#⚠starter

[vanitys-solitude]

@capostar // starter

"So even one of the Fingers isn't immune to getting kidnapped... There goes that theory..."

Hohenheim wasn't the type of person to care much for human endeavors or activity, but considering the fact that Faust knew a little about basically everyone of importance in the City, it would kill him to fall behind her on even one small thing. He didn't need to think too hard about what he knew of the Syndicate and it's higher ranking members - especially one tied to one the Sinners.

He adjusted his glasses with a gloved hand, the other disappearing into the pocket of his EGO coat.

"You're Lei Heng, Capo III of the Thumb, correct? I understand typical situations would call for silent acknowledgement and respect of your presence unless one wanted their tongue ripped out," Hohenheim hummed slightly. "but this isn't exactly a typical situation, so I hope you'll grant me some leeway. Could you spare a moment to humor my inquiries?"

[bigspinachpuff]

💚 INTERACTION CALL 💚

Hey there!

Whether you’re new around here or an old friend, this is your sign that Kronk is open for interactions, shenanigans, emotional bonding and adventures.

🥧 Want a thread? Let me know!

🥧 Want to send memes or asks? Please do!

🥧 Doesn’t matter if we’ve talked before or not—come say hi!

LIKE this if you’re open to interaction or would like me to drop something your way!

[leatherandbourbon-a]

Tag dump!

[stealthybomb]

Tag Dump! <3

[riddlemelater]

Last Call - M.R (Part 3)

masterlist | nav | part 1 | part 2

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

warnings: alcohol use/dependency, mentions of war, death, depiction of injury/blood, dark themes, post-war vibes, implied trauma, reader suffers from night terrors, Mattheo is being a little shit...

w.c: 4k

summary: Mattheo Riddle was sharp, charming, and haunted. Now he’s just a shadow at the bar—drunk, quiet, unraveling. You don’t know why you care. Maybe it’s who he used to be. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you like he doesn’t expect kindness anymore. But one things certain: you won't turn your back on him, not like the rest of the world already has.

The walls of Hogwarts would always feel like home to you, no matter what age you were, or how long it had been since you'd last stepped foot in the castle. There was just something comforting in the flickering sconces that lit every hallway, the warm crackle of wood burning that was always in earshot, or the distant smell of that evening's feast carrying through the air. Fresh pastry, roasted chicken, caramelised vegetables— all wafting through the heavy stone walls.

Your shoes clicked against the thick stone floors, the sound both familiar and comforting, reminding you of a younger version of yourself, trodding through the hallways as you tried to remember the route back to your common room. But something was amiss, something was different, and no matter how hard you tried to pinpoint it, you couldn't figure it out.

The halls were empty, for starters. Not just quiet, but empty. No portraits muttering to themselves or conversing with each other. No shifting suits of armour, or cheerful ghosts floating by. Not even the hum of magic in the air, something so small but so innately part of the school's charm.

No, all that remained was silence. Cold, hollow, silence.

You slowed your pace, gaze flickering to the stained-glass windows lining the corridor. They didn’t show the usual saints of Hogwarts or the heroic founders that you'd so often admired in your youth. Instead, they were blacked out. Not shattered or covered, but blank. As if the once colourful glass had been painted over with shadows.

Any attempt to peer outside was useless. Where you would normally catch a glimpse of the Scottish landscapes, the tall hoops of the Quidditch pitch, or even the distinct outline of the giant squid lounging in the Black Lake, there was nothing.

You squinted, as if by some miracle that might somehow bring the world back into focus, might claw something back from the nothingness. But instead, the darkness just stared back at you, cold and unflinching.

An unsettling sensation ghosted up your spine, like you'd suddenly materialised in some sinister, other world. One that looked exactly like Hogwarts, but in some twisted way wasn't.

Your feet moved as if they had a mind of their own, carrying you deeper into the castle. But with each step you took, you noticed something different, something wrong.

Each altered detail stuck out to you. As you passed the Great Hall, your brows furrowed at a stairwell you didn’t remember being there. Your fingers tensed at your sides as you turned down a hallway that definitely never existed. The air grew colder, and with each step, your chest burned as breathing grew harder and harder.

The torches were lit, but the flames didn’t flicker. They burned still and silent, blue-white and unnatural, casting no warmth over your chilled skin.

You didn't recognise your surroundings, and when, finally, blessedly, you heard a sound other than the gnawing stillness, your blood ran cold.

It wasn't comfort. It wasn't the chatter of students filing out of their classes, or the sound of cutlery clinking together as the feast began.

It was a scream.

A choked breath. A broken groan. Someone struggling to speak through clenched teeth— like they were drowning in their own blood.

Your walk became a run. Shoes pounding against the stone floors, echoing against the walls in sharp thuds. The persistent ache in your side forgotten, chest heaving with each laboured breath. You didn’t know what you’d find; all you knew was you had to get to whoever it was.

Before it was too late.

The corridor ended in an arched doorway, and the moment you crossed it, the world shifted. The warmth of Hogwarts vanished, flickered out like a flame with no more air. You were somewhere deeper now, older.

The walls were carved with symbols that seemed to squirm if you looked too long. The air damp and metallic, thick with the scent of earth, blood, and fire left to die.

And in the middle of it all— Mattheo.

Bound. Kneeling. Head bowed like he couldn’t lift it anymore.

You tried to call out, but no sound came. Your lips didn’t move. Your hands wouldn’t lift, no matter how hard you tried. Frozen, like you’d just caught the reflection of a Basilisk.

