#IN FUCKING LOVE WITH THIS IMAGE THANK YOU

[chrissturnsfav]

Following the anon i sent so I was thinking that singer!reader has always struggled with loving her like thighs and stomach or smt but hear me out if you’re comfortable with it maybe some mentions of self harm like

A scenario

So reader and Chris are laying in bed cuddling or some shit and he’s like tracing his fingers up and don on her thighs and he notices her scars orrr

They’re laying and he compliments her and she goes on a rampage of how she’s not and how ugly her stomach is or smt

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris knows how to make singer!reader feel pretty

tw: mentions of body image issues

you're sat on the edge of the couch in chris' big living room, scrolling through photos on your phone. your gaze lingers a little too long on a paparazzi picture of yourself from last weekend, your legs prominently featured. a familiar wave of self-doubt washes over you, and before you can stop yourself, you mutter under your breath, "fuck, my thighs look huge."

chris, who’s been freestyling under his breath while jotting down lyrics in his notebook across the couch, freezes mid-bar. his head snaps up, and his eyes narrow, like he can’t believe what he just heard.

"hold up, what'd you say ma?"

you glance at him, trying to play it off. "nothing, forget it," you mumble wearily as you shake your head.

"nah, nah, we ain't doin' that." he gets up, his notebook abandoned on the coffee table, and strides over to you. "what’s this bullshit 'bout your thighs?”

you sigh, trying to avoid his gaze, but chris crouches down in front of you, his icy blue eyes locking onto yours.

"they’re just... big," you mumble. "like, bigger than they should be."

chris scoffs like you just insulted his entire existence. "bigger than they should be? mama, stop fuckin' wit me right now."

you try to laugh, but it’s weak. "i’m serious, chris. i see all these girls online with these slim legs, and then there’s me. i just feel...i dunno...out of place, i guess."

he sits beside you, shaking his head, still looking like he’s offended on your thighs’ behalf. "you’re trippin'. hard. have y'seen yourself? like, really looked at y'self? 'cause if y'did," he says, reaching out to lightly squeeze one of your thighs, "you’d know your thighs are perfect. thick, pretty, sexy as hell—are you serious?"

your cheeks heat up, and you roll your eyes, but he’s just getting started.

"y'know what your thighs say to me?” he continues and smirks a bit, leaning in. "they tell me you're perfect, tell me y'got the full package. tell me you’re built like a model, and that i’d be a dumbass not to appreciate you."

you can’t help but laugh at his over-the-top delivery, and he grins, knowing he’s getting through to you as he brushes his fingers lightly over the smooth skin on your thigh.

"listen baby," he starts, using his free hand to gently cup your jaw and turn your face to his, "i know the world tries to tell girls all this bullshit 'bout what they’re supposed to look like, but lemme tell you sum'n real: you are it for me. all o'you. those thighs you’re trippin' over? they’re one of my favorite things 'bout you."

he moves his hand down to your knee, his thumb drawing little circles. "so stop comparin' yourself to edited pictures on the internet, aight? you’re real, 'n you’re beautiful, 'n if anyone’s got a problem wit' that, they can see me 'bout it."

your chest feels lighter, the weight of insecurity lifting under his unwavering gaze and heartfelt words. you smile, finally meeting his eyes.

"okay," you whisper.

"okay?" he teases. "that’s it? after i jus' dropped the most fire compliments of all time?"

you laugh again, swatting his arm. "thank you, chris. really."

"'course," he says, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. "now stop geekin', i gotta go write a verse 'bout how my girl’s got the finest thighs in the game."

you roll your eyes, but your smile lingers long after he’s returned to his notebook on the other side of the couch.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: i'm not comfortable writing about self harm, so i hope this was good!

thank you for reading!! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott

@chrissturnsfav ™

[mariasont]

hi!!!!

I'm soooo in love your work. bimbo!assistantreader wil always have a special place in my heart!!!

Now i have this of idea that i think can work for either aaron or spencer, but basically bau!reader who kind of always wears the same type of outfit in the field that's always really modest. Buttttt when they kind of like "know" it's just going to be a paperwork day she likes to were skirts... short skirts and Aaron/Spencer are just feral for them...

Can either be fluff of smut... I trust you indefinitely xxx

Short Skirt, Long Day - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi hiiiiiii!!! ugh thank u sm i kinda took this an interesting route so let me know what you think!!!! im also heavily thinking about writing a smutty pt 2 for this but id love to hear everyone’s opinions

masterlist

pairings: perv!aaronhotchner x bau!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, aaron being a straight PERV!!! (im into idk man), aaron imagining scenarios he didn’t shouldn’t at work, idk this is quite different from my usual postings but i kinda fuck with it

wc: 1.4k

Aaron Hotchner loved paperwork day.

Days like these meant the frenetic energy of ringing phones and rapid footsteps is replaced by the soft drone of air conditioning and the occasional rustle of files being shifted. It’s the kind of morning he appreciated—time to breath, to recalibrate without the air of an active case breathing down his neck.

But that's not why his pulse is thrumming more than steadily beneath his skin.

