#that they're putting the world into too much strain

[ink-ghoul]

do you think that 'lag' is something that physically hurts the player?

like a headache or something?

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag III

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Baby!Reader

Summary: When Emma and Frida found you

Frida is leaving for England.

Arsenal have been interested in her since the season began so it was only natural that she went off there to develop her career further.

But, still, Emma doesn't want to see Frida leave.

Frida occupies a space in Emma's heart that she can't put into words. Frida is everything to her, the air, the ground, the sky and the stars.

But Emma would never discourage Frida from finding her place in a league abroad.

Frida deserves everything in life, even if it's half a world away from where Emma is looking after their home in Sweden.

It will be different in the beginning, Emma knows this, but together there isn't much they can't overcome.

But, still, she'll miss the way Frida's body feels against hers. Even now, as they sneak around the back of the training centre to kiss.

It's not the most professional they've ever been but she just can't help herself when it comes to Frida.

"E-Emma," Frida says in a hushed tone, pushing Emma's roaming lips from her neck," Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Emma pulls away, glancing around for whatever errant sound Frida has heard.

"I..."

There's nothing but the breeze in the wind, the rustle of leafless branches in the height of winter.

It's absolutely freezing. It's predicted that this is to be the coldest day of the year.

"Nothing," Frida says," I must have imagined it."

Emma's lips go back to her neck, leaving dainty kisses all over her skin. Each one a labour of love, red hot in a way that feels beautiful as the snow falls around them.

Emma stops though, pulling away again.

"No," She says," Wait. I think I can hear it too."

It's faint, barely audible whimpers and whines that are getting more and more quiet as they go on.

But Emma and Frida are alone in an icy cold wasteland.

There's not even birds in the trees. Yet, now that Emma's straining her ears, she can hear the noises with crystal clear clarity.

She shivers as another freezing breeze cuts through her like a knife.

"I...I think it's coming from over there," Frida says, looking over at the clump of dense bushes over by the bins.

"Stay here," Emma says, wary of if it's some wild animal," I'll go and luck."

"Emma-"

"Stay here, Frida. I'll check it out."

She approaches the bushes carefully, slowly in case the animal jumps at her.

But there's no animal.

Just you.

"Emma?" Frida calls, watching as Emma lowers herself to her knees," What is it?"

Emma turns, a singular blanket in her hold and, in that blanket, is you.

"I...I think we need to call an ambulance," She says shakily," I-I think she's been abandoned."

You're tiny, smaller than any baby that Frida's ever seen before. You don't look good either. You're obviously freezing, little lips turning a concerning shade of purple and the cries from your mouth are getting quieter and quieter the longer you're outside.

Teammates clamber over themselves to help when Emma and Frida run in with you.

Somewhere along the way, Frida loses her top when it's clear that you're either nearly hypothermic or already developing it. Skin-to-skin seems to be what's best for you as you lay weakly on Frida's chest with layers of blankets over you both.

Now that she can see you properly, it's with a sinking feeling that she realises how underweight you actually are. You're nothing but skin and bones as Frida holds you close while they wait for the ambulance.

"They're calling her the Linköping baby," Emma says softly," The staff and the girls, that is. Word has spread pretty quickly."

"That's unfair," Frida replies, her own voice barely above a whisper as she feels your lungs inflate shakily against her," They can't call her that. She needs a name."

"They don't think she's going to survive," Emma says," Even before the ambulance gets here. She's in bad shape. They don't think she's going to make it."

"And you?" Frida finally tears her eyes away from you to look at her girlfriend. "What do you think?"

"I think..."

Your head barely pokes out from under all of the blankets, your eyes half open. You're not moving much. It seems to almost be too much effort to even breath, like everything in you is fighting to do something as basic and instinctual as that.

Emma didn't know what to expect when she looked in that bush. You were laying there, weak and unmoving in just a singular blanket and a thin onesie. One could almost mistake you for being asleep if it weren't from the stilted way your chest rose and fell and the way faint noises would escape your mouth every so often.

"I think...I think she's a fighter."

"I think so too."

Emma can tell what Frida's thinking before Frida herself even knows what she's thinking. She can tell by the way Frida's holding, you the way she's looking at you, the way she presses a soft kiss to the wispy hair at the top of your head.

Emma can tell because she's thinking the exact same thing.

"She looks like you," Emma says, starting off gently," Don't you think?"

Frida giggles a little bit. "I was thinking she had your nose. What part of her looks like me exactly?"

"Her hair, maybe," Emma says," And I'm sure once she opens this eyes of hers, they'll be like yours."

"You don't know that."

"I think I do."

"She might never open them," Frida says suddenly," If everyone is thinking she won't come out of this. They might never open."

"She will. She's a fighter."

Frida's throat bobs. "But if she doesn't...What would they even put on her grave? The Linköping baby?"

"You want to name her?"

"Everyone deserves a name. No matter how little they are."

"Then name her."

"I-"

"Ambulance is here," One of their teammates pokes their heads through the door," Medics are coming in now. They said to stay put."

"Y/N," Frida says suddenly.

"Huh?" Emma asks.

"She looks like a y/n."

You're tiny and malnourished and halfway to death's door. The possibility of you surviving the night is astronomically low.

But you have a name now and, in Emma's mind, you have a bedroom at home. A bedroom with a soft, warm crib and a dog companion who would just adore you. A bedroom in a house full of toys and soft clothes and two mothers who would adore you too.

A first name and a last name from the mothers who found you freezing cold in the dead of winter, buried in a bush as snow fell over you.

"Yeah," Emma says as the paramedics rush in," She does."

[luveline]

hi can i request girl dad!aaron 🥺🥺 i am such a sucker for him, anything would be amazing thank you so much <3

hope this is okay!! —you have big news for your small family. 1.5k pregnant!mom!reader

When you first married his father, you weren't expecting Jack Hotchner to like you very much. Losing his mom so young, you wouldn't have blamed him for resenting you, or even hating you. You were like a stranger in his home. 

Things are different now. Jack lays in your lap with his head on your shoulder, and maybe he's a little too old for such a coddling cuddle, but who really cares? You love him and you love holding him, and if he wants some extra comfort tonight you're happy to give it. Plus, you have something you've been meaning to tell him.

“He doesn't have real headlights, did you know?” Jack asks. “They're just stickers.” 

You raise your brows at the car on screen. “No kidding.” You brush your fingers through his hair. He's blonde like his mom, though that blonde has turned brown the older he gets. 

“Race cars don't have headlights.”

“They don't need them,” you say. Jack smiles at you shyly and leans into your neck, clearly pleased. 

You're very, very glad that you ended up being someone he loved. It's a privilege to get to look after him, and to be his step mom. In the same way you're lucky to be Aaron's partner and Jane's mom, too. 

“Think dad's made dinner?” you ask. 

“No, he's probably just talking to your sister.” 

Yes, well. You can't blame him, nor would you want him to stop. He talks to Jane like she understands, and Jane, not even two years old, nearly brand new to the world, soaks him in. You can hear him if you strain, the dulcet cadence of his voice under the steady hum of the dishwasher. 

“That's okay, sweetheart, don't get upset,” he's saying, “it's okay. Come here, I've got you.” 

Jane starts to cry. You and Jack give one another the look, apprehensive in hoping it won't turn into a full blown melt down. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. “Sorry, where did you put her other pacifier?” 

You kiss Jack's hair. “Sorry, bub. Wanna come with me?” 

Jack wants to stay and watch Cars. You wrap him in a throw blanket and make your way into the Hotchner kitchen, where Aaron rifles through the drawers and cabinets with Jane held snugly to his chest. “I know,” he says, “I know. I'll get it.” 

You nudge him aside. You only know where the spare pacifier is because you put away the wooden spoons last night and pushed it back. You fish for it, a ladybug made of glittery red plastic, and Jane's crying slows as soon as you pull it free. She grizzles while you rinse it, but she settles when you hand it over. 

“This is not the best, is it? The pacifiers?” you murmur. 

“She dropped her other one and it rolled under the oven. And no. Not ideal.” He pats her back gently. “As long as she stops before she gets her big teeth, she'll be okay.” 

“Do you think it's a comfort issue?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. You worry about stuff like this constantly, but he knows kids are more hardy, and he isn't worried. “Sorry for making you get up.” 

He hates when she cries; he may see his kids as a hardy bunch, but he takes their upset as a personal failure half the time. His concern for her overrides his concern for you, but in a few weeks that might change. You can't imagine him calling you to find something again when your stomach is round as a honeydew. 

You've been meaning to tell him about that, too. 

You're not secret-keeping immorally, he does want another baby, but you've been having a little bit of fun. He's gone on cases so often lately that he hasn't been able to keep track of you, or your doctor's appointments.

You watch him with Jane, and you think about him with Jack, and you know he's going to be happy. He's told you as much before. 

“My poor girl,” he says, covering the back of Jane's head with his hand and pulling her under his chin. He looks as fine as ever, tall, dark and handsome to a fault. Jane's lips smack as she sucks and digs her teary cheek into his chest. 

You can feel his gaze on you. “Is now a good time?” he asks. 

You shrug. “For what?” 

“To tell me what you're not telling me.” 

“Oh, busted,” you croon, aiming for his shoulder. 

You do as Jane had and press your cheek to his front, your eye forced shut. 

“What do you think it is?” you ask. 

He makes a strange noise. You can practically hear the possibilities for your secret running through his head. His birthday is vaguely soon, so that's what he'll settle on first. But Aaron likes to disregard the obvious as most people do, only circling back to it when there's no other lead to follow. 

“How big of a secret is it?” he asks, rubbing Jane's back diligently. She makes a happy sound, and for a moment he forgets his plight to kiss the top of her head. 

You speak quietly, carefully, because it is big, huge news. “The pamphlets say it’s about the size of a strawberry.” 

He puts his cheek to Jane's head softly, looking at you in confusion. A second, another, and his eyebrows start to relax, rise, a smile on his lips like it's too good to be true. “You are?” he asks in surprise.

Jack appears in the doorway with the throw blanket trailing behind him. “Y/N, when are you coming back to watch TV?” 

“Jack, lovely, come here. I have something to tell you,” you say. 

Aaron grabs your wrist. When you meet his eyes, he squeezes gently. “You're sure?” he asks. 

“The doctor seemed pretty certain, handsome.” You lower your voice as Jack comes to stand in front of you. “Are you happy?” 

“Happy about what?” 

You put your hand on your stomach cautiously, worried about Aaron and how quiet he's being, and if it's as okay to tell Jack as you'd thought, but that action is what gets him. “I love you,” he says quizzically, as though his being happy is totally dependent on the fact. “Of course I'm happy. This is the best secret you could've kept.” 

“About what?” Jack asks, patting your arm. 

You bend down just a bit to see his face properly. “It's a secret you can't tell anyone for a while, okay? The only people who can know for now are me, you, and dad.” 

“Can I tell Jane?” he asks. 

“Yeah, buddy, you can tell your sister,” Aaron says. 

You peer at him from the corner of your eye, both concerned and pleased to see the wetness ringing his waterline, and the tenderness with which he holds Jane close, his thumb rubbing little circles into her back. 

