#hopefully this feels weird and distinct enough

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune Temmie is just a small, seemingly harmless little squishy thing that seems to be found around eggs! Unlike most creatures in the Dark World, she's really not all that interested in humans or their souls. Hot demon guys, though...watch out! She'll latch on like a facehugger and then not let go until all of their demonic energy has been absorbed. What does she do with it? Not your concern!

[phagodyke]

telling my roommate abt my friend whose best friends slash roommates ended up dating each other n another person & asked her to move out so they could live w their third partner instead of her and my roommate going wow I would never do that to [our 2 old roommates]. haha and me right. u would also never do that to me...... ur current roommate. and friend I hope. 🥹

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟏𝟑   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   RENZO'S HOUSE, NAKAWE, OCTOBER 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

Leonor knew she was imposing. Although with permission, she let herself into the most private circle of Renzo’s life, one from which he had barred her for months. There hadn’t been any negotiating it, and she couldn’t say whether that made it better or worse. Rather, she hadn’t tried to go where he didn’t seem to want her. She also hadn’t tried to discover whether it was a matter of wanting at all. He did want her. He had, with clarity and audacity, from the day they met. She’d seen how he treated people that he didn’t want but had yet to experience that kind of terrible disregard from him.

❧ i don't recall when these ideas came to me and melded together but i'm glad they did also hopefully goes without saying but there's time weirdness that'll be addressed subsequently ! also 2x maybe i’m wrong but there aren’t enough bj fantasies given how much some enjoy giving them, idk idk

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Leonor knew she was imposing. Although with permission, she let herself into the most private circle of Renzo’s life, one from which he had barred her for months. There hadn’t been any negotiating it, and she couldn’t say whether that made it better or worse. Rather, she hadn’t tried to go where he didn’t seem to want her. She also hadn’t tried to discover whether it was a matter of wanting at all. He did want her. He had, with clarity and audacity, from the day they met. She’d seen how he treated people that he didn’t want but had yet to experience that kind of terrible disregard from him.

Still, for all they discussed, the red lines and boundaries of their own relationship went without remark—either unspeakable or so self-evident as to require no demarcation. Leonor believed most of the time that it was the latter. She knew that her life had steadily cohered around his. The rhythm of it attracted her, able to fill the grave-silent vacuum where her own had once been. Although it had, important distinctions remained. Now, waking up in his bed, surrounding by what looked to be all of his worldly possessions, knowing he allowed her to be there because she needed him that much, because he cared about her that much, she suspected at least one distinction had blurred irrevocably. 

Just as quick as the realization took hold, so too did the understanding that it didn’t bother her. She noted she was alone in the room. That meant something. She took in the sight of everything bathed in daylight, from the careless stacks of books to the rumpled clothes strewn on the floor to the overflowing boxes shoved into the small room’s corners. It had seemed peculiar to her that he lived in the guesthouse instead of the perfectly suitable villa to which it belonged. Looking around, she began to appreciate why he would make such a choice. For anyone else, it would have been silly or, worse, performative. Leonor, rolling over into the pillows that smelled like him, felt she now unlocked some deeper knowledge of everything he had ever told her about himself—like she could feel what he felt when he claimed to be so uncomfortable and discontent in places other people might kill to experience. In that, yet another distinction dissolved. 

Renzo hadn’t answered the phone when Leonor called, and his flippant prerecorded message sounded cruel as it played. Her hope had been reassurance—comfort, really—in the clarity he tended to offer. Instead, the sound of his voice disheartened her further. Her mind raced all night without guidance to quiet it. It chased away sleep, banging together gut-wrenching thoughts with insistence and urgency. The idea of her mother’s belongings cast out into the world, ripped away before she could claim them for her own sentimental needs, felt just as discordant as the haphazard crashing of cymbals. She had grasped onto half-formed notions of how to retrieve these mysterious belongings, but a plan refused to cohere. Even after crying as she hadn’t in weeks, the burden of emotional exhaustion didn’t slow down the pace of her thoughts.  

She slept much better in Renzo’s bed, even if it was the first time she’d ever been in it. 

He was a private person and, anyway, she had eagerly brought him into her house. His opinion mattered to her as soon as he set foot inside; he liked the artwork in her dining room so much that she'd immediately gifted him one of the large pieces, frame and all. It perplexed him, as if he wasn't sure what he would do with it. 'You don't collect it?' she asked him. He shrugged. 'That's what everyone asks. I should smarten up, huh?' Leonor had imagined his home full of art—obscure, iconoclastic finds, too, not the low-hanging fruit. That exchange and several others kept her curious about what his home looked like.

Luckily, she was the nosy kind of curious. She asked around without shame on a couple of occasions, wondering aloud where he lived and what his house was like. She did know his address. He’d given it to her driver, at the end of long nights or when he left her house in the afternoon. All it told her was that he lived in a quiet, star-studded neighborhood that was the new money equivalent of her own. That wasn’t surprising, even if she imagined him in a trendy downtown apartment rather than one of those high-walled coastal villas. His friends offered less-than-colorful descriptions of what was inside. They seemed confused by the question, even. ‘It’s just a house.’ He wasn’t much for decorating. They went over to drink and smoke and and gamble and watch films. She could imagine it well enough, a gaggle of off-duty actors squished together on a big couch. What kind of couch, though? That was the root of it—she could imagine Renzo’s eyes lighting up at the sight of an old, ugly sofa in a dusty secondhand store, but she couldn’t quite picture him bringing it home with any purpose or intent. In the same way she inherited a house designed for someone else, she supposed he simply occupied someone else’s dream home. 

As it turned out, that was the case. Imposing fences, dense foliage, and locked gates hid all the houses on the street from view. Leonor had initially noted the averageness of the house itself, but she soon found herself more intrigued by the discovery that he resided in the guesthouse instead. She'd cast a glance back at the main house looming large and empty, then laughed as she turned back to the little doll’s home Renzo preferred. Inside, Leonor flipped on every light she encountered as she wandered around. She had felt a strange, sheepish delight that he wasn’t present to observe the way her eyes lingered on every detail. It was greedy, but she wanted to see everything that was his. 

The guesthouse possessed a neutral, modern style that didn’t represent Renzo very well, but he had made it his own. His old shoes piled up in the entryway. The living room, small to her but an open cavern in reality, bore the colorful imprint of his time spent there. VHS tapes clustered around the television set. Evidence of card games past littered the coffee table, along with books, a full ashtray, abandoned bottles of lukewarm beer. Leonor smiled at the little potted cactus. In the music nook, a record collection sat with a couple of guitars. Leonor envisioned him stretched out on the solitary lounge chair, reading the book tossed at its foot, making use of the hard candy or rolling papers on the side table in between chapters. She took one of the candies as she passed by, leaving behind her wrapper with those already discarded. 

The staircase led directly to the single bedroom. Leonor had been able to see in the moonlight, and she soon felt a tug of unease.  Even more than downstairs, Renzo’s bedroom looked like the sanctuary she had suspected his home must be. It was cluttered and overflowed with belongings, some collecting dust and others arranged as if he would return to them any minute. His very life was here. It fit in a single room. Some of it spoke for itself, and others were inscrutable symbols of stories she had yet to hear. What was it like, she wondered, to both live with such sentimentality and to be so without roots? For a moment, she had wanted to turn around and leave, as if she hadn’t earned the right to such an intimate look at him. Instead, she pulled the door shut and crawled into the unmade bed. 

Walking into the house, the nostalgic scent of stale smoke sunk into fabric greeted her. A fleeting recollection of climbing into her mother's personal car sprung to mind in response. The same smell clung to the sheets and pillows, melded with the sweet, earthen scents Renzo wore. She could all but hear her grandmother’s voice ranting about the acerbic stench she loathed, for reasons both hygienic and spiteful, but Leonor found the familiarity comforting. It smelled like her mother’s embrace the morning after a big fight, when she came inside from the balcony with a tired, apologetic smile on her face and last night’s smoke still in her hair. An ocean breeze blew inside from the open doors, and it ruffled Leonor’s hair as she turned to face the view. The water was barely visible through the foliage, but its shimmering in the distance was unmistakable. She listened to the wind, and the quiet city whisperings it carried, and soon felt at home.

As Leonor descended the spiral staircase the next morning, the sound of voices alerted her yet again to the fact that she was imposing. Renzo’s plans for the weekend hadn’t included her. She was supposed to be away and, in any case, he had mentioned meeting a friend. It didn’t occur to her as she’d pulled on her underwear and selected a shirt from the floor to wear—and only that, crucially—that he could be meeting someone at home, right now, while she slept her way from morning to early afternoon. Possibilities flashed through her mind as her steps down the staircase slowed. It could be someone important, like his agent, who sounded dour even on the telephone. Or, it could be a familiar face who would see her bare legs and just laugh. She decided to risk it and managed to pad all the way over to the sunken sitting area before Renzo looked up at her. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asked as she regarded his guest, a stranger, with a quizzical look.

“Hard,” she replied. "Knocked out.” 

Renzo chuckled, and the man sat across from him piped up, “Hey. I don’t know if you remember me. Jim.”

Leonor stared at his face. He was possibly the most non-Uspanian looking man she had ever seen, and his accent supported that notion. Still, she couldn't remember where she might have seen him. His was a forgettable face, too. “I don’t, sorry. Nice to meet you—again.” 

“Jim’s a photographer,” Renzo added. 

Leonor nodded. He looked like a photographer, and he looked like the kind of photographer that Renzo would befriend. Nonetheless, she feigned dismay, announcing, “Oh, no, I better go hide, then—!”

“Editorial, mostly,” Jim clarified with a laugh. “Yeah, I dabble in photojournalism, but strictly the kind that’s, you know, real news.” 

The conversation lulled while Leonor turned her attention back to Renzo, nudging him with her toes until he reached up to help her climb down onto the couch. Although Jim watched them, he may as well have not been present at all. Leonor wished he wasn’t. Buoyed by the satisfaction of having achieved a new kind of intimacy, Leonor hoped to float down the stairs and right into Renzo’s arms. She wanted a tour of the house, and she wanted to take her time in every part of it. In a sense, the day was halfway over, and it could have progressed like all of the sleepovers before it, making up for lost morning hours with late night ones. Renzo maintained late-rising night owl's hours, and Leonor was happy to follow him into bed and out of it irrespective of where the sun might’ve been sitting in the sky. Today, he was awake early with a friend, and Leonor had to settle for conveying her disappointment through expression alone. He smirked at her while he squeezed her thigh, and she took that as a wordless promise. 

Nestled between him and the couch, Leonor turned her attention back to Jim. “Jim, have you done anything I would recognize?” 

“Maybe,” he began, “But—”

“And you’re from Simerica, too?”

Jim chuckled, and Leonor felt Renzo react to that with his own amused scoff. 

“I met Renzo at the Beverly Hills Hotel,” Jim explained. “He walked into my shot and then told me to go fuck myself. Southern charm, this guy.”

