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durrtydawg · 1 month ago

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The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 10 | '999'

Sorry this isn't Sam-heavy but I like this chapter rehhhhh. Good things come to those who wait x

masterlist ✨

Other chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

You thought being back in the UK would’ve been boring. Perhaps... you wish it was.

blood & injury mention

Word count: 4.6k-ish x

London feels different after being somewhere like Jordan.

It’s not just the weather - the biting, damp chill that lingers in your clothes, makes your hair ratty and frizzy all at once, no matter how much surface area your umbrella covers. It’s the pace of things. Slower in some ways, suffocatingly fast in others. The tube rattles, dawdling tourists and miserable commuters create a constant clamour, and cars blur through rain-slicked streets - it’s cold, but damp and sweaty all the same, and yet somehow, in the overstimulating midst of it all, you feel... removed.

Disconnected.

Like part of you is still standing on that sun-drenched plateau in Petra, sand lodged in your stupidly chosen mesh trainers, wind whipping through your hair, the sting of sunburn blooming on your nose.

The real world, much to your sorrow, doesn’t pause for dreamy treasure hunts. Bills still exist. Bosses still get pissy when you disappear for too long.

Sam and Scott have alternated between being holed up in the British Library, sifting through microfilm and archive reels, and travelling slightly further out of the city - Surrey, then Sussex, now across to Kent, tracking down stately homes once in William Campbell’s possession.

And you?

Between pouring pints and wiping down sticky tables, you’ve been scribbling notes in the gaps of your battered notebook - half-formed theories, snippets of leads, anything that might connect Emaan Sadir to a child lost to history.

Names are underlined, question marks scattered, but the pieces still don’t fit.

You flip the pen between your fingers behind the bar at any given moment of peace, scanning the latest page.

Emaan died 1893, Layla died 1872. Baby? A smudge of green ink where you pressed too hard. Boy? Girl? Another scribbled out theory. A tap of the pen. Campbell - last ledger entry 1892, one year before Emaan kicked the bucket. Four sketched bird outlines. Coincidence? Foul play?

You’re stuck somewhere in the middle.

But you’re grateful. Grateful that you even got to go in the first place. Sam didn’t have to bring you. It’s not like you’re some hotshot archaeologist. You’re an ad hoc research assistant at best; enthusiastic tech-slash-moral support with a useless history degree.

And yet, you were there.

And now you’re here, slipping back into normality like a coat that’s grown a tad too tight since you last wore it.

Still, it’s important to count your blessings. At least the weird… shit has stopped. No headaches. No nosebleeds. No ominous figures lurking just out of sight - Not that you ever saw anyone back in Jordan, but Sam and Scott had been paranoid enough about being followed.

Your shift ended twenty minutes ago, but it’s safe to say your sleep-deprived brain is still buzzing - all of this untangling history alongside bar orders and shitty tips? You’re doing enough thinking for two.

You duck out of the spit, climbing into your car.

It’s eight-thirty-something pm. Day shift over. You’re knackered, there’s what you hope is a sticky beer stain on your jeans and your bed is very much calling. You slide behind the wheel, keys jingling as you stick them in the ignition.

The engine sputters, coughs once, then reluctantly rumbles to life.

You give the dashboard a light pat, letting out a breath of relief as the car settles into a steady, if slightly unconvincing, idle.

She’s been cooped up in an airport car park for two weeks, gathering dust and sulking in the British drizzle. You fear she’s on her last legs. Wheels. Whatever. The weird rattling coming from the engine has made that clear enough.

You settle in, adjusting your seat belt, tossing your book onto the passenger seat. Your fingers drum absently on the steering wheel as you wait for the mist to clear from the windscreen.

Sam would have something to say about the green ink smudged along the side of your hand.

Something glib. Teasing, probably. Or maybe he’d just point out, with a lazy half-smirk, that normal people don’t walk around looking like they’ve just done ten rounds against a leaky biro.

You can almost hear it - his voice, dry with some sort of muted amusement. It’s not hard to picture the way his eyes would flick to your hand, then back to your face, with a distinctive kind of warmth you’ve grown to enjoy.

Like you’d done to him on the plane home.

You hadn’t meant to look at him for so long. But he’d fallen asleep on your shoulder, and in the dim hush of the cabin, with the drone of the ventilation lulling you into something close to contentment (despite just recovering from what might be one of the worst headaches you’ve ever had), it had felt impossible not to watch. His hand had twitched once against his thigh - dreaming, maybe - but otherwise, he’d been still. Peaceful, weirdly.

But that wouldn’t explain why you’d kept looking. Why you’d let your eyes stay glued to him past the point of casual observation, tracing the crease in his brow, the way his face softened in sleep, the ratio between how much salt versus how much pepper was stippled across his jaw.

And - God, weird, right? - that that was the second time he’d fallen asleep beside you in the past couple of days.

He’s always going on about his insomnia. That it’s a thing. That he doesn’t sleep well, doesn’t sleep often. And yet-

What is it they say about being around someone you like? Like… like like? Oxytocin? Dopamine? Some chemical thing?

Oh, for God’s sake.

You roll your shoulders back, crack your neck, shake the thought off like a dog would with water.

It wasn’t oxy-bloody-tocin. He was tired. Both times. That’s it.

It was just a long flight.

That’s all.

And you’re reading far too deeply into your own emotions, too, because it had been the same with Scott, hadn’t it?

A harmless, fleeting sort of pitching in your stomach. The kind of admiration that fizzles out before it can become anything invasive - just when his self-awareness of his looks and intelligence and general grade-A excellence in everything started to grate more than inspire.

This will fizzle out too. It has to. Not that you’d realistically get a second glance from either of them. Ha.

Sam already doesn’t take you seriously, does he - and if he ever got the slightest inkling that-

You huff.

More futile overthinking to fill the void.

The windscreen is still fogged over, so you crank up the heat dial a notch, settling back into your seat as the day washes over you. You fold your arms against the cold, watching the mist clear in slow, uneven patches-

Then your phone buzzes violently from the cup holder.

You glance down, and-

What a coincidence.

You smile despite yourself, digging the phone out and swiping to answer.

“Did you know the British Library doesn’t actually let you check out books?”

You huff in amusement, “Every day's a school day, Samuel."

“Stupid, if you ask me.” A faint tut. “I mean, it’s a library.”

You snort, reaching for the gear stick as the mist on your windshield starts to clear enough to drive. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Eh.” You can hear the shrug. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

You pause.

Probably nothing more than one of his usual throwaway remarks, and you know better than to misconstrue something that’s purely his character. But still - something tightens in your chest before you can stop it.

You shake it off, scoffing lightly. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“Guilty.”

You roll your eyes, easing out of the car park. “How’s your thrilling week of stately home trespassing?”

Sam groans. “If I see one more oil painting of some smug bastard with mutton chops, I’m gonna start growin’ 'em in my sleep.”

“Eurgh. That bad, then?”

“It’s like these guys never heard of redecorating. Campbell’s family really stuck to the whole ‘evil rich guy’ aesthetic. Scotty boy’s eatin’ it up. A bit too… put-together for my liking, though.”

“‘Course it is.”

A sigh.

“Anyway, I’m currently diggin' through microfilm like I’m some eighties movie extra, but Scott’s down near…” He pauses, exhaling, “Uh… Chatham. Can you, uh, do me a favour?”

You hum, slowing at a red light, brakes squeaking as you come to a stop. “Depends. Am I gonna get arrested?”

“Not if you drive safely.”

"Are you implying I drive unsafely?"

"Well," He says tightly before clearing his throat. "I'm still try'n'a work out why I've had a crick in my neck since you drove us back from the airp-"

“Sam.”

He makes a sort of low 'heh' sound that makes your mouth twist in a suppressed grin. “Alright, look, he just needs an extra pair of hands to make sure he doesn’t… I dunno, fall through some rotten floorboards, or get possessed, or anything, y’know? He’s onto somethin' - or so he says - and I can’t get down there yet.”

You sigh, tapping the wheel. “You really know how to sell an evening.”

“C’mon,” he draws it out, “You’ll love it. Derelict site, middle'a nowhere, definitely haunted. Plus,” he pauses for half a second, reducing volume, “Took me forever to score this chair and I sure as shit am not lettin' it go now.”

“I don’t know… I was going to throw a day-out-of-date korma in the microwave and catch up on Bake Off, but-” You sigh, drawing it out teasingly. “I suppose I could rearrange my schedule.”

“You goin' or what?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You should play it cool. Shouldn’t need the validation nor feel the ridiculous, somewhat embarrassing rush of relief at the idea that, yeah, you are still part of this - that Sam wants you to be. But you do.

You shake your head, already flicking on your indicator. “Of course I’m going.”

A hum of approval, and then: “Atta girl.”

The phrase lands low in your stomach. You glance out at the empty road, mouth twisting in an effort to ignore the stupid little grin tugging at your lips. Pathetic form, really.

You flick the wipers on to clear the droplets from the windscreen as you trundle along a pot-hole-riddled tarmac. “Scott’s already there?”

“Yeah. Pokin’ around.” A rustle of paper. “I’ll get him to send you the details.”

“Sounds good.”

A pause.

Then-

“Hey,” he says.

You pause, too. “…Yes?”

There’s a shift on his end.

“Be careful, alright?”

Your grip tightens slightly around the wheel.

It’s a stupid thing to get stuck on. A normal thing, something anyone would say.

And yet, something in you bristles. You’re not a child. You don’t need to be treated like one.

Hiding an important piece of the Sadir puzzle, and odd physical symptoms of something you've given up trying to decipher aside, you’ve managed just fine so far, haven’t you?

