#these tags have gone off the rails

[dungeonclown]

as a chronic himbo lover and gorgug enjoyer, nothing prepared me for the amount of pure joy and validation i experienced when brennan as arthur aguefort had to pause the entire live show to explain that barry is a himbo and gorgug is not a himbo

remember, my comrades. a himbo has to be all 3:

STRONG OF ARM

PURE OF HEART

DUMB OF ASS

[sforzesco]

alternative reasons to avoid bringing your brother in law into a conspiracy or a conversation between caesar and cassius

this scene is set sometime after Brutus and Cassius have switched over to Caesar's side during the Pompey-Caesar conflict.

in a different comic, I wrote about about how cassius isn't a dog that needs to be tamed, but that depends on which side of the playing field you're on. if you're Caesar, Cassius is someone you need to leash down immediately, and the complicated social web of debt is one way to do it!

Cassius is inescapably tied to Brutus: the sandbox bond of childhood best friends, brothers-in-law with Servilia bringing Cassius into the family, and a third time with Brutus asking for Cassius' life. if you're going to bring a man who clawed his way out of a horrific defeat that killed your patron and later joined up with your rival in a civil war (twice aligned with the other two heads of the three headed monster you were a part of!) under your heel, reminding him of the only bond that could hope to rival with his family ancestry is one way to do it!

Cic. Phil. 2.26

Brutus, Plutarch (trans. Scott-Kilvert)

The Defeat of Rome: Crassus, Carrhae and the Invasion of the East, Gareth C. Sampson

Civil Wars, Caesar, III. 101 (trans. A. G. Peskett)

Servilia and Her Family, Susan Treggiari

Caesar and the Dangers of Forgiveness, Barry Strauss

tbh, there's probably an additional subtext (there is, I was thinking about it) on how Crassus used 'softer' means than force to bind people to him (again, the politics of debt and patronage) and how Caesar takes after him in some ways here. it didn't last, tho. in 45 BCE Cassius voted against giving Caesar honors. (Cass. Dio 44.8.1)

[braisedhoney]

Captain! We have barricaded the cargo hold so that people don't... *reads smudged writing on my hand* hit the Narrator with a bat, marry him and ask him to skip them like a stone???

At rock bottom, #0505

yeah it does sound a little nuts when you put it that way doesn’t it—

[scopophobia-polaris]

first female loz director and the gerudo seem to be written fine enough? wow... there ain't no way I thought we were in the worst timeline after totk

Yeah got through the main quest with the gerudo, it wasn't painful! It wasn't even bad! Still got them outfits but for the most part it was like oh cool!

I would say a lot of that oh cool is from the fact they didn't do a lot to even fuck it up to begin with, I'm gonna be real with yall this game is NOT worth $60USD

Edit: lemme say one thing, you know when people were being like damn totk story wasn't dark or mature at all why was this compared to Majora's mask again? And then all the zeldatwt people came out and said zelda is just a kid series domt expect good writing uH

This one feels like a kid's game. That ain't to say it's terrible I would say, hell I'm not far in it if I get something crazy that's like OH FUCK I'll reblog this post and say something but uh.....game for babies I'm gonna be shocked if anyone struggles with any puzzles cuz you CAN CHEESE THEM EASY ITS 🫢🤭

EDIT EDIT: I SWEAR IM NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE A DOWNER..... @ezlo-x HAS BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME IVE BEEN PLAYING....THEY KNOW I HAVENT BEEN A PARTY POOPER.....

[sandy-shocks]

I can't fucking stand the Robin discourse, it's gotten so fucking bad

It's made worse by the fact that it's been turned around into 'the big mean lesbians are forcing their headcanons onto people and harassing them, why can't they leave people alone'. No the 'big mean lesbians' are telling you the canon evidence and are asking you to please respect their identity and you're turning around and throwing slurs, death threats and sexual harassment aimed at them and then they're getting rightfully upset

I have never seen a fandom for a game made by a pro lgbt company with known canon queer characters be as homophobic and awful as hoyoverse fandoms

[drpeppertummy]

in retrospect i probably couldve just given him like. normal indigestion to appease the tummyache people. but anyways Holy Water-Induced Val Tummy Event

[extreme tummyache essentially from being poisoned, brief emeto moment but not graphic, tummy rubs]

Val: A little snack to get you through your day. 

"Huh. Wonder who that's from," Val pondered aloud as he read the note. The day, as it happened, now seemed a distant memory, and he was currently gearing up for a long night of work. It didn't matter if the cookies had been sitting for a while, though; they were neatly wrapped up in a little plastic goodie bag.

