#Even though that's absolutely not how it should be?

[lorddeathofmurdermountain]

I've got nothing as insane as this but I do still think it's shocking how often people will assume convenience store employees are just looking for an opportunity to grab money. Tips or incorrect returns or anything really. And then sometimes I have to explain that, no, I can't have any money in my pockets and no, if we have any extra in the cash register that's actually really bad bc that's, you know, illegal.

And some people understand this well enough. But still want to give me tips. That's nice, of course, and I tell them that I appreciate it, but I'm putting it in the locked donations box instead. Company policy. But then sometimes, oh sometimes...

Sometimes people just. Can't comprehend the idea that we can't have extra in the register. So the keep insisting I keep the change. And I'm here ready to actually beg them to give me spare change that they literally JUST bragged about having to the pretty lady ahead of them. But he just won't. Fucking. Give me. The goddamned change. I have to bring out the last single digit cent I have in the register and pray to god someone else gives me those because if I have none by the end of the day I could get fired and, possibly, might receive charges bc we wouldn't have enough change to give the correct amount to the bank.

Anyway yes. Working retail reveals to you just how stupid people can get. Regular, normal-looking people who you'd never assume to have a bottomless pit in their skull where a brain should be, and yet...

My absolute favorite, though, is when they wanna pay contactless with a card and I have to physically tap the bit where they have to hold the card and they STILL don't get it. And I have to awkwardly chuckle and be all like "terribly sorry, could you pretty please hold the card here juuuust a little longer?" because, of course, it isn't the customer's fault for being a WH40k Blank but with IQ instead of Warp presence, oh no. See, it's actually my fault for not doing customer service right.

Anyway all this would be awesome sauce and cool if management wasn't even stupider than some of the customers and their failings resulted in delays that ultimately end up in me, the new guy, being blamed for quite literally everything.

I spent a lot of time handcuffed and in a cage in high school, for a charity bit the grocery store I worked at would do

the bit was that I was "put in jail for having too big a heart" and customers could donate to my bail to get me out (and the money would go to a children's hospital or something)

now. I was very clearly a teenaged employee handcuffed inside a large cage. and I would honestly tell people that I had been in there for hours. and people would say, that's terrible! that's awful! and I would show them my wrists red from the tight handcuffs, and say but I'm sooooooo close to making bail.

and then they would dump some cash in the basket, I'd thank them, and they'd walk away.

and every so often, one of the managers would come by and collect some of the cash, so I could keep being soooooo close to making bail.

I was very good with this bit. Parents with small kids would pay $5-10 if I told their children I had been placed in jail for not cleaning my room/doing my homework, etc. For people in their 20s, I'd threaten that I was very bad at playing the harmonica, but I WOULD play it and we'd all suffer unless they paid me. and for the most amount of money, older men in suits would almost always pay $20s if I avoided eye contact and stammered a lot.

eventually, the managers started to feel bad because I was in the cage so fucking long and often, that I'd need someone to brace me when I got out because I'd have no feeling in my legs. wobbling like a newborn giraffe.

but I would also rake in at LEAST $100 an hour in charity.

so they were like, hey champ. can we, uh, give you a pillow to sit on. in the cage. would you like a pillow so you're not just sitting on a cold metal slab. can we give you a pillow.

and I had to explain to them that if they gave me a pillow, people would think I was more comfortable, so they wouldn't feel as bad, so I'd bring in less money.

the compromise was that they'd bring me a nice coffee every couple hours, which I would have to try to block with my body from the customers.

all this money went to charity. that's what the money was for. it's what was on the sign. but how much they were willing to pay was very contingent on how comfortable I looked, never mind the fact that I was still a teenaged employee handcuffed inside a cage.

and out of the dozens of shifts I did this on, not ONCE did ANYONE say, hey kid I'm going to go talk to your manager because what the fuck is going on here. they would just drop money in the basket, and I'd thank them and sip from my secret drink.

I actually had people get MAD at me that I told them I was far away from bail, they donated like $15, and then 20 minutes I got let out because my shift ended.

again. the money was for charity. it was on the sign that was very clearly placed on the upper half of my cage.

so yeah. even when people think they mean well. people can be really, really fucking stupid.

[muqingslover]

here I am thinking about goofy/strange habits each lads LI have when the two of you share a bed.

Xavier

First and foremost he is getting in bed with you no matter what.

If you're on the couch then he WILL find a way to fit and snuggle with you it's like cats are liquid theory.

Xavier likes to slip his hands under your clothes to feel your warmth directly.

He'd lay his hand flat against your tummy and let his thumb gently brush the soft skin while he relaxed.

The real problem is that, in more than one occasion, you wake up with his hands on your boobs.

Be it small, medium sized or big, he doesn't care. He is not doing anything just holding them for some reason while fast asleep.

Sylus

He likes to sniff you like a dog.

Sylus will pull you close against his chest after getting in bed and then he just sniff sniff

You told him multiple times to stop that but he can't help himself. I mean, what you don't know can't hurt you, right?

He finds comfort in your scent. It's specific to you and he absolutely loves it.

Even more so after you use his bath products so you start smelling like him and that makes him feel all fuzzy.

He will nibble on you like you're his personal chew toy. Don't freak out when you find red spots and teeth marks all over your skin the next day.

At times you may also find yourself being crushed to death by his very large and very heavy body. Don't worry though, just tap him a few times and he'll roll off of you.

In conclusion, Sylus is a very big dog with wings.

Caleb

This guy has a HANDFUL of bad habits like I could make a post just for him.

One of them is that he watches you sleep. And I mean watch.

The entire time he's so focused on your slumbering form that you'd think he was watching the most entertaining TV show in the world.

You have mini heart attacks whenever you wake up in the middle of the night and see him just....looming over you like a sleep paralysis demon.

You definitely socked him in the face by reflex once or twice. He's fine, he dodged it anyway.

It's not nearly as bad as to when the neighbors came to check in after you screamed bloody murder.

Additionally, Caleb takes pictures of you and has you losing hairs because he refuses to delete them

"Oh c'mon! You look sooo cute!"

Do yourself a favor and dose his drink so he'll leave you alone for the night./hj

Rafayel

This guy is the worst roommate ever.

Just kidding I love him.

He is very annoying though because his bad habit is to wake you up.

If he can't sleep then he's making it everybody's problem, including you.

He will hold your nose or be purposely loud so you wake up and then give him you the most fake nonchalant "Oh, did I disturb your afternoon nap?" "...It's 2 in the morning." "Well, since we're both awake now anyway—"

Literally not a single peaceful night of sleep unless he's asleep as well. It's like having a toddler.

My suggestion? Lock him in the bathroom while he's in the bathtub and enjoy your beauty sleep. You have at least four hours before he notices.

Zayne

He has no bad habits.

He will let you sleep as he should and just makes sure you're tucked in and comfortable. Top tier gentleman.

If I was to pick one is the fact he sleeps like a statue and scares the life out of you because of how stiff he is.

He sleeps on his back like a mummy and doesn't move at all throughout the night.

It's similar to when cats fall deep asleep and you can't wake them up so you think they're dead.

Just make sure he's breathing and bring him in to cuddle and everything's gonna be fine.

[johtoes]

♯┆𝐇𝐄𝐑 .ᐟ

╭────── · · ♰ · · ──────╮

synopsis: Sukuna, the King of Curses, despises everyone—except you. When he takes over Yuji’s body, he’s drawn to your gentle nature, a stark contrast to his cruelty. Despite his hatred, he finds himself protecting you, and for the first time, questioning his own desires.

pairing: Sukuna x f!reader

warnings: violence, dark themes, OOC Sukuna

word count: 1,240

╰────── · · ♰ · · ──────╯

Sukuna hated everyone.

It was a fact that he didn’t bother hiding, and those who dared cross his path soon learned just how deep that hatred ran. His arrogance, cruelty, and disdain for humanity made him a god in his own eyes, a being beyond the pitiful existence of mortals. He had no patience for their weakness, their fear, their petty desires. He reveled in their suffering, and the thought of anything less than absolute control made him itch with irritation.

But there was something about her.

You were different. Soft, gentle, and impossibly kind, as though the world had placed a piece of purity in the middle of his chaos. You had no reason to be in his orbit. Yet, there you were, always in the way. And that infuriated him even more.

You weren’t a fighter. You didn’t seek violence or glory. You were just… there, always offering smiles and warmth, as though you could erase the darkness that hung over the world. You were a healer, a nurturer, someone who tended to those in need, regardless of the cost to yourself. And for some reason, you made Sukuna feel something he hadn’t felt in centuries: the urge to protect.

It infuriated him. He didn’t need anyone, especially not someone like you. Your kindness was a weakness, a flaw, and yet…

There was a strange draw, an itch deep in his core whenever he saw you. It was an annoyance, something that gnawed at his insides every time you looked at him with those soft, trusting eyes, as if he were someone worthy of kindness.

“Why are you still here?” Sukuna sneered as he stood over you, his cursed form towering over your small, fragile frame. His voice was sharp, filled with venom. “You should be running away from someone like me.”

But you didn’t run. You stood your ground, as always. You were the only person who never flinched around him, never backed down in fear. It made no sense to him.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you said softly, your gaze unwavering. “I know you’re capable of great things, Sukuna. But I believe there’s more to you than just the violence.”

His eyes narrowed, the golden gleam flickering in the depths of his gaze as he regarded you. “You’re a fool,” he muttered, but there was a strange flicker of something in his chest, something uncomfortable. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” you agreed, “But I’m willing to learn.”

He snorted, turning away. He couldn’t even fathom why that statement made him pause. He didn’t want you to learn about him. He didn’t need anyone in his life who cared.

But when he took over Yuji’s body, when he entered the fray, the fight became different. There was a certain protectiveness that surged in him—an instinct, buried beneath layers of hatred and contempt. You were near. The cursed energy surged in his veins, but for once, it wasn’t for destruction.

“Stay back,” Sukuna growled, his voice slipping from Yuji’s form. “I’ll handle this.”

The fight was brutal, as usual. Curses screamed in agony as they were torn apart by his strength. He relished in the carnage, the blood, the chaos. But his eyes never strayed far from you. You were on the sidelines, as always, a healer, trying to keep others safe as they fought in your place.

The moment one of the curses made a move toward you, Sukuna’s body shifted, his energy pulsing like a weapon. Without thinking, without hesitation, he snapped his arm out, tearing through the air with a slash of cursed power that decimated the creature before it could even take a step in your direction.

