#we’ve devolved

[nightsky-ler]

It’s so funny to see Christianity and woke fight over who’s the better cult

[eightbitpale]

The cw’s supernatural is public domain to me. If you even care

[skhardwarevers1]

a bit late to be saying that now isn’t it?

I don’t know if this counts as “fanart” or my subconscious brain making everything a reference, but I was thinking a lot about how over time we grow to have (sometimes) WILDLY off fanon versions of characters and the first one I thought of was Soul

there is a bit more of a story behind it though, which I would like to share if you would do me the pleasure in reading [also yes that story is related to this]

So I’m gonna keep this part of my story short and simple. I was in an art museum and some things happened that caused me to get heavily distracted in the art surrounding me, and let my thoughts wander to any place but myself. Being surrounded by so many paintings with distinct styles really brought back some long forgotten inspiration, and I started drafting my mental version of this painting. I’m not sure when it changed from a thought about my situation to thoughts of Fandomization of characters but that’s what happened. something in me got stuck on how blatantly mischaracterized the Jashlings are, and I know that’s just a thing that happens in a fan space, ideas go around and come around and you can’t quite place an origin to many of them. That’s what got me to Soul. for the longest time, I’ve found myself relating to all three jashlings, heart the most obviously based on my pfp—but there’s always been something that drove some strange artistic sense in me when it came to Soul. So when surrounded by art that artistic sense came out of hiding. The second I got home I picked up my pencil and started going away at this—not really caring if it was accurate enough to be “fanart”

the reason I used the mask is because it feels like there is a realer version of Soul (or any of the three) hidden beneath it, but we covered it away over time and made it almost impossible to say something meaningful that goes against the performing mask we’ve created (hence the stitches mouth). I put a small faded trident on there as a sort of “mark”, ensuring whoever may be viewing that it is indeed him, despite the mask.

they say the eyes are the window to the soul, you know. So you can see the extremely basic thing I did there. Go me! Basic references!

The title is just my response to people now calling out how far we’ve gone. Because, It’s a bit late to be saying that now isn’t it? It’s hard to undo just over a year’s worth of shared ideas. I’m not saying it’s futile, I’m just saying it’s rather late.

so….do with that information what you will! I will let society decide if this is a good painting and take, or if I shall be publicly humiliated and stoned tomorrow in the center of town

[waifuoftomonori]

I don’t think I’ve ever written Tomonori this way. He just seems so confident and mature when it comes to his romantic and sexual preferences (though not so much when it comes to whether those feelings are returned), and a lot of times when something kinda gay happens between him and Akifusa, he’s the one who initiates it. That rope scene, that was all his idea. Both instances of homoeroticized stabbing, his idea (not sexual but still deeply charged, passionate scenes).

Also, in the high school AU CD drama (although that one pisses me off, as I’ve explained before, because Shiki isn’t Aki and Tomo’s childhood friend in that), Tomonori walks in on Akifusa and Kodonomae acting out a romantic scene from Aki’s script for a competition, and he quickly jumps from feeling flustered to protective of Akifusa. (Although when Akifusa dashes after him and tries to explain, more frantically than I’d expect from a guy whose feelings toward Tomonori were purely platonic, Tomo’s reaction kinda reminds me of a miffed boyfriend who suspects he’s being cheated on. “That’s fine, love is love, but don’t touch me”, etc.)

For Akifusa, it depends on the story. I don’t think he does in canon, but I’ve written a few fics where he’s struggling with his newfound feelings toward Tomonori on the count of “he’s another man” on top of “he’s my best friend” and “what about the Princess?”. Because why not load poor Akifusa up with as many sources of stress and anxiety as possible?

Shiki doesn’t care, but she’s either straight or hasn’t realized she’s attracted to more than just men. I would argue she finds it hot that her best friends are hooking up, although that could very well be projection on my end. (Also you could argue that’s objectification and maybe also reflective of a stereotype, but considering it’s only toward her friends, one of whom she finds sexually attractive regardless, I’m willing to give her a pass.)

Now: I think Shinra almost certainly does. I also think he’s a well-meaning sweetheart who’s absolutely capable of getting over it, but— from the scraps of information divulged about his upbringing, from what I recall, he doesn’t exactly seem to have been raised in a supportive, loving environment. The reason he develops a childhood crush on the MC of his game is because she’s openly nice to him, and apparently that’s just not a thing in oni culture. And there’s the whole thing with his brother, and I get the vibe he and Taira are both scared of their dad. This could be all in my head, but red flags are waving all over, basically.

Obligatory screenshots from a Youtube video with translations from the CD drama of Tomonori’s reaction to walking in on Akifusa and Kodonomae, and then part of the conversation after Aki runs after him and tries to tell his boyfriend he’s not cheating:

(I’m including the full image for the screenshots because, well, the camera is currently panned over Tomonori in uniform, among other characters, and even though I feel a little weird commenting on his appearance now because in this AU he’s a teenager, I think he looks pretty sharp.)

Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[foldingfittedsheets]

I usually struggle a little with auditory processing. I also struggle with inflammation in my inner ear canals which doesn’t help. In general my strategy is to focus on the words I did understand and try to make an educated guess on the parts I miss.

This usually works pretty okay, and I only sometimes need to ask someone to repeat themself.

But on this trip to Hawaii the airplane definitely effected my inner ear and on top of that we’ve been messing around in the ocean so my aural perception is waaaay worse than normal.

Which is why when sitting down to eat tacos with my beloved wife I was absolutely stunned when they handed me a fork and said something outrageous. I ran it through my head a few times in bafflement. I knew my wife wouldn’t say that but it didn’t sound like anything I could imagine them saying while handing me a fork.

After an extremely befuddled moment I asked, “What did you say?”

“I just said you’re welcome?”

I stared at them in further confusion.

“What did you think I said?”

“Here, slut.”

We both devolved into absurd laughter. My wife protested, “I would never say that!”

“I know, that’s why I was so confused!”

[bye-bye-sunbird]

Thoughts on Yan-Capitano

I love the concept of a man who genuinely believes he’s doing the right thing by you. From what we’ve seen in the archon quest and the newest trailer, without diving into spoiler territory, he understands that 'ugly' things must be done for the greater good, and that especially applies to you. In his mind, he's not just protecting you—he’s shielding you from greater threats that only he can see or understand.

Yes, he acknowledges that he’s a monster, but he believes his monstrous actions are justified because they serve to keep you safe.

The tragic part is that the deeper he sinks into this role, the more he distorts this idea of protection. His devotion twists into something darker, where he limits your freedom under the guise of shielding you from danger, blind as to how he becomes the greatest threat to you.

Every boundary he crosses, every horrid and monstrous act, he justifies as necessary, clinging to the belief that without him, you'd be lost or harmed by dangers you couldn’t possibly understand. He's your devoted knight after all. Your fear and resistance are not signs that he's gone too far, but further evidence of how vulnerable you are, how gentle. And that perception of your fragility and need for protection grows exaggerated.

It’s this dangerous cycle where his protective instincts devolve into obsession, and the more monstrous he becomes, the more he believes he’s saving you.

Capitano doesn’t act out of malice, but his distorted sense of duty and love pushes him into the inevitable role of both protector and captor.

[snapscube]

I know you’re wayyyy past this era of snapcube, but your SpongeBob series that slowly devolves into an existential horror-comedy consistently lifts up my mood, thank you for giving the world such a weird and creative piece of work

thank you for enjoying it! it’s old yes but it’s still one of my favorite things we’ve ever done on the channel hehe

[alastyr-not-alastair]

MEEEEEEE

@marshmellohi

Do you know how embarrassing it is when the blorbos from your shows are a group of people from your DnD campaign?

I can't stop thinking about these people that exist only in me and a handful of other peoples' minds who are going through a story we are telling together THAT NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER HEARD OF BECAUSE IT IS AN EXPERIENCE SHARED ONLY BETWEEN US

*gripping my head* THE VOICES-

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

[missmaymay13]

serendipity - m.celebrini w.smith

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

m.celebrini x fem!oc | 2.5k

Summary: the two young sharks rookie decide to have an adventure before a game and end up getting lost. desperate and with no way back to the arena, they enlist the help of two girls who happened to be at the right place at the right time.

a/n: let me know if you guys would want a pt.2!

