#ms Splinter

[eg-tmnt]

Mismatched set Splinter in an outfit based on this 1987 one and in a pose based on this stock photo.

This kind of fits the warmth prompt for @tmnt-splinterweek

Guess I'm doing day one on day 6

[andysuriano]

Found some old sketches of early Cuddles, now who wants to be her best fwend - and give her a delightful scream? 🐰

Find exclusive Rise merch!

Only at

https://www.andysuriano.com

[floofy-nerd]

It's amazing that all it takes to make an absolutely perfect character design is to make a rodent wear red. Give that mouse a ruby cloak. Give that rat a vermillion hat. Presto. Nothing can top that. This is a fact. How many rodents do you know that wear red?

[cherrb333]

another dub finished:D

thanks @kiingbiing for giving me permission to dub this, had a lot of fun doing it^^

[turtlesntrenchcoats]

Seeing some of my old posts from 2019 in the wild on twitter is crazy to me

[pittedcasket]

Whohoo TONIC!

[brookghaib-blog]

The ghost I left behind

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x reader

Summary: Y/N and Bob had a life before he disappear, full of love, hope, and a lot of chaos, but they managed each other, she was the only one who truly could make him avoid the void inside his mind. How could he turn his only light into a shadow in his mind ?

Note: I wrote this with Sunshine & Rain.. By Kali Uchis, feel free to enjoy this with that on repeat to really feel it burn. Also please somebody give me HD gifs asap. Also if you hadn't read the preview yet, I recommend it!

Word count: 4,7k

Preview

--

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an ugly green tinge over the already-drab walls of the 23rd Precinct. Y/N pushed the door open with her elbow, hands full—one holding a stack of wrinkled flyers with Bob’s photo on them, the other clutching the hem of her coat closed.

The front desk officer didn’t even look up.

The bell above the door had long since stopped ringing for her.

She shuffled to the counter. She was wearing the same hoodie she always wore—his hoodie, oversized and faintly smelling of old laundry detergent and smoke. Her stomach was just beginning to curve outward, subtle but undeniable beneath the fabric. Four months.

“Hey, Ms. Y/L/N,” the desk sergeant mumbled without meeting her eyes. “You’re back.”

She placed the flyers down with quiet urgency. “I printed new ones. Better quality. I added a note about the reward this time, in case someone’s seen him.”

The sergeant sighed, his pen clinking on the desk as he leaned back.

“I told you last time. No new leads.”

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Just—please check if anything came in since last week. A tip. A sighting. A… a body, no, not that, but anything really.”

A uniformed officer behind the counter—young, smug, cruel in that casual way people are when they forget you’re human—snorted. “Lady, you know the guy was a junkie, right? Odds are he got tired of playing house and ran off when the stick turned pink.”

Y/N’s heart splintered. Her hands clenched the flyers. “Don’t—don’t you dare say that about him.”

He shrugged. “C’mon. You don’t have to be a detective to figure it out. He got high and vanished. People like that don’t come back. Especially not to play Daddy.”

“He’s not like that!” she shouted, her voice cracking.

The room went quiet.

A throat cleared gently behind her.

“Y/N?” came the familiar rasp of Officer Cooper, stepping out from a side hallway. Silver-haired and weathered, he’d been on the force longer than most of the others had been alive. He always spoke softly, like he didn’t want to scare away whatever kindness he still believed in.

Y/N blinked back tears and turned.

“Let’s take a walk,” Cooper said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some air.”

--

Outside, the sky was overcast. Cold. Cooper lit a cigarette but didn’t offer her one.

They stood in silence next to the station’s rusted bench. She stared down at the pavement, at her frayed shoelaces, at the grey world around her.

Then she broke.

“I can’t sleep, Mr. Cooper,” she whispered, voice small. “I dream about him every night. I wake up thinking maybe he’s home, maybe I missed a call. But then it’s just me. Just me and this baby. I don’t know what I’m doing—I don’t have money, I don’t have family. He was my family.”

Cooper nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.

“I know you’ve been kind,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve listened. But I need more. I need you to put more people on this. I need you to look for him like he’s not just some addict you all gave up on.”

She wiped her face with her sleeve. Her tears soaked through it instantly.

“Please. Just… just try. For me. For him. For our child. Bobby wouldn’t leave me. Not like this. Not without a word. Not him.”

Cooper took a long drag from his cigarette. Then sighed.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

She froze.

His eyes softened, like he wished he could lie. Like he hated what he was about to do.

“We finally traced a lead. Someone matching Bob’s description was seen boarding a flight out of the country.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“Where?”

“Malaysia,” he said quietly.

The word hit her like a sledgehammer.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s… no, he wouldn’t… He didn’t have money. He didn’t have a passport.”

“He did,” Cooper said, sadly. “We checked. It was valid. Bought the ticket in cash. No forwarding contact. No signs of foul play.”

She staggered back, her body suddenly too heavy. Her hand flew to her belly as if to anchor herself.

“So… you’re saying he left me.”

“I’m saying,” Cooper murmured, “that we don’t believe he vanished. We believe he made a choice.”

“No,” she choked. “No, he didn’t. He loved me. We were building a life. He called me his miracle. We were deciding on a name. He cried when I told him. He held me all night and said he’d never leave.”

Cooper looked down at his shoes.

“I know, kid.”

Tears streamed down her face now, silent and relentless.

“I waited. Every day, I waited,” she sobbed. “I believed in him. I still do. He’s sick, not a monster. You’re telling me he abandoned his child before the baby was even born?”

Cooper said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Finally, she whispered, “Is he coming back ? Did he buy two tickets? He did, right, to come back to me, to us?”

Cooper crushed the cigarette beneath his boot.

“One way ticket. Maybe it's better if you go home, take a breath, and just... you can call me, ok ? I have a daughter just like you and she's an amzing mother, you will be too. You have to go to work, just rest.”

She just looked at the flyers in her hand. For months he just disappear, all her money spent in paper, organizing searches, paying potential dealers for a tip of his whereabouts.

"So this is it?"

--

2 years ago

The Cluckin’ Bucket wasn’t exactly a place dreams were made of.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like a swarm of angry flies, flickering over cracked linoleum tiles and chipped yellow walls. The scent of fried oil hung in the air like a second skin, clinging to every surface. It was 11:43 PM, just seventeen minutes before closing, and the only two souls left inside were Y/N, wiping down tables, and Bob, in the back room, peeling off the heavy, foam-rubber chicken costume that had been slowly cooking him alive for eight hours.

He winced as he pulled the beak off his head, his sweat-damp hair sticking up in odd places. His T-shirt clung to his back, his jeans sagged slightly on his hips, and his bones ached in that weird, chemically induced way that only came from a cocktail of meth and shame.

He hadn’t wanted this job.

He sure as hell hadn’t wanted the chicken suit.

But here he was—twenty-something, barely scraping by, dancing on a street corner in 95-degree heat to try and convince people to buy discount wings.

He tucked the suit away in its plastic bag, sighing, and padded into the dining area, rubbing the back of his neck.

And then he saw her.

Y/N.

The new waitress.

She was crouched in front of the soda machine, elbow-deep in the syrup line, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, earbuds dangling from her neck. She was humming something—Fleetwood Mac, he thought—but he couldn’t be sure.

She wore her name tag crooked on her chest, and there was a smudge of sauce on her cheek.

But to him? She looked like she belonged in a painting.

He froze for a second too long, just staring.

God, she was pretty. And he was in a chicken suit just minutes ago. And probably still smelled like sweat and fryer grease. Cool. Real smooth.

She glanced up—and caught him.

Her eyebrows rose a little. Her mouth quirked.

“Robert, right?” she asked, tilting her head. Her voice was warm, amused, like she already knew the answer.

His throat caught. “Uh. Yeah. Bob, actually.”

“Bob,” she repeated, like she was trying it on. “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure,” he said too quickly.

She straightened, gesturing toward a box at her feet. “I’m trying to get this up to the top shelf, but it’s heavier than it looks and my arms are, like, noodles right now.”

He nodded and stepped forward, kneeling to lift the box without much effort. He was wiry, but stronger than he looked. She watched him, subtly biting the corner of her lip.

“Thanks,” she said as he set the box down on the shelf. “You’re stronger than you look.”

He gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing his arm. “Yeah, well… spinning a giant arrow for eight hours a day builds muscles, I guess.”

She smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short. That costume? Kinda iconic.”

He turned bright red. “Oh, God.”

“What?” she teased. “I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yeah,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag. “I mean, it takes a certain kind of confidence to dance in a chicken suit and not die of embarrassment.”

He snorted. “More like a lack of options.”

There was a pause—just a second too long.

“Still,” she said, voice softer now, “You’ve got a good smile, Bob.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I said, you’ve got a good smile.”

He swallowed, heart hammering for no reason he could explain. She was looking at him. Not through him. Not with pity. Just… seeing him. And it had been a long time since someone had done that.

They started talking more after that.

Little things. Jokes during their shifts. Late-night scraps of conversation while wiping down counters or restocking sauces. She’d bring him a free soda when she noticed him flagging. He’d sweep her section when her feet were too tired to move. Neither of them said it out loud, but it became something—a rhythm, a comfort.

He never told her about the drugs.

But she saw the shadows under his eyes. The way his hands shook sometimes. The way he chewed his inner cheek when he thought no one was looking. She didn’t ask, and he was grateful.

Until that one night.

They were walking out together. The parking lot was empty, bathed in yellow streetlight. The air was thick with humidity. Bob carried his bag over his shoulder, still fidgeting with the zipper.

Y/N was quiet beside him, arms crossed over her chest.

They reached the edge of the lot. Her car was parked beneath the flickering sign.

He stopped. She didn’t.

Then, she turned back.

“Hey,” she said. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He blinked. “Uh. No. Why?”

She smiled—and it knocked the air out of him.

“Just wondering,” she said, stepping a little closer. “Because if you don’t… I was wondering when you were going to ask me out.”

He stared at her, stunned.

“I—I mean—I didn’t think you’d—why would you—” he stammered.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Bob. I like you.”

He swallowed. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Even with the chicken suit.”

And then, because his body moved before his fear could stop him, he smiled—wide and real.

“I… would really like that.”

