#my writing isn't the best

[macabremilieu]

just a short, angsty fluff drabble for you.

(mention of PTSD!abby, depressed!reader, some cuddling and petnames)

♡

thinking about abby with depressed!reader.

struggling to text her the whole day: your thoughts spiraling and fatigue getting the best of you. merely reaching for your phone felt like too much, and when you finally did...

the sheer amount of sweet, loving texts she'd sent you throughout the course of the whole day. it instantly filled you with a sour, guilty feeling. she knew you struggled, and she always tried to be understanding, even if it frustrated her when you distanced yourself. struggling with PTSD herself, she empathized heavily.

just one "hey, abs" and she was immediately texting back, checking that you were alright before practically begging to come over and see you. you couldn't deny her, of course.

•

"hey, baby, i brought you some stuff— i know you don't feel great," she'd immediately start blabbering as soon as you opened the door, hands filled with snacks you liked, little things she thought you might need.

you'd welcome her in with a lethargic, guilty smile, watching as she frantically set her things down and moved to wrap you in a tight hug. it had always calmed you down to feel her muscular arms wrap so entirely around you. the pressure was comforting— like a weighted blanket.

"you know i'm always here, baby, i love you, i love you so much." she'd mumble into your hair, subconsciously pressing kisses to the side of your head as she spoke. her other hand would gently cradle the back of your head, holding onto you like something so fragile, so delicate.

she'd offer to cuddle with you sheepishly, as though she never had before. climbing into bed with you, carefully opening her arms to hold you in them as long as you needed. to hold you and press loving, gentle kisses to your forehead was a dream for her. something she felt honored to do at every opportunity she got.

no matter what, you knew she had your back. through anything and everything.

♡

[wysteriiaa]

Today is a very special day. While it is Valentine's Day, it is also... *insert drum roll here* Inna's birthday!!!

Small bonus fic(I think it can be called that) + some yapping below the cut! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Title: Happy birthday Inna..

Word count: 615

The clock’s chime resonated through the stillness of the night, echoing the arrival of February 14th, 20xx. While many would be bustling with excitement for birthday festivities, Inna lingered in a fog of indifference. To her, this date held no significance—just another day dragging along its mundane weight. This sense of detachment only intensified as her phone pierced the quietude with its insistent ring.

“They never learn, do they?” she murmured to herself, her eyes rolling even before she glanced at the screen. It was her parents, predictably calling, just as they had done every year since she had set off for WMU. Even though she craved distance from their suffocating grasp, their yearly call felt like a hollow ritual—a desperate attempt to bridge a chasm that had grown between them. Their words, laced with obligation rather than genuine care, felt like stale echoes of a past that haunted her.

Inna let the call go to voicemail, refusing to indulge their familiar refrain on "her day." She could practically recite their script by heart: “Happy birthday, Mélina... blah blah blah... Are you done being mad at us for doing what we thought was best for you?” Each phrase dripped with the same condescension, and it stung like a fresh wound. They didn’t even bother to use the name she had claimed for herself.

Frustration swelled within her as she flung her phone onto the bed, her gaze burning into the screen as the voicemail icon blinked back at her like a taunting specter. Guilt and gaslighting coiled around her like a suffocating fog, but she was past the point of letting it get to her; it was all the same retreaded narrative.

The apartment stretched around her in suffocating silence, almost as if it were mocking her solitude. For a moment, she contemplated rising to brew a cup of tea, seeking solace in its warmth and ritual. But the heaviness settled in her chest, an unyielding anchor that held her firmly in place. Inna had no desire to revisit those darker chapters of her life—those long, tear-soaked nights or the relentless battles she fought to carve out her freedom. Most painfully, she didn’t want to dwell on the truth that the people meant to love her couldn’t even utter her chosen name correctly.

Yet, the silence loomed, oppressive and piercing.

