#I feel like I could be killed for that comment

[sttoru]

⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. a relaxing day at the beach w/ toji ‘n little megumi, accompanied by their usual bickering and precious moments

tags. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff. honestly just the beach episode toji deserves w his family t_t not proof read!

the beach is a beautiful place to rest after a tough week. toji lays on the towel besides yours, bulky arms resting behind his head as he enjoyed the gentle breeze, the smell of the sea mixed with his wife’s perfume.

the peace is quickly disturbed when he feels a small fist claw at his mouth.

“‘gumi, don’t feed papa sand,” your muffled laughter echoes through the busy beach. you watch your husband attempt to fight off megumi’s tiny hands as they pry his lips apart.

toji grunts and moves his head multiple times, but the toddler is determined to get what he wants. “brat—” the dark-haired man scoffs while his hands wrap around megumi’s torso, lifting the little boy in the air as his final resort, “what’s this all ‘bout? wanna kill y’r daddy or sum?”

your son pouts and furrows his brows. “no, i made papa food. burger,” he defends himself and kicks his legs while being held up at arms length. megumi’s tiny fist full of sand manages to reach his father’s lips again, “now papa eat!”

toji lifts megumi up higher, as far away from his face as possible. he takes a second before realising that he indeed had made a request for a burger just moments ago, when his son asked him what he should make out of the sand.

toji totally forgot to play along with megumi’s pretend restaurant game, thinking the boy would halfway forget about it anyway. children’s attention spans are short after all.

seems like his kid is an exception.

“i ain’t eatin’ shit, boy,” toji grunts and turns megumi away, putting the boy back down in the sand between the two beach towels. you’re about to reprimand your husband for his behaviour before your child interrupts.

“this not poo poo!” megumi jabs a finger at his father’s chest, his voice a bit louder. he’s taken great offence to the comment about his imaginary burger, which was now but a cluster of sand particles.

toji snorts and gently flicks megumi’s hand away, “yeah, it is. bet it tastes like ‘poo poo’ too.”

“no! not poo poo!” megumi’s voice rings out before a frustrated whine leaves his lips. his little hands land on toji’s abs, physically punishing him for saying such mean stuff about his hard handiwork.

your husband sticks his tongue out childishly at his sulking son. “‘yes! yes ‘tis poo poo!’ keheh,” toji mocks megumi’s high voice, snorting as he laughs about his own joke afterwards.

the father-son duo bicker for a few more seconds before you sigh and speak up. “can you two just get along for once now? we’re in public, so behave,” you scold them as their voices seemed to get louder. you then glare at your immature husband. he could be such a man-child when it came to arguing with his son, “and you— you’re an adult, so act like one.”

the two of them instantly shut up and their heads turn towards you, their hands that were wrestling with each other also stopping mid-air. megumi pouts and stops attacking his father with his tiny fists. the little boy knows better than to not listen to his mother.

in turn, toji huffs and grumbles something under his breath before grabbing his son to make it up to him.

neither does the grown man dare to defy his wife’s demands.

“yeah, yeah. c’mere, son,” toji responds and places the toddler on his chest, letting the kid rest against him. megumi surprisingly doesn’t pull away and instead curls up in toji’s warm embrace. as much as the two love to (playfully) fight, they also get along extremely well.

you smile and relax back on the palms of your hands. “much better,” you hum in content. your heart swells with affection for your two favorite people on earth. megumi is a carbon copy of his father and it’s the cutest little thing ever.

they both have that subtle pout on their lips as they accommodate to being close and cozy with each other again.

toji runs his callused fingers through megumi’s hair, sighing as he closes his eyes. he doesn’t admit it out loud, but he cares for his kid. if he had to make a choice between either saving his own life or megumi’s, toji’d instantly draw his last breath.

“he’s still a brat,” your husband grumbles to you, sharp eyes watching the way you coddle and coo over the toddler. megumi’s chubby cheek is smushed against toji’s chest and it was an adorable sight. you giggle and capture it on your phone.

toji scoffs, but can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of his scarred lips. he gently rubs the child’s cheek with his knuckles before continuing, “but he’s my brat. ain’t that right, boy?”

megumi lets out a small, soft grunt at his father’s words. the kid is completely silent, content with the way things had played out. perhaps this is what he secretly searched for as well— to receive toji’s attention and a glimpse of his affection.

“aww, how cute!” your smile is beaming as you snap another picture of your family. toji’s soft look is perfectly captured on your phone, with him gently touching megumi’s chubby cheek as the boy laid on his bare chest. pure domestic bliss.

you sigh and look away for one second to change the lockscreen on your phone. humming, you go to your settings and instantly put the picture of your husband and son as your wallpaper on nearly everything.

you tilt your head back only to find toji grinning from ear to ear now, going from gently rubbing megumi’s cheek to full out squishing them between both his hands, amused at the way the fat moves. “kehehe, look at ‘em,” he chuckles.

the little toddler eventually gets fed up with it after squirming and grunting. megumi brings his little fist up—the same one that still had some sand stored from before—and lets the content fly all over toji’s face.

megumi giggles and scrambles off toji’s lap with a victorious grin. he points at his father who’s struggling with getting the sand off his face, the man sputtering and grumbling. he sticks his tongue out, “tha’s papa’s burger.”

you watch as your son waddles over to you and hides into your arms, muffled laughter echoing in your ears. seems like megumi won the battle in the end; successfully holding onto the sand he was planning to feed his dad one way or another.

toji spits out a bit of sand that flew into his mouth from the kid’s surprise attack, “you little shit—”

well, there goes the peace again. you shake your head, but let the two play and fight it out on their own.

. . . just another day in the fushiguro family.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑯𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 1325

Warnings: none

Summary: You hack Alexia’s instagram.

It was almost too easy to get Alexia's Instagram password. It started off as a casual "help me, please" when she couldn't get her account to update one day. You'd offered to take a look, and within minutes, she'd trusted you enough to give you her password. Now, you sat on the sofa, staring at the list of questionable, slightly embarrassing photos you'd taken of her over the past few months, knowing exactly what you were about to do.

Alexia, the captain of her team, usually kept her public image squeaky clean. Polished, strong, professional. The world knew her as a serious, disciplined player who could take on any challenge. But you? You knew a different side of her. One that stumbled in at 3 AM after a night out with teammates, cheeks red from laughter and wine, or who sent you the most ridiculous selfies when she'd just woken up. She was adorable, and for the past few months, you'd kept these little memories tucked safely in your camera roll. Until now.

You bit back a grin as you selected the first photo. Alexia was sitting at the dining table, mouth stuffed full, eyes slightly glazed from the wine you'd been sharing. It was a terrible, hilarious photo, and it was about to become her new post.

Caption: "Sometimes is very... muy hard... to eat without make mess. But is ok! Me es captain, after all."

You held back a snicker as the post went live, imagining the horrified look she'd have if she saw it.

It didn't stop there. You scrolled to the next photo in your phone—a selfie she'd taken in a mirror after the shower, wrapped in just a towel with a smirk on her face. She probably took it as a joke for you, but that smirk practically begged to be captioned. You could almost feel her cringe from afar as you typed it out.

Caption: "Today I am very... sexy time. But not for you to see! Only for one very... special person ;)"

"Oh, she's going to kill me for this one," you muttered under your breath, posting it and then closing her profile quickly, pretending like nothing happened. You chuckled to yourself and set your phone down, feeling like an evil genius.

Hours later, you'd managed to stay out of her account just long enough to keep her from getting suspicious. But your "prank" felt like it was only getting started. You'd posted a few more times, each one worse than the last.

There was a picture of her at a team dinner, mid-sentence, with an expression that was a cross between a sneeze and a frown.

Caption: "Sometimes the food make me very... emotional. Is the passion, you know?"

Then another one of her curled up on the couch, half-asleep, wearing a mismatched pair of socks with her hair sticking out in all directions.

Caption: "Me, the powerful captain. Even in my dreams. Especially with... socks of power."

At this point, the comments on her posts had started blowing up. Fans were bewildered. Some thought her account had been hacked. Others were tagging her teammates, asking if she was alright. You, however, couldn't stop laughing.

It wasn't until later in the evening that you got the call. You were mid-laugh at another comment under her most recent post when her name popped up on your screen. Alexia had finished training, and judging by the number of missed texts and calls, she'd discovered her Instagram feed. You braced yourself as you picked up.

"Cariño," her voice came through, breathless and tense. "What... what happened to... my Instagram?"

You could picture her standing there, wide-eyed and mortified. "What do you mean?" you replied innocently, biting back laughter.

"The photos! And the... the... 'sexy time' caption!" she hissed, her Spanish accent thick and heavy with frustration. "I did not write these things!"

"Oh?" you feigned confusion. "But they sound like you. Very... passionate, no?"

There was a pause, then an exasperated sigh. "No, no, no," she said quickly. "This is... how do you say... loco! They think I am... silly!"

You could barely keep it together. "I mean, you are a bit silly. Remember that dinner photo? You look very emotional about that food."

"I am not emotional about food!" she snapped, sounding utterly betrayed. "This is bad, amor. Very bad. My teammates... they send messages. They say, 'Alexia, are you drunk?'"

You couldn't hold back anymore and burst into laughter. "Oh no, did they really?"

"Yes! They are very... how you say... worried! And my mother! My mother called, asking if I was okay!"

"Oh, that's brilliant," you wheezed, doubling over. "You should've seen this coming when you gave me your password."

There was a long, heavy silence. Then she groaned. "This is why I do not give my password to anyone."

"Guess you learned your lesson," you teased. "And you might want to check your latest post..."

Another beat of silence as she presumably opened her app and saw the final post you'd queued up: a picture of her in the mirror, flexing her arms with a ridiculously intense look on her face.

Caption: "Strong like bull, but soft like baby."

"NO! No, no, no," she cried, her voice barely a whisper. "This is... humiliation! My fans, they will... they will think I am crazy!"

"Or they'll think you're adorable," you countered, still laughing. "Which you are, by the way."

"You are so... how do you say... evil," she muttered, clearly flustered. "When I see you, I am going to... to..."

"To what?" you asked, grinning. "Hug me?"

"No, not hug," she huffed. "I am going to... to..."

You could tell she was struggling to find the right words, her English flailing under the pressure. "Going to what?"

She finally managed, "To... squish you like... like... tomato!"

That only made you laugh harder. "Oh, scary! The big, bad captain is going to squish me like a tomato!"

She grumbled in Spanish, clearly flustered beyond belief. "When I come home, you will see. No more password. Never."

"Whatever you say, 'strong like bull, soft like baby,'" you teased, unable to resist.

"Stop! No more of this!" she whined, but there was a slight hint of laughter in her voice.

"Alright, alright. I'll log out of your account," you promised, finally starting to relent.

A few moments later, a message popped up on your phone, the last straw for her, apparently.

Alexia: I am changing my password NOW!

With a smile, you sent back a quick response. "Can't blame you. But I think your fans quite enjoyed this little show."

