#if everything got condensed down to Survival

[thecottageinthedark]

Finally got to Shadowbringers on ffxiv and I both hate and love the Crystarium. Hate it because i keep getting lost, the map is NO help. Love it because that aesthetic though.

I got spoiled by accident on the Exarch's identity long ago and I must say, I never thought he'd be such a dedicated student of the Arts and Crafts movement but I'm sure not complaining...

[itneverendshere]

I love pogue!reader and rafe sm. I’m so excited every time you post them ❤️ what if reader realizes she’s really falling for rafe and it’s getting serious so she’s tries to self sabotage and end it. She’s thinking he’s THE kook and she’s a pogue. It can’t last and she won’t survive that heartbreak. so rafe starts to panic but then realizes what’s she’s doing by ending it so he’s just like lol no nice try I’m not going anywhere

 i would follow you home - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) word count: 3.1k

hope you enjoy, i love them too 🩵

It was mid-afternoon, that quiet lull between lunch and dinner when the regulars started to trickle in. And like clockwork, you were wiping down the bar, mindlessly watching the condensation drip from a glass of iced tea when you saw Rafe strolling in.

He always had that cocky walk, shoulders rolled back like he owns the place, which, you guess, technically he kinda did, or at least his dad did. Cameron Development Group practically built the country club.

He spotted you and the corner of his mouth lifted in that way that made your stomach flip. God, you hated how it still got to you.

After months of this—him swinging by the bar at the end of his golf games, lounging against the counter like it was no big deal, driving you home, saving you from the storms, letting you kiss him—your heart should’ve calmed the hell down. But no, here you were, butterflies fluttering in your chest, fingers tightening around the rag you were using to clean.

You tossed it on the counter and busy yourself with stacking glasses.

“Hey, stranger.” His voice was all smooth like he knew exactly what effect it had on you. And he did. You were still a shitty liar and he learned that fast. 

You glanced up, trying to keep things cool, casual. “Hey yourself.”

He settled into one of the barstools, leaning forward, his blue eyes locking on yours. “You off soon?”

You shrugged. “Depends. Why?”

The truth was, you knew why. You knew exactly what he was asking.

He was wondering if you would have time after this—time to sneak off to that little spot by the docks where you'd been meeting up, where things between you had been getting more…a little complicated?

And that’s exactly why you needed to end this.

It’s not like you hadn’t seen it coming. You’d known for a while that whatever this thing was with Rafe, it was headed in a direction you couldn’t afford to follow. He was the poster child for Kook royalty. Born with a silver spoon and all that. Meanwhile, you were still just the bartender, a Pogue, barely scraping by. 

It started simple—quick conversations after work, long talks on the drive home, those random texts at 2 a.m. that turned into hours of you two confessing things you’d never say out loud to anyone else.

You din’t know when it shifted into this—this weird gray area where everything felt more intense. Maybe when you all but kissed him when he picked you up after the storm. That had to be it.

Because you knew how this story ended. You knew what happened when a girl like you fell for a guy like Rafe Cameron.

Heartbreak.

And you wouldn’t survive that.

“I’ve been thinking,” You blurted out, suddenly very aware of the way his eyes were still on you. Too aware. You reached for a clean glass, filling it with soda water to distract yourself. “Maybe we should… I dunno, cool it for a bit.”

His smirk faltered. “Cool it?”

“Yeah,” You shrugged again, trying to seem nonchalant, even though your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. “I mean, this was fun and all, but let’s be real—”

“Be real?”

You nodded, not daring to look up from the glass you were holding.

“We’re not exactly from the same world, Rafe. It was bound to end sooner or later. Might as well rip the band-aid off now.”

Silence. For a beat, he doesn’t say anything, and for a second you wonder if you had done it—if you’d actually convinced him that this wasn’t worth it, that he should’ve just walked away and left you with at least a sliver of your heart intact.

Then he laughed.

It wasn’t like a mocking laugh, but it was still a sound you weren’t expecting. Your eyes snapped up to his face, and you saw that damn smirk was back. Only this time, there was something softer in his eyes, something almost… amused?

“Oh, I see what this is.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking way too pleased with himself.

You frowned, instinctively grabbing a towel and wiping the counter again, trying to distract yourself from the way his eyes were making you feel seen. Too seen. 

��What?”

“You’re scared.”

Your stomach dropped. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupted, standing up and rounding the bar until he was way too close, until you could smell the cologne clinging to his skin and the fresh grass scent of the golf course. He caged you in with his body, one hand gripping the counter behind you, the other reaching up to tilt your chin so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You’re trying to push me away because you’re scared. But newsflash, sweetheart—nice try. I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight, because damn it, he was right. He was completely, 100% right, and you hated it. You hated that he could see right through you like that, see all your fears, all the things you’d been trying so hard to bury.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

You didn’t know what to say because, deep down, you didn’t want to believe that it mattered to him. You wanted to believe that he saw you for more than just the girl behind the bar. But every time you let yourself get close, that voice in the back of your head reminded you that this wasn’t some fairytale.

“Rafe, you’ll get bored,” you mumbled, barely able to get the words out. “You’ll realize this was just… a phase. I mean, we’re friends, right? We can just… go back to that.”

“Go back to that?” He repeated your words slowly like he was testing them out. And then he laughed—this short, disbelieving sound that made your stomach twist, “You’re trying to run.”

“Am not.”

“You are.

“There’s nothing to run from,” You snapped, though even you didn’t believe that.

He was close enough now that you had to tilt your head almost all the way back to meet his eyes, and there was something so raw, so real in the way he was looking at you that you couldn’t breathe.

“Nothing, huh?”

“Nothing,” you managed to repeat, but the word came out more like a question than a statement. The self-doubt you’d been trying to ignore bubbled up, and you hated yourself for it. 

He leaned in closer, and you could feel his breath against your skin. “If you think there’s nothing between us, then why does it hurt so much to even think about letting it go?”

His words hit a particular soft spot, and you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that you could walk away and be fine.

But the truth was, you weren’t fine. You weren’t even close to fine.

The whole time you’d been telling yourself this was just a fling, some wild phase that would burn out eventually—because that was what made sense. You weren’t supposed to fall for the guy who came from money and lived in a mansion on the hill, while you were still sharing a room with your sister in a run-down house, after yours got destroyed, on the wrong side of the island. 

This was never supposed to be real.

“You don’t get it. You’ve never had to worry about—about someone like me not fitting into your life. You don’t have people looking at you and thinking ‘what the hell is he doing with her?’”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and his thumb brushed a light circle against your waist, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Who cares what people think? I’m not with them. I’m with you.”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him, stepping back just enough to put some space between you.

"No. No, it’s not that simple. You don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to always be the one left behind. You’ll get bored, and then what? You just walk away and I’m the one left picking up the pieces."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you weren’t done.

"And don't say you won’t, because everyone does! I’ve seen this before. I’ve been through it. I don’t survive guys like you." Your voice cracked, and damn it, you hated how vulnerable you sounded, but it was too late. It was all spilling out now, all the fear you’d kept bottled up.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and instead of the cocky smirk you expected, there was something different in his eyes. Anger? No, frustration maybe. But not at you.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his cool. “You think I’m just some guy playing games, huh? That I’m gonna wake up one day and decide you’re not worth it?”

You crossed your arms, hugging yourself as if that would protect you from the way his words were hitting you too hard. “Isn’t that what happens?”

“No. Not with me.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do know that!” His voice rose, and you flinched a little, caught off guard by the intensity.

He noticed and apologized immediately, stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours but stopping just short. "I’m here, with you. Because I want to be. Don’t you get that?"

You hated the way he was looking at you, the way his words hit with brutal honesty you weren’t used to—it made you pause. Your eyes fleeted away, focusing on the floor because looking at him was too much.

"Just let me go," you whispered, "It’ll hurt less now."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and before you could pull back, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you in one swift move.

His hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes, and there was no escape from the intensity in them.

"No," he said, firm but quiet. "I’m not letting you go. You’re not pushing me away. I’m not leaving, no matter how hard you try to sabotage this."

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you shook your head, trying to argue, but then his lips were on yours, cutting off whatever weak protest you had left. The kiss wasn’t gentle or slow—it was harsh, like he was trying to make you understand something without words. 

 And damn it, you kissed him back. Because of course, you did.

Because despite everything you said, everything you feared, you wanted this. You wanted him. But the second you felt yourself giving in, you pushed him back, your hands pressed against his chest, trying to regain some control. 

"Stop doing that," you snapped, breathless.

"Doing what?" He sounded just as breathless, but he didn’t step away.

"Kissing me like you can fix this. Like—like I’m just gonna believe you."

He exhaled sharply, his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close. "You don’t have to believe me now, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll prove it to you, okay? Just stop trying to run every time it gets hard."

"I don’t know how to do this," you admitted quietly, your hands still resting against his chest, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

"I’ll show you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Just stop pushing me away."

For a moment, you let yourself just be there with him, your defenses crumbling piece by piece. You didn’t know how long it would last, or if you could even survive it, but maybe… just maybe, he was worth the risk.

But still, you couldn’t help but mutter, "You’re so stupid, you know that?"

His lips twitched into a smile. “And you’re still kissing me, again, so what does that say about you?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your lips twitched with a smirk of your own.

 “Says I’m just as stupid as you,” you muttered under your breath, but the words lacked bite. Your hands stayed on his chest, fingers still gripping his polo like you were afraid to let go, like maybe if you held on tight enough, you wouldn’t fall apart, “Do you always go around kissing the saff?” You mumbled out.

Rafe’s hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you in closer. His forehead still rested against yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and steady, brushing against your skin. It was infuriating how easy it was to melt into him.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the start of a grin, “Only the ones who can’t seem to stay away from me.”

You groaned, shoving him in the chest with just enough force to make him stumble back a step. “God, you’re insufferable.”

He caught your wrists before you could pull away completely, his grip gentle, keeping you close enough that you could still feel the warmth of his skin through your clothes. “Yeah, well, you seem to like insufferable.”

“Do I though?” You quipped, trying to sound indifferent, but your heartbeat was giving you away. You could feel it hammering in your chest, “Because I feel like this whole thing is a bad idea. You know, like ‘kiss the rich guy, ruin your life’ kind of bad idea.”

Rafe’s expression softened, and the teasing glint in his eyes faded. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” You tried to play dumb.

“Talk like this doesn’t mean something. Like I don’t mean something to you.” His voice was low, but there was a seriousness in it that made your stomach flip. “We’ve been doing this dance for a while now, and every time it starts to get real, you act like it’s just… casual.”

Your throat tightened, and you tried to pull your wrists free, but he didn’t let go, making it clear he wasn’t letting you run again.

“Maybe it is casual,” you said, even though the words tasted like a lie. “Maybe we’re just two people having a good time, and that’s it.”

