection to a moment in time or a place or an attitude. it has no perspective. it has no value.

it's empty, it's hollow, and it exists only to generate clicks (and by extension, ad revenue.)

it's just another revolting symptom of the disease that is late stage capitalism, and it fucking sucks.

[bruciemilf]

"Oh har har Gotham is terrible to Joker and that's why he acts the way he does," Gotham worships a hot topic furry with the mental stability of a soggy cracker and thinks a 10 year old vigilante is perfectly normal

[redonionlover]

sunstone..? perhaps???

anon ur so real for this... they're my faves since i first played rw

havent drawn them in a loong time though so i doodled these real quick :^)

[skeletoninthemelonland]

a glimpse of what their early dynamic looks like

[b-rainlet]

The Green family dynamics are so interesting because like, Viserys is the father but due to his decay he seems more like the grandfather, whereas Otto is the Grandsire but seems to fill out the role of a father more, not only to his daughter but also her children, so he and his daughter are a mother/father unit but in some situations Alicent is treated like a sibling to her children (by Otto) and then you have the obvious Helaena/Aegon happening (siblings who are also husband/wife and mother/father to their children), but at the same time it seems like Aemond is the one trying to be the family's protector and attempting to step up as patriarch, with some of the scenes between him and Alicent giving off the vibes of equals rather than Mother and Son (like when they discuss Aemond finding Aegon) and his relationship with Aegon seeming like he's the big brother and not the other way around, in this essay I will-

[ghouljams]

The Witch makes a bet, Fae!Price shows he can’t be trusted.

It's a beautiful day. Although it usually is. Your ancestors bargained for the patch of Summer your garden occupies ages ago. The front of your house may be battered with the rain of the city, but out back its warm and sunny. You drag a wicker table and stool out to sit in the garden, enjoy the sun. A pitcher of sunshine tea and rose jam cookies act as your company.

You close your eyes, face tilt towards the sun, letting it warm your bones. Your magic purrs like a pleased cat at the ambient energy. You should air out the house.

Price watches you from the fence, it seems he's shown up late. Just in time to enjoy your comfort though. Your pleased little smile, the way your lashes rest against your cheeks, the warmth of the sun radiating off of you. You look like something out of a dream, your shawl pooling at your waist, haphazardly draped over your elbows. He wonders if it's raining on the other side. You prefer that shawl when it rains.

He whistles to draw your attention. Your eyes open slowly, lazy with sunshine as you smile at him. He leans against the gate, coaxes the ivy to cushion him from the iron, and returns your smile.

"Aren't you a pretty picture," His eyes drag over your form now that he's sure you're watching.

"It's a nice day," You tell him, his eyes crease, smile more sincere.

"Wouldn't know, it's cold over here." You hum, nodding a little. You stand from your seat and brush your skirt back into place before going in to the house. It's a funny quirk you have, disappearing in the middle of conversations. Price wonders if it's just him or if you do this to your clients as well. You return with another stool and set it on the other side of the table. A second tall glass is placed next to the pitcher.

Price takes a step back from the gate as you walk towards it. You stop and seem to take another moment to think through what you're doing. He wonders what goes through your mind sometimes. You're so smart, so stuffed full of knowledge. He'd love to help you empty it out, stuff you full of something more deserving.

"Would you join me for a snack?" You ask, voice just at the edge of unsure, "Just until the cookies are gone?" It's conditional, time sensitive, it's hardly a debt, but it's an ask, and you feel the weight of a tether hook between you two. It doesn't hurt as much as you'd thought it would.

Price's hand unlatches the gate and swings it open, and you think you've made a terrible mistake as he crosses your threshold with all the hungry grace of a wolf.

You settle your jumping heart beat, when he doesn’t immediately reach to devour you. He’s almost peaceful as he latches the gate behind him, shaking out the sting of iron from his fingers. You know better than to trust the fae, you know better than to trust him.

“You mind if I smoke?” He asks, settling on the stool you’d brought out for him. You shake your head.

“No, be my guest.” He smiles at you, and you hurry to take your seat again as he tugs a cigar from his pocket. You pour his glass full of tea, topping up your own while you’re at it. Your stomach churns nervously, the sun suddenly too hot on your prickling skin. What would your mother say if she knew you’d invited a strange man into the garden? Past all your wards, past the threshold that’s taken generations to build... She’d be pissed.

Price shakes a match to snuff it, and lowers his cigar with a river of smoke. You do your best not to stare, not to appear too watchful of him if only so he doesn’t think you rude.

“I’m not going to eat you,” He must have caught you staring.

“It would be very rude if you did,” You tap your finger against the table as an outlet for your nerves. Price hums, non-committal.

“You’re warded to hell and back,” He says plucking a cookie from the top of the floral patterned plate, he looks it over, inspecting the sweet before popping it in his mouth, “wouldn’t be able to do it even if you were under my teeth.”

You think his estimation of your abilities is rather flattering. Not that you doubt your own magic, but you’re fairly certain nothing would protect you if you were that close. It’s a nice thought, but you’re desperate to tell him he’s wrong.

