#Is this too long to be a drabble? Idk

[witless-winion1]

imagine Polites was in the courtyard for the last battle of Troy. Imagine he looks up from bandaging a comrade’s injury, and sees his friend. Helmet off, head lowered, face pinched in what could only be described as anguish. Polites would have called to him, but he knows better than to interrupt Ody during his Big Brain Thinking moments.

but then his friend raises something into view over the wall; a swaddle of white, and it’s squirming, enough that Polites could see it from where he stands, now frozen in confusion and inexplicable dread. Odysseus loved kids and babies, he wouldn’t harm one for any reason. Hell, he’d cried so hard when Penelope gave birth to Telemachus that he’d nearly passed out from dehydration. He’d spared every child in every battle in this ten-year war.

but his friend extends his arm, holding the swaddle precariously by the ends of the blanket, over the thirty foot drop onto the solid stone ground. The innocent baby just wiggles unconcernedly.

Polites opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say (because he certainly didn’t know himself) gets caught, and then his friend let’s go.

and Polites can’t turn away as the white swaddle falls, a sudden, tiny cry starting from the hidden infant’s throat, that cuts off when it hits the ground, with a sound that Polites never wanted to hear again, and the white turns red.

Out of every horror he’s seen that night, that’s the one he dreams of when he eventually lays his head down to sleep.

He wakes thrashing, falling out of his hammock, and Odysseus’s hand jerks from his shoulder to his side, catching him before he can hit the ground and aggravate whatever minor injuries he got from the last battle.

Polites has always been a very honest person. Since boyhood, since he told his mother was sick because he ate too much sesamous when he was five, confessed to Odysseus and Eurylochus that he didn’t like hunting when he was nine, told his aunt she was too unkind to the less fortunate then them when he was thirteen.

when Odysseus asks him what troubles him, Polites can’t seem to bring himself to admit the truth.

when they sail for home, he forces himself not to avoid his captain. They’ve all done horrible things in the heat of Ares’ domain. but a baby? whispers his conscious.

Shush, he tells it. There’s a logical solution, there has to be.

and yet Odysseus offers none, and he is too cowardly to ask for it, and gods know he cannot make sense of it no matter how he tosses and turns with the rocking ship.

when they reach the island of the Lotus Eaters, Polites smiles at the funky little guys, adoring their blissful grin. He crouches and strokes it, cooing about how soft it is. Odysseus hums, unfazed, and grumpy. Polites can tell he hasn’t slept well the past few weeks. But he reaches down anyway and picks one up under the arms, studying it from every angle while the innocent creature just wiggles unconcernedly in his hands.

Polites can’t help the urge to gently pull the creature from his hands. He smiles to cover whatever tension there is, and places the lotus eater safely in the ground.

he reminds his friend that there’s no need to constantly be suspicious and prone to fighting; why not default to greeting the world with kindness and open arms? Even though trust may get taken advantage of sometimes, it would at least alleviate the risk of unnecessary blood spilled.

and as Odysseus looks away, Polites sees the pain in his eyes, staring at the Lotus eaters as they tumble around with each other. One drops suddenly from a low tree limb, and while Polites manages to stifle his wince, Odysseus is caught just off-guard enough to flinch when it hits the ground with a thump. The lotus eater got up and ambled off without a scratch.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms,” Polites says softly, reaching out to grasp his friend by the elbow. “I see in your face, there is so much guilt inside your heart…”

Polites could see as the words hit home, his friend’s shoulders drooping as he looks up at him. His eyes are nearly akin to what Argos’s looked like when their ships sailed from Ithaca’s harbor.

“…so why not replace it, and light up the world; here’s how to start…” Polites gently squeezes his arm. “Greet the world with open arms.”

“Greet the world with open arms…” Odysseus repeated softly, leaning into him. Polites let him hide his face in his chest, wrapping him in his arms and letting him hide from the weight of his not-so-secret sins.

[arrestedforhomestuckcrimes]

what do you have in mind? 👀 you said in your tags, what if vox is right? I’d like to know if you can expand on that thought 👀

WHAAAAAA

Okay so. Full Disclosure TM. A good portion of this thought is the simple fact that I have a Wonderful Alastor who I roleplay with, who writes an Incredibly touch-adverse autistic Alastor to my Vox. I probably wouldn't have jumped quite so quickly to "Oh Vox is Correct Alastor is absolutely gritting his teeth and bearing it" entirely on my own.

If I legitimately enjoyed RadioApple that would probably also lead me to focusing more on simply jealous Vox, but were we are

A N Y W A Y

Going off of That Comic, Vox who's incredibly focused on Alastor, who knows Every little detail about him, Who Knows what Alastor is like in a relationship and aches over the fact it's not him at Alastor's side anymore. He hates him, it's definitely hatred, loathing, nothing else.

It's an event for Overlords, traditionally. Something that's been going on for as long as there have been kings to rule over the masses. Just being in charge isn't anywhere near enough, you have to _show_ how much better you are than the common folk. Any overlord worth their salt is in attendance, even those who only have a measly five souls to their name will do everything they can to show up. To rub elbows with their betters and make connections.

Of course, it's power that allows you into the event. Nothing more, nothing less.

There's more hellborn in attendance than Vox is used to. The doors aren't closed to them, but the ratio is... Off. Nothing he can't handle of course, and he's smiling, charming, coaxing, figuring out the lay of the land so he can decide who to make offers to. Who might want a career in film, or bring his tech down to their rings. Two pixelated lines of red drip from his lips at the idea of getting his claws into one of the tech moguls from Envy, the things they could do together, the things they could be... He barely notices when the door opens to let in another pair of demons, until the shock and amazement ripples out from the entrance. When he turns, he fully expects to see Velvette showing up fifteen minutes late and making a scene to get all eyes on her. He doesn't expect the king of hell, and he really doesn't expect to see Alastor there.

Vox doesn't know about the tension between Alastor and Lucifer. All he sees, at first, is Alastor rubbing in his connections with royalty in his face. He sees Alastor and instantly believes he's showing off just how untouchable he is, how powerful he is. The first time Vox has gotten to actually lay eyes on him in seven years and here Alastor is, practically arm in arm with someone else, not even bothering to look him in the eye, like he's nothing? Fine, fine! Fuck him. He doesn't need Alastor, he's never needed Alastor, he's made it this far without him. Sure, Lucifer is powerful, but more sinners know him at a glance than some recluse who's been locked in an ivory tower the past few centuries.

Vox is definitely not seething as he watches the two of them make their way through the crowd, mingling. And if he tightens his grip on the delicate glass in his hand too much, if it shatters in his grip into shards of glass and ice and bourbon, well, that's a simple calibration error after his last update. He's not pissed. He certainly isn't jealous. What even is there to be jealous of? A scrawny, almost skeletal deer who even here can't bother to put on a suit that isn't tattered at the edges? Please. He's only paying close attention to the pair because he knows Alastor has to be up to something. Nothing else. It takes a while for his frustration to- Not fade, but at least become constant enough he can tune it out. Can focus on more than just that. The cameras scattered throughout the atrium people have gathered in don't get a good look at the pair, but when there's few enough people between them Vox can get a good look at Alastor? He can see a smile that's tight. Eyes that are fixed open.

Alastor can be an incredibly touchy person when it's his choice, and there's plenty of alcohol around for him to loosen up. But his hands are staying fixed at his sides, not even holding his microphone- Where is his microphone? His ears are upright, but it's not the idly twitching, perked act Vox is used to seeing. They're stiff. Primed.

Lucifer keeps Alastor with him as he goes to talk to one group of hellborn or another, chatting like they're old friends, ignoring the sinners around them entirely. But it's not until that dark hand settles on the small of Alastor's back that Vox stiffens like he's just been electrocuted, eyes narrowing as his entire world zeroes in on that idle little touch. So casual you would think it belongs there, settled on Alastor like it's nothing, only a breath away from the tail hidden beneath his coat. Ink black staining blood red, thumb rubbing idle circles, and Vox, after years of knowing the man, can see the tension in Alastor's shoulderblades. How his smile has become tight lipped, and this man who has never shut up for a full five minutes in his afterlife is standing silent, spoken over by this sin and the demons-

"Hey." Valentino's touch is light on his shoulder, the lightest trace of a claw to catch his attention. The "You okay?" is light, casual, not breaking the peace of the evening, not drawing attention to what has the potential to be a moment of weakness. Vox should lean into it. He should wash his hands of the whole affair. Alastor isn't his problem anymore, he made that much all too clear when he vanished without a fucking word-

"He would never let anyone touch him like that," is what Vox says instead. Not here, not in public. Not so casually, like Lucifer had the right to do as he pleased. If his touch was a constant now, guiding Alastor from one set of giggling goetia to a sultry set of succubi, then what was it like elsewhere? Eventually Vox manages to tear his gaze up to Valentino's own, voice low as he replies "I think... The king has him trapped."

