#i know ive drawn both but these two just want hands all over them and some body weight to press their soul back to their body

[todayisafridaynight]

I’m fairly new to the fandom, but I do have a question if you can answer it! Why do people ship Daigo with Aoki / Masato? I tried looking to see if they’ve interacted before, but couldn’t find anything! Sorry for asking I’m just </3 dumb AND I LOVE YOUR ART OF THEM!!! Nerd looking ahhhhhh

hi ! welcome to the community i hope you're having a lovely time so far and ty for enjoyin my stuff :) no need for apologies it's a very fair question to have :]

i cant speak for everyone (all. ten people into masadai anyway) but Personally To Me i just think the idea of them together is very funny. thats quite literally it im afraid..

[poliodeuces]

i cant believe top gentsro is an unpopular opinion i will actually just start drawing a lot of that

[definitelynotshouting]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now." 

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

[pumpkinbxtch]

𓇼 the sun & the sea 𓇼 〰✷〰

— apollo / lester x daughter of poseidon!reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

☆ radiostar is playin': forever always by the driver era…!

warnings: none taglist: @emidpsandia

He, apparently, was dead missing.

"He went alone on the mission with Python. He hasn't returned for three days now." A month later, Meg contacted you through an Iris message and explained everything that had happened. A month later and the days passed, nobody knew about him.

"We only know that he retrieved all the Oracles and the gifts of prophecy returned," Chiron told you, and Dionysus, for the first time, looked nervous and worried about his brother.

But if Apollo had succeeded in his mission, where was he? You hadn't dreamed of him either. Days went by and your anxiety grew.

"I didn't agree, but my brother insisted on pushing him to the limit," Poseidon said seriously, and Percy replied, "I think he took it too literally, don't you?" You suppressed a groan while your father scolded your brother with his gaze. Python was gone forever, but they knew nothing of Apollo.

"It's okay, it's only been five days," you thought, but you realized that every day you did it with a new number and without any news until almost two weeks had passed... Honestly, you didn't know how many times you had cried in all that time, you didn't even bother to hide it, and even your roommate requested a room change.

Lately, the time was bad in every sense. Thunder rumbled, and you hugged the pillow tighter, tears already rolling down your cheeks. The room was colder than usual; after all, you were alone in it. You accompanied yourself with the dim light of your desk lamp, and the flash of lightning illuminated the darkest corners. You realized you were crying over too many things, everything was very recent, you hadn't even finished processing Jason's death, and those lightning bolts... all they did was remind you of it.

"Wasn't it enough with him?" You wondered as you let out your sobs. Jason was his son just like Apollo, and if he led them both to death just to reaffirm his authority to everyone, you had no doubts that Zeus was a cruel father. The thunder shook the window, and you closed your eyes in anger, not retracting anything, even if Zeus annihilated you with one of his lightning bolts, you would never do so. Probably beyond, on Olympus, your own father struggled with annoyance with his brother, but even if Poseidon wasn't half the father that Paul was to you and Percy, he would never allow you to be harmed.

Your tennis sounded against the wet sand of the path leading to your favorite café. You walked in a ghost town with a hollow chest and the cold penetrating your bones, but it didn't matter because you already felt like those skeletons that Nico brought to the surface when he was in a bad mood; anyway, you moved forward to have a hot chocolate, it was Sunday, you had to have enough strength for classes the next day.

— Here it is — the lady said when you had just formed in line at the bar. You frowned and shook your head.

— Surely it's for someone else, I just got in line.

The girl smiled and looked at the label.

— Hot chocolate? —she asked in the waiting line, and no one recognized it, she returned to you and handed it to you again. — It was ordered in advance.

A joke from Frank? Frank didn't make jokes. But if it were, how did he know what you wanted?

You took it and looked at the label, it had a sun drawn on it that made you purse your lips. "Of course, it had to be," you thought bitterly and walked back taking the long way, the one that passed by the small Tiber.

The sunlight barely reflected on the water after all it was covered by the clouds, and you sighed as you looked at the huge body of water, your chest hurt. How did this happen? You would be better off if you hadn't entered that Grove, but you had to do your will, but you wouldn't have had those days with Apollo, which provoked mixed emotions in you again.

"this rhymes for him were different, but he hopes for put that ring and find what he's been missing."

— If you wanted to marry me so much, come back and do it — you murmured with your nose buried in your scarf and tears stinging your eyes. You cut your step and faced the river that continued to shine coldly, the small cup you held slipped from your hands with each sob, and when you let out the first whimper, you let it go. However, it didn't fall. You gasped, and when you looked beside you, your breath left you.

Of those brown curls, only a few remained mixed with the blond ones, of the freckles you counted that last time you had him too close, there were only about three hundred instead of a thousand. He was taller, and his body more athletic, but he wore the same Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans from the knees. His smile was big and triumphant, the same blue eyes you had been waiting to see were just trying to memorize your fractions in the same way you were doing with him.

— And are you serious or are you just fooling me?— His voice. You threw yourself into his arms without considering if he could be hurt, but judging by how he looked... then you took him by the shoulders, he foolishly thought you would kiss him, but you just leaned back and kicked him in the chest with the skill that only you could have.

He groaned on the ground in a fetal position, and seconds later, he rose on his elbows with a confused look.

— Idiot — you shouted as you walked towards him and knelt to be at his height. Apollo couldn't help but smile like an idiot, and you couldn't help but hug him again. — Where the hell were you?

Your whimpering caused guilt in his chest, and he took care of your head as both lay back on the grass. He stroked your hair as you clung to his chest, wishing his scent would imprint on you to never forget it.

— Hey…— He called you, and you looked up, noticing tears in his eyes too. You cupped his cheek and, before he could say anything else, you kissed him. The first kiss. He closed his eyes, completely surrendered to you, feeling like he could finally breathe freely after months. When your soft lips left his, he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You couldn't see it, but Apolo had a flushed face and a knot in his stomach.

But you didn't need to see it, because as he hid in you, the sun broke through the clouds, shining brightly, almost lighting up the whole world with brighter colors than before. It was with that detail that you confirmed he had become a god again, and his feelings were showing to you in too many ways.

— I…— You spoke after several minutes of silence, causing him to sit properly on the grass with you, holding your hand. — I do want to be with you. I'm not just messing around, just so we're clear.

— Do you have an alternative? — He joked, and you gently pushed him while nervously looking at your hands.

— Fool.

— For you, of course — he cooed as he took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, but you noticed that his skill to seduce without seeming like an inexperienced teenager had returned, and that's where your first jealousy arose because you wished only you could have that side of him.

— And only for me, I'm sure — you grumbled under your breath at having that thought, and he laughed.

— I was born to love only you, believe me.— Apollo said, getting up and offering his hand to help you. — And just like art, I'll be faithful to you.

— Wow, what a great poet — you took his hand, and he took you by the waist, bending down to touch his nose to yours. You never believed in the expression "like a Greek god" until he looked at you in that way.

— Are you going to marry me? — He stroked your nose with his while gently squeezing your waist. You nodded silently like a fool, and he gave you a peck on the lips with a smirk. — I just wanted to make sure, but actually, I don't need any of that to be devoted to you. You're everything to me.

He took your hand and led you along the edge of the small Tiber, which now shone fervently.

•

— Apollo! — You shouted from the reception of the mansion on Olympus, closing the big door forcefully and looking at your husband playfully peeking behind his throne.

— Yes, dear? — You pursed your lips and approached him.

— Where are my things?

— Which ones? — He played dumb, and you sighed.

— From my bedroom at the university, where are they?

—In your room...— you raised an eyebrow — here.

You growled and pulled him to come out from behind the throne.

— I told you it would be until I graduated.

Apollo pouted and slumped his shoulders.

—But I miss you.

You smiled and hugged him.

— I miss you too, but— you stepped back and showed the ring on your ring finger —I have this, darling, and that's enough to scare off my classmates. I don't need to come down from Olympus every day when I can be in the dorms.

Apollo nodded regretfully.

— Alright, alright...— he snapped his fingers and smiled at you — everything is already in your silly university dorm.

You smiled and gave him a kiss. As you started making your way to the exit, he sighed.

— I'll see you tonight — he shouted, and you turned around smiling.

The Sun illuminates the beauty of the sea but never tries to contain it, and the sea shows the sun that even in the stormiest moments or the darkest nights, its light never fades.

[supercriminalbean]

Sneaking around.

Derek Morgan x GN!Reader.

Summary: Derek and Reader start a relationship but keep it secret because their Dad is David Rossi.

Warnings: Kissing, swearing, drinking, (I think thats it, let me know if ive missed anything)

Words: 2.4k

Derek knew dating you would have its risks, but he didn’t really care. How could he because whenever he looked in your eyes he felt at home and that his world is perfect and

full of love. He met you one night at a family night hosted by David Rossi. Dave decided it was time to introduce his team to his kid, one he had kept hidden from most of the team, knowing it was safer to keep his family hidden away from the spotlight.

Morgan was given a stern warning from Rossi just minutes before you were introduced, of course Morgan promised to stay away from you, knowing the reputation he has. But the moment his eyes set on you, he regrets making that promise because he has never seen someone as gorgeous as you. The way your smile just brightens up the whole room, the way your laugh is the most addicting sound he has ever heard, he wishes he could hear it every single day. That night is filled with the team getting to know you, you don’t know how but you find yourself being drawn towards Derek Morgan. Your dad had warned you to stay away from that man, according to him he's a good man but Derek Morgan can be a bit of a player. You can’t help but laugh at your dad’s warning, you're not after a relationship, especially someone on your dads team, plus you're a little bit of a player yourself.

