#it was definitely a challenge to get the likeness right

[potatosapien5]

I’m gonna say something a lot of people might hate, but I genuinely think it’s true.

Literally every single unborn baby EVER is a parasite. This isn’t a moral judgement, or a condemnation of pregnancy itself, it’s literally just a fact.

Consequently, if you were carried within a womb and not, like, a big tube, then you also were once a parasite. Humans have a parasitic niche at the beginning of their life cycles.

And if you have such a visceral reaction to this idea, then I have to ask you why. Because there is nothing saying a being that was once a parasite cannot also be a unique and valuable person. But it does mean that pregnancy is the act of consenting to a traumatic condition because you know the risks and still wish to birth and raise a child. So, if someone is not informed of the risks, and not told explicitly that this developing being WILL do everything it can to grow at the expense of your health, then they cannot consent to this situation.

That’s not to say every person who has given birth without knowing the risks should feel ashamed, because of course not. Rather, any medical establishment, advising friends, support groups, etc. that don’t explain this information in detail SHOULD feel ashamed. Yes, this literally IS the same as telling someone that they should grow a bag of spiders inside them, and that it’s perfectly fine, they won’t have any harm done to them, actually they’ll completely enjoy it!

And genuinely, ignoring the “embryos are parasites” interpretation is stifling medical advancements, reproductive rights, and informed consent protocols.

It also means that we cannot treat women and pregnant people who chose to get abortions as murderers. They are people who have weighed their desire for an outcome with the harm that will come to them in the process, and decided that they would rather not be the hosts to a parasitic organism. And that is PERFECTLY RATIONAL, whether that parasitic organism will potentially grow up into a sentient being or not.

I actually just went looking on a pretty surface level search for evidence for or against the “humans have a parasitic life stage” concept, and though my search could have been more in depth, literally the ONLY sources I could find that were arguing against this idea were anti-abortion and fundamentalist Christian think tanks. No kidding. Literally the only argument these people have against the idea is that “but but but- it’s mean to the fetus :(”. That’s not an argument. And they only think it’s “mean” because it challenges the interpretation they have of fetuses and pregnancy. But I will willingly and confidently state that I was once a parasite, because that’s literally just an ecological niche that every human takes at the beginning of its life cycle. Again, not a moral judgement at all.

Basically, viviparity in general is a reproductive strategy which relies on intraspecific parasitism. This strategy is wildly successful, because it is highly derived and carries many evolutionary benefits, but it still will have short-term (or long-term) negative effects on the person/animal hosting the developing young.

(Like, the top result for searching “are human embryos parasites” is this article by an explicitly pro-life think tank. And the article is full of logical fallacies, it’s so easy to rebut it’s comical. Parasitism describes a niche, not a kind of species, and the biological argument being undertaken is that humans undergo ontological niche shifting from a parasitic lifestyle to a generalist one. The relationship between a pregnant person and an unborn developing human is NOT a mutualistic one, because explicit harm comes to the host which simultaneously benefits the parasite. They state that “parasites are not where they belong, but the preborn child is precisely where it is supposed to be,” which just… you idiot. You absolute buffoon. That’s the most subjective judgement I’ve ever heard in my life. From the parasite’s perspective, it most definitely belongs in/on the host, and to say otherwise is essentially condemning it to death. I think a tapeworm would take extreme offense to the claims being made here. Also, try telling someone who had a forced pregnancy that “your preborn child is right where it’s supposed to be” and expect them to not get massively pissed at you. “Just because the preborn directly depends temporarily on the mother’s body does not mean they are not valuable and worthy of protection” literally no one who is consensually pregnant saying that. Yeah every human life is valuable, blah blah blah, but you when an incredibly intimate situation is detrimental to one person and beneficial to the other, you can’t blame the person being harmed for wanting to get out of that situation. It’s not their responsibility to uphold the wellbeing of a thing/human/being that is harming them, no matter how valuable that being’s life is. Okay I’m done now, I just found this article absurd.)

the thing is like. i get that it's scary and makes people who do desire to get pregnant uncomfortable when we talk about the brutality and violence of pregnancy and the damage that pregnancy can do to your body

but you deserve to give informed consent to that process.

the lies around pregnancy - that it's inherently safe, that it doesn't do you permanent damage, that it's only extremely rare for people to die of pregnancy complications, etc like

all of these are lies constructed so that more people will get pregnant w/o knowing all that

there needs to be more talk about the impact of miscarriages and how common they are, how different abortion processes are and how accessible they are

but also like. talking about how pregnancy fucks your body up should not be taboo

this is a process that permanently changes most people's bodies, and that's even if the pregnancy doesn't do them like. severe illness or injury

and i just think everybody should have a right to KNOW that

bc to live in a society that intentionally obscures and hides facts about a completely optional and dangerous process does so for a reason, and that reason is based in a very sinister ideology that does not value bodily autonomy or informed consent

[gay-dorito-dust]

We need more bitting for those silly goofs 🙏your last one made me think about it the entire day !!! if possible this time pre relationship 🤔 bless ya cause you re pumping dmc content like your life depends on it and I'm loving it ♥️♥️♥️♥️

the fic that annon is referencing is right here:

The fic

Dante

Biting can still be a thing that happens with Dante before your relationship, but I think that it’s more playful and stupid, such as him asking you to bite him harder to see whether he could handle it.

His demon side could definitely handle the hardest of bites you could possibly muster, but his human side cannot obviously. He’s dramatic as fuck about it but then again it’s Dante, when is he not dramatic about something.

‘You almost bit my finger off!’ He cries.

‘You’re a half demon, you can heal.’ You reminded him and he stops acting as though he’s in indescribable pain.

‘Oh yeah I can.’ He then stares at the finger that was now fully healed from your bite mark, wiggling it for the sake of wiggling his finger and smiling.

‘I fucking hate you.’ You say.

‘I’d say that’s the first step to slowly getting you to admire you like me.’ Dante retorts and you’re left wondering how this red coated fool could even be allowed to be like that in general, all the while fighting back a smile of your own. You had to admit the man had charm.

He only nibbled on your fingers, but still this is only playful and doesn’t mean any more than that, playful.

Biting between you two wasn’t seen as a claim or anything, it was seen as something as silly and goofy and something you did when there was nothing better to do then bother the other person. Biting is a form of fun for you both pre and post relationship that wasn’t in any way sexual, not at all, just something that is done when one or the other is bored.

He will still probably fake moan as well because again it’s Dante, he’ll try to publicly humiliate you whenever possible for a laugh you can share about later.

Vergil

There’s most likely no chance in hell that Vergil would bite you or you bite him pre-relationship.

After all biting is more of a claiming of something that’s already been pre-established between two demons, a reminder to all that they were taken and a challenge for those who never get the message. That’s how it is in his demon brain.

So him biting you before a relationship isn’t something he’s willing to do at all, he’ll most likely still be looking at ways to win you over however he can, whether that’s through poetry and notes of any kind or just being within your presences whenever he could.

If Vergil has interest in you then biting is the last thing he’d do when there’s other ways of winning your affections, of winning you over such as showing off his strength during combat, or taking care of the demons causing you the most issues and piling them in front of you in hopes of praises or acknowledging of his power.