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The bus wasn’t even supposed to pull in for another two hours, but apparently, someone had either seriously messed up the schedule—or more likely, Will Smith had just misread it entirely—and now the San Jose Sharks found themselves standing awkwardly early outside Climate Pledge Arena. They looked like a group of over-dressed teenagers dropped off way too early for prom, loitering around the team bus in full game day suits, checking their phones, yawning, and stretching like they were about to step into a cage match instead of a professional hockey game.

"We are so painfully early," Macklin Celebrini muttered under his breath, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt like it had suddenly become sentient and was trying to strangle him. His gaze slid sideways toward Will, who stood a few feet away with the unearned enthusiasm of someone who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that it was still barely morning.

Will’s eyes were practically sparkling with the energy of a golden retriever that just saw its leash. "This is fate," he announced dramatically, stuffing his phone into his pocket and turning to face Mack with a grin that could only mean trouble. "We’re exploring. There’s this TikTok-famous coffee shop, like, two blocks from here."

Mack raised an unimpressed eyebrow, already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment. "You mean the one that’s always packed and impossible to find?"

Will’s grin only widened, that dangerous little glint in his eyes shining brighter. "Exactly. Come on, we’ve got time."

Mack groaned audibly. "We’ve got pre-game in two hours."

"Exactly!" Will beamed. "Time for a little adventure."

Against every rational thought in his brain, Mack followed him.

Thirty minutes later, the adventure had devolved into a slow-moving disaster. Will was spinning in circles on a cracked sidewalk like a malfunctioning GPS, pointing at random buildings. "I swear it was right here! This is exactly what it looked like in the video."

Mack, already freezing in his too-thin suit, tugged his jacket tighter around himself and leveled a withering glare at Will. "That video was probably filmed in 2022. There is no coffee here. There is no cozy aesthetic or magical TikTok oasis. There is only windburn, the smell of questionable alley hot dogs, and the creeping terror of being late to warm-ups."

Will waved him off with the blind confidence of a man who’d never admitted fault in his life. "We’re close, I swear. I’ve got this whole mental map."

"Your GPS skills are a hate crime," Mack muttered. "You've pointed at three identical brick buildings in a row and said 'it’s definitely that one.' I’m beginning to think you just want us to die before the game starts."

Will spun around, scanning the street again like it might suddenly reveal itself if he blinked hard enough. "Look, if we just take one more left—"

"You said that three turns ago. We’ve taken more lefts than a Nascar driver."

"Okay, rude, but fair," Will replied, unbothered, still leading them deeper into architectural nowhere.

Mack sighed deeply, the kind of exhale that carried the weight of regret and frostbite. "I’m never letting you near a map again. Ever."

Will glanced down at his phone and frowned. "Okay... Uber says the nearest ride is thirty minutes away."

Mack inhaled deeply, slowly, and said, "I hate you."

Will patted his shoulder like they were on a sitcom. "You love me."

"In the most begrudging way imaginable."

And then they turned the corner—and walked straight into fate.

Or rather, directly into two unsuspecting women holding coffee cups.

"Oh my god—are you kidding me?!" the taller girl yelped as she stumbled backward, miraculously managing not to spill a single drop of her drink. Her friend, a petite brunette with the sharpest blue eyes Mack had ever seen, caught her arm to steady her and immediately zeroed in on them with an unimpressed look.

"Dude, watch it—Jesus," she said, squinting up at Will and Mack like she was already ranking them on a scale of stupidity.

There was a silence. Not the regular kind. The kind that was drawn out, socially awkward, heavy with the weight of two people realizing they just knocked into two complete strangers while wearing thousand-dollar suits.

Will blinked. Mack looked like he wanted the sidewalk to swallow him whole.

Then Will tilted his head in a very exaggerated, very obvious way. Mack gave him a death glare. Will widened his eyes meaningfully. Mack sighed like a man who had resigned himself to whatever chaos was about to happen.

"Are you guys... having a stroke?" the short one asked, brows raised high.

Will grinned with zero shame. "Slightly. But actually—we were wondering if maybe you were headed near the arena? Like, soon?"

Mack practically hissed, "Dude," under his breath.

The taller girl, who was now regarding them with skeptical eyes, narrowed them even further. "This is a bad idea."

"We’re going to the game anyway," the shorter one—Issy—shrugged. "I mean, if you don’t mind sharing a backseat full of gym bags, thrifted records, and like, three water bottles that may or may not be from last week."

Will clapped his hands like she had just offered him a golden ticket. "You’re angels. Literal angels."

"This is how people get murdered," Mack muttered as they followed the girls toward a tiny hatchback parked nearby.

The inside of Issy’s car was best described as... lived-in. The backseat was an eclectic jungle of bags, clothing, a yoga mat, and something suspiciously glittery. Will, of course, had called shotgun before the door even opened. He was already playing with the aux cord, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

"Issy," he said, dramatically turning to her as she buckled in. "Do you believe in the unifying power of early 2010s pop?"

"Only every day of my life."

Mack climbed into the backseat, folding himself like a pretzel. Ari slid in after him, careful not to knock over the chaos occupying most of the seat.

"Sorry about the mess," she whispered, cheeks already turning pink.

"It’s fine," Mack replied quickly, eyes fixed on the back of the front seat as if avoiding eye contact would help his ears stop burning.

Issy peeled out of the lot like she was trying to qualify for NASCAR. Will screamed.

"DEAR GOD, USE YOUR BLINKER!"

"I LITERALLY DID!"

"THIS IS HOW I DIE!"

In the back, Mack gripped the side handle like a man on a rollercoaster. Ari tried to keep herself steady, but when Issy made a particularly sharp turn, she toppled sideways, colliding gently into Mack’s shoulder.

They both froze.

"S-sorry!" Ari stammered, pulling herself upright with comical speed, only to find her hand accidentally landing on his.

Her fingers touched his.

Time paused.

Her head snapped up, her eyes locked with his, and for a moment, the entire car disappeared. Then she yanked her hand back, face flushed to her ears, and turned to stare at the window like it had personally betrayed her.

Mack, meanwhile, was trying to remember how to breathe.

"You’re bad at directions," Issy said casually, breaking the moment from the front seat.

"You’re bad at driving," Will retorted.

"You screamed when I made a legal U-turn."

"Because you did it in front of a semi!"

Ari let out a soft laugh that warmed something in Mack’s chest. He glanced at her again, and when she looked back at him, they both smiled—shy and slow.

"You guys are something," she murmured.

"That’s one way to put it," he said, voice quiet, amused.

They screeched into the arena parking lot with a minute to spare. The boys practically fell out of the car, straightening their ties and brushing down their suits like they hadn’t just risked their lives for a cup of coffee that never even existed.

Issy leaned out the window, grinning. "You’re welcome for the worst Uber ride of your life."

Will winked. "Five stars. Would almost die again."

Mack turned to Ari, who was brushing crumbs off her lap. "Thanks... for not judging too hard."

She smiled, teasing. "Too late for that."

They laughed. It was quiet, awkward, and warm.

Then, as if coordinated, the boys whipped out their phones.

"Instagram or Snapchat?" Will asked.

"Both," Issy said, already pulling out hers.

Ari blinked. "Wait... are you—"

Will cut her off, voice smug. "If we win tonight, it’s because of this."

Ari rolled her eyes. Mack was still watching her.

She looked away.

He smiled.

The game hadn’t started yet.

But something else had.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The arena buzzed with pre-game energy, a low rumble of chatter and anticipation rippling through the crowd as Arabelle and Issy found their way to their seats. They were a few rows up behind the Kraken bench, with a perfect view of the ice and, more importantly, the chaos that was bound to ensue once the puck dropped. Issy flopped dramatically into her seat, taking a massive sip of her soda before turning toward Ari with a smug grin.

"Sooooo," she sing-songed, eyebrows waggling. "You and the Macklin were pretty cozy back there."

