#and also like. even if in the past he was better and the dark fountain and shit made him evils. that doesnt excuse him being shitty

[inkeddaydream]

THE MUG, THE MYTH, THE MENACE

✦ Chapter One ✦

“Don't touch my fucking mug”

Pairing: Pedro Pascal (Writer AU) x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Roommate tension, fluffy chaos, enemies-to-roommates-to-I-might-die-without-you, sticky notes of doom, Pedro being feral about his mug, mutual pining in soft sweaters, cinnamon-scented slow burn, feral internal monologues, emotional repression wearing flannel, and one hoodie-stealing menace with glitter on their cheeks

Summary: Pedro wasn't even looking for a roommate. You weren't even supposed to find the ad. But now you're here — singing to your plants, leaving cereal bowls in the sink, and calling him Grumpa Lumpa like it's your job. He tells himself he hates it. He tells himself not to look at you. Not to think about your laugh. Not to wonder what would happen if you ever touched his mug.

🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀

Pedro wasn't even looking for a roommate.

Not really.

He'd scribbled the ad on a napkin at a café that played too much soft jazz and charged extra for almond milk, mostly because the landlord had slipped a cheerful little note under his door that read "Friendly reminder: rent is increasing by 12% starting next month!" with a smiley face drawn beside it. Pedro had stared at the smiley face for a full thirty seconds before scrawling the words "Roommate Wanted — must not suck" on a napkin and pinning it to the community board out of pure spite.

Then he forgot about it.

Because Pedro — contrary to popular belief — did not thrive in chaos.

He was quiet. Particular. Lived in soft flannel and old corduroy pants. He wrote slowly, in longhand, in a notebook the color of stormclouds and the texture of worn leather. He was the type of man who had opinions about fountain pens and made his own soup stock on Sundays. He liked silence, good coffee, and the illusion that he was impossible to read. His friends (all three of them) often joked that Pedro was 73 in spirit and 47 in body, with the social drive of a particularly grumpy cat.

So when the knock came — three sharp raps on a Thursday morning — he assumed it was a package.

What he got instead was you.

Uninvited. Unapologetic. Unruly.

You stood in the hallway like the sun had personally endorsed you, dressed in mismatched socks and an oversized hoodie that said WITCHES DO IT BETTER across the chest. A cardboard box balanced in your arms, labeled IMPORTANT WITCH STUFF in aggressively pink Sharpie. Your hair was a mess. Your grin was brighter.

Pedro blinked like someone had thrown glitter in his eyes.

"Hi! I'm here about the roommate thing," you announced, shifting your weight as the box wobbled dangerously. "You're Pedro, right? This place is so cute. Very grumpy writer lives here alone with secrets and a dark past. Love the vibe."

Pedro stared at you. Slowly. Like maybe if he didn't blink, you'd disappear.

"You found the napkin ad," he said flatly.

"Yup," you beamed. "Also your neighbor let me in. The one with the schnauzer? Cutest dog I've ever seen. The neighbor was fine too, I guess."

And then, like it was nothing, you walked past him into his apartment like you already lived there.

Within five minutes — somehow — you did.

You moved like a storm wearing glitter. Dropped your box onto the kitchen counter, pointed to a corner of the living room, and declared it perfect for your "plant babies." You asked if he was okay with vines. You inspected the light quality by holding your palm up to the sunbeam like a tiny scientist. You opened two cupboards, sniffed once, then asked if he was a Virgo rising. (He wasn't. He didn't even know what that meant.)

"What's your sign, by the way?" you asked, flipping open your phone like you were about to run his entire astrological chart. "For roommate harmony, obviously."

"...Aries?"

"OHHH," you said ominously, like he'd just revealed he was secretly descended from Zeus. "That makes so much sense."

Pedro regretted everything.

Every decision that had led to this moment. The café. The napkin. That one time in 1994 when he didn't return a library book — it all led to this: you, now perched barefoot on the couch and asking if he had any sage to cleanse the hallway mirror.

You named the remote "the Wand of Power." You refused to acknowledge the coffee table until it was christened "The Throne of Snacks." You once set a bowl of water on the windowsill during the full moon and told him not to ask why. You wore glitter in your eyebrows on Tuesdays and brought home odd thrift store mugs with strange faces and insisted they "spoke to you."

You called him Grumpa Lumpa.

Every. Single. Day.

And Pedro hated it.

He hated your humming. Your ridiculous "morning affirmations" shouted into the bathroom mirror. He hated how your socks were never matching and your cereal bowls were never rinsed and your voice echoed through the apartment like a one-woman musical he never auditioned for.

Until — slowly, painfully — he didn't.

Until he started saving the strawberry Pop-Tarts because you liked those best. Until he caught himself waiting for your key in the lock at the end of the day. Until he found one of your sticky notes inside his notebook — a doodle of a ghost that said boo, you whore — and carried it in his wallet like a lunatic.

Until the quiet wasn't peaceful anymore.

Not without your singing. Or your snoring. Or the way you mumbled the names of your plants in your sleep like they were family.

Pedro was a writer. He was supposed to recognize when a story was becoming something else — something dangerous. He knew the signs. The shift in tone. The slow unraveling of the plot. The moment when a side character becomes the center of the page without permission.

You were the rewrite he never asked for.

But one night, he looked over at you — curled up on the couch with glitter on your cheeks, reading tarot cards for your cactus — and it hit him like a freight train:

He didn't want to write the next chapter without you.

Even if it meant his coffee mug would never be safe again.

Even if you always left the Throne of Snacks covered in crumbs.

Even if it meant one day, maybe soon...

He'd have to kiss you to shut you up.

And God help him...

He'd like it

🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀

The sticky notes started on a Tuesday.

Pedro opened the fridge with the same bleary-eyed precision he used every morning — one hand scratching the back of his neck, the other reaching blindly for his oat milk. He wasn't even awake yet, not really. Not until he saw it.

Slapped right over the carton in glittery purple ink:

This expired four days ago. I didn't want you to die. You're welcome. – Your Witchy Roommate

He blinked.

Then groaned.

Then rolled his eyes so hard it almost made his head hurt. He tossed the carton into the trash and muttered something about witches and expiration dates under his breath.

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hiss of the kettle starting to boil behind him. Through the kitchen window, the early morning sun bled pale and tired across the counter, illuminating the small constellation of herbal tea tins and potted plants you'd claimed like sacred territory. One of them had a tiny flag stuck in the soil that read: Sylvia Plath, Do Not Touch. Another had googly eyes.

He said nothing.

Just poured his coffee, grabbed a protein bar, and went to work.

The next morning, there was another.

This one was stuck to the mirror above the entryway table, crooked and confident:

Put your keys in the bowl like a normal human, Grumpa Lumpa.

Pedro stopped mid-step. He stared at it, keys still clutched in his fist. The bowl — your ridiculous, glitter-rimmed "scrying vessel" — sat patiently below the mirror, already holding your own jangly keychain, two loose safety pins, and what appeared to be a polished rock labeled EMOTIONAL SUPPORT STONE, DO NOT MOCK.

He sighed. Dropped his keys in with a clink. Didn't say a word.

On Friday, another appeared. Stuck right to the top of his closed laptop, as if daring him to open it:

If you're gonna write murder scenes at 2AM, maybe don't listen to "Murder Ballads" at full volume. My plant died of fear.

He snorted. Actually snorted.

Pedro wasn't even mad. Which was the worst part.

He'd expected to hate living with someone. Had planned on it. Had braced himself for shared spaces and clashing routines and awkward silences. But you... you were not awkward. You were the opposite of silence. You were a hurricane in fluffy pajama pants and mismatched socks who left glitter on the bathroom floor and mint tea rings on the windowsill.

You were noise and movement and colour. And for some unfathomable reason, the apartment had started to feel more alive.

You were driving him insane.

Not in the way roommates normally do. Not like the late dishes or the occasional clump of your hair in the shower drain. Not even your endless collection of crystals charging on every flat surface.

No — you were unraveling him in other ways.

The way you moved through the space like it belonged to you. The way you named things — your kettle was called Bernard. Your couch pillow? Marjorie. He found a sticky note once that simply read:

If Marjorie ends up on the floor again, we riot.

You left notes like breadcrumbs. Like spells.

And Pedro hated how much he noticed them.

You'd been living there three weeks when he realized, with a quiet kind of horror, that he knew your coffee order by heart.

Two pumps vanilla. Oat milk. No foam.

You hated bananas. You couldn't whistle. You once cried so hard during Up that he heard you hiccuping through the wall and debated offering you a tissue — but didn't. Because you always made a joke afterward, and he couldn't bring himself to interrupt that ritual.

Your plants were named after dead poets. Your laptop had a sticker that read My other ride is a broomstick. You collected mugs like other people collected parking tickets. And you always danced while you cooked, even if it was just ramen.

That same week, Pedro started writing again.

Not just outlining. Not notes. But real writing — the kind that lived in his bones and clawed at his chest at 3AM. He wasn't sure if it was you or the energy you carried with you, but the words started flowing again. Fast. Fierce. Alive.

He never told you. But he didn't need to. Because you felt it too.

Most nights, when the rest of the city was asleep, Pedro would lie awake and listen to you sing softly in the kitchen as you stirred your tea. Sometimes it was Fleetwood Mac. Sometimes Stevie Nicks. Once, it was a haunting lullaby in a language he didn't know. He never asked what it was. He just... listened.

And thought about the way your voice dipped when you said goodnight. The sleepy gravel in it. The intimacy of it. He thought about how once, you called him Pedro, soft and low, instead of Grumpa Lumpa — and it felt like someone had cracked something open in his chest.

He was in trouble.

He knew it the night he found you asleep on his side of the couch.

It was past midnight. He had come out of his room for water. The apartment was dark except for the glow of the TV — paused on some Studio Ghibli title screen. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat forgotten on the coffee table.

And there you were.

Curled into the cushions like a forest creature, all oversized sleeves and blanket burrito, the tip of your nose pink from the cold. You clutched a pillow like it was your last anchor on Earth. Your breathing was soft. Steady. You were wearing his hoodie.

Pedro froze.

Not because you looked ridiculous. But because you didn't.

You looked... safe. Peaceful. Like you belonged there.

And something inside him ached.

He hovered for too long. Told himself to go back to bed. But instead, he stepped forward slowly — quietly — and tugged a throw blanket over your knees. You stirred, murmured something unintelligible, and tucked your face deeper into the pillow.

He couldn't help it.

He reached out, fingers trembling, and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. His knuckles lingered just above your skin before he pulled away like it burned.

Then he stood there. In the glow of the TV, in the hush of the apartment, just... staring. Like he didn't know how to leave.

The next morning, you found a note on your bedside lamp. It was crooked. Folded neatly. Written in his now-familiar black ink.

You left the living room light on. But you looked peaceful. Sleep well, moon girl.

You blinked at it. Smiled.

But there was another note underneath — folded twice, like it held state secrets.

You opened it, squinting in the morning light.

Don't touch my fucking coffee mug.

No smiley face. No signature. Just those six words.

You stood there, bare feet sinking into the rug, hair messy from sleep, and grinned.

Then you padded into the kitchen.

And touched it anyway.

🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀

Pedro wasn't in the kitchen when you touched it.

He'd gone out for groceries. Or maybe to escape. He hadn't said much when he left — just grabbed his jacket, mumbled something about needing oat milk, and disappeared down the stairwell with that tight line drawn across his jaw.

You knew that line well by now. It meant he was either thinking too much or trying not to think at all.

The apartment was quiet after he left. Quiet in the way that made your thoughts too loud. The kind of quiet that hung like steam after a hot shower — cloying and heavy and full of things you didn't want to name.

You were halfway through organizing your tea shelf when you spotted it.

The mug.

Matte black. Slightly chipped along the rim. The once-bold Rogue One logo now faded like a half-remembered dream. It sat on the counter like it belonged there more than you did — like it had history. Like it had witnessed things.

You knew better than to mess with it.

He'd warned you the first week — that same night you tried to rearrange the cupboard to fit your ridiculous collection of owl-shaped mugs and glitter-rimmed cauldron cups. You'd barely touched it before he'd appeared beside you, voice low and flat.

"The mug stays. You can rearrange anything else."

He said it like it was law. Like it was holy.

Which, naturally, meant that one day, you had to touch it.

Just... to see.

You weren't reckless about it. You picked it up carefully, like it might crack in your palm. Like it might whisper secrets. You turned it once, twice, letting the chipped edge catch the light. It was heavier than it looked. Warmer too, as if it had absorbed him — all his late nights and bitter coffee and quiet rage and unspoken longing.

Then, with a smirk tugging at the edge of your mouth, you set it down.

Not back in its usual spot.

No. You placed it directly beside your half-eaten strawberry Pop-Tart and your tin of moon-charged sleepy tea, just left of the selenite wand and embarrassingly close to your labeled jar of "emergency marshmallows."

Just to see what would happen.

The door opened not two minutes later.

Rain was still clinging to his shoulders when he stepped inside, hair damp and curling slightly at his temples. He had two canvas bags hanging from his fingers and a very specific kind of irritation etched across his face — the kind reserved for line-cutters and self-checkout machines.

Then his eyes flicked to the counter.

To the mug.

To you.

Back to the mug.

You froze for half a second, mid-stir of your tea. Then tilted your head, all false innocence. "What?"

Pedro's stare was volcanic.

"Did you move my mug?"

You blinked. "No."

"Liar."

"I was—uh—cleaning."

"You don't clean."

"I do clean. Sometimes. When the spirits compel me."

He took a step closer. "You moved my mug."

You mirrored the step. "What is with that mug, man? Did you win it in a duel? Does it hold your soul like a Horcrux? Did some mysterious woman give it to you on a misty Prague train platform and whisper, 'Only drink when it's real?'"

Nothing.

Not even a twitch of amusement.

Instead, Pedro looked at you with the calm precision of someone walking directly into a car crash. Slowly. Willingly. Hands in his pockets. Fire in his eyes.

"Don't touch that mug again."

You felt it. The shift. Like gravity tilting.

The distance between you shrank without either of you moving. The rain hit the window in quiet rhythms. The fridge hummed behind you, the kettle whistled faintly, and somewhere in the walls, an old pipe groaned — but all you heard was him.

All you saw was the way he looked at you like he was starving.

Like the mug wasn't what he really wanted to protect.

You swallowed and lifted your chin. "Or what?"

That's when he stepped forward.

Not with speed. Not with anger.

But with intent.

Heavy. Measured. Like he was deciding something dangerous in real time.

You didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there and breathed him in — soap and rain and the faintest trace of bergamot.

"Don't push me," he said, quiet and steady, like a man trying to hold onto the last thread of self-control.

You smiled, slow and wicked. "Not even a little?"

He swore. Low and sharp.

Set the grocery bags down like they were the last tether to reason. Ran a hand over his mouth. Over his jaw. Like he could physically wipe the thoughts away. Like he hadn't been imagining this — you — for days.

Weeks.

Since the first sticky note.

Since the first "Grumpa Lumpa."

Since you rearranged his apartment, his routines, and then — somehow — him.

You turned, every inch of your body singing with the tension you'd just lit like a fuse.

You made it three steps toward the hallway.

And then—

"One day," Pedro said behind you, voice low and raw and true,

"I'm gonna touch you back."

You stopped.

Dead still.

The world narrowed to a pinpoint of silence, like even the apartment was holding its breath.

You didn't turn.

Didn't say a word.

