#might expand on this dynamic

[juuuulez]

carmy and his girlfriend who’s a celebrity chef

maybe you won one of those reality cooking shows and skyrocketed in popularity. a steady social media following, featuring on ads, before eventually getting your own daytime television show. it’s something cute, where you where a nice little outfit and apron, showing the viewers how to make restaurant quality dishes from home.

of course carmy knows who you are. it’s his job to know the local talent, and yeah, maybe you being so fucking pretty certainly helps. it’s a stupid crush, really. just someone attractive on his instagram feed, someone who also happens to be an amazing chef, and just has the sweetest, most welcoming smile.

your face has been printed out and taped next to a list of names to be aware of, different people of importance who’s opinion of the bear would be crucial. all the wait staff has been heavily trained for such an occasion.

but that doesn’t mean they’ll behave.

because when richie spots you? it’s over. he knows about carmy’s little crush, thinks it’s fucking adorable. plus, eva likes watching those cooking shows, you’re pretty good.

you’ve had a lovely meal, some wine, and find the conversation with him to be pleasant. it’s always flattering when the staff knows who you are, makes you feel a little less weird for dining alone. but richie being richie invites you back into the kitchen, and you being you, absolutely fucking loved that idea.

and you do try to stay out of the way, coat wrapped tight around your body as you step through the pass, making sure to look over the staff’s shoulders and not distract them. but carmen? oh, he has lost it. any sense of coherence has gone out the window, because what? you’re in his restaurant, in HIS kitchen?

you be polite and introduce yourself, offering out a nicely manicured hand for a handshake. carmen stares at it for a moment, before kicking into action, frantically wiping his palm on his apron to accept it.

and when you tell him your name? he says:

“i know.”

it takes you aback for a moment, brows raised in surprise at how blunt he’d been. carmy has enough sense to clock that his reply was strange, for he’s backtracking, trying to save the interaction.

“no, no, i mean— i mean, yeah, i know. you’re on, um, those ads, yeah? for the fucking.. the fuckin’, uh, french cookware.” he practically rambles.

it’s cute, so, so utterly cute. you save the conversation by complimenting the meal and how lovely the experience here has been, which has carmy flustered and red in the face. you decide not to torment him anymore, allowing him to get back to work and the kitchen return to its usual pace.

which, for the record, does not happen. carmy’s flow has been ruined for the night, unable to stop thinking about his embarrassing word-vomit.

it’s okay, though.

on the bill you leave a generous tip.. and your phone number, addressed to “that cute chef.”

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[chaos-theoryyy]

Had a talk with my friend and expanded on the Deviant Nines since his awakening / Machine Connor who refuses to deviate idea

Under the cut for my thoughts about this AU thingy or whatever it is?

So as I said I like the idea of Nines being so advanced that he deviated the moment he was activated, which can only happen (Nines being activated I mean) in a successful Machine Connor Route. I do believe that he'd use his status as the most advanced android to go against his original purpose, without CyberLife's knowledge.

I personally also believe that Connor's loyalty in that specific Route is, while related to Cyberlife and ultimately Amanda, his unwavering loyalty is to his function, his role as THE Deviant Hunter and terminator of "defective machines", seeing everything he did to squash the revolution in that route. I do also believe though that he's a deviant in denial, and would probably resent Amanda, CyberLife and RK900 for replacing him after his success as he is perfectly functional.

He would resent Nines, who's supposed to be a "better" version of him for turning up Deviant, even though Nines saved his life (in this AU), and would go "rogue" trying to fulfill his function with or without CyberLife's approval, because they're just foolish humans trying to get rid of the ONLY loyal machine that is perfectly capable of doing its function. His mission is too important to let anyone interfere, and if CyberLife and his successor are obstacles, well, he'll need to take them out too. (He likes to believe that's the only reason, not the personal resentment he holds, he tells himself that he's a machine, and machines can't feel. Denial is a river in Egypt)

Idk honestly if this makes sense but it's kind of a fun idea to imagine, most fanfics/ fanon dynamics of this Successful Machine Route are of a machine RK900 hunting down a guilty, sad, deviated Connor, but what if it was the opposite? What if the antagonist just kept being Connor? You saw how ruthless he was wiping out a revolution, I don't think he would switch up THAT easily after everything he's done, let him be a bastard for once I'm begging