[oneshotgremlin]

First impressions on Fake Peppino Friday (aka how Pep and Fep first met in my interp):

(Context: Back in the earlier versions of pizza tower, the tunnel chase was a lot harder, and there’s this one drop that immediately goes into an overhang. When I say that I tried SO many times to grab slide through it but because of how little space there was I just KEPT GRABBING AT THE WALL OH MY GOD

Anyways, I like to keep my failures in my interpretation. Adds a je ne sais quoi to some of the character dynamics [judgement and concern])

No because this is actually so funny if you think about. Imagine being in Fake Peppino's shoes, right?

You're alone in in your restaurant. Waiting. Anticipating. And then you hear it. Footsteps.

You turn around and you see...You. You, but not. The You you've been watching on static riddled TV screens. The You you've heard your pizza-headed creator curse out so much, yet fail to measure up to.

It's the You you should've been.

You scream and you scream with him. "He can't get past you. Don't let him get to staff only." It's the one task your creator drilled into your head, above pizza making.

You attack.

And you can't keep up with him as you fight. Even in person, giving everything you've got, even getting some hits in, you still fail to compare to him.

But when the floor beneath both of you breaks, and he speeds away running for his life, he crashes into an overhang in the tunnel you've fallen in.

As he panickedly scrabbles against the dark stone, you finally catch up to him and. Bite. Down.

The world goes black. Then you're standing back in your restaurant. You aren't entirely surprised, nothing truly stays dead or destroyed in this tower. From the levels to the pillars to even the people, they all come back one way or another.

You hear footsteps. You turn around.

It's You.

...[TWO HOURS LATER]...

Oh Cheesus Crust it's You again.

You don't know how many times he's gone through your boss room, and at this point you're too afraid to keep count.

He doesn't even scream after walking in anymore. Neither do you. You're unspeakably worried for this man's sanity, assuming that it exists in the first place (you're less and less sure it does with every reattempt he makes).

You're not actually sure if he's even trying to get past you at this point. If anything he's decided to have a blood feud with one particular overhang in the tunnel and is somehow sorely losing.

Again.

At this point, you're pretty confident you know every single Italian and American swear in the global lexicon, along with some new ones that were invented within the last two hours alone.

As you once again catch up to him, you don't even bother biting him. Clearly getting repeatedly crushed into pulp is not the deterrent it is for every single other creature in this tower. You scruff his shirt with your teeth and carry him out and he just lets you like he did for the past hour or so. Soon enough he'll be back re-doing the same song and dance you've done for 2 hours straight before racing off to fistfight The Wall.

You don't know what this man's malfunction is but maybe you should be a little grateful that you aren't entirely like him after all.

(Bonus doodle for the peeps that read through it all):

[casino-lights]

I posted an excerpt a while back from a wip I titled "shameless illario apologism" and I think it's time I post the whole thing because this stupid man resurrected my urge to write. a drabble about the ending of A Murder of Crows is beneath the cut with some mentions of Illario x oc because he is unfortunately my pookie. enjoy!

He looked so pitiful on his knees, gasping for air, one eye red and swollen from a particularly swift blow to the face. A single tear streaked down his bruised cheek, leaving a shimmering trail that caught the light with every breath he heaved. His doublet was more crimson than blue now, each dark blotch blossoming further across his chest as the blood from his wounds soaked into the embroidered silk. 

It would never come out. Yet more stains to add to the ones quickly mounting on Illario Dellamorte’s reputation.

“What are you waiting for, cousin?” he panted, fully expecting Lucanis’ blade to sink into his flesh any second now. “Finish what you start.”

Though he cast his eyes downward, he refused to close them. He would not meet his end in the dark. But his grandmother’s voice made him raise his face, and his heart plummeted into his stomach as he watched her make her way toward the stage he knelt upon.

“Get up, Illario,” she said flatly, as if she were simply asking him to take his feet off the coffee table. “No one from House Dellamorte kneels.”

As Viago hoisted him roughly to his feet, he found himself wondering if his parents were forced to their knees as they died. Were Lucanis’ parents? Were their cousins? Were their cousins even old enough to stand?

Illario forced himself to meet Lucanis’ eyes. Defiant, even until the end. If he was going to die at his cousin’s hand, he would look him in the eyes first. He would look their grandmother in the eyes and hope, as he had hoped his whole life, that maybe she would see that her least favorite grandson was capable of more than she thought. 

Lucanis asked his companion what to do with him. Rook. The woman who saved him from the prison he was in by Illario’s hand.

She responded with a question in kind: “Didn’t you say he’s like a brother to you? That he is your brother?”

As if Illario needed to feel even more shame. It was hard enough to look Lucanis in the eyes without memories of their childhood flashing across his mind. Wyvern-hunting. Prickle-burrs. Canes across the back. Coffee in the kitchen. Too-hot cookies. Tying knots with bloody fingers. Sauce-covered faces. Tear-stained cheeks. Crying against each other in the dark.

Lucanis was all he had. The only person he could ever rely on. The last member of his family who didn’t hate him, didn’t hurt him, didn’t think he was worthless. And Illario betrayed him.

Of course, when Illario taunted him, told him he used to be somebody, Lucanis replied with a bitter, too-quick, “And you never were.” Maybe he was hiding the hatred all along. Maybe he never respected Illario at all. Maybe Zara was right. His family never loved him.

“He was my best friend,” Lucanis said, looking at Rook. “One of my only friends, before you.”

Zara’s voice rang in Illario’s ears. A touching lie.

In a voice thick with the blood that coated his throat, Illario rasped, “You think you can show me mercy? That is not up to you, is it? Caterina is still First Talon.”

And like clockwork, Caterina answered, “His decision stands. Lucanis is the new First Talon of the Antivan Crows.”

Lucanis looked more surprised than Illario. He couldn’t muster shock. With both of them alive and present, this was the only possible outcome. This was why Zara told him he had to get rid of them. This was what he had suffered Lucanis’ presumed death to prevent.

“Viago, keep him out of trouble,” Lucanis said with a weary sigh. “I’ll come by to discuss the details in a day or two.”

“I’m no miracle worker,” Viago replied dryly, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

Illario the troublemaker. Dellamorte the Lesser. It was who he had always been. Sometimes, when he was in a more generous mood, he would joke about it. But it was always true, whether or not he gave himself the nickname in jest. Caterina saw him as an annoyance and a burden, and Lucanis… who knows how Lucanis really saw him? Right now, he was treating him like a little boy throwing a tantrum, not someone who had the throne of the most feared guild of assassins in Thedas within his grasp mere minutes ago. Was it brotherly love, or blatant disregard for everything Illario had accomplished?

All this for nothing. Worse than nothing. His grand prize was a crippling, mortifying defeat at the hands of the Demon of Vyrantium and an outsider, in front of every Talon, every House, every Crow with any kind of sway. The best he could hope for now was either a merciful death or a lot of short memories. His reward for his scheme, nearly two years in the making, was disgrace.

As Viago pulled him away, he looked only at his cousin. He mustered half a grin through the searing embarrassment. “Lucanis…”

“Don’t, Illario. Not now.” And he turned his head away.

Every step hurt worse than the last. His adrenaline wore off, leaving him tired and sore. He felt as pitiful as he looked. He felt like a child. His chest burned, his throat felt raw, and though his wounds stung and still seeped blood, it was his lungs that tightened, swelling with the urge to cry. 

He had not cried since Lucanis’ wake. Ironically enough, Viago had to escort him up the stairs then, too. Illario suddenly wished he was as drunk as he’d been that night, or that Viago would be merciful enough to knock him out again. Based on the sheer hatred in his eyes, though, that seemed like a faraway prospect. And his head would still hurt in the morning without any of the blissful forgetfulness a drunken stupor would bring.

