#probably flea infested

[some-assholes-familiar]

Haha yeah… so you may wanna get a rabies check…

your poor little meow meow fucking bit me

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Valar Morghulis (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon cannot understand Viserys. Trusting Otto Hightower was one thing, but a Red Priestess? His brother must be out of his mind. But if he is, why does Daemon want you so much?

Warnings: Mature language. Lord of Light. Stalking (Daemon's version)

A/N: Now with a Pt 2. For the anon that said "I wanna be yours" x Daemon, you have my whole heart. Tagging: @just-some-random-blogger and @aias-fxtns because I need the support (First fic after breakup) and both of you are lovely artists!

EXILE HAD ALWAYS suited him. Or at least, that was what Daemon liked to pretend. It made Viserys’ constant dismissals easier to bear. Easier to accept.

And he had to accept it. Because he could not imagine a world in which he wouldn’t love Viserys, wouldn’t attempt to protect him. If he resented his brother, that task turned harder and harder.

It wasn’t as if exile was so bad. Daemon loved getting to know the world around him. He had a taste for the foreign and exotic, at least per westerosi standards.

It was only natural that when the rumor about the Red Priestess Viserys’s court reached his ears, he had to return. Planning a war in Driftmark could wait. Viserys' sudden bout of madness could not.

A red witch of all things! What was Viserys’ thinking? Daemon knew all about them. About how they were fanatical in their worship, how they performed blood magics similar to those that had brought the doom of Valyria, how they burned alive those they perceived as unfaithful. But most of all, how great they were at bending men to their wills.

So focused Daemon had been on the infestation of local snakes they had at court, he had never thought there would be room for essosi ones. Now, he had to rid Viserys of his latest plague.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen!” The guard announces, and truly, the security here is so lax, Daemon is surprised no one has murdered Viserys yet. Is Otto trying to purposefully get him killed, has he forgotten Daemon is technically exiled or is it just that he is done too with the witch?

Whichever the cunt’s reasons are for allowing him into the Red Keep, Daemon will not question them if they benefit him. He strode inside Viserys’ rooms, finding his brother carving some figurines, accompanied by the mousey Hightower girl.

She has The Seven Pointed Star in her lap, in a pitiful attempt at piety. She is also dressed in a gown that shows far too much of her chest to be considered demure. Daemon isn’t impressed. He has seen prettier whores in Flea Bottom.

“Brother! You have finally joined us.” Viserys sets down the knife and the figurine, looking surprisingly whole for a man who has just lost his wife and heir. But then again, he seems to have gotten himself a far too young distraction to make up for it.

Daemon tampers down his fury at the greeting. It had been Viserys himself who had ensured his distance, denying him even the barest acknowledgment in the form of a dragon egg for his future children.

He takes a deep breath, and channels all his fury into giving a cold glance at the Hightower girl. It sends her scurrying off, which makes him smile. Seriously, what did Viserys see in her? The girl is as common as any of the serving girls. Aemma had been a true Valyrian beauty, even entertaining the thought of replacing her for this mouse was an insult to her memory.

“I heard disquieting rumors.” Daemon says, voice loud enough the girl can hear him from the doorstep, where she lingers. Probably to inform her cunt of a father. “Of strange visits.”

Daemon watches with amusement as the girl splutters, turning a bright red, before she falls out of the room in her haste to get away. He can hear the guards ask her if she is alright, but Viserys makes no move to help her, his attention firmly on him. He cannot help but preen a bit.

The House of the Dragon would always feel drawn to one another. They were flames, meant to burn together. And no Hightower cunt would get in the way of that. Daemon

is not so naive as to think the girl was in his brother’s rooms in the middle of the afternoon only to read to him about the Seven, though. He would ensure someone spiked her usual tea with some moontea. No need to give dear Otto what he craved so much, after all.

“Do you mean the Red Priestess?” Viserys asks him, not even considering he could be referring to his whore.

“Indeed. Are we in Essos now?” On the bright side, if Daemon is bedding the Hightower girl, Daemon doubts he is bedding the priestess. Which makes her far more dangerous than Daemon expected. A woman so adept at manipulation she can get a King to bend to her will without using her feminine wiles? She had to be a sorceress of the worst kind.

Daemon had to remove her before it was too late.

“Oh, not at all! She just made some interesting insights, that’s all.” Viserys gets up from his chair and takes out a book. It’s bound in red leather, and it has nothing on the cover. “Her views are most refreshing.”

He hands the book to Daemon. He pages through it, eyebrows raising. At least the damn thing is written in High Valyrian, though he doesn't appreciate all the talk of R'hllor and this Great Other.

“By the… Viserys, are you losing your faith?” The more Daemon reads, the more he realizes these stories, from past and futures not yet come to pass, are incompatible with any other gods. It is no wonder the Red Priests and Priestesses are known for burning others if this is their sacred book. “Calling the Fourteen false idols…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Daemon.” Viserys frowns. He doesn’t seem to understand what Daemon is alluding to.

“First, you have Lady… Alicent reading you The Seven Pointed Star. Then, a Red Priestess. Should I expect an ironborn here too? What happened to the Fourteen Flames?”

Viserys meets Daemon’s eyes. For a second, there is silence. Then, much to his indignation, Viserys starts to laugh.

“Oh, brother, is that what worries you? My faith in our ancestral religion is firm. The Red Priestess interested me because she made mentions of an ancient prophecy, one her order should not know about. It was originally made by Aegon the Conqueror.”

A prophecy made by Aegon the Conqueror? Daemon had never heard such a thing. He was quite knowledgeable about the dreamers of his line, yet he had never read mention of Aegon being one.

“Aegon the Conqueror? A dreamer?” Daemon doubted it was true. The priestess must have made it up to get an in with Viserys. He had to admit it was rather clever of her. Somehow, she had looked at him and saw his weak spot. His fascination with dragon dreams.

“He was one. Our grandfather had told me so. The Priestess had no way to know, yet…” All of this was news to Daemon. His eyebrows raised. As if sensing his disbelief, Viserys went on. “His dream is passed from King to heir. It has only made me more confident in naming Rhaenyra as mine. There is no one else better suited to hold the realm.”

“I see.” Daemon, did not, in fact, see. What was the connection between the dream and Rhaenyra ruling? And if this prophecy was passed from king to heir, why was he just learning of it now?

“The Red Priestess isn’t so bad. In fact, I think the two of you would get along quite well. Otto has insisted on banishing her, but I cannot do so in good conscience. Not when she sees so clearly, and when she is able to wield the magic of the pyromancers of Old Valyria.”

“Does she?” Daemon echoes, faintly. His mind is still reeling with the fact that Viserys had never truly considered him his heir. Viserys continues talking, and Daemon continues making all the right noises, but the thought haunts him for the rest of the day.

R’HLLOR HAD BLESSED you with a large family. Your heart swelled when you thought of it, the joy you felt so profound, it brought tears to your eyes.

You had sisters and brothers strewn all over Essos, and soon you would have more of them in Westeros. At least, if things went as planned. Which you were now doubting, knowing you would mess this up.

You had never met your birth family. When you had been very young, they had sold you to the Red Temple in exchange for six gold coins. You remembered nothing about them, and for it, you were glad. It was best, your mentors have said, to not remember the night and its terrors and to only know light.

Many of the children who were sold to the temple never managed to amount to anything. If they were lucky, they became servants, cleaning and cooking after the priests and priestesses. If they were not, they grew up to be the temple’s prostitutes.

When you had arrived at the temple, young and half starved, one of the priests had seen something in you. No otherworldly beauty, no talent at servitude, but an unyielding spark and a keen intelligence that one could not acquire, no matter how much one meditated and prayed.

Some people were just born with it. Touched by the God of Light, a shining crown placed atop their heads that only trained eyes could see. Destined for great things.

You had never seen it yourself, but whatever the priest had seen had been proven right. They had soon learned you had an uncanny ability when it came to learning new languages. It had made you star rise among your peers. You were the perfect envoy to spread the word of salvation.

Anyone could scry through flames, if given enough practice, and any could manipulate fire if they knew the secrets of the ancient arts. With the careful nurturing of your mentors, you had been ready to go out in the world as soon as you had reached your majority, but this was actually your first trip. Any woman on her own was in danger, and so, not only learning the mysteries of your god was needed, but confidence and abilities at self-defense.

By the time you had been ready to venture out in the world, you were a respectable age, though absolutely inexperienced. Not that you would tell King Viserys that, of course.

You had chosen the Seven Kingdoms as your first destination on recommendation from your mentors. It was likely you would be rejected by the King, though you would not face any danger. The followers of the Faith of the Seven had mellowed out after that nasty business two Kings ago, and so, no one would call for your immediate execution.

It was supposed to be a good experience, to learn how foreign courts worked and to practice your opening speech. There was nothing really at stake, not their faith nor your life, so the rejection wouldn’t matter much in the great scheme of things.