But then, beneath that, there’s something else. A smidgen of warmth melting away the edges of your irritation, soft - insidious. Because he means it, doesn’t he? Because he wouldn’t say it if he didn’t.

You swallow. Push past it. “I’ll be fine.”

“…Yeah.” A pause. “I know.”

Neither of you say anything for a second.

Then-

“Alright,” he exhales. “Go forth, kick some doors down. I’ll tell Scott to give you a buzz.”

You let out a breath. “Thanks, Sam.”

A beat.

Then, quieter, “Yeah.”

And then the line clicks dead.

A text pings through minutes later,

The message is short, clipped. All function, no fluff - typical Scott. You stare at it for a second, thumb hovering over the keyboard before typing out a quick:

Me: On my way. Save any drama for my arrival.

Buzz.

Scottimus Prime: No promises ;)

You huff a quiet laugh, securing your phone in its holder, already turning the car toward the A2.

Address in tow, the hum of the engine and nighttime talk radio fills the quiet, and for a while, you let your mind drift - half-focused on the road, half on everything else. Sam’s voice still knocks around somewhere in the back of your skull, your thoughts curling around words he probably didn’t mean as much as you wanted him to.

You sigh, pressing a little harder on the accelerator and cranking up the radio. Not the time for that.

The satnav’s voice cuts through from time to time, guiding you turn by turn until the lights of the suburbs blur into open stretches of countryside. The road winds on, the sky turning a deeper shade of grey as you leave the familiar behind.

When you finally pull up to the site, the place looks about as inviting as you expected.

The crunch of gravel under your tires gives way to the unsettling silence of an overgrown driveway, the car rolling to a stop outside what was once - presumably - a grand country estate. You sit for a second, fingers still curled around the wheel, as your headlights let you take it in.

It’s exactly what you expected, but somehow worse; its decay isn’t just age, but abandonment. Half-eaten by time. Late Victorian - what remains of it, anyway. A hulking old thing, all crumbling brickwork and weather-stained stone, the kind of house that was probably in a stately homes guidebook once, before it got sold off to some lazy private buyer who left it to rot. Even the health and safety demolition site notices are discoloured from mere time.

You step out of the car, boots crunching against the dirt-streaked gravel, the air thick with the scent of wet earth and thick veins of ivy. The main house looms over you, its façade partially strangled by greenery, roots and vines pushing through the cracks like nature itself has tried reclaiming it by dragging it back down into the ground.

You pull out your phone, tapping out a quick message.

Me: Estoy aquí. Where r you?

No immediate response. You frown, shoving your phone back into your jacket as you step forward, pushing through the overgrown hedges toward the entrance.

The front doors are ajar, hanging slightly off their hinges, an uneven gap leading into the shadowed interior. The wind whistles softly through the broken windows, rattling the few remaining shards of glass still clinging to their frames.

You glance at your phone again.

Still nothing.

The air inside the house sort of reminds you of the men’s bathroom in the pub. Stale. Damp. Generally unpleasant with period features that have gone through decades of maltreatment. Luckily, this isn’t a place you’re expected to tackle hourly with a toilet brush and a bottle of bleach, though it doesn’t make it any less repellant.

You step forward cautiously, boot scuffing against debris. Dust motes swirl in your headlights’ dying glow before the automatic shut-off plunges everything into dimness. Your eyes adjust to the low light leaking in from outside, fingers tapping on your phone’s torch.

You move through what was probably a grand foyer, past the remains of a chandelier that’s lost most of its crystals - robbed, most likely - only a skeletal brass frame left to gather cobwebs. The walls, once probably covered in intricate paneling, are now peeling like old sunburn. Bits of plaster crunch underfoot.

Still no response from Scott. You check your phone again, the little read receipt stubbornly absent.

You grunt.

Your hand tightens around it as you turn a corner, pausing in front of a massive, dust-cloaked portrait, paint discoloured and peeling, laid lopsided on the floor. Another Victorian bastard stares back at you - some dead-eyed, moustachioed old fart with eyes that follow you.

You snap a photo and fire it off to Sam.

Me: Feeling those mutton chop follicles a’growing?

Samalam: 👴🏼❌.

Samalam: Did I use those correctly?

You smirk, but it fades fast. Scott still hasn’t replied. A thread of unease winds itself through your ribs as you pocket your phone and move deeper inside.

You pass a bookcase, most of its shelves emptied, a few yellowed tomes left to sag in their decay.

Reaching out, you trail a finger through the dust, the disturbed particles swirling as you agitate it.

Then - a creak.

You freeze.

Another sound follows, a dull thud from upstairs.

Your stomach tightens.

“Scott?” You sing-song.

No answer. Just the wind wheezing through the shattered windows, rattling loose panes. You roll your shoulders, exhaling sharply.

Still, you move towards the staircase, the wooden steps groaning under your weight.

As you climb, a dull ache curls behind your temples - you pin it down to dehydration and wince, rubbing your forehead. Absent-mindedly, you reach back to wrestle in your bag for your water bottle - only to realise, with a tut, you’ve left it in the car.

You push through the headache and keep moving.

The second floor is worse than the first - colder, somehow. The air is thinner. Your hands graze the wall as you walk, the wallpaper beneath them cracked and dampened.

To no avail, you call out for Scott once more, before you pull out your phone and dial.

The ringing barely has time to connect before a tinny, distant chime of Marimba echoes through the silence.

Scott’s ringtone.

Your pulse kicks up. The sound is muffled, swallowed by the high ceilings, but you can tell - he’s nearby. You take a step forward, turning toward the source, and then you see a bookcase, toppled and broken, its warped shelves forming a splintered barricade between you and the next room.

The sound is coming from behind it.

You hesitate, then press a hand against the wood, pushing experimentally. It doesn’t budge so you try again, planting your feet, throwing your weight into it. Still nothing.

"I hope you’re enjoying this, knobhead." you mutter, breath coming short.

No answer. Just the shrill persistence of his ringtone.

Huffing, you drop to your knees and eye the gap underneath. Just wide enough.

You sling your bag through first.

With a sigh, you flatten yourself, forearms sinking into dust and debris as you inch forward, accidentally shining the torch into your eyes once or twice, which does little to quell your headache. The air tastes stale, thick with rot and something coppery. You swallow against the tightness in your throat, trying not to cough.

Pushing up onto your knees, you shuffle awkwardly through the last of the gap and brace a hand against the bookcase as you rise.

The moment you straighten up, a rush of dizziness blooms behind your eyes, a sudden, tilting sensation that sends the room pitching sideways. You blink hard, stumbling into the wood, exhaling slowly until the feeling ebbs, breathing through it.

Too fast. You got up too fast.

The phone is still buzzing, discarded in the middle of the floor. Odd.

“Alright,” you mutter, turning in a slow circle. “Aren't you bored yet?”

Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. Something’s off.

You reach down and pick it up. The screen is cracked, smeared with something dark along the edge. Your own call flashes across it for a second before cutting out, plunging the room into silence.

Your eyes sweep the room, searching for movement, a shadow, some sign of his usual cocky grin peeking around a corner.

But there’s nothing.

…Aside from a leg.

Sticking out from behind a battered chest of drawers.

Your stomach knots.

"Scott?"

Your voice feels thin. You take a step closer. Another. Your frown deepens.

You round the corner, then you see him. Slumped against the wall.

Your breath catches, and for a second your trainers remain firmly pinned to the ground.

His head is tilted at an unnatural angle, his face half-hidden in the dark. His hair, usually pushed back and hairsprayed to perfection, flops over his brows.

The cold light of your phone skims over his features, and your stomach turns.

A split lip. Bloody nose. Bruises, deep and splotchy along his jaw.

What the fuck?

He moves.

It’s barely anything - a twitch of the fingers, a tiny grunt of discomfort.

Regardless, you gasp, a pathetic, breathy little sound of sheer relief as your body slumps forward, nearly collapsing onto him. “Oh, my God,” you choke out. “What the hell?”

Your hands move automatically, checking his pulse even though you’ve already seen him breathe. You press your fingers to his throat, then his wrist, the way you’ve seen in films. You don’t really know what you’re doing. But the steady flutter is there. He’s okay.

Still, your panic doesn’t fade. Not entirely. It just mutates. Because who on earth has done this to him?

You stumble back onto your heels, trying to catch your breath. “Okay. Alright. Ambulance,” you mutter, grabbing for your phone with trembling hands. “You need an ambulance, we need - fuck.”

As you say it, your thumb hesitates over the screen.

999.

You glance over your shoulder. The broken, boarded windows. The rotted walls. The shattered floorboards and toppled furniture. You’re not supposed to be here.

You’re trespassing.

“Shit,” you mutter again, louder now. “Shit, shit, shit-”

You start pacing in a tight circle, trying not to trip on the wreckage of the room. Call Sam? He’d know what to do. He always does. But he’s an hour-and-a-half away at best - maybe more - and you’d rather not wait around.

You chew your thumbnail, trying to force clarity into the chaos. You could move Scott. Carry him? No chance. Drag him downstairs? You’ll make it worse.

The phone shakes in your hand.

You’re just about to hit Sam’s name in your recents when the floor creaks behind you.

You whirl around.

A man stands in the doorway. Early thirties. Average height. Jeans, canvas jacket, slightly mussed hair - unassuming, completely forgettable in any other context.

Except for the blood crusting his knuckles. And the calm, amused tilt of his head, like he’s walked in on a mildly entertaining surprise.

It doesn’t take a genius.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

You say nothing at first. You can’t. Your mouth opens, closes.

He just watches you.