The only thing missing from the next morning would be Lidia. She’d practically torn the Diamond’s guest wing apart looking for him after the wake. She hounded him until he ate, followed him through the city until he was weary enough to sleep, held his head in her lap and ran her fingers through his hair and soothed him until he could drag himself out of bed. She never knew how much of that paralysis, that deep depression he fell into was pure guilt. And still, all she ever did was defend him. After that depression was over, when Caterina and Viago questioned his ability to return to work; after Lucanis came back, when he tricked her into leaving the Diamond just in time for Zara’s people to take Caterina; after he killed Zara, when he held Lidia with scrubbed-raw hands and told her he didn’t want to fight anymore and that he could finally give her everything he promised if she could only just trust him a little while longer…

There would be no similar concern from her this time - not after what he put her through. He drained her blood in her sleep so he could find her if she ever left. He lied to her for over a year about where he was and with whom. He kissed her goodnight and held her until she was fast asleep before swapping his chest for a pillow and sneaking out their bedroom window so he could see Zara. 

He would return to Lidia before sunrise. That had been his promise to himself. Return to Lidia before sunrise, because she always looked her loveliest at dawn. He slipped back in through the window after a bath and crawled back into their bed, and she curled up against him and smiled and mumbled something drowsily about how he smelled nice. Every time, she asked if the job went well. Every time, he said yes. And every time, he felt that heavy ache like stones piled on top of his chest, another weight added with each contented sigh or nuzzle of her head.

He touched Zara with the same hands he touched her with only an hour before. He did it so many times he lost count. He always tried to make it up to her in the morning - a one-sided debt that kept growing and growing as he drew from her seemingly never-ending well of trust without ever replenishing it. Another betrayal to add to his list. Another person who actually loved him, lost to his own ambitions and Zara’s unfulfilled promises. He thought he would only lose Lucanis. He had prepared himself for that. He thought it would be quick and painless and Lucanis would never feel the sting of knowing his cousin - his brother - sold him out. 

And now he stood at the door of the smallest guest room in Villa Dellamorte, having cost himself Lucanis, Caterina, Zara, Teia, and everyone else who may have loved or even simply tolerated him once. He had no one and nothing to show for his efforts.

Not even Lidia. 

It would have been too much to hope that Viago would bring him to his own room. That would be much too comfortable for a traitor like him - and much too close to the new First Talon’s room. He stepped inside the guest room without a word to Viago, whose disapproving stare said more than enough to fill the silence.

As Illario sat weakly on the footstool at the end of the bed, Viago rolled his eyes and finally broke the quiet. “I’ll have a healer stop by. It’s more than you deserve, but I’m sure you know that. The First Talon wants you alive. Think on why.”

He locked the door behind him. And Illario was alone.

[auspicioustidings]

Farah doesn't know how to approach Kate about it, but Kate can tell when someone is staring at her and trying to work up some courage so she has some mercy (only some, she lets Karim sweat first) and tells her to come to her office.

Honestly she was sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop, but she's nervous about what Farah is bringing to her. She likes the woman, it would be a shame if she turned out to be a bigot. Imagine Kate's surprise when Farah's issue with Alex isn't that he is trans, but that she is wholly unexperienced with eating out a cunt and would like lessons. Farah has always exceeded at everything, will she fuck be finally getting Alex Keller into bed only to be mediocre and fumbling.

It's funny in a way to watch as she works herself up talking about how much of a disaster it would have been had she not found out completely by accident and thus went into the situation without practicing first. "I would rather die in battle than be bad for him. I wouldn't even have went into it with the right equipment and I would have had to give up my command over the dishonour of it all."

(we are getting NSFW below the cut my cuties and it's been a while since I've written it so if you don't think it's good kindly keep your mouth shut and scroll <3 )

So Kate calls her wife and asks if it would be ok for her to teach the commander of a rebel force to eat pussy and take a strap like a good girl and her wife just whines at the images that has given her and tells her she'd better give a detailed description tomorrow.

Farah is a quick study and is willing to get messy, but oh that rebellious streak. She doesn't take suggestions or requests well, she needs orders and Kate Laswell is willing to give them. She's got this girl pressed between her legs and isn't letting her up for air, instead humping her face until she learns that she only breathes on the good will of the pussy she is pleasuring. "Need to get that clit nice and swollen so you can learn to suck his cock properly, get to it soldier."

Kate laughs when she goes to start stretching her out only to find she is dripping wet. Three fingers sink into her with a squelch with no resistance. "Me or him you're thinking of?" Farah snorts because they both know the answer is Alex, the only person that's seemingly oblivious to how much she wants him is him. Although Farah thinks that she would like both. Maybe once she gets that man in bed, they can go on a double date with the Laswells.

She wants to learn everything about putting the harness on just incase Alex hasn't done it before. Her pussy is swollen with need and throbbing in time to her heartbeat but both her and Kate are professionals, so they take the time to have a discussion on strap styles and common issues even while Farah is panting and drooling all over the thick plastic of the cock Kate is showing her. "Don't worry, still get to put your deepthroating skills to work." She was mostly joking but Kate is delighted to find how good she actually is at it. Farah comes up for air, tears streaming down her face and saliva forming a line between her mouth and the cock and admits without any shame what so ever that she got Ghost to teach her when she still thought Alex was cis.

"He teach you how to take it too?"

"He tried."

The wry look in her eyes makes Kate laugh. She could imagine how difficult Ghost would have found Farah as a student given that he seemed to like obedient and desperate mutts. Farah was neither, she would top from the bottom until she was forced into submission and while Ghost had no doubt tried, he was more inclined to breaking brats than the likes of this woman.

Kate has no such problem. She knows that the trick to someone like Farah is outlasting her. So she flips her over onto her hands and knees, gives her shoulders a firm push to have her arms collapse out under her and pumps the strap into her in one fluid thrust right to the root. The ripple of muscles is gorgeous as she fucks and fucks and fucks and Farah refuses to give in control. Even presenting like a bitch she is strong and ready to seize control back at any moment. But Kate has stamina and just keeps pressing into her in the perfect rhythm to send her into an orgasm that makes her quiver violently.

She can't help to give into temptation. When Farah's body gives away that she is going to have another, Kate slides her fingers around the strap and pushes it in with her fist wrapped around it still. The woman under her absolutely howls at that and Kate feels the orgasm from the inside, feels the warm, wet walls of her cunt squeeze her fingers in waves.

It takes a lot, more than Kate has ever given anyone. Anytime she throws Farah's limbs around to get her into a new position she is still poised and ready to fight. She still holds back on her orgasms instead of fully giving in. She takes the slaps to her clit with hisses through gritted teeth but still refuses to just relax and let go.

She could almost smack herself when she finally figures it out. It's been hours, both of them are exhausted and panting and will no doubt be sore tomorrow. And as a last ditch effort Kate presses Farah's knees about her ears, leans down and looks her in the eye.

"He's going to love it Karim. He's not going to be able to get enough of your tongue and then he's going to find heaven in your pussy."

Finally, fucking finally, Farah Karim melts. Goes boneless and pliant, let's the final orgasm run through her almost languidly. It's fascinating to watch how her body seems to changes, goes from hard and aggressive to soft and willing.

Kate rolls off of her and just lays on her back with her eyes closed panting. She doesn't move when nimble fingers undo the harness and pull it off. She can barely do anything but give hitched little breaths when a warm tongue gently laps her pussy, no longer so worried about doing well and now just enjoying the meal. The orgasm is the last her body can give and she grins when she wakes up with Farah passed out between her legs having been equally as exhausted.

Alex Keller is a very lucky boy.

[emsprovisions]

The Substitute

I couldn't get this cozy idea out of my head and I wouldn't even have this little story if not for @ironheartwriter and I cooking it up last night. So Lana, this one's for you 💕

Carlos hates shifts that run opposite of TK’s. He hates shifts that run late into the night and keep him away from his husband even more. 

Carlos knows TK hates sleeping alone, that even when he tries to fall asleep, he doesn’t sleep well until Carlos can crawl into bed beside him. Carlos understands it. He’s always all too aware of when his husband is absent from their bed. He’ll reach for TK across the mattress in his sleep and wake up when his hands don’t register with anything. He’ll remember TK’s on a 24 hour shift if he’s not home, or he’ll get up and drag him back to bed if he’s having a late night snack.

Tonight though, Carlos is expecting the routine welcome he normally gets when he comes home in the middle of the night. TK blinking as he sits up from the blanket cocoon he made as he tried to wait up on the couch, or TK’s sleepy voice calling for him from their room, or even the sight of TK alert at the island barstool, eating leftovers and scrolling through his phone. 

Carlos is greeted by none of these things. 

In fact, the loft is silent and–save for the kitchen light–dark. 

Huh, Carlos thinks, because it’s strange for TK to not leave most of the lights on for Carlos. He sees TK’s set of keys in the bowl when he drops his own set in, and he knows he saw TK’s car when Carlos parked his own beside it. 

