#i'm actually really proud of this one :')

[howtotrainyouragents]

Folding Laundry, Spy x Family mini fic

Decipher the intercepted report. Prepare intel for Handler. Pick up groceries. Loid ran through his seemingly endless list of tasks, calculating each step of execution and strategizing on the most efficient plan of action. But when he set the laundry to fold on the couch, Yor appeared with a smile.

“Let me help with that.”

It would take two minutes and thirty seconds to fold it himself, and he only had three minutes to spare on this mountain of clothes before he had to start on his patient files. But Yor was humming a tune as she started separating the clothes, and, after a moment, he sat down beside her and quietly started folding. 

The afternoon sun streamed in, warm and fuzzy. Bond yawned disinterestedly at them and shuffled into Anya’s room. Sitting so close to Yor, Loid wondered again why she never seemed to wear perfume. 

Focus. Like any operation, Operation Strix could collapse in an instant if he wasn’t vigilant.  There was the slightest tension in Yor’s shoulders, a slight discomfort or unsureness, that he’d noticed before in these very quiet moments. 

“Do you miss your life before this?” He asked, blunt in a way that only a moment like this could allow.

She looked up, surprised. Her eyes drifted to the window as she absently smoothed the creases in Anya’s frock. Loid found his next breath hinged on her answer.

“In an odd way, yes.” 

He knew it. Operation Strix was in danger.  He had to find out more, a way to fix this. He had to keep this fake family happy for the sake of world peace.  

Yor continued on. “After my brother and I came to the city, I was by myself. I kept a small apartment. Just a bed, a kettle, a few clothes. I didn’t go out much, didn’t have friends really.  Yuri would visit, of course, but he was busy with work.” 

Loid tried to picture this life and found a familiar echoing pang. “That sounds lonely.”

Yor shrugged. “It was all I knew. Pain doesn’t feel like pain when it’s all you know. But this?” She looked around, noticing the room and him in the same way he’d done. “This is unfamiliar. And that’s harder.” 

Her eyes widened, and red colored her cheeks. “Not to say that I don’t want this or- or I’m not grateful!” She rushed to explain. “This is arrangement has been the best thing to happen. It’s just…”

“New?” Loid supplied, though it wasn’t quite the right word.

She hurried through the folding, and a moment later, nervously asked, “Do you miss your life before this? I mean- I mean, before Anya and your first wife?”

Loid slowly buttoned the shirt he was folding. He remembered the brutal military camp he infiltrated to get close to an officer. The snooty soirée to seduce the minister’s daughter.  The loud explosions of the battlefield.

“There wasn’t much of a life before,” he admitted.

She nodded gently, and the slight tension in her shoulders eased. And to Loid’s surprise, so in his. They folded the rest of the clothes, taking in the warm sun and noises from the street. 

He gathered his clothes and she took the rest to hers and Anya’s rooms. Putting them away, he ran through his list of things to do again. He’d wasted too much time. He still had to prepare reports and patient files and get dinner. But the buzzing, stomach-turning anxiousness to get everything done had quieted, and that left him nervous and paranoid.

 So when he heard a ruckus, he rushed to Anya’s room, grateful for something to snap him out of this calm. 

Anya had gleefully seized Yor’s interruption to abandon homework and was playing spy with Bond and her toys.

“But Agent Anya, what about your homework mission?” Yor cried in her TV-spy voice. 

“The mission is in trouble! Agent Anya needs hot coca to save the day!” Bond borfed. “And cookies!”

“Okay, if Agent Papa says it’s okay to take a break,” Yor said, turning to him standing in the doorway.

“Agent Papa!” Anya saluted. “Hot cocoa and cookies!” 

Their eyes were shining bright in excitement. Bond wagged his tail. The house wasn’t just warm with the afternoon, but with the joy of this little fake family.

Loid remembered the cold of the military camp sinking deep beneath his clothes, leaving him freezing and sick. He remembered the bitter bile taste of choking back his words when highbrow ministers spewed hateful words.  He could feel the splintery wood of the makeshift cot as he lay at night, waiting for bullets to rain down on them in the morning. 

He put on his best impression of Handler for his waiting family, but he suddenly understood what Yor was talking about. All of his past lives were hard. Terrifying even. 

But not as terrifying as this. 