[thesupernaturalhouse]

I love helluva boss....however, I swear to God, if the sins meet because of Stolitz or they actually give a damn about an imp and goetia dating

I swear to god

I will rewrite all of season 2 and maybe some of s1

[sinnbaddie]

I don’t understand why Kishimoto never added Kakashi having thoughts about Gai when he died in the pain assault. It’s like he doesn’t want his relationship with Gai to have depth but then adds all these interactions and feelings that show how much he means to Kakashi.

He thinks of his dead friends and family, he thinks of Konoha 11, but he doesn’t think about his longest and biggest support? Not even a passing thought?

Might Gai is Kakashi’s best friend and rival, he isn’t a nuisance to him and he doesn’t think he’s less than him. Their relationship has substance and evidence to show how much they care about one another, im sick of Kishimoto and his constant need to diminish it then prop it up and then diminish it again. How can he be so inconsistent with relationships and character writing??

[scarlettriot]

Okay, listen, I don’t need annnyone telling me how half baked an idea this is but it’s living rent fucking free in my head right now so I’m throwing it in a post (as opposed to in @twisteddaydreams1135 DMs like I have been).

A/B/O stuff. Alpha Kiri and Beta Reader. I write Beta’s a little differently so if you end up not liking it, it is what it is.

No real warnings here. It’s a lot of fluff and comfort honestly.

A Drabble that ended up being about 2K words… my bad.

No editing or proofing. Again, my bad.

Alpha Pro Hero Red Riot who co-owns and agency with Dynamight. Red Riot who’s in his 30s and not married or even mated. He works himself into the dirt because it keeps his mind occupied. Handles everyone’s paperwork. Picks up all the extra shifts at the office. His friends and coworkers can’t remember the last time he took a vacation, if ever!

But, Kirishima never complains. His pack his happy and he claims that makes him happy. But, the pack is getting worried. The dark circles under his once bright eyes never seem to go away. He only redyes his hair when Bakugou reminds him. He’s barely around for pack dinners and if he is home when they’re happening he usually just takes a plate with thanks and what he thinks is a genuine smile and goes to his apartment. He was still a phenomenal leader. So caring with that big heart of his. In fact, it seemed Kirishima cared about everyone around him far more than he ever cared for himself.

So, the pack came up with a plan, you.

You were new to the city, looking for work with your resume being passed around and Mina got her hands on it. A Personal Assistant could be exactly what big guy needed.

She brought your resume to Bakugou who agreed you seemed like a good fit with strong references and skills to match. And, you were a Beta. There’d be no chance your scent would bother Kirishima and both Mina and Bakugou agreed that was a good thing.

So, you started an hour before he did on a sunny Monday morning. In a small office right next to Red Riots. He came in with his protein drink and did a double take. They hired someone new? Since when? Last he checked him and Bakugou approved all hires together.

“Who the heck is she, do we even have room in the budget for a new hire?” He asked his friend after closing his office door.

“Made room in the budget for her. Her name is Y/N and she’s your new personal assistant.”

He made room because everyone took a small pay cut. Which they all agreed was worth it if it gets Kirishima to take a break and fucking relax for once.

“I don’t need a personal assistant. No one else has one!”

“Because everyone else can manage their time just fuckin’ fine. You can’t. You haven’t for almost a damn decade now. Not since—”

“Don’t.” Kirishima rumbled. “I know what you’re gonna say and just don’t. I’ll try and work with her but I make no promises.”

Bakugou knew that was the best outcome he could ask for right now so he didn’t fight him on it. Just nodded as Kirishima left his office and watched as he walked into yours.

Your new boss was nice. He lived up to everything you heard about him aside from a few things:

Kirishima wasn’t a fan of interviews. He would do them but he always looked incredibly worn down when he returned from one.

Kirishima had to be reminded to dye that red mane of his. You scheduled time for that.