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way that made your chest ache. “Nah. You’re not fooling me anymore. You don’t kiss someone like you kissed me just for fun.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “Rafe…”

“And you don’t look at me like that when I walk in unless there’s more to it.” His voice softened as his thumb traced light circles against your skin. “So stop pretending it’s nothing.”

“I should be working.”

But Rafe wasn’t letting you off that easy. “Yeah, you probably should,” he said, but his hands didn’t move, and neither did his eyes.

“So you’re gonna let me go?”

“Why’d you kiss me that day?” he asked, "I’ve been wondering.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the question. He was so close, and it was hard to think, let alone answer something that felt so…disarming like everything you’d been running from was waiting in his words.

"I don’t know," you groaned, suddenly feeling like a cornered animal. "I wasn’t thinking straight."

His fingers traced a slow line down your arm, sending shivers through you. "You sure about that?" His voice was quiet, like he already knew you were lying, knew you too well for you to hide behind that excuse. "Because it didn’t feel like just some random kiss."

You scoffed, trying to laugh it off, trying to keep your cool, but the sound came out shaky.

"It was— I don’t know, Rafe. It was just the heat of the moment, okay? The storm… everything." You bit your lip, avoiding his gaze because you knew he wasn’t buying it. "You saved me, and I guess I was—"

"Grateful?" he interrupted, his brow arching. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

You winced. "I didn’t mean it like that."

“Yeah, well, it sure sounds like you’re trying to make it seem like it meant nothing. Like you didn’t feel anything when you kissed me.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to respond right away. He wasn’t wrong. That kiss had meant something—maybe more than you were ready to admit to yourself, let alone to him.

“You can’t keep acting like you don’t care, because I know you do. You wouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t.”

The way he said it, so certain, so sure of himself—it made your heart race even faster. 

“Why do you care so much?” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Why does it matter?”

He frowned, like you had just asked the stupidest question in the world. “Because it matters to me.”

Your chest tightened at that, and you hated how much you wanted to believe him. "I don’t want to get hurt, Rafe."

"I’m not gonna hurt you." His voice was low, serious, like a promise, but you’d heard promises like that before. "I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. I’m asking for a chance, just one chance. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest tightened as you stared up at him. He was serious. Like, really serious. And you were scared out of your mind because you wanted to believe him so badly. But trusting someone, letting them in? That was terrifying.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, finally admitting it out loud.

“I know,” he murmured, his forehead resting gently against yours. “But I’m scared too, okay? I want to be with you. So, please, just… give us a shot.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, your mind racing a hundred miles per hour.

You could still feel his lips on yours, the way he made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could let your guard down for once. And the truth was, despite all the reasons you’d been telling yourself to walk away, your heart was telling you to stay.

 “Okay.”

His breath caught. “Okay?”

You opened your eyes, “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you a chance. Don’t screw it up.”

Rafe’s lips curved into that stupid, cocky grin, “I won’t. I promise.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but instead, you found yourself smiling back. 

Maybe this was crazy, maybe you were setting yourself up for heartbreak or maybe you’d really found yourself a soulmate.

[purpleqilinwrites]

quietly.

a/n: for the pixel café network's spooktober event. if you'd like to read more, the event masterlist is here!

fandom: haikyuu!!

character: ushijima wakatoshi

genre: angst

info: zombie apocalypse au; takes place around the time-skip; established relationship (ushijima is your boyfriend / fiancé)

warnings: might not be canon-compliant; mentions of gore; mentions of injury (one of them self-inflicted); major character death

synopsis: the world ended not with a bang, but quietly, in a room with blue wallpaper.

word count: 3.5k

Ushijima Wakatoshi

It was quiet outside. Too quiet.

The thought of something – or a group of someones – catching you by surprise prevented you from falling asleep, and you got up from the makeshift bed you threw together to stand guard by the smudged window again. Ushijima stirred from your abrupt movement, moving his arm to tug you back to him but only snagging a handful of air.

"They're not active when it's dark," he said, his voice still laden with sleep. You felt bad for waking him. He was the one who's been doing most of the hard labour keeping the two of you alive, and you thought that safeguarding him while he rested was the one thing you could do for him in return. You weren't much good at any of the survival things, despite being quite savvy at the games you played that simulated this exact situation you found yourself in. "Let's just sleep."

Cutting through the rotting flesh of a zombie was stupidly easy a few months prior, when all you had to do was press several buttons in quick succession. Ushijima had wondered what you found so fascinating about playing a character trying to survive a zombie apocalypse. You didn't know either. Maybe there was something about being a hero that you liked. The main character almost always won at the end, after all.

"Be back in a minute," you said, crossing your arms to ward off the late autumn chill. Ushijima left it at that, turning his head to the side where you should've been sleeping and closing his eyes.

You remained on your feet by the window for maybe half an hour after you heard him start snoring again. The only movement you detected outside was the trees bending at the waist to the strong hand of the night winds.

When the food you'd amassed was close to running out, Ushijima decided that it was time to move on from this defunct power station. With several jelly drinks and two granola bars safely stored in the fanny pack under your jacket, you followed him out of the ruined front gates once the afternoon began to wane into the evening.

It was all open terrain once you were out of the compound.

You were soothed knowing that if there was a zombie or two approaching, it would be easy to spot them since there was nowhere for them to hide. On the other hand, there was no avoiding another bloody confrontation once the zombie had been spotted.

The weight of the borrowed wrench in your hand did little to assuage your worry. It was cold against the heat of your skin. Colder than the evening breeze that whipped at your face once the stars began to wink at the pair of you from above.

You stopped Ushijima for a moment to admire them, and just for the slow count up to ten, everything was alright again.

It felt like you'd been walking for days on end when a town a little ways ahead came into view.

You exhaled your relief, your breath condensing into a misshapen mist that was quickly eaten by the breeze. "Let's hurry," Ushijima said, adjusting the straps of his backpack and then gesturing for you to keep up with him.

The house that was the first to greet you looked the way you felt, with the door missing, all its windows smashed in, and an entire chunk of the front wall lying scattered about the overgrown lawn in hunks of debris. As you approached, there was a pointed odour of decay rushing out from deeper within the house through the missing section of the wall.

You continued down the path that led to several more houses in the town instead of stopping at the first one, and all the houses in the row were alike in sight and smell. There was a much larger house at the north end of the town from where you started. Despite its less than hospitable condition, you said, "It'll have to do for now," and Ushijima acquiesced with that little wrinkle in his brow that told you he didn't want to stop there in the meantime if he could help it.

Less than two meters from what would've been the front gardens of the large house was a mostly intact concrete wall that reached only to your waist. There were several rust-coloured blotches splattered around the corners. It was arduous work putting the thought of what those dark stains could be to rest, but you managed. Across the one face of the wall was a metal plaque inscribed with a mostly faded name.

This town used to be a retirement village.

You shivered, even if you didn't feel particularly cold. Ushijima retraced his last ten or so steps and came to stand beside you when he realised you hadn't moved for a while, and his palm was warm against your bicep.

"Let's not stay here long," he said. "Just for the night."

The aluminised plastic rustled when you rubbed the packet of onsen salts between your hands. It didn't impart any warmth to you, but you still palmed at it anyway.

Ushijima looked up from taking stock of what was left of your food reserves because of the noise. "There's no running water here," he said. "You can't take a bath." A mirthless sound left your lips at his innocent reminder of your situation. It's been a few months already since the last time you took a bath. You wondered how long you'd be stewing in the medicated water if you knew beforehand that it would be your last soak for a while.

Even the ability to rinse your sweat-smeared face with clean water instead of drinking it was a luxury so far out of reach.

"I know." You spoke after a moment of silence, reading the words on the packet as if it were the first time you were seeing it. "I was hoping looking at this would make me feel better. Remind me of the days before all this."

You felt him scoot right up to you, his arms wrapping around your midsection as he leaned in to take a closer look at what you were holding. "We went there for our anniversary last year. And to celebrate my contract with the Adlers being renewed," he said, poking at the telltale logo on the upper left corner of the packet. You didn't miss how he let his touch linger on the packet of onsen salts in your hands. "I liked it too. The onsen."

For a man as stoic as Ushijima, though you knew it wasn't on purpose that he presented himself that way, that small gesture absolutely ripped your heart down the middle.

The next place you took refuge in was at a fishing port.

All the buildings along the port were repurposed shipping containers, the outer layer of paint dulled all over and peeling in some places, exposing irregular patches of rust. Ushijima stopped in front of the least damaged container and tried to open the door. When he determined that it was locked, he forcibly opened the door with his hammer and stepped in.

After a moment, he emerged from his initial scan of the shipping container's interior and beckoned for you to join him inside. "Come. It's safe for you."

Whoever owned this shipping container was a godsend.

The weariness you've been shouldering all these past few months seemed to seep out of your bones and evaporated as you hungrily took in the sight of the rows and rows of emergency food supplies and bottled water. You felt something wet trail down your chin. Swiping at your mouth with the back of your free hand, you realised then that you had been drooling. Even the wet sensation of your own spit on your face felt unfamiliar.

Ushijima was hauling the display cabinet at the other end of the container to fortify the now busted door when you came back to yourself. You began pulling where he was pushing, and the two of you made quick work of turning the display cabinet into a barricade.

Dinner was a comparatively extravagant affair now that you had options other than to have a bite of something for now or to save it for later.

You crunched on not just one but two cups of instant noodles, enjoying a forkful of canned tuna between bites of noodles. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Ushijima simply watching you eat, his own dinner of canned beans in tomato sauce with a sleeve of wheat crackers sitting yet untouched in front of him.

"You want some?" You reached over with an especially hefty forkful of tuna, which he easily accepted. As he chewed, he placed a cracker loaded with beans over the mouth of one of your empty noodle cups.

"I like this," he said, and you had an inkling he wasn't referring to the food in front of him. "It's been a while since I saw you smile. It's nice."

His sentimental declaration completely disarmed you. Even with the cracker he shared with you shovelled partly into your mouth, your eyes filled up with tears that quickly began running down your face as if by the bucket. Your tears surprised him, and with your vision partially obscured by them, you saw how he almost dropped the cracker he was eating. It made you laugh, despite yourself. Despite the cracker chunks sticking uncomfortably to the roof of your mouth. Despite the reality of things outside this shipping container.

There was something boneless about how you felt – a good kind of boneless feeling, if there was such a thing – when he put his food down to hold you until you were done crying around a mouthful of beans and a broken-off corner of a cracker.

This situation with the zombies has been a reality for exactly a year and eight months since the first time you got bitten.

It was in what used to be a covered shopping street. You remembered coming here with your friends from elementary school, your wallet heavy with coins so that you could spend hours and hours playing in the arcade. For a moment, you wondered about them as you walked behind Ushijima along the ruined corner of the shopping street where that arcade should've been.

This was a place brimming with good memories from your past. It filled your mouth with an acrid, bitter taste that in your present, this place would signal the beginning of the end.