Though while biting is off the table, scenting is not, he will scent any clothing you may have in hopes that other demons or humans will know that you were already within the sights of another, that and they should fuck off if they didn’t wish to meet an unfortunate end. The image of him scenting your stuff is enough to have him embarrassed to how low he has stooped in order to hopeful claim a partner/mate of his own, but also a taxing time as he was trying to make sure every inch of your clothes had his scent and only his.

If he found you with a scent that wasn’t his? He’s re-scenting your entire wardrobe until it was gone and replaced by him. It’s bothersome as it was tiresome but Vergil knew it would be worth it in the long run, for your protection and progression of your future relationship.

He has other ways of staking claim to things that are his or will be his in future.

[mrsjjongstby]

ONLY YOURS TO CATCH - N.RK

~ HIS FAVOURITE DETECTIVE

PART 2: LURED AND LOST

Pairing: Obsessed serial killer!riki x Detective!fem!reader

Synopsis: You, a detective who has always solved her cases with ease — until he appeared. A string of murders, all more twisted and challenging than the last, draws you deeper into a deadly game crafted just for you. As the lines blur between hunter and hunted, you realizes you're not just chasing a killer — you're the prize he’s been chasing all along. In a city full of noise, he made sure only you heard him.

Warnings: Killing, blood, knives, jealousy, obsession, stalking behaviour, violence, mentions of murder, dark themes, etc (let me know if i missed any!)

Word Count: 2,962

| Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Some losses cut deeper when the hands behind them remain unseen.

It had been months since the case was closed.  Months since you last spoke his name, heard his voice, solved his cases, got letters from him, and dealt with anything related with him. 

The department moved on. The media did too- like always- fed off him until there wasn't anything left but headlines and obsessed forums. 

But you?

You didn't move on.  

Life was supposed to be normal again.  

And it was.

Mostly. 

You still worked on cases. Still drank coffee late at night. Still looked over your shoulders sometimes- out of habit, you told yourself. 

You moved apartments too.  New house. New locks. New neighborhood. 

Even after all this. Riki’s looming presence never really left your side. 

You find yourself in the middle of night thinking about him even when you shouldn't. 

Continuously thinking about the words he last said like a mantra. 

You dont miss him- of course you don't. Right?  

At least that's what you believed. 

Immediately dismissing any thoughts which occurred due to him. 

You went on with your daily life- friends, family, superiors and cases.  

But somewhere in the back of your head- Riki still lives rent free. 

He always occupies your mind even without being present- even without the constant reminders of him being there, chasing you. 

Yet, your thoughts always go back to him. 

“You feel it too, don't you?”  “The world makes sense when you’re with me”  

Your thoughts get interrupted when someone knocks the door. 

“Come in” you say getting out of the trance.  

The door opens, revealing your junior, Yun-ji. 

“Ms. Y/N, here is the file you asked for” she says as she places the file on my desk. 

“Thanks, Yun-ji, you may leave” I say nodding as she smiles and leaves. 

Right. 

The case.  

The cases on your desk felt... ordinary now. Predictable. No fear. No adrenaline. No twists. And you hated that you missed it. 

You hated that his absence felt more present than any killer's face you ever traced on a board. 

You hated how sometimes you feel like waiting for a note- an envelope that would never come.  

The cases were easier now, except for this one. 

This particular case has been eating you up since the past two days. 

You along with your team have been working nonstop trying to find the person who caused this.  

Whoever the criminal is- they are smart as hell. 

Leaving almost little to no evidence.  

Smart moves, quick calculation, different tactics and a brutal killing way. 

Leaving the major part to your imagination of who the killer was and why they were doing it. 

But that doesn't mean they are going to get away with this. Definitely not. 

You’ve seen a lot more worse cases than this. 

You were used to this- this is your job. 

You opened your file knowing it's going to be a long day. 

You walked into your apartment after your work.  

The city’s noise barely audible over the continuous patter of rain against your tall glass windows in your living room.  

The grey sky, thick with clouds making a gloomy weather can be seen through the glass. 

The only sound aside from the rain, was your heels tapping on the marble floor. 

You place your keys on the counter as you plop yourself on your comfy couch. 

You were exhausted- mentally and physically. Every inch of your body pained.  

There was something about the stillness in the air. It made your skin crawl. 

And for the millionth time in the past few months- you couldn't shake the feeling that you weren't alone.  

Maybe it's because you are still stuck up with Riki or maybe... no! You shake the feeling off. 

You are just tired.

You’ve been working on the case all of the time, fighting off the countless distractions, and still feeling that someone was watching you. 

But you didn't want to admit it- God no. You didn't want anyone to think you were cracking under the endless pressure. 

You need to pull yourself together. 

And just as you were about to get up and get freshened up, your door bell rings. 

Confused, you open the door. 

It was Jun-ha. 

Jun-ha, these past few months he got even more close. He always stayed by you knowing the impact the case had on you, always willing to listen, to offer a distraction from the hell of a life you are living. 

You look at him with pure confusion as he stands there with an umbrella and a plastic bag. 

“Forgot our plans?” He asked chuckling. 

Then it clicked. 

You guys thought to have dinner at your place. 

“Omg I'm so sorry, I totally forgot.” you say, moving aside as he leaves the umbrella to dry outside and enters. 

“Hey, it's alright, I know you've been busy lately.” he says smiling. 

There he goes, always so understanding.  

After dinner, you both sit on the sofa chatting when a certain topic is bought up. 

“Y/N, seriously, how's everything going?” he asked, though his tone light- there was an underlying concern. 

“Same old.” You replied, trying to sound casual. But even you can feel the exhaustion in your voice. “Just... thinking about the case.” 

Jun-ha paused, a moment of silence. “Y/N.” he said with that firm tone of his which meant for you to stop beating around the bush. 

You tensed. He could read you like a book, always knowing when something was off. 

“I'm fine Jun.” You try to quickly dismiss his assumptions.

But that didn't work, “No you are not.” he said calmly, his eyebrows slightly furrowing. 

"I saw you today. You're tired. And something is clearly bothering you, you know I'm here for you right?” 

And that question hit too close to home, your chest tightened. You opened your mouth to respond but words quickly died down in your throat.  

“I-” You started, but the words didn't come out. You didn't know how to explain it, hell- you didn't even know if you should explain it.  

How could you put into words how you are feeling?

It's complicated.

Complicated that you could feel someone was watching you, complicated that you still feel Riki's presence even when he isn't physically there, complicated that the paranomia gripped you and made a shiver run down your spine when you were alone. 

Jun-ha seemed to have sensed your hesitation- he always does. He sighs softly, “Look, I'm worried about you, it's alright if you aren't feeling okay” 

You hated that he was right.  

You know he wouldn't let this go, not now. You were already in too deep to lie to him, so you let your walls slip- just a little bit. 

“I don't know if I make sense,” You start, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. “But I-I just can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me.” 

Jun-ha blinks, not immediately dismissing it but also not fully believing in. “Watched? By whom?”  

You swallowed, suddenly aware of the emotions you've put out.