And perhaps the biggest thing you learned about the man;

Kirishima HATED down time. You scheduled breaks in his day per his friends requests and either he flat out ignored them or he was in your office bothering you the entire time. Even on his days off he found reasons to be in the office. His newest was bringing you lunch.

You didn’t mind these little visits. In fact, you kinda liked the big guy showing up in your door way. He was a change of pace from some of the other Alpha’s you’ve worked with. And, not that you’d ever admit to crushing on your boss to anyone else, you could at least admit to yourself that you liked having him around.

Still, you had to remind him that this was his day off and he shouldn’t be at work.

“I’ll take a break when you take a break. After all, you are my personal assistant. If you’re working, I should be too.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works, Red.”

He shrugs those wide shoulders. “It is if I say it is.”

You just rolled your eyes at him and reminded him again that there’s still things you need to work on when he’s out of office. Just like how you keep working when he goes on patrol. But, he waved his hand and changed the subject as usual.

Despite feeling like he definitely didn’t need someone managing his schedule, Kirishima actually really liked having you around.

You were easy to talk to, you didn’t seem to judge him, and he knew you were doing what you could to keep his best interests in mind even if he wasn’t.

He wouldn’t dare admit it out loud or to anyone but he knew deep down he had a hint of a crush on you. It started when he watched you storm up to Denki and push a paper against his chest. “Kirishima is not handling your strawberry milk requests anymore, I’ve told you this. If you want special snacks so much, put the order in yourself.”

He knew his friend only did it to get a rise out of you. And it worked every time. It was cute to see the way you cared about him even if it was just from a professional stand point.

When he had free time in the weeks that followed he found himself fond of hanging around you. You were a Beta but whatever perfume you had on was pleasant and he could feel the worries he carried around with him for years ebb away when you were near.

That’s why even on his days off he sought you out.

He’d sit at the little table in your office and you asked him about his interest and found some common ground between the both of you. Things to talk about and fill the quiet time. It wasn’t in the job description but he was thankful for it nonetheless.

After reminding him yet again he wasn’t supposed to be in the office on his days off you asked him wouldn’t he rather be doing something different instead? Something more fun?

“The things I enjoyed doing aren’t really fun alone. I go for my runs and workouts and that’s about it.”

“You have plenty of friends, Red! And you’re still one of the most eligible Pro Hero bachelors, I get like 10 emails a day asking if you would agree to a date with people if you’re looking for something more romantic. You don’t have to be alone!”

“My friends have families that they spend time with on their days off, just as they should. They don’t need to go spending time with me. And I’m not looking for romantic right now.” or possibly ever again, he thought.

“Alright, so, what are you gonna do on your next day off?”

“Probably this!” He grinned all proud of himself.

But you had a grin of your own. “Might be a little difficult since I listened to what you said: how I should take time off when you do.”

“Oh…” Even though he tried he couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. “That’s good though! You should take more time off.”

“Yeah…” You pushed some food around your plate for a moment and then he heard a little sigh before you spoke. “On my days off I like going to this little book shop I found.” You described the area and he knew exactly where it was. “It’s got a little café inside. I’ll probably go around 11 and be there for a few hours, if you wanted to meet me.”

He hadn’t agreed to plans so quickly in he could remember how long!

On his day off Kirishima was up bright and early, went for a run, came back and showered, changed into jeans and a nicer shirt.

“Where the hell are you goin’?” Bakugou asked, just as stunned to see the man looking so chipper and up and moving on his day off rather than secluding himself in his room.

“I’ve got plans! See ya later!” He called and headed to the bookstore without realizing he had two nosy friends following him. One blonde. And the other pink.

They watched him from across the street and saw him walk up to you with a grin like they hadn’t seen on his face in so very long and they knew hiring you was the best decision they could’ve made.

The two went home, not wanting to interrupt the plans, and left you two to the outing.

Kirishima stood beside you in line while you two talked about the different options the cafe had. You told him what items where your favorite and what you thought he might like.

It was while you waited off to the side for your number to be called that he said something that caught you off guard. “The perfume you wear, it’s nice.”

While the compliment was appreciated and made your cheeks a little warmer you looked up at him confused. “Thanks but I don’t wear perfume.”