Carlos quietly toes off his shoes and shrugs out of his jacket, setting his things down behind the couch before creeping towards the open doors of their bedroom. 

There’s a large and dark lump on his side of the bed. Frankly, the lump is too large to be TK alone. Carlos quirks a brow at the sight, his mouth drawing into a pinched line. He knows the path to the closet even in the dark, and flips on the switch, letting a soft light spill out into the bedroom and cast over the sleeping face of TK and his companion. 

And whatever annoyance Carlos momentarily feels gives way to complete awe at the sight of TK actually peacefully sleeping while snuggled up with their dog, an Australian Shepherd named Lizzie. 

They adopted her about a month ago, after Carlos took TK on a date to the Humane Society with the promise of “we don’t have to find the one today.” He was wrong of course, which he probably should have known, given his husband’s love of strays. But one look at the good-mannered and sweet-natured Australian Shepherd in the kennel, with her bright blue eyes, and her brown and white fluffy coat, and they were both goners. 

Lizzie has been a great addition to their home. She’s curious when she spots Lou II through the glass of his enclosure, nose sniffing as he scuttles up to the front to inspect her too. She goes to the firehouse with TK on most of his shifts and gets her fill of socialization by being doted on by the 126. And although there is a very strict vacuuming routine to keep the shedding at bay now, Carlos would not trade the happiness she provides them with for the world. Carlos has fulfilled his wish of having a pet to pet, and TK has fulfilled his wish of wanting a dog since he was a kid. 

She’s also definitely way more protective of TK. He often finds her laying on top of him or near him if he’s not beside TK himself. This is probably why he finds her curled up against TK’s chest in bed now. Carlos had set a firm rule that he doesn’t want Lizzie sleeping in their bed, but honestly, if her presence can soothe TK enough that he can actually fall asleep without Carlos, he’s more than okay with dropping that rule. Plus the sight of them really is the cutest thing Carlos has ever seen, and he’s very tempted to pull out his phone and take a picture if he knew it wouldn’t set off the flash.

Carlos quickly strips out of his jeans and button up, trading them for sleep shorts and a t-shirt before heading for the bathroom to brush his teeth. He rushes through the routine, in a hurry to go climb into his warm bed and hold his husband, so he can take over his duties from the dog. 

Carlos sits down beside TK’s hip, reaching forward to brush his fingers through TK’s hair. Lizzie lifts her sleepy head and regards Carlos with a lick to his arm and a yawn, before tucking back in. 

“TK,” Carlos whispers, continuing to brush TK’s hair back. “Baby.”

TK stirs. Carlos hates waking him but he needs TK to shift over so he can crawl in behind him. 

“Baby, I need you to move over so I can get in bed.”

TK’s eyes blink open and he catches sight of Carlos leaning over him. His face immediately breaks into a big smile.

“There you are,” Carlos fondly murmurs, hand running down to cup TK’s cheek.

“Hi baby,” TK whispers back, his voice thick and sleepy. “Sorry Lizzie’s in the bed. I was lonely.”

“I know, baby, it’s okay. I’m glad she helped you sleep.” He leans down to press a kiss to TK’s forehead, and before he can pull away, TK wraps his arm around Carlos’s waist to keep him tugged close for a kiss. Carlos has an awkward arm braced over the other side of Lizzie so he doesn't topple all of his weight on top of TK, and he laughs as TK holds him in place. “You have to let me get in bed, babe.” 

“I’ve got you where I want you,” TK says back, his voice muffled where he’s buried his face against Carlos’s neck. 

“Babe, come on,” Carlos laughs. 

At this point, there is too much noise and too much movement on the mattress for Lizzie to stay comfortable where she’s laying against TK. With a targeted huff, she stands up and moves towards the foot of the bed, throwing a glare back at her dads as she completes a few circles and rolls herself into a tight ball, nose tucked aggressively under her tail.

They both begin to laugh harder at the sight of their annoyed dog and then TK does finally shift over, closer to his own side of the bed, to allow Carlos some space to move in beside him. He rolls into Carlos’s arms, nose tucked in against his chest, all warm, soft, and heavy from sleep, and Carlos can’t help the kiss he presses into TK’s hair.

“Lizzie’s good, but she’s not a Carlos substitute,” TK sighs happily, nuzzling his face against Carlos’s neck. 

“I’m glad I’ve not been replaced, then,” Carlos chuckles.

TK looks up at him with a smile in the dark, before pulling him down for a goodnight kiss. 

“Never.”

[keeponquinning]

JQ drabble / blurb coming at you.

okay but like.... seeing pedro's esquire video and shoot, i can't help but think of like a slightly jealous joseph looking at you engrossed with mr. pascal, and he's just like, ".... I'm your favorite, though, right?"

making you look up immediately like, "...what? seriously?"

"I mean.... Not like you've looked at me like that in a while..."

you're just so amused about this, but you're trying to hide it, because whether he's being serious or not, he has such a pout on. "baby. it's different. like...you two are different!"

that was not the response he hoped for, "sorry? different how?"

"well, we're dating for one. and... y'know... He's just....daddy."

you've never seen his eyebrows furrow that quickly, "...and what? I'm not daddy? not daddy enough for you?"

"....you're not his level of daddy...." he scoffs. "You're younger than him! so, like.... it's different."

"okay, but... Let's just say... We go somewhere, yeah? And he happens to be there..."

it takes all of you not to laugh, "You're being so cute right now..."

"..yeah, adorable, shut up. I'm... how long would it be for you to ditch me and go over to him?"

everything in you tells you not to smile, but you can't help it, stretching wider than you thought possible, "....w e l l..."

"Oh my god, you're going to leave me for him."

"What the fuck—"

"No, no, you're going to leave me. You've planned this, probably. Seduced me, and done it well..."

"Mmm, I did have fun seducing you."

His face softens, lips lightly smiling, "...I did have fun being seduced..." He watched you smile at him, and he took a deep breath. Rising from his seat and wandered toward you. "He'd probably fall for you, you're very easy to fall for."

You snorted, giving a shrug, "Well, that was the plan. Have you fall for me, have this relationship with you, had to fuck you a few times to want to make it official," he chuckled at that. "..and then on the off chance that you get invited to some invite with him, for me to tag along... And thus, the real master plan comes into place, and Pedro and I can go off into the sunset, with his tight jeans and dad sweaters, while you, my former love, are in shambles and devastated by me."

He sighed, shaking his head, "I feel so used."

Shrugging, you reply, leaning back in your seat, "The things we do for true love."

His brown eyes look at you, bending down and leaning over you in your seat, "Can I be used by you until that happens, then?"

"Mmm...." you hummed, raising your hands to place around his neck. "I dunno... that was the plan, but, lately... Kinda felt the plan changing a bit... Like I'm falling for you and that's a problem."

"Ooh, am I charming you, darling?" he asked, grazing his lips against yours, slowly giving a kiss.

You chuckle, kissing him back, nice and slow, groaning softly. "I think you are. That's so not part of the plan, how dare you."

He's smiling now, lips pressed against the side of your neck as he kisses, bites and licks. "To use your words against you, the things we do for true love." You chuckle at that, and he weighs down further on top of you, his hands digging to the waistband of your shorts. He suddenly pops his head up, looking at you with curious eyes. "...right, okay, but, I am your favorite, though, right?"

"Oh my god," you groaned, rolling your eyes, though there's a smile there. "Okay, look, on the list of white men... You're definitely on the top of the list."

His lips twitch, biting back a laugh, instead, giving a nod. "Right, well, as far as us white men... That is impressive. Top spot?"

"Mmm..... Top three, easily."

He was silent a moment, this seeming to placate him a moment, before he let out a sigh. "One of them isn't Garfield, is it?"

"...if I call you daddy tonight, can I like...not answer that?"

His eyes looked over you, licking his lips before he gave a nod, "Y e a h, deal." Rising up and taking a hold of your hands, pulling you up and into another kiss almost immediately. His hands wrapped around your waist and pulling you close to him, tongues met, a breathy moan from both as your tastes mingled and appreciated from one another, you could feel the affect you have on him, could feel him harden against you as you pulled away, walking toward his bedroom. He takes a moment to look as you go through the bedroom door, desire and lust overtaking him. And then — "It's not fucking Obi-Wan, is it?"

"Daddy."

"Right, forgotten, coming."

[good-beanswrites]

I can't stop thinking of Kyanako's Order of Attack au... there's something so moving to me about how things getting so much worse could be what finally causes Amane to get better -- seeing Fuuta dying may be the final straw of getting her to rethink her rejection of medicine. Been a while since I've attempted something whump-y, this was fun to work with.

