#but I refuse to draw 2 sets of ears

[bra1nw0rmz]

Doggy boys…. (And 2 cats)…………. Dies

[barefoothighlander]

spillways - the boy with the thorn in his side

-simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

-warnings: canon typical violence, descriptions of wounds, angst, mention of scars

-word count: 2.6k

-summary: you and ghost await backup from the safehouse before returning to base and learning more about who ghost is behind his mask.

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a/n: finally some actual conversation between ghost and reader, also I do have a taglist for this fic so pls let me know if you'd like to be added (or removed)

Behind the hatred, there lies

A murderous desire for love.

The two of you spent hours in silence, waiting for the sun to peak over the horizon. Ghost spent all night on watch, refusing any of your attempts to take over claiming you needed rest, and that he was okay. The repeated orders from him to stop pacing were the only thing heard, you were certain the two of you hadn’t been followed but Ghost remained on edge, facing out the front window of the house, keeping watch for any sign of movement outside. Your ear had stopped bleeding, allowing you to properly clean and disinfect it, before bandaging it to the best of your ability, rejoicing in the fact that the wound didn’t seem to affect your hearing in any way. The graze on your cheek was tender, the pink flesh raised where the blood had stopped, you needed to get to the medical unit soon to stop any sort of infection from creeping in.

Once the sun had come up, bathing the terrain in a warm glow, you moved to the front of the house, positioning yourself near Ghost.

“Any word from Price on the comms?” you ask

“None yet, he should be calling in soon.”

You resort to twiddling your thumbs. leaning against the wall.

“Why do you think they came looking for us?” you ask, staring down at your hands.

Ghost turns to face you. “Not sure, could’ve just been doing perimeter checks”

You nod your head once in acknowledgement, satisfied with his answer. You turn to ask him another question but before you can form words, you hear a loud ringing from outside the house, quickly kneeling to look outside you see flares rising into the sky. You turn to Ghost.

“Any chance that’s Price,” you ask, eyebrows furrowing

“No”

Ghost bends down from his position from the window as rounds of bullets crash into the walls of the house, shattering the windows and piercing through the wooden door.

“Move behind the table” Ghost yells to you over all the noise of the outside

You move from your curled-up position on the floor toward the table in the middle of the room, flipping it to provide some sort of cover from the gunfire. Ghost follows closely behind, setting his back against the furniture, reaching for his own gun.

“Did you see how many?” you ask in a mild panic.

“Too many for us to take on” he responds shit

You start to hear the voices of the men outside, yelling orders at each other in Spanish, you can’t make out what they’re saying over the noise. Ghost suddenly kneels and begins firing at everything that moves outside the windows, you quickly follow his actions, doing the same. The two of you manage to kill a handful of men before Ghost stands, advancing to the front of the house to grab his rifle. You spot another man outside in the field but you’re too slow on the draw, he fires his weapon and you watch as Ghost stumbles back 3 steps, before colliding with the wall and sliding toward the ground.

“Shit! LT are you okay?” you yell out, no response. Your body moves faster than your mind, leaving your spot behind the table to cover Ghost. Quickly assessing his wound before turning on your heel and firing another 6 rounds through the window. Your mind freezes as you see another 2 truck fulls of men, unloading and approaching the house. You decide to turn your full attention back to the Lieutenant.

“I need to lift your shirt, please just-”

A deep groan leaves his mouth as you pull his shirt from its tucked position, setting atop his ribs. Angling around his stomach you try to find any sign of an exit wound.

“The bullet’s  still in there, I- I have to get it out” You look up at him

He locks his eyes onto yours, a silent confirmation, before bracing his hands against anything he could grab. Ghost was no stranger to pain, he had spent most of his life enduring it, but that didn’t make facing it any easier. You take a deep breath before using your fingers to fish around in his wound, eyes flicking between his face and the hole. All impending sense of danger is wiped from your mind, all you can focus on is getting the bullet out of his stomach so you can save him.

“Okay- okay I can feel it just, just give me a second” He reaches up to grab your free hand, squeezing it hard enough you were sure he had broken a few fingers.

“Just a second LT, I’ve almost got it” you reassure him, trying your best to stay calm.

“Simon, agh, if I’m gonna bleed out at least use my real name”

“Fuck alright, just hold on- got it” You drop the bullet onto the floor and he releases your hand. Tensing it at the lingering pain of his being in his death grip before applying pressure to his stomach.

“I can’t reach my kit, I need you to push on this,” you tell him 

He turns his head to face you but makes no effort to move his arms, he’s lost too much blood, he’s barely conscious. You curse under your breath, trying to figure out a way to stop his bleeding, while the sound of gunfire is getting louder, you can hear the bullets whizzing by your head.

“Okay, it’s- it's okay Simon,” you say covering his body with yours, trying to stop any more bullets from hitting him. You don’t know what to do, you can’t have another teammate die because you weren't able to help them, tears brim your eyes as Ghost reaches a hand up to hold your cheek, turning your head to face him, he stares at you with heavy eyelids as your tears begin to fall freely, gathering over his gloved hand. You narrow your eyes, silently conveying an I’m sorry. Your eyes close as you hear the men outside about the breach the door of the house when your ears start ringing with the sound of violent winds. You open your eyes to see Simon facing the window, following his line of sight you see a black helicopter emerging from between the mountains. Simon moves his hand from your face to place it on top of yours, holding them against his stomach. You hear rapid, loud gunfire from a distance, forcing yourself further toward his body, trying to shield you both from it.

The noise stops after 2 minutes, as Simon brings his free hand to hold at the back of your head, urging you to move up. His head falls back against the wall as you turn to see someone bursting in through the door.

“Steamin Jesus”

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, laughing to yourself, Soap crosses the room the kneel beside the two of you.

“I’ve got a man down, need medevac asap” you hear him say into his comms. You swear at that moment, you could kiss him. Soap grabs his kit and urges you to move so he can wrap Simon's wound, the two of you placing yourself under his shoulders, helping him off the floor as you slowly make your way over to the helicopter.

“How far is evac,” you ask, yelling over the sound of the helicopter blades whirring.

“10 minutes out” Soap responds

“That’s too long, he’s been down for almost 15,” you say, Soap nods, helping you lift Simon into the seat of the copter. 

The ride was quiet, in the silence a lingering fear shared by all of you.  You sat across from Simon, never taking your eyes off him, fearing that the second you did he would stop breathing. As the helicopter touched down on base, Soap helped the medical team get Simon on the stretcher, rushing him to the hospital unit nearby. You stood there, on deck, paralyzed, your mind flashing a hundred different images, the sounds of the base suddenly becoming overwhelming as you heard every buzz, every voice, every clatter. You stood there alone, watching as Simon’s body was pushed through the doors of the building.

“He’ll be okay, it’s the cartel we have to worry about now, they know we’re here”

Price’s voice breaks you from your trance, as you stare at him. Without responding you rush yourself to your room, ripping off your gear and turning your sink on to the highest temperature. You stand there, scrubbing your hands till the skin is red and raw, unsatisfied you turn on the shower and step in, letting the hot water cover your body. You look down and all you see is a stream of crimson, every part of you was covered in blood, and none of it was your own. You brace your arms against the tile wall as your tears begin to fall, violent sobs choking your throat.

You collect yourself before stepping out of the shower into the steam-filled room, the mirror is fogged and the air is thick. Your skin is raw from the heat of the shower as you wrap yourself in a towel and make your way to your closet. Throwing on a pair of pants and a t-shirt, the weather in Mexico was far more humid than what you were used to at home. You glance at yourself in the mirror, your eyes are puffy and red, taking a moment to try to calm your skin down so it wouldn’t appear as though you had just been sobbing. You make your way to the infirmary before being greeted by Soap near the doors.

“You alright lass? Need to get checked out by the doctor?” he asks in a worried tone, quickly scanning your body for any signs of injury.

“I’m alright, just need someone to check out this” you respond, gesturing to the streak of pink on your cheek.

He nods and steps aside to allow you to push through the doors, the room is almost a blinding white, a stark contrast to the dark room you keep yourself in most nights. You glance around trying to find the doctor but they seem to have left. Huffing a breath to yourself you turn on your heel to leave, before catching a glimpse of a large figure, clad in black. He sticks out in this environment, everything crisp and clean, while he lays on the bed, covered in dirt and blood, his skull mask removed so only his balaclava adorns his face. Your feet start moving before you can even think, making your way to his bedside, he’s asleep probably the first rest he’s had in days, but he’s alive. You pull a chair beside his bed, sitting yourself down, elbows braced on your knees. You sit in silence, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, blaming yourself for the position he’s in. You drop your head, nails scratching at the base of your neck.

“It’s my fault, I- I should’ve been quicker, I’m so sorry”

A slight groan pulls your focus toward him, you’re greeted by his dark eyes, weighed down by his lids.

“S’not your fault doll, you did what you could,” he says, there’s an air of sincerity in his whispered tone.

You laugh to yourself, “No, it is my fault. Everywhere I go, people die, not just the ones I catch in my crosshairs but the people who get close to me”

You lean back in your chair, focusing your sight away from him and onto the floor, “This- this darkness, it follows me or something, it’s always there, looming. I can’t outrun it, it’s like it’s chasing me, it has no end” 

He moves his hand to the edge of the bed, palm resting up, eyes gazing at you. You lift your arm and place your hand on top of his and he squeezes it.

“The world is cruel, but it keeps moving,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “You are not dark, or cursed, whatever world this is, we exist in it together”

You furrow your brows at his remark, “You don’t know anything about me, Simon”

“I know who you are. Now you have to figure out who you are” he says, giving your hand another squeeze. You maintain your gaze on him, trying to find any semblance of a lie before the voice of a woman stops your thoughts. Quickly retreating your hand from his hold you stand up as she approaches.