Although there was affection in Jim’s tone, Renzo protested this characterization while Leonor snickered. It was believable, but perhaps that was the problem. “He was being a bitch about it. I wandered by. So what?”

“It was my first Interview job! I can admit I was a teeny bit on edge,” Jim retorted.

Again, they fell quiet while Renzo tended to the cigarette he’d been holding and Leonor observed from where she lay against his chest. 

Jim looked on. His expression shifted into one of careful concentration. He asked without any prelude, “Can I photograph you?” 

It wasn’t a question she couldn’t have anticipated, but Leonor was still surprised. She wrinkled her brow and cast another glance to Renzo before trying to clarify what Jim wanted. “Me?”

“Both of you. Together.”

“Um … When?”

“Now? Today. I have my camera right here.”

“It’s up to you,” Renzo murmured to her.

Indeed, Jim’s camera sat on the coffee table, perched atop a stack of tapes leftover from whatever difficult movie-watching decision Renzo had last made. Leonor looked at it, imagining the shuttering of its lens as it pointed toward her. What kind of photographs did Jim have in mind? She didn’t know what his work looked like, although his association with Renzo offered clues. He wouldn’t have befriended someone whose art he didn’t respect, and Renzo was just as well-acquainted with posing for cameras as Leonor herself. Had Jim taken photographs of him before, aside from whatever unintentional cameo he’d made when they first met? Polaroid flashes went off constantly during their nights of partying, but that, much like the hounding flashes of paparazzi, differed from what Jim was proposing. He wanted to photograph them in Renzo’s home. He would want a performance of candidity, that elusive desire of everyone in his profession. They would be relaxed, together, his object being their relationship, not either of the two individuals that formed it. It wasn't lost on her that he asked for a photo shoot while they ignored him in favor of each other.

Jim’s question, with Renzo’s gentle and immediate yielding, brought yet another once-sharp distinction into soft focus. 

“Well …” Leonor meant to forestall announcing a decision, but her tone gave it away. Jim smiled as she said to Renzo, “We do look good together. Not too many good quality daytime pictures, are there? Hm.”

Jim was eager to seal the deal. “Just a casual offer,” he insisted. “Just for fun. Perk of having interesting friends.”

Leonor nodded. He must have taken pictures of Renzo before. He acted like a bashful schoolboy with a surprising report card whenever she found photos of him to coo over. 'Put it away! It's embarrassing.' Those photographers had success with him, managing to coax out the version that played well with others and didn't resent his blessings. Fancy pictures taken by a friend would be something different. Perhaps Jim's photos had been monochrome closeups that turned his large, green eyes into a soft, warm gray and made even more pronounced the sharp lines of his face. Although she had seen countless photos of herself, she couldn’t fully see how she would fit into that frame—what they would look like together, through Jim’s mechanical eyes. 

“No publication? Nowhere?” she asked, forcing herself back to the concrete specifics. 

Jim shook his head. “I’ll give you prints to keep, and you can do whatever with them.” 

She felt a flutter. It was the kind of ingenuous excitement that always appeared with embarrassment nipping at its heels. What would she do, frame one and put it on her bedside table—stick it to her refrigerator with a cute magnet, tuck it into the sun visor of her car, keep it in her purse alongside her credit cards and notes-to-self? Even if they felt silly, there was nothing ridiculous in those suggestions. Her desire for what Jim offered was sincere. That, coupled with the subtle feeling of Renzo nuzzling his cheek against her hair, confirmed the suspicion she had awoken with less than an hour ago. Somehow, today was different. Every day after would have to be as well.

Surprised by the softness of her own words when she spoke, Leonor affirmed, “Okay, then. Sounds like fun.”

TRANSCRIPT:

[Leonor murmurs]

[Camera shutters, indistinct voices]

RENZO (O.S.) | Open your mouth—

[Birds chirping, Leonor laughs]

RENZO | How’d you sleep? LEONOR | Hard. Knocked out. [Renzo chuckles]

JIM | Hey. I don’t know if you remember me. Jim. LEONOR | I don’t, sorry. Nice to meet you—again.

RENZO | Jim’s a photographer. LEONOR | Oh, no, I better go hide, then— JIM | [laughs] Editorial, mostly. Yeah, I dabble in photojournalism, but strictly the kind that’s, you know, real news.

LEONOR | Jim, have you done anything I would recognize?

JIM | Maybe, but— LEONOR | And you’re from Simerica, too? JIM | I met Renzo at the Beverly Hills Hotel. He walked into my shot and then told me to go fuck myself. Southern charm, this guy. [Leonor snickers]

RENZO | He was being a bitch about it. I wandered by. So what? JIM | It was my first Interview job! I can admit I was a teeny bit on edge. [Laughter]

JIM | Can I photograph you?

LEONOR | Me? JIM | Both of you. Together. LEONOR | Um … When? JIM | Now? Today. I have my camera right here. RENZO | It’s up to you. LEONOR | Well … We do look good together. Not too many good quality daytime pictures, are there? Hm.

JIM | Just a casual offer. Just for fun. Perk of having interesting friends. LEONOR | No publication? Nowhere? JIM | I’ll give you prints to keep, and you can do whatever with them.

LEONOR | Okay, then. Sounds like fun.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #29

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this one, guys! Holiday festivities have been keeping me busy, but hopefully I'll get the last two out on time! :D

-

part 1

xxx alternate prompt: used as bait

River is having a hard time focusing. He's in a wooden chair. The rope binding his wrists to the arms are tied tightly enough that the scratchy fibers bite into his skin. His captors hadn't bothered with his ankles. Probably figured there was no need, since the bones in his lower right leg are most likely in about a million little pieces.

The room is cold.

Any adrenaline he'd had from the attack has long since faded, and his leg is killing him. It might literally be killing him, actually, because at the moment it's all he can think about. He should be trying to figure out a way to escape, but he just can't get his thoughts to line up properly for long enough to come up with anything helpful. Or anything unhelpful. Any hope for survival, it seems, rests on the shoulders of the Slow Horses.

He thinks probably he's not supposed to find comfort in that—the Horses being, well, the Horses—but he does. Or, maybe not comfort, per se, but there is a distinct lack of dread which is close enough.

The strangely calm, detached feeling continues even when a door opens somewhere behind River, and he hears the sound of footsteps. It's the first time any of his captors have entered the room where he's being held. If he were going to feel dread at the situation, now would be the time for it.

Instead, he says, "It's about time. I've been here for ages, could really use a drink. You haven't got scotch, have you?"

"You're funny," the person who'd just entered says, and he sounds...normal. River's not sure what he expected – maybe something more Darth Vader-like? At the very least a little gruff and intimidating. This guy sounds like he could host a mediocre lifestyle podcast. He walks into River's line of sight and waves. He's got a mask and gloves on, and River recognizes the outfit. This is one of the people that had dragged him into the car. He gestures at River's leg.

"That must hurt." The way he says it seems...odd. Loud. "Mind if I take a look?"

River shrugs.

"Be my guest."

The man draws a knife from a sheath at his hip and steps forward, slicing open the leg of River's trousers to the knee. He hisses a little, then straightens, glancing over his shoulder before saying, again overly loudly, "It doesn't look good. Definitely broken. You'll need surgery if you don't want to walk with a limp for the rest of your life. Might even need to get it amputated if it's bad enough."

This man, this weird fucking guy, is behaving oddly enough that it gives River something to focus on other than the agony in his leg. He wants to interact with him more, see if he can figure anything out...

"Yes, well, that's what happens when you hit someone with your car."

It's the wrong thing to say, apparently. Or maybe what happens next would have happened no matter what he said, or didn't say.

The man kicks River's leg – not hard, he barely touches it in fact. But that's more than enough for the already awful pain to become excruciating. River's vision goes black, and when awareness comes back he can hear someone screaming. He's screaming. He clamps his mouth shut on the sound.

"You--" he gasps, struggling to catch his breath. He's trembling, and a cold sweat has broken out over his forehead. "You bastard."

When he looks at the man, though, the man isn't looking at him. He's looking up at the wall. At the camera. That's why he's been speaking so loudly, acting like he's putting on a show. He is putting on a show. Because River's not the target.

He's the fucking bait.

"It's not like I enjoy this," the man is saying. God, he's a shit actor. Probably wouldn't know subtlety if it bit him on the arse. "None of this has been for-"

"Right," River interrupts. He's in too much pain and too angry to listen to this prick monologue. He doesn't know for sure whether it's a live feed or whether the camera is recording a video that the man intends to send later. He really, really hopes it's the former. "Are they seeing this right now?"

River can't see the man's face, but his posture changes, growing rigid. He looks up at the camera again and River almost smiles. Clearly he hadn't intended for River to catch onto that part of his plan. River looks at the camera now, too.

"It's a trap," he says loudly. "You dickheads better not walk right into it, or else you're just as stupid as everyone says you are!"

xxx

"What the fuck is he doing?" Shirley practically shrieks.

The second link had come in shortly after she and Louisa got back to Slough. They hadn't gotten much from the police, and Roddy apparently hadn't had much luck either. Now, though, there's a live-feed for him to trace. A live feed of River acting like a complete fucking idiot.

"Does he honestly think we don't know it's a trap?" Louisa says, both hands gripping at the sides of her head, eyes wide. She wants to reach through the screen and cover River's stupid mouth.

"You should not have fucking done that," the man in the video says. The knife he'd used to cut open River's pant-leg is back in his hand.

Louisa can see what's coming, but that doesn't stop her from letting out a small cry when the man drives the knife into River's gut.

"Oh, fuck!" Roddy says, eyes wide, his fingers freezing over his keyboard as he stares at the screen.

"Roddy, focus!" Shirley snaps.

"Right." Roddy looks back at the monitor that doesn't have the video on it and he starts typing again, hands flying over the keys.

Louisa's heart is pounding, fear and anger mixing as she watches the man pull the knife back out. Their timeline for finding him and staging a rescue has just gotten significantly shorter.

"How long before he bleeds to death, d'you think?" Shirley asks, and there's none of the usual sarcasm in her voice, just a hollowness. Her face is pale. Then she says, voice sharpening, "Where the fuck are you going?"

Coe, already halfway out of the office, keeps moving, not looking back. Shirley glares.

"Hey!"

"Leave 'im," Lamb says, putting an arm up to block the doorway. "Ho, update."

"I've almost got it."

"Good," Louisa says. "We need to get him out of there."

Lamb raises an eyebrow at her. "Are you forgetting the part where it's a trap? We need to be smart about this. I know that isn't exactly everyone's forte, or you wouldn't be here, but I'm going to need you all to try and use your brains."

The anger that roils in Louisa's gut makes its way to her mouth, and it's moving before she can stop it.

"Can you not just take something fucking seriously for once?"

Something flickers across Lamb's expression and his eyes twitch slightly. "I am taking this seriously. That's one of my agents. And if he dies, then the people who did it are going to have hell to pay. But what do you think happens if we just charge in there, guns blazing, the way these aresholes obviously want us to? In all likelihood Cartwright will still die, and the rest of us with him. Where's the good in that?"