You just stood there, heart galloping beneath your ribs, a thousand tiny fires crackling behind your ribs — and you smiled.

Because finally—

Finally.

The mug had done its job.

🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀

It doesn't happen right away.

No, Pedro avoids you for three full days after the mug incident — like a goddamn coward.

He's not slick about it, either. He starts leaving the apartment suspiciously early, like the grocery store opens at dawn for men with romantic crises. He comes home late, shoulders tight, hair windblown, smelling like rain and guilt. You catch glimpses of him moving through rooms like a ghost — all heavy footsteps and unfinished thoughts. Like he's afraid of accidentally brushing against you. Like you might combust on contact.

When he does speak, it's clipped. Hollow. One-word replies that don't quite mask the way his jaw clenches every time you walk into the room in his hoodie.

You find him reorganizing the spice rack one night like it's a code he's trying to crack — as if if he just lines up the turmeric and cumin just right, he won't be tormented by the memory of your voice saying, "Not even a little?"

It's excruciating.

You pretend not to notice. You try to play it cool. You even go as far as alphabetizing your tea stash in an attempt to reclaim your own chill.

But on the fourth day, something inside you cracks.

It's raining again — because of course it is — and you're curled on the couch in a nest of blankets, Pedro's hoodie engulfing you like armor. Your knees are pulled to your chest, your spoon clinking faintly against a mixing bowl of cereal, and Atlantis: The Lost Empire plays softly from the TV in front of you.

You're on autopilot.

Emotionally adrift.

And that hoodie? That hoodie smells like cedarwood and him and whatever warmth you keep trying not to miss.

Then — the door opens.

He steps in, rain-drenched and grim-faced. Water clings to the edges of his curls. His boots thump against the wood floor with deliberate weight, like each step is trying to drown out the noise in his own head. His jacket is soaked, slung over one shoulder. He doesn't meet your gaze.

But he sees you.

He always sees you.

You don't say a word. Don't ask him where he's been. Don't point out the fact that you paused the movie after every key scene, hoping the door would open.

You just lift the remote without looking, set it on the cushion beside you, and tilt your head in silent invitation — the spot beside you, open.

Waiting.

He hesitates.

There's a flicker in his eyes — fear, maybe. Or want. Or something hungrier than both. Then he walks over.

And sits.

Close.

Not touching. But close enough that your knees nearly brush. Close enough to feel the ghost of his body heat radiating through the fabric of his jeans. Close enough that every breath you take feels somehow shared.

Neither of you speaks.

The rain drums gently on the windows. The credits roll, soft and blue-lit. You feel the hush between you stretch — not awkward, not tense. Thick. Weighted. Full of things unsaid and almost said and all the words that got caught behind clenched teeth and coffee mugs.

You take another bite of cereal.

He sighs — quiet, almost imperceptible — and leans back.

Thirty minutes pass like that.

Then an hour.

The room is a cathedral of silence.

The TV screen fades to black.

And finally, in a voice rough with disuse, like it's been buried in his chest for days, he says:

"You still think I'm grumpy?"

You blink. Look over. His gaze is already on you — warm, worn, unreadable.

You nod, casually. "Grumpa Lumpa status confirmed."

There's a breath — a pause — then the smallest curve of his mouth.

Not a smile.

Not yet.

But close.

"I didn't mean to avoid you," he murmurs. His voice is lower now, like confessional gravel. "I just... didn't trust myself not to touch you."

The spoon stops halfway to your lips.

Your heart stumbles.

The bowl lands gently on the coffee table. Your fingers flex, suddenly too aware of the space between you — that single, sharp line of distance that had once felt safe and now feels like a prison.

You shift, just slightly, and say, voice softer than you mean it to be:

"Maybe... that's not such a bad thing."

He doesn't blink.

Doesn't move.

But something in his eyes fractures — like a dam giving way.

"You touched the mug," he says, and you swear his voice is trembling.

"You said not to," you whisper back.

"I warned you."

You smile, lips dry. "And I warned you back."

A beat.

A breath.

Then — movement.

Not rushed.

Not tentative.

Just inevitable.

He shifts closer, hand brushing yours. The contact is featherlight, but it lands like lightning. His fingers trail up your arm, around the back of your neck, pulling you gently — like gravity — into his orbit.

And then, he kisses you.

It's not polite.

It's not cautious.

It's raw.

It's every withheld breath, every repressed look, every sticky note and awkward silence and mug-shaped metaphor crashing into one perfect, shattering moment.

You gasp against his mouth, hands sliding up his chest.

He pulls you in tighter, arms wrapping around your waist like he's afraid you might vanish. His mouth moves against yours like it means something — like it's an answer to every unspoken question you ever tossed his way with a wink and a half-laugh.

His breath is hot at your temple when he breaks just enough to speak.

"You have no idea..." he rasps, lips brushing your jaw, "...how long I've wanted to do this."

You exhale a laugh, eyes fluttering open. "You should've led with that. Instead of mug threats."

He chuckles — low, breathy, and full of disbelief. Like he can't believe this is real. Like he's been dreaming of you on this couch, in his arms, for weeks.

His forehead presses against yours. "I'm gonna touch you again."

It's a vow.

A declaration.

A promise whispered against the curve of your cheek.

You grin, dizzy and high on the moment.

"I'm counting on it."

And in the echoing silence of a rain-soaked apartment, two hearts finally stop waiting

🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀 ✦ 🕊️ ✦ 🥀

[jkwrites-m]

Photo Strips

Part 1 - Mall Rats

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: In a quiet summer mall, Jungkook and Y/N share playful touches, laughter, and capture their growing closeness in a nostalgic photo booth.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, kissing, cursing, fingering, public sex (there’s a curtain?😭), unprotected sex, riding

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST ♡

♡ next

═══════

The mall wasn’t empty, not exactly- but it might as well have been. Just a scattering of people meandered through the vast, echoing halls, their conversations low, their footsteps softened by distance.

A couple of moms pushed strollers past shuttered shops. Somewhere behind us, a teenage boy kicked at a vending machine. But here in this wide corridor near the fountain, it felt like we had the world to ourselves.

It was a sweltering summer day, and the blast of cold air inside the mall had felt like walking into heaven. My shirt still clung faintly to my back from the heat outside, but my skin had started to cool, goosebumps rising under the faint hum of the AC.

Jungkook walked beside me, close enough that our hands kept brushing. Every accidental graze made my nerves tingle.

He turned his head slightly, his dark hair falling just above his brows, and leaned closer. “You’re so cute when you blush,” he whispered.

His breath tickled the curve of my ear, and the heat that had just begun to leave my body surged right back to my cheeks. I pressed my lips together, trying to suppress the ridiculous smile that threatened to take over my face.

“You say things like that on purpose,” I muttered, looking straight ahead to avoid his smirk.

“Obviously,” he said, not even pretending to deny it.

His hand found its way around my waist. He didn’t pull me in immediately, he just let it rest there, like he was asking for permission with a gesture. I let myself lean into him. I could feel the warmth of his palm through the thin cotton of my shirt.

Even here, surrounded by the soft noise of strangers and the dim, flickering lights of stores half-alive with summer clearance signs, he made everything feel louder, more vivid.

“Let me guess,” I said, glancing at a dusty rack of phone cases in the window of a kiosk. “You used to flirt with girls every summer like this, didn’t you?”

He gasped with mock offense. “What kind of reputation do I have in your head?”

“An accurate one.”

He laughed, his voice low and rich, and tugged me closer by the waist. “For the record, no. I never used to come here. Not like this.”

“Like what?”

He tilted his head, playful. “With you.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips betrayed me with a grin. Jungkook had this way of pulling reactions out of me, like he already knew the punchline before I even heard the joke. Everything felt effortless with him but also intense, charged, like the air just before a storm.

“Do you ever wonder,” he said, “if places like this are going to disappear someday?”

I looked around. The mall was showing its age. Chipped tiles, flickering signage, a music store with cardboard cutouts from bands that hadn’t been relevant in years. A little girl squealed somewhere in the distance. An elderly couple passed us, holding hands.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I never really thought about it.”

“Places like this… they feel stuck in time,” he said. “Like they’re waiting for the world to catch up.”

“Or for people to come back.”

He nodded, then reached over to a rack of oversized sunglasses outside a kiosk and held a ridiculous pink pair up to his face. “What do you think? Fashion icon?”

I nearly doubled over laughing. “You look like a flamingo.”

“A hot flamingo,” he corrected, trying to pose, then pretending to pout when I shook my head. He dropped the glasses back onto the rack and looked at me, still smiling. “You make today better.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You just… do.”

That caught me off guard. He wasn’t teasing this time. His voice was softer, the edges of his grin rounded into something almost shy.

For a second, I didn’t know what to say.

So instead, I reached for his hand.

We walked past the food court- still open, but only a handful of tables occupied. The scent of cinnamon rolls and fried rice drifted through the air. A group of teenagers sat at a corner table, laughing over milkshakes. One of them glanced our way. Jungkook pulled me a little closer.

“Where to next?” I asked.

“Wherever you want.”

We walked past storefronts- one selling nothing but plushies and pop culture merch, another advertising a “Going Out of Business!” sale with giant neon signs that looked like they’d been up for months.

I paused outside a music store. There was a record spinning in the window, no sound coming from it, just turning slowly like time hadn’t noticed the world outside.

“Do you think we’ll look back at today and remember it clearly?” I asked him suddenly.

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I think I’ll remember how your hand felt in mine.”

I didn’t say anything. I just squeezed his fingers tighter.

We passed a kid crying because his balloon had floated up to the ceiling. His dad tried to console him while also silently cursing gravity. I glanced over at Jungkook. He was already watching the scene with a fond smile.

“You’re staring,” I whispered.

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About?”

“You.”

“Again?”

“Always.”

God, he was too good at this.

I stopped in my tracks suddenly, making him pause and look back at me with a question in his eyes.

There it was.

Tucked beside the old arcade- a dusty, beat-up photo booth. The kind that still had a tattered curtain and a small bench. The outside was plastered with outdated samples of goofy couples making faces. Some were sun-faded. One had a dog in a hat.

“Jungkook, look! We have to do this. It’ll be fun.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “A photo booth? Really? You’re twenty years old, not twelve.”

“Come on, please?” I pouted, batting my eyelashes. “It’ll be a memory. Something to look back on.”

He sighed dramatically, but I could see the amusement in his eyes. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

I fed the machine a few crumpled bills, and the screen lit up, counting down to the first shot. Jungkook stepped in and placed me on his lap, his arm wrapping tightly around my waist.

The first photo captured us smiling, his cheek pressed against mine, his hand resting just above my hip. It was sweet, innocent but Jungkook wasn’t one for innocence.

As the camera flashed again, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and rough.

His hand slid down, his fingers grazing my thighs, sending a shiver down my spine. I bit my lip, trying to keep my composure, but the next flash caught me with my eyes closed, a soft moan escaping my lips.

The booth was small, the space between us nonexistent. Jungkook’s body pressed against mine, his scent filling my senses. His fingers moved lower, slipping beneath the hem of my skirt. I gasped, my hands clutching at his shirt.

“Jungkook, someone could walk by,” I whispered, though my voice trembled with desire.

“Let them,” he growled, his lips finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder.

His kisses were hungry, his teeth grazing my skin as he pushed the lace aside, slipping his fingers inside me. I was already wet, my body responding to his touch like it always did. The camera flashed again, capturing my head thrown back, my eyes closed in pleasure.

“Ride me,” he commanded, his voice hoarse. “I want pictures of this.”

My heart pounded in my chest, the thrill of the situation overwhelming. I hesitated for a moment, glancing at the curtain of the booth, but Jungkook’s eyes were dark with desire, and I couldn’t resist.

I stood up, moving to straddle his lap. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me as I lowered myself onto him. The camera flashed again, and I felt him thrust upward, filling me completely.

The booth felt even smaller now, the walls closing in as our bodies moved in sync. Jungkook’s fingers dug into my hips, his breath hot against my neck.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice vibrating through me. I moved with him, the rhythm slow and deliberate, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through my body.

The camera continued to flash, capturing every moment. My hair falling over his shoulders, his hands gripping my hips, the way our bodies moved together. I could feel him swelling inside me, his breaths coming in short gasps.

“I’m close,” he warned, his voice tight.

“Me too,” I whispered, my voice shaky.

He thrust harder, his fingers tightening on my hips. “Cum with me, baby,” he urged, his lips brushing against my shoulder.

I cried out, my body trembling as my orgasm washed over me. Jungkook followed, his grip on me fierce as he filled me, his moans echoing in the small space.

The camera flashed one last time, capturing the moment perfectly- our bodies tangled, our faces flushed with pleasure.

When it was over, Jungkook pulled out, I shivered at the sensation, my head resting on his shoulder.

The photo strips began to print, sliding out of the machine one by one. Jungkook grabbed them, flipping through the images with a grin.

“This was a great idea,” he said, his voice laced with satisfaction. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

I laughed, my heart still racing as I smoothed down my clothes. “I can’t believe we just did that. In the middle of the mall.”

“Believe it,” he said, pulling me close for one last kiss. “And don’t worry, no one saw a thing.”

But as we stepped out of the booth, the photos clutched in his hand, I couldn’t shake the thrill of what we’d just done. The mall was still quiet, but I felt alive, my skin buzzing with the memory of his touch. I glanced at Jungkook, his smirk telling me he felt the same.

We walked away, the photos tucked safely in his pocket, a secret only we shared. I still can’t believe we were that brazen, but I don’t regret it. It was exhilarating, a moment frozen in time. Twenty pictures that told a story only we could fully understand.

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♡ next

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST ♡

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

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Posted: 05/25/2025

[lyssasdrafts]

the alchemy — azriel x reader

description: your friend just broke up with her boyfriend, asher. when you visit his house to ask for her things back, and to give him a piece of your mind, you run into his much better younger brother, azriel.

includes: modern au, azriel’s older brother (oc), mentions of cheating (not with azriel or y/n)

notes: i wrote this for @starsand 🤭🤭 go get your man girl 💕

(i also made up a male character for azriel’s brother since i didn’t wanna make cassian or rhysand a cheater 💔)

you stared at the house in front of you. you were definitely in one of the richer neighborhoods judging by your commute there. the house was larger than your friend had even described, with a gate and fountain blocking your full view. as beautiful as it was to look at, you still dreaded going in.

your friend had recently broken up with her first boyfriend, asher. unfortunately, you were currently standing in front of his house, waiting to talk to him. your friend had forced you to go back for her to ask asher to return her things she’d left behind. you already anticipated the awkward conversation that would arise, and how asher probably was not going to agree with you easily.

you slowly walked up to the gates of the house, noticing the security camera they had flashing its red light at you, before ringing the doorbell. you tap your foot impatiently, waiting for someone to answer. you realized the possibility that nobody was home, and while it would be great to not see asher today, you really didn’t want to return.

you could hear the sound of another car parking next to the house, turning around to see a small black car next to yours. in the distance, you watch someone step out of the car and walk up to you.

you prepare yourself to face your friends ex-boyfriend, but instead find yourself being approached by a taller man. he had the same eyes as asher, but he was different, he was handsomer. the first thing you noticed about him was his broad shoulders, with a book bag slung across his chest. he had dark hair that nearly brushed against his eyes, his hazel eyes stared at you while he looked down to reach your height.

“can i help you?” he raised an eyebrow, and you began wondering if you had been to the wrong house. this was definetly not asher.

