#not sure who the stubborn tenant is

[saphstories]

It's Spooky Season, so Imagine an AU:

Everyone is dead, and they all haunt the same house. And every time some new tenant moves in, it's a competition to see who can scare them out the fastest. But then some schmuck comes in, and no matter what the ghosties do, they just won't leave.

Ghosties and their Deaths:

- Maria: Illness

- Shadow: Fire

- Rouge: Attempted Robbery Gone Wrong

- Silver: Broken Neck (Fell Down the Stairs)

- Tails: Electrocution

- Amy: Blunt Force Trauma

- Sonic: Drowning

[megapteraurelia]

neighbour!kuroo who offers you to stay with him until you've found a new apartment — a small part of him hopes he doesn't seem too eager, another small one wondering if being so close to your ex is going to end up hurting you, but the biggest part of him really hopes that you'll say yes regardless.

who thinks that kenma would snort into his hand if he could see the level of excitement kuroo has to swallow once you agree, apologise for taking up space only to agree vehemently again.

everyday, in the morning when both of you found each other in the kitchen, he opens the newspaper wide for any new apartment postings while you scour the internet; the smell of coffee and breakfast soothing and familiar. a flat far away enough from your ex-boyfriend that you don't have to worry anymore, but secretly he hopes that it's not so far away that he won't ever see you again.

neighbour!kuroo who bids you goodbye when you leave for work first, waiting at the door until he sees you board the elevator safely lest your ex-boyfriend gets the prime idea of harassing you on your way out.

who cackles to himself at the notice hanging on the wall in the entrance hall: the landlord asking for the culprit who taped a tenant's mailbox shut to come forward for community service or to face a fine upon refusal.

kuroo thinks he's got enough money to pay double the fine. (he does plan to mess with it again — to maintain his youthfulness, of course.)

neighbour!kuroo who learns that your work place is not that far away from his own. who wonders if it's far too forward to ask you to spend lunch hour together down the street at the really good coffee shop.

whose heart stutters when he gets a call forwarded from an unknown number only for his ear to meet your voice to ask whether he wanted to meet up for lunch.

(his assistant, looking through the glass wall, raises her eyebrow at the fist pump he throws into the air; her other joining in as soon as she watches kuroo trying to tame his hair but to no avail — stubborn as the head it sits on.)

kuroo also happens to forget to mention that he doesn't like almond paste but when you excitedly show him your favourite pastry with hopeful eyes, lashes caressing your cheeks, a wide grin on your face, he can't help but put his entire life on the line fighting the blush that theatens to overtake his own.

for a second he thinks of refusing, but then he tries the almond riddled pastry, anyway.

he does not like it.

neighbour!kuroo who gets off work half an hour earlier and waits in front of your work place so that he could drive both of you home.

who, with a cocked eyebrow and a sharp retort ready on his tongue, notices a familiar loser linger around the entrance.

"i sure as hell hope you're not here to see who i think you wanna see," he says, looking down his nose at your ex. kuroo, who makes sure to bear his teeth in a resemblance of a sharp smile, who delights in the shifting of uneasy eyes, "but in case you need a reminder of why to stay away, i'm more than happy to help out."

who acts brilliantly inconspicuous once you walk towards him; your boyfriend long gone, shooed away, bullied away, sneered away. (he didn't even have to try that hard.)

neighbour!kuroo who finds it easy to match his long strides to your shorter ones; whose hand swings next to yours. now and then, your knuckles meet his for a split second in a way that makes him want to take your fingers in a tight hold so they can't tease him anymore.

you tell him about an interview you booked for an apartment viewing, excited, asking him whether he had time on the upcoming wednesday at 11 am.

he doesn't, but he says he'll be there with you, anyway.

who tries to ignore the little stab through his ribcage at the thought that he would lose out on your presence before he could even enjoy it to the fullest.

neighbour!kuroo who sends you a smile, void of any cutting edges, eyes crinkling, and tells you, "let's look for more viewings at home."

whose chest squeezes in consolation when you gift him a smile back and nod as you eat the same damn almond pastry; when you don't correct him about home.

neighbour!kuroo who innocently forgets to remind you of looking for more viewings, and instead relishes in the space you occupy on his couch next to him as you settle in with hot tea and a blanket to tackle on the many movies you borrowed from the library.

who gets into a routine with you of making breakfast, washing dishes, saying goodnight and good morning, bickering and teasing, late-night talks and dawn-kissed chats.

who thinks that really, maybe you could just stay here.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5

TAGLIST | @takes1 @origamipivo @sailanne

@monikosman1311 (i know you didn't ask for a tag, but since you asked for a continuation in the first place—)

[ozzgin]

Daitou I love you but I'm going to date your dad

Hah, you have no idea how long I waited for someone to point it out. Although he’s probably for seasoned dilf lovers, given he’s rapidly approaching 50. I still feel like Boss has his own kind of charm, you know?

Yan!Yakuza Boss is the oyabun for one of the biggest Families in Japan. One does not easily reach that kind of prestige, not without a lot of power, charisma, and influence. In his case, it was a combination of raw strength and mad stubbornness that gained him a dedicated following.

You see, there's a particular reason why he adopted Daitou years ago. It wasn't necessarily out of a kind heart, even though he is known for picking up rascals off the streets. The simpler truth is that he saw himself: A misunderstood boy with violent urges and no place to go.

It's easy to see why Boss is loved by everyone. He's less of a leader, and more of a fatherly figure who is ready to fiercely protect his underlings at any moment. His reckless outbursts have turned him into an underground myth of a man who escaped death one too many times. Each scar tells a story.

Despite his tumultuous, bloody past, Boss has always been a cheerful individual. Ridiculously so. When he'd gotten his left arm amputated, he returned to the office the very next day with a smile on his face. "What's with those sad mugs? Told ya I was going to lose some pounds!"

One thing he's never had time for is romance. Hard to juggle a partner when you have a bunch of rowdy criminals under your care. Now he's close to retirement and would prefer to settle down, yet, in his words, "who's gonna care for an ugly old man"? Sure, he'd love a partner to spoil and protect, but he ain't dumb. He sees it everyday, how the civvies cross to the other side of the street, or offer him a deep, fearful bow before scurrying away. No one messes with a yakuza boss.

Except one day, his Daitou shows up with a foreigner youngster behind. The new tenant. He's rather fond of your nonchalance and carelessness. It takes someone mad to casually hang out with the yakuza, and he loves it.

"(Y/N), was it? It's a rough neighborhood you just moved into. You ever get in trouble, just give me a call. I'll personally handle it! Heh, what's the matter? You think an oyabun just sits on his ass all day? My fists will get rusty if I don't throw them around every now and then. Let an old man practice, won't ya?"

[Main Story] | [More Yakuza]

[tinyraptorhands]

Just A Spark pt. 2

-Makings of a Home-

Unpacking 23 years of your life into a small, two room apartment (minus the small bathroom) seemed easy enough.

Well. Turns out the furniture you bought and sent over was still in transit, and all you could sleep on was a pile of blankets. So, you immediately had to figure out the nearest super store to find yourself a futon (they cost how much!?).

You settled for a cheap sleeping bag, and bought some nice pillows.

So living out of boxes and your suitcases it was. Thankfully, you had somewhat a sense of mind to not pack everything you had back in America.

It gave you an excuse to buy new things, and a way to map out your new home city, Musutafu.

You had come during the spring, during the start of a new school year for Japanese students. March boasted budding cherry blossom trees, cool yet comfortable air and the sense of new beginnings. As you opened up your apartment window, you inhaled the fresh air that circulated through. You noted the busy streets below, the urge to yell out 'good morning world' warming in your throat.

Musutafu was as busy as Tokyo, and densely populated with heroes and villains alike. Apparently it boasts the most villain activity in Japan.

That wasn't new to you, seeing as you grew up in a similar type of city. Densely populated, lots of villain and hero stuff, the usual fair when dealing with crowded cities.

But at least people were kind. Once they saw you, they noticed your accent and looks and instantly began to practice English on you-only to be impressed you could speak Japanese.

And of course, you also had the odd, rude xenophobic person-but that was to be expected as well.

But you handled it all with a smile. It was a drop in the bucket compared to how nice and accommodating everyone was. Hell, even your landlord was a sweetheart!

Your landlord was an old woman named Hikari Midoriya, with greying blue hair, who offered to have her son; Hisashi Midoriya, move in some old furniture for you while you waited for your own to be shipped. You didn't want to impose, but she was stubborn.

"You can't live out of boxes and sleep on the hard floor, dear!" She had said, pushing another Tupperware full of sweet mochi into your arms. Another one, filled with strawberries (daifuku, she called it;) rested on the small kitchen counter behind you from a previous visit.

"Are you sure? I couldn't possibly impose-"

"Nonsense! A young girl all on her own, in a new country, sleeping like a homeless person? I couldn't bare one of my tenants living like this!" She smiled, patting your back. "Take the help when you need it, deary! Besides, it's old furniture! I was going to thow it out anyhow! And my son just recently retired! He used to work over in America, you know."

You bowed politely over and over, and she chuckled as you profusely thanked her.

"Just make me an apple pie! An authentic American pie!" She said, smiling.

She also talked about her grandson. "Hes an amazing boy! He's a pro hero! A quirkless one! The first of his kind! ...I think!" She said. You smiled as you listened.

"Oh, what's his hero name?"

"The One For All Hero, Deku!"

Hm. That sounded familiar. You brushed it off. You never really paid attention to the Hero scene, let alone in the one in Japan. You supposed that would have to change, seeing as where you were teaching was a hero school.

"His friend, ah...I think his name is Dynamight! I play shogi with his grandmother, Mai Bakugo-"

As she prattled on about her various hero connections, you listened half heartedly. You poured her some tea from the kettle she gave you, and handed her a cup, along with some daifuku on a plate.

She chatted about inane things; like your neighbors, who had the best fish in the downtown wet market, where to get the best foods, the garbage collection schedule...and then something you dreaded talking about came up.

Because, of course it did.

"Oh, my grandson-Izuku, the hero. He recently found his soulmate!"

Oh boy, here we go.

"The boy was born quirkless as I've said, but thankfully he had a soul mate mark! A little swirl! He had it on his palm, and wouldn't you know it! His soul mate was right in front of his eyes! He went to high school with her!"

You humored her as you both sat on some throw pillows you bought. "Thats so neat." You smiled, sipping your tea.

"Have you found yours?" She asked. You shook your head.

"Oh, no. I'm much too busy at the moment-"

"Oh dear! You'll find them, I'm sure!" She winked. "Its when you least expect it!"

You gave her a small smile.

"Its probably not going to happen. I moved too far away." You said, pouring more tea.

Hikari clicked her tongue. "Never say never! It's rare, but you can find your soul mate outside of where you were born!"

You chuckled half heartedly. "I guess."

'Not if I can help it.' You thought to yourself.

"Anyway, I'll have Hisashi come by with the furniture. Maybe I can get my grandson to help as well!"

Hisashi was a nice man. He had greying black hair, and warm greenish brown eyes. Unfortunately, his illustrious son could not make it, which he wouldn't shut up about.

"My son is amazing!"

"He helped during that nasty war in Japan eight years ago-"

"His friends are amazing too! Why, his one friend, Katsuki-"

"Did you know his super suit-"

You nodded politely, the man clearly loved his son. "I couldn't be around for him all that much due to work, but I try to be the best father I can be! I'll have to introduce you sometime!" He said as you both set down an old worn couch. It was grayish blue, and threadbare in some places. But it would do.

Faaaaabulous. Its not that you didn't want to meet the hero.

But honestly, you had enough of hero talk for the day. And here you thought Japanese people were quiet by nature.

You offered Hisashi and Hikari some tea (pretty much the only thing you could offer besides tap water-a big no no apparently), but they declined, citing your need for rest and Hikari's hip was acting up. Hisashi also mentioned coming by if you needed any repairs and the like. You were grateful, as you shut the door behind them.

And so, there you were with some moth ball smelling furniture (the couch, an old mattress, a nightstand and a small coffee table) amidst a sea of cardboard.

You slurped on some instant curry ramen, sitting at the coffee table that night and watched Japanese variety shows.

It was times like this you reflected on your decision.

There was absolutely no way you would meet your soul mate in Japan. You chewed on a still slightly undercooked piece of potato.