You mourned the loss of two fingers from your left hand, your little finger and your ring finger that you had to cleave off if you wanted to avoid transforming into a zombie. For months and months after the fact, you suffered from irregular bouts of a phantom pain that was real enough to seize you from your sleep, and you were always left kicking and screaming until it passed.

Sometimes, when your mind cleared and you became aware that the wound had already healed into an uneven mass of a scar, you found yourself grieving also that if this zombie situation were ever resolved, you'd never wear a wedding ring where it was supposed to be worn.

After a particularly nasty run-in with a group of other survivors, the two of you collectively agreed to remain on your own. You wanted to ask "Until when?" but the words evaded you when you noticed that the clench in Ushijima's jaw had become a permanent fixture of his face. His natural expression was never angry, before all this.

The remains of Shiratorizawa Academy loomed over the residential and semi-commercial buildings that surrounded it, casting a shadow even in the late hour.

At first, you thought he wanted to stay there for the time being, and so you followed at the usual two paces behind him. Ushijima stopped without warning in his approach, and you rammed into his back. The sight of your shared alma mater cast a spell on him, and he paid no mind to you as you stumbled and latched onto his elbow to right yourself.

The last time he'd held you, the angles of his bones didn't jut out this much.

"I wanted us to get married here," he said, turning around to face you. You had expected him to say something about volleyball instead. Something about the way his palm tingled pleasantly after he spiked the ball. Something about Satori-kun and the other Shiratorizawa boys he used to play here with. After all, he loved the sport before he loved you. You never once thought to equate these two loves of his. Even so—

There was that pinprick of warmth at the back of your eyes that warned of the tears to come, but that was the end of it. Maybe you were too dehydrated to retain the ability to cry. You blinked, as if to prevent a tide of nonexistent tears from falling.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but a low growl from within the abandoned Shiratorizawa compound made him close it.

There was a part of you that was too tired to run. You've already spent more than two years – or more? Had it been three years already? Five? More? – running and hiding and starving. When was the last time you were happy that you were still alive?

Ushijima appeared to be able to hear the words on the tip of your tongue that you haven't yet said, and he made the decision for you. As a swarm of zombies materialised from the twisted shadows of Shiratorizawa, he grabbed your forearm and yanked you after him.

The two of you narrowly missed the most nimble zombie in the horde. The one who relentlessly chased after you on all fours with a good portion of his face and most of his right arm missing.

It was in another school when you got bitten again.

This time, there were no memories attached to the place. Neither of you went to school here. It was too far north of Sendai where the two of you met. You took it as a small consolation, no matter that it was insignificant, that nothing in your past was sullied by this thing that happened in your present.

You poured an entire travel-sized vodka bottle onto the wound once you managed to duck into an underground shelter a good distance away from the school. Dipping your hand into your fanny pack left you disappointed; you had nothing else to clean the site of your injury with.

The wound festered unnaturally, darkening into the sickly purple-grey of a bruised plum beginning to mould. Even the flies that gathered around the corpses of people who died a natural death avoided the parasitic rot making its home in your body.

It occurred to you that you might need to self-mutilate once again, for the sake of survival. You brandished the one clean knife in your possession before you processed the thought, aligning the cutting edge with the curve of your lowermost rib on the right side. The exposed portion of bone, off-white from the poor nutrition of the recent years and mostly smooth when the bite was still fresh, had succumbed to the thing that was going to kill you.

If you didn't do this now—

Ushijima caught you with the pocket knife within its sheath, but still tightly enmeshed in the meeting of your two hands. There was a pleading look in his eyes that made your heart twist painfully in your chest. You couldn't bear to maintain eye contact for longer than a second, turning your cheek to him instead.

"Toshi, please," you said, and pushing those two words past your lips drained you. "I don't want to turn into a zombie. Let me do this, please. Please–"

If you didn't do this now, you'd have to ask him—

The last clinic the two of you stumbled upon was devoid of anything useful. All that met you within the shattered glass walls were the lifeless bodies of what looked to have been at least two groups of survivors fighting over the last of some medical supplies. You checked a can of disinfectant spray lying by the severed leg of the least decomposed corpse, and the way it rattled when you picked it up told you it had been empty for a while.

"We've already been through so much. We'll get through this too," he said, prying the knife from your trembling hands. You were prepared for the physical pain of what needed to be done, but there was nothing you could do to steel yourself against the cruel knowledge that you had to leave Ushijima behind soon.

"I can't– Do this anymore," you said. "It hurts. Everything– Everything hurts."

His eyes were watchful while you lay shivering and sweaty and grey on the stained mattress. You were bundled up in an assortment of clothes Ushijima had collected from the other apartments in this building. It was the heat of summer, clammy and thick, but it felt like winter to you.

You gathered the strength to wave your hand at him to properly get his attention, but your efforts fell short, your forearm rising only to flop back where it came from. The closest you came to swearing was a broken, wispy groan.

He was looking at you, but not seeing you. It was the same way you were looking at him, and all you could focus on was the repetitive floral motif on the pretty blue wallpaper behind him.

"–Toshi," you managed. It took maybe five or six seconds for him to register that you had spoken. Once it did, he rose from his seated position on the floor close to the mattress to kneel beside where you lay.

You mustered all the strength you had left in your quickly rotting body to nod to him. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't summon the words to your lips and push them out so he could hear you. So that he knew that this was it. That it was time for you to go, and he had to let you go. All you managed was a singular decisive nod.

It felt like a moment that should've been tearful. This was goodbye, after all.

These few – or maybe more than a few – years you survived because of him. You never knew how much it cost him because he never let you apologise for being one more thing for him to take care of. Ushijima only accepted your feelings when you said, "Thank you" and "I love you" and "I appreciate you".

You gave a strained nod that sapped what remained alive in you, and he nodded back with his mouth flattened into a solemn line.

He leaned forward to press his lips to yours one last time. In the blurred vision of your one good eye, it looked like he was about to cry as his face drew nearer to yours. Since you couldn't bring your arms around him, you settled for two dull taps of your index finger onto the plush surface of the mattress and hoped he understood. Did he even see it?

You wanted to ask him not to cry while you could still be aware of it, but you've already asked too much of him.

He stood up, leaving your narrow field of vision for a moment. When he came back into view, the pocket knife you'd been using as your weapon of choice was in his dominant hand, the deep green of the weathered handle standing out against the colour of his skin.

Ushijima leaned over you, shivering and sweaty and grey.

His right hand passed over your face, and he mapped out the line of your jaw, the curve of your lips, the slant of your nose, the shape of your eyes. The calloused pads of his fingers were gentle as he shut your eyes for you.

"I don't want this," he admitted, nestling his cheek against your forehead. His voice was close to your ear, and you could hear the fissures in it worsening as he spoke. "Not when I was ready to die before you."

The cool of your grey flesh greedily soaked up the warmth of his body when he lifted your upper body to cradle you to his chest, safe in his arms as you've always been. You wanted to snuggle into the crook of his neck one more time before it was time for you to go, but there was no more energy left in you. Your life had run out, and it was time—

"I love you," was the last thing you heard but not the last thing you felt.

[thebubblyship]

I got permission. And so begins my ranting. Strap in fellas.

So I recently got into printing out some fanfics physically, and the first one I had to tackle was the first 25 chapters of an amazing fanfic called Yuuei Survival Guide. The art and the writing are not mine, but I do plan on actually drawing a custom cover for the last 25 chapters so I don't feel guiltly snagging someone else's art for it.

So that's the front cover! The story heavily focuses on Oboro and Izuku's growing relationship so for the first book (I can only print so much in one book), so I knew right away I wanted for the two of them to be seperated on the front and back of the covers for the first book, and for them to be together for the second book (symbolizing their friendship growing).

That's why I threw Izuku onto the back cover with the description, along with them having the day/night theme. I feel like the day/night cycle symbolizes them pretty well.

Obviously, required spine with title on it so I don't lose it amongst my other books. I meshed their sky colors together with a blend tool and changed their opacity in the middle so they come together for the spine.

Book title with author, very required very cool.

And here is the second page, because I wanted the first page to be the gap page (if that makes sense) in case printing went wrong. I also included a cute piece of fanart I found for the fic along with a quote because I found it rather adorable.

Following is where it gets messy. I was able to download the full fanfic off of Ao3, but the file was so large word just died out on me so I switched over to just copy and pasting, editing while I go. Especially since I wanted to go through and format. That's when I noticed the author has begun to go back and re-edit through the book to update it to their current writing style, because I have such convient timing lmao.

I indented the chapter titles down a good few lines, made the first part of every chapter a bigger font than the rest, and just went to town. I also found a very lovely page break online that I added, since it fit the theme and looked rather nice.

In total, this physical version totalled to about 650 pages for the first 25 chapters. The end page down below, along with some more fanart:

I think in total, making everything took me about a week or two to do? Since I put it into a google doc, I was able to work on it during slow hours at my job and knock it out. Obviously printing and shipping added onto that time, so in total I'd say around a month to produce it?

I absolutely adore it, it came in this morning and I was grinning like an idiot while I checked it out. I plan on editing the last 25 chapters and making some art myself for it, since I: A. Need to actually draw fanart for this platonic duo, love them, and B. Have a very specific idea for them I want to do for the cover.

Definitely made some mistakes along the way for this first one, but there's only up to go in doing this! I love being able to physically hold it and it's definitely going on my self for a constant read. It's so beautiful!!!!

@lowlywriter I'll figure out how to condense down instructions on how to print it, along with getting a zip file of the cover layout and everything for it. (And I mentioned this earlier but I definitely did see the writing changes, last I checked you finished chapter 4 I believe? So there definitely is a writing tone shift in the book but I don't mind lol).

I'm so happy with the final result and I can't wait to tackle the last 25 chapters aaaaaaaa!!!!!!

[ve1vet-cake]

Family Line

MDNI‼️

Cw: abuse mention, child neglect mention, scarring, dealing with trauma

Character: Ren ( @14dayswithyou )

Summary: Ren walks down memory lane and his family line

Based on:

My father never talked a lot He just took a walk around the block 'Til all his anger took a hold of him And then he'd hit

The man breathed out, eyes focusing on the mist of condensation leaving his lips. The cold months always hit him in a way he couldn't describe. They made him remember the lingering feeling of loneliness and coldness within him. Without his sun, his angel, he couldn't comprehend the warmth others felt. His eyes shifted to the sandbox while he shook his head so his hair would hide his face a little from the cold.

He remembered those happy memories with them. The way they smiled at him, giving him the feeling of belonging somewhere.

A feeling of home.

A feeling he hadn't felt with his family.

My mother never cried a lot She took the punches, but she never fought

Oh how he pitied the circumstances he was brought up in. All that pain, all the pressure.

Being unwanted.