“is asher shadowsinger here?” you ask, trying not to embarrass yourself. the man in front of you lets out a deep laugh, one that you didn’t even know he was capable of with such a cold demeanor.

“don’t tell me you’re here to see that asshole,” the man chuckles, “he’s my older brother.”

“oh,” you say. your friend had mentioned her boyfriend had a younger brother, but you’d never expected him to look like he came out of one of your romance books.

“he’s not home right now, but i can let you inside and you can wait,” asher’s brother steps closer to you, and for a moment you can feel your heart beating faster. he quirks an eyebrow at you, as he reaches for the wall behind you. he uncovers the security panel, pressing in the numbers to the passcode.

“i just unlocked the door,” he steps away from you as the gates automatically moved apart for you. “and you can call me azriel.”

you nod your head, thanking him as you walk past their front entrance. he follows a little behind you, leading you to their living room with a sleek couch with a large tv screen. you can’t help but notice the line of trophies on the shelf above that say “azriel shadowsinger” instead of his brother’s name. you wonder what they could’ve been for. the room is an open space connected to a large family room with a large dining table set. quite frankly, you were grateful that azriel had led you in since you likely would’ve gotten lost in this house that was more of a mansion. you sit down on the couch after he offers, and a look of concern flashed across azriel’s face.

“what are you really here for? and how long were you standing out there alone?” azriel asks while he takes off his bag, and you can’t help but notice how his shirt accidentally lifts a bit.

“i’m here because my friend walked in on her boyfriend, asher, kissing another girl.” you fold your arms, clenching your teeth unknowingly when you began to think about it. “and don’t worry, i just got here when you found me.”

azriel’s gaze shifts back to you, making your heart race once again. you look up at him, waiting for a response. would he take his brothers side? was he just as bad?

“asher told me his girlfriend broke up with him but he never talked about why,” azriel looked down. “he’s fucking dead when i get him.”

you chuckle, putting your arms up, “i don’t like him either. my friend sent me here to get her stuff back.”

“i can find it for you, it’s probably in his room,” azriel explains. “just stay here, okay? i’ll get whatever you need.”

you can’t help but give azriel a soft smile. he was nothing like his brother from what you could tell. asher had treated your friend like an asshole, and when she caught him cheating on her, that was the final straw. you hadn’t expected azriel to go against his brother’s actions. and honestly, you would’ve never even expected someone related to asher to be this attractive and caring.

azriel comes back, your friend’s hoodie and necklace in his hands. “i assume this is isn’t asher’s.”

you nod, taking it from azriel’s hands. he seems flustered at the contact, his eyes looking away when you brush hands. he sits next to you on the couch, keeping a pillow’s distance between the both of you.

“can i ask you something?” azriel says. you nod your head with a “yes”. he turns to face you, his hazel eyes staring down at your lips. you blink at him as he reaches for your hand again.

“if you’re not here for asher, does that mean i can have you?”

[rs-hawk]

Are the Orc's thoughts going a mile per minute ever since he saw the scar on duchesses's arms like "she definitely got hurt by another Orc in the past, but why did she even buy me and have me work for her in the first place if she got hurt?!"

Its more of a question but if it happens to allign with what youve been thinking since the cannon change, the better

Oh he is internally FREAKING out

Orc Slave: Part Four

Almost in a fog, the Orc does as Dianthus directs. He picks you up again, carrying you to the fountain just as you start to stir. His eyes are fixed on the scars where tusks had obviously impaled your arm. Despite himself, he wonders how long it took you to be able to have use of that arm again.

You blink up at him, weakly moving your hand to wipe the dust and soot from your face. Streaks from your fingers running down your face remind him almost of tear streaks. He gives a slight shake of his head before laying you down in front of the fountain, then takes a step back.

Everyone else rushes over, fawning over you and trying to ensure that you’re alright. You cough up soot, making Dianthus fuss over you more. He uses his sleeve to wipe more soot from your face, scolding you for being so careless and then immediately talking about how happy he is that you’re okay, before basically calling you an idiot.

However, your eyes are fixed on the Orc’s, who stands outside of the crowd. His brow is furrowed into a crease, making him look older as it wrinkles his face. You swallow the lump in your throat. Vaguely, you recall the way it felt in his strong arms as he carried you out of the crumbling manor. He made you feel small, safe and cared for, despite the anger that always burned in his eyes.

“Are you alright?” You ask, your voice coming out in a croak.

The Viscount scoffs, following your gaze to the Orc. “Why are you worried about the beast? He ought to be ashamed that he didn’t get you out sooner!”

The Orc’s ears flush a slightly darker green. His dark eyes focus on a spot of indented earth between his bare feet. While he does give you a quick nod, he can’t help but also wonder- why would you even ask? He’s a slave, and apparently from a species that had obviously hurt you deeply. Why would you even buy him, much less treat him with care? His mind then wanders to the fact that while he is a slave, you give him opportunities to be paid, giving him quarters fit for a servant, give him servant holidays and days off. Except for the fact he can’t leave the manor, for all intents and purposes, he is treated like a servant. No other owner has ever treated him this well. Like a person.

“He was the only one that came in to get me, wasn’t he?” You snap back at the Viscount. Dianthus looks guilty, his ears flicking back and pressing against the side of his head. You squeeze his hand slightly, as if reassuring him you didn’t blame him. “And, he’s not a beast. He risked his life to save me.”

The Viscount’s voice raises, his face flushing red from having you talk back to him. He’s not used to it, even from a Duchess. “He is no better than a dog coming to find their owner because he wants to make sure he can eat that night!”

The Orc sets his jaw, his large hands curling into fists. While he doesn’t want to admit it, that had never occurred to him. All that happened was when he realized you weren’t there, and that you had been looking for him, he rushed in after you. His chest aches in an unfamiliar way at the idea of what would have happened to you if he hadn’t realized. If he hadn’t gone in for you.

“You may leave, Viscount,” you say finally, letting Dianthus help you sit up. You lean heavily on him, wincing as you do. The Orc’s chest tightens when he sees that, realizing you must have been really hurt from the rubble. “I don’t have time for men who can’t see past their own nose because they’re too busy looking down it at others.”

The Viscount flushes, knowing that he’s being dismissed. It had been an honor for someone of his rank to be invited to your home, with you being ranked so much higher than him, and he had squandered it because he couldn’t quiet his own judgments. He mutters quietly to his wife, and one of the maids helps them get what of their luggage they can find before loading up their carriage. Luckily, it was only the manor that was severely damaged because of the weight of it over the tunnels.

Dianthus leans you against the fountain and rushes off to get your own carriage ready so you can be checked out by the doctor, and then stay at an inn. You tell the Butler to do another headcount and one of the other Fey servants to try to find as much as they can in the rubble. Knowing their love of tricks and following orders to the letter, but not the spirit, you have to be very thorough with how you explain to them what you would like for them to do. Dianthus comes over and also adds things here and there, glaring at them when he can tell that they are trying to figure out how to play a trick. You know that they aren’t thinking in malice, but right now, you can’t deal with anything else going wrong.

The entire time, the Orc is staring at you, drinking in the way that even when you’re injured, you’re trying to take care of everyone. You direct things with a certain kind of authority he would never expect from someone like you. Not knowing your background, he assumed you had been born with a silver spoon in your mouth. When would you ever had to direct a disaster like this? When would you interact with all different kinds of species enough to know how to cater each instruction to them? From how direct and precise you are with the Fey to the way that you sense the Nagas away because they’re getting too cold, and giving them instructions to come back in the light to help with recovery of items.

When you think no one is looking, and Dianthus runs a stumbling run because of his injured wing to get things ready, you slump against the fountain. You wince as you tug up your nightgown slightly, seeing the bruises covering your legs. You finally realize how your gloves are in tatters, your scars clearly visible. You fold your arms against t your chest, as if that would hide them.

However, the Orc has been watching you the whole time, and against his better judgement, against his own beliefs, he walks over to you slowly, sinking to his knees in front of you. “An Orc?” He asks softly, gesturing to your arms. You hesitate, then nod slightly. He gruffs, adjusting so now he’s sitting across from you. “Agak.”

“What?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows together as you look up at him, meeting his eyes.

“My name is Agak,” he says, breaking the eye contact.

Every time you had asked him, he would always respond “You just call me Orc” so him giving you his name willing now makes your heart flutter. Something about him has always made your breath catch, and now you feel like you nearly start breathing.

“Agak,” you repeat softly, a small smile upturning the corners of your lips.

[tonythr]

A huge prediction for future chapters

So, I've been thinking about some of the moments from these 4 chapters. And some of them felt... like they're leading nowhere. But nowhere might actually be where we need to go in the future.

Like, look at this moment from chapter 2:

Yes, this is a callback to the throne of the gods in Toriel's classroom, but... Is that really it? And yes, Queen and King do have a conversation about the 'royal water bottle', which might be just a joke about the fact that it's a thing that's normal for royal people... But what if it's not? Ok this might be a bad example of what I'm trying to say here, look at this:

Chapter 3 constantly mentions things beyond the TV world, things like Purple Cliffs and the Cold Place. It feels like there's a bunch of stuff beyond what we see, just like in Tenna's game, where we can go to the forbidden area past the ocean.

Actually, Chapter 1 may have a similar thing, but that one is kind of obscure, since here I wanna bring up the Deltarune stream the Fangamer dads did with Toby (here's the link, check it out if you haven't).

Apparently, when one of the Dads ask Toby Fox what are the scissors dancers saying with those noises, they're violating a set of secret rules between them and Toby. There's some kind of 'list' of things they coldn't discuss on the stream, and it always struck me as odd that the scissors dancers are one of them. And these guys ARE weird, and their whole existence is never acknowledged in the game. Feels kinda like an unfinished storyline.

And there's also this thing that only showa up when it's getting darker, yet darker:

Now, I know, I know what are you gonna say, dear voices in my head. Not everything should be explained, some things are just Like That because it's all part of Toby Fox's whimsical style of storytelling.

But then I look at Chapter 4. And there's this whole plot about Susie creating a new Dark Fountain in the same place as the Knight's one, and it allows us to see another side of an already familiar world.

Different things become darkners. We have one of the Old Man's statues as a boss. The world is messed up, and it's like we see some kind of B-side of the first sanctuary. A post-scratch version, if you will.

So then I thought. What if we'll also see new versions of the worlds from chapters 1-3? The Grand Door in Our Town may not ever open again, but that doesn't mean it won't.

But that's crazy, right? Why would we go back to the old worlds when there's SO MUCH places that would make much more iteresting Dark Worlds? Ice-E pizzeria, QC's diner, the Skeleton bros' house, the Holidays' house. But... What if that's the thing?

Why did Toby separate chapters 3-5 from chapters 6-7? Why did he want to work on those last two for a bit more? Is it just because they're more plot-heavy, being the final ones (and also number 6 being Gaster's number)?

What if one of the reasons was that in one of those chapters we wll visit multiple Dark Worlds?

What if. Not only will we break from the 'one chapter = one dark world location' formula, but we'll also be able to choose for ourselves which dark world we want to see?

After describing chapter 5, Gerson goes on to hint at what will happen after that, and it seems that the next chapters are going to be... something else. In Deltarune, there's a huge theme of the fact that, despite there being one ending, the way we get there is more important than that ending. So even if the prophecy's events are unavoidable, we can still make our own choices.

And I think there's no better way of hinting towards the fact that, at some point, either in chapter 6 or chapter 7, there's gonna be a 'choose your own adventure'-type thing, where WE will decide what place the next dark world is going to be.

Not only would this be a great way to account for all those places in Hometown that would absolutely SLAP as dark worlds, but it can also tie up all those loose ends from the previous chapters.

Just think about it. We could ACTUALLY have a chance to bring the Throne of the Gods to the Supreme Table. Maybe we'll fght the block trees. Maybe we'll finally be able to visit other parts of the Dreemurrs' House as a dark world, see those Purple Cliffs, meet that hermit and actually see what that 'How to draw dragons' book actually looks like in the dark world. Maybe we get a B-side to all those worlds, and the worlds we haven't seen yet. Infinite possibilities. It would be a paradise, paradise! Maybe even an Angel's Heaven. What more could we, as a player, desire, than to have as many dark world adventures as possible?

Call me crazy, but Tricky Tony already proved with these new chapters that crazy stuff happening in his game is someting that absolutely can and will be real. And since we might not want Deltarune to ever end, just like Susie, we can strive for an endless story.

(Though, as we learned with Tenna, every good show must come to an end sooner or later. Maybe that will be our own character arc - to learn to let go of a story...)

[icanexplainwhythisnameisbad]

DUMB@$$ DELTARUNE 3&4 (really dumb) WHAT IFS

these are in no way directly related but basically dumb thoughts I had that since I have poor story writing skills (like I can conceptualize a story but I can’t describe an environment or write dialogue which is 2/3rds of any good story (only half if you include art as well I mean I have decent art skills… but it’s a kindergartener’s drawing in comparison to most art on here )

the point is I’m putting ideas here (some of which others may have also come up with but I’m putting my own spin on it )

spoilers ahead (while most who see this probably have played both new chapters and don’t care. Just in case.)

-Toriel wakes up early in chapter 3. V1:

this version has her wake up during the Tenna boss fight and that’s a whole confrontation as the tv with abandonment issues is losing his mind

-Toriel wakes up early. V2:

this one has her wake up relatively early in chapter so The $#@* Squad/Fun Gang/Lancer Fan Club & Tenna (separately but they both do it) kinda try to keep the whole “end of the world / the knight wants to kidnap you + your divorce & abandonment of me has caused me a ton of issues” thing(s) away from Toriel (meanwhile literally everyone else there (anyone who isn’t the 3 heroes & Tenna) doesn’t care and tells her anyway ) meanwhile Toriel is just confused, curious & kinda worried that her own TV got issues from her (and the others but they aren’t here right now )

-Tenna burns a woody doll (expy) at the stake.

