#ice vs heat

[backfliips]

my job is wild i was surrounded by teens using blowtorches today

[mira0000000-blog]

**puts ong GG rev ost** WHAT A HEAVY DAY

[harrysfolklore]

yn piastri fretting over oscar’s broken rib and oscar’s like, “gee you’re worst than mum” & nicole’s just like, “yeah i don’t need to worry about oscar when yn’s around”

the rumors are true: i'm obsessed with writing this little scenarios

read little bitch here

"Are you absolutely sure you're comfortable? Maybe we should prop you up a bit more," you hover anxiously over Oscar, adjusting his pillow for the third time in as many minutes." Oh, and do you need more ice? I can run and get some. Actually, should we call the doctor again? Just to double-check everything's okay?"

"YN, I'm fine," Oscar groans, "It's just a broken rib, not the end of the world. I'll be racing in Hungary next weekend anyway."

"What? No, absolutely not!" your eyes widen in alarm. "You can't race with a broken rib, Oscar. That's insane!"

Oscar rolls his eyes dramatically. "It's cracked, not broken. And I've been cleared by the medical team," he stresses, "You're worse that mum sometimes."

From her seat in the corner, Nicole chuckles. "Oh yeah, I don't even have to worry about you when your sister is around. She's got the overprotective mother role covered."

"Thanks, Mum," you say, turning to her. "My therapist has great opinions about it. She says my anxiety comes from a place of love."

"Yeah, well, your love is suffocating me right now," Oscar snorts.

"Osc, I'm just worried about you," you stressed again, "It's too dangerous. What if you crash? What if your rib punctures a lung? What if-"

"What if aliens invade during the race?" Oscar interrupts, mimicking your concerned tone. "What if a meteor hits the track? What if I suddenly forget how to drive?"

"This isn't funny, Oscar! I'm serious!"

"So am I! Carlos nearly drove with a burst appendix, and he was fine!"

Carlos, who's been quietly watching the siblings' back-and-forth like a tennis match, pipes up. "Well, 'fine' might be stretching it. I was in quite a bit of pain, actually."

You whirled on Carlos, who suddenly looked very interested in the ceiling. "Oh, don't even get me started on that piece of stupidity!"

"In my defense," Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. "I didn't actually race…"

"Only because the team had more sense than you did!" you exclaimed.

"Back when you pretended to hate Carlos but you were at the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was at the hospital," Oscar teased, making you roll your eyes.

"That's not the point right now," you crosses your arms over your chest, glaring at Oscar. "We're talking about your safety, not my past… concerns."

"Oh, but I think it is relevant," Oscar grins mischievously, sensing an opportunity. "Remember how you kept texting the group chat every five minutes when Carlos was in the hospital? 'Just being a decent human being,' you said. As if we couldn't see right through you."

You feel your cheeks heat up, aware of Carlos' gaze on you. "That's... that's completely irrelevant," you stammer.

"Is that so, hermosa?" Carlos chuckles softly, moving to stand beside you. "I didn't know you cared so much back then."

You shoot Carlos a look that's half embarrassment, half exasperation. "Don't you start. And you," you turn back to Oscar, pointing an accusing finger, "stop trying to change the subject. We're talking about your cracked rib and your ridiculous idea to race with it."

Nicole, who's been watching the exchange with poorly concealed amusement, decides to intervene. "Alright, kids, let's all take a breath. YN, honey, I understand you're worried. But Oscar's right - he's been cleared by the medical team. They wouldn't let him race if it wasn't safe."

"But-" you start to protest, only to be cut off by Oscar.

"No buts," he says firmly. "I appreciate the concern, sis, I really do. But this is my job, and sometimes it comes with risks. I promise I'll be careful, okay?"

You sigh, feeling your resolve weaken. "Fine. But I swear, Oscar, if you so much as wince during that race, I'm storming the track myself."

"Now that I'd pay to see. YN vs. Formula 1 security," Carlos jokes, "My money's on you, mi amor."

As you and Oscar continue to bicker, your mom and Carlos exchange amused glances. Carlos leans towards her, speaking in a low voice.

"Has YN always been like this?" he asks, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watches you fuss over Oscar.

"Oh, you have no idea," Nicole chuckles softly. "This is actually quite mild compared to when they were kids. There was this one time when Oscar was about seven, and he fell off his bike. Scraped his knee pretty badly. YN, who was ten at the time, went into full nurse mode."

"What did she do?" Carlos raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Well," she continues, "She insisted on 'quarantining' Oscar in his room for a week, claiming he needed complete bed rest. She even made a 'Do Not Disturb: Patient Recovering' sign for his door. Poor Oscar was going stir-crazy by day two, but YN wouldn't let him leave. She brought him all his meals, read him stories, everything."

Carlos can't help but laugh at the image. "That sounds exactly like something she would do."

"Oh, it gets better," Nicole grins. "When I finally convinced her that Oscar was fine to go outside, she insisted on wrapping him in bubble wrap before he could ride his bike again. Said it was 'necessary protective gear'. Oscar looked like a little astronaut waddling down the street."

Their laughter catches your attention, and you pause in your debate with Oscar about the dangers of racing with a cracked rib. "What's so funny?" you ask suspiciously.

Before Nicole can respond, Oscar, catching on to the conversation, groans dramatically. "Oh god, Mum, please tell me you're not telling the bubble wrap story."

Your eyes widen in realization, and you feel a blush creeping up your neck. "Mum! You promised never to mention that again!"

Carlos, still chuckling, wraps an arm around your waist. "I think it's adorable, hermosa. You've always been a protector."

"Well control your girlfriend! She's trying to bubble wrap me again, I swear!"

"I am not! Although..." you trail off, a mischievous glint in your eye, "it's not a bad idea for the race. Extra padding couldn't hurt, right?"

"YN, no!"

[yandere-wishes]

⋆.˚ 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕍𝕒𝕔𝕒𝕪 ⋆.˚

𐙚Yandere! Qimir X Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He steals you in summer. Castaway on a planet with no name. But the way his eyes shine under the hot sun has your heart beating out of your chest.

⁀➷ Does this count as "That's that me, espresso"?

🪐 Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, Stockholm syndrome, blood, and gore.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ Espresso by Sabrina Carpender

Dark Vacay by CAS

The heat licks at your neck dangerously. The scathing red glow cleaves through flesh, through bone.

Warm, warm, warm.

The sort of swelter befitting rampant volcanos and rebirthing suns.  

The man, no, the Sith has you pinned to his chest. His force,a dark pulsating thing, coiling through your body, keeping you rooted.

Sol's voice echoes through the canopy. Sending ripples through the blood-matted forest floor. "Release her." His saber is drawn, pointed.

Blue vs red.

Hot vs cold.

"Give me the relic." The voice lacks emotion, empathy. It demands, it takes. There is no room for formalities here, no chivalry you've long believed in. This monster deals only in dark. Taking and taking. "And I won't hurt her".

You try to push him away, to fight. Your force against his, clawing at the dark ether around you, hunting for an aperture, a splinter anything to infiltrate. But he is resilient, strong the way most volcanos are.

Impenetrable.

You moan against the tightening noose. He demands and you must obey. Such a dark thing can even make your master bow, make him give up the ancient blood-red relic. "You have your relic, now release my pupil." Behind you the monster chuckles, an airy noise overflowing with malice, "I said I wouldn't hurt her, not that I'd give her back."

The lights dull. Neon fading into a fuzzy mess of colors too tangled to decipher. Voices weave bending to the blaring buzz echoing from within. The world grows darker, you try to clutch onto something, anything. The cool colors of saber light, the soothing tone of your master's voice. The monster's dark cadence. But it's no use, the darkness prevails, pulling you under its crushing waves, burying you in a sea of nihil.

The world is dim upon resurgence. The air tastes of salt, fresh and dry upon the throat. The earth you lay in is warm, not like the smoldering heat of a bloodborne saber, but the warmth you imagine a mother's embrace to hold. Soft in every way that counts.

The place is alien and abandoned. No family, no monsters. Just rock upon rock and makeshift furniture to further the illusion of a makeshift home. The pounding upon your temples has yet to cease, you wonder if the outlines of a bruise have yet to bloom.

Slowly, you emerge from the cocoon of worn blankets. Bare feet scraping across the jagged floor. You feel the monster's presence linger, his essence strong within this place. You remember the dragon dens you used to read about in fairy tales. The gold-adorned caves where little princesses were forced to dwell.