“Good,” she said, walking backwards toward her car, grinning. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”

He stood in the parking lot long after she drove away, heart pounding, a dumb grin on his face.

For the first time in years, the night didn’t feel so heavy.

--

Central Park in the early evening was dipped in gold.

The last fingers of sunlight threaded through the leaves like warm lace, casting dappled shadows on the grass. It was one of those rare New York days—cool but not cold, the air kissed with early autumn, the sky a watercolor blend of lavender and peach.

Bob stood awkwardly near a bench beneath a sycamore tree, tugging at the hem of his second-best flannel. His fingers twitched in his jacket pocket, where he kept the meth pipe he hadn’t touched in two days.

He was sweating.

Not from the weather.

From her.

Because Y/N was there, spreading out a gingham blanket on the grass near the edge of a pond, her hair tucked behind her ears, a small cooler bag next to her feet.

She looked like someone who belonged in the light.

He still wasn’t convinced he deserved to be sitting beside her in it.

“Okay,” she said, brushing imaginary dust from the blanket. “Don’t laugh. I made too much.”

Bob walked over slowly, hands in his pockets, watching as she pulled out a series of plastic containers and neatly wrapped foil packets. Sandwiches. Potato salad. Tiny cupcakes with blue frosting that had clearly been made with care. Even folded napkins.

“Holy crap,” he said, blinking. “Did you raid a deli or something?”

She grinned. “No, I made it. I… I like cooking.”

“For me?”

She looked at him like it was obvious. “Yeah. Who else would I be trying to impress, Bob?”

He knelt on the blanket, legs crossed, still a little stiff, watching her with barely restrained disbelief. “I just… I’ve never had anyone… you know. Do something like this. For me.”

She shrugged, setting a container between them. “Well, now you have.”

He picked up a sandwich, still stunned. “You made all this… for a guy who dresses like a poultry mascot?”

She chuckled. “I happen to like that guy.”

Bob opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He just smiled—a shy, crooked thing—and took a bite.

Bob sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, chewing slowly, trying not to look too shocked by how good the sandwich in his hand was. “Okay,” he said between bites, “you’re going to have to explain to me how you made this taste like something from an actual restaurant. What’s in this?”

Y/N grinned, tucking a napkin under her leg to keep it from blowing away. “Nothing fancy. Chicken, basil, a little Dijon, homemade aioli—”

“H-homemade? Who even makes aioli? That’s, like, elite-level cooking.”

“I like cooking,” she said simply, with a shrug. “It calms me down. Helps me feel like I’ve got control over something, you know?”

He nodded slowly, finishing the last of the sandwich. “Yeah, I get that. It’s like spinning that dumb arrow—kinda zen, if you ignore the back pain.”

She laughed. “That’s tragic. I cook to relax, and you give yourself arthritis.”

“Hey, I’m not proud.”

She passed him a small container of fruit salad, their knees brushing slightly under the blanket. There was a breeze picking up, threading through the grass, fluttering the corners of the gingham cloth. In the distance, a dog barked, and somewhere near the pond a violinist had started playing faintly.

“You live with roommates? Alone?” Bob asked suddenly, trying to picture what her place might look like. “Your kitchen’s probably better than mine. Mine’s got, like, one working burner and a fridge that sounds like it’s dying.”

She hesitated, then looked down at her hands. “Actually… I live alone now.”

His brows lifted slightly, sensing the shift in her voice.

“I didn’t always,” she continued. “My ex boyfriend and I used to live together, in this little apartment off Bedford. It was cramped, noisy, walls were paper-thin… but it was kind of cozy. It felt like ours.”

Bob stayed quiet, letting her speak.

“He left about nine months ago,” she said. “For someone else. Someone with shinier hair and a ‘real’ job, probably. I don’t know. One day he said he didn’t love me anymore, and that was that.”

Bob’s chest tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

She waved a hand, but her smile was tinged with something older than the moment. “It sucked. But if he hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have taken the job at Cluckin’ Bucket. Wouldn’t have ended up on night shifts. Wouldn’t have met you.”

He blinked, thrown. “That’s… wow. You really think that’s a good trade?”

She shrugged again, but this time with a little smile. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

Bob looked down at the cupcakes, the homemade food, the folded napkins. All for him.

He cleared his throat. “I just don’t get it. How someone could be with you and let you slip through their fingers. That guy had the f—freaking lottery ticket and he just… walked away?”

She glanced at him, visibly surprised by the fire in his voice.

“I mean it,” Bob said, quieter now. “If it were me… I’d never let you go.”

The moment stretched between them, warm and tender.

She looked at him for a long time, something soft and wounded behind her eyes.

“You’re sweet, Bob,” she said quietly.

“I’m not,” he replied without thinking. “Not really. But I want to be.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but instead she reached for another sandwich.

They sat in silence again, this time heavier.

Then Bob spoke, his voice rough.

“I don’t have anyone either,” he said. “No family. No ties. Just a bunch of mistakes and a backpack that smells like old socks.”

She looked at him. “No one at all?”

He shrugged. “Not since my mom passed. My dad was… not really in the picture. I’ve kinda just been floating since then.”

“Me too,” she said. “It’s like… we’re both ghosts in a city full of people who have somewhere to be.”

That hit him harder than he expected.

He nodded slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I always thought,” he murmured, “that maybe I was just built to be alone. Like I was meant to burn out early. Some people are just… too messed up to fit.”

She leaned toward him, brushing a thumb gently against his hand.

“You’re not messed up,” she whispered. “You’re just… lost. And that’s not the same thing.”

His heart nearly stopped.

“You’re the first person who’s ever said that,” he admitted.

“Then everyone else was wrong.”

He didn’t know what came over him then—maybe it was the sunset or the food or the warmth of her fingers against his—but he turned toward her, and for once, he didn’t feel ashamed.

“Can I… see you again?” he asked.

Her eyes crinkled with a smile.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

--

present day

The apartment was still.

Still in the way a place only gets after someone is gone—not just physically, but really gone. Like the soul of the place had followed them out the door and taken all the warmth with it.

The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the dusty blinds, casting long stripes across the bed where Y/N lay curled on her side. Their bed. His side still had the indent of his body, even after months. She hadn’t brought herself to sleep on it, like maybe the dip in the mattress could hold his shape long enough for him to come back and fill it.

Her hand cradled the curve of her growing belly. Just past four months. She was showing now. Her body knew, even if the world didn’t care.

Across from her on the nightstand were the pictures—cheap Polaroids and one dog-eared photo booth strip from Coney Island, taped crookedly to the wall. Bob’s stupid half-smile grinned back at her in every frame. The one where he was pretending to flex with a corndog in hand. The one where he looked away, caught off-guard, cheeks red from laughing at something she said.

Her thumb brushed the edge of the picture. Her throat burned.

“God, Bobby…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

A fresh wave of tears pressed from behind her eyes and spilled freely down her cheek, soaking into the pillow. She clutched the blanket tighter with one hand and her belly with the other.

“You left,” she murmured. “You really left.”

She bit her lip so hard it nearly split, the ache in her chest unbearable.

“I defended you. I told them you’d never run. I called every hospital, every shelter. Put up posters with your face in every goddamn corner of this city. I begged the police to keep looking because I knew something was wrong. I thought maybe you were in trouble, or hurt… or…”

Her voice broke, raw and low.

“Turns out you were just gone. Just—just done.”

She sat up slowly, wiping her face with the sleeve of Bob’s old hoodie—still too big on her, still faintly smelling like him, like cologne and smoke and something warmer.

“You saved up that money. You actually planned this,” she whispered, hollow. “You looked me in the eye… kissed me goodnight, touched our baby, and you already knew you weren’t coming back.”

Her breath hitched as her hand moved over the swell of her belly, as if trying to protect the child from the truth pressing in.

“You knew I was pregnant. And you still left. That’s what makes it worse. Not the addiction. Not the lies. That. You knew, and it didn’t stop you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I gave up everything trying to find you, Bobby,” she said, louder now, choking on the grief. “I drained what little savings I had. Every cent I scraped together went to flyers, gas, private search sites. I even hired some guy off Craigslist who said he could ‘track people down for a price.’ That was three hundred dollars I’ll never get back.”

She laughed bitterly through her tears.

“I work double shifts now just to stay afloat. Still serving greasy food to assholes who think I’m invisible—coming home to this empty fucking apartment, sleeping in a bed that feels like a coffin.”

She fell back onto the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths.

“I really thought you were different,” she whispered. “I did. I thought… maybe this time, it wouldn’t end with someone leaving. I really get left for everything else at this point, not good enough, prettier women, drugs. And maybe that’s worse. Because at least he looked me in the eye and said goodbye. Or maybe…did you find a better woman Bobby?”

Her lips trembled as another sob escaped.

“You said you loved me. You said we were in this together. We made something together, Bobby. We made a life. And you just… vanished.”

She reached for the ultrasound photo tucked into the drawer and held it to her chest.

“I swear he moves and grows everytime I cry,” she whispered. “Like he knows I need a distraction.”

She ran her hand down her belly again, slower this time.

“But I won’t let them grow up thinking he or she was a mistake. Or unworth staying for.”

The room felt unbearably quiet now. Still, again. But this time, colder.

She closed her eyes and curled tighter around herself, the photos, the baby. Everything she had left.

“I’ll do this without you,” she said softly. “Even if it breaks me.”

And in the stillness, in the tiny home they had built, she stares at the ceiling. Thinking. Doubting. Is this all that life can be ? How would she be able to take care of a little human? Maybe this baby wasn't meant for her. Maybe it was someone else's place to be their mom.

Maybe that's it.

Then I will wait. Just until the baby comes.

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆

W.C › 5.6k

Warnings › Chapter 1. Male omegas have a bit of a strange anatomy. Tried to explain it well. In any case, male omegas have pussies.

Plot › You go through a Pseudo heat and learn more about what your parents truly did to your body

Kinks › use of pussy, dirty talk, cumming untouched

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 ��:

𝘾𝙞𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙨 & 𝘼𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙤𝙩𝙨

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

❝ お兄ちゃん、どうして私を守ってくれなかったの？ ❞

“Do they hate me?”

“Mhm? Who is they?”

“You know.”

“I don’t, (Name).”