Louisa takes a deep breath, chewing the inside of her cheek. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. Are you going to be able to do this? 'Cus right now you're looking like a fucking liability."

"I've got it," Louisa says. She doesn't know if that's actually true, but she can't be left behind while they go to save River. "I'm good. Sorry."

Before Lamb has the chance to respond, Roddy claps his hands together, then throws both arms up in the air, spinning around in his chair to face them.

"I found him."

xxx

This is bad. Obviously it's bad, being stabbed is bad. But somehow, against all odds, it's given River a sort of second wind. Adrenaline is coursing through him, dulling the pain to something near acceptable levels. He knows it won't last long, knows it's only a matter of time – maybe only minutes – before the blood loss starts slowing his thoughts again.

The man throws some more threats around, a bit more gesturing, and then he leaves. River waits until he hears the door close and lock behind him before looking up at the blinking red light.

"I think you guys can hear me," he says. "And I just – I want to say, it's alright. Whatever happens, it's...I don't blame you. I said to keep away and I meant it. But, uh...Just in case, I'm – I'm gonna stay awake as long as I can."

He lets out a brief, breathy laugh that's completely devoid of humor and shakes his head. It feels odd speaking to an empty room, and frankly kind of stupid. "Fucking ridiculous..." he murmurs. He looks back up. And he keeps talking because, somehow, it makes him feel a little less alone.

(He doesn't want to die alone.)

He doesn't talk about anything in particular, at first. He talks about the dinner he wanted to cook this week, and about the OB's garden. He talks about getting chased by dogs in France, and how even though they were barking like they wanted to tear his limbs off, he still prefers them to the Dogs. That makes him think of Duffy, and he comments on the fact that he still wonders where that missing diamond got off to.

He talks until he feels the cold start to settle in, and tingling in his hands and feet. He's getting light-headed too. Bad signs. He knows that. Fuck.

"Uh...Not sure how much longer I'll be able to stay awake," he says. He blinks heavily. "Maybe-maybe don't call my mum this time? Until you're, like, positive...And if someone could go visit my granddad a few times a week, that would be..." He blinks back tears, swallowing the lump that rises in his throat. "Maybe Catherine? She was good with him."

Being outlived by the OB. That's not something he'd ever imagined, especially not with how his granddad's health has been recently.

"He'll be confused. So make sure – make sure he knows he didn't kill me." There's darkness crowding the edges of his vision, and his ears are starting to ring. When he speaks again, his own voice sounds foreign to him.

"And make sure you find who did this."

It's the last thing he says before he slips into unconsciousness.

xxx to be continued...

[yanderes-galore]

yandere hcs for ennard, more so ennard when they're using Mike's skin and the darling is someone Mike knew? Hopefully that makes sense

Yeah, sure! I'll see what I got :)

Original Ennard HCs I'm using for personality purposes

Yandere! Ennard Pretending To Be Michael

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Graphic descriptions, Manipulation, Multiple personalities (Ennard), Deception, Dubious but implied forced companionship.

I feel this situation would progressively get worse as things progress.

Your connection to Michael doesn't matter too much.

I'd imagine due to the pairing you were friends or something closer.

The biggest issues with Ennard taking over are these;

Ennard has multiple personalities you'll pick up on over time, they struggle with replicating Michael fully.

The eventual smell as their disguise rots.

The odd movement "Michael" begins to display.

The look of your friend gets worse and worse.

Pretending to be Michael is a way for Ennard to be close to you.

At first they'd definitely struggle.

Not only do they have constant personalities buzzing in their mind, but they also don't know you well... if at all.

As a result, when you call Michael's name, you'll notice him twitch a little before trying to respond.

Ennard tries to also learn singular pronouns.

It would give them away if they kept saying "we".

Ennard struggles to learn Michael's behavior, but soon they get the hang of it.

It would help more if Michael had videos of you and him so they can copy it.

When Ennard meets you they can tell you're worried about Michael.

They can't tell if it's nice someone cares about them after being forgotten so long... or if they're envious of the supposedly deceased Michael.

Either way they try to respond in a way similar to Michael.

Honestly, trying to replicate Michael is hard for them.

One moment you find Michael being playful with you, the next he's asking you to dance midway through.

Then there's times he claims he wants to impress you, other times he gets a bit... devious.

You begin to wonder what he's gone through when he was gone?

Michael just seems so erratic with you.

He also appears oddly obsessed with you and things about you.

You even pull him/them aside to try and figure out what's up.

Your friend is acting weird... so you'll keep an eye on him.

There's times when he visits that there's the distinct smell of decay around him.

You jokingly tell him to take a shower one time, to which he (Ennard) gives you a confused look.

You feel even more concern towards your friend when you notice his walk.

He appear limping at times, leading to you holding him up.

An action you notice he shuffles closer to you during.

You offer to call the hospital when you notice Michael's skin turn a bruising purple, one that remind you of flesh lacking blood.

Ennard tells you they don't need it as Michael despite your worry.

Meanwhile as Ennard plays the role of your friend, they pick up items they think remind them of you.

They also often stare in an attempt to memorize what you look like in their mangled databank.

During this time Ennard is working on a time limit.

Michael won't be a suitable disguise soon enough.

Plus... the personalities buzz even more when they discuss you.

Soon you'll notice "Michael" slip away again.

This is Ennard making their escape, fleeing into the sewers.

They really hate the idea of leaving you... they miss the comfort you offer.

However, they promise to see you again.

They may even be in a different form when they meet you again.

Then they can have your comfort in their true form...

They hope you'll be just as welcoming as when they were Michael... won't you?

[unhappy-last-resort]

Only In Aphotic Hours

Fandom: PTN (Path To Nowhere)

Genre: Yandere, smut, angst

Main Characters: Cinnabar, GN Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Dub-con, fingering (reader receiving/giving), oral (reader giving), lesbian situationship, reader has a vag, Cinnabar is being weird, pre-established relationship

It's cold.

That's the thought that echoes in the empty halls of your tired mind as you stare at your ceiling fan spinning tiredly above your bedroom. There's a metal rattling sound from the other end of your apartment, probably someone going up the rusted stairs. You rub your eyes more roughly than you should and turn to look at your alarm clock, red numbers glaring 1:10 A.M. at you and reminding you that you had work in a few hours, and more annoyed at your early wake-up.

Your fingers tap at the duvet cover as you consider what to do. You stayed up too late this past weekend- waiting for someone who never showed- and you really, really need your sleep. Tea. You'll get some tea, it'll warm you up and hopefully relax you enough to go back to sleep.

With a grumble, you sit up pull a blanket around your shoulders, and stand, wincing as your feet hit the floor and the chill spreads into bone. Sure, you could, in theory, turn off the fan, but you know if you do, you'll wake up covered in sweat—the joys of living in a shitty apartment building.

You hobble down the narrow hallway, the only thing that stood between your bedroom and your kitchen— save for the tiny bathroom tucked into the end of the hallway and right in front of your bedroom door— really, your "apartment" was just a straight line with squares attached to it. You ignore the AC that you knew wouldn't do anything no matter how you fiddled with it, and enter your kitchen; flipping the switch and blinking as yellow light floods your vision.

The one thing you could be thankful for is that the cramped living situation allowed you to see everything immediately. The kettle waiting on your stove, the tea you always use sitting on your counter and tucked against the wall, the coat rack crookedly screwed into the wall, there were no hidden surprises in your place. Everything is as it's presented to you, as you last left it.

You flick the stovetop on and huddle back into a corner of your cramped kitchen, staring absentmindedly at the darkened sky that shows through the large— too large, in your opinion— square window on your door. Maybe if you lived high enough to see over the neighboring apartment building, you wouldn't mind it so much, but you don't and you hate how you sometimes get the feeling of being watched when you're in here. Actually, you've started noticing the peculiar itch of eyes on you even in your bedroom too. When did that start?

There's another, subtle rattle of the metal stairs outside and you still, the quiet buzz beneath your skin telling you to listen. There's a rumble of laughter in the distance that seeps through the walls, and the sound of someone's AC kicking on, but not that distinct rattle of rusted metal you'd come to know. Sure, it could be someone in your building staying out late, maybe getting a breath of fresh air, or looking at the deeply unpleasing view of the dirty street and alleyways below.

You're probably overthinking.

You stared at the tiled floor, it's uncomfortable and icy to stand on, most of the year you don't care, but as you start to smell the snowy tendrils of oncoming winter in the air, the sinking dread of facing another winter alone in your apartment, trying not to freeze as you shiver beneath every blanket you own consumed you. What you wouldn't give for an escape from that torment.

Huh. Escape.

You always dreamed of escaping Syndicate, of going to better, higher places away from the filth and violence that permeated your life like swelling warts, but maybe you've already given up on that dream, or maybe you didn't. Maybe that's why you latched onto her the same way a drifting soul in the sea latches onto a piece of rotted, broken wood from a ship. You believed she could bring you to safety with her loving smiles that brightened the world, her strong arms that held you tightly in the night, her eyes that glimmered like ocean waves, mysterious and gentle as they wrapped around you and coaxed you into the depths of warmth.

You hated the way life would freeze and dull when she wasn't around like spring flowers breaking from the Earth only to realize it was still snowing. You lived for the momentary warmth and unspoken promise of care and safety she brought into your world. You ached for it like a sunflower aches for the sun to shine its light over the horizon.

A loud slam of a door comes from beneath your feet and a tremor runs up the walls. Water bubbles inside the kettle and the metal stairs creak and shake with each heavy step the person on them takes. The man who lived below was old and angry, you'd always hated going down the stairs each morning after a certain incident. You still remember what it felt like, standing on the stairs, hand gripping the railing as you gaped at the window, a black box where hatred and anguish had coalesced into a person staring back at you, the surroundings unfurling like a blooming rafflesia, simultaneously drawing your attention to the-

Door knob rattling.

It's slow, the swing of the door followed by the cold sweeping in and wrapping around your ankles, the boot landing heavily on the small bit of wooden floor that marked a difference between the entrance and kitchen. The tall figure slouching through the doorway, yellow, cracked goggles flashing in the yellowed kitchen light. Matted, wet, black and blue hair sticking to each other; dirty jacket, white shirt, stained brown.

It's her.

Warmth is undercut with the prickly cold of fear, bunching in your veins beneath joy and settling over your shoulders, crawling up your neck, and wrapping upwards to meet your ear. It's different, something's wrong. It whispers feverishly, tugging at your nerves to run back into the box of your room- away from warmth.

She yanked off her goggles and dropped her shield on the floor, the loud thud making you flinch before she started tugging off her jacket. This is…Well, normally, she knocks and says who she is and almost tip-toes her way in, like she was afraid of disturbing the air you occupied despite your attempts to break the delicateness that wove itself between you. She always treated you like something that could be easily destroyed without her realizing, like carefully crafted lace that could fray if rubbed the wrong way, like the very bedsheets you rested on were holy.