-Gerson ends up in castle town:

(the old man is too powerful to be bound by death & a mere meta video game’s depressing story progression )

-Susie takes Tenna “home” with her instead:

(I know I know Mettaton & Tenna is a whole thing but while we haven’t seen Susie’s house in canon yet. it can’t be a good place from the context clues hidden in some of her actions & dialogue throughout the chapters (as faking calling home isn’t normal (plus a bunch of other things but this isn’t about that (well this part is but not this whole post ) so that’s a thing and a half alone let alone if a fan made dark fountain appeared

-Jackenstein shows up again/survives:

(as from what I saw after he disappears he doesn’t show up again but isn’t directly stated to have died and while this could be a thing in a later chapter … 🤷)

-the soul ditches kris to possess noelle instead:

(as in a pacifist or neutral route the soul wouldn’t like being beaten up for trying to prevent the end of the world & everyone in it & just being curious in general. or for a snowgrave version, the soul decides it’s a better course of action instead of using kris (sure there’s the whole “your choices don’t matter but the game itself talks about you as if your kris and kris is you. so what if it’s “Kris’s choices don’t matter “ & not “the soul/player’s choice don’t matter” ) )

-noelle decides for whatever reason to visit Kris’s house in the middle of the night:

and therefore ends up in TV world (aka a reason for Tenna to get depressed again & dess is mentioned )

-Susie stumbles upon something she shouldn’t have…:

aka she ends up unintentionally watching kris play the hidden game and sees the snowgrave route portrayed (especially the “used up” scene ) and/or sees kris rip the soul out at the end of chapter 2 and is too stunned/shocked to do anything about it and doesn’t bring it up directly

-ralsei & Toriel meet and that’s pretty self explanatory

-Toriel wakes up early V3: she wakes up somepoint early in the chaoter but separate from kris, Tenna & the others & ends up going on her own adventure (kinda like the second one but without kris & the others there to give even more focus on Toriel meeting the tv world darkness (minus Tenna)

-the soul copy pastes Kris’s code into a genocide route in undertale to let them kill sans:

(meanwhile frisk+chara+the undertale player (its a mix of players being legitimate players in a game + being outerworldly beings so yeah. Multiple ) are just watching in confusion as a teenager kills sans on their own as another soul just floats there menacingly )

-since Gerson is technically a lightner reborn as a darkner he doesn’t have a theme… so potentially like ralsei couldn’t he potentially go anywhere (ignoring what ralsei said about reborn lightners turned darkners needing very specific conditions to even form cause gersons just too OP for that):

so basically (ignoring what I said in another post about something keeping the dark sanctuaries separate from the other dark worlds ) Gerson gets to be OP everywhere in every chapter

-Queen sees noelles search history:

(technically a chapter 2 one but I’m surprised nobody else had this idea) basically queen ships Susie & noelle meanwhile berdly is berdly & ralsei is confused by most of berdly’s even saying (meanwhile meanwhile kris is eating moss in a dark alley )

-asgore shows up in chapter 3 when he finds Toriel left something of hers behind (technically another attempt but she did legitimately leave something at the church (before chapter 4. I know it’s at the church but -) (this one would technically have to wait for chapter 5 as that one’s implied to be the asgore chapter but it’s mainly chapter 3 so 🤷

-something something Elnina & Lanino (and potentially roulxs) related:

no explanation needed here (well maybe one is needed but assuming this gets atleast 7 hearts/likes/whatever tumblr calls em. in 2 days I’ll reblog this with the explanation added )

(;

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I had the worst Monday that could have ever existed. Onto Tuesday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"I trust this should be amenable to your work," Mr. Laufeyson holds open the door along the east wall of his study. One you've never opened before though you're familiar with the space within. The library also opens into the hallway and keeps you busier than many of the other rooms. "When you should require it. I expect much of your work will keep you afoot."

You peer past him, his tall figure like a second shadow. You clutch your kit tight and nod. You didn't exactly bring the tools for this new role.

"I should have a blank ledger somewhere, oh and a pen of course," he advises, "given our new... arrangement, I would require a contact point."

You nod and tear your attention from the full shelves and luxurious velvet chaise. You won't get to enjoy those but they give the space a much more welcome feel than the rest of the house. You face Mr. Laufeyson as he keeps the door propped open with his foot. He slides out his phone as if it's a task. 

"Never to worry, I wouldn't bother you much so long as you do your work adequately," he assures, "but in case of... emergency."

"Oh, erm," you sputter and reach into your hoodie pocket, revealing the tiny flip phone.

"Hm, vintage," he muses, "as you would."

He holds his phone, gesturing to it with his other hand. You teethe your lip before you recall the digits of your number. Your plan doesn't include a lot of talk minutes but he doesn't promise much of that. He keys them into his screen.

"You'll have mine," he taps his thumb and your phone chimes. "In case."

"Thanks, uh, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Mmmm," he hums again. "Suppose you would need some sort of proper device, a computer of sorts." He clucks and checks his watch, dropping his arm with a huff, "I've an important event shortly, I'll try to venture by the electronics shop before I return.”

You nod and fold your phone, slipping it away as you peek back into the library. He inhales deeply, "suppose you should begin. The list is on the writing desk.”

You accept the command easily. You’re even thankful for it. It gives you a proper reason to find distance. You go to the desk and look over the typed list. You don’t sit, hesitating as you wonder if it would seem lazy, maybe even presumptuous.

“Let me fetch that ledger,” he says before letting the door drift closed.

You run your finger over the top line. ‘Create a schedule’. Hmmm. You look over the bullets that fill the paper. You can only assume he refers to all of that. It’s straightforward, you can handle a schedule. It’s everything that comes after that gives you doubt.

“And you’ll have to review what my wife, ex that is, left in shambles,” Mr. Laufeyson interrupts as he pushes through again. “Her little folder is here. She was always fond of order, even though she left me in much less. This is what’s left of her handiwork,” he approaches coolly and sets down a plain fawn coloured ledger, a fountain pen, and a white folder with golden flowers on it.

“Thanks,” you eke out as his hands linger on the edges.

You sense his gaze, discerning and weighty. He leans forward slightly and you nearly take a step across as he points to the list. You follow the line of his arm and his extended finger.

“Another point to add, ‘acquire work attire’,” he instructs and turns his hand over, flippant flicking his finger in a gesture to your plain hoodie and worn gray denim. “I trust my pay should afford that necessity easily, however should you require a write-off, I suppose it could be argued as a professional expense.”

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you frown in embarrassment, “I didn’t…” You look down at yourself, wanting to hide behind your arms. 

“You wouldn’t think of it, just a maid,” he dismisses, “very well, I think you have more than enough to begin. I should be some hours.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you agree. He is correct, there is more than enough to keep you busy.

“I will review the schedule upon my return,” he affirms. “Should you require refreshment, you recall where to go.”

You nod and cautiously reach for the ledger, sliding it closer as he backs up. You slowly sit, hovering before you let yourself rest. He lingers by the door as you roll the pen aside and put the ledger and folder parallel. You open the former and line up the list inside the cover, resuming your perusal of the bullet points.

The door closes and you keep your attention to the paper. You don’t dare a glance up until you hear his muffled footfalls cross his study. You feel as if he’s waiting for you to make a mistake. You think you might be too.

🧹

A clunk sharply pierces the tenuous peace of the empty house. You hadn’t heard the door or his approach, not even right next door, not until the hefty thunk. You listen but keep your nose down. 

You’re just about done with the schedule. Two cleans throughout the week to spread the duties evenly. The main floor on Mondays, and the upper on Thursday. You’ll be able to fit in an unexpected tidying between your other to-dos.

You flutter through the pretty white and gold folder. The embossed suede speaks of a sophisticated owner. You wonder why she would ever abandon it, though you assume, a separation may not inspire sentiment.

You turn over another note. This one about the gazebo. A blurb on a repair. You’ll have too go out and check to see if it was actually done, there’s no confirmation of the job. You stop to admire her loopy writing, as elegant as the folder.

The door opens without pretense. You sit up and wiggle the pen between your index and thumb. Mr. Laufeyson as a flat white box in his hand, along with a smaller one on top. He does not near you, instead place his lot on the square table by the window.

“Here,” he orders shortly.

You rise and leave the pen in the centre of the ledger. You cross to him as he moves the smaller box aside and unfolds the two smaller flaps from the large one. You can’t help but watch curiously.

“This should suffice,” he shimmies out the cardboard insert, revealing a sleek silver laptop, “hmm?”

He shifts it towards you and lets you look it over. You put your hands behind you to keep from touching. You lean in just a little.

“It looks nice, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.”

“For your work, of course. These days, it is a requirement. And this,” he takes the smaller box and offers it up, “a proper work phone. It is more professional. Any calls on my behalf, you will make on this. That relic you have won’t do much.”

“Uh, yes, Mr. Laufeyson, that’s really thoughtful.”

“Thoughtful? Practical. Company property, of course,” he insists, “another point to add. Set these up. They should be functioning by the end of the day. You’ll need them to keep up with the rest of your tasks.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. I will put it on the list.”

“Mm,” he circles around you, striding to the writing desk before you can react. You follow at a few paces, not wanting to crowd him. He takes the pen and uncaps it. He adds the bullet himself. “There you are.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson,” you recite again.

He snaps the lid on the pen and his lips twitch, not quite curving, “I’ll review,” he snatches up the open ledger, your schedule open to see. You almost rush forward. You meant to rewrite it before you handed it over. It has scribbles all over it. You won’t argue.

“Go on,” he steps around the desk, waving to the side dismissively.

You return to the table and gather the laptop and phone, along with the stray box. You bring them back to the writing desk and stay standing as you free the laptop from the insert. You let your eyes edge along the top of your vision as Mr. Laufeyson sits on the chaise and browses the ledger.

You refocus and investigate the cord buried in the box as a collection of booklets fall out. You sort through them and find the one in English. You start on the front page, reading over the different buttons and features. The diagram is especially helpful. You’ve never had a computer before, not that it belongs to you.

You squint as you read the precautions. Your mind flits back and forth between your current task and everything beyond. You would go to the library sometimes and spend an hour on the PC, and in school you did all your work in the resource room. This is much fancier than any of the boxy computers you’d used before.

It says you should plug it in and charge to full before booting. You unravel the cord and search for an outlet against the wall. There’s one not far. You hook up the cord to the port on the side of the slender laptop then trail it to the wall. The little light on the side glows yellow.

Then you take the little box. A phone. The flip phone was second-hand but this is shiny and new. You’re like a kid at Christmas, not that you got much for the holiday, even when you were younger.

You slide out the small device. Your hand is unused to it. It’s not clunky like your phone. It feels easy to drop even if it’s bigger than the flip. You peel off the plastic film around the border and across the screen.

You take out the booklet and read it as closely as the first. Same thing; charge before use. You don’t want to mess up any of this. You plug it in above the computer and place it on the closed lid. You carefully sit in the chair, careful not to jostle the cords.

You peek up and find Mr. Laufeyson looking at you over the top of the ledger. His green eyes gleam and flick back down to the page. You hope he doesn’t see how clueless you are. This stuff that’s all so normal to everyone else is new to you. A job alone is a novelty still.

“You may ask it,” he says abruptly.

You wince and shrug. You don’t know what he means. His brows tweak in amusement.

“You’ve not asked about time off. I am unaware of your previous commitment, what days you had to yourself.”

You didn’t think of it but he does seem to think of everything. You twiddle your fingers on the desk. You would work as much as you need to. You still haven’t seen the final hospital bill.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I worked three shifts per week, but I was on probation,” you explain carefully, “I can work more than that.”

“How much is more?” He wonders, his thumb tapping the corner of the ledger.

You blink. You don’t know what’s appropriate. You don’t want to say too little and come off lazy, or say too much and seem ignorant. 

“Six?” You utter, “six days, Mr. Laufeyson?”

His thumb stills, “per week?”

You nod. His eyes narrow and his lips thin in consideration.

“Should do,” he accepts and his eyes fall back to the page.

You think you got the right answer. You look down at the bullet points. It seems like a lot written out but surely it can’t be. Besides, the more you think about it, the more exciting it is. This house is so beautiful and this list means you get to explore it.

You don’t sink too deep into the moment of optimism. Mr. Laufeyson stands, still intent on the ledger. He paces blindly around the library, a click of his tongue as he reviews your handwriting.

“There will be some nights,” he intones, “other occasions where I require you in the evening.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you accept as you flutter the pages of the laptop instruction booklet.

“Mm,” he hums flatly, “I do think the cook liked you, didn’t she? Suppose we might retain that service for the time being.”

You nod and make a note in the corner of the list; simply, Corissa. He shuts the ledger and grips it tight. He walks around the table then turns back, coming back to you. He lays down the book on the desk.

“I won’t know until the day in question. You understand, this would be on-call. I’ve a busy life and so will you,” he girds, leaning on the book as he bends over the desk. “You will be doing more than watching little birds flapping around the garden.”

You nearly recoil as he plucks the memory out so precisely. That was careless of you. You should’ve kept your head down and just got to work. It’s a warning you’ll remember.

“I won’t, Mr. Laufeyson, I understand,” you assure.

“Not to say that you can’t,” he stands and pushes the bottom of his jacket back, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, “but only when there are no other pressing matters.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He sighs and tilts his head back, “you must resist distractions. You are prone to it. I’ve noticed.”

You chew your lip and accept the remonstrance. You’ll take it instead as advice. He is right, you do find yourself bewitched by this place at times.

“Like that man,” he says staunchly, “don’t think I forgot. I will warn you, he is my brother… regrettably. He is well above the staff and he knows it.”

You take the hint. It’s improper of you to stare. Even if he had touched you. Or maybe, you misinterpreted an accident.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Hear me when I tell you, he is not interested in the likes of you,” he sniffs, “with any luck, he won’t be much around for you to believe anything of the like.”

You nod and pick up the pen, nervously rolling it between your fingers. His reproach scalds your cheek. To think he assumes you would ever think of something like that. That you might encourage a stranger in that way.

He watches you for a moment before he spins away. He checks the time on his wrist as you reach for the ledger.

“Very well, I must be at my own work,” he declares, “as I trust you will be diligent in your own.”

[phyripowritesthings]

hello! welcome to uhh... estliet meetcute time? nothing real fancy here, just a little thing based on a prompt I saw somewhere... at some point

--

Turquoise

characters/pairings: Estonia (Eduard)/Lithuania (Toris), ft background Ukraine (Iryna)/Belgium (Manon)

word count: 2139

summary:

The man sitting outside the fitting rooms at the store wasn't Eduard's friend like he expected, but that didn't mean he couldn't hear him out. He did, after all, look very nice.

--

With a sigh, Eduard turned to look at his own back in the mirror. After an entire afternoon of harshly-lit, upscale fitting rooms, he wasn’t even sure he could say how many outfits he had tried on, and his energy was waning. You’d think he was the one getting married, from the way Iryna had scrutinized the various suits. He wasn’t even in her bridal party; there was no way it really mattered this much what he wore at her wedding.

These slacks were nice, though. Or, at the very least, they were the right length. With how tall Eduard was, he’d flashed Iryna quite some ankle over the past few hours, so that was already an improvement. And he liked the color of this suit, a dark but vibrant turquoise, much more than that burgundy one she’d been enthusiastic about earlier. He had also learned a lot of new color words. Apparently, he looked bad in plum.

Nodding at his slightly messy-haired reflection, he pushed aside the curtain closing off the fitting room and started to walk out, calling, “I like this one, Iryna. The color’s different, but I think the rest is basically the same as that red one you liked. I’m still not sure about the vest, though, it seems a bit…”

He froze in his tracks outside the fitting rooms when he registered the person sitting on the bench there, who definitely wasn’t Iryna. Instead, there was a man, about Eduard’s age, looking up from a notebook with amusement on his face as he tucked long brown hair behind one ear. Eduard blinked at him and tried to pat his own hair down in the face of this handsome stranger watching him with curiosity.

“Uh, so sorry,” he said, flustered. “I thought my friend was… Did you happen to see a tall, blond woman around here?”

The man smiled, capping his fountain pen with careful, elegant fingers. “She just went back out into the store, I think.”

“Ah. Okay. Great, more suits.” Eduard straightened his jacket, absentmindedly watching his reflection do the same. He didn’t want to go out and look for Iryna, not in only his socks—particularly since he was unfortunately wearing Christmas tree-patterned socks in April—and thought it would be weird to go back into his fitting room now, like a child waiting for their parent to come pick them up. He glanced at the man on the bench, who was now tapping his closed pen against his lips, distractingly. There were a few shopping bags on the floor by his feet, and a small box sitting on the bench.

“Can I say something?” the man asked after a moment. He was soft-spoken but clear, his smile threading through his words.

“About my suit?”

He nodded, twirling his pen around.

“Go ahead,” Eduard said, turning more towards him.

“Well, I obviously didn’t see the red version of this, but I think this probably suits you better. Red would wash you out, I’d guess.” He shrugged, smiling and still fidgeting with his pen. “The vest probably depends on the occasion, but I think it… It adds something.”