Yet, you were still nervous. Crippling, terrible doubt had taken hold of your heart. What if the people hated you so much, their hearts and minds closed to the word of your Lord? If you made such a bad impression they refused to be saved?

The only thing that reassured you was that everything was going as expected. The commoners feared you, the Hand protested your presence and the King, too peaceful to refuse, had agreed to see you.

Today was the day you had been waiting for, and you were feeling nervous. Speaking in public, thanks to your training, wasn’t longer nerve racking as it once had been. Speaking in front of a court caused you a bit more anxiety, but you took comfort in all the formalities. What worried you wasn't making a bad impression, you worried you were about to be so terrible they would refuse to let you speak at all.

The throne room was filled to the brim. Nobles and commoners alike had come to see the foreign witch, said to be able to kill men with a glance and make night into day. Between all of them, one face stood from the crowd. The Hand, Otto Hightower, had a pinched expression, and he clutched at the pin denoting his station as if it would protect him from you.

He, just as the crowd did, imagined you as some enchantress, a sorcerer capable of bending reality to her will. You didn’t want them to be disappointed, so you had put on your best red gown, one that cling to the curves you had, and gave the illusion of those you didn’t. The curly red hair, that you dyed every month with crushed leaves, only served to give you a more otherworldly air.

The Iron Throne was a terrible thing, made from half melted swords that looked more likely to stab anyone sitting on it than serving its purpose. King Viserys was sitting on it, fresh blood dripping from a cut on his forearm. A bad omen, if what you had heard was to be believed.

You dropped into a graceful curtsy, making sure to keep a coy smile on your face. The King didn’t seem interested, which was good. You weren’t interested in him either.

“Your Grace, I come bearing news about salvation.” You started, as you got up. “I was hoping you would allow me to share them in your court.”

“Of course, Lady…” King Viserys was beginning to agree, but as your eyes scanned the crowd, you saw her. The silver woman.

She was standing a bit to the side, hands clasped behind her back, looking just as lovely as she would in a few years, when she would birth the Prince who was fated to be a part of the line that would bring Azor Ahai.

Dazed with the revelation, you stumbled towards her. To think your order had sought all over Planetos, only to find her here. In the single corner of the world your light had not managed to reach.

And, oh, the honor it was, to be the one to meet her, to guide her, to serve her… You could hardly believe it. Your heart beat so hard inside your chest, you feared you may faint. Your hands sweated. This was your destiny, your purpose. You could finally understand it all.

As you moved towards her, a spear was placed in your path. You stared at it, and at the man who held it. Young, tanned, and wearing a white cloak. With a gesture, you set it alight. It took you considerable effort to do so in such a small amount of time, flames weaker than you would like, but it was enough to burn the fingers of the knight and not make you look too threatening.

“Ah!” He jerked back, letting go of the burning metal. Before he could draw his sword, you lunged for the silver woman.

“I have seen you in the flames.” You said, curtsying as low as you could. Yet, another white knight stepped in, sword drawn. “In hearths, candles, in pyres. Wearing a golden crown.”

The Hand scoffed. But the King, suddenly, was attentive.

“Let her pass.” He ordered.

“Father, surely…” The woman, your silver princess, looked afraid, but the knight obeyed and you were already moving. You threw yourself at her feet and kissed her hands. Her skin, pale as alabaster against your darker one, felt supple in your grip.

She was lovely and terrible, and silver. A beacon of light, in this very room. Unbidden, the prophecies dropped from your lips as water poured from a goblet. Even with the little time you had been in her presence, you could feel your powers sharpening, your vision extending. She was a being of pure magic.

“Azor Ahai shall be born from your line. The Prince promised to unite us all.” You looked into her eyes, hoping to convey the importance of your message. There had been times when you had doubted your faith, but when her amethyst eyes met your brown ones, you felt alight with righteous purpose, flesh turning into goosebumps.

The silver woman gasped, breaking the eye contact to look at something above your head. You turned to look, too, annoyed at the disruption. The only thing you found was the King looking at you in what you thought was the same way you looked at her.

“Rise, Priestess. I would like very much to have you in my court. I look forward to hearing your insights.” King Viserys said, voice shaking.

And that was it. The matter was settled, you were staying in the Red Keep. You even had a suite of rooms for yourself, that included a working space, a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathing room. You! The girl who had been sold to a temple for six gold pieces.

Your whole life had been leading up to this. R’hollor had light up your path, guided you through the darkest nights, pulled you down the worst terrors, only to get you here. Next to your silver princess.

As you willed a small bonfire to life, you prayed to your god for guidance, during the vigil that awaited you. King Viserys had only allowed you small fires, contained to the braziers placed in your workspace. It didn’t matter. You knew he was listening regardless.

“Lord of Light, guide me. Defend me, protect me in this darkness. Lord of Light, that your face shines upon us. Guide me to the right path, allow my mouth only to form words of praise to you, allow me to speak the right sentences to convince them of our righteous cause.”

This was the greatest challenge you would face, you thought to yourself, as the flames raised higher and higher. As the sun fell, and you stood, alone during the long night.

“Strengthen me, show me the way. If you have chosen me for this task, you must guide me to complete it. Celestial father, God above. You who sees it all.”

He had to help you. He had to. Because no matter how good at sorcery you were, you had never preached his word to anyone beyond the faithful of your temple. Now, you stood between Westeros and the long night, and it was imperative that they converted so you could save them all.

Around you, the flames roared.

A SHAME YOU were the worst kind of snake there was, for you were the most exquisite creature Daemon had ever laid eyes upon.

He had been standing in the secret passage for a good half an hour, watching you putter around in your working space. The suite of rooms Viserys had given you was adjacent to the rooms that he was placed in, which made observing you much easier.

The rooms looked like a nightmare come to life, a roaring inferno inside them that made Daemon worry you would catch fire. Between braziers and candles, you stood, dressed in long red robes. You were chanting under your breath, in rapid fire High Valyrian that even he struggled to understand.

“Keep us away from darkness, my lord. You are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the warmth in our bellies. Yours is the sun that warms our days, the stars that guard us in the darkest nights. For the night is dark and full of terrors.” You spun around the room, in figures that only made sense to you, dancing in wild abandon. A lesser man might find it terrifying, but Daemon only saw beauty.

Dangerous beauty. Beauty that could be destroyed at any instant, if you moved the wrong way and your robes caught fire. Yet, somehow, you steered your steps just right, dancing between the flames.

“Thank you for the sun that warms us, the stars that light our paths. Thank you for the fires in our hearths, and the torches that will keep darkness at bay.” In the confusing low light of the chambers, bathed by red light from the fire, you didn’t look human. You looked like something beyond humanity, a terrifying witch taken straight out of the cursed Valyria. Yet, it was impossible to look away. Your beauty was inhumane, dark skin shining like polished obsidian in the low light, red curls tumbling like a cascade of fire over your shoulders.

“Lord of Light, protect your servant. Guide me, do not allow me to stray.” You danced in an odd circle, stopping right in front of the wall where Daemon was hiding in. “Show me your mysteries.”

And somehow, it felt as if you were talking to him. Daemon froze in place, not even daring to breathe. How could you know of the secret passage? You had only resided in the Red Keep for a couple of days.

You didn’t move. You stared at the wall, or rather, through it. Even with the stone and the metal screen separating the two of you, Daemon felt as if you were staring him down.

Perhaps, your sorcery wasn’t just clever parlor tricks. Perhaps, you were even more dangerous than he imagined.

You were pure fire. And dragons loved to burn.

[heliosunny]

Imagine Chuuya Nakahara x the poor janitor who has to pach all the wholes he punches in the wall as well as kleen up all the blood he tracks through the hall after a mission.

The first time they interact is when Chuuya gets back from a meeting that pissed him off and Immediately punches a hole in the wall like 3 feet from the one that you just patched. You've been cleaning up after him all day and you are pissed. So you cuss him out harder than anyone he's ever met before your brain catches up to you and you go as pale as a sheet.

You didn't just cuss out your superior. You cussed out your bosses bosses boss. You are so dead.

Meanwhile, Chuuya is reeling from meeting a man (masc presenting they/them) shorter than him with some of the most imaginative swears he's ever heard.

He's kind of falling hard, but obviously, this insubordination can't go unpunished. 😈

Yandere!Chuuya x Janitor!Reader

Your day had been hell.

Blood. Glass. Dust. Blood again. Another goddamn hole in the wall. You had barely just finished patching the last one when a fresh one appeared three feet away, courtesy of none other than Chuuya Nakahara himself.

The redhead was still standing there, gloved fist clenched, chest rising and falling with the kind of barely-restrained fury that made men piss themselves. His coat swayed with the force of his own movement, and his hat was slightly askew from how roughly he’d yanked it off his head earlier.

You should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You snapped.