Hotch glances at the clock on his desk. It's early—too early for most of the team to be here yet, save for a couple agents whose faces barely register in his peripheral vision. His focus is elsewhere, fixed on a singular thought. Or, rather, on a singular person.

You.

Hotch leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as a shameful type of heat rises to his face. It's a little pathic, he thinks, how predictable he's become—it's not the work that makes these mornings bearable anymore. It's the anticipation.

The knowledge that, any minute now, the elevator doors will part, and you'll step out, wearing something that will completely dismantle his carefully constructed composure.

Hotch had noticed a pattern (of course he did, that was his instinct honed to a razor's edge). In the field, your outfits are a study in practicality: slacks, fitted jackets, muted tones--professional to a T. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw undue attention. 

But in the office, when the cases are shelved, and the team is left to wade through stacks of paperwork... it's different.

And it drives him insane.

The image takes root before he can stop it: the curve of your thighs, tantalizingly framed by a skirt that seemed designed to test his limits. The way the fabric molds to you when you move, clinging in places that his eyes are all too quick to follow.

Hotch exhales sharply, clearing his throat as if that could somehow clear his mind. It's unprofessional--he knows this, knows better than to let his thoughts stray so far from where they belong but yet…

The ding of the elevator pulls his attention like a magnet, and there you are. His grip on the pen tightens instinctively, the knuckles blanching as his gaze locks on you.

You're wearing that skirt today--black, fitted, and infuriatingly short, hugging your hips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He tells himself to look away, and for a second, he manages it--his eyes dropping back to his desk, his breath coming out slow and measured. But that reprieve is fleeting. His gaze flicks back before he can stop it, drawn helplessly to the curve of your waist as you laugh at something one of the other agents say.

You're too good. Too sweet. Too damn oblivious to realize what you're doing to him.

And he knows it's wrong—knows he's toeing a line he has no business approaching. But the way his body reacts to you, the pull you have on him, is beyond reason. It's instinctual, raw, and completely out of his control.

He calls out your name. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

You turn, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to grab something for me," he replies, his voice level, though every syllable felt like a tightly coiled spring. He motions towards the cabinet near the corner of the room. "The Marcus file. Bottom shelf."

He was a terrible terrible man.

Without hesitation, you step toward the cabinet, crouching slightly as you begin to sift through the lower shelf. The moment your body lowers, his eyes start trailing down where the hem of your skirt lifts, just barely revealing the soft curve of where your thighs meet your ass. Then, as you bend further, shifting your weight slightly to reach deeper on the shelf, the fabric stretches taut, clinging to your ass in a way that sends a jolt straight through him.

Hotch's throat feels tight, his breathing shallow as he drinks in the sight before him. You're so close, just feet away, and the angle offers him an unobstructed view. The shape of you, the smooth expanse of skin that's always just out of reach in the field, is right there--so achingly close he feels like his chest might explode.

He knows if you dipped any further, your panties would be on display and he couldn’t help but wonder what color you had on.

You’ve always had a meticulous attention to detail, choices leaning towards deliberate but understated at the same time. In the field, you favored muted tones—greys, blacks, navies. But here in the relative safety of the office you allow a little more personality, more femininity.

His mind turns to your preferences—pink, maybe.

Hotch swallows hard, pulse roaring in his ears. The thought gnaws at him, insistent and unrelenting—he needs to know.

“Careful,” he says, feigning concern. “You might need to check further back on the shelf. Sometimes the files get pushed out of sight.”

You glance over your shoulder at him and he swears he could combust. “Further back?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair to appear casual, though his grip on the armrests were anything but. “Yes.”

You turn back to the cabinet, shifting your weight again as you crouch lower, leaning further to search the back of the shelf. The motion sends the bottom of your skirt riding higher, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, the lace of your panties is on full display.

It was a pink barely there strip of fabric.

His mind betrays him, conjuring images he knows he shouldn't entertain. He imagines his hands on you, running over the curve of his hips, gripping your thighs, sliding that damn skirt higher until there's nothing left to hide. The thought of you like this, pliant and completely unaware of the effect you're having on him, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He wonders what you would do if he were to push those panties to the side and slide a finger in you.

You shift again, leaning deeper into the cabinet as your voice drifts back to him, murmuring something about not seeing it. His jaw locks, teeth pressing together as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath the strain. It's a futile effort, though; the pressure building in his chest, his body, is relentless.

The heat pools low in his abdomen, simmering and insistent, a sharp pulse of arousal tightening every muscle in his body. He's painfully hard now, the evidence uncomfortably against his slacks, but he doesn't dare move. His mind a blur of want--what he wants to do to you, what he knows he shouldn't do, and the precarious line he's treading just watching you like this.

The tension in his body seems unbearable, and for a fleeting second, he considers how easy it would be to walk over, to let his hand graze your hip, to tilt your chin up so you'd look at him and see the wreckage you've left in your wake. 

But he doesn't. He can't.

Instead, he forces himself to remain still, staying rooted, the self-restraint biting and bitter. 

"Are you sure it's under here? I still don't see it."