“Yes you do. But mom actually likes you.”

“This again?”

“Yukina is gone. Now I’m her target. Why can’t you see that?”

“It’s nonsense, that’s why. No mother could ever hate her child. No parent would ever hate their children. Familial love is one that can’t be replaced.”

“…Naoki would understand. But you… you…”

“Naoki? Seriously? Have you taken your suppressants?”

“Naoki says I shouldn’t take it! No one else takes it. You don’t even take it. My scent is sweet, it’s not sour like yours. It’s fine—”

“(Name), think for a moment. You being an omega is already enough on the family. Would it hurt you to just try and make our parents proud? Can’t you just do this one thing for them? For us?”

❝ なぜですか？苦しいよ、直樹。❞

“Will he be okay? Has he even gone through a heat before? Is he a late bloomer?”

Miya sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she glanced over at Watanabe. You were barricaded in your bedroom—the smell of heat spilling in from underneath the door. Watanabe was by the kitchen, his hands grasped tightly at the wooden chair Miya usually used when she wanted to cook without standing.

She could already see the chipped wood forming beneath his palms. The sound of the wood breaking slowly.

She’d complain about that another time. It was a shock Watanabe was even lucid enough to not bust the door down and mate you. This sight of Watanabe was interesting. His cool bad boy facade was long gone, replaced by an anxious alpha.

You’d think Watanabe had mated you ages ago.

“Mhm. I don’t know. He’s never had a heat before because of…” Her voice trailed off, her lips pursing together. Did he know? Would it be safe to tell him? Would you even want her to tell him?

“Because of?” Watanabe muttered, finally looking over at Miya. She could see his eyes were blown, unfocused. They looked to be struggling to not narrow in at your bedroom door.

Miya didn’t know why she hasn’t kicked him out yet. The whole journey here she wanted to get you away from him. But she could tell just from his soured scent that he wasn’t focused on fucking you. He was genuinely scared right now.

“He presented late, that’s all.” It wasn’t a total lie.

A strangled moan left your bedroom and Miya could see in seconds Watanabe’s gaze zero in on your door. His grip tightened on the chair and she heard the wood crack. Slowly his palms bleed red as he grit his teeth, closing his eyes as he began to whisper something to himself.

Miya inched over to the door, ready to defend your safety if need be. She didn’t care that she only reached his chest, stomach really. She’d fight to the death for you if she had to.

A knock on the door caught her attention. “Huh? Who…?”

“My mom.” Watanabe suddenly whispered, moving his hand away from the chair. The chair was totally destroyed, coated in his blood. His hands had pricks and splinters as he plucked out the large ones and dropped them by the trash as he stiffly walks to the front door.

“When did you even call your mom?” Miya asked, wondering what his mother could possibly do in a situation like this.

“Texted.” He bluntly said, pulling the front door open.

A chubby woman with greying brown hair pulled into a neat bun was shown, dressed in a nurse garment. Ah, that’s why. Her lips were pursed as she narrowed at Watanabe’s bleeding hands. She pulled out a first aid kit from her bag and stepped inside, handing it over to Watanabe.

Ms. Watanabe glanced around the room before sniffing the air, a frown pulling on her lips as she noticed Miya by the door. “Ah, are you Tanaka’s alpha?” She asked, walking over to Miya.

Miya hummed, needing to get used to the title. “Ah.. Yes. Furukawa Miya.”

“Watanabe Hitomi. I’m a doctor that specializes in omegas healthcare. Ah, ignore the nurse garments, today was my day off, I just put whatever on.” She laughed to herself, smiling brightly.

“Mhm. Then… can you check on (Name)? He’s never had a heat before.”

“Yes, of course. I just wanted to make sure I had permission.”

“Permission?”

“Yes. Alphas are so territorial! Even with betas like me,” she giggled. “Riki, you haven’t mated Tanaka yet, yes?”

Watanabe only grunted, busy bandaging his hands.

“I’ll be back, Furukawa-San.”

Miya bowed her head. “Thank you, Watanabe-San.”

“Ah, call me Hitomi. I have a feeling we’ll be like family soon.” Hitomi grinned, opening the bedroom door and stepping inside.

Hitomi couldn’t help her gasp as she slammed the door behind herself quickly, hoping none of your scent had slipped out. She pulled out a small packet of pills and a water bottle as she stepped over to your bed.

And there you were, nude burying your face into a sweater that was seeped in Miya’s citrus scent. You whined at the sight of Hitomi, too horny to care about your nudity. Hitomi’s beta scent was refreshing. Minty like any other beta. But it was nice. Miya’s scent was doing nothing for you.

But there was something in Hitomi’s scent that caught your attention, no matter how fuzzy it was.

Ume?

Riki? Does she know him? Mhm, Ume…

“Tanaka-San, I’m sorry this is how we meet. I’m Watanabe Hitomi, Riki’s mother. He wanted me to check on you because it’s your first ever heat, yes?”

You only whined at the mention of Riki’s name. Why wasn’t he here with you right now? Did he not want you? Were you not enough?

A cool hand against your neck caused you to flinch, your eyes opening again to look at Hitomi. She smiled softly, sitting down on the bed as she rest the water bottle on the night stand.

“It’s okay, Omega. Breathe. Your Alpha loves you.” She whispered, her voice motherly. “But he can’t be here. It’s your first ever heat, it’s a dangerous time for you, Pup. He could accidentally hurt you.”

You whined, feeling your fist tighten their grip on Miya’s sweater. Hurt you? Riki would never. He could never hurt you. Just what was this lady talking about?

Hitomi chuckled. “Well you can growl so I don’t need to check that.”

Growl? You didn’t even notice you were making any noise beside whimpering.

“I have something to help with the pain, Pup. It’s a heat suppressant. Have you taken any other suppressants? One that wasn’t only for heats?”

Shame creeped up on you as you looked away, biting your lip. Hitomi watched as you slowly nod. She didn’t say anything for a moment—as if waiting for you to elaborate. You slowly reached over and pulled open your night stand’s drawer.

“Is it in here?” She asked, looking over as she reached inside and pulled out the empty packets. You watched as her calm eyes began to widen in horror as she read the name. “…L…Limited X…?! Tanaka-San, are you serious?!”

She calmed down when you responded with a whimper, curling up into yourself further in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Pup. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Hitomi leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. You couldn’t help but purr.

Doctors aren’t supposed to be this loving but you would ignore it in the fact she was your alpha’s mother. Wasn’t she practically your mother now?

“Miya said you were a late bloomer… Was that a lie? Did you present?” She took your whine as a yes. “When did you start taking Limited X?”

A grunt left your throat as you parted your lips, “…nine…”

“Nine…? When.. When did you present?!”

“Nine…”

Hitomi pulled away. You saw from the corner of your eye her panicked expression as she whispered something herself. Was it that bad? Your situation couldn’t have been that rare. She let out a sigh before turning back over to you, a small smile on her lips.

“Your parents are awful, Pup. But it’s okay now. I got you.” She whispered, her voice shaky as she reached over and gently brushed your cheek. Her hand trailed down to your neck as she touched your scent gland. A broken gasp left her lips at the tough skin her fingers grazed.

“Mhm..?” You whined

“Your scent gland isn’t even…” Her look of surprise was soon replaced with fury. Her jaw tightened as she shook her head, patting your back as she stood up. “I’m sorry, Pup. I can’t let you take the suppressants. You need to let the heat run its course. Is there anything you want before I go? I’ll come back to visit you in a day or two.”

“Riki… I want Riki…”

“I’m sorry, but he can’t spend it with you. It’s for your safety, baby.”

“Please… Please… Want him…”

Hitomi pursed her lips as she glanced over at the door. “Okay. For a minute.” She left the room, leaving you alone. Your hand found the fluidity to toss Miya’s sweater across the room, wanting the citrus scent far away from your nose.

Your eyes fluttered open when you felt a cool hand gently touch your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you had fallen asleep. A low purr left your throat when your eyes met Riki’s. There he was.

Well, he was a bit far from you.

You hum and raise an eyebrow, reaching over to grab his hand and pull him closer. But he quickly resisted, pulling his hand away. The sound that leaves you is almost like that of a kicked puppy as you look at him in shock.

The words are on the tip of your tongue but you were too far gone in your heat to speak now.

“Sorry… Sorry, I can’t get too close. It’s hard enough being here.” Riki muttered, his eyes looking at everything but you. You noticed his tense posture, back straight entirely with his fists clenched at his sides. The bandages wrapped around his fists catch your attention as you whimper, wondering how he got hurt in such a short amount of time.

Did Miya fight him??? Oh god, you hoped that they would get close not fight.

A strangled grunt leaving Riki’s chest made you look up at him, seeing his jaw set tight. Was your scent affecting him this badly?

“Ah, (Name), I can’t stay in here much longer.” Riki groaned, reaching down and pulling off his shirt. Your eyes widen as your legs clamp together, an eager smirk pulling on your lips. Neither can you, you felt as if you would burst if he just continued to stand there.

But whatever you thought was going to happened was ignored when he tossed the shirt at your face. Any disappointment was drowned out when you sniffed the shirt, sighing in relief at having the Japanese apricots fill your nostrils.

“Why didn’t she tell me you were naked….”

Your eyes peek open to see Riki moving away, the sound of his pants falling onto the ground causing you to purr in appreciation at the sight of his ass. He also tossed his pants at you. It hit your square in the face but you didn’t care, eager to just bury your nose in his scent.

“Riki…” You mewled, slick coating the bedsheets beneath you.

“Shh. If you say my name again I’ll cum.” He said bluntly, his hand gripping at his boxers before pulling them off. You couldn’t help the slight squeal that left you as he tossed the boxers to you. You forgot all about his pants and shirt as you bit at his boxers, purring at the fabric in your hands.

Ah, it was right against his cock.

You thought he was now coming to join you in bed but you whined as you watched him slip on some clothes. What?! What the fuck?! He changed into a plain old t-shirt and sweatpants. Where did he even get that?!

You felt like throwing a tantrum.

Here you were, pliant, soaking wet, practically begging for him. And he was only nice enough to give you his boxers?!

