#a small storm

[blossom-hwa]

what if i want u to strangle me and bring me back to life to kiss me on the fucking mouth huh lina have u ever thought of that 😤😤 anyways i know nothing about little women but u know what im just gonna request choi san as choi do-il tyvm AND CONGRATS ON THE LATE 5 YEAR ANNIVERSARY - your one and only baker anon <3

hey so um you're dead to me :) so very dead to me :) how fucking dare you request this I'm going to go INSANE

5 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/TXT/Golden Child/Ateez/The Boyz member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

(this is one scene of a longer fic that I’m trying to write for little women specifically - not an idol x reader story, but choi do-il x oh in-joo. for the purposes of this version, of course, it’s idol x reader though!)

REQUESTS OPEN!!

~

Title: A Small Storm (Excerpt)

Pairing: San x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: n/a

~

"You're a small storm, Ms. Oh. No matter where you go, you change the flow of the air, although you don’t seem to notice it." - Little Women

. . . . .

Tropical Storm. That's what San had your name saved as in his phone before.

That’s what he saves it as again when he gets his new phone.

The old one had been damaged. Screen cracked, back cracked - if he wasn’t careful, bits of glass would sometimes try to pierce his skin. When he reached Greece, the first thing he’d done was pull out the SIM card, snap it in half, and toss it in a dump. The phone he kept. Sentimental purposes, or something.

He’d memorized your number. It was a given in case they were ever separated, in case his phone was out of commission and he needed a new one. When he gets his new iPhone, creamy white in contrast to the previous sleek black, he types the number into his contacts and presses save with a trembling thumb.

He hovers over the call button for a while, one minute turning to five, then seven, then ten. In the end, he turns off the phone and puts it away. 

Choi San is not a coward. He worked with the Russian mafia. He worked with Park Jae-sang and his insane wife. He’s laundered money, murdered people, gotten himself in and out of terrifying situations without so much as blinking an eye, and he’s made it out alive and in one piece. 

Still, as he closes the drawer with the phone inside, it’s hard not to hear the voice in the back of his head screaming coward. 

. . .

He takes the phone out the next day. There are no new notifications, at least not important ones, and San has to fight down a twinge of disappointment. But disappointment at what? It’s not like he told anyone he’d gotten a new phone. He didn’t even tell anyone when he’d get one - all he’d said to you was a vague eventually. It’s not like he told anyone he was keeping the same number, either. 

Still, though. It hurts. Even though he was the coward who didn’t press the call button in the first place. 

Then the phone starts ringing. 

He jumps. Looks around to see who saw him jump (no one, he lives alone and only his co-workers and parents have bothered him anything in the past six months) and looks back at the phone. 

Tropical Storm

For all the anxiety you give him, maybe he should go ahead and change your name to Hurricane instead. 

His hand automatically curls around the phone, thumb immediately accepting the call. “Y/N?” 

(He’s bizarrely proud of the way his voice only barely shakes.)

A sharp gasp, almost a scream. San’s heart leaps into his throat. “Y/N? Hello?” he repeats, nails of his free hand biting into his palm. 

Silence. 

“Y/N?”

He’s got one hand on the doorknob, has already begun twisting it open when he finally hears your voice. 

“Sorry.” It’s warped, garbled, and it sounds like you don’t have enough air. San knows that voice - it comes when unexpected things happen, when something shakes you to the core and you don’t know how to react. The door is open and he’s recalling the route to the airport, praying he can make the next flight to your country, when you speak again. “Sorry, I’m fine.”

Then you end the call. 

San looks at the phone in his hand, dumbfounded. You hung up. You hung up -

He calls you again. And again, and again, and again until the number in the call logs beside your name reaches seven. 

You decline every single one. 

San closes the door. Turns. Automatically packs a bag of the barest essentials, then searches up the next flight back. It leaves in three hours. The trip to the airport takes one. 

He shoves the phone back in his pocket. He can make it there in half an hour. 

. . .

San doesn’t break into your apartment. It’s one choice he considers, but his flight touches down at three in the afternoon and from what he’s dug up about you over the course of the plane ride, your job at the florist two streets down from the apartment your grand-aunt left you will let you off at around five. And though he’s ascertained that you aren’t in trouble, at least not yet, San thinks there are better ways to make sure of this than by entering your apartment when you aren’t home. 

The florist is called Green Garden. It’s a cheerful little place, even to his critical eye - lots of customers bustling about, one or two employees dressed in green aprons to help them out. But when San looks through the glass doors, only the cashier’s face catches his eye. 

You don’t look up when he comes in, not at first. Someone’s just finished calling your name in the back and you say something in response, not that San is paying any attention to it. Instead, as the door shuts behind him, all he can process is how the air changes in your presence, shifting and swaying and whirling about you in a small tempest, drawing him into the eye as he wavers on the edge -

You’re looking at him. You’re looking at him now, and that’s the only thing San needs to step fully into your hurricane, meeting you in the eye. 