You blinked, startled, but didn’t speak. You knew better than to ask questions in the middle of a fight. Still, his actions lingered in your mind. There was no logical explanation for why he’d done that. He didn’t care about anyone. Why would he care about you?

“Move aside,” Sukuna hissed through Yuji’s lips, eyes glaring at a group of cursed spirits. His tone was venomous, mocking, but when he spoke, you swore there was a thread of something more beneath it. Something raw. Something unspoken.

He didn’t want to admit it. But with every fight, every clash, you became harder to ignore. It was the way you stood in the face of danger, never backing down, always helping. The way you tended to Yuji’s wounds after he’d been used by Sukuna, the way you whispered encouragement to him even when Sukuna had taken full control. You spoke to Yuji like he was still there, like he still mattered.

And maybe, just maybe, part of him felt the same way. But he would never admit it.

“You should be grateful,” Sukuna said one night, as he watched you tending to injured students, your hands gentle despite the chaos surrounding you. “You’re lucky I don’t just destroy this pathetic little world you’re trying to protect.”

But you just smiled at him, as always, and it was maddening. “I don’t need your protection, Sukuna. I need you to help us, to see that there’s more to this than destruction.”

His expression darkened. “You’re so naïve,” he spat. “I don’t need to change, and I don’t need your pity. I don’t need anything.”

But you weren’t deterred. “I’m not offering pity. I’m offering understanding. And if you’d let me, I’d help you, too.”

He looked away, irritated, and yet something inside him trembled at the thought of your offer. Help? He didn’t need help. He was Sukuna, the King of Curses, and nothing would ever change that.

But the next time a battle raged and he took over Yuji’s body, something inside him shifted.

You were caught in the crossfire—an unexpected attack from one of the curses, fast and vicious. He felt the familiar flare of his anger as he saw you stumble, trying to protect the others, your delicate form caught in the chaos. He saw red.

Before he could stop himself, his body moved with an almost unnatural grace, his cursed power flaring out, wiping out the threat in a split second. He didn’t care about the victory or the bloodshed. All he could focus on was you.

You were unharmed, standing there, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted in shock. For a fleeting moment, you looked at him like he was something other than a monster.

“I told you to stay back,” Sukuna said, his voice gruff, but there was a hint of something softer underneath. “You don’t belong here, human.”

But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you stepped forward, your expression soft, almost knowing. “And yet, I’m still here. And so are you.”

There was a long silence, a tension building between the two of you. Sukuna’s anger flared once more, but this time, it wasn’t directed at you. It was directed at himself.

“I don’t need you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I don’t need anyone.”

You just shook your head. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

It was then that Sukuna realized. He hated everything. But he didn’t hate you. And that frightened him more than anything else.

Maybe he’d never admit it. Maybe he’d never say the words aloud. But every time he fought, every time he protected you without meaning to, he was reminded of one simple fact:

You were the only one who could make him question everything.

[taliabhattwrites]

Saying that "Transmisogyny is Misandry" is an act of epistemic violence. Stop it.

The following is a section of my essay The Question Has An Answer, entitled "The Measure of a Misandrist"

This is, ultimately, where most critiques of radical feminism go wrong, even when supposedly made with trans women’s vilification in mind. It is a too-popular idea that radical feminism was too harsh, too critical and too antagonistic towards men. After all—goes the reasoning—is not the fixation on trans women, the denial of our womanhood, and the maligning of us as ontologically predatory a consequence of their gender-absolutism? Is not resorting to ‘misandry’ in response to society’s misogyny also wrong?

Such arguments fail to be compelling for two reasons, the first of which should be obvious: transmisogyny is not misandry. The transmisogynist does not treat trans women the way she treats men, even if she refers to a trans woman as a man in the process of degendering her. Even if a transmisogynist bears an authentic antipathy for men, there is a crucial difference in how she regards trans women: namely, as an acceptable target of misogynistic degradation. Trans women’s bodies are dissected and scrutinized, our behavior pathologized and sexualized, and our own testimony discarded as unreliable, insubstantial, and immaterial. We are dehumanized, third-sexed, and branded permissible targets for ritualistic, collective, and sexualized punishment. A fate that even queer men tend to be spared.

Secondly and perhaps more importantly: the ‘misandry’ of the average transmisogynistic feminist is greatly overstated.

Trivially, we can note how the modern Gender-Conservative movement is full of men and the women who gleefully encourage their violence against trans people, a modern incarnation that bears the most threadbare of claims to any feminist tradition. They are, more than anything, a project concerned with the obfuscation of the term ‘feminist’, so that staunchly patriarchal ideologues can claim the label simply for promulgating transmisogynistic rhetoric. The face of modern transphobia is a far-flung cry from the academic lesbian feminists of yore, and is these days definitively male. Men abound at transphobic rallies, threaten to follow trans women into bathrooms to beat them, and call for the abolition of transition care in publications the world over.

Is such an answer evasive, though? Surely conservative men’s transmisogyny is a mainstream discursive force now, but was not the second wave chock-full of misandrist lesbian feminists aiming their ire at trans women? Can we not draw a line from their extremism to modern antifeminist backlash?

To get to the heart of that matter, we have to recall a little history.

April, 1973. The West Coast Lesbian Conference was, at that point, the largest gathering of lesbian feminists to date. Beth Elliot, a trans lesbian folk singer and feminist activist had been on the organizing committee for the event and was also scheduled to perform on opening night. Her fellow LA organizers had, in fact, insisted upon it.

When she took the stage at 9 p.m., she was accosted by two women, one of whom snatched the mic away to scream that Beth was a “transsexual” and a “rapist”, and demanded that she be ejected. In the ensuing chaos, a few organizers took the initiative to hold a vote (or, two, by some accounts), allowing the assembled audience to decide on Beth’s inclusion. The vote passed—by a slim majority, in some accounts, or by an overwhelming two-thirds majority, in some others—and so a visibly shaken Beth Elliot, with the support of her sisters, gave a short performance before promptly leaving.

Robin Morgan, who was scheduled to give a keynote speech on the theme of ‘unity’ the following day, spent the night editing her address. Rather than speaking for forty-five minutes, Morgan spent twice that time on a meandering screed “attacking everything in sight”, per Pat Buchanan—the conference organizers, women who work with men, and of course, transsexuals, blaming the continuing ills of patriarchy on a lack of feminist consciousness. Her caustic rhetoric shifted the entire tone and mood of the conference, forefronting the issue of biodestined womanhood. The Black Women’s Caucus, who had prepared a position paper on Black feminist organizing and the relevance of race to their struggle, are often omitted entirely from accounts of the conference, in large part due to Morgan’s troonmadness sucking up all the oxygen.

While some of the facts surrounding this incident are disputed, we know that Morgan’s invective was circulated amongst lesbian feminists, drawing attention to the topic of transsexual inclusion. Her charges that Beth Elliot was an “infiltrator” and “rapist” accrued sufficient cachet to get Beth blacklisted from feminist publications and music scenes. Despite a measure of personal support, Beth withdrew from the public eye, and Morgan’s bilious language found itself echoed in 1979’s Transsexual Empire, this time levied at Sandy Stone.

In some sense, Robin Morgan, Sister Raymond, and their ilk set the discursive tone on translesbophobia. While 1960’s Psycho attests that the idea of the deceptive, cross-dressing predator already held some sway in the cultural psychosexual imaginary, Morgan and Raymond—clumsily and soporifically—elevated that hateful trope to the status of “feminist concern”. They provided a framework and legitimacy to complement the sexologists’ pathologization of the “homosexual transsexual”, transmuting the cultural idea of the tranny from a pitiable, somewhat tragic figure, to a rapacious and monstrous one. Although coercion through deceptive seduction had always been core to the mythology of transsexuality, Morgan and Raymond enabled eradicationist sentiment towards trans women as a whole to be imbued with a certain feminist authority, recasting it as almost righteous.

We were, in the truest sense of the term, constructed, remade as biotechnological horrors seeking to traverse, fresh and bloody, from the scalpel to the women’s bathroom.

Given the centrality of that hastily-rewritten keynote speech to modern transmisogynistic propaganda, Morgan’s awareness of its discursive relevance is fascinating to witness. As Finn Enke notes in Collective Memory and the Transfeminist 1970s, when Morgan published her own account in 1977, her comments from the 1973 speech condemning the organizers for “inviting” Beth Elliot are omitted entirely. Morgan deliberately edited the speech to extend her critique of transsexuals and Beth Elliot specifically, dubbing them “gatecrashers” who sought to undermine and destroy the feminist movement from within. She consciously chose to erase Beth’s involvement in organizing the event, in addition to eliding that the majority of second-wave lesbian feminists present chose to defend and protect her.

Perhaps the most telling omission in subsequent accounts of this speech is an interesting detail about Morgan herself. Once she was done berating “women who work with men”, Morgan launched an impassioned defense of her husband. Before she derided Beth Elliot as a “male gatecrasher” with no place in lesbian feminism, Morgan advocated for her male husband’s place in lesbian feminism, on the grounds that he was a “feminist”, a “feminine man”, and—I still cannot help but marvel at this term whenever I encounter it—an “effeminist faggot”.

Seriously.

It is impossible to overstate just how utterly pathetic this pantomime of radicalism is. Morgan sublimated her own sexual and gendered anxieties into unrestrained transmisogyny, as many people often do, seeking to secure her own place as a lesbian by defining her legitimacy against the seeming illegitimacy of an “outsider”. Her arguments for doing so hinged on staining transsexual womanhood with the original sin of reproducing manhood, even as she pleaded the case that her husband, through his proximity to the feminine, had successfully absolved his own! Morgan’s audacity and insecurity drips off the page, revealing her charade to be nothing more than a performative, incoherent, inconsistent, bigoted farce.

Additionally, this revelation demonstrates how even here, in the holy of holies, at the epicenter of lesbian-feminist transmisogyny, misandry could hardly be claimed as a motivation. Beth Elliot was condemned for her transsexuality. Her putative ‘manhood’ was invoked only to degender and dehumanize her, while the avowed transmisogynist slurring her asked for the inclusion of men in the same breath!

Nor should we discount those who stood by Beth Elliot and Sandy Stone, even if their efforts were ignored, silenced, and erased. Enke’s paper meditates on a photograph of Beth on stage, framed to depict her alone, isolated, besieged. The woman holding Beth’s hand is left just out of the picture.