A sickly silence stretches between you, broken only by the wind outside and the low, unconscious breaths of Scott slumped behind you.

You bolt.

You barely register the choice - your body just moves. Skimming past him, down the hallway, praying your feet don’t catch, and the door you’re going for doesn’t lead to a dead end.

You make it halfway to it before a second figure appears, rounding the corner.

Taller. Broader than the other. His face is hidden by the low light.

You skid to a stop so fast your breath punches out of you.

The second man unfolds from the shadows, arms crossing lazily over his chest. He’s been waiting. He cocks his head, expression unreadable, then lifts his shoulders in a slow, mocking shrug. Oops.

Your stomach drops.

You turn around, pulse hammering in your throat, but the first man hasn’t moved. He’s still in the doorway, still watching you, that same idle amusement playing at the edges of his face.

You take an instinctive step back from him as man number two takes a step forward, caging you in.

Shit.

Your pulse throbs away between your ears. You glance past his shoulder, looking for another way out, but it’s all just peeling wallpaper and splintered floorboards. No exit. Nowhere to go.

He takes another step as the first man dips back into the room where Scott’s incapacitated in a corner. The moment your eyes meet and you realise how close he actually is his, your headache spikes like a blunt nail’s been lodged into your skull.

“Ah-” You cry out and stumble backward, one hand shooting out instinctively - only to hit the wall.

You crash against it and double over, clutching your head. It worsens as he gets closer. You retch, borderline immobile as you try and fail to look up at him, eyes wide and stinging.

“No- no-” Your breath comes in broken, shallow gulps, your knees threatening to give as the pain crests again and again. The same pressure. Pure agony. You know this. You remember this. Jordan. The tomb. The heat. The blood.

Not again.

The man says nothing. He just walks calmly forward.

You don’t know what they want. Who they are - what they’ve done to Scott. Why they’re here. Why this is happening again.

Your legs won’t hold. You crumple to your knees, then to your side, hands clenched in your hair, screaming inside your head. The pain is making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think.

You can’t look up. You’re half-kneeling, half-fallen, your forehead nearly touching the floor, hands digging into your scalp like you can dig the pain out if you try hard enough.

You’re dimly aware of footsteps. The second man grabs your arm. You flinch, try to twist away, but your body won’t cooperate. He hauls you upright like you’re made of paper.

“No-” you manage to croak, your voice barely audible.

You’re dragged backwards, heels scraping over splintered wood, one arm flailing weakly, the other pinned to your side.

Something - your phone - slips from your fingers, landing with a clack. You barely register it, but the screen flashes as it hits the floor.

A burst of light.

Blue and white. The selfie you took at the Petra lookout point.

Your thumb must’ve-

You did call him?

You did.

He’s-

The call’s still-

Is it ringing? Connected? You can’t tell. Everything’s sideways, off-kilter, noise and pain and Scott-

The corridor lurches and tilts with each step, your vision doubling. You think you hear Scott’s name fall from your lips, slurred and broken, but it might just be in your head.

Fuck, it feels like every ounce of pain you’ve ever felt in your life is in your head, so you wouldn’t be surprised.

You’re thrown. Your back hits the floor of the other room hard, the breath knocked out of you in a hoarse oof. Pain ricochets through your ribs, your shoulder, your skull. You curl on your side, blinking furiously, trying to focus. Nothing stays still long enough to make sense.

You don’t even realise you’re crying until you taste salt.

You lie there, blinking over at Scott. You just about make out his face crumpling in discomfort, but not for long. Everything swims. The shapes of the men blur.

“Looks like you two have been busy, huh?” one of them says. Fuck knows who - it crawls through your head, waterlogged.

You blink slowly, unable to move your head, unable to turn toward the voice. Your chest heaves as you try to breathe around the ache - fast, shallow breaths that won’t do your lungs the satisfaction of being filled. Your vision jumps, fractured by tears and panic.

Somewhere behind you, there’s a rustle of paper, the wet shhfff of pages turning. You can’t see it, but you know what he’s handling - your notebook. Your fucking notebook - the one you’ve kept from day one.

The sketches, the translations, the maps stapled in, the snippets of Sam’s handwriting in the margins. The theories all three of you scrawled at 2AM under torchlight on your last night in Jordan. Every dead lead, every almost-clue - weeks of work splayed in the dirt under his bloodied fingers. You sob, another trembling ‘no’ spurting from your spit-slicked lips.

You’re still trying to suck in a full breath, your lungs fluttering shallowly.

“Boss’s gonna love this.”

You don’t know who Boss is.

You don’t want to know.

The second man drops to a crouch in front of you. His face hovers too close. You can smell sweat and something sweet, chemical, underneath it. A quick nudge at your arm and you’re flat on your back.

You can’t focus on his features.

Black spots pop behind your eyes, swimming in and out of the moonlight. You try to move. You can’t. You squeeze your eyes shut, breathing ragged, fists curled tight at your temples as the pain pulses and pulses and pulses.

A copper taste creeps up your throat.

The second man crouches in front of you, and you realise, through the fog, that his expression is enjoying this.

He reaches into his pocket.

“Took this from your buddy over there,” he says casually.

You force your eyes open, just barely.

Something small gleams between his fingers. At first you think it’s a coin. But no - it’s round, and filigree. He twists it, lets it dangle in just above your eyes. Gold. A locket?

The moment you register what it is, a shrill, unnatural sound builds behind your ears. You let out a strangled, involuntary whimper. The air tightens. Your muscles lock.

Tremors begin in your fingertips. Then your legs. Your whole body starts to shake, teeth chattering. You can’t stop it. You don’t understand it. It’s worse than Jordan - worse than the crypt, reading William’s name in the ledger, when Scott told you about Emaan’s lover - and their potential child.

"Just…wondering if you've got anything similar to hand, princess."

You try to answer. To move. To scream. Plea. Shake your head. You can’t do anything. Until, you splutter.

The man leans in, watching with a curious tilt of his head and a smirk. Like a boy prodding at roadkill.

Intrigued.

“Huh.” he hums softly, as if he’s watching you have a reaction to a cheap magic trick.

The copper taste hits tenfold.

Then the warmth.

You're shaking uncontrollably now, whole-body tremors. Your vision pulses in and out. Heat dribbles across your face, something wet dripping down to your chin-

Your vision collapses into stars. Everything becomes blotchy. You spit and grit your teeth, eyes rolling back in an attempt to offset the pain.

Blood pours down your lips, choking you. You gag, spluttering as it slicks your skin, drips down your throat, drowns you.

You meet the man’s eyes - just for a second. He smiles, eyes widening with excitement. Like he’s been expecting this to happen.

"Shit! He was right." He says, excitedly up towards the other man.

Before you can question who, what, or why, everything goes black.

#sam drake #samuel drake #uncharted #samuel drake x reader #sam drake x reader #tsi

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sanzas-reverie · 2 months ago

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thank you @lathez for the tag <33

This week, Sujamma would like to know about your OC’s artistic talents. Singing, playing, performing, drawing, weaving, creating! What does your OC like to put out into the world?

tagging : @pocket-vvardvark @fangsandsoftgrass @scholarlyhermit @sulphuricgrin @skyrim-forever @hircines-hunter @pinessydr @illumiera @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @sunsettemplar

───────୨ৎ───────

Irene ּ ֶָ֢.🪷.𖥔 ݁ ˖

despite her love for more athletic hobbies like sword fighting, archery and horse riding she does enjoy other less physically taxing kinds such as embroidery (learnt from Layla) drawing and dancing which she incorporates into her swordsmanship (and why her footwork is immaculate) though the former is more of a guilty pleasure for her so you won’t see her dancing infront of a crowd anytime soon. But she wouldn’t mind having a dance partner as she finds that mannequins don’t make the best partners

Elynisi :･࿔ ⋆ 𓍢ִ໋ 🧴⋅˚༺･*

Ely originally learnt the basics of alchemy from her father until she gained an interest in perfumery, using different plants and flowers to create different smelling scents instead of potions and tinctures like her father would (not that he's opposed to it) At this point she has amassed a large collection of various perfumes from all over Tamriel and likes to bug Irene to buy any perfumes she sees whilst on her adventures or bring back any flowers she can find

Layla ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🧶✧˚🪡.⋆

Layla just like her mother is an aspiring seamstress who likes to create and weave together in her words, “pretty dresses for pretty girls” and is the creator of most of irenes clothes that she wears out and about Tamriel. She is also the one who got irene into embroidery as a way to pass the time but she obviously takes it more seriously than her friend. She also aspires to become a successful and well known fashion designer in the same calibre as Percius Loche, who is also someone she looks up to in the fashion world

Faelyn ⋆˙⟡🪶─ .✦📜⊹₊ ݁.

Fae is someone who enjoys creative writing and painting, being the most artistic out of the group, not to mention she is always seen with her journal in hand most likely busy scribbling away a new story of some sort. Though she prefers writing to art, she is a very capable artist and likes to spend her downtime sketching people or painting a portrait of one of her friends and in the future hopes to one day open up her own book publishing house as well as being a successful author

#tes #eso #eso oc #oc: irene maristella #oc: elynisi sildreth #oc: layla #oc: faelyn #sujamma sundas #the vestige

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gebstargeb · 1 year ago

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Art dump 👍(16 drawings, roughly chronological)

first/second digital drawing on PC! been using ibispaint since birth. I used to constantly be like "oh drawing on your phone isn't that hard it just takes practice!" like girl you're not gonna know that you're in hell if you were born there 😭

Art fight for ritterdoodles oc, Calaca, my favorite art fight from this year. First digital drawing in half a year, then immediately forgot how to do line art afterward and stopped drawing digitally for another half a year.