“Okay Lieutenant, you’ll be alright, just need to take it easy for a little and- Sorry? Did you need help with anything” Her train of thought is obstructed when she looks up from her papers at you.

“No, I’m- I mean I just needed someone to check over the marks on my face.” 

“Alright just wait over there I’ll be over in a minute,” she tells you.

You make your way to the other side of the room, setting yourself down in a chair as Ghost's eyes linger on your form, watching you leave his side. The doctor continues talking to him about his condition, but all he can focus on is how empty his hand feels without yours in it, he tenses it trying to shake off the sudden loss of warmth you provided him.

“Sound good?” the doctor asks him

“Yea got it, no fieldwork for a bit”

The doctor nods and turns away to make her way to you. You’re sat in the chair nervously picking at the skin above your nails.

“Okay so,” the doctor says before putting on a pair of gloves and grabbing at your jaw. She turns your head to let it sit closer to the light, examining your cut before pulling your hair away from your ear to give it a look.

“It doesn’t look too bad, it’s shallow so you won’t need stitches, but I’ll give you some cream to try and stop it from scarring.

“No” you say turning to face her. “Let it scar it’s fine”

She takes a beat, “Okay, well, your ear is a little worse off, hearing seems fine but you’re missing a pretty big chunk of flesh, best I can do is bandage it to stop any sort of infection, it’ll have to heal on its own”

You nod, allowing her the space to clean and bandage your cut. You want the scar, you want the reminder of your failure, some sort of physical marker that resembles how you feel inside, torn and ugly. The doctor finishes up and you leave the infirmary, making your way back to your room you sit on your bed, in silence. All you can think about are Ghost's words, I know who you are, how could he. He doesn’t know the first thing about you, you’ve done nothing but ignore his presence for over a year and yet, he’s only shown kindness towards you, you don’t understand why. You skip the evening brief, aware of what will happen the next day when Price eventually corners you, asking you all the things that happened in the safe house, why you missed the team meeting, et cetera. You don’t care, all you care about is Ghost, your actions almost cost him his life, another person almost died, directly by your hand. 

Your brain feels scattered, your anxiety is weighing your body down, you don’t have the energy to move, resorting to laying down in your cot, waiting for sleep to overtake your mind. You just want to stop thinking, about him, about this mission, about your past faults, about every person whose life ended because of you. You close your eyes, urging your body to relax, and after a few minutes it does, you fall asleep, alone, in a room drenched in darkness.

tags: @kerst666 @lialacleaf @thychuvaluswife @lostinsideourminds @lauraliisa @embers-of-alluring @babybooday @revengze

[tehb3stsk4t3revr]

Got inspired by a post I saw this morning so here's literally 2 entire pages of headcanons comparing Infected and Kasper. Fair warning: It dips into talk of symptoms I imagine he'd have and the whole Poptart situation.

[A lot of which assume he'd have like. Actual biological needs instead of being Video Game-y, which seems to be sort of a grey area in-game anyway...]

Kasper was already kind of stupid so honestly not much is different on that front. Average 2010s gamer dudebro sort of deal. Although Infected has a bit more 'what kind of animal is the pink panther?' in him than Kasper.

Infected has next to no impulse control, leading to him doing things he shouldn't and speaking without thinking pretty much constantly.

Infected has balance issues that Kasper didn’t due to inner ear inflammation from the infection. He can’t really do anything on a skateboard anymore besides just stand there or go in a straight line. He can and will find a way to trip on flat ground.

He's convinced he still rules at it, though.

The inflammation has also made his hearing kind of shit. (The only person he can hear with perfect clarity is Folly, as she probably speaks directly into people’s minds or something lol.)

Infected loves soda and drinks basically only that. Boy who was born with kidney stones <3

The neurotoxin in his favorite soda was a deeply unreasonable amount of aspartame (and other chemicals. For fun! <3). Not being able to drink it anymore has somewhat improved his balance issues and memory, but he still misses how it tasted (it probably tasted like what you'd get if you boiled down an entire 2 liter of diet coke until it's barely a liquid then filled an 8 ounce soda can with that. Dude’s tastebuds and liver are Fucked).

Kasper had a fairly similar way of talking to Infected, minus the 1337. ("Sweet parteh trickz dud!11")

Infected is in constant pain. Headaches, body aches, sore throat, can't breathe well, burning skin, heavy eyes, nausea that won't go away, sniffles, random nerve pain, probably other shit. He barely notices it anymore unless someone asks how he's feeling. He doesn't have much energy to spare. He would come across as significantly more hyper/manic than how Kasper used to be if not for this.

He doesn't put any of the energy he has left towards cleaning. Kasper could deal with a little mess, but still picked stuff up when it got ugly. Lampert was also willing to help when he visited. Now Infected is too tired and unfocused to pick anything up most of the time, and Lampert refuses to set foot in the apartment complex until Kasper is better. Infected has started throwing garbage off the balcony when it gets in the way too much. It's kinda fun!

Infected occasionally dissociates. Finds later that he's already talked to someone about something and just repeated himself, bought something already and now he has two, spent hours on his computer without remembering a single thing he looked at, or already met someone he thought he hadn't seen before.

It has actually been explained to Infected before that Kasper is his name. This just started an argument and the topic was dropped forever from that point forward.

Infected is deeply stressed out by seeing his own face for reasons he can't communicate, so he avoids looking at it as much as possible. He used to have a mirror in his apartment but he threw it off the balcony in a fit of rage one night, then covered the blank space where it used to be with a poster. Same thing with ripping Kasper’s face off of the picture on his desk. Any photos of him that are on his PC have either been sent to the recycle bin or cropped so that his face isn’t in them. He's completely fine looking at drawings of himself though. That's definitely him.

When left to his own devices, Infected's diet is… Inconsistent. He will forget to eat for long periods of time then binge when the hunger pangs finally get so annoying that he can't ignore them anymore. He's at least sort of hydrated because there's usually a six pack of soda on his desk or by the couch, but unless someone on the elevator is feeling generous he doesn't remember on his own very often.

Kasper was very comfortable being physically affectionate with people and would be happy to cuddle or lay on a friend's lap if they were cool with that. Infected is even more touchy and would be clingy if he had chances to be, but due to his extremely obvious contagious disease nobody lets him get close. He is incredibly touch-starved and would probably get emotional if someone hugged him or even just sympathetically rubbed his back now.

 Kasper was alright at resisting the urge, but Infected has picked at every scab he's ever gotten, and he ends up with a Lot. He will pick at them until the damage is worse than the initial injury unless someone stops him/tells him to put a bandage over it.

Kasper would bite his nails to keep them short and pick his nose sometimes but Infected's nails are completely trashed. Some of them have scabbed over or still-bleeding cuticles and hangnails because he chews and picks at those too.

All of the contact with his spit has caused his fingernail textures to semi-permanently unload. You'd think they were painted if you didn't know why they looked like that.

Nosebleeds from his nasal cavity getting torn up from all the fussing are not unheard of and yet he's gonna keep doing it.

Constantly drooling when he's not talking. Some of it is post-nasal drip. Sometimes he remembers to wipe it off on his arm, but most of the time it just ends up on the floor/running down his face and soaking into the neckline of his shirt. Or sprayed all over the walls/someone's face when he sneezes.

Kasper used to keep a bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket to help Lampert feel more comfortable. He stopped doing that forever ago after he got sick. (You know how rabies does a bunch of shit to animals to make them better disease vectors, including to their brains? Yeah, something like that).

On some level he knows he's sick. Would be more stressed out about it but the infection has repressed his ability to care (and the part of him that’s still aware of it is probably also heavily in denial). This has affected other aspects of his emotional range, causing it to come across as unusually flat, especially to those who knew Kasper.

Infected is scared that if he’s taken to a doctor’s office they’ll hurt him, so on top of genuinely not being able to recognize that he's sick he will deny all accusations regardless out of this fear. He’s technically not wrong, since trying to purge the disease to save Kasper would be extremely painful for him, but this thought mostly comes from his illness trying to preserve itself.

The last time someone tried to lead Infected to DrRETRO’s office for an intensive care stay he panicked upon realizing what was going on and fought back until they let him leave (fucked them up pretty badly), so now everyone keeps their distance and kinda uselessly tries to convince him to go voluntarily with their words.

Infected is incapable of maintaining strong negative emotions if pushed into being that upset. He'll be mad or sad for maybe a minute and then something else will get his attention or he’ll get too tired to think and he'll forget whatever was bugging him.

Every so often he will lose hope about finding Poptart and then abruptly ‘reset’ a minute or two into sobbing his eyes out, completely confident that any day now the little guy will come back safe and sound.

Despite this it is still really easy to get him Gamer Raging. Way easier than it ever was with Kasper, who was a pretty good sport in most cases.

Infected's particular brand of Gamer Rage is ‘Heckling people until they shut up/go away’, or until it's out of his system. This is the most typical way he processes anger. The impulse control is Seriously out the window when he gets like this.

Kasper knew a lot of stuff about the games he liked offhandedly (mostly competitive co-op FPS games like counterstrike, tf2, l4d2, etc) and could tell you so much esoteric bullshit about them, but if you tried to ask Infected he would get too excited trying to think of something he could share that would be really cool and then not actually be able to remember anything.

The only context in which Infected's reaction time isn't ass is video games. Something about muscle memory. In any other situations he is usually pretty slow to react. This does not mean he's slow to do things, though. When he's acting on a dumbass impulse thought he's probably halfway done doing it before anyone can stop him.