Then, a familiar ping shattered the quiet, and she glanced at her phone to find a text from Rue—an unexpected lifeline in the sea of her isolation. It wasn’t just another obligatory greeting; it was genuine and warm, a reminder of someone who truly cared. The simple message read: "Hey!! Happy bday girl!! 🎉🎉🎉 Hope u have an amazing bday!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)"

Rue’s message was short, sweet, and filled with more warmth than her parents had ever managed to muster. The casual tone, the sprinkling of emojis—it was like a little ray of light breaking through the clouds of her indifference. Inna smiled despite herself, Rue’s energy infectious even through a phone screen. It wasn’t an elaborate birthday wish or some grand gesture, but it was genuine. And that, for once, made all the difference.

Inna typed back quickly, her fingers tapping out a response before her mind could second-guess the impulse.

"Thanks Rue!! (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ"

Her shoulders relaxed a little. Rue never tried to pry, never pushed her for details, and didn't expect anything more than what Inna felt ready to give. That simple connection, the lightness of their exchange, was a welcome relief from the weight of the voicemail still sitting there, waiting to be heard. But today wasn’t about her parents. Today, she would let herself breathe.

I love Inna with my entire soul. Everyone better come and say happy birthday to my daughter or else the mall trip duo(Rue and Inna) is over 😠/j (I would never end mall trip duo) I apologize if Rue is ooc @kayohhey I tried my best

[trashartgalleries]

A tiny section from a story I'm cookin' up

This is, like, the middle section of a chapter I just finished writing. I might post a chapter on here, but I won't be the one this section's from

The story's called "A Light in the Darkness" and it's inspired by mistanfishu's animation on TikTok (i saw it on YouTube)

-

         The inside of Theodor’s home looks as fancy on the inside as it did the outside; Benjamin was almost scared to touch anything or sit on one of the plush couches in the living room. There’s not a lot of decorations in the spacious room, other than a few house plants and the fireplace with a large (flat screen) television hanging on the wall above it. The hero manager could feel loneliness dancing in the lightly scented air around him; the vibe of the house doesn’t match Theodor’s personality, or the amount of his personality Benjamin’s seen thus far.

The two text each other any and every chance they get, even if it’s just to check on one another.

Ben accepts the glass of iced fruit juice Theo offers him before the taller sits down next to him.

“Like I said outside, before I help you look into the Mocker of Heroes… there’s something I need to tell you.”

The shorter nods his head, remaining silent while he waits for the taller to continue. Theo, “I’m not a hero. I’m a vigilante; that’s the reason you and I have never run into each other at the Grand Hall.”

Benjamin hums, “Then… why were you there the other day?”

“I figured you’d be there,” Theodor teases kindly, “you’re always at your job, you workaholic.”

The smaller man pouts slightly with blush staining his cheeks, “I am not,” he huffs out, “technically speaking, being a hero is a twenty-four hour job!”

That flew right over Theo head while he laughs softly at Ben, “I didn’t mean for that to upset you, my dear; I was just trying to tell you what I’ve noticed about you. … I’ve noticed a lot of things actually.”

Benjamin tilts his head to show his curiosity. Theodor, “You work hard, and you seem to enjoy what you do to some extent. Otherwise, you’re just willing yourself to continue down your career path. You’ve probably held out a helping hand to the majority of the heroes’ managers when things got hectic for them.” He smiles softly, “You deserve every break you earn, and all the rest you can get.”

“Th-thank you,” the shorter mused softly, “I um… oh!” he lightly punches the taller’s firm arm, “We’re supposed to be talking about the Mocker of Heroes, not me! … but,” he averts his gaze while moving his hand back to his lap, closing his orbs while setting his drink on the coffee table in front of his shins.

“Since you told me what you actually are… I think it’s fair that I share with you what happened about five years ago; the reason why I’m so tired all the time. It relates to Doc, so I was going to bring it up anyway.”

This caught Theodor/Wraith’s full attention, his expression relaxing as he turns head and body a bit to sit facing Benjamin. Ben, “About five years ago, there was a villain with powers we’d never went up against before. Heroes and vigilantes teamed with the hopes of takin him down, but… nothing they did was enough. Our city would’ve been done for if Nightengalen hadn’t used his full power… Nightengalen: Overdrive.”