[b4n18un]

[quacheta]

Little Kid With A Big Death Wish changed my brain, so I typeset it. And then @remedyturtles indicated they're okay with me sharing it. So there's also a link to the Google Drive files if anyone wants it:

Note: There are FOUR versions in the folder. This is because (due to the way I designed the pages, mostly; I wanted it to be pretty, okay? I wanted it to be thematic) the full book is almost 900 pages long. So if you want it as an electronic file to read, or if you are actually ambitious enough to bind a 900-page 5x8 book, you want the 'Deathwish Full' files. Otherwise, if you are sane, I broke it up into three 300-page-ish sections, which are Part 01, Part 02, and Part 03.

Regular .pdf files are the individual pages in order. These are the files you want if you (a) are downloading this to read electronically, or (b) intend to pass the file through your own imposition software. (Like if you want to print on paper that isn't letter-sized, for example.)

Bookbinder folders have the imposed PDFs. Meaning: the files you want if you're going to print and bind this thing. Within those folders, the 'typeset' files are aggregate (the whole book, with ALL the signatures, are in the one single PDF). Signature folders have (you guessed it!) individual signatures. These are good for test prints (four pieces of paper is a cheaper test print than, you know, 70-something), or just making sure your printer doesn't run out of juice as you go.

All of the book is in color. But it's also all (mostly all) blues and greys, and I did a test print on my blank and white printer at home. So if you don't have access to a color printer (or the money), I promise it still looks nice in black and white. :)

A second note, on margins and bleed: the artwork does extend into the bleed (or at least, it's supposed to). Please keep that in mind when choosing a printer and your print settings. Please also do a test print. Please please please.

[seqyv]

lolita - violent vira.

Author: Moto42 Title: SCP-173 - The Sculpture Source: https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-173 CC BY-SA 3.0

[3dprintcess]

🟪🟦🟩🟨🟧🟥 Rainbow Squares 🟥🟧🟨🟩🟦🟪

Paint-over of a gorgeous photograph of Alex at the Horne Section gig in Reading, done with digital oil pastels. He brings colour to a sometimes miserable world!

(And particularly special to me - he's wearing a 🤍 white Casio watch🤍 It's a bit scratched, but I'm just happy to see it.)

[anonymous-dentist]

A Little (bit of) Love

My piece for @tryzine !!

-

It starts deceptively simple: Cellbit and Roier are taking a walk together through the Favela at sunset, fresh coffees in their hands from Starbobby. Cellbit can’t stop staring at Roier. Roier can’t stop staring at Cellbit. Bobby is watching from above, probably rolling his eyes at how goofy Roier looks when he’s in love. 

There are two creatures walking a step behind Cellbit and Roier that Cellbit is purposefully ignoring. 

Roier’s shoe comes untied next to a recently-added flowerbed. Cellbit offers to tie it, Roier laughs and teases Cellbit, Cellbit hands Roier his coffee to hold as he crouches and takes Roier’s shoelaces in his hands. 

Just barely visible through the gap between Roier’s legs, Pulgoier looks blankly up at the flowers. They’re taller than it is, but just barely. 

?, the disgusting little thing, follows Pulgoier’s gaze. And then, horrifyingly, and entirely of its own accord, it reaches up and snaps a flower off at the base of its stem. It holds the flower out to Pulgoier, head ducked just slightly, almost bashfully; Pulgoier doesn’t smile, because it can’t, because it isn’t real, but it does take the flower. 

Frozen in abject horror, Cellbit doesn’t react as Roier annoyedly taps at his head and asks what’s taking so long. Why is he just sitting there, what’s wrong? 

And then Roier turns around and sees his Mini-Me holding the flower close to its chest and pressing a plastic kiss to ?’s cheek, and Roier gasps. 

“Aww, look!” he coos, fingers tangling in Cellbit’s hair excitedly. “They’re in love!”

And Cellbit feels nothing. 

-

Cellbit’s son is gone. So is a significant part of Cellbit’s heart, and yet he knows that he is still capable of feeling love. He’s alive, after all: he isn’t a religious man, but he likes to think that everything with a heart can feel love. Dogs love their owners. Lions love their mates. Crocodiles love the hunt. Parrots love to show off. 

The Mini-Mes? Notably not alive. They aren’t real. They’re plastic and felt and yarn and whatever-the-fuck electronics the Federation shoved into their fake little bodies. Their nerves are made out of copper. Their veins are filled with self-recycling machine oil. Their hearts are combustion engines that run off of the items that their islander counterparts provide them daily. 

Cellbit knows this. He’s cut his Mini-Me apart so many times that ? knows not to squirm on the dissection table. Every time he’s sewn ? back together, he’s made ? hold the roll of string so it doesn't roll away. He’s made ? bleed oil to the point that he once caught ? drinking gasoline when Cellbit’s back was turned. 

