#I hate this story more that you could ever know

[falesten-iw]

When I first joined Tumblr, I had no idea what I was walking into. There’s no manual for navigating this wild, untamed corner of the internet. My first moment here? I was greeted by an image completely naked, no warning, no explanation. It was just there, bold and unapologetic. That’s when I realized: Tumblr is a place where anything can happen.

But for all its chaos, Tumblr has become something far greater than I ever expected. For us Palestinians, this platform isn’t just a space to scroll through memes or vent about life. It’s a lifeline, a place where we’ve taken the raw, messy energy of this site and turned it into a battleground for survival. Here, we tell our stories, raise funds, and fight for our lives.

I’ve seen campaigns soar past their goals, bringing hope to families barely holding on. But I’ve also seen campaigns like mine, ones that fight tooth and nail for every single dollar, every reblog, every addition, and every ounce of hope. My family’s lives depend on this.

It hasn’t been easy. Zionists flood all Palestinian words with hate, twisting truths and spreading lies. They aim to discredit us, to make people doubt us. It’s exhausting. Some nights, I sit with my phone in my hands, wondering if this fight is too big for me. But then something beautiful happens: a donation comes through, a kind message appears, or someone I’ve never met reblogs my story with words that feel like a warm embrace.

And through it all, people are starting to see the truth. The hate doesn’t drown us; it sharpens our voices. Every day, more people step forward to stand with us, to say, “I see you, I hear you, and I’m with you.” It’s those moments that keep me going.

To everyone who has already helped, whether through verification, donating, wrting post , reblogging, or simply sharing a kind word: thank you. You’ve done more for my family than I could ever put into words. But the reality is, we’re not there yet. My family is still waiting for a chance to breathe, to live without fear, to fill their empty stomachs with warm food, and to wrap themselves in clothes thick enough to keep out the bitter cold. They’re hungry, they’re freezing, and I can’t do this alone.

This fight is hard, but it’s not hopeless. Strangers have become friends, and friends have become family. Some of you have shown up in ways I never imagined, treating my family’s survival as if it were your own. That kind of solidarity? It’s powerful.

Tumblr might be chaotic, unpredictable, and sometimes downright bizarre, but it’s also the place where we’ve built something extraordinary: a community that refuses to look away from injustice. With your help, we can take this fight all the way. My family’s lives are within reach, and together, I know we’ll get there.

This campaign isn’t just about me. It supports 26 people, including two orphaned children and an injured family member suffering from hemiplegia after being hit by shrapnel during a bombing. Surgery is desperately needed to replace the infected and failing plates. The needs are urgent, and the future of 26 lives depends on your support.

The video showing the injured family member is shared before in this post: Link.

Please help us ! Donate and reblog this post to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead. Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

Note: There’s even a raffle for a handmade Palestinian thob if you want to participate : Link

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[hannieoftheyear]

Warning Signal (jww) TEASER

Two targets you need to figure out, alongside the one person you most despise, and zero mistakes allowed.

As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.

pairing: criminal!wonwoo x criminal!reader

w.c: 915 (for the teaser), full work will be over 20k

release date: tbd

genre: exes to partners in crime to lovers, violence, angst, smut (not in the teaser)

content warnings (for the full work): vague descriptions of what their "job" actually is, criminal acts, stalking, spying, invasion of privacy, use of fake names, fake identities, stealing (both reader and wonwoo do all of the above), mentions of guns, fight scenes, blood, murder, death (not the main characters) | the story will contain flashbacks written in cursive (such as this teaser)

note: this is very different from what i've been posting so far, but i had a dream about a similar story and couldn't get it out of my mind.

on that note, i'm not sure when i'll be able to finish this bc it's taking a lot of time to make sure everything makes sense and for the relationship to be fully fleshed out. it might be done by january (that sounds so weird to say omg)

if anyone wants to be on the taglist, comment this post!

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.”

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you until you stop walking and force yourself to face him. 

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.” 

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts. 

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?” 

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.” 

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do it rat you out right this second.” 

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.” 

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.” 

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.  

“Let’s just see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer.  

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?” 

“That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.” 

“Are you being serious?” 

It’s hard to trust him. No matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself to your boss. 

“Dead serious. I promise.” 

A year before… 

The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting on that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors. 

He huffed at her but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were fewer and fewer people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information. 

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated. 

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible not to stand out in that crowd. 

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover. 

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here. He’s supposed to be meeting someone.” 

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips. 

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking, seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose. 

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.” 

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it. 

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”  

thank you for reading! i love this story and i cant wait to finish it so you all can finally read it!

remember! if you want to join the taglist, comment on this post ♡

[gojoswhitebabydolllashes]

Girl, your stories are so GOOD! I love reading your fics. I just saw you may be taking fics for Jayce or Viktor. Is there any way I could request a Jayce x Viktor x Reader fic where the reader is very naturing, cuddly, and gentle with both of them, but maybe she hides all her stress and struggles cause she deems theirs more important? Like, she always knows when they want coffee, how they each take it, covers them up when the lab is cold or they pass out at the desk, rubs their shoulders when she sees them shrug too much, just very attentive. Yet, she’s not a scientist and thinks that being stressed over literature projects and teaching is ridiculous cause it’s not as difficult or as important (in her mind) as hextech. So she just ignores her needs until these two notice.

I’m so sorry if that is too much! I hope you enjoy the third act when it comes out. Thank you so much for reading this! 🩶

OH ABSOLUTELY I CAN DO THIS. 😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND LIKING MY STORIES IT MEANS SO MUCH.

--fem reader. Fluff. Small sad. Angst if you squint. Cute throuple time.

--

The laboratory is cold, and the rain that batters piltover decorates the window like glass tears. Your eyes droop tiredly as you watched viktor twist the cogs in the next hextech project and listen to the sound of slow puffs of steam every few minutes that came from brass pipes on the walls.

Jayce is unmoving as he sits at his own desk, sorting through two stacks of papers. You hate it, hate watching them so vulnerable and so tired. Both are so hard-working and loyal to their studies.

"Allow me to help you both," you spoke as you stood up.

Reaching for two soft blue blankets stored in the corner, you walked firstly to jayce and draped the blanket across his shoulders and gave his cheek a soft kiss.

"I can't have my boys going cold now, can I?"

You spoke as you walked to viktor to drape a blanket across his much more lean shoulders, kissing his cheek, too. Viktor looked up at you and smiled tiredly.

"Thank you, my love." it never failed to make your heart flutter hearing viktor call you that, especially when his accent made it so smooth and endearing.

"Are you staying with us tonight?" Jayce spun in his chair, leaning an arm on his knee.

"I um" you cleared your throat.

The truth was, you had things to do. Your own assignments and activities to tend to. But viktor and jayce's eyes were gleaming deep brown in the dim laboratory light and so often you found yourself missing them when they would make you go to bed without them because they were afraid you would pass out after spending so long with them doing work.

"I have no where to be"

Paperwork

Documents

Assignments

Blueprints

Papers

Papers papers pap-

"No," you shook your head. "I have nowhere to be"

You smiled as you walked over to stand by the window, viktor and jayce came to stand on either side of you. The rain still pounded the glass, crystal city and enforcers were hounded the soaking streets each night, like a herd of elephants stampeding with metal boots.

"You need not worry about what's happening down there." Jayce put his hand on your shoulder.

Viktor turned his head to you. "It is not our worry, my love" he spoke ever so softly.

You pressed your lips together into a thin line, as you thought over so much.

"You both must be hungry," you stated.

You stepped away from them both before you walked over to the door. You would make them cups of hot tea and nice warm soup. bread and butter.

"Stop right there, doll" Jayce spoke loudly.

You froze and turned around to see jayce holding up your textbook. You gasped and realised they had indeed caught you.

"When were you going to tell us you had assignments to do?" Jayce asked.

Viktor turned around to face you, his head tilted. You looked at the ground defeated before them, and began to cry.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you both. I was so entranced with helping you with your dreams that I forgot about my own, " you frowned and sighed.

The two of them walked over to you and hugged you tightly. If they had known you were in such troubles, they would have chained you to the table and glued a pencil in your hand.

"I love you both so much, and I'm so sorry that kept it from you." .You looked at them with gentle and sorrowful eyes.

"You need not be sorry. But It's time to start taking care of yourself, my love. " viktor held you close to him

You nodded, making them both smile admiringly.

"We love you, pretty girl"

You gave them both soft kisses to their lips and smiled. "You know I'm still going to take care of you both"

They were your boys. And even if you were working every day and night on your own papers, you would find ways to still make sure they had their breakfast lunch and dinner and were always hydrated and healthy. You loved them both dearly and they too loved you too.

"If I find out you aren't focusing on yourself, I'll take back my promise to buy cupcakes" Viktor spoke.

Not only did you gasp. But beside you, the man of progress did too.

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 6

Check out part 1 here.

John texted memes. Something about that surprised you. He presented as such a straight-laced demeanor that the silly text images added a layer of intrigue to the man who already took such care not to share more the bare minimum.

He sent his commentary about his ‘muppets’ as he called the men under his command. The image of a man in suspenders, a tie, and a coffee mug in one hand with the text “If they could just not…” followed by any number of pictures of Jim Hensen’s muppets. It always prompts you to ask for the cleansed version of their nonsense. John had confirmed that the men who had come in asking about him were the men under his command. They were still under orders to leave you and your shop alone. When he mentioned that in the first week of texting you were surprised.

>I can hold my own in my shop John, release them to come by for fixes on anything you haven’t already stolen from their bags.

When he didn’t reply within a few hours you followed it up with.

>Your Scotsman seemed pretty excited about getting a family kilt fixed. Let them come by John. I don’t scare easy.

Halfway across the world, John squints at his phone in the darkness of the safe house he and Johnny are waiting for exfil in.

“What did you say to my girl Soap?” Price questions in the quiet.

Soap jerks from his nodding-off sleep in the corner where he had settled down.

“What’s up boss,” he asks sleepily.

He turned his phone to show Johnny the message from you.

“What did you do to my girl?”

Soap squinted through the brightness blasting his eyes.

“Dinne do nothing Cap. Alls I asked about was a kilt repair. Me granddad’s kilt was given to me when he passed, I want to get it fixed up is all.”

Soap lacked the guile to ever pull off being an undercover agent. John turned the phone back to himself, frowning.

“Fine. You can go visit her. Spread the word, but if I hear any of you gave her a bit of grief?” He let the warning linger unspoken behind his words.

“Got it. Can I go back to sleep now?”

John harrumphs and pulls out a cigar, lighting it up as he contemplates how to reply to you.

<:Rolling eye emoji: Fine, but you let me know if they give you any trouble.

>You reply with a gif of someone giving a salute with the text aye aye captain below it.