“Hi,” he says, stepping up to the counter. Your mouth has dropped open and San lets himself smile at it, resisting the urge to tip up your chin and close it himself. 

You close your mouth abruptly. Open it again. San watches your throat bob, the endearing expression of shock still on your face as you try to find your words. He wonders what you’ll say to him. Will you yell? Shout? Will your voice remain steady and low? Will it shake? Will it rise to the shrill screech you adopted when no one told you about the plan?

As it turns out, you do none of these. 

Instead, you burst into tears. 

. . .

“You’re an asshole,” you finally hiccup when San has gotten you out of the flower shop and back to your apartment, your bundle of things held in his hand. “You’re an absolute piece of shit, San.”

“I know. Sorry.” He brushes a line of tears from your cheek, smiling to hide the fact that his eyes aren’t exactly dry, either. 

You fumble with the apartment keypad, pressing in a string of numbers that San will pretend he doesn’t already know. The door swings open and you herd him inside, still wiping tears from your face. 

He drops your things where you point by the door, then puts his own bag down next to them. When he looks up, you’re already looking at him, eyes trained on his. “What?”

Quick as a flash, you step forward and slap him across the chest. 

“Ow.” He looks down at his chest and then back up at you. “What was that -”

“How did you find me?” you snap, cutting him off. “How did you know where I work? And - oh my god - how did you know where my apartment was without me telling you? Were you stalking me?”

“I didn’t stalk you,” San replies, not bothering to dim the smile on his face. It would be too hard to hide the way his heart is buzzing with warmth at the sound of outrage in your voice, the voice he didn’t realize he missed as much as he did until now. “I found you.”

“That’s stalking!” You swat him again, and this time San doesn’t bother to hide his laugh, either. “Stop laughing! You didn’t text, you didn’t call -”

San takes the hand that just swatted his chest, still laughing. “I did call,” he says, squeezing your fingers lightly. “Seven times. You didn’t answer any of them, so I came.”

(”I tried my best to come up with a plan. But I couldn’t, so I just came.”)

You look down at your joined hands, then back up at him. Something shifts in your eyes, a questioning breeze flitting across your pupils before something solemn settles in them, a spot of calm in the storm. 

“Why?”

He swallows. Contemplates answers. He could say he thought you were in trouble, that he thought you needed help. That would be the safest answer. But there are holes in that response, and in those eyes of yours San can see you wouldn’t let him stop there. Wouldn’t let him take the cop-out. 

For the first time, San allows himself to wonder if you may have missed him as much as he missed you. 

“Why?” he repeats, words soft. “Because you’re a storm, Y/N.” He steps forward and you don’t pull away when he takes your other hand in his, bringing himself into the swirling winds of your tempest eyes. “A small storm. Wherever you go, you change the flow of the air.”

Your eyes flash with a memory, a memory of the words he spoke in the car so many months ago. 

“I’ve been caught in your storm,” he says quietly. “And I’ll follow it, wherever your winds blow.”

He presses his forehead to yours. Your eyes close for a moment, hands still gripping his. 

“I want to be with you,” he whispers. “Forever, until the day I die.” He swallows. “Will you allow it?”

Slowly, you squeeze San’s palms. Your fingers weave between his, settling against his skin. Altogether it probably only takes you a second to respond, but there has never been a more excruciating second in San’s entire life. 

“Yes,” you whisper, your breath a ghost against his skin. “Yes, San.” 

Your eyes glitter into his, the calm in the middle of a storm. Dazedly, San thinks his name has never sounded more like music from someone else’s lips. 

“I will.”

[bisonwares]

⛈️STORM INCOMING ⚠️ SEEK SHELTER ⛈️

Hurricane windbreaker pre-orders are open!

CLOSING JULY 25TH

Hurricane woven blankets are now available as well!

Link to my online shop here! <3

[sketchy-tour]

I have been working on this piece for AGES aajsdfjkndf AUGH

I just! I just want Wally frog catching with his bestie to exist into the world dang it!!!! The idea of him slowly catching frogs and running straight to Barnaby to show him is one of my favorite things to think about. Now I can beam such an idea into yalls mind with the power of art I spent too much time on

[boojangs]

Enid: Wednesday, go apologize to Thing or I won't help you.

Wednesday:

Enid:

Wednesday: Yes, querida.

Enid: Wednesday, I made a black cat costume for you.

Wednesday:

Enid:

Wednesday: Yes, querida.

Enid: Wednesday, I made us matching snoods!

Wednesday:

Enid:

Wednesday: Yes, querida.