The Mini-Mes don’t feel emotions. They can’t. They aren’t real. They’re creatures, if one could call an inhuman amalgamation of wires and eco-friendly microplastics a creature. It’s more apt to call them robots. 

Monsters. 

Cellbit knows that the MIni-Mes were created for war. He watched the video at that conference, he knows exactly what the little assholes were made for. Now that they’re stolen, their purpose has probably been shifted by the Federation from fighting to spying. 

They can’t feel love. This much, Cellbit knows. They were created for battle, and now they’re just biding their time. Waiting. 

The fact that ? seems to be in love with Pulgoier is an outlier that should not be considered. They’re both just mimicking their owners, that’s all. Which begs the question of exactly how adaptive the Mini-Mes are; they can change appearance at the drop of a hat, but behavior? They’ve been robotic up to this point, what changed? 

Cellbit asks this to ? as ? sits in its cage staring at the oil-stained wall. 

?, of course, doesn’t respond. That’s good, Cellbit doesn’t know what he’d do if the little bastard learned how to talk. 

But, at the lack of a response, Cellbit inexplicably feels a sense of… God, is this bravery he’s feeling coming off of ?? Is that it? An attitude? 

Cellbit’s eyes narrow, and he leans in closer to the cage with a sneer. 

“Whatever you’re doing, I’m onto it,” he growls. 

? just adjusts its goggles in response. Its hand briefly dips into the Fear Room’s light, exposing a thin black line drawn around ?’s left hand ring finger. A ring. 

Cellbit is so surprised that he doesn’t even feel angry for a good moment. 

But then ? looks up at him as if asking, “And what about it?”, and Cellbit finds himself standing and kicking the cage so hard that it falls over, sending ? toppling. 

A ring. A goddamn ring. 

A goddamn mockery, more like. It’s mocking him. The Federation is mocking him, he knows it. He fucking knows it. 

(But… why?)

-

Pulgoier starts holding ?’s hand. ? keeps picking things off of the side of the road to give to Pulgoier, and Cellbit hates it. 

Roier makes a little shoebox bed for them that he puts under his and Cellbit’s own bed. Instead of powering off for the day in a corner of the room, ? and Pulgoier go there at night, and Cellbit hates it. 

? and Pulgoier sit across from each other on the floor when their owners have their meals. Sometimes they pretend to eat, usually pretending to feed each other, and Cellbit hates it. 

Richarlyson would have killed them by now. Cellbit wishes he was here to do so, but. 

But. 

-

But it’s well past midnight, and Cellbit can’t sleep. This isn’t anything too unusual; he learned how to live off minimal sleep back during the War, for better or for worse. 

But Roier can’t sleep, which means that he’s somewhere in the castle, which means that Cellbit is somewhere in the castle because there’s no way in Hell he’s letting his depressed and sleep-deprived husband wander around mourning. 

Tonight’s ‘somewhere’ is the garden, and Cellbit has Roier in his arms as they sway back and forth to the music playing softly on Roier’s communicator. (The Federation is shitty for so many reasons, but at least it’s providing the island with Spotify Premium free-of-charge.)

The song is unimportant. So are the two little freaks of nature watching from beneath a rosebush. So are the Federation’s hidden cameras, and Bad somewhere downstairs trying to carry Cellbit’s dining table out the door, and the itching bloodlust in the back of Cellbit’s brain. 

What is important is Roier, and so Cellbit focuses all his attention on him. 

He’s tired, clearly so: his hair is more of a mess than usual, his clothes are rumpled and wrinkled, his shoes are untied, his bandana is lost somewhere in the bedroom, his lips are chapped, and the circles under his eyes are dark enough to rival Cellbit’s. 

Cellbit doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful man in his life. 

He says as much, words ghosting across Roier’s pale lips. 

Roier smiles weakly, and he murmurs a quiet, “No, you.”

The song changes to something a bit quicker. They both ignore the change in tempo and decide to follow each other’s, instead. 

Cellbit’s arms tighten around Roier. He pulls him closer, nose burying itself in the side of Roier’s neck and breathing in his scent and internalizing it, filing it away in the little cabinet in his brain labeled ‘Roier’.

“You stink,” he grumbles. 

“Yeah, because you’re all over me,” Roier responds. He lightly pinches Cellbit’s side. “I know what we’re doing when we get back inside.”

Cellbit whines, sagging in Roier’s arms. He loves his husband, but he does not love showering with him; Roier takes so long under the water that it’s running cold by the time it’s Cellbit’s turn, and his shampoo smells so strongly that it makes Cellbit have an asthma attack. 

Cellbit doesn’t even have asthma!