“Is that what he, himself, calls it?” the larger man asked with a curious eyebrow cocked. The smaller shakes his head, “Nah; he never came up with an official name for the form himself, and different people call it different things. Using his full power was more than enough to take that villain down, but… it came at a price.”

Theo, “Exhaution?”

“And limitation. The amount of energy he needs to replenish is… far beyond anything I could calculate off the top of my head. Being a hero who always needed gets in the way of that, and Sun Beam thinks we’ll need Doc’s full power soon.”

“Does she think that the False Hero’s going to make a move?”

“Yes… and if he knows about what happened to Doc then, that might confirm her suspicions.”

Theodor hums as he leans back into the cushion of his couch, “I think she’s worrying over the wrong villain.”

Benjamin tilts his head curiously, “What makes you say that?”

“I caught a glimpse of those notes before I left,” he stands up, “follow me.”

Ben stands up and then follows Theo out of the living room and down a long hallway, walking until they reach a specific door. The taller man opens it then allows the shorter to enter the room first before doing the same, closing the door behind him. Theodor approaches the table at the center of the room then taps something underneath the edge of it to turn it on, “Plug your phone into this please; there’s a cord that connected to the side you’re standing at.”

Benjamin pulls up the picture he took of Sun Beam’s corkboard before connecting his phone to the projector table, blinking twice when a holographic version of a picture appears before his eyes. Theodor moves to stand (close) behind Ben the lifts one of his hands to unstack the holographic sticky notes to make it look neater, fully aware of the blush that’s taking over the smaller male’s features. It’s starting to creep down Benjamin’s neck.

“This note,” the larger says while enlarging it, “this note is the reason why I said what I did in the living room. The Mocker of Heroes likes to do as he pleases, and it looks like it mostly involves sparring against people who pique his interest.”

Ben shifts timidly, “Ni-Nightengalen has um… super strength and super speed, along with his powerful healing abilities, s-so I guess I have a better understanding of why he’s being targeted. I-if true.”

Theodor hums with his eyebrows raised in amusement, his gaze moving to the pen across the table. He doesn’t need it, but he could pretend that he could to make Benjamin bend over in front of him. With how close he is to the shorter, his crotch will be pressed firmly against Ben’s clothed ass.

“Excuse me,” the taller chimes before leaning forward to grab the pen with his other hand gently gripping the shorter’s waist to keep him in place. Blush takes over Benjamin’s entire body as his frame quivers underneath Theodor, his hand gripping the edge of the table for support.

“Fuck,” Theo/Wraith cursed mentally with his hungry gaze on the back of Ben’s neck. He the desire to leave a mark there is tempting, and the villain subconsciously sharpens his canine teeth into fangs the longer he stares. It didn’t help that the smaller’s plump rump rubbed against his rising erection with each little shift and tiny sway of the hips he does, sweat beginning to show on his reddened skin.

“Ah… are you going to um… grab it?”

“Hm?” Theo hummed as he snapped back to reality.

“The pen.” Benjamin timidly turns his head to look over his shoulder, “You could’ve let me move out of the way for you, or you could’ve just gone to the other side of the table to get it.”

“Ah… the pen….” Theodor moves off of the smaller with his hands raised and an innocent smile on his face, “I completely forgot what I needed it for!” his smile softens as his hands lower to the pockets of his sweatpants, “Why don’t we call it here for the day, and come back tomorrow to make a plan? The table’s already memorized the photo, so you don’t have to worry about reconnecting your phone.”

Ben shyly averts his gaze after turning to face Theo, “N-not tomorrow… the next time I’m free, I’ll let you know.”

The two blink twice when the shorter man’s phone began to ring, both knowing where the call’s coming from.

“Until next time then,” the taller sighs, “be sure to text me when you get home.”

[uraniumnm333]

and here it is !!! the polysho oneshot fic !!! i already have two chapters up, but i'm planning more soon !!!

