#and this is on top of my already dreadful living conditions

[gaza-giving-tree]

For most people, the suffering in Gaza might feel like a distant nightmare.

For us, it’s heartbreakingly close to home.

Over the past seven months of writing these stories, we’ve come to know the people behind them—not just as names or fundraisers, but as people. Real human beings, with hopes, dreams, and aspirations, who are truly suffering.

Real people, whose cries for help are being ignored by a cold and unfeeling world.

While we helplessly watch as the world's first livestreamed genocide unfolds in real time in our phone screens, we check our messages every morning with a mix of dread and hope, praying that the people who we've come to see as friends have survived another long, dark night.

This morning, we heard from Hossam Al-Qazzaz.

Image: We received another update from Hossam this morning, detailing the nightmarish conditions his family is living in while the area they are trapped in is being indiscriminately bombed.

@hane-qazaz

@naimq

Written by @rumiandroses

Hossam, his wife Hanan, and their four children—Bashar (9 years), Hani (8 years), Diana (4 years), and Habiba (9 months)—are currently trapped in an area now dangerously close to evacuation zones that are being actively bombed.

Images: Hossam shared the most recent evacuation warning given to the people in the area he and his family are living in. The Al-Qazzaz family is currently in block 111, and the bombings are only getting closer to them.

A few days ago, Hossam messaged us just after a missile strike, telling us he was going to bravely help transport wounded civilians who were calling out for help from the darkness. Today, he wrote again:

“We are fine my friend, but the bombing does not stop at all and it is everywhere. Many, many of our neighbors have been martyred. We have become afraid to leave our place except for extreme necessity.”

Can you imagine raising small children in that kind of fear? Trying to survive when every trip outside could mean death? The family has already survived long nights of bombing, where they didn’t think they’d see the morning. Now, they are holding out in a rapidly shrinking safe zone, surrounded on all sides by loss.

Images: (Top) Hossam Al-Qazzaz and Bashar, Hani, Diana, and Habiba. (Bottom) A recent photo of the children; your donations have made it possible for the family to buy what little food they can find, as famine spreads in Gaza and the prices of basic food items astronomically increase due to supply and demand.

Please, do NOT scroll past this family.

Pray for Hossam, Hanan, and their children.

Please share, and consider donating if you are able to help this family survive, and evacuate to safety when they are able.

You can donate to the Al-Qazzaz family's GoFundMe here:

The Al-Quzzaz family's campaign has been vetted by @gazavetters, and is (#287) on their list of verified fundraising campaigns.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Widow's Bite of Love🕷️ | Johnny Storm Imagine

Link to my Marvel masterlist | part 2 here

Characters & Pairings: JosephQuinn!JohnnyStorm x black widow!reader (romantic), the Fantastic Four (platonic).

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, flirtatious banter, mentions of canon violence, canon divergence | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.7k

Requested 📨 yes/no

Premise: Having returned from an intense mission with the Fantastic Four, Johnny Storm receives a welcome home from his girlfriend that's both a reminder to always remember making his presence known, and that behind her rough exterior there's a softness reserved only for him.

note: yeah, Joseph's Johnny Storm already has me in a chokehold and the movie isn't even out yet. I'm having to improvise of course since we don't know much but I'm having fun creating AUs in the meantime. Enjoy 💌

------------------------

Johnny knew better than to not announce himself when he entered the apartment past midnight after returning home from a week's long mission. It’d take him a second to shout, “Honey, I’m home!” but all the energy in him was exhausted. The mission took longer than planned. He was bruised and covered in dried blood from superficial cuts to his face and shoulders. Staining the crisp blue and white suit he wore. All he wanted was to get out of the suit, spend an hour in the shower, and bury himself under the covers to sleep until the end of time. 

However, that would have to wait. 

As Johnny practically dragged his feet across the floor in the direction of his bedroom, forgetting to turn on the main light in the living room, he was knocked off his feet with a knee to his stomach. “Ummph!!”

His attacker pushed him into a wall, his body ricocheting off and dodging the next kick which would’ve hit his side. Their arms wrapped around him, maneuvering him with brute force to put him on his back and Johnny groaned at the pain that shot up his spine. He may not have broken any bones but that didn’t mean he was in great condition. 

Using what little strength he had, Johnny put his whole body in pushing the figure off him. They let out a grunt and Johnny froze. It was hard to see, but there was something familiar about the moves his attacker was throwing at him and the familiar grunt that echoed in his ears. Then he caught a glimpse of their side profile thanks to the moonlight flickering in from the living room blinds.

‘Oh fuck…’ 

Johnny scrambled up and he heard her do the same. But whereas he raced to the light switch, she went to the coffee table and Johnny felt his blood drain. Thankfully he reached the switch first, flicking it on right as a dreading *click* filled the space. 

“Baby!” his hands waved frantically, matching the tremor in his tone. “It’s me, baby! It’s Johnny!” The gun trained on him hesitated, and Johnny let out a breath of relief when he saw the instant recognition in her face. The relief only lasted a second though, because then he winced as it was replaced by fury. 

“Jesus Christ, Johnny!! I could’ve killed you!!” Her scream echoed off the walls and matched her eyes full of wrath. “What the fuck did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that?!” 

“I know! I know--I’m sorry!” his hands stayed up, threatening to fall down but he didn’t want to use any sudden movements knowing she was pumped full of adrenaline. Judging by the sweats and tank top she wore plus the wildness of her hair, she had to have been asleep and heard him come in. Sending her into agent mode. “I--I was distracted and I forgot to shout. I didn’t know if you were--I don’t…I don’t…” the words struggled to fall. His mind, fogged with fatigue, was racing with thoughts making it difficult for Johnny to get a grasp on them. 

Plus, his heart was pumping from nearly being shot by his girlfriend. 

Y/n, taking in his appearance fully for the first time since their unorthodox reunion, frowned and clicked the safety on the gun, tossing it on the coffee table where it’s usually hidden. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you like that without confirming--.” Johnny gently cut her off.

“No, you have nothing to apologize for.” His arms fell to his side as he moved to ease his body on the armchair closest to him. Every muscle in him screamed, and while the fire that consumed his veins helped, it wasn’t enough. “It’s one in the morning. You were probably asleep and I knew better than to just walk in and expect you to know immediately that it was me. After all,” he grunted with a wince, watching as she moved to the kitchen to flick on the kettle before approaching him. “We were supposed to be back two days ago.”

“Yeah I figured something went wrong when Sue refused to answer my calls,” her body crouched down so she was level with his knees. “I was tempted to come after you guys.”

“Why didn’t you?” he leaned forward with a wince, smiling sheepishly at her look at disapproval. He obviously wasn’t great at hiding his pain from her. 

“Because you always have everything under control. You’d pull through,” she assessed his features, glowering at the cuts that marked his skin painted with dried blood. The splotches on his suit and slight tears in the fabric. “Looks like this time you had a little more cut out for ya.” 

Johnny chuckled, “you could say that.” The whistle of the kettle sounded, and Y/n got up to begin making Johnny a cup of herbal tea. Handing him the steaming mug before squatting once more. The heat of the cup was comforting, and thanks to his powers Johnny didn’t have to worry about burning his tongue when he took the first sip. “Thank you, darling.” 

Her hand came to his cheek, making him lean into her touch as she pressed a kiss to his temple that was free of blood. His bottom lip was bruised with a small abrasion, so she refrained from kissing his mouth and instead left one on the corner. Laughing when he tried to catch her lips, but she pulled away causing him to groan. 

“Wait here and drink your tea while I go run you a bath,” she squeezed his knee as she started to stand. 

“Wait, no, no, no, baby--I don’t need a bath.” His hand snatched hers before she could walk away. Y/n let him hold her in place, but her brow raised with a knowing look. Johnny gave her his best puppy dog eyes, “The shower is perfectly fine and you have training in the morning. You go back to bed--I’ll be fine.” 

Y/n scoffed lightly, “Bold of you to assume I’m not taking the day off, Johnny Storm. You just got back and I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least three days.” His face flushed red, causing a smirk to appear on her. “Plus, as if I need training. You and I both know it’s really for my sparring partners. Not me.” 

“Which is why--,” he pulled her forward, letting his chin rest on her stomach as he tilted his head up. Sighing when her hands cupped his cheeks. “They are counting on you. You’re the best person for the job, Widow.” 

“I’m off the clock,” Y/n smirked at the name, fingers going up to his hair to smooth it out. “That name only works on me when I’m on. Now stop trying to switch the subject.” She scolded, stepping away despite his refusal. “You’re going to drink this tea, get out of this suit and have a nice hot bath. Then you’re going to bed and sleep the rest of the day. Got it?” She left no room for argument, and Johnny wasn’t going to attempt, nodding with a tired yawn.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she leaned down to kiss his temple one last time. “Don’t move till I tell you to.” The response she got was a lazy two finger salute, and Y/n retreated to their bathroom. As the water filled the tub, she went to Johnny’s drawers to remove a t-shirt, sweatpants, and boxers, placing the clothes on the countertop before grabbing a packet of Epsom salt, bottle of bubble bath, lavender oil, a fluffy towel, a face towel and some candles from the cabinet. She also made sure to grab the first aid kit hidden beneath the sink. 

She poured the bubble bath liquid once the water reached about ⅓ of the tub. Then lit the candles and placed them on the stained-glass windowsill. Shutting the water off when it got just below the brim of the tub, Y/n poured a cup of the Epsom salt and let it sit for a minute before returning to the living room. 

“Alright, pretty boy, let’s get you cleaned up.” The smile on Johnny’s face was enough to light up a galaxy. If someone would’ve told him when he first gained powers rivaling the sun that his heart would be captured by a woman with deadly skills like the spider she’s named after, he’d say they had lost their mind. But the universe had a funny way of proving him wrong. 

Carrying the brute of his weight, Y/n’s left arm went over his shoulders while the other wrapped over the front of his waist. Encouraging him to lean on her as she helped him off the chair and to the bathroom, “Baby, we’ve been over this before, you’re not going to hurt me,” she grumbled when he tried to keep himself steady. 

Eventually they made it to the bathroom, perching Johnny on the edge of the tub where Y/n unzipped his suit and got it down to his torso before turning to allow him some privacy while he removed the rest and eased into the water. 

“All good?” she asked, opening the first aid kit to retrieve bandages and alcohol pads. 

“Yeah,” he moaned, welcoming the hot water as it hugged him. Instantly soothing the strained muscles that were already relaxing. Yeah the shower would’ve been a bad idea. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do for putting you down when you were already,” Y/n’s tone was apologetic, and Johnny gave her a look. Silently telling her to stop being sorry for the incident ten minutes prior. Y/n dismissed his look, bringing the wipes and bandages over as she took a seat on the stool beside the tub. “Also, how many times have you done this for me?” Now it was Johnny’s turn to smirk.

“A few, give or take.” More like a dozen. Y/n’s returned back from missions covered in blood and bruises so much that Johnny’s already got the bath set when her jet lands. 

“Exactly,” she says with a hum, bringing his face toward with one hand while the other gathers water on the face cloth. “Now let me take care of you.” 

For the next 40 minutes, Johnny soaked in the bath as Y/n wiped the blood off him and tended to his wounds. She washed his hair while he relayed the details of the mission. Telling her how he came to be all battered and bruised thanks to an explosion he didn’t anticipate, too close to the line of fire. With the lavender oil Y/n massaged his shoulders and back, paying careful attention to the bruising so as to not hurt him any further. 

When she was all done, Y/n pressed soft kisses all over his face. The contours of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the space between his brows. His temple, his jaw, the corner of his lips. By the end of it Johnny was begging for her mouth on his. He craved it. Going as far as to murmur, “Please, baby,” when she pecked his chin. Eventually Y/n caved in. Meeting his plush lips for a shot, but sweet, tender kiss. There was a bit of pain on Johnny’s end due to the cut, but he didn’t care. He needed this. 

The water remained warm due to his elevated body temperature, but once satisfied Johnny got out of the tub and dressed while Y/n put everything back in its place. The two then left the bathroom, Y/n flicking the lights off on their way out and led Johnny to the bed. “Oh,” he moaned just like the bath, relishing the feeling of the plush mattress gave him. It felt like laying on a cloud. “That’s so nice.”

