#◄ ooc : ❝ out of cases ❞ ►

[puppyeared]

abogagos……..

[valewritessss]

This fandom is so nit-picky that I’ve seen more criticism on every little thing about wottg (a book that came out 2 days ago) than people saying things they liked about it

Edit: someone has already gotten mad so I repeat this is a joke and not that deep❤️

[violent138]

I feel like Jason would wind up married for some reason and just not tell anyone. And then one of his henchmen, while fighting the Bats during one of their weekly ideological disputes on how to handle a shared problem would go, "No wonder he hates you guys, you're ruining his damn honeymoon!" and all hell would break loose.

[mitsuki91]

Everytime I see some dark!Coriolanus Snow fic with Lucy Gray I feel like... I don't know... This man is so deep down for her, she has the power in the relationship... He can try to gaslight himself at first but in the end he has to accept that he will do everything for her even before she asks.

Give that man two or three years after she left her, just the time to mourn and shit his pants and go crazy with the doubt that he killed her; then let her pop out again, and you see how the table turned, omg.

[softhairedhotch]

don't get me wrong i love hotch being all Daddy n stuff (within reason) but i can't stand it when he babies the reader/oc in fics WHEN THEY'RE ON A CASE. brother he would not be like "oh my poor baby needs a break? :( oh come here sweet one come sit on daddy's lap" like he is at WORK he's gonna look you dead in the eye and go "what, you can't handle a day of paperwork? you sure you're fit for this job?" or he's gonna be like "a child just died, focus and do your work" like 💀💀💀 if you're personally going through shit then yeah he'll take it easy on you, but if you're doing work and think "im gonna not do it/i ain't gonna bother/i'll take it easy today bc the boss is my boyfriend" that man is gonna immediately be like "who said i'm gonna give you special treatment?" LMFAO

[knightingale]

Not that it really matters but the thing about the Darry Trial™ in AGoT that I think so many people get wrong is that Sansa was protecting Arya when she said she didn't remember what happened by the Trident. Lets say Sansa told the truth in that scene; she'd necessarily have to include that Arya hit Joffrey with a broomstick, because he was cutting Mycah's cheek for hitting Arya, and that's what led to the fight that had Nymeria biting Joff. But if Sansa said this then Arya would be wrongly seen as the guilty party.

Like, these people didn't care that Mycah was killed, so why would this room full of nobles and mostly Lannister knights care that Joffrey cut him on the cheek? They'd most likely view the situation as their Crown Prince chastising an impudent peasant for hitting highborn Lady Arya Stark. So Arya attacking her "defender" over this could be seen as an unjust (or even an irrational/crazed) assault on the future king. Don't get me wrong, I think Arya was totally right to beat Joff, just like Dunk was right to beat Aerion for the same reason, but their classist and sexist nobility isn't going to view the situation like we do.

And as we learn later, the punishment for striking a royal is to lose the hand that struck them. Do I think Robert would've cut Arya's hand off? No, of course not, but I'm sure that Sansa thought her sister would be punished in some way if she confirmed that Arya had hit a royal. We don't actually learn that Robert thinks the whole affair is no big deal until after Sansa has spoken and with further context we know that Sansa is frightened by Robert... so ya'know.

[hopefromadoomedtimeline]

I hope everyone's having some happy winter holidays!

You guys deserve the best.

[moonsvillain]

hotwings au where hawks is a fallen angel who happens to crash-land in dabi's backyard on his way down.

hawks' wings are from his status as an angel rather than a separate quirk

i'd like to imagine that quirks aren't really a thing that they're up to date on, as well as being pretty behind in, like, everything else

imagine hawks going into this with an ariel-like disposition

anyway this kicks off with hawks crashing into dabi's backyard in the middle of the night

dabi, who's obviously awake, gets up to go investigate what the fuck that was (naturally assumes someone's here to kill him, as any normal, not-paranoid-at-all person would think)

hawks is very upset (landed on his wing wrong and maybe broke it, which, like, "OWWW...." this guy has never felt pain before and now he's human, which is cool conceptually but why do humans feel pain?? are they like this all the time?? who would do this to them??)

which leads to dabi finding hawk in a pile of limbs armed with a broken wing tangled in the clothes lines that he never bothered to take down after he finally saved up enough for a washer-dryer unit

at this point in time, dabi hasn't been scouted by the league yet, but he's not struggling to survive. he's found a small townhouse to reside in, one story, one bedroom, and a small backyard

(the backyard was an important detail to him—sometimes dabi needs to just. bask in the sun. feel warm when he can)

hawks sees dabi and assumes that he must be someone from hell, and it was some sort of cosmic fate that brought the two together

(hawks has always been the hero-type, even as an angel. he doesn't want to defeat people, rather, he wants to help them.