“I'm going to have another baby,” you say. 

Jack's jaw drops. “Right now?” 

“No, not right now! You still remember last time?” you ask with a laugh, taking his shoulders into your hands. 

“You were crying and shouting for dad to hold your hand.” He pokes your stomach. “So it's like Jane?” 

“Maybe one day, sweetheart. For now, it's just a tiny baby.” 

Jack wants to see your stomach. He's expecting a much bigger bump than you have to offer, but you explain that eventually it'll get bigger again, and he seems quite pleased. Aaron makes sure to give him a hug and ask him if he's okay, to which Jack says, “Yes, but can we have a brother this time?” 

You rub the soft top of your stomach. “I'll see what I can do, Jack.” 

Aaron commandeers your attention, kissing you more times than you can count. You don't think you've ever seen him this happy now the reality has truly set in, asking Jane in his murmur, “Do you want to be a big sister?” 

She gurgles around the pacifier, leaving drool in a line down his chest. 

“I know, honey. I'm excited too. Let's clean you up, mm? And make mommy a cup of hot cocoa…” He narrows his eyes at you. “Would you sit down?” 

“I'm only ten weeks, I'm fine.”

“She's keeping secrets from me, and now she won't do what I'm asking,” he says to Jane. “Can you believe it? Anyone would think mommy doesn't like me as much as she claims.” 

You kiss his cheek. “M'having your baby, Aaron, again.” 

“That is a compelling argument.” He wipes Jane's cheek. “What do you think? Should we forgive her?” Jane laughs. He smiles at you, lovesick. You're not sure who for. “I guess we're letting you get away with this one, sweetheart. But no more secrets.”

“None,” you promise. 

[alicenpai]

my piece for the Hemisphere: a Witch Hat Atelier seasons themed zine! thank you for having me! they're having a leftovers sale until stock runs out 🖋🍀🌷🍁❄🌧 WIPs + inspiration board + symbolism under the cut! got some requests to put this on my inprnt! the site has sales very often & you can grab it as a small or big size print.

I had a pretty good idea of the composition from the get-go. I took inspiration from art nouveau (primarily Alphonse Mucha), German fairy tales, and some 1920s perfume ads. I wanted the girls to look like fairies, akin to The Root Children by Sibylle von Olfers.

Olly just didn't work out in this drawing due to time restraints. I do love him very much though.

I actually kinda stopped making illustrations like these (including the TGAA/DGS tarot card + TGAA/DGS zine pieces a while back) because they were starting to get very hard on my arm, as I had an RSI (repetitive strain injury) a few years back during school. (Not putting the onus on the zines at all ofc! I genuinely love working with zine projects! it's def a me thing WAHAHAHA. my style was getting too anime and too detailed for my liking and everything was just taking forever to finish ngl. but I didn't have time to experiment with a more simple style outside of all of my deadlines)

I think that realizing you need to stop is okay. It's something that Shirahama teaches us in her story and I want to learn to take it to heart.

---

MILD SPOILERS AHEAD (for those who havent read the story I guess)

each character's symbolism:

- Coco - spring, clovers - Coco is the quintessential spring girl, and I wanted her to symbolize new beginnings, and oh boy did Coco bring a big one. The four leaf clover in particular symbolizes luck and good fortune - to some characters, Coco may have brought fortune, to others her presence brings misfortune, take that as you will.

- Tetia - summer, gladiolus - the name "gladiolus" comes from the Latin word "gladius", meaning "sword", based on the shape of the flower. you can interpret it as "you pierce my heart", perfect for a girl like Tetia, who has a contagious energy, with a romantic and grandiose nature.

- Agott - autumn, marigold - I read somewhere marigolds symbolize strength and power, perfect for our little magical powerhouse Agott. They can also symbolize jealousy (yellow flowers in particular have this association), which reflects on her rivalry with Coco in the beginning.

- Riche - winter, snowdrop - The white color of snowdrops has a strong connotation to innocence, which reflects on Riche's wish to stay a child forever. It can also symbolize rebirth and new beginnings (like Coco's clovers), as the snowdrop is the first flower to bloom in the spring, when the snow has not yet melted. I wanted the concept of "rebirth" to associate with Riche's friendship with Euini, and of his sort of "rebirth" into a new being.

- Qifrey - he does not have a flower per se, but as the caregiver and educator of the four girls, he represents the rainy season - precipitation being the one thing that binds all of these seasons together. (Note some areas of the world do not have a rainy season like where I live). I think somewhere along the line I wanted to put hydrangeas behind him, to really bring out the "rainy" theme, but the thought probably got lost somewhere in translation...

- bg flowers - honestly I just picked whatever. white lily, daffodil, hydrangea, zinnia, tulip

[cressidagrey]

The Witching Hour - Chapter 4 - Morrigan

Summary: 

5 Times members of the Inner Circle get absolutely terrified by Azriel's...whatever she is, and 1 (of many) times Azriel thinks that his witch was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Warnings: 

Seeing the future, Mor bashing, mention of rough but consensual sex

(super pretty dividers by @cafekitsune)

"You invited who to lunch?" Mor breathed. Feyre looked at her, a flicker of something in his expression. Concern, maybe?

"Cate agreed to join us," she said, his voice steady. "She might be our best chance of helping Elain."

Mor closed her eyes. "You invited Cate to lunch? Are you serious?" she hissed at Feyre. “Does Rhys know about this?" Mor demanded. Probably not, because she was quite sure that her cousin would have put a fucking stop to it. 

Feyre let out a deep breath. "No," she admitted. "I haven't told Rhys yet."

Mor's eyes widened. "You haven't told him? Are you out of your mind?" she demanded. Rhys was going to be utterly furious and Mor couldn’t even fault him for it. 

At Feyre's side, Nesta let out a snort, a small smirk on her lips.

Hecate was… morally questionable on a good day. 

She disappeared for decades and then showed up somewhere, wrecking havoc only to disappear again. Morrigan was quite sure that she had fingers in every bit of political unrest of the last thousand years in some way or another. That was literally what she was known for. 

Witches were a dying breed, rare and often assassinated for the power they possessed...but nobody had yet managed to killed Hecate The Undying. Which was too bad. 

Feyre's irritation flared at Mor's words, but she tried to keep her voice steady. "Look, I understand your reservations about Cate, but...she's willing to help us with Elain. That's what matters right now."

Mor's expression darkened even further. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, Feyre,” she implored her friend. “Cate is... dangerous.” That didn’t even begin to cover it. Dangerous was a fucking understatement. “You don't want her involved in this."

"So everybody keeps telling. But nobody says what exactly makes her oh so dangerous," Feyre said with a roll of her eyes. Mor considered throttling her High Lady. "Azriel gets along with her so she can't be that bad, right?" Feyre asked her. Mor clenched her jaw, frustration welling up within her.

Feyre was always so stubborn, so determined to see the best in everyone. It was endearing but also infuriating.

"You don't understand," she said through gritted teeth. "Cate may look harmless enough, but she's...unpredictable. Unhinged. She has a history of crossing lines, of violating boundaries, both physical and mental.And while Azriel gets along with her," Mor continued, her tone sharp. "That's not a good thing. Azriel and Cate have a...complicated history, to say the least. They've gotten far too close, in more ways than one."

Feyre rolled her eyes. "I'm sure they've spent some time... together."

Mor wanted to grab Feyre and shake her. "That's putting it lightly," she said, her voice strained. "They've done much more than just spend time together, and their...relationship has never been entirely...healthy."

Feyre's expression remained unchanged. "So what if they've slept together?" she said, her voice calm and level. "They're both consenting adults. I fail to see why it's such a big deal."

Mor felt her irritation flare, and she struggled to keep her voice even. "You don't understand," she repeated, her tone bordering desperation. "What they do…it's...it's not normal. Not healthy. It's a toxic..habit."

"I like how you are comparing me to a mirthroot addiction."

Morrigan growled, turning around. There she was. 

Mor's gaze hardened as Cate made her entrance, strolling in as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It infuriated her how cavalier the female could be, as if she didn't have a care in the world. 

Yet, despite herself, Mor found her eyes being drawn to the female, taking in her effortless beauty. Cate hadn't changed over the centuries. Still breathtakingly beautiful.Yes, Cate was undeniably attractive, but she was also dangerous. Lethal, even.

Mor blinked as she took in the dress she wore. For one moment she may have called it modest, with long sleeves and a floor-length skirt...and then she blinked and the off-the-shoulder neckline revealed bruises and bite marks that covered Cate’s neck and shoulder.

Mor felt her eyes widening at the sight of the marks marring Cate's skin. 

She knew the female was unrestrained, that she had no reservations about her body or her...encounters with Azriel, but seeing the evidence of her...dalliances on display was still jarring, to say the least. Mor's eyes darkened as she noticed Feyre's gaze flickering to the marks, a flicker of curiosity and...something else in her expression. Something that made Mor's blood boil.

This was not the time to let her mind wander to thoughts of Azriel and the things he had done with this female. She had to keep her focus, keep her mind on the task at hand.

But it was hard, when Cate was standing there, dressed to tantalize, with the physical reminders of her time with Azriel on full display. It was like a mockery, a taunt, a reminder of the closeness between them.

Mor clenched her fists to keep her hands from shaking, her irritation growing with every passing moment. She had to focus, to keep herself composed, even as the sight of Cate's body, marked and dishevelled, sent a shameful thrill of something through her.

She could feel Feyre's gaze on her, watching her reaction to the female like a hawk. Mor forced her face to remain impassive, refusing to give anything away. She couldn't let herself be distracted by her own complicated feelings towards the female, or the things she knew - and didn't know - that Cate and Azriel had done together.

But it was hard, so damn hard, when Cate was standing right there. Mor could almost feel the heat radiating off her, as if the female was trying to taunt her, to push her buttons.

And it was working. Mor could feel her own blood heating, her body responding to the sight of the female against her will. It took all her willpower to maintain her composure and keep a neutral expression on her face.

As if sensing her struggle, Cate let out a soft laugh, a sly smile playing on her lips. "You look like you're about to explode, Mor. Something wrong?" she teased, her voice low and almost sensual.

Mor gritted her teeth, her knuckles turning white as she clenched her fists tighter. She knew Cate was enjoying this, enjoying the effect she was having on her. It was almost infuriating, the way she could get under her skin with such ease.

But Mor refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing her lose her composure. She forced herself to take a deep breath and look Cate straight in the eye. "I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth. "Just….fine."

Cate's smile widened, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, come on now, Mor. We both know that's not true." She took a slow, deliberate step towards her, closing the distance between them. "You're a terrible liar. Always have been."

Mor's heart thumped in her chest as Cate moved closer, her movements like a predator closing in on its prey. She could feel the heat radiating off the female's body, the scent of something rich and foreign filling her nostrils. 

"Why are you even here?" Mor snapped.

Cate's smile turned amused. "Oh, I'm here for lunch, of course. Didn't you get the invite?"

Mor's irritation flared even further. The female always had such a nonchalant attitude, never taking anything seriously. It was infuriating.

"Don't play coy with me," she snapped. "We both know why you're really here."