Alexia: I do not care. Fans are important, but... no more with you. Never again!

You: "Oh, come on. You're the one who trusted me with your password."

Alexia: Big mistake!

By the time she finally made it home, you were still grinning ear to ear, waiting for her to walk through the door. When she did, the look of feigned anger mixed with absolute embarrassment on her face made it all worth it.

"There you are, my strong, soft baby," you greeted her, barely able to get the words out without cracking up again.

Alexia narrowed her eyes at you, arms crossed as she tried to appear stern. "This is not funny."

You grinned, taking a step towards her. "Oh, it's a little funny. And admit it—you looked cute."

She scoffed, but you could see her cheeks turning slightly pink. "I... I do not like this joke."

You stepped closer, pulling her into a hug despite her resistance. "Come on, admit it. You love me even though I'm an evil genius."

She sighed, reluctantly wrapping her arms around you. "Maybe. A little."

"That's all I needed to hear," you teased, kissing her cheek.

"Just remember," she murmured, her voice soft but with a mischievous glint in her eye, "I know where you sleep."

**

Tags:

@girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @ceesimz @marysfics @goldenempyrean @silentwolfsstuff @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[madamechrissy]

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- Medical procedures, surgery descriptions, crazy sexual tension, eventually explicit sex etc. ER setting. Reader 26, Dr. Gojo 34, small age gap, work sex, complications, lots of humor, eventual drama and angst

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

Toying with the idea of making this a full story soon! Comment to get added to the tag list when I do :) A rough draft of the beginning. Enjoy!

Part One

Fuck, you’re exhausted, the first month of your internship as a surgeon was brutal, you haven’t had but a couple hours of sleep here and there, mostly on some of the hospital beds. Your bones ache, your skincare routine is barely hanging by a thread, and your hair is a wreck in a messy bun today. You thought med school was difficult, but it was nothing like this.

“Hey, you okay babe?” Your best friend Maki Zenin asks softly, you look at her and smile, nodding, she purses her lips, tilting her glasses.  “No you’re not.”

“I’m wiped, Maki. This patient injected cocaine up his ass.” She bursts out laughing right in the middle of the hospital floor, you cover her mouth quickly, looking around. “Shh!”

“Shit, forreal? I thought my case was bad, he’s been here eight times for hits of pain meds since I have been here, he keeps bashing his hand on shit.” She sighs, handing her files to the desk then picking up several more.

You’re both in your pale blue scrubs, Maki’s pretty green hair is high up in a ponytail, now your other two best friends from your internship come up, Inumaki Toge and Yuta Okkotsu, both looking exhausted along with you. Yuta’s eye bags rival yours by far, he slicks back his dark hair as you all check the time on your watches.

“Another sixteen hours almost down.” He says through a yawn.

“Tired.” Inumaki says, and you sigh, nodding in agreement.

“Fuck that, we need to throw a party.” Maki says, somehow still so energetic, and you’re so confused how it’s possible.

“Party?” Inumaki asks, he’s certainly a man of few words, but his violet eyes explain whatever anyone needs to know.

“No way, Maki. Fuck that.” Yuta says, earning Maki sticking her tongue out at him.

“Buzz kill, ugh. Listen, this weekend, we’ll invite some of the people from our class, we can invite some of the other interns too. Ooh, maybe even those sexy resident doctors.” She wiggles her brows with a mischievous little grin.

“Maki, we're too old for that shit now.”  You grumble.

“Bitch we’re twenty six? How are we old.”

“I feel ancient.” Yuta agrees. “Coffee everyone?”

“I have to stop by Doctor Gojo’s real quick, meet you all there?” You say, and they nod, waving you off as you head to your Resident doctor’s office. Dr. Gojo was the boss of you four, one of the residents along with Dr. Nanami and Dr. Geto. All three were fawned over by all the interns, except you. 

Yes they were gorgeous, and yes Dr. Gojo was positively beautiful, with his snowy white hair, his glittery blue eyes, his big grin. But you were just too exhausted and too beat to really fawn over someone, especially someone you really could not be with, seeing as he is your resident, you’re just a little intern. Satoru also happens to be the top surgeon in the hospital.

You go to knock but see his door is cracked open, you carefully take the knob in your hand, twisting it and peeking your head in, seeing Satoru Gojo’s head fall back, as he’s gasping. You look curiously, but his hands are up on the desk, as he’s biting his lower lip, his brows together, eyes shut. You clear your throat and he jerks then, clearing his throat.

“Um… hey intern.” He says, his voice clipped. You shut the door behind you, tilting your head curiously at him, his face reddening slightly.

“Dr. Gojo, I have a question about this patient, is everything okay? It won’t take very long.” You say, and his eyes flicker over your face, an expression you can’t explain, as he sucks in a breath.

“I um… can listen… in… fuck, fuck!” He moans then, he clearly moans, and you hear a bump on his desk now. “Oh, oh that’s so much better.”

“I… what the fuck!?” He flushes then, sliding back, and one of the nurses jumps up, giggling now and wiping her mouth, she has pretty blue hair.

“Thank you Miwa, you’re a gem.” He stands, patting her head with a smile, and she giggles again, as you watch in confusion, your brows together, mouth open. “I need to talk to her about cool doctor things, I’ll see you around later?”

Cool Doctor things.

Blow jobs on the clock?

How is this your boss?

“Yes, Dr. Gojo. Hi there!” She waves at you, as if nothing has happened, as if she wasn’t just sucking Dr. Gojo off, and he’s looking bashful!?

“What the hell is this shit? Lock a door?” He comes to you, locking the big door with a click behind you. “Not now!”

“I forgot it was open, shit. I’m sorry. Stress relief, you know.” He smiles down at you, a stupid smirk you’d like to smack off his pretty face, hands in the pockets of his long white doctor jacket. “Don’t you ever need any?”

You heat up at his husky tone, as you realize just what you’d walked into. It had been a long time since you’d even thought that way, not just with Med school but now being an intern, especially since you broke up with your ex months back. “What? Yuck don’t come near me.”

“Why, ya jealous.” He brushes your hair back, earning your glare. “You’re awfully cute when you are.”

“Jealous of you? No thanks, I'm good. I sure am not part of your fan club.”

Satoru pouts. “Yeah, and you’re the only one.”

“Yep. Anyway, I’m now disturbed.” You shiver with feigned disgust, making him snort a bit in laughter. “But I only came in here to go over Mr. Lewis.” Sighing, you hand him the file with a gentle brush of your fingers against his palm. “He's been a difficult case.”

“Fuck, the cocaine dude? Ah shit, it’s that bad?”

“We have him stable, but something about it threw me off, how could it be that severe of an effect? Colitis has lasted days now and no improvement.”

“Mmm, true. But it makes sense, you can’t just inject cocaine into the anus and… have a party.” A hint of laughter escapes from his lips before he can control it, earning a stern look from you, making him study the file more carefully.

“Be serious.”

“I’m your boss, you know!”

“Yeah, somehow. Anyway, I feel there is something underlying. Perhaps exasperated by the cocaine.”

“Up the ass! Hah!” He’s smacking his long leg now, chuckling, earning your glare. “Oof you’re so serious, sorry, carry on.” He gives you a mock salute, and your eyes are so far back in your head they might stay that way.

“So I’m wondering if he has something else, untreated, the man has no history of any doctor visits since he was living with his parents.”

He taps his chin then. “Hmm, good point. It’s possible. Have we checked him for Chron’s?”

“Shit, maybe, that would make so much sense too, his white blood cell count is through the roof. I’ll leave a note to run some tests before I go.” You take the folder back then, your fingers brushing, and it brings a blush to your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, intern?”

“Just weirded out by you, Dr. Hojo.” He snorts then.

“Dr. Hojo!?”

“It’s what they call you, I guess it’s true.” You say, raising a brow, and he is leaning close, too close. You can smell that stupidly expensive cologne he wears every day, filling your senses far too much. You try to avoid those eyes, even though you look at them all the time, they still are…

Too much.

“And you don’t ever wanna just get eaten out?” You blush more now, looking down as he stands up tall, so fucking tall over you. “Don’t be shy now, we spend more time together than alone.”

“I don’t do that when not in relationships.” He pauses, and you expect some joke, since he takes nothing serious but surgery it seems. But he tilts your chin up, and studies you with those eyes, lids lowering ever so slightly.

“Aw, so you’re a good girl.” He says teasingly, causing a warm sensation to spread through your stomach at his words. You shake your head and try to ignore the fluttering feeling within you.

“Don’t say that!”

“Turn you on?”

“No! Jesus. I don’t care what people do with their bodies, I don’t care if you’re a whole manwhore-”

“Excuse me!”

“But I just need a relationship, I’m not attracted to just looks, there has to be a deeper connection.” He studies you carefully now, so serious unlike his usual goofy demeanor.

“Hmm, a challenge.”

“What now?” You glare up at him, clutching the folders to your chest tightly. “Not a challenge, you psycho. Go get all the blowjobs you want, like Thanos collecting all those infinity stones.”

He grins, sharp little fangs glinting, and you don’t like the effects it’s having on your body, or your mind. You can barely take a breath. “You’re actually so funny, holy shit.”

“You don’t really know me. Aside from work.”

“You never take me up on any of those offers of coffee, or grabbing a bite, all you do is work Missy. All work, no play, makes a sad girl.” He taps your nose, and it scrunches up, making him smile a bit. “Cute.”

“Whatever, I have to work my ass off, it’s important, I have to make sure I get to scrub in with you. That chance comes at the end of this month.”

“Well you’re the top intern I have, so don’t worry so much.” He pats your shoulder, and you blink a bit. “Surprised? How. You graduated top of the school, you bust your cute little butt, and you’re intelligent, caring for your patients. Of course I was picking you first.”

“Oh my god…”

“You’ve ruined your own surprise. Act surprised when you find out, mmkay?” You hug him then, heart racing as you think of it. “Oh so now you like me.”

“I can really scrub in to a surgery with you!?” You couldn't contain your excitement as you leaned back and looked up at Satoru Gojo. He nodded, his hands taking hold of your waist through your scrubs, and that touch?

Does things, fuck.

“I’m so sorry-”

“You’re fine, intern. Stay a little longer.” You nervously step back, his hands are still on your waist, making you tremble, as your eyes both lock.

“I can never fuck such an opportunity up. Um… thank you though, that gives me so much hope, maybe I can actually relax for two minutes!” He smiles softly, nodding, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m sorry I…”

“Interrupted? Nah. Think you made me cum quick.”

“What!?” You glare again, and his smirk makes you itch to smack him all over again. “Dr. Gojo!”

“You’re so pretty though, I think it made her job quicker. Win win.”

“I’m out of here. Ugh.” You turn away, hand on the knob, and then his comes on top of it and gently unlocks it with a twist, you feel his hard body against your back, and you get overwhelmed in his office, damn near unable to breathe, as he’s clearly…

Is Dr. Gojo inhaling your hair!?

“New shampoo?” He asks, you turn to glare up at him, putting your faces far, far too close.

