#i hope you do too

[lionofchaeronea]

Title: Reading Artist: Kuroda Seiki (Japanese, 1866-1924) Date: 1891 Genre: figure painting Medium: oil on canvas Dimensions: 98.2 cm (38.6 in) high x 78.8 cm (31 in) wide Location: Tokyo National Museum

[whytheylosttheirminds]

💘 meet carter ✨

(don't call me kid character moodboard & hc's)

💘 meet carter✨ who above all else, is a girl's girl. she's the definition of ride or die, if you cross her friends, you've crossed her, and you'll wish you hadn't. especially if that friend is her sister.

💘 meet carter✨ whose dreams are as big as her warm brown eyes. don't let her carefree personality fool you, she works harder than anyone you've met, just as long as she gets to play hard after.

💘 meet carter✨who doesn't like to be tied down, yet always seems to come back to one boy. she teases him, but it all comes from a place of love. she knows she'll end up with him eventually, and he's perfectly fine waiting for his queen.

💘 meet carter✨who gives the best advice, usually taking her friends' problems more serious that her own. just because she's a born yapper doesn't mean she can't listen well too. buy her a latte or an espresso martini and she'll sit with you for hours, completely invested in what you have to say.

💘 meet carter✨ who's messy, but like, in a cute way. it's okay though, cause she knows Topper will come visit whenever she asks and clean her apartment for her. don't worry, she always knows exactly how to thank him ;)

carter's playlist

🎧 wanna be (with Megan Thee Stallion) - GloRilla

🎧 guess - charli xcx

🎧 femininomenon - chappell roan

🎧 espresso - sabrina carpenter

🎧 the only exception - paramore

divider credit♡

[ayatotiddies]

‘The Ties That Bind Us’

Part 2

Summary - Ever since we were little, Rafe and I have been close. Sometime along the way, something happened though. We changed, got closer in a sort- I always wonder what might've changed. What ticks along the way made us what we are today? I guess I'll never know. All I know is the feeling of his pretty hands, tracing the sides of my face. My best friend leaning in, his soft lips meeting my own. It shouldn't have happened, but it did and to be honest- I wasn't complaining...

Warnings - Rafe being a little controlling,

Word Count - 1.3k

It was probably around 11:30 p.m. by the time we arrived at my place. Rafe was still pissed. He had a busted lip and bruise already forming around his eye. Rafe looked bad but JJ always looked worse. “You gonna say something to me or keep being pissy?” That earned a glare from him, yikes. “Y’know,” he leaned his head back, an almost sadistic grin forming on his face. “If you care so little ‘bout that pogue flirting with you, why don’t you just go live on the cut?” His eyes were dark now, they almost looked black. “I mean - It makes perfect sense to me!” Was what he said when he added onto his previous statement, throwing his hands in the air to add to his faked enthusiasm for it. “Rafe- Please, shut up” and with that he looked back at me, his lips pursed like he had more to say, but he stayed quiet anyway. Then he spoke again - “I jus’ don’t get why you’re so okay with it, he’s nothing but a dirty pogue tryna’ get in your pants, Star.” - “Rafe.” He bit his bottom lip as he rolled his eyes and got quiet. 

It wasn’t long after that before we got inside. Rafe was sitting on a stool in the pristine bathroom while I worked on patching his face up. His legs were spread as I stood between them, carefully wiping off blood, gently putting cream on his busted lip, and putting warm water on that bruise around his eye. “Hey, listen-” - “Shut up, Rafe.” - “No, you’re gonna listen to me speak-” He argued as he jerked his head back from my touch. I bit my lip, looking up at him, frustrated. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I just hate him messing with you.” His eyes softened as he looked at me. “Listen it’s-” - “No, I’m not done.” He cut me off - again. “I just - I feel like as your best friend, I need to look out for you. And- Maybank isn’t someone you should hang out around, y’know? I’m just making sure you’re safe.” Once he seemed to get all his words out, he stayed quiet. “Rafe- He was genuinely just being nice, nothing more. I can swear that to you.” I confirmed, and he looked mad, like he was in denial, but he nodded anyway. 

