#Each floor is seen as a single community

[streetsofdublin]

A NEW CO-LIVING PROJECT ON MOUNTJOY STREET STREET

BLACK CHURCH VIEW For many years there was a derelict building between Paradise Place and Mountjoy Street and beside it is the famous Black Church. It is now being redeveloped as the “Black Church View” project, which will consist of 114 shared accommodation units, a café, gym, co-working space and indoor and outdoor recreation and amenity spaces. Below is a somewhat idealised description of…

[i-eat-mold]

can you imagine being Nakahara Chuuya, 15 years old? for starters you’re 15 which by itself is a nightmare but whatever. you’re the head of this weird kid gang in the slumps where you grew up and btw you also don’t remember anything that happened before the age of 8. you can manipulate gravity which is pretty cool and you have some friends ish that you have to protect (aka said gang members that are also just kids and early teenagers) because you just have a heart so big that won’t fit inside your ribcage but whatever. and you know how 15yos are they have like their own language and behavior for each of their own little social groups and if you don’t act or talk or whatever that way then you’re like really weird, but whatever.

one day you find this weird kid that is dressed like he walked right out of his own funeral and is also covered in bandages and just won’t fucking shut up. he’s the most annoying *thing* you’ve ever seen even though he’s barely alive. You obviously beat him up right away and then he becomes even weirder. suddenly you’re stuck with the weirdest boy you could have ever imagined. he’s the dumbest person alive, he communicates by staring into your soul with his one(1) empty void of an eye and saying absolutely nothing. he acts like he has never had a single social interaction in his life. he declares his love for you within the same day of meeting him. Btw, you’re stuck with him for the next seven years. Oh, and he lives in a metal container in a dump. Also he has like two friends which you are pretty sure don’t even like him either. one of them barely talks and is somehow even weirder than the boy itself and the other one is an absolute stuck up which you are pretty sure might be a double agent but no one says anything despite how obvious it seems to you. you still aren’t sure whether this boy wants to die or not. he is an absolute machine at playing arcade video games but a completely useless piece of shit at everything else. He rolls on the floor when he’s focused. oh and also he has stated several times that he spends every waking moment thinking of how to make you miserable, and somehow he still would never let you die.

i guess he’s your friend?

[1980shorrorfilm]

hopelessly devoted to you

click here. resources for palestine, congo, sudan, and other countries.

pairing…ellie williams x gn!reader

in which…a certain someone remembers your birthday.

before you read…fluff. angst. cutie patootie ellie <3

it was a grueling day. the sky dim from the consistent storming, the rain damping your body and hair, up until you and jesse had taken cover at a moldy gas station. you sat there for an hour, listening to him talk about dina and their separation…their tenth separation? you lost track a while ago.

but you don’t judge, you hummed in agreement to his frustrations and nodded the entire time. you get him, you do. your failed love life could be a ten-minute-long monologue, you think. relationships are hard in the small community of jackson, everyone has their person or keeps to themselves. you prefer to keep to yourself. you don’t necessarily need anyone— not if you can’t have her.

infected that were migrating through had run you out of the gas station, you and jesse dodging branches and heavy rocks throughout the forest as you ran back home. you, of course, tripped over a dead stump and banged your head on nature's floor.

if you were jesse you would have laughed at yourself, but your generous friend could only watch in horror, worry painting his features while he helped you up, practically dragging your stumbling self until you were in the clearing.

every single muscle in your body was aching when you arrived at jackson’s gates, it felt like seeing the gates of heaven itself. you don’t know what time it is, the sky has been dark the entirety of the day, and your head is pounding.

“we should get you to the infirmary, just in case,” jesse tries, however, you are ready to call it a night and worry about your current issues tomorrow. probably a bad idea, sure, but you don’t care that much in the worn out state you’re in. “i’m fine, jesse,” you lie to the man, but the smile you give him is enough for him to back off, “just need a bandage and a very comfortable bed. not one of those cots.”

“you’re stubborn…ellie’s rubbing off on you.”

“shut up,” you jokingly tell him, chewing your bottom lip as your mind goes to ellie. the idea of seeing her sweet face after the day you just had would provide you more comfort than the bed you so desperately yearn for.

to hear her voice, telling you about the day she had, that you know for certain was miles better than yours. and that’s amazing— ellie williams doesn’t deserve a hard day in her life. you would take all of them for her, even if each one felt as cruel as today.

jesse walks you all the way home, an illuminating glow coming from your windows, despite turning the lights off before you had left. or at least, you had thought you did. you say goodbye to jesse, having to promise you will take care of your injury before bed so he would leave.

you open your door with a deep sigh of relief, eager to shred your backpack and soggy clothes, and slip into something comfortable.

you drag your feet down the hall, stopping in place when your shut bedroom door, swings open before you.

“fuck.”

“ellie?” your brows dip, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at the surprise, “what are you doing?”

“i, uh, well,” she scratches the back of her neck, turning around, waiting for you to follow her into your bedroom. you do, mind drifting to the thought of how unkept you left it earlier, not having time to deal with the laundry at the end of your unmade bed. ellie had seen that; you’re embarrassed.

you gulp, stepping inside the room, and the sight you’re met with confuses you. your bed is made. your clothes are gone. instead, there’s a beige teddy bear, one that’s unfamiliar to you, that’s never been in your room before. it’s undeniably cute, even with its left ear ripped and its eye poorly patched back on.

laid against its belly is a large and flat square object wrapped in old newspapers, tiny pieces of duct tape holding it together. where a classic and beautiful ribbon would be, are shoelaces, making a bow. or an attempt at one.

and laid against that, is what appears to be a doodled on piece of paper. you glance at ellie, then your bed, then ellie.

“i…” she begins, the soft expression on her face suddenly hardening when her eyes trail to the single droplet of blood falling from your temple, and down the side of your face.

“what the fuck happened?” ellie takes a few short steps towards you, grabbing your face with her coarse hands, and turning you so she can inspect the area. even when you try to turn your head, she keeps you still.

“gonna tell maria to pair us. i love jesse but—”

“i tripped, ellie, it couldn’t have been prevented,” you cut her off, but her suggestion does make your heart flutter, and you wouldn’t be opposed to it. you’d spend every last second you have in this universe with her.

“you don’t know that,” ellie says, the woman thinking she could do anything to protect you— even simple mistakes you cause yourself. she exits the room for a moment, and you can’t help but walk to the foot of your bed to get a closer look at the objects on it.

you pick up the paper, realizing it’s not just a piece of paper, it’s a card. a makeshift one. and the doodles aren’t just doodles, it’s a dinosaur holding three balloons. three of your favorite colors. happy birthday, it says. birthday…your birthday…it’s your birthday.

it had not crossed your mind once today, this week, or this month. you only thought about it a couple of months back when it was briefly brought up in a conversation. how the community you were born into utilized calendars even if there was nothing to look forward to anymore, and how you almost wish you weren’t informed on the day you were born. there was nothing to celebrate, no one to celebrate with.

ellie was determined to change that, and she did.

you open the card, a paragraph in the center of the paper.

hey y/n, guess what day it is :) if you couldn’t tell by the extremely beautiful dinosaur in a party hat, it’s your day!! happy fucking birthday, y/n. probably doesn’t feel like much of a celebration today. little do you know i celebrate you everyday. don’t tell anyone that. i honestly think i’d die without you so never leave me, yeah? i love you y/n. i could take up this whole page telling you every little thing i love about you but i’m not going to do that because i don't think i could stop. i hope you had a good birthday. if not i hope this helps. love, your ellie.

“sit down,” ellie reenters the room, not noticing the card in your hand, too focused on the medical supplies in hers. when she does, her face heats up, her pale face flashing red. you continue to hold it as you obey her, sitting next to the teddy bear. she waits for you to speak first, and you do the same to her, which causes a moment of silence as she kneels on the floor before you.

you’re taken back, utterly shocked by how fucking precious the girl could be, how good it feels receiving appreciation from her. getting love from her. not the love you have for jesse or dina, something different, something incomparable. she has your heart clutched tightly in her fist.

“thank you, ellie.”

“it’s nothing,” she shrugs, pouring a bottle of water on a bathroom towel, then bringing it to your face. she’s gentle as she wipes the dark red liquid away, dabbing the injury, scanning your face for discomfort so she can stop immediately. she’s definitely going to yell at jesse.

“it’s something,” you tell her, “and it means a lot to me…it really does.”

she halts her movements for a second, the embarrassment that maybe she did too much, vanishing from her body. “yeah?”

“duh,” you laugh slightly, “i didn’t even remember it, ellie. i was too busy having a shitty day. so thank you for making it better.”

ellie smiles slightly, holding back the grin threatening to spread across her face. she continues to clean your injury, knowing she could scold you for not seeking medical attention right away, but she won’t ruin the moment.

she finishes up by placing a clean bandage over the wound, pressing it delicately against your skin, an odd urge to place a kiss on your forehead to signal she was done. she thinks it’s weird, and doesn’t do it.

ellie reaches for the newspaper-wrapped object beside you, taking the card from your hands and replacing it with the gift. “open it.”

“you didn’t have to—” “open it.”

you groan, doing as told, fighting the annoying strong duct tape and peeling the paper off carefully, not knowing what’s beneath it. ellie keeps her green irises steady on your face as you do so, watching your mouth part faintly when you see the uncovered gift. “ellie…”

it’s a vinyl. an old one. one you’d listen to on a cassette tape until it deteriorated, and you had lost access to the heavenly vocals of the band you so greatly adored. ellie’s not familiar with them, but she had told you she would like to be after how highly you had spoken about them.

she hadn’t forgotten that conversation, or that band, and excused herself on patrol to seek out the damn vinyl in every music shop. she didn’t know it would be so hard, but even if she did, she would search again and again and again. it’s not only a gift, it is a reflection of ellie’s admiration of you.

“how— why— i don’t even have a record player,” you point out, eyebrows dipping slightly at the harsh reminder. “so?” she asks like you just said the silliest thing in the world. “i do…we can listen to it together.”

it’s then that you notice her hand on your knee, thumb grazing through the denim of your jeans in a repeated motion. you forget about the throbbing in your head, and you no longer care about the soreness of your body. that, along with the entire world, seems to fade away right now.

it’s not just your heart in her hands. it’s you, your mind, your soul, everything you have is in her palms. everything she tells you makes you feel weightless, like time pauses and you don’t have to worry about a single thing. just her. nothing else. just ellie. no one else.

“i love you.”

ellie smiles, “love you too.”

“no, ellie, i…” you hesitate, sucking in the air and then exhaling. your eyes are on the birthday card next to you, the vinyl in your hands, and then her widened pupils. you realize then, that you don’t need to repeat yourself, you don’t need to emphasize it. ellie gets it. your hands are trembling, and she holds them. but something is wrong.

the moment stretches on endlessly, watching a shadow of sadness flicker over her beautiful features. without her saying a word, that she has yet to do, you understand. she won’t say it back. not in the sense that you wish for her to.

“i…dina came to me…after her and jesse…she…” ellie’s quiet voice drifts off, sparing you the details of the night dina first showed up at her door, a repeated pattern until they finally shared an intimate moment that led to a short-lived kiss.

something you missed, because you weren’t searching for hints they had something. something you crave. her head is down, “i’m sorry.”

your confession now hangs heavy over both of you. you feel sick. you feel dumb. and yet, you force a small, understanding smile. “it’s okay.”

the words feel hollow. ellie feels like shit. she’s never cried in front of you, and she’s fighting back the tears that so desperately want to fall right now. she hadn’t meant for this to happen. she hadn’t met to fall in love with her best friend, all while her other friend was falling for her.

she could’ve waited— she would’ve waited. but it happened so fast, and ellie had made a decision already.

“i’m um…really tired,” you chuckle, trying to ease the tension, but it somehow makes it worse.

“y/n—” “do you mind if we call it a night?”

“you hit your head pretty bad,” ellie says, the sorrow tone of her voice now mixing with worry, “you should stay up.”

“you’re not my doctor, ellie,” you immediately catch the snappy tone you give her the moment the sentence leaves your mouth, biting your tongue in response. ellie doesn’t point it out nor make an argument out of it. she is the most understanding with you. even if the context is her simply looking out for you. you fold in your lips, still holding the gift, ellie finally standing up.

she doesn’t know what to say. at all. she could say sorry a million times but eventually they will mean nothing to you. she doesn’t even know if they do now. “i uh…i’ll leave you alone.”

the worst words you could ever hear from the person you love the most in the world. of course, part of you wants her out of sight after the humiliation you just walked yourself into, but the other part of you wants to go with her, play the vinyl she had gifted you, and lay together in her bed as her finger taps in rhythm to the music on your thigh. but you can’t do that. not when her bed is reserved for someone else.

you barely nod, “okay.”

she gulps, hesitantly walking to your bedroom door, the one she was so happy to walk into just an hour prior. there’s guilt in each step she takes, her cheeks hot and mouth dry. she stops in your doorway, tugging at her bottom lip with her sharp teeth, glancing back at you.

whatever she was prepared to say, dies on her tongue, swallowing it down and opting for something else.