It is possible to get Infected to acknowledge that his situation is Fucked for a moment or two if you press him on the most obvious evidence that he's sick (his headaches, the fact his allergies haven't cleared up in years, the snot on his face, etc), and if you pressed hard enough you'd start to see him get scared. He knows you're right, but there's nothing he can do about it. And then the recognition would be gone again as soon as you stopped talking.

This doesn't work when you bring up his name (Who's Kasper? Never met the guy.) or objects in his surroundings, only symptoms of illness directly observable on/in his body.

[rapha3liii]

Abigail, Emily & Haley! (part 1 of my bachelorette art!)

these are just my personal headcanons, mostly in line with my fic! the surnames are just ones I chose myself because I think these gals deserve a little more character :) Image descriptions and in-image text/captions are provided below!

Leah, Penny and Maru are next! (will get to the dudes eventually)

Abigail Mercer:

20 years old attending online university for Anthropology

tall compared to most villagers, even taller than her parents!

nose and bridge piercing done in Zuzu city

hearts drawn on with eyeliner

tattoo of thorned rose

Sam's old denim jacket, she cut the sleeves off with craft scissors

Amethyst gem-set sword commissioned from Marlon, her parents still haven't found it...

Silver bangle gifted from her mother

belly button piercing done by Emily in Sebastians basement, she definitely didn't get an infection from it-

sword tattoo inspired by the first sword she held

usually accompanied by her fathers retired leather satchel, holding her flute case and cool rocks she finds

her fishnets are the only thing shes ever bought from Joja Online and her dad is still mad about it

second hand doc-martins because her parents refused to spend that much on shoes (I don't blame em...)

Emily Larson

26 years old and the towns resident tailor

always wearing contacts!

average height

has helix, ear lobe and vertical eyebrow piercings

Always changing her hairstyle and colour, but blue seems to stick for longer than most!

She regularly attends ren-faires all over the republic

made this miniature cape for Zuzu ren-faire and hasn't stopped wearing it since...

hoop earrings and favourite lipstick given to her by her girlfriend, Sandy!

Wears lots of rings

obsessed with lantern sleeves!

always has her Nazar pendant on!

Acrylic nails are done by her younger sister, Haley!

exclusively wears gold jewellery

hand tailored dress and shirt

shoes are bought from a vintage clothes boutique in Grampleton

always wears her favourite ruffled petticoat under skirts

Haley Larson

18 years old and newly graduated from highschool, now a freelance photographer

shorter (and cuter!) than most

always wearing baby blue eyeshadow

shell necklace gifted to her by Alex, her best friend

cute face mole!

always wearing her grandma's bracelet

always using extra blush and face shimmer!

flowery blouse made by her sister, Emily

loves wearing mini-skirts, shorts and low-waist jeans!

regularly posts her landscape photography to her blog, and even won a local competition once!

her fav pleated skirt

loves swimming and paddleboarding in the sea by the beach!

despite graduating top of her class, she has little interest in academia - but loves art

really wants an ankle tattoo of a sea-shell!

cute strap heels she stole from her sisters wardrobe (Emily still hasn't realised yet)

[Image 1 ID: A digital drawing of Abigail from Stardew Valley holding a sword. She's smiling, with dark lipstick and purple eyeshadow, and has small hearts drawn on her cheeks in eyeliner. She has a bridge, nose and belly button piercing and blue eyes. She's wearing a sleeveless denim vest, with a black tank top underneath and black denim shorts with purple fishnets underneath. She has a tattoo of a rose on her upper right arm and another of a sword on her inner left calf. She has pointed black nails and two bangles on her right wrist. She has black platform boots and has a freckles all over her body. Her hair is a vibrant purple in waves reaching her lower back. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 2 ID: A digital drawing of Emily from Stardew Valley pinching her dress in both hands in a bowing like gesture. The left side of her head is shaved while the right has straight, blue shoulder length hair. She has purple eyeshadow, pink lipstick and brown eyes. She also has gold helix piercings, a gold vertical eyebrow piercing and golden hoops in her lobes. She is smirking and looking to the right. She is wearing a layered red dress with a long pleated skirt. It has a white ruffled petticoat underneath. Under her red dress is a pink shirt with lantern style sleeves. She has a corset on over the dress with golden buttons and a miniature cape in dark red clasped to her shoulders. Two necklaces are hanging from under her shirt collar, one golden chain and the other a pendent of a 'Nazar'. She has long sharp purple acrylic nails and multiple rings on both of her hands. She is wearing dark red heels with button clasped straps. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 3 ID: A digital drawing of Haley from Stardew Valley standing casually, smiling, with a tuft of her hair inbetween her fingers in one hand and blue eyes. She has golden blonde hair in waves just reaching her upper back. She has locks of hair over both of her shoulders. She has light blue eyeshadow and bright pink blush and lipstick, she also has a mole on her face just above her lips to the right. She is wearing a low crop blue blouse with short sleeves and a white lined flower pattern on it. She has pink nails and is wearing a necklace of a blue sea-shell with a golden chain and a bracelet with a golden chain and heart pendent. Her left arm is holding her hair while her right arm is crossed over her chest and resting on her other arm. She is wearing a pink pleated mini-skirt and blue heels with small straps around her ankles. In the upper left corner is her in-game sprite by 'ConcernedApe' and the artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is in the lower right corner. /.End ID]

[Image 4 ID: A digital drawing with the three previously described characters all standing in a line. The order is Abigail to the left, Emily in the middle and Haley to the right. Each character has their in-game character sprite by 'ConcernedApe' on the upper left to them. The artist's signature 'Rapha3liii' is overlayed in three different places on the drawing. /. End ID]

This my first time ever writing image descriptions so please tell me how I did! I read some other blogs and advice prior to writing my own but I understand its likely I got some things wrong! Please let me know if I've formatted or written something in a way that makes the descriptions innacessible! Thankyou

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 11: Surrogate

thancred searches for release. if only it was so easy.

thancred x hilda, mentions of thancred x wol (pining for her like a fool). set during heavensward patches. written for ffxivwrite2024. rating: explicit tags: explicit sexual content, dissociation during sex, mildly dubious consent, hair pulling, hand jobs, rough body play, piv sex, fantasizing about someone else. 2306 words ao3 link

notes: hw patches are 2 years after arr on aureia's timeline, so thancred is 34 here. aureia looks a lot like hilda. unexpectedly and unintentionally. i have cursed character design choices. weeeee.

Memory is a fickle thing.

There are good memories and bad memories. Memories that bring joy, that lift one up even from the depths of greatest despair. There are memories that ache, stinging like open wounds, refusing to heal. Memories that haunt, full of regrets that cannot be undone. But memory not just defines a person; it makes them who they are. Who are you, if you cannot remember yourself? Actions past, mistakes made, torments suffered, lessons learned…

The sum of a soul is made of memory.

And yet there are times when he can do without it.

These days he doesn’t know himself. A sad, pathetic shadow of the man he once was. No point on dwelling on all that has come to pass since the Bloody Banquet, but his point still stands—he has changed, and not for the better. Try though he might, any attempt to draw himself out of the dark stupor he is trapped in makes no difference.

The best he can do now is distract himself. Drown out the noise. Numb the pain. Forget the memories.

Which brings him to now, and this small, threadbare room tucked away at the back of the Forgotten Knight, stripped of everything but its essentials. The place he goes to drink and fuck when the Scions of the Seventh Dawn don’t require his skills. More of the first these days, less of the second.

His charms weren’t what they were before.

If he even had any to begin with.

Breath in his ear, lips nuzzled against his throat, and the scent of sweat and ale and gunpowder fills his nostrils. Desire stirs in the pit of his stomach as Hilda embraces him from behind, her breasts pressing firmly against his back. Her arm snakes around his waist, holding him firmly in place as she tugs at the laces of his trousers. He stills, a groan lingering on his tongue, and her palm brushes the growing bulge. She’s stronger than she looks at first glance, broad muscles rippling beneath the stiff sleeves of her leather coat. The harsh physique that comes from a childhood spent scrapping for food on the streets. It never quite leaves you, even when adulthood fills you out and access to regular meals are no longer a concern.

He should know. He is this way, too.

A Brume brat and a street urchin from Limsa. Perhaps they have more in common than they thought.

She drags a bruising kiss across his jaw, her other hand threaded in his hair. A tug on his ponytail, sharp but controlled, testing the boundary. “This all right?” she asks, her voice low and wanting.

He closes his eyes, wishing she would get on with it. No sense in a drawn-out seduction when they’re both here for the same thing. “Aye,” he grunts. “When I said do what you will with me tonight, I meant it.”

Husky laughter murmurs across her lips. “Not bad for a grizzled old rogue.”

“I’m not old.” Difficult to remind himself of some days. Thirty-four is not old, and yet some days he feels the weight of those years in duplicate. Perhaps the Lifestream stole his youth along with his aether, the way it stole Y’shtola’s eyesight.

“Older than me.”

Gods above, he’d rather not think about how much.

“But I know you ain’t, I’m just pesterin’ you.” Hilda’s lips brush his ear, her teeth scraping his lobe as she pulls his laces loose. He exhales a ragged breath, stiff, frozen by her touch, a deep aching pulsing inside him as she slips a hand beneath his waistband and caresses his hardened length. “But if you didn’t protest it so much—”

It’s no protest, it’s a… Gods. He doesn’t know. This is the sort of thing Aureia once teased him for, but somehow when it happens with Hilda the joke loses all its appeal.