The odds were zero.

They had to be.

You sighed, setting down the ramen cup.

'Maybe I should start looking at places to buy food...' you thought, grabbing your phone.

After all, that apple pie you promised Hikari wasn't gonna make itself...

"And she's all the way from America!" Mai crowed, as Mitsuki passed her mother-in-law some rice. "Hikari says she'll invite her over to play some shogi. I havent met her yet, but she made a bunch of apple pies! Hikari gave me one."

"Thats so sweet." Mitsuki smiled, and Masaru nodded.

"A young person making the move all across the ocean for a dream job, hm?" Masaru said softly. "Sounds like a go-getter." He nodded. "Couldn't have been easy."

"Sounds like a load of bullshi-" Katsuki was thwacked by Mitsuki and Mai's hands. "Ow!"

Just another day at the Bakugo's. Mai Bakugo, Masaru's mother had stopped by with some apple pie. Courtesy of Hikari's new tenant.

"Watch your tone, young man." Mai said simply.

"Seriously, brat. Get over yourself." Mitsuki said, spooning Masaru more rice.

"I didn't have to come visit, y'know!" Katsuki reminded them, stuffing some grilled fish in his mouth.

"We appreciate it, son." Masaru said, smiling kindly.

Katsuki rolled his eyes.

Katsuki didn't hate visiting. But he definitely was reminded how much he enjoyed having his own place.

As soon as dinner was done, out came the apple pie.

"Oh, it's gorgeous!" Mitsuki said. Masaru nodded.

Katsuki looked at it. It looked like a pie. That was it. Mai beamed. "She said to heat it up a little and put some ice cream on top. Vanilla."

"So that's why you had me buy ice cream..." Masaru said, going to the kitchen. Katsuki huffed.

"Its probably just gonna taste too sweet." The young man said, folding his arms across his chest. No one paid any mind to him as Mitsuki began to slice even amounts onto some plates, and took them into the kitchen for heating.

Soon, Katsuki was faced with a warm apple pie, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream dripping lazily down the golden crust.

"Well! Let's see how it tastes!" Mai said, everyone except Katsuki digging in. Katsuki grimaced. It was like back in U.A. all over again, trying Sato's pies and sweets really killed any desire for sugary confections.

But why the hell not? He sighed, and dug in.

Woah.

Caramelized apples burst on his tongue, a decadent flavor that was sweet, but also had a barest hint of a salty flavor. Sea salt? The crust was buttery and rich, but not overbearing as the crisp and flakey texture balanced out the soft and gooey apple filling. The vanilla ice cream added a mellow flavor to the sharp apple taste.

The pie was amazing.

He thought Sato had baking down to a science.

This? This was pure poetry. A work of art.

"Katsuki?" Mai called out to him a third time.

"Mmfh?" He looked up, his mouth still full. The others looked at him with a knowing smile.

"How was the pie?" Masaru asked.

"...s'fine." He said quietly, setting his fork down. He looked at his cleaned plate, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Damn.

"You want seconds?" Mitsuki asked, grinning.

"...Fine." Katsuki huffed.

You were glad Hikari was able to take the extra pies off your hands. Honestly, you always had a bad habit of over baking and over cooking things, making double the amount you should need. But that was fine. It made meal prepping easier. And in this case, gift giving was easier, too. Hikari passed it on to her other tenants, (your neighbors), and even to her family and friends.

Okay, so you baked alot more than necessary.

But you were bored.

You mapped out the neighborhood, the local shops and eateries. You did all the necessary shopping.

You even squared away your new bank and bank card, and got yourself a train pass.

All that was left was setting out your professional working clothes and preparing yourself for your new career.

You quadruple checked the U.A. map, the schedule for teachers and students alike, even practiced your introductions.

There was nothing left for you to do except relax. And that was fine. You flicked on the T.V., and decided to start dinner.

As you cooked, (a simple stir fry, you were still leery of the rice cooker Mai had given you-it was her grandson's apparently. It looked like it had seen better days;) You listened to the t.v. play in the background.

"Pro Hero Dynamight and One For All Hero Deku have yet again saved the day! Stopping villain Leviathan in record time! Oh! Here's the explosive hero now! Pro hero Dyna-"

"I ain't got time for interviews!" You heard a sharp voice say.

You chuckled, your back to the T.V.. He sounded like a real 'piece of work', as your dad would say.

"But Dynamight! Japan wants to know-"

"Shove it! I got better things to do! Deku! We're heading out-" without looking, you took the remote and clicked the TV to some random anime.

"Talk about a headache..." you muttered.

Those names though...didn't Hikari and Hisashi say something about them?

You couldn't really remember. It must've not been important anyways.

-Fate Weaves and Plots-

@crimsonrubie

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

Red VS Blue, but make it Guild Wars 2

ok so i'm going to try and make this au make sense if you look at it from either side without prior knowledge of the other but theyre both so entrenched in my brain im not sure how well it'll work if you get lost im sorry in advance- or you can just enjoy the group piece and ignore the insane rambles below the cut! fair warning: its a lot! my red team yapping showing up in full force!

Don't say I didn't warn you :3

Context:

GW2 is a fantasy setting MMORPG, set in the world of Tyria. There are 5 playable races with their own unique cultures and such. I'm using the wikis for the races bc im lazy- the names are links to the proper wiki, but i've VERY ROUGHLY summarized for ease-

ASURA: The smallest playable race, Asura are highly intelligent and have a cultural focus on Academia and Research- furthering the reach of their magi-tech, sometimes at the cost of morals. Asura tend to be characterized as cocky intellectuals, who know more than everyone else in the room at any given time and they know it- but they're going to have a solution to a problem before you've finished explaining it.

CHARR: Giant anthropomorphic cats, the Charr are a militaristic race with a culturally cynical look on the world and a stubborn streak to match, and a general distrust of magic due to some Prior Circumstances. Charr tend to be characterized as gruff, fuck-around-and-find-out types, due to the military culture, and have more focus on their squad (warband) over individual relations.

HUMAN: On the surface, pretty par for the course here, but humans aren't actually native to Tyria- not that this stops them from being a cultural and territorial powerhouse in the setting. There is a fair bit of tension between humans and charr, and humans and some of the non-playable races in the game. Humans tend to be characterized as stubborn, tenacious and resourceful in a Tyrian context.

NORN: visually speaking, Norn appear to be giant humans, native to Tyria. Culturally speaking, Norn value honor and nature in equal measure- you should make a Legend for yourself, but you need to respect the Spirits of the Wild. Typically, norn are characterized as loud and boisterous, but reliable in a fight and always down to celebrate an impressive victory and share a story.

SYLVARI: The youngest race in Tyria, having only existed for about 25 years or so at the start of the game, Sylvari are plantfolk who Awaken from their mutually shared Dream as grown adults. The Dream gives sylvari the knowledge they need to function right out the gate, although the actual extent of said knowledge varies slightly by individuals, and is tended to by The Pale Tree (or the Pale Mother/Mother Tree, as sylvari know her)- sylvari follow a set of tenants given to them in the Dream that encourage compassion, kindness, and a drive to do what must be done called a Wyld Hunt.

__--__

RvB is a Halo machinima set in an appropriately sci-fi setting that is, above all else, fucking ridiculous. The plot, when it manages to exists in a semi-coherent fashion, focuses almost entirely on a band of absolute asshole idiots who cheat death as a hobby, swear a lot, and generally just would be unpleasant people to know but it is incredibly entertaining to put them into situations so that sums up the general vibe of the show. RvB is slightly less relevant to this au as the characters are what I'm yoinking and theyre all getting explained in their gw2 contexts here, but the main point is: the show is silly, and everyone in it is some brand of annoying, rude, mean, stupid or any combination there of. Also? Probably traumatized by war, whether or not they realize it. __--__

BORING STUFF OUT OF THE WAY ITS CHARACTER TIME __--__

THE GULCH KREWE - An Asura research team focused on making self sustaining golems. Technically Vic is the krewe lead, but he never seems to show up at their lab situated in the middle of no where for.... safety reasons. The official, documented by the asuran governement Gulch krewe is really incredibly small, at four asura strong, counting Vic even though there is quite a bit of debate on whether he actually counts since he's never around, but they have a reputation for being the worst krewe to work with. Ever. Of all time. Between reports of "unsafe necromantic practices" and general "workplace threats and harrassment", the only people who stay in the Gulch krewe have no where else to go. The "rank" nickname theme started mostly as a joke, but once it was started it was basically impossible to stop.

"Captain" Bucch Flowers - Asuran Necromancer - Asura, typically, do not have last names. Bucch, is not known for being the typical sort of asura. Eccentric and regarded as "morally questionable" by previous krewes, Bucch is a friendly individual who finds other people fascinating, both in terms of their psychology and physiology. He always has a smile on his face and a warm, cheerful demeanor that some people have claimed to be "unsettling", but I mean, really, he's just being nice. Right?

"Sarge" REDACTED - Asuran Engineer - Sarge took to his nickname with a brand of enthusiasm that really was just a warning to the kind of person he is, going so far as to have his previous name removed or changed on all documents he could. Loud, brash and unapologetic in everything he does, Sarge is the main "threat" of the Gulch Krewe between his wild experimental inventions, with their tendency to either go rogue against their creator or just plain blow up, his complete and utter lack of patience, and his habit of gesturing with his loaded shotgun during a conversation. His volume never drops below LOUD, but he's a very.. unique brand of genius who excels at making things that really shouldn't be physically possible work.

"Doc" Dufresne - Asuran Mesmer - Doc is, by all counts, the odd one out of the official Gulch krewe. Meek and empathetic in nature, Doc tends to be the moral voice of the krewe- one that often gets ignored. He is still annoyed by his ridiculous nickname, even if it is nice to have the affirmation that he really is part of the krewe. He's not even really a doctor! He's not great with medical care or technology. Or fighting. Or much of anything, if he lets himself be a little too honest. But he's part of the krewe, for better or for worse, and if that just means he uses his magic to pull his krewmates away from whatever is trying to murder them this week, then so be it.

The UNOFFICIAL Gulch krewe is a bit more.. diverse. Technically, non-asura don't get listed as krewe on the paperwork. They're hired help, not technically part of the team that gets credited for the work done in the published papers. Generally, this is because most hired hands don't have that much to do with the actual invention or research process- they're just there to be damage control when things go wrong. However with the Gulch krewe... a lot of things tend to go wrong. Technically speaking, there is no reason for a krewe of four three to have separate research teams. There is barely a reason for bigger krewes to do it. However... Captain Flowers and Sarge rarely seem to work on the 'technical' level of anything, and all it took was one offhanded comment from Vic (over comm, no less! couldn't even cause problems in person) for the pair of them to escalate and devolve into a rivalry that would ruin Doc's life, and the lives of pretty much everyone else who inevitably get swept up into it as well.

RED TEAM: Sarge claimed RED as his team color well before the idea of having color-coordination even occurred to Captain Flowers. Sarge claims he hired only the best to staff Red Team, with one exception for canon fodder.

Richard "Dick" Simmons - Human Elementalist - Born and raised in the upper ranks of human nobility, Simmons is a bit of a fish out of water when he's not in the human capital of Divinity's Reach. Of course, being an anxious individual with poor social skills, he didn't really fit in there either. He's got enough of the "I'm rich, you know," attitude held over from his upbringing that combined with a desire for praise, awkward conversation skills and the urge to prove his worth through his own intelligence, makes for a really obnoxious, know-it-all kissass of a man. But he's really good with technology, given his magic tends to prefer the buzz of electricity so that counts for something. Usually. He's not that bad once you get past the defensive nature and whiny voice. Probably?

Dexter Grif - Norn Warrior - With a hard earned feeling of "fuck it, fuck that, fuck this, I'm going to bed" that he trained into himself, Dex would have been perfectly content to spend his entire life lazing around his home city, Lion's Arch, scamming tourists and generally just kind of doing his own lazy thing. Or, at least, that's what he tells himself, as he has to look for actual work on the docks. It sucks. So when some loud mouth asura rocks up, shouting something Dex didn't really listen to beyond being a job, and a supposedly low effort one? Sign him the fuck up. But when the job is evidently not all naps and bored asura-watching, Dexter Grif will make his complaints known. Just... maybe not in range of Sarge's shotgun.