“happy birthday, y/n.”

then she’s gone. and you’re left alone with a teddy bear; a permanent reminder of this night. happy birthday to you.

[cyanidedrinkers]

Omega!Ghost fic?? Maybe??

Concept: Omega!Ghost who worked his ass off to get to his rank Omega!Ghost who refused to be a 'pack Omega' Omega!Ghost who clawed at his scent glands so much his scent is disturbing to others and almost sickening. He finds it hard to keep it under control and has to wear blockers just to keep others from having panic attacks or vomiting when around him. Omega!Ghost who got the name 'Ghost' from how pale people turned when around him. "It's almost as if they've seen a ghost" Alpha!Soap who finds Ghosts scent pleasant and comforting. Alpha!Gaz who's been trying to get close to Ghost and get him to open up since he joined the 141 only to be pushed away and snapped at. Alpha!Price who is the only one that can get close enough to Ghost without being yelled at. Omega!Ghost who has to wear a collar to keep his instincts intact. Due to his damaged scent glands he has to wear a collar made for Feral!Omega's so he doesnt attack anyone he smells. 141 not realizing that Ghost doesnt have a scent gland, or at least a very damaged one, and assumes Ghost just covers his scent up very well. Omega!Ghost being used as a weapon since Roba and who's gotten so used to just being used as a killing machine he's forgotten what it's like to be loved and cared for. The 141 who needs Ghost. It kills them all how distant their Omega is but they respect it and find ways around their brains screaming at them to protect and coddle him. Omega!Ghost who doesnt realize that he needs the others intel it's to late and they've all given up on trying to bond with him. Omega!Ghost who steals things with their scents on it to keep himself company as he nests during heat. Omega!Ghost who watches as the others try to find another Omega to bond too and just cries silently behind his balaclava. Who desperately wants to let them know. Omega!Ghost Simon Riley who wants to scent each and everyone of them. Omega!Ghost who refuses to co-operate with any new Omega they bring in to replace him so they all just leave 141 getting upset with Ghost every single time Simon Riley who, After a fight with the others, Rips off his collar and locks himself in his room. His scent, Pouring out the doors making everyone sick. Simon Riley, Who when found is bloody and crying. His attempt to rip out his scent gland for the second time failing leaving him a cold and bloody mess on his bathroom floor. Omega!Ghost who ends up getting his Scent glands fixed finally realizing how much he needs his pack and, Slowly, Scenting each one of them. Domestic 141 who have long since retired watching as their little pups run around and play fight with each other.

Is this a yay or a nah in the A/B/O COD community??

[heybank]

umm so i wrote a little fic/blurb idk i don't think it's good but it's something that's been stuck in my head for a while with my own little oc named grace but her name is only mentioned a few times so it could totally be ignored and seen as reader.

anyway this is my first ever fic so please be kind to me and if you have suggestions or other fic ideas i'd love to hear them.

not proof read and lowercase intended.

and if you think it's awful please lie to me i'm fragile 😔

deny

you are a lover girl. a hopeless romantic, someone who dreams of finding "the one" and living happily ever after. kie often says you tend to fall in love a little with everyone you meet. you can't help it though, you have so much love in you, it feels like you'll burst at the seams if you don't share it with others.

you think you're in love with your best friend jj maybank. no one understands you the way the wild blond haired boy does. no one can communicate with you with just a single look the way jj does. no one makes your heart beat out of your chest and your tummy flutter the way his dimpled smile does, eyes crinkling at the corners, a slight sunburn on his nose because lord know that boy doesn't use the sunscreen you bought him.

so yeah you're in love with jj maybank but then yesterday a different boy kissed you. pope heyward, your other best friend, genius extraordinaire whom you thought was maybe in love with kie but no- he kissed you and you felt a tingle in your ever beating heart. heat filled your cheeks and your ears became fuzzy. that was a new feeling when it came to pope. it made you excited to explore because as much as you love jj, you don't think the boy would ever return your undying affection because your friendship meant too much.

----

you stood in the threshold of popes bedroom, gasp stuck in your throat, eyes wide and mouth open at the sight before you. you’re not sure how to process what you’re seeing.

before you on the bed that pope kissed you on not even 24 hours ago, is jj maybank, your closest friend, kissing the heyward boy.

so many emotions flow through you at the sight before you.

shock because not once has jj; or pope for that matter mentioned or even hinted that they liked men- or each other. then again, jj has always liked beautiful people and pope is certainly that.

sadness because you and pope had literally just kissed. maybe you were naive to think a simple kiss meant something more to the boy, but it was pope, you don't think there's a mean bone in his body. then again you’ve always been too much of a romantic, too blinded to really see what’s in front of you. blinded by your want and need to be loved that perhaps you create situations in your mind that you interpret as reality? maybe you need to contact your therapist again. you're sounding even more delusional than before.

lastly, you feel jealousy. the angry green monster rumbling around in your tummy, making its way up your throat. you’re not sure what exactly is making you jealous because the image of the two boys kissing is surely confusing. are you jealous because pope is kissing another person who isn’t you? a part of you is jealous because he’s kissing jj. or maybe it’s that jj is kissing pope or that maybe they’re kissing eachother and they're not kissing you? you're not sure at this point. dear diary jealousy is a disease babes, and you are infected.

you must have made a noise because next thing you know, the two boys are pulling apart, a string of spit still connecting them and for a second your love rattled brain is jealous of it. the spit that is, because deep down you’ve always known that you wanted them both… to be the one to connect them. you feel slightly crazy being jealous of spit.

jjs face goes beat red and then flushes pale, like a ghost. he looks terrified and like he might vomit all over the floor in a second.

“grace!” popes panicked voice reaches your ears but they’re still kind of ringing from the shock of seeing your supposedly straight best friends kiss.

in your heartbroken haze you wonder if you're being a bad ally right now. you love the gays you swear! you just never pictured pope and jj as being a part of the gays ™.

you clear your throat, “jb and kie are waiting for us downstairs. we were going out on the boat today, remember?”

you try and say that as gently as possible because jj still looks like he’s going to pass out and pope isn’t much better.

popes hands are shaking as he reaches for you and a part of you wants to pull away but you’re not mean. you’ve never been mean so even if your feelings are hurt you’ll always put your best friends feelings above your own. and it looks like pope needs to touch you. maybe to hold your hand and reassure him you’re really standing there, witnessing something that you probably shouldn’t have.

so many emotions flicker through popes eyes. you can’t really see his blush but you’re sure if you touch his face it would be hotter than the sun.

pope grabs your hands in his shaking ones. you can feel how clammy they are and you hazard a look back to jj who has yet to even move. you’re a little concerned he’s gone into shock.

you let out a soft sigh and smile at the boys, a smile that is mostly genuine.

you squeeze popes hand and make eye contact with the panicked blonde boy on the bed.

“it’s ok jj. i won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.” you speak kindly, as if you’re talking to a scared feral cat.

you only see jj swallow hard. “for what it’s worth, i understand the appeal... wanting to kiss pope and all.” you tease hoping to cut the obvious tension in the room. you feel like you're the one choking now.

jj and pope both let out huffs like they’re afraid to laugh but also relieved you’re not upset.

“you’re not mad?” jj croaks like he still has a frog lodged in his throat. he looks at you with soft wonder, like you’re the best thing in his life. his stare makes your tummy flutter.

“of course not. you guys are my best friends. i only ever want you to be happy!” you reply honestly. jj deserves happiness after the shit life he’s been dealt. he deserves good things and if you have to set aside your feelings in order for him to have good things then by golly you’ll do that.

“grace, about yesterday-“ pope starts off,

“don’t worry buddy, already forgotten.” you cut him off. hopefully saving him the strife of having to apologize to you about the kiss and saving you the embarrassment of him telling you he regrets your kiss. you don't think you could survive hearing that out loud.

you march over to jj still holding popes hand, effectively dragging the boy with you. you throw your arms tightly around jjs neck and after a heartbeat, jj returns your hug. you move your head to look at pope and nod at him, encouraging him to join the hug.

“now c’mon. you know how pissy jb gets when he’s made to wait” you giggle.

you lead the boys out of popes room and home and into the twinkie without giving them an option of saying no.

“finally! i thought y’all died or something. what took so long” john b huffs in exasperation.

“my fault jb!” you quickly chirp so the boys don’t have to panic and think of a lie “pope showed me the new book he got and it’s my favourite and i starting gushing and you know me i can’t shut up and… well i forgot why i went up to get them in the first place” you giggle with a sheepish smile.

“you’re so lucky you’re cute, grace” kie laughs teasingly.

you see pope and jj making eye contact. you have a feeling you might need to play therapist for them soon. pope doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings without beating around the bush and well, jjs favourite thing to do is deny deny deny.

actually, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do too! deny you have feelings for pope. deny you have feelings for jj. deny you ever saw them kiss and deny that them kissing only upset you because you weren’t a part of it. deny that a part of you enjoyed it. deny that your feelings matter in this situation and deny that if given the chance, you’d love to be in between a beautiful jj maybank and pope heyward sandwich.

yep, deny deny deny. this is gonna be a long freaking summer.

[lost-in-fandoms]

I have a fic idea I need someone to write but basically it’s Max as current Max and his “community service punishment” is to talk to class in the next city they’re in….which is Austin….where teacher/single father/former retired (years before) driver/whatever Daniel lives and obv max clocks him right away and is 😍😍 and Daniel is 😍😍 but is also a shit stirer and keeps cursing around him trying to get him in trouble again

Not exactly what you asked for, but i hope it's still okay. Sorry it took me a little bit to get to it!

The school looks nice. Max never goes to pick up his nephews, he knows by what Victoria tells him that it's already chaotic so he doesn't want to accidentally make it even worse by showing up in front of an excitable group of children, but he has vague memories of his own elementary school and this looks much nicer.

The paintings on the walls look professional and beautiful and the classrooms are big and bright. Even the people he passes by look fancier, but max doesn't know if they always look like that or if they have dressed up for the day

All in all, he's not mad about having to do this. His community service could have been much worse, or much more boring, than just talking to a bunch of kids about street safety and being respectful of others. He's already done his little speech to two groups, even sticking pretty close to the script someone had handed him the day before. His favorite bit had been the last 10 minutes with each group, when the kids had been allowed to ask him any questions they wanted. A kid had asked if his car was able to go to the moon, and when max had said no the kid had said "oh. that's not cool then". Max had laughed and agreed with him.

He still has one group to go, and then he'll be able to go back to the hotel and look over some data before maybe streaming with the boys.

"How old are they?" he asks the PR person who's been trailing him all day. He doesn't remember his name, it's someone sent from the FIA not from the team, but Max hasn't managed to displease him yet, which in his opinion should already count for something.

"Six," the guy answers after checking his notes, letting Max cross the threshold first behind the school principal.

The class looks colorful. There are drawings and posters on the walls, bright pillows in one corner, near a very well stocked bookcase, and the kids are sitting in a semicircle on some mats on the floor.

Max tunes out the principal as he introduces him for the third time today, looking instead at the teacher, who's sitting on a mat like the kids, smiling the most beautiful smile Max has ever seen.

When their eyes meet, the teacher winks, his smile widening as Max, embarrassingly, feels himself blush.

The PR guy (Max really should have asked for his name) coughs a little, and Max realises the principal has finished his introduction, and everyone is looking at him waiting for him to say something.

The teacher hides his smile behind a hand, and Max feels torn between leaving the room and trying his hardest to impress him. Which is hard, considering his speech is about looking both ways and remember to buckle your seatbelt and a joke is a joke only if everyone involved finds it funny, but Max has never backed down from a challenge.

So he smiles his best smile, and lowers himself to the floor, crossing his legs to mirror the kids.

"Hello, I'm Max," he starts. A cheery chorus of hello Mr. Max chimes back at him, which is already a good start, maybe, and then he throws himself into it.

He knows he's overdoing it a little, being way too enthusiastic about traffic lights, but the teacher seems to appreciate it, and the kids don't look too bored yet, even answering the easy questions he throws in from time to time, so he doesn't feel like toning it down.

He feels like he's doing a very good job, launching into his being a good friend means making sure everyone is comfortable spiel, when the teacher raises his hand.

Max blinks, sentence dying on his lips. The kids look expectantly at their teacher.