Ari didn’t even look at her. She just rolled her eyes and muttered, "Pretty sure that’s because we were jammed in next to a yoga mat and half your closet."

"Uh-huh," Issy said, all knowing. "I saw the moment. You touched hands. There was eye contact. Blushing."

Ari groaned. "Oh my god, you were watching us? No wonder we were swerving all over the place—you were too busy spying instead of looking at the damn road."

Issy burst out laughing, unapologetic. "Guilty. But seriously. Did you think he was cute?"

Ari hesitated for a second, then sighed. "I mean... yeah. Obviously. He’s gorgeous."

Issy turned, fully facing her now with wide, expectant eyes.

"But he lives in San Jose, Iss," Ari added quickly. "He’s an NHL superstar. I’m just some random girl who gave him and his buddy a ride because they were too dumb to plan ahead. He probably has a thousand girls throwing themselves at him every day. He’s not interested."

Issy snorted, but before she could respond, the lights dropped and the arena erupted in cheers.

The game began, and with each shift, Ari tried to keep her focus on the action—on the Kraken, the fans, anything that wasn’t the fact that every single time Macklin Celebrini skated near the bench, he looked up. And not just a passing glance. It was direct. Intentional. Like he was checking to make sure she was still there.

And every time it happened, Ari felt her cheeks heat up in an embarrassing, impossible-to-ignore way. She’d duck her head, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, but Issy noticed. Of course she noticed.

"He’s looking at you again," Issy whispered.

"Shut up."

"You shut up. I think he just smiled."

"Issy."

"I’m just saying!"

The game ended in a tight 3-2 win for the Kraken, and as the final buzzer sounded, Ari clapped and cheered with everyone else. But there was a little pang of disappointment she wasn’t expecting as Mack disappeared down the tunnel.

"We are not going home yet," Issy declared, grabbing Ari’s hand as they exited the arena. "There’s this bar like two blocks away that always has cheap drinks after home games."

"I’m not even dressed to go out."

"Neither are half the people there. Let’s go."

Ari, too emotionally drained to fight it, followed.

The bar was cozy, crowded, and loud—the kind of place where conversations happened over thumping bass and neon signs. About an hour in, they were nursing cocktails and split fries when the door opened with a gust of cold air and a sudden shift in energy.

A group of men stepped in, all tall, all effortlessly cool in jeans and jackets. And very, very familiar.

"No. Way," Issy whispered, her eyes locked on the door.

"What?"

Issy reached for her phone, typing furiously. "That’s them. That’s like—half the Sharks. Oh my god."

Ari’s stomach flipped as she scanned the group. Sure enough, there was Will, laughing about something, and right behind him—Macklin.

Before she could fully process it, Will spotted them. He grinned, said something to Mack, and the two peeled off from the group, heading straight toward their table like this was totally normal.

Will dropped into the chair next to Issy without hesitation, throwing an arm across the back of it like he belonged there. Mack approached more slowly, still a little cautious, and took the seat next to Ari.

"Hey," he said with a shy smile. "Didn’t expect to see you here."

"Seattle’s a small town," Ari replied, her heart doing somersaults. "Or you’re just following us."

"Maybe a little of both."

Meanwhile, Issy and Will had already descended into a whirlwind of laughter, bickering about music, road trips, and something about cheese fries.

Ari and Mack sat in their own little bubble of quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly effortless yet either. After a few beats, Ari leaned in slightly.

"You played great out there. Sorry you guys lost."

Mack shrugged, smile sheepish. "I knew what I was signing up for when I signed that contract. Sharks are a work in progress."

"Still," she said. "You looked good."

He looked down for a second, then back up at her. "Thanks. That means a lot."

The conversation started to flow from there—easier, looser. They talked about Seattle, about the road schedule, about how exhausting it was to live out of hotel rooms. They talked about Ari’s job, her favorite places to eat in the city, how she used to play rec soccer before an ankle injury sidelined her. Gradually, they leaned in closer, shoulders brushing now and then, smiles wide and easy.

Then—WHACK.

A large hand clapped Macklin’s back, nearly sending him face-first into the table.

"There you guys are!" William Eklund, clearly a drink or two in, leaned heavily on the table. "Come play pool. We need more people. Come onnnn."

Will was already dragging Issy toward the tables before either girl could protest.

"You in?" Mack asked, glancing at Ari.

"I guess I don’t have a choice."

They stood together at a nearby high-top as Will and Eklund went head-to-head in a truly chaotic round of pool. Ari and Mack stayed close, still chatting, their laughter blending easily into the noise around them.

Ari glanced up at him, his face lit by the neon overhead light, smiling in a way that felt entirely too dangerous.

Oh god, she thought. This is not good.

She couldn’t catch feelings for a guy who lived thousands of miles away. Who belonged in a different world. One where cameras followed him, fans adored him, and his time wasn’t really his own. She was just... Ari. A girl with a beat-up car and a spontaneous streak. This couldn’t be anything.

Right?

As the night wound down and the crowd thinned, Mack leaned a little closer, his voice low.

"I really enjoyed getting to know you tonight."

Ari’s breath caught. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, trying to play it cool. "Me too."

Before anything more could be said, Will and Issy reappeared, cheeks flushed from laughing.

"Ugh," Issy groaned. "Why does the night have to end?"

Will turned to the girls. "What are you doing in February? During our All-Star break?"

Ari blinked. "We’re going to Boston. Visiting a few friends. Probably going to the Beanpot."

Will and Mack exchanged a look and smiled.

Ari squinted at them. "Why are you smiling like that? It’s weird."

Mack tilted his head. "We’re going to be in Boston too. Watching the Beanpot."

Issy gasped. "Shut up."

"Seriously?" Ari asked.

Will nodded. "Guess we’ll see you there."

Before the girls could even fully process that, Mack added, "We’re doing a quick golf trip to Arizona the next week too, during the break. You guys should come."

Issy looked at Ari. Ari looked at Issy.

The look said everything: Why not?

They grinned.

"Sure," Ari said. "Why not."

Whatever this was—it was just beginning.

[aventurineswife]

Veritas, Kaveh, and reader are having a bath together. Kaveh and Reader are being their goofy selves as usual while annoying the heck out of Veritas (but he secretly enjoys the chaos). Bonus points if Veritas had rubber ducks that resemble Kaveh and reader <3

Our Little Family of Ducks

Summary: A relaxing bath between Kaveh, Veritas Ratio, and you turn into a playful and chaotic bonding moment. While Kaveh and you indulge in goofiness, Ratio tries (and fails) to maintain his composed demeanor. The discovery of personalized rubber ducks adds to the hilarity, revealing Ratio's secret fondness for his partners. Amid splashes, laughter, and teasing, the trio revels in your unconventional yet loving relationship.

Tags: Kaveh x Reader x Ratio, Polyamory, Domestic Fluff, Humor, Lighthearted Chaos, Found Family Vibes, Kaveh Being Kaveh, Ratio Being Secretly Soft, Rubber Ducks Shenanigans.

A/N: I love these sillies 🤭🫶

The steamy warmth of the bath filled the room, soft tendrils of mist curling around the ornate tiles. Kaveh had insisted on setting up this "relaxation session," and it had taken no small amount of persuasion to convince Ratio to join. The architect and their mutual partner, you, had promised an evening of serenity—though, true to form, serenity was far from what had unfolded.

Kaveh was lounging on one side of the tub, his long hair tied loosely to avoid the water. His eyes glinted with amusement as he flicked droplets of water your way. “And then she said, ‘But why would I need a spiral staircase if I’m afraid of heights?’ Can you believe it? A whole architectural masterpiece undone because she refused to go above two floors!”

You snorted, splashing back in retaliation. “Honestly, Kaveh, maybe she was onto something. Not everyone’s built for grandeur.”

Veritas, perched at the other end of the tub with his back against the smooth, cool tiles, let out a low sigh. His hair clung damply to his forehead, the rings of his pupils narrowing as he surveyed the two of you with a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection. “If you two came here to ridicule the art of storytelling and defy the very essence of peace, then you’re succeeding marvelously.”