It's funny you should feel like one now.

There are clothes sprawled across the floor. Vanilla ice cream in shade and shape, they feel too pure to have been chosen by a man like him. Too pure to have been tainted by the darkness of his fingertips. It's only now that the dress glares back that you notice your bareness, Jedi robes stripped and discarded.

That fiend...

You feel skinned, alone. No saber to grasp, no golden drapes. Nothing to paint you as Jedi. It's with reluctance that you lace yourself into the sweet dress, with utter reluctance that you step out onto the beach of rocks awaiting outside.

You spot the man,

the sith.

Qimir

His name reverberates within your head. You lick each letter, rolling them across your tongue and drinking in their condensation. "Qi-mi-rr" the name shouldn't taste of exotic fruits blended and bled. It shouldn't taste like fruit cocktails and coconut cubes but it does.

It does and it's disgustingly delicious.

He walks with the steady strout of a man who knows he is the most dangerous thing on this beach, on this island, on this entire planet. A volcano among mountains.

You follow behind bare feet on smooth rocks. Fumbling across the beach.

Chasing shadows. Chasing monsters.

He sheds his robes like skin, peeling away sabbath vestments to reveal cutis. Tanned and scarred, marred flesh risen like volcano veins cascading across his spine.

You shouldn't admit how desperately your fingers ache to trace the tragic thing. You glid your nails across the notched igneous rocks. Dreaming its soft flesh, his soft flesh beneath your touch. He would shutter under your fingertips as you pull apart his secrets. Nibbling on them like picnic cookies.

He's stripped bare, soft skin caught in the dim sun. His open wounds glisten under soft gold rays. You skate away from the sight, that forbidden sun-drenched sight. Eyes averted and hidden behind the rocks, twice locked, to avoid a rogue glance.

He is nothing if not haunting, forbidden in every way.

Odd how the memory of his bare ankles is what lingers. Carved too steep and too deep in a way that looks too marble. They merge into long robust legs. You can't help but imagine the sculpture of his thighs after, the thing at the end of those perplexing ankles. They too must be strong, carved to define each muscle. You imagine being trapped between them, their forceful push against your meaker body as his ankles intertwine with yours.

"You can open your eyes now."

You taste his darkness in your mouth again. Potent tropical fruits laced with sea salt. He couldn't have known you were trailing after him, you'd been quiet, silent like a whisper.

"It's improper to strip out in the open. What would you have done if someone should have come upon you?"

He treads in the water like a pearl unearthed. Shimmering alongside the blue-green of the lagoon. "You came upon me and nothing happened."

"That's because I had the good graces to avert my gaze from such a sight."

"I'd prefer if you'd look."

He pours water over his face, sparkly droplets cascading down sharp cheekbones. Eyes wide with an odd groggy wonder. The sky and the sea and him ethereally in between. He shouldn't look so magical. Some water nymph playing spike ball with the sun. Drinking in the clouds and blue. Before diving back down into his aquatic galaxy.

"Join me"

"I'd rather impale myself"  

he's treading closer, water shielding his body like liquid lapis lazuli. "I wonder what your lips will taste like blue?" and it's the first time you've ever thought of your order's regalia as something so macabre.

His eyes are half-lidded, licking over your body like a melting Sunday. Or maybe he actually is, you can feel something wet and sinister sliding across your body. Slipping over and under the dress, sucking at pulse points. Anticipating soft vanilla.

You want to rip out his tongue and harbor in your mouth. You want to devour him as if he were ice cream on a summer day. Butterscotch cone with drizzled caramel and star sprinkles. Your teeth ache desperately for just one small bite.

He's standing, growing into a full man, no longer just a boy nymph memorized by soft whites and bright blues. The water droplet clutch greedy to taut muscles, refusing to leave such a Promethean thing.

The wet thing freezes. Running water to ice cube. His force evaporates from you, you bask in the mist of him. Before the shadow roots behind you impenetrable all over again. Qimir steps closer and you close your eyes on instinct. Stepping back, following the flow of sand in breeze.

Such sights are not for us to love.

It tips you off balance, You can't see Qimir but you can feel him. He's closer and closer. That's why you're stalking back. But the plasmic thing behind you nicks your ankle. Lurching you back. In the blink of an eye and the start of a scream, you're suspended in mid-air. Floating above the sands, save in the gossamer of his black mist.

"Careful" Qimir jests

And you crack your eye open just enough to see his outstretched hand.

"I want to take a shower"

"The lagoone is over there" he throws over his shoulder all so causally. like spelling out sea cemetary.

the warmth of the cave is suffocating. Lacing through your body making it breakout into little pearls of hidrosis. You roll over, watching Qimir, solder the cracks of his helmet. The rampant sparks cast him in a galactic white halo. Some intangible creature from the far reaches of the universe.

You wonder back to the incident by the lagoon.

You wonder if his tongue, his real tongue, would feel cool against your flaring skin. Muscle-bound ice cube rolling across your arms, your chest, drinking in your essence in half kisses and open-lipped moans. Sucking tenderly on the veins of your neck.

But shouldn't the tongues of monsters be spiked? cutting deep in search of blood?

Qimir swats the sweat from his temples. Pulling up the back of his shirt in an effort to fight the humidity. His scars transcend so low. Rivers weaving through him, overflowing with treasured secrets. You suck in the force through your lips drinking in its cold confidence. Marching up to stand behind him, only half admiring the rugged skin below the sandy shirt.

"Ahem" Spine straight, head held high. Your stance is practiced, sculpted in the confidence that the order demands. Lightside in every way.

Jedi, Jedi, Jedi

"I know it is futile to ask a treasonous sith like you to abide by the laws of common decency. But I'd ask that you do not come to spy on me while I bathe" Your hands ball into firsts. Glaring death and shark teeth at his blemished back.

He leaves the workbench with all the grace of a crushing tide. Elegance carved from salt rocks and years of walking through stars and shadows. But this time you refuse to step back. There is no dishabille to fear, no sand lines that may be passed.

But he doesn't confront you. He doesn't bask in his rage and stands proudly in front of you. No, instead he paces, or rather almost floats. He's in front of you one minute and behind you the next. The eerieness of it all only comes from the feeling of entombment. He is your cage, your coffin. Burying you under the sand with his precious secrets and red relics. Your nerve beats out of you in little droplets.

Qimir's fingers lace with your own, his hot breath fans the shell of your ear, "How can I make such promises when you act so cute" his voice is coconut shavings upon white sand. You aren't even sure he spoke. " I thought Sith only dealt in absolutes?" his laughter cuts like fractured seashells. Cutting through heartstrings. You want to hear it again and again until you've memorized its melody. "That's what we want the Jedi to believe."

His teeth graze the nape of your neck. That's the last straw, gravity crushes your nerve, and you take off running.

The pearls that shine within his sockets are entirely too dark. You shouldn't be thinking such this as you disrode. But the glimmer of pure drown isn't a worldly sight, it's something unplaceable.

Sith can not be trusted, even if, until mere days ago they had been things of fairytales like dragons and sea monsters. Mystical monsters used to frighten little padwans into finishing their plates. But the stories are true now, they've ripped open the holobooks and sprouted from the screen. Your fingers flex, feeling the weight of his hand in yours.

The monsters are real...

You keep your undergarments on as you descend with the sparkling tides. Qimir may appear at any moment. And you wish to confront a Sith in a Jedi's skin, or what little is left of it.

You're sinking into the watermelon greens and crystal blues, sinking into him... because even so far from the grotto his presence haunts your thoughts still.

"You wouldn't mind if I invite myself in?" The water laps at his feet, he's standing over the liquid threshold.

"What are you doing here?! I told you not to come."

he shrugs and you can't help but notice the definition of his muscles. "It's hot in the cave. Plus you don't own the beach."

He pulls the shirt over his head.

You scream for him to stop.

But this time as he pulls the waistband down you notice something underneath.

Swim trunks.

Bell-bottomed and shaped like a nebula, but only midnight in hue. The cuffs glimmer with red intricacies, patterns from a different time, a different solar system. Each stitch tells some tale of horror or history. Sith things that you'd rather not know. But why engrave them into a swimsuit? Why paint a tapestry on something so jejune?

He treads through the water, deadset on you. And again in every step, you notice a mettle valor that can only come from having killed and kissed your greatest fears.