"Uh...yes?" Max doesn't know what the correct way to act in a classroom is anymore. He should be a good example for the kids, but how can he when he's being thrown off course?

"Hi Max, yes, thank you. I wanted to ask, would you say being respectful includes the language we use with our friends too?"

The kids look back at Max with attentive little faces. The teacher (again, Max needs to pay more attention to names) has a shit eating grin on his face, showing he knows exactly what he's doing. Max considers getting up and leaving, but then remembers he doesn't back out of a challenge.

"Yes, it's important to be respectful with that too," he answers, his own sickly sweet smile on. The teacher's grin widens, but he doesn't say anything else, so Max awkwardly tries to go back to his speech, barely remembering where he had left off.

He's almost at the end when the teacher raises his hand again.

Max considers ignoring him, but the kids have already noticed, and it would probably be bad class manners to. Not that Max cares, but he doesn't want the kids to think badly of him.

"Yes?" he says, maybe a little more harshly than necessary. The guy seems extremely pleased by it.

"Do you think it's correct to punish someone if their joke hurts someone's feelings?"

Max narrows his eyes, grimacing a little. He's pretty sure he's not being punished because he hurt someone's feelings, but only to use him as an example.

"I think the most important thing is to apologize," he tries to contain his annoyance now that the kids are looking at him again, but he's not sure he's successful, "and to make sure not to do it again."

"What if someone hit someone else?" a little girl with a long braid asks, throwing a glance at another kid sitting further down the circle.

Max is not getting into class politics, thank you very much, not even if they're six years old.

"You never should hit anyone, that's not nice, but apologizing is always the most important thing."

Max can feel the PR guy growing a little bit nervous behind him when another kid raises his hand. Max hasn't even finished his speech.

"What if someone says a really bad word?"

Oh, god.

The teacher's smile is impossibly wide as he blinks innocently at Max. Did he brief these kids????

"Sometimes it's..." Max starts, but then he sees the teacher subtly shake his head, frowning slightly. Fine, no hard truths for the kids. "You should never use bad words, especially not to hurt somebody's feelings."

What bad words do six years olds even know?? The teacher is smiling at him though, so Max tries to relax again, rushing through the last part of his speech and then letting the kids ask questions.

"Are you a teacher?" a kid says, even as his hand shoots in the air.

"You need to wait for your turn!" long braid girl rebukes him, her hand firmly above her head.

"You talked too!" another kid exclaims, turning towards the teacher while point at her. "They both talked without permission!"

Maybe this is a challenge Max can back out of.

The kids all start to bicker, as the teacher tries to quieten them down, and for the first time today Max feels a bit overwhelmed.

Those are kids. Tiny people. Who will probably remember this day as the day racing driver (and possibly teacher?) Max Verstappen was in their class to talk about not swearing and staying on the sidewalk. He's not used to this.

Sure, he knows how to talk to kids he knows, and he is alright with kids interviewing him, but this is different. He doesn't know how to be a role model for these kids.

He doesn't know what his face is doing, or if his time just runs out, but suddenly the teacher is clapping sharply and standing up, heavily leaning against a chair to do so.

"Okay, say thank you to Mr. Max, and then go grab your books for quiet time!"

Arguments forgotten, the kids chorus together a thank you Mr. Max, and then scamper away, digging into bags and backpacks for books.

Max watches them for a second, the only one left sitting on the mats, before a hand appears in his line of vision. When he looks up, the teacher is looking at him with a smaller smile, softer and gentler than before, one that makes him look, if possible, even more handsome.

Max accepts the hand up, standing and brushing his jeans off.

"Sorry about that," the teacher says, sounding completely unapologetic.

Max smiles at him, shaking his head.

"It's fine, I've had worse," he jokes, shrugging slightly. The man laughs, big and bright and beautiful, and something in Max's chest shifts, trying to make space for it, to hold it for as long as possible.

He wants to hear that laugh more. He wants to be the cause of it again.

Which is a really silly thought to have, when he's about to leave the classroom and never see the man again.

"Claire, stop that right now or I'll take back your sharpening privileges!" the teacher suddenly says, looking at whatever is happening behind Max. There's a squeal, one girl complaining loudly while a few others giggle.

The teacher turns back towards Max, smiling with something that could almost look like regret.

"I have to go before they start killing each other. Thank you for joining us," he says, offering his hand to Max once again, who takes it gladly. He doesn't know what the PR guy is doing, but he hopes he's not writing this down to tell the FIA.

"It was a pleasure," Max says, still holding his hand. Neither of them is pulling back. How long does a handshake need to be before it turns into holding hands?

The volume of the conversation behind Max raises sharply, and the teacher looks away, narrowing his eyes a little.

Max knows his time has run out, but suddenly he can't bear the thought of never seeing him again. It's stupid, probably, but if there is the smallest chance....

"Listen, this is probably really inappropriate," the teacher's eyes snap back to him, widening in surprise. They're warm and beautiful and Max is still holding his hand. "but could I maybe get your number?"

For a second, the man just looks at him, as if processing what Max has actually said. And then, to Max's absolute shock, he smiles, eyes twinkling.

"Well, you're not a parent, and you're not a colleague, so I guess there's nothing too wrong about it," he says, finally pulling his hand away and walking towards the desk to grab a piece of paper and a pen.

Max walks out of the classroom a minute later, already listening to the sound of the teacher's voice raising above the arguing of the kids. In his pocket, a number and a name: Daniel.

[hyperactively-me]

Hear me out for King! Ghost…the kingdom is under attack and (Y/N) is trying to find Simon through the chaos. She finds him in the castle garden, on the ground with the enemy standing over him with their sword raised. The next thing (Y/N) sees is her driving her sword into the enemy’s back, killing them. When she realizes Simon is okay, it dawns on her that she has killed a person…I’ll leave it up to you finish this prompt.

Btw your king! Ghost fic has had me on a chokehold it is SO good

thank you for the compliment :) i'm not fully satisfied with this, so i hope y'all like it lol

(noncanon)

king!ghost x reader -- like you've seen a ghost warnings: physical violence, descriptions of death, injuries/blood, heavy angst; this is NOT canon

How did it end up like this?

How were Kastron's forces overpowered, leading to the castle getting infiltrated and overran by enemy forces?

The first signs of trouble came when the castle guards, stationed at key points, were ambushed from within. Chaos erupted as the enemy struck swiftly and decisively, disabling communication and creating confusion amongst the guards and knights within the palace. Betrayed from within, the castle fell into disarray, and panic spread like a wildfire.

Simon shoves a sword in your hand and forces you into a closet, your fingers trembling around the hilt as Simon's urgent eyes bore into yours. "Remember what you've learned," he says, motioning to the sword in your hand. "And, for the love of God, do not move from this spot."

He presses a fleeting kiss to your lips, then shoots you a final lingering gaze before he slips his skull balaclava over his face.

As the closet door closes behind you, the muffled sounds of chaos outside become amplified in the suffocating darkness. The minutes crawl by like hours as you strain to hear any sign of Simon's return or the advancing enemy forces. The closet offers a stifling refuge, and each passing second intensifies the pounding of your heart. The distant echoes of the struggle outside seem to become more muffled.

A sudden hush falls over the room, and you feel a shiver crawl down your spine. The eerie silence is shattered by the creaking of the closet door as you cautiously open it, the cool air of the corridor rushing in. You twist your sword in your grip, angling it in a way that would let you strike anyone who came across you. You emerge from the closet into a scene of devastation—broken armor scattered across the stone floor, the faint scent of blood lingering in the air.

With trepidation, you move through the corridors, heart racing in your chest. There was no one to be found, not even a single knight.

As you round a corner, you stumble upon a grisly scene—the lifeless bodies of Kastron's guards and enemy fighters, the remnants of a fierce battle. Bile rises in your throat, panic gripping your chest, and you quicken your pace, desperate to find Simon. You don't dare call out for anyone in fear that the enemy will attack you.

Dizziness washes over you as you run down the corridor, stumbling upon the double doors that lead to the gardens. Outside the doors, you can hear yelling and the clashing of swords.

Simon wouldn't want you out here, you know it, but how could you stand by whilst Kastron is being invaded? The need to protect your home was overwhelming, so you stood as straight as you could before stepping outside. You shake your head, steadying your breathing as you push open the doors. The clash of steel and anguished cries intensify as you step outside, your grip on the sword tightening. The scent of crushed flowers and damp earth fills the air as you push open the doors, incongruous to the bloodshed within the castle walls.

No one seems to notice you, too caught up in their personal battles and one-on-one combat.

Your eyes dart between the people fighting, searching desperately for any sign of Simon.

In the midst of the tumult, you spot him, a lone figure fending off multiple adversaries. His movements are swift and purposeful, each strike of his sword fatal.

Until now, you've never seen Simon engaged in battle. Of course, you had heard tales of his skills and prowess before you even got married, but witnessing him in action sends chills down your spine. The stories did not do justice to the raw power and grace with which he moved through the battlefield.

You don't know whether you want to beg him to stop or stay back and observe. His skull balaclava looks even more menacing and deadly than ever.

Simon's blade is deadly, each swing and parry precise, calculated, and unforgiving. Each strike finds its mark, taking down each assailant efficiently, knocking them down one by one. Once he finishes off the hoard of people, he takes a shuddered breath, standing up tall as he surveys his surroundings.

Unbeknownst to him, one person had snuck up behind him, kicking Simon down with a loud thump.

The world seems to freeze for a moment as Simon crumples to the ground, caught off guard by the unexpected attack.

"No," you whisper to yourself, eyes going wide at the person pushing your husband to the ground.

Your heart skips a beat, and instinct propels you forward. The enemy, emboldened by their surprise attack, raises their sword for a final, fatal strike.

Time slows as you charge towards them, the sword in your hand cutting through the air. The enemy, unaware of your presence until now, turns too late to defend themself from your onslaught. Your strike stabs straight through their back, a fatal blow.

The enemy gasps, dropping their sword before they could drive it into Simon's chest. They crumble to the ground, lifeless.

Your action hits you like a tsunami, and you stumble backwards, breathless. The world blurs around you as guilt and horror consumes your senses. He looks up, his eyes registering surprise and relief as he sees you unharmed.

Simon's voice pierces through the chaos as he rasps your name once, twice. You still don't fully register that he's calling for you, saying your name.

The ground beneath your feet feels unsteady, and you gasp for air, caught in the grip of a suffocating terror. You sink to your knees, the reality of what you did crashing over you. Your sword slips from your fingers, clattering on the ground. Your attention finally snaps back to Simon, who is still on the ground, momentarily incapacitated. He's struggling to rise, but determination glints in his eyes.

"Simon," you manage to croak, the taste of bile in your throat. You crawl towards him, desperate to reach him and make sure he's okay.

"I told you to stay in the closet," he manages to say.

But you can't comprehend his words. Panic tightens its grip around your chest, and your vision blurs with tears.

"I had to protect you," you whisper, the words barely audible over the din of the ongoing conflict. But the justification feels hollow, and a heavy weight settles in the pits of your chest.

You reach Simon, your trembling hands desperately searching for any sign of injury. His skin under his armor is battered and bruised, and thin trail of blood escapes from a tiny cut on his forearm, but other than that he's fine. The sight of the trickle of blood sends a surge of naseua through you, and you clutch his arm, as much for your own support as for his.

"Simon, I- I..." you stammer, unable to form words. Your eyes dart from his forehead to the attacker laying lifeless on the grass next to you two. Simon's gaze follows yours, and there's a silent understanding in his eyes.

"We need to move," Simon urges, his voice penetrating the disorienting fog in your mind. He starts to stand up, yanking your arm along with him.

You still don't move, too caught up in the way blood seeps into the earth.

"We have to go," Simon insists, his grip on your arm firm. The touch feels distant and disconnected. The urgency in his eyes is undeniable, and you force yourself to nod, pushing back the emotions that threaten to engulf you.

Simon's grip tightens as he pulls you up from the ground, dragging you by your arm harshly. You glance once more at the fallen enemy, anxiety gripping at your heart.

Together, you and Simon stagger away from the battleground unnoticed, moving through the castle's corridors. Simon's pace is brisk, purposeful, but the tension in his movements is palpable. He's still on high alert, ready to defend himself and you from any potential threats.

As you reach his study, Simon locks the door behind him and releases his grip on your arm. He moves to the bookshelf against the far wall and shoves it aside, grunting as he moves it. Behind the wall is a stone door, heavily fortified. With another aggressive movement, he's able to shove the door open, throwing his shoulder against it.

The hidden door reveals a dimly lit room. Simon motions for you to follow him, and you do so without a word. The air in the room is cool, carrying the scent of damp stone.

Simon leads the way with a determined stride, his jaw set. He pulls his balaclava off, revealing the frustration and concern on his face.