Tw for mentions/contemplation of death. I don't go into detail about the cult but the doctrines are implied through it all.

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying.

When he imagined his own death, he always pictured it as something dramatic and fast. Action heroes going out in a show of explosions and gunfire. Fantasy characters meeting the shining end of a blade. Even when he accepted his place in Milgram, it filled his mind with images of gallows and electric chairs. 

Whatever this slow, lengthy fever was, it was pissing him off. 

He’d lost all sense of time. He could no longer tell which hour the prison bells were marking -- morning and night blended together. Dreaming and waking blended together. His head injury and broken leg and broken bones blended together. It was all just pain at the end of the day. He had nonstop visitors that kept him awake and asked him too many questions and prodded his injuries and made his head spin. Somehow, he was simultaneously alone every time he rolled over to talk to someone. Painfully, suffocatingly alone. 

If Kotoko was going to kill him with those ridiculous emo boots of hers, she should have just done it. He was losing his mind here: devoid of all energy, suffering through broken bones and a cracked head, and boiling in an increasingly fiery fever. Maybe that was the reason he stopped commenting when he watched Amane pocket the medicine Shidou had left him. Maybe that was why he’d stopped following Shidou’s instructions himself. Even after losing an eye and taking a beating herself, Amane always looked at peace. He was tired of dealing with all of this. He wanted a bit of that peace.

Regardless of why, it was working. His fever had quickly gone from the biggest pain in his ass to the very thing that dulled his racing thoughts. 

He awoke suddenly, or maybe he’d already been awake. He couldn’t feel anything in his limbs. There was only a breathless heat around him. He raised himself into a sitting position, looking for a drink. Moving his head felt like one of those glitching computer windows that leaves a trail of copies behind it. The room swam around him. His eyes moved absently around him.

Fuuta picked up the glass that someone had left him. His fingers were clumsy, and it immediately went crashing to the ground. He hardly heard the noise as it broke apart on the concrete below. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d just go get a drink himself. Shidou told him not to get up without help. But what did he know? Thinking of the man ordering him around only drove Fuuta to step out of bed even quicker. He cried out, pain shooting through his leg. That was right, it was broken… 

Fuuta looked down, finding himself on the ground. It was so hot. Maybe this is what she felt, he thought numbly. Was it this slow for her too? Probably not. She had no regrets to fill the time like he did. The heroes got quick, beautiful deaths, and it was the villains who had to suffer the long ones. 

He lifted his right palm from where it had caught his fall. The shattered glass on the floor had cut into it. Shattered glass? What had broken? He stared blankly at the blood dripping down. 

He didn’t have the strength to raise himself up. He was burning. Why was he on the ground? Was he bleeding? He could barely breathe. What was he doing here, anyway? He just wanted to curl up and sleep. He was so weak... just to lie down... he wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. Was that such a bad thing...?

A voice caught his attention. His eyes struggled to focus on the figure who’d come running into the cell. He couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but he was happy when she pressed her cool little hands against his forehead. 

He allowed her to prop him up next to the bed. She held onto his hand, squeezing it tight. Why was she holding it like that? That hand was bleeding. When did that happen?

Her arms wrapped tightly around him. He wanted to shove her away -- it was too hot -- but couldn’t. In his ear, he could make out her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Fuuta. Don’t leave me alone. I’m so sorry...”

As she pulled back, he recognized Amane. Her uninjured eye was filled with tears. Was she upset? He thought he’d been making her happy. He wanted to keep making her happy. He’d never made anyone happy before. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. They all scrambled up in his mouth. He felt the cell swirling around him.

Amane raised her voice. She looked desperately upwards. “This can’t be --! This isn’t right!” 

Fuuta looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there. 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

She continued talking. Fuuta was too busy studying the ceiling. She was shouting. Or maybe crying. Fuuta didn’t like that she was so upset. Huh, had there been someone there? He surveyed the empty cell. What was he doing on the ground?

He looked down at his hand. The sheet from his bed had been pulled down and wrapped hastily around it. Why? His eyes felt sticky as he blinked. Everything hurt. It was so hot. What was going on? He was so angry. He was so scared. He wanted to cry. Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just hurry up and die already?

The next time she entered, Fuuta recognized Amane instantly. Her one hand pointed to him, the other held onto someone else. The second figure hurried over to him. 

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying. Shidou reassured him he wouldn’t.

—

“You’re wearing the eyepatch,” Fuuta observed. 

He was playing a dangerous game, drawing attention to it like that. He was too exhausted, and his curiosity won out over his better judgment. If Amane was going to explode with one of her typical speeches, he’d just let her.

She didn’t. 

Amane’s hand drifted up to her eye. It had been hastily covered before, but now it was cleaned and wrapped in professional-grade materials. She simply said,  “Kajiyama Fuuta. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“But--”

“-- But I’m better, yeah.”

Amane nodded, her shoulders releasing. 

“Oi, I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since…” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Shidou had told him what happened, but it was difficult to believe. He couldn’t quite trust his own memory of the night. No matter how much clearer his mind felt since receiving proper treatment, those days of fever still muddled together. He heard that Amane had up and switched her beliefs overnight -- she was now complacent about all of Shidou's treatments -- but Fuuta knew people didn't just change like that. He wanted to hear it for himself.

She lowered her gaze in shame. “I… I thought you hated me.” Her voice was steady. “As you should. I almost killed you. I accept any ill will you may feel.”

“I -- what? You’re wrong. You… it wasn’t…” He grabbed his head, grunting in frustration.

After standing awkwardly in the entryway the whole time, Amane took a few steps inside. She made it to his bedside when he finally collected his thoughts. 

“It was your fucked up family or whatever that caused everything. They did this. And I went along and made things worse.” He looked away. His next words felt stupid to say to a little kid. He felt like the most pathetic, weak, loser. But it was too important not to say.

“They almost killed me. You saved me.”

[blackjackkent]

what do you think wouldve happened in an alternate universe where hector let karlach become a mind flayer?

(A/N after writing this whole answer: whoops, this got out of hand, hope you're okay with an Unexpected Fic. XD Also maybe a smidge weird/dark at the end, although not a ton I hope? Certainly no more than the whole game is weird/dark. XD Anyway I hope you enjoy. <3 )

Ohhhhhhhhh.

Anon, I love you for asking me this question. <3 A very intriguing one!

And it is because I love you for asking me this question that I have braved looking up a video of Karlach actually becoming a mind flayer, which I had put off doing because I am a softheart and I knew it would hurt and also make Hector yell in my head. XD And when Hector yells in my head it's a whole thing because he does double Flurry of Blows against the inside of my skull for 140damage and it's rough enough in there already.

However! I have now watched it and done some thinks. (Hot damn, Lae'zel is MAD too, at least in the version of the scene I watched. The whole thing is very upsetting.)

Fundamentally it would be a tragedy, and not just for Karlach. Watching the way the scenes play out - there is just enough of Karlach in her speech that Hector would not want to disconnect from her. I think perhaps it touches on the same hope that kept him expecting a miracle for her heart right up until the end of the game - somehow, somehow we can make this work, somehow we will find a way...

But there is no way. This is who she is now, a creature of the Astral Sea with his love's voice and an empty place where her soul should be. And unlike the engine situation he can't even kiss her to make himself feel better because she looks like a squid.

-----

The one saving grace is, I suppose, she does seem happy enough. In the epilogue, she states that she has found a way to get brains to eat by consuming from terminally ill patients at a clinic in Baldur's Gate, people who have volunteered for the process because they are about to die anyway. And she talks about helping all of them live on by absorbing their memories and carrying them with her.

It's... sweet, in a way, Hector supposes.

He tries to keep busy. There's no battle in Avernus to occupy him in this timeline, so he primarily works with Jaheira and her kids on rebuilding. It's hard, physical work; it keeps his mind occupied. At first he sleeps at the Elfsong; later, after some nudging from Rion, Jaheira offers him lodging at her home, where he takes a hand in raising the latest crop of orphan children she is protecting. He sees Baldur's Gate start to bandage its wounds and begins to believe there was some purpose to all his struggle.

But his own wounds do not heal so easily.

He visits the clinic often. He and Karlach talk. Her voice is a slow near-monotone in her accent, unlike anything he ever heard from her before. Sometimes he can hear a twinge of her humor or a turn or phrase, and his heart leaps... but other times she speaks of things like destiny and infinite time in a way that reminds him more of the Emperor than the woman he loves.