The rocks are slippery beneath your feet, running, swimming, gliding whatever gets you further from him. But the rocks form barricades of their own. Igneous confines housing prey and beast.

"I meant it when I said you were cute." He has you pinned to the mineral mountains, eyes prying you open, studying your inner workings like a gutted bot. "So fragile so malleable..." You feel his power rolled over your neck.

You didn't expect the kiss. The taste of coconut shavings and caramel. Your heart hammers as he tugs on your hips, pulling you closer. Your lungs burn, filled with salt water and dark force energy.

But suffocating is a small price to pay when he parts your lips and pushes iced star fruits in your mouth.

That night Qimir had tried to feed you soup. Boiled fish and herbs in a cauldron that looks, entirely witch. But the refusal comes not from the perturbation of poison or the primal mistrust shared between star-crossed enemies.

No the refusal comes because you simply do not like fish.

"Just try a spoonful, it's from a rare breed. Considered a luxury on most planets". His entreaties fall on deaf ears, outvoiced by the stubbornness of a crashing tide. You retire hungry, and maybe it's hunger that stirs you in the dead of night.

Or maybe it's the heartbeat echoing from his mask.

He called it cortosis. But it looks more terror than diamond.

You sink to your knees in front of the haunted heirloom, cradling it gently within your palms. The iron flavor upon lips makes you part them, tongue fleshed tracing every welded scar. Sucking in the solder and crystal and every other poison.

You want to be a part of it, to pry open your ribcage and shove the empyrean taj within.

Let its darkness mingle with your blood. You want to feel it's royalty in the marrow of your bones.

In the morning you do not speak about the pulsating thing within. But the mask stares at you as you eat mint and bread from Qimir's hand.

It knows...

It knows things you can never admit.

You'd been planning on narrowly avoiding him. Tiptoeing across the cave to evade stirring him. But the plans die when first light breeches the aperture.

Qimir's gone.

And in his place, he's left yet another raiment.

The dress is summer and doll. Bowed in the back and studded.

Bar'biee in every way.

The hysterically placed designs parody the crisscross of twilight roses and all their thrones. Checkered in shades of obsidian and ink.

But the black of your dress doesn't quite match the ebony of his robes.

It simply plays testament to your ripeness. You're starting to feel like his little doll.

He lies on a beach towel overlooking the sea. So ordinary it makes you choke. Beach ball in the corner by his feet, waiting to be played with.

Fearless.

You wonder just who he had to kill to reach this hubris?

You float down the little exclaves toes barely touching the ground.

He's adorned the rocky beach with a comically large parasol too dark to even have a name. Another towel, a picnic basket, and little coconut cups with straws. Despite his black tainted sunglasses, he knows you're watching him. Caught in the bosom of this haunted shore. Awaiting your capturer's orders.

"You can sit if you want." again he's saying words without realizing how crushing they truly are. Their full weight pulling your bones until they slip from skin.

Might as well have said shark attack and death at sea.

But you obey because despite everything, the towel looks nice and so does the drink.

"The sun doesn't come out very often. But I figured we could at least enjoy it today."

"Thanks," you mutter chewing on the pink straw. You shift your limbs rigidly. Plastic doll coming to life. Pushing tense bones straight as you rest your uneasy head. The waves hum in your ear and you swear you hear the rocks buzze like star songs.

"Why did you bring me here? Why not kill me."

"Well, you're not really any use to me dead" He offers you a melon slice.

"So I'm bait." Qimir sighs, your query exhausting. He simply sips from his own drink. You notice the jounce of his throat with each gulp. How you'd love to ring to those bones, feel them crack between your fingers.

He turns to you, lips a breath away. He hasn't kissed you since that day in the lagoon. But you wish him too so very much.

This isn't the Jedi way...

What?

Qimir's fingers trace over your thighs and hips. Finally, they land heavily on your shoulders, pushing you into the rocks with zeal. He blocks the sun and you can't help but think he's lovelier than any red goliath in the macrocosm.

Qimir's teeth gnaw at your throat, kissing the blood and smearing it with his tongue. Traling open-mouth kisses to the plinth of your neck.

Your nails, rasp curiously at his back, tracing scars, tracing cortosis veins.

His fingers dig into your ribs, painting it in seastars. Kissing starlights and pearls in your bones. His body is hot, scolding. And you wonder if the minerals he surrounds himself with were all nursed in the womb of a violent volcano.

The result of destructive habits is knife bites called kisses and a heart that's finally exploded.

When he pulls off, he poises himself on his knees before falling back to his side, searching for something in the basket. You stare, dress distorted, and breath hitched. You taste the exotic fruit blend again. Burning, caramel, and coconut that linger across your body.

"Hey, can you put this on me?" reality blurs back in, he's dangling a yellow bottle in front of you. "What" he shouldn't have this ease with you. He shouldn't be playing make-believe lovers on the beach with the girl he kidnapped.

But he does.

And you play along too.

"it's sunscreen, believe it or not, I burn easily."

"No"

"please"

"N-"

You don't control your hand as it pours the cream onto his chest. He touches you with such familiarity, the force on this planet is just an extension of him. But you shy away at the thought of running your fingers across his muscle bound chest. What is the force if not a child's toy? If not another doll.

He notices the shyness. Or rather reads it from the air. His force pokes at your arms, laughing at the discomfort. Before you know it he's harbored between your thighs. Large hands holding your wrist.

Firm yet delicate.

He moves your hand over his chest, charting every bump and muscle. Coating the blocker over his skin. It feels like piecing together armor. Preparing him for a battle you've never been invited to.

You don't want this.

Well not quite.

You want to feel his body jolt under your touch and hear the sweet little quips he offers to lighten the mood. You want to capture the fleeting moment where he bites his lip and preserve it for eternity.

But more than anything you want to peel away his armor, his flesh, and bury yourself beneath. Become another one of his secrets and staying inside him. Safe and warm forever.

"Qimir"

He makes pomegranate soup that night. As he nestles your body over his lap. Kissing the half-healed bruise on your forehead. He brings the spoon to your lips and gently nudges your mind to let him in. You part your lips, welcoming him in with the shyness you've been raised on. Blushing little bride-doll.

Legacy. You realize when the seeds erupt inside your mouth.

He's feeding you his secrets, his bequest. Boiling you like the fish and the fruit. And birthing you anew.

You sleep with your head buried in the crux of his neck. Listening to the lullaby of his tattered heart, singing psalms of conquest.

That night you dream of a river red. You blame it on Qimir, the pomegranate seeds were too maroon in color and flavor.

From the crimson water the helmet surfaces. Bobbing in the waves, beckoning you. You cup your hands inside the river, guzzling down the water and licking your fingers after. You let the red kiss your lips and fill your lungs choking you by essence alone. You want to die drinking from the bloodlust. Die in front of his helmet.

So maybe he can call it love.

Or Devotion.

Or anything else equally sweet.

The river doesn't taste like pomegranates, or fruit cocktails, or iced coconut.

It tastes of salty iron, volcanic diamonds and Qimir's lips.

You plunge into the red...

He's thinking about you again. You know it from the moment you awake. His voice is loud inside your head. Reverberating from wall to wall until it is the only thing you hear.

This time the garments are waterproof. Swimwear. Two pieces in black, just black. And adorned with red trees on the seams.

Right, because you beat me in the forest.

Clever.

He has left bangles too, jagged and bruised purple with veins of white. cortosis. Accompanied by a golden necklace that looks like a beating heart, ripped freshly from someone's chest.

"You look beautiful," he remarks after you've dressed in his colors. When did he come in? You need to get better at hearing the man born from shadows. The man who's walking between worlds unseen, unheard his entire life.

He pulls you close, nails picking at the soft flesh of your tummy. Scratching skin and leaving red crescents. He kneels and licks and bites, claiming this new chart of unmarked skin.

This has always been about possession, domination, damnation. "Qimir" you moan and it feels so wrong and so right. Like saber to the heart.

Oh force, how far you've fallen.

Qimir laces his fingers with yours pulling you outside the cave. The sun shimmers off his lopsided smile and he really does glow brighter than every star in the known cosmos.

The lagoon is red.

It shouldn't be red.

"You killed them" Since when have such dire words spilled so easily from your lips? Sol, Jacki, Yord. Are they in this pool? shimmering translucent awaiting a vengeance you do not think you can deliver?