“How would you know my…”

“You always wear that one that smells like strawberries, this one is more floral. Hmm I don’t know if I like it as much, but it’s still yummy.”

“I… you…”

“See you later, intern.” He says softly, then finally steps away, leaving you reeling as you hastily step out without a word, leaning your back against his door, shutting your eyes for a moment in the quiet hall his office is in. You shake yourself out of it quickly, he’s just being…

Dr. Hojo.

Notorious womanizer, but the best damn surgeon there was, a whole idiot and yet an entire genius. And not your type, not at all, even if he’s gorgeous, you did not like man whores, or men that aren’t serious, especially not your boss, anyway. Fucking your boss in this industry would essentially make everyone question every accomplishment as favoriteism.

You sure weren’t going to sacrifice all your hard work for some dick.

You bounce away, heading to the little cafe where your friends are waiting, sitting next to Yuta who hands you a coffee with a little smile. “Thank you, ugh.”

“You’re welcome, girlie.”

“So, party?”

“Maki!” You three say, and she sighs, shooting her espresso down.

“Next weekend! Come on you guys, what do you say?”

“Oh fine.” You concede. Maki, Yuta and Toge all live with you, in your town home, since you could absolutely not afford it yourself, with the shitty pay of your internship and the college bills. It was left to you, but you still had property taxes and other bills, so they helped a ton. “No one better fuck my house up, I swear.”

“Hell yeah, here’s to a party bitches.” She holds up her little styrofoam cup, and you all cheers each other then, laughing.

“Party, hmm?” Comes Dr. Gojo’s voice, he’s standing there with Dr. Geto and Dr. Nanami. You all get nervous then, but he grins. “I’m coming. What about you guys?”

“No way.” Nanami grumbles, he’s very serious, his glasses slung over his sandy blond hair, his face exhausted.

“I’ll come.” Dr. Geto chimes in, chuckling and sipping his coffee, he’s as tall as Dr. Gojo and well swoon worthy. He would be more your type you think, with that serious yet fun nature, whereas Dr. Gojo…

“C’mon Nanami. You gotta, you gotta, you-”

“Jesus you’re a child.” You say, and Gojo gasps at you, Geto and even Nanami laugh, only earning Gojo’s scowl.

“You brat, I’m a good eight years older than you!”

“You look like a twenty year old frat boy.”

"And you look like an angry little brat!” He shot back, only causing more laughter to erupt from the group.

“Okay, okay.” Dr. Geto holds up his hands now. “Let’s be nice, kids.”

“Kids! Suguru I’m older than you.” Gojo says with a glare.

“Like six months. Anyway, we’ll be there at this party, text us the details? We’d love to unwind.” Dr. Geto says, and Maki jumps up now, as you and Gojo are glaring at each other across your table. “Got it, thank you Maki.”

“Of course, we’ll invite both of your interns too. It’ll be much needed after hell month.” You just sit there, as they all talk, and Gojo is all pouty, like a baby. You peek at your phone now, seeing a text from your shitty ex, your face falls.

“Everything okay?” Maki asks softly, and you sigh, nodding.

“Just the ex.” You whisper back.

“Ex huh?” Satoru has somehow gotten behind you, leaning over, you smack at his hand then, glaring. “What, I wanna know!”

“You’re too fucking much sometimes. Ugh.” You stand up then, slinking past him. “I’m headed to get changed and then I’m leaving. See you all at home?” They all nod, eyeing you and Satoru curiously, you wave at the Doctors then head out.

Ugh, along with Satoru just being… weird and annoying, and your ex? He was a toxic, needy mess. He’d left you because you didn’t have enough time for him, and maybe you really didn’t, how could you have a relationship until your internship was finished? The first week none of you even left the hospital, sleeping in bunk beds and showering there.

But he constantly needed you, made you feel guilty, would fuck with your alarms and everything. Thank God he was long gone, even if he was annoying you currently, you delete his messages, heading to the locker room and hearing steps. You look back curiously to see Satoru holding the door open for you.

“What are you doing?”

“I am sorry, that was rude of me.”

“Yeah, well, what’s new.” You both walk into the locker room now, Satoru’s shrugging off his white lab coat, your cheeks heat up while you slip off your scrub top, it was normal to change in front of everyone, you all had co op locker rooms and showers even, all of you took years of anatomy, the human body was nothing really but parts.

But as you feel his eyes on you, when you’re down to just a black lace bra and a pair of boy shorts, you tense a bit, looking at him, shirtless, his lips parted as he looks at you. “I am sorry I know I annoy you, Miss perfect.”

“I’m no Miss perfect. I guess I have a lot to prove.” You say softly, trying not to drink in his rippling muscles, perfect well defined torso, cuts low where he’s now sliding up a pair of dark blue jeans.

His blue eyes fixate on you as he does, as you’re sliding on a pair of jeans yourself, buttoning them with trembling hands. “I had a lot to prove once too. I do understand.”

“You’re being serious?” You tease, earning a little smile, as he slides a black long sleeve shirt over his head. You get flustered as you realize your nipples are pressed against the cups of your bra, sliding your shirt and then a jacket on yourself, sitting at the bench to slide on your black boots.

“I can be serious sometimes, I just think there’s enough death, sadness, and depression in this career. Why not just try to have some fun? Otherwise, it’ll just consume you.” He says softly, in that husky voice of his, so sexy it alone could wreck someone. But his words…

“That makes sense.” You say softly now, standing as he does, grabbing your purse and locking up your locker, spinning the combination, at the same time he grabs his keys and wallet. “So you try to… brighten up things.”

“Yeah, someone has to.” He walks to you then, tapping your nose once more. “You’re too serious, you’ll have to lighten up, or this career will wreck you.”

You nod then, carefully, realizing perhaps this slutty, silly doctor had a lot more to him, than just being the perfect surgeon. “I’ll take that advice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, also…” He leans forward as you all are stepping out of the locker room, headed toward the automatic glass doors, and you look at him curiously. “Nice panties.”

“Oh fuck you, Dr. Hojo!” You glare now, shoving at him, as he heads to his mercedes benz, and you’re in your ancient SUV that sounds like a beast.

“Night-night, intern.” He shoots you two fingers, sliding into his fancy car with blacked out windows. You roll your eyes, putting your car in gear.

What a day.

This is just a little bit of what I'm thinking of doing when I finish up my Lawyer Gojo story, thought I'd see who wants to be tagged and is interested in this :) Look forward to your thoughts on Dr. Hojo lol!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jade Leech: J is for...

J word—

Twst devs: How can we fuck’m up real good

Intern-kun: J word bird’s eye view cleavage shot

xhjsvwiwkw Jokes aside! I love how much care he takes in maintaining his appearance, right down to ironing in the morning and purposefully styling the black strand into the “J” shape 😂 Whatever it takes to look like a gentleman, right… And he’s meticulous about his SPF just like me, frfr🧴💕

Rise and Shine!

Jade’s hands, you decided, were made for delicate efforts.

You had watched those hands a number of times, performing like skilled trapeze artists in a circus. Serving food and drink at the Mostro Lounge, rinsing the grime off of foraged mushrooms, drawing decisive graphite strokes upon a page. The terrariums sitting upon his shelf were the result of his handiwork—minuscule biomes, carefully constructed with a magnifying glass and tweezers.

Now he handled his hair with the same deadly precision. Fingers on the end of his singular black strand to keep it in place, he ran a hair straightener along the length. When the tool pulled away, the strand bounced back into a slight curl.

A perfect J to hug his handsome face. J for Jade, as he often said.

You had observed the times when a J hadn’t been the result. Too little, and the strand was an I. Too much, and the strand rebelled into a S.

“You’re so detail-oriented,” you commented from your place by the doorframe.

The response, a quiet, almost musical, chuckle. It seemed to echo off the cavernous walls of the Octavinelle washroom, bathed by sunlight-infused waters.

“It is important to maintain one’s appearance.”

“To make a good first impression?”

You knew why.

To lure his victims into a false sense of security. A neat suit, a disarming smile, and anyone would be willing to part with the treasures Jade fished for. Information, valuable information.

“That is part of it.” He didn’t look directly at you, but instead met your eyes in the reflection of his vanity mirror. “One can also glean a great amount of information from observing how another presents themselves. For example…

“You must have had a small baked good for breakfast on your way to Octavinelle this morning. A muffin, a croissant—something of that sort, yes.”

“H-How did you…?!”

His eyes trailed to your necktie, done up just the way you liked it. “… There are crumbs there.“

Your hands flew to your chest, hurriedly dusting yourself off. Jade’s small, pointed teeth showed from behind his mouth.

Amused.

“When I first came to land, I thought it strange that humans dressed differently depending on the occasion. You dress formally for strangers—work, interviews—but dress casually for your loved ones—friends, family. But I see now… It sends a message to the world about who you are and what your place in it in that moment in time is.

“Our school uniforms signify that we are students. Pajamas mean that someone is about ready to sleep or to prepare themselves for the day. A tidy appearance implies a tidy mind, and a slovenly appearance, a slovenly one.”

“Your mind scares me sometimes,” you joked. “I feel like it’s full of sharp things that could kill me”.

“Oya, is that because you are complimenting how sharp my attire is?” Jade pinched the lapels of his pajama top. “… Though I’m afraid this can hardly be called sharp.”

"You will be once you've changed." You glanced away, indicating that he should.

“Very well. Then, please excuse me."

There was the ruffle of satin coming off, the flap of fabric as it was folded and tucked away. More rustling as a new set of clothes fell over his body. The same old vest, blazer, and slacks.

"... You may look," he called softly.

You did.

And there he was, Jade Leech in his school uniform. It was perfectly tailored to fit him, dyed a simple and sleek black. His earring was in place as well, three diamond-shaped scales dangling from his left side.

A regular sight, yet it made your heart sigh all the same.

"Clothes really do make the man," you murmured, a finger at your lip.

"Fufufu. I will happily accept your praise." Jade drew himself beside you. His shadow stretched, a suit in of itself folding over you. An open hand, held out. "Shall we be on our way?"

"Yes, let’s.” You shyly slipped your hand into his, and it fit like a glove.

The black strand—coiled into a J—leapt with your shared first step.

Too little or too much. His words, running both hot and cold. But this felt…

You searched for a J word, like the shape of that stripe.

J for… Just right.

[spider-stark]

A BOY'S FIRST PEST

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker thinks Per Haskell's daughter is a (very lovely) pest

Warnings - fem!reader, traumatraumatrauma, the woes of troubled youth, light mentions of blood and death, these bitches trauma bonded yo, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED WE DIE LIKE MEN

Word Count - 2.0k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Everyone knows Kaz Brekker put his own money into fixing up the Slat. 

He hired men to patch the leaky roof (though it still drips during a heavy rain) and put proper insulation in the walls (which keeps the house warm enough, even if it does nothing to muffle the noise of its occupants). He had all the doors fitted with working knobs (but easily picked locks) and ensured the kitchen was capable of making a warm meal (even if seriously doubted any of the Dregs knew how to cook). 