That night is full of talking and getting to know your Dads team, so you know who has back when he's in the field. Somehow that night ends with you being invited to a Doctor Who marathon with Penelope and Reid the following week and the next day you're going to go and help Derek Morgan pick out some window frames for his house he’s renovating. 

~~~

You met Derek nine months ago, and you two started dating six months ago. You both decided to keep it to yourselves for now, none of you wanting to tell your Dad about it. You both hang out and go on dates on the low, having to make sure you're not ringing him when he’s near your Dad at all. You enjoy being secretive with him, enjoying the private moments with him. It becomes hard at the dinners your Dad hosts, doing your best to keep your distance from him, not being allowed to hold his hand or lean into his side, it sucks. Especially tonight, tonight is your six month anniversary and somehow your Dad decided to do another pasta night and it would look suspicious if you both ditched tonight. So here you are, standing in the middle of the living room, talking and laughing with Aaron and Penelope. Glancing outside to where your other half is, he’s sitting down on the outside table with Jack and Henry, helping them with some sort of project, and your heart can’t help but melt at how good he is with kids as you finish your glass of wine.

“Ciao ragazzino, can you get some more wine from the cellar for me” Dave calls out, walking out of the kitchen, his eyes landing on you. Looking over at your dad you send him a quick smile, wiping your mind off your boyfriend.

“Sure thing Dad” Smiling you quickly make your way downstairs to the wine cellar. You take your time grabbing the bottles, enjoying the quiet.

“Need some help?” His loud voice makes you jump.

“Jesus hell Derek” Huffing feeling annoyed as you turn around to look at him. Spotting him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed with the biggest cocky smile on his face.

“You need to be less jumpy cupcake” Derek chuckles as he walks over to you, his eyes sliding over your body before landing on types pretty eyes of yours. 

“Hard to do when you sneak up on me” You grumble softly as you let him pull you into his arms, resting your head in his chest.

“I missed you” He whispers softly as he kisses your forehead, resting his head onto yours. “I haven’t seen you all week and I wasn’t even able to hug when I finally saw you today”

“I know baby, but you know why I can’t tell my dad yet” Biting back a sigh as you could just imagine your Dads lecture if he found out. 

“I get it pumpkin, but I still don’t like it” He slowly pulls away, his arms resting around your waist.

“Maybe next week we can tell, maybe it's time” You smile lightly as you look up at him, meeting his kind and loving eyes.

“Good, because then I can hug you whenever I want” he chuckles before kissing you smoothly.

“What a flirt Derek” You can’t help but laugh when pulling away. 

“Come on, you better get back before they wonder what you're up to” Derek chuckles, passing you the bottles of wine before following you out. 

~~~

You make your way back to the living room, via the kitchen leaving a bottle of wine for Dave, bringing the rest back with you, topping up your own glass. When you enter the living room you're glad to see Derek is already there and talking away with Reid and Garcia. You stand by yourself for a while, you can’t help but stare at Derek, the way he is with his friends always warms your heart, the way he is just always himself makes your heart flutter. 

“I thought you may have gotten lost down there” Aaron smirks to himself as he comes to stand beside you unnoticed, your eyes too occupied with something else across the room.

“Oh I just couldn’t find the right wine he wanted” You lie quickly, without a glance at Aaron, knowing if you did he would easily read straight through you. Your uncle has alway been the best at reading your lies especially when it comes to your love life.

“Huh, I thought your Dad kept them in alphabetical order” Aaron smirks more when you finally look at him, your face heating up under his stare.

“He does, but I don’t like reading wine bottles”

“Oh right, well I think Dave wanted to come and check on you. Luckily I managed to distract him, isn't it?” Aaron's grin widens just slightly as your eyes narrow.

“Are you implying something here, Aaron” You have to hold back a smile as you stare him down.

‘Only that it's been over six months now that you have complained about anyone while babysitting Jack for me” He looks so cocky when you don’t respond right away.

“Well, cockneys doesn’t suit you Uncle Aaron” Groaning softly as you sip on your wine. 

“Oh come on, you can’t hide from me” Aaron laughs softly, his eyes lingering on you. He can’t help but appreciate the look in your eyes as they turn back to Morgan, the same look Morgan had on his face every single time he’s texting away on his phone.

“You two should just tell Dave already, If i have figured it out, it won’t take him long” 

“Yeah but he told us to stay away from each other when we first meet” You grumble before looking up at Aaron for advice.

“Yes, but this was before you two look at each other like no one else exists, just tell him, he’ll understand” Aaron smiles, but smirking over at Derek then back at you. “But maybe warn Mogan, that if he hurts you it's not just Dave he needs to worry about” Aaron sips on his wine before glances down at you, where you're rolling your eyes.

“Yeah yeah Aaron” Rolling your eyes before smiling. “He could take you both anyway”

~~~

As the night goes on, it's filled with laughter and drinks, once dinner has finished everyone is seated on the couch. You're not sure how much alcohol you have consumed tonight, you stopped counting after glass number four and Garcia brought out tequila. Aaron and JJ have left already, claiming they have to get back to their kids, leaving Dave on ‘Dad’ duty. The team starts playing truth or dare, excluding Dave who has headed off to bed already, making sure that everyone knows where to sleep for the night.

A takes a few rounds and some shots for the game to get interesting, Spencer was staying sober and laughing at his overly loud drunk friends. 

“Okay okay, (Y/n) your turn” Penelope exclaims, putting her glass down, grinning at you “Truth or dare” 

“Hit me hard Pens, dare” Laughing as you lean into the couch, all four of you are sitting on the floor, while Spencer watches from the couch.

“Ohh okay Ems, help me think” Penelope whines leaning into the women, who smirks evilly at you.

‘Oh no no, you love evil” Smirking back at her, never one to back down from a challenge.

“I dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room” Emily sniggers as you glare at her.

“If you just want me to kiss you Emily all you gotta do is ask” Your laugh turns into a groan, as her smirk widens.

“Oh we all know it's not me you were staring at all night” Emily teases back while Penelope giggles while throwing some ‘Ohhhhhs’ at you. You glance over at Derek who is smirking widely at you before wiggling his eyebrows making you laugh. Pulling yourself up on to your knees, you crawl carefully over towards him.

“Well hi” His smirk is adorable as he cups your face.

“You're annoyingly cute” Giggling softly as you press your lips against him firmly, almost losing yourself as he starts kissing back, his arm wrapping around you pulling you into his lap. Cheers erupt around the room, forcing you two to finally pull away, snuggling down in between his legs as you all look around the room laughing with them.

~~~

“So this is who you're dating then” Penelope grins at him.

“Wait you two are dating, like officially” Emily mouth falls open as she gawks at them.

“How the hell did you figure that out Babygirl?” Derek groans softly, wrapping his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“Oh come on” Garcia scoffs before smirking. “It wasn’t hard, you’ve been smiling at that phone of yours to much lately and also you haven’t spoken about anyone else but (Y/n) since you meet them”

“Aww you like me” Laughing sweetly as you lean into him.

“No I love you, dummy” He rolls his eyes as he laughs pressing a kiss against your neck.

“Aww you love me”

“Okay that's cute, but sickening” Emily fakes gags before smiling.

“So does Dave know?” Reid asks.

“No, no one knows about us,” Morgan answered.

“Well, not no one, Aaron figured it out tonight” Groaning softly, as you tell Derek.

“Oh great, my boss knows” Morgan huffs out a laugh as he leans backwards.

“He also threatens you with bodily harm if you hurt me” A soft chuckle slips through your lips as your eyes start closing, the alcohol making you sleepy.

“Oh, an overprotective uncle and Dad, goodluck Morgan '' Emily laughs as his face drops.

“Funny Prentiss” He pokes his tongue out at her, before slowly standing up pulling you with him. “We are going to bed,” Morgan informs them, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Penelope beat you to it” Spencer smirks, as he grabs a blanket. You three all turn around to spot an asleep Penelope, cuddled into Emily's side.

“Guess I’m sleeping here tonight then” Emily laughs, taking the blanket from Spencer, snuggling down for the night. 

~~~

Dave wakes up to a quiet house, walking out he spots Emily and Penelope cuddled up on the couch, a blanket spread over them and an empty bottle of tequila on the coffee table. Dave chuckles softly as he leaves them before, walking past the guest room where he figures Spencer and Morgan are before heading to your room. He opens the door slowly, hearing low voices coming through, he guesses your awake. He peaks in quietly and he wishes he never did.

“What the fuck” He exclaims, his eyes almosting falling out of his head with how wide they are. He wasn’t wrong, you are awake and currently laid on top of Morgan, pressing your lips against him. Both you and Derek’shead shoot towards the door with fear, your heart pounding away. 

“Ever heard of knocking” You gulp thickly as you stare at your Dad, rolling off of Derek quickly, thankful you both were still fully dressed. 

“Downstairs, five minutes” Dave glares at Derek before walking out, the door closing with a slam.

“Well that went well” Derek groans as he sits up, meeting your amused look.

“Hey at least we had clothes on” Laughing softly as you hug him, kissing him gently. “You ready?”

“Don’t have a choice, do I cupcake?” He smirks lightly, standing up.

~~~

You both make your way down stairs, hand in hand. Making your way to the patio where you can see your Dad is. You both take a seat opposite him, taking a deep breath.

“So how long has this been going on” Dave sighs, looking up at you both.

“Six months” Derek informs him, a small smile on his face.

“Six months” Dave huffs, holding back a smile of his own before glaring at Derek. “I told you to stay away from them”

“I know, and I tried but I can’t resist them Dave, they're different and this isn't just some fling for me I promise” Derek smiles just a little more as he speaks, his hand squeezing yours.

“Better not be”

“It's not, I love them” Derek smiles, glancing over at you, always loving the way your face lights up when he says it.

“And Dad, I love him too” You smile back at Derek, his growing even more.

“Okay okay I’ve heard enough” Dave smiles, shaking his head. “Well Derek you know if you hurt them, I know how to kill you and make sure no one ever finds your body” 

“Dad you don’t need to threaten him, Aaron already did that” Laughing quietly as you inform your Dad, his face dropping.

“Aaron knows? Excuse me, I need to make a phone call” Dave grumbles as he stands up walking past you two. “Oh yeah welcome to the family Derek” Dave Pats his shoulder before walking out.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Thank you for all your asks… I’ll reply to everyone at some point. Happy Saturday!

Talking about Fellow Honest, Rookvil and Sebek’s grandpa… the first asks are kind of spicy lol

Anonymous asked:

i just realized most of the boys in the playful land event u hc as tops so pls consider: NRC boys x fellow gangbang

(reverse gangbang for gidel and the two bottoms idk)

Anon, this is so hilarious; when we first realised that this was an almost top-only party, I wept. Rollo was lucky… Poor Fellow! And he almost got every single HORRIBLE one, too! Was lucky enough not to get Rook though; he wouldn’t leave his fluffy tail alone lol

Also bold of you to assume that NRC boys x Fellow gangbang wasn’t our minds CONSTANTLY while we were watching the event 😭 Those nasty brats…! It’s painfully easy to imagine them going “let’s mess this bastard up~”.

I haven’t drawn the gangbang itself, only some sketches implying it, but… I really should 😭 Let’s hope.

Haven’t thought about Gidel with Vil and Leona though! Surprisingly… he would scratch a certain itch for both of them I think lol

Anonymous asked:

Games are over, it's time to get serious! Tell me, which one of the boys ended up hooking up with Fellow during the playful land event? I know that the funniest and best answer is definitely "all of them", but I wonder if you have anyone in mind... Also, poor Fellow, there were so many tops in this event! He suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder and turns around to see Riddle form the Stitch event, who just shakes his head and goes "It never gets any easier...". On another note, does this mean we're going to get the fox's slut-istics eventually?