This- as you watched her drop her gloves onto her jacket on the floor instead of putting them on the coat rack- was, careless. The most reliable member of Serpent Eye, who always did her job, who was always sweet, and kind, and warm, and cautious to the point it hurt; was being careless. The cold around your neck held tighter and your heart sent a shudder that ran to the pit of your stomach, blossoming into warmth that bubbled in your veins.

"Cinnabar!" She looks at you instantly, her blue eyes wide, and your voice comes out unexpectedly loud and excited. You wince, but she just smiles and you continue, being careful to set a casual tone this time. "I didn't know that you were coming." Is everything okay?

She pauses, sticking her tongue in her cheek before leaning down to untie her boots. "I had an errand to run here and thought I'd make up for the missed date." She glances up at you with a sheepish smile, shy and cheeky- mostly the latter. "It was last minute so I couldn't text you."

You hum, rubbing your thumb into the flesh of your upper arm as you watch her. She'd usually at least knock before coming in, in fact, there was only one other time she ever showed up unannounced and it wasn't like this with her boots printing reddish-looking mud on your floor.

Maybe it was the shitty apartment lighting or the midnight sky that shone through the door's window and framed her face, but her eyes seemed to share the unending darkness of the night- and you are at its epicenter.

She smiled, the corners of her mouth upturned in a familiar way, the stretch of her lips that you'd seen before, the crinkles around her eyes in their expected place; but something about it settled unnaturally in your stomach.

"Hey," She says softly and takes one step forward, one step closer to the threshold between the entryway and the kitchen. "I'm sorry if I startled you." She dropped her shoulders and bent her knees slightly, quirking her head with a wry smile as she carefully stepped her way toward you. Maybe she was trying to appear smaller to you, but it feels like you're about to be pounced on. "I just...really wanted to see you." She's past the kitchen sink now. Her fingers twitch as she drags them over the countertop.

She's close enough to smell now, smoke, gunfire, and something tangy that tickles your throat. You don't know when you were caught in the corner where the counter and wall meet, but Cinnabar's in front of you, the sheen of sweat highlights the muscles flexing beneath her arms as she places them gently on either side of you, the wall creaking behind you.

Your breath is caught in your throat the same way your eyes have been captured by hers. You can feel her breath brush against your skin like a bubbling inferno that spreads throughout every inch of your skin and ignites with an ache to burn.

"Is that alright?" She whispers, but it's so loud it's the only thing you can hear. It's the only thing that rings through your mind, ricocheting off walls and silencing the cold that was on your shoulders, sealing it somewhere deep beneath your skin.

You can feel one of her hands inching toward you as she tilts her head to the side, her smile patient, gentle, and a little needy as it always was in the moments before you'd find yourselves tangled in each other. Yet you could tell something was interwoven in the texture of her skin and the fire behind her lashes, something that seemed insatiable and greedy. "I don't…know?"

She chuckles, her Adam's apple bobbing in her throat. "Flustered?" She leans in and cups your cheek, glancing at something off to the side for a moment. "Don't worry, just think of it like last time."

A tense beat of silence and then the kitchen light is snuffed out with a click and her lips are on yours in the same instant, feverish and sloppy and unlike any other time she kissed you. You're left reeling, grabbing at her shoulders as she drags you out of the kitchen.

Her kiss is rough and consuming, suffocating in ways you didn't know she was capable of. Her starting kisses were never like this, never did she part your lips with her tongue so eagerly, never did she hold you, hostage, against a wall with her fingers prying at the edges of your shirt with too much eagerness for precision. It was never like this, but it has never been more intoxicating than now.

You could stop her, you could pull away, but as you push her into the closet door of your hallway, you feel her smile against your lips as your hands drift and squeeze at her ass and thighs- why should you stop?

She pushes you in the direction of your bedroom, finally slipping a hand beneath your shirt and wrapping it up your back to keep you upright as you both stumbled your way in the dark, reluctant to let your lips separate farther than a breath as if you might disappear if she can't hold you and keep you close.

Your knees catch the edge of your mattress and your lungs are burning for oxygen as you both crash onto the bed and she finally lets you breathe. You stare at the fan spinning overhead, perpetual and ordinary, as Cinnabar's calloused fingers hook the band of your pajamas and pull it down. You hear her sigh as you come into view and she swipes two fingers over your wet folds, before dragging them up to tease your clit. That's not ordinary- it's a special occasion, it always was. You wish it was ordinary.

She leaned over you, resting her forehead against yours and despite the bubbling pleasure that slowly spread through your veins- your hips bucking into her hand, you found your eyes solely focused on her face, on her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, and the oceanic blue of her irises which were usually gentle and patient had a frayed sense of restlessness you couldn't place your finger on.

She didn't let you think of that for long as she slipped her fingers down, pushing into you gently and curling your fingers, before dragging them up to your clit again, her lips pressing kisses into your neck.

She moves to suck at a spot just beneath your jaw before she lifts her head and kisses you softly. You hold each other's gaze as soft moans fall from your lips and your hands wander to cup her breast, kneading and pulling at the soft flesh. Her other hand drags up your arm and intertwines with yours, pulling it away from her breast to kiss your fingers, her eyes staying locked on yours as she leans in to gently bite into the tender flesh of your wrist.

She tore her gaze away from you to her fingers, smiling softly. "You always feel so nice to touch." She looked at you again and you were rendered breathless with how much adoration she held within her eyes, like it was pouring out of them in a thick sludge that threatened to choke you.

"I've never stopped thinking about you since we met." Her pointer and index finger move in a slow, circular motion, now she suddenly wants to take her time to appreciate you. "I was just…"

She takes a deep breath, her voice sounding unnaturally frail and small. "I was worried you'd get hurt." She shifts, cupping her free hand against your cheek and tracing your features. "I couldn't stand the thought of that, but I also couldn't live without you."

"Are we doing this now?" In a way, it's everything you ever wanted from her and it also couldn't be farther from it. You had tried so many times to have a meaningful discussion about this and she always answered with a sigh and a kiss before leaving your bed cold.

Her eyebrows twitch downwards, bunching the skin on her nose, her lips forming a sad, thin line. She looks like she wants to say a lot, but instead, she forces into a smile so painful looking, you don't want to look at it.

"Look, I…" She waits for a while, choosing her words carefully before sighing. "I know I haven't been the most transparent." Her fingers rub your bud languidly. "But, I promise things are going to be different from now on." She slips her fingers down in between your folds, pushing them as deep as they can go and spreading her fingers apart. "Trust me, okay?"

She smiles as she pulls her fingers out, lifting them enough for you to see them glittering with your arousal in the moonlight before she pushes them back in again and rubs your nub with her thumb as you gasp and squirm on the sheets beneath you.

She leans in and you feel her breath, hot against your skin, before she closes her lips on your neck and bites into it. You tug at her tank top mindlessly, wishing she would've taken it off earlier as your hand's fumble upwards, feeling the soft firmness of her abs, one hand tangling into her hair as the other pulls her shirt up. You can feel her muscles shift beneath your touch, her heart pounding so loudly you can feel the tremors through her skin.

Your head rolls to the side, catching your own hazy eyes in the mirror, watching as the muscles in her neck flex as she works to leave a hickey on your skin- something she always does when she visits you and that you always admonish her for when you have to go to work the next day.

You watch as she pulls away from your neck with a wet pop and turns her head to look at you through the mirror, a mischievous grin on her lips.

She leans forward, lips ghosting your ear as she keeps her eyes on your reflections. "Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby." She whispers huskily. "Don't look anywhere else."

You squeak out a hum of approval and she chuckles airily. She drags your pajama shirt up until your chest is exposed, you watch her lick her lips before she leans down and flicks her tongue over your nipple. You gasp with a jolt and you feel her smile against your skin.

You swallow as you watch her lips close around your nipple, and her fingers begin to slide in and out of you, her thumb brushing your clit as she goes up to her knuckles in you. Her tongue rubs against your nipple in a circular motion as she sucks on it as if it's her favorite thing in the world.

Your back arches and your hands find themselves in her hair as her teeth drag over your nipple, her fingers curling to reach that spot at a brutal pace that puts stars in your eyes, the coil in your stomach tightening until your thighs start to shake and-

Your arms wrap around her, feeling the warmth of her body kiss your skin through her tank top. She releases your hardened nub and moves her hand up your back to cradle your head, making you look at her in her dilated eyes and wetted lips, feel her hot, shallow breaths on your face as your hips roll to meet her fingers as she curls them to hit that spot.

The dark room gives way to a blinding all-encompassing, white, accompanied by the press of her lips on yours as your orgasm stains her fingers.

She only pulls her fingers out when your breath evens and puts them in her mouth, sucking them clean. "You did a good job." She whispers as she pulls you into a hug and lays down.

Your breath softens into quiet, heavy breaths as your consciousness is returned to its body. You feel the dampness in the sheets beneath you, the smell of sex in the room, the brush of air from the spinning fan, and the distant sound of cars somewhere outside.

Cinnabar lingers, nuzzling into your neck as if she felt the same euphoria you did. Slowly, reluctantly, she slid her fingers out and you watch as she pushes them past her lips and sucks them clean.

She smiles at you again, teeth peeking through as she lays down next to you, a kiss on your cheek and a red glint hidden in the depths of her pupils. "I missed hearing you like that." She thumbs your cheek, breaths mingling together in the small space between you.

Warmth, joy, and safety, are what you choose to associate her with in your mind, and you want nothing but to embed your roots in her skin and sear yourself into her heart. Entwine your existence with hers so she can't leave you frozen and alone-"Then why don't you stay?"

Her smile falters for a fraction of a second and another hairline crack goes through your heart and creates another rift in your soul and her warmth retreats faster than you can stop her.

"I forgot something." Your hand misses her arm as you reach out. She disappears into the darkness beyond your doorway without another word, the cold air stings you and dives beneath the skin to ripple through bone.

You plop your head against the pillow, staring at the ceiling fan as it continuously spins as if nothing happened. As if you weren't just left alone again by the only person you'd ever shared your bed with.

Every time she leaves, you feel a part of you goes missing, like each time she visits she carves into you and doesn't give back the pieces. Maybe you should just end things. Cinnabar is the description of a perfect potential partner, but ever since she came into your life it's been rough waters, choppy seas, and stormy nights that leave you empty in its wake.

You weren't sure what you were hoping for when you…well, now that you think about it, you never really agreed to this, did you? Maybe that's another reason you should-

"Hey, sorry for leaving you." She whispers and you hear something heavy and metal being set on the floor- right next to the bed. "I just really needed to get something." she nuzzles back into your neck and sighs.

Your fingers twitch at your side, tiny fractures sting your fingerpads, hesitation filling their gaps as you slowly raise your hand to reach over her side and you turn until you're both facing each other.

Your fingers ghost over her cheek and trace her faint smile that grows a little wider at your touch and down the center of her neck- Adam's apple bobbing with a swallow- and down the divet of her chest, over her abs, and stop at the belt of her pants. She watches your hand as it slowly undoes the belt, her hand drifting to squeeze your hip while you work to open the fly of her pants.