“I don't know Jun. It's like... someone is constantly watching me and always there with me, even when I'm alone. Or when I'm in a crowd. I can't stop looking over my shoulder. And I just-” You cut yourself feeling frustrated. “I know I sound paranoid, but I can't help it- I don't want you to think I'm losing it or that I'm crazy but... I feel like its eating me alive.”  

Jun-ha listened, trying to understand and process the information. Then, he spoke, his voice steady, “Y/N... you aren't paranoid. I can tell and see it, whatever that's happening, its real and it's taking a toll on you 

You rubbed your forehead, the pressure inside your head making everything more intense. “It's just... everything with Riki's cases- everything with Riki. It's like he’s always there. Always a step ahead of me. It's not just Riki- it's this feeling.”  

The storm raged outside reminding you of the chaos running inside your head. You couldn't meet his gaze. Not when you lay your emotions out for him. It felt raw.  

He reached out and place his hand over yours, his thumb caressing your hand slightly offering comfort. 

“You don't have to fight this alone, you have me.” 

You felt exposed, vulnerable. there was a part of you that was terrified of what it would cost. You had never been this close to anyone in this way before, not like this. And it scared you.   

“I-I'm trying... I just don't want to crack” you say, your voice barely a whisper.  

His eyes soften more. He shuffled closer as he hugged you, one hand on the back of your head- your head in his chest. He caressed your hair as he kept his chin on your head. 

“You don't have to be perfect Y/N” he said quietly. “You don't have to carry it all” 

It was almost too much. Too much to hear, too much to take and too much to feel. You could almost cry. Almost.  

You slowly wrap your hands around him and start, “I've been thinking about it” more to yourself than him. “About what's going to happen next. If I can't- if I can't figure out this soon then I don't what I'll do”  

The hand on your head tightens as you look up at him- your chin on his chest, he looks back into your eyes, “Then we’ll figure it out, I'm in this with you”  

You didn’t want to believe that Riki was getting to you, that his presence was starting to consume you. But you know, deep down, that if something didn’t change soon, you are going to go crazy and that terrified you more than anything. 

But the thing you totally forgot in the spur of the moment is that, maybe just maybe Riki watching you. Right now, right here, right in your apartment with you in Jun-ha's arms. You forgot that Riki is capable of anything.

It's been few weeks since that. You were sitting in your office. As usual. 

A folder slid onto your desk. 

“New case,” said Officer Jang, giving you a brief nod before walking away. 

You opened the folder. Theft. Small-scale. Nothing like the murders you used to handle. Nothing that required obsession or late nights or chess games with a mind that tried to match your own. 

You rolled your chair back slightly, spinning like the thoughts in your head. 

Some days felt like that – stagnant, boring- like a cycle. 

 Like you were waiting for something to happen. 

Like your brain had gotten used to being overstimulated. Now it itched for something more, even if you didn’t want to admit it. 

You sighed and stood up, walking to the evidence room to check some records. A new recruit greeted you nervously. You nodded politely.

Everyone treated you with some mix of respect and fear now. Maybe it was your reputation. Maybe it was the lingering aura of everything you'd survived last year. 

As you stepped out onto the balcony for a brief break, a gust of cold wind brushed your cheeks. You looked up at the sky — grey and endless. You stayed there for a moment too long, letting the raindrops fall on your skin. 

You feel someone’s presence beside you. You look to your side only see Jun-ha standing there looking at the sky. 

He then looked down at you and smiled.

“Y/N,” he said, pulling you into a hug before you could argue.  

“You look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

“I haven't” You mumbles against his shoulder and let yourself stay a little longer than needed in his embrace.  

“So, how’s the case been going?” he asks as he pulls away from the hug- his hand still on your shoulder. 

So, you told him, about the case, the details, the technique and the killer. 

He listened intently- like he always does. 

“Y/N,” he said, “you’re one of the smartest people I know but you deserve rest too, especially with the things going on” he said, hinting about Riki. 

“You are a human, not a robot. You need rest, stop over working yourself and also don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re imagining things just because they don’t see what you see.” 

“I wish more people believed me like you do.” You say slowly.

Jun-ha smiled, softly. “That’s what I’m here for.” 

And for a while, in the silence that occupied between your coffee and the rain, it felt okay. 

But, like always, something in you whispered that peace never lasts. That maybe... maybe the quiet was only a warning for the storm to come.

You were peacefully sleeping in your bed when you woke up to the sound of a phone call.  

It was early- too early, and for a moment, you wonder if you were still dreaming.  

You groggily reach for your phone, your eyes squinting at the screen only to find out it's an unknown number. 

You yawn as you lift the phone and bring it to your ear. 

“Y/N?” the voice on the other end was familiar, but its tone was unrecognizable—urgent, frantic. “Jun-ha- Jun-ha...” 

Your sleepiness immediately vanishes as you ask, “What? What about him? What happened” 

“He- he’s” his voice shaking. 

“What happened to him?” you yell unable to understand  

“He- we found him dead- he's dead” he finally said. 

“No...” You chuckle dryly “You are joking right?” you swallow “right? Nothing happened... right?? Please tell me you are joking!”  

His silence gave you all the answers you needed. 

“No! No no no no! No this cant be happening no!” you yell as you get up from your bed stumbling. 

“Please- come to the sight immediately, I've sent you the location.” 

You arrived at the scene, but it felt unreal. It felt like you were walking through a nightmare. A very bad nightmare. 

The rain hadn't stopped making everything blur around you. You pushed past the officers, the yellow tape marking off the crime scene.  

Your mind kept racing with questions you couldn’t answer, but your feet kept moving. 

Then you see him. 

Jun-ha. 

Surrounded with water and blood- his blood. 

His body was covered, but you could see the outline of his frame beneath the sheet.  

You didn't need to look at his face to know it was him. 

You felt your breathe catch in your throat. Your heart pounding in your ears as you stepped closer.  

But before you could go further an officer grabbed your arm gently. 

“You shouldn't be here” he said softly knowing your vulnerable state. 

You remove your hand from their grip, staring at the covered body, “I need to see him.”  

He hesitated but eventually, pulled the sheet off. 

There he was, Jun-ha. He looked so peaceful, so serene in his death. 

Blood pooled around him, the life that once filled his eyes now gone. 

You felt like the world was collapsing.

This wasn’t real.

Jun-ha couldn’t be gone. 

You slowly reach over to him and cup his cheek with your trembling hand. 

It’s cold.

Too cold. 

“J-Jun-ha…” you whisper, your voice barely holding itself together as it cracks. A sob catches in your throat. “Wake up. I’m here.” 

You gently shake his head, your fingers brushing through his hair like you’re scared to touch him too hard in case he… he breaks. 

“You didn’t forget me, did you?” you whisper. “You always said I was unforgettable. So don’t—don’t do this.” 

Your tears fall freely now, one by one, splashing onto his shirt. His eyes stay shut. His chest doesn’t rise. The silence is unbearable. 

“Are you seriously going to leave me alone, Jun-ha?” you breathe, almost laughing—but it’s hollow. Bitter. “You promised. You said we’d always have each other. That no matter how hard it got, we’d make it out together.” 