She never laughs. She doesn't curse. There is never even the slightest mention of sex; though she still fully understands a double entendre when he makes one experimentally, she seems to take no interest in it. She seems to exist slightly beyond him, with a view of the world that is no longer of the Material Plane.

And yet... she does know him. She remembers everything - stories he told her of his childhood in the monastery, details of Selunite rituals she learned from him, quiet moments in camp he half-forgot himself. She still calls him Soldier, and sometimes Hec. She remembers her own parents; she remembers the city. There is just enough of her still in there... just enough for it to squeeze his heart.

----

One day she walks (well, floats) with him to the Singing Lute; she sits with him while he eats. They talk about the rebuilding; he points out from the balcony some of the new homes he has worked on. She is quiet for a long time. "It is good to see the place begin to live again," she says, in that strange cool slow voice that has replaced the old jocular drawl. "It's what it was all for."

He nods. "Do you regret it? Any of it?" Do you remember what we had? What we've lost?

"How could I, Soldier? The city still lives. You still live." A long pause. The old Karlach might have laughed sardonically, but there is no humor. "Even I still live, and I have grown beyond myself. What is there to regret?"

It sits like a rock in his stomach. If she is content, what more can he ask for? And yet it hurts... it hurts...

-----

Jaheira notices that he begins to withdraw back into himself, that he is quieter and more serious. She mentions it to Gale, on one of his visits to the city from Waterdeep.

"You're not wrong there," Gale agrees. "You weren't around yet, when we knew him fresh off the nautiloid. He was much more careful, then. Very controlled. The very picture of monastic stoicism - in between the panicked realization that we were all undergoing a supreme nightmare that never ended, of course. He lightened up, over the months - certainly by the time you knew him."

Jaheira purses her lips. "And this... he is returning to his old ways, you believe?"

"I don't think it would be unreasonable to assume," Gale says, with a sort of bleak humor, "that Karlach is no longer providing the same amount of compensatory levity that she used to."

-----

In the end, almost two years later, Lae'zel is the only one who speaks to him of it directly, and she is brutal - but effective.

"You have been hollowed out, she'lak," she says bluntly, on one of her rare visits from the Astral Plane. "It is a lessening of you. Do you still trail after your ghaik as if bound to her by a lead?"

"I have done much in the city since you left," Hector says, somewhat defensively.

"Chk. I do not speak of your body's business, k'chakhi. I speak of your mind. Your heart. You have lost yourself. You live only for others."

"As I was raised to do. As I have always done."

"Hector." She rarely speaks his name directly, but she does now, and it makes him jump. "You know of what I speak, and I will not have you ignore it. Your work in the city is admirable. You have cause for pride and contentment. Yet you pine after Karlach as if you hope to find her in the shell wearing her voice."

"She's still in there, Lae'zel."

"You mislead yourself," she spits. "Was it not you who taught me the strength to look beyond mindless devotion?"

That stings, and unconsciously he stands up a little straighter. "This is not mindless. It has been earned," he objects.

"Tas'ki. She is ghaik," Lae'zel says flatly. "What remains of her will dwindle, day by day. You know this as well as I." A pause. Then her eyes soften, and her voice with it. "You do not honor her sacrifice by this emptiness, Hector. Nor do you honor yourself."

He says nothing. His lips draw into a tight line. He hears her, and he does not want to.

"Think on what I tell you," she says - for all the world, now, as if she is the wise mentor and he the student in need of guidance. "You are no fool. You know I speak truth. Do not discount it."

-----

It takes a long time, but he does eventually start to come back to himself. Ten years. Twenty years. He grows old, though he loses none of his strength, his training too ingrained to allow him to weaken with age. The city reforms, stronger than ever, and he slowly begins to learn what life is, outside of both monastery and war.

He teaches self-defense to the children Jaheira rescues and others in the Lower City. He learns to (very badly) play a lute at Alfira's school. He tries his hand as a woodworker after so much carpentry work in the rebuilding of the Gate; one day, with some pride, he gifts Halsin a raggedly carved owl in return for the duck. He travels with Shadowheart several times to the House of the Moon in Waterdeep, reaffirming his faith in the light that has guided him through so much darkness.

And he reads voraciously. Everything he can get his hands on, from every library in the city. There is far more knowledge in the world, he comes to learn, than the particular cache with which he grew up.

He visits Karlach less, over time. And Lae'zel was right - there is less and less left of her each time he sees her. She is drifting away from him. And slowly he comes to terms with that - that what they had was a wonderful thing and a fleeting thing that will never come back to him. He learns to live for them both, for the life she would have had with him, had there been time.

He does not love again, though. He lived his whole life devoid of romance before he knew her, and he has little interest in trying to find it again in the years that remain to him.

For the most part, he moves on, and eventually finds himself relatively happy. But there is one last concession to sentimentality and to everything he has lost.

-----

On one bright, cold afternoon in mid-autumn, many years after the Netherbrain has faded into a bleak memory, he goes to the clinic. She is there, much as she always is; she has not seemed to age much in all these years, though the tentacles are slightly longer, a bit more nuanced in their movement.

He, though, is old; the grey dappling in his hair and beard has faded to white. His body acts as strong as ever, but time is implacable; he knows, as she once did, that he has very little left. It is a strange thing - a weakness of spirit rather than flesh, old age's deeper destruction that even the most disciplined monk cannot stave off forever. He is not dying, but he would be dead soon, likely within a few tendays.

"Hector," she says, flat and cool and almost unrecognizable, and inclines her head at him slightly. "You have settled everything?"

"Everything," he says quietly.

"You are still certain it is time?"

"Yes."

"Then we will begin." She gestures him to a secluded corner of the clinic, with a comfortable chair set up for the purpose. He settles himself there and looks up at the clinic's cracked stone ceiling and waits.

"It has been a good life," he comments, as much to himself as to her, as he waits for her to approach. "Lae'zel was right, that I had to move on. I have done much, seen much. I am proud of what we achieved - all of us."

There's a long, expectant silence. Then he leans his head back, closes his eyes. "I never stopped loving you, you know," he adds softly.

"I know," she answers, and her jaws sink into his skull.

[cherrylight]

hi im rambling. also hello ashley nation i guess ...

(this is a long post)

i have no idea what to post on here anymore tbch...... im also a nervous wreck talking about any of my f/os without them being the two notorious ones i used to talk about a lot ...... wahh ..... im just nervous being myself on here ..... whys that so DIFFICULT i think its this blog in particular idk ... selfshipping i love you but why do you make me feel really awful about my f/os that i genuinely would give the world to ..... cant i gush about them happily

i wanna be silly and goofy but then I DONT AND IT MAKES ME REALLY UPSET cause im really silly and goofy and i talk a lot then i get anxious and i flop and die its a recurring cycle .......... i should probably use that new blog i made so its easier to post silly things... and just be me but it also has like f/o(s) that i dont really post on here at all out of immense fear so maybe i shouldnt share it to the world.....

idk guys. lately ive just been very terrified and i guess extremely nervous & anxious posting on this blog in particular ..... im really grateful for the people who stuck around and send me asks and just are genuinely really sweet! im sorry for not being able to answer them or anything because i fear i talk too much ALL THE TIME...... like now does that even MAKE SENSE ?! probably not ....

whats kind of saddening is the fact i miss posting about my selfship(s) on here and having others be so supportive of it .... sending silly asks that make me get super happy >_< its like the best thing ever in the entire world wahhh miss it ..... maybe in due time when im not scared .....

tbh my main kind of helps with me on gushing about certain f/os because like no one would say anything..... im just gushing about silly guys and its really fun.......... but then i tear up because he makes me so emotional and UGDFHJGDFHFDH ......anyway. i gush privately and it should just be something im doing for me and that is something i KNOW and do on my own and its very fun and lovely

its just .... ive always been really terrified admitting things... like i have so many thoughts but i dont say them at all.... im also having a lot of trouble articulating my thoughts rn sorry for the jumble mess but its just a lot i guess

i used to be able to say WHATEVER i want and now i just CANT and its actually really upsetting. i just have a genuine weird way on expressing and saying things and i dont want to make people uncomfortable ...

i sometimes think its this blog that makes me so anxious. like more so than usual. but then i think its just Me that makes Me anxious? idk. hard to tell. i just dunno if its the blog or if its me thats making me scared and upset ....

arghh i dont know. this post is already so long >_< idk how to even CONCLUDE THIS ITS SO UPSETTING

i guess the best way is: im anxious all the time on this blog in particular, im way comfortable on my main blog more than this one; maybe the other blog if im brave enough to tag it at some point.... im scared to be fully myself on here so i just stay heavily inactive on here.... but i do love the selfship community...... i dont know if i want to be a part of it ... i just want to reblog cute posts of it and gush about my f/os that make me so happy ....

i want to get out of my comfort zone again. but im scared. so ill die. <- see thats what im talking about i say a lot of out of pocket stuff like that

[roboticspacecase]

thatagenderfreak said: BillDip where Dipper is exploring the forests around Gravity Falls and finds a dilapidated old cabin during the day, but when he goes back after the sun goes down it's well taken care of and Bill invites him to dance maybe? I don't know, I wrote a thing with a cabin like that and I just really like the setting, honestly. Lol.