Riki finally turned around, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Don’t give me those eyes. I’m following my mom’s instructions. I’ll visit you again tomorrow.” He walked over to you with his fingers pinching his nose. A slight giggle left your lips at the sight as he leaned down and pressed a kiss on your lips before quickly pulling away and sprinting to the door.

“Bye!” He yelled, closing the door behind him.

He was lucky he’s cute…

You glanced down at the boxers still in your hand and sighed. This will have to do for tonight.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“Aren’t they cute?”

You kneel down, peering into the small pond. The koi fish swirl around each other as you poke your finger in the water. They disburse away from your small ripple, finding safety near the other side. A slight giggle leaves your lips.

“They’re funny.”

“Funny? Mhm, I don’t know. I think you’re more funny looking.”

A gasp leaves you as you turn over to face Naoki, pouting at the laugher that begins to escape him. He falls back onto his butt while you cross your arms together and fane a look of disappointment at his teasing.

“Meanie. The girls at my school say I’m cute. And that I smell sweet!”

“Do they? What did you bribe them with?”

“B..Bri…be..? What does that mean?”

Naoki only chuckled, reaching over to pull you close with him on the grass. “Ask your teacher. But you do smell sweet, (Name). My little pudding.”

“Well…! You smell like vanilla!”

“Vanilla? That’s too sweet for an alpha like me.”

“Don’t care. You’re sweet. Sweet alphas are better than smelly alphas like Daichi.”

“Really? Then I hope you get with an alpha with the sweetest scent there is.”

“Ew! I don’t like alphas. Only you and Miya. Yuck!”

Naoki laughed. You couldn’t remember his face. It hurt so much to only remember his heart shaped smile. Why couldn’t you remember his eyes? His nose? The only person to love you and you can’t even remember him properly?

“(Name), c’mon, drink this!”

A groan left your throat as your eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. You looked to your left and saw Miya holding a glass of water. She smiled and reached down, wiping at your face before helping you sit up.

“Did you sleep well? You had a big smile on your face before I woke you up.” She asked, sitting down on the bed. You hummed absentmindedly, eager to quench your thirst.

“How long has it been?”

“A week.”

“Week?! Heats only last three days…”

“Yeah will you haven’t exactly gone through a heat before. Anyway, Hitomi-San came to visit you everyday to make sure you didn’t die.”

“Die?!”

Miya hummed. “You were sometimes so cold during the night or really hot. She would sometimes stay the night to make sure you didn’t stop breathing too.”

“Crap… I don’t remember anything that happened…”

“Well you didn’t do anything embarrassing if you’re worried about that.” Miya said, taking the empty glass from you. Her lip slightly twitched as she smirked. “Ah, wait, no that’s not true… you did embarrass yourself when Watanabe came.”

You froze, looking over at Miya with a look of fear. Miya smirked and began to laugh, enjoying your panicked expression.

“What?! What did I do?”

“It was so funny… Hitomi-San was cleaning the slick off your body when Watanabe came into the room to give you fresh clothes with his scent. You practically shoved Hitomi-San off the bed to launch yourself at Watanabe. I should’ve recorded it!!”

“Is Hitomi-San okay?!”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Watanabe wasn’t, you made him fall and knock his head against your desk! Then you started crying as if you killed him because he was knocked out for a second. Anyway he had to get stitches on the back of his head.”

You stared at Miya with your mouth agape, physically imagining the event in your head. You were so glad you couldn’t remember anything. It was already bringing you shame and embarrassment at the fact you literally attacked Riki just cause of your stupid heat.

Not to mention shoving away the woman who was helping you live… Gosh, you wanted to curl up and die.

Miya had finally stopped laughing and pulled out her phone, showing you a picture she must’ve took of that night. Sure enough, there you are, naked as the day you were born. Luckily enough Miya had cropped it to where it was only the upper half of your body.

You were straddling Riki, holding his face in your hands as you looked to be in a mid cry. There was a small amount of blood on the floor from what you could tell so he really did get hurt. Miya swiped, showing a short video that was Riki waking up, looking absolutely disoriented before narrowing in on you. Immediately a blush appeared on his face and he practically bucked you off of him.

Your cries were heard in the background as you were flung off camera. Video Miya yelled something about being careful while Hitomi had moved over to you. Riki moved to stood up but soon collapsed back onto the ground, earning a shrill scream from what you could only assume was yourself. The video soon ended with Miya accidentally turning the camera on your bare butt as you once again shoved Hitomi away to get to Riki.

That was…

“Oh my god.” You whispered, wanting to end it all right then and there while Miya laughed her ass off.

“I’ve never seen you act so animal like!” Miya laughed, wiping away the stray tears from her face. “It was nice. Felt like the first time you were truly yourself. Even if it was while you were butt naked, dripping slick all over the carpet.”

“Miya!!”

“What? It’s a normal bodily function. Don’t get embarrassed.” She patted you on the back and stood up, stretching. “Anyway, Hitomi-San and Watanabe will be here in a few hours. Take a shower… a long one.”

With that, she left your room, leaving it open as Ume sprinted inside. Ume purred as she jumped onto your bed and immediately got comfortable, curling into herself. You couldn’t help but smile, knowing Ume must’ve been upset to not have access to your room for such a long time.

She hated closed doors. Ume practically owned the place.

You rubbed at your neck, groaning as you stretched your sore body. Your body sputtered for a moment as your fingers gently rubbed against the lower center of your neck. It… was a bit softer?

It was still sold and rough but there was a slight softness that wasn’t there before.

It wasn’t too late for you…?

You could be mated?

You’d have to ask Hitomi. But you couldn’t help the slight giddy smile on your lips. You could be Riki’s if it really was softening… A slight glob of slick soaked the bedsheets beneath you. You groaned, rolling your eyes. This was going to have to take some getting used to.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

Miya fiddled with her phone, her eyes flickering around as she closed the apartment door behind her. Her phone began to ring—startling her out of her thoughts as she quickly answered it without looking at the caller ID.

“Hey. How are things there?” She whispered, walking to lean over the railing. Her dyed purple hair was pulled back into a small ponytail as the wind blew her bangs upward.

The voice on the other line as hushed and quiet.

“Terrible. He’s back.”

“Which one?”

“Obviously the eldest. He had a wedding ring on his finger. I think he’s married now.”

“Married…? He didn’t tell (Name)? Does he even have a mating mark?”

“That type of alpha would never let anyone mark him. Anyway, he talked to me as if we’re friends. The nerve.”

“Shit. Did he say anything weird?”

“Besides the fact he was not so subtly making fun of me for still living at mom’s place, no. He did insult me being a mangaka, I don’t remember telling him that. Did (Name) tell him?”

“Really, Yuzuru? (Name) doesn’t even talk to his mom unless she calls. He’s not talking to Daichi.”

“Watch your mouth. I’m still the oldest, little shit. I don’t have to do this spying shit for you.”

“Then say goodbye to your precious beta reader!”

“Wait! Sorry, sorry. Anyway, I still haven’t seen Naoki. I… huh?”

“Mhm? What’s wrong?”

“Uh… Daichi just came back with a woman… an omega I think.”

“Omega? No way in hell… those alpha elitist would never mate with an omega…” Miya waited for her brother to continue speaking but she soon heard the sound of a woman talking before the phone abruptly cut off.

She cursed, ready to call Yuzuru back when she saw Hitomi and Watanabe walk up the stairs to the complex. She’d have to call him back later. With a huff, she put her phone away and grinned, waving at Hitomi.

Hitomi smiled, her eyes closing into crescent moons. “Morning, Miya-Chan! I brought breakfast for you and Tanaka. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I did! (Name)-Kun is doing great thanks to your help. He just woke up a few minutes ago.” Miya reached over and took the plastic bag away from Hitomi, opening the apartment door to let them inside. She rolled her eyes at Watanabe’s lack of greeting.

She could tell he was fidgety. His eyes quickly narrowing in on your bedroom door, practically waiting for you to come out so he could see if you were truly okay.

Hitomi pulled out a MedKit from her bag, going straight to your room. She didn’t knock, just pushed the door open before shutting it behind her.

Just your luck, you were putting on your underwear when she came in. You shrieked, reaching to cover your nude body from her eyes.

“Calm down, Pup. I’ve seen everything by now.” She said honestly, resting the MedKit on your nightstand as she pulled out what looked to be a thermometer and some pills. “Come here once you’re dressed.”

You slipped on a baggy t-shirt and shorts, wondering if you should bring up the whole… shoving incident. “Uhm… If… uh.. there.. was anything weird I did… while… y’know… in heat… I uhm…”

Hitomi glanced over at you. “You mean giving my son a concussion and having him bleed out on the floor?”

Your breathing halted, your eyes widening at her words. Well when she puts it that way…

Her gaze was harsh on you before a gummy smile pulled on her lips. “It’s okay, Pup. You aren’t the craziest patient I’ve had to dealt with. You were tame. Now c’mere.”

You walked over to where she was by your desk and watched as she held up the thermometer, motioning for you to pry your lips apart.

“Besides,” she said, slipping the thermometer into your mouth. “You look cute while crying. You cared so much for my Riki. I think if Miya hadn’t held you back, you would’ve followed us to the hospital.”

“Followed…?” You muttered, taking the thermometer out of your mouth to once it beeped. Hitomi took it from you and hummed. A good temperature you’d assume.

“Yes. You wouldn’t even let me touch Riki at first. Took Riki waking back up and telling you to calm down for you to finally release him.”

“I didn’t know omegas could be… territorial.”

“Everyone is territorial. Especially for someone they love. Omegas can be scary when they want to. You almost bit me.” Hitomi said nonchalantly.

“Bit?!”

“It’s fine. Like I said, you were like a kitten compared to other patients I’ve had.” She opened the bottle of pills and poured out two capsules, handing them over to you. “You seem fine. But you didn’t go through a full heat. It was just a pre-heat. Your full heat will be in two months.”

“Only a pre-heat…? But it was intense.”

“Mhm. It was. Your body was only getting you ready. You are severely underdeveloped,” she said, her tone turning serious. “I advise you to not have any penetrative sex until your hole… has grown.”

“Grown?”

“Yes. I checked it. It’s too small for an omega. Your cock should also become small as well.”

“What? Wait? I thought male omegas could have dicks?”