I say they're just the ones who gave me life But I truly am my parents' child

With a sigh he looked at his hands, the scarred skin looking back at him. The pad of his thumb traced along the lines on his hand. The numbness of his mind resonated well with that of his body he thought.

Scattered 'cross my family line I'm so good at telling lies That came from my mother's side Told a million to survive Scattered 'cross my family line God, I have my father's eyes But my sister's when I cry I can run, but I can't hide From my family line

His light blue eyes shifted to the swings. With a slight huff he got up, moving towards them, his fingers caressed the metal frame of the swings.

He wondered what would have happened if his Angel had had the chance to respond to him back then. Would they have had their happily ever after already?

With a sigh he closed his eyes.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he wasn't like.. this.

Broken. Abused. A scorch mark on Angel's perfect world. Would they love him? Love him even after knowing what he was?

He didn't even realise that his thoughts were a product of hurt. Of trauma.

All because of his father. If you could even call him that. Competitiveness, abuse, being unwanted.. all that were the core components of his upbringing.

Why was he born?

Why did he have to endure such pain?

His entire childhood had he questioned everything.

He closed his eyes, balling his hands into fists at the memories of what should have been his home.

Rage bubbled within him.

It's hard to put it into words How the holidays will always hurt I watch the fathers with their little girls And wonder what I did to deserve this How could you hurt a little kid? I can't forget, I can't forgive you 'Cause now I'm scared that everyone I love will leave me

"████████?"

Oh, all that I did to try to undo it All of my pain and all your excuses I was a kid but I wasn't clueless (Someone who loves you wouldn't do this) All of my past, I tried to erase it But now I see, would I even change it? Might share a face and share a last name, but (We are not the same)

He opened his eyes, slowly turning to meet the eyes of the one he had fallen for. The one person who made all that anger and numbness go away.

Because when he met them, life was worth living.

And he would make sure they wouldn't have to end up like him.

He would make everything right.

He would treat them right.

"You... Remember..?"

They won't be able to leave.

[crownmemes]

A Touch of Frost Sentences, Condensed

(Sentences from A Touch of Frost (1992-2010). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Everyone was right; you're not very nice to know."

"I am concerned that the wrong officer may be in charge of this investigation."

"I find you incredibly offensive!"

"I'm sorry if I got a bit maudlin this morning. I sometimes get overwhelmed by self-knowledge and the sudden realisation that I'm useless. It's my only vice."

"I hope you'll accept my apology. Manners never were my strong point."

"I'm a little concerned about the way you dress."

"From the state of her face, there must have been blood everywhere - but as you can see, the place is immaculate. No blood, no mess. Everything in its place. He must have tidied up after himself."

"I don't think I like your attitude."

"Insensitive is my middle name."

"You can't put a tick in the 'no publicity' box, you know."

"We all come out of this a lot less human than we went in."

"Eccentrics are only tolerated so long as they come up with the goods."

"Out of order is no good to anyone. Out of step is much better. That way, you tread on the bits the other people miss."

"When have you ever had a lasting relationship?"

"We are in the middle of a murder enquiry! I think private lives can wait!"

"You're always going to let me down. In your heart, you just don't want the commitment. It's as simple as that."

"I thought it was going to be okay. I thought I could make it work. If I could make it work with anybody, it would be with you."

"I'm not a coward; I just want to survive."

"I love you. I've just got a funny way of showing it, that's all."

"One of the golden rules of detection is if you don't find something, keep looking."

"Do you ever imagine what it's like to die?"

"I got shot once. It makes you think about death."

"There's nothing off the record in any investigation of mine."

"A man doesn't have to be brave to pull the trigger, but he must be brave enough to face the consequences."

"The more you know about people, the more you appreciate dogs."

"Once you've got the smell of what human beings do to each other in your nostrils, you'll never get rid of it."

"Do I sense the cold silence of disapproval?"

"From what my mum told me, I think you're my dad."

"Does that mean I'm helping the police with their enquiries?"

"Have you nothing better to do than sit with your feet on the desk, slurping tea?"

"If you're a risk factor, I'll pull you off the case!"

"Whoever did this, I'll get them. I promise you."

"Coincidences make me uncomfortable."

[westfall-faith]

"Put the weapon down before you regret it." The hooded man growled, coming to step out of the shadows. "I've no quarrel with you, and you've only profit to gain from aiding me."

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the rolling amber waves of Westfall wheat. Sweat beaded on Faith's brow, stinging her eyes as it trickled down the worn red mask that was her constant companion. Her breath formed silent puffs of condensation in the hot air. Yet, even still, it was a stark contrast to the heat radiating off the parched earth. All afternoon, she'd trailed the figure, a cloaked elf – a sin'dorei most likely, judging by the slender frame betrayed by the voluminous robes. Envy, a bitter tang on her tongue, twisted her insides. He was an outsider and fairing a far bit better than she.

But killing him... right now? That primal urge that usually pulsed hot in her veins, remained stubbornly dormant. He hadn't attacked anyone, hadn't caused any chaos. He just… walked. Studied, perhaps, with movements that hinted at some kind of arcane ritual. Faith, a creature of pure, unadulterated practicality, wouldn't know a magical incantation from a cow pie. All she knew was that this outsider, this elf, was in her territory, in Westfall.

Faith wasn't a mage. Magic was a melody she couldn't hear, a language she couldn't speak. No, her weapons were silence and cunning. Years spent navigating the treacherous terrain of Westfall had honed her senses to razor sharpness. The way sunlight fractured through leaves, the sigh of the wind through dead grass, the almost imperceptible crunch of a twig underfoot – these were her spells. She could mimic the roll of a stone with the flick of a wrist, hold her breath until her vision swam, all to remain unseen. Hunger gnawed at her insides, a constant companion these days. The Defias Brotherhood might have offered a twisted sense of belonging, but it certainly didn't offer a full belly.

The elf stopped abruptly, his head swiveling in a way that spoke of honed reflexes. A guttural growl, laced with a power she couldn't quite place, rumbled from beneath his hood. "Put the weapon down before you regret it," he commanded.

Faith didn't hesitate. She wasn't one for theatrics. With a flick of her wrist, the daggers she'd kept hidden in the folds of her tattered vest were revealed, glinting wickedly in the dying sunlight. This wasn't a bluff. This desperation, a primal need for survival, was as sharp as the honed steel in her hands.

"I ain't got no quarrel with magic folk neither," she rasped, her voice hoarse from thirst and disuse. "But this here' – she gestured vaguely at herself – "this needs filling."

There was no malice in her voice, just a bone-deep weariness and a hunger that gnawed at her very core. This elf, with his fancy robes and unknown magic, was a symbol of everything she wasn't. But he was also an opportunity, a chance to fill the emptiness in her stomach.

"If you got somethin' to offer," she continued, her voice barely a whisper, "coin or somethin' to keep the belly from rumblin', now's the time. Otherwise..." The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air, a silent promise of violence born out of desperation.

@nixalegos

[vorchagirl]

writing prompts

14 and 25 for your choice of Ryder

A/N - Thanks for the prompt! Combining "she clouds your judgement" and "we have three hours" was a little difficult, but I made it work! Enjoy! I went with Reyes & Cerys, set well before High Noon.

-

"You told the Pathfinder?" Keema's voice rose sharply, and he felt her pin those luminous blue eyes on him.

"Yes." Reyes didn't look up as he continued flicking through reports on his datapad.

He'd known she would would make a big deal about this. She liked Cerys, but she didn't trust her any more than she trusted Sloane. The Pathfinder was an outsider, and one of the invaders who wanted her people's land.

"You told her you're the Charlatan?"

He finally glanced up. "Yes."

Keema rose from her seat at the bar and joined him at the table. "Are you mad? She's Initiative, Reyes! She's practically the enemy! A useful tool for taking out Sloane, yes, but she'll betray us the moment her superiors give the order-"

"She won't." Reyes set the datapad down with a sigh. "She's on our side and she wants Sloane out as badly as we do."

The angaran woman scoffed. "I highly doubt that. She hasn't had to live under Sloane’s thumb! Scraping a living and struggling to survive while the bitch bleeds us dry! She didn't have to watch as Sloane introduced a drug into slums that reduced my people in gibbering wrecks! And your precious Pathfinder doesn't have to live with the threat of beatings and violence if we don't pay protection fees!"

He drew in a deep breath and picked up his whiskey as Keema ranted, watching the condensation bead along the rim.

"Nevertheless," Reyes broke in quietly, but with enough conviction that Keema shut up. "She is the one who got the drug out of the slums, and she's made her stance on the beatings and violence clear. Cerys hates Sloane and wants her dead. The Pathfinder will help us, I've ensured her loyalty."

His body clenched as he remembered exactly how they had sealed their deal in his hideout in the Draullir caves. He could still feel her body against his, could still taste her kiss on his lips. Cerys had been everything he'd thought she would be and more, because despite her good girl exterior she was a very very bad girl in bed.

The rest is under a cut!

And she was very susceptible to his charms.

Keema’s eyes narrowed and her lips curled ever so slightly as she read his expression. Reyes didn't flinch under the scrutiny; he liked Keema. She was useful and she recognised an opportunity when it came along. But her mistrust of Cerys Ryder was blinding her.

"You slept with her, didn't you?" A knowing smile slid across her face and she tossed her head back and laughed throatily. "Reyes Vidal, the consummate player got played by a goody two shoes Initiative woman barely out of her teens. I never thought I'd see the day when a woman whipped you so soundly."

Reyes clenched his teeth at her phrasing and set his whiskey down without taking a sip. "I didn't get played, Keema, I-"

"But you did sleep with her despite your policy of not mixing business with pleasure?" She sounded intrigued, and she reached for his glass, draining the whiskey one gulp. "Know what I think? I think you're blind when it comes to the Pathfinder. I think she clouds your judgement until you can't see straight-"

Reyes grinned and shook his head. "No. I've just tied her to us so tightly that she can't betray us, even if she wishes to. If she does, the Initiative will find out just how much she's meddled here on Kadara. She's done things the Resistance would crucify the Initiative over, and she's already become involved in our little Exile war - something the Initiative has forbidden her from doing. Trust me, she's on our side."

And of course, he had slept with Cerys to seal their deal, but not because he'd planned to. He liked her and he'd wanted her. She made him feel things he hadn't felt for a long long time. And perhaps most importantly if all, she gave him hope that maybe he could succeed here on Kadara and turn things around.

Keema watched him carefully and finally sighed, setting the empty glass down. "I think you're a fool, but if you trust her, then I'll trust you." She leaned back and smiled. "And if she tries to betrays us, if I even suspect she'll betray us, I'll have her killed. Fair?"

Reyes glanced up as a flare of anger shot through him at the threat. Cerys was his now - if anyone tried to harm her they'd find out how dangerous he could be. Would Keema would do it, he wondered. Probably not, but if she did hurt Cerys he would rain hell down on her and her people in retribution.