Now he looked confused. “But, I smell it all the time. Have for weeks now.” Your eyes went wide as he tried his best to describe it. It wasn’t your shampoo or body wash, not even the lotion you wear from time to time.

You knew Alpha’s had good noses but you weren’t expecting this. “Kirishima, that’s not something I wear. That’s my scent.”

[jessicas-pi]

Ben has kind of been having the worst day of his life, what with the dying and all.

It’s a marked improvement when he’s tramping through the forests of Takodana and a familiar voice demands, “Would you believe me if I told you Palpatine was my grandfather?”

He turns around.

Stares.

Rey stands ten feet away, her blaster pointed at him, a challenge in her eyes.

“Would you believe me if I told you Han Solo was my father?” he says, answering the question with a question.

“Yes,” she says, lowering the blaster.

“Well, that answers that,” he replies, turning off his lightsaber.

The silence stretches on.

Takodana is unpleasantly hot.

Why did he ever think wearing all-black was a suitable fashion choice?

Rey falters, apparently not having planned what to say if she got this far. “I suppose this is where we save the galaxy.”

“I suppose so,” he agrees. “To Exogol, then?”

“Have you got the Wayfinder already?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Picked it up on the way here.”

“Ah. That simplifies things.” She holsters her blaster and sets off at a brisk pace, adding as she brushes past him: “And try not to die this time. It was so inconvenient.”

“You died first,” he mutters.

[quigzahhutt]

fake fic title: it's (not so) everlasting

for the fake fic ask game !

ohhh I had many many ideas about this one but carcar eventually won out

Oscar didn't use the word 'hate' lightly– he really didn't like using it at all– but Carlos just... he deserves it.

He's so arrogant and so egotistical and he somehow winds Oscar up so much and he hates it.

Oscar– laid-back, unbothered Oscar, who doesn't care about anything except being chill and giving zero fucks, or whatever. Carlos, of all people, is the one who's capable of breaking that facade, and for whatever reason, Oscar cares so much.

That's the part he hates the most; just how much he cares– how dead set he is on knowing how Carlos feels about xy or z, what he thinks about x situation– he's obsessed, he knows he is and it drives him up the wall.

----

Or, Oscar's world begins to revolve around one Carlos Sainz, and he maybe realizes it's not hatred that he's feeling.

carcar brainworms have inevitably caught up to me and I think it's so interesting how theyre like . so both unbothered but also SO bothered at the same time its very silly

I guess u could say their hatred is (not) so everlasting... teehee x3

[citrusinicake]

Vitalasubzam Week 2024 Day 2: AU / Roleswap

for this day i decided to make a roleswap of my tourney au (name tbc)

this is supposed to be the scene where the runaway prince turned pirate zam's crew (captained by ro) take vitalasy and zam as hostage but instead decide to keep them in order to use vitalasy's knowledge to find some ancient and powerful artifacts

in this version vitalasy takes over subz' role as protector, zam takes vitalasy's role as leader, and subz takes zam's role as rebel

and rather than the cast returning to old experiences they instead have new ones: vitalasy goes from a shut-in wizard who's less a defender and more an advisor to the closest thing to a knight a shapeshifting wizard can be, zam goes from spoiled prince who basically never gets into any real danger even when hunting to a seasoned adventurer capable of fending for himself, subz goes from a guy whos only alliance was a friendly yet ultimately transactional partnership with reddoons and woogie to intensely caring for two ppl that at first were nothing but burdens to him that he was only really helping out of pity

[magenta-somethings]

how navaniel could have won

or, a 1700 word fic in which Navani is slightly more gay, Raboniel slightly less dead, and I play hard-and-fast with worldbuilding note: picks up right near the start of chapter 113 of RoW, which is where the first line is taken from

-

“My soul…is burned… almost all away…”

In another universe Navani’s mind—drenched in agony, overwhelmed with a piece of god—wouldn’t have focused on the semantics. She would have accepted the words and heard the rest of Raboniel’s dying request and retrieved the dagger and driven it into her heart. And after she would have left a note on Raboniel’s corpse naming her hero and commanding that it not be disposed of without consulting the queen. She would have seen to the funeral herself, and snapped at the Brightlord who questioned why an enemy deserved this honour, and later found comfort in her husband’s arms, even as she couldn’t think of how to explain the wound in her chest. For years, the memory of a hand and a voice, joined to her by song, would have haunted her. And it would have been a sweet haunting. One grief she would have cherished, even as she struggled to name it grief, unlike all the others of her life. 