ANON OUT THERE ASKING REAL QUESTIONS, AND shooting me in the head instantly because I really wanted to say “all of them”!! 😭 But let’s consider that the great NRC gangbang didn’t happen, let’s humour the idea, let’s think about it…

I think the ones that are the most likely to hook up with Fellow are Lilia (he knows a nasty bitch that lacks training when he sees one), the Tweels (they are determined to enjoy themselves today, so Fellow should play with them!), Ortho (he’ll make Fellow uncomfortable with how un-innocent he is), Ace (he got super ballsy by the end there, tbh my money is on him) and Kalim fucking Al-Asim. Although the last one sends mixed messages as always because he is at the same time very openly flirty and very weirdly platonic lol Still, he seemed to really, really liked Fellow, so anything could happen.

God I love the word “slut-tistics”… If you mean the sluttiness chart that I did some time ago, then yes, Fellow absolutely deserves one! Let’s see… I think, it’d be something like this:

Promiscuity: 4; Flirtiness: 4; Sex-drive: 2; Kinkiness: 3.

Total: 13

He isn’t super loyal to anyone, but he also isn’t 100% promiscuous; to Fellow, having sex with someone and being loyal are two different things. He is loyal to someone he loves dearly, but this is its separate thing <3 Sex is survival, to be honest, he doesn’t do it for pleasure all that often. Still, because he had to go through the hands of so many deeply perverted people, his body developed some kinks that he didn’t even know he could have…

Flirting is an instrument of manipulation for him, but I feel like he also enjoys it genuinely.

Sooo if he is 13, that would put him just below the total slut tier wow impressive lol

(Also YOU ARE SO RIGHT ABOUT RIDDLE IN THAT EVENT I DIDN’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, oh buddy, oh poor little thing…)

Anonymous asked:

Hi! I love your blog sm and your art is amazing aaaa i loved that savannahclaw Rook you did, so handsome!! That description on the picture made me wonder, how would you say Rook and Vil would have first gotten together ? Did Rook ask Vil out or was Vil the one who dropped hints on wanting to get together? Do you think they went on dates or just straight up jumped into the bushes? LMAO ive always been curious on headcanons on how you would imagine them first dating before they became the silly couple we all know and love

Thank you so much, Anon!! <3 I am very happy you liked it!

I love talking about these two and especially the earlier stages of their relationship lol I talked about it in this post + wrote some hcs about their first time too.

I feel like they were getting closer and closer very quickly as they continued talking to each other every day, and then at some point the tension just got too strong. Maybe there would be sense for them to talk about their feelings, but it was the kind of situation when it was obvious even without words. So none of them really asked the other one out, but at some point they just started “dating”…

Maybe this isn’t how Vil imagined his first proper relationship to start, but it’s not like he wasn’t just as passionate as Rook was lol

Their little chats were their “dates” technically. But I think they had their first “proper date”(=going somewhere) after they started making out and having sex.

Anonymous asked:

Just out of curiosity, would you ever consider having head cannons or maybe even doing artwork of Sebek's grandfather, Baul...?

Like, in your eyes, is he a bottom or top? Do you ship him with anybody? Or does he just not interest you that much? Cause that's okay too! I'm just really curious, I really like Baul lol. 💚

We absolutely would whenever we actually get to read ch7 and know him better! I have no doubt that we are going to like him a lot, so at least one portrait sketch is a must. His design is cool, and I love his armour. He is one handsome croc :”3

We don’t ship him with anyone yet because we haven’t seen anything of him, but based on things we already know, it feels like he is going to join the top squad. But until we actually see him and learn how he interacts with others and what dynamics he has with people around him, we can’t say for certain.

Even if we end up not shipping him with anyone, I’ll write some solo hcs about him if someone wants to read them! By the time we actually get to know him, of course. It’ll take a while lol sorry about it.

[noellawrites]

Isolation - Yandere!Rafael Barba x reader

requested by @detectivebarba

summary: After you are shot while on duty, Rafael manipulates both you and the SVU squad to get what he wants.

warnings: shooting, bullet wound, reader is hospitalized, angst, lying, manipulation

A single shot rang out, causing you to turn your head towards where the commotion was coming from. Your service weapon was drawn, but you didn't have time to shoot. The bullet hit you right below your chest.

You slammed into the ground with a groan. Pain ricocheted through your body, but you knew you were lucky. Your vest had caught the bullet.

"11-41, we got an officer down. I need a bus to Irving and East 17th ASAP," you heard Sonny call over his radio.

Liv was on the ground next to you in a flash. She had pulled your vest off and was examining the damage.

"It looks like the vest caught most of the damage. You're going to be fine, (y/n)," Liv assured you.

You watched from the ground as Amanda and Fin apprehended the shooter and wrangled him into the backseat of the squad car.

"P-please c-call Raf," you rasped, and Liv nodded. Your breathing sounded erratic and you were coughing and wincing in pain. Sonny turned around, bending down to the other side of you.

"I think you've got a punctured lung, (y/n)," Carisi explained.

Your eyes widened and tears threatened to spill from them. You couldn't speak, so you only shook your head vigorously.

Liv stood up and dialed Rafael's number. She wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to him, as he was extremely protective of you.

"The vest caught the bullet, but it looks like they have some broken ribs and they're having trouble breathing. I know, Rafa. We'll meet you at Mercy."

—

Everything became a blur once you were loaded into the ambulance. Liv rode with you while Sonny drove the squad car to Mercy. Fin and Amanda were booking the shooter and finishing the paperwork, but promised to come to visit as soon as they could.

A flustered Rafael was already sitting in your room once you were brought back from your emergency surgery. He stood up as soon as he saw the nurses wheeling your hospital bed back in.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, concern thick in his voice.

"Better, now that I can actually breathe. Hey, where is everyone else?" you asked, looking around your private room. There were already four vases of flowers, but no one else was there besides your boyfriend and the two nurses hooking up your IV bags.

"They'd only let one person in at a time, so I told them I was your husband. I'll go out and tell everyone that you're awake and out of surgery, though," Rafael promised.

He leaned over, kissing you on the forehead and smiling at you before he exited the room.

—

Rafael was stunned at just how many NYPD employees had showed up to support you. He walked into the lounge and guessed there had to be at least thirty people. There were lots of beat cops, mostly people he recognized as old friends and co-workers of yours.

He spotted Liv and Sonny standing in a corner with Chief Dodds and IAB Captain Tucker. Rafael approached them and took a deep breath.

"They're out of surgery and conscious. They don't want any visitors, though. Any idea why that son of a bitch would do this?" Rafael said, clenching his jaw in anger.

"Fin and Rollins are workin' on it, but we got nothin' so far," Sonny explained.

"No visitors? Any idea why?" Liv asked, narrowing her eyes.

"They said they didn't want to see any of you. I'm pretty sure they're planning on leaving the squad after this. I'm sorry."

" Well, give them these if you could, counselor. It's from all of us down at 1PP," Tucker explained, handing Rafael a bouquet.

"I will, thank you," Rafael nodded, taking the flowers.

"And these, my ma made an emergency cannoli batch when she heard," Sonny added, shoving a Tupperware container into Rafael's other hand.

Rafael couldn't wait to get back into your room, take your phone and block each and every one of them. He would take care of you and nurse you through your recovery without the squad to bother him.

He was quite proud of this plan he'd set into motion. He paid the shooter handsomely, as he would be serving a few years in prison. It was airtight, nothing could be tracked back to him. And now, you were all his.

—

You woke up from your nap and turned to your left side, where Rafael was sitting. He was texting something on his phone and hadn't noticed you'd woken up.

"Rafa?" you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"Hey, baby. You have a good nap?"

"Yeah. Did anyone come by to visit?" you asked. You wanted to see your friends more than anything.

"Just Tucker to drop off some flowers," your boyfriend explained.

You frowned, glancing out the window at the New York skyline. You got shot, broke two ribs and your lung collapsed, and your friends couldn't even bother to come see you in the hospital?

"I'll call Liv, I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. Maybe they think I'm still in surgery or something," you said, grabbing your phone from the tray table beside you.

You clicked on Olivia's contact and tried to press the call button, but your call was immediately rejected.

"That's weird," you remarked, and tried again. Again, the call rejected.

You narrowed your eyes and tried Sonny's contact. Then Amanda. Then Fin. All rejected calls. You turned your phone off, tears welling up in your eyes. Why would they ice you out like this?

"I'm sorry (y/n), but they don't want to hear from you or see you. I tried to call them earlier and only Liv answered. She said you're off the squad. I'm really sorry," Rafael explained, standing up from his seat and moving to stand over your hospital bed. He wiped the tears from your eyes and looked at you with an expression of pity.

"Why would they do this?" you sobbed, covering your eyes with your hands.

"Once you get out of here, I'll move you into my apartment. I'll take care of you, okay? I promise," Rafael said, smiling at you and bending over to give you a hug. He would always protect you, and you would never have to know the truth.

[gothhabiba]

do u have more details on your mourning veil(s)?? i am not in mourning but i have been wanting to wear veils in everyday life (probably not in black) and i also plan to dress in some kind of modified mourning when i next experience a death in my circles. im curious about whether u wear it over your face ever (im autistic and thats pretty much why ive been wanting to start wearing veils, apart from the aesthetics of it ofc lol), and also curious about the logistics, like what shapes they are & how opaque they are?

Mine is a 1930s (?) French veil; it's a large (34 x 60") rectangle of sheer material that seems to be black silk crepe. A short stretch of fabric in the center of one of the long ends (5") has two threads drawn through it to gather it together, producing a sort of half-circle of negative space where the veil may be attached to a bonnet; when worn, this causes the two corners of the rectangle nearest the head to fall down somewhat lower than the shoulders, while the two corners further away fall over the back and down to the knees: here's a link to a French mourning veil that looks similar.

1930s French veil laid out over a table; close-up on the ruching.

A bunch of writing from the 19th and early 20th centuries decries the expectation for widows to wear veils over their faces, claiming that the veils were heavy, stifling, and difficult to see and breathe through. I haven't found that to be the case with this one—even with my muscle disorder (like, my neck can only briefly and painfully support the weight of my head), the weight of the veil alone is negligible. It's very sheer and not too difficult to see and breathe through.

That being said, I wouldn't recommend wearing an antique veil (on the rare chance you find one—mourning clothes are harder than most antique clothing to come by, since the dye doesn't tend to wear very well, and crepe in particular had a tendency to shed and break down) over your face! You don't know for sure what kinds of dye or fixatives were used on it, and some of the more popular ones are things that you should not be breathing in.