Rafe laid on the living room couch, SLUMPED. Legs and arms splayed out in every which direction as he cuddled into a pillow. It was a funny sight, I laughed if I’m being honest.. I bit my lip as I thought to myself. Then I walked over and grabbed a blanket, covering him up. ‘There we go.’ Rang in my head after I covered the tall, blonde boy, up.

After which I made my way to my room and plopped down into bed, scrolling through stuff on my phone. I had tons of messages regarding the party. Which honestly? I didn’t care about. What happened at the party was just two boys with anger issues. Sarah had blown up my phone telling me? That Rafe needed to get his shit together- Which- don’t get me wrong I love Sarah! But that’s something she needs to tell her brother - not me. I bit my lip as I thought of a response, before I clicked the message and started typing.

“Idk.. That’s something you need to talk to Rafe about? He won’t listen to me.” He probably would.. But I don’t want to get any more involved in it than I already am. I sighed and placed my phone down on the bedside table. It automatically started charging by itself on the charging pad. My eyes softly fluttered shut.

The next morning, I woke up to Rafe sitting at my desk on his phone. I yawned and stretched, causing Rafe to look over. “Good morning-” He smiled, “How’d you sleep?” I was mainly just confused? He could’ve left, I know that’s not usually his thing. But- then it clicked, if he went home, he was gonna get his ass chewed out by Sarah. Which I understood why he wouldn’t care for that. I wouldn’t either- “Slept good- You?” I replied to fill the silence in the room. He smiled “Slept good, there is breakfast in the kitchen if you want some-” - “You cooked?-” - “Ordered breakfast tacos-” He responded and I laughed. I should’ve figured. Rafe was NEVER one to cook, he just didn’t know how. He rolled his eyes and mumbled out “What’s so funny?” I laughed some more before shaking my head and waving him off “Nothing- nothing.” I snickered before getting up and heading to the kitchen, Rafe following behind me. The smell of food immediately hit my nose and made my mouth water. 

I sat on a bar stool by the island table and ate my food as Rafe sat there. He kept going back and forth from watching me to looking at his phone. FINALLY, I was the one to break the silence. “What’s up?” The puzzled look on my face probably said what my mouth didn’t. “Just people being bitchy about last night like it’s my fault? It was that stupid pogue, Maybank’s fault.” He grumbled and rolled his eyes, almost slamming his phone down on the marbled counter top. The act caused me to jump slightly. I looked at the counter and then back at him. “Sorry,” he murmured, looking down at my hands. Then back up at me. His eyes were so pretty, god. So blue they looked almost like kyanite. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was an angel. A fallen angel, maybe. Rafe was brutal, anything but perfect. I think that’s why we got along so well though. We clashed in a sort of way. 

The a/c of Rafe’s truck was a nice contrast to the burning heat outside. I felt like I was going to melt every time I stepped foot outside. “So, where else do we needa go?” His voice cut through the music. His eyes cut to look at me as he kept driving. “The boutique and the flower store.” I chirped at the blonde. He grinned and nodded, his hands gripping the wheel. Not much long after we arrived at the boutique. 

As soon as Rafe’s eyes landed on me, they widened. His mouth was softly agape. “Shit-...” he murmured. “You look - gorgeous. You have to get it” he shot up from his seat and made way over to me in just a few strides. Inspecting the white sundress, close up. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he looked me up and down. I laughed softly; my cheeks turned the slightest bit warm. I ignored the feeling though. Not happening. I refused. “Yeah- this is the one.” He confirmed and nodded at me once more. His hands twitched forward but he pulled them back down, nodding again. 