He looked up slowly. His face was drawn tight with pain, shadows under his eyes like bruises. Mattheo looked like hell personified; gaunt, bloody, and broken.

He heaved, gaze fixed on your face, eyes pooling with desperation. You tried again to reach out, to move closer and release him from the rope that dug painfully into his skin, but your feet felt glued to the floor.

Helpless you tried to call out to him, watching in horror as Mattheo’s figure lurched forwards once more, writhing, mouth wide in a soundless gasp of agony.

Growing desperate your pulse quickened, body twisting to look for a way out. But the hallway behind you was gone, you were trapped. Frantic now, your head whipped around scouring the stone walls for an explanation, for help, for mercy.

You were alone. Helpless but to watch as he squirmed in pain.

Nauseated, your gaze fixed on Mattheo. His body arched sickeningly, contorting as a silent, strangled sound wretched from his throat. His eyes wide and burning with terror.

Your own pulse roared in your ears as you tried to scream, pleading to Merlin, God— whoever— to make it stop.

Just as you were certain you couldn't watch another second, the scene before you began to warp— walls bending, light distorting, the sconces flickering and stretching like flames underwater.

It was like all oxygen had been stolen from the air, your throat too tight, lungs burning with each strained breath. Then, like a candle snuffed out between two fingers, darkness.

You gasped awake, thrashing against the damp sheets twisted tight around your limbs like ropes. Your pulse was hammering, sweat beaded on your forehead as your hands skimmed the damp sheets around you.

Gasping you propelled forward, panting as your bedroom came into focus. You blinked, head snapping from side to side, room illuminated only by one flickering candle you’d forgotten to blow out.

Mattheo wasn't here; he wasn't in agony. You weren't trapped. It wasn't real.

You didn’t move for a moment. Just sat there, spine rigid, chest heaving, hands fisted in the sheets like they were the only thing anchoring you to reality. You half-expected the candle to go out, for the silence to crack open again. Like the dream hadn’t finished with you yet.

But the candle on your bedside table only guttered in the quiet, its glow casting trembling shadows across the room. Your gaze fixed on it, unblinking, as if it might suddenly flicker out too. Cautious, anxious almost, you waited for it to morph once more into the still blue-white light from your nightmare.

Your pulse was still racing, still beating that sick rhythm in your ears like a war drum, but the change never came. Slowly, your fingers loosened, releasing the twisted fabric beneath them. You flexed your hands, not even noticing the way they shook as you held them out in front of you.

It was just a dream, you reasoned. Knees coming up to your chest without thinking, wrapping your arms around them as if to make yourself smaller— less exposed. Your forehead dropped to your knees, eyes fluttering shut as you let out a shaky breath.

Just a dream. A horrid, twisted dream you repeated in your mind.

The pressure behind your eyes was sharp, hot and searing, like something inside of you had cracked and hadn’t quite sealed right. That look in his eyes. That look of pure, unbridled fear settled at the forefront of your mind. Flashing across your vision, no matter how hard you tried to blink it away.

It had felt so real.

You pressed your forehead harder against your knees, squeezing your eyes shut. You knew what this was. You'd had dreams like this before—trauma dreams from the war. Not always like this one, but close enough. Dreams where you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t stop something from happening.

Couldn't protect someone from death.

Your body hadn’t caught up, so it didn’t matter what your mind said; didn't matter how many times you told yourself it was only a dream—it still felt like you'd been there. Like you’d failed him.

You pushed a shaky hand through your hair, dragging it back from your face. Your fingers snagging on the damp strands. Somewhere in the back of your mind, Mick Tolliver’s voice crept in—quiet and offhand, but echoing now in the quiet of your bedroom.

"Fellas like that? They don't come back clean, that's for sure."

You let out another long, shaky breath. You weren’t a seer. You didn’t have visions. This wasn’t that. It was your brain, dredging up things it didn’t know how to process. A pressure valve releasing in the ugliest way possible. You knew that.

But it didn’t make it any easier to sit with.

Your hands were still shaky by the time morning came. Showering had no effect; no matter how hard you scrubbed at your skin, it was impossible to wash the dream away fully.

Your appetite was non-existent; the thought of eating made you gag, never mind the uneasy feeling that had settled at the pit of your stomach. Even as you walked to work, your mind couldn't sit still, couldn't detach itself from the memory of Mattheo strung out and writhing before you.

"You're slow today."

The voice pierced through your clouded thoughts— Albion, already behind the bar with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and a crate of Odgen's Firewhiskey bottles in his arms.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze and glancing up at the voice disorientedly. You’d been standing still, one hand on a drinks tray and staring blankly at the wall of spirits behind the bar like they owed you something.

"Didn’t sleep," you muttered, realising Albion was expecting a response, and setting the tray down before your fingers dropped it. Avoiding his gaze, you busied yourself with unloading the glassware from the washer, wiping over the already dry glasses to keep yourself busy.

Albion didn't answer straight away. Just set the crate down with a thud, and looked at you the way someone might study a mirror that had fallen from the wall for fractures.

"You've looked better," he said finally. Not in a judgmental way, you knew he didn't mean it like that, but you could hear the concern in his voice as he said it.

"Thanks," you retorted flatly. You tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite land. More of an awkward grimace than anything. Your bottom lip stung beneath your teeth, willing yourself to keep it together.

But Albion didn’t push. He never did, and he didn’t look away either.

“You look like you didn’t come all the way back from wherever you went last night,” he commented, voice dry but quiet. "Is it the dreams again?"