The man ducked his head slightly, hair falling around his face, and Eduard bit his lip. He probably shouldn’t take fashion advice from random strangers, no matter how handsome, but he could see that, although the man’s clothes weren’t anything flashy, they were a nice quality and well-coordinated, from his maroon sweater to his dark jeans, and a woollen coat hung over the back of the bench. Vaguely, he thought Iryna might approve. He did; the red brought out gold in the man’s hair and warm tones in his skin. He didn’t think he knew clothes could do that before this afternoon, but he appreciated it now that he saw it in action. It made him want to touch.

“It’s for a wedding,” he clarified instead, curling his fingers.

“Then the vest is probably a good addition. And—hm.” The man looked up at the bright lights for a moment, allowing Eduard to see that his eyes were pine green, and then back at him. “If you usually wear those glasses, with the silver, those will match better with turquoise than red, I think.” He looked away again, to hook his pen into the spiral ring of his notebook. The writing on the page was in purple ink.

“So you’re… An expert?” Eduard asked, which made him laugh softly and melodiously as he shook his head.

“Not at all. I’m finishing a degree in psychology; I’ve just been cajoled into a lot of shopping trips by a friend of mine, and he has far too many opinions on clothes to ignore.” By the way he gestured at the fitting rooms, Eduard guessed this friend was the reason the man was sitting here at all.

“Well, thank you anyway. I feel like I’ve needed a second opinion,” he said, and looked in the mirror again. The vest was nice, even if the effect of its black fabric on his black shirt was subtle. Besides, it’d probably be useful to have, anyway.

“Of course,” the man was saying, and he ran a hand through his hair when Eduard looked at him, so that it fell in messy waves around his face. How did that manage to look so good? It gave him the appearance of being a little roguish, behind the gentle smile. “I’m always happy to… To help out a handsome man in a suit.”

Eduard blinked, swallowing hard. The suit suddenly felt much too tight, and the man’s smile was far too distracting to be allowed.

“Yeah?” he squeaked, embarrassingly. Where was Iryna? What was she even doing out there? Even after all these years, Eduard obviously still didn't know how to flirt, and she was getting married. She must have learned at some point, and he felt like he needed help.

The man let out a long breath and his smile widened a fraction, eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at Eduard. His fingers were drumming on his notebook.

Luckily, before Eduard could say the only thing he could think of, which was ‘what about helping a man out of a suit?’, Iryna walked back into the fitting room area, carrying a bunch of ties, which she dropped on the bench to make a beeline for Eduard.

“Eduard, this is nice!” she said, fussing with his lapels. “Though I did like the burgundy on you.”

Eduard shot a look at the man on the bench, who quirked his eyebrows as he uncapped his pen.

“I think it washed me out, Iryna.”

She pursed her lips, then nodded and stepped back, and gestured for him to spin around, which he did.

“Alright, then.” She nodded again. “Well, I suppose this is the best we can do!”

While Eduard pushed at her shoulder, pretending to be offended, the man on the bench muttered something under his breath that made Iryna turn around, crossing her arms.

“Excuse me?” she asked, and the man cleared his throat, green gaze flicking to Eduard and back to her as he wet his lips.

“I was just saying, uh…” He made a small gesture with his pen. “This color brings out his eyes, and I think that… Certainly, no one would want to miss that.”

Mouth opening and closing, Iryna turned back to frown up at Eduard, who shrugged even though his heart was beating overtime.

“He says he’s not an expert, but I think he knows what he’s talking about.”

That made the man smile down at his notebook. Huh. Maybe he did know what to say, sometimes.

“Oh, alright,” Iryna conceded. “You know I was just joking. You look great, Ed, and Manon and I are happy to have you.” She gave him a gentle push back towards the fitting rooms. As he went to—finally—get changed back into his comfortable sweater and jeans for the last time today, he saw a short, blond man emerging from one of the other fitting rooms and stride out with a shirt slung over his arm.

By the time Eduard emerged, tugging his coat on, Iryna was waiting for him, sans ties, and no one else was there. He tried his best not to feel disappointed. It’d probably been a fluke. He hadn’t even asked the man’s name, after all.

“Alright?” Iryna asked, taking the turquoise suit from him.

“Ready to go,” he replied. “You promised Manon would make dinner, don’t think I forgot.”

As she walked away with a laugh, he spotted something on the bench, right where the man had been sitting. The box that had been there next to him—a tie box, Eduard realized. There was a small bow sitting on top of the box, folded out of lined paper with a trailing line of purple ink just visible. Taking a deep breath, he picked the bow up and unfolded it carefully.

In neat cursive, the page read, I think I’ve forgotten my tie. It would be appreciated if whoever finds it, could return it to me, particularly if they look great in turquoise and they don’t check who they’re talking to. Toris Laurinaitis, with a phone number scribbled underneath.

“Eduard!” Iryna called, marching back in while he stared at the notebook page, grinning like a fool. Toris. “I’d like to get home before dinner gets cold. You know how Manon gets about her stew.”

“Huh?” Oh, right. Food. Nodding, Eduard carefully folded the note and tucked it into his wallet. Iryna looked amused as he followed her out to the cash register to pay for his new outfit. They watched the employee fold the clothes carefully into a paper bag, and she nudged him.

“I guess the turquoise was the right choice according to the commentators?”

“Commentator,” he corrected, which made her laugh. She hooked her arm through his and led him out of the store, and finally over to her place to eat her fiancée’s long-awaited dinner.

After the stew, which was delicious as usual, Eduard tuned out Iryna and Manon chatting to pull out his phone and send a text.

Hello Toris, I think you’ve forgotten a new tie at the store. Honest mistake, I’m sure! But I would be glad to return it and to hear more of your expert opinions on what I’m wearing, if you feel inclined :)

Eduard Mets

It seemed only fair to offer his full name in return, he thought. Iryna glanced over with raised eyebrows when his phone dinged, and he smiled innocently at her before reading the reply Toris had sent.

As I said, I’m not an expert! But if you insist, I can probably think of something to say if and when you return my new tie

When sounds good, Eduard replied, saving the contact information in his phone.

“Any reason in particular he’s smiling like a doofus?” Manon asked Iryna, on the other side of the room, and Iryna snorted.

Great! Any chance at all you have a free afternoon this weekend?

I have a free Sunday afternoon :) I do hope you will recognize me without my suit.

Eduard squinted at that message after he sent it. Was that suggestive? It was hard to tell sometimes, and he hoped Toris wouldn’t think he was coming on very strong all of a sudden. He didn’t seem like a man who would appreciate that.

I’m sure I will either way. As I said, I don’t think anyone would want to miss eyes like yours

Adjusting his glasses, Eduard felt his face flush as he smiled at his phone. Another message from Toris appeared quickly following that one, as he was still trying to think of a good reply.

There’s a bakery off Main St that has these amazing pastries, if that’s something you’re interested in

Toris, that is all it would have taken!

He wasn’t even kidding.

Really? Well, good to know for reference. I really don’t think I have much more fashion advice to offer you

Just then, Iryna leaned over the back of her couch, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Eduard, just tell the man you’ll meet him for pastries,” she said, sounding amused. “And if you’re going to sext, please leave our house.”

“I’m not—” he stammered, tilting his phone away. How long had she been standing there? Manon laughed out loud, and Iryna shook her head at him, smiling.

“I know. But really, go meet him. It’ll be good.”

That’s alright, I’m sure there are other things to talk about. I’d like to find out. I will meet you Sunday off Main, then!

I’d like to find out as well. I’ll see you Sunday, Eduard

He would have to check if he had anything turquoise to wear.

[thetruearchmagos]

Stained

Right, this exists now. Spent the whole morning on it, too.

Long story short, the writing competition I submitted that poem to also had a section for prose pieces, also in the theme of tapestries. Now, I completely forgot when the deadline for any of it was, but out of nowhere I was struck by sudden and incredible inspiration to write A Thing, and as usual when that happens I refused to let it slip by without doing something with it. This, is the first part of that something. Enjoy!

Tagging @oddcryptidwrites @theprissythumbelina @caxycreations @hessdalen-globe @bureaumantic

It was the dead of winter, and John Vernon was dead tired. 

Of course, out in the street, a fair few others were just dead.

John was a lucky man, though, or lucky this year at least. Warming his hands by a warm inn fire while the flame of gin licked at his belly, he quietly thanked God and Providence for their kindness, and tried to keep the names and faces of the men he knew outside far from mind. He tried not to wonder which of them he’d see again when spring drove the cold away, and his brief respite with it.

“Oi, ya ruff’, what do ya think yer doin’ wastin’ away like that?” croaked an aged voice. “Wastin’ my wood, more like. Grab the spade and get yer hide out there, ya hear.”

“Aye, ma’am,” John grinned. ‘Crone Mag’ they called her out on the street, or ruder things when she chased them from her bins or her customers, but John knew he’d take a cruel word and crueller work if it kept him indoors for another winter more. He rubbed his hands together for warmth, finished his gin, and made for the door.

“And fill the pail while yer out!”

He couldn’t say he cared for the cruel words, though.

Stepping out into the air, the wind cut bitterly through his coat, and again he thanked God, now all the more vigorously, that he wouldn’t be sleeping in it that night. The lamps that lit the distant streets - there were few to be seen here in Ashton - were turning out one by one, and darkness was creeping quickly out from every crack or corner. Snow fell like a veil that smothered both sight and sound, and already lay half a foot thick on the ground. John breathed, then began his work, piling the stuff high on either side of the cobbled path that led from ‘The Fly’ to the street. He was careful to bow when better dressed men ducked past him to the door, hiding his face under his cap and trying not to be noticed at all. It was an effort not to let his hands roam towards a pocket, but Crone Mag would end him quicker than a winter’s night if he did.

When his work was done, or done well enough as he reckoned it, John turned to the low gate of the low wall that rimmed the inn’s yard and lifted the dented pail from its hook. Cursing under his breath he carried on into the inky dark, which only a bright and full moon above gave some light to. No more comers would be had at The Fly that evening; anyone who could afford to wouldn’t dare to be caught out on foot in Ashton at night. John couldn’t resist smiling at that thought.

The well was in the square, which made for a good long walk there and back. Curtains were drawn behind windows and no light came out from any, but the city wasn’t quite asleep yet. In the corner of his eye John could see movement, shifting, slinking things that stuck to the shadows, but he paid them no heed. Out in the street dark shapes lay uncannily against white snowfall, in ones or huddled packs, but he passed them by with a good coat on his back and his belly full, keeping his eyes from their faces.

Snow was draped over the wide, featureless square like a white tablecloth, with a chipped stone fountain long unflowing for its centrepiece. A lone gas lamp loomed to one side, casting its light over the well beneath it and out into the gloom that quickly ate it. Slumped forms lay about at the edge of the ring of light and seemed to stir at his presence, but again John stuck to his task.

He drew the water quickly and was soon done, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling all the way. John’s breath was fogging in his face by the time he’d finished, and he moved quickly out from the light and the square. Then, he stopped.

He wasn’t alone, in the corner of his eye, a shape was moving into the light. He soon realised he recognised the familiar figure, though in truth it wasn’t one you could forget easily. 

‘Old Codger’ shuffled painfully to the well, every step achingly slow. He might’ve been a tall man once, they all agreed, because as stooped in back as he was he came eye to eye with most of them. Every time John saw him, which was often enough, he found it hard to look away, and yet when he did he always wondered if he’d seen anything at all. It defied his eyes. The ragged cloth the Codger cloaked himself in, stained with mud and grime of years, still seemed, under moonlight, to show its brilliant hue, gules it was, which ran crimson as old blood undulled in spite of time or destitution. It burned in your eyes when you looked at it.

John almost raised his voice to the old coot, when something magical, and terrible, and incredible happened.

The Old Codger was shambling along one moment, and the next seemed to slump in his gait, before suddenly, with all the mighty weight of an old oak felled for timber, a leg buckled at last and the robed walked fell to the ground silently, the noise swallowed by the snow.

Idly, in the backmost corner of his mind, John thought to himself, oh, oh, it’s happened. It’s finally happened, the old fool. Oh well. And he cursed himself for it.

Then another shape shot into the light, the legs under it pounding madly and kicking up snow as it moved. It was on the Codger in a heartbeat, and had his hands on it and grasping, and John was under no illusion as to his object. The rag would have to come off first, of course.

Then came a savage cry like out from a pit to the desperate of hell, and the Old Codger moved like a whip and was on the man and howling. The wizened hands were about his neck with [a ‘something’]’s strength, and when the great robe flew back it turned out, and what had been hidden beneath saw the world for the first time in a lifetime.

Gold burned like a spring sun’s light against deepest crimson, and bound within its border shapes of lions and eagles, and bears, and wolves, and horses and men lined side by side, writ in thread of gold and silver, that were as clear as newly made.

The Old Man roared, and his foe growled, and they fought.

[wholesome-sharks]

Odysea Aquarium, Scottsdale AZ

Mom took me and my sister to the Odysea last month for my birthday! Sorry I haven't posted sooner but HERE ARE THE PICS!

This window over the downstairs bathroom sink was officially voted coolest bathroom in the USA (the plaque said 2017, I think). Why? Because it views into the Voyager shark tank. Trevally, other fish, and FIVE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF SHARKS swim past this window and will even go behind the bubble screen while people are washing their hands. I couldn't get a pic of the sandbar shark when it swam by the window bc it went by pretty quick. But this restroom is by the front entrance and it is the perfect appetizer to a gourmet experience.

Also, trevally are HUGE.

Here is the mascot species of the Odysea, a sand tiger/gray nurse/ragged tooth shark. The bubble fountain at the back of the photo hides the bathroom window.

The Sea Trek tank on the upper floor had mostly tropical fish, but it had a zebra shark and A BONNETTHEAD SHARK! SQUEEEEE!!!! Internally crying for joy!!!!

Brown-banded Bamboo Shark in the shark/ray touch aquarium. A couple of times while I was hanging out by this tank I saw it roll onto its side and scratch itself in the sand--I've seen that on video so I jumped whenever I saw it happen. The cownose rays in the touch tanks are absolutely spoiled and swim up to the surface for pets ASAP when they see you approach.

Benthic buddies: here's the brown-banded bamboo shark lying next to the white-spotted bamboo shark.

Magnificent zebra shark in the movie theater tank. The movie theater would play 10-minute videos and then move the screen back up between showings. I think this was probably my favorite tank. There was a second zebra shark (Stegostoma tigrinum) in this tank.

They also had LEOPARD SHARKS (Triakis semifasciata) !!!!!! again, my cup runneth over!

Epaulette sharks in the Great Barrier Reef tunnel. The one laying on the glass was a male and so he was flashing EVERYONE with his claspers (blurry pic--but maybe that's for the better). There was also an epaulette shark in the stingray touch tank.

Got to spend a few moments of shared eye contact with this epaulette shark💖

Back to the Voyager tank. Here is a sandbar shark and the head of a LEMON SHARK. There were at least two lemon sharks in the Voyager tank. It took me a moment to recognize them. The Voyager tanks are kind of dark, and ofc with no natural sunlight the lemon sharks don't get to show off their color properly. Maybe they should change the light fixtures.

Here's a sandbar shark again along with a view of the reef in the Voyager tank. Again, the trevally are ENORMOUS, bigger than the blacktip reef shark (either that, or BTRs are just small). I deliberately avoided taking too many photos and focused more on the experience, so these are just the highlights of the sharks. Also I've seen the giant Amazon rainforest fish before so no need to repeat.