She had to know that.

He bared his teeth in what he hoped looked like a smile. "She won't betray us."

"Fine," Keema waved a hand, dismissing the Pathfinder. "But onto more pressing business, have you decided which of Sloane’s men you'll use to take out Kaetus?"

Reyes' smile stretched into a genuine grin, and he passed the datapad to Keema. "I have. The bastard won't stand a chance, and Sloane will fall for this hook line and sinker. The turian is her weak spot and she'll go ballistic when we hurt him."

"Hmmm," she nodded as she flicked through the names of the men, her expression approving. "Good choices. Have you decided when this little event will take place?"

"Three hours from now."

Keeme's head jerked up in surprise. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"The longer we wait, the greater the chance that one of the men will have an attack of conscience. I won't risk that. It happens today."

He lounged back in his seat and gazed around the room at the assembled Collective Representatives, his most trusted lieutenants ready to follow his lead and die for him. The chess pieces were in place, all he had to do was make this final move and it would be checkmate for Sloane.

"Today," Reyes met Keema’s eyes and held her gaze, "Sloane dies."

She grinned and poured them both another whiskey. "I'll drink to that."

[athina-blaine]

you can’t carry it with you if you want to survive (Nimona 2023) - Chapter 3 (Preview #1)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion)

Chapter 2 (Recap)

As Ambrosius edged towards unconsciousness, he vaguely registered a harsh scratching noise, like nails scrambling against tile. Above him, someone yelled, followed by terrified screams and a mix of pained yelps and animal-like snarls. "Monster!" "Fucking hell–!" "It's got me, man, it's got my leg–!" The next thing he knew, the cadet's pinning weight disappeared, the shadows looming over him gone. The cadets had vanished, leaving Ambrosius alone on the hard floor, chest rattling as he struggled to breathe through the saliva and blood pooling in his mouth. Exhaustion enveloped him like a thick, suffocating fog. His body, heavy and sluggish, refused to cooperate as the adrenaline wore off. Despite his best efforts, his eyes started drifting closed. The last thing he saw was the muzzle of some creature as it stepped into his line of sight, its hot breath rustling his hair as it stared down at him with black, glittering eyes. Everything went dark.

Chapter 3 (Preview #1)

As Ambrosius regained consciousness, he gradually became aware that he was being slowly crushed.

Groaning, he writhed in discomfort, a dull, throbbing pain pulsating through his head. Prying his eyes open, he tried looking around, squinting underneath the harsh glare from bright lights above him. When he recognized nothing, panic squeezed his chest.

Before he could make sense of anything, however, a figure emerged above him, flashing a smile filled with impossibly sharp, jagged teeth.

Monster.

Ambrosius lurched upright, gasping as a wave of dizziness crashed over him and sent him toppling back down. Bile rose in the back of his throat and he had to screw his lips shut—the only thing that saved him from being sick was the fact that there was nothing in his stomach left to empty.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he turned back towards the figure. “You …”

The shapeshifter’s grin widened. 

“Me,” she said. "Good to know your head isn’t completely meat-soup, nemesis. I was putting it at 3 to 1 against, personally.”

With a forceful swallow, Ambrosius attempted to lift himself once more, slower this time. The shapeshifter’s scarlet eyes remained fixed on him, shimmering with both curiosity and amusement. Human eyes, he noted. And yet, he had to fight back a surge of unease as he cast his gaze around the room, trying to take in his surroundings.

Instead of the trashed hotel lobby, he found himself inside a shabby, rundown shack of some kind. He was lying on a threadbare couch and had been buried under a truly staggering number of thick, fuzzy blankets. A fabric ice bag lay on the ground, melting in a small puddle of its own condensation; it must have fallen off his head just when he'd been shifting around.

He tried recalling those last few moments in the lobby, but his memory was a blur. There had been the cadets. Some kind of a commotion. The muzzle of a beast. And then, nothing.

Countless questions burned his tongue. When he opened his mouth, however, the shapeshifter shot out her hand.

“I already know what you’re going to ask,” she said, “and the answers are, in order: Here, there, don't know and don’t care, and, yes, this is a new top, thank you so much for noticing.”

Ambrosius blinked, wondering if perhaps his head had indeed been turned into meat-soup. She shot him an unimpressed look.

“Tough crowd. What, you hit your head or something?”

Laughing, she doubled over, slapping her knee. Ambrosius drew in a slow, deep breath, summoning all of his patience, and decided that it wasn't his head that was the issue here.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Oh, nowhere in particular.” Leaning forward, she dropped her voice to a low whisper. “Just the hellscape that haunts the dreams of good men. Where hope goes to die.” Straightening, she threw her hands over her head. “Welcome to the evil lair, nemesis.”

From the corner of his eye, Ambrosius took in the shack’s dilapidated walls and the junk scattered across the floor. An old board game sat abandoned on the coffee table, surrounded by dirty dishes and an almost empty jug of soda. A pizza box lay tipped over on its side, a few forgotten pieces of crust still inside.

He scrunched up his nose. Well. It certainly wasn’t like any evil lair he'd ever imagined when he was a kid. 

“Where are the cadets?" he asked, turning back to the shapeshifter. "Where’s Officer Laurel?”

Pinky digging into her ear, she lifted a brow. “Officer who now?”

“She was with me at the scene. Dark hair? Wearing a uniform? ”

“Oh, her!” she said, wiping her finger on her pants leg. “Yeah. I ate her.”

Ambrosius’ jaw slackened. Her sharp smile didn’t abate. His eyes widened. “You–”

She shoved his arm. “Freakin' relax, dude, you’re as gullible as the boss, you know that?” Shrugging, she started picking at her teeth. “Eh, she took one look at me and hit the deck. Like, fainted, like in an old movie or something.” Her eyes grew thoughtful. “Wouldn’t it be funny if she thought I was trying to eat you? That’d be pretty messed up, right?”

Ambrosius grimaced. Poor Officer Laurel; he'd need to check in with her as soon as possible. “And the cadets?”

“Those guys? Had them screaming for the hills. I’m pretty sure one of them peed his pants. Always, always funny.” Her eyes jumped to something over Ambrosius’ shoulder. “Oops, hold that thought.”

Ambrosius' eyes followed the shapeshifter as she rounded the couch before they dropped to his hands, his head still trying to process everything. Feeling dangerously close to overheating, he wriggled out from under the mountain of blankets, tossing them aside before sitting up. As he pulled out his phone, however, he scowled; the device had been crushed. Most likely a result of the fight. Another issue on his ever-growing list of problems to deal with later.

Thankfully, the screen still lit up for him at his touch. Dialing the most recent number, mindful of the cracks in the glass, he gingerly brought his phone to his ear.

“Sir!” said a voice as soon as the call connected. “Thank Gloreth, I didn’t know– I saw the cadets scampering off and I went inside and I saw this– this–” 

“Officer–”

“Sir, I saw this wolf-bear thing standing over you!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp with panic. “I think I must’ve passed out because when I woke up you were gone–”

“I’m okay, Officer,” Ambrosius said. “The wolf-bear thing is a …” 

Friend? 

But the word fell apart on his tongue. “… It was trying to help.”

“Oh! Well, that’s– That’s good, then!” She let out a forceful exhale, the sound crackling through the receiver. “I’m not sure what I would have done if something had happened to you, sir.”

Embarrassment crashed over him, sinking to the pits of his roiling stomach. He still couldn't believe he'd let a bunch of academy rookies get the better of him. How utterly disgraceful. “I’m okay. I just wanted to check in with you, Officer, make sure you weren’t hurt.”

“Forget about me, sir, it was five of those bastards against one of you! Are you sure you’re alright?”

For the first time since regaining consciousness, Ambrosius took a moment to assess how he was feeling. The side of his face was stinging, his knee aching as if it were being stabbed with a hot poker. He ran his tongue over a gash in his bottom lip, nausea rising at the metallic taste that burst in his mouth. Dizziness teased the edges of his vision, the room rocking gently on its side. Likely the results of a concussion.

The old injury in his shoulder was throbbing, pulses of dull, tingling pain shooting down his arm. He must have pulled it when he’d been throwing his weight around. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“I’ll live,” was all he said. Sighing, he lowered his head into his hand, wincing as he brushed his nose. Broken. “I'm sorry for frightening you, Officer, it wasn’t my intention. For now, you should just try and put all this behind you and return to your regular duties. I’ll take care of everything from here.”

He’d need to file a report first thing in the morning, and he tried keeping his pessimism at bay at the thought of the uphill battle that awaited him. Rarely had the objectionable behavior of cadets resulted in more than a terse reprimand during his academy days, and he knew things would only be more difficult in the kingdom’s current frenzied, emotional state. After the events of tonight, he’d likely just be seen as chasing a vendetta; the disgraced knight, in cahoots with monsters and villains, seeking revenge against the youths entrusted to protect the realm. He ran the very real risk of blessing those drunk, violent clowns with martyrdom. In fact, it felt inevitable.

His one consolation was that perhaps it would smooth things over with Starcrest's CEO if he’d already completed the bulk of the paperwork necessary for an insurance claim. A paltry comfort after a disastrous day—but it was something.

It took a moment for him to realize he’d yet to hear a response from the patrolwoman. He frowned. “Officer?”

A watery sniffle sounded on the other end of the phone. Alarm shot through him. “Officer Laurel?”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said, her voice thick with misery. “I shouldn't have gotten you involved. None of this would have happened if I'd just tried harder sorting this out on my own."

His heart dropped, exhaustion settling over him like a heavy, smothering fog. “None of this is your fault. Your captain was wrong to put you in that situation in the first place. Rest assured, I’ll be filing a complaint with your senior staff first thing–”

"Frankly, sir, I don't give a rat's arse about my captain right now," she said, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. "They hurt you. You could have … you could have been … And it would've been all my fault.”

Ambrosius squeezed his eyes shut, guilt clawing at his chest. Of all the regrettable things to happen tonight, upsetting the patrolwoman might be the thing he regretted the most. “You did the best you could with the situation you were put in, Officer. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

She sniffled. “I'm sorry, sir. I just wisssshhhhzzzzzzztttt–”

Ambrosius flinched at the abrupt, strident static. “Hello? Officer?”

“Ssssszzzziiiiirrrrrrr–”

The line went dead. Ambrosius blinked, pulling his phone forward. The screen remained dark, however, and refused to respond to his attempts to turn it back on.

Cursing, he threw the device onto the coffee table and lowered his head, cradling his face. The patrolwoman’s melancholic words bounced around his skull, juxtaposed with the memory of the almost childlike delight in her eyes from earlier that night. It already felt like eons ago since he'd teasingly offered her an autograph—he should have known that he was setting himself up for disaster showboating like that. How would she look upon him now, if she saw him in this sorry, defeated state?

A dusty hand mirror rested on the coffee table. With a morbid curiosity, he picked it up, and, at the sight that greeted him, recoiled.