Hotch's lips twitch, the smallest shadow of a smirk threatening to break free on his face. He leans forward, feigning surprise as he picks up the file from the corner of his desk.

"Ah," he says, waving the file. "Looks like it's been right here the whole time."

You straighten abruptly, brushing your hands down your skirt and turning towards him with a soft laugh. "Hotch! So I was practically upside down in that cabinet for nothing!"

He shakes his head, giving a small chuckle to match yours. Not for nothing. The satisfaction still simmers low in his chest, a private indulgence he knows you'll never suspect--the movement was far from wasted.

"My mistake."

"Well, I guess we all have our moments. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"

When the door finally closes behind you, he exhales shakily, the breath spilling out like a confession. Leaning back in his chair, he presses his fingers to his temples, his entire body tense with the effort of restraint. He feels unmoored, like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice, one misstep away from losing everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control.

But for now, he’ll settle for watching, for imagining, for wishing—knowing full well that nothing could ever come of it. And yet, as he glances at the door where you’d just been, a part of him wonders how much longer he can hold out.

It’s going to be an impossibly long day—but the most troubling part of all is how much he’s starting to enjoy the torment.

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join my taglist here!

[radioisntdead]

Hi, I really love your stuff and you’ll definitely be seeing more of my request. But to start, Alasor x reader like Betty Boop.

I would image Alastor known (or heard of ) Betty Boop since she was released (from what I looked up) in the 1930's and Al died in 1933.

Good evening my dear! I'm so glad you like my works! And my apologies that this took forever to get out! This was meant to be a oneshot but unfortunately it got lost during my transfer, so I do hope headcanons are alright!!

Boop-Oop-a-Doop headcanons

Alastor x reader

I imagine Alastor only knows of Betty boop in passing, he's heard of her but never really cared much for her.

That was until he met you! Someone who had the fortune of being very similar to the woman! Even mimicking her boop-oop-a-doop and having very similar mannerisms.

Like this! For example, along with long ass lashes.

Now since Betty boop is a caricature of a flapper and Alastor used to visit speakeasies, safe to say he's rather fond of your aesthetics.

Much like him you maintain 1920's-30's fashion although you're more modernized then him, opting to use modern technology.

You try to get him to watch The Betty boop cartoons with you.

Sometimes he does, sometimes he throws your tv out the window or smacks it to death with his microphone

You have to admit some of the cartoons have NOT aged well.

Toon logic applies to you BIG time, I'm talking running in mid air before looking down and falling, getting smashed by a hammer and getting embedded in the ground but mostly okay

Alastor finds it very amusing, just hilarious!

Others are a little more concerned because WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU JUST FELL OFF A FUCKING CLIFF??? YOU BARELY HAVE A SCRATCH??

Also you have like these guys just following you around, kinda like Sir Pentious's egg Bois

I genuinely cannot tell if that's a goat or a dog, anyways Alastor isn't fond of them but they come with you so, what can he do??

I also imagine you sometimes dance like this

Alastor finds it rather cute, but by the grace of all things unholy HE'S TEACHING YOU HOW TO PROPERLY DANCE

We're talkin' this type of dance

Thank goodness you have toon logic because he's swinging you left and right and you're going to need to keep up!!

Good evenin' folks I do hope you enjoyed!! I'm sleepy so I'm gonna go take a nap, ALSO THE BETTY BOOP RABBIT HOLE I FELL DOWN??? SHE HAS A TIKTOK ACCOUNT???!

I hope you all have a wonderful rest of your night!

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

(Recommended to read this fic first, if you haven't already!)

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired ��

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[equalperson]

reasons to eavesdrop as a narcissist: secret compliments, drama that makes you feel superior about yourself.

reasons not to eavesdrop as a narcissist: secret insults.

[endereies]

ENDEREIES' CHRISTMAS

Finally! It's fucking Christmas, cannot believe I didn't crash out just yet. To be honest, with a few more days left of the year I have all opportunity to do so. With it now being this festive holiday I thought it would be nice to give my mutuals a little bit of that festive cheer. I know not everyone celebrates Christmas so this won't be entirely Christmas themed, yet, it will be a cute little paragraph dedicated to a few of my mutuals or followed blogs. SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, I PRESENT ENDEREIES' CHRISTMAS!!

@phone4pills - I am on my way to wrap a wreath and ribbon around you and Robot!Chris' dick. On a serious note, you are so fucking talented and it blows my mind every time. The amount of thought and dedication that you put into your work is so admirable. I hope your holidays aren't as drab as this UK weather but nonetheless I'll be creating Robot!Chris as soon as possible (we are sharing custody). LOVE YOU AND YOUR WORK SO MUCH

@pasteldreams - OH MY FUCK, CAN WE TALK ABOUT YOUR MOODBOARDS FOR A MOMENT. I am so impressed by them all and if you see me stalking... no you don't! The images are perfect for each colour and you bet your ass that Avery and I were going feral on them. I'm so excited to read your fics when they surface. On my way to stalk the moodboards right now. But I love your moodboards and of course, the person who created them