Val didn't mind working late into the night. Sure, it could be lonely with next to nobody else in the building, and his heart often yearned to be cozied up at home with Connie, but it was nice sometimes. Quiet, peaceful. Time almost didn't seem real, at least until sleepiness came creeping in and pulled him from his focus. Either way, he was grateful for the sweet little snack. He'd have to remember to track down whoever left it in the morning and thank them.

With a sigh, Val sat down at his desk, and his belly rumbled softly. He glanced at the clock. It was after ten, and he hadn't eaten a thing since four. He stretched, joints crackling as he did, then opened the little plastic bag and took out a cookie.

They were chocolate chip cookies, one of his many favorites, and they were fantastic. There was an odd tang to them that Val couldn't quite place, but he didn't mind. His stomach protested at the first cookie, but he supposed it was just because he was so hungry, and gladly followed it with a second one before setting the bag aside. The second cookie didn't settle his stomach, though. In fact, it only made him feel worse. His belly cramped up with a whining gurgle and he doubled over in his chair, hugging his middle tightly.

"What--" Val groaned, shutting his eyes as the pain intensified. His stomach was in absolute turmoil, tossing and turning with an awful burning sensation, and as he desperately clutched his aching belly, he realized what that strange taste had been: holy water.

"Shit," he gasped. His stomach cramped sharply again and a soft cry escaped him. Shit, shit, shit. He was completely doubled over, trying desperately to find some position that would miraculously ease the pain, but as his stomach began to bloat, he was forced to sit upright once more. He grasped at his now distended belly, unable to hold back a pained moan as it swelled tightly beneath his trembling hands.

Bolts of searing pain shot through Val's belly like lightning, and for a moment he nearly passed out. A wave of nausea bowled over him and he dropped to his knees on the floor over his little garbage can, still clutching his bloated middle. The pressure was horrific; his stomach felt like it was stretched to its limit, and he could feel the turmoil bubbling away inside. Desperately, he tried to force up its contents, but the effort was in vain; his body seemed unable to let go, like a hand helplessly grasping the source of an electric shock.

Utterly overwhelmed by the agonizing reaction, Val toppled over, curling up on the floor like a dying spider with his arms wrapped tightly around his belly. He wondered, through the pain clouding his thoughts, just how much holy water those cookies had been made with, and it briefly occurred to him that it just might kill him if he'd ingested enough. He tried to push himself upright beside the garbage can again but couldn't find the strength to do it.

Val lay there for some time, whimpering through his shaky breath like a wounded dog, shivering feverishly. Finally, mercifully, miraculously, the pain began to plateau, and then, not long after that, it slowly began to ease up. He remained still on the floor, afraid to move, not wanting to reignite the turmoil in his aching stomach. It still hurt, and he felt horribly nauseous.

Eventually, Val mustered up the courage to push himself upright. Almost immediately, his stomach jolted, and he barely had time to grab the little garbage can before it ejected the poisoned cookies. He clung to the garbage can for a few minutes after, trembling, unable to bring himself to move. He felt cold and dizzy and dazed, and his stomach was filled with a dull burning sensation. Finally, he set the can down.

He remained on the floor for a few more minutes, waiting for the dizziness to pass. When it did, he remained a few minutes more, then, slowly, carefully, he grabbed the edge of the desk and pulled himself up. His legs felt weak, and the awful tightness in his distended stomach hit him like a truck upon standing. Groaning, he doubled over again, holding one arm around his belly and leaning against the desk with the other. Another wave of nausea rolled over him, but it wasn't nearly as intense as the first. He held still for a moment, waiting for it to pass, and then stood upright once more.

Working through the night was no longer the plan. Val stumbled out of the building, still holding his sore tummy, and fell into the driver seat of his little car. He sat there until he was sure his head was clear, then, with a shaky sigh, he started the car and drove home.

"Val? Is that you?" Connie's voice, confused, as he came through the door. She appeared in the kitchen doorway and her expression quickly turned to shock and worry at the sight of her haggard little husband.

"Jesus Christ, Val, what the hell did you come down with?" She hurried over to him and he fell into her arms, clinging weakly to her. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His throat felt like it had been sandblasted, his mind was utterly blank, and he couldn't find the strength to pull up his voice. Holding him tight, Connie led him to their bedroom and helped him into bed.

"Honey, what happened?" she asked softly, sitting beside him. Carefully, she leaned down and took off his shoes, setting them beside the bed.