Steven at his desk, tried to replicate the shading from my art fight attack but… lord it's kinda ugly

trying rendering out on PC for the first time, eurgh

Sketch for a fake Daredevil comic cover? Looks like I'm the floor and he's about to death-drop on me

a sketch for a comic about daredevil being emo and being like “No… I only work alone...” Moon Knight and spider-man are there of course

Harvey from Stardew! My go-to spouse, going for Krobus in my current save though. Practice for a school club, I'm making pixel art for our game! large gap between this and the previous one

I like this drawing a lot and drew it specifically for Instagram, but I don't want to post it there because Peter B. looks pregnant. I NEED to practice drawing chubby people

Digital rendering attempt #2. mmph. its questionable. tried really hard on the composition too lol

steven and layla in their hero suits but they're also in dresses... muah... this was very hard to draw I do not know how to draw two people looking at each other without them looking flirty

spider miku comic book cover! drew it to try and relearn digital art! her webs are music notes! large gap between this and the pervious one

trying to reteach myself line art, halfway through I realized it kinda looks like that "all or nothing" Tumblr post and stopped in fear

large gap between this and the others. I was digitally lining a sketchbook spread and had to crunch out some lineart warmups because I was struggling so hard, idk why lineart is so stressful for me lol

this is gorgeous this made digital art click for me again I love layla shes so pretty shes my wife

realized if I wanna do lineart warmups I should do... just lineart... wow. I'm like plato.

tried to recreate the beauty of number two, not same vibe but still very pretty!!!

hmu for commissions 😘deviant art points only tho <//3

#moon knight #art #digital art #marvel #steven x layla #layla el faouly #moonscarab #steven with a v #steven my beloved #steven grant #men in dresses #marc spector

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nailamoonsi · 1 year ago

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Another Sky OCs' art dump #002

Sketch dump 2! Only 7 this time... I was gonna wait till I did at least two more but decided against it 'cause I'm impatient.

Only a tiny bit of blood this time.

the truth is, you have no hero anywhere across the wretched planet.

alejandro altaha looking up at a hologram screen featuring his rival, antonio chandrani-rivera.

There they are--the princely two and the troublesome savior among the people. (Blood tw.)

triplet brothers raj, fernando and antonio chandrani-rivera! inspired by a single line fernando says to antonio, as well as antonio's overall stress and mentality around fernando.

was it so long ago?

leo and khaleel, who are childhood friends.

they're the last two of the main 6 ocs (layla, antonio, alejandro, alia, khaleel and leo), so it was exciting to finally draw them!

for only a little while... right?

the dads ranvir chandrani and armando rivera. this is when they're 18 or 19 and based on a scene in the currently unreleased book 1 (though it is complete). will clean up this sketch further eventually.

the silver brother and the eldest--the one they say is doing just fine.

raj chandrani, the technically eldest brother among the chandrani triplets.

POV: antonio chandrani, 14, cannot read (love tells)

antonio chandrani-rivera at 14 thinking about his boy best friends alejandro altaha, kiran anand and rayan ahmad... he is canonically gay.

this is based on a storyline in book 2, which is still in the works and definitely not released yet. antonio definitely has love troubles in book 1, i didn't want the first art i ever did of leo and khaleel to involve antonio's love troubles.

UNFORTUNATELY AMONG THE FIVE OF US, THERE IS A SAVIOR OF HUMANKIND.

the five main female (and nby) characters, with layla at the center. konna and alia are to the right of her while khalida and maria are to the right of her.

this is based on a storyline in book 1 with the theme of "savior."

will be uploading most of them on their own too, but i like doing a sketch dump batch.

#myart #my oc art #my ocs #artists on tumblr #blood tw #AnotherSkyVerse #Blue Horizon

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j4keluver · 1 year ago

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7 acts of love

heeseung knows you’re not a committed gamer like he is. ( “babe just one more round, i’ll sleep at 4:00 am, promise !” hee) he has multiple leauge accounts but one is specifically for you to play on. he keeps a steady ranking for you and teaches you one on one on that account without the pressure of competition. the only thing is that you can’t change the username since he’s the only one with the controls. guess you’re stuck with ‘donttouchmemybfcanfight’

believe it or not, jay is a journal fanatic. his multiple journals go from jotting grocery list to his most personal thoughts but there is a special journal that he keeps away from the eyes of anybody. it's a simple white journal with a polaroid of you taped to the top that is filled to the brim of song lyrics based on jay's fondness to you. there are little, wonky doodles of you on every page and he uses a photobooth strip of the both of you as a book mark. call him corny but god, this man loves you. who knows, this song might end up at your wedding?

jake never leaves the house without giving you a little smoochy, even when he leaves for early morning practice. in his words, 'your lips are just so addicting. i can never get enough.' (corny) when you're awake, he’ll always give you a kiss on the lips, dragging it longer than he needs to (“ you’re gonna be late-“ you “ i don’t care” *kiss* jake) when you’re asleep, it’ll be the lightest peck on the cheek or forehead. you’ll most likely still be sleeping until layla decides she wants some kisses too.

sunghoon isn’t the best with words when expressing his love for you and he knows that. he’s gotten better over the years but he’s still timid at times, feeling tounge tied at the thought of speaking up. you often fall asleep next to each other, you drifting off the sleep first. he'll turn to you, eyes turning into crescents, pure adoration flowing. he will slowly lift his hand to caress your check, so softly that it won't disturb. you with his touch being as gentle as a feather, he’ll whisper, “i love you”

the amount of photos sunoo has in his camera roll is actually insane. he takes an ungodly amount of photos of you. he doesn't delete any of them because he thinks you looks breathtaking in every picture. unless you really hate the picture and bribe with a kiss. even with that, only a select one or two get deleted. the pictures range from your date outings, you washing the dishes, to taking off your makeup. he’s run out of storage many times but refuses to delete your pictures and ends up buying more icloud.

with his spare time, jungwon can never doubt a good book. you also enjoying your selected books, you and him often wind down with some books you bought on a date. you were always used to scribbling your thoughts down on the side but your eyebrow corked when you see jungwon jotting down notes. “what are you doing?” you ask as you lean over to look. he closes the book and smiles, “nothing.” you shrug it off as jungwon continues to write how beautiful you look in this moment, attention long gone from the book. (she’s so beautiful oh me gee, hopefully she never opens this book, HER SMILE)

riki has artistic talent in a lot of aspects of his life. he becomes one with music when he dances, feeling every beat exude through his veins. his voice flows like smooth honey with lyrics. his art pieces blend in beautiful harmony to create an artwork even picasso would be proud of. he sketches you more than he would like to every admit. during class, lunch breaks, at night when he can’t sleep; he can’t help it. he knows your features like the back of his hand. every dimple, crease, texture, rosiness to your face, he never misses a detail.

#enhypen imagines #enhypen #enhypen reactions #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #jake sim #park jongseong #park sunghoon #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #kim sunoo #lee heeseung

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faiirytalcs · 2 years ago

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closed: layla holms & marinette dupain-cheng ( @x-marinettedc ) location: evermore park

One of Layla's favorite things to do when the kids left school was walk through the park a few times before heading home and this time, she decided to take a short rest at one of the tables, sitting at the end of one that was already occupied. She hadn't meant to disturb the woman sitting there but when her eyes fell to the sketch book, she immediately thought about summers in Paris. She had to say something. "Are you a designer by any chance? I hope you don't mind me asking, it's been a while since I've seen sketches like those."

#𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 ;; layla holms #𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 ;; closed #𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 ;; layla holms #𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐀 ft. marinette dupain-cheng

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kragggon · 2 years ago

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" Okay! So! I was lucky enough yesterday to actually get myself into the Phonan Zoo and finally do a proper entry on these guys!

Behold!! The Wendigo! These guys are so cool but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Okay okay so, the Wendigo are a species of Amorphous Arcfauna that live in the far FAAR north of Phona, way up in the mountains and the slim as hell trees that are there.

They are these Semi-transparent oozes that take the vague shape of a humanoid looking figure, and they are massive -- They can easily get well over 20' ft if they stretch themselves to the maximum. But they're usually just about 12'5'' ft.

Now don't get too concerned, they are actually super peaceful guys, hell I even managed to feed one back at the Zoo (His name is Wen and he's absolutely adorable) And that is honestly because well -- They just don't eat people at all. Well Living ones anyway. They are the ultimate scavengers really, they are just these massive blobs that crawl across the tundra munching on any bone and mushrooms and whatever else that nature left for them.

Hell they are actually way more afraid of us than we are of them, half the time when you encounter one of these guys in the wild they are way more likely to just goop their way outta there.

BUT, don't corner them.

No seriously don't, you'll probably die. Wendigos don't really like to keep sharp things inside their bodies, so they instead keep that kind of stuff outside of their bodies, which means a lot of sharp teeth and claws at the end of their stalks to swing at people.

But to be fair, you'd have to be pretty empty in the head to not notice them, chances are you'll probably smell them before you see them, and even if you don't, trust me -- They'll notice you way quicker than you will to them. They have a sharp sense of smell, so unless you're going against the wind, you'll probably hard pressed to meet them.

I actually had the pleasure to ask a Telmeshian Human about these guys, since apperently they are way more common in the northlands than the south here. But from what I understand, the Telmeshians believe that the Wendigo were cursed men that ate the flesh of their comrades. As punishment -- Zhouthrax, God of Mortals decided to curse them with having no legs, no arms, and to forever wear the skull of those who they ate.