Enid: Wednesday, please get rid of your creepy crime board.

Wednesday:

Enid:

Wednesday: Yes, querida.

Enid: Wednesday, please hold me in your-

Wednesday: Yes, querida.

[oddthesungod]

Someone to lean on 💙💚

[corffiser]

dragon age : inquisition - 7 / ∞

[topaz-mutiny]

God.

When Liam created a grieving widower he went all in on being a grieving widower.

Orym misses his husband Will so much. He cares so much for him and because of it he is crushingly lonely at night, even when being spooned by his best friends.

But time doesn't sit still for the living. So years go by for the widower. And he meets someone who brushes upon some feelings that he had held for only his husband for years.

"I really miss Dorian and sometimes I think that's okay and sometimes I think it isn't"

The feelings exist, it's undeniable, and sometimes he feels indulgent. But because those feelings are so wrapped up with Will, wouldn't it, in Orym's eyes, feel like a betrayal?

So he feels those feelings and then guilt trips himself over it.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 326

“So erm, how are we going to explain… this…?” Sam motioned around at the entirety of them with a clawed hand, an unimpressed expression on her maw. 

“I mean, we could just, not do so?” Danny sounded a tiny bit uncertain about that, own claws tapping against his legs from where he sat. “I mean, Tucker seems happy enough-” 

“Okay, I didn’t come here to be called out like this-” 

[drawsmaddy]

[ID: A digital illustration of Orym and Dorian Storm from Critical Role. Dorian is lifting Orym up and Orym is leaning down to kiss Dorian. Dorian's arms are wrapped around Orym's waist and Orym is touching Dorian's jaw. Behind them is a bright blue sky with white clouds and a sun behind their heads. End description.]

Hoping they get to be happy someday soon

[bacchuschucklefuck]

this has been a roller coaster of a design journey but finally I can present you: class swap artificer!adaine and rogue!fabian

[piedpiperart]

I see a lot of posts about Danny seeing Jason and immediately thinking he’s a baby ghost and wanting to adopt him but what if it’s the other way around?

What if Jason sees Danny and is hit with oh my god that’s a baby, who left a baby unattended out on the street?? He needs help, gotta protect him, mine, yeah he’s mine now, I got u lil guy don’t worry

Meanwhile 15 yr old Danny is like um hi?? And promptly gets kidnapped. But he just lets it happen because he’s actually feeling the safest he’s ever felt in his life with this guy, and Danny’s core immediately recognizes Jason as parental figure and just relaxes Danny 100%

Jasons feeling like Danny is a helpless baby while Danny feels safe, protect, calm, safe, relax, and he just lets Jason take him home. Neither are really sure why or what is going on with them but they’re not gonna stop it.

I think it’s because Danny’s own parents kinda suck and any other ghost that he’s interacted with he’s had to fight in some capacity or has been spooked by them. Jason’s the only one who 1) wanted to parent him and 2) has good vibes. Danny’s usually waiting for fights to happen and he’s very stressed. Jason calms him down so much he probably falls asleep before they even get to Jason’s apartment, full trust that Jason will take care of him.

Meanwhile Jason never really connects with his pit side, but really wants to find some way to have a truce. Cue Danny, and both Jason and the Pit turn to protectiveness and so the rage becomes more protection and Jason yk, might be kinda lonely and wanting something to take care of. He was probably thinking about getting a cat and not a kid but he’s not complaining

[blossom-hwa]

HELLO MY DEAREST LINA I MAY BE DEAD TO U BUT I KNOW I'LL BE BACK ALIVE JUST SO U CAN KISS ME ON THE FUCKING MOUTH 😁😁😁 (also right aft sending that request i was thinking if seonghwa would be a better candidate but i decided not to change since it's probably gonna hurt u more.. that's just me being nice tho :D) -baker anon

nah ok like I would probably have killed you more if you sent seonghwa but in all honesty san fits the bill for do-il more than seonghwa does it’s just the vibes and the way they look wkxkwkkdkekfkfkfjg but anyway I’m kissing you on the goddamn mouth and now PUNCHING YOU IN THE FACE GET OUT OF MY INBOX

[bisonwares]

⚠️TROPICAL STORM INCOMING⚠️

T-shirts, blankets, and more coming soon....

So excited to finally reveal this design, release date to be determined.

If you don't wanna miss this check out my newsletter!

[ed13d1]

gather

photo by erinn springer

[ominousvibez]

i know it's a canon bit that danny can fly at ~112 miles per hour but i don't think people realize HOW FAST that is?

like. 112 mph is a low EF 2 tornado. low hurricane speeds. almost as fast as a skydiver belly jumping. yall this boy goes FAST.

[the-colors-of-tokyo]

Storm Clouds Gather on the Tama River

Tamagawa, Tokyo