"Someone..." He paused and swallowed dryly. Connie listened patiently. "Someone...left cookies at my desk...don't know who...they had holy water in them...didn't notice..."

"Oh, god, Val," Connie gasped. "Are you going to be alright? Do you need a doctor?" He shook his head.

"I'm...I'll be okay," he said quietly, taking her hand.

"Who the hell would do that? God, Val, they could've killed you!" He shrugged weakly. "How do you feel?"

"Better," he sighed. His stomach gurgled miserably. Connie placed a hand on it and winced at how tight it felt, still painfully bloated from the irritation.

"Jeez, your poor tummy," she said, gently rubbing his sore belly. She laid down beside him and carefully took him into her arms, and he nestled his face against her shoulder with a shaky sigh. He still felt horribly sore and feverish, and he didn't think he'd be able to eat for a week, but having Connie by his side was the greatest comfort in the world.

"Poor sweetheart." Connie pressed a kiss into his forehead, gently stroking his thick, dark hair. Cautiously, still not wanting to move too quickly, Val wrapped an arm around her. She kissed him again, then returned her hand to his tummy, rubbing softly until he finally drifted off to sleep.

[outer-edges]

one thing i really appreciate about agents of shield is that when they introduced yoyo, they let her be a native spanish speaker character who only spoke spanish and they brought in joey to translate. and while they did it super quickly, they made a point to have her learn english throughout the show.

[riddikuluslupin]

remione [accidentally called your number while drunk asking for a ride and you actually came au] pt 2

She stood on the pavement’s edge, precariously too close to traffic for Remus’s liking, not that there were many cars on the road at such an hour. Why had her friend not been ready to swoop in and get her home safely? Why did she even have to call? What magic conjured up his number in her phone with him living only two blocks away?

The woman — Hermione, he reminded himself — gave a small wave. Her legs wobbled, and she grabbed the nearby lamppost for support. Drizzle fell softly, the droplets frizzing her hair and casting a fuzzy halo around her head. Remus felt visited upon by some supernatural creature as she glowed in contrast to the dark pub front. Gods, he needed to stop reading those fantasy books so late at night, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Insomnia meant he’d been awake to take her call.

When he pulled up, she steadied herself on the slick car door and mimed rolling down the window. He did so. She peered in blearily at him. Remus wondered if he matched whatever expectation she had after talking with him on the phone. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he looked rough after not sleeping well last night and now tonight. The days leading up to a full moon wrecked him. 

“Are you—?” they said at the same time. She laughed, and he couldn’t help but offer a small smile.

“Hermione, is it?” he tried again. “Do you still want that ride?”

“Oh, yes. Remus?” He nodded in reply. “If you’re going my way.” Her eyebrows raised conspiratorially as if relaying an inside joke.

Remus clicked the doors unlocked and then leaned over to unlatch the passenger side door. “There’s nowhere else this taxi service is going tonight. Get in before you’re soaked. The rain’ll be picking up.”

She jostled the door open and gracelessly plopped into the seat. Now, in the heat of the car, she unbuttoned her grey coat, revealing a cranberry red dress. She smelled strongly of orange liqueur with the faintest hint of…what was it…something warm and familiar. He turned down the heat when she began fanning herself with her hands. 

“I’ve never done anything like this before.” She turned to him as she buckled her seat belt. “Gotten into a car with a stranger.” A tremor of worry crossed her face as Remus assumed the implications of her situation washed over her. She replaced that doubt with a hesitant smile. “Please tell me you’re not an axe murderer.” 

Remus resisted the urge to say “not yet” and turned up the windshield wipers against the growing storm. Instead, he took everything out of his pockets — his phone and wallet — and pressed them into her hands. “I know it’s not the same, but you’re trusting me, so I’d like to trust you with those. No axe murdering as long you don’t chuck those out the window.”

“I think I can manage that,” she replied. “Do you carry anything interesting with you?”

He shrugged, looking at the address she showed him on her phone so he could type it into his GPS. It wasn’t too far but also wasn’t close. Sleeping tonight looked more and more questionable. “I doubt there’s anything of particular note. Not much worth stealing.” He raised his eyebrows as she immediately plucked a wayward receipt that had been sticking out from his wallet.

“You’ve been to Flourish and Blotts?” she said in an excited rush. The warm amber glow of the streetlamps blinked past outside the windows, briefly casting her face in bronze light before winking back into darkness. No other cars were on this side street.

“I have to restrain myself from going more often. Or else I’d forget to buy groceries and only have books to eat.”