Once we were back in the truck, it was silent. The only thing filling the void of noise was the a/c and the quiet radio. “So- flower shop right?” he questioned. I nodded and he scoffed slightly. “Why do you even need flowers again?” The question was genuine - I could only tell because of the way his brows furrowed and nose scrunched. I smiled and bit back a laugh. “For decoration, Rafe..” His tongue prodded at his inner cheek again as he nodded. “M’kay,” he softly whispered to himself as he kept driving. 

Only when we arrived at the flower shop, did he speak again. “Smells funny in here..” he whispered in my ear. I laughed and swatted him away- “No- it smells good” He grumbled under his breath some inaudible words. Once I had picked out some flowers we walked up to the register. The lady smiled at us and looked at Rafe. 

“Flowers for the girlfriend?” she questioned. My face immediately went red. I glanced up at Rafe and he looked just as embarrassed. 

@annoyingassleo @rafesno1bae @rafecameronsbunny

Part! - 3 !!

A/N: This one was fun to write! So I hope you have fun reading it💕

Moodboard- Click It

[the-shit-show-must-go-on]

Guess who’s backkkkk!!!

Y’all already know what time it is, I’ve got yet another wtnv headcanon for y’all

Carlos hates physical touch, like absolutely despises it. He’s physically affectionate with Cecil to a degree yes but that’s mostly because he knows that’s Cecil’s love language and he’s pretty ok with familiar touch as long as it is just like small amounts of it. He’s never really been a hugger though not even with Cecil, it overwhelms him.

So when Carlos gets back from the Desert Otherworld the last thing Cecil expects is a tight, almost suffocating hug. And for weeks afterwards Carlos is far more physically affectionate than he had ever been. Because he went without that small amount of familiar touch for 10 years. And it reminds him that he did it, he got back to Nightvale. He got back to Cecil

[chloedoesart]

"Dr. Nickolas Juniper, but please, call me Nick."

With all of the Gravity Falls hype, I figured there would be no better time then the present to introduce my Ford Pines expy that I play in Toonkind D&D!

He is an Order of the Awakened Monk with strange hands (that have 5 fingers so that it's not a direct rip-off, I know I know, tragic) that seem to be made of toon ink, despite the rest of him being genetically Reelkind. He has claws can use to defend himself, as well as to write in his journal, since they're made of ink!

His journal often gives him hints about his current situation and seems to almost predict the future, although he isn't quite sure how. His life goal is to investigate the Toonkind race and the unique abilities they possess that make them unlike any other race in the world. Along the way, he finds himself drawn to odd creatures and anomalies at every turn. He has too many PhDs to count and I love him with my whole heart.

[projectbluearcadia]

[P1] His (Their) Queen

NSFW Sub!Barbatos x F!MC x Dom!Lucifer Spice Rating - 3/4 DON'T BURN YOURSELF

[ Part 1 ] [ Part 2 ]

[ Story Premise: You are the wife of Diavolo, and you're a bit annoyed with the slight disrespect Barbatos shows you one morning. You decide to show him who's boss... except Lucifer, your former lover, catches you and doesn't like your abuse of power. ]

@lost-in-time-wanderer

"And Diavolo watched, full-well knowing this would happen, with his delicious fingers clutched tight around his throbbing, monstrous-" *SLAP* Ow... Not so hard, Luci...

Wordcount - 1351

smutty notes (consult if you haven't read my smut before)

“Your highness, your breakfast waits for you in the dining hall,” Barbatos murmurs against your ear, gently shaking you by the shoulder as you nuzzle your pillow. 

“Don’t want to…” Barbatos chuckles in response.

“Did his majesty tire you that much last night?” You blink your eyes open and give the butler a warning look. Honestly, the only reason you’re perturbed is because of his tone. It doesn’t seem like he’s respecting you as Prince Diavolo’s spouse. Why is he suddenly deciding to show you insolence now?

“Watch your tongue. Do not speak of my personal affairs with such carelessness.” 

“Hm? Why is that? Are you afraid I’ll tell your former lover everything you’ve screamed in the middle of the night?” Barbatos’ lips curve upwards. “Rest assured, I would never do anything so crass. I am your faithful servant, after all.” 