Chuuya’s head turned toward you so fast you heard the crack of his neck. His eyes, still burning with residual rage, locked onto yours with razor-sharp focus. It was the first time he’d actually looked at you beyond a passing glance.

Your brain, however, was still playing catch-up to your mouth.

"I just patched the last one! Do you have any idea how much work you make for me?! You waltz in, track blood everywhere, and punch the goddamn walls like a rabid mutt throwing a tantrum—may the fleas of a thousand sewer rats infest your hat!"

You gestured wildly to the destruction he’d left behind, anger fueling you past the point of self-preservation.

“Do you know how many walls I’ve had to fix today? How many fucking times I’ve had to clean up after your tantrums? Do I look like your goddamn babysitter, you overgrown ginger leprechaun—”

Your breath caught in your throat as your brain finally caught up with your mouth.

The blood drained from your face so fast you felt lightheaded.

You didn’t just cuss out Chuuya Nakahara.

You cussed out your superior. Your bosses’ bosses’ boss.

You were so dead.

The silence was suffocating.

Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat counting down to your inevitable demise. You waited for the snap of fingers, the crush of gravity, or at the very least, a punch to the face.

Instead, Chuuya laughed.

Not a short, cruel chuckle. No, a full-bodied, damn-near delighted laugh.

His rage from earlier had all but vanished, replaced with something far more unnerving. His eyes gleamed with intrigue as he stared at you, head tilted slightly like he was sizing you up.

“Well, well.” His voice was smooth, carrying a dangerous amusement. “Didn’t know we had someone with a death wish on janitorial duty.”

You opened your mouth, probably to apologize, but he stepped closer, crowding into your space in a way that made you instinctively straighten your back.

“You got a hell of a mouth on you.” He smirked, flashing sharp canines. “Real fuckin’ creative. Haven’t heard someone talk to me like that in years.”

You swallowed hard.

He lifted a gloved hand, and you flinched, only for him to gently tap a finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly.

“…I like it.”

Uh oh

It started as a game. At least, that’s what you thought.

Chuuya went out of his way to make your job harder. He tracked in blood with slow, deliberate steps, watching with barely contained amusement as you scrubbed the stains. He broke things, little things, just to see how you’d react. Once, he even knocked over an entire shelf of wine bottles, of course those are new bottles bought just to mess with you, the deep red liquid splashing like blood across the marble.

“Oops” he said, feigning innocence. “Guess someone’s gotta clean that up.”

You seethed. He smirked.

And the worst part? He wasn’t just enjoying your anger, he was memorizing you. Watching the way your brows furrowed, the way your mouth twisted when you cursed at him under your breath. Every interaction, every insult, every glare, he drank it in like a fine vintage, savoring the burn.

But at some point, the game shifted.

Your shifts changed. You started spending more time stationed near Chuuya’s office.

Hadn’t you been assigned different halls last week?

Co-workers stopped talking to you as much. Conversations cut short when you entered a room. Eyes flicked away when you tried to meet them. Even the few friends you had in the Mafia seemed… distant.

Had something happened?

You never got an answer. But you felt the weight of a gaze, even when you were alone.

It wasn’t until one day when you were accused of being a spy that everything changed.

The suspicion came out of nowhere. Perhaps someone had it out for you, or maybe you had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, before you knew it, you were dragged into an interrogation room cold, dimly lit, with only a single chair in the center. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you sat, hands gripping the edge of the seat.

And then, Chuuya walked in.

Your stomach twisted. Of all people, why him?

He didn't look angry. If anything, he looked... pleased. Amused, even.

“Spy, huh?” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Gotta say, I don’t buy it. But rules are rules, and I do love a good interrogation.”

You swallowed.

The questions started simple. Routine. But as the minutes stretched, the atmosphere shifted. Chuuya got closer. Leaned in, his voice dropping into something softer, teasing.

His ability came into play. Floating objects, subtle weight shifts that left you off balance. You tried to stay still, to keep your focus, but he was making it impossible.

“Relax” he murmured after a long pause. “I know you’re not a spy.”

You blinked, breath catching in your throat. “Then why—”

He grinned. “Had to make it look convincing, didn’t I? Can’t have anyone else punishing my janitor.”

Your stomach twisted. His?

You weren’t sure if you should be relieved or terrified.

It wasn’t until one evening, when you left HQ late, the halls dimly lit, your footsteps echoing—that you truly felt it.

A presence. A shadow behind you.

You turned sharply, breath caught in your throat.

Nothing.

And yet, as you reached your door that night, a bottle of wine sat neatly on your doorstep, a single note tucked beneath it.

Good night, dear janitor of mine.

Your hands trembled as you clenched the paper, the scrawl unmistakable.

It's been a while after being interrogated, Chuuya still stuck around, messing up with you whenever he could. Worse? Chuuya started using his ability on you—not in violence, but in something far more insidious. Floating objects just out of reach, making you stumble, creating little moments where you had no choice but to grab onto him, to depend on him.

It was playful. Teasing. Flirting, even.

Until the day he saw you talking to someone else.

You had been cleaning, laughing at something one of the lower-ranked members said. The sound was light, genuine, and not directed at him.

Chuuya saw red.

The next moment, the poor bastard was weightless, his body yanked off the ground and slammed against the wall with a force that rattled the entire hall.

The laughter died. The smile slipped from your lips.

Chuuya stood there, breathing evenly, eyes gleaming in the dim light. Daring you to say something. Your heart pounded. You weren’t sure if it was fear or something far more dangerous.

For the first time in weeks, Chuuya doesn’t stop you.

No teasing remark, no subtle hand on your wrist, no quiet redirection. Just a lazy glance as you pick up your things and head toward the exit.

The hallway stretches long before you, leading to the outside world. Your steps are hesitant at first. Waiting for the catch. But nothing happens. No sudden shift in gravity, no invisible force pinning you down.

Your fingers brush against the door handle. It turns easily. You’re free. The cold air outside stings your skin, but you don’t stop. You keep walking, faster and faster, through the city streets. No destination in mind—just away.

But something is wrong.

The streets are full, yet no one looks at you. People pass by, eyes flicking over you as if you don’t exist. You step into a store, try to greet the cashier, no response. You call out again.

Nothing.

You pull out your phone. The signal is fine. You dial the number of an old coworker, someone who used to joke with you before everything changed. The phone rings… and rings… and rings.

No answer.

You try another. Then another. Then a number you don’t even recognize, just to see if someone, anyone will pick up.

But the moment you speak, the line goes dead.

Your stomach turns. Your breathing quickens.

Something isn’t right.

You turn a corner and nearly collide with someone, an older man carrying a grocery bag. Relief sparks in your chest as you grab his sleeve. “Excuse me, I just—”

The words die in your throat.

Because the man is staring past you, as if you aren’t even there.

Your grip tightens. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

You shake him. Hard. His body jerks, but his face remains blank, gaze still unfocused. Like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

A shiver crawls up your spine.

You spin around, heart hammering, and suddenly… you feel it.

The weight of an invisible leash. The heavy, suffocating pull of something unseen.

“Had fun?”

You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

But you do. Slowly.

Chuuya stands a few feet away, leaning against a streetlamp.

He looks relaxed. Smug. Like he had been expecting this exact outcome.

Like he had planned it.

You step back instinctively, but the second your foot moves, the weight in your chest tightens, the air thick with something wrong.

Chuuya watches, his smirk widening.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is almost gentle. “Didn’t like what you found out here?”

“What… what did you do?”

His expression doesn’t change. “I didn’t do anything.” He gestures lazily to the empty space around you. “This is just how things are.”

Lies. It has to be a lie. But the proof is all around you, the blank-eyed strangers, the ringing phone calls, the way the world feels hollow.

It’s not real.

Chuuya pushes off the streetlamp and takes a step forward. Then another.

You don’t move. You can’t.

“C’mon, Y/n,” he murmurs, reaching out to tilt your chin up. The warmth of his touch burns. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

“Knew what?”

He leans in, lips ghosting over your ear.

“That there’s nowhere else for you to be.”

The finality in his tone shatters something deep inside you.

Chuuya chuckles, slow and knowing, before his arm slips around your waist, guiding you back the way you came.

“Let’s go home.”

From the moment he decided you were his, Chuuya began shaping your reality. At first, it was small things, your shifts were quietly adjusted so that you were always near him. People who used to chat with you started pulling away, avoiding eye contact, offering short answers before making excuses to leave.

It wasn’t because they suddenly disliked you.

It was because Chuuya made them afraid to interact with you.

A glance from him was enough. A single careless comment, something as simple as, “You don’t want to get too close, do you?” spoken with a lazy smirk but an undertone of quiet threat, was all it took. Nobody wanted to be on Chuuya Nakahara’s bad side. So they stopped talking to you. Stopped acknowledging you.

When you walked out of the building, you thought you were free.

You weren’t.