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[laswells-ashtray]

Ghost doesn't mind attention. He's used to eyes on him. He wears a mask and has a reputation for being a proficiently merciless man. The sound of his footsteps paired with a man of his stature tends to incite fear in people, his own or those he's yet to plant in the ground.

Simon is also used to the attention. He knows he's attractive, and he's dealt with his fair share of people flirting with him. He has big shoulders, the type of nose that's just on the right side of crooked so that people fawn over it and thighs like tree trunks. It attracts interest.

Simon likes the attention, he likes being flirted with and he enjoys the varying compliments he receives from different kinds of people. The older men who call him a pretty boy despite him towering over them, and the women tell him they'd like to climb him like a tree and find out exactly how good his wood is. His favourite is the bartenders who slip him a free drink alongside their number.

He likes the attention, appreciates being showered with lustful gazes after years worth of getting the shit beaten out of him and collecting scars like they're vintage stamps.

He doesn't like the action. Sickened by the feeling of men grabbing his jaw and yanking him into sloppy kisses as their scruff grazes his cheek. The sticky feeling of lip gloss and the taste of vodka from some blonde who'd parked herself in his lap and tried to stick her tongue in his mouth almost triggers his gag reflex.

He likes feeling wanted, he doesn't like being pushed.

So, when he ends up entangled with Nikolai and John, he's hesitant to tell the two other men.

John is tactile, he enjoys his little Price pats. He likes standing close enough that he can feel the warmth from someone else's shoulder. And he likes sitting with his legs spread out far enough that his knees knock into the knee of the person beside him.

Nikolai is openly affectionate. He's quick to draw someone in for a hug, encompassing them with his arms and trapping them with his smile. He likes to stand with an arm around someone's waist, finger hooking in their belt loop. He brushes his thumb across any available skin, tracing scars and stretchmarks like they're a divine beauty he's been blessed to touch.

But the two men don't seem to mind.

If they sit on the couch together, Nikolai will end up with John half sitting on his lap within twenty minutes of whatever movie they're watching together as he trails his thumb over one of the more prominent scars on John's forearm. John will slump against him and grumble whenever Nikolai moves.

Sometimes Simon will sit with his leg up on the couch, toes digging into John's thigh without hearing a complaint from his captain. Sometimes he won't.

Sex is a lot more talkative than he's used to. They both ask him if he's okay, and they check in while in the middle of things just to make sure that everyone is comfortable. If Simon seems unsure then they stop and work out a better arrangement between the three of them, taking into consideration everyone's wants and needs.

Some nights he's three fingers deep in John's arse and tormenting his prostate with a sniper's accuracy rate as the other man sucks Nik off and tries not to cum while doing so.

Other nights he's sat in Nikolai's lap as the Russian gropes at his tits while John presses his nose into the wiry blonde curls at the base of his cock and swallows around him just to hear the wanton moan that escapes Simon's mouth and surely earns them a noise complaint.

They never complain about his avoidance when it comes to kissing, it's never a point of contention or friction. Sometimes John nuzzles his face into Simon's shoulder sleepily after they make him cum three times and he'll run a hand through John's hair. Sometimes Nikolai will lean over him to get something from the fridge whilst Simon is grabbing himself a drink, he'll let their hands touch and smile at Nikolai's pleased huff.

He'll watch the two of them kiss throughout the day. Nikolai pressing a kiss on John's cheek whenever he walks by him. John kissing Nikolai's knuckles when the pilot accidentally hits a cabinet and splits his knuckle.

He knows when he's comfortable enough with the both of them and he contemplates saving it for a nice, romantic moment. He doesn't because if there's anything he likes to do it's tease the two men.

So, he waits until they're having sex. Until John tries desperately to arch up, Nikolai pinning the captain's hips in his lap and keeping him firmly planted on his cock as John cums in Simon's mouth.

Then he pulls off of the other man's spent cock, crawls his way onto the bed and pulls John up into a kiss.

John is so caught off guard by the sudden action that it takes him a second to realise that Simon is using the kiss to feed his own cum into his mouth. When he does realise, he's grabbing at his lieutenant's shoulders and moaning into his mouth.