Cate let out a low laugh, her eyes glittering. "Oh, do we now? And why's that?" she asked, feigning innocence.

Mor's irritation boiled over, her voice rising. "Azriel. You're here for him, aren't you?"

Cate arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. She looked around, eyes clearly moving around the room, carefully turning around her own axis. "Azriel is nowhere to be seen," she said drily.

"You know what I mean," Mor retorted, her voice sharp. "You're always after him, always pestering him.”

Cate let out another soft laugh, her eyes glimmering with something dangerous. "Oh, Morrigan. Always so protective. And jealous."

Mor's lips curled at the word. "'I am not jealous," she bit out.

Cate stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"No? Then why do you look like you want to rip my throat out right now? Were it the bite marks that pushed you over the edge? You don't like the visible evidence that Azriel enjoys everything we do? If you wanted him for yourself, Morrigan, you could have," Cate said with a shrug. "He would have never refused you. By the cauldron, he spent centuries yearning for you, only for you to strangle him with his feelings at every opportunity."

Mor felt like she had just been punched in the gut. Cate's words cut right through her. Of course, she knew about Azriel's feelings for her, his unwavering devotion. And of course, she knew she had been nothing but a coward.

But hearing it thrown in her face like this, hearing Cate say it so nonchalantly, was like pouring salt on an open wound.

And the worst part was that Cate was right. Azriel had waited for her for centuries, only for her to push him away at every turn. Mor had known all this, had carried the weight of her cowardice for so long. And hearing Cate speak it out loud, in that nonchalant, almost taunting tone, made her feel like a fool.

But she refused to show weakness. Not in front of Cate.

She set her jaw, meeting Cate's gaze with a defiant glare.

"Don't pretend like you actually care about Azriel," she snapped. "You just use him. You use everyone."

"Oh that's rich, coming from you," Cate replied, her own expression hardening. "You've been using him for centuries, playing with his feelings like a cat toys with a mouse. Always just out of reach, just close enough to keep him coming back for more."

It was like a stinging slap. Mor felt the color drain from her face. Because Cate was right. She had been using Azriel for decades, using his feelings and devotion to keep him close, even though she knew she would never return those feelings.

Despite herself, her eyes stung with tears at the truth in the words. She had been lying to herself for so long, pretending to be the victim in all this. But Cate had laid out the reality, plain and simple, and Mor had never felt more exposed.

Mor tried to gather her wits, to come up with a snappy retort, but her mind was blank, her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth. For once in her life, she was at a loss for words

"For somebody that keeps insisting your power is truth, you can't seem to take it dished to you," Cate said darkly. "And for the record, I am only here because the High Lady thought that I may be able to help Elain. I'm a seer, just like her, remember?" she said, her voice sardonic. "And I might just have a bit more experience in dealing with my gift than Elain has. I have spent over a millennia in this world after all. It's possible I may be able to help her learn to control her power."

Despite herself, Mor's eyes widened slightly. It was a logical explanation, a valid reason for Cate's presence. But there was a part of her, a small, bitter part, that still couldn't accept it.

"And why would you help her?" she asked, her voice cold."What do you stand to gain from helping Elain?"

Cate's eyes gleamed with annoyance. "This may be hard to believe, but not everyone in the world is as self-absorbed as you," she taunted. "Maybe I'm just a nice person and I want to help another fellow Seer not drown in her visions and nightmares, hm? Did you ever consider that possibility?"

Mor gritted her teeth. She hated the way her heart lurched at Cate's biting words, the way they dug into her insecurities. "You don't exactly seem like the 'nice person' type," she shot back. "Forgive me for being suspicious."

"Your suspicions are noted, but you're wrong," Cate said with a shrug. "I don't do everything I do from some twisted motivation. I have feelings, you know. I'm not an emotionless monster."

Mor snorted, unable to hide her disbelief. "You could have fooled me," she said with a roll of her eyes.

Cate shot her a venomous glare. "You know, just because I'm not always wearing my heart on my sleeve doesn't mean I don't have feelings," she snapped. "Not everyone shows emotions in the same way you do, Morrigan."

Mor's stomach clenched as the words hit home. She knew that all too well. Just because she expressed her emotions outwardly, in words and actions, didn't mean everyone else did as well.

Still, she couldn't help but snark: "You don't show them at all most of the time."

"Maybe that's because I've learned to keep my feelings guarded, especially around people like you," Cate shot back, her voice sharp. "You have a habit of using people's emotions against them."

Mor's chest tightened. Cate was right again, and it stung. She had done it with Azriel time and time again, playing on his feelings for her, keeping him just close enough to keep him hoping for more. She hated herself for it, but she had done it anyway.

She couldn't stop the words from escaping her mouth. "And you don't?"

"Not like you," Cate retorted, her eyes narrowing. "| may flirt with everyone, but at least I'm upfront about it. I never promise more than I'm willing to give, and I don't play with people's hearts like you do."

"Can we go back to Elain now?" Nesta snapped.

Mor blinked, only just remembering that Nesta was in the room. She had been so focused on the back and forth with Cate that she had practically forgotten about the other females.

The sound of Nesta's voice snapped her out of her thoughts and back to reality. She looked over at the other female, who was looking less than amused.

"Gladly," Cate said with a roll of her eyes. "Where is she?"

"In the garden, I think," Mor said, her voice cracking slightly. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "She says the sunshine helps." 

Cate pushed off the wall, straightening her dress. "Well let's go, then," she said briskly. "The sooner we get to Elain, the sooner I can get out of here." 

Mor gritted her teeth, her irritation flaring. "What's wrong, not enjoying yourself?" she sniped back.

"Oh, I'm having a wonderful time," Cate said drily, giving Mor a mocking smile. "Your sparkling personality just makes it all worthwhile."

Feyre bit out a laugh at that. Mor glared at her. 

"The sunshine keeps the visions at bay," Feyre explained, growing serious as she led them down the garden path. "Is that…normal?"

Cate nodded. "Yes and no," she said, her attention focused on the path ahead. "It's normal for someone just coming into their power. The visions and images can be overwhelming, especially in a dark environment. But as a seer becomes more practised, they learn to control their power and it becomes less dependent on external factors like light or darkness."

"Elain?" Nesta called out to her sister, who was digging by the roses. Elain was lovely as always, a Sunhat on her head. "There is somebody we want you to meet."

Elain turned, her expression polite and open. She looked at the group of them, her gaze lingering on Cate.

Her gaze shuttered.

"Oh no," Feyre breathed.

Elain was having one of her visions.

The words spilt from Elain's lips, her voice low and strained, as though it took great effort to speak them.

"One who was Death must become Undying, for the thread of their souls are twined through the ages. They shall fight side by side in battle, their fates intermingled."

"Interesting," Cate murmured.

Mor felt her heart rate speed up at the words. Even without knowing their meaning, they sent a shiver down her spine. Death becomes Undying. It sounded...ominous.

But Cate seemed unaffected, casually intrigued.

"Is that always how they are?" Cate asked, as Elain's gaze cleared.

Feyre looked at her sister, concern written all over her face. Her voice was low as she said, "Yes. They're always like that. Vague and mysterious."

Elain blinked, her gaze slowly regaining focus. She seemed dazed, disoriented

"What did you see, Elain?" Feyre asked gently.

Elain shook her head as though trying to clear away the fog. "I don't...I'm not sure," she said weakly.

Cate took a step forward, her gaze sharp on Elain. "Can you tell me what you do remember?" she asked, her voice soft yet firm.

Elain frowned, her brow furrowing as she tried to recall.

"Not much," she admitted. "There were….shadows," she said slowly. "And a field of corpses."

Mor's heart dropped at the words. Shadows and corpses...it sounded like a battlefield.

Cate pulled out a crystal ball out of her pocket, not any bigger than a fist. Mor watched as Cate held the crystal ball up, the sunlight refracted off its surface and casting little rainbows over the ground.

"What are you doing?" Feyre asked, her voice wary.

"It's easier for a Seer if they have a...focus of sorts," Cate said simply, holding it out for Elain. Elain regarded the crystal ball with a mixture of caution and curiosity. She slowly reached out and took it.

Nothing happened.

"Just like I thought," Cate said drily. "You aren't a seer. You are an oracle."

"What's the difference?" Nesta asked, unable to keep the sharpness out of her voice.

"A seer has the ability to control their power to some degree," Cate explained, her gaze still fixed on Elain. "They are able to see into the future...and if you have a guide, a focus like a crystal ball, a seer can flip through all the different possibilities."

"An oracle, on the other hand..it's a power given by the mother herself. They see what the mother wills and when. They have no control what they see, no way of interpreting them. It just comes to them in flashes, with no context or explanation." 

Mor's eyes widened as she listened to Cate's words. An oracle? That didn't sound...good. 

Oracles, like Cate said, had no control over their powers. They never knew what they would see or when. It sounded like a living nightmare.

And poor Elain...she had no idea what had just been dropped on her lap.

The crystal ball exploded in Elain's hand.

It happened so fast, that Mor didn't even have a chance to react. One moment, Elain was holding the crystal ball, the next it shattered in an explosion of sparkling pieces.

Feyre squeaked, Mor froze..it was a wave of Cate's magic that enveloped Elain, that kept her safe as the crystal ball shattered in her hand. 

As the shards of the crystal ball rained down, Cate's magic enveloped Elain like a shimmering shield. The pieces bounced harmlessly against it, falling uselessly to the ground.

There was a breathless moment of silence, as everyone stood frozen, processing what had just happened

Mor knew that this was just a small taste of Cate's vast magical reservoir...a small stream coming from an ocean.

Mor watched as the magic around Elain slowly faded, disappearing like steam on a window.

Cate's expression was unbothered, her voice steady as she said, "As I said. An oracle."

"So I have no control?" Elain asked, her voice small. "'Il always be at the mercy of these...these visions?"

Cate's expression softened, her voice gentle as she replied. "In a way, yes. The visions will come to you, whether you want them to or not. But with proper guidance...it doesn't have to be overwhelming. I can teach you how to deal with the power, to not let it consume you."

Elain looked at Cate, a spark of hope in her eyes. "You can?" she asked, her voice tremulous.

Cate gave a small nod. "Yes," she said. "It won't be easy, and it will take time and practice. But I can help you learn to control the power, rather than letting the power control you."

Mor watched the exchange, her heart thudding in her chest. Cate's words sparked a flicker of hope within her, a hope that perhaps Elain might not be cursed to live a life of constant visions.

But at the same time, she couldn't shake the feeling that having Cate around for extended periods of time would be... troublesome, to put it mildly.

Cate's presence in Velaris would undoubtedly stir up many emotions, especially among the Inner Circle members. And the thought of having to deal with her witty remarks and sarcastic comments on a daily basis was enough to make Mor's headache worsen.

"Out of pure interest, who told you she was a Seer?" Cate wondered

"Azriel did," Elain answered softly. "I thought I was going insane."

Cate's gaze sharpened, her lips curving into a small smirk. "Oh, Azriel did, huh? Seems like | will need to give Azriel a primer in magical abilities once more."

Mor's eyebrows rose at Cate's tone. It was almost….playful. And the thought of her playfully mocking Azriel, poking at the shadowsinger to rile him up was...