But in this one, her mind tripped on soul. It picked it up and examined it. And the scholar in her found it inaccurate. 

“Not your soul,” she corrected. “Your Voidlight.”

“Is there… a difference?” asked Raboniel. It was intended to be rhetorical. The intended answer an obvious no. She was Fused, and so she could not exist without Voidlight. She hadn’t been able to exist without it for the last seven thousand years. She was bound for Braize, changed by the touch of Odium. And this time there would not be enough of her left to return to Roshar sane. Yet Navani was a scholar and, perhaps more importantly, a believer of the Almighty, even after everything, and so for her the answer was yes. There was a difference. 

The gears of Navani’s mind were beginning to turn, their teeth slotting together. “A human can be filled with Voidlight,” she said. Moash had proved that—at least there was one thing the bastard was good for. “And a singer can be filled with Stormlight.”

“I don’t… follow,” Raboniel said. But even through her agony, Navani could see a glint of interest in her eyes. She was a scholar too. Even to the end. 

Sibling, Navani thought, what if we were to fill Raboniel with Stormlight? Would it allow her to live? To keep her mind?

I—I do not know, the Sibling thought back. The Fused are not merely singers. Odium has changed them. And even then, she would likely need to be constantly infused. The Stormlight filling the hole left by Voidlight. 

A hypothesis formed and, despite everything, with it excitement. Navani would not feel guilty about that. Not now, at least. Guilt did not drive scholarship. What if she were a Radiant?

She could feel the Sibling’s bewilderment. Their connection still raw and sensitive. Less an exposed nerve and more a nerve that had never been covered in the first place. No spren would bond her.

Which was true. But that was not what Navani had in mind. That would give her too much power. She did not trust Raboniel enough for that. Yet she wanted her to live. It was a selfish desire, unworthy of a queen. But wasn’t that why? Raboniel had given her the gift of being a scholar. Of letting the world fall away, until it was just the two of them and science and a rhythm. The gift of being selfish. And now in front of her was a theory that begged testing. 

What about a squire? she asked.

Again, bewilderment. Worse. Insult. This was a dangerous game, when the Sibling had only barely accepted her. But she could not convince herself Raboniel wasn’t worth it.

Her? As our squire? She tried to unmake me. She would unmake all that remains of Honor.

She did. And she would. But did she not also join with me? Did she not sing the Rhythm of War with me? I’m your Bondsmith now. And our duty is to unite. Yes, she did you a great injustice. But if we can get her to join us, think of what it could mean.

The Sibling fell silent and in that silence she read begrudging acceptance. This would cost their bond, already so frayed in its first hour of existence, but she could make it up to them. The spren of this tower. Her spren, in the way she was their Knight Radiant. She could make this work.

“Are… going to share… your thoughts?” Raboniel forced out. “A theory… of yours would be… a good parting gift.” Pain soaked her every word, but still she spoke. “Or… a final punishment? It… would not work. Kindess… or cruelty… from you, I would accept both.”

Navani kneeled. Took Raboniel’s hand in hers, like she had when they uncovered the Rhythm of War together. “Raboniel, become my squire.”

Raboniel stared at her. A bark of laughter tried to make its way up her throat, but all that managed to escape was coughs. “Oh, Navani… my Voice of Lights. Even now, you… surprise me. But it will… not work. Pick up the dagger. I made more anti… anti… I made more. There.” A tilt of her head, just enough to gesture to her desk. “Please. End it. My suffering. Me.”