Chuuya let you leave. And that was the trick—he didn’t physically restrain you because he didn’t need to. The real cage wasn’t a locked door. It was the world itself.

Once you stepped outside, you were met with a city that no longer felt real. And that was because it wasn’t.

Chuuya used his ability in a way most people wouldn’t think of: he extended his gravitational control, not just over objects, but over perception itself. He warped the space around you, subtly altering how gravity interacted with sound waves, vision, and even movement.

Your voice? Drowned out before it could truly reach anyone.

Your presence? Blurred and insignificant, like an afterimage nobody could focus on.

The people you tried to talk to? They weren’t hypnotized or mind-controlled, they were just subtly redirected. Gravity is influence, and Chuuya made sure they never truly registered you.

Phones rang endlessly, not because the calls were blocked, but because Chuuya ensured your signal never really connected. Messages disappeared into the void. Strangers unconsciously looked past you, as if their brains couldn’t quite process your existence.

To them, you were nothing.

The genius of Chuuya’s method was that he didn’t force you back.

He let you discover, piece by piece, that the world outside of him had nothing for you. And the moment you realized that, the moment the panic set in, that was when he appeared.

Chuuya wasn’t cruel about it. He didn’t sneer or mock your fear. Instead, he was gentle. He gave you that knowing smile, the one that sent a shiver down your spine, as if to say: See? I didn’t take your freedom. There just wasn’t anything out here for you to begin with.

If the entire world ignored you, if the only one who saw you, heard you, acknowledged you was Chuuya… Then maybe you belonged with him.

By the time he pulled you close and whispered, “Let’s go home” it wasn’t an order. It was a statement.

Because you knew, deep down, that home wasn’t a place anymore. It was him.

He didn’t take your freedom.

He made sure you willingly gave it up.

[morverenmaybewrites]

How would Jason feel about it if Pg had a small dog? I need to know if we're accepted

Aw, everyone is welcome here!

I have reason to believe that Jason is actually a dog-lover. In the comics, he adopts a dog named...Dog.

If he ever got a smaller dog, I imagine it would be something of an accident. Something unplanned.

Maybe aftter coming home from patrol, keys already in hand and he'd hear the sound of garbage bags being shifted, of cans being overturned, disturbing a cloud of black flies that burst into the air like smoke. 

And he's so keyed up, senses still sharp and adrenaline still pumping after his patrol, that he nearly shoots before he looks. 

But then, the trash pile shifts to reveal...a puppy. And Jason's relieved that he didn't shoot. If nothing else, it would have been a waste of a bullet.

The puppy is an ugly thing: bloated stomach undoubtedly filled with worms, one ear looking like something attempted to chew it off (probably rats). Half of its fur is already gone, and the half that is left is probably infested with fleas.

Jason wrinkles his nose, feeling an odd mixture of distaste and pity. He makes a conscious effort not to care. Street mutts are a dime a dozen in Gotham City, outnumbered only by the rats propagating in the sewers underneath his feet.

Besides, the puppy would probably be dead by morning, and he'd be saddled with the awful job of having to dispose of its corpse before it starts rotting, because no way in hell was he letting you near it. 

And yet, amazingly, it wags its tail at him--a naked, pink thing that curls at the end like a pig's. He can see a cluster of ticks attached to its hindquarters. 

"I don't have food for you," he tells it. "Go away."

The puppy still approaches, raw hope in its eyes, and he wonders why that instinct hasn't been kicked out of it yet. Certainly, there aren't a lot of people in Gotham willing to share food with a stray.

He pauses, keys in hand.

Sighs.

"I'll check to see if we have some leftovers. I wouldn't get my hopes up, though. I'm a big eater." 

And that should have been the end of that. It really should have. Because strays--dogs, cats, people--are a dime a dozen in Gotham City, and he can't care about every single one of them. Because he had much bigger things to worry about than a filthy puppy in an alleyway, one that would probably be dead in the morning, anyway. 

Because everything in Gotham earns it keep or it dies. 

Except--

He hears the door open. 

"Jason? Who are you talking to?"

Of course. 

He had taken too long to open the door, and now you've opened it for him, and now you are staring not at Jason, but the puppy, who is still wagging its tail as if your voice meant something to it.

And God, Jason would be lying if he says that he doesn't feel the same. 

A beat. A pause.

And then, "That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen," you said flatly. 

Jason heaves a sigh of relief.

"We should give it something to eat." 

His second sigh sounds much more resigned. 

He agrees to the keep the thing on the condition that its quarantined to a single room. That since you were the one who wanted it, you are going to have to be the one to feed it, walk it, play with it. 

And yet, every night for the first three days, he makes no sign of protest as he watches you pick through his dinner after you've given the puppy half of yours.

He buys a packet of dog food after that, reasoning that it's easier than letting himself starve. 

He helps you take a puppy to a backalley vet, one that charged for next to nothing because her degree was probably forged somewhere in the Burrows than in one of the universities.

He gets the puppy a collar, but stubbornly refuses to name it. He calls it Dog and leaves it at that. 

As time goes on, the puppy's fur grows back: it's a dull brown, more dishwasher than chocolate. But its tail remains naked and pink, curling at the end like a pig's. This isn't some pampered breed, made to sit on your lap while you work. Dog is very clearly a stray from the streets of Gotham. What you see is what you get. And Jason finds a strange sort of satisfaction with that.

In the early days of ownership, he at least hopes that Dog would grow up big and mean. There are lots of abandoned pitbulls and bulldogs to affect the genetic pool of strays. 

Everything in Gotham has to earn its keep after all, and Dog is no different. 

But woefully, Dog doesn't grow as big as Jason had hoped. Or as brave. He hides in your lap at the sound of rolling thunder and cries when it begins to rain.

He winds around Jason's feet every time Jason stands, begging for a treat. 

"You know you have to earn these, right?" Jason tells him as he hands Dog another biscuit. 

The damn thing was getting fat. 

Jason would never admit it to himself. Perhaps he wouldn't even know it, but he's looking for a dog that's a little bit like him. Big. Mean. Or at least big and mean enough to be able to keep you safe while he's away. 

Something that has to work for everything it's been given. 

Something useful. Something that earns its place at your feet or in your lap or beside you in the bed. 

And maybe over time, he'll learn that not everything has to be earned. 

[talonsandtails]

Comfy sleepy N comfort art

Long vent under cut

I’ve had a bit of a rough week. This summer I got a job at a dog boarding facility. We’re super busy since it’s summer and for the past like two weeks we’ve been at full capacity, which is about 30+ dogs. People think it’s all fun and games and petting dogs all day but it’s not. That’s 30+ dogs that all need to be exercised, fed, picked up after, every kennel cleaned and sanitized at least once a day but usually more. There’s weathers hot and stormy so fleas are starting to get bad and we’ve had four dogs come in with them. My own barn is infested with them and my own dog and after 10 days I still can’t get rid of them despite a good flea treatment, which means I can’t even cuddle my own dog at night. Most days it’s just me and my boss, and she’s usually handling the paperwork so really it’s just me to care for all the dogs. I work 30+ hours a week. My feet are blistered from all the running around. And we’ve had quite a few jumpers so my arms are all torn and scratched up. I don’t even get a break at home because the storms have caused water damage to my bathroom, my shower decided to break for no darn reason, and my parents are giving the house some add ons so everything’s a mess at the moment. Might not even get my normal day off tomorrow because my coworker who covers the afternoon shift may or may not be sick, no word on what the deal is atm.

The irony of using N for this isn’t lost on me lol. He’d probably adore my job.

[tetsuissohot]

Lice?!

☆summary. you check their head for lice!

☆warning/tags: fem!reader, mostly crack, fluff, jkk men with lice?

☆word count: 1.3k

☆a/n: I don't know how I came up with these, but I still hope you enjoy and that this brings a smile to your face!

Nanami Kento | Gojo Satoru | Toji Fushiguro | Geto Suguro | Choso

Nanami approached you in the living room, looking uncharacteristically flustered. He adjusted his tie for the third time in two minutes, clearly uncomfortable.

"Y/N," he said, voice calm but with an underlying urgency, "I need you to check my head."

You blinked, setting down the book you were reading. "Uh, what?"

Nanami sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled blond hair. "It’s nothing serious... well, probably nothing. But I’ve noticed I’ve been itching. A lot. I can’t afford to be distracted on the next mission, so just... check."

You suppressed a smile, biting your lip. Seeing the always-composed Nanami unsettled by something as simple as an itchy scalp was too adorable.

“Sure thing,” you said, standing up and motioning for him to sit on the couch. “Come here, let me take a look.”

Nanami sat down, stiff as a board, his back straight and eyes fixed ahead as if preparing for battle. You took a seat behind him, fingers gently parting his hair.

After a few moments, you broke the silence. “So, should I call Satoru if I find anything? Maybe he’ll bring you a lice comb—”

“No.” Nanami cut you off instantly, his voice firm. “Under no circumstances should Gojo find out about this.”