“—it wouldn’t nearly be so much fun to say.”

“I—”

She pulls his cock free. Cool air passes over his exposed skin, at odds with the rough heat from the friction of her fingers. One stroke, two—his head fuzzes, the fog of arousal flooding his senses. He groans, a flush of embarrassment creeping across his cheeks and down his neck.

He could come right now if he let himself, and it would do him no favours in terms of avoiding the accusations of grizzled age.

So, he closes his eyes and leans back into her, allow her to touch him how she pleases. Her lips across his jaw, her fingers in his hair, her hand on his cock. She works swiftly, coaxing numb desire from him with every stroke, her fingers some paradox of coarse and delicate as she grips him around the tip and squeezes. Pleasure spreads from his core, sensationless and distant, like the faraway buzz he sometimes gets after the fourth or fifth drink while chasing oblivion with yet another one.

He grits his teeth and clamps his mouth shut, strangling the moan in his throat. It’s too soon to be done with this. Hilda would leave and he would only end up seeking it out again, with his own hands if he must. Perhaps that would be better for them both. Save her the shame of being with someone like him. It’s not serious—neither of them ever claimed it to be—and it was admittedly fun when it started. He can’t say it is any longer. She’s young. She can certainly do better than him.

And on his own, he is free to imagine. They both know there is someone he would rather be fucking than her.

Hilda exhales a sharp breath and her hand stills. “Not workin’ for you, eh?” she asks bluntly.

He closes his eyes, his stomach in knots. “It’s good. Wonderful. Nice—”

“Thancred, if you don’t want to, you better tell me.”

He twists, spinning around, and seizes her by the shoulders. She gasps, ruby eyes wide with surprise, but does not protest as he presses a rough kiss to her mouth. “I’m not here for you to play with me,” he growls, gripping her ass. “I’m here for you to fuck me.”

A wicked smile spreads from ear to ear. “Then get on the bed,” she says, pressing a hand to his chest. “Now.”

She shoves him.

He backs away, the old floorboards creaking beneath his steps, and his knees hit the mattress. She’s on him a moment later, sailing into his arms, her mouth hot and urgent against his. He wraps his arms around her as she kisses him, the fog seizing him once again as her tongue slips into his mouth. She pushes him down on the bed and straddles him, thighs pressed tight against his. Her hips roll once and he arches his back, a moan ripping free from his throat.  

“There we are,” she says, eyes dancing eagerly. Panting, she brushes her long, dark hair out of the way and strips off her jacket, tossing it on the floor. Her shirt follows next. He stares dumbly, entranced, the fog clouding his mind as she doubles over and undoes her own trousers, her arms pushing her breasts together. “This doin’ it for you now, then, eh?”

A flash of black hair, the ends tinged red. Ruby eyes, curious and fierce. The hint of a small smile, the one she saved for him—he hasn’t seen it since Ul’dah. He may never again.

It isn’t Hilda’s fault that she and Aureia look so much alike. What hellish coincidence did Halone have to design to ensure that the two most infamous half-Elezen women in Ishgard would not only resemble each other so closely, but become best of friends?

He swallows. “Aye,” he says, the syllable slurred as he forces it past his tongue. “Aye, it is.”

She peels her trousers down and grinds against him, the slick heat between her legs achingly hot. She bucks her hips again in that quick, succinct way that gets him panting, and flips her long hair over her shoulder. “What else does it for you, hm?” she asks, stretching her hands above her head and arching her back to give him a good view.

His gut twists and he bites his tongue. There is someone he would much rather have on top of him. It feels wrong—dirty, callous, shameful—how easily it is to imagine what she would look like. A fantasy he can barely admit to himself.

Stop it. Get that out of your head.  

“That…” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Aye.”

She stills. “You ain’t even lookin’.”

He opens his eyes. “I did. I am.”

Her hands flops to her sides and she cocks her head, making a face. “What do you want, then? This ain’t exactly the best time for a list of suggestions, but if you want ‘em, I have ‘em. Otherwise, I’m startin’ to feel that you would rather not—”

“I do.”

“You keep sayin’ that, but Thancred, I can tell you’re not all the way here.”

His jaw clenches. He lies back, staring at the sloped roof, the exposed beams. The unlit hearth, blackened and oily and cold as ice. The mattress sags beneath their weight, the bedframe creaking, the bedspread thin and scratchy. How many times have they found themselves in this room, him and her? How many times has he wished it was someone else?

“I’m here,” he says at last. “I… my apologies. There have been many distractions of late. Many concerns.”

“Yeah, I’m sure about that, Scion business and all. I get the same shit from Aureia.” She pauses, her ruby gaze lingering on him. “I don’t want your apologies. Too formal for my liking. Do you want to fuck or not?”

He hesitates. For a brief moment, the ghost of no, I don’t lingers on his tongue. But he can’t say it. His body is aching, he is craving the haze of bliss, the few passing seconds where time stretches out and for once he does not have to godsdamn think. So he does want this (does he?) after all.

Even if it’s not with her.

He pushes himself up on his elbows and kisses her, quick and rough. “Aye,” he murmurs. “What must I do to convince you of it?”

She smirks and trails her fingers across his cheek. “Nothin’,” she says. “I rather like the look of you flat on your back.”

He grins. Hollow, empty, but present.

She presses her mouth to his—breath hot in his mouth, teeth scraping his lower lip—and pushes him down. He falls, willingly, easily, eager to drift. When the unspoken presence of someone neither of them wish to mention isn’t bearing down on them, sex with Hilda is easy. Uncomplicated. She enjoys being in control.

He enjoys allowing someone else to make the decisions.

The fog tugs at his mind, lulling him to numbness even as Hilda takes his cock in hand and slips it inside her. The slick heat sends a pleasant shudder down his spine and he grips the bedspread, twisting it between her fingers as she slowly rides him. He does his best to watch her, keep eye contact, groan and moan at the right time. Her hips roll and his own respond in kind, thrusting up into her with a steady, simple rhythm.

He trusts his body to do what it must, chase the high it yearns for. Maybe then his mind can catch a fucking break.

Hilda lolls her head, her long, dark hair sweeping over her like a curtain. Her gaze darts across the room to the window, observing the shift in light. She slips a hand between her legs and strokes her clit, her lips pressed together as if she were listening to a boring sermon. She shudders when she reaches her climax, the clench sending a desperate spike of arousal coursing through him. He gasps, back arched, and lets go of his release at last.

The sweet nothingness of numb pleasure seizes his mind and for a moment, he coasts on emptiness. Nothing to think. Nothing to feel.

Simply nothing.

Boots scrape against the floorboards. A heavy thud knocks against the bedframe. When his mind finally clears, he finds himself still lying flat on his back, his lower half exposed, his cock flushed and limp and numb. Hilda stands at the foot of the bed, dressed and pulling on her jacket. She casts an eye in his direction and finishes doing up her buttons.

“Sun’s goin’ down.” Her voice is short, clipped, matter of fact. She pulls her hair into its customary high tail. “Best be goin’ now. Said I’d meet Stephanivien. Best avoid him sendin’ out a search party, that would be a whole load of embarrassing neither of us need.”

“Hilda.”

She pauses, a hand on the bedframe. “Don’t need say anythin’,” she says. “I know how these things go. But I think… You need help. Whatever it is you’re going through, I don’t… I can’t be the one responsible for it.”

The words sting. “I don’t need anything,” he grunts, pushing himself up. “Let alone help. I don’t know what you think this is, but sometimes it’s no more complicated than two people having fun.”

She snorts and hoists her rifle, strapping it across her back. “That’s just it, ain’t it? I was havin’ fun. Don’t know about you.”

“I—”

“Remember what I said when we started all this?”

Don’t mistake me for her. Because I’m not.

“I think you need to think about that a little more. Goodbye, Thancred.”

Footsteps on creaking floorboards. A door slammed closed.

He lies on the stiff old bed and stares at the stiff old beams and at last his mind goes blank.

[sunnynwanda]

True enemy

Part 2

Warning: violent death. Not exactly detailed, but if you think this could trigger you, please do not interact.

                                                         ***

Handcuffs click around Villain's wrists, restricting their movement. It would take them exactly 49 seconds to free themselves.

Unfortunately, this city's Hero is far too naive to know that.

Fortunately, Villain likes them too much to let them know they've been playing along since day one.

They try to bite down a fond smile as they watch Hero retrieve the civilians from the balcony. Villain didn't cause much damage since the aim was to scare a few wannabe criminals. No one else was allowed to be evil in their city. Not on Villain's watch. Of course, it wasn't always like that. When Villain first moved to this city, it was perfectly deranged. After taking control over everything underground, Villain was ready to enjoy their reign.

Then came Hero. With stars in their eyes and windswept unruly curls. They landed on a sunlit rooftop and directly into Villain's soul. They felt like they got struck by lightning. Nothing's ever felt quite like that. Suddenly, they were aware of the beating of their heart and the way it would skip a bit every time Hero appeared in front of them.

In two weeks, there was no crime in the city and no criminals on the streets, all of them either in jail or too scared to act out. Apart from one, of course. Villain did everything in their power and beyond to be the only rival Hero ever meets. Part of them knew it was egotistic, but nothing compared to the rush they got every time Hero cornered them, pressing them up against a wall, handcuffing and sending them to jail so Villain could escape again.

"Same time next week?" Hero asks before handing them over to the officers. Sometimes Villain wondered if Hero looked forward to their interactions as much as they did. The security of the jail was questionable too.

"What are you so happy about?" One of the officers asks, pulling them up. Villain hadn't realised a smile had plastered itself on their otherwise stern face. "Why bother running away from prison if you're gonna end up losing either way?"