“Not very tasty. Have you seen that they’ve gotten in some new history books about…” 

Despite the lack of traffic, Remus kept his gaze on the road, even though he wanted to watch this woman be so enraptured by books that she soliloquized about what she wanted to purchase next, what she’d already bought, what she was currently reading, and what he should definitely not waste his time on. She brightly asked for his thoughts on books and, after her long, detailed discussion about the more obscure (and potentially occult) subjects she read (really, what was arithmancy? ancient runes?), he felt embarrassed to admit that only myth retellings currently held his attention. 

“No wonder you agreed to pick me,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Two mythological creatures passing in the night.”

He tensed at her words and then noticed a smear of red extending down her lip. She can’t suspect, he thought. Deftly, he reached over to pop open the glove box to retrieve a tissue. “And since when is ‘Hermione’ a creature, rather than a human girl?” 

She took the tissue and blotted where he indicated on her face, avoiding his gaze as she blushed into the visor mirror. After shoving the tissue in her purse that Remus noted held two books with multi-colored tabs, she rolled down her window to stick out her hand and then pressed the rain along her flushed neck. Remus turned the heat off and couldn’t help but glance from the road to the hand that lingered on her collarbone. 

“Sidecars always make me hot. I should have stuck with the wine.” She sighed and then said so softly that Remus almost didn’t hear it, “I should have stayed home. So stupid.” 

Since she’d whispered the last part, Remus pretended not to notice; with his sharp hearing, he sometimes had to do so to keep people from looking askance at him and his “strange prying.” He didn’t know what to say, so the silence stretched out between them.

“What are we but creatures?” she replied in a fake lofty tone. “Creatures seeking comfort in all the wrong places.”

The street continued to unwind before them in a blurry line as the wind whipped rain across the windshield. Only one car passed them. Remus chanced another look at her. She stared down into the depths of her hands. He gently cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She fiddled with his wallet, opening it to slide her thumb along the credit cards nestled inside. “It’s nothing particularly special or interesting. A tale as old as time, being stood up, waiting around for him for hours until you decide to get royally knackered.” She plucked out his library card, then his grocer rewards card, until all the cards were freed so that she could sort them by color.

“What a prick,” he said. Gods, no wonder she sounded close to tears on the phone when she mentioned how alone she was standing outside. “Do you want to find his house and teach him a lesson?”

“I had plenty of time to consider what kind of lesson I’ll teach him should he ever dare darken my doorstep,” she said and smiled weakly at his attempt to cheer her up. “Plus, I thought you weren’t an axe murder. Will you be coming along for moral support then?”

He considered this as she applied a lip balm over her faded lipstick. There was the smell from earlier—a mix of vanilla and cinnamon. She caught him glancing at her mouth. Remus reached to turn down the heat again only to realize he’d shut it off earlier. His brain felt fuzzy from lack of sleep, the hard pull of the moon, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

“Have you ever stood up a date before?” she asked, her body angled towards him, her elbow propped up on the center console and hand cradling her head. Her hair brushed his argyle sweater.

Feigning insult at such a question, he said, “I would never.” He contemplated revealing that he could barely even remember the last date he’d gone on, that he remained an unattractive prospect because of his finances, his job, his condi- He swiftly cut this short as he noticed her staring up at him, her brow furrowed as if trying to puzzle out his thoughts.

“Where did you take your last date? And, please don’t say a pub.”

Remus rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. How many months ago was it when he went for coffee with his co-worker Dora? She’d made calf-eyes at him, twirling whichever colorful extension she’d clipped into her hair that day (pink, purple, or blue), until he’d agreed to a date. “It was quite a while ago. We went to that little coffee shop attached to Dogweed and Deathcap.”

“Oh, the plant shop?” She brightened and sat up straighter. Searching through her purse, she pulled out a catalog with the shop’s logo on the front and leaned in closer to him. She’d shucked off her coat, and her bare shoulder bumped his arm as the car hit a pothole. She pointed to a dark purple flower. “They just put in my order for these.” 

Remus deftly glanced at it before looking back at the road, unable to identify it. “Which are those?”

“Aconitum,” she said. “I’ll have enough for several planters.”

Only a couple streets from her place, Remus managed to keep his car on the road when she said the flower’s name. “Why do you need so much wolfsbane?”