You bite your bottom lip as you get a peek of hair splayed in every direction and her white, low-rise panties. You tug, revealing the divet where her hips and stomach meet, leaning down to cradle the small mound hidden between her legs.

You slip your fingers down, watching them disappear as you follow the heat and dampness leaking through her underwear, you can feel your finger parting her folds and you curl it slightly, smiling as she sucks in a breath next to your ear.

You roll your finger, feeling that hard little nub through the fabric, a growing itch in your throat to bury yourself between her legs until she shakes and cries for you. Until she begs for you not to stop in that heady, breathless voice until she tugs your hair and pulls you in deeper with her legs until you almost suffocate from her.

You sit up and her grip tightens on your hips. "Stay close to me." She tugs you forward until you almost fall on her, a hand gliding down to your thigh to push your knee in between her legs. "I wanna hold you."

You sigh and watch as your hand drags up the side of her hips and latches around the hem of her top. "Fine," you lean in until your noses brush against each other, her soft pants brushing over your lips. "If that's what you want." This time, when your hand travels up the expanse of her stomach and cups her breast, she doesn't stop you. Instead, you feel her hips softly grind against your leg.

Her lips feel soft against yours, she opens up and allows your tongue to slip inside, tangling in each other as you palm her breast. You can hear her breath get heavier between kisses, feel her heart race in your palm, and taste her hunger on your tongue.

She's hot, her skin is hot with a light mist of sweat as her hips roll more fervently. You kiss from the corner of her lips to the cut of her jaw, to the tender flesh of her neck. Her pulse beats in your lips and you catch it with your teeth as Cinnabar writhes in delight beneath you.

Her fingers grab at the plush of your thighs, your name on her lips as her fingers find your folds once more.

You gasp as her slender fingers toy with your bud and your hands move to rub her clit through her clothes. You find yourself grinding on her leg as you suck languid spots of her neck, feeling the fabric dampen with each movement of your hips.

Her breathing starts to run ragged and she pauses her ministrations with the slightest hesitance to yank her pants off, finally growing tired of the barrier between you— which you gladly assist her with.

You move back and slip your hands beneath her knees, holding her legs apart as you take her in. Her half-exposed chest rises and falls with every breath, her eyes now half-lidded and completely clouded in a smokey haze that watches you with a barely restrained eagerness, the divets of her hips that glide down to the band of her white panties.

You lean in, eyes locked on each other as you place a kiss on her clit, watching her breath hitch as you slowly drag your tongue up the velvet part of her folds.

Your lips close around her bud as two of your fingers slip inside. "Oh my god…" She gasps and throws her head back, writhing her hips. "Yes, please, right there!"

You thrust your fingers in sharply, smiling at the stilted moan she lets out and her pleading, watery eyes. You swirl your tongue around her clit as you set a fast pace with your fingers.

Your name falls from her lips, the pitch getting higher each time as she mindlessly grabs at the sheets and pillows.

"Please, please...Yes!" Her hips jerk up, eager to draw more pleasure from you as slick builds on your fingers. You curl your fingers upwards and watch her eyes go wide before her lashes flutter as her eyes roll.

You feel her muscles twitch and pull away just enough to see how her swollen folds glisten. You pull your fingers out and replace it with your tongue, pushing it as deep as you can go, grinding your nose into her clit as she grabs fistfuls of your hair, her body curling upwards as her moans and whimpers of your name become more desperate.

You feel the telltale stutter of her hips and tremble of her thighs before she even says anything and you bury yourself further in her, lungs beginning to cry for air as you work your tongue further and further in until she suddenly jolts and a new, warm liquid coats your tongue.

You pull away, panting as you lap up her climax. Sweet and salty, just like you remembered. Did you taste the same to her? Or would she know certain notes and undertones about you that no one else would?

"Oh…" She mutters under her breath, slowly blinking at the ceiling. "Thank you. Fuck I needed that so much."

You hum, more entranced with how her muscles would twitch whenever your tongue brushed over a certain spot.

"Hey," She grabbed your hair again and gently tugged you up to look at her, her hair a mess and lips bitten raw, voice raspy between her chuckles. "Let me breathe for a moment?"

You wipe your chin and cheek as you crawl forward, ready to spend the night cuddling until she— you don't wanna think about that. You just want to savor this moment, this moment that wasn't infrequent enough to be rare, but is just far enough apart to make you crave her presence, her voice, her touch. Her very existence has been memorized on your heart, little engravings on the muscle that ached constantly.

She caught your lips in a kiss so slow and soft and deep you felt your thoughts scramble and shatter, only focusing on the dance the dance and pull she invited you to indulge in. You open your eyes as your lips separate for a moment and find hers looking back at you, watching you, drinking you in as if she can't get enough of what she sees. Does she always kiss you with her eyes open?

She breathes into you, soft and melting as if you were made for each other as if the place you belong is in her arms and on her lips. A hum, a final note in your union as she rests her head on your shoulder. Your fingers comb her hair, gently detangling it as you pray for sleep not to take you— to allow you these few hours of the night to relish in her arms around your hips so tightly it almost hurts. It almost hurts.

It's a slight numbness that's accompanied by the distant hum of cars that draws you to sleep in her arms. Praying once again, that this time— this night, she'll stay until you wake.

Golden rays shine into your tiny bedroom, lighting up the otherwise bland room in a hue of yellow that invites you to stay conscious for just a moment. To appreciate the new day before you remember to dread it. You groan and stretch your arms, hissing when you move too much for your sore muscles.

Like every morning, you reach for your phone and mindlessly scroll through your various social media. Nothing unusual, but a post catches your eye.

It's a public announcement. It says,

Warning all civilians, wanted Sinner—

Cinnabar's lips find your neck as her hand covers the screen, turning your head toward her only allows her to find your lips, her hips pressing against yours. Unlike last night, the kiss is gentler, still eager and still speaking of an appetite not yet fully sated, but she was taking her time in tasting you.

"What do you say," She mumbles between kisses. "We go on a trip somewhere? Together?" She pulls back just enough to let you talk, not enough to let you see anything else but her.

"A trip…?" Going on a getaway with her. It's a dream come true all too suddenly, but letting the dream go feels like eating coal.

"Yeah, just the two of us." She smiles forlornly. "Maybe a nice cabin in the woods for a few weeks?" She traces the side of your face and you see that restlessness again in her eyes. "It'd be nice to be surrounded by nature."

You thought about it. About the life you've lived amongst concrete dirt and brick trees, of the people who treated you like a rat more than a human, and about the life you could live, with her— if even only for a few weeks amongst dewy air and crunching leaves. Alone with no distractions.

"Sure, just let me pack—"

"No need." She smiled and placed a soft kiss on your nose. "We'll have everything we need there, you don't need to bring anything."

"But—"

"Shhh, relax. I'll take care of you. I promise."

More kisses, more gentle touches, but her nails dig slightly into your skin and her teeth nip at your lips. When she sat up to press your wrists down into the sheets, fingers bruising, you saw that night in her eyes again. The endless, wanting, encasing, drowning, darkness that eclipsed her pupils—

It was a thing beyond love, beyond care, a thing that seemed not to hold you, but to own you. To encase itself inside you and rot your heart until you cannot tell where love ended and obsession began.

Perhaps what's worse than that, than the subtle thought she communicated through her blunt nails painfully pressing into skin, is that you went lax and doe-eyed, that you returned her rewarding kiss with fervor, that you let her mark and marr your skin again.

Perhaps the worst thing of all is your loneliness.

[randy-inks-writing-blog]

Lonely (Lucifer x Hellborn! GN Reader)

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Just some fluff with sad boi Lucifer for fun. Tell me what you think and what I can improve on!

Edit: You can read the fanfic on Ao3

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Succubuses and incubuses are known for their sexual activities. You, however, choose a distinct career path. Instead, you use your skills to comfort people. Give them a little massage, or a talk too. Many people are surprised to find lots of sinners have parent issues. On rare occasions, customers just want to pretend that their partner is still with them. Your coworker walked up to you with a smug smile. She stops at your desk and says “Guess who just asked for your services, (y/n)” you till your head, surely must be someone important if she’s bothering you. “Who?” you ask softly. The coworker smiles wide and answers; “the king of hell, himself!” Shocked at what your coworker says, you stood up and said “Lucifer Morningstar? Do you know what he wants? Oh, dear Satan, I gotta look good for him!” Your coworker grabs your shoulders and holds you still. “(y/n) chill, he just wants someone to talk to. Just wear something comfy, your appointment is at 3 tomorrow, ok?” You nod your head. That’s enough time to calm your nerves, hopefully.

You walk up to the doors of Lucifer’s manor, quietly you knock on the door. A small old imp opens the door for you. He bows his head and tells you to follow him to Lucifer’s room. As the two of you walked, you looked at all the portraits of Lucifer’s family. Most of them were of the missing queen and their daughter, Charlie Morningstar. The butler stops right in front of Lucifer’s room. You stop right next to the imp as he knocks on Lucifer’s door. “Sire, your guest is here.” You heard a response but could barely make any words out. The butler opens the door for you, and you slowly walked in. The room is positively a mess, rubber ducks everywhere as far as you can see. You walked over to the king’s bed and gave a small bow to him. Looking at the fallen angel’s face, he like his room looks like a mess. Small tears fall down the king’s face, looks like he’s been crying for days. You sat next to the king, being mindful of your wings and tail. Lightly, you place a hand on the king’s check and softly rub it. With caution, you spoke to the king; “Your highness, is there anything specific you need?” the crying angel answers back “call me Lucifer please. And no, I just- I just need someone to hold me like Lilith once did.”

Well, that’s a bit awkward. How long has the queen been gone for again? Seven years, who knew the king of all of hell was just a lonely guy? Hey, you’re not going to judge you’re the one who took this job. You laid down next to the king and pulled him closer to you. Lucifer’s head laid right on your chest as you wrap your wings around the king. The king cried into your chest. Good thing this is a gender non-specific fanfic. “I miss my wife; I miss her a lot. Why? Why did she have to leave me? Was I not good enough?” he sobs, making the situation more awkward for you. You ran a hand through his blonde hair with a smile before you whispered. “I think you’re good enough, Lucifer. Maybe you should stop thinking about the past and think about your future.” Lucifer looks up at you with hopeful eyes quietly he ask, “Like my daughter?” You nod your head yes, but Lucifer just looks away from you. “If only it was that easy. All I can think about is the past. I’m the one of the doom of all of humanity. I’m the one who convinces Eve to eat that fruit.” You cup Lucifer’s face and make him look at you again. “While that is true, you also help make hell, and without hell there wouldn’t be imps, hellhounds, succubuses and incubuses. And those loan sharks that have those weird Italian accents yet don’t know a single word from that language.” Lucifer listens to your talk, feeling a little better. The king nuzzles into your chest once again, finding your body heat comforting. You snuggle closer to the king; this is something you’re going to brag about to your coworker. “I guess you’re right, in a way. Thank you for doing this for me. I’ll double your tip when this is over.” Lucifer softy spoke, now feeling a little sleepy. You nod your head and lightly pet Lucifer’s hair.