“As if you wouldn’t try it even with the wards.”

Price smiles, hardly turning his head to look at you. You’ve never seen smoke like the kind that wisps off his cigar, heavy. It falls from his lips when he smokes it, threading between his teeth like water. You wonder if it’s the smoke, or just the atmospheric weight of him. Price’s presence pressing down everything that isn’t eager to oppose it.

“I like to think I have more self control than that,” He tells you evenly, “How about a bet? Your wards against my will power.”

“Not a very good bet.” You grumble.

“I have confidence in both,” He taps the ash off his cigar, crushing the loose embers under his boot, “you have my word I won’t hurt you, won’t even put a penalty on the wager.” You hum. Not entirely tempted to engage with the offer. Especially when it sounds like Price has no clear “win” scenario.

Either your wards break his bite, or he doesn’t do anything to engage the wards. Even a loss for both of you doesn’t net him any gain. He loses a friendly witch, and suffers the consequences of a major brief in guest behavior.

“Whats the wager?” You ask, suspicion in your voice. You’d try harder to cover it, but you want him to hear. You don’t trust him.

“One minute in my lap,” He holds up a finger to emphasize the number, “No penalty, no prize, let me show you how strong you are.”

You don’t like the heat in his eyes, don’t like the longing in your skin to be touched by him again. You bite the inside of your cheek, worrying it as you think. Sounds easy enough, sounds short enough that you could get away if you really needed. They’re not empty compliments either, the fae can’t lie. So why does Price’s confidence make you nervous? You nod your head once, a short jerk, and push up from your stool. You stand in front of Price, and he pats his thigh.

You settle on his lap and his arm loops around you, holding you tight against his chest. You try not to shudder, feeling him turn his head to keep the smoke he exhales off of you. He brushes hair away from your neck, and you tip your head to keep away from the burning end of his cigar, baring your neck for him. “Atta girl,” He tells you low in your ear. You don’t know what you expect when his nose presses against your rapid pulse. His beard tickles your neck, makes you shiver and shake with anticipation as he seems to rest there and just... breathe.

You do your best to keep your mind on your own breaths, the short and rapid rise and fall of your chest so stark when you can feel the broad, calm, expansion of Price’s against your back. His lips just brush your skin, his exhale touches you more than them, but all you can think about is his mouth. The teeth waiting to gobble you up just behind those maddening lips. You shift in his lap, trying to find some give in his iron grip, a way to wiggle your throat away from his teeth. You still, eyes going wide at the hard press of his cock under you. Heat rushes through you, your face feels hot, can he feel the heat that bursts over your skin from where he’s pressed against your neck?

“Price,” You breathe, try to breathe. He hums, drags his nose further up your neck to bump against your jaw.

“Just a little more, witch.” He tells you, his grip on you tightening to keep you from wiggling out of place.

He releases you and you tumble off his lap, fingers digging into the dirt to ground yourself. Everything is too bright, the blood rushing in your ears too loud. Price stands from his seat, his shadow looming over you as you tremble on the edge of something.

“I’m rescinding my welcome,” You tell him, feeling the tether break. Price hums behind you, snuffs his cigar on the plate holding the cookies.

“You’ve been a gracious host,” He responds evenly, his voice dragging over your skin like silk before he’s gone and you’re left alone in your garden.

[mylonelydreaming]

"He [Rauru] ends up serving as the crucial connection between Link and Zelda, even when thousands of years separate the two. It’s a sad but meaningful role for a character who has become a newly beloved character in Zelda canon."

Nintendo is driving me up the WALL

[arctic-hands]

For real tho health freaks who scream about how sugar and salt will kill us all and try to push for restrictions on things like candy and chips for SNAP recipients or politicians who try from time to time to replace food stamps all together and give out Government Approved Staples like bread and peanut butter and Government Cheese are gonna kill a whole lotta sick and disabled people like

Diabetics

POTS sufferers

Hypotensives

People with peanut allergies

People with celiac disease or wheat allergies

The lactose intolerant

People who can't eat solid food

People who are undernourished for any reason and need all the calories they can pack on

So-called "picky eaters" who can't tolerate certain tastes and textures without getting violently ill

A myriad of other human conditions that cannot be neatly tallied into categories because the human body and human experience is vast and infinitely variable

But I don't think ableds really care about us and our health like they like to claim so they can harass us about it, do you?

[semisolidmind]

got some nasty anon asks last night. you can probably guess what they were complaining about.

so, anon has been turned off.

sorry to the folks who can use it responsibly. 🤟

[mjbear130]

working on something rather silly :-)

and have a shadow government version too, i suppose!

[thychesters]

Luffy is like staring into the sun.

At least, that is what Zoro thinks the first time he sees him. But then, his first coherent thought had been it’s too bright upon their initial meeting, looking up from glowering down at the ground to raising his head and squinting at a too big, self-congratulatory smile and do you want to join my crew?

Then it had been simple enough to blame the harsh sunlight blinding him, framing Luffy’s profile and that bright grin, and he’d bitten back the hell I will one minute and had a sword and an oath clenched between his teeth in the next.

And so Zoro follows the sun.