Only when John swallows does he pull back and lean over him to kiss Nikolai, with John's spend on his lips. The Russian nips at his bottom lip before licking it clean.

He considers it worth the wait.

[theprissythumbelina]

I can't tell if my dragon worldbuilding has gone too far when I start reading scientific papers on bat wig morphology and comparing them to bird morphology.

[haaam-guuuurl]

Love the flavor of soulmates that is a main m/f partnership dynamic that's mostly platonic but also romantic but also dysfunctional and yet completely essential - like these characters would not work without each other, but they barely work with each other, and most importantly they know each other carnally better than anyone else, but it's also not about sex at all it's about the partnership and navigating the highs and lows of intimacy and letting someone in, but also maybe they do fuck, but also maybe don't, but also...

[psychologicalwarclaire]

Wu trained Morro at the same time that Garmadon was training with Chen which MEANS that Misako was around to see what the pressure of wanting and training to be the Green Ninja could lead to.

So later when she had Lloyd and KNEW that he would be the legendary Green Ninja, do you think she thought of the child Wu had once trained? The kid who became so obsessed with proving himself that he put himself in danger time and time again? The little boy who ran off into the night and never came back?

After seeing that, is it any wonder why she didn't want to leave her son-- the actual Green Ninja-- to be trained by Wu at such a young age?

Maybe a boarding school for bad boys would never make him want to be a hero. Maybe it would keep him safe from the destructive power of destiny. Maybe Darkley's was the only way to save her beloved son, Lloyd Garmadon, from himself.

Maybe Misako remembered Morro. And maybe, just maybe, she knew it would be best if her son never turned into someone like that.

[lyxchen]

Okay so I've heard this said a bunch of times and I'm gonna admit I thought like that too for a while but no, Gi-hun did not win the games because he was lucky. A lot of people think that's how he won because he never killed anybody but that's really not the point. Gi-hun won the games because a) he's smart and is able to look at things from a different angle, b) because he is a good and kind person who also believes in others and c) because of the goodness and care get got back from other people.

In the first game he survived because Ali saved him and that wasn't luck, that was Ali being a good person and helping somebody not get killed. Ali could've not caught him, let him die, he didn't even know Gi-hun at all at that point and he put himself in more danger too by having to hold on to a person while standing completely still but he still saved Gi-hun because Ali is a good person.

In the Dalgona game he quite literally Was Not Lucky. He decided to go with the umbrella which is the worst shape to pick and he probably would have died if he hadn't looked at the game in a different way and decided to change his strategy. Gi-hun is smart. He is also optimistic and so he tried something new and found a different way to beat that game.

In the third game he survived because he was smart and kind enough to listen to Il-nam. The other people in their group dismissed him as just an old man speaking but Gi-hun didn't and that way they had a good strategy to beat the other team. The same goes for him listening to Sang-woo's idea of running three steps and then stopping, which ultimately was what saved them. His group also chose him as their leader (who, as Il-nam said, needs to not seem weak or loose hope because then the whole team is doomed). His team trusted in him and his optimism and they were right to do so.

In the marbles game he won because he was once again kind and decided to team up with Il-nam and also because in the end Il-nam decided to "sacrifice himself" for Gi-hun because he showed him kindness before. Yes Il-nam didn't actually die but he also knew that Gi-hun had cheated and still let him continue on to the next game, probably because Gi-hun had been good and kind and caring towards him before, even though he really didn't have to be. Gi-hun also didn't know this but by teaming up with Il-nam he inadvertently ensured that Il-nam had a lot more fun in the games than he would have had, had everybody just ignored to "old, fragile man". Gi-hun was good to Il-nam throughout all the games and it ended up saving him in the marbles game.