“Oh, lighten up, Ratio,” Kaveh teased, sending a small wave of water in his direction. “This is supposed to be fun.”

Before Veritas could retort, you leaned forward, your eyes lighting up mischievously. “Speaking of fun… Ratio, what’s with these?” You plucked up one of the small, colorful rubber ducks floating nearby. Its violet paint glistened in the water, and its eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to Veritas himself.

Kaveh burst out laughing, quickly snatching another from the water. This one, unmistakably styled after you, had a little painted scarf and a tiny replica of your favorite accessory. “No way! You actually got ducks made for us?”

“Correction,” Veritas interjected, his voice cool but laced with a hint of defensiveness, “I designed them. A calculated experiment to observe the cognitive amusement derived from personalized objects in shared recreational spaces.”

You and Kaveh stared at him for a beat before doubling over with laughter. “You made them because you like us, you big softy!” you said, clutching the duck close to your chest.

“I think it’s sweet,” Kaveh added, his grin widening as he lined the ducks up on the edge of the tub. “Now we’ve got our own little family. Look, here’s me, here’s you, and—” He paused dramatically, fishing out a third duck. It was golden with faint streaks of red, and its feathers curled in intricate patterns, mirroring Kaveh’s elegant cape. “Oh, Ratio, this one’s perfect. You even got the hair right!”

Veritas pinched the bridge of his nose, though a faint smirk betrayed his amusement. “If I’d known this would devolve into childlike antics, I would have stayed in my lab.”

“Liar,” you shot back, scooting closer to him and setting your duck on his chest. “You love this. Admit it.”

“I do not—”

“Oh, you definitely do,” Kaveh chimed in, settling on Veritas’ other side. “Look at that face. That’s the face of a man trying not to smile.”

“I hate both of you,” Veritas muttered, but the corners of his lips betrayed him as they curved upward.

“Love you too,” you and Kaveh said in unison, leaning in to kiss each of his cheeks. The warmth in the room wasn’t just from the bath anymore—it radiated from the three of you, tangled together in your chaotic but undeniably loving bond.

“Now,” Kaveh said, grabbing a duck and splashing Veritas playfully, “let’s see who wins the Great Duck Battle!”

Veritas sighed, watching as water and laughter filled the room. His calm demeanor broke as he picked up his own duck and joined in the fray. Perhaps, just this once, chaos wasn’t such a bad thing.

[celaenaeiln]

Small scenario ask:

A kid version of Robin!Dick gets teleported into the present day of the DCU, in particular during one of those times that Batfamily are split up and at each other’s throats with only Tim(my) and Alfred sort of trying to keep the peace.

They don’t know he’s present until he jumps in from out of nowhere to help the Batfamily take on a Scarecrow attack.

How would they react to this tiny version of Dick and his more chipper and lively attitude especially once he starts asking Batman if these other guys around them are their allies or something?

OMG I AM SO EXCITEEDD!!

THE FUNNY THING IS IVE ACTUALLY BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS TOPIC SEPARATELY IN MY HEAD!!

Not this exact scenario but just like how much Dick has changed over the years.

This is SUCH a good fanfic idea!!!

Okay so Dick would jumps into the future where the whole family is fighting and all of a sudden, a brightly colored boy just "POP"'s into the dark batcave.

Everyone at that point had been growling and snarling and screaming at each other over ethics and morals and course of action for a case that devolved into tearing at family lines and loyalties.

The tensions are high and no one is on anyone's side because as united as the batfamily is, they are just as divided.

They're seconds from coming to blows when - pop (goes the weasel. lol jk) - a 3 foot 2'' boy in the most canary yellow cape, scarlet vest, and emerald green scaled shorts blinks into existence.

The batfamily immediately goes for their weapons at the sound and most barely refrain from throwing them at the sight of a boy but some weapons slip out people's hands too fast for them stop.

They watch with their hearts in their throats and move as one to prevent it, their minds barely registering the sight in front of them, the only thought in their heads is - STOP! As if mere words could halt assailing weapons hurtling at breakneck speeds towards the child.

They've barely started moving when the small child - he couldn't have been taller than Batman's hip at the height he was - suddenly bounced on his right foot and used the moment to twirl horizontally in the air. The brilliant yellow cape swirled around his body as he turned, almost acting like a cocoon. The batarang sailed underneath their twirling body while two knives sliced the air harmlessly above him, all three weapons embedding themselves soundlessly into the cave walls behind him.

The batfamily makes an aborted move forward, halting in their tracks as the imminent danger passed and the walking traffic light of a child uses their split-second of decision to stop to take the time to gracefully land on his toes before flipping far out of reach. His back arched back into a perfect elegant little backflips which absolutely should not be possible or done so smoothly for a boy as young as he, but the kid manages anyway to land perched on a railing from the upper batcave level, looking down at them from his spot.

Duke glanced around to see if the rest of them had seen the same thing he did. Clearly not because Bruce, Tim, and Alfred looked like they'd seen a ghost. Jason and Damian looked grudgingly impressed. Steph looked openly impressed.

"So, we’ve got surprise visitors, huh? Gee, swell! You folks friends of B? Wait a sec-that can’t be right. B doesn’t have any friends except for me!" The kid chirped - and Duke swore, honest to god, chirped - with a cheeky grin, hands on his hips like he'd just cracked the world's funniest joke.

Duke just stood there, mouth slightly open, like his soul had momentarily left his body. The kid’s mask squinted as if narrowing his eyes at Bruce.

Duke blinked hard. Am I hallucinating? Did I eat bad takeout? He thought.

Bruce, meanwhile, stood frozen, looking like he was wondering where in his life he went wrong.

“Gee whiz, mister, I don’t mean to jump to conclusions or nothin’, but it’s kinda bad manners to go borrowin’ somebody else’s clothes without asking first!” He gave Bruce an exaggerated once-over, the grin on his face making it clear he wasn’t intimidated in the least. “I mean, that cape looks swell and all, but it isn't exactly screaming ‘your size,’ ya know?”

He tilted his head and piped up, “A friend of Catwoman’s?” His voice was light, full of curiosity and mischief.

Jason suddenly snorted. "A friend of Catwoman's, alright."

Cass gently smiled. Duke suspected she had known from the beginning who he was and thus had not moved a muscle during the chaos. Duke couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t because of uncertainty. Nope, Cass had known. She always knew.

He sighed internally. Why was he always the last to catch on to these Batfamily mysteries? On the other hand, maybe he should be grateful. He was still wiping off the remaining sludge off his suit from the last batfamily mayhap.

"Dick?" Bruce’s voice was raw, breaking apart as if it couldn’t decide whether to hope or mourn. It was the sound of disbelief and desperate longing, the kind of ache you didn’t just hear—you felt it. Duke’s chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. He couldn’t imagine what it must mean to Bruce, but the pain was so thick it was almost unbearable.

"Who are you, mister?" Dick - holy fuck that was Dick. Wait- Duke whipped his head around. Where was their Dick?!

Tim was looking a little peaky in Duke's opinion and that was saying something since the other guy always looked pale.

Bruce raised a shaking hand to his cowl, dragging it down the back of his head almost looking like he wanted to do anything but. "Bruce. It's me, Bruce."

"I know you're a guy who looks like Bruce, but you're not my Bruce."

If his kids' previous deaths hadn't killed Bruce, then that one single sentence did, Duke thought, watching the man.

He saw a flicker of something break inside Bruce. The hardened mask Bruce wore cracked, revealing the raw, vulnerable man beneath. It was like hearing the one thing he feared most—that he wasn’t enough for them—and the way it pierced him was brutal. The light left Bruce's eyes for a moment, and Duke could almost feel the weight of that rejection.

It probably hurts to hear it from an 8 year old version of a person that adored you. Duke realized sadly. He wasn't there for Dick's childhood with the man - none of them were - but he was sure it wasn't called the Golden Ages by everyone for show by all those who had known them then.

"Wait, Alfred?" Dick asked, boring holes into the elderly butler.

So, he recognizes the same Alfred but not Bruce? Duke fought back a hysterical laugh. That's gotta sting. Sorry, man. Duke sent a silent prayer to the man who looked like he didn't know if he was going to start sobbing or glaring daggers.