Your hand paused mid-reach for a bar towel. Lips twitching as you tried to pretend he wasn't right. But he saw through you, immediately.

That was the thing about Albion. He noticed everything and always seemed to know the right thing to say, perks of being a bartender, you assumed.

You didn’t answer. Just nodded once and busied yourself wiping down the already-clean bar. Albion knew about the dreams more than anyone else; he was the only person you trusted not to have you checked into St Mungo's the minute you opened up about them.

Albion didn’t say anything for a moment. Just leaned against the back counter, arms crossed, watching as you lined up the tumblers with unnecessary precision. The silence stretched, but not unkindly.

“Is it still the same ones?” he asked, brow arching curiously. “From the war?”

You hesitated. That was usually the answer. But this time, it wasn’t true. You debated lying for a moment, but he always knew when you were lying to him. It was like a sixth sense, you weren't entirely convinced he wasn't a legilimens at times, no matter how much he denied it.

“No.” Your voice was quiet, ashamed almost. “A... different one.”

Albion tilted his head slightly, waiting. You took a breath and reached for the next glass, only to stop short, fingers trembling just enough to rattle it against the one beside it. Your eyes closed in frustration, grasping at the back counter to steady yourself.

Albion moved toward you and began placing tumblers onto the shelf like he'd not noticed. "You know," he spoke, sparing a glance over at your shaking hands, "some things in that part of town… they’re built to see your weaknesses before you even step inside."

You swallowed dryly and nodded, solemn and slow.

Albion gave a low chuckle, the kind that didn’t quite reach his mouth. “Always said you Gryffindors are terrible at keeping your noses out of trouble. And worse at pretending you don’t care.” He nudged a tumbler into place with a small clink, just as he fixed you with a stare. “Hearts on your sleeve's even when it’s bleeding through your jumpers.”

You laughed under your breath, even when he meant to chastise, Albion seemed to know how to make you crack a smile.

"Knockturn's a dodgy place, love. No wonder your mind's playing up again." He continued, softly and with the wisdom that people his age seemed to possess. "Don't let it get to you."

You nodded awkwardly and pressed your palms flat to the bar top. The polished wood was cool beneath your skin, grounding.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “It was stupid, Albion. I know.”

Albion let out a long, slow breath. Not disappointed. Not surprised. He'd probably expected you'd do it, likely even knew the second you made a move to leave the night before.

“Well... did you find him?”

“No.” You swallowed. "That Mick Tolliver's got a few loose cauldrons rattling around upstairs, though." A small smile spread across your face as you spoke.

Shuddering, Albion barked a laugh in agreement. "The world's full of strange folk. I knew Mick back in the day, he's harmless—but he's a bit... full-on. Knows how to talk a good game, right enough, but you can't trust a word out of his mouth."

Albion straightened, pushing off the back counter when you didn't reply. You were already wondering how much of what Tolliver had said was truthful, if Mattheo really was in any danger at all. Albion seemed to notice the thoughts swirling around, even if he didn't let on.

"Maybe he doesn't want to be found, love," he said, reaching for a bottle at the back of the bar. Something dark, and by the dust lingering on the neck, one that wasn't touched very often. "Whatever it is, he's bloody lucky he's got you lookin' out for him, eh?"

Your eyes dropped, despite his tone, you couldn't help but feel like you'd disappointed him, too. He'd warned you from the start not to get mixed up in this, yet here he was, still acting like you could do no wrong in his eyes.

He sighed as he uncorked the bottle, grabbing one of the clean tumblers he'd just stacked, and poured two fingers' worth without asking. The glass slid across the polished wood with a gentle scrape, stopping in front of you as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Drink that." He said gruffly, yet with more kindness and sympathy than you probably deserved, you'd done it to yourself after all. "Calms the nerves."

You stared at the drink for a second, then your fingers curled around the glass, eyes sweeping over him from the corner of your eye. He watched with an approving look as you took a long sip, the liquid burning as you swallowed nearly half in one gulp.

It certainly wasn't a calming draught, but it helped to settle your frayed nerves, at least.

"Was it him, then?" he asked eventually, once you'd swallowed the whiskey and your eyes had fluttered shut in contemplation. "In the dream."

Your jaw clenched as you gave the smallest nod. Embarrassed, almost, but grateful that it was Albion who was seeing this side of you. He didn’t sigh, didn’t offer comfort. Just looked past you at the dark window above the sink, deep in thought as he scratched at his beard.

“Some people,” he said, “don’t know they’re drowning ‘til they’re under. And even then, they won’t reach for help. Not unless they’ve got something left to hold onto.”

He had a way with words; sometimes he'd come out with things like this, and you'd just be left to sit with them. You set the glass down tenderly, glancing toward him.

“And you think I’m that something?”

“I think you want to be,” he said. “Which is worse, probably.”

You blinked. His answer hit hard, true in a way that made your chest tighten. But Albion had that bluntness about him, that ability to tell you something straight, no matter how hard it may be.

And it made you think. Did you really want to go chasing after ghosts? After someone you once knew— and, years ago, at that. You weren't so sure you could, not if it meant you'd never sleep well again.

“I can’t fix him,” you said finally, but you weren't entirely sure if it was Albion or yourself you were convincing. "I know that."

“No,” Albion agreed. “But you can make sure you don’t go down with him.”

Silence fell again, but it didn’t feel like judgment. Just quiet. Like he’d said his piece, and now it was up to you—cut your losses, or keep stringing yourself along.