Donut - Sylvari Mesmer - Freshly Awakened, bright eyed, curious and endlessly talkative, Donut (Grif swears that can't be his real name, right?) is the Red team's resident socialite, sharpshooter, grenadier, portal expert and color coordinator. If you need something done, Donut is your man, or he can find you your man. While some people find his chipper attitude and love of 'dressing up' his friends with illusions annoying, and his tendency to veer into innuendos a bit awkward, everyone agrees it's hard to genuinely dislike Donut as a person. Maybe it's a mesmer thing, maybe it's a sylvari thing, maybe it's just Donut being Donut, it's hard to say. Despite his impeccable aim and frankly impressive throwing arm, Donut tends to be a little oblivious to the things right in front of him, but he's trying his best so most people tend to let it slide.

BLUE TEAM: Captain Flowers accepted BLUE as his team's color in good humor, as he tends to accept most things. He was not nearly as intense on his "requirements" for his team as Sarge- truthfully, most of Blue team were picked because Captain Flowers thought they were interesting more than anything to do with their actual skills.

Kaikaina Grif - Norn Elementalist - Kai has been called a lot of things, and not all of them flattering. Her personal favorites include sexy, wild, bodacious and "absolutely insane". She's a diverse gal. When her brother left Lion's Arch to go work for some mysterious asura in the middle of no where, Kai swore she didn't care. That lasted for all of a week, before she decided Dex was clearly up to something else and the asura job was a cover. Upon hunting her brother down and discovering, no really, it's literally what he said it was, she was disappointed. At least, until Captain Flowers offered her a position on Blue team. Being paid to stand around, look pretty, and bother her brother? Fuck. Yes.

Lavernius Tucker - Human Guardian - Growing up an orphan in Divinity's Reach makes a guy either really cruel or really clever. Tucker's never been the cruel type, so he went for clever instead. Though that quickly turned around to bite him in the ass, because being clever, and maybe a little bit of a smartass, means people notice you, and being noticed does not go well for him. Between at least one cult insisting he was some kind of savior from a forgotten bloodline, a jerk or three who didn't like Tucker outsmarting them or standing up for the people they were bullying, and whatever the hell is going on with his kid (courtesy of aforementioned cult), Tucker has more than had his fill of being noticed for being clever thank you very much. He just wants to find a quiet place to lay low and figure out this whole being a dad to a dragon thing. He's done being a hero and honestly he's done being helpful. Tucker's here to get paid, maybe get laid, and not get attached to anyone else that might screw him (or his kid) over.

Junior - Saltspray Dragon - Sort of a package deal with his dad, Junior is still figuring out the quirks and details of being a dragon in a society where 'dragon' is usually associated with the end of times, even for a "lesser" dragon like him. Fortunately, they're pretty solidly hidden in the middle of nowhere, so the only people around are friends of his dad's. Sort of. Junior is shy, generally, and tries to be careful with his size and his magic, but he's still a hatchling and sometimes it's real easy to get carried away when he's excited. Good news though! The Gulch krewe are well versed in shit breaking every other day, so no one gets too mad if something gets knocked off the shelf by his wings.

Church - Sylvari Thief - Some sylvari chose to cut themselves off from the Dream, in an effort to obtain either a sense of freedom from expectations, spite, or just a general desire for peace, quiet and solitude. While Church can certainly guess at his own, personal, reasons for becoming one of the Soundless, he sure as hell doesn't remember making the decision. Or much of anything, really, before about a week before he got hired onto Blue team. Just the name Church, which he can only assume is his name. He tells himself, amongst his internal tirades about his woes and his miseries, that Flowers hired him because he's smart and clearly the asura could see that. Not pity or anything like that. Still, it would be nice to actually remember literally anything. But Church doesn't complain about that- he's got more than enough things to bitch about from being part of the Blue team to distract his ego, his temper and his generally whiny attitude towards life in general. Who needs a past when you're surrounded by idiots?

Michael J Caboose - Norn Ranger- Never without his trusty arctodus companion, Freckles, Caboose is a joyful wall of muscle and hugs that frequently forgets that most people cannot, in fact, support the weight of him and his wolf-bear. Young and with no legend to speak of, Caboose is on a journey of his own making, to find friends that are just... so cool, everyone is going to want to hear stories about them! He just has the very very tricky job of remembering those stories. But hey, what are friends for, if not to help him when he forget a detail or twelve? And honestly, he thinks he found a GREAT group of friends here on Blue team. Sure they can be a little bit mean, but, Caboose has the heart of a skald according to the nice old ladies back home in Hoelbrak, and his heart knows when there's neat things

THE GOLEMS: The Gulch Krewe, official and unofficial, developed two more-or-less completely self-sustaining golems after splitting into their respective teams. They're not perfect, by any means, but they're certainly impressive to behold. Especially given that they both seem to be... well, people. That.. wasn't intentional.

Lopez - "Human" Engineer - Inspired by the dolls made by Tixx in the Infinirarium, Sarge chose to build a golem that looks almost human. His official logic claims that the more flexible build and increased intelligence allows for Lopez (Officially: L-0-PEZ - Lab-OH-Personalized Engineering Zoner. Sarge swears it makes sense. Red team is pretty sure he just made it up because he liked the name Lopez) to handle his own maintenance and upkeep, with improved head to body communication and modular independencies. The side effect of Lopez's "self repairing" abilities (read: his ability to take himself apart to put himself back together) is the fact that his body have very distinct seams, and he's prone to falling apart at them. His head coming off his neck is the worst and most common offender of this problem. Like most of Sarge's intelligent creations, Lopez has a sour attitude and very little respect for his creator. If you asked him, the only reason he sticks around is because it's easier to get his hands on the tools he needs to fix himself. That and no one else speaks Orrian since the continent and kingdom sank over 250 years ago. Well, no one besides Sheila.

Sheila - "Charr" Necromancer - Captain Flowers took a slightly more.. macabre approach to his golem creation. Made from the ethically and responsibly sourced bones of an anonymous charr donor (Captain Flowers's words), Sheila is a feat of magi-tech engineering and necromancy. Due to her... organic internal base, Sheila is much sturdier than your average golem for her size, and the necrotic magic that keeps her together and functioning needs almost no supervision, as it naturally drains minute fractions of life force from things around her, like non-sentient plants and insects. Though there are some... quirks, to be certain, but that's to be expected with such experimental magic! The days where she almost seems like a different person are most likely just her getting used to a shift in the magic, that's all. Nothing to worry about. Usually though, on her good days, Sheila is calm and patient, with a friendly attitude she seemed to pick up from Flowers, although somehow she's a bit better at reading a room than he is. She tends to be the most responsible and level head in the lab, which is fortunate considering she's also the biggest one there, excluding Freckles.

__--__

THE LANCER WARBAND: A tight knit charr warband, working outside of the charr legions mostly for decent pay and interesting jobs, the Lancer warband are skilled fighters, excellent hunters and all around impressive soldiers. Their one weakness? Their inability to get anything done without either a fight or fair bit of chatter (and the occasional argument leading to the fights) first. But once they've settled on an objective, they're nigh unstoppable.

York - Charr Engineer - By far the most laid back and easy going of the Lancer warband, York is the resident gunsmith, philosopher, mechanic and lockpick. If it requires nimble fingers (or claws, rather), York's got it covered. While he tends to be the chattiest of the bunch and that makes him seem distractable, York is often laser focused on his task- he just doesn't feel the need to act like he's focused. He's curious and honest in nature, and is always quick to come up with a joke to lighten a heavy mood.

Maine - Charr Warrior - Silent and deadly are the words most commonly used to describe Maine- not that they would ever come from him. Massive even by charr standards, Maine is brutal and efficient in a fight. By the time an enemy has seen his white fur, they're already screwed. Outside of combat, when it's just the warband, Maine still isn't a talkative sort of guy. He prefers to stand back and let the rest of them talk for him, with a few exceptions.

Washington - Charr 'Thief' (unrealized revenant) - Originally the 'cub' and rookie of the Lancer warband, Wash has earned his stripes as it were for his cunning adaptability on the field and his almost ridiculous good luck when it comes to survival. While he tries to be kind and compassionate when he can, he's more on the pragmatic side than he used to be, and he can't always balance being nice with being realistic. Still, Wash has a sarcastic streak big enough to give York a run for his money, and enough sharp wit and sharper knives to keep just about anyone else on their toes.

Texas - Charr Warrior - A bit of a badass, Tex is the Lancer warband legionnaire and easily the best fighter of them all. She's harsh, even to her own warband, but she cares more than she likes to let on. However, her temper tends to get the best of her, and she frequently works alone to blow off steam. The last time she left... she didn't come back.

South - Charr Necromancer - One of the twins, South is aggressive, impatient and vicious just as much as she is efficient with her magic. She's a survivor and despite her bitchy attitude and general disregard for the rest of her warband, she gets shit done. Maybe a little meaner about it than she needs to be but hey, it's done right? Who cares if a little more blood was spilled or if a few more punches were thrown than were strictly necessary.

North - Charr Guardian - The other twin, North couldn’t be more different from his sister. He’s gentle, understanding and tries to be a shoulder to lean on for anyone who needs it, not just their bandmates. Granted, sometimes this does get him punched, but his kind nature doesn’t stop him from giving as good as he gets. He’s a skilled marksman with a longbow, and his calm nature helps him keep a level head in a fight- useful, when you specialize in placing traps.

'Honorary' warband: When their Legionnaire, Tex, mysteriously vanishes, the Lancer warband is left fumbling in the wake. Fortunately, they have friends they can trust to help them get their bearings.

Carolina - Human 'Warrior' (unrealized Revenant) - not the step dad but the dad who stepped up Carolina has been a fighter and a soldier her whole life, or very damn near it. While not raised to quite the same degree of military as the average charr, her mother ran a tight ship of their home and after her passing, her father ran it even tighter. Her friendship with the Lancer warband started with a night of mildly drunken chaos with York, after which she kept in close contact with the charr. Intense in every factor, loyal, and more than a little competitive, Carolina thrives in combat situations that demand the most of her, which makes her a fast friend for the rowdy warband. Without Tex, the Lancer warband needed a leader, and Carolina stepped into the role of unofficial legionnaire as easily as donning her helmet. While comparisons between herself and Texas make her uneasy, she does admit she likes the feeling of being 'Boss' with the charr.

Reggi "Wyoming" - Asuran Mesmer - Reggi is a bit of an odd ball and a loner before he begins spending time with the Lancer warband. He enjoys a good pun and a bad knock-knock joke, but his disinterest in most scientific endeavors left him with little opportunities within asura society. So he left, took his humor and not much else with him, and has been something of a drifter ever since, more interested in taking care of himself above all else. While the Lancer warband may groan and scoff at him from time to time, they do work well with him, and even a selfish bastard like him needs back up from time to time.

[vittoriaisfuckingpathetic]

my house of stone, your ivy grows | chapter 1/?

Arthur Morgan’s always had one priority: his little brother John. Between double shifts, keeping a roof over their heads, late-night homework sessions, and breaking up middle school fights, he hasn’t had time—or energy—to think about anything else.

Enter Sadie Adler, who moves in across the hall.

She’s sharp-tongued, stubborn, and unlike anyone Arthur’s ever met. Between her stubborn charm and John’s growing fondness for her, Arthur finds himself wanting things he never let himself consider. What starts as casual flirting and late night conversations slowly turns into something Arthur isn’t sure he’s ready for. But when it comes to Sadie, ready doesn’t seem to matter.

Because for the first time in a long time, Arthur wants something for himself.

@rdrevents @miladyknits | read it on ao3

The apartment wasn’t much to look at. The floors creaked with every step, the walls were a patchwork of faded paint, and the smell of stale air always seemed to linger, no matter how much they tried to air it out. It was small—barely enough space for two—but it was theirs. Arthur had never been picky when it came to where he lived. After everything that had happened, the apartment was a blessing in itself. It was enough for him and John.

They had what mattered: a roof over their heads, a place to call home, even if it wasn’t much. The building was a relic of the past, an old, worn-down complex in a part of Blackwater that most people avoided. It was cheap, which was why they were there. The rent was low enough that Arthur could afford it with his two jobs, and it helped that John wasn’t particularly demanding.