Re-creation mourning veils intended for re-enactors can be purchased online—you may also have some luck looking into things marketed as Goth wedding veils. The only veil I occasionally wear over my face is a modern recreation. However, I found it difficult to come across one that didn't include satin trim or lace (both prohibited in English deep mourning). If you have some basic sewing skills, it shouldn't be hard to get a rectangle of sheer fabric (silk gauze or cotton voile might work; I have some 100gsm black linen on hand so I can tell you that it's a bit difficult to see through) and hem it on all sides.

You will need a hatpin or something similar to attach your veil to a bonnet or other headwear, or else it will blow right off. Headwear with a brim has the advantage of keeping the veil a few inches away from your face. The veil can be worn covering the entire bonnet and falling down over your face, or you can throw it back (so that it's folded over the back half of the bonnet, still held in place by the pin) to reveal your face. If you place the pin or pins about halfway back, you can make this adjustment on the fly. You could probably also just sew the veil to the bonnet if you're never going to wear them separately.

Short, modern veil worn over an 1860s-style bonnet to cover the face; the same veil worn over a bonnet to partly cover the face.

This veil makes everything look a bit darker and more grainy and gives a slight halo to light sources. It's not too noticable and I wouldn't say it impedes vision for the sake of any everyday task you would need to do.

When I'm forgoing the bonnet, I put my hair up into a bun, leaving some hair off to the side to make a braid; I pin the veil into my hair by putting bobby pins through my hair and then around the edge of, not through the fabric of, the veil (so that one half of the pin is between the veil and my head, and the other half is on top of the veil); then I take the braid and pull it over the area where the veil meets my hair, securing it with the halves of the bobby pins that are on top of the veil, and using another few pins to secure the bottom of the braid (the part closer to my forehead than the back of my head). There's no historical precedent for this, but it keeps the veil secure without damaging it, and keeps me from needing to wear a hat inside.

You can get a lot of variation in style by doing this:

1930s French veil worn directly in the hair with one large braid covering the join;

Ditto, with one large braid covering the join and one small decorative one across the head;

Ditto, with two twists of different sizes in stead of the braids;

Ditto, with the hair drawn into two buns at the side of the head under the veil, in stead of into one bun at the back;

Ditto, with one bun and one braid covering the join, with additional hair pinned into decorative swirling shapes on top of the head.

[slashmagpie]

Blood & Snow

Pt. IV

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

Day four for @hermithorrorweek! This is the longest chapter in this fic and completely got away from me lmao. I hope you all enjoy it. TWs for this chapter include: violence, gore, possession, non-consensual body modification*, temporary character death?

IV. TAKEN OVER

“So what you’re saying,” Cub says, “is that the dungeon… ate Tango?”

The seven of them are sitting in a makeshift circle of chairs in the waiting room. Well—most of them. Scar’s in his wheelchair, rolling back and forth in that way he only does when he’s particularly anxious, and Gem is hopping around the outside of the circle, too full of energy to sit still. Bdubs is a shade paler than usual, fingers buried deep in the moss of his cloak, his chair pushed as close to Scar as he can manage. Pearl is sitting on his other side, a frown on her face as she glances around the circle. Then there’s Cub, and beside him, Etho and Hypno, both of them evidently as concerned by this development as he is.

“Or—something,” Bdubs says, uncomfortable but not quite grumbling. “It’s like—everything’s covered in his soul.”

“His soul,” Etho echoes, sceptically.

“His soul, his consciousness, his self, whatever you wanna call it! But it’s everywhere.” 

“I dunno, Bdubs, that sounds pretty…”

“Ridiculous?” Bdubs snaps. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it! But it’s real.”

“And the dungeon has flesh now,” Scar adds. “And it breathes. It’s really freaky! And I can’t find Tango anywhere.”

“I found him,” Bdubs says. “It was dark. He said he was in ‘the one place you can’t reach.’ Any ideas what that means?”

There’s a long, drawn-out pause.

“I mean…” says Cub. “There’s really only one place, isn’t there?”

“Where?” Scar asks.

“The Burning Dark.”

There’s another long, long pause.

“You mean level four,” Hypno clarifies.

“Well, it is the one place we can’t get to,” Cub points out. 

“You want someone to get down to level four. To find Tango. Without dying. When it’s not even open?” Etho says, staring at him.

Cub shrugs. “Anyone have any better ideas?”

They don’t.

“Tango’s going to kill me,” Etho wails.

“Wait, who said anything about you being the one to do it?” Hypno says. 

“Well—I mean, I thought…” Etho trails off awkwardly, shrugging. “Since I’m the best player, and all…”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Hypno says with a huff. “I mean, me and Cub are pretty good at this, too!”

“Well, I mean, if you two want to do it, be my guest. Are your decks big enough?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“We could all do it,” Cub suggests.

They turn to stare at him. “What?”

“Well… it’s not like it’s a proper run, anyway. We’re not trying to get an artefact—we’re trying to get Tango. If we combine our decks, go in together… We might have a better chance of at least one of us making it.”

The two of them consider it. “It could work,” Hypno admits. “Wouldn’t it cause a lot of clank, though?” 

“Well, then we sacrifice Etho to the Vex and keep on running.”

“Hey!”

“Sure. We can go in together. Why not?”

“Great. Etho? You in, man?”

Etho sighs. “Fine.”

“So that’s the plan?” Pearl says. “We send in the three best players and hope you guys can get him out?”

“Is there something wrong with that?” 

“No, no, it’s fine, I just feel like there’s something more we should be able to do.” She points at herself, Scar, and Bdubs, then waves a vague hand in Gem’s direction. “Right? I don’t wanna be sitting around twiddling my thumbs while you guys are down there.”

“I could try dreaming again?” Bdubs suggests. “Like—I could be down there all invisible helping you guys out.”

“And I’ll be your man in the van!” Scar declares.

“Our… what?” Hypno blinks.

“You know, your man in the van! Like Grian in Phasmo!”

“He means he’s gonna sit out here and not do anything,” Gem cuts in.

“Hey! I’m going to offer my best commentary.”

Etho pulls a face. “Can we pass on that?”

“Okay, so, what about me?” Pearl asks. “What should I do?”

“I know what you can do,” Gem says. 

Pearl turns to look at her. “You do?”

“Sure.”

Cub glances up at Gem, and instantly his senses tell him that something is wrong. He can’t quite put his finger on it—is it that she’s suddenly stiller than usual? The way her fingers twitch towards the sword sheathed at her hip? The stony look in her eye, the smile stretching eerily across her mouth?

Before he can figure it out, Gem answers the question with, “You can stop me.”

Her sword is out before anyone can say anything to that, coming down on Bdubs’ shoulder and splitting him in two. Bdubs respawns in the bed across the room with a cry, his body dissolving into golden and green light that soaks into Gem’s skin as she laughs and wipes the blood from her skirt. Cub is on his feet in a matter of seconds, pulling his own weapon and shield, as the rest of their little circle scatters apart and away from her. 

“Gem?” Pearl cries, drawing her axe, taking several careful steps back. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, Pearl.” Gem’s smiling, but there’s a note of genuinity in her voice, a slight shake around the edges. “I can’t just let you break the rules!”

“Who died and made you hall monitor?” Scar mutters as he wheels as far back from Gem as he can get.

“Tango,” Gem says, her breath misting in the air like it’s several degrees colder than the waiting room actually is. “He told me I need to stop you by any means necessary.” She takes a step forward, swinging her sword and letting the tip of it drag across the ground. “And as much as I want to save him, well… Any means necessary it is. Unless... you stop me.” She steps just into Pearl’s personal space. Cub watches as frost begins to creep over the tip of Pearl’s nose.

“The dungeon ate you too,” he realises.

Gem grins with too-sharp teeth and swings her sword upwards.

“Run!” Pearl cries, parrying it with the blade of her axe. “Go, go!”

“You heard her!” Etho says, and then he and Hypno are running, leaving Cub watching the fight unfolding.

“Cub, what are you doing?” Hypno cries. “Come on!”

Cub should run, is the thing, should join them in their trip down. He knows it, right down to the itch in his skin that begs him to move. But that’s the problem—there’s an itch that makes him want to move. A foreign presence too familiar to not recognise, blue veins stretching across his skin, the voice different but the motive all the same.

Go with them, begs the skulk, begs the dungeon, and Cub looks at the ferocity with which Gem fights and feels an inkling of fear in the back of his brain.

The dungeon ate Tango. It’s eating Gem.

…What happens when it eats me, too?

“Cub! We’re gonna go without you!” Etho cries, and the skulk screams, and Cub flinches away from the fight and towards his friends.

“Sorry! Coming!” he cries, and races towards the drop-down into the hall below.

“Dude, for a moment, we thought you weren’t gonna come,” Hypno says. “Thought you were gonna leave us out to dry.”

“Nah, man,” Cub says, shoving his blue-coated hands in his pockets, trying not to squirm. “I’m with you, I’m with you.”

“Right. Everyone get their decks and meet back here,” Hypno says. “Who’s paying?”

There’s a long pause.

“Well, you know, I got the least shards…” Etho says, shuffling.

“You also have the best win rate.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“I’ll pay,” Cub says. “I’m sure Tango will reimburse me, anyway.”

The two of them glance at him. “Oh, okay. Thanks, Cub.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cub smiles at them. “I just wanna get down there as fast as possible. Speedrun, come on. Let’s get our decks.”

----

It’s weird, going in with three people: first they sort through their cards, try to figure out the best way to build their individual deck into one larger one, bicker about getting the correct cards back at the end of the day. Then they have to decide—well, it isn’t a real run, so is it worth taking their armour in? What about food? Would taking a sword to a ravager be a smart move, or a particularly stupid one?

Some part of Cub—a part that he’s not too keen on inspecting—recoils at the idea of cheating to such an extent, and he tells the others so. They agree—a little reluctantly, maybe, but he thinks they all feel uneasy at the idea of angering the dungeon, when it’s already in Gem trying to tear Pearl apart upstairs, and it’s already got Tango trapped somewhere deep within its depths. So: no armour, no food, no weapons. Just the three of them, and their frankenstein deck, and all the wits they have about them.

Man, Cub just hopes they aren’t making a mistake.

“Shotgun!” Hypno calls as he hops in the minecart. Cub hops onto the back of the minecart, arms around Hypno’s shoulders and feet firmly planted on the transom at the minecart’s rear. 

“Sorry, Etho,” he says with a faux-sheepish, not at all apologetic smile at the third member of their party. “Guess you’ll have to walk.”

“Oh, no, I can fit,” Etho says, and promptly throws himself into Hypno’s lap.