"Yes...But not your Jedi, not yet. These were just some self-pious knights who got in my way."

He brings his arm up showing you a fresh saber cut, before pulling you into the water. It's so warm boiling, lava meets water. You think your skin will peel off.

But you stand your ground. Force directing your every breath. Spine straight head high. Darkside in every way

Sith, sith, sith

You grasp at his forearm, pulling it to your lips. Your tongue finds the slit in the skin and dives it. Mapping out the muscles and drinking in the red.

Exotic fruits bled and blended.

"I think I'm finally getting through to you," Qimir says, brown pearls glazed over with pride. "My sweet little acolyte."

You giggle at the term. It tastes so bitter, like a raw espresso before dawn.

"Oh, master" you moan. As you pull him under the red waters. Lips and legs entwined.

ᯓ♡ : @feedmestraycats @moonlovefairy  @wicked0clouds @phoenixes-and-wizards @peridedarling @morax-on-my-mind @magikmaik @lov4gor3 @manchuria @bucksdonkey @embersofimagination @hauntedhedgehogs @peter-laufeyson @papitas-con-sal @f0odie @boredtone @bluechissbrain @yourfilthydevil @n0t-skywalker @xsister-serpent @gabriqllas @zionysuss @i-love-my-babygirls @pagingoswin @jxp1ter @faebirdie @deezhutts565 @thesithdiaries @pagingoswin @hauntingwolf @scentedbanditlampwobbler @uwingdispatch @mask-knife-is-buggys-girl @lunarsvertigo @scintilla-morningstar @carpinchootaku @penny44224 @suburbanlegendzzzz @jihyos-wifey @reylo-imperium @ladyofyourdreams @sassybananaweaselpsychic @96jnie @@jxp1ter @sunnymoonxx @scintilla-morningstar @carpinchootaku @smutmaniac @alena1100 @marice23top @ohdearmaggie @strawberrycat69

[insert-name-heres-things]

Happy Disability Pride Month!!!

Remember Folks:

- SELF CARE IS NUMBER ONE

- Use your spoons sparingly! Here’s some spoons to go: 🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄

- Clean your mobility aids! (Seriously dude when was the last time you wiped that shit down with an antibacterial?)

- Accommodate yourself, as others will follow.

- Make goals within your reach and abilities

- DO YOUR COPINGS SKILLS

- Remember to stay hydrated and take your meds!

- For my fellow heat sensitive homies, stay cool this summer! A cold rag draped behind your neck, airy clothing, a small portable hand fan, keeping ice packs ready, cold water and expecially cold electrolyte drinks, all do wonders!

- For my fellow autistic folks, don’t be afraid wear earmuffs, stim, use chew charms, whatever it is that helps you regulate. You don’t have to mask if it’s something that isn’t benefitting to your life.

- POTS havin mofos like me, salt the ever loving fuck out of your food. Try different foods with salt, such as fruits and vegetables! I’m currently eating a salty tomato. Drink lots of water, I’ve been aiding gateraid packets to my water and it’s made a HUGE difference, especially as someone who hates drinking water.

- Those with PTSD for whatever reason, I wish you safety and support as you learn to cope and hopefully heal.

- I don’t know exactly what to say to others with H-EDS, as I’m still understanding this disorder other then BE CAREFUL WITH YOURSELF THIS PRIDE MONTH. I swear to god we are the most accident prone mother fuckers lmfao-

- If your immune system is all fucky like mine, keep clean and be sanitary, communicate with others that if they’re sick you can’t be around them, and wear a mask if you feel like that’s the right option for you. In my hometown I’ve gotten yelled at more than once for wearing a mask post-covid, however you can’t let someone else’s ignorance result in your own suffering.

- Don’t forget to move around and stretch! A little movement can do a lot for your body.

- Check in with your disabled friends! Try and see if there’s any way you can help one another, see where both of your strengths and weaknesses lie, and swap some spoons!!

- Be aware of what triggers your disorders. Whether if it’s caffeine triggering bipolar episodes, the weather causing fibro flares, big changes causing meltdowns, overexerting your hypermobility, whatever it is, it matters. Listen to your body and mind.

- Don’t be afraid to call out that doctor who isn’t listening, dismissing your symptoms and medically gaslighting you.

- While it may not seem like a big difference for some, trust me when I say your appetite is so important! Remember if it comes down to it, that it’s better to eat something, ANYTHING, than nothing at all. 

- To that person who might be hesitant, ashamed or might be questioning wether or not they should use a mobility aid, if it’s the difference between you being stuck at home vs going out and living some life… USE THAT MOBILITY AID!!! Same goes for braces and any other tool that may help you live a better quality of life.

- Be accepting towards those with disabilities different then your own- remember this month isn’t a competition about who’s struggling the most, rather to understand that people of physical, psychological, sensory, neurodivergence, and even undiagnosed disabilities all share one thing in common.. WHICH IS BEING DISABLED!

- Doesn’t matter who you are, how young or old, black or white, thick or thin - the disabled minority is one you can end up becoming a part of at any time, and likely will if you live long enough. Disability doesn’t discriminate, so EVERYONE should be advocating for disabled people’s rights.

- And of course, have pride in being disabled. This shit is fucking hard, but if you’re reading this, you’re doing it. Just being here today and doing what you can handle or manage, is doing your best, and that’s enough. You don’t have to push yourselves to impossible lengths to be proud of yourself.

Here, have the disability pride flag:

[murdrdocs]

having a baby w mike and it being the baby’s first halloween :’) you mike and abby take lil dude to baby’s r us and spend HOURS trying to find smth perfect, mike and abby bicker over costumes bc “he’s my kid??” vs “i’m a kid and i know what kids like, and he’s MY nephew”, taking him trick or treating w abby and her staring down anyone w a mask or smth scary like “>:( don’t scare him he’s little”, mike being a Dad and wanting to take pics/vids of everything

oh my god clementine this is so sweet i actually had to silently squeal for a second !!

it’s like there’s a general buzz in the house for all of october. each of you thoroughly excited for the first real holiday in baby schmidt’s life, apart from the fourth where he’d worn an american flag swimsuit at your parents cookout. he seems to be excited too, constantly flashing his newly grown teeth even when no one’s looking. 

the outside of the house is brandished in cheesy decorations, little cobwebs and faux tombstones, abby’s hard work as she likes to remind you and mike every so often. it seems like she has just as big of a role in baby schmidt’s life as his parents, which eventually leads to the infamous babies r us argument. 

standing in the infant section again, it’s at least the fourth time the four of you have found yourselves here, the three times before ending in frustrated walks to the toy section (where mike put entirely too many toys in the buggy), a lunch break, and a feeding break for little schmidt. 

now, you’re determined to find a costume this time. the section isn’t that big so it really shouldn’t be as difficult as it is. but the two equally stubborn schmidt’s are the ones making it difficult, dual hardened eyes staring at each other. 

“he should go as mickey mouse, it’s cuter.” 

“and i’m telling you again, abby, that he’s going as a little astronaut.” 

they each hold their respective costumes in tight fists, and it’s really a funny sight to see; mike bent down to eye level with his little sister, face just a tiny bit red from the argument that really shouldn’t be as heated as it is. 

“every other kid is going to be an astronaut.” 

“and how do you know that?” 

“because dina’s little cousins are all astronauts. i’m a kid. i know what kids like, mike.” she spits his name with such a matter-of-fact attitude, that you start to see her point. 

but little schmidt is starting to get fussy in your harness and your back is really starting to hurt so you cut the argument short just when mike states, “yeah but hes my kid” and abby is starting to counter that he’s her nephew. 

you punctually grab the first costume that you see, the lion from wizards of oz, and throw it in the basket. 

“neither of you carried him and went through 17 hours of labor so i get to choose.” and they can’t argue with that logic. 

but to make the two grumpy ones feel better about losing, you all stop for ice cream on the way home. 

and weeks later, when halloween finally rolls around (because of course abby and mike were so excited for little schmidt’s first halloween that you’d gone costume shopping extremely early), they’re both on guard. 

abby’s trick or treating with a friend, you and mike left as guardians for the night, and as soon as dina rings the doorbell abby is giving her a lecture. 