Meanwhile, for all their condemnation of trans lesbians’ “male energy”, the transmisogynists who so revile trans women’s “manhood” had no compunctions when it came to allying with the “male institutions” that have surveilled us, vilified us, marginalized us, and tried to erase our very stories, our connections, our sisterhood from history. Even the scraps that remain cannot escape reframing, rewriting, revisionism that insists: you were always unwanted, and stood apart.

Except when we weren’t, and didn’t.

[ickyrafe]

buffalo ‘66 inspired AU with barry…

barry who’s fresh out of jail after serving a few years for a drug ring that was busted. he’s eager to get back to kildare, to get back into the swing of things and play off where he’s been. he needs a cover up. something that makes him look “normal”, something that explains his absence. he needs you. an unsuspecting tourist on the island who’s about to have the worst summer of her life, being snatched up in broad daylight in nothing but your bikini because suddenly there’s nothing else to your name once you’re thrown into barry’s truck… your new life as a faux bride begins there in that moment, no matter how much you scream and kick at him. he’s always preferred feisty girls, anyway…

— your “wedding night” was more like a horror sonnet as opposed to a fairytale. barry waits for you to become somewhat acclimated to whatever this life is before dragging you to a chapel. he put the fear of god in you. but he also took you out to buy clothes, he cooks meals for you every day. he takes care of you in every possible way he knows how to, in an attempt to show you that he isn’t that bad after all… yet your stomach still churns as you squeeze into the white, lacy dress you were forced to pick out the day prior and barry has no choice but to feed you a mystery pill to keep you from having a panic attack at the altar.

— barry made arrangements before he was free. he secured a new home thanks to an equally shady friend, as his trailer was raided during the bust and had become nothing more than an asset to use when absolutely necessary… you often find yourself staring off at the ditsy floral wallpaper plastered everywhere in the kitchen while you have your morning coffee (one of the few luxuries you’re allowed), wondering how you can possibly get your old life back at this point.

— “y’know you can’t run anywhere, right? you’re not that fuckin’ dumb— you’re a smart girl.” barry says smoothly, drawling the words out while his deft digits stroke the swell of your cheek. he’s always reminding you… and it’s true that you can’t run no matter how bad you want to. you barely know how to get out of the neighborhood, let alone navigate the backroads and find your way into town. but you don’t flinch this time when he touches you, even though you feel like you should. instead you nod. you lean into his touch, realizing it’s the only bit of comfort you’ll get from now on. “i picked the right one, didn’t i?”

[the-traveling-poet]

“Odd, but fine”

Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader ~ SFW

A/N; I’m not sure what to classify this as—hurt comfort or just some random fluff. But it’s here and it’s 1.1k words :3

Kinda inspired by my mindset lately?? (Life’s a bitch and tearing me down rn lmao)

Anyways, we hit 800 followers this week! I’ve been in denial for a few days but genuinely y’all mean the absolute world to me, thanks for getting me here and in turn inspiring me to keep doing what I love—you’re the reason I’ve kept at it (slowly but surely).

Thanks for sticking around, even if I’m not the most active online anymore. You’ve made a hard week for me become bearable <3

It wasn’t often you had visitors to your office—you hardly used the space much, after all.

Anyone who could ever need you, for one thing or another, would have a much easier time spotting you elsewhere. They’d learned by now you preferred a more open atmosphere to inhabit while you worked—one of these places being the window you’d perch on within the library, tucked away with a good book or perhaps a small stack of papers you were meant to sign.

Another was the large elm tree on the outskirts of the training grounds, where you’d sit with your books and papers under the cool shade of the leaves, away from the burning sun—if the weather cooperated.

As such, you’d always use your office sparingly, albeit however you wanted; and today was no different. For the first time in awhile, you’d decide to coop yourself up within the space, avoiding interaction with others to get your work done.

And yet…no work had gotten done.

There you were, minding your own business in the quiet of the room, sprawled out on the freshly swept floor and your eyes staring blankly up to the ceiling in somewhat of a haze.

Everyone needed a moment to decompress—though, you weren’t certain that’s what you were doing. You felt heavy, physically. Perhaps a little foggy in your mind as well.

Lying out on the floor could constitute as a comfort, no? At least, you’d always thought so.

It was grounding in the most literate of senses, like a balm to a wound.

Today, that wound was your mind; too many racing thoughts, too many responsibilities.

Sometimes, one just needed to lay down—you figured anyone could agree to that much.

So that’s exactly what you’d done. The work could wait another hour while you attempted to unwind, right?

Your wandering mind was pulled back to the present by a simple knock to your door.

Odd; no one usually looked for you here, for how scarcely you used the space. Perhaps whoever was here urgently needed your assistance, maybe even just your presence.

You started to lift your head and form a reply, when the door clicked and pushed open swiftly. Whoever was there hadn’t waited for permission to enter after the rapp of their knuckles against your door, and one of two possible culprits came to mind almost immediately. Neither of those Captains would wait for a response before barging in.

Curious eyes met yours when you turned towards the sound, the confusion in their eyes turning to a look of brief concern.

“Levi,” you mumbled in greeting, your tone nearly sounding as confused as he previously looked. Of course, it was Levi. You should have known by the knock.

He quickly smoothed out his expression when you spoke, his lips set in a purse and brow furrowed into his usual somber expression. It seemed he’d gotten over his initial surprise to find you in such a position.

“What are you doing?” was the only thing he uttered into the quiet space, pointedly glancing over your sprawled out form for emphasis.

“Sometimes you just need to lay down, yeah? The floor can be a nice place to do that.” you answered a little hesitantly, your words coming out slower than usual as you gauged his expression.

“…That’s filthy,” Levi grumbled back, his eyes narrowing just a bit.

“You’ll get shit in your hair, dust on your ass.”

“It’s clean, I promise. I swept.”

“And did you mop?” Levi raised an accusatory brow, to which you averted your gaze.

“I hardly use this space; I imagine sweeping up the dust is good enough.” you shrugged, turning your gaze back up towards the ceiling to avoid his eyes glaring daggers into the side of your face.

Sighing softly to himself, Levi eventually softened his look, and closed the door behind him before striding further into the room, his eyes never quite straying from your form.

“For a moment I thought you were having a fit of some kind. Injured somehow, maybe…but I have reason to believe you’re fine—a little odd, but fine.”

You started to form a reply, something equally as sarcastic as he’d sounded, but the words never left your lips—they didn’t get the chance to. Not when the rustle of fabric and the shifting of his position out of your peripheral vision caught your attention.

With a quiet grunt Levi crouches down to lay on the floor, right beside you; his shoulder nearly touching yours from the close proximity.

You were surprised beyond words, your breath catching in your throat. Hadn't he just implied this was filthy? Just what provoked him to join you?

“Why?” you managed to utter softly, now laying with your head turned to view his side profile.

He spared you a glance from the corner of his eye.

“Why not? The floor’s not a great companion; emotionless and cold. Figured you could use some company that can actually listen. You’re feeling things—emotions or some shit, aren’t you?” Levi responded smoothly.

He returned his gaze to the ceiling almost nonchalantly, as though this activity wasn’t something out of the ordinary for himself.

You knew that couldn’t have been true.

Not for him.

“And you can provide these ‘lacking qualities’ that the floor cannot?” you mused, nearly biting back a smile as you, too, averted your gaze up to the dark ceiling.

“…I can at least respond to you, brat.” Levi clicked his tongue, though the annoyance he meant to show never really made it to the surface. His words were spoken almost akin to a sigh; somewhat relaxed, somewhat amused.

“If you’re going through some mental shit…I have time to listen. I won’t give you great advice but, well, who’s advice is truly right? No one has the true definition of a right answer when it comes to the mind. But one can do what they can—their best.”

“So eloquently spoken, Levi. I didn’t know you were so…insightful?” You hummed then, turning your head to admire the side of his; but he was already facing you, silver eyes widened in a more relaxed manner than before. He seemed to be studying you.

“Cut the shit, brat. I’m just trying to help,” he grumbled, but once again any annoyance he might have hoped to convey was lost on the look he held—like he genuinely cared about how you’d react to whatever he happened to say.

“Maybe you could let me help, just once? It’s not my strong suit…but I’ll try.”

It was heartfelt, the way he stared back at you.

Had those flecks of blue always belonged to his irises amidst the grey hues? Has his lips always ticked upwards at the one corner when he spoke to you?

Had he always looked and sounded so…caring?

“You help just by being here. Thanks, Levi; I didn’t know I needed the company today,” you finally whispered in response, smiling faintly in the dimly lit room.

Surprisingly, his lips mirrored yours in a soft upturn. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever seen this before.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you need, you spoiled brat.”

~More Levi Ackerman Content Here!~

[enigmaris]

Lois writes the article. The Justice League freaks out. Investigations are done, meetings are held. In the mean time, a suspected connection between ghosts and the lazurus pits means that there is a very specific person who wants a one on one with Phantom even though all of the heroes agreed to not approach phantom until the anti ecto acts are gone. Jason never follows the rules anyway:

“Daniel Phantom, do not even think about it.”

Her tone of voice made every bone in his body yearn to turn invisible immediately, Lois jumped up trying to catch him. Danny grinned and got ready to fly away, a game of tag would keep Lois from questioning him! Right before Danny’s plan could commence, the sound of Lois's phone ringing cut it off. Danny froze as Lois pulled out her phone and looked at the screen.

“It’s Batman. Wonder what he could possibly need.”

Danny let himself fly all the way to the ceiling, until his back was pushed up against it. He looked down as Lois answered her phone, helpfully putting it on speaker.

“You’re on speaker Bats, what can Lois Lane and her plucky new intern do for you?”

“Intern?” A voice Danny didn’t know answered back. “I thought Superman was the only one for you. I guess you move fast, Lois.”

“Nightwing.” Lois said. “What are you doing calling from Batman’s phone?”

“If B didn’t want me to use his phone, he should have called you himself. You know how he is, Lois. Won’t ever ask for help unless he’s about to die and not even then.” Nightwing snarked back. “Gotham’s got a bit of a supernatural concern that I think I need a consult from your intern for.”

Danny tilted his head, not moving closer to Lois when she looked up at him.