You bite your lip so hard it bleeds. 

“Please,” you choke out. “Please, wake up. I need you. I don’t know how to do this without you.” 

You lower your head to his chest, resting it there. Basking in his warmth- his embrace which you don't want to let go off for the last time.

“I can’t live without you, senior…” you whisper into the fabric of his coat, curling in on yourself. “You’re supposed to be here. Yell at me for not sleeping. Tell me I’m overthinking again. Laugh like you always do, like everything’s okay.” 

But he doesn’t. 

Your senior.  Your Jun-ha.  Your Jun. 

Your comfort person. Your partner in crime. The only one who knew how to calm the storm in your head. 

Gone. 

You look up at the sky crying as the rain continues- like the clouds are also grieving with you.  

You look at him and somehow, even in death, he looks like he was waiting for you to find him—just one last time. 

You stay there, head on his chest, hoping, praying, begging the universe to undo just this one thing. But it doesn't. 

And all through this… someone is watching.  Eyes hidden behind shadows, breath steady, presence unnoticed.  But you don’t know. 

You never even feel it. 

Not yet. 

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

let me know in the comments if u wanna be added to the taglist!

A/n: SO, guys sorry i fumbled so bad, this was actually only supposed to be 2 parts but, when i was into writing this half way i realized the word count was already alot. So, after alot of thinking, i decided im going to make this into 3 parts. BUT GUYS I ASSURE THE 3 RD PART IS GONNA BE BOMB. U WOULDNT WANNA MISS OUT ON PART 3. so let me know if u want to be in the taglist.

taglist: @kittygaon @kissesfromdarling @hoo-n-i-ki

[zoozvie]

Feeling overworked? Have soft Levi as a treat.

You, a tired student taking classes on top of working the night shift, are coming home to the apartment you share with Hange. Their friends are there again, which isn’t abnormal since they always make time to study together even though they have differing majors. One doesn’t even attend your school; he owns the cafe right outside campus.

The exception is Hange’s boyfriend, Moblit. He practically lives here with you two, so he’s always at the gatherings. And breakfast. And most dinners.

When you walk in, it’s well past sundown. You kick off your shoes and debate grabbing a protein bar for dinner before getting distracted by the rowdiness in the living room. The squad is discussing over a battle map laid out on the thrifted coffee table. Everyone but Miche sits on cushions on the floor to reach their pieces around the game board.

When you walk over behind your roommate(s), Hange greets you brightly as Moblit flips through the large book in front of him, muttering the name of the spell Hange has requested to cast. ‘ah, yes, they’ll need to make a DEX save for that—’

Erwin smiles at you, asking about your day, and you shrug it off good-naturedly. Nothing interesting to report back about. Hange shifts up to their knees and grabs the protractor from the end of the table. “Roomie! You should sit in for a bit, make sure we’re playing right.”

You debate with yourself only a little before agreeing. Earning a few chuckles from your reply, “Think you can’t do addition?”

In your usual routine, by now you’d be sprawled across your unmade bed, stripped of your day clothes but not ready to put on your work uniform. Maybe you’d be scrolling mindlessly on your phone or shutting your eyes for a quick hour that only feels like a few minutes.

But the company is good, and you get along with your roommate’s friends just fine, so you make your way around Erwin and Hange to perch on the open spot next to Miche on the opposite side of the table, above where Levi happened to be leaning against the couch.

“I think the energy is calmer over here.” Is your quiet explanation as you step toward Levi’s spot on the floor. He’s quick to lean up and, after you perch on the couch, he rests back where your leg would be if you hadn’t tucked it underneath yourself.

Miche huffs a laugh, leaning forward to check his paper. “You’re definitely right about that.” 

With everyone a little distracted by the phrasing of the rules, Levi carefully tips his head back to rest against the couch, peeking up at you upside-down.

“You have work tonight?”

“In a few hours.” Your voice is soft when you answer.

Today may not have been more challenging than any other day, but the accumulation of your entire work week on top of classes weighs you down enough to really feel it in your body. Thankfully, today is your last shift before your two-day break.

Then you’ll have time for the paper due on Monday.

Yay.

“You should eat.”

“I can get something when I’m there.”

His nose wrinkles, “Vending machine crap isn’t going to help you.”

It’s not the first time he’s mentioned this to you. You’ve argued before that your breakroom has a kiosk with little sandwiches and cups of fruit in the fridge. He claims it doesn’t help when you buy an energy drink alongside your ‘rodent food’.

Usually, Hange is the one drawing his ire, for good reason, but he’s been known to lash out at every one of his friends once in a while, for good intentions and purposes. You do notice that he speaks to you a little differently, a little more gently.

It’s probably because you two aren’t as close as they all are; you’re still somewhat of an outsider. Or maybe you looked as thoroughly wrecked as you feel, and someone other than customers or professors scolding you just seemed cruel.

Moblit drags Levi’s and your attention back as he finalizes the outcome of Hange’s character’s spell attack. And they Whoop! when three of their enemies are burnt to a crisp.

Their little party ends up going through a few more rooms of the castle they’re exploring before Levi stands up to grab a drink. When Moblit asks you a technical GM’s question, you see Hange smirk and sneakily show Erwin something they wrote on their paper. Only to have their face fall when Erwin smiles and points at something on his.

Levi comes back with drinks and your bag of trail mix, which he must have taken from the pantry. He gives one drink to Erwin and sits down in front of you again, offering the bag to you over his shoulder.

He’s closer than before. His side pressed against your leg. When you take the bag, your fingers brush, and he glances back at you with a soft look. That’s how Levi was. Caring and protective, even if you wouldn’t expect it from someone so irritable.

And damn. Sometimes it just felt good to be seen.

You picked through the mix of nuts as you sat silently for the next twenty minutes until their session came to an end. It was quite an entertaining group. Moblit was doing a great job of storytelling, in your opinion, even with Hange—and sometimes Erwin’s—unconventional ideas. Everyone had a good connection to their characters, roleplaying and fighting together as a team. You could feel their enjoyment as they packed up.

“Heading to work, roomie?” Hange asked offhandedly.

You looked at the time. “...Yeah, I’m going to get ready to go.”

Levi stayed seated against you while gathering his things. The atmosphere tonight urged you to be a little braver than usual, and you hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. He was warm. Almost shockingly so compared to your cold fingers.

Soothed by just a touch, you imagined how nice his hugs must be.

When he looked at you, something different was in his eyes. But oddly enough, it didn’t feel different somewhere in your subconscious. Maybe he’d looked at you like this before.

With a smile, you mouthed ‘thank you’. For the trail mix, for his attunement to your needs, for him.

He nodded, and with the movement, you could catch the dark circles underneath his eyes. He was known to pull all-nighters himself, but it was difficult for people to notice if—or when—it got to him.

Slowly, you both move so you can get around the table. The chatter of your roommate’s friends fades as you enter your room. The only thing on your mind as you dress and leave for work is what you could do in return to show your appreciation for Levi.

>> This is way longer than I meant it to be, and I threw the ending together as I move into my new apartment.