Physically rolling his eyes this time John settles in to watch the sky and think of you.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

Christmas had to be the most peaceful one you had ever experienced. Laughing with your aunts and eye contact across the table with your cousins when someone said something wild before taking a sip had never been the norm. Every Christmas season meant spending time with your Mum’s family and her resentful sniffs when Pop would inform you of the times when his sisters might be passing through so you could see them. You think Mum hated that you had real conversations with the other side of your family. Everything on her side sat stilted in past hostiles and clothed in niceness for the sake of Gran who still watched with a sharp eye.

You hadn’t expected any gifts but the highlight had to be the scarf from your favorite cousin. It sat light and delicate on your neck. When you said goodbye to everyone and headed up to the spare room your Nana had set up for you. Settling onto the bed you fired off a text to John.

<Merry Christmas! Did you have a good holiday?

>Decent.

>Merry Christmas.

Attached was a photo of John with what looked like egg nog in his mustache with an arm around a man and woman who also had white streaks along their upper lips. Standing so close together you can see they share the same eye-crinkling smile.

<Aww! You look so cute with your egg-nog mustache! Did someone spike it before cups were passed around?

>But of course, can’t discuss childhood stories without a healthy glug of whiskey. Added enough of a kick that even the scary stories were told with a laugh.

>How has yours gone? You mentioned you would be with extended family up north this year.

<It’s been a blast. Best Christmas I can remember for a long time. I am spending the night with my Nana before driving home tomorrow.

<You have any fun plans between now and New Years?

>Other than deep cleaning the mold from my fridge?

You laugh out loud in the empty room. He probably wasn’t kidding. John had mentioned that he can be called for a job at a moment’s notice and sometimes it leaves him with some nasty surprises when he eventually got home.

<Yes you silly man, other than that.

Those dots went on and off for a long time. When the message finally comes through you are disappointed.

>Nothing crazy, mostly catching up on my shows.

<What like The Golden Bachelor?

You can imagine him fighting down a smile as he contemplates a reply. He isn’t that much older than you, but the way he mothers his men has them calling him ‘Old Man’. John complains about it but always with love.

>The muppets would like to you if you would like to join them for New Years.

>I told them I had plans with you but they insisted and are watching for your response.

Smirking you fired off one last response before starting your bedtime routine.

<Should I wear jeans or a pretty dress?

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

Stepping from the cab you wave your thanks and turn to the building. John is standing at the glass door, waiting for you to get close enough that he can welcome you in. You smile at him, excited for his reaction to your dress. It is mostly visible through the undone buttons of your long coat. You had made it yourself, hands cramping late into the night with the number of times you have had to pleat the skirt to sit exactly right. Ironing the piece flat each time you wanted to pleat it slightly differently had been deeply frustrating work.

The black dress wrapped around, sending one tie through the side piece to stretch across your back and meet the other tie to create a bow. The long sleeves and v of the crossing front gave you an excuse to pull out your push-up bra and put the girls on display. You had chosen a long skirt. Reflective swirls of gold shined in the light from your skirt. It brushed the top of your shoes each time you took a step. Jewelry you kept simple; gold hoops and a single pendant on a long chain. Some light eye makeup and a lip stain are all you did for your face today. You would forget to wipe it off when you got home and refused to deal with the breakouts that overnight in your makeup would provide. Thankfully your hair cooperated and sat neatly in a sleek bun.

Looking John over as you approach you are pleased to see him in a suit. The juxtaposition of his winter beanie will never not make you smile. You hadn’t seen this one from him in all his times of coming by. You would tease him about the belt he needed to keep them up later. Perfect you could poke and prod at him tonight to confirm that you had the right size for his Christmas present. It sat in the back of your shop, waiting for his next visit to confirm the dark blue suit would contrast beautifully with his eyes. Double vested with a double vent, because something about that cute bum being covered just so gave you butterflies. The pants should cling to his thighs barely and give him a nice long silhouette

John took you in from top to bottom and back up again. You thought him unaffected until he took your hand as he opened the door and pulled you directly into a hug. Hugging him fired off a spring-loaded batch of emotions. Between the subtle smell of his cologne and the heat of his hands searing through the back of your coat, you’ve never wanted a New Years kiss more than now.

God. You had to say something. Fuck it all. You opened your mouth to say anything really but John beat you to it.

“You look stunning tonight,” he pulls back, hands still settled on your spine. He looks from your hair to your cleavage and back, a warm smile growing on his face.

“Thanks, you look pretty spiffy yourself,” tugging on the lapels of his jacket you continue, “But this doesn’t fit quite right, and was that a belt I saw? How could you keep something like this from me, John?”

His smile got impossibly wider. Joy spread through you like the first drink of a warm liquor.

“I wondered if you would notice. Gaz mentioned to wear a suit and when I went digging through my closet this was all I could find.”

John released you from the hug, one hand sliding from your back and down your arm to catch your hand. He holds it all the way up the elevator. When the elevator deposits you on the 26th floor you let John lead. Number 2607 he opens without hesitation.

All his muppets are present, some even have dates. Kyle stood at the island, cutting cheese for the board. The woman who you assumed to be Kyle’s girlfriend floated around the room. Charms weaved into her braids and a sleek body con dress matched her beautiful smile as she offered you and John both a drink. You were surprised to see that Gary was a blond. His choice of date made much more sense than his hair color and makes you smile. Sharing a look with John he nodded once; Gary had a thing for goth women. Johnny and Simon sat at a table, deep in discussion. Neither had a date to be seen.

“Simon doesn’t surprise me but why doesn’t Johnny have a date?” You turn to question John, wary of letting your voice travel in the open space.

John takes a sip of his drink, “They would have a date if either of them would buck up and ask the other.”

Your eyes widened as you snapped your gaze back to the men.

“You would not make a good agent,” he chuckled. “Johnny come hold this for me.”

Johnny pops up and out of his chair without question, closing the distance to take the drink John is holding out. John then takes your drink and passes it off to Johnny as well. Shivers assault your body as John’s rough fingers slide the coat from your shoulder and move away to hang it up.

“Miss Seamstress!” Johnny leans in and places a kiss on your cheek as he passes your drink back. “It is good to see you. How is your shop going?”

“Good, almost too good. If my space were any bigger I would bring on another seamstress full time. As it stands I might still hire someone to help with the simpler tasks.”

“What counts as a simpler task in a shop like yours?” Johnny cants his head to one side.

“Mostly ironing, unstitching simpler items, phone calls, running the register, things like that.” John appears at your side, finger-catching your pinky. You curl it tight to acknowledge his presence.

Movement over Johnny’s shoulder shows Simon and Kyle both heading toward you for a greeting. Kyle gives you a kiss much like Johnny did and Simon nods. When Gary sees everyone is saying hello he abandons his date for a rib-crushing hug since both your hands are busy.

The night flows on, laughter and food flowing more freely than the drinks do. You end up chatting with Kyle’s and Gary’s girlfriends about Pilates and how funny it would be to see the men try. They jump from history to space to fashion and beyond. Midnight sees Gary and Kyle kissing their girlfriends. Johnny and Simon stare at each other’s feet in abject longing and John places a kiss on the back of your hand, much to your chagrin.

As John had nursed his single drink all night and drove you home after one, passing through a sobriety checkpoint with ease. The conversation never stopped flowing with John, teasing and jokes kept your spirits lifted until you arrived at your flat. He walked you to your door, hand firmly in yours.

His thumb brushed against your knuckles as you stared up into his eyes, hoping, praying for a kiss.

“Thank you for coming. I left your gift at home since I didn’t want you to have to lug it about. When can I bring it by?”

“You’re gift is at the shop, so tomorrow maybe? About noon?”

“That would work fine. I had a lot of fun tonight and I know my guys like you.”

“They are important to you, it makes sense you would want someone in your life to get along with them.”

“And do you,” he paused here, eyes searching your face, “What to be part of my life?”

Desperately. More than anything. Fuck yes.

None of those words passed your lips. All you could do is nod.

With his free hand, John cradles your face, pressing his lips to yours.

It had to be the best first kiss you ever had because you can’t remember a damn second of it. When you finally blink John is halfway down the hall and turning back to see if you are okay since you haven’t moved.

Sending him a sheepish smile and a nod you fight with your key to get your lock open and fling yourself inside. Once the door finds its home you squeal as quietly as you can and happy dance like a dork.

Seamstress Masterlist | Masterlist

[uhhlifeig]

Prefect's Bathroom - Nov. 22 - word count: 532 - @wolfstarmicrofic

The prefects' bathroom was bathed in the soft, golden glow of enchanted lanterns. 

Lavender-scented steam coiled lazily towards the ceiling, and the water in the massive tub shimmered. 

Sirius Black lounged in the water on one side, his dark hair damp and sticking to his neck, his grin as unshakable as ever.

“You know,” he began, “for someone who’s usually so composed, you’re doing a terrible job of pretending you’re not enjoying yourself.”

Remus Lupin, sitting on the opposite side, arms folded on the marble edge, shot him a flat look. “Enjoying myself? Because I have to endure you and your never-ending commentary?”

“Endure me?” Sirius’s grin widened. “Come on, Moony, admit it. I’m at least half the reason you’re here.”

The werewolf raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral. “Oh, really? And what’s the other half?”

“The bubbles, obviously,” his friend said, gesturing to the colorful foam between them. “Irresistible.”

Despite himself, Remus snorted, his lips twitching upward. Sirius seized on the reaction like it was a victory.

“There it is. A genuine Remus Lupin smile. Rare and precious.”

“You’re unbearable,” the taller boy replied, shaking his head.

“Maybe. But you’re still here.” Sirius tapped his chin, as if deep in thought. “Why is that, Moony?”

“You’re awfully full of yourself, you know.”

“Only because I’m right,” the older boy countered. “Admit it- you like me.”

Remus looked up sharply, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.” Sirius tilted his head, his grin taking on a sly edge. “Come on, Moony. Be brave.”

The dirty blonde rolled his eyes, pulse quickening. “Fine,” he said, his voice steady. “Maybe I do.”

Sirius blinked, his smirk faltering for just a second. “You do?”

Remus was the one who moved closer this time. “You know,” he said, his voice low, “you’re even more attractive when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” the noiret muttered, though his flushed cheeks told a different story.

“Liar.” The younger boy leaned in further, his face only inches away now. “Do I make you nervous, Padfoot?”

Sirius didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flicking briefly to Remus’s mouth before snapping back to his eyes. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

Before  the werewolf could respond, his friend closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Remus’s in a kiss that was as bold as it was careful. 

For a moment, the boy froze, caught off guard- but then he kissed back, his hands gripping the edge of the marble as if to steady himself. The kiss deepened, Sirius tilting his head and drawing a soft sound from Remus.

When they finally broke apart, the dog animagus didn’t pull back entirely, his forehead resting lightly against the other boy’s. 