Alfred cleared his throat, rather wetly in Duke's opinion. "Yes, son." He said and smiled warmly.

The boy gave a hoot of laughter that sent the bats in a flurry as he threw himself off the railing. Steph and Jason scrambled to catch him but mini-Dick (Duke was still half-panicking over where big-Dick went. Big-Dick. Haha) hopped onto Jason's shoulder used Stephanie's back as a personalized springboard and landed happily in Alfred's arms.

He hugged the man's neck like it was a plush toy and Alfred tightly held the boy with one arm under his thighs and the other around his waist.

Duke noted with no small amount of surprise that Dick perceptively didn't point of Alfred's suspiciously wet eyes and near-silent sniffling. It was damn loud for the cave though.

"Hey, did you whip up some cookies? I gotta say, that casserole’s a real knock-out, and your filet mignon? Spot on! Say, after we chow down, how about a rousing game of badminton? I’m on fire today! Let’s shake a leg, have some fun, and see who’s got the best swing!"

"Of course, Master Dick." Alfred said and the two continued conversing as Alfred carried the boy up the stairs of the batcave.

"Say, did you get to the next chapter of Lady in the Lake? I gotta tell ya, there's something fishy goin' on there, like a real gumshoe mystery. I can smell a twist coming a mile away, like a crook with a bad alibi! Whaddya think? There’s more to this dame than meets the eye, I betcha!"

Dick's voice faded as the rest of them dumbfoundedly realized they needed to follow after the two of them. Except for Cass, of course, who was already tugging a stiff Stephanie along.

Duke couldn’t help notice Tim. The guy was practically glowing in the corner like he was about to faint, his face flush with excitement. Duke knew all about Tim’s obsession with Grayson—Steph had spilled enough gossip to fill a novel. Tim had ranted about Dick for years, quoting everything from his acrobatics to his smile. But now, seeing the younger version of Grayson in front of him? Tim was this close to passing out. His eyes were practically sparkles. If there were stars in the Batcave, they were all shining in Tim’s eyes.

“Tim, dude, you alright?” Duke teased, but Tim couldn’t even form words. He just gave a thumbs-up so exaggerated it might as well have come with a marching band soundtrack.

Duke couldn’t shake the feeling that Damian was acting a little… off. The usually fierce, unflappable kid was clearly trying to maintain his tough exterior, but Duke could see the subtle signs. The way Damian’s eyes flicked over to Dick with just a hint of nervousness, his stance rigid, like he was bracing for something, but not quite sure what.

"Is it just me, or is Dick an absurdly happy kid?" Duke suddenly spoke, thinking about Dick's demeanor. The older Dick Grayson was so strict and while he joked, there wasn't a free-hearted levity in him that his child version carried.

The kid had been practically shining, bouncing around the Batcave as if it were his personal playground. This was the same kid who had grown into the stoic, responsible, and sometimes brooding Nightwing. The difference was like night and day. Duke could see the weight of the years had changed him, and as he watched this boy, full of energy and warmth, he realized just how much had been lost. This wasn't the Dick they all knew. This was a Dick that had never seen the kind of pain that had hardened him into the man they looked up to.

It was a version of Dick they would never witness - laughing so freely, so full of life - one that was locked away in Bruce's heart, his memories paying tribute to their god-like figure he'd embellished of their brother.

It was a homage Bruce had unknowingly clung to and fed into, and a part of Duke wondered how much of this Dick, too, had buried inside himself.

Duke felt an ache in his bones, realizing just how much was buried under the weight of Dick’s current life. The boy before him was a ghost of the past that no one would ever get back.

Jason groaned. "One depressing revelation at a time, Duke." He stomped his way up the stairs followed by near swooning Tim, and an anxious Damian.

Bruce hadn't moved an inch. It was as if the air around him had thickened, suffocating both of them with tension. Bruce, usually so composed, was now locked in a frozen tableau of silent agony. His face was unreadable, but his eyes - Duke could see them - betrayed a terrible storm. Guilt, loss, and a deep, unspoken grief. The kind of grief that didn’t make noise but settled in your bones and dragged you under.

But Duke was The Signal. He was the Light, that's what his emblem meant. While Bruce was drowning in his own anguish, Duke could not afford to drown with him. So he patted the man on the back and followed his brothers up the stairs, readying himself for more horrifying realizations about the loss of innocence and joy from their favorite brother.

[s4kura-tr3]

Snow day

Summary: the JJK men have a day off from work because of the snow

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuji

Gojo satoru

The snow is falling thick and fast outside your window when you wake up, a rare silence blanketing the usual city chaos. You squint at your phone, scrolling past a string of notifications until one catches your eye—work is canceled. A snow day. You barely have time to process this before the bed dips beside you.

“Guess who doesn’t have to be an adult today?” Gojo’s voice is smug, even as his arms wrap lazily around you from behind. His hair’s a mess of white, almost blending into the snowstorm outside, and his grin is somehow brighter than the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

You mumble something about wanting to sleep in, but Gojo has other plans. “Oh no, no, no, no,” he says dramatically, tugging the blankets away. “We’ve been granted a day of pure, unadulterated freedom! This calls for celebration. Come on, lazybones, get up!”

Despite your groans, you’re soon bundled up in layers and dragged outside. The cold bites at your nose, but the sight of Gojo spinning in the falling snow—arms outstretched, head tilted back like a kid seeing snow for the first time—melts your initial reluctance.

The day unfolds with Gojo’s chaotic energy as the driving force. First, a snowball fight. It starts off tame until he begins bending the rules, using his Infinity to block your throws and conjuring impossibly large snowballs that he somehow claims are “fair game.” You manage to catch him off guard, pelting him square in the back, and he dramatically collapses into the snow like he’s been mortally wounded.

Then comes the snowman-building competition, which quickly devolves into Gojo attempting to sabotage your progress while insisting his lopsided creation has “character.” By the time you both admit defeat, your cheeks are flushed and your gloves are soaked through.

Back inside, the warmth is heavenly, and Gojo insists on making hot cocoa. It’s overly sweet—because, of course, he dumps half a bag of marshmallows into your cup—but it’s perfect. You curl up on the couch together under a blanket, your feet tangled as you watch the snow continue to fall outside.

“Days like this are rare,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket. “We should make it snow more often.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his absurdity, but you can’t deny it—you wouldn’t trade this day for anything.

Geto Suguru

The morning starts with an unusual stillness. You’re lying in bed, half-buried under the warmth of the blankets, when you notice the faint blue-gray light filtering through the curtains. Snow. Lots of it. You reach for your phone and find the notification waiting: work is canceled. You sigh in relief, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Beside you, Geto stirs, his long, dark hair spilling over the pillow. He opens his eyes just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling on his lips. “What’s got you smiling?” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

“Snow day,” you reply, tilting your phone to show him the screen.

He hums, eyes closing again as he pulls you closer. “Then there’s no reason to get up, is there?”

For a while, neither of you moves. His steady breathing and the muffled quiet of the snow make it easy to stay curled up together, his arms wrapped loosely around you. Eventually, though, the outside world calls. “We should do something,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Something like breakfast?” he offers, his voice teasing.

The two of you make your way to the kitchen, where Geto puts together a simple but satisfying breakfast. He moves with an easy confidence, brushing his hair into a loose bun as he hands you a steaming mug of tea. The two of you eat by the window, watching the snow drift lazily to the ground.

Afterward, Geto pulls on a coat and convinces you to do the same. “Come on,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “Let’s go see what it’s like out there.”

The streets are quiet and blanketed in pristine white. The city feels transformed, the usual chaos muted by the snow. Geto leads you to a nearby park, where the two of you walk along the snow-covered paths, your boots crunching softly with each step.

At one point, he stops to brush the snow from a bench and gestures for you to sit. “Stay there,” he says with a small smile, before gathering an armful of snow and rolling it into a ball. You watch as he builds a snowman with meticulous care, crafting its features with the same precision he brings to everything.

When he steps back to admire his work, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s… interesting,” you say, noting the lopsided grin he’s given it.