Have some random aquarium denizens:

Aquarium review: They definitely put money and effort into making the aquarium a good home for the animals as well as engaging and educational for visitors. I was able to be up close and personal with the sharks, which was exactly what I wanted. I feel like the rotating Voyager exhibit is a little overrated--the cheesy Holiday-themed narration didn't help. Aquarium staff kept their distance but were helpful when needed. Starbucks on the second floor is nice. Super expensive but definitely worth it. 8 out of 10.

[disfrutalakia]

Imagine q!Pac an q!Mike going back to the favelas in hopes of finding their family and their son, but instead seeing f!Cell standing at the middle of the favelas.

Or in which I couldn't sleep and wrote this so my brain could have peace.

(Tw Panic Attack, but they are very brief)

They were tired, not only physically but also mentally, specially mentally probably. So they simply refused to leave the murder arena for 3 days, 3 days where Pac had to hold Mike during his nightmares, hearing his friend calling desperately for Walter Bob at least most nights, In some of them Mike called Pac name and woke up right after, giving just a single look at his best friend’s face before tears would start to fill his eyes, mind plagued by nightmares that Pac couldn’t even imagine.

Mike had never been very emotional, he wasn’t cold but, the men just preferred to push his emotions down but this time they were too strong and with too many memories attached, Pac knew his friend better that he knew himself and he knew that without a doubt Mike was blaming himself for what happened with Walter Bob, which didn’t help with the tendencies of self-guilty that the men already had, Pac could only be there for him right by his side, the same way he always was.

That wasn’t to say that Pac himself didn’t have nightmares, but they were mostly of the past, he had dreams of sharp teeth dripping with blood while an agonizing pain went up his body, he dreamed about the dead eyes of Jv in the floor of that bloody cell, they were dreams that stopped having years ago, but recently they came back with full force.

Sometimes they would hear voices around the arena, people looking for clues or just being given a tour by Richarlyson, they could reach out at those moments but they didn’t want to let their… friends, see them in that condition, with dark eyes from lack of sleep and puffy eyes from crying. The only reason they decided to leave when those 3 days were over was because Mike was fucking fuming, he had decided to stop being sad and now he was just pissed, ready to overthrow the federation! But baby steps, first they needed to go talk with their friends so with their communicators they asked for everyone who was awake to go meet them at the favelas, immediately people started to aske questions, if they were okay, Pac just answered that they would explain everything once they were at the favelas.

Usually they would like to go by train, but they needed to get there fast so teleporting was the best option, in seconds they were at the main plaza from the favela, standing there was…

- Hey, had fun at prison without me?

All Pac could see in front of him was Cell, in his bloody orange jumpsuit looking at him and licking his lips, Pac could only retreat until his knees hit the fountain and he was made to go to the floor, his breath shallow and his heart going way to fast

- Get away from him Cell! – Mike put himself in front of Pac, trying to shield his friend from danger.

Cellbit looked confused, they interacted just fine nowadays, they held no real grudges for what happened years ago (okay maybe he did a bit, but he pushed that feeling down, just like his therapist had taught him!)

- The fuck is happening over there?– Forever’s loud voice made itself present, he carried at his lap an excited Richarlyson while Bad came right after him.

- I don’t fucking know man – they could hear a very faint “language” being said but they ignored it – I went to say hello to Pac asking if escaping had been more fun without me being there to get in their way and he just… collapsed, and Mike got mad at me.

- Fuck… I think I know what’s going on – he turned to the demon behind him, who today had his long blonde hair out, which was a very common sight when Forever was around – Bad do you mind taking Richas to StarBobby? We kinda need to have an adult talk.

The kid went from his dads arms to his uncle’s, clearly unhappy since he wanted so bad to see his dad Pac and dad Mike.

- I will talk to you later okay? – Forever whispered to Bad, who just did an okay with his head before squeezing Forever’s hand in a gesture of comfort.

- I think I know what happened here.

- Great cause I don’t!

- Think a bit Cellbo, they just came from prison, where for sure a lot of traumas were relived and seeing you – Forever felt a bit awkward, he didn’t want to make it sound like it was his friends fault, but there wasn’t a better way – In their eyes right now, you probably look…

- Like the asshole that tried to kill them – Cellbit sighed, tired just from hearing those words – Look, I’m gonna go back to the castle okay? I will just ruin everything if I stay.

Forever heart ached for all his friends, with such complicated pasts that were interlined, no wonder they sometimes seemed awkward around each other.

- Want me to tell Richas to go with you?

- No, no, you were taking him on a playdate with Dapper, I don’t wanna get in the way, I will just ask Roier to come back with me.

- Alright, take care.

And with that Cellbit disappeared in a purple cloud.

Forever approached the two that were on the floor, Mike had his hand at Pac’s shoulder and they talked in whispers, whatever had happened at that prison hadn’t been good.

[feekins]

aight, re-reading ch 6 and finishing up Trigun Maximum vol 6! here are my thoughts and things and whatever translation weirdness I find, but also expect some Feelings About Knives bc 🥺

(NOTE: I'm reading the Dark Horse [physical] and the Overhaul [online] translations side-by-side)

(Dark Horse on top, Overhaul on bottom)

both translations are technically correct (since, until he learned The Hard Way, Knives literally had no way of knowing his powers had limits), but as always, the nuance is in the wording choices...and I'm not gonna explain why bc spoilers 😜

...not sure what to make of that first translation discrepancy. Dark Horse being needlessly confusing again - but they did their best! the Overhaul is much more straightforward here, and I think their translation of that line is more fitting for Elendira. She's there to live a little as the world burns, baby (and if that ain't a queer Mood, idk what is)!

and then Dark Horse is vague. literal translation, maybe? and/or done at a fast pace? who knows. ty, Overhaul, for clearing up that bit about "fountains of power" for me!

I've seen instances of dead plants like the one in this 2-page spread get very very misinterpreted on The X-Twit, so to clarify:

this dead plant IS NOT Tesla - it EVOKES MEMORIES of Tesla.

(Dark Horse on left, Overhaul on right)

just a subtle wording difference

here, the Overhaul does an awesome job clarifying who's saying what! reading Dark Horse's translation, I'd always assumed the left speech bubble was Rem's while the right was Vash's - which, to me, makes sense given the context? but the Overhaul's more nuanced translation makes it more clear that the right speech bubble is actually Rem's - which makes sense, as we just saw their reactions to the birthday celebration! thanks again, Overhaul! 😁

something I just noticed this read-through - this chapter's flashback focuses mainly on Knives. Nightow keeps showing us his expression and his reactions...and even for me, even after having read the manga several times, it's jarring to see what an optimistic, hopeful, perceptive, caring little boy Knives was...

...while Vash was more reserved, more of a realist (but without being a jerk about it) ...quiet but still very caring.

I prefer the Overhaul's translation on this one, tho - Dark Horse's could be taken to mean "Vash and Knives will need to put forth more effort than humans to establish this relationship" whereas the Overhaul's is much more general, which feels like it fits the situation and the characters much better =u=

again - so hopeful, wanting so badly to connect with and peacefully, joyfully, lovingly coexist with humanity...regardless of their differences, regardless of their past... 🥺

and again - the focus on Knives this chapter.

heehee...

volume 7 is gonna fking hurt 🫠

[moonglide]

Deltarune Chapters 3/4. Neutral save file, hours 1 & 2. Spoilers for round one and early round 2. (And weird route, maybe…? I’m not quite sure.)

FUCK YEAH!! Deltarune time!!!

I have to preface by saying that this isn’t FULLY blind. I have seen some screenshots. But I don’t really know how these collect together, and I’ve only seen, like, two for chapter four, so I hope it’s okay.

my plan for this is to play on my neutral save first (abandoned snowgrave, I have the thorn ring, berdly’s arm is broken, queen’s mansion enemies spared). Then on my pacifist, and then on my weird route.

More under the cut.

Okay. So I do have some last minute theories before I play.

The shadow mantle. It’s gonna be a blanket in the light world. It’s protective, and Seam, a plushie, knows a lot abt it.

(Also I saw the chapter select screen yesterday bc I wanted to make sure that I could transfer my saves successfully, so I’ll just put that reaction here, I guess?)

ok. Late night and prophecy. Fitting. I wonder what those stars are besides chapters one and two…

ok right. It’s my save files. I have one in chapter one, and three for chapter two.

are those shadow crystals in the corner? I count six slots, with the bottom left and the middle left having gaps. Is that how many I’ve collected? 2/6? Is there not gonna be one in chapter seven?

oh nvm it’s probably just my save files again.

ok time to play!!!

ok initializing chapter 3

huh. Odd. Dog. oh it’s all glitchy that’s great

ok cool. Save file 2.

ok Susie say it. I believe in you.

fuck!! God fucking dammit Kris she knows where the fuck we are!!

ok im going backwards. I can’t not.

did that thing just fucking sneeze???

oh hold up this is just like the start of chapter one it even has the dust and the wobbly things

does this mean Kris made the castle town dark fountain??? Hm.

fuck yeah Ralsei!!! Felt another dark presence, huh

wait hold up. In his power menu, it says “dark world being. Has friends, but…” what’s that supposed to mean????

holy shit talking while moving??? Getting some real area zero vibes from this

10 points was added to my score??? Ok!! Does something happen if my score is high enough? What about low enough?? Is FRIEND going to take away all my points and make me die instantly like in cat petterzs? Is that what I need the shadow mantle for?

ok yeah Susie keep talking ok what was that golden one?? It sounded like it took a picture??

Ralsei why the FUCK did you look directly into the camera for like two seconds when saying why you can’t go. Suspicious as FUCK.

no susies sad fuck

holy shit is that Susie’s room??? Is that chair the darker than dark one??? Holy shit ANOTHER CUTSENe fuck yeah?!!!

ok chair monster and Godzilla coming up ok

DARKER THAB DARK

Endogeny??? Hands?? Eyes? Streams??? FRIEND?????

Susie is so distressed oh my god

fuck yeah Susie!!!

Wait wait holy shit don’t forget? Don’t forget? Don’t forget? Is she gonna say it???? ok Tenna not really a great time

Mike is here too??? Wait we don’t need egg? That’s a pipis. That’s not an egg.

ok wait this is kind of a banger

the grand prize BETTER be the shadow mantle

oh wait I just realized where the FUCK is toriel

ok so the weather is sun, moon, crystal, or drop

ok I know I predicted Rouxls but why the fuck is he here

oh yeah I just remembered. Mike’s totally going to [fuck] us over right at the good part, right? Like a [gameshow host]??

fuck I put fua instead of fuc as my name let me restart

ok im loading my save. Initializing….

whatever I’ll just say kri

Ok Mike I’ll I’M hearing is device theory real

ok I have to recruit 25 of these guys. I kinda don’t want to, for the sake of the neutral playthrough…

power croissant??? Like muffet??

why…isn’t the a button working. It’s working in the Nintendo switch menu. Why can’t I progress past this text box.

My controller’s working fine otherwise….i guess I’ll reload my save. I don’t think this is intentional.

ok now it’s working yeah that was a bug i guess

wait the weeds respawn? Can you get infinite points? I don’t have the patience for that, but…

wow, a team attack. Just like RG01 and RG02. This isn’t pacifist, so what if I….

oh. He left before I could kill him bc I said I liked rain more. Hm.

holy SHIT I’m ass at this I can’t dodge for shit

um…ok. That’s sad…

wait, what? I said Kris liked pie and not chocolate to fuck with them…and it was correct???

wait is the “quiz failed” jingle from the Spamton sweepstakes?

wow he is REALLY bashing on spamton. No pipis, no mail guy, no other people with long noses….

Im loving the Zelda in this. The whole “thief” thing, the jingle when you find a secret…

hm. I want an axe to cut down the trees. If I can’t leave the pyramid, then…

oh, whatever

Ooh! Kris and Susie’s outfits are cute!!

oh I didn’t get to cut the trees…

FUCK YEAH!!!I WAS SO RIGHT ABOUT THE HREEN ROOM!!! FUCK HEAJ!!!

Oh, I was wondering where the chapter one enemies came from…so Asriel and Kris took them home and lost them in the couch.

(does that mean lancer and Rouxls are different cards than OUR lancer and Rouxls???)

it’s like Kris isn’t even looking at the screen….

wait hold up. Dark world comes from darkness’s light world comes from light…of the screen of a computer???

what the fuck???? Backstory??! The Jevil’s chaos is when….noelle and Kris took the computer library and the card castle cards to Kris’s house to play games????

“don’t you got better to do” DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO??? Excuse me??? You, as a Toby fox character, can’t fucking say that without raising suspicion. Who are you??? You’re from the library, right??? Is it the book of hymns???

goin into the s rank room…

that background noise is DEFINATELY from the sweepstakes

oh ramb’s the secret boss. Okay. Okay. socks?? Scandalous

a manhole? Like on the weird route???

I got a sword…I’m level one…this is the game I wanted, supposedly…I can kill enemies to raise my level…what the FUCK is going on

ok so I killed enemies until I reached level three, went in what was a shop on the game show and it said “became stronger”. What? Help??? wait how do I leave

oh I can attack the cacti ok

ok I killed everything, I’m at level max, time to chop trees

oh…every room is the same now….just like in links awakening…”you can never defeat us, let’s rumble”….

ice key? Like for the ice palace in dragon blazers? Like snowgrave????

uh yeah. I did get a little of that something something. I’m scared????

oh do I say playing games or nothing. Oh no. I have a feeling this is part of the weird route. Games, I guess…? I do want to

HOLY FUCK. Am I going to, like, kill game-Susie with my sword on the next round?? Is that how I complete without “issue”???

oh private talk with Ralsei? Is this where the “nothing pisses me off more than people who don’t tell the whole truth” comes in from a screenshot I saw??

oh we were uh. Talking I guess

oh uhhh he sucks?? I guess??

hm. Two lovers. (I’ve been telling them to be independent…)

when I take a picture of popping, they turn into dice, but that doesn’t happen to anyone else…

Susie switching controllers is great. It’s really funny.

fuck you Susie now you’re wearing a ribbon.

ok yeah that’s two hours we’re done for now

My general thoughts so far: hi Mr. Fox!! Great game you have here so far. I just have one teensy tiny question. WHAT THE FUCK

it’ll be REALLY funny if I do the chapter three weird route on my first playthrough of chapter three…

[etruatcaelum]

ELAH REVONTULET

PHYSICAL

Stocky in life; unnaturally tall since his death, and being no wider than before, appears proportionally to be rail-thin. Flesh is dead-pale, embalmed, peeling away to expose livid muscle or white bone. Sharp yellowed teeth. Hair is really a pelage. Close inspection would reveal a pair of small ears hidden in the fur: those of a Solitan fox, one of them half missing. Shoulders and back bristle with long bone-like quills. Crimson venation is visible where his bone is exposed, in the same branching, feathered, lightning-struck pattern Salem has. Elongated limbs. But for his face, most of his body is scabrous grimm hide.

Eyes: the left has an inky sclera and a brilliant silver iris, lacking a pupil. His right socket is filled with atrum and a bead of ever-burning flame.

STYLE

Robes, usually with elaborate ornamentation. He likes beading and embroidery, favoring sharp geometric patterns and flowing lines that resemble grimm venation. Black, midnight blue, shades of indigo, maroon, jade.

His emblem is a winged hound, depicted in profile, crouched upon a human skull.

THE HOUND

Much like Cinder's arm, the Hound is fully under Elah's control. It grows in and out of his right eye.