And while he would never admit it aloud, Kaz was also the one who made sure there were always clean linens in every room (albeit the cheapest Ketterdam has to offer) and spare clothes in every closet (sizes ranging from wafer-thin to barrel-chested). In keeping, he also takes it upon himself to keep the bathing room stocked with a steady supply of toiletries (because if someone uses his toothbrush again, he’s going to kill everyone in this place and then himself). 

Because of Kaz Brekker, the Slat was more than just a safe place to hole up. It was a haven, the closest thing many of the Dregs had to a home. 

But it did, of course, have one enduring problem. 

The pests.

Or, namely, the one pest—one that he could never quite exterminate (though the spider privy to the inner-workings of Kaz Brekker’s mind might argue the merit of replacing ‘could never’ with ‘would never’). 

Per Haskell’s very annoying (and very lovely) daughter. 

In the midst of Ketterdam’s hottest season, you find yourself lying sprawled on your back atop the dark sheets, clad in the skimpiest nightclothes you own: a matching set of black silk shorts and flowy, thin-strapped camisole. The air is thick and near stifling in the attic-bedroom, but you don’t mind it. You prefer being hot to cold, if only because the heavy weight of winter clothes makes you feel trapped, eliciting the urge to crawl straight from your skin. 

When the door finally swings open, you eagerly push up onto your elbows. 

Kaz doesn’t so much as spare a glance in your direction. He’s got one hand on his cane, the other shoving the door shut behind him as he limps toward his desk, guided by the bright moonlight spilling in from the muggy window. 

Your shoulders slump, huffing out a breath. “Seriously? You’re not even gonna greet me?” 

With his back turned to you, Kaz removes his hat and places it on the desk. He doesn’t look at you. “You’re in my room.” 

“Yeah—so I was actually thinking something more along the lines of hello,” you drone, lips pursed. “Y’know, that thing normal people say when they see their friends.” 

“We’re not friends.” 

A hand flies to your chest, as if struck by his words. “Um, ouch? Rude. For your sake, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

Kaz tugs off his signature gloves and tosses them next to his hat. “I can always repeat it,” he says, so impassive you can’t tell if it’s a joke. 

Knowing Kaz, you’re pretty sure it’s not. 

You push up the rest of the way, scooting down to sit cross-legged at the end of his bed. It’s so much nicer than yours—the sheets softer, the mattress plusher, the smell so familiar and warm. 

If it were up to you, you’d sleep in here every night. 

And most nights, that’s exactly what you do. 

“Would it kill you to be nice sometimes?” you ask. 

“Not usually, no.” Kaz faces you, his weight leaned back against the desk, his cane propped against it. “But we both know you’re a special case.” 

“Is that a compliment?” 

“Not at all.” 

Your bottom lip juts into a pout. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?” 

Aside from the subtlest lift of his brows, Kaz’s expression remains vague and disinterested. “Regularly,” he deadpans, looking the image of austere melancholy. 

Your laugh comes so sudden it sounds like a snort. “I should’ve guessed,” you nod, forever unphased by Kaz’s forbidding attitude. 

This is the way things have always been between you. Ever since a surly twelve year old marched head-high into your father’s office to see if the Dregs needed a new grunt, oblivious to the girl beaming up at him from a lonely corner, weaving colorful scraps of thread into bracelets for the friends you’d yet to make. 

Kaz Brekker is dark and foreboding while you’re bright and bubbly; he’s rude and standoffish while you’re sweet and flirtatious. Some may liken your relationship to oil and water, but you prefer thinking of it as a carefully crafted balance—a yin and yang sort of thing. 

Kaz, on the other hand, would simply say you’re a thorn in his side. 

Fortunately for yourself, you’re not an easily offended thorn. 

The rickety floorboards creak as Kaz starts around the desk. His bare fingers trail along the varnished edge for support. His limp is always at its worst by this time of night, so you’re not surprised to see the flicker of relief that slips over him when he finally sinks into the chair. 

“Have you ever considered that maybe you work too hard?” Your voice teeters on the edge of concern, tracing idle shapes against the sheets with your nails. 

His answer is curt, and contradictory to the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “No.” 

Fumbling with his cufflinks—simple, unadorned things—Kaz rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. Afterwards, he flips open the thick ledger laid before him, plucking up a pen and dipping it into an awaiting pot of ink. 

Kaz keeps track of the Dregs expenses in his head—a skill you’ve always found most impressive, since you can hardly do a simple equation without scratch paper. Still, he keeps the physical record for the sake of having something to point to in case someone’s ever stupid enough to claim Dirtyhands flubbed the numbers. 

As he works, boredom quickly becomes a chip on your shoulder. 

Your legs unfurl, bare feet stretching toward the floor as you slip off the edge of the bed. Every step is purposeful, traipsing toward him with a look that’s not so unlike a cat readying to toy with its favorite mouse. 

“Maybe we should take a holiday,” you suggest, your voice a soft trill. 

One part of you expects to be ignored, the other to be shot down. 

He lands somewhere in the middle. 

“And go where? His eyes remain focused on the ledger, dark brows drawn tight in concentration. You envision numbers flashing before him, adding and subtracting at the steady pass of the nib scratching against parchment. 

“I don’t know. Ravka, maybe?” 

“Ravka?” It’s like the word tastes sour on his tongue. “Why?” 

You stop just short of his desk, an answer instantly rapping at your mind. You quickly replace it with one that’s far less tragic. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Nikolai Lantsov with my own eyes,” you drawl. “Nina says he’s quite the looker, y’know.” 

Kaz sits up a little straighter, shoulders pinned with newfound tension. 

“Of course he is.” He seems to press the nib down harder, his disinterested tone bordering close to resentful. “He’s a prince—looking pretty is all they’re good for.” 

Your head tilts. “Well, he’s actually a king now, so…” 

There’s the briefest falter in the smooth motion of his jotting wrist. “I’m not taking you to Ravka so you can seduce the Lantsov bastard.” 

“And why not?” You reach for the tip of his cane, still propped against the desk, skimming a finger over the crow’s head. “You think I can’t do it?” 

The pen keeps on scratching, accented by the dull hum of the Slat’s perpetual motion—doors slamming, voices cackling. Your ego grows larger for every second Kaz stays silent, your satisfaction settling into a feline smirk. 

Simply, yet firmly, Kaz eventually maintains, “We’re not going to Ravka.” 

Your exhale is something over dramatic, laden with feigned disappointment as you huff, “Fine!” Kaz never looks up, continuing with the ledger. 

Abandoning the crow’s head, you swipe one of Kaz’s abandoned gloves off the desk, fiddling with the smooth leather. Still recovering from their civil war, you imagine Ravka isn’t an ideal travel spot right now, anyway. Not unless someone has a morbid desire to tour the sites where Saints met their often-grisly ends, that is… Besides, for all Nina’s praise of the Lantsov king, you’ve never actually had a thing for blondes. 

And yet— 

“I really would like to go someday.” Your voice is hardly a whisper. Your other answer—tragic and rapping—crawls up your throat in a hoarse admission, “My mother was Ravkan.” 

That persistent scratching finally comes to a sudden halt. 

For the first time since he entered the room, Kaz looks up. There’s not a hint of pity in his eyes, though they gleam with solemn understanding. Your lips thin, pressing his glove tight to your chest. 

In the winter of your fourteen birthday, you snuck into your father’s office and stole a full bottle of kvas. Dressed in clothes too light for the frigid weather, you sped up the crooked stairs to Kaz’s attic-bedroom, pleading until he begrudgingly agreed to join you on the moonlit roof. For a boy who claimed such an aversion to you, he was always doing things you asked—even if he’d griped the whole time. You both gagged after the first sip of hard liquor. After an hour or so, the full bottle had dwindled to just a drop, your tongues seeming to move with more freedom. 

Neither of you had been prepared for the way the carbonated joy in your chests fizzled to something stagnant. 

I don’t like being alone, you told him, fiddling with the frayed strings tied around your wrist, the friendship bracelets no one ever wanted. If I’m alone, it means I’m thinking, and if I’m thinking, it means my mother won’t stop dying. 

You told him of the endless montage in your head. How at six years old, a walk along the Stave in your favorite winter coat ended with getting crushed beneath the weight of your mother’s last act of devotion, shielded by a body crumpled and crimson, shorn in the crossfire of unexpected gang violence. When you fell silent, Kaz drained the last drop of kvas and told you about a coffee shop near the Exchange. About a sickboat and a boy named Jordie, about a frosty harbor and an impossible swim that left him unable to bear the touch of another’s skin. 

When neither of you had any soul left to bear, Kaz chucked the bottle off the roof. You don’t remember hearing it shatter, and maybe it never did. Maybe it hit some hapless pigeon and fractured his skull. Maybe it ceased to exist the moment it went over the edge. The bottle didn’t matter. Not to you. Not when Kaz Brekker reached for your wrist, leather-clad fingers gently tugging the bracelets off your wrist. 

Don’t make a thing of this, he told you, stuffing them in his pocket. You’re still a pest.

But it was a thing. A strange, beautiful thing—and both of you knew it. 

“Fine.” Kaz’s voice—the rasp of stone on stone—drags you back to the present. He sits the pen down beside the ledger, a strand of black hair swaying with the subtle shake of his head. “We’ll go to Ravka. You’ll seduce some sorry prince and live happily ever after in a gaudy palace. I’ll make my fortune snagging the Lantsov Emerald and use it to hire a proper bookkeeper. Deal?” 

Your lips twitch, still hugging his glove to your chest. “King,” you correct him. 

His eyes roll, but a flicker of something warm betrays his affection. “Pest,” he calls you, though it doesn’t sound like much of an insult. 

“I imagine the Grand Palace has fine exterminators,” you muse. 

“Then I suppose your marriage will be short-lived.” 

“Will you save me, then?” Your heart leaps with the question, how it slips from your tongue before you can grasp it. 

Kaz hesitates. Then—remarkably—smiles. 

“Maybe.”

a/n - you know what they say. a bottle of kvas is never just a bottle of kvas, amirite

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

anyways, i was procrastinating an essay and thought "lets write something with a somewhat ambiguous ending!" and voila, a boy's first pest is the product. now everyone say: lainie, go work on your original writing and stop writing so much fan fiction! (but i'm already thinking of a kaz smut drabble so) anyways, comments and reblogs much appreciated, i cry with joy every time someone actively interacts with my work so THANK YOU

[3igbootyl0ver]

A New Face

pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

summary: where the group of friends meet Chad's new roommate.

word count: 1737

a/n: heyyyyy this is my first ever fic I've written, don't mind it being cringy and I'm open to feedback teehee hope ya'll enjoy (p.s I'm new to this whole Tumblr thing cut me some slack 😭)

Chad has been trying to convince the core four to hangout at his apartment. He had been feeling lonely recently since Mindy and Anika had recently moved in together. 