“You know it?” she said in surprise, then she was off again, chatting away as she had when discussing books. “Do you have some? I understand it’s highly toxic, and the shop waffled about allowing me to order that many plants. But they caved because I’m such a regular, although don’t tell them one reason for that is I killed off all my petunias and mandragoras. Overwatered them.” She ran her finger through her hair, causing it to frizz even further. “That won’t happen this time because I’ll be using them for a, erm, chemistry project.” 

“Nothing related to cooking?” 

“You’ll be pleased to know I’m also not a murderer.” She paused dramatically before following up with, “Yet.”

The GPS dinged as the car pulled in front of her small, dark-windowed house. Hermione scowled. “Ginny couldn’t even leave the porch light on? That boy better have been worth the lay.” 

Again, Remus reached over, barely avoiding brushing her knees that she didn't seem to notice were in his path, to open the glove box and fish out a torch. “I’ve got to have a talk with this Ginny about her priorities. If you don’t mind my company a little longer, I’ll walk you to the door.”

He tapped the torch against his thigh until the light flared to life. The rain had tapered back to a drizzle, and Remus jogged over to her side and had the door open before she’d managed to unbuckle the seat belt. She took his offered hand and wobbled a little less as she stepped onto the sidewalk in her sensible heels. With her coat back on but unbuttoned, she shivered as the wind blew in from the north. Its icy fingers threaded through Remus’s sweater. A bone-deep tired dragged at him, and his eyes flickered shut.

“Are you all right?” She hadn’t released his hand and squeezed it until he reopened his eyes to look down at her worried face. Outside, underneath the thin moonlight pushing through the clouds, the watery mascara smudges on her cheeks stood out clearly. What sodding prick stood up a pretty woman who read esoteric books and grew poisonous plants for fun. 

“Are you a witch?” Remus side-stepped her question with one that had been brewing in his mind since she rattled off the books she read or would soon read. If she was, then maybe— maybe— she’d understand about him and his condition. 

She looked stunned. The torch’s puddle of light illuminated their shoes; he was glad he at least wore a matching pair, although they were worn to hell like the rest of his oxfords. “Is your next line going to chat me up with some variation of asking if I’ve ‘put a spell on you’? 

His tired, tired brain cursed him. Once again, he’d messed it up before anything had even begun. What did he think would even begin in the first place? He was a stranger who conveniently lived near a pub she’d been stranded at and gave her a ride home. “Gods, no, I shouldn’t have pried. Ignore that. I don’t even have chat up lines. I don’t chat people up. I barely talk to anyone. ” He felt himself spiraling into a ramble. “Let’s get you inside. It’s late.”

At the door, he shone the light on the lock. As she twisted the knob, he turned to leave. Her hand tugged at his elbow, stopping him to turn back around. With the door ajar, her voice dropped low and she leaned in to whisper, “Can I give you something?” 

His heart fluttered strangely. What would she want to give him? He nodded, and she held up a finger for him to wait. She slipped through the dark doorway. A light flicked on in a back room. She soon returned with her hair in a messy bun and a small bag in tow. She pressed it into his hand and closed his chilled fingers around it. 

“It’s a sleep tisane with chamomile, mint, and lavender. Plus a couple secret ingredients. None of which are toxic or charmed, I solemnly swear.” She released his hand and tucked the stray hairs escaping from her bun behind her ears. “If you’re worried about that, you could always invite me over, and I’ll take a drink first.”

Was she asking him out for tea? Was he being asked out on a date? She must have misread the shock on his face because she began to walk back her offer: “Or you can chuck it in the bin. I thought it might help, and Ginny has told me I can offer help when people aren’t looking for it. I have been known to be bossy. Or you could put it in your bath?” She blushed. “Either way, I wanted to thank you for driving me out all this way.”

Remus finally found his voice. “I would love tea, but I can’t the next couple of days.” The moon pressed down on the paper thin clouds. “How about after that?”

She peered up, studying him with almost x-ray vision. He grew worried she was examining the lattice of scars on his face and down his neck. Explanations dried up his throat. “Text me after the full moon,” she said simply. “I went ahead and saved my number in your phone.” 