"You know him?" Elain wondered, her gaze suddenly starting to take in the bite marks all over her neck and shoulder. Mor watched her swallow as she took that in. 

Cate chuckled, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, very well," she said, her voice laced with mirth. "We've been...acquainted for quite some time now. I do understand how he came up with it, he has seen me have visions more than once. But he's never been good with understanding the nuances of power," Cate added, her voice dropping into a mocking octave as she imitated Azriel's deep voice. "Sees the shadows, misses everything else."

Mor found herself smirking, unable to help herself. The idea of Cate being able to get under Azriel's skin so effortlessly, to tease him so effortlessly...it was almost endearing, in a twisted way.

There was something about Cate, in that moment, that was so very...genuine. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, her lips curved up in a small smirk. She was utterly unguarded, with no hint of pretence or artifice in her

Mor cursed herself internally, annoyed at how quickly she had been distracted by the other female. She despised Cate, and yet...there was something about her presence, her behaviour, that was captivating.

Mor forced herself to focus, to steer her thoughts in a different direction. She couldn't afford to let herself be distracted by Cate's mercurial nature, not now. There were more important matters to attend to, like the fact that Elain was an oracle.

She looked over at Elain, who still looked worried and overwhelmed by the revelation. She felt a pang of sympathy for the young fae. To suddenly have this power thrust upon her, to be told that she would have no control over it...it had to be a terrifying prospect.

"You are in good hands now," Cate promised Elain easily. "We'll get a handle on it...'ll find you some books to read."

There was a hint of softness in her tone, a flicker of concern in her gaze. It was a side of Cate that Mor hadn't seen before, one that contrasted sharply with her usual sarcastic and standoffish nature.

Elain smiled weakly, her shoulders slumping in relief.

“Thank you," she said softly.

Cate gave a small nod, her expression gentling. "Of course," she said, her voice gruff yet sincere.

Mor felt a pang of irritation as Cate's gaze landed on her, her expression shuttering back into its usual cold mask.

She swallowed back a biting response, not in the mood to start another argument.

But even as she forced herself to remain quiet, Mor couldn't help but feel a spark of defiance. She would not let Cate get the better of her.

Cate's gaze bore into hers, a silent challenge passing between them. Mor met it head-on, refusing to look away. Neither of them spoke, the air around them thick with tension and suppressed energy.

Finally, Cate's lips quirked up in a small smirk, as though amused by the tension she had caused. “You know,” she drawled. “If you keep staring at me, Morrigan, people might think you like me.”

Mor’s eyes narrowed, her irritation flaring. “And if you keep opening your mouth, people might think you’re intelligent,” she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.”

Cate's smirk grew, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, come on. Don't pretend you don't enjoy our little verbal spars. It's the highlight of your day, I'm sure."

"The highlight of my day is when you're not in my presence," Mor snapped, her temper fraying. "Believe me, I could go without seeing your face...or the evidence of your animalistic couplings." 

"Ouch," Cate said, feigning a wince. "That one stung. I didn't realise you were so jealous of my...activities. By the way, mostly it's Azriel telling me how perfect I am," Cate shot back easily. Elain looked like she would rather be anywhere else, while Nesta bit back a laugh. 

Mor's jaw dropped, her mind struggling to process what she'd just heard. Cate, with the arrogance and audacity to claim that people... that Azriel found her 'perfect'. It was utterly ridiculous.

But as she stared at Cate, seeing the cool, almost amused expression on the other woman's face...she couldn't help but wonder if it was true.

"If you hurt him..." she whispered, threatening...for one moment Cate's aura blew wide open. Green magic sparked at the very tips of her fingers.

Mor's heart seized in her chest, her breath catching in her throat as Cate's magic burst free. It crackled in the air, a low hum that sent a shiver down her spine.

For a moment, Cate's expression dropped completely, replaced by something dark and dangerous. Her eyes glowed almost unnaturally, and her magic swirled around her like a living thing.

But then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Cate's expression smoothed back into its usual cool indifference, and her magic retracted back into her skin.

"Don't forget who spent 500 years hurting him," Cate said quietly. "It wasn't me, Morrigan."

Mor's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to snap back, to deny Cate's words, out she knew there was no point.

Cate was right. Mor had hurt Azriel. Deeply, irreparably.

And there was no way she could deny it.

"Do not threaten me for something you have done," Cate said quietly. "I have never laid a hand on Azriel in any way that he didn't want me to."

Mor swallowed hard, her heart thudding in her chest.

Cate's words struck her to her very core.

She knew it was true. Cate had shown Azriel more kindness, more compassion than she had in centuries.

And yet, a part of her couldn't help but feel resentful.

Resentful at the way Cate had so easily inserted herself into Azriel's life, replacing Mor in a way she hadn't been able to.

"I'll send you that book list," Cate said calmly.

Mor nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak. Her throat felt tight, her body tense from the onslaught of emotions she had experienced in the last few minutes.

She watched as Cate gave Elain a reassuring pat on the arm, her gaze flicking briefly to Mor before she turned to leave.

And in that moment, as Cate walked away, Mor was struck by a sudden wave of realisation. Cate was not simply a friend, or a sexual partner, or a convenient outlet for Azriel's anger and tension.

No...there was something more between them. Something that Mor had failed to see in all her years of knowing Azriel. Something that was now glaringly obvious in the other woman's presence.

And it scared her. It scared Mor more than any battle, any enemy, ever had.

[caffichai]

Food Bank Fundraiser

Hi everyone!

First of all, I want to say thanks to everyone who's been leaving such nice tags/comments on stuff I've posted! It's been really encouraging (o^▽^o)

Anyway, I think we all know it's very dark days on the economic front for many of us. So as such, I'd like to help raise some funds for Food Banks Canada! In exchange for you making a donation to the food bank, I will draw a character suggestion!

I know this is not really the sort of thing I normally do or post here but... many folks are struggling to put food on the table right now, and the food bank is a source of support for many and provides an absolute necessity. I've seen many people struggling in my own city, and food security has become an even bigger issue than it already was in the last couple of years with the food bank struggling to keep up with demand. Of course, food security is an issue across the whole country that's putting a huge strain on food banks, with nearly 5% of the entire population making use of food banks monthly, and 23% of the population reporting food insecurity (CBC, 2024; Global News, 2024). Unsurprisingly, those who are already most disadvantaged suffer the effects of food scarcity even more (Statistics Canada, 2023). To make matters more desperate, Canada's food bank system is on the brink of collapse (CTV News, 2024).

I know this isn't going to something big enough to change the world or anything, but being able to make even a small impact for individual people is important too!

✨Incentives✨

Of course, I'm sure people aren't just in it for a reward, but rewards make things all the sweeter, right?

For those who want to contribute, I'll take a character suggestion and add it to a poll (depending on the number of contributors, it may be split up into multiple polls), and then I'll draw as many as I can from top to bottom ranking! If you contribute, please send me a DM with your donation receipt and your character idea! They won't necessarily all be drawn in the same style, and they'll be done according to how much time I've got. (I know that commissions are probably the biggest incentive, but realistically, I struggle to get them done quickly and they're probably not that affordable to everyone)

If you prefer SFW or NSFW, you can let me know (But NSFW will be posted to Cohost). If you make a bigger contribution, I'll reach out to you and ask if you wanna see more specifics/details in your piece. How's that for sweetening the pie? :3

For those who can't make a donation (which is completely understandable), simply spreading the post is also helpful, and I appreciate that greatly as well!

Don't forget that giving a donation allows you to get a tax break based on the amount donated as well!

Alternatives?

If you'd rather donate to your own local food bank, that's great too! You can DM me and send me a pic of your receipt and I'll still add your suggestion to the poll.

If you REALLY want a commission, you can also DM me and I'll do my best to fulfil it! I won't be taking commissions for this till/if there's at least a couple of items on the poll though. The proceeds will go to my own local food bank. The commission will be done later though, and may take some time to fulfil. I take payment only after starting.

When do we start??

I guess once there's a good number of poll options? I have no idea how long that will be, but rest assured I'll keep you updated!

Where do we contribute?

You can make your donation to Food Banks Canada! They really need it!

Alternatively, you can make a donation to your local food bank or equivalent charity.

Other Questions?

Feel free to send me a message or an ask! I'll get back to you ASAP. If I need to include more details or clarify something, let me know! It's my first time doing this!

TL;DR

I want to help raise money for food banks! Anyone who contributes to Food Banks Canada (or donates to their own local food bank or equivalent charity) can DM me with their receipt and give a character to add to the poll. Poll characters will be drawn in order of their ranking, as many as I can manage, over as long a period of time as I can manage!

No pressure to donate of course, I just figured this would be a fun way of raising a bit of money to help out, and allow us to donate more than what I personally can

Current Contributor Count: 13

Suggested Characters:

Imagine your beloved, obscure or popular character here on this poll list! Oooooooh, how lucrative :3

Total funds raised:

780.36$!!!

[psychotrenny]

There's a real unearned confidence to the way that Social Democrats talk about their ideology, like they've cracked the code and found the perfect way forward and the only reason people disagree is because they're misguided or evil. Like they'll correctly point out problems within Neoliberal Capitalism before spouting some absolute nonsense about how uniquely evil and dysfunctional Communism was (nearly always in the past tense too; they take it for granted that the end of the USSR was the end of all Communism) and then going "Don't worry though, there's a third way; a mixed regulated economy. We can have a free market in consumer goods while making sure that corporations pay their fair share in wages and taxes that can fund the welfare that looks after everyone". And like putting aside the fact that such a model relies on the super-profits of imperialist exploitation to actually function, and the inherent instability of an arrangement where the Bourgeoisie make concessions even while maintaining ultimate control of the economy, there's the simple fact that much of the Imperial Core did indeed had Social Democracy but does not anymore.

Like these Social Democrats never think about why that might be, why their ideology failed and what they can learn from it going forward. They just act as though some dumb individuals (i.e. Ronald Reagan, Milton Friedman etc.) managed to slip into power and make bad decisions and like the best way to fix this is to vote good people in who'll change it back. Like hell a lot of these people take the previous existence of these policies as like a good point, the whole "We had them before so we aren't being radical by wanting them back. We don't want anything crazy we just wanna bring back The New Deal or Keynesian Economic policy or whatever". There's never any thought about why those policies failed (how often do you hear these people even talk about "stagflation" or "the oil crisis" let alone the impact of the fall of the soviet union) and what implications this might have on the viability of bringing it back. They also love talking about how Social Democratic institutions are still largely intact in the Scandinavian countries, but rather than even consider what specific factors in their political-economic situation led to this these people just go "Damn isn't Sweden great. Why aren't we doing exactly what they do?"