Y/n laughed, urging him further into the bed so she could pull the comforter over his torso. Practically tucking him in before moving around to her side, joining him under the covers. Instantly Johnny pushes himself onto his side to curl up against Y/n, who laid on her back and welcomed him with opened arms. As he tucked his face in the area by her shoulder and neck, one hand went to her stomach to sneak his hand beneath her tank top and rest it on her waist. 

“You know tonight reminded me of the first time we met.” He spoke after a minute, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of her fingers move to card through his blonde hair. The action made him shudder, pressing himself further into her side.

Her chuckle made his body move slightly, a teasing tone in her reply, “You mean when I tried to kill you?” He could hear the smile in her voice, and it caused his own to appear.

Johnny remembered it like it was yesterday. He and the Fantastic Four were on a mission to locate a highly dangerous radioactive substance that could level an entire country. Recovering it was crucial God forbid it landed in the wrong hands. So they should’ve expected they weren’t the only ones after it. 

Something they found out the hard way. 

During the extraction, Johnny found himself face to face with the barrel of the gun in the hands of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Dressed in a black tactical suit with too many weapons for him to count and a stare enough to send him to the grave. Johnny felt a bunch of emotions at once. From fear at having a gun on him, to confusion at the red hourglass on her belt. 

The encounter ended with Johnny getting a taste of what he would come to know as the widow’s bite. An electroshock weapon via gauntlets on her arms. Strong enough to put Johnny on his ass allowing her to escape with the package. The next day during the Four’s debrief, they discovered her identity. 

Her name was Y/n L/n. A highly trained and enhanced assassin of the now disbanded and classified program, the Red Room. Called the Black Widow, Y/n was an expert marksman, master of weaponry, professional in hand-to-hand combat and possessed equipment the Fantastic Four had never seen. The files indicated she’d been a key part in the dismantling of several European governments and linked to a dozen political assassinations. The records alone were enough to make their skin crawl. And frankly the Four were confused as it was common knowledge that when the Red Room disbanded, they killed all the Black Widows under their command to prevent their secrets from getting out. 

Turns out, they missed one. Who happened to be their best asset ever produced. 

Why was she after a radioactive substance? They didn’t know. But whatever it was they needed to find out fast and locate her before whoever she was working for got it. 

Their answer took weeks to uncover. And when they did the events following resulted in Y/n turning on the man she initially stole the package for and aligning with the Fantastic Four to bring him down. Initially they were suspicious, naturally so. Y/n was a spy, breaded and forged to become the best Black Widow the Red Room had ever produced. She was formidable, highly intelligent. A weapon in her own right. 

But she was their best chance at beating the guy. She knew his weaknesses. Knew his plans. It was an unlikely alliance, but the odds were against them. 

That was years ago. Now after saving the world too many times to count and nearly losing their lives, the assassin turned agent laid in Johnny’s bed in their shared apartment of Baxter’s Building. Holding him in her arms with a softness that took his breath away. The complete opposite of the threatening aura she possessed in the field. 

“I love you, Y/n,” He breathed into the night as sleep overtook him. Succumbing to the exhaustion as his heart fluttered at the feeling of her lips attached one last time to his forehead. 

“And I love you, my darling Johnny Storm.” 

[liliesformingi]

"much love, laufey" - a mini series by @liliesformingi. view series masterlist, and outline here.

5. 'silver lining' - san x reader “what a miracle, i found a darling.”

author's note: this song is so dreamy, and the music video is even more beautiful (i'm such a sucker for stunning creative direction!) and i immediately thought of this storyline. hope you enjoy, atinys and lauvers! warnings: alcohol consumption

You’d been given strict conditions for the evening. 

Be sweet, but not too sweet. Smile, but not too much. Engage in conversation, but don’t dominate.

And, for God’s sake, don’t be so friendly to Choi San. 

Your parents were hosting their annual dinner party, essentially a fanciful excuse to brag about their achievements for four-and-a-half hours while guests were placated with expensive wine and French cuisine. And despite your father’s petty grudge against Mr Choi, their family’s name found its way to the top of the guest list year after year. Perhaps it was tactical; perhaps it was just so they were forced to be kind while your parents missiled question after passive aggressive question.

Whatever it was, the Choi family were always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Maybe they genuinely enjoyed the presence of your parents, although you found this unlikely. 

Your glass of red wine sat untouched by your side, as did your sense of boredom. It was past eleven, and the other four families had bid their goodbyes. San, his older sister and his parents sat in various spots in your formal living room, listening politely to whatever your mother or father had to say.

Occasionally, your parents would encourage you to chime in, to back them up on their grandiose brags. “Isn’t it impressive that your sister is studying French abroad and can already speak the language immaculately, Y/N?” “Oh, no, your brother has been excellent at polo since birth, hasn’t he, Y/N?”

It was embarrassing, honestly.

“And our eldest is in Paris at the moment,” your mother beamed, clasping her hands together.

“You’ve already said that, Mama,” you replied, swallowing a yawn and rolling your shoulders back.

She looked back at you with a fierce glint in her eye, and you mouthed an apology, standing up and pushing your chair in behind you.

“If I may, I’m going to go get some air, then head to bed.” you stated, slotting your fingers between the handle of your wine glass and offering a sweet smile to the gathering.

“Oh, darling, don’t you want to stay and chat a little longer?” your father pressed, reaching for your hand.

You let him take it, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. “I’m quite sure. Thank you, though. Goodnight, everyone.”

There was a soft chorus of goodnights, and you walked yourself out of the room and down the hallway, settling yourself on the stairs by the glass French doors.

The rain was pouring, pittering gently on the window panes. The sky was dark, moonlight peeking through the oak trees outside. You pulled the pins and clasp from your intricate updo, letting your hair fall past your neck. From this small distance, your family’s voices were muffled, and you let yourself take a moment of near silence, sipping from your glass. 

“Can I join you?”

You glanced over your shoulder, face melting into a smile when you saw San, tie undone, blazer unbuttoned, hair a little tousled from where he must’ve ran his hand through it.

“Only if you can get me out of here later,” you sighed, scooting yourself over to give him space. He gently lifted up the silky skirts of your dress and handed them to you, not wanting to sit on your dress. You felt your cheeks flush a little, and you handed him your glass to sip from.

His lips positioned themself right where your lipstick had left a stain, and your heartbeat quickened.

“I’m sorry about the way my parents go on,” you said, taking the glass back and drinking from it. “It’s dreadful, isn’t it?”

San chuckled. “It is a bit, but it’s not your fault. Besides, they’re never talking about you. Only your siblings.”

“That’s because I haven’t done anything miraculous,” you snorted, and San took in the sight of you. Your eyes sparkled, your cheeks were tinged with pink, your lips wine stained. 

He wanted to taste it off your lips, but restrained himself and settled for a discrete shuffle closer to your side.

“I’m sure you have,” he replied. “You seem like that kind of girl.”

“A miraculous one?”

“Sure.”

You shook your head in amusement and smiled. The rain started to slow down, little rivers tracing paths down the glass. The grass outside was damp, the trees swaying slowly in the breeze.

Suddenly, you stood up, almost knocking your wine glass over. You reached out a hand to San, and he took it, blinking in confusion.

“Let’s go outside. The rain will stop any minute, and I need air, like I said.”

“Won’t your dress and shoes get wet?”

“Not if you hold me,” you smiled, and his cheeks tinged peach pink.

And who was San to deny an embrace with the girl he’d been quietly admiring for years?

He slipped an arm around your waist and another under your thighs, lifting you up against his chest. You kicked your feet, giddy, letting out a giggle as you reached for the doorknob. San let the two of you out, closing the door and quickly holding you up with his knee as he reached to adjust your heel, which had started to slip off your foot. 

“What a gentleman,” you hummed, and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your hair. 

He sat down on the soaked iron bench, you still dry on his lap, letting you talk to him about the types of constellations you could usually see from this patch of garden.

He actually didn’t know what on earth you were talking about when you asked what his star sign was, and laughed alongside you when you said you didn’t actually know their significance either. His hands gently gripped your waist, occasionally moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

Then, your hands were cupping his cheeks, your eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

“You’re drunk,” he stated, less of a warning and more of a reminder. “And your parents are gonna hate you, and me.”

“Don’t care,” you giggled, gently nuzzling your nose against his. “Do you?”

“No,” he breathed, and you pressed your lips to his in a kiss so sweet, San felt like he was falling through the starry sky that blanketed the two of you.

He never wanted to come to these events, but God, he was glad he had.

Otherwise he may have never found his silver lining.

taglist: @zelinkcrossing @hyunjiiza @zenlackszen @kur0kki @peskybirdysya @nujeskz @jessxxxfwd @xuchiya @bee-gremlin @radblizzardpizzas-blog @matchahintonagar @diekleinesuesse@xh01bri @lunaryoongie @jaehyunluvbot @k1xiara @cloudy-lilly @sunnysidesins @lveegsoi@arcvillie @flqwrlvr @huachengsbestie01 @subby-men-forever @lezleeferguson-120 @mrsminseochoi@alyssajavenss @0sunshinecryptid0@silveritydreams @moonlitarcade| send an ask, dm or comment to be added :)

[undertheorangetree]

Snowed In

Summary- A snow storm leads to an opportunity.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Modern Aemond. Cat Vhagar is modern AU canon. Friends to lovers vibe. Thigh riding. Blowjob. Cunnilingus. P in V sex. Safe sex practices for once. Probably ooc Aemond cuz he's experiencing joy.

Author's Note- Yes all of my fics take place in the winter what about it?? That's my business that I am now involving you in link to full fic below :)

dividers by me

"They've just closed campus."

Her head pops up from behind her laptop, staring at Aemond in wide eyed disbelief. Already, there is a sympathetic wince on his face, the kind that is only ever present when he knows she is about to get upset, but even then she refuses to believe him.

"Closed? What do you mean closed?"

"It says they had to on account of the weather."

"No, they haven't. Let me see."

He spins his laptop screen to face her, forcing her to push her own down in order to see properly. His email has been left open on the page and her eyes rove over the message she had so desperately hoped he had made up. There before her in big bold letters are the words URGENT- CAMPUS CLOSED followed by a brief explanation blaming a snow storm and apologizing for any inconveniences the decision may have caused.

She lets out a groan, leaning back in the library's old chair, a pleading look on her face as if Aemond is the one responsible for making such decisions. He may as well be, with his family being such heavy contributors to Oldtown University's alumni fund, his last name plastered across the front of one of the many building on campus. She has half the mind to ask him to go speak to whichever family member is on the chair committee to convince them to reverse the decision and allow them to go back to finishing their final papers, though somehow she doubts that would be likely.

"The storm wasn't supposed to start until tomorrow. It can't already be that bad, can it?"

He reaches over toward the blinds they have long since closed, both of them having agreed that the glare from the sun was too distracting hours ago, only to be met with the sight of a now white campus, the snow blanketing near everything in sight. It's evident now why they would have shut down campus - it must have been snowing for hours- but she still feels something close to dread work its way up her spine.

She sucks in a heavy breath, turning to face Aemond once more. "Do you think they would have shut down the buses too?"

She knows it's a lost cause even as she asks it. The university is located away from the port, standing alone at the top of one of the mountains. It's a steep drive even in idle conditions and she knows that with the snow on the roads, the chances of her being able to commute back to her apartment are slim to none.

Just as she suspects, he simply looks at her, face contorted in a way that clearly implies that she already knows the answer. She bites out a curse, half slamming her laptop down before dropping her face into her hands.

The last thing she wants to do is spend the night on campus. She doubts that they were the only two caught unaware and trying to find a place to camp out for the night is going to be hell. Not for him, of course. Aemond's family connections came with seemingly endless perks and he had been set up with a beautiful flat on campus, less than a five minute walk from the library. He has lived there ever since she has known him and she had been there more times than she could count. Since first befriending him during orientation week in their first year, she had spent countless nights eating take out and studying for finals there. With their joint history major, they had taken nearly every class together, making last night studying near second nature at this point, so close to finishing their degrees.

There's a faint burn of envy in her gut at the thought of his flat- warm, isolated, cozy- but it's quickly snuffed out by her nervousness, fretting over where exactly she is meant to camp out tonight. She doubts she will actually sleep, not while she’s alone on campus, but she still wants to be at least somewhat comfortable. A padded chair would be ideal, though she knows they will be difficult to come by if she doesn’t act quickly.