Later, when Remus opened his contacts, he found “the brightest witch” listed in his contacts, and his handwritten TBR list for when he went to Flourish & Blotts had vanished from his wallet. Tasting the tea, he knew at least two of the secret ingredients were vanilla and cinnamon, neither of which poisoned him. He did choke on his tea when Hermione sent her first text to him that read: “In my phone, I didn’t name you ‘axe murderer.’ You’re ‘the trusted wolf.’ Should I bring chocolate for our tea? And if you give me a fake address or anything of the sort, I will curse you. :)”

pt. 1

[chippdhearts]

10 Characters, 10 Fandoms

Thanks for tagging me, @singinprincess 🩵

Catherine Willows (CSI)

Teddy Altman (Grey's Anatomy)

Addison Montgomery (Private Practice)

Theo Crain (The Haunting of Hill House)

Maura Isles (Rizzoli and Isles)

Lena Foster (The Fosters)

Piper Halliwell (Charmed)

Kate Beckett (Castle)

Celeste Wright (Big Little Lies)

Elena Alverez (One Day at a Time)

No pressure, tagging: @torturedpoets, @renrapp, @claytonsdani, @katherinebeckettrodgers, @wistfulwatcher, @emilylprentiss, @plastixflower

[gauntletqueen]

tumblr let me mute specific posts on my activity page please

[desperatepleasures]

solid chance this fic just ends with condalbert deciding to break up and go back to being fuckbuddies and then having fucknasty breakup sex. the end.

[unhingedselfships]

Debating doing a second Yandere playlist, I know at least one moot who'd enjoy it. And I'm about 95% sure I can come up with at least another 10 tracks.

[harpie-raven]

My favorite supplemental was when during the actual recording Elias said

Elias: I’ll give you a copy but [for gods sake] no more subterranean adventures, [understand]?

Jon: Yes…I understand.

“SUPPLEMENTAL. I WAS EXPLORING THE TUNNELS AND I GOT LOST—“

Dude was literally Charlie from that one episode of Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Like….S2 Jon…hello—

My personal favorite is “supplemental: I’ve broken into Gertrude’s flat”

Oh also Martin finding the pictures Jon took of Tim’s house 😭

Unhinged Jon will forever be the funniest Jon, man was really out roaming the tunnels and stalking his coworkers like there was no tomorrow

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning

Word Count: 2.44k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Christmas is always a hectic time of year, and after spending the last week in an utter state of chaos trying to get all of your friend’s and family’s gifts ordered and in the mail on time, cookies baked and hidden away from your ravenous roommate Sukuna who swears up and down that he doesn’t even like sweets but the ones you make just taste so much better, and staying up until midnight haphazardly taping in messily folded wrapping paper and scribbled “to and from” tags on countless presents, you were more than ready to flop onto your living room couch and pass out.

But you’re just not allowed to have nice things, it seems.

The apartment is freezing cold when you walk in the front door, cool air pinching your skin and the groan of annoyance escaping your throat leaving a puff of white air in its wake. Sukuna left shortly after you did this morning to spend the day with his brothers, and as you rush your way over to the thermostat to turn the heat back on you can’t even begin to fathom why he would bother turning the air off when you were both only gone for the day. Sure, the bills can get expensive, but he’s not seriously that broke… you hope.

But as you push the buttons on the thermostat and the little screen informs you that the air in fact is on, dread rushes through you. A quick call to the landlord ends exactly how you expected it to, sent to voicemail with a cheery little message mentioning that no one will be available until after the holidays.

You may as well just die in here, you think as you sit down on the couch. The cool leather is almost painfully cold, making you flinch when it hits your skin. Silently you contemplate going back to where you spent the whole day; even if there were tons of people and you ended up leaving early because you were dying for some peace, at least it was nice and warm there.

But you push that idea aside, getting back on the train would be a pain, you’d have to trek through the snow again on your way back to the station, you could come up with a million excuses but in the back of your mind there’s this little nagging feeling that you don’t want to admit is the real reason you would rather stay home. You haven’t seen Sukuna all day.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid, but you’ve been so busy and even though the two of you live together it feels like you haven’t been able to see him for almost the entire week. And even though you spent the whole day around people you love, you couldn’t wait to come back home to your dickhead roommate.

Obviously you’d rather die than admit that to him, already picturing that trademarked smirk plastered on his tattooed face, but you can’t deny that something about him is charming. He’s smug and sarcastic and cocky and annoying and- you could really go all day to be honest; but then he has those moments where he can take the air right out of your lungs. Sweet, kind little gestures where this big scary bad guy acts like a total gentleman and it makes your heart race.

You doubt you’ll ever understand how he has that hold over you.

The sound of the door creaking open is your only warning before Sukuna steps into the freezing apartment, pink bangs damp and disheveled falling over his forehead and snow clinging to his black leather boots. He shrugs off his coat with a fluid motion, tossing it onto the stair rail as he fixes you with a sharp grin, flashing his canines mischievously.