“You plan on opening tonight?” you asked eventually, voice hoarse, dipped in humour. Grasping at straws, not wanting to speak anymore about the curly-haired boy who plagued your thoughts night and day.

Albion gave a dry snort. “Not unless you plan on helping me unload the rest of that Firewhiskey,” he gestured toward the crate, all seriousness gone from his face.

You nodded once and smirked a little at how easy things flowed between the two of you. How simple it was to have a difficult conversation and never worry about the aftermath. You grinned slightly, lifting the glass for another sip and swallowed what was left whole.

"Better get a shift on then, Albs." You said, straightening yourself up and dusting down your apron.

The next few hours passed in a blur of serving on autopilot and nodding at jokes you didn't really hear. You were split down the middle, tugged in two directions. But you kept circling back to one fact: You didn’t know Mattheo. He was just another customer at the end of the day.

Besides, he had friends. Friends who cared—even if they didn’t always show it. If he needed help, he had options. Theodore had all but crumbled at the bar not long ago when Mattheo was nowhere to be seen, and even Draco had seemed nervous when he asked after him. Which said more than words ever could.

If Mattheo Riddle truly was in danger—if he really had people after him—he should go to them. Draco Malfoy was one of Britain’s top Aurors, for Merlin’s sake. If anyone could protect him, it was Malfoy.

Not you.

You were being dramatic. Some stubborn Gryffindor streak you hadn’t outgrown. You weren’t responsible for him. No matter how much you wanted to help, it wasn’t your place.

You’d already felt guilty enough to go walking into Knockturn Alley, alone and with no backup plan if things went south. But that wasn’t bravery—it was stupidity.

It had just been a dream. A bad one. Your body would forget the worst of it soon enough. Your brain was already trying to file it away—into whatever drawer it kept nightmares full of fire and blood and people you shouldn’t care about.

Mattheo Riddle was not your problem. And by the end of your shift, you’d nearly convinced yourself it was true.

You left the bar that night with tired legs and a tighter chest, the sky above you heavy with clouds that didn’t break. The streets were wet from a drizzle you hadn’t noticed starting. You didn’t look over your shoulder once.

The curtains were already drawn, and you were certain you hadn’t left them that way.

You noticed it the second you stepped into your flat. The air was different — cooler, disturbed. The kind of change you didn’t notice with your eyes, but with your skin. Instinct.

Your hand hovered by the doorframe for longer than it should have. Listening. Waiting. Every nerve stretched taut like a bowstring. Fumbling silently, your fingers clutched your wand, drawing it out of your pocket slowly and pointing it ahead of you before you made any attempt to move.

Then you heard it. A thud. Not loud, but definite. Coming from your bedroom.

Your blood ran cold. Mind wandering back to Mick's words yesterday, "They'll come for you too."

Part of you wondered if you should call someone, but it was a small flat. Whoever, or whatever, was in your bedroom would have heard you by now; there was no time to write a letter to MLE or send a message via Patronus.

Not if you wanted to catch them before they caught you.

You exhaled shakily, knuckles white with how hard you were grasping your wand, and took a few tentative steps into the hallway.

You could hear it again, like bedsheets rustling around. Like they were looking for something. Perhaps you were being burgled, you reasoned, just an ordinary muggle thief searching for cash or jewellery. You inched closer to the door, cursing silently as the floorboard underneath your foot creaked loudly.

The rustling stopped.

You froze, wand raised, and heart hammering like it might crack a rib. The noise had definitely stopped, and no matter how much you reasoned with yourself, you couldn't get the image of a masked hit wizard waiting on the other side of the door.

You moved again, breath caught between your teeth as you edged toward the bedroom door like it might explode. Silently, your hand reached out, gently grasping the cool brass door handle and twisting it slightly. Your wand still pointed ready to use whatever curse came to mind first on your attacker.

As the door swung open, you inhaled sharply. A nasty knock-back curse on the tip of your tongue when your eyes settled on the intruder.

Collapsed halfway onto your bed, coat drenched, boots trailing muck across your floor like he'd dragged himself inside. Mattheo Riddle.

For a moment, nothing made sense. Like your brain had short-circuited from exhaustion and fear. Like your dream hadn’t ended, just bled into real life. Your first thought was that it wasn’t real.

“What the fuck?”

It came out sharp and breathless. Your wand stayed pointed. Your heart tried to claw its way up your throat. “What—how— Riddle what the fuck are you doing in my bed?"

He stirred weakly. Barely. Drunken.

You advanced one step, fury outrunning fear. “You broke into my flat? You broke in—why?”

Mattheo didn’t respond. Just slumped further onto the bed, like even holding his head up was too much.

"Godric give me strength," you whispered, your wand arm dropping limply by your side, rushing towards his slumped figure. His wand dangled uselessly from one hand, forgotten. His mouth was bloodied. One eye swollen shut.

"Mattheo," you hissed, unsure whether you wanted to slap him or tend to his wounds, "Mattheo, wake up!"

He didn’t. Just groaned once, barely conscious, arm pushing your fussing hand away, and passed out cold on your bed. He didn’t move again. Not when you dragged off his boots, not when you muttered every curse you knew— he just lay there, dead to the world, while you took the couch. Infuriated yet slightly relieved.

At least he wasn't dead, yet.

©️riddlemelater. 2025.

[soufflememes]

🩸▫⚠ Blood-themed starters ⚠▫🩸

Send [...] for my muse... Send [...] + 'reverse' for change roles

[ CRIMSON ] – is bleeding and tries to hide it from your muse.