Its a pretty rad story. It's also a bit fascinating to hear Telmeshian folklore of such gentle creatures -- Because despite their supposed gruesome origins, they actually treat them very well up there. Giving them food, taking care of their young and even keeping a couple of them as pets. ( Which is apperently really not recommended if you ask any biologist, but I won't lie after taking care a bit of Wen I kinda want to see if I can get one. )

I asked on why they treated them so well despite the story wording them like monsters. And he kinda just shrugged at me and went:

" Well, those people were forced to make a choice that would keep them alive. Fate wasn't kind to them, and the Woodsie Lord was uncompromising in his judgment. The least we can do is at least give them a little bit more comfort for a crime none of them wanted to commit. "

It's kinda heart-warming really. But I dunno if I would eat the flesh of anyone even if I was stuck in a frozen tundra. Then again, I can't judge too much, Telmeshian culture is way different than what we got here in Phona.

#art #monster design #monster art #creature art #creature design #wendigo #slime monster #Layla's Sketch Books #Stupidly long post i'm so sorry lmao #artists on tumblr

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fairykazu · 2 years ago

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ꔫ genshin impact favorited by vidia. (indicated with a ⋆)

ꔫ scaramouche:

happy ending! ⋆

will never be the one to lose same side of the coin

top six reasons i hate you

my summer love / winter heartbreak

we are reunited / you must go

born to say youre mine forced to say idgaf!! ⋆ lets get a divorce oomf i want you back

i wonder why my favorite boy left me

like a movie scene, table for 2

take a bite

aita for being cold to a stranger for being weird but they ended up being my crush i liked from my childhood? - reddit au

aita for bothering this guy even though he feels familar? [ plus an update ]

under my skin

moonflower ft. bf!scr ୭ not super secret crush ft. tutor!scr ୭ summer flows ft. first love!scr

ꔫ kaeya:

sketches of you

bf & s/o convos part two part three

sneaking ‘round with you ⋆

palm reading ⋆

too sweet to dream

ꔫ kazuha:

memories ⋆ tea + comfort = u

glued to you

20191009

when the sun dives

warm smiles & hot choco ⋆

letters to her

fresh lilacs

w rizz ⋆

ꔫ xiao:

mission impossible: getting you under the mistletoe ⋆

lovers oath ⋆

sunsetz

cold hands ⋆

lily of the valley

prey of the vampire

star's heartbreak

seasons

ꔫ childe:

mimicking his actions

ginger^2breads

washing rice ⋆

ꔫ lyney:

subtle warning

chat noir lyney ⋆ chat noir lyney 2

summer flows ft. lyney & scr

ꔫ heizou:

lovesick hcs

crush's texts ft. heizou ⋆ dumb and dumber tweets - continuation of above

case 143: who does he like

ꔫ characters w/ fewer fics:

battle of the bill ft gaming

orange peels ft itto

splash of water ft itto

good morning kisses ft. yoimiya

ꔫ fics (multi x reader)

ice skating ft. childe, ayaka & amber art museum ft. albedo, ganyu, & keqing ⋆

specific love lang ft. scara & thoma

when you know, you know ft. childe, scara, dan heng & gepard

naughty or nice? ft. chiscara

listening to his heartbeat ft. scara & kazu

ꔫ blurbs

love langs ft. childe, kaeya, ning, ayaka, yelan, thoma, luc, kazu, keqing, mona, koko, ganyu, lisa, xiao, hutao, amber & scara

romance book tropes ft. koko, kazu, ning, ayaka, scara, yoi, tao, xiao, sara, yelan, childe, dehya, ganyu & kaveh

wlw plotlines ft. yoimiya, yunjin, yelan, ning, ayaka & beidou

nicknames ft. childe, lisa, mona, hutao, amber, yae miko, kae, scara, luc, thoma,ei, neuvi, zhongli, beidou, yoi, itto, ning & kuki (plus hsr)

them as cas lyrics ft. scaramouche, xiao, diluc, kazuha, kaeya, thoma, heizou & lyney

boyfriend headcanons ft. childe & kaeya

genshin impact men beabadoobee songs with scaramouche, xiao, diluc, kazuha, kaeya, thoma, heizou, lyney, albedo, tighnari, kaveh, baizhu, childe, itto & gorou

genshin impact women as beabadoobee songs with yae miko, lisa, amber, mona, yoimiya, yelan, beidou, ayaka & dehya

what kind of dates ft. mona, layla, kaveh, lisa, kaeya, childe, hutao, scara, kazu, yelan, yoi, koko, xiao, sara, albedo, ganyu, keqing, & amber

ꔫ older works

late night cuddles! (albedo)

feathered kisses (albedo)

never yours (ayaka)

accepting fate (ayaka)

softly spoken (kazuha)

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emotionlcss · 2 months ago

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❝ no need to make up for it with me, you're doing me a favor already by keeping me company on this long drive, im just sorry that i couldn't actually take you all the way. ❞ but at least it was something, and well over halfway there. sure, layla knew that if she told anyone about this her friends would think she's crazy. picking up a stranger off the side of the road? it was quite literally how people died, but he seemed nice enough, obviously attractive, and he could hold up a conversation. he didn't strike her as a murderer, though she also knew that looks could be deceiving. ❝ i've got a sketch book in the back, you're more than welcome to flip through it, unless you mean the actual designs, because those are in the trunk, so you'd definitely have to wait for that. ❞ she was happy once he started to talk about himself, feeling like she was getting to know at least a little about him, rather than doing all of the talking herself. ❝ really? that's so intense, i'm impressed. is there anything that got you into that line of work, or was it just something that you kind of fell into? ❞ she asked, glancing over to him before looking back to the road. ❝ smart and attractive, anyone would have been lucky to pick you up on the side of the road. ❞

"no... no, i agree. men are disgusting and i feel the need to make up for their lack of tact." in an incredibly violent way, of course. after all, that entire frat had allegations... and he knew, like his own, their daddies would write a cheque to get them out of any hot water. he had to take it into his own hands. his father was a terrible man, just like the kind she described. it embarrassed him, and filled him with red hot anger. "i wanna see 'em. i mean, when you get done driving me. i'd like for you to show me," he said with a nod, earnest. he didn't necessarily know what he could do if he did see them. "i'm not very interesting. i'm into science, forensics. so i'm always just... studying. i'm almost done, though. and then, i guess, technically i'll be a doctor. not a medical doctor... but i'll have a doctorate. and then, i suppose, i'll look for jobs in a lab and hide away for the rest of my life."

#terrorbitch

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womanofwords · 2 years ago

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STEM Kids Shenanigans (Chapter 17)

Chapter 17: Paint

Yujin was hiding in a toilet cubicle. Not how she was expecting to spend her morning break. Sure, being popular was nice, but this much was overwhelming. She literally got crowd surfed down the hallway over the accidental slime incident with Melanie!

So here she was, hiding desperately in the stench of the school toilets and hoping that nobody figured out that it was her from the way that she breathed or something trivial like that.

"Yujin, get out of there," a girl's voice said. Shoot! The gig was up, and she would have to face the mob. The mob of adoring fans, admittedly, but a mob nonetheless. Yujin came out and faced . . . Layla. How had she not recognized Layla's voice?

"How did you know I was in there?" Yujin asked.

"You were monologuing out loud," Layla said.

"Dammit," Yujin cursed, blushing.

"Enough about that. Why the hell are you hiding in a toilet cubicle?"

"I don't want to be ambushed by crowds of people. It's nice, but overwhelming."

"Ah. Social anxiety?"

"Yep."

"Then I'm staying here with you."

Yujin's eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me. I'm staying here with you."

"Really?" Yujin smiled uneasily. "What if it . . . conflicts with your plans?"

Layla scoffed. "I don't have any plans. So I guess we're staying here until the bell goes."

Yujin hugged her. "Thank you," she whispered.

Layla nodded. "Sure."

(PAUSE)

"I see the troublemakers are walking together," Melanie loudly remarked, as Layla and Yujin walked into art together.

"I see you managed to wash all the orange slime out of your hair," Layla retorted.

"Don't talk to me like that," Melanie hissed.

"Don't call us troublemakers then," Layla said. "Manners are free, you know." Yujin was awestruck as Layla took her to her seat and sat her down. "I may have told Melanie that manners are free, but so is rudeness. And I am a fan of both."

"Me too," Yujin admitted.

(PAUSE)

Yujin was walking to the library to check out a book when she saw Melanie berating Angelo. "Honestly, I think the fame is going to your head, Riva," she snapped. "You're showing absolutely no respect to anybody that deserves it."

"I am literally just sitting here," Angelo said.

"Ha! You don't even care to ask what you did wrong!" Melanie snapped.

"I don't even care any more. It's probably something exaggerated, like with everything else you get people in trouble for."

"I don't get anybody into any more trouble than they deserve!" Melanie looked Angelo up and down with a smirk. "And from the looks of things, I thin you could do with some time litter picking."

"Leave him alone!" Yujin snapped.

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Oh, it's you. Why do you keep cropping up everywhere?"

"Why do you keep seeking us out?" Yujin countered. "You hate us, but you're near us all the time."

"I have to monitor troublemakers."

"But you only monitor us. You don't burst into any other club meetings."

"You're the only ones that are really suspicious." Melanie laughed nervously. "Who knows what you four do in there?"

"You should know. You break in so much it's like you're our least favourite member."

Melanie's jaw dropped. She had dealt with rude people before, but nobody had ever spoken to her in such a blatantly disrespectful manner. "I - you - ugh!" She stormed off, and Angelo breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he said, smiling at her.