Hypno yelps. “Dude!”

“What?” Etho bats his eyes innocently, but Cub will bet anything that there’s a smirk beneath that mask of his. “Are we ready to go?”

“I guess,” Hypno grumbles, wincing as Etho repositions himself in the cart.

“Press the button, let’s go,” Cub says.

“Pressing the button!” Etho says, reaching up to hit it and then ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the low ceiling of the tunnel.

The minecart ride takes an age, and yet takes no time at all: the air turns frigid around them as they descend down into the depths, and Cub gets a sense of what Scar had been talking about, the feeling of being surrounded by something alive. He tightens his grip on Hypno’s shoulders, sucks in a steadying breath—

And then falls in a heap on top of the other two as they’re all forcibly ejected from the minecart into the same space.

“Oww…”

“Ugh.”

“Welp.” Cub stands and shoves his hands in his pocket. “Better not do that again.”

“Trust me, I’m not planning on it,” Hypno grouses. “Who wants the map?”

“You can take it man, I don’t mind,” Cub says. “Just keep us updated on the card count.”

“Got it.” Hypno picks up the map, leaving the compass floating behind in the entryway as he heads towards the door. “Okay, what’s the game plan?”

“Split up and look for a key?” Etho suggests. 

“Won’t that just build up clank?” Hypno shoots back.

“EVASION,” bellows the dungeon.

“...Well, that answers that question,” Cub says, following the two of them down into the ice tunnels. “Anyone know where the ravagers are?”

“Not a clue,” Hypno says.

“Hopefully Tango will be nice to us,” Etho says. “Right, guys?”

“...Well, we can certainly hope,” Cub says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

His fingers close on the cold heavy compass shell that he did not put in there.

“Alright,” Hypno says as they make it to the circle. “Who’s going where?”

“I’ll go up the right tunnel!” Etho volunteers immediately.

“I’ll take the left,” Cub offers.

“And I’ll take the crypt, then,” Hypno says. “Okay. Use your comms—message if you have a key and we’ll meet at the kneeling man.”

“Gotcha,” Cub says, and with that they’re off. 

There’s nothing by the TNT pond, and only a few coins in the treasure spot on the leftmost tunnel. He snags some berries and hops across the dripstone, pausing in the opening of the tunnel as he hears the distinctive huff of a ravager. He presses himself to the wall, and feels the wall shudder behind him, not quite solid. He freezes and, slowly, reaches back to press his hand into it. 

The skulk that’s eaten into his fingers shivers, and like recognises like, and the cold surface of ice and stone feels almost warm.

Like frostbite, Cub thinks, almost absently. He feels warm, but he’s cold. His breath mists in the chill air.

Without thinking, he steps out into the path of a ravager. 

He blinks at the ravager. It blinks back at him. He can see his silhouette reflected in its eyes. 

“Hey, man,” Cub greets. “Are we gonna be cool about this? Great, thanks man. Knew I could count on you.” 

He can feel the dungeon’s gaze on him as he stares the ravager in the eye. His fingers are black and blue. The cold feels almost cosy. He tightens his fingers around the compass. 

“We’re cool,” he says again, and he’s not talking to the ravager this time. “I’ll get it, don’t you worry.” 

The ravager, slowly, turns and begins to walk away. 

<Hypnotizd> got a key

Cub turns and walks the other way, leaving black and blue footprints in his wake.

-----

Down on level two, there’s more ground to cover. Etho heads towards Rusty’s room. Hypno takes the lava pathway. Cub makes a beeline through mushrooms to the dripleaf parkour.

He finds a key in the amethyst, floating in the water right beneath a ravager’s feet. It watches him docilely as he ducks in and picks it up, leaving with a casual wave. 

The parkour is easy. The lake, even easier. Willie throws a trident, but it feels more like a greeting, an inside joke, than it does a threat. The throw goes wide, anyway. Cub drags himself to shore, shakes off the water like a wet dog, and approaches the barrel.

He sucks in a breath. Tightens his fingers on the compass. Pulls out his communicator with his other hand.

<cubfan135> sorry guys

<cubfan135> gotta do it

<cubfan135> you know how it is

<Hypnotizd> ???

<Etho> cub what are you doing

<Hypnotizd> what

<cubfan135> good luck making it to lvl3

He tucks the device away and opens the barrel, placing the key into the slot. There’s a familiar chime, and then the door opens with the hiss of pistons firing. Cub takes a steadying breath as he steps through the doorway, and finally pulls the compass from his pocket.

His hand is fully covered in skulk, the veins rotting their way into his flesh, inseparable from his skin without carving them out. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. More skulk-spots dot the surface of the compass, but he can still see the needle through them. Can still see the inscription, telling him to go deeper into the dungeon.

And so Cub goes.

He doesn’t bother crouching. Level three goes so much quicker when you don’t have to worry about being quiet, when you know that even if the wardens do hear you, they won’t care. The skulk sloughs from his legs, leaving sticky trails of fungal soul rot behind him. He can feel it creeping up his spine, weaving into the cracks between the bones. The dungeon is dark, and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s got rot in his eyes, or because he’s close enough to a warden for the blindness to take effect. He supposes it doesn’t really matter. He knows where he’s going anyway, the skulk veins in his nervous system controlling his legs so that he doesn’t have to.

Hm. It must be in his brain already. If it wasn’t, he’d probably be a lot more panicked about being puppeted like this.

When did it get so bad? He feels like he should have noticed it getting quite this bad sometime before this run. It had started when he’d begun running deadlies, of course, when he’d first touched the skulk and had veins wrap themselves around the tips of his fingers, like recognises like. The rot knows that he’s been a home for it before—knew he would be a home for it again. And Cub had taken that little vein, that infection, back up to the surface, and he’d told it no. Had told it, just for Halloween. Just a costume. He wouldn’t do what he did last time, and overtake the server with mould and decay. He’s not about that, anymore.

And yet, here he is, covered in the stuff, rot in his bones and blood and brain. How had he not noticed? How had nobody noticed?

(He thinks of Gem, perched in the walls, skin turning grey and eyes turning sharp. He thinks of Tango, trapped by his own dungeon, deep within the depths of a cave he’d sacrificed months of his life to. He thinks of run after run, of heart-pounding, adrenaline-rushing fun, of shard-cravings and withdrawal-fever, and he thinks that maybe, maybe he understands.)

(Nobody had wanted to notice, because noticing would have meant having to stop.)

(And nobody wants to stop playing Decked Out.)

Cub comes to a halt as the compass’ needle begins to spin wildly. He takes a few steps back and forth, feeling for the minecart beneath his feet, and drops the compass into the hopper.

A dispenser spits... something back into his hands.

CF135, says the label on the something, but this is not the artefact Cub’s familiar with, not the model rocketship with his name carved into the side. This could barely be called an artefact at all, a bloody and writhing handful of intestine, frozen half-rotted flesh beneath his fingers. He gags, nearly dropping the guts, blood spattering against the skulk that coats his legs and being absorbed into the rot. The guts themselves have spots of skulk-vein spattered across them, barely visible through the red, pulsing blood that drips from them, and they twitch despite clearly being dead, dead, dead.

“What is this?” he cries out to the dungeon. “Why have you given me this?”

Something tugs on his leg. Gently, barely there, and then—

Cub lets out a scream as he’s pulled down through the floor, pain flooding his body as his pelvis hits the hard stone floor. The skulk surges, crawling up his body, consuming all in his wake, tugging him down, down, down. The intestines wrap themselves around his neck, squeezing just tight enough that his limited vision darkens even further, that he panics, before loosening ever so slightly to allow him to gasp. 

Cub wails.

“Hey, no, stop it, I don’t—Tango! Tango, hey, man, please, stop it—!”

The dungeon quivers around him. The skulk slows in its consumption, leaving Cub half-eaten and shaking on the dungeon floor. His chest shudders as he sucks in one breath, and then another.

“That’s it, man,” he manages to choke out through the tears. “We can talk about this, can’t we? I promise—I won’t even try and get you out, if you don’t want me to. I’ll stop the others. Just—don’t do this. Okay?”

Everything is still for a moment. Silent. 

Cub feels a vein of skulk drag itself slowly, comfortingly, across his cheek, leaving a bloom of decay in its wake.

“Cubby,” the dungeon sighs, voice as unfamiliar as the word is familiar, and Cub lets out a sigh of relief.

“Tango! Hey, man. Good to see you, good to see you.” He may be a little delirious, actually, he thinks as he babbles. “Hey, so, you can let me go, yeah? I’ll get out of your hair—or into it if you’d prefer—whatever, man, I’ll do whatever, as long as you let me go. So—we’re good? Yeah?”

The intestines tighten, not enough to choke, but enough to hold. A hug, an embrace, in the only way a dungeon made of rotting flesh knows how. Cub melts into it. He’s in so much pain, is the thing. He’s in so much pain, and he’s so, so cold.

Something yanks on his leg, and a shrieker howls, and the skulk devours, and Cub manages one last cry before he’s pulled down into the dark.

[maybege]

Hi, May! How are you?

it's been a weird couple days (as you know cause i keep texting you 😅). everything still feels really off and my emotions are going in circles (thank fuck i'm seeing my therapist tomorrow).

BUT either way, I've promised you that I'd FINALLY read roommate!Paz and tell you my thoughts!! idk what it is about tonight, but i finally had the energy to fully appreciate it and be ready to do this (maybe I also just needed the comfort of your writing and your paz).

Soooo, let's start? I’m going to try and not just quote every single line back at you but oh my god please know that I love everything about this. I still don’t quite know how one is actually supposed to react to stories, so I hope you‘ll enjoy my rambling about how your words have made me feel 😅

First of all, i hope you know that roommate!Paz is my ABSOLUTE WEAKNESS!! that man is so fine 🥰🫠(and honestly,, can do whatever he wants to me..)

"He was so careful, so gentle and made sure you felt safe, happy and satisfied before he tried new things. Even then, said new things were introduced slowly and with care. And every time he did you felt like you were falling in lust a little bit more." this? the dream. Also "in LUST"??? girl please stop denying it, you’re like fully in LOVE!!!

also.... "something very peaceful about not having to worry about how someone fucks you because you know they do it right" ..... do you just have a secret source of knowledge about my anxiety issues??? cause that feels a little to relatable as a concept,, like straight up taken from my brain when i try to explain why i'm drawn to these types of stories 😂🙈

"the man of your dreams (and also your heart but it would take time for you to admit that out loud) ".. THANK YOU, this is what ive been thinking. can't wait for them both to realise that they are absolutely in love with one another.

also, this: "You wanted to spend as little time as possible on chores and as much time as possible … together." very relatable. the „… together“ made me giggle 🙈

.. also sidenote, I really love the way you center the trust between them in the beginning of the story (and througout, really). It really is such a vital part of their dynamic and to actually feel that is really nice. and i also just really love the intimacy between the two of them - like the scene of him coming home and caring about how her day went.