Shoving her laptop back into her bag, she begins collecting the handful of papers she had sprawled out across the tabletop. "I guess I should go and try to find somewhere to sleep. It's going to be a blood bath trying to find something with decent cushioning."

He scoffs. "You're not going to be fighting any blood baths. Just spend the night at mine."

Read the rest here

[ilovelovewithallmyheart]

Your clan of jujutsu sorcerors weren’t in the top three, but they weren’t far behind. They were in the top four.

In prestigious jujutsu clans, the matter of carrying the bloodline was of great importance. Your older sister, powerful, beautiful and amazingly kind was constantly getting marriage proposals left and right.

It was the night of a great banquet celebrating your older sisters 30th birthday. She was already running 40 minutes late…

Suddenly the lights dimmed and the projector started lowering itself out of nowhere. A video flashed into life-

“Hey guys. You must be wondering where I am right now. As you are watching this, I will be on a one way trip to America.”

Your older sister sat in front of the camera, confessional youtube video style.

Loud gasps resounded across the hall. You felt your stomach churn, the dinner you had earlier threatening to make a reappearance. 

“Don’t bother looking for me.”

She crossed her arms. “I decided to leave for the better. After all, It was hard on me and my wife to live so far apart from eachother.”

An outrage spread all around you. “What is the meaning of this?” Your father roared.

You had no idea when your sister got married. But go her.

“To my younger sister…goodbye and good luck.”

The video dimmed, leaving the dinner hall in darkness and utter chaos.

Good luck? What could she mean by that-

It suddenly dawned on you. 

Without your older sister, you were now the first candidate for marriage.

**

“You are seriously strange if you think for one moment that I’ll agree to marry Zenin Naoya. He literally handed me a terms and conditions folder of everything I can and can’t do if we get married!” Arguing with your father felt like arguing with a brick wall. 

“He is in line to be the next head of-“ A knock on the door stopped your father from another one of his rants. You sighed in relief. “Don’t allow in any late comers. Meeting time ended two minutes ago.” Your father ordered.

For the past six, that’s right, six hours of the day, you and your father met with suitors who were asking you for your hand in marriage. 

The guard at the door looked increasingly nauseous. “Sir-“

The door suddenly blasted open, splinters of wood flying everywhere. Your father ducked and you felt existensial dread. You knew who was behind that door.

“My dear, sorry I’m late.” Casually stepping around the carnage as if it was nothing, Gojo Satoru sauntered in with all his 6’3 might. 

You felt a migraine coming in.

Ever since the first year of highschool, Gojo Satoru had been hopelessly besotted with you. He’s asked for your hand in marriage four different times. With four. Different. Rings.

“What is this Gojo.” You stared blankly at the ROCK sitting on a thick band of gold. You and Gojo just finished up a mission together, and, covered in a curse’s guts, he dropped to one knee and brought out a ring. “You declined the last three times so I figured you wanted a bigger diamond.”

That same man was now standing around your ruined meeting room with a sheepish smile on his face. “I-I actually didn’t get you a ring this time.” He had the audacity to look shy. “I hope you forgive me…”

“You don’t need to get me a diamond abomination to propose. I’ll reject you, ring or no ring.” You replied with a lethal smile. “Why are you here Satoru.” You wanted this man out. 

“Why else would I be here? I’m asking if I can be your husband.” His face wasn’t playful anymore. He was dead serious.

You were about to reject him for the fifth time, but then your eyes landed on Naoya’s thick terms and conditions booklet, then you remembered the multitude of old, decaying men that were basically salivating while looking at you, and sighed.

“Fine.”

“YES. There’ll be donkeys and-“

“We’re having a small wedding ceremony.”

He frowned. Obviously, he had planned out the entire wedding ceremony out meticulously, donkeys and all.

“We can work on it.” 

[big-ooof]

The One That Got Away

non-idol!jake x f!reader

note: started writing with fluff in mind but ended up to be drama drama drama. whoops.

You dreaded getting off the subway because that meant you were leaving an air conditioned car and had to walk 2 more blocks on this humid night in September. And in NYC of all places. You were out to meet a friend you haven’t seen in a few months.

“Y/N!!” your friend, Celeste, exclaims when you walk into the bar. You secretly cringe at how loud she is but is grateful because it was extremely dim.

You give her a hug and ask, “is it always humid this time of year!?”

“How was your flight!?” She asks instead of answering your question, you squint to try to take a good look at her face and notice her cheeks are flushed.

“Are you already drunk?” You asked raising an eyebrow.

“It might just be the loud music,” a voice said from behind you. He placed a pitcher of beer in the middle of the table and an empty cup in front of you. “I’m Jay.”

You turn to look at him and before you can tell the stranger off, “I’m Celeste’s boyfriend, I was hoping she’d be able to introduce us since she mentioned you’re a bit protective but I don’t think we’ll have that chance.”

“I’m Y/N,” you offer your hand for him to shake. You glance at Celeste, who was blissfully dancing to the music, before asking him to see some photos of them two.

You don’t realize you’re smiling as you scroll through their photos until you hand his phone back and he’s smiling back at you. You furrow your brows, “What!?”

Jay laughs, “nothing, you were smiling and I thought for a moment we were cool.”

You smirk, “you guys are cute, I will admit, but time will tell if we become cool.”

Celeste found strangers to dance with close by to where you guys were sitting, Jay was texting someone non-stop on his phone and you were starting to get suspicious. When he finally put his phone down he grabbed the pitcher of beer and topped off both your glasses before asking if you were down for another pitcher.

He noticed you glaring and asked, “no? I can also get you something else if you’re not feeling beer anymore?”

You continue to glare. Jay’s face was genuinely confused and he followed your eyes when they dropped to his phone.

“Oh— yeah, I should’ve known that was suspicious.” Jay said as he grabbed his phone with one hand and rubbed the back of his neck with the other. “You’re not the only friend visiting town, my friend is supposed to come out but he’s struggling with the subway. I told him to hail a taxi but at this point traffic would slow him down.”

Your face softens, “I see. Sorry.”

“No! Please don’t be. I’m like that too with my friends. I’m glad Celeste has you.”

You don’t admit it to him yet, but you see you two being cool. Jay left momentarily to get another pitcher of beer. Celeste pops in after every songs and you assure her that you’re fine. You glance at the bar and notice it’s gotten busier.

“Sorry that took a while,” he apologizes. “This is Jake, by the way.”

You turn to the guy who sat down next to you and feel like you’re having deja vu. You immediately get up and speed walk through the crowd to get outside. You wanted to feel the coolness of the night but the air was still and you felt the heat rise up your neck.

Jay stood up but Jake grabbed his shoulder to gesture him to stay, “I’ll go after her.”

It wasn’t deja vu, you actually saw him. The guy you met in Australia 4 years ago. Your Uncle’s brewery needed extra hands and you thought it would be a nice change from Portland, Oregon. You occasionally saw Jake when he’d come in with his friends, then he’d come in more frequently during the day with his laptop and books to “study”.

By the time he had the courage to ask you out, you were leaving back home to the States in 2 weeks. The two of you hung out everyday up until D-day.

“I live closer to the airport, did you want to just stay at my place tonight?” Jake asked cautiously. When you didn’t reply right away he followed up with, “I understand if that’s not your vibe.. we can stick to the plan of me picking you up in the morning to take you to the airport. I’m just happy I got to spend the last two weeks with you.”

You were sitting on the porch steps of your uncle’s vineyard. Jake was standing a few feet in front of you. Your mind temporarily drifted to summers you’d run through the vineyard as a child, then to when your uncles decided making wine wasn’t enough, he wanted to brew beer. Jake knew your mind drifted often, he noticed that about you before you even told him. He never rushed you and you liked that about him.

After a couple minutes you silently got up and went inside the house. The sound of your suitcase caught Jake’s attention and as soon as you opened the door he ran up to take it from you and carried it to his car.

“I’ll stay at your place if that’s okay. I know your selling point was that you’re closer to the airport but I think I’ll regret not being with you tonight.”

You got on the plane the next day, returned to your life in Oregon, took a couple months to forget about Jake, then realized you couldn’t so you didn’t.

Seeing him a couple minutes ago brought back all those feelings from years ago. You didn’t forget him but you managed to move on. Your mind’s going a hundred different directions you didn’t even notice you were crossing the street at a red light until you saw headlights coming at you fast in your peripherals. The car horn made you brace your head with your hands.

“Y/N!!” Jake yells. You stand in the middle of the crosswalk overstimulated and with your eyes shut. You feel hands gently grab your arms and guide you to the sidewalk.

“I got you,” Jake says as he brings you to his chest and wraps his arms around you.

“I need to go back to the bar but I don’t want to,” you manage to say.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“But I don’t know if I want to be here.”

“It’s okay not to know,” he assures you. You finally pull away from him and take a good look at him. He looks the same, but older. He used to have shaggy hair but you can’t tell what it looks like under his hat. You stare at him as if you’ll forget what he looks like if you look away.

“Y/N… it looks like you want to kiss me,” he teases tilting his head.

You break your stare and hit his shoulder enough to free yourself from his hold. “Jay just bought a pitcher of beer, I don’t want it to go to waste so I better get going.”

“I’ll go with you, he got me a glass too so I better help too,” he says playfully.

The two of walk one block in silence before he breaks it, “was that a panic attack back there?”

You bite your lip anxiously when you hear his question.

“I don’t want to sound like a dick.. but I have a feeling it was because of me.” He reluctantly says.

“It was sobering,” you finally say. “..seeing you. I wanted to convince myself that you were a guy who just looked like him but it was you. Then the humidity got to me and I just started to spiral. And yeah… kinda wish I was drunk right now and could deal with this in the morning.”

Jake simply nodded as you talked.

“Can we not tell Jay or Celeste about this?” You ask before you go back into the bar.

“Celeste doesn’t know about me?” Jake asks, you could hear the sliver of hurt in his voice.

“I met her after you, so..”

“I see. Well, Jay’s going to be confused to why you ran off, do you have a story ready?”

“No..” you admit. “Wait, does Jay know?”

Jake takes off his hat to run his fingers through his hair before putting his hat back on. “He knows about a girl from America that I met while I was in college in Australia. He knows her as the girl that got away.”

Your mouth opens only for nothing to come out. Jake looks away from you, tucking his hands into his pockets. “He doesn’t know it’s you though.. look, I don’t want it to be this way but if you want to act like we never met before, I can try to pretend.”

“I don’t know.” is all you can manage to say.

Jake lets out an exhausted laugh, “well, I guess you can bail and catch a flight.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” you protest. “Have you been holding that against me?”

“No, but I had to fill in the pieces myself because you only gave me your Australian phone number and I have no way of contacting you. Which I imagine is on purpose because you’re the type of person who makes calculated decisions. Which is why I was even more confused when you slept with me the last night you were there, only for you to disappear from my life the next day.”

Jake stops talking when he sees tears start to form in your eyes. He isn’t sure if he should comfort you but he wants to. The both of you stand there for a moment and he watches as you look up to the sky to prevent tears from falling. You manage to compose yourself enough by the time Jay and Celeste walk out of the bar.

“Y/N, what happened!?” Celeste asks concerned, she looks at Jake and furrows her brows, “What did you do!?”

Jake raises his hands pleading innocence.

“I spent some time in Australia about 4 years ago to help out my Uncle at his brewery,” you blurted out, mainly to Jay. “I was only there for about 2-3 months, then I went back home to Portland.”

“Okay?” Jay says in confusion. He tilts his head, makes eye contact with Jake, and then realizes. “Ohhhh..”

“What’s going on!?” Celeste asks again, looking between the 3 of you guys.

“I’m sorry, Celeste, can I call you tomorrow and we can plan another time to catch up,” you ask as you hug her good bye. She nods despite having a concerned look on her face.

You turn to Jay and give him a hug too, “I know I just met you, Jay, but you seem like someone I’d be cool with.”

You look at Jake and he asks, “can I get you a cab at least?”

“I’m actually taking the subway,” you say pointing in the direction you need to walk in.

Jake’s eyes widen, “We don’t have to take the same train, but could you tell me how to get to Hell’s Kitchen?”