How has no one figured this out yet? They want to say but shrug instead, standing up to be escorted to the patrol car. They bend their head to get in, when a loud thud draws their attention to the spot of someone's landing. The figure gets up, their presence menacing and too familiar. Villain straightens, exhaling sharply. Oh no.

The person looks around, pinpointing first their location, then their hero's. They wink at Villain, and then their eyes land back on Hero. Villain can feel their blood rushing to their head. No.

Hero charges at them without a question. With ears ringing in panic, Villain struggles against their handcuffs.

"Hey, stand still," the officer commands, too shocked to even look at their captive.

"Set me free," Villain demands through gritted teeth. Their brain refuses to cooperate as they watch Hero attempting to battle a rival far too strong for them. Far too strong for any hero.

"Yeah, right. Hero's busy as is. I'm not adding you to the mess." Though Hero's not busy, they're struggling. And that isn't even half of what their opponent is capable of.

"That's why you need to set me free," Villain pleads, terror lacing their voice. "Hero can't handle him."

"Hero has defeated you how many times?" The police officer finally turns their attention to Villain, laughing darkly. "And you can?"

Villain shakes their head, trying to focus and stop shaking. "Yes. Fuck, free my hands already."

Their plea is ignored. Hero's body flies across the sky, smashing a window and landing into a skyscraper. They groan, forcing themselves up.

"Stay down! Stay fucking down." Villain screams, finally getting their composure back. They melt the handcuffs right off their hands in less than 10 seconds, rage and desperation fueling their powers.

The officers reach for their guns, but Villain is up in the air before they can even react. Villain lands in front of the attacker, blocking his way to Hero, who is clutching their ribs and wheezing through every breath.

"You should battle someone more suited to you," they snarl. A smile is the only response they get as the old supervillain circles them.

"And who is that supposed to be? You?" he asks, stopping Hero's attempted attack with a slight movement of one hand. "I've heard otherwise."

to be continued...

Part 2

Masterlist

[rjshepherd]

Still in my Dishonored kick. Platinumed 1 AND 2 as of last night, now I'm working on doto, knife of dunwall and brigmore witches. Idk how I feel about the trials BC I've not even looked at them yet.

But anyways here's more art. Re uploading human!Outsider because his art was bugging me. Fixed his jawline, toned down his scars and desaturated the forget-me-not behind his ear BC it was distracting

Pose refs by Mellon-soup

Have more headcanons

More for The outsider

So @je-suis-problematique named him Rasmus and I decided to steal that BC it's a good name.

Since jindosh is losing his hearing, he's made an effort to learn sign language

I know he's cannonically 4000 years old but in my mind he's 17-19, physically at least.

Hella thin and constantly hungry. When he was murdered by the cultists it essentially preserved him in the last moment before he died, including any injuries or conditions like hunger ,thirst or exhaustion. It takes a long time for the feeling to wear off.

Billie brings him to dunwall for a few months to help him adjust to real life again. He spends most of his time sleeping, eating all of Emilys snacks and asking a miriad of questions to anyone who'll listen.

Billie Lurk

I haven't read veiled terror yet so I don't know what she's doing post dh2. In the au she's roving the isles looking for places where the void is opening up like a sinkhole and trying to prevent normal people falling in.

She did take a few months off to set up a lawn chair on a roof in Holger square so she had a front row seat to watch the abbey fall to bits.

Corvo occasionally popped in with popcorn and a spy glass for a better view.

When the void started leaking more and more into the real world billies arm and eye began to sort of stabelize. They still look odd but are definitely easier to disguise. Her eye can now be covered with a patch, although she can still see through it, and her arm resembles liquid gold as much as it does bone and stone.

Teague Martin

So don't ask how or why but this little bastard wormed his way into my top 3 DH characters. This drawing of him took me like 3 days BC I kept getting stuck on it but I'm happy with how he ended up.

Low chaos ending for him. Although I refuse to believe he didn't know his drink was poisoned, I'm fully convinced he drank it on purpose because he couldn't live with the guilt.

In this au he's been friendly with Lamb and Wolf for a fairly long time, since they normally live in Morley where teague is from.

He and Wolf have a friend's with benefits arrangement. They've been seeing each other since before jessamines murder.

During dh1 lamb and wolf relocate to dunwall, partly to deal with the influx of souls related to the rat plague, partly to be closer to teague and his terrible decisions.

He's fully aware that both lamb and wolf are void creatures, not to mention magic users but he justifies his relationship with them by adopting a lesser of 2 evils sort of mind set.

Despite being in his position for power alone, Martin really does what what's best for the empire

After his death, rather than wander the void for eternity he winds up working for them, collecting souls and ushering them to the void.

His tattoos where given to him by wolf, to allow him access to void powers. Wolf's particular gift, her equivalent of the outsiders mark is called 'fatal wound'. usually taking the form of a bite mark around the neck, allows access to extra powers.

Wolf painfully carved his scars herself to give him incredibly customised abilities.

His outfit is a modified overseer uniform, adapted for using movement abilities like blink. The scarf was a gift.

Wolf

Lamb and wolf have a sort of Kindred relationship. They are both void creatures, presumably knowing all the old gods who died before the outsider was created.

Where lamb is inspired by Inuit whaling culture, Wolf takes hers from west indies, 17th century whaling (think assassin's creed 4 style) . She has a more nautical pirate thing going on. Her original design had her eyes covered by a tritip hat rather than her fringe.

Wolf's ears are functional but she's not a werewolf or anything of the sort. Originally lamb had sheep ears but they were covered by her hair. She still has a lambs tail under her clothes though.

To cover her ears in public, she usually uses the silk ribbon on her waist as a bandana.

Although her eyes are always covered, they are the same void black as lambs.

She spends her free time creating bone charms. No one's sure what they do thought...

Originally Lamb and Wolf are from an island near pandyssia. The way they speak of it however makes it seem like the island no longer exists.

Like the kindred, where lamb goes wolf follows. She's never more than a few feet from lamb, even if you can't see her she can sure see you.

Everyone finds her relationship with teague Martin strange. Lamb often refers to him as " wolf's chew toy"

By the time of dh2 she can usually be found in the back room of Lambs apothecary, concocting potions and running the accounts.

I'm super proud of the way wolf turned out. I had no idea where I was going with her when I started, only that I wanted a visual foil to lamb. I think I'll draw them together and do more details about them and maybe their relationships with the other characters

[sariahsue]

Let Me Count the Ways

Chapter Sixteen - The Kiss

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15]

Antomologist had seen where they landed, which meant they had only a few moments to think of their next move, and all Chat Noir could do was stand frozen where he was, every thought on hold. 

Ladybug still had her arms wrapped around him. 

Even though both his feet were firmly planted, he clung to her for balance. Her breaths came quickly, matching his own. They were chest to chest and moving closer. His heartbeat drummed in his ears. 

“Why?” he rasped, then tried again. “Why did you do that?” He wasn’t going to make this weird for her, no matter what fantasies the secluded setting and their position inspired. He removed his hands from her hips and forced them to stay at his sides, imagining they were pinned there.

And Ladybug still held him. “What?”

“He was distracted. You could have snuck up behind him instead of rescuing me. You should have. Why didn’t you?”

Her hands slid away from his waist only to find his shoulders, like suddenly she was the one who needed help staying upright. “Because… because…” She looked away, biting her lip. (He tried not to stare. Stop it stop it.) “You probably want some flowery speech. You deserve one. But I–” Her hands slid up to his neck, brushing the hairs on his nape, raising goosebumps. He closed his eyes against her proximity. It didn’t help, so he pushed his palms flat against his legs to keep them from trembling. Don’t react.

She stepped forward, drawing him in until she was all he could feel. Her arms, her hands, her chest, her stomach. Her soft breath against his lips.

“But I’m so bad with words!” 

Her mouth pressed against his, hot and hard, and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, the only movement he trusted himself to make. Don’t. Don’t react!

Because she’d said so many times that she did want him. Someone else held her heart. She must not have meant it the way he wanted her to. And because he would ruin something. 

Don’t!

One hand left his hair to cradle and stroke his cheek. Cherished. He’d never felt cherished before now. He swallowed a whimper.

DON’T!

Closed eyes blocked out her face, but they couldn’t block out her. How good she felt. How badly he wanted to kiss her back. 

He opened his eyes again, hoping sight would somehow make it easier to hold still, but all he could see was her. His hands had become unpinned and were hovering, longing to hold her, refusing the order to retreat. 

When she lightly scratched the back of his head, he thought knees would give out. Or maybe his willpower. How long had he stood frozen like this? Half a second? A whole second? 

How much longer could he last against her? 

What would happen if he sank into her, held her, kissed her back with every ounce of feeling for her he had bottled up for years?

His hands ghosted over her, so close he swore he could feel her warmth through his gloves. What if he tilted his head to match her? 

Her eyes snapped open. She jerked backward, pushing herself into the wall of their hiding spot and covering her mouth with both hands. 

They stared at each other. 

“Why?” he asked, though he wasn’t really sure if the question was why she kissed him or why she stopped. Nothing was making sense.

“I’m so sorry,” she said between her fingers. “I’m so, so sorry.” Her hands slid up her face to cover her cheeks, but not her eyes. She hadn’t blinked since she’d opened them. 

“Sorry?”

“I thought you wanted– That you were– I read all the signals wrong, didn’t I?”