Is… Is he mocking you? 

“Of course. Now hurry up and dress me,” you huff, an idea slowly pooling in your head as you stand up, watching Barbatos’ eyes briefly and dangerously linger on your half-destroyed lingerie. He, however, was faithful to his job and undressed you with expert care, pretending your naked body was nothing of importance. 

“Would you like me to repair it?” Barbatos asks, spreading the extravagant underwear over his gloved hands for you, and you nod. 

“Both my husband and I liked it; please do.” 

“I will do my best, given the extent of the damage… though these stains may be a bit difficult to remove without ruining this fabric.” 

“Barbatos,” you softly growl, irritated, and he looks at you innocently enough as your idea takes shape. “Since you seem to be implying that those stains are somehow shameful,” You sit down, folding your arms over your breasts, “I want you to get down on your knees. Right now.” 

The butler, to his credit, doesn’t flinch at the order. “As you wish, my lady,” he replies and kneels before you, a faint blush scattering over his cheekbones as he lowers his head in submission. You admit it sends a lovely little thrill through you. Diavolo won’t mind; he already made it clear that he would willingly share you with Lucifer if you wanted that. 

“Lick it,” you order him coolly, and he looks up at you in surprise, his face turning more pink by the second.

“I-I’m sorry?” His composure slipped, though he recovered quickly. It was a pity, considering how adorable he was… “Your highness, what exactly are you telling me to lick?” 

“The thing you just so carelessly implied was dirty. I’m telling you to lick my cunt.” 

Barbatos stares at you for several moments in shocked silence, his blush starting to reach his ears. 

“My…” He licks his lips, though his eyes flick away from your face. “My lady, that isn’t my privilege.” I knew he loved me like everyone else, but I never thought he’d say something like that. 

“Do you think calling it a privilege will get you out of it? Please me, before I lose my patience.” Barbatos noticeably swallows before he leans closer to you. 

“Then… pardon me,” he murmurs as he places one hand on the inside of your thigh, parting your legs a little more before he slowly traces his tongue against your thigh, up to your lower lips. He looks up at you, and his desire is quickly becoming apparent. He softly groans as he fully buries his face between your legs, his wet, soft tongue lathering you in saliva. 

You try to keep your cool, although that plan quickly fails as Barbatos starts eating you out in sincerity, his tongue flicking and swirling against your bud like he knew exactly how you loved it. God, I’m already close, you think with a soft moan, trying to make him work for it as much as possible. Either way, this is not going to be a once-and-done th—

You cry out in surprise as you feel Barbatos pinch your nub in his lips before he presses hard into you like he wants you to suffocate him. He moans, absorbed and possibly even obsessed. He’s getting into this a lot more than you expected, not that you’re really complaining.

“MC, are you oka—” are the words that stop your impending orgasm as you glance over, wide-eyed to find your old flame, Lucifer, staring at you from the doorway to your bedroom. 

“...Hi, Lucifer,” you say awkwardly, and it vaguely occurs to you that Barbatos hasn’t stopped licking you, happily still trying to please you. Lucifer’s brows furrow, and he begins walking closer. 

“I can guess what happened, knowing you, but you are married, MC,” Lucifer rumbles, grabbing your chin and tilting your head up. Barbatos groans into you, and you moan out a response, sending a blush into Lucifer’s face. 

“Diavolo doesn’t mind,” you breathe, and Lucifer growls at you. 

“It doesn’t sit well with me. It seems like someone’s decided to be a spoiled little brat since she became royalty.” 

“Y-You should learn some respect,” you gasp, trying to be firm but miserably failing. You find yourself remembering the battles for dominance you used to have with Lucifer… The way he’d make you scream when he won. 

“No,” Lucifer murmurs, tracing his thumb over your lips, muffling a moan. “I think… that you need to learn some respect…and I will thoroughly teach you.” 