“and he’s really little still so you can’t scare him, okay?” 

you and mike stand a few feet away in the hallway, coordinating outfits with baby schmidt who’s still down for the remainder of his nap. 

when it comes to trick or treating itself, mike has his camera out the entire time. he refuses to let you all leave the house without pictures. every few houses he has to take a picture of you and abby and dina walking back from the porch, or baby schmidt with his fist in his mouth. by the end of the night, he’s gone through two rolls of film, and there’s new family photos framed around the house by the time thanksgiving rolls around.

[biteofcherry]

Touch The Darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel​’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands. 

warnings: dark!Steve Rogers (really, he’s not a softie here, he dark); manipulation; blackmail; threats; power imbalance; 

specific warnings will be added for each chapter separately

*yeah I know the title is long, but I like it 😜 besides, each part will have it’s own little title

Chapter 1. Storm on the horizon  

Chapter 2. Lava in the snow

Chapter 3. In the eye of the storm

Chapter 4. Heated hail 

Chapter 5. Breaking ice

Chapter 6. Downpour

Chapter 7. Burning needles

Chapter 8. TBT

Chapter 9. TBT

Chapter 10. TBT

his fave position

pic inspired

if Princess was pregnant

birthday celebration

show of power

Steve vs your period

possessive Steve

Their first meeting from Steve’s pov

OVA

OVA II

[letsgetrowdy43]

Little White Lies—

Quinn Hughes x reader

Request: Quinn bringing his gf to the golf course to tag along with him, his brothers, and their dad. His gf pretended to be bad at gold for his sake…lol until they told her maybe she should go get an ice tea at the country club. But she decided to give them a run for the money…the Hughes Bros vs Quinn Gf and Jim. Jim even said he will invite her out to golfing with his friends… lol Jack even offered to bring her against Trevor. Quinn’s Gf def hustled them.

Off-season was coming to an end, meaning that the Hughes family golf tournament was in full swing.

Quinn had invited his girlfriend out with them for the first time. She wasn't invited out the past two summers that she'd accompanied Quinn to Michigan for the summer season, so she was excited and ready to play some golf.

Quinn grinned as she stood on the grass, her little white lulelemon skirt accentuated her thighs, her tanned shoulders on displayed, and hair was pulled back into a loose bun making his breath a little jagged and his head dizzy.

"Have you ever played before?" Jim asked as she stood next to him on the grass. Y/n took a practice swing, her form perfect as she held her pointer finger up to her lips, motioning for him to keep it a secret, "Ahh I see." "He gets competitive, I don't wanna burst his ego," she shrugged and sat next to the older man on his cart, sipping a Long Island Iced Tea as she watched Luke, Jack, and Quinn approach the cart.

Jack grinned, "Last game of the year, this decides who the best golf in the fam is," he mused, arm wrapping around his oldest brothers neck as his smirk grew, "as we all know I won last year, I'm feeling a two-year streak coming on." Quinn rolled his eyes and dipped out from Jack's hold making the younger brother trip from not having something to support his weight anymore.

"Don't listen to him, I have a feeling the title is all yours babe," the girl smiled innocently as Quinn melted into her hold, arms wrapped around him as she placed a kiss on his cheek. Quinn turned his head and pecked her on the lips, "You taste like rum," he whispered as he kissed her again. "Booze is the only way I'm getting through this day, and the heat," she said with a smile.

Jack groaned, "Stop being in love and lets get going!" "Okay okay," Quinn said, watching the pout on her face grow before he kissed it away, "lets go," he whispered.

Seven holes in and Y/n was putting in the least effort she could, not only was she not wanting to mess with the Hughes family tourney, but also golf was so disinteresting to her.

Quinn smiled at her as they arrived at the eighth hole, his hand on her thigh as she stared out of their cart to his brothers who were arguing in the other one, Jim driving with the most annoyed look on his face as his competitive sons bickered amongst themselves.

"Are you bored, love?" her loving boyfriend asked as they parked. "Am I doing that bad?" she asked, feigning innocence as she finally looked at him, brows pulled together with concern as he made a face that told her the answer, she was horrid. "Let me play this hole, and if I'm bad, I'll just go the bar and sit the rest out," she said with a grin. "I'm not saying you have to stop playing, you just look bored." "I know," she kissed his cheek before hopping off of the cart and pulling out her preferred club.

She let Luke go first, then Jack, and then it was her turn. Y/n turned and looked at Jim, winking at him before taking a deep breath and placing her feet in a better position, "I feel I might be getting better," she mused, Jim held back a chuckle as she swung her club and hit the ball.

The golf ball landed perfectly on the green as she turned around with a grin to look at all of the Hughes boys, a devious look on her face, many jaws dropped. "What?" she asked, dropping the bimbo act. "Your form was perfect!" "You just- have you been fucking around with us?"

The girl looked at Jim who looked thoroughly impressed, Quinn's brows were furrowed, "I thought you hated golf?" "I do," she shrugged, "doesn't mean I'm not good at it, Dad put me in lessons when I was in highschool," she said before taking a sip of her drink. "I feel betrayed!" "You'll live." "I don't think I will! I could've had you as a partner in the tourney against Brady and Matty instead of Jack!"

His girlfriend shrugged, "Speaking of tourneys, I'm gonna need you to partner with me tomorrow when I play against Cole and Trev," Jack said as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugging her into his side as she groaned. "I should've stayed at the bar," She looked to Quinn to get him to help her get out of it, but instead he shrugged with a smirk and looked down to his feet, ignoring eye contact. "Help your brother-in-law out!"

Quinn's face filled with amusement as she agreed returning to her boyfriend's side, "Are you mad?" "Of course not," he smiled as his arm wrapped around her, watching as Jim started to line up his club with the ball, "I'll try to get you out of that game tomorrow." "No I deserve the karma for lying," she said with a laugh, looking up at Quinn's crooked smile, her face broken out into a blushing mess as she stood on her tiptoes and pecked his lips lovingly, once, twice, and a third time before she was cut off. "Enough!" Jack screeched.

-

-

-

[snowangellll]

୨୧ here are some random cooper headcanons! these include you/ the reader as well! i believe he could be such a trauma-dense character, and im constantly thinking about him. anywhoooo. . . 🤍 enjoy angels.

ʚ♡ɞ tw! : @bus3, childhood traumas, breakdowns.

★ cooper has deep rooted trauma with his mother (canon of course) but i believe a lot of it tends to target his OCD. the moments when he needed to be understood were the very times he was silenced, punished, either physically or verbally, and ultimately ignored. if he felt compelled to do something a specific way, at a specific time, or in a specific place, it would only provoke a harsh reaction from his mother. “that’s what lazy children say. are you lazy?” a lot of unimpressed reactions, or the common “i’m disappointed.” i believe it could go a LOT deeper, but ill leave it summarized.

• during meltdowns or times of overstimulation he lets you hold him, hush him, or assure him- whether this started from his own feelings by daily nuisances OR a minor-major ptsd attack. his mental stressors are within a safe place when you’re around. you listen. you understand. you take things into consideration. you don’t taunt him. the contrast of how you treat him vs his mother leaves him feeling love for you. love, obsession.. a soft spot nonetheless.

★ he likes bands from his high school years, lots of smashing pumpkins, the occasional “dad grunge,” or classics. he also likes whatever riley likes. taylor swift? sure! a nice beat and neatly applied lyrics, why not? lady raven.. he obviously tolerated it. he plays whatever you like in the car though, not a big music guy overall. he just wants to see you happy.. to see how music actually inspires or affects you. a smile is all he wants to score from his angel.

★ younger cooper enjoyed gore films, yet he doesn’t watch many nowadays- that is unless YOU turn them on. unaware of his… second job.. you two cuddle underneath the heat of a comforter or throw blanket and enjoy through naivety. he enjoys a slow torture, blood & tension > guts & snuff. well, he doesn’t mind any genre, but he definitely likes a slow burned horror.

★ brings a dad bag during family time.. deodorant, snacks, WIPES, hand sanitizer! water, of course, bandaids, EVERYTHING. he’s mary poppins, especially during zoo or aquarium days. you come along, monitoring the kiddos alongside him, all clinging together like a family. he buys ice cream for everyone.. and yes, even before dinner. what? he has to stay the ‘cool dad’ somehow! also, he enjoys pie, chocolate mousse, ice cream, various sweets- inspiring you to constantly make him some. after work, after dinner, anything. his mother wasn’t keen in dessert- only for a reward.. you wanted to break that cycle. he is always deserving.