“Artistic,” he corrects with mock seriousness, his dark eyes gleaming.

You join him in the snowman-making endeavor, and before long, you’re laughing and throwing snow at each other. Geto isn’t one to start a snowball fight, but he doesn’t hesitate to retaliate when you toss a handful of snow at his back. His throws are deliberate, always landing close enough to make you yelp but never enough to truly soak you.

Eventually, the cold drives you both back inside. Geto sets about making hot chocolate, insisting on doing it properly—none of that instant stuff. The scent of melting chocolate fills the apartment as you wrap yourself in a blanket, watching him work with quiet appreciation.

When he finally hands you a mug, he sits beside you on the couch, pulling the blanket around the both of you. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence makes everything else fade away.

“You know,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “we should have more days like this. Just us. No work, no distractions.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Agreed.”

The rest of the day passes in cozy contentment, the snowstorm outside making your shared warmth feel all the more precious.

Nanami Kento

You wake up to the soft patter of snow against the window and the unmistakable stillness that only comes with a snowstorm. For once, your alarm isn’t the thing pulling you from sleep. Instead, it’s Nanami gently nudging your shoulder.

“It’s snowing,” he says quietly, his voice low and even. “And work is canceled.”

Your eyes flutter open to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in his usual crisp manner, though his tie is noticeably absent. He’s holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the other resting on your shoulder.

You groan, rolling onto your side. “So why are you up already?”

“Old habits,” he replies with a faint smile. “But since we have the day off, I thought I’d make us breakfast.”

The promise of food is enough to pull you out of bed. By the time you join him in the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet fills the air. Nanami is at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of precision he applies to everything. He hands you a plate as soon as you sit down, topped with golden pancakes and fresh fruit.

“Fancy,” you tease, drizzling syrup over the stack.

“I don’t believe in wasting time,” he replies simply, though there’s a softness to his tone.

After breakfast, the two of you linger at the table, sipping coffee and watching the snow pile up outside the window. It’s peaceful, and for once, there’s no rush to go anywhere or do anything.

When you suggest going outside, Nanami raises an eyebrow. “You know it’s freezing, right?”

“Exactly,” you say with a grin. “That’s what makes it fun.”

It takes some convincing, but eventually, he relents. Bundled up in scarves and gloves, the two of you step into the snow-covered streets. The neighborhood is quiet, and the fresh snowfall makes everything look almost magical.

Nanami is hesitant at first, but he humors you when you start gathering snow for a snowman. He helps you pack the snow into firm, perfect spheres, muttering something about “structural integrity” that makes you laugh. When it’s done, you declare it a masterpiece, though Nanami gives it a critical once-over.

“It’s lopsided,” he points out, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You stick your tongue out at him, and just when you think he’s about to argue further, he surprises you by scooping up a handful of snow and lightly tossing it at your shoulder.

“Did you just—?”

Before you can finish, another snowball lands near your feet. Nanami is already walking away, but you catch the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “You started this,” you say, gathering your own ammunition.

The snowball fight that follows is short-lived but full of laughter, and by the time you both head back inside, your cheeks are flushed from the cold and exertion.

Nanami insists you warm up properly, so he brews a fresh pot of tea while you change into dry clothes. The two of you settle onto the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket, with steaming mugs in hand.

And for the rest of the day, you enjoy the quiet comfort of each other’s company, the world outside forgotten in favor of the warmth you share.

Toji fushiguro

The day starts with the sound of excited little footsteps racing down the hallway. You barely have time to register the noise before Megumi bursts into your room, his cheeks pink with excitement and his hair sticking up more than usual.

“It snowed!” he announces, pulling at the blankets. “A lot! Come look!”

You groan softly, still half-asleep, but the sound rouses Toji, who’s sprawled beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist. He opens one eye, glancing at Megumi with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“It’s too early for this, kid,” Toji grumbles, though there’s no real bite to his tone.

“It’s not!” Megumi insists, tugging harder at the covers. “You promised we could go outside if it snowed!”

Toji sighs dramatically but finally sits up, ruffling Megumi’s already-messy hair. “Alright, alright. Go get dressed. And wear that coat I got you, not the thin one.”

Megumi bolts from the room, and you chuckle as you sit up, stretching. “Looks like you’re on snow-duty today.”

“Not just me,” Toji says, smirking as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re in this too.”

After breakfast—a quick affair of toast and hot chocolate, because Megumi can’t sit still long enough for anything else—you all bundle up and head outside. The snow is pristine and untouched, and Megumi’s eyes light up as he surveys the sparkling white blanket covering the yard.

Toji starts off by helping Megumi build a snowman, though his version involves packing the snow so tightly it could probably survive a hurricane. Megumi insists on adding little twigs for arms and a crooked smile, and when you laugh at the result, Toji smirks. “It’s got character,” he says, echoing Megumi’s words.

Once the snowman is done, Toji takes it upon himself to teach Megumi the “art” of snowball throwing. He crouches low, showing him how to pack the snow just right. Of course, the first snowball Megumi throws hits you square in the arm, earning a triumphant cheer from the little boy and a low chuckle from Toji.

“You’re supposed to aim for me, kid,” Toji says, scooping up a snowball of his own.

But instead of throwing it at Megumi, he tosses it gently at you, a teasing smirk on his face. “Gotta defend yourself, sweetheart.”

What follows is a chaotic snowball fight, with Megumi enthusiastically teaming up with Toji against you. You hold your own for a while, but eventually, Toji sneaks up behind you and lifts you off the ground, giving Megumi the perfect shot. Both of them laugh as you pretend to be defeated, and Toji sets you down with a satisfied grin.

Eventually, the cold starts to seep in, and you all head back inside. Toji insists on making something warm, so while he heats up soup in the kitchen, you help Megumi out of his snow-soaked layers and wrap him in a cozy blanket.

The rest of the day is spent in comfortable warmth. Megumi curls up on the couch between you and Toji, his head resting on your arm as the three of you watch a movie together. Toji’s hand rests lazily on your leg, his thumb rubbing small circles absentmindedly.

As the snow continues to fall outside, you glance over at the two of them—Megumi, fighting to keep his eyes open, and Toji, looking more at peace than you’ve seen in a while.

Sukuna Ryomen

The snow falls steadily outside the wooden shutters of your Heian-era home, blanketing the courtyard in pristine white. You watch from the veranda, wrapped in layers of silk, as the delicate flakes settle on the trees and roof tiles. The world feels quieter, slower—a rare reprieve from the usual hum of life.

Behind you, Sukuna lounges lazily against the wooden frame of the door, his dual eyes watching you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. He’s draped in his usual attire, though he’s added a thick haori over it, more for style than warmth. The cold never seems to bother him, but you’ve noticed he enjoys the aesthetic of snow days as much as you do.

“You’ve been staring out there for an eternity,” he drawls, his voice a low rumble. “What’s so fascinating about frozen water?”

“It’s peaceful,” you reply, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Don’t you think?”

He snorts, pushing himself to his feet with a grace that belies his size and presence. “Peaceful isn’t exactly my style.” But he steps onto the veranda anyway, his sharp gaze sweeping across the snowy courtyard.

You stand together for a moment, watching the snow fall in companionable silence. Then, without warning, Sukuna smirks. “Let’s see how long your ‘peaceful’ moment lasts.”

Before you can react, he’s scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at you, the cold shock of it catching you entirely off guard. You gasp, stumbling back, and he laughs—a deep, rich sound that echoes through the still air.

“Did you just—?” you sputter, brushing snow from your sleeve.

“Of course I did,” he says, entirely unapologetic. “What will you do about it?”

Your reply is swift: you gather a handful of snow and toss it back, aiming for his shoulder. He doesn’t even dodge, letting it hit him as his grin widens. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

The courtyard quickly becomes your battlefield, snowballs flying back and forth as Sukuna alternates between playful teasing and outright mockery of your aim. When you manage to land one squarely on his chest, his expression flickers with surprise before morphing into approval. “Not bad,” he concedes, though his retaliation is immediate—a perfectly formed snowball that sends you running for cover.