You hesitate before saying, “I’m heading there too, I’ll show you.”

You start to walk and Jake looks at Jay before catching up with you.

note: This story had a mind of it’s own and I don’t know if I’m satisfied with how it ended lol. If you want more please let me know and I’ll happily continue!

[ndostairlyrium]

Hey! How about "I'm not going anywhere" for Kerry/Fenris from the caring prompts? 💗

Aaaa ;; thank you dear!! I miss those two so much! Also I should write about them more o: I've received some asks before yours but this combo had my inspiration sprint over the moon <3

Caring prompts

Freedom

M!Hawke x Fenris | Rating: T | CW: dealing with loss, addiction | 1401 words

"…and then he went "Well, at least you kept the lid on". I was screa-ming!"

Isabela and Hawke's laughter filled the silent emptiness of Hightown's night life. That couple of guards welcoming them with a "Keep it down!" at Market Square were the only presence around. Everybody else was either gone somewhere fresher, or collapsed in bed, trying to sleep off the the heat.

A moderate gust of wind tickled Hawke's naked arms, but then it shied away, letting the conversation continue as torrid as the temperature.

"The poor thing! He always gets dragged in shit," Isabela said, using Hawke's shoulder as a crutch as they reached his mansion. "Hopefully Anders manages to reattach his pinky."

"I hope he puts it backwards. Varric doesn't need a pinky, he needs to reimburse me and Avi for putting up with his bullshit employees."

Isabela chuckled. "Honey, if I had a sovereign-" she stopped, to look at him in the eye. Sweat was forming pathways of kajal on her cheeks and her eyes were glazed by weariness because of one too many beers, but she seemed lucid enough to keep going with the conversation. "You're right! We should extort money from him. We're his friends, we need compensation every time one of his fingers goes missing!"

"That's what I'm saying!" Hawke replied, bearing similar conditions. His mustache and beard were all tangled and frizzy, plus there was a sparkle of tipsiness in his expression. He had tied his hair earlier, but wet strands would still frame his face like ink drawings. Yet, he walked straight, and his posture wasn't hinting that he was completely wasted.

The two stood discussing larceny and mocking Varric in front of Hawke's front door for a while, ignoring way too many neighbors yelling them to shush. It was a sweet summer night in a seaside city, after all, everyone with at least one friend willing to fight the heat for mediocre beer is supposed to stay out a little bit late.

"Wanna go to the Rose for a pit stop?" Isabela suggested, after a while.

Hawke shook his head. "I think I'm done for tonight. I have Anders and Avi to feed tomorrow."

"They don't deserve you. I, your best - and cutest - friend, however, am in dire need of some spoiling."

Hawke leaned towards her, exchanging a couple of kisses on the cheeks. "Come by for dinner tomorrow then, and bring the devious critter too. Dog misses her."

Isabela sighed, then hugged him. "If Fenris ditches you, we'll become your husbands."

"I already have a beard, Izzy."

They waved goodbye, then he entered his mansion at last.

Silence was a looming presence. A wound that couldn't even be cauterized by the crackling of the fireplace. Not a sound would come inside, although every window was left open.

Hawke lingered on the daunting atrium, keys in hand and a smile that melted gradually off his face. The walls grew bigger, the lights went dimmer, his vision trembled for a moment.

That house at night was his personal Harrowing.

After that moment of pure dread, he decided upon refreshing himself.

His steps boomed as he entered the living room and his feelings resonated in his head as loud as thunders. Everything was done, every room was spotless clean, and even Dog's bowls were filled to the brim. Orana and Bodhan had done all the chores while he was away. He wished they hadn't.

He climbed the stairs to the top floor, to reach his room, a recurring thought whispering in his brain that he was the only sound left in the household.

Dog lifted his head when Hawke entered, smiling in his own way. He was being hugged by Fenris, who was sleeping diagonally in Hawke's bed - their bed? That would require partnership.

Hawke noticed that his feet were hanging outside the mattress, as if Fenris didn't want the sheets to get dirty. Probably, he accidentally fell asleep while cuddling Dog. It wasn't the first time, but Hawke would always pretend he wasn't aware of it.

"It's fine, pal, he needs you," Hawke whispered, observing his beloved companion whining softly as an apology. He stayed for a moment, to absorb that image of pure calm and mundanity he was craving so bad.

When he left, the silence didn't seem so overwhelming anymore.

He didn't feel like preparing a bath, even if he could gather enough water for one earlier. Baths bring thoughts, those kind of thoughts that would drown him. Besides, he needed to save some water for cooking. Or baking, maybe. Aveline would love some fereldan cuisine.

Hair still wet from the quickest refresh, Hawke reached the kitchen. He filled a bowl with water and vinegar, then dumped in it a few slices of stale bread.

Back in Ferelden, Carver would eat up to four servings of Gwaren's bread salad. Actually, he would eat four servings of everything. Hopefully he wasn't stealing other Wardens' food wherever he was at that moment.

Hawke froze over the tomato he was dicing, his guts clenched.

His heart was emptier than his house.

He gave everything to his family and when he lost them there was nothing left for him: a mansion of no use in a city he loathed, far from green and far from decency; a fortune he would dilapidate in addiction; friends that would lie to him or take advantage of his empathy because they're too afraid to ask for help.

Also Dog wasn't never his to begin with; the runt would have left with Carver if they brought him along in the expedition.

"Hawke?"

He took a deep breath, then smiled at Fenris, who was approaching him. "My my, look who's here! What a lovely surprise!"

Fenris leaned towards him, his glowing eyes in penumbra looked like crystal balls. "I was just passing by," he lied as he kept studying the other's face. "What's wrong?"

Hawke shrugged. "Felt like cooking. I have to feed half Kirkwall, apparently."

Fenris didn't buy it in the slightest. He removed the knife from Hawke's hands and placed it gently on the cutting board. After that, he reached his hands again, to wrap them in his. "They can go without personal chef for a minute." Fenris said, lowering his voice.

"That would require them to grow overnight a set of survival skills they don't have," Hawke joked. "Also-"

"Also you like to cook for others, yeah. I call bullshit."

"You can call it Frank, because it's the truth."

Fenris remained silent for a moment, glaring at his interlocutor. That piercing stare pushed Hawke's feelings out of his stomach.

"I'm not having the best night, Fen," Hawke admitted, fighting against himself for keeping it real.

Fenris squeezed his hands, moving closer.

"I'm fucking tired of feeling useless."

"Being your own person after years of giving your whole self out to others can be terrifying."

Hawke looked at Fenris in confusion. "That's who I am, my family needs me."

"They don't need you anymore. You're free."

"I never wanted this."

"I know, amatus."

Hawke grimaced in pain, lowering his head. "I just want them back."

Fenris tightened his grip. "I know it is of no consolation, but you have me now. We can care for each other."

"Are you for real? You've dumped me twice."

"But I've always come back, haven't I?"

Hawke raised a glance at him. "You have that tendency, yes." he replied, sketching a smile.

Fenris placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "That's not a tendency," he said, holding their hands between them. "I'm not going anywhere, not without you," he paused. "And Dog. Carver can fuck off and get another one."

Hawke liberated a chuckle, then wrapped his beloved in the tightest hug. Fenris reciprocated, printing a kiss on his temple.

"I'll wash my hands," Fenris said, after a while. They detached just enough to look at each other in the eye.

"Oh? You want to help?" Hawke asked, reprising the bread salad.

Fenris shrugged. "I've been observing you cook for a while, I think I got the basics."

Hawke placed three onions in front of him. "Can you cut these a la julienne?"

"I can cut them, I don't know about Julienne." Fenris answered, then he offered a broad smile at Hawke. "By the way, what happened to Varric's pinky?"

Hawke giggled. "Oh, sugar, you're not ready for this one."

[part-time-zombie]

Too Hot To Handle

pairings: platonic DLAMPR

summary: Sometimes the warm weather can get to be too much for Thomas and the sides, but it seems that a certain snake couldn't be happier about the whole situation.

tags/warnings: some cursing but that's about it

word count: 1136

This wasn’t the first time a heatwave descended upon Thomas’ apartment, courtesy of the ever-so dreadful Floridian climate, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The heat and humidity were an unpleasant constant from which there seemed very little escape, but fortunately there was sanctuary to be found inside thanks to the modern miracle of air conditioning.

A miracle that was currently malfunctioning.

The call had already been made for repairs, but it would not be able to be fixed until the end of the week. On the one hand, it was at least a little reassuring to know that the high temperatures would be resolved in only a few days, but on the other hand…

“It’s as if the sun itself had conspired against me! I’m melting in this heat, I swear!”

Logan rolled his eyes at Roman’s repeated whining. “Firstly, the sun is not a malicious entity with the intention or ability to deliberately intervene with your wishes, secondly-“

“You don’t have to take everything I say literally, Logan!”

“And you don’t have to complain about the thermostat all day, either. We’re all inconvenienced, but you don’t hear anyone else ranting about it for hours on end, now do you?”

“That’s mostly because we’re too damn miserable to,” Virgil grumbled from his current position on the living room floor. He had abandoned his hoodie hours ago in a last-ditch effort to cool off as he sprawled out like a starfish on the floor, though it didn’t really do him any good.

The other sides had gone to similar extremes by now, with Patton and Roman switching out their usual outfits for shorts with a tank top and a crop top respectively, and Logan having unbuttoned his polo and removed his tie. The hot weather had even gotten to Remus, who refused to wear anything other than shorts to stave off the heat as he and the others lounged about in the living room.

It seemed that fewer layers wouldn’t be enough, though. Roman was currently using a comically large paper fan to cool himself on the couch while Patton sat next to him with an ice pack. Virgil laid in the direct airflow of a large electric fan placed in the middle of the room, taking up as much of the refreshing breeze as possible no matter how badly Roman complained. Remus had gone so far as to set up a small plastic kiddie pool next to Virgil and filled it with ice, occasionally munching on some as he smugly refused to share or leave it.

Logan seemed most unaffected by the heat, only occasionally drinking ice water to cool off when he felt the need to, but it was still clear that he was just as miserable as the others. He had been complaining about it to a degree, though it was about the lack of energy and motivation brought on by the heat more than anything. The sides were all too concerned with cooling off to get anything done, though they still found the time to argue. In truth, there was little else they felt like doing.

That is, except for one side in particular.

Janus came back inside with a flourish and a smile, having just sunbathed on the back porch for the last couple of hours while the others wasted away indoors.

“Isn’t it just the perfect weather outside,” he hummed, sounding far too cheerful for anyone else’s liking. “If only it could be like this all year round, don’t you all agree?”

“For once in my life, I sincerely hope you’re lying,” Roman groaned. “It’s so hot in here I’m half convinced I saw two hobbits throw a ring in the living room!”

Logan let himself smile a little at that. “A Lord of the Rings joke, well done.”

“How are you handling the heat so well, Janus? I thought you’d be just as upset about it as Roman,” Patton asked, offering him his ice pack only for Janus to wave it away.

“On the contrary I find this warm weather rather enjoyable, though it’s clearly not for everyone.”

“You can say that again,” Virgil muttered, not looking up at him. “It’s hot as hell in here and it sucks big time, and you’re crazy for saying otherwise.”

“And being crazy is my thing, not yours!” Remus added, shifting in his ice bath to better face Janus. “I know we’re worsties and all, but if anyone’s going to say bat-shit stuff like that, it’s gonna be me!”

“Oh come on, you know very well why I’m enjoying myself right now.”

“Getting a kick out of seeing us miserable?” Roman asked with a growl.

Janus shrugged before strolling to the kitchen, humming idly to himself as he quickly returned to the living room with a water bottle in hand.

“In part, yes, but that’s not the main reason.”

Logan perked up a bit from his spot next to Patton. “It’s because you’re coldblooded, right? The higher temperatures must help with thermoregulation and metabolism for you. It would certainly explain why you appear so active and energized compared to the rest of us.”

“Well done, Logan! You guessed the right answer, good for you,” Janus teased, his voice oozing in condescension as he patronizingly applauded him.

“Don’t start any of that shit right now,” Virgil muttered, sweeping a leg out in an attempt to kick at Janus only for him to swiftly sidestep out of the way. “Today is not the day for this.”

“You’re right, Virgil. If anything, it’s a day for indulging in this wondrous weather instead of lying around and whining. In fact, what do you say I go crack open a window or two and get some fresh air in here, hm?”