@strnilolover - Gabby!!! Oh fuck I have too many things to say to you. You're so talented, I know I have yapped about your au's so many times but it's because they are STUNNING. They are produced so well. Everything you write is. When I am sent your works early, I am blown away. The descriptions, the dialogue, it is perfection on my screen. But all work aside, you're such a sweet person and I love talking to you every day. Even with our time differences, we still spend hours talking. Either about tumblr, fic ideas, edits or just random shit. In your post, you said you saw me as a bigger account and were slightly intimidated to talk to me BUT THATS HOW I FELT ABOUT YOUUU. I was in AWE over your work and the way you wrote (I still am) it's crazy to me how we are mutuals BUT I LOVE YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK BABY

@hearts4werka - YOUR INBOX MESSAGES MAKE ME SMILE EVERY TIME. I know we don't interact as much as every fucking hour but when we do we have such nice conversations through our inboxes, I just wake up to a message from you and I am immediately smiling ear to ear. The first interaction was about my profile and the last was about seeing a biker look like Matt. Duality of friendship for SURE. Buying you merch bc yes.

@streamermattsgf - SAGEEEEEEEE We are fairly new mutuals and I thank Cece for showing me your account which then led to me seeing the Sturniolo Tumblr Awards. That idea was so sweet and creative and definitely brought the community together. I was even on there at one point which actually blows my mind but I digress. You're so sweet in everything you do, when there was hate about the awards you handled it in the most perfect way which I will always give credit for

@thenickgirl - MY FAVOURITE NICK ACCOUNT ON THIS APP YESSIR. Nick and Jalen are my babies, you cannot change my mind. Tumblr definitely lacks in Nick content and I will forever love yours. Everytime I'm drawing Nick or I see a tiktok, I immediately think of your account. AND YOU'RE SO KIND WHATTT ILY BBYYY I cannot wait to continue reading about Nick and Jalen as you post about them. I have to interact with you so much more than I do.

@lovesturni0l0s - ASTRIDDD I love you so so much and everything you do. We became mutuals and started talking quickly about random shit in our inboxes and they still make me giggle. They always end in appreciation too which is everything to me. I love yapping with you over random things hehehe. Your fluffmas is PERFECTION, I will always read every single one as soon as I see that it is released, just how you did on my NNN posts. You are SO supportive of everyone and it is truly so nice to see. I just want to talk with you whenever I can

@chrisweetheart - LIAAA We do NOT interact as much as I want to but whenever we do you're the kindest person everrr. Talking with you or reading your fics is always a highlight of my day. Your blog is so fucking pretty and I could admire it for hours, and I know you are the exact same. I am literally on my way with my basket of kisses.

@flouvela - My fucking bae. I've been following you for so long and when you followed me back I had a heart attack. Your writing is so cute and I love reading all of them. I still remember the one where Matt held your iced latte when it was cold outside so that you could stay warm. If she wasn't warm, my heart definitely was. You're so kind and thoughtful and definitely someone that I look up to within my writing.

@y3sterdaysproblem - Avery my baeeee I'm so so proud of what you have managed to accomplish this year. Your talent is actually so immense and anyone can see that in anything and everything that you post. Your series 'smoke and mirrors' still has me in a chokehold (I have read it 4 times). I cannot wait to see what you end up creating further along next year but just know I will support and love it all.

@chrislilcumslvt - Marls I will be forever thankful for you and your account. On anything that I post, whether it be a fic or me just yapping, I can always count on you to be one of the first people to like it. I will never get bored of your inbox messages, they are such a highlight of my week. LOVE YOU FOREVER

@issysh3ll - ISSYYYY MY AUSSIE GAL You will never fail to impress me LIKE OMGGG phases was and still is one of my favourite ever fics made in this fandom. It's so descriptive. educational which applying to the smut that this horny community love. I don't think I will ever get tired of your inbox messages, I always want to know how many wine glasses Chris can balance on his ass. If I ever have any questions I now know who to turn to

@sturnioz - CAS There are so many things about you that I could happily yap about lmao. My first introduction to you was a fic from the beginning of July, not that I even knew it then. Then your au's came along and it is safe to say I fell in love with everything you made. I am always drawn to your account and reread blurbs more times than I can count. When you followed me on your alt account I was giggling to my friends because I was stunned (I still am) I always wanna yap in your inbox but I never know what to say and lowkey I'm a little intimidated but I digress. You're so sweet whenever I am in your inbox and then I fangirl to Cece buttttt Love you and your work forever baby

@x0x0bunny - THE ONLY MUSIC ARTIST EVER, like you're talented in literally everything?? gimme some talent. And your fics are so so good. I'm so hyped to start talking about music production with you for my Producer!Chris au like it's so yummy you don't understand. I wish I interacted with you more and that shall be my new years resolution FOR SURE

@colorthecosmos444 - My big sister forever. Cece, you're literally everything to me ever. You're so kind, considerate, thoughtful and understanding at the same time. I will never get over our need for Emo!Matt, I am barking whenever he is mentioned. But I'd pick you over him any day. I love sharing my ideas with you and helping each other with everything. I WISH WE TALKED WHEN YOU WERE IN LONDON I'd rush to you in a heartbeat and show you everything. I could spend hours talking with you even if its 4am for me. Your work is perfection and no one can replace the true Emo Queen. Love you forever sis

@sturniolosiphone - AALIYAH MWAH You have the prettiest blog I ever did see and you give off the biggest Clairo vibes ever. You're work is PERFECT and no other word is fitting enough than pure perfection. Not to mention how cutsey you are when we interact with one another. You're so supportive and I will forever love talking about the triplets with you!