A furious, purpling bruise bled along the contour of his cheekbone and jawline, accompanying a bluish-black ring circling his now grotesquely swollen eye. Smaller bruises and cuts marred his lips and lower face from where the cadet had struck him, and the line of his nose had a slight crook to it. Broken, as he'd suspected.

The shadows beneath his eyes, a familiar sight in recent months and easily dismissed, now hollowed out his gaze with a stark, gaunt emptiness. He looked like a skeleton. A tired skeleton.

Tracing the discolored ring around his eye, Ambrosius tried to stamp down the hot, burning hopelessness constricting his chest. All the coverup in the world wasn’t going to fix this. He had no idea what he was going to do for the cabinet meeting tomorrow. He didn’t even want to think what Ballister was going to say.

Bal …

Amidst his brooding, he didn’t see the figure looming over him until it had leaned well into his personal space. When he noticed, he suppressed his urge to flinch. The shapeshifter grinned.

“You see a mirror and you just can't help yourself, can you?” she said, elbow resting on the arm of the couch. “I gotta hand it to you, though; you can really pull off a shiner.”

[itsclydebitches]

#greenlightvolume10 but seriously how!? Its RTX and it was not greenlit.

No idea, anon. Like legitimately, I don't know nearly enough about this business to say if general support would make a difference at this point, or if Eddie is calling for something else, or... what.

Honestly though, Vol. 10 still not being greenlit is currently overshadowed by the everything of that epilogue. I am immensely grateful that it wasn't a formal part of the Volume (even though releasing it now raises it to the status of canon in many fans' eyes and its mere existence implies that, if we do get Volume 10, the information in that clip will greatly inform what comes next) because boy oh boy, did I dislike it. That right there is six condensed minutes of RWBY's tendency to rewrite important plot-points and characterization on the fly. Why is Winter guiltily claiming she stayed by Ironwood's side too long when the entire point of Volume 7 was that they all agreed with him, at least when it came to long-term goals? Why has the story forgotten the crucial World Building detail that one of the things everyone agreed on was that telling Remnant about Salem would lead to mass-scale grimm attacks? Now, as we already guessed due to the implications of Volume 9's final image, Ruby's message has only brought super convenient cooperation—to the point of her getting impromptu memorials. Hell, even Raven, the one character defined by her cowardly neutrality, appears to ferry the girls into the city without any arc to explain her presence except, apparently, "The teenager telling me things I already knew but being ~hopeful~ about it has totally changed my tune, to the point of being OOC." Why does Winter get the long-winded speech expressing her sorrow when Qrow, someone who just lost two girls akin to his daughters, walks around laughing and feeling "optimistic"? I get that obviously the clip is very unfinished, but why does Nora have a waaaaay stronger reaction to Team RWBY's return than he does? Why is he thumbing Clover's badge in gratitude when Volume 8 worked so hard to paint him as the villain who (agree to disagree) got himself killed? Meanwhile, I can't say I'm surprised that his depression, rather than getting worse after such a monumental tragedy, has apparently disappeared just like his alcoholism.

Even Vacuo feels like a mess. We left the citizens stranded in the desert getting picked off by grimm, their only potential salvation a city that despises them, specifically, and prizes itself on the kind of survival mentality the Atlas elite are not in a position to emulate (huntsmen aside). We then return to suddenly find new happiness blooming, the Schnees doling out bread with only the occasional snarky remark to contend with. This is partly why I really didn't want that time skip. It's far too easily—as RWBY has done in this clip—to skate over all the conflict it introduced with a, "They got out of that mess somehow" implication.

Also, question: were Maria and Pietro there? I don't recall seeing them, but I've only watched it once. If you're going to produce a things-are-bad-but-not-actually-compared-to-what-the-story-set-up ending that includes character appearances all the way down to the largely inconsequential butler... at least tell us if those two are actually dead or not?

[bomberqueen17]

surviving march

well so. here we are. well into march. surviving.

i had no real symptoms of covid and i still don't, except that i'm just so tired. i could sleep ten hours a day. of course i can't sleep that long in bed, i still wake at my normal time without an alarm but with cat help, i just get out of bed and i'm just dizzy with exhaustion. (Usually metaphorically. today, literally.) but i wake up, i get myself together, i go about my business. and then, if i have a moment, at late morning, or early afternoon, or late afternoon, i will lie down for a moment, and if i don't do something to prevent it i will sleep two hours. and then come evening, an hour earlier than usual, i will go to bed, and i will sleep until my usual time. endlessly. normally i can get by on 6-7 hours in a night, with a good 8 hour lie in on weekends, but no more.

anyway. i don't have time for that, unless i give up everything but work. i have been leaving work slightly early, and not going in any earlier. i'm paid hourly, who gives a shit. i'm tired.

but, other than that, i do feel fine. the pokey mans has helped me remember to get up from my desk and walk around sometimes at least.

the pokey mans remains... mostly fun. i occasionally hit snags. i finally posted in frustration in the local Discord asking for tips on beating the one boss I just couldn't manage (Giovanni, if you're familiar), and the collective wisdom was, get better guys, which i was like i'm trying, and they were like no really, friend all of us, and whoever makes ultra with you first, we'll meet up at the weekly raid nite and we'll trade you a better guy, and I said i don't have anything cool to trade back? and three different people were like i don't need anything back i have extra guys, please take one. so that was actually a really nice interaction.

Every Wednesday is Raid Night, which is apparently universal-- from 6-7pm, wherever you are, there are simultaneous raids and mega raids and whatnot. Our local group is smaller than it once was, and so has condensed: one guy coordinates a "raid train" that goes down Hertel Ave, which is a dense urban street with a ton of gyms, and so he opens the remote lobbies of successive gyms at like. seven-minute intervals? somebody did the math at some point. And that's enough time to get from one to the next on foot for a fair distance, but it's also of course very easy for remote raiders to dial in.

It doesn't cost them anything if I tag along-- you can only send so many invites, but if you're in person you can just physically bop into the lobby. So there I was, with my tiny little guys, and a half-dozen level 45+ veterans with huge leveled-up mega pokemons dialed in, and I would gamely swing at the raid boss a couple of times and meanwhile the other half-dozen people would pummel the thing into the ground in a matter of seconds.

I've tagged along twice now, and I can manage like. Three gyms before I'm frozen. This time I brought Dude along, and he sat in a bar and drank a beer and ate some cheese sticks, and after about half an hour I came puffing back along the street and hopped onto the barstool next to him and got some chicken fingers and chattered about the great pokey mans I just caught. He's having a stressful time at work so it was good to get him out of the house.

I'm trying to find it all fun and funny, and mostly I'm succeeding, but I'm just so tired.

I did clear out a bunch of old drafts so my queue should be interesting for a bit.

I'm writing, it's just not getting finished. But I'm writing. I'll get there.

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

got any fic recs ¿

Of course. Always. (Assuming ya mean hc/empires/lifeseries) Bon apetit & happy reading <3

Without further ado, here is a (long (ish)) list of (Twenty) fic recs in no particular order:

Choke Down My Poison (I'm Breathing You In) by MawoftheMagnetar

(THIS ONE IS DARK, READ THE TAGS + TWS) 9,461 words, complete

That's not water dripping from the stalactites. That's not moss under your feet. That's not condensation on your faceplate. That's not something you should be thinking about. Your friends are waiting at the bottom, silly! OR: Zed and Cleo need to find Tango. Before it's too late.

All Laws Thrown Out The Window by ThisIsSydney

TW: Violence/blood 52,757 words, incomplete

You might ask yourself, how does one end up in front of a supervillain in an apartment complex? Ren doesn't know that's for sure. Guess this stuff can happen when you search on Craigslist for a place to live.

come sail away by apollothetransboy

(Series including Illusionary and Incendiary) TW: Graphic violence/blood 52,035 words, incomplete

Most often, assassins don’t get attached to those they have to kill, a rule Etho kept in mind when he was sent to kill the prince of a trading empire. The problem arose when Etho tried that, and the universe smacked him upside the head and told him, “No.” Instead of following his oath and immediately killing Joel, Etho realizes his own survival depends on quite possibly the wimpiest man he’s ever met, and decides to save his own life. And so, they sail, all while being chased by Pearl, driven to insanity by a man who lives in the side of a hill, apparently. And six-year-old Hermes tags along. Which, in Etho’s opinion, is less annoying than Joel.

The Call of the Void by MawoftheMagnetar

TW: Horror, body horror, psychological horror, blood, all that fun stuff (Again, this one is pretty dark, mind the tags) 24,035 words, complete

The void is singing. It calls out for voices to join its choir, begging for souls to sate its unending hunger. When Boatem heeds its call, can anything stop the spreading corruption, or is everyone doomed to drown in the abyss?

i can be the one you call by mayflowers07

(Series of oneshots, can be read individually or as a complete story) TW: Pretty much everything at one point or another, changes per work. Be careful as this one can get dark, in the mental health sense. Especially towards the end. 143,821 words, storyline is finished but marked as incomplete

The Hermits have a code phrase. If spoken, this phrase acts as an emergency safe word, telling everyone to stop whatever they’re doing, because something is seriously wrong. Whether it’s from physical or emotional distress, all Hermits know that when someone uses the code, they need help from their chaotic, dysfunctional family.

Daylight Moon Sings To You by songbirdscoo

3,247 words, complete

Etho is lonely. Nobody ever comes out at night, afraid of monsters from their own minds and terrors that are nothing scarier than the breeze on the grass. Etho is lonely, until one day, he's not.

mourning the possibilities by valiant_skeleton

2,828 words, complete

in which doc is having issues with his arm, ren is having issues with the nature of the universe, and they both benefit from a good hug and some nail polish.

Tango's Castle of Cards by EvilRat_Sabre

TW: Bugs, blood + injury, and fake death 24,908 words, complete

It’s like a fact “The sun will rise”, “the moon will fall”, “the hermits will protect and care for each other” it's a certainty. Yes, they have their individual secrets, but they trust each other to not hide something that would harm their patchwork family. In a yellow bee themed tower, an Admin felt his soul fill with worry, dread and then rage seeing the limp, permadead body of a member of their family. Tango is dead, It hits like a fact. Someone will pay, that is a certainty. - He knew he was screwed from the beginning, forever doomed by the narrative. Born as a disgusting bug that probably will end squashed as one too. His lies only delayed the inevitable and now it is the end. Tango was alone. Tango was tired. Everything was wrong, it was all Tango's fault and he really didn't know how to fix it. Tango was stuck in a metaphorical and very real hole. Or, My Centipede Tango Tek AU. I transformed Tango in a bug, killed him and gave him mental heath problems. This has more angst than should be legally allowed.