"Don't mention it," Yujin said, her heart racing. She was seriously developing a crush on this boy! This nerdy boy that took care of his sister and baked cookies for them and invented things for his little sister. "Hey, when't the next time that we can come over and hang out at your house?"

"Not for two weeks. I'm grounded. My parents were told about the hoverboard and I got grounded. It was going to be two months, but the teacher sounded so proud and I showed them that I had loads of safety precautions in place so I wouldn't get hurt. No workshop, no toolbox, no notebook."

Yujin's jaw dropped. "They took your notebook?"

"I sketch ideas for inventions in there. They are thorough about grounding me."

"Right. No meetings at your house until you're not grounded any more. We'll have to meet at school."

"With Melanie," Angelo groaned. "I just want to invent things in peace. Why is she making us answer to her?"

"So she can be powerful," Yujin said. "There's never any other reason than for her to be powerful. That's why she does anything."

Angelo looked thoughtful and grinned. "I wonder if we can do something about that."

(PAUSE)

Layla, Angelo, Dante and Yujin gathered at lunch the next day in a disused art room (deliberately nothing like their usual room to evade Melanie) and discussed ideas.

"This is . . . not the best," Layla said, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the smell of dust and mildew in the air.

"I know, but we have to have somewhere to talk that isn't our usual room and isn't my house," Angelo said.

"Sorry to hear about you being grounded," Dante said, fiddling with his hair.

"Not your fault. We need to be focusing on taking Melanie down a peg," Angelo said. "What can we do?"

"We should have just reported her ages ago," Dante said. In the distance, they heard screaming and cheering. "Is a fight going on or something?"

"Let's find out," Yujin said. The four went to the nearest window and saw chaos.

People were throwing what looked like paint at each other. The hallways were painted in shades of pink, red, orange, blue, yellow, green and purple. Then, as one, everyone picked one person, who looked like a speck from how high up the four were, and targeted them.

"I feel sorry for whoever everyone's throwing stuff at," Angelo said. "Let's go downstairs and see who it is."

"NO!" everyone yelled. Dante and Layla pulled him back.

"You are the smartest idiot I have ever known," Layla sighed. "You're like the stupid people in horror movies that investigate the noise in the basement. We'll just watch from here, where it's safe."

"This is amazing," Dante said. "Maybe this can end up in the Marbleton Messenger."

"Like we did," Angelo said.

The four settled into a comfortable silence while chaos ruled underneath their feet.

(PAUSE)

When the four friends went to afternoon registration, almost everyone they saw was covered in paint. Paint on their arms, legs, faces, in their hair. They looked pristine in comparison.

"Dear God, what happened to you all?" Mr Oluwatola asked.

"There was a massive paint fight," Marty said, who had purple and green smears on his face like war paint. "It was insane."

"You know what else will be insane? Cleaning the whole school!" Mr Oluwatola said. "Not to mention that poor student that was ambushed by everybody sharing a collective idea to target them!"

"Which student?" Angelo asked.

"Melanie Sainsbury," everyone chorused, giggling.

"Speaking of which, where is she?" Mr Oluwatola asked.

"Maybe she went home," Layla suggested.

"Hopefully!" Yujin blurted out.

And that was when Melanie came in, dripping with paint.

"Not a word, nitwits," she growled, as she took her seat. A loud squelch was heard as she lowered herself onto it. Angelo's jaw had dropped.

"I have never seen that much paint on a person before," he whispered to Yujin.

"Me neither," Yujin whispered back.

"Yujin Moon, Angelo Riva, I would appreciate some quiet as I try to process this incredibly stupid situation," Mr Oluwatola said. A few people giggled, and they both turned red.

"Aww, you look so cute," Dante teased. Angelo swore under his breath.

"Shut up," Yujin snapped.

(PAUSE)

Even her dad noticed the crush she was developing on the Italian. "So, that boy with the curly hair seems nice," he said, as they walked to the car.

"Appa!" Yujin hissed.

"He can't hear you," he dismissed. "He is very polite and nice. Plays well with his little sister."

And he bakes cookies and knows how to sew and he's cute, Yujin thought, smiling as she got into the front passenger seat. Angelo Riva is a serious catch.

Korean translation

Appa: Dad

To read the other parts of this fic, see Masterlist.

#creative writing #my writing #my WIP #writers on tumblr #writers #writeblr #writerscommunity #science fiction #science nerds #friendship #humour #autistic black boys #fantasci tumblr

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sallteas · 4 years ago

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some cooldown sketches of layla from the dark element series by jennifer l. armentrout!

#white hot kiss #layla #jla #jennifer l armentrout #the dark elements series #roth #ya books #myart #fanart #sketch

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laylastargazer · 3 months ago

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“Damn you snore loud..” *Layla sits there and waits for Vexter to wake up again, either writing in one book or sketching in the other*

*makes you drink a love potion, throws you in the lobby and runs away*

-Love potion anon~

*He growls loudly, enough for anyone near the lobby to hear, trying to spit out as much of the oddly sweet potion as he could* "HELL WAS DAT- All...about...fuck.."

*A suddle purr rumbles in his chest, a confused blink setting his pupils from angered skulls to loving hearts. This shall be an interesting interaction indeed*

[Id advise anyone with a parental/sibling relationship with this man to maybe. Step away. Just maybe idkkkkk]

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nailamoonsi · 1 year ago

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Working on a Webtoon + shifting from calling the books "Another Sky verse" + the future

So I've been working on scripting an upcoming Webtoon project centering Another Sky verse! Instead of what I brought up before, it will feature Antonio + Layla cast in their early 20's (side note: I've started calling them Gen 2, but they are the Main Gen, so-to-speak... unsure what to call them, really. Dads Gen is also in my mind for Gen 1)--

It's a plot that involves Antonio trying to reach someone. The light novel also takes place in their early 20's, and I'm thinking if the scripting doesn't go the way I'm hoping, I might adapt the light novel's plot instead, since I really want to work on a webtoon for this verse. BUT right now I'm enjoying the concept of this comic in its early form!

Here's a taste of the scripting:

I still have to wait for news for a month or possibly 3 before I think more deeply about webtoon shenanigans. I've been drawing, and will definitely drop some comics after the wait, but in the next year or two it'd be fun to try drawing random animations, too. Taking things a step at a time.

[Still find it funny this was the first official Diego art people have seen.]

Although I've been calling it "Another Sky verse" for a long time, I'm shifting over to utilizing its Actual nickname, "Blue Rize," on other platforms. I'll likely start utilizing it here too, though I'm not changing the tags until I use its full name.

It's likely obvious, but I grew up creating + planning + enjoying + changing Blue Rize since my teens, so it's not the type of project I plan to shelve.

I've been doing art to have fun and be able to express what I want for Blue Rize, but I do like the idea of letting people use the profile arts as icons in the future, adding some of the sketches to the light novel that I plan to be free, et cetera. I need to get it properly edited, draw the artwork (which I'm no longer scared of due to having made a lot of sketches), and get alpha and beta readers for it.

I want to work on finishing up the 18 profile arts for the Neocities, too! I've only done 8 of them so far, but am glad to be getting back to it.

Lots to do!

#mywrites #myart #my webtoon

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80pairsofcrocs · 3 years ago

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baby scarab || 26

anon - What if reader got a pet like a baby duck, maybe one baby duck lost his momma and just started following her when she was heading home from work and she just decided okay you’re coming home with me

~~~

@spideyscottage - what if baby scarab meets taweret and she mentions something about baby scarab’s biological parents

~~~

anon - hello! i am really loving your baby scarab series! and if you’re still accepting requests for the series, I was wondering if for your next future chapter it could be funny?? If that’s alright with you? I was wondering if the reader starts talking in a British accent and the moon buys are just like “wtf?” But the reader doesn’t notice until the boys mention it and then just tells them casually like “oh it’s because I hang around Steven to much” You can ignore this if it’s not a good idea and if it is not in the direction that you want your next chapter to go but i’d love to see it! <3

~~~

A/N : this chapter is going to be all over the place. bear with me :)

masterlist - marvel masterlist - series masterlist

A/N : oh yeah. its taweret time {ALSO THANKS TO @badgerdryad FOR THE VINE IDEA}

please enjoy, and don't be shy if you want to be in the taglist, just ask <3, sorry for the long wait

pairings : steven grant x (platonic)reader, marc spector x (platonic) reader, khonshu x (platonic)reader, jake lockley x (platonic)reader, layla el faouly x (platonic)reader

TW : medicine (pills), language, spidey stuff, marc being marc, mentions of violence, making fun of steven(?). let me know if i missed anything

~~~

you really didn’t think marc would let you go to work.

but, here you are. he walked you there of course, and expressed that he was still mad at the fact that you deliberately disobeyed him- and he didn’t let you out of his sight until he very hesitantly left you at the cafe.

he understood- they all understood why you left to stop a robbery. they would have done the same.

though they are adults and can literally do pretty much whatever they want, they would’ve done the same.

thinking realistically, they wouldn’t care as much about your safety since they know damn well you can take care of yourself perfectly fine.

but ever since the incident they didn’t want to take any chances.

marc especially.

he’s lost so much in his life, and he couldn’t live with himself if he lost you too.

you’re broken from your thoughts when the bell rings, signaling another customer.

you were surprised to see a familiar face.

“hey, stranger” she greets, leaning on the counter.

“how’re you doing, evie?” you smile back, and notice a new pin on her backpack she always carried around.

a couple things you learned about her- she makes sure to always carry a sketch book and pens with her.

she claimed it was in case she came across some animals or something and wanted to sketch them to remember them.