@missmimii - My inactive queen lol. When I first found your blog is the most heavenly thing I set my eyes on. The layout, the wording, the descriptions and such cute fics were and still are my roman empire. You are pure fucking honey and I still smile whenever your username is on my screen, it's so perfect. I will read your work so often and I will never ever get bored of it.

@55sturn - STAR one of my first mutuals on my account and I've been obsessed since day one. Your Loser!Chris x MeanGirl!Reader au is chiseled into my future gravestone so that I can read it after I die. The timeline and structure is just YES. You've been through a lot and I am forever proud of you. We may not interact a whole bunch but I love you dearly

@muwapsturniolo - PEACHESSSS It still shocks me how we are mutuals because you are the baddest bitch ever. You're like a celebrity role model to me and I'm just in awe. Not to mention how stunning your writing is, I could stare at my screen until my eyes burn just staring at your writing. LIKE I JUST LOVE YOU SO MUCH

@bernardsbendystraws - ROSEYYYFIGEDUHIJW MY DAY ONEEEEEE Baby you mean everything to me. Part of my Discord family that I cherish so much. I was honestly so intimidated by you when I met you on that server simply because of your energy. You seemed so confident and easy going which was something I could only dream of. And now we are friends and mutuals and someone I trust dearly. I will be forever proud of just how far you have come, with yourself, writing and followers. I'm forever grateful for our friendship in ways I wish I could show you. But I will always have your back in anything you do or have against you because you have done so much for me that is simply irreplaceable. We have also became so similar in how we speak which is hilarious to me as well. Love you forever and ever baby

@raysmayhem-72 - RAYYY Ugh where do I even begin. My fellow Londoner and yet we are yet to meet? That has to be fixed immediately. Talking to you is one of my favourite things ever and I love listening to you yap about books LIKE YESS LET ME SEE THOSE FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. You'll forever be my Discord family, you can't escape. Forever grateful for all the yummy conversations about everything and how willing you are to support and listen to me, it means more than you could ever know.

@pattyshome / @patscorner - PATTY CAKE You are so fucking special to me in every fucking way. Talking you is free therapy and I love you for it all. You've been through so much and every single time you still manage to have a smile on your face and continue to spread irreplaceable kindness that is too pure. Even in your current situation the efforts you make with your friends are so special. I'm so proud of you and I hope things ease up for you, I will move you to England if I have to

@bueckerrss - ARI MY EDITING PARTNER IN CRIMEEE Your edits are impeccable and your improvement is so clear to see. You've supported mine since day one and I'm so grateful for that. Even if ride or die was initially meant to be a collab with you and it wasn't, I still think of you whenever I read it again and it's now an au! Your performances are also just so satisfying to look LIKE YES POP OFF QUEEN. Another one of my day ones and I love you so fucking much.

[codacheetah]

Tell me your opinions on the stuff. Any stuff.

Grins. Smiles, even

I'm using you as an excuse to infodump my theory about the Island because I've had no in to do that, and my theory is pure opinion. Anyways:

THE ISLAND IS STUCK IN THE FUCKING FUTURE

(SCARE CHORD)

Hi so you might ask me. What the fuck do you mean by that. Well. Let's start with what we know about the Island, the King, and Wish Craft. (long ass post under cut. sorry)

The Island was redacted from the perception of outside world, via Wish Craft.

Wish Craft has the power to enable Time Craft. We see this primarily through Siffrin's timeloops, but also through the King's powers.

One of the King's powers is to show the saviors a "vision of the future."

...And this same attack is deflected back at the King by Mirabelle in ACT 5, in which the King is able to see the Island before being frozen in time.

...So. The King's "vision of the future." We're never told explicitly what this vision is. All we know is that it's apparently powerful enough to wipe the party in one hit, hearing it from a distance hurts your head, and that whatever Siffrin (and Loop) saw, they don't seem to actually be able to describe it. Even the King himself doesn't know what his vision entails.

We don't know whether the party all sees the same thing when struck by the vision, and Adrienne's answer to the question about it in the Reddit AMA is. vague? It's not a "no," and the specific wording makes me think the answer might be yes. But that's me reading into it.

Now. What do we know about the Island's redaction? The Island was affected by the wish recently, as in "like a decade ago" recently. We know that nobody in Vaugarde or the rest of the world is capable of thinking about the Island, anything closely tied to the Island's culture, or people on the Island for very long. When they do recall these things, they slip right out of reach. Particularly, the consequence for trying to think about the Island (or, more specifically, break the wish that forces the Island out of perception) is significant pain, localized in the head.