And sure some people might compare this to Marxism-Leninism, the whole "trying to bring back a defeated ideology", but for one it's stupid to treat the dissolution of the USSR as the end of Communism as a global political force. It may have been a major blow, but even if you write off like Cuba and Vietnam as too small and insignificant to matter you can't just fucking ignore that over 1/6 of the world's population continues live under a Marxist Leninist party. Whatever concessions these countries may have made to global Capitalism, it's just plain ignorant to act as though Communism suffered anywhere near the humiliating loss of global power and credibility that Social Democracy has. Sure the latter may be more politically acceptable to toy with in "The West", but "The Western World" ≠ The Entire World. Also, nearly every ML on the planet is painfully aware that Soviet Communism collapsed and that it collapsed for a reason. There might be plenty of contention about why exactly it died and what exactly we can learn from this, but nearly everyone agrees that we need to learn and ideologically grow. No serious Communist wants to "bring back the USSR" in the same way that many Social Democrats want to "bring back The Welfare State". Far from being a form of "best of both worlds" mixed economy, Social Democracy is nothing more than a flimsy tool to stabilise Imperialist Capitalism at its moments of greatest strain. And if people are still gonna promote it wholeheartedly as the best possible solution, I wish they'd be a little less arrogant about it. It's not as though they have history on their side

[astercontrol]

If KOSA passes

Or if any other form of censorship (there are many in the works!) ever succeeds at stepping in to impede our ability to communicate online:

We have to make plans.

Now, I dunno who'll even see this post. The few followers I have are TRON fans (who despite the fantasy we live in, tend to have realistically dismal views IRL about Disney and the various corporate uses of software).

And this fandom, on average, is pretty tech-savvy. It's where I've encountered the most people under 20 years old who actually know how to use a desktop or laptop computer.

So, if there's any hope for what I'm thinking about, this is prolly a good place to start with it.

(As with all my posts, I encourage reblogging and containment-breaching.)

(Gifs are clips from TRON 1982, mainly the "deleted love scene," from the DVD extras.)

Anyway.

Current society has moved online communication much too far onto major social media sites for my comfort. Whoever you communicate with over the internet, chances are you do it through a service owned by a big company: Tumblr, Twitter, Discord, Telegram, Facebook, whatever. Even TikTok (shudder).

These sites, despite their many flaws, can provide experiences that are valuable and hard to get otherwise. And once all your friends are on one site, you can't just leave and stay in touch with them all, not unless they all go the same place. It's easy to see why it's hard to abandon any social media platform.

But a backup plan is important. Because, as we've seen over and over, social media sites can't be relied on. They change their policies suddenly, without good reason-- and are inconsistent, even discriminatory, about enforcing those policies.

If they're funded by ads, the advertisers are their main customers, and your posts are the product. Their goal is that the posts most valuable to the advertisers get seen by people the advertisers consider desirable customers.

Helping you communicate-- making your posts get seen by the people you want to communicate with-- is optional to them.

Not to mention that the whole business model of an ad-funded website is generally unsustainable. Many of these sites are operating at a loss, relying on shareholders in a fragile bubble, doomed to fail soon just from lack of real profit.

And the more restrictions --like KOSA-- that the law puts on freedom of online speech, the likelier they are to go down or just become unusable. Every rule a site is required to follow is another strain on its resources, and most of them are already failing badly at even enforcing their own self-imposed rules.

If we want any control over our continued ability to stay in touch with our online friends-- we need to have a backup plan. Maybe it'll be simple at first, a bare-bones system we cobble together-- but it's gotta be something that will work. For a while at least.

There are lots of really good posts about ways to build your own website, using a service like Neocities. I VERY MUCH recommend learning this skill-- learning to make websites of the very simplest, most stable, glitch-resistant type, made of html pages-- which you can upload to a host while you store backups on your home computer. If you value the writing and art that you put online, this is probably the safest you can keep it.

But that's for making your own creative work public.

As for communicating with others-- for example, receiving and answering other people's comments on your work-- that gets more complex. I personally haven't found it worthwhile to troubleshoot the problems that come with having a system that allows visitors to comment publicly on my website.

But what we do still have-- and likely will for a long time-- is email.

Those of us who came of age before social media's current hold... well, we might take this for granted. Email was the first form of online contact we ever encountered… and thus it can seem to us like the most ordinary, the most boring.

But in the current world, it is a rare and precious thing to find a method of communicating that doesn't require everyone in the chat to be signed on with the same corporation.

Email is, as of now, still perfectly legal-- as much as social media companies have been trying to herd the populace away from it. I'm sure there are other ways to share thoughts online that are not bound by laws. But I am not going to go into that here.

Email service is provided by law-abiding companies, which will comply with subpoenas if law enforcement thinks you are emailing about doing illegal things. So, email is not a surefire way to be safe, if laws become dystopian enough to threaten your freedom to talk about your own life and identity.

But it's safer than posting on a public social media page.

For now.

Email is beautifully decentralized. You can get an email address many different ways-- some reliant on a company like Gmail, others hosted on your own domain. And different people, with all different types of email addresses, hosted in all different ways-- can all communicate together by the same method.

Of course any of these people, individually, can lose their email address for some reason or other, and have to get a new one. But as long as they still know the email addresses of their contacts, they can reconnect and recover from that loss. The structure of a group linked by email is reliant not on a single company-- but on the group itself, the friends you can actually count on.

This is why I am trying to promote the idea of forming email lists, as a backup plan to give people a way to stay in touch as mainstream social media sites prove to be unsustainable.

I'm envisioning a simple system of sending emails to several addresses at once, and making each reply visible to everyone in the chat by using "reply all" (or, if desired, editing the To field to reply to only some).

If enough people get used to using email in this way, it could fill most of the needs met by any other group chat or forum …without depending on a centralized social media company that's taking dystopian measures to try and make the business profitable.

So here are some thoughts about how I personally imagine it could work.

(Feel free to comment and bring up any thoughts I haven't addressed, or suggestions to customize how specific groups could set it up. This is meant as more of a starting point for brainstorming than a catch-all solution.)

As I see it, here are the basics of what you and your friends would each need to start out:

An email address. Any kind, hosted anywhere. You should use a dedicated email account just for this group, one that you do NOT use for other communication. Being in this group will result in things you don't want happening to your main email address-- like getting a TON of email, one for every post and reply. Or someone could get your email address that you really don't want any contact with. Use a burner email account (one that you can easily replace) and change it if needed.

The knowledge of how to "REPLY ALL" in your email. This will be necessary in order to add a comment that everyone in the group can see.

The knowledge of how to EDIT THE "TO" FIELD in your email, and remove addresses from the list of all recipients. This will be necessary if you want to CHANGE WHICH PEOPLE in the group can see your comment.

The knowledge of how to FILTER WORDS in your email. This will be necessary if a topic comes up that you don't want to see any mentions of.

The knowledge of how to BLOCK PEOPLE in your email. This will be very important. If someone joins this email group who you do not want to interact with, it will be up to you to BLOCK them so that you do NOT see their messages. (If they are bad enough to evade the block with multiple burner accounts, that's what you have a burner account for. Change it, and share the new one only with those you trust not to give it to them.)

Every person in the group will be effectively a "moderator" of the group, able to remove people from it by cutting their email addresses out of the "To" field. Members will all have equal "moderator" privileges, each able to tailor the group to their own needs.

This means the group may naturally split, over time, into other groups, each one removing some people and adding others. Some will overlap, some won't. This is good! This is, in my opinion, what online interaction SHOULD be like! There should be MANY groups like this!

In this way, we can keep online discussion alive, no matter WHAT happens to any of the social media websites.

If the dystopia got bad enough to shut down email, we could even continue with postal mail and photocopies, like they did in the days of print-zine fanfiction.

If it looks like the dystopia is gonna come for postal mail too, we'll use the connection we have to preserve whatever contacts we can with people who live near us.

Not saying it's GONNA get that bad. But these steps of preparation are good no matter exactly what kind of bad stuff happens.

As long as some organized form of communication still exists, we'll have a place where it's at least a little safer to be your true self…

to plan events and meetups…

and maybe even activities a little too risque to make the final cut of a 1982 Disney movie.

They're trying to censor us. We want a Free System. So we're gonna fight back.

For the Users. Not the corporations.

Peace out, programs. <3

[liliacamethyst]

just curious if there's an extra angsty alternative drabbles because i love ur work ! like in a scenario where sun-spider isn't able to care for herself because the pregnancy is taking a toll on her or she got extremely ill OR EVEN GETTING EXTREMELY injured during a mission and lets say the gang is too caught up with spider society business to check on her, how would miguel react then?

ill leave the actual state of sun-spider in your hands 🤭

A LETTER FROM THE SUN

Thank you so much for your request, I really liked your idea- So here's an extra , extra ANGSTY (trigger warning) alternative universe Drabble. I got a little bit carried away I really hope you still enjoy it 💚:

You can barely see through the spots dancing before your eyes as you stagger back to your apartment on Earth 586. You don't remember the walk home from the doctor's office but somehow, you made it back. The weight of the doctor's words still echo in your ears, "The childbirth... It's too dangerous. You won't survive."

It's not that you're not scared; you are, very much so. But more than that, you're filled with a fierce determination - for your child and for the world you've sworn to protect. And so, you put your mask, pull on your suit, and step into the battle once more, fighting harder than you ever have before.

But behind the brave facade, you're struggling. You're tired, your energy gone by the demands of your pregnancy and your duty as Spider-Sun. You're having to deal with the pains and discomforts that come with carrying a child, exacerbated by the unrelenting strain of your battles.

You retreat to Earth 586, hoping to find some solace and respite in your own universe. But instead, your responsibilities there seem to compound your exhaustion. There are still threats to confront, villains to vanquish, innocents to save. You're fighting two wars at the same time - one for your world, and one for your life.

The spider society is oblivious to your struggles. They are wrapped up in their own missions and agendas, too absorbed in saving the multiverse to notice your quiet battle for survival. The absence of concern from the team feels like a sting, a bitter pill to swallow, yet you say nothing, because you understand. So you hide your pain behind your bright smile and valiant spirit, because that's what you do best.

Still, as the days pass, your condition worsens. Your constant fatigue, the severe sickness and the frequent fainting spells- all signs that are hard to ignore. You're well aware that your body is pushing its limits but the love you have for your child growing inside of you keeps you from giving up. You've always fought against the odds, and you're not about to stop now - not when the stakes are that. Higher than they've ever been before.

You're fighting for two now, and that's all the motivation you need to keep going. You're ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for your child. And you'll face it with all the courage and determination that make you Spider-Sun.

-

Miguel, Gwen, Peter B, and Jess are on a mission in your Earth - Earth 586. It's been months since they've seen you, and Gwen and Peter are buzzing with excitement. Even Miguel, who maintains his stoic façade as always, has a glint in his eyes that hints at anticipation and excitement of the prospect of seeing his love again.

As they land, Gwen looks around, taking in the familiar surroundings of your world. "I can't believe it's been so long," she remarks, a hint of guilt in her voice. "We got so caught up in everything..."

Peter B chimes in, "Yeah, Sunny is gonna give us an earful for sure. I'm surprised she hasn't come to give us a welcome smack yet." His playful remark hangs in the air and everybody silently agrees.

They're here to deal with an anomaly, a Lizard-like opponent. Yet, as the fight breaks out, Peter can't help but wonder why you aren't here. This is your world, your neighborhood, your people. You're always there, ready to protect and serve. So where are you?