Elah has been dead, by the time the plot of RWBY begins, for seventy-eight years; what remains of his original body is very decayed, having been allowed to rot before he resorted to embalming. The Hound itself, Salem modeled after a rare morph of grimm called the bisclavert.

Wild bisclaverts are parasites carried in the jaws of larger grimm, until they can enter the bloodstream of a suitable host through a bite. Bisclavert infections—uniquely among parasitic forms of grimm—are seldom fatal, as the grimm adapts itself to replace the internal structures of the host body one by one, until the host is physically dependent upon the grimm to survive. (Those infected by bisclaverts are, however, caput gerat lupinum under Valean law and can be killed with impunity; few survive past the point where they begin to develop obvious visible signs.)

The Hound is morphologically similar, but was formed from the true pool of grimm—the wellspring in Salem's soul, not the unliving atrum that can be found on Remnant's surface—and infused with the living waters of the fountain of life before being bound to Elah's soul. The upshot is that it's a kind of eldritch life support with regenerative and shape-changing capabilities on par with Salem's.

When Elah brings out the Hound, his body sort of... deflates. His head is better preserved than the rest of him, but inside the hound he's little more than bones wrapped in tattered, half-rotten skin. When he is in, for lack of a better phrase, person mode, the Hound is on the inside serving as muscles and organs and so on.

AURA

Silver. Like Salem, when he draws it out, it chars and disperses like smoke, and he can use it to mimic ancient magic the same way she does.

SEMBLANCE

He calls it Giddy Flame. Elah can extend his aura in long ribbons and then ignite it, producing a pale, cold-burning, greenish light. These ribbons of light undulate and ripple like streams of fiery water, and unless he sends them elsewhere, they'll flow in his wake as he moves. He can also separate pieces and leave them burning in place as small baubles of ghostly fire.

The light cast by Giddy Flame fascinates grimm, but they can't cross over or through it. Long before he met Salem, Elah used his semblance to go among grimm... and grew fascinated just as fascinated with them as they were with his flames.

His semblance isn't suppressed by the Hound, although of course he no longer needs it to protect himself from grimm. He uses it to communicate, guide his allies, disorient foes and lead them astray, and provide illumination for himself in absolute darkness—even by fauni standards, his vision in the dark is so exceptional that he can see clearly by Giddy Flame alone.

HISTORY

Elah was born in Mantle half a century before the Great War and, in his youth, passed himself off as a human for long enough to study classic literature and history at the prestigious Ambergris College for two years. During his enrollment, he was noted by peers and professors alike as a brilliant young man, if... unusual. During his second year of study, he became keenly interested in a dangerous crackpot theory about religious connections between ancient demes—the nomadic fauni communities of the Taiyin Steppe—and grimm, which ultimately led to him being found out as a faunus and expelled.

Following this incident, he disappeared into the disorderly ranks of conspiracy theorists, grifters, and dedicated mystics who comprised Mantle's thriving occult community.

During that time that Elah began to develop an interest in silver. He did not have silver eyes in life—although his eyes were a striking steely color that did cause occasional excitement in the esoteric circles he traveled—but his aura was silver, and the flame of his semblance seemed to both repulse and fascinate the grimm in a manner not dissimilar to certain fantastical tales of argents.

So he walked among them, studied them, learning them and—he would later come to understand—being learned by them. His earlier interest in ancient fauni worship of grimm returned with a vengeance and mingled with his philosophical ideas on the nature of silver, yielding a new theory on the metaphysical relationship between silver and grimm.

After the passage of the Interdiction—Mantle's brutally repressive crackdown on free expression, which included unsanctioned occultism of the kind Elah practiced—he left the kingdom altogether, built himself a camp, and began to live full time in the Coldfire Waste, far to the north of Mantle.

It was then that the horde he'd been studying, which had begun to think of him as its person and didn't know how best to insure his well-being, turned to Salem for help.

Elah recognized her at once as a figure out of the obscure myths he'd spent his youth immersed in, and to his delight it swiftly became apparent that she was just as fascinated by his theories as he was. The pair of them spent most of the fractious decades preceding the Great War and a large portion of the war itself collaborating on what might be described, delicately, as outrageously dangerous alchemical research. (Among other things, Elah began to make a regular practice of consuming atrum for no real purpose other than to find out what would happen.)

Just two years before the ratification of the Vytal Accords, Elah—by then nearly sixty and in quite poor health—died. Salem buried him in the heart of his horde's territory in accordance with his dying wish and returned to her home in Alukah.

Four years after that, he turned up on her doorstep again: still apparently in his late fifties and very ill, but certainly more alive than anyone who'd spent the last few years buried under permafrost had any right to be. Both he and she were confounded. Further experimentation led them to conclude that the cumulative effect of their research, together with the touch of the void in Elah's soul and its interaction with the sheer quantity of atrum he'd imbibed over the years, had left him... mortal in death, just as in life. Some disruption in the afterlife had enlivened him there and cast his soul and self back into his body.

This made for an unpleasant existence, but there didn't seem to be anything to do except live (and die) with it. Each time he returned again, his eyes shaded closer to silver; besides this, his peculiar form of immortality effected no discernible physical change. His body aged while he lived and rotted while he died; thus his physical condition steadily deteriorated.

By the present, his body was in such poor shape that he would die again within mere minutes of each revival, and Salem had resigned herself to keeping him in cold storage until the end of time.

Then Cinder inadvertently gave her reason to question their long-held belief that silver eyes could only harm grimm, and later to take a stab at drawing grimm from a human soul. The wheels started turning; she hit on the idea of providing Elah with a living body he might inhabit for more than a few painful minutes at a time.

The Hound experiment was not a complete success, before he died again in Atlas, but its regenerative and metamorphic abilities allow him to regrow his body once he comes back to life—several weeks after the city falls—whereupon he fishes himself out of the sea no worse for where and rejoins Salem in Vale.

MAJOR HEADCANONS

On Silver –> & Addendum: On Silver Bloodlines Myth: Creation of the Grimm –> & Addendum: Origin of Atrum On the Creatures of Grimm –> & Addendum: On Revenants

PRINCIPAL ALLUSIONS

His canonical allusion is obscure, aside from the obvious but rather arbitrary Fox and the Hound reference; but come tin hat with me. I think he's based on the H.P. Lovecraft short story The Hound. If the ghoul stalking his victims in the guise of a monstrous bat-winged hound fits...

Maiden-in-the-Tower Stories –> Petrosinella's hound. Obviously.

OTHER NOTES

Salem's lineup of weird little freaks feels incomplete without the kind of Lovecraftian mad alchemist who would drink the grimm slime. You feel me?

He is, of course, thoroughly off his rocker.

Though successful in that it got him out of the sarcophagus, the original experiment was quite rudimentary; Elah could barely speak and was in a considerable amount of pain, despite improving by leaps and bounds once he was lively enough to offer even the most basic gestural feedback. After going through a few more iterations in Vale to resolve these problems, he becomes, shall we say, a lot more personable.

Notwithstanding the decay and the unpleasantness of ping-ponging back and forth between alive and dead, he's fairly cheerful about the whole situation and well past any feelings of horror or existential dread.

He reeks like a charnel house. Because he's dead. Sorry.

[dooodle-bug]

thinking about lancer's shitty home life takes ten years off my life

[teddy06writes]

You Didn't Need Us Then, We Don't Need You Now

Requested by this anon: "Okay I thought of this idea during Fundy's stream. Quackity and reader were engaged to Karl and Sapnap, but they left because of Karl losing his memory and Sapnap paying more attention to him. Quackity and reader then created Las Navadas to try and cope with everything that's happened to them. They created a little wedding area where they planned to get married with Sap and Karl. Flash forward to a year or two later, Karl and Sap stumble across Las Navadas and their two former fiancees. And they see everything they've done, including the little wedding area. which is perfectly designed as to how they wanted their wedding together. That's is as far as I got to the imagine in my head. If you could make a fic out of it that would be cool. If not at least you have this cute imagine in your head! 😊"

{Okay, so- so man feels, so many ideas. I haven't seen all of the Los Nevadas streams yet because I've got a lot of school stuff going on, but, I think I have a pretty good idea of what's going on. [also Slime from The Ground my beloved]}

Quackity x reader; Past: Sapnap x Karl x Quackity x reader

trigger warnings: maybe some swearing, slight descriptions of a panic attack, slight drinking

premise: After L'manburg was destroyed, two of your fiancées seemed to disappear. With just Sapnap left, you had been scared, but he assured you that the right thing to do was split up to try and find Quackity and Karl. And, well, you found Quackity, but when He found Karl.... something else had taken over, and suddenly Kinoko Kingdom was more important than finding you and quackity again. But thats fine. You and Quackity had been together in the begining, so what did you need from the other two? Las Nevadas could fill the void they left,,, and it did, until they happened to come knocking, right as you were finally moving on.

{Also, parental unit for everyone in Las Nevadas, I love it, brain is going brr so hard}

{also also, purpled is the forgotten eldest child of the server and no the ufo does not get blown up}

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's gone, (y/n) it's all gone," You said with disbelief, staring over the barren, ashy place that had once been L'manburg and El Rapids, "We couldn't stop him."

Sapnap took in a shaky breath, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "We were never could have. Even if the supplies weren't destroyed."

The remaining people had already cleared out, but you had only now come to see the damage, having been forced away from the battle by your fiancées.

"I could have helped." You fell to your knees, still staring at the wreckage.

Sapnap could only sigh at the broken look on your face. You had lost the only home you'd ever known, but what had he lost? Well, for one thing, Karl.

Karl was still no where to be found, and now it seemed that Quackity had disappeared.

He fiddled with the purple band that circled one of his fingers, "Look- we- we need to find Quackity and Karl. Q looked pretty bad the last time I saw him, and Karl-"

Resolutely you nodded, dragging yourself to stand, "Karl is Karl. He'll be happy that his statue missed being blown up. I think its Q we should be worried about. This place- El Rapids- that was everything to him."

"Well- how about you go find Quackity, and I go find Karl. We're bound to find them eventually if we split up." He offered.

You studied the look on his face, "You're covering for him. What's going on?"

Sapnap only shook his head.

Crossing your arms you turned toward the hill, and what was left of the prime path, "Quackity has the deed to some land. North of Spawn. Meet us there once you kind K, alright?"

"Okay." He said softly, leaning over to press a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Be safe." You advised, already starting away.

~~

It didn't take you very long to track down your Fiancé, in all the time you'd known him (much longer than you'd known the others), he hadn't changed too much.

So, when you made your way through the twisted paths near Pogtopia, he was up on the ridge, sitting on the rock that had for so long, doubled as a bench.

"It's good to see you're safe." You hugged your arms to your body, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

As soon as you were sitting next to him, he was leaning on you, "He destroyed everything- all that work- El Rapids-"

"I know." You wrapped your arms around him, finally letting your own tears fall, "I know."

"What are we gonna do? I just wanted a place for us- I just- I wanted to make a place for us- all we asked for was recognition- and now the only place that saw was recognizing us is gone."

It had taken a while for Quackity to stop talking about everything that had been destroyed. Even then he kept asking, "But- Just wanted to make a place for you guys, how are we gonna do that now?"

"We can still make a place," You assured him, even as you yourself were unsure, "We'll make our own little country. So far out where no one will be able to blow it up."

He seemed to take to the idea quickly, and that night, as the two of you sat together in the camp that had been made within the caverns of Pogtopia, he talked feverently of the country you two would make.

He talked of buildings, of businesses, and of wedding venues. The plans he made up that night, they were almost enough to make you forget about what had happened to your home.

"What about that land north of spawn?" You suggested, letting your head rest back on his shoulder.

Quackity thought about it for a moment, "I mean- its just some desert, but I think we could make it work."

"Good, I told Sap to meet us there once he found Karl."

He nodded, "We'll head up there, and start getting everything ready, and then when they're ready they can come up."

~~ This was how three months came to pass, with the busyness of planning the new city, the beginning of construction, the meetings with Sam to plan for the new economic system that the new country would spread through the lands.

Yet you still felt off. It had been that long and Karl and Sapnap had never returned, something must have gone horribly, horribly wrong. It nagged at you, constantly, Drove you sick with anxiety somedays.

"(y/n)."

You looked up from the designs for the next casino you had been going over, "Sam! I didn't know you were visiting today! What can I do for you?"

"Uhhh, I wasn't planning on it, you better come out here- it's Quackity, we had been discussing- some things. I don't know what happened but when he passed back through-" The creeper hybrid trailed off.

You quickly stood, rushing passed him and through the hall to the courtyard where Sam had left him, gasping for breath and tugging at his hair.

In an instant you were kneeling beside him, "Breath baby, breath."

"They- he- George- Kinoko- Sap- left- on purpose-" He blubbered.

"Hey, Q," You took his hands as gently as you could, "look at me. Breath, breath with me. Come on, breath."

Slowly, he began to calm down, and by the time Sam was long gone he slowly began to explain what happened.

"I was heading back from talking with Sam, I saw George outside the prison. He kept talking about something- about- Kinoko Kingdom..." He sighed.

"Kinoko- what?" You asked, confused.

He let his head drop into his hands, "Karl and Sapnap.... started another country- called Kinoko Kingdom... they didn't even wait for us."

You felt your heart drop, if you hadn't been holding his hands yours would've been shaking, "What-"

Quackity could only nod shakily as he pulled you into his arms.

"I told him to come back here- I told- why didn't they-" You muttered absently.

The only noise in the courtyard was from the fountains, and the small sniffles from the two of you.

You were still in a state of semi-shock and sadness when you felt his arms tighten around you.

"We don't need them anyway. Las Nevada's can prosper without them."

~~ "Purpled? You want to get him in on this?" Quackity frowned.

You shrugged, "He's a mercenary, he could be of some help around here."

Your fiancé studied your face for a moment, "No, that's not it. Why do you really want him here?"

"Look, he's-" You sighed, "The kids been through a lot. He doesn't really have anything anymore, he needs somewhere, someone at least. We owe that too him at least."

After a moment, he nodded, "I haven't spoken to him since I paid him for his help with that egg mess. He- didn't seem to like me being around."

"I'll try to find him, he'd talk to me, I'm sure of it." You stood up from your seat at the table.

"You're going now?" He asked, following you across to the coat room.

You nodded, tugging on your boots, "If I want to make it through to the Greater SMP before it gets dark. I'll see if Eret will let me stay the night, then I'll head out again."

"Be careful." Quackity advised once you were ready.

You pecked at his lips, "I always am."

The journey to the Greater SMP went quickly, and after a nights stay in Eret's castle, you had made your way to the UFO, disappointed to find it seemingly abandoned.

"How the hell am I supposed to find him if the one place he ever seems to be is empty." You muttered, glancing around the base of the UFO.

You shrugged off your knapsack, dropping it to the side, followed by the sword that had been at your hip, and then you began to climb.

Even the inside of the UFO was completely empty, devoid of any chests, crafting tables, or furnaces.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

You jumped, turning to find Purpled, in full netherite, sword gripped tight in his hand.

"I- We've been looking for you." You fumbled for an explanation, holding up your hands in a sort of surrender.

He scoffed, "I already did a job for you people, I'm busy now."

"Not for a job Purpled!" You couldn't help but exclaim, "Some people actually try to find you for more than just that."

"Then what do you want?" He snapped.

"Did Q tell you about Nevadas?"

Purpled frowned, "Yeah, he mentioned it."