And that said pain is enough to become lethal, if pressed hard enough.

From here forward I'm running with the assumption that the King's "vision of the future" is not personalized to any individual, and is unchanging throughout the course of the whole story. Now. Remember the end of ACT 5, where the King gets hit with the deflected "vision of the future", and instead of dying, he recalls the Island and gets frozen in time? Very odd, yeah? Why wouldn't the King just die like everyone else does? He even does take 9999 damage when trying to say its name, like Siffrin does, and like the party does when they're hit by the attack.

Well. We know that he has a "true wish" that the ability to freeze Vaugarde in time grants. I don't think it's at all a stretch to guess that the King's "true wish" is to be able to remember the Island. My personal guess is that the King (and Siffrin) brought this "true wish" into effect via the "SAY ITS NAME" sequence- he even tries three times, a significant number in wishing.

The King (and Siffrin's) wish breaks, because it can't be fulfilled in this moment without breaking the wish to prevent the Island from being thought about. However. Consider the conditions at the end of ACT 5- the King sees the vision of the future reflected back to him, and what he sees is the Island. He remembers the Island, fulfilling his own wish, and is frozen in time. I consider this a compromise between his wish and the one binding the Island- the King gets to remember the Island, but nobody alive is able to think about it, because he's frozen in time; it's like the Universe is correcting itself (I WILL GET BACK TO THIS). The wish of all of Vaugarde to defeat the King is fulfilled, since he is no longer a threat, and Siffrin's wish wraps itself up soon after.

MY POINT BEING. The King's attack is a vision of the future. This "future" is of the Island, in some uncorrupted state. The saviors see it when he attacks them, and he sees it when it is deflected back to him.

The logical next question is "okay, so the Island exists in the future, but how do you know time shenanigans are even related to the Island?"

Recall a very odd series of interactions throughout the game, in which you try to interact with a piece of equipment that you already own.

The game rewinds slightly, before the item disappears, as the Universe corrects itself.

This is awfully similar to two particular events: looping back without seeing the death screen, and talking to the Daydreaming One about her sister. The latter is more interesting to me for the purposes of this theory.

In both instances, something is misaligned within the Universe (an item existing in two places, someone remembering something they're not supposed to) and it is corrected through some sort of rewind. Also compare the dialogue above to when you try to give Mirabelle the Stylish Bow when you already own it.

The world glitches, but Siffrin defuses the situation before the Universe has to intervene. Omitted from the screenshot is the fact that Mirabelle's portraits switch to happy from "catastrophically anxious" with no transition after Siffrin shows her where the bow is. Important to note is that when Mirabelle tries to recall receiving the bow, her head hurts, much like how trying to break the Island wish causes a headache.

The Universe leads you away from perception, and you can only follow.

My theory that I keep circling around is that through Wish Craft, the Island has been displaced temporally. The denizens of the Island, as well as the Island itself, still exist, but they are in the future. The Island is still loaded into the world, like how equipment is before you try to interact with it, and the Island cannot leave this quantum state, because it never actually went anywhere. The magnitude of the redaction event is so severe with the Island, because it is so much larger as an entity than a sword or a bow. There are of course things I don't really have pieced together, like why somebody would wish the Island into the future, how far into the future it is, or why equipment behaves this way. But it's the only Island theory I've seen that I have some level of confidence in, so I might as well lay out my cards for it.

[fernsensei]

and heeere it is! some thoughts on "what if gabriel and v2 met", the comic i've been working on much longer then i would've like to confess! i'm happy with the way it turned out to be and who knows, maybe i'll do a second part once i figure out how to bring this all to the culmination👁👁 hope you'll enjoy reading as much as i've enjoyed drawing!<3

[cozylittleartblog]

me omw to scare mormons out of a wendys!! 🍂🖤🍟

ootd from like 2 weeks ago and yes that really happened

[paper-mario-wiki]

I just thought you ate in that picture i dunno

oooooouuugh baby im gonna fuckin eat THIS picture

thank u very much!!!!!

[dismas-n-dismay]

Suki - Chimera Falin amv

I present before you: The Chimera Falin Edit.

[drkcatt]

but i've been anywhere and it's not what i want and i wanna be still with you

in the minvaya sauce tonight!!!!!!!!!

[spaceratprodigy]

Ooh palettes 🥰 Jasper and Faith in either Malabar squirrel or cherry pie?