+ I just realized this fits in with a little coffee shop story I was thinking of, so maybe you’ll see more of them in the future.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[stellaspectral]

I just recently found your blog and to say I absolutely love your writing is definitely an understatement.

I really love your post about Dating rise Donnie headcanons, and was wondering if you could do a version of it for rise Leo? Of course, if this has already been requested or you can’t or don’t want to write it for any reason, no hard feelings!

Remember to take breaks and drink water!

A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the kind words! It truly means a lot! 😊 I can totally do a version of dating headcanons for Rise Leo! I haven’t had that specific request until now, so here they are 💖

(And I appreciate the reminder about breaks and hydration; I need to remember more often!)

Dating Rise Leo (SFW)

💙 ROTTMNT Leonardo/Gender Neutral Reader 💙

CWs: None. All characters are aged-up.

Leo is always trying to look cool to impress you. Expect unnecessary flips to grab something, leaning against walls/doorframes, etc. This is almost always accompanied by a smirk that’s trying its absolute hardest to be charming, and probably a wink or two.

He’ll find excuses to sling an arm over your shoulder, playfully nudge you, or ‘accidentally’ brush hands when reaching for the same thing. It’s his way of breaking the touch barrier under the guise of casual confidence.

Leo frames asking you out as a challenge: “Bet you can’t beat me at [video game/contest here]. If I win, you gotta go on a date with me. If you win …” He’ll pause and smirk. “… you still gotta go out on a date with me. ‘Cause winning is awesome and you should celebrate with someone equally as awesome—like me.” Then he’ll wink, hoping the bravado masks the nervousness.

Get ready for a barrage of cheesy pickup lines, usually delivered with finger guns and a hopeful smirk. “Are you a portal? ‘Cause I feel like I could just fall right into you.” or “Did it hurt? When you fell from … that moderately high ledge I just portaled you away from?” He thinks they’re hilarious and peak romance.

Playful teasing is Leo’s primary love language. He’ll gently poke fun at your quirks, engage in witty banter (or what he considers witty), and try to get a rise out of you. If you can dish it back, he’s absolutely thrilled. It becomes a friendly verbal sparring match he finds incredibly engaging.

He bestows upon you a series of increasingly ridiculous (and often pun-based) nicknames. He uses them frequently, testing them out to see which ones make you laugh, groan, or blush. It’s his way of creating an intimate inside joke between you two.

Leo will turn almost anything into a playful challenge, enjoying the lighthearted competition with you. He’s genuinely happy even if you win, though he’ll demand a rematch.

He’s not shy about showing affection. He’ll sling an arm around your shoulder, casually grab your hand, maybe even attempt a dramatic dip-kiss when the mood strikes. He wants everyone to know you’re his awesome partner.

Forget your jacket? Want snacks from the place across town? He’ll use his portal powers for you (and he definitely also uses them to make dramatic entrances when portalling to meet up with you.)

For dates, there will be rooftop picnics with breathtaking city views, some urban exploration, maybe a visit to the Coney Island Boardwalk. Back at the lair, prepare for extensive viewings of the Jupiter Jim franchise, complete with his commentary.

His gifts are … eclectic. Expect things like:

1. A t-shirt with a terrible pun: I Fell For You (Through a Portal) or You’ve Stolen a Pizza My Heart. 2. A coupon book for redeemable ‘Leo Services’: One free portal ride (destination may vary), One epic training montage soundtrack, or One distraction from boring chores. 3. Occasionally, he’ll nail it with something surprisingly thoughtful he overheard you mentioning weeks ago.

Got a big test, presentation, or event? Leo becomes your hype-man. He might leave encouraging (and pun-filled) notes via portal or send ridiculous motivational voice messages. He believes you’re amazing and wants you to succeed, even if his methods are extra.

While he loves being the center of attention, he also loves seeing you shine. If you achieve something cool or demonstrate a skill, he’s your loudest cheerleader. He’ll brag about you to his brothers and anyone else who’ll listen.

He thinks you’re the coolest person ever (besides himself, naturally) and he’ll hype up your interests, even if he doesn’t fully understand them. If you’re passionate about something, he’ll ask questions and encourage you enthusiastically.

If you’re upset or stressed, Leo’s go-to move is distraction. Feeling down? Suddenly, you’re sharing a pizza on top of the Chrysler Building and he’s cracking jokes to help you feel better. He might not always know the right words, but he excels at trying to make you laugh your worries away, even if just for a little while.

He also quickly learns your go-to comfort foods. He might not know exactly what to say, but he’ll appear with your favorite takeout, a specific type of candy, etc. Whatever you like. It’s his tangible way of trying to make things better.

The smirk drops fast if you’re in danger. One second he’s cracking a joke, the next his katanas are out, and he’s placing himself squarely between you and whatever threat dares approach. He might play it cool afterwards, but the fierce protectiveness in his eyes is unmistakable.

He’s not immune to jealousy. If someone else is clearly hitting on you, he won’t make a big scene. Instead, he subtly reasserts his presence with louder jokes, an arm over your shoulder, or suggesting you two leave for some place ‘way cooler.’

He picks up on your specific slang, your favorite obscure references, the particular way you phrase things. He’ll weave them into his own banter, just to see you smile or playfully roll your eyes. It’s his way of showing he listens and wants to connect on your level.

Just as you learn to read his moods beneath the jokes, he becomes surprisingly adept at reading yours. He notices the slight shift in your tone, the way you hold your shoulders when stressed, or the specific sigh that means you’re overwhelmed. He might not always react perfectly, but he sees it, and his attempts to cheer you up become more targeted.

While he projects effortless cool, you catch glimpses of the weight he feels as leader. He might get contemplative after a mission that didn’t go perfectly or seek your opinion on a tactical decision he’s mulling over. He values your perspective, even if he doesn’t always admit it directly.

Beneath the bravado, there are moments when the façade drops. Maybe after a tough mission or when he’s messed something up. He’ll get quieter, rest his head on your shoulder, and implicitly seek reassurance. He might not say he’s feeling insecure or scared, but you learn to read the signs, and being there for him in those moments deepens your connection immensely.

Leo’s gratitude often comes in quieter moments: a sincere “Thanks for putting up with me,” a hand squeeze after you’ve helped him through a moment of insecurity, or just a soft, genuine smile directed only at you. These subtle moments mean more from him than all the jokes and puns.

[bisexualbrainrots]

may, i present you with the challenge:

♥: Reacting to the other one crying about something

for louliver

Annie! Oh my god this one was a wild ride, it's definitely more angsty so sorry about that 🥺 but it has a good ending so yay. Here you go!

“And cut!”

Lou closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, a smile forms on his lips as he brushes away the tears from his face. He can already see how good this shot will be, even though he didn't have much time to prepare for it.

It's the last time they're doing this shot and he still isn't feeling any less emotional about it than the first time. This is a very heart wrenching moment for Tommy and he wanted to show all of it: the pain, the yearning, the love. He hopes he got the message across and it turns out great.

As he fixes himself a coffee he looks around the room, most of the cast are either not present or they look pretty out of it. There is one guy in his mind as he cans the place, and when he doesn't find him he finishes his beverage and heads towards the trailers.