“What sort of concern? I’ll pass along your message if it's interesting enough. My intern’s got enough on his plate getting me coffee to watch after you birds.”

“Fair enough.” Nightwing allowed. “We think one of our own is ecto-contaminated. To be entirely fair we all might be a bit, not that we’ve gotten our hands on a GIW scanner. The real concern is with Red Hood though. I know your report said that ecto-contamination is harmless but Red Hood has had some interesting side effects since he took a bath in some glowing green goop.”

“A bath?” Danny asked, his voice echoing out from the ceiling.

There was a pause on the other end of the call before Nightwing spoke again.

“Yes. A bath. Do the words Lazurus Pit mean anything to you, Miss Lane’s Intern?”

“Never heard of it.” Danny said, trying not to let himself sound ashamed by it. “But I don’t like the name. Sounds spooky.”

“Aren’t you a spook?”

“Different kind of spook.” Danny defended.

“Well. We think it might actually be the same sort of spook actually. The Lazurus Pits are pools of glowing green liquid, no one knows where they came from. There are a dozen or so dotted around the planet. If a sick or dying person goes into it, they are healed sometimes with side effects. If a healthy person goes in, they die.” Nightwing said. “Sometimes if people go into, they don’t come out again.”

Danny... might actually know what those are. Huh.

“What kind of side effects?”

"Homicidal rage. Memory loss. Temporary increased strength. Glowing eyes.”

“Okay. And how long has Red Hood being dealing with this?”

“On and off for about five years.” Nightwing answered.

“I might actually know what’s going on.” Danny said. “But I’d have to see him. I’m not like a ghost doctor or anything, but if it's what I think it is, then I can fix it for sure.”

“Fix it?” Another voice from the phone asked.

Danny could hear a scuffle over the phone as two people wrestled for it. He exchanged looks with Lois until the second voice seemed to get the phone under his control completely.

“What do you mean by fix it?” the second voice demanded.

“Erm. Who is this?”

“Red Hood. Who the fuck else?”

“I don’t know who has access to Batman’s phone dude, chill.”

“Don’t tell me to chill. Tell me what you mean by fix it.”

"Dude. I have ice powers I absolutely can tell you to chill.” Danny shot back making Lois snort.

"Start. Talking.”

“He wasn’t kidding about the anger issues huh?” Danny asked Lois instead of answering. Danny grinned when he heard a growl over the phone. “Look. Red Hood. I don’t know if it is what I think it is. I need to see you in person before I can tell you anymore. Do you know how many glowing green goops there are in the universe?”

“Do you?” Nightwing asked, voice muffled as he was further from the phone. Danny listened as Red Hood told Nightwing to ‘shut the fuck up’ with a hiss.

"I’ll send Lane an address in Gotham. Meet me there in an hour.” Red Hood instructed.

“How do you know I’m free in an hour? I’m a busy intern you know. You’re not being very polite.”

Danny could hear the teeth grinding on the other end. He grinned as Red Hood took in a deep breath through his nose.

“Can we please meet in an hour?” Red Hood asked.

“Yeah sure. I’ll fly by.”

“Now what do we say to people who do nice things for us?” Lois asked. “Especially poor lowly interns who have an entire branch of the government hunting them?”

“Would you like me to blow up a GIW base for you?” Red Hood asked.

"Hood no!” Nightwing shouted.

“Hood yes.” Hood said.

The two vigilantes started arguing with each other, so Lois just rolled her eyes and ended the call.

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[s4nniebe4r]

the roommate

part one: the lease

pairing: roommate! san x fem! reader

synopsis: a mutual friend suggests you and choi san, of all people live together

wc: 1.2k

tags: slow burn, roommates, enemies to lovers, angst, forced proximity, eventual romance

etc: this fic is brought to life in a conversation i had with a close friend lol. this fic is going to span a few chapters, so be aware of that… no regular updates, but hopefully i can get them out fairly soon. as always, this isn’t proofread!

next part

The second Seonghwa brought it up, you both shut it down. 

“You two should room together.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “Absolutely not.”

He, on the other hand, doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Yea, no thanks.”

Seonghwa blinks at you both, clearly confused by the immediate and mutual rejection. “Okay, well you didn’t have to say it like that.”

It’s not that the idea in itself is inherently terrible—logistically, it makes sense. Seonghwa knows you’re both struggling to get to the final place before the semester starts, and the rental market is a nightmare. But the problem is that Choi San is insufferable. 

Your first impression of him had been nothing short of hellish. Maybe it was the way he barely spared you a glance, as if you weren’t worth more than a second of his time. Or the way that he was just a little too blunt, like he couldn’t be bothered to soften his words for the sake of basic social norms. Or maybe it was how, in that first conversation, he had looked at you—sharp, and knowing, as if he had already decided you weren’t worth the effort. Whatever it was, it grated on your nerves immediately. And judging by the way San hadn’t exactly extended the welcome mat either, the feeling was mutual. 

The first conversation still lingers in your mind. You had met at some house party Seonghwa dragged you to, already regretting your decision the moment you stepped inside. San had been standing near the drinks, eyes scanning the room like he had a better place to be. You had barely introduced yourself before he cocked his head, and asked, “You always act this strange, or just tonight?”

It was meant to be a joke. Maybe. But it sent your irritation through the roof. “Wow. Charming.”

San has just smirked, sipping his drink. “Didn’t say I was. Just curious.” With that he strolled away, but not before you could hear him mutter the words what a weirdo under his breath. 

And that was the beginning of your mutual distaste. 

So no, you are not going to be his roommate. 

A month ago, you would have laughed at the idea of living with San. Back then, you had standards. Preferences. Hopes. A list of potential roommates who weren’t actively infuriating. But as time passed and each option fell through—rents too high, locations too inconvenient, roommates too unreliable—you started to realize that standards were a luxury you couldn’t afford anymore. 

It has become a pattern: refreshing apartment listings every morning, scrolling through rental groups, sending out hopeful messages only to be met with astronomical prices or ghosting. At first, you were picky. Then you were just desperate. 

Seonghwa had been the first to suggest it, of course. More than once. And you ignored him every time, even when the options were thinning, even when you knew you were starting to run out of time. But after yet another overpriced studio slipped through your fingers once more, you made the mistake of asking, “So… has he found a place yet?”

Seonghwa, always the opportunist, grinned through the phone. “Oh? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

You grimaced. “Just answer the question.”

“No, he hasn’t. And you should talk to him before he does.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Why do you care so much?”

You could hear him take a quick sip of his coffee. “Because you two are both stubborn brats who need a place to live, and I’m tired of watching you struggle out of sheer pride.”

You wanted to argue, but… he wasn’t wrong. The idea still made you cringe though. Living with San? The same San who once told you to just get over it when you complained about a professor’s impossible grading during a group hangout. The same San who somehow always knew exactly what buttons to push and how without even much of a thought. 

Still, the reality of your situation was pressing down on you. 

You really, really didn’t want to. But practicality won out over pride, and that was how you now found yourself sending an excruciatingly awkward text. You wondered if it sounded desperate. 

you still looking for a place?

It took him two hours to respond. 

yeah. why?

You stared at your phone for a long moment, weighing your options. Every bone in your body wanted to tell him never mind, but you didn’t have that luxury anymore. 

i have an apartment lead. two bedrooms. rent isn’t awful. want to check it out?

San’s reply came quicker this time. 

sure. when? 

And just like that, your fate was sealed. It felt like you were making a pact with the devil. 

The apartment was fine… fine.

Nothing notable. Nothing terrible. Just, fine. 

The landlord was a woman in her late forties with minimal patience. She led the two of you through a quick tour. The kitchen that should really have been labeled as a kitchenette, was small, but functional. The bathroom had seen better days, but was clean enough. The bedrooms were on opposite sides of the unit—an unexpected blessing. If you were really going to do this, at least you wouldn’t have to hear him late at night in the next room. 

San, of course, was impossible to read. He wandered through the apartment with his hands remaining in his pockets, gaze flicking over each room with mild disinterest. Meanwhile, you were running frantic calculations in your head. The price wasn’t awful, the location was decent, and most importantly, this was your last option, you were out. 

"So?" the landlord asked, tapping her pen against the clipboard she held. "You in or not?"

You opened your mouth, ready to say yes, only to hesitate when San finally spoke. “Is there parking?”

You shot him a quick look. That was his question? Not about utilities, not about security deposits, but… parking?

The landlord sighed. “Street parking only. First come, first serve.”

San only hummed, nodding slightly before falling silent again. 

The landlord turned to you. “And you? Any questions?”

A thousand, but nothing would change the fact that you desperately needed this apartment. You shook your head. “No, I’m good, thank you.”

She clapped her hands together. "Great. Lease starts next week. If you’re both serious, we can do paperwork now."

There was a beat of silence. Then San shrugged. "Fine by me."

And that was it. 

So there you sat at the landlord's desk, pen in hand, staring at the contract in front of you. San was already in the midst of signing his copy, cool and composed as ever, like this was just another task to check off on his to-do list. Meanwhile, your stomach was knotting and twisting. This was real. You were actually doing this. 

You glanced at him, half-expecting some last-minute hesitation, some crack in his indifferent facade. But he just slid his finished paperwork back across the desk, tapping his fingers idly against the table, tapping his fingers idly against the table as he waited for you to finish. 

With a deep breath, you signed your name. 

The landlord smiled. “Congratulations. Hope you two get along.”

Neither of you responded. 

San tucked his copy of the lease into his bag, turning to you with an unreadable expression yet again. “Guess we’re doing this.”

You exhaled sharply, gripping your set of keys tightly. “Guess so.”

You already had a headache. 

[biblical-chronicles]

Hotel room

_____________________________________

where the band books you and Liam one hotel room.

(the one and only; oh no, there's only one bed)

_____________________________________

Since you were kids, you and Liam had been attached at the hip, causing trouble, winding people up, always finding yourselves in the middle of something you probably shouldn’t be involved in. There wasn’t much you hadn’t done together—sneaking into pubs before you were legal, getting bollocked by teachers for skiving off, tearing through the streets on bikes that you were definitely not the owners of. It had been you and him from the start.

Your mates never let up with teasing the two of you. 'Just get on with it and shag already', they’d say, over and over, until it became a joke that outlived the humor.