Ahh this is such a neat concept! I love ethereal stuff like this!

Plenty of Dipper's days were spent wandering around. Whether it be pacing back and forth in the house with a book in his hands, or hiking through the woods near the home he spent his summers and now lived in, Dipper could never keep still. Not unless it was to finally pass out after days without sleep, that is.

He had taken one of those naps earlier that day, wasting away the sunlight and waking up when only a sliver of it was left. Not too hot, and still light enough to see where he was going. The perfect time to go out for a hike.

With a backpack filled with a water bottle, sketchbook, and snacks, Dipper meandered out of the house and into the woods. He had travelled through every path over the years, though the wonders of the forest never ceased to amaze him. From the odd animals and creatures that scurried through the bush to the streams of water that seemed to flow in different directions every time he passed them, everything there offered a sense of magic that never grew old.

Rich green moss covered the rocks that lined the pale dirt paths, and Dipper decided he'd take the one he knew the best. By the time he would be heading back, the sun wouldn't offer much light, so he would need the familiarity to help guide him home.

Dipper took in deep breaths of the fresh air while he walked, enjoying how the crispness of it cleared his head. Soon he would take out his sketchbook and find something to doodle in it. But, before that, he would need to find a good spot to sit down and draw.

Not far from where he was, an old, dilapidated cabin sat in a small clearing of trees. Dipper had been there plenty of times before, always in the middle of the day so that he didn't accidentally hurt himself climbing around it. It was a bit darker than he would have liked it to be for exploring, so he resigned himself to only stay long enough to get a decent drawing done and not do any snooping around the place.

By the time he made it within a few yards of the place, Dipper could tell that something about it was... Different. Something in the clearing was giving off light. He slowed his eager steps, inching closer and closer while the sun sunk further and left him in the strange glow.

Dipper didn't have a chance to call out and see if someone was there, maybe a camper or lost hiker—he had run into a handful of those before—because as soon as the building came into view his jaw went slack.

A soft, classical melody came from the no longer broken windows, bouncing off the walls that were somehow completely intact and echoing out into the trees. The once dead patches of grass danced to the gentle breeze, no longer hindered by chunks of rubble.

"What... Is happening?" Dipper dared to come closer, still gawking at the windows, where he could see old but nice furniture inside.

"A beautiful night, that's what is happening."

The sudden voice had Dipper stumbling back with a yelp, holding his chest. A tall, extremely well-dressed man had been leaning against the side of the building, stepping out into the light with a chuckle.

"Holy shit, I didn't see you there." Dipper took in a shaky breath, eyeing the man. "You... Who are you? What is this place? I've been here a million times, and it's always been... Well, a pile of rocks, not a whole cabin! There's no way you did all this since the last time I've been here. How would you even get the tools out here to do this?"

The man shook his head, laughing as Dipper spoke. "You ask too many questions. This place is as it's always been, and always will be."

"But- No, that doesn't make sense. It's never been like this before, how can it 'always be' if it's never been this?" Dipper crossed his arms, staring the blond stranger down. He had seen plenty of strange things in his lifetime. Most of which were in that very forest. But none of those things could ever explain something like this away.

"Another question? You should stop asking so many of those, I don't think you'll like, or even get, any of the answers I'll give." The stranger walked closer to Dipper, extending a gloved hand to him. "I love this song. Won't you dance with me and forget about all those questions... Oh, silly me! I haven't asked for your name. You can call me Bill."

Dipper raised a brow at the man, alarm bells ringing in his head. While he didn't seem all that dangerous, his gut still told him not to trust Bill. "Uh, you can call me Dipper. As for the dance, I don't think that's a great idea. Not only is it getting dark, I also can't dance. Like, at all. Your toes will get stepped on."

Bill let out a hearty laugh, wiggling his fingers at Dipper. "Come on, you don't have to be good at dancing to do it. Just go with the flow and enjoy yourself, Dipper!"

All of this was too weird for Dipper. He couldn't think of a single, logical reason for any of it. The building, the lights, the music, or why this strange man wanted to dance with him so badly.

Still, passing up the chance to stick around and find out a few answers to his questions didn't sound too bad.

"Fine, alright, we can have one dance." Hesitantly, Dipper reached out and touched Bill's hand.

The music suddenly grew louder and a bit faster, and as Dipper was yanked closer to the man, he could feel his outfit go from his usual shorts and T-shirt to something much fancier. He looked up at Bill, though he wasn't able to ask how the suit appeared on his body because the stranger began pulling him around, moving faster than Dipper could keep up with.

"See? Isn't this more fun than asking a million questions?"

Dipper nearly tripped over his own feet, having to cling to Bill to keep himself from falling. "Not really! I'm not- I told you, I'm no good at dancing. I'm just going to fall."

Bill paused for a moment, wrapping both arms around Dipper and smiling down at him. "I won't let you fall, Dipper."

His icy blue eyes bored into Dipper and the smooth, calming tone of voice left Dipper gawking again, though this time he couldn't help but be more relaxed.

"That's it, there we go! Just let yourself go with the flow. The sooner you let the questions go, the sooner you'll find the answers."

Dipper nodded slowly, moving his feet again once Bill started to move.

Despite Dipper's clumsy steps and need to lean on Bill, the two fell into a comfortable rhythm, swaying to the song over the plush grass. Dipper did his best to do as Bill said, not letting himself think any more about the why's or the how's of the situation and only focusing on how nice it was to dance. And, much to his surprise, it sort of worked.

The less he thought, the more he realized that it didn't really matter why this was happening. It didn't make any sense, and, for once in his life, it didn't have to. A lovely night of dancing, enjoying how it felt to be held in Bill's arms, was all that should matter. It had been ages since Dipper had sought out any sort of romance, and having this mysterious man guide him through the steps of a dance he'd never fully know, was about as close as he would get to a date these days.

"Look at that, you're a natural!" Bill lightly brushed a hand against Dipper's cheek as the music slowed, his steps also coming to a stop. "This has been wonderful, Dipper. I think it would be nice to see you again, someday."

Dipper snapped out of his love-struck daze, blinking up at the man. "But when-" He stopped himself, chuckling. "Right, no questions."

Bill laughed as well, stepping back from him. "Since you're learning so fast, I guess I can reward you with a bit of an answer to that last question." He snapped his fingers, Dipper's outfit going back to his normal clothes. "You'll find me when and where the time is right. Maybe it will be tomorrow, or in a week or two. Though, tonight has been lovely, so I do hope it's soon."

"Yeah," Dipper hummed with a smile. "Me too."

The stranger smiled back at him, and within a flew blinks, Dipper was left in the blue, morning light, alone in the clearing with the old ruins of the cabin. It hadn't felt like they had danced for that long at all, but as Dipper walked back home, he didn't let it bother him. In his heart, he knew he would see Bill again, and regardless of how or why he had met him, he knew he would enjoy whatever time they got together.

[raitrolling]

my brain is still percolating the forensic pathologist/cosplayer idea...

tho i had an idea for the way they look and i was like. hm what if they had a kinda messyish fringe with long strands on the sides and one of those tiny fluffy high ponytails. maybe they should wear a long white coat as well- goddammit fuck thats just glasya again. shit.

[chicohungers24-7]

I am Writing

[hopefromadoomedtimeline]

So I wrote this little drabble for a few reasons and thought I might as well post it here since it pertains to Trunks.

Honestly idk how I feel about how this came out, I kinda rushed it in a couple of hours, but I wanted to try writing something for practice. But enough about me I’m just gonna  _______________________________________________________

It had finally been nine months. Nine months after the defeat of the androids via a very successful trip to the past, despite the proverbial bumps and bruises throughout his adventure, it would undoubtedly pay off when the two terrors that had mercilessly slaughtered helpless others were shut down with the press of a button. A simple defeat, not one with grandiose actions or monologues, it was just… done. A fitting death, and with it the future had finally gained its savior.