As he stands in front of Oliver's door he lifts his fist, but doesn't knock yet. He doesn't know why he's suddenly feeling nervous about this. Maybe because he heard from a crew member that they cried from Oliver's performance or because he felt like the guy could use some company right now, but either way he still felt uneasy about being there.

Maybe it's also because they've been trying to keep... Whatever it is that they have under wraps and it's been causing some issues while interacting on set. Maybe.

He looks around one last time and sighs, knocking on the door.

“Who is it— uh, hi.”

He does not expect to see Oliver like that: with red rimmed eyes, the skin for his nose raw and, frankly, looking lost. He also doesn't expect the pain that it causes in his chest to see him like this, oddly similar to the one when he felt during his last shots of the day. It's a little unsettling, to feel this way for a guy who he hasn't even made anything official with yet, a guy he's just been having fun with.

But he can't help the soft look he gives Oliver as he steps inside the trailer, just as he can't help to fidget with his fingers for a moment to have something to do with his hands.

“I heard that... Your scenes went well.”

A small smile appears in Oliver's lips, and Lou really wants to close the distance somehow, “Y-yeah, it was... It was good, I guess. It was a very moving scene to do, for sure.”

“I can imagine,” Lou takes a breath and waits for a beat, “I know it's not my place and you have every right not to want to talk about this with me but... Are you doing okay?”

The way Oliver's lip quivers breaks something in him, but it's the hitch in his voice that finally shatters him, “Uh, No? I, I know Peter's still going to be around and that Bobby won't be forgotten but... I'm really gonna miss him.”

His voice sounds so small by the end and it's like this bubble that formed around them finally pops because next thing Lou knows, Oliver's crying and he's reaching out for him, wrapping his arms around the guy and just holding him.

“H-hey it's okay, it's okay Oli,” he rubs his back and grimaces when he hears Oliver choke on a sob, the pain in his chest growing double.

He guides them both towards the couch, and lets Oliver cry it out. He has never seen the guy cry, not off screen at least. And it's doing something in him that feels like a hundred knives aiming straight for his heart. He doesn't want to hear it or see him like this ever again.

Lou places Oliver's face against his chest and rocks them, drawing circles on his back with one hand as the other focuses on massaging his scalp in an attempt to soothe him.

“You've worked with him for 8 years now, of course you're gonna miss him, how could you not?” he hears the slight hitch in his voice and curses internally.

Get it together for him, he thinks.

He repeats the rocking motions until Oliver looks up from his chest, and Lou feels a sense of fondness and affection he's not sure he's ever felt before.

He smiles and uses the hand on his head to swipe a few tears away “Hello again, do you feel better?” Oliver nods but doesn't say anything, just lets himself be held for a little longer before leaning back, his hand holding onto Lou's thighs.

“Well this is embarrassing,” Oliver chuckles but when he sees it doesn't have the desired effect on Lou, he ducks his head.

“You know I don't think crying is embarrassing, Oli,” Oliver nods, his head still focused on his own hands.

“I-I know but... I don't think I've ever cried in front of you and it, it makes me feel weird that it's because of this.”

Lou grabs Oliver's chin, lifting it so they can see each other eye to eye, “Technically you've only teared up in front of me and that's... Well, it's happened in other contexts,” the cheeky grin he gives Oliver makes him laugh, a genuine laugh that lights up the entire room.

“How could I forget?” Oliver bites his lip and looks away for a second, looking trapped in his thoughts, when his eyes come back to Lou he seems better, a little lighter, “Thank you, for being here with me.”

Lou tilts his head, a warm smile breaks on his face and he brushes Oliver's birthmark with this thumb, “Of course.”

Oliver leans and lets his face rest in Lou's neck, he breaths in as his arms wrap themselves around Lou's shoulders, “Is it okay if we don't mention this in front of others?”

Lou smiles and kisses Oliver's head “That's okay. You don't have to worry about that, not with me,” he plays with Oliver's curls and wraps one arm around the guy's waist, “For the record, you don't need to be this confident guy all the time, Oliver. It's okay to let things out when you feel them.”

Oliver chuckles and hides his faces more into Lou's neck, he lets out a muffled “You really want to keep making me cry, don't you?”

Lou smiles “My mission in life.” both guys laugh, feeling the vibrations of their bodies against one another.

He'll be okay, he thinks.

They'll both be okay.

[plushieni]

from this ask

bakugo treasured you in ways that made no sense, even to himself. he wasn’t sure when it happened—when you went from a stranger, someone who only ever seemed to appear when something was broken, to the person who consumed his every thought. fixing his gadgets, repairing his suit, tweaking his gear; it was supposed to be a simple, exchangable relationship. but somehow, it became something deeper.

some would say it was inescapable, the way you’d fit into his life without him realizing it, until the small talk turned into long fulfilling conversations. the laughter you shared during late-night tinkering sessions, the way your hands would brush when you passed him a tool, the small moments that kept adding up.

when he realized he liked you, he knew he had to ask you out—to get it out of the way, just in case you didn’t feel the same. he just couldn’t hold it back anymore. his voice was rough, like he was gritting his teeth to get the words out, but he made himself say them. it wasn’t some dramatic confession—no cheesy speeches or anything like that. but for bakugo, it was everything.

“y’know, when i’m with you, things aren’t so… bad. you don’t annoy the hell outta me either. and i wanna do better by you. so what do you say? can i be your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone as blunt and straightforward as ever.

when you two started dating, it was definitely a change—but for the better, of course.

you were his equal. it didn’t matter that your strength wasn’t physical—he was more than aware that your mind was just as sharp as his combat, your skills just as powerful in their own right. and it wasn’t just your genius that made him admire you; it was the way you moved through the world, the way you manage to tackle problems and challenges with effortlessly. it was impossible not to respect you.

he’d mention your adjustments to his gadgets, dropping your name casually, always being proud of you. “they thought it’d work better if it was smaller, huh? damn nerd was right,” he’d mutter, hands adjusting his gear with a satisfaction that only came from knowing it had been you who made it better. he was impressed by you more than he would ever say.

complimenting you constantly, but never in the way you’d expect. not with gentle words or soft confessions. no, bakugo’s version was different. “you’re not entirely useless…” or, “you did good, dumbass. don’t beat yourself up.” it all came from a place that was all him, raw and unfiltered. and you knew, deep down, to him it was a comment of admiration.

he understood your dedication to your work, how you’d get lost in a project for hours, forgetting everything else around you. he didn’t need you to ask for anything. he just knew. on the days you got so caught up in your tinkering that you barely remembered to eat or sleep, bakugo would be there—slipping into the workshop with a plate of your favorite food or stacking your laundry neatly by your bed. he wouldn’t say a word. he’d just do it, like it was second nature.

and if it got too bad—if you were pushing yourself too hard—he’d drag you away from your work, his hand firm on your shoulder as he pulled you toward your couch. “get some damn rest, you idiot. i’m not gonna let you burn yourself out.” it wasn’t harsh; it was just how he cared—and oh boy, he cared a lot.

around you, bakugo found a strange sense of calmness. when he was with you, things slowed down. there was no pressure to be something bigger, louder, or stronger. he didn’t have to be the ‘the best’ all the time. didn't have to put up an act. he could just be him, and that was enough. maybe it was the way you let him sit in silence, neither of you needing to fill the space with words. or maybe it was the way you’d look up from your work and catch him staring, only for him to gruffly turn away, pretending he wasn’t adoring you the whole time.

so, with every little thing, every little action, you knew. you knew that he was the one for you. no one else.

more of my works here

© plushieni do not copy, steal, translate, repost any of my works

[fruitzapple]

Answer to an ask I accidentally deleted

:"D idk remeber the user of the person who asked this but they asked something like,

"the mailbox you made is made of separate boxes but the bird you made looks like it's one mesh could you explain your process with the bird model and show off it's wire frame?"