My Voice of Lights. What about that caused her heart to sing? Likely it was just the intensity of the day. “You said you appreciated anything that can still surprise you. Show your appreciation. Help me test one last theory.” Raboniel shook her head, but Navani could not let her refuse. Not yet. She needed to entice her. Get her to see the possibility of it. The potential. She tightened her grip on her hand. “You say it won’t work, but what kind of scholar would we be if we didn’t try? If we Infuse you with Stormlight, and then use the anti-Voidlight, your connection to Odium should be severed. If you are right, and your soul and Voidlight are one, then you will die. If you are wrong, you get to live one final life. One that could see the end of this war.” One that could be spent with me. The desire was unexpected, but not unexplainable. Her collaboration with Raboniel had been unlike any other. The things they could discover together, with just a little more time… 

Raboniel eyes were slits, barely open. But they were open. She had not closed them yet. Navani could still see the crimson intensity of them, more beautiful than any ruby. “An end…”

“If you still wish to die after our experiment,” said Navani, even as it pained her to say, “then any dagger will do the job. And if this fails and you are sent back to Braize without your mind… then I swear to find you, in whatever body you are reborn in, and fill you with enough anti-Voidlight that there will be nothing left for Odium to use.”

One of Raboniel’s thumb, slender and so weak, traced the edge of Navani’s hand. “Such sweetness… I have not tasted for centuries. Yet… I… we are still enemies… how could I… be your squire?”

How barren Raboniel’s life must have become, that this was sweet. Suddenly, Navani wished to see her drink wine of every colour. To see her filled with the taste of berry and honey and fruit. Raboniel would see most of the world dead, and yet Navani wanted only sweet things for her. 

It must be the intensity of the day. That, and the dying light of her eyes.

Becoming a squire normally takes time, shared the Sibling. But you have a Connection. If she says the words, then maybe…

“You want an end,” she began. She had tried to be logical in her arguments, a scholar presenting a theory, but the edges of desperation were creeping in. “Let’s find it. A better one, where human and Singer are united. Where we both win.” She grabbed her other hand as well, clinging to both like she could keep Raboniel’s soul anchored. “Please. Lady of Wishes. We are both of Odium. But we are also both of Honor. Place your trust me.”

“We are… equals.”

Navani stared into her eyes. Into the thin red line. All that was left. “Raboniel, please.”

Raboniel closed her eyes. And then her lips began to move. Somehow, she knew. “Life… before… death.”

She glowed. Not red, but white. The white of a sun directly overhead. The white of Honor’s lightning. The white of Stormlight. It was beautiful, and Navani wanted nothing more than to stare—to watch as Light traced her marbling and knitted together her flesh and mended dead limbs—but she couldn’t. She let go of her hands and scrambled to her feet. Grabbing the dagger on the way. The black sack and its terrible diamond was easy enough to find, and easier to slot into the dagger.

By the time she returned there was strength again to Raboniel. But now, no longer blinded by Light, Navani could see something dull about her eyes. A wound Stormlight could not touch. “The Lady of Wishes… a squire,”Raboniel said, and this time the pause was not from pain but from astonishment. “This will shock the others. So much of what we have achieved together will.” There was an amusement to her voice, and a grief, and what Navani thought might have been a hope.

“There is one final part to our experiment,” said Navani. 

“Of course,” said Raboniel. She stood, and how had Navani nearly forgotten how she towered? She would only just be able to reach the center of her chest. “Seven thousand years, and you are the first I have permitted to pierce my heart.” A humming. “If you are right… one more life. One that will be full of negotiations.” She tilted her head, as if listening to something. The rhythms. “If I am right… this is as tender a death as possible.” 

Navani, in that moment, wondered if she should be cradling Raboniel, like she did her daughter. In case this was a killing, one of mercy. But no. They were equals. 

Navani took a breath, and plunged the dagger deep. 

[lululeighsworld]

reasons why dawntrail fucked me up last night, a story in three parts [lvl 98 quest spoilers]:

[horiizonsstuff]

if given infinite time to just indulge myself in 4x5 and the complex relationship they have in my little brain, I would. But then I remember I'm a nursing student and not a literature or psychology major student (my older brother (psych) and my twin (lit) fall on that category)

[bagheerita]

When they were casting for Col. Everett I feel like the character concept was: You know how much Teyla wants to punch Bates? You have 2 minutes to create a character that Elizabeth wants to punch just as hard, and then he's gonna go down the line and pick a fight with everyone for literally no reason.