In the fifth game it's only some small moments as Gi-hun isn't really involved in the game because he's the last number but still it wasn't just luck. First of all he was kind enough to give the number 1 to the player that asked him for it. Yes, that number was bad but he didn't know that and had he been selfish enough to say no to that other player he wouldn't have survived. Being the last to play in any game can end up being bad for you, still he decided to give up the number he picked because the other player asked him to. Secondly he also survived that game because Sae-byeok was kind enough to remind him of which glass tile to step on after he had forgotten which one it was. It's only small but she didn't have to tell him and still she did. Sae-byeok btw is also good to him because before that he was good to her and protected her (even though he was angry at her at first) and that way he was able to gain her trust.

Lastly he won the Squid Game because Gi-hun was kind to Sang-woo and because Sang-woo deep down was still a good person. There were probably many reasons as to why Sang-woo decided to kill himself in the end but part of it, I'm sure, was also because Gi-hun was a good friend to him. I mean Gi-hun was even willing to give up all the money and go back home with nothing gained if it meant that Sang-woo didn't have to die and would be able to come home with him. Gi-hun deserved that win and that money and in the end Sang-woo knew that. He also knew that Gi-hun would make sure to take care of Sang-woo's mother and that he wouldn't just take all the money for himself because Sang-woo knew that Gi-hun is a good person. (Gi-hun technically also won the Squid Game because he was good at it which is also him being smart)

So in conclusion and I hope y'all haven't stopped reading yet: Gi-hun didn't win the games because he was lucky. He didn't just sit around doing nothing and won anyways. He won because he was smart but even more importantly he won because of the kindness and goodness that exists in humans and that is especially present in him. He won because he had empathy, because people trusted him, because he got back from them what he gave to them first. He never killed anyone and we can clearly see that he Could Never kill anyone in those games but that's not his weakness. Just because he didn't let himself get corrupted and turned into what the games wanted him to turn into doesn't mean he won because of luck. Him not playing by those subtle, hidden rules that are made to force him to be bad, to not care about others and to give up his kindness actually means he was better than the games. He won because he didn't let them turn him into a monster. They tried really hard and they failed and that's how he won!! But also on top of that he also won because he isn't the only good person in this show. He also won because other people helped him, were kind to him and gave a shit about him. Each and every person that helped Gi-hun didn't have to do that. They all could have not helped him, Ali could have not caught him, Sae-byeok could have not told him which one was the correct glass tile, hell, she could have Lied to him about it and the only difference it would have made for the other players would have been them being one more dead person closer to winning all that money. But that's really not how humans are and act which is why all these people helped Gi-hun, helped each other in small or big ways and in the end his own kindness and the kindness that exists in other people is what lead to Gi-hun winning. That's not luck. That humans being good

[gotham-daydreams]

Are you alive? Is 2025 your date of death? We miss you mate

HI!!! OKAY SINCE A LOT OF PEOPLE ARE CONCERNED AND I GENUINELY DON'T WANT ANYONE TO WORRY (especially with how the year is kicking off) I'll say it-

I AM ALIVE!!!

I know it's been a long while, and I apologize for that!! I didn't want to start off the year this way, and actually wanted to start it off with a one shot (and the one that was supposed to come out on Christmas, along with the remaining chapters of the red dawn and so on) but I'll be honest and say that I got distracted, caught up in one too many things, and fell out of DC for a hot minute before crawling back like a man starved.

I've missed you all so much, and for the past few days have been trying to get those things I mentioned together so that I can finally have something up again! Even if I've royally failed the challenge back in October, those last chapters will and are still uneditied and basically made on a time crunch. The oneshots are getting done as we speak, and Chapter 4 is in the works :]

If it sounds like a lot and absolutely insane, that's because it is!! I'll be honest and say that I'm more excited for other projects then what I'm currently working on, but am focusing more on getting things done because you all deserve that and especially for all of your patience and kindness! I know I've said it before, but the Not Series really isn't my best work, and I don't think it will be, but even then I still want to produce a Chapter that you'll enjoy - but if anyone sees a decline in quality (despite the first and 2nd chapter essentially being written in one sitting and posted on the same day), that's probably why!

I do have some updates regarding some of the fics I said I was planning on writing, with the biggest update being in regards to "Ghost" as I've essentially almost rewritten the entire plot at this point, but I'll get there when I get there.