It took him a few weeks to finally convince them into hanging out at his apartment. With Sam’s paranoia and busy work schedule, and the heavy workload for Tara,Mindy, and Anika in college, they were finally able to make the time and hangout. Plus, they could use a new scenery besides the Carpenter’s apartment, right?

That particular day they were supposed to meet up at Chad’s apartment, Tara was feeling under the weather, her finals for her college exam was killing her; And all she wanted to do was eat some greasy dough with sauce and meat while watching scary movies. 

“Hey guys! Come in, the pizza is getting delivered soon.” Chad exclaimed while hopping on his toes, feeling ecstatic since he hadn’t met them for a while. 

“What’s with you? you’re acting like a kid, dude.” Mindy commented, noticing her twin brothers’ gleamed faced and excitement. 

“Sorry, I’ve been lonely and I’m just glad we’re all together again. THE CORE FOUR! And Anika, of course.” 

“Didn’t you put up an online ad for a roommate? Where are they?”

“You don’t learn, do you?” Sam added, frowning with Chad’s method of calling in someone to fill in the extra room. 

Chad abashedly chuckled, and lowered his head, his cheeks burning up from embarrassment. It was Sam, who wouldn’t be scared?

“My roommate is cool! They’re out for work and should be here soon. They’re not a psychotic serial killer, I promise.”

Sam was skeptical, rightfully so. Meanwhile, Tara was sat on the couch, with her legs on the coffee table while scrolling through the tv to find a movie to watch. She couldn’t bother joining in on the conversation. She felt mentally exhausted from her exams and just wanted a day’s rest. 

After a while, the group was playing card games while eating their pizzas and watching movies. 

“That’s not fair Mindy! Stop giving me all the +4 cards!” Tara shrieked, feeling frustrated after getting the card that made her double the number of cards she had at least 4 times, making her chances of winning low.

“Whatever you big baby. Just admit that you suck in uno,” Mindy responded, smirking triumphantly while raising her voice

Tara rolled her eyes, not accepting her defeat and continued arguing with Mindy, with the rest watching amused by the entertainment. Unsurprisingly , Tara lost after Mindy getting rid of her cards before her. She couldn’t get rid of her cards with the suspicious amounts of +4 cards Mindy had. 

“Uno! Looks like I win, LOSER!”

“How about I shove this uno cards up your a-“

Tara’s reply was interrupted by the front door opening, revealing you carrying your backpack on your shoulders and your motorcycle helmet hanging off your hand (which peaked Tara’s interest, of course.) You looked tired, with dark circles under your eye, wearing your hoodie and sweatpants. 

Even so, Tara still thought you were the most beautiful human being she had ever seen. She was practically having heart eyes and drooling at this point, with Mindy noticing her stare and grinning cheekily. 

“What’s up dude. Tough day at work?” Chad commented, trying to create a conversation. 

“You know it, man” you softly chuckled while locking the door. 

“Anyways, my friends are gonna be here for a while. I hope you don’t mind,”

“Not at all, I’m probably just going to take a nap anyways,” you replied, finally looking at the group of people staring you. 

Mindy gave you a nod, already knowing who you were from her brother. Anika smiled and waved at you, which you responded by giving a soft smile back. Sam was staring you down, which made you uncomfortable and creeped out but ignored her action. Tara was well, staring at you? But not how Sam stared at you, she had a blank look on her face. 

Once you left and went into the hallway to your room, Mindy decided make a certain Carpenter’s life a living hell. 

“Tara, are you blushing right now? I didn’t know you had a type” she teased

“Shut up, Mindy. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You guys don’t find her suspicious? Seriously?” Sam commented, wondering why they weren’t skeptical like they usually were when there was new people around. 

It wasn’t new, after the incident of Ghostface, they all had their guards up, scared to open up to new people, to new faces. 

“They’re nice, I promise. How about I call them out so you guys can get to know them? They’re Y/N, by the way” Chad suggested, trying to convince them (especially Sam) to get to know you better before jumping into conclusions that you were a serial killer. 

All of them collectively agreed, with Tara nodding with a slight tint on her cheeks. Chad went up to your room and called you out, suggesting that you should hang out with them. Tara assumed it went well, as Chad grinned toothily and walked away. 

You’ve really peaked her interest. She didn’t know she had a type. The people she had dated before didn’t really cast a spark on her.  She didn’t feel happy or enjoyed her time during those relationships. It felt like she was the problem, however the thought was down the drain after going to a few therapy sessions with Sam after the Ghostface incident. Through the sessions, Tara found out that she didn’t feel happy through the lack of trust and being paranoid that her partner would be a killer. That’s understandable, it’s not everyday that your (ex) girlfriend tries to murder you. 

However after seeing you for 10 seconds, her mind was clouded by you. She noticed that you were as tall as Chad and probably plays sports too, based on your physique. All she thought of was finding out more about you.  Do you study in Blackmore? What bike do you own? Do you prefer cats or dogs? Did you find her cute?

‘Come on, Tara. Get it together.’ She reminded herself  after that embarrassing thought. 

When she saw you come out with the same sweatpants, but with a black t-shirt that showed off your arm sleeve tattoo on your left arm, she was practically drooling. You looked hot as fuck. 

“Hey guys, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N”

“I’m Tara,” she quickly replied, seeing Mindy and Anika grinning at each other with a knowing look from her peripheral vision. 

You gave a smile. You looked cute. You had that cute ass dimples no one could ever resist, Tara thought. You might be the death of her. 

The group settled down and decided to watch a movie, you sat the end of the couch while waiting for the movie to start. Mindy, being an (alleged) amazing wingman she is, literally forced Tara into sitting beside you by pushing her. She sat on the couch with a sigh, annoyed at Mindy’s antics and rolled her eyes. Sam was just giggling at the other side of the couch. 

As much as Sam didn’t trust you, she was glad that Tara could act like a normal teenager again. After multiple therapy sessions, she gave Tara a little bit of more freedom and let her make her own decisions, even if it’s distasteful to her. That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t tase someone in the balls again, though. 

You mistakenly thought the sigh Tara gave out was because she had to sit beside you. You had known about what happened to their group from Chad, after he poured his heart out when he was blackout drunk. You understood the group of friends can be lack trust and be suspicious of new people. 

“Sorry, did you want to sit with someone else? I can sit on the floor if you want-“

“No! I mean it’s okay, I don’t mind sitting with you,” Tara replied with a heavy tint on her cheeks, embarrassed at her sudden reaction. 

Throughout the movie, you were munching on your pizza, oblivious to the amount of times Tara took glances at you while trying to think of topics to create a conversation with you. 

“So..How do you find the movie?” Tara questioned you, trying to get to know you a little bit better. 

“It’s alright, though I prefer other scary movies. I definitely do have favourites.”

“Oh, what’s your favourite horror film?”

“I absolutely love The Babadook, it’s amazing because I..” Any words that you uttered out of that beautiful mouth of yours disappeared. The universe must be sending a sign, she needs you badly. There’s no way Chad’s super cute, hot roommate would coincidentally like The Babadook, Tara thought 

“Blah, blah, blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff..” was all she could hear. 

You on the other hand, only saw Tara staring at you blankly while she had her own inner turmoil and crisis.

“Uh, Tara..? You alright there?” you chuckled awkwardly.

“What? Oh, yeah sorry. I love The Babadook too! What’s your favourite scene?” Tara smoothly taught of a way to continue the conversation, silently cheering for herself. 

It took you both 2 horror films and a shared bag of popcorn to exchange numbers. Tara was secretly cheering in ecstasy of course. She would’ve jumped around and start dancing if she could. It was already close to midnight, and Sam decided that they should go back home before it’s too late to catch the last train.  Tara was devastated, she wished that she could’ve spent more time with you. 

“Soo, I’ll see you next time then? It was nice seeing you.” You initiated a conversation, seeing that Tara was pouting at Sam while trying to convince her into staying a little while longer

“Y-Yeah, see you. We should continue our horror fanatic activities again,” She chuckled, trying to prolong the moment. You nodded your head, giving her a soft smile while leading her, Sam, and the couple out of the apartment, since Chad was knocked out and asleep.

You took your last goodbyes with the group, even giving Sam a small wave, before closing the door. 

In the elevator, all Anika, Mindy and even Sam did was tease her on how red and lovestruck she looked. She didn’t pay any mind to it, all she could ever think of was you. 

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ 28

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,995ish

Summary: The aftermath of the Battle of Alcatraz Island.

Warnings: Possible character death. Grief.

Notes: I know I said that I'm taking a break. I am. I'm focusing on taking care of myself. But I also got to take care of you all. Hopefully, this provides a slight distraction for any pain any of you may be feeling. (Also, I know the gif happened in the last chapter, but it can still work here...)

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

The debris and water around the area quickly fell as Jean collapsed, dead. Logan spun around, looking for you. He couldn’t see you on top of any of the debris, making his heart sink.

“Y/N!” He screamed as he began using his senses to find you. “Y/N!” He caught a whiff of your blood and immediately began throwing debris. As soon as he could reach you, he pulled you into his lap. “Y/N? Sweetheart?” His heart dropped at the realization of how cold you were. “No.” 

He frantically looked for any sign that your body had begun to heal itself, but there was none. His fingers shot up to the pulse point at your neck, waiting with bated breath for something—anything to tell him that you were alive. He came up with nothing. 

“No, no, no, no, no!” Tears began pouring out of Logan’s eyes. “Somebody help me!”

“Logan!” Hank shouted, running towards Logan. “Logan, what—“ The blue, hairy mutant came stumbling to a stop. His eyes widened as he took in the scene of you limply laying in Logan’s arms with Jean dead a few feet away.

“Why is she not healing?!” Logan began panicking. What had happened that caused you to not be able to heal?

Hank broke out of his trance and rushed over to kneel on the other side of you. He placed two fingers under your neck and silently prayed for a pulse. His heart sank further with each passing second.

“Logan—“

“Do something, Hank! I need you to do something! Anything! I can’t lose her again!”

“I can find us a jet, perhaps get her back to the mansion. But, Logan, there’s no promises that she’ll… that she’ll wake.”

Logan shook his head, pulling you closer into his chest. “She’s not dead! She can heal!”

“She’s not healing, Logan.”

“No! You need to do something! You need to try! Or I swear to God that I will kill you.”

Hank gave a solemn nod. “I will go see if there’s a jet we can borrow.” Hank rushed off, worrying about how Logan would react if you didn’t wake up.