The neighborhood wasn’t exactly safe, and the building wasn’t much better. Their neighbors were a mix of quiet tenants who kept to themselves, and others who lived their lives in a haze of late-night noise and drunken arguments. But that didn’t bother Arthur. He’d lived in worse, and his priorities had always been clear: John needed stability.

Arthur worked long hours at Bessie’s, a small greasy spoon diner that was almost as rundown as the building they lived in. The job didn’t come with much in the way of perks, but it paid the bills. It helped that his boss, Hosea, was generally understanding, and the rest of the staff, though a little rough around the edges, had become a makeshift family of sorts.

Still, it wasn’t enough to make Arthur feel financially comfortable enough. So, on weekends, he worked a second job with Mrs. Grimshaw, who kept the building running. He did odd jobs for her, and in return she paid him under the table for it. She wasn’t easy to please, but Arthur respected her for it. At least she wasn’t someone who pretended to care, using the empty words people often used to sugarcoat their lives.

Life hadn’t been kind to either of them. Dutch’s arrest had upended everything. John looked at him like he was the only thing standing between him and a world that had too often been cruel. And that was enough to keep Arthur going.

The evening had a lazy feel to it, the kind of night where the air still held onto a bit of warmth despite the sun having set a while ago. Arthur had gotten off work early, and John was in one of his moods, bouncing around the apartment, trying to figure out what to do with the hours stretching out before bedtime.

Arthur sat at the worn-out kitchen table, nursing a glass of water, watching John pace back and forth like a maniac. The two of them had a routine by now, but every once in a while, the quiet would stretch into something a little more playful, a little less structured.

“What do you want for dinner?” John asked, hands on his hips as if it were some sort of critical decision.

Arthur took a slow drink from his glass, squinting at him like he didn’t quite hear the question. “What do I want? What do you want?”

John sighed dramatically, slumping into a chair across from him. “You’re supposed to tell me, Arthur.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were the one who didn’t like making decisions.”

“Yeah, well, that was before you made me eat five nights of your spaghetti.” John shot him a look, half amused, half exasperated.

Arthur chuckled, setting his glass down with a soft clink. "Five nights of spaghetti wasn't that bad," he teased, leaning back in his chair, "You just don't know good food when you see it."

John crossed his arms, his face scrunched in mock disdain. "It ain’t that. I just think we could have a little variety."

Arthur gave a dramatic sigh, "Alright, what do you want, then? You pick this time."

John's eyes lit up, and he sat up straight. "Mac and cheese," he said, his voice filled with self-satisfaction.

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at the way John’s face lit up with such excitement over something so simple. "Mac and cheese, huh? You sure?"

"Yeah, it’s easy, and you said I could pick." John shot him a grin, clearly pleased with his choice.

Arthur shook his head but smiled. "Alright, kid. Mac and cheese it is." He got up slowly, stretching his arms over his head with a groan. “Guess we gotta hit the store. You got everything you need?”

John hopped to his feet and grabbed his jacket from the chair, swinging it over his shoulder. “Yes, now come on, I’m hungry,” he urged.

Arthur made no effort to hurry his pace, purely just to annoy his little brother.

The old building’s hallway echoed softly as they made their way to the door. The creaking floorboards beneath their feet seemed to always announce their every move, a reminder that this building had been around far longer than either of them. Arthur opened the door to the hallway and stepped out, John right behind him, still muttering about his mac and cheese plans.

But as they walked past the faded bulletin board by the stairs, Arthur’s attention was drawn to a new figure at the far end of the hall. A woman, carrying a stack of boxes, struggling to maneuver the piles as she balanced them in her arms. She looked slightly out of place— and more out of breath than she probably wanted to admit, judging by her expression—but the scene made sense enough. A new neighbor.

She noticed them at the same time, her face brightening with a half-smile despite the evident effort. “Oh, hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to block the hall.” Her voice was strong, a bit raspy but not unkind.

Arthur gave a polite nod, stepping aside to give her room. “No problem. You’re new around here?”

“Yeah,” she said, puffing out a breath as she shifted one of the boxes under her arm. “Just moved in. Name’s Sadie.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, giving a half-laugh. “Guess I’m a bit of a mess right now.”

Arthur nodded again, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed her. She was a little disheveled—her hair, a tousled mess of dirty blonde, framed a face that was still youthful but seemed hardened in a way. She wore a simple yellow jacket, faded jeans, and a pair of sneakers that looked like they'd been through the ringer. Despite the sweat and the disarray, there was something about her that seemed to fit right into the building—someone who could hold her own.

“Nice to meet you, Sadie,” Arthur said, stepping out of the way yet again as she fumbled with another box. She huffed out a breath, placing the boxes down, clearly in need of a break.

Beside him, John was eyeing the cat she had perched on top of one of the boxes. The creature was oddly calm, tail swishing lazily. “That your cat?” he asked, pointing toward the fluffy gray tabby that was watching them intently.

Sadie glanced down and smiled. “Yeah, that’s Bob. He’s, uh, a little odd, but he’s mine.”

John beamed, his mood clearly shifting. “Can I pet him?,” he asked, practically bouncing on his heels.

Sadie chuckled, a more genuine laugh this time, her posture relaxing a little. “Yeah, sure, but I can’t promise he’ll be into it. He’s a bit… picky.”

Arthur watched John move forward, his hand outstretched toward the cat, already distracted. He turned his attention back to Sadie.

“Looks like you’ve got a lot to move,” Arthur said, gesturing to the boxes. “Need a hand?”

She sighed and made a motion of dusting off her hands on her jeans. “No, I don’t have much left,” She hefted another box up, “‘Preciate the offer, though.”

Arthur gave a small nod, not sure what to say next. At this point in most conversations, he would have felt the awkwardness creeping in. But there was something about her—something that made the brief conversation easy, even if it was fleeting.

“Alright then,” Arthur said, “Hope the move goes smooth.”

He grasped John by the collar of his shirt and gently urged him away from the cat, despite the latter’s protests.

She nodded, flashing another quick smile before turning back to her boxes. “Thanks. See you around.”

With that, Arthur and John continued on their way down the hall, and Arthur felt a small sense of curiosity about this new neighbor. The building was always full of strange faces, but there was something different about Sadie.

“So, the new neighbor,” John said, glancing up at Arthur. “She’s pretty cool. You think she’ll let me play with Bob?”

“Don’t go bothering her too much, alright?”

John grinned. "But the cat likes me. And besides, you’ll get to talk to Sadie again." He shot Arthur a sly look.

Arthur shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his thoughts briefly flickered back to their encounter in the hallway. "We’ll see," he finally muttered, more to himself than John.

As they made their way out onto the street, the neighborhood felt even quieter than usual. The small store was a few blocks away, nestled between a run-down laundromat and an old barber shop. It wasn’t much, but it had everything they needed—assuming you weren’t picky about your groceries. In most situations, he would have just taken his truck, but he was low on gas, and filling up the tank would have to wait until payday. It wasn’t too far of a walk, anyway, and the fresh air would do the both of them some good.

Arthur stuffed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, his gaze darting toward the faded storefronts as they passed. John walked a little ahead, humming under his breath as he seemed lost in his own world. It was moments like these when Arthur remembered how young he was—how much weight the kid still had left to bear.

They reached the store, and Arthur pushed open the door, the familiar chime sounding as they stepped inside. The air was stale with the scent of cleaning supplies, the aisles a little cramped, but it had everything required for their simple dinner. Arthur grabbed a basket, tossing it in John’s direction. “Alright, kid. Lead the way.”

It was Friday evening when John burst through the apartment door, his sneakers squeaking against the worn linoleum floor. He was laughing at something Sean had said—or maybe done—and Sean was trailing right behind him, his arms flailing dramatically.

"I'm tellin' you, John, if you didn't act like such a scaredy-cat, we would’a won!" Sean shouted, his voice already high-pitched and excited.

"I’m not scared, I just got strategy, unlike you." John shot back, kicking his shoes off and tossing them in the general direction of the door.

Sean scoffed. "I’m fast! You’re just actin’ like a baby. Besides, Javier was bein’ a chicken, too.”

Arthur, half-sitting on the couch with his feet up, raised an eyebrow but stayed out of it. He had learned long ago that those two could argue for hours, especially over Fortnite.

"Hey, don’t bring me into this," Javier said with a small chuckle, stepping into the apartment more carefully than the others. He took the time to politely place his shoes in the corner, a habit Arthur quietly appreciated.

Javier didn’t say much most of the time, but when he did, it was usually enough to cut through the chaos. His English was coming along, though the phrases he picked up from John and Sean were... less than ideal. Arthur could only hope Javier wasn’t planning on using terms like "noob" and "sus" in any serious conversation.

"You’re part of the team, Javi," John said, grinning. "We all pull our weight. Well, except Sean."

"Excuse me!" Sean shot up from his spot on the couch. "I’m the backbone of this operation. The backbone!

Javier rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, taking a seat on the chair, his usual calm smile on his face. While he was already the oldest of the group, sometimes, he acted older than he really was.

John collapsed onto the couch next to Sean. "You gotta stop yellin’ so loud, dude, we’re gonna make the whole building angry."

Arthur gave a quiet snort of laughter, taking another sip of his beer. "You two are somethin’ else."

Before Sean could get any louder, the doorbell rang with a sharp, insistent buzz.

"John!" a voice called from the hallway. "Open the door, or I’ll kick it down!"

John jumped up. "Hang on, Abby, I’m comin’!"

When he swung it open, Abigail was standing there, arms crossed and scowling like she was gearing up for a fight. She was small, wiry, and had a tendency to puff herself up when she was annoyed—like a sparrow trying to intimidate a hawk.

"Did you guys just forget about me?" she demanded, eyeing John. “I told you, I had to get my stuff from Mr. Ricketts’ classroom, and when I came back, y’all were literally gone.”

"Well, we were gonna wait!" John said, holding his hands up in defense. "Sean’s the one—"

"Don’t blame me!" Sean interrupted, flopping back onto the couch like it was some sort of dramatic gesture.

Abigail just rolled her eyes. "You guys are impossible," she muttered, pushing past John and into the apartment. "You’re lucky I still bothered to come over," she added, tossing a crumpled sheet of paper onto the counter. "Oh, and, you forgot your homework again, idiot."

John groaned loudly, running a hand through his hair. "Aw, crap, I knew I forgot something."

Abigail shot him a look, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well, next time, maybe don’t leave it in the lunchroom."

"I owe you," John said, his voice a little sheepish.

"You owe me big time," she shot back, her eyes narrowing with playful mischief. "And I’m gonna collect."

Sean, ever the opportunist, leaned over the back of the couch. "Hey, Abby, you wanna help me win a bet? I’m about to eat a whole pizza by myself."

Abigail raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You can’t even finish a small one, Sean."

"Yes I can!" he argued loudly, pointing a finger at her. "You just watch me!"

Arthur stood up, silently amused at the chaos. This was what it was like when the kids got together. Loud, messy, and full of nonsense. Still, they were good kids, each in their own way. Abigail kept them grounded, Sean kept them entertained, and Javier brought a steady, calming presence that Arthur appreciated more than he’d admit.

For all their nonsense, they made John’s world feel a little bigger. And really, that was all Arthur wanted for him.

He stepped into the hallway, leaving the chaos of John and his friends behind. The apartment had become a battleground of playful arguments over pizza toppings, with no one willing to compromise. He couldn’t focus on their bickering while trying to place the order, so he stepped into the hallway, phone in hand.

As he dialed the number, he heard the familiar ruckus through the thin walls—John’s voice raised high, Sean’s laughter echoing through the apartment, and Abigail’s voice cutting in with some reason that only a kid could pull off.

When he hung up, he slipped his phone into his pocket and turned toward the stairs—only to bump into Sadie, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, walking briskly toward her apartment across the hall. She had a paper grocery bag on her arm and her purse on the other.

“Hey, Arthur,” Sadie greeted with a casual wave.

“Hey, Sadie. How’s the move-in going?”

She let out a tired sigh, shifting the bag in her hands. “Mostly done. Just gotta finish organizing. You know how it goes.” She gave a small shrug, as if the moving process had drained all her energy. “At least I’m finally starting to feel settled.”

Arthur chuckled softly. “I get it. Takes a minute to get back into a routine,”

“Yeah, I’m still tryin’ to find my bearings,” Sadie agreed with a laugh. “But it’s home, that’s what matters.”