“Who told you that? Male omegas are born with dicks but they lose them during their first heat. Then a vagina begins to form and your dick will become a clit. Your hole is there, just too small to be called a vagina at the moment.”

“You weren’t talking about my butt hole..?”

“No.” Hitomi frowned. “Did no one teach you about male omegas? I know they’re rare but they should still teach you all about these things. You need to know your body…” Her lips pursed as if she was in thought before looking over at the door.

You glanced over, wondering if she saw something.

“Ah. Have Riki show you where your hole is. I’m sure you don’t want me touching it.” She said, putting away her materials. “You can also have him help you stretch it. It’ll help with the process.”

“S..Stretch it..?”

“Yes. Finger you. You can always finger yourself but at least let him show you where it is.” With that, she grabbed her MedKit and left the room, leaving you standing there with your mouth agape.

Vagina…? Clit...? Fingering?!

You felt lightheaded. All this time, your body was underdeveloped. Your genitalia was a lie this entire time! Your cock was going to turn into a fucking clit!!!

“(Name)? Your scent soured.”

Your body jumped as the door was harshly pushed up, a tense Riki standing in the doorway. His eyes roamed your body—looking for any damage before pausing at your face. He tilted his head, walking over to you as he began to sniff you.

“What? Did my mom tell you bad news?” He asked, his hand reaching up, as if to touch your face but he stopped himself and placed it on your desk. You couldn’t help the slight whimper at that.

“No… No bad news. Just that—well—I’ll be growing a vagina!”

“Huh? You already have one. I saw it when we were in the classroom.”

“Hah?! You saw it?!”

“Mhm. It’s so tiny, I was wondering why it looked like that but I’ve never been with a male omega before.” Riki said nonchalantly, his posture relaxing now that he realized there was nothing wrong. “You’ve never felt it?”

You blushed. “Well, I don’t really masturbate touching myself down there.. just my cock.”

Riki tilted his head as a smirk pulled on his lips. “Mhm? You’ll have to learn the other way soon, your little cock is turning into a clit.” He laughed.

The urge to punch him the face was strong. He felt just like the Riki you met at the sushi restaurant. It was going to take some getting used to with Riki’s personality. It was like he could switch between a sadist and timid puppy.

“Uhm. Your mom.. said that you could help.”

“Help? You want me to touch your pussy?”

Your cheeks flushed as you looked at everything but him. “Don’t call it that!”

“Why can’t I? Is it not a pussy?” Riki grinned as he moved closer, his nose teasing your neck as he leaned down. Your breathing hitched as you subconsciously tilted your head, giving him easy access to your scent gland. “I was sad that I’ll have to wait so long to properly fuck you…”

His hand grasped your crotch, earning a stuttered gasp from you as your body tensed. Your hand gripped the desk behind you for stability as he harshly fondled you. “But fingering you until you get a proper pussy sounds hot. I’ll be making a pussy just for me to touch. For me to fuck. For me to knot whenever I please.”

“Riki…” you gasped. The thought was already intoxicating. Any fear you had about this new body part growing was long gone at the thought of Riki truly molding you into something just for him. You were only disappointed that you’d have to wait so long to get what your body so desperately craves.

Only two month… You can last two months…

“Do you like that? The thought of your body changing itself just from my touch?” He whispered, his hand gripping your cock through your shorts. Your body arched against the desk as you feel your legs part to give Riki easier access.

“Nngh… That’ll… That’ll make me good for Alpha.” You manage to whine, looking up at him with watery eyes. Riki’s eyes widen before he chuckled, pressing a kiss on your neck.

“You’re already a good omega for me, (Name). But I won’t lie and say you getting a pretty pussy won’t make me happy. I can already imagine sinking my fingers inside, stretching you wide before I stuff you with my knot. Would you like that, Omega? My knot stretching you, ruining you for me and only me?”

A strangled cry left your throat as the thought clouded your mind and your hands gripped the desk, your toes curling. Your body felt as if it was spasming until you felt a growing wetness in your shorts.

Riki released your crotch as he glanced down, a laugh leaving his lips. “You came untouched. Did I excite you that much?”

“Shut up.” You weakly whine, wanting to curl up into a ball and die.

“Ahem.”

You and Riki’s body froze as there was a slight knock on the door. There stood Miya, her face unimpressed.

“We are still here, by the way. Maybe close the door if you’re going to start having sex.” She said, “Also there’s breakfast, (Name)… come get it after you take a shower… again.”

This was it. You were going to die of embarrassment.

Riki looked as if he’d seen a ghost. You could tell he must’ve realized his mother heard his dirty talking. Hopefully they didn’t hear everything…

“Uh… We can talk about the whole fingering thing later.” You whispered.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

In front of him, he stood tall, overpowering. His scent was musky—drowning out any other scent in the room. Brown eyes flickered around the living room before settling on a framed picture on the wall near the TV.

You, so young and cute, a wide smile while Miya hugged you tightly against her chest. It was an older picture, around the age of thirteen. Yuzuru was standing behind the both of you, aged eighteen, a small slight smile on his lips. His large circular glasses taking up half of his face.

Daichi looked over Yuzuru now, sitting on the couch across of him. Glasses long gone and smile replaced a tight frown. It was a shame, Daichi thought to himself. Yuzuru was supposedly an omega but looked nothing like it.

He took another look at Yuzuru, wondering how he gained so much weight. Yuzuru wasn’t the stick thin omega he was back in high school. He was fuller, his mother must be over feeding him.

Yuzuru kissed his teeth together, catching Daichi’s attention. “If you’re done scrutinizing me, why are you here?”

Mrs. Furukawa gently patted Yuzuru’s lap, giving him a tight smile. “What Yuzu was saying.. Is what made you want to visit us? It’s been forever.”

Daichi grinned, opening his coat and pulling out an envelope. “It’s nothing special.” He said. “Yuzuru is almost in his late twenties and my colleagues mentioned something about a blind date for omegas to find an alpha. I’m sure… it would be helpful for your case.”

A pin could be dropped as Yuzuru’s eyes widen, his lips parting as his fingers dug into the armchair of the couch. He looked ready to blow, jump across this stupid coffee table and show Daichi what he was made of. But his mother grabbed his arm as she grabbed the envelope from Daichi.

“Is that?” She asked, her voice devoid of any emotion.

“Ah. Yes… You have (Name)’s address, yes? I want to talk to him.”

“Why would I willingly give you his address?” Yuzuru muttered.

“Well… It’s been ages since I’ve seen my little brother.. I wanted to check up on him.”

“You can call him.” Yuzuru whispered.

Daichi hummed. “I guess I could. I suppose I wanted to get a better look at you, Yuzuru. Since you seem to be so interested in me these days.”

Yuzuru froze, looking away. He noticed? What the fuck?

With the tension tight and heavy, Daichi left without another word.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

You were gently drying your hair when you grabbed your phone off the night stand. There was texts and emails that you didn’t care too much about responding to except one from a number you didn’t recognize.

It was just a picture that they sent.

You clicked on the picture and felt the color drain from your face.

It wasn’t just one picture. It was two.

One picture of an ultrasound.

And another of a wedding.

Daichi and a woman you’ve seen before.

But she was an omega… Why would someone like Daichi marry her?

But that wasn’t the most important thing you cared about. No, you cared more about who she was. Who she was before supposedly becoming Daichi’s wife, his mate.

Naoki’s ex girlfriend.

Sorry for the wait! I just recently moved to my college dorms, forgot to write lol. Hopefully it won’t take too long for chapter 3, there will be actual smut in that one, trust.. ask to be added to the tag list for riki’s story. Some people don’t show up when I try to tag them tho, sorry about that :/ also there’s a limit smh

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life25 @tehyunnie @lanoslamp @sweetheart4you @chill-guy-but-cooler @ofclyde @remdayz @flurrina @smellwell @iwishtobeacrow @kiiyoooo @love-kha1 @star-3214 @rhetorical-conscience @mooncarvers-world @chososlittlestuttyboy @terapung @gay4letti @lixamplanet @oreoqueen @1account2blogs @hnazwan @blaxvoid @theorye @yanrandom @berrycolaa @darlinqvi @diamondnightsky23 @yourn0tmydad @https-tan-com @kiekole @cinder-angel @yuzuukix @sugar-p0p @anime-meme-sanctuary @caffineandoranges @barbatos-mybeloved @gaynesspersonified @sheepame @snowtiger00 @kgeyamaa @teoluvsyou @chweuphoria @sooobiinn @hope0o0 @yoon-zino @mef0rg0r @gojosdumpydump @me-when-life

Translations:

❝ お兄ちゃん、どうして私を守ってくれなかったの？ ❞ — brother, why didn’t you protect me?

❝ なぜですか？苦しいよ、直樹。❞ — why? It’s painful, Naoki

[aeolianblues]

‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014, ‘Indie sleaze’ is not 2014!

It’s not tumblr-core and it’s not Lana Del Ray or 2013 AM, it’s not #girl interrupted, it’s not Ethel Cain (she literally is an artist of our time, what are you on about.)

It was 2001 with the Strokes on the cover of the NME every 2 weeks, it was cabaret night and English poetry with the Libertines in 2002, it’s those red and blue military jackets, it was the fucking grease in Julian Casablancas’ hair, it’s ’cocaine was the banker’s drug’ quoth Alex Kapranos, it was Don't Go Back To Dalston and the heroin, it was red and black horizontal striped tops and tight black shirts as evening wear, it was Russell Lissak’s mop top and a full page interview with London hairdressers in the NME in 2005, it was Jack and Meg’s saturated red and white dresses, it was glued glitter on the cover of Santigold’s first album, it was the sleaze and the sex of CSS’s music, it was ‘cold light, hot night’, it was the anti-Bush and anti-war stances of the bands at the time, it was America by Razorlight, it was Popworld on telly and Simon Amstel being a little shit to musicians, it was Karen O defying death on stage nightly, it was throwing up in shitty nightclubs on god knows what drugs, it was the fucking danger knowing this could all collapse any second—and rightly, it should. It was the godawful egos at DFA, it was knowing that while you were lucky to be seeing these bands live, you’d fucking hate them if you had to spend even a minute in their individual company. It was Amy Winehouse telling the world to get the fuck out of her business, it was Leslie Feist and Peaches sharing a dilapidated flat above a sex shop in Toronto.