You chuckled, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Relax. No lice. You’re clear.”

Nanami visibly relaxed. "Thank you." He stood up, adjusting his suit once more. "But remember, we never speak of this again."

"Agreed," you said with a grin. "But if you’re ever itching to come back for a check-up, let me know."

He shot you a deadpan look. “Not funny, Y/N.”

Gojo waltzed into the room with his usual swagger, but something was off. He scratched his head casually, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t bothered, but you caught the third scratch in as many minutes.

“Babe,” he began, a playful grin tugging at his lips, “you wouldn’t mind checking my head for lice, would you?”

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Lice? Satoru, you literally have Infinity. What, did they evolve to pass through it?”

Gojo plopped down on the couch beside you, leaning in close. “Listen, Infinity protects against curses, not tiny, itchy creatures. They might be cleverer than we think. I can’t risk this perfect hair being infested.”

You snorted, grabbing the comb from the table. “You really think you’ve got lice?”

Gojo gave you a dramatic shrug, scratching his head again. “Well, if you loved me, you’d check and make sure. You wouldn’t want the strongest sorcerer being brought down by some tiny bugs, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but part of you found his vulnerability oddly endearing. “Fine, hold still. Let me make sure your Infinity isn’t on vacation.”

You ran the comb through his hair while he hummed, grinning all the while. “You know, I could get used to this. You, doting on me, fingers in my hair. It’s pretty romantic if you think about it.”

“Keep talking and I’ll start charging you for this,” you teased. “Also, no lice. Your perfect hair is safe for now.”

Gojo beamed and leaned back, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes. “Ah, wonderful! I guess I’ll have to come up with a new excuse for you to pamper me next time.”

You playfully pushed his shoulder. “Get out of here, drama king.”

Toji barged into the room with his usual swagger, but the moment he started scratching the back of his head, you knew something was up.

“Toji?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He scratched again and grunted. “Yeah, yeah. I know how this looks.”

You blinked. “Like you need some flea powder?”

Toji shot you a glare but then sighed, leaning against the wall. “Look, I’ve been itchy, okay? Maybe it’s nothing, but I need you to check my hair. Make sure I don’t have any of those... lice things.”

You had to stifle a laugh. Toji Fushiguro, the man who took down powerful sorcerers and curses, was worried about lice.

“You? Lice?” You chuckled, motioning for him to sit. “Aren’t you supposed to be too tough for something like that?”

He scowled, sitting down with a huff. “Just check. I don’t want to be distracted on a job.”

You grabbed the comb, shaking your head as you began parting his hair. “This might be the first time I’ve seen you worried about something so... small.”

Toji grumbled. “I’m not worried, I’m just... irritated.”

After a minute or so of combing through his thick, dark hair, you grinned. “No lice. You’re good. Maybe you’re just allergic to being so grumpy.”

Toji looked over his shoulder, his smirk returning. “If you’re done messing with me, maybe you can help me... de-stress.”

You flicked his ear and laughed. “Sure, but next time, try not to come in here scratching like a stray dog.”

You were chilling in the couch when Geto came in, looking suspiciously thoughtful. He sat down beside you, scratching his head absentmindedly.

"Y/N," he started, his voice soft but curious, "do you know what’s causing this? I’ve been itching for days."

You tilted your head, looking at him with amusement. “Scratching your head a lot lately, huh? Want me to check for lice?”

Geto chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Lice? Really? That’s your diagnosis?”

You shrugged, already grabbing the comb. “Well, you’ve been scratching a lot, and lice don’t care how strong a sorcerer is.”

Geto leaned back slightly, allowing you to start combing through his long black hair. “I’ve exorcised curses and fought cursed spirits my whole life, but I never thought I’d need protection from something so... mundane.”

You laughed softly. “Well, even sorcerers can’t escape normal human problems.”

Geto closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose that’s what I have you for. Keep me grounded in the world of lice and hair care.”

You chuckled, running the comb gently through his hair. “Exactly. Someone has to make sure you don’t lose your head over a few itchy spots.”

After a few moments, you gave him a pat on the shoulder. “All clear. No lice.”

Geto smiled, his eyes soft as he glanced over at you. “Thank you, my love. I feel much more at peace now.”

You kissed his cheek. “Glad I could help. Anything else bothering you? Maybe you’re allergic to all that long hair.”

Geto grinned. “Perhaps... or maybe it’s just an excuse to have you take care of me.

Choso shuffled into the room, looking slightly unsure of himself. He scratched his head awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“Y/N,” he started slowly, “I... think I might have lice.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the blunt admission. “Wait, what? Why would you think that?”

He scratched again, looking down at his feet. “I’ve been itching a lot, and I heard some people say that could mean... lice. I’m not sure, but it’s starting to worry me.”

You smiled softly, walking over to him. “Hey, it’s okay. Sit down, I’ll check for you.”

Choso obediently sat down, his shoulders tense as you grabbed the comb and began parting his hair. His usually calm demeanor was replaced by visible uncertainty.

“I’m not familiar with this... lice thing,” he admitted quietly, glancing up at you. “But it doesn’t sound good.”

You chuckled softly. “It’s just tiny bugs that can live in your hair. Annoying, but not dangerous. And don’t worry, if you’ve got them, I’ll help you get rid of them.”

Choso relaxed a bit under your touch, his tense shoulders lowering. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d have no idea how to handle something like this.”

You finished checking his hair and smiled. “Good news, Choso—no lice. You’re safe.”

Choso looked up at you, visibly relieved. “Thank you. I feel much better now.”

You ruffled his hair affectionately. “Next time you’re itching, just come to me. I’ll make sure it’s nothing serious.”

He smiled softly, his eyes warm. “I’ll remember that.”

MASTERLIST

Thank you for reading until the end! I hope you enjoyed it. This piece was more of a spontaneous writing, so there may be some imperfections in the scenario. I just had these ideas and wanted to put them down quickly. xoxo

[fatalism-and-villainy]

One major overlap between Julian Bashir and Seven of Nine is the way they both have heightened, extra-human awareness of their own bodies and cognitive functioning - Seven runs self-diagnostics, Bashir is capable of raising his blood pressure at will - and yet they are both susceptible to human error, in ways that are deeply frustrating to them.

Seven’s initial struggle was in adjusting to being severed from the hive mind and thus reduced and weakened in her perception and capabilities; furthermore, she grew up in an environment where she was only a cog in a machine and any significant physical damage would result in termination. By extension, she is very unwilling to acknowledge physical weakness or vulnerability (as seen in episodes like Imperfection). And much of her arc revolves around her making mistakes despite her assurance of the efficacy and superiority of her methods, and learning to cope with her fallibility.

Bashir, as seen in episodes like The Quickening and Chrysalis, has enormous amounts of trouble dealing with failure, and the former episode makes it clear that his arrogance is wrapped up in his desperate fear of not measuring up (similar to how underneath Seven’s arrogance, she still has traces of the frightened, vulnerable child she once was). The augmentation reveal with Bashir gives a lot of context for that inferiority-superiority complex, and once his genetic enhancements are made public, he seems to feel pressure to make his abilities uniquely useful despite the socially marginalized position in which his enhancements threaten to place him. In Statistical Probabilities, one of his motivations in getting the other enhanced people involved in the statistically generated prognostication is his desire to prove that they can “contribute to society.”

With this in mind, there are some significant threads connecting Statistical Probabilities to The Voyager Conspiracy. Both episodes involve Bashir (along with the other augments) and Seven, respectively, undertaking massively complex cognitive processes in order to synthesize vast amounts of data into speculative conclusions - for potential outcomes of the Dominion War, and for theories regarding how Voyager came to the Delta Quadrant. Both are motivated by the desire to make their unique abilities useful to the institutional structures of which they are a part. And both episodes follow a structure in which each character is able to uncover something true and small-scale - with Bashir and the augments, it’s that the Dominion wants to acquire a planet that will allow them to produce ketracel-white, and with Seven, it’s that there is a photonic flea infestation - only to then have their speculations become much broader in scope and threaten to undermine either the ideals or the cooperative structures surrounding them.

There are significant differences between the episodes. Seven’s speculations are revealed to be straight-up false, and a result of her trying to assimilate more information than she can handle. With Bashir, the veracity of his observations is left ambiguous, and his putting a stop to the other augments’ plan to leak confidential information to the Dominion is largely spurred by political necessity (though the war does unfold differently from anticipated, in large part because of variables no one could have known about at that point). Seven’s failure is more directly linked to human limitations kneecapping her attempt to use her heightened cognitive abilities. But in both cases, their attempts to use mathematical precision in mapping out broad-scale events and systems of cause and effect, in ways that only their minds are capable of, ultimately cannot fulfill the social function they intend for them.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for calling animal rescue/welfare on my mom who loves her pets?