Arthur glanced at the worn-out walls of the building. Despite the peeling paint and creaky floors, it was a roof over their heads, and that was what mattered. “Gets the job done, I suppose.”

Sadie smiled, shifting again, then glanced down at the ground for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “I don’t suppose you’re headed out for a smoke or anything?” she asked, gesturing to the pack of cigarettes in his hand. Her tone was light, but with a hint of exhaustion behind it.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking at her for a second before nodding. “Yeah, I was actually about to. You wanna come with?” Smoking was a habit he generally tried to avoid, but there were moments here and there where he inevitably went back to it.

“Sure, why not,” Sadie said with a small grin. She stepped aside to let him pass and followed him up the stairs.

They made their way to the side of the building, where the cool night air greeted them, offering a welcome reprieve from the stale indoor air of the building. Arthur took a deep breath, appreciating the quiet of the street. It was rare to find any peace in the chaos that was his everyday life, and even rarer to have someone to share it with.

He pulled out a cigarette, offering one to Sadie, who accepted with a nod. They lit up in comfortable silence, leaning against the wall of the building.

“So,” Arthur began, his voice casual, “how’s it feel, settling in here?”

Sadie exhaled a plume of smoke and shrugged. “It’s not so bad. The place isn’t great, but it’s quiet, at least. Could be worse.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. It ain’t the Four Seasons, but at least it’s a roof over our heads.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the night air. He’d spent most of his life trying to make do with less than he wanted, and he supposed it was something he’d gotten used to.

“You could say that,” he finally said, looking over at her. “It’s been a while since I’ve had much to call mine.”

Sadie didn’t prod, but she did give a small, understanding nod. “Guess we’re all just gettin’ by,”

Arthur glanced at her again, her casual demeanor hiding something he couldn’t quite place. “I’d reckon so,” he said after a beat, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Sadie met his gaze and smiled back, something more genuine in her expression this time.

They both took another drag from their cigarettes, the smoke curling around them like the silence that had settled between them. For a moment, they didn’t need to fill the space with words. It was enough just to be there, together, in the quiet of the night.

Sadie was interesting; she was easy to talk to, and she had this sort of air around her that made Arthur want to spend more time in her presence.

When he finished his cigarette, he flicked it to the ground and glanced up at the building. “Better head back before the kids tear the place apart.”

Sadie laughed softly. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to miss that. You’re the peacemaker, right?”

Arthur grinned. “Nah. Ain’t always successful, but someone’s gotta try.”

a/n: hi everyone! this was originally meant to be posted around christmas. then i had a seizure on xmas eve, was in the hospital, and kind of had to scrape myself together again. yippee!

this is a rdr secret winter exchange gift for @miladyknits. i'm so sorry for the delays, and i hope you enjoy. i'm not sure how many chapters this will be, but i'm aiming for a medium burn and currently have ~10k words written.

[dedeinthewild]

robert sullivan x reader, battalion chief x tenant

~ "Figured somebody had to make sure you didn't pick a fight with a surgeon,"

summary : everybody can see the tension they have, and she's just not any tenant, she's the catch that everybody knew would end up in Robert's mess

In Seattle, the wind howled without being intrusive, with children walking down the streets after a day at school and many familiar faces filling the sidewalks leading to the best hospital in the city.

Robert was absentmindedly tracing the new patch on his uniform with his hand—the one that now announced him as Battalion Chief instead of Captain—trying to ignore the fire burning in his leg that had made him collapse in his office in front of Maya Bishop. He had given her command, and then decided to do the only thing left to do: Go to Grey Sloan and speak to his neurosurgeon about the episodes that were now preventing him from doing anything properly, like living with a ticking time bomb inside him that stopped him from performing at his best in the field or responding to a call calmly. And so he found himself asking for help—asking it from Tom Koracick. The neurosurgeon, wearing his white coat and light hair ruffled by the breeze, was sipping coffee at the stand just outside the hospital, where many other doctors and nurses were enjoying a quick break before returning to what they did best. Tom had heard him coming, with those heavy footsteps and the air of someone used to being in charge, someone who showed authority even outside his field, despite the pain in his leg that made him hold his breath just to stay upright.

"Being tall and charming in a uniform works for you, Robert, it sure does."

Tom took a sip of his coffee, watching the battalion chief keep his hands shoved into his pockets, avoiding eye contact, his broad shoulders framed by his black department jacket and his shirt ironed to perfection, just like the rulebook said.

"Koracick," Robert greeted him flatly, coldly.

"You know, if I looked like that in turnout gear, I'd have nurses throwing roses at my feet."

"You know why I’m here," the firefighter said, finally shifting his gaze to the doctor, his face set, jaw tight with the pain in his leg.

"No, you’re here for me. Admit it. You missed me."

Robert sighed, turning away from him and heading into the hospital he knew far too well—partly because of all the physical therapy he had needed after the accident, and partly for all the surgeries that had ended there.

"After you, Captain America," Koracick smirked, following him toward the elevators, his face lined under the hospital’s bright lights.

Grey Sloan was bustling as always, full of doctors and nurses moving quickly through hallways, their pagers buzzing with emergencies, and patients’ families anxiously sitting in waiting rooms, hoping for news that would change their lives. Every step Robert took hurt, and Tom watched him carefully, noting that Robert had waited far too long to get help and that playing tough had only made it worse—even if, to his credit, he had attended every single physical therapy session.

Tom led him to a room to get ready for scans, watching him take off his jacket and noticing the newly awarded rank before stepping out to prepare the MRI machine, leaning casually against the wall to talk to the firefighter.

"So. Chronic pain, post-windstorm, increased inflammation, refusal to see anyone about it until now. Diagnosis: standard firefighter stubbornness."

"Scan me, Koracick," the battalion chief said seriously, the intensity in his gaze enough to ignite the room.

For him, just being there was humiliating enough, knowing exactly how this would go, and Koracick was only making it worse with his jokes and games.

"Oh, I will. But first—small talk," the neurosurgeon grinned, toying with Sullivan’s chart.

The door opened, and Dr. Kim walked in—someone Robert only knew by reputation—with another tablet and an empty coffee cup in hand, his white coat nowhere to be seen, revealing the dark blue scrubs of the attending surgeons.

"Heard a big one was coming in. Koracick told me."

"Battalion Chief Robert Sullivan. Seattle Fire," the patient introduced himself, shaking the other surgeon’s hand firmly.

Kim sat on a stool in the corner, smiling faintly.

"Sir, your department’s kind of legendary around here."

Tom had the perfect ace up his sleeve and time to kill, while tying the hospital gown behind Robert’s well-defined back, lips pressed together as he thought of the perfect line, almost hiding a mischievous grin.

"You know who else is legendary? His right-hand woman."

Sullivan sighed, looking at Koracick directly. The orthopedic surgeon tilted his head slightly, trying to piece together who Tom was talking about, thinking back to the gossip that always swirled when Seattle Fire’s best squad arrived at the ER in their sharp uniforms and focused faces.

"Oh yeah? One of yours?"

Robert said nothing, simply laying down on the table as instructed while the two doctors stepped outside, aware that they had caught the flicker in his eyes—the one people like Koracick lived for.

"Used to be one of ours. Hotshot Peds doc. Worked with Karev before she packed up and left."

"I didn’t overlap with her. Heard the name though. ______, was it?" Nico asked, casually stretching his hands behind his neck as they started the scan on a surprisingly quiet Seattle afternoon.

"The very same," Tom replied, eyes fixed on Sullivan as he clenched his jaw against the pain.

"She was good?"

"Fast. Smart. Hands steady even when everything went sideways. The kind of doctor you want when the world's on fire," the neurosurgeon said, knowing full well the intercom was on and Sullivan could hear everything, while the images started to appear.

"So why’d she leave medicine?"

"She wanted to be closer to the action. Wanted to run toward danger instead of waiting for it to show up." Koracick had never fully understood her decision, which had actually preceded Miranda Bailey’s husband’s similar move, but he knew whatever job she chose, she’d leave a mark.

"That's badass," Nico replied, trying to picture her.

Tom clapped his hands, standing up with a grin.

"And now she's riding fire trucks and saving kittens with Captain Sullivan here."

He earned a deep sigh from Sullivan, who bit his cheek to stop himself from getting up and leaving, annoyed by the surgeon’s endless chatter.

"Nothing improper, of course. Just... an insane amount of tension that everybody but them seems to notice," Nico added, raising an eyebrow and chuckling.

"Guess when you trust someone with your life, lines get blurry," he reflected.

Robert exhaled slowly through his nose, feeling like Nico had just perfectly described the situation between him and his lieutenant—something they both were trying hard to ignore, but which was becoming too big to deny.

"There are no lines. She’s my best firefighter. My most trusted officer," the battalion chief said firmly, sitting up once the MRI ended, locking eyes with the neurosurgeon with a stare so intense it could peel paint off the walls.

"You know, Robert... I'm not blind."

"That's a hell of a way to start a diagnosis," Robert shot back dryly, while Kim left to retrieve the images.

"I mean—look at you. Tall, square-jawed, commanding presence, all wrapped up in navy blue with a badge. It’s not just the leg that's the problem—you’re a hazard, Sullivan."

Robert started to rise, uniform in hand, but a firm hand from Tom pushed him back down onto the table.

"And your little firehouse prodigy? Your beautiful, terrifying, way-too-good-for-this-world lieutenant?"

He sighed, holding Robert’s gaze.

"I knew she’d end up circling someone like you."

There was a touch of fondness in Tom’s voice—almost admiration for the woman they were talking about—barely hidden under the playful rivalry between doctor and battalion chief, and it showed in his smile. He was, once again, taking pleasure in humiliating that stubborn breed called firefighters and the heroic figure Sullivan embodied, all while waiting for someone to call him into surgery.

"And there he goes. Captain America himself," Tom said mock-solemnly in the hallway.

"That guy’s a brick wall. Does he even have a first gear?" Nico asked, handing a chart to a nurse while asking for blood work on a post-op patient.

"And it only gets worse when you bring her up."

"The lieutenant?"

"She was a meteor. Pediatrics couldn’t keep up with her. Karev couldn’t either. She was sharp enough to make an entire room of renowned attendings feel stupid," Tom said, surprising Kim, who realized she must have been one of those people you either loved or hated—probably more feared than loved.

"So now she fights fires for real?"

"Fits, doesn’t it?" Tom grinned playfully.

"Those two? They’re not the type who fall apart. They’re the type who set the damn rules on fire," he added.

When Sullivan left the imaging wing of Grey Sloan, he saw her. Standing with her feet slightly apart, uniform perfectly pressed, sleeves rolled to reveal strong but elegant arms, hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck, inspecting the vending machines. Waiting for him.

"Figured somebody had to make sure you didn't pick a fight with a surgeon," she said, turning as soon as she heard his heavy footsteps.

"Koracick tried to pick one with me," he chuckled, shaking his head lightly, the department jacket slung over his arm, as she pushed off the wall to walk by his side through the hospital’s corridors, like they did a million times a day.

"I said hi to a few people. Karev wasn’t around, but Hunt sends his regards. Bailey threatened to chain me back to a peds floor."

"I would’ve paid good money to see you dodge Bailey," he teased, watching her wait for the elevator, the familiar ding filling the space.

Robert and the lieutenant sat in the department pickup truck, with her driving and him riding shotgun—following the quiet rule that whoever sat in the right seat held command, and the other submitted. The sun was still shining over Seattle, and the radio softly announced that Aid Car 19 had responded to a nearby car crash, but she was already headed for the firehouse, and wouldn’t change course unless it was a major emergency.

"You okay?" her voice was softer now, her fingertips tapping gently on the steering wheel, while the radio whispered in the background.

"Better now," he answered honestly, settling more comfortably in the seat, hand resting on his aching thigh.

"You know... You don't always have to do everything alone."

The air between them in the truck vibrated with the tension they had built ever since Sullivan had taken over from Pruitt Herrera—starting on the wrong foot, not trusting her initiative at first, but growing into something seamless, where she was always the lieutenant at his side. Bishop didn’t mind the dynamic like Gibson or Andy might have, because she knew her own capabilities, and knew how strong she was in the field.

"Old habits," he sighed, thumb tracing the patch announcing his new rank.

"You know what they say about old dogs," she teased gently, a smile lighting up her face as she turned onto the road leading to Station 19.