Logan’s eyes fell back on you. He began rocking back and forth. “I need you to wake up, baby,” he whispered, using everything in him to beg. “This isn’t funny. I know that I’ve made a shit ton of mistakes, but I can’t fix them if you’re not here… Wake up, sweetheart. Please.”

~~~

Hank was thankful to quickly find a jet that they could use. The X-Men piled up in it, steering clear of Logan and you. Hank brought Jean’s body on board, covering it with something so no one had to look. It was completely quiet the whole way back to the mansion.

“Logan,” Hank called once they had landed. “I need you to give her to me.” The Wolverine simply growled, holding on to you tighter. Hank sighed. “I can’t do anything with you holding her.”

“Work around me,” Logan snapped.

“I can’t do that.”

“Try.”

“Logan,” Ororo walked up, trying her hand with him. “We know that you love Y/N; we do too. But you have to let her go in order to help her.”

Logan shook his head. “What if I let her go. and she’s truly gone?”

“We don't know that until we let Hank try.”

After a brief second, Logan nodded, loosening his grip on you. Hank quickly took you and carried you off to the lab. Logan felt empty without you, sliding to the floor and breaking down. Ororo was quick to kneel beside him, trying to comfort him.

“I can’t—She can’t be—I don’t think I’ll—“ Logan’s mind was spiraling so fast that he couldn’t finish a single thought. “I should’ve stayed with her. I should have protected her… Ororo…” She sucked in a breath as Logan used her real name for the first time. “What if I’ve lost her?”

Though Ororo knew that Logan didn’t like physical affection from anyone besides you and sometimes Rogue, but she couldn’t help herself. She flung herself at Logan, holding him close. His head fell against her shoulder as heart-wrenching sobs began to wrack his body. Ororo rubbed Logan’s back as she let him cry. She knew it was pointless trying to say anything of comfort. She had seen you for herself and was utterly heartbroken at the thought of losing you after the loss of Scott, Charles, and Jean. But she didn’t love you in the way Logan did, for as long as Logan had. So Ororo would do what she could, which was to hold Logan as he let out his emotions while she said a silent prayer to whoever was listening.

~~~

Hank had to keep his emotions in check as he worked on you. The first thing he had to do was check to see if you had been injected with the cure without anyone’s knowledge. It was the only thing that he could think of for the reason why you weren’t healing, why you weren’t breathing. As Hank took a vial of your blood, he quickly realized that your blood was bubbling like it was boiling. He quickly began to run the test for the cure as he took another few vials, noticing the same thing: your blood was boiling.

Hank locked down the lab, not wanting anyone to enter if something was terribly wrong. He knew that Logan would fight it and could get in with his adamantium claws, but he had to take that chance. There was something going on with you. His only hypothesis was that Jean’s own powers had down something when she was controlling you. But what? 

Checking the monitoring for your stats, Hank noticed that your temperature began rising again, though you still had no heartbeat. 

“What are you doing, Y/N?” He muttered to himself.

It didn’t take long before Hank could confirm that you hadn’t been injected with the cure. He carefully monitored you, making note of your slowly rising temperature.

“Hank!” Logan yelled, pounding on the large lab doors. “Let me in!”

“Not a good idea, Logan!” Hank responded, not taking his eyes off the monitors as your temperature rose faster.

“I need to be with her!” The monitors began frantically beeping as your temperature rose to dangerous levels. Logan could hear them. “What’s going on?!”

“Stay out there!” Hank backed away as smoke began to lift from your body.

Logan sniffed, smelling the familiar scent of your smoke. He unsheathed his claws and before Hank or Ororo could stop him, cut a large hole in the lab doors. He rushed in, with Ororo right behind him, only to see your body go up in flames.

“NO!” He hurried forward only to be pushed back as your flames suddenly grew. “Y/N!”

“Storm!” Hank shouted. “Can you put her out?”

Storm shook her head. “I don’t know if I should.”

“Someone do something!” Logan yelled.

Abruptly, the flames that had engulfed you disappeared, leaving behind a heap of ashes where your body once was. Logan reached out, hands trembling over your ashes, before collapsing to the ground.

“No,” he breathed out. “No…”

Hank looked down, shoulders slumped as Ororo covered her mouth in shock. The two watched as Logan let a few tears trickle down his cheeks before his jaw clenched and his eyes closed. His hand found the dog tags tucked underneath his leather suit and tore them from around his neck. Logan’s eyes snapped open, with a cold, determined look in them. He stood up and tossed the dog tags onto the pile of ashes. Spinning around, Logan marched out of the room.

“Logan!” Ororo called after him, Hank following. “Where are you going?”

“This is not my home,” he sneered. “Not without Y/N.”

“That’s not true,” she shook her head, trying to get in front of the man. When she did, he simply stepped around her. “This can be your home. We care about you.”

“There’s nothing for me here anymore.”

“Logan, please… we all have lost enough. We need each other.”

“I do better alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Hank responded. “Don’t go, Logan.”

Logan paused for a brief moment, thinking about you. He was sure you wouldn't want him to be alone. But you weren’t here to stop him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled before heading upstairs.