“Didn’t think you’d actually beat me back here,” he drawls, a sarcastic lilt in his tone, “Guess you couldn’t go a day without missing my charming personality.”

You roll your eyes, breath puffing out in a faint cloud as you speak, “Missed that loud mouth, you mean.”

“Cute.” Although the word is borderline dripping in sarcasm, you still manage to catch the way a smile subtly tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re any good with fixing heaters?” You ask hopefully, Trying to suppress a shiver as you motion toward the uncooperative thermostat.

He raises a brow, kicking off his boots and stepping into the living room, “The fuck do I look like, an HVAC guy? Just call the landlord.”

“I did,” You flop back against the couch with a defeated thump, tossing an arm over your face, “No one can come out ’til tomorrow, holidays or whatever.”

Sukuna could literally hear the frustration in your voice as he plops down next to you on the cold leather couch, “Tragic.” His tone is teasing, but his crimson eyes linger on your shivering form; with an over dramatized huff puffing an icy cloud in the air he muses, “Guess you’ll freeze.”

You briskly rub your hands up and down your arms, a futile attempt to warm yourself up, “And you won't?”

He peers down at you, posture completely relaxed despite the icy air and an unimpressed frown on his face, “I don’t get cold.”

You can’t help but let out a snort at his audacity, “Yeah?” You prop yourself up on your elbows to grin up at him, “Same way you don’t get sick?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting his back sink into the cool leather cushions of the couch, “That was a fluke.”

“Such a big fat liar,” You tease, elbowing his arm. But the playful jab shifts into curiosity when you notice that his skin is actually warm against your frozen fingers. Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his tattooed wrist, making him flinch and hiss dramatically

“Fucking christ-”

“You were actually serious?” You interrupt, scrambling upright to press your freezing hands into his arms.

“Yes, I was- fuck, stop touching me holy shit.” He swats your hands away, goosebumps forming on his skin, “How the hell have you not died of frostbite? You a fuckin’ reptile or some shit?”

“Are you a living space heater?” You scoot closer to him, grabbing at his forearms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself up.

“Quit grabbin’ me you fucking weirdo,” He stands abruptly, nearly having to yank his arm out of your desperate grip, rolling his eyes at the pitiful groan of disappointment that escapes your throat, “Just- give me a second, hold on.”

You watch pitifully as he jogs up the stairs, the already freezing cold room feeling so much colder without him sitting next to you, even in the mere seconds that he’s gone. It’s almost embarrassing how you came home early to see him, have missed him and his attitude so much, and then god forbid he walks away this cramped little apartment just feels empty. But within less than a minute you can hear his footsteps thumping down the wooden stairs, a large dark red comforter slung over his arm.

He can’t help but chuckle when he sees your eyes light up, gently shaking his head as he tosses the comforter over your head and watches you scramble to wrap yourself up in it, “How long were you home without considering a fuckin’ blanket?”

“Fuck off.” You mumble as you clutch the blanket in your shaking hands; it isn’t exactly warm, still cool to the touch from sitting on his cold bed, but it’s better than nothing. Shivers still run over your skin as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You can feel the cushions shift under Sukuna’s weight when he sits down on the couch. His eyes peer down to your shivering form laying up against his thigh, silently watching you for a moment as if he’s contemplating something. Without saying a word he squeezes up behind you, wedging himself behind you and pressing his chest against your back. His arm snakes over your torso, pulling you flush against him.

Your body grows stiff in surprise, a pink blush rushing to your cheeks, “What… are you doing?”

“What?” he mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “Not allowed to do something nice? Quit complaining.”

You can hear that signature smirk in his voice even without seeing his face, but the warmth radiating from him is undeniable. His arm tightens around your waist to anchor you to him and you could swear that he had heat radiating off of his chest, flooding into your cold skin and seeping through the blanket to chase away the chill that so stubbornly clings to your skin.

Hopefully he can’t hear the way your heart is pounding.

And although you’re grateful for the comforter wrapped around you, you’re silently cursing it for putting a barrier between you and Sukuna. You need more, need him impossibly closer to you, to wrap yourself up in his embrace and tighten your arms around him. You squirm in his grasp to try and free your arms, and an empty cold immediately strikes you when he releases you within a millisecond, parting himself from you and shoving his back into the cushions of the couch.

“Shit, I’m-”

You unintentionally cut him off when you turn around to face him, slinging the deep red comforter over his tensed up body. From this angle you can see his face and he looks… surprised? For the briefest moment you could catch a look of panic in his eyes before he settled, eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a small oh. As if he wasn’t the one who started this, but he’s silent as his apology is caught in his throat.