[ STAIN ] – notices your muse covered in blood and panics.

[ WOUND ] – is trying to stop your muse from bleeding out.

[ DRIP ] – follows a trail of blood.

[ SMEAR ] – wipes blood off your muse’s face.

[ SACRIFICE ] – takes a blow meant for your muse and bleeds because of it.

[ SHIVER ] – loses too much blood and collapses in front of your muse.

[ PANIC ] – finds your muse unconscious and bleeding.

[ BLADE ] – is holding a bloodied weapon, unsure what just happened.

[ TRACE ] – presses a bloodstained handprint onto your muse before losing consciousness.

[ SCREAM ] – hears your muse scream and finds them injured, bleeding out.

[ RUIN ] – is covered in someone else’s blood and doesn’t know how to explain it.

[ OFFERING ] – deliberately sheds their own blood to protect your muse.

[ HALT ] – begs your muse to stay awake while trying to stop the bleeding.

[ SCARLET ] – is bleeding but smiles, saying it was worth it to keep your muse safe.

[kajda-sims]

willow creek starter home

Today i wanna share the first of the houses from my new youtube series — starter home from every neighborhood in the sims 4. The first house is from the Willow Creek as you can see. The houses is not the only basegame/specific expansion pack, it will comes with all i have. 🤗 All of them should by under the 20k simoleons (this one was a tight hehe) and it comes with some skillbuild items.

⚠ NO CC ⚠ don't forget to use bb.enablefreebuild and bb.moveobjects on

including  bedroom (double bed), full kitchen, dining and living area, bathroom (bath), front porch, small garden

download on patreon (always free) gallery ID: TytotCZ, find under the #kajdasims

T.O.U. don’t reupload this house, or do not redecorate or refurnish house and then upload

✨ more info and photos under cut! ✨

size: 20 × 15 price: 19 452$

more photos:

floorplan here:

[obs3ssedd]

❝ 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 ! ❞ - 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

⇨⚠︎︎ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 !¡⚠︎︎⇦ fluffy, soft!toji, black!reader

an. thought about this idea and decided to write it 😋.

- 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

- 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

You were always a curious person when it came to stuff you found interesting. Like for starters your lovers scar that was placed on his lip, you always asked yourself- how did Toji get the scar in the first place? You knew in the past he was apart of the Zenin clan but other than that that’s all you knew, he never really talked about his past with the clan which you didn’t understand why.. your curiosity always got the best of you which resulted you sleeping in the bed alone. In the dark. Without. Him. You stared at the ceiling with a small pout on your face as you thought back to the mini argument you guys had, you had asked Toji about his scar which he instantly brushed off but you being stubborn and not taking that as an answer you asked again which ticked him off.

You do admit..you’re at fault here..you shouldn’t have pushed his buttons and dropped it the moment he brushed it off. You huffed starting to feel bad for what happened..it seemed like it a very sensitive topic for him and you just brushed it off like it was nothing, you bit your bottom lip feeling your heart break a little, feeling a rush of guilt go through you, you huffed clenching your fist into the comforter tearing off the blankets and getting out of bed making your way to the living room, when you walked down the dark hall you heard small snores coming from the couch as you approached closer to him, when you stopped in front of the couch you saw how he was spread out like a grizzly bear sleeping soundly. You hummed to yourself walking closer to him plopping yourself on top of his bigger body snuggling close to him feeling his arm wrap around your waist holding you tightly with a small groan, he shuffled a little under you fluttering his eyes open at the weight on him. His eyes squinted at the ceiling adjusting to the darkness before moving his gaze towards you, you were snuggled up against his chest trailing along his shirt with small breaths.

Toji raised a brow but decided to not say anything squeezing your waist, feeling him squeeze your waist you shot up from his chest staring into his eyes as he stared back with a bored expression, you gave him a small smile sitting up now straddling his waist. “Good morning sleepy head.” You tried to joke with a small grin but in response you got a grumble. You bit your lip looking down at his chest continuing to trail along it, “Are you still mad at me?” You whispered, for a few second Toji didn’t say anything but grumble in response taking his hand to be placed on the back of his head staring up at you, you frowned not getting a response slouching a little. “Baby..” Toji yawned with a big sigh, “Mhm?.” He questioned making you furrow your eyes brows clenching his shirt, he acted like he didn’t hear you. But instead of getting mad you breathed in and out, “I asked if you’re still mad at me.” You said again, Toji raised a brow with a shrug. “Not anymore really. It’s not serious.” You shook your head not taking that as an answer. “But it is serious, if it wasn’t you would be in bed with me right now.” Again he sighed now sitting up keeping you on his lap, “Guess you got a point.” He said playing with the hem of your shirt looking down, you could tell it still bothered him by the way he’s acting, looking down, fiddling with your shirt- he would only do this when he’s upset. 

You sighed once more placing your hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb on his soft skin feeling him lean into your touch, “Toji, I know you’re still bothered about what happened earlier.” You started, “I’m sorry for not listening and not dropping the topic the moment you got defensive about it, it seems like it’s a sensitive topic for you and i’m sorry for brushing it off.” You said hearing a small hum in response, hands wrapping fully on your waist. You trailed your thumb to the scar on his lip softly caressing it, “You also shouldn’t be ashamed about it..it’s unique. You should love it like i do.” You whispered leaning down to kiss the scar with a soft smile looking back at him. Toji felt his heart skip a beat feeling a small wave of heat on his face, hiding it between your neck holding you much closer. You chuckled feeling his soft breathes tickle your neck, playing with the back of his hair. “You’re such a big baby.” You said with a small smile as he smiled too. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[kisszuki]

"Permission?"