My mom has 2 cats and 1 dog. I want to start off by saying that she doesn't physically abuse her animals.

They're in a weird state of being really emotionally spoiled and completely physically neglected. The dog sleeps in bed with her and is always on the sofa, doesn't get told off when he pees and poops in the house, and the cats are always getting cuddles. The cats are getting kinda fat because they're fed a lot.

My mom is an alcoholic and she doesn't look after herself or her home at all. It's been years since she showered or bathed, she goes weeks without changing her clothes except for when she works, her house is genuinely falling completely apart. Cupboard doors are falling off at the hinges and propped up with buckets, doors don't close, carpets are coming up off the floor, wallpaper is peeling, the shower door fell off and shattered, the toilet lid is cracked in half, the floors are too dirty to step on without shoes, the entire house STINKS of animal urine and there are stains everywhere. A couple of years back she had an insect infestation in one of the bedrooms.

Now, my mom loves her pets and really emotionally relies on them. Ever since I moved out she's been alone and has regressed even worse because when she's at home she has nothing to do but drink and watch TV. The pets are her only company most days.

However, her bad hygiene and home care translates to them. It has been YEARS since the dog was walked, and months since he even got a cursory trip over the road to the small grass area outside her house. His fur is always matted, and he recently had fleas (god knows how when he doesn't leave the house but there you go). He has bald patches of fur missing. He pees and poops all over the floors and carpets because he just doesn't get let outside to do it enough - and he runs away or hides when you find it so he 100% knows he's not supposed to, he just doesn't have a choice because he's not able to go into the garden. His claws are always so long they're bothering him when he walks, and as gross as it is to describe there have been COUNTLESS times I've visited and he's had literal shit caked onto his fur around his tail because he's had diarrhea and when I've pointed it out that he needs to be washed my mom brushes it off with "It's only a little bit" and continues to let him onto the bed/couch.

The cats are mildly better off because they can clean themselves, but their litter trays are always OVERFLOWING - like, genuinely, mountains of cat poop piling up in the trays to the point where they're going on the floor because they don't have room in the tray - and one of them is sleeping in a bed that is Caked in vomit stains, clumps of hair, other miscellaneous marks, all of that.

I've called someone about it before when I still lived there, and a woman did stop by to check it out and told my mom that the cat litters were unacceptable, but my mom just lies to them. According to her the dog gets walked twice a day without fail, gets a ton of enrichment, everything, and you can't really prove her to be lying. The woman told her she'd drop by in a week to check on the litters, my mom kept them clean until she came back and gave the okay, and then just went right back to neglecting them and nothing was done about it.

I have no idea what to do anymore but I want to call again and really impress upon them that they're not being cared for. I sent photos and video evidence last time along with an explanation, but it doesn't seem like it got me anywhere at all. I just don't know what else to do. I've brought up the idea of taking at least the dog with me to my new place (it's very nearby so she'd still be able to visit him and I'd be able to walk him up to her house), but she VEHEMENTLY objected and told me she'd never be able to let him go.

I'm not sure what it would do tbh, even disregarding that she'd probably just get a new pet I would be genuinely worried she'd lose all interest in life if they were taken away.

TL;DR Mom's alcoholism means she doesn't look after her pets and they're not being cared for at all, but taking them away would severely impact her mental health.

WIBTA for calling animal services on her again?

What are these acronyms?

[thenocarts]

Re-ani headcanons because I haven't been able to draw these freaks in a while and I NEED to do something

Herbert berbert

•He HATES board games because he sucks so bad at them, nobody ever wanted to play with him and he refuses to let anyone explain the rules to him now

•His diet before the reagent consisted of oatmeal, cigarettes, fentanyl and cock, now he just mixes reagent with alcohol

•He wasn't that much of an asshole when he was younger, sparkly eyed thing he was, then the incident happen (he started trying to be god)

•He's IP banned from editing wikipedia

•He can tap dance, the theater gays kidnapped him when he was 14 and he learned against his will

•Despises theme parks but loves fairs

•Actually a pretty decent singer, and has a flare for the theatrics but will blush and murder if you comment on it

•Having said that I think it's hard for him to blush, even more so after the reagent, his blood is probably gooey

•i think he had some floppy grades, he was either first in class or didn't show up 90% of the time, it depended on how relevant he thought the class was

•Trans of gender

Danny boy

•He comes from a very Cristian conservative family that he cut off years before re-animator started because he's friends with a lot of queer people

•He also is weird about his sexuality, he thinks he's not allowed to be anything but straight even tho he knows he wouldn't be judged by anyone that matters to him

•He fucking loves hotdogs, his favorite food in the entire world, could survive just off that for years

•Has done yoga with older women before

•Golden boy of every school he ever was in, straight A's, never miss a class be it raining or snowing, if he was sick he crawled to school, had to be restrained

•Due to being with no family at like 15, he NEEDS constant reassurance and love because he feels like a failure and a heathen

•He's also, a little fucked up and evil but refuses to confront that fact and blames Herbert for all his evil acts

•He was always a little into fitness but after meg's death he became an extreme gym rat to cope and punish himself, that's why he's so jacked in bride

•Sneezes like a kitten

•Has never even been near the smell of a cigarette and it would kill him on the spot

Megan Hotwheels

•She is the only smart person in that whole ass movie (this is an objective fact)

•She's super into horror, she loves slashers and monsters, everything gorey and scary it's right up her alley

•Not that much of a girly girl, she just puts on the act for her dad, she does like girly stuff tho, she fucks heavily with pink and dresses just not in a cisgender way

•She's very artsy as well, she can paint a mean portrait and sometimes sells them for a little extra cash

•She is the one that found Rufus as a kitten, little flea infested miserable creature, her dad hates cats so she gave him to Dan and is the main corporate behind the fat shaming of her son

•Can roller skate!

•Her mom died when she was very young, she was murdered at her old home and it made her be extremely paranoid for a while, she never feels completely safe even tho she moved towns and they caught her killer

•She has her hair cut in a bob because she pulls at it when anxious and it's the shortest she's allowed to have

•She got bullied when she was younger for being a freaky little kid with huge wet eyes obsessed with killers

•She has a weird relationship with her dad, she loves him but it's frustrated by him because he believes she's this tiny little fawn of god who can't be exposed to the evils of the world, meanwhile she has fucked nasty and probably done some weed, she's an adult and he treats her like a kid

•Shes super into indie bands that not even God knows exist

•"Im probably nonbinary but my dad is dead so idc about that rn"

[nochi-quinn]

exandria unlimited: divergence: episode 1: it's bad here

nobody escaped the GOT intro unscathed, did they

ryback?

ruidis mentioned

that's so cool, I hate it"

I think I audited the wrong class"

elder dorf!

level 0!

I didn't know that was a thing

dex FOUR??

level No

matt. brennan. it's been fifteen minutes. are you seriously gonna make me cry.

I'm gonna fight brennan in the parking lot

this hallucination is gonna kill me and matt both

brennan child voice

this man has THIRTEEN HIT POINTS

this man has FOUR HIT POINTS

"she isn't a healer, she's a preserver" oh I like that

"it's the 20-sided one" alex

"you want my help this time?" I love Nia

this scene would start just as I sit down with food

"it probably just tastes like ash" "it ALL tastes like ash"

I love everybody in this scene. they're all gonna die so hard.

keph are you okay (no)

alex: would

these level 0 stats give me so much stress

ah, mordAurum. gold dragonborn. I get it.

oh. oh him big. him real big.

him still only got 10 hp

he has an intelligence of 6 he knows what he's doing

"a lost, giant child" :(

brennan is banned from putting children in his games

liam's face

"matt if you would like to have more than 4 hit points -"

ba ba ba, ba barbithrix

that's too many, put some back

liam r u ok

"we understand you have many infirm here" yes that's why it's called the infirmary

druid?? dwarf druid??

growing things!!!

hope symbolism!!

garen is making FRIENDS

the halls of partying

"party punishment?" hey I've seen most of severance that's absolutely a thing

LIGHT FLEAS

INFESTED WITH HOPE

not the lion king 2 "~deception~"

using the cough for good

oops, oversold it

stop! putting! children! in! hell!

alex: would

even evil has standards

"it's SO bad"

just wedge this poor big man in the wall

these dragonborn children are going to kill me

crokas is going to kill me

alex and matt keep giggling at the most sixth-grade things, I love them

"are you sick?" "of this shit? yes."

"like the flower?" "hurhgh?"

I did also think it was the flower originally

"I didn't name me" dskfjhslk

matt sounds like Billy Bones from the beginning of treasure planet

not the tragic sibling keepsake

liam mentioned the dice roll pendulum swing earlier and it is going to swing back SO HARD

bless bugs!