Nevertheless, yes, I am still alive! Even if you probably won't hear too much from me until those couple of things get done, I'll try to multitask and such as much as I can! The way of how I post things may be a little odd, but it'll mostly be with when I get them done, and with all the time I have at the moment - well, I might actually be able to meet my own deadline this time around... even if that new years oneshot is already 13 days late, and I'm not going to talk about the rest of the stuff I have to work on.

Regardless, rest assured! I'm not dead yet, and progress is being made! ... And what better way to show that then being late once again! LOL

[llemon-soda]

very VERY self indulgent thing... except you can tell i got lazy

[naffeclipse]

What if Eclipse from AP was a naga? And this took place in the deep jungle of the amazon, where photographer y/n is trying to take pictures of the wildlife?

I'm vibrating at the speed of sound over this ask while also nudging my naga au

Naga Eclipse from AP would have the tail of a Green Anaconda, with an olive green scaly color dotted with black, framed by burning-like flares of orange along the length of his slithery body. He's also decorated with orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, slipper form. His upper half is scaley with a lithe deadliness to his musculature and decorated by frills surrounding his head with brighter orange-yellow colors, almost hypnotic in their gradient hues. One eye is deep emerald green, and one is midnight blue.

Lucky you—you're out on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to explore a jungle closed off to the public, funded by Fazco, and occupied by two researchers who will be your bunkmates for the next few weeks. You're itching to take photos of the large river, including swamps, marshes and streams, and whatever wildlife is out there.

The few locals you did meet before you left to hike the rest of the way to what would be your new, isolated home warned you of a dangerous snake—a large, mythical beast. You take note of the local folklore. You understand the truth is hidden in there somewhere, and you are well aware of the dangers and diseases you could be met with in such a harsh environment, but you're determined.

It doesn't take long for you to feel eyes watching you when you first venture out by yourself. You take beautiful pictures of freshwater fish, big and beautiful, unlike any you have ever seen. Of course, you have hundreds of snapshots of the local flora, the trees, the floating meadows, the thick vines that drape each branch and hang thickly about the ground. You almost forget that you eerily don't feel alone.

But you swear something moves in the water—the ripples stop as soon as you look. The stillness is suddenly stiff, lifeless. Even the birds have stopped chirping.

You lower your camera and carefully put it away. A trickle of fear slips into your heart. You turn away from the river's edge only to be met by a low hiss and a creature, unlike anything you witnessed in your travels, spooling itself neatly out of the water, blocking your path to the base. An incredible creature with long arms and a great, serpentine tail that seems to stretch for yards and yards. You can hardly breathe in his presence—he's otherworldly with his frills and scales and fangs.

His eyes contain a mesmerizing shine as if staring into a fire as it burns or watching the ocean as it laps up against the beach, drawing your attention, demanding you don't look away. You couldn't anyway. Half-frozen, you struggle to keep from collapsing. He beckons with a sharp talon. He hisses softly for you to come closer, mouse. He wants to see you. You try to beg no without revealing how terribly you tremble. He doesn't let you go. He insists. His eyes flash with an allure. You almost step close when he murmurs that you need to be good.

But then your sense of survival kicks adrenaline into your heart, and you turn to run—

He strikes faster than your eyes can follow. Two loops of his green and orange tail surrounded you in an instant. You're dragged to the ground, your arms pinned under his mass, and the back of your head cradled by his large palm as powerful muscles squeeze you in the slightest—a gentle rebuke for thinking you could get away. You're hyper-aware of the terrifying bulk of muscles as you lie trapped in his coils. One strong twist and your eyes could pop out of your skull, and every bone protecting your heart and lungs would crumble to shards. You gasp. An urge to kick your legs and struggle erupts in your panic; a sinking feeling tells you it would only make things worse.