He looked at her, face stern but with the ghost of a smile.

"I bite?"

"Only when you’re cornered."

He looked at her again—just like always—the smile she wore so bright, so easy, like it always was between them when HR policies were a distant memory.

"You make it hard," he said, as she parked the truck outside the station, seeing their teammates just arriving back and laughing after a call, their faces still flushed with adrenaline.

"I know," she sighed, their gazes fixed a little too long on their friends.

They walked inside, heading to the kitchen for a drink of water, where Montgomery and Miller were washing up and figuring out what to cook for dinner, unaware that the "quiet day" would soon spiral into three more exhausting calls.

"You’ve been working back-to-back shifts. You should go home," the battalion chief ordered.

"I’m not going anywhere," she replied, handing him a glass and leaning casually against the kitchen island, scattered with recipes as Montgomery debated whether a grocery trip was necessary.

Robert watched her for a long moment before heading toward his office to clear it out for the next incoming captain of Station 19.

"I didn’t mean the shift."

She smiled at him again.

so, the main thing I've learnt since starting station 19 is that everyone hates robert's character, and nobody talks about him if not in relation to andy. I've got it bad for him, and even if he's not perfect and everything he's a dense character, and I agree with koracick with the uniform thing

[thefrozenarchives]

It had been some few months since Anathema had settled like a tick in the hide of the Icefields. It had been only a day since Pestilence had joined her, a waif of a dragon more dead than alive. Looking at him, it was hard to maintain her vision of Rekhanci broken from within, her brother's sickness the knifepoint that cracked it. But he would, she knew. She believed—a fastidious disciple to his brand of corruption, unproven as it was.

Anathema had already made a place for herself within the city proper, but the walls of the city were protected and warmed by the Archmage's own magic, and such warmth would not do for Pestilence's health. He was a virus given body, and it was only in the cold that the spread would be numbed and put to bed. They would call on it when they needed, but in slivers and slices. They mustn't let Pestilence succumb to his own disease, whatever form it took.

Lucky for them both, the city was near bursting with citizens, cottages and other residentials spilling out past the walls. Those who lived beyond the bubble of the Archmage's magic did so willingly, taking on the natural cold of the Icefields with a stubbornness that defined their flight. Amongst them, the pair would remain close to the city, but outside the magic that would see Pestilence fester and wither away—and draw needless attention while doing so.

They took room in a small home a ways from the city wall but where its towering spires still hovered on the horizon. The city road cut straight through the borough, well-trodden and seemingly always busy. Pestilence, who had scarcely been able to move when back home, took great pleasure in being able to move about the town. He still looked ill, but now it appeared more the long-lasting misery of a common cold rather than whatever unique contagion Pestilence's body kept constantly simmering.

If they went within the wall now, would Pestilence's body thaw over time, or would the diseases that claimed his heart claw its way to the forefront immediately, eager to spread? How would they play their cards, how would they feed plague into the city without alerting to its origins? Theirs was a world of magic, and the Archmage was no fool. Her magic was her eyes, her ears, her will. Anathema considered her a worthy foe, superior to her martial husband, however blessed.

Time was their greatest enemy, but Anathema would see it as an ally. She was patient and calculating, willing her hunger to wait. Pestilence would breed some dark contagion worthy of the Hunt, and only then would they strike.

Pestilence stood in the doorway. His wings were tucked in close, sprigs of herbs threaded through the feathers—remedies from locals for his cold as they clucked over him, wondering why he didn't seem to get worse or better. The heady smell of thyme, lavender, and peppermint followed him wherever he went, wafting with each flick and flap of his wings. The aroma had been an irritant at first, allowed only to sow trust among the commonfolk, but now it had faded into the background among other forgotten thoughts.

"You've rearranged again." He said the words plainly, as if discussing the moving of a table from one wall to another. Not, as it was, the slew of carnage that greeted him.

Anathema's hunger was what felt like a third tenant in their little hovel, a whole other creature with which to make room for. She ate bountifully and with little care for mess, gorging herself on meal after meal that seemingly went nowhere after it was swallowed down her throat. It was not uncommon to return home to find her plucking scale or feather out of her teeth, blood already dried and flaking like bits of rust off metal. And metal she was—cold and unfeeling, seemingly unbothered by the grotesque display.

Pestilence supposed he was no better in many ways.

"I had to make sure our guest had a place to stay," Anathema replied back with a slow smile, "and now he does." She licked her snout and rose with a shake. "And how was dearest…our snapper friend?"

Anathema never bothered with names, least of all for these few who lived outside the city proper. They were small prey, not worthy of any sort of retention. Pestilence certainly didn't care for them, but he enjoyed the game of aping normalcy. The friendly neighbor, pitiable and ill, but always with an ear for another's troubles.

"Well. She gave me more tea." Pestilence patted the little green bag at his hip, stuffed full of ground and dried herbs. "Said it would help with the cough." When Anathema grinned at this, Pestilence couldn't help but smile back.

"Oh, how dear. Then you'll be all better. Wouldn't mother and father be delighted?" Anathema kicked aside a picked-clean bone and slid over to the window, peering out. Her mood soured like the flick of a switch, eyeing the passing dragons with open disdain. "Soon we can move. Plucking the spares off one by one isn't enough, yet I am stuck to it. They cannot notice a pattern."

Pestilence flicked his tail. He knew his sister's agitation was fed by her hunger, but it was her plan they waited on in the end. She wanted to use him, stubbornly refusing any other route. The reason for this evaded him; it certainly wasn't to keep him included out of love. Yet the sickness in him wasn't ready yet, stewing and shaping into something new every day. He was a walking incubator, adjusting himself to the Icefields to form the perfect plague. It'd be akin to his own child, dormant and nesting until it was ready to hatch.

"Why not hunt outside the city? There's that little town—"

"It is too close," Anathema hissed, "and my hunger is not so important as to ruin this plan." Her eyes were sharp and cutting, slicing through the street at each passing dragon.

This was what Pestilence admired about her, if nothing else. She had every reason to rampage and snap. To eat and never be full was a unique sort of punishment, one not even Pestilence envied. His sickness, at least, could be tempered—Anathema's constant starvation was not so easily assuaged. Yet she was as sturdy as a dam, unwilling to break. Her self-control would humble any other dragon, even as they were brought to their knees by her level of hunger.

"It grows, even now." Pestilence flexed his claws, eager to be useful. "We will take this kingdom. We will make it so."

Anathema turned to her brother, her smile wolfish and full of sharp teeth. "And then we feast."

[gemmaismss]

( alva bratt / cis fem / she/her ) — GEMMA CASTILLO-FIORI has been living in Port Leiry for HER WHOLE LIFE. They currently work as a BARTENDER AT SWEETWATER AND STUDENT and are TWENTY-THREE years old. No one is sure if they’re actually a HUNTER ( SECRET WITCH ) or if they’re connected to THE BROTHERHOOD. They tend to be quite STUBBORN and VAIN, but can also be DEVOTED and OBSESSIVE.— 

( bio & wc under the cut, tw for neglect, violence, death, gemma being a mean girl )

BASICS

Name: Gemma Inés Castillo-Fiori

Nickname: Gem, G

Age: 23

Sexuality: chaotic bisexual

Species: hunter ( born a witch, does not yet know this )

Affiliation: the brotherhood ( technically )

Hometown: Port Leary

Occupation: Bartender at Sweetwater ( nepo baby )

Relationship Status: in her sad slut era

Personality Traits: stubborn, vain, obsessive, cruel, outgoing, devoted, charming

Character Inspo: Heather Chandler, Buffy Summers, Cher Horowitz, Coronabeth Tridentarius

Aesthetic: Fighting dirty, because you don’t know any other way; two feet of stained bar top and suddenly you’re invincible; intimacy as a drug; still a believer, but you don’t know why; your father might be the worst man alive, you are his favorite daughter.

HISTORY

The first year or so is all darkness, no real memories of course, but whispered borrowed memories of neglect and despair. But none of that matters, her life does not really start until Adrian rescues the young Gemma and Gabriel from violence and ruin. Or at least that’s the story he tells, Gemma’s never found any real reason to question this – all she remembers of her childhood is a happy, if somewhat chaotic, home with her twin and two fathers who are so clearly soulmates.

They’ve got no idea who’s the older twin, or even the specific date of birth – but Gemma doesn’t care, Gabe is her best friend and half of her heart. Gemma is bright and bold – the sun but not warmth; a burning blazing pursuit of whatever whims, slave to her passions no matter the cost. Gabe her moon – steady and constant, reflecting back all that brightness and burning, a guiding light when she gets lost in the dark or scattered about her wild passions.

They are raised as hunters, although Gemma’s never particularly been good at it, or even seen this as a core tenant of who she is. Not when everything else is so much more interesting and fun. Gemma is bright and burning, the queen bee at school gaining power and influence through a combination of charm, manipulation, and other, crueler accusations that never quite stick. Gabe at her side, her protector when poison laced honeyed words fail. He’s better at this than her, the violence and strength that is their birthright, but she’s never resented him for this. Half her heart, but each their own person. She barely considers the danger present each and every hunt, so sure in that reckless invincibility that comes naturally to the young and bright and beautiful.

Everything is perfect, until it is not. Gemma does her best to avoid hunts, but her excuses can only go so far. The whole family goes, and Gem does her best to pretend it's a camping trip ( she also hates camping, but she’s being a really good sport, if only for Gael. ) The hunt is largely uneventful, ending in a moonlit clearing and she’s tired and dirty and irritated. Gemma huffs, and the world is engulfed in flames. She screams ( really great job being sneaky Gem ) and clings to Gael who’s got a different sort of dread and fear.

They all make it home unscathed, but everything is different. The energy in the Castillo-Fiori house shifts and Gemma has always been so attune to the ebbs and flows of social currents. Her parents try to act normal, and Gabe assures her everything is fine when she confesses fear. They do not take her on the next hunt. Three leave and only two return. Gemma’s world shatters.

EXTRAS

Absolutely lost it when Gael died, was inconsolable and dropped out of university for a semester ( or two ). Adrian refuses to discuss it, refuses to play music anymore, but she’s pestered Gabe to death about the details. There’s got to be more to it than the official story, her father is too bright, too full of life and love to be killed by some random supernatural. She’s on a bit of an amateur sleuthing kick and getting a bit desperate. She’s nothing if not her father’s daughter – obsessive to the core.

Has not been hunting since the death of Gael but clearly is contributing to the broader hunter community at large by being actually a very good bartender. Gemma will 1000% shame you for drinking shitty beer then make you a killer Manhattan ( out of grief or maybe guilt, Adrian lets her order the fancy cherries and a decent selection of liquor )

Gemma was queen bee in high school – cheer captain & prom queen and somewhat of a mean girl. Listen, Gael is/was her favorite parent and she’s nothing more than the monster that charming, manipulative bastard ( affectionate ) created.

Gemma has no idea about her witch heritage or the fact that her father had been suppressing her growing magic for close to two decades. Now that he’s gone, weird things keep happening – the stove hasn’t always been this fucking sensitive, and she swears she blew those candles out before she left the room. She’s managed to not burn the house down ( yet ), and remains charmingly clueless to the minor bits of chaos left in her wake.

WANTED PLOTS

FRIENDS – please and thank you give this girl some pals, I know I said she was kinda a mean girl but listen she’s devoted to those who matter to her and can be a really good friend <3 just ask her twin

LOVERS – Gemma doesn’t really have partners, she’s got a roster of people she’s flirting/sleeping with and stringing along, intimacy just like a drug,  she’s just like Tinkerbell and will die if she doesn’t get enough attention.

Witches and other supernaturals who she encounters on her journey to find out what happened to Gael but also because she’s feeling slightly rebellious towards Adrian and his stoic grief so maybe baby wants to play with the dark side for a bit? Also she needs people to either help or manipulate her on her journey of discovery of her magic

Literally anything honestly <3

[bitchdafuqyousay]

Hans Fauste

An awful, metallic scent filled the hot air. Made worse by the heavy humidity that hung over their island so stubbornly, hanging around as stubborn as the beady eyed, cold, cruel people who’d made their homes here.

The closer he got the smell of cigarettes began to make itself known. The smoke from the little white and orange sticks twining and dancing with smoke from a gun. Or two. Depending on if the bastard he was marching to meet felt like drawing both this evening. Cigarette smoke, gun smoke, the salty air gently wafting up from the beach- and blood. Lots of it.