Janus slyly walked over to one of the larger windows and reached to open it only to be stopped by a chorus of irritated shouting from the others.

“No!”

“Fuck off!”

“Absolutely not!”

“Please don’t!”

“I swear I’ll kill you!”

Janus obediently stepped away from the window with a grin, chuckling to himself at the others extreme reactions.

“Alright, alright, if you all insist. You can’t blame me for having a little fun here, though.”

“Well, if you’re feeling so lively right now, perhaps you could be of some help and start working on some of the chores for us,” Logan said.

Janus tapped a finger to his mouth in a mocking display of faux consideration before replying.

“No, that sounds like too much work. I think I’ll just go back outside and soak up a little more sun, if it’s all the same to you.” Janus gave the others another smile and a lazy wave before heading back to his basking spot on the back porch, enjoying the warm weather for all its worth.

taglist:

@britt-ish123 @rougeside4 @oatmealdaydreams @holdnarrytight @lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie

@nico-the-overlord @can-i-take-a-stab @keitaisghost @new-zee-land @yuckypuppie

[yogurtisgoodsposts]

Okay, yesterday I got possessed by something and being watched all predator movies again(plus AVP and AVP 2) and decided to make a new oc! I can't draw for sh!t so i am sorry and my English might be bad so i apologize🥲

_______________________

His name is To'ak but is called Wapiti.

Age: Yautjas reach physical maturity around 50-60 years, which is comparable to a human teenager. Mine is a bit older and is already a blooded hunter/predator and a elite, so To'aks age would probably be close to 145.

Height and weight: as normal Yautjas he is about 7 to 11 feet tall, if i would be specific he would be about 8'5 feet. His weight i have not really decided yet but i think To'ak would be between 258 to 376 lbs.

Rank in the Yautja hierarchy: He is a experienced Elit predator.

Personality: He is very introverted and spends most time alone. But he can be curious if you intrest him enough, he is a fast learner and takes the Yautja code pretty serious and follow its rules. He is protective of he gets to know you and very respectful but might be a bit cold or cautious.

Likes: Quiet places, fruit, animals, music, hunting, painting, reading.

Dislike: Loud noises, the cold, Xenomorphs, Bad bloods, rule breakers.

Appearance

Mask: He used to have the regular looking Yautja mask as many others have, he did have some modifications on it and changed it to be more special to him, but one day when he and a pack of Yautjas are on earth(they where there to watch young bloods get a hunt) he saw a elk drinking by the water and was fascinated by the animal, later he took a scan the elk(basically showing what it is and its biology, then he killed it and took its skull and it so it had similar technology as a normal bi mask. It also has some carvings in it and some paintings in it.

Face and hair: His face is similar to the other Yautjas we have seen. His eyes are a deep red color compared to the normal yellow eyes that Yautjas usually have. His dreads are very long and slim, he usually puts in small rings of gold or silver as jewelry and sometimes feathers and bones.

Body: To'ak has Melanism, Melanism is a biological condition characterized by an increase in the dark pigment melanin, resulting in darker coloration of skin, fur, feathers, or other bodily parts and this makes him have black skin. He usually uses it to his advantage, like hiding in shadows if he feels like not using the invisible cloke.

Clothes: To'ak actually lives with a clan thats on a moon near Yautja prime but on that moon its a lot colder and he need warm clothes.

Coat: He ofen wears a thick, dark blue winter coat with a high, fluffy white fur collar, a hood and fur-trimmed sleeves.

Sash/Belt: He wears a dark, crisscrossing sash around his waist, providing both for functional and decorative tactic. It includes a pouch were he has weapons(also dried meat and fruit).

Lower Body:

Pants: his legs are covered in baggy, dark brown pants that gets tucked into the boots, with white fur lining the hems for extra warmth. They have a stitched seam running vertically, making it looks a bit rugged.

Footwear:

Boots: Tall, sturdy blue boots with light stitching detail and additional brown layers, likely leather, for durability. They are trimmed with fur at the top to retain heat.

_______________________

This is just a bit of his lore and just some knowledge about him. I will talk more about him and give more backstory to you guys later when i feel like it. Please tell me what you think about him and i would really like if you could tell me about your own oc's(doesn't have to be in the predator franchise) bc i am a bit bored and i want to read something interesting!

Edit: I changed his hunter name to be Wapiti after he got the elk skull bc i think their skulls goes a bit harder then a vulture skull and i made him a bit older😶😶😶

[danothan]

Need u to know I appreciate the dread insanity immensely bc I also just watched it and I’m going CRAZY!! May I also present the speed siblings and rook siblings as sort of foils/parallels to each other….something abt two pairs of estranged siblings with only one getting to properly reconnect idk idk

augh i should’ve been smoshposting sooner, who knew smosh fans go crazy over the characters (and not just the cast) too

i’m picking up what you’re putting down, there’s smth there w the speed siblings always been in sync, even when they went no contact, vs the knight brothers never being on the same page, even as rook stopped at nothing to get back to bishop. the same mission that brought the speed siblings together is the same mission that drove the knight brothers even further apart

unfortunately there’s not much more we can gauge in that comparison given how little we know abt the knights’ backstory (we don’t even know rook’s real name!), but it makes for a fun open space to extrapolate lore. esp since the main theme for s&tf is obviously Family, i feel like it’s just begging for ideas (sidenote: rly wish oliver also got to have smth w family to round off the cast T__T not saying he needs sibling drama too, but maybe some kind of tragic backstory to warrant a found family in the team, just spitballing here while we’re lore extrapolating)

i’ll have to rewatch to freshen my memory, but off the top of my head, we’ve already got some crumbs to work with:

- bishop accused rook of abandoning him and mom, no word abt a dad. we don’t have a reference for age, but rook is an adult and bishop is the younger brother, which could imply that their mom was dependent on rook (maybe for medical/financial reasons) and bishop had to take up the role when he “left” them

- it’s possible that bishop was a minor when victor first held him hostage, making him impressionable at a young age under victor’s conditioning. it would be easy to convince a teenager, whose mother is sick and/or struggling, that his brother got tired of playing caretaker and abandoned them to live out his life as a racecar driver (esp if that’s all bishop saw on the news). i wonder how victor infiltrated his way into the family, like what does bishop think his job is? probably tried to make it seem like a quid pro quo/mutually beneficial thing and not that he was fully taking advantage of bishop’s situation

- rook, despite these stakes, believes in the honor of the race. he must have been a racer to begin with, and Then got sucked up into victor’s plans, targeted by the fact that he’s too good at what he does. makes me think that rook voluntarily took up racing to try to make money for his family and, against his will, left bishop behind on an empty promise of coming back

- wait maybe my memory is hazy, but didn’t victor give rook an opportunity to say smth to bishop over the phone and rook said NOTHING?? jfc no wonder bishop thought he abandoned him! idr why rook didn’t speak up but i feel like it was bc he didn’t want to validate it as their last words. and then he got put into a coma, idiot 🤦🏻

i’m sure there’s stuff i’m missing or misremembered, but there’s still a lot here to jump off of! tying it back to the speed siblings, there’s feelings and miscommunication of abandonment, obligation towards a parent, and the dilemma between loyalty to a cause and the ppl you love. charlize and rook could’ve had a lot to talk abt

[miirohs]

eyes don’t lie [b.c]

pairing: Bad Boy!Bang Chan x GN!Reader wc: 1.1K cw: implications of getting high and chan being wounded- an: shoutout to isabel larosa and the bad boy x good girl trope 🫡 maybe i just have underlying issues to like the trope this much LMAO

The clock echoed in the hall as you padded along the wooden floor, frigid and dark as you wandered through the dimly lit halls of your apartment.

The knocking was soft, barely audible above the ticking of the clock, yet you still wondered who it could have been.

As you reached the door, the knocking seemed to only get louder, until it stopped completely as you stood at the threshold of your own home. There was a sound of shuffling, as the locks on your door clinked.

You undid them, cracking open the door to see who it was.

Chan stood there, eyes unfocused and distant even as he tried to offer you a smile when he realized you had opened the door. Instantly you noticed the state of his body, exposed through the white tank top and shorts that barely hid any of the damage.

There was a cut across his eyebrow, and various different bruises forming across his arms and chest. His lip was also busted, and in a moment of weakness you reached up, caressing his jaw oh so lightly where it was starting to bruise.

His skin was cold to the touch, and you wondered what had happened for him to be wandering in the cold like that.

“Oh Chan, what did you do to yourself?” You whispered, bringing him in as you shut the door behind you.

“Nothin much baby… got in a fight… took my jacket… ‘s cold out…” He muttered, clutching your hand like a child as you led him to the living room.

“Are you high?” You asked, knowing the answer as he looked at the couch then you. You knew what he would say, but some part of you couldn’t help but want to ask either way.

“Noooo baby… why would you say that?” He slurred, collapsing onto the couch and almost immediately sinking in. “Just really wanted to see you…”

You sighed internally, looking back at him as you opened up a drawer, digging around for the first aid kit you kept in the living room.

Standing between his legs, you opened the kit, sorting through the items you’d need and what you wouldn’t need. Chan watched you with hazy eyes, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

With gentle hands, you held his head, moving it around as you dabbled at his wounds. The pure dread at seeing his wounds had ebbed away, but the discomfort still remained, even though you had done this too many times to count.

With each dab of the disinfectant, Chan winced slightly, eyes squeezing shut as he poked his tongue in his cheek. You tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to cause him any more pain than he was already in despite the way your heart squeezed at his condition.

As you finished, he held your hand against his face, eyes shut as he mumbled into your palm.

“Mmm. Thank you. I love you so much, baby girl. Wanna come home to you like this every night.”

“You don’t mean that,” you choked slightly, looking at his dopey expression.

“I do. I wanna take care of you for taking care of me. Won't let anyone harm my pretty baby.”

Before you knew it, tears had filled your eyes as you slipped your hand away from him, kneeling on the floor between his legs.

“Oh no no no, why are you crying, pretty baby? What’s wrong?” He cooed, scooping you up and placing you on his lap as tears fell down your face.

“What if one day you don’t come back? You’re always doing dangerous things and I’m scared for you.” You sobbed.

He held you close, yet your crying didn’t subside despite his attempt at comforting you with half assed assurance.

Suddenly, he pulled you from his embrace, cupping your face as he gave you a stern look. “Why are you still crying pretty? You’re a bad girl for wasting your tears over something like this.”

You didn’t answer, tears rolling down your face even faster as you squeezed your eyes close.

The cool metal of his necklaces against your skin made you shudder, more tears escaping as it dug into the palm of your hand, sure to leave some kind of mark as you tried to push away from him. He only watched you struggle against his grip, eyes dark as the haze lifted.

“Shh shh, nuh uh, none of that, just look at me baby. Look at me,” He crooned, the look on his face juxtaposing his gentle tone. You stopped for a moment as he brought your face closer to his, almost eye to eye with you.

“Eyes up here, you know I wouldn't lie to you, right?” You swallowed a sob, looking at his face, emotion hidden in his eyes where you couldn’t easily see it.

“Eyes don’t lie,” He whispered, “I know you know I wouldn’t be able to lie to your face like that.”

Your eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he pressed his mouth against yours suddenly. Almost like a sort of consolation.

His lips were plush, soft. Yet, his lip ring was a direct contrast. Tasing of metal, it was like coins with only a faint hint of chapstick. With just a simple kiss you seemed to break down so easily, melting like putty in his hands.

He pressed deeper, muffling a whimper from you as you wiggled around in his lap. Breaking the kiss, he groaned, continuing to press kisses to the tear tracks staining your face.

“Let it out, just let it all out… like that.” You hiccuped into the crook of his neck, tears staining his tank top. He held you close, gently rocking you back and forth, pressing soft kisses to your forehead.

"I'm here, I'll always come back to you Y/n," Chan whispered, his breath hot against your head as he pulled you closer, "I promise… promise I'll be more careful."

You clung to him, eventually subsiding as exhaustion washed over you. The hands he ran through your hair calmed you, enough so that you could feel the sleepiness pulling you back.

“I wanna go to bed,” you murmured as Chan picked you up, carrying you down the hall without another word.