★ he never wears mix matched socks. ever. random, but real.

here were just a few! 🎀 i hope you enjoyed, mwah! feel free to leave moodboard suggestions, (or any suggestions.) lol byebye! ୨୧ mwah!

[thegnomelord]

PLEASEEEEE UR IDEA WITH MAGE M!READER AND MONSTER!COD MEN I'D LOVE THAT SO FICKING MUCH AND YES I AGREE THERE IS A LACK OF ALL THE VIOLENCE

Pov of how the world sees the reader Vs how TF141 reader :D. I'm in the middle of writing the first chapter of a fic with this idea, but guess who contracted TB like some coal miner 😞, me! So here's a sneak peak for the sort of vibe I'm going for while I'm trying to recover:

P.S: Ya'll are free to suggest/requests with this idea cause!

P.S.S: Check out bluegiragi who came up with this AU and give her some love!

Mages and Monsters

Mages are strange creatures.

In a world so full of monstrous hybrids and mythical creatures, mages sit on the proverbial line separating man from monster, stuck in both worlds without any hope of fitting in either one.

Because outwardly, they're average. No different from the billions of other humans. They're not born with the marks of monsterdom; they don't possess horns or leathery scales to shrug off small caliber bullets like dragons do, nor the claws and bone crushing jaws of werewolves, not feathered wings and razor sharp talons of harpies, nor the wraiths ghostly ability to become immaterial.

Outwardly, they're average. Ordinary. Mundane. Human...

Almost.

Because Price and Ghost are experienced enough to see the thing laying beneath the paper thin veneer of normality, are seasoned enough to quickly notice the one thing that puts an 'in' before a mage's 'human' description — Magic. Not the smoke and mirror kind magicians or charlatans use to swindle tourists out of money, but real magic.

The ancient kind, the capricious kind, slumbering like a beast inside the hollowed out cavern of a heart until it awakens with a terrible bloodlust. Each of them can attest to this; Price sports gnarled patched of scar tissue on the scaleless parts of his arm from ice burns, his draconic breath having saved him from frostbite that had devoured more than a few good men. Though Ghost doesn't show much skin, one can sometimes catch sight of branching fern patterns on his neck where lightning magic had shot through him. Gaz's back is peppered with hundreds of little cuts where a glass mage's summoned elegant ornaments had shattered into millions of shards, aiming to take out his wings.

And now Soap sports a mark of his own, his side tender red and blistered with a second degree burn. It could have been much worse, your flames were hot enough to melt steel, the only thing having kept him from an early cremation being the two solid concrete walls your magic had had to travel through to hit him and the enhanced regeneration of his thick hide.

But such power demands a cost — one paid in blood. For magic is as fickle and capricious as a rabid dog, just as eager to lunge for your throat as it will at the enemies, leaving lasting wounds for all to see; rough and calloused palms, skin blackened from blazing heat and freezing cold or marked with fern patterns of electricity, fingers stiff and marred with cuts from thorns and crystals and rock and glass, bone deep cuts where the liquid mana had burst out from the skin, leaving faintly glowing scars that never heal right.

All mages are born with this grievous gift, though one never knows whether it will present itself with a pitiful flicker of embers in a man's dying breath, or with a maelstrom of an infant's first hiccup. That's why most mages are sealed, by choice or force, a process which puts chains on the magic, making it and the mage docile.

But you are unsealed. And you flaunt that fact readily by melting the tail of their APC helicopter with one spell, not even waiting for them to crash before flooding the terrain with suffocating ash, the lenses of their gas masks already fogging up from the heat as they get out of the cloud of heavy sediment before it bursts to flames.

Sometimes the magic becomes unsatisfied with the weakness of the body, demanding more than just its pound of flesh and molding the body like clay to better suit it— Mage Marks, they're called — the subtle glow of magic in your eyes, the mana visibly pulsing inside your chest, the skin of your arms slipping away like wet paper before growing anew, this time mimicking the surface of magma, or the rocky barnacle encrusted reef, the gnarled bark of a tree, the crystalline inside of a geode, the ice spiked ground of tundra, or any other form that suits the magic in your veins.

The process is excruciating, the mana burrowing and gnawing on every nerve like a parasite that replaces what it eats with itself. But to you, that's an acceptable loss, because marked mages far surpass their unmarked fellows, your magic stronger and wilder, feral and viscous like the primordial force of nature.

So it becomes concerning when you're laying on the floor, captured, battered and bruised and calm.

Ghost had been waterboarding you for a while now, your body tied to a chair that had been tipped back so you were parallel with the ground. With water pooling around your head, your top half would have been soaked to the bone had your magic not been simmering in your veins, the magic suppression momentarily reducing the raging inferno in your chest to a meager flicker of flames.

They can't kill you, but limiting your magic for even a second is death in and of itself.

Your breathing is harsh as Ghost pulls away the cloth over your mouth, asking you a question as steam rises from your skin. Most would give in long before this point, but you just grin, eyes glowing with a burning glow, and make a comment about how good his arse looks from your viewpoint.

You manage only one small note of laughter, pitiful embers sparking at the corners of your lip, before Ghost drops the rag back over your face and begins anew.

Price watches all of this, sharp draconic eyes noting how the mana glows in your chest, pulsing like a second heart (assuming you had one to begin with), noticing how the water turns to steam a little faster when it splashes over your skin.

And Price knows.

You... You are going to be trouble.

[atinycafe]

COMMON MASTERLIST — ateez blurbs

collection of my blurbs under the cut ٩(๑ `︿´๑)۶

multiple members

- longing for your owners!ot8!ateez, who had left hybrid!you alone at home, you reach for the phone seeking comfort. - hyungline!ateez headcanons about the first time u meet them - atz headcanons about reader being unusually silent when drunk - atz headcanons about reader hugging a pillow 2 sleep - atz headcanons about making out with them on a chase atlantic beat - atz headcanons on them using "tiny" during sex [nsfw]

ddeonghwa

- biker!seonghwa vs bimbo!reader [suggestive] - bf!yunhwa help you in this heat (yunho acc doesn't help)

joongi

- a long-awaited reunion in hongjoong's creative studio leads to soft moment - hurt 2 comfort with hongjoong [light angst] - hongjoong and your first subdrop [nsfw] - shopping spree with dilf!woojoong - primal play with predator!joong [nsfw] - soft sex w joong [nsfw]

yunni

- during a late-night math session, you're visited by spiderman!yunho - bf!yunhwa help you in this heat (yunho acc doesn't help) - yunho fucks your nightmare away [nsfw] - choking kink w yunho [nsfw] - some boxer!yunho timestamps

hehetmon

- you admit something to vampire!yeosang [suggestive] - prince!yeosang rubs oil in your hair (cuz he loves brown girls) - yeosang and his oral fixation aka he loves boobies [nsfw]

sanni

- babying and doing san's eyebrows - ceo!san leaves u alone in ur bed 4 a meeting - sangi taking care of sick you - phone sex with daddy!san [nsfw] - pregnant reader faints [slight angst] - emperor!san x empress!reader

mangi

- mingi taking care of drunk you - sangi taking care of sick you (i have a thing 4 mingi taking care of me and i think it shows) - roommate!mingi is a big pervert [nsfw]

wooyo

- wooyoung playfully interrupts your asmr session, expressing his jealousy in a dramatic yet affectionate manner. - hybrid!wooyo plays a little game with you in your bathtub [nsfw] - overstimulation w meandom!woo [nsfw] - shopping spree with dilf!woojoong - zombie au - zombie au pt 2

jjong

- exbf!jongho misses u but u... miss him too? - jongho teases u

other groups

- spoonfuls of ice cream [brother's best friend!eunseok] - yandere school (+18) tropes [riize, atz, tbz, txt]

other works can be found here

[operationandre]

Can you do winter headcanons of Andre and Cal?😿😿

Winter Cal and Andre Headcanons

- Cal gets cold easily. He always has HotHands, gloves, a thick jacket, and a scarf on. Andre, on the other hand, has always been hot natured. He can go out in cold weather, even snow, with short sleeves on and be relatively fine.

- Andre constantly has cracked lips. His mom buys him chapstick as a gift every Christmas, but it always gets lost between the seats of his car. He ends up just licking his lips which makes everything worse.

- Cal’s face is always red. It’s not just the cold that makes the color pop out; it’s the wind as well. He’ll be sitting inside in the heat and have painful wind-burnt skin.

