#grcvityfclls

[embcrspark]

apocalypse AU with @grcvityfclls, continued from here.

Stiles should’ve known better. Why these revelations only ever came to him after he’d already landed himself in such catastrophic trouble would forever remain a mystery to him. Today he’d simply lost track of time altogether, wandering off further than he ever had before, landing him in a part of the city he hadn’t explored yet. Equipped with nothing but his worn-out backpack—now heavier than when he’d left, weighed down by a handful of canned goods he’d picked up along the way—and with his gun strapped to his right thigh, he had been woefully underprepared for what awaited him. And yet, he’d found himself unable to turn back—each cautiously placed step led him closer to the danger lurking in the entrance of a nearby building.  Stiles sensed a flurry of movement from the corner of his eye, and a split second later, the rhythmic drum of footsteps picking up pace shook the dusty, weed-choked ground he had so carefully tread upon. All previous caution abandoned, adrenaline jolted through him, and Stiles took off running at a pace that nearly sent him tripping over his own feet, staggering on the unfamiliar ground. He knew that every glance he risked over his shoulder at his pursuer could put his life in jeopardy. But soon, the echo of footsteps behind him multiplied; it wasn’t just one infected chasing him anymore, but two—then three—and when a fourth joined, realization dawned on Stiles. He’d come across enough FEDRA posters detailing the stages of infection of Cordyceps virus to recognize the Runners for what they were: As members of Infected stage 1, they couldn’t have been bitten more than a few days ago, leaving most of their human characteristics intact, though distorted—especially their eyes, which turned into horrific, hollow pits as the infection progressed. They typically traveled and attacked in hordes, and Stiles briefly recalled the warning scribbled across the posters beneath a sketch of a Runner in bold, red letters: DO NOT LET THEM SWARM YOU. 

Not planning on it, he thought, running so fast that his feet barely touched the pavement as he wove through a line of abandoned cars, ducking between them to lead the runners on his heels through a course of obstacles in hopes of somewhat slowing them down in their pursuit. His gun remained tucked into its holster, rendered practically useless. Stiles estimated that his chances of landing a targeted shot while running full speed and aiming over his shoulder were smaller than zero. Stopping to shoot seemed an even worse idea. He kept running until his lungs were burning, ignoring their dire need for air. Rounding the next corner, the buildings that previously lined the streets suddenly disappeared, the city spitting Stiles out into the open space of what must have once been the ramp leading up to a highway. By now, Stiles’ vision swam with exhaustion, its edges blurring. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths that failed to provide his lungs with the much-needed oxygen. He knew he couldn’t keep going much longer. Despite not hearing the echo of footsteps behind him for a while, Stiles refused to give in to a false sense of security, fearing it might betray him. If he stopped now, assuming he had outpaced the Runners, it could very well be the last mistake he ever made. 

That’s when he spotted it: There, in the distance, a silhouette sat perched up on the roof of a truck, legs dangling over the edge with a carefreeness that Stiles himself hadn’t felt in years. It was a split-second decision that prompted him to change course, gathering what little remained of his strength to force his legs to carry him further still, putting more distance between himself and the horde of Runners that he feared somewhere behind him still while simultaneously bridging the space between Stiles and the silhouette on the truck. But the closer he got, the more frantically the silhouette—which, on closer inspection, turned out to be a young man with dark, tousled hair—seemed to be trying to get away from Stiles. He could hardly blame him; had the roles been reversed and Stiles had been the one faced with a complete stranger bolting towards him at full speed, his index finger would’ve long lingered above the trigger of his trusted Glock, itching to release a round of bullets into the nearing figure. Yet, when the man suddenly spun around, dim light reflecting in the sharpened blade of the knife he’d drawn Stiles staggered to a halt, something akin to surprise flashing across his features. He’d been so consumed with the thought of fleeing the Runners that he hadn’t stopped to consider that in approaching a fellow human, he might be subjecting himself to an entirely different, arguably worse threat of danger. 

Jagged, wheezing breaths billowed from his parted lips as Stiles panted, “Jeez, dude, fuck! Put that thing down!” Hazel eyes dropping to the knife that still glistened threateningly between them, he slowly raised both hands in front of himself as if to demonstrate he posed no threat, remaining rooted in place despite his trembling legs threatening to give out underneath him from sheer exhaustion. A low, rumbling sound drew Stiles’ attention towards the dog by the man’s side, and despite the animal’s growl a brief flash of emotion struck Stiles’ face. Memories flooded his mind, images so distorted by pain, grief and loss that he dismissed them before they could take root and poison his mind with the ache of what once had been, but now no longer was. And never would be again. Never could be again. Focus. This wasn’t the right moment to dwell on the past. “We don’t have to be friends,” He wheezed, still gulping for air. “I’d already settle for you not stabbing me.” After he spoke, he quickly took in his opponent with measured precision, sharpened gaze assessing his height that allowed him to tower slightly above Stiles but finding that other than that, they seemed about equal in terms of size, build, and strength. If things went south, Stiles felt confident enough that he’d be able to take him on. But for once he thought better of it than to escalate the situation. To say that diplomacy didn’t come naturally to him would be an understatement. Stiles found himself entirely out of his depth. “Think you can do that?” He asked now, one eyebrow quirked up in question, almost daring the other man to answer. Can you? But Stiles being Stiles, instead of pausing long enough to allow for his counterpart to actually answer, raised his voice anew, breathlessly spilling words into the silence that unfolded between them. “It’s just that I saw you, and you looked human-ish enough from a distance—you are, right? Human, I mean. Not bitten?” He didn’t see any obvious signs that the man in front of him had fallen victim to the virus—his skin appeared free of the telltale lesions of early infection, and his full head of dark curls showed no evidence of thinning. But there was no way of telling what may lie hidden beneath his clothes. For all Stiles knew he might be concealing a fresh bite underneath the layers of fabric. Time had taught him to be cautious, always, and his already wary nature had started bordering on paranoia over the years. 

But right now his best chance of surviving, and maybe even making it back home unharmed seemed to have materialized in the shape of the man in front of him who seemingly shared Stiles’ wariness of strangers, if the knife still drawn between them was anything to go by. ”I ran into a horde of Runners—I don’t even know how many miles back,” Stiles explained, his chest aching with the effort of forming words as his lungs still screamed for air. “And I’m pretty sure I managed to lose them but I’ve never been out this far and have no idea where I am. Or how to get back.” The logical result of his circumstances and the reason why he’d chosen to approach the stranger in the first place lingered unspoken in the air, with Stiles tongue-tied by stubborn pride: I need your help, is what he couldn’t bring himself to say. He’d never been one to ask for help, not before the world had fallen apart and certainly not since. Being indebted to the wrong people in a fallen society ruled by the survival of the fittest could get him killed long before a Runner had the chance to sink its teeth into Stiles’ pale skin. Just as the stranger’s lips parted as if to finally speak, passing his verdict on Stiles’ fate, a noise far too close for comfort had Stiles’ head whipping wound, widened eyes frantically darting across the vast open space behind them. His heartbeat spiked in his chest, the simmering spark of adrenaline reignited when Stiles’ gaze caught sight of a shadow in the distance, peeling out from inside the last building before the highway ramp. “On second thought,” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, eerily calm and hollowed out by the realization, “I might not have managed to lose them after all.”

[sillyjokes]

ROLL THE DICE

"Hi you again?" The madman stops midway in his steps. Radiant greens flickers up to the man's face. "Taste this?" He holds out a milk chocolate truffle to his mouth. Sure, this is out of the blue, but the Joker prefers someone who would just listen without thinking about the consequences..

[flappervcmp]

@grcvityfclls sent in 📜

[hochmvt]

everything's a life or death situation with you at this point.

If one took a closer look at Dipper and Isaiah, especially how they interacted not just with each other but to their surroundings, too, one quickly realized that they operated quite similarly on a very elementary level – surpassing the shared surname. Or, to be more precise, their motivations were the same. They were both seemingly driven by a thirst for knowledge - knowing full well that the Earth's biodiversity had much more than its 3.6 million to 112 million species to offer. And when you thought about the infinity of the universe, about all the things that wandered beyond the blue planet, one felt much smaller and more insignificant than was healthy for the egocentric human mind.

A wonderful feeling, when Isaiah thought about the concept of nihilism enough: That no matter what you did, nothing really mattered and thus, insignificance gave you the freedom to do everything. Even if that meant exploring all that existence had to offer until one's very last breath. Life had so much to offer and Isaiah was often overcome with a childlike euphoria when he met people who had similar passions – or concepts of reality – to his own. They knew that the inexplicable nature of things contained a beauty that was not only to be explored, but also to be truly admired. 

Dipper seemed much more rational in his approach to certain endeavors, for now only facing them in a more theoretical framework, while Isaiah was perhaps not necessarily less calculating, but much more emotionally driven in his response to situations. “Thanks,” the blonde replied and gave a wider grin, leaning further over the table of the diner where they had sat down around three in the morning and studying the books he had bought in addition to his and Dipper's own notes. “I kinda take this as a compliment. Anyways, have you ever encountered something like that before? What on earth did we just witnessed there?”

[firebrnd]

📜

incorrect quotes generator

Bonnie: I've already sent good vibes your way... they're coming. There's nothing you can do to stop them. Dipper: This is the most threatening way I've ever been cheered up.

Dipper: Today is the day of running through hurdles. Bonnie: Aren't you supposed to jump OVER hurdles? Dipper: Whatever. Fear is only something to be afraid of if you let it scare you.

[mikaels0n-elijah-writing]

@grcvityfclls wants a 💋

They were granted a brief moment of joy in which they could take a deep breath. Well, Dipper could breathe. Elijah was still on the alert, ready to strike at any moment. But nothing happened, no monster burst out of the thicket. The vampire turned to the other and pulled him into his arms. Just for a brief moment, stormily, his lips pressed against the other's. It was only a fleeting moment, but enough to symbolize to the other how glad he was that he was still alive.

[ghcstwired]

❛ in about a minute, you’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me. ❜

Ryujin leaned against the cool brick of the alleyway, the hum of the city a faint background to the tension in the air. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been standing there, eyes narrowing as the figure emerged from the shadows. The man in front of him wasn’t who he expected, but the words he spoke were eerily familiar. Ryujin’s lip curled into a half-smirk, but there was something calculating in his eyes, something darker, sharper. ❝ I’ve heard that line before. From people who thought they had control. ❞ His voice was low, tinged with a hint of amusement that barely masked the edge beneath.

He straightened, standing tall. ❝ You’re not the first to try to scare me off. But you might just be the first to make me curious. ❞ His hand hovered near his jacket, not quite reaching for the pockets to put his hands in it.

Ryujin’s gaze never wavered from Dipper, his posture relaxed but every muscle coiled, ready. He wasn’t intimidated, not by the words, not by the man standing in front of him but there was something off about this encounter. There was a steadiness in his eyes, a certainty that was rare, and it pulled at something in Ryujin’s chest, making him second-guess himself just for a moment.

❝ I’m not scared of threats, dude, ❞ Ryujin said, his tone half-joking, but there was no denying the edge in it. ❝ And I’m not the type to back down just ’cause you say I should. ❞ He took a step closer, eyes flickering over Dipper like he was sizing him up, looking for any hint of weakness. Ryujin’s curiosity got the better of him, as it always did.

❝ Tell me, then. What makes you think I’ll regret not listening? You’ve got me here, might as well make it interesting. ❞ He tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of a challenge in his voice, daring Dipper to explain himself, to show him exactly what was worth fearing.

This wasn’t the first time Ryujin had been warned, but there was something different about this moment. The storm, the way the air crackled, it felt like the beginning of something he couldn’t predict.

200 random dialogue prompts — always accepting !

[flappervcmp]

"Five or six inches and I would have been happy."

She chokes on her drink, sputtering as she tries to dislodge the water out of her throat. "God— Sorry, I think I must've missed something before that sentence."

Annie pats her chest a few times, dark eyes turning to look properly at Dipper. "What exactly were we talking about? Because it can't be what I think it is. At least, I don't think it can. Can it?"

[mikaels0n-elijah-writing]

@grcvityfclls { CHOCOLATE HEARTS 🍫 } --- Sender gives receiver some chocolates/candy as a gift!

Elijah took the gift and smiled at the loving gesture. Dipper had memorized what he liked and that meant a lot to him. While he reached behind him to surprise Dipper with his favorite sweets, which he presented to him in a dark red velvet box. “I hope it tastes as good to you as this chocolate will taste to me.”

[ghcstwired]

Results for ↟ coping mode test. ↟

Detached Protector

You are the guardian of your inner world, ever vigilant against emotional pain. Deep down, you carry the scars of past experiences where intense emotions led to overwhelming feelings of vulnerability or rejection. You suppress your emotions and detach from intimate connections, a coping mechanism that seeks to maintain emotional distance to protect yourself from further hurt.

Despite your outward facade of self-sufficiency, you carry a profound sense of inner vulnerability and fear. You distance yourself from others to avoid being hurt or betrayed, but this detachment often leads to feelings of loneliness and isolation. Your protective shell prevents others from getting too close, but it also hinders your ability to form genuine connections and receive the support you need.

Watch for these signs:

1. Emotional Detachment: You suppress or deny your emotions, presenting a calm and composed exterior even in the face of distress or turmoil. You appear unemotional or aloof to others, avoiding discussions about personal feelings or experiences.

2. Avoidance of Intimacy: You avoid forming deep or meaningful connections with others, fearing vulnerability or betrayal. You resist emotional intimacy or withdraw from relationships at the first sign of discomfort.

3. Independence and Self-Reliance: You pride yourself on your independence and self-sufficiency, preferring to rely on yourself rather than others for support or assistance. You struggle to ask for help or accept support from others, viewing it as a sign of weakness.

4. Perception of Others as Threats: You perceive others as potential threats or sources of harm, leading you to maintain a cautious or guarded stance in your interactions. You distrust others' intentions or motives, fearing that they will take advantage of you.

5. Loneliness and Isolation: Despite your efforts to protect yourself, you experience feelings of loneliness and isolation. Your emotional detachment prevents you from forming meaningful connections with others, leaving you disconnected and alone.

Your coping mode has significant implications for your emotional well-being and relationships. It leads to loneliness, isolation, and emotional numbness, as well as difficulties in forming and maintaining healthy relationships. It may also contribute to a lack of fulfillment and satisfaction in life as you struggle to connect with others and experience genuine intimacy.

tagged by @grcvityfclls

tagging: @gorekissed @embcrspark @cipheredwhispers @goldendoctor @daemonoria @lartist-e & you !

[flappervcmp]

"Oh shit. Where's that creepy music coming from?"

"Maybe it's a part of the whole experience?" Frowning, Annie looked around at the encroaching fog slowly filling up the woods around them. "Spooky fog, most definitely haunted forest, creepy music? All the tell-tale signs that we've gotten stuck in a horror movie."

[hochmvt]

“You're remarkably terrible at getting other people to sniff it, you know that?” Isaiah chuckled and leaned back, thus declining the very charming offer of the man across from him, sipping his coffee and taking the photo in his hand. If they had been sitting in the diner where his mother worked back home in Greenville, she would certainly have shaken her head at the fact that her son was sitting here at 3 a.m., still drinking coffee, even though his head was never still anyway. She would’ve urged him to go to bed and continue what he was doing the day after. But he couldn’t. Even as he sat there, staring at the photo, he could feel his brain reaching to the very corners of vastly different theories and ideas. All of this didn’t make much sense to him, thus refusing to let him settle on just one thing. It wasn’t just curiosity — it was a relentless need, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. 

The more he stared at those golden eyes, the more his thoughts spiraled, making connections between things that might not even exist. Maybe he needed to start somewhere else. The paper itself was old, the kind one didn’t see much anymore. He ran his finger along the edges, feeling the texture, the thickness. It wasn’t a particularly cheap paper. Whoever had taken this photo knew what they were doing and they spent money on it. And the grain of the picture revealed, that it wasn’t a cheap film stock either; very delicate and fine, the colors (despite their abscence of it) reminded him of Vision3 — and yet the ISO was low, meaning it had been taken in good light. No flash, no harsh shadows. And yet, it was dark, but it didn't feel like it was due to underexposure. The quality of the image, despite its motion blur, suggested it wasn’t recent. Maybe the late '70s, early '80s. Daylight, but not direct sun. If he had to guess, he’d say late afternoon, the kind of light that softens everything just before it fades into dusk. He could almost feel the air in that moment — cool, still, and charged with something unspoken.

These eyes however, burning gold, weren’t just watching — they were waiting. Anticipating. Hunting. He didn't think it was a demon or a spirit, nothing ethereal or fleeting. This felt physical, grounded in a way the supernatural rarely was. Something with form, almost crouching, hunched over like it was stalking its next move, waiting for the right moment to strike. Like a predator. The blurry surroundings only fed into the sense of danger, of something hiding just out of reach.

Isaiah felt anticipation and enthusiasm rise in his body, a feeling deep and instinctive, telling him this was no ordinary creature. It wasn’t just lurking in the shadows — it had manifested, brought into this world somehow, as if the environment itself had called it into being. The more he stared, the more he was certain: whatever it was, it wasn’t here by accident. And it waited to be found. ”So, where did you find all this stuff?” Isaiah asked as he pulled out his laptop, his legs becoming restless again. He alternately tapped the tips of his other fingers with his thumb. First the index, then the middle, then the ring and finally the little finger. Then backwards. Then starting again from the front. ”So, I usually start at missing people. When there’s something out there, usually people go missing or have... accidents. Cold cases are a good point to start, too. All of this feels— old. Ancient. Dunno, it’s a gut feeling, but it’s— something.”

A laugh left Dipper's throat. “That really is a compliment,” he replied, still chuckling as he looked up from his notes. He wiggled his eyebrows and looked at Isaiah through his eyelashes. But his question made him sit up straight and lean back on the bench for a second. He thought about his words. Then he shook his head. “Nope, not at all. Not that I know of. But that just makes things more interesting.” His eyes sparkled with action as he leaned on the table himself and looked deep into Isahai's eyes. “Do you have any idea what this could be?” Of course Isaiah asked first, but perhaps he already had something in mind. As Dipper knows, this man had traveled much more than Dipper himself and had seen things far removed from what was in Dipper's journal. But it also worked the other way around. Dipper might have seen things that Isaiah didn't know about now. He only thought of Bill in that one moment before he gently shook his head and broke eye contact to look at the evidence they already had. 

He bites his lips from the inside and lets his brown eyes wander over the photos, which weren't helpful at all, a few hairs in a small plastic bag, some newspaper articles and - of course - a handful of witness statements. 

“In a world where we have the first bunch of AIs, you'd think people would have learned how to focus on a camera by now, right? Or the video function?” He wasn't angry at all, but sometimes it would be easier if the photos didn't look like they'd been taken with a toaster. He grabbed one and placed it in the middle of the table between them. Then he looked up at Isaiash's eyes again. “It could be anything. A man, a deer, a pumpkin on a stick, or a bunch of gnomes in a trenchcoat. And the photo itself could be taken anywhere. In the forest or in a desert. Only the colors tell me it wasn't on a beach.” He chuckled softly and looked down at the photo. The only tiny clue that what they were looking for actually existed. Whatever this thing was, only its eyes were imaginable. Large and yellow or gold in color. A little hard to make out, since the photo itself only showed shadows and blurry trees and bushes. 

"Do some spirits have those kind of eyes? Or a demon? Oh, please. I hope it's not a demon. I've never dealt with anything like that before." Dipper sighed and reached for his cup of coffee. As he put it back on the table, the waitress came and refilled their cups, looked at their papers and walked away with a shake of her head. Dipper raised an eyebrow. ‘I made a guess,’ he said, looking from the waitress to Isaiah again, ‘We're not the first ones to sit here in the middle of the night looking for what this is.’ He pointed at the photo again, pushed it aside and picked up the bag of hair. 

Following a thought, he opened the bag and sniffed it carefully, not trying to inhale anything but the smell, and flinched almost immediately. "Oh damn, have you ever sniffed that before? Disgusting. Definitely not human. It reminds me of the sewers, but what the hell would voluntarily live down there?" He held the bag out to Isiah, not sure if he was going to sniff it or not. Dipper wiggled his nose, trying to get rid of the odour, but of course it didn't work. 

[firebrnd]

🎲 - Pick a random question to answer from this list.

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 - Do they have any siblings?

Bonnie has an older sister called Mary. Unlike Bonnie, Mary never tapped into her witch abilities and chose a different path, working as a nurse. Despite their differences, they share a close bond and Bonnie secretly admires Mary's strength and compassion in her own field. Mary is like an anchor for Bonnie, to whom she can hold on when necessary.

[mikaels0n-elijah-writing]

@grcvityfclls sends: if you don't kiss me again, i'll die.

Grinning, Elijah approached Dipper, knowing what he was doing to him, knowing what it would do to him. Burning. It burned so much inside him that he couldn't help it. And yet he wanted to tease the other, to lure him out of his reserve. He grabbed him by the back of the neck, not necessarily gently, but still lovingly, and pulled him close. He now looked down at him slightly from above, still grinning.

"We have to prevent that, don't we?"

[embcrspark]

unusual  muse  association. 

colors:  maroon,  muted  brown,  burnt  orange  (✧)  three  emojis:  🔍♟️🎭 (✧)  animal:  fox  (✧)  mythological  creature:  kitsune   (✧)  wood:  rosewood  (✧)  plant:  foxglove   (✧)  houseplant:  philodendron  white  wizard   (✧)  gemstone  /  mineral:  amber  (✧)  celestial  body:  saturn   (✧)  spice:  cardamom  (✧)  weather  event  /  natural  disaster:  lightning  strike  (✧)  fear:  loss  of  control,  abandonment,  being  forgotten  (✧)  make-up  product:  blush   (✧)  weapon:  bat   (✧)  candy:  sour  patch  kids  (✧)  subject  /  major:  parapsychology  (✧)  art  style:  expressionism  (✧)  historical  period:   roaring  20s  (✧)  method  of  long-distance  traveling:  car  (✧)  romcom  archetype:  the  goofball 

tagged by: @geisterwelt @grcvityfclls ( thanks, my loves ♡ ) tagging: @thepuppyeyed @killquest @sonnenreich @ghcstwired @heiliqe @hochmvt @a-neverending-story @tinyactress

[ghcstwired]

16 FACTOR PERSONALITY TEST

tagged by @killquest, @embcrspark & @grcvityfclls ( thanks ! )

tagging @daemonoria @engelsraub @goldendoctor @gorekissed @cipheredwhispers @sugarincss & you !