He let you roll onto the bed, climbing on the edge to join you as you curled into the mattress. He got up, mind finally clear, ready to go until you grabbed his hand once again.

"Channie? Stay with me? please?” you whispered, your eyes pleading as you watch the features of his face contort between emotions in the sliver of light.

Eventually, He settled beside you, grabbing your hand as you nuzzled into his warmth.

“I love you Channie,” you mumbled, eyes closing as Chan mumbled something back.

“Love you more. Sleep well baby.”

[sidhewrites]

I've had Oswin on the brain and am working on outlining the story from start to finish, so I'm sharing what I have right now for a full novel. I'm half posting this just to share with @mooonborne, but I hope everyone else likes my sad wet cat of a man!

Detective Elton Oswin was the leading metaphysical empiricist of Victorian London until a botched job left his client dead and Oswin with one foot in the grave himself. He fled to a tiny town in the north, finding a cheap room to rent in the manor home of Adderley Hall. But one doesn't have to be a medium to see the 600 year old manor is haunted from attic to cellar. He's not sure if he's ready for his new neighbors, but they're certainly ready for him.

Approx Word Count: 1300

Oswin didn’t know what he was doing here. Even as he stepped out of the cab and onto the mossworn driveway, the map was still in his hand as if he had somehow, impossibly, read the directions wrong. Adderley House was old land, and he’d known from the start that something was amiss when he saw the rooms for rent advertised in the Chronicle. But he desperately needed a place to live after everything, and a room here was not just cheap, but affordable even for him.

The rain hadn’t let up since his train first left Capitol Station three days ago, and the thunder had joined it in the six hour cab ride to the town nearest Adderley. Oswin had fought his nature from the start, refusing to look into the history of Adderley or its surrounding area. But he’d clutched his purchased map like a lifeline, studying the red line again and again until he could see it in his sleep. It ran the whole length of the country, starting from London three hundred miles north to Northend station, then further still to [Town name] and finally the last trek in a shoddy one-horse gig to Adderley.

No matter how much he worried or fretted, Oswin hadn’t once deviated from his path, and now, miserably, he stood in the pouring rain looking on at the wrought iron gate that proudly declared his destination. Adderley Hall was nearly six hundred years old by now, originally a stone manor that had been built up over the years with multiple wings and window-lined hallways, surrounded by acres of wide open land. It had once been beautiful -- even Oswin could see that. There was a circular stained glass window in the tallest tower, and more windows than he cared to count. The grass had grown high and wild, wild roses beginning to choke some of the older wings of the manor, which loomed, black and foreboding. 

The weather didn’t help. He’d been fond of penny dreadfuls once upon a time, and knew what it meant when rain and thunder preceded your arrival to a place like this. Oswin sighed, looking down at his feet and the shadow he cast. Who was he kidding? Adderley was six hundred years old. Cheap or not, the damn thing was haunted.

“All right, then?” said the cabbie, holding out Oswin’s single piece of luggage -- an old, worn carpet bag. He looked almost imposing in his raincoat and oversized hat, but no less eager to get on with it than his two horses, soaking wet and steaming in the cold. 

With a sigh, Oswin took the bag and tipped the cabbie heavily. “Thank you.”

The cabbie tapped the brim of his hat, and hopped back up into the driver’s seat, wasting no time in making his way back towards town. Oswin chose to interpret the man’s haste as a sign of booming business in town, and not an eagerness to be afraid of the house.

His things were heavy. Even without his illness, Oswin would have found trouble lifting the carpet bag and trunk stuffed full of equipment and books. Rain hit the brim of his top hat and soaked into his gloves, freezing his already cold hands as he struggled to drag them up the stairs and to the grand old door of Adderley House.

It looked abandoned. Were it not for the windows kept in pristine condition, Oswin would doubt there was anyone here but ghosts. And there were ghosts, make no mistake. One didn’t have to be a metaphysical empiricist to feel that familiar ice-cold tingle running along their spine and know something lurked in the shadows beyond these old walls. 

Oswin told himself that rain had snuck under his collar. Despite his great coat, overcoat, waistcoat, and shirt, indeed it was nothing more than the rain wreaking havoc on his already delicate constitution.

He lifted the knocker, and let it fall once, flinching despite himself at the noise it made. Thunder boomed shortly afterwards, as if mocking him for startling at such a little sound. By the time he heard the latch open, Oswin was thoroughly miserable once again.

But rather than a butler or even a wizened old housekeeper to greet him, a bony middle aged woman. Grey streaked through most of her once-brown hair, with wrinkles pulling at the corners of her eyes and mouth as she smiled at him. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Elton Oswin, Ma’am” he said, and moved to doff his hat -- only to struggle with the weight of his baggage. “I, er…” More fumbling, as he tried to retrieve the advertisement from his pocket. “I’ve come to ask about a room to rent. Are you Mrs. S---?”

“The very same. Come in then. You’ll catch your death in this storm, no doubt.” She stepped back, holding the door open wider for him, and revealing the once-grand foyer of Adderley house.

Oswin hesitated. Took in the pale spots on the walls that suggested tapestries or paintings long-since removed. Dust on the shelves and faded color on the rugs. The scuffed floor had once been polished to a high sheen, no doubt, made to reflect the light that shone through tall windows-half covered in ivy. The sunrise must have once been beautiful here.

[stuff]

He removed his hat, and ran a hand through his hair. Just last year, it had been dark and thick, the envy of ladies everywhere. And now it was lank, hanging pitifully down on either side of his face. Ah, well. At least it matched the rest of him, gaunt and angular, from his long fingers to his hawk’s beak of a nose, and watery, bruised eyes. “Home sweet home.”

His shadow wriggled beneath his feet. “Is that what you call this” it hissed in twin voices, one male and one female.

Oswin shook his head. As he placed his hat and coat on a side table, his shadow removed itself from his person and took the shape of a long cat. Its form shifted constantly, like soot given uncertain shape, a spot of night black than the already dim interior of Adderley hall, broken up only by its glowing eyes, a blue as cold as death.

“It’s more than what we had before.”

The shadowcat made a show of looking around the room. It was unimpressed, and made no secret of it. Its female voice mourned, “I miss the city already.” The male said, “You should have just gone home.”

“You know why we can’t do that, Asra.”

Asra regarded him. Then, after a moment, it spoke again. “Sit.”

“I have to unpack.”

“Sit,” it insisted more firmly.

Asra did not. He was nearly thirty now, but his limbs already shook from exertion like that of an old man, and his bones hadn’t stopped aching in weeks. But worse than that -- worse than that, he felt the tension in his chest, the strangle in his throat that held the fear of a little boy, hiding from disapproval like he had from his family, years ago. He was too old and too young and…

“Sit,” Asra said one last time, and Oswin obeyed. His knees gave out just enough to let him fall back on the coarse bed, and the trembling took over. Oswin forced himself to breathe, fought against the instinct to raise his hands to his face and curl up into a fetal position. He wasn’t a child -- he wasn’t a child anymore.

He unlaced his corset stiffly, feeling the weight of his breasts no longer bound flat against his chest. Oswin hesitated, took a breath, and tore his shirt from his body to see himself in the mirror. 

He was so pale, and could nearly see his ribs. Worse however we’re the bruises. His corset, which had once fit so well, had to be over tightened to accommodate for his recent loss in weight. It sat on him strangely now, pressing his chest flat but leaving its marks even through his undershirt.

[gloomverse-theories]

About Rylie’s Red Magic

Rylie getting magic was possibly one of the most awaited moments in the comic, and the way it happened was incredibly impactful. A hat, emerging from her shadow in a time of need, hidden so close yet so far from her reach. And her magic was the cherry on top of this terrible cake tragedy! Color-coded super abilities definitely makes her magic stand out, but when talking about it, there’s always this question:

What will Red do?

And until it’s answered in the comic (or not), we have a lot of room to explore! 

But first, let’s go over

Magic Personalities

What is that, you ask? Why, it is conveniently explained in Purple’s “How Magic Work” bonus strip! But knock-off Purple here explains it decently too.

The magic that you get is dependent on your interests, your biggest one, unless you’re really into rule-breaking things like the human body or cats. The type of magic you got is then fixed forever, and you have to live with the consequences of being really into marbles at age 10. Not everyone of us fixate on something cool like space, WALLIS. 

Going back to Rylie. What WAS Rylie’s biggest interest at the time? What we know about Rylie is that she likes black and edgy/rebellious fashion, but is also cursed with rainbow dreads. That’s a solid contender, since her magic is based on colors. Looking at her room, she likes skull motifs, ponies, anime, and plushies.

A bit less relevant to her magic, although it is very anime magic. And finally, when she was in the hat store, dreaming up of what her magic could be, it was the power to jump as high as building, a nice foreshadowing and a sign that she did want that!

But let’s look deeper.

Assistant’s biggest desire was to belong, and the Gloom filled it and made her feel like family. 

She got her hat when they were all in danger of death. 

She got her magic pleading for a way to save them.

And the magic answered. 

So I think the conditions in which she got her hat possibly influenced her magic!

Blue and Yellow Magic

Before going over the possibilities for red magic, let’s see what common points we can find between the two revealed power ups. 

The most obvious thing is that they are color themed, in case you hadn’t noticed, and correspond to the rainbow (blue - yellow - red) on her wand (which is where we get the red for her next magic). She starts by saying the color out loud, but later manages to switch without speaking. 

Both of her powers manifest as clothes: a pair of boots and a pair of gloves, and give her superhuman abilities, like lifting giant rocks and jumping very high. 

So now we have the blueprint of her future magic: themed after a color (most likely red), wearable as clothes on her body, and providing Rylie with superpowered abilities. 

I want to add that it should also respect the three rules of magic, but it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it.

Telekinesis

Let’s start with something silly. Rylie has been shown a few times to be interested in ponies. She has an Unicron poster in her new room, and a twilight plushie in her old room.

Ponies are a longstanding interest of hers, and magic is based on interests! Most My Little Pony iterations have 3 main types of ponies: earth pony, pegasus, and unicorns. 

Earth ponies are strong, and are shown to give stronger bucks/kicks than others. Rylie uses Yellow magic to punch people into the air. 

Pegasus ponies can fly around and walk on clouds. Rylie uses Blue magic to jump around and almost fly (though the only time she sinks into a cloud is when she’s wearing her boots in her dream, but that’s the trauma). 

Unicorn ponies are overpowered and can make incredibly complex spells, but the most commonly used one is telekinesis. In this theory, Red would allow Rylie to move objects from a distance (like Wallis can already do!), and the article of clothing could be anything, from a differently shaped wand she can point at stuff, to a headset with horns. Who knows! 

Senses

Rylie’s magic has a running theme of splitting her wand into two parts: pair of gloves for her two hands and pair of boots for her- ah, nevermind that.

But do you know what else comes in two? Kidneys! Lungs! Ears! Eyes! I think I’m safe to discard the first two since they are inside, but eyes and ears make for good contenders. If Yellow gloves boost her strength, why not Red goggles that improve her eyesight? Perhaps a full headset to improve both hearing and seeing! That may not be as exciting as jumping around, but it is definitely useful in a situation where discretion matters (like Virga hunting the group down). 

Wings

Something really interesting about the Yellow magic is that the hat STILL has a little wing as a decoration on it! It made sense for Blue since winged shoes have been a thing for thousands of years (Hermes’ winged sandals) and it grants her the power to almost “fly” when she jumps, but why keep the wing on her hat when she has punching gloves? Because it’s not any kind of punch. It’s an AIR-punch! That sends Cakegirl FLYING! Interesting!

Rylie does have a lot of connections to clouds and sky, for someone who takes after a Light-themed mancer, does she not? That’s why I argue that Red could be a pair of wings, either as a cape or fixed to her arms. While that could seem redundant with her jumping boots, it could also go well with it, allowing her to glide instead of falling immediately back down. That would be a useful mid-air shift, or a good way to not die when plummeting towards the ocean from a height that transforms water surface into deadly concrete, as a random example. 

Freeze

Finally, my main theory. There is another theme that I noticed between Yellow and Blue magic: Fight or Flight response. Yellow is Fight, Blue is Flight. It’s the possible reaction to a threat: you either run away and escape the threat, or you attack the threat and dispose of it. Rylie got her magic during a very active threat to her wellbeing and her friends’, and she pleaded for a way to save them. Magic answered by enhancing her ability to flee and to fight!