He follows and his skin reddens and blisters and peels; it splits at the seams and bleeds as he burns, and still he follows. It aches and cracks, and still he reaches out, twining his fingers through promises and a loyalty that will not bend.

Luffy curls a hand around his jaw and it’s a different sort of burning, flaring up into his eyes and down to his very marrow. And Luffy asks, where will you go? Nowhere, Zoro says as the words gather in his throat, raw and parched, and he chokes on them, anywhere.

His touch is a balm as fingertips skitter across his skin, soothing and pressing and digging and prying, and Zoro thinks he would burn again and again, blinded by the sheer brilliance of it all.

And then it’s dark out on the open sea, some nights, and then others too many stars dot the horizon, gathering up above them like they’re spilling out of the slit open belly of a giant, and Luffy tilts his head, blistering heat where he rests against his shoulder and looks at Zoro and says, I think I know where, and would you come with me?

And Zoro is a drowning man with a lungful of sea water, salt gathering with blood at the corners of his mouth and asks, of course, and where?

Luffy smiles and it’s a gathering of starlight and the sun, and it makes Zoro want to shove his fist into his mouth and shatter every one of his teeth, and Luffy would just laugh and bite down on his wrist and lay claim to his pulse point, like he doesn’t already live inside its every thrum.

No telling, he says. Will you still come with me?

And Zoro burns and it rages in the pit of his belly right into the raw skin of each scar, into his fingertips as they dig into Luffy’s scalp. How dare he have to ask, grin with the knowledge that he already knows the answer, and Zoro turns to follow the sun and says, yes, says I wouldn’t be anywhere else.

[swordbending]

I'm over people saying "give the live action a chance before you criticize it" like trailers are mostly a marketing tool to convince ppl to watch smth but they're also there to let viewers decide whether they think smth is worth their time. if people look at trailers & promo and decide they aren't gonna like it based on that that's no one's problem but the marketing team's

[willowser]

"oh! hey, c'mere, i gotta show you something funny!"

whatever nonsense satoru had been planning on spouting is tucked away the instant he sees your coy little grin, and one of his own grows on his face, made brighter and wider by the ease of your invitation.

yes, he's just spent the last seven minutes in your doorway, silent and scheming, thinking on what to say to attract your attention — but it doesn't matter if that's now been disrupted, because he'd take your attention any way it can be served, cold or hot. it's warm today; that much he can tell by the way you beam at him, as he comes to stand beside you.

you dig through the top drawer of your desk for a minute or two, and satoru is bubbling with things to say, now, about the little mess you keep there, but he gets distracted by the hurried, chalky handprints staining the material covering your ass. the sight makes him grin so hard that his cheeks swell, nudging his blindfold up the littlest bit; satoru finds it invigorating, this innate ability you have to fluster him. the heat in his face is surely visible, even to someone like you.

"aha!" you dance back and forth on your feet for a second, stopping only when he starts to join you, excited, and then you hold up two dangly, jingling little things right in front of his face. "a student's sister is selling these for school, and they made me think of you! so i bought us some to match!"

keychains, he realizes, suddenly sober. cute and colorful miniature ice bars.

"adorable, huh?" you pull them back to assess in your palm, touching gently at the plastic as if they were real, as if they could melt in the warmth of your hand. "which one do you want? the watermelon is the cutest, so i was gonna give you that one."

everything satoru had thought to say dissolves, leaks between his fingers, sugary and sweet. he's left with nothing, cold, then, smile frozen, as you fiddle with something so meaningless—

you look up, waiting for his response, and he watches you clock the change in his demeanor, instantly; you can't see cursed energy, but you can see — something, within him. always have been able to, though he's yet to figure out how.

"unless you want strawberry," you shrug, a little awkward now, but sunny as usual. "do you even have keys, actually, or do you—"

"no take-backs!" he snatches the dainty thing from your hand, sticking his tongue out at the flat look you send him. "i get watermelon!"

"fine," you pout for just a second before sticking your tongue out at him, too, and then you laugh quietly to yourself. amused, like a child.

once you start to dig around in your messy drawer for your car keys, satoru turns his attention to the tiny treat, focusing on it. trying to ignore the blood rushing in his ears.

it's so simple. so silly. you are, selfless and honest to a fault, all the traits that make you a liability in this world. if anything were to happen to your students, then you wouldn't make it. and if anything were to happen to you, satoru thinks—

right there in your presence, so close that he can hear your heartbeat peacefully thundering over his own — he can feel the cracks in his composure. how close he is to splintering off, how quickly everything would collapse if he dared to blink wrong.

if anything were to happen to you, satoru thinks, he'd go insane. he already has.

a small laugh leaves him, at the thought, but he closes his fist around the small keychain when you look up at him again. still grinning, leaning in so close that you're about to be stopped.

"do you like it?" you ask, open and hopeful and silly.

it makes him laugh again, because you really have no idea.

[chronicsheepdrawing]

AU scenario where AM and the survivors swap places and he expects to be put through the most horrific pain imaginable but instead they treat him with kindness and basically leave him alone by himself for the most part which is somehow worse.