“i’m doing alright” she sighs. “can i get my usual to go?” she asks politely and you nod, getting to work.

evie’s usual was a strawberry frappe. it suited her honestly, plus it matched the new pin you noticed, which happened to be an enamel frog with a strawberry hat.

you smile to yourself and pop a lid on the finished drink, sliding it over to evie and handing her a straw.

“that’ll be 4.28” you say, and she gives you the appropriate money, while you give her the appropriate change in return.

“have a nice day, evie” you wave as she starts walking backwards towards the door.

“you too, y/n” she smiles, and just like that she’s already gone.

you sigh and wait for almost ten minutes for the lunch rush to start, that taking a lot out of you.

it was very busy today- it being summer so all the tourists were in town.

you just lean your chin on your fist, waiting for the rush to start.

~~~

it was just the average day at work, some of your usuals came in and you made small talk with them before they left.

now you were getting ready to leave.

early. and you didn’t tell anyone that you got off work early.

you wanted to show marc that you could walk to and from work by yourself just fine.

so that’s what you’re going to do.

you switch positions with one of the other baristas, her waving to you as you pick up your light weight jacket and head out the door, you waving back.

as soon as you step out, you feel more like yourself.

it was normal for you to be doing things alone all these years. you were grateful for the guys wanting to make sure you were safe of course, but sometimes it was a bit much.

you were already about a quarter of the way home, when you feel something hit your ankle, making you stop.

you look down and see a small duck, and it was looking up at you.

you look around to make sure you weren’t going to be in anyones way, and then you crouch down next to it, slowly to not scare it away.

you’d never been approached by a duck before, especially on the sidewalk, where the pond is about five minutes away.

you tilt your head at the small creature, and it makes a noise at you.

you smile at it and reach a careful hand out, and it almost immediately bumps it’s beak into it.

you chuckle softly and stand back up, making the duck confused.

“go back home, your moms probably looking for you” you tell it as if it understands what you’re saying.

it just makes another noise as you begin to walk away.

you turn a corner after a minute when you feel the same duck ram into your ankle again.

‘it’s probably because i spilled strawberry syrup on myself’ you nod to yourself.

yes, you’re not perfect. you may have spilled a little bit of strawberry syrup on your shirt, leaving a light purple stain.

it’ll wash out, of course, but you’re pretty sure that the duck can smell it.

you bend down to let the duck touch your hand again before sighing.

you could either let it follow you home, try to leave him here to possibly get ran over by a car, or carry it home, feed it and bring it back to the pond.

you picked the obvious choice and gently let the top of the ducks head, and it closed it’s eyes for a second.

“you want to come home with me?” you ask it, getting no clear answer as it keeps rubbing against you.

you purse your lips and unfold your jacket from your arm, carefully bringing it around the duck, so that if it didn’t want to be picked up it could leave.

it didn’t, in fact when you did pick it up carefully, it made another noise and snuggled it’s small head into your shirt.

you smile at the duck, cuddling it to your chest and beginning your walk home again.

the duck was surprisingly calm, letting you carry it around. you happily ignored the stares you got from people passing you on the sidewalk.

i mean, who wouldn’t stare at a girl smiling to herself while carrying a duck around in her coat?

you did eventually get to the apartment complex, getting even more weird looks from people in the lobby as you got into the elevator.

you clicked your floors button and think about if marc is going to lose his shit when you get home.

and by home i mean his flat. since he refuses to let you go to your own place by yourself.

well, both of the apartments are homes to you, it’s just been.. off since the incident.

you purse your lips, getting off the elevator once it dings, and slowly making your way to steven, marc, and jakes door.

you dig into your pocket for the key, trying your hardest to stay quiet but fail as the lock clicks rather loudly.

you curse to yourself and readjust the duck in your arms, opening the door and covering most of the ducks face with your jacket so whoever was fronting couldn’t see it right away.

you quietly close the door after taking the key out and locking it, hearing footsteps coming from the kitchen.

you could tell it was steven by the surprised look on his face and by his posture.

“y/n? you didn’t tell us you were leaving early” he starts, coming closer to you.

“marc would’ve-“

“yeah, i know but i can walk home myself” you shrug and right at that moment, the duck under your coat decides to quack.

steven makes a face and looks down to the bundled coat in your arms.

“did your coat just quack?” he asks, pointing to it as you shake your head.

“no you’re just hearing things” you start. “you know, because you’re old” you shrug again and steven gives you a look.

“i’m not that old” he sighs, looking back to your coat.

“let me see what’s in your coat” he says, crossing his arms.

“there’s nothing in it” you say back and he tilts his head at you.

“there’s not?” he hums and you continue nodding.

“so if i..” he trails off, poking the jacket lightly, making the duck inside of it quack again.

steven takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair, you looking up at him nervously.

“y/n”

“it followed me” you blurt out. “i just wanted to feed it and then drop it off at the pond” you elaborate and steven chuckles.

“are you sure you didn’t just want a pet? i mean, you have been hinting at that for a little while” he says and you wince.

it was true. you’d been subtly hinting that you wanted a pet. like a cat or a dog or something.

they all caught on of course, and subtly told you that having a pet right now wasn’t the best time.

but it still didn’t stop you from trying to convince them.

steven looks back at you and smiles. “let me see it, then” he says gently and you slowly bring the jacket off the ducks face.

it looks at steven and then back at you.

“he’s a handsome little bugger, isn’t he?” he chuckles, and you smile.

“how do you know it’s a ‘he’?” you ask, and steven reaches a hand out towards the duck.

“the grey feathers around his eyes, females don’t have those” he says and you snort.

“nerd” you mutter and steven scoffs.

“he followed me because i smell like strawberries” you tell steven and he shakes his head.

“he’s not staying the night, we’re taking him back before dinner” you hear marc finally speak.

you didn’t know if he was mad that you didn’t call, you’re just hoping he’d let it go.

“why not?” you ask with a pout present on your face.

“because he has a family” steven cuts in, and you glare at him while he walks to the fridge.

“but i can be his new family” you argue and steven pulls out a small bowl of strawberries.

“you can’t just bring a duck here and declare it to be your family” steven says back, cutting up some of the strawberries as you walk to stand across the counter from him, the duck interested in the food.

“hypocrite” you state, getting a look from steven.

“that’s not the same” he tells you and you pet the duck while you think of what to say.

“it kind of is”

“yeah, kind of. but not really” he shrugs, pushing the plate of cut up strawberries towards you so that you could feed the duck.

you let the little guy loose on the counter, where he immediately starts eating the red fruit, making you smile.

“i still don’t understand why i can’t get a pet” you pipe up, and steven gives you a sad smile.

“it’s bad timing, and i think we need to focus on more important things” marc interrupts, and you turn to make your sad face at him.

“don’t do that” he says and you switch to a quick glare.

“what about jake? he’s been quiet” you say and you hear a groan from marc.

“because his opinion doesn’t matter” marc answers.

“yes it does, puta”

it gets quiet for a second. “i sadly agree with the worm and the other guy” jake says and you make a face, going to pet the duck again.

“though she does have a point about you being a hypocrite” jake says again, and you smugly smiles at steven.

“see?” you pause. “i’m always right” you say, scoffing to yourself while the duck stops eating to waddle around on the counter.

you and steven both watch him walk around, before he sits down and closes his eyes after ruffling his feathers.

you sigh again and look at marc, who was in the reflection of the metal knife steven was using to cut the strawberries.

“i’m sorry i didn’t call” you whisper to him and he purses his lips.

“you know what?” he starts. “it’s perfectly fine” he says and you stand surprised.

that’s not what you expected to say at all.

“i know i’ve been a bit much lately. i know you can take care of yourself” he tells you, and you respond with a small smile.

“i get it.” you pause. “i’m scared of losing you guys too” you say quietly and all three of them look to you.

after you said that, they realized how dumb they were. they didn’t even take your feelings into consideration while all they were thinking of was protecting you.

they didn’t think about the fact that they go out on missions while you sit at home by yourself, praying that they’ll all come home safe.

they all feel pretty stupid right about now.

well, that’s men for you.

“okay kid, i’ll stop being-“

“clingy?”

“..sure. and i speak for all of us when i say that i’m sorry” he says and you furrow your brows.

“we know you can handle yourself just fine, but we didn’t even think about if you worried about us too” marc finishes, and you nod.

you didn’t say anything, and neither did anyone else, you just stared ahead, focusing on the sound of the duck beside you breathing.

“it’s just.. you said you’d try to make it so that nothing happened” you said referring to the incident.

marc noticed you rubbing your hand over the arm where the scars were, which made him feel worse.

“i know what i said. i just.. we just couldn’t stop worrying about if something could happen” marc tells you and you nod once.

“you know you don’t have to worry about me” you state, all three of them nodding.

“enough of this, you had a surprise for the pequeña dama, didn’t you?” jake cuts in, interrupting the tense atmosphere.

you furrow your eyebrows as steven smiles excitedly at you. “how would you feel about going to layla’s for supper?” he asks, and you grin.

“i’d love that, i like her more than you guys anyways” you fake yawn and look away from steven and any reflective surfaces.

“yeah, love you too, y/n” steven starts. “listen, we aren’t going to be there long, because i know you’ve been staying up late- and you need sleep”

you scoff. “again with the hypocrisy” you mutter.

“hey, cut it out with the attitude” steven starts. “now, you’ve fed your duck, now let’s go walk him back to the pond before we go” he says and you groan, waking the duck.

“i wanna keep him” you say. “i was going to name him howard and i was gonna buy him a hat” you whine, but steven comes over to put a hand on your shoulder.

“well, maybe in time you can get an even better pet. and you can buy it a hat then” steven starts.

“but for now, we have to return the duck back to its family” he says sadly and you nod, picking up the duck in your coat again.

you notice a switch, and you know exactly who it is when he snatched his hat off the back of one of the chairs nearby.

“do you have everything you need?” jake asks you and you nod, yanking the clip on tie off the collar of your shirt and leaving it on the counter.

“aw, no tie?” he teases and you scoff, unlocking the door once you get to it, and leaving jake behind to catch up.

you feel sad about not being able to keep the duck. but you knew that the right thing to do was take it back to the pond so he could.. be a duck.

jake caught up to you, locking the door as you consistently press the close door button in the elevator, jake having slid in right at the last second.

“nice try” he says and you roll your eyes, the elevator dinging while you get off.

you and jake walk side by side, the pond not being too far away which means you’re already approaching it without too much of a walk.

you two eventually get to the muddy edges of the pond, to which you put the duck down and watch it stare up at you.

“i’m sorry. we’re together in another life, howard” you say dramatically, and the duck turns to hop in the water, other ducks floating around in the middle.

you watch solemnly as howard swims towards the other ones before turning around to leave, jake being confused that you didn’t try to jump in to get him back.

it just seemed like a thing you’d do.

“sorry for your loss” jake says once you guys get back on the sidewalk to go to the car.

“he will be remembered” you respond, both of you sharing a laugh.

the walk to the car was silent, but it was a comfortable silence. well, excusing the cars driving by and people talking when they passed you.

when you two got to the car, marc was the one to start it, claiming to be the better driver.

you put your seatbelt on as marc pulls out of the parking at the side of the road, driving in the direction of laylas place.

you set your jacket on the ground and put your feet on the dashboard, slouching in your seat.

“hey, get your feet off that” marc tells you so you do so, leaning your elbow on the mid console, drumming your fingers on it.

you close your eyes and listen to the engine of the car, or anything else outside that any normal person wouldn’t hear.

you’re broken from that when the car stops and marc lets out a breath.

“traffic?” you mutter, marc nodding.

“don’t sound too disappointed” marc says sarcastically.

you look around and see an angry looking man staring at you two from the car next to you, to which you glare back.

“he looks like his face was molested by a penguin” you say in an over exaggerated british accent.

marc looks at you in confusion, and then back to the road when the cars start moving again.

another car passes you guys and to that, you mutter “fucking wank stain”, still using the accent.

“are you mocking me?” steven asks you from the rear view mirror and you shake your head with a smile.

“you know, people are dying of starvation all over the planet” you start, marc stopping the car once he gets stuck behind more traffic.

“like africa, asia..” you trail off, then moving both your hands to flip off all the cars in front of you.

“the fucking m-25” you grit out, accent still being used.

“can you calm down?” marc asks you and you chuckle, making him confused again.

“you know, people think that all british people do is drink tea and eat crumpets and talk about harry potter all day, but that’s not true” you say, and steven gives you a look from the mirror again.

“we sit in fucking traffic! going 2 miles an hour!” you exclaim, trying to hold in your laughter.

“okay- what’s going on?” marc asks you, the traffic finally moving forwards.

“why are you using an accent?” he asks again.

“oh, i’ve just been around steven too much” you wave him off, leaning back in your seat.

“are we there yet?” you ask and marc shakes his head.

a minute later.

“what about now?” another head shake.

two minutes later.

“are we-“

“i’m going to throw you out of this car” marc threatens and you chuckle.