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and breathless. “Not so unbearable after all.”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh. “I hate how smug you are.”

“Liar,” Sirius said, sliding his hands under the water, brushing deliberately against the dirty blonde’s knee. “I think you like it.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Black.”

The older boy’s grin turned wolfish, his fingers trailing lightly against Remus’s thigh. “Oh, Moony,” he whispered. “I’m counting on it.”

[mad-hunts]

if barton tried hard enough, he thought, imagining himself being literally anywhere else but the warehouse right then was easy. this place was never meant to be lived in for an extended period of time after all; despite the fact that it had appliances that you might see in an every day home like a fridge.

it put him on edge instead of at ease, and it certainly didn't better barton's mood when he stayed in it either, after all. but so long as he was allowed to dream within it to some degree... it was tolerable. plus, he had company here, courtesy of nico, jack, and barton also supposed jervis counted. nico had complicated feelings towards the doctor, though, and spending time around jack whilst in it thus far gave barton an unfortunate impression; which was that his own son was made nervous by him.

and the irony of it all was, barton only gathered that because he could feel cognitive empathy towards him. something that didn't include feeling but reasoning. therefore, the hopes of him somehow patching that up with jack someday were drastically decreased. barton vaguely listened to jervis respond to what he'd said about him being in the warehouse solely because of them; all of the words but one not quite having any actual impact on him, this being 'nightmares.'

the smell of the yuja tea that jack prepared for jervis, as fragrant in the air that it was, seemed to be the one thing keeping him from being sucked down a unpleasant train of thought. for someone who didn't feel human half the time, barton sure as hell experienced his own fair share of seeing 'ghosts' from the past and mourning the way some things had gone in his life. and regret, as well as sorrow, were practically intertwined in every single 'normal' person's life that he'd known.

speaking of regret, once he'd closed the curtains, something from the small cabinet hanging on the wall next to them fell to the floor. barton picked it up and was immediately reminded of why he kept this photo here instead of at his home. hiding it away helped alleviate the pain of not only loving someone and losing them, but also knowing that at the time it was taken, everything seemed fine.

'my 19th birthday party - spent right, with my handsome fiancé!' was written on the back in marcy's handwriting. barton felt like screaming and smashing something simultaneously. the photo was instead placed in his pant pocket, whilst he dragged his hands down his face and thanked his lucky stars that jervis wasn't exactly expecting any big conversations from him. barton's hand flexed by his side before he was changing his shirt, wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do after seeing that again.

grief was a thing he'd never been able to pend down how to deal with 'appropriately,' unfortunately. from marcy, to the momentary blink of an eye that felt like his bittersweet friendship with yves, to his son julien's death - barton thought he'd be destroyed by all of those losses for the longest time. but he supposed he was still here, god willing, or laughing at him more like if such a being did exist. barton noticed the fabric that was splitting on the blanket and how jervis very much appeared to be in his own world.

it was at that moment that he reached for something in that same cabinet he'd opened to change his shirt, finding that sewing thread and needle he'd stored in there long ago. barton kept it there because the shirt he was wearing had actually torn at some point and he'd fixed it. though, he had no use for it now, so he decided to put it on the edge of edge of the cabinet if jervis wanted it. but he didn't really know what he wanted. that night seemed to be a series of gut punches now as the other touched upon how jack was a good person and barton should be proud of him.

he blinked several times as he felt this sensation like something ugly was swirling within him. jack had always kind of gotten the short-end of the stick, and for what? ❝ ahh. well, sometimes i've found myself practicing behaviors towards him that my father used to use on me... but i try to stop myself when that happens. jack has come a long way, as the first time i met him, he was a scared two year old who was on his own with his brother. but now jack's a young man and very brave, despite maybe still being scared sometimes. ❞ barton cleared his throat then, ❝ that's normal though. so yeah, i am proud of him. ❞

barton turned his attention back to jervis and tilted his head at the other's sluggishness. being vulnerable like that surprisingly didn't feel too nerve-wracking, as he added just a bit more to the equation. barton gave the iv bag jervis was hooked up to a good squeeze, ❝ hmm. are you still in pain, jervis? or are you just tired? ❞ he observed the other silently and looked down at the cards before the both of them. that is, before barton heard jervis approve of him reading his fortune.

he drifted a hand along the cards then. choosing one that felt 'right' came without much difficulty to barton, and when he did, the reversed 'wheel of fortune' card for jervis's past. the next card he chose was the reversed 'six of swords' for jervis's present. barton flipped the last one for his future and was greeted by 'the sun,' which made him let out a soft 'huh' and smile a bit. ❝ well... i hate to start off with the past when you got this card, but i guess we have to. ❞ he was about to start interpreting jervis's fortune when jack came back into the room with the breakfast he promised the other. well, talk about convenient timing.

Jervis merely rolled his eyes at Barton’s remark, fingers biting into the fabric of the blanket as he pulled it around his shoulders like an old shawl. The plush material was a little threadbare at the corner; a tear disrupting the otherwise seamless fabric.

Sea-green and white plaid. Utilitarian, impersonal.

It sufficed perfectly; his thin frame was almost terminally intolerant to the cold. 27 years in Gotham had failed to inoculate him against the frigid rains and bone-chilling air sweeping off the harbor.

“Trust me, I’m well aware where I would be, if it weren’t for you both. I see enough of the place in my nightmares… so I don’t require any reminders.” He flexed his fingers around the teacup, feeling the warmth seep into his hands as he cautiously tipped the liquid into his mouth. It had a strange, but not unpleasant consistency, like warm, thin honey that slid smoothly over his tongue in a tangy blend of sweet and sour. Tiny bits of softened citrus peel floated in the syrupy mixture.

Barton’s IV pole scraped slightly along the concrete floor, a sharp metallic sound that mingled with the sudden rasp of the curtains being jerked shut. The room was clean and sparse, a sterile space designed to be free of clutter, yet a faint, telltale mustiness clung to the air—a lingering scent of damp fabric and stale dust that disinfectant alone couldn’t quite mask. Beyond the makeshift partition, the rest of the warehouse stretched out in vast, dark emptiness. The floor was cold, unpolished concrete, marred with cracks that split like spider webs. Dim, flickering fluorescent lights cast a harsh, uneven glow, barely cutting through the haze of dust that swirled in the air.

But, of course, beggars couldn’t be choosers when it came to hideaways—especially when you’ve learned to take shelter wherever you can find it. Or when you were part of the criminal element.

How far he’d come and how little had truly changed.

Jervis glanced across the room at where his coat, shirt, and gloves rested neatly on the desk, carefully folded with almost surgical precision. He flexed his hands again around the teacup, feeling the phantom prickle of sensation where the wool-lined leather should be—an exposed vulnerability that gnawed at him, made his skin itch with invisible grime.

He sank his teeth into a particularly broad piece of yuja peel, the bitter tang releasing as he bit down; meanwhile, Barton’s voice drifted in one ear, out the other like the static hum on a faulty wireless. He chewed slowly, savoring the rind as he turned his attention back to the small tear in the blanket. Nodded intermittently.

Jervis’ callused, scarred fingers found the frayed edge; the fabric was worn thin and splitting, and he traced it absentmindedly, feeling the uneven fibers beneath his touch. For a moment, his thoughts shifted to the sewing kit buried somewhere in his bag, imagining the small spool of thread and the thin, glinting needles; each one ready to pierce the fabric and pull it back together.

As if stitching this small wound would make any real difference, he thought bitterly; like it could somehow soothe the cold reality pressing in on them from all sides… It was a small, pointless task, a flicker of control in a situation that felt like it was slipping away, unraveling faster than he could sew it back together. He knew it wouldn’t ameliorate anything—wouldn’t solve the problems looming larger than this tiny, frayed corner. And yet, his fingers lingered there, desperate for something tangible to fix; something he could make whole again, if only for a moment.

Jervis gave no reply as Barton moved to change his shirt; blinking hard as he gazed down at the floor, but the darkness behind his eyelids refused to stay empty. Flecks of indigo light bloomed in the black, shifting like dust motes that twisted with each beat of his heart. The room swam as he opened his eyes again, the ceiling blurred and murky like the styrofoam cup Alice stored her wet paintbrushes in. He scratched absently at the IV in his arm, feeling the tug of the thin plastic embedded in his skin but barely registering the discomfort. The bright pinpricks danced at the edges of his vision, trailing like little comets whenever he turned his head.

“You ought to be proud of him, I imagine. Your son… he seems like a good lad.” Jervis’ voice was a wisp of silk, smooth and thin, like it might unravel into nothing if he spoke too loudly. He tilted his head slightly, almost resembling a marionette on a slack string, the hint of a smile touching his lips but never quite reaching his eyes. He ran a finger along the rim of his teacup, the motion delicate and deliberate as he pondered Barton’s final query.

“Hmm… can you?” Gray eyes blinked slowly, the lids heavy and sluggish, further dragged down by fatigue. The question lingered in the air, softly innocuous. He glanced over at the tarot cards Jack left behind on the desk—arranged in a rough, careless spread, but somehow feeling deliberate, as though the cards had fallen exactly where they were meant to. The edges were worn, curling slightly; the images esoteric, half-familiar symbols. Stars, sun, moon, cups and swords, animals and human figures rendered in faded colors.

He paused, gaze narrowing, subtly curious despite the exhaustion that weighed down his expression. For a moment, his hand tightened around his teacup; twitched like he might reach out and touch them, as if by brushing the surface he could glean some hidden answer buried beneath the painted ink.

‘Why, they're only a pack of cards, after all.’

His grip on the blanket slipped momentarily, fumbling at the worn edge before he reached for his collar instead. He dug beneath the charcoal fabric of his T-shirt, searching with a practiced motion until his fingers found the tarnished silver chain again. He drew it out slowly, the weight of it comforting against his skin as he absently ran his thumb over his and Sylvie’s rings, threaded side by side on the links.

The metal was dull, no longer shining with the luster it once had, but it carried a certain softness now, smoothed by years of worry. His eyes dropped for a second before he let the chain slip back beneath his shirt. “By all means, if it tickles your fancy…” Jervis gave a short, rough half-shrug, the motion stunted as though his shoulder couldn’t quite decide whether to follow through.

[rispwr]

Number one girl ・❥・J.JK ( preview )

pairings : jungkook x afab! reader

genre : frienemies2??, established relationship, fluff, slight angst, enemies in public, bsfs in secret.

sypnosis : what's more confusing than math? your feelings for a man you don't like but you don't hate.

content : not sure yet. might even change the whole story

word count :

note : this is a short fic i don't even know if i wanna post it or nah. but here's a preview

It was 9 PM, And Jungkook had shown up at my door earlier, carrying my favorite food, with a grin on his face. now i was wrapped securely in his arms.