(hawks is just terribly naive, which impedes this goal of his by a lot)

dabi drags hawks inside once he's figured out that he isn't with the hero commission after threatening to burn the rest of his feathers off (which, the fire isn't helping hawks' case against him)

hawks can't really just say he's an angel, mostly because he gets the feeling that saying as much to someone like dabi would go very sideways

so he spins a story about being kicked out of his home and having nowhere to go and no family to take him in even if they wanted

which, it's not really stretching the truth at all. that is what happened. he just omitted a few details

dabi is stabbed by a violent wave of sympathy that he tries to suppress at first, until remembering that he'd have done anything to have support from someone like dabi is now back when he had been scared, alone, confused and hurt

and even though hawks is cheerful enough, dabi can see the mask he's wearing—he's hiding something. something that hurts

so dabi nods, accepts this answer, and offers hawks the couch for the night, which hawks gladly accepts (and ignores the way his eyes get wet)

the next day both wake up, remember the night before, realize it wasn't a dream and think, fuck

dabi's gotten himself saddled with a roommate—cuz even if he wanted to ignore him, it's too late now, he spent the whole night turning the situation over in his mind and kicking him out would make dabi's already fragile emotional stability skew out of control

and its finally settling into hawks' head that he's been kicked out and he doesn't know where he's going or if he'll ever get the chance to go back even if he wanted to and he's doomed to spend the rest of his life wandering the earth looking for acceptance that will never last

tldr both are having mild panic attacks

dabi finally tries to address the situation by like, asking what hawks plans on doing or if he knows anyone that could help him out

which gets dabi a look so pathetic he immediately regrets asking

("fuckkk he's so sad and lame. what am i supposed to do. it's like staring at a miserable puppy with a bag full of treats in your pocket and pretending you don't know they're there.")

dabi grits out an offer:

stay here and figure out a way to pay rent, and dabi will do his best to fix up hawks' wing so he can fly again but also so it doesn't cost a million dollars to pay for the treatment in the first place

(dabi's plans consist of roaming the underground to find a doctor that could help the both of them out and threatening them—dabi's been putting off finding one for himself after his skin grafts start looking nastier than they should and this is the push he needs to get to it)

hawks, oblivious to this, agrees pretty readily

dabi nods

a moment of silence. then:

"is your real name dabi, or—"

"i'm not hearing this from you, hawks."

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Make off (dp x dc)

The important thing here was not to panic, Jazz thought to herself as she strained against her restraints fruitlessly. She tried to take a deep breath but the dirty gag that had been shoved into her mouth made it hard to do. In fact, with the way the left side of her face was swelling due to that punch she'd gotten earlier, breathing was hard in general right now. Jazz was in bad shape and she knew it.

She'd known Gotham was a dangerous choice, but she'd thought if she took precautions, if she stayed out of everything, she would be fine. She was a psych major in a city with lots of insane psychopaths, sure, but she was angling for family therapy, which was very much not going to put her anywhere near the infamous Arkham. And yet.

Jazz closed her eyes. It was useless to dwell on the past when she needed all her capacities to escape her current situation. She consciously did not look over to the misshapen pile she could see in a corner of the room, and very carefully did not take note of how she could distinguish the shape of something that looked like a cut off arm. Instead, she looked to the side, towards a slumped, tied up figure. He looked to be in his early twenties. Jazz managed to nudge at him with her foot in an attempt to wake him up.

It took a few tries before the guy started moving. It had taken the guy a second to come to, and when he did it was with a muffled shout. Jazz looked around, alarmed that someone had heard. She desperately tried to catch his eye as she vigorously shook her head in an attempt to signal him to shut up. He seemed to understand the message, but it was unfortunately too late.

"Oh, good. The new shipment is awake." It was a man in a white lab coat that had come out of a door off to the side. He was wearing surgical gloves and had rolled in a gurney. Jazz backed away from the man which simultaneously pressed herself into the wall, behind the other victim. As she did she felt a sharp pain in her arm as something sharp pressed into it. Could it be?

"I usually have more in stock but harvest has been poor lately."

Jazz made a show of pressing herself closer to the wall in fear to disguise her tracing the outline of the sharp thing. It felt like a piece of metal that was sticking out of the broken down, rusty walls.

The man in white looked over at her before he turned his attention towards the other victim. He strode over, crouched next to the bound man before grabbing his chin to tilt it upwards. The guy struggled against the grip but their kidnapper held firm.