What Cellbit does have is an unfortunately-acute sense of hearing. It’s a blessing at times, and it’s a curse. 

His eyebrow twitches in annoyance as he hears the absolute faintest of sounds: the crunching of grass beneath clumsy feet, and the overworking of machinery as it tries to figure out how to laugh.

At the same time, Roier gasps, “Mira, mira!”

But Cellbit doesn’t look. Why should he? He’s having a good time. He doesn’t need some… some… some things ruining it. 

“Ay,” Roier insists, poking Cellbit between his ribs once. “Gatinho, mira.” 

Another poke. “Mira.” 

Another poke. “Cellbit.” 

(Poke.) “Cellbo.”

Cellbit’s eyes squeeze shut. He presses a kiss to the crook of Roier’s neck to try and appease him, but Roier just pokes him again. With determination. 

“Stop ignoring me!” he huffs. “Unless… you hate me? You want a divorce?”

At that, Cellbit’s head snaps up in a panic. 

“Não!” he shouts. Why would Roier ever…

Lips twitching into a semblance of a smile, Roier grabs Cellbit’s face with one hand- squeezing his cheeks together and making him feel a bit like a fish- and turns it to the side. 

…right. If there’s one thing Roier is, it’s a fucking asshole. (And a handsome one at that.)

Cellbit’s shoulders sag in relief, but said relief quickly melts back into annoyance as he’s forced to look at the Mini-Mes and their… well. It isn’t dancing, that’s for certain. 

Pulgoier has taken the lead, just like Roier has. It’s holding ?’s little hands and rocking from side-to-side: left, right. Left, right. Left, right. It doesn’t move from its spot other than a small amount of shuffling as it tries pulling at ?’s hands in an attempt to get it to actually move. 

? is still. It’s staring directly into Pulgoier’s beady little eyes, absolutely frozen. If it could blush, Cellbit is sure that it would be doing so. 

Cellbit inadvertently copies it, stiffening against Roier’s body and stopping any and all movements. He doesn’t mean to- he wants to keep dancing, to keep ignoring the Mini-Mes and their bastardized attempt at “romance”, but… 

“Look,” Roier quietly says, sounding almost awed. 

He lets go of Cellbit’s face so he can press his cheek against Cellbit’s. 

Cellbit feels Roier’s jaw work against his as he concludes, “It’s us.”

Because… it is. It is, somehow, in such a fundamental way that Cellbit can’t really identify it as anything but Cellbit-And-Roier. 

“Oh,” says Cellbit, voice hardly above a whisper. 

He watches as Pulgoier tugs on ?’s arms, and as ?’s legs start to shake under it. 

Cellbit doesn’t actually remember a lot of his wedding reception; between the explosions and the alcohol, it’s all just a lot of blurry faces and the feeling of Roier-Roier-Roier-Roier-Roier. 

What he does remember is being ushered into the center of the dance floor along with Roier and freezing. The world faded from around him, and all he could think about was Roier’s smile as he took Cellbit into his arms; Roier’s warm hands on his body; Roier’s alcohol-laced breath across his face. His body was a stranger. 

He remembers thinking, ‘Shit. I don’t know how to dance.’  Because he didn’t, and he still doesn’t, because he never had a chance to learn how. It just never came up in his life, and then, suddenly, he was supposed to dance. At his wedding. In front of the entire island. And everyone he knew.

And he remembers the way Roier’s face softened as he picked up on Cellbit’s anxiety. His hands slid from Cellbit’s back, up to his shoulders, down the lengths of his arms, and to his hands. He tangled their fingers together, took a step back, and winked. 

Pulgoier physically can’t wink, but it otherwise does exactly what Roier did all those months ago: it takes a step back, and it just starts spinning. 

? can’t shout like Cellbit did back then, but it otherwise does what he did all those months ago: it gets pulled along, forced to spin along with its partner, stumbling over its own feet and flailing about like a doll caught in the wind. 

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Cellbit mutters. 

“I can,” Roier replies. “He’s your Mini-Me, of course he can’t dance for shit.”

He yelps out a laugh as Cellbit indignantly steps on his foot. 

Roier’s right, though; Cellbit can’t dance for shit. And neither can ?, being Cellbit’s shitty little clone. 

The night of the wedding, it took Cellbit a good solid minute to get his feet back under him. He felt himself smiling, and, maybe it was the wine in his system, but he found himself tugging Roier in a spin in the opposite direction. He was dizzy as Hell, but it made Roier laugh when he did it, so he just… kept doing it. Eventually, the spin led into a proper attempt at a slow dance that failed so miserably that the two of them gave up and jumped onto the stage for another round of karaoke.