~~~

a half hour later.

you didn’t say much the rest of the drive, neither did any of the guys, but you had your ‘tic tac’ to keep you busy.

you were actually excited to see layla again. especially at her place, you always wondered how she had it decorated.

you wondered if she had any cool plants, or if she was an artist, or maybe even enjoyed baking as much as steven did.

marc pulls the car into a parking space beside a small house.

the houses on this road were close, maybe about ten feet apart from each other.

marc stopped the car, taking the keys out and looking to you. “you ready?” he asks and you nod, both of you getting out of the car.

you two walk up the steps and he knocks on the door, you hearing footsteps coming from inside.

the door clicks, and layla peaks her head out, smiling when she sees your familiar faces.

“hey guys, come in” she opens the door wider and you both step in, and you’re overtaken by the smell of cinnamon.

“how’ve you been?” layla asks you, putting an arm around your shoulder, you turning behind you to give a smug look to marc.

you look back to layla. “i’ve been good.” you nod, and marc comes up to the other side of layla.

“and you?” he asks her, and she smiles at him.

“better now that you’re here” she responds to him in a quieter voice, taking her hand off you to stick it in her pocket.

you snort, earning the attention of both the adults.

“hey, you don’t get the right to laugh after i caught you almost kissing that boy a couple weeks ago” marc says and you glare at him, layla gasping dramatically.

“you interrupted it?” layla asks marc and he nods. “well technically jake did but-“

“come on, she’s young and in love, let her do what she wants” you raise an eyebrow at that.

“i’m not- it’s not love i don’t even know if he likes me like that” you mumble, kicking the ground as layla nods.

“jake only interrupted because he doesn’t want you to get your feelings hurt” marc tells you and you scoff.

“he won’t. but if he does i’ll just kick him in the shins” you shrug, layla chuckling.

“that’s my girl” marc smiles.

~~~

it was a simple dinner, really.

turns out, layla is an amazing cook and you now want to replace steven with her.

you’re kidding, but if you could always have both of them at the same time it’d be heaven.

layla is also starting to learn more about egyptian culture, and the gods.

she also told you that she wants to take you on a trip to cairo, claiming that they have amazing food there.

you obviously are in love with that idea, so you took her up on the offer, planning to leave marc behind.

that was also a joke.

you all played uno again. multiple times.

you won every time of course, because you’re just that good.

no money was beg this time though, due to marc being a weenie and being too scared to lose more money to a child.

it was already getting kind of late, and now you were all just idly talking in laylas living room, the source of the cinnamon being a candle that was lit on the coffee table.

you were sat in between marc and the side of the couch, layla on the other side of him.

you were staring at the candle flickering when you sense something behind you, so you look behind you in surprise.

it was the hippo again- taweret.

“hey, you good?” marc asks, not being able to see the goddess.

you nod, seeing the hippo wave to you, smiling.

you wave back and that’s when marc gets confused. “taweret.” you say and he understands.

“khonshus been talking about you” taweret tells you and you furrow your brows.

“what’s she saying?” marc asks, and taweret giggles.

“i guess i should show myself so that they can understand” she moves from behind you to in front of all three of you, then now seeing her too.

“like i was saying, khonshu talks about you quite a lot, young y/l/n” the hippo states and you still have confusion written on your face.

“he was right about your eyes as well, just like your mother” she gushes and you gasp softly, marc and layla listening intently.

“wait wait wait- did you know her?” you ask and taweret nods.

“i helped her into the field of reeds” she confirms and you nod, pursing your lips.

“lovely woman, she was. unlike the man she married” she mutters the last part under her breath.

you didn’t say anything at first, while marc and layla look at you to make sure you’re okay.

“why’d she marry him?” you shake your head, and your mouth felt dry.

“that man wasn’t always corrupted by ammit, they did love each other dearly” taweret shook her head and you nodded.

“was she happy?” you blurt out. “before he was.. corrupted?” you elaborate and taweret sends you a small smile.

“she was. she loved what she did and would never regret a thing she did in her life.” she pauses. “including sacrificing herself for you” she finishes quietly and you smile up at her.

“thank you” you say quietly and the hippo just laughs and nods once.

“oh, it’s no big deal” she waves you off and you look to layla and marc, who were holding hands and looking at you as well.

“you alright, kid?” marc asks and you nod.

“i just.. i needed to know if she was at least happy” you sigh and lean over so that your chin was now resting on marc’s shoulder.

marc chuckles as layla mimics the action, wrapping an arm around both of you.

“this is nice” he states. “‘m here with my two favorite girls” he says and you sigh again, looking to where taweret and khonshu were now staring at the three of you in interest.

you ignored it and closed your eyes for a moment, just taking in the moment.

marc was genuinely happy at the moment.

everything was going great right now- well except for the fact that you threw a fit about not being able to keep a duck- but other than that it was great.

steven and jake were happy as well, they were all just glad to have both you and layla in their lives.

and of course, you were honored to be one of marc’s favorite girls.

to be honest, he couldn’t realy pick favorites between the two of you, since he loved you both in different ways.

layla being his girlfriend, and you being his surrogate daughter.

you just couldn’t get over that you were one of his favorite people in his life.

and the feeling was returned.

he was your favorite- they were all equally number one on the list, layla sharing that role as well.

you were their favorites, and they were all yours.

the love really just goes all around, doesn’t it?

it should.

because you’re all a family.

taglist ---

@alexloveskili @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepression @thebiggestsimpshrimp @guyinachair27 @astrobuzzsstuff @mooonlight-and-stars @moonlighting87 @mateihavenoidea @inactive-things @alondrashultz @femalemarvelself @queenthorin1 @haileymorelikestupid @jvdethirlwall @justtiredandvibing @winterfrostsarmy @themapoftinyperfectthings @littlebird101 @atzlena @httpslinow @arrowurboat @m-brekker @lifeandbandmembers-blog @adamcarlsenslvr @violet-19999 @seninjakitey @bestgirlpip @panic-in-the-multiverse @in-between-the-cafes @branolagar @bl6o6dy @annoyingmarvelreader @bee-a-cool-kid @buzzitsbeee @wintergirlsoilder2 @crow-carcass @you-bloody-shank @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @magnificentcreatorpenguin @50shadesofcrocs @rayrlupin

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