He coos over you, hissing and humming in an ancient song of the jungle you have no name for. When you whimper, he shushes you and strokes your cheek. He tells you how lovely you'll be. When you talk back to him, somehow finding your tongue amid your horror, you find out his name. Eclipse. He moves you more upright, resting you on his tail so you're not petrified by how vulnerable you feel lying down, but he never loosens his scaly bindings. He hovers over you. You gaze into his stunning frills of yellow-orange and wonder how a being like him came to exist. He studies you as you study him. He grins at how you shiver when he traces your collarbone with a sharp fingertip.

You remind yourself that you can still breathe. He hasn't crushed you—yet—but you don't like how wide his smile is. Sometimes, his jaw stretches a little too long as if dislocating from his skull, ready to devour you. His eyes gleam with a ravenousness as scales twist around you, holding you close enough to smell the slick green water he had been in and deep musk.

He tells you that he'll see you again very soon—away from other humans, lest you bring him a fine gift for a meal. You can only flex your fingers, silently pleading in your heart that he won't unhook his jaw and eat you alive.

Then, he unravels himself from your limbs. But before he lets you go entirely, he leans in close, his serpentine tongue flickering close to your neck and by your hair, tasting the air around you as you muster all your strength to not scream. He inhales deeply, pleased, before he murmurs, "Sweet mouse. You are mine. Say it."

You don't understand, but you echo his command, and when he taps your chin once in what might have been a loving gesture, you force your jelly legs to solidify before you run and run, all the way back to base. You slam the door to your room behind you. You touch your ribs, your arms, still caught in the heavy sensation of his loops as if he were upon you right now.

The stories are true—there is a giant snake in this jungle, and he wants you. You're afraid to discover if Eclipse's intrigue with you is only an exotic way to satisfy his hunger.

[ilkkawhat]

[eikichi-supremacy]

If nothing else Koenma is a Kuwabara stan and I'm right there with him o7 (I need to write the kuwameshi fic that goes with this fr)

[yandere-yearnings]

I feel very ashamed to ask this, but f*ck it I’m anonymous anyway and I need to know:

Would Dice take it like a good boy?

dice says fuck around and find out🫵 (also you've got nothing to be ashamed of here nonnie❗❗ it's a no judgment zone🥰)

slightly suggestive content under the cut!

It was always raining when you were with Dice, to the point where you could convince yourself the heavy clouds followed him. That his misty greys were just reflections of a suspended downpour sprawling out on the skyline in wait. You'd come to accept it as just another constant in your life. Learned to like it. One more thing to look forward to, one more thing to keep you grounded when you felt you were slipping away.

Oh, but it was cold.

One of the walls in the penthouse kitchen was entirely end-to-end glass. No draft came in, yet everything still felt too open. Goosebumps rose on your arms watching the droplets drum down rhythmically. Quickly before you, they became a screen of water that made the world outside seem like it was melting. Streaking green and terracotta from the potted plants on the terrace where the soil was surely being washed out, and the fairy lights you'd strung up once on a dreary morning haloing into sharp, blinding yellow. You felt a little numb the more you stared, so you turned to the room to bathe in more human attentions.

The sleeve of the hand wrapped around his decanter was the only one rolled up. You'd daresay Dice did it on purpose, because he knew well your eyes always lingered on every sliver of skin he showed you. Burnt umber into a marquise-cut glass, fire in refracted fragments, to his lips — and now you wanted nothing more than to take the warmth that they had surely gained.

"It's Scotch," he said when you walked over, when your hands found their place at his hips and you pressed his body right into the counter with yours, "want some?"

"I want you." Your breath came out heavy, forehead to the broad plane of his back. Heat from flesh you couldn't feel properly through chiffon barriers taunted you. A carrot hung for the starved animal that you were.

On this quiet night his laugh was velvet and red wine served chambré, something rich enough to send you into a haze — a fever — if you were to let it suffocate you as deliciously as the desire held its depth. Your fingers took his wrist like a lifeline, pressure realised enough to leave your thumbprint right there against his beauty marks; your mouth desperate on his neck.

"Then take me."

Dice made no move to stop you, not even when your nails lined crescents into him. You were burning out on everything he was, and he bore your ashes like they were what he was made for.