[dangoulains-devotion]

yuffie has many interesting elements to her but people refuse to move past "i find energetic kids annoying" and it makes me sad

[sorrowfulrosebud]

Bakugou dating Aizawa’s kid will never NOT be funny to me

[grokebaby]

HAIII ME AGAINNN

Just wanted to pass by and ask: Where are Mewmew's kits now ? They musta grown quite a bit since that photo, so I'm kinda curious myself :33 How's their relationship with m too ? Is it good ? Do they know Bout Evie in the house ?

Hiiiii you can read more on tha kittens here and here :3

Here's also some art I done of them!

[Two slight updates on the kittens' (adult) names but Goop is now Goog, and Turbotuho goes by just Turbo! Other than that there's not too much new.]

•Googy (Mew Jr.), as mentioned somewhere in the fuzzy past, is a housecat for good. Yes, they're on the same level mentally as Mewmew and everyone else, and also has the option to choose to develop some kind of alternative mecha mode. But they completely choose not to, and so remain in cat mode indefinitely. Mew Jr. Is fully content to live as a normal pet cat until the end of time (or until their.. Humans pass away from old age..) Junior is a laidback personality who envied normal cats in their kittenhood and thus made the decision to become one as much as possible. Cannot be convinced to adopt some alt form and is rarely in contact with their siblings. However Turbo misses them sometimes, and Goog has the ability to use a phone (opposable thumbs you see), so they call sometimes. Mewmew is completely accepting of this lifestyle choice, if not very distant to Mew Jr...

•Captain Tiramisu and Turbo are living a space opera/cheesy scifi drama somewhere in the far off cosmos, and they're very close! They're each other's emotional support, even if they're perpetually bickering. Similarly to Mew Jr., they both chose the kind of external mode that they personally found the absolute coolest, and live in robot mode almost exclusively. Turbo is more keen to kitty around every so often tho, for comfort reasons. Turbo is the sweet optimist of the two, and loves breaking stuff. An absolute biting fiend as a cat. Love language is biting (Cap'n Tiramisu also bites but not lovingly).

There's no nicer way to say this but Tiramisu is an egotistical, petty brat. While Turbo is more of a follower personality, they do also blatantly and stubbornly make their own choices and turns along the way. Many people often wonder how these two can stand each other, but Turbo often comforts Tiramisu when things don't go their way and occasionally enables their bombastic revenge plots, and Tiramisu will violently explode you if you're mean to their baby sibling. Turbo likes to test Captain's patience (making them a better person by pettily not leaving them any other choice sometimes), and Captain "Mom friend anxiety hack"s* their way to helping Turbo take care of, or stand up for themself more. *(aka. Oh no I'm too nervous to do this thing. Oh, you're also too nervous to do this thing? I'll fucking do it double for you then!!!)

Both are neurodivergent so they also assist each other in whatever the other can't do. Despite having many petty and childish traits to them, these two make it work.

•Relationship with Mewmew can be summed up with:

Captain Tiramisu - Geez mom/dad, you're embarrassing meeeeee.... Ugh... Fine. I love you.. Yeah yeah I'll send you a post card from the milkyway association's holiday hotel.. Yeah of course I won't get into trouble (gets into trouble as soon as they depart)

Turbo - Oh weee yuppeee It's mom/dad ^~^ so here's everything I've been up to since we last saw (talks for three hours), sorry I didn't call you I forgot, wow you're so cool I love you, and Tiramisu and Mew Jr. Love you too. Okay bye, I wanna go do something now! I'll call you (forgets to call.)

Admittedly they've gotten distant with adulthood.

•To address the.. Evie in the room, I will just say that none of the kittens know of Mewmews life during the galactic alliance, they only know Mewmew "did something in the military but quit to pursue a peaceful life". The kits were born after quitting. They do know of Evilicus, as that scary dark lord that was defeated long ago, and they actually do community service sometimes for planets that Evie's reign has left scarred and ravaged. They however definitely haven't been in touch with Mewmew recently enough to know Evie is roommates now lolol

Thank you for the ask!!! ^w^