Thank you so much for the ask! Sorry it took me a while to respond but I hope this is still helpful! The bird is actually split up into a ton of different parts just like the mailbox these ones are just a bit less square

I think the most difficult part of this project was the uvs. Making the pixels look constant was definitely a challenge for certain body parts. I didn't take the time to merge all my uvs so I have like 5 separate textures for this one model which is probably really silly but I'm not gonna put it in a game or anything so I didn't bother. thinking about it like a minecraft skin really helped me with get it right haha but that might not help everyone.

for the pixel art gradients I used a method I figured out a while ago that is really easy. I shade on an image size about 4x the size of my pixel art and use a screen tone effect on those shading layers I then rasterize the effect and resize it back to my pixel art size, using different big image sizes, screen tone sizes/shapes, and the resize style will change the look of the funky gradient it's a bit of trail and error but when you get it right it's so fun.

[changingplumbob]

Day Nineteen - Connor Group 1/2

Waken up everyone! Time for another day in the villa. And not just any day, the final day as a group before we have the whole cast challenge, final dates, and the first commencement ceremony (elimination sounds harsh when I love them). As normal coins were flipped for if teeth were brushed and wheels were spun for which type of shower contestants would have.

Room orders were randomised as some are closer to the dining room than others, but after showers breakfast was served! After being instructed to eat full autonomy took control of our group members and Deanna. Room doors were locked (you know what sims are like with computers) and Deanna complimented each sim in the order they sat down to eat to prompt conversation.

We must address the elephant in the room, Isla is incredibly tense! Why? She had a weird dream. A really weird dream. A dream so bizarre she can't even put in into words. But you best believe everyone is getting an earful about it. In tandem with her friend Isabella also seems to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed, angry and scowly except for when she is being complimented.

Nyami and Berenice don't really understand why everyone is so sour today, and they try lighten the mood with some jokes. Kaye is the only one who laughs though, Deanna just looks horrified as Isla shouts forbidden words. Doesn't anyone understand? It was a REALLY weird dream! Dee just takes notes, perhaps trying to keep her own hot headedness in check.

Rather than leaving the villa the contestants head to the top floor where chairs have been set out in an odd configuration. Today Deanna and Devin are joined by their little sister Artemisia (Emisia to family, Emi to friends).

Devin: Since this show was brought to life around the idea of family having a say in challenges, we let Emisia choose one

Emi: *evil grin* Today you will be taking part in... a staring contest. First to blink loses. You will go in pairs, I will join the three winners for a semi final and then the last two standing will battle it out. Up for grabs, not that you should want it, is a solo date with Deanna. I say up for grabs because if I win overall no date for any of you! To bad? So sad. What are we waiting for?

Deanna: *sighs*

First match: Isla vs Dee

Isla: A... staring contest? A little strange if you ask me but... maybe Deanna is measuring our silliness?

Dee: ...are you kidding? Well, I'm here to win, bring it on

Winner: Dee

Second match: Berenice vs Kaye

Berenice: *excited* Ooooh

Kaye: Seems a bit . . . OK it's weird but I'll do whatever it takes to win that date

Winner: Berenice

Third match: Isabella vs Nyami

Isabella: Oh my, I might need to get prettied up...

Nyami: I have four siblings and had plenty of stareoffs with those goofballs... I am prepared

Winner: Nyami

In the semi-finals it's Dee vs Berenice and Nyami vs Artemisia. Emisia does her best to look threatening but Nyami doesn't flinch. Victories for Berenice and Nyami.

Final battle, Nyami vs Berenice. Friend against friend. Cringe against cringe. Blonde against black. Just after the battle starts, tragedy, a sneeze! The winner is… Berenice

Isla: Me and my brothers did a lot of staring contests, but I guess it has been a while since we're all grown up now... I've gotten rusty!

Isabella: I never thought I would win that anyway... But there's still more chances this round

Kaye: Are you two seeing double from the eye strain?

Isla: Don't you mean four of us

Kaye: *laughs* She's got jokes

Isabella: This did not help my mood

Dee: Can I try again? I think I could do better. Not to be a sore loser!

Artemisia: Didn't you rage quit the last challenge?

Dee: How is that your business?

Artemisia: The whole world will be my business one day

Dee: Right... so definitely no do-overs?

Nyami: Sure I didn't win but I think I did pretty good! Sneezes are random. I'm glad Bernie got a chance, the next challenge will be mine hopefully

Berenice: And that is the importance of eye drops during allergy season! I was actually wanting Nyami or Dee to take the next one but then, that is… also the importance of anti-histamines during allergy season, I guess

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Berenice is rather good at staring. In fact, she's often told that she blinks far too little for a ‘normal’ person. While she wasn’t expecting to win this date, it seems that she’s gradually warming to the idea of getting away from the villa and being around less people.

@corrienteallita, @eljeebee, @ethicaltreatmentofcowplants, @hashimasims, @jonquilyst, @riverofjazzsims

[postgamevibes]

The city was quiet as you pulled into the parking lot of the community rink. The neon sign placed above the doors left a soft pink glow that casted over the freshly fallen snow. You turned off the engine and looked over at Connor’s car, who was already grinning at you.

“You got them to leave the place open for us?”

You nodded biting back a smile. "They owed me a favor. And you,have been on edge all week."

Connor chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. He looked tired, his eyes were shadowed, his shoulders drawn, but he looked at you like you were the only thing holding him together. "You’re crazy."

You shrugged “I try”.

The rink was dimly lit inside, only a few overhead lights were on above the ice. The chill in the air hit you immediately, but it wasn’t unwelcome. You laced up your skates in the locker room while Connor joked about his so-called superiority on the ice.

"You know I’m going to destroy you, right?" he said, nudging your knee with his.

You looked up with a smirk. "You wish. I’ve been practicing."

He scoffed. "When?"

"Wouldn’t you like to know."

Once you were both ready, he offered his hand to help you up—ever the gentleman—and led you out onto the ice. The first step was always the worst, but with Connor steadying you, it felt like second nature.

"So," he said, tugging you gently to the center of the rink, "what’s the plan? Just skating around until you fall and I have to carry you off the ice?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "I am perfectly capable of staying on my feet and not falling, thank you very much."

He laughed. "We’ll see about that.”