[The grammar isn't the best but. dude j. just trust me. the writing is fantastic. absolutely outstanding]

Shop at iBuy- the story of one happy customer by simplydm

TW: Unease, not quite horror 1,601 words, complete

iBuy is a giant amongst the buildings in the shopping district, built with blackstone and dripping with gold, and you're telling me there is nothing sinister happening inside? No, never, it's run by the ever-friendly Impulsesv, after all. So join VintageBeef as he has a totally very normal shopping trip and that's it.

Fight For Your (Last) Rights by MawoftheMagnetar

1,447 words, complete

Zedaph is a reaper, who ferries the souls of the newly departed on to whatever destiny awaits them. And his labour union has just gone on strike. So naturally, Impulse and Tango have come to help!

I'll bite my tongue and hold my words, no of course it doesn't hurt! by Loafabun

TW: Self esteem issues, panic attacks 21,531 words, complete

“And so what’s interesting about this build is that it’s actually inspired by-” “I DON’T WANT THE HISTORY OF IT I JUST WANT THE NAME!” Bdubs shouts. Scar flinches in surprise and stares at him, mouth half-open. He tries to say something, but Bdubs cuts him off before he can start, “I know you’re gonna go down this deep path like- ‘OH! Martin Stanley came up with this thing, he was a great engineer for his time he did this and this OH here’s some concept art!!!’ Two hours later, WHAT’S IT CALLED?!?” Scar… didn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he should say anything, really. (Or, 5 times when Scar stopped talking, and 1 time where he continued)

Covet by Oceanbreeze7

TW: Body horror 102,734 words, incomplete

If you notice anything, it leads you to notice more and more. The humans talked, throwing bits and things into the passage they called Boatem Hole. The humans spoke to It, gentle and curious. They kept It company, called It a friend. It didn’t understand, but something beyond walls and walls of frosted glass and impermeable fog whispered pained and haunted behind It’s eyes with a voice that hurt to dwell on, don’t you remember this?

Pretty sure that's normal, right? by cityscape (worriedlywriting)

2,021 words, complete

Etho's finally completed the No Wings Club! Which is great— except for the fact that he no longer has an excuse not to use an elytra. (How do all the other hermits do it?!) Or: Etho realizes— with Bdubs' help— that his experiences with elytra might not be the same as everyone else's.

I Might Need Your Help Getting Back Onto My Feet by AstronautBeans

2,904 words, complete

At first Etho could agree it was funny. Yes, he’d missed a couple hits and didn’t always manage to kill someone when he meant to, and maybe he was getting a bit older. He’d lived in the same universe for thousands of years, of course his skill grew and waned with time. But when the phrase ‘washed up’ became a regular thing in people’s list of what to call him, and they continued to laugh at him about it, he couldn’t stop it from making his skin itch. He laughed right along with them, shook his head and sent a witty comment back. That was probably his downfall. The phrase continued to haunt him until the end of Double Life. It followed him onto Hermitcraft, and it didn’t take long at all before every single Hermit knew. He didn’t doubt the word spread across the parallel Empires server too. It evolved from making his skin itch, to burning in his chest and becoming a never-ending sinking pit in his stomach. — Or, Etho’s social anxiety gets the better of him and he ends up spiralling, but Gem is there to help him out.

DeUnAlived by Starbud

TW: Non-graphic dismemberment, past character death but he gets ressurected 828 words, complete

Grian's gruesome bloody body was strewn across the parking lot of the 100 Days Hardcore Skating Rink and Arcade. "Man," said Joel. "That's gonna suck to clean up." Scar poured out the rest of his Diet SpriteCoke™ onto the floor. "Do you think he'd let me have his shoes?"

[low word count but trust me guys it's SO FUNNY]

Don't Starve Together by InternetGone

1,500 words, complete

“…Scar?” A threatening hiss is heard over the crackling fire and that shuts him up. Probably another spider meeting its demise, it doesn’t reassure him. He subconsciously fidgets with his lighter. Scar hasn’t returned from chopping wood yet and the sun has set. He knows he shouldn’t worry because any sensible person would carry a torch or lantern on them, but Scar doesn’t have the best track record. Or, Grian and Scar settle in the desert, spooky shenanigans occur as they try to survive in the constant.

[Don't Starve Together AU]

burying the hatchet by GoodTimesWithScar and Sixteenthdays

5,000 words, complete

All things considered, this may be the worst way to find out that you can’t remember how to use an axe properly any more. Ren faces off against the half-felled tree trunk, studies the point of impact and tries to figure out what the heck he’s done wrong. It’s not that he hasn’t put enough force into it - believe him, the once and future King certainly knows how to put a bit of force into an oncoming… onslaught. Yet here the thing stands, attacked but most certainly not defeated, leaves still rustling quietly in the wind as if to mock him. (Or: Ren makes peace.)

No Questions Asked by Nyctae

(Series) TW: This series revolves around self-harm and healing from it. Stay safe &lt;3 11,063 words

"I'm a blaze hybrid." by valiant_skeleton

TW: Self-hatred, internalized fantasy racism 2,916 words, complete

“I just spilled my biggest secret, and you’re both acting like I told you we’re having soup for lunch tomorrow.” “Can we have soup for lunch tomorrow?” “Not the time, Impy,” Zed gently scolded. He detangled himself from Tango’s arm and pivoted to face him, before reaching out and brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. Tango resisted the urge to flinch. “Was your hybrid status something you were trying to hide from us, Tango?” “Yeah? Was that not…” Tango was pretty sure his brain had short-circuited– it had to be that or he was dreaming. “Did you not think I was human?” Impulse sat up with a yawn and a stretch. “You have glowing red eyes, bud.” — in which tango is afraid to tell his friends he's a blaze hybrid, and it turns out they already know. it also turns out tango has a lot to learn about hybrids and humans.

Burn All Our Sins by apollothetransboy

TW: Violence, minor character death 6,372 words, complete, part of an incomplete series

In the early days of civil war, Doc found a boy not too much younger than him, and by his creed, took him in. Now, a decade later, Mandalorian Xisuma is old enough to watch his world crumble. or, the resistance, but star wars, pt i

Annnnd that's about it for now! (I'm tired :,D ) If any of the links are wrong feel free to ask/rb this and i'll fix it :) I might also add more. Who knows. Cya later lovelies!

[rosyredlipstick]

hey. can you talk about the timeline in space fic? because palpatine clearly hasn’t been in power for as long as he was in star wars ?? so it’s only been a couple years since the empire began right? idk if it was mentioned how long ago order 66 happened but it’s not 19 years im guessing

i mean, the luke/padme/leia counterparts are all alive and know thalia, so there

did the clone wars happen? was it wayyy before thalia? or are the stormtroopers actually clones… THAT WOULD BE COOL- (i just cried a lot at the end of clone wars… and during…and even now) (or maybe the idea of clone wars doesn’t really fit in a world where the star fleet also exists?)

anyway, yeah, is there a timeline (even if it’s a nico centric one)

i guess yavin hasn’t happened yet either tho so idk what i’m asking HHAA

THANK YOU. I adore this fic and i want more press conferences for sure

HELLO yes i would LOVE to talk about the timeline in space fic haha yes so the timeline is condensed x10 when compared to canon and not everything lines up buuuut i will try and include what i can <3 <3

honestly i havent tried mapping this out outside of my head so lets see how this works out haha

 This timeline starts about eleven years ago from chap 8!

Thalia found on Tatooine by Jedi, leaves for training, Jason is left alone on Tatooine. 

Thalia trains with Jedi Council/Yoda. Her training is very accelerated yes <3 

During this time, the Jedi Council assists the Galatic Senate with their abilities. Rumors about the Sith are circulating at this time/Palpatine is still operating v covertly at this point, notices Thalia’s power.  

Thalia becomes a Jedi master

Very shortly after, Annabeth appeals to the Council for Thalia to take her as a student. As a Force-sensitive Alderaan Princess, she has at least enough pull to plead her case.

(this is how Annabeth and Thalia officially meet lmao)

thalia does NOT want a student. And yet -

Thalia takes Annabeth as her padawan/apprentice and dedicates hours to training. They’re sent on missions to gather information, to guard Senate members, to hunt down bounties, whatever the Council needs.

This is the Clone Wars era, but a much shorter version.

During this period, Thalia is sent on a mission to San Francisco, Earth. Cue Starfleet job, meeting Reyna. 

One mission, they end up without a ship and need to get across the galaxy quick. Percy and Grover are drafted in a dive bar and get tangled up in their mission, end up staying. After a year, Percy leaves Alliance. 

Percy’s gone for almost six months, then Thalia tracks him down. Annabeth ran off on a solo mission and got herself in trouble. 

Annabeth is found dead (or very very near it) and Thalia revives her. They never speak of it, return to Council. 

Thalia starts getting nightmares, what she thinks are future visions, of Jason/Annabeth/Reyna dying.

During a base evacuation off Hoth, Thalia is presumed dead. Her death announcement is sent to Jason on Tatooine. He runs away shortly after, solo-travels. 

After a few months, Jason tries to start his life over, gets a ticket to a new colony planet. Meets Nico on ship there. 

Where’s Thalia ?? uhh my heart says somewhere. Likely, she managed a quick escape from Hoth and pulled a Luke to run back to Yoda, tell him about her visions.

Random but this is also when percy stuffs annabeth (frozen) into a tan-tan lmao

Thalia returns / discovers Jason is gone and goes searching for him, with and without Annabeth. 

During this time, Palpatine connects with her mind. She begins to speak with him--he assists in Thalia's search.

After months of searching, Thalia discovers Jason on the Tarsus list, dead. Palpatine is the one who delivers the list.

Thalia does not handle this news well.

She does in fact Anakin an entire settlement of raiders a la Shmi death in AotC. 

Palpatine connection grows stronger. 

Shortly after, order 66 wipes out all the Jedi across the galaxy—Thalia and Annabeth barely survive. 

Clone armies turn on the Jedi. 

Palpatine serves Thalia with an offer to join him, gain power.

Thalia accepts, thinking Annabeth will follow her. 

Uhh. Wrong. 

They part ways. Annabeth is left with nothing but the pieces of the Jedi Order, the patchwork Alliance. Throws herself into it while Thalia trains as Palpatine’s Apprentice. 

A few years later, Alderaan is the first planet that the Death Star takes out. And, unrelated, there’s a semi-nearby prison break. 

Most of this is directly from my notes so i hope its not TOO messy haha but yes this is the general order of events!!!! THANK YOU FOR READING

[maii-mia]

Please help me get away from my abusive family.

I'm in desperate need for help and advice. I'm from Egypt, going to be 22 in March, and I'm currently stuck in a really abusive family situation in which my worth is based on my uni results.