“Paz,” you giggled, your hands buried in the soft hairs at the back of his neck, “What are you doing?” ... dont mind me just giggling and grinning over here...

“I’m eating you out, what does it look like?” he grinned, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip AND THEN “Patience, sweetheart,” he teased you, looking up from where his fingers were circling your nipples over the fabric of your shirt. “Let me play with you.?????? hot. 10/10. actually cant function anymore, this is all I'll think about now 🫠

“You're so good for me,” he murmured against your sternum, “Such a pretty little slut just for me, aren’t you?” ... LIKE HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ANYTHING RIGHT NOW????? i think i dont even really like the idea of men calling me a slut, but i think he might be an expection.....

… also, please know that this is how I've reacted to every line of paz speaking 🙈🥰🫠10/10.

Before you could answer (or, let's be real, beg) ... LISTEN, that would be true but you didnt have to call me out like that 😂😭

“I know,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to your inner thigh before slipping your legs off his shoulders, “Got you all come drunk already, huh?”.. one thing that man will always be is cocky.... and honestly? fair, he's allowed to be. how could he not be when he’s doing everything so right?

“Not today, love,” he murmured, the nickname sending a thrill through you and also Kissing Paz was everything you had ever fantasised it to be and more. JUST CONFESS ALREADYYYY 😭🫶🏼

“I thought this could be your … the necklace, you know?” [...] Paz seemed to know what you were thinking because he suddenly became bashful. He rubbed the back of his neck, the free hand still on your thigh, “You can – you can choose something else, if you like, of course. But I saw it in the mall at lunch and I just … knew.” stop I'm gonny cry

“And remember –“ he started. “I can always take it off whenever I want to,” you finished… i really love this. I think I've told you this before, but i really like how you always manage to hit home on the consent and trust between pairings in your stories.

You thrived in coming home and being dragged into his bed or him coming home and coming straight to you. That must be your favourite part, really. Him coming home and using you any which way he liked. Both of you ending up on the couch afterwards, talking about how your respective days had been. ... did you just invade my daydreams??? but seriously, again, i love love love reading about the intimate aspects - even without smut - in your stories. they might not confess how they're fully feeling (yet), but they don't really need to in order for me to feel the emotions between them. this just makes my heart flutter and yearn 🤍🥺

A bit of topic, but this: "It had been raining and you had used your day off to curl up on the couch and read one of the books on your tbr list." just got me really excited for finishing my master's degree next summer. I can't wait to read an actual book and enjoy it without any stress that I'm technically procrastinating. like, im so excited to not be too exhausted for my tbr list.

back on topic... Paz was usually home by now and even though you were not his girlfriend (which was totally absolutely perfectly fine with you, of course)… GIRL, CAN YOU BOTH PLEASE JUST SAY YOUR UNSPOKEN FEELINGS OUT LOUD AND MAKE IT OFFICIAL

paz coming home and needing stress relief? 10/10. also, i can't fully say why, but the way you describe paz? such a hot, pretty man.

“Stars, that’s just what I needed,” he sighed, his hand cupping your cheek, “that pretty little mouth on my cock. You’re doing so well for me, aren’t you?” AND ALSO “I know I’m very big, sweetheart,” Paz cooed, leaning forward. His hand wandered to the back of your head and you felt surrounded by him in the best way, “Can you try to take me a little deeper? Can I try to fuck your mouth?” may, how am i supposed to go to bed after this???? there's no way my brain will actually turn off, I'll just be mentally stuck right here. like,, this entire smut scene???? i fear i will not recover from this.

LIKE.. "“One day I'm gonna see how deep I can go,” he groaned as you choked on him, “Have your head hanging off the edge of my bed, see if we can make that pretty throat bulge, make that choker stretch, hm?” HUH, officially deceased. Every line I keep thinking „okay that’s it. NOTHING can make me react more than this“ and then I keep getting hit with the next words???

and then,, “Ordering pizza and a movie? We can cuddle and if you want to we can try that thing you’ve been pretending to google secretly?” MAY, i can't 🫠🫠🫠 i will be thinking about this story for forever. somebody please tell me where i find him in real life.

and the ending being all soft and fluffy? i dont know what else to say besides this man (and story) has my heart 🤍

I could keep going cause I just love your writing so much, but this turned out quite long already. So in short: honestly? we both know that i always love your writing but this made me all smiley and giggly and that really is something i needed right now 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼 i don't even know how to put it in words how much i love every part of this!!

MY DARLING SARAH!!!

I am doing somewhat okay! I got to see Adele this weekend which was one of the most surreal experiences ever but with the heatwave this week I’m simply just lying on the couch, hoping that I’ll melt into a puddle 🫠

And your lovely lovely comment is not helping because that had melted my heart 🥹😭 I’m so so happy you liked it! Roommate!Paz really is so special and so fun to write 🥹

[autumnfangirler]

Can I ask 3 and 22 from the Sidestep ask game for your Steps? 👀

sure thing!

3. What is their villain name? Why did they choose it?

Caine- their name is Lycan! in all honesty he wouldnt bother picking his own name, BUT i need to continue his dog motif so theyre getting a unique one as a treat

Cyrus- hhhhh ok. see i can see cyrus taking up two different names– either puppeteer or heartbreak. im sticking with puppeteer for now but ill explain for both. on one hand, puppeteer really is the best way to describe his viewpoint at this point in time. hes the one pulling the strings here, and everybody else will play along. theyre nothing more than tools, puppets, putting on a show for his own amusement, and the fact hes known as a telepath really helps. on the other hand, i can see him using heartbreak as a way to kill sidestep all over again: the more the name heartbreak is used, the more the memory of sidestep dies. plus he sees himself as heartbreak 2.0– he uses the lessons he learned and channels it to the new an improved version, one who will finish what they started

Cecilia- Lupin! one, because the name was pretty, and two, because arsene lupin was the greatest fictional thief of all time, and she's confident she can live up to the name. shes just cocky like that LMFAO

Cynthia- at first i was certain that shed leave her name up to the press, but i think shed be a bit more hands on with how she comes across to the press, if only to further her goals. that said, she ended up deciding on the name Echo. she sees herself as a shadow of her former self, but with just enough intact to deliver a message, one that the people need to hear before its too late (love me my justice steps)

22. How do they feel about their telepathy? Is it a gift? A curse?

Caine- listen to me ok. listen to me. caine cannot introspect to save their fucking life. the only way hes learned how to place his own emotions is by using his telepathy to compare others emotions with his own. it helps them get through conversations with their head afloat, quickens decision making during fights, and most importantly, keeps them under the radar. he doesnt know what hed do without it. and even though hes the most prone to sensory overload, he wouldnt want to live without telepathy. hark is always there whenever they need some peace and quiet anyway.

Cyrus- he sees his telepathy as a weapon. one that gives him an upper hand in situations where fists wont help, so he can turn it more to his favour. but its a double edged sword, and sometimes it can be a hindrance more than a help. it made it harder to remain emotionally detached, especially from a certain someone whose thoughts never shut up. still, telepathy is a useful tool in his arsenal, one that he intends to use to the fullest

Cecilia- her telepathy is as much a part of her as a limb. yeah, she uses it a lot less than other steps, but its still something uniquely hers, and she cant imagine living without. or she can, but oh boy does she not like the image. she doesnt experience sensory overload much, so she tends to take comfort in crowds and noisy places, where she can pick apart the thoughts and emotions of the people around her, a bit like people watching, if you dont watch the people lmfao

Cynthia- ive said it before, but she has mixed feelings on her telepathy. shes grateful for it when used to feel other peoples emotions, because it grounds her in a way most other things cant. she also cant help but use it to make sure shes doing things right. but it still makes her feel guilty in a way she cant shake, like shes invading others privacy even when she cant help it. its part of the reason shes drawn to ortega– she doesnt have to worry about her telepathy causing unnecessary snooping into their thoughts

[zalrb]

“Klaus wouldn’t come to town without seeing me first,” said Caroline.  

“He might if he was coming for Stefan,” said Damon. He shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

LMFAO facts!!! if klefan was a gif:

Caroline glared at her. “Seriously? Why would you do this?”

Rosetta smiled. "It's like live action Sims."

LMFAO not you referencing my favorite game of all time

Rosetta walked slowly toward him, smiling cruelly as she did. “You’re jealous,” she said. “I don’t have to Read you to see that, anybody can see that. And it’s not just the pedestrian sexual jealousy that’s driving you mad.” Her eyes were searching his. “It’s him. You have sired two vampires in your lifetime and still no one has been obsessed with claiming you like women have for Stefan.”

Rosetta shrugged. “Maybe I’m off-base,” she said. “Maybe it’s really because you were the one who brought out her darkness or that’s what everyone said. And Stefan is beating you at that too.”

LMFAO

me everytime damon gets dragged

She threw her hands up in playful exasperation. "I can admit when I'm wrong. When you suggested hide and seek, I didn’t think of the possibilities.”

She glanced around, seeing bodies, some decapitated, some simply mutilated, scattered on the floor, the words “READY OR NOT, HERE I COME” painted in blood across the wall. Her eyes widened in horror.

ive got a card for elena:

Nicole did throw up. Stefan compelled her. “Relax,” he said. “Don’t be scared.”

"Why did you do that?" said Elena, annoyed. "I want her scared."

Stefan grinned. "OK." He looked back at Nicole. "Forget what I just said, feel whatever you were feeling before, be scared."

me watching stefan cater to elena

hes living my dream

"Oh my God, everyone's dead..."

"Not everyone," said Stefan. "Who do you think is playing the music?"

They walked into the ballroom where the tables around the dance floor still had dinner on them, the food beginning to rot. Some tables had dead patrons slumped over onto the linen. On stage, a piano quartet was playing their instruments. They would look almost like zombies with their drawn faces and pallid skin save for the fact that they were crying silently.

They'd been playing for two days straight -- Elena had compelled them never to stop, never to falter, even if they were scared or angry, even if they had to use the bathroom, to just keep the music never-ending. It had originally been a quintet until the day before when Stefan compelled the two violists to a musical duel, seeing who could play the fastest and the longest without breaking a string. When one inevitably did, Elena giggled."

LMFAO. zal. this is both the most horrifying AND hottest thing ive ever read. im disturbed by my reaction to this

they are so fucking ruthless and im LIVING FOR IT

“Please,” she whispered. “What are you going to do to me?”