But there is a third (and fourth) response to a threat: freezing behavior, to become rigid and petrified in place. Red would be the magic’s “freezing” response, and allow Rylie to block a direct attack, through a shield or armor, and overall make her be able to tank and sustain damage. While not as showy as the other two colors, and definitely harder to turn into an asset for her own magic show, the theme of the three stress responses makes me really like this option.

The fourth response is fawning, but it is not as easy to translate into a magic power up as freeze. 

Something else

I’m no wizard, and the future is as clouded to me as it is to you. Red magic could be either or none of these options. Perhaps it enhances something else, like her speed, or gives her more ranged powers, like a whip or a bow, perhaps it’s dual swords because it would be cool! Maybe it will come up in a moment where Rylie experiments with her magic while everything is calm, or maybe it will be something that helps Rylie in a dire moment, summoned from instinct. Who knows! But it is fun to speculate, and I hope you had fun too. 

There is however one last possibility.

We will never know what Red magic does, if Rylie never tries it.

After all this time, all those nightmares, the color Red may not be the most enticing color to try with magic. Something about an evil magician with red eyes and a red wand. 

Why try RED, when there’s so many other colors to try from? Perhaps Green will be a combination of Blue and Yellow, or an entirely new ability! The Green lady seemed so much nicer than the Red figure obliterating her. 

So those were my thoughts on Rylie’s magic! 

TL;DR

Magic is based on personal interest

Rylie got hers in a moment of trauma 

Her magic consist of ability-enhancing color-coded accessories

Possible options for red magic power-up:

Telekinesis as a nod to Rylie’s brony phase

Enhanced vision/hearing to pair with her other enhanced abilities

Wings because of the air-theme and little wing decorations

A shield/armor as a freezing response to go with the current two’s fight or flight theme 

Something else

We will never find out because of Rylie’s trauma with red tinted magic

[empress-of-time1109]

[April special II ]♾️ A Room Full of Ghosts (third page) - “Sweet Addiction” [Kenma Kozume , Tomura Shigaraki]

Part 1-

Part 2-

Part 3-

It’s Not Just a Game, It’s a Coping Mechanism.

The front door creaked open with the theatrical flair of a horror movie sound effect. You stepped inside like a sleep-deprived goblin fresh from school, still half-caffeinated and fully done with existence. Your backpack hit the floor with a tragic thud, like it too had lost its will to live.

The room smelled faintly of instant noodles, lemon-scented floor cleaner, and—oddly—pixelated concentration.

Kenma was already there, on your worn-out chair, hunched over your console like a brooding cryptid. His cat hoodie was up, his fingers danced across buttons like piano keys, and the soft, familiar chime of in-game currency being collected filled the room.

You blinked.

“Kenma?”

He didn’t glance up, didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem surprised you were home.

“Hey,” he murmured, thumbs moving like they were on fire. “Got to level 54 without dying.”

You dropped your phone on the bed, careful not to startle him, as though he were a particularly antisocial woodland creature. “Sorry if I ruined your streak by breathing or something.”

He paused long enough to look at your —just a glance. “You’re fine. Want to join?”

That was Kenma-speak for I like your presence enough to tolerate you during peak grind time, and you took it as a compliment of the highest order.

You flopped down beside him and kicked off your shoes, which promptly landed on top of your ottoman like a pair of retired warriors. “I was gonna play Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones, actually. I need to relive my glory days of wall-running and committing acrobatic war crimes.”

Kenma wordlessly handed you the console. He respected sacred rituals.

The hours blurred.

The sky turned from washed-out optimism to noir dread. At some point, rain began to patter softly against the windows. Kenma was deep into a boss fight, barely blinking, and you were wall-jumping in Two Thrones like your life depended on it—which, emotionally, it kind of did.

There was something holy about these quiet afternoons of unspoken companionship. Not everything needed words. Some days, you just needed someone beside you in a room, both of you mentally AFK from your respective traumas.

You were halfway through a puzzle involving some suspicious levers when you noticed… a hand.

More specifically, a crusty, suspiciously villainous hand hovering near your bowl of cheese puffs.

“You really like dying a lot in this game, huh?” a voice rasped from behind your place on the carpet.

Your soul left your body, did a triple somersault, and returned with a slap.

You turned slowly. Very slowly.

There he was—Tomura Shigaraki.

Behind you wearing his usual villain outfit like it wasn’t wildly out of place, surrounded by empty soda cans and a very confused cat plushie.

Kenma didn’t even blink. “He’s been here for like twenty minutes.”

“Excuse me?” You hissed.

“He said he was waiting for his turn.”

“What do you mean waiting—This isn’t a multiplayer séance!”

Tomura scratched at his neck, eyes lazily watching the game. “You’re terrible at that wall-run section, by the way.”

“It’s hard, okay?” You snapped. “Unlike you, I wasn’t born in a lab with cheat codes for hands.”

Kenma blinked. “Wait, is this the villain with the skin condition?”

“I do not have a skin condition—”

You sighed and paused the game, arms crossed like a sleep-deprived middle manager. “Alright, Tomura, spill it. What are you doing here? And if you say ‘vibes,’ I’m unplugging the router.”

Tomura plopped into the armchair like it owed him rent. “Games. You get it. I figured I’d hang out where people actually respect the grind.”

You blinked. “Wait, I forgot you are addicted too.”

“I don’t call it addiction,” he muttered, picking up your half-eaten snack. “I call it… immersive escapism with occasional god complex validation.”

Kenma hummed. “That sounds like an addiction.”

“That sounds like therapy.” You muttered under your breath.

By hour four, it wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a test of moral strength, spiritual endurance, and wrist integrity.

Tomura had shoved a pillow behind his back, stolen the blanket Kenma had dropped earlier, and was now gripping the controller like it owed him child support. The screen showed the Prince mid-wall-run, but he slipped again.

Dead.

“I swear to Ra, if he faceplants one more time, I’m cursing the royal bloodline.”

“You already look like you came with a free pharaoh’s curse,” You muttered, curled beside him, controller in hand and expression hovering between murderous rage and emotional trauma.

He ignored you. “Why does he jump like he’s made of IKEA wood? My grandmother ’s bones move smoother .”

“Because this game is old. Ancient. Practically fossilized. It was built before humanity discovered graceful mechanics.”

He squinted at the screen. “I’ve seen dying rats with better parkour.”

“You are a dying rat, don’t insult my favourite game. Only I get to do that,” You quipped.

Tomura was unbothered. He was laser-focused, halfway into the game like his soul had made a digital pact with the device. “Hand me the chips.”

You tossed them at his face. “You’re getting crumbs in your villain hoodie.”

“It adds texture.”

“Texture doesn’t mean Dorito fallout.”

They passed the controller back and forth like a sacred relic. He raged. You screamed. They both shouted at the television like it had personally betrayed their families.

“Oh my God, the Dark Prince again?!” You shrieked as black sand consumed the character.

“Let me guess,” Tomura said, deadpan. “Time for more angst and internal monologue.”

“’The sands have taken more than time… they have taken my soul…’” You mocked in a low, brooding voice. “Please. Somebody get my prince a therapist and a sturdy pair of boots.”

Tomura nodded solemnly. “He and I are not so different.”

“You have a hand problem. He has a personality split. Get your own trauma.”

He huffed and resumed gameplay. “Whatever. I like this part. It’s like watching my own descent into madness but with better hair.”

The addiction had crept in quietly. At first, it was an hour. Maybe two. A little digital escapism, a sprinkle of sarcasm, a lot of insults.

But now?

They were invested. Every boss fight felt like a war. Every cutscene was practically Shakespearean. When they reached the chariot race sequence, You screamed so loud the neighbors probably thought someone was being murdered by a medieval horse.

“WHY DOES THIS SEGMENT EXIST?!” You cried, violently steering the chariot and crashing for the sixth time. “WHO THOUGHT THIS WAS FUN?!”

Tomura was doubled over laughing, absolutely useless. “You drive like you were raised in a sandstorm.”

“I was raised in a sandstorm—called life!”

Despite the chaos, the mood softened somewhere around hour ten.

The palace garden sequence loaded, soft music drifting in from the console. The atmosphere changed. For a moment, the stress dissolved into something quieter. Something close to… contentment.

You looked over and saw him leaning back, his fingers briefly still.

“You ever thought about how beautiful this is?” You asked.

He didn’t answer at first. Just watched the vines sway pixel by pixel on the ancient screen.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Even the doomed stuff’s got beauty in it. Like it knows it’s temporary, so it tries harder.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t even sarcastic.

“Wow,” You said, clutching your heart. “Look who’s growing feelings like a fungus.”

He grinned. “Shut up before I break your save file.”

But the high came with a low.

You felt it creeping in—behind the laughter, beneath the controller grips, in the tension that never left your jaw. This wasn’t just entertainment. It was a tether. A lifeline made of pixels and key commands. You played not to win but to breathe. To feel something that wasn’t panic or nothingness.

Tomura knew it too.

He’d stopped cracking jokes by hour six. Just stared at the screen, like he could fall into it if he blinked long enough.

“You ever feel like the game’s safer than real life?” he asked quietly.

“All the time,” You answered, too fast. “At least there, I know the rules.”

“At least there,” he said, “you respawn.”

They didn’t speak after that. The silence was filled with the sound of sand and swords, and their own unspoken desperation.

It was past 2 a.m. when you finally saved the game and took a break. Your hands were cramped. His eyes were bloodshot.  Neither of you moved to turn it off.

Addiction wasn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it was just two people clutching plastic, because it hurt less than holding onto reality.

Still, there was warmth in it.

Kinship.

A strange, gothic, popcorn-scented friendship built on trauma and cheat codes.

Eventually, You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You smell like expired energy drinks,” You murmured.

“You smell like insomnia and unresolved issues,” he replied.

You smiled.

You both sat there in the soft flicker of the TV, exhausted, but for once… okay.

Tomorrow, they could fall apart.

Tonight, they could just… play.

The palace garden sequence loaded, soft music drifting in from the console. The atmosphere shifted. Gone were the manic sprints and bone-grinding wall runs; in their place: hurled strings, golden light filtering through ruined arches, and vines that swayed like the ghosts of forgotten royalty.

You didn’t speak for a long time.

Because this—this part—meant something.

You've played this trilogy since you were old enough to understand the words “press X to continue.” The Sands of Time, Warrior Within, and The Two Thrones weren’t just games. They were memories burned in the corners of your brain like an old photo album made of glitchy shadows and monologues.

“I really love this trilogy,” You said softly, more to yourself than to Shigaraki. “Like. Stupidly love it.”

He glanced at you, still slouched under Kenma’s blanket, fingers curled around a nearly empty chip bag. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I played this first time when I was like, in middle school. Hide it from my mom because I wasn’t supposed to have violent games. Which is hilarious, because this is, like, tame compared to reality now.”

Tomura hummed, watching you more than the game now.

You hugged the controller to your chest. “I remember thinking: ‘If I could just be in this world—even the scary, cursed, sand-infected version—I’d be okay.’ Like, I could wall-run out of school, time-rewind out of awkward conversations, stab my way through the algebra curriculum.”

He snorted. “That’s… painfully on brand for you.”

“It’s escapism with eyeliner and sword flips.” You smiled faintly. “It made me believe I could outrun anything. Even myself.”

Tomura looked at the screen, at the animated Prince resting briefly in his journey. “So. You still wanna be in it?”

“Honestly? Yeah. Even now. Especially now.”

There was a strange understanding in his silence—like he, too, had played a game once that felt more like home than the four walls around him.

“Then let’s finish it,” he said. “One more time.”

Three more hours, two bowls of ramen, and Kenma’s own truly unhinged Mario Kart session later, the room was a disaster zone of discarded controllers, banter, and soft jazz that no one remembered turning on.

You were curled up on the carpet now, blanket over your shoulders like a depressed burrito. Kenma had fallen asleep mid-load screen. Tomura, for all his villainous flair, was currently arguing with you about why RPG villains had better fashion than heroes.

“All I’m saying,” he said, finishing your soda, “is if I’m going to monologue about the futility of human life, I should at least be doing it in a floor-length cape.”

“You already do that,” You said dryly.

“Exactly. And now I want Kenma’s hoodie too.”