Eventually, the game winds down, and Sukuna strides over to where you’ve taken refuge beneath a snow-covered tree. His hands are empty now, though his smirk remains firmly in place. “Had enough?”

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your chilled face, “you still choose to stay.”

He pulls you back inside, where the warmth of the brazier offers relief from the cold. Sukuna settles beside you, pouring tea with surprising care, his claws handling the delicate porcelain with ease. He hands you a cup, watching as you sip, your hands still trembling slightly from the cold.

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” you say, echoing his earlier words, “you still choose to stay.”

For a moment, his expression softens, the corners of his mouth lifting in something almost resembling a smile. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence fills the room, chasing away the chill of winter.

Megumi Fushiguro

The soft glow of morning light filters through your window, accompanied by the faint sound of snow tapping against the glass. You stir, glancing outside to find the world covered in a thick, pristine blanket of snow. The usual chaos of the city seems muted, as if the snow itself has called for a pause.

Megumi is already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the heater, a book balanced in his hands. He glances up when he notices you stirring.

“Snow day,” he says simply, his tone calm but his gaze lingering on the window.

You sit up, stretching with a small smile. “Guess we’re both stuck inside today.”

He hums, turning his attention back to his book, though you catch the faintest flicker of interest in his expression.

After a quick breakfast, you’re the first to suggest stepping outside. “We should enjoy it while it’s fresh,” you say, tugging on your coat.

Megumi raises an eyebrow. “You do realize it’s freezing, right?”

“All the more reason to appreciate it,” you counter, grabbing his scarf and tossing it to him. “Come on, I’ll even let you stay grumpy about it.”

With a resigned sigh, he pulls on his coat and follows you out. The cold air nips at your cheeks as you step into the snow-covered yard, your boots crunching softly with each step. Megumi’s hands are shoved into his pockets, and his dark hair is dusted with snowflakes almost instantly.

“You know,” you say, bending down to gather a handful of snow, “you could try to have a little fun.”

He glances at you, unimpressed, until you toss the snow at him, the powdery flurry landing harmlessly on his arm. He blinks at you, his expression unreadable.

“That’s how you want to do this?” he asks, his tone flat.

You grin. “Absolutely.”

What follows is a snowball fight you’ll remember for a long time. Megumi, true to form, doesn’t hold back once he decides to participate. His throws are calculated and precise, leaving you scrambling for cover more often than not. You manage to land a few hits of your own, but his sharp reflexes make him a formidable opponent.

At one point, you’re hiding behind a tree, trying to catch your breath, when you hear him approach. Before you can react, a snowball lands squarely on your back.

“You’re predictable,” he says, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And you’re annoying,” you shoot back, though you’re smiling, too.

Eventually, the two of you call a truce, retreating to the house to warm up. Megumi sets a pot of tea on the stove while you drape a blanket over your shoulders, both of you still laughing softly from the morning’s antics.

The rest of the day passes in quiet comfort. You sit by the window, sipping tea and watching the snow continue to fall. Megumi joins you, his book in hand, though he seems more interested in the view than the pages.

“You’re not bad at snowball fights,” you remark after a while, breaking the silence.

He glances at you, his expression neutral but his tone light. “And you’re not bad at being a target.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his voice makes you smile.

Yuji Itadori

The morning starts with Yuji shaking you awake, his excitement barely contained. His grin is as bright as the sunlight reflecting off the snow outside.

“Wake up!” he says, his voice bubbling with energy. “It snowed overnight! Like, a lot!”

You groan, trying to pull the blanket over your head, but he’s persistent, tugging it away and practically bouncing on the bed. “Come on, you can’t waste a snow day! We have to go outside!”

His enthusiasm is contagious, and soon enough, you’re bundled up and stepping out into the winter wonderland. The world feels quieter, softer, as if the snow has wrapped everything in a cozy, white blanket.

Yuji immediately runs into the snow, stomping around like a little kid, his breath fogging up in the cold air. “This is awesome!” he exclaims, spinning in a circle and throwing his arms out wide.

You laugh, watching him with fond amusement. “You act like you’ve never seen snow before.”

“Not like this!” he says, already scooping up a handful to pack into a snowball. “Besides, it’s more fun when you have someone to share it with.”

Before you can respond, the snowball hits you gently on the arm. You gape at him, feigning shock. “Did you just throw snow at me?”

He grins, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “What? It was an accident!”

“Accident, huh?” You bend down to grab your own snowball, and his eyes widen.

“Wait—no, no, no!” he laughs, dodging as you throw it at him.

What starts as a simple snowball fight quickly turns into an all-out war. Yuji is surprisingly agile, darting behind trees and ducking under cover with ease, but you manage to land a few hits. His laughter echoes through the air, warm and infectious, as the two of you chase each other around the yard.

At one point, you trip and fall into a soft pile of snow, and before you can get up, Yuji flops down beside you, both of you breathless and grinning.

“You’re ruthless,” he says, brushing snow off his coat.

“And you’re too competitive,” you reply, nudging him playfully.

He sits up, gazing out at the snowy expanse with a soft smile. “This is nice,” he says after a moment. “Spending time like this, with you. Feels… peaceful.”

You smile, leaning into his shoulder. “It is. Even with you pelting me with snowballs.”

He laughs, wrapping an arm around you to pull you closer. “Hey, you started it.”

The rest of the day is spent in a mix of playful chaos and quiet moments. Yuji insists on building the “ultimate snowman,” which ends up being a slightly lopsided creation with a goofy face that makes both of you laugh. You take breaks to warm up inside with hot chocolate, sitting by the window and watching the snow fall in comfortable silence.

By the time evening comes, you’re curled up on the couch together, a shared blanket draped over both of you. Yuji’s head rests against yours, his usual boundless energy replaced by a quiet contentment.

[saywhat-politics]

Several protesters at Marjorie Taylor Greene's town hall were forcibly removed by law enforcement on Tuesday, including a man whom police zapped with a stun gun as the MAGA lawmaker scolded Democrats.

The first outburst happened just seconds after Greene took the stage, which prompted at least five police officers to surround and physically escort the man out of the large event center in Cobb County, Georgia.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my town hall,” Greene said as she applauded and thanked police. “This is a town hall, this is not a political rally, this is not a protest. If you stand up and want to protest, if you want to shout and chant we will have you removed just like that man was thrown out.”

She added: “We will not tolerate it!”

But the flare-ups were just beginning.

ALSO READ: 'We’ve made a mistake': Trump’s trade war sends GOP into frenzy

As Greene blamed Democrats just seconds later for being “the party of violence," she yelled “Go!” as she pointed to a second demonstrator who spoke out before police followed her directives and removed him. That was followed by third protester, whose exit resulted in a tense scuffle with a group of police officers before he was zapped with a stun gun as the audience – and the media – looked on.

[babyboywilson]

i'm still watching the show but uhh can i request hilson? my favorite trope is fake/pretend relationship so... maybe something short where they kiss just to piss someone off and they end up in a full blown make out session? or literally anything else as long as you have fun writing!!! ily!!

“that would mean someone would actually want to date you with your caustic personality,” chase pointed at house with a pen in his hand.

the team had been debating the dating history of a patient, and somehow the conversation had devolved into house’s dating present.

house kicked his feet up onto the table and motioned lazily in the general direction of wilson’s office. “i’m already in a relationship.”

foreman rolled his eyes. “whatever twisted friendship you have with wilson doesn’t count.”

house scoffed. “we’ve been together for years.”