But you and Liam never truly entertained it. Never pulled through with whatever everyone else seemed so convinced about. You just kept things the way they were, the way they’d always been. And sitting across from him now, in the glow of the pub, watching him wave a half-empty pint around as he went on one of his long-winded rants, you weren’t thinking about much else beyond how fucking knackered you were.

Liam narrowed his eyes at you, mid-sentence. “Y’not even listenin’, are ya?”

You blinked, dragging yourself back into the present. “What?”

A scoff. “Knew it.” He leaned in, elbows on the table, all sharp-eyed and smug like he’d just caught you out on some massive crime. “Go on then. What’s goin’ on up there?”

You shrugged, rubbing at your eyes. “Just dead knackered.”

Liam hummed, taking another swig of his drink before nodding. “Aye. Long fuckin’ day.”

It always was. You worked tech for the tour, which meant setting up and tearing down all the gear, making sure the sound was right, handling the kind of shit no one in the crowd even thought about. You didn’t mind it, though. It kept you in the thick of things, gave you front-row seats to all the chaos without actually being the one onstage.

Liam stretched, groaning as he pushed his chair back. “Right. Reckon we should head back before the lot of ‘em piss in the hotel lobby or summat.”

You snorted but nodded, both of you draining the last of your pints before making your way out. The rest of the band had staggered back a while ago, all varying degrees of drunk. You and Liam had stayed behind, taking your time, not quite ready to deal with their drunken shite just yet. But when you finally stepped into the hotel, exhausted and ready to pass out, something immediately felt off.

The receptionist barely looked up before sliding a single key across the desk with a polite but knowing smile. “One room for you both.”

You stopped. Stared at her. Blinked. “What?”

“One room,” she repeated, ever-so-professional, as if she wasn’t in on whatever the fuck this was. “Your bandmates arranged it.”

Liam was already shaking his head, scoffing under his breath. “For fuck’s sake.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. The lads, absolutely steaming and clearly bored out of their skulls, had decided to fuck about with the room assignments for a laugh. You could practically hear the lot of them now, probably all crowded together upstairs, waiting to see if their little stunt had actually worked.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face.

You considered arguing, really considered it, but at the end of the day, you were too exhausted to fight with the receptionist about a bed arrangement. You weren’t a diva, and you weren’t about to throw a fit over sharing a room with Liam of all people.

Without another word, you snatched up the key, muttering a string of curses under your breath, and walked toward the lifts. Liam fell into step beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, his smirk widening like this was the funniest shit in the world.

You swallowed hard as Liam pressed the button for your floor, the air suddenly heavier than it had been a moment ago.

When the doors finally slid open, you wasted no time stepping out, Liam following behind with an easy, lazy stride.

You jammed the key into the lock, twisted, and pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, one soft bedside lamp casting a glow over the space. Looked decent enough—clean, a bit posh, nothing to complain about. But there was one glaring problem, a single bed.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake,” Liam groaned, voice thick with exhaustion.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Of course.”

For a second, you debated going downstairs, demanding another room, maybe even storming into one of their rooms and throwing a little fit. But the weight of the day was pressing heavy on your limbs, and honestly? You couldn’t be arsed. Not tonight.

“Whatever,” you muttered, dropping your bag by the chair. “I’m too fuckin’ tired to deal with this.”

Liam was already toeing off his trainers, clearly in agreement. “Aye, we’ll live.”

The two of you settled in without much fuss, teeth brushed, shoes off, jackets discarded in a lazy pile. When you finally climbed into bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight, you let out a long, relieved breath. The sheets were cool, soft. If you ignored the fact that Liam was lying right there beside you, it was almost peaceful.

Almost.

Because after a moment, you glanced over at him.

The dim glow of the lamp softened his face, made him look almost delicate. Usually, he was all wild energy, a constant storm of motion and attitude. But now, like this, relaxed and quiet, you noticed things you hadn’t properly taken in before. The way his lashes fanned out against his cheek, the sharp cut of his jaw, the shape of his mouth—soft, a little pouty, lips slightly parted as he exhaled.

You weren’t even thinking when you shifted closer, drawn in like a moth to a flame. It was almost instinctual, like you were inspecting him up close, like he was some masterpiece in a gallery and you needed a better look.

Liam cracked an eye open, catching you mid-stare. His mouth twitched, amused.

“Oh, someone wants a snuggle, do they?”

You scoffed, shoving at his shoulder. “Piss off.”

He laughed, but before you could react, he launched himself at you, rolling half on top of you, pinning you beneath his weight.

“Liam—fuckin’ hell—get off!” You squirmed, trying to push him off, but he was stronger, his arms locking around you like a vice.

“Nah, y’looked like you needed a cuddle.” he teased, grinning down at you.

“You’re a menace.” you gritted out, still attempting to wiggle free.

He just chuckled, resting his chin on the top of your head for a moment before, finally, he rolled away, stretching out on his side of the bed again.

You exhaled, willing your heart to slow back to a normal rhythm. But the worst part? You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right. Because for that brief moment, wrapped up in him, it had felt nice. Warm. Safe. And now that it was gone, there was a gnawing sense of loss creeping in, something you weren’t quite sure what to do with.

You lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore it. But your body had other ideas.

Slowly, you shifted just a little closer. Not enough to be obvious, but just enough that your knee brushed against his under the covers.

Liam didn’t say anything.

So you inched a little more.

Your arm grazed his.

Still nothing.

You swallowed, pulse picking up, and finally let your leg rest against his, just lightly. The warmth of him seeped through the fabric of your clothes, and you swore you could feel his breathing change, just the slightest hitch.

For a moment, neither of you moved, as if acknowledging it would break the fragile tension hanging between you. Your heart was hammering, every second stretching longer than it should.

Then, Liam shifted. Just a little. Just enough that his leg pressed more firmly against yours.

You held your breath.

“You gettin’ comfy there, or what?” His voice was low, thick with amusement, but there was something else underneath it too.

You hesitated, debating playing dumb, but before you could, he turned his head, looking at you properly now.

“Not just after a snuggle, huh?” His lips twitched. “You’re after the full snuggle and snog package, aren’t ya?”

Heat rushed to your face, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking away. “I hate you.”

He grinned. “No you don't, love.”

Before you could come up with some kind of comeback, he shifted again, rolling onto his side to face you fully. His gaze flickered over your face. And then his fingers traced a lazy path up your arm, barely a touch, just enough to send shivers along your skin.

Your breath hitched.

He smirked. “Look at ya. Gaspin’.”

You scowled, smacking his chest. “Fuck off, Liam.”

But he only laughed, and before you could retreat, his hand caught yours, holding it in place against him.

Liam’s thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“Go on then,” he murmured.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

His smirk deepened, lazy and confident, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it. “Kiss me, ya div. Thought that was what you were after.”

Your breath caught, fingers curling slightly where they rested against him. Your mind screamed at you to think, to figure out if this was a mistake, if you should be doing this, but all that noise faded when his thumb traced slow circles against your wrist, grounding, steady.

You didn’t think.

You just moved.

Your hand slid up, fingers curling around the back of his neck as you leaned in. And then, before you could talk yourself out of it you kissed him.

His lips were warm, soft, and for half a second, he didn’t move. Just let you press against him, let you be the one to make the first move. But then his fingers curled into your waist, tugging you closer, and his mouth pressed firmly against yours, deepening the kiss with a slow, unhurried confidence.

You exhaled against him, and he hummed, low and pleased, his other hand sliding up your back.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered between kisses. “Knew you fancied me.”

You pulled back just enough to glare at him, lips still tingling. “You’re unbearable.”

He grinned, eyes dark with amusement, fingers tightening at your waist. “Yeah, but if it makes you feel better I fancied you too.”

_____________________________________

I love this trope it's such a fanfic classic, hope ya liked it xx

[fireladyofink]

Oh God.. uuhhhh.. been a minute since I tried one of these..

Skipping 1, hate first person, just can't do it, not even read it.

2 is 100% Andlàtkyn. There's some issues here and there but it will always be my pride and joy.

Due to not posting on AO3 (even though I really should be), 3 is mostly ineffective. Except Wattpad has tags. I'd say UTAU, dragons and crossover.

4, lol. Literally. Lately I keep using that (only when texting others) and it's bothering me. I feel like a simpleton because of how much I'm saying that, eugh.

5 I've honestly learned a lot while researching fics. For one, I found out lantana berries are toxic to humans yet taste like blueberries, and I have them growing in my backyard. They're actually my favorite plant! I love their flowers; so pretty, and they have such a uniquely funky smell as well. Part of why I adore them, it stands out so much without being a bad smell. And the leaves have a sort of citrus smell? I love lantanas.

6 I don't know. I've thought about requests due to the money, but I feel like I'd either struggle to start writing it or get carried away with it- or straight up not finish in a reasonable timeframe. Commissions? Like art commissions? Maybe in a few years when I'm more confident in my skills and also somehow have a drawing tablet to properly draw digitally. Something like that.

7 Either or. I love making sickeningly sweet coffee or various different teas.

8 Is honestly hard to decide! Off the top of my head I can think of Dust initially meeting Killer with the hilariously absurd question of "What do you mean you don't have a mouth? How are you speaking right now? Your ass?"

9 Believe it or not it was basically when I first got a phone and commented a short story in the comments of a YouTube video. Someone replied with a suggestion of Wattpad. The rest is history, lol.

10 Off the top of my head I can't think of anything beyond something very specific for the fic I've been thinking about again lately, Ninjagaësia. Only time I've written outside of the UT fandom too, I specifically want to get around to writing that version of Zane more. What I had planned for him is fun as hell. An absolute badass.

11 Lots of comments, votes and people enjoying it. Which, continuing the above mention, Ninjagaësia doesn't qualify for. Pretty unsuccessful, but for once I don't really care.

12 Undertale AU's. I doubt I'll ever leave, either.

13 No. Hell, my ultimate fic of Andlàtkyn was written throughout the later half of highschool. I am technically working on an original story on the sidelines, I call it my worldbuilding project because I'm building up so much lore in this world before I actually touch on the story itself outside of a vague idea. About 60-ish different species of people, including the were-diseases. Last I counted, anyway. I'll be working on it for years, I know it, and I don't mind that either.

14 Comments talking about my fics on said fics. Actual interactions! It brings me joy. 🧡

15 My family is well aware. I don't bring up a lot of details but the last time I went into vague detail with my mother it was over a scene in Andlàtkyn (no direct spoilers) and she interpreted it weirdly and now she teases me by asking if I'm killing babies again! A bit awkward..