“That’s not for me to decide. This is all about her.” He motioned toward Elena who was twirling on the dance floor, her arms wide. "I love live music!"

His eyes misted over as he watched spin. “I mean, how could I not do anything for her?”

He tilted his head and kissed her forehead. “You know, it meant nothing,” he said. “She didn’t matter.”                        

“Your emotions are off,” said Elena dismissively. “Nothing matters.”        

Except, it seemed, for this."

not me getting emotional over the fact that even without his humanity stefan wants to make elena happy. he even tries to comfort her despite the fact that her humanity is turned off as well. theyre fucking soulmates i love them so much

"No matter what, keep playing,” she said. “Think of it like the Titanic."

"Yes," said Stefan. "Except instead of playing as a ship goes down, you'll keep playing until your truly horrific, painful death. Don’t forget to play well, you know? It’s your last show."

AGAIN

"The quartet played with renewed vigour and Stefan and Elena held onto each other, swaying to the music, as the flames devoured everything around them."

LMFAO rosetta is right, it really is like live action sims 🤣🤣🤣

THIS WAS AMAZING. looking forward to the next chapter!!!

LMFAO. zal. this is both the most horrifying AND hottest thing ive ever read.

LMAO SIMS is SO FUCKING weird. every time i see a gif of the game i'm just like ????

[ankhisms]

have surprised myself with how much ive been able to get done today altho i know ill be hit with exhuastion soon enough, rambling under the cut about things having mixed emotions but not all bad really

so my room in our house isnt really exactly my own room, its the room with the eletric box, water heater/softener closet, furnace filters, and the washer and dryer. its always been this way so im used to like not really ever having a space thats mine and mine alone but i wont get into that. anyway any time the seasons change (or often on my parents whim and never without any warning) we have to get to the water heater closet and the furnace filter so my room has to be torn apart to get to them. my bed is pushed up against the water heater closet so its like i sleep right next to a door so the bed has to be moved. anyway this is usually a very jarring and upsetting thing since it usually happens without warning or telling me and i have everything i own just moved without being told or warned. but today i decided to take agency in this and i was the one who moved the bed and moved all my things so my dad could get in and turn on the water so we can use the outside hose to water things.

ive been meaning to really deeply clean and sort like, everything i have and everything in my room for probably half a year now and to see what i might want to give away/keep and reorrange things and just like take stock of things for the HOPEFUL future where i can move out and be having my real own space yknow. i finally started this process and it felt good to get everything down and to really deeply dust, ive also been meaning to properly wash old stuffed animals of mine bc i love my stuffed animals dearly but some of the ones i had when i was younger are very clearly showing their age so i looked up tips and instructions on hand washing old stuffed animals and i tested it out on two ones that dont mean as much to me to see if it goes ok before trying to wash ones that i absolutely dont want to ruin and it went well! i definitely can feel myself starting to get tired and having more pain as i write this but im still happy with how much i cleaned and sorted along with washing my sheets/pillows/blankets

the thing that makes me have mixed emotions is that what ive also been meaning to do is.... take down and get rid of the things that were drawn by/given to me by the old long term friend who just suddenly cut me off with no warning or explanation and then only messaged me one more to weirdly say "well im hanging out with my new friends and theyre so cool and great" and not responding to me begging him to tell me what was going on or if i had done anything wrong and wanting to talk things out. we were long distance internet friends for over 10 years so i have a lot of drawings and books hed given me and i didnt really get to taking down a lot of drawings but i sorted through one book in particular, he used to do this thing where hed give me a comic book and hed put in sticky notes in a lot of pages with his thoughts on them. so i went through the pages and took out all the sticky notes one at a time since i want to give the comic book to someone i know will like it. and it was a very... weird feeling. taking them all out. i had read the notes and the book when he first gave it to me but now reading them it felt like.. more bitter than sweet but there was still sweetness there. i recognize looking back that i had rose tinted glasses on for the majority of our relationship and it was probably more toxic than i realized and i often blamed myself for harmful things he did. not at all saying hes a bad person or anything btw i just think we both were very damaged kids from abusive homes and i was probably toxic in ways i didnt realize as well im not without blame here but its weird to realize that our friendship wasnt as healthy as i thought it was. but reading those notes as i took them out it was like... he wrote these at a time where i know he loved me and considered me his close friend and i felt the same. and i still love him. the love i have for anyone, especially a close friend, does not just disappear. it stays within me and is not wasted. but it certainly feels like a weight on my chest in this moment.. i keep thinking, what happened? what changed? he didnt even give me this book that many years ago, maybe three or four at the longest. what happened to make him decide to cut me off like that? i dont know, and i know im not going to get closure. so i just have to hold the love i still have and let it ache but then i have to let go and continue trying to live

i dont know how soon im going to have the opportunity and resources to be able to leave my home situation, its become increasingly obvious to me that its not something i can achieve on my own for a multitude of reasons, i know ill need help and i try to remind myself that im not alone in it and that its not impossible for me to get to a safe environment where i dont feel scared and like a cornered animal. for now i feel good about my decision to try and make my living space feel nicer for myself, although im aware that it never really feels like my own space nor does it ever fully feel safe i still am trying to make jt more comfortable for myself while im here and i feel proud of myself for that

anyway thanks if you read this all, i hope youre doing well mwah

[liloinkoink]

i just rewatched the final siege of dogwarts the other day, yeah? so obviously ive been thinking a lot about where Ren and Martyn were as they died

most fanartists i've seen draw Ren and Martyn's deaths in that final battle have drawn ren's body on black heart altar. which makes sense and makes for some absolutely wonderful art, the sort that gets me right in the heart every time i see it, but i also think his canonical location of death was interesting in and of its own right

Ren isn't actually near black heart altar when he dies, nor is he even able to see it. actually, by the time ren dies, black heart altar isnt even in one piece anymore, as it's been half-destroyed and blown away by a tnt blast, split pretty neatly with two mostly-straight lines taking out a siazable corner.

(i think i could write a whole post on just that fact alone, especially since... i'm not sure who blew it up, but i know scar and impulse had tnt during the battle, and either option as the culprit to crack the heart has Weight, assuming the altar wasn't destroyed earlier. i'd have to check. but it's not what this post is meant to be about, so we'll leave it for now)

where Ren actually is when he dies is outside the front door of the empty building that used to be Renchanting. he's running past the door, trying to go around the corner--towards black heart altar--but he's shot in the back before he can make the turn.

the building, by the time Ren dies, is mostly empty, with the enchanter having been moved to the basement, along with their secret stash. i'm pretty sure the bed that used to be there is the one that sits on the hillside so Ren could reset his final respawn to be beside black heart altar--also a gesture with weight, if i wanted to give it, i suppose.

there's a few chests and a crafting table in Renchanting, and while i don't know/remember what's in them, i can't imagine there's too much of value, not anymore. even the entrance to their underground kingdom isn't located within the Renchanting building. the building of Renchanting is, by this point, little more than an especially elaborate roof to the underground kingdom of Dogwarts.

...well. and a grave, i guess, with Ren's body on the doorstep.

Ren built that home on day one with the intent to cater to the entire server and everyone on it. he spent so much time in earlier sessions in his base, letting Martyn and other allies handle anything outside of Dogwarts as he farmed and fortified the kingdom he founded. he deserted when he made enough enemies and his priorities became bloodier, moved underground and then out of Dogwarts entirely, but when it came under attack, he came running back. for all the ways Ren changed over the course of Third Life, he still died at his own front door.

(BigB also dies near there, actually, right outside the stairs to Renchanting's basement, as Ren and Martyn are piling inside to get underground as a sneakier was of going around Renchanting. but he's more to the side, sort of in the farm. not a particularly exciting location for him, but i'll give him credit in that, had he not died when he did, it would probably have been Ren or Martyn that Grian fired on. what was that thing he said in episode one about supporting his friends on his shoulders? i guess he was right)

(and, while I'm thinking of their allies, isn't it fun that Etho digs himself a hole to die in? he, if only by accident, is the only member of Dogwarts i can think of who got anything resembling an actual grave, though i think it loses points for being hand-dug, as well as the fact it was likely trampled over by both friend and foe alike in the ensuing fight).

Martyn, conversely, dies right next to the ruins of black heart altar. he doesn't see Ren go down, as he's on the other side of the kingdom. he doesnt even see Ren's items--his body, if you want to be dramatic (or realistic)--before he dies. barely makes it a few steps from where he'd been standing when the death message had gone out. and there's a lot to be said about that, but a personal favorite is this:

we know Ren stayed in the game as a spectator for the rest of the session. we know spectators "respawn" in their beds. we know, as i pointed out earlier, that Ren's bed was at black heart altar. we also know that the spectators are pretty much canonically ghosts, given how Grian talks about them in both Third and Last Life

i have no idea how quickly Ren hit respawn after his death, but we know from Martyn's pov that he was floating around talking with the other spectators by the time Martyn joined them. which means it's not a stretch to assume Ren, as soon as he joined the ghosts, watched Martyn die. would have had a front row seat, even

[reidsnose]

doodles

overview: reader doodles on her hands a lot and spencer has to give into the temptation of coloring it in

genre: flufffffff

a/n: sorry ive havent posted a fic in like a week, ive been in quite a slump but i had this idea well after midnight but i just had to write it so lmk what u guys think of this one :)

masterlist

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doodling on your hands: a once nervous habit that had seeped into your everyday life and now is just a regular habit. nearly everyday you would come to work with clean hands and get home with a mini art gallery on your non dominant one.

Spencer admired this from the moment he noticed it. at first he thought you had a tattoo but when you came back the next day with it completely gone, he was a tad confused, only to catch you doodling on that very same hand a couple hours later on the jet. he thought maybe it was an occasional thing, a habit you'd quit once you got better situated into the team, but after nearly a year you still left work almost everyday with some cutesy sketches drawn on your hand.

Spencer found himself looking forward to your doodles, imagining in his head what you might draw each day, and thinking of all the colors you would add if you had the time. being the great profiler that he is, he noticed a pattern: you subconsciously correlated your doodles with your mood.

after especially hard cases or just bad days you always drew roses.

when you were very happy you drew all sorts of fruits.

anxiousness bore little swampy creatures and lily pads.

tired days filled your hands with random, intricate designs that you didn't even have to try hard to make.

and content was anything else.

he was so impressed and absolutely adored your little coping mechanism. watching you concentrate on making those teeny pieces of art simply for your own pleasure was definitely a sight to see. the way your eyebrows furrowed and tongue poked out a bit was absolutely positively adorable. and soon he had noticed that he was looking forward less to the doodles and more to watching you draw them. and after that he began looking forward to just you.

you were sat on the jet with your back to the corner of the last seat on the plane, creating a pattern of roses on the back of your hand. Spencer plopped down in the seat next to you, growing tired of watching from so far away.