"until someone else's bones caught you" uncalled for

"what's your armor class?"

literally shoot first ask questions later

"what do you do?" "oh, fuck!"

ready for this tpk

"this guard died because his helmet stabbed into his brain"

100 years of frustration behind that swing

fine dwarven crafts

vomit action

"it's bad here"

"I don't think I did that"

oh not the trex rumbles

"it looks like fingers" no thank you!

no wait is it roots

IT'S ROOTS

"sticks." I LOVE HIM

he's old, that happens sometimes

"there's bugs in here."

ah.

what does THAT feel like in stone-sense

there is a god-fight happening upstairs

MEECES

FUCK YEAH MEECES

this is almost definitely stormlord & wildmother v strife emperor

roll that beautiful hammer damage

disabled dragon DISABLED DRAGON

"why'd you do that to your arm" crokas

HAMMER PUNCH

fuck yeah meeces

three what now

rip The Boys

"when it walks Exandria with a purpose"

"I saw him comin'." Can ya hear 'im? Those gears and gyros clickin' and whirrin' like the devil himself??

fuck yeah, apocalypse setting

everything in between gets you individual body parts

rip The Boys

matt stop helping

"are you weakest at the shoulder or the elbow?"

"I'm gonna faint" that's dungeons and dragons baybee

meeces!

they found their cheeses

fuck these six giants in particular

bugbear!!

hugbear!!

I will not get attached to starmian I will not

fuck yeah luck feat

hey in ferelden that cheese is a decent shield

"sorry, vox machina, git gud" liam

"a god's shinguard looking like the statue of liberty"

oregon trail ass checks

ah yes, the mythical rain

found the cannibalism

well I guess the hand-soup was already cannibalism

liam o'brien spellcasting flavor text my beloved

I! Love! Him!

alex

good pinecones

this is what happens when you put "death" in your literal name

brennan do we need this level of detail

I don't. I don't need this level of detail.

matt: I put the team('s rolls) on my back

"yeah, that's what happens when I talk shit"

rip nia

I will not get attached to starmian

this is why I did not get attached to starmian

his job is to be old and die so we can learn and be sad

"…shit"

"will you flee?" "would it help?"

"that is what strength is for"

vestige?? crokas get vestige???

"belt."

I love him SO MUCH

[tea-and-secrets]

I don't like cats. I think they smell really bad and have germs. I refuse to eat at someone's house if they let their cat up on the counter or table. I refuse to pet cats because I'm very allergic and people get offended when I nudge their cat away. Sorry. I don't like your cat and I don't want it near me. Unfortunately for me, cats seem to adore me. Probably bc they're contrarians by nature and love to be annoying. I'm so glad I'm an adult and can just choose to never have a cat. I'm so tired of seeing pictures of cats, they all look the same to me, boring. Hairy. Germy. Infested with worms and fleas. I'm not even a germaphobe, just with cats specifically. I hate how they lick their assholes like I will absolutely never let one in my house.

.

[radioisntdead]

Psst

Since we have a hat gremlin- what about other hat wearing Characters?

Sir pent., husker, Lucifer... SUSAN (angel wore a hat one time and so didnt vaggie- do they count?) and Valentino?

My only note is that if Valentino has one it is the equivalent to the most angry lil devil that bites his bald ass head like a rabid flea.

Good evening my dear! I GOT THIS ASK IN THE MORNING AND I KID YOU NOT IT HAS BEEN ON MY BRAIN SINCE. Switching between third person and referring to the reader as you

I'm thinking Sir Pentious's hat creature is like a little lizard, like the gecko lizard that tries to sell you car insurance but instead of car insurance it's just insurance, for what you ask? No idea it's probably a scam don't buy anything from hat lizard, Lil' hat lizard likes to take out with Sir Pentious's hat when he's sleeping, freaks out the eggy Bois, hat gecko totally tries to be a wingman and set him up with Cherri bomb! They are the best winggecko

Huskers hat creature is SMALL, they like the warmth from his fur, you take a lil' nappy nap, snoozy time, when he was a overlord they would help him win casino games, how you ask? I don't know, I don't know how it works but probably by stealing cards or something, his hat creature is probably drunk off their rockers too! Probably chill in cups when not in the hat.

Lucifers hat creature is a duck, 100% a regular duck, a duck that likes to vibe in a hat, that's all I got, the hat quacks. [Lilith gave you to him before leaving.] He likes to show you off to Charlie and the other sins "LOOK AT MY DUCK! THEY REALLY LIKE MY HAT HAhaA"

ANGEL'S CRIME HAT, his lil hat creature is just a lil' guy! He treats em' like a second child [the first is fat nuggets obviously] takes you out of the hat to dress you up, you probably ride fat nuggets like a horse when out of the hat, crime hat creature is totally small enough for that,

I despise Valentino so the bastard is, as per usual dying.

[Warning for mild implied suicide, it's not in depth but It's implied, just a sentence not the reader or the grapist.]

He doesn't have a hat gremlin he has a hat cursed demon leech.

Cursed leech wasn't always cursed, they originally clinged to one of Valentino's victims who ran out during extermination day and you can guess what fate they met.

You, the little hat thing wanted revenge for your fallen friend and so you exited the hat you were originally attached to and infested Valentino's.

Valentino has a constant headache because you bite, sharp teeth piercing his skin, he can't take the hat off because you latch on like a leech, you probably have some diseases that transfer to Valentino so he has to go to the doctors often.

Hat leech will eventually lead to Valentino's permanent death and only then will they be satisfied in taking revenge for their fallen friend, they will exit Valentino's hat and return to the one they left, maybe they'll move on to someone else and be their friend but until then they're on their own.

Vaggie doesn't have a hat gremlin, she has a BOW gremlin, allegedly came from heaven, you are the bow itself. Unraveling to be a bow creature that helps taking people out.

Bonus for Vox because he has a hat right? Or am I delusional we'll find out.

Lil robot creature, totally doubles as a spy, vox's hat is sometimes seen around the hotel stalking Alastor.

SUSAN MY BELOVED OLD GRUMPY LADY, I gotta write for her again soon!

Her hat creature is just like her! Old! her hat will rise up for a moment curse someone out before shrinking back down, similar to Rosie's gremlin, maybe they're related? They probably get into fights, the folks of cannibal town just see Susan's hat and Rosie's hat going at it, dueling probably with weapons I can see them using guns or sticks, sharp sticks,

Susan likes her hat creature, treats em' like a pet and feeds them sinners.

DOODLES TIME, I can't draw anyone's hats for the life of me.

My handwriting sucks but we don't talk about that

[catsofcalifornia]

Dragon's Egg and Wild Remedy from FieldHaven Feline Center in Lincoln, California

Click here for more information about adoption and other ways to help!

Hi! I'm Dragon's Egg! Remember the Scottish Folds that came in at the end of 2023? I am the dad, and I'm official adoptable with my son, Wild Remedy! I've had an going battle with a nasty wound on my neck and had to get surgery to fix it. Now I am all healed up and looking for my fur-ever home! I am very special as I have few quirks! First off, I'm not a very mobile cat, my foster has let staff know I have favorite place to sit and will typically only get up to eat, drink, and use the litter box. This is probably due to some of the side effects of being fold (See below). The second thing, I take a while to warm up to new people, so I could be considered a house "feral", however once I'm comfortable and in someone's arms I will be compliant. I am bonded to my son Wild Remedy, who is an FIP survivor. Scottish Folds are known to be affectionate and a great family cat, however like other cats it can be case by case on how a Scottish Fold behaves. It is important to understand that each cat is different! They do like to play, relax, and cuddle, so those interested should be ready for a fun furry companion. Scottish Folds' unique features come from osteochondrodysplasia, which causes issues and abnormalities in joints, cartilage, and bone development. This is how the fold ears are possible in the Scottish Fold, which makes them cute, however this can cause early arthritis for these cats. There are other common health concerns that Scottish Folds experience, and this entry above addresses the most notable and common one.

Hi, I'm Wild Remedy! You may have seen my story on socials and via mail, because I went through a lot to get to this point. I was the face of a “purebred Scottish Fold” whose siblings were sold for big money online. I was the face of a “reputable breeder” who decided to breed cats with no prior knowledge of proper care and who saw me as a chance to make a profit. I was on my last legs when I arrived at FieldHaven last December. I was surrendered to FieldHaven, along with my siblings and parents, because the “breeder” “didn’t have money to take us to a vet.” They were worried because “we suddenly became so sick.” I weighed less than 4lbs, was infested with fleas, suffering from a severe upper respiratory infection, and had a white blood cell count that was “higher than our vet had ever seen” from infection. I was hospitalized at an emergency veterinary clinic because otherwise I wouldn’t survive. During that time, I was also diagnosed with Bartonella, a serious bacterial infection, severe anemia, I had bad kidney levels and FIP. To say my medical journey has been nearly impossible does not even begin to tell my story... but there is good news. I SURVIVED! As did my family, who were adopted. I am the last to beat many illnesses, and I am the sweetest boy, and deserve that bright future more than probably anyone you know, dare I admit! My breed does have some quirks, which our adoption team will talk with you thoroughly about, and my health and future are not just about companionship - I will be an investment in more ways than one. I deserve it though, because investing in me as your family member? That's priceless. Fill out an adoption application to find out more and meet me today!