It was horrible camera flash and red-eye editing softwares and putting your feet by the warm, spinning fans of your computer while it whirred away and downloaded your albums in *checks* 46 more minutes. It was horrible, it was dirty, it was gritty, we all hated it and thought the 90s were the last time music was good and that nothing good had happened since 1997. It was garishly bright clothes we were all embarrassed of by 2011, it was multiple layers and leggings and asking your mum to cut the itchy tag on the back of your low rise jeans only for her to snip your back. It was bell bottoms at the start of the decade. It being thankful that by 2017, no one would dream of wearing low rises anymore, please please, please let them never come back.

It was faux nostalgic of the past itself. It was ‘please make sure baby you’ve got some colours in there’ in your clothes. It was moral panic over emos. It was wanting to escape into a better past that you could see was visibly impoverished in the present. It was watching your favourite programmes become less and less relevant on air. It was watching MTV decisively die a horrible death. It was watching important venues and nightclubs get bulldozed. It was watching the last regular broadcast of Top Of The Pops in 2006. It was seeing how the 2009 financial crisis most definitely put a stop to independent music in the western world for a decade, it was watching the rise of bedroom DIY and electronic music. It was seeing the phrase ‘SoundCloud rapper’ being coined. It was the rise of Disney pop. It was counter-culture Justin Bieber hatred. It was the MS paint meme of those tumblr girls thoroughly unimpressed by the guy.

It was not using the words ‘indie sleaze’ at all, in fact. That’s a retconned word. It was garage rock revival. It was ‘post-grunge’. We didn’t care what it was called, we hated it all the same. It was a lead into a decade of despair and nihilism, it was the last hurrah for the music industry before it splintered into a thousand little online ecosystems, it was the last time we had physical community and any shared pop cultural moments. It was Live8 2005. It was the same as it is now, and it was a time that’ll never happen again, for better and for worse.

But one thing is for sure: it was decisively dead by 2014. Santi and Karen O’s 2012 collab was its last hurrah and it was dead by Comedown Machine by the Strokes (2013). It has nothing to do with 2014.

[cherrishkissed]

𝓝𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑦𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑘 ᥫ᭡

Preview ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, small talk with a new stranger, remmick x black fem! reader 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 1.3𝓴

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

ℒate Sunday afternoon, the long straw grass grazes my legs as I walk through the pathways. The air smells of Sunday Dinner and sweet pies. Every Sunday evening, my father gathered everyone in town at the Old Riverbank Pavilion for supper.

It's a simple ritual in our village, Pa believed it was best to bring people together; that's how we all stay strong. I agreed, it was nice seeing everyone, felt like family. Of course, certain groups felt they were better than the rest, but that's expected everywhere.

I had helped my mama cook up a pot of stew earlier that day, I sneaked in a couple of bites before she saw me. Of course, she knew what I was up to, I was hovering over the pot. She scolded me for a quick set and rolled her brown eyes. She then sent me walking on down to the church to get some things. 

‘’Afternoon, Ms. l/n,’’ I hear as I walked down the road. I smiled and waved to them.

I had a reputation in the town, the preacher’s daughter; everyone knew me. 

Sweet’old girl who was always helping town folk, practicing my father’s teachings, keeping my momma's recipes and the word close on my hip.

I had to, so many dangers, and too many stories leave folks scared, so they seek shelter instead of fighting back.

I haven't come in contact with one, say, the night walkers.

I've heard some live in town, right next door, down the street, hell, maybe in the church.

I bet you that man down at the Juke Joint is one, always watching and reporting people who go missing. It’s a scary world, especially when the night comes, soft whistles, and red orbs that glow in the woods.

 God forbid I ever meet one.

I sat next to my momma while we all ate, ''Food is really good ma,'' I smiled at her as I ate. ''Thank you, sweetie,'' she says while pouring me some juice.

After sitting down and eating, my father asked me to get some instruments from the church for a simple song. I wipe my mouth and finish my juice. I walk on down to the church. I slip through the crates and put a few fans in the box.

As I'm searching, I hear the floor creak, a presence hurt behind me.

I tried to ignore it, but the feeling was close, too close.

I then turn and see a pale brunette man staring right at me.

I stare back at him, "Evening, can I help you?" I say with a speck of sweetness in my voice. He stares at the box I was filling, the musical instruments piling up pretty high.

''That's ‘gon be real heavy to carry back alone,'' he said, gesturing to it.

I look at the box on the wood floor, and it couldn't be that bad. ''Would you like some assistance, Miss?'' he asks.

''I'll be just alright, thank you,'' I say and turn back to my duty. He doesn't bother movin, he just stands there.

I tried lifting the box, felt like it was gon scratch right through my hands. I still felt him staring at me, as if waiting for something to happen. I then stop and turn around.

"Sir," I say. Indicating the question, why are you still standing there? I could surely handle myself. It bothered me most of the time when people would asks this.

''That box is older than both of us, I'm telling ya, you lift that up wrong, you gon have splinters in all ten fingers. It's best if you had some help with that old bin'' he insisted.

The box was old and close to breaking. If I did pick it up wrong, I'd probably be left with 6 fingers.

''I'll be care- ow!'' I drop the box and look at my hand. 

A nice splinter sat in the meaty part of my hand, between my palm and thumb.  I sit down on a stool and look at it, a red line of blood travels down my hand.

As I try to get it out, the man still stands outside the door, ''Is you gon come in and help me?" I ask calmly, throwing in some sweetness to cover up my attitude.

 ‘’I have your permission to come in, ma’am?” He asks, his arms crossed behind his back.

"Yes, come in,” I say, a little irritated.

I should have just listened to him instead of letting my emotions define a stranger. He was just trying to be helpful. He appears to the side of me and looks at the cut, he holds his hand out to mine.

His pale palm was faced upwards, his eyes not leaving my sight.

 ‘’Told you that box had some teeth on it’’ he says softly.

I lightly scoffed, in my mind, I was slightly annoyed.

Every bone in my body told me I could handle myself, but this stranger's voice sure did put me at ease.

 It had a smooth, steadiness, which made it hard to argue, as if he were a man who didn’t raise his voice because he never had to. He took my hand softly and carefully. He looked at the splinter. He then pulled out a small pocket knife from his slacks, alerted, I quickly took my hand back.

He looked at me, ‘’No need, ain’t gon hurt you, need to get the splinter out,” he says, glancing at my hand. I didn’t trust him, but I didn’t argue, ‘’Come on’’ he said lowly.

I gave my hand back and just watched him closely.

I looked at the blade. It was clean, shining, probably new, or just well taken care of. A nice leather handle for the hand. He took the knife and his thumb and plucked out the piece of wood in less than a second.

When the splinter came loose, he held it up for me to see, then flicked it outside in the grass.

‘’Little bit of blood never hurt nobody,’’ he said low, as if he was speaking to himself.

'’Means you’re still here,’’ he pulls out a brown drink pouch and a handkerchief.

He poured some of the liquid on the cloth, then lightly pressed it against my cut.

‘’Still feelin' somethin’ he finished off. He lightly brushed over the spot with his thumb, he then let my hand go as if he was giving it back.

‘’Now,’’ he mumbled and got up. ‘’How bout you let me carry that box? Before it takes more than just a piece of them pretty hands?,’’ he looks at me.

I stare at him and nod, ‘’Thank you.’’ Boy, did I feel stupid.

He lifted the box without a struggle. I couldn't quite figure out what it was about him that bothered me. It wasn't his voice, a smooth tone that slipped through your ear canal and settled between your ribs. His voice and manner were not the problem, nor was the way he held my hand. His gaze wasn't wrong either, he didn't stare at me long.

Nevertheless, there was something off about it. 

As we walk back, I stand beside him, ‘’I apologize for my rudeness there. I wasn’t trying to be sharp, I just don’t like anyone sneaking up on me,’’ I kept looking everywhere but at him.

He hums softly, he knew there was more to why I acted the way I did. ‘’Ain’t none," he said. "I apologize for my forwardness. Wasn’t my intention to startle you.’’

I nod slightly. It’s quiet for a moment now. As we walk, I can smell a hint of his scent, cedarwood and burnt sugar.

‘’You quiet,’’ I say and look over at him. ‘’Most men that come around here can’t wait to run their mouths.’’

He glances sideways, and a small smile appears. He lets out a small breath, ‘’Most men got nothin’ worth hearing, so they talk loud to make up for it.’’

I let out a laugh, he wasn’t wrong. I smile lightly, ‘’You got a name, sir?’’ I ask, looking over at him.

He then sets the box down on a table, “Remmick, ma’am’’ he nods at me. ‘’Is you y/n?’’ he asks, glancing at me.

I nod, “Yes, sir, you familiar with my pops?’’ I ask the man.

‘’Indeed, very close, a good honest man,’’ he says, giving me a smile.

Maybe that feeling was nothing, he seemed like a good man.

©𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 !

thank you for reading, I plan on writing a smut part after this idk though (I will). I might rewrite some stuff as well, but please feel free to give tips <3

[iridescentflamingo]

Silly stupid idea

You've known the turtles for less than a year and they told you that there's a few weeks in spring they have intense training and cannot have guests. You accept this and ask no questions about it. You're hanging out, playing cards after dinner and chilling. The few weeks are coming soon and you're trying to get more hang time with them.

Splinter enters the kitchen. He watches the five of you play for a bit before getting something out of the cupboards and glancing at the calendar. "Ah, is it already March? Have you boys warned Y/N about those upcoming weeks?"

Leonardo looks up and over to his father, "Yes, we told her about the intense spring training we'll be doing. She knows we'll call her when we're finished."

You glance up and see the brothers exchange looks that are subtle, but you've been getting better at picking up their body language.

Splinter makes a huff in his throat. "Ah, spring training, yes." He comes closer to the table, eyeing Leo's cards. "Training your wrists and testing my patience."

Michelangelo spits soda out of his nose and Donatello chokes on the snacks he was eating. You look around confused. Leo scrambles and quickly adds, "Yeah, Sensei, the weapons training can get pretty serious." He stares his father down, his face trying to remain neutral, but you can see his eyes twitch just slightly.