- The Gabriel family has annual snowman building competitions. The teams are always Cal’s dad and siblings vs Cal and his mom. (Cal and his mom always lose, but they’ll never admit that.)

- The Kriegmans and the Gabriels have meals together a lot around the holidays. They don’t really celebrate together due to one family celebrating Hanukkah and the other celebrating Christmas. They still want to spend time together though.

- Andre buys gifts for Cal’s siblings. The two kids normally make him a card in return. The card is always sticky and sparkly and covered in the messiest handwriting, but Andre keeps them in the top drawer of his dresser forever.

- Cal and Andre spend the night together even more than normal when winter break rolls around. They make hot chocolate, curl up in blankets together, and watch holiday and horror movies. They always find some random horror movie set during Christmas and laugh at how shitty it is.

- The boys make a pact to not buy each other expensive gifts, but Andre never abides by it. He buys Cal whatever he’s been wanting recently and throws away the receipt so Cal can’t try to return it. Cal normally makes him mixtapes, writes him a letter, buys Andre’s favorite candy, and decorates a box to put all of it in.

- Andre works out during the winter, running and lifting. He goes on runs around the neighborhood in thin sweatshirts, which his mom hates because she’s worried he’ll slip on ice or get frostbite. He lifts in the basement with some old dumbbells his brother used to have from when he wrestled.

- Andre’s brother comes home for the holidays, making the Kriegman house quite awkward. Andre spends a lot of time in his room and with Cal. He filmed a lot of solo Zero Day tapes on cold days that he spent locked up in his room.

- Cal and Andre are very touchy in the winter, even in front of other people. They have the excuse of it being cold outside to hide their soft touches and quick glances.

- They go around in Andre’s car and throw snowballs at people’s houses. When the people begin to walk outside or lights turn on, they hop in Andre’s old car that they left running and speed away.

[undertale-npcs]

Undertale NPCs tournament Round 2 summary

Round 2 finished up a while ago! Let's catch up on what happened...

The new characters, understandably, were generally more popular than the round 1 NPCs. There are also maybe 1 or 2 outliers who need to be wrangled in, lest they dominate forever. The man says two words the whole game... Let's check out some points of interest:

The most popular character of Round 2 was:

Onionsan!

Onionsan (60.9%) won against Inn Kid (39.1%) with 1556 votes. I have to assume it's because they are an unavoidable encounter. Everyone has interacted with them so many people know them. Maybe. I genuinely don't get it. This was also the { Most Popular Match }, with 2555 total votes!

The least popular character of Round 2 was:

Clam Guy!

Clam Guy (4.2%) lost to River Person (95.8%) with only 51 votes! I think he had the opposite problem as Onionsan, you have to backtrack to a room you have no reason to backtrack through to see him. Also he only talks about water. Not very interesting! This was also the { Most Agreed Upon Match } ! Probably because he was paired with River Person.

The least popular match of Round 1 was:

Fourth Froggit (66.5%) vs Scarf Lady (33.5%)

This match ended up having 653 votes, and was match 26/32. The amount of votes this had is way larger than the first round! I'm glad :) Both of these characters are kinda nothing but I was surprised there wasn't a bigger following for the wall Froggits.

Thank you for your participation!

I should have a summary of Losers Round 1 up soon. Tomorrow perhaps? And Losers Round 2 will be starting later after that!

And, for the nerds, under the cut are the stats for each poll of round 2:

Match 1 | 1005 votes Red Thundersnail 15.9% vs Nice Cream Guy 84.1%

Match 2 | 923 votes Library Loox 24.6% vs Wrap Mouse 75.4%

Match 3 | 1003 votes Business Snail 38.3% vs Politics Bear 61.7%

Match 4 | 1094 votes Cinnamon 34.2% vs Goner Kid 65.8&

Match 5 | 1337 votes Distant Guy 28.8% vs Dress Lion 71.2%

Match 6 | 1158 votes Inn Rabbit 56.1% vs Nacarat Jester 43.9%

Match 7 | 1008 votes Snowdrake's Dad 33.7% vs Ragel 66.3%

Match 8 | 959 votes Wall Eyes 59.9% vs Oni 40.1%

Match 9 | 2151 votes Ruins Mouse 44.9% vs Heat Flamesman 55.1%

Match 10 | 1097 votes Library Lizard 46.6% vs Donut Guy 53.4%

Match 11 | 952 votes Fox Head 27.3% vs Loren 72.7%

Match 12 | 946 votes Hotland Mouse 43% vs Rabbit Girl 57%

Match 13 | 1063 votes Echo Flower Explainer 16.1% vs Grillby 83.9%

Match 14 | 954 votes Gift Bear 70.3% vs Hotdog Harpy 29.7%

Match 15 | 1174 votes Box Lover 25.7% vs Ice Wolf 74.3%

Match 16 | 934 votes Resort Janitor 79.1% vs Wisp-like Business Dude 20.9%

Match 17 | 1316 votes Ferry 18.8% vs Bird That Carries You Over A Disproportionately Small Gap 81.2%

Match 18 | 771 votes Homeless Snail 34.9% vs Wrong Number Song Guy 65.1%

Match 19 | 903 votes Skateboard Girl 51.9% vs Drunk Bun 48.1%

Match 20 | 821 votes Big Mouth 28.6% vs Fuku Fuku Fire 71.4%

Match 21 | 2555 votes Inn Kid 39.1% vs Onionsan 60.9%

Match 22 | 930 votes Father Slime 68.1% vs Kid Slime (unhatted) 31.9%

Match 23 | 951 votes Waterfall Mouse 23.8% vs Snowman 76.2%

Match 24 | 1015 votes Watching Man 88.8% vs Hand Receptionist 11.2%

Match 25 | 1509 votes Thundersnail 54.7% vs Clam Girl 45.3%

Match 26 | 653 votes Fourth Froggit 66.5% vs Scarf Lady 33.5%

Match 27 | 887 votes Snowdin Mouse 60.9% vs Ficus Licker 39.1%

Match 28 | 658 votes Hotland Bakesale Spiders 66.3% vs Rabbit Kid 33.7%

Match 29 | 1220 votes Clam Guy 4.2% vs River Person 95.8%

Match 30 | 863 votes Ruins Bakesale Spiders 62.6% vs Snoring Guys 37.4%

Match 31 | 978 votes Red Bird 52.1% vs Business Manticore 47.9%

Match 32 | 1065 votes FOLLOWER 3 40% vs Rock 60%

[yorshie]

Hello! How are you? I hope you are doing well

Could you please do some Headcanons for tmnt (bayverse) x reader who has a huge problem with overheating? Like. Huge problem. Gets lightheaded, can’t sleep on “too warm” beds or places, Sometimes needs to lie on the cold ground or have ice packs on their face, legs, basically their whole self as an attempt of trying to cool down? And when they find out the boys skin is actually quite chilly they get more affectionate? Handsy? Of course w their consent, Legs get laced together, resting on their lap more often, both have crushes going on but reader is so bothered by how hot their skin is, all of the anxiety/bashfulness of approaching them is throw out of the window, and since winter is coming and the boys are coldblooded, a personal heater would be most welcomed (honestly a fair trade for everybody lol)

Hope that makes sense? (Honestly today is really bothering me cuz I’ve already used 3 ice packs and nothing is working 😭 i feel my face and legs are on fire and it’s so bothersome. I need some reassurance from some chilly boys fr) thank you and have a good day

Hello! I'm doing good, I hope you are doing better! I've been thinking about this ask for quite a bit, because I couldn't decide how exactly I was going to handle the turtles body heat, but I was totally enamored of imagining them being slightly cooler to reader's body heat, even though they do produce their own. Endothermic vs Ectothermic arguments went round and round, til I finally decided I was thinking about it waaaaayyyyy too deeply lol. So, thank you so much for sending this in, because it helped me Answer Some Questions for my personal writing lol. Going with the bayverse turtles run cooler than the average human body temp, but that they can withstand a range of temperatures because they still generate their own heat. So without further ado!

Bayverse turtles x GN reader, SFW - headcanons for nonspecific turtle

as always turtles are 24-25 in my writing

the first time he catches you lying on the floor in your home, surrounded by ziploc baggies of ice and an ice pack balanced on your nose, he almost snapped a picture at how goofy it looked. Then he noticed how red your skin was, how miserable you seemed, and he decided maybe it'd be better to check and see if you were ok

Upon finding out that, no, this was normal for you, that you were burning up despite how freezing cold your living room was, a small voice in the back of his head immediately reminded him that he ran COLD. He ignored it all through swapping your baggies out with fresh ice, of watching you roll to a new spot on the floor to find a new cool spot before his traitorous mouth opens up and he hears words that sound eerily like his own voice before he can reel the offer back in.