"that bad, huh?" he asked, noticing the type of flower you were gracing your hand with.

"hm?" you looked up, confused.

"you only doodle roses on bad days." he explained, pointing to your hand.

"what? no i don't!" you defended, " i just think roses are neat."

to be fair, you were having a bad day but he could've profiled that without the doodle. he cant be right, can he? there was no way you had a mood system for your doodles! unless there was.

"repetitive strokes are therapeutic, so roses being rough days make sense. the spiral in the middle followed by however many layered petals you want is a perfectly repetitive while still interesting enough to doodle."

"if i didn't know any better i'd say you've been spying on me, Dr. Reid," you teased, enjoying the slight rouge that appeared on his cheeks.

"what! no! i'm- i'm a profiler i notice patterns! i just- spying sounds creepy." he stammered.

"ok. how about admiring." you jabbed, turning a little red yourself.

"fine. but you know coloring helps too." he flipped back to the old topic of conversation.

"unfortunately i only have the standard blue, black and red ink."

"roses are red." he chuckled.

"interesting point," you bent down and reached into your bag, pulling out a red pen and handing it to him, "knock yourself out."

"what?" he looked at you slightly bewildered.

"coloring is therapeutic, you said it yourself. and you and i both know that you need something to relax you after a case like that. we all do." you explained, trying to be as nonchalant as you could knowing his skin would touch yours.

he grabbed the pen and clicked it open, coloring smoothly and slowly inside the lines you had already made in black, careful not to go over them and smudge the ink. you and him both tried your best to ignore the warmth shooting through your bodies from every place your hands touched. his fingertips lightly grazing your knuckles as he worked.you worked your way up your arm, giving you both space to work and by the time you landed, you had a half sleeve garden of surprisingly well colored (and somehow shaded) red roses.

you went home that night and bought a pack of colorful (washable) pens, hoping this little rose garden with him wasn't a one time thing. and even if it was, you would want to add your own pop of color to your doodles.

thankfully it wasn't.

you and Spencer found yourselves drawing and coloring on your hand a lot. he would catch you doing it and pop in over your shoulder just to add a touch of color where he thought it fit. and you began to feel sad washing off what the two of you had created that day, feeling nostalgic for time that has hardly passed.

and sometimes on the jet you would get tired of your own skin, so you would draw little doodles on his hand, often times leaving a little heart at the base of his thumb. these little hearts he avoided washing off for as long as he possibly could because they felt like a part of you was always with him. he started doing the same thing to your hand, a sort of signature the two of you shared.

most days, the doodles on your hands were pretty much fully colored in.

but now Spencer began to worry. what if you get ink poisoning because of his coloring? sure, the risk was statistically low, improbable even; but never zero. so one night after work he went out and bought a little sketchbook and on the front he scrawled,

"y/n's super duper special sketchbook"

upon receiving it, after giving him a hug he never wanted to let go of, you took a sharpie and started editing the title he had given it. so it now read:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook"

the two of you used up a whole page that day, front and back filled with all types of fruits. Spencer smiled to himself, knowing this had made you very happy. you took a second to take a step back and admire him doing the very thing he admired you for. and you understood why; he just looked so precious and you suddenly realized you craved the feeling of his hand touching yours. so you leaned over and drew a little black heart at the base of his thumb. he looked up at you, smiling widely before returning a red heart to the base of your thumb.

and you guys tore through that book, using a page a day and filling it cover to cover in no time. your own personal handmade coloring book. it turned out to be both of your most prized possessions, a pang of sadness filling your chests as you finished the last page.

you felt bad taking it home with you that night, wondering if maybe Spencer wanted to keep it. maybe you should keep it at work so you can both have it. thats the fair thing to do. you looked down, smiling sadly at the little red heart on your hand.

he did want to keep it. but he had a better idea in mind. he looked down, smiling excitedly at the little black heart on his hand.

the next day when you arrived to work all your worries were solved. on your desk laid a new sketch book entitled:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook: volume ii"

you laughed as you read a small lilac post it note that said, "i want to keep this one please" signed with a little red heart in the corner.

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ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @coffeereid-deactivated20210303 @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @s1utformgg @violetspoetic

[saikokirakira]

Looking from the Outside (Marc Spector x Bakunawa!Reader pt.3)

a/n: i've yeeted myself out for a couple of weeks but i'm back full-force with a lot of ANGST in my goodie update bag. brace yourselves.

Prev: III. Marc pt.2 | Next: IV. Jake pt.1 | AU Masterlist

warnings: ANGST; arthur harrow; hurt, no comfort (yet); marc is emotionally constipated; allusion to manipulation; non-canon Philippine mythology; non-canon depiction of babaylans (Filipino shamans)

“I hope you like attention.”

You peered over Marc’s shoulder to see Layla smugly sipping on a bag of cola.

“Layla, what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here. How did you even—?”

Marc slowly turned back to you, unamused.

😬😬😬

“Come with me. I’ll help you find what you need.”

Layla led you to where she parked her jeep, but before you could hop inside, Marc shut the door and roughly pulled you to the side.

“You should’ve told me. Or at least told Steven.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you haven’t given Steven control for the past week, Marc.”

“That is not what I mean.”

You lowered your head and began picking at your worn-out nails, starting to feel the shame set in.

“I never planned to tell Steven about Bakunawa. I didn’t know about him being… well, part of Khonshu’s Avatar… but I swear, I would never hurt him.”

“I know you won’t, but he would, and he did.”

What is he trying to say? You felt like you knew. You just hoped you were wrong.

“I. Won’t. Hurt. Steven. Ever,” you said in your last desperate measure.

For a moment, Marc looked conflicted. His eyes kept straying, watching distractedly at his surroundings. He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw as he swallowed roughly.

“I want you to go back to London. Layla and I will find the sarcophagus. We’ll take it from here.”

Your face dropped, your heart sinking along with it. You knew he had good reason to despise you. What he said was the truth.

You were a danger to Steven.

“You understand?” Marc asked.

“That’s not really your decision, Marc,” Layla, who was listening all along, interrupted, sticking her head out of the driver’s window. “She’s with me.”

You reluctantly followed Layla’s lead and sat beside her in the passenger seat.

As the car moved, you let the wind blow away your tears before they trickled down your cheeks.

You knew Marc kept a watchful eye on you, but you refused to return his gaze from the side mirror.

Layla brought you to a dock where a felluca boat waited. Three of you boarded without question, and soon, a party arrived shortly before the boat sailed down the river.

You kept a considerate distance between Marc and Layla who were talking in hushed tones.

“I’m here for me and for everyone else who would die if Harrow succeeds.”

“Copy that.”

“That includes,” Layla paused to point at you with her eyes. You pretended to not notice and continue chatting with the teta who was talking about a wedding.

“Harrow has his eyes on her, you know. I can’t just leave her in London with all his followers sniffing around.”

“You’re a good person, Layla,” Marc said both in a pained and genuine tone.

Before you could listen further, the party turned up the volume and got on their feet to dance, inviting along two other passengers.

“Wait, I can’t dance like you guys!”

The teta ignored you and began swaying you to the same beat she did.

Layla and Marc both watched you, the former with a fond gaze as you awkwardly tried moving with as much grace as possible without Bakunawa’s help of agility.

You cheered alongside them with your own whoop-whoops when some of them made high-pitched ululation to continue celebrating.

You looked back to Layla and Marc and saw them in a much deeper conversation, their hands intertwined.

At that moment, the truth hit you like a bucket filled with cold ice.

You were the outsider.

You were the one who meddled inside their relationship.

You just didn’t belong.

Just like you didn’t really belong in this wedding celebration.

You just happened to be there.

Just like you just happened to be there when Steven was alone in that restaurant.

You just happened to be drawn to Steven because he was connected to the moon.

It was all just circumstance and not because you made it to be.

“Love problems?” the teta’s grandson asked, noticing the loneliness in your eyes as you stared at the married couple.

“My boyfriend and I just broke up.”

…

“’Stay here and hide. The snake is asleep. Meh, meh, meh,’” you muttered defiantly to yourself as you peered through the treeline by the docks, watching them descend to the massively guarded estate. “Eat shit, Marc.”

You were perched up a tree when you saw a rowboat dock from the riverside. Harrow’s followers.

Which meant Harrow was nearby. Probably inside the estate already.

You could tell these two men were looking for you.

You slowly slid down the trunk, careful not to make any noise as you silently moved behind them.

Grabbing the base of their neck, you whispered in a melodic tone, “Shh, tulog na [Go to sleep].” Their bodies turned lifeless as they fell into a deep slumber, dropping into the ground like a pile of bricks.

Click!

“You should be ashamed misusing your healing powers like that.”

Well, shit.

Harrow and his men kept you at gunpoint as he led you to the estate, the very place Marc and Layla told you to stay clear of.

You hated every slow step he took. Not to mention the overwhelming smell of blood around him. A constant aura of torment and pain.

“Whatever they've told you, I'm sure I can offer you something much more tangible.”

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed to Layla who was also held at gunpoint along with Marc.

“Anton, he’s gonna kill millions. Trust me!” “Are you seriously talking about trust?!”

“Each one of you has so much more in common than you know,” Harrow interrupted, his calm voice set a juxtaposition in the tensioned air.

“Layla, your husband doesn’t tell you the truth.

“And Marc, you don't tell her because you know that if you do, she'll see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of love.

“And you, langga [darling], your place isn’t with them, and you know it. In fact, you just realized it, didn’t you? Back at the ferry?

“You need not be ashamed of your gift. You are meant for something greater. Right beside a greater goddess.

“Someone who can free you from this curse.”

next update (saturday, 10 pht) will be a full written chapter. snippet down below.

Maybe you were destined to be alone, to be cursed. You were cursed the moment your powers emerged. Before Bakunawa, before the initiation rites, before everything…

“You know, he’s trying to get in your mind,” Marc spoke up, both to you and Layla. “Don’t let him do that. He’s got this idea that he can see the true nature of people or some baloney like that.”

“So, it’s not true? What he said about you and—”

“No, it’s not true,” Marc cut Layla off rather quickly. “He’s just trying to divide us. Don’t let him get in your head.”

“He already did,” you mumbled, too low for them to hear. The farther Layla drove from the city, the more you wanted to jump out of the moving vehicle and hop on the first plane back to London. Away from Harrow, away from Khonshu, away from Layla and Marc.

Away from Steven.