"Miguel!" Peter B shouts over the sounds of the fight. "Why isn't Sunny here? This is her world! Where is she?"

The fight ends sucessfully, with Jess instructed by Miguel to take the captive Lizard back to HQ. There's a tension in Miguel's voice, a sharpness that wasn't there before. He announces that he's going to look for you, his eyes flicking briefly towards the city, towards your home. “You guys go back and secure the ugly lizard. I will look where the hell Sunny is hiding.”

"We're coming with you," Gwen says firmly, Peter B nodding in agreement beside her. There's no room for argument in her voice. Miguel gives them a curt nod and so they swinf through Nea Yorkey searcing for their sun.

Gwen’s search for you leads her to knock on the doors of the neighbors in your building. Most people either shake their heads, claiming they haven't seen you, or slam the door in her face without a word. Gwen's worry deepens with each door she knocks on.

Finally, she finds a woman with a bunch of children screaming in the background. The woman looks frazzled, but she stops and listens to Gwen's questions. "Haven't seen her in days," the woman says, wiping her hands on her apron. "There was an ambulance here the other day, took her away. Ain't seen no light in her place since then."

Gwen feels as if the air has been sucked out of her lungs. She thanks the woman and rushes off to find Miguel and Peter B. Her words spill out in a rush, detailing what she found out. "Miguel," she gasps out. "Peter. Ambulance. Sunny's place."

Miguel's face goes deathly pale, and before Gwen or Peter B can react, he swings into the air, shooting webs and flying through the city with a speed and urgency that leaves them behind.

Gwen and Peter B look at each other and immediately follow, but Miguel is like a man possessed, a force of nature.

He reaches the hospital, and without a second thought, he barges through the doors. His heart is pounding in his chest, his breaths are short and ragged.

The reception desk nurses look up in surprise as Miguel, still in his Spider-Man 2099 suit, demands to know if you are in the hospital. There is a desperation as he speaks your name.

After a tense conversation with the hospital staff and almost being escorted out, Miguel is finally given the room number.

The world seems to stand still  around Miguel as he enters the room, only to find it empty. The nurse, busy tidying the space and remaking the bed, looks up in surprise at the sudden intrusion.

He's staring at the closed door when a nurse brushes past him, mumbling an apology. A sudden rush of fear and confusion go through him as he turns to see the empty hospital bed. His heart feels as if it's been ripped out from his chest. The room spins around him. Where are you?

"Excuse me, are you Miguel O'Hara?" A voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see another nurse, her face kind but weary. He can only nod, words failing him at the moment.

"Mr. O'Hara, she's not here anymore. She... she's not with us," the nurse says gently, her eyes filled with sympathy. She hands him an envelope. "She asked me to give this to you if you ever came looking for her."

"I am sorry," she adds quietly, before turning to leave. "I'll be right back with little Gabe."

Miguel doesnt register her words. His entire world feels as though it's come crashing down around him. He sinks onto the nearby chair, clutching the envelope tightly, his eyes staring blankly at it. He's too numb to even attempt to open it or even move.

Gwen and Peter B burst into the room then, worry clearly visible on their faces. "Miguel, what's going on?" Gwen asks urgently, rushing to his side. Peter B follows her but Miguel barely hears them, his blood rushing in his ears.

The world is blurry around him, sounds are muffled and distant. The room is empty, and you are not there. ‘No es real’ and ‘por favor vuelve a mi mi sol’ are the only things he can mumble over and over again tirelessly. The reality of it feels like a crushing weight on his chest and all he can do is sit there, holding onto the last piece of you he has left. 

Dear Miguel,

If you're reading this, then I am no longer in this world. 

I just wanted to let you know that it’s not your fault and no you couldn’t have saved me. I know how you are, Miguel. You always have been the man who would try to save the world single-handedly, even if it meant sacrificing yourself in the process. But this wasn't on you. This was my choice, my decision and I stand by it. I knew the risks and I am sorry I hurt you.

But here's the thing, I have no regrets. Our child...our Gabriel, he's my most cherished gift to you, Miguel. And I know you, with your awkward, nerdy charm and those terrible dad jokes you think are hilarious, will be an amazing father. You were born to be a dad - it's like your destiny. And guess what? This is your second chance to be the best dad you were always supposed to be.

I know you will protect our baby with every fiber of your being. That's just who you are. My last wish is that you give Gabriel the life he deserves. Raise him, love him, be there for him. That's all I want, Miguel.

And if you ever miss me, just look up to the sky, and I'll be there. Even if you can't see me, know that I'm probably hiding behind a cloud, always watching over and protecting you and our Gabriel.

P.S. Please let Gwen, Peter, Jess, Hobie, Miles, Pav and the rest of the squad know how thankful I am for them. They’ve been family, and I know they will rock as godparents.

Forever shining for you, 

Tu sol

The door opens again, and the nurse walks in, cradling a tiny bundle in her arms. A baby. A newborn.

As soon as Miguel held the newborn,his son, securely in his arms, he makes a silent promise to you, wherever you are, that he will honor your last wish. He will be the father Gabriel deserves and he will make sure that your sacrifice and love will never be forgotten.

After all, how could anyone possibly forget about the sun?

[novlr]

How to write the cold

The way we feel cold is universal, but the way we contextualise it is not. Cold has a variety of connotations for readers, so it's important to decide how to use it, and what mood you want to convey in your scene.

While cold is often associated with negative aspects in writing, if there's anything the winter season teaches us, is that it can be a positive thing as well. Rather than just using the word cold, in your next writing project, try to contextualise it. Describe the weather, the light on the snow, the comfort of warmth after an icy swim, or the fear and loneliness of the dark on a cold night.

Here are our quick tips on how to write the cold:

In nature

Clean mountain air

Glittering ice crystals

Unique wildlife, like snow hares or polar bears

Snow muffled sounds

Steam rising from hot springs

Icy water in rivers and lakes

Overcast and rainy

Bright sun on fresh snow

Icebergs, glaciers, and ice floes

Storms and blizzards

Branches moving and creaking

Frozen ponds

Morning frost on grass

Snowdrops pushing through snowdrifts

Crisp and clear night skies

Wolves howling in the dark

Bare branches scraping against windows

Eerie shadows

Foods and objects

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg

Heavy winter coats and scarves

Rich, hot meals with lots of gravy

Tea or coffee left out too long

Ice-cream, sorbets, or ice-lollies

Metal that is cold to the touch (like pots and pans or door handles)

Cold beverages straight out of the fridge

An icy bath

Freezer trucks or walk-in refrigerators

Dry ice

Crisp, fresh sheets on cold nights

Ice sculptures

A tap with a drip that freezes in place

Frozen celebratory drinks (like daiquiris)

A single cube of ice floating in a whisky glass

A cold pack for an injury

Character moods

Isolated

Lonely

Aloof

Sad

Comfortable

Snuggly

Focused

Panicked

Indifferent

A lack of affection

Calm and calculated

Disengaged

Serene

Depressed

Awestruck

Anxious

Reverent

Melancholy

Nostalgic

Impatient

Frustrated

Reflective

Character body language

Hunched shoulders

Crossed arms

Shivering

Snuggling into something warm

Rub hands together for warmth

Tight or strained expression

Biting dry lips

Furrowing brow

Glaring against brightness

Tense and rigid stance

Stand close to others

Slow, deliberate steps

Move quickly to somewhere warm

Sitting relaxed in a warm space

Actions and events

Start a fire or build a shelter

Winter hikes

Outdoor activities like skating, skiing, or sledding

Traffic jams or snowed in cars

Frozen lakes cracking underfoot

Dodging icicles falling from rooftops

Going ice-fishing

Long sea voyages

Frostbite

Suffering from a cold, the flu, or pneumonia

Brainfreeze

Snuggling under a warm duvet

Sipping from a steaming hot drink for comfort

Cold-water swimming

Walking to work in the rain

Christmas in the Northern Hemisphere

Chrismas in July in the Southern Hemisphere

Reading a good book by the fire while it snows outside

Positive aspects

While cold is often associated with negative emotions, using it as a juxtaposition can often help to accentuate the positive feelings you want to convey.

If it's cold outside, a character enjoying a hot chocolate under their duvet will give a much more positive impression than if they were simply staying in bed.

The beauty of the natural world in winter, like snow, ice, and winter foliage can also be used to create a scene of happiness and wonder.

Negative aspects

Cold is often used to describe characters who are emotionally detached, calculating, or generally unfeeling. It's become an easy way to clue your readers in to how they're meant to feel about your character.

There are also more creative ways to use the cold, however, like describing the disappointment of forgetting about a hot drink you put down somewhere and only remembering when it's already gone cold, or the feeling of shock after you first step out of a warm shower.

Helpful synonyms

chilly

frigid

icy

wintry

frosty

cool

nippy

freezing

glacial

brisk

chilled

cool

polar

bitter

snowy

raw

refrigerated

arctic

rimy

draughty

[yestrday]

how would the yan academy react to someone who’s always asleep in class but still somehow scores really well?

tw: calling reader a wh0re

no because this would definitely grate on scaramouche's nerves. although he likes to show off that he doesn't actually put much effort into his studies, he's actually one of the most hardworking students out there. always straining himself to beat the others and especially his older sister ei.

so when you, his seatmate, just dozes off in class without a single care in the world, he sneers and belittles you. you have some nerve to be lazing around when you're a scholarship student who could easily get kicked out with a bad grade. sleepy darling doesn't respond of course, because they're too groggy from their nap to listen.

before scara realizes it, you're scoring As on your quizzes, getting perfects on your exam. and that just. kills him. kills him inside. he did so much work to be at the top and for what? to be matched by a nobody who lazes around? unacceptable. this was unacceptable.

he scoffs the first time, saying that you just got lucky. then high score after high score and his veins are popping and he's saying the nastiest shit to you. you're probably sucking the teachers off? maybe you're that good, huh? you should just drop out and making a living out of being a wh0re. he fucking hates this. he hates how you humble him without even trying and he wants to get rid of you lest his pride ends up in tatters.

[helioraesol]

[Spy x Family Chapter 86 Spoilers] What I believe Twilight's unfinished thought would have been.

"...Which is why-- I'll make a world where that won't need to be true."

Twilight has built up this reputation of being the perfect spy who can put aside emotion and feeling for the sake of the mission. Yet with Operation Strix, it's the first time that a sliver of his real self behind the Twilight identity he has became, buried deep within his subconscious, is forced to shine. And it's this dim light peering through the walls of his heart that, for the first time in his career as a spy, inadvertently ends up helping his mission. Operation Strix progresses when the hint of real feeling is allowed to take control. He's so used to being the perfect spy who never gets anything wrong and never lets his emotions guide him. Yet, when he acts as Twilight, the man who puts his goals above all else, it strains the relationship between himself and Anya and Yor, and by consequence, the mission.

There's a reason Yor's smiling face is front and center in the panel. He's thinking about her. The mission to capture Winston Wheeler is the first time Twilight gets close to acknowledging that she has affected him. But he's never able to outright say it, because if he did, then that would completely shatter the mask he's worked so hard to maintain. Yet, instead of unpacking the Pandora's box that are his feelings, in his conversation with Nightfall, he re-frames his decision to avoid the reality that the Twilight mask is slipping.