Simon finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he speaks.

"What were you thinking?" Simon's voice is low, his words weighted with disappointment. "I told you to stay in the closet, to keep yourself hidden."

Your eyes dart down, guilt and fear rendering you speechless. The images of the lifeless enemy you just struck down replays in your mind, each moment tormenting your senses. You feel trapped, and panic continues to tighten its grip on your chest.

"I... I couldn't just stay there. I had to do something," you stammer, your voice barely audible, tears now freely flowing down your cheeks.

Simon's gaze doesn't waver, his expression stern. Still, he reaches out to cup your face, swiping away some of your tears with his thumb. "You were meant to stay hidden, not to charge into the middle of the fuckin' battlefield. You put yourself at risk, and you put me at risk. I can't protect you if you don't follow orders."

Numbly, you manage to nod, your eyes finally meeting Simon's.

Guilt gnaws at you, a heavy lump in your throat. The reality of your impulsive actions sinks in, and the consequences unfold in Simon's disapproving eyes. You tremble, unable to shake the vivid images from your mind; the smell of the blood, the way it felt when your sword pierced through the person.

You start to breathe rapidly, the small room closing in on you. Everything feels too big, too much—

Simon's stern expression softens, replaced by genuine concern as he sees the panic taking hold of you. He leads you to a dingy chair in the corner of the room and he crouches in front of you, his hands gently holding yours.

"Easy now, love," Simon murmurs, his voice calm as he breaks through the fog of your panic. "Focus on your breathing. In and out. Slowly."

The panic continues to claw at your throat, choking on your tears and inability to get enough air to your lungs. You follow his lead, trying to match your breaths with his. The rhythmic inhales and exhales provide an anchor, helping to alleviate the panic that threatens to consume you. Slowly, you try to regain control over your breathing, clinging to the physical sensation.

"Thas' it," Simon encourages, his voice low. "In and out. We're safe."

Gradually, the tightness in your chest begins to ease, and the room seems a little less suffocating.

"I know it's a lot to comprehend right now—"

"I killed someone," you whisper, voice shaky and raw, tears welling up in your eyes once more. Simon doesn't move an inch.

His gaze doesn't waver, and he maintains a steady grip on your hands. "I know," he says softly, his voice a comforting anchor in the chaos. "It was self-defense, dove."

"I was trying to protect you," you mutter, your eyes dropping to the ground.

A sigh escapes Simon, and he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "You had to protect yourself and, by extension, me. It's a brutal reality, but it's the world we find ourselves in right now."

You look up at him, searching for any sign of anger or blame in his eyes, but all you find is understanding. He pulls you into a reassuring embrace, his arms enveloping you as if to shield you from the harshness of the outside world.

"You did what you had to do to protect me," Simon murmurs against your hair. "But, charging into battle like that... it was reckless. I can't lose you."

You swallow thickly, squeezing his hand. Simon's thumb brushes against your knuckles, a gesture of both comfort and concern.

"I trust you, I do. But I need you to trust me," Simon continues.

He pulls away slightly, holding your face gently between his hands. His eyes search yours for assurance, a plea for understanding. "We're in this together, and I need you safe. Promise me, even if things get hard, you'll follow the plan and trust that I'll come for you."

You nod, your voice barely a whisper, "I promise."

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[spdrvyn]

i love my husband — miguel o'hara drabble

fluff. heavy inspo on this video.

sorry for the inactivity and the lazy ass title, exam week came around before i could even start on the next request and i did nothing but relax the entire break (which was only FOUR days) so i'll bring this out and see if i can clear my sched enough to actually do shit. enjoy!

the moonlit sky reflects beautifully onto the shining surface of your mug, filled to the brim of chamomile tea and flooding your nostrils with delight as your body melts into the couch.

work kept you on the edge of your seat for the entire week, it was non-stop meetings and non-stop emergency calls even outside of your working hours that had you so stressed. you were sure you'd picked enough hairs out to make a wig.

the weekend is truly a blessing, you want to stay as far away as humanly possible from your phone and shut yourself out from civilization before you come protector of debra's last minute files.

you missed the soft cotton of your pajamas, not like you haven't worn them in the past couple of days but to actually be able to appreciate what it means to wear them and the greeting of a good night's sleep had you sighing and moaning almost a little too much.

you worked hard, you definitely deserved this. you grab a spare pillow and tuck it under your head turning to the side and looking at the city that surrounded you, your patience and tenacity at the office has now been rewarded with the view you're able to appreciate.

however, the shadow that looms over the carpeted floors of your flat don't go away even after rubbing your eyes. you look up and a faint red glow in the symbol of a very familiar spider catches your eye immediately, you smile lazily through the glass.

miguel slides open the door with no hesitation, cape still drifting in the wind from what you can only assume to be his own previous working activities. you can sense the tension wafting off of him like waves especially as he stomps all the way over to where you are on the couch and looks down at you.

his mask isn't off, he's still fully geared, and all you can do is stare back into those lenses.

that is until he surrenders, body giving up, and his body flops right on top of yours. it doesn't really surprise you, there have been times where miguel has come home after a worse day of saving the multiverse and traps you in a hug before you can protest or move. though you've never really seen him do this before.

he adjusts his position, but still keeps his arms tightly wrapped around you as you move as well so that you're holding him back. his face is buried into the crook of your neck and the feeling of his nose tickling your skin tells you that he unmasked already.

not a single word leaves his mouth, you silently adore the way he's melted into you already, the way the muscles on his back rise only to slowly fall again.

you don't want to break the silence, neither of you do. right now, the only form of communication that matters is touch. your lips burning kisses into his curls, your nose now erasing whatever of your tea was left and making the way for miguel.

he shies away from your touch with a small groan, "i stink."

a giggle threatens to break out from the back of your throat, as many times as he would insist that you'd keep going anyway. "so when you do it, it's fine? i see how it is then."

miguel chuckles, he inches himself into you further. deeper. his breaths become less and less shallow, it's clear that he's taking his fair share of sniffs from you as well. "because you smell good."

"i ran a bath, that's why." one last peck to his head and you opt to just comb his hair instead, running your fingers through the strands and observing as they twist back to curl after brushing it some more.

both of you stay like that for a while, not saying anything, not doing anything, just being here. existing with each other. you always find moments like these beautiful, even when miguel is probably one work call away from shaking hands with the grim reaper.

in miguel, you've found yourself open to so many new experiences and risks you could've never imagined on your own. despite the many amount of times at the start of your relationship that he'd give you space and wouldn't be mad if you left, you kept still by his side anyway. you knew that he was worth it.

in you, miguel found that mundanity that he's never had his whole life. passing out on the sofa on his own never felt the same, most times he'd wake up still in his suit and would have to go to work right after anyway. yet with you, the stress ebbed away over time because he knew that you'd always be waiting for him.

whatever historians had with their relics, miguel had with you. not to keep them confined in a metal case, of course not, but he felt as if you were to be revered. kissed and touched with utmost respect and you'd bring the people their good fortunes and long lives. you certainly did for him and miguel might as well be immortal now.

his hands wander, fingertips delicately grazing over the skin tucked beneath your nightwear. he goes slowly, traveling up to your chest where he—

"miguel?"

his hands freeze, face going red. the guilt of possibly going too far is ready to break free from his heart and consume him until he can feel your body trembling with laughter.

"since you apparently stink so bad, shouldn't you shower first before getting so handsy?" miguel pouts at your comment, he already had the apologies locked and loaded for you.

"just a few more minutes, corazón."

[sl33paholics]

A Simple Pack of Lunch

Jack Hanma x reader

Warning(s): Nothing at all. Just wanted to do this quick drabble and continue on the other requests.

The same routine you've been following since meeting the enormous giant.

You'd watch him overwork himself, for god knows how many hours, seeing the jacked man grunt and groan with each time he lifted up those heavy ass weights, with any jab he did to the punching bag, overall hearing...him...being around...him...you could only imagine the things his fists and hands have slammed into.

But one thing for certain, you'd never seen Jack actually take breaks. It was the little things that you noticed first. To your knowledge, from the people who he'd let get close to him, Jack would block out anyone else's presence or even just their presence altogether if it wasn't necessary for him. That's what made his strength, or Jack as a person, so much of a mystery to you and everyone around him.

So you decided to bring something. A pack of lunch.

You wanted to feed him. Why? What did you care? You barely knew Jack. You don't know him at all. But seeing him overwork himself like this, it's not normal behavior to see someone doing. Jack deserved a break. And so you decided to do something for him in return, although he never managed to acknowledge your existence.

You stepped into the room that Jack was usually seen in. The door creaked when you opened it, but no sound came out from within the room. There were a few weights on the floor near the wall, a few empty water bottles next to them, but there were no other signs that anything had happened here recently. Quickly making your move, you took out an index card and a marker, leaving a little note on the boxed food as you placed it on the stepping stool that was next to the weights.

Nothing more than a kind gesture from a stranger. You couldn't stay for long to see witness his reaction as you had plans, so you had to leave.

But this simple act of kindness, you thought, should be enough for him to know that someone cares about him. As if this was the starting point of a red string attaching the both of you without knowing.

From that day forward, you decided to stop by the gym every now and then to leave some food for him to devour. Jack didn't seem interested in it at first, and yet Jack always ate it anyway. Every single time.

It was almost annoying to him to always have an anonymous individual, leaving himself something to eat without pinpointing who it could be. Jack could've easily thrown out the meals you worked hard on preparing, but instead, take a couple of minutes to savor the flavors that were cooked for him. Maybe it was because he felt obligated to do so.

This went on for some time until...the incident. This incident was unexpected, to say the least. One moment, it was raining outside, and you were getting ready to head home from work for the night. The sky seemed grey, the rain pelting relentlessly against the sidewalk. Your hair was wet, too, your clothes dripping with water from the rain that had come down earlier. With the sudden change of weather, you had no jacket or umbrella to cover you, so you were trapped inside until the weather was cleared.

And then, suddenly...this huge monster appeared before you, taking your breath away as it looked like it could squash you in its hands with ease. It was Jack. For the first time, the two of you faced each other rather than communicating through cards. It was a different atmosphere, but Jack was always the same Jack to you.

You weren't able to say anything at the time. You were still in shock that someone like him would acknowledge you. The tension between the both of you was high. You were mentally preparing yourself for what he was about to say or do.

A simple, folded up letter was handed over to you. You hesitated for a moment before taking it and unfolding it. The words, written in Jack's messy scrawl, told you that he appreciated the fact that you were being considerate towards him. That you'd come by and left him food. He was very grateful. In return, he said that he would try and meet up with you again sometime soon. But the part of the letter that caught your attention was the last part of the sentence. "Thank you." He wrote.

You looked up to see the blonde man gone. You were smiling from cheek to cheek, looking so silly in the middle of the entrance. Meet up again soon? On a separate occasion? All that mental anguish was now washed away with relief. After all of this time, Jack was finally showing interest. Although Jack is still a mystery, you couldn’t believe your luck. You were going to be able to spend more time together, to talk more, and maybe...just maybe…expand on this new profound experience.

[frankieburieshisdead]

✮ Hobie Brown x male!ballerina reader ✮

You and Hobie started going out about 6 months ago. You met at a black-empowerment student group on your campus years before you had started seeing each other, and you remembered him starkly because he was the only person in the room who had brought up any kind of black queer issue, to which he was quickly shut down. He never returned to the group, and you always thought he was so much cooler than you for that. Being the only dark face in a line of pinky white dancers every day meant that you couldn't give up the small community of black people you had amongst the students. Even if it meant nodding along with arguments like 'gay black folks give us a bad name.' Hobie would never do that. Hobie would have said something. Its part of the reason he swore to never return to organized liberation movements. "If the movement cant be translated to a mentality, its not worth your time my love," he had told you, and you had just smiled, because you knew you would never be as brave and he was. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him.

He brought you flowers on your first date. They were haphazardly picked and thrown about, clearly hand picked from someones garden he had pilchered, wrapped in an old newspaper. You loved them more than anything anyone had ever given you. You still kept them pressed in between a stack of books you kept at your hostel.

He came to every single one of your shows. Even the ones he couldn't afford, at fancy recital halls that made you feel out of place, he would find a way to sneak into the audience. One time, he even managed to get a job as a lighting guy a month before your biggest performance of the year so that he would be there. You still tease him about it.