Splinter makes that huff noise again. It almost sounds like a scoff. "Weapons training, yes." He reaches across the table for a handful of pretzels as Mikey wipes the soda off his cards and Raph pats Donnie's chest.

Splinter munches one as the table gets uncomfortably quiet. He looks over to you. "You know, Raphael and Leonardo almost killed each other one year. I will never forget. It was the beginning of the season and we had just watched a movie. What was it? It had that one actress in it."

Mikey, not thinking, answers, "The Terminator."

"Yes, The Terminator. The action movie about robots with that muscle hero man from Europe. I thought it would be safe, you know, but Leonardo and Raphael got into this huge argument about the actress. Oh, her name was Hampton, something Hampton."

"Linda Hamilton." Mikey corrects. Raph reaches over and socks him in the arm. "Hey!"

"Yes! Linda Hamilton. They got in this huge fight about her and they started to yell and then it turned into a wrestling match and then they started to bellow at each other. Do you remember that, boys?" Splinter chuckled.

Leo and Raph looked mortified, but Mikey was laughing. "Yeah, Don and I had to pry them apart, there was blood everywhere."

"We were fifteen," Leo said through practically gritted teeth, "That was a long time ago, Sensei. We don't do that anymore. Spring training is a lot easier now. We don't get as competitive."

Splinter chuckled again. "Those first seasons were so rough. You boys were all over the place, so angry, so intense, and the smell. Ugh. I am so glad that you are more controlled these days."

"We're not teens anymore, Dad. We know how t' train without fighting about it." Raphael said, adding emphasis on the word train.

Splinter nodded his head, biting into another pretzel, a pensive look on his face. "This is true. You are all grown now, and I only grow older." He patted you on the shoulder as he made his move to depart. "Maybe next year one of you will invite Ms. Y/N to your spring training so that I will enjoy some grand-kids before I die, hmmm?"

As he made his way from the table, you turned and blinked, utterly confused and seeing mortified faces on all four turtles.

@thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @sophiacloud28 @thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch

@tmntngl @avery73 @milykins @adebauchedsloth

@justalotoffanfiction @truffle-reblogs

[eg-tmnt]

I also have a few others that I might post later. @tmnt-splinterweek

Pose based on this. A few pride flag inspired versions under cut.

[distant--shadow]

And the Lady is far enough away - Imogen reminds herself as she pulls her shirt over her head, chest bare to the sea air and immediately transmuting her skin into gooseflesh - the Lady is far enough away that she surely can’t really see anything; sat in the long shadow of the cliff, her pale skin remaining fresh-milk white despite the season – Imogen almost thinks that it’s a shame that she is not sitting closer on the sand, with a black lace parasol to match. She ain’t ashamed of her body – didn’t need the courtesies her mistress offered; leaving Imogen alone in her stately bedroom so that she could get changed into her dead husband’s clothes – she should have looked through her dressers or desk drawer when she had the opportunity – maybe she could create another? Focus and observation is hard. Imogen reminds herself that; reminds herself that she ain’t ashamed of her body as she unbuttons the gloves on her hands at the wrist, mindful to keep them in front of herself once they are revealed, the skin underneath where it isn’t blemished and mangled almost as pale as Ms Laudna’s.

From a distance it might still look like she has the gloves on anyway – it certainly ain’t easy to tell the blood and the cut and the clotting from the scar tissue.

At least it wasn’t her tongue.

It was just the end of her finger, so naturally Imogen had scuttled away and stripped herself nearly naked in order to submerge herself underwater.

This time she planned for the pull, saving her clothes from getting soaked, saving herself from the Lady’s gentilities.

Silk on her chest, soup in her stomach, the knots of flora untied from her hair-

She wonders again if hornwort can be found out in the ocean - what its closest seaweed relative would be.

The water is already well above her ankles and midway up her calf when she thinks to register the temperature of it.

Warm enough, at this depth at least. Welcoming with each collapse that laps at her knees, cat nuzzling into her palm and licking at the skin, whiskers of seagrasses.

She wades in further, until her fingertips meet the surface, the tendril of blood diluting in the water only momentarily visible like cleaning off a quill, a space she could write messages and no one else would find them, despite what careless talk the rivers carried to the estuaries to be laid to rest here.  

She steps in further still, to her hips, her waist, her chest, her shoulders - her hair splaying out all around her on the surface.

She wonders how deep the ocean is,

how long she can hold her breath-

Imogen learned to swim in a flooded quarry. The water was an unusually bright light turquoise from all of the minerals.

It was terribly deep;

she was never able to reach the bottom.

She floats on her back, further into the water than the point where the small waves swell; bobbing steadily as if a baby in a cot, swayed to sleep by the melodies of their mother -

she recalls songs she overheard in town squares and inn-corners, as she has no voice or memory to assign to her family’s own.

She’s buried in the graveyard of the local church. Liliana; sun-bleached and splintered. Papa couldn’t afford a headstone but his friend did as good a job as he could at carving a plank of pinewood.

By the time Imogen was leaving, the elements had already done a fair business of trying to erase her momma’s name - just as the worms had successfully done to her body.

On the day she left she visited her one last time. She had made her best attempt at re-sharpening the points and removing the chew from the serif of the carved text with her dagger, used her neckerchief to brush off the clumps of moss, and wiped the whole plank down with a rag she had doused in linseed oil.

She isn’t sure whether it should be seen as disrespectful that she used the same blade to shuck shells for some noble woman who coulda afforded her momma a headstone made of marble; that the same nobility shared in such fruits with her, that Imogen licked its steel length whilst on her knees and before her. She never knew her, so she won’t ever know - clarifying, the arms of the ocean - Imogen never knew her mother and never will.

She never knew her, so it shouldn’t matter. 

Sometimes such a thought is a comfort; though maybe Imogen is confusing the source of such comfort with the contact of the warmth of an undulating tide, making itself more plush to her back than any cot or mattress she has ever slept on

(well, all except one. The guest bed didn’t fill her ears with a perpetual hum and a buzz occupied with the resonance of an ocean’s worth of rippling bodies)

rumours

false memories

Not a discernible heartbeat. Maybe it’s so many hearts that it all becomes a homogenous murmur.

Jellyfish, the bow of a fishing boat, seaweed that grows in dense thicket clumps, arms reaching, grabbing, pulling

cats’ eyes, teeth of shells and fishbone ribs

the Lady’s barnacle canines-

Her finger is bleeding and still that is not enough to draw any attention. What distinguishes the seaweed from the hornwort? Is it the salt and brine?

circling the earth like an old wives’ tale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tits out for the ocean. i was fortunate enough to get something commissioned to draw from my regency-ish au

[onioety]

I can’t get the Relativity Falls au out of my head, so have some sketches!! Somehow inverted roles, but many characters have their own story peculiarities to fit their personalities. Obviously, Stan and Ford take Dipper and Mabel’s original role (but there’s not a strict Dipper-Ford, Stan-Mabel role swap, just strong parallelism).

Fidd’s going to be their friend, around their age (considering if he’s gonna work at the MS or not) and Bill somehow takes a role similar to Gideon’s. Likewise, Gideon will taken Bill’s role in the form of the star of telepathy. I considered keeping Bill as the og Bill but my self-indulgent ass wanted him to interact with Ford and the other kids and imagine him having a ‘’’’’’normal’’’’’’ childhood.

Ah yes, instead of Waddles, Stan has a pet possum named Splinters👍🏼

Anyways!!!! Time to draw their adult counterparts and more characters! I’ll probably post another post yapping about all their backstories later on 🙂‍↕️

[darling-keoko]

First meeting

Caesar x Male!Reader

Oc x male reader.

Warnings⚠: M! Reader turned 18 Caesar is 19 but over all this is just their first meeting. Reader being a gay in denial

You live in a small town where everyone knows everyone. So news got around quickly about a new family moving in.

Some one bursts into your room while you were daydreaming.

"M/n! Wake your ass up!" They pulled you up from of your bed.

"Mghhh... What do you want... Today is my off day."

The male effortlessly pulled you up from off your comfy bed, and that person was no other than your one and only friend Sam.

You and Sam met on a playground when you both were 12. He was the only child your age that you had interest in, all the other kids was far out of your age range.

But he wasn't the only friend you had.. There was this one boy that was so beautiful to you... You still don't remember his name or face but you do remember when your parents had to drag you away from him when he had to move.

Sam snaps his finger in front of your face trying to wake you up again.

"Earth to M/n. Cmon! The new family is moving in and I heard that they have a hot smart son." Sam grinned stupidly, drooling at the thought of a new person here in our age range for him to play with...

"Jee... Gimmie a moment, Sam. Let me put on my pants first."

You groggily and lazily searched for some clean pants to wear.

"Gosh... Your room is fucking dirty, man. No wonder you can't pull."

You found some clean pants and put them on, ignoring Sam's complaints.

"Then clean it for me. You know I don't have time to clean it 24/7."

Sam rolls his eyes pulling you out of your room, downstairs to where your mama is cooking breakfast, bumping into her nearly making the cookie batter fall out of her hands.

She yelled at the both of you (mainly Sam) and hit Sam with a wooden spoon clearly not happy about him dragging me along the house.

"You two boys needa stop playin' so much! You nearly made me drop this cookie dough I was making for the new neighbors."

She hit Sam with the wooden spoon she had in her hands.

"Agh-! Okay, okay, Aunty! I'm sorry!"

He rubbed the start where your mam hit him with a small childish pout on his face.

"That hurt.... How come M/n didn't get hit too?"

Your Mom rolled her eyes at Sam's pouting and complaining, putting the cookies in the oven as she shooed him away.

"Wait, where is M/n, Miss. Smith."

Ms. Smith kissed her teeth patting her sweat away with the towel she had around her neck.

"I don't know. Go find him if your so worried."

She opens the fridge grabbing a apple and throwing it to Sam.

"When you find him give him this... He hasn't ate anything all day. Now stop asking questions."

You were at the first place you and your first friend met. Inside of the treehouse.

You entered it. it was a bit dusty since you last been in here about 6 years ago. You sat down on the hammock that was made out of your old childhood blankets.

You let out a deep sigh as you recall memories from the past.