"Well, I think you should join. Come in on the project."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

You sighed, "Look, Purpled, you- everyone here, in this smp, they don't care, they don't bother to know you. You- you don't really have a place here-"

"You think I don't know that?" Purpled's grip on his sword tightened.

"So, If you come with us, join Las Nevadas, you can have a place- have people who care. You need people, Purpled."

"I don't Need anyone." He insisted.

You sighed, "Someday your going to have to see that that's not true. Please consider joining Las Nevadas, no one here cares, but we do."

"That's not true," He said bitterly, "You just need me to do another god damned job."

With a shake of your head you turned, preparing for the climb back down, "Purpled, this smp isn't kind to children, but I think it's been the most unfair to you. Out here your being forgotten, but you might not be if you join us."

~~

At the base of the UFO you were surprised to find a strange, slimly looking boy digging through your bag.

"Hey!" You yelled, "Don't touch that! It's not yours!"

He looked up and froze, realizing he'd been caught.

You snatched your things away from him, quickly unsheathing your sword, "Who are you?"

"Uhhhh, I'm a meat person- same as you!" He offered.

"You- you're- uh-" You sputtered for a moment confused, "Why were you touching my things?"

"Uhhhhh, Dap me up!" He said avoiding the question.

You stared at him for a moment, "I don't have time for this."

As you started back toward the prime path you heard him call, "Nice to meet you (y/n) from Las Nevadas!"

"How do you know my name?" You demanded, whirling around.

"Oh, I know a lot of things." He laughed, "I see lots 'a stuff."

You frowned, "Uh huh. I'm gonna- walk away now."

~~ A week had passed, and there was still no signs of Purpled, nor Fundy or Foolish, (both of whom Quackity had gone to speak to whilst you were away), coming to Las Nevadas.

You were sure that Purpled would come around eventually, but had no faith that anyone else would join Las Nevadas, until you had heard a strange noise in the night.

It had been a cross between a clang and a yell, and then almost like something being dragged.

You had been going over some of the contracts you had been preparing for if anyone ever did show up when you'd heard it, and your fiancé seem to be gone from his own office, and your bedroom even, so quickly you armed yourself with your sword before hurrying out after the noise.

The streets of Las Nevadas were still partially lit by street lamps as you hurried along, it didn't take you long to find your fiancé, just outside of city limits, pacing In front of a strange looking hole.

"What the hell are you doing?" You hissed.

"Hey! It's (y/n) from Las Nevadas!"

You jumped at the voice, turning to see that no, the hole wasn't green, that the same slime boy from before was sitting in it.

"You! What are you doing here?!" You exclaimed.

"Quackity from Las Nevadas put me in this hole!" He said cheerfully.

Quackity grabbed your shoulder, turning you away from Slime and the hole, "You know him?"

"He was trying to look through my stuff after I talked to Purpled," You explained, glancing back over at the hole, "Said he sees just about everything, uhh, as far as I can tell, he's like the hybrids- but- weirder."

"Nope! I'm just a totally goopless guy! I'm bones and stuff!" He called from the hole.

"Oh god we have crazy people here." Quackity muttered scrubbing a hand over his face.

You moved to crouch next to the hole, "What- uh- What are you doing here buddy?"

"Oh I'm just oozing around. Dap me up!"

Confused, you complied, nervously laughing as he grinned at the handshake.

"I found him spying in the restaurant." Quackity sighed.

"What's spying?" The boy in the hole asked, "I just listen."

"Yeah well tell me exactly what you heard or I'll ill you right now!" Quackity threatened, pulling out his sword.

He hummed, "Well, I saw you, and I saw (y/n) from Las Nevadas. And there was a green guy, and a purple guy. I know of a Red guy, dead guy but he's not dead anymore-"

Your breath hitched, "Dead guy?"

"Yeah, looked real ashy- maybe even ...sooty?..." He confirmed.

Quackity glanced back at you, "And he's not dead anymore?"

"No. He's weird now. Got gray hair instead of grey skin. Used to run a country- got blown up though."

"How much have you seen man?" You asked, incredulous.

He shrugged, "I mean, I move slow but I've seen a lot. Lately a lot of conversations about taking advantage of the ever so fragile human psyche through gambling."

"Holy shit." you muttered.

Quackity glared up into the night sky, almost looking for an answer.

Shifting closer too look at the boy you frowned, "What's all that green stuff?"

"Oh- those are just- my totally normal- human parts! I'm a person!" He grinned.

You sighed, "Uhh, look, what's your name? Like how I'm (y/n) from Las Nevadas, who are you?"

"Oh, I'm goop from the ground!" He smiled for a moment before realizing his mistake, "I mean- I'm a meat person!"

Quackity still seemed to be praying to the sky, not paying any attention.

"Goop from the ground," You muttered, slowly connecting the dots, "Well, uhh, goop, how bout I give you a regular person name?"

"A person name? Oh boy!" He laughed.

You thought for a moment longer, "How about- Charlie?"

Charlie grinned, somehow even wider than before, "Woah! I have a real human name! Like any other regular human meat person!"

"Yep, you do." You chuckled.

"And, to be clear, I definitely am one of those, and not a piece of goop, that's slowly come to the surface, hiding as a person!"

As you continued to talk with Charlie, Quackity seemed to come to a realization, "He's like an accidental spy!"

And, when you helped him out of the hole Quackity was quick to say, "Well, this- this- was- was uh a formal greeting! Yeah that's what we call them!"

"Wow!" Charlie mused.

The walk back to Las Nevadas was quiet, until Charlie turned to you, "(y/n) from Las Nevadas, if I'm Charlie- where- where?"

You smiled, "Do you want to be Charlie from Las Nevadas?"

~~

By the end of the same week, after having gotten Charlie fully on board, and slight agreement from Foolish, word finally came from Purpled.

You'd been working on the next phase of the whole Nevadas Project when Charlie rushed in, "(y/n) from Las Nevadas! There's someone here!"

You frowned, "Who?"

"Purpled from UFO!" He practically yelled.

Standing, you tucked your papers away, "That's perfect Charlie, thank you. Do you want to come with to help show him around?"

He nodded, following you out of your office.

Outside, you found Purpled, along with his dog, looking up at the casino in awe.

"Purpled! You came!" You called cheerfully.

The boy turned, a strange expression you couldn't read on his face, "What? No 'I told you so'? No 'I knew you'd come around eventually'?"

You shrugged, "I'm just glad you finally came."

He sighed, "It's not like they needed me anywhere else."

You put a hand on his shoulder, "That's alright, We need you here."

"They- I went to tell Ponk I was leaving," Purpled sounded too broken, too tired, "He said he was too busy to talk to me."

Before you could say anything, he continued, "I had a house, near L'Manhole. I- I uh blew it up, to see what would happen," His shoulders began to shake, ever so slightly, as he finished in a whisper, "No one even noticed."

In one quick move you wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a hug, "It's okay Kid, it'll be okay now."

That was how your fiancé found you, standing outside the main casino, a teen all but sobbing into your shirt, Charlie looking on confused.

~~

And so, the time passed, Las Nevadas grew, and you and your new little family did along with it.

Quackity found it funny, really, your ability to bring people onto your side be connecting with them emotionally, and as he put it, all but adopting them.

Charlie still took up a room in the apartments you and Quackity staid in above the offices. Purpled would come over when things around the country weren't so busy, and you'd talk for hours, Foolish joining in some of the time.

Fundy, on his first night in the city, had broken down to you, the same as Purpled, but you'd helped him put himself together. Though Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo didn't have official places in Las Nevadas, it seemed a chunk of their time was spent there.

Yep, that was your new strange family. You, Your fiancé and the kids but not really young enough to still be kids you accidently adopted.

Now, you reflected on this quietly, from the top of the needle.

"You okay?" Quackity asked softly, looking over at you.

You chuckled softly, "Can you believe that it's been two years?"

"No, can you?"

You shook your head, "You know, I've been thinking. A long time ago, you told me we were better off with out Karl and Sapnap."

He watched silently, as you pulled the other two rings that you had kept, holding them up by the chain they were strung on.

"Maybe- you were right- and maybe it's finally time to get married. Just us. We didn't need them to get here, we won't need them for anything else."

A small smile slipped onto Quackity's lips, "Would you marry me?"

"You already know the answer to that." You chuckled.

"So it's a yes?"

"Obviously." You scoffed.

"When should we have the ceremony then?" He asked.

"Right now," You mused, "We opened that wedding hall for a reason, right? We could get married proper, right now. It's already decorated the way Tubbo originally planed."

He laughed, "Let's do it tomorrow that way we have time to get like, notices out and shit."

You smiled, "Of course."

The sun had begun to set during this discussion, and you looked out over the peaceful landscape with a soft sigh, yes, this, this was home.

And even as you heard Charlie tripping and crashing his way up the stairs, the thought still filled your head.

"Quackity and (y/n) from Las Nevadas!" He exclaimed, "Purpled from Las Nevadas found some people by the border!"

In an instant, both you and Quackity were standing, "What were they doing?"

"Looking around, real weird like. Fundy From Las Nevadas said they might be here to attack us! I hope they aren't."

You followed Quackity past him and back down from the tower, drawing your sword as Charlie called out where he had left Purpled and the mystery people.

What you found was not what you expected.

Purpled stood, sword drawn and pointed at the men you least expected to see now.

Karl looked scared, tucked back behind Sapnap who was moving to draw his own sword.

Not another move!" You barked, moving to stand in line with Purpled.

Karl's face light up upon seeing you, "(y/n)! Quackity! I missed you!"

"Did you?" Quackity spit.

"Sapnap drop your sword." You commanded, not paying attention to the strange look on their faces, no one, and I mean no, pulled a sword on your family.

He frowned, "Wh- (y/n) don't be like that. I get it- but- why..."

"What are your intentions? Why have you come here?" You asked.

"We wanted to find you!" Karl said, "We missed you (y/n)."

"Uhh, that's (y/n) from Las Nevadas to you." Charlie said.

Quackity sighed, grabbing Charlie by the collar and pulling him back, "Sorry- he's been learning sass and sarcasm lately."

"Still, what are you doing here?" You pushed.

"We wanted to find you! You've been gone so long, we thought we'd go looking." Sapnap explained.

"We've been gone?" You scoffed, "You were the ones who disappeared."

Karl moved forward, grabbing your left hand, and Quackity's right, "We just wanted to come back, to finally get married."

You pulled away, slowly sheathing your sword, "You can't be serious?"

"What do you mean?" Karl asked, the smile just beginning to drip off his face.

"You fucking left us- We were just trying to make a place for the four of us to be safe and you left us! And now you want back? Out of the blue?" Your voice steadily grew louder, "You cannot show up here after abandoning us like that!"

Quackity gently took your hand, murmuring, "(y/n)..."

"No. They don't get to do this!" You turned to him, watching his face change upon seeing the mix of anger and sadness in your eyes.

"W- We'll talk about this tomorrow, away from the kids," He asserted, for once not earning any protest about age from Purpled or Fundy, "Charlie, you think you can take these guys on a tour of the place?"

He nodded eagerly, "This way this way!"

As Sapnap, Karl, Purpled and FUndy began to trudge after him, Quackity turned to you, "(y/n)?"

You just shook your head, pulling your hand out of his and starting away.

~~ Purpled had followed the tour party quietly, taking a page from Charlie's book and watching, observing everything.

He had seen the pain in your face at the suggestion of marriage, and the anger in Quackity's just upon seeing them.

So, he followed the men warily, watching the way Karl exclaimed about how he had built an Effile tower just like the one in the city in Manberg, and the way that Sapnap mentioned fondly how the décor at the wedding hall matched the ones you two had always spoken about.

Hearing it nearly drove him mad. Did they not realize that it had all been for them? That dreams of them arriving were the only thing that had ruled Your and Quackity's minds?

When Charlie had directed the group, which by now included some of the other tourists, past one of the bars, he stopped.

Inside, Quackity was slumped at the bar, a bottle of whiskey in hand.

"Drinking away your problems won't solve them." Purpled sighed, pulling the bottle away from him.

"We were doing so good without them. You know that Purp. But here they are, back and ready to fuck things up again. That's how it's always been." He muttered.

The boy shook his head, "They don't realize how destructive they are? Do they?"

"Never have." He sighed.

"Lets get you back home."

Quackity allowed himself to be manhandled into standing, and then led out of the bar, back toward the offices, and toward the apartment.

"(y/n) will figure it out. They always do." Purpled assured him, pulling open the apartment door and ushering him in.

"But they shouldn't have too," He sighed, running a hand through his hair, not bothered by the way his beanie fell to the floor, "They've dealt with so much without help. Yet they're always the ones to help us."

~~

Once he had wrangled Quackity into the bedroom, Purpled headed back out, finding Fundy at the base of the Needle, "They up there?"

"Yeah," The hybrid sighed, "Quackity?"

"Got drunk. He's- painfully coherent though." He winced.

Fundy ran a hand through his hair, "It's hard to believe one of the nicest people around is the one to fuck them up like this."

"Makes perfect sense to me," Purpled said as they began to make their way toward the stairs, "My first night here- I was having a hard time, because- the whole server acted like I didn't exist. (y/n) told me about how Sapnap and Karl had abandoned them."

"Did it seem this bad though?" Fundy asked.

"No- but that was before they turned up again talking about marriage."

By now they had reached the top of the tower, and Purpled could see where you sat by the ledge, feet dangling over. Quietly, they both sat down on either side of you.

"How's Q?" You asked quietly after a moment.

"Drunk, but back at your apartment, well supplied with water." Purpled reported.

You nodded, "And K and- Karl and Sapnap?"

"Waaay to blissfully ignorant." Fundy said.

Quiet held you three in silence for a moment, until at last Purpled sighed, asking, almost bitterly, "So- are you gonna marry them? You were going to once."

"Even if I did it wouldn't change anything here." You mumbled.

"Sapnap was talking about how cool it would be to come back and visit from Kinoko after the honeymoon." Fundy admitted.

Before you could say anything Purpled drew one of his knees to his chest, "I- don't- it feels like they'd be taking you away from us- I like it the way it is. Things are nice, and they're just fucking it up."

Fundy nodded, "As much as I hate to say it, he's right. If you people all get married nothing will be the same. I kind of liked having parental figures, I don't want them messing that up."

"They won't." You promised softly.

By god, if you hadn't already made up your mind, their words would've swayed you.

~~ After a while, you stood, "Let's go home."

They followed you tiredly, Charlie joining the mini procession at one intersection, telling you that Sapnap and Karl had gone to get a hotel room.

At the apartment, Quackity was sitting on the couch, already seeming more sober than Purpled had told you. When you sat next to him, his arms were quick to wrap around you, holding you like a lifeline.

Charlie took his place on the other side of the couch, Purpled curled up in the armchair, and Fundy dug around until he found one of the old projectors he'd left there, queuing up a movie.

"Hey, just like on Nightmare's days!" Charlie laughed, referring to the infamous 16th, where, just about every month it seemed you, Fundy, Quackity and sometime Purpled would have nightmares of the Manburg Pogtopia war, and everyone would congregate in the living room to watch one of Fundy's movies.

"Sure as hell feels like one." Quackity muttered.

And so you watched the movie, though your thoughts drifted, thinking of how you would deal with your reappearing ex-fiancés.

As you thought, you created a mini script in your head. Exactly what you would say came you.

"You didn't need us then, and we don't need you now."

Yes, you thought, leaning more into Quackity's side, thats what you'd say, after you talked about your new family.

(and the next day, you did just that)