Tonight, ? picks up on things a bit quicker than Cellbit had. It stabilizes, nods to itself, and starts pulling Pulgoier into its own spin. Almost immediately, they’re attempting a proper waltz, and Cellbit… 

Cellbit doesn’t get it. 

At first, Cellbit wasn’t sure what the end goal of the Mini-Mes was. Then, he realized that they’re little soldiers. Robotic supersoldiers capable of self-multiplication and growth, literal war machines. 

But then… why do they look like the islanders? Why does Pulgoier have the same dark circles as Roier? Why does ? have the same scar across its chest that Cellbit does? What’s the point? The Federation doesn’t do anything without a purpose, so why do the Mini-Mes have to look like their owners if they’re meant to grow up and kill them? 

Why can they dance? 

“What’s the point?” he murmurs. Roier hums in acknowledgement, and Cellbit takes that as a sign to continue: “Of copying us?”

“Because we’re sexy,” Roier responds. 

Cellbit rolls his eyes. “True. But, think about it, what purpose does any of…” (He waves his hand in the MIni-Mes’ general direction.) “...this serve?”

“I don’t know, but… look at them.”

Cellbit looks. He doesn’t understand. Something uncomfortable rises in his throat. 

? twirls Pulgoier, leading it into a dip. Pulgoier raises its head and presses its painted mouth against ?’s. 

Chest clenching, Cellbit tries to tear his eyes away, but he just… can’t. He can’t. Not when they’re right there, not when they’re-

“You think they’re learning from us, right?” Roier asks. “So… maybe they aren’t learning how to kill us. Maybe they’re learning to be us.”

Cellbit gives him a flat look. “Isn’t that just as bad?”

Roier shrugs, still watching the little monsters. 

“Maybe,” he replies. “I’m not a scientist. But… isn’t it kinda crazy that we taught robots how to love?”

But robots can’t love. They can’t. But. 

Roier’s arms tighten around Cellbit’s body. His smile is just as forced as it has been since the eggs all vanished, but his eyes are surprisingly soft as he watches the Mini-Mes tumble into the grass from the force of their silent, impossible laughter. 

“They’re just copying us,” Cellbit weakly says. “It isn’t actually real.”

“Maybe,” Roier hums. One hand travels up to cup the back of Cellbit’s head, gently pulling it against his chest. Cellbit listens to Roier’s heartbeat and wills his own heart to match its pace. 

“Or,” he continues, “maybe it is. We found our reasons. Maybe they found theirs.”

They watch the Mini-Mes, and the Mini-Mes don’t notice. 

The song changes, and Roier starts leading Cellbit into another dance. 

Cellbit’s eyes slip shut, and he lets himself get swept away by Roier’s movements. 

(Bagi would call Cellbit a monster, but Cellbit found love in the end. So maybe, just maybe, ? could have done the same.)

[poolboyservice]

sometimes parties gotta sleep too

[foreveranevilregal]

Encantober Day 25: Quiet

Dolores loved the quiet.

She loved when everything was silent, and she could hear her own heartbeat. When the hustle and bustle of daily life would die down and stillness would reign over all, like a blanket of rest draped over their town. Once the sounds of everyday life would cease, her mind would clear and she could just stay in the respite, away from the noises assaulting her for most of her waking hours. Just perfect calm quiet; the backdrop to which Dolores would journal.

She was as thrilled as the rest of the family when Antonio had gotten his gift. But…she could have done without the fireworks. The explosions felt like they were ripping her chest apart. And the booming music- as much as she loved to dance, she preferred quieter, more unassuming pieces that took the time to build their beauty as opposed to this party fare. After a few obligatory dances, she retreated to the back of the crowd, hanging out with her tía Julieta who also wasn’t a big party person.

Finally, the party wound down. Guests trickled out in small groups, heading home. Dolores assumed some would continue the party, but as long as it wasn’t right next to her eardrums, it was all right by her. She helped pick up the dirty dishes and cups strewn about by the partygoers and placed them in the kitchen gingerly, careful not to knock them against one another to create that ringing sound that echoed for a small eternity. Feeling tired, she excused herself and retired to her bedroom. Her refuge, her haven, in which Casita had mercifully dampened the noise levels to be more tolerable.

As she wrote in her journal, her ears wandered unconsciously. She could hear her tía and tío in the kitchen, washing the dishes. Crashing ensued, followed by a soft tinkling noise that could only mean broken glass.

“Ay, Agustín…” tía Julieta murmured, exasperated. “How many times must I tell you to leave the dishes be? I’ll take care of them.”