꧁𐂂꧂

9 years ago you were running into the forest with some blankets and pillows you took from your room.

You and your moma got into some silly arguement about not having pets so you got mad and ran away.

You planned to stay in the random tree house you found in the forest forever, surviving off of snacks.

You climbed up the tree, getting a few splinters from the wood. You entered the tree house

"Whoa who are you, I've never seen you around here and why are in my treehouse?"

You said to the girl that was sitting in your treehouse curled into a ball.

She curiously lifted his head to meet your gaze.

"O-oh... I didn't know this was your tree house... My name is Serine..."

Serine got up from where she was sitting, grabbing the chips he was eating before you came in.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know this treehouse belonged to someone... It looked pretty abandoned."

"I can leave if you want... I don't mind"

You place down your blankets, flopping onto the pile.

"Nah, you can stay. My name is M/n by the way."

You smiled at Serine warmly.

"Ah!"

Serine blushed a bit before responding.

"You have a nice name."

She sat back down, sighing, sitting down in the same position you met her in.

"Thanks you to!"

You both sat in silence for a while the only sound that could be heard was her crunching on his chips and baby birds chirping.

"So... How old are you?"

You said trying to make conversation with her.

"I just turned nine years old."

She held up nine fingers, pausing before saying anything else.

"My parents wanted me to live with my Grammy for my 9th birthday."

Your eyes lit up when she said that.

"Your nine?! Can we be bestfriends, we're the same age!... Well almost... But I'm 7!"

You held up 7 fingers waving your hands in front of her face.

"I turned 7 two months ago, in April!"

You exclaimed excitedly... There was a small twitch in he girls lips before she burst out laughing.

"Your 2 years younger than me. We aren't the same age silly."

She smiled at you as you pouted at her loud outburst of laughter.

"Hey! It's close enough."

"Whatever you say, M/n."

She stayed quiet for a moment before commenting something else.

"Your a cutie. Your like the little brother I've never had."

An idea popped in her head... You could've seen it on her face.

"I should start calling you little bro. Your my baby brother."

You frowned at the nickname she gave you clearly not liking the name 'little bro'

"Anyways. Why are you in my treehouse... Are you hiding from a ninja?"

Serine was a bit confused when you said that but she decided to play along in your childish day dreams

She puts a finger on her lips making a shh sound.

"Be quiet... The ninjas might hear you..."

She places a chip on her tongue crunching quietly on it.

"I stole this bag of chips from the ninjas... That's why they're chasing me."

She whispered, showing you the bag of chips. It was the original lays chips.

Your eyes sparkled in interest when she said that.

"Really!"

You yelled out not even trying to whisper.

"M/n! Quiet... They might hear you"

"Oh, sorry... Really?"

You said in a whisper this time.

"Noooo. Your silly, you know. Ninjas are not in America, theyre in Asia"

"Wait, really!? How do you know-"

After that encounters you and Serine became friends... Until...

"Mommy! I don't wanna go without M/n. He's my friend."

Serine yelled out as she tried to pull her arm out of her fathers grasp with no luck. Her father just picked her up and placed her in the car... The last thing she saw was your crying face.

꧁𐂂꧂

You let out a deep sigh as you shifted positions in the makeshift hammock.

You closed your eyes slowly falling asleep...

2 hours later

You woke up to loud rustling.

"What? Who's there!?"

You got up quickly just to fall back down onto the hammock.

"Hello?"

A young lady voice could've been heard.

Your eyes readjust to the lighting to see a young man, looks like they're at least 18 years old in front of you.

"Huh... Who are you?"

The male eyes widen in surprised as he realized who you were.

"M/n?...i can't believe your still here!?"

You looked at him with an confused facial expression. He caught onto your expression quickly and decided to clear up your confusion.

"It's me... Serine... Well... My name is Caesar now."

Your eyes sparked with interest when the man who calls himself Serine reintroduced himself.

"Serine? Is it really you?"

You stood up too quickly that your body don't even had time to register what you were doing before it happened.

Slam⊰

You fell bringing Caesar with you.

"Agh-... Sorry... "

You rubbed your arm that you fell on. You opened your eyes to see Caesar below of you looking up at you in concern.

"Are you alright?... "

You blushed at the predicament that you got yourself in.

Caesar looked cuter up close... You could've barely seen him from that far away but as your eyes adjusted to the light... Omg what are you thinking? Your not gay? Or are you ;1

"I'm so sorry, Caesar."

You got off him helping him up before brushing your clothes off.

꧁𐂂꧂

You and Caesar sat in awkward silence for a while... By a while I mean until sunset.

"Uhm... So...how was your nap."

Caesar said with an very awkward smile plastered on his face.

"Please be quiet... I can't stand the awkwardness right now..."

A/n: so that's basically the end of the first meeting story... And yes it took me a week and 5 drafts to come up with this one story. Part two is coming soon (In like in 6-7 business days) but I hope you enjoy the so called introduction to the characters but we will be introduced to more In the future, but that'll have to wait since I'm going to work on Beom-Moon. And before I forget please tell me if I made any errors in spelling, sentences and etc, I will try to fix it quickly.

[kit-williams]

Ok resend of the other sfw Husbandry scenario

A Pre-Heresy Primarch ends up in the Husbandry World. Dealers choice on which one. Bonus points for dramatic irony if it's one of the dead ones and/or one of the ones who nobody would expect having time, patience, or chill to deal with baseline humans.

He was going to an audience with his Father. It was mid-day on holy Terra. How in the Void did he end up in the middle of a temperate rainforest on a damp and misty night in the beat between one breath and the next?! Fortunately he can hear the occasional sounds of distant vehicles pasing on some sort of paved road. Armored boots sinking into well soaked forest floor he began his measured treck through forested mountian terrain.

The most logical course of action was to find the road. From the road he can find some form of settlement. Which in turn will enable him to determine if he's on a human world or a xenos one. If it's a xenos world? He can begin cleansing it. If it's a human one? Hopefully it's already within the Imperium. That failing he can begin the processing of draging this world, kicking and screaming if need be, into the Emperor's light.

The screach of ruber folowed by dull sharp shatteing glass, the harsh crunch deforming metal metal and the dull crack of splintering wood drew him the rest of the way towards the road. Accompanied by the familiar scent of blood, the sharp scent of hydrocarbons and the piercing wails of an infant.

He reached the vehicle as a stray spark ignited the iso-octane and heptane around the engine. The adult baselines in the front seat were already dead on his scans. The infant's detachable crash harness served it's function admirably however. Instinct impelled him to rip off the door of the primative vehicle and peel back it's roof. A few quick slashes freed the infant harness and all from the impending inferno. He even dumped the lose blanket and stuffed toy into the harnes with the child as he pulled them out. Fifteen seconds later the car burst into flames.

The moment he looked down to meet the childs eyes he felt some thing all the way down to his soul. His first priority shifted, he needed to reach civilization to ensure the child's safety. Carefully cradling the crash harness in one arm he draped his cloak over it to protect the little one from the drizzle.

One short martch in the direction of the vehicle had been headed prior to the crash and a patroling of his sons intercepted him. The rain had even stopped so his precious bundel was uncovered. What he did not expect was for the Sargeant to take off his helmet and gloves off to rub his eyes in disbelief when he hailed them or for one of them to drop to his knees and begin the Litany of Thanksgiving for the Emperor's Deliverance. He certainly did not expect the final member of the squad to clatter to the ground in a dead faint.

@egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@ms--lobotomy @nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog @felinisnoctis @riokunova

@superunkn0wn @bookandyarndragon

SO I'm probably going to do something like this for all the Primarchs but for now I decided on Lorgar! (if ya'll can remind me in a week or so to come back to this please )

Lorgar coos down at the baby in his arms his finger gently pressing down on their stomach and chest as the rain picked up again. He's taken to cooing hymnals to Father to try and soothe the baby in his grasp. His sons are trying to wake their brother but the Sargent walks over to Lorgar. "Father we will need you to come to base."

"Do you know what has happened to me?"

There was a tension in the air, "We have to get to base first. I am not at liberty to explain."

"Why not." Lorgar said and his sons could feel the weight of his words... the full brunt of his authority in this moment.

The Sargent flinched under this direct gaze of his Father, "There is much I am not allowed to say. All I can say is that the situation is grave... things are not how they appear. There are those who know more and those who can explain what is going on better than I. I apologize Father that I cannot... but we must get the baseline infant out of the rain.

The walk to the base was filled with the sound of rain as it was clear to Lorgar that this was not a hive city as the rain was only lightly polluted but not enough to turn the rain acidic. His sons had tried to take the babe from him and he refused to be parted. Something was amiss as he was shepherded to a room seeing a council of his... sons? One was covered in symbology he only recognized in the ancient dark texts that Erebus was fond of... spikes growing from his skin and out of his armor.

"So you are here." One of them said with a reverence in his voice mixed with disbelief.

"Where is here." Lorgar said causing all but the spiked marine to flinch under his direct command.

"Calm yourself Father." The spiked Astartes says, "We will explain to you what has occurred. But please allow the medicae to check over the child." He gestures to a human that has entered the room and Lorgar hands them their carrier watching them gently take them out before laying them on a gurney before rolling them away. "Will you answer us this? Where were you before you arrived."

"I was going to see Father! I had arrived on Terra not that long ago. Why is this important." The air grew thick with Lorgar's displeasure at being questioned by his own sons and not receiving answers.

Finally one of the council broke, "You are on Terra. This is Terra circa M3."

Lorgar simply inhaled as his eyes darted thinking about the implications. "Oh. I see." He simply said.

"Will you tell us when you are from father?"

"Why does that matter." Lorgar couldn't stop the growl in his voice.

The son that had yet to speak finally spoke up, "Because we are not all from the same time. I am from before you have been reunited with the legion. He is from after you've been reunited, and he," He points to his twisted brother with distain.

"I am from M41." They practically purr with delight.

Lorgar inhales again digesting the information... this had a dozen implications that brothers far more invested in the sciences would have them rattling off... but this... "A test of faith... " Lorgar whispered before smiling and clapping his hands together, "Right! Well I've been told there are things I must know so I suppose we shall get started on that."

The air in the base relaxed from its ball of intensity as it all would surely be okay given that their Genesire was handling it well.