My legs were draped over his lap, and my head rested against his chest, As his hands moved lazily through my hair, his fingertips tracing soft patterns on my scalp. His voice, low, hummed a tune I didn't recognize but found comfort in.

"Kook?" I murmured, my voice muffled against his chest.

"Hmm?" His response was gentle, paired with the subtle vibration of his voice as he kept humming.

I lifted my head, finally meeting his gaze. His dark eyes softened as he looked down at me, his lips curving into a slight smile as his hand continued its soothing motion through my hair.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, my voice teasingly light. "...For dessert?"

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "You want ice cream?" he guessed, amusement flickering in his tone.

I nodded quickly, the excitement bubbling up and escaping in the form of a wide grin. He chuckled softly at my enthusiasm. "Alright," he said with a soft laugh, his hand leaving my hair briefly to tap my nose.

"So, do you wanna let go of me so we can get some?" His voice was playful, his smile knowing.

I raised an eyebrow, feigning sarcasm. "Let me enjoy this moment, Jungkook," I replied dramatically. "When you're not being a moody girl on her period for once."

His laugh was warm, filling the space between us as he pulled me closer, his arms tightening around me. "A moody girl, huh?" he teased, his lips brushing the top of my head as he spoke.

I groaned loudly, burying my face back into his chest. "Kookkkk!!" I squealed, my voice muffled by his hoodie.

That's when it started. His hands, once gentle and soft, suddenly moved to tickle my sides. My laughter erupted uncontrollably, as I wriggled in his grip, trying and failing to escape.

"Stop! Jungkook!" I cried between gasps of laughter, my hands slapping against his biceps in a weak attempt at resistance.

But he only laughed harder, his grip firm as he leaned over me, effectively pinning me beneath him. and soon I was sprawled out on the bed, breathless and flushed.

He paused then, hovering over me with a grin, his dark hair falling into his eyes. For a moment, everything stopped. His laughter faded. His gaze locked with mine.

It was the way his eyes softened as they roamed over my face, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly.

He leaned in just a fraction closer, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something.

But then, as quickly as the moment came, it was gone.

"Uh, okay," he blurted, his voice an octave higher than usual as he broke the silence. "Let's go?"

The sudden awkwardness was almost comical. He scrambled off me, sitting up on the bed and rubbing the back of his neck.

I stayed where I was, still lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling in stunned silence. My heartbeat thundered in my chest, and I pressed a hand against it as if that would calm the storm raging inside me.

Jungkook stood then, adjusting his hoodie as he avoided my gaze. "So... you wanna get up and wear a bra so we can go out, hun?"

The teasing lilt in his voice snapped me out of my daze.

"Jeon Jungkook!" I gasped, sitting up and grabbing the nearest pillow. I hurled it at him with all the strength I could muster, but he dodged it effortlessly, his laughter filling the room once again.

"Shut up!" I yelled, my face heating as I scrambled to sit properly on the bed.

his laughter echoing down the hallway as he left the room.

Once he was gone, the silence returned, and I was left alone with my thoughts. My hand instinctively moved to my chest, pressing against the spot where my heart still raced.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, closing my eyes.

I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away as I climbed out of bed, grabbing a hoodie to throw over my shirt. The last thing I needed was to overthink this.

Jungkook was just... Jungkook.

Right?

I sighed, making my way out of the room to find him. He was waiting for me at the door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, that signature grin plastered across his face.

"Ready?" he asked, his tone light and teasing as always.

I nodded, slipping into my shoes as he held the door open for me.

we climbed into his car. The quiet hum of the engine filled the silence as he pulled out of the driveway, his hands gripping the steering wheel with casual ease.

"You're not gonna make me pick the playlist, are you?" I asked, settling into my seat and glancing at him.

"Nah, I've got us covered," he said, already queuing up a playlist on his phone. Moments later, our favorite song filled the car, and he started tapping the steering wheel to the beat.

Kiss me Kiss me with your eyes closed Whisper that your heart shows

I couldn't help but laugh as he began singing. well, shouting? the lyrics dramatically.

Hold me, I'm your bunny 

Tell me I'm not funny 

"Are you auditioning for something, Jungkook?" I teased, watching as he turned to give me an exaggerated wink before returning his focus to the road.

"Maybe. Think I've got a chance?" he asked, his tone light but his grin mischievous.

"Only if they're looking for someone to scare the judges away," I quipped.

He gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Wow. Betrayed by my own princess passenger."

We ordered our ice cream quickly, opting to eat in the car rather than sitting outside in the chilly night air.

The car was warm and cozy as we sat, our cones in hand. Jungkook took an exaggerated lick of his ice cream, his eyes narrowing at me like he was waiting for me to mess up somehow.

"What?" I asked, taking a cautious bite of my own.

"You've got..." He gestured vaguely to my face, his expression far too smug for my liking.

"Where?" I asked, swiping at my cheek.

"Nope, not there."

I frowned, trying again, but his grin only widened.

"Here, let me help," he said, leaning across the console. Before I could protest, he swiped his thumb across my cheek, his touch light and fleeting. Then, with a grin, he licked the ice cream off his thumb.

"Jungkook!" I gasped, shoving him lightly as heat rushed to my face.

"What? I was just helping!" he said, his voice dripping with fake innocence.

I tried to glare at him, but the laughter bubbling out of me betrayed my attempt. "You're impossible."

"And you're pretty," he shot back, his tone teasing but his eyes soft.

At some point, Jungkook leaned back in his seat, turning to look at me with an unreadable expression.

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head with a small smile. "Just... i like the ice cream"

"Yeah," I said softly, meeting his gaze. "Me too."

The ride back was quieter. His hand rested casually on the gear shift, and every now and then, his fingers would brush against mine. Neither of us moved away.

As I made my way to the student council meeting, I caught sight of him. Jeon Jungkook.

He was leaning casually against the lockers, surrounded by his usual group of guys. His hair was a mess in that perfect, lazy way, and he had that smirk on his face. the one that made the girls around him giggle like he was some kind of god.

I kept walking, my head held high, trying not to engage. We had an unspoken agreement, after all: no interaction in public. Jungkook made it crystal clear he didn't want to ruin his reputation by being seen talking to me. Not that I cared.

The less drama in my life, the better.

Still, I couldn't help but hate the way he gave me mixed signals when we were alone, only to act like a complete stranger in public.

"You good, Y/N?" one of the student council members, Hana, asked as she passed by me.

I nodded quickly, adjusting my glasses as I brushed past her. "Yeah, just heading to the meeting."

"Cool, see you there!"

As she disappeared into the crowd, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw jungkook pop up on my screen.

Jakay: Yo nerd, wanna go out later?

I rolled my eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

You: I have a meeting with the student council.

Jakay: Picking them over me, huh?

You: Wouldn't even pick you in a room full of your clones.

There was a pause before his reply came through.

Jakay: Ouch :(

Jakay: Can we at least just FT?

You: You tryna get in my pants or something?

Jakay: Want me to?

I stopped in the middle of the hallway, blinking at my screen. For someone who was usually all jokes, he had a way of toeing the line between playful and annoying.

You: Ew. I'm blocking you.

Jakay: LMFAOOO

Smirking to myself, I quickly blocked his number and tucked my phone back into my pocket.

A few seconds later, another buzz.

Jakay: Wait.

Jakay: You actually blocked me?!!

Not Delivered

Jakay: 💔💔

oc has this little thing where she blocks jk and unblock him. it's kind of like when she feels she's kinda falling for him so she blocks him to keep herself in the friendship line?

also idk but like i heard rose's new song "number one girl" and i wanted to write about it where oc is whipped for jk. i'm even thinking of changing the whole story because from what i wrote it looks like jk is more whipped for oc than she is. i liked the part where rose sang

"I'd do anything to make you want me I'd give it all up if you told me that I'd be The number one girl in your eyes" like omygoddd.

tell me if you guys want the full because im bored hihi

[lalchimiedecupid]

For angsty lilia×agatha×rio inspiration? A slight alteration where Lilia didn't die at the trial, sooo consider this.

Rio has been there as long as there's been life. She was the one to see the first grass off with the first frost. She was there with the first ever person to die to taste the sweetness of poisonous berries she kissed at summer. She has been there through wars, survival, acts of sacrifice and selfless protection. Witches are short, bright-flamed sparks across the dark canvass of the night sky to her, a flame that burns so quickly she could barely notice.

Lilia has been there for over four centuries. She had been there during the most trying times, in the darkest of nights brightened by prayers and the pyres alike. She had been there before forests went thinner, before life became an endless loss of sisters and faith, before songs became blame and chants became curses. She had been there with her heart, dragging it forward in fear, and she saw the world change in ways so deep she could never find a fitting comparison, except: a candle being snuffed out in the lonely darkness. Agatha is a child next to her experience. Death? Her one true companion.

And Agatha has been there a little less. A shorter time, an even shorter experience. Blood so young and smoldering with emotions, it shines crimson. It shines warmth. Agatha, and her desires, her selfishness, her snark and laughter in the face of the most horrible. She is an old witch, yet still the youngest among all three. She is so, full, of life. They fall beautifully together. The darkness, the light, the flames of the time passage.

But – Agatha is the one to die first. Between Death herself and the witch who's had lifetime enough to fill the most demanding hourglass, Agatha's flame dies first, and they have to continue existing without its maddening, blinding light. In darkness. As they were before her.

sorry it got dark and kinda death-y but you asked and I couldn't stop word-vomiting haha

Sins of the Past Buried at the Old Creek:

I: The Fall

TW: Not specified yet, but the story will have more and more in each chapter as we discover the lives of Lilia, Agatha and Rio.

Lilia doesn't know how it happened. Why it happened. All she remembers was waking up in Agatha's embrace, cradled to her chest. The same woman who had walked out on her, walked out on Rio, walked out on everything they had built and vanished. The same woman she agreed to join on this walk down "The Witches Road". The same woman who has subconsciously comforted her after her hallucination. The same woman who had shared the story of the only scar she openly talks about while she hides the rest. The same woman who she watched yearn for Death but also run away from her. The same woman she sacrificed herself for. The same woman she now lays in her arms.

"Agatha?" She asked quietly as the brunette kept her close to her chest, where she once used to lay against, at night, or in the early hours of the morning.

"Shhh, you're okay" The younger witch said, voice hoarse and throat tight. An indication that, she either was screaming (which isn't a rare occurrence for her) or crying. Odd I know. Agatha kept to herself. Agatha refused to show signs of weakness. Agatha— Agatha loved dearly, and she hated it. She preferred to lust over the other, to let herself be driven by lust and desire, no matter how harsh and humiliating the punishment is in the second circle of hell.

After all, she was no stranger to punishment and heartbreak. In fact, she has grown to become it's own personification.