“Well what am I supposed to do then?” Tío Agustín asked, making a small humming sound as if something was blocking his mouth. Then a smacking sound like lips leaving skin…Nope. Nope nope nope. Dolores shuddered.

“You go say good night to the girls.” Tía Julieta set down the plate she had presumably been washing. “And check on Mirabel, will you? I’m worried about her…” Her voice trailed off. “That whole thing with the cracks in the floor…maybe we’re putting too much pressure on her?” Her voice lilted upwards uncertainly. “Maybe she’s the one cracking, mi amor.”

“Of course.” A softer kiss, probably on her tía’s cheek. “I’ll check on the girls. You take care of these dishes. And then I’ll take care of you.”

Dolores didn’t need superhuman vision to know her tía was blushing. “Ay, Agustín…” she purred.

And Dolores had heard enough. She really didn’t need to know any more about her tío and tía’s love life. She was so grateful that Casita had somehow soundproofed their room completely. There were some thing Dolores simply did not need to hear.

But the part about Mirabel was interesting…was she really that upset as to make up a story about seeing cracks in the floor? Could her abuela possibly be right about Mirabel being jealous? Mirabel really didn’t strike her as the jealous type, but no one else had seen the cracks. Maybe there was something there…

Dolores wrapped up her entry and closed her journal. She could hear the other members of her family beginning to wind down as well; changing into sleep clothes, washing up, doing everything they needed to do before bed. Her papá sang a cheerful tune as he showered. Dolores giggled. He was so cheesy, but she loved him. He just made life more fun.

Right next door, Camilo was putting on some kind of performance. She figured he was playing all the characters, changing into each one as needed since she heard a variety of voices coming from his room. He was very creative, but Dolores hoped he’d keep it down soon as it was Antonio’s bedtime.

Down the hall, Antonio didn’t seem overly concerned about bedtime. He was laughing, the sound distorted as he moved through the room. Was he running? Riding the jaguar again? Carried by a toucan through the air? Who knew? Either way, through the cacophony of animal calls, she could hear him whooping and asking questions. He was halfway through naming all the animals when Dolores decided she couldn’t stand the din anymore and shifted her attention elsewhere.

Across from them, Luisa set down her weights with a thud. How she had the discipline to do her exercises every night, Dolores had no idea. It was honestly admirable. She heard the sheets rustle as Luisa got into bed and a muted creak as she opened a hardcover book. She’d seen her mamá talking to Luisa a few days ago and mamá had lent Luisa a book. Probably one of the romance novels she and Dolores were so fond of. Dolores heard the pages flutter as Luisa read onward in silence, broken only by a sharp gasp or a dreamy sigh. Deep down, Luisa was a hopeless romantic too, just like the two of them. Dolores really hoped she found someone special.

To one side of Luisa’s room, Dolores heard muffled crying. She wasn’t sure who it was; it wasn’t a cry she had heard before. But then she heard the slithering of vines and scraping of a leaf against skin as Isabela presumably wiped her tears on one of her plants.

“I’m going to marry Mariano,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can’t believe it.”

As if Dolores needed to be reminded. She loved Isabela like a sister, but it hurt her deeply that Isabela would get to marry Mariano, the man she loved, just because she was older. Older! Ha! Isabela wasn’t even a full month older! A matter of a few weeks decided which one of them got a happy ending, and which one a broken heart. Dolores was seething. As she heard the sound of Isabela’s hairbrush gliding through her hair, Dolores hoped one of the one hundred strokes would yank it all out.

Dolores shook out her head. It wasn’t right for her to be thinking like that. She had been raised to love her family and support them, no matter what. Even if seeing them happy twisted a knife into your own heart…

A different cry broke through; more plaintive, desperate, a series of sniffling sobs. The sound was muted by a pillow, based on the weird low echo that resulted. Who was this?

“I was just trying to warn them,” Mirabel whispered quietly, followed by a hiccup. “I would never ruin Antonio’s night. I’m so happy for him!” It sounded to Dolores like Mirabel was trying to convince herself it was true. “He gets to have a gift. It’s what we all wanted.” It occurred to Dolores that Mirabel was sleeping in the nursery all by herself for the first time in years. “I just wanted to help my family…for once…” A choked back cry was followed by more quiet sobs.

Dolores’ heart broke. Poor Mirabel. She had no idea it was so hard on her. Voices floated through the air, growing louder as their speakers grew closer.

“…making a scene on Antonio’s special night,” her mamá whispered. “It’s not like Mirabel. Why would she act out like that?”