A shadow passed over the opening of their tree hollow, plunging them into twilight. But his back was to it, his focus on Ladybug. He watched as her eyes followed the movement outside, and then as she put her hands on hips. When she looked back to him, she’d pasted a forced smile onto her face. “Wow, this is so embarrassing! I thought you had fallen in love with me again. Isn’t that funny?” Her smile got wider. More manic.

“That’s not–”

“I get it.” She shrugged her shoulders, and threw up her hands too, for the emphasis. Or maybe because of her nervous energy, he wasn’t sure. She wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. “I’m four years too late and making you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes flicked to his during her apology, then found the wall again. 

“Ladybug,” he said, taking a step forward. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m really sorry. That was awful of me!” She threw her arms wide. Definitely nervous energy. 

His own feelings were muted. Shocked. Or maybe they were so big he couldn’t feel the edges of them to be able to figure out what they were. It was so much easier to focus on someone else.

“I promise it won’t happen again,” she continued.

At least he could tell how he felt about that statement. He shook his head. 

But before he could verbally protest, another voice, loud and echoing, shook through their tree hollow. “There you are!” 

The shadow passed over them again, and this time Chat Noir did turn. One of Antomologist’s large arms blocked all but a small sliver of light at the bottom of the opening. A shudder knocked both of them to their knees, and then he was flung sideways against the splintering wood as the tree was uprooted and shaken. 

The giant red arm moved, and Chat Noir and Ladybug tumbled out. The ground rushed up to meet them.

---

Author's note: Let’s play a game! It’s called “Guess What The Author Titled the Next Chapter.” :D

Tag list: @clawsout83 @trippingovermyfeet @tbehartoo @yoonjae20 @random-cartoon-fangirl @jasvalka

[denzartriste]

Hi denz do you have any set designs for any of the other characters in you pirate AU? (I Might need ideas for art mayhaps :D) like you can choose any character or characters you want

I also just liked seeing your thoughts about technos design bc it made more sense to me when then reading the newest chapter

Hi Ýr! I actually do, and also've drawn up some designs (Ranboo especially, since i needed a visual refrence for their entire. Situation.) The top two drawings are a bit older since i did them a while ago, but i still think its accurate?

The bottom one was the first of the new drawings i did, and i think its a bit obvious but that's fine. Gonna just point things out because i think that's the best way to explain :D Also trying not to delve too too much into spoilers but it will be tricky.

The before thing is referencing mainly when Ranboo met Tommy and Tubbo, it's after the boat crashing. Shaded parts are white, because ranboo scars white, and the mouth scars are placed where the jaw connects to the rest of the head. He also has ones on their tear ducks, thats what the scar lines near the eyes are. The top before drawing (the side profile one) has ranboo's braid still in, but thats technicly wrong because while Ranboo had their braid in when they met Tommy and Tubbo, they never tied it again. No reason to that, Ranboo just didnt feel a need to do it.

Their braid is tied on the right

The now drawings include the bandage, cause Ranboo doesnt really want to show his scars (bandage is tricky to do himself, but he can do it and usually does. There is a Reason in chapter 2 Ranboo asks tommy specificly to help him re-bandage his face.)

Last thing about them cause i know this is getting rambly (fully aware no one minds, but also i am trying to be clear and FAILING) : Ranboo has pointed ears. This is not a normal thing. Techno doesnt mention it because he choses not to notice it, but it felt impoprtant to mention since im talking about Ranboo's design.

Little baby tommy zoom in (i doodled it so small lmao sorry bout the pixels)

I just felt like drawing him very little and young. The scar is face paint wow i wonder if its familiar i wonder if thats like, a hint to something who knowsssss :) (Also it might just be mud actually, not face paint. He put mud right next to his eye and he thought it looked SO cool)

Also, pigtails. That was important. He has pigtails. In my heart it matters, fem tommy for the win he deserves to have longer hair

ALSO. The full body is inacurate, but it would be spoilers to do an accurate kid tommy so i sadly can't. When it's revealed i will as a little sorry (and also cause i REALLY wanna draw it but shhh thats not important) (it might also be related to why Ranboo asked Tommy to help him with his bandages. But i refuse to give away more than that)

Last but not least, Tubbo!!!!

He is NOT bald i just didnt want to draw more, so i took an screeshot of and older drawing of his scar because i think that's important. His eye droops and his face is a bit messed up, he also can't hear out of his left ear (obviously) but his other ear isnt that good at hearing either. Tubbo's been around cannons since he was too little to understand that, hey, maybe covering your ears will be helpful in the long run. But he was little and no one ever told him. He figured it out now, but his reflex is more of 'tense and stay very still' instead of 'cover your ears and duck'

He also tends to wear heavy outfits. Like, a big jacket and big boots and just clothes that are so puffy that they give him a round silhouette if that makes sense

[somethin-human]

I realized I’ve never actually drawn Damien yet lol

Damien headcanons!

He’s half Asian, half white

He used to be super nervous about his scars after the inversion but afterwards with talking to a therapist, he actually thinks they’re super badass

(I wasn’t entirely sure how to draw this without making his design look weird but I’ll make an updated version whenever I can) Literally right after his powers burned out while he was fighting the shades, his hands because like badly burned. After, the burns healed and now his hands have full on scars on them with this really weird texture to them.

Again, he feels super nervous his burn scars and he still does, but Huxley will just take his hands and feel the texture of them bc he says it feels nice. It makes Damien a little less self conscious about them, but he still doesn’t like them.

He keeps everything that his friends make for him (example: The rock from Huxley that he turned into a necklace, the bracelet Freelancer made him.)

He definitely has tried dying his hair (without bleach for some reason) but his hair is way too dark so nothing shows up unless it’s in the sunlight.

His favorite physicality about himself is his little freckles and beauty marks.

He truly believes that it’s a good day if his hair looks alright.

Little singular black earring (because he lost the other one and he’s still looking for it. Everyone tells him to just buy a new set but he swears he knows where he put it.)

Huxley is obsessed with plants but Damien isn’t as fond of them because of his allergies. He does have a small pot of flowers that Huxley gave to him as a “test plant” (before they started dating) and he’s managed to keep it alive til this day. (He says he would feel really bad if they died because it was a gift from Huxley.)

He religiously plays Mario Kart just to be better than everyone in the friend group the next time they play.

Lactose intolerant, like severely, but he still will eat velveeta shells and cheese out of spite even if it means shitting for 2 hours straight.

Gavin ironically gifted him a big gulp cup from 7/11 as a secret Santa gift. He refused to get rid of it because it was a gift but he also refuses to use it so he just keeps it in the back of the cup cabinet.

All his life was spent trying to make his mom proud but after she was being super homophobic to him, he had an identity crisis for like a month.

Probably a Sagittarius or Aries

He tries to be a minimalist but Huxley’s a maximalist so it’s kind of hard lmao

[umbracirrus]

WIP... Saturday? 💛

After a busy few days, and spending yesterday baking, I've finally managed to get around to posting some works in progress....

I haven't done any writing over this past week or so, but have done some drawings - a continuation of the set of drawings of my Elder Scrolls OCs that I started over last weekend. As with then, these still need a bit more refining and colouring, though I'm not doing that until I've got a sketch for each of my OCs done.

This time it is two more of my Dragonborn, Iduna and Siriane, and I'll give more details about them under the read more.

Tagged by @thequeenofthewinter and @your-talos-is-problematic 😊

Iduna

Iduna is a former Vigilant of Stendarr who ended up a vampire following an incident which involved daedra worshippers and vampires. She doesn't remember much of what happened after getting rendered immobile and barely conscious early on in the fight, with there being only three things which she managed to cling onto - the screams of her fellow vigilants as they were killed, feeling something sharp, and the cold. When she came to after, she awoke to the aftermath of a bloodbath, covered head to toe in wounds... and without her humanity. She attempted to return to the Hall of the Vigilants for help, but instead was almost killed by those she thought her friends and allies.

For over a year she roamed Skyrim endlessly, seeking a cure to her condition, the only thing keeping her going being her prayers to Stendarr as she clung onto her battered and broken amulet. Begrudgingly, she found herself in Helgen on the day that Alduin attacked.... and that then pushed her onto the path of the Dragonborn.

But it's a path that she refuses to return to until her personal dilemma is solved. Luckily, she has a four-legged friend with her, and word just caught her ears of the Dawnguard... who may very well be her last hope in being mortal once more, and possibly even in tracking down those who took her mortality away from her in the first place.

Siriane

Siriane, who I believe is my only Altmer OC and Dragonborn off the top of my head, doesn't have much of a story beyond a few points:

She lives in Markarth, and for two reasons:

1 - she loves the dwemer architecture 2 - it's in close vicinity to Sky Haven Temple, as she is hoping that the Blades will be an asset on her quest to defeat Alduin.

She does not like the Thalmor or what they stand for

Yet she has an attraction to Ondolemar - purely physical attraction mind you, because the whole being a Thalmor Justiciar thing is what stops her in her tracks whenever she sees him and thinks about striking up a conversation.

And she considers Vorstag a close - if not her best - friend/drinking buddy/companion when going out and about to kill bandits and dragons and everything inbetween.

[dragoon811]

I have had a shitty week. Can someone manifest me some good vibes?

Sunday started nice. Monday was a holiday (Family Day) so I got some extra weekend. I was looking forward to it - then Elder Child crawled into my bed just past midnight with a fever.

Monday she stopped eating after lunch (two bites of banana), but was drinking water.

Stayed home Tuesday to help her combat the fever. Wednesday morning she had no fever so my daycare lady was able to take her and I went to work. She kept me updated etc all day.

My gut didn’t like how much she was sleeping so after work I decided to take Elder Child to the children’s hospital. Convinced my husband to pack me a bag, thinking they’d throw Tylenol at us and we’d sit in the waiting room for 8 hours to be told it’s an ear infection/sinus infection…. But I got home to her and her fever returned. (And my period started. JOY.)

Loaded her into the stroller, threw myself in, and off we went! Waited in line at triage.

Triage called us, we weighed her, we talked. And I said I was concerned because she hadn’t eaten, the fever was back, my sister was diabetic and I was starting to worry because when she was sleeping I couldn’t rouse her easily, and her breath smelled and basically asked them to check her blood sugar.

So they did. (This was NOT an enjoyable experience for Elder Child.) it was at 2 - new to how Canadians measure shit, I’m really glad the little screen added in red: “CRITICAL LOW”.

The nurse made a phone call and stressed, surprised, that Elder Child was alert.

Upon the second attempt at a reading because it was low, Elder Child was more prepared. She kicked, she fought, she puked all over herself, and bolted for the emerge doors.

Ok. Skip a second test. (Note: I did not pack spare clothes.)

We were taken right back to a room in the emergency wing. Unsettling.

Then a flurry of people - a lady trying to help Elder Child adjust and calm down. Nurses. Doctors asking questions. (Another note - I have not slept well in 2 weeks, am hearing impaired, and now overwhelmed and scared. Not a good combo.)

Gave Elder Child a nasal spray to calm her (this resulted in another bolting for freedom, also thwarted), another blood check….and once the spray started to work, we tried to prep her for an IV/blood draw.

This was ALSO strongly disliked. More holding her down. I did a lot of crying.

We went through the symptoms - tummy hurting, drinking some water but hadn’t peed in like 6-7 hours, fever, sleeping constantly, not eating. Ended up doing ultrasound, X-ray. Ten bottles of blood (and she FREAKED). Finally got her to pee. Yes, she peed on me.

Refused food. Refused popsicles. Refused juice. Started IV - first sugar bolus. Then hydration. We named the IV robot Frank. Elder Child, loopy from the spray, patted it and told it it was doing a good job. Also, during our walk to ultrasound, said she was Frank’s pet puppy and he was taking her for a walk, see her leash? 😅

Spent the night. (Another note: my daycare kept her sister until bedtime. And we arranged to take her as soon as she woke up because we cannot trust my husband with her care.) Lots more holding her down and blood checks.

Also please note: Elder Dragoon wails and screams when distressed. She was very distressed. I felt really sorry for the staff because I couldn’t calm her.

In the morning she managed to eat a bit! Yay! Tried to disconnect the iv - sugar went down. Hooked her back up. Spent the day trying to get her to drink 100ml of apple juice.

Ended up discharged at almost 4pm - diagnosis: fever, causing hypoglycemia. Apparently kids don’t have as much stores as adults and the fever was burning through what she DID have.

So I spent today waking her every 4 hours and getting her to eat or drink. It took her an hour to drink half a juice box. But by dinner today she was improved and actually had food. And accepted popsicles.

Still have to get her eating or drinking again in about 20min. Then set the timer back.

I just want a full REM cycle of sleep. I am SO fucking tired.

[star--anon]

I'm bored, let's talk Thominho

1, 2 (not necessary to reading this one; they're all just scrambled headcanons)

Thomas draws in his spare time. Is just constantly doodling. Carries a ballpoint pen in his pocket everywhere he goes. Fancy restaurant? He's doodling the food on the napkin. Mountain hike? He's doodling the sunset on his hand. Car crash? He's doodling the wreckage on the airbag.

prefers charcoal drawings. He says everything's simpler in black and white.

There's hundreds of charcoal drawings of Minho in the attic (where Thomas works). Minho mutters that they're creepy, but his ears will also get really blushy whenever he sees one.

Minho doodles little mazes in his spare time. He's getting increasingly better at them (once bought a puzzle book for adults just to study how they drew mazes). His goal is to paint an entire mural, but he has to find the right design to paint first. Anything he's drawn so far, Thomas has cracked in under an hour.

Thomas secretly loves waking up and having Minho slap ten pounds of paper on his face like "Solve these."

The attic to their house has slowly evolved into their art studio. Minho goes up there to play bass guitar sometimes. Thomas can feel tremors in the walls when he does.

...Hmm.

Minho manages to live with it most of the time, but there are days when he wakes up and can't handle the disorientation of only being able to hear out of his right ear. Sometimes he slips on his hearing aids (he's not the biggest fan of that thing), and other times he puts in an earplug in his right ear and lets the rest of the world fall away. Then he scurries up to the attic and plays bass guitar for hours.

or he sits next to Thomas and half-daydreams half-watches him bloom a portrait from charcoal.

Thomas is a crazy bit in love with tea.

All their friends have, at some point, asked Minho what his boyfriend wants for Christmas/his birthday. Tea leaves. The answer is always tea leaves.

One time Minho brought home a cute teacup set from his work trip and Thomas basically tackled him with a hug

Minho tries to keep a backyard garden?? I can't get this out of my mind. Starts out nurturing little flowers and is fucking devastated when they die. Literally sobbing into his pillow T^T

just picture Thomas rolling up his sleeves aboutta throw hands with nature. He is going to garden the fuck out of them flowers

anyway Thomas and Minho now have a thriving backyard. Minho handles most of the physically challenging work like soil-turning and weeding and driving Thomas to the seed shops, meanwhile Thomas is researching how to stop plants from dying all the time

Flowers for bees 'nd butterflies, tomatoes, spring onions, etc.

Thomas makes the best soup. And yes, of course, they use their own home-grown ingredients. More than once, he has had to fight Minho away from the pot though.

"Minho it's not even done-" "Soup." "Let me at least put it in a bowl first-" "Soup."

Minho refuses to apologize. It's good soup.

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

The Unsealed Skies (2)

Warnings: spoilers for Thor 2, violence, character death, mentions of cheating, cursing, Loki threatening Malekith, and references to Greek mythology.

“Our game of cat and mouse is at an end.  It is time for us to return to Olympus and live as husband and wife.”

“The Norns were compassionate enough to provide me with a preview of my future.  I have no plans to set foot on Olympus ever again.”

“I have been searching for you for two centuries!”  Ares fumed.

“I’m surprised you could tear yourself away from Aphrodite’s bed for that long.”  You spat back, clenching your fists, “Why would you want our marriage to be a farce like your parents' marriage especially after you saw how it upset your mother?”

For a moment, regret and doubt crossed Ares’ face and then the expressions were gone.  There was another loud crack and two figures fell into the street beside you.  One of them looked very familiar with his wavy black hair, green and black armour, and pale skin.

“The Norns have a cruel sense of humour for they have returned me to Midgard.”

The other figure climbed to his feet.  From this distance, you could see the ashen grey colour of his skin, the pointed ears, and the white-blond hair.  A red ball formed in his outstretched hand and deciding that Ares was less of a concern to you right now, you left him standing by himself and stood beside Loki.

“I leave you alone for two centuries and you entangle yourself with a Dark Elf?”

“Our reunion must wait.  Malekith has absorbed the Aether.”

“Depart now Malekith and you leave with your life.”

Malekith rasped out a refusal in Norwegian and in the same breath he cursed Frigga for bringing you into this world to oppose him.

Loki’s eyebrows slammed down over his eyes and his daggers appeared in his now clenched fists, “Insult my mother in such a manner again and you shall become intimately familiar with the feeling of your spine being removed vertebrae by vertebrae through your mouth.”

Malekith flung the Aether at the two of you.  Without conscious thought, Gungnir appeared in your hand, “Hold brother.”

Loki raised his chin, “On your command sister.”

The Aether split into two balls and was inches away from connecting with you when you commanded Loki to move.  He vanished from your side and reappeared far away from Malekith, drawing both balls over to him.  At the same time, you hefted Gungnir and threw it at the Dark Elf.  As expected, the spear connected and Malekith screamed in rage as he died with his quest unfulfilled. 

You blinked and Loki was once again standing beside you.  He had conjured a box strong enough to hold the Aether yet it twisted and churned inside, longing to be free.  You heaved a sigh, “Why must our existence court chaos?”

“Although I am impressed with your ability to summon Gungnir as it is your birthright to do so, if you do not wish for Odin to journey down to Midgard to retrieve his spear, I would suggest returning it to him with haste,”  Loki commented distastefully.

“Your words are wise brother.  We shall return the Aether to Asgard and I shall ensure that Frigga is the one who will decide on the correct course of action.”

As you spoke, Loki opened his mouth and raised a finger but his objections died down when you mentioned sending the Aether to Frigga.  The sky lit up again and the two items were pulled out of your grips, circling high into the sky until they vanished from your sight entirely.

[crystaljins]

Stars Above | 05

Characters: Taehyung x Reader

Word count: 1.2K

Synopsis: Your nagging roommate is desperate for a third person to help meet the rent and your university just so happens to be running a fully-funded government grant for anyone who signs up to participate in the Intergalactic Exchange program.

Having an alien for a roommate is just asking for all kinds of trouble, though.

Alien!Taehyung x reader

Rating: Teens

Notes: Does anyone else have a thing about personalized mugs? Like my go-to mug a few years ago was a Harry Potter mug, then I had a little pink mug with cat ears.... I just like the casual intimacy of people having these habitual objects they reach for, especially where it wasn’t bought specifically by them and there’s just something that draws them to it....

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

Taehyung is watching the two occupants of your living room a little too intensely for you to be comfortable. 

“Everything ok?” You inquire hesitantly, giving the pot of hot chocolate another stir. You have two pots going; one with almond milk for tae and the other with normal milk for you and the others. 

He nods, still watching Nayeon and Jungkook with a scrutiny that borders on inappropriate; not that their unwarranted canoodling in the common space of the apartment is exactly appropriate. Still, Taehyung’s fixation is unusual. 

“I just cannot seem to discern the pattern of social contact between your species.” He finally says, breaking his gaze away and turning to look at you. “In some situations it’s unwelcome to intiate, and yet in others it’s offensive if you refuse. Sometimes it’s between intimate relationships only and other times it’s between strangers. It’s quite difficult to determine the social codes that exist between you all.”

You hum thoughtfully, leaning against the counter. You don’t blame him for being confused, especially with a pair like Nayeon and Jungkook, who have been doing the almost-flirting-will-they-won’t-they dance for years now. They have insisted that they’re merely close friends, but then he comes over for a movie night and she spends the entire movie in his lap, like they are currently doing. Usually, you sit out their movie nights because being a third wheel is a bit awkward, but tonight Taehyung had wanted to join in and you didn’t want them giving him any strange ideas about human interactions.

“There’s no particular rules to it.” You admit sheepishly. “Every human is different and has different boundaries; to some, a hug doesn’t mean much but to others a hug is very special. Some people are all about physical affection and some hate it. If you want to know what’s ok, then you’d have to ask the individual; can I hug you, can I hold your hand, can I punch your arm, that sort of thing.”

Taehyung nods raptly, giving you that inquisitive stare that always makes you feel like he’s moments away from pulling out a notepad and pen and taking notes on what humans are like. 

“It’s more similar to my planet than I anticipated.” He admits. “And yet it’s completely different at the same time.” 

You begin to serve the hot chocolate into mugs; Nayeon has a hot pink mug that declares that she’s “the hottest bitch in town” in bold, black print, while Jungkook always chooses a soft, pastel yellow mug with little bananas scattered across the ceramic surface. 

“What’s it like on your planet?” You question, crouching down to the cupboard to search for an appropriate mug for Taehyung; it’s a bit silly but you like the idea of everyone having their own, personalised mug, but as of yet you haven’t been able to select a suitable one for Taehyung. 

“Well,” Taehyung begins, and you start when you sense his presence beside you. He reaches past you, his shirt sleeve brushing against your arm as he secures a pretty, mint green mug from the very back of the cupboard. “We have an extra sense that you humans don’t.” He explains, getting to his feet and setting the mug on the counter. There’s a little cartoon corgi puppy on it, rolled over and proudly showing its tummy. You straighten as well, accepting Taehyung’s mug so that you can fill it with his hot chocolate. “In our skin, we have special receptors that permit us to detect the emotional state of another. So when we have contact with another being’s skin, we can sense what signals are being released with regards to their mood.” He explains. He wiggles his fingers demonstratively. 

“Really?” You ask. “Can you read my mood, then?” 

“A little.” He admits. “I haven’t explored it too thoroughly in your kind; I was warned that such a thing would be very unwelcome and could potentially even trigger distrust and unease from those around me. But from the brief opportunities I have attained to explore this phenomenon, it seems that you give off similar signals, though you seem to lack the receptors to detect them. It’s rather fascinating, actually.” 

You hold up your hand, scrutinising the skin of your palm as if you’d be able to see the signals Taehyung is talking about. 

“So, you can tell if I’m happy or sad, by touching me?” You question with a wrinkled nose. He laughs and shakes his head. 

“Basically.” He says. “I mean, it’s not like I am unable to do so without touching you; you humans are very expressive and it is easy to detect strong emotions remotely. On my planet, this ability is utilised as more of an empathy device.” He admits. “As in, it isn’t merely that I can sense your emotions, but rather, I can share them. Not as intensely as you yourself are experiencing. But enough to empathise strongly, at least.”

You pause to consider the concept. You yourself aren’t a touchy person; you don’t avoid it, but you don’t really seek it out, either. Whereas someone like Nayeon would probably die if she didn’t get at least one hug and hour. You hadn’t noticed Taehyung avoiding contact or anything, and you hadn’t noticed him as any less or more touchy than the average human; certainly he’s always been very touchy with you, grabbing your shoulder, leaning against you when you sit together.  But in hindsight, he always seems to be bundled up- long sleeves, long pants. There’s certainly never been much opportunity for skin-to-skin contact. 

“So touch is an empathy thing, for you guys?” You clarify. He nods, sipping from his hot chocolate as you gather the mugs on a tray. Your mug is a simple white one, with a little sunflower on it. 

“Essentially. It serves a very special purpose.” He admits. “It’s rather comforting to know that someone can share in your pain. Or your happiness. So it’s really maintained between people who are very close.” He admits. And then he deflates a little as he follows you towards the living room. 

“It’s a little lonely, not having that sense here.” He admits. It makes you pause, right before stepping into the living room. 

You’re going to regret this; you know you are. Taehyung is like Nayeon; give them an inch and they’ll take a mile. But you’ve found yourself frustratingly susceptible to him for reasons you can’t quite discern, and the melancholic lilt to his tone makes your heart ache. 

And so it is against your better instincts that you utter your next words. 

“Well, I can’t offer to share your feelings. But if you wanna know what I’m feeling, then I guess it’s ok to touch me.” You say. “Sometimes.” You add hastily. 

You step out into the living room before he can give you a reaction. If you did, you would have seen the thrilled smile that threatens to split his face.

It doesn’t take him long, from where he’s seated beside you on the couch, to inch his hand towards yours until his fingers brush yours. 

And you tell yourself the flutter of your heart is from the romcom on the screen; not the tickle of his fingertips against yours.

You can only hope he thinks the same way.

[enigmatist17]

L.A Seems Fun (Part 2)

Part 1

---

"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising

I heard a maid sing in the valley below

Oh don't deceive me, Oh never leave me,

How could you use, a poor maiden so?

Remember the vows that you made to me truly

Remember how tenderly you nestled close to me

Gay is the garland, fresh are the roses

I've culled from the garden to bind over thee."

It had been a lifetime or three since Angel had heard that song, especially coming from someone who refused to sing if anyone was within hearing range. Well, he had with Drusilla at times, but they were rare enough to never draw much attention from Angelus or Darla.

Yet here Spike was, singing without a care even though Angel and Cordelia were only a few feet away, to the little bundle in his arms. Connor was cooing as he listened to the vampire, one little hand waving up and down when Spike grinned and poked his nose.

"He's been singing for the last half hour," Cordelia whispered into Angel's ear, the older vampire having finally woken from his first decent bout of sleep in months in her arms. "Wish I had his skill."

"Connor's okay?" Angel only held back from jumping out of bed and snatching his child from Spike's hands because Cordelia was not worried in any way. One of her hands idly ran through his hair while she read a book in the other, clearly having joined him at some point after he passed out with Connor in his arms.

"Safe as houses." She replied with a soft hum, kissing Angel's forehead. "Spike is a friend, and he loves Connor."

"What?" Angel blinked, wondering just how long he'd been asleep. "Friends?"

"And roomies." Spike waggled his eyebrows, trailing off to hold Connor up by his cheek with a smile. Angel is concerned to see the younger man covered in bruises from what looks like a vicious beating. "Got me a nice room upstairs, little tyke 'ere loves it."

"You're staying?" Angel sat up with a slight wince, the other trailing across the room to slip the happy infant into his arms before he could speak.

"Reckon I can use the vacation from Sunnyhell." Connor squealed slightly as he got comfortable in his father's arms, Angel raising an eyebrow at Spike, who pointedly avoided his look. "Speakin' of, 'm gonna score myself a bit o' violence before bed, so 'ave fun children."

"Have fun?" Cordy questioned as the other vampire swept out of the room, waving his hand before he disappeared around the corner with a whistle. "He is so weird."

"No, he's just Spike." Angel shrugged as he gently poked his son's nose, donning his demonic face to hear the peals of laughter the baby let out moments later.

"I will never get over how cute that is." Cordelia smiled from her lounging spot on the bed, earning herself a genuine smile from Angel, showing off all of his vampiric teeth in the process. "Adorable."

"You're just being nice," Connor cooed as he was bounced a little. The little being in his arms soon yawned and dozed off when Angel shuffled back on the bed to sit beside Cordelia. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the vampire just watching his son sleep as Cordelia watched Angel.

"Spike and I had a chat after you fell asleep." Angel glanced over as she hummed under her breath, flipping a page in her book. "I know you both have history, but you're going to play nice with Spike while he's here."

"Um...I am?" He doesn't have to look over to see the look on Cordy's face, her tone of "don't mess with me buster because I just adopted another loser off the street" was enough to be an answer.

"It took half the liquor cabinet after we got back, but he opened up with some of what is going on in Sunnydale, and it's bad." Cordelia had to shake her head at the memory of the drunken confession she'd bore witness to after the fourth bar they'd gone to, closing her book with a quiet sigh and setting it aside. "He had to convince me not to go down there myself to raise figurative hell, and ended up using your son to do so, cheeky ass."

"Connor has that effect huh?" Angel chuckled, the sleeping baby making a noise as if he heard them. "Spike can stay as long as he wants, I can tell he's attached already."

"Considering you've seen him for about five minutes, that's impressive."

"William has never been able to hide caring about something from me, this is one example." Angel shrugged. "It'll also be nice to have an extra fighter on hand."

"Good." Cordelia hugged Angel's side with a soft noise, looking down at Connor with a smile. "Another Sunnydale stray finding their way with us, huh? I can't believe we ended up being the responsible ones...well, most of the time."

"I blame L.A." Angel shrugged, Cordelia's laugh nearly echoing throughout the entire hotel.