16 Actually finishing a damn story. I don't mind the periods of no writing until I get inspired again, but what annoys me is when I can't seem to finish anything. Only ever finished Andlàtkyn. I still have yet to write anything for the sequel to it, either! Zeradelsída is still just a bunch of loose plot points..

17 I am semi successfully writing benevolent eldritch horror. It doesn't intend harm, but it is truly.. horrifying nonetheless. The uncertainty of someone knowing he died, feeling his own heart stop beating, and feeling something OTHER seep inside and force it to start again, pulsing in his veins, fusing with his anatomy, permanently altering both him and itself into something completely unknowable.. I'm rambling. Anyone who hasn't seen my Wattpad, read Awakened. If you don't mind ridiculously long fics, read Andlàtkyn too!

18 I have at least 7 I mostly expect to finish, with at least 4 others just kind of.. there. I don't think I've posted any of those, either. I also have ideas inspired by dreams that I'd love to write down someday, though don't really expect to actually codify.

19 I kind of just don't. I work on different projects as the inspiration hits, take a backseat for a month or so, then come back to either the same project or a different one.

20 Hmmm.. Hard to think of something specific. I'm leaning towards stuff in Andlàtkyn. I don't really have a favorite kiss scene because I don't do romance. I write adventure! Andlàtkyn has some side romance though- not that any of it is my favorite. Platonic stuff, though.. I'd say my favorite is honestly Lust and Alter incidentally befriending each other and becoming venting buddies. It's the cutest thing, their friendship is adorable and wholesome despite the background angst. I didn't write nearly as much of them as deserved.

21 Honestly it's mostly lack of inspiration that I'm pretty sure stems from depression. If I could get an ADHD prescription or depression meds I'd probably be a lot better but like. I am completely broke. So much so that those issues aren't even in the top 10 of pressing problems solved with money.

22 Given I've literally only done it once.. not really. I guess I post it around everywhere I can think of in excitement?

23 That one continuous dream I had that went on over a month centered on a Nightmare that was freshly corrupted. He was honestly so nerdy and adorable despite putting on the brave and mildly "evil" front. The boy. Him. Goddamnit I want to write that at some point.

24 Honestly I can't think of anything for this one.

25 Oh yeah, I can't think of anything off the top of my head but there's a lot I'd like to fix in all of my stories, lol.

26 Kind of? It's a more recent development, did it for Zeradelsída which still has yet to be written, did it for that Ninjagaësia too. A little bit of a broad, even vaguer outline for things I want to happen in Awakened, too? More like events, no particular order or connection.

27 A few of those WIP's that haven't been posted... Okay technically just one. There's also the very first fic I wrote that is subsequently the only one I've ever deleted.

28 Angstiest often coincides with cursed for some reason, so I'll just go with the ending of Andlàtkyn for the Apple Twins.

29 I kind of just.. don't. If I do, I start hating everything, and because I'm not THAT bad at spelling and grammar I think it's mostly fine the way it is.

30 Oh absolutely. It's particularly obvious when one looks at Andlàtkyn, which I wrote over the course of 4 years. Really neat transition, if I ever manage to do it, I'd rewrite the beginning a little to match the rest when crossposting to AO3. If I ever get around to that.

31 Again, Andlàtkyn. That fic is my baby, man. It's so precious to me.

32 Honestly I don't know for this one, which is weird.

33 100% Ink of Awakened. My little boy. I have some friends that would rib the hell out of me if they ever found out, lol. Thankfully the main one doesn't even remember that he has a Tumblr.

34 I was not expecting how hard of a question this is! I thought it was Andlàtkyn, but thinking about it.. I don't think so? It might simply just change depending on which one I'm currently fixated on, but at the moment I think my favorites to get that on is Awakened and Ninjagaësia, second of which already has basically nothing to begin with.

35 I don't have anything, oof.

Fanfic/Author Ask Game

Write a scene from [insert fic] in another character’s POV

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A character you enjoy making suffer.

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Wild Card: Ask me something else!

[linksfunroadtrip]

Link's Fun Commentary - Prologue!

+ sailor design commentary. link's fun extra

Twilight Field, War of Eras...

Sailor starting in Hyrule Warriors and being dropped immediately into Shepherd's era is actually the second pitch for the beginning of the comic, the very First pitch being the first two pages of chapter 1.

More than anything we just wanted to get it done, but we didn't really know what we were doing . We cobbled together a custom font and got right to it. My Fun Facts: All the grass is the same image reused over and over except for when it isn't . Literally all of the smoke was just repeated/moved around. We didn't even really know how to use gradients effectively...

... Which can be seen in these next two panels. LOL.

The work split on this batch set a precedent for sure. @islandlobster took up lining and flat colors, and had the Hard Job of harmonizing our styles, processes, and experiments. Do you see a lot of small, long-form comics with grainy, textured line-art? Maybe no? Well we found out why.

These panels also feature the Only Two Triforces we remembered to draw !!! Oh My God!!!

As much as we struggled, things moved pretty quick from the get-go. Since the prologue is only a handful of pages we didn't really run into the issues we would with chapter 1, especially regarding our complete and utter lack of script. This went straight from thumbnailing to the final result!! (NOT A SUSTAINABLE WAY TO DO A GROUP PROJECT...!)

I wanted to mention though that when I wrote the line above, I wasn't sure if this was how you would spell it for like . a Soldier Troop or a Performance Troupe. Which I just looked up now and found out I Absolutely got them mixed up. so umm. Sorry. Sailor is not in the circus yet.

Cia was just defeated in the main campaign! I felt like such a smart cookie for this one.

She doesn't even know she wont be going home yet‼️ laughing and pointing ‼️

It was an Early idea that Sailor would conveniently miss the time portal transporting the field (with her in it!) back to its era. This was supposed to be a reoccurring bit, but we didn't commit to it too hard going forward, so who's to say if that'll be realized.

The pirate charm plays a big role in the prologue. A little funny because we were absolutely sick to death of drawing it by the end, as well as the fact that it is there in lieu of her red-gem necklace that we forgot to draw. it is Welcome and Unfortunate that it doesn't work anymore, especially because having the chance to name drop like this was very indulgent.

The era of twilight ! Including the locations and times was in the original sketches, but when we found out that our inexperience with backgrounds wasn't lending itself to establishing Where we were, it came in handy. We Agonized over placing the castle and argued* for like a week about how forested the area should be. Luckily we use noclip now, so things have improved as we've moved into chapter 2 :]

Either way, hopefully it wasn't too confusing, and as we introduce new characters the picture will be clearer. We've talked a little bit about returning to the prologue to spiff it up a bit, but we feel we aren't far enough into the comic to make it worthwhile.

and now over to Pea with the weather:

my name is pea islandlobster and you can't tell that it's me because we are writing on the same post but trust okay 🤞 I am here to talk about SAILOR!!!

Sailor has been my baby brainchild before LFRT was even a blip in our minds eye (my proof) and it has been a beautiful indulgence for me to both put her in AND have her be the first Link we meet. YAY!

I have two designs for her, for which I have helpfully made a diagram just for you..! Labeled and everything..!

A: pheww my big one that I have been sitting on forever. Sailor's necklace was constructed over the course of her adventure, initially only having her red gem (given to her by King Daphnes, from his own crown). Four pearls were later added, parting gifts from Oshus and the three spirits. Also intended to mirror the three Goddess pearls from Wind Waker..! and an extra yellow one i guess. triforce? idk

B: Sailor's chipped tooth is a funny one that I will have to make a small comic about at some point. It's not even anything from her adventure. A couple years before WW, Aryll was pretty upset about losing her first tooth, and in typical Link fashion she thought the best way of comforting her was to ALSO lose a tooth. Grandma was not happy.

C: Most Links have a triforce mark, and each one we are giving a reason towards ^.^ Sailor's mark is entirely scar tissue, specifically it is hypertrophic. She held her triforce for only a few days and got it (maybe quite literally) ripped from her by Ganondorf, so take that as you will. Tetra and her are matching yayyy..!

D: Giving her hero outfit it's own section so I can tuck it out of the way lol. A modified version of her original hero outfit, courtesy of shipmate Nudge (guy in the top left). She was a little upset over having to alter Grandma's hard work, but she preserved it where she could. Like her seashell belt! ^_^

E: SIDEBURNS! Not present in the prologue because it has been a recent development but I figured it was worth bringing up. During WoE, as she grows her hair, her sideburns resemble little lobster claws. Cute! In LFRT as grown out as it is, I thought making them swirly as a reference to pretty much every cloud/wind effect used in WW lol.

From a combination of outgrowing stuff and missing home, Sailor was christened with Lobster Shirt 2.0 as we know and love today. Who made it for her? I dunnooo..... let's sit and think about this one.

Phewww. This was a long one - and no doubt the next will be longer - but this is all for now! Feel free to send any questions you might have ^.^ Thank you for all the support! Chapter 2 part 2 soon!

[thefanficmonster]

Vy, do you still write for Corpse Husband?? If so could you write about an neighbours to lovers?

Hi dear!

Thank you so much for the request! You know I love a good neighbors to lovers story 😉

Hope you enjoy ❤

Greetings From Next-Door

Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing?

Genre: Neighbors to Lovers, FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse is probably the first and only person to receive a reverse noise complaint

It hasn't been a good morning for Corpse. It's barely been a morning, if we're being honest.

He woke up after three hours of restless sleep feeling more tired than he had felt before painstakingly drifting off at the crack of dawn. He had fifteen minutes of 'morning' to spare before noon rolled around and he dragged himself to the kitchen, swinging the fridge door open to a massive disappointment. Had the scene been a cartoon, a fly would've strayed its way out of the vacant fridge. Then again, using cartoon logic, Corpse could easily draw food to fill the fridge with.

But this is real life. And in real life food costs money that Corpse is strapped for. Grocery delivery is not a privilege he can rely on any longer, hasn't been for a few months even. So every couple weeks, like clockwork, comes the dreaded day calling for a grocery run. And it always starts the same: a vacant kitchen; an attempt to convince himself he doesn't need food to survive; a grumble from his empty stomach disagreeing with him; and finally - surrender.

That's how Corpse just barely managed to usher himself out the door. His all-black attire - accessorized with a black facemask and beanie over which he's also thrown the hood of his hoodie - makes him unassuming, mysterious and unapproachable all in tandem which is precisely the 'aesthetic' he goes for every time he steps foot outside the comfort and safety of his shoebox apartment.