“I don’t know, mi vida, but let’s not worry about it anymore tonight, eh? Let’s just get some rest.” Dolores could hear the fabric of her mamá’s dress moving as her papá rubbed her back soothingly.

“Don’t tell me not to worry,” her mamá grumbled, punctuated by a low roll of thunder.

“I’ll give you a nice massage, and then you’ll forget all about it,” her papá offered.

Her mamá giggled. Their voices grew quieter as they went towards their bedroom. “And then we can…”

Dolores gagged. She heard the words, but her mind blocked out any meaning they had so they were just noises going into one ear and out the other. She was especially grateful their room was soundproofed too.

Instead, she let her ears wander back down towards the kitchen again. She had left some food out for Bruno, hoping her tía wouldn’t notice the “accidentally” forgotten food that no one had cleaned up. The scurrying of the rats told her it had found its intended recipient.

“Mm, this is good,” Bruno mumbled around a mouthful of food. “Not sure who keeps leaving food out for me, but thanks!”

Dolores smiled. You’re welcome, tío, she thought. She waited patiently for him to finish eating, but her attention was drawn by another unexpected sound.

A door across the hall creaked open. The sound of tiny footprints pitter-pattering across the wooden floor, stopping when another door creaked open.

“Mirabel?” Antonio’s voice called out unsurely.

“Mm, what is it, Antonio?” Dolores heard the hoarseness in Mirabel’s voice that she was undoubtedly trying to pass off as being awoken from sleep, based on the extremely fake yawn she gave, but that really stemmed from her crying.

“I can’t sleep. My new room is really big and the animals won’t leave me alone. Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Come here.” Dolores heard the rustling of sheets and creaking of the mattress as Mirabel made room for him on the bed.

Antonio climbed in, humming contentedly. “Thanks, Mirabel.” His voice was slightly muffled. He was probably snuggling up into Mirabel.

“You got it, kid.” Mirabel tucked the blanket around them. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Dolores was touched by the moment. But just as she was about to wipe a tear of her own from her eye, she heard a loud scraping echoing from down below. Moving furniture. Which could only mean…

“Yes!” Dolores cried out quietly. Tío Bruno was performing another installment of his latest play (she had heard him refer to it as a telenovela, though she didn’t know why, since as far as she knew, novelas came in books). She snuggled in under her blanket, beaming from ear to ear as the action began.

It picked up right where it had left off the last time, with José and María about to kiss, when smoke billowed and José cried out in surprise.

“Carmen!” He recoiled, jumping back. “You look just like María! But how-“

“I have my methods,” she answered slyly. Dolores squeaked. She could hear the sound of footsteps, no doubt Carmen walking around José. Carmen thought she was so clever, but Dolores knew she’d probably bought a potion from the witch featured in the last installment.

“It was that witch, who was traveling through town! She helped you change your appearance,” José deduced.

Dolores muffled her triumphant cry with her pillow. Called it!

“Aren’t you smart?” Carmen crooned, her hand trailing along José’s stubble. “If only you were smart enough not to fall for it.”

“But I didn’t fall for it!” He protested.

“Oh no?” Carmen let out a delicate cackle. “I’m not sure María would agree.”

Dolores’ stomach sank. What had Carmen done to María?

“María?” José spun around wildly. “Where is she?”

“How could you?” María’s voice echoed hollowly around them. “I loved you.”

That past tense hit Dolores in the gut like a load of bricks. She had really been rooting for those two to end up together.

“Where are you keeping her, you-“

“Now, now. Let’s not do anything you’ll regret. Otherwise, poor María might pay the price.”

Dolores’ eyes widened in shock. Carmen wouldn’t hurt María…would she?

José growled in frustration. His hands must have closed around Carmen’s neck because Dolores could hear a strangled gagging. “Tell me where you’re keeping her!” He demanded.

“I’ll tell you, but first you have to do something for me.”

“What is it?” He sounded curious.

Dolores was curious too. What did Carmen want him to do?

“And scene!” Bruno called out dramatically.

Rats chittered around him.

“I know, but we have to save something for next time,” Bruno explained.

Dolores let out a frustrated exhale. How could she sleep now? Not knowing what would happen would keep her up all night!

“Besides, I haven’t come up with what’ll happen next yet,” Bruno said under his breath.

That was a more reasonable explanation. She really hoped he’d come up with it soon.

She tossed from side to side, trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. Today had been long and tiring. It seemed like all the other inhabitants of the house were able to fall asleep. Even Bruno, the perpetual night owl, was snoring away in the walls.