"I need a favor" Death whispered to the Sicilian witch

"A favor? From me?" A scoff. "Why? So you can wreck havoc all over again? So you may trick me into believing your claws won't dig deep into the corpses of those I try to nurse back to health?"

"Look—"

"Don't" Lilia hissed. "What do you want this time? Who is it?"

"Her name is Agatha, she's — she's with child. The pregnancy is dangerous and I— The child will be a stillborn, but I've offered her time"

A laugh. A cold bitter laugh.

"Time? You've offered her time? How come dear Mistress of Death?"

"Lilia—"

"Take a deep breath the baby lives!" The witch screamed, starling backwards with a hand to her womb, eyes wide and dissociated before slowly, they locked onto Death. "She's..That child is yours" Lilia breathed out.

"He is" Death answered ever softly. "And I— She needs someone, no one's as caring and gentle as you are"

"You want me? Your mistress to care for your child with the woman that doesn't you and I's history?"

"Please Melilla" Death doesn't beg, but sometimes in the late hours of the night, she finds herself on her knees begging for more than one thing at a time..

"I was falling" The older witch whispered as a hand so used to cause harm caressed her cheek tenderly.

"You no longer are" The words were murmured against her forehead, a small sniffle escaping Agatha.

"Soo...you two are—?" Jen asked confused with a tilt of her head.

"Don't" Agatha hissed, keeping Lilia close to her. "No no— don't sit up mea columba—" She said, keeping a tight hold onto Lilia, putting a stop to her attempt at sitting up.

"Agatha—" Lilia mumbled ever so quietly, the rasp in her voice causing waters to bubble up in the brunette's eyes.

That's when Billy knew that he needed to get Jen out of here. That and because Rio was standing in the corner with her dagger in hand, ready to chase them out.

"I'm not leaving" Jen insisted through gritted teeth as she tried to take a step forward, almost hesitantly but with pure determination. Because when Lilia looks at you with her sad eyes you can do nothing but agree to whatever comes out of her mouth.

Oh Lilia, the woman that you are.

"Jen we have to go—" Billy could only insist, grabbing the dark skinned woman by the arm and attempting to drag her away.

As soon as the doors closed in, that's what the realization settled for Agatha. Lilia was sacrificing herself. Lilia was finally giving into her suicidal thoughts. Lilia was giving up on her life for the greater good. No. No she can't let that happen.

"Billy" She could only gasp out as she grabbed the boy's face. "Listen to me" She insisted. "You want Lilia out" It sounded urgent, desperate almost.

"What —" The boy exclaimed.

"You want her out Billy! You want her out of there, you need Lilia OUT!" She said once again, on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Agatha I—"

"Focus!" She yelled once again, her hands on either sides of his face, pulling it closer to her, attempting to channel her energy.

"Focus on the Lilia you saw inside. Focus on her footsteps" The way she was holding onto his head made him both scared and slightly interested in her desperation to bring Lilia, a member of their coven, who she mocked and supposedly could care less and less about.

But none the less, Billy did as he was told, but the flashes were intense, the screeches and the sounds of the wall slowly closing on the ground. But there she was in her pink dress, falling.

"She's falling!" He exclaimed.

"Then catch her! Get her back to me!" Agatha shouted, her thumbnail digging into his cheek.

"Ow—Ow— I can't! I can't pull her back!" The teen said, face scrunched up in pain.

"You CAN! You CAN and you WILL!" She screamed into his face, causing Jen's attention to face them. "You pull her OUT RIGHT THIS INSTANCE!" She was desperate. And that was maybe even an understatement. A deep understatement.

"Pull her in, pull her to me, in my arms. Focus on the atoms in the air, surrounding Lilia, before she crashes, before she dies. Before I—I lose her" Her eyes wide and wet, full of tears she allowed herself to shed.

Sensing her despair, he focused onto the falling figure, her soul, her body and her mind, and it might've been too late now as a the tip of the sword entered her back before darkness engulfed his mind.

"LILIA!" His mentor, his hyperfixation for years, his— his whatever she was screamed as she caught onto Lilia and pulled her close to her arms.

"I'm not leaving her with them! With Death and her psychotic ex girlfriend that's also a witch killer!" The potion's witch said fiercely.

"Well then stick around and find out what happens when you stay with Death and her ex girlfriends" The line was delivered as a threatening whisper, with the dagger in hand, her skeletal body on full display. With a tilt of her head and a dangerous look in her eyes.

"Rio, don't" Came Lilia's quiet whisper.

And who knows what it is that Lilia has for both Death and the infamous Agatha Harkness to do whatever she says. But they do. They always do. And her words always work on them. When it's tenderly delivered, when it's soft and gentle, when it's words spat out of rage and pain, out of pain and sufferance.

Lilia was a soothing balm to their wounds.

You might ask yourself what wounds does Death herself have? Well, a skeleton is cold without a layer of muscles and skin. It's weak and breakable. How can it survive for so long as nothing but 'une macabre vivante'? Lilia was more than a Persephone, no, Persephone was Agatha. Once innocent now rotten to the core. Maybe she wasn't Persephone either, because God knows no innocence resides in her soul any longer. But Agatha was Agatha. Agatha was chaos and heartbreak. Was a self destructive fool but also a power hungry beast. Agatha was unpredictable. Agatha was Grief. Sorrow. Heartbreak. Agatha was all the flaws one could possess and put into one.

Agatha was good. Until she wasn't.

Rio was Rio. Rio was Death. Rio was Balance. Rio was good and was bad. Rio was nature and animals. Rio was instincts and tendencies. Rio was a mix of hedonistic dionysian and and absurd cynical. Rio is Death. The gentle breeze that kisses your blue lips and the harsh impalement that snatches you from life's warm embrace. That's who Rio truly is. The cycle of things.

And Lilia, sweet, gentle, tender, beautiful Lilia. She was life. She was light. The sun and the pretty skies. She was a Sunflower in a field of rotten suns. A lightbringer in the darkest of nights. A caress of silk and cotton. A breath of fresh air and a the smell of spring. The smell of damp mud on rainy days. The smell of the beach on a hot summer night in mid july. She was and is what brought true balance to Death and Heartbreak. She is what soothes the grief and the pain. She is what brings life to loss. She is and will always be Life.

❛°•☽☼☾•°❜

tag list:

@yourbasicqueerie there you go cousin🙏🏻🙏🏻

[alpaca-clouds]

I hate the fact that my brain put out a plot idea for a Veilguard longfic. (Obviously centering around Lucanis and Spite.)

Ironically it is based on the kinda conflict within the fandom/meta that results from how "clean" and "heroic" the Crows come across in comparison to past depictions of them. I mean, I said it myself: In Veilguard they feel a lot like Assassin's Creed. Like: "Sure, we are assassins and we kill for a living, but we only kill the really bad people! Pinky swear!" While in older material they were definitely also killing good people and also very much participating in human trafficking (especially of kids that would then get trained to be assassins).

I mean, heck, from Lucanis' stuff in The Wigmaker Job (the short story) we also know that he and Illario were abused by Caterina. He very much rationalized it as "But she only did it so we could survive", but it was still abuse.

However, something we definitely know also from that same short story about Lucanis is, that indeed, he does have somewhat higher moral standards than your average assassin. And we know that he specialized on killing mages.

Now, from what I now understand about the worldbuilding is the following: In most of the cultures outside of Tevinter, mages are not only very much controlled, but also met with a lot of distrust. Making it quite likely that a lot of mages who have a lot of political influence are Tevinter mages, which will probably also mean that most mages he ever got hired to kill were from Tevinter, and he killed probably a percentually higher amount of Venatori than the average Crow. (Correct me, if I am wrong in this regard, DA-nerds. This is how I am starting to understand the world.)

However, if you consider the end of his companion quest... (more under break, because spoilers.)

He becomes First Talon, which means that he will have to deal a lot more with Crow politics and what kind of contracts the Crows at large will take.

Here is the thing: Everyone is the hero of their own story. And given all we know, I have a good feeling of the general narratives that Lucanis lives by. He is the good guy, because he mainly kills the really bad mages, because he protects Treviso, and really, those that end up dead had it coming.

But again, in past stuff we absolutely know that the Crows took down good people, before they were paid for it.

My first reaction to the end of the game was: "Oh, I can make them worse, hehehe."

And I mainly just would like to explore with Lucanis having to deal with the... uhm... business model of a professional groups of assassins being pretty much: "We gonna kill anyone we get paid to kill."

And I generally like the idea of a character having to adjust their personal narratives bit by bit, because it is one of the hardest things for humans to do.

But also... I have a long list of longfics I wanna write - and I would need to do so much research.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Hi, I am slipping into your Kinktober requests again, if that's okay with you! I'd love to request something for Hugh Jackman this time, as I keep seeing more and more of him, and I'm happy to drool over that fantastic man with your stories! 👀

Kissing down every inch of your body they possibly can, showing how much they love you. + "Don't be shy baby, I love the way you moan my name.

I'm preparing to melt into a permanent puddle of goo here as I'm happily waiting to see what you'll come up with here. Again, thank you for everything you share with us, and I'm looking forward to reading it all! 🤍

Kiss away your insecurities

A/N: Thank you for requesting this, my darling! Hope you like it :) Special thanks to @stark-ironman for helping me with this idea 💛

Pairing: Hugh Jackman x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut themes, angst, floof. Body image issues, self-doubt and negative talk.

.

You were still out of breath.

Heart pounding wildly against your ribcage thanks to the activities you and your boyfriend were up to ever since he got home. Even though the shared sounds of passion had died down, they were now replaced with your louder insecurities, forcing you to curl away from the man and head to the bathroom to clean up.

Hugh frowned as the door slammed shut with a little more force than usual. Concerned, he knocked on it asking if you were okay.

“Uh, yeah. Fine.” You responded, blinking back tears that began rapidly gathering. Your inner thoughts screamed you didn’t deserve all of this.

“Mind if I join you for a quick shower, darling?” Hugh called again after hearing the water running. Something you had a habit of doing every time you were overwhelmed with emotions.

“Actually I’m going to be right out. You know I have the—the thing early morning.”

Cursing yourself to have to lie, you scrubbed your body forcefully, glad the tears streamed down with the hot water and your shaky voice was somewhat covered.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, you were met with a concerned Hugh, arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No! Why would you think that?” You faked a laugh, going around him to get dressed for bed. Knowing fully well you weren’t fooling your boyfriend.

“Because you’re avoiding me.”

Giving him your most reassuring smile that you could muster, you shook your head as you slipped into one of his well worn t-shirts, getting onto your side of the bed.

“No it’s just, I have to wake up early tomorrow and I wanted to get a quick shower in. I’m fine. Really.”

He was silent for a while as he joined you in bed, watching you fluff the pillows before you turned away from the man to switch off the bedside lamp.