“as friends, sure. we’re talking about dating. and no one would want to date you. especially wilson. he knows you too well to date you,” chase continued.

cameron finally looked up from the files she’d been skimming through. “wilson wouldn’t even kiss you, let alone date you.”

house glared at the team, squinting his eyes as if they were a puzzle he was trying to solve. then, without a word, he stood up and marched out of the office. the team scrambled to follow as house moved with purpose directly into wilson’s office.

wilson’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as the door banged open and he caught sight of the look of determination on house’s face. house motioned with the crock of his index finger for wilson to come closer, and wilson got up without hesitation.

using the handle of his cane, house snagged wilson’s hip and yanked him closer. the look in house’s eyes screamed a challenge, and, glancing behind house, wilson caught a glimpse of the rest of the team standing in the doorway to his office.

oh, here they go again. wilson had no idea what was about to happen, but if he knew house the way he did, he knew there would be no backing down until house had won whatever little game he was playing.

when house leaned in and crushed his lips against wilson’s, wilson clenched his fists and then released them a moment later.

house smirked against wilson’s lips as he felt wilson’s hands settle on his waist as he relaxed into the kiss. it was way too easy to slide his tongue into wilson’s mouth. it was even easier to draw out little breathy gasps from wilson’s lips as house explored wilson’s mouth.

maybe they’d done this before and house couldn’t remember. or maybe wilson just trusted him that much and he was smart enough to put two and two together for whatever game house was playing with his team and was kissing house as if he’d done it a million times before.

either way, kissing wilson was too easy. and a little bit… addicting.

house moved back a step, breaking the kiss before he got hooked. but wilson followed; chasing house’s lips as if he simply couldn’t resist. and damn, it was even easier to fall back into the kiss now that the weakness had been discovered.

this time wilson led the kiss, gliding his tongue slowly and teasingly over house’s lower lip before dipping into house’s mouth just enough to brush against house’s tongue. house shuddered and let out a groan. wilson chuckled against house’s mouth but didn’t break the kiss.

in the back of house’s mind, he dully realized it had gone beyond a kiss and had turned into full on making out. but he didn’t care. not when wilson’s hands had moved to either side of his jaw and he was kissing house passionately with a hint of desperation that was almost dizzying.

the need to breathe was burning up house’s lungs, but god he didn’t want this to end. just a few more seconds. just a little longer to taste the hint of coffee in wilson’s mouth from his morning cup of coffee. just another moment to memorize wilson’s mouth.

when he broke the kiss, gasping for air and holding onto wilson’s chest to keep himself stable, it felt like the room was spinning. he glanced over to the doorway to gloat about their very ‘real’ relationship, but the underlings had already disappeared.

“looks like you made your point, whatever that was,” wilson panted out.

house couldn’t even remember what the point was anymore now that he was staring at wilson’s mouth as need burned down his throat. “shut up,” house muttered, unable to resist the magnetic force anymore as he closed the distance and attached his lips to wilson’s again.

now it was wilson grinning into the kiss, but house didn’t care. as long as wilson continued to kiss him with that same toe-curling intensity as the first kiss they’d just shared.

[vee-vee-writes]

Escalating Tensions (Thorin x poly!reader x Thranduil)

This is part two to Reigniting Old Feuds. I will be writing a part three. Request by @satans-bitch

Clasping the hot porcelain cup between their hands, Y/N stared blankly into the crackling fire of the hearth. The room flickered as flames licked up logs and turned the kindling too ash. The fighting and jealousy of their two lovers had run Y/N ragged and in a bid to escape it they had returned to the peace of their modest home in Dale. As the moon shone through the window the cozy home felt lonely. Yet Y/N would rather face the bitter sting of loneliness than continue to suffer through the raging rivalry between Thorin and Thranduil. The young human began to reflect upon the beginning of their relationship.

Harsh banging upon the door startled Y/N awake. Realising they had cried themself to sleep at their desk after having envoys deliver each king their answer the young advisor gently rubbed their eyes. Gritty sleep fell from as Y/N cringed at their swollen feel. Rising and straightening themselves out Y/N took in a deep breath before heading to answer the door. Y/N had a decent idea of who it might be visiting so early in the morning. Upon answering the door Y/N had little chance to step back before two figures were barging their way into the small home, arguing the entire time.

Thranduil and Thorin stood before Y/N each looking as though they’d had little sleep the night before. “You’re serious about what you sent then? That you won’t choose between the two of us” Thorin broached carefully. Having little energy left Y/N simply nodded. Thorin pursed his lips together tightly as his brows furrowed. “What if you didn’t have to choose between us?” Thranduil reasoned. Y/N straightened up surprised by the implication of Thranduil’s words. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting” Y/N squeaked searching both kings faces trying to gauge their feelings.

“We spoke about it before we came. While neither of us is particularly keen on the thought of sharing, we also don’t want to lose you” Thorin confirmed. “Can you promise that you will not be jealous of one another? That we can set boundaries to stop any resentment or jealousy building?” Y/N questioned cautiously. It was fine to suggest a polyamorous relationship, but Y/N knew that with two rivals as volatile as these two it was likely to devolve into jealousy, bitterness, and anger. A war would not benefit any kingdom, least of all Dale who’d be stuck in the middle of it.

Both monarchs nodded in confirmation. “Our proposal is simple; you would send a month at a time in each of our kingdoms. During that time, the other partner is welcome to write to you, send gifts, and, if agreed upon by the receiving monarch, may even come to visit from time to time. You’d be free to come and go as you please of course and if you wish to return to Dale at any point we can have that arranged too” Thranduil reasoned. “That seems reasonable” Y/N admitted as they mulled over the proposition. “We’ve agreed that even if tension was to arise between the two of us” Thorin gestured to Thranduil “neither kingdom would suffer for it. Trade and allyship is to the benefit of both of our people if Sauron is to return.” Bowing their head a large smile broke out on Y/N’s face, “then I accept this deal.”

A small smile had made its way to Y/N’s lip as they reminisced upon the beginning of the relationship. It had been a surprise that the two had even settled on such an agreement but not unwelcome by any means. If anything, it had seemed an omen of good things to come. Things had been great between the three of them, at least for several months before the jealousy had set in and two rivals had fallen back into old habits.

After having spent a month in Erebor with Thorin, Y/N had made the journey by armed escort to the Woodland Realm. Thranduil had been delighted to see his beloved, sweeping Y/N into his arms as soon as the guards had left his sight. Nuzzling his nose into Y/N’s neck he’d suddenly paused, a sudden stiffness to his embrace. Surprised Y/N pulled back slightly trying to figure out what was going on. Thranduil’s hand shot up to clasp the newly beaded braid woven into their hair. His grip was gentle enough as to not hurt them but firm as he inspected the bead. Tight jawed Thranduil had said nothing else about it before dropping his hand and pulling Y/N along to their shared chambers.

The Elven King did not need to say anything, his thoughts were clear. Thranduil was bothered by the braid and courting bead that Thorin had gifted Y/N. The dwarven lover had meticulously woven strand upon strand together as an open declaration of his love to any who came across Y/N. Outside of the overwhelming sense of love and pride such an action had imbued them with, Y/N had thought little upon what Thranduil would think about such a gesture. Now it seemed that perhaps that oversight was a mistake, that envy would once again rear its ugly head.

Y/N kicked themself for not putting a stop to it then. In truth they hoped that it would resolve itself, it certainly seemed like it had when the rest of the visit went on uneventful. They should have known it was the calm before the storm.

The night before Y/N was set to return to Erebor Thranduil had presented Y/N with a breath-taking gift. Reasoning that if Thorin was allowed to permanently mark Y/N as his that Thranduil should have the same right he had presented them with a delicate bead imbued with the White Gems of Lasgalen. So, Y/N found themself with a braid and courting bead from both king’s woven into each side of their hair.

Y/N only hoped that the act wouldn’t upset Thorin, especially considering the significance of courting beads and hair braiding in dwarven culture. Their prayers went unanswered.

Approaching the towering stone gates of Erebor Y/N wrung their hands nervously. Thorin awaited them with at the gates with a glowing grin. His excitement was short lived. Once his eyes had spotted the elven braid his brow had furrowed, and mood darkened. Greeting Y/N cordially as not to give away his upset to anyone watching their greeting. After sweeping Y/N away to settle into their quarters in the royal wing he’d kissed Y/N fiercely before storming out. “I have a letter to write to that elven bastard” Thorin had boomed as he stalked towards his study.

Things had only soured from there with countless other tense meetings and angry words shared. That was why Y/N found themself back in Dale, an attempt to escape the escalating hostilities and regroup. It was obvious that if they did not intervene now that the two would continue to annoy Y/N with their childish bickering. A game plan was needed, and Y/N knew the exact man to help come up with it.

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