The first time you went to one of his shows, you stuck out like a sore thumb. It was right after rehearsals, so you were still in your pink leotard and sheer brown leggings. Angry boys with spiked clothing kept on bumping up around you as the crowd bobbed up and down with the loud music. You couldn't find Hobie anywhere, and you didn't know why you did what you did, but when a particularly hard shove landed you on your hands and knees, scraped up from the grain of the cement floor, you called out for your boyfriend. "Hobie!" You shouted, almost certain he wouldn't hear as the crowd around you swallowed up the noise. Only he did hear, and not a moment later he was behind you, wrapping his long lanky arms around your waist as he pulled you back onto your feet. "You alright sweetheart?" He whispered just loud enough for you to hear. "Just got a bit overwhelmed. Sorry Hobes." You replied. He shook his head fondly at you, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. "Come with me?"

You spent the rest of the concert in the sound box above the stage, wrapped up in Hobie's big flannel jacket as you cheered on the lovely man you were beginning to fall in love with.

When he told you about the mask, about his other life as a webslining vigilante, you found that you weren't even surprised. Of course, your anti-cop, pro-punk politics boyfriend was Spiderman. It was the first time you had seen him look nervous, so you took his face in your hands and pressed his forehead agaisnt your own. "You're the bravest person I know. I am so proud of you," you whisper against his lips. And then, because it had to be said "don't you ever let yourself get hurt." He kissed you gently and promised.

He broke that promise less than a week later. You were warming up in your room before your first class, far earlier than anyone else was awake, which was why the loud banging on your door startled you so much. Never in a million years did you expect a bloody and battered Hobie Brown to fall into your room. He wouldn't let you call the police. Wouldn't even let you call an ambulance. You would never forget the rasping noise he made as he lay on your floor, blood soaking through your carpet.

You didn't speak to him for weeks after it happened. You were able to bribe some of the medical students from the STEM section of the campus to stitch up your clumsy boyfriend who had fell down the stairs. Apparently, it wasn't even that deep of a wound, just happened to nick a part of the body that blead a lot or something like that. You still woke up shaking when you thought about it.

Hobie does everything to get you to forgive him. He leaves flowers inside your ballet locker everyday, steals new lace for your shoes from the silk shop he knows you lone but can never afford. He apologizes again and again, but you can't look at him without seeing the gasping expression on his face as you thought you were watching him die. It's not until he does the one thing you thought he would never do, the one place where Hobie Brown swore he would never show his face again.

He was at the next black empowerment meeting you attended. You couldn't help the visible shock fall onto your face. "Just for the record, I don't like it here." He stated plain and clear before the meeting had even started. "I think you lot are a bunch of bootlicking, regressive posers who wouldn't know what respectability politics looked if they smacked you in the face." Hobie brought his gaze to his shoes, black locs falling over his eyes. "But I fucked up. I really scared someone I care about, and I dont know how to make it right. He's one of the bravest people I know, and I am so lucky that in some capacity, he chose me." Hobie looked up, directly at you now, "I love you sweetheart. I'm sorry, I should have never put you in that position. Let me make it up to you. However I can baby, let me make it up to you."

You stopped going to meetings. Hobie introduced you to a group of black ballet dancers who he had met when a theater had accidentally double booked his band, and suddenly your community was started to look a lot bigger than the arts campus. He promised you that he would always go to the hospital when he was hurt like that, even if it meant supporting a system of bourgeois control over public health that contributed to the futile distribution of wealth under capitalism. You didn't quite catch that last part. He kept his promise. He made it up to you.

END

[luveline]

Hello!! For the zombie au, I would love to see something (no pressure at all tho - I love you and any of your writing regardless ❤️❤️) where the reader gets overwhelmed at the camp and goes off on her own for a bit, causing Steve to go absolutely insane with worry in the meantime. Totally up to you whether something dangerous actually happens or not. Thanks a ton either way!!

thank you for your request! i didn’t make him as worried as I could’ve potentially so please request again if this isn’t quite what you meant! zombie au steve x fem!reader

There are three different children having tantrums at breakfast. You wince at the sound, hands at your knees and squeezing, looking for relief. You have a headache the size of Mount Everest, in the midst of recovery from a cold that had you weak with fever and aching, and this isn't what you'd pictured when you crawled out of your tent this morning. 

Steve had been snoring, and Robin's newly adopted cat had been restless, climbing up and down your bodies like you were nothing more than lumpy pillows, and combined with your headache it had been a little too much to bear. Rather than wake either of them to amend their problems, you saw no harm in getting up for a walk and a moment's respite in the small communal area of camp near the fire pit. 

The fire hasn't been lit. For a while you'd all operated on nocturnal time, worried your smoke trail would attract the unkind, but it hasn't been a feasible plan to stay that way with so many young children living in the commune. These days you make very small fires when you need to warm food or boil water, and you try to stick to dry wood to minimise the amount of smoke. 

You're not sure what's causing the tantrums, perhaps they're setting each other off, but things are starting to get too much for a second time. Without a friend at your side, it's easy to fall into despair. You're sick without medicine, you've been sleeping on the floor outdoors for weeks and it's making you incredibly sore. The children are here and alone and most of them are orphans now because the unspeakable happened and it keeps on happening. Your life is a tragedy novel, the situation is dismal, and you're not sure life is ever going to get better. 

You stand up and walk for the river. The sound of rushing water will cover everything else, at the least, and there's a tree you can climb with minimal effort, a branch you can perch on that's high enough that nothing can reach you while you're overstimulated and distracted.

Today could be a good day. You need to clear your head first, is all. 

—

Steve frowns at the empty blankets beside him. He'd prefer you didn't leave without waking him, 'cos he won't be able to breathe properly until he knows you're okay. He wishes he lived in a world —that you all did— where you could go wherever you liked without telling him and he wouldn't need to worry. He hates that he needs to know where you are. 

He wiggles his toes in his shoes, trying to wake them up as he stands from the tent and casts his gaze over the camp. There's a little boy crying near the single fold out table they have. A man scoops him up and starts to rub his back, shushing him. A gaggle of girls laugh beside a small fire, camping pans and cans of soup in tongs held over the flames. Dustin and Will are already up, coming back from the river with a bucket between them. 

"Hey," Steve says, jogging up to them. He looks around. "Seen Y/N?" 

"She wasn't by the river," Will says.

"But we caught you guys a fish," Dustin says. 

Steve looks down into the bucket, where a few smaller carp lie dead. "Oh, nice going. You didn't stab them, right?" 

"We're humane," Dustin says. "You have to debone your own. We're not doing all the work." 

Steve pats his shoulder. "Hey, thanks. Just as soon as I find Y/N." 

He doesn't find you soon. You aren't at the campfire. You aren't in the general area surrounding it. You aren't in someone else's tent, and he's sure they all think he's a control freak for checking. 

He tries to calm down. Chances are you needed the bathroom and wanted privacy. He isn't freaking out, he isn't freaking out, really, he's just– he's thinking logistically, because nothing good happens where he can't see you. 

Steve turns in a frantic circle, eyes everywhere, searching for your hair, your big coat. 

He's about to admit defeat and start shouting your name when you chirp up from behind him. "Hey, handsome. Fancy seeing you here."

He turns, sees you all in one piece in your big warm coat, your clean face shimmering with damp. 

"Oh," he says, feeling like he's been punched, "those losers lied to me. You were by the river?" 

You trudge over long grass to nudge him. "Just for a bit. My head was hurting. I saw them catching fish for a while, they're pretty good, but don't blame them, I don't think they knew I was there." 

"Idiots," he says, not meaning it. His head is pounding. "Why, where were you?" 

"Sitting on the 'dangerous' tree branch." 

He takes your shoulders into his hands. He can see you preparing for a kiss, your eyes closing slowly, your chin lifting just a little. Newsflash! You made him worry and now you're climbing up trees. He shakes you gently, and when it doesn't upset you, he shakes you more. You laugh infectiously and let your head loll back and forth. You don't ask him to stop, but he feels bad, and he hugs you rather than scramble your brains any further. 

"You have a conniption?" you ask into his neck. 

"Maybe." 

"Sorry, honey," you say, which is funny and sweet, because it's the name he always gives you. 

He rubs your back. "Hmm. I should give you a speech on not wandering off along and unnecessary risks." 

"Don't do that." 

"No, I'm going to, actually." 

He sits you by the fire and makes breakfast. The speech isn't a speech, really, just an excuse to talk at you, thankful that he still can. You give him all the meatballs from the weird canned spaghetti and he starts to forgive you for the heart attack. You wipe a dab of spaghetti sauce off of his lip with your thumb before giving him a peck, and he forgets what he was talking about in the first place.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Just thinking about some Kunsel Whump. Like, of the soldiers he is the most generic and easily overlooked. I feel like he is the cog that holds most of the department together. It’s like a stage technician. If the job is done right, nobody will notice you, but do it wrong? They are the first person to get the complaints.

Anyway, Kunsel goes missing for a day. Be it captured by the enemy or the Turks, or just called in sick but nobody knows that because he is usually the person who knows who in the roster is away or sick or where they are stationed without looking anything up.

Chaos.

Picture him getting captured by an enemy faction while out on a solo mission, but no one notices at first because he's usually the guy in charge of logging the mission details and updating the status reports at the end of the day.

The only reason the 49th floor isn't more chaotic the next day is because Lazard hasn't yet given up on his men—not even when Zack accidentally triggers the emergency lockdown system while trying to alert the department about the infestation, sealing several escape routes and trapping some of their own troops in the middle of an infestation of monsters that escaped from the labs.

Everyone's struggling to deal with the monsters as the lack of efficient communication makes it impossible to coordinate attacks or know the precise locations of each operative (Kunsel was also responsible for maintaining the communication system).

Genesis: Where's Kunsel?? I can't get through to anyone on the lower levels!

Angeal, fighting off a monster: He wasn't at the usual briefing this morning. Sephiroth, have you seen him?

Sephiroth, looking at a dead monster while going through the motions of self reflection: I haven't, which now leads me to believe that he's missing.

Zack, also fighting off a monster: This is bad! This means he never got back from his assignment yesterday! What if he's hurt? Or in danger!? OR DEAD? Man, I'm the worst friend ever!

Genesis: I never realized how much we rely on him until now. I feel simply horrid that we—Sephiroth please don't mourn the dead specimen.

Angeal: I know what you mean. He must hate us now. We have to get him back now. Before it's too late!

Cut to enemy territory, where Kunsel sits at a table, a steaming cup of tea in hand, surrounded by the members hanging on every single word he says, while looking over a map of Midgar.

Kunsel: Yeah, your plan of attack makes no sense. You need to deploy a diversion in sector 7 to drive Shinra's forces away from sector 0, and then use the undercity to move in.

*The enemy group is in awe*

Enemy commander: Impressive! We could use someone of your expertise to lead us from now on. We'll be devoted to you and you alone.

Kunsel: Tempting, but I have to decline.

Enemy commander: Ah, I see. You're loyal to Shinra and SOLDIER alone.

Kunsel: Not really. It's just that the health benefits are great, I have game night with the boys every Friday, and me and Zack got movie tickets for next Saturday.

*Kunsel sips his tea*

Kunsel: Plus Tuesdays are taco days at the mess hall.

[porcelainseashore]

Ghosts from the Past (6)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader

Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares

Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff

Author's Note: I’m afraid I have to bring out the big guns for this chapter. So here are all the content warnings for what lies within: lack of agency, torture, blood, injury, violence including brief clinical sexual violence, and finally, medical experimentation.

AO3 Link

Chapter 6: Entwined

You remember falling asleep in Leon’s arms. After tugging you in for a goodnight kiss, he snuggled up against you in bed. Holding you tight, he made you feel protected and warm, like nothing could hurt you. There was a genuine smile on his face, one you hadn’t seen in a very long time, and the steady beating of his heart vibrated against yours, a gentle cadence that lulled you to sleep.

A while later, you stirred. It was cold and drafty, like you had kicked off the blankets and your bare skin was exposed. Goosebumps formed along your body as you shivered, feeling the hard ground beneath you. Where on earth-?

You had to squint when you opened your eyes, as a harsh beam of white light shone directly in your face, like you were in an interrogation room. Raising your palm in front of you to shield yourself from the light source, you slowly started to realize that you were lying on the theater stage, framed by a single spotlight.

Springing upright, you surveyed the area frantically, but there was not a soul in sight. You were alone on stage in a dark, empty auditorium. When you checked yourself, you somehow had your slip and coat on, but nothing else on you. Your feet had been left uncovered, and were looking rather worse for wear.

Was this another one of those weird dreams again? Well, whatever. First things first. Just find the exit and get outta here, you told yourself.

Leaving muddy and bloodied footprints across the floor, you hopped off the stage, wincing in pain as if your feet had been through a shredder. When you made your way past the last row of the stalls before the theater doors, you heard a seat folding back onto itself loudly, like someone had been sitting there all along and left in a hurry. Your eyes darted around the theater, but it was void of any presence. At that moment, a chill ran down your spine. Someone was watching you.