It's at this point that even if Twilight himself doesn't recognize it yet, it's clear he's fallen for Yor. The Yor who is incredibly dense. The Yor who is a terrible cook. The Yor who gets easily flustered; who doesn't understand how to be "normal". That Yor.

Twilight has been with countless women for the sake of missions before. Undoubtedly, he's been with some of them far longer than he has with her. They're certainly not perfect either. So what makes Yor so special? It's because, for the first time in his life, he's able to be his real self, even if partially. And that is terrifying for him. He believes it's a weakness, and in a lot of ways, he has a point. His job is too dangerous for letting his feelings get in the way. And yet, it's those feelings of his that help him advance Operation Strix.

He doesn't want the imperfectly perfect Yor who means too much to him now to go. He will build a better world for her sake.

[sickuma]

TULIPS — a König fic.

❱ This will have two parts (or more) depending on how the comments on tiktok are /j but it'll probably be more than two! please keep in mind that the **" "** in italics are their memories, or something they said before the incident.

ꜝ？angst warning, as well as mentions of injuries. pairing is König x reader !

this is unedited, grammatical and spelling errors are to be expected.

➴ SYNOPSIS — You and König were in a mission when you see a lens-flare aimed right at his chest, without hesitation, you lunge and take the hit for him.

VORFRUEDE — the joyful intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures.

"[name], call for backup." 

You nod, doing your best to comply as much as you can despite the exhaustion which enveloped your body,

It's your duty. It's your job to protect,

"Backup's on the way, König. Evac is almost there too, we just have to—"

You will never die for these people,

You wouldn't allow yourself to die for the military. No matter how brutal your battles are, you've sworn to always put yourself first.

"König."

A ragged breath escaped your lips.

You would never choose someone else over your own life.

No one would come first before yours,

No one else but him.

"König!"

It was as if you caught a brief glimpse of your world crumbling down, seeing that red dot aimed right at his heart, you couldn't hear anything else but this blinding ringing.

Without another thought, you lunged towards his direction. Pushing him aside roughly as you take the hit for him,

As if this moment was purposely slowed down, you saw his eyes widened through your blur of a vision, you saw the glint of panic in his eyes.

"König, when we retire, 

let's have a small house and garden."

"[name]!"

König found himself falling on the hard floor, not feeling the impact of your push as his attention focused on your trembling figure,

He saw it,

He saw how you froze, how your head slowly turned down to look at the horrifying wound. Raising both your hands weakly to look at the stains of blood.

"In that garden, we'll grow tulips."

His frightened gaze laid on your collapsing figure. Without wasting a moment more, he rushed towards your limp body, lifting you up to sit you somewhere safer.

With tears stained eyes, he dropped to the floor, holding your trembling body close to him as his clouded vision attempts to stop the threatening tears,

"Keep your eyes open, [name]."

His body shook, he could feel his hands shake terribly. Looking down at you with a horrified expression.

The love of his life laid limp on his lap,

And it's because of him.

Of all the reasons, did it have to be him?

"Evac is— evac is coming. Please please please."

He knew the bullet hit somewhere fatal, otherwise you wouldn't have gone into shock. He saw the life fade from your eyes,

But you raised your weak hands to caress his clothed face, a smile making its way to your blood stained lips.

"The tulips, könig, they're gonna be so pretty."

"no, no, no." He shook his head as he saw the acceptance in your eyes.

"I've never loved anyone as much as I did with you, Keep that—keep that in your mind könig."

He shakes his head vigorously, screaming for you to wake up. Shaking your trembling body, 

The tulips, we still haven't planted them.

Wake up.

"[name] you can't, please, the tulips."

Who knew loving you would be a beautiful tragedy?

Have you known,

[name]?

Have you known that you'll be taking my heart wherever you go?

Have you known I'll grow those tulips, just for you?

"Grow the tulips for me, my love."

"I won't." He shook his head repeatedly. 

"Without you, I won't."

With your weak, strained voice you spoke. For him you kept trying,

"We'll plant them together—right Liebling?" He desperately spoke, keeping his hand tightly placed on your wound to apply pressure.

"Just as we planned. Together. In our small house. After we—" he paused to sob, letting out the clashing emotions that pierced through him.

"You even said that we'll have a cat, he's gonna be named Leaf because of our garden. You said I'll wake up next to you, I'll wake up to you playing with my hair—because I like it so much—right? [name]?"

"We still have to do those."

His lungs felt trapped in every word he spoke, it felt as if he’d pass out. Never had he felt so weak and hopeless, not for a mission, not for something,

Especially not ever for a person.

And yet here he sat, crying uncontrollably for you to stay and fulfil the plans you’ve made together. 

"You still have to—"

"You still have to marry me," he whispered. 

"Schatz bitte."

He cried, as he couldn't do anything else but wait for evac. He needed you, 

He can't lose you.

Not now. Not ever.

"I know I sound selfish, I know you're hurting and you want to rest but—I just—what would I be without you?"

Tulips,

Without their roots, they are lifeless.

Tulips without their sunlight are bound to wilt.

You felt your own tears trickle down your face,

"Liebling, I won't just let you go. I won't. Even after we planted those tulips," He paused, unable to control his emotions as he looked into your weak eyes. Your eyes that are on the verge of giving up,

"I'll keep needing you, I'll keep holding on."

And as if on cue, he hears the door thump. For a moment, he felt relieved, his tears abruptly stopping as his head turned towards the door. “[name], see? Evac is—” His heart dropped when the realisation hit, it wasn’t evac. They would have asked first, they would have given callouts. It’s the syndicates,

With an exhausted breath, his eyes grew darker, placing [name] on the corner hurriedly and gently. “Stay here, call for evac again alright? Don’t—don’t close your eyes [name], please.” He placed a kiss on top of your head before he picked his weapon up once again, sparing you one last glance before he quietly made his way towards the entrance. The sadness fading for a moment as rage replaced the burning emotion in his heart,

They did this.

They're taking you away from him.

With gritted teeth he strides, coming in contact with the geared enemies. As if he’d forgotten how exhausted he was, he fought efficiently. Taking hits and giving just the same, he was enraged, and they felt it. How he grunts and how he raised his hand. His strength and size overpowered them easily, 

It was as if he lost himself, he looked almost unreal. Taking lives with a clenched jaw, he felt anger. As he remembered what could possibly happen because of what they did,

What he can possibly go through.

He pants, staring down at the bloody sight. Taking in the smell and the horrendous end he made them face,

It didn't feel accomplished. Inside that room, you sat with a bullet deep inside your body. Defeating these people didn't feel as accomplished as it did before.

He weakly walked back—praying to whoever that you’re still breathing, that you’re still alive to continue on with your lives, still alive to plant the tulips with him. With droopy eyes he saw your bloody figure, sat with closed eyes and the talkie wrapped around your hands,

His tears fell once again, “schatz, I'm back.” he whispered, collapsing beside your body. Throwing the talkie and replacing it with his hands, clasping yours together with his tightly. 

The tulips,

“We couldn't separate them so we had to fit both of them in one evac vehicle.”

The captain looked at horangi in question, “Couldn't separate them?” “König held them too tightly, we were only able to separate them when we arrived here. Roze suggested letting them share a room together but due to some policies, the hospital didn't allow it.” he explained further, as they looked at König’s sleeping figure,

He had a frown despite being in a deep sleep.

“I see.” the captain mumbles, “make sure to let him know that [name] is safe, I'm certain hell would be loose if he didn't see them near him.” Horangi nodded, he spoke just before the captain reached the door. “[name]’s in a coma, doctors have informed us that they’re unstable.” “They’ll pull through, for König they will.” the captain replies without turning his head back. “They spoke of their retirement recently, [name] wouldn't disappoint König.”

“What color of tulips will we have?”

“Mm, white.”

“Why's that?” he asks you,

“To symbolize how sorry I am.”

He gasped, sitting up on the bed with his hands tightly wrapped around his neck, attempting to catch his breaths. The dream had hunted him, the look on your face,

The apologetic tone you spoke with,

What did you mean by that? What are you sorry for? Before he could take in his surroundings, he exited the room. Uncaring about the chords that connect to him, he walked and walked till he reached the front desk. “[name]. Where is their room?” He spoke sternly, catching the nurse off guard, he knew he looked terrifying but that’s not of his concern right now. He needs to know you're here, he needs to know you have a room, because if you dont it can only mean one thing.

And he’ll refuse to believe that. “Ah— [name] under the KorTac factions is it?” the nurse stuttered, flipping through the pages of their record book frantically, not wanting to cause the soldier any more agitation.

“Room 405 sir. The patient who’s in—” Without hearing any more words from the nurse, he ran, hurriedly ran to wherever that room could be. Worriedly reading the numbers in each room as adrenaline enveloped his body. Relief, happiness, everything all at one, he could cry.

But not yet, not until he sees you, not until he holds you. “[name]!” He chimes, barging inside the room recklessly. There was no one else inside, only you on the bed, sleeping soundly. He pants, walking closer, feeling his hands tremble by the sight of you. “Liebling.” he mumbled, reaching for the chair and sitting by you. “Love, you're here.” He could feel the tears fall at last, feeling his heart at ease. The sight of you removed the thousands of worries on his shoulder, that dream meant nothing, you had nothing to be sorry for. You didn't leave him, “You didn't—you didn't go.” he broke down, laying his head down on your hands which he held. Sobbing to you. “When we go back, let’s retire as soon as possible, okay?” he mumbled, lips trembling as he spoke. His voice broke with happiness. Croaking out whispers of  ‘I love you’s’ while he laid on your hand. “No more of these. No more.” “Let’s buy a house, a small one. Then we’ll go get leaf and—and, the tulips, my love.”

The tulips,

In our home.

Let’s grow the—

“Tulips?” His breath stopped, he froze as you spoke. He raised his head to look at you, weakly staring back at him. “What tulips?” “Where am i?”

The rasp on your voice was heard, the confusion evident and visible from the way you spoke and looked at him. He felt his heart drop, 

“Who are you?”

[seat-safety-switch]

"You have to come out here this year. It might be Grandma's last Christmas. She's talking about converting to Buddhism again."

Strained though our relationship may have been over the years, I always value the link to my family. Why don't I travel there, then? You could blame my shitbox cars, sure, but I keep at least one "nice," better-maintained one in reserve in case I need to flee to an extradition-unfriendly jurisdiction in a hurry. It's an '82 Imperial, full of minty features, you'd probably love it if you like brown, and the cops have no idea what to call it in as if there's no plates on it and I'm driving fast at night. Where was I? Oh yes. Family.

Normally, I could not willingly get onto an airplane. They're a lot like a bus, except it costs hundreds of times as much to ride in one, and it doesn't spend a lot of time on the road. Not relatable, and also I have bad memories of spending time handcuffed to two US Marshals on the last flight I took. Those guys did not want to talk about torque specifications, I'll tell you that much, and one of them wanted like three creams in his dinky coffee. Just ask for a glass of milk next time, bro.