“You can tell that to someone who believes your lies, darling. Tell me what’s wrong. Please?” He tried again, switching the lamp back on and reaching out for your hand.

“Would you just drop it, Hugh?” You snapped, hating yourself for it as you turned the lights out again, pulling the blanket over and hiding yourself in its fluffy depths, hoping it would somehow cover your imperfections.

Your mind was still flooded with all sorts of thoughts about the way you looked, and how any day your little daydream would end and Hugh would realise what a mistake dating you was.

What was he even with you? You were far from perfect. You had curves that no matter what you did wouldn’t go away. You got trapped in your own head quite a bit, you were moody, and ten thousand other things that would push you away from the ‘ideal girlfriend’ title.

You lived in constant fear that he’d wake up one day and decide he was done with you. Then what would you ever do?

.

The next morning you woke up before Hugh did and went for a run, hoping it would clear your head.

It worked until you got a few heads turning in your direction, it wasn’t uncommon considering who you were dating; it was still overwhelming sometimes. You heard giggles and judgemental scoffs, possibly they were commenting on the way you looked.

It made you want to disappear. A sense of your deepest fears winning made you rush home, discard your jacket and ready to retreat into your room for the rest of the day. That was until your eyes fell on the breakfast spread that lay waiting on the table to your right.

“Morning sunshine! I thought I’d whip up your favourite breakfast today since you—hey, what’s wrong?”

You didn’t realise you had teared up again until Hugh rushed to your side with worry.

“Why are you with me?”

“What do you mean?” He frowned.

“I mean why are you with me? I don’t deserve any of this. You could be with anyone you want, I don’t understand why—”

He stepped in your line of vision, silencing your little ramble before gently wiping your tears away and leading you to sit on an armchair.

Wordlessly holding your hand against his chest, he took a deep breath in, gently coaxing you to follow. When you did, you could feel your erratic breaths returning to a normal slowly but surely. Just his presence on difficult days like these was calming.

“Talk to me?” he nudged, hands still clasped reassuringly.

“I just feel like you could do so much better than this…than me. You’re so—I mean, I am—”

Struggling to complete the sentence, you couldn’t help the crack in your voice as you avoided his gaze, shifting nervously on the chair.

“Beautiful? Kind? The best thing to have happened to me?” Hugh tilted your face to meet your eyes again, his own shining with all the love and adoration reserved just for you.

You wanted to believe him, so badly, yet the voices in your head got loud enough to make you doubt every single thing.

“I won’t allow you to talk much less think such lies about my amazing girlfriend, you know. She’s lucky her boyfriend immensely enjoys demonstrating just how much she means to him.”

You smiled at that, much to Hugh's relief, shaking your head.

"If you'll allow me to show you, my love."

With that he picked you up, leaving no room for any further protests from your side. Kicking the bedroom door shut with his foot, his lips descending onto yours in a kiss that effectively quieted down your fears and filled you with a renewed sense of assurance.

As the kiss deepened, your anxieties melted away, giving way for all the love that you held for this man, who by a miracle from the universe, was all yours. When you eventually broke the kiss after what felt like hours, he continued demonstrating all that he'd promised, making sure to whisper words that held such honesty, you wholeheartedly believed them.

This was nothing like you'd ever experienced before. This was more than just sex, it was worshiping, cherishing and much more. He held you close, accepting every curve, every scar, every last freckle as his own, showering you with all his love. You hadn't felt so loved, so respected, so seen, ever before in your life.

When you were filled to the hilt with his manhood, a moan that you trying so hard to suppress, escaped. Quickly covered your mouth with a hand, you quieted down, embarrassed.

"Don't be shy baby, I love the way you moan my name."

"I'm afraid I'm too loud." you whispered.

Hugh tutted, interlacing your fingers and firmly locking your hands over your head, securing them in their rightful place as he began moving in your sopping heat.

"Not loud enough. Let 'em hear. Let 'em hear who's making you feel good, sweetheart."

Hot and breathy against your ear, his honeyed voice was enough to turn your insides to mush, encouraging you to not hold back anymore.

Soon, the walls of the house echoed with your shared sounds of passion, the intensity of them evident as you reached your highs together. Bodies trembling with wanton need as you drew the most sinful moans out of each other, fully alive in the moment.

As your climax crashed over you, it seemed to wash away any lingering negativity and uncertainty you had previously felt, making you sure of your dreams being actualized.

[mvmnbnv]

If only shipping was enough for me to overlook the questionable writing choices. It would make watching this show the easiest thing ever.

What also just really sucks about being a fan of Vi, is that 99% of Vi’s fanbase can’t see her existence outside of Caitlyn. I do like Caitvi, but there is zero interest in other parts of her story or her overall character outside of Caitlyn. Even her relationship with her sister is of zero interest to the majority of her fans.

I pretty much noticed only a certain demographic of niche Vi fans took issue with the awful writing and balant disrespect to her character.

Watching act 3, Vi really felt like a side character. I had to do a double take in what I was watching because it had become completely unrecognizable. Vi’s writing was just really upsetting to me. It just sucks that not only did the show trash her character, but that most of her fans don’t care about her personal feelings or the trauma she went through. They just expect her to be magically cured and care about nothing else in her life, only her girlfriend.

Really unfortunate that the shipping version of her character became canon. When I watched act 1 I was like, “It sounds like a shipper wrote this”, then I remembered resident shipper Amanda Overton is in charge of writing her character and Caitlyn’s lmao.

Yeah they massacred her all season really. She never makes any choice for herself in act 1, is pretty much a side character in act 2, and act 3 just made me think they hate her...sex in a prison cell where one she never gets pleasure herself and two when they didn't even have the decency to explore her trauma at all beforehand. That same genuine care that cait had for her in s1 is just not seen anymore. Meanwhile they give Jayce these poetic speeches about how he just wants his partner back and it's not even romantic, but way more thought out than whatever they did with caitvi. Vi calling herself the "dirt under caits nails" too??? My god...like I get that means you can't get rid of her but the least they could do after not giving a fuck about her all szn, not having cait give any cares about her aside from what we heard from other characters, and a gross sex scene, was NOT compare her to dirt of all things...like atp i'm convinced they fucking hate her and want us all to know it bc wtf, and how anyone can be okay with this is beyond me

[mythalism]

There’s a theory going around (what with DATV shut out of the game awards) that the writing sucks so hard because EA or BioWare forced an AI rewrite after firing a chunk of the writing staff. I won’t say I fully beleive it, but I will admit that quite a lot of the dialogue in Veilguard feels…off. It’s hard to really describe.

I know EA had mentioned wanting to use AI writing in their games, but I figured that meant future games. Any thoughts on this?

this is devastating to me but i hate to say... i can see it. and feel it, more importantly, which i think is the key with AI. a few things that make this seem plausible to me are that bluesky post from epler that has since been deleted talking about how he agreed with the biggest criticism of veilguard (without specifying what he was referencing) was something he agreed with, and trick and another dev chimed in and added that not only did they all agree, but they tried to fight it and lost. we are never going to know exactly what this was referencing, but i think it does allow us to infer that there was a significant amount of friction between EA and bioware. the kotaku article on vg's development from 2019 also has a rather telling couple of lines: "I kept hearing one interesting sentiment from current and former BioWare staff: They felt like the weirdos in EA’s portfolio, the guys and gals who made nerdy role-playing games as opposed to explosive shooters and big sports franchises. BioWare games never sold quite as well as the FIFAs and Battlefields of the world, so it never felt like they could get quite as many resources as their colleagues at other studios. High-ranking BioWare staff openly wondered: Did EA’s executives really care about narrative? Did they really care about RPGs? Those questions have always lingered, and still do today." so... yeah. that feels relevant to me with this.

the second is the datamined dialogue people have been finding that reveal what is frankly a far better written game and more in-depth dialogue. some of it is still cheesy and marvel-esque, but theres so much MORE of it that shows a much more coherent vision for the plot that for some reason is just.... gone? and i have no clue why. idk if we will ever know this for sure, and it is genuinely difficult to pick out AI from any other kind of profit-focused corporate writing other than just.... intuition. you can often feel the lack of humanity within it. and considering we know what bioware writing feels like and its the reason so many of us are here on this website yapping about their stories and characters... and how veilguard feels like something is just missing... yeah. i dont think its outside of the realm of possibility

[daenysthedreamersblog]

SECRETS OF US - I

i knew it, i know you

it all changed for me and i told you

you had the wrong idea about me

masterlist

summary: you needed the fine arts credit to fill your schedule and finish out your junior year at university, but so did your sworn enemy coriolanus snow because of course he did.

warnings: swearing

paring: modern!coriolanus snow x reader

notes: omg so happy to have this out!! this story has been so fun to write!! i hope u enjoy!! it took me way too long to write this whole story out but its finally ready to have someone else enjoy it (hopefully)

You're staring forward with a blank expression on your face as your mother rambles into your ear through the phone. You chew your cuticle to avoid sighing or groaning at her, letting her into the obvious feelings of annoyance of the subject of her conversation; your father, your career, your school.

"Yes. Yes, Mom I know." You scoop up the iced coffee into your hands and make for the door. You shift your bag around shoving the phone further into shoulder as your other one pushed the door open. "I'll come visit for the holidays I promise." You lie turning around the glass door and smacking into a solid wall. Your coffee smashes to the floor and all over your feet, "I am so-Oh it's you." You glance down as your destroyed beverage, "I have to go." You hang up mid questions.

He glares at you, "Do you ever watch where you're going?"

"Do you?" You shove back inside to grab napkins to clean the coffee off of your ankles. You grab your now empty cup and toss it into the trash along with the wet napkins before pushing past him down the street. You don't even try to go and reorder too annoyed and needing distance from him of all people. "You owe me $6 for that coffee you made me spill."

"I made you spill." He catches up to you matching your stride easily with his long legs and you feel more annoyance settle into your stomach. "You ran into me!"

You don't even look over at him as you cross the street. "You should have held the door open for me like a gentleman."

He snorts, "You've known me our whole lives...when have I ever been a gentleman?"

"Maybe you could start." You take a left to head down another block your campus coming into sight. It had been three years since you had seen him, three peaceful years of never having to look at his aggravating face besides a rare sighting in the library, but what should have been a docile dislike still burned in a raging blaze of fury. You searched for maturity, for a sophisticated phrase to send him off, but he brought out the worst in you. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? Schemes to plot in an evil lair?"

"I actually am heading to class this way too." He chuckles. "Has anyone ever told you you are a ray of sunshine?"

You smile sarcastically, "I would be a lot nicer if I had my coffee."

"So dramatic." He shakes his head laughing at you. You stop, looking at his grinning face. Three years and time had treated him well which only infuriates you more. He was taller somehow, his hair shorter and trained straight instead of those adolescent curls you begrudgingly despised. There was slight bags under his eyes no doubt from the start of the semester changing his sleep habits because you were the same, even more reason to be upset over spilled coffee. He looked good, and it made you hate him even more.