Hastening your steps towards the doors, you swung them open, but ended up in a gloomy hallway, as opposed to the grand foyer you were expecting. What the-

Anxiety was starting to rise within you and beads of cold sweat trickled down your forehead. This wasn’t right. None of this felt right at all. You rushed through the hallway, opening door after door, but each of them brought you into the same loop, like what had happened with Ada before. You stopped, banging your fist against the wall in frustration, as you let out a vexed groan. 

And then you heard it. The faint sound of a child crying which merged into that of a woman laughly wickedly. Your blood reacted instantly to it. It curdled, and under your translucent skin, you saw wispy, black secretions traveling up and down your veins. There was a sinking feeling in your chest. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what this meant, as you berated yourself for ignoring the signs earlier. You were fucked. So royally fucked.

Even though you tried to run away from the sounds, it felt as though they were getting closer, or perhaps your legs were defying your will, and directing you towards them instead. You noticed the air growing muggier, like when you were in the underground lair with Leon. This whole time, instead of heading for the exit like you had thought, you were being led further down, into the lower levels.

The next room you entered caused you to let out a startled yelp. Bathed in the dusky glow of a candle by a table, Silje was sitting on a luxurious armchair with ornate carvings. Her back was facing you, as she reached out for a glass of red wine. An obsidian puddle lay at her feet simmering like boiling broth.

“Silje?” You called out.

“Yes, dear?” She continued drinking without turning in your direction.

Taking a few tentative steps forward, you asked, “What’s going on? Why am I here?”

Finally, she swiveled her head towards you, flashing a broad smile, teeth stained red from the wine. “Well, because you belong with me, along with the rest.” She gestured to a faraway spot further down the hallway.

“You really are taking to it so well, my child. I am impressed.”

Eyeing your bewildered expression, she explained, “It’s the first time someone’s heard the call from such a distance.”

“What the fuck?” You shook your head, refusing to believe that you had been mind controlled to sleepwalk all the way to the theater. And even so, how had Leon not noticed your movement and absence? 

Glancing between the palms of your hands as if they had been marked with something strange, you exclaimed, “What did you do to me?”

All at once, you felt a wave of nausea wash over you and you collapsed to the ground on all fours, heaving violently. Black bile pumped from your stomach and gushed out of your mouth as if a dam had burst. You retched and wailed in terror at the scene, as Silje glided across the room to you, gently running her fingers through your hair to calm you down.

“Shhh, shhh…” she cooed. “The effects take some time to get used to. And then there won’t be any more pain and suffering. No more hallucinations.” She placed a finger to your lips, drawing figures on your chin with the black substance. “Judging by your blood’s affinity with the mold, it won’t be long before you truly become your own person.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as she confirmed what you had been transformed into. You were now one of those things that the government hunted down, and you watched the life you had dreamed of building with Leon crumble away into nothingness. “Why?” You choked out.

“You accepted the gift. Don’t you remember?” Her tone grew impatient with your questioning. “You and a few dancers, though some reacted badly and failed. You were the best.” She stroked your cheek tenderly. 

“All of you are my children, what I could not have before. Now you and I are of the same blood.” She clasped your hand in hers, squeezing it tightly like both of you had made an unbreakable pact. 

“I raised you and cared for you with everything I could offer. Believe me, this was just a small price to pay so that we could be together and continue what I have created all these years… I won’t have some rogue taking over my legacy!” She sneered at the thought.

You had heard whispers of what would happen when Silje passed on. It seemed as though people in the arts world couldn’t wait for her to go, so they could snatch up whatever they could, taking her work apart piece by piece and claiming it as their own, the minute they got their hands on it. There was even mention of a rival choreographer vying to be the company’s next artistic director. In some way, you understood the sheer desperation that caused Silje to resort to such unscrupulous methods. What they were doing to her was insulting and uncalled for. But like she suggested, everything had its price.

“What price?” You wondered out loud.

“I have the means to fund the research, and in exchange they allowed me a select group to reap the benefits with and call my own.” She pursed her lips, hesitating a little. “They also wanted the ova from those with particularly high affinity.”

“No!” You screeched, your mind was whirling and you expelled even more of the black contents, feeling like your body had been violated unconditionally.

“Oh, my poor-”

You shrank away from her in disgust. “Don’t touch me!” Tears streamed down your face as you wiped your mouth with your hand, retreating until your back was pressed against the wall. “How could you?”

Silje regarded you with a sense of lament, but ultimately mustered her resolve, insisting to you that she had made the right choice. “The gift I have shared with you is worth more than every transgression you have suffered. You’ll come around to it in time, and you will thank me.”

“You’re mad,” you intoned under your breath in shock.

“Here, let me show you.” She reached out her hand. “Maybe it becomes easier once you’re acquainted with the specimens.”

Out of morbid curiosity, you took it and followed her past the winding corridors to a set of heavy steel doors coated in red. Just like in the dream - except it wasn’t one. You had lived through every horror in the vision you saw.

Upon scanning her keycard, you entered into a vast underground area, which you assumed was where the laboratory was stationed. A bunch of security personnel greeted the two of you as you strolled past them, onto an overhead bridge which led to an elevator that traveled downwards.

When you got to the bottom level, you spotted a handful of scientists milling about, typing up reports on their computers and scribbling down notes on their clipboards, as they observed various stages of experiments in controlled environments behind glass panels. As you walked further along, you came across a couple of stasis pods. Within them were young children, girls?, you weren’t sure, as they were completely deformed and mutilated. Covered in melanoid slime, their body parts were either missing or rearranged in a haphazard manner. It was appalling to see what others had done to them in the name of money, destruction and science.

“This one.” Silje tapped on one of the pods.

Beatrice, it read in bold print on an external label.

“It is connected to you.”

Placing your hand against the glass, you peered at the mangled figure in front of you, as traces of grief and pity surged within you. Recollecting what you had seen in the report that Till had given to you, you understood what Silje was trying to say. 

“You forced her to infect me.” To you, she was still a human being.

At your accusation, Silje whipped around, replying harshly, “Don’t be so melodramatic. It’s what they are made for.”

“Now, you will feel a bond to it, though it will affect you less and less as time goes by,” she explained. “Even with its death, it cannot take away what you will get from the mold.”

“Can you see why they took your ova?” She questioned.

You raised a hand to your mouth, quivering as you spoke, “They want to make more of them… my god-”

At that moment, Beatrice’s eyes flew open, vivid yellow like a toxic sign, staring straight at you. You staggered backwards as you felt an icy cold grip on your head, as if someone was trying to pry into it. Random images of the laboratory, a baby bawling and jet black ooze flashed across your mind. But most of all, was the overwhelming sensation of being attached to her and wanting to protect her from any harm.

Silje held you in her arms, comforting you from all the emotions and memories you were experiencing. “I know, I know… it will soon pass.”

However, in the next few seconds, her mood changed. She started sniffing you, your hair and your neck, almost obsessively. The way a dog would inhale the scent of something new. 

“I can smell a man on you,” she began suspiciously.

A jolt of fear struck you, making your heart race. How much would she find out? You’d been with other men before. What made it different this time?

“That boy from your high school.”

Just as she said that, you heard a commotion coming from the security screens nearby. Multiple shots were being fired and yells for backup resounded from the intercoms. A quick glance towards the screen confirmed it. You saw the video footage of Leon running through the hallways, dodging bullets and swiftly disabling his opponents. If there was such a thing as a one-man army, he was it.

Silje’s eyes roved around, as if she was trying to figure out where something was located. They came to rest on the side of your coat, where an inconspicuous, pin-sized tag had been placed discreetly.

“A tracker,” she jeered. “I should’ve known you’re with him.”

As she put two and two together, her expression contorted into an assortment of betrayal, scorn and profound disappointment. At lightning speed, she yanked your hair back into death grip, nearly breaking your neck as she mocked you contemptuously, “I have to hand it to you, my dear. You were so careful up to now, but this-” 

Raising two fingers of her other gloved hand before you, she stuck them between your legs without warning, causing you to squirm and squeal out in discomfort. A thick, opalescent fluid glazed them as she pulled out, creating a damp patch on the leather. “This just gave you away.”

“Silje… please!” You begged, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“Silence!” She let go of your hair, smacking you across the face with the back of her hand. The force of it was so strong that there was a metallic tang of iron on your tongue as you fell to the floor in a heap.

Licking her lips, she sucked her gloved fingers dry and laughed menacingly. “So, this is what he tastes like, hm? Well, no matter. Now I know what his weakness is.”

“Funny that it’s all coming full circle, isn’t it?” Her lilting voice permeated the space and she spoke as if she was telling a story. “There was intel on an American agent snooping around, sticking his nose in places where he shouldn’t be. Hah! I knew that boy would grow up to be nothing but trouble.”

She paced around you, like a shark circling its prey. “And you… the mole,” she tutted. “Out of all people, I had never once doubted you.” 

A look of dismay washed over her features as she lashed out. “I took you in like a mother, gave you everything and more than what you could possibly dream of! This is how you repay me?”

Her wrath knew no bounds as she chastised you, while you wept bitterly, knowing you were a traitor through and through. Your hair cascaded in a disheveled mess over your face, as blood and saliva dribbled down your mouth, sticking to the ground in a string. “I’m sorry, please… I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, guilt seeping through every crevice of your body. 

You didn’t want to harm her in any way. You just wished that she wouldn’t have had the urge to get involved in such an organization from the start.

Crawling towards her feet, you tried to appeal to her again to reconsider her actions. “Silje, you don’t have to do this. Please-” You reached out and latched on to her shoe, curling up beside her like a child would with their parent. “All of this… and the destruction it will bring, it’s not worth it. You know that,” you reasoned. “I don’t want you to end up in a bad place. You still have time, you could turn in the people responsible and I’ll vouch-”

"Enough!" Silje's command sliced through the air like a knife, yet you caught a momentary glimpse of sympathy in her eyes.

“Nothing you say will make me change my mind.” She clenched her jaw as she knelt beside you, tidying your hair and combing it out of your face. 

“I’ve seen first-hand what the mold can do.” The pitch black puddle from the candlelit room reappeared, sliding across the floor as it attached itself on to Silje’s gloves, rippling around them like clouded orbs. “Its regenerative qualities, even immortality… and so many other dormant powers lying in wait to be discovered. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

A gun shot rang out in the distance and you saw the scientists disperse, breaking Silje out of her reverie. “It’s just a shame it had to come to this.”

Something sinister flickered in her eyes, as she glanced over at you, grabbing one of your legs roughly. It felt like you were being weighed down by a ton of bricks, as she held you in place. Despite your struggling, you couldn’t move an inch.

“I’m tired of waiting for this boy,” she sighed. “He just needs a little motivation to speed things up, don’t you think?”

Before you could respond, Silje reinforced her grip on your leg and in one effortless motion, you heard the sickening sound of your shin snapping cleanly in two. An excruciating wave of pain coursed through your body, triggering a bloodcurdling scream that tore from your throat. Sharp, jagged edges of bone peeked through your skin and everything was washed in scarlet red. There was so much of it pouring out, you were nauseous at the sight.

Leon took the bait, as Silje had planned, yelling your name hysterically. He was getting closer and you wanted to stop him, but you were unable to vocalize anything beyond incoherent screeches. You made out his shape in your hazy vision, as he dashed over to you, cradling your limp body in his arms.

“No, no… don’t speak,” he hushed you as you sputtered helplessly. “I’m gonna get you out of here.” Scrambling for his medpack, he administered a first aid spray on your open wound. It was the best he could do for now.

“Trap.” Your voice cracked under strain, you pushed whatever words you could out of your mouth. “Go, you need to-”

“I know,” he asserted. “But I’m not leaving you.”

There was an acute sting at the back of your head and you realized your time was running out. You needed to warn him fast. “I’m infected, they got me under-”

But you weren’t quick enough to complete your sentence. You felt the claws of the little girl, Beatrice, sinking into your brain, directing your moves like a stage puppet. It was an out-of-body experience and you could only watch powerlessly as she turned you against him, for her own self-preservation. 

Your hand reached for his combat knife, unsheathing it before he had a chance to react. You slashed ferociously at him, as he backed away, blocking your attacks but unwilling to counter you in return. As if you were a rag doll being pieced back together, your shin bone clicked into place, while an onyx substance swam along the veins protruding from your leg.

You lunged his knife at him again and again with no sign of letting up, while he was on the defensive, treating you with so much care, like you were fragile glass. He called out to you, trying to break through the mental barriers that clouded your mind.

“Look at me!” Grasping your wrists and pinning them down, he stared directly into your eyes. “I know you’re in there, ok? It’s Leon!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he continued, even though you were thrashing about wildly, growling at him like an untamed beast. 