“He’ll bite.”

“I’m into it.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly reset your optic nerves.

It was absurd. Completely absurd.

And yet, for the first time in days, You weren't thinking about how your chest sometimes felt like it had a black hole instead of a heart, or how assignments were piling up like unpaid emotional rent. Here, with a quiet gamer, a chaotic villain, and your favorite broken PS2-era disc, You remembered what it felt like to just… exist.

Not as someone high-functioning. Not as someone managing. Just someone being.

As the sky threatened to break into dawn and Kenma softly snored, you turned to Tomura.

“Do you think it’s bad?” You asked.

“What?”

“This. The games. How much I rely on them.”

He looked at your —really looked—and for a second, there wasn’t a punchline on his lips.

“Addiction’s just a place you go when everything else gets too loud,” he said simply. “The trick isn’t leaving the place. It’s knowing when to come back.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

Eventually, Tomura stood, stretched like a villain late for his next existential crisis, and walked to the window.

“You’ll see me again,” he said. 

And then—just like that—he was gone.

No poof. No dramatic exit. Just a faint whiff of regret and corn chips.

You blinked at the empty window, blanket still wrapped around you, heart still full of glitchy joy.

Kenma mumbled something about saving files in his sleep.

You picked up the controller again.

And hit “continue”.

It was already 6 a.m. when you finally peeled yourself off the carpet like a leftover sticker and staggered toward your bed. Your limbs were rubber. Your brain was soup. Your eyes were screaming in Morse code.

“I’m dying,” You declared, faceplanting into the mattress with all the grace of a soggy pancake.

Kenma groaned like a raccoon in a trash throne. “You can’t just quit after the Dahaka chase. That’s criminal. That’s—”

“—that’s my corneas revolting,” You mumbled into a pillow. “I love you. I love this game. I love that dumb cursed dagger. But if I don’t sleep now, I’ll ascend. Or explode.”

“Fine,” he grunted. “Sleep. I'll glare at the loading screen like a disappointed father .”

You gave him a lazy thumbs-up before letting your arm drop like a dying Victorian heiress. Somewhere in the background, the menu theme played its haunting notes again and again, like a lullaby made of sands and regret.

Your alarm rang. You had forgotten to switch it off for the weekend.

You groaned like the undead and reached over to grab it, blinking blearily at the screen. 

“You alive?” Kenma’s voice dragged your attention back to him as you put away your phone.

“Barely. You?”

“Yeah. Oh right, Kuroo told me to tell you he misses you.”

Your eyes blinked open slowly, caught between exhaustion and confusion.

“Oh,” You said. Then, “…that’s random.”

“Yeah. Also—his words, not mine—‘Why the hell did Oikawa get solo attention and sketchbook space while I’m stuck relaying messages to Kenma like he’s some emo pigeon?’”

You laughed. A real laugh, despite everything. “Tell him Oikawa broke into my room with dramatic flair. If he wants special treatment, he better come armed with roses and emotional manipulation.”

Kenma snorted. “Noted.”

You rubbed your face, still smiling, and let your hand slide down to cover your eyes. Just five seconds. You just needed to close them for five—

Silence.

Stillness.

Then—something odd.

A shift in the air, a cold spot. The kind of hush that usually comes after the chaos. You opened your eyes slowly, hand falling to your side.

The room was empty.

The chair? Vacant. No sign of a lazy villain with gamer rage issues. No trace of half-eaten chips or grumbling curses.

And Kenma’s Switch dock was still humming, but-

No Shigaraki.

No Kenma.

No extra warmth where someone had just been sitting.

Gone.

Just like that.

You sat up slowly, heart doing a weird little drum solo against your ribs.

“…Okay,” You whispered. “That’s not weird at all.”

You glanced around the room. Still smelled like processed cheese snacks and pixelated dreams. But the vibe had changed—like you’d woken from a fever dream and wasn’t sure if you were still dreaming.

You looked toward the desk. The Prince of Persia disc case sat open, like a shrine. your sketchbook was still there, with yesterday’s class’s messy doodles of Shigaraki and Kenma.

Your stomach twisted in a way you didn’t quite understand.

Maybe the meds were working.

Or maybe… maybe not.

You lay back down, one arm flopped over your eyes again.

“I really need to label my reality better,” You muttered.

But the corner of your mouth twitched into a tired smile anyway.

Even if they’d vanished like ghosts at sunrise for now, they’d been there.

And maybe—just maybe—they’d be back. After all, the loading screen was still glowing in the dark.

[fiannans]

For the New Years Ask Meme! (Only if you want!)

👾 Do you have any "bad" writing habits you want to break?

🦷 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're dreading to write (but is necessary to your plot)? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

🛏 Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

👾 Do you have any "bad" writing habits you want to break?

Probably making excuses about waiting for the "right" writing conditions or inspiration to strike, rather than putting in the effort to establish a regular writing habit. In 2025, I'd like to make writing a priority again. Also not finishing what I've started! 2021/2022 showed me I still have the ability to finish things when I put my mind to it, I just need to work on my discipline!

🦷 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're dreading to write (but is necessary to your plot)? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

Oooh good question...probably anything longer than a one-shot, because it's been years (decades, even!) since I attempted to tackle anything longer than a single scene or that required more than one chapter. I do have ideas for a bunch of longer, multi-chapter fics that I really want to bring to life though, even though the additional planning and time commitment involved feels intimidating (sometimes TOO intimidating). Things like my "Nihlus lives" Garrus/Shepard/Nihlus AU, my "What Comes After" post-ME3 Shakarian epilogue, and my ME OC couple Caius and Kate's story, which takes place around roughly the same time as the trilogy.

All I have is a bunch of random, disconnected snippets from each so far, but here's two short snippets from early in Kate and Caius's story.

“What’s your name?” “Caius,” he said, dazedly. He was starting to feel light-headed. Probably from the blood loss. Or maybe from the shock. “Nice to meet you, Caius. I’m Kate.” She smiled at him. “You’re going to be alright, Caius. I just need you to keep talking to me, okay?” “Okay,” he said. “I think I’m just going to rest my eyes for a bit.” He closed his eyes, shutting out Kate’s concerned face and the bright blue false sky of the Presidium behind her. His consciousness felt light, untethered. Maybe he’d just nap until the paramedics arrived.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed yet,” she scolded him. “I’m starting to realise that.” He swayed on his feet, reaching for the wall. She caught his arm and pulled it over her shoulders, letting him lean on her. “Turians are the worst patients.” She sighed. “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.” She was much smaller than him and from this angle he could only see the top of her head. Beneath the strong antiseptic smell of the hospital, he caught a whiff of some kind of pleasant floral scent from her hair. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it reminded him of the flowers that grew near the Human Embassy on the Presidium.

💥 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

I'm really looking forward to jumping into writing for Veilguard and specifically Lucanis/Rook. My favourite kind of stories to write are those "missing moments" in between what we see in canon and I think Veilguard (and especially Lucanis' romance) has a lot of potential in that regard. I have a bunch of ideas already, but here's a snippet from a WIP involving

Caution!!! Veilguard spoilers!!!

Caterina's reaction to Lucanis' romance with my Crow Rook!

“My grandmother asked to meet with you.” “Mmm.” Rook closed her eyes and tilted her head, smiling, as Lucanis pressed a kiss to her neck in greeting, his lips lingering over her skin. “Sorry, what?” “Caterina. She wishes to talk to you. About us.” Rook’s eyes snapped open and she turned to stare at him in shock. “You told your grandmother about us? Are you crazy?” He held his hands up in denial, shaking his head. “Not me. It was probably Teia, she and Caterina are close.” Rook groaned. “I had no idea Teia wanted me dead.” Lucanis chuckled and stroked her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “My grandmother isn’t going to kill you, Rook. She just wants to talk. She wishes to ‘meet with the woman who thinks she’s good enough for her grandson’.” “You don’t know that,” Rook countered. “She probably has a contract out on me already.”

🛏 Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

Do threesomes count? Haha. I have a bunch of poly ships/OT3s, but I've never actually written a threesome. I really want to write some Davrin/Lucanis/Rook though because I think the chemistry between the three of them is amazing!

Send me asks from this writer goal asks list if you want!

[kanazawa-division]

ARB Birthday Special: Joey Kurusu

~~ October 9th ~~

“The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.”

Login Lines:

“Ow…ow….fuck, my back, I think I fucked up my spine even more after that crack, I didn’t think I was sitting here for that long, I could’ve sworn it was 10 PM when I first sat down, now it’s 8 AM and-”

“OH FUCK WHO ARE YOU-eh? A present? For me? Hold on…no fucking way, I sat here this long to miss the day shifting into my birthday?!”

Voice Lines:

“It doesn’t even feel like I’m 25 to be honest, aside from more goddamn back problems (is there a name for a condition like reverse scoliosis?? Where your back is too fucking straight?), my body randomly shutting down on me, and a new layer of existential dread, not much has changed for me which…I guess I should be grateful? Meh, I don’t know.”

“I feel kinda bad for taking the day off especially since I was in the middle of a case but everyone down at the station insisted I do so, I mean I had the hours so there was no worry there but I don’t know whether to feel flattered that my coworkers care about me that much or offended by how quick they wanted me out of the office.”

“Hehe, I can always count on my mom to make me some delicious homemade food, it’s actually rare that I get to eat Australian foods…it’s actually rare that I get to eat real food period, y-yeah I know I got the money and somewhat the skills to make myself an actual substantial meal but…instant ramen is goddamn delicious damnit and I will stand by that for as long as I live!”

“My dad…? What about him? Unless that piece of shit died or got arrested somehow then please refrain from bringing him up around me, he’s as dead to me as I probably am to him.”

"Another year, another birthday…ughhhh your big brother’s getting old, Shanny. You’d totally tease me if you saw me right now, yeah yeah, I can already hear you laughing it up, I’m over here slowly withering away while you get to be young and beautiful forever…I bet you’re super famous now, heaven’s most precious angel, real fitting for you, lil sis.”

“Yo ‘Taru! It’s good to see you ol’ buddy ol’ pal of mine, finally had enough of sitting in that old stuffy office? Yes, yes, I know, you’re always oh so serious especially when it comes to work, come on man, live a little! It’s my birthday so you have to! A-ah! Wait don’t throw my present away!”

“O-oh wooooooow! It’s…what I always wanted, man, you’re a real natural at gift giving, I think you might a have a talent here-yeah okay, I’ll stop…I mean it’s not terrible, honestly it’s about what I expected from you, which is a good thing! At least they’re colored.”

“Ky! Hey man, what’s up? How you’ve been? I know you had to go back to the states for something, ‘top secret’ huh? Yeeeeeeah, I don’t think that’s the case but I’ll leave it alone, for now, good to have you back though! Eh? A gift? Hell yeah, dude! Whatcha got?”

“Siiiiick! I’ve been meaning to get another one of these! My old one doesn’t work anymore, plus it’s all sticky and gross…NO NOT FROM THAT! It’s sticky and gross from all the times I’ve been eating over it! C’mon man, I’m not that much of a degen-…oh shut up and give me that.”

Wataru Lines:

“Happy birthday, Joey. Not even five minutes and I already want to leave, first of all, I take my job seriously and it would benefit you greatly to do the same and second, I am living just fine, I don’t need your assistance. If you’re going to behave like this then I’ll just take my leave and send this back. Good, here you go.”

“For someone so good at calling others on their BS, you sure are an awful liar, Kurusu, just say what you really mean and spare both of us the theatrics. Yes, well, I figured you could always use extra pens, god only knows how you run out of so many so quick so I took the liberty of getting you more, I would’ve gotten you more suitable ones like black, red, or blue but they were out unfortunately.”

Kyler Lines:

“Hey Joey, happy birthday, yeah sorry for leaving for a while but I talked it over with Wataru and he was cool with it. Hm? Sorry pal but that’s top secret information, whatever man, I’m still not telling you, anyways, I’m glad I made it on time, I got you a gift too, yeah, here.”

“Yeah I remember you kept complaining about how your old keyboard kept freezing up and not working on you so I got you a new one. Look, I’m not one to judge what a person does on their free time but maybe cut back on the mas-oh, well still, maybe don’t do that. C’mon man, I’ve seen your fyp, you are not fooling anyone with that bullshit.”