Good thing his kitchen decided to be barren on such a shitty day - rain is pouring down in sheets, the dark clouds are so thick that time cannot be discerned by simply looking up at the sky - it's been the same shade of dark and depressing grey since 6 AM. And Corpse loves it. He just wishes he could have appreciated it from the warmth of his dry and quiet home instead of experiencing it head-on. Not to mention that he's soaked for the most part due to his aversion to umbrellas.

By the time he makes it home with two bags of groceries hooked in each of his hands he feels like he should be wringed out like a towel. The dark curls that are sticking out from beneath his beanie are damp and stuck to his forehead, the mask on his face is soaked and almost impossible to breathe through to the point where he finally bites the bullet and drags it down to beneath his chin. His shoes have a colony of fish living in each one and his groceries are swimming in their bags. But despite the massive inconvenience, his relief to finally be done with the task isn't dampened (pun semi-intended).

However, he's in for a mild infuriation when he approaches his apartment door, keys in hand, and sees a note stuck to the dark wood, the paper ominously contrasting against it.

For a moment, he believes the worst of it - an eviction notice. Is there a valid reason for him to be getting evicted? Absolutely not. Is the landlord and ass though? Absolutely, and Corpse knows the dude is no stranger to the distaste he harbors for him.

He's just about to completely ignore the note for the time being and push into the apartment in favor of drying off and organizing his groceries but an interesting detail jumps out at him from the white page as he goes to unlock the door.

The note is written in cursive in a glittery purple gel pen. Not really the font or format of an eviction notice or complaint, is it?

Corpse pushes the door open, setting the bags down in the foyer before stepping back out to retrieve the piece of paper and read it with far more curiosity than dread this time.

To his surprise and amusement, the note reads:

~ Dear neighbor, You don't know me and I don't know you. But that's irrelevant. I just know you have an amazing taste in music and whatever it is you're blaring in the middle of the night, I'd like you to play it louder so I can at least Shazam it because holy shit do I love it! Keep up the great DJing, neighbor!

PS: Sorry if the letter caused mild discomfort upon first sight. No complaints here! :) I hope the purple ink translated that ~

The relief that washes over him after the third time re-reading the note feels almost like a physical weight being removed from atop his chest and he can finally get his breathing in order. Which then turns into laughter, wholehearted cackling that has him leaning against the hallway wall, groceries all but momentarily forgotten by his feet.

Later that day, in the evening, he does indeed blast the music he typically listens to as motivation and inspiration for his own discography. Despite the blaring speakers, he still manages to hear the three distinct knocks on the wall connecting him to the next unit over. It brings a genuine smile to his face, knowing exactly what it means.

The roundabout way of their communication brings him great comfort. It makes him feel far less alone, the loneliness punctured by the knowledge that there is someone right next door who he managed to make smile if only even briefly.

Thing is, Corpse doesn't want it to end. He realizes that when he finds himself peeking out into the hallway of his building so he can check the other side of his front door for the potential new letter from his neighbor. The realization only sinks in further when he feels the flood of disappointment engulf him upon the sight of the letter-less door.

So, that seals the deal for him. He decides to take it upon himself to not let it end.

It takes him a long time to locate something to write on that isn't a napkin or a paper towel. Even longer to find a working pen. But once he does, he sits down at his computer desk to write a note of his own.

~ Dear Neighbor, Hope you enjoyed the concert last night. Not my typical style to blast music but how can I say no to the Neighborhood Watch. But hey, I don't mind whatsoever - it's the closest thing to a party I've had in years. Seeing as how we seem to share the same preference for music, here's a link to a curated playlist I've been adding to for almost a decade now. There's plenty of hidden gems in there I'm sure you'll enjoy. Feel free to be the one to blast the tunes this time

Greetings from next-door ~

He can't help but laugh to himself as he writes down the whole URL to his Spotify playlist, but even the ridiculousness of that doesn't seem to deter him from his mission.

The next morning, during a teetering predicament of standing on a stool trying to change the lightbulb in the hallway, Corpse hears a laugh echo out in the hallway right beside the door to his unit.

He hops down and takes a look outside the peephole to see what's going on and sure enough, it's his neighbor, having found the note he'd left taped to their door the night before.

He feels a genuine smile spread across his face, a certain warmth flooding his chest. He can still hardly believe he went out of his way to establish communication with a total stranger - something so out of his comfort zone it might as well be in the stratosphere - but that laugh makes it all so worth it.

And there indeed is a party that night as well, with songs he knows all too well blaring from the other side of the wall, loud enough to shake the building. And man, does he love it.

He'd never thought he'd come to think this one day, but he never wants to not have a party (like this one anyway) again.

[enbypotat53]

(SPOILERS FOR TNM6!)

Holy fucking shit. Two years of waiting was so worth it. I'm not even kidding I have been sobbing and shaking for the past half an hour.

I have way too many screenshots so I'll try to condense it but FIRST OFF LOOK AT THESE CUTIE PATOOTIES??? Oh my god realising that this was a year onward from the murders was like a knife to the chest; seeing Tophat and Sketchpad living together and ACTUALLY HAPPY FOR ONCE?? AUGHHH I LOVE THEM 💔

I'm not joking when I say I went back and screenshotted almost every scene GPS was in, but I'll include this one when talking about the memories because GPS hiding behind the couch is SO damn cute 💙

And. Oh. Oh my god. My fucking heart. They care SO much about Tophat and Folder, and the new song?? PEAK. Average TNM W. Seeing all of the adorable moments of these three together?? Heals the soul, but it's SO bittersweet knowing they'll never see eachother again. I'm ABSOLUTELY redrawing some of these, they're too cute not to :,3

Okay but THEY ARE SO IN LOVE?? THEY. AJDJFJFJFJ THEY ARE SO IN LOVE. I. WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS. HOW IN LOVE THEY ARE. GOD. PLEASE ALLEN JUST. LET THEM BE HAPPY FOR ONCE. P L E A S E.

"You just.. wouldn't get the full picture. It's the same with memories for me. Would it still be me.. even if I was missing a few bad ones?"

This is.. genuinely such a fantastic line. GPS has always been my favourite character, but.. damn. The idea that even bad memories hold value because they're still memories; still a part of you, and still might contain the people you love most? They're genuinely such a well-written character, and it's plain to see just how much they care for their friends. And they have a point! Memories shape you, good and bad. As much as the bad ones hurt, it can also help to learn from them in order to make more good ones in the future. And it seems Sketchpad and Tophat did just that.

God. Codey's betrayal was definitely forseeable, but it still hurts. The "I'm just following my programming" line gives me similar vibes to Speech Bubble and Spraypaint in a way; everyone has their part to play, even if (in Codey and Binary's case) it's a harmful one. I'm glad they did the right thing in the end, though. And Binary for SURE gives me Airy vibes, I both adore and despise them and to be honest that's EXACTLY what I could've hoped for in an antagonist. They're GREAT.

Wait a sec..

Binary..

OH I GET THE JOKE IT'S BECAUSE GPS IS NONBI-

Oh.

OH.

Hear that sound? That's the sound of me wailing in agony as my heart shatters into a million pieces.

"This is.. really it.. huh?" THEY SOUND SO SCARED?? God this entire episode I wanted to give them a huge hug and a slice of cake and to tell them that everything would be okay, my hEART. This entire scene broke me, the fear in their eyes and voice hurt so much to hear, my BABY HE'S BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH 💔

And just. This. Entire scene. I cannot tell you how fucking PERFECT of an ending this was. The fact that Tophat was the last thing GPS thought of before he died? The happiest moment they could think of was their high school prom dance, spending it with the person they love most? One final memory to end it all, and it was the most important one in their life. I've said this before but god. They're so in love. It's genuinely gutwrenching watching this scene; they're so happy yet this moment is so fleeting. Knowing how temporary it was and how everything ended makes it worse. Tophat moved on, maybe not fully but at least he's happier. GPS on the other hand? They're stuck reliving memories of people they can NEVER see again; people they hurt.

It's bittersweet as hell, and honestly kind of a perfect juxtaposition to the puzzle scene. Then, they relived bad memories, yet still seemed happy. Now, they're re-experiencing a moment that should fill them with joy, and yet...

Nothing lasts forever.

The ending song being a response to Imaginary Friend, too? Perfection. 💙

Thank you, Nightly Manor. Thank you, Allen. This series was fucking phenominal, and the wait was worth every second. My heart is in tatters but good lord I wouldn't have it any other way. Now it's time to redraw some scenes and try not to cry any harder than I already am! :,D 👍💙

[mistressofthemanor]

masterofthemanor

Once again, the moment she'd casted her gaze upon him from beneath her thick row of lashes, he'd felt his heart skip a beat. She really did hold great power over him and he'd become more aware of it at once at moments like that. She was effortlessly seductive and he'd found her even more alluring like that, being on top of him and in control... there was so much he could have said to provoke her and encourage her to take the reins... so much he would have given to have her take advantage of the power, climb up on him and take her position to straddle him properly - only he didn't have the luxury to give into her without any care in the world and risk uncovering his arm. So for now, he'd merely swallowed to moisturize his throat that'd gone dry and focused on his answer rather than making the mistake of letting his fantasies take over his mind. "Definitely. I'll figure something out for us to do that should entertain us and exhaust you by the end of the day" He stated mysteriously, and to his luck, his words could've been interpreted in other ways that she'd have preferred, so she wouldn't feel rejected, although, it was the riding trips he'd referred to. It'd be beneficial for the both of them to spend some time outside, exercise that way and get into adventures all while being together, talking away and catching up on those years they've spent apart. "Spoil her?!" He exclaimed, doing his best to sound as appalled as he could. "Hey, that's not fair coming from you! I haven't spoiled her more than you have spoiled Draco, and you know that, so don't you try and make it sound as if I was taking shortcuts to bribe her rather than to have her behave a certain way through setting up rules and being consequent, because I could say the same... Also... I know how you are with Ariadné, so don't even try deny it" He opposed with a smirk, for even though it was the truth they'd had that conversation many times in the past and they've settled everything properly when the children were small, which meant it was something they could joke about now.