He pleaded with you to stop, unable to bring himself to take any drastic measures. He wouldn't know how to forgive himself if he did. “You don’t have to do this.”

The sound of a slow clap reverberated against the walls, as Silje emerged from the shadows. “Oh, don’t you enjoy a good show?”

“Silje…” Leon hissed threateningly.

“All bark and no bite, just like back then.” A cruel smile spread across her face. “Tell me, how is it like watching someone you love harbor nothing but hatred towards you?”

“Shut the fuck up!” He spat, his eyes igniting with a fierce blaze of anger.

At that point, she removed her sunglasses leisurely, flaunting the monstrous yellow of her irises like glowing embers. Her teeth grew razor sharp and you saw her arms blackened like soot as she peeled off her gloves. Things were about to get really bad if you couldn’t get a hang of yourself.

His gaze shifted uneasily between you and Silje, as a storm of inner conflict visibly brewed within him. You still had the strong impulse to lacerate him with his knife, but you resisted a bit more each time, and your efforts seemed to be paying off slightly. It emboldened you to devise a plan spontaneously as you worked to regain control.

Through an enormous amount of sheer willpower, you croaked, “Leon, let go.”

He gave you a look of skepticism, but ultimately decided to trust you. His grip on your wrists loosened as you fought with all your might against the brainwashing influence. As you felt the familiar pull of Beatrice on your right arm, you braced yourself for what would come next. When she attempted to swing it at Leon, you used the momentum to twist your body in its direction, causing the knife to plunge into your left shoulder instead. You howled in agony, as you leaned against the wall and slid down, leaving behind a sanguine trail.

“Don’t!” You shook your head furiously when Leon stepped towards you. 

He locked eyes with you, his expression suffused with worry and distress, underscoring his reluctance to leave you alone. However, he understood that you had incapacitated yourself to aid him, and he knew he didn’t have a choice. You pulled out the knife with a stifled whimper, chucking it to the floor as more blood rushed out of you.

“Remarkable,” Silje commented, intrigued by the outcome of your fight with Leon. “Already showcasing fragments of autonomy.”

Though it wasn’t long before she focused her attention on Leon, emitting a guttural snarl, “Looks like I’ll have to take care of you myself!”

She charged towards him, stretching out her hands which had extended into spiked claws, as he dodged out of the way. Unleashing a barrage of bullets on her with his compact submachine gun to allow himself some breathing space, he circled around her back. Whipping out his shotgun, he fired at her a couple of times from point-blank range until he had to take cover to reload his weapon.

Although she was staggered, the bullets seemed to have no real effect on her. Each shot antagonized her even more instead, eventually resulting in ghastly mutations which developed across her body. The parts of her which were riddled with bullets turned into ulcerated sores, with coal black ooze dripping out of them. Her form swelled, towering over Leon and reducing him to the scale of a tiny ant in comparison. Just like the girls in stasis pods, Silje was covered in dark sludge and her limbs were affixed to random places at varying angles. Her large, feral eyes pierced the room, reddened with rage and loathing.

“You think you can get rid of me so easily?” Her speech took on a demonic tone, dropping an octave lower.

“I’ll teach you how to stay down in the first place,” he quipped, undeterred, as he raised his handgun, aiming it specifically at one of her eyes before firing a volley of shots that tore through the space.

She roared, swiping at him with her limbs, as he rolled to the side to evade her attacks. Her movements were slower now, but she could easily trample him in one go. Pieces of equipment, metal and brick hurtled through the air as they clashed with unbridled ferocity. His training took over, dealing in quick strikes whenever there was an opening, and outmaneuvering her with grace. But it wasn’t sufficient to take her down. Despite his relentless determination and skill, Leon was still human. His concentration was waning and his body was beginning to be pushed to its limits.

When he miscalculated his next move, Silje’s claws closed around him and with a surge of brute strength, flung him across the room savagely. Sparks erupted as he collided with the monitor screens, leaving shards of glass and stray wires scattered at his feet. He groaned, coughing out blood as he worked to lift himself up.

“Not good enough,” she taunted. “You’ll never have her. She’s mine!” 

Gnashing her fangs ominously, sickly drool leaked from them, as she slithered over to him, ready to rip his flesh apart and devour his organs.

“Silje, wait! Take me,” you cried. “Just spare him, please!”

She paused, considering your words. However, she was abruptly interrupted by a distant crack, as a sniper shot found its mark in the middle of her head with lethal precision. The projectile burrowed deep into her tissue, stunning her temporarily. 

From afar, you spotted the same enigmatic woman in red you encountered a day ago. The sole blemish on her otherwise pristine appearance was a tourniquet bound tightly around her thigh. Without a minute to waste, Ada tossed over a syringe to Leon, instructing, “Use this serum on her!” She sped over to another vantage point. “I’ll cover you!”

Based on their team dynamics, it seemed like they had done this before in the past. You began to understand that Ada cared for him, just like you did, even though on the surface, they appeared to stand on opposite ends of the moral compass.

Ada continued to mark her target, as Leon attempted to draw closer to Silje, weaving his way through her elongated limbs which sought to crush him. Meanwhile, you recognized Beatrice’s hold on you intensifying. She was scared and you could feel it. Afraid of being destroyed, wiped off the face of the earth, with no memory of her existence left behind. She wanted them to stop, and in turn, behaved erratically, hoping to bend them to her will.

Immediately, your body flopped onto the ground and you started to convulse violently. Ebony liquid poured out profusely from your eyes, nose and mouth, as you gurgled and choked. You were suffocating on your own vomit as it filled your lungs and led you towards a slow, harrowing death.

That was more than enough to cause a distraction. Leon froze on the spot, alarmed, his eyes were brimming with pure panic. Seconds ticked away as he weighed his options. Then, he remembered. “The fail-safe!” He shouted at Ada. “It’s labeled in red!”

“But-”

“Hurry!” He hollered again, with a heightened sense of urgency, as he ducked under a structure to avoid Silje’s grasp.

Ada’s mouth twitched in displeasure, but she nodded in response before bolting towards the rows of trays in the laboratory.

It felt like an eternity of torment as the light began to fade from your vision. Was this what it was like to die? Dissolving into the ether. Everything was so cold and empty. No one would remember you. You were nothing…

Until your body jolted back to life as you gasped for breath, coughing up the remnants of the murky fluids onto the ground. You felt blood rushing to your eardrums and your lungs were on fire, as you struggled to draw in more oxygen. 

From your viewpoint, you witnessed Ada holding a canister of the toxins that were meant to neutralize each batch of bioweapons. As she pumped them into the stasis pods, you heard the shrieks coming from the young girls who erupted into an inky, molten state. It felt like a part of you had been torn asunder, as your connection with Beatrice was severed.

An ear-splitting scream of anguish broke out from the other end of the room. Leon had climbed on top of Silje, seizing her head with his hand and promptly injected the serum into her. You observed her steady transformation with a heavy heart, as her body started to calcify from bottom-up, its surface hardening into an impenetrable layer. 

As she gradually succumbed to the petrification, her mouth gaped open and closed like a fish on its last breath. A shadow of sorrow swept across her face as her final words tumbled out, “My child, why…”

Leon leaped away from her statue, nearly stumbling in a state of exhaustion, as he exhaled a pronounced sigh of relief. He walked briskly over to you, while Ada joined him, lugging a metallic briefcase with a sultry saunter as her heels clacked purposefully on the floor.

You were weak and faint from the massive loss of blood, which was still flowing down in rivulets from your punctured wound, soaking your clothes in a bright crimson. When Leon took in the sight of your pale, ashen complexion, it didn’t matter how hard he tried to hide the fear in his eyes. You noticed it as clear as day, but you were too tired to speak.

Hastily, he ripped out a piece of fabric from his shirt, using the cloth as a makeshift bandage around your wound and applying pressure on it to stem the flow.

“She’s not looking so good,” Ada warned. “Better get a move on.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he retorted defensively. 

“Here.” She pulled out another syringe of the serum from her briefcase, extending it to him. “It cures the infected,” she explained. “The girl’s not as far gone as Silje, so it might work as intended for her.”

He regarded Ada with apprehension, as though he had been bitten one too many times. “What’s the catch?”

“Hm.” She smirked. “Glad you asked.”

Holding up a cylindrical container she had swiped from the laboratory earlier, she admired the Stygian, putrid substance encased within it. “I’m taking a sample of the mold and the necessary research files, but I’m sure you don’t mind, do you?”

Leon narrowed his eyes at her, pursing his lips in disappointment. “Of course, why would I have expected anything less?”

“We have a deal then?” She pressed.

He glanced back at you, taking a moment to stroke your cheek in reassurance. Then, he turned to her, scowling, as he confirmed his acceptance. “Fine.”

Giving him a weary, lopsided smile, Ada handed over the serum and proceeded to download the information she needed from the computer systems in the vicinity onto her hard drive. 

“She must be special,” Ada remarked, with a tinge of melancholy. “Take care of her,” she added, nodding towards you as a sign of acknowledgment. 

You held her gaze briefly, and even though you could barely respond, it seemed as if both of you had come to a mutual understanding.

“Good luck, Leon,” she muttered, before taking her leave and disappearing without a trace.

There was a quiet stillness as Leon placed the syringe against your arm. “You’re gonna be ok,” he comforted you, kissing your forehead softly. “I promise.”

You felt the prick of the needle going through your skin as he administered the serum. A glacial chill crept through your veins, as though each droplet of blood was being encased in ice. You trembled uncontrollably, but he held onto you staunchly, refusing to let you go as he begged you repeatedly to answer him.

You couldn’t. Like sand through his fingers, you slipped away into unconsciousness.

[il0veyoujk]

Soldier! Attack!

This is a tickle-related ff, if you are not interested in it, please keep scrolling

Summary: Jungkook returns home from his military service to see his little sister, Nefeli (18)

Warnings: None

Notes: This ff is requested by the beautiful @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae ! I hope you'll like it love! I am sorry I couldn't do it a cheer-up ff, but I remembered it last second, and I couldn't change it, I had to rewrite the whole ff 😭

Lots of love Nef 💕

The sound of the front door shutting wasn't enough to pierce the sound of the loud music Nefeli was busting through her headphones. The young girl was currently in her room, pretending to study. In reality, she was vibing to her favorite music, with her Spanish book widely open in front of her, and her homework waiting.

Nefeli was wiggling her body to the rhythm of the music, feeling like she owned the world. Using her pen as a microphone, she pretended to be the singer and headbanging unstoppably. Just like she used to when she was a little girl.

"We are home!" her parents yelled the moment they stepped home "Nefeli! We have a surprise for you!" her mum used her singsong voice to allure her daughter into coming downstairs.

One, two, three minutes... Nefeli was nowhere to be seen. She was so drowned in her music she hadn't heard anything. Looking at each other, the two middle-aged ones decided to send the surprise to their daughter.

Nefeli was occasionally trying to focus on her exercises, trying to conjugate the verb cosquillear, but the loud Lady Gaga music was too intense to ler her focus. Vibing excitedly, she was enjoying herself way too much to notice an unexpected change in her room.

However, turning her head, the young girl was shocked to see her older brother leaning on the doorframe smirking "Why hello there girly" Jungkook chuckled, amused.

It's been a year since Jungkook left for his military service. He hadn't seen his family all this time. Even though they communicated with letters, it's not the same as seeing each other in real life.

"Eeek! You are home!" Nefeli squealed. She instantly jumped on her brother, letting her headphones fall on the floor "I missed you so much!"

Catching her, Jungkook let out a small groan along with a small giggle "Hehey! I missed you too, little one!" he smiled softly, gently swinging his little sister in the air back and forth.

The two siblings remained all hugged for a while, not bothering to even move a single inch from the spot the young lad was standing "So you still got the moves huh?" Jungkook scrunched his nose cutely and bounced her gently in the air like he used to when she was younger.

"You think?" Nefeli giggled, as she was squishing her brother's cheeks "I had the best teacher!" she smiled widely.

It was true, Nefeli had learned how to sync with the rhythm through BTS video clips. Ever since she was a kid, she would try to copy every choreography her brother and his friends would publish. She had ever mastered some of them! And Jungkook was so proud of her.

A wide, bunny-toothy grin appeared on Jungkook's face. He gently placed a kiss on her cheek and hug her tighter "Aw thank you little one" he giggled softly.

A small smirk though flashed onto Nefeli's face, who giggled softly "Oh I meant Jimin, not you" she shrugged, trying not to show her teasing sense.

However, the small smirk turned into a full-on giggly state the moment Jungkook's fingers started wiggling around on Nefeli's ribs "Oh really? Jimin huh? Not me?" he asked in the most mischievous, warning tone he has ever used.