You decide not to respond, but pick up your own pace to put distance between you and your sworn enemy, but he kept following. You knew he had classes in this building since you had the same classes given he decided to pick the same major as you, but when you take a right down the stairs you believe he's simply following you. "You're being creepy."

He points ahead of you, "I have class this way too... like I told you." Your stomach drops. No, no, no this can't be happening. You reel on him eyes narrowed in anger watching his smug face slowly drop in realization as well. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I needed the fine art credit."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, "So did I."

You slap you hands against your legs in exasperation because of course you had the same curriculum with the same required credits. "You simply always need to copy me."

"Could say the same about you." He pushes past you and into the classroom ahead. It wasn't just a classroom, it was a theater. You had chosen this for the credit on your transcript because it was different than anything else you have done, you had a chance to prove yourself in something new, be the main lead if you wanted; gain attention, notoriety, and an ever growing boost to your resume. You chose it because you knew you would excel and exceed where others could not simply based on who you were and how you treated everything academically in your life.

Okay maybe you also figured it would be a fairly easy pass.

And so had you old Academy rival Coriolanus Snow.

It wasn't horrible. He mostly sat on the opposite end of the room as you and you barely had to interact with each other those first few classes. It had consisted of generic information, a slow introduction to the world of pretending, nothing too intense that you knew was surely coming.

You had the same major, political science with a minor in business, but you had had freedom structuring when you took certain subjects, carefully crafting something that never put him a few desk away from you again, thankfully you both never had crossing seminars...besides this one.

You and Coriolanus Snow had a long history together. You had grown up together, not closely, and not anything of note, enough to be aware of each other, but this growing animosity didn't take root truly until you both attended Academy together. You can't always picture how it started in the depths of your mind, but it had been there for some reason. You see snippets of niceties but that always seemed like delusional daydreams of a world that never existed, never could exist. You had both wanted to be top of the class, always fighting for the number one position, teacher's favoritism, student body president, valedictorian... It gnawed at both of you eating away at any form of camaraderie to the point anyone who knew you, knew you hated each other.

You glared over at him as he wrote things down in his notebook. You knew he would be attending University with you, you wished he had been dumb enough to not be accepted, but nope he was here, sitting a few seats away from you again. And of course the asshole had to be gunning for you here just the same.

"Alright my lovely students." Mr. Flickerman clapped his hands. "Now that were a couple classes in I want to go over our huge project for the year." You sat up straight, this was your moment. "I have written a play that we will be performing, and I'll be holding auditions next week for different parts." He smiled glancing around the room, "The final show won't be until the end of the spring semester, and as we go through it we'll be going over different techniques of line delivery and stage directions and play writes...you get the point. Once we're done you won't be able to view a show without analyzing it."

The class flatly laughs.

You smile after he dismisses you heading down to the sign up sheet quickly. You wanted the lead, you needed the lead. You wanted him to be so impressed he makes a reporter come down here to add you to the paper. Okay that was silly. Mostly you wanted your father to come watch and maybe see your more than just his pawn, that maybe there was more to you than his perfect molding. You wanted Coriolanus to be some boring side part with no lines that no one would ever pay attention to. You scribble you name down on the part you want and take the script copies home to practice and then you're heading back home to your apartment with that ever growing fire under you.

You lose yourself in preparing for it you barely hear your phone ring until it goes off for the second time. "Tell me you're getting dick and that's why you're not answering."

"I wish Clem." You run your hand over your face. "No I'm studying up for something."

She groans, "You're so boring, come out with us tonight there's a new place in town that has really good espresso martinis."

"I can't." You sigh. "Maybe once I land this part."

"Wait." She chuckles. "Part? Is this for that theater class you wanted to take or does daddy have you off doing side quests again?"

You actually laugh as you set the script aside, "It's for a class, for a credit I need." You trace the words absentmindedly. "I figured it would be different...fun. Nice break between all the other boring shit I'm doing." You stare down at the lines of your future male counterpart, "You'll never guess who-!"

"Are you and Coriolanus Snow in the same fucking class...again?" She sounds shocked as if the possibility of running into him had always been small despite the agitation around it every coming semester.

You flop back onto the couch, "Yes ugh he's obsessed with ruining my life."

"Surprised the building hasn't combusted from your two inflated egos." Clemensia jokes.

"His is bigger than mine."

She laughs even louder. "I'm sure it is darling. Well, I got to run, our car is here but you'll have to tell me how it all goes next weekend over these martinis if they're actually any good."

"It's a date." You smile as the line cuts off plunging you into silence. You shove the script away and stand up going to your fridge grabbing out the bottle of wine and opening it to pour yourself a large glass. You sit back down on the couch, curling your feet under yourself as you scroll through social media.

You find yourself on his page seeing his stupid pictures with his stupid face doing stupid things as you sip on your wine. It wasn't fair that someone so annoying was so good looking, it also wasn't fair that he was aging like fine wine. You chuckle into your own wine. You keep scrolling and scrolling through his pictures more of your wine disappearing before you neared when he was back in Academy with you. You pause on one of him with a group of the other boys. He looked so young, with his longer blonde curling hair, and a little grin on his lips before the cruel world could steal the light from his eyes. You're trying to zoom in when your phone slightly slips the red heart appearing on your screen.

"Oh no." You quickly unlike the photo. "Shit, shit, shit." You close the app throwing your phone across the couch. Maybe he wouldn't see it. You drain your wine, your nerves buzzing.

Your phone vibrates.

"Are you stalking me?"

It spreads out across your bright screen that sends adrenaline coursing through your thumping heart. It's a direct message from him.

You stare at it for so long considering all your options. You could lie, say it was your friend, a pet you didn't have, maybe you were babysitting or hacked! You could just tell him you slipped but then he would know you were looking through his old photos.

You could just...never respond.

"I thought I blocked you." Is all you type back. He didn't need an explanation, or your time and beating heart, screw him.

"Clearly not if you're looking through my photos from years ago." He types back too quick, "Reminiscing on the good ole' days?"

You tap your fingers on the side of your phone, "You did look so innocent back then, how deceiving." You're on your feet going to the fridge for more wine to avoid the three little bubbles going off while he typed back.

"What are you doing right now besides looking at pictures of me?"

"What?"

"Can you read?"

"Yes, but why do you care."

"Call it boredom..."

"Drinking."

"What are you drinking?"

"The blood of my enemies."

He doesn't respond for a while, so long you think this little game is finished. But then your phone goes off again bringing a blush to your cheeks as you read his message, "You wish."

You never type back, you turn your phone off and go to bed.

You avoid messaging him again the rest of the weekend heading to class with your head down. You blames the alcohol for even letting you give him the time of day. You take your seat in your normal spot grabbing out your notebook as a coffee slides across your desk. You follow the hand holding it until you're staring into his blue eyes. "Figured it's better than the blood of your enemies." He says finally taking his hand off of it you glance at his name scribed out on the cup by the barista then back to him, "And I owed you one from last time." You scowl at him, "It's not poisoned."

You narrow your eyes at him venom dripping from your ever present emotional fangs, "Just because we had a little DM session doesn't mean we're friends."

He rolls his eyes, "Can't you just accept one act of kindness and move on."

"I don't trust your kindness." You cross your arms, "It's manipulative."

"At least I can fake kindness, you don't have a nice bone in your body."

You smirk, "Only to people I don't like."

He glares at you, "Then block me." He storms off.

"I did already!" You lie watching his back as he makes his way to the other side of the room. You trace the letters of his name.

You get the lead...obviously. The play was an original romantic tragedy that Flickerman had constructed, you were surprised by his lighthearted nature he was able to produce something so solemn, something that encompassed what you had always longed for within romantic entertainment; yearning and passion; everything your life lacked. It didn't matter as long as you did well with what you were given, and you would. You had to.

Clemensia had kept true to her word by taking you out for celebratory drinks, and as your drinks clink with your friends you can picture the applause you will receive after the performance, the smug smile on your face as Coriolanus lurks in the shadow of anonymity. "You always were into the dramatics." Arachne Crane watches you over the rim of her drink.

"Well now I can put that trait to good use." You laugh taking a drink.

"How romantic is it?" Clem ask with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

You shrug, "Nothing crazy just some kissing scenes."

Arachne swirls her drink, "Do you know your scene partner? Is he at least cute?"

You racked your brain trying to imagine the rest of the class, for some reason the only 'cute' person that showed up in your imagination was Coriolanus, and that didn't seem accurate because he wasn't cute, he was annoying. "No idea Arch." You sigh, eyes wandering out into the dim restaurant, but your phone vibrates in your purse.

You glance at your friends who are engrossed in their side conversation before tugging your phone gently out of your purse. You chew on the side of your finger smirking down at your phone reading the name pinging on your screen.

Then its being ripped out of your hands, "Who has you smiling-Coriolanus Snow!" Arachne's eyes widened in shock, "'I thought you blocked me.' That isn't even clever and why don't you have him blocked?"

"Yes, how did he ever get through those defenses." Clem chuckles. You had never blocked him during your time at the Academy, it had never seemed important at the time, and after the whole direct message debacle you had blocked him...for about a day.

You snatch your phone back, "I must have forgot and he's in the same class as me, probably just wants to ask about a test or something."

"I did. How did you figure out I unblocked you?"

"Curiosity killed the cat, also I'm smart."

"So I'm the cat or are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, kitten."

Your head spins, he's teasing...right? "Then what are you in this story?"

"Whatever you want me to be."

"Are you flirting with me Coriolanus Snow?"

"Do you want me to flirt with you...kitten?"

You know your face is flushed, why did he text you when you had been drinking and can't think straight. Why was he even talking to you? He wasn't flirting with you, he hated you and you hated him and that had always been the status quo you both enjoyed. This had to simply be banter to get into your head, to throw you off, he's always been personable, smoozing his way to the top, sarcastically nice towards you; this seemed different. "Gross." You had sent the puking emoji for good measure.

You watch the three bubbles for quite some time, you actually begin to feel bad you were on your phone but it dragged you in for some reason, making it incapable to look away, like a horrible car wreck happening in the palm of your hand.

Until finally his messaged popped up, "Congratulations on getting the part, looking forward to working with you." He had sent a kissing emoji next to it making your heart stop.

"He's my scene partner." You stare up at your friends all joy dripping out of you. "He got the lead part too." Because who else in that room would have been capable if not him.

Arachne nearly spits her drink out while Clemensia burst out laughing. "Oh that is perfect."

"Who knows." Arachne states condescendingly, "Maybe it will bring you two...closer." Which only brings laughter from both of them as you put your head in your hands. This was bad, bad news and you needed to end it before wreckage could ensue.