Ororo and Hank didn’t bother going after him, knowing that it was hard to change Logan’s mind. And that Logan needed time to mourn your death.

~~~

A week passed since the Battle of Alcatraz Island. Jean had been buried with both her and Scott given memorials next to Charles’. No one was ready to give you one yet. No one had set foot in the lab since you had turned to ash.

Rogue, now going by Marie, returned having taken the cure. She and Bobby finally got to touch, but her biggest concern was Logan.

Though no one had officially followed Logan, they had heard that he was at a nearby bar, drinking and fighting his way through his grief. Ororo and Hank made sure to keep tabs on Logan by bribing bar regulars and did their best to keep Marie from going to Logan. He wasn’t okay, and no one wanted her to see him like that.

“The President wants me to be the new ambassador to the United Nations,” Hank told Ororo one night. They were sitting in the Professor’s office, often finding themselves there at night when they couldn’t sleep. “He wants me in DC tomorrow to announce it.”

“You should go,” Ororo encouraged. “You’ve helped out so much. You need to get back to your own life.”

Hank nodded. “I should clean up the lab before I go.”

“We should put the ashes in an urn. Logan may want them one day.”

“Okay… I just wish I could understand what happened to her. Why did her healing abilities stop working? How did she turn to ash?”

“I do, too. For Logan’s sake.”

“Keep me updated on him, will you?”

“Of course.”

Hank wished Ororo goodnight and headed downstairs to find something to clean your ashes into. He immediately froze at the door when he arrived. The ash pile had grown, with a similar shape to yours. Slowly, he moved closer. All of a sudden, you gasped, shooting up. The ashes fell off of you and onto the floor, revealing your naked body.

“Oh, my— Y/N!” Hank exclaimed. 

He grabbed the lab coat from a nearby chair and rushed to your side. He draped it over your shoulders as he began to take in your form. There were no scars on your skin. It was like brand new.

“What—“ you cut yourself off with a cough. “What happened?” You glanced around the room. “Where’s Logan?”

“What do you last remember?” Hank asked.

“Uh… we were at Alcatraz Island. I was injured, I think… Jean got a hold of me, and then nothing.”

“Well, you died.”

“What?”

“You died a week ago.”

“No,” you shook your head. “That’s not possible.”

“I know, but somehow you died, and then when we got you back here, your body went up in flames. You turned to ash.”

“That’s… insane.” You looked around again, finally noticing the dog tags in your lap. You carefully picked them up. “These are mine and Logan’s. Where is he?”

Hank sighed. “He left after you turned to ash.”

Your heart dropped. “He left?”

“Yes, but we’ve been informed that he’s at a nearby bar, drinking away and cage fighting.”

“I have to go get him.” You scrambled off the table, the lab coat slipping off you.

“Uh, Y/N?”

“What?”

“You may want to put some clothes on.”

You looked down to find yourself naked. You picked up the lab coat and wrapped it around yourself. “Right. Thanks.”

“Be careful. Logan’s not okay.”

“That’s why I can’t waste another second.”

next chapter >

[raviollies]

actually no im gonna yap

im trying SO HARD to gaslight myself into liking veilguard but so many narrative choices just make me scratch my head. I AM NOT DONE, I currently gotta go to Weisshaupt.

I'll start with things I like so far:

1. I think the game is really pretty and I like the puzzles :) Antiva is GORGEOUS, I think one of the prettiest areas in the entire series.

2. I really like the Minrathous/Treviso choice. More of that please! some actual drama and consequence!

3. Assan is adorable and I cannot walk past without petting him. I didn't anticipate myself liking Davrin so much since I'm usually drawn to magic babies over warriors, but he's probably my favourite alongside Bellara. I think him having left his clan is very interesting narrative choice (I am totally not biased considering it's very similar to Daee's story)

4. Thank you lord almighty for the wardrobe/mirror system. Godbless.

5. Everytime Lucanis speaks I think of Puss in Boots and that brings me great joy. Whimsy even.

6. When you place Tevinter decor in the lighthouse, they have a Hookah right beside a fresco of Solas killing Mythal and that is mind bogglingly hilarious. I do love that the Shadow dragons know how to unwind. We're turning up after fighting for elf rights.

7. Solas surviving entirely on meat, raisins and honey feels very r/malelivingspace

Things I am Not Liking So Far

1.Minrathous feels utterly toothless. Its described as terrible, den of slavery, conversion therapy through blood magic, treatment of elves being terrible - yet we walk around unimpeded. I expected a similar experience as the Winter Palace, or fights that could be avoided if playing as a human.

LAVELLAN is introduced in the TEVINTER TAVERN, wearing TEVINTER CLOTHING, like it doesn't...make much sense to me? Inquisition set up the cross roads with Morrigan AND the Inquisitior, it feels like it would have made much more sense narratively not just from..."I am the fucking Inquisitor In Fucking Minrathous" but "Solas and the crossroads are a vital connecting point of these characters story."

Speaking of Inquisitor, wildly bizarre to me that neither Solas nor Varric comment on you meeting them. Solas has a weird painting of the Inquisitor chair, but you meet the mf face to face and he just does't acknowledge it. I am not a Solavellan player but I felt Really Bad For Them In That Moment.

I think a good moment of comparison is the difference in tone of DAI and DATV...When we find out the orb is elven in DAI, Solas warns us to keep it to ourselves, with Lavellan even remaking that the world will blame us for Corypheus. In DATV, we inform everyone that Elven gods are attacking, and there's no thought or conversation about the impacts of that on Elves in society. The only one to mention it is Davrin way after we've been spilling the beans left and right.

2. I'm not done the story but hey has anyone mentioned we haven't fought a single Fen'Harel agent, what's up with that... I expected to be fighting Elves based on the epilogue in Tresspasser but ?? ???

3. I'm sorry I HATE THEM DISREGARDING THE WELL OF SORROWS IN FAVOUR OF MORRIGAN WHEN SOLAS MAKES A HUGE DEAL OF YOU BEING TIED TO MYTHAL IF YOU DRANK FROM THE WELL. Oh sorry, if it was unimportant then why the fuck did you go on a monologue about how you're "her creature" and connected to her. It felt like a retcon of the importance placed on it in Inquisition and how much of a deal both Solas AND Morrigan make about it. I'm sorry picking a ROMANCE was more important than acknowledging THIS?? ? ??

"But Ravie, they can't account for Inquisitors personality and making them important would piss people off" then just kill them off. If they're set on Morrigan carrying this piece of narrative, I would have written the Inquisitor off the table before the choice becomes relevant. Have them help you in the ritual at the start of the game and die. I feel similarly about Varric, because he feels like the writers stuffed him in the closet to not talk which just...JUST KILL HIM. Its better than being relegated to furniture!!!!

3. Speaking of Morrigan why the hell is so nice. This is not my beautiful mean witch wife. In fact everyone is nice. Even hardened Lucanis has been polite to me.

4. I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH ROOK. I profoundly hate starting off friends with Varric (and him getting shelved like what was the point). It ruins a lot of initial RP for character establishment, because it limits how the player character FEELs about the whole thing, your motivations are GIVEN to you. Furthermore, it feels like rook HAS an established character. I don't feel like I got to play my rook, just say things slightly differently based on an already established character. I dont feel like I am roleplaying a custom character, just as Biowares stand in protagonist. Maybe I'm just spoiled by the level of interaction that BG3 provided me.

The opening sequence is bizarre to me, because IF I MAKING THE STORY....I would have had the introductory quests for each of the companions be the first quest based on the faction you select (Shadow dragons with Neve, Mournwatch with Emmerich, Crows with Lucanis etc. etc.) That way you establish your character based on the faction and immediately get a little tutorial on what kind of character you're going to be playing. I would even keep the introductory quests the same with minor dialogue tweaks. The ritual would come after the tutorial prologue mission and then you start with Harding and the companion you got introduced with, since the order you get them...really doesn't matter or impact anything.

5. I think the Venatori and Antaam following Elven Mage Gods is kinda dumb. Sorry. I thought they both looked down on them for being either Elves or Mages/didn't even acknowledge them. What the hell is their goal anyway

My criticisms comes down to...I don't know what themes the game is trying to tackle? The game SAYS things but doesn't actually do anything with these topics. Minrathous HAS a slavery problem but we don't see it. Treviso is ruled by a faction of assassins but it's like a good thing! Elven gods are responsible for everything wrong in the world, but the narrative implications of what that means for modern elves are acknowledged in passing like acknowledging the weather. The game feels hesitant to actually unpack any of these things despite being the one to put them on the table.

Anyway I am going to finish the game and probably play on Daee with a Solavellan Inquisitor to see if that improves my experience by picking a character who is more tailored to the Rook they portray/not having an emotional connection to the Inky, but atm...Man I Had Hopes. Made me feel stupid for getting so hyped up for a conclusion to a story arc for a character THEY SPECIFICALLY LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOR A DECADE. I'll just draw art, lie face down in the ground and imagine a more narratively satisfying conclusion to my Inquisitors story.

[koji-haru]

Get well soon, Lucifer

Lucifer couldn’t believe it. He was supposed to be helping his darling princess with the hotel, and yet here he was, wrapped in multiple layers of soft blankets in bed and sick. Very sick. Did he get it from the cannibals that helped them in the fight? Satan knows whatever kind of nightmare they ate. Maybe from that one-eyed maid? What was her name again? Nippy? That would make sense given her tendency to skitter around the place, squeezing into places no one even knew existed. But no. He may have fallen, but Lucifer’s nature should protect him from most, if not all, vile sickness that Hell had to offer, he was the king of this rotten place after all. 

He twisted in his bed, or at least he tried to, given he was tightly wrapped in blankets. No matter how many times he shifted and changed positions, the discomfort remained. A sickly warmth spread all over his body, his limbs felt like lead yet also somehow mushy, and his head, oh his head was killing him. It was as if his head was flooded by the mud that had passed through every sewer in pride and then encased in concrete to forever weigh on his brain. Lucifer turned again in his bed, grumbling weakly. He tried to think of possible sources of his sickness, but even thinking proved to be an arduous task in his current condition. It had been so long since he felt this weak, it kind of reminded him of his first few years in Hell, being alone and lost and just broken. Back then, he had Lilith to at least go through with it together, but now…

“You look funny wrapped like that,” a voice commented from just behind him. “Kind of like a sausage roll.”

Turning once more to face his visitor, Lucifer blinked at his visitor, his vision slightly hazy from the excessive warmth he was surrounded with. Someone was sitting on the edge of his bed, someone tall with soft brown hair adorned with beautiful black horns with a golden sheen that curved to the back of his head and beautiful golden eyes that glowed more beautifully than any treasure. Lucifer tried to wiggle closer towards his visitor, his presence a soothing coolness that he craved so terribly. 

“Adam,” he called out, his voice quiet and hoarse. 

Adam simply smiled at him, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. “Oh, you poor thing, you’re really sick, huh?”

“I think–” Lucifer paused, coughing for a moment before resuming. “I might have gotten it from those angels.”

“The exterminators?,” asked Adam. 

“Only a sickness from Heaven could affect me this badly,” Lucifer groaned. That made so much more sense, but it also meant that he was truly sick. “They just had to leave one more problem, huh?”

Adam didn’t reply, not even a soft hum of agreement. He just…kind of looked down at Lucifer, his golden eyes feeling distant. Lucifer resumed his squirming, trying to get more of the coolness that Adam was exuding, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to get any more closer. It was as if he was just out of Lucifer’s reach. 

“Adam,” Lucifer called out again, eyes watering slightly. “Can you come closer? I can’t– You seem so far away.”

“I don’t think I can,” answered Adam, his voice sounding faint. 

“Oh, right.” Lucifer stopped his squirming, the little energy he had already drained and  exhaustion weighing heavily on his bones. “You might get sick too.”

“I won’t get sick,” Adam laughed, his voice a haunting echo in the dark bedroom. “Have you forgotten already?”

Slowly, through his blurry vision, Adam’s image shifted. The large black horns were gone, replaced by a broken, barely glowing halo; his golden wings laid limply on his back, covered in grime and mud; his beautiful face peppered with scratches and bruises blooming purple and green; but worse of all were the gaping holes on his chest, golden blood flowing freely from it. Adam tilted his head, an amused smile on his pale face. 

“You’re sick alright, but are you sure you got it from my girls?” Adam pointed at his heart, his fingertip almost touching Lucifer. “Ever thought it could be from inside?”

Suddenly, Lucifer’s vision became much clearer, there sat beside him was Adam, or at least, the last time he ever saw him, will ever see him. He laughed bitterly to himself, his reality dawning on him as the fog that clouded his head finally cleared up, leaving him with the bitter truth. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, his voice as light as a feather but more shattered than any broken mirror. “I let you die. I caused your death. But still, can I–” He pried one arm out of the blankets, desperately reaching out for Adam’s spectre, in a vain attempt to somehow anchor him to his side. However, as soon as his fingers got close, Adam’s image began to quickly fade away in faint shimmers of faded gold. He didn’t even manage to touch him. Adam’s golden eyes, cold and distant, was the last thing he saw, burning itself eternally in his mind to torment him in his unending life. 

“Get well soon, Lucifer,” Adam’s voice echoed faintly before disappearing altogether, forever. 

Lucifer closed his eyes, an uncomfortable warmth pooling in and around his eyes as he felt a wetness slide down his cheeks. This was simply another punishment from his Father.

[rosie-darling]

whitepine notes on my rewatch

what were ivory's previous job(s)!!

clown seems pretty renowned for being "a stick in the mud" but not overly cruel? i don't know that he would have any reason to kill mysty? unless something new happened - her comment about "i doubt mr pierce introduced you to us" feels just... normal. even the note about vi being upset if they touch her stuff felt hyperbolic -> basically my point is no one has been established as explicitly hostile as far as i can tell. you know?

what was that big white empty room with the amethyst?

big manor house... room with lots of paintings... secret passageways?? 👀

ivory stares at the awards for a while - (this might just be because she's not looking at serapter but she could've just turned around

the first piece of music starting after we meet pyroscythe is so special to me its probably not important at ALL but i thought that was adorable

ivory staring into the forest while serapter and clown talk about her (and the audio muffling like she's in her own world)

what was that door ivory didn't go through after she met ivo? was that leading outside or no. minecraft body language my beloved

the second piece of music after ivory gets outside and sees flowers!!!

i can't decide if i should trust izzy or not... like on one hand everytime i've seen her she's been sweet but she's definitely hiding something

CREEPY FUCKING FOREST!!!!!

ivory didn't report that she went outside to serapter... she said she stayed in the servant's side of the house + found the piano

6am - ivory goes down to play the piano

there's a lot of red in this house!!!!!