@darkfire1177 — [ palette prompts ]

✨ The Unplanned Variables ✨

[emerxshiu]

rat brainrot going hard

sorry for not posting this week, i was cooking some stuff but this drawing took almost the entire week to do, worst part, it was a shitpost

i still dont know why this took me so much

so uh, almost all my drawings this week have been related to this two(and lis) so much so that i struggled because i wanted to draw other things so i would just stare at a blank sheet of paper for over half an hour, god that was torture, tho i dont mind drawing the sillies, sometimes it gets a bit boring drawing the same over and over y'know? im also going to take this as an opportunity to ramble about my forgo gijinka, because surprisingly i hadnt done that yet.

og image

ok now to actually talk about the wet rat

ive tried doing a gijinka of em since i joined the fandom (my first gijinka was fecto elfilis (well not really they were fnaf, but i mean when i got into kirby and when i started using the term gijinka))

but most of the time it just looked like elfilin but like...evil, with a different ear and a hospital gown, thats it, so i barely drew them since i didnt like that, but on february, i actually sketched an idea that i liked, and thought it looked cute but a bit off (i mean off in a good way)

(yes im posting this image again because i think its the best drawing of my forgo (im very inconsistent with my style ok))

they have their eyes closed most of time, like in game, i considered giving them legs but i ended up with the tail, since i didnt want to end up with like a fourth evil elfilin, the arms are like that so i can have em be small and weird like in the actual game, but i also made it so they can like change it, that way i can make em have hands and stuff if necessary (like to hold that frying pan for example)

not sure if a lot of you notice it but um, bro has no neck, i took away his neck privileges, i did it just to see but i ended up falling in love with that and stuck around, and also that allows me to draw them bending their head like in the drawing above because their neck isnt necking and i like that, i like being able to draw characters doing stuff that shouldnt be anatomically possible or is abnormal (i did something a bit similar with void) thair clothes are rugged because well forgotten land you know what i mean, but in general theyre actually pretty simple

i also did the drawing in digital

i tried doing very sketchy lineart, i tried a new brush in this one and thats the one im using for my last drawings (not sure if anyone noticed the brush change) it was pain painting it because i did it all with the brush in the same size, not changing it, god did my hands hurt and it was a bad idea

i accidentaly downloaded the following 3 drawings twice lol

sleepy zzzz

i think they would wear something like this to sleep, i dunno i just wanted to draw em in something cute, and sleepy, with elfilin slippers (the mug also has elfilin btw) oh and also i like changing their hair, here one of their long bangs is tied into a bow, kinda like callie from splatoon, i have some drawing im probably wont post, one more of forgo wich looks very much like the upper one but like eyes closed, and one of fecto elfilis gyaru because my sister asked me to draw them like that, bad thing is i didnt look up references on gyaru since i couldnt use my phone at the moment, i did like the hair i did for them in that one tho, they have their bangs tied up in a bun, and then left the rest loose, making it look longer than it actually is. i might redraw it, but actually looking up gyaru so i can make something more accurate, i like the style, but im not too informed on it

elfilin being silly like a kitty :p

not much more to say on this, just sillines :3

there is totally not a cropped drawing there

based on the kirby manga, where they make it so elfilis sings really bad, at first i didnt like it that much since i had imagined they'd sign great, but after i while i started to find it a bit cute so now its a headcanon, they like to sing but suck at it.

writing this just made me remember i wanted to do another drawing too for this with kirby and them singing, but i forgot to do it, im kinda tired (and its late) ill probably draw it, but for next post or another one

tried drawing fecto forgo as a plushie, silly.

i wanna learn how to sew so i can make plushies of characters (like prince fluf!) but im way too lazy, i will get around it some day! (hopefully)

elfilin too as a plush

i also wanna learn to sculpt, i tried doing a clay kirby once, but one his feet broke in half, and one day my mom put it in a box, and his eyes fell off and stuck to the box :(

i really wanna do figures for characters i like or dont have enough merch or my ocs (prince fluff, flamberge, fecto elfilis)

but as i said, im way too lazy and unmotivated, though its be nice, one day, maybe one day if i stop procrastinating

it doesnt have the same ring to it as "feto rata mojada alien" wich is how my sister and i call them (she doesnt know that much about kirby, but i sometimes show her my drawings (reluctantly sometimes, but im the older so like >:) she has too if she wants to show me her stuff too))

silly rat and wet rat, thats how i call em (because wet rat alien fetus is too long sometimes)

you can tell the brainrot was too strong (were near done(kinda))

they gain a mouth whenever i fell like it very much

artblock hit, and all the rest of pages i stared at them for 30 minutes

it felt weird looking at my fecto elfilis with the eyes so big, it looked off (in a weird way)

dunno, tried drawing them in a different pose i i dunno really

i think these are from tuesday. i did more but those were oc (mostly splatoon) or other kirby character related, and i want this to be a rat post (might post those tommorow or another day maybe)

i dunno (x2), i tried drawing elfilin like elfilis, i really liked the hands here. i still struggle a bit with anatomy but i think this was quite good for my usual character just stading looking at the front or a quarter profile. im considering making this into a fully digital drawing, what do i say by considering im actually doing that fuck it, i just think it looks kinda cool

"This new creation, driven by pure chaos, was defeated by the bright light of Kirby's hope."