✧.* Pairing: bsf! Hyunjin x fem!Reader

⚠ → Manipulative Hyunjin, kissing, suggestive content.

★・・・・・・★

You and Hyunjin were best friends. You met around 3 years ago and ever since then you’ve been attached by the hip.

You were definitely the innocent type. So innocent that when it came to Hyunjin putting his hand on your thigh and sliding it up a little bit too high, you didn’t think it was abnormal for your relationship.

You never did mind, for starters you had the hugest crush on him. You also love and trust your best friend more than anyone. He only ever wants the best for you.. always.

The one thing you guys haven’t done tho, was kiss.

"Jinnie, can we put on a movie please?" you asked him softly. "Anything for you gorgeous." He said while picking up the remote. You guys were currently cuddled up in your bed, your head on his chest and his arm around your waist.

"This is so cheesy" you said cringing. He had put on a rather corny romance movie on. He chuckled. ‘these are the best types of romance movies tho, my love’ he said slowly and softly kissing your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

You blushed. "jinnie.." you said whining. He laughed again looking at you.

You looked perfect at the moment.

He just stared at you. God he loved you. He loved how you cared about him and how you made sure he was important and loved. He loved how you never declined or pushed away his love and affection, even if he was getting a little too close for comfort. He loved you.

And he wanted a kiss, really bad.

★・・・・・・★

"You love me right?"He suddenly asked. You looked at him worried, "of course I love you jin, don’t ever question it." you said reassuring him.

"So since you love me, you would do anything to make me happy right?" he questioned. He felt slightly bad for manipulating you to get what he wanted, but he simply couldn’t wait anymore.

"Yes anything."you said, a determined look in your sparkly eyes.

"Well I was wondering if I could get a little… kiss perhaps?"

"A kiss?"you asked not even slightly surprised. "Yeah, it would make me feel a lot better right now." he said with a pout on his face.

You lifted your head up higher and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Better?" You asked brightly.

‘That’s not the kiss I wanted princess..’ Hyunjin said disappointed.

"I want a kiss on the lips baby.." he whispered leaning in a little closer. His mouth was inches away from yours.

So you granted his most wanted desire.

You continued slowly making out, giving each other sloppy and tired kisses, letting out soft moans every now and then. "Not yet pretty" he said in between kisses when you tried pulling away.

"I don’t need permission to do this anymore right gorgeous?"

You shook your head, slightly hesitating. But, you had to make your best friend happy again.

★・・・・・・★

You weren’t even sure if you wanted this, even tho you liked him lots, if felt a little weird. But, nonetheless, you did it too please him, to make him feel better.

Because that’s all that mattered to you. He didn’t need permission,

right..?

edited 11/5/23

[miratenebrarum]

@ervaurem

[ src. ] ⚠ ( and romeo initiating it?? gasp :3c )

⚠ -- a kiss before a battle

They could deal with Carcasses, for the most part. They became less and less with every day passing, and while they seemed to get more aggressive everytime a new group of them fell under their blades, P was rarely nervous around them -- at least, as long as he was by himself. P was used to fight alone, after all. Swing his weapon recklessly, jumping in the eye of the storm, blowing things up left and right, uncaring of the blood he shed, of the destruction he caused, of the possibility of being slain in battle.

He would be healed. He would've fixed things. He would've come back to life.

Fighting together always felt like a new experience, even with someone as - if not more - skilled as him. He had to make sure not to step on his feet, or use the Flacon Eye too close, for starters. Avoid unnecessary risks. Avoid death, more than anything to make sure Romeo wouldn't get upset. He already got a little too close to it just a few moments before, when they took down the first group some inhabitants of Krat saw at the edge of town, and having Romeo check on him, making sure he wasn't too hurt even after using a Pulse Cell, made him feel.

Odd.

A feeling too close to the one he felt back when the King first introduced him to the concept of embarassment, one he didn't really focus too much to instead get a move on, reach for the second group of monsters before they could hurt someone else. Or he would've, if Romeo didn't stop him. Nothing too forceful, of course: P took just a step forward before the taller caught his attention with a quick 'wait!', placing the hand that wasn't currently holding his weapon on his shoulder, making him turn around in time to see Romeo bend over.

...to see Romeo kiss him.

Eyes widen after a blinking once, twice, three times -- his body stiffening for the seconds they remained close, ignoring the burning on his cheek, the danger, everything in favor of that gesture.

Why is he doing this?

One second. His shoulders tense up.

Why now?

Two seconds. They relaxed, he blinked.

...who care?

Three seconds, and by the time he dared to lower his eyelids, timidly lifting a hand to barely brush on Romeo's cheek, moving more out of instinct than anything else, the other broke the kiss, leaving P to tense up once more, looking up to him with the most dumbfounded of expressions, equally confused and, admittedly. A bit disappointed.

Alright. What was that.

[vanitys-solitude]

@fiestywolfchild // starter

Hohenheim... was not very good with kids. Or maybe it was better to say "he didn't know enough kids even when he himself was a kid so he's never been good with kids." But he didn't dislike them. He was just generally indifferent. But when they were interrupting his blissful moments of silence, in the one place in the world that was supposed to be silent, it was hard to ignore them.

Didn't kids go to school in this place?