“Luci—hmnn.” Lucifer kisses you, teasing your mouth like he always used to. “Nnn! Oh! Barbatos!” You find yourself finally losing yourself as Barbatos pushes you over the edge, making you lose all sense as you cum, and he licks and swallows every drop like he’s starved for it. You pant and ask: “B-Barbatos, did you learn some sense?” 

“I admit I misspoke…” Barbatos replies, his cheeks still bright and rosy and his lips shining with your juices. “Is there any other way I can serve you, your highness?” 

“Don’t serve her,” Lucifer growls, an excited look crossing over his face as you pant, your chin held up by Lucifer’s fingers. “A slutty girl like her doesn’t deserve pleasure yet, does she, MC?” 

Without even realizing it, you nod, and Lucifer’s grin grows even wider. Fuck, old habits die hard… you think, biting your lip. But… it’s been a while… 

“You’re being cruel, Lucifer,” Barbatos murmurs, kissing your calf. “She is essentially our ruler… an authority which I so rudely impinged upon.” He strokes your leg up and down, massaging it gently, softly chuckling in that cute way of his.

“Ruler,” he scoffs. “A ruler like her needs to be kept in check. Preferably with a firm hand.” Lucifer squeezes your hip, and you whimper. “Stand up.” 

And without giving you the opportunity to respond, Lucifer returns to kissing you, moving you past Barbatos as your legs dangerously wobble. It must have been Diavolo last night; he was probably the reason you were already starting to shake. I mean, you couldn’t be sore and exhausted with just one or two rounds with sex fiends like Lucifer and Diavolo. Curse your husband for making you lose to Lucifer…! 

“Barbatos, you’re dying to touch more of her, aren’t you?” Lucifer murmurs against your ear, making you bump and twitch against something solid—the front of his lean body. You can feel the cold tickle of metal buttons on your neck and pressed down either side of your spine. His RAD medal jamms uncomfortably against your shoulder blade, though you’re paying more attention to the hard bulge he’s pressing you against. Even through two layers of clothing, you can still feel its general shape. “Give her breasts plenty of attention.” 

“I will only do so if her highness wishes it,” is Barbatos’ loyal reply, although his eyes are begging for the permission to do it. He wants to absolutely spoil—no, worship—you. 

“Do it, Barbatos,” you order, semi-commandingly, and Barbatos covers his mouth to stifle a soft moan. Faintly, you realize he’s also nursing a stiff length, and you’re not quite sure when it started, but you’re starting to really like the idea of letting him edge the absolute shit out of himself.  

At least you’ll suffer together.

[ocean-sunfish-hater]

This isn't ecology related, but I was learning a new workshop at work and we did some experiments with liquid oxygen. I had heard that it was paramagnetic but I'd never seen it with mine own eyes.

Behold!

[preqvelle]

4 days, the only piece of artwork I've actually ever been pleased with. (please don't repost unless credit is given)

[dawnbirdwhistle]

A little comfort 🌱🏛️

I'm thinking of making a properly rendered version too, when I have more time ^^

[slashmagpie]

Blood & Snow

Pt. VII

Directory: {Pt. I} {Pt. II} {Pt. III} {Pt. IV} {Pt. V} {Pt. VI} {AO3}

The final day for @hermithorrorweek! Ngl, this one barely fits the prompt, but, well. I had to end the fic somehow. TWs for this chapter include: temporary character death, vomiting, non-consensual body modification, body horror, minor gore, pain and panic

VII. FROM BEYOND

What even is a game?

Dictionary definition, an activity one engages in for fun. Stupid definition. Boring. Incomplete. Throw it away. Who needs dictionaries, anyway? So—what is a game, then? Something with rules. With challenge. With balance. Something that draws people in, that rewards them for their time.

It’s—fun. Games are fun. Really, at the end of the day, isn’t that the most important part?

Decked Out is not a game anymore.

It had been, once—until very recently, in fact. Even as it awoke, began to breathe, began to consume and transform, it had still been a game. People had been having fun. He’d been having fun. It’d only stopped being fun when—

When what?