Lucius was vague, but enough that she hoped he would spoil her in the way they were both hoping for. She could only grin in response as she definitely was feeling better about their evening last night being merely one of miscommunication or fatigue. Completely putting that aside, she was able to focus on these cats that he was so determined to take care of and feed efficiently. It took all within her not to laugh as he repeated her words in feigned offense. So she decided to give it back to him. "Me? Spoil Draco? Oh you know not...I didn't spoil him. You spoiled Celeste certainly more, at least. You have to agree to that!" She adverted her gaze and did her absolutely best to look at innocently as possible, letting out a soft sigh, "As for Ariadne...I can never confirm or deny your story. Perhaps I do spoil her....maybe...just a bit." When she caught Lucius' gaze, she huffed dramatically and sat up fully, "You know, it's hard not to spoil someone as cute as she is. I mean, you've seen her face. You've seen her pout her little lip and give me those sweet, adorable eyes. I physically cannot say no to her, Lucius. I believe it's practically impossible."

Bones of Contention

[floef-likes-minecraft]

We Fixed Tango's Redstone

Wordcount: 862 Summary: Grian and Pearl decide to fix Hungry Hermits

Grians heart was beating in his chest. A hot bead of sweat rolled over his cheek and he blinked hard against the growing numbness in his mind. He needed to be sharp, sharper than ever as this was a task so impactful he couldn’t afford to mess it up.

He flexed his fingers in the hope it would stop them from shaking. The task was simple at heart, but if he messed up the consequences would be detrimental. That didn’t mean he knew what would happen, he just knew it would be bad.

Pearl was watching over his shoulder and he felt her breath against his skin. She had whispered the instructions to him, but grew agitated at his hesitation. Just do it she had whispered. That was easy for her to say, if anything went wrong she could always blame him. She wouldn’t have touched it, Grian had.

“Are we sure of this?” Grian asked for the ninth time. “Do I have you permission, Pearl?”

“Look, it’s already broken,” Pearl said, though she was lacking conviction. She too was well aware of Grians capabilities of breaking redstone. It was a small miracle the belly of this beast of a minigame was still in tact apart from the malfunction Pearl had noticed earlier. This was also because Pearl had pulled Grian away from more than one button down here. In Grians defense, they looked important.

“Tango will kill us both if this goes wrong,” Grian tried again. He stared the dropper down, as if that was going to make the singular stone in it jump over to the hopper by itself. Grian loved problems that fixed themselves, though this didn’t seem to be one of those.

“He won’t find us in this mess of redstone noodles anyway,” Pearl remarked, which made Grian snicker and offload some of the nerves. This place would be excellent for a game of hide and seek, maybe even better than Joels base.

“Alright, I’m going to do it,” Grian said, though he didn’t move a muscle.

“Do it,” Pearl pushed.

“Maybe we just wait for Tango.”

“I – no, this should be it. It’s a timer, there should be eleven stone in that hopper. Absolutely, that should be it.”

“Right, right, with your permission – “

“Grian just do it you make me doubt myself!”

“Then maybe we just don’t!” Grian turned around, almost knocking Pearl of her socks. He couldn’t handle this, this was too much pressure for him so early in the morning. “We’ll get Tango.”

“He’s asleep,” Pearl argued as she quickly redid her ponytail. She barely wore he hair tied back, but it seemed like a wise thing to do down here. Grian felt like just the slightest pressure on a redstone line would send the whole place sky high.

“He needs that,” Grian agreed quickly. Tango had a reputation of having a terrible sleeping schedule so he would hate to wake him. He’d hate it so much he might as well liked messing with his redstone more, which said a lot.

“What if… I do it and we just run?” Grian suggested. “Get out before this thing kills us.”

“Eh, do you remember the way out in that case?” Pearl asked, and rightfully so. Grian could probably find his way out, but not in a matter of seconds.

“Just imagine how impressed he will be with us,” Pearl started again, as that had been one of her main arguments to try and fix this thing. “You’ll lose your reputation of breaking every redstone machine you look at.”

“That’s going to take more than just fixing one machine,” Grian instantly said, which was something Pearl knew as well. “And by the way, I’m not taking any credit for it. You discovered it, you are just to afraid to do it.”

“What?” Pearl actually sounded somewhat offended by that. “No, I’m not! I can perfectly well do it myself, just watch.”

As she reached over to the dropper, Grian stepped in. He couldn’t bare it if this thing went south and Tango would blame Pearl. Like Pearl said, Grian already had a reputation of destroying every machine he touched. He wrecked Doc’s tunnelbore and survived to tell the tale, this couldn’t be much worse.

Before Pearl could reach into the dropper, Grian trusted his arm into the small hole and felt around for the stone. He had grabbed it before Pearl could even cry out in surprise and dropped it in the hopper as if it was burning hot. He backed away from the timer, grabbing Pearl by her arm in the process and several levers and blocks started to move. Redstone flashed around them and…

Not much happened. Sounds went off around them, but Grian didn’t hear any explosions. No, it got… quiet, after a good minute. The ever lasting music ended and, best of all, that annoying phone stopped ringing.

“Did… did we do it?” Grian whispered. Pearl breathed out, then nodded.

“The sounds are good,” she said in the same hushed voice. “Yes – that right there, that is the noise that the game is finished. We did it, G. We fixed Tango’s redstone.”

[emmg]

wiiiip not Wednesday lol

tagged by @heylittleriotactand tagging fellow babes in turns hehehhehee @aldisobey @jainydoe @caffeinatedmunchkin @thepalehorsevictoria @excited-hiss

I have bits and pieces written here and there, but nothing solid except for that one passage where Emmrich googles the definition of sugar daddy, texts Rook to ask if that’s what he is, gets a lolwut in response, and then has to google that too because he doesn’t understand youthful slang lmao.

So instead, here’s something from Herbarium that I’m working on, because I am absolutely, furiously, seething over the fact that Veilguard didn’t even give us the bare minimum of a chance to call Emmrich out on how utterly insane lichdom is in the context of a romance. Nope, all we get is the option to deliver a thumbs up, like great job, buddy, enjoy your undeath, let's boink! Yet, somehow, the concept that you can love someone without blindly supporting their worst decisions is just... nonexistent? Our Rooks should have had the option to say, I love you, I will support you, and I will help you chase your dream, but I can’t stay by your side if you go through with this. Even if I love you more than anything. But no, apparently nuance is too much to ask for. Anyway.

****

"I'm sorry. Deeply, terribly sorry," he whispers, his arms encircling her waist, his face pressed against the rise of her ribs. "I love you; entirely, inexorably. You need not return it in full, only in the measure you can bear. But you are my last, Rook, my very last, and I cannot begin to imagine what I would do if you did not return. I love you as I am, and I will love you in lichdom, and I will be able—" 

Above him, a sigh. Her fingers move through his hair in uneven strokes.  

She sounds depleted when she speaks, and then he remembers—she is. The hollows beneath her eyes have grown pronounced, the skin bruised with fatigue. Her hair, dull and lank, clings to its unwashed roots. 

"Please stop talking about it," she says, neither entreating nor reproachful. There is no sharpness left in her, no irony, no venom. Just a voice stripped of its essence. "I will support you, no matter what. You know that." 

"Support is not the same as acceptance. To bear something is not to embrace it." 

Her fingers continue their indifferent sweep. "No," she murmurs. "It isn’t." Another breath. "Can we sleep now, Emmrich? Don’t you want to sleep? I’m cold, and I want to sleep. And I want to hold you." 

He loved them, he told them, all those figures trailing behind him, the blurred procession of his past. Some answered with a nod, a perfunctory thank you. Others only blinked, uncomprehending. A few, after a pause, offered a measured well, then. Fewer still returned it, though never for long.

Rook says it differently. Quieter. She presses it to his cheek, light as the slip of paper one tucks away without reading, its corners already worn, its message already known. Groggily, she moves, sliding beneath the covers, lifting them just enough for him to follow. She is not sentimental—that, precisely, is why her I love you, spoken without tremor or weight, drained of inflection, is the only one that lingers, the only one that resists erosion. 

Suddenly, he feels as if he has forgotten all those that came before; their voices die out, sinking into the same nothing that swallowed old promises, childhood prayers, the smell of rooms he will never step into again. He strains to recall them, but there is nothing left to grasp. Only hers remains, colorless and bland, like the last light left burning in an empty house. 

Love is acceptance. Love is support. But they do not always converge. This is what rattles him, what makes him press his face into her shoulder, trying to quiet the lurking dread. 

Oh, she will support him. She will watch, nodding, shifting her weight from heel to toe, a restless pendulum of feigned ease. She will smile, make some awful quip to puncture the silence, to quell her own unease. She will tell him to go through with it, whatever it may be. She will take his father’s butchering blade, wipe it clean, and place it, without hesitation, into the hands of the one chosen to sever him from life. Then, when he returns—when he steps over the threshold, no longer a man but a thing made of magic and will—she will greet him, kiss the bare curve of his skull, wish him a good eternity, and walk away.

Because Rook has never struggled to seek out what she likes. She will continue. She will find something, someone, to cherish, and to cherish her in turn. She will support him, yes. But she will not accept. 

He wants to seize her hands, press them between his own, feel the warmth of them before it is too late. He wants to shake her, to shake sense into her—or out of her—until she understands, until she sees what he sees. Why, why, why can she not grasp that this is the better course? She would not have to lead the charge, would not have to stand where death is swiftest. He would take that place, step into the fire, let the blade that might have cut her down pass through him like wind through a hollow. What harm could it do? He would be beyond harm. A creature of eternity, of patience, of limitless devotion, the power of the Necropolis at his back.

He would not sleep. Would not tire. Would not falter. He would guard the tombs, guard her, keep vigil over the living and the dead alike. He would serve Nevarra, and he would serve her, and in time, oh, in time, perhaps he would find something—a loophole, a secret, some arcane twist of fate to keep her from slipping away, to keep them both here, tethered, together. 

No one would have to cross that final, irreversible threshold. No one would have to see what lies beyond—whether it is the blank serenity of the Maker’s realm or a silence so absolute it swallows even the thought of regret. 

Please, please, please, he wants to say, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, his breath wasted against the fabric there. Let me love you like this. Let me stay. Let me make it so you never have to leave.

She would not even have to look at him, if the sight of what he became repulsed her. He would spare her that, too. He would wear a veil, an illusion, his old face, preserved like a saint’s death mask, a perfect glamour.  

Nothing would have to rot. Nothing would have to change. Nothing at all.