Once the week starts you go into class earlier than everyone to search out Mr. Flickerman. This had to be some mistake, or game he must be playing at to continue to ruin your life. "Professor." You breath. "I need to talk to you about the play."

He doesn't look up at you as he filters through papers, "What about?"

"Coriolanus can't be my scene partner."

Mr. Flickerman glances up at you. "Why not? I think you two will be wonderful, you both had the best auditions for your respective roles."

You close your eyes trying to phrase it nicely. "We have a long history and-!"

"Romantically?"

You cringe, "Gods no."

"Then what's the issue?"

You sigh. "We don't like each other and I'm worried that will...reflect in our performances."

Mr. Flickerman pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you backing out then?"

"No." You stand up straighter, why would you ever give into him. "He should."

He laughed. "Good luck convincing him of that." But he saw the distressed look on your face and took a deep breath. "Look I suggest perhaps figuring your issues out, maybe this will be a bonding experience!" He nudged you with his shoulder, "Maybe it will heal old wounds."

You know you won't get anywhere, he's too caught up in making his play perfect for reviews and you didn't blame him. You turn around watching Coriolanus striding down the row of desk in all his wicked glory. "This is a new low for you Snow." You seethe at him. "I know you're only doing this to make me back out."

"Did you?" He smirked but for some reason its doesn't have the usual flair behind it.

You held you chin up. "No, and I won't be, but you will."

He leans down, closer to your face. "Is that a threat, kitten?" You feel the blush burning through your cheeks and he laughs at you. It's the first time he uses the pet name outside of your phone and you lose words. "Have fun trying though." He pushes past you towards his seat leaving you grid your teeth in frustration.

He was impossible, he was rude and narcissistic and-and you had to kiss him or else your pride would be in shambles. You wouldn't-couldn't back out or else you'd be viewed as a failure, a quitter.

You would have to kiss Coriolanus Snow.

endnotes: hope u all enjoyed this first chapter i had hopes the first chapter was longer but alas this is where we are at!! hoping you stick along for the ride!!

CHAPTER 2 coming 11/29

[raina-at]

Fic writer meme

Thank you so much for tagging me @discordantwords.

How many works do you have on ao3? 34. 6 SPN RPF (J2), 1 Supernatural (Wincest - if you have opinions about this, I don't want to hear them), and 27 for BBC Sherlock. I feel compelled to add though that my fandom history predates AO3 by about ten years, and that most of the fics I wrote during that time aren't on AO3. All of my TPM fics, all of my HP fics and most of my Supernatural fics are in fact not on Ao3. So I actually have no idea how many fics I've written since I started in 2001.

What’s your total word count? 585,261 words.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Don't Read the Last Page, Bakers with Benefits, Running Obliquely, Guess Who's Coming to Christmas Dinner and All I Want for Christmas (is Proof) (you guys really like my Christmas fics :-))

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

Yes, I love comments, and I love getting into dialogue with readers about their interpretation of the characters and canon! I try to answer everyone, if I ever forget to answer, I'm really sorry!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Um... None?

Of the ones on AO3 that is. I once wrote a Supernatural fic where Sam was a ghost and Dean had to exorcise him and it was heavily implied that Dean would commit suicide as soon as that was done, so that was pretty dark. And I wrote 2 Supernatural post Apocalypse fics that end well but the setting is very bleak.

But all my new stuff, especially all my Johnlock stuff, has happy endings.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Probably Bakers with Benefits. Sherlock gets everything he wants, including John, and they basically live happily ever after. But like I said, all my fics end happily.

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't yet, but that doesn't mean I won't, one of these days. I wrote a Bake Off Sherlock AU, but crossovers means having characters from both canons, and I re-cast both hosts and jurors, so it probably doesn't count.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, thankfully not. I've received a few odd comments here and there, but I never had the feeling that they were mailcious, just tone deaf.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, I do. Mostly of the vanilla kind, I'm not super kinky, and I'm not much for writing PWPs these days, but I like a good, spicy sex scene that shows you something about the characters and their dynamic. And sometimes it's just hawt. Which is also fine.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I heard a story once that someone stole one of my J2 fics and turned into a Het Degrassi fic, but I could never verify this claim because the fic got deleted. Other than that, not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, several, and it's a great honour.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, mostly with my wife @nuttersinc, we co-wrote an entire fic series and some other, smaller fics, and we once at a Boondock Saints RPG (I know. I know.) I haven't co-written with anyone in ages, and I'm not sure how good I would be at it these days, since I'm a pantser and don't have very much time, so I think I'd drive anyone with a regular writing schedule bananas. But I'm open to try.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

All time.... omg... Ok, so mirroring @discordantwords here, I adore Mulder and Scully still. They're the OG ship for me, they were the first pairing I read fanfic for. They'e such a good example of The Dynamic (repressed bisexual disguising as the "normal" one when they're just a more adapted sort of crazy and socially awkward genius crazy himbo the normal one has to save all the time). Scully especially owns my heart, I love her, and Gillian Anderson is, like. So. Hot.

But Sherlock and John... they're just... so GOOD. You can do anything with them. You can put them in any scenario, any time, any space, and they're just so magnetically drawn to each other, they complement each other so well and they're so bad and so good for each other... I love them. So much.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Oh, quite a few. The one where John is Sherlock's neighbour and they have this 'we're just friends' dynamic and everyone thinks they should just get married, including Rosie, who's a sassy teen in this fic. It's got a lot of potential but I don't think I'll ever finish it.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good at dialogue and character dynamics. I think I'm also good at building character arcs, and I think I'm good at setting scenes and making oblivious idiots fall in love.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not the greates plot writer in the world. It takes me much more effort than writing a fic where, say, Sherlock and John have breakfast and talk, to pick a random example. I tend to lose the thread of the plot because I start writing the vibe before I have everything figured out, so I tend to get 'stranded' at some point. That's why my WIP folder looks the way it does.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don't attempt it if I don't have a native speaker to look it over and tell me if it's correct. (if the other language isn't German, which is my native language).

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Roswell (the one from the early 2000s, not Roswell New Mexico. Yes, I'm a Fandom Old.)

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

None, honestly. If I wanted to write for a fandom or ship, I would.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

Oh my god I'm not sure I can answer that. I really like all of my fics, and I love most of them still. Some were such fun to write, some harder but the hardship made them more beloved.

I'll probably have to go for Bakers with Benefits, though, because I still like to re-visit that 'verse and I just LOVE these two.

That was fun! I'm tagging anyone who wants to do this, but especially @jrow @meetinginsamarra @lisbeth-kk and @thetimemoves

[jessicaslittlelovesickmess]

Crazy in Love

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Doyle!reader

Warnings: guns, Ian Doyle, faking death, cussing, psycho lesbians.

"She's alive?" I asked the tears falling faster than I could register "Hey" there she was, standing with a sheepish smile "You're fucking with me, fuck you all" I stormed past her. I had mourned her, my wife who I had buried, her mother not in attendance and all this time Hotch and JJ knew?

I grabbed my purse from under my desk angrily, I should've been happy to have my wife home if only I didn't have to go through everything I had done in my grief. Our apartment hadn't felt the same since she left now to find out she didn't die at all. I wanted to burn everything in my path, the only people I trusted lied to me and consoled me- they held me in the hospital through everything.

The drive home was short and silent. The apartment hadn't truly been cleaned; her things were laid where she left them last, just in case she came back for them.  This wasn't the first time Emily had lied about something either, this was just the worst one in the years we had been together.

Later that day Emily returned home "Baby?" her voice made my knees weak but I still stood waiting for her "You lied. You lied and you lied and you lied and I, the fucking idiot that I am believed you. Well, guess what? I'm not that person anymore. I will pull this trigger, and I will kill you.''

My hands shook as I held her gun. The grief made me manic. "No, you won't, baby; you love me." She held her hands out as she stepped closer. "I will, Emily. I've worked enough cases to know how to get away with it, too." Emily stood still. We both had a deep history—a story full of lies back when her hair was lighter and her smile a little brighter. Everything was a pile of lies.

Lauren Reynolds and Y/n Doyle.

"Pull the trigger" Emily warned as her feet moved slowly until her chest hit the barrel, the muzzle digging into her skin slightly "Do it Y/n, pull the trigger" she whispered. I closed my eyes as my hands shook again "I hate you" I muttered "I hate you and everything you put me through" I cried softly before I moved to hold the gun more steady.

"I love you, Y/n Y/m/n Prentiss." I felt her lips on my forehead before I opened my eyes again to see her, those dark coffee eyes I loved and missed so much. "I love you too, Emily," I pulled the trigger, making her gasp as I laughed, watching the panic in her eyes as she realised what I had done. I stepped back as she grabbed her chest, moving her fingers around, digging into her flesh almost. "Y/n/n," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"The safety is on, ever pull anything like that ever again and I will pull the fucking trigger no safety to protect you. understand?" I spoke leaning in to kiss her. "You're a psycho bitch" she laughed wrapping her arms around my neck "And yet you walked right to the gun" I chuckled before kissing her.

I met Emily when I had turned nineteen when she was Lauren going after my older brother Ian, trying to take him down and she had until he had come back claiming her from me. He wasn't after me, all these years later and it was still clear she meant more "I don't hate you" I whispered looking at her more tenderly.

"I know" she smiled.

[mstrickynici]

Welp, time to replay Veilguard.

Maybe I'll like it more the second time.

I did enjoy it, but also dislike so much of it. It was mostly fun while playing it, but kinda leaves a bad tastes afterward. If it wasn't a DA game I'd probably love it.

Many people already wrote paragraphs about it though, so this is just personal rambling.

Gotta admit, I hate the "Illuminati" - evil forces orchestrating everything in the dragon age universe- secret ending slide with a passion I didnt know I had.

Why? Why write that? Whose idiot idea was that? Way to go ruining all of the previous games and their villains retrospectively!

It's something I absolutely didn't like about veilguard either. Just how every bad guy, plot, and personal quest had to have the evanuris involved in some way. Like everything. There wasn't a single quest not tied to them being responsible or a driving force, it's maddening.

They changed how the blight works. The blight!

It was the scariest thing in the entire franchise. It's incurable, if it doesnt kill you, you become a darkspawn, exposure can be enough to get it, if it gets in a wound you WILL BE infected, any land it's touched and corrupted is uninhabitable and dead for centuries, if not millennia.

Now you get a "blighted" status if you step in it. Oopsie, stepped in some blight, tee hee :3

It's not a fucking status effect!!!

I actually though the first time that happened there'd be story consequences, that I got blighted. But no, just a pop up.

I dont even wanna start on the "southern thedas is basically gone" shit they did either. Other people wrote better about that than I ever could.

Just... everything feels so disrespectful to the previous games and player choices.

It did make me want to replay Origins, 2 and Inquisition again, just to wash away any bad vibes.