[msvirtinage]

Hello! I do hope your having a wonderful day!

i was wondering if i could request soft yandere tennant with a fem!s/o that just has a obsession with building dangerous robots and machinery- she tends to get injured often from machine falters, ect. You can decide where it goes from here <3

please make sure to take care of yourself and take your time with this request! <3

-signed 🎀 @redbow-anon 🎀

" my pleasure my lady. "

Soft Yan!Tennant . OB!Mech!fem! Reader.

(Oh wow so long of a title ey? But I'll try to control myself in this req. TQ for requesting non non.)

+ Meeting you would be in a fancy party, ball or a well-known machinery convention. Tennant is British and does have some slight interest in machinery so she takes this chance to learn a bit more to enhance her skill as someone who opposites the law.

+ when she first saw you, you were messy. Hair isn't well kept, nails that turn slightly black from tight spaces, hands and arms that shown wounds, scars and bruises from how careless you are. Your like a flea infested stray dog that someone who doesn't see the worth in you but she sees through that visage and found a promising mechanic.

+ the first time you actually have a conversation with her is when your showing off your latest robotics. The words that you said 'Wil destroy a mere Manus Vindictae in one swoop!' Was interesting to say the least.

+ questions if you work for the military, Manus Vindictae, the foundation or are you building it for your own kind of work?.

+ a bit hesitant on letting you built more robotics that attacks.. If it gotten more dangerous will definitely stops you. "Sorry my lady, I dont want you dying off me now."

+ does stop you from being too obsessed, if it meant locking you in a cage or leashing you for a short amount of time until you calm down. As much as she loves you... You will not be dying in terms of robotics.

+ she does ask for some stuff like an upgrade to her gun, or perhaps something to control big groups of people chasing her. She convince you to put your initials on the things you make so everyone should know.

+ probably drags you to parties to show off your robots and stuff, people started investing in you. Mostly people who wants war or preparing for war. (Ps, lilya.)

[eveningspringbreeze]

Madara's FS2 4* - Winter, in the Street Corners of Paris

Characters: Madara, Shu

Season: Winter

Shu: Mm… Yaawn...

(Perhaps it’s from pulling an all-nighter, or perhaps it’s burnout from finishing my deliveries, but it seems I’ve been fast asleep until the afternoon)

(Fortunately, I have plenty of time to spare until I must work again. So as to maintain perfection when working, I ought to rest properly)

(Perhaps I could relax with a stroll—) 

Madara: Excuse meeee!!! ☆

Shu: Gyoh!? M-mikejima….!? What in good heavens brought you here!? 

Do not bother me! Leave this instant! I do not want to have a barbarian such as you stampeding upon my atelier! 

Madara: Ahaha! This banter is so nostalgic! (1)

Didn’t we have a similar exchange back in Yumenosaki? If I’m not wrong, it was during Steamp— 

Shu: Non! I have no intentions of taking a trip down memory lane with you! 

You must have some business with me, right? Make it brief. 

Madara: Business, huh. And if “no” was my answer? 

Shu: …………

Madara: Sorry, sorry! I was just joking, you don’t have to glare at me all scary like that! 

Basically, Leo-san needed something from me. 

Shu: Tsukinaga did…? 

Madara: Yep. Apparently he’s been taking good care of a pen case that he borrowed from you. 

So much so in fact that he accidentally left behind the case’s stationary in this atelier. 

Shu: He’d only taken a pen case? Well, I suppose he is dexterous.

And that’s it? You came all the way to Paris just for Tsukinaga? 

Madara: Nah, I already had some work here in Europe, so I’m just dropping by.

Shu: “Dropping by”? No matter how trivially you say it, Europe’s not a place you can just casually travel through. 

 Either way, Tsukinaga’s forgotten belongings are not here. 

I had to send some luggage to the Starmony Dorms the other day, and I crammed in similar items as well. It’s probably all the way over there now. 

Good grief, why must everyone forget every little thing here? If they want to spend time overseas, perhaps consider bringing in some caution alongside? 

Madara: Mmhm. Since both language and culture are different, the way to do things here are bound to contrast with Japan’s. There’s no harm in being attentive. 

But also this atelier’s got such a homely feeling to it, it really calms you down. Maybe that’s why everyone’s losing their belongings here ♪

Shu: I'm not happy to hear that. This place isn’t a playground. 

Seems to me that you’ve been on a fool’s errand. Are you departing Paris after this? 

Madara: Nah. I’ve got time until my flight, so I’m planning on relaxing ‘til then. 

….Hmm? Why’re you dressing up? 

Are you going out? If so, please allow me to join you ☆

Shu: I refuse. I cannot relax when I’m near you. 

Madara: Now now, don’t say that! A journey is not just about the companions you have, but the people you care for along the way! (2) Having a friend is better than none…♪

<one hour later> 

Shu: …Seems like there’s a weekend flea market going on. 

Madara: Ooh, quite the Parisian spectacle! 

As you may or may not know, Paris is the one and only homeland for flea markets. 

It supposedly originates from the multitudes of secondhand-goods being sold resembling a flea infestation! (3)

Shu: I’m aware even without your quips, so do not spout such things at me. Just imagining it makes my back itch. 

Plus, that isn’t the only theory regarding its origin. 

I personally prefer the theory that it comes from the saying that “there is enjoyment found in taking the the time needed to search for treasure in the same way one would search for a flea”.

Madara: Enjoyment found in taking the time to search for things, huh. Truly, it must come from the exceptional feeling of accomplishment that comes with finding that rare piece of treasure. 

….Oh myyy? Something’s already caught my eye! 

This ceramic pot would be perfect for displaying plants ☆

Shu: Hm. Is gardening a hobby of yours? 

Madara: I wouldn’t quite call it a “hobby”. 

I’m not sure who started it, but my dorm room’s filled with plants, so I like bringing in some new ones from time to time. 

“Excuse me, shopkeeper-san! I’d like to buy this pot—” 

Shu: (....Ooh, looks like his constant traveling has lent him a rather good grasp on French) 

 (The real thrill of flea markets is the haggling. You must put your negotiation skills to its truest test….) 

<ten minutes later> 

Madara: —Thanks for waiting, Shu-san! 

Sorry for how long it took. I really hit it off with the shopkeeper. Before I knew it, we’d already talked for so long!

Shu: It’s alright. It’s good that your negotiations went well. 

It is of no concern to me what happens to you, however. But it would be a shame to watch an acquaintance get blatantly ripped off. 

Madara: Ah, so you were worrying about me. Thank you Shu-san, you’re a nice soul…♪

Shu: Don’t misunderstand. I simply do not want to feel unpleasant. 

Madara: Even then, that makes me happy to hear ♪

My haggling went great, so let me treat you to something as thanks for waiting.  

Tell me aaall about the specialties you’d recommend, Shu-san… ☆

Shu: Hmm… How about marron chauds— roasted chestnuts, then? 

It’s a winter specialty that you can find sold all around the city during the season. 

Madara: Sounds good! I’m sure it’ll warm us up. 

I can smell something fragrant over there, let’s go eat! 

---

TL Notes:

Shu’s lines aimed at Madara here is basically a 1-1 replica of a similar exchange in Steampunk Museum, which Madara tries to mention right after

Good old Madara idioms :] the original is 道連れ世は情け which doesn’t have an eng equivalent afaik? So I just used a shortened version of the meaning

This isn’t a correction or anything but Madara is so close to the actual most common theory… as Shu said there’s multiple theories, but one of the most common is that some of the goods sold in the markets were believed to have had actual flea infestations. I have never seen Shu’s theory before

This isn't proofread and was done in one go so feel free to correct me on anything!

[gojinka]

Uhhhh has any of you ocs ever had fleas before? Or like any infestation/bugs getting in their bodies/fish parasites that will absolutely kill them if they don't get rid of it?

Salt/Lakefish very commonly have parasites, but Inkfish tend to be quite resistant to bugs since ink is corrosive, most of the Badland Inklings probably catch bugs at times, but I don’t think i could call them “fleas”… I think they’re more likely to get colds and stuff. Actually with that said, Inkfish function terribly in the cold, more so Inklings, but Octarians too… I think infestations are mostly dangerous on salt/lakefish who spend a lot of time in the water, since they’re more likely to actually catch them, I think they can be a pain but none are super dangerous outside of extremely rare cases… I do think many fluke/roundworm-esque species can be dangerous if left unchecked because they rest inside gills, which can infect gills and cause them to get stuffy, and THAT can suffocate and kill.

Salmonids use tongue eating louse to punish deserting salmonids in clans. But there’s nothing else notable about any bugs or parasites that exist.