Blood, piss, tears, and vomit. 

“This place fucking reeks.” It always did.

Bronco stopped firmly before entering the pathetic excuse of an open air courtyard the complex boasted. Used to boast. It doesn’t anymore. Being a meet up for all the lowlifes on this side of the island culled any and all bragging rights. Not like there were any tenants here to brag anyways. Even the homeless avoided this place. The people who hung around here or crept over occasionally didn’t live in any of the buildings.

Roanapur’s “finest” used this place. He wasn’t one of them. And he’d never claim to be, the way others might. Don’t pretend to be something you’re not. That was a sure fire way to get a bullet to the front of your face and find your final resting place in a back alley dumpster. But he did know some, and he’d “work” with them on behalf of other people, if they paid him good enough. His eyes scanned the yard, glancing briefly over the two bodies across the way from him, heaped together. They’d either been dragged there or killed there. Bronco couldn’t tell; he didn’t really care either as he wrinkled his nose at the sight.

One of the poor bastards had pissed himself pre-mortem. Shame. That’s embarrassing, and unfortunate- but quite understandable.

And even more unfortunate than that was that they had to meet and see the man who’d put them in that heap. The one he was looking for right now. Absolute monstrous brute. He could smell the fucker’s cigarettes, but couldnt see him.

“Fauste!” 

He waited a second before inhaling deeply to yell again, “Hans-” and was treated to a face full of smoke. Cue disgusting, dramatic hacking to the backing tune of a dark, low chuckle.

“You dick-” he coughed again “-that went in my fucking mouth you fu-” 

“Loud.”

He cut himself off at the single word from the other man. It wasn’t a threat, just an observation, but better safe than sorry. And one would end up real sorry if they didn’t stop while they were ahead out here. 

“Whatever. I don’t need to ask you if you’ve done your due diligence. I can see it. Smell it, too.”

The other man smelled like blood, and that alongside the state of his knuckles screamed that shooting wasn’t all he did to those men. Fauste chuckled meanly and flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, stamping the cherry with the heel of his boot. The sides and toes of his boots also spoke of how much else he did.

“Somebody will ride by to pick those up, then hand ‘em off to Dr. Smiles to break up-” he gestured at the corpses, “Lord knows I don’t deal with that stuff and while you and yours are real good at leaving bodies you don’t do shit to pick em’ up.” 

He turned away from the courtyard to leave the damn thing’s entrance, and his nose brushed Hans Fauste’s chest. He wasn’t sure when the man had gotten behind him, last he’d looked the pale blonde was to his left. His new directional orientation aside, when’d he get so close- why’d he get so close?

“Fauste- '' he put a hand up on the man’s abdomen and shoved a bit. No give. “Fuck are you doing?” He pushed again, same result. The big bitch didn’t budge, just stared down at him with an odd look that made him sweat. His mouth twitched as Fauste’s brown eyes narrowed to slits so sharp he thought the gaze alone might slit his throat. 

“Bronco.”

The sweat turned cold, his name falling out from that man’s mouth made his stomach tighten. He wanted to get out of here. Get into his car and call the person he was third partying for and tell them to run the Maroon Company their goddamn check. Cut this interaction short as he could, he always tried to cut these things short as possible. He hated these types; people who’d been steeped in blood since they were kids and didn’t know anything else but it. Learned how to hold a knife when other kids were learning how to hold a pen. Brats from war sunk places- official and gang- who don’t know shit but kill or be killed. Sympathetic figures, honestly. But he hated them. They were barely people, they didn’t flinch at causing or receiving pain of some kind or another, devoid of empathy and had a real lack of concern for the sanctity of human life. 

Loyal though, if you could train them right. 

Hans was trained, followed around his boss like a big dog. A real big, real mean, violent, aggressive, and reactive dog. He was good to his team, though. Alex and Sam hadn’t a thing to worry about from him. Especially Alex, it seemed like he was a bit sweet on her. Hans would sink his teeth into anyone who had a pulse and said yes, hell, he’d even tried to fit his teeth into Bronco once or twice, but everyone knew he held a special place in whatever was left of his heart for the lady. And he was decent enough to Bronco cause they met every now and then. He’d mediated between people who wanted Hans and the company the blonde was with to do something for them. He’d done this several times so he was a familiar face.

Even nasty dogs are less likely to bite if they recognize you.

But that flies out the window if you cross one the dog’s lines; step on a paw or the tail. And Bronco was straining to remember if he’d done just that. 

Hans tilted his head to the left, then leaned forwards some. It looked odd, him stooping like that while his head was at an angle. And damn did it highlight the height difference between the two men. He was a big guy, and Bronco knew he was intentionally playing on that by leaning forwards to meet his eyes. 

You’re small. So much smaller than me- look how far I’ve gotta bend. Ya see? How much I’ve lowered to meet you in the middle? 

It was an intimidation tactic, and sure, he’d been on the receiving end before, but it was different right now cause it was just the two of them. Prior to this, Hans’ boss was usually here, someone who’d tug his leash and tell him to sit. But now. Now it’s just Bronco, Hans Fauste, and two dead guys at the other side of the courtyard in the center of an abandoned apartment complex. A place where undertakers lurked in the basement and unlucky bastards got their shit rocked in the rooms where people used to sleep. A breeze pushed the smell of blood from the bodies into the small space between the men. 

If I wanted to hurt you, I could. I would. What could you even do about it? I’m armed, and even if I weren’t, I’m so much bigger than you. You can’t fight me off.

“Up it.”

“Pardon?”

Hans reached out and placed a heavy hand on Bronco’s shoulder, putting the other in front of his face and rubbed his pointer, middle finger and thumb together. Money. Then he pointed at the entryway ceiling above them. 

Ah, up it. The price, the cost has risen. Their employers were gonna have to lay out a bigger amount than had been agreed on prior. Bronco, to his credit, didn’t give a shit. Sure fucking thing you big bastard, fuck em’! Make em’ pay a million US dollars for it for all he cared. But they were paying him too. They were shilling him a handful to act as a representative. So he had to represent.

“But a price was already agreed on-”

Hans shrugged dismissively, that big pale hand not leaving his shoulder even as he straightened his posture. 

“I can’t just tell them to write a bigger check without telling them why, I’m gonna have to call Bast and ask her if she’s got you asking for more or if you want a tip for your good work.”

Hans rolled his eyes like some damn teenager before meeting the older man's gaze again, “I’m just doing what I’ve been told.”

His voice was a low, gritty whisper. He didn’t talk much, whether that was a choice or a result of the jagged, pale pink tear across the front of his neck he didn’t know, but regardless he half wished it’d affect him more and make the shithead totally mute. He didn’t like it when Hans spoke, nothing good happened. Plus, he didn’t like his voice. Sounded… wrong… in some way.

“Wow, I’m one lucky bastard, getting to hear a whole sentence from you. What a treat, you’ve used me to meet your word quota for the month.” 

Bronco huffed, turning his face away from Hans and planting his hands on his hips, then looking down at his shoes. They were all dusty now. Hans’ hand squeezed a bit before leaving his shoulder. Bast had evidently approved this, he trusted that Hans was in fact doing what he was told. 

“Ugh. Right. Well, I’ll call our beloved customers and tell ‘em terms have changed and that they gotta get in touch with Maroon Company now. Fuckin’ hell. Now I’ve gotta mediate a meeting. Phone or face?”

Hans screwed up his nose and snorted. 

Yeah, pointless asking him. He wouldn’t know, didn’t care either. That was between the clients and Bast. He just did what he was told. 

Sit, stay, bark, bite. 

Another long sigh left the shorter man’s lips, and he ignored the way Hans’ eyes focused on his mouth for a brief second before they drifted over his head. Probably to admire his handy work in the courtyard. The pale man snorted again, turning away and pulling out another cigarette. Horrible habit, chain smoking. It was rare to see the guy without one of the little cancer sticks hanging out his mouth. But, in turning away, he moved, and Bronco could scoot past him and start pacing towards his car. The man snorted when he went by.

Run, rabbit, run. So, so eager to get away. Rabbit running from the hound.

“I’ll see you around, Fauste. Try not to get fatally shot between now and then.”

[rannianbiologist]

Rann, a land of Fighting and Steel (p1)

Well, its a bit out of date and amateurish - nothing like my favorite map, that's for sure - but this is the one I could get scanned in with the damn computer I'm typing from. Did you know that computers scream in frustration sometimes? I didn't. Nether the less, I suppose we should discuss the various places of Rann, else how would you know where you're going, eh? The King Eternal's tenants teach that Castle Town is the center of Rann, but he's not writing this, I am. Thusly we'll start at my sister's little hovel:

Royalscorn (Hamlet - Population 242 Humans, 482 Pokemon circa '21): Tiny place, really. Was once a small farming village that refused to pay taxes, thus guards were sent. The guards married into the village. The village refused to pay taxes. This goes on for 19 generations until a renaming and pardoning of the stubborn lot. Big exports are Moo Moo Milk and Mareep wool. Home of the PokeProfessor Holly.

Dawnbreak Forest: Of course next to those stubborn lot in Royalscorn would be the one place the repelled the Eternal King's unification for 3 months. The number of insects and terrible dark type Pokemon wandering these woods is only matched by the presence of the Rangers. The Rangers are assembled by Duke Brilloth, their purpose is to appease the Titan of the Woods and to prepare to kill the king (hah!).

Rustroil City (City - Population 2600 Humans, 900 Pokemon circa '21): Technically one of the few places that qualify as a city. Rustroil being the official port of Rann means its allowed leeway in terms of technology, but they take it too far. (A tower made of television screens, really?). Still, a very important port town under the vasselage of the Kohn Family and the young Duke Kohn, age 13. They are our link to the world outside such as Paledea and Unova.

Ridge Spine Mountains: I have long suspected that something monsterous made the Ridge Spine Mountains, but they are too vast and their hostile Titan too agitating to my senses for investigation. Still, a passage from Dawnbreak to Little Southrock does exist, although as I understand it the Onyxs in the region often rebuild entire walkways, so mayhaps its gone. No Duke resides over it, technically its Duke Brilloth's realm, but its fossil deposits are invaluable.

Oshwat Town (Town - Population 920 Humans, 350 Pokemon circa '12) An invasion outpost. That's what it is, and I won't be brokering no argument. How else do we allow a clan of spies from the Kanto - all female I might add - take up and tend to land in Rann? I don't know what honeysuckled words these ladies offered but every year more and more potential witches go to live in their clay-tiled houses. (Also, they attempted to shoot down my precious Persephone who was just doing some scouting).

University of Leech (College - Population 1331 Humans, 1200 Pokemon est. circa '23) Our first hallowed halls of learning - well I suppose unhallowed due to the ghosts - focused on life and death, sorcery and potion creation. As of the decree of '63, any young warlock or witchling found amongst the populace has 2 years to report for training and study in these halls. I was trained in these halls. A horrifically haunted place with plenty of ghost types, the have woven a cloud to remain stationary above the main campus at all times, keeping the sun at bay and occasionally raining. Duchess Lilltom presides over it and the surrounding township.

Milldale aka Witch's Burg (Hamlet - Population 422 Humans, 920 Pokemon circa '23) Officially the town is called Milldale due to the exporting of, well, mill and seed. However, those from the college and the residents themselves call it Witch's Burg as to man they are magically inclined. Lovely sort. Everyday is a farmer's market and every night a festival of someone's gods (Although never to Arceus himself, oddly enough). Well, this old woman has typed long enough. I think I'll go for a midnight haunt of the swamp. Perhaps there's some trainers ambling about? I hope this has been informative, to say the least. - Professor Balsam

[leighiche]

@frser

the walls of lallybroch had always been home , though now ? he finds the walls altered with the passing of time. jenny , and ian not quite as he remembered them ... memories that linger and do not quite match what has happened in his absence , absence there's guilt. an air to jamie that he knows stems from the desire to be once more known to tenants , to uphold his fathers name whose untimely death never quite sat right in heart. the idea of his father watching him as randall unleashed hell upon broad shoulders was enough to weaken any man with a strong constitution. his father had been the only man whom jamie wished to measure himself against. ' are you saying you don't like who i've become ? ' his brows knit as an eyebrow arches , ' claire i cannot turn my people away .... perhaps it is ego that rules me , the want to be everything that my father once envisioned for such a place ' his voice steadfast , stubbornness and pride swell. ' for i can see the past and present within these very halls and i don't think i was ready for such a thing , it's my fault you don't know jenny ... my fault that i have perhaps been drinking more than my fair share - my father's shadow is one that is more painful than i care to admit ' the fireplace etches his features in such a light that make him quite vulnerable , the idea that he is but three and twenty. in later years he'll look back with the knowledge that he hadn't been the best husband , that marriage was more complicated than one could imagine.