Chaos Elfilis reminds me of a moth. kirby's hope is a bright light.

you can see my thought process. i just thought itd be a bit cute and kinda silly and funny.

the kirby fandom wiki, said that chaos elfilis looked akin to a moth, and it just stuck with me, so i wanted my gijinka of them to be moth inspired, and thats when i saw just how cute moths are! i mean im still a bit scared of insects but at least now i kinda like em.

i feel like i need to say sorry to that one moth i desintegrated in a matter of seconds with a book because i thought it was an spider and didnt think (im so sorry little guy)

but ah yeah elfilis, moth, it made sense to me since chaos elfilis has the soul of morpho knight, who is a butterfly, and moths are kinda like butterflies too. and i thought itd be cute

so uh yeah i sometimes like making my chaos elfilis be a bit like a moth, that includes liking light, a lot, so uh kirby is like a lamp in here because i said so

now to talk about the desing since for some reason i hadnt earlier, as i said before, they are very moth inpired so uh im might say that word way too many times (im sorry i suck at explaining stuff)

their horns are thinner to resemble moth anntenae, and they curve just because i thought it look cool, and to differentiate it a bit from fecto elfilis. their bangs tie into a bun (i forgot to draw that but i dont wanna go and change it now, way too tiredv man and i still have to post this on other places) the bun looks a bit like an eye, because well, they are basically a soul boss, and moths have things in their wings that look like eyes, btw chaos elfilis doesnt have their wings here because i got lazy and i didnt want them to like cover most of the drawing. the things coming from their bun are like the trhee things theyve got in their head, theyre shaped like that to resemble insects legs a bit, fecto elfilis also had the 3 things (i dunno how to call em sorry) as their eyelashes, but chaos elfilis has just white eyelashes, because the bun already has the 3 things and because my morpho has white eyelashes so (i still havent done my morpho gijinka yet, i just know im gonna give the butterfly some white eyelashes cuz cute and pretty grimm reaper) the rest of the hair is shaped into like a ponytail but like, adn shaped, with whats left shaped like a lil moth

the waistband they have is a nod to morpho, they used to have a bow shaped just like the butterfly morpho appears as, but i took it out because i thought it crowded the design way too much, and also because it was too on the nose. the arms have those golden things because my fecto has it and because my og chaos elfilis gijinka had them so i wanted to bring it back, the hand fades into white because the red in the hand wasnt hard to distinguish so i came up with that to make it easier to see.

the red part of the pants are actually a bit fuzzy akin to a moth and the white part has those stripes to loke like insect stuff because y'know akin to a moth. the boots are like the red part in their legs their model in-game has, so i just made em tall boots, the high heels? originally it was platform just ike my fecto but then i wanted to draw them in high heels when i was slightly redoing chaos elfilis, and welp, i loved it and now theyve got high heels. those rings around the ankle are inspired by the ones leaongar has around their arm. also can you tell anatomy is not my strong suit? and that i dont draw high heels often?

i made a slight change in my kirby, making the sleeves be a different color, since the one he had before i felt was way too white, and i wanted to have more saturation in it

i also forgot but elfilin is supposed to wear that during forgotten land, and then i decided that after the anding of the main story he changes clothes, but i forgot about that while doing this so he has his pre-ending clothes (also because i still cant really decide on their second outfit for the post-game)

god im so tired i wanna talk and show more drawings but o shit im sweating why is it so hot in here

um thank you for reading all the unnecessary long rambles about why i do certain stuff in my gijinkas, i appreciate it a lot (im still sorry about writing walls upon walls of text but i just cant help it)

Jambuhbye! :D

[skeletalheartattack]

...am I just losing my mind or did yer icon become evil? I don't remember that BeAst behind Boe

yuuuump always been behind me

[non-un-topo]

He, Dreamless by nizzuto

Part 1 of I don't see the sun (I know it's there)

Through the tear-away of waves and the vastness of oceans and the separation of the three of them, there remains the legend of true love and the infinite fight to get back to it.

A gift for the incredibly talented @guarncre, whose gorgeous fic (and every single fic since) I adore so much. Few fics have so effectively simultaneously ripped me apart and put me back together, and swallowed me up with every word. These drawings have been a long time coming, but I really wanted to show my love for the fic by attempting to capture its evocative storytelling and imagery. And this is my call to everyone to go read it, now! Right now!

[Image description under cut]

[I.D.] Two digital drawings of Joe and Nicky, respectively, depicting scenes from nizzuto's fic He, Dreamless.

Joe is standing alone in a dark brick tower, visible down to his waist. His head is tilted down, his eyes closed, and he has a melancholy expression on his face. Only one of his arms is visible, his hand gently curled over his chest. His hair is long and loose, a few curls lit by moonlight. A deep red garment is draped over his shoulders. Behind him is a small arched window with bars, where a bright moon attempts to shine through. He is half-lit and half in shadow. A small signature in the bottom left corner reads, "Siggy, '23".

Nicky is sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his head tilted up and painted with bright, almost heavenly moonlight. He is in a hole underground, and the dark ground can be seen surrounding him. He is wearing a tattered uniform, the details of his clothes mostly hidden in shadow. His hair has been cut short and uneven, as has his beard. He is reaching up with one hand, the tip of his finger poking through the bars above his head. He wears an expression of longing. The moonlight is casting streaks through his fingers onto his face. He's looking at the same moon as Joe. The same signature as the first image is written on the bottom right corner.