Technically, there was no real reason to return, but Trunks had promised the friends that he had made that he would make one last trip to the past to reassure them of the good news and that his future was safe and secure after nearly two decades of death and destruction. He had no idea how long he planned to stay, but it seemed like a waste to just leave immediately after saying a few sentences if it truly was to be his last time seeing it. The amount of time he would be gone ultimately didn’t matter, as to the perspective of anyone else, he’d be gone and back in no times at all, but there was a desire not to stay too long, for he’d become too attached to that world, a world he already had fond memories of and people he had quickly grown to love… It’d be nice to see their smiling faces and to spend a good amount of time with them, especially since there would be nothing to worry about from now on. Things were safe, he could allow himself to breathe for the first time since he was a child.

Those thoughts would cause him to linger, caught up in his own head, only for the faint sound of footsteps to snap him back to attention. What he sees is not someone he knows, nor is it even human. The being says nothing, pitch black retinas simply stare into the icy blue ones of the half human’s, silence passes between them as neither make another move, waiting to see who would take action first. The creature simply smirks, the swordsman lunges.

Repeated ferocious swings would continue to miss their target as venomous cackling erupted in the night sky while the creature easily dodged every attempt. A sadistic look of amusement would be on the grotesque creature’s face as Trunks’ attempt to strike him would result in nothing but him slicing at the air, his tail slowly rising up, preparing to make its fatal movement. Trunks couldn’t comprehend what was happening, he was supposed to have won, wasn’t he? The androids were dead, Gero was dead. There was supposed to be nothing after them, things were finally going to be at peace, yet the being that stood before him had shattered any illusion that something so fragile could be maintained for long. Still, he would not falter, no matter what the world threw at him, he would stand strong and persevere, no matter how many times he would be beaten, he’d find it within himself to get back up. 

That would’ve continued to be the case, had his opponent not finally made a move of his own, the prehensile tail would wrap around his throat in the blink of an eye. His weapon would clatter against the ground as the Saiyan attempted to pry the appendage off from his neck, only to feel it tighten and force his head still as he was lifted off the ground. The only noises that escape his throat are pained, laborious attempts to get air in his lungs as his anger begins to mix with fear as his attempts to free himself prove fruitless. He’s beginning to feel light headed, every second is turning into an eternity of agony. 

The pressure increases as the insectoid creation remains still, his expression being one of muted pleasure as he watches the other fight for every second he had left. The time traveler’s movements get more desperate, his legs flail in an attempt to kick the other, he tries to fly to loosen the grip crushing his windpipe. No avail, the beast was far stronger than he could ever hope to overpower to allow him any movement and his reach could not hope to touch it. It’s getting hard to think. If he didn’t free himself soon, it’d be over, and this beast would go on to kill who knows how many. However, regardless of the effort put into his attempt at freedom, no progress was to be made as the tail continued to coil around his throat, as the only noises he could make were pained and labored breaths as he desperately attempt to do anything to change the outcome of this encounter. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. His death would mean that his home would be defenseless. It would mean the deaths of many at the hands of this merciless abomination. It would mean all the effort and trust put into him had been wasted.

He had to-

“Thank you for the gift.”

The boy would only widen his eyes in fear as those words would be rasped out before loud and sudden snap would be heard, the sounds of struggles and labored breathing would come to a sudden end. In an instant, the warrior’s limbs would slack as he hung from the tail of the creature. A spare few seconds of enjoyment would be had before the corpse would be released and dropped to the ground. A simple defeat, not one with grandiose actions for monologues. It was just… done.  A fitting death, and with it the future had lost its last defender. But he was only the first obstacle to perfection.

No, there was so much more to be done, there would be many pests to deal with. The fool that laid before him had taken away what was rightfully his, and now he was going to remedy that situation and claim what was robbed from him in the first place. Perhaps he should have absorbed the man when he had the chance, drain him dry to have his strength only increase his chances of dooming the future he tried so hard to save. The android would stare upon the lifeless, unmoving eyes of the warrior before disregarding the thought. He had ruined nearly everything, he did not deserve to be a part of what would soon be the ultimate android. His fate was a deserved one: rotting away like trash. Directing his attention towards the precious machine that would fix his plight, there would be no time wasted in adjusting the coordinates to his presumed path to victory. A final smirk is given at the fallen warrior, the biomechanical chimera really did appreciate this opportunity.

In a brilliant flash of light, a path to a new timeline is taken.

But in the one that had been abandoned, the time presses forward. 

As the sun would shine bright in the noon sky,  a mother would stir from her long deserved restful slumber. She would attend to her morning ritual, which had gradually gotten longer and longer as the world slowly picked up the pieces and repaired itself. She had used to hate hard work, always wanting to take the easy way out if it was available, far too vain to about much else other than her looks. Those aspects of her had been so far disregarded ever since the world went through Hell, but with the help of her son and a world she was never to see, the capsule heiress had found it in herself to ease up on the habit of working herself to the point of exhaustion. In fact, it was the previous night that she was convinced by her dutiful son to go to sleep early for the first time in two decades. It took some time to be able to settle in, but once she had awakened it had felt like the whole world was her oyster. 

Now wide awake and ready to double down towards the effort of helping the world rebuild, she’d decide to take a detour to where she last saw her son. As the time machine was not precise with exact time, she realized it could have been hours from her perspective before he came back, or perhaps he would end up coming back the next day, or the next week. She’d say it didn’t matter when he came back, for she’d understand him wanting to stay and experience that world as much as he could. Though she did hope he’d come back before going through another year, for she would like to spend at least one of his birthdays with him to make up for the last two. 

Still, she felt optimistic, perhaps he was back already and he could catch her up on the time he had once more. However, it was not to be. Her heart shattered at the sight, her boy murdered and left to decay in some mysterious circumstance she could not understand. It must’ve been a nightmare, reality could not continue to be this unfair and unjust after the world had finally gotten some measure of closure. Tears flowed freely down her face as she cradled him and could only wait for this nightmare to end. She wanted nothing but to wake up to a fresh pot of coffee and the smiling face of her son, happy to tell her how his trip went. 

However, this was reality. and she was left empty and without any clues to what transpired. Her boy was gone. Her machine was gone. She didn’t know what to do, so she wept. She wept until she couldn’t any more, for her world was truly gone. 

[captainsweet]

Thinking about just dropping random drabbles here so I can put them somewhere because I don't think they're good enough to be official stories. They won't make much sense, but they'll be there.

[queenofthegalaxxy]

[[ Starter for @maddmuses (Conner)!]]

At first, this all had been only a necessary waste of time. Stay with the team, befriend them and make very very very sure that they wouldn't be looking for Starfire. She could have left a week or two after Starfire left, but then there was the urge to prove herself better. To become a better friend to her little sister's friends, a more valuable asset of the team, just in general be way better than Starfire ever had been. So, Blackfire stayed a while longer, by now rather certain that even if the team would for some reason still start to search for Starfire and despite the barely existing chances actually find her, there was absolutely no way back for Starfire at all.

She had probably proven by now how useful she could be, too, given all the enemies she now had already faced with the team, so she could leave. And she would, because following along the rules of heroes for their missions was really annoying at times and she had to be careful to not let too much of her actual (lack of) morals show through - but. There were some fascinating people here, she had to admit that. Sure, they were heroes, but that aside, Blackfire kinda enjoyed hanging out and being part of this group. Kon was one of the ones that Blackfire found especially fascinating, and right now, he was in the Tower for a visit.

With no trouble currently being there, it was a leisure time for the team, which meant some routinely patrols and trainings but otherwise no real activities planned. Or in other words - booooooring. Having lounged on the couch and trying to find something interesting in the TV for a while already, Blackfire now glanced over to Kon, who seemingly was trying the same or perhaps simply didn't know anything else he could do.

"Hey, Kon. You up for some 'patrol'?" She gestured some quotation around that word, because while it was a good excuse, it wasn't really what she was suggesting. "I'm gonna die from boredom if I stay like this much longer." She had before made it obvious that she was not a good option for patrols - she claimed to never notice the crimes that happened nearby when she was out, though the truth was that she simply didn't care about stepping in when something happened - so this might be a weird offer if one didn't notice her gesture; but it wasn't really patrol she was suggesting after all. If he'd understand that didn't really matter, she could always explain herself more once they were on the move. Patrol was simply the best-sounding excuse to go for the city, if she wanted to make herself sound like a caring hero.