The surprising, way too missed feeling on her sides, made the young girl erupt into an unexpected loud fit of giggles "Whahahaha--- wait nohohoho pleahahase ahahaha!" she squealed as she was thrashing around in her brother's grip, trying to push herself out of there.

The two siblings would occasionally have tickle fights, usually with the young girl ending up on the receiving end. But it was their dynamic. They loved those cute little fights!

Nefeli failed miserably to escape her brother's arms. Much to her surprise. Usually she would manage after one or two tries. Yet, this time she didn't.

Chuckling mockingly next to his little sister's cheek, Jungkook moved his fingers to Nefeli's favorite, and worst spot: the sides! He started walking towards his own bedroom, letting her now hysterical giggles fill the whole house "You should know better than to tease a soldier, cutiepie!" Jungkook teased, as he was tasering the poor girl's sides.

"Nohohoho stohohop ahahaha! Whahahat did I do ahahaha?!" Nefeli screamed between her loud giggles. She was flailing around in the air in her attempt to fall off of her brother and run away for dear life.

Of course though, that didn't happen. It was nowhere close to happening!

"Oh stop screaming, Nef! You know it's going to happen, stop fighting it" Jungkook used his singsong voice to tease his little sister as he was throwing his sack on the floor and closing the door behind him.

"He's tickling her again" mrs Jeon smiled to herself as she was preparing dinner downstairs. Homemade pepperoni pizza! Jungkook's favorite.

"It's not like she's complaining though. She loves it!" mr Jeon commented as he was reading his newspaper. Yes, the historical tickle fights in the Jeon residence were well-known in the whole neighborhood.

Upstairs in Jungkook's room, Nefeli was trying to fight to escape the ticklish hell she was put into. She was thrown onto the bed and Jungkook was pinning her down with his own body weight and was torturing her poor tummy with his fingertips "Aww you are just as I ticklish as I remembered!" he giggles as his fingertips were shaking on her tummy like crazy.

A deep blush had started spreading on her cheeks as Nefeli was trying to push his hands away all shy "I ahahaham nahahaot ticklish ahaha-AHAHAHA NAHAHAHAO AHAHAHA!!!" she tried to lie... but a few nibbles on her side made the poor girl go ballistic!

Jungkook knew what he was doing... Pretty well! Using her worst against her... "I am sorry what? Did you just dare to lie, little one? Huh?" he smirked widely before moving his nails on her poor armpits and started scribbling on them like crazy.

Instantly pressing her arms on her torso, Nefeli trapped Jungkook's fingers under her armpits, unfortunately for her "Whyhyhy did you cohohome bahahahack so meahahan ahahaha?!" she squealed through her loud giggling.

"Oh no... Now I have to dig my way out... You are so rude" the young lad was enjoying the playful torture he was giving his little sister to the fullest. Not that Nefeli wasn't... but maybe Jungkook was enjoying this a bit more. He had missed her laughter... So here he was now, digging into his little sister's armpits mercilessly, making Nefeli howl in loud giggling and driving her crazy bit by bit.

"Agh!" Nefeli squealed loudly as she was wiggling around like a worm "Nohoho pleahahahase ahahaha I ahaham sorry ahahaha!" she pleaded as her hands were gripping onto her brother's wrists to pull them away from her.

"Oh no no no no no no, you are not getting away with just a few begs" the young lad smirked as he lowered his head again towards her tummy "You are going to regret choosing Jimin over me!"

And that's where Nefeli lost it... She widened her eyes, but before she could even ask for mercy, she instantly felt tiny shots of electricity hitting her unstoppably and all over her midsection, exposed as it was from squirming around too much "NOHOHOHO NOT THE BEHEHEHERRIES KOOK PLEAHAHASE AHAHAHA I AHAHAHAM SORRY!" she screamed in laughter, throwing her head back in ticklish agony.

Jungkook was shaking his own head on Nefeli's tummy to add more to the ticklish sensations. A few chuckles would escape his mouth while he was blowing raspberries all over Nefeli's midsection "Oh so now we're using nicknames huh? Such a cheap way to escape your punishment, little one..." he mumbled on Nefeli's soft skin.

This situation kept on for about three more minutes. Having moved his fingers to her sides, Jungkook wasn't planning on showing any hint of mercy any time soon... The whole house was filled with hysterical laughter and nonstop begging from Nefeli's way too ticklish reactions.

However, a well-known voice interrupted the playful assault of the Jeon siblings "Kids! Dinner's ready!" mrs Jeon yelled for her children.

Everything stopped instantly. Jungkook let go of his little sister in an instant and pulled away. It's been months since he's eaten his favorite food! "This isn't over..." he mumbled, poking a few times Nefeli's tummy and sides before eventually letting her go "I just have to gain some more energy for round two... You better disappear!" he smirked, winking at his little sister.

As Jungkook ran downstairs to grab a bite, Nefeli remained on his bed in a ticklish delirium, with a wide smile on her face. She was trying to catch her breath hopelessly, as a few leftover giggles were leaving her mouth.

Jungkook made his case clear... She better hide!

[bitchfitch]

Abandoned bunkers were a common sight. The bombs dropped so long ago that even the most paranoid communities had left them to rejoin the larger population on the surface one or two generations ago.

Abandoned bunkers that hadn't been picked clean by scavengers like Lino were a different story entirely.

He crept through the eerily quiet halls looking for whatever might be worth taking. The lights flickered on as he triggered their proximity sensors. The place was finely decorated to look like the homes of the wealthy who lived before the war. Crown molding covered in cobwebs, statues caked with dust, paintings who's varnish was so yellow you could barely see the image beyond it.

Lino pulled the strap of his cross body bag a little tighter. The off white marble floors were pristine. His own muddy boot prints being the only source of filth. The floor cleaning bot must still be functional.

The doors to this place had been wide open. Maybe it was only recently vacated? The air didn't hurt, the circulation and vent systems were still doing their jobs all these years later. It was pleasantly cool with none of the humidity or mildew smell that came from broken climate controllers. It was still serviceable when so few other bunkers were. He'd need to return with tools to strip the mechanisms for parts.

Those might be the only thing worth the effort. Pre war art had value, but everything was so heavy he'd only be able to carry one delicate piece at a time... The math on that effort to return ratio wasn't favorable. There had to be more. Something of actual value he could pay his dues with today.

He stepped into what was once a massive living room. The ancient, rotting, couches were pushed up against the walls, side tables and other bits of decor piled atop them to make more space in the center for the army of... Mannequins? Dolls? Scarecrows?

They were made from torn down tree branches, dried plant matter, and hope. Haphazard creations meant to display the clothes they wore. Beautiful dresses, finely tailored suits, ensembles that blurred the line. Each one constructed as a masterpiece of form with no eye given to the horribly clashing colors found within their materials.

Lino didn't know who they would fit.

No one looked like That anymore. Two arms, two legs, a single head atop a neck connected to a straight back. He was the most 'classic' looking human he had ever seen, but even he wasn't the right shape for so many of these.

It was a shame really.

It meant their only value was in the fabrics they were made from.

Lino pursed his lips, looking from the one garment that Might fit him to the mirrors hung either side of the faux fireplace. Luxury and fine items that exist just to be beautiful weren't unheard of concepts anymore, they just weren't things he had ever had the money to know. His leader had told him he would have been beautiful if he'd been born into one of the higher families who could have afforded to decorate him and sell him for his 'classic' looks. The leader offered him that wealth once. If Lino would just dye his albino white hair and let the surgeon remove his extra arms, the leader would have gladly decorated him themself.

He wasn't going to dismember himself to be pleasing for another. He was fine. Constantly living on edge, scouring the lands for any tiny scrap of value left over after so many other hungry scavengers had done the same before him. He was fine. He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

The dress was shiny and silky smooth when he brushed his fingers along the stormy grey fabric. The fabric from all the other garments would pay his way for the month probably... He was the only person who knew this dress existed.

He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

He undid the fastens around the dress form's neck and lifted the piece off, laying it over the form's shoulder before shucking off his own shirt. The dress was meant for someone taller than him, his muddy boots and damp pant cuffs would ruin it. Those went off next, then his discolored socks that he didn't want to see poking out beneath the hem, all were dropped in a messy pile beside him. He pulled the dress on as he stepped away from the filth of his own garments and towards the mirror.

The dress was backless. The side hems brushed the bases of his extra arms. It was too big. It would buy his dinner for weeks. Lino didn't want to look in the mirror, but when he did his gut twisted.

He looked gorgeous, the contours of the bodice following the lines of a body he often felt too scrawny to be anything other than awkward looking. The collar was pleasantly firm against the front of his throat, not tight, but present enough to make him feel it every time he moved to find a new angle. Even his extra arms were made to look right in it. The back of the collar came down in a slight point that fell perfectly between his misshapen shoulder blades. It was too big, but it was clearly intended for a woman who looked like the models of before. His longer torso and flat but broad chest meant he'd only need to take in a bit around his hips for it to look perfect... Even the skirt being meant for someone a foot taller than him wouldn't be a problem, it just looked like a fine train. He couldn't stop smiling. Guilt ate at him. He didn't need to be beautiful. He was wearing so much money. The panels weren't even pieced, the skirt alone had to have more pristine bolts in its gathers than most saw in their lives.

It was just a dress.

He twirled in front of the mirror to make the too long skirt flare out around him. His bare feet padding on the hard stone, his own reflection distracting him, his guilt making him focus in on the price something so beautiful would go for if he could just make himself destroy it.

Lino didn't hear the breathing until it was already too late.

A scrambling form shot around the corner, its growling tearing through the still air as it launched towards Lino with more speed than something so twisted looked like it should be able to.

Lino was so grateful his fear response had always been flight. He bolted to the side, the badly mutated man careened into the mirror, shattering it across its massive shoulders. Lino didn't look back. He could hear the man panting and snarling like an animal as it gave chase. Its hands pounding on the stone as it dragged itself behind him. He could hear it gaining on him. The door was in sight. Would it follow an intruder out of its home? Lino had to hope not. The threshold was under his foot. A harsh tug at his skirt. He came crashing down, his jaw knocking hard against the concrete porch sent his head spinning with painful disorientation.

"Auth Code 1756" The man spat. Lino had thought him too far gone with his mutation to be person enough to speak. The bunker beeped in response, something mechanical thunked. Gears ground.

Lino kicked, his leg was grabbed. He turned to see the featureless face of his assailant for a split second before it was blocked from view by the closing door.

Lino's vision whites out, he heard screaming. The man was still holding him trapped by the leg when the multi ton hunk of metal shut atop it.

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

Started thinking about temple living quarters.

The standard I see in fic is private apartments, shared with a padawan if there is one, usually with a small kitchen and so on, like a regular apartment. It stands empty when they go away. TCW shows fairly small dorm-like rooms occasionally, but animation is expensive, so. I've also seen the term padawan-dorm referred to with confidence, so that probably crops up in a book somewhere. I was thinking about semi-communal living, in a place without nuclear families and

how particularly when it comes to cooking, whenever I've been in a situation where I'm close to the people I'm living near, cooking and eating solo were the first to be compromised and become a communal activity. I stayed private with most things but not that, at least not most meals.

how jedi aren't even at the temple most of the time when they are active, because they're supposed to be serving the whole galaxy, so whatever quarters they would have would be standing empty most of the time, and on a planet that is notoriously short on living space to boot

I don't remember the source but I remember a reference to the temple historically using it's towers as a beacon, sheltering people in times of disaster. Not having completely private apartments for jedi would free up space to serve as refuge and so on.

They're not supposed to accumulate possessions, strictly speaking. ...which doesn't necessarily mean having nothing, but maybe they don't have a habit of collecting personal furniture so much? Or just an excess of stuff? Idk.

Privacy is essential but at the same time spending so much time on the move makes the idea of returning to a solitary apartment on your time off kind of lonely. Especially if you have to cook all your own food. (I may be fixating on the kitchens here)

Also for masters and padawans it might be nice to have a break from each other at the temple and see other friends more, tbh

I like the idea of them just having a bunch of communal spaces scattered around, where even if their rooms are small, there's lots of places to hang out with each other and catch up, or relax by themselves if they want.

And maybe they have smaller but still shared kitchens rather than one big industrial scale kitchen? It's just not restricted to a single knight who is barely there. Maybe jedi cook together as bonding thing.

Baths? Communal baths? Like Roman or Korean style.

Imagine a bunch of half-finished art projects just lying around, untouched until the jedi in question gets back from wherever.

I could go even further and bring up the concept of no bedrooms everyone just takes out their bedrolls from a closet and sleeps side by side on a clean (under-heated) floor, which is something I have experienced.