—————————————

[mrhaitch]

Hey Mr. Haitch,

What do you do when you are sad?

I don't know if I've talked about this before, but I come from a family with a long history of poor mental health, along with conditions like autism and ADHD. I've had distinct episodes of very poor mental health - particularly my late teens, early adulthood and then the first few years of my kids' lives, during which I was medicated.

Diagnoses were batted around for a while (depression, generalised anxiety, bipolar depression, one long conversation where they were wondering aloud about schizoaffective disorder), and I've only recently gone cold turkey from the meds and my wellbeing has improved hugely. Not that I'm advocating for people to avoid medication - if you need it, take it - but in my case I was worsening over time.

I'm saying this to make a general point that when I experience a low mood it might be for a few hours or days and weeks, often without any particular trigger - I just become low and nonverbal and distant. Often I come out of it on my own accord. I have some very bright days and weeks, but I'll eventually subside into some kind of slump, oscillating between the two until I find some kind of level like a pendulum winding down.

I've got a kitbag of coping mechanisms when I get low:

1) I make sure I eat, and eat the things that bring me joy. Not just takeout or ready meals: I make sure I cook something.

2) Prioritise sleep and rest but within reasonable boundaries (get out of bed at a reasonable time)

3) Get out of the house at least once a day, even if it's to go to the shops.

4) Revisit media that brings me joy: favourite games, films, TV shows.

5) Break whatever cycle I'm in.

For that last one, what I mean is that when I'm low I lapse into a kind of holding pattern. My actions will become repetitive, and I'm highly prone to boredom which tends to make things worse. As such I'll surprise myself with random choices and changes: if I've been inactive I'll force myself to take a long walk, maybe 5 miles. If I've been busy and active I'll force myself to be sedentary. If I've been binge watching something and it's not doing anything for me, I'll pick up a book, or doodle, or play my guitar.

Whatever rut you're in now, do something different. Pick something outside of that pattern, even if it's getting up and sitting in a different chair (I know this is weird, but it works for me). Or if insomnia strikes, switch to the other end of the bed.

One thing I have to stop myself from doing is trying to figure out why I'm upset, because half the time there is no real root cause or reason and, given enough time, I'll invent one. I have to tell myself that I'm just feeling sad or low for no clear reason, and it will pass. When it does pass I focus on building myself up: I use my good periods to take care of my health, to create new projects, to build up momentum. Doing these things, I find, leaves me more resilient when the shit days strike.

This is all very particular to me and my circumstances, but hopefully it might give people a few ideas. I hope you're not struggling at the moment, but if you are I hope this gives some light at the end of the tunnel.

[dokries]

seventeen as flowers - hong jisoo

series masterlist | blog materlist

a/n: the third part of the seventeen as flowers series ! i think it’s pretty obvious i’m joshua biased by the amount that i wrote…anyway, to be honest, the first flower was literally joshua. like it covered almost everything, so it was a bit hard to find a second one but hopefully it makes sense <3 lots of love!

i. pink dahlias (inner strength, creativity, positivity; kindness, beauty, grace)

joshua is someone who i think really shows how one can stay kind even in tough situations, which is also another general meaning of a dahlia. if moving to a country across the world away from everything he’s known wasn’t enough, he’s now a world famous singer—which isn’t a bad thing; it just means that he has to deal with “fans” not respecting his privacy and well, him (joshua antis, i will fight you).

i also think that this fits well because he seems to handle stuff with such grace, and it’s crazy to me how he can manage it even if he’s super stressed—and you can’t tell me he isn’t because being an idol is not for the weak, which also shows off his inner strength. i glossed over this but moving to south korea from los angeles must have been so hard, especially because he was only in the 11th grade. and on top of that, he had to learn to sing and dance while being live-streamed…that takes strength i can’t imagine having myself.

another more obvious fact is that joshua is creative, just like the flower describes him to be. he’s picked up many hobbies over the years, like making bracelets to his own fragrances, and it makes me so happy he’s able to channel his feelings into these things.

ii. pink carnations (fondness, motherly love, fascination, distinction; "i'll never forget you.")

if there’s one thing i know about joshua and his mother, it’s that they have a strong bond. though we don’t know much about his family (and understandably so; they don’t need to talk about their personal life like that unless they want to), by now we all know mama hong, either through 17 project before their debut, the incident of hoshi going to her home in la without telling her son and eating la galbi, or more recently, joshua buying a home for her in south korea. It’s pretty obvious he loves his mom a lot, and i’m glad that they now don’t live across the world from each other. he’s spoken about her being a single mom and raising him while juggling two jobs, and i’m glad she doesn’t have to work anymore, thanks to her son.

another thing i want to mention is the fact that it used to mean “i’ll never forget you” back in victorian times. though the meaning has slightly worn off now, thanks to these flowers now becoming a classic mother’s day flower, i think it still applies to joshua. he’s someone that i personally admire a lot (he is one of my biases after all) and i believe that he brings a uniqueness to seventeen, just like the other members, in his own way. of course, we could talk about his vocal tone and singing techniques—which are both amazing by the way, he’s worked so hard—but i feel his gentleness is something you won’t forget once you’ve felt it. even that is only a part of why he is unforgettable despite being in a group of twelve other people and honestly? he deserves so much love.

taglist: @kookiedesi @m00n1sms @icyminghao @starshuas @shuoast @weird-bookworm @effielumiere

send in an ask or comment to be added!

[otakween]

Digimon Frontier - Episode 50 (Finale!)

Yay, it's over! (lol). I'm sorry, but this ending didn't do much for me. We barely got to see the real world at all and the epilogue amounted to a boring slide show (aside from Koji reuniting with his birth mom, that was sweet). In the end, these characters just didn't feel as fleshed out as those in previous seasons and the digimon connection was lackluster too (it's hard to see the spirits as separate characters). Oh well, I don't mind watching some bland anime now and then...

Notes:

Seriously, compared to previous seasons, this goodbye was so blah. They just get yeeted back to the human world immediately after the final battle and miss their chance to say goodbye to the digimon. Bokomon gets the longest goodbye monologue, but I never liked him so...yeah. (Remember when Adventure gave us sentimental goodbyes between each human-digimon pairing that were indicative of their distinct, defined personalities? Yeah...I miss that).

The spirits showing up and even striking the final blow was...okay I guess. The "bad guy" spirits were just silent and in the background again. There's just no emotional connection because we haven't seen the main spirits as characters before (aside from silently nodding from the digivice from time to time).

Neemon snapping his own pants was a funny gag. The slapstick between Bokomon and Neemon did grow on me. (Funny how Neemon never served a single purpose...)

The Susanoomon thing was weird. In the previous episode Susanoomon was created by combining all 10 spirits but only Takuya and Koji were "inside" him, but in this episode all the kids go "inside." Either way it's still 10 spirits. They should have just made him be a combo of all the kids from the start! So clunky...

Lucemon Satan Mode gave major Millenniumon vibes in his lil grubby form. I'm not sure if "fall down mode" or "Satan mode" is a dumber name.

Seeing the digicode flow out of Lucemon/the digivices and reform the digital world was nice. (Hopefully the moons came back too lol). I wonder if everyone's going to start from zero as a digiegg?

Lol sure, they just let a bunch of kids barge into an emergency room. Hospital security apparently sucks in Japan! I was a little confused what exactly revived Koichi. Was it Koji's love or something from the digivices? Well, either way it was pretty silly.

I don't know why I didn't even think about the human/digital world time difference. I thought when Takuya returned to the human world in that previous episode that everyone would be worried about him, but they have the nice "no time has passed actually" loop hole.

Now that I think about it, it kind of feels like they all had the same arc. The epilogue was all about the kids having learned how to get along better with others (except maybe Tomoki who learned to "not be weak," but even that had to do with how he treats others!) Instead of just seeing them hang out with their one-dimensional families and classmates, I think I would have just preferred an epilogue of them hanging out in the human world and getting pizza or something. Or maybe they could be supporting Junpei at a magic show! (Maybe what I really need is fanfic lol).

Bring back parents!! The kids' parents in Adventure and Tamers were a big presence and it made them feel more like real, relatable people. Here they're mostly just in the background. Also, maybe if I got to know Koji's dad more I wouldn't think he was such a weirdo for lying to his son! >:/ I wanted to hear his side!!

Digimon Frontier was...my least favorite season so far for sure. It's not like it was a total loss, there were some cool digimon designs and I liked the digivolution sequences. The characters were charming enough, but not super memorable. I think this series' shortcomings really highlight what made previous seasons work better. IDK much about how it was received back in the day, but hopefully they learned from these mistakes. Onto the next! (After a brief gaming interlude).

[gone-fish-mode]

I’m just copy-pasting a post I had already made earlier (with additions), since I was wondering if you’d like to help (since you said you’d like to do kin-help for questioning folks and such)

I’ve kind of been questioning being some kind of aquatic creature. I’m unsure, since it feels a lot closer to kith than kin, but I still can’t figure out what I am. I know that I’m definitely smooth- whether it’s feathers, fur, or skin/fleshy scales (It feels like it should be dense, penguin-esque feathers). Additionally, shallower water (salt or freshwater) gives me a lot of species euphoria. I get a ton of species euphoria from webbed hands/feet- especially from swimming while wearing webbed hands- specifically the kind that seabirds and waterfowl have (such as cormorants, gannets, boobies, pelicans, and some ducks).

The way ducks and some other birds swim (like above) is really euphoric. However, I feel like I’d also have some form of wing(s) that have become streamlined into flipper-like limbs (similar to shearwaters, penguins, great auks, and sea lions). A more two toned coloration feels good, but I don’t think it would be a strict black and white like some animals. I don’t believe I’d be able to breathe underwater. The webbed feet and hands of otters are also very euphoric, as well as the paddle-like tails of crocodilians and the scutes towards the end of their tails. Also, (I just realized this quite recently) shallow parts of lakes and rivers, (especially when they’re clearer) are AMAZING. Looking for fish and paddling around is good, and I should be able to fly overhead and plummet or dart around in the water after fish.

You’re aquatic so maybe you have a better idea of what I am?

Ok, I have a few ideas! And not all of them have all your requirements, but I'm going to throw things on the wall and hopefully one or two of them stick. I'm not going to be getting into more niche species because there are just too many, but if you have a specific biome that you gravitate towards, let me know and I can dig deeper and pull up some more specific species. I've got three main ones, and then a list of minor ones.

Anyone who wants to add onto this is more than welcome to do so!

First that comes to mind is a gull.

They've got the webbed feet, they float like ducks, and are just neat guys in general. Their wings are nowhere near as sheared as some of the examples you provided, but I'd argue that they're fit for the job. There are also multiple species of gull, so you've got some different coloring options, including those wonderful mousy browns.

They're found near fresh and salt water alike, so you've got lots of variety.

These were the first to come to mind. Gulls have a bit of a bad rep, but they're pretty neat birds. I feel lucky to be around them often!