Back in season seven, when it was quiet and lifeless, when it had only been played a couple hundred times, nowhere near as engaging as its sequel, verging on a thousand? When he’d come up with the idea for a sequel, started drafting out plans, discarding and creating mechanics to bring everything up to the next level and beyond? Sometime during those thirteen months in a hole, turning cold and blue, afraid of the sunlight, isolated from his friends? When he’d dug for hours on end, dyed his skin red with redstone, ushered in beasts and monsters at cost to his health? 

No. No, all of those things were fun, in their own way. It was only when—

When he became—

Why? Why did—?

The issue isn’t that Decked Out isn’t a game. Decked Out isn’t a game right now, because Decked Out is currently a person, and that’s not supposed to happen, and that’s why it’s not fun. Game’s busted, everyone go home. Dungeon shut down for maintenance. They were right, the hermits, all those times they yelled at him to fix his game. No one enjoys a game that’s broken.

So if that’s not the problem, then what is?

His body feels small and cold. There are arms wrapped around him, warm and solid when every part of him is frozen. He can feel Hypno breathe above him, below him, chest fluttering as he gasps for breath, and the dungeon quivers as Tango does the same. Flesh. It wasn’t meant to be flesh, the Burning Dark—the name wouldn’t make sense, if it were flesh. It’s just flesh because Tango’s flesh, and Tango’s the dungeon right now, and he doesn’t really want to be.

…So it wasn’t want, then. That’s good. He hadn’t thought he’d wanted to be a dungeon, but you can never be too careful with subconscious desires. So—not want, then. Then what? What? 

“Tango,” Hypno whispers. “Tango, we need to go.”

Tango tries to open his mouth, and slams a hazard door open and closed. Great. He tries again, and gets a breath out, a frigid wind blowing down a tunnel on level one. His face scrunches in concentration and discomfort, and Rusty heals one tick, sending a cascade of treasure and embers onto the empty floor of his cage.

“Would love to,” he slurs at last, and his voice sounds like cracking stone and noteblock jingles. “But if you haven’t noticed…”

He can’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t know how. How could he possibly explain—

He doesn’t even know how to explain it to myself.

“Don’t make me carry you, man,” Hypno says. “I’ll do it.”

Tango doesn’t respond. His fingers twitch. Two floors above their heads, a shrieker howls. Hypno can’t hear it, of course. Tango hears it. Tango hears everything.

“Right,” Hypno mutters. “Right. Okay then.” 

And then—movement. Tango is lifted, slowly, painstakingly, and his leaden limbs are moved without his permission. His spine cracks, and the dripleaf parkour slips into hard mode. It’s embarrassing, really, having so little control over anything, over neither of his bodies. His head lolls back in Hypno’s arms. A ravager spins and turns to walk in the other direction.

“Okay.” Hypno takes a step. “How long do you reckon it takes to punch through flesh? Can’t be that hard, right…?”

And Tango—

The dungeon seizes, all the doors opening and closing at once, all the beasts opening their mouths to wail, every noteblock and disc playing at once, and the sound is cacophonous, agonising. Hypno cries out out the sound. Deep within the skulk-covered walls of level three, Cub lets out a groan. Far above their heads, Gem clamps her hands over her ears and shrieks, giving Pearl, Scar, and Bdubs just the opening they need to slip a sword between her ribs and send her off to her base to respawn.

Do no do not destroy the dungeon do you know how long that took do you know how much it took do you know don’t—

The dungeon settles. It feels like it takes an age, but beside the heartbeat, and the sound of dripping blood, and harsh breathing, level four is quiet again. Hypno hadn’t even made it to the wall, much less torn through it. It’s funny, because he’s never really been afraid of pain before—the amount he smacks his face into walls, he can’t afford to be—but just the idea of Hypno breaking through the dungeon makes him recoil in a way he can’t—

Wait.

Oh.

He’s been asking the wrong question, hasn’t he?