At last, it was silent. Dolores could hear her heart thumping in her chest. She could hear the floors creaking (Casita had done much weirder things, she didn’t worry about a little creaking). She could hear, as always, the rats running freely through the house, no doubt collecting more food for tío Bruno. She could hear…an eye twitch? She focused in on the sound. It was coming from Luisa’s room. Luisa’s eye only twitched when she was nervous about something. What was she nervous about?

Dolores listened intently to make out the garbled mumbles Luisa let out in her sleep. “Cracks…floor…magic…weak…” With a grunt, she flopped over and fell silent.

Dolores frowned. Luisa was worried about the magic? First it was Mirabel, now Luisa. Could there actually be something to worry about?

Her abuela’s voice drifted in through the window. She was praying to abuelo Pedro, holding the candle. Dolores could hear the wax dripping onto the small plate that held the candle. It sounded like she was worried too…

And now the rats scurried by, sounding even more agitated.

Groaning, Dolores shoved her pillow over her head. She just wanted it all to stop.

Dolores loved the quiet.

If only she could ever experience it.

[dynjas]

lifeweaver + "But…how could you love me?" "How could I not?" = 😍😍😍

Thank you for your request, my dear!

I hope I did good and I hope you like it!!

(⚠️ slightly Angst?)

(Pov: you're cuddling with Niran after a really tough mission (where you lost some soldiers))

____________________

You were lying in bed with Niran while he was caressing your whole body with kisses and slight touches.

When he came back to your face his loving smile turned to a worried frown.

"What's wrong, my love? Why are you crying? Am I hurting you?"

He was about to pull away from you to search for a wound he didn't see while he was healing you earlier, but you pulled him back in your arms.

"How...how can you still love me...? How can you still call me your love?! Because of my reclessness so many died and...-!"

Before you could rant on he shut you up with a soft kiss to your lips and wiped your tears with his thumb.

"Shhh, how could I not love you? How could I forget all the times you saved other lives - and mine too. We're only human, my sweet flower. We make mistakes. And because you're mourning these people shows that you're a good person."

He smiled slightly and kissed you again, then your eyes.

"We can make a shrine in the garden tomorrow, if you want?"

He never stopped caressing your cheek and his beautiful eyes showed so much love for you, even in times when you couldn't love yourself.

"Thank you, Niran. That would be nice. I love you."

You finally gave him a teary but loving smile.

He smiled back at you, kissed you again and said "I love you too." before pressing you to his chest to hold you as close as he could.

[agrebel18]

Here’s an art I worked on yesterday, it took me like over an hour, now I’m never drawing animals again even though I love this movie lol 

[image description: A traditional drawing of Puss, Kitty and Perrito from Puss In Boots: The Last Wish. On the top left is Puss with his hat and cape and classic sword, and he is holding up his sword and smiling. On the top right is Kitty with her hand on her hip and her other hand has her classic dagger, and she is smiling. On the bottom of the page under Puss and Kitty is Perrito wearing his sock sweater and looking straight forward with his mouth open. In between all of them on the middle of the page is their team name “Team Friendship!” END DESCRIPTION] 

[galaxytitanghost]

Hi! So I drew Vlad again and decided I would share. He’s a soft boi!

[mesmeri5e]

Wow I'm actually posting something!?

[null404ish]

Yeonjun in greyscale 🦊‼️

[heyimcelery]

I drew Amanda from Amanda the adventurer. so glad it's popular again.

[thatscottster24]

so i had a random shitpost idea

who remembers K-Mart lol

monika casual outfit from Doki Doki Takeover

[beeceit]

Made up fic title

Reaching out towards the cosmos

One shot, very minimal dialogue, very poetry inspired

Mikey's perspective, talks a lot about how cool and smart and impressive Donnie is. Lots of comparing him to space imagery, peppering space facts he learned from Donnie

Then the tone shifts to how LONELY space is. How everything we see as close together is actually thousands to millions of lightyears from each other. How there is no life we've found on other planets, at least not intellegent life. How welcoming and cooling blue stars look, when they're actually HOTTER than our own and will completely demolish you

But after the narration gets faster and faster, simulating a panic attack, it cuts to dialogue saying "Mikey, are you coming in or not?" and he refocuses, realizing that he's been standing outside of Donnie's door this entire time, spiraling

He follows Donnie inside and sits next to him on the floor, watching Donnie work, and realizes that Donnie ISN'T untouchable and that the earth is a part of the cosmos as well

He holds Donnie's hand while Donnie continues writing, now smiling, and Mikey relaxes, relieved that no matter how isolated Donnie may seem, or different, or more impressive than him, Donnie will always love his little brother and let him in