The two of you started slow, just gliding in circles around the rink. The cold air made your cheeks sting, and your nose was definitely going to run, but you didn’t care. With Connor’s hand in yours and nothing but the sound of your skates echoing through the arena, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

After a few laps, Connor broke away and challenged you to a race.

"First to the red line wins. Loser buys hot chocolate."

"Deal"

He let you get a head start—gentlemen, sure, but you weren’t above taking advantage of it. You leaned forward, pushing harder with each stride, determined to make him work for it.

You almost made it.

Connor caught up to you right at the line, skating backwards with a smug grin. "Told you."

You crashed into him, breathless and laughing. "That doesn’t count! You let me win and then cheated."

He raised an eyebrow. "That doesn’t even make sense"

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pulled him by the collar of his jacket and kissed him—quick, sweet, and full of warmth despite the cold.

He blinked, surprised, then melted into a grin. "Okay, maybe you win."

You skated together for a while longer, alternating between slow laps and silly games. Connor tried to teach you a spin, which ended in a very dramatic fall—from him, not you.

"You okay?" you asked, crouching beside him.

He groaned. "My ego’s bruised."

You leaned down and kissed his cheek. "I’ll kiss it better."

Eventually, the chill started to seep into your bones. Connor noticed you shivering and pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

"Let’s go warm up."

You retreated to the locker room, still giggling, your breath visible in little puffs. Connor shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you, watching fondly as you bundled up in it.

"You always take care of me," he said softly.

You looked up at him, heart clenching. "You do the same for me."

He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his chest. "You’re not so bad yourself, Bedard."

He laughed and tilted your chin up for a kiss—this one deeper, slower. A promise.

The night ended with you curled up together on the bench, his jacket draped over both of you, the rink silent but for your quiet laughter and whispered I love yous.

And even though the world outside was still cold and chaotic, here—in this moment—it felt like home.

[therivercrow]

A Word With Friends - Redolent

I was tagged by the wonderful @seaglassmelody and @thedissonantverses, and I'm gently tagging @robinsea and anyone else who wants to join in.

This one took me a while, since I was combining it with the Writing Challenge Weekend as well, and my brain is mush this week.

Writing Challenge words: Pink, Song, Sword

And this week's word is Redolent

Definition: 1. Fragrant or aromatic; having a sweet scent. 2. Having the smell of the article in question. 3. Suggestive or reminiscent.

Some Alana lore revealed under the cut:

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

"I thought I'd find you out here".

Teia's mellifluous voice flowed like a song in the evening air. The young fledgling she was looking for was perched on a marble bench in the furthest corner of Villa de Riva's ornamental garden, away from the ornate fountains and parterre beds, tucked between two gnarled carob trees that abutted the high stone walls surrounding the gardens.

Their knees were bent up against their chest, their arms around them in a pose of self-comforting. The elf's right eye was bruised black, and dried blood was on their cheek and split lip.

"Today's training was not so good, then?" Teia asked quietly.

They grunted and shifted on the bench, just enough to make room for Teia to sit down.

"I can do it", they said in a cracked voice. "I will get it".

"I believe you", Teia replied. "I was there the night Viago brought you home. I have seen the fire in those green eyes of yours. You just need to learn control".

"Why are you so nice to me?" the younger elf asked. "Whenever you visit Viago, you look for me too. Why?"

Teia sighed wistfully. "Because you remind me of someone".

"Who?"

"Myself. You know, I am not much older than you are, not really. How old are you, anyway?"

They shrugged.

"No age, no name...you are a mystery, fledgling". Teia lifted herself from the bench, then stood gazing at the unkempt, bruised elf before her. The two couldn't be more different; Teia's perfectly coiffed waves of curly hair, winged eyeliner as sharp as her blades, clothes worth a small fortune - this fledgling's messy thatch, hand-me-down training sword and face bare of paint or powder. "Viago still calls you Rook, his little joke. He always said you looked like..."

"A scruffy rook fledge who'd fallen out of the nest. I know", the younger elf finished.

"Would you like a name?"

Another shrug. Then a whisper. "Maybe...one like yours".

A silent pause, as Teia was lost in thought.

The fledgling lowered their feet to the floor, putting their calloused hands onto the cool marble of the bench. Inhaling deeply, they caught the scents of the garden carried on the twilight breeze, redolent of chocolate from the carob trees, herbs from the kitchen - and poison - gardens, and the overwhelming scent of soft pink lilacs, shrubs which graced the west-facing walls and caught the evening sun. The fragrances combined in a mixture both heady and soothing.

"I have one", Teia said, dropping to one knee to look directly into their eyes. "How about Alana?"

"Alana?" the young elf rolled the name around their mouth like the first sip of new wine. It felt unusual, sweetness mixed with bitter spices. It was never the name they would have chosen, but it felt right, fitting like a softened leather glove.

"It'll do, for now," Alana joked, a small half-grin forming on their face.

"Oh, such high praise, after all my efforts", Teia chuckled. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up before Viago sees you bleeding, and has your instructor poisoned".

[olasketches]

heyyy!! hoping you're having a awesome day, your artsyle is so pretty!! i would like to see tiger yuji, panther megumi and lion nobara, idk them all feel very feline-like to me XDD

heyyyy!! aw hope you’re having an awesome day too :D also thank you so much for enjoying my art style it makes me really happy that you do :”)) here’s tiger yuji, panther megumi and lion nobara as requested!! this definitely got me out of my comfort zone lol but I had lots of fun with these >.<

[not-so-superheroine]

the thing is...galinda is right about popular.

it isn't just about a make-over. like it is, and about galinda recognizing elphaba is beautiful the way she is. but the song has a larger purpose. she's teaching elphaba about the importance of soft power. very clearly when she talks about "celebrated heads of state."

soft power, which elphaba does not have, and that has major consequences when it comes to accomplishing her mission.

not saying glinda made all the right or moral choices. she very much doesn't. its just that's she has a point here, which plays into why glinda IS able to depose morrible and the wizard later on.

now, mind you, glinda wouldn't have done any of that if not for elphaba taking the risk she did by confronting morrible and the wizard by taking a strong moral stance in defense of the Animals.

activists are necessary when it comes to making change. they push politicians to make the right choice for the people.

people, including capital "A" Animals.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down. 

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived. 

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out.  “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?” 

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset? 

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

 .

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him. 

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.  

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

 .

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

 .

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say. 

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

 .

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food. 

 .

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

.

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands. 

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

 .

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway. 

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say. 

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now. 

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered. 

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room. 

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters. 

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her. 

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?” 

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”  

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

.

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years. 

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl. 

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint. 

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to. 

.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet. 

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.” 

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try… 

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I love being within walking distance of a bakery

[theluckiestrose]

Ive been playing Idleon off and on since before W2 was a thing. Thought I had hit a wall at W4 until I discovered the Upgrade Vault the other day. I swear LavaFlame2 just adds stuff without even announcing it lmao

Im actually having a lot of trouble at this stage anyway because the Synthesis Dust mechanic is kinda obnoxious and so is keeping track of which character has level-appropriate gear but at least I'm not stuck grinding Neptuneyes anymore