You tilt your head down and grip your fingers onto his waist, attempting to pull him back to you, “Why are you all the way over there? Come back.”

It takes him a moment, like he's trying to process what you'd said, before he shifts closer to press his body firmly against yours. You bury your head into the warmth of his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your thigh finds a comfortable space to slot between his legs. His arms wrap around you again, but this time he holds you closer like he's trying to keep you locked against him, caging you against his strong torso in a way that feels almost possessive.

But it's so nice, the protective hold in his arms feels so warm and comfortable; and not just because of the temperature difference. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined yourself wrapped up with him, but never in any of your guilty daydreams did it ever feel so intimate. You and Sukuna have never been quite this close to each other, usually sharing nothing more than passive aggressive elbow jabs while trying to share the bathroom sink in the mornings, or maybe the occasional moment where he'll grab your hand in his when he sees you're about to trip and his touch lingers just a little too long.

But now you’re wrapped up in him, the smell of cologne on his neck embracing your senses with a warm woody scent, the heat of his body dripping onto your skin until your shivers finally come to a stop. Your racing heart slows to a steady pace and you let your eyes fall shut for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet sounds of his breathing and his steady heartbeat.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment and the distant hum of wind outside. Sukuna’s warmth envelops you completely, seeping into your chilled bones in a way that no blanket ever could.

“Better now?” His voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek where it rests against him.

“Much.” You admit quietly, your breath tickling his neck.

“Good. Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.” He mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His tone is softer, almost fond, and his hand begins to draw lazy circles over your back.

You glance up at him, his face just inches from yours. His crimson eyes are half-lidded, his usual smirk softened into something gentler. You rarely see him like this, but lately you’ve been witnessing it more and more; he’s relaxed, unguarded. It’s a side of him that’s both unfamiliar and heart-achingly endearing.

“You’re awfully cozy for someone who didn’t want to be touched.” You tease, tilting your head slightly to study his reaction.

He scoffs, his cheeks darkening just enough to make you wonder if he’s blushing, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be this pathetic about it. Consider it a favor.”

“A favor?” You raise a brow, unable to hide your amused grin.

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, though his arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

Despite his words, you can feel the contradiction in the way he holds you, his grip firm and unyielding as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around him tighter, hoping this so called favor doesn’t have to end.

“You’re warm.” You mumble, almost to yourself.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” His voice is a low warning, but it lacks any real edge.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. The air feels heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. His eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest second, and your breath catches in your throat.

“You’re staring.” He mumbles, but he doesn’t look away.

“So are you.” You whisper softly.

The tension between you grows, fragile yet electric, until finally, he huffs and shifts his gaze away, breaking the spell, “Go to sleep, idiot. You’ll need it for when the landlord shows up tomorrow.”

Despite the abrupt shift, his tone carries no real harshness, and the arm around your waist stays securely in place. You press your cheek against his chest once more, unable to resist a small smile.

“Fine.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax fully into his warmth.

He doesn’t say anything, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is answer enough. Whatever this moment between the two of you is, you’ll take it for now, tucked in his arms as the cold world outside fades away.

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! And thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive and patient with me during my writers block <3 I don’t think I’m fully back quite yet but I’ve made massive progress and I’m hopeful that I’ll be writing regularly again soon :) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[maccaccino]

where is my wife

Amazon review on this Morrow edition of "Good Omens" by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett I found this morning that left me laughing in tears right from the title.

... Actually, in hindsight, having seen the ineffable divorce™️ of Season 2, the fact that the only thing left on the cover is his glass of wine makes me so sad. It's like Crowley, having now been through all that, has left his glass of wine in the bookshop and is refusing to come back since Aziraphale is gone. Muriel doesn't really want to touch what Crowley left in the hopes he will be back soon and maybe still want his glass of "whine", whatever that is. He seemed sad last time they saw him, so that's probably what they meant by "whine".

.... Wait a minute though, did Aziraphale write this review?!? "WHERE IS MY WIFE?" ?!?!?

Okay it's time to tag him, this has gone off the rails and so have I. @neil-gaiman please explain. Thank you. (Love your work, actually. But also... What is going on here.)

Update, not even 10 hours after I originally posted this: Neil himself liked the post. I'm freaking out a normal amount about it.

PS: here's a lil thank you post for all the notes I'm getting, holy hell!!!

[blackrabb1t]

im learning so much more about recreational drugs than i ever needed to lmao and it's all for an upcoming post