It was never about Decked Out at all.

The dungeon sighs, long and low and whispery. Thirteen months—three years, really, if he considers the first one—and now, now he realises what he’s done—

(It was worth it, though. Maybe it’s just because he’s tangled up in it still, can’t tell the difference between his body and the dungeon’s, but he can’t help but think it was worth it.)

(He doesn’t want it to end.)

(And that’s the problem, is’t it?)

He puts all his energy, all his focus (that system’s gone, was scrapped, redundant, useless—focus. Frost Focus, Moment of Clarity, focus) into opening his mouth, into choking down a breath, into croaking out, “Kill me.”

Hypno nearly drops him with the force of how hard he jumps. “Jeez, man, you scared the crap outta me—I’m not killing you, dude, what the heck?” 

“Kill me,” Tango insists. “You got that sword, right? Cheater.” He tries to snort. The dungeon manages it instead. That’s—fine. Whatever. Won’t matter soon. What matters is that he needs this thing carved out of him—

“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t gonna use it on you—the ravagers, probably, if anything—”

“Gotta,” Tango whispers. “Kill me. Then—go—go tear out the, the—” He can’t breathe, all of a sudden, the weight of the entire dungeon on his lungs, crushing the air out of him—

Those aren’t the only lungs he has anymore.

The dungeon breathes, “Redstone.”

“What? Wouldn’t that break the game?”

He—laughs. The dungeon laughs. His head swims. “Kinda the point,” he manages, the dungeon manages. “Game’s over.”

“Oh.” Hypno is quiet, for a moment, and then unceremoniously drops Tango without warning. He hits the fleshy ground hard, sinks back into soft tissues, stares up at Hypno through half-lidded eyes. Hypno draws his sword. Bites his lip. “You’re sure about this, Tango?”

“Yeah,” says the dungeon, and Hypno nods.

The sword comes down, and there’s a burst of pain, and Hypno’s face melts into red, red, red—

And then there’s only black.

----

Tango had gotten the idea for Decked Out from somewhere else. Something else. Another game, actually.

Clank. A board game. Making it into a real thing, a minigame, had been a fun challenge—and then it had been so fun that he’d just had to do it again. He’d taken this thing and made it his own. Made Tango synonymous with Decked Out, with dungeon, with hazard and clank and frost embers. All that time, all that effort spent—he’d put so much of himself into the project.

…It’s no wonder, really, that things had ended this way. He’d put all of himself into the game—

And now, in order to pull himself out, he needs to destroy it.

Game’s over.

Hypno’s sword slices through the flesh walls of level four, and then he uses his fists to punch out the black concrete beyond. He pulls himself into the cavern beyond and begins to crawl up the half-finished wool buslines, up towards the spaghetti soup of redstone above. Once he’s there, once he’s found the card sorter and the clank blocker and the—everything important, really—he takes handfuls of wool and redstone in his hands and begins to tear.

Tango screams. The dungeon screams. In her bed, blocks and blocks away, Gem screams, hands twisted in and tugging at her hair as the stone slowly leeches out of her skin. On level three, Cub screams, pushed out of the skulk-infested grave he’d made for himself, the rot sloughing from his flesh and leaving bloody open wounds in its place. Upstairs, Etho is doubled over, clutching his stomach and retching up pieces of Tango’s soul.

Decked Out screams, and thrashes, and fires every piston in an attempt to fight, in an attempt not to have the life ripped out of it—

But Decked Out is a game. A dungeon. A thing made of stone and wool and redstone. A thing animated by sound, by beast and bane, by every player who'd ever dared to play it. It is not a thing that is alive by itself. It can do nothing to stop its undoing. It cannot prevent its own death.

Dying takes an eternity. Blinding pain, and panic, and Hypno’s shaking hands tearing him to pieces, gutting him from the outside in. It’s agonising, neverending, and he screams himself hoarse before it's done, chokes on his own cries and whimpers and sobs and writhes instead, because the pain is too much for silence and stillness—

And then, all at once, it’s over.