My (quick and condensed) backstory is that since I was very young I've been raised to be a doctor, I've always been a good student even ranking top 3 in my school and working my hardest despite being a victim of continued SA which, amongst other things, led me to be very suicidal and start to self harm, but being good in school was one of the things I could control and which made me feel acknowledged by my parents so I tried my hardest to keep up my grades. When it comes to Egypt the points you get with your diploma are going to be what will determine which uni you'll be able to join, and to get in a public med uni you'd have to get +98% while instead I got 94,7%. From here on everything started to get much worse with my family and I heard so much verbal abuse that completely destroyed the remaining self worth I had, even after I was already manipulated into thinking I could be a doctor or nothing. Because of my family thinking of me as an "investment", my grandpa decided to pay for my uni tuition, which my parents wouldn't have been able to afford, and just like that I entered a private uni for pharmacy, because 95% was the minimum acceptance for med so I couldn't go towards that path regardless. I had no choice but to accept my grandpa's money and start uni regardless because no other option was given to me with my parents telling me I would've been an embarrassment for the family in front of everyone if I didn't. Even though I was doing horribly mental health wise and I felt completely trapped I did what I thought I had to do and did my best in uni and passed the first semester even though I could tell immediately that the courses weren't for me and I was having a really hard time following, unfortunately in the second semester everything got much harder and I didn't pass two subjects no matter how hard I tried. I thought the world was falling directly on my shoulders and I didn't know what to do, I was afraid of telling my family because of my own safety and because I felt like a disappointment, and even more because you have to pay for summer course and to retake the exams and I knew they wouldn't have had the money, which I'm aware isn't my responsibility because I wasn't given an option but in abusive situations everything is made to be your fault. I was completely stuck just trying to survive so I didn't say anything and I entered second year and I took the subjects I didn't pass as an off semester subjects alongside with the ones that were already part of the first semester of the second year. Unfortunately that year I lost my grandma because of covid and everything just kept getting worse, my family wasn't doing well because of her passing and I was already doing horribly and struggling, after I kept failing subjects and didn't say anything because now along with the problems already existing I also felt guilty to add to my grandma's passing. Before the second semester of the second year started I got robbed while coming back from uni and I think my brain just shut down from then because I was just too overwhelmed and I got even more suicidal, I stopped going to uni without saying anything and I would just hide in the roof, of course that couldn't keep me safe forever but I wasn't in my right mind at all. When my parents found out things somehow just got even worse, there was so much crying and shouting and verbal and physical abuse and I stayed in bed for 3 days from shock, from then my parents just keep giving me ultimatums not because they want to give me more chances but just because they're ashamed of me and I just don't know what to do anymore, I am not in the right state of mind and I am afraid for my safety, I don't know how to survive anymore in this same cycle and unfortunately I just can't just start passing subjects with something I was forced to study that I find impossible to learn especially when I'm this low.

Currently I got the results from this semester and I failed 2 subjects while passing 3, it's just a matter of time before before they find out and I am so scared for my safety and what they will do to me, especially my dad and grandpa. I have no one to ask here and I've just been talking about this with my internet friend and trying to brainstorm what I could do, would asking for donations/opening a fund help in any way for me to get out of here? Or at least buy myself some time? I would have to open a bank account for that to happen first though. I don't know what to do which is why I'm trying anything and I made this account to ask here too, please any advice would be welcomed

I’m desperate to reach anyone that could help in any way, here are other platforms in which you can find me/boost my posts: reddit / tiktok / instagram

[spooniechef]

Versatile Chocolate Fudge (1 spoon)

Decided against the meal recipes that were an option for a recipe today, and decided to move on to something a little sweeter - namely, chocolate fudge. Yes, fudge can easily be purchased, but it can also be expensive, and this particular fudge recipe, repurposed from a mocha fudge recipe from Alida’s Kitchen, is very forgiving when it comes to the quality of the chocolate being used, so that helps a lot in terms of keeping the costs down.

There was another benefit for me when I started making this recipe, and it was honestly more important: the morale boost making something like this can provide. One of the things that still gets to me to this day about having fibromyalgia is my current set of limitations. It always feels like there’s so little I can actually do that’s fun because I’ve got so few spoons and most of them have to be saved for things like work and cooking meals and cleaning the house. Just survival stuff. We always need more than survival. I found that little things like candy-making gave me a little more than survival. I could do things, and enjoy the rewards. Maybe it costs a spoon to make, but it’s just the one and just making something that was more than just the basics for myself did great things for my mental health.

Here’s what you’ll need:

12oz (340g) dark chocolate (seriously, just get the supermarket own brand value stuff; it’s totally fine)

1 can sweetened condensed milk (note for the lactose intolerant; vegan sweetened condensed milk sort of works but it doesn’t set nearly as well. I’d recommend using the regular sweetened condensed milk and stocking up on Lactaid)

Flavouring of your choice (see notes below)

Insofar as flavouring goes, the original recipe was for mocha fudge and asked for a teaspoon of espresso powder, which worked great. I decided to try it with other flavourings as well, and had a lot of luck with a teaspoon of peppermint extract for mint chocolate fudge, and with a teaspoon of orange extract and a half-teaspoon each of vanilla extract and cinnamon for a sort of spicy chocolate orange fudge. I have some other flavourings I’m keen to try, and it might be worth adding a half-cup or so of walnuts at the flavouring stage. But it’d probably also be great on its own. As well as being easy, this recipe’s wonderfully versatile.

Here’s what you do:

Put your chocolate (broken into chunks if you got the value-brand bars) and the sweetened condensed milk into a pot; heat it on low heat, stirring occasionally, until the chocolate has melted and everything is smooth. You don’t need a double boiler for this because of the sweetened condensed milk; just keep the heat low so you don’t burn your chocolate.

While that’s going on, line a square 9″ cake tin with greaseproof paper.

Take the chocolate mixture off the heat, add flavourings if desired, give it one more stir to mix the flavouring in properly.

Transfer your mixture to the cake tin (I recommend a reasonably firm rubber spatula; it helps get everything out of the corners of the pot) and smooth down

Move the cake tin to the fridge and leave it for a few hours for everything to set.

While waiting, lick the spatula. Life’s too short not to lick the spoon after making something nice.

Remove from fridge and cut into squares.

These should keep in a reasonably airtight container for a few weeks. This is good, because it’s a bit rich and I personally can’t get through a whole tin of this in just a few days.

So there you have it - easy, versatile chocolate fudge. The hardest part about this one is transferring the mixture from pot to cake tin, so it gets a one-spoon rating. As well as being a morale booster and just plain delicious, it’s also a great one to have in the recipe file if you’re doing homemade gifts for people.

[marxistluffy]

There's probably a lot of little things that played into this, but here are some of the major ones I've been around for and noticed:

Immediately before this period of dark nihilism, 2010-2014 fandom culture was starting to be considered "super cringe" so people were constantly taking away words and phrases you couldn't say anymore. "Oh you still use XD? Weird! You're probably really old (fandom ageism taking root) Get outta here!" People would cast you out as weird or cringe for even so much as thinking about using an old-fashioned, text emote (the silly old ones like :P, or :> or TwT). There was whole long discourses about which ones were still acceptable, and it seemed like only the simple smiley :) (passive aggressive) and the uwu survived, which spawned a whole new culture in itself. Young fans were really trying to claim the tumblr space, and tension got super high because of it.

Right after this weird aggressive period, Trump and this utter sense of apocalypse happened, so everyone's mood just... turned dark and sour. That, combined with this weird toxicity on internet spaces (especially tumblr, where fandoms became battlegrounds), made everything very toxic and broody, which was a stark contrast to the kinds of fandoms that were suddenly thriving (Steven Universe, Voltron, a lot of new, potentially diverse kids cartoons, where these kind of rising stars that reeked of toxicity.) Internet dadaism and majorrr nihilism became a thing in the midst of this weird angst train, and it decimated both perky show fandoms, and darker themed ones (GoT, SPN, etc). There was also, however, just this growing sense of unity in... despair and gloom in the growing state of worldly chaos. Covid was hitting EVERYONE, and it was, finally, something we could all talk about and more or less agree on, so long as you were on the same political side of the issue. This probably reached its peak, or maybe climax, when Destiel "becoming canon" happened around the same time we were all watching each state struggle to tally votes and commenting on it like the weirdest, most universal soccer match. The memes were unreal, and the cascade of real-world mixing with fandom events was unparalleled. Life truly felt incredibly surreal at that moment.

It was only after all this drama, weirdness, and STRESS hat things... finally started to calm down. Almost universally, people started to relax, and just... take the little things for granted. Even though worldly issues didn't exactly get better, they did get easier, especially since the vaccines came out, as that was a huge relief for everyone. Internet romanticism hit its peak yet again, except this time it wasn't excitement about being on the internet with quirky little abbreviations and emotes, but with being able to enjoy... outside life as well. After being trapped at home for basically two years or longer in many places, people really wanted to bridge that gap, even all the worst of the tragically depressed nerds. And yeah, that's when the whole real-life-romanticism hit. People are still incredibly addicted to the internet, but with the way we were all condensed onto it in such a toxic mess before, being able to appreciate that space to breathe was just.. a huge feeling everyone wanted to share.

Also the tumblr NSFW ban of 2018 drove a LOT of young people off tumblr, and onto twitter, and while you would probably assume that'd drive just the adults and artists to twitter (it partially did), it also drove most of the younger fandom members with it. Most of the ones that stuck around were older adults, 20s to 30s and beyond. You can see it in the kinds of hit posts that deal with mundane, very adult activities, like getting groceries or parking the car. It's literally settled down because the rampant energy has all moved.. to twitter. And having been on both the whole time, I can confirm that it is still much more of a chaotic mess there, where the youngest fandom-goers gather in bulk and continue to send death threats, share kys jokes, and bully each other <3 Some things never change.

I haven’t been on tumblr for quite as long as a lot of people but over several years I’ve noticed this interesting gradual sorta,, shift in the general culture? that it went from this mostly depressed, nihilistic outlook where people would regularly joke about hating themselves and being hopeless and depressed, to a wave of vehemence of “STOP hating everything actually the world is Good and you deserve love!!!” type posts, to now, where those aggressive ‘PSAs’ have faded away and instead I regularly see people romanticizing simple things like stars and hot tea and rainy mornings, and waxing poetic about their friends, and just trying to put love out there. and I don’t know exactly what that means (someone who knows more than me could probably say something smart about generational expression and trauma or popular perception of mental health and whatnot), but I do know that it makes my heart very full to see people learn to love the world and themselves by extension, and a whole userbase adopting healthier coping mechanisms, and therefore teaching the younger users to do so as well. I might just be following different people, but I really do think we’ve grown. everyone has grown. five years ago it wasn’t unusual for the next post on my dash to be a scathing commentary on why nothing matters or an anon ripping into someone they barely knew or someone complaining about how pathetic their interests are. now I have mutuals who get excited and spam reblog art of cows and friends I see tagging each other in pictures of frogs and strangers writing paragraphs about how much I matter. it makes me happy. idk. just an observation I wanted to make. I think people are good and everyone’s just trying their best at the end of the day