Jazz took the opportunity to position her bound hands against the sharp thing and start sawing her restraint on the sharp edge experimentally. Back and forth.

"Hm," the scientist mused as he turned the guy's face to the sides, before letting go and brushing his hand against his pristine pants. Jazz stopped moving. "You'll do," he concluded before turning towards the gurney and taking a few things out of the side pockets.

Jazz started on the sawing again, this time more vigorously, grateful her partner in adversity was partially hiding her by the way he was positioned. She looked up to make sure her abductor was busy and caught him inserting the needle of a syringe into a bottle of unknown substance. She stifled a hiss as she cut the skin of her wrist on accident, and carried on her repetitive motion. She could feel the zip-tie starting to give way when the creep turned back towards them with a full syringe.

"Here we go," he said as he turned towards the younger man who just glared at him. The creep paid it no mind as he plunged the syringe into the younger guy's neck and pushed the plunger all the way down. Her fellow captive tried to headbutt the creep but he evaded it.

The creep turned back towards the gurney and Jazz took the chance. She gave a big heave and was rewarded by the snap of the zip-ties. After that it all happened very fast.

The creep started to turn around, only to be met with Jazz's roundhouse kick to the head. She immediately turned to the gurney, betting on there being a scalpel and was rewarded with the sight of a surgical knife instead. She grabbed it and made short work of her fellow captive's restraint.

As she was helping his up, a voice came from the corridor the creep had come out. "Boss?"

Jazz froze.

"You ok, Boss?" came a second voice.

Jazz looked to the now-freed man who looked back intently, though she could see how hard he was trying not to lose focus. Whatever was in the syringe was starting to take hold. She didn't know how many guys where there and her companion was clearly in no condition to help her fight. Their best chance was to run away and regroup later.

Jazz didn't have time to hesitate, she grabbed the guy's arm and started running down one of the tunnels leading away from the approaching voices.

Hopefully a head-start would be enough to make up for her flagging companion.

[visvivae]

added this to my pinned. i'm not going to divulge the intricacies of my own mental health issues, but i am notoriously slow when it comes to responding in rps and/or dms. furthermore, i am an IMPULSIVE rper and will respond to things that immediately sparks my muse. this is NOT a reflection on anyone's writing or skill, but just one of the many facets of my disabilities that make it difficult for me.

i apologize if anyone gets offended by my silence or "ghosting", but know that i have every intention of interacting be it immediately or in the future.

[normalbrothershow]

dean saying that john sent him away when he pissed him off too much. when in reality john sent dean away so he could fuck sam in peace #themoreyouknow

[xluciifer]

NOBODY CAN TELL ME IN EDEN THAT LILITH WAS SHAVED AND CLEAN. I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT. EVERYTHING WAS OPEN TO SEE AND HE STILL FELL IN LOVE WITH HER. SHE HAD A RAIN FOREST PUSSY, THAT'S ALL HE'S EVER KNOWN AND HE LOVES HER FOR IT.

HE WOULD BE DEVASTATED IF SHE SHAVED.

[ladyohdeath]

heading to bed now! please be advised that i have updated my rules a little bit so please go read them if you can. i mostly just added a little part of the rules that explains that rio is a bit of a crazy muse and she may insult/bully your characters in threads, but please remember it's all in good fun and i will never cross the line without your permission. additionally, i added some details about how this isn't the space for you if you aren't interested in writing with complex characters, especially villains! i know that fandom spaces have an awful habit of never giving female characters the same grace that they give male characters, ESPECIALLY villians, and i really want to make it clear what kind of character rio is and how i'm going to approach writing her.

[clegfly]

Getting REAL sick and tired of how omori TikTok views sunny.

Like, they view any scene of him being emotionally vulnerable, affectionate, or even just making an expression outside of just being completely neutral as “mischaracterised”. He’s not some cool, stoic, unwavering badass, he is a traumatised teenager. Don’t cry whenever he dares to give his friend a hug or (god forbid) be SAD about something??? Isn’t like. Part of the point of his development about him allowing himself to break down the repressive walls he built when he shut himself in? And being able to rely on his real friends instead of imaginary versions? And isn’t the game like. Meant to SHOW that he still cares about them despite isolating himself?

It’s really stupid to get mad at a character like that showing emotion or affection personally, especially since he’s not used to expressing it properly after so long. But that’s just me

[stromuprisahat]

The negligible amount of Daemyra pegging fics on AO3 is shameful. Especially if you dare to add more filters. Do people truly believe Daemon never took it up his ass with his wife, or are they too scared to write it?!

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.