Tango sits straight up in his bed, the scream in his throat echoing around the walls of his storage room, and then doubles over to throw up skulk rot and blood and redstone all over the sheets. He vomits for—longer than is healthy, probably, and when it’s finally done he collapses back on his elbows, shivering and empty. He should—move, probably, destroy and dispose of the sick-covered bed, but he doesn’t have the energy. 

He doesn’t…

He flops back onto the pillow and holds a shaking hand out above him. The skin is faintly pink, soft and warm and wholly alive. His throat burns. His head swims. But—

He’s alive. He’s in one piece. And he isn’t…

“Tango!”

They come clattering down into his storage room, Pearl first, Bdubs and Scar behind her. Tango’s sure he must look a mess—he sees Scar gag at the sight—but he finds it in himself to muster a smile and a wave at the sight of them.

“Where’re the others?” Bdubs demands. 

“Etho—should be upstairs,” Tango croaks. His voice is nearly gone. “Cub’s on level three, someone should go get him. Hypno’s in all the redstone spaghetti out there.” He gestures vaguely with a hand. “Might wanna get him too.”

“Right,” Bdubs says. “I’ll—no, Pearl should get Cub. She knows level three the best.”

“Got it,” Pearl says. “I’ll be right back.” And then she’s off, firing rockets and flying out into the dungeon, into the places no one but Tango ever goes.

“I’ll go get Hypno,” Scar offers, and then he’s gone as well, and then there’s just Bdubs and Tango. They’re quiet for a moment. Tango’s breath rattles in his chest.

“Okay,” Bdubs says. “You gotta get out of that bed, man, that’s disgusting.”

Tango groans, but Bdubs has a point. He uses what little energy he has to wriggle out from beneath the covers and roll onto the floor, where he lies, breathing heavily. Bdubs steps forward to break the bed.

“I think what’s even more disgusting,” Tango says after a moment, “is that all of that was inside of me.”

Bdubs pulls a face. “Eugh.”

“Right?”

“You’re… good, now, though?” Bdubs asks. “You look better. You’re all orange and red again.”

“Am I?” Tango blinks. “Oh, that’s good. Yeah, I’m…” He winces. His throat really does hurt. His voice sounds like he’s been gargling rocks. “I’ll be okay,” he lands on in the end.

“Oh, good! I mean—I wasn’t worried at all, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But the others—the others were worried! So it’ll be good to tell them the, the good news…”

“Oh, yeah,” Tango mumbles. “Game’s over, isn’t it. Gonna have to let everyone know.”

That’s… gonna be fun. He’s surprised more hermits didn’t end up as entangled in the dungeon, honestly, with how into it a lot of them are. So that conversation’s gonna be…

“They’ll get over it,” Bdubs says with a wave of a hand. “We’ll throw a party or somethin’, distract ‘em.” 

“Yeah.” Tango snorts. Then—“Hey, does this mean Etho won the game again?”

A rocket fires, and footsteps touch down on the ledge into the room, and Hypno cries, “He better not have! Restart—I wanna restart. Or a recount. Or something. You can’t let him win again, Tango, he’s gonna be insufferable—I can go put the wiring back in, we can do one more phase, surely, right—”

Tango covers his face with his hands and laughs.

(The dungeon, lungs and brain and heart and soul ripped out, does not laugh with him.)

[shinestarhwaa]

Mingi angst coming tomorrow!!

[fallout-mars]

hi i posted a 2x08 fic i’m quite proud of if you’d like to read it

[kieshartzishere]

You don't deserve context

[littlesakis-aubade]

Watching the first snowfall ❄️

I wanted to draw them like this looking at the snow aaaa and Mario doesn't need a scarf, also

I hope you guys are healthy, and had a wonderful Christmas and holidays!

[homosociallyyours]

.

[puelluna]

Blog has been updated! Go ahead and take a look, let me know if there are any issues, etc. etc.!