' i love you sasanach , i'm sorry if my fear of the past has mixed with the present ' an arm going to rest upon the hearth of the fireplace that resides in their bedroom , a room that had once belonged to his parents , ' what can i do to put you at ease ? '

"The problem isn't who you've become." A young and uncertain husband, unsure of what to do with his time traveling, forward thinking wife - in his position, she's not sure what she'd do either. However, they have grown into their dynamic. They had well before their wedding was ever arranged. No, that's not what she refers to here. He took her past the threshold of Lallybroch and became someone else, that someone is not Jamie.

"Jamie, if I had the opportunity to meet Jenny sooner then who is to say I would have gotten to meet her at all. You wouldn't have been at Leoch, your shoulder wouldn't have been injured. I'd probably be dead in the ditch because Murtagh wouldn't have been there to find rescue me in my confusion." The pieces had fallen just so for their meeting. She isn't religious, never put so much faith in a singular being in that way, but for Jamie and this mysterious connection, this constant need to be near to him that puts a shame to her marriage with Frank and all the love she thought herself capable of wanting, needing, and able to give. "Jenny and I will come to terms with time. I am a sassenach," there's a sting to the word that bites unlike the loving way Jamie says it, "In her home. I will have to gain her trust just as I di the McKenzie's. I only hope that there will be less crass language in the process."

Claire removes herself from the bed. Arms dragging quilt from it with her where she bundles herself up in its warmth. She stands behind Jamie. "It's not the drinking. I think I know my way around a drunk Scot by now. You're trying to be someone you're not." A hand braves the cold, thankful for the comfort of the hearth to keep the nipping cold at bay, and takes one of Jamie's hands. "I stayed to be with you because I love you, James Alexander Malcom McKenzie Fraser." It's an admission that still stings deep in her heart. A spark lit by the gold band she still wears upon her finger, shaming her. "I want you to come back to me, but I'm not sure what would ease me would ease you. What if you told me about your father, I'm sure I would have loved to have met him."

[whydoihave]

Love Sea Ideas #1 (EP 1 & Characters Playout)

SO Ms. Mame decided to uproot the whole MeMind Universe (I am so ok with that by the way) in the most amazing ways... So We have (Spoliers, You have been warned!!)

- Rek (Peat)

A Writer, simply said, but not so defined merely, he seemed to be in some sort of a block that required the intervention of someone (Conner??) we are yet to see to send him on vacation... on an island for two weeks...

He is coming off as spoiled, but I don't think that's the matter here, there's some sort of lingering trauma or pain somewhere... I am pretty sure something heavy is hiding in all that...

His Reaction to Mut's disappearance from the boat at the end of the episode is sending me all the signs that something had previously gone terribly wrong (Something related to the Ocean as well)

He is playful, but While Mut is just Playful in a golden retriever way, He is playful and sensual in a way, and very stubborn and used to have his own way kind of person...

Mut (Fort)

He is supposedly the simple Island Boy who is the center of the entire island and everyone on it...

He comes across as a bit Naive (Not buying it for a second), but I am pretty sure he is more stubborn than Rek in more than one way... and would give him a good run for his money...

He is extremely tender with Rek, so My guess is that he knows something about him, or can sense something about him that calls to the caring side (He is helping the entire island, so I don't think that's much of a task)

Kaimook (Aya From Wedding Planner)

Rek's assistant who seemed to be torn between fulfilling her job duties and attending to Vi...

Nothing more about her, except for Aya's marvelous ability to have the cutest face even when distressed.

Vi (Chanya Amarit)

One of Rek's (I don't know) colleagues, tenants? She is there and she seems to be adamant about making Kaimook's life hard for no reason...

The only thing that's standing about her now is (JA)... Who appeared for a literal second in the first EP...

That's not a cameo, I can tell you now...

Final thoughts, I like the tone of the first ep, the playfulness of it, the contrast between the characters is like a well-played soccer game, where none of the teams can score because simply both of them are that good...

[ajokeformur-ray]

would love it if you posted more self shipping stuff and i’m sure others would!

ahhh i’m not much of a writer as yourself, i like to daydream but think it always sounds clunky and poorly thought out when i put it into words so forgive me hahah - my story happens post movie though!

after arthur was put away and his flat was put on the market i moved in not knowing it was his! i kept getting his mail sent to me and was determined to do right and get it sent on to him (i’m stubborn like that about admin lol) what i thought would be a simple task turned into an increasingly complicated mission of trying to find a forwarding address, plus my curiosity grew about who this previous tenant was when all the neighbours spoke about him so evasively. i eventually am able to track him down to arkham! it took such a hassle to find him, so instead of just dropping the post off with the officials, i ask to meet the man so i can put a personality to him (by this point i’m shocked to find out this “arthur fleck” is the same man as the “joker” on the news a few months ago) we meet (through the usual prisoner visit way) and i, slightly embarrassed, explain i just wanted to return his mail to him and he’s both incredibly touched and lightly bemused that a total stranger would go through such effort to sort out such an inconsequential thing for him just because it’s the “right” thing to do. with the silliness of the situation, the ice is kind of broken and we talk a little bit. when it’s time for me to go, he asks if i’ll come see him again (sweet thing doesn’t get any visitors outside of the occasional nosey journalist) and because i’m lonely in this new city and he seems sweet i say yes! and the rest… becomes history! (i also have an alternative version of my story that’s more joker centric than arthur centric where i’m still the new tenant in his old apartment, and joker breaks out of arkham and is surprised to find a stranger living in his home haha)

sorry that’s so waffly and clunky! but you inspired me to share!

I do need to get back into writing and self-shipping, life is... So much right now, it's actually TOO MUCH, but tonight you've made me remember what actually makes me happy -community engagement on here, loving Arthur, and writing 🩷🥺 all things I thought I'd forgotten how to do. So will definitely be sharing more in future!!!

This doesn't sound clunky or poorly thought out???!!! It flows so beautifully and I can really see the drive to return Arthur's mail to him and trying to find out who he is. I loooooove the idea of living in his apartment after him; Anderson Ave is infamous now and the apartment you're in had a body left in it to rot for who knows how long (probably a few hours once Joker killed Murray so I doubt Randall's corpse was left in Arthur's home for long🤢), and just being surrounded by his home before you've even met???? Talk about home being where your heart is🥺🥺🥺

God, this is so gorgeous and I can really see it happening!!!! Thank you for taking the time to share this and write it out 🥺🩷 AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON JOKER HASDFGHJKL 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😍😍😍😍😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[laskareyne]

Tenant of Guilt | April 26, 2025

You say "fine" as if this is a compromise, As if the shape us of is something that you can just tolerate, As if as long as the "edges" stay undefined, fuzzy, If the "label" is loose, hanging by a thread, If we don't call it "love" but something just barely close, Then we can exist. Us, a close friendship with benefits, can exist as a placeholder, A door kept wide open into the world so someone better can walk in. I don't want someone better, I wanted the future I painted of us, The beautifuly scenerary in the pastel hues I know you love. Our cat, our summer, our future, Our love. I wanted it to be a "we" that lingers, Maybe not forever, but at least a solidified now, A now with intention, Not an until, but a because. It's not even as if you lie, You say you want me happy, As if I'm supposed to see that as a gift. But happiness isn't just a house that can stand on "I guess." I don't want to rent out the place built on your guilt, Built on the "sure," the "why not," the "it's impossible to say no." I don't want to live in the resentment that echoes in your silence. I don't even need it to be kittens and roses, Just a you who chooses me without flinching. I don't need a grand gesture of devotion, Just a spot in your daydreams. Maybe Laska would like this Maybe we could go there Maybe next year . . . or the next . . . Maybe . . . But there is no maybe. This room of yours that I reside, that I occupy, It's empty. There's no furniture, no plans on the walls, Not even an us etched on the blueprint, Just a shrug and a stay if you want. I don't want to just "stay," I want to belong. I miss the version of you, The one who made me believe I could be loved, I could exist as I am. Ace, fluid, messy, enough. You made be believe it for a while, That asexual wasn't a flaw to work around, But a language we both speak, With your hands, your laughter, Your kiss, Like it was enough. Now I'm back to wondering if it's a myth, If I'll forever be forced to bargain with my own body, Begging to be wanted without betrayal, And you stand as a mirror, Reflecting everything back. Maybe loving me isn't possible Maybe I'm only welcomed as a friend, or as a body Maybe the price of companionship, Is giving up myself to the desire of whoever will take me. If I subtract my body from this scene, am I still left? Am I still able to be loved? Am I able to exist to someone beyond a friendship? Will I forever be a guest who's overstayed? I used to hate it, Hate myself for what I couldn't give. You made me forget it for a brief while. But I guess I can't escape it. Even still, a stubborn part of me clings to it, The ghost of this version of you. The one who, for the first time, Made me feel at home. Because we fit so perfectly, In every way that matters. But it was all a joke from the heavens. Right person, wrong heart. The universe laughs as it pulls the rug from under my feet. From under the almost it gave me. I'd settle for a mirage, If it didn't taste like old dust. I'd fake it till we make it, If only you had wanted to make it at all. But you don't. So here we are, A "relationship," With the quotations bolded and underlined, A future that's already been put in the footnotes. I guess at the very least I can say, I am loved, but only if I don't call it love.

[humanoidtyphoons]

idk why it works with ranma but not maison ikkoku tbh, re: akane and kyoko, in regards to the unfair sex trope

when akane does/says something that feels like a double standard, characters do point out that that she’s being unfair, and it kinda feels like it’s got merit tbh? cause she’s a teen and being immature, and it just doesn’t feel to me that the narrative is saying “akane is absolutely in the right here” and ranma is here to suffer unjustly for comedy. like. yeah, okay, there’s a lil of that, sure, but ranma’s personality… it’s mischievous. he intentionally kinda provokes people and infuriates them, so when it backfires on him, it’s… it’s a little bit like he has it coming, yk? poke a bear, what are you expecting, sort of thing.

kyoko, tho… is bc she’s older? is it because when ichinose hanae tries to point out that kyoko is being unfair part of me cannot help but scoff bc why the fuck would i want to listen to the second worst tenant of maison ikkoku (oh i may loathe her, but she’s not worse than yotsuya, who is just. even more awful than her). (it doesn’t help that ichinose hanae stokes the misunderstandings between them more than she resolves them tho.) i just. idk. get the feeling that the story wants me to side with kyoko, who will intentionally misunderstand godai at the slightest inconvenience, and instead of it working, i end up feeling really cross with her. idk it feels like it matters more that kyoko is angry and reactive and quick to punish godai, while godai is often trying to resolve the misunderstanding, to frustrating small success. so when kyoko is just. “oh why didn’t godai just say this thing to immediately clear things up?” the lack of awareness from her just infuriated me. bc he did. he tried. and kyoko never listened, until much later, and it drove me nuts, bc this was the gimmick ad nauseam. and i felt like shaking her bc it just wasn’t funny and i don’t even like godai, i just got sick of him suffering and being treated like shit by everyone in MI. but basically: eventually ichinose would point out kyoko’s unfairness and kyoko would brush her off, and the tone… never quite worked in trying to shed light on kyoko’s flaws.

idk it’s interesting to compare the two works, and maybe it’s interesting as work evolution. but. yeah idk? i just don’t think akane is favoured(?) like kyoko is, which actually makes me like akane more tbh, bc i just feel like other characters (her sisters, mostly) are able to rightfully point out that she’s being unfair, and her being a teen kinda is to her benefit in the way she doesn’t want to admit they’re right? bc her stubbornness and pride doesn’t want to yield, and i still don’t quite get how takahashi rumiko made it palatable for akane but not kyoko, but here we are. it just works, somehow.

it’s not aggravating, for most part, when akane gets mad at ranma, is what i’m trying to say.