You mentioned shearwaters, so I assume you're also familiar with the petrel! These guys are pretty neat, and fly super close to the water, picking out fish that swim near the surface (which reminded me of how you described your love for shallow waters). They've got webbed feet, float like a duck, and have those awesome wings.

Some good coloring, too!

I think the Procellariidae genus in general would be a good idea to look into, although I'm sure you've already done so, seeing that they're in the same family as shearwaters! Not all of them are saltwater, either! So you've got some wiggle room

Grebes also came to mind for the obvious reasons, but more specifically for their weird feet! They are strange little things! But they just remind me of how you spoke about otter hands? I'm not sure- they're good enough to swim like ducks but are so very distinct. And this may be a bit of a stretch, but the shape also reminds me of a crocodile tail. birds also technically have scutes ;] but again, a bit of a stretch. Not the same look!

They're in the family Podicipedidae, which are described as "foot propelled diving birds." Most are freshwater, although they can be found in salt water. Lots of different colorations and plumage types.

There are many other birds that i thought of, but upon further research they didn't seem like too great of a fit. I'll list them out for you, though! Just in case.

Puffin, galapagos penguin, albatross, frigatebird, skimmers, kingfisher, osprey, sea eagles (as well as other fish-eating birds of prey), and wading birds such as bitterns, herons, or egrets.

You mentioned flying specifically, but there are a few non-avian critters that I also wanted to put out there, primarily the marine iguana and platypus. They've got a mix of traits and I just wanted to toss them out!

Tagging a bunch of different communities in case someone has some more ideas :]

I also wanted to say that I think it's OK to not know what you are specifically, or to feel like you are a mix of many different things. It's very nice to have a solid answer, to point and something and go "hey! that's me!" but I think it can be just as fulfilling to generally understand yourself as nonhuman, without feeling the need to classify all the phantom sensations into preexisting species. Sometimes we're just our own thing, sometimes we are whatever feels most natural in the moment! And of course this will change depending on what type of nonhuman you are, but I think it can be good to keep in mind. Felt like i should tack that on somewhere ;]

ANYWAY! So sorry for the wait! I had like five other paragraphs for different birds and then kept finding more and rewriting and changing my mind. And then I had a transatlantic flight! So many delays. Thanks for being patient :]

And again! If you have any specific feelings about any of these or want me to take some other things into consideration, let me know! I'd be more than happy to dig and pull out something a bit more detailed.

Thanks for the ask <3

[alumnusofheavenandhell]

(Contains spoilers) Alright so. I've watched the Megamix and MickeyJoTheatre's initial impressions video on youtube and. Y'know what, here are all my positive thoughts about stexlo so far:

Oh my god. Oh my god I'm so gay for both Greaseball and Electra. Al Knott's voice is GREAT.

Rusty and Pearl's interactions are cute, they kinda remind me of miis in Tomodachi Life if that makes sense? (Which is admittedly both a positive and a negative to me but still)

I know it's a bop but honestly I'm happy about Dinah's Disco being cut. It never made sense (Since when has Dinah cared about whistling? She could have a thousand other reasons to not want to race with Electra, and whistling was always Pearl's thing) and it had this weird moment of coded transphobia that always made me uncomfortable when otherwise Dinah is one of my favorite characters.

It sounds like Slick Oil is in the role of Post-2018 Bochum Caboose, and it's hard to say with such limited information still, but I feel like I'm not gonna dislike Slick Oil nearly as much, because it doesn't feel like they're pretending to be a character they're not, if that makes sense? Like, they still have Wide Smile but hopefully (and probably) the lyrics have been changed enough to make it feel more distinct.

I love all the coaches' designs, especially the blue and pink checkered one (which I'm GUESSING is Dinah but I'm not 100% sure).

Also Momma's design. She looks great.

In general I can best describe the costumes as "growing on me." I said these would be my positive thoughts, so: I like the colors and the holographic and shiny materials, and for the most part I like the silhouettes. I don't think it's strictly necessary that they look like real train cars, same way it's not necessary that the cats in Cats look like real cats (even if I prefer it when they do).

I love Control (and their bedroom!) being on stage. They cast several kids as Control, and I'm guessing that's so that none of them have to work too many nights in a row.

Coda of Freight is one of my favorite songs, glad to see it there.

I'm excited to find out more about Hydra! Their song sounds very threatening! But honestly I'm here for it!

[volantium]

fic writer interview tysm soph @its-all-papaya for the tag I love to yap about my fics

how many works do you have on AO3? 29

What's your total AO3 word count? 221,087

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

harley keener and the terrible, no good, reluctantly chaotic field trip to stark industries (mcu; 3,579)

the words of the prophet are written on the subway walls (good omens; 1,819)

sweet dreams, tennessee (mcu; 1,728)

a question of faith (stranger things; 1,424)

true north (assassin's creed; 892)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I reply to most, there's not necessarily rhyme or reason when I don't. Comments are always my fave because I love hearing about how people read and interpret my stuff and I'll always say thank you to people who comment.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? I am a sucker for a happy ending but worth all my time is probably the angsitest thing I've posted so far.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? see above, consequently most of my fics are happy endings. I would have to re-read my fics to get a sense of the happiest ending overall but it's probably the first prize bravery verse I think because that literally ends in a marriage.

Do you write crossovers? love me a good crossover but I've never written one in the traditional sense. I've written fusions where the setting from one fandom is used with the characters from another though, which you can find in art of the game.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? I wouldn't say hate but I have gotten some weird comments before over the fact I write in not American English ?

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yes and it's usually the porn with feelings kind

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that I'm aware of

Have you ever had a fic translated? there's an in progress translation of a question of faith into Chinese which I'm absolutely delighted to see was recently updated

Have you ever co-written a fic before? technically no but me and @sheps-shepherd edit each others stuff enough that I'm counting it

What's your all-time favorite ship? mckirk babey. love my silly little starfleet officers

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? oh literally everything I've ever started but in particular unto the edge of doom which is a corrupted!link/galink retelling of tears of the kingdom. and then there's two for the show which is a fake dating griddlehark, princess diaries-esque situation. I'm on holidays in a few weeks so hopefully I can write some. oh and also the landoscar driver!oscar, photographer!lando fake dating fic I posted a snippet of the other day called leading lines....I'm sensing a theme here.

What are your writing strengths? I have it on good authority that it's my prose and syntax. I write social science for my day job so my ability to cohesively and clearly explain research and data is another strength. I'm constantly working on both my fiction and non-fiction skills.

What are your writing weaknesses? bleugheeehhh sometimes I feel like I get too bogged down in the details. I also think I struggle with making each character distinct from the plot sometimes.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? it's fine I've probably done it. just add the translation in somewhere in the text or notes I guess.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? it was definitely a harry potter fic that I still have on my hardrive and has never seen the light of day and likely never will at this point. that was probably like. over ten years ago 🧍

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? there's a bunch I have unfinished wips for that I would love to finish and post... the zelda fic being probably the most among them. I've never written for Destiny but exploring my oc/guardian would be fascinating.

What's your favorite fic you've written? for a very long time it was art of the game but it's been usurped by six degrees of motion. she's the perfect fic to me. I don't think I'll ever write anything again the way I wrote six degrees.

ty again for the tag 🫶 obligatory love of my life tag for @sheps-shepherd and no pressure @landoscaring 🖤

[byuteablanc]

One Human and a Whole Lotta Bones | Skeleharem x Gender Neutral Reader

—

Hello! These are some important things you should know before continuing!

> The reader is everything neutral, which includes race, body, as previously mentioned, gender, etc

> The underfell bros aren’t toxic

> I have used a lot of headcanons to do my own iteration of what I think of when I thought of a skeleharem. Though this is inspired by famous fics like 6S,1M and TSM, this is nothing like either of them. If you disagree with my iteration, please don’t slander me

With that, I hope you enjoy! And if you’d prefer, I have this on AO3 as well. Click this to get to the link.

—

Chapter One: Home

You pulled into the six car garage, feeling good. It was another late, difficult night. You could only be grateful to be back at the house after your very long day filled with annoying customers, and an even more annoying manager. Constant pestering and nitpicking, as if you couldn’t do your job any faster or at all. Yeah sorry you couldn’t sprint across the restaurant to deliver your customer’s drinks and food at the speed of sound. You were only human after all.

With enough self-loathing to fill the next mile and an half, you get out of your car and walk into the mud room. You take off your shoes and coat, placing them in the closet for safe keeping. But not before being blinded by a jacket coated in really shiny sequins, which combined with the light felt like a flashbang. This jacket was just added to the closet today, because you definitely would’ve noticed this menagerie when you left this morning.

The jacket was all the way covered in sequins and even on the inside as you saw after investigation. *Probably Blue trying a new, and hopefully short lived, aesthetic*, you noted.

Letting your eyes recouperate, you looked at the closet for a while and looked at the distinct coats and jackets littering the space. Each one you could tell whose it belonged to. Papyrus had a long distinct red shall that looked more like a cape or a wizard’s robe, Sans had a plain blue puffer coat but only after his brother demanded he wear something thicker than his also plain blue felt zip up hoodie. Red had a large baggy kid-going-through-their-emo-phase esque jacket with a hood that contained enough fluff to cover a large mutt. Edge had a wannabe black leather jacket with flames on the back and arms with metal spikes on the shoulders and cuffs, also kid-going-through-their-emo-phase like. Blue’s new jacket you did not want to look at again. Stretch had a nice long green coat that would reach his ankles comprised of thick fabric and buttons made of hard plastic.. which is not something you’d expect. Andddd you just remembered you were tired with a desire for food and sleep.

Walking into the house, it was still full of energy, which was weird. After all, it was late, 11:38 to be exact. Your roommates would be sleeping or at least in bed by now, especially the more responsible of the bunch. But yet here you were, you could hear voices and laughter.

You followed the sound to the source to find your skelebuddies all at the dining table. They weren’t eating though, just chatting. And they left one seat vacant, one seat for you.

Noticing you standing there in the doorway, seemingly in a trance, they call to you. “long night huh, kid?” Red remarked.

“HELLO Y/N!” Papyrus greeted, waving to you as if you weren’t a few feet away.

“You guys haven’t started yet? It’s literally after eleven.” You furrowed your brows, taking your seat.

Cinnabar frowned, “We Wanted To Wait Until You Came Home, Dear. Is That So Bad?” He asked, feigning dramatics.

“Well, no…” You paused, feeling a weird lump in your throat for some reason. “It’s just that no one’s ever done that for me before. I’m used to eating meals alone.” You shrug, not realizing the implications of what you just said. They all look just stare at you. You felt a blush rise up to your cheeks, you look away in embarrassment.

There was a silence in the room, awkward wouldn’t be the best way to describe it, a little depressing and somewhat concerned would be the proper way. “WELL, YOUR WELCOME. LET’S GET TO THE FOOD NOW! I’M HUNGRY.” Edge declared, breaking the silence.

“EDGE…” Blue face palmed.

“WHAT? WHAT DID I DO?”

“Trust me it’s fine, I agree with Edge. I’m hungry too.” You agreed, wanting to change the subject from such emotionally intimate undertones.