i've seen a theory that clown murdered mysty before going to speak to ivory about missing lunch but that's ... that doesn't make sense to me. he walks in moments after her (meaning she would've heard a struggle if it had just happened - and i heard mysty's death was violent so not. a quick stab and run etc) and another servant walks through that door. clown doesn't seem to mind or worry (though i guess if he had murdered mysty he wouldn't want to make it seem like he didn't want anyone to find her?) TD;LR IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE!!!!

pyro :( god he's right there next to her in that last scene. do we know who found her body? depending on who it was maybe we could work out timelines ??

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

gameplay combat comments (complaints)

jesus fucking christ i am playing a warrior next bc it SUCKS how long you have to wait to get one… i’m so fucking squishy and so is everyone else but the horrible armored mercenaries just spend all of combat SPRINTING directly at me and so i spend 15 minute dodge rolling around while neve/harding/bellara barely make a dent in them. it’s not fun!!!! this is not fun combat! WHEN WILL I FINALLY GET A TANK… like i know i’m bad at combat at the best of times but spells for mage also feel so slow i wish i could kill the animation and just get to damage bc by the time it’s gone off i have gotten stabbed 3 times and am on the brink of death

[venerawrites]

Helloo! could I humbly request relationship headcanons for Sasuke before and after the war? as in the difference between him then and after? I always thought he'd be a lot more mature and his views on things might change? especially since before he never would've had the time to actually consider things like romantic relationships and such to a deep extent? I'd love to hear your thoughts! I wish you a good day/night!

(fem reader or gn!neutral is up to you! I'm okay with either!)

author's note: hi, lovely! I am so glad to get a request for Sasuke, as he is one of my favourite boys, but I don't really get the chance to write a lot for him. I guess the "after the war" Sasuke can be a bit OOC if you follow Boruto, but as I haven't watched it and I don't really agree with how most of the characters developed... I just kind of wrote the way I envision it. I hope you enjoy! <3

BEFORE the war

It is very hard to imagine Sasuke having a relationship with someone during the time when the only thing that plagued his mind was the idea of revenge.

If he was to get interested in someone, I would imagine it would be a civilian/retired ninja during his travels with Team Taka. (I don't really imagine him falling for a ninja tbh)

I think even here, we have to separate before and after Itachi's death...

Let's roll with the idea that he meets his s/o before killing his brother. During this time he won't be really interested in forming a relationship - for a really long time he won't even understand what is that funny thing inside his chest and why he feel the need to visit his s/o's house every few months.

Sasuke has the tendency to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, so I imagine that this is how he will behave with his s/o the same way - he will visit his their house at random times, always staying for different periods of time; demand that they heal him (if his s/o is a healer or had any basic medical knowledge); he would buy stuff for the house from the local market or leave some of his own (such as some of his clothes), almost as a way to establish a claim over them/their property.

He would never put a label on the type of "situationship" him and his s/o share, but it is clear to both that whatever is going on is deeper than a friendship.

Still very cold and reserved - would share very minimal information about his past or his goals, preferring to either sit in silence or ask his s/o questions.

Kind of grumpy and rude ALL THE DAMN TIME.

He didn't want to entertain the idea of having feelings for someone, yet he couldn't stay away. The intentions of his visits were always masked with some type of "excuse" - he was in "hiding"; he needed somewhere to "heal"; he wanted a "break" from his team etc. Yet he couldn't help but feel annoyed he was getting distracted from his main goal and he was taking it on his s/o in the form of snappy comments, rolling eyes, constant huffing and just in general bad attitude.

A silent protector - he would check on his s/o quite often, sometimes not even visiting their house, just watching from a distance to make sure they are okay. I imagine during this time he would be highly alert and worried Itachi may try to target his s/o, so he may even act a bit controlling by banning them from leaving their house after dark or letting any strangers inside.

Now Sasuke after killing Itachi and learning the truth about his clan... is a COMPLETELY different story.

We all know his mental health completely collapsed during this time and his mind spiraled downward. This would affect not only his actions, but also his relationship.

For starters, he would clearly establish that he consider them as "his" (if it was not clear before, it is now). His paranoia that everyone is after him, fueled with the fact that he not only wanted a revenge on Konoha, but also the belief that he needs to start rebuilding his clan soon, would push him into constantly trying to persuade his s/o to leave with him.

Now I've said that before, but I don't see Sasuke with the shy, agreeable type of partner... so most likely his s/o would just cuss him out and tell him to leave.

Lot's of arguments, jealousy and gaslighting - Sasuke is literally a walking RED FLAG during that time.

He also is not the type to give up easily, so even if his s/o tries to 'break things off', there is no getting rid of him - his s/o is HIS and he would make sure not only they understand it, but that the WHOLE WORLD does. Nobody loves like an Uchiha after all...

AFTER the war

If you expect head canons based on Sasuke's personality in Boruto... you better stop reading here! I've never seen Boruto, but I've read enough to know that (at least for me) almost all of the OG characters are ruined. So here is my interpretation of what type of partner Sasuke would be after the war...

Firstly, let's start with the fact that he will be by himself for a long time while travelling during his "exhile". Even if he had some type of partner/crush before the war, it is unlikely their relationship would survive after the war.

(which is quite good actually, because as I mentioned above, such relationship would be highly toxic and dysfunctional!)

I think at least a few years need to pass for him to really find himself, find his purpose and accept his past and that of his clan. He has been through a lot of trauma which needs a lot of healing and self-discovery.

Like mentioned above, I don't think he would fall in love with a ninja. In fact, I believe someone who is not really part of that bloody and cruel world would be perfect for him and he would finally have the chance to be himself.

Someone with a lot of patience would suit him well, because while he is more mature, I think he would be very insecure. He never really formed any significant bonds with other people, so he is unsure how to proceed and how to properly treat his s/o.

Definitely friends-to-lovers type of love story.

Sasuke after the war would be more patient and calm, but still fiercely overprotective. I still think he would scold his s/o of they are too careless or too trusting with strangers, he would be nearly as controlling as his younger self.

Tbh I never understood the character development in Boruto, because in my opinion adult Sasuke would totally want a quiet settled life with his partner, away from battles and more bloodshed.

It's already settled in him to be a provider and to be honest I imagine him as a very traditional male figure - the head of the family, the one taking care of his partner and kids, providing protection and security.

He still has a lot to learn and overcome, but the main thing that sets him apart from his younger self is the willingness to listen to his partner and work on himself.

He is still occasionally rude and snappy, and to an outsider way too cold and reserved toward his partner, but to his s/o it would be obvious that he does try to show affection in his own way - waking up before everyone else, so he can prepare breakfast; unconsciously shielding his partner (and kids) with his body in public; small gifts, most of which handmade; subtle touches on the arm or the lower back...

Overall, a piece of work... but definitely one that is worth it!

cc artwork: Christian Benavides

[elusiveclownbox]

it’s honestly so funny to me, thinking back about how I originally got interested in bg3 due to astarion,,,and then I ended up restarting halfway through his romance because I fell more in love with gale💀 and then I found out the fandom calls gale ANNOYING

[rexecutioner]

Sorry ive been so inactive recently, I have a life that I needed to get back to for a bit! I am returning with a new hyperfixation (i am seven years late)

I drew me and my friend’s favorite characters in a silly artstyle!! We are going through the game together and we are almost done with Chapter Four (i am so scared) (ignore how tiny Rantaro’s head is) (i rant in the tags beware)

[ganondoodle]

so with echoes of wisdom .. i havent watched any of the trailers beyond the very first one and the thumbnails/screenshots and what others have said about it-

but with the world inside the rift being called "Welt des Nichts" aka "world of nothing/void" in german ('still' in english, for some reason) and demises title in french being "avatar of nothing" ... yeah my anxiety is shooting through the roof again

(hopefully you can be a little more forgiving for me being anxious/weird about it bc demise is my blorbo)

i had similar worries with totk, that werent proven true thankfully, but the darn book is making it all worse again with all those weird lore things the game doesnt even so much as hint at AND potential retcons- im in for a really rough time huh, not just stress in real life (more in tags.. its alot) but now about my specific hyperfixation from two things even (AND artblock still..)

weird as it may sound, i dont want demise to get more lore, partly bc i dont believe theyd do anything with him that i would like (given their track record) but much more importantly- the fact that he has this little lore about him is precisely one of the reasons why i fell in love with him, i tend to like characters that are neglected by the narrative, and his story being both so flat and already done meant i can be very creative with what i come up with for him without necessarily contradicting anything in canon (which is ... or was a big point of how i wrote destiny's story and lore, working with canon in a way that reframes it all without straight up ignoring it ... but i suppose i urgently need to let go of that and accept i spend alot of time working things that will go to waste :( ) AND not having to worry that there will be more stuff with him that would massively change not only what im writing but also potentially how i feel about him since the game he was briefly in was the oldest chronologically and ended with his death- i didnt expect them to mess with anything that far back and thought theyd just go forward and leave the timeline behind and wouldnt mess with it again, given how botw seemed to be a sort of 'fresh start' that seemingly regarded the past as the past that needs to rest and that the timeline was finally no longer a discussion if everythings unified through botw and one thing going forward

but i suppose i was very wrong with that .__.

right now the only thing that motivates me still is the left over determination and spite to work on my zelda comic, since i have never gotten this far and really want to get something done for once, but i cant lie that im feeling like i should pause all work on it too to wait and see waht the book and the new game will do .. either to determine if i still have the will to keep working on it after those things are out (my love for tloz has been taking alot of hits lately ..) or if i have to change stuff (mostly bc of my lore problem trying to not ignore it ..)

[chilicheesecreampuff]

To everyone commenting "this isn't true, fuck you for supporting Kamala/Trump and Fandom is a safespace for everyone, except you cause fuck you"..... You're just proving my point. You guys can't stand the IDEA of somehow, someway, having something in common with someone the media told (who is paid to push a agenda, and this goes for both sides) told you to.

Do you realize that? You are following the rules of a person on a screen BEING PAID to push a certain view. You are being told that everyone who disagrees with you ON ONE FUCKING THING wants to hurt/kill/erase you. I disagree with my grandma politically, but I fucking love her, and would never want her to be hurt.

You can't stand the idea that someone on the other side of a political aisle (created to divide) also has feelings, and has really shitty days, and need something to help them relax, and a show you love might happen to be the thing that helps.

I sincerely hope that the people like this don't realize that they also share the same air, same planet, same towns, same states, same need for food and water with people they disagree with, because I fear they might actually explode with rage.

Just a reminder: YOU ARE MAD BECAUSE YOU AND SOMEONE YOU DISAGREE WITH LIKE THE SAME FICTIONAL CHARACTER, AND YOU ARE NEARLY IN TEARS BECAUSE OF THAT FACT. Are you that sensitive? Really? In this world? You are not ready for anything if this shit bothers you.

Get over yourself. You look and act like a privileged toddler who just got told "no" for the first time. Falling to the ground, and rolling around in tears because someone said "I think differently from you, but I'm happy we have something in common."

If anyone should be pushed away from fandoms, it's you.

For some people, these fandoms help them just as much as medications help illnesses.

You're telling me you would keep medications away from someone who desperately needs it JUST BECAUSE they disagree with you?

I pray that if something ever happens to you, and the only person who could help you is a person who votes differently than you, you would decline the help because that's what you would in the same situation to the other person. (I hope that all made sense)

Characters and fandoms save lives. Lives belong to everyone, liberal or conservative. And if you're more than willing to take that away from them because YOUR FEELING GOT HURT, truly, block me. Go fuck yourself. I hope all your chocolate chips in cookies turn to raisins. I hope no one ever closes your door all the way. I hope the remote is always just an inch too far from you. I hope everytime you shit, there is no toilet paper left. I hope your charger is shorted, you have to hold it any certain way in order for it to charge your phone.

...and also, thank you to the people liking this post. I hope you always get an extra nugget at McDonald's and a free drink. You're awesome (regardless if we agree politically or not). ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Edit: Again, sorry for the grammar. It's just unfortunate to see my faith in humanity decline. 😔😔😔

⚠️⚠️⚠️Quick PSA for every single Fandom on this website⚠️⚠️⚠️

Fandoms are NOT political parties. Fandom is where people go to escape all the real life bullshit. Don't include or exclude people from Fandom just cause they vote different from you. You're just being a bigot if you are. Yes, people can disagree, but saying shit like "You can't be here or like this person cause you have different life experiences than me, and those experiences caused you to have a different view than me, but I'm too fragile to recognize that, so I'm gonna bully you into leaving" is so FUCKING CHILDISH. We are all adults here (or should be. Kids, go back to dancing to TikTok or whatever the youth is doing now), act like it. Just because you can hide behind a screen doesn't mean you can be a lowlife worthless piece of garbage. Inclusive mean EVERYBODY is Including, even the people you don't like. I don't like spiders, but I don't follow them and comment on their page about how "braindead" and "worthless" they are for not agreeing about how creepy they are (Pretend spiders have a Tumblr page for me, it goes with the point I'm making).

It costs nothing to be nice, and if you're going through someone's blog and trying to find something you can bully them on, I hope you find some light in your utterly dark and cold life. Must be hard being so hateful to seek out things to comment on.

Sorry for the rant, but I'm seriously tired of seeing people say shit like "your shirt says Kamala 2024/Trump 2024, so your obviously a (insert meaningless insult here), and you need to go hang yourself, and these characters would never associate with you blah blah blah". You don't own them. They belong to everyone. Even the people you don't like.

Thank you.

Edit: Yes, I made a LOT of Grammer mistakes, but I'm too tired to fix them and I'm Dyslexic. Just be glad I spelled "PSA" right.

Edit 2: I'm not saying you can't post political things, it's your blog, do what you want. Just don't bring it into Fandom related things.