In this case, I also could not willingly get onto an airplane. Despite my mother's increasingly-pointed threats left on my Radio Shack answering machine, I decided that I would road-trip instead. Would I take the Imperial, the car bought and impeccably maintained expressly for such a purpose? No, it's way too nice, I don't want to put the miles on it.

Instead, I decided to take something grandma would really appreciate: an old Toyota Century funeral car that my buddy brought back from Japan. Would it run? Yes, it's a Toyota, even if it does have 800 kilograms of ornately-carved wooden dragons clutching a coffin where the backseat used to be. Did the fact that the engine was missing, and had been replaced by a two-cylinder Kubota diesel from the 1950s making approximately zero horsepower, affect my expected arrival time? Also yes. If I got there late, well, everyone knew very quickly what they had signed up for when I was brought into the world. I'm family, after all.

[t-r99]

Soaked

Shidou Ryusei x reader

warning: smut

wc: 917

Shidou is such a needy, whiny, pouty fucking bitch, but he's your needy bitch.

"Pay attention to meee!" He whines childishly and rocks you back and forth. "Come on, I've been training all day but all I could think about was you so pleeease." He leans against your back and puts his arms around you, kissing the side of your neck.

"Did you shower when you came home?"

"Oh, I took a quick shower after training then came home." He says, not thinking much about it.

You scrunch your nose in disgust. "Gross." You mutter and stand up, grabbing his wrists and tugging in order for him to follow.

Shidou, confused, blinks in question. "Huh? What did I do?" He asks, letting you drag him with you.

"You're taking a shower."

"I am?"

You offer a sly little smile, eyes darkening with desire. "We are taking a shower."

Oh, fuck yes.

Shidou's eyes widen for a moment before he smiles wide and quickly yanks his wrists out of your grasp so he can lift you up instead. "Well why didn't you say that to begin with?" His strong hands squeeze your thighs hard as you lock your legs around his waist and he smirks. "You little minx."

He's quick to carry you to the shower and too eager to bother with clothes. "Ryu, wait a sec-"

Nope.

Shidou smushes his lips against yours and pushes you against the shower wall. A hand reaches out blindly and he feels around for a moment until he finds what he's looking for, and it makes you break the kiss and exclaim in surprise. "Ryusei, we're still dressed!" You laugh out.

"And?" He grins wide. "Makes you look hotter, you know." Shidou's eyes trail down to take in the sight of your soaked shirt clinging to your body like a layer of skin. You look delicious, he wants to devour you.

His sweatpants feel much too tight like this, soaked in water on top of straining to keep his cock in.

It feels like his entire body is throbbing, unbearably so. "Been thinkin' 'bout you all day," Shidou groans. "'bout how I'll fuck you today, and how I'll do it next time, and the next and the next."

You can feel him against you. Damn clothes. "You here to fuck me or just talk about it?" You ask.

"Oh," He smirks. "don't you worry your pretty head," Shidou lets go of your legs and lets you put your feet down. "I'll fuck you real good."

He doesn't care about being clothed or naked. The only thing that matters to Shidou is having you turn around so he can pull your pants down just enough to get a perfect view of his favourite thing in the world.

He teases you, much to your disappointment, by putting his cock between your thighs and telling you to press them together. "You have no idea how much I want to fuck you."

"Th- Then do it already." You whine with need. It's not fair that he's fucking your thighs and ignoring everything else.

Shidou is too busy grabbing handfuls of your ass to process your words. The tips of his fingers dig into the soft flesh and he spreads your cheeks and takes a sharp breath. "But it feels so good," His face feels warm. "they're so soft." He moves his hands down to the sides of your thighs and squeezes tight.

He could fuck your pretty, plush thighs and paint your skin white all day long.

Shidou leans down and brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. "You want my cum, don't you? You want it so bad you can't take it, huh?" He whispers and moves a hand between your soaked bodies and pushes two fingers inside you but it's not enough.

"'nside," You're desperate. "I want it inside."

Those words are almost enough to make him burst.

Shidou pulls his fingers out. His cock aches with need as he leaves the warmth of your thighs. "Inside . . . right here, yeah?" He's being an asshole about it, barely even prodding your hole. "Want my cum deep, deep inside, don'tcha?"

"Ryu,"

"Yeah, baby?" He kisses your shoulder. "Tell me."

"Please . . . Please, give it to me."

Fuck, he can't take it anymore.

"Oh, fuck," You almost choke as he fills you up inch by inch. "yes, yes, yes!"

Shidou throws his head back and moans shamelessly at how tight you are around him. He's throbbing, and painfully so. "I'm so close." He groans. Cumming, cumming, I'm cumming.

The sound of the rushing water can barely be heard over how loud his skin slaps against yours.

With your forearms pressed against the shower wall you can barely keep yourself up, legs shaking from the pressure building in the pit of your belly as he fucks you with fervour. Shidou's cock rubs against all the perfect spots, it feels so good, you can't stop begging him to cum inside and fill you for days to come.

It's hot. It's so hot it almost burns and makes you cry his name.

"That's it, take it all." Shidou looks down at you and smiles wide in euphoria. "My pretty baby," He pushes your soaked shirt up to expose your back. "always so good," You look absolutely delicious this way, he can't keep himself from leaning down to you while pushing your shirt further up to drag his hot tongue up your spine. "so good for me, only me."

[blackenedsnow]

Hello! Feel free to ignore this if you can't or wouldn't like to write it!

If it's not any trouble, could I request an Arthur Morgan x Asexual!Reader thing (one shot or headcanons, whatever fits better and/or is easier!), where there's like, mutual pining, but the reader speaks about their aversion to sex and lack of that sort of attraction, and how they think they're just never gonna have a meaningful romantic relationship because of this? Been feeling discouraged and sad about this, so yeah lmao.

And if the reader could be buff, it'd be awesome (no, I am not buff yet, but I will use this as inspiration to get there lol.

Anyways, tysm for taking the time to read this! Have a lovely day/night/afternoon!

heart stronger than flesh

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan x Asexual! Reader

NOTE: I hope this gave you the encouragement you were looking for! Arthur's got your back, and so do I. You're going to reach those buff goals, one step at a time. Stay strong and know you're worthy of all the love and care in the world! Thank you so much for requesting this. Remember that love comes in many forms, and you deserve it as you are.

SUMMARY: Arthur has always admired you—your strength, your sharp wit, the way you stand tall in the middle of this messy world. He knows there’s something unspoken between you two, but neither of you has dared to name it. That is, until one evening when you finally confront your fears about the future.

The camp was quiet tonight, only the crackling of the fire filling the air as the rest of the gang slowly drifted off to sleep. You sat a little ways from the fire, resting on a fallen log, your muscles tense from the long day. Arthur sat nearby, the warmth of the firelight casting flickering shadows over his face as he quietly cleaned his gun. His usual frown softened whenever his eyes flickered your way, though he was trying to act like he wasn’t paying too much attention to you.

It had been this way for a while now. The unspoken tension between you two simmered just beneath the surface—an unacknowledged pining that neither of you knew how to handle. You weren’t blind to how he looked at you, especially after all the times you’d ridden into town together, his eyes lingering on the way your biceps flexed when you pulled the reins. He was always good at keeping it hidden, though, his cowboy façade of stoicism remaining intact. But tonight felt different. He kept glancing over at you more often than usual, his jaw clenched a little tighter.

You sighed and stretched your arms above your head, feeling your muscles strain under your skin. Even in the dim light, your physique was obvious—strong arms and broad shoulders earned through days of hard work and rough living. You were proud of the strength you'd built, but something else gnawed at you. The weight in your chest wasn’t from exhaustion.

You tried to brush the thought aside, but it came creeping back, like it always did.

Arthur noticed the shift in your expression. He finally broke the silence, his voice low and gravelly. “You alright?”

You hesitated, your fingers idly picking at the worn fabric of your pants. “Yeah. Just… got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

He nodded, putting down his gun and giving you his full attention now. He was quiet for a moment, waiting for you to speak. His eyes were soft, his usual guarded expression slipping as he looked at you with concern.

You shifted on the log, feeling the words at the back of your throat, but they were hard to spit out. How could you explain it? You weren’t shy about being tough, about fighting back against the world, but this? This was something different. Something more vulnerable.

“Arthur…” you started, not looking at him directly. “You ever… feel like you're not ever gonna have what other folks have? Like, love… romance?” You paused, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. “I mean, I see people, how they are with each other. But for me… I don’t feel the same way they do.”

Arthur frowned slightly, not sure where you were going with this yet. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard, your hands tightening into fists in your lap. “I don’t… I don’t want the same things as most people. I don’t want—” You stopped, heart pounding, before forcing yourself to continue. “I don’t want sex, Arthur. I never have. Never felt that way. And it makes me feel like… like I'm gonna be enough. Not for anyone.”

Arthur was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you, but there was no judgment in his eyes. Just understanding, like he was listening to every word you said with more focus than he gave most things in this world.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while now. About... us. I know there’s… something between us, but I’m scared it’ll never work because I can’t give you what most people expect in a relationship. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s fair to you.”

Arthur finally spoke, his voice low and calm. “You really think that’s all there is to love? To wantin’ someone?”

You blinked at him, surprised by his question.

“I’m serious,” he said, shifting forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned toward you. “You think I’m with you—care about you—just ‘cause of what I could get outta you physically?” He shook his head. “It ain’t like that. Not for me.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say.

“I don’t care about that,” he continued. “Hell, I’ve been around enough folks to know what really matters. I care about *you*. I care about the way you carry yourself, the way you look after the people you care about, the way you get stronger every damn day.” His eyes softened even more. “You think I ain’t noticed how damn strong you’ve gotten, how you keep pushin’ yourself?”

Your heart skipped a beat as he spoke, and a warmth spread through your chest at his words. You had always prided yourself on your strength, but hearing it from him—hearing how he noticed and appreciated it—meant more than you could have expected.

“I’ve felt it too,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Somethin’ between us. I ain’t gonna pretend I know all the answers, but I know I care about you. And I don’t need anything else but you by my side.”

It was hard with the weight of your fears crashing into the relief his words brought.

Arthur, ever perceptive, reached out slowly, placing a calloused hand on your knee. It was a gentle touch—so different from the hardened man you were used to seeing in him.

“I ain’t here to push you,” he said softly. “You don’t ever have to be anything you’re not. I don’t expect you to change, and I sure as hell don’t think you’re any less for feelin’ the way you do.” He hesitated, squeezing your knee gently. “You’re more than enough. I promise you that.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping your eyes quickly. “Arthur, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t gotta say anything,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Just know that you mean somethin’ to me. And I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

For the first time in a long while, the tight knot in your chest started to loosen. You weren’t used to feeling this kind of reassurance, and yet, here was Arthur Morgan—someone as rough as the life you both led—telling you that you were enough just as you were.

You looked down at his hand on your knee, then back up into his eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled—just a small, fleeting thing, but it was real. “Anytime.”

The two of you sat there for a while longer, the fire crackling softly beside you, the night quiet and peaceful for once. And in that stillness, you felt a sense of calm settle in your bones.

You were strong—physically and emotionally. And with Arthur by your side, maybe you didn’t have to carry that weight alone.