At first, you don't believe him. He's being sweet, sure, but the thought of touching or cuddling someone right now makes you want to commit murder. It takes him reaching out abruptly and placing his palm against your uncovered stomach for the fact to sink in that... oh my GOD HE"S COLD.

From that moment on, he is the designated cuddle buddy. In a pinch you'll make due with one of his brothers if you can convince them to stay still, but the first time he caught you draped over one of their shells you got the stink eye for three days straight, and when it came time for you to ask him once more to help you ended up being held more like a teddy bear.

Most of the time though, you sprawl across him on movie nights, cheek to his plastron, trying in vain to beat down blooming feelings when he rests his large, cool hands against your back and twines your legs together. Once or twice you're even embarrassed over it when it happens in front of his brothers, but at this point they just act like its normal. Just know, though, that your turtle has gotten ribbed over it privately, and there's a betting pool they've got going behind the two of yours' backs.

Come winter, you notice it's not just your turtle that's creeping in to cuddle now. With the weather turning, it seems the other three have realized that while they are a walking, talking ice pack for you, you are in fact a walking, talking furnace for them. Your turtle is definitely in the middle of the huddle, but don't be surprised to find yourself in the middle of a turtle pile anytime you come over. Don't worry, you're not the only human that gets wrangled into this. One time you got yoinked into the pile trying to coax your turtle out for some one on one cuddles and you found both Casey and April in the middle of the pile, both slightly squashed and unhappy about their turtle kidnapping.

All and all it's a revolving door of seeking each other out for heat and/or for cold, I'd give the betting pool a max of four months before it's being cashed out.

[grandisknight]

sweet macaron | dawnbreaker

summary: On a particular Thursday, Zayne decides to make something he once saw in a dream.

tags: angst, dawnbreaker!zayne, fem!MC mention, she/her pronouns used, hurt/no comfort, dreams, dreams vs. reality + wc: 1.0k | ao3 version here!

notes: vaguely inspired by his anecdote “still in dark” and “eternal attachment” birthday trailer - i needed to get this mild angst out my system in time for zayne’s bday ;; dawnbreaker my poor, poor beloved…

dividers from cafekitsune

Macarons are sweet.

Between carefully crafted pieces of meringue, a thin layer of confectionery fruit, jam or cream completed the dainty desert. Soft yet firm, a well-balanced chew and decadent sugar made for an ideal sweet bite.

Zayne peels off one of the biscuits from an aged baking tray, inspecting with mild interest. It was a delicate thing, with the slightest push of his pinched fingers cracking the already ruined surface between them. Crumbs speckled the air and dusted the countertop, soon tossed aside to be discarded.

Again, he’ll try again.

Tired eyes bored themselves into the tray of dull, gray rounds that were supposed to be tinted a daytime blue. This was his third batch, and he still couldn’t perfect a shade that was just barely out of his reach.

Halfway through the first batch, he wondered what was the point. He hadn’t done anything like this in who knows how long.

And through the second, he nearly scrapped it altogether when the peaks of egg white seemed to harden by his hands.

Cold, cold hands. They harbored his fingers, calloused to the touch and adorned by the sins of his undoings—of killing. Life taken by his hands, frozen by the shards crystallized within them. Piercing into the Abominations that ran amok, that were no longer human. Blackened blades of ice that consumed him and the aimed target, crafted with empty sentiment.

But it was only when a feeling that struck his heart at the precipice of cleaning his stainless bowl that made him reconsider his thrown away efforts thus far. He remembered he had dreamt of it again last night, more vivid that the ones in recent time.

Something very warm. A sound of a laugh filled with wholehearted affection for its recipient. The same one from his dreams, the one who frequently visits especially around this time of year. She had offered him a biscuit, decorated a white blob and details of black forming into a lopsided seal. He felt himself chew thoughtfully and watch her eyes glimmer in anticipation.

How cute, he quietly thought. Or so it seemed to be spoken aloud, seeing how her ears burned a bright red and a shy expression repainted her face. Zayne reassured her that it was a good treat, he liked it as it was.

The callings of his name that fell from the girl's lips were familiar and distant all at once, as if he wasn’t supposed to know.

Wasn’t supposed to hear how the birds sang and sun rose from the warmth of her voice, wasn’t supposed to see the way those eyes crinkled in crescents with a tender adoration.

But he heard it all the same, and it was a sound he's come to cherish, even if it wasn't for him. With such a sweet expression, she chastised him, lighthearted all throughout, about how she gifted him an important blessing. The ghost of frosting kissed the square of his cheek then, and he found himself shaking his head in playful disbelief. His mouth spilled a response then, though speaking from a body that wasn't his own at the same time.

"What an important blessing."

He still remembers the way their hands brushed, fluttering ginko leaves swirled around them with every sway of the breeze. He intimately could trace the pulse of what were his hands calmly clasping over hers, sharing in a heat and gentle caress especially so once their foreheads touched.

In the present, Zayne felt his own hands itch then, empty and tapping against the cold marble of his kitchen counter instead. The solemn reality dissolved the sweet melody that lingered in his mind.

Right. He was alone here.

Turning around, he decided to quietly return a plethora of ingredients to his countertop and robotically whisked together the ingredients.

Maybe for once, he’ll cling onto the things he shouldn’t know and entertain what was otherwise a dull existence. With a fleeting dream at the tips of his fingers, it would push him through what would be his third and final attempted batch.

So here he stood, some time later, harvesting the fruits of his labor. A sweet scent wafted through the kitchen once more. The back of a spoon dipped into a portion of creamy filling and smeared onto the bottom half of a biscuit. No cracks adorned the surface this time when the other half stuck on top, remaining in one, homogenous piece.

His first macaron. The biscuit was on the thinner side, having lost some of its puffed height from a shorter resting period. Not a perfect bakery display piece, but not exactly a failure either. It was fine, he would be the only one eating them after all.

It melted in his mouth with a bite, hints of bitter earl grey and honeyed vanilla seeping into his tastebuds. He stared into the remaining bite, discerning every ridge of the crust and textured chew of the interior.

The macaron was sweet after all. He wondered if the one she made was anything like it.

“Happy birthday,” the man whispered to no one but himself, placing the last piece into his mouth with a soundless bite.

Just for today, he would allow such a warm dream to sugarcoat his cold reality.

He saunters away from the kitchen then, tracing familiar steps of his daily routine. Along the way he carefully handles a potted jasmine, the only other semblance of life he has, and returns it to the window sill once more. The petals were just as wordless as he was, continuing to bloom underneath the return of the sun’s radiant waves.

Maybe one day, the jasmine would be able to experience the warmth of another person. And then he, too, could share in her very warmth that plagues his imagination for days without end. Wouldn't that be a lovely thought?

What was the semblance of a smile thinned out onto his lips, grimacing at the idea of chasing an impossible dream. Zayne turned away from the window, past the kitchen and trailing behind a faint mist of ice. Stepping towards the door, his casted shadows embraced a world without her and left into the abysmal halls.

His birthday was over.

[astrolovecosmos]

Scorpio is darkness, taboos, secrets, passion, heat, cold, ice, steam, underwater volcanoes, geysers, hot springs, deserts, moors, marshes, bathhouses, battlefields, islands, isolated places, under water caves, dark depths of the ocean, intensity, mastery, self-mastery, understanding, perception, intuition, compassion, healing, death, rebirth, magnetism, intimacy, vengeance, spite, jealousy, control, power, protection, manipulation, possessive, sexual, piercing, mystery, destruction, suspicion, self-destruction, privacy, shadows, magic, resentment, grudges, venom, potency, life in extreme environments (cactus, volcanic bacteria, tardigrade), survival, resilience, willpower, dark romance, creativity, sacrifice, erotic, dangerous, the seducer, detective, hypnotist, puppet master, magician or wizard, villain vs. hero conflicts and questions, truth vs. lies conflicts/questions, antihero, healer, starving, brooding, or passionate artist, ride or die, hidden treasure, inner strength, empowerment, snake shedding its skin, Scorpio is transformation.