He tried to ignore her. But it was hard to ignore a kid when everything else was blissfully quiet save for the scampering of little feet. She seemed well-behaved, thought definitely not in the part of the library that would be of interest to a child her apparent age.

He closed the book he was leafing through with a sigh.

"Hm. Excuse me," Wings, how was he supposed to talk to children? Did he just talk to them like adults? "Do you need help finding the children's section or something? I think the books here are a little much for someone your age."

[bigspinachpuff]

So, I decided to make a list of posts through which you can interact with me.

🥧 PROMPTS (You can send any of them to my inbox. They are all open. Of course, you can also send something unprompted)

🥧 PERMANENT STARTER CALL (The starter will most likely be neutral. Although, I may write it with a fluff/horror/angst tinge, depending on the personality of your muse. If our muses have not interacted yet, then this will be their first meeting)

🥧 FLUFF STARTER (This starter is already aimed at fluff. It is assumed that our muses already know each other)

🥧 SHIP STARTER (This starter is aimed at a pairing between your muse and Kronk. It is assumed that there is already a little chemistry between our muses, or it is just starting to appear. If you want, I can continue writing NSFW with you, or develop a purely platonic romantic relationship)

🥧 LET ME FILL YOUR INBOX (I will send you a lot of your prompts/memes)

A few reminders:

I will not ship Kronk with your muse if your muse is under 21. But if you have a verse where your muse is over 21, you can specify it. By the way, Kronk in different verses is from 28 to 33+ years old.

If you wish, you can choose any of my verses for interaction. The Reformed Kronk verse is used by default.

I have a Kuzco's Advisor verse. In this verse, Kuzco and Kronk have a pretty close relationship. It so happened that this verse was divided into two parts, that is, there is a part where Kronk is just an advisor, and there is a part where he is already dating Kuzco. If you want to interact in this version, you can specify this point too, if it is important to you.

[bloodyarn]

      𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐔 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 :

⚠ Please make sure to mention the verse when sending asks/starters. If not, they will be answered in Babette's main verse, which can be found on my carrd. ⚠

────────────────────────

✦ Hag!Babsi ✦   —   Baldur's Gate III

tag: # ✂  ˚ The Slaughtered Lamb ˚⠀⠀/ v. bad ending .

Babette's bad ending. Follows the occurrences of her quest line when accepting the end of her pact. She will turn into her patron's kind   —   a hag. Hardly recognizable personality wise, unhinged, sadistic, chaotic.

────────────────────────

✦ BrokenPact!Babsi ✦   —   Baldur's Gate III

tag: # ✂  ˚ Tailor Of The Gate ˚⠀⠀/ v. good ending .

Babette's good ending. Follows the occurrences of her quest line when declining the ritual  &  killing her patron. She loses her witch's turn  &  her warlock abilities, but is a very happy little lady. She will work in her family's tailor shop after completing the main story line.

────────────────────────

✦ JJBA!Babsi ✦   —   Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

tag: ✂  ˚ Fashion Of His Love ˚⠀⠀/ v. jjba .

(description could vary depending on Part/timeline)

A very busy stylist owning a salon/tailor shop in the bustling heart of England. Babette obtained her stand in her early twenties, which she almost didn't survive, thus is not as experienced in fighting or handling it. 

────────────────────────

✦ Modern!Babsi ✦   —   not set

tag: # ✂  ˚ Wary Workaholic ˚⠀⠀/ v. modern .

Same as Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, but without funny stand ability. 

────────────────────────

✦ Beetlejuice!Babsi ✦   —   Beetlejuice / General horror + fantasy setting

tag: # ✂  ˚ Occupational Retraining ˚⠀⠀/ v. beetlejuice .

After being tricked by a demon, who was close to cheat themselves past the pearly gates, Babette lost her job at the Heaven's registration office. With it, her title as an angel  &  her home. Not good bad enough for hell, she now lives in the Neitherworld, working as a receptionist in hopes to maybe get back to heaven somehow.

────────────────────────

[angeledoe]

﹙ #️ ANGELEDOE., ﹚  𓂅  is an independent ﹙ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴜᴍ — ʜɪɢʜ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛʏ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴇxᴄʟᴜsɪᴠᴇ ﹚ portrayal of Rachel Amber from Square Enix's Life Is Strange series. Canon  /  canon divergent portrayal, influenced by my own headcanons and metas and pieces of canon and other source material, however largely written as an original character within fandom based verses.

⚠  —  PRIOR TO FOLLOWING  +  INTERACTING: Do not follow or interact in any way if you are under eighteen or if you are a personal blog. Potentially triggering themes and topics ﹙ including but not limited to: alcohol and drug abuse, child neglect and mistreatment, and kidnapping﹚ to be present and discussed here, so follow, interact and move forward with caution.

ᴀғғɪʟɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇxᴄʟᴜsɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ.,  𓂅 arcadiaes, malka-lisitsa. ᴀғғɪʟɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ.,  𓂅 ner0tic, cfthesoul.

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.,  𓂅 ⁰¹  portrayal notes.    ⁰²  inbox prompts. ⁰³  open starters. ⁰⁴  pinterest. ⁰⁵  playlist:  side a  /  side b. ⁰⁶  self promotion. ⁰⁷  sideblog.

[sigyns-drafts]

Can you please do a Smite Persephone X Hades story where Hades is walking around the Underworld and sees a few new plants growing. He follows them and meets Persephone from there

A/N: Yes of course anon! I'd love to write about those two, especially from smite! Thank you for the idea starter ♡

In whistling spirits can be growth🥀☠️

Smite! Persephone x Hades

➩ Hades finally gets a day off from the battlefield and decided to spend it well. As he takes a stroll through his underworldy kingdom, trying to not be bothered by the spirits of his domain, he sees a familiar flower.

One Persephone must have created. Curiosity gets the best of him and he follows it, leading him to find persephone in a secluded corner of his realm. What was she doing there?

➩ Reader type: none.

⚠: Romantic Fluff!!

Hades, the god of the underworld, had decided on taking a stroll through the shadowed corridors of his realm.

Relieved to have a moment of peace from the usual battles and disputes he had to endure up above the underworld with the other gods and the many different pantheons.

He felt himself even get a headache just imagining what they could be up to at that moment. At least he was not involved.

The echoes of the lost souls whispered around him as he floated along his dark halls, with dimly lit candles upon the wall so he was able to navigate where he was going.

"Lord Hades.."

"Hades, hold on.."

Was all the god heard, weak and faint voices, before he swiftly moves his hand in a gesture to shoo the spirits away.

Ignoring them as it was practically his day off.

"Not now, my people..take it up with Thanatos. He'll surely help you guys!"

But before the spirits could continue to nag their ruler or Hades, push further responsibility onto Thanatos.

A peculiar sound caught Hades's attention!

He turned around to find a row of eerie, whistling pink flowers with skulls nestled in the centre of their petals.

A faint smirk played on Hades' lips as he recognized them right away, the touch of his wife, Persephone had been here.

Intrigued, Hades followed the unusual trail of these particular blooms. The path led him to a secluded corner of the underworld, one he swore he didn't have.

Where Hades soom found Persephone, calmly tending to her morbidly charming garden. A strange unknown light source shines from above and down on her.

Making the moment Hades lays his eyes on her even more magical, than the first time he had seen his beautiful wife.

Persephone looked up with a mischievous glint in her own eyes, her red plump lips curving into a playful smile.

This causes the God of the dead, once he realized her gaze was on him, to gulp, his blush spreading across his face slightly. Hades's heart pounding hard in his chest.

"Hades, my love, fancy a stroll through my garden of the dead?"

Hades raises an eyebrow, his stoic demeanour slightly softened by the unexpected invitation, as well for his genuine love for love.

So this is what it was, a garden of the dead. Once an area Hades's hadn't known about until Persephone turned it into something rather nice.

"What mischief have you been up to now, my dear Persephone? This is the underworld..not a forest."

Hades cracks a small pun to calm his nerves which he was very good at masking at times.

Just like he had hoped the redheaded goddess laughs, elegantly covering her mouth with her long & pale hand.

"Just adding a touch of life to the afterlife isn't that bad now, is it. Care to join me in some gardening husband?"

Hades, surprised and very much intrigued by the offer, reluctantly nodded in agreement.

He approaches his wife closer, floating over to her before slowly touching the cold, yet strangely grassy ground.

This was her doing for sure!

Hades stares at Persephone rather clueless, like a lost puppy.

Unsure of what he was supposed to do now, as he had never planted anything in his life before. All this causing Persephone's heart to skip a beat and almost melt into pieces.

To be a ruler of the underworld, Hades was usually so fierce looking and cold, not exactly the ideal person you'd approach at first sight.

But he really was just a naive big silly dog at heart! The goddess was convinced.

Persephone, as a start hands Hades a skeletal bloom of her creation, and they're set to start working.

"Listen Hades, it's simple! Just dig in the ground and place it gently in.."

However, Hades, despite following persephone's instructions, fumbled with the delicate task. Somehow failing miserably with it.

"This is not my domain, Persephone. I rule over the dead, not flowers.."

Hades sighs, feeling defeated, watching the bloom of persephone's creation whistle away to nothing but just the skull.

Persephone chuckled lightly again, actually taking pity on her husband and appreciating his best efforts.

"Fear not, my love. Gardening is an art, even in the realm of the dead. Allow me to show you the way once more."

With a detirmend glimmer in her eyes, one she knew would bring Hades's spirit back up again.

Persephone gently took Hades' cold dark hands and guided him in the intricate dance of planting, as well as nurturing.

Hades, surprisingly compliant, followed her lead like an eager apprentice.

His eyes watched in awe at what they were able to do together as a team!

"See, it's all about gentleness and patience. The dead can bloom just as beautifully as the living~"

Hades, caught up in the unexpected joy of the moment, found himself smiling.

"You're so right, sweetling! Thank you!!"

Together, they transformed the once lonesome and desolate corner of the underworld into a garden that gave the underworld a glimpse of life.

As they worked side by side, Persephone couldn't help but appreciate the rare moments of warmth and connection with her beloved Hades.

Even in the depths of the underworld, where the winters were the coldest!

[kajda-sims]

brindleton bay — seaside starter home

I bringing you a starter home download for your sims! located on a waterfront property in brindleton bay. It comes under 20k simoleons and with a few skillbuild items.

⚠ NO CC ⚠ don’t forget to use bb.moveobjects on

including: bedroom (double bed), full kitchen, dining and living area, bathroom (shower and toilet), porch and terrace in the back for sunbathing

DOWNLOAD on patreon (always free) download on ts gallery gallery ID: TytotCZ, find under the #kajdasims

T.O.U. don’t reupload this house, or do not redecorate or refurnish house and then upload

✨ more info under cut! ✨

size: 20 × 20 price: 18 112$