Papyrus jumped out of his seat. “OOOO I’LL GO GET THE FOOD FROM THE OVEN!”

‘i’ll go too’ Russ signed.

“Make that three!” You said quickly, not wanting to continue awkward conversation.

“Wait, Y/n!” Cinnabar called, and you pretended to ignore him.

Now in the kitchen, you smell something good. It makes you smile and get a little excited in anticipation. You were guessing Blue cooked today, he was making progress. Your relearning-how-to-cook lessons with him have most certainly paid off.

One of your first experiences with this merry band of bones was tacos with half salmonella ridden, have charcoal ground beef that had glitter and sugar in them. Fascinatingly enough, the sugar was added deliberately for a “ORIGINAL SWING ON THE CLASSIC TACO!” as Blue stated at the time. “Original swing” couldn’t describe what the taste was. What’s even more fascinating is that all your other roommates that enjoyed cooking were the same way! You didn’t know how they survived before you came along, you needed to get the details one day.

“What was on the menu for tonight, Russ?”

‘Premade over baked pizzas, it was a lazy sunday’ He shifted his shoulders a little, usual straight face cracking a smirk as if he was giggling. You nodded in response, opening the oven to see three piping hot pizzas. God did they smell divine.

Each of you grabbed an oven mitt and took one out, taking them back to the dining room. You quickly ran back, putting away your oven mitts. Sprinting back to the dining room to dig in, you sat back down in your seat with a carnivorous look to you. You snatched the first slice(s) and began eating, not even noticing the concerned and even disgusted looks you got from your friends.

Soon, conversation began to bubble up around the room, and now out of your food hungry stupor, you payed attention.

“I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU ALL… I HATE PEPPERONI,” Blue declared, actively taking it off from his slices.

“how can someone hate pepperoni…” Stretch looked at him with a thousand yard stare.

Sans, nodded, dousing his pizza in a mountain of ketchup. “gonna have to agree with stretch there, blue.”

“BROTHER, YOU HAVE NO GROUNDS TO TALK WITH YOUR… INTERESTING TASTES…” Papyrus judged, looking down at his plate with scrutiny.

“you haven’t even tried it bro, it helps me relish the flavor.”

Papyrus began groaning, along with Cinnabar, Blue, and Edge. While Sans himself, Stretch, Red, and Russ could only giggle. You found yourself standing in the middle when it came to puns, sometimes they were stupid, sometimes they were the funniest thing in the world. But right now, you were so tired that laughing seemed to contain too much energy that you just didn’t have.

“BEFORE HE GOES ON A PUN RUN, HOW WAS EVERYONE’S DAY?”

“Russ Said ‘did you just say pun run?’” Cinnabar recited for his brother.

“YES! NOW ANYWAYS—“

Stretch giggled. “heheh, ‘pun run’. you’re too funny, bro.”

Blue stared at him with annoyance.

“sorry” Stretch scratched the back of his vertebrae.

“my day was wonderful, thanks fer asking,” red smirked

Edge frowned, throwing his arms up. “BUT YOU JUST LAID AROUND ALL DAY AND DID NOTHING!”

Red, opens his mouth to take a bite from his now fourth slice. “exafly.” He replies, food in his mouth, earning him a few disgusted looks.

“What Did You Do Today Y/n?” Cinnabar smiled at you, looking expectant.

Awww man, you were enjoying the banter. They all turned the heads to look at you at the same time, it was kinda freaky. You could at least admire the manners. “Uhhm, not much to say honestly. Oh except my manager is like an asshole, but you guys have already—“

“NO SWEARING AT THE DINNER TABLE!” Papyrus corrected.

“oh cmon papyrus, we’re not five. i think some cuss words wouldn’t hurt.” Stretch rolled his eye lights.

“OH SHUT UP STRETCH, IT’S INDECENT AND YOU KNOW IT!” Edge pointed a phalange at him accusingly.

“it should only be indecent when used in a irresponsible way. plus, would you rather hear asshole or butthole?”

“‘the latter makes me cringe personally.’ Agreed Brother! No Offense To Your Human Body Part, Y/n.” Cinnabar reassured, making you chuckle a little bit. These guys were hilarious.

“Well, as you guys are talking about assholes—“ Papyrus groaned “—I’m going to go to sleep, it’s late and I have school tomorrow.” You remark, getting out your seat and getting your plate.

“GOOD NIGHT!” Blue exclaimed.

‘sleep well, y/n.’ Russ signed.

“yeah what they said,” Sans chuckled, everyone nodding in agreement.

With that, you walk to the kitchen, hearing conversation continue behind you as your place your plate in the sink. Placing your hands in your pocket, you traverse upstairs going past the foyer and walking upstairs. Your room is at the very end of the hallway, feeling far away now that your sleepiness and the introduction of food to your body has combined.

Reaching your room, you close the door and start changing into your sleep wear. You relished the soft feeling of the fabric on you, making you feel calm. You make sure to plug your device(s) for the night, before hitting the hay. Now climbing into bed, you lay there, closing your eyes.

In a very frustrating turn of events, your mind wont turn off and you can’t go to sleep. You feel wide awake and are just waiting for that wave of sleepiness to come back. After a few moments, you can slowly see your thoughts going slower and slower as the need for sleep slowly creeps back in. You drift into a deep sleep…

Knock Knock Knock

You groan, shifting positions in your bed to face the door. “Yes?”

You hear someone enter your room, opening your eyes you come in contact with Cinnabar. You sit up, “What’s up?”

“Oh! Sorry I Hope I Didn’t Disrupt Any Sleeping!”

“It’s fine,” you exhale, waking yourself up.

“Okay, I Just Wanted To Talk To You About That Thing You Said Earlier.” He furrows his brows in worry.

Oh jeez…

“Have You Really Never Experienced A Meal With Others Before?”

You look to the side, frowning. You hear a sigh.

“Ah Nevermind The Question, I Just Want You To Understand Something…”

You turn back to look at him expectantly, watching him walk towards you and sit beside you on your bed. “This Is Your Home Now, And When As Long As You’re With Us, Especially Me, You Will Never Be Alone. —I-I Mean Eat Alone, Yes, Eat!” He cleared his throat.

You smiled, feeling that familiar lump in your throat rise to the occasion. You lean into hug him. “Thank you, I really appreciate that,” you whisper where his ear would be.

Cinnabar, surprised at first, quickly reciprocates the hug. You could feel him being to smile as he leaned into the crook of your neck. “Anytime, Dear.”

You break the hug, Cinnabar seemed reluctant to let go but did regardless. Continuing to smile, he got up from your bed. “Good Night, Y/n.” He walked to the door, turning the doorknob and stepping out, “Dream Sweet Dreams.” He softly closed the door.

Laying back down in your bed, you couldn’t help but feel a wetness form from your eyes. Turning to look up at the ceiling, you take a deep breath.

“This is my home,” you repeat, putting a hand over your chest.

You can’t help but feel elated.

—

BEGINNING | Next Chapter

[trivorowo]

So the new risk of rain 2 dlc, seekers of the storm, just came out a few days ago. It's the first dlc wholly down by gearbox, and it is broken beyond belief.

On the not so fun side, saves are being deleted on Xbox/not being able to play at all, odd design choices, and weird performance issues due to everything now being based on framerate, which is insane for any game, much less one known for variable frames with the chaos on screen.

This framerate tying is the cause of both funny and not so funny moments - loader is busted, at high enough framerates the grappling hook can launch you across the map, and the mobility punch can three/two shot bosses with barely any items. On the other side, how much damage you take is broken and jittery with this, with more FPS leading to more damage being taken. The intended FPS cited by the Devs is 60fps whilst they fix things, but even then it feels like I'm taking way more damage than usual.

Other bugs aside, other contents range from interesting to confusing. You can tell a new dev team is at the helm, with some inconsistent wording on new items and some pretty unclear descriptions.

The new enemies are decent, and whilst I've only reached the dlc boss once, it is a pretty cool one.

I only have the seeker so far, and they are near if anything. Lots of sustain and self healing, distinct enough to fit in.

The new elite variants are worrying. The gold ones which drain money are fine, but the twisted ones which auto retaliate? Feels very antithetical to the game's design and looping - you deal so much damage out after a while in so many different ways that an auto retaliate will just kill you in a few seconds.

I'm hoping that there'll be a lot of bug fixes to mend all the problems, as well as a lotta balance changes to fit more in line with base game and sotv. If all else fails, hopefully someone will make a decent mod that rectified things.

Well, at least the music is banger as always.

[sostrangerous]

l*ser's br*cket has been so... disappointing for me too. they did all this build up for the wedding and then essentially nothing happened? they couldn't even be bothered writing out the best men's speeches? it was one big scene of going "thing happened then thing happened then thing happened. the end <3". not to mention the latest chapter (idk if you've read it yet so um. spoilers for that ahead) but it was such an utter anti climax. after all this will-they-won't-they instead of bursting it open it felt like a slow diffusion for no reason... i think nahyck is one of the pairs in dream that have a lot of good tension like that even as their default irl, and it's totally being wasted here. IDK. it's the midpoint, so ofc there's a lull before the next rising tension, i just find it weird to have your lull in your gay romance fic be the culmination of the gay romance. LMAO. hopefully things pick back up soon, but the fact that it's meant to be a nahyck hating each other fic and they've basically been best buds for the last 80k i think proves the point basically. just like how markno's family brought no drama to the wedding, there's been a distinct neatness to something that really should be much messier. if that's to come in the chapters ahead then like, why even bother making the fic so much about the wedding? lol

im not sure how I feel about criticizing fic bc it feels a bit mean but also art is art and nobody reads this blog anyway so, LOL

I agree so hard about the neatness of the story. I realized that this fic is about well adjusted people being mature around eachother, which is not compelling to me. Admittedly I think I also write characters who are well adjusted to a somewhat silly degree (even fyck Mark. considering the shit he's dealing with, I think he handles stuff really well. Or at the very least, he could be a lot worse)

anyway!! yeah this fic is simply too long and slow and sweet for me. Slice of life isn't my thing at all and I'm an impatient horny fuck so slow burn irritates me

and as previously stated, the fact that the wedding is so normative aggravates me due to who I am as a person. I'm glad they didn't write out the best man speeches though, speeches are lame. But also I think the revelation that jeno was wearing a corset is the perfect example of what I mean. It's not kinky or naughty to wear a corset, put that boy in a collar for his wedding and I'd be interested. A picturesque color coded matching suit wedding (with family in attendance) is just too... cis? normie? i don't know how to put it

I really hope they do something with haechans relationship with his family though because the tension there is killing me. Don't tell me it's fine!!! Don't fucking tell me this status quo is fine I can't handle it. Let haechan rage, let his mom be a piece of shit to him. I'm not closeted to my mom but I don't talk to her about my sexuality and it's uncomfortable and it sucks. I want to see that awkward, not quite good enough but I love you anyway, how could you ever do that